"Please proceed, doctor," he ordered.
Cub, of course, had everything to fear; and he had an increasing feeling that Wenson knew it, or suspected it. He was in a trap and it was not easy to see how he could get out of it. These people would do as they had threatened. He had heard of the drug such as Wenson had described. They would not hesitate to use it; of that he had no doubt at all.
They would do anything to achieve their purpose. If he struggled he would be more likely to hurt himself than the four men who stood about him. His pistol was in his pocket. But these men would also be armed. He might shoot one of them, or even two, but he could not reasonably hope to kill four men before he himself was brought down.
Apart from that he was by no means sure that the circumstances justified wholesale homicide.
Hands closed over his arms. Instinctively he began to struggle to free himself, even though in his heart he knew that such efforts would be futile. The doctor, ignoring the commotion, had put a bottle on the desk and was calmly sterilizing a hypodermic needle.
At this critical juncture the door was burst open with some violence, and Copper strode in. "What goes on here?" he demanded.
Silence fell. Movement stopped. Wenson glared. "Who are you?" he demanded harshly.
"What's that got to do with you?" flared Copper. "A pal of mine came into your lousy tabernacle and he didn't come out, so I came in to see why. What's all the fuss about?"
It was, Cub perceived, a curious state of affairs. Wenson did nothing, perhaps because he did not know how to meet a
circumstance for which he had made no provision. The others, not daring to act on their own initiative, waited for a signal from their chief. The signal did not come.
"They were proposing to initiate me into their Brotherhood," Cub explained to Copper.
"Pah! Don't make me laugh," sneered Copper. "You told me you were coining with me to Hampstead Heath. What are you messing about here for? If I hadn't happened to see you drift into the church I shouldn't have known where you were. Come on, we ain't got no time ter lose if we're a'goin'."
For a moment the situation hung in the balance. Wenson, Cub could see, had been taken in by Copper's off-hand manner. Or if he was not entirely taken in he was in doubt. In any case, now, a fight would be a different matter from what it would have been before Copper arrived.
In the end Wenson did nothing. Accepting defeat he put the best possible face on it. "
Very well," he said in a hard voice. "This is disgraceful behaviour on a Sunday morning."
"You asked for it," returned Copper carelessly. "Come on, kid, let's get cracking."
Cub backed out of the room. Copper followed, and with a swift movement slammed the door behind him. Together, keeping close watch behind them, they strode down the aisle, opened the door and went out into the street.
"Phew!" gasped Cub, "You were just about in time." "You're telling me!"
"That bunch had got me where they wanted me." "That's what I reckoned when you didn'
t come out." "How did you get in?"
"Through a window—no trouble at all."
"It's a Werewolf nest all right. That fellow at the desk was Wenson, the man we saw at the Europa."
"I've got eyes, ain't I?"
"The question is," muttered Cub as they strode on down the street to where they had left the car, "what will Wenson do now?"
"Search me."
"He'll be reluctant to abandon his headquarters while he thinks there is a chance that we were a genuine pair of casuals.
You put on a great act. I don't think he recognised us." 'No?"
"In that case he may hang on for a bit to see what happens." "That'd suit us."
"They've got a sick man there—that wounded Werewolf, I imagine. The place stinks of iodoform. The doctor is there, too."
"So I saw. I spotted his car higher up the street after you'd gone in. That in itself was cnough to make me anxious."
They got into the car.
"Well, what are we goin' ter do?" demanded Copper.
Cub thought hard. "We can do one of two things," he decided. "We could ring the General and ask him to tell the police to raid the place. The only thing about that is, the raid would take a little while to organize. If Wenson does take fright, by that time he would have bolted and we should simply show our hand for nothing. The raid would do more harm than good, because we should lose touch with the enemy. Even if we got Wenson I'm not sure that we should have done anything very clever. He isn't the head man. He isn't big enough. He's no more than a section leader. It's the king-pin Gimlet's after. The only other thing we can do is to head for Lorrington, tell Gimlet what has happened, and leave the decision to him."
"That sounds more like it ter me," said Copper, nodding. "On second thoughts, there is a middle course," resumed Cub pensively.
"I'm listening."
"We could keep an eye on the chapel for a bit in the hope of finding out definitely what happens. After all, it won't be much use going to Gimlet not knowing whether the church has been abandoned or not. The first thing he'll want to know is whether the wolves are still there or if they've pulled out. If they go we might with luck keep track of them.
"That's better, agreed Copper. "We ain't in no hurry. The flower show ain't till ter-morrow."
"Okay, then, we'll do that. Move the car along to the end of the street so that we can watch the church."
The car was moved so that a window commanded a view up the street in which the chapel was situated.
"The doctor's car is still there, anyway," observed Copper. "That's it, on the right, about a hundred yards up. Just a mo', though. I wonder if there's a back entrance to the chapel. If there is they might slip out without us spotting them. You stay here while I go and find out."
Copper was away about ten minutes. He returned with the information that there was a way out to the rear, although it was only a narrow path.
"Could a car get through it?" asked Cub.
"No—why?"
"Because if they go they'll have to use a car," Cub pointed out. "They've got a wounded man on their hands, don't forget. The wound will have stiffened by now, particularly if that doctor has had to take a bullet out of the fellow Gimlet hit."
"Aye, that's right enough."
An hour passed. Nothing happened. Cub began to fidget. For one thing, he was getting hungry. "I'll tell you what," he suggested. "I think we ought to let the General know how things are going. I'll slip along to a call box and 'phone him. Then I'll have a bite to eat at a cafe and come back.
"Okay. Bring me a sandwich and a packet of gaspers."
Cub went off, made his report to the General who confirmed that they had done the right thing in keeping the chapel under observation, had a snack at a coffee shop and returned to the
car with Copper's sandwiches and cigarettes. He was away about an hour.
Copper had only one item of news. The doctor had gone off in his car, alone.
"Fine. I take that to mean that the others have decided to stay," said Cub. "Had they been going to pull out I reckon the doctor would have had to take his patient with him. We'll go on watching for a bit."
To pass the time Cub narrated in detail what had happened in the chapel from the time of his entry. He also told him what the newsagent had said and showed him the advertisement in the paper, which he still had in his pocket. "It looks as if it all boils down to this," he concluded. 'The chapel is a Werewolf depot, although I do not think it is the general headquarters. It was probably a spy hang-out during the war. When the day comes that we raid the place we shall find radio there. The church service is, of course, sheer bunkum. When a service is advertised the spies who have anything to report come in. The information is dropped into the offertory bag—all very simple. The doctor was in this country during the war. We may assume, I think, that he was a spy. Now, whether he likes it or not, he's in the Werewolf racket. If the chapel is, in fact, equipped as a spy depot, one can understa
nd that Wenson would be reluctant to lose it."
The afternoon wore on. The short November day began to close in.
"We shan't be able to watch from here much longer," Copper pointed out.
The truth of this was evident. "If they haven't gone by now then we can pretty well take it for certain that Wenson s decided to stay, averred Cub.
"They may have slipped out down that back way," said Copper anxiously.
"I could soon settle that," answered Cub.
"How?" "By knocking on the door."
Copper started. "Are you nuts?"
Cub smiled. "No. I could just go along and say that I was sorry about the rumpus this morning. Apart from giving us the information we want that would do good because it would help to settle any uneasiness that Wenson may feel. I mean, it should help to convince him that my visit this morning was all straight and above board. He was suspicious of me—but then, in his line of business he would be suspicious of any stranger. I'll drift along."
"Don't you go inside," ordered Copper crisply.
Cub laughed. "I'm not likely to."
He strode quickly up the street to the chapel, stopped at the door and knocked. There was a short delay in which, he thought—he wasn't sure—that someone was inspecting him from a window. Then the door was opened by Wenson himself.
