The body spun into a corner and lay still.
Copper brushed his hands together as if they had been made unclean by the contact. He looked down dispassionately at the fallen man. "That ought ter learn 'em," he observed calmly. "Blimy! What a set-up. What do they reckon this is—Guy Fawkes' Day?"
Gimlet picked up the mask that had been torn from its wearer and examined it curiously.
It was a hideous thing, even in the light, with bared fangs and a lolling red tongue. "Very pretty," he remarked cynically. "It had a dual purpose. Apart from anything else it's a gas mask." With a sneer of disgust he tossed the mask into the nearest chair.
Copper looked amazed. "Did they reckon that thing was going to scare us?"
"Probably," returned Gimlet. "I don't mind admitting that I got a nasty jolt when I opened my eyes and saw these monsters gazing down at me. Let's have a look at what we've caught."
The two unconscious men were stretched out side by side on the floor. The second gas mask was removed and the face thus revealed. Both were young men—neither more than twenty, Cub judged. One wore a grey suit, the other a dark blue porter's uniform—
evidently the man who had delivered the attache case.
"Go through their pockets and truss them before they come round," ordered Gimlet. "
Better carry them into the bedroom, in case some member of the hotel staff should come along."
With the blind-cord the two Werewolves were tied up securely, commando fashion, and carried into the next room. While this was being done Gimlet telephoned the General at headquarters. There was a brief delay, for, as was to be expected, the General was in bed. However, he was soon at the instrument.
"This is King speaking, from the Europa,'-' Gimlet told him, speaking quickly. "We've just picked up a couple of stray wolves, out for blood. You had better take care of them, so will you send round and collect the bodies? Yes, right away . . . room thirty, on the first floor. Be as quick as you can because things are still on the move. We may need a spare car. Yes, we'll wait. Right-ho, sir." Gimlet hung up.
In the brief interval of silence that followed these words there came a sound, a sound so slight that had Cub's nerves not been screwed up he might not have noticed it. It came from the door. Switching his eyes in that direction he thought he saw the handle move slightly. He was not sure. Silence, a silence brittle with sudden tension, returned.
Gimlet had evidently heard the sound for he laid a finger on his lips. They all stared at the door. Then Gimlet took a pace forward, holding out a hand to Cub for the key. As he moved there came another sound. This time it was a knock. Not the bold confident knock of a visitor with a definite purpose, but rather, a gentle tap.
Gimlet advanced, inserted the key noiselessly, turned it and opened the door.
CHAPTER Iv
A CHASE AND A CRASH
A MAN stood on the threshold; a man loosely clad in a dark red silk dressing gown. Cub, who could see his face distinctly, judged him to be in the early fifties. He was shortish, heavily built without being fat, bald in front and wore an iron-grey close-trimmed beard.
His expression was one of apologetic concern. When he spoke he expressed himself fluently, although with a curious, slight, trans-Atlantic accent.
"Sorry to trouble you at this late hour, but I have a very devil of a headache just come on,
" he announced, after an almost imperceptible pause. "Have you by any chance got a couple of aspirins? My room is next door," he added by way of explanation. The man sniffed, twisting his nose, as if he had a cold coming.
"Sorry I can't help you, but I don't use them," answered Gimlet evenly.
The visitor smiled wanly. "Thank you. In that case I shall have to ring for the night porter and send him out for some. Sorry to have troubled you. Goodnight." He turned away.
"Don't mention it," murmured Gimlet, and closed the door. The instant this was done he turned to face the others. For a moment he stared at them with a queer expression on his face. "You heard that?" he breathed. "Unless my imagination is fooling me that inquiry had a phoney ring about it. It's hardly the time to knock up a complete stranger and ask for aspirins. Did you notice the pause before he spoke? He gave me the impression of finding something he didn't expect; he recovered quickly and trotted out the aspirin story; but it took him half a second to think of that excuse. I could almost swear he tried our door before he knocked. I have an uncomfortable feeling that our two Werewolves were not alone in the hotel. There's another down in the street. Cub, slip down and take up a position near that taxi. You may see something. Watch your step.
These wolves have teeth with venom in them."
With a wave of understanding Cub departed. Outside the sitting room he paused instinctively to glance up and down the heavily-carpeted corridor; and in that moment he thought he heard a door close softly. As there was some twenty doors along the corridor there was nothing particularly significant in this; it might have been any one of the doors; but in the circumstances, to Cub at that moment any sound would have been suspicious.
Hardly knowing why, he slipped into a convenient housemaid's pantry, and there he stood, listening, expectant. All he could hear was an indistinct murmur of voices in Gimlet's apartment.
