The Greatest Thrillers of Edgar Wallace. Edgar Wallace
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were murderers, cruel, relentless murderers: suppose —— ?
He turned from the contemplation of the unpleasant possibilities to meet a man who was crossing the road towards him. He eyed the stranger doubtingly. The newcomer was a young-looking man, cleanshaven, with sharp features and restless blue eyes. As he came closer, Marks noted that first appearance had been deceptive; the man was not so young as he looked. He might have been forty, thought Marks. He approached, looked hard at Billy, then beckoned him to stop, for Billy was walking away.
“Is your name Marks?” asked the stranger authoritatively.
“Yes, sir,” replied the thief.
“Have you seen Mr Falmouth?”
“Not since last night,” replied Marks in surprise.
“Then you are to come at once to him.”
“Where is he?”
“At Kensington Police Station — there has been an arrest, and he wants you to identify the man.”
Billy’s heart sank.
“Do I get any of the reward?” he demanded, “that is if I recognise ‘im?”
The other nodded and Billy’s hopes rose.
“You must follow me,” said the newcomer, “Mr Falmouth does not wish us to be seen together. Take a first-class ticket to Kensington and get into the next carriage to mine — come.”
He turned and crossed the road toward Charing Cross, and Billy followed at a distance.
He found the stranger pacing the platform and gave no sign of recognition. A train pulled into the station and Marks followed his conductor through a crowd of workmen the train had discharged. He entered an empty first-class carriage, and Marks, obeying instructions, took possession of the adjoining compartment, and found himself the solitary occupant.
Between Charing Cross and Westminster Marks had time to review his position. Between the last station and St James’s Park, he invented his excuses to the detective; between the Park and Victoria he had completed his justification for a share of the reward. Then as the train moved into the tunnel for its five minutes’ run to Sloane Square, Billy noticed a draught, and turned his head to see the stranger standing on the footboard of the swaying carriage, holding the half-opened door.
Marks was startled.
“Pull up the window on your side,” ordered the man, and Billy, hypnotised by the authoritative voice, obeyed. At that moment he heard the tinkle of broken glass.
He turned with an angry snarl.
“What’s the game?” he demanded.
For answer the stranger swung himself clear of the door and, closing it softly, disappeared.
“What’s his game?” repeated Marks drowsily. Looking down he saw a broken phial at his feet, by the phial lay a shining sovereign. He stared stupidly at it for a moment, then, just before the train ran into Victoria Station, he stooped to pick it up…
Chapter X
Three Who Died
A passenger leisurely selecting his compartment during the wait at Kensington opened a carriage door and staggered back coughing. A solicitous porter and an alarmed station official ran forward and pulled open the door, and the sickly odour of almonds pervaded the station.
A little knot of passengers gathered and peered over one another’s shoulders, whilst the station inspector investigated. By and by came a doctor, and a stretcher, and a policeman from the street without.
Together they lifted the huddled form of a dead man from the carriage and laid it on the platform.
“Did you find anything?” asked the policeman.
“A sovereign and a broken bottle,” was the reply.
The policeman fumbled in the dead man’s pockets.
“I don’t suppose he’ll have any papers to show who he is,” he said with knowledge. “Here’s a first-class ticket — it must be a case of suicide. Here’s a card — —”
He turned it over and read it, and his face underwent a change.
He gave a few hurried instructions, then made his way to the nearest telegraph office.
Superintendent Falmouth, who had snatched a few hours’ sleep at the Downing Street house, rose with a troubled mind and an uneasy feeling that in spite of all his precautions the day would end disastrously. He was hardly dressed before the arrival of the Assistant Commissioner was announced.
“I have your report, Falmouth,” was the official’s greeting; “you did perfectly right to release Marks — have you had news of him this morning?”
“No.”
“H’m,” said the Commissioner thoughtfully. “I wonder whether — —” He did not finish his sentence. “Has it occurred to you that the Four may have realised their danger?”
The detective’s face showed surprise.
“Why, of course, sir.”
“Have you considered what their probable line of action will be?”
“N — no — unless it takes the form of an attempt to get out of the country.”
“Has it struck you that whilst this man Marks is looking for them, they are probably seeking him?”
“Bill is smart,” said the detective uneasily.
“So are they,” said the Commissioner with an emphatic nod. “My advice is, get in touch with Marks and put two of your best men to watch him.”
“That shall be done at once,” replied Falmouth; “I am afraid that it is a precaution that should have been taken before.”
“I am going to see Sir Philip,” the Commissioner went on, and he added with a dubious smile, “I shall be obliged to frighten him a little.”
“What is the idea?”
“We wish him to drop this Bill. Have you seen the morning papers?”
“No, sir.”
“They are unanimous that the Bill should be abandoned — they say because it is not sufficiently important to warrant the risk, that the country itself is divided on its merit; but as a matter of fact they are afraid of the consequence; and upon my soul I’m a little afraid too.”
He mounted the stairs, and was challenged at the landing by one of his subordinates.
This was a system introduced after the episode of the disguised ‘detective’. The Foreign Minister was now in a state of siege. Nobody had to be trusted, a password had been initiated, and every precaution taken to ensure against a repetition of the previous mistake.
His hand was raised to knock upon the panel of the study, when he felt his arm gripped. He turned to see Falmouth with white face and startled eyes.
“They’ve finished Billy,” said the detective breathlessly. “He has just been found in a railway carriage at Kensington.”
The Commissioner whistled.
“How was it done?” he asked.
Falmouth was the picture of haggard despair.
“Prussic acid gas,” he said bitterly; “they are scientific. Look you, sir, persuade this man to drop his damned Bill.”
He pointed to the door of Sir Philip’s room. “We shall never save him. I have got the