A Rogue by Compulsion, Victor Bridges [best books to read for knowledge TXT] 📗

impression that Hoffman and the other German had returned from the post-office. You can imagine the delight with which I scrambled up again, clutching that useful if rather belated weapon in my hand.

One glance round showed me everything there was to see.

Face downwards in a little pool of blood lay the motionless figure of McMurtrie. Savaroff also was still—his huge bulk sprawled in fantastic helplessness across the floor. Only von Brünig had moved; he was sitting up on his hands, staring in a half-dazed fashion down the barrel of Latimer's Mauser.

It was Latimer himself who renewed the conversation.

"Come and fix up these two, Ellis," he said. "I will see to the other."

The man who had burst in with Tommy, a lithe, hard-looking fellow in a blue suit, walked crisply across the room, and pulling out a pair of light hand-cuffs snapped them round von Brünig's wrists. He then performed a similar service for the still unconscious Savaroff.

The next moment Latimer, Tommy, and I were kneeling round the prostrate figure of the doctor. We lifted him up very gently and turned him over on to his back, using a rolled-up rug as a pillow for his head. He had been shot through the right lung and was bleeding at the mouth.

Latimer bent over and made a brief examination of the wound. Then with a slight shake of his head he knelt back.

"I'm afraid there's no hope," he remarked dispassionately. "It's a pity. We might have got some useful information out of him."

There was a short pause, and then quite suddenly the dying man opened his eyes. It may have been fancy, but it seemed to me that for a moment a shadow of the old mocking smile flitted across his face. His lips moved, faintly, as though he were trying to speak. I bent down to listen, but even as I did so there came a fresh rush of blood into his throat, and with a long shudder that strange sinister spirit of his passed over into the darkness. I shall always wonder what it was that he left unsaid.

CHAPTER XXIV EXONERATED

It was Tommy who pronounced his epitaph. "Well," he observed, "he was a damned scoundrel, but he played a big game anyhow."

Latimer thrust his hand into the dead man's pocket, and drew out a small nickel-plated revolver. One chamber of it was discharged.

"Not a bad shot," he remarked critically. "Fired at me through his coat, and only missed my head by an inch."

He got up and looked round the room at the shattered window and the other traces of the fray, his gaze coming finally to rest on the prostrate figure of Savaroff.

"That was a fine punch of yours, Lyndon," he added. "I hope you haven't broken his neck."

"I don't think so," I said. "Necks like Savaroff's take a lot of breaking." Then, suddenly remembering, I added hastily: "By the way, you know that there are two more of the crowd—Hoffman and a friend of von Brünig's? They might be back any minute."

Latimer shook his head almost pensively. "It's improbable," he said.
"I have every reason to believe that at the present moment they are in
Queenborough police station."

I saw Tommy grin, but before I could make any inquiries von Brünig had scrambled to his feet. His face looked absolutely ghastly in its mingled rage and disappointment. After a fashion I could scarcely help feeling sorry for him.

"I demand an explanation," he exclaimed hoarsely. "By what right am I arrested?"

Latimer walked up to him, and looked him quietly in the eyes.

"I think you understand very well, Captain von Brünig," he said.

There was a pause, and then, with a glance that embraced the four of us, the German walked to the couch and sat down. If looks could kill I think we should all have dropped dead in our tracks.

Providence, however, having fortunately arranged otherwise, we remained as we were, and at that moment there came from outside the unmistakable sound of an approaching car. I saw Latimer open his watch.

"Quick work, Ellis," he remarked, with some satisfaction. "I wasn't expecting them for another ten minutes. Tell them to come straight in." He snapped the case and turned back to me. "Suppose we try and awake our sleeping friend," he added. "He looks rather a heavy weight for lifting about."

Between us we managed to hoist Savaroff up into a chair, while Tommy stepped across the room and fetched a bottle of water which was standing on the sideboard. I have had some practice in my boxing days of dealing with knocked-out men, and although Savaroff was a pretty hard case, a little vigorous massage and one or two good sousings soon produced signs of returning consciousness. Indeed, he had just recovered sufficiently to indulge in a really remarkable oath when the door swung open and Ellis came back into the room, accompanied by two other men. One of them was dressed in ordinary clothes, the other wore the uniform of a police sergeant.

I shall never forget the face of the latter as he surveyed the scene before him.

"Gawd bless us!" he exclaimed. "What's up now, sir? Murder?"

"Not exactly, Sergeant," replied Latimer soothingly. "I shot this man in self-defence. The other two I give into your charge. There is a warrant out for all three of them."

It appeared that the sergeant knew who Latimer was, for he treated him with marked deference.

"Very well, sir," he said. "If 'e's dead, 'e's dead; anyhow, I've orders to take my instructions entirely from you." Then, dragging a note-book out of his pocket, he added with some excitement: "There's another thing, sir, a matter that the Tilbury station have just telephoned through about. It seems"—he consulted his references—"it seems that when they were in that launch of theirs they run down a party o' coast-guards, who'd got hold of Lyndon, the missing convict. Off Tilbury it was. D'you happen to know anything about this, sir?"

