“Better and better, Mrs. Hogarth,” said Anthony. “You’re a veritable ‘Treasure-Trove’ of information. Let’s hear it.”
“Well, sir, as she was a-finishing the conversation she was having, I’m almost sure I overheard her say ‘Good-bye, Emma!’”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hogarth. Nothing more?”
“No sir, I couldn’t remember anything else.”
“I needn’t trouble you any more, then. You have helped me considerably. Come along, Bill.” We bowed ourselves out, personally conducted by the postmistress—a beaming postmistress now—and started homeward.
“Well, Bill, things are plainer now with a vengeance,” said Anthony decisively.... “I think if I put these facts before Baddeley he will take action ... if necessary the call should be easy to trace ... then Webb can be taken comfortably.”
“The Spider?” I queried.
He assented. “They call him ‘Spider’ as much for his physical as for the name association,” he continued. “I remember seeing his photo when he was tried and sentenced—he has long thin arms and long thin legs—with smallish feet.”
“What was the ’phone message?” I asked.
“That she had the pearls, laddie! She has been planted there to get them ... the ‘Spider’ flies high ... or shall we say he spins high ... forged references doubtless ... she waited three years for her chance. Yesterday it came. Her ’phone message to the ‘Spider’ was ‘Success’ with a capital ‘S,’ William! Best part of the three years he’s been in prison.”
“You don’t know she did ’phone her husband,” I ventured, with criticism in my voice. “Why call him Emma? It may have been the most harmless of conversations.”
“No, Bill—all your wonted eloquence will not convince me of that. She ’phoned the ‘Spider,’ informing him of her luck. ‘I’ve got the necklace,’ she said, ‘when are you coming for it?’ Shall I go on with the conversation, Bill?”
“Please do,” I said mockingly and a little incredulously.
“Well ‘Spider’ probably said, ‘Where shall I come?’ The reply was ‘outside the billiard room’ ... directions how to find it followed ... then arose the question of time. Listening, Bill?”
I grinned. “Carry on ... I don’t say I believe it all though.”
“I repeat it, Bill ... then came the question of timing the assignation. It had to be after dark ... she couldn’t get away during dinner, for instance, her absence would have been detected instantly, and she couldn’t risk the garden after dinner, there was always the chance of guests going there ... Jack Considine and I were there, for example, so she had to wait till all was quiet. Now when would that be, William?”
“Oh,” I replied, “somewhere about one o’clock in the morning, I suppose, at the earliest.”
“Exactly,” responded Anthony nonchalantly. “Sometime, we will say about one, or possibly two—‘ack Emma!’[1]S’that—Umpire? Is it a hit?”
I gasped! And I had completely missed that meaning—plain as a pike staff now I had secured the explanation.
“Not so bad, Bill, eh?” muttered Anthony quizzically. “Don’t overwhelm me with your admiration.”
“You’re a perishin’ marvel,” I said—“I never thought of that—I shouldn’t have expected Marshall to use the term, for one thing.”
“‘Spider’ probably saw Service,” he replied—“she has picked it up from him. That’s the solution of that. Here we are—now for friend Baddeley.”
“You don’t think then,” I said, “that we are nearing the finish of the Prescott affair?”
“As I told you before, Bill, no! I shall see Baddeley now, put these discoveries in front of him, let him act on them ... he’ll be delighted to ... it will save his face, temporarily at least ... then I shall turn my attention to the more complex problem ... which I think will prove to be very dark and very sinister. Certainly, the latter.”
I searched his face with my eyes, but gathered nothing from the inspection. It was heavy and troubled, but the clouds soon passed. Anthony Bathurst was like that, mood succeeded mood very rapidly. In the Hall we encountered Roper. He had a message for us from Baddeley.
“The Inspector has had the body removed to the mortuary, gentlemen,” he said, “and would like you to....”
Anthony cut into his speech—“Where is the Inspector?... I should like a word with him immediately ... if possible. Will you find him and tell him?” Roper departed on his errand.
“Take a pew, Bill,” said Anthony, “and watch for his face to light up.”
Baddeley was quickly with us.
“Yes, Mr. Bathurst, Roper here tells me you want me.” He looked at us with an air of inquiry.
“I have some information for you, Inspector,” commenced Anthony as coolly as possible, “that may help you considerably towards the recovery of Lady Considine’s necklace, and the arrest of the thief.”
Baddeley favored him with a steady and sustained stare.
“The deuce you have,” he exclaimed.
“I had an advantage over you, you see,” proceeded Anthony—“in the fact that Marshall’s face seemed familiar to me and awakened a memory in me that I have been able to follow up.” He paused and then continued with deliberation ... “to follow up successfully.” He openedThe Prattler.
“Look at that, will you, Inspector? And gain enlightenment.”
Baddeley bent down in amazement. “By Moses!” he yelled ... “that’s she ... a guinea to a gooseberry on it. Smart work, Mr. Bathurst. I’m grateful, sir, for the hint.” He wrung Anthony’s hand. Anthony laughed.
“We can get this Webb, I think, Baddeley; ... listen.” He recounted the evidence of Mrs. Hogarth.
Baddeley was respectfully attentive. “You haven’t let the grass grow under your feet, that’s a sure thing,” he declared.
Anthony smiled again. “And I don’t suppose you have either, Inspector, if the truth’s known.”
Baddeley grimaced.
“What do you mean, sir, exactly by that remark?” he queried.
“I can’t forget,” pronounced Anthony, “that there are two most important things still missing: the Barker I.O.U. and the shoe-lace that killed Prescott.”
Baddeley acquiesced. “That’s very true. And the more I see of the case, the more I——Still, let’s deal with the matter in hand. There isn’t a reasonable doubt, Mr. Bathurst, that you’ve put your hooks into the right people for this jewel robbery. And one thing at a time, say I.”
Anthony bowed to the compliment. “We can get ‘Spider’ Webb easily enough,” he said, “in any one of half a dozen ways. We’ll discuss that in a few moments. I’m more concerned about Lady Considine’s chance of getting her pearls back. How do we stand there?” The Inspector thought for a moment.
“Let’s see. They were taken in the early hours of this morning. To-morrow’s Sunday. If we can collar our man within twenty-four hours or so we should be able to salve the spoils. Pearls, you see, are different from silver stuff, for example—that’s in the pot before you can wink an eye. The best market for what he’s got away with might be Amsterdam ... he’d probably try about the beginning of next week.”
“Right!” exclaimed Anthony. “I’m inclined to agree with you. Now, how about getting our man? Is it worth while following up Marshall’s telephone call?”
“I’ve got a better plan than that, Mr. Bathurst. You wait and see and let me know what you think of it. I’ve had Marshall under observation since this morning ...” he grinned as though the reflection afforded him some amusement ... “as a matter of fact ever since I first arrived—although I admit you were a step ahead of me over that window business ... and she’s made no attempt at communication with anybody. She’s cute enough to realize that her best plan is to say and do nothing: just go about her ordinary daily duties as though nothing had happened. Also she’s scared stiff about the murder.” He glanced at us both ... almost as though he wanted us to confirm his opinion.
Then I butted in. “You’re satisfied then, Inspector, that Webb didn’t murder Prescott—despite all this evidence?”
Anthony looked searchingly at Baddeley. The Inspector’s face grew grim and hard. But he found time to answer me although I had half-suspected that he would evade the question. He chose his words carefully.
“Not despite—because of—the evidence, Mr. Cunningham!” He turned to Anthony with the same kind of look as before, but Anthony remained silent. I got the impression that Baddeley would have liked to make him talk, and that Anthony knew it.
“We’ll have her in here, Mr. Bathurst.” He went to the door and called Roper.
“Bring that maid Marshall in here, Roper. Don’t tell her anything—don’t even say who it is wants to speak to her.”
Marshall came, shepherded by Roper. She was very white, but still held her head high with a sort of impudent defiance.
“Sit down there,” said Baddeley, motioning her to a chair. “I’ve sent for you because I want you to pass on a little useful information. Got that?”
She tossed her head back. “I’ve told you all I know, Inspector, and that being so, I can’t very well tell you any more,” and a bright red spot blazed in her white cheek.
Baddeley waved her protestations on one side. Here he was sure of himself, certain of what he was going to do, confident of ultimate success.
“There’s one piece of information you can give me, my girl, and that dead smart, so make up your mind on that,” he rapped. “You might as well know now as later ... the game’s up!!”
Marshall gasped, and her hand went to her throat ... helplessly.
“Where’s ‘Spider’ Webb to be found these days?” roared Baddeley. “Eh—Mrs.Webb?”
She gazed at him affrighted, wild-eyed, with bosom heaving. Then summoned sufficient desperation to her aid to make one last attempt at fight. “I don’t know what you——”
“Cut that,” broke in the Inspector, “that won’t get you anything. We know you ... we know him ... we know your little lay in the billiard room last night when you handed over the Considine pearls.Where is he?”
“That I’ll never tell you,” she retorted—“never!”
“I think you will, my lady, when you’ve heard all I have to say,” stormed Baddeley, “if you don’t help me all you can and come across with what you know, I’ll do my level best to ‘swing’ your pretty ‘Spider.’”
Her face went ashen, and as the full import of his speech reached her brain, horror tinged her features.
“You can’t!” she gasped. “You can’t! The ‘Spider’ never touched ’im, never saw ’im ... the room was empty when I left it ... the ‘Spider’ went ... it’s God’s own truth I’m telling you....”
“I want the truth,” went on Baddeley, remorselessly and relentlessly, “you tell the truth and help me ... and I’ll help you ... if I can, that is.”
“Itisthe truth,” she sobbed. “The ‘Spider’ wouldn’t ’urt a fly.”
“No, I know, it doesn’t sound as though he would,” said Baddeley derisively. “Spiders don’t, as a rule, do they? You’re trapped, my girl, and you’ll see the inside of a prison cell before supper time to-night ... you realize that, don’t you? ... and if you don’t tell me where this precious husband of yours is to be found ... well, I shall find him all the same, and it will go pretty hard with the pair of you,” he paused, and then proceeded with studied deliberation, “ten years for you, we’ll say, and the execution shed for your partner.”
She gazed at him—fascinated at the dreadful picture he had painted for her imagination to dwell upon. Then answered him, white-lipped and trembling.
“I’ll tell you the truth,” she murmured. “Then you’ll know my ’usband couldn’t ’ave done that awful thing. I took the necklace from Lady Considine’s room as I ’ad meant to do ... I come into this ’ouse to get it ... I ’ad to wait a long time for my chance ... but it come yesterday ... I saw it laying on the dressing-table and took it. Then I arranged for the ‘Spider’ to come for it so’s I shouldn’t be suspected and about two o’clock this morning I dropped it to ’im from the billiard room window. In ten minutes at the most ’e ’ad gone. It’s the solemn truth, Inspector,” she wiped tears from her eyes, “if I never speak another word, and when I got down there first thing this morning, and there was that corpse on the table—you could ’ave knocked me down with a feather.”
“H’m! That’s all very well. But how do you know your husband didn’t come back for something—something that he’d dropped, perhaps—and met Mr. Prescott who challenged him?”
She shook her head. “’E didn’t—’e didn’t. ’E just went at once!”
“You don’t know,” reiterated Baddeley. “He may have come back, run into Mr. Prescott, struggled with him and killed him. You don’t know, so you can’t say.”
“I know I don’t,” she muttered piteously—“but ’e didn’t. It wouldn’t be like him to do no such thing.”
“Then what did you open the window for?” cut in Baddeley decisively—“you had doubts yourself as to what had happened after you left the billiard room.”
The fight was all gone from her now. “Yes,” she said. “I was frightened. I worried about what I knew ’ad ’appened. All the same my ’usband never touched ’im—I’ll take my dying oath on that.” She looked sullenly in front of her.
“Where is he, then?” Then as no answer was forthcoming, “Good Lord, girl, we’ll get him right enough, whether you tell us or not ... make no mistake about that ... it’s merely a question of time ... but, mark my words ... the sooner he tells the truth about the robbery ... the more chance he has of clearing himself with regard to the murder.”
Marshall made as if to speak, but hesitated.
Baddeley saw the advantage he had gained and hastened to follow it up. “The sooner we get to work while the scent is hot, the greater likelihood of finding the murderer,” he said, with decision in his tone. “Come, my girl, that must be as plain to you as the nose on my face.”
She hesitated again, and twisted her hands nervously in her lap.
“I don’t know what to do,” she moaned. “You’re asking me to betray my ’usband—and if I do, it’s only to save ’im from something worse—but it’s prison for me, and prison for ’im at the best of things.”
“That’s so,” declared Baddeley mercilessly, “but a ‘stretch’ is better than the gallows.”
“May I be forgiven then,” said Marshall—“you’ll find the ‘Spider’ at 45, Peabody Buildings, Poplar. And for mercy’s sake, don’t let ’im know who told you.”
Baddeley motioned to Roper. “Get her down to the station, Roper ... I’ll be down later.”
“We must tell Sir Charles, Inspector,” said Anthony, as Roper departed with his charge. “I haven’t mentioned this latest development to him ... I came straight to you with the news.”
“Naturally,” rejoined Baddeley, “naturally. We’ll ask him to step this way. Do you mind, Mr. Cunningham?”
I found the old man in the garden with Mary. The trouble of the whole affair was just beginning to show on their faces.... Considine Manor had by this time become the talk of thousands. Mary seemed very grief-laden ... they turned as I approached.
I gave him Baddeley’s message.
“Certainly, Bill, I’ll come in at once. Is there news, then?”
“Rather,” I replied. “Come and hear what Baddeley has to say.”
“What is it, Bill?” asked Mary, eagerly.
“Can’t tell you yet,” I whispered evasively, “but we’re on the track of the pearls—anyway!”
“This is extraordinarily good news,” said Sir Charles, as we went into the house. “How did Baddeley manage it?”
“It was Bathurst,” I replied. “You’ll hear what they have to say—and you’ll get a bit of a shock.”
He looked at me curiously. “Don’t be alarmed,” I said. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Thank you, Bill. To tell the truth you did startle me a bit ... I began to wonder ...” he wiped his forehead ... “it’s been a day of surprises.”
Baddeley speedily described our discoveries (I say “our”) and the result thereof. Sir Charles gasped.
“Marshall!” he exclaimed incredulously. “You astound me. And she came with such splendid references. Well, well, well, truly one never knows. My wife’s pearls, Inspector. Do you think there’s any probability of restoring them? You’ve done so splendidly that one becomes quite optimistic.” His eyes gleamed. “And you say you don’t really connect the affair with poor young Prescott?”
“At the moment, Sir Charles, I’m not inclined to link up the two ... and as for your praises”—he turned towards Anthony—“it’s Mr. Bathurst here that put me on the track.”
Anthony laughed. “Proving my theories, Sir Charles, that’s all! And I was lucky.”
“Well, I congratulate you then, as a combination—we’ll leave it at that. By the way, Baddeley, you didn’t answer me about the pearls. What do you really think?”
“I’m going to put a suggestion in front of you directly, Sir Charles, that will answer that question for you. Have most of your guests gone?”
“Yes, Inspector; as sanctioned by you, after your little round of interrogations this morning, they have all departed for their homes. No good purpose could have been served by their staying. I have a list of their present addresses for you. Mr. Cunningham and Mr. Bathurst, and my daughter and son-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Arkwright, will stay on. That is to say, for a time. Well, Fitch, what is it?”
The butler had approached him.
“Your pardon, Sir Charles, but there’s a newspaper man here wishes to speak to you. Here’s his card.”
Sir Charles took it. “Sydney Dennison.The Morning Message.A London reporter, gentlemen,” he announced. “Shall I?...”
Baddeley cut in. “Have him in, Sir Charles, won’t do any harm.”
A fresh-faced young fellow came in and bowed to us.
“Sorry to disturb you gentlemen, but I’ve motored down from London.... Can you give me any details of what has taken place here?”
Baddeley briefly recounted the affair, but withheld all details relevant to the arrest of Marshall.
“Murder and robbery then as we were informed on the ’phone by our local agent,” said Dennison. “Any arrest imminent?”
The Inspector took a moment or two to answer. “I am holding a person,” he replied slowly, “on the robbery charge only, so far, but I should be very much obliged, Mr. Dennison, and it will, I think, assist me considerably, if you make no mention of the arrest whatever. That is to say, yet awhile.”
Dennison’s eyes went up in interrogation.
“I will promise you,” proceeded Baddeley, “that no other paper gets the information to publish before you. I shall certainly see to that.”
“You think it will assist?...” queried Dennison.
“I think it will assist the cause of justice,” said Baddeley gravely.
“That’s why you ask me?”
“That’s why I ask you!”
“Right you are, Inspector. I will finish my report forThe Message, by saying for the time being, the Police are entirely without a clue—eh?”
“Nothing would please me better,” said Baddeley, rubbing his palms together.
“I understand perfectly.” Dennison rose to depart. He had his story and in a few days would have a still better one. “Now for London again.”
“One moment,” cried the Inspector. “One more thing. I would like the bewilderment of the Police to appear in the late edition of yourEvening Gazette. That all right? That will be better still.”
“As you wish, Inspector, and thank you. Good-bye!” And in a brief period we heard the sound of his motorcycle en route for headquarters again. Press methods are short and sharp.
Baddeley turned to us and although he addressed us as a company, the feeling persisted in me that Anthony was his audience as far as he himself was concerned.
“That brings me, gentlemen, to the matter of the ‘Spider.’ We’ve got to get him, and we ought to get him at once ... while, I think, the pearls areonhim ... before he takes a little trip somewhere.”
“We know where he is?” interjected Sir Charles.
“Yes,” continued Baddeley, “but I don’t purpose going there for him.”
“Where, then?” I interposed.
“Well, this is my plan. Get the ‘Spider’ back here—then take him. It has the merits of simplicity and comfort.” He smiled.
“Mahomet and the mountain, eh?” smiled Anthony.
“Something like it,” answered the Inspector.
“But will he come?” demanded Sir Charles. “It appears to me to be extremely doubtful. Would any criminal walk into an obvious trap like that?... You’re expecting too much, Baddeley.”
“I don’t think so, Sir Charles, if you’ll allow me to say so. If, as I think and I fancy as Mr. Bathurst here, thinks, the murder of Mr. Prescott is a complete surprise to the ‘Spider,’ then it’s given him a pretty nasty shock ... he’s wondering, gentlemen, wondering very considerably. And he will see in the late editions of the London papers this evening that the Police are completely in the dark ... so he won’t be dreaming any bad dreams himself ... yet awhile ... but he’ll still go on wondering. Now, I think, gentlemen, that my idea will bring him along quite comfortably. I’m going to telegraph to him like this. ‘Come—same place—same time—urgent!’”
“Whom from?” interposed Anthony. “Who’s the sender?”
“That I admit, Mr. Bathurst, is its weakness. If I get hold of his wife’s Christian name, it’s just possible I might use the wrong form or the wrong abbreviation ... familiar names are awkward things to take chances with in messages—a man calls his wife by a nickname, perhaps—still ...” he paused and drummed with his hands on the table, reflecting. “How about putting Marshall?”
None of us answered. I think we were all engaged in weighing up the advisability.
Baddeley went on. “If it’s unusual for her to send to him under that name, he may think she has a special reason in light of what’s happened after the burglary. Whereas, if, for instance, her name’s ‘Kate’ and I put ‘Katie’ when the ‘Spider’ always knows her as ‘Kitty’—it’s bound to create doubt and suspicion.”
Anthony sat thinking. “I’m disposed to agree with you, Inspector,” he said.
“You think it’s worth trying, Mr. Bathurst?” asked Sir Charles.
“Yes, I do.” Baddeley seemed pleased. “Get that telegram off then. Roper will take it for us ... he should be back by now. But perhaps I’d better go and see.”
“What about to-night then, Inspector?” said Anthony. “What time shall we gather around to receive our guest? Just after twelve?”
Baddeley rubbed his chin with his forefinger.
“I don’t think we’ll take any chances, Mr. Bathurst, so we had better be in our places by midnight. He’s an awkward customer, there’s no doubt about that, this ‘Spider’ Webb, so if you’ve a revolver it might come in useful. I’ll bring along a couple of men from the station, so with Roper and Mr. Cunningham, there’ll be half a dozen of us. We mustn’t let him slip through our fingers.”
Sir Charles looked grave. “I’ll trust there will be no shooting, Inspector. Lady Considine is sufficiently upset already without ...” he looked at Baddeley with anxiety.
The Inspector pursed his lips together. “I’m sorry, Sir Charles, I fully realize all that ... but I want this man badly ... and I don’t think, if my plan goes smoothly, that there will be any noise worth worrying about.” Sir Charles nodded.
“And what’s more,” proceeded Baddeley, “I’m pretty confident he’ll have the pearls with him. It’s worth the risk, you see, sir.”
Sir Charles appeared more reconciled.
“Very well then, and may you be successful.” He bowed himself out.
“I’ll get down to Roper, then,” said Baddeley to us, “and get this wire off. Then I’ll meet you gentlemen here at eleven-thirty this evening. We’ll have five men in the grounds—including both of you—and in the meantime, I’ll think out the best disposition of my forces ...” he grinned at us.
“I thought you said six men, just now, Inspector,” I ventured.
“I did,” he replied. “The sixth will be in the billiard room, of course.”
“You forget, Bill,” chuckled Anthony, “Inspector Baddeley is ‘marshalling’ his forces.”
Baddeley burst into hearty laughter. “Very good, Mr. Bathurst, very good.” He waved his hand to us. “Till eleven-thirty then.”
“Will the ‘Spider’ come, Anthony?” I asked.
He thought for a moment before replying—“I think he will. Curiosity is a tremendous impetus. I think he will. And of course, he’s got to think of his own neck so he must be kept well posted. He’ll think his wife has important news for him.”
“Good,” I cried. “Welcome to the ‘Spider’!”
“Yes,” said Anthony. “Somewhere about one-thirty, I imagine. And we’ll welcome him with this.” He fingered his automatic. “If necessary.”
Punctually at eleven-thirty, Baddeley and Roper arrived at the Manor. They joined us in the library. Sir Charles was worried and fidgety. “The ladies have gone to bed,” he volunteered the information. “Let’s hope they all sleep well. I’m going to stay in here.”
“Very good, Sir Charles,” remarked Baddeley. “That was going to be my own proposition. Now we haven’t got a great deal of time before getting to our posts. You two gentlemen,” he turned to Anthony and me, “will come into the garden and I will join you. We’ll get whatever cover we can as near the billiard room as possible—Roper will be in the billiard room itself, and will open it when the right moment comes. My other two men will command the exit if he breaks through the three of us and gets away. A contingency I’m prepared to lay very heavy odds against, though. Revolver all serene, Mr. Bathurst?”
“All in order, Inspector,” answered Anthony cheerfully, tapping his pocket. “Do I shoot to kill?”
“Only as a last resource, sir. Come along. And you, Roper, get upstairs to the billiard room.”
We emerged into the grounds. It was a wonderful July night. The sky with its clusters of shimmering stars seemed too serene, too majestic, for any disturbance such as our adventure might prove to be.
Baddeley gave a low whistle and, seemingly from nowhere, two plain-clothes men materialized from the shadows. He whispered them their instructions and they departed as quickly and as quietly as they had come.
“Now, Mr. Bathurst,” he came across to us as silently as a cat, “what about that rhododendron clump?” He pointed to a spot about eight yards from the window. “We three can make for there.”
As we nestled into its shade I heard the village clocks striking twelve. I wondered how many more times I should hear them strike before our vigil ended.
Baddeley gripped my arm. “Don’t speak, gentlemen,” he whispered, “it’s a dead still night, and the sound of the voice carries so. Be as quiet as you can.” I nodded to show him I understood and would obey.
It was, as Baddeley had said, as still as death. Occasionally came the hoot of an owl, but beyond that, the only sound that reached my ears was the breathing of my two companions. Baddeley spoke again. “We’d better not smoke,” he said. “He might easily detect it as he comes up and you can bet your life he’ll come with his eyes skinned.” We reluctantly put our pipes away. The minutes passed with unrelenting slowness. Once there came a sudden swishing sound followed by a soft thud. The sweat stood on my brow as I watched the place from where the noise had come, and Anthony gripped my right arm hard. Baddeley smiled at us out of the darkness. “A cat,” he whispered—“that’s all.” Half-past twelve, a quarter to one, and one o’clock struck. Then a quarter past one.
“He isn’t coming,” I breathed in Anthony’s ear. Baddeley looked perturbed and glanced at his watch. “Nearly half-past one,” he muttered softly.
“How long will you wait?” I asked him.
“Don’t know ... s’sh. What’s that?”
An owl hooted twice in quick succession. Baddeley put his finger to his lips. We waited spellbound. Then, as we watched, we saw a slim dark figure slink down the garden, leave the path leading to the drawing-room windows and come noiselessly up the gravel path. Opposite the billiard room window he stopped, then picked his way quickly and carefully across the bed till he reached the wall below the window. Looking round cautiously he bent down, picked up a handful of earth and threw it sharply against the pane. We saw the window raised slowly and the figure outside watching it.
“Now,” said Baddeley. “We’ll take him with his back towards us.”
Anthony drew his revolver, and we hurled ourselves at the crouching figure. He was utterly and completely taken by surprise.
“Curse you!” he snarled. “What’s the game?” But Baddeley silenced him with a buffet to the mouth while Anthony and I flung ourselves upon him. The scuffle was sharp but short. Three against one is merciless odds, and each one of us was bigger than our quarry. A few ineffective kicks and he lay helpless on the ground. Baddeley clicked the bracelets on his wrists.
“Now, Mr. ‘Spider’ Webb,” he cried, “I charge you with the robbery, last night, or to be precise, yesterday morning, of Lady Considine’s pearls, and I warn you that anything you say may be used as evidence against you. Bring him inside, gentlemen.” He called to Roper. “Tell those other two it’s all right—they can leave their positions and get back.”
We escorted our prisoner to the library, and on the way I was able to get my first good look at him. Jack Considine and Arkwright joined us.
He was a thin-faced, slim-limbed man with long black hair under his peaked cap. One of a type that can be seen many times over any day in the East End of London. I could quickly see how he had qualified for his sobriquet of “Spider.” His face twitched spasmodically as we marched him into the library.
“A very neat piece of work, Sir Charles,” exclaimed Baddeley ... “very neat and quite according to plan.”
Our prisoner flashed a glance full of menace at him, malice and spite flickering over his face unmistakably.
“Wot am I charged with?” he grunted. “Let’s hear it again.”
“The theft of Lady Considine’s pearls,” rapped Baddeley.
“Oh! Not cradle-snatching or boot-legging ... nothing fancy-like?”
“And unless you’re very careful,” went on the Inspector, “you may find yourself called upon to face an even more serious charge than robbery.”
Webb whitened, even under his normal pallor. “What might that be?” he muttered.
“The murder of Mr. Gerald Prescott, at Considine Manor,” replied Baddeley with studied deliberation.
“I know nothink about that, guvnor, nothink at all. S’elp me God, I don’t.”
“You knew of the murder then?” snapped Baddeley. “You aren’t surprised?”
“I can read, can’t I?” jeered Webb. “I ain’t exactly a savage!”
“What have you done with the necklace you took? Got it on you still?”
“Course not. D’ye think I’ve come passenger’s luggage in advance?”
“Run him over, Roper.” Roper’s search was rapid and thorough.
“Not in any of his pockets, sir,” he announced.
“I’ll take a chance then,” said Baddeley. “Take off his coat and waistcoat.” Roper obeyed, throwing them over to Sir Charles who handed them to Arkwright, and I saw a look of desperation flit across the “Spider’s” face. Baddeley walked quickly over to him. He passed his fingers carefully across his shirt and then thrust his hand fiercely underneath it. He lugged at something under Webb’s armpit and all the malevolence of the underworld was revealed in the “Spider’s” eyes as he fell back a pace or two. Baddeley tossed his find on the table. Our eyes sought it greedily.
“There you are, gentlemen,” he cried with triumph. “The Considine Necklace, if I am not mistaken.”
Sir Charles caught it up. A small oilskin bag with two attachments of tape. He pulled the top open. “I congratulate you most heartily, Inspector Baddeley, the pearls are here.” He counted them. “And intact.”
The Inspector flushed with pleasure. “Dress him again, Roper,” he jerked ... “and take him along.”
Arkwright handed the clothes over.
“Pockets empty?” queried Baddeley. Roper proceeded to examine them. “Packet of cigarette-papers”—he threw them on the table—“box of matches, clasp-knife, nothing else ... stay though ...” he plunged his hand into the left-hand jacket pocket. “There’s something else here ...” he said, “tape or something.” He drew it out!
We sat and looked dumbfounded. For there, before our eyes, he dangleda worn brown shoe-lace!
“By Moses!” yelled the Inspector. “It’s our man after all.”
Webb looked astounded. “Wot d’ye mean?” he stammered. “Wot are yer drivin’ at now?” Baddeley eyed him severely.
“This lace, Webb, where did you get it from?”
“Ask me another,” came the reply. “To tell the ’onest truth, guvnor, I never knew it was there. Must be an old ’un I’ve ’ad in my pocket some time and forgotten. Seems to have poked the breeze up yer though! Am I charged with pinchin’ that, too?”
The Inspector’s eyes never left Webb’s face. “Mr. Gerald Prescott, a guest here of Sir Charles Considine, was found murdered this morning by Marshall, a maid. His body....”
Webb’s eyes blazed at him with a mixture of defiance and fear. “Wot’s that you say? By who?” he blurted out.
“By Marshall, I said,” rattled back Baddeley. “Would you prefer me to say, byMrs. Webb?”
As the full significance of his statement sank into the “Spider’s” mind his face blanched with terror. “She found him ... murdered ...” he muttered. “How was he done in?”
“He was strangled,” responded his accuser. “Strangled by such a thing as a shoe-lace. A shoe-lace like this.” He held it in front of him.
Webb licked his lips. “Let me make a statement, Inspector. You put it down as I give it to yer. This is a facer, and no mistake. But on your life, guvnor, I’m as innocent as a new-born babe.”
Baddeley made a sign to Roper. He produced his note-book.
Webb moistened his lips again. “It’s like this. You’ve caught me properly and you’ve taken the goods off of me. There’s no gainsayin’ that. But I reckon I know when the tide’s runnin’ against me, and I figure out that time’s now. I got the necklace last night, or you can call it, about two o’clock yesterday morning. How you got on to me I can’t tell no more than Adam, but here I am with the bracelets on me. S’elp me God, Inspector, I was away from this place by ten minutes past two, and never set eyes on a livin’ soul. I’ll take my dyin’ oath on that.”
“You never met Mr. Prescott at all?” asked Anthony.
“I never met nobody and I’ve never ’eard of Mr. Prescott.”
“How do you account for this shoe-lace being found in your pocket?”
“I can’t, guvnor, and that’s a fact. I can’t even say as ’ow itismine.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if it’s mine, it’s laid in that pocket for weeks without me noticin’ it.”
Baddeley turned to Anthony Bathurst. “I don’t think we shall gain much by keeping him any longer. I’ll send him down with Roper. Yes?” Anthony nodded. But he was apparently far from happy at the singular twist things had taken. I could very well imagine one or two of his preconceived theories had toppled very sickeningly from their citadels. “Motor him down to the station then, Roper.”
“Right, sir!”
“Now for an interesting little experiment,” said Baddeley. “Wait here a minute, gentlemen.” He slipped from the room.
“I hope he won’t be too long,” said Sir Charles. “It’s very late and I’m dead tired. What’s this experiment?”
Before either of us could answer, the Inspector reappeared. In his hand he carried the two brown shoes that we had found on Prescott. He proceeded to insert the lace we had just discovered on Webb in the shoe that wanted it. The length was just right.
“The other lace, gentlemen,” he declared. “Look for yourselves.”
“You’re right, Inspector,” said Anthony. “Though I must confess I had doubted it.”
“Complicates things, considerably, don’t you think? Fairly beats me!”
“No,” said Anthony. He put his pipe in his pocket. “I regard this as a most interesting and instructive development.”
The Monday afternoon following the murder found Roper busy in the small and unpretentious building in Considine that served as the Police Station. As he worked he muttered to himself. “Take a Kodak with you on your holidays. I don’t think. When I get my holidays I’ll take darned good care to leave my photography apparatus at home.” He looked at the clock. “Just on three o’clock—the Inspector will be here in a jiffy.” He held half a dozen plates to the light—then put them down again on the window-sill. “They’ll be just about ready for him.”
“Good-afternoon, Mr. Roper.”
He turned quickly. “Hallo, Griffiths,” he said as a constable entered. “Got back all right then?”
Constable Griffiths grinned. “You’ve said it. Ran ’em into Lewes Jail about half-past eleven this morning—wasn’t half a mob as the van drew up. News spreads, don’t it, Mr. Roper? Nice job for a Bank Holiday!”
Roper nodded. “Guess they won’t call it a honeymoon, that pair,” he reflected. “Still, things aren’t at all clear....”
“Which one did the job, do you think?” interrogated Griffiths.