The Fellowship of the Frog

by Edgar Wallace

  “I see you have a car here. You came down by road. Did you pass anybody?”

  Dick shook his head.

  “Do you mind if we take the car in the opposite direction toward Shoreham?”

  “I was going to suggest that,” said Gordon, “Isn’t it rather dangerous for her, walking at this hour? The roads are thronged with tramps.”

  The older man made no reply. He sat with the driver, his eyes fixed anxiously upon the road ahead. The car went ten miles at express speed, then turned, and began a search of the side roads. Nearing the cottage again, Dick pointed.

  “‘What is that wood?” he asked pointing to a dense wood to which a narrow road led.

  “That is Elsham Wood; she wouldn’t go there,” he hesitated.

  “Let us try it,” said Dick, and the bonnet of the car was turned on to a narrow road. In a few minutes they were running through a glade of high trees, the entwining tops of which made the road a place of gloom.

  “There are car tracks here,” said Dick suddenly, but John Bennett shook his head.

  “People come here for picnics,” he said, but Dick was not satisfied.

  These marks were new, and presently he saw them turn off the road to a ‘ride’ between the trees. He caught no glimpse of a car, however. The direction of the tracks supported the old man’s theory. The road ended a mile farther along, and beyond that was a waste of bracken and tree stumps, for the wood had been extensively thinned during the war.

  With some difficulty the car was turned and headed back again. They came through the glade into the open, and then Dick uttered a cry.

  John Bennett had already seen the girl. She was walking quickly in the centre of the road, and stepped on to the grassy border without looking round as the car came abreast of her. Then, looking up, she saw her father, and went pale.

  He was in the road in a moment.

  “My dear,” he said reproachfully, “where have you been at this hour?”

  She looked frightened, Dick thought. The eyes of Elk narrowed as he surveyed her.

  “I couldn’t sleep, so I dressed and went out, father,” she said, and nodded to Dick. “You’re a surprising person, Captain Gordon. Why are you here at this hour?”

  “I came to interview you,” said Dick, forcing a smile.

  “Me!” She was genuinely astonished. “Why me?”

  “Captain Gordon heard your voice on a wireless telephone in the middle of the night, and wanted to know ail about it,” said her father.

  If he was relieved, he was also troubled. Looking at him, Elk suddenly saw the relief intensified, and with his quick intuition guessed the cause before John Bennett put the question.

  “Was it Ray?” he asked eagerly. “Did he come down?”

  She shook her head.

  “No, father,” she said quietly. “And as to the wireless telephone, I have never spoken into a wireless telephone, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen one,” she said.

  “Of course you haven’t,” said Dick. “Only we were rather worried when we heard your voice, but Mr. Elk’s explanation, that it was somebody speaking whose voice was very much like yours, is obviously correct.”

  “Tell me this, Miss Bennett,” said Elk quietly. “Were you in town last night?”

  She did not reply.

  “My daughter went to bed at ten,” said John Bennett roughly. “What is the sense of asking her whether she was in London last night?”

  “Were you in town in the early hours of this morning, Miss Bennett?” persisted Elk, and to Dick’s amazement she nodded.

  “Were you at Caverley House?”

  “No,” she answered instantly.

  “But, Ella, what were you doing in town?” asked John Bennett. “Did you go to see that wretched brother of yours?”

  Again the hesitation, and then:

  “No.”

  “Did you go by yourself?”

  “No,” said Ella, and her lip trembled. “I wish you wouldn’t ask me any further questions. I’m not a free agent in the matter. Daddy, you’ve always trusted me: you’ll trust me now, won’t you?”

  He took her hand and held it in both of his.

  “I’ll trust you always, girlie,” he said; “and these gentlemen must do the same.”

  Her challenging eyes met Dick’s, and he nodded.

  “I am one who will share that trust,” he said, and something in her look rewarded him.

  Elk rubbed his chin fiercely.

  “Being naturally of a trusting nature, I should no more think of doubting your word, Miss Bennett, than I should of believing myself.” He looked at his watch. “I think we’ll go along and fetch poor old Balder from the house of sin,” he said.

  “You’ll stop and have some breakfast?”

  Dick looked pleadingly at Elk, and the detective, with an air of resignation, agreed.

  “Anyway, Balder won’t mind an hour more or less,” he said. Whilst Ella was preparing the breakfast, Dick and Elk paced the road outside.

  “Well, what do you think of it, Captain?”

  “I don’t understand, but I have every confidence that Miss Bennett has not lied,” said Dick.

  “Faith is a wonderful thing,” murmured Elk, and Dick turned on him sharply.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean what I say. I have got faith in Miss Bennett,” he said soothingly; “and, after all, she’s only another little hit of the jigsaw puzzle that will fall into place when we fix the piece that’s shaped like a Frog. And John Bennett’s another.” he said after a moment’s thought.

  From where they stood they could see, looking toward Shoreham, the opening of the narrow Elsham Wood road.

  “The thing that puzzles me,” Elk was saying, “is why she should go into that wood in the middle of the night—” He stopped, lowering his head. There came to them the soft purr of a motor-car. “Where is that?” he asked.