He waited for perhaps a minute. Nothing happened. He was about to move on when the door of room thirty-one, the room next to Gimlet's, opened, and the head of the man who had asked for aspirins was thrust out. He, too, took a swift glance up and down the corridor; then three swift steps took him to the door of room thirty. He no longer wore the dressing gown, but was fully dressed in a dark lounge suit. For about half a minute he stood outside Gimlet's door, listening. This apparently was sufficient for his purpose, for moving quickly and noiselessly he returned to his own room, the door of which he had left ajar. In order to enter he had to push it wide open, and in the brief interval of time occupied by this minor operation Cub observed, inside the room, a conspicuous object. It was a trunk; a big, old-fashioned receptacle made of stiffened fabric, painted black.
There is nothing remarkable about a trunk in a hotel bedroom; it is in fact the rule rather than the exception, and at the time it merely struck Cub as odd that such an unwieldy piece of luggage should be parked in the middle of the floor instead of against the wall, where one would expect it to be and where it would be out of the way. Cub was to remember this later. At the moment he had other matters to occupy his mind. He was ma quandary. His duty lay outside, with the taxi under observation, for those were Gimlet's orders. In view of what he had just witnessed he was tempted to continue watching room thirty-one, or at least warn Gimlet of the suspicious behaviour of the man next door.
However, after a moment's reflection he decided that obedience to orders must overrule personal inclinations so he hastened down to the street.
The taxi was still there. As he sauntered past it he observed that the driver was in a curious position. He was still in his seat, but he was bending forward and at the same time staring upward slightly to the left. It was at once evident to Cub that the man was watching the front upper windows of the hotel. Nothing else could account for such a posture. So as soon as he was behind the cab he looked up over his shoulder to see what it was that engaged the driver's attention. He was just in time to see a tiny red light flash three times from one of the windows on the first floor. That this was in the nature of a signal was at once apparent, for the driver settled back in his seat and put his engine into gear. Who had made the signal did not for the moment matter, but it was evidently a warning and the taxi driver was acting on it. He was moving off. This, reasoned Cub swiftly, meant that Gimlet's plan of impersonation in order to track the vehicle to its destination had miscarried. Neither he nor Copper nor Trapper had appeared. Copper, from his position at the sitting-room window might have seen the taxi start to move, but he would know nothing of the red light. By the time these thoughts had flashed through Cub's brain the taxi was gliding away. After turning in a tight circle it he
aded in the direction of Piccadilly Circus.
At this critical stage of the proceedings, when it seemed certain that the taxi would fade out of the picture, by what
Cub imagined at the time to be a stroke of luck, two cars pulled up near the hotel entrance. From the rear one a man alighted and walked briskly towards the hotel. Cub, concerned only with keeping the taxi in sight, made a bee-line for the vacated vehicle.
There was no time for explanations. The owner of the car turned as Cub settled himself in the driving seat and slammed the door; he gave a cry of alarm and ran back; but he was too late. Cub was on the move. And it must be admitted that having turned in the wake of the taxi, now a hundred yards distant, he gave no further thought to the man whose place he had so brazenly usurped. Putting his foot down on the accelerator he closed up a little on his quarry which, he did not fail to notice, was travelling faster than might be expected of a taxi plying for hire.
The pursuit that followed was never a chase. The taxi went on at a steady thirty miles an hour with Cub varying his distance behind from forty to sixty yards. His problem was how to be sure of maintaining contact without making it obvious to the taxi driver that he was being followed. If he dropped too far behind he might be cut off by traffic lights, or by a policeman on point duty. If he got too near and remained in that position the driver could hardly fail to notice him. However, none of these things happened. The taxi went on, crossed Trafalgar Square, cruised down Whitehall and at the bottom turned left along the Embankment. Here it increased speed and was soon at the approaches of the East End.
Just where they were when the pursuit ended abruptly Cub did not know at the time, except that he was in the district of Limehouse. He was sailing along, quite content, with his quarry in plain view. As he admitted later, the thought that he himself might be followed did not occur to him; yet such must have been the case. The first intimation he had of it was when a big dark-painted car, travelling in the same direction, overtook him, turned in towards the curb and forced him into the gutter. The thing happened so quickly that his first thought, not an unnatural one, was that he was the victim of an accident due to the atrocious driving of the man in the overtaking car; but when the car persisted in its pull to the left, forcing him on to the pavement, he realised with a shock that this was no mischance. It was being deliberately staged. Of course he jammed on his brakes, which was all he could do; but it was too late. A street lamp standard loomed up. There was no way of avoiding it. His radiator rammed it with a crash that flung him forward against the instrument panel. Luckily the car did not turn over. There was another crash, mingled with the tinkle of shattered glass, as the street lamp fell across the pavement. The car that had caused the damage did not stop.
Slightly dazed, muttering incoherently with rage and mortification, Cub scrambled out of the wrecked car, by which time the vehicle that had caused the mischief was thirty yards away, accelerating. But he could still see the registration plate. MAL747, he read, and repeated the number thrice to commit it to memory. There was nothing more he could do. One or two pedestrians appeared, then the inevitable policeman, calm and unhurried. He took out his notebook and approached Cub with the imperturbable confidence of a metropolitan guardian of the law. But before he could start asking questions another car drew up. Out of it, to Cub's infinite astonishment, stepped Gimlet.
