CHAPTER VIII
MURDER
I LEARNED to know Inspector Forrest very well during the next fortnight,better perhaps, since during that time the Motor Pirate gave absolutelyno sign of existence. It seemed as if, contented with the sensation hehad created and the plunder he had secured, he had retired into theobscurity from which he originally emerged.
For two reasons I was not sorry for this interval. In the first place, Ifound I could not get immediately the type of car I wanted.Manufacturers and agents were willing enough to book orders, but none ofthem had in stock the high-speed automobile such as I required. Onlyafter a long day's hunt did I discover an agent who thought that hecould obtain for me a 60-h.p. Mercedes, and then it would have to besent from Paris. At my suggestion, he telephoned through an order thatthe car should be despatched to him at once; but two or three dayselapsed before its arrival in London, and then there were certainalterations which I required to be made which took a week to complete. Iwas glad, therefore, that my enemy did not make a reappearance until Iwas provided for him. When the new Mercedes was delivered to me I wasdelighted with it, especially when I found on my return from the trialrun the engines worked as smoothly as when I started.
The other reason why I did not regret the Pirate's quiescence wasbecause of the opportunity afforded me of cementing the friendship whichhad grown up between myself and the detective. It became a very real andwarm friendship during those long idle days. He upset all mypreconceived notions of the police, at least as regards the detectiveportion of the force, he was such an all-round man. He had not allowedhis undoubted powers of observation to be entirely concentrated upon theseamy side of his profession. Judging from his conversation, I gatheredthat he knew quite as much about modern French literature as he didabout French criminals, and of the latter his knowledge was bothextensive and interesting. I remember on one occasion that he gave me areally acute criticism of the Verlain school, with special relation tothe effects of decadent literature on national life. But that is onlyone example of his scope. Wherever he had been and whatever he had done,had apparently awakened in him the desire to see all round the case hewas investigating, and being possessed of a well-trained memory, hismind was a storehouse of curious knowledge.
Let me give one instance. One evening when we were driving slowly alonga bye-road in the vicinity of Uxbridge, in accordance with ourpreconceived plan--the Mercedes had not then arrived, and our progresswas additionally slow as the roads were exceedingly heavy, as rain hadbeen falling daily ever since the night I had been arrested--suddenly mycompanion said--
"Do you know anything of Persian poetry, Mr. Sutgrove?"
As it happened, owing to the fact that a Sutgrove had once representedhis country at the Persian court, I had a slight knowledge of thesubject, and I said so.
"I am never out of doors on a spring evening," he continued, "withoutwishing I had the time to acquire a knowledge of it."
"Why?" I asked.
"It's this way," he replied. "On one of my jobs--a show job, attendanceon a distinguished visitor, don't you know--I was thrown a great dealinto the company of a Persian gentleman, and we did our best to learnsomething of each other's languages. He taught me out of Hafiz, and Ipicked up just enough to make me wish for more. Listen to this."
He recited to me one of the shorter poems from the Divan.
"Isn't that musical?" he continued. "It seems to me to have the realpoetry of the spring evening in it."
I agreed with him, and we were silent for a while. Later he asked mediffidently not to mention to any one his penchant for Persian poetry.
"Even at the Yard," he explained, "I doubt whether they would put itdown to my credit."
I gave him the assurance he asked for, and from that time forth I cameto look upon him as a personal friend. I confided wholly to him thehopes I entertained in regard to my love affair; and he assured me thatif he had anything to do with it, I should also have a hand in thearrest of the Pirate.
All our time was not spent, however, in pleasant excursions about thecountry. Forrest was by no means idle; he had been busy perfecting hisscheme for utilizing the telegraph in notifying the Pirate'sreappearance when it should be made. Then he had in addition thoroughlyand minutely explored the whole of the country round, to see if anytrace of the strange visitor were obtainable. His endeavours were quitefruitless, but he still held to his belief that he could not be faraway; and the next time the Pirate did make his appearance he wasconfirmed in his opinion.
