INSPECTOR HIGGINS
HURRIES


the same Author:
THE DOUBLE SOLUTION
THE RUTLAND MYSTERY
I HAVE KILLED A MAN
MURDER ON THE BUS
THE THREE DAGGERS
THE BODY IN THE SAFE


INSPECTOR HIGGINS
HURRIES
(Being a day in his life)
by
CECIL FREEMAN GREGG

LINCOLN MAC VEAGH
DIAL PRESS INC.
NEW YORK MCMXXXII


COPYRIGHT, 1932 . BY DIAL PRESS, INC.
MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
BY CHAS. H. BOHN * CO., INC., NEW YORK


r
To
ED!TH and CHARLES FREEMAN
of Hertford, Huntingdon





Inspector Higgins Hurries
CHAPTER I
Io.30 P.M.
The clinking of glasses, the rattle of cutlery and crockery
—and a volume of sound from two hundred voices!
The twenty-first annual dinner of the Society of Writers
bade fair to be a pronounced success. For the first time
in its history the Society had hired the famous blue room
of the Gargantuan Hotel, with its lofty ceiling and
beautiful pendant chandeliers, its mirrored walls and
mural paintings executed by a world-famous artist,
its magnificent dance-floor, now covered with tables . . .
above all, its suggestion of perfection: perfect service,
perfect cuisine (the secretary of the Entertainment
Committee had wisely left these matters in the hands of
the chef), and perfect cellar.
The decision to take the famous blue room having
been made, the secretary had since been in a state
bordering upon despair, being firmly convinced in his own
mind that the whole affair would be a frost both socially
and financially. The expense would not be justified,
the members did not want it . . . needless ostentation
. . . blue funk!
Now, as he gazed round the room from his seat of
honour to the right of the chairman, he felt that perhaps,
after all, the coming-of-age dinner wasn't going to flop!
If only the speakers lived up to their reputations. The


14 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
secretary had taken great trouble over the speeches.
The chairman he knew he could rely upon: a world-
famous writer and playwright, a week seldom passed
without him taking the chair at some function or other,
and the wonder was that he was able to attend so many
dinners and yet retain his digestion.
Pity about Chief-Inspector Dryan! The secretary
had considered it a great stunt to get a high official from
Scotland Yard to speak at this dinner—a practical man
to the theorists as it were !—and then at the last moment
he had failed. True he had sent a substitute, but . . .
The secretary cast a jaundiced eye at the substitute,
seated but a few feet away to his right.
A large man, with clean-cut profile and prize-fighting
jaw, whose attention at the moment seemed to be con-
centrated on a spot a few inches in front of his untouched
plate of soup. The man's lips were muttering soundlessly,
and he frequently passed his tongue round his lips. The
secretary knew the symptoms, and shuddered to think of
the reply to the toast of the visitors which this substitute
was to give. Dryan ought to be pole-axed! Even as he
watched, the large man refused the entree.
An impatient rapping of a hard-wood hammer.
The toast to the King was honoured standing.
Once more the subdued sound of voices increased in
volume, and again the gavel was brought into play.
A short man in knee-breeches and a wonderful red
coat, standing behind the chairman, once more raised
his voice.
"My lords, ladies and gentlemen, pray silence for
your chairman."
The chairman rose and beamed upon the assembly.
He fingered the microphone in front of him whilst, good-
humouredly, he waited for silence.


10.30 p.m. 15
The secretary breathed a sigh of relief. At last he
could give his serious attention to a surreptitious sandwich.
The cares of his duties had prevented him from doing
justice to the meal before, and a whispered request to .
his waiter had met with a knowing response. In any case
he knew the chairman's speech by heart. A judicious
mixture of self-advertisement, gesture and jest—the
chairman knew his job. For ten minutes, at least, the
secretary felt he could relax. Although he made no
attempt to listen, sundry phrases thrust themselves
through the blank wall of his indifference. "This Society
has now reached man's estate" . . . "My last novel'
. . . "Distinguished visitors" . . . "Literary attain-
ments" . . . "Novels . . . Hovels" . . . "Gentlemen of
the Press".
A climactic peroration—a round of applause.
The chairman resumed his seat, pulled down the
points of his waistcoat, and took a long pull from the
glass in front of him.
Another speech. Thank goodness things were going
with a swing. The secretary essayed another glance at
the substitute. Fine figure of a man! Looked a bit
uncomfortable in his dress clothes ... a shade nervous!
". . . the visitors—coupled with the name of Chief-
Inspector Dryan of New Scotland Yard!"
The secretary sat up with a start. Hell! He'd
forgotten to tell the fool who was proposing the toast
to the visitors that the chief inspector was indisposed!
Hastily he signalled to the diminutive toastmaster. A
hurried whispered explanation.
The polite applause gradually subsided and finally
died away.
The toastmaster raised his mighty voice.
"My lords, ladies and gentlemen, pray silence for


16 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
Detective-Inspector Cuthbert Higgins, of the Criminal
Investigation Department of the Metropolitan Police
Force."
The microphone was deftly moved and placed
in front of the huge substitute, who rose slowly to his feet,
whilst the secretary squirmed in his seat and hoped
devoutly for the best.
Inspector Higgins gazed blankly round at the sea
of faces and then emitted a nervous cough which was
spontaneously amplified by the microphone and flung
to the far corners of the room, increasing, if that were
possible, his nervousness.
The secretary thought hard thoughts of the Metro-
politan Police, and realized why there were so many
unsolved mysteries.
"Er—my lords, ladies and gentlemen, I—er—
must apologize to you all for the absence of my Chief
from this momentous gathering, and can only assume
that he felt about half as nervous as I do, and conse-
quently threw in his hand. He assured me, however, that
it is a touch of lumbago which has prevented him from
coming here this evening, which explanation I must be
charitable enough to believe. I feel sure, though, that
had he known the nice things you were going to say about
our Police Force in general, and himself in particular,
nothing could have kept him away. It is a privilege
always to be a guest at one of your functions, but more so
when one is invited to speak—even though the invitation,
as in my case, comes second-hand. I don't know the
proportion of mystery-mongers there are amongst us
to-night—your esteemed secretary could doubtless tell
me—but I would like you to know how much I enjoy your
works. But I really must take you to task for some of
your methods. You know, gentlemen"—Inspector


10.30 p.m. 17
Higgins shook his head sadly from side to side—"there
is no rivalry between the professional detective and the
amateur, between the regular policeman and the private
detective, because in real life the private sleuth does not
exist. I mean, of course, in criminal cases.
"Naturally the private detective has his uses in
commercial or domestic cases. I can conceive his useful-
ness to a commercial magnate who wishes to know how a
rival spends his time and where he goes, or to collect
facts with regard to erring wives and foolish husbands.
But in criminal cases he has no locus standi. It, in a
criminal case, the officer in charge found a private
detective on the job, he'd haul him in front of the beak
the following morning for interference with an officer
in the execution of his duty, and the private sleuth
would be lucky if he got off with a caution. Again, you
are occasionally apt to paint the criminal in glowing
colours, as though he were a hero instead of a blackguard,
and I have yet to meet such an one. Furthermore, you
would have us believe that there is money to be made out
of crime. Believe me, gentlemen, the only people who
make money out of crime are your very good selves who
write about it."
"And we don't make much." A lugubrious voice
from a further table raised a titter of amusement. The
secretary began to sit up and take a little notice. This
man Higgins was making good.
The inspector grinned his approval of the interruption.
It gave him a moment to consolidate his position. Now
that he was on his feet he did not feel nearly so nervous,
although he cursed himself for refusing each course of
the dinner. He sipped the glass in front of him, then
continued:
"You must forgive me, ladies and gentlemen, if I seem
B


18 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
to be abusing your hospitality in thus setting forth my
views, but one doesn't often get so unique an opportunity.
The last charge in my indictment is this: you would have
us believe that a detective, by the very reason of his
profession, is a harbinger of trouble. How many times
have you made a detective, official or private, go away
for a long-earned rest, merely to stumble upon some
hideous crime the moment he arrives at that little back-
water where he had hoped to take his holiday?
"How many times has the detective been asked home
to dinner only for one of the guests to be killed? A
fictional detective goes home from the Yard or his office
in (say) Baker Street and finds a dead body on his front
doorstep! Ladies and gentlemen, in real life such
things don't happen! There is no romance. The sheer
monotony of his existence kills all romance. The endless
questionings which lead nowhere ! The hours of shadowing
an innocent man! Disguises at Scotland Yard are unheard
of! Were it not for your very romantic stories I'm afraid
my life as a detective-inspector would be very dull!
It is brightened, however, by such evenings as this. On
behalf of my fellow-guests, my lords, ladies and
gentlemen, I thank you for your kind hospitality."
Inspector Higgins sat down. A storm of applause.
Higgins immediately thought of a host of things which
he had intended to say but had omitted, and suddenly
wondered whether he had not said a great deal which he
ought to have omitted. The secretary left his seat and
sidled over.
"Congratulations, Inspector. May I give you a lift
home?"
"That's very kind. I shall be delighted."
A friendly nod, and then the stentorian tones once more
praying silence.


20 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
They shook hands.
"So long, old man."
"Cheerio."
Inspector Higgins watched the red tail-lamp until it
disappeared in the distance, waving his hand in adieu in
case the secretary chanced to look back. Then he turned,
opened the gate, and strode up the gravelled path.
On his front doorstep was a dead body.
CHAPTER II
12.10 A.M.
Inspector Higgins stared for a moment, unbelievingly,
at the recumbent figure. That the man was dead seemed
certain, yet the inspector had to make sure. Protruding
from the left shoulder-blade was the hilt of a dagger, and,
if Higgins were any judge, the point of the weapon must
have pierced the man's heart, in which case the poor devil
. . . Higgins leaned over. Yes. The man was dead right
enough, his head resting on his left arm and his right hand
in his trouser-pocket—the grotesque attitude suggesting
that death had been instantaneous, and seemed to prove
the inspector's contention as to the point of the weapon.
Even the man's hat was still upon his head.
The inspector's first thought was one of thankfulness
that his wife, now sleeping peacefully within the house,
had not been awakened to discover such a tragedy as this.
Thank goodness he had asked her not to wait up for him
whilst he deputized for his chief! But he would have to
wake her . . . unless he could telephone from the hall
without her hearing him.
A ray of a torch from the pavement, a gasp, the hurri ed


22 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
there was nothing. Had the man been robbed after
death? If so, there was no sign of it, save the absence of
valuables.
And what was the man doing on Inspector Higgins's
doorstep at the time he was killed? Or had the man been
killed elsewhere and dumped here? If so, why? Whoever
had dumped him could hardly have chosen a better means
of getting Scotland Yard promptly upon the trail. Of
course, they couldn't have known that a detective-
inspector lived here. . . .
"I've rung up the station, sir," announced the con-
stable from the gate. "I've also asked for a squad to comb
the district and interrogate anyone found abroad at this
time o' night, sir."
Inspector Higgins looked up. "Good. Quite good,
Constable. What is your name?"
"Thomson, sir."
"Right. I'll remember that. Brewster inquisitive?"
"Not very, sir. More annoyed at getting called to the
door."
"I see. What time do they put out the street lamps,
Thomson. I'm generally in bed when that happens."
"About half-past twelve, sir."
Inspector Higgins pulled out a huge gunmetal watch
which bulged from the pocket of his dress-waistcoat and
consulted the dial.
"We've got about ten minutes, then. Forlorn sort of
hope, Thomson, but you might scout around. Footprints
are useless. Probably used a car, although how the devil
he came up with this chap here without him hearing him
I can't make out. You don't know him, I suppose?"
The constable leaned closer.
"Dunno as I do, sir."
There was a sound of an approaching car; for one


24 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
stabbed when about to break into the inspector's house.
Rum business!
"Look here, Thomson. You'd better trouble Brewster
again and anyone else with lights showing to see whether
they've noticed anything funny about my house here. I'll
attend to the wife, although I guess she wouldn't be
sleeping so soundly if she'd noticed anything. Push off
and do your stuff."
Once more the inspector opened the door of his house
and proceeded stealthily to his bedroom. Carefully he
opened the door, announcing cheerily: "It's only me,
me dear."
The room was empty—and his wife's bed had not been
slept in.
Higgins frowned, feeling a contraction of his heart-
strings as he realized that his wife was not at home.
"Muriel! Muriel!"
Nothing doing. Somehow he didn't think there would
be! What on earth. ...
Higgins cast a hasty glance round the room. Every-
thing in order save the unruffled bedclothes. Not like
Muriel to push off somewhere without leaving a note.
The wardrobe. Although he, like most husbands, had
not the faintest idea of the extent of his wife's clothing,
he was immediately conscious that a particularly hideous
jumper was missing. He hurried from the bedroom, then
down the stairs, to glare at the hall-stand.
A raincoat, umbrella and pull-on hat were missing.
Muriel had gone out. Nothing to worry about in that.
Might have told him, though. In any case she ought to
have been back long before this. Perhaps she had taken
the car.
Inspector Higgins opened the front door and made
his way to the garage. Good guess! His little car


12.10 A.M. 25
was gone. But there was no message in the garage.
Curse it! Why the deuce hadn't Muriel left some indica-
tion of her whereabouts? He had quite enough to think
about at the present time without any added worries!
Bit o' luck he'd arrived home first, else Muriel would have
had the shock of her life had she arrived here to discover
that poor chap lying on the front door-step!
Inspector Higgins switched off the electric light of the
garage and returned once more to the house, wondering
whether he had not missed the note from his wife.
No! There was his supper laid out in the dining-room.
If he were not so worried he could just about go a meal.
A drink would be better than nothing, however.
A large whisky—a little soda. Higgins felt refreshed.
Most unreasonable of Muriel—couldn't concentrate some-
how. Better go along and give that man Thomson a hand.
Muriel would turn up smiling in the small hours—blatantly
unconscious of the uneasiness she had occasioned in the
mind of her spouse!
But half convinced, the inspector walked to the front
door. There on the step was that burglar's jemmy, which
he had forbidden the constable to touch and which he
had himself forgotten.
That in itself was peculiar. What on earth had the
fellow thought there was of value in this house to steal?
To begin with, he couldn't have known that the house
belonged to a detective-inspector of Scotland Yard
for two reasons: first, no matter what the public might
think, the average criminal had a healthy respect for the
police, and the assumption therefore was that he would
avoid the house of a policeman for that very reason;
and secondly, had the potential burglar known that the
house belonged to an inspector of police, he would also
have known that there was little likelihood of anything


26 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
of value being found on the premises—and wouldn't have
wasted his time, for an inspector is not a man of wealth.
It was also obvious that the man had not been stabbed
as a result of any quarrel over the division of the spoils.
Stabbed through the left shoulder-blade, presumably
by a left-handed man. Higgins, after his dinner at the
expense of the Society of Writers, was a little bit dubious
of left-handed criminals. In most of the stories he had
read the criminal had been left-handed and had been
betrayed by this peculiarity, yet statistics would probably
prove that not one man in a hundred was left-handed and
not one in ten thousand ambidextrous. Yet this murderer
must have been.
And, come to think of it, so must his victim.
For the murdered man's right hand had been in histrouser-
pocket, and the assumption therefore was that his left
hand had been grasping this jemmy. This might argue
that the man had been subconsciously warned of im-
pending danger and had grasped the jemmy to use in self-
protection. If so, why had he waited too long? Why had
he not turned to face the danger? Unless he had thought
the danger to come from in front—from the front door!
Still, there was nothing to prove that this jemmy had
belonged to the deceased. Might not the man have been
an innocent citizen who, chancing to see someone trying
to break into this house, had tried to prevent it, and been
killed for his pains? If this were the case, then the jemmy
on the step belonged to the man trying to break in—and
the poor victim had been murdeerd by an accomplice,
possibly the look-out!
And if this were so, the inspector's instinctive in-
struction to the constable not to touch might be of in-
calculable benefit in tracing the assassin . . . should there
be any fingerprints thereon.


12.50 A.M. 27
Inspector Higgins removed a handkerchief from his
pocket and stooped to pick up the jemmy.
There was a whir and a crash behind him.
He gazed upwards in alarm.
Embedded in his front door was a dagger, similar to
that which had slain the other, and it vibrated malevolent-
ly in the lamplight.
Higgins jumped to his feet, fists clenched, his handker-
chief dangling to the step, jaw out-thrust, and glared
defiance up and down the street.
At that moment the street lamps were extinguished
and the inspector stood framed in a doorway of light.
CHAPTER III
12.50 A.M.
Inspector Higgins suddenly became conscious that in a
world of darkness he alone stood conspicuous. He jumped
backwards through the front door and extinguished the
hall light. Then he turned and, regardless of the noise
he made, charged down the gravelled path. He almost
collided with Constable Thomson.
"Seen anybody in the street ?" he demanded excitedly,
returning his handkerchief to his pocket.
"No, sir. I've just been across to Mr. Brewster. He
told me he'd seen someone hanging about your gateway
nearly all the evening, but imagined it was some sort of
guard for yourself, sir."
"What sort o' man ?"—impatiently.
"He didn't take much notice, sir. Short sort o' cove, he
said, with a long overcoat and a trilby hat."
"H'm. Then it wasn't the chap who was killed?"


28 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
"No, sir."
"I see. Now you just scout about and pinch anyone
you see. Someone's just had a go at murdering me!"
"Eh, sir?"
"Threw a dagger at me. So look out. I'll go this way
—you go that. Half a mo'! Listen!"
Both stood rigid in attitudes of acute concentration.
All was still, yet Inspector Higgins peered down the road,
his eyes trying vainly to pierce the gloom. He had seized
the constable's arm in a mighty grip, and was quite
unconscious of the pain he was inflicting.
"I didn't hear any"
"Shut up!"
Utter silence.
A patter of feet to the left—immediately followed by
the sound of running feet to the right. Higgins cast a
quick glance up and down the road in a moment of in-
decision. Two of 'em!
"After him, Thomson. I'll take the other."
Inspector Higgins turned to the left and dashed in
pursuit. Who the deuce was he chasing, anyway? There
was nothing unlawful in running during the night—but
it was pretty suspicious. And, if Thomson were to be
believed, the police had already been warned to look out
for night-prowlers, and a galloping night-bird would
simply be asking for trouble, although the police had
hardly had time to get on to the roads. Higgins tried to
listen ahead, but the sound of his own running completely
drowned any other noise. Perforce he had to stop. Yes.
A little ahead. He resumed the chase, inwardly cursing
the few yards he must have lost owing to the stop. And so
blamed dark, too. He avoided a lamp-post by an agile leap
to the side; he cheered up by the thought that the chap
ahead was under identical difficulties. Uphill now! He


12-50 A.M. 20,
ploughed onwards. Then on the brow of the hill he could
dimly discern against the less opaque skyline a running
figure. Renewed effort. If only he could squeeze out
another yard or so speed ! . . . Jerusalem! A car! Now
he was done for. The fugitive disappeared within the car,
which began gently to roll down the other side of the hill,
gathering momentum, and then Higgins heard the sound
of its engine. Even whilst he laboured the remaining
few yards to the top of the hill he could not but help
admiring the tactician ahead, whose car had been left in
such a position that, should the self-starter fail, he would
not be greatly handicapped in making a quick getaway.
A last despairing burst of speed ... a frantic leap, and
Higgins was hanging precariously from the hood whilst
his feet groped for the luggage grid. His fingers slipped—
there was nothing to engage them—and then his foot
touched the number plate below. As the driver changed
gear there was a momentary easement of the speed and
Higgins was, by the impetus, just saved from slipping
off. His hand gripped a spare wheel at the back and he
breathed a sigh of relief. This was a bit o' luck.
And now what?
All very well to stick on the back here, but unless some-
one observed his predicament he would have to carry
on till the driver stopped. That, of course, didn't really
matter, except if—as he strongly suspected—this chap
was the one who had thrown that dagger, and by inference
the man who had murdered that other, then Higgins was
in for a particularly sticky time when the car stopped and
he was discovered.
Unless he dropped off first ! That would be an acknow-
ledgment of defeat—but a live constable was preferable
to a dead inspector, and his assailant had already
missed once. Might he not take more care the second time?


30 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
But perhaps Constable Thomson was chasing the man
who had flung that dagger. After all, the odds were even.
If that were so, why had this cove run away? And what
of it? Of course, he could pinch the fellow for driving at
night with no lights—that would suffice until they could
get something worth-while which would stick.
Hallo! There was a small window at the back of the
hood which might be broken and a view of the driver ob-
tained. There would be no need to break it, only there was
a blind the other side. Bit of a job, though. Might pass
unobserved if he waited till the engine was roaring at
full speed. In any case it would bring matters to a head,
for the man, if he heard the smash, must stop to get rid
of the inspector, and . . . before long the patrols must
be out, and the more delay the greater the chance of getting
help.
Inspector Higgins wrapped his huge fist in the tail of
his dress jacket and, after a fair amount of contortion,
managed to get himself into a convenient position for the
attempt. He smashed his fist through the window. Gosh,
he hadn't thought such a small pane of glass could be
so hard! He sucked his bruised knuckle, expecting every
second that the car would draw to a standstill. Nothing
happened. The driver couldn't have heard it! This was
a bit of all right! The glass must have fallen on to a
well-upholstered seat which had deadened the sound; un-
less the driver was so intent upon his driving that . . .
or the blind had helped to exclude the noise. . . .
Better try to get a good view of the man; then, if he
knew him, it would be a simple matter to fall off and issue
the necessary instructions the following morning. Bit
awkward to fall off at this speed. Might be better to
hang on and run for a bit till he picked up his balance
. . . that was the way he had done it when a kid . . . but


12-30 A.M. 31
they were only horse vehicles then, and this speed was
unheard of.
Of course, if he didn't know the man he'd have to
wait until their destination was reached and hope for the
best.
Inspector Higgins inserted his finger and thumb and
fastidiously gripped the edge of the blind. Why he should
take such care to avoid all noise when the sound of the
smash had apparently passed unnoticed he did not stop
to think. Gently he pulled the blind to the right and tried
to peer through the opening. Something still in the
way. Dammit! The back of the car must be filled with
goods or something or other! Probably stolen! Higgins
squinted his eyes. What the deuce was it?
Jerusalem! Three inches away was another face peer-
ing into his own!
The next moment a fist smashed through the opening
which the inspector had so conveniently made and caught
Higgins full on the nose.
"Ouch!"
Involuntarily the inspector relaxed his grip of the spare
wheel, made a frantic effort to retain his balance, then
crashed on to the roadway. His problem as to how to
alight from the car had been solved for him! •
He had jumped to his feet before he had thoroughly
realized that no bones were broken.
A stream of lurid vernacular issued from his lips,
and he only stopped when he realized its utter futility.
He rubbed his many bruises.
Headlights coming towards him. Surely to goodness
the car wasn't returning? Anyhow, he knew there were
two occupants now—one driving and the other that
unmitigated swine whose fist . . .
He'd stop this car and try to persuade the driver to


32 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
turn round and give chase. Inspector Higgins stood in the
middle of the road and waved his arms. The car was
within about thirty feet, with the inspector in full view of
the powerful headlights, when the awful thought struck
him that, were this the same car returning, they couldn't
very well miss him were they to run him down.
He jumped to one side and the car drew up.
A door was opened; a girl alighted and ran towards
him.
"Higgy! Oh, Higgy! Then you're all right!"
She flung herself into his arms.
"Muriel, darlin'. What the deuce is the matter?"
Higgins was mentally fogged. To halt a car and find it
was his own and his wife inside was almost beyond his
comprehension. And the obvious relief in his wife's
voice at finding him safe and sound would be almost
ludicrous if not so genuine.
"Here! Hold up, kiddy. Anybody 'Id think . . . an'
who's with you ?" he queried as the car was driven to the
kerb. It was not a question prompted by suspicion—
Higgins knew his wife—but was more of amazement.
"Mr. Dryan, Higgy. And I'm so glad"
"Chief Dryan, eh?" Higgins, his arm round his wife's
shoulders, gently propelled her to the car. "Glad to see
you, sir. How's the lumbago ?"—maliciously. "The
car in front, sir. I want it!"
Chief-Inspector Dryan, a man of few words, instantly
understood.
"Jump in, Higgy. And you, me dear"—to Muriel—
"you can tell him all your troubles."
A few more precious seconds wasted whilst Chief-
Inspector Dryan turned the car, but at last they were off.
"What's the matter, dear ?"—at long last, when the
car was once more on its way.


12.50 a.m. 33
Muriel Higgins looked up from his nestling arms and
sighed. "Oh, Higgy dear, I've had such a fright. Someone
rang me up from Scotland Yard and told me you'd had a
terrible accident."
"What time?"—briefly, the policeman, not the
husband, making the enquiry.
"About ten—or half-past—perhaps nearly eleven. I
—I don't know."
"Never mind, darlin'. What next?" A frown, almost
of irritation. Why were women never sure of times? The
stock joke of always being late for appointments had some
foundation in fact, and . . .
"I—I got out the car and went to Scotland Yard. I
saw Mr. Dryan, and—and he said you must be all right,
and that the whole thing was a—a practical joke—or
something. He—he was just coming home with me—in
case"
"I see. It—it was rather a hoax, sweetheart, but it's
all right now."
"I—I was terribly frightened, Higgy, but "Incon-
tinently she burst into tears. Inspector Higgins gently
stroked her hair.
Between ten and eleven, eh? So the telephone was
all right then. There was something mighty fishy about the
whole affair. Someone had obviously tampered with the
instrument between the time Muriel had received the fake
message from Scotland Yard and the time he had tried
to telephone for the ambulance when he had found that
dead body on his front doorstep—say about twelve-ten.
"What's the cove in front done, Higgy ?"—a whisper
from Chief-Inspector Dryan.
"I don't really know, sir."
"Dunno?" A pause. "Who is he, then?"
"I—er"
c


2-5 a.m. 35
A screech of brakes hastily applied. Higgins peered
ahead.
Stretched across the road was a rope—and a red lamp
hung from the middle, shaking drunkenly from side to
side.
Chief-Inspector Dryan pulled the car to a stop a foot
from the swinging lamp.
CHAPTER IV
2.5 A.M.
A tall man crossed the rays of the headlamps, shading
his eyes from the glare, carefully picked his way across
the rope and strode towards them.
Chief-Inspector Dryan lowered the window by his side
and waited. The man walked across and placed his elbows
on the ledge, resting one foot on the running-board.
"Excuse me, gentlemen, but . . . Why, hanged if it
isn't old Dryan!"
"Hullo, Suffolk, old boy! What's the big idea?"
"Don't quite know meself, but"
"Here, Higgy," interrupted Dryan. "You'd better do
your own explaining. This is Superintendent Suffolk."
A wave of the hand in introduction. "My colleague—
Inspector Higgins."
"Happen to see a car ahead of us, sir?" queried
Higgins.
"No. Just got here. Are you on this?"
"I imagine so, sir. I suppose you're out as a result of
a message from Constable Thomson."
"Yes."


36 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
"Well—you're too late. The car I'm after is ahead."
"Its number ?"—briskly, from the superintendent.
"LL 59832. Faked, I shouldn't wonder. Back window
broken. Saloon car. Dark body. Two or more occupants.
Your Constable Thomson: O.K., I suppose ?"—with a
quick change of subject.
"Yes"—shortly. "Due for sergeant soon."
"Good. He may be wanting some help. My house."
Higgins gave the precise address. "In any case there was
a murder there this evening." Muriel Higgins gave a gasp.
"You might 'phone ahead to apprehend this car."
The rope was lowered and Dryan drove over.
Higgins thrust his head out of the window and called
back, "By the way, Super, you might close my front
door."
He waved adieu.-
"Righto, Chief. We've probably lost 'em by this delay,
but to-night's my lucky night."
"What's this about a murder?"
Inspector Higgins told his tale as the car sped through
the night. Dryan heard him out in silence, then:
"This man Thomson sounds fishy to me."
"So I thought, sir, but your pal the superintendent
vouches for him."
"M'm. Suppose he's all right"—grudgingly. "He
certainly sent that message to Suffolk."
A long silence.
"And you left the front door open, Higgy." Muriel
Higgins contrived to get such a wealth of reproach into
her voice that Chief-Inspector Dryan guffawed and then
coughed an apology, giving exaggerated care to his
driving. Inspector Higgins made no excuse, but peered
forward to inspect the speedometer.
Forty-five! They'd never catch anyone at this rate!


38 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
conceit, common to all car-owners, to prove what his car
could do. Even thus, Higgins knew his limitations, for,
with the needle of the speedometer wavering between
fifty-five and fifty-eight he made no real effort to produce
additional mileage. This speed alone was risky enough
in all conscience, and . . .
Occasional enquiries of belated wayfarers. There was
a car ahead, but ... A squeal of alarm from Muriel as a
rabbit dashed across the path of the car and escaped des-
truction by a miracle. She turned quickly to learn its
fate, but it was out of sight. The headlights picked out a
white gate in the distance—a moment later it was dis-
appearing behind them. A huge, overhanging tree
rushed to meet them, and, whilst Muriel Higgins held her
breath and cringed from the threatened impact, it was over
and gone.
A long period of concentration ahead; then:
"How d'you know they haven't turned off, Higgy?"
"I don't"—shortly.
Dryan, ignoring the terseness which almost amounted
to insubordination, relapsed into silence.
"This is the Sungate road, isn't it ?" he queried a few
minutes later.
"Yes, sir"—belatedly courteous.
"There's a wonderful mile stretch shortly—perfectly
straight. We ought to sight 'em there if we're going to
sight 'em at all."
"I know, sir."
A large painted sign, with huge letters, stood out boldly
in the headlights.
SUNGATE-BY-THE-SEA
STRAIGHT AHEAD
There were more letters, but the hoarding was behind.


2.5 a.m. 39
"Here we are."
A wide straight road, with a short hedge either side
—without a curve to stop the rays of the powerful head-
lights. A hard, beautiful surface to gladden the heart of
the motorist—made for speeding.
"Now then, Higgy, here's your chance . . . but ease
up after a bit—there's a nasty turn at the end."
Higgins needed no encouragement. "I know it, sir.
Coroner's Corner!"
Within half a minute they could plainly see the out-
line of a car ahead. Inspector Higgins immediately
extinguished his own headlights. Dryan nodded his
approval. No need to let the car ahead know that the
police were so near . . . assuming, of course, it was the
right car! They were rapidly overtaking it for a few
seconds, but it soon became evident that the car in
front was picking up speed, for it began to hold its
own.
"Get its number, sir, if you can," suggested Higgins,
and immediately switched on the headlights.
Inspector Dryan peered ahead.
"Er—Q—R—one—six—no, nine"
"Damn! Wrong car. Or they've changed. ..."
"The back window's smashed"—excitedly from
Muriel.
"Good for you, kid: so it is."
A moment later: "Cuss! They're giving up!" The
excitement of the chase had so got into the inspector's
veins that he was quite chagrined when he found his car
was rapidly overtaking the other.
"What's the procedure, Higgy? You're in charge,
you know."
"You take the guy in front, Chief. The swine at the
back is my meat." An unholy light in the inspector's


4o INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
eye as he realized that a blow recently received would soon
be repaid.
"And the wife?"
"H'm. You'd better stay here, kiddie, whilst the Chief
and I attend to the two in front."
"All right, dear"—meekly. "You'll look after yourself,
won't you?"
"Got a gun, Higgy ?" asked Dryan unthinkingly.
"I'm in evening dress, sir"—in mild explanation.
"You'd better ease down for the turn. Perhaps you
could catch 'em broadside on, Higgy, and"
"With my car, sir?"
"H'm. That's different, isn't it?"
Inspector Higgins slackened speed, dimly wondering,
now that he had caught up with the fugitives, what he
intended to do about it. Whilst they kept on the move the
fugitives were comparatively safe unless the police
indulged in some unwanted acrobatics. It would be a
very tame finish merely to follow the car in front until the
others gave up the race or stopped and made a fight of it.
Might go on for ever unless a cul-de-sac were reached, or
the petrol . . . The petrol! Jerusalem. Higgins gazed
apprehensively at the petrol-gauge on the dashboard. His
fears were justified. He'd have to stop and fill up from the
can, which, despite convention, he kept strapped on the
running-board. Might lose 'em altogether.
Still, now was the time—if at all.
He slowed down. Then a gasp from Muriel.
"Look! Look!"
The "nasty turn" had been almost reached, but the
car in front made no attempt to negotiate it, keeping
direction as though the steering-wheel had somehow be-
come locked. Higgins stopped the car and stared in
fascination. A sign comprised of red mirror reflectors


2.5 A.M. 41
gave the warning "Dangerous corner", but the car ahead
gave no heed.
There was a terrifying crash as it smashed through
the hedge, its red tail-lamp raised upwards as the car
toppled over, a split second of complete silence, then the
sickening crunch of broken metal. Higgins re-started his
car and drove in silence to the gap in the fencing.
"There's an electric torch in the pocket under the
window," he said in a small voice; then, wearily, he
climbed from the driving-seat. Inspector Higgins crept
to the edge and peered over. The car was about twenty-
five feet down, lying on its back, and Higgins could just
discern that the front wheels were still slowly revolving.
He cast about for some means of helping the occupants,
assuming, after such a smash, that they were not beyond
all help, but was appalled to discover that, at least within
the limit of the comparatively feeble ray of his torch, there
was no means of descent.
He straightened up.
"Tow-rope in the car—under the rear seat—the dicky,
I mean."
"Coming." A matter-of-fact reply from the Chief,
who hurried forward a moment later with a coil of stout
rope.
"Better drive up to the edge, Higgy, and we can tie
this to one of the spokes."
"Good idea."
There was barely sufficient petrol to take the car to
the required position, but at last it was accomplished.
Higgins, with a sly glance at his wife, was thankful to
observe that she was bearing up under the tragedy
with praiseworthy fortitude.
The rope was quickly knotted to the back axle, and,
after an anxious glance downwards to the gloom below,


42 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
Inspector Higgins, gripping the rope, clambered over the
brink.
Hand under hand for perhaps a dozen feet, and then
the rope slipped a few inches and a huge lump of turf
was dislodged which struck Higgins squarely in the chest
and left a large stain on his expanse of shirt-front.
"Steady, up top!" he shouted.
"The car slipped a bit, Higgy."
"Then put the blankety brakes on."
Higgins had a fearful vision of his own car toppling
over on top of him, and hurried frantically downwards.
The end of the rope and he had not yet reached the
ledge upon which the other car was resting. Higgins
hung on desperately and in the deep silence could hear the
beating of the surf a long way below. An added hazard.
He had not realized until then that the car was caught
half-way up the cliff, and wondered when he reached it
(if he ever did) whether it might not topple over the
rest of the way.
Better climb up again whilst he was safe and wait for
the coastguards or some other authority to essay a
rescue.
His fingers lost their grip and the matter was taken
out of his hands. The fact that the ledge was only about
six inches from the soles of his feet did not lessen the
nervous shock to his system when he fell. He felt physically
sick, and it was some moments before he could pluck up
courage to step gingerly to the wrecked car balanced
precariously on the edge of the jutting ledge.
The hood was crushed, and Higgins flashed his torch
on the wreckage, thereby getting a suggestion of un-
limited space below. The doors were jammed and the
glass broken.
Inspector Higgins thrust his torch within one of the


2-5 a.m. 43
broken windows, already nauseated at what he expected
to find within.
He gasped and stared again—wide-eyed!
The car was empty.
"Dead ?"—a laconical query from above.
"No—missing!"
"Not there ?"—unbelievingly.
"No, sir."
"Sure?"
Higgins emitted a snort of disgust, but did not deign
any reply.
"I mean—could they have got out ?"—half-apolo-
getically from Chief-Inspector Dryan.
"Not a chance, sir."
Higgins tried to open one of the smashed doors, and
his action was just sufficient to disturb the balance. With
out warning the car moved the barest fraction of an inch
and the next moment vanished into the darkness below.
Higgins cringed back to the wall of the ledge . . . waiting
... A smash far below.
"Are—are you all right, old man ?"—a quavering voice
from above.
"Yes, sir."
"Then what the hell's all that row about"—in un-
disguised relief.
"The car, sir—it's gone."
"Then you'd better come along up."
Much easier said than done. It was a great pity that
the inspector's nerves had just received the shock of the
falling car, and that his imagination should visualize the
enormous space below him and the seemingly tiny width
of the ledge.
On tiptoe the edge of the rope was but four inches
away from his reach. In the police gymnasium Inspector


44 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
Higgins could have leapt lightly to the rope and been at
the top in less than half a minute.
Yes—in the police gymnasium.
And old Dryan was an awkward old woman up there!
Doing his best to illuminate the rope with his torch, he
merely succeeded in focusing a blinding ray in Higgins's
eyes. Perhaps it would be better on all counts were he to
close his eyes and trust blindly to luck!
As a matter of fact it was Muriel Higgins who turned
the trick. Instead of warning him to be careful, she urged
him to buck his ideas up and get a wriggle on! A minute
later he was standing on the top of the precipice glaring
defiance.
"Well, here we are again," announced the Chief
brightly.
CHAPTER V
2.25 A.M.
"We've been chasing an empty car," announced Higgins
as soon as he had recovered his breath.
Chief-Inspector Dryan stared at his subordinate as
though unable to believe his ears. Again he had the dis-
turbing thought that perhaps Higgins had overdone the
deputizing earlier in the evening.
"Talk sense," he said tersely.
"I—I mean since we ran into that one-mile straight.
The—the swines just set the steering-wheel straight ahead
and"
"We know where we first saw the car. It must have
been just before there."


