The Herapath Property Part 37

At the entrance to that restaurant there was a bar, whereat it was possible to get a drink. There were two or three men, so occupied, standing at this bar at that moment--Carver, leisurely turning to inspect them, suddenly started as violently as Triffitt had started a moment before.

"Good heavens!" he muttered. "Burchill!"

"Quiet!" commanded Triffitt. "Quiet, all of you. By Gad!--this is----"

He ended in an eloquent silence and with a glare at his companions which would have imposed silence on an unruly cla.s.s-room. He was already at work--the quick, sure journalistic instinct had come up on top and was rapidly realizing the situation. That the man standing there, openly, calmly, taking a drink of some sort, was Frank Burchill he had no more doubt than of his own ident.i.ty. The thing was--what was to be done?

Triffitt was as quick of action as of thought--in two seconds he had made up his mind. With another warning glance at the startled girls, he bent across the table to Carver.

"Carver!" he whispered. "Do exactly what I tell you. When Burchill goes out, Trixie and I'll follow him. You pay the bill--then you and Lettie jump into the first taxi you can get and go to Scotland Yard. Find Davidge! If Davidge isn't there, get somebody else. Wait there until I ring you up! What I'll do will be this--we'll follow Burchill, and if I see that he's going to take to train or cab I'll call help and stop him.

You follow me? As soon as I've taken action, or run him to earth, I'll ring up Scotland Yard, and then----"

"He's going," announced Carver, who had taken advantage of the many mirrors to keep his eye on Burchill. "He's off! I understand----"

Triffitt was already leading his sweetheart quietly out. In the gloom of the street he saw Burchill's tall figure striding away towards Cromwell Road. Triffitt's companion was an athletically inclined young woman--long walks in the country on summer Sundays had toughened her powers of locomotion and she strode out manfully in response to Triffitt's command to hurry up.

"Lucky that you were with me, Trixie!" exclaimed Triffitt. "You make a splendid blind. Supposing he does look round and sees that he's being followed? Why, he'd never think that we were after him. Slip your hand in my arm--he'll think we're just a couple of sweethearts, going his way.

Gad!--what a surprise! And what a cheek he has--with all those bills out against him!"

"You don't think he'll shoot you if he catches sight of you?" asked Trixie, anxiously. "He'd be sure to recognize you, wouldn't he?"

"We'll not come within shooting distance," replied Triffitt grimly. "All I want to do is to track him. Of course, if he gets into any vehicle, I'll have to act. Let's draw a bit nearer."

Burchill showed no sign of hailing any vehicle; indeed, he showed no sign of anything but cool confidence. It was certainly nearly nine o'clock of a dark winter evening, but there was plenty of artificial light in the streets, and Burchill made no attempt to escape its glare.

He walked on, smoking a cigar, jauntily swinging an umbrella, he pa.s.sed and was pa.s.sed by innumerable people; more than one policeman glanced at his tall figure and took no notice. And Triffitt chuckled cynically.

"There you are, Trixie!" he said. "There's a fellow who's wanted about as badly as can be, whose picture's posted up outside every police-station in London, and at every port in England, and he walks about, and stares at people, and pa.s.ses policemen as unconcernedly as I do. The fact of the case is that if I went to that bobby and pointed Burchill out, and told the bobby who he is, all that bobby would say would be, 'Who are you a-kiddin'

of?'--or words to that equivalent. And so--still ahead he goes, and we after him! And--where?"

Burchill evidently knew very well where he was going. He crossed Cromwell Road, went up Queen's Road, turned into Queen's Gate Terrace, and leisurely pursuing his way, proceeded to cut through various streets and thoroughfares towards Kensington High Street. Always he looked forward; never once did he turn nor seem to have any suspicion that he was being followed. There was nothing here of the furtive slink, the frightened slouch of the criminal escaped from justice; the man's entire bearing was that of fearlessness; he strode across Kensington High Street in the full glare of light before the Town Hall and under the noses of several policemen.

Five minutes later Triffitt pulled himself and Trixie up with a gasp. The chase had come to an end--for that moment, at any rate. Boldly, openly, with absolute nonchalance, Burchill walked into a brilliantly-lighted entrance of the Herapath Flats!