  The question was answered instantly. Slowly there came into view from the wood road the bonnet of a car, followed immediately by the remainder of a large limousine, which turned toward them, gathering speed as it came. A moment later it flashed past them, and they saw the solitary occupant.

  “Well, I’m damned!” said Elk, who very infrequently indulged in profanity, but Dick felt that on this occasion at least he was justified. For the man in the limousine was the bearded Ezra Maitland; and he knew that it was to see Maitland that the girl had gone to Elsham Wood.

  XX.

  HAGN

  A minute later Ella came to the door to call them. “Was that a car went past?” she asked, and they detected a note of anxiety in her tone.

  “Yes,” said Elk, “it was a big car. Didn’t see who was in it, but it was a big car.”

  Dick heard her sigh of relief.

  “Will you come in, please?” she said. “Breakfast is waiting for you.”

  They left half an hour later, and each man was so busy with his own thoughts that Dick did not speak until they were passing the villas where the body of Genter had been found. It was near Horsham that Genter was killed, the remembered with a little shudder. Outside of Horsham he himself had seen the dead man’s feet extended beyond the back of a motor-van. Hagn should die for that; whether he was Frog or not, he was party to that murder. As if reading his thoughts, Elk turned to him and said:

  “Do you think your evidence is strong enough to hang Hagn?”

  “I was wondering,” said Dick. “There is no supporting evidence, unfortunately, but the car which you have under lock and key, and the fact that the garage keeper may be able to identify him.”

  “With his beard?” asked Elk significantly. “There is going to be some difficulty in securing a conviction against this frog, believe me, Captain Gordon. And unless old Balder induces him to make a statement, we shall have all the diffic
ulty in the world in convincing a jury. Personally,” he added, “if I was condemned to spend a night with Balder, I should tell the truth, if it was only to get rid of him. He’s a pretty clever fellow, is Balder. People don’t realize that—he has the makings of a first-class detective, if we could only get him to take a happier view of life.”

  He directed the driver to go straight to the door of Cannon Row.

  Dick’s mind was on another matter.

  “What did she want with Maitland?” he asked.

  Elk shook his head.

  “I don’t know,” he confessed. “Of course, she might have been persuading him to take back her brother, but old Maitland isn’t the kind of adventurer who’d get up in the middle of the night to discuss giving Ray Bennett his job back. If he was a younger man, yes. But he’s not young. He’s darned old. And he’s a wicked old man, who doesn’t care two cents whether Ray Bennett is working at his desk for so much per, or whether he’s breaking stones on Dartmoor. I tell you, that’s one of the minor mysteries which will be cleared up when we get the Frog piece in its place.”

  The car stopped at the entrance of Cannon Row police station, and the men jumped down. The desk sergeant stood up as they came in, and eyed them wonderingly.

  “I’m going to take Balder out, sergeant.”

  “Balder?” said the man in surprise. “I didn’t know Balder was in.”

  “I put him in with Hagn.”

  A light dawned upon the station official.

  “That’s queer. I didn’t know it was Balder,” he said. “I wasn’t on duty when he came in, but the other sergeant told me that a man had been put in with Hagn. Here is the gaoler.”

  That official came in at that moment, and was as astonished as the sergeant to learn the identity of the second prisoner.

  “I had no idea it was Balder, sir,” he said. “That accounts for the long talk they had—they were talking up till one o’clock.”

  “Are they still talking?” asked Elk.

  “No, sir, they’re sleeping now. I had a look at them a little time ago—you remember you gave me orders to leave them alone and not to go near them.”

  Dick Gordon and his subordinate followed the gaoler down a long passage faced with glazed brick, the wall of which was studded at intervals by narrow black doors. Reaching the end of the corridor, they turned at right angles. The second passage had only one door, and that was at the end. Snapping back the lock, the gaoler threw open the door, and Elk went in.

  Elk went to the first of the figures and pulled aside the blanket which covered the face. Then, with an oath, he drew the blanket clear.

  It was Balder, and he was lying on his back, covered from head to foot with a blanket. A silk scarf was twisted round his mouth; his wrists were not only handcuffed but strapped, as were his legs.

  Elk dashed at the second figure, but as he touched the blanket, it sank under his hands. A folded coat, to give resemblance to a human figure, a lair of battered shoes, placed artificially at the end of the blanket—these were all. Hagn had disappeared!

  When they got the man into Elk’s office, and had given him brandy, and Elk, by sheer bullying, had reduced him to coherence, Balder told his story.

  “I think it was round about two o’clock when it happened,” he said. “I’d been talking all the evening to this Hagn, though it was very clear to me, with my experience, that he spotted me the moment I came in, as a police officer, and was kidding me along all the evening. Still, I persevered, Mr. Elk. I’m the sort of man that never says die. That’s the peculiar thing about me—”

  “The peculiar thing about you,” said Elk wearily, “is your passionate admiration of Balder. Get on!”

