The Complete Four Just Men Read online

  The detective finished reading. ‘Watch’ was not the last word in the original message, as he knew. There had been an ominous postscript, ‘Afraid they will arrive too late.’

  ‘Then you think – ?’ asked the statesman.

  ‘That your danger lies in doing one of the things that Pinkerton warns us against,’ replied the detective. ‘There is no fear that the American police are talking idly. They have based their warning on some sure knowledge, and that is why I regard their cable as important.’

  There was a sharp rap on the panel of the door, and without waiting for invitation the private secretary walked into the room, excitedly waving a newspaper.

  ‘Look at this!’ he cried, ‘read this! The Four have admitted their failure.’

  ‘What!’ shouted the detective, reaching for the journal.

  ‘What does this mean?’ asked Sir Philip sharply.

  ‘Only this, sir: these beggars, it appears, have actually written an article on their “mission”.’

  ‘In what newspaper?’

  ‘The Megaphone. It seems when they recaptured Thery the editor asked the masked man to write him an article about himself, and they’ve done it; and it’s here, and they’ve admitted defeat, and – and – ’

  The detective had seized the paper and broke in upon the incoherent secretary’s speech.

  ‘The Creed of the Four Just Men,’ he read. ‘Where is their confession of failure?’

  ‘Half way down the column – I have marked the passage – here’; and the young man pointed with a trembling finger to a paragraph.

  ‘ “We leave nothing to chance,” ’ read the detective, ‘ “if the slightest hitch occurs, if the least detail of our plan miscarries, we acknowledge defeat. So assured are we that our presence on earth is necessary for the carrying out of a great plan, so certain are we that we are the indispensable instruments of a divine providence, that we dare not, for the sake of our very cause, accept unnecessary risks. It is essential therefore that the various preliminaries to every execution should be carried out to the full. As an example, it will be necessary for us to deliver our final warning to Sir Philip Ramon; and to add point to this warning, it is, by our code, essential that that should be handed to the Minister by one of us in person. All arrangements have been made to carry this portion of our programme into effect. But such are the extraordinary exigencies of our system that unless this warning can be handed to Sir Philip in accordance with our promise, and before eight o’clock this evening, our arrangements fall to the ground, and the execution we have planned must be forgone.” ’

  The detective stopped reading, with disappointment visible on every line of his face.

  ‘I thought, sir, by the way you were carrying on that you had discovered something new. I’ve read all this, a copy of the article was sent to the Yard as soon as it was received.’

  The secretary thumped the desk impatiently.

  ‘But don’t you see!’ he cried, ‘don’t you understand that there is no longer any need to guard Sir Philip, that there is no reason to use him as a bait, or, in fact, to do anything if we are to believe these men – look at the time – ’

  The detective’s hand flew to his pocket; he drew out his watch, looked at the dial, and whistled.

  ‘Half past eight, by God!’ he muttered in astonishment, and the three stood in surprised silence.

  Sir Philip broke the silence.

  ‘Is it a ruse to take us off our guard?’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ replied the detective slowly, ‘I feel sure that it is not; nor shall I relax my watch – but I am a believer in the honesty of these men – I don’t know why I should say this, for I have been dealing with criminals for the past twenty-five years, and never once have I put an ounce of faith in the word of the best of ’em, but somehow I can’t disbelieve these men. If they have failed to deliver their message they will not trouble us again.’

  Ramon paced his room with quick, nervous steps.

  ‘I wish I could believe that,’ he muttered; ‘I wish I had your faith.’

  A tap on the door panel.

  ‘An urgent telegram for Sir Philip,’ said a grey-haired attendant.

  The Minister stretched out his hand, but the detective was before him.

  ‘Remember Pinkerton’s wire, sir,’ he said, and ripped open the brown envelope.

  Just received a telegram handed in at Charing Cross 7.52. Begins: We have delivered our last message to the Foreign Secretary, signed Four. Ends. Is this true? Editor, Megaphone.

  ‘What does this mean?’ asked Falmouth in bewilderment when he had finished reading.

  ‘It means, my dear Mr Falmouth,’ replied Sir Philip testily, ‘that your noble Four are liars and braggarts as well as murderers; and it means at the same time, I hope, an end to your ridiculous faith in their honesty.’

  The detective made no answer, but his face was clouded and he bit his lips in perplexity.

  ‘Nobody came after I left?’ he asked.

  ‘Nobody.’

  ‘You have seen no person besides your secretary and myself?’

  ‘Absolutely nobody has spoken to me, or approached within a dozen yards of me,’ Ramon answered shortly.

  Falmouth shook his head despairingly.

  ‘Well – I – where are we?’ he asked, speaking more to himself than to anybody in the room, and moved towards the door.

  Then it was that Sir Philip remembered the package left in his charge.

  ‘You had better take your precious documents,’ he said, opening his drawer and throwing the package left in his charge on to the table.

  The detective looked puzzled.

  ‘What is this?’ he asked, picking up the envelope.

  ‘I’m afraid the shock of finding yourself deceived in your estimate of my persecutors has dazed you,’ said Sir Philip, and added pointedly, ‘I must ask the Commissioner to send an officer who has a better appreciation of the criminal mind, and a less childlike faith in the honour of murderers.’

  ‘As to that, sir,’ said Falmouth, unmoved by the outburst, ‘you must do as you think best. I have discharged my duty to my own satisfaction; and I have no more critical taskmaster than myself. But what I am more anxious to hear is exactly what you mean by saying that I handed any papers into your care.’

  The Foreign Secretary glared across the table at the imperturbable police officer.

  ‘I am referring, sir,’ he said harshly, ‘to the packet which you returned to leave in my charge.’

  The detective stared.

  ‘I – did – not – return,’ he said in a strained voice. ‘I have left no papers in your hands.’ He picked up the package from the table, tore it open, and disclosed yet another envelope. As he caught sight of the grey-green cover he gave a sharp cry.

  ‘This is the message of the Four,’ said Falmouth.

  The Foreign Secretary staggered back a pace, white to the lips.

  ‘And the man who delivered it?’ he gasped.

  ‘Was one of the Four Just Men,’ said the detective grimly. ‘They have kept their promise.’

  He took a quick step to the door, passed through into the ante-room and beckoned the plain-clothes officer who stood on guard at the outer door.

  ‘Do you remember my going out?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, sir – both times.’

  ‘Both times, eh!’ said Falmouth bitterly, ‘and how did I look the second time?’

  His subordinate was bewildered at the form the question took.

  ‘As usual, sir,’ he stammered.

  ‘How was I dressed?’

  The constable considered. ‘In your long dust-coat.’

  ‘I wore my goggles, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’
<
br />   ‘I thought so,’ muttered Falmouth savagely, and raced down the broad marble stairs that led to the entrance-hall. There were four men on duty who saluted him as he approached.

  ‘Do you remember my going out?’ he asked of the sergeant in charge.

  ‘Yes, sir – both times,’ the officer replied.

  ‘Damn your “both times”!’ snapped Falmouth; ‘how long had I been gone the first time before I returned?’

  ‘Five minutes, sir,’ was the astonished officer’s reply.

  ‘They just gave themselves time to do it,’ muttered Falmouth, and then aloud, ‘Did I return in my car?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Ah! – ’ hope sprang into the detective’s breast – ‘did you notice the number?’ he asked, almost fearful to hear the reply.

  ‘Yes!’

  The detective could have hugged the stolid officer.

  ‘Good – what was it?’

  ‘A 17164.’

  The detective made a rapid note of the number.

  ‘Jackson,’ he called, and one of the men in mufti stepped forward and saluted.