CHAPTER x.x.xII

THE YORKs.h.i.+RE PROVERB

In the course of Triffitt's brief and fairly glorious journalistic career, he had enjoyed and suffered a few startling experiences. He had been fastened up in the darker regions of a London sewer in flood, wondering if he would ever breathe the fine air of Fleet Street again or go down with the rats that scurried by him. He had been down a coal-mine in the bad hour which follows an explosion. He had several times risked his neck; his limbs had often been in danger; he had known what it was to feel thumpings of the heart and catchings of the breath from sheer fright. He had come face to face with surprise, with astonishment, with audacious turnings of Fortune's gla.s.s. But never in all his life had he been so surprised as he now was, and after one long, low whistle he relieved his feelings by quoting verse:

"Is things what they seem?

Or is visions about?

"Trixie!" he went on in a low, concentrated voice. "This licks all! This bangs Banagher! This--but words fail me, Trixie!"

"What is it, Herbert?" demanded Trixie anxiously. "What does it all mean?"

"Ah!" responded Triffitt, wildly smiting the crown of his deerstalker.

"That's just it! What does it all mean, my dear! Gad!--this is--to use the common language of the common man, a fair licker! That that chap Burchill should march as bold as bra.s.s into those Herapath Flats, is--well, I couldn't be more surprised, Trixie, than if you were to tell me that you are the Queen of Sheba's grand-daughter! Not so much so, in fact. You see----"

But at that moment a taxi-cab came speeding round the corner, and from it presently emerged Carver and Davidge. The detective, phlegmatic, quiet as ever, nodded familiarly to Triffitt and lifted his hat to Trixie.

"Evening, Mr. Triffitt," he said quietly.

"He's in there!" exclaimed Triffitt, grabbing Davidge's arm and pointing wildly to the brilliantly lighted entrance, wherein two or three uniformed servants lounged about to open doors and attend to elevators.

"Walked in as if the whole place belonged to him! You know--Burchill!"

"Ah, just so!" responded Davidge unconcernedly. "Quite so--I wouldn't name no names in the street if I were you, Mr. Triffitt. Ah!--to be sure, now. Well, of course, he would have to go in somewhere, wouldn't he?--as well here as anywhere, perhaps. Yes. Now, if this young lady would join the other young lady in the cab, Mr. Carver'll escort 'em home, and then he can come back here if he likes--we might have a bit of a job for him. And when the ladies retire, you and me can do our bit of business, d'ye see, Mr. Triffitt. What?"

Trixie, urged towards the cab, showed signs of uneasiness.

"Promise me you won't get shot, or poisoned, or anything, Herbert!" she entreated. "If you do----"

"We aren't going in for any shooting tonight, miss," said Davidge gravely. "Some other night, perhaps. All quiet and serene tonight--just a little family gathering, as it were--all pleasant!"

"But that dreadful man!" exclaimed Trixie, pointing to the door of the flats. "Supposing----"

"Ah, but we won't suppose," answered Davidge. "He's all right, he is.

Mild as milk we shall find him--my word on it, miss. Now," he continued, when he had gently but firmly a.s.sisted Trixie into the cab, said a word or two to Carver, taken Triffitt's arm, and led him across the street, "now we'll talk a bit, quietly. So he's gone in there, has he, Mr.

Triffitt? Just so. Alone, now?"

"Quite alone," replied Triffitt. "What's it all about--what does it mean? You seem remarkably cool about it!"

"I shouldn't be much use in my trade if I didn't keep cool, Mr.

Triffitt," answered Davidge. "You see, I know a bit--perhaps a good deal--of what's going on--or what's going to go on, presently. So will you. I'll take you in there."

"There? Where?" demanded Triffitt.

"Where he's gone," said Davidge. "Where--if I'm not mistaken--that chap's going."

He pointed to a man who had come quickly round the corner from the direction of the High Street, a middle-sized, apparently well-dressed man, who hurried up the broad steps and disappeared within the gla.s.s-panelled doors.

"That's another of 'em," observed Davidge. "And I'm a Dutchman if this taxi-cab doesn't hold t'other two. You'll recognize them, easy."

Triffitt gaped with astonishment as he saw Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite and Selwood descend from the taxi-cab, pa.s.s up the steps, and disappear.

"Talk of mysteries!" he said. "This----"

Davidge pulled out an old-fas.h.i.+oned watch.

"Nine o'clock," he remarked. "Come on--we'll go in. Now, then, Mr.

Triffitt," he continued, pressing his companion's arm, "let me give you a tip. You mayn't know that I'm a Yorks.h.i.+reman--I am! We've a good old proverb--it's often cast up against us: 'Hear all--say naught!' You'll see me act on it tonight--act on it yourself. And--a word in your ear!--you're going to have the biggest surprise you ever had in your life--and so's a certain somebody else that we shall see in five minutes! Come on!"

He took Triffitt's arm firmly in his, led him up the stairs, in at the doors. The hall-porter came forward.