The Beetle, Richard Marsh [general ebook reader .txt] 📗

his compartment; and as I came down the platform, the ticket inspector at the barrier informed me that these two men were with him, because he held tickets for the three, which, as he was a foreigner, and they seemed English, struck the inspector as odd.”

“Could you describe the two men?”

“I couldn’t, not particularly, but the man who had charge of the barrier might. I was at the other end of the train when they got in. All I noticed was that one seemed to be a commonplace looking individual and that the other was dressed like a tramp, all rags and tatters, a disreputable looking object he appeared to be.”

“That,” I said to myself, “was Miss Marjorie Lindon, the lovely daughter of a famous house; the wife-elect of a coming statesman.”

To Bellingham I remarked aloud:

“I want you to strain a point, Mr. Bellingham, and to do me a service which I assure you you shall never have any cause to regret. I want you to wire instructions down the line to detain this Arab and his companions and to keep them in custody until the receipt of further instructions. They are not wanted by the police as yet, but they will be as soon as I am able to give certain information to the authorities at Scotland Yard⁠—and wanted very badly. But, as you will perceive for yourself, until I am able to give that information every moment is important.⁠—Where’s the Station Superintendent?”

“He’s gone. At present I’m in charge.”

“Then will you do this for me? I repeat that you shall never have any reason to regret it.”

“I will if you’ll accept all responsibility.”

“I’ll do that with the greatest pleasure.”

Bellingham looked at his watch.

“It’s about twenty minutes to nine. The train’s scheduled for Basingstoke at 9:06. If we wire to Basingstoke at once they ought to be ready for them when they come.”

“Good!”

The wire was sent.

We were shown into Bellingham’s office to await results Lessingham paced agitatedly to and fro; he seemed to have reached the limits of his self-control, and to be in a condition in which movement of some sort was an absolute necessity. The mercurial Sydney, on the contrary, leaned back in a chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, his hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets, and stared at Lessingham, as if he found relief to his feelings in watching his companion’s restlessness. I, for my part, drew up as full a précis of the case as I deemed advisable, and as time permitted, which I despatched by one of the company’s police to Scotland Yard.

Then I turned to my associates.

“Now, gentlemen, it’s past dinner time. We may have a journey in front of us. If you take my advice you’ll have something to eat.”

Lessingham shook his head.

“I want nothing.”

“Nor I,” echoed Sydney.

I started up.

“You must pardon my saying nonsense, but surely you of all men, Mr. Lessingham, should be aware that you will not improve the situation by rendering yourself incapable of seeing it through. Come and dine.”

I haled them off with me, willy nilly, to the refreshment room. I dined⁠—after a fashion; Mr. Lessingham swallowed with difficulty, a plate of soup; Sydney nibbled at a plate of the most unpromising looking “chicken and ham,”⁠—he proved, indeed, more intractable than Lessingham, and was not to be persuaded to tackle anything easier of digestion.

I was just about to take cheese after chop when Bellingham came hastening in, in his hand an open telegram.

“The birds have flown,” he cried.

“Flown!⁠—How?”

In reply he gave me the telegram. I glanced at it. It ran:

“Persons described not in the train. Guard says they got out at Vauxhall. Have wired Vauxhall to advise you.”

“That’s a levelheaded chap,” said Bellingham. “The man who sent that telegram. His wiring to Vauxhall should save us a lot of time⁠—we ought to hear from there directly. Hollo! what’s this? I shouldn’t be surprised if this is it.”

As he spoke a porter entered⁠—he handed an envelope to Bellingham. We all three kept our eyes fixed on the inspector’s face as he opened it. When he perceived the contents he gave an exclamation of surprise.

“This Arab of yours, and his two friends, seem rather a curious lot, Mr. Champnell.”

He passed the paper on to me. It took the form of a report. Lessingham and Sydney, regardless of forms and ceremonies, leaned over my shoulder as I read it.

“Passengers by 7:30 Southampton, on arrival of train, complained of noises coming from a compartment in coach 8964. Stated that there had been shrieks and yells ever since the train left Waterloo, as if someone was being murdered. An Arab and two Englishmen got out of the compartment in question, apparently the party referred to in wire just to hand from Basingstoke. All three declared that there was nothing the matter. That they had been shouting for fun. Arab gave up three third singles for Southampton, saying, in reply to questions, that they had changed their minds, and did not want to go any farther. As there were no signs of a struggle or of violence, nor, apparently, any definite cause for detention, they were allowed to pass. They took a four-wheeler, No. 09435. The Arab and one man went inside, and the other man on the box. They asked to be driven to Commercial Road, Limehouse. The cab has since returned. Driver says he put the three men down, at their request, in Commercial Road, at the corner of Sutcliffe Street, near the East India Docks. They walked up Sutcliffe Street, the Englishmen in front, and the Arab behind, took the first turning to the right, and after that he saw nothing of them. The driver further states that all the way the Englishman inside, who was so ragged and dirty that he was reluctant to carry him, kept up a sort of wailing noise which so attracted his attention that he twice got off his box to see what was the matter, and each time he said it was nothing.