  ‘Go to the Yard; find out the registered owner of this car. When you have found this go to the owner; ask him to explain his movements; if necessary, take him into custody.’

  Falmouth retraced his steps to Sir Philip’s study. He found the statesman still agitatedly walking up and down the room, the secretary nervously drumming his fingers on the table, and the letter still unopened.

  ‘As I thought,’ explained Falmouth, ‘the man you saw was one of the Four impersonating me. He chose his time admirably: my own men were deceived. They managed to get a car exactly similar in build and colour to mine, and, watching their opportunity, they drove to Downing Street a few minutes after I had left. There is one last chance of our catching him – luckily the sergeant on duty noticed the number of the car, and we might be able to trace him through that – hullo.’ An attendant stood at the door.

  Would the Superintendent see Detective Jackson?

  Falmouth found him waiting in the hall below.

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said Jackson, saluting, ‘but is there not some mistake in this number?’

  ‘Why?’ asked the detective sharply.

  ‘Because,’ said the man, ‘A 17164 is the number of your own car.’

  Chapter 8

  The pocket-book

  The final warning was brief and to the point.

  We allow you until tomorrow evening to reconsider your position in the matter of the Aliens Extradition Bill. If by six o’clock no announcement is made in the afternoon newspapers of your withdrawing this measure we shall have no other course to pursue but to fulfil our promise. You will die at eight in the evening. We append for your enlightenment a concise table of the secret police arrangements made for your safety tomorrow. Farewell.

  (Signed) Four Just Men

  Sir Philip read this over without a tremor. He read too the slip of paper on which was written, in the strange foreign hand, the details that the police had not dared to put into writing.

  ‘There is a leakage somewhere,’ he said, and the two anxious watchers saw that the face of their charge was grey and drawn.

  ‘These details were known only to four,’ said the detective quietly, ‘and I’ll stake my life that it was neither the Commissioner nor myself.’

  ‘Nor I!’ said the private secretary emphatically.

  Sir Philip shrugged his shoulders with a weary laugh.

  ‘What does it matter? – they know,’ he exclaimed; ‘by what uncanny method they learnt the secret I neither know nor care. The question is, can I be adequately protected tomorrow night at eight o’clock?’

  Falmouth shut his teeth.

  ‘Either you’ll come out of it alive or, by the Lord, they’ll kill two,’ he said, and there was a gleam in his eye that spoke for his determination.

  * * *

  The news that yet another letter had reached the great statesman was on the streets at ten o’clock that night. It circulated through the clubs and theatres, and between the acts grave-faced men stood in the vestibules discussing Ramon’s danger. The House of Commons was seething with excitement. In the hope that the Minister would come down, a strong House had gathered, but the members were disappointed, for it was evident soon after the dinner recess that Sir Philip had no intention of showing himself that night.

  ‘Might I ask the right honourable the Prime Minister whether it is the intention of His Majesty’s Government to proceed with the Aliens Extradition (Political Offences) Bill,’ asked the Radical Member for West Deptford, ‘and whether he has not considered, in view of the extraordinary conditions that this Bill has called into life, the advisability of postponing the introduction of this measure?’

  The question was greeted with a chorus of “hear-hears”, and the Prime Minister rose slowly and turned an amused glance in the direction of the questioner.

  ‘I know of no circumstance that is likely to prevent my right honourable friend, who is unfortunately not in his place tonight, from moving the second reading of the Bill tomorrow,’ he said, and sat down.

  ‘What the devil was he grinning at?’ grumbled West Deptford to a neighbour.

  ‘He’s deuced uncomfortable, is JK,’ said the other wisely, ‘deuced uncomfortable; a man in the Cabinet was telling me today that old JK has been feeling deuced uncomfortable. “You mark my words,” he said, “this Four Just Men business is making the Premier deuced uncomfortable,” ’ and the Hon. Member subsided to allow West Deptford to digest his neighbour’s profundities.

