Whatsoever a Man Soweth

I stood glaring at him, utterly staggered.

Then I sprang forward to greet him – to welcome him as one returned from the grave, but next instant drew back. His face was changed – the expression upon it was that of terror – and of guilt!

“You are arrested,” continued Pickering, in a calm, matter-of-fact way, adding that phrase of patter which is spoken each time a person is taken into custody, “and I warn you that whatever statement you may now make will be taken down in writing and used in evidence against you at your trial.”

“I have no statement to make. I can do that later,” faltered the unhappy man whom I had, until that moment, regarded as my warmest friend.

The revelation struck me of a heap. At first I was unable to realise that I was awake, and in my right senses, yet there Domville stood, with a detective on either side of him, crushed and resistless. He had not even denied the truth of Pickering’s awful allegation.

Certainly in no man had I been more deceived them in him. I had given him hospitality; I had confided my secrets in him because we had been friends ever since our youth. Indeed, he had assisted me to shield Sybil, and yet the police had charged him with implication in the grim tragedies that had undoubtedly been enacted within those silent walls where we now stood.

“Is this true, Domville?” I cried at last, when I found tongue. “Speak.”

“True!” he echoed, with a strange, sickly smile, but in a low, hoarse tone. “The police are fools. Let them do as they like. They’ll soon find out that they’ve got hold of the wrong man. You surely know me well enough, Wilfrid, not to believe these fellows without proof.”

“Yes,” I cried, “I do, Eric. I believe you are innocent, and I’ll help you to prove it.”

Pickering smiled, saying, “At present, Mr Hughes, we must send this gentleman round to the station. We may discuss his innocence later on.” Then turning to Edwards he said in quick, peremptory tones, “Get a cab, you and Marvin, and take him round to the station. Then come back here. Tell Inspector Nicholls that I’ll charge him myself when I come round.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the man, and ten minutes later the prisoner and the two detectives drove off in a four-wheeled cab.

“Pardon me, Mr Hughes,” said Pickering, after he had gone, “but is it not injudicious to presuppose that man’s innocence, especially when guilt is so plainly written on his face? Some men’s faces are to us as open as the columns of a newspaper. That man’s is. He is guilty – he is one of the gang. What proof have you that he is not?”

“He is my friend,” I protested.

“And may he not be a criminal at the same time? Of many of our friends we are utterly unaware what lives they lead in secret. Charles Peace, the daring burglar, as you will probably remember, taught in a Sunday-school. Therefore, never judge a man by his outward profession, either of friendship or of piety.”

“But I heard the villains threaten him in that upstairs room,” I exclaimed. “He was in peril of his life.”

“Because they had quarrelled – perhaps over the distribution of the spoils. Criminals more often than not quarrel over that, and in revenge give each other away to us. No, Mr Hughes, before you jump to any conclusion in this matter just wait a bit, wait, I mean, till we’ve concluded our inquiries. Depend upon it a very different complexion will soon be placed upon the whole affair.”

Edwards and Marvin returned half an hour after wards.

“He made no statement,” Edwards said. “He’s one of ’em, that’s certain.”

“Why?” I asked. “How are you so positive?”

“Well, sir, we can generally pretty well tell, you know. He was a bit too resigned to be innocent.”

Through the whole night, until the cold grey of the wintry dawn, we sat in the back sitting-room, with one single bull’s-eye lantern turned on, awaiting the arrival of any of the others who might make a midnight visit there. I, of course, knew the addresses of both Parham and Winsloe, and had given them to Pickering; but he preferred that night to wait, and if possible arrest them actually in that house of doom.

Just as the faint dawn began to show through the chinks of the closed shutters, and Pickering was giving his men instructions before returning to the station, we distinctly heard another key rattle in the latch.

We were all on the alert in an instant.

“We’ll let him go upstairs if that’s his intention,” whispered the inspector with satisfaction.

Again the newcomer had the same difficulty with the latch, but at length the door opened, letting in a flood of grey light into the hall, and then closed again. We had drawn back behind the half-closed door of the room wherein we had kept our night vigil, and standing there scarcely daring to breathe, we watched a dark-haired young man in a brown tweed suit ascend the stairs. He wore a thick travelling coat, a flat cloth cap, and carried a well-worn brown handbag. Evidently he had just come off a night journey, for he sighed wearily as humming to himself he ascended those fatal stairs.

Fortunately we had removed the settle back to its place, but on arrival on the first landing we heard him halt and pull a creaking lever somewhere – the mechanism by which the six stairs were held fast and secure. Then he went on up to the top and entered that well-furnished little sitting-room.

For ten minutes we allowed him to remain there undisturbed – “Just to allow him to settle himself,” as Pickering whispered grimly. Then one by one the officers crept noiselessly up until we had assembled on the landing outside the closed door.

Then, of a sudden, Pickering drew his revolver, threw open the door, and the sleek-haired newcomer was revealed.

He fell back as though he had received a blow.

“We are police officers,” explained Pickering, “and I arrest you.”

Then we saw that from his bag he had taken out a suit of clothes and some linen, which were flung upon a chair, while upon the table were two packets of German bank-notes, amounting to a considerable sum. A third packet he still held in his hand, for he had been in the act of counting them when surprised.

His dark eyes met mine, and the fellow started.

“I know you!” he cried to me. “You are not a detective at any rate. You are Wilfrid Hughes.”

“I have, I regret, not the pleasure of your acquaintance,” was my quick answer, somewhat surprised at his declaration.

“That woman has betrayed us – that woman, Sybil Burnet,” he cried angrily, his eyes flashing at us. “She shall pay for this – by heaven, she shall! She defied me, but I have not yet said my last word. Arrest me to-day, and to-morrow she will be arrested also,” he laughed, triumphantly.

“My name’s Ralph Vickers – if you must know,” he said to Pickering in reply to a question.

“And you’re just back from Germany – eh? Arrived by the night mail via the Hook of Holland.”

“Well, what of that?”

“And you’ve been to Germany to dispose of stolen property, and this money is the price you received for it. Am I not correct?”

“Find out,” was the smooth-haired young man’s insulting response.

“Take him to the station, Edwards, and ask Inspector Nicholls to step round here with two plain-clothes men. I’ll wait for him. Search the prisoner, and I’ll charge him – when I come round.”

And the young man, without a word, was conducted down the stairs. Then the inspector began counting the German notes rapidly, taking a note of the number in each of the packets secured by pins.

“We’ve done a good night’s work, I think, Mr Hughes,” he said afterwards, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. “Thanks to you we’re on the track of one of the biggest criminal conspiracies that London has known for years. But,” he added, “who’s the woman that fellow mentioned – Sybil Burnet? He seems to know something against her – alleges that she’s also a member of the gang. I think we’d better arrest her, or in any case keep her under observation, for the instant she hears of the arrests she’ll, of course, fly.”

I held my breath, and I think I must have turned pale at this unforeseen result of my information against the malefactors. I recollected the affair in Charlton Wood. What could I reply?

“It is true, Inspector Pickering, that I am acquainted with Miss Sybil Burnet, but I have reason for being confident of her innocence.”

“As you are confident of the innocence of your friend Domville – eh?” he asked dubiously with a sarcastic smile.

“Well,” I said, desperately, “I am going now, at once, to see her. And if you leave the matter in my hands and promise that I shall not be followed, I, on my part, will promise that later she shall reply to any questions you may put to her.”

He was only half-convinced.

“You take a great responsibility upon yourself, Mr Hughes,” he remarked. “Why are you so anxious that this woman’s whereabouts should not be known?”

“To avoid a scandal,” I said. “She is a gentlewoman.”