"Blow your whistle, then," said the sergeant's muffled tones. "Cover the front, and I'll keep the back until we "
It had to be risked. I got the window up as softly as I could manage, and slid across the sill with the paper-bundle in my arms. Dennis appeared to be well inside the door, and the shadow of the tree was strong. I went down flat, keeping well to the ground in some of the soggiest dew ever produced by the suburbs. The noise of the window being raised, and even the creak of a low fence as I got over it on to the pavement, was masked in the squawking of an aitchless uproar put up by Bowers inside the house. I was within an ace of getting away with it, with my feet solidly planted on the pavement, when Dennis swung out of the house not a dozen feet away, and saw me even as he put his police-whistle to his lips.
If I had tried to run away, if I had tried to walk away, or if I had even stood still, he would have been after me. Doubtless it is a question of what fraction of a second exists between the time the eye sees and the time the brain registers; but that split second, that flash of the dark world, is the quarry's only chance. The only chance is to walk straight up to the devil and pull his whiskers.
The gate of "The Larches" was less than five feet away. As Dennis looked up I strode towards it, turned boldly in at the gate with my bundle held in front of me, and almost ran into him.
"Why don't you look where's you're going?" I snarled.
"Laundry!" I added, and thrust the bundle at him.
This was too much.
"I don't want the sanguinary copulating laundry," howled
Dennis, who had been under a great strain that night. "Laundry," I persisted. "For Mrs. M'Corseter, Valley Road. She said it was urgent."
Dennis was so angry that, when he blew the police whistle, even the blast had a shaky querulousness. Through the hall door, half open, I could see the sergeant, followed by Bowers and Mrs. Antrim, going to cover the back door; if they turned round, it was nemesis and clink. I had to keep my voice to a hoarse plaintive mutter of the same sort. I thought of attempting to alter my countenance in that fashion which police tradition attributes to Charles Peace, but I decided on the value of artistic restraint. Although Dennis was momentarily off-guard, he might not care for the spectacle of a laundryman snaking faces at him in the front garden.
"Next door, he snapped. "She would," he added, apparently referring to Mrs. M'C. "Clear off! — stop a bit! Have you seen.?"
I said I hadn't. "But here! What do you fellows want to go crawling about on the roofs for? I saw a policeman climbing up on that there roof," I declared in an aggrieved tone, "and"
"Ah!" said Dennis. "Clear out, now!"
It was about time, since two more of the Law were coming up the street in the other direction. Dennis had turned towards the house to impart the intelligence that the fugitive had taken to the sparrow-tops, confirming their belief of his presence in the house. Those who were approaching on the pavement seemed to be within earshot, so I counted on the belief that they had heard Dennis's, "Clear out!" Forgetting Mrs. M'Corseter's, I turned away and strolled off in the opposite direction from them, whistling.
The seconds lengthened, but there was no sound of pursuit. I expected it, since matters would be clear enough if they should happen to spot that open window behind the shadow of the larch: yet there was no noise at all except a stir and mutter. Nobody else was in the street. Nevertheless, at any minute I might encounter another scouring-party, and they would not be in the same frame of mind as P.C. Dennis. I walked not too hurriedly, in the direction away from Liberia Avenue, breathing deeply of the night air and revolving murderous plans which concerned H.M. Just as a church-clock struck eleven somewhere to the west, I came to an intersecting street and saw what I had hoped for: a telephone-box.
It was illuminated, of course, and its glass sides gave no more shelter than a show-case; but once I could reach Charters or H.M. I was not concerned with that. Putting down my bundle, I felt in my pocket after coins. Then was when I remembered most distinctly that my wallet was in the breast pocket of the coat at the police station. In my trousers pocket I found the sum of threepence-halfpenny in coppers — no more.
Nevertheless, since Torquay was only ten odd miles off, threepence should suffice for the call. I got the Exchange, and explained exactly what I wanted, making it official business: I must speak personally with Colonel Charters, either at the central office or at his home. Even at the last moment I was afraid that the cussedness of all human events would prevent it, and I almost yelped with relief when, out of the buzzing and gear-shifting along the line, Charters's voice wormed through.
"My pal," I said, putting into it all the concentrated venom that the words would hold.
Either Charters or the telephone cleared its throat, noisily. Charters spoke in that stiff manner which authority always uses even when it has dropped a brick.
"Blake? Sorry, Blake. I'm afraid we've made a mistake. It's quite all right: you'll be released immediately: I've already sent the order through. Merrivale discovered I suppose you're at the police station?"
"No, I am not at the police station. I am at a telephone-box somewhere out in the wilds, in my shirtsleeves and with exactly one halfpenny in my pocket. The whole constabulary of Moreton Abbot has been chasing me for what seems like the last two days, after throwing me into clink on your order. In a bundle right here I've got a stolen policeman's uniform, a lantern, and the rest of my own clothes. I may add that I would like to strangle you with the necktie."
"You tried to escape? Blake, I didn't know you could be such a fool! If you had only been content to sit down and wait-"
I shut my eyes. "Colonel Charters," I said, "the time is short and it is no good arguing with a man who has a sense of gratitude like yours. What I am trying to tell you is that I DID escape. And before we go any farther, will you for God's sake tell me what did happen and why I was arrested?"
Charters was shaky and bewildered.
"It was Serpos — Joseph Serpos, you know. My secretary. I can't believe it, Blake; I never thought he'd do anything like that. As a matter of fact, he must have had it all planned out in advance. He planned to rob my safe here and make a getaway. He knows I'm not a rich man, of course, but still he doesn't seem to know that those things in the safe were exhibits in the Willoughby case. He wasn't here at the time we caught Willoughby. The fool! Anyhow, he packed a black bag and got into my car and drove away over an hour before you left…"
"Yes, but why arrest me?"
"It was Dr. Antrim's fault. Antrim says he met you going down the drive. He was nervous, or muddled, or I don't know what. Just as you left, you remember, Merrivale and I were going to look at the exhibits in the Willoughby case. We discovered the robbery — and a polite, finicky note from Serpos saying he was leaving, and it would be useless to try to track him. Just then Antrim came in. For some reason he seemed to have unholy suspicions of you. He swore you must have robbed the safe, because he'd seen you escaping in my car. Naturally we knew it was Serpos who had robbed it, but we thought Serpos had pinched Merrivale's Lanchester because it was faster…. Whereupon," said Charters bitterly, "Merrivale conceived the brilliant and subtle idea that the whole switch of cars was a plot: that Serpos had deliberately chosen the Lanchester so that we should think you had gone in it: that Serpos, if he were stopped, would pretend to be you. So I sent out an order to arrest a man in a Lanchester numbered AXA 564, who would carry a black bag and might give the name of Blake. Antrim swore flatly, you see, that you'd gone away in a blue Hillman.