XXV
Harry Labar had been in many tight corners in his life, but now he knew himself in the tightest of them all. He had fallen into an ambush. He was certain that at the first false move he made neither of the men who confronted him would hesitate to shoot him down. They were in a situation where nothing—not even murder—could make matters much worse for them. Unless they escaped the net that was closing round them they knew as well as he did that practically the remainder of their lives would be spent in prison.
He smiled sweetly upon the two. “Do you mind if I raise myself a little?” he asked. “This attitude is somewhat cramping.”
“First of all I think that you had better drop your gun on the floor,” said Larry. “That’s a sensible man,” as Labar dragged out his weapon and tossed it on the carpet. “Now you may stand up while Billy attends to you. But,” he made a menacing gesture with his own pistol—“don’t do anything foolish.”
It was far from Labar’s intention to do anything foolish. He knew in what jeopardy he stood. So he remained perfectly still while Billy Bungey skilfully lashed his arms to his side, and as he finished surveyed the trussed detective with some satisfaction.
“What about a gag?” he asked taking out a handkerchief and considering it speculatively. “We shan’t want him kicking up an uproar when his pals arrive.”
“He’ll do as he is,” declared Larry. “I want to have a chat with him.” He moved into the room and put a hand at Labar’s elbow. “Come on, Mr. Inspector. For your own sake you had better not play any tricks. If your men get on to us I assure you that the first man who is put out will be yourself. Get that.”
“I appreciate the compliment,” agreed the inspector.
As he was led through the open panel, with Larry and Billy Bungey on each side of him, one of them slid it into place behind. For a second they were in impenetrable blackness. Then someone switched on an electric torch and Labar gathered that he was in a narrow tunnel which widened as they advanced. They had gone a hundred yards or so when they were halted. Labar turned to see a steel door slide across the tunnel.
“A little modern addition of my own to an old smugglers tunnel,” said Larry. “Nothing short of dynamite will shift that.”
“I half-suspected that you would have a bolthole,” said Labar with the indifferent air of one making conversation. “This is where you stowed your stuff, I suppose. Where does it lead to?”
“Shut up,” ordered Larry. “You can talk when I ask you to. Let’s get along.”
As near as the detective could estimate they had traversed another quarter of a mile when there was a gleam of light ahead. In a little they had reached a widening of several yards in the tunnel, which formed a sort of room, dimly lit by an oil lamp. Lounging on suitcases and other baggage about this space were several spectral figures whom Labar rightly assumed to be the rest of Larry’s party.
“You may sit down,” said Hughes. “I don’t think that the formality of an introduction is necessary to most of these ladies and gentlemen. You know them. They have been waiting your arrival.”
“You expected me then?” asked Labar in a tone of mild surprise.
“We guessed there would be an early arrival this morning, and we hoped that it might be you,” said Larry. “We left the outer gates open as a bait in case you came snooping around.”
Although he was feeling very far from laughter Labar managed to enunciate a convincing chuckle. “Well, you have got me,” he said. “I may be very dense, Larry, but I fail to see how that is going to help you. What are you going to do with me?”
“There are many things that we might do,” said Larry significantly. “Indeed I cannot say what we shall do if you don’t behave reasonably. There’s an old proverb you know.”
“ ‘Dead men tell no tales.’ That’s what you are trying to hint?”
“You have a quick mind, my dear Labar. Use it a little farther and guess why we want you.”
Labar thought for a moment before replying. “That shouldn’t be difficult,” he said slowly. “You are in a hole and want to know what steps I have taken to dig you out. Suppose I don’t tell you.”
Larry thrust his face, sinister and threatening, close to that of the prisoner. “Oh, yes you will,” he said menacingly.
The detective laughed. “Well, you will know soon enough. I gather that you have been disappointed in the arrival of your yacht. This tunnel probably leads out somewhere by the shore and you hope to slip away tonight by sea, while the police are watching the ports. But there are a hundred armed men on the marsh and the shore is patrolled. There is a fast motor boat just off the beach and beyond that a destroyer. You’ve only just got to show your nose above ground and you’re gone coons, Larry. Now you know just where you stand. I hope you like it.”
“You’re a liar,” snarled Billy Bungey.
“Leave this to me, Billy,” ordered Larry peremptorily. He addressed Labar. “I think you are lying myself. If you are not you can depend upon it that they’ll never get me alive. Who will be in charge when they fail to find you?”
The detective shook his head. “That I can’t tell you. I don’t know who will be down from the Yard. But if you think you can bluff them out of this district you’ll be disappointed. They’ll stick. Better make the best of a bad job, Larry.”
“Make no mistake, Labar. You will never live to give evidence against any of us.”
“Then you’ll hang,” retorted the other amiably. “Not only you, Larry, but all of those here.” He raised his voice. “Do you hear me, you people. Some of you may get away with light sentences as it is. But if you let this man—”
A hand was clapped roughly about his mouth and he was forced to his knees. But he had said what he wanted. Desperate though many of those under the sway of Larry Hughes were, not all of them would face with composure the probability of being hanged for murder. There were subdued mutterings and he could distinguish the voices of Mrs. Gertstein and Sophie Lengholm. It was the latter who came forward.
“Don’t be a fool, Larry. The man’s right. It can’t do us any good to kill him. If we’re in the cart, we’re in it.”
Larry swore fiercely at her. “When I want your advice I’ll ask for it.”
The man who held the detective broke in. “He’s got the whole business in hand. Let me do him in. Who’s to know? Whatever they think we can put him somewhere where they’ll never find him. Likely as not things will break down without him. I’m for taking the chance.”
