Gale Warning (5 page)

I have no excuse to offer. I never saw – even then. But when, some two minutes later, my genial friend returned to the paper’s front page and, taking a pair of scissors,
cut out the two columns and the head-line which stretched across the whole of the sheet
, then the scales fell from my eyes and I knew that he was the man, to find and to spy upon whom was all the object I had in coming to Sermon Square.

The discovery shook me so much that I began to tremble from head to foot and I could not hold steady the glasses to which I owed all that I knew: but I watched him cut out the rest of the full report, fold the two cuttings together and then slide them into a buff-coloured envelope. Then he picked up a pen and addressed it and sealed it up, and I think there can be no doubt that that night it went to Barabbas, wherever he was.

Now, if I had had any sense, I should have left the leads without any delay, for now I had only to watch the door of the house and, if I could do so safely, to follow him when he came out: but although he left his table, I sat there watching until the light was put out, and then, of course, I knew that my chance was gone and that I must stay where I was, for the downpipe was not a staircase and he would be out of the house before I was down from the leads.

A street lamp was lighting the doorway of 22 Sermon Square, and I saw him come out and look round and then walk across to the passage which led to Mark Lane.

I will not dwell on the feelings with which I watched the monster pass out of my sight, whilst I sat on the other side of the gulf I had fixed between us in my stupidity. But at least this blunder showed me how much I had yet to learn and that I should be worse than useless, unless I was ever ready to take up the running when Fortune had done her share.

I had won something, of course, but, had I but used my wits, I might have won so much more that I could take no pleasure in what I had done: and when, descending my down-pipe, I thought of the disappointment which Mansel and Chandos would hide, I could have done myself violence for what I had failed to do. Then I thought of Lady Audrey – and nearly fell down the twelve feet between me and the turf.

She would show me no mercy. She had chastised me with whips: but now she would chastise me with scorpions. ‘A fool untying a knot’ – and before the night was out I had proved the truth of her words. I could bear the scorpions as I had borne the whips; but I did not want her to beat me; I wanted myself to force the scorn from her face and set in its stead a look of gratitude. In my heart I valued her censure more highly than Mansel’s praise; but I wanted her just admiration – because I admired her so much.

I looked no further than that. For one thing, she was in mourning for one of the finest fellows I ever knew, and though she might put off her sackcloth after a while – well, when a girl has worn emeralds, she takes little interest in jade. Then, again, I had no money, except my twelve thousand pounds; and she was bred to grace Peerless and not some land agent’s lodge. And so I was not such a fool as to harbour the faintest hope. But Fate had kicked me upstairs and fairly thrust me into my lady’s chamber, and, since I was there, I wanted to win her smile. If I liked to adore her, that was my private affair. But I did not wish her simply to suffer my presence because I had been introduced by somebody greater than she.

The prey of these selfish emotions, I stumbled through the churchyard and back into Tulip Lane, for though I was tempted to climb into Sermon Square and take, for what it was worth, the way which my man had taken eight minutes before, I had seen three policemen go by whilst I was up on the leads, and as my end of Sermon Square was very much better lighted than Tulip Lane, it would have been asking for trouble to go that way.

Once in the lane, I hastened round the block into Sermon Square, but of course the passage was empty and, though I walked down Mark Lane and then, turning west, all the way to Ludgate Hill, the man I wanted to see was not to be seen.

The incident being over, I knew that I must report it as soon as I could. When all was said and done, I had some valuable news: to suppress it for forty-eight hours would be the act of a fool and, what was still more to the point, my tale was not one I could tell on the telephone.

After a lot of thinking, I rang up Lady Audrey from Charing Cross, and fifty minutes later, in obedience to her instructions, I took a train from Paddington, travelling west.

When the train was well under way, I left my seat and walked down the corridor. Mansel’s servant, Carson, was standing outside a compartment the blinds of which were drawn down, and as soon as he saw me approaching, he opened the door.

Without a word, I went in, and there were Mansel and Chandos and Lady Audrey herself.

