Tish Marches On Read online

  “You might get me the plot file, Jewkes,” he said.

  And when Jewkes had gone he turned to Tish.

  “We have a number of plots just now,” he said. “The natural anxiety of a loyal people to protect—er—the royal jewels and so on. About two thousand, I fancy.” He then took a large file from Mr. Jewkes, and examined it. “Yes,” he went on, “one thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight. Good guess, that; eh, Jewkes?”

  “Very good, sir,” said Mr. Jewkes.

  I could see that Tish was annoyed.

  “These people have machine guns and ammunition,” she said rather sharply. “If that interests you.”

  “It does indeed. Excellent weapons; eh, Jewkes? First time we’ve had machine guns reported, I believe. Let’s see. Yes. Bombs, grenades, rifles, and I believe a brick or two. But—”

  Here Tish rose with dignity.

  “Would you be interested—even faintly—in knowing the headquarters of this gang?” she demanded.

  “Oh, rather,” he said. “We haven’t much to do just now; have we, Jewkes? There are only about fifteen million people in town, but we’ll take the address. Naturally. Put it down, Jewkes.”

  And it was after this had been done that we had a very narrow escape. A man opened the door and said:

  “The American about the dirigible, sir.”

  “Show him into the other room,” said the Commissioner resignedly, “and get the dirigible file. What does he expect me to do about his blooming balloon anyhow? Blow it up for him?”

  It was Mr. Smith!

  III

  FORTUNATELY HE DID NOT see us, although I must say that I was nervous when we reached the street. Tish, however, was calm. As is usual when she is revolving some course in her mind, outside and petty irritations meant nothing to her.

  “It is evident,” she said at last, “that we can expect no help from the police. Whatever is done we must do ourselves.”

  “Do what?” I inquired. “This gang has done nothing as yet.”

  “We must prevent their doing anything, Lizzie,” she said quietly.

  And this, I think, should be borne in mind as I record the events that followed. Scotland Yard had failed us and, except for the subsequent involvement of Inspector Jewkes, did nothing whatever; and Tish’s idea all along was that an ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure.

  Curiously enough, the Carlisle man was at the porter’s desk when we went back, and he did not resemble a gangster at all. He was tall and quite good-looking, and he was asking if anybody had found a young lady in the elevator the night before.

  “What young lady was that, sir?”

  “Did you see her?” the Carlisle man demanded, looking angry.

  “No, sir. There was a young lady went out, I don’t know just when. Seemed kind of upset about something. Slammed the door like to break the glass out of it.”

  “What time was that?” he inquired.

  “About three hours after you left, sir.”

  Well, I thought he was going to leap over the desk at the porter, and Aggie gasped beside me. But he controlled himself.

  “And where were you, all that time?” he said, in a cold rage. And added: “Did it ever occur to you that someday one of us might take you for a ride and just lose you by the wayside?”

  Yes, he said that. Mild and handsome as he looked, we all three knew the awful gangster threat in his words. But the porter merely smiled.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” he said.

  We were all considerably unnerved when we reached our flat. Surprised also, for when we opened the door Bettina Pell was in the sitting room.

  She was lying on the couch smoking a cigarette, and she sat up and grinned at us.

  “Sorry!” she said. “If you’d spent the night in a bathtub you’d understand.”

  She then got up and looked us all over carefully, and to my dismay I saw that she had that wretched newspaper picture in her hand.

  “What a break!” she said, as though to herself. “Oh, what a break!” Then she said briskly. “All right. Let’s sit down and you tell mamma all about it.”

  “About what?” Tish inquired.

  “You know,” she said. “All about the Snark and the flannel petticoat, and trying to kill the constable, and the man you hung on the church steeple. You haven’t told anybody else, have you?” she asked anxiously.

  I can remember that Aggie gave a low moan, and that that wretched girl actually got out a notebook and pencil and sat smiling at us. As Tish said later, she was certainly dangerous, loaded with information as she was, and ready to explode if pointed in the wrong direction. It was a deadly situation: on the one hand, Mr. Smith and our probable arrest; on the other, a dastardly plot, so shocking that we needed our freedom to foil it.

  But I had forgotten our resolute Tish, so quick to think in times of danger. She had taken off her hat, and now she sat down and picked up her knitting.

  “The Snark?” she inquired, “What on earth is the Snark?”

  Bettina stared at her.

  “It won’t do, Miss Carberry,” she said coolly. “If that is your attitude—”

  “It is my attitude at the moment,” Tish replied with firmness. “I may, I just possibly may, alter it later. That, however, depends upon you.”

  The girl seemed surprised. She put down her pencil and sat back.

  “All right,” she said, “I get you. Let’s have it.”

  Well, I watched Bettina Pell while Tish told in detail of her discoveries the night before, and if ever I saw a girl thunderstruck it was she. At one time—I believe when Tish told her of the cable—she even burst into hysterical laughter. But at the end she was calm enough.