  ‘I’ve done my best to persuade Ramon to drop the Bill,’ the Premier was saying, ‘but he is adamant, and the pitiable thing is that he believes in his heart of hearts that these fellows intend keeping faith.’

  ‘It is monstrous,’ said the Colonial Secretary hotly; ‘it is inconceivable that such a state of affairs can last. Why, it strikes at the root of everything, it unbalances every adjustment of civilisation.’

  ‘It is a poetical idea,’ said the phlegmatic Premier, ‘and the standpoint of the Four is quite a logical one. Think of the enormous power for good or evil often vested in one man: a capitalist controlling the markets of the world, a speculator cornering cotton or wheat whilst mills stand idle and people starve, tyrants and despots with the destinies of nations between their thumb and finger – and then think of the four men, known to none; vague, shadowy figures stalking tragically through the world, condemning and executing the capitalist, the corner maker, the tyrant – evil forces all, and all beyond reach of the law. We have said of these people, such of us as are touched with mysticism, that God would judge them. Here are men arrogating to themselves the divine right of superior judgment. If we catch them they will end their lives unpicturesquely, in a matter-of-fact, commonplace manner in a little shed in Pentonville Gaol, and the world will never realise how great are the artists who perish.’

  ‘But Ramon?’

  The Premier smiled.

  ‘Here, I think, these men have just overreached themselves. Had they been content to slay first and explain their mission afterwards I have little doubt that Ramon would have died. But they have warned and warned and exposed their hand a dozen times over. I know nothing of the arrangements that are being made by the police, but I should imagine that by tomorrow night it will be as difficult to get within a dozen yards of Ramon as it would be for a Siberian prisoner to dine with the Czar.’

  ‘Is there no possibility of Ramon withdrawing the Bill?’ asked the Colonies.

  The Premier shook his head.

  ‘Absolutely none,’ he said.

  The rising of a member of the Opposition front bench at that moment to move an amendment to a clause under discussion cut short the conversation.

  The House rapid
ly emptied when it became generally known that Ramon did not intend appearing, and the members gathered in the smoking-room and lobby to speculate upon the matter which was uppermost in their minds.

  In the vicinity of Palace Yard a great crowd had gathered, as in London crowds will gather, on the off-chance of catching a glimpse of the man whose name was in every mouth. Street vendors sold his portrait, frowsy men purveying the real life and adventures of the Four Just Men did a roaring trade, and itinerant street singers, introducing extemporised verses into their repertoire, declaimed the courage of that statesman bold, who dared for to resist the threats of coward alien and deadly anarchist.

  There was praise in these poor lyrics for Sir Philip, who was trying to prevent the foreigner from taking the bread out of the mouths of honest working men.

  The humour of which appealed greatly to Manfred, who, with Poiccart, had driven to the Westminster end of the Embankment; having dismissed their cab, they were walking to Whitehall.

  ‘I think the verse about the “deadly foreign anarchist” taking the bread out of the mouth of the home-made variety is distinctly good,’ chuckled Manfred.

  Both men were in evening dress, and Poiccart wore in his button-hole the silken button of a Chevalier of the Légion d’Honneur.

  Manfred continued: ‘I doubt whether London has had such a sensation since – when?’

  Poiccart’s grim smile caught the other’s eye and he smiled in sympathy.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I asked the same question of the maître d’hôtel,’ he said slowly, like a man loath to share a joke; ‘he compared the agitation to the atrocious East-End murders.’

  Manfred stopped dead and looked with horror on his companion.

  ‘Great heavens!’ he exclaimed in distress, ‘it never occurred to me that we should be compared with – him!’

  They resumed their walk.

  ‘It is part of the eternal bathos,’ said Poiccart serenely; ‘even De Quincey taught the English nothing. The God of Justice has but one interpreter here, and he lives in a public-house in Lancashire, and is an expert and dexterous disciple of the lamented Marwood, whose system he has improved upon.’