H.M. and Charters I left in the latter's study. Both were very worried over Antrim's information. As I was going out, I remember Charters's saying that he would show H.M. some exhibits in the Willoughby case, whatever it might be. I also noticed that the blue Hillman touring-car was no longer in the drive outside the bungalow. Stowing away the Compleat Burglar's kit under a rug in the tonneau — it was more of a cursed nuisance than anything else, since I meant to use only the skeleton keys or the glass-cutter — I climbed into H.M.'s Lanchester and let drive for the great adventure.
It was not quite dark. A strip of pale clear sky lay along the west, but smoky blue had begun to obscure it; and below, along the main highway, street-lamps were winking into flame. The lane down which I ran the car was deeply shadowed. On either side were high hedgerows, and beyond them white-blossoming apple trees. In short, all was peace — for precisely fifty Seconds. I had come to the mouth of the lane opening into the main road. In the highway was the homely sight of a bus stopping by a street lamp, and somebody in a white linen suit climbing down. Then, in the hedgerow to my right, there was a sound of violent crackling. Somebody said, "Pss-t!" A face, looking paler by reason of the gloom and its mahogany-coloured hair, was poked through the hedge. It was followed by a shambling body, and, as I stopped the car, Dr. Antrim laid his hand on the door.
"Excuse me," he said. "I know you'll think this is confounded cheek, but it's pretty urgent. My own car's gone bust — no time to fix it — you know. They said you were driving to London to-night. Could you manage to drop me off at Moreton Abbot?"
This was dilemma before the adventure had even begun. Antrim's eyes appeared to have a steady shine in the gloom.
"Moreton Abbot," I said, as though the name were unfamiliar. "Moreton Abbot? What part of Moreton Abbot?"
"Valley Road. It's just on the outskirts. Dignity be damned, no time for dignity now. It's very important," urged Antrim, running a finger round under a tight collar. "Fact is, a patient of mine lives there. Name of Hogenauer. It's very important."
If I didn't take him, he would probably take a bus and go anyway. If I did take him, it might wreck the whole of my little enterprise; but at least I should have him under my eye and know when I could start housebreaking in safety. Nevertheless, the decision was taken out of my hands. The passenger who had got off the bus in the main highway had just turned into the mouth of the lane. I saw a stocky man in a white linen suit, wearing a straw hat and smoking a cigar. The man hesitated, and then came towards the car.
"I wonder if you could tell me " said a familiar hearty voice, in an almost deferential tone, and then broke off. "Well, well, well!" it crowed. "If it isn't Blake! Imagine running into you down here! How are you, Mr. Blake?"
The last light shone on the alert pince-nez, with the little chain going to the ear, of Mr. Johnson Stone — still on H.M.'s trail. Stone's round, fresh-complexioned face was turned up with great amiability, but he had the look of one whose inner temper is wearing thin. Even as he extended his hand, a new thought appeared to strike him.
"Here," he said in a somewhat aggrieved tone, "were you holding out on me? Did you know where Merrivale was after all? I've only just tracked him down. Out of the pure goodness of my heart, just to do him a favour, I've hunted all over England for him when I was supposed to be taking a holiday; and right at this minute I'm supposed to be visiting my son-in-law in Bristol. If you people have been holding out on me — "
"Beg pardon, sir," interposed Antrim curtly. Antrim had been looking steadily at me. "I understood that this fellow's name was Butler."
"Well, it was Blake when I met him in London," answered Stone, regarding him curiously. "But it's possible that he's going round in disguise as well as the rest of 'em. I'm getting a little tired of all this."
"It's possible he is," said Antrim in a curious voice-and then his big figure disappeared through the gap in the hedge. Stone blinked. There was a pause.
"I'm sorry if I've spoiled anything, he said calmly, "I wouldn't have, if I'd known. But that took me off balance, and if you intend to go around giving false names you ought to let me know in advance. I've always regarded the English as a pretty level-headed sort of people, but, so help me Jinny, this is the queerest country I ever got into! I ought to be in Bristol to-night. And if I ever do catch up with Merrivale, which seems unlikely —‘
I let in the clutch. "He's up there. But there's one thing I'd ask and plead of you: for God's sake stop harping on that tedious joke about disguise — particularly when you meet H.M. And whatever else you do, don't mention his hat."
The car moved down into the main road. I had the satisfaction of seeing Stone put up a hand bewilderedly to his pince-nez, and of creating some mystification on my own account. He seemed to be puffing vigorously at his cigar. But Antrim had bolted like a rabbit at the mention of a false name: why? I had lost any chance I might have had of learning something from Antrim, though it was some consolation to reflect that I hadn't the remotest notion as to the subject on which I might have learned something. It was all a game in the dark, and very shortly I would literally be playing a very dangerous game in the dark.
I took my time over that drive to Moreton Abbot, leaving Torquay by a roundabout way through the deep lanes. But, when I wound into Moreton Abbot, the first street I found was Valley Road. It was very long, very broad, not too well-lighted, and a picture of suburban respectability. There were long ranks of detached and semi-detached houses, neat and low-built, in stucco or brick or stone, imaginatively or sedately painted, but all looking curiously alike in their mere closeness to each other. Each had a small front-garden minutely laid out with flowers. Each had a brown-painted gate inscribed with some more or less relevant name. Most of the houses were lighted; cyclists toiled along the road with plodding pedals; and through an open window a radio was talking hoarsely.
Though it is usually next to impossible to find a house by name rather than by number, I cruised past "The Larches" almost at once. The name was fresh-painted on the gate. It had (surprisingly) a larch like a stunted pine-tree growing on either side of a white-painted front door, and it looked even more respectable than its neighbours. But I was relieved to see that the houses on either side were already dark. There appeared to be an alley running along the rank at the rear, and it might have been the safest way in unobserved; but alleys usually mean watchdogs.
I drove on for several hundred yards, and swung into a gloomy turning labelled Liberia Avenue, where I could stop the car and consider. The question was how far away I should park the car. I pulled up to the kerb and lit a cigarette.
And at the same time a hand fell on my shoulder from behind.
A very large policeman was looking down at me in the twilight, with a sort of sad and gloomy satisfaction like Monte Cristo in the melodrama; by the glow of the dashlamps I could see the sergeant's stripes on his arm. At the same moment another policeman appeared at the front. of the car, directing a beam from a bull's-eye lantern at the number-plate.
"You're under arrest," said the sergeant. "I have to warn you that anything you say will be taken down and may be used in evidence- That the right number?" he added over his shoulder.
"Ah," agreed his companion. "AXA 564. That's it. Bit of luck, this. Then they both looked at me intently. "Sst!" warned the second man, after this sinister pause. "Black bag, sir. Black bag that they told us to look out for."
"Right," said the sergeant. He examined the front of the car, finding nothing more significant than my feet; then he looked in the rear, felt under the rug, and with granite triumph produced the case of the Compleat Burglar. "Out you get, my bucko. Got any objection to my opening this?"