XXVII
Explanations were deferred till such time as the prisoners could be dealt with. Half a dozen stalwart constables, each armed with a shot gun, took charge of the captives who were subjected to a swift search. There was one, who as Labar had suspected, had still a pistol about him. If he had really intended to use it he had failed to find an opportunity, or his courage had failed. The gang were escorted into another room for the time and Moreland cocked an eye at Labar.
“Nice fellow you are. Call out the whole lot of us, horse, foot and artillery and then try to do the job on your little own. Where’s Larry?”
The other made a gesture towards the open mouth of the tunnel. “That’s his bolthole, but I doubt that he’s still in there. How long you folk been here?”
“Perhaps ten minutes,” said Malone. “We had to wait for some of our people.”
“Any chance of men slipping through out there?” He swept a hand vaguely to the marsh.
“A rat might do it. The place is alive with our men.”
“But half an hour ago? If you’ve only just got here—” He left the sentence uncompleted.
“There might have been some sort of an opportunity then,” admitted Malone.
“What are you driving at?” asked Moreland.
“Larry. That tunnel leads somewhere out towards the coast. It’s a full half hour or more since he slipped out there. If—”
They stared at each other, in something like consternation. The retired military officer who was the head of the Kent County Constabulary entered in haste.
“What’s this I hear? You’ve rounded them up? Are you Mr. Labar?”
“I’m Labar. Not altogether. We haven’t got our fingers on the man we really want yet. Do you know whether the men from Lydd have got to this part of the coast yet?”
“They should have linked up before now, but I don’t know. It’s a long way and rough going.”
“Where are your lads?” demanded Labar turning to Moreland.
“Two or three of them still searching the house. The rest are outside knocking around.”
“Send some of them with a guide down to the shore. You and I and Bill, with a couple more will slip along the tunnel in case they’ve doubled back. I’d be grateful to you, sir”—he addressed the Chief Constable—“if you would go down to the shore, too. If any of our birds have been met there will be a fight going on about now.”
He slipped the automatic into his pocket and borrowed a shot gun from one of the uniformed men. He felt more confidence in his ability to manipulate it. There were two or three torches which had been taken from the prisoners and with these his companions provided themselves.
Labar started to lead the way when with an exclamation he came to an abrupt halt.
“Lord! I nearly forgot.”
“Forgot what?” asked Moreland.
“There’s a man I shot laying along in here somewhere. He may be dead for all that I know. Just as well to have a couple of constables along to fetch him out.”
“Losing your memory I should say,” commented the irrepressible Moreland. “A little matter like a dead man and you all but forgot him!”
“And I reckon we’ll take along one of the gang as a matter of precaution,” said Labar. “There’s every modern convenience in this tunnel, including steel doors which may be awkward to open.”
A man was selected from the prisoners and the little band of armed police officers started on their tour of exploration. Bill Malone elected to take the prisoner in his own charge and poking him with the muzzle of a pistol gave expression to prophesies of sudden and horrid calamity in the event of any monkey business.
As they arrived at the first barrier Labar swung his torch and a sharp oath slipped from between his lips. That door he was confident had been left open. Now it was closed.
The white-faced prisoner under the persuasion of a dig in the ribs from Malone’s pistol point was called upon to open it. But it resisted all his efforts.
“No good, sir,” he said. “It’s locked on the inside.”
“Here’s a nice game,” observed Malone.
“Looks as if Larry had come back,” said Moreland.
“Or Tom and his pal,” said Labar. “We may have to do some digging out.” He put his face close to the metal and raised his voice. “You inside there. Can you hear me? Be good boys now and come out. You’ll do yourselves no good by this foolishness.”
There was no answer. Labar turned to the prisoner. “Show me how this is supposed to work,” he ordered.
With docility the man indicated an unobtrusive knob at the side of the wall. “Push it in and then turn it first to the right and then to the left.”
The detective obeyed, but still the blank sheet of steel remained unmoved. He fiddled impatiently with the knob and suddenly the slab glided back. In an instant the officers had crouched back to the side of the wall with weapons ready and their torches searching the darkness, half expecting a shower of bullets from the interior.
For a space they waited thus. Then Labar stirred and reaching over to the prisoner gripped his shoulder so that he squirmed. “Trying to put something over on us,” he said sternly. “Just one more break of that kind and I’ll find a way that will make you squeal. We’re bad men to play with just now.”
“It was an accident, guv’nor,” pleaded the man. “You must have handled it wrong.”
“Another accident like that may be fatal to you, my boy,” said Malone ferociously.
“All the same it’s funny about that door,” said Labar. “That has been closed since I was here. Let’s get on.”
Cautiously they pushed forward. They came to the place in which the man who had been shot had lain. The oil lamp still burned and the detectives cast their torches about. There was a crimson stain on the floor but otherwise no sign of a man either wounded or dead.
“What do you know about that?” demanded Moreland.
“Don’t ask conundrums,” retorted Labar. “Either he’s pulled himself together or someone has moved him.”
Certain now that there was someone of the gang in the tunnel they advanced with weapons poised. The outer door was also shut but with a little manipulation that also was dealt with. The narrowing of the tunnel warned them that if they were approaching an ambush here was where it might be looked for. Only one man could advance at a time, and a determined opponent could hold any number at bay indefinitely. Labar crawled first followed by Moreland and the two Flying Squad men. Then came Malone. The prisoner was for the time left behind in charge of the two constables.
