Verity paused and faced his colleague.
'Mr Crowe, where Lieutenant Dacre is concerned, it'll take more than twelve men with revolvers.'
Crowe patted him on the back.
'Come on now, old friend, your Mr Dacre ain't immortal!'
'No,' said Verity, as if conceding the point with some doubt, 'I s'pose he ain't.'
They entered the auction saloon, light and airy with its windows looking out to the river on either side. It was furnished with stools, settees, sofas, divans and ottomans, all of them occupied by those who had come to attend the sale. The majority of these dealers, young and old alike, sported cream or buff suiting with sticks that were topped in either silver or gold. There were a few swallow-tailed coats in blue or green, and a few dark-suited westerners with broad-brimmed hats. Among the hundred or so nun present, a few were playing cards in small groups while others sauntered past the marble-topped tables looking for an empty arm-chair. At the forward end of the saloon was a small wooden platform raised eighteen inches or so above the floor. Upon it there stood a lectern and a bedroom screen whose panels were of crimson silk. Vignie, in his white linen suit and red cravat, stood with his gavel at the lectern waiting to begin the sale.
'Remember,' said Crowe to Miss Jolly, 'if there should be a winning bid and if Mr Vignie lets you go with the bidder, trust him. Mr Vignie will know him for one of our men. If not, you won't be let go.'
She nodded quickly and stepped on to the platform, where two of Vignie's men waited, as though they might be about to carry forward a selection of furniture to be auctioned off.
'Messieurs,' Vignie tapped the lectern with his gavel, the slightest suggestion of French intonation in his voice. The murmur of conversation in the saloon died away. 'Messieurs, we will now turn to the business of the afternoon, if you please. It is not for me to claim your attention. I see from your eyes that that has already been done by the young person who comes before you now, Miss Jolly, properly called "Gentleman's Relish".'
Vignie made an unambiguous motion to her, with some impatience, and Jolly began to walk irritably up and down the platform, her leg movements constricted by the tightness of the jeans.
'Rarely,' crooned Vignie, 'rarely has it been my chance to bring before you a creature of such delicate, almost Oriental charm. The property of a European gentleman whose greatest desolation in the ruin of his fortunes is that he must part with such a jewel. Observe, if you will, the fineness of her features, the fierce challenge of those dark eyes, the warmth of that golden tan. Notice the slim back and firm bosom, as she turns. Why, gentlemen, there's a breast for you!'
Verity nudged Crowe.
'There ain't a face here to match Lieutenant Dacre, but he must be 'ere somewhere. Tell you what, see if you can notice a man that might be crying, with silk to his eyes.'
'Crying?' asked Crowe doubtfully. 'What about?'
'Not about anything, Mr Crowe. The Lieutenant got this complaint of watering eyes. Has to keep wiping them, 'e can be clever as any cartload of monkeys, but that's one thing he can't disguise'
Crowe surveyed the bidders as their eyes widened, their tongues passed over their lips expectantly, and their gaze followed Miss Jolly's every movement. Vignie had stepped forward now to demonstrate his commodity more persuasively.
'The legs,' he said suavely, 'observe, messieurs, their lithe firmness. The tight waist. Imagine, if you will, the warmth of the bare flesh against the silk sheets of your boudoir. Picture her, while you bid, as the nude Eastern damsel who waits upon your table, the warm silky gold of her body-moulding itself to every call that a man might make upon his bed-slave. May I say a thousand dollars to start, messieurs? I dare not say less!'
Jolly surveyed the room with stony-eyed hostility.
'Where the mischief is 'e?' whispered Verity savagely, "e gotta be 'ere, Mr Crowe!'
'Well, Mr Verity, I guess there ain't a handkerchief touching an eye in this whole roomful of sinners.'
The two sergeants looked about them again, as Vignie turned the girl round and round slowly to display her to the bidders.
'One thousand at the back of the room, do I hear? Only-see the roundness of the dark hair touching just to the nape of the neck! Consider the slim back, and the rounder hips. . . . Twelve hundred, then . . . the wantonness of the backside, seen in a sloop. . .'
The girl's almond eyes and sharp features turned on Vignie with bleak hostility. But she bent at last, the trim seat of her jeans broadening, each of Miss Jolly's hind checks tightly and separately rounded. Then came a sharp rending of seams, and open-mouthed delight from the bidders at the sudden prospect of palest coppery smoothness.
'Gentlemen!' cried Vignie happily. 'May I say fifteen hundred ?'
Verity had frozen into immobility.
'Mr Crowe!' he hissed. 'That's 'im! In the after doorway! And 'e ain't disguised at all!'
There was no mistaking Verncy Dacre, the tall, narrow body with its languid posture, the spoilt face and the light-coloured dundreary whiskers. His cream suiting and tall matching hat were set off by a dark brown coat and gold-topped stick. He surveyed the room, his eyes passing over Verity and Crowe without appearing to recognize them. Crowe turned to the plain-suited guard accompanying them, as Dacre moved to withdraw from the doorway of the after deck.
'The stern entrance! Cover it with your revolver and let no one through, either way. Mr Verity and I shall go out through the two side-doors and round to the stern of the ship by the galleries. There's no way he can get pas; us, and no escape over the stern. One way or another, we've got him!'
The Marine Corps private in the plain suit strode to the after door, through which Dacre had disappeared. Verity and Crowe made for the two side-doors of the saloon with ample time to seal off Dacre's avenues of escape. Like Crowe, Verity felt the weight of a Colt revolver at his side, but it brought him little comfort. He had come to regard the rifle as his 'best friend' in the siege of Sebastopol. The close-range duel of revolvers was something with which he was unfamiliar.
He slipped out on to the open gallery and began to edge his way slowly round to the stern, where he would meet Samson coming from the other side to confront Dacre simultaneously. At least, he thought, no one had given the least hint of recognition when the cracksman appeared in the doorway. He and Crowe had been well prepared, but he had feared the girl's response at seeing her tormentor again. Fortunately, Miss Jolly had been bending over displaying the tautly rounded seat of her jeans to the bidders.
She had seen nothing of Dacre.
Following the curve of the saloon wall along the outer deck, he came to the open space at the stern, an oval area some thirty feet along. It was almost deserted, its seats and chairs empty. Close by the stern rail itself, however, there was a wooden seat, double-sided and with a tall back. In the event of shipwreck, it could be inverted to provide a life-raft, the back acting as a keel. Sitting on the far side of the seat, staring thoughtfully over the stern rail and with his back to the saloon, was the figure of Verney Dacre.
The excitement of such an opportunity made Verity's hear! leap to his throat. He had not really intended to use the Colt, but now he drew the heavy gun from his belt. Staring at the back of the brown coat, the cream hat, and the clearly identifiable slick with its gold top lying to one side, Verity knew that even he could not miss the target now. Not that he intended to kill Dacre if he could help it. To take the cracksman alive would be the greatest feat in the entire history of the Private-Clothes Detail. In his imagination, voices addressed him as Inspector Verity, Superintendent Verity, Verity of Scotland Yard. . .
He was close enough now to sec the wisp of Dacre's cigar, and he moved with the stealth of a shadow. Sergeant Crowe had appeared from the other side of the saloon's stern-wall. Verity mouthed the unmistakable shape of, 'We got 'im!' We got 'im, Mr Crowe!' He hunched forward towards his quarry. He was hardly ten feet from Dacre, who still stared out over the rail oblivious of danger, when Crowe shouted.
&nb
sp; 'Get back. Verity! Get back here!'
'That's all right, Mr Crowe. Keep yer gun on 'im, and leave this to inc. Right, Lieutenant Dacre, sir, let's be having. . .'
With intense annoyance he was aware of an impact on the deck behind him, a skidding of feel, and a thump that drove the breath from his body and knocked him sideways against the ship's rail. Verney Dacre ignored all this and a sudden thought crossed Verity's mind, even while he was still falling behind another upturned life-raft with Crowe's weight on top of him. Could the cracksman be dead, sitting so still, the poison in his throat or the bullet in his brain? He tried to raise his head and look. With a sense of deep injustice he felt Crowe's fist connect with the nape of his neck and he slumped in a daze on the planking of the deck. Before he could protest, his ears went deaf, there was a muffled roaring like the draught of a dozen blast-furnaces and a wave of heat to match. Like a storm of hail, fragments of wood pattered about him, and he heard something carry over his head and splash into the river far below.
'Don't they teach you nothing at Scotland Yard?' asked Crowe tolerantly.