  “Anyway, I did try,” said Balder in an injured voice; “and I thought I’d got over his suspicion, because he began talking about Frogs, and telling me that there was going to be a wireless call to all the heads to- night—that is, last night. He told me that Number Seven would never be captured, because he was too clever. He asked me how Mills had been killed, but I’m perfectly sure, the way he put the question, that he knew. We didn’t talk very much after one, and at a quarter past one I lay down, and I must have gone to sleep almost at once. The first thing I knew was that they were putting a gag in my mouth. I tried to struggle, but they held me—”

  “They?” said Elk. “How many were there?”

  “There may have been two or three—I’m not certain,” said Balder. “If it had been only two, I think I could have managed, for I am naturally strong. There must have been more. I only saw two besides Hagn.”

  “Was the cell door open?”

  “Yes, sir, it was ajar,” said Balder after he had considered a moment.

  “What did they look like?”

  “They were wearing long black overcoats, but they made no attempt to hide their faces. I should know them anywhere. They were young men—at least, one was. What happened after that I don’t know. They put a strap round my legs, pulled the blanket over me, and that’s all I saw or heard until the cell door closed. I have been lying there all night, sir, thinking of my wife and children …”

  Elk cut him short, and, leaving the man in charge of another police clerk, he went across to make a more careful examination of the cell. The two passages were shaped like a capital L, the special cell being at the end of the shorter branch. At the elbow was a barred door leading into the courtyard, where men waiting trial were loaded into the prison van and distributed to various places of detention. The warder sat at the top of the L, in a small glass-panelled cubby-hole, where the cell indicators were. Each cell was equipped with a bell-push in case of illness, and the signals showed in this tiny office. From where he sat, the warder commanded, not only a view of the passage, but a side view of the door. Questioned, he admitted that he had been twice into the charge room for a few minutes at a time; once when a man arrested for drunkenness had demanded to see a doctor, and another time, about half-past two in the morning, to take over a burglar who had been captured in the course of the night.

  “And, of course, it was during that time that the men got away,” said Elk.

  The door into the courtyard was locked but not bolted. It could be opened from either side. The cell door could also open from both sides. In this respect it differed from every other cell in the station; but the explanation was that it was frequently used for important prisoners, whom it was necessary to subject to lengthy interrogations; and the lock had been chosen to give the police officers who were inside an opportunity of leaving the cell when they desired, without calling for the gaoler. The lock had not been picked, neither had the lock of the yard door.

  Elk sent immediately for the policemen who were on duty at either entrance of Scotland Yard. The officer who was on guard at the Embankment entrance had seen nobody. The man at the Whitehall opening remembered seeing an inspector of police pass out at half-past two. He was perfectly sure the officer was an inspector, because he wore the hanging sword-belt, and the policeman had seen the star on his shoulder and had saluted him—a salute which the officer had returned.

  “This may or may not be one of them,” said Elk. “If it is, what happened to the other two?”

  But here evidence failed. The men had disappeared as though they had dissipated into air.

  “We’re going to get a roasting for this, Captain Gordon,” said Elk; “and if we escape without being scorched, we’re lucky. Fortunately, nobody but ourselves knows that Hagn has been arrested; and when I say ‘ourselves,’ I wish I meant it! You had better go home and go to bed; I had some sleep in the night. If you’ll wait while I send this bleating clerk of mine home to his well-advertised wife and family, I’ll walk home with you.”

  Dick was waiting on the edge of Whitehall when Elk joined him.

  “There will be a departmental inquiry, of course. We can’t help that,” he said. “The only thing t
hat worries me is that I’ve got poor old Balder into bad odour, and I was trying to put him right. I don’t know what the experience of the Boy Scouts is,” he went off at a tangent, “but my own is that the worst service you can render to any man is to try to do him a good turn.”

  It was now nearly ten o’clock, and Dick was feeling faint with hunger and lack of sleep, for he had eaten nothing at Horsham. Once or twice, as they walked toward Harley Terrace, Elk looked back over his shoulder.

  “Expecting anybody?” asked Dick, suddenly alive to the possibility of danger.

  “No-o, not exactly,” said Elk. “But I’ve got a hunch that we’re being followed.”

  “I saw a man just now who I thought was following us,” said Dick, “a man in a fawn raincoat.”

  “Oh, him?” said Elk, indifferent alike to the rules of grammar and the presence of his shadow. “That is one of my men. There’s another on the other side of the road. I’m not thinking of them, my mind for the moment being fixed on Frogs. Do you mind if we cross the road?” he asked hurriedly, and, without waiting for a reply, caught Gordon’s arm and led him across the broad thoroughfare. “I always object to walking on the same side of a street as the traffic runs. I like to meet traffic; it’s not good to be overtaken. I thought so!”

  A small Ford van, painted with the name of a laundry, which had been crawling along behind them, suddenly spurted and went ahead at top speed. Elk followed the car with his eyes until it reached the Trafalgar Square end of Whitehall. Instead of branching left toward Pall Mall or right to the Strand, the van swung round in a half-circle and came back to meet them. Elk half turned and made a signal.

  “This is where we follow the example of the chicken,” said Elk, and made another hurried crossing.