Prince of Swindlers — Chapter 5, Part 2: A Service to the State

"Well, the long and the short of the matter is that I have been thinking the question out, and I have arrived at the following conclusion.

If I can hit upon a workable scheme I shall play policeman and public benefactor, checkmate the dynamiters, save the girl and her father, and reimburse myself to the extent of fifty thousand pounds.

Fifty thousand pounds, Belton, think of that.

If it hadn't been for the money I should have had nothing at all to do with it."

"But how will you do it, sir?"

asked Belton, who had learnt by experience never to be surprised at anything his master might say or do.

"Well, so far," he answered, "it seems a comparatively easy matter.

I

see that the last telegram was dispatched on Saturday, May 26th, and says, or purports to say, 'sail to-day.'

In that case, all being well, they should be in Liverpool some time to-morrow, Thursday.

So we have a clear day at our disposal in which to prepare a reception for them.

To-night I am to have a photograph of one of the men in my possession, and to-morrow I shall send you to Liverpool to meet them.

Once you have set eyes on them you must not lose sight of them until you have discovered where they are domiciled in London.

After that I will take the matter in hand myself."

"At what hour do you wish me to start for Liverpool, sir?"

asked Belton.

"First thing to-morrow morning," his master replied.

"In the meantime you must, by hook or crook, obtain a police inspector's, a sergeant's and two constables' uniforms with belts and helmets complete.

Also I shall require three men in whom I can place absolute and implicit confidence.

They must be big fellows with plenty of pluck and intelligence, and the clothes you get must fit them so that they shall not look awkward in them.

They must also bring plain clothes with them, for I shall want two of them to undertake a journey to Ireland.

They will each be paid a hundred pounds for the job, and to ensure their silence afterwards.

Do you think you can find me the men without disclosing my connection with the matter?"

"I know exactly where to put my hand upon them, sir," remarked Belton, "and for the sum you mention it's my belief they'd hold their tongues forever, no matter what pressure was brought to bear upon them."

"Very good.

You had better communicate with them at once, and tell them to hold themselves in readiness for I may want them at any moment.

On Friday night I shall probably attempt the job, and they can get back to town when and how they like.

"Very good sir.

I'll see about them this afternoon without fail."

Next morning, Belton left London for Liverpool, with the photograph of the mysterious Rooney in his pocket-book.

Carne had spent the afternoon with a fashionable party at Hurlingham, and it was not until he returned to his house that he received the telegram he had instructed his valet to send him.

It was short, and to the point.

Friends arrived.

Reach Euston nine o'clock.

The station clocks wanted ten minutes of the hour when the hansom containing a certain ascetic-looking curate drove into the yard.

The clergyman paid his fare, and, having inquired the platform upon which the Liverpool express would arrive, strolled leisurely in that direction.

He would have been a clever man who would have recognized in this unsophisticated individual either deformed Simon Carne of Park Lane, or the famous detective of Belverton Street.

Punctual almost to the moment the train put in an appearance and drew up beside the platform.

A moment later the curate was engulfed in a sea of passengers.

A bystander, had he been sufficiently observant to notice such a thing, would have been struck by the eager way in which he looked about him, and also by the way in which his manner changed directly he went forward to greet the person he was expecting.

To all appearances they were both curates, but their social positions must have been widely different if their behavior to each other could have been taken as any criterion.

The new arrival, having greeted his friend, turned to two gentlemen standing beside him, and after thanking them for their company during the journey, wished them a pleasant holiday in England, and bade them good-bye.

Then, turning to his friend again, he led him along the platform towards the cab rank.

During the time Belton had been speaking to the two men just referred to, Carne had been studying their faces attentively.

One, the taller of the pair, if his red hair and watery blue eyes went for anything, was evidently Maguire, the other was Rooney, the man of the photograph.

Both were big, burly fellows, and Carne felt that if it ever came to a fight, they would be just the sort of men to offer a determined resistance.

Arm in arm the curates followed the Americans towards the cab rank.

Reaching it, the latter called up a vehicle, placed the bags they carried upon the roof, and took their places inside.

The driver had evidently received his instructions, for he drove off without delay.

Carne at once called up another cab, into which Belton sprang without ceremony.

Carne pointed to the cab just disappearing through the gates ahead.

"Keep that hansom in sight, cabby," he said: "but whatever you do don't pass it."

"All right, sir," said the man, and immediately applied the whip to his horse.

When they turned into Seymour Street, scarcely twenty yards separated the two vehicles, and in this order they proceeded across the Euston Road, by way of Upper Woburn Place and Tavistock Square.

The cab passed through Bloomsbury Square, and turned down one of the thoroughfares leading therefrom, and made its way into a street flanked on either side by tall, gloomy-looking houses.

Leaning over the apron, Carne gazed up at the corner house, on which he could just see the plate setting forth the name of the street.

What he saw there told him all he wanted to know.

They were in Bellamer Street, and it was plain to him that the men had determined to thrust themselves upon the hapless Mrs. Jeffreys.

He immediately poked his umbrella through the shutter, and bade the cabman drive on to the next corner, and then pull up.

As soon as the horse came to a standstill, Carne jumped out, and, bidding his companion drive home, crossed the street, and made his way back until he arrived at a spot exactly opposite the house entered by the two men.

His supposition that they intended to domicile themselves there was borne out by the fact that they had taken their luggage inside, and had dismissed their cab.

There had been lights in two of the windows when the cab had passed, now a third was added, and this he set down as emanating from the room allotted to the new arrivals.

For upwards of an hour and a half Carne remained standing in the shadow of the opposite houses, watching the Jeffrey's residence.

The lights in the lower room had by this time disappeared and within ten minutes that on the first floor followed suit.

Being convinced, in his own mind, that the inmates were safely settled for the night, he left the scene of his vigil, and, walking to the corner of the street, hailed a hansom and was driven home.

On reaching No. 1, Belverton Street, he found a letter lying on the hall table addressed to Klimo.

It was in a woman's handwriting, and it did not take him long to guess that it was from Mrs. Jeffreys.

He opened it and read as follows: "_Bellamer Street,_ "_Thursday Evening.

_ "DEAR MR.

KLIMO,

"I am sending this to you to tell you that my worst suspicions have been realized.

The two men whose coming I so dreaded, have arrived, and have taken up their abode with us.

For my father's sake I dare not turn them out, and to-night I have heard from my husband to say that he will be home on Saturday next.

What is to be done?

If something does not happen soon, they will commence their dastardly business in England, and then God help us all.

My only hope is in Him and you.

"Yours ever gratefully, "EILEEN JEFFREYS."

Carne folded up the letter with a grave face, and then let himself into Porchester House and went to bed to think out his plan of action.

Next morning he was up betimes, and by the breakfast hour had made up his mind as to what he was going to do.

He had also written and dispatched a note to the girl who was depending so much upon him.

In it he told her to come and see him without fail that morning.

His meal finished, he went to his dressing-room and attired himself in Klimo's clothes, and shortly after ten o'clock entered the detective's house.

Half-an-hour later Mrs. Jeffreys was ushered into his presence.

As he greeted her he noticed that she looked pale and wan.

It was evident she had spent a sleepless night.

"Sit down," he said, "and tell me what has happened since last I saw you."

"The most terrible thing of all has happened," she answered.

"As I told you in my note, the men have reached England, and are now living in our house.

You can imagine what a shock their arrival was to me.

I did not know what to do.

For my father's sake I could not refuse them admittance, and yet I knew that I had no right to take them in during my husband's absence.

Be that as it may, they are there now, and to-morrow night George returns.

If he discovers their identity, and suspects their errand, he will hand them over to the police without a second thought, and then we shall be disgraced forever.

Oh, Mr. Klimo, you promised to help me, can you not do so?

Heaven knows how badly I need your aid."

"You shall have it.

Now listen to my instructions.

You will go home and watch these men.