Verity pulled himself up. The seat on which Dacre had been sitting was a burning ruin. The clothes were torn and blackened fragments, while the stick had vanished, probably as the object which had gone overhead and hit the river at some distance from them.
' 'e was sitting there!' said Verity indignantly. 'Smoking his cheroot!'
'Look!' said Crowe, stabbing with a bony forefinger. 'What was sitting there was the wire frame! And what was on it was his coat, hat, and a fair-haired wig with its block. Good enough for a rear view at thirty paces.'
'Mr Crowe, he was smoking a cigar!'
Crowe raised his eyes to heaven in supplication.
'Did it smell like a cigar to you?'
'Can't say it did, Mr Crowe. But then there was that ship smell everywhere, like what they use to get the moth out of clothes.'
'Naphtha,' said Crowe glumly. 'Goes up like the Fourth of July. Turns gunpowder into a bomb that might sink a cruiser. Takes a short fuse. That's what you saw smoking.'
'He might a-bloody killed me, Mr Crowe!'
'I guess that was the idea, old friend! It must figure somewhere in his scheme of things.'
Verity stared at the burning slats and the twisted section of the ship's rail, bent by the force of the explosion.
‘If you 'adn't been 'ere, Mr Crowe . . . knowing about trapping and traps as you do. . .' 'Save it,' said Crowe briefly.
‘I may save it, Mr Crowe, but I shan't forget easy.' They looked about them, peering over the ship's sides. 'He's gone,' said Crowe philosophically. 'Clean gone.' 'But how, Mr Crowe?'
'Simplest way in the world, Mr Verity. You and I come out here and see what looks like Lieutenant Dacre on the far seat. We shan't take our eyes off him, shall we? We daren't for fear he's waiting with his pistol cocked. Forward we go, just in time to reach the dummy as it goes up with a bang and takes us too. And all this time, Mr Dacre is back near the wall of the saloon, hiding under a seat or whatever. As soon as we're walking to glory with our backs to him, he tiptoes round the side of the saloon and slips into the crowd. For a certainty he's wearing a different suit of clothes and looking a new man by now!'
The force of the blast had temporarily stunned the occupants of the auction saloon, but now there were sounds of growing confusion. Two of the windows had been blown in and several of the traders nearby had been cut by the glass. It was evident that the Fidele was on fire, to a greater or lesser extent, and the doors were jammed by men trying to force their way out. The sight of drifting smoke and a ripple of flame redoubled the energy of the fugitives. Verity caught sounds of 'She's on fire! On fire!' and even 'Ship going down!' From high above them came a long, shrill blast on the ship's whistle.
In the pandemonium, he saw Captain Oliphant and the two plain-suited Marine privates emerge on the after-deck. Crowe spoke to his commander and Verity heard Oliphant's mild voice rise in a petulant wail.
'Gone? What do you mean, sir? What the devil do you mean? How can he have gone?'
The ship was steering for the quay again. In the panic, men were scrambling for the lower deck, ready to throw themselves ashore, or into the water if necessary, before the Fidele should blow up and sink. From somewhere deep down in the ship there was a booming sound, repeated no more than thirty seconds later. In the fight to get ashore. Captain Oliphant's dozen guards would be overwhelmed and the chances of catching Dacre at this stage were almost nil. Verity, finding the saloon doors blocked, kicked out the remaining fragments of glass from one of the shattered windows, and stepped cautiously through it.
The room was half empty but there was still a good deal of confusion. He shouldered his way to the platform where Vignie still stood, imperturbable among the chaos. He had brought the second girl, Nabyla. on to the dais. As the bill promised, she was a young Arab woman with dark, expressive eyes, her gloss of black hair waved to her shoulders. Her soft figure was carefully revealed in another red singlet and dark blue tights.
'Sir,' said Vignie reasonably, seizing the opportunity of Verity's approach, 'there's a prize for you! Beauty of the harem. The well-kept thighs, the proud Arabian features, and a rump like a young duchess. . .'
Verity glared at him.
'I ain't time for that, my man!' he said briskly. 'Miss Jolly! Where is she! Sharp's the word and quick's the motion! Let's have her back in safe-keeping!'
Vignie resigned himself to leaving Nabyla unsold.
'Safe enough,' he said wearily. 'Mrs Lily and Mr Verity took her away five minutes ago, when the noise began.'