“Sophie’s got the strength of it,” said another voice. “Time enough to croak him if we’re forced to it. As it is we can afford to wait and see what happens. No good risking our necks until we have to.”
“I won’t have any of you swine telling me what to do or what not to do,” declared Larry with cold fury. “I’m the big noise here. If anyone’s got any different ideas about it now’s the time to have it out.” He paused for a moment as if waiting for someone to take up his challenge. It was met with a dead silence. He had reasserted his ascendency. He made a gesture of ineffable contempt. “Huh, you squealing lot of rats. Let that split up, Bill. If he opens his mouth again fetch him one across the jaw.”
As Labar got awkwardly to his feet Larry wheeled upon him. “And you, you big spawn, I mean what I say. All the chance that you’ve got is that we get clear away. So put your thinking cap on.”
“That’s the stuff,” ejaculated Bill Bungey, “I’m with you.” He poked a forefinger stiffly into Labar’s ribs. “O-u-t spells out and out you go.”
Larry’s burst of temper cooled down. He was in perfect possession of himself when next he spoke. “I’m going to call your bluff, Labar. I’m going to see if your people have blocked every way out. You’d better hope for your own sake that they haven’t. Come on Tom—and you Billy. The rest of you keep an eye on this man.”
He crept away accompanied by the two men he had designated farther along the tunnel. By straining his ears Labar heard another steel door creak back. Apparently the tunnel towards its seaward end was also guarded.
Larry and his two companions guided by the gleam of an electric torch moved swiftly along the damp tunnel. The leader was thoughtful.
“Billy,” he said, “I’m not sure that we haven’t overplayed our hand. If that fellow’s telling the truth we’re booked for trouble.”
“I begin to wish we hadn’t snaffled him,” said Billy. “He might not have run across that panel. If he’d overlooked it we were OK. We’d simply have had to wait till they made up their minds we had cleared off.”
“I know the breed,” retorted Larry with a shake of his head. “Once he got the idea in his head he was bound to go on with it. Some of these Johns may not have any brains, but they stick to an idea. He’d have pulled the house down to make sure. We may not be out of the wood, but we’ve got a breathing spell.”
Billy grunted uncertainly and Larry emitted a sharp order for quiet beneath his breath. The tunnel was rising at a sharp angle and narrowed so rapidly that they were compelled to take single file and crawl. Rough timbers supported the top for the last twenty yards or so and then for about the length of a man the way finished in an acute angle of about forty-five degrees. Larry, who was leading, stretched himself at full length and, stealthily withdrawing some bolts, raised a trapdoor of about two feet square a matter of inches, and peered without. Satisfied with his preliminary scrutiny he pushed the trap higher and crawled to the outer air.
He emerged into a depression in a waste of shingle sheltered by a high bank which shut off the sea. Stooping low he clambered up the bank, and laying on his stomach scrutinised the surroundings. A couple of hundred yards away the sea lapped monotonously on a lonely shore. Far out at sea there were one or two ships obviously on their lawful occasions. Nearer in there was a fleet of fishing boats. On the dim horizon something that had been at first obscured by the sail of one of the smacks came into Larry’s angle of vision. He uttered a low curse as he recognised the silhouette of a destroyer. If Labar had been speaking the truth in that particular he might have done so in others.
His gaze swung to the beach. Far as he could see that was open. There was no sign of the motor boat of which Labar had spoken. In point of fact, although Larry could not know, it was labouring on the other side of Dungeness with engine trouble. But the beach itself was deserted.
Billy Bungey had crawled up beside him and pointed out the destroyer.
“I know,” said Larry petulantly. “God, I’ve got eyes, haven’t I?”
He turned over to scan the marshes. In the distance he could see Mope’s Bottom, but around it and as far as he could see there was no sign of life.
“Not a soul, Billy,” he observed. “All the same I don’t like it. It is early yet and if Labar wasn’t bluffing we’ll be in a hole—in every sense.”
“We could take a chance and bolt for it now,” said the other. “No use waiting till it’s too late.”
The eyes of the two men met. There was a significance in Billy Bungey’s words that Larry did not fail to appreciate. He remained silent and thoughtful, and the rougher scoundrel slid back to the trapdoor.
“You there, Tom?” he asked. “Get back to the boys, will you? It looks reasonably clear here, but the boss and I are going to take a bit of a look round. We’ll be along presently.”
He came back to where Larry was lying on the shingle. “That’s got rid of him. There might be a chance for two of us. There wouldn’t be any for a crowd. What do you say?”
For once in his life Larry Hughes was irresolute. In his career there were few codes that he had not broken. But always he had made it a practice to keep faith with those who had come under his sway. He could say, outlaw though he was, that he had never betrayed a friend nor forgiven an enemy. It was a rigid part of his policy to enforce honour among thieves to himself as to his associates. He could neither afford to forgive a man who had let him down nor to abandon those who had worked with him. That was the reason for the strength that he had acquired in the underworld. Once that policy was abandoned the prestige that had been so profitable to him would be gone.
Those people who were back in the tunnel would not understand that if they were in a trap his return could do no good to them. They would think that he had deliberately planned to make them scapegoats. There was the risk, too, that their loyalty—always a frail thing—would not stand the strain of his leaving them. They would talk. And if they began talking to the police, Larry knew that his escape would have to be made good, for the evidence that would be accumulated against him would be overwhelming.
He shrugged his shoulders in contempt at his own lack of decision. What did it matter? There was enough against him as it was. Nothing that they could say or do could make any difference. Why should he worry? In cases like this it was each man for himself and the devil take the hindmost.
He rose cautiously to his feet. “Come along, Billy. We’ll take the chance.”