2.25 A.M. 45
"That's about it. Anyhow, they're on foot now."
"Unless they had another car waiting."
"Very unlikely, sir. I can't yet make out the deliberate
wantonness in destroying this car. I very much doubt if
they knew they were being chased and ... it doesn't make
sense, somehow."
Whilst making this observation Higgins was busying
himself with the petrol-can, and by the time he had
finished the spirit was gurgling into the thirsty tank.
"It'll all come out in the wash," observed Dryan
prosaically. "Let's catch 'em first."
"Righto. Jump in, the pair of you."
Back along that straight stretch at a good speed, but
nothing like that at which they had come along it, until
at last Higgins slowed down and, with the aid of the
headlights, studied the roadway ahead.
"Somewhere about here, I sh'd think, sir."
Dryan nodded his agreement.
"This is certainly where we first saw it, but it was on
the move then. It was started, I should say, near the
beginning of the straight bit."
Another hundred yards and then Inspector Higgins
stopped the car. By the side of the road was a tiny pool
of oil. The two police officers jumped out. A moment later
Muriel alighted, then gave an exclamation of pleasure.
"What's up?"
"That notice. I've been wondering what it said ever
since we flashed by it."
Higgins snorted his disgust—Dryan grinned.
SUNGATE-BY-THE-SEA
STRAIGHT AHEAD
To the Finest Place on the Coast
"Comeon, Chief"—surlily. Higgins stared at the patch


46 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
of oil. On the face of it it would seem that here was where
the car had stood those few moments whilst the late
occupants had prepared it for destruction. It said much
for the alignment of the wheels that it had gone so far
without leaving the road—also for the man who had set
the steering-wheel in its position. It argued that the
destruction of the car was premeditated, and that its
propensity for a straight run had been tested in the past.
It also argued an entire callousness as to the possibility
of smashing any other car or pedestrian who might be on
the road.
"There's a bit of a lane here," suggested Muriel in a
humble voice, as though in apology for her remark of a
moment before.
"Must have gone that way, Chief, for I didn't notice
anyone on the road when we first passed this place."
"Personally, I wasn't looking."
And twenty yards up the lane Dryan noticed a spot of
oil as though one of the men had trodden in that pool in
the main road. Another fifty yards and the lane ended
with a five-barred gate. There was a notice upon which
Higgins flashed his torch: "Private".
"Signalling to anyone ?"—sarcastically from the Chief.
"Sorry, sir. Over we go."
Muriel clambered over, Inspector Higgins vaulted,
and Chief-Inspector Dryan laboriously climbed the gate.
There was a growl—two green eyes in the darkness—
and a moment later the two police officers were back over
the gate, whilst Muriel Higgins advanced and patted the
head of an immense mastiff. Higgins peered in amazement.
Somewhat shamefacedly, the two officers once more
climbed the gate. The dog growled again and advanced
upon the pair, bristling. Higgins would have backed
away, only he wondered what Muriel would think. He


2.25 A.M. 47
contented himself with a "Good doggy !" the whiles he
kept one foot in readiness for a "place" kick. In great
trepidation he essayed to pat the animal's head, although
painfully conscious of the nearness of his fingers to its
teeth. The growling stopped and the inspector could feel
the tapping of the dog's tail against his trouser leg. Dryan
assumed the alternative method of completely ignoring
the brute. Muriel was unperturbed.
"This is uncommonly like trespass," commented Dryan
with the suspicion of a quaver in his voice—the dog, not the
tort, being the contributory factor.
"What of it, sir? Aren't we investigating the car
smash down the road?"
"Oh, ah! Yes, of course!"
Dryan brightened up as he realized that they had a
ready-made excuse to hand were their actions questioned
by an innocent and irate landowner.
"Now then, Higgy," he said after a pause during which
the dog vanished into the surrounding gloom. "We
must have some plan of action. We are groping about in
the dark—both physically and metaphorically—and
until we know where we're at we look like landing in the
soup. Give me something to get my teeth into, and I'll
hang on till doomsday . . . but this snapping at shadows
is a bit too thick. From what you've told me you don't
know for certain whether or not the car we were chasing
contained the chap who threw that dagger at you—and
by inference killed that fellow on your doorstep in a similar
manner—or whether that Constable Thomson, if he's all
he seems to be, which I very much doubt, has not already
caught the fellow. All they've done so far is to punch
your dial, which, however painful it might be to you, was,
under the circs, only natural considering you were hang-
ing on the luggage grid without their permission and


2-25 A M. 49
the trees which suddenly became visible in the darkness
gave the place an eerie aspect. The length of the grass
on what was apparently once intended for a lawn sug-
gested that the house was untenanted. Suddenly they
both stepped upon a gravelled path, and the consequential
noisy crunch made them both stop in their tracks, then
step once more on the grass verge. Inspector Higgins
peered downwards—the path was overgrown with weeds,
which explained why they had not noticed it in the
darkness.
"The place is empty, Higgy," said Dryan.
"Then what about that dog?" countered Higgins in
a whisper.
"H'm. And he seems to have vanished again."
"Look here, sir, we'd better keep together. Let's go
right round the house quietly and try to find some sign
of life within—then we'll know how to act."
"Righto."
Giving the house a fairly wide berth, the two officers
endeavoured to carry this plan into execution, but, having
traversed one side without seeing a light at any of the
windows, they were both brought to a stop by the sound
of breakers far below, to find themselves on the edge of
a cliff. Immediately Inspector Higgins became uneasy
over his wife. They had neither seen nor heard her since
their first encounter with the dog . . . and it was a
terrible drop below. He advanced cautiously to the edge
and stared downwards. Faintly phosphorescent, he could
clearly discern the point of impact of the sea and the foot
of the cliff. He turned his head to the left. Again,
against the skyline, he could see that the back of the house
had been built on the very edge of the cliff. It was
impossible to walk round the house.
"Damn fool place to build, Higgy," suggested Dryan.
D


50 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
Higgins nodded in the darkness, forgetful that his
companion could not see his silent acquiescence.
"Let's try the other side."
Again no signs of life. There seemed nothing for it
but to advance boldly to the front door and to make
straightforward enquiries.
And as they were advancing forward Chief-Inspector
Dryan, who was in the lead, suddenly, with a mighty
curse, was flung forward on his face. He jumped to
his feet.
"Mind the wire, Higgy."
Somewhere within the house the sound of a ringing
bell. Both officers stood perfectly still and stared at the
darkened outline a hundred feet away, and then, after an
immobile minute, Dryan resumed the gentle rubbing of
his bruised kneecap.
On a ground-floor window a light flashed on for a
split second, and then, once more, all was dark.
Inspector Higgins broke the silence.
"So there is someone at home, sir," he said.
CHAPTER VI
2.35 A.M.
A stentorian voice shattered the silence.
"Hi! Jack! Come here, Jack!"
Higgins could distinctly hear the pattering of feet
as the mastiff obeyed the summons. He grinned. As a
watchdog the animal would make a good host—welcoming
intruders as long-lost friends; and he hoped that the


2.35 A.M. 51
inmates of the house would assume that the dog itself
had set off the alarm by colliding with the hidden wire.
The fact that it had run from the direction of the wire
might lend verisimilitude to this assumption ; but, if they
were to remain undiscovered, it were better if he and the
Chief shifted elsewhere. Dryan obviously had the same
thought, for he carefully picked his way back over the wire
and the pair immediately hurried from the booby-trap.
Back once more to the edge of the cliff, Dryan called
a halt.
"Let's wait a bit, Higgy."
A long silence. At last:
"I've been thinking, Higgy. I've gone over what
you've told me and—well, I've wondered. That guy who
was killed—he was about your build, wasn't he?"
"Yes, sir."
"H'm. Looks as if someone were after your blood,
don't you think?"
"I've thought that, sir, ever since Muriel told me of
the fake message."
"Wrong premise, me boy. Wrong premise."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"If they were out to do you in the way you were
ostensibly done in, it wouldn't matter two hoots were
Muriel in bed or not."
"Except that she might have been there to welcome
me in—and might therefore have been present at the time
and possibly seen the murderer."
"You may be right, but—I dunno."
Another pause, with each officer deep in his own
thoughts. Dryan thinking of the murder outside his
subordinate's house and Higgins—well, the inspector
was wondering where Muriel had got to, and hoping she
was all right. When, after five minutes, nothing had


52 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
happened and no attempt had been made to ascertain
the cause of the alarm, Dryan assumed the initiative.
"We'll look into this, Higgy."
With no attempt at concealment, he marched resolutely
towards the front door, and Higgins had, perforce, to
follow. Arrived at the door, the chief-inspector blatantly
flashed a torch whilst he looked for the bell. He found
a chain hanging from the lintel and gave a vicious tug.
Far away there was the faint tinkle of a bell.
A long wait—then another pull.
Barring the resultant tinkle of the bell, there was no
further sound within the house.
Inspector Higgins was rapidly losing his temper.
"Here, sir. Let me have a go."
He seized the bell, yanked it with all his might—and
the chain came away in his hand. He grinned sheepishly
in the darkness. There was the merest suggestion of
sound behind the door, and Higgins had an eerie feeling
that someone, from an unseen point of vantage, was
trying to inspect them in the darkness. Then, for some
unknown reason, he immediately became acutely con-
scious that he presented a wonderful target there on the
step. His shirt-front alone—barring that huge smudge
made by the turf on the cliff—must shine conspicuously.
He turned up his collar and wrapped his dress jacket
more tightly around him. Then he bethought him of
his torch. He guessed that they were being gazed upon
through a peephole let into the door. He ran his fingers
lightly over the woodwork. The door was studded. At
last his fingers encountered a small iron grille. He raised
his torch and pressed the button.
A white hand with a snake-ring on the little finger,
a pair of dark eyes glittering evilly behind the bars of
the grille—then the tiny door was closed with a snap.


2-35 a.m. 53
Higgins kicked the studded door and cracked the
patent leather of his dress shoe. Dryan demanded that
the door be opened "in the name of the King".
Then both swore.
"Let's break down the blasted door."
"What a hope, sir. It's studded, and . . ."
"Come on. Don't argue."
Chief-Inspector Dryan charged the door—and bounced
off it. Higgins also lent his weight—but it would not
budge. "Once more, Higgy. Then we'll try a window."
The third effort was more than successful: the door
must have been opened, for they crashed through.
Immediately an electric bulb above their head glowed
brightly, and they found themselves staring down the
barrel of a snub-nosed revolver.
"Well ?" a cold voice enquired.
The police officers blinked and tried to shield their
eyes from the electric light. At last their sight was
accustomed to the sudden change. Chief-Inspector
Dryan fumbled for his card-case, extracted a card and
gravely presented it to their interlocutor.
Higgins contented himself with studying the man.
His hands were ringless—so he was not the man who had
peeped through the grille. He was tall but thin ; hatchet-
faced ; hair thinning on top—what there was of it, grey;
dressed in unrelieved black, no collar, no shirt visible,
shoes of black suede (the man obviously did not intend
to be seen in the dark) ; hanging from the cuffs of his coat
were black gloves.
"A chief-inspector from New Scotland Yard, eh?
Further credentials, please."
Dryan produced his warrant-card, which he presented
with a nourish. The other perused it and returned it
with a similar flourish.


54 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
"And your—er—friend ?" he enquired, turning slate-
coloured eyes upon the inspector.
"Higgins. Inspector. Neither cards nor warrant
available."
"I see."
The other placed his revolver in a pocket of his
jacket; then:
"And what can I do for you, gentlemen ?" he enquired,
with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.
"Who are you, sir?"
"What does that matter? If you are who you say
you are, you can easily ascertain that information from
your—er—colleagues at the local police station."
"Ahem! We found your car smashed to pieces at the
end of the Sungate road."
"Oh?" A short pause. "When?"
"Nearly half an hour ago, sir."
"Half an hour, eh? Really, gentlemen, I didn't know
Scotland Yard could work so fast. Half an hour, you
say? And you've traced the registration number from
the county records, ascertained my address from the
same source, and called to make enquiries . . . within
half an hour. Congratulations, gentlemen."
"Then it is not your car?"
"How do I know? You say so. I can only
assume ..."
He paused and looked from one to the other.
"And you don't even know my name," he said at
last.
Chief-Inspector Dryan surveyed him quizzically.
"If you have nothing to hide, why fence ?" he queried.
"Why? I'll tell you why! I'm an honest citizen,
making certain experiments in my laboratory—somewhat
late at night, it is true—and my burglar alarm, a patent


2.35 a.m. 55
device of which I am somewhat proud, warns me that
I have unauthorized visitors who are not using the
orthodox means of entry, the gravelled path, but have
strayed into another part of my extensive grounds."
"These dark nights," suggested Higgins blandly.
The other ignored the interruption. "Iwait. Allowing
for the—er—darkness"—with a suave bow at Inspector
Higgins—"it is an unconscionable time before my—er—
unauthorized visitors find their way to the front door.
I ask myself, 'What is the little game ?'" He stopped and
again surveyed the pair in front of him. "Two visitors
from Scotland Yard—at least, one from Scotland Yard,
and the other, with bedraggled appearance and execrable
shirt-front, purports to be. Well, gentlemen?"
Higgins grinned. In spite of the man's pedantic
English he sensed that the other was not nearly so self-
possessed as he pretended to be. They had stumbled on
to something—but what?
"Is there anywhere we can talk, sir? Perhaps we
can dispel your—shall we say antagonism, if you will
allow us to do so."
"This way, please."
The other led the way and the two police officers
followed. Higgins could feel other eyes upon him, but,
although the stranger flooded each corridor they traversed
with light before they passed through it, he did not set
eyes on any other occupant of the house. The journey
was so long that Higgins began to feel uneasy. At last
a door was flung open and the stranger bowed and waved
his hand for the officers to precede him within.
Higgins smiled and shook his head with a courteous,
"After you, sir."
The other glanced sharply in his direction, then
stepped into the room. It had obviously, at some time


56 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
or other, been a gun-room and harness-room, for there
were gun-racks round the walls and pegs for harness
near the ceiling. Dog-leads and leather reins, mildewed
and rotted, made an untidy litter in one corner, whilst
a saddle, its horsehair stuffing protruding from half a
dozen holes, had patently received attention from
rodentia.
The fact that there were no chairs seemed to suggest
that their unwilling host's choice of this room might have
had an ulterior motive. The man seemed to sense that
an explanation might be needed, for he gave an impatient
toss of his head and clucked his tongue in depreca-
tion.
"T'ck! T'ck! Sorry, gentlemen, but these corridors
are so very confusing. Still. Here will do as well as
anywhere."
"Thank you. It is a question of murder"—quietly.
"Oh !"—shortly, with a hidden menace in the voice.
"Who? Where?"
"An—at present—unknown man. At Wembley."
"A far cry from here, inspector." The man smiled
blandly, and looked from Higgins to Dryan as though for
enlightenment ; then: "When?"
"About twelve."
"It is now past two. And where do / come in?"'
"That's what / want to know," said Higgins un-
compromisingly.
"H'm. Why call on me? Who sent you? The local
police?"
It was on the tip of the inspector's tongue to say no,
but he caught a peculiar glint in the other's eye which
bade him pause. What was the man after? Jerusalem!
He was trying to find out whether anyone else knew where
he and Dryan were I


2 35 a.m. 57
"The local police, of course," he answered men-
daciously. "They directed the Chief and me here to make
enquiries about the car smash."
"Indeed."
The man smiled. Higgins guessed he had made a
mistake. Suddenly he saw what it was. As far as the
local police knew, this house was uninhabited! "They're
waiting outside," he said casually, in a belated effort to
cover his tracks.
Chief-Inspector Dryan could see as far through a brick
wall as most men in his position, and, being very quick
on the uptake, ostentatiously pulled out his watch:
"And getting pretty tired of waiting, I guess," he
ventured airily. He strolled unconcernedly to the door,
then turned: "I'll run along and tell 'em you won't be
long, Higgins."
"Might be as well, sir."
Inspector Higgins was in a quandary. Having been at
such pains to effect an entry into this house of mystery,
some inner prompting urged him to leave; yet he felt
that somehow it would be of great advantage to stay.
In this out-of-use gun-room he felt cut off from the
outside world, yet if Dryan succeeded in getting out
unmolested it would preserve his lines of communication
—and it behoved him to stay. The fact that the other
man was armed had little to do with it, for Higgins was
convinced that he and Dryan, unarmed as they were,
were more than a match for this man. In fact Higgins
would have chanced the weapon long before this and
jumped the fellow had he only been sure of his ground,
but the man might—a big "might" it is true—be all he
pretended he was, in which case a premature forcing of
the issue would be disastrous. Scotland Yard were in
bad enough odour with the Press as it was, without


2.50 a.m. 59
was even now creeping towards him—or might at any
moment fire that gun in his direction. Nasty sticky sort
of supposition.
He suddenly thought of the light switch against the
door-jamb. Silently his fingers groped along the wall
until they touched the switch, which he deflected.
Nothing doing.
"You all right, sir ?" queried Higgins from across the
room.
Dryan did not immediately reply. He half expected
that a shot would be directed towards the inspector now
that he had further betrayed his position by speaking.
As nothing happened, he replied, "Yes," and immediately
ducked—in case.
Then a beam of light from the inspector's electric
torch. Starting with one corner of the room, Higgins
made a complete circuit, illuminating the tense form of
his Chief in one brief moment during the process.
Barring themselves, the room was empty.
"Come on, Chief. Let's get out o' this."
Dryan seized the door-handle ; then his face went blank.
The door was locked. Higgins, guessing the state of
affairs, stared at his Chief. This was almost the last
straw. He had to keep a stern control of his feelings,
otherwise he might run berserk, for that scream had jarred
his nerves—mainly because his wife was out there in the
darkness, and . . . Higgins squared his shoulders and
clenched his teeth.
"Did that man pass you ?" he enquired.
"No."
Higgins gazed round the room, his torch lighting up
each wall in turn. Not a sign of a break, yet obviously
the man must have used some concealed means of exit.
"What about the window, Higgy?"


6o INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
Higgins directed the ray upon the dirty glass. One
glance was sufficient, for there were unbroken cobwebs
at the top and at the bottom of the frame. He then
crossed the room and deflected the other switch which
the man had used to turn off the light. Nothing hap-
pened. Higgins frowned. Surely the lights hadn't been
turned off at the main?
He played his torch on the single globe which was
pendant from the ceiling. Perhaps the lamp had blown!
It was unreasonable to think that the lights had been
switched off from the main, for that would mean that the
rest of the house was in darkness—a state of affairs with
disproportionate disadvantages to the other occupants
of the place to that of leaving the police officers without
a light. The switch which the man has used must be
the main switch for the room and not one of a pair of two-
way switches. In that case . . .
"Have you touched your switch, Chief?"
"Yes. Why?"
Higgins sighed.
"Then touch it again, sir," he suggested wearily.
The room was flooded with light. Dryan, when he
had deflected the switch, had merely turned oft a light
which was already out, and thus prevented the current
operating when once more the main switch was turned on.
A bit confused, perhaps, but Higgins was almost beyond
straight thinking in his anxiety about his wife.
Now what?
"If they've locked the outside door, Chief, then we
must assume that they've also locked the secret door, and
therefore it's a waste of good time to look for it. We'd
better have a shot at the window.''
"Righto. But to prevent accidents ..." Dryan
picked up the empty cartridge box which had proved the


2.50 A.M. 6l
inspector's undoing, and, breaking off a piece of one of the
wooden ends, made an effective wedge for the door.
"We'll have to chance the concealed door, Higgy. If
anyone should come back that way—well, it may save
us a lot o' bother."
The window. Once more Inspector Higgins wrapped
the tail of his dress jacket round his fist and, regardless
of the property of others, smashed the window. He
seemed to be spending most of his time smashing windows,
he reflected, although this one wasn't so tough as that in
the car.
"Why not open it?" suggested Dryan mildly.
"Because the frame's screwed"—equally quietly, and
without looking round. With calm precision he com-
menced to break away the spiked edgings of the glass
until he had completely cleared the frame. Then he
turned to his Chief.
"What floor are we on, sir?"
"The one above the ground floor, I should say."
"H'm. It's so blamed dark, I can't see the ground.
If you wouldn't mind knotting some of those reins
together, sir," he suggested . . . and left it at that.
They tested each piece by the simple expedient of a one-a-
side tug-o'-war. Then the end of the improvised rope was
firmly attached to an iron harness-peg—the other end
being gently lowered out of the window.
"I'll go first, sir," said Higgins, in unspoken deference
to the other's weight and age.
"Righto. Be careful."
Higgins clambered upon the window-sill and then
gasped.
About a hundred and fifty feet below him was the
base of the cliff! Far out to sea was a winking light. The
very thought of the descent he had been contemplating


62
INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
caused beads of perspiration to collect on his forehead.
And the time they had wasted manufacturing this
rope!
"What's the matter ?"—surlily from the Chief.
"It—it's rather a long way down."
"What? Here! Let me have a go."
Dryan strode to the window and peered downwards.
"H'm! That's different," he conceded after a sudden
intake of breath. In spite of their position Higgins
grinned.
"Nothing for it, sir, but to find that other door.
Shouldn't be much of a job."
'No." Dryan turned and surveyed the room, paying
particular attention to that part where the man had
vanished. Then he walked to the wall and tapped it.
Again Higgins grinned . . . and again bethought himself
of the Society of Writers. The whole wall sounded hollow
—at least there was no difference between the sounds of
any definite part. Then he had a brainwave.
"The switches, sir. Where does one usually find
them?"
"Against the door. Why?" He looked at the switch
near the door—and then at that other switch in the middle
of the wall. "Aha! I see." Almost touching the switch
was a large sporting print, somewhat flyblown, of a horse-
race. The animals were weird and wonderful—almost
wooden—as though each had been lifted bodily from the
stand of a nursery rocking-horse. But it was not the
equine monstrosities which attracted his attention, but
the fact that the frame was out of true. Dryan was a
neat soul, and he was quite convinced that, had it been
aslant when first he had entered the room, he must have
noticed it. As it was . . .
The print merely covered a hole in the wall.


2-50 A.M. 63
"Well, well, well!" Dryan beamed at his dis-
covery. "Here, Higgy. Give us a bunk up!"
Much grunting and puffing on the part of both, and
at last Dryan was sitting on a pseudo window-ledge.
"What's behind, Chief?"
"A nasty dirty cobwebby passage, Higgy, me boy, as
far as I can see." He flashed his torch within the opening.
"Yes. That's exactly what it is."
"Good. Through you go. I'll follow.''
Then the Chief's torch failed, and no amount of
tapping and patting would make it function. He cursed!
There was a thud and a cloud of dust as Dryan jumped
to the floor of the passage. Higgins, who was following
in his wake, caught the full blast and sneezed and
spluttered as he landed beside his Chief.
Dryan immediately turned to the right where a door
stood enticingly ajar. Higgins shook his head. The
topography of the place was firmly fixed in his mind.
He knew where that door led.
"Where ?" asked the Chief.
"To the sea"—dryly. Higgins wondered how many,
in the dim and distant past, had been tempted to use that
doorway. He once more produced his torch. The
footsteps of the man in the thick dust were easy to
follow. A few moments later they found themselves in a
carpeted passage. Obviously the passage they had
traversed was in no sense a secret one.
The footprints stopped at a door where a short stop
had apparently been made, but by this time the dust of
the original passage had worn off the man's shoes and it
was impossible to trail him any further. Higgins tried
the handle of the door, but could not budge the woodwork.
He saw a key in the lock and turned it. Still the door
would not budge. Someone holding it? Higgins


64 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
placed his mighty shoulder against the woodwork and
heaved. A screech of protesting timber—the door slowly
opened. The room was their late prison. Dryan's home-
made wedge had been fairly effective! Obviously the
man, after escaping behind that sporting print, had hurried
down the passage and nonchalantly locked the door,
the whiles Chief-Inspector Dryan had stood the other side
of the door to prevent his egress. The situation had its
humour!
Higgins relocked the door.
But now there was no longer any light in the passage,
and Higgins felt it wise to conserve the remainder of his
battery. They must proceed by their sense of touch. But
it was painfully slow work.
Then without any warning the whole of the corridor
was flooded with light. Dryan and Higgins gazed at
each other apprehensively. The passage was empty,
but . . . the sound of running feet.
The two officers turned and bolted back. There
seemed but one point of refuge and that was the room
from which they had so recently escaped. Yet to return
there was fatal. That was the very first place the others
would look to find them.
"Let's stop and have it out, Higgy."
"Righto."
The sound of pattering feet drew nearer, then,
dishevelled and frightened, her long hair streaming
behind her, Muriel Higgins dashed round the corner.
"Jerusalem !"—half apprehension, half thanksgiving!
Inspector Higgins jumped upwards and seized the
electric globe in his right hand. A crash of broken
glass and the passage was in darkness.
The next moment Muriel Higgins collapsed in her
husband's arms.


3 3 A M-
65
CHAPTER VIII
3-3 a.m.
It was Chief-Inspector Dryan who found the hiding-place,
and by sheer accident too. The trio, after but a second's
wait, had retreated cautiously down the corridor, and
Higgins, flashing his torch upwards in search of more
electric-light fittings the sudden use of which might reveal
them to their enemies, the Chief had found a ledge let into
the wall, dusty and uninviting, high up near the ceiling.
The reason of its being and the use to which it had been
put were lost in antiquity, but Dryan was thankful for
small mercies. The two police officers lifted Muriel up;
then Dryan managed to haul up his huge weight. Higgins
followed as best he could with some half-hearted assistance
from his Chief perched precariously up above.
They waited in discomfort.
The ledge was but a foot deep, and, although Muriel
and Higgins were comparatively comfortable with their
legs hanging down, Dryan was handicapped by
embonpoint.
A voice rang down the corridor and echoed and
re-echoed in its confined space.
"Come along out! I can see you!" It was the voice
of their interlocutor of a short while back.
"Bluff," whispered Higgins. "We'd better stand—we
won't show so much."
"If you don't come out I'll shoot."
Higgins was glad they had decided to stand, for
they were protected by the edge of the wall, although he
was fully conscious of a pair of protruding big toes. The
E


66 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
thought, however, of his Chief's bulging waist brought
mild comparative relief!
"She couldn't have come this way," another voice
suggested.
"Then why is the globe broken?"
"Those other blighters must have done that."
"Then where are they?"
"Probably in the sea"—callously.
"H'm." A snort of disbelief. "I ought to have killed
'em whilst I had the chance, but I didn't know . . ."
The voice trailed off.
Higgins guessed what the man didn't know ... he
didn't know how many more police there might be outside.
That woman's scream was obviously unexpected, and the
man had bolted to see the cause of the trouble. Thus he
had soon discovered that the two police officers were on
their own. And the scream . . .?
"What have you been up to, dear?" he whispered
after the footsteps of the others could no longer be heard.
"It was that dog."
"What about it?"
"A man called it—then went out to get it—leaving the
door open."
"And you went in?"
"Yes."
"Don't you ever do anything like that again."
"No, dear. I—I got lost."
"I don't wonder."
"Then I was walking in a passage, when the lights
suddenly went on like they did just now."
"You were in the dark, then?"
"Yes. I—I wasn't afraid till the lights went on."
"Plucky little kid." Higgins tried to pat her hand, but
nearly tumbled from the ledge.


3-3 a.m. 67
"Then—then I—I screamed."
"Good Lord! Why?"
"Promise you won't laugh."
"My dear"—reproachfully.
"I—I saw a mouse."
"You Haw! Haw! Haw!"
Muriel knew that would happen, but the other auditor
was unprepared. "Stop that blasted row !—er—sorry,
Mrs. Higgins, but that ass ..." Chief-Inspector
Dryan, acutely feeling the discomfort of his position,
was rapidly losing his temper. "Look here, Higgy, I'm
sick o' this. Gun or no gun, I'm getting down from here.
You'd better give me a hand. I—ssh!"
Inspector Higgins thought that his Chief's signal for
silence was a bit thick considering who was making all
the row.
They listened.
A little further down the passage the sound of
whispering. Then, clearly—the acoustic properties of the
passage probably being enhanced by the confined space:
"I'm certain I heard someone."
"Well, wait till you see 'em—then you can shoot.'
"Suppose they're armed?"
"Suppose they're not I"
Again the silence. All ears were strained to catch the
slightest sound.
"Mice"—derisively, from the last speaker.
Higgins felt a shudder of repulsion from his wife and
felt a belated contrition for his attitude a moment before.
This "phobia" of his wife was inexplicable to him.
Personally he rather liked the little chaps!
Once more the voice of the apprehensive one:
"I dunno what you think—but / think we ought to
settle with the three of 'em before we clear out."


68 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
"And since when has what you think mattered?"
—sarcastically from the apparent leader. "We were to
finish up here to-night in any case—that's why we let
the car go—you know that! And three people could hide
in this blasted house till doomsday and we couldn't
find 'em without a small army of searchers. It would
take all of us a couple o' days—and in a couple of days we
expect to be a very long way from here."
"The six of us could do it in half an hour."
"And that's exactly thirty minutes more than I'm
prepared to waste. Let 'em hide till they think we're
asleep—then they can escape at pleasure and think
themselves mighty clever in so doing. Come on now.
Get the others. We'll make a start. Of course, should
we happen to run across them—well, that would be—er
—different."
The sound of retreating footsteps died away.
Higgins peered cautiously round the edge of the wall,
but could see nothing. Dryan gave a grunt, and with
great labour re-seated himself upon the ledge. Not
entirely satisfied with his inspection, Higgins turned and
whispered to his Chief:
"Well, sir, what do you make of it?"
"A trap."
"That's what I thought. They gave away a little too
much information for my liking—with their 'six of us'—
although the car business might be true."
"Yes. That 'six' business sounded a shade too
deliberate to me. Shouldn't be surprised if they were
the only two in it. Which do you think was your knife-
throwing expert?"
"Foxy-face, I should think. The other didn't seem to
have the guts of a louse . . . ahem! Sorry, me dear."
"Yet it was he who mentioned the six—he didn't sound


70 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
duty, would not let such a reason stand in his way.
Ergo—it was up to the Chief.
"Leave it to me," he said confidently, and proceeded
to clamber down from his precarious position on the ledge.
Now that the decision had been made, Dryan knew it was
right. In any rough and tumble Higgins was easily the
better man, and the duty of the man fetching help would
be to avoid any trouble—not to seek it as Higgins was
apt to do on occasion. "Give me ten minutes, Higgy,
then kick up a shindy somewhere else—the next floor up
for preference."
"And you think they'll all come charging up to see
the cause of the trouble ?"—with a tinge of sarcasm.
"They must, Higgy, me boy. They can't afford to
overlook any unexplained noises whilst they know we're
still about. It'll help my chances of getting out, that's
the main thing. Don't do it, though," he added hastily,
"if it looks like running you into trouble."
"Worth trying perhaps, sir. Cheerio."
Dryan moved away. Try as they would, neither
Inspector Higgins nor his wife could hear the slightest
sound. Muriel, to whom this aspect of the Chief was new,
could scarcely understand how such a heavy man could
move so soundlessly. Higgins knew his Chief of old.
"Now it's up to us, me dear. Create a diversion!
Rather like saying, 'Here we are! Come and fetch us !'"
Higgins jumped lightly to the floor, then turned and held
up his arms to his wife. She groped in the darkness until
she grasped his fingers, then she felt herself gently lifted
down to the floor, being lightly kissed en passant. She
marvelled anew at her husband's mighty sinews and
thrilled with possession.
"You know, darlin', you're a bit of a handicap."
"I know, Higgy dear."