“I’m sorry,” said Mansel, “to be so hard of access, but Carson says I’m being watched, and he’s usually right. Well, that doesn’t matter to me, but it matters to us. And that’s where a train comes in. If you’ve got a ticket waiting and you run it sufficiently fine, you can always steal a march by taking a train. And now we should love to hear what it is you know.”

I told what there was to tell, while the train slid out of the suburbs and into the countryside and the three sat still as death, with their eyes on my face.

When I came to the end—

“I’m most awfully sorry,” I said. “I see the mistake I made and I’ve no excuse. If I’d had the sense of a louse—”

“What would you have done?” said Mansel.

“Left the leads,” said I, “the moment I realized that he was our man: lain in the grass by the railings, until he came out of the house: watched which way he went: and then whipped over the railings and followed behind.”

“I see,” said Mansel. “And now I’m not going to spare you – I’m going to put it across you once for all. You have done magnificently: but when you talk like that, you not only talk as a fool, but you scare me stiff. If you had gone after that wallah, you would have torn everything up. I’ll tell you why. Because men like that are accustomed to being followed, but you are not accustomed to following men like that.”

That was as much as he said, but his tone was very sharp and the blood came into my face: and there followed an awkward silence, which I did not know how to break.

Then a hand came to rest on my arm.

“What a shame,” said Lady Audrey. “He’s done so terribly well.”

“More,” said Mansel, smiling. “He never answered me back.”

“Neither did I,” said Chandos, “when you told me off in a meadow some years ago.”

“In a word,” said Lady Audrey, “my record is safe.”

Then all three spoke very warmly of what I had done. But I had had my reward. My task-mistress had actually taken my part.

“And now,” said Mansel, “to business.

“Thanks entirely to Bagot, we’re over the first big fence: it doesn’t look so bad now, but it was a hell of a leap. Bagot has gained in one night what might very well have taken us months to obtain.

“You see, all I knew was this – that of the five firms in that house, only two were firms which we could count out. One was Howson and Dewlap, and the other was a firm of solicitors on the first floor. To one of the others, then, I knew that our man belonged. But think of the task that presented… And think of the time we’d have wasted – on two firms out of the three…

“Well, we have been spared that nightmare. Bagot now knows by sight Barabbas’
chargé d’affaires
, and I can give you the name of the firm to which he belongs. Benning and Sheba, General Agents, London and Valparaiso. That, of course, is a blind, though they certainly have an office in Valparaiso: and if you went to them and asked them to ship a car, they’d probably do it all right – through somebody else. Very well. He is Benning and Sheba, of 22 Sermon Square.

“Now, what do we want from him? We want Barabbas’ address.

“Well, it won’t be in his office – I think you may lay to that. And I think it more than likely that when he addressed those cuttings, he didn’t address them direct: he probably sent them to Paris, from where they will be sent on. And whenever Barabbas writes, he probably does the same. I mean, I know I should. Postmarks aren’t always blurred.

“That means we can wash out the post – we shall get nothing there. And men like Barabbas don’t talk on the telephone. But, happily for us, we are dealing with business men: and big business cannot be written – it simply
has
to be talked. You can correspond all right for weeks at a time, but sooner or later you’ve simply got to meet, if business is to be done.

“Now it is my firm belief that Barabbas comes to England as seldom as ever he can. Movement attracts attention: and once a fence has attracted attention to himself, he may as well shut up shop. So I think that, like all good fences, Barabbas sits still. I think he came to England after the Blanche Mains show. But that would have stung a limpet into a dance. As a general rule, I believe Barabbas stays put. Very well. If Barabbas stays put in France, how does he manage to talk to his
chargé d’affaires
? The answer, of course, is obvious. His
chargé d’affaires
goes to see him, now and again.

“Sooner or later, then, the man Bagot saw tonight will leave England for France – to have a talk with Barabbas, wherever he happens to be. And that will be our chance. I’ve no idea when he will go or what route he will take. But, when he goes, we must go with him, for he will lead us up to the fountain-head.

“Now, when people are going on a journey, they usually start from their homes: or, to put it no higher than this, it is at their homes, and not at their offices, that their visible preparations for a journey are usually made. The first thing, therefore, to do, is to find out where Bagot’s man lives.”

He paused there, and Lady Audrey opened her mouth.

“An office-boy,” she said, “can talk to a caretaker. It’s a hundred to one the caretakers live in the basement of 22 Sermon Square. They have the keys of the rooms and they keep them clean. And they know quite a lot of their patrons – a good deal more, perhaps, than their patrons think.”

“That’s perfectly true,” said Chandos. “But if you know that, Audrey, why, so does the fellow that Bagot was watching tonight. And it’s Sermon Square to a soak-pit that he has got those caretakers where they belong. All done by kindness, of course. Toys for the children at Christmas, and that sort of thing. And if Bagot approaches them, before we know where we are the fat’ll be burnt.”

“William’s right,” said Mansel. “I’m sorry, Audrey: but we’ve got to go round the long way.”

“By which you mean…?”

“That Bagot must point out this fellow to somebody else – someone who knows how to follow a highly suspicious man. Neither William nor I can do that, because we are known: neither Carson nor Bell can do that, because, as our servants, they have been seen with us: but, as luck will have it, I’ve got someone just as good. He is to be Bagot’s servant, if Bagot will take him on. But that’s for later, of course: he mustn’t be seen with him yet. His name is Rowley, and he used to be in the service of a very great friend of us both.

“All City men, even office-boys, go out to lunch: and Bagot, of course, will conform to that excellent rule. So, it is to be hoped, will Bagot’s man. Either going or coming, therefore, the two are certain to meet before very long. And when they do, Bagot will put his right hand – not into his trouser-pocket, but into the pocket of his jacket, as if he were feeling for something which he had lost. Rowley will see the gesture, and Rowley will do the rest.”

“How will Rowley know me?” said I.

“He knows you already,” said Mansel. “He was on the platform tonight. But I don’t want you to know him, till we’re over this fence. Oh, and by the way, I shouldn’t lunch at the club. After six it doesn’t matter so much, for people begin to clear out about half-past five. But when I arranged your election, I did not count on your being an office-boy.”

“Inconsistency rampant,” said Chandos.

“D’you think it’s safe for him to be seen going in?”

“For the moment, yes,” said Mansel. “He looks like a member, and not like an office-boy: and few, outside Howson and Dewlap’s, will know he’s an office-boy. There is a very slight risk: but I think we’ve got to take it, because, as a line of communication, the club is ideal.”

Lady Audrey lifted her voice.

“Suppose all goes as we hope. Mr Bagot shows him to Rowley, and Rowley follows him home – and Rowley then finds out that the fellow is leaving for France on the following day.”

“We must leave that night,” said Mansel, “and pick him up on arrival – ‘somewhere in France.’ I promise you, Audrey, so far as mere man can do it, we shall leave nothing to chance. Bell will cross the Channel on Monday, to fix up some sort of base on the other side. He gets on well with the French and he’s very, very good at that sort of thing. He ought to have everything ready in six days’ time: and then he’ll sit down and wait: he’s not coming back. So that, though we may have to leave at a moment’s notice, at least we can always be sure of a flying start.”

Lady Audrey regarded him straitly.

“I believe you have reason to think that when Mr Bagot’s man goes, he will go by road.”

“I have this reason to think so – that that is what I should do. You see, from his point of view, it is absolutely vital that he should not do that very thing which we hope so much that he will – lead some unauthorized person up to his master’s lair. Not that he loves Barabbas: but if Barabbas goes down, his occupation is gone.

“Now, if a man travels by train, or even by air, he cannot choose his company, and however much he mistrusts it, once he is moving, he’s got to stay where he is. But what is very much worse, from a criminal’s point of view, he has to use stations or ports, as the case may be: and, quite apart from the fact that stations and ports are beloved by plain-clothes men, the movement in those places is such that, however skilful he is, he can never be sure that he isn’t being watched by somebody there. But if a man goes by road in his private car, he can make sure that he isn’t being followed or watched. I mean, I think that’s clear. Half a dozen times in the day, he can, if he pleases, confirm that desirable fact. And if he’s not sure, he can stop or turn or go back. Better still, he can lie up by day and travel by night, when the lights of a following car would instantly give it away.”

Lady Audrey drew in her breath.

“If you’re right, and he goes by road and travels by night…”