XXIV
Labar’s first business was to interview the wife of his temporary landlord, the retired constable. Into her hands he confided Penelope, with instructions that the girl was to be fed and then allowed to rest.
“And what are you going to do?” cried the girl.
He grinned. “Have a bath and a shave and put on some decent clothes.”
“And then?”
He pressed her hand. “Then I have to attend to Mr. Larry Hughes. I am a lazy man. If I don’t get on with the business while it’s in front of me I’m apt not to do it at all.”
Her eyes clouded, and she clung to his hand as though reluctant to let him go. “But surely you are going to have a rest, too? Can’t you leave this to someone else? You have some of your men down here?”
Labar disengaged himself. “There is nothing at all to worry about, my dear. I shall take good care of myself now, I assure you. There will be no more danger than if I was engaged on a rat hunt.”
“Trapped rats sometimes bite.”
“I propose to do all the biting this time,” he laughed. “Be a good child, and I’ll promise to keep well out of any trouble. If they start shooting, I’ll hide behind Malone. He’s big enough.”
Blowing her a kiss he retired to his own room. His mask of nonchalance dropped from him as soon as he was away from her sight, to be replaced by determined thought. It was not likely that what remained to be done would be so simple as he would have her believe. Spite of everything, he had no notion within some miles of the house where Larry and his gang were located—and, if he found the place, it was nothing more than an assumption that they would still be there. He had first to find them and, supposing that to be successful, he had somehow to recruit a sufficient force to deal with them. That would take time.
He was his usual neat self when he emerged to seek Malone. The sergeant was standing at the door of one of the less fashionable inns puffing at a disreputable briar pipe, and making non-helpful suggestions to a lad who was perspiring over the bonnet of an old Ford car.
Malone moved along the cobbled street to meet the inspector. “Bit late last night, weren’t you, guv’nor? I waited till twelve o’clock for you and then turned in. Just thinking about another start when Barney there has coaxed the old Lizzie into a reasonable frame of mind. The places I took her over yesterday were worse than a toothache.”
Labar caught him by the arm. “Let’s walk a little way, Bill. I want you to go to the local police station with me. You can do some talking while I get on to the phone to the Yard.”
Briefly he narrated the happenings of the day and night. “What I propose to do is this,” he added. “We must stop every bolt hole in sight. All the ports must be notified, and particularly those seaside towns on the southeast coast. I expect Larry has seen to passports, but, even if he hasn’t, it is simple to leave on some of these day excursions to France without them. We must borrow as many men from the local forces as we can, and throw a dragnet over the marsh. I am going to ask the Yard to send down a dozen or so Flying Squad men by car. They ought to get here in a couple of hours with luck. There’s just an off-chance that we may find our birds still in their nest. Larry was away yesterday, and the fog no doubt prevented him from getting back. He’ll have a lot to do, when he does arrive.”
Malone quickened his step. “You know something else, guv’nor,” he commented. “You’re keeping something up your sleeve.”
The inspector nodded and glanced over his shoulder. “You’ve hit it,” he agreed. “It’s only a guess, mind you, but some facts told me by Miss Noelson rather bear it out. The sea is, she told me, about a mile away from the house. Larry as you know has his own yacht. I’m not much of a sailor, but if it was possible to bring that yacht reasonably near inshore, it would explain how a lot of the stuff that has passed through Larry’s hands got out of the country without our people getting a smell of it.”
“You mean that the house is a depot for stolen goods.”
“Exactly.”
“Then why shouldn’t Larry use the yacht to get away?”
“Because he probably guessed that steps were being taken to keep an eye on the boat. We knew of the yacht. We didn’t know of this hide out. It might have been risky from his point of view to bring the boat over while we were on the alert. It might give away his cache without helping him. But with the events of the past few days, while things have been getting warm for him, he has probably been taking steps to have it at hand for his getaway. That’s all guesswork. If we weren’t rushed this morning I could probably confirm it. I’ll bet you that he has been sending wires abroad. Anyway, on the off-chance I am going to ask the Yard to get in touch with the Admiralty, and have a destroyer off the coast until we clear up. And if there’s a fast motor boat somewhere handy, we might find a use for it.”
Malone nodded appreciatively. “I get you, guv’nor.”
There were a few complications in getting the search organised, for no less than three police forces were concerned—the Metropolitan Police, the Kent Constabulary, and the Sussex Police. In spite of the risk of a fiasco that might make him a laughing stock, Labar urged that as many as possible of the local men who took part in the search should be armed with shotguns. He was confident that the gunmen who formed part of Larry’s retinue would not be taken without a fight. In the hands of men who were unused to firearms shotguns would probably be more effective than any deadlier weapons, although the Scotland Yard authorities assured him that the Flying Squad men would be armed with automatic pistols.
Once he had put things in train he hired a car, and with Malone and a couple of local officers he started for the marsh, having arranged a rendezvous for the larger part of his forces at the inn where he had breakfasted the preceding day. Guides had been promised from various sources and it was anticipated that from the description that had been furnished by Penelope it would not be a matter of great difficulty to locate the house where she had been held. A body of police were to start from Lydd to patrol the shore as far as Dungeness. On every road over which a car might pass from the district, armed patrols of Kent police were to be established.
Labar’s scheme was to make a wide sweep over the marsh and if Larry was still in the trap he had little doubt of success. But it was some little time before the police, who had to be collected from a wide area of country, could be brought together to put his full plan into operation.
From somewhere the local inspector who accompanied him, routed out a constable who was said to know the district, and a farmer and a shepherd picked up on the way volunteered their services. Both these latter agreed that the house for which search was being made could be none other that Mope’s Bottom, which stood far away on the marsh, and which had been rented many years ago by a gentleman from London. It had borne many years before a local reputation as a haunted house, and was still avoided after dusk by many of those whose avocations might take them to the vicinity.
As yet, including Labar and Malone, there were not more than a dozen men gathered for the expedition. Labar looked at his watch. It would be an hour at least, and probably longer, before the complete forces would be gathered.
“Reckon I’ll take this shepherd and go and have a look, see,” he said to Malone. “You can explain my ideas if we’re not back, Bill, and then carry on. I’m sure to meet you.” He turned to the looker whom he had decided to take as guide. “How long do you think it will take us to get to this place? We might go part of the way by car.”
“An hour and a half, walking,” said the looker. “Maybe twenty minutes by car—I don’t know.”
“I suppose they’d see a car coming for miles over this place,” said the detective inspector. “It’s as flat as the palm of your hand. And I’d bet something that they’ll be keeping a good lookout today.”
“If you’re bent on going, guv’nor,” said Malone, and his tone conveyed that he thought it a totally unnecessary venture, “why not take the car as far as you think wise and walk the rest. There won’t be any cover for you though. Why not wait?”
“No, I’ll go and have a scout round. You can be easy, Bill. I won’t take any risks I can help. Let’s go.”
For a mile or so they pushed the car along one of the rough tracks of the marsh. As the looker explained, the detour was even more extensive than if they had gone on foot, and the roughness of the going made the driver wary of anything in the nature of speed. The detective and his guide descended when the latter observed that within the next mile they would come within sight of Mope’s Bottom. They made their way over the pastures and dykes on foot by a more direct, but still devious route.
Presently they were within view of the dark mass of the house. They lay on the edge of a dyke and studied it for a while. Through his glasses Labar could see nothing that gave the slightest indication of life. There was not even a wisp of smoke from the chimneys, and the windows were tight-closed. From where they were the angle of the wall hid a distinct view of the gate, but the detective rapped out an oath as he tried to confirm an impression that it was open. Could it be that after all he was too late?
There had always been that possibility, but Labar at the back of his mind had refused to recognise it as likely. There had been but the most slender margin of time in which his quarry could have safely got away. It would be the most uncanny luck if he had succeeded.
He rose to his feet, and with the looker by his side strode on to where he could get a closer view of the place. This time there was no doubt. The big wall gates were open.
Labar snapped the glasses into their case and turned to the looker. “You can get back, my lad. Tell Mr. Malone, or whoever you meet, that I think our birds have made their getaway. Anyway I’m going on to see what has happened. Get some of my men to come on the moment they are ready. Now which is my nearest way to the house?”
He strode on reckless of everything now. He was convinced that the house was empty. Certain it was that neither Larry nor any of his associates would have permitted any carelessness at this time. There could only be one explanation of the outer defences of the place remaining unguarded when they must know that the forces of the law would be upon them at any minute.
As he drew nearer his conviction became more certain. But as he reached the gates some instinct of caution made him step more warily. They might have left the Alsatian. He pulled out an automatic which he had procured at Rye, though he had little faith in his ability to use it effectively, and passed between the gates with his senses vividly on the alert.
Once within he halted for a second or two and listened with strained intentness. There was not a sound. Moving on velvet feet, ready to shoot at the instant, he tried the door of the house. It was fastened, and he turned his attention to the windows. But whoever had forgotten the gates the house was tight-sealed. A swift examination showed him that none of the simple devices by which the fastenings of an ordinary house might be overcome would suffice here.
With a grim smile he recalled that he had neglected to obtain a search warrant. He had not even had the warrant for Larry’s arrest endorsed by a local magistrate. But the strict formalities of the law have at times to be ignored or many rogues would escape. Time enough to put himself right on these technicalities later. He reversed his pistol and smashed with the butt through the glass of the morning-room window. Thrusting his hand carefully through the jagged pane he undid the fastening and entered the room. It was meticulously neat and tidy. No sign of any hurried departure here.
Completely satisfied that no living person remained in the house he pushed his pistol back into his pocket and lit a cigarette. There was nothing to hurry about now. He would have to wait till his men arrived in any event.
He moved about the house taking for the moment a superficial if methodical survey. But as he entered room after room to find each in applepie order, with nothing that could in any manner be construed to fit with his theory that the house was a depot for stolen goods, he puffed more fiercely at his cigarette and his eyebrows drew more closely together.
“If Larry’s had the stuff here he’s made a clean sweep or he’s hidden it pretty tight,” he muttered. “But he can’t have got away with it. It isn’t possible.”
Something that Penelope Noelson had said recurred to him, and he made his way back to the panelled room that he judged to have been Larry’s study. Taking a pencil from his pocket he proceeded to tap methodically inch by inch upon the walls. A quarter of an hour passed in this manner and he was stooping to make a fresh start from the bottom of the wall when he became aware of some slight sound behind him. He gave no sign that he had heard and continued the tap tap of his pencil as nonchalantly as ever, considering with strained calculation what his next move should be.
The even voice of Larry Hughes broke on his ear. “No use trying to deceive the astute Mr. Labar. You’ve guessed right. There is a secret panel in this room. But as you see you started at the wrong end. And rather than wait the arrival of your friends we have decided to show you everything ourselves. Keep very still, please. My friend Mr. Bungey is a hasty man. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to you.”
Still stooping the detective permitted his gaze to swing slowly round. Before an open panel in the woodwork stood Larry Hughes and Billy Bungey each with a levelled pistol in his hand.