72 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
A nerve-racking, blood-curdling screech reverberated
through the staircase shaft, echoing and re-echoing
throughout the endless corridors. Even the inspector
felt a prickling at the nape of his neck.
"Steady on, me dear."
Muriel stopped.
"You asked for it, Higgy, my lad," she said.
"Wonderful, me dear, wonderful! That ought to
fetch 'em. Let's hope it won't fetch old Dryan too—on
the run."
The echo of the scream died away.
Then silence—utter silence. A complete awe-inspiring
absence of sound.
It was almost too much of an anti-climax for Inspector
Higgins. From the tail-pocket of his dress jacket he
pulled out a silk handkerchief, kept for such occasions
as that dinner of the evening before, and nervously mopped
his brow.
"You know, me dear, this funny business is getting
me all gooey!"
CHAPTER IX
3.20 A.M.
A long silence during which nothing happened.
"Perhaps they're deaf."
"What, both of 'em?"
Nevertheless, Inspector Higgins pondered the sug-
gestion. No. Both of the men had spoken normally,
in fact on occasions in whispers in the passage. This was


3-20 A.M. 73
the second time since his adventure had begun when
deafness had been suggested. He himself had thought
that the man found murdered on his doorstep must have
been deaf not to have heard the approach of his assailant.
But that had been when he had thought the man to have
been stabbed in an orthodox (for want of a better word !)
manner—before he had had his own experience of a
thrown weapon. And what a peculiar handle it had been!
A cross section would have been like the cog-wheel of a
watch. Perhaps such a shape aided throwing, or That
was it! The fine edges or ridges would preclude the
possibility of an identifiable handprint being left on the
weapon. Very ingenious! And very confusing.
What was that man doing on the doorstep of the house
at Wembley? And why was he slain? Was the Chief's
idea—that the man had been killed under the mistaken
impression that he was Detective-Inspector Cuthbert
Higgins of Scotland Yard—correct? And why should
anyone want to kill Higgins? True, he must, during the
course of a not uneventful career, have made many
enemies—mostly criminal—but . . . had he ever aroused
sufficient hate which only his death could satiate?
The whole thing was absurd! No criminal, however
unbalanced—and it was a moot point whether or not all
criminals were mentally deficient—would imagine that,
with the death of one inspector, the whole activities of
Scotland Yard would cease. If anything, the opposite
would be the case, for his colleagues in the Metropolitan
Police Force would be so incensed at his murder that they
would be likely to redouble their efforts to apprehend
the murderer! There was a missing link somewhere,
and . . . But this didn't solve the mystery of this silent
house. Why the deuce hadn't the occupants dashed about
to find out the reason for the sudden hair-raising scream?


74 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
Why on earth did they take such a soul-searing noise
with such seeming tranquillity?
The only answer which would hold water was because
they hadn't heard it? 'And it was loud enough to wake
the dead!
Why hadn't they heard it?
Had they already left the premises? Or were they
in some cellar or outbuilding which the sound of the scream
had failed to penetrate?
"I don't like this, darlin'. Let's get out of here."
"I—I don't like it, either!"
Higgins felt a moment of misgiving. He had not
realized until then how this nightmarish adventure must
be playing upon his wife's nerves. And she was such a
brick! Her nerves must have been badly frayed by that
footling message of his accident without . . . And what
was the meaning of that? To get her out of the way.
But why?
The whole episode was teeming with whys!
"Sh—shall I scream again?"
"No, dear. Once is more than enough. Another holler
like that and I'd go crackers. Come on—downstairs."
Hand in hand the pair crept down the stairs—step by
step. Again and again Higgins cursed within himself his
wife's presence in the house. Without her he could move
much more swiftly—and without that incessant anxiety
for her welfare. He could make no move without first
considering her safety—and, following upon her initial
entry into the place unaided, who the deuce knew what
she might not get up to if left alone? That she could and
would follow any instructions which he might give he
well knew—but what commands could he give, with the
house possibly full of homicidal maniacs, without
endangering her?


3-20 a.m. 75
The intense quiet was getting on his nerves! If only
he had some indication as to the whereabouts
As if in answer to his unspoken thought there was a
sudden flash, a simultaneous report, and a series of short
"plicks" as a bullet ricocheted from wall to wall down a
corridor at their left, to finish with a dull plop as it hit the
staircase wall.
"What the blazes . . ." An irate voice burst forth
some distance away.
Higgins and his wife stopped dead in their tracks.
"It's all right," the voice of the gutless one made
apology. "I'm just making sure."
"You nearly frightened me to death. Did you hear
anything?"
"Yes."
"Sure?"
"I thought I did—anyhow."
"You thought!" A wealth of derision in the sneer.
"You're getting nervy—that's what's up with you. You
make me tired!"
"All right"—surlily.
Higgins laid a gently restraining hand upon his wife's
arm. His acute hearing had warned him that the pair
along the passage were moving in his direction, and he
suddenly realized that they were probably traversing
the passage which had hidden the trio a few minutes
before. It was a bit of luck they had decided to
move upwards, else . . . With infinite care the pair
retreated up the stairs once again. They waited at
the top.
"Stop here a minute, kiddie. Shan't be long."
With a reassuring pressure of his wife's hand Inspector
Higgins once more descended the stairs on tiptoe. He
heard the merest suggestion of movement down the


76 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
darkened passage. He stopped and listened. Then he
peered round the corner.
The two men, one of whom was carrying an oil lantern,
had stopped at the locked door of the gun-room. Even
as he looked one of them stooped and tried to peer within
the room through the keyhole.
"Can't see anything," he muttered—" 'cept the light's
turned on."
"Open the door and stand by for trouble. If they're
both in there still—shoot 'em."
"Wotto!"
The man turned the key and flung open the door.
Immediately the pair were thrown into clear-cut relief
by the light from the room. Higgins had his first view
of the lesser of the pair. Shorter than the man who had
interviewed the two police officers and who was now
standing holding the lantern—and of obviously much
lower mentality. His eyebrows and hair almost met, his
forehead being so narrow; herculean shoulders, one
gnarled hand gripping a revolver. The man turned swiftly
and stared straight at Higgins. For a brief second the
inspector thought he had been seen, but the man imme-
diately gazed furtively down the other end of the corridor.
Obviously, having discovered the room to be empty,
he had cast about in the fear that the escaped officers might
any moment spring upon him.
A fat, self-satisfied laugh from the leader.
"Look at that, Hefty!"
Hefty looked—and laughed.
The pair entered the room. Higgins was puzzled.
"Ha, ha, ha! Made a most effective rope-ladder,
I see. Not quite long enough, eh, Hefty? Well, well,
well! I call that hard luck!"
Higgins grinned in the darkness. The rope of reins


3-20 a.m. 77
hanging from the smashed window had been discovered—
and Foxy-face had jumped to a wrong conclusion. Still,
we can't all be clever!
"This is indeed very nice"—again that cold metallic
voice. "There's only the young lady now. And who the
deuce she is and where she comes from I'd like to
know. Not a lady 'tec—the Yard don't use 'em. She's
probably fainted somewhere. I wonder if she's some
flame of . . . but he wouldn't dare give this address.
H'm."
Inspector Higgins breathed a sigh of relief. Unless
the whole business within that room were bluff—and they
couldn't know that he would hear it—it meant that the
chief had got safely away. It was only a question of time
now before the police arrived on the scene. And what
would they find when they arrived? Something fishy
without a doubt.
"Let's get on with the job, mister. Time's short."
Hefty's voice broke on the inspector's thoughts,
and a moment later the pair left the gun-room and
proceeded further along the passage, then turned to the
right—along that short strip of corridor which led to the
hole behind that sporting print . . . and to that open
door in the wall!
What were they up to?
Was it worth while trying to find out? That door,
left ajar, must lead somewhere! But where?
Inspector Higgins crept forward until he had reached
the edge of the light thrown from the gun-room into the
passage. Dare he cross that illuminated wedge? And
what would it avail him if he did? He heard the creak
of rusty hinges, then a more forceful draught of air. The
door had been opened further!
A spine-quivering thought! Perhaps they had


78 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
already spotted him and were merely preparing a con-
venient means of disposing of his body!
Fortunately, the passage to the door being un-
carpeted, he could hear their footsteps and would be
warned were they suddenly to return . . . unless one of
them was even now returning via the hole behind the
sporting print!
Jerusalem! He must look!
He did so. A quick lightning peep round the jamb of
the door. He had seen all he wished to see. The print
had been entirely removed with the obvious idea of
providing light for the passage to the sea door—and
through the hole Higgins had caught a momentary
glimpse of the back of Hefty's head. Unless he entered
the gun-room—and chanced his shadow betraying his
presence when he looked through the hole—he could not
hope to see more unless he crossed that wedge of light and
peered round the corner of the passage.
Yet it was irritating to be so near and—tritely—yet
so far!
And to cross that light entailed a double risk—for he
would have to cross it again on his return. Hardly
worth it.
Still! Supposing he were spotted—either coming or
going—he could fling aside all caution and bolt down the
passage and be turned the corner before Foxy-face or
Hefty could get him in their line of fire!
If only Muriel were not waiting patiently at the head
of those stairs of the floor above! He might chase down
the stairs and so draw the field away from her, but . . .
Higgins sighed. Women did complicate things in an
affair of this sort!
Abruptly the inspector stood bolt upright and tried
to flatten himself still further against the wall of the


3 55 a.m.
79
corridor. Footsteps the other end of the passage! A
sudden thought that it might be Muriel who had ignored
his instructions was hastily thrust aside as he realized
that there was no attempt at concealing the sound.
Nearer and nearer! Too late now to retreat.
A sigh, a grunt, and then a heavy weight was dumped
down at the end of the passage.
Foxy-face and Hefty at one end of the passage, the
unknown at the other . . . and a very worried detective-
inspector of police in between.
CHAPTER X
3-55 a.m.
Inspector Higgins turned his face to the wall, hoping
thereby that his semi-white shirt-front would not be so
conspicuous in the darkness, and fully conscious that his
whole figure must be outlined against that cursed wedge
of light.
He calculated quickly his slender chances. To reach
that protecting ledge which had proved so beneficial
before was now entirely out of the question. He might,
by lying full length upon the floor, avoid detection, but,
once seen, a recumbent position would be fatal to his
chance of escape ... it all depended on the angle of
sight from either end of the passage.
It looked uncommonly as though he would have to
fight his way out. It was no use attacking Foxy-face and
Hefty still at the sea door, for he knew they were both
armed, and, even could he escape from them, that sea
door might merely lead to eternity : the man at the other


8o INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
end might not be armed, and, further, would certainly not
expect an attack from the direction of his friends at the
sea door. And the element of surprise might well carry the
day—or, at least, the ensuing minute.
Higgins hoped that Muriel would not feel called upon
to create another of her famous diversions!
Now or never!
Silently he slid along the wall, endeavouring to get as
near as possible to the other before essaying his final
leap.
A voice behind him. Higgins stopped in his tracks.
"That you, Lofty?"
Foxy-face had seen him!
"Yes." A voice answered a few yards ahead and
Higgins had the greatest difficulty restraining muscles
already taut for a leap down the passage. Perhaps he
hadn't been spotted after all!
"Baker with you?"
"Yes."
"Then what the devil do you think you're doing?"
"Having a rest. It's hard work, I might tell you."
"Rest, eh? You push off and get the rest would be
more sensible. Do you think we want to be all night?
You get 'em up here—Hefty and I will get 'em down
again."
"Oh, all right !"—ungraciously. "Only it's harder
than you think."
"Oh, quit grousing and get on with the job."
The sound of retreating footsteps as Lofty and Baker
carried out instructions. Higgins, measuring his foot-
steps with theirs, and making no attempt at concealment,
stolidly walked after them—to the safety of the corner
of the passage. Arrived there, once more his silk handker-
chief was brought into play . . . the more so in that


3-55 a.m. 81
he had barely escaped tumbling over a box inconsiderately
left dead in the centre of the corridor!
No time for an ostentatious display of relief—Hefty
and Foxy-face were already making tracks for the end of
the passage. Higgins skimmed lightly up the stairs, to
find Muriel in a state of great perturbation, almost on
the verge of tears, exactly where he had left her.
"Good girl !" he whispered.
"I—I was so frightened, Higgy."
"There's nothing to be afraid of, kiddie. I'm here!"
That was like Inspector Cuthbert Higgins—he had a
sublime faith in his own ability to crawl out of tight
corners!
He stood at the top of the stairs and listened intently.
He could distinctly hear the puffing and occasional
grunts from the two men in the passage in their efforts
to move the box. Higgins guessed that Foxy-face had
revised by this time his opinion of the other two, and was
finding the work of shifting the box much harder than he
had anticipated. Higgins would give a great deal to
learn what was in the box! Yet the men, Lofty and Baker,
had gone below to get some more—for Foxy-face had
urged them to get the rest—and that argued that there
were more boxes to come. Perhaps with Muriel's aid he
might be able to run off with one of them. Was the game
worth the candle? Would it not place both himself and
his wife once more in jeopardy? And if it took two to
lift, what hopes had he and Muriel to get away with it?
Would they not be merely advertising their presence,
the chance of getting away with it being so small?
Just a peep within the lid might be sufficient.
"Come on, darlin'—and keep quiet."
They once more descended the convenient stairs and
seated themselves comfortably at the bottom.
F


82 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
More sounds of distress from below, and again that
sound of the dumping of a heavy weight.
"Phew! I'm sick o' doing a horse out of a job."
"So am I"—a new voice. Must be Baker's. "But
think of the Boss and Hefty—it's worse for them. An'
I'D bet Hefty does most of the work."
"Come on! Twice more should do it."
Receding footsteps.
"Here, kiddie. Keep doggo for Foxy-face's return.
I'm going to look in that box—or bust."
Muriel stood at the end of the passage staring into the
darkness and straining her ears for the slightest sound.
Higgins passed light fingers over the box. The surface
was smooth, but Higgins could feel a thick coating of
dust and dirt. Dare he flash a light? It was now or
never.
A whispered warning to his wife—a brief flash—and
he had seen all there was to see. A black-japanned
sheet-metal box—a deed-box—with fronds of cobwebs
clinging to the edges—and with a hefty padlock clamping
the lid. Gone was the hope of a surreptitious peep at the
contents. He gripped the handles at each end and
essayed to lift the box—to find that he could barely
drag it along the carpet. He was going to have a look or
bust, was he! He'd have to bust! And the finger-
prints on the box would be priceless at Scotland
Yard!
"One more flight, Lofty."
Higgins had been so intent on his inspection that he
had failed to hear the other pair toiling upwards with a
further load. He grasped Muriel's hand and retreated
swiftly into the darkness.
"Blimey, ain't the Boss slow !" remarked Lofty with a
curse as he banged his foot against the other box.


3-55 a.m. 83
"Got further to go, ain't 'e ?"—in explanation from
Baker.
"Well, let's go easy on the next load—else he'll want
us to give him a hand."
"All right."
Inspector Higgins waited till he could no longer hear
the receding footsteps of the pair, gave them an
additional two minutes for luck, and then once more
returned to the corner of the corridor. This time there
were two boxes, the second having been placed upon the
first, and he realized only too well that this would be
his last opportunity to take one of them—for had not
Lofty stated that "twice more should do it", and already
they had returned once! The next journey should be
their last!
And at any moment Foxy-face and Hefty might
return.
There was obviously no time to lose—again it was
now or never! Higgins seized the handles of the top
box, thrust his mighty chest against the side, then,
exerting his immense strength, by dint of great endeavour
lifted the box half an inch. Slowly, an inch or two
at a time, he turned on his heel, rested for a brief instant
upon the edge of the other box whilst he let the box slip
gently to his thighs, then waddled ungainly with bent
knees and ludicrously short paces to the stairs, the fourth
of which was at a convenient height to take the weight
of the box. Even so he stumbled and nearly overbalanced
when his feet touched the bottom stair, and finished up
kneeling on the second stair, perspiring and breathless.
He let the box keel over and gently slid it to the floor.
It was obviously impossible to carry it upwards, but might
be comparatively simple to slide it downwards. He
dragged it to the edge of the next flight.


84 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
Anyhow, he had left no telltale trail in the pile of the
carpet from the end of the corridor to the stairs—that was
something!
Now what? Should he precede the box down the
stairs and chance getting crushed if it fell, or push from
behind until it overbalanced, and then trust to his ability
to hang on to the handle?
A warning hiss from Muriel and he stood perfectly
still.
It was Foxy-face and Hefty returning for the next
box, which they picked up and with many mutterings
and imprecations slowly made their way back.
Higgins decided to go in front of the box as soon as
no further sounds could be heard. He dragged the box
until the merest push would topple it over, then he sat
down on the stair below and braced his back against the
end of the box.
"Now then, darlin', gently does it."
Muriel Higgins exerted the necessary pressure and the
box slowly canted over. Higgins eased himself down a
stair at a time and found the going practically simple.
Of course, the box handle in the small of his back was
mighty uncomfortable, and he was frightened to death
he'd get his fingers crushed if he didn't look out . . . and
he hoped to goodness they wouldn't come along and catch
him like this! It would be all U. P. if they did. The first
flight soundlessly accomplished, Higgins stood up with
a sigh of relief.
Took a long time, though.
It would be quicker to let the force of gravity work
unaided and merely hang on the handle behind. It was—
much quicker! A series of dull bumps and then a crash
as the box hit the landing wall. Higgins had misjudged
his ability to hang on, and now sat—where he had over-


3-55 a.m. 85
balanced upon losing his grip—on the topmost stair of
the flight.
That had done it!
"Are you hurt, dear ?"—apprehensively from Muriel.
"Ssh! I'm all right."
Again that uncanny silence which had followed
Muriel's lifelike scream. The explanation of these
phenomena dawned upon the inspector's intelligence.
When Muriel had screamed the whole gang were in the
vaults or cellars below or outside the house where these
boxes had been housed : and now Hefty and Foxy-face
were well out of hearing and Lofty and Baker were still
hanging out time below with the remaining box.
Muriel's effort Higgins had wanted to be heard—his
own most decidedly not I Luck had evened things out I
Still, he couldn't rely on any more of that kind of
luck—his alternative method had assuredly not been the
way to get the box down the stairs ... at least, sound-
lessly. And he dared not attempt the other way—time
was too short. It might be an ideal place to leave the
box half-way between two floors, and in any case he must
make some sort of reconnoitre before going further
downwards in case he suddenly stumbled upon Lofty
and Baker with the remaining box.
Higgins was beginning to get the lay of the land by
now. The house built on the edge of the cliff had a
staircase at each end only one of which was in general
use ; but this did not mean that the other—that is the one
down which he and his wife were now creeping—would
never be used. Higgins was convinced that it was
something to do with the lighting arrangements—the
other staircase was probably wired and this was not.
A guess, the possible truth of which he dared not
investigate. But


86 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
Muriel's grip upon his arm tightened and he imme-
diately stopped.
"Look!" The merest whisper. "On the left."
Unknowingly they had reached the level of a floor
and were thus able to see down the corridor which ran
the entire length of the house. And at the farther end
two red spots of light. Higgins was immediately reminded
of that encounter with the dog in the grounds outside
and felt a quiver of apprehension run down his spine.
Then he grinned.
Lofty and Baker were eking out their time by a quiet
smoke at the other end of the corridor.
Even as the inspector watched, a brightening of the
two spots indicated that the pair were having a final
puff, and then the cigarette-ends were ground out on the
top of the remaining box.
More mutterings—and they resumed their ascent.
Higgins and Muriel kept pace with them up the other
flights of stairs and then seated themselves at the top to
await developments.
By a coincidence Foxy-face and Hefty arrived at the
corner simultaneously with Lofty and Baker.
"You've been a long time," commented Foxy-face.
"You've bin mighty quick, you mean," suggested
Baker.
"H'm. Well, hurry up and get the last box."
"Come off it, Boss—we've finished."
There was a long silence.


4-20 A.M.
87
CHAPTER XI
4-20 A.M.
Inspector Higgins, an interested auditor—if not spec-
tator—could feel the tension in the air. He guessed what
was happening. Each pair suspected the other of making
away with the missing box. Were his own position more
secure Higgins would have enjoyed the latent humour in
the situation; as it was . . .
"Have you struck ?"—coldly, and with temper held
well in check.
"Struck? What d'y'mean? We've finished"—the
rising suspicion in Baker's voice was apparent.
"There were four boxes."
"We brought four—didn't we, Lofty?"
"Yes—we—did." A pause between each word for
emphasis.
"And we've only had three." Foxy-face made no
attempt to ask Hefty to substantiate his statement, as
though his word were sufficient.
A pause—as though each pair were sizing up the other;
then:
"I have to go below again to—er—settle up, Baker.
You shall come with me. You—er—might have over-
looked it."
"I'll come right enough."
"That's very kind"—with mild sarcasm in the tones.
"Come on, then. And you, Hefty—er—look after Lofty.
Get down this third box—and then wait."
"Don't worry about me—I ain't going to run away,"
said Lofty meaningly.


88 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
The Boss and Baker marched along the passage.
Inspector Higgins waited until their footsteps were no
longer audible, then he also descended the stairs. And
then, when almost on the ground level, a bell, about a
foot from the inspector's ear, clanged out its startling
summons. Higgins shied as if shot, and his wife clung to
his arm. He could feel the erratic beating of her heart
through the thin texture of his jacket, and her rapid
breathing warned him she was on the verge of collapse.
Somehow they must have set off an alarm—except
that the bell was not an electric one and, by the sound,
swung from a curled spring.
A welcome explanatory thought. This was the front-
door bell, and these stairs were what would be called the
servants' stairs.
Again the bell, and as neither Higgins nor his wife had
moved, it was obviously not an alarm bell.
Cheers! It must be Dryan.
Higgins listened. He heard stealthy footsteps which
stopped—then stealthy footsteps which returned. Then
silence.
Then, without warning; the whole of the corridor was
flooded with light and Inspector Higgins and his wife
found themselves in the centre of the spotlight from a
powerful globe immediately overhead. And twenty feet
ahead, his back towards them, wearing a realistic dressing-
gown and making for the front door, was Foxy-face.
Higgins held his breath, then sidled backwards till
once more sheltered by the friendly wall. Muriel, white-
faced and biting her nether lip, her eyes bulging with
apprehension, slipped after him.
Something moving on the wall. Higgins gave a quick
glance. It was the bell still gently swaying, although the
tongue fell short of the metal—giving mute testimony of


4-20 A.M. 89
the urgency of the summons, or the shortness of the temper
of the man who had pulled it!
A mumbling at the door. Higgins felt a sinking feeling
the pit of his stomach. Obviously not Chief-Inspector
Dryan with reinforcements, for the Chief wouldn't
stay and argue.
The fact that Foxy-face was answering the door at
all seemed to indicate that he was expecting someone,
and that he had pulled a dressing-gown over his clothes
suggested that he was taking no chances and wished to
insinuate he had been aroused from his bed.
Yet why answer at all? He had opened the door to
Dryan and Higgins when he might have stayed in the
background—and now he was at the door again. Whom
did he expect at this time of night ? And who had arrived?
Not a casual caller—that was perfectly certain.
The sound of footsteps which Higgins had heard just
prior to the turning on of the lights was probably a pre-
liminary inspection of this caller—but, if so, why the dress-
ing-gown? And for Foxy-face to find a dressing-gown on
this floor, when reason would suggest the bedrooms to
be higher up, was in itself remarkable. Yet it was a large
house, and the bedrooms and living-rooms might be on
the same floor, especially if their tenancy was entirely
unauthorized, as Higgins strongly suspected.
And who was the caller? A peep might be sufficient
—save that Baker was somewhere in the offing. But
would not Baker's eyes be also directed towards the door-
way and not away from it? Would not he, too, be more
than a little interested in this night caller of the Boss?
Inspector Higgins stood at the very edge of the corner
and slowly leaned outwards. One quick glance with one
eye and then he was once more upright. A peep had been
sufficient.


go INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
Talking animatedly at the doorway to the Boss was
Constable Thomson.
The door was softly closed and the lights went out.
Higgins groped his way towards his wife.
So Thomson had thrown that dagger) had he?
Thomson, whom the superintendent had stated would
shortly be made a sergeant! Thomson, whom he had
last heard chasing away from the inspector's house whilst
he galloped in the other direction. Thomson, who had
telephoned to the selfsame superintendent asking for
a squad to comb the district for suspects! That didn't
sound true to form—except that he knew no suspect was
likely to be found.
Thomson ! And Higgins had stated he would remember
the name!
He'd remember it all right—and he'd change that
name to Mud if he ever had the chance.
And the man was no longer in that honoured uniform.
And Thomson from his very position in the Force
might have learned that Higgins was deputizing for his
chief at that writers' dinner, and have sent that fake
message to Muriel. What had been the big idea?
It was Thomson who had discovered Higgins soon after
he himself had found the dead man. Had it been a clumsy
attempt to saddle the inspector himself with the crime?
Thomson could with truth have stated that he had found
Higgins with the man . . . but that was too farfetched.
And what about that short sort of cove with the long
overcoat and the trilby hat whom Thomson had said that
the inspector's neighbour Brewster had seen hanging
around? Did he exist outside Thomson's imagination?
Anyhow, Brewster himself could say about that,
if ever Higgins got out of this!
"Come on, Baker, there's not a moment to lose."


4-20 A.M. 91
The patter of descending feet, and then silence.
Higgins, roused from his reverie by the sound, won-
dered what his next move should be. Now that the way
of escape was open to him, the front door being un-
protected and only a short distance away, he felt an urge
to stay and see the end of this comedy. But at least he
need no longer be encumbered—ungallant thought!
—with his wife!
"The parting of the ways, sweetheart. You must
bolt," he whispered. "S-sh!"
Further stealthy footsteps. Surely Foxy-face and
Baker hadn't already completed their mysterious doings
in the vaults below?
A sudden shout from below, and then the sound of a
shot. Once again the place was flooded with light, and then
the sound of charging feet. Too late now to escape.
Higgins glanced apprehensively round the corner, to see
the stout form of ChieMnspector Dryan legging it for the
front door. A brief instant whilst he fumbled at the catch,
the door opened, he dashed through and slammed the
door after him. A couple of seconds later Foxy-face crashed
into view, a smoking revolver still in his hand, and opened
the front door. He peeked into the darkness like an in-
quisitive bird, his head moving jerkily in all directions,
but he withheld his fire.
The deep-throated bark of the mastiff in the darkness
outside. Then a howl as it took up the chase. Another
bark—another—a quick yelp of pain in the distance as
though the Chief had got home with a well-directed kick.
The pandemonium faded in the distance—then thinly
through the night came the unmistakable noise of a car
back-firing—the hum of an engine—the defiant blare of
a klaxon. Chief-Inspector Dryan was away!
"And what the devil the old woman's been up to all this


92 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
time beats me," reflected Higgins, remembering the well-
intentioned diversion on the stairs!
"That's the guy who pinched the box," said Baker from
the open door-way. Inspector Higgins made a mental
note of his appearance: not. unlike Hefty, but of slimmer
build.
"Well, he hasn't got it with him. And we can't stop
now to find it. It's too late. And we may be too late."
Higgins was amazed at the anxiety in the Boss's voice—
a suggestion of fear. And he was astounded when the pair
made a sudden bolt for the stairs and began to run up-
wards as though the devil were at their heels.
What was it? Higgins gazed apprehensively down the
passage. There was the front door, still open as left by
the pair when they had beat their hurried retreat. The
danger must be coming from there!
"Here, kiddie," he said, running a damp forefinger
round the rim of his collar as though it had suddenly
become too tight for him, "we'll beat it too."
Hand in hand they ran up the other staircase. They
heard the crashing of feet from the stairs at the other end
of the corridor.
They collided in the darkness with the box which
they had left on the half-landing and knew they had not
much further to go. The next few steps were mounted
very circumspectly, as Higgins had no wish to meet the
four at the end of the passage just above.
The tiniest noise of running feet—then once more that
eerie silence. Higgins peered round the corner, trying to
penetrate the darkness.
Nothing.
He crept forward—then, throwing caution to the
winds, he flashed his torch.
Not a sign of the others.


4-20 a.m. 93
He ran along the corridor with Muriel at his heels.
There was the abandoned gun-room—empty.
Foxy-face and Hefty, Lofty and Baker, had all vanished
off the face of the earth.
Where had they gone—and what was the hurry?
Hurry! It was more like blind, unreasoned panic! They
were fleeing from some danger of which Higgins was
unaware. What had presaged the rush? What had Foxy-
face said? "We may be too late." And then that fear-
some rush. But upstairs and not out of the door. Up!
It wasn't sense—unless danger had threatened from the
door. And that wasn't sense either, for both Foxy-face
and Baker had stood there unafraid.
Curse this blasted collar! Why didn't they have soft
collars with a boiled shirt?
"Hi! Hi !" he yelled in a voice strangely unlike his
own.
Muriel's acute ear caught the timbre of alarm in the
inspector's voice.
"Wh-what is it, dear?"
"Nothing, darlin'. Nothing. But . . ."
For some unaccountable reason Inspector Higgins
suddenly thought of the deliberate wreck of that car.
"We were to finish up here to-night in any case—that's
i why we let the car go." Foxy-face had said that. Foxy-
face! Foxy-face who had fled as though in desperation
from some hidden danger . . . from some dreadful
menace. The destruction of the car had been logical if
by leaving it behind they provided a clue to their identity.
And if the car had originally been stolen they suffered no
loss. What of the house itself? Already the inspector
had arrived at the decision that they were in all probability
unauthorized tenants. The house itself must be a perfect
storehouse of clues—fingerprints, personal belongings


94 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
discarded but still indicative of their owners, and the
like.
If leaving it for ever, would they not . . . destroy
it?
Fire . . . explosion. . . .
Inspector Higgins stood perfectly still in that passage
and compelled his brain to think rationally. Fire—even
a petrol fire—took a modicum of time to gain a hold . . .
a despairing rush was unnecessary. Explosion. . . .
To descend the stairs would be to meet the threatened
danger. Where the four had gone Higgins could follow
. . . unless Foxy-face had destroyed his bridges. . . .
The sea door . . . that must lead somewhere.
Higgins forced himself to speak calmly.
"This way, darlin'. There's no hurry."
The sea door was closed.
CHAPTER XII
4.30 A.M.
Inspector Higgins pulled out his electric torch, pressed
the button and threw a ray of light upon the door. He
was ashamed at the tiny tremor betrayed by the edge of
the beam, although he knew it was magnified a thousand-
fold.
An iron door, red with rust, which looked capable
of withstanding the assaults of an army. Higgins felt a
small qualm of dismay, but kept a stern grip upon himself,
well knowing that dismay might lead through terror to
panic. A vertical bar-handle, with traces of oil where it
joined the door, pointing downwards.


4.30 a.m. 95
Higgins grasped the handle with a mighty grip, the
thought crossing his mind that he was thereby completely
destroying some valuable handprints, and, exerting his
immense strength, slowly levered the handle to a
horizontal position, feeling a thrill of satisfaction when the
levers moved.
With a squeal of protesting hinges the door was flung
open as though someone outside had hurled his weight
upon it, and the inspector staggered backwards by the
impact.
A whistling, howling wind hurtled through the
corridor and Higgins was hard put to retain his feet.
Muriel was completely swept from her equilibrium, and,
but for Higgins, must have fallen.
"Catch hold of my coat-tails, dear!" he shouted,
trying to make his voice audible above the fury of the
wind.
Bending his head, the inspector forced his way to the
opening. Black forbidding darkness—with the roar of
the surf below.
Steadying himself against the iron door, Higgins
played his torch round the aperture. It mattered little
to him whether he were seen or not, and . . . the steps
down the cliff which he had expected to find were not
there. It was a sheer drop. He gazed upwards. Jutting
from the rock face was a stout timber prop with a pulley
at the end. The rope was missing. Foxy-face and Co.
must have descended by means of this pulley—an
astounding feat in itself—and then pulled out the rope.
Perhaps it wasn't so far down as he had thought.
A forlorn, spurious optimism fathered the thought.
Higgins dropped to his hands and knees and peered
over the edge.
And there, revealed by his torch, and some three


96 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
feet below the level of the passage floor, was the top-
most rung of an iron ladder, the frame being fixed
precariously in the face of the rock.
At best a desperate venture, but their only hope if
what he feared were true.
"Turn round and lie on your tummy!" he shouted,
"I'm going first. Close your eyes and trust to me.
Remember—I'm below you. Edge backwards and grope
for the ladder with your feet. Once on the ladder it—it'll
be as easy as falling off a horse." Not exactly an inspired
simile, but it served.
Inspector Higgins wriggled backwards, his legs
dangling over space. An awful moment as his fingers
slipped the merest fraction of an inch on the wind-swept
floor of the corridor, then a sigh of comparative relief as
his feet engaged the topmost rung. If only there was a
hand-rail! Higgins, in spite of his position, guessed that
the rope for the pulley had served this function as well
as the means whereby the boxes had been lowered.
He plunged his fingers in the space occasioned by the
hinges between the edge of the door and the jamb,
devoutly hoping the door would not close and crush his
fingers. The next rung was safely negotiated. Then
he was able to grip the topmost rung with his free hand
and felt a thrill of deep satisfaction. He could defy the
wind thus anchored.
"Come on, kiddie !" he yelled.
Releasing his grasp of the edge of the door, he groped
until he caught hold of his wife's foot.
Another gust of wind and a muffled shout from Muriel.
Higgins guessed at the trouble—skirts! That was it!
Why the deuce women didn't wear sensible clothes he
couldn't understand. Now Muriel must be enveloped like
an umbrella blown inside out!


