Saturday, 4 July
MR. MERVYN BUNTER sat in the bedroom of a cheap hotel in Bloomsbury, keeping his eye on a rather dusty window, adorned with a rather grubby curtain, which he could see just across a very dingy courtyard. It was Mr Bunter’s fourth residence in as many days, and he felt that, if this went on much longer, it would be very difficult for him to keep out of view. His first night had been spent in the street, watching the door of a common lodging-house in the Whitechapel district. Thence he had followed his quarry to a gloomy little boarding-house in Brixton. On this occasion he had found a night’s lodging over a tobacconist’s,opposite, and by dint of returning very late and getting up very early, had contrived to keep on Mr Bright’s trail the following morning. The chase had then led him all round the more dreary parts of London, following a continual. succession of trams and omnibuses. This had been very difficult. Once or twice he had ventured on the same vehicle with Bright, but a dread of being spotted had obliged him to do most of his sleuthing in taxis, which, in that part of the town, were apt to be hard to find and pain fully conspicuous when found. The night had been dismally spent in the crypt of St Martin’s-in-the-Fields. Now here they were, and Bunter hoped that the ordeal would not last much longer. He had bought himself a suit of horrible cheap serge, which it gave him acute agony to wear, and he had also purchased a disgusting bowler of curly shape and heavy quality — also a check cap, a soft hat and a subfusc overcoat. Each day he had endeavoured to alter his appearance by successively assuming these repellent garments, carrying the-others, about with him in paper parcels, until at last he had felt, that, the perpetual presence of a man with a paper parcel would alarm the fugitive, and had relieved his arm and his mind by depositing the loathly bowler under the table in an eating-house and leaving it to its fate. Now, with a pair of pyjamas in one, pocket of the overcoat and a razor and tooth-brush in the other along with the cap, he sat, felt hat in hand, ready to dart out as soon as Bright showed any signs of moving.
During these last four hours, Bright had merely wandered. He had entered no hairdresser’s ‘shop and had made no attempt to get work. He seemed to be merely filling in time, or else deliberately confusing his trail. He had gone to a Talkie once or twice, had visited the British Museum, sat for a whole, afternoon on a bench in Hyde Park. He had spoken to nobody, except to bus-conductors, tram-conductors, waitresses and other harmless, necessary persons. At present he was sitting at his bedroom window, reading a book by Edgar Wallace which Bunter had seen him purchase the day before at Leicester Square Tube Station.
Suddenly, as Bunter watched him, he shut up the book and stepped back from the window. Peering across the courtyard, Bunter saw him stooping, moving about, raising and lowering his arms in a familiar series of actions. Bunter, who had performed these actions many hundreds of times, was not at a loss. The man was folding and packing pyjamas and other wearing apparel. Bunter hastened down to the office, handed over the key of his room (there was no bill for, being without luggage, he had paid for his bed and breakfast in advance), and stepped out into the street. Here he was fortunate enough to find a cruising taxi with an intelligent-looking driver, who was ready enough to engage in a little detectives work. The street was a cul-de-sac’ and Bunter, getting into the taxi, was driven out into the main road. Here he got out and entered a newspaper shop, leaving the taximan to watch the entrance to the cul-de-sac. Presently, while Bunter, standing just within the doorway, pretended to be absorbed in the morning paper, he saw the driver raise his hand as a signal, A green taxi had driven into the cul-de-sac. So far, so good.
‘Go slowly along to the corner,’ said-Bunter, ‘and stand there till the taxi comes out again. If it’s the, right man, I’ll tap on the glass. Then follow him, but not too close. Only don’t lose him in the traffic.’
‘Right you are. Divorce, eh?? ‘Murder,’ said Bunter.
‘Crikey!’ said the driver. ‘Police, eh?’ Bunter nodded.
‘Gorblimey,’ said the driver. ‘You don’t look it. P’raps you don’t mean to. Here we are. Taxi’s at the ‘otel door. Keep your ‘ed down — I’ll tell you when ’e comes out.’
So saying, the taximan descended in a leisurely way from his perch. and pulled open the bonnet of his machine. A passing policeman gave him a glance, nodded and strode heavily by.
‘Just a-coming out now,’ said the driver, thrusting his head in at the window, and then, in a louder tone: ‘All right, guv’nor — jest a loose connection.; She’ll start first swing now.’
He crawled up, just as the green taxi swung out of the cul-de-sac. Bunter, peering from behind his newspaper, recognised the pale face of Mr Bright and tapped on the glass. The green taxi passed within a foot of them. Bunter’s taxi circled in the road and swung in thirty yards behind.
The green taxi wriggled through some dismal by-streets, emerged into Judd Street and went ahead through Brunswick Square into Guilford Street and down Lamb’s Conduit Street and Red Lion Street. It turned to the right into Holborn, then to the left again into Kingsway, and then circled across into Great Queen Street and Long Acre. The following taxi kept it in view without very great difficulty till at last it turned to the left down one of the narrow streets, encumbered with huge drays and stationary carts, which lead down into Covent Garden. At the entrance to the market the green taxi pulled up.
Bunter’s taxi was one of the new and superior sort, which have an electric speaking-tube which really works. Bunter pressed the button and addressed his driver.
‘If he gets out here, drive past very slowly round that big cart. I shall slip out. Don’t look round or take any notice. I’m leaving a ten-bob note on the seat. Go straight on through the market.’
The driver’s head nodded assent. From the left-hand window, Bunter saw Bright standing on the pavement settling his fare. Bunter went on his way, and as the taxi passed on the far side of the big cart, he slipped quickly to the pavement. A fruiterer’s man, observing this manoeuvre, — turned sharply to shout to the driver that his fare was bilking him, but at that moment the hand of the faithful taximan came round and slammed the door shut. The fruiterer’s man stood staring, while Bunter, who had exchanged the felt hat for the cap in the taxi, dodged round in front of the cart to look for Bright.
To his great delight he saw Bright standing on the kerb, watching with a pleased air the steady retreat of Bunter’s taxi. After a quick scrutiny of his surroundings, the man appeared satisfied that he was not being followed and set off, briskly, suitcase in hand, towards the market. Bunter took up the trail, squelching — his way among the oddments of fruit and cabbage-leaves. The chase led through the market, out into Tavistock Street and down towards the Strand. Here Bright took a bus going West, Bunter pursuing in a fresh taxi. The new trail led only as far as Charing Cross, where Bright got out and hastened into the station yard. Bunter, hurriedly flinging a florin to his driver, dived in; after him.
Bright led the way into the Charing Cross Hotel; Bunter was forced this time to follow closely, lest he should lose his prey. Bright went up to the desk and spoke to the reception-clerk. After a short pause and the display of a visiting-card, a parcel was handed over. Upon receiving it and putting it away in his suit-case, Bright turned sharp round and walked back to the door, passing Bunter within a couple of feet. Their eyes met, but Bright’s showed no recognition. He went straight out into the station-yard again.