Read Chronicles of Martin Hewitt Page 6


  THE CASE OF THE LOST FOREIGNER.

  I have already said in more than one place that Hewitt's personalrelations with the members of the London police force were of a cordialcharacter. In the course of his work it has frequently been Hewitt's hapto learn of matters on which the police were glad of information, andthat information was always passed on at once; and so long as noinfringement of regulations or damage to public service were involved,Hewitt could always rely on a return in kind.

  It was with a message of a useful sort that Hewitt one day dropped intoVine Street police-station and asked for a particular inspector, who wasnot in. Hewitt sat and wrote a note, and by way of making conversationsaid to the inspector on duty, "Anything very startling this wayto-day?"

  "Nothing _very_ startling, perhaps, as yet," the inspector replied. "Butone of our chaps picked up rather an odd customer a little while ago.Lunatic of some sort, I should think--in fact, I've sent for the doctorto see him. He's a foreigner--a Frenchman, I believe. He seemed horriblyweak and faint; but the oddest thing occurred when one of the men,thinking he might be hungry, brought in some bread. He went into fits ofterror at the sight of it, and wouldn't be pacified till they took itaway again."

  "That was strange."

  "Odd, wasn't it? And he _was_ hungry too. They brought him some more alittle while after, and he didn't funk it a bit,--pitched into it, infact, like anything, and ate it all with some cold beef. It's the waywith some lunatics--never the same five minutes together. He keepscrying like a baby, and saying things we can't understand. As ithappens, there's nobody in just now who speaks French."

  "I speak French," Hewitt replied. "Shall I try him?"

  "Certainly, if you will. He's in the men's room below. They've beenmaking him as comfortable as possible by the fire until the doctorcomes. He's a long time. I expect he's got a case on."

  Hewitt found his way to the large mess-room, where three or fourpolicemen in their shirt-sleeves were curiously regarding a young man ofvery disordered appearance who sat on a chair by the fire. He was pale,and exhibited marks of bruises on his face, while over one eye was ascarcely healed cut. His figure was small and slight, his coat was torn,and he sat with a certain indefinite air of shivering suffering. Hestarted and looked round apprehensively as Hewitt entered. Hewitt bowedsmilingly, wished him good-day, speaking in French, and asked him if hespoke the language.

  The man looked up with a dull expression, and after an effort or two, asof one who stutters, burst out with, "_Je le nie!_"

  "That's strange," Hewitt observed to the men. "I ask him if he speaksFrench, and he says he denies it--speaking _in_ French."

  "He's been saying that very often, sir," one of the men answered, "aswell as other things we can't make anything of."

  Hewitt placed his hand kindly on the man's shoulder and asked his name.The reply was for a little while an inarticulate gurgle, presentlymerging into a meaningless medley of words and syllables--"_Qu'est cequ'_--_il n'a_--Leystar Squarr--_sacre nom_--not spik it--_quelchemin_--sank you ver' mosh--_je le nie! je le nie!_" He paused, stared,and then, as though realizing his helplessness, he burst into tears.

  "He's been a-cryin' two or three times," said the man who had spokenbefore. "He was a-cryin' when we found him."

  Several more attempts Hewitt made to communicate with the man, butthough he seemed to comprehend what was meant, he replied with nothingbut meaningless gibber, and finally gave up the attempt, and, leaningagainst the side of the fireplace, buried his head in the bend of hisarm.

  Then the doctor arrived and made _his_ examination. While it was inprogress Hewitt took aside the policeman who had been speaking beforeand questioned him further. He had himself found the Frenchman in a dullback street by Golden Square, where the man was standing helpless andtrembling, apparently quite bewildered and very weak. He had brought himin, without having been able to learn anything about him. One or twoshopkeepers in the street where he was found were asked, but knewnothing of him--indeed, had never seen him before.

  "But the curiousest thing," the policeman proceeded, "was in this 'ereroom, when I brought him a loaf to give him a bit of a snack, seein' helooked so weak an' 'ungry. You'd 'a thought we was a-goin' to poison'im. He fair screamed at the very sight o' the bread, an' he scrougedhisself up in that corner an' put his hands in front of his face. Icouldn't make out what was up at first--didn't tumble to it's bein' thebread he was frightened of, seein' as he looked like a man as 'ud befrightened at anything else afore _that_. But the nearer I came with itthe more he yelled, so I took it away an' left it outside, an' then hecalmed down. An' s'elp me, when I cut some bits off that there very loafan' brought 'em in, with a bit o' beef, he just went for 'em like oneo'clock. _He_ wasn't frightened o' no bread then, you bet. Rum thing,how the fancies takes 'em when they're a bit touched, ain't it? All oneway one minute, all the other the next."

  "Yes, it is. By the way, have you another uncut loaf in the place?"

  "Yes, sir. Half a dozen if you like."

  "One will be enough. I am going over to speak to the doctor. Wait awhileuntil he seems very quiet and fairly comfortable; then bring a loaf inquietly and put it on the table, not far from his elbow. Don't attracthis attention to what you are doing."

  The doctor stood looking thoughtfully down on the Frenchman, who, forhis part, stared gloomily, but tranquilly, at the fireplace. Hewittstepped quietly over to the doctor and, without disturbing the man bythe fire, said interrogatively, "Aphasia?"