  “Let’s get this straight,” she said. “They haven’t done anything, so that’s out. But they’re going to do something, so that’s in. The general idea being—”

  “The general idea,” said Tish, putting down her knitting, “is to put them beyond trouble until all is over and the crown jewels and so on are safe once more. A good cellar, or a dungeon in fair repair, would answer.”

  But here, I regret to state, Bettina became hysterical again.

  “In a—in a dungeon!” she gasped. “Down in a dungeon deep! I wish I could see their faces when it happens. And where is the dungeon? Don’t tell me you haven’t got a dungeon.”

  “As a matter of fact I have,” said Tish astonishingly. “At least it was there many years ago, and I dare say it still is.”

  Bettina stared at her, almost with awe.

  “It must be true,” she said. “I’m awake. I’m not dreaming. And she has a dungeon. You—you couldn’t give me a cup of tea, could you? I feel rather gone.”

  The rest of her visit was occupied with details. We needed her assistance, Tish said, and in return for it she was to have the full story of our adventures on the Snark, not to be used, of course, until we were safely out of England and on the way home. Bettina agreed to all this, and was in high spirits as she prepared to depart.

  “You get the dungeon,” she said gaily. “And I’ll do the rest.”

  “How will you do it?” Tish inquired.

  “That is my secret,” she said, and refused any further explanation.

  She went away soon after, and apparently the hysteria returned, for on looking out the window I saw her standing on the pavement wiping her eyes, and several passers-by glanced at her curiously.

  I can write calmly of her now, but there was a time when I could not mention her name. Pretty and young, she deliberately used us as the agents of a petty revenge; and almost destroyed Charlie Sands in so doing. But perhaps we should have known. I still remember how she flushed when Tish asked if her affections were engaged with any member of the gang.

  “Affections!” she said. “Listen. When I think of what they did to me last night I make Vesuvius look like a ripe boil. But don’t you worry about me,” she added. “I’ll get even with Jim Carlisle if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

>   Yes, perhaps we should have known.

  IV

  THAT WAS ON THE Saturday preceding the Coronation. Tish had rented a car and spent the afternoon locating the castle she had remembered; while Aggie and I remained at home, keeping a keen eye on the stairs and elevator. Thus we saw diverse members of the gang at intervals, and both of us were impressed with their youth and cheerfulness, in spite of their bloodthirsty business.

  Indeed, they whistled both coming and going, although the Carlisle man seemed rather depressed. Once or twice he rang a telephone number and asked for Bettina—as we now called her—but with no success, and we distinctly heard him kick a chair after one such failure.

  Then late that afternoon we saw Inspector Jewkes go up to their flat, and waited with bated breath for possible trouble. All that happened, however, was that after ten minutes or so a boy carried up beer on a tray, and there was considerable laughter to be heard when the door was opened.

  But it was when he departed that the horrifying thing occurred. He stood in the hall just over our heads, and we both heard him clearly as he said good-bye.

  “Well, all right, boys,” he said. “And remember, don’t shoot until you see the whites of their eyes.”

  He was laughing as he passed our door!

  We told Tish when she returned, but she merely shrugged her shoulders. She had located the dungeon, only twenty miles from London, and said that one extra—such as the Inspector—would make no difference whatever.

  “It is quite large,” she said, “also dry and sanitary. And the caretaker is entirely deaf.”

  In other words, she said, we could hold the entire band of criminals there safe until the danger was past. But she also added that blankets and food should be provided; and in this connection a strange thing happened to us that very night. We had done our buying, and were returning with our arms piled high, when that wretched lift stuck again with all of us inside. The hall porter was gone as usual, and for some hours we could do nothing but wait.

  It was the bandits who rescued us!

  They came in singing noisily at two A.M., and after pressing the button started to walk up the stairs. As these wound around the wire enclosure that housed the elevator, we were plainly visible, and the one we knew as Jim Carlisle stopped and stared.

  “Hello!” he said. “What’s happened?”

  Aggie gave a low moan of terror, but Tish preserved her equanimity.

  “We are quite all right,” she said. “Please go on and leave us alone.”

  “See here,” he said, looking surprised. “You don’t mean that you like it there?”

  The rest had all stopped, and it was an eerie feeling, surrounded as we were by them and entirely helpless. But there was nothing to be done. The Carlisle man turned to the others and said: “Well, fellows, how about it?” and in a short time we were released once more.

  Not only that! They insisted on our going up to their rooms, and refused to take any denial.

  Aggie was visibly trembling by this time; seeing this, they mixed for each of us a glass of tonic, consisting of something smelling like creosote and an effervescent water. It was most effective, but for some reason it upset Aggie, who had taken cold while in the elevator. She got up and then sat down suddenly.

  “There’s ad earthquake!” she said. “The roob’s moving!”

  “That’s all right, sister,” said the Carlisle man. “Hold tight and all will be well.”

  “I’b used to holdig tight,” she said. “All the way across the Atlatic—”

  Fortunately she sneezed at that moment, and Tish rose abruptly.

  “She is tired and not herself,” she observed. “I shall take her down and—”

  But here Aggie laughed, quite a hysterical laugh.

  “Dowd, dowd, id the dudgeod deep,” she said, swaying slightly. “Ad let go of be, Tish. I wadt to see the bachide guds.”