"Well, now what is it?" he asked sharply.
"I just called in passing, sir, to apologise for my friend's rowdy behaviour this morning,"
said Cub meekly. "He's got a silly idea that I can't take care of myself. Perhaps I was wrong to keep him waiting. I'm sorry about the whole business."
Wenson drew a deep breath that might have been relief. "That's all right," he replied. "I understand. It was courteous of you to call. Won't you come in?"
"Not now, thanks; I've got to get home," answered Cub evenly. "Maybe I'll come to the service another day, when I'm on my own.
"Do," invited Wenson. "You will be welcome." Cub backed away. "Good-night, sir."
"Good-night."
The door closed.
Whistling, Cub walked back to the car. "It's okay," he told Copper. "Wenson's still there, which means he must be staying. At least, he raised no objection when I said I'd attend another service later on."
"I'll bet he didn't," growled Copper. "When I saw you talking to him at the door I broke into a sweat. I wouldn't trust that murdering rat inside the length of a barge pole of me."
"Neither would I," returned Cub cheerfully.
"Well, what do we do now?"
"I think for a start we ought to go back to headquarters for a word With the General,"
decided Cub. "Then we'll have a night's rest. In the morning we'll run down to Lorrington to see how the others are getting on."
"Suits me," agreed Copper. CHAPTER X
WHAT HAPPENED AT LORRINGTON
IN spite of an early start, it was four o'clock when, the following evening, in deep twilight Copper brought the car to a a skidding stop at the front entrance of Lorrington Hall. Iced roads had caused the delay. Cub pulled the bell, only to learn that Gimlet and Trapper were then at the prizegiving in the village hall. They hastened on. Leaving the car in the street, where several others were parked, they made their way into the hall.
It was full; packed to suffocation. Clearly, the annual prizegiving was an event not to be missed. Not without difficulty Copper and Cub found standing room at the back.
When their eyes had become accustomed to the bright electric light, through a cloud of slowly rising tobacco smoke, Cub could just make out Gimlet on the stage, the central figure of a line of people of both sexes, seated in chairs. Cub's eyes roved over the scene.
Trapper he could not see, but assumed that he was sitting somewhere in front. For the rest, the gathering was, as might have been expected, almost entirely composed of farmers and farm hands, with a sprinkling of artizans who, apparently, were gardening enthusiasts.
"I don't think Gimlet can get far wrong here," said Copper to Cub in a low voice. He was also surveying the picture.
"If the Werewolves know about this, they might try to get him between here and the Hall, when he goes home," opined Cub thoughtfully.
"Not if Trapper is with him," declared Copper confidently. "I'll het Trapper has got a finger on the trigger all the time,"
At that moment Gimlet rose to speak. He was given a
boisterous greeting, with hand clapping and cheering. Copper glanced at Cub and winked. "Sounds as if the
Skipper's kind of popular in his little home town. Am I right?" Cub smiled. "You certainly are."
"No use tryin' ter talk to im till the speech-makin's over, I reckon."
"No, we shall have to wait."
"I hope he ain't goin' ter be long, that's all. 'E's got more important business to attend to."
Gimlet, who had waited for the welcome he was receiving to subside, raised a hand.
Silence fell. Nothing happened. The silence became embarrassing. Twice Gimlet opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came.
Copper stared, frowning. "What's the matter with 'im?" he asked sharply, in a hoarse whisper.
By what was obviously an effort, Gimlet managed to get out the words, "Ladies. . . and. .
. gentlemen. . " His voice trailed away, and he swayed suddenly.
"There's somethin' wrong 'ere," rasped Copper.
"You're telling me," returned Cub tersely.
Before either of them could speak again the lights went out.
There was a brief silence; then the audience reacted as it usually does in such circumstances. There came a buzz of conversation that mounted to something like disorder. Some people laughed, as if the thing were a joke. Some tried to get out. Others shouted, "Sit still!" A few of the men struck matches. Others held up lighted petrol lighters, although the light they gave was futile.