"How did it happen?" inquired Gimlet curtly.
Cub told him.
"How long ago was this?"
"Two or three minutes."
Gimlet shrugged. "Then it's no use going on. The car and the taxi will have a lead of a mile or more. They could be anywhere by now. We may as well go back."
By this time Copper and Trapper had joined Gimlet and the policeman had confronted the party. The authority of Gimlet's green police pass was instantly apparent when he produced it. The constable s manner changed to one of respectful obedience. What could he do, he asked. Gimlet told him to take charge of the wrecked car pending further instructions and left it at that. The policeman did not question the order.
Then they all got into the undamaged car and headed back for the West End.
As they travelled, at Gimlet's request Cub narrated precisely what had happened since he left the hotel. He then learned with surprise that the car he had purloined was, in fact, a police car, on the strength of General Craig. Of the two cars that had driven up just as the taxi left the hotel one contained the General and two plain-clothes policemen of his staff, who, as requested, had come to collect the prisoners. The other car, the one Cub had "
borrowed," was the spare transport that Gimlet had asked for.
It turned out that Copper had seen quite a lot from the window. He had seen the taxi drive off, although knowing nothing about the red danger signal he did not know why.
He had seen Cub grab the vacated car and had reported this to Gimlet, with the result that they had hurried down the stairs and followed in the General's car, leaving the General to take care of the prisoners. Gimlet had had bad luck near London Bridge, being twice held up by horse-drawn lorries, otherwise he would have overtaken Cub earlier. As it was he had lost him, and was hunting for him without any real hope of success when he had come upon the crash.
"In view of what you saw it seems practically certain that the fellow who has the room next to mine in the hotel is one of the Werewolf pack, even if he isn't actually one of the operatives," remarked Gimlet as they turned into Piccadilly. It must have been he who signalled to the taxi to pull out. We'll inquire about him when we get back."
"It was hard to tell from the street which was our window, consequently I couldn't locate the signal," explained Cub.
"We'll talk the thing over when we get inside," asserted Gimlet, as they slowed down at the hotel entrance. "I imagine the General will still be here, waiting to learn what all this is about. Just a minute." He walked over to the reception office. He was soon back.
When he returned he murmured: "Our interesting friend is Professor Wenson—at least, that's the name he has registered under. We'll call on him presently.
As Gimlet had predicted, the General was waiting, with his police assistants from headquarters. The two Werewolves, no longer figures of fear now they were stripped of their masks, lay on the floor, half covered by a blanket from the bed. They lay very still.
Indeed, they lay so still that Gimlet stared hard at them before turning questioning eyes to the General.
"Have you had a word with them?" he asked.
The General shook his head. "They didn't give me a chance." "What do you mean by that?" asked Gimlet tersely, still staring.
"They're dead."
"Dead?"
"That's what I said. They killed themselves."
"How?"
"Poison. The divisional doctor has seen them. Each has a loose tooth in his head. The doctor is of opinion that the tooth could be unscrewed with the tongue and poison thus released. It should give you an idea of what we are up against. Succeed or die is the Werewolf creed. The blood-waggon is on its way to take them to the mortuary."
"You've searched them, I suppose?"
"Thoroughly."
"Find anything?"
"Only these." The General held out two curious squat objects.
"What are they?"
"Gas pistols. They were ready for emergencies. Each carried one under his coat, concealed under the left armpit. I haven't seen this type before. I'll get our expert at the Yard to make a report on them, but we can be quite sure that they are deadly.
Apart from the pistols they carried nothing. And when I say nothing I mean nothing.
There isn't a mark of any sort on their clothes."
Gimlet nodded. "All right, let's deal with the living. I have reason to suppose that the man next door—he calls himself Professor Wenson—is associated with the wolf-pack. I'
m going in to have a word with him right away." He described the man's suspicious behaviour, mentioning the red danger signal and the tru
nk.
Cub stepped into the conversation. He addressed Gimlet. "I think I know what the trunk was for," he said. "It's just occurred to me. I fancy it explains how you were to be carried out of the hotel. That trunk was plenty big enough to hold a body."
Gimlet drew a deep breath. "By gad! You've hit it." He looked at the General. "It's time we called on this gentleman."
"I agree," said the General.
Without further parley the party went outside and walked along the corridor until they stood outside room thirty-one. The door was ajar. Someone was moving about inside.
Gimlet pushed the door wide open. A night-porter, who appeared to be tidying up the room, swung round.
"It's all right. We were looking for Professor Wenson," stated Gimlet.
"He's just checked out, sir," answered the man.
Gimlet frowned. "How long ago?"
"About twenty minutes."
"Funny time to check out of an hotel, isn't it?"
"That's what I thought."
"And he took his luggage with him, I see."
"Yes, sir. I got him a taxi and carried his stuff down." "One of his pieces of luggage was a trunk, I believe?" "That's right, sir."
04 Gimlet Mops Up Page 4