Latimer nodded his head. "A certain amount, Sergeant," he said. "You will find the launch in the creek at the bottom of the cliff." He paused. "This is Mr. Neil Lyndon," he added; "I will be responsible for his safe keeping."

I don't know what sort of experiences the Isle of Sheppey usually provides for its police staff, but it was obvious that, professionally speaking, the sergeant was having the day of his life. He stared at me for a moment with the utmost interest, and then, recollecting himself, turned and saluted Latimer.

"Very good, sir," he said; "and what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to stay here for the present with one of my men, while we go to the station. I shall send the car back, and then you will take the two prisoners into Queenborough. My man will remain in charge of the bungalow."

The sergeant saluted again, and Latimer turned to me.

"You and Morrison must come straight to town," he said. "We shall just have time to catch the twelve-three."

It was at this point that Savaroff, who had been regarding us with the half-stupid stare of a man who has newly recovered consciousness, staggered up unsteadily from his chair. His half-numbed brain seemed suddenly to have grasped what was happening.

"Verfluchter Schweinhund!" he shouted, turning on me. "So it was you, then—"

He got no further. However embarrassed the sergeant might be by exceptional events, he was evidently thoroughly at home in his own department.

"'Ere!" he said, stepping forward briskly, "stow that, me man!" And with a sudden energetic thrust in the chest, he sent Savaroff sprawling backwards on the couch almost on top of von Brünig.

"Don't you use none of that language 'ere," he added, standing over them, "or as like as not you'll be sorry for it."

There was a brief pause. "I see, Sergeant," said Latimer gravely, "that I am leaving the case in excellent hands."

He gave a few final instructions to Ellis, who was also staying behind, and then the four of us left the bungalow and walked quietly down the small garden path that led to the road. Just outside the gate stood a powerful five-seated car.

"Start her up, Guthrie," said Latimer; and then turning to us, he added, with a smile: "I want you in front with me, Lyndon. I know Morrison's dying for a yarn with you, but he must wait."

Tommy nodded contentedly. "I can wait," he observed; "it's a habit
I've cultivated where Neil's concerned."

We all clambered into the car, and, slipping in his clutch Latimer set off at a rapid pace in the direction of Queenborough. It was not until we had rounded the first corner that he opened the conversation.

"How did you know about Marks?" he asked, in that easy drawling voice of his.

"I didn't know for certain," I said quietly. "It was more or less of a lucky shot."

Then, as he seemed to be waiting for a further explanation, I repeated to him as briefly as possible what Sonia had told me about McMurtrie's reason for visiting London.

"I didn't go into all this in my letter to you," I finished, "because in the first place there was only just time for Joyce to catch the train, and in the second I didn't want to disappoint her in case it should turn out to be all bunkum. You must have been rather amazed when I suddenly sprung it on McMurtrie."

He shook his head, smiling. "Oh no," he said—"hardly amazed." He paused. "You see, I knew about it already," he added placidly.

If there was any amazement to spare at that moment it was certainly mine.

"You knew about it!" I repeated. "You knew that McMurtrie had killed
Marks?"

He nodded coolly. "You remember telling me in the boat that your friend Miss—Miss Aylmer, isn't it?—had recognized him as the man she saw at the flat on the day of the murder?"

"Yes," I said.

"Well, if that was so, and you had been wrongly convicted, which I was inclined to believe, the doctor's presence on the scene seemed to require a little looking into. I knew that at that time he had only just arrived in London, so the odds were that he and Marks were old acquaintances. I hunted up the evidence in your trial—I had rather forgotten it—and I found just what I expected. Beyond the fact that Marks was a foreigner and had been living in London for about eight years, no one seemed to know anything about him at all. The police were so confident in their case against you that apparently they hadn't even bothered to make the usual inquiries. If they had taken the trouble to communicate with St. Petersburg, they could have found out all about Mr. Marks without much difficulty. The authorities there have a wonderfully complete system of remembering their old friends."

"But three years afterwards—" I began.

"It makes very little difference, especially as just at present we are on excellent terms with the Russian Secret Service. They took the matter up for me, and last night I got the full particulars I wanted about the man who had given away McMurtrie and his friends in St. Petersburg. There can be no question that he and Marks were the same person."

I took a long—a very long breath.

"There remains," I said, "the Home Office."

"I don't think you need be seriously worried about the Home Office," returned Latimer serenely. "By this time they have a full statement of the case—except, of course, for my direct evidence that I heard the doctor actually bragging of his achievement. I had a long interview with Casement before I left London this morning, and he said he would go round directly after breakfast. He evidently arrived just too late to prevent the order for your arrest."

I nodded. "Sonia must have gone to the police last night," I said; and then in a few words I told him of the telegram I had received from Gertie 'Uggins, and how it had just enabled me to get away.

"I don't know," I finished, "how much my double escape complicates matters. However unjust my sentence was, there's no denying I've committed at least three felonies since. I've broken prison, plugged a warder in the jaw, and shoved an oar into a policeman's tummy. Do you think there's any possible chance of the Home Secretary being able to overlook such enormities?"

Latimer laughed easily. "My dear Lyndon," he said, "in return for what you've done for us, you could decimate the police force