During the afternoon they will probably go out, and the instant they do so, you must admit three of my servants and place them in some room where their presence will not be suspected by our enemies.

A friend, who will hand you my card, will call later on, and as he will take command, you must do your best to help him in every possible way."

"You need have no fear of my not doing that," she said.

"And I will be grateful to you till my dying day."

"Well, we'll see.

Now, good-bye."

After she had left him, Klimo returned to Porchester House and sent for Belton.

He was out, it appeared, but within half-an-hour he returned and entered his master's presence.

"Have you discovered the bank?"

asked Carne.

"Yes, sir, I have," said Belton.

"But not till I was walked off my legs.

The men are as suspicious as wild rabbits, and they dodged and played about so, that I began to think they'd get away from me altogether.

The bank is the 'United Kingdom,' Oxford Street branch."

"That's right.

Now what about the uniforms?"

"They're quite ready, sir, helmets, tunics, belts and trousers complete."

"Well then, have them packed as I told you yesterday, and ready to proceed to Bellamer Street with the men, the instant we get the information that the folk we are after have stepped outside the house door."

"Very good, sir.

And as to yourself?"

"I shall join you at the house at ten o'clock, or thereabouts.

We must, if possible, catch them at their supper."

London was half through its pleasures that night, when a tall, military-looking man, muffled in a large cloak, stepped into a hansom outside Porchester House, Park Lane, and drove off in the direction of Oxford Street.

Though the business which was taking him out would have presented sufficient dangers to have deterred many men who consider themselves not wanting in pluck, it did not in the least oppress Simon Carne; on the contrary, it seemed to afford him no small amount of satisfaction.

He whistled a tune to himself as he drove along the lamplit thoroughfares, and smiled as sweetly as a lover thinking of his mistress when he reviewed the plot he had so cunningly contrived.

He felt a glow of virtue as he remembered that he was undertaking the business in order to promote another's happiness, but at the same time reflected that, if fate were willing to pay him fifty thousand pounds for his generosity, well, it was so much the better for him.

Reaching Mudie's Library, his coachman drove by the way of Hart Street into Bloomsbury Square, and later on turned into Bellamer Street.

At the corner he stopped his driver and gave him some instructions in a low voice.

Having done so, he walked along the pavement as far as No. 14, where he came to a standstill.

As on the last occasion that he had surveyed the house, there were lights in three of the windows, and from this illumination he argued that his men were at home.

Without hesitation he went up the steps and rang the bell.

Before he could have counted fifty it was opened by Mrs. Jeffreys herself, who looked suspiciously at the person she saw before her.

It was evident that in the tall, well-made man with iron-grey moustache and dark hair, she did not recognize her elderly acquaintance, Klimo, the detective.

"Are you Mrs. Jeffreys?"

asked the new-comer, in a low voice.

"I am," she answered.

"Pray, what can I do for you?"

"I was told by a friend to give you this card."

He thereupon handed to her a card on which was written the one word "Klimo."

She glanced at it, and, as if that magic name were sufficient to settle every doubt, beckoned to him to follow her.

Having softly closed the door she led him down the passage until she arrived at a door on her right hand.

This she opened and signed to him to enter.

It was a room that was half office half library.

"I am to understand that you come from Mr. Klimo?"

she said, trembling under the intensity of her emotion.

"What am I to do?"

"First be as calm as you can.

Then tell me where the men are with whom I have to deal."

"They are having their supper in the dining-room.

They went out soon after luncheon, and only returned an hour ago."

"Very good.

Now, if you will conduct me upstairs, I shall be glad to see if your father is well enough to sign a document I have brought with me.

Nothing can be done until I have arranged that."

"If you will come with me I will take you to him.

But we must go quietly, for the men are so suspicious that they send for me to know the meaning of every sound.

I was dreadfully afraid your ring would bring them out into the hall."

Leading the way up the stairs she conducted him to a room on the first floor, the door of which she opened carefully.

On entering, Carne found himself in a well-furnished bedroom.

A bed stood in the center of the room, and on this lay a man.

In the dim light, for the gas was turned down till it showed scarcely a glimmer, he looked more like a skeleton than a human being.

A long white beard lay upon the coverlet, his hair was of the same color, and the pallor of his skin more than matched both.

That he was conscious was shown by the question he addressed to his daughter as they entered.

"What is it, Eileen?"

he asked faintly.

"Who is this gentleman, and why does he come to see me?"

"He is a friend, father," she answered.

"One who has come to save us from these wicked men."

"God bless you, sir," said the invalid, and as he spoke he made as if he would shake him by the hand.

Carne, however, checked him.

"Do not move or speak," he said, "but try and pull yourself together sufficiently to sign this paper."

"What is the document?"

"It is something without which I can take no sort of action.

My instructions are to do nothing until you have signed it.

You need not be afraid; it will not hurt you.

Come, sir, there is no time to be wasted.

If these rascals are to be got out of England our scheme must be carried out to-night."

"To do that I will sign anything.

I trust your honor for its contents.

Give me pen and ink."

His daughter supported him in her arms, while Carne dipped a pen in the bottle of ink he had brought with him and placed it in the tremulous fingers.

Then, the paper being supported on a book, the old man laboriously traced his signature at the place indicated.

When he had done so he fell back upon the pillow completely exhausted.

Carne blotted it carefully, then folded the paper up, placed it in his pocket and announced himself ready for the work.

The clock upon the mantlepiece showed him that it was a quarter to eleven, so that if he intended to act that night he knew he must do so quickly.

Bidding the invalid rest happy in the knowledge that his safety was assured, he beckoned the daughter to him.

"Go downstairs," he said in a whisper, "and make sure that the men are still in the dining room."

She did as he ordered her, and in a few moments returned with the information that they had finished their supper and had announced their intention of going to bed.

"In that case we must hurry," said Carne.

"Where are my men concealed?"

"In the room at the end of that passage," was the girl's reply.

"I will go to them.

In the meantime you must return to the study downstairs, where we will join you in five minutes' time.

Just before we enter the room in which they are sitting, one of my men will ring the front-door bell.

You must endeavor to make the fellows inside believe that you are trying to prevent us gaining admittance.

We shall arrest you, and then deal with them.

Do you understand?"

"Perfectly."

She slipped away, and Carne hastened to the room at the end of the passage.

He scratched with his finger-nail upon the door, and a second later it was opened by a sergeant of police.

On stepping inside he found two constables and an inspector awaiting him.

"Is all prepared, Belton?"

he inquired.

"Quite prepared, sir."

"Then come along, and step as softly as you can."

As he spoke he took from his pocket a couple of papers, and led the way along the corridor and down the stairs.

With infinite care they made their way along the hall until they reached the dining-room door, where Mrs. Jeffreys joined them.

Then the street bell rang loudly, and the man who had opened the front door a couple of inches shut it with a bang.

Without further hesitation Carne called upon the woman to stand aside, while Belton threw open the dining-room door.

"I tell you, sir, you are mistaken," cried the terrified woman.

"I am the best judge, of that," said Carne roughly, and then, turning to Belton, he added: "Let one of your men take charge of this woman."

On hearing them enter the two men they were in search of had risen from the chairs they had been occupying on either side of the fire, and stood side by side upon the hearth-rug, staring at the intruders as if they did not know what to do.

"James Maguire and Patrick Wake Rooney," said Carne, approaching the two men, and presenting the papers he held in his hand, "I have here warrants, and arrest you both on a charge of being concerned in a Fenian plot against the well-being of Her Majesty's Government.

I should advise you to submit quietly.

The house is surrounded, constables are posted at all the doors, and there is not the slightest chance of escape."

The men seemed too thunderstruck to do anything, and submitted quietly to the process of handcuffing.

When they had been secured, Carne turned to the inspector and said: "With regard to the other man who is ill upstairs, Septimus O'Grady, you had better post a man at his door."

"Very good, sir."

Then turning to Messrs. Maguire and Rooney, he said: "I am authorized by Her Majesty's Government to offer you your choice between arrest and appearance at Bow Street, or immediate return to America.