Seemingly from a great distance there came the sound of a muffled report. Labar stiffened as a wedge of daylight showed some thirty or forty yards in front of him. Another report, this time louder, came to his ears and the wedge of light broadened. The head and shoulders of a man crawling towards him showed in the passage. Labar levelled his gun and saw Moreland thrust a pistol forward. For a moment they faced each other thus and the jaw of the man dropped in a consternation that would have been ludicrous at any other time.
“Back you go,” ordered Labar.
“Don’t shoot for the love of heaven,” cried the man. “I can’t go back. There are others behind me.”
Labar felt his heart quicken a beat. Was it possible that after all, Larry had been rounded up into a trap?
“How many of you are there?” he demanded.
It was the voice of Tom the valet speaking from behind the leading man that answered. “There are three of us, Mr. Labar. We can’t go back. The police are outside and they would shoot us down as we went out. We daren’t go back.”
With a little disappointment Labar recognised that Larry was not there. The three would be Tom, and his companion, and the man he had shot. He had, too, an idea of the dilemma in which they were placed. Clearly there had been some sort of an encounter with the police outside, and excited men were not likely to be too nice if a head showed itself outside the tunnel. He had no wish to cause needless bloodshed.
“We’ll give you three minutes,” he said. “They’ll have cooled down a little by then.” He pushed his way nearer to them along the corridor.
“We’ve a wounded man here,” protested the first figure. “It will be murder if you turn us out.”
“We’ll risk it,” said Labar.
The thought of retreating back along the tunnel and allowing Tom and his confederates to follow up he had dismissed at the moment it had arisen. These ruffians would have a point of vantage as soon as the tunnel opened out and might conceivably do much damage if they then determined to resist arrest. He was not going to abandon the strength of his position. It was no occasion for scruples, although he felt that the fears of the trapped men might have some foundation.
The knot was cut at the sound of a deep voice echoing from the trapdoor. “Heigh! You down below there!”
“That’s Whitehead,” said Moreland, naming one of his sergeants. He raised his voice to a shout. “It’s all right, Whitehead. This is Moreland. Stand by and your friends will come up like little gentlemen.”
“Right you are, sir,” agreed the sergeant. “We’ll be waiting.”
“Now then. Out you go,” said Labar, and slowly the men backed with the two inspectors and their aides following them closely.
As Labar and Moreland pulled themselves out of the tunnel they were confronted by a bunch of plainclothes men and uniformed police with three dejected prisoners in their midst. The Chief Constable who had gone from Mope’s Bottom with the Flying Squad men was mopping his brow with a silk handkerchief.
“You were right,” he greeted Labar. “We were just in time for a bit of a scrap.”
“What happened?” asked Labar.
“Some of our people found these men”—he jerked his head towards the prisoners—“skulking in a dyke. They were challenged and opened fire. A running fight took place for a while, and we were just in time to take a hand in the last part of it before they went to ground.”
“Might as well find out what they know,” whispered Moreland, and Labar nodded.
Moreland gave an order to one of his men and Tom was detached from his companions and brought forward well out of earshot. The Yard men knew better than to question the three together.
“You’re the man who posed as Larry’s valet?” said Labar.
“I was Mr. Hughes’ body servant, sir,” corrected Tom, mildly.
“Where is he now?”
The valet shook his head. “I know no more than you do, sir. He has vanished.”
“So it seems. He’s put you in the cart, anyway—you and your pals. What are you going to do about it? He’s doubled-crossed you. I suppose you realise that?”
Tom shook his head stolidly. “I don’t know that, sir. In these emergencies accidents are likely to happen beyond one’s control. I should say that Mr. Hughes has found it impossible to communicate with us. I remember that you suggested something of the sort down below. You will forgive me if I take the liberty of suggesting that you are mistaken.”
“You play the part well,” said Labar, with a half-sneer. “I suppose that it’s got into your blood. But I warn you. You can’t play with us. Larry Hughes has let you down. You may save yourself trouble if you talk plain English. Give us the whole truth.”
“I am quite willing to tell you as much as I know,” said the valet.
“We’ll see,” said the inspector, sternly. “Go on.”
But Tom was neither to be coaxed nor threatened. Whether he had any part in the escape of Larry and Billy Bungey, Labar found it hard to decide. His mask of a face showed as little beneath the surface as his soft, carefully chosen words.
With an air of complete frankness he told of his excursion to the mouth of the tunnel, with his chief and Billy Bungey, and how he had been ordered to return while the two explored the immediate neighbourhood. He had, as Labar knew, gone back with one man but Larry had disappeared. Once more he had gone back to the tunnel. There he had found the man wounded by Labar, who had just recovered consciousness, and had given him rough first-aid. Meantime his other companion had been sent on to close the interior door of the tunnel. Then it was that the three had determined to make a bolt for it. Tom admitted indirectly that Labar’s coup and Larry’s absence had inclined them to panic. They had determined to get away from the place at all costs. Thus it was that they had encountered one of the patrols of police who had by then reached the neighbourhood of the exit, and had strove to regain their refuge in the tunnel.
All of this was exactly as might have been surmised by the detective. There was nothing that carried them any farther in the search for Larry Hughes. The other two men each examined separately told the same story, and Labar was forced to conclude that they knew no more than he did of the whereabouts of the master rogue.
The prisoners were sent back to Mope’s Bottom and a hurried council of war was held.