Cub's first thought was, naturally, that the lights had fused; that the thing was a simple accident. But hard on the heels of this sprang a doubt, a doubt which grew to appre hension. It gave him a sinking feeling in the stomach. Was it an accident? Accident or not, it was a contingency that had not been foreseen, and it was in a fever of impatience that he waited for the lights to go on again. His eyes tried to probe the gloom, but except in the limited areas of light given by the petrol lighters and matches it was impossible to see what was going on. The stage was in total darkness. He had a feeling that he ought to do something, but it was hard to know what could be done. It was obviously too early to give way to anything like panic.
"I don't like this," he told Copper tersely.
Copper grabbed him by the arm. "Hang on to me," he ordered. "If once we get separated in this mob we shall never get together again. It might be a pukka accident."
"And it might not," answered Cub anxiously. "Let's try to reach the stage."
This was easier said than done, but Copper, heedless of expostulations, ploughed a way down a side gangway. Cub, by keeping close behind him, as a tug hangs in the wake of a big liner, found the going fairly easy. This went on for about five minutes, by which time he judged that they were somewhere near the front row.
Suddenly Copper shouted."Trapper ! Trapper,where are you?"
The lights, as suddenly as they had been extinguished, came on again. The first person Cub recognised was Trapper. He was on the stage, one hand in a side pocket, looking about him. But Gimlet was not there. His chair was vacant.
Copper vaulted on to the stage. He caught Trapper by the arm. 'Where is he?" he rapped out.
"He's gone," snapped Trapper. "Who would think—"
"Which is the quickest way out of this place?" broke in Cub, who realised that they could do no good in the hall.
"This way." Trapper pointed to a stage exit. "That's the way we came in."
"Then let's get out of this," said Copper grimly.
A nervous-looking curate tried to bar their way, but Copper thrust him aside. "Sorry, mate, but I'm in a hurry," he flung back over his shoulder.
Half-a-dozen strides and they were in the open air. There, after the babble inside, things were comparatively quiet. "Gimlet!" called Copper sharply.
There was no answer.
"They've got him," declared Cub. "He wouldn't have left the hall voluntarily."
"Where do we start looking?" muttered Copper. He asked the question hopelessly, for night had now fallen. To make things worse, they did not know their way about. "Gimlet!
" shouted Copper again.
The only answer was the sharp purr of an engine as a car, apparently in the street, was started up.
"After that car!" cried Copper, and started running towards it.
He was too late. A big touring car slipped out of the rank and accelerating swiftly sped up the road. Cub tried to see the number plate, but could not, for the rear light was dim and the plate was smothered with mud.
"Sacre! I'd say he's in that car," asserted Trapper.
"The trouble is, we ain't sure of it," returned Copper. He looked at Cub helplessly. "Well, what are we going to do?"
Cub thought for a few moments and then made up his mind. "We'll have a look inside the hall. If he isn't there, we can assume that he has been taken away by force. If he was taken by force then obviously the Werewolves are responsible. They'll murder him unless we prevent it. I should say Trapper is right; he was in that car that just went off"
"We might overtake it," said Copper quickly.
"Yes, we might," agreed Cub. "But if they realise that they are being followed they'll probably kill the Skipper and chuck him out. Once having got him in their hands they won't let him go alive. That's the snag. If it conies to a show-down the first thing they'll do is kill Gimlet. Our best chance, as far as I can see, is to try to track the car to its destination and do something then. Of course, we can't track the car literally.
We can only guess where it has gone. As it started up the west road it had probably gone to London. The only Werewolf depot that we know of in London is the chapel. We might try it. If he isn't there, we're sunk. There is just a hope that they may have taken him there. He isn't here, that's certain, so it's no use staying. We might as well tell the parson, or whoever is in charge of things inside, that Gimlet won't be coming back. We needn't go into explanations."
04 Gimlet Mops Up Page 9