  It was one of the worst moments of my life, but the Carlisle man merely smiled.

  “Trot out the tommy-gun for the lady, Joe,” he said to one of the others.

  It was bloodcurdling to see them laugh over this, and Tish and I managed finally to get Aggie downstairs and put her to bed, with no worse results than a bad headache the next morning.

  That was Sunday, and since we could not go to church, Tish spent the time checking her lists for our prisoners. It was that day that I saw Mr. Smith from the window and was obliged to beat a hasty retreat. He did not see me, however. He was walking along slowly, looking at the people as they passed with searching eyes, and I must say I felt uncomfortable.

  I told Tish, but she merely regarded me vaguely.

  “Don’t bother me, Lizzie,” she said. “Now let me see: bottled water, blankets, bread, candles and matches, sardines, can opener—”

  “It sounds like a picnic,” I said. “A bloodthirsty lot of ruffians, and you coddle them like a Sunday-school excursion.”

  She was busy adding oranges to the list—because of the vitamins, I believe—and paid no attention.

  There was only one other incident that day worth noting, but it showed me how narrow was our margin of safety.

  The sitting-room door was open, and I heard Bettina’s high heels as she came up the stairs. She stopped outside our door, and with that the Carlisle wretch hurled himself down and put his arms around her.

  “Bettina darling!” he said. “Kiss and make up, won’t you?”

  She was weakening. I could see it in her face. And he kept on. He said he was sorry. He said he would get down and let her walk all over him. He said she could lock him in a dozen elevators. And indeed I do not know what would have been the end had she not seen me. I dare say that reminded her of what she had at stake, for she pushed him away suddenly and told him not to bother her.

  “Bother!” he said. “What do you mean, bother?”

  “Just what it sounds like. Or I can spell it for you.”

  “And that’s all?”

  “That’s enough, isn’t it?”

  “I’m to scram?”

  “You’re to scram.”

  Puzzling as this language was, he at least understood it. He stood quite still. Then he took her by the shoulders, gave her a good shaking, and turned and went upstairs again, whistling. It was precisely the way gangsters treat their sweethearts in the pictures, and I was not surprised to see tears in her eyes when she came in.

  “The great hulking brute,” she said stormily. “I’ll get even with him if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

  Nevertheless, she did not let sentiment interfere with business. It was that day that she got Tish to sign an agreement with her; that agreement which she was to use with such duplicity later. It read:

  In return for services rendered I hereby agree to give the exclusive story of our adventures on the Snark to Miss Bettina Pell and no one else.

  (Signed) Letitia Carberry.

  It was the next night, Monday, that we locked up the criminals.

  The affair passed without incident. We readied the castle at dusk, and no caretaker being in sight, Tish led us at once to the dungeon. Here we left our supplies, and Tish carefully oiled the lock and the hinges of the door. Then, leaving a lighted candle, as Bettina had suggested, we retreated behind some fallen masonry and waited.

  I must say I was highly nervous, and to add to my anxiety the damp at once affected Aggie, who began to sneeze violently. It therefore seemed a long time before we heard a car, and an even longer one before, led by flashlights, the gang appeared. The Carlisle man was in the lead, and he soon observed the light.

  “This seems to be it,” he said. “All right, you fellows. Got the equipment?”

  In the darkness I peered out, and I could see that the others were laden with the gun cases and so on. To my horror one of them was already opening one of them. But this was nothing to what followed. A large heavy man stepped forward and peered into the room, and I could hardly believe my eyes.

  It was Inspector Jewkes!


  We were greatly startled, but it was too late to draw back. When they were all inside Tish hastily slammed the heavy door and locked it; and there was a shocking uproar inside at once. I think even Tish was unnerved.

  It was not until we were on our way back to London, however, that she explained.

  “That man Jewkes saw me, Lizzie,” she said. “And if there was ever murder in a man’s face it was in his.”

  V

  NONE OF US SLEPT well that night. I kept hearing a heavy body hurling itself against the dungeon door, and Aggie had a nightmare in which we had hung the Inspector on a church steeple and were firing at him with machine guns. And to make things worse Tish, awakening early, discovered that she had lost the key to the dungeon.

  All in all it was a bad morning. And at eleven o’clock that idiot Bettina came and tried to tell us that it was all a joke!

  I have never seen Tish so indignant.

  “A joke!” she said. “Then all I have to say is that I hope Inspector Jewkes thinks it is funny.”

  She looked blank.

  “Jewkes? Who is he?” she asked.

  “He is not a member of the gang?”

  “I never heard of him.”

  “Then I have to tell you,” Tish observed quietly, “that through some mistake an inspector from Scotland Yard is locked in with your friends. And as far as I am concerned he will have to stay here.”

  I shall never forget the look of sheer anguish she gave us.

  “Oh, my God!” she said. “That’s torn it!”

  Nevertheless, the knowledge that the Inspector did not belong to the gang had altered the situation greatly, and after some thought Tish decided to notify the police. But repeated attempts to get the Yard by telephone merely resulted in a weary voice which said: