by John Buchan
He shambled into the room, a huge hulking figure of a man, with the thickness of chest which under happier circumstances might have made him a terror in the prize-ring. His features wore a heavy scowl which slowly cleared to a flicker of recognition.
‘By God, it’s the lawyer-chap,’ he muttered.
I pointed to the glass of champagne. ‘I don’t mind if I do,’ he said. ‘ ’Ere’s ’ealth!’ He swallowed the wine at a gulp and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘ ’Ave a drop yourself, guv’nor,’ he added. ‘A glass of bubbly will cheer you up.’
‘Well, Mr Docken,’ I said, ‘I hope I see you fit.’ I was getting wonderfully collected now that the suspense was over.
‘Pretty fair, sir. Pretty fair. Able to do my day’s work like an honest man.’
‘And what brings you here?’
‘A little job I’m on. Some friends of mine wants you out of the road for a bit and they’ve sent me to fetch you. It’s a bit of luck for you that you’ve struck a friend. We needn’t ’ave no unpleasantness, seein’ we’re both what you might call men of the world.’
‘I appreciate the compliment,’ I said. ‘But where do you propose to take me?’
‘Dunno. It’s some lay near the Docks. I’ve got a motor-car waitin’ at the back of the ’ouse.’
‘But supposing I don’t want to go?’
‘My orders admits no excuse,’ he said solemnly. ‘You’re a sensible chap, and can see that in a scrap I could down you easy.’
‘Very likely,’ I said. ‘But, man, you must be mad to talk like that. Downstairs there is a dining-room full of people. I have only to lift my voice to bring the police.’
‘You’re a kid,’ he said scornfully. ‘Them geysers downstairs are all in the job. That was a flat-catching rig to get you up here so as you wouldn’t suspect nothing. If you was to go down now – which you ain’t going to be allowed to do – you wouldn’t find a blamed soul in the place. I must say you’re a bit softer than I ’oped after the ’andsome way you talked over yon old juggins with the wig at Maidstone.’
Mr Docken took the bottle from the wine-cooler and filled himself another glass.
It sounded horribly convincing. If I was to be kidnapped and smuggled away, Lumley would have scored half a success. Not the whole; for, as I swiftly reflected, I had put Felix on the track of Tuke, and there was every chance that Tommy and Pitt-Heron would be saved. But for myself it looked pretty black. The more my scheme succeeded the more likely the Power-House would be to wreak its vengeance on me once I was spirited from the open-air world into its dark labyrinths. I made a great effort to keep my voice even and calm.
‘Mr Docken,’ I said, ‘I once did you a good turn. But for me you might be doing time now instead of drinking champagne like a gentleman. Your pals played you a pretty low trick and that was why I stuck out for you. I didn’t think you were the kind of man to forget a friend.’
‘No more I am,’ said he. ‘The man who says Bill Docken would go back on a pal is a liar.’
‘Well, here’s your chance to pay your debts. The men who employ you are my deadly enemies and want to do me in. I’m not a match for you. You’re a stronger fellow and can drag me off and hand me over to them. But if you do I’m done with. Make no mistake about that. I put it to you as a decent fellow. Are you going to go back on the man who has been a good friend to you?’
He shifted from one foot to another with his eyes on the ceiling. He was obviously in difficulties. Then he tried another glass of champagne.
‘I dursn’t, guv’nor. I dursn’t let you go. Them I work for would cut my throat as soon as look at me. Besides, it ain’t no good. If I was to go off and leave you there’d be plenty more in this ’ouse as would do the job. You’re up against it, guv’nor. But take a sensible view and come with me. They don’t mean you no real ’arm. I’ll take my Bible oath on it. Only to keep you quiet for a bit, for you’ve run across one of their games. They won’t do you no ’urt if you speak ’em fair. Be a sport and take it smiling-like.’
‘You’re afraid of them,’ I said.
‘Yuss. I’m afraid. Black afraid. So would you be if you knew the gents. I’d rather take on the whole Rat Lane crowd – you know them as I mean – on a Saturday night when they’re out for business than go back to my gents and say as ’ow I had shirked the job.’
He shivered. ‘Good Lord, they’d freeze the ’eart out of a bull-pup.’
‘You’re afraid,’ I said slowly. ‘So you’re going to give me up to the men you’re afraid of to do as they like with me. I never expected it of you, Bill. I thought you were the kind of lad who would send any gang to the devil before you’d go back on a pal.’
‘Don’t say that,’ he said almost plaintively. ‘You don’t ’alf know the ’ole I’m in.’ His eye seemed to be wandering, and he yawned deeply.
Just then a great noise began below. I heard a voice speaking, a loud peremptory voice. Then my name was shouted: ‘Leithen! Leithen! Are you there?’
There could be no mistaking that stout Yorkshire tongue. By some miracle Chapman had followed me and was raising Cain downstairs.
My heart leaped with the sudden revulsion. ‘I’m here,’ I yelled. ‘Upstairs. Come up and let me out!’
Then I turned with a smile of triumph to Bill.
‘My friends have come,’ I said. ‘You’re too late for the job. Get back and tell your masters that.’
He was swaying on his feet, and he suddenly lurched towards me. ‘You come along. By God, you think you’ve done me. I’ll let you see.’
His voice was growing thick and he stopped short. ‘What the ’ell’s wrong with me?’ he gasped. ‘I’m goin’ all queer.’
He was like a man far gone in liquor, but three glasses of champagne would never have touched a head like Bill’s. I saw what was up with him. He was not drunk, but drugged.
‘They’ve doped the wine,’ I cried. ‘They put it there for me to drink it and go to sleep.’
There is always something which is the last straw to any man. You may insult and outrage him and he will bear it patiently, but touch the quick in his temper and he will turn. Apparently for Bill drugging was the unforgivable sin. His eye lost for a moment its confusion. He squared his shoulders and roared like a bull.
‘Doped, by God!’ he cried. ‘Who done it?’
‘The men who shut me in this room. Burst that door and you will find them.’
He turned a blazing face on the locked door and hurled his huge weight on it. It cracked and bent, but the lock and hinges held. I could see that sleep was overwhelming him and that his limbs were stiffening, but his anger was still strong enough for another effort. Again he drew himself together like a big cat and flung himself on the woodwork. The hinges tore from the jambs and the whole outfit fell forward into the passage in a cloud of splinters and dust and broken plaster.
It was Mr Docken’s final effort. He lay on the top of the wreckage he had made, like Samson among the ruins of Gaza, a senseless and slumbering hulk.
I picked up the unopened bottle of champagne. It was the only weapon available and stepped over his body. I was beginning to enjoy myself amazingly.
As I expected, there was a man in the corridor, a little fellow in waiter’s clothes with a tweed jacket instead of a dress-coat. If he had a pistol I knew I was done, but I gambled upon the disinclination of the management for the sound of shooting.
He had a knife, but he never had a chance to use it. My champagne bottle descended on his head and he dropped like a log.
There were men coming upstairs – not Chapman, for I still heard his hoarse shouts in the dining-room. If they once got up they could force me back through that hideous room by the door through which Docken had come, and in five minutes I should be in their motor-car.
There was only one thing to do. I jumped from the stair-head right down among them. I think there were three, and my descent toppled them over. We rolled in a wild whirling mass and cascaded into the dining-ro
om, where my head bumped violently on the parquet.
I expected a bit of a grapple, but none came. My wits were pretty woolly, but I managed to scramble to my feet. The heels of my enemies were disappearing up the staircase. Chapman was pawing my ribs to discover if there were any bones broken. There was not another soul in the room except two policemen who were pushing their way in from the street. Chapman was flushed and breathing heavily: his coat had a big split down the seams at the shoulder, but his face was happy as a child’s.
I caught his arm and spoke in his ear. ‘We’ve got to get out of this at once. How can we square these policemen? There must be no inquiry and nothing in the papers. Do you hear?’
