A Scream in Soho (19 page)

“Blimey!” he ejaculated. “You ain't 'alf struck it rich, guv'nor. 'Ow many of 'em set abaht you?”

“Only one,” McCarthy informed him, endeavouring to smile through a pair of split lips, “but he was plenty. Run me back to Dean Street to clean up and change my clothes.”

“That suit's kind of bitched up proper, ain't it?” Withers observed commiseratingly.

“‘Bitched' is no word for it,” McCarthy said with a mournful shake of his head. “Savile Row stuff, Withers—and not yet paid for!”

Chapter XXII

A Two-Handed Raid!

It was exactly five o'clock when the inspector, still in “Big Bill's” taxi, arrived at Grosvenor Square—that hour when all those who have the time, or the inclination, generally partake of that cup which, we are told, cheers, but does not inebriate.

Although he had given himself very considerable attention after changing his ruined garments in Dean Street, there was still no shortage of marks upon his features, left there by the fists of the German secret-service agent. The well-nigh ruined Savile Row suit had been replaced by a different one entirely; one which any working man might have worn about his job.

The thing which was exercising McCarthy's mind most at the moment was the tricky job of getting into the Baroness Eberhardt's house without any of its occupants being any the wiser. To have gone up to the front door and demanded admission would have perhaps given that lady the very little time necessary to get that packet out of her hands, and even the house; after which the picking it up again would be the divil's own job, if ever it was accomplished at all.

As matters stood, with everything ready to smuggle those all-important plans out of the country that night, it was more than likely that not only the lady herself, but such of her household as were engaged upon this work of espionage would be well upon the
qui vive
, suspicious and on the look-out for anything that might be inimical to their plans. With the murders which had been committed in the process of acquiring the dispositions, they might well be on the watch for anything, or anyone, who might throw a monkey-wrench into their scheme, even at the last moment.

He had left Withers with the car around a corner of the square out of sight of the house, and was taking a quiet look over its exterior when his eyes fell upon the figure of Sir William Haynes approaching rapidly from the direction of Park Lane, and certainly the Assistant Commissioner had turned out in full regalia for the job. His morning coat was the very last word in fashion, his trousers were creased to a razor-like edge, while his shoes and top hat positively glittered. McCarthy promptly turned his back upon this spectacle of sartorial splendour—he had not the slightest wish for the A.C. to recognize him at that state of the game—but even before he did so, he saw that the face of his friend was wearing an anything but happy look. The A.C. was finding no particular pleasure in this portion of the business.

A second glance back showed him Sir William upon the top step outside the massive front entrance, and waiting, card in hand, to be admitted. The same glance also showed him that two heavy motor lorries which had come into the square had pulled up before a manhole in the pavement and which obviously belonged to the house; apparently the lady's winter supply of coal was about to be shot from them. Which gave the nimble-witted McCarthy an idea.

Hurrying back to the taxi he beckoned Withers out.

“Go and get hold of the boss of that gang of coalies and bring him here,” he instructed. “The sight of them has shown me just how we're going to get into that house and be right on top of the people I want before they can get the slightest chance to slip what I'm after out of the way.”

“Are we a-goin' to raid that there place, guv'nor? Jes' you an' me?”

“That's the idea as I see it at present, Withers,” the inspector informed him. “With the aid of those worthy gentlemen we'll be on their necks almost before they know we've landed. And I don't doubt,” he added, “that we'll get quite a bit of pleasurable excitement out of it.”

Mr. Withers took one look at a suspicious-looking bulge under the left-hand side of the inspector's coat; a bulge which mutely intimated to him that McCarthy was carrying an automatic pistol, or revolver of fairly heavy calibre. Without a word he reopened the door by the driver's seat, stooped and dipped his hand down into his toolbox and took from it a weighty eighteen-inch spanner which he dropped into the pocket of his driving coat. It might not be needed, but with the inspector on this sort of a job you never knew what was going to happen next!

The burly person in charge of the coal gang having been brought before him by Withers, the inspector first showed him his warrant card, and then requested his aid—for a consideration. The gentleman in question promptly announced that he was only too proud and happy to be of service. Moreover, if the inspector thought there was likely to be a bit of a rough and tumble on hand, he and his mates would be only too happy to join in.

“The thing I most want to know,” McCarthy said, after suitably thanking him for this sporting offer, “is what is your usual method in this business.”

He was promptly enlightened as to the rites governing this procedure. When the cargo of the two motor-lorries, each carrying five tons of coal in sacks, had been shot down the manhole, two of his men went down the area steps to the basement and were admitted to the coal cellar. There they shovelled it off all nice and level for the servants of the house to get at. That had been the regular routine for the last three years, after which they were presented with a bottle of beer each and a tip, and then departed.

“Very well, then,” McCarthy said. “When it comes to this going downstairs business, I and my friend, here, will make the descent and do the shovelling in the place of your men. So that by no chance any suspicion can possibly be aroused, two of your squad can slip around and sit in the taxi here until we get back, or at any rate keep out of sight until such time as it's propitious for them to reappear.”

But Coalie Number One shook his head dubiously at this suggestion.

“It wouldn't work, guv'nor,” he said, “because it's a tricky game an' somebody's got to know 'ow t' set abaht it. We're watched all the time by that there bulldoggin' butler, name of Heinrich, or some such, 'oo looks t' me like as if 'e's been one o' them there sergeants in the Jerry army we used to run up again in the war. 'E foxes y' all the time as if you was goin' t' pinch somethink. I'll go dahn wiv yer, then 'e can't think as there's nothink wrong, because 'e knows me well, though 'e ain't none the more pleasant for that. Arf a mo'!”

He slipped round the corner to the motor-trucks and presently reappeared with two of his men who promptly divested themselves of their leather aprons, sleeved waistcoats and headgear, and handed them over to Withers and McCarthy.

“Nah, you two stick 'ere in this keb,” the foreman ordered, “and don't git aht of it till you're told. Unless,” he added, “you 'ear a proper bull an' a cow goin' on, then come dahn and do sunnink useful towards it.”

Assured fervently upon this point, McCarthy and the monumental Withers followed their leader to the lorries. When the time arrived, he led the way down the area steps to a small but extremely solid door upon which he knocked; McCarthy noted that three heavy bolts were drawn before it was opened. Evidently the house of the Baroness Eberhardt was one which invited no intruders below stairs.

McCarthy decided that the coalie had not been far out in his appraisement of the tremendously thick-set and lowering-faced man who opened the door to them. If he had not been a German non-commissioned officer of the old, vicious type, then he, McCarthy, was a very mistaken man. He gave them no “Good day” or anything else civil, but merely pointed along a dark and dungeon-like passage towards one of three doors which stood in a row. Two, the inspector saw, were heavily barred and padlocked upon the outside. The one pointed to was open and was evidently the huge cellar which could take ten tons of coal at a time.

Straight for it their leader went and, with a gruff: “Nah, then, set abaht it!” led the way into the most gloomy-looking cavern McCarthy remembered to have ever seen in his life. It was lit only by the ray of daylight from the manhole in the pavement. At the word of command they crashed realistically into the enormous bank of coal, which was still being further enlarged by the men on top. Hovering about the door the whole of the time was this butler, Heinrich, who looked as much like a bulldog about to spring as anything else.

“'Ow abaht it if 'e don't make a shift, guv'nor?” “Big Bill” muttered through shut teeth.

“Then he'll have to be shifted!” McCarthy answered in the same way.

But five minutes passed and there was still no sign of the welcome happening, and McCarthy had just made up his mind to act for himself in the matter when from above a bell rang peremptorily, three times. Muttering to himself in German, though in too low a tone for the inspector to pick up his words, the man, after another keen glance at the three of them, moved towards the bottom of a stone staircase some twenty feet further along the passage.

It was difficult to hear the man's footsteps on the stairs above the noise of the rasping of the shovels and the sliding of the coal, but McCarthy gave him what he considered time enough to reach the first landing and get out of sight, then quickly slipped into the passage. The attempt would have to be made now.

