The Yellow Claw

  VIII

  CABMAN TWO

  Returning to Scotland Yard, Inspector Dunbar walked straight up tohis own room. There he found Sowerby, very red faced and humid, and ataximan who sat stolidly surveying the Embankment from the window.

  "Hullo!" cried Dunbar; "he's turned up, then?"

  "No, he hasn't," replied Sowerby with a mild irritation. "But we knowwhere to find him, and he ought to lose his license."

  The taximan turned hurriedly. He wore a muffler so tightly packedbetween his neck and the collar of his uniform jacket, that it appearedmaterially to impair his respiration. His face possessed a bluish tinge,suggestive of asphyxia, and his watery eyes protruded remarkably; hisbreathing was noisily audible.

  "No, chuck it, mister!" he exclaimed. "I'm only tellin' you 'cause itain't my line to play tricks on the police. You'll find my name inthe books downstairs more'n any other driver in London! I reckon I'vebrought enough umbrellas, cameras, walkin' sticks, hopera cloaks,watches and sicklike in 'ere, to set up a blarsted pawnbroker's!"

  "That's all right, my lad!" said Dunbar, holding up his hand to silencethe voluble speaker. "There's going to be no license-losing. You did nothear that you were wanted before?"

  The watery eyes of the cabman protruded painfully; he respired like ahorse.

  "ME, guv'nor!" he exclaimed. "Gor'blime! I ain't the bloke! I wasdrivin' back from takin' the Honorable 'Erbert 'Arding 'ome--same as Idoes almost every night, when the 'ouse is a-sittin'--when I see old TomBrian drawin' away from the door o' Palace Man--"

  Again Dunbar held up his hand.

  "No doubt you mean well," he said; "but damme! begin at the beginning!Who are you, and what have you come to tell us?"

  "'Oo are I?--'Ere's 'oo I ham!" wheezed the cabman, proffering a greasylicense. "Richard 'Amper, number 3 Breams Mews, Dulwich Village"...

  "That's all right," said Dunbar, thrusting back the proffered document;"and last night you had taken Mr. Harding the member of Parliament, tohis residence in?"--

  "In Peers' Chambers, Westminister--that's it, guv'nor! Comin' back, I'ave to pass along the north side o' the Square, an' just a'ead o' me,I see old Tom Brian a-pullin' round the Johnny 'Orner,--'im comin' fromPalace Mansions."

  "Mr. Exel only mentioned seeing ONE cab," muttered Dunbar, glancingkeenly aside at Sowerby.

  "Wotcher say, guv'nor?" asked the cabman.

  "I say--did you see a gentleman approaching from the corner?" askedDunbar.

  "Yus," declared the man; "I see 'im, but 'e 'adn't got as far as theJohnny 'Orner. As I passed outside old Tom Brian, wot's changin' 'isgear, I see a bloke blowin' along on the pavement--a bloke in a high'at, an' wearin' a heye-glass."

  "At this time, then," pursued Dunbar, "you had actually passed the othercab, and the gentleman on the pavement had not come up with it?"

  "'E couldn't see it, guv'nor! I'm tellin' you 'e 'adn't got to theJohnny 'Orner!"

  "I see," muttered Sowerby. "It's possible that Mr. Exel took no noticeof the first cab--especially as it did not come out of the Square."

  "Wotcher say, guv'nor?" queried the cabman again, turning his blearedeyes upon Sergeant Sowerby.

  "He said," interrupted Dunbar, "was Brian's cab empty?"

  "'Course it was," rapped Mr. Hamper, "'e 'd just dropped 'is fare atPalace Mansions."...

  "How do you know?" snapped Dunbar, suddenly, fixing his fierce eyes uponthe face of the speaker.

  The cabman glared in beery truculence.

  "I got me blarsted senses, ain't I?" he inquired. "There's only two lotso' flats on that side o' the Square--Palace Mansions, an' St. Andrew'sMansions."

  "Well?"

  "St. Andrew's Mansions," continued Hamper, "is all away!"

  "All away?"

  "All away! I know, 'cause I used to have a reg'lar fare there. 'E'sin Egyp'; flat shut up. Top floor's to let. Bottom floor's two oldunmarried maiden ladies what always travels by 'bus. So does all theirblarsted friends an' relations. Where can old Tom Brian 'ave been comin'from, if it wasn't Palace Mansions?"

  "H'm!" said Dunbar, "you are a loss to the detective service, my lad!And how do you account for the fact that Brian has not got to hear ofthe inquiry?"

  Hamper bent to Dunbar and whispered, beerily, in his ear: "P'r'aps 'edon't want to 'ear, guv'nor!"

  "Oh! Why not?"

  "Well, 'e knows there's something up there!"

  "Therefore it's his plain duty to assist the police."