4-30 a.m. 97
"Grab the door-post !" he howled.
Keeping a firm hold of Muriel's ankle,'he gently
propelled it to the topmost rung. The other foot imme-
diately followed and skinned his fingers.
"I've got you! Let go!"
With sublime faith Muriel released her hold; then
Higgins lifted her down another step and she was able to
get her hands on the first rung. Had it not been for the
wind which pushed her against the cliff-face she must
have fallen—but, to give Higgins his due, he had cal-
culated on this.
"Down we go!"—cheerfully.
His feet on the rung below, his hands on the rung
above those of his wife, Higgins endeavoured to protect
her from the fury of the wind and at the same time be
in a position to save her were her grip to falter. An
awkward method, but he could think of no better.
Twenty steps below and Higgins knew that the ladder
was now secured to the natural cliff and no longer to the
wall of the house.
He changed his grip to the sides and not the rungs,
and found they were able to mike better and quicker
progress.
In a vertical position his wife's dress resumed its
normal place—so one handicap was removed.
"Hurry, darlin'I Hurry!"
Thirty more rungs, interspersed with two missing
rungs which nearly spelled disaster; then:
"HoJd tight!" t
Higgins placed his huge arms round his wife until
his fingers were interlocked round the ladder as
well.
A faint rumble had warned him.
Then a sound which Inspector Higgins was never to
G


98 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
forget . . . with his eyes screwed tightly shut, he for-
tunately missed the awe-inspiring sight.
A blinding, paralysing flash which split the house from
roof to cellar ; a simultaneous roar which threatened to
cleave the eardrums; a crushing concussion, of suffocating
intensity, which choked the nose and stifled the throat;
a pulsating silence broken by the mellow tones of a church
clock at Sungate starting to chime the hour; then the
terrifying rumble of falling debris.
The violence of the explosion had forced the stones
well away from the face of the cliff, and the slightly
overhanging edge gave small protection. Their very
nearness to the heart of the catastrophe had been their
salvation.
Higgins opened his eyes and gazed cringingly upwards.
Dimly outlined against the sky was a broken wall which,
even as he looked, toppled slowly outwards, gathering
momentum, then broke in two and crashed behind
them.
He heard no sound save a singing in his ears.
Tremblingly he felt for his torch and flashed it
upwards.
Standing like a sentinel in the darkness, yet swaying
in the wind, was about fifteen feet of the iron ladder which
had miraculously escaped, and which, bending outwards,
had undoubtedly helped to protect them from the falling
masonry. Higgins swallowed the saliva in his throat,
the singing in his ears stopped, and he could hear the
surf raging below. He stared once more at that piece of
iron ladder above. Top-heavy, it bent still further
outwards; then Higgins plainly heard an ominous crunch
a few feet above his head as the staples which secured
the iron ladder were slowly wrenched from the face of
the cliff.


4.30 a.m. 99
A similar noise below him and the cliff wall seemed to
be slowly edging away.
Inspector Higgins stared in fascination, then thrust
his torch back into his pocket.
"Down, darlin'! Down!"
Higgins sensed rather than saw her nod of
acquiescence. Poor kid! She seemed numbed.
He could feel the trembling of her body, and vowed
then and there to break Foxy-face's neck were they ever
to meet again.
Muriel forced herself to obey, and falteringly felt for
a lower rung.
The movement seemed all that was needed, for the
whole of that portion of the ladder immediately swung
outwards and a second later the pair were hanging
horizontally on to the ladder some twenty-five feet from
the face of the cliff.
Higgins wrapped his legs round the iron sides as
Muriel's grip relaxed and the whole of her weight was flung
on his body. The strain on his muscles was intense.
Muriel had fainted—and no wonder.
Higgins jolted her as best he could and shouted
endearments in her ear in a tone of voice which would
have been ridiculous were it not so tragic.
He felt a slight movement, and then her fingers gently
caressed his face. A stiffening of her body warned him
of her returning consciousness—then slowly the weight
on his arms was eased as Muriel once more gripped
a rung.
"T—try and get on the other side !" he shouted.
First an arm, then a leg, round the side of the ladder;
an agonizing minute whilst Muriel gradually eased herself
over; then she was lying full length on top of the ladder
with Higgins precariously clinging underneath.


1oo INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
"Hold tight. I'm going to try."
Inspector Higgins let his legs slowly swing free from
the sides and hung for one brief second suspended by his
hands. A precarious "walk" outwards from rung to rung,
his legs hanging in space, his mighty hands gripping the
iron rounds of the ladder.
Then a missing rung!
The resultant jar as Higgins's right hand clawed at
nothing caused the ladder to dip slightly from the
horizontal, but the staples which were holding the lower
part of the ladder at the point of the bend stood firm.
Higgins, by the simple expedient of once more
imagining himself at the police gymnasium, easily swung
himself over the ladder and lay on the top with his
feet against Muriel's head.
The resultant easement of his muscles was heavenly.
He filled his lungs with huge gulps of sea air, badly fouled
by dust and smoke from the wrecked building overhead.
If he ever got out of this alive he'd try to get a job as a
traffic cop in a fifty-acre field—or retire to the country and
breed rabbits.
He raised his eyes and stared moodily into the dark-
ness. There straight ahead and slightly below the
direct line of his vision was a winking light far out to sea.
Possibly some ship riding at anchor, for the light seemed
stationary. Might be a lightship, of course, but . . . No,
it must be a seaplane, because it was rising from the
water ... at least, it was now in the direct line of
sight . . . and now the inspector had slightly to raise his
head to watch it . . . remarkable I
The shifting of his weight from his feet, and a slight
rush of blood to his head, warned his semi-atrophied
senses of what was happening. The iron ladder was slip-
ping from the horizontal and the broken end was pointing


102 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
position at the moment of the explosion, and at least
they hadn't had to walk down!
He guided Muriel's hands and feet, encouraged her
with a reassuring pressure, and in a few moments they
were both once more on the iron framework which was
still attached to the face of the cliff.
Scarcely had the transfer been accomplished than the
broken portion of the ladder slipped away in the darkness.
Then far below there was a spark of light as it struck
a boulder, and a moment later a vibrating resonance like
the toll of a deep bell.
But now there was a roar which drowned even that
of the surf below, for up above was an inferno of fire.
That mighty house which had proudly withstood the
elements for centuries had succumbed to the lust of
man—and flames were to complete the destruction.
Muriel and Higgins hastened downwards, urged on by
the scorching heat from above . . . hurrying to the raging
sea below.
CHAPTER XIII
4.45 A.M.
A sudden slipping of his feet gave Inspector Higgins
warning. He cautioned Muriel to stop and investigated
with his hands. The rung of the ladder was slimy to the
touch, and Higgins knew that they had reached high-
water mark. Higgins gazed upwards. Silhouetted against
a blood-red sky he could see the edge of the cliff and
breathed a sigh of thanksgiving at his escape.
And below ... his faithful torch revealed the foot


445 a.m. 103
of the ladder to be buried in wet sand and surrounding
the base a continuous barricade of debris ... a great
heap of stones which had once been a wall ... a length
of twisted metal which had once been part of an iron
ladder.
Inspector Higgins lifted his wife from the second
visible rung, then kissed her gently.
"Well done, kiddie! We'll make an acrobat of you
yet. Wait here! You'll be all right, the tide won't
be back for hours. If it does you can always climb up
again," he said with a smile in his voice.
"I'll never climb a ladder again."
"Gerraway! Shan't be a minute."
He strode away into the darkness to that surrounding
barricade, which was much higher than he had anticipated.
He essayed a quick run up the edge of the heap, but the
debris crumbled away. He'd have to crawl over.
Scotland Yard would owe him a new dress suit after this
night was over! He tried again a few feet away, but with
no better success. Then his feet touched something
which did not slip away. It was the iron door, but
slightly bent, yet still as strong as ever. According to
all reasoning it should have been at the bottom of the
heap, but possibly it had not fallen till the wall went.
Anyhow, it made a satisfactory bridge up the heap of
rubble.
Inspector Higgins clambered up and stared about him.
A long ridge of phosphorescent foam marked the edge
of the sea ; a toy-ship, far from the shore, was revealed
in the light from the conflagration raging at the cliff-top;
the waves twinkled redly from the same cause. . . .
Higgins thought of blood, and shuddered.
Of Foxy-face and his three satellites there was no
sign.


104 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
Which way had they gone?
Had they intended to go by road they most certainly
would not have destroyed that car, and their peculiar
route down the cliff argued that they intended to move
by boat. Also, it would be necessary to get quietly out of
the country.
A boat? It would be easy enough in the morning to
make enquiries as to yachts and the like which had been
reported along the coast, but it was hardly likely that the
vessel would have courted publicity or advertised its
presence in the vicinity. In all probability it would have
slipped in from the open sea under cover of darkness,
hoping to slip away again unseen before the dawn. Per-
haps it was that ship which had shown that winking
light whilst he had been perched precariously on the
broken ladder.
Obviously Foxy-face and Co. would need some means
of guidance. And the light had been showing but a few
minutes before. The four men could hardly have reached
her by then, except by motor-boat. In fact the1 very
presence of the light argued that they were not then
aboard.
And the moment they were aboard the ship would
up-anchor and away! The inspector's impotence to
prevent this caused him to swear savagely. . . . Besides,
he owed Foxy-face something!
And where could Higgins obtain help at this time of
night? And on the shore? He would have once more to
scale the cliff, or . . .
Ah, that car! Surely someone must have heard
the smash and reported the matter to the police? Surely
Dryan by this time would have raised a squad and notified
the locals of the smash of the car? And if he had, then
surely someone would have been sent to stand guard


4-45 a.m. 105
over the wreck of the car at the foot of the cliff? It
couldn't be more than a mile or so away. . . .
And what of Dryan? The Chief, even if he had raised
a squad, would not be likely to look for Muriel and
Higgins at the foot of the cliff! No, he was much more
likely to be running round in circles outside the blazing
house in frantic anxiety as to their welfare.
Hopeless.
Better to push along the shore for a bit and trust to luck.
Higgins crossed the heap of debris and looked up and
down the coastline. Right or left? Right would be
better, as it led to Sungate-by-the-Sea.
Jerusalem I A boat conveniently to hand—its outline
thrown into relief by the whiteness of the foam behind.
Barely in the shoal, its keel in the shingle ... a gift
from the gods!
Even as he crunched through the wet shingle towards
the boat Higgins could not help wondering why Foxy-
face had not ordered its destruction. A flash of his torch
revealed the reason—there was a jagged hole in the hull
through which he could thrust his fist. Not such a gift
from the gods after all!
And then a closer inspection revealed the fact that the
hole had been caused by a brick—rather a phenomenon,
in its way, for the sea-shore. Then, in a flash, Higgins
realized that the destruction of this boat had been
accidental, not deliberate, and he wondered anew at
Foxy-face's laxity.
A brick! Obviously hurled from a distance. From
the house itself. The explosion was indirectly responsible.
Then it followed that, with Foxy-face fully aware of the
danger of a seaworthy boat, the boat could not have been
there when he and the three others had passed. Then
whose was it?


106 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
Jerusalem! Perhaps this was the very boat by which
the four men had hoped to get away to a sea-going
craft. Perhaps the four had left it too late after all.
Perhaps they were even now searching the shore for some
other means of getting away. And they couldn't carry
those boxes with them. A flash of his torch,
^Btrewth J There were the marks where the boxes
had rested! And footprints in the sands.
Higgins stared at the prints and then at the edge of
the sea. The tide was going out, yet some of the prints
had been washed away. Foxy-face and the others couldn't
be far ahead. Higgins ambled quickly along the shore,
afraid to show another light in case he attracted undesir-
able attention. Something drastic had happened to delay
the four for such a length of time. Without a doubt
that must have been their boat. When they had blown
up the house they had set in motion something which
had cut off their own chance of escape! They would have
to wait for another boat to be sent from the ship. Possibly
they had signalled by torches, or perhaps their shouts had
been heard, and . . .
A few yards ahead the sound of whispering voices.
Higgins stopped dead in his tracks, then gently backed
away, afraid that any moment the sound of his footsteps
in the gravel-like shingle would betray his presence.
A thin metallic bump, like—like the sound of one
tin box being placed upon another!
Higgins backed away to the holed boat and awaited
developments.
Something fishy about that boat ahead. That sound
of the boxes might have been imagination, yet who could
put calmly to sea with a mighty conflagration some
hundred and fifty feet overhead. And so quietly ... no
honest noise ... no barked orders. . . .


445 a.m. 107
This boat, now. Perhaps it wasn't so very badly
damaged after all—perhaps it could be baled out quicker
than the water flooded in.
Inspector Higgins pushed it down the shingle, and was
nearly drenched by a huge wave from the ebbing tide
which lifted the boat and sucked it away from the shore.
He expected it to sink, but it didn't. •
Amazing!
Regardless of the discomfort, he paddled after it and,
grabbing the edge and one of the rowlocks, prevented it
being washed back to the shore by the succeeding wave.
He groped in the darkness. The hole was above the
water-line of the empty boat. Then why had Foxy-face
left it? The reason was obvious. Foxy-face's party
consisted of four men and three heavy boxes, without
counting a problematical sailor who had brought the
boat from the ship out at sea. And none of them trusted
the others. A question of all or none . . . and all, with
the boxes, would have sunk the boat.
Gripping the sides, the inspector jumped in. Still the
boat remained afloat. And the fools had left a pair of
oars. Now that was very stupid. Higgins could
understand them leaving the boat without making sure
it was beyond prompt repair, for the hole looked really
stupendous and the average man would have thought
the boat worse than useless, but to leave the oars—that
was an oversight.
Higgins dashed back over the barricade of masonry
and called to Muriel.
"Tell Dryan to look out for a boat at sea. I'll be on
it"—optimistically. He kissed her lightly and hurried
away. Muriel was too good a policeman's wife to bid him
stay.
Back at the boat Higgins removed his dress jacket


1o8 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
arid then his white waistcoat. He rolled the latter into
a ball and stuffed it into the hole, reflecting the whiles
that as, in any case, it was only an ornament, and as he
had already written off the entire suit as a total loss, it
didn't really matter. A convenient piece of driftwood
fixed it firmly into position.
He donned the jacket, seized the oars, and pulled
away from the shore.
From a hundred and fifty yards out the spectacle of
the burning house at the top of the cliff was superb.
Higgins watched it, almost fascinated, whilst he pulled
at the oars. It saved him wondering what on earth (if
the expression is apt !) he was going to do if and when
he reached the boat. The billowing banks of smoke
sweeping the edge of the cliff and then swooping skywards;
a small portion of wall still standing with a gaping window
through which flames licked voraciously ; then, in a pool
of water left by the receding tide, the whole stupendous
scene, fifty fathoms deep, inverted. Must be a sizable
stretch of still water to cast such a reflection—possibly
a sandbank prevented intrusion by the waves—and
nearer to Sungate than the foot of that iron ladder.
Already he was feeling the strain of unaccustomed
muscles brought into play. He had often been told that
rowing was an ideal exercise, and by gosh . . .
And what a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach!
He had regretted earlier that he had seen fit to refuse
most of the courses of that dinner at the Gargantuan,
but now realized that perhaps it had been just as well.
Will-power I That was what was needed!
Inspector Higgins swallowed, then set his teeth.
At any moment now he might expect a bullet in the back!
Even that might be preferable to this cursed pitching.. ..
He rested on his oars and glanced behind him. The


5 A.M. 109
ship had vanished. ... He gazed wonderingly around
in the darkness, and there, a hundred yards or so to his
right, he could make out the dark outline of a vessel.
Suddenly the beam of a powerful searchlight from the
bridge pierced the darkness and began slowly to sweep
the sea.
CHAPTER XIV
5 A.M.
Now he was done! Once discovered by that revealing
searchlight and they could pick him off at will. What a
fool he had been ever to have left the shore! What on
earth had he hoped to accomplish unaided and alone
against this ship?
Better push off back again as hard as he could pelt!
Might save his skin that way!
The probing beam faltered, then stopped.
Picked out sharply in the darkness was a small boat
with five men aboard. Even at that distance Higgins
thought he could make out the hatchet features of
Foxy-face and the mighty bulk of Hefty.
Then he was sure, for a bull-like voice shouted, the
tones being carried clearly across the intervening space:
"Turn that blasted light off—you're blinding us!"
Obediently the man on the bridge obliged and the
resultant darkness was more impenetrable than before.
Higgins blinked in an effort to focus his sight, then pulled
rapidly towards the boat. If the members of the crew
were concentrating on picking up Foxy-face and his
pate—and now that he had seen the ship he realized that
it was not nearly so large as he had at first thought


no INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
and that the crew must be correspondingly small—he
decided to take a chance. Foxy-face's boat was to
leeward—therefore if Higgins could get to the windward
side he stood a good chance of boarding the vessel unseen.
The rattle of a donkey engine as the tin boxes were
hauled aboard enabled Higgins to concentrate on speed
without worrying about the noise of the oars rubbing
against the rowlocks.
"That ain't our dinghy!" yelled an irate voice from the
bridge.
"I know. Yours sunk!"
"Sunk? It was all right when it left here. Who
did it?"
"Lump of stone from the house."
"Someone throw it ?"—unbelievingly.
"Yes. Daniel Dynamite"—laconically.
"H'm. You're damn lucky to find another. We'll
have to sink it when you're up aboard—it's too big for
our davits."
"All right"—cheerfully. "It's not mine."
A raucous laugh greeted this sally, and then the voices
became somewhat muffled to the inspector as he passed
the stern and rowed gently along the starboard side,
searching in the darkness for some means of boarding
the vessel. He guessed that Foxy-face and his pals, now
augmented by the deck-hand who had rowed to the shore,
would have an accommodation ladder to facilitate their
boarding, but as far as he was concerned there didn't
seem even to be a rope!
"All aboard ?" the voice came clearly through one of
the portholes immediately above the inspector's head.
"All right. Pull out the sea-cock if she's got one—or
stave in the hull with a marline-spike. Go on, man—stab
it! Stab it! That's right."


5 A.M. 113
Higgins shivered.
A sound of voices so near at hand that the inspector
was startled. He stared upwards apprehensively—then
to his right along the stern—then to the left, forrard.
Must be from an open porthole. Yet there were no lights.
Perhaps they had curtains. . . .
Ah! A louder tone of voice enabled him to get the
direction—his right. Grasping the supporting rope with
one hand, Higgins leaned away from the ship's side. Then
he could see the outline of the porthole from which the
voices were issuing, and the very fact that he could so
see it informed him that there was some dim lighting
within the cabin.
Dare he peep within? And could he? Would he not
be almost invisible outside to those within? It would
certainly be darker—and no one would expect an eaves-
dropper or a Peeping Tom from the sea.
A chance, but . . . Higgins shifted his position and,
still grasping the rope, slid his free hand along the hulk
until the tips of his fingers engaged the edge of the port.
He eased himself still further, until he could almost see
within the cabin.
Something bid him pause. There was something
painfully familiar about the whole business. He frowned
in an effort at concentration, then grinned—somewhat one-
sidedly. It was all so reminiscent of the car episode,
save that there was no glass-breaking necessary (or
possible, if it had been !) on this occasion. And a fist
smashing through the port would produce more disastrous
results than through the back window of that car. The
road was hard enough, but—once in the sea it would be
all up with Inspector Higgins. He could swim, but . . .
and again a big but I
Just a peep.
H


H4 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
Higgins leaned still further the necessary inches—then
pulled himself back to the fender. That one look was
enough. Two men were silently toasting each other with
raised glasses filled with an amber-coloured liquid. One
was Foxy-face and the other a big, burly, red-faced ruffian
in peek cap and reefer jacket, his blue trousers stuffed
into sea-boots, the hand holding the glass weather-beaten
and hairy, and a lock of unruly hair showing brick-red
in the dim light of a ship's lantern, which hung suspended
from an iron beam overhead. There might have been a
third member of the group, but an iron stanchion
prevented Higgins obtaining a sight.
Where had Higgins seen him before? It was at some
dockyard shindy or other, years ago, when the inspector
was a humble uniformed member of the Force. . . .
Higgins scoured his memory for details. Something
to do with the white-slave traffic which had then so
occupied the minds of the police. . . . Got it! The man
was Rufus Reilly, skipper of the boat alleged to have
been chartered to carry the living freight to the East or
South America or somewhere. He had got off . . . and
had mulcted some newspaper for heavy damages for
jumping to conclusions in print! That was the chap.
Rufus Reilly—the innocent I
And now what was he up to? Something as un-
savoury—if that were possible !—as his previous
venture?
Any member of that Society of Writers, reflected
Higgins, would plump for dope I And that was no reason
why it shouldn't be such contraband, he admitted to
himself, with an inward smile at his own pig-headedness!
Dope! Had those tins contained dope? At pounds
an ounce the value would run into thousands! Anyhow,
there was one box which wouldn't reach its destination!


5-50 a.m. 115
All his trouble to get that box had been so much wasted
effort since the fire.
The thought of the fire caused the inspector to shift
his gaze landward. There, on the dim horizon, well
astern, was a pin-prick of red light, winking malevolently
in the darkness. And somewhere beneath that pin-prick
of light was Muriel. Had she and Chief-Inspector Dryan
yet made contact? And, if so, what were they doing
about it?
Movement within the cabin made the inspector turn
his head sharply. The glowing butt of a cigar described
an arc like that of a bent hoop, and fell into the sea with a
faint hiss some dozen feet nearer the stern. Higgins took
this to be a slight hint that the party in the cabin was
breaking up, which Foxy-face unconsciously confirmed.
"I'll turn in, Rufus. The others are bunking forrard,
I take it?"
"Aye. You share my cabin. I'm turning in meself
—we've a lot to do in the morning."
Higgins wondered for a moment why their words had
been so clear, but guessed that they had been speaking
from close to the open port. Then, but for the swishing
of the waves, the threshing of the screw and that
indefinable whining creaking peculiar to sea-going
vessels, there was silence.
Five minutes later Inspector Higgins was concealed
on deck behind a cone of coiled rope.
CHAPTER XV
5.50 A.M.
Inspector Higgins lay still in his seclusion. Being
unfamiliar with the sea, he wondered how many of the


n6 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
crew might be about at this hour. The man at the wheel
for one—but his attention should be concentrated on his
job; possibly a lookout forrard—but the same remark
applied. Such of the crew as were not asleep would
probably be playing cards—if the inspector could rely
upon his experience of seamen at the docks, and any
sort of sentry was most unlikely.
With circumspection he had the run of the ship!
Except the stokehold, which was obviously manned—and
he wasn't interested in that. What had Rufus Reilly
said? The others would be bunking forrard—and Foxy-
face and himself in the skipper's cabin. That would be
amidships or astern. The second officer, if any, would
probably also bunk astern.
And where were those tin boxes likely to be? The
answer was undoubtedly under the eagle eye of Foxy-face.
And now that he was on board, what did he propose
to do? Higgins, cowering behind that coil of rope, asked
himself the question. What could he do? The answer
was obvious—nothing! Supposing he were for one
moment to be endowed with those wonderful attributes
of the hero of fiction and slowly and inexorably laid out
the crew one by one—what then? Again the answer
was nothing! He couldn't, having killed or captured
all but the steersman, hold a pistol at his head and tell
him to make for some port I It wasn't quite so easy and
simple as all that. Routes and currents and shoals and
depths and rocks and submerged wrecks and ... a
deuce of a lot of other things entered into the calculation.
Not quite so easy as compelling a taxi-driver to make
for the nearest police station! Besides, he hadn't a pistol I
No. He would have to wait until the vessel once more
reached port and then act as the occasion might demand.
Prosaic, but sensible.


5.50 a.m. 117
Inspector Higgins, peering furtively round the deck,
cautiously emerged from his hiding-place. He was on an
open part of the deck and could see the bridge faintly
illuminated high on his left. To his right the dim outline
of a slanting funnel from the mouth of which an occasional
spark and clouds of smoke were vomiting and passing
overhead. Higgins was surprised how clearly he could
see despite the surrounding darkness. His eyes must be
attuned—or the dawn could not be far away. He would
have consulted his watch, but for the fear that the
luminous dial might betray him, and regretted he had
not taken the opportunity so to do whilst concealed behind
that rope. Yet what did time matter at the moment?
True, he would have to find some place to hide before
light, and . . . Cuss it! If the journey lasted a day or
so he would have to remain cooped up somewhere till
the dark hours, even though he found a refuge! And what
of food?
The more he thought about it, the more convinced
he was that this escapade of his was ill-considered, ill-
conceived, and—damnably foolish!
The tramp of sea-boots along the deck caused him to
thrust about wild-eyed, searching for temporary conceal-
ment. An evil-smelling donkey-engine supplied the
deficiency. He crouched behind. The footsteps passed
him by, mounted heavily the iron companionway to
the bridge, and then stopped. A subdued muttering up
above, and then descending footsteps. The man at the
wheel had been relieved.
But instead of the man immediately turning into his
hammock or bunk, as Inspector Higgins thought would
have been the reasonable thing to do, he stopped almost
level with the donkey-engine, slowly lit a pipe, then
leaned negligently over the rail at the side. Had Higgins


5-50 a.m. 119
He had done it now! His precipitate action in attempt-
ing to follow the man Charlie, though well-reasoned
inasmuch as he wished to learn exactly where the men were
quartered, and with some nebulous idea of securing them
within the cabin, had proved his undoing.
A voice from the recently opened door demanded
reasons in no uncertain terms. Rufus Reilly was out for
trouble!
"One of your men on the prowl, Stanmore!" he
shouted accusingly.
"Which one ?"—in the voice of Foxy-face.
So Foxy-face was called Stanmore, eh? And a fat
lot of use that was at the present juncture!
"How the hell do I know? After the stuff. I'll bet."
"Hefty! Lofty! Baker!" Stanmore's tones rose to
a squeak.
A pattering of feet, then a hurried counting of heads.
"Lights! Let's have lights !'' Rufus stormed to one of
the crew.
"But—but—" in half-hearted protest from Foxy-face
—"we'll be seen."
"What of it? If there's someone aboard who shouldn't
be—well, we'll soon see that he isn't! We can soon put
'em out again after we've got rid of him! There's bags of
time yet."
The order must have been conveyed to the engine-
room, for soon a light in the bulkhead aft showed dimly
as the dynamo was started and slowly gained strength.
The light revealed the taffrail . . . and a thick rope
hanging over the stern. Higgins dimly wondered why
he hadn't seen this rope when he had searched from the
dinghy, but soon discovered that it only hung a few feet
over the edge. He pulled up the end, tied a knot a few
inches from the bottom, then lowered it once more over


120 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
the stern. He climbed over the taffrail, lowered himself
down the rope and gripped the knot between his thighs,
thankful for even such small easement thus afforded to the
muscles of his arms.
The vessel by this time was a blaze of light, which was
reflected on the water. A systematic search was being
conducted on deck, and Higgins wondered how soon it
would be before he was discovered.
And what then? His only course then would be to let
go and trust himself to the tender mercies of the sea,
where, assuming he were lucky enough to escape the
propeller threshing below, and the bullets of the crowd
above, he stood a dog's chance of getting out of the busi-
ness alive.
Sounds from a porthole immediately below.
"Not in here!"
The slamming of an iron door . . . the turning of a key.
They were taking no chances of his doubling on their tracks!
Higgins, by holding the extreme end of the rope, was
enabled to peer within. He felt justified in taking the
chance after what he had heard, and in any case his
discovery could only be a matter of minutes. He brought
his torch into play.
It was not a cabin, but a sort of store-room. Paint,
brushes, rope, candles, tar, canvas—like the counter of
a ship's-chandler's shop.
Another banging of a door—again the sound of a
turning key.
Higgins placed one large foot on the rim of the port
of the storeroom and leaned to the next. Another store-
room. Like a glorified larder. Ship's-biscuits in large tins;
tubs of flour, rice, and salt pork; corned-beef tins (one
opened); white-dusted sacks which might contain any-
thing; tinned milk, and the like—a miniature grocer's.


5.50 A.M. 121
Higgins surveyed the miscellany hungrily. A bit
different from those spurned courses at the Gargantuan!
He reached within and could just touch the tip of a
ship's-biscuit. He strained and succeeded in pushing it
an eighth of an inch further away. He pondered on the
difficulty. The solution crossed his mind. Levering him-
self almost upright by the aid of the rope, he proceeded
with one hand—no mean feat—to remove his stiff collar.
He had wondered earlier in this hectic night what earthly
use dress collars were—now he knew! A quoit of com-
paratively stiff linen was soon placed over the biscuit;
eager fingers discarded the collar and grasped the food.
A moment later Inspector Higgins was enjoying his first
real meal since tea the day before.
A glorified dog-biscuit! Hard as seasoned timber,
and about as tasteless, yet it sufficed because it had to.
"Hell's bells! We'll find him or bust! Stand by for-
rard! Let her go!" Rufus Reilly's irate voice from
overhead.
A terrifying rattle which shook the entire ship, the ear-
piercing shriek of protesting metal as the heavy links of
the anchor chain scraped along the lip of the hawse-pipe,
a mighty splash, continued rattling for a couple of seconds,
then comparative silence.
The ship was at anchor.
Higgins gazed about him, surprised to think that they
should ride at anchor in the open sea, and was agreeably
startled to see twinkling lights from a shoreline a mile or
so away.
"He ran aft, you say, Charlie? Right! He's probably
forrard by now. We'll start in the fo'c'sle and work aft.
All of us together. And that means you, you at the wheel.
A fiver to the man who finds him. Come on!"
A trap? Sounded like it. Still, he was as safe here as


122 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
anywhere! Safe? Higgins smiled grimly. If the worst
came to the worst he might be able to swim ashore. An
inglorious ending to an inglorious adventure that would
be—but better than nothing
A tramping of feet away from the stern.
Higgins cautiously pulled himself up the rope and gazed
apprehensively over the taffrail, half expecting to be
crowned with an iron belaying-pin or similar popular
nautical weapon!
Yes—unbelievingly, they had all gone. On the port
side, revealed by a bulkhead light, was a drum, pre-
sumably containing oil, behind which a man might be
hiding. No, there was no shadow thrown upon the deck!
That was all right, then!
Better rest his muscles whilst he may. Higgins hauled
himself the remaining few feet and sat thankfully upon
the extreme stern.
That drum of oil now . . . the nebula of an idea . . .
if he only dared!
A furtive peering down the port side—then the star-
board side—round the obscuring bulkhead of what might
have been the saloon. Anything was better than nothing!
Higgins laid hold of the drum, rolling it as he had
seen milkmen move churns, till it was almost amidships.
He laid it on its side, checking its tendency to roll over-
board by placing his marline-spike one side and the end
ot a piece of rope the other, the latter to seaward. He
played the coil of rope along the deck aft and waited.
It reminded him of his efforts when a boy to catch birds
in a sieve, waiting thus with the end of a piece of rope in
his hands.
He had not long to wait. Footsteps were coming
aft. He dared wait no longer. He jerked the rope away
from the drum; there was a slight rumble; then a most


6.10 A.M. 123
satisfyingly heavy splash as the cylindrical drum rolled
overboard.
Immediately the rush of feet and a crowd stared over
the side.
"The searchlight! Quick!"
A few seconds later a beam of light played upon the
water and focused upon a point where a few white
bubbles rose to the surface of the sea, to break upon
meeting the air.
Two revolver-shots from the bloodthirsty Foxy-face,
then a self-satisfied chuckle from Rufus Reilly.
"That, my dear Stanmore, is that! The current here
will carry him to China—or thereabouts. Come along
below!" Another chuckle. "That's why I stopped here
—to tempt him!"
And Inspector Higgins, thankful for his escape, sat
shivering at the thought that he might have essayed that
swim to the shore.
CHAPTER XVI
6.10 A.M.
In complete darkness the vessel proceeded on its way.
Inspector Higgins, crouched in the stern, knew by the
shore-lights on the starboard beam that the vessel was
hugging the coast and proceeding southwards—towards
the mouth of the Thames—or perhaps on to Belgium or
France.
For the time being the inspector was safe. Rufus
Reilly and his crew, "Foxy-face" Stanmore and his satel-
lites, were seemingly satisfied that whoever was once


6.10 A.M. 125
Bolshevists—the standby of half the Society of Writers
reflected Higgins as he groped still further.
The fact that eventually he made out the entire name
to be DAYDREAM rather discounted the Bolshie business,
Higgins calculated that, at a rough estimate, there
would be about forty-three Daydreams in Lloyd's Register!
It would entail quite a little work for the nautical-minded
men of the Yard to trace the real one! Still, the move-
ments of most ships were known, and Higgins himself
could give a fair description from which an expert could
calculate the probable tonnage and thus weed out many
vessels with the same cognomen.
Daydream, eh? Nightmare would be more like it!
Jerusalem! What a night he had had I And it wasn't over
yet!
Little did he think yesterday that during the night he
would be sitting on the stern of a vessel, damp and cold,
unknown to the ship's company, a stowaway, with no
one in the world save himself knowing where he was!
Yesterday! Yesterday had been probably the dullest
day he had ever spent at the Yard. Trying to clear up
that wearisome and seemingly interminable Walters
business. He had worried over that matter till he was blue
in the face, and had arrived at the only possible solution—
that the business was insoluble; and Chief-Inspector
Dryan had decided that the matter be shelved. Not in so
many words, perhaps, for Dryan had stated, rather nastily,
that Higgins had wasted quite enough time over the
blankety business and that there were other jobs possibly
more suited to his intelligence! Considering that the Chief
himself had failed to find any solution to the business,
Higgins thought his remark not quite in the best of taste.
As a matter of fact, the inspector had been so narked over
his Chief's suggestion that he had determined to take the


126 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
papers home with him in the forlorn hope of finding a
solution in his own time. This had been knocked on the
head when the Chief had developed that inexplicable attack
of lumbago—possibly another name for blue funk—and
had asked Higgins to deputize for him that night at the
Society of Writers' dinner.
Fortunately Inspector Higgins had his dress clothes in
his locker at the Yard, having expected to be called upon
to help in a raid on a notorious night-club of which he
had been a member (the Yard paid his subscription) for
some weeks, and had kept them there in readiness.
He had donned those clothes and . . . Lugubriously
Higgins ran his hand over the suit. Beautiful white waist-
coat gone for ever, degraded into bunging up a hole in a
damaged dinghy ; perfect collar now lying wedged between
a tin of treacle and a flour-bin in the store-room below;
sodden silk socks; trousers wet up to the knees; white
shirt crumpled and with a huge blob of mud slap in the
middle, made when he had climbed down the cliff face
after that car; the tails of his jacket cut when he had
smashed the window in the back of the car and the window
of the abandoned gun-room at the ruined house; his
shoes—Higgins ran a tentative hand over them—the
soles lacerated by his clamber over the broken rubble
after his escape down the ladder, and the uppers wet and
messy, whilst he knew he had cracked the patent leather
of one when he had kicked the studded door of that Sun-
gate house when trying to gain admittance. A sudden
thought. Higgins ran light fingers down his chest. Damned
if he hadn't lost one of his pearl studs!
He still had his electric torch, which had cost him but
half-a-crown, and which he had taken from the pocket of
his car—that, at least, was something! And, now he came
to think of it, Muriel had originally paid for that!


128
INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
with a faint splash—far removed from that made by the
drum of oil—and with long, powerful sweeping strokes
he struck out in the darkness. A ship's whaler, not unlike
the abandoned dinghy, passed him, and he let it go. He
had no wish to be rescued and taken back to the ship
with the whaler's crew . . . and as yet he was not at all
sure that the challenging vessel really was a destroyer!
A huge bulk outlined against the sky. Four funnels,
masts fore and aft, gun on the fo'c'sle, torpedo tubes abaft
the beam. . . . Yes, it was a destroyer right enough.
Inspector Higgins emitted a faint hail.
An engaging young gentleman in peak cap was leaning
over the rail, silhouetted by the light from the wardroom
door, and with his attention concentrated on the whaler,
which had just reached the other vessel. He gave a slight
start, then peered down at the inspector.
He ran slightly forrard and then called up to the
bridge:
"Guy in the ditch, sir!"
"In difficulties?"
"Apparently not, sir."
"H'm."
Inspector Higgins wearily climbed the short ladder of
rope and slats near the stern to find himself confronted
by a youth with two gold-braided rings round his cuffs.
"And who the hell are you ?" the youth demanded,
slightly lacking in that courtesy for which the Royal
Navy is justly proud.
Inspector Higgins replied in kind.
Five minutes later he was ensconced with Lieutenant
Commander John Nasmythe, R.N., in the wardroom,
drinking with infinite relish the largest whisky-and-soda
he had ever seen in his life.
"I'm afraid I'veno proof of my identity,'' he apologized.


6.10 A.M. I29
But the breezy officer waved aside his protestations.
"That's all right, sir. 'Smatter of fact, I was told to
keep an eye out for you."
"Jerusalem! Who by?"
"CO. ashore. Happened to be cruising about here and
got a wireless. That's why we stopped the Snapdragon."
"It's the Daydream, really."
"Possibly. 'Snapdragon' is painted on the stern. I
had a look first."
"But—but ..." Higgins wiped his brow with weary
hand. He explained his dilemma.
"That's nothing. You only felt the letters. Name
changed—too mean to remove the letters—painted over.
Simps!"
"Why did you stop her, then?"
"No lights, for one thing. And"—with a disarming
smile—"her port dinghy was missing. We—er—don't miss
much, you know. I was told to look out for that as well.
It was picked up near Sungate by a police boat an hour or
so back."
Good old Dryan! He hadn't wasted much time setting
things going! There was a knock at the wardroom door,
and in response to the officer's invitation a smart rating
entered, saluted, and proffered a piece of paper, rather
like a telegraph form.
"From the first lootenant aboard that coaster, sir."
The captain took the paper, scanned it, then handed
it to Higgins.
Snapdragons papers in order any instructions.
"Well, sir ?"—quizzically, from the captain.
"Obtained under duress, do you think ?" asked Higgins.
"You don't know my first lieutenant."
I


74° A M-
131
CHAPTER XVII
7.40 A.M.
"The Snapdragon is following astern."
"No chance of anyone getting away, I suppose?"
"None. Unless they swim."
"By boat, I meant."
"With their antiquated tackle they would have to stop
before they could lower a boat—and if they stop we'll
be on 'em like a ton o' bricks!"
"Good."
Inspector Higgins muttered the word with a wealth
of satisfaction in his tone. He had captured the entire
gang—with the aid of this man-o'-war; but he waved
such a trifle aside! And for the first time in his life he
had captured a gang without knowing exactly what
devilry it had been up to! True, there was the little matter
of the blowing-up of that house near Sungate—and he
could never hope to find proof of that! And Dryan and
Muriel could substantiate any statement he might make
as to attempted murder of his person—but that was a
long way off! And those tin boxes—the First Lieutenant,
an enormous youngster who had taken the borrowing of
his best suit of civvies most philosophically, had stated
that he had seen no boxes, and it was most unlikely
that he would have been voluntarily shown them! These
boxes might be jettisoned. And if they were, it would
be very hard to prove anything at all.
Jerusalem! If the Yard could make nothing stick,
then the wily Rufus Reilly, profiting by his experience
against that impetuous newspaper years before, might
1-


132 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
have a hefty claim for demurrage (or whatever the word
might be) against the Admiralty.
"Could you wireless to Scotland Yard for me, sir?"
queried Higgins after his lengthy meditation.
"Through my CO. ashore—with pleasure."
"Fine! I think we might pass the buck to the Customs
people—they possibly have the right to search those boxes
—or the River Police. I must find something to hang on
to those blighters before morning, or at least very quickly.
There may be something at the Yard, some outstanding
charge against Rufus Reilly or the others, which will
give us a reasonable excuse for detaining the ship and
crew. I think I can dig up sufficient trouble for Stanmore
and his three myrmidons. Could you possibly run me up
to Waterloo Bridge? How long will it take?"
"Couple of hours or so"—with the sailor's complete
disregard for time generally—"and I'd have to wireless
for permission."
"You people seem as tangled up in red tape as we are!
Anyhow, here's the message. I want all the dope regarding
the Wembley murder"
"Murder? My, you have been going it!"
Inspector Higgins waved the interruption aside.
"... sent to Scotland Yard to await my coming.
Also regarding the fire at Sungate. And ... By the way,
what about a police launch? Would that be quicker?"
"Much! Get you to the bridge in no time."
"Fine. Request launch to meet me here—must leave
nautical details to you—to rush me to the Yard. Can
do?"
"Yerce!"
"Fine! Have a spot of your own booze?"
"You're too kind."
Half an hour later, and further up the river, a fussy


134 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
and the launch stopped dead alongside the landing-stage.
Although Higgins did not know it, the steersman was very
proud of this manoeuvre, and practised it on every
occasion which offered.
Higgins disembarked.
The launch immediately made off, to proceed back
down the river to conduct a search of the Daydream,
particularly as regards three japanned boxes of sheet
steel.
Inspector Higgins once more entered the precincts of
Scotland Yard, perfunctorily acknowledging the salute
of the constable at the gates, his mind on a car which had
entered just before him and was even now pulling up at
the main door. It looked familiar somehow, and . . . Jeru-
salem!
He ran forward, seized the handle, and politely opened
the door.
A lady stepped out, her eyes on the kerb.
"Thank you so much." She raised her eyes.
"Higgy!"
Regardless of the scandalized eyes of the constable
on the door and the knowing grin of his colleague beneath
the portals, Muriel Higgins flung herself into her husband's
arms.
"Higgy! Oh, Higgy!"
The other occupant of the car thrust out an inquisitive
head.
"Well, well, well! Here we are again!" Chief-
Inspector Dryan alighted and grasped his subordinate by
the hand. The three musketeers passed through the main
door, along a corridor, to the Chief's room.
"If you wouldn't mind waiting for my yarn, sir, I'd
like to hear yours," suggested Higgins, having refused the
drink offered by his Chief.


740 a.m. 135
"Righto! You may remember I left you on the stairs
of that house. ..."
"Am I likely to forget?"
"Quite I Well, you also know it was blamed dark.
I crept away like a film conspirator, relying upon touch,
not sight. As a consequence, I nearly tumbled down a
flight of stairs. Naturally I had no wish to run into Foxy-
face or his pal, but I had to chance it. I sidled carefully
down those stairs, expecting any moment to meet the two
of 'em coming up. You know, Higgy, at my time o' life
I'm a bit past cat-footing it downstairs in the dark"—in
a tone of voice suggesting apology for what was to come
—"and, what with listening for Foxy-face and expecting
any moment to start some alarm bell or trip over a wire
stretched from banister to skirting-board, I overdid it!"
"What do you mean, sir ?" queried Higgins, a slight
frown on his forehead.
"What I say"—testily. "I—ahem !—crept down a
flight too many."
"Jerusalem! Why didn't you go back?"
"I didn't know it in the dark, fathead—I learnt that
later."
"Sorry, sir."
"I knew the general direction of the front door, and
crept along hugging the wall. I somehow felt something
was wrong, for the wall felt rough and unpapered, but I
thought it might be all right, the upstairs part being in
such semi-decay, and groped about for the front door.
It—er—wasn't there. I got a bit of a shock, I can tell
you. I knew I'd either come down too far or not far enough.
There was a suggestion of damp—a dankish sort of air
about the place—not exactly earthy, but"
"You mean you guessed you'd—er—overdone it,"
said Higgins.


136 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
"That's right. Then a door banged—and I had an
awful feeling that I was no longer alone. I was right, for
Foxy-face spoke: 'We won't use the electric light in case
there is someone about outside.' Then they lit a lantern.
It was Hefty with him, and there were a couple of others
besides. By the light of the lantern I could just make out
a sort of workman's bench with a small vice and some tools.
There was an electric globe over the bench—and, my word,
wasn't I glad they didn't switch it on! Then they dragged
some boxes from under the bench. Foxy-face and Hefty
pushed off with a long coil of rope, telling the others to get
on with it. With what, I wondered? They grabbed hold
of one of the boxes and started to drag it out of the cellar
or whatever the beastly place was—swearing and cursing
at its weight. I was alone."
"How nice! Then why the deuce didn't you bolt?"
"Easily said, me boy. Who had the only functioning
electric torch of the party, eh?"
"I suppose I did."
"Quite. I tell you, Higgy, I would have given a quid
to have had this desk here with me"—with a chuckle.
"Good law! why ?"—eyeing the piece of furniture in
wonderment.
"'Cause I'd left me matches in this drawer here."
Dryan sniggered. "I can laugh now, but then I was pretty
desperate. I couldn't see a hand before me. I groped
about that place to find my way out till I'd lost all sense
of direction. And when I found the door by which the two
pairs had left the place—it was locked. A catch-lock!
And I couldn't find the door by which I had entered
either."
"Didn't you feel the door when you first entered?"
iNO.
"Perhaps there wasn't one."


740 a.m. 137
"Hard to tell in the dark, Higgy. Anyhow, the two
chaps returned for another box—and closed the door.
Twice more they came, and twice I thought I stood a
chance. I believe the blinking door had a spring or some-
thing. By this time, I tell you, I had given up hope of
your diversion."
Higgins turned to his wife, and they both smiled.
"That happened when you were all in the cellar, sir."
"I see. Anyhow, I was lucky I hadn't actually got a
light."
"Why?"
"There was another man in that room."
"Jerusalem!"
"At least, he appeared out o' nowhere, and I could hear
him messing about in the darkness by that bench."
"Couldn't you see anything?"
"Only when he lit a lamp and began messing about
with a rum-looking cigar-box—and then only the shadowed
outline. Then Foxy-face and another cove returned and
had an animated chat with the other feller. I believe he
must have got in from outside somehow, underground
passage as like as not. Anyhow, I heard him say it was
O.K. Then he shoved off. Then the bell rang. 'Aha!'
I thought. 'Old Higgins has at last woke up.' Foxy-face
and his pal looked at each other in consternation. The
pal said, 'Perhaps it's 'and Foxy-face nodded. He
grabbed a coat or something from the wall, pulled his
gun from his jacket and transferred it to the new garment,
then slinked out, leaving pal all curiosity. He followed
after. They turned on the light—and showed me the
door. Very kind of 'em. I sneaked out and hung about
the landing out o' sight."
"It was our old friend Constable Thomson who called."
"Oh, it was, was it? H'm. Anyhow, they came back


138 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
again, muttering together, and too busy to notice me. I
could 'a' touched 'em—almost. They hurried in—an' I
hurried out . . . thankful for a lighted route. You know,
I'm not so young as I was, and—er—rather—well..." He
patted his paunch. "They turned out the lights and—and
I was unprepared. Of course, I stumbled. Then the fun
began. Goodness only knows how I would have got on
if they hadn't turned on the lights again. I made a dash
up the stairs. Some bloodthirsty ruffian fired a gun. I
thought that blasted front door never would open. After
about what seemed nearly an hour and three-quarters I
dashed through, and beat it down the garden path. Our
friend the mastiff took up the chase—and Haw, haw,
Higgy! You have got a surprise waiting for you when you
get home!"
"That will be nice"—dryly. "But let's hear the rest."
"'Smatter of fact, I ought to thank that dog. It added
quite ten miles an hour to my progress—and I caught it
such a beauty, too !"—with a sigh of reminiscence. "That's
about all."
"Goon. Let's hear the rest."
"There's not much more. I found the car all right,
and pushed off to Sungate. By gosh, Higgy! I set that
place alight! In three minutes I'd got a squad out for the
house, and we charged back. Then, just before we got
there, the whole place was blown to blazes. It was fierce
whilst it lasted. I—I thought . . . But it doesn't matter
what I thought." Dryan paused. Higgins guessed what
his Chief had thought—that he and Muriel had been in the
house at the moment of the explosion—but made no
attempt at interruption. The Chief continued:
"A local fisherman reported lights on the cliff face.
I went down—to meet this young lady coming up.'
That's all."


8.15 A.M.
139
CHAPTER XVIII
8.15 A.M.
Inspector Higgins turned in his chair and cast fond eyes
at the still figure curled up in the Chief's best and biggest
chair. Dryan kept that piece of furniture for his star
visitors, and for himself when on night duty and nothing
pressed—but Muriel had appropriated it as a right.
Higgins beamed a smile of encouragement.
"And you, me dear?"
"I did nothing really. I told Mr. Dryan what had
happened, and gave him your message to look out for a
boat at sea. He was marvellous, Higgy dear."
Chief-Inspector Dryan cocked a chest and flexed his
arms, beaming upon Muriel Higgins with fatherly air.
"He—he sent orders to the police at Sungate to get
their boat out. Then to the coastguards and Customs
people. Then the boat was found with your waistcoat in
it—it was yours, wasn't it ?—and he 'phoned particulars
to Scotland Yard. Then we found Bruce wandering round
the grounds whining at the fire."
"Bruce?"
"The—the dog, you know."
"Oh, ah, yes—Bruce. So that's what we call him, do
we?"
"Then we went back to Wembley, where I got a mes-
sage from the Yard that you were safe. So we came on
here—and here we are!"
"Great!" Inspector Higgins turned to the chief-
inspector. "What about the—er"
"Exhibits, etc?"


8.15 a.m. 141
"And what of this dagger?"
With fastidious fingers the inspector picked the weapon
from the desk and gazed at its glistening blade with marked
distaste. The sergeant peered forward.
"That one, sir? That came out o' your front door."
"I see. Then this was the one which finished Charles
Younger, eh? What's the difference?"
"Only the point, sir. Got broke off when they tried to
pull it from the woodwork. The one which killed Younger
is whole."
"Must have been pretty deeply embedded."
"It was, sir."
"Fingerprints?"
"Not a sign, sir. It's the shape as does it."
"They are peculiar, aren't they," remarked the in-
spector, turning the weapons over interestedly in his
hands. There being no fingerprints, care in handling was
no longer necessary, and he tested the sound point with
his thumb. His previous thought, that a cross section of the
shaft would be like the cogwheel of a watch, was very apt.
He tested the weights, holding one in each hand.
"Both exactly alike, sir," commented Brownall,
anticipating the inspector's question. "Identical measure-
ments—allowing for the broken point—and the same
weights."
"And"—thoughtfully—"embedded in my front door,
I think you said?"
The sergeant looked up in surprise. Surely old Higgins
was there when it happened?
"Yes, sir."
"Powerful sort of throw, eh?"
"Not half, sir!"—with a misapplied enthusiasm.
"Pretty hefty cove, I should say."
"Hefty? H'm."


8.15 a.m. 143
self on the extreme edge of the chair offered him by the
sergeant.
"That clue, sir, was no go," he announced after a
period of silence.
"What clue? And why not ?"—tersely. "Spill it!"
"That dead man's boots, sir. The retailer's name was
stamped inside. The Sungate Boot and Shoe Company."
"The—the what? Jerusalem! Go on!"
"We 'phoned the Sungate police, sir, giving the number
of the boots, size, shape and description. They were fairly
new. Then the superintendent told me to follow it up.
There was a convenient night excursion by train which
I just managed to catch. By the time I got to Sungate the
local police had roused up the manager of the shoe
company and he had looked up his books. The whole
place was seething with excitement over some car smash
or other, and the sergeant there wasn't at all pleased
having to push around the town. The smash was lucky,
though, for one of the manager's assistants had got
up to see the fun"
"Fun? Jerusalem! Go on—sorry!"
"And he remembered selling the pair. He thought he
had seen the man go into an old house by the sea. I
called there and raked out the tenant, but it was no go."
"Why?"
"He gave me an address in town. He told me the
man was a mere acquaintance who had stayed with him
for a day and had then returned to London. I've just been
to the place. At least, I've tried to. But there ain't no
such place. That's what I've come about, sir. It strikes
me that tenant fellow might know more than he said."
"Go hon!"
"What's wrong, sir ?" queried the constable, somewhat
piqued by the inspector's sarcasm.


144' INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
"You seem to have swallowed that tenant's yarn.
Unless I miss my guess, you were in a desperate hurry to
get to the address given in an effort to score over Scotland
Yard."
"I—I suppose I was, sir."
"And Scotland Yard knew who the man was before
you caught that night excursion."
"They did, sir ?"•—amazed and crestiallen. Inspector
Higgins nodded affirmation.
"We—ahem !—don't waste much time at the Yard,"
he said, carefully picking over some papers on his desk.
After all, it was a good thing to show these suburban cops
that the Criminal Investigation. Department was alive
and kicking! "Much obliged, Thomson. As a matter of
fact, I was in that house when you called"—airily. "You
didn't happen to recognize the man who answered the
door there, I suppose? As someone knocking around your
beat at Wembley? No? I see. Well, I'm very obliged to
you for all your trouble. Good-bye."
Inspector Higgins shook hands with the constable,
who immediately left the room looking dazed and dejected
—almost stupefied.
Inspector Higgins grinned at the closed door. Then
he jumped up and ran for the door.
"Hi! Thomson!"
The constable turned.
"Sir?"
"What about that chap you chased after?"
"Never got a sight of him. The footsteps had stopped
and the man had vanished before I turned the corner.
I searched around for a bit, but didn't see a soul. When the
superintendent came along later I told him about it,
but I thought it might merely have been an inquisitive
neighbour or something."


8.15 a.m. 145
"I see. All right."
Higgins returned to his room, picked up the keys and
studied them with renewed interest. Four small (what the
inspector called) ordinary keys and one a Yale type.
To the inspector all of the latter type looked alike, yet he
knew the number of variations to be enormous, if not
infinity. And the absence of a distinguishing number on
the circular handle seemed to suggest that the key was
a duplicate made after the purchase of the lock. This must
be one of the two which Sergeant Brownall had stated were
"obviously home-made"—though where the "obviously"
came from Higgins couldn't guess, for the key was well
made. And one of the four "ordinary'' keys was new This
must be the other "home-made" article.
Four ordinary keys—and four boxes.
From the Wembley constable's investigations it would
seem there was a connection between the dead man and
that house at Sun gate. A guess—perhaps a wild guess—but
these keys might open those boxes now on the Daydream-
cum-Snapdragon. And the Yale-type key was probably
made to open the front door of that house at Sungate.
The former assumption could be proved very shortly—
the latter, since the explosion, never!
But . . . but . . . Inspector Higgins thrust his hands
in his pockets, then gazed blankly at the opposite wall.
He grinned, then turned to the waiting sergeant.
"Run along and ask my wife to come here, will you,
please, Brownall? She's with Chief-Inspector Dryan."
The sergeant hurried to do his bidding, and Higgins
gazed once more at the keys on his desk. Of course, he
ought to have thought of it before. He looked up.
"Ah, there you are, dear. Let's have our front-door
key, please."
"Where's your own ?"—in mockseverity. Muriel hated
K


146 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
things to be lost, especially since she lost her purse some
ten days before.
"Lying on the floor of the wardroom of H.M.S.
Throstle in a sodden suit," he answered politely, with a
bland air.
"Here you are, Higgy. You will have your little joke,
won't you?"
Higgins took the proffered key and compared it with
that found on the dead man. It was a minute inspection.
All Yale-type keys looked to him alike—these two were
more than alike, they were identical. Higgins returned
her key to his wife, then picked up the bunch. Carefully
the inspector unwound the key from the split ring, then
placed it in his pocket. He had at least saved something
out of the wreckage!
CHAPTER XIX
9.30 A.M.
Inspector Higgins smiled grimly to himself. With all
due respect—which meant possibly without any respect
at all!—he ought to have thought of the key business
before. The murdered man, Charles Younger, had been
found—by himself—with his right hand grasping a
bunch of keys, and in front of his own front door.
Was not the obvious solution that he had intended open-
ing that very front door? Of course it was!
The inspector excused himself by the thought that
he had only during the last few minutes taken up the
threads of that murder. His mind ever since the murder


9.30 a.m. 147
had been concentrated on Foxy-face and his pals, not
on the late Charles Younger.
So the murdered man was necessarily connected with
that fake 'phone message to Muriel. Necessarily? Yes,
without a doubt! Unless there was a mighty big coinci-
dence working—and Higgins had a complete contempt for
the wonderful coincidences about which he occasionally
read in detective stories! Another point he might have
emphasized to the Society of Writers the night before!
Someone had 'phoned Muriel that he, Higgins, had
been involved in an accident at Scotland Yard. Subse-
quent to the 'phoning the inspector's instrument had been
put out of order, and when Muriel left on her anxious
errand Mr. Charles Younger turns up with a home-made
duplicate key of the inspector's front door—and is killed
for his pains!
Better make sure of one point. Higgins lifted the re-
ceiver of the telephone instrument on his desk and dialled
his home number. Nothing doing! He signalled the tele-
phone operator and put through an enquiry. Number out
of order!
Very nice. But what did it all mean?
Someone wanted an uninterrupted inspection of the
inspector's house at Wembley. Why?
And for Charles Younger to be killed on the doorstep
argued that someone else knew he was going to be present
at the identical moment that he was! Again, it couldn't
be a coincidence. And would a man about to undertake
an unauthorized inspection of another man's house be
likely to advertise the fact? Of course not.
Therefore it must have been a coincidence.
It didn't make sense somehow.
There was the alternative theory that Charles Younger
had been mistaken for Cuthbert Higgins in the darkness


148 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
and had paid the penalty for his unfortunate likeness.
But against that was the assumption that anyone bent
on murder would at least make sure that the victim was
the right one.
And if anyone hated the inspector sufficiently to
murder him, would not they still be doubly on the track,
having made a ghastly mistake of their first effort?
Not a very consoling thought!
And had they not made a second attempt on the in-
spector's life? That second dagger found embedded in
the door!
Someone mighty adept at slinging daggers was at
large. Some Mexican or similar Latin type. Portuguese
—Spanish—anyone really! Yet a certain amount of skill
would be necessary. The average man throwing a knife
might conceivably do himself more damage than his
target! Skill—and practice. Having one, where could one
get the other? Perhaps a stage turn. Bit out of date now,
but one never knew, and one certainly couldn't afford to
overlook such a clue.
Inspector Higgins scribbled on a pad and handed the
necessary instructions to Sergeant Brownall.
The telephone bell on his desk rang out its insistent
summons. Higgins, with a smile of apology to his wife
seated contentedly on a well-upholstered chair, lifted
the receiver.
"Hallo! Yes. This is Higgins."
"River Police this end."
In spite of the metallic distortion of the voice, the
inspector recognized it as belonging to the officer aboard
the River Police launch which had conveyed him to Water-
loo Bridge. An edge of anxiety in the tone more than
prepared Higgins for unwelcome news.
"Well ?"—apprehensively.


9-3° a.m. 149.
"They've got away, sir."
"They've what? You great big nit! You've let 'em
get away?"
"Sorry, sir. But it's this blasted fog. Delayed us
getting there in the first place, and"
"What was the destroyer doing—if anything?"
—faintly sarcastic.
"What could they do ?"—half in exasperation. "They
ordered the Daydream to cast anchor, and did the same.
By the time we'd groped our way to the vessel there was
only the crew with its red-haired skipper left."
"Rufus Reilly still there, eh? Well, that's a grain o'
comfort. Did they get away with the metal boxes?"
"The captain says not."
"Oh, he does, does he? That means they have. I'll
be down there as quick as I can manage. You might warn
the locals there to be on the lookout for the gang. Four of
'em. All gone?"
"Apparently, sir."
"Right. They shouldn't take long to find unless they
abandon those boxes—which I very much doubt. Des-
cription. Better take this down."
Inspector Higgins looked up at Sergeant Brownall, who,
waiting with the instructions to look out for a music-hall
dagger-throwing turn, which he had been about to trans-
mit to the requisite department, was now standing, in
an attitude of suspended animation, with one hand on the
door-knob and the other grasping that scribbled note.
"You too, Brownall,'' said Higgins, clasping the mouth-
piece with his free hand. "All-stations call!"
He removed his hand. "Hallo! One: Tall, thin, hatchet-
faced, hair patchy on top, slate-coloured eyes, named
Stanmore. In late forties or early fifties. Foxy-face aptly
describeshim. Got it? Right. Two: Shorter fellow. 'Bout


150 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
five foot seven. Hairy cove—no forehead worth speaking
about—beefy sort o' cove. Called Hefty for short. Name
unknown. Three: Baker's the man's name. Similar to
Hefty, but not so wide. Four: Lofty. Never set eyes on
him, but from his name he's either six foot odd in height
or about four foot six. You never can tell with nicknames!
Got it? Right. Do your best. Sorry about temper just
now. Righto! Good-bye!"
Higgins replaced the receiver and turned to Brownall.
"You too?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Get on with it. Last seen near dockyards.
Shove off!''
The inspector turned to his wife.
"And now, me dear, / must be goin'. Look out at
home in case there's any more funny business knocking
around. Perhaps I ought to send someone ''
"That's all right, Higgy dear. I shall be all right."
"Sure ?"—doubtfully.
"Of course."
"Good! Then cheerio, kid!"
"Ta-ta!"
Inspector Higgins was in a hurry—but not such a des-
perate hurry that he couldn't spare time to 'phone the
Wembley police from another room to keep an eye on
Muriel and his house . . . nor to replenish from his desk
his stock of official cards and the like.
A disconsolate officer of the River Police met him at the
river steps at Horton, where a thick pall of fog hung over
the river, from whence the sounds of bells and fog-signals
generally came from stationary craft, afraid that some
foolhardy skipper might be taking risks. The obscuring
blanket of mist was more than sufficient excuse for the
escape of Foxy-face and Co., and Higgins normally would


9.30 a.m. 151
have condoled with the officer on his misfortune, but he
was, after his night's adventures, out of sympathy with
excuses, however genuine. However, he was forced to
admit to himself that this fog was almost beyond a lands-
man's comprehension. The cold was intense, and the damp-
ness seemed to penetrate the thickest clothing.
"I've given those descriptions to the locals, sir, but
until the fog lifts, or until your chaps get away from the
river-bank, I'm afraid there's not much hope of roping
them in. I've found the boat by which they escaped—if
that's any good. It's a few yards further downstream.
Care to see it?"
"All right"—ungraciously.
It was an exact replica of the dinghy in which Higgins
had made his perilous journey some hours before, save,
of course, that the hull was intact, which proved that the
men had probably taken away the boxes with them—for
they would hardly have trusted themselves (or been pre-
pared to trust themselves) to the holed dinghy in the
first place if it could not have comfortably conveyed them,
and the boxes, to the vessel outside Sungate.
"Footprints in the mud?"
"None, sir. The dinghy drifted before we found it—
and unless this fog lifts we shall never see any, for the tide's
coming in!"
"Not our lucky day, is it? What of the Daydream?"
—with an indeterminate nod midstream. "The others
likely to get away?"
"Not unless they swim, sir. This is the only boat left.
They've lost both dinghies now. Besides, the Royal Navy
is standing by—and I've put a couple o' chaps aboard."
"And the boxes?"
"They're looking for 'em."
"Good. We'll do the same."


152 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
Inspector Higgins once more stepped aboard the launch,
which immediately swung out into the river. Five yards
out the shore vanished. There was an eerie stillness about
the water, and the mist slowly eddied and swirled as the
launch passed through. Higgins had often heard that a
fog at sea was the sailor's worst enemy—and he could well
believe it. No wonder Foxy-face and Co. had got away!
How ever the helmsman now could possibly feel his way
towards the Daydream Higgins could not imagine. He
was pleased with the foresight of the commander of the
destroyer in ordering the Daydream to cast anchor. There
was no chance now of Rufus Reilly taking the bull by the
horns and trying to sneak out. Higgins, remembering the
noise made when the anchor was weighed, realized that
this would be an impossibility. Unless Rufus defied them
—unless he weighed the anchor regardless of noise and
chanced a collision.
The sudden appearance, apparently out of nothing, of
the Daydream herself but a few yards away helped to
calm his fears.
A hail from overhead.
Two minutes later Inspector Higgins and Rufus Reilly
were face to face in the latter's cabin
They eyed each other in silence—and it was patent
that their dislike was mutual. Reilly obviously was
puzzled over the inspector's appearance, and seemed to
be searching the files of his memory in an effort to
remember where (and if) he had seen the inspector
before.
"So you let 'em go, Reilly?"
"Let who go? And my name's not Reilly."
"Oh? Changed it, eh? It doesn't matter."
"Look here, mister," said Reilly, jaw out-thrust in an
effort to intimidate, "I dunno who you are—an' I don't


9-30 a.m. 153
care either. This is my ship—and I'm captain of her.
For two pins I'd put you in irons."
"Try it."
Higgins smiled. His voice sounded as if he rather
hoped the other would! Then he produced his official
card. He had no wish to placate the man, neither did he
want to antagonize him, he merely wished to get on
with the job—his personal animosity to Rufus Reilly
could wait.
The captain took the card, gave it one brief glance,
then looked at the detective with renewed interest.
"I'm getting popular," he remarked. "First the Navy,
then the River Police, and now Scotland Yard. I shall
begin to think I've done something illegal soon."
Inspector Higgins did not like the man's tone—there
was something too complacent, too sure, too untroubled
for his liking. As though Reilly were too conscious of his
own innocence, too confident to fear the police. Of course,
the man might be a hundred-per-cent. bluffer, of whom
the inspector had met more than one, but he did not seem
to be bluffing—which, naturally, is half the art!
"Look here, Captain Reilly," said Higgins, "I want
some information about your late—er—passengers."
"I've told this cove here"—indicating with a jerk of
his thumb the officer of the River Police.
"Nevermind. Tell me."
"Hoping I'll make a slip, eh ?"—with a grin of self-
confidence. "Oh, well, I don't mind. I picked 'em up
off Sungate—I'd have you know I'm entitled to carry
passengers—and they left me here. That's about
all."
"The tin boxes?"
"I told this cove here they didn't take 'em as far as I
know. Of course, they might have done so. You see, they


154 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
went without either my knowledge or permission. And
stole my dinghy."
"Stole it, eh? You wish to prefer a charge against
them?"
"If I don't get it back, naturally"—with a sly grin.
"But if I do, well"—an expressive shrug of his massive
shoulders—"I've then suffered no loss, have I?"
"They paid for their passages, then?"
"Trust me!"
"H'm. May I search your ship for the boxes ?" In-
spector Higgins asked, very politely. He was uncertain
whether or not a search warrant could be procured cover-
ing a ship—and in any case he hadn't got one.
"Again? Your pal here's been over the entire vessel
once. Still, if you don't trust him, carry on!"
The complacent acquiescence warned Higgins that
nothing could be found—again with that proviso anent
bluffing.
A perfunctory search followed. Every rope hanging
over the side—and there were not many—was tested for
a suspended weight. Even that knotted rope over the stern
on which Higgins had spent an exciting and uncomfortable
hour.
The thick mist slowly turned white and smoky—mute
evidence of the breaking dawn. The weird hooting of a
siren upstream warned Higgins that some of the river
traffic was on the move.
Perhaps Foxy-face and his pals had made off to another
ship after leaving the abandoned dinghy ashore as a false
clue? But that savoured too much of luck, for the Day-
dream had been forced to enter the Thames, and it was
too much of a coincidence to imagine that this had been
the intention all along.
Where were they now?


156 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
Again the easy acquiescence gave Higgins much food
for thought. The lifting of the blanket of fog had given
him back his eyes. He must get back to the shore. Leaving
some of his small crew aboard, the River Police officer ran
the inspector ashore in the launch.
Five minutes later they had found the spot where a
number of men had left muddied footprints and tracks
on the foreshore. Another half an hour and these prints
would have been erased by the rising tide. Higgins was
duly thankful.
"Carrying the boxes between 'em," suggested the
other.
"Have a bit of a job. There's three boxes and only
four men," said Higgins.
"Well, sir, look at the prints. Well spread out. Two
hefty men in the middle and the two weaker ones outside
could carry three boxes between 'em."
"I suppose they could. But, dammit, they must have
made a mighty conspicuous human chain sort of thing
walking the streets."
"The fog, again, sir, would account for that. And—
do you know Horton?"
"No."
"Well, I do. You'll get more hindrance than help from
the water-rats here. We are their natural enemies. The
whole place reeks of underground dives and waterside
joints. The cops here go about in pairs—an' take care they
don't see too much. Unhealthy sort o' place for us."
"How nice I"
They followed the footprints to the road, where they
were immediately lost upon the rough surface. Foxy-face
and the others might be anywhere in Horton—or out of it
for that matter—by now.
A big beefy man in muffler and sweater, with his cap


9 45 a.m. 157
pulled over his eyes, strolled towards them, gave them an
insolent stare up and down, sniffed in derision, then turned
away.
"Say, sonny!"
Inspector Higgins's cheery voice halted the man's
footsteps. He stopped and turned.
"Meanin' me ?" he queried in a surly, coarse voice.
"That's right"—brightly.
The man slouched towards them, removing his hands
from his pockets as he advanced; then, with huge fists
resting firmly on his hips, he thrust his jaw within a few
inches of the inspector's face and enquired:
"Tryin' ter be funny?"
"As a matter of fact, I was."
The man glared ferociously, puckered his face into a
most intimidating scowl, clenched his huge right fist,
turned slightly sideways, and slowly bent his arm behind
him to gain the requisite distance for a mighty swipe.
In fact he was so slow that when the inspector hit him he
collapsed backwards on to his own right arm.
Higgins surveyed him smilingly.
The man scurried backwards in a sitting posture, his
face blank with astonishment, then slowly rose to his
feet. Higgins danced forward a couple of paces. The man
jumped to his feet and scuttled away. He stopped at a
corner, picked up a stone and hurled it at the two officers,
then vanished out of sight.
Higgins gave a hearty laugh. He felt better after that.
"Know that engaging gentleman ?" he asked.
The other officer stared at the inspector, his face regis-
tering even more blank surprise than that of the tough,
then spoke in a voice slightly tinged with awe:
"That was Pug Edmonds."
"Who's he?"