It was only reasonable to believe that the baroness herself would be engaged with Haynes, and possibly other guests, though he doubted much that with what was afoot in her household upon this particular day she would have invited any callers. Whispering to the coalie that he was about to make the effort he had spoken of, and calling to Withers to follow him, he crept cautiously for the bottom of the staircase.

He had scarcely started when they heard the sound of the man returning, his feet making a clear ring upon the stone steps as he descended. Something had aroused his suspicion, though what McCarthy could not for the life of him think. Then it suddenly occurred to him that the perfectly clean faces of Withers and himself, entirely free from coal-dust or any other earmarks of their supposed occupation, must in itself have been suspicious to a man of this type.

The features of their friend shovelling away in the cellar were as black as the medium he worked with; so also were those of the men upstairs shooting the stuff down, while those of Withers, although at no time to be taken as a specimen of a well-groomed man, were as white as the driven snow in comparison. As for his own face, he was perfectly well aware that after his recent ablutions and despite the bruises he exhibited, it must fairly shine like that of a well-scrubbed infant. It had been a damned foolish oversight, and was no doubt the cause of this suspicious-natured man determining not to leave them for a moment. Well, it was too late to do anything about it now, and upstairs they had to get by hook or crook.

The instant the man set foot in the passage again his hard little eyes fell upon McCarthy crouching there, a good five yards or more from the cellar in which he should have been at work.

“
Ach! Himmel!
” he snarled, and turned with the obvious intention of shouting a warning to someone he must have known to have been within hearing up the stairs. That was as far as he got!

Like a tiger McCarthy flung himself at him and any sound that might have come from his mouth was stopped by a crashing smash which split it to the gums. It was followed by a second which landed upon the man's jaw and sent his head back with a jerk. The blow was one which would have dropped most men, but this bull-like creature shook it off and put his hand to his mouth to shout to those upstairs. Then, and before McCarthy could make another move to stop the dread sound, something cracked down upon the man's skull which dropped him like a stone. It was Withers' spanner.

“Beg parding, sir,” that worthy said, “but I knows you ain't got time to waste on the likes of 'im, and if 'e'd a-started 'ollerin', nobody knows 'oo 'e's a-goin' t' bring down. Wot do we do wiv 'im?”

“Put him into one of these cellars,” McCarthy whispered. “They'll hear nothing from him here.”

An order no sooner given than carried out.

Instantly the inspector crept to the bottom of the stairs, listened for a second, then began to make his way up them. He was nearly to the top when he discovered that Withers was on his heels.

“I don't know about you, Withers,” he whispered dubiously. “I can't tell how strong the gang here is, and I don't know that I've any right to risk you stopping a bullet or something equally pretty. After all you're a civilian.”

“You can call me a bleedin' copper for the time being,” Mr. Withers gave back. “A sort of a ‘special' like.”

“Somewhere on this landing we're going to run into a nest of servants,” the inspector continued. “A house of this size is bound to be pretty well staffed, and you can bet on all of them, men and women alike, belonging to the same breed. Once they realize what we are they'll turn nasty.”

“So much the worse f'r them,” “Big Bill” said stolidly. “What's the move, guv'nor?”

McCarthy pointed ahead to a door on the landing, from behind which they could hear the murmur of voices.

“That I fancy will be the kitchen,” he whispered. “And with Heinrich out of the way, if we can only manage to fasten them up there, we'll have a clear field ahead of us upstairs.”

Withers nodded towards the key plainly to be seen in the lock.

“What's the matter with turning that on 'em, and there they are, so t' speak.”

McCarthy shook his head. “It's a bit too easy to be true, Withers,” he returned. “We don't know what other doors there may be leading out of that room that they can escape by, and perhaps land us in a trap. We've got to get in first, and make sure of that.”

From his shoulder-holster he drew his automatic pistol, then from his coat pocket took its silencer, and jammed it down tight on the barrel.

“We want no noise to give any warning above,” he explained. “The quicker and quieter this job is done, the better.”

Without hesitation he walked to the door, opened it, and passed through, followed by Withers, his spanner ready for any emergencies. That luck was with them to the extent that the majority, at least, of the servants of the house seemed to be congregated there was very apparent, and equally so the fact that they were completely taken by surprise at this most unexpected arrival.