  "Same as what I does?" cried Hamper, raising his eyebrows. "Course itis! but 'ow d'you know 'e ain't been got at?"

  "Our friend, here, evidently has one up against Mr. Tom Brian!" mutteredDunbar aside to Sowerby.

  "Wotcher say, guv'nor?" inquired the cabman, looking from one to theother.

  "I say, no doubt you can save us the trouble of looking out Brian'slicense, and give us his private address?" replied Dunbar.

  "Course I can. 'E lives hat num'er 36 Forth Street, Brixton, and 'e'sout o' the big Brixton depot."

  "Oh!" said Dunbar, dryly. "Does he owe you anything?"

  "Wotcher say, guv'nor?"

  "I say, it's very good of you to take all this trouble and whatever ithas cost you in time, we shall be pleased to put right."

  Mr. Hamper spat in his right palm, and rubbed his hands together,appreciatively.

  "Make it five bob!" he said.

  "Wait downstairs," directed Dunbar, pressing a bell-push beside thedoor. "I'll get it put through for you."

  "Right 'o!" rumbled the cabman, and went lurching from the room as aconstable in uniform appeared at the door. "Good mornin', guv'nor. Goodmornin'!"

  The cabman having departed, leaving in his wake a fragrant odor offourpenny ale:--

  "Here you are, Sowerby!" cried Dunbar. "We are moving at last! This isthe address of the late Mrs. Vernon's maid. See her; feel your ground,carefully, of course; get to know what clothes Mrs. Vernon took with heron her periodical visits to Scotland."

  "What clothes?"

  "That's the idea; it is important. I don't think the girl was inher mistress's confidence, but I leave it to you to find out. Ifcircumstances point to my surmise being inaccurate--you know how toact."

  "Just let me glance over your notes, bearing on the matter," saidSowerby, "and I'll be off."

  Dunbar handed him the bulging notebook, and Sergeant Sowerby lowered hisinadequate eyebrows, thoughtfully, whilst he scanned the evidence ofMr. Debnam. Then, returning the book to his superior, and adjusting thepeculiar bowler firmly upon his head, he set out.

  Dunbar glanced through some papers--apparently reports--which lay uponthe table, penciled comments upon two of them, and then, consulting hisnotebook once more in order to refresh his memory, started off for ForthStreet, Brixton.

  Forth Street, Brixton, is a depressing thoroughfare. It contains small,cheap flats, and a number of frowsy looking houses which give one theimpression of having run to seed. A hostelry of sad aspect occupies acommanding position midway along the street, but inspires the travelernot with cheer, but with lugubrious reflections upon the horrors ofinebriety. The odors, unpleasantly mingled, of fried bacon and paraffinoil, are wafted to the wayfarer from the porches of these familyresidences.

  Number 36 proved to be such a villa, and Inspector Dunbar contemplatedit from a distance, thoughtfully. As he stood by the door of thepublic house, gazing across the street, a tired looking woman, lean andanxious-eyed, a poor, dried up bean-pod of a woman, appeared from thedoor of number 36, carrying a basket. She walked along in the directionof the neighboring highroad, and Dunbar casually followed her.

  For some ten minutes he studied her activities, noting that she wentfrom shop to shop until her basket was laden with provisions of allsorts. When she entered a wine-and-spirit merchant's, the detectiveentered close behind her, for the place was also a post-office. Whilsthe purchased a penny stamp and fumbled in his pocket for an imaginaryletter, he observed, with interest, that the woman had purchased, andwas loading into the hospitable basket
, a bottle of whisky, a bottle ofrum, and a bottle of gin.

  He left the shop ahead of her, sure, now, of his ground, always providedthat the woman proved to be Mrs. Brian. Dunbar walked along Forth Streetslowly enough to enable the woman to overtake him. At the door of number36, he glanced up at the number, questioningly, and turned in the gateas she was about to enter.

  He raised his hat.

  "Have I the pleasure of addressing Mrs. Brian?"

  Momentarily, a hard look came into the tired eyes, but Dunbar'sgentleness of manner and voice, together with the kindly expression uponhis face, turned the scales favorably.

  "I am Mrs. Brian," she said; "yes. Did you want to see me?"

  "On a matter of some importance. May I come in?"

  She nodded and led the way into the house; the door was not closed.

  In a living-room whereon was written a pathetic history--a history ofdecline from easy circumstance and respectability to poverty and utterdisregard of appearances--she confronted him, setting down her basket ona table from which the remains of a fish breakfast were not yet removed.

  "Is your husband in?" inquired Dunbar with a subtle change of manner.

  "He's lying down."

  The hard look was creeping again into the woman's eyes.

  "Will you please awake him, and tell him that I have called in regard tohis license?"

  He thrust a card into her hand:--

  DETECTIVE-INSPECTOR DUNBAR,

  C. I. D.

  NEW SCOTLAND YARD. S. W.