158 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
"Wily Wentworth's chucker-out," said the other.
"Keeps a pub."
"Then Wily's our man."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"That bruiser was sent here to spy on our doings, I'd
bet a quid. If you hadn't known him, we should have
followed. He will lead us to Foxy-face and Co. without a
doubt."
"It's possible, of course, sir, but"
"There is no but," interrupted Higgins. "Think it
out. Have you ever seen one of his type—and a chucker-
out of a pub at that—abroad at such an unearthly hour
as this?"
"Can't say as I have."
"There you are, then !"—as though the whole matter
were proved. "Where's this Wily hang out?"
"You mean—you mean you're going there alone?"
"Not alone—you're coming with me."
"Oh !"—doubtfully. To do the officer justice, his doubt
was partly occasioned by the fact that his launch was tied
to the river bank and his place was aboard her. Still,
if Inspector Higgins intended to beard the notorious Wily
Wentworth in his den, it was up to him to lend his moral
support—for what it was worth!
"Got a gun, sir ?" he queried.
"No. I rarely carry firearms. 'Smatter o' fact, I'm
half afraid of 'em," replied Higgins with a quizzical smile.
"Better borrow mine."
"No. You keep it. Then, if there's any real trouble,
and someone gets shot, well, it's you who'll have to do
the explaining"—brightly.
The river policeman frowned slightly. He couldn't
quite make out this enormous Scotland Yard detective.
Didn't seem afraid of anything or anybody—except


945 a.m. 159
possibly the rules and regulations which bound his
Service. Rum cove, all in all!
And Inspector Higgins? He was grimly wondering
whether he had not stumbled on to something evert bigger
than he had hitherto thought. Even making allowance for
the local antipathy towards the Police Force in general,
was it not extraordinary that Foxy-face and the others
had so quickly found a haven of refuge? Barely an hour
and a half since they had escaped from the Daydream,
yet they had seemingly vanished. Of course, it might
be that the local police had already apprehended them,
and had not yet had time to notify the officer of the River
Police, but that would soon be made plain. By this time
a cordon must have been drawn around Horton, and
any attempt at escape by four men, with three large and
heavy boxes, almost out of the question. Naturally,
were they to separate, their chances of escape would be
more than proportionately increased—but that would
mean either splitting up the three boxes (and until
Inspector Higgins knew what they contained he could
not reason whether this were practicable, although against
this was the fact that it must be as simple to divide the
bulk into four as into the present three parts), or hiding
the boxes.
Foxy-face and Co. obviously had some secure bolt-hole
in Horton itself. And this was such a startling coincidence
that the inspector could hardly swallow it! For the
original journey up the river was certainly not contem-
plated by Rufus Reilly, and the dropping of the anchor
outside Horton was forced on them by the fog. And such
a string of coincidences, although possible, would certainly
be rejected by the hardened reader of detective stories!
No! There must be some other explanation. And
the most likely was that Foxy-face himself must be a


160 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
king-pin of the underworld. In which case Higgins had
certainly stumbled upon something pretty big. For
he thought he knew all the big noises—the really big
men—of the criminal fraternity, and Foxy-face or
Stanmore had never come within his purview.
"Where is this pub of Wily Went worth's?"
"When I said pub, sir, it wasn't strictly correct. It's
a sort of club—although that word's too high an' mighty.
He's got a licence right enough—an' sells beer. But
his place is really a cross between a doss-house and a
hang-out for small crooks. I'll bet there's more knavery
hatched in his cellars than—well"—at a loss for a com-
parison—"there's a deuce of a lot, anyhow. The place
is never raided, because it's so convenient. One of the
locals told me that if ever they want anyone for petty
thievery at the docks, or for some knife or razor fight
at the wharves, they keep one eye on Wentworth's place.
Sooner or later the suspect emerges—and is carted off
to the cooler. Once raid that sort o' place and the
crooks'll have to find a new rendezvous, which, in their
turn, the locals will have to locate. It actually pays to
leave the place alone."
"I see." Higgins, who knew such tactics infinitely
better than the other, rather wondered at the long
explanation, till the final sentence. That was the milk
in the coconut. "I see." He paused for a moment
and then repeated his original question.
"Not far away, sir. It abuts on the river, but the
entrance is on River Street, which runs parallel with the
water. There's steps up to the bar-parlour and steps down
to the sort o' restaurant part, which is where we'll most
likely find Wily."
"Thanks. You go back to your launch. I'll go
alone."


9.45 A M- 161
"I'd rather come with you, although it's true I might
get into trouble leaving the launch."
"Then don't. On second thoughts, though, I'll borrow
your gun if I may."
"Here you are, sir, an' look out for yourself."
The River Police officer watched the detective go with
mixed feelings, and if relief predominated, well, he knew
Wily Wentworth and Higgins didn't!
The inspector soon found River Street, and the
the pub—called, surprisingly "The Mermaid", and a crude
painting of a mythical being, half a very plump chorus-
girl and half codfish, hung from a rusty bracket in the
wall, which, in turn, was badly in need of pointing.
The steps leading to the bar-parlour were cracked, and
those leading below were worse. Both the upstairs door
and the downstairs door were open. From above came
the disgusting odour of stale beer and shag tobacco:
from below the equally unsavoury smell of garbage
generally.
Unprepossessing, to say the least. And was it too
much jumping to conclusions to think that Foxy-face
and his satellites were within? And, if not, was not he
himself taking on a mite more than he could manage?
Merely because Pug Edmonds had been curious
on the river bank, it did not follow that his curiosity
had been inspired. And might not Wily Wentworth
have wished to know what the police were up to without
having any ulterior motive? Was it not the man's
businesssto know the comings and goings of the police
generally? And the river policeman was obviously well-
known round this quarter.
On the whole it had been a good idea to leave him
behind.
Yet it was an undertaking to enter this place alone.
I


162 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
The quiet shutting of the door below decided him.
Resolutely he descended the rickety steps and pushed
at the door. It did not budge. He knocked. Silence.
Inspector Higgins scowled. He stepped back a pace
then crashed his foot against the door-catch. The door
swung open and then sagged drunkenly on a broken
hinge. Higgins was annoyed—and when slightly enraged
was apt to do foolhardy things.
He marched boldly into the room, kicking the door
shut behind him.
Then, standing in the middle of the room, he stared
round at the occupants, regarding each and every in-
dividual with a fixed sneer of open contempt. In a further
coiner of the room stood Pug Edmonds. Higgins surveyed
him unwinkingly, then crooked his forefinger.
"Edmonds," he said quietly, "come here."
CHAPTER XXI
10.15 A M-
Once more Inspector Higgins turned his scathing gaze
upon the other occupants of the room. On his immediate
right four obvious seamen, bleary-eyed from the previous
night's debauch, were seated immobile at a small table,
each holding a hand of cards, with the remainder of the
pack together with four piles of money on the table,
and each regarding him with a stony stare. On his left
a huge negro sprawled over a similar table and snored
—whether fictitiously or in actuality Higgins could not
determine. An obvious harpy, painted and nauseous in
the light of day, lolled back in a chair close by and grinned


10.15 A M. 163
invitingly at the newcomer. A weedy man, ill-kempt and
unwholesome, with a sodden cigarette-end stuck to his
lower lip, surveyed the inspector stupidly from half-
closed eyes. Two shifty-looking foreigners peered at him
from partially averted faces. Three men, with their
backs towards him, continued placidly to eat from greasy
plates, ignoring him altogether—possibly with good
reason.
And Higgins was perfectly convinced that with a
wary eye through a hole in a curtain at the end of the room,
another person was taking complete stock of all that was
going on.
Again he looked at Pug Edmonds.
"I said, Come here," he reiterated, as quietly as before.
"I don't usually speak twice."
With faltering footsteps the man slowly advanced.
Some quality in the inspector's voice seemed to fascinate
him—he came, yet unwillingly. Within half a dozen
feet of the inspector he stopped.
"Wodyer want?" he asked sullenly and with an
attempt at bluster. Inspector Higgins advanced a step
and the man retreated a similar distance. The inspector
smiled grimly. He had got Pug Edmonds where he
wanted him! The man was physically afraid!
"You threw a stone at me just now," said Higgins,
in mild accusation.
"Sorry! I didn't know you was one of us."
That was clever! Yet Pug Edmonds suffered from
brawn rather than brains. Edmonds had possibly seen
the police launch leave the Daydream, and might have
assumed that the inspector was more or less in the custody
of the officer therefrom—but had he? Was this a mild
bluff? And was the inspector barking up the wrong
tree in messing about this incongruously named Mermaid?


10.15 A.M. 165
"Then take me to him."
Again Pug Edmonds hesitated. He was palpably out
of his depth, and did not know what to do for the best.
Subconsciously the inspector realized that the snoring
of the negro had ceased, as though the man, more than
interested in the conversation, had forgotten his play-
acting.
A hidden menace about the place caused ghostly icy
fingers to run up and down the inspector's spine. There
was a tautness about the backs of those three feeders
which suggested a suspended animation. The four card-
players had abandoned their game and stared, frankly
curious, at him. The harpy no longer smiled.
With forefinger and thumb Inspector Higgins gently
caressed his chin. Something was about to break—but
what?
He pulled the weapon given him by the officer of the
River Police from his pocket and made great display
of inspecting it, and then replaced it in his pocket with
equal ostentation.
He could almost feel the easement in the tension.
Inspector Higgins quickly made up his mind. Im-
patiently brushing aside the open-mouthed Pug Edmonds,
he strode to the curtain and pulled it aside. Behind was
a man of such cunning countenance that Higgins, knowing
the aptitude of underworld nicknames, concluded imme-
diately he was Wily Wentworth.
Even as he gazed at the man the inspector could not
help but wonder why no attempt was made to attack
him from his now unprotected back, but guessed that
they would imagine that he had ample reinforcements
well within call—or else they had a mighty respect for
the gun in his pocket.
"I want Stanmore and the others—wanted for murder


166 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
and arson," declared Higgins. The former assumption
a mild guess—the latter an unprovable certainty!
A start of surprise from behind the man caused the
inspector to gaze further within the ante-room. Seated
at a table with two glasses in front of him was a man
whom Higgins had never before seen. Tall, well-
proportioned, well-dressed, and entirely out of place in
this company, yet with an indefinable air of malice about
him which rather discounted his appearance. Beautifully
brushed hair, wonderfully polished boots, carefully
nurtured hands . . . and on the little finger of one a
snake ring.
At last.
"All right, Wentworth, it's not you I want—but your
pal. He'll do!"
And then, his faculties dimmed by the discovery of
the man with the snake-ring, Higgins turned—too late.
Pug Edmonds, possibly still smarting under the blow of
half an hour before, and even more possibly conscious of
the numbers of willing helpers at hand, launched his
attack at the inspector.
Immediately all was pandemonium. Higgins would
have pulled his gun, but was afraid of what he might do.
Instead he essayed a wild smash at Wily Wentworth
which failed by half a foot to reach its objective ; dodged
and neatly avoided a fierce blow from a lump of iron at
the end of a wire ; then jumped on the man with the snake
ring, who was entirely unprepared for this manoeuvre,
and who sagged under the assault.
Then Higgins turned on his attackers, who were
handicapped by their very numbers. The huge negro
was well in the background wielding a chair and conse-
quently more dangerous to the others than to Higgins.
The four seamen were slowly advancing, and looked


10.15 A M- I07
formidable. The harpy was screaming epithets either for
or against the inspector, he could not determine which.
The weedy man pulled a knife—and hurled it. Higgins
saw it in time and dodged. The three shy eaters had taken
the opportunity to slip away. A police whistle outside
—a hammering at the door—and the whole place cleared
as if by magic, save for the bulky body of the man with
the snake-ring.
Higgins, untouched and amazed, stood at the entrance
to the ante-room thankful at his escape. It was the River
Police officer, with a squad of locals.
"I thought you might land into trouble, sir," he said,
knowingly.
"You made an opportune arrival. Look after this
man here. I want him. Cart him straight off to the
Yard."
Higgins turned and searched for the knife thrown by
the weedy man. It was only a hope, and as a hope was
dashed to the ground—for the knife was an ordinary
seaman's weapon and entirely dissimilar to those two now
at Scotland Yard.
"It was a sheer accident I came along, sir," explained
the officer a minute later, "but we've found those tin
boxes for you. I was coming to tell you."
"You have? Where?"
"In the mud of the river. Saw some men trying to
make off with them and chased 'em off. They're empty,
though."
"What?"
"Better come an' have a look, sir."
"I will."
Three tin boxes embedded in the mud of the river
bed . . . open and empty. Inspector Higgins produced
the keys found on the murdered man and tried them in


168 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
the various locks. No go! Another plausible theory
shattered. Willing hands dragged the boxes to the road-
way, where the river water oozed away, leaving a silt in
the bottom of the tins.
"Take a sample of that sediment and send it to the
public analyst," he ordered, his mind still playing with
the "dope" theory. Then he turned to the officer. "Catch
the men after these ?" he asked.
"Not a chance. Didn't spot 'em at first, but wondered
what they were up to paddling about here. They bolted
immediately I turned the launch in this direction."
"H'm. Recognize 'em from my descriptions?"
"Too far off, sir. I was aboard the Daydream at the
time. She was blocking up the fairway, so I got Rufus
to drag his anchor and get inshore a bit. Very obliging
about it all. Can't make that chap out."
"More can I. I dunno what to do with him or his
damned ship either. How far am I justified in detaining
him?"
"I really don't know, sir"—cheerfully, if not very
helpfully, and patently glad it was not his funeral.
"Thanks !"—shortly. "These boxes had better go
to the Yard for fingerprints—if the river's left any."
"I'll see to that with pleasure."
"Thanks again! I'd give a deal to know what was
inside—and what they've done with it. Pity you couldn't
have got a line on those fellows you saw. Pretty cool
cheek to come along and empty 'em under your very
nose as it were. You'd 'a' thought they'd have carted
the boxes off as they were instead of emptying 'em here.
Rum business altogether. Might almost have wanted us
to find 'em." Higgins stared gloomily at the boxes.
"All right. Take'em to the Yard."
And then a surprising discovery. The three boxes


Io.46 A.M. 169
were of a set, the second fitting within the first and the
third within the second, making when so packed a compact
parcel of the outer box. This, of itself, was of no real
moment. What was of interest, however, was the fact
that when the silt from the bottom of the smallest box
was tipped out some chalk marks were revealed. It
required no great effort of the imagination to decipher the
words thereon:
15/- the lot.
Bargain.
Inspector Higgins thoughtfully scratched his head!
CHAPTER XXII
Io.46 A.M.
The inspector, whilst not professing to be an expert,
was reasonably certain that, had the boxes been in the
river since Foxy-face and Co. escaped from the Daydream,
the water must have removed those marks. Further,
any slight rubbing, as must have been occasioned by
filling and emptying the boxes (irrespective of what the
contents might have been), must have produced the
same result. That being so, the natural corollary was that
these were not the same boxes which had been taken
from that ruined house by Foxy-face and his pals.
The men whom the River Police officer had seen
paddling at the edge of the river, and whom he had
assumed had been after the boxes, had merely been
dumping them there.


170 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
Laying a false clue.
It followed therefore that the boxes and the contents
thereof were probably still intact. It was a strange
proceeding on Foxy-face's part—and seemingly non-
sensical.
Suddenly Inspector Higgins became alert. Instead of
being a false clue, these fake boxes had provided a real
clue. They must have been purchased at Horton—and
within the last hour. Jerusalem!
Inspector Higgins turned to one of the interested
policemen.
"Hi, you—you're a Horton slop, aren't you?"
"I'm a member of the Horton Constabulary, sir,"
replied the man with rather puerile dignity.
"Good. There can't be many shops sell these sort o'
things. Find the nearest and enquire who bought 'em."
"Bought them, sir?"
"That's what I said. Jump to it."
The constable hurried away.
Once more the inspector considered his problem.
Why had Foxy-face deemed it necessary to duplicate
his boxes? To lay a false clue was quite according to
the criminals' Hoyle, but why by means of the boxes?
As far as Foxy-face knew, the police were entirely unaware
of the existence of the boxes. Then why make them a
present of the knowledge by providing duplicates? The
man was undoubtedly thorough, but this savoured of too
much thoroughness. Overdoing it!
The missing box! Ah, that must be it! The
inspector's laborious effort in the doomed house was
bearing fruit. Foxy-face knew some human hand had
removed it; and, although he might hope that the same
hand had been completely engulfed by the explosion,
he could not be absolutely certain. Whoever had removed


Io.46 A.M. 171
that one box might reasonably be expected to know of
the others—that was how Foxy-face would look at it.
And Dryan's effort too. Foxy-face might have thought
that Dryan, whom he had chased out of the cellars of
that house, had had some hand in removing that box,
and although Foxy-face knew that Dryan certainly had
not escaped with the box, the Chief's possible knowledge
of the existence of other boxes would be dangerous
to him. Or perhaps Reilly himself had somehow con-
trived to give a warning, following upon the inspector's
enquiries.
Hence the duplicates.
And the hurry with which they had to be purchased
and planted had caused Foxy-face to overlook the trifling
chalk-mark.
Wily Went worth knew something, that was evident.
And, now the inspector came to think of it, Wily was just
the sort of person Rufus Reilly would know. And Rufus
had probably given Foxy-face what corresponds to a
letter of introduction in calmer spheres to Wily
Wentworth.
The finding of a haven of refuge was not such a mystery
after all.
And Foxy-face and his three satellites were still in
Horton, and the Daydream was waiting patiently inshore.
That was a thought! Was Rufus Reilly's easy acquies-
cence due to the fact that he expected the vanished four
to return? If so, he must wait for the return of the fog
or for darkness, "Bliicher or night" sort of business!
"They seem mighty interested in us from that ship,
sir," suggested one of the men. Higgins looked. The man
was right, for Rufus Reilly and his cut-throat crew were
lolling over the rail of the Daydream, and Rufus had a
pair of binoculars focused on the scene.


1o46 A.M. 173
that he had found the shop whence the boxes had been
procured. The proprietor was rather peeved about the
whole business, and had given a lurid and picturesque
word-painting which fitted the missing Hefty to a T.
For that large gentleman, acting true to form, had taken
the boxes without the formality of paying for them.
It was a bad error of judgment. For had Hefty paid the
fifteen shillings demanded, the policeman could have
questioned the proprietor till he was blue in the face
before he would have "remembered" whom his client was;
but to steal them . . . The man was righteously angry.
He had started out to follow Hefty, but had been
prevented by an anxious enquiry from a perfect stranger
who had wanted to know what was his hurry. The
hint was sufficient to damp his ardour, and he had given
up the chase, and written off the fifteen shillings as a
bad debt. When he learned that he might soon receive
his boxes back, he bitterly regretted the information he
had given to the police . . . especially as he had given
a description of the enquiring stranger as well—which
described Baker pretty aptly!
And the incident had occurred just round the corner.
Foxy-face and Co. were within striking distance,
did one know "where to strike!
And the local police seemed unwilling to organize a
house-to-house drive. Somehow Higgins did not blame
them.
He went to the police station and had a long talk with
the inspector in charge. The officer promised to do his
best, but he had a difficult district to run, as his confrere
must realize. He would certainly have the foreshore
patrolled in case Foxy-face and Co. attempted to board
the Daydream, and knew he had the co-operation of the
River Police in this respect, and each unit under him had


Io.46 A.M. 175
"Get off the line. I "Higgins was annoyed at the
interruption, but was himself interrupted.
"I thought it was you, Higgy."
"Sorry, darlin', but I didn't recognize your voice for
the moment. What's up?"
"Mr. Dryan told me where I might get you. I'm
ringing up from a call-office. We—we've had burglars."
"What?"
"Yes. Since Mr. Dryan and I left early this morning.
The whole place is upside down. Will the insurance cover
it?"
"Damn the insurance. Did they get anything?"
"Not as far as I can see—but it's in an awful mess
here." A suggestion of tears in Muriel's voice. "I—I'm
a bit frightened, Higgy dear."
"What about the police there. You've told 'em, I
suppose—that's what they're for!" Inspector Higgins,
very worried, was not his usual polite self.
"Of course, darling. I told the constable on the beat—
he said he had been told to keep a special eye on our house
by his superintendent. It's our usual man—Thomson, I
think his name is."
"Thomson? Jerusalem! All right, dear. I'll be home
as soon as I can. Goo'-bye!"
Inspector Higgins replaced the receiver. Muriel
ringing up like that must have cut in on the Chief when he
was trying to re-connect with Horton police station. That
was the cussedness of telephones—one was apt to get cut
off, and always at the crucial moment.
The inspector sat down by the instrument and waited.
Horton police station had but one line, and were Higgins
himself to 'phone the Chief he would prevent Dryan from
getting on himself.
Such a waste of time.


176 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
And old Dryan didn't seem to be in much of a hurry
either. Higgins glared at the inoffending telephone
instrument and cursed his Chief. Surely Dryan knew by
now that whoever originated a telephone call should ring
again in the event of getting cut off! His news, whatever
it was, couldn't have been of much importance, or else
he would not have waited all this time.
A simple explanation occurred to the inspector.
Perhaps Dryan had merely been going to tell him that
Muriel had asked where she might find him. If that were
so he might not bother to ring up again. That must be it!
And yet a niggling premonition that all was not right
served to upset his complacency. He could wait no
longer. Impatiently he once more lifted the receiver.
"Victoria 7000, please, miss!" he roared down the
mouthpiece, inwardly pleased that it was not an auto-
matic instrument.
"Hallo! Scotland Yard? Listen! Higgins speaking.
Rush a man up to Chief Dryan's office and see if he's
all right. I'll hang on."
A period of waiting. Higgins guessed what the man
would do. Mistakenly he would first ring up the Chief
on the intercommunicating lines. Getting no reply, he
would assume the Chief were out. Then he would weigh
the wrath of the Chief if he were all right against the
wrath of Inspector Higgins if he were all wrong, and would
then diffidently send a man to investigate—something
which he ought to have done immediately Higgins had
given his instructions. No imagination, that was the
trouble—or too much. And
"Hallo. Yes! Jerusalem!"
Higgins replaced the receiver almost in a daze.
Chief-Inspector Dryan had been found unconscious in
his room.


NOON
177
CHAPTER XXIII
NOON
Inspector Higgins stared blankly at the linoleum on
the floor of Horton police station, worn through by
countless feet of delinquents, and cursed his own tar-
diness. Why hadn't he telephoned immediately the Chief
had been cut off. Prompt action then might have resulted
in the capture of the Chief's assailant redhanded. As
it was . . .
And another thing. There was obviously a traitor
somewhere in the ranks at Scotland Yard. The Chief
had known his assailant, and when—and if, lugubriously—
the Chief recovered he could give some useful information.
But the fact that there was a traitor in the camp was
unpalatable food for thought. The Force was practically
the be-all and end-all of the inspector's existence.
Naturally there were black sheep in every fold, but
that was little comfort.
And Muriel? Gosh! He was forgetting Muriel. Poor
kid! After a night of unprecedented excitement she
returns home to find that a burglary has been committed.
Higgins smiled grimly.
Without wishing to particularize, he knew one or two
brilliant newspaper men who were not too particular
about other people's property in their ceaseless hunt
for news—and a murder had been committed on his door-
step the evening before!
That was the probable explanation, and the news-
paper men would willingly pay for any damage, but it
wouldn't calm his wife's fears.
M


178 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
Wembley was the obvious next port of call.
Hiring a taxi, and with the inward reservation that
if the blighters of the audit department at Scotland
Yard surcharged the expense, he would resign from the
Force, Higgins set off home.
At and around his house he found the usual curious
crowd of sightseers anxious to see the exact spot where
the body was found. The morning papers hadn't long
been out, so the crowd was only about three deep. Higgins
hated to think what would happen and to what
proportions the crowd would grow as the day wore on!
The alleged burglary must have happened just before
the dawn.
Higgins shouldered his way through the crowd,
received a salute and a sympathetic grin from the
uniformed constable, and thrust his key into the key-
hole.
His brain subconsciously registered that the key was
a little more stiff than usual, and then he remembered
that this was the key which had been found on the dead
man. He looked at it interestedly for a moment, and
then opened the door and walked in.
Something large and heavy smacked against his legs.
A blinking dog! The animal levered itself up his body
and tried to lick his face. He brushed it aside with an
effort, and hurried in to his wife.
"Hallo, darlin'. All right? And whose brute is
that?"
"Ours."
"What?"
"Yes. That's Bruce. Mr. Dryan told you you'd
have a surprise when you got home, didn't he? Bruce is
the surprise."
"Rescued from the house at Sungate? I see"—with


180 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
let 'em know at the gates that you want to try out your
new black-jack on the Commissioner an' they show you
up to his room and hold him whilst you get on with it!
The big stiffs! Half of 'em are afraid o' mice—an' the
other half haven't got the brains of a louse between 'em.
You included!"
A groan from the Chief. Dr. Pape, his voice infinitely
tender, muttered some meaningless phrase, then with
gentle hands he bathed the Chief's forehead. The
metamorphosis of the doctor was remarkable. Gone the
fiery temper, changed the blistering tongue. Dr. Pape,
with a patient, was mild and soothing. Higgins, knowing
the man, liked him for this very reason.
Dr. Pape turned and jerked his head.
"Outside, Higgy, please. I'll let you know if he's
able to talk yet awhile."
Inspector Higgins withdrew. Poor old Dryan had
received a nasty clout at the back of the head from
something mighty heavy. It had obviously been done at
the precise moment the Chief was telephoning to Horton.
Still, little could be done till the Chief recovered. There
were dozens of people at Scotland Yard at the time,
excluding the personnel, and mostly from other Govern-
mental departments, chiefly that of the Public Prosecutor;
and a few from outside offices—mostly legal; and one or
two anxious relatives; and the usual harmless lunatic
with his infallible solution of the latest crime.
Dryan's assailant might have been any one of
these.
Still, it wasn't Higgins's business. Either Dryan
himself or some other officer at the Yard would take the
matter up. Meanwhile there was this chap with the snake-
ring, eating his head off in one of the waiting-rooms with
a stolid policeman standing by.


NOON
181
Better give him the once over. One thing was certain,
he couldn't have been Dryan's assailant!
And then a nice, surprising, comforting piece of news,
which gave Inspector Higgins—out of the blue—a peg
on which to hang a charge against the man. The Records
Department, efficient and ever alert, having checked the
man's fingerprints with past records with no avail, had
checked them with other prints which had only come in
that morning, to discover that the man's fingerprints
were identical with those found on the inner door-handle
of a wrecked car found at the foot of the cliffs near
Sungate!
Very, very nice. So this was the blighter who had
smashed Higgins in the face through the broken rear
window, eh? Higgins, when he had attacked the man
in that ante-room of the "Mermaid", had been repaying a
blow without even knowing it! Well, well, well!
The man jumped to his feet as Inspector Higgins
entered the room and started to bluster. Higgins waved
him back to his seat, then turned to the policeman
standing by.
"Got your notebook ?" he queried.
"Yes, sir."
"Right. You'll want it." Higgins turned to the
other. "Now then, you. I have to warn you that any-
thing you say will be taken down and may be used as
evidence against you. You've heard all that rigmarole
before, I'll bet a quid. Now, then. What's your
name?"
"Find out."
"I intend to. I also intend to charge you with
complicity in the murder of Charles Younger ..."
A gasp of surprise from the other, instantly sup-
pressed, which Higgins pretended not to notice. He


182 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
continued imperturbably : "... at Wembley last night.
Got anything to say?"
Inspector Higgins gazed quietly at his prisoner, and
felt a momentary compassion at the pallor of the man's
face, realizing that the blunt statement of the man's
death had been a shock to him. Intuition told Higgins
that this was news to the other, in which case it was
obvious that the man could have had no hand in the
killing—but intuition didn't solve crimes, save in books.
But it was equally certain that the man was
acquainted with Charles Younger—possibly intimately
acquainted—otherwise the news of his death would have
left the man indifferent.
Although against all this was the fact that most men,
however innocent, would lose colour at the thought of
being charged with murder.
"Charlie—Younger—dead?" queried the man un-
believingly, each word seemingly forced from his inner
being, unconsciously giving away his connection with
the man.
Now was the inspector's opportunity to press his
advantage. Being a kind-hearted fool, he let it slip.
"Sorry to break it so bluntly," he said, "but under the
circumstances I couldn't know he was a friend of yours.
You see—I thought you might have done it."
"Me kill Charlie Younger?" A short sharp travesty
of a laugh. "He's my brother"—regardless of tense.
Inspector Higgins gazed at the other. To all intents
and purposes he had never seen the man before, save for
that brief moment in the ante-room of the "Mermaid", yet,
now he came to look at him, there was a certain resem-
blance in build between him and the dead Charles Younger.
Both were big men, and there was a slight similarity
in the cast of countenance. Yet there was a certain


NOON 183
quality in the man's voice which roused an echo in the
inspector's memory. Where had he heard it before?
Oh yes, of course! This man was Lofty. Lofty—the
porter of boxes upstairs in the dark. The man who
resented doing a horse out of a job! Poor devil. The
death of his brother was a terrible shock.
The man raised haggard eyes.
"Who did it ?" he asked quietly, yet with venom in
his voice.
Inspector Higgins surveyed him in silence, thought-
fully. An inner voice warned him that all this show of
emotion might well be play-acting, an attempt to build
up a false sentiment in his favour which the inspector
would be well advised to discount, but . . .
"Then you don't know?"
"1 shouldn't be here if I did!"
Higgins could have smiled at the man's self-assurance
were it not so tragic. Of course, the man meant to
imply that he would have been out hunting his brother's
murderer instead; but the law frowns upon amateur
vengeance, and Higgins felt that this was not the time to
point out the fact.
"Can you guess?"
"I can"—slowly—"but I'm not going to. You let me
go"—earnestly—"and I'll attend to this little matter
for you."
"Is it likely?"
"But you can't hold me here. What's the charge?"
"You've already heard the charge."
The man rose to his feet, his eyes blazing maliciously.
"You—you still think I"
Inspector Higgins waved expressive hands. "What I
think doesn't really matter. That charge is sufficient to
hold you here for the time being and keep you out o'


184 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
mischief. We know a leetle more than you imagine,
perhaps."
"Then you intend to keep me here?"
"Right first time."
Inspector Higgins laid a kindly hand upon the man's
shoulder, gently forcing him back to his seat. "You knew
I was a police officer, naturally, but you don't know my
name. It's Higgins. Perhaps you've heard of me." The
man started and peered at Higgins through narrowed
eyelids. "I have a mild sort of reputation for straight
dealing. Think it over. And if, later on, you find you've
something to tell me—well, I'm always prepared to
listen."
With a curt nod to the attendant constable to keep
an eye on the prisoner, Inspector Higgins strode from
the room.
CHAPTER XXIV
12.20 P.M.
Inspector Higgins immediately rang up the super-
intendent at Wembley and asked him to attend to a
certain detail which he had forgotten. Two determined
attempts had been made to burgle his house at Wembley,
the first resulting in the death of the prospective burglar
before he had carried his scheme into operation, and the
second between the time Muriel and the Chief had arrived
at the house with that accursed rescued mastiff (subse-
quently leaving for Scotland Yard), and Muriel's return
there afterwards. Were the two attempts connected?
They must be. Therefore it followed that some group of


, 12.20 P.M. 185
persons was pretty anxious to secure something within
the house—or something they thought was within,
which was not quite the same thing.
For Higgins was fairly certain his own belongings
were not sufficiently valuable to attract the attention
of a gang of crooks. One would have thought that the
murder of the first man would have deterred the second.
Also the second man must have been mighty quick upon
the job, for a crowd of the curious quickly collects. Of
course, the murder happening in the darkness, no one
would know about it until it appeared in the morning
papers—and then it would only be briefly recorded in
the Stop Press, if at all. Perhaps the second burglar
had been unaware of the murder of the first—that would
explain why he went on undeterred.
Chief-Inspector Dryan and Muriel had probably left
the house about seven or soon after—before dawn anyway
—and how could the second burglar have known that
there was no one within? By the simple expedient of
pressing the electric bell. If the door had been answered
he could easily assume the role of a gentleman of the
Press, and if there were no answer—well, that was
his answer!
Hence that message to the superintendent at
Wembley.
There might be a serviceable fingerprint or thumbprint
left upon the bell-push!
And the dog was utterly useless—possibly too
bewildered by sudden change of ownership to know friend
from foe—in that it had raised no objection to the
unauthorized entry. Or Muriel's half-hearted suggestion
of dope or damage might be true!
One thing, if they kept the brute, Chief-Inspector
Dryan, after his effort in the grounds of that house when


186 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
the mighty Bruce had chased him to the car, would no
longer be a willing visitor. The wonder was that he had
endured the beast in the car when bringing him from
Sungate!
And the second reason for the message to the
superintendent was to rectify another matter which
Higgins had forgotten—his telephone: to ascertain
where it had been disconnected and to get the telephone
people to put it in order.
Inspector Higgins was inclined to believe that he had
given insufficient thought to the matter of the burglary
and attempted burglary at his house.
Where, for instance, had an original been obtained
from which the duplicate key had been made?
A moment's thought and the answer was obvious.
When Muriel had lost her purse some days ago. It had
been recovered almost immediately after the loss through
the Lost Property Office of the Yard itself, and this fact
had led to the matter being forgotten. But subsequent
events now proved that the original loss had been engin-
eered. Some sneak-thief had lifted the purse from Muriel's
bag in order to get at the door-key, and had deliberately
left the purse intact in the path of some honest person
who had returned it to Scotland Yard, in order that the
loss of the purse might appear accidental.
A duplicate key had been made, which duplicate was
now in the inspector's possession—and if a duplicate,
why not a triplicate or quadruplicate?
More expense! He'd have to change his lock now!
Ought to have done it before—but the original thief had
outguessed him!
From his superficial examination of his house Higgins
had found no sign of a forced entry, and had assumed
that the burglary might have taken place after he had


12.20 P.M. 187
set off in chase of the hurrying footsteps soon after the
body of Charles Younger had been found, when he had so
foolishly left the front door open. The reason for this
belief was because Muriel had made no inspection of the
place when she had arrived with the Chief, but had merely
dumped Bruce in the hall and immediately pushed off
to Scotland Yard. Still, the triplicate key theory
suggested that the actual burglary occurred after she
had left.
And the fact that the place had been left in disorder
suggested that the burglar had been pressed for time.
For Higgins knew, from experience, that the average
burglar makes as little disorder as possible, disorder
suggesting noise—save where wilful damage is done,
like pouring ink over carpets, where a burglar gets
malicious over the paucity of a haul.
All very nice and fine—but what the deuce were they
after? Inspector Higgins gave it up!
He turned his attention to this mysterious attack
on Chief-Inspector Dryan within the sacred precincts
of Scotland Yard itself! It argued resource and a certain
misplaced courage on the part of the perpetrator, and was
a direct challenge to each and every officer at the Yard.
If Higgins had not enough of his own on hand he
would have liked to take the matter up himself, for he
had no false modesty as to his ability, but as it was he
felt unable to spend the time.
To find out the murderer of Charles Younger was his
job; and so far he had been chasing his own tail after
such side-issues as Foxy-face and the three boxes.
A uniformed constable came running up, and stopped
when he saw the inspector standing outside the waiting-
room in an apparent state of coma. He advanced and
saluted smartly.