'I'm Verity!' said Verity indignantly. 'And that's Mrs Lily over there!'
'No you're not,' said Vignie confidently. 'Not unless you're a pair of quick-change artists. Miss Jolly was signed for nice and regular. And a warrant-card was shown.'
'That's a warrant-card!' said Verity, flourishing it angrily.
'To be sure it might be. Or a passable imitation of one.' Verity thought for a moment.
'What might these two persons have looked like? Fair and tall either of them ?'
'Fair but short, both of 'em.'
'Not Dacre then. And Miss Jolly went, thinking she was with me?'
'Ah,' said Vignie. 'She went not knowing nor caring. I guess she overheard 'em say that the men who was to kill her were fighting their way in and she must be got out for her life. And you may ask anyone, sir, as to my instructions. In the event of such attack, I was to give her into the safekeeping of the officers as soon as possible.'
There was no more to be done. Verity pushed his way back to the deck, where Sergeant Crowe was standing expectantly with his hat in his hand.
'How's the outlook?' he inquired.
'Blue as old stilton,' said Verity with fury, and strode toward Captain Oliphant.
15
'He's caught sure enough,' said Sergeant Crowe confidentially. "There's a search on every road. No one gets on a train or a steamboat without being seen down to the drawers. Every Street and every building is turned over. There'll be more of Oliphant's men in St Louis by morning than bugs in a plumtree.'
'He's out already, Mr Crowe, 'im and the rest of his villains, and Miss Jolly, and the other two young persons in his power.'
The two men stared out across the twilit river from the long quay. Parties of blue-uniformed guardsmen were moving from one steamboat to another in turn, searching the empty vessels.
'How?' asked Crowe reasonably. "I guess I shall have the greatest respect for your Lieutenant Dacre before this caper is clone. But even a mouse that can't show its identity couldn't get out of St Louis tonight.'
'Roads,' said Verity, 'carriages and carts.'
'Blocked,' said Crowe. 'Public requested not to travel except in cases of necessity. Kidnappers and killers await them. Hardly a market-cart passed through, and those that did were almost laid in pieces by the militia.'
'Railways, Mr Crowe.'
'Likewise, Mr Verity. No train
s since Miss Jolly's abduction, but the depots and tracks are guarded. The first train that leaves in the morning is likely to be picked clean as a pin.'
'That leaves the river, Mr Crowe.'
'Well,' said Crowe patiently, 'no steamboats in either direction until tomorrow. Again, when the passengers come to board, there'll be an inspection of them and their bags which will make Judgment Day look like Aunt Dinah's barn dance.'
'There must be other boats, Mr Crowe.'
'Yes, Mr Verity. However, it ain't easy to get a dozen men with three struggling prisoners into a row boat, and just push off down a thousand miles of the Mississippi.'
'Private yachts, Mr Crowe? Pleasure steamers?'
'Yes, Mr Verity. A dinky little ship, the Anna, went downstream under private charter from the hiring yard beyond the quay.'
'That's 'im, Mr Crowe! Don't I know it! How the mischief else should he get a dozen villains, three unfortunates, and all his baggage out of here!'
'Thing is, Mr Verity, the Anna sailed at one o'clock and only stopped at one landing between here and Cairo. You and me saw Lieutenant Dacre and Miss Jolly still on the Fidele after two o' clock. So unless he swam downstream at twenty miles an hour, towing her in his wake, he's not on the Anna.'
But Verity's eyes were bright.
'Hello,' he said. 'This got a ripe aroma about it! What instructions were telegraphed to Cairo and them other towns about stopping ships from St Louis?'
'To stop and search any ship which had left St Louis after two o'clock. The ones that had left before were notified.' 'Including the Anna!’
'Yes,' said Crowe impatiently, 'but they can't be on the Anna. She'd cleared the landing twenty miles downstream by the time your Mr Dacre could have got Miss Jolly off the Fidele, and the trap was already in place, on the roads and the railroad.'
' 'ow many of these little charter paddlers might there be, Mr Crowe?'
'Several,' said Crowe defensively, 'but the only other one to leave the yard today came upstream to the quay, on charter, to load supplies for tomorrow, and hasn't been anywhere since!'
Sergeant Verity and the Blood Royal Page 17