‘That’s all right,’ said Chapman. ‘These bobbies are friends of mine, two good lads from Wensleydale. On my road here I told them to give me a bit of law and follow me, for I thought they might be wanted. They didn’t come too soon to spoil sport, for I’ve been knocking furriners about for ten minutes. You seem to have been putting up a tidy scrap yourself.’
‘Let’s get home first,’ I said, for I was beginning to think of the bigger thing.
I wrote a chit for Macgillivray which I asked one of the constables to take to Scotland Yard. It was to beg that nothing should be done yet in the business of the restaurant, and above all, that nothing should get into the papers. Then I asked the other to see us home. It was a queer request for two able-bodied men to make on a summer evening in the busiest part of London, but I was taking no chances. The Power-House had declared war on me, and I knew it would be war without quarter.
I was in a fever to get out of that place. My momentary lust of battle had gone, and every stone of that building seemed to me a threat. Chapman would have liked to spend a happy hour rummaging through the house, but the gravity of my face persuaded him. The truth is, I was bewildered. I could not understand the reason of this sudden attack. Lumley’s spies must long ago have told him enough to connect me with the Bokhara business. My visits to the Embassy alone were proof enough. But now he must have found something new, something which startled him, or else there had been wild doings in Turkestan.
I won’t forget that walk home in a hurry. It was a fine July twilight. The streets were full of the usual crowd, shop-girls in thin frocks, promenading clerks, and all the flotsam of a London summer. You would have said it was the safest place on earth. But I was glad we had the policeman with us, who at the end of one beat passed us on to his colleague, and I was glad of Chapman. For I am morally certain I would never have got home alone.
The queer thing is that there was no sign of trouble till we got into Oxford Street. Then I became aware that there were people on these pavements who knew all about me. I first noticed it at the mouth of one of those little dark side-alleys which run up into mews and small dingy courts. I found myself being skilfully edged away from Chapman into the shadow, but I noticed it in time and butted my way back to the pavement. I couldn’t make out who the people were who hustled me. They seemed nondescripts of all sorts, but I fancied there were women among them.
This happened twice, and I got wary, but I was nearly caught before we reached Oxford Circus. There was a front of a big shop rebuilding, and the usual wooden barricade with a gate. Just as we passed it there was a special throng on the pavement, and I, being next the wall, got pushed against the gate. Suddenly it gave, and I was pressed inward. I was right inside before I realised my danger, and the gate was closing. There must have been people there, but I could see nothing in the gloom.
It was no time for false pride. I yelled to Chapman, and the next second his burly shoulder was in the gap. The hustlers vanished, and I seemed to hear a polite voice begging my pardon.
After that Chapman and I linked arms and struck across Mayfair. But I did not feel safe till I was in the flat with the door bolted.
We had a long drink, and I stretched myself in an armchair, for I was as tired as if I had come out of a big game of Rugby football.
‘I owe you a good deal, old man,’ I said. ‘I think I’ll join the Labour Party. You can tell your fellows to send me their whips. What possessed you to come to look for me?’
The explanation was simple. I had mentioned the restaurant in my telephone message, and the name had awakened a recollection in Chapman’s mind. He could not fix it at first, but by-and-by he remembered that the place had cropped up in the Routh case. Routh’s London headquarters had been at the restaurant in Antioch Street. As soon as he remembered this he got into a taxi and descended at the corner of the street, where by sheer luck he fell in with his Wensleydale friends.
He said he had marched into the restaurant and found it empty, but for an ill-favoured manager, who denied all knowledge of me. Then, fortunately, he chose to make certain by shouting my name, and heard my answer. After that he knocked the manager down, and was presently assaulted by several men whom he described as ‘furrin muck’. They had knives, of which he made very little, for he seems to have swung a table as a battering-ram and left sore limbs behind him.
He was on the top of his form. ‘I haven’t enjoyed anything so much since I was a lad at school,’ he informed me. ‘I was beginning to think your Power-House was a wash-out, but Lord! it’s been busy enough tonight. This is what I call life!’
My spirits could not keep pace with his. The truth is that I was miserably puzzled – not afraid so much as mystified. I couldn’t make out this sudden dead-set at me. Either they knew more than I bargained for, or I knew far too little.
‘It’s all very well,’ I said, ‘but I don’t see how this is going to end. We can’t keep up the pace long. At this rate it will be only a matter of hours till they get me.’
We pretty well barricaded ourselves in the flat, and, at his earnest request, I restored to Chapman his revolver.
Then I got the clue I had been longing for. It was about eleven o’clock, while we were sitting smoking, when the telephone bell rang. It was Felix who spoke.
‘I have news for you,’ he said. ‘The hunters have met the hunted, and one of the hunters is dead. The other is a prisoner in our hands. He has confessed.’
It had been black murder in intent. The frontier police had shadowed the two men into the cup of a glen, where they met Tommy and Pitt-Heron. The four had spoken together for a little, and then Tuke had fired deliberately at Charles and had grazed his ear. Whereupon Tommy had charged him and knocked the pistol from his hand. The assailant had fled, but a long shot from the police on the hillside had toppled him over. Tommy had felled Saronov with his fists, and the man had abjectly surrendered. He had confessed, Felix said, but what the confession was he did not know.
SEVEN
I Find Sanctuary
MY NERVOUSNESS AND indecision dropped from me at the news. I had won the first round, and I would win the last, for it suddenly became clear to me that I had now evidence which would blast Lumley. I believed that it would not be hard to prove his identity with Pavia and his receipt of the telegram from Saronov; Tuke was his creature, and Tuke’s murderous mission was his doing. No doubt I knew little and could prove nothing about the big thing, the Power-House, but conspiracy to murder is not the lightest of criminal charges. I was beginning to see my way to checkmating my friend, at least so far as Pitt-Heron was concerned. Provided – and it was a pretty big proviso – that he gave me the chance to use my knowledge.
That, I foresaw, was going to be the difficulty. What I knew now Lumley had known hours before. The reason of the affair at Antioch Street was now only too clear. If he believed that I had damning evidence against him – and there was no doubt he suspected it – then he would do his best to stop my mouth. I must get my statement lodged in the proper quarter at the earliest possible moment.
The next twenty-four hours, I feared, were going to be too sensational for comfort. And yet I cannot say that I was afraid. I was too full of pride to be in a funk. I had lost my awe of Lumley through scoring a point against him. Had I known more I should have been less
at my ease. It was this confidence which prevented me doing the obvious safe thing – ringing up Macgillivray, telling him the gist of my story, and getting him to put me under police protection. I thought I was clever enough to see the thing through myself. And it must have been the same over-confidence which prevented Lumley getting at me that night. An organisation like his could easily have got into the flat and done for us both. I suppose the explanation is that he did not yet know how much I knew, and was not ready to take the last steps in silencing me. I sat up till the small hours, marshalling my evidence in a formal statement and making two copies of it. One was destined for Macgillivray and the other for Felix, for I was taking no risks. I went to bed and slept peacefully, and was awakened as usual by Waters. My man slept out, and used to turn up in the morning about seven. It was all so normal and homely that I could have believed my adventures of the night before a dream. In the summer sunlight the ways of darkness seemed very distant. I dressed in excellent spirits and made a hearty breakfast. Then I gave the docile Chapman his instructions. He must take the document to Scotland Yard, ask to see Macgillivray, and put it into his hands. Then he must ring me up at once at Down Street and tell me that he had done this. I had already telephoned to my clerk that I would not be at the Temple that day. It seems a simple thing to travel less than a mile in the most frequented part of London in broad daylight and perform an easy act like carrying a letter; but I knew that Lumley’s spies would be active, and would connect Chapman sufficiently with me to think him worth following. In that case there might be an attempt at violence. I thought it my duty to tell him this, but he laughed me to scorn. He proposed to walk, and he begged to be shown the man who would meddle with him. Chapman, after last night, was prepared to take on all comers. He put my letter to Macgillivray in his inner pocket, buttoned his coat, crushed down his felt hat on his head, and defiantly set forth.