  The doctor tightened his lips, frowned, and nodded significantly."Motor," he murmured, just loudly enough for Hewitt to hear; "andthere's a general nervous break-down as well, I should say. By the way,perhaps there's no agraphia. Have you tried him with pen and paper?"

  Pen and paper were brought and set before the man. He was told, slowlyand distinctly, that he was among friends, whose only object was torestore him to his proper health. Would he write his name and address,and any other information he might care to give about himself, on thepaper before him?

  The Frenchman took the pen and stared at the paper; then slowly, andwith much hesitation, he traced these marks:--

  The man paused after the last of these futile characters, and his penstabbed into the paper with a blot, as he dazedly regarded his work.Then with a groan he dropped it, and his face sank again into the bendof his arm.

  The doctor took the paper and handed it to Hewitt. "Complete agraphia,you see," he said. "He can't write a word. He begins to write 'Monsieur'from sheer habit in beginning letters thus; but the word tails off intoa scrawl. Then his attempts become mere scribble, with just a trace ofsome familiar word here and there--but quite meaningless all."

  Although he had never before chanced to come across a case of aphasia(happily a rare disease), Hewitt was acquainted with its general nature.He knew that it might arise either from some physical injury to thebrain, or from a break-down consequent on some terrible nervous strain.He knew that in the case of motor aphasia the sufferer, though fullyconscious of all that goes on about him, and though quite understandingwhat is said to him is entirely powerless to put his own thoughts intospoken words--has lost, in fact, the connection between words and theirspoken symbols. Also that in most bad cases agraphia--the loss ofability to write words with any reference to their meaning--is commonlyan accompaniment.

  "You will have him taken to the infirmary, I suppose?" Hewitt asked.

  "Yes," the doctor replied. "I shall go and see about it at once."

  The man looked up again as they spoke. The policeman had, in accordancewith Hewitt's request, placed a loaf of bread on the table near him, andnow as he looked up he caught sight of it. He started visibly and paled,but gave no such signs of abject terror as the policeman had previouslyobserved. He appeared nervous and uneasy, however, and presently reachedstealthily toward the loaf. Hewitt continued to talk to the doctor,while closely watching the Frenchman's behaviour from the corner of hiseye.

  The loaf was what is called a "plain cottage," of sol
id and regularshape. The man reached it and immediately turned it bottom up on thetable. Then he sank back in his chair with a more contented expression,though his gaze was still directed toward the loaf. The policemangrinned silently at this curious manoeuvre.

  The doctor left, and Hewitt accompanied him to the door of the room. "Hewill not be moved just yet, I take it?" Hewitt asked as they parted.

  "It may take an hour or two," the doctor replied. "Are you anxious tokeep him here?"

  "Not for long; but I think there's a curious inside to the case, and Imay perhaps learn something of it by a little watching. But I can'tspare very long."

  At a sign from Hewitt the loaf was removed. Then Hewitt pulled the smalltable closer to the Frenchman and pushed the pen and sheets of papertoward him. The manoeuvre had its result. The man looked up and downthe room vacantly once or twice and then began to turn the papers over.From that he went to dipping the pen in the inkpot, and presently he wasscribbling at random on the loose sheets. Hewitt affected to leave himentirely alone, and seemed to be absorbed in a contemplation of aphotograph of a police-division brass band that hung on the wall, but hesaw every scratch the man made.

  At first there was nothing but meaningless scrawls and attempted words.Then rough sketches appeared, of a man's head, a chair or what not. Onthe mantelpiece stood a small clock--apparently a sort of humblepresentation piece, the body of the clock being set in a horse-shoeframe, with crossed whips behind it. After a time the Frenchman's eyesfell on this, and he began a crude sketch of it. That he relinquished,and went on with other random sketches and scribblings on the same pieceof paper, sketching and scribbling over the sketches in ahalf-mechanical sort of way, as of one who trifles with a pen during abrown study. Beginning at the top left-hand corner of the paper, hetravelled all round it till he arrived at the left-hand bottom corner.Then dashing his pen hastily across his last sketch he dropped it, andwith a great shudder turned away again and hid his face by thefireplace.

  Hewitt turned at once and seized the papers on the table. He stuffedthem all into his coat-pocket, with the exception of the last which theman had been engaged on, and this, a facsimile of which is subjoined, hestudied earnestly for several minutes.

  Hewitt wished the men good-day, and made his way to the inspector.

  "Well," the inspector said, "not much to be got out of him, is there?The doctor will be sending for him presently."

  "I fancy," said Hewitt, "that this may turn out a very important case.Possibly--quite possibly--I may not have guessed correctly, and so Iwon't tell you anything of it till I know a little more. But what I wantnow is a messenger. Can I send somebody at once in a cab to my friendBrett at his chambers?"

  "Certainly. I'll find somebody. Want to write a note?"

  Hewitt wrote and despatched a note, which reached me in less than tenminutes. Then he asked the inspector, "Have you searched the Frenchman?"

  "Oh, yes. We went all over him, when we found he couldn't explainhimself, to see if we could trace his friends or his address. He didn'tseem to mind. But there wasn't a single thing in his pocket--not asingle thing, barring a rag of a pocket-handkerchief with no marking onit."

  "You noticed that somebody had stolen his watch, I suppose?"

  "Well, he hadn't got one."

  "But he had one of those little vertical button-holes in his waistcoat,used to fasten a watchguard to, and it was much worn and frayed, so thathe must be in the habit of carrying a watch; and it is gone."

  "Yes, and everything else too, eh? Looks like robbery. He's had a knockor two in the face--notice that?"

  "I saw the bruises and the cut, of course; and his collar has beenbroken away, with the back button; somebody has taken him by the collaror throat. Was he wearing a hat when he was found?"

  "No."

  "That would imply that he had only just left a house. What street was hefound in?"

  "Henry Street--a little off Golden Square. Low street, you know."

  "Did the constable notice a door open near by?"

  The inspector shook his head. "Half the doors in the street are open,"he said, "pretty nearly all day."

  "Ah, then there's nothing in that. I don't think he lives there, by thebye. I fancy he comes from more in the Seven Dials or Drury Lanedirection. Did you notice anything about the man that gave you a clue tohis occupation--or at any rate to his habits?"

  "Can't say I did."

  "Well, just take a look at the back of his coat before he goesaway--just over the loins. Good-day."

  As I have said, Hewitt's messenger was quick. I happened to bein--having lately returned from a latish lunch--when he arrived withthis note:--

  "My dear B.,--I meant to have lunched with you to-day, but have been kept. I expect you are idle this afternoon, and I have a case that will interest you--perhaps be useful to you from a journalistic point of view. If you care to see anything of it, cab away _at once_ to Fitzroy Square, south side, where I'll meet you. I will wait no later than 3.30. Yours, M. H."

  I had scarce a quarter of an hour, so I seized my hat and left mychambers at once. As it happened, my cab and Hewitt's burst into FitzroySquare from opposite sides almost at the same moment, so that we lost notime.

  "Come," said Hewitt, taking my arm and marching me off, "we are going tolook for some stabling. Try to feel as though you'd just set up abrougham and had come out to look for a place to put it in. I fear wemay have to delude some person with that belief presently."

  "Why--what do you want stables for? And why make me your excuse?"

  "As to what I want the stables for--really I'm not altogether suremyself. As to making you an excuse--well, even the humblest excuse isbetter than none. But come, here are some stables. Not good enough,though, even if any of them were empty. Come on."

  We had stopped for an instant at the entrance to a small alley of ratherdirty stables, and Hewitt, paying apparently but small attention to thestables themselves, had looked sharply about him with his gaze in theair.

  "I know this part of London pretty well," Hewitt observed, "and I canonly remember one other range of stabling near by; we must try that. Asa matter of fact, I'm coming here on little more than conjecture, thoughI shall be surprised if there isn't something in it. Do you knowanything of aphasia?"

  "I have heard of it, of course, though I can't say I remember everknowing a case."

  "I've seen one to-day--very curious case. The man's a Frenchman,discovered helpless in the street by a policeman. The only thing he cansay that has any meaning in it at all is '_je le nie_,' and that he saysmechanically, without in the least knowing what he is saying. And hecan't write. But he got sketching and scrawling various things on somepaper, and his scrawls--together with another thing or two--have givenme an idea. We're following it up now. When we are less busy, and in aquiet place, I'll show you the sketches and explain things generally;there's no time now, and I _may_ want your help for a bit, in which caseignorance may prevent you spoiling things, you clumsy ruffian. Hullo!here we are, I think!"

  We had stopped at the end of another stable-yard, rather dirtier thanthe first. The stables were sound but inelegant sheds, and one or twoappeared to be devoted to other purposes, having low chimneys, on one ofwhich an old basket was rakishly set by way of cowl. Beside the entrancea worn-out old board was nailed, with the legend, "Stabling to Let," inletters formerly white on a ground formerly black.

  "Come," said Hewitt, "we'll explore."

  We picked our way over the greasy cobble-stones and looked about us. Onthe left was the wall enclosing certain back-yards, and on the right thestables. Two doors in the middle of these were open, and a butcher'syoung man, who with his shiny bullet head would have been known for abutcher's young man anywhere, was wiping over the new-washed wheel of asmart butcher's cart.

  "Good-day," Hewitt said pleasantly to the young man. "I notice there'ssome stabling to let here. Now, where should I inquire about it?"

  "Jones, Whitfield Street," the young man an
swered, giving the wheel afinal spin. "But there's only one little place to let now, I think, andit ain't very grand."

  "Oh, which is that?"

  "Next but one to the street there. A chap 'ad it for wood-choppin', but'e chucked it. There ain't room for more'n a donkey an' a barrow."

  "Ah, that's a pity. We're not particular, but want something bigenough, and we don't mind paying a fair price. Perhaps we might make anarrangement with somebody here who has a stable?"

  The young man shook his head.

  "I shouldn't think so," he said doubtfully; "they're mostly shop-peopleas wants all the room theirselves. My guv'nor couldn't do nothink, Iknow. These 'ere two stables ain't scarcely enough for all 'e wants asit is. Then there's Barkett the greengrocer 'ere next door. _That_ ain'tno good. Then, next to that, there's the little place as is to let, andat the end there's Griffith's at the butter-shop."

  "And those the other way?"