The weather had been fine for three days in succession, there had been adrying breeze, and the roads from sloppy quagmires became in suchperfect condition that I was looking forward to a really good spin. ButForrest had other views for the evening of the third day.
"I don't think," he remarked, as he sipped his coffee after our earlydinner, "we can afford to spend the night ranging the highways.Business first and pleasure afterwards."
"I thought you were of opinion that our friend will be tempted to makehis reappearance to-night?" I remarked.
"I am," he answered; "and therefore the best thing, we can do is to waituntil we hear in which direction he makes his reappearance. If we waitin St. Albans at the end of the telegraph wire, we shall be much morelikely to meet him than running about at random."
There was so much good sense in the suggestion that I resigned myself tothe inevitable waste of time, and I had my reward. About eleven amessage came over the wire: "Motor Pirate seen near Towcester going inthe direction of Daventry."
"How far is Towcester?" asked Forrest, the moment he heard the message.
"Roughly, I should say forty miles," I answered.
"We ought to manage it within the hour, then," he remarked. "Comealong."
Without another word we seated ourselves in the car, and with acontinuous toot-toot of the horn we rolled out of the town. Directly wewere clear of the houses, I jammed on the highest speed. I cannot saythat I felt quite comfortable, for though I knew the road, the night wasvery dark, the light we threw ahead was so bright as to dazzle my eyes,and hitherto I had no experience of driving a 60-h.p. motor at top speedthrough the darkness. My companion's _sang-froid_ soon reassured me,however, and as soon as we were fairly going, the sting of the night airas it whipped my cheeks brought a sense of exhilaration which would havesufficed to banish my fears had there been time to have entertained any.But there was not. If you have ever driven a speedy automobile at topspeed through a dark night, you will readily understand that there islittle opportunity for the brain to cultivate imaginary perils. If youdo not believe me, try it for yourself and see.
In about sixteen minutes we were at Dunstable. Passing through the townslowly, Forrest got news that the police were watching all the roads,but that nothing had been seen there of the Pirate. Another quarter ofan hour brought us to Fenny Stratford. Here we wasted another minute orso in obtaining similar negative information. By this time I was feelingconfidence in my car and in my powers to manage it. Once clear of thehouses again, I let her rip for all she was worth; we simply flew along.With my right hand on the wheel, my feet on the two pedals, I sat astense as a fiddle string, my one object to peer into the road ahead.
We had covered ten of the fifteen miles between Stratford and Towcester,when I became aware of a deeper blotch on the blackness ahead. With onemovement I pressed down the clutch and jammed on the breaks. I was justin time. The car pulled up in its own length, though it swerved to suchan extent that I thought we should be overturned.
There, standing still within the circle of our lights, was anothermotor-car. It had no lamps burning, but it was shivering with thevibration of its engine running free.
"The Pirate!" I shouted.
"Not a bit of it," said Forrest, jumping down and approaching thestranger.
I followed his example, and the first thing I observed about the car wasthat all the lights were out, and I wondered that any motorist in hissenses should have courted the accident which so nearly occurred.
/> There was one occupant of the car, and he was sitting bolt upright withone hand on a lever beside him. I shouted something at him angrily as Iapproached, but he made no response.
"Hullo! Are you asleep, sir?" said Forrest, as he put one foot on thestep and grasped the silent motorist by the arm.
There was no reply. I saw Forrest leave his hold on the stranger, and,stepping back into the road, draw his hand across his brow.
"My God!" he muttered
"What is it?" I asked.
Forrest caught his breath sharply. "A piece more of the Motor Pirate'swork, I fancy," he said slowly; "and this time, I think itspells--murder."
For a minute I stood absolutely still. It was one of the most eeriemoments of my life. Above and about us the black night, beside us thetwo cars coughing and grunting as if anxious to be moving, and thatsilent figure sitting up erect upon his seat, utterly unconscious ofthe two persons standing watching him with horror-stricken faces.
Forrest's voice, clear, cool, incisive, brought me to myself.
"One of your lamps here, Sutgrove, if you can manage it."
I took a lamp from its socket, and held it while the detective made abrief inspection. It took him a very short time to assure him that hissurmise was near the truth.
It was murder.
Right in the centre of the forehead of the silent figure was a smallblue hole, so cleanly drilled that it scarcely marred the features ofthe dead man. One hand still grasped the lever, the other had droppedslightly. When the light fell upon it, I perceived the fingers to betightly clasped about the butt of a revolver.
Forrest lifted the hand and glanced at the weapon. "One cartridgedischarged," he said. "Surely it cannot be a case of suicide?"
Just at that moment I caught sight of a piece of paper pinned to thedead man's coat. I pointed it out to Forrest. He unfolded it, glanced atit, and handed it to me without a word.
It was just a half sheet of ordinary paper used for typing, and upon itwas typed the following sentence--
"This is the fate awaiting those who venture to resist the MotorPirate."
"That would seem to settle the question as to whether this is a case ofsuicide or not," I said, handing back the paper to the inspector.
"H'm! At all events the inquest will," he replied. "I'm afraid in anycase this ends our pursuit for the night," he continued. "I think I mustask you to run on to the nearest town for assistance. Have you any ideaof our whereabouts?"
By calculating the time which had elapsed since leaving Stratford withthe pace at which we had been travelling, I came to the conclusion wewere not very far from Towcester, and I suggested I had better go there.
"All right; cut along then. Revolver handy?"
I replied in the affirmative as I mounted my car.
"Wait one moment," he called as I was starting; "and bring your light ona bit."
I did as I was directed. Forrest took one of the lamps and walked forfive yards up the road, examining carefully every inch of the roadway.At last he paused.
"Here is where the Pirate's motor stopped," he said; and, plumping downupon his knees, he examined the surface carefully. Then, taking a tapefrom his pocket, he made a series of measurements.
I inquired what he was doing. He grunted in reply. When he had finishedhe remarked--
"Nothing much to be got out of that. Judging from my measurements, ourfriend might be driving a Daimler."
Another thought struck him, and, before starting, he asked me to lendhim a hand in getting the other car to the side of the road, in case anyone else came along and fell upon the fate we had so narrowly escaped.Then I was at liberty to proceed, and, getting once more into my ownvehicle, I let the Mercedes drive ahead.
But my nerve had gone. Every moment I fancied weird shapes in theblackness before me. Every moment I heard in my ears the strange hummingof the Pirate. Yet I dared not look round, lest I should in that instantcome upon him unawares in the shadows in front.
Fortunately I had no long distance to traverse. Soon friendly lightsbroke the darkness. Slackening pace, I found myself in the well-orderedstreets of a little town. The second person I met was a policeman, and,hailing him, I bade him jump on the car and direct me to thepolice-station. Nothing loth, he obeyed.
I have an idea that the story I told the sergeant in charge was morethan a little incoherent, but he understood me sufficiently to becomeaware that his presence was required immediately at the scene of acrime, and he gave me to understand that he was ready to accompany meforthwith. Then I remembered Forrest asking me to see that the servicesof a medical man were obtained, in order that he might make anexamination of the body before its removal, and I mentioned the matterto the sergeant. He at once gave instructions to the constable who hadguided me to the station to knock up a doctor and follow us at once withhim, so there was very little delay before I was once more driving mycar at full speed towards the scene of the tragedy.
By this time my nerve had returned. One reason may have been that I hadtaken advantage of the slight delay, occasioned by the sergeant givinginstructions to his subordinate, to brace myself with a stiffwhisky-and-soda from the small supply I carried on the car foremergencies. Now, too, I had the companionship of another able-bodiedman on the car with me. I felt that, even if the mysterious murdererwere to make his appearance, I should have a better chance of tacklinghim.
We were not long in reaching our destination. In fact a very few minuteselapsed before we came to the spot where the motor-car stood, with therigid figure of its owner still in the position I had left him. I pulledup beside the derelict.
"Hallo, Forrest!" I shouted.
There was no answer. The detective had disappeared.