Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 086 - The London Crimes

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THE LONDON CRIMES
by Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. ABOARD THE BOAT TRAIN
? CHAPTER II. AT SCOTLAND YARD
? CHAPTER III. OPPORTUNITY KNOCKS
? CHAPTER IV. THE GAME DEEPENS
? CHAPTER V. THE COUNTERTHRUST
? CHAPTER VI. THE LAW LEARNS FACTS
? CHAPTER VII. THE SHADOW DECIDES
? CHAPTER VIII. DOWN FROM LONDON
? CHAPTER IX. SOUTH OF LONDON
? CHAPTER X. PATHS IN THE DARK
? CHAPTER XI. AFTER MIDNIGHT
? CHAPTER XII. THE SHADOW DEPARTS
? CHAPTER XIII. THE SHADOW BY DAY
? CHAPTER XIV. EVENTS IN LONDON
? CHAPTER XV. SCOTLAND YARD MOVES
? CHAPTER XVI. THE HARVESTER REAPS
? CHAPTER XVII. DELKA FINDS A CLUE
? CHAPTER XVIII. CRIME REVIEWED
? CHAPTER XIX. THE RAJAH PASSES
? CHAPTER XX. TWO PLEAS ARE HEARD
? CHAPTER XXI. THE SHADOW'S TURN
? CHAPTER XXII. THE FINAL VERDICT
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.
MAGICALLY, the old man straightened. His right hand swung with terrific speed. That hand gripped the
heavy cane; with the swiftness of a whiplash, the stick flashed downward and cracked Jake's aiming
wrist. Solid wood won the conflict with bone. The gun went clattering from Jake's fist. The thug sprawled
with a howl.
That was not all. As Twambley's right hand performed its speedy action, his left shot beneath the right
side of his coat. Out it came - a long, clutching fist that gripped a .45 automatic.
The thugs in the doorway snarled as they aimed to kill. Their revolvers swung too late to match that
swiftly whisked automatic.
The first shot boomed for a living mark. One would-be killer thudded forward to the floor. The other,
aiming, fired. But Twambley, was double quick. Diving sidewise, the old man struck the wall. The thug's
hasty aim was wide. The bullet that spat from the revolver cracked the window just beyond the spot
where Twambley had been. Then came the old man's second action; another roaring shot from his
automatic.
Flame spurted. The thug in the doorway staggered, then went diving out into the corridor. Jake, springing
upward, had grabbed his revolver with his left hand, anxious to get new aim at Twambley. A sidewise
swing from the cane sent the fellow sprawling back to the floor. This time, Jake's head took the crack.
Delka had gained Pete's gun. He had twisted the crook about. With one fierce drive, the Scotland Yard
man rammed his adversary's head against the wall. Pete slumped. Delka, staring, saw a leveled
automatic—Twambley's.
THE old man's hand moved slowly downward, following the direction of Pete's sagging form. Not
content with disposing of three adversaries, he had gained the aim on the fourth. Had Pete still shown
fight, this amazing battler would have dropped him.
Shouts from the corridor. Train attendants had heard the sound of fray. They were dashing up to learn
the cause. They had blocked the path of one crook who sought escape. That was the reason for the
shouts; but Eric Delka scarcely heard the outside cries.
For a strange sound had filled the compartment, a whispered tone that rose above the chugging of the
train. It was a weird burst of mirth, a chilling burst of repressed mockery intended for Delka's ears alone.
Once before, the man from Scotland Yard had heard that taunt, upon a previous time when business had
taken him to the United States. Then, as now, Eric Delka had been rescued by the author of that sinister
mirth. (Note: See "The Man From Scotland Yard;" Vol. XIV, No. 5.)
Here, in this compartment, stood a man whose lips did not move; yet Delka knew that it was from those
lips that the laugh had come. The lips of Phineas Twambley. Delka knew the concealed identity of his
rescuer. Twambley was The Shadow.
Strange, amazing battler who hunted down men of crime, The Shadow— Delka's former rescuer—had
appeared in England. That Delka might choose the proper course of action, The Shadow had revealed
his identity to the man from Scotland Yard.
As Delka stared, the long left hand unloosened. The automatic dropped from The Shadow's clutch, to fall
at Delka's feet. In a twinkling, that long, firm hand seemed scrawny. The Shadow's form doubled;
hunched, it sought the support of the heavy cane. Then, with a shudder, The Shadow sank back to the
seat where he had been. A quavering figure, with a face that wore a senile grin, he had resumed the part
of Phineas Twambley.
Eric Delka understood. Quickly, he grabbed up the gun that The Shadow had let fall. Train guards were
already at the door of the compartment. It was Delka's part to take credit for having won this battle,
alone. Such was The Shadow's order.
To that command, Delka had responded without question, even though no word had been uttered.
Whispered mirth had carried the order; and its tone had borne full significance. Eric Delka could only
obey.
He had heard the laugh of The Shadow!
CHAPTER II. AT SCOTLAND YARD
THE Great Western train was a few minutes late when it reached Paddington Station, its London
terminus. Seated in the cab of the gaudily painted locomotive, the engineer eyed two men as they walked
along the platform.
One was Eric Delka; the engineer had heard about the Scotland Yard man when the train had been held
at Taunton. Delka was the chap who, single-handed, had crippled a crew of murderous attackers. Those
thugs had been turned over to the authorities at Taunton.
With Delka was a gray-haired, stoop-shouldered companion who hobbled along at a spry pace. The
engineer had heard mention of his name also. The man was Phineas Twambley, who had been in Delka's
compartment during the battle.
According to report, however, Twambley had figured in the fray only as a spectator. The engineer was
not surprised, once he had viewed Twambley. Delka's companion looked too old to have been a
combatant in active battle.
That opinion was shared by every one who had come in contact with Phineas Twambley, except those
who had been participants in the fight. The crooks whom The Shadow had downed were in no condition
to talk, while Eric Delka was tactful enough to keep his own conclusions to himself. His first commitment
came when he and The Shadow had walked from the train shed. Then Delka cagily addressed his
companion.
"I should like to have you accompany me to the Yard, Mr. Twambley," vouchsafed Delka. "Perhaps you
would be interested in my report to Sidney Lewsham. He's acting as chief constable of the C.I.D. I
should like, to introduce you to him."
"Very well." The Shadow chuckled in Twambley fashion. "However, I should like to send my luggage to
the Savoy Hotel -"
"We can arrange that quite easily."
Delka gave instructions to the porter. The luggage that bore Phineas Twambley's tags was marked for the
Savoy. During the process, however, Delka was suddenly astonished to see his stoop-shouldered
companion pluck a briefcase from among the stack of bags.
"This appears to be yours, Mr. Delka," remarked The Shadow, in a crackly tone. "I shall ask you to
return my briefcase."
Half gaping, Delka looked at the bag in his own hand. Hastily, he pulled back the zipper fastenings. He
saw at once that the contents consisted entirely of steamship folders and British railway time-tables.
As The Shadow took the briefcase from Delka's hand, the Scotland Yard man yanked open the one that
The Shadow gave him.
Within were Delka's precious documents—the fruits of his journey to New York. Realization dawned
upon Delka; new proof of the protection which The Shadow had afforded him. Had crooks aboard the
train managed a get-away, they would have gained nothing. The very bag for which they had battled had
not been Delka's! Thinking this over, the Scotland Yard man smiled; but made no comment.
WITH Twambley's luggage arranged for its trip to the Savoy, Delka and his companion descended to the
Paddington Station of the Bakerloo Line, the most convenient underground route to the vicinity of
Scotland Yard. A dozen minutes after boarding the tube train, they arrived at the Charing Cross
underground station. From there, a short southward walk along the Thames Embankment brought them
to the portals of New Scotland Yard.
Delka gained prompt admittance to the office of Sidney Lewsham, acting chief of the Criminal
Investigation Department. Lewsham, a towering, heavy-browed man, was curious when he gazed at
Delka's companion. Briskly, Delka introduced The Shadow as Phineas Twambley.
"Mr. Twambley aided me in subduing those ruffians aboard the train," explained Delka. "He used his
stout cane as a bludgeon during the fight. Moreover, he preserved my briefcase, with its important
documents."
"How so?" queried Lewsham, in surprise. "I had no report of this by telephone from Taunton."
"I saw that the attackers were striving for the briefcase," chuckled The Shadow, "so I seized it and threw
it beneath a seat. The ruffians tried to make away with a similar bag that was lying with my own luggage."
Lewsham smiled when he heard the story. So did Delka; but the investigator suppressed his momentary
grin before his chief spied it. Delka knew well that Lewsham was rating Phineas Twambley as an old
codger who could have been of but little use. That pleased Delka; for he had no intention of stating who
Twambley really was.
For Delka knew himself to be one of a chosen few who had gained The Shadow's confidence. Like Joe
Cardona of the New York police, like Vic Marquette of the United States secret service, Delka had
profited in the past through The Shadow's intervention. His part, Delka knew, was to aid The Shadow;
and in so doing, gain a powerful ally. It was best to accept The Shadow in the guise that he had chosen
to assume.
"In fairness to Mr. Twambley," began Delka, "I thought that he might be entitled to a partial explanation
of the circumstances that forced him into his predicament aboard the train. That is why I brought him
here, sir, in case you felt such an explanation permissible."
"Of course; of course." Lewsham nodded, as he seated himself behind his huge mahogany desk. "Well,
Delka, there is no reason why Mr. Twambley should not hear the complete story. I intend to make it
public within a few days. The whole country shall know of the crimes which balk us."
"You intend to publish the facts about The Harvester?"
"I do. Moreover, our present meeting is an excellent occasion for a preliminary review. I am going into
details, Delka, and your friend Mr. Twambley may hear for himself."
LEWSHAM leaned back in his big chair. He thrust out a long arm and began to spin a large globe of the
world that stood near to the desk. Stopping the revolving sphere, he leaned forward and folded his arms
upon the desk.
"London has become a reaping ground," he declared, "for an unknown criminal, whose methods are
unique. We have styled this rogