Читать книгу Private Selby - Edgar Wallace - Страница 9

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LADDO has another name, or had, at one period of his chequered life. In the finger-print department at Scotland Yard, he is docketed as "L. Brown," described as a labourer; but that, of course, is only his nom-de-guerre. Just now, Laddo was of especial interest to the C.I.D. men, and as he took his walks abroad, there was, curiously enough, two unconcerned men who found it convenient to move in the same direction.

When Laddo, in his extravagance, hailed a cab, these two men hailed another, and when, through an accident in Piccadilly Circus, they missed him momentarily, they were annoyed. Then catching sight of his cab racing up Regent Street, they followed posthaste, only to discover that they had followed the wrong cab, and were chasing a stout old lady on the way to a lecture at St. James's Hall.

Whilst they swore discreetly—being officers of long service, with a sense of their responsibilities—they philosophically and patiently returned to the place where he had slipped them, and began their quest anew.

In the meantime, Laddo had carried out his object, and at the appointed time, whilst Dick was impatiently walking up and down the deserted pavement of St. James's Square, a cab drove up and Laddo's voice called him urgently.

"Jump in," he said, and Dick obeyed.

They drove at a rapid rate across Trafalgar Square, down the Avenue to the Embankment, across Westminster Bridge, and dived into the maze of Lambeth Walk.

"We'll get out here," said Laddo, and stopped the cab. He paid the driver hastily, and drew Dick into an ill-lighted side street.

"This way," he said, and walked rapidly a little ahead.

They turned and twisted, through streets and alleys, across evil-smelling stable-yards, till they came to a dismal little thoroughfare made up of a score of crazy dwelling-houses, upon which—if you might judge from the boarded windows and general air of desolation that prevailed—the censure of the Borough Engineer had already fallen.

"Here we are." Laddo knocked at one of the doors and it was immediately opened. There was a whispered conference in the dark hall, and then Laddo beckoned him inside.

"Don't make a noise," he whispered, "she's here."

Dick's heart beat fast as the door closed noiselessly behind him, and Laddo's hand guided him through the darkness.

"There's a step here," warned Laddo.

Dick was carefully counting the paces.

Six paces from the door there was a step, two more paces a door on the left. Laddo opened this, and ushered him in.

"Wait a bit, I'll strike a light," he whispered.

In a few seconds the rays from a candle showed them the bare interior of the room.

It was in the last stages of dilapidation. It smelt of dampness and neglect. The paper had peeled in places from the wall, a heavy blanket at the window screened the occupants from the observation of inquisitive outsiders, and the furniture consisted mainly of a small deal table and a couple of chairs.

"I'll bring Oxstead to you," said Laddo, and left him alone.

Dick stood by the table for five minutes, waiting. From somewhere in the house came a faint murmur of voices, and outside sounded the steady drip, drip of water.

He looked at his coat. There were beads of moisture on it, and he realized that it had been raining. He had time to think, but somehow he could not marshal his thoughts into any kind of sequence. Only, she was here, under this very roof, the Brown Lady from whom he had parted only yesterday.

They had knelt hand in hand and watched the regiment march past, and she had said something—and they had parted.

And when he had left her, he had gone back to find her again on some pretext. He wanted to see her again, to feel the inspiring magic of her presence—but she had gone.

And now she was here! In danger, perhaps. He frowned and bit his lips at the thought of his impotence. What could he do? He might have bought some weapon in the time Laddo had given him, but he had not thought of it. He was cursing himself for a fool when the handle of the door turned and Laddo came into the room, followed by a man whom Dick instinctively knew was Oxstead.

He was a man of some height, grossly made. Stout of body, heavy in feature, with dull, fish-like eyes, beneath which were little pouches of flesh. His cheeks were red and veined, and a waxed moustache completed the disagreeable impression of flashy smartness.

Laddo had not exaggerated the splendour of his attire. His hat, pushed to the back of his head, was of the glossiest; his fur coat, thrown open to show the immaculate whiteness of his shirt—for he was in evening dress—was of the most opulent description. His hands and his shirt-front blazed with diamonds. He rolled the cigar he was smoking from one corner of his mouth to the other, and surveyed the plainly dressed youth before him with a cold scrutiny.

"This him?" he asked, and his voice was husky and coarse.

Laddo nodded.

"D'ye know O.C.?" demanded the man.

"I have seen her," said Dick quietly.

The big man grunted something.

"You can see her again," he said with an oath, "and just try to knock a little sense into her head, will ye?"

He turned to Laddo.

"This fellow all right?" he queried.

"Yes, Mr. Oxstead," said Laddo eagerly, "as straight as they make 'em."

"H'm."

This was evidently no recommendation, so far as Mr. Oxstead was concerned, and he hesitated.

"If this is any hanky-panky game of yours, Laddo," he said thunderingly, "I'll bash your head in—d'ye hear?"

Laddo shrank back.

"Yes, Mr. Oxstead," he muttered.

"This gel," said Oxstead, turning to Dick, "is a fool. Her father's pinched; an' her brother's as good as pinched; an' all that's in front of her is damned hard graft. An' I've offered to do the right thing by her, d'ye see? Marry her; an' she says—well, never mind what she says; you try to persuade her—you know the gag?"

Dick nodded.

Oxstead turned to Laddo.

"Where's young Fogg?" he asked.

"I don't know, Mr. Oxstead," said Laddo, who became strangely agitated every time the man spoke to him.

It did not need a great amount of perception on Dick's part to see that of all Laddo's shady connections this was the one of whom he stood in terror.

"I've only just come in, an'—"

"Find out," said the other abruptly, and Laddo disappeared.

"Look here, young man," said Oxstead when Laddo had gone, "I'm going to deal plainly with you. I know all about your straightness! I've met your kind before, an' I dare say you've heard of Oxstead. I don't know what your lay is, an' I don't want to know; but there's a tenner for you if you can kid the girl to do what I want. I ain't afraid of your givin' me away, because it'd be as much as your life's worth."

He thrust his face into Dick's, the better to impress him. "I run this show "—he waved his hand round the unlovely room—" I run Mr. Fox, till Mr. Fox got a bit too sassy, an' then I run him in."

He smiled crookedly at the witticism.

"Now, you're a likely lad, an' you look the part, an' "—"

Just then Laddo returned.

"Well?" growled Oxstead.

"Young Fogg, Mr. Oxstead," said the palpitating Laddo, "he's out."

"Out?"

"He found a feller at Waterloo Station, sir—you know?" he nodded mysteriously.

"The soldier?"

"Yes, sir."

Oxstead frowned.

"The last time Fogg 'coshed' a soldier, what did he get?" he asked.

"But this one is all right," interrupted Laddo; "just come back from India with lashins of money—young Fogg saw him in the boozer—handfuls of stuff."

This conversation was Greek to Dick, although he had cause to remember it afterwards. He did not know how complete was the Oxstead organization—an offshoot of that terrible Borough Lot whose infamous record is the blackest in police annals. He did not know that there were lawless gangs, collections of desperate criminals, who, without the theatrical ceremony of oath-taking, were bound together by mutual interests in bonds so strong that the rope and the scaffold were alone strong enough to break them. All was fish that came to their net—the drunken artisan with his hard-earned shillings, the hilarious sailor with his back-pay, the soldier suddenly flush with furlough money, no less than the occasional swell whose pocket-book bulged with bank-notes.

Those ignorant of the underworld of modern Babylon may treat the existence of such organized villains with scepticism, but the police know.

Oxstead pulled his thick underlip thoughtfully.

"You can go," he said suddenly to Laddo.

"Now," turning to Dick, "come with me."

He stopped to blow out the light, and then led the way.

They passed up some stairs, and Dick noticed that they, like the passages, were covered with thick felt, which rendered their ascent almost noiseless.

They reached the landing, and Oxstead turned the handle of the door of what was apparently the front room.

It was lit by one gas jet and was little better furnished than the chamber he had left.

"Here's a friend of your father's, O.C.," announced Oxstead, and the girlish figure that stood by the window, gazing with unseeing eyes into the darkness of the street below, turned a little.

"It is no use "she began drearily; then stopped as she met the warning look of the visitor.

In that one swift glance Dick conveyed to her all that he wished, and she turned her face away quickly, lest the man who stood looking down at her should read the wild hope that flamed in her eyes.

"This is a friend of your father's—an' your brother's," Oxstead went on. He seated himself on the edge of the table, swinging his feet. "He's come to persuade you to be a sensible little girl."

She made no answer.

"What have you got to look forward to?" he asked, and flicked the ash from his cigar in disgust. "Work! Servant's work, slavey's work—up in the morning an' light the fire; bread and scrape for breakfast, leavin's for dinner. That's a nice look-out for an officer's daughter!"

"It would be honestly earned," she said, without movement.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"A fat lot of good you'll get out of that. Marry me!" he said suddenly.

"I'd rather die."

Oxstead turned to the silent young man at his side.

"Hear her?" he asked in accents of despair. "I offer her a splendid home; a flat in Maida Vale, everything that money can buy—"

"Why do you persist?" she asked contemptuously. "Marriage! If I did not know that you were already married, the offer would be insult enough."

Oxstead chuckled. "Don't let my bein' married worry you," he said comfortably. "Nobody need know. No; I say marriage, because it's a nicer way of puttin' it—"

The door opened swiftly and a man came in, and stood hesitatingly on the threshold.

"Guv'nor," he began, and Oxstead turned on him with a snarl.

"What d'ye want? What d'ye mean by comin'—"

The man at the door cowered back. His face was damp with perspiration, and drawn and haggard with fear.

"Look!" he said, and held out for inspection a short stick he had in his trembling hand.

Oxstead bent down.

"Blood!" he gasped, and stared at the man.

"I had to do it," whimpered the man. "He wouldn't part, an' showed fight, an' there was a lot of other soldiers about, so I hit him."

"Well?" Oxstead breathed the word.

"They're after me," said the man; "a dozen of 'em—soldiers. Look!"

He uncovered his head and showed a cut.

"They were usin' their belts—"

Oxstead reached out a huge hand and caught the man by the throat.

"If you have led them here, Fogg," he said savagely, shaking his helpless prisoner; "if you have brought 'em here, I'll break your cursed face, you dog!"

With a quick jerk he flung the man away.

"Get downstairs—quick!" he ordered. "Tell everybody to clear—get away as well as you can."

"Now, you," he turned to the girl, "get your hat on. I've lost enough time fooling with your damned scruples. You come with me!"

She stood upright, her little hands clenched, facing him. "I will stay here," she said.

"You will come with me!" and he caught her arm roughly; but the next minute a hand grasped his collar and he was jerked backwards.

"This lady will go with me," said Dick, a little breathlessly.

"What!"

Dick saw the glitter in the man's eyes and caught up a chair.

"Stand back," he said hoarsely, "or I'll brain you!"

"You!" Oxstead thrust out his under-jaw, and all the animal in him came to the surface. "You! Why, you puppy—"

Suddenly, with startling distinctness, there came from the street without a wild burst of singing. It must have been under the very window of the room. Transfixed they stood, the three people in the room, as the words of the song came up.

"Here comes the Rochesters,

A-feelin' fit an' well;

They coopered up the Mahdi,

An' they beat the Boer to hell.

When they climbed the hills to Chitral,

On that celebrated bust,

The guides an' the Goorkhas

Couldn't see their feet for dust—

The old jolly Rochesters, they got there fust!"

There was a savageness in the roaring swing of the chorus that whitened even the face of Oxstead.

"The soldiers," he whispered, "they've come after Fogg—they've traced him here."

He made a run forward.

"Stand back!" warned Dick, and brought the chair crashing down.

Oxstead dodged it, and the blow, intended for his head, caught his shoulder and sent him staggering back.

He turned and ran for the door. "Fogg!" he yelled, "Laddo—Grein—Sam!" and Dick heard the thud of their footsteps as they came springing up the felt-covered stairs.

He looked at the girl; she stood with her back to the wall, her face tense, her shining eyes fixed on him.

Then as Oxstead turned and leapt at him, Dick sent his chair through the window.

"Rochesters!" he shouted. "This way, Rochester!" and he heard an answering roar, and a splintering smash as they forced the door.

The next minute he was grappling on the floor with Oxstead, and though it took all his attention to dodge the blows that were aimed at his face, he became aware that the room was now filled with a mob of brawling men, some of them soldiers. He saw Laddo rush in and the man Fogg; he saw Fogg leaning over him, seeking a grip at his throat—then suddenly Fogg's cruel eyes became vacant—he had been attacked from the rear—and he staggered back and fell...

Oxstead, who had wrenched himself free, dodged a whistling belt that came past his ear, struck blindly at a soldier that opposed his passage, and sprang down the stairs three at a time... The girl could wait... He ran along the passage into the street, and two men caught him.

"Let go, you fools!" he cried. "I've nothing to do with robbing any soldier—can't you see I'm a gentleman?"

"As to that, Jimmy," said one of the men politely, "I am not in a position to offer an opinion," and something very cold and hard snapped on Oxstead's wrists.

"What does this mean?" he asked.

"I should say," said the detective reflectively, "about seven years."