XXVIII

The immediate question to be solved was whether Larry Hughes was still hiding on the marsh, or whether he had eluded the network of police and got safely away. So far as the detectives could tell every one of the gang who had been at Mope’s Bottom, except Larry and Billy Bungey, was safely in custody. Messengers were hurriedly despatched in various directions, and a fresh and combined sweep of the marshes begun. Meantime motor cars were sent for from various points by which the prisoners already gathered in might be escorted to Lydd, where they were to remain for the time guarded by a strong force of police.

Labar had enough respect for Larry to think that, for the time, he had again eluded them. He did not believe that Larry would be found on the marsh, and the events of the next couple of hours proved that he was right. The master crook had somehow got through the cordon or had hidden himself and his companion with supreme cunning. But the odds were now with justice. It could only be a matter of time. Even if he managed to get out of the country⁠—a matter of considerable doubt⁠—it would be an unprecedented thing if he held himself secure from the police machine of the world.

Word reached Labar at the end of the search that a suspicious yacht had been picked up by H.M. destroyer Hawk off Dungeness and had been escorted to Dover. Everything had been found in order aboard her, but that her owner’s name was given as Hughes. The crew were remaining on board under guard, until such time as someone from Scotland Yard should look them over. This was a business in which he promptly enlisted the services of Moreland, who departed with one of his sergeants in a motor car with a promise to return at the earliest possible moment. The news that the motor boat which had put out from Camber had broken down ere it reached its destination was now of trifling interest.

Satisfied, after a couple of hours, that the likelihood of picking up Larry immediately was remote, Labar returned to Mope’s Bottom with Malone and two or three more men from the Yard to make a systematic and complete rummage of the tunnel.

He was not altogether surprised to find that the Assistant Commissioner in charge of the Criminal Investigation Department, and Winter the Chief Constable, were there to greet him. They had run down by car⁠—a little too late for the fair as Winter expressed it.

They listened as he gave a short account of the events of the day, and Winter chuckled as Labar told how he had fallen into Larry’s trap and extricated himself.

“You came close to making a hash of it, young feller. You wouldn’t have any sympathy from me if you were a corpse right now. You’re too darned impetuous. I’ve told you so before. Besides, what business had you running things on your own? You’re an outsider in this district. You might have paid the local officers the compliment of consulting them before you dashed off on this stunt. You didn’t even have the excuse that Miss Noelson was still here.”

“I agree, sir,” said Labar with the complacency of a man who felt that results had justified him. “I was wrong.”

“Well, don’t let it happen again, that’s all. Running round bossing everybody just as if you were Home Secretary, instead of a chief detective inspector.”

Labar lifted his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon, sir.”

The Assistant Commissioner broke in. “That’s Winter’s way of keeping you humble, Mr. Labar. It’s quite true that you are promoted. It will be in orders this week.”

“Can’t trust you in a division,” snorted Winter. “Want to have you under my own eye at the Yard. I’ll see that you work.” He broke off abruptly with a comment on the escape of Larry Hughes and thus sidetracked any attempt at thanks on the part of Labar and brought him back to the business in hand.

The two Yard chiefs elected to take a hand in the search of the tunnel. “How did it come about that you thought of a back door?” asked the Assistant Commissioner.

“Just put two and two together. Miss Noelson told me that there were times when one or more of the gang would disappear from the house and she was sure that they had not gone out by the gate. Looked a possible explanation of many things, especially the way that stolen goods were got out of the country. So I made up my mind to look for a tunnel⁠—particularly one that led from Larry’s private room.”

Inch by inch with the help of torches they went over the tunnel. It was clear that it had been enlarged and shored up since the old days of the smugglers. Once admitting the possibility of getting material, it was simple to understand that Larry would be in no difficulty in obtaining labour. He himself had a reputation as a craftsman, and there were several among those who were under his sway who were skilled in many directions. The steel sliding doors were examined by Winter with an expert eye. They were miracles of ingenuity, although they had failed in their evident purpose as a safeguard in cases of emergency.

The walls of the tunnel room were lined with strong steel boxes, the majority of which were unlocked. These had clearly been used for the temporary disposal of stolen property, until it could be embarked on Larry’s yacht. Suitcases and handbags of various types were standing about and an investigation of these showed that these had been packed with the most portable and valuable of the goods from the lockers.

The Assistant Commissioner applied a match to his pipe. “As a small boy one of my most determined dreams was to see an Aladdin’s cave some day. Now I know what it would look like.”

“There were forty thieves in that business,” said Winter. “Larry seems to have resurrected the whole gang.”

They carried the loot back into the house where a more precise examination of the contents of the bags could be made, and a detailed list written out. A very few minutes sufficed to show that they had retrieved, not only practically the whole of the stuff stolen from Streetly House, but articles which were part of the proceeds of many other robberies. The detectives had at hand no descriptions, but their memories aided them to identify many things with certainty. Here was thrown light on many affairs that had been brought off in Labar’s division, and which had caused him many uneasy moments.

“There’s pretty well all the evidence you want,” said Winter. “All that you need now is to lay hands on Larry. It’s an open-and-shut case against him and his people.”

Labar glanced at his watch. “We’ll need an expert with proper tools to open up the other locked steel boxes,” he said. “Apart from that Mr. Malone might take charge here now. I want to get away to Lydd to see about getting some of these people sorted out and sent up to London. Those I don’t know anything about I propose to charge for the moment with being concerned in the Streetly House job. What do you think, sir?”

The Assistant Commissioner nodded. “I suppose you agree, Winter?”

The Chief Constable was prepared to accept Labar’s suggestion.

“The Public Prosecutor will want to have a word on the subject of the charges you propose to make. Wish we could get hold of Larry and finish up the whole thing at one fell swoop. You’ll have plenty to do, Labar. I’ll take what I can off your shoulders, but there’s a lot of things that will need your attention in person.”

Labar nodded. The cleanup promised, so far as he could see, to keep him busy indefinitely. For each individual case among the prisoners was certain to involve a multitude of inquiries, to say nothing of a ream of dockets and other correspondence. The time likely to be spent in court was not inconsiderable, but that would be the least of his troubles. Meanwhile he had a wish as a point of personal pride to be the man who should effect the arrest of Larry Hughes⁠—a thing which he began to fear would be unlikely. Scotland Yard, in looking for results, cares very little whether Smith, Brown or Robinson brings off the final coup. If there were other matters to occupy Labar he would have to stand aside. Nor could he rid himself of an undercurrent of feeling that Penelope was not to be regarded as safe until Larry was under lock and key.

Something of what was passing in his mind he managed to indicate. “It’s going to be hard luck on me if I don’t get a chance to go and get Larry,” he observed.

“Man, but you’re a hog,” ejaculated Winter. “You want to wind up like the detectives in the story books. Leave a bit of the limelight for someone else. Maybe Larry will be pulled up, in the end, by some country constable. What the blazes does it matter who actually arrests him? Don’t you know that we’re all pieces of a machine? Stick to your knitting, Labar.”

The two heads of the C.I.D. accompanied Labar to Lydd where a list of the prisoners by name had been made out. Arrangements had already been made for a motor “Black Maria” to be available in case it was decided to send them to London.

A room was placed at Labar’s disposal in the little local police station, and one by one the prisoners were brought before him, for he was anxious to make a final attempt to find out if among them there was anyone who might throw light on Larry’s plans. In each case it was a solitary interview. There were reasons for this. It is a trait of human nature⁠—particularly criminal human nature⁠—to be more disposed to confidence where there are not too many witnesses. Labar felt, also, that there might arise occasions for questioning that a strict interpretation of the law would not permit. Every Scotland Yard man must on occasion put a blind eye to the telescope. The laws and regulations made to protect the public if carried out to the letter would make the detection of crime almost impossible.

But since Larry’s flight was only a spur of the moment impulse, Labar gained nothing that would help him to any extent in that matter. Hints of other associates, suggestions of possible hiding places, came from some of the more weak-kneed brethren who saw the fall of the heavens in this wholesale capture. These things the detective made note of for future use. In one or two cases he realised that some of those he had rounded up were more dupes than knaves. Most of them, of course, would have him believe that they were innocent victims of circumstance. One or two such as Tom the valet, were defiantly dumb. On the whole, however, Labar felt that he had put in a good hour’s work before he came to the last of the list, the two women, Sophie Lengholm and Mrs. Gertstein.

Sophie, her head held high, her determined jaw set, showed no sign of friendliness as Labar set out a chair for her. Labar was a little puzzled how to deal with her for the moment.

“I believe you saved my life, today,” he said. “In any case you saved me from a very awkward position. Why did you do it?”

“I am certain I saved your life,” she answered, coldly. “Don’t think that it was because of any liking that I have for you or anyone else from Scotland Yard. Whatever I am, whatever I have been, I have never had a hand in murder. That was all there was to it.”

He shook his head. “I want to tell you that I’m grateful, not only for that, but for some things in which I have a guess that you stood between Miss Noelson and trouble.”

“Oh, that.” She made an impatient gesture. “Larry wanted to go too far. Anyone would have stopped him.”

“You’re a little before my time,” he said as though thinking aloud. “I can’t quite place you without looking you up. What have we got against you?”

The woman laughed without merriment. “As if I should say that you have anything against me.”

“Take it from me, Sophie, I am not thinking of trapping you. I am more concerned to find some way to let you down lightly. I don’t want something from the back of beyond to crop up against you if there is any way of getting you out of the present mess. Whether you think me sincere or not, I am anxious to stand your friend.”

Sophie Lengholm had been born and bred to an ingrained distrust and contempt of all police officers. But she was a woman of the world and Labar’s words and manner had an effect. Not that her instinctive feelings were entirely dissipated. “Do you want me to squeal?” she asked. “Because if so you needn’t waste any more breath.”

“That’s just as you feel about it,” he replied. “I should judge that you don’t owe very much to Larry or his friends, but if you want to stand by them well and good. But can’t you trust me about yourself? Give me some line on which I can act without prejudice to my duty.”

Her face softened. “I believe that you are straight. Mind you, it is understood that nothing I say goes out of this room as an admission from me.”

“This is between you and me, Sophie,” he agreed.

“My real name is Cummings,” she said. “I am the wife of Dave Cummings. I can see that you remember now.”

“About twelve or fifteen years ago,” he said. “Wasn’t he the man who got a lifer for shooting at a policeman in Manchester?”

“That’s the case. It was a jeweller’s shop and I was dogging outside when the constable became suspicious. I gave Dave the office and we started to move off. Dave never went armed on these things⁠—in case. But I carried a pistol and when we were pressed hard I passed it on to Dave. He used it, and perhaps you remember it was touch and go whether the officer lived. Dave and I separated after the shot was fired, and he got caught. For some reason it was supposed that he was alone. The policeman was a little excited I guess, and when he recovered spoke of only one person. So Dave went down and I got away.”

“That’s a long while ago,” said the detective. “Unless you admit your complicity there is no evidence against you.”

“Half a minute. Larry had put up that job for us, and naturally, he saw that everything was done for Dave that could be done. Of course Dave told him everything. In any case he knew that I was there. Apart from that there were others in the business who knew and whom he undertook to keep quiet. When Dave was sentenced Larry undertook to look after me. I was useful in many ways. It was only when he found that I was trying to get out of the game that he cracked the whip over me by threatening to have me put away. He would have done it, too. Larry has never made a threat that he hasn’t been prepared to carry out.”

“But you haven’t been at Mope’s Bottom all this time?”

“Oh, Lord, no. There were other ways in which I was useful. Larry has not often dealt direct with crooks. I have been down here for the last few years.”

“Looking after the embarkation of stolen property?”

She shot a fierce glance at him from under her eyelashes, and Labar though convinced that his shot was right felt as though he had taken an unfair advantage. He gnawed at the end of a pencil. “I’m sorry. I should not have said that. I suppose that it is not the least use asking you to come out with everything that you know of Larry?”

“Not the least,” she agreed with decision. “I’ll tell you all you like about myself, but I won’t implicate other people. I’m a thief, the daughter of thieves, and the wife of a thief. You won’t find very much about me except what I’ve told you. If you can keep that out of it, I’ll be obliged.”

He rose and offered his hand. “Thank you, Sophie. You can be sure that I remember what I owe you. Rest easy about the old business. But this is different. You’ll have to go through as an accomplice of Larry’s you know.”

“That’s all right with me, Mr. Labar,” she said. “You’ve got your job to do.”

She gripped his hand and with a nod and a smile passed out of the room.