Maxwell Grant
The London Crimes
CHAPTER I. ABOARD THE BOAT TRAIN
DARKNESS had engulfed the English countryside. The special boat train from Plymouth was speeding on toward London, carrying passengers who had landed from the steamship Patagonia.
Two men were seated in a well-lighted compartment of a third-class carriage. Though they had crossed the Atlantic on the same liner, they appeared to be unacquainted. This was not surprising; for the pair made a distinct contrast.
One was a sharp-faced, ruddy-complexioned man whose age was no more than forty. Though restrained in manner, he gave occasional signs of restlessness; this was indicated by the frequent tightening of his lips, and the furrows which sometimes showed upon his forehead.
Upon the seat beside this man was a black leather briefcase. One hand, its fingers powerful in their pressure, was resting on the briefcase. The owner of the bag regarded it as important; and with good reason. His identity and his occupation were the explanations.
This sharp-faced man was Eric Delka, special investigator from Scotland Yard. Delka was returning from a trip to New York, where he had acquired important information for the London Metropolitan Police office. All the facts that Delka had gained were contained in the portfolio which rested close beside him.
The other occupant of the compartment was an elderly gray-haired gentleman. Delka, though he had not met the man, had seen him on the Patagonia and had heard mention of his name. He was Phineas Twambley, an American.
Seated caticornered to Delka, Twambley was hunched forward, dozing. His face, though benign of expression, showed weariness. His long, scrawny hands were weakly resting upon the handle of a heavy, gold-headed cane. Delka remembered that Twambley had always needed the cane to hobble about the decks of the liner.
COINCIDENCE had apparently placed Delka in the same compartment as Twambley. A porter at the dock had told the Scotland Yard man that many of the passengers from the steamship were taking first-class carriages, which meant that there would be more space in the third-class coaches.
The porter had also offered to find a vacant compartment, a suggestion that was to Delka’s liking.
Though the porter had failed to make good his boast, he had done well; for he had managed to place Delka in a compartment that had but one other occupant.
Though Delka would have preferred complete seclusion, he had found no immediate objection to Phineas Twambley as a traveling companion. The only hitch had arrived when Delka had chosen to light a cigarette. Then the old man had burst into a coughing spasm. Delka had desisted without waiting to hear a protest from his fellow passenger.
Two hundred and twenty-five miles to London. Such was the distance of the trip; and the train was due to clip the mileage in less than five hours. A portion of the journey had been covered; but Delka was glum as he considered the annoyance of going without a smoke.
Casually, he eyed Twambley. The old man was dozing more profoundly. Delka produced a silver pocket-case and extracted a cigarette. He saw the old man stir and shift position. Delka smiled wryly and shook his head. He decided that a few puffs of cigarette smoke would probably awaken the old chap.
Quietly, Delka arose and opened the door into the corridor. He stepped from the compartment, eyed Twambley again, then softly closed the door. Striking a match, the Scotland Yard man lighted his cigarette. He felt an immediate appreciation of the first few puffs.
Delka had left his precious briefcase in the compartment; but that, to his mind, had been a wise procedure. Though he kept the briefcase always with him, Delka acted as though it was an item of little consequence.
In a circumstance such as this, the best plan was to let the briefcase remain where it was. Old Twambley was by no means a suspicious character; moreover, the old man had luggage of his own, heaped in a corner of the compartment. If Twambley should awake— which seemed unlikely — he would probably not even notice the briefcase.
So Delka reasoned; but despite his shrewdness, he was wrong. The instant that the Scotland Yard man had closed the door of the compartment, Phineas Twambley had opened one eye. Motionless, he waited until half a minute had elapsed. Satisfied that Delka must be smoking, the old man displayed immediate action.
Dipping one long hand beneath the seat behind his luggage, Phineas Twambley brought out a briefcase that was the exact duplicate of Delka’s. With surprising spryness, the old man sidled across the compartment and picked up Delka’s briefcase. He laid his own bag in the exact position of the other; then, moving back, he thrust Delka’s portfolio out of sight. The exchange completed, Twambley went back to his doze.
A few minutes later, Delka returned to find the old man sleeping. Delka sat down and rested his hand upon the briefcase that was in view. Totally unsuspicious of what had occurred, the Scotland Yard man decided to drowse away the time. Like Twambley, Delka began to doze.
IT was a sudden noise that caused Eric Delka to awaken. Always a light sleeper, Delka came to life suddenly when he heard a click from close beside him. Opening his eyes, he caught a glimpse of Twambley, head bowed and nodding. Then Delka swung his gaze toward the door to the corridor.
Delka was nearer the door than Twambley, for the old man had chosen a seat by the window. It was from the corridor door that the noise had come; and Delka, despite his quick awakening, was too late to stop the next event that developed.
The door swung inward; two hard-faced men with glimmering revolvers spotted the Scotland Yard man before he could make a move.
“Up with ‘em!” growled one of the arrivals jabbing the muzzle of his revolver straight toward Delka. Then, to this companion: “Cover the old guy, Jake, in case he wakes up.”
Delka’s hands went reluctantly upward. The briefcase slid from beside him; half shifting, the Scotland Yard man tried to cover it. His action brought a growl from the man who had him covered.
“No you don’t, Delka,” snarled the intruder. “We know what you’ve got in that briefcase. We’re goin’ to give it the once-over. An’ you’ll be a lucky guy if you haven’t got the dope you went after. Because if you know too much, it’ll be curtains for you!”
Delka stood up slowly, in response to a vertical urge from the rowdy’s gun. With sidelong glance, he saw Twambley dozing as steadily as before. The second crook was chuckling contemptuously as he watched the old man.
“He’s dead to the world, Pete,” informed Jake. “Go ahead with the heat. See what Delka’s got in the briefcase. If he starts trouble, I’m with you. The old bloke don’t count.”
Pete reached forward. With one hand, he started to pull back the zipper fastening of the briefcase. The train was driving forward with the speed for which the Great Western Railway is famous. It took a curve as the crook tugged at the bag.
Momentarily, Pete lost his footing. His shoulder jarred against the wall of the compartment. His gun lost its aim.
Delka, watching Jake also, saw opportunity. With a sudden bound, the Scotland Yard man pounced upon Pete and grabbed the fellow’s gun wrist.
Jake swung with a snarl. He could not aim at Delka, for Pete’s body intervened. The thug was getting the worse of it. With a quick move, Jake leaped across the compartment and swung to gain a bead on Delka. At the same moment, another roll of the train gave Pete a chance to rally.
The grappling thug shoved Delka back against the wall. Jake shouted encouragement, as he aimed his revolver toward Delka. As if in answer to the call, another pair of thugs sprang into view from the corridor. Like Pete and Jake, these two had revolvers.
Odds against Delka. Murder was due. But into the breach came an unexpected rescuer — one whose very appearance had made him seem a negligible factor. With a speed that would have been incredible in a young and active man, Phineas Twambley launched into the fray.