John Dene Of Toronto Part 46

"He had the wind up rather badly at one time."

"Celt," was Sage's comment.

Colonel Walton nodded.

For some minutes the two smoked in silence.

"I hope they won't start any of that O.B.E. business," said Sage at length.

"Sure to. It will be a triumph for the Skipper," continued Colonel Walton.

"He deserves it," said Sage ungrudgingly. "He's always believed in us.

By the way, I told Hoyle to bring Finlay here after they had got Naylor."

Colonel Walton continued to puff contentedly at his cigar.

Early that morning Malcolm Sage had given final instructions to the various members of his staff. He and Colonel Walton had been working all through the night in perfecting their plans. The demands made upon Scotland Yard for men had at first evoked surprise, which later developed into _sotto voce_ ridicule.

"What the devil's up with old Sage and Onions?" Inspector Crabbett had muttered, as he cast his eyes down the list of plain-clothes and uniformed officers required. "Who the devil's going to issue all these warrants?"

Department Z., however, had its own means of obtaining such warrants as were required without questions being asked.

Early that morning Malcolm Sage had got through to Inspector Crabbett.

"That you, Inspector?" he enquired.

"What's left of me," was the surly retort.

"Got that little list of mine?" enquired Sage.

"We're engaging new men as fast as we can so as to have enough," was the grumbling reply. "I've asked the W.O. to demobilise a few divisions to help us," he added with ponderous sarcasm.

"Thank you," said Sage imperturbably, as he replaced the receiver.

Mr. Montagu Naylor had been reserved for Department Z. Sage was determined to get him alive; but his knowledge of the man was sufficient to tell him that Mr. Naylor was equally determined never to be taken alive. He had seen that little corrugated-iron covered building at the Tower that had once been a miniature rifle-range and, involuntarily, he had shuddered.

II

"Was that the telephone?"

Mr. Naylor barked the question down from the first-floor. There was a pad-pad of feet, and Mrs. Naylor appeared from the bas.e.m.e.nt.

"Yes," she replied timidly. "Shall I go?"

"No, I'll go myself;" and Mr. Naylor descended the stairs heavily.

Pa.s.sing into his study, he closed the door behind him and seated himself at the table.

"Hullo!" he called into the mouthpiece, lifting off the receiver.

"Is that twelve Haymarket?" came the reply.

"No," was the suave response. "This is Mr. Montagu Naylor of Apthorpe Road, Streatham. You're on to the wrong number;" and with that he replaced his receiver, pulled out his watch and scowled at the dial.

The hands pointed to half-past eleven.

With a muttered exclamation and a murmur about a taxi, Mr. Naylor stamped out of the room, just as Mrs. Naylor was leaving the dining-room. She shrank back as if expecting to be struck.

"Back about two," he grunted. "Keep that d.a.m.ned dog tied up."

"I'll see to it," said Mrs. Naylor in a voice that seemed to come through cotton-wool.

Since post time that morning Mr. Naylor's temper had been bad, even for him. An intimation had come from the local police-station to the effect that several complaints had been made of the savage nature and aggressive disposition of a dog he was alleged to keep on his premises.

The officer who had been sent round to call attention to this fact on the previous day, had been prevented from entering the garden by the valiant defence put up by James himself. Mr. Naylor had been out at the time of the call, and Mrs. Naylor had not dared to tell him of the constable's visit and discomfiture. Department Z. was taking no risks where James was concerned.

During the whole of breakfast strange sounds had rumbled in Mr.

Naylor's throat, whilst on one occasion, when he happened to catch Mrs.

Naylor's eye, he glared so ferociously at her that she let the lid of the teapot fall with a crash into a fast-filling cup. With this the volcano had burst, and the grumbles in Mr. Naylor's larynx matured into deep-throated oaths and execrations.

Three times he had descended to the bas.e.m.e.nt, from whence his voice could be heard in pa.s.sionate protest against any and every thing he encountered. Mrs. Naylor had gone about the house with the air of one convinced of disaster. Susan, as usual, succeeded in shuffling out of the way just as Mr. Naylor appeared.

As the front door banged behind him, Mr. Naylor's scowl lifted as by magic, giving place to an expression of benignant geniality befitting a prominent and respected citizen.

Mr. Naylor managed the distance to the Haymarket in the time without involving a taxi, thus greatly improving his temper. He was a man who grudged unnecessary expense, and all expense, not directly connected with the delights of the table, was to his way of thinking unnecessary.

That morning, just as Big Ben was booming out the tenth stroke of noon, a commotion was observed to take place outside the Pall Mall Restaurant. Suddenly four men precipitated themselves upon a fifth, who was walking calmly and peaceably towards Coventry Street. In a flash he was handcuffed and thrown, somebody called out "Police"; but before anyone had properly realised what was happening, a motor-car had drawn up and the handcuffed man was bundled into it, struggling vainly against the rope with which his legs had been quickly bound. When a policeman arrived, it was to be told by an excited group of spectators that a man had been a.s.saulted and kidnapped in broad daylight.

Thus was Mr. Montagu Naylor of Streatham secured and conducted to the Tower, there eventually to make acquaintance with the miniature rifle-range.

Whilst Mr. Naylor was rapidly nearing the place of the most remarkable appointment he had ever kept, James was reduced to a state of frenzy by several strange men in the adjoining back-gardens. They were, according to their own account, given to the residents whose houses flanked that of Mr. Naylor, engaged upon survey work. The instruments they had with them seemed to give colour to their words. The apathy of the workmen who for the last few days had surrendered Apthorpe Road to others, different from themselves only in that they belonged to another union and brought with them a steam-roller instead of picks and shovels, seemed suddenly to develop into an unusual activity.

Immediately after the departure of Mr. Naylor, the asphalt of the footpath just in front of his gate was picked up with an energy that merited rebuke from any self-respecting father of the chapel. A few minutes later a man knocked at Mr. Naylor's door, and stated that it would be necessary to dig up the path leading to the front door.

At this information a look of fear sprang into Mrs. Naylor's eyes. She was terrified of deciding anything in Mr. Naylor's absence. When the men announced that it would be necessary to descend to the bas.e.m.e.nt, she shook her head violently.

"No, no!" she cried. "Mr. Naylor is away. Come again this afternoon."

It was pointed out to her that the afternoon might be too late, something had gone wrong with the gas, and if they waited until the afternoon anything might happen.

The man was respectful, but insistent. He so played upon Mrs. Naylor's fears by hinting darkly at the possibility of there being nothing for Mr. Naylor to return to by the afternoon, unless the gas meter were immediately seen to, that she consented to allow a man to descend to the bas.e.m.e.nt after being told that it would not be necessary for him to go into any of the rooms.

First, however, she insisted that she must go down and see that everything was tidy. After a lapse of five minutes she returned; but when four men presented themselves prepared to descend the stairs, she resolutely refused.

"Very well, mum," said the foreman, "we'll see what the police can do.

Just pop round to the police-station, Bill, and bring a copper," he said to a mate. "Sooner 'ave the 'ole bloomin' street blown up than let us go down and dirty your stairs." There was in his voice all the indignation of the outraged British workman.

Mrs. Naylor wavered. The word "police" had for her a peculiar and terrifying significance.

"You--you only want to go in the pa.s.sage," she said.

"That'll do us, mum," said the foreman. "You stay up 'ere, Bill," he added, turning to the man he had instructed to go for the police.