  "Well, this 'ere first one's Curtis's, Euston Road--that's abutter-shop, too, an' 'e 'as the next after that. The last one, up atthe end--I dunno quite whose that is. It ain't been long took, but Ib'lieve it's some foreign baker's. I ain't ever see anythink come out ofit, though; but there's a 'orse there, I know--I seen the feed took in."

  Hewitt turned thoughtfully away.

  "Thanks," he said. "I suppose we can't manage it, then. Good-day."

  We walked to the street as the butcher's young man wheeled in his cartand flung away his pail of water.

  "Will you just hang about here, Brett," he asked, "while I hurry roundto the nearest iron-monger's? I shan't be gone long. We're going to worka little burglary. Take note if anybody comes to that stable at thefarther end."

  He hurried away and I waited. In a few moments the butcher's young manshut his doors and went whistling down the street, and in a few momentsmore Hewitt appeared.

  "Come," he said, "there's nobody about now; we'll lose no time. I'vebought a pair of pliers and a few nails."

  We re-entered the yard at the door of the last stable. Hewitt stoopedand examined the padlock. Taking a nail in his pliers he bent itcarefully against the brick wall. Then using the nail as a key, stillheld by the pliers, and working the padlock gently in his left hand, inan astonishingly few seconds he had released the hasp and taken off thepadlock. "I'm not altogether a bad burglar," he remarked. "Not so bad,really."

  The padlock fastened a bar which, when removed, allowed the door to beopened. Opening it, Hewitt immediately seized a candle stuck in a bottlewhich stood on a shelf, pulled me in, and closed the door behind us.

  "We'll do this by candle-light," he said, as he struck a match. "If thedoor were left open it would be seen from the street. Keep your earsopen in case anybody comes down the yard."

  The part of the shed that we stood in was used as a coach-house, and wasoccupied by a rather shabby tradesman's cart, the shafts of which restedon the ground. From the stall adjoining came the sound of the shufflingand trampling of an impatient horse.

  We turned to the cart. On the name-board at the side were painted inworn letters the words, "Schuyler, Baker." The address, which had beenbelow, was painted out.

  Hewitt took out the pins and let down the tail board. Within the cartwas a new bed-mattress which covered the whole surface at the bottom. Ifelt it, pressed it from the top, and saw that it was an ordinary springmattress--perhaps rather unusually soft in the springs. It seemed acurious thing to keep in a baker's cart.

  Hewitt, who had set the candle on a convenient shelf, plunged his arminto the farthermost recesses of the cart and brought forth a very longFrench loaf, and then another. Diving again he produced certain loavesof the sort known as the "plain cottage "--two sets of four each, eachset baked together in a row. "Feel this bread," said Hewitt, and I feltit. It was stale--almost as hard as wood.

  Hewitt produced a large pocket-knife, and with what seemed to me to besuperfluous care and elaboration, cut into the top of one of the cottageloaves. Then he inserted his fingers in the gap he had made and firmlybut slowly tore the hard bread into two pieces. He pulled away the crumbfrom within till there was nothing left but a rather thick outer shell.

  "No," he said, rather to himself than to me, "there's nothing in_that_." He lifted one of the very long French loaves and measured itagainst the interior of the cart. It had before been propped diagonally,and now it was noticeable that it was just a shade longer than theinside of the cart was wide. Jammed in, in fact, it held firmly. Hewittproduced his knife again, and divided this long loaf in the centre;there was nothing but bread in _that_. The horse in the stall fidgetedmore than ever.

  "That horse hasn't been fed lately, I fancy," Hewitt said. "We'll givethe poor chap a bit of this hay in the corner."

  "But," I said, "what about this bread? What did you expect to find init? I can't see what you're driving at."

  "I'll tell you," Hewitt replied, "I'm driving after something I expectto find, and close at hand here, too. How are your nerves to-day--prettysteady? The thing may try them."

  Before I could reply there was a sound of footsteps in the yard outside,approaching. Hewitt lifted his finger instantly for silence andwhispered hurriedly, "There's only one. If he comes _here_, we grabhim."

  The steps came nearer and stopped outside the door. There was a pause,and then a slight drawing in of breath, as of a person suddenlysurprised. At that moment the door was slightly shifted ajar and an eyepeeped in.

  "Catch him!" said Hewitt aloud, as we sprang to the door. "He mustn'tget away!"

  I had been nearer the doorway, and was first through it. The strangerran down the yard at his best, but my legs were the longer, and half-wayto the street I caught him by the shoulder and swung him round. Likelightning he whipped out a knife, and I flung in my left instantly onthe chance of flooring him. It barely checked him, however, and theknife swung short of my chest by no more than two inches; but Hewitt hadhim by the wrist and tripped him forward on his face. He struggled likea wild beast, and Hewitt had to stand on his forearm and force up hiswrist till the bones were near breaking before he dropped his knife. Butthroughout the struggle the man never shouted, called for help, nor,indeed, made the slightest sound, and we on our part were equallysilent. It was quickly over, of course, for he was on his face, and wewere two. We dragged our prisoner into the stable and closed the doorbehind us. So far as we had seen, nobody had witnessed the capture fromthe street, though, of course, we had been too busy to be certain.

  "There's a set of harness hanging over at the back," said Hewitt; "Ithink we'll tie him up with the traces and reins--nothing like leather.We don't need a gag; I know he won't shout."

  While I got the straps Hewitt held the prisoner by a peculiarneck-and-wrist grip that forbade him to move except at the peril of asnapped arm. He had probably never been a person of pleasant aspect,being short, strongly and squatly built, large and ugly of feature, andwild and dirty of hair and beard. And now, his face flushed withstruggling and smeared with mud from the stable-yard, his nose bleedingand his forehead exhibiting a growing bump, he looked particularlyrepellent. We strapped his elbows together behind, and as he sullenlyignored a demand for the contents of his pockets Hewitt unceremoniouslyturned them out. Helpless as he was, the man struggled to prevent this,though, of course, ineffectually. There were papers, tobacco, a bunch ofkeys, and various odds and ends. Hewitt was glancing hastily at thepapers when, suddenly dropping them, he caught the prisoner by theshoulder and pulled him away from a partly-consumed hay-truss whichstood in a corner, and toward which he had quietly sidled.

  "Keep him still," said Hewitt; "we haven't examined this place yet." Andhe commenced to pull away the hay from the corner.

  Presently a large piece of sackcloth was revealed, and this being liftedleft visible below it another batch of loaves of the same sort as we hadseen in the cart. There were a dozen of them in one square batch, andthe only thing about them that differed them from those in the cart wastheir position, for the batch lay bottom side up.

&nbs
p; "That's enough, I think," Hewitt said. "Don't touch them, for Heaven'ssake!" He picked up the papers he had dropped. "That has saved us alittle search," he continued. "See here, Brett; I was in the act oftelling you my suspicions when this little affair interrupted me. If youcare to look at one or two of these letters you'll see what I shouldhave told you. It's Anarchism and bombs, of course. I'm about as certainas I can be that there's a reversible dynamite bomb inside each of thoseinnocent loaves, though I assure you I don't mean meddling with themnow. But see here. Will you go and bring in a four-wheeler? Bring itright down the yard. There's more to do, and we mustn't attractattention."

  I hurried away and found the cab. The meaning of the loaves, the cart,and the spring-mattress was now plain. There was an Anarchist plot tocarry out a number of explosions probably simultaneously, in differentparts of the city. I had, of course, heard much of the terrible"reversing" bombs--those bombs which, containing a tube of acid pluggedby wadding, required no fuse, and only needed to be inverted to be setgoing to explode in a few minutes. The loaves containing these bombswould form an effectual "blind," and they were to be distributed,probably in broad daylight, in the most natural manner possible, in abaker's cart. A man would be waiting near the scene of each contemplatedexplosion. He would be given a loaf taken from the inverted batch. Hewould take it--perhaps wrapped in paper, but still inverted, andapparently the most innocent object possible--to the spot selected,deposit it, right side up--which would reverse the inner tube and set upthe action--in some quiet corner, behind a door or what not, and makehis own escape, while the explosion tore down walls and--if theexperiment were lucky--scattered the flesh and bones of unsuspectingpeople.

  The infernal loaves were made and kept reversed, to begin with, in orderto stand more firmly, and--if observed--more naturally, when turnedover to explode. Even if a child picked up the loaf and carried it off,that child at least would be blown to atoms, which at any rate wouldhave been something for the conspirators to congratulate themselvesupon. The spring-mattress, of course, was to ease the jolting to thebombs, and obviate any random jerking loose of the acid, which mighthave had the deplorable result of sacrificing the valuable life of theconspirator who drove the cart. The other loaves, too, with no explosivecontents, had their use. The two long ones, which fitted across theinside of the cart, would be jammed across so as to hold the bombs inthe centre, and the others would be used to pack the batch on the othersides and prevent any dangerous slipping about. The thing seemed prettyplain, except that as yet I had no idea of how Hewitt learned anythingof the business.

  I brought the four-wheeler up to the door of the stable and we thrustthe man into it, and Hewitt locked the stable door with its proper key.Then we drove off to Tottenham Court Road police-station, and, byHewitt's order, straight into the yard.

  In less than ten minutes from our departure from the stable our prisonerwas finally secured, and Hewitt was deep in consultation with policeofficials. Messengers were sent and telegrams despatched, and presentlyHewitt came to me with information.

  "The name of the helpless Frenchman the police found this morning," hesaid, "appears to be Gerard--at least I am almost certain of it. Amongthe papers found on the prisoner--whose full name doesn't appear, butwho seems to be spoken of as Luigi (he is Italian)--among the papers, Isay, is a sort of notice convening a meeting for this evening to decideas to the 'final punishment' to be awarded the 'traitor Gerard, now incharge of comrade Pingard.'

  "The place of meeting is not mentioned, but it seems more than probablethat it will be at the Bakunin Club, not five minutes' walk from thisplace. The police have all these places under quiet observation, ofcourse, and that is the club at which apparently important Anarchistmeetings have been held lately. It is the only club that has never beenraided as yet, and, it would seem, the only one they would feel at allsafe in using for anything important.