188 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
"Doc Pape's compliments, sir, and Chief-Inspector
Dryan would like to speak to you."
"How is the Chief?"
"Don't know, sir, but better from the look of Doc
Pape's face."
Higgins smiled.
"Thank you," he said.
Chief-Inspector Dryan was recumbent upon a couch
in the rest-room, his head swathed in a bandage, with the
police surgeon fussing about like a hen with one chick.
Higgins tiptoed across the floor in response to a ferocious
frown from the doctor, but the Chief, immediately he saw
who his visitor was, sat bolt upright, winced at the pain
caused by the sudden movement, then glared at his
underling.
"Ah, Higgins, drop whatever case you're on at the
moment and concentrate on mine."
"But, sir . . ."
"There are no buts. This case is serious. Attacked
on me own dungheap! Bald-headed; horn-rimmed
glasses"—Inspector Higgins suddenly realized that the
Chief was giving a description of his assailant, and promptly
produced a notebook—"grey lounge suit, herring-bone
pattern; black buttoned boots; blue shirt; collar to
match; foul tie—blue with white spots; grey velour
hat—black band; tan kid gloves; umbrella—crook
handle with silver band; walks with quick jerky move-
ments; speaks Amurrican—accent almost too good to
be true j has trick of rapid blinking; persistent and in-
sistent in his manner." Chief-Inspector Dryan took a
deep breath. "There you are, Higgy, me boy. Go after
him yourself—an' if he puts up a fight to resist arrest,
let him! And let me see him when you've done with
him! I—I'm not so young as I was, Higgy, or I'd go


12-20 P.M. 189
after the swine meself—an' beat him up! You know,
Higgy, me lad"—with confidential manner—"this incident
has nearly got my goat!"
Inspector Higgins restrained a smile, walked softly
to the door, handed his written description to a passing
constable with the necessary instructions, then returned
to his Chief.
"Let's hear all about it, sir," he suggested cheerily.
"Nothing to tell, Higgy. I was talking to you on the
telephone—(by the way, Muriel rang me up and asked
me where you were. Something on her mind, I guess)—
and the blighter came in and—and swiped me on the
bean."
"What for?"
Quite a natural question, but the Chief heaved a prodi-
gious sigh at the density of his subordinate.
"Fun, you fool! How the blazes do / know !"—in
bull-like voice, seething with anger.
Inspector Higgins overlooked the epithet—he knew
his Dryan—but thought the Chief must have some inkling
of the reason. Perhaps Dryan had treated the man with
the scant respect he was now showing his underling!
That might almost be excuse enough—if one didn't make
allowances!
To cap it all, Doctor Pape interposed with the remark
that Higgins ought to know better than to excite a man
in the Chief's condition.
"Who showed him up to your room ?" queried Higgins,
cursing the pair of them beneath his breath. Couple of
old women!
"He knew the way."
"Then he'd been before."
"Of course he'd been before. How the deuce could
he know the way "Chief-Inspector Dryan's voice


192 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
Higgins called a constable.
"Run along to my room and get the Walters papers,
please. They're in a blue file. If they're not on my
desk they've probably been returned to Records. Ask
Sergeant Mercier to dig them out. And hurry!"
"Dunno what we've missed, sir," he continued after
the constable had set off on his errand, "but it's something,
that's pretty evident."
Two minutes later the constable was back.
"They're not in your room, sir, so I went to Sergeant
Mercier. He says that he put them on Chief Dryan's
desk this morning as he saw from the appointment diary
that someone was coming to see the Chief about the
Walters business. And ..."
"They're not on the Chief's desk." A statement
rather than a query.
"No, sir!"
"Thank you. You may go."
A long silence, broken at last by Inspector Higgins.
"That, seemingly, is that!"
CHAPTER XXV
12.45 P.M.
The matter of the theft of the Walters papers was annoy-
ing, humiliating, and possibly amusing, rather than disas-
trous. Whoever had stolen them must be very many
sorts of a fool if he imagined them to be the only copies
in existence. The missing blue file had certainly con-
tained all the information relating to the business between
two covers, but the component parts were still scattered


12.45 p m. 195
at Wembley. There had been a thumbprint on the in-
spector's front-door bell, which had already been photo-
graphed, and a proof was already on its way to the Yard.
The print did not belong to the milkman nor to the paper-
boy, and neither was it Constable Thomson's. The
constable, by the way, resented the inference. And the
telephone wires had not been cut, but had been discon-
nected from the porcelain insulators. A ladder had been
used—the inspector's own !—but no fingerprints had been
found.
Anything further the superintendent could do the
inspector had only to ask. Nothing? Thank you!
Good-bye.
Constable Thomson must be all right.
Inspector Higgins came to the forced conclusion
that he was trying to do too many things at once. He
had too many irons in the fire, and must either let them
cool off or hand them to someone else.
The Daydream business and Foxy-face and Co. at
Horton; the murder at Wembley; the subsequent
burglary there; the attack on Chief-Inspector Dryan and
the calm lifting of those papers; and the Walters business
itself. Each with a tiny link connecting it with the
other.
Foxy-face and the Daydream had an obvious point
of contact; the murdered man and Lofty of Foxy-face's
gang were brothers—another connecting link. The
subsequent burglary? That wasn't quite so clear-cut,
save that the burglar and the murdered man were possibly
after the same thing—the Walters papers. And, having
failed to find them at the inspector's house at Wembley,
the man had coolly turned up at the Yard, outed the
Chief, and walked off with them.
Inspector Higgins took the duplicate Walters file


198 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
that the pickpocket had seized his chance, with the
other's attention riveted on the photograph, to lift
the watch.
That there was something in it was soon proved—
for the effective shop window had been smashed by a
brick overnight and the photograph abstracted. And it
had been the night following the date given by Walters
as that of the old gentleman's unaccountable generosity!
The photographer's till had also been forced and a few
shillings taken. This was obviously a blind to cover
the removal of the photograph.
And the photograph itself?
Merely of the local street and of purely local interest,
taken some time before. The photographer had found
the actual plate in his files and had handed it to Scotland
Yard. Another photograph had been printed, and
Walters had unhesitatingly picked out a well-dressed
man, well in the foreground, as the benevolent old gentle-
man who had presented him with the watch. An
enlargement of that portion of the plate had promptly
been made and copies sent all over the country. Higgins
had a copy in front of him at this very moment.
And the watch itself? A case inside another, and
on the innermost facing, flat and retentive, was a finger-
print, with part of a thumbprint. And they did not
belong to Walters, nor to the real owner of the watch.
The assumption was that they had been made by the
man who nad originally stolen it.
Thus the police had copies of Walters' statement; full
particulars of the various robberies and the consequential
hauls; hundreds of copies of the fingerprints; and
hundreds of copies of that portion of the photograph
representing the assumed thief. Why, therefore, had the
file been stolen? It had contained nothing else!


12.45 p M-
199
Save, of course, the original plate and the copy the
police had made therefrom—and they didn't matter.
Or did they? Inspector Higgins frowned in an effort
to recall the photograph. An ordinary street scene, with
the benevolent gentleman crossing the road in that
stilted attitude of suspended animation peculiar to all
such photographs, and various other citizens going about
their daily business with no knowledge that the photo was
being taken. That was all. Then why steal it—if that
was all it showed?
A sudden thought. Got it! Walters, already re-
gretting his temerity when confronted with the photo-
graph, had wilfully picked out the wrong man! It was
not the benevolent old gentleman at all, but one of those
other citizens apparently going about their honest
business!
The real culprit, upon the publication of the photo-
graph in sundry newspapers, must have congratulated
himself on his foresight in abstracting the complete scene
from the shop window, although he would know that the
negative was in the possession of the police. He had
probably made enquiries at the photographers and
learned that there was only the one plate extant—and
might have guessed that only one copy had been made
therefrom by the police.
Yet how foolish the man had been! By trying to be
too careful he had given away his secret. Yet he had
achieved his object, for the plate and the photograph
were gone!
Sergeant Mercier came running in, dispensing with
the formality of a knock, to announce excitedly that he
had found the fingerprint on the shilling.
"That Walters' fingerprint, sir. I nearly overlooked
it, the file being—er—mislaid." This could not have


200 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
been strictly true, but Higgins made no comment. "It's
the same as that one on the watch, sir."
"Good."
"And another thing, sir. That print sent from the
bell-push of your house—that's his, too!"
"Thank you, Mercier. I thought it might be."
Mercier stared from Inspector Higgins to Chief-
Inspector Dryan, mildly incensed at the casual way his
news had been received, then quietly left the room.
Higgins nodded sagely. "Our man's getting rattled,
sir. Two fingerprints already this morning."
"But give him his due, Higgy. Whoever would have
thought of looking on a bell-push or a coin for finger-
prints?"
Higgins coughed deprecatingly.
"Someone did, sir," he suggested—with due humility.
CHAPTER XXVI
2.35 p m.
A few moments later the Horton police reported failure
to locate Foxy-face and the three others. (Higgins
informed them that the man with the snake-ring had been
one of the three others, so that there were now only two
besides Foxy-face—Hefty and Baker.) The "Mermaid"
had been officially raided, with no result save a couple of
entirely extraneous wharf-rats wanted for petty pilfering.
Two items of news, however, were rather disturbing.
The Daydream had not banked its fires, but was riding
at anchor with steam up, as though preparing for a bolt.
The River Police were naturally keeping a wary eye upon
it, but the destroyer had been ordered to sea again and
had steamed down the river an hour before.


202 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
"Mermaid" and the Daydream, taking the central position
himself with three men on his left and two on his
right.
Each was well within the view of the next, but how
long that would last Higgins could not tell. Each man
was told to remain quiet unless anything happened, then
to whistle for assistance. If the fog thickened, it would
be no use shouting to each other, for their object was not
so much to prevent the men from boarding the Daydream
as to capture them when they tried to do it! And even
if they missed them here their friends aboard the Day-
dream shouldn't have a very hard job arresting them.
Badly expressed, but they knew what he meant!
Even as he waited in the deepening fog the inspector
wondered whether he was not making a fool of himself
and his men. For he had nothing concrete to go upon
that Foxy-face and the others would try to return to the
Daydream—save that this was their only possible way of
getting out of the country . . . coupled with the fact
that Rufus Reilly was complacently waiting. Had he
evinced any strong desire to get away Higgins might have
thought that the man was no longer interested in the three
fugitives. But philosophically to stay argued that the
man expected his passengers to return—and to make it
worth his while to wait! The rats might remain holed
up in Horton for months without being given away or
accidentally found, which was the reason why Higgins
had made no representations in the proper quarter for
the Daydream to be moved from Horton. Whilst the
Daydream was lying close inshore at Horton the fact
would be known to Foxy-face, and he would be tempted
to stay in Horton too, and perhaps make a break for the
ship.
Yet would he make a break whilst the River Police


2.35 p m. 203
remained aboard? Would not Rufus Reilly by some
means or other warn the fugitives of the danger?
Despite the fog, Foxy-face and Co. were hardly likely
to leave their present safe refuge merely to jump into
the waiting arms of the River Police. Would not a little
strategy force them into the open? Of course, did the
police know what signal Reilly would give to denote the
"all-clear", the matter would be simplicity itself! The
police themselves could give the necessary signal, then
sit back and await developments.
Perhaps Higgins hadn't been so very wise after all in
setting his men on this benighted piece of foreshore!
And supposing Higgins were to ask the River Police to
leave the Daydream, would not Reilly immediately push
off and leave Foxy-face to his fate?
It was a ticklish point which required some considera-
tion.
Inspector Higgins at last made a decision. If he re-
called the River Police from the Daydream and Reilly
bolted, what of it? The police had nothing on Reilly.
His papers were in order, and no contraband had been
discovered. If the Daydream went, then Foxy-face's
retreat would be automatically cut off and the police
could concentrate once more on the town of Horton itself
—without any side-issues offshore. And it should be a
comparatively easy matter to pick up the Daydream again
if necessary. As long as Foxy-face and Co. were not
aboard, the Daydream could go to hell for all Higgins
cared—and he half hoped she would!
He issued the necessary instructions The River
Police, speeded on their way by the lewd farewells of the
crew and the sardonic felicitations of Reilly himself, cast
off from the Daydream and told the skipper he could go.
But he didn't. Possibly the fog prevented him.


204 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
Half an hour later a powerful searchlight from the
vessel made a futile effort to pierce the gloom. Twice it
flashed out—then was extinguished.
Inspector Higgins, smoking a pipe in the cabin of the
police launch, nodded his satisfaction, then once more
felt his precarious way along the foreshore and took up
his previous position there, having instructed the pilot of
the police launch to stand by, and, with the consent of
the officer in charge, placed the remainder of the crew
in strategic positions along the foreshore. Those two
flashes of the Daydream's searchlight denoted the "all-
clear", and, now he came to think it over, Higgins half
remembered a similar signal being given by the same ship
whilst anchored off Sungate and whilst he himself had
been precariously perched on that broken iron ladder.
He shuddered at the memory.
Yet if Foxy-face had failed to see the signal, which,
considering the gathering density of the fog, was quite
likely, then the inspector's elaborate precautions were a
sheer waste of time. Even supposing he had seen them,
it was quite on the cards that Foxy-face would be afraid
to leave his bolt-hole. How did he know that it wasn't
a trap by the police? Might he not assume that Rufus
Reilly had betrayed him?
Two more flashes from the Daydream.
If Foxy-face didn't buck up Reilly might get im-
patient and make off. Inspector Higgins scratched his
head at this disturbing thought. Then his face cleared.
If the Daydream, chancing the fog, proceeded down-
stream to the sea, Higgins could, whilst the fog lasted,
get the police launch to take up the Daydream's vacated
position and send out similar signals until Foxy-face
answered.
He forthwith returned to the launch.


2.35 p m. 205
"Got a searchlight ?" he queried of the pilot, the sole
occupant.
"Yessir. Often use it of a night to pick up would-be
or successful suicides."
"Cheerful sort o' cove you are. Well, better get it
ready for action."
"Want to sweep the foreshore, sir? Hardly powerful
enough for this fog, sir."
Higgins frowned. Why hadn't he thought of that
before, whilst the fog was but a gentle mist? Pity.
Too late now. Still, the fog must lift eventually, and
the idea would then come in useful.
"Not yet," he said. "But stand by."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Higgins grinned. He liked the nautical touch.
He groped his way back to his "action station" on
the foreshore ; then, restless with waiting, decided to tour
his lines of communication. The penetrating mist seemed
to chill his blood, and he felt glad of the walk. Every
watcher challenged him, and each reported "nothing
doing". Following the hectic night hours this enforced
waiting was more than an anti-climax, and Inspector
Higgins began to feel weary. Excitement had served to
keep his faculties in top-gear, but this dreary, seemingly
interminable inaction was soporific. Perhaps the
present would be a suitable opportunity to snatch a little
sleep—there ought to be a bunk aboard the police
launch, and that pilot seemed a decent sort of chap. . . .
Might as well turn back now he'd reached the out-
post. . . .
Again the signal from the Daydream.
This time it was answered from the shore. Two pin-
prick flashes from a little way ahead. Higgins, his senses
once more alert, crept swiftly forward. The silence was


2.50 P.M. 207
Again a police-whistle. Higgins paused in his tracks.
This time the sound seemed to come from that portion of
the foreshore which his men were supposed to be guard-
ing. Thank goodness someone had had the sense to stay
at his post! He hurried forward a dozen steps, then
stopped. This might be another deliberate hoax! Once
more he started to run—and again stopped. For a man
usually so sure of himself, he gave a woeful picture of
indecision. Police-whistles could be purchased for a few
pence. . . .
A yell for help close at hand. Higgins gazed around
in the mist. The call had come from inland, whereas
the police-whistle had come from the foreshore. Gosh!
Were the entire inhabitants of this benighted place out
to hoax the police?
Another yell! The quintescence of fear. Almost too
good to be true. Dimly, in the roadway, Higgins thought
he could discern a struggling mass. He hurried forward.
A pencil of flame stabbed the gloom—the simultaneous
report of a gun—something whistled by the inspector's
ear. Instinctively he ducked, although obviously the
danger from the bullet was past!
Then the pattering of feet, the sound of a rackety
engine. Higgins rushed blindly towards the noise, then
pitched forward on his face.
CHAPTER XXVII
2.50 P.M.
A trap—that's what it was! As Higgins hit the ground
he rolled to one side and jumped to his feet, inwardly


208 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
glad that the opportunity for action had arrived. With
clenched fists and out-thrust jaw he awaited develop-
ments. Nothing happened. Then what the deuce had
he fallen over? He peered at the roadway. The body
of a man.
Jerusalem! He was always finding 'em!
Inspector Higgins dropped to one knee.
The man was hatless and in his shirtsleeves, his hands
covered with leather gloves, and with one arm out-
thrust as though still warding off the blow which had
laid him low. A thin trickle of blood was slowly darken-
ing the roadway. With gentle hands the inspector turned
the man on to his back, then gave a gasp of surprise, for
one of the gloved hands was still grasping, by the keen
blade, a dagger, which he had presumably pulled from a
jagged wound in his chest.
A wizened, homely, weather-beaten face, greying
beneath the tan.
As Inspector Higgins moved him the man groaned.
Higgins pulled out his whistle and placed it to his
lips—but on second thoughts refrained from blowing for
assistance. For one thing he doubted very much whether,
after the recent fiasco, the call would be answered, and
for another he didn't want the line on the foreshore once
more to be broken. No. He'd have to carry on alone.
Another groan and the man essayed to sit up in the
roadway.
"Steady, old chap. Take it easy."
As he spoke Inspector Higgins unbuttoned the man's
shirt-front, and, although the sight of the wound tended
to nauseate him, he was relieved to discover that it was
not nearly so deep as he had at first thought. Apparently
Higgins had arrived just in time to prevent another
murder. The man opened his eyes, became conscious of


2.50 P.M. 211
"Course I am."
"H'm"—doubtfully. "Sure?"
"Try me"—with a faint smile.
"Your name's Eaton, you say."
The man nodded affirmation.
"You picked up a fare this morning in your taxi out-
side Scotland Yard."
Higgins had just remembered where he had heard the
name, and, although the coincidence seemed absolutely
impossible, he felt there must be some simple explanation
of the inexplicable! This man had driven from Scotland
Yard the cool criminal who had filched the Walters papers
and who had attacked Chief-Inspector Dryan. In fact
all London was at this moment looking for the taxi and
its driver, and here he was—wounded and at
Horton! And the taxi? The thief was driving that
himself. Better make sure, though.
"Your fare wore a grey lounge suit, buttoned boots—
er "a frowning effort to remember the Chief's des-
cription—"er—blue tie with white spots—er"
"Strewth! How did you know that?" queried the
man in amazement.
"We—ahem !—know everything"—with a bland smile.
"Then where's me cab ?"—promptly.
"All in good time. It was your fare, wasn't it?"
"Sounds like him."
"Oh yes. American accent ?"—as he remembered
another attribute.
"No."
"Sure?" The Chief had suggested his accent was too
good to be true.
"Certain. He was an Englishman, I'm positive."
"I see. What happened after you picked him up?
Where did you take him?"


212 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
"To Wembley."
"What?" Surprise rather than disbelief prompted
the exclamation. Wembley of all places!
"What's wrong with Wembley? He lives there—
I've seen it in the papers."
"Who lives there?"
"Higgins of Scotland Yard."
The inspector swallowed and wiped his brow. This
was getting a little beyond him. Then he felt a rising
indignation that someone, and a crook at that, had
dared to take his name in vain.
"He told you he was Higgins, eh? And I tell you
I'm Higgins."
"Then one of you's a liar—and I think it must be the
other cove."
"Thanks"—doubtfully.
"Sorry an' all that, sir, but, coming as he did from the
Yard itself, how could I help believing him?"
"Of course. It was a bit difficult, wasn't it? Any-
how, what happened then?"
"We got to Wembley, and he paid me and told me to
hang about in a side-street with me engine running as he
might want to make a quick getaway."
"H'm. He was right that time"—grimly. Then, after
a short pause: "And you waited, I suppose?"
"O' course. Nearly a couple of hours! And I might
tell you I began to think I'd been had, and he'd bilked
me outa me fare for waiting, when another cove turns up
with a message from Inspector Higgins—I mean"—
hurriedly—"from the cove what called himself Inspector
Higgins. He gave me a handsome tip and told me to
push off to Horton wharves."
"Another man, eh? What was he like?"
"Mighty like the first chap"—with a sly wink.


214 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
and cut me. I didn't half let out a yell this time. I was
still half dopey with that clip on the head, and thought
he was butchering me. He yanked off me coat and I
grabbed the knife. Then he fired his gun, and I thought
it best to keep quiet. Then some hulking great brute fell
all over me an' nearly killed me."
"But—but I"
"So it was you, was it? When you fell over me you
did more damage with the knife than the other cove did.
Still, I suppose it was me own fault. If I hadn't grabbed
the knife I wouldn't have been holding it by the blade
and you wouldn't have done any damage, but"
A shadowy form, groping in the mist, hailed the
inspector.
"That you, sir?"
"What is it ?"—irritably.
"Hopeless trying to find the station or a telephone
box in this fog, sir. I'd better stand by him, and perhaps
you can get some help from the shore an' we'll carry him
into one o' these houses."
"No, you won't"—energetically from the victim.
"I'm safer here."
"H'm. You seem to know this place, eh? Well,
you're probably right. But I don't like you being here
without attention, and"
"I'm all right"—cheerfully. And to prove it the man
fainted. Higgins cursed himself for his questioning of
the man, but felt that he had learned quite a deal.
"Look after him, Constable. I'll get assistance from
the shore."
Inspector Higgins stumbled away in the darkness and
was quickly out of sight. That the Walters business was
mixed up with the murder at Wembley and the house at
Sungate he was already convinced, but this finding of


3-6 p.m. 219
The sudden chug-chugging of a motor from close
inshore, increasing in volume to a roar, then settling to a
steady even note.
"Th-that's the launch"—from the river policeman.
"Jerusalem! What's up? Stay here. I'll look into
this."
Inspector Higgins hurried towards the sound and
nearly tumbled headlong into the river, retaining his
balance on the very edge of a jetty by flinging his arms in
backward circles.
He cupped his hands and shouted over the water:
"Hi-eee!" Then, feeling that perhaps a more nautical
call was needed : "Ahoy!"
The police launch did not reply. What was up with
them? Surely they could hear the row he was making?
"Ahoy! Ahoy!"
Inspector Higgins started to amble along the jetty,
afraid to run in case he stumbled into the river, an
impossible suspicion surging through his brain. An
answering hail from further along the shore, but from the
river the slightly lessened sound of the engine of the launch.
Why the deuce didn't they answer?
A figure loomed out of the mist, and Higgins imme-
diately recognized him as the officer in command of the
launch.
"What's your man think he's up to ?" he bellowed to
the newcomer.
"He—he's no right to—to go off without me,"
breathlessly. "I was just going to see him. He'll get into
trouble over this."
Inspector Higgins's impossible suspicion became a
certitude.
"Ahoy, there! Ahoy!" An angry bellow from the
River Police officer.


INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
And then, from the river, a splashing close at hand.
Higgins peered into the mist. Movement just off the
shore. A bedraggled figure slowly rose from the water
and started clambering ashore. When clear of the water
the two watchers noticed that the man had discarded his
boots. He squelched through the thick black mud at the
water's edge in his stockinged feet, then climbed up the
jetty and for the first time noticed the onlookers.
He straightened up and saluted. It was the pilot of
the police launch.
"Well ?"—belligerently from the River Police officer.
"Carried him to the Daydream, presented him with the
launch, and swum back, I suppose ?"—a wealth of heavy
sarcasm in his voice.
"N—not exactly, sir. You see . . ."
"Well ?"—uncompromisingly.
"He was armed, sir."
"What of it?"
The other did not reply. It was all very well for the
boss to ask what of it, but what would the boss have done
in a similar predicament?
"What happened ?"—from Inspector Higgins, who
thought it quite time he wedged himself into the enquiry.
"There was some scrimmage ashore, and the next I
know was someone pushing a gun in me ribs and telling
me to start her up."
"You saw the gun, I suppose ?"—from the River Police
officer.
"I didn't look, sir."
"Then how do you know"
"We can't blame him"—conciliatorily from Higgins,
who wanted information, not acrimony. "Fire away."
"I—I couldn't very well help meself, sir, so I started
up the engine. He took the wheel and off we went.


3-6 P.M. 221
Someone hailed us from the shore, but he threatened to
shoot me if I answered. He wanted full speed, and"—
with a chuckle—"he's getting it."
"What do you mean?"
"I revved up to full speed.then I chucked my boots into
the ditch and—and jumped after them; I lost 'em in
the fog; and here I am."
Inspector Higgins quickly grasped the situation.
"So that, unless he knows anything about nautical
engines, he can steer but can't stop. Is that it?"
"Yessir"—eagerly.
Higgins sniggered.
"What was he like? Tall, thin, hatchet-faced cove,
dressed in black and going bald?"
"That's him—bar the bald business. He had a
hat on."
"H'm. Foxy-face right enough. But whether or
not he knows anything about motor-launch engines,
what's the worst can happen to him out there?"
"Easy, that is! Smash into a ship riding at anchor
and sink the launch, which I'm supposed to be com-
manding"—lugubriously from the officer—"and drown
himself."
"And the best?"
"Avoid all obstacles and keep on running till he hits
the sea and the petrol gives out."
"Not much chance of that in this fog, but
Listen!"
The three stood still, and the reason for the inspector's
command was obvious—the launch was returning: her
engines were appreciably louder.
"He'll never find the Daydream in this fog. What
does he think he's up to?"
The sound of the engines almost died away, then a


222 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
crescendo of noise till it seemed that the police launch must
run ashore, followed by diminuendo almost to vanishing-
point.
"She's running in circles, sir. The man's probably
lashed the wheel, keeping the rudder steady whilst he
tries to stop the engine."
"He can't do that."
"Why, sir?"
"Because if he knew how to he'd have done it before.
All he can hope for is some lucky fluke—unless he blows
himself to blazes."
Again that crescendo of sound which reached its
former maximum and then once more diminished.
"Got much petrol aboard?" queried Higgins after
the three men had stood stationary on the jetty in an
unavailing effort to pierce the gloom.
"Enough for four or five hours."
"Foxy-face ought to be nearly dizzy by then. I'll
bet he's in a blue funk. If the fog lifts, though, he can
soon pick up the Daydream and can then steer as near
as he dare alongside and jump overboard like our friend
here, leaving the boat to carry on alone, first stop China."
"And what about my launch?"
But Higgins did not answer—after all, it wasn't his
funeral! He couldn't understand why Foxy-face didn't—
literally—throw a monkey-wrench into the machinery,
but supposed the man was waiting hopefully for the fog
to lift in order to make for the Daydream. As though his
thoughts had been transmuted across the intervening
water, there was a sudden screech of protesting metal
from the direction of the runaway—then silence.
"The dirty—dog!" A wealth of expression in the
other officer's voice as he guessed at the reason. "I—I'll
get the sack over this."


3-6 p.m. 223
"I shouldn't worry about that"—rather unfeelingly.
"You'll get her back again all right. For one thing, our
friend out there is no longer a menace either to himself
or to the shipping. He'll have to sit tight till the fog
lifts."
"Unless he's already jumped overboard."
"H'm." Not so good! "He sounded in midstream—a
long way from the Daydream, and if anyone else has picked
him up we'll know soon enough. Still, we'd better punt
around for another launch or boat of some sort. We want
to be quick off the mark as soon as we can see anything
at all in case both he and the Daydream get away
Perhaps you'll look into that"—tentatively to the officer.
"Suppose I'd better." The man was still dazed over
the presumed loss and certain damage to his command.
"Good. And the best place for you, me lad"—to the
bedraggled and drenched pilot—"is the local station,
alongside a bottle o' grog. Can you find it in the dark?"
"I'll have a good try, sir."
"Right. Lead on Macduff."
"Me name's MacDougall, sir"—stolidly, setting off in
his stockinged feet with as much grace as he could muster.
"Then it was a pretty good guess, wasn't it? Lead on,
anyhow. And keep an eye open for a lamp-post sur-
rounded by a human chain—we ought to hit up against
it any moment. And Well, well, well!"
"What the blazes ..." began the other : then he too
stopped and stared in amazement.
At the top of a lamp-post, as though trying to prevent
the lamp from throwing out its feeble glow, were two
manacled figures, glaring into each other's eyes and using
the most appalling language.
Higgins listened for a moment in admiration, then
he doubled up in silent laughter.


3-45 p m. 225
"If ever I get out o' this I'll kill Pug Edmonds," said
Hefty after a long pause for breath.
"Did he get much from you?" queried the other
sympathetically.
"Me money—me watch—me passport"
"He couldn't find mine"—in a voice of thankfulness.
"He couldn't reach it."
"You're lucky. Come on."
Inspector Higgins again guessed what had happened.
Pug Edmonds, finding the two securely anchored to the
lamp-post, had improved on the shining hour and relieved
them of their valuables. . . . And one heard of honour
amongst thieves! Higgins was indignant to think that he
had indirectly been the means of presenting Pug Edmonds
with the valuables of these two men. Another black mark
against Pug Edmonds. Higgins would have to give his
undivided attention to that man when this present case
was over.
From the surrounding shadow the inspector glanced
upwards. Hefty and Baker were essaying the most difficult
part of their feat—that of getting one pair of manacled
wrists over the top of the lamp. He stared fascinated at
their contortions, and when two heartfelt sighs of relief
announced its accomplishment Higgins grimly wondered
whether the men could descend safely, for each now had
only one comparatively free hand, whilst the handcuffs
prevented them from using their other hands.
Gently and with infinite care they slid to the bottom
of the lamp-post, and, with their feet once more on terra
firma
"Thank you, gentleman. You've saved me a lot of
bother!"
Really, Higgy, that was hardly kind!
Hefty and Baker were speechless with rage for but a
P


3 45 229
a corridor seemingly composed entirely of substantial
doors each with an iron-barred judas. Their mentor was
apologetic.
"These blankety cells are always full. They oughta
enlarge the station," he continued, with complete dis-
regard of his captives' feelings. He peeped through another
judas and shook his head. Then he stopped and opened
one of the doors. An enveloping reek of alcohol swirled
out of the cell. The gaoler spat his disgust.
"Blotto !" he announced with a jerk of his thumb to
a huddled figure in the corner of the cell. "So early in the
day, too! We've sent for his father to come and bail him
out, so he won't trouble you long. He wants his inside
bailed out, too! If he gets in your way—kick him. I
shan't hear. I'd sooner have honest-to-goodness fellers
like yourselves than a soaker. Believe me, I'm sorry!
In yer go!"
The door clanged.
Baker and Hefty glanced at the huddled figure.
"He's lucky!"
The pair sank dejectedly upon a hard bench. A long
period of silence broken by drunken snores from the thing
in the corner.
At long last a whisper:
"I knew Stanmore'd make a mess of it."
"At least he's free1—which is more than we are."
"Ah, but we're safe—that's more than he is. The
Chief'11 kill him for trying to double-cross him."
"Damn good job, too. But what about us? We're
done for now. We've let down the Chief, and Stanmore's
failed us. Even if we could get out of here the Chief'd get
us. Stanmore's too smooth a talker for me; he chivvied
us into throwing over the Chief an' electing him in his
place—said the Chief was past it when he wanted to get


345 p.m. 231
"Anyhow, I'm all right."
"What d'yer mean ?''—half-snarling,the first time either
voice had been raised.
"Look here, Baker, don't try any rough stuff with me.
Not that you'd stand a dog's chance—but—I don't mind
telling you. When we got ashore off that blasted ship I
knew things had broken all wrong, so I blew the gaff."
"To the police ?"—stumbling to his feet with a look of
animal-like ferocity on his face.
"No. Sit down, man. To the Chief himself."
"What?"
"Yes. I 'phoned him up from Horton an' told him what
we'd been up to. He said he'd look into it."
"But—but you were trying to get back to the ship
with us."
"I know. If we'd got away with it, what did it matter?
The Chief would 'a' found out quick enough. I was only
getting meself in both ways."
"You dirty double-crosser!"
"Double-crosser yourself!"
A mighty smash from Hefty was neatly side-stepped
by the more agile Baker, who picked up a wooden stool
to defend himself. It crashed against the wall and
splintered, leaving a short leg, utterly useless as a weapon
either of offence or defence, in the bewildered Baker's
hand. Hefty jumped for the other and seized him by the
throat, and was proceeding to knock the man's head sys-
tematically against the stone wall, when the cell door was
flung open and a couple of brawny constables rushed in.
"Nah then! Nah then!"
The two combatants fell apart.
"Nark that, you two! Thought you was bashing 'im"
—with a jerk of his thumb to the recumbent figure in the
corner of the cell. "Which would have been a bit of 'ard


234 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
and Charlie) had their parts to play. Lofty must have
waited down the street, after cutting the telephone wires,
for his brother to return with the papers. Or he had waited
in the car with Baker until the non-appearance of his
brother led to a certain uneasiness which could only be
appeased by going to find out what had happened. Lofty
had started back to the inspector's house and had probably
seen the inspector himself framed in the doorway from
the light in the hall. He might also have seen the man
who threw the dagger at Higgins. Whatever he saw, it had
caused him to bolt, and Higgins himself had given chase.
Very clear and concise—and possibly a true reconstruc-
tion of the events.
And what of this chief? An entirely new factor.
Obviously someone to be feared. A big noise of the under-
world—yet Higgins had thought himself cognizant of all
the reputed leaders in crime. This chief was a new one
on him!
Inspector Higgins stepped back from the mirror with
a sigh of satisfaction and surveyed the tout ensemble in the
glass.
Of course, the fact that Hefty notified the chief of
the trouble at Horton explained why the man had turned
up here so opportunely. Higgins had half thought that
the man had turned up as a result of a wireless message
from the Daydream herself, but had only been partially
convinced. And Hefty had stated that he had 'phoned the
chief from Horton.
Where from?
Not from the restaurant-cum-thieves'-kitchen "Mer-
maid", for he would have been too handy to Foxy-face
and the others there. Then from where? Why, a near-by
telephone box.
And telephone calls could be traced . . . sometimes!


