by J. T. Edson
Being wise in such matters, Mr. Reeder had not tried to press the issue with those informants who had remained in town but were uncommunicative. They were too valuable to the functioning of his organization for him to do anything that would destroy his rapport with them. Nor was there need. Their silence had suggested the solution.
By the time Mr. Reeder had parted company with Colonel Brian Besgrove-Woodstole, although he had no direct proof, he was convinced that he was in contention with old Mad John Flack. No other person was capable of inducing such a condition of terror at all levels of the underworld. He had always been notorious for his completely ruthless nature and the diabolical ingenuity he had shown in dealing with anybody who aroused his wrath. Using his knowledge of chemistry, he could kill in unexpected and terrible ways. The fact that he had escaped what should have been certain death during the collapse of the passages underneath “Terror Keep” would have increased the already close to supernatural dread with which he was regarded.
Added to the effect upon the underworld in general and Mr. Reeder’s erstwhile loyal informants in particular, there had been an ever growing number of suggestions that Flack was still alive and seeking vengeance. The reports which had reached the detective during Sunday evening, and since his arrival at the Public Prosecutor’s Office on Monday morning, had served to strengthen his assumption.
Mr. Reeder’s reasoning was as follows.
No trace had been found of Joseph “Jo the Actor” Steffens and his men. However, their unannounced arrival in England was significant. They were well known in their specialized field. Only a person of great importance and well connected in international criminal circles could have secured their services. While men like Steffens did not openly advertise their movements, some hint of their coming would almost certainly leak out. When that happened, a nose was sure to have informed against any normal employer. They would be disinclined to do so if they learned that Mad John Flack, with his terrible reputation, had brought the American trio across the Atlantic Ocean.
While Mr. Reeder and Besgrove-Woodstole had been having a belated dinner at Daffodil House, on Sunday night, a report had arrived from an expert of Scotland Yard’s Explosives Department. The manner in which the sticks of dynamite found in the Frazer-Nash Fast Tourer had been fastened together, the type of detonator, the way it had been crimped to the firing wires and how they were coupled to the engine’s electrical system were peculiar to a professional assassin, Igor Dumbrowski. As he was known to be active in political as well as criminal circles, the Colonel had contacted Military Intelligence’s Duty Officer at the War Office. According to the files, Dumbrowski was currently employed by one of the anarchist factions in France. Just after noon on Monday, Mr. Reeder was informed that he had disappeared from his usual haunts and his present whereabouts were not known.
The spent cartridge case found by the detectives after the shooting in Wardour Street and the damage done to the Tourer’s windshield had been informative. The weapon employed was of the high velocity .257 Roberts caliber and the tip of the bullet had been carved with an ‘X’ to create a dumdum effect on impact. Gregory Toomis, a soldier-of-for- tune in the Far East invariably used a Winchester Model 54 rifle of that caliber and dumdum 60 bullets when carrying out sniping assignments. Although no legal charges had ever been made against him, British Military Intelligence took considerable interest in his activities. On being radioed for information, all Besgrove-Woodstole’s men in the Far East could say was that Toomis could not be found but he was believed to be engaged in his usual line of work elsewhere. However, the records at the War Office had disclosed that he had once been a close associate of Colonel Hothling who, before his arrest in the “Terror Keep” case, was Flack’s second-in-command.
Appreciating the danger of coming back to England so soon after the murder he had committed in Brighton, Gaston Porthos would have needed some greater inducement than money to tempt him from the comparative safety of his homeland. He was suspected of having worked for Flack in the past and to have been enamored of the old man’s daughter. Knowing something of her capability where handling members of his sex was concerned, Mr. Reeder felt sure that she might have exerted considerable influence in persuading Porthos to cross the Channel.
Despite the lack of proof, the matter of the entry into Captain Gray’s flat and the settling of the booby trap had been informative. In Mr. Reeder’s estimation, there were not more than six men in the world capable of unfastening the type of lock fitted on the door without leaving traces of the tampering. The only one he knew to be in England was incarcerated in Dartmoor Prison and could be discounted. Consulting with Mr. Golden, who had access to a greater store of information than he had available in London, Mr. Reeder had decided upon the probable identity of the culprits. Although there were such things as crimes of imitation, generally criminals developed and stuck to a modus operandi which had proved successful. So the detective believed the incident was the work of two Swiss brothers, one an expert at opening locks and the other equally adept in the use of explosives. They were not professional assassins, but had used similar methods to kill a fence who had cheated and threatened to betray them. Less than an hour ago, a message from the police in Zurich had notified Mr. Reeder that the Tell brothers were last seen boarding an airliner destined for Sweden. As yet, there was no further news of their movements.
One of Flack’s greatest attributes had always been his ability to obtain the services of top criminal specialists from all over the world and at very short notice. Another was the way he could bring them into England in spite of the watch kept by the police and other interested authorities for such undesirable visitors.
Satisfied that he was up against the malignant old master criminal, Mr. Reeder had nevertheless refused an offer of a police escort. In addition to preferring to rely upon his own precautions, he had no desire to place the officers’ lives in jeopardy. He had been successful in reaching the Public Prosecutors Office without incident and spent the day there carrying out routine tasks, fending off various journalists who wished to obtain further details about the attempts upon his life, or studying the reports which had arrived. Although he had felt sure it would be pointless, he had arranged for a watch to be kept on Carrington Mews. The task had fallen upon the local detectives with the results he had anticipated.
‘By the way, sir,’ Sergeant Challoner said, before Mr. Reeder could hang up the telephone receiver. ‘What do you make of that business at the Cheese?’
‘Do you mean the wager between Messrs. Frithington-Evans and … um … Siniter?’ the detective asked, knowing of the “Miller’s” interest in horse racing.
‘There must be more than just that behind it,’ the sergeant protested. ‘Why should either of them go to so much trouble if it was nothing more than a spur of the moment side bet?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t understand,’ Mr. Reeder began.
‘Why did they have to bring the others in?’
‘Others. What others might these be?’
‘Shenley, Burroughs, Graveny and Broughton.’
‘I’m afraid I’m still no … um … wiser, sergeant,’ Mr. Reeder confessed, although he knew something of the men in question.
‘Haven’t you heard about it?’ the “Miller” asked, so surprised that the straw he was holding slipped from between his fingers and fell unheeded to his desk.
‘I’ve heard of the wager between the two … um … gentlemen, but that is the extent of my knowledge,’ Mr. Reeder explained. While his reputation for being exceptionally well informed was justified and advantageous in some respects, it also caused many people to believe he must be aware of everything that happened. ‘Perhaps you would enlighten me.’
‘Frithington-Evans and Siniter started it,’ the “Miller” obliged. ‘Then the other four—there are only six entries in the race—got involved and every one of them is hot.’
‘By “hot”, you imply that none of them are overburdened by … um �
� scruples?’ Mr. Reeder put in mildly, remembering that all four owned racehorses as well as having somewhat dubious business interests.
‘I’d be surprised if any of them had even heard of scruples,’ the “Miller” stated. ‘Anyway, it finished with each of them putting down a monkey 61 as an unofficial purse, winner takes all. Then Messinger—’
‘Would that be the Honorable Claud Messinger?’
‘Yes, sir. All six were his guests for lunch. He suggested that, to make sure everything was fair and above board, each of them would put up a completely honest and straight jockey and stay away from the course on the day of the race.’
‘A not unwise precaution under the … um … circumstances,’ Mr. Reeder conceded. ‘However, like yourself, I am surprised that the … um … Honorable Claud, if I may be so familiar, suggested it. Far be it for me to dispense gossip, but it is rumored that he too not infrequently displays a lamentable lack of scruples.’
‘I’ve never known him to show any scruples,’ the “Miller” sniffed, being one with Mr. Reeder in suffering no delusions over the character of the Hon. Claud Messinger. ‘But, if there’s a fiddle going on, how will it be worked? I’ve been studying the form of the horses and there’s nothing much between them, particularly when they’ll have jockeys up like Lem Dooby and the others who’ve been picked. Not one of them would think of throwing a race and they always ride to win.’
‘You say that there is no appreciable difference in how the six … um … horses have performed in the past?’
‘Not enough to be able to say one’s the clear favorite. and there’s nothing to suggest any of them has been held back for something special. They’re just average horses. The kind that get run for the stakes in the minor races on a meeting’s card.’
‘Hum!’ said Mr. Reeder pensively, although a lesser man facing such a serious personal threat might have told the sergeant he had more important matters demanding his attention. ‘In which case, apart from the unsavory characters of the men concerned, this might be no more than a chance argument ending in a … um … sporting wager. I’m afraid that no possibility suggests itself to me as yet. However, I will give the matter my consideration—such as it is—and inform you if I learn anything informative.’
‘I’d be grateful if you would, sir,’ the “Miller” declared, in the tones of one who did not doubt there would be a successful outcome. ‘And, if I learn anything else, I’ll let you know.’
‘Thank you,’ Mr. Reeder responded and replaced the receiver.
For all his awareness that his life was in grave peril, the gentle detective did not put aside the matter raised by the “Miller”. Instead, leaning back on his chair, he sat thinking about it with as much serious attention as he had devoted to his private affairs. After considering other possibilities, he began to form a theory which he found so fantastic that his first inclination was to discard it. In fact, if he had not accepted the likelihood of Flack being alive, he would have done so. Although there was no record of the old man ever having been involved in a race course swindle, he was always versatile when it came to organizing various types of crime. The scheme envisaged by the detective was so unlikely that it could have sprung from Flack’s warped, devious, yet brilliant mentality. However, on the face of it, the idea was so improbable that Mr. Reeder decided to look more carefully into it before mentioning it to the “Miller”.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, Mr. Reeder found the time to be almost six. As he had done on several occasions during the day, he rose and went to look cautiously out of the window. Despite his belief that he was being watched, he failed to locate the observers. Satisfied that he had been seen by them, he went into another room from which this would not be possible. Having done, so, he carried out similar preparations to those by which he had ensured his safe arrival that morning. With these completed he made his departure.
Chapter Nineteen—We’ll Use Him to Trap Reeder
Mr. J. G. Reeder’s method of leaving the Public Prosecutor’s Office proved to be as effective as the means he had employed to arrive unnoticed. In fact, if Mad John Flack’s well concealed watchers had not received several glimpses of him throughout the day, they would have been unaware that he had somehow passed them and was on the premises. During the later afternoon, they had witnessed the exodus of the Director of Public Prosecutions, the Assistant Director and various lesser members of the department. One of the last persons to leave was a tall, lithe, good looking young man. Dressed in the fashion expected of an up-and-coming barrister when attending the Law Courts, he strode forth jauntily at quarter past six. However, there was no sign of the distinctively archaic attired Mr. Reeder emerging.
‘But the old so-and-so had got out!’ complained the tall, powerful and well-dressed Toby Asquith, as he stood before Olga Flack and Maurice Gambel in the former’s room at the Great Western Hotel. ‘I sent in one of my men pretending he was delivering a message at half past six and the cleaners said everybody but them had gone home. So I left the men to keep watch and drove out to Brockley Road. And there he was, as large as life, in his front garden. I was thinking of taking a shot at him as I went by, but I saw that ugly old something-or-other Ma Grible was at an upstairs window with what looked like a rifle.’
When Gambel and Charles Wagon had been unable to learn more than that Slick Markey was not at the training stable, much to their and Olga’s annoyance, Rapido Clint had earned increasing approbation from her father by finding out what had happened to him. Visiting the Starter’s Hack, the Texan was told that Markey had tried to borrow the owner’s car and had drank heavily when he was refused. He had become so intoxicated that he had fallen asleep while sitting in the outside toilet and was not found until Monday morning. The last the publican had seen of him, he was boarding a bus bound for Swindon with the intention of catching a train to London.
Having alerted Asquith, who was in charge of his organization in London, Flack had sent Olga, Gambel and Clint—the latter now wearing less noticeable clothing—after the jockey. Going to Swindon in the Daimler, they had ascertained that Markey had carried out his intention and duplicated his mode of travel. On reaching London, they had taken three adjoining rooms at the Great Western Hotel. However, when Asquith had arrived to report just after half past eight, Olga had not invited the Texan to join them. In her opinion, he had already attained too much of her father’s favor. So, antagonized by the way he had treated her, she was determined to prevent him from strengthening his position. It was a desire with which Gambel was in complete agreement.
‘My men have got Slick Markey,’ Asquith went on hurriedly, noticing the anger that had come to Olga’s face and how Gambel was not hiding satisfaction at what he had just been saying. ‘Two of them waited until the chorus girl he goes around with had left for the theatre and fetched him out of her flat.’
Asquith’s elegant raiment and cultured manner of speech had resulted in the hotel reception clerk regarding him as a socially acceptable visitor when he arrived and asked to see Miss Garvin. However, he was known to the police as an intelligent but ruthless criminal who preferred to resort to violence rather than more subtle methods. Tough and courageous as he undoubtedly was, he had felt increasingly uneasy while he was making his report. Well paid as his position in Flack’s organization might be, it was anything but a sinecure. The old man was notorious for being intolerant of errors, bungling, or failure.
Thinking of his employer’s intolerance, Asquith wished that Gambel was not present when he was telling Olga of his activities. There was considerable rivalry between himself and the brothers, both of whom would be delighted to be given a chance to show him in a bad light. He had tried to console himself with the thought that the various abortive attempts to kill J. G. Reeder had been the faults of the men making them. When he had been told what was expected of him, he had protested at having to have so many prospective assassins ready to take action on the same day. Pointing out how the detective had escaped death on
other occasions, Flack had insisted that the plan was adopted. Claiming that Mr. Reeder would guess who had been responsible if he survived the murder bids, Flack had also ordered that the imported killers were removed from England with all dispatch.
Except in two cases, Asquith had carried out the latter instruction. Gregory Toomis, Igor Dumbrowski and the Tell brothers had been safely sent off to their respective destinations. Gaston Porthos’ death had removed the need for any effort on his behalf. Unfortunately, Joseph “Joe the Actor” Steffens and his confederates had refused to cooperate. After killing “Bert the Jump-Up” and abandoning the Clyno, both supplied by Asquith, they had disdained the arrangements made for their departure. Instead, they had taken the more powerful get-away vehicle and paid the visit which had placed Flack’s life in danger. Although Asquith had not been present when the change in plans took place, he knew the Gambels would try to see he received part of the blame for the deviation. Nor would his standing be improved by his failure to achieve anything against the detective that day. So he was pleased that he had been able to finish up with some positive tidings.
‘Is he alive?’ Olga demanded, her attitude suggesting that her mood was changing for the better after what she had just heard.
‘Yes,’ Asquith replied, guessing the woman was hoping for such an answer. ‘The boys coshed him to get him out of the flat, but he’s recovered and isn’t badly hurt.’
‘Good!’ Olga stated, a calculating gleam coming into her eyes. ‘We’ll use him to trap Reeder.’
‘How?’ Gambel wanted to know.