  "Moreover, Luigi just now simply declined to open his mouth when askedwhere the meeting was to be, and said nothing when the names of severalother places were suggested, but suddenly found his tongue at themention of the Bakunin Club, and denied vehemently that the meeting wasto be there--it was the only thing he uttered. So that it seems prettysafe to assume that it _is_ to be there. Now, of course, the matter'svery serious. Men have been despatched to take charge of the stable veryquietly, and the club is to be taken possession of at once--also veryquietly. It must be done without a moment's delay, and as there is achance that the only detective officers within reach at the moment maybe known by sight, I have undertaken to get in first. Perhaps you'llcome? We may have to take the door with a rush."

  Of course I meant to miss nothing if I could help it, and said so.

  "Very well," replied Hewitt, "we'll get ourselves up a bit." He begantaking off his collar and tie. "It is getting dusk," he proceeded, "andwe shan't want old clothes to make ourselves look sufficiently shabby.We're both wearing bowler hats, which is lucky. Make a dent in yours--ifyou can do so without permanently damaging it."

  We got rid of our collars and made chokers of our ties. We turned ourcoat-collars up at one side only, and then, with dented hats wornraffishly, and our hands in our pockets, we looked disreputable enoughfor all practical purposes in twilight. A cordon of plain-clothes policehad already been forming round the club, we were told, and so we salliedforth. We turned into Windmill Street, crossed Whitfield Street, and ina turning or two we came to the Bakunin Club. I could see no sign ofanything like a ring of policemen, and said so. Hewitt chuckled. "Ofcourse not," he said; "they don't go about a job of this sort with drumsbeating and flags flying. But they are all there, and some are watchingus. There is the house. I'll negotiate."

  The house was one of the very shabby _passe_ sort that abound in thatquarter. The very narrow area was railed over, and almost choked withrubbish. Visible above it were three floors, the lowest indicated by thedoor and one window, and the other two by two windows each--mean anddirty all. A faint light appeared in the top floor, and another fromsomewhere behind the refuse-heaped area. Everywhere else was indarkness. Hewitt looked intently into the area, but it was impossible todiscern anything behind the sole grimy patch of window that was visible.Then we stepped lightly up the three or four steps to the door and rangthe bell.

  We could hear slippered feet mounting a stair and approaching. A latchwas shifted, a door opened six inches, an indistinct face appeared, anda female voice asked, "_Qui est la?_"

  "_Deux camarades_," Hewitt grunted testily. "_Ouvrez vite._"

  I had noticed that the door was kept from opening further by a shortchain. This chain the woman unhooked from the door, but still kept thelatter merely ajar, as though intending to assure herself stillfurther. But Hewitt immediately pushed the door back, planted his footagainst it, and entered, asking carelessly as he did so, "_Ou se trouveLuigi?_"

  I followed on his heels, and in the dark could just distinguish thatHewitt pushed the woman instantly against the wall and clapped his handto her mouth. At the same moment a file of quiet men were suddenlyvisible ascending the steps at my heels. They were the police.

  The door was closed behind us almost noiselessly, and a match wasstruck. Two men stood at the bottom of the stairs, and the otherssearched the house. Only two men were found--both in a top room. Theywere secured and brought down.

  The woman was now ungagged, and she used her tongue at a great rate. Oneof the men was a small, meek-looking slip of a fellow, and he appearedto be the woman's husband. "Eh, messieurs le police," she exclaimedvehemently, "it ees not of 'im, mon pauvre Pierre, zat you sall rrun in.'Im and me--we are not of the clob--we work only--we housekeep."

  Hewitt whispered to an officer, and the two men were taken below. ThenHewitt spoke to the woman, whose protests had not ceased. "You say youare not of the club," he said, "but what is there to prove that? If youare but housekeepers, as you say, you have nothing to fear. But you canonly prove it by giving the police information. For instance, now, aboutGerard. What have they done with hi
m?"

  "Jean Pingard--'im you 'ave take downstairs--'e 'ave lose 'im. JeanPingard get last night all a-boosa--all dronk like zis"--she rolled herhead and shoulders to express intoxication--"and he sleep too muchto-day, when Emile go out, and Gerard, he go too, and nobody know. Iwill tell you anysing. We are not of the clob--we housekeep, me andPierre."

  "But what did they do to Gerard before he went away?"

  The woman was ready and anxious to tell anything. Gerard had beenselected to do something--what it was exactly she did not know, butthere was a horse and cart, and he was to drive it. Where the horse andcart was also she did not know, but Gerard had driven a cart before inhis work for a baker, and he was to drive one in connection with somescheme among the members of the club. But _le pauvre Gerard_ at the lastminute disliked to drive the cart; he had fear. He did not say he hadfear, but he prepared a letter--a letter that was not signed. The letterwas to be sent to the police, and it told them the whereabouts of thehorse and cart, so that the police might seize these things, and thenthere would be nothing for Gerard, who had fear, to do in the way ofdriving. No, he did not betray the names of the comrades, but he toldthe place of the horse and the cart.

  Nevertheless, the letter was never sent. There was suspicion, and theletter was found in a pocket and read. Then there was a meeting, andGerard was confronted with his letter. He could say nothing but "_Je lenie!_"--found no explanation but that. There was much noise, and she hadobserved from a staircase, from which one might see through aventilating hole, Gerard had much fear--very much fear. His face waswhite, and it moved; he prayed for mercy, and they talked of killinghim. It was discussed how he should be killed, and the poor Gerard wasmore terrified. He was made to take off his collar, and a razor wasdrawn across his throat, though without cutting him, till he fainted.