Which do you choose?

I need not tell you that we have proof enough in our hands to hang the pair of you if necessary.

You had better make up your minds as quickly as possible, for I have no time to waste."

The men stared at him in supreme astonishment.

"You will not prosecute us?"

"My instructions are, in the event of your choosing the latter alternative, to see that you leave the country at once.

In fact, I shall conduct you to Kingstown myself to-night, and place you aboard the mail-boat there."

"Well, so far as I can see, it's Hobson's choice," said Maguire.

"I'll pay you the compliment of saying that you're smarter than I thought you'd be.

How did you come to know we were in England?"

"Because your departure from America was cabled to us more than a week ago.

You have been shadowed ever since you set foot ashore.

Now passages have been booked for you on board the outgoing boat, and you will sail in her.

First, however, it will be necessary for you to sign this paper, pledging yourselves never to set foot in England again."

"And supposing we do not sign it?"

"In that case I shall take you both to Bow Street forthwith, and you will come before the magistrates in the morning.

You know what that will mean."

For some moments they remained silent.

Then Maguire said sullenly: "Bedad, sir, since there's nothing else for it, I consent."

"And so do I," said Rooney.

"Where's the paper?"

Carne handed them a formidable-looking document, and they read it in turn with ostentatious care.

As soon as they had professed themselves willing to append their signatures to it, the sham detective took it to a writing-table at the other end of the room, and then ordered them to be unmanacled, so that they could come up in turn and sign.

Had they been less agitated it is just possible they would have noticed that two sheets of blotting paper covered the context, and that only a small space on the paper, which was of a bluish-grey tint, was left uncovered.

Then placing them in charge of the police officials, Carne left the room and went upstairs to examine their baggage.

Evidently he discovered there what he wanted to know, for when he returned to the room his face was radiant.

Half-an-hour later they had left the house in separate cabs.

Rooney was accompanied by Belton and one of his subordinates, now in plain clothes, while Carne and another took charge of Maguire.

At Euston they found special carriages awaiting them, and the same procedure was adopted in Ireland.

The journey to Queenstown proved entirely uneventful; not for one moment did the two men suspect the trick that was being played upon them; nevertheless, it was with ill-concealed feelings of satisfaction that Carne and Belton bade them farewell upon the deck of the outward-bound steamer.

"Good-bye," said Maguire, as their captors prepared to pass over the side again.

"An' good luck to ye.

I'll wish ye that, for ye've treated us well, though it's a scurvy trick ye've played us in turning us out of England like this.

First, however, one question.

What about O'Grady?"

"The same course will be pursued with him, as soon as he is able to move," answered the other.

"I can't say more."

"A word in your ear first," said Rooney.

He leant towards Carne.

"The girl's a good one," he said.

"An' ye may do what ye can for her, for she knows naught of our business."

"I'll remember that if ever the chance arises," said Carne.

"Now, good-bye."

"Good-bye."

On the Wednesday morning following, an elderly gentleman, dressed in rather an antiquated fashion, but boasting an appearance of great respectability, drove up in a brougham to the branch of the United Kingdom Bank in Oxford Street, and presented a cheque for no less a sum than forty-five thousand pounds, signed with the names of Septimus O'Grady, James Maguire, and Patrick Rooney, and bearing the date of the preceding Friday.

The cheque was in perfect order, and, in spite of the largeness of the amount, it was cashed without hesitation.

That afternoon Klimo received a visit from Mrs. Jeffreys.

She came to express her gratitude for his help, and to ask the extent of her debt.

"You owe me nothing but your gratitude.

I will not take a half-penny.

I am quite well enough rewarded now," said Klimo with a smile.

When she had gone he took out his pocket-book and consulted it.

"Forty-five thousand pounds," he said with a chuckle.

"Yes, that is good.

I did not take her money, but I have been rewarded in another way."

Then he went into Porchester House and dressed for the Garden Party at Marlborough House, to which he had been invited.

*CHAPTER VI.

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