Room 13
“Johnny, dear, does it matter very much what happens now? They can’t
come in, and we can’t get out. How long will it take to starve us to
death?”
Johnny had already considered that problem.
“About three days,” he said, in such a matter-of-fact tone that she
laughed. “My only hope, Marney, is that your father, who, as I told
you, has escaped, may know more about this place than he has
admitted.”
“Did you know anything about it?” she asked.
He hesitated.
“Yes, I think I did. I wasn’t sure, though I was a fool not to locate
it just as soon as Fenner warned me against Keytown Jail. These chaps
like to speak in parables, and mystery is as the breath of their
nostrils. Besides, I should have been certain that Fenner knew the
jail had been taken over from the Government.”
He made a careful examination of the bars about the window, but
without instruments or tools to force them, he knew that escape that
way was impossible. When, in the early hours of the morning, he saw
the patient figure of Bill, he realised the extent of the
impossibility.
“Good morning, William. I see you’re out,” he greeted the scowling
sentry, who immediately jumped to cover, flourishing his
long-barrelled weapon.
“Don’t you show your nose, or I’ll blow it off,” he threatened. “We’ve
got you, Mr. Gray.”
“They’ve got you, alas, my poor William,” said Johnny sadly. “The
busies will be here at nine o’clock--you don’t suppose that I should
have let myself come into a trap like this? Of course, I didn’t. I
squeaked! It was my only chance, William. And _your_ only chance is to
sneak away at the earliest opportunity, and turn State’s evidence. I’m
addressing you as a friend.”
“You’ll never get away from here alive,” said the man. “Jeff’s going
to fix you.”
“Indeed?” the prisoner began politely, when a scream made him turn.
“Johnny!”
The shutter which hid the grille in the door was swung back, and the
muzzle of Jeffrey’s Browning had been pushed through one of the
openings. As Johnny dropped flat on the bed, he was stunned by the
deafening sound of an explosion. Something hit the wall, ricochetted
to the roof, and fell almost at the girl’s feet. Before the pistol
could be withdrawn, Johnny Gray had fired. A jagged end of iron showed
where his bullet struck.
“The time for persiflage,” said Johnny cheerfully, “is past. Now you
will sit in that corner, young lady, and will not budge without
permission.” He pointed to the wall nearest the door, which afforded
perfect cover, and, dragging up a stool, he seated himself by her
side. “Jeffrey’s got quite a tough proposition,” he said in his
conversational tone. “He can’t burn the prison, because there’s
nothing to burn. He can’t come in, and he mustn’t go out. If he would
only for one moment take away that infernal key----”
“There is another door going out from the bath-room,” she said
suddenly. “I think it leads to an exercise ground. You can just see a
little railed-off space through the window.”
Johnny went into the bath-room and examined the door. Screwing his
head, he could see, through a broken pane, ten square yards of space,
where in olden times a condemned prisoner took his exercise, removed
from the gaze of his fellows. He tried the key, and, to his delight,
it turned. Another minute and he was in the little, paved yard.
Looking round, he saw a high and narrow gateway, which seemed to be
the only exit from the courtyard. And on the other side of that
gateway was William, the sentry, well-armed and sufficiently terrified
to be dangerous. Slipping off his boots, Johnny crept to the gate and
listened. The sound of the man’s footsteps pacing the flagged walk
came to him. Stooping, he squinted through the keyhole, and saw Bill
standing, his back toward him, some six yards away. There was no time
to be lost. He inserted the key, and the gate was opened before the
man could turn to face the levelled revolver.
“Don’t shout,” whispered Johnny. “You’re either discreet or dead. Hand
over that gun, you unfortunate man.” He moved swiftly toward the
terrified criminal, and relieved him of his weapon.
With a gesture, Johnny directed him to the exercise yard.
“Get in and stay,” he said, and locked the door, and for the second
time, Bill (his other name, Johnny never discovered, was Holliss) was
a prisoner.
Skirting the building, he came to the entrance of the hall. The door
was open, and with his hand on the uplifted hammer of the gun, and his
finger pressing the trigger, Johnny leapt into the building.
“Hands up!” he shouted.
At the words, Jeffrey Legge spun round. There was a boom of sound,
something whistled past Gray’s face, and he fired twice. But now the
man was running, zigzagging to left and right, and Johnny hesitated to
fire. He disappeared through the door at the farther end of the hall,
shutting it behind him, and Johnny raced after him.
He was in the courtyard now, facing the grille-covered archway. As he
came into view, Jeffrey disappeared through the lodge-keeper’s door.
Johnny tried the grille, but in vain, for a pass-key operates on all
locks save the lock of the entrance gate of a prison. That alone is
distinct, and may not be opened save by the key that was cut for it.
Covering the lodge-keeper’s door with his gun, Johnny waited, and,
waiting, heard a rumbling sound. Something was coming down the centre
of the archway. The straight line of it came lower and lower. A
hanging gate! He had forgotten that most old country prisons were so
equipped. Under the cover of this ancient portcullis, Legge could
escape, for it masked the entrance of the lodge.
He turned back to the girl.
“Keep out of sight. He’s got away,” he warned her. “This fellow isn’t
finished yet.”
The gate was down. Jeffrey put on the overcoat he had left in the
lodge, slipped his pistol into his pocket and opened the great gates.
He had at least a dozen hours’ start, he thought, as he stepped into
the open.…
“Please do not put your hand in your pocket, Mr. Jeffrey,” said a
plaintive voice. “I should _so_ hate to shoot a fellow creature. It
would be a deed utterly repugnant to my finest feelings.”
Jeffrey raised his hands to their fullest extent, for Mr. Reeder was
not alone. Behind him were four armed policemen, a cordon of mounted
constabulary, spread in a semicircle, cutting off all avenues of
escape. And, most ominous of all, was the deadly scrutiny of Peter
Kane, who stood at Reeder’s right hand.
CHAPTER XXXIII
For the first time Jeffrey Legge felt the cold contact of handcuffs.
He was led back to the porter’s lodge, whilst two of the policemen
worked at the windlass that raised the hanging gate.
“It’s a cop, Craig,” he said, for the inspector in charge was that
redoubtable thief-catcher. “But I’m going to squeak all I know. Johnny
Gray is in this. He’s been working my slush for years. You’ll find the
presses in the second hall, but the other birds have done some quick
flying.”
“They’ve all flown into the police station at Oxford,” said Craig,
“and they’re singing their pretty little songs merrily. The Oxford
police took a whole carload of them about eleven o’clock last night.
Unfortunately, they weren’t so ready to squeak as you.”
“Johnny Gray’s in it, I tell you.”
“Oh, how can you say such a thing?” said the shocked Mr. Reeder. “I’m
perfectly sure Mr. Gray is quite innocent.”
Jeffrey regarded him with a sneer of contempt.
“You’re a pretty funny ‘busy.’ I suppose Craig brought you here?”
“No,” murmured Mr. Reeder, “I brought myself here.”
“The only thing I can say about you,” said Jeffrey Legge, “is that
you’re smarter than old Golden--and that’s not saying much.”
“Not very much,” murmured Mr. Reeder.
“But you’re not smart enough to know that Johnny Gray has been in this
business for years.”
“Even while he was in prison?” suggested Mr. Reeder innocently. “The
opportunities are rather restricted, don’t you think? But don’t let us
quarrel, Mr. Jeffrey.”
The portcullis was raised now, and in a few minutes the girl was in
her father’s arms.
“Johnny, you’ve had a narrow squeak,” said Craig, as he shook the
man’s hand, “and there’s some talk about you being in this slush
business, but I’ll not believe it till I get proof.”
“Who killed old Legge?” asked Johnny.
The detective shook his head.
“We don’t know. But Stevens has disappeared, and Stevens was Fenner’s
brother. I got it from Mr. Reeder, who seems to have remarkable
sources of information.”
“Not at all,” disclaimed the apologetic Reeder. “I certainly have a
remarkable source of information, and to that all credit must go. But
I think you will confirm my statement, John, that Stevens is Fenner’s
brother?”
To Peter’s surprise, Johnny nodded.
“Yes, I knew they were brothers; and it is unnecessary to say that
their name was neither Stevens nor Fenner. It is pretty well
established that the old man gave away Fenner--shopped him for the
Berkeley Square job--and possibly Stevens got to know of this, and had
been waiting his opportunity to settle accounts with Emanuel. Have you
caught him?”
“Not yet,” said Craig.
“I hope you won’t,” said Johnny. “What are you going to do about me,
Peter?”
He put his arm round the girl’s shoulder, and Peter smiled.
“I suppose I’ll have to let her marry you, Johnny, whether you’re a
crook or honest. I want you to go straight, and I’ll make it worth
while----”
“That I can promise you.” It was Mr. Reeder who spoke. “And may I
offer an apology. I’m rather a wolf in sheep’s clothing, or a sheep in
wolf’s clothing. The truth is, my name is Golden.”
“Golden!” gasped Craig. “But I thought Golden was out of this
business?”
“He is out of it, and yet he is in it,” explained Mr. Reeder
carefully. “I am an excellent office man,” he confessed, in that
mincing manner of his, staring owlishly over his glasses, “but a very
indifferent seeker of information, and although, when Mr. John Gray
Reeder was appointed over me as chief inspector of my department----”
“Here, stop!” said the dazed Craig. “John Gray Reeder? Who is
Inspector John Gray Reeder?”
Mr. Golden’s hand went out in the direction of the smiling Johnny.
“Johnny! You a ‘busy’!” said the bewildered Peter. “But you went to
jail sure enough?”
“I certainly went to jail,” said Johnny. “It was the only place I
could get any news about the Big Printer, and I found out all I wanted
to know. It was a trying two years, but well worth it, though I nearly
lost the only thing in the world that made life worth living,” he
said. “You’ve got to forgive me, Peter, because I spied on you--a good
spy doesn’t play favourites. I’ve been watching you and every one of
your pals, and I watched Marney most of all. And now I’m going to
watch her for years and years!”
“You see,” said Mr. Golden, who seemed most anxious to exculpate
himself from any accusation of cleverness, “I was merely the
listener-in, if I may use a new-fangled expression, to the information
which John broadcasted. I knew all about this marriage, and I was the
person who appointed a woman detective to look after her at the
Charlton Hotel--but on Johnny’s instructions. That is why he was able
to prove his alibi, because naturally, that section of the police
which knows him, is always ready to prove alibis for other officers of
the police who are mistakenly charged with being criminals.”
“How did you guess about the prison?”
“Fenner squeaked,” said Mr. Golden with a gesture of deprecation.
“‘Squeak’ is not a word I like, but it is rather expressive. Yes,
Fenner squeaked.”
Two happy people drove home together in the car which had brought
Marney to Keytown. The country between Oxford and Horsham is the most
beautiful in the land. The road passes through great aisles of tall