  Then water was flung over him, and he was struck in the face till herevived. He again repeated, "_Je le nie! je le nie!_" and nothing more.Then one struck him with a bottle, and another with a stick; the pointof a knife was put against his throat and held there, but this time hedid not faint, but cried softly, as a man who is drunk, "_Je le nie! jele nie!_" So they tied a handkerchief about his neck, and twisted ittill his face grew purple and black, and his eyes were round andterrible, and then they struck his face, and he fainted again. But theytook away the handkerchief, having fear that they could not easily getrid of the body if he were killed, for there was no preparation. So theydecided to meet again and discuss when there would be preparation.Wherefore they took him away to the rooms of Jean Pingard--of Jean andEmile Pingard--in Henry Street, Golden Square. But Emile Pingard hadgone out, and Jean was drunk and slept, and they lost him. Jean Pingardwas he downstairs--the taller of the two; the other was but _le pauvrePierre_, who, with herself, was not of the club. They worked only; theywere the keepers of the house. There was nothing for which they shouldbe arrested, and she would give the police any information they mightask.

  "As I thought, you see," Hewitt said to me, "the man's nerves havebroken down under the terror and the strain, and aphasia is the result.I think I told you that the only articulate thing he could say was '_Jele nie!_' and now we know how those words were impressed on him till henow pronounces them mechanically, with no idea of their meaning. Come,we can do no more here now. But wait a moment."

  There were footsteps outside. The light was removed, and a policemanwent to the door and opened it as soon as the bell rang. Three menstepped in one after another, and the door was immediately shut behindthem--they were prisoners.

  We left quietly, and although we, of course, expected it, it was nottill the next morning that we learned absolutely that the largest arrestof Anarchists ever made in this country was made at the Bakunin Clubthat night. Each man as he came was admitted--and collared.

  * * * * *

  We made our way to Luzatti's, and it was over our dinner that Hewitt putme in full possession of the earlier facts of this case, which I haveset down as impersonal narrative in their proper place at the beginning.

  "But," I said, "what of that aimless scribble you spoke of that Gerardmade in the police station? Can I see it?"

  Hewitt turned to where his coat hung behind him and took a handful ofpapers from his pocket.

  "Most of these," he said, "mean nothing at all. _That_ is what he wroteat first," and he handed me the first of the two papers which werepresented in facsimile in the earlier part of this narrative.

  "You see," he said, "he has begun mechanically from long use to write'monsieur'--the usual beginning of a letter. But he scarcely makes threeletters before tailing off into sheer scribble. He tries again andagain, and although once there is something very like 'que,' and oncesomething like a word preceded by a negative 'n,' the whole thing ismeaningless.

  "This" (he handed me the other paper which has been printed infacsimile) "_does_ mean something, though Gerard never intended it. Canyou spot the meaning? Really, I think it's pretty plain--especially nowthat you know as much as I about the day's adventures. The thing at thetop left-hand corner, I may tell you, Gerard intended for a sketch of aclock on the mantelpiece in the police-station."

  I stared hard at the paper, but could make nothing whatever of it. "Ionly see the horse-shoe clock," I said, "and a sort of second,unsuccessful attempt to draw it again. Then there is a horse-shoedotted, but scribbled over, and then a sort of kite or balloon on astring, a Highlander, and--well, I don't understand it, I confess. Tellme."

  "I'll explain what I learned from that," Hewitt said, "and also what ledme to look for it. From what the inspector told me, I judged the man tobe in a very curious state, and I took a fancy to see him. Most I wascurious to know why he should have a terror of bread at one moment andeat it ravenously at another. When I saw him I felt pretty sure that hewas not mad, in the common sense of the term. As far as I could judgeit seemed to be a case of aphasia.

  "Then when the doctor came I had a chat (as I have already told you)with the policeman who found the man. He told me about the incident ofthe bread with rather more detail than I had had from the inspector.Thus it was plain that the man was terrified at the bread only when itwas in the form of a loaf, and ate it eagerly when it was cut intopieces. That was _one_ thing to bear in mind. He was not afraid of_bread_, but only of a _loaf_.

  "Very well. I asked the policeman to find another uncut loaf, and to putit near the man when his attention was diverted. Meantime the doctorreported that my suspicion as to aphasia was right. The man grew morecomfortable, and was assured that he was among friends and had nothingto fear, so that when at length he found the loaf near his elbow he wasnot so violently terrified, only very uneasy. I watched him and saw himturn it bottom up--a very curious thing to do; he immediately becameless uneasy--the turning over of the loaf seemed to have set his mind atrest in some way. This was more curious still. I thought for some littlewhile before accepting the bomb theory as the most probable.

  "The doctor left, and I determined to give the man another chance withpen and paper. I felt pretty certain that if he were allowed toscribble and sketch as he pleased, sooner or later he would do somethingthat would give me some sort of a hint. I left him entirely alone andlet him do as he pleased, but I watched.

  "After all the futile scribble which you have seen, he began to sketch,first a man's head, then a chair--just what he might happen to see inthe room. Presently he took to the piece of paper you have before you.He observed that clock and began to sketch it, then went on to otherthings, such as you see, scribbling idly over most of them whenfinished. When he had made the last of the sketches he made a hastyscrawl of his pen over it and broke down. It had brought his terror tohis mind again somehow.

  "I seized the paper and examined it closely. Now just see. Ignore theclock, which was merely a sketch of a thing before him, and look at thethree things following. What are they? A horse-shoe, a captive balloon,and a Highlander. Now, can't you think of something those three thingsin that order suggest?"


  I could think of nothing whatever, and I confessed as much.

  "Think, now. Tottenham Court Road!"

  I started. "Of course," I said. "That never struck me. There's theHorse-shoe Hotel, with the sign outside, there's the large toy andfancy shop half-way up, where they have a captive balloon moored to theroof as an advertisement, and there's the tobacco and snuff shop on theleft, toward the other end, where they have a life-size woodenHighlander at the door--an uncommon thing, indeed, nowadays."

  "You are right. The curious conjunction struck me at once. There theyare, all three, and just in the order in which one meets them going upfrom Oxford Street. Also, as if to confirm the conjecture, note the_dotted_ horse-shoe. Don't you remember that at night the Horse-shoeHotel sign is illuminated by two rows of gas lights?

  "Now here was my clue at last. Plainly, this man, in his mechanicalsketching, was following a regular train of thought, and unconsciouslyillustrating it as he went along. Many people in perfect health andmental soundness do the same thing if a pen and a piece of waste paperbe near. The man's train of thought led him, in memory, up TottenhamCourt Road, and further, to where some disagreeable recollection upsethim. It was my business to trace this train of thought. Do you rememberthe feat of Dupin in Poe's story, 'The Murders in the Rue Morgue'--howhe walks by his friend's side in silence for some distance, and thensuddenly breaks out with a divination of his thoughts, having silentlytraced them from a fruiterer with a basket, through paving-stones,Epicurus, Dr. Nichols, the constellation Orion, and a Latin poem, to acobbler lately turned actor?

  "Well, it was some such task as this (but infinitely simpler, as amatter of fact) that was set me. This man begins by drawing thehorse-shoe clock. Having done with that, and with the horse-shoe stillin his mind, he starts to draw a horse-shoe simply. It is a failure, andhe scribbles it out. His mind at once turns to the Horse-shoe Hotel,which he knows from frequently passing it, and its sign of gas-jets. Hesketches _that_, making dots for the gas lights. Once started inTottenham Court Road, his mind naturally follows his usual route alongit. He remembers the advertising captive balloon half-way up, and down_that_ goes on his paper. In imagination he crosses the road, and keepson till he comes to the very noticeable Highlander outside thetobacconist's. _That_ is sketched. Thus it is plain that a familiarroute with him was from New Oxford Street up Tottenham Court Road.

  "At the police-station I ventured to guess from this that he livedsomewhere near Seven Dials. Perhaps before long we shall know if thiswas right. But to return to the sketches. After the Highlander there issomething at first not very distinct. A little examination, however,shows it to be intended for a chimney-pot partly covered with a basket.Now an old basket, stuck sideways on a chimney by way of cowl, is not anuncommon thing in parts of the country, but it is very unusual inLondon. Probably, then, it would be in some by-street or alley. Next andlast, there is a horse's head, and it was at this that the man's troublereturned to him.

  "Now, when one goes to a place and finds a horse there, that place isnot uncommonly a stable; and, as a matter of fact, the basket-cowl wouldbe much more likely to be found in use in a range of back stabling thananywhere else. Suppose, then, that after taking the direction indicatedin the sketches--the direction of Fitzroy Square, in fact--one were tofind a range of stabling with a basket-cowl visible about it? I know myLondon pretty well, as you are aware, and I could remember but twolikely stable-yards in that particular part--the two we looked at, inthe second of which you may possibly have noticed just such abasket-cowl as I have been speaking of.

  "Well, what we did you know, and that we found confirmation of myconjecture about the loaves you also know. It was the recollection ofthe horse and cart, and what they were to transport, and what the endof it all had been, that upset Gerard as he drew the horse's head. Youwill notice that the sketches have not been done in separate rows, leftto right--they have simply followed one another all round the paper,which means preoccupation and unconsciousness on the part of the man whomade them."

  "But," I asked, "supposing those loaves to contain bombs, how were thebombs put there? Baking the bread round them would have been risky,wouldn't it?"

  "Certainly. What they did was to cut the loaves, each row, down thecentre. Then most of the crumb was scooped out, the explosive inserted,and the sides joined up and glued. I thought you had spotted the joins,though they certainly were neat."

  "No, I didn't examine closely. Luigi, of course, had been told off for adaily visit to feed the horse, and that is how we caught him."

  "One supposes so. They hadn't rearranged their plans as to going on withthe outrages after Gerard's defection. By the way, I noticed that he wasaccustomed to driving when I first saw him. There was an unmistakablemark on his coat, just at the small of the back, that drivers get wholean against a rail in a cart."

  The loaves were examined by official experts, and, as everybody nowknows, were found to contain, as Hewitt had supposed, large charges ofdynamite. What became of some half-dozen of the men captured is alsowell known: their sentences were exemplary.

  THE END.

  * * * * *