236 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
at the railway station here was merely a blind, or he
managed to get off the train en route. We must wait and
see."
"We can wait all right, but in this fog"
"How about the fog? Any reports coming in?"
"Fairly general for a radius of a couple of miles. It's
amazing how it hangs about Horton whilst other places
are comparatively clear, Inspector. My outposts will
warn me if it shows signs of lifting, but, as you are possibly
aware, a puff of wind"—a very expressive shrug of the
shoulders—"and the fog's gone."
"Ah, well. Let me know if anything turns up. I'm for
the shore again."
"Want an escort?"
"What, me?" Higgins laughed his fat, self-confident
laugh. "I can look after meself, thanks very much."
Inspector Higgins strutted out. Fifteen seconds
later, on looking back, he could no longer discern the blue
lamp hanging outside the police station. A couple of
minutes after that he was not at all sure that his final
remark had not been an over-statement. Either there was
a very effective echo accentuated by the fog, or he was
being followed, though how the blazes anyone could follow
another in this all-enveloping blackness was beyond the
inspector's comprehension. He quickened his footsteps
and almost collided with a pillar-box. He stopped and
listened. Not a sound. Perhaps he was mistaken. Of
course, if he were being followed the best counter-move
might be to retrace his steps and endeavour to come up
with the trailer, save that if he essayed such a move he
stood a good chance of becoming irretrievably lost.
A thought! It was perfectly obvious that whoever
was trailing him—assuming for the moment he was being
followed—was relying on the sound of his footsteps for


240 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
behind him. Before his eyes could focus on any particular
object, he received a violent push from behind. He stag-
gered, then pitched headlong through a trap-door in the
flooring before he was even conscious of the yawning
danger.
CHAPTER XXXI
4.50 P.M.
The force of the impact as Inspector Higgins struck the
water some thirty feet below that open trap-door nearly
crushed him into insensibility, though the icy plunge
helped to counteract its effects. Down and down this
seemingly bottomless pool; a brief second of suspended
animation as the impetus eased and ceased; then a gradual,
lingering, scarcely perceptible move to the surface.
Higgins struck out wildly with arms and legs. It has
often been said that a drowning man reviews the whole
of his life in the brief period between waning conscious-
ness and insensibility. Higgins was only aware of the
crushing, overwhelming weight of the water and the fact
that the flailing arms and legs were using up his little
strength to little purpose. Subconsciously, too, he knew
that he must fight against the imperative call of his
lungs for air, for, once filled with water . . . And his boots
must be leaden weighted. The pulse in his throat was
beating viciously and threatened to choke him. The
song of death was in his ears.
His waving arms encountered nothingness; his lungs
sucked in a great gulp of glorious air, a convulsive, sobbing
inhalation—the fact that the air was ninety per cent.


4-50 p.m. 243
was impossible, for whilst he was there the murder at
Wembley had been committed. Unless someone had left
early. At any rate, the man knew him.
And to think he was just thirty feet overhead!
With a start the inspector realized that he wasn't
doing much to prevent the man leaving by clinging to
this smelly pillar! Not that he could do much—and to
yell for help would undoubtedly apprise the man up
above that he was still in the land of the living.
The inspector's fingers felt numbed with the cold
—he knew he could not hang on much longer. Was it
possible to climb up the pillar in an endeavour to reach
the trap-door? The man surely had left by now! He
had admitted he had no time to force Higgins to speak,
therefore he was in some semblance of a hurry to find
Stanmore. He must have left that room!
Gripping the pile with his knees, the inspector eased
himself out of the water. A few more feet and he felt a
lateral support, upon which he seated himself with heart-
felt relief.
Footsteps overhead! Jerusalem! The man was still
there!
Then a yellow lumination above through which the
fog swirled and eddied. A dull patch at one corner of the
rectangle ; then a stab of flame.
A clam, two inches from the inspector's head, was
dislodged. Higgins dived once more into the river below
and struck out from the shore, painfully conscious that
each movement made a faint iridescence (which might
or might not be obscured by the fog), and, despite his care,
a noise like a cataract. Also, with the handicap of clothes,
to all intents and purposes he might be a novice instead of
a fairly strong swimmer.
No further shot—that was something, anyhow!


4-50 p.m. 245
he was flung downwards in the well of the boat and
someone sat on his chest.
"Give us a light here," a voice, again faintly re-
miniscent, demanded.
The ray of a torch illuminated for one brief instant the
inspector's bedraggled countenance ; then it was turned
away and the man sitting on his chest emitted a gasp of
surprise.
"Holy hell! If it ain't Higgins!"
The man eased himself off Higgins's chest and the
inspector essayed to rise.
"Take it easy, sir," counselled his rescuer. "It's all
right!"
The inspector peered at the man, then cursed with a
fluency which Hefty and Baker whilst up the lamp-post
might well have envied.
It was the officer in charge of the River Police.
Inspector Higgins suddenly stopped his harangue,
coughed apologetically and smiled. After all, he had
been rescued, and his lurid language was a pretty poor
return for service rendered.
"What's the big idea ?" he demanded, after a short
period during which the two police officers adjusted their
mental outlooks.
"We were looking for the launch, Inspector, and mis-
took you for that swine Stanmore. Sorry an' all that,
but—how did you get into the ditch?"
"Make for the shore, will you, please? There's an abut-
ting jetty or wharf or something close by, an' I'm anxious
to interview the occupant."
"I know the place. Belongs to Wily Wentworth, I
believe, but it's empty now."
"Maybe, but it certainly wasn't a few minutes back.
I see you found another boat all right."
■


246 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
"Yes"—lugubriously. "But I could have done with
another motor-boat. This is much too slow for me—and
I'm cussed if we can find my launch. If Stanmore has sunk
it, my job's phut !"—an expressive upward flinging of his
arms. "But you're wet, sir"
"Go hon !"—unpardonably.
The river officer flushed, but the fog hid his face. Had
Higgins seen it, he would have apologized; as it was, he
sensed a strain.
"Cheer up," he admonished in half apology. "Got any
spare clobber?"
"In a borrowed boat?"
Higgins grinned. "Now we're quits," he said—and the
other laughed.
"As a matter of fact, there does happen to be a spare
suit of overalls in the bottom of the boat, but they're
in a pretty foul condition. Oily and what not! But"
The keel of the boat crunched on the river bed, and the
men shipped oars. The man in the bow jumped out and
hauled at the painter.
"Now what?"
"Get after that overhanging room and arrest any
occupant. Mind, he's armed, so look out! I'll look after
this boat and change into this overall. At least it's dry!
Whilst you're there you might borrow any surplus gear
from your men—I could do with it. Cheerio!"
As the men faded into the mist the inspector eyed the
greasy suit of overalls with distaste. Better than nothing,
certainly, but only just! He shivered as he disrobed.
His luck had been such that he was firmly convinced that
the moment he had removed every stitch of his saturated
clothing the fog would lift and leave him covered with
little save embarrassment! Two suits in less than a day!
Useful going, that! His luck turned, inasmuch as he donned


5-30 p.m. 249
He felt rather out of it doing nothing but steer, yet he
knew that these men could wield the oars to better purpose
than he could himself, for it was knack rather than
strength which counted. It was galling all the same, and
their rate of progress was woefully slow.
Still the anchor cable clanked through the hawse-pipe.
"They're taking their time over weighing anchor,"
observed the stroke oar judicially.
"Trying not to make a noise, I expect," responded
his companion.
"What a hope!"
"Don't gas so much"—querulously from the officer in
charge, who was finding the unaccustomed exercise rather
heavy going. "Save your breath for rowing."
Again the inspector grinned in the darkness. The
officer's instructions were a bit mixed, yet the intent was
sound.
For himself, Higgins was mighty glad that Rufus
Reilly was taking such a time weighing his anchor, for
the sound provided a necessary direction, which a light
could not have done. He wondered why Reilly, after wait-
ing so long, was at last giving up. Perhaps he had been
thinking things over and decided the light wasn't worth
the candle—that it were better to sneak out whilst the
going was good—if such hazardous going could be termed
good! Or—Jerusalem !—perhaps Foxy-face Stanmore
had managed to get aboard and had told Reilly of the
fate of his three satellites!
"Put a jerk in it," encouraged Higgins from his seat
in the stern as this thought crossed his mind. Of course,
that was it! That must be it! And now he looked like
losing both Stanmore and Reilly! The rattling cable
sounded very near.
Much straining and grunting in an endeavour to


252 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
Higgins scratched his head speculatively at the thought.
He remembered his own idea that the flukes of the anchor
might make a most effective hiding-place. H'm. Yet
the anchor had only just been raised. Still, there had been
plenty of time for Stanmore to clamber over the bows.
Well, well, well!
Higgins grinned to himself and beckoned with crooked
forefinger the officer in charge of the River Police.
"Come alonga me," he invited. "I've had a brain-
wave."
With an air of profound mystery he led the officer
forrard, but was chagrined to note that Reilly followed in
his wake. Arrived at the bow, he gazed through the hawse-
pipe, but could see nothing. He then stepped to the edge
and peered over. He could make out the shape of the
anchor itself—but what was that clinging to the stock of
the anchor?
As though in answer to his question, there was the
merest suggestion of a breeze and the mist began to roll
away. Higgins stared with unbelieving eyes.
Attached to the anchor by a steel hawser were three
tin boxes!
No wonder the anchor had been weighed so slowly and
with such apparent care ! No wonder their previous search
(whilst the ship had been riding at anchor) had been so
unsuccessful.
Higgins grinned delightedly. This might prove better
than Foxy-face. He turned to Rufus Reilly and surprised
a look of malignant hate on the man's face.
"Do you think a couple of your crew could give me
a hand with these boxes ?" he enquired.
"I thought you wanted neither help nor hindrance?"
countered Reilly.
"I've changed me mind."


5-30 p.m. 255
You'll find under one of the seats a fairly damp pair of
trousers. In the left-hand pocket is a bunch of keys.
Bring 'em along, will you, please."
Fancy forgetting those keys! He'd left them in the
remains of the suit he had discarded before donning these
overalls! The bunch found on the murdered man! If
his theories were correct, then one of those keys should
open this box—presuming it was now capable of being
opened! If any key fitted, then many things would be
proved. For one thing, it would prove that the late Charlie
Younger had been pretty high up in the gang itself, besides
proving his connection with the gang (for, although Higgins
was certain of this, he had no real proof); and it would
help to prove what he had heard Hefty and Baker dis-
cussing whilst in his role of drunken prisoner.
The officer returned.
"They've gone, sir," he said breathlessly.
"Oh!" So the mysterious chief had taken them
whilst Higgins had been semi-conscious as a result of
that blow with the sandbag. H'm.
"Here you are, Reilly. Carry on."
Rufus Reilly grinned as he accepted the proffered
iron bar.
A huge, disproportionate ball of fire London-wards
denoted the sun slowly penetrating the vanishing
mist, and the waters of the river had a lurid glow.
Inspector Higgins, hands in the pockets of his borrowed
jacket, cynically watched Rufus Reilly's efforts to wrench
off the lid of the box.
"Stick it, Rufus! Don't let it beat you!"
Reilly attacked with renewed vigour. A grunt of
satisfaction and the lid was wrenched off. Then Reilly
jumped back with a gasp.
Eagerly the inspector stepped forward.


6.10 p.m. 257
Another blind rush from Reilly which Higgins side-
stepped. He lunged and caught the man a glancing
blow, and nearly overbalanced in the process. The deck
was slippery as a result of the recent fog, and the heavy
sea-boots were not conducive to fancy footwork.
Where the blazes was his police-whistle? At the
bottom of the rowing-boat alongside, of course! Hell!
Higgins smashed out with his left and had the huge
satisfaction of connecting with Reilly's ear. The man
staggered backwards, tripped over the tin box, scattering
jewels right and left, and quickly jumped up and
scampered out of reach. Unfortunately he still retained
his grip of the iron bar.
The inspector had a brief respite. A confused heap
a couple of yards away indicated where the other officer
was getting the worst of his argument with the two
seamen. Higgins jumped to his aid. He struck with all
the force at his command, yet with a faint regret that he
was attacking from behind, and the topmost man slithered
a few feet along the deck and lay supine on his face.
There was no time for more, for Reilly, grasping the
iron bar in his enormous hand and with a long-bladed
knife in the other, was advancing at a crouch. Higgins
wondered why the man did not use the gun which he
knew him to possess, and immediately guessed the
reason.
The sound of a shot would attract attention from the
shore, and Reilly couldn't afford this. He could not
escape with the priceless booty unless he sneaked away.
Once the police aboard were overpowered he could
steam a little way down the river and then abandon ship
with the loot.
That being the case:
"Hi-yi-hi-yi!"


260 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
"Go below and get my binoculars," commanded
Reilly. "I'll attend to the wheel." The man looked at
his captain in blank surprise—such procedure was
absolutely unheard-of! Then he stepped towards the
companionway. Higgins ducked behind the canvas
weather-strip—the seaman might or might not descend
backwards. He grinned at the thought of Reilly's orders.
With, as Reilly thought, Inspector Higgins waiting with
an iron bar conveniently to hand at the foot of the
companionway, his helmsman was in for the shock of his
life should he be mistaken for Reilly himself.
Inspector Higgins essayed another peep.
There was Reilly, gun in hand, waiting for Higgins
to attack the unsuspecting helmsman.
Really, it was too easy. Higgins swung himself over
the rail and advanced cautiously, but not noiselessly—it
was the sea-boots which let him down. Reilly turned,
with a look of blank amazement on his face. Higgins
caught him full on the point of the jaw. He staggered
backwards, clasped despairingly with his sound arm at
the rail, then toppled backwards down the companionway.
He would have broken his neck but for the fact that half-
way up the iron ladder was a bewildered helmsman
carrying a pair of binoculars. The pair collapsed into a
heap at the bottom, and lay still.
Higgins gazed round the deserted bridge. How the
deuce did one either steer or stop a ship? He had a
vague idea that to steer a ship to the right one turned
the wheel to the left, or something like that! A bit too
confused for his way of thinking. But to stop it?
Ah, yes. A sort of clock face with speeds ahead and
astern marked thereon, and a handle at the top. He pulled
the handle till the pointer indicated "Stop" and awaited
events. Nothing happened, save the tinkling of a bell


262 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
It was ironical that Reilly, through greediness, had caused
his own downfall. For it was fairly obvious that this man
had been sent (or had acted on his own initiative) to pen
the stokers and engine-room staff below, in order that
there should be a bigger share-out of the jewels above,
and had thus prevented any rescue. Very, very satis-
fying.
"Hi, you!" bellowed Higgins to the men imprisoned
below. "You'd better stop the engines unless you want
to go to Kingdom Come!"
A voice indicated that the inspector could go in the
other direction! However, someone below showed more
sense of their danger, for with a sigh the engines ceased
their throbbing.
"Where's the other two ?" queried Higgins. "These
are safer where they are."
"Blowed if I know. Gosh Almighty, sir, but here's
some more."
Inspector Higgins turned quickly, to see a burly
figure climbing laboriously over the rail. One glance
was sufficient—he beamed a welcome. It was Chief-
Inspector Dryan of Scotland Yard with a score of men at
his heels.
"Hallo, Higgy. Having a spot o' bother?"
"I think it's been amicably settled, sir"—diffidently.
"How did you come aboard?"
"Walked"—sarcastically. His relief at finding the
inspector apparently unharmed showed itself in his
shortness of temper. "The chaps ashore saw there was
trouble here and one of 'em 'phoned the station. I
happened to be there with the super, so I came along,
with a couple o' dozen helpers. We commandeered three
boats and . . . Good garden gravel, Higgy! Been
robbing a pawnshop?"


7 p.m. 267
leaving their launch untended in midstream—a menace
to navigation?"
With these words floating across the intervening
space, the River Police officer came to life, and he rushed
to the rail, his eyes scanning the river for some sign of his
lost command.
"Where is she? Is she all right ?" he shouted.
"All right? She's all wrong, if you ask me. Haw,
haw, haw! Your engines might fetch a dollar as
scrap-iron."
The officer blenched—Higgins felt a mild compassion.
After all, he was indirectly responsible.
"Would you mind sending her across?" he called
placatingly.
"Righto!"
They watched the motor-boat lowered from the
destroyer, and within five minutes the police launch was
towed alongside. The cheery first lieutenant was in
charge of the convoy.
It was unfortunate that he should discover at the
bottom of the rowing-boat, already alongside the vessel,
the bedraggled remains of his best suit. He stared
unbelievingly for a second, but refrained from comment
—he remembered the Navy's motto to remain "cool,
calm and collected" in any emergency! The River Police
officer, with a curt word of thanks to the naval officer,
jumped into the towed launch and immediately raised
his hands to heaven when he saw the extent of the
damage to her engines. Then he threw a glance upward
towards the group of prisoners, and if Foxy-face Stanmore's
spine did not bristle it ought to have done.
"What about getting your prisoners ashore ?" queried
Chief-Inspector Dryan.
"I was just thinking about that, sir. I'm not at all


7 p.m. 269
three boats had been got in readiness, and he walked
towards his batch of prisoners. He was pleased to note
that one of the constables had made a rough sling for
Rufus Reilly's damaged arm, and also that the unfor-
tunate helmsman had been given attention. The two
seaman who had taken part in the fight on deck had
certainly recovered, but each looked pretty groggy.
Stanmore alone was in real sorry plight as a result of his
enforced swim, and, as he could only blame himself, there
was an element of poetic justice about his condition.
And then all eyes were turned shoreward, for from
the town of Horton came the deep buzzing sound of a
police whistle. A second's pause, and then it was taken
up and repeated from different parts of the town.
The local policemen stood like hounds at the leash,
and a vague unrest seemed to permeate the batch of
prisoners. With the former, there appeared to be an
air of expectancy over and above that general tenseness
which affects policemen on hearing the recognized call
for aid. Inspector Higgins himself, though not imbued
with any local spirit, could yet feel . . .
And then it came.
Along drawn-out wail from a siren in the middle of the
town, like that of a factory hooter. Immediately there was
a stampede for the boats. For one brief instant Higgins
stared in amazement, then at last he found his voice.
"Hi I Hi! What's the big idea?"
The rush was stemmed, and the local police stared at
him in wonderment.
"General call, sir," volunteered one of the men.
"Must be a riot or something in town."
"What of it? Your job's here. Six of you stay behind
to look after the gang here. Chief Dryan, will you take
charge here ("


9-30 p.m. 273
Not so good I
And then slowly it dawned on his consciousness
that the police were fighting a losing battle. The
realization caused a slackening of his efforts. A burly
ruffian, seizing his advantage, lashed out with a beer-
bottle, and Inspector Higgins slowly sank amongst a
forest of weltering feet. Even now he was not done, for
he laid hold of the couple nearest to him and they all fell
to the ground together. A milling mob which suddenly
disintegrated, and Higgins found himself sitting on the
kerb and the crowd scattering in all directions.
He blinked. Extraordinary!
And then a crowd of about fifty bluejackets charged
upon the scene, with the burly first lieutenant well in
the van.
CHAPTER XXXV
9.30 P.M.
Inspector Higgins staggered to his feet and pointed
to the crowd still surging round Hefty and Baker. He
could not raise another gallop—having had enough
running for one day.
"Grab 'em all !" he roared.
The crowd turned to fight, but, in the face of that
advancing horde of sailors, changed its mind and fled,
whilst the bluejackets cheered and charged in pursuit.
Inspector Higgins passed a weary hand over his brow
and slowly crossed the threshold of the police station.
The place was a shambles. The charge-room, so neat and
tidy ordinarily, was in a state of the utmost confusion.
Unconscious across his desk was the unthinking sergeant
S


274 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
who had asked Higgins what charge should be recorded
against the names of Hefty and Baker in the charge-
sheet. On the floor, nursing broken heads, were a couple
of tough-looking customers who, probably for the first
time in their lives, had willingly and without invitation
entered a police station. In the adjacent room was the
superintendent, holding in his hand a broken piece of
chain, at which he stared unblinkingly. He looked up
as Higgins entered.
"It must have broke !" he said.
"What?"
"This chain. You see, when I pull the chain it blows
the steam siren—I must have pulled too hard, and ..."
The chain fell from his fingers and he slipped to the
floor. Higgins hurried to his side. "Concussion! Poor
devil." He shook his head in commiseration. "Better
'phone for some doctors. They'll be needed," he
muttered.
But the wires of the telephone instrument had been
wrenched from the wall. On the superintendent's desk
was a note to the effect that the telephone service
had no record of the calls emanating from the box
near the "Mermaid". And the corridor to the cells
was carpeted with casualties. Higgins daintily picked
his way to the cell which had housed Hefty and Baker.
It had been opened with a key, yet no attempt had been
made to open the other cells, through the judases of which
the unfortunate inmates stared with fear-stricken eyes.
It was obvious that the gaoler had been forced somehow
to release his charges.
Although Inspector Higgins had been convinced ever
since he first caught sight of the released Hefty and
Baker that they supplied the sole reason for the attack
on the police station, yet the fact that none other had been


9 3° P M- 277
The remaining men looked at one another in bewilder-
ment for a brief second, then there was a wild dash from
the scene. Higgins grinned as they vanished out of
sight. He turned to the first lieutenant of H.M.S.
Throstle and extended his hand.
"Many thanks, old chap. You arrived in the nick of
time. But—er—ahem !—the—er—red tape?"
"Cut !"—laconically.
"How?"
"I gave the starboard watch a couple of hours—er—
shore leave, and came myself, as I wanted to stretch me
legs."
"Great! When you're an admiral I'll get you to sign
my autograph album."
The first lieutenant grinned, then turned to his men.
He pulled out his watch.
"The pubs close in half an hour. Dis-miss!"
There was another wild dash from the scene.
"What about a spot yourself, inspector? There's
bags of time really. I hurried 'em on in case the
authorities spotted us"—sardonically.
"Thanks very much, but—er—that suit."
"Forget it. The fun's been worth it."
"And I've no money either."
"Forget that too. I've a couple o' quid: that should
see us through."
The immediate arrival of police reinforcements and
three ambulances relieved Higgins of further responsibility
and worry. Some more than usually civic-minded citizen
of Horton must have telephoned the next police station.
Possibly it was that shopkeeper from whom the tin
boxes had been stolen!
Within an hour Chief-Inspector Dryan had been
relieved of his duties abroad the Daydream and his


278 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
prisoners transferred to the local police with some very
definite instructions as to their safe custody. The
remaining box had been forced and its contents—delicate
tools for diamond cutting, jewel setting and the like—
revealed. Dryan positively identified some of the jewels
in the other box as belonging to what was known as the
Walters haul.
Then Dryan and Higgins, in a hired car, returned to
Town, parting at the Wembley High Road.
"Congrats, Higgy. A good clean-up. Hefty and
Baker in the cooler at Horton, Robinson at Sungate,
Stanmore at the Horton sub-station, Lofty Younger at
the Yard, and Charlie Younger in the mortuary. There's
the 'six of us' according to Hefty when we were at
Sungate! Very, very satisfying."
"And the king-pin of all goes free."
"Oh, we'll get him right enough. Sure you don't
mind me leaving you here? Right! Night-night!"
Inspector Higgins watched the hired car slip away in
the darkness, and then began homeward to plod his
weary way, painfully self-conscious at his peculiar attire.
Sea-boots at Wembley were incongruous enough, but a
pair of woolly overalls and borrowed sweater and jacket!
Higgins shuddered.
Fortunately for his own peace of mind he didn't meet
a soul until he turned into his own road, and there, in
the distance, he recognized the slim form of his wife,
leading—leading a Shetland pony? No! Cussed if it
wasn't that dog!
"Hallo, Higgy dear!" Then she tittered: "Yoxxdo
look funny!" Higgins scowled whilst he tried to escape
the dog's eager embrace. "Poor Bruce! I'm taking him
out for a run. He's been very, very badly treated, Higgy.
Cuts and scars all over. The brutes! And he's such a


9 30 p.m. 279
friendly soul, Higgy. I'm sure you'll enjoy taking him
for runs at nights."
"I'll—what?" said Inspector Higgins, scandalized,
as a long vista of endless evening walks stretched before
him. "What he wants is a good kick in the slats to teach
him manners and ..."
"He's had a good many already, Higgy"—quietly.
Higgins grinned. "Sorry, Bruce." He scratched the
animal's head, and it licked his hand for more. Then of
a sudden it bristled, growled and bared its teeth.
Walking towards them with stereotyped measured
tread was a uniformed constable. Higgins visualized
a series of troubles if the brute was afflicted with an
aversion to anyone in uniform—a form of antipathy from
which many dogs suffer. He took a turn in the lead
attached to the dog's new collar and braced his feet.
"Good evening, sir."
It was Constable Thomson.
"Good evening."
"Back on the old beat, sir. I wonder if you'll support
my application for extra pay for my journey to Sungate
last night, sir?"
"Of course. Of course. I'll see you get your
deserts."
"Thank you, sir. Good night. Good night, madam."
With a gracious patting of Bruce's snarling head and a
smart salute, he strolled away. Inspector Higgins stared
speculatively after the retreating figure.
Thomson? Thomson? Yet when Constable Thomson
had visited that house at Sungate Bruce here had been
at large in the grounds of the house. True, the man was
then in civvies, but the dog had not only not attacked him,
but had made no noise. Why not, if the dog was so
antipathetic to the man? There was only one answer


10.30 p.m. 283
the felled tree left a clear line of sight from the window
to his own front door!
Such foresight! Charles Younger had been killed
with this very weapon. Yet why had he been killed?
Either in mistake for Higgins himself, or Brewster had
recognized him, realized that his appearance on Higgins's
doorstep was tantamount to a confession of a double-
cross, and had slain him for the traitor he was.
Then what had happened? Higgins had come along
with the secretary of the Society of Writers and had
discovered the body. Then Constable Thomson had
arrived on the scene, and Higgins had sent him over here
to 'phone—and he had 'phoned from here!
Brewster must have awaited his opportunity to search
Higgins's house for the Waiters file. He had fired another
dagger at Higgins with the object of getting him out of
the way. He had missed, and had then hit on the idea
of luring away the police by the sound of running footsteps.
Constable Thomson had chased and lost him whilst
Higgins himself was chasing the others to the car.
Brewster had been unable to make any search until
much later in the night, but he had made it. What
was it either Baker or Hefty had said at Horton police
station? "He tries to make too sure—that's what's
his trouble."
And then on a sideboard the inspector caught the
reflection, on a piece of glass, of the street lamp. It dis-
tracted his attention, and he felt his thoughts wandering.
He crossed the room—then he smiled a crooked smile
of satisfaction. The piece of glass was a photographic
plate, and alongside the plate was a print. There was
the local street of purely local interest, there was the
well-dressed benevolent old gentleman from whom
Walters was supposed to have stolen the watch—that


284 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
gentleman whom the police now knew to be exactly
what he seemed—and there, in the middle distance,
v wonderfully clear-cut, was Mr. Brewster himself.
Why hadn't he seen the likeness before? Of course, this
plate and photograph had been hidden in the file and
Higgins hadn't given any thought to the other photos
in the scene. And Brewster was a comparative newcomer
to the district.
Inspector Higgins made many mental excuses for
himself—but was not satisfied.
And where was Brewster now? Higgins grinned
sardonically. Brewster made too sure, did he? Then
why hadn't he shot Higgins a few moments back when he
had been walking towards his house? Obviously he had
thought the inspector to be a floating corpse near
Horton.
Yet if he had taken any personal part in the abortive
attempt to rescue Hefty and Baker from Horton police
station he must have seen Inspector Higgins when he
arrived on the scene. Then why hadn't he done anything
in the matter, if he made so sure? Had he lost his nerve?
From his recollection of the man in that overhanging
room at Horton Higgins could not accept the suggestion.
Then what?
A thought—and Inspector Higgins nodded grimly.
That was it! His bizarre costume had proved an effective
disguise I Brewster, waiting for a certainty, had been
fooled—unless he was waiting somewhere where he could
not be fooled—unless he was waiting in the inspector's
own house! And—and—at any moment Muriel and
Constable Thomson might stumble upon him.
Higgins clattered down the stairs to the back door,
gave a quick sigh of relief as his hasty glance down the
street proved that Muriel had not yet returned, then,


10.30 p.m. 285
avoiding the street lamp, crossed the road and crept
furtively up to his gate. This was a chance he was
compelled to take. He vaulted the gate and was beneath
the shelter of the porch in a second. There he stood and
mopped his brow, for he had miscalculated the weight
of the sea-boots and had almost stumbled when vaulting.
And then his heart gave a bound, for someone was
creeping from the back of the house—he could hear the
footsteps. Then he blew out his cheeks in thankfulness
as the footsteps "materialized" into Bruce the mastiff.
The dog, usually so affectionate, completely ignored him
and started sniffing at the crack between the front door
and the jamb.
A whimper of excitement, a growl of menace, then
Bruce like a caged tiger took half-turns left and right in
front of the closed door.
"You owe him something, don't you, Bruce boy?"
muttered Higgins. "An" so do I. I've got a wife to think
of, but your many offspring don't even know you, an'
won't miss you. I'll let you in and you can take your
chance. Oh, blast!"
Higgins realized he had no door-key.
"Come on, boy."
Round to the back. If Muriel had followed her usual
practice the back door would not be locked, or, if locked,
he knew where to find the key—and if he couldn't, then
he would break in ... it would be an experience to
break into his own house. . . .
It was not locked! With infinite care he turned the
handle—then his attempt at silence was set at naught,
for with a snarl of fury Bruce squirmed past him and
dashed into the house.
Inspector Higgins had already decided that the
mysterious chief would be at the front of the house,


286 INSPECTOR HIGGINS HURRIES
so that he could watch the street. He might have seen
the inspector entering his own house, but, not recognizing
him in his bizarre outfit, might have assumed him to be
a humble back-door sneak-thief. Yet why hadn't he
seen Higgins when he had crossed the road and vaulted
the gate? Because he was at the back? Or hiding in a
cupboard? Or . . .
The snarling Bruce dashed straight up the stairs—
thus removing any need for further speculation.
A cry of alarm from upstairs and the hasty slamming
of a door.
Brewster was there right enough! What a nerve the
man had to wait with murder in his heart for Higgins
to return home! That he had a certain nerve was proved
by his audacious attack on Chief-Inspector Dryan at
Scotland Yard. But he must now be past caring what the
outcome might be, and thus was the more dangerous!
Quietly the inspector mounted the stairs, confident
that Bruce could keep the man engaged until he himself
could attack with a reasonable chance of success.
What weapon would the man have? Not a gun, or
he would surely have used it by now! Then a knife!
He seemed to have a preference for knives—that attack
on the taxi-driver, Eaton. Eaton ought to be able to
identify him when the time came—if it came!
A snarl which changed to a whelp of pain. The back
room.
Higgins flung open the door.
Penned into the further corner, held at bay by a
growling Bruce, was the dim figure of a man. Inspector
Higgins deflected the light switch. Nothing happened.
So the wires had been tampered with. Quick worker, this
Brewster. Must have waited till Muriel went out with
the dog. . . .


10.30 p.m. 287
A savage kick at the dog which hurtled it against the
wall, and the man charged at Higgins, who, weaponless,
skipped aside, and in skipping tripped over a footstool.
Quick to seize the advantage, Brewster leapt at his fallen
adversary with upraised knife, but the dog, with bared
fangs, jumped to meet him. Brewster dashed from
the room with the mastiff at his heels.
Inspector Higgins jumped to his feet and followed.
Barred from the stairs by the dog, Brewster ran into
the front room and tried to slam the door, but Brace's
sturdy form intervened.
Again Higgins followed, and again almost automatically
he deflected the light switch. This time the room was
flooded with light. Brewster must only have removed
the bulb from the other room. At bay against the window
was Brewster, a look of bestial hate upon his features,
a dripping knife in his hand. A yard away, half-cringing,
half-defiant, crouched as though to spring, with a slashed
shoulder, was the mastiff.
Inspector Higgins turned and locked the door, hurling
the key past Brewster's head through the window. That
was another window gone, but this one he would have to
pay for! And the tinkling smash should warn Muriel
and Constable Thomson that there was trouble
brewing.
"Now, Brewster, I've got you where I want you!"
"You think so, eh?" The man was obviously past
caring what happened to him. The snarling dog had
sapped his morale. He hurled the knife at Higgins, and
it struck the wall more than a yard away; then he turned
to the window. The moment he took his eyes from the
dog's the animal jumped at his throat. Such was the
impetus that there was a smashing of glass and a splinter-
ing of wood. The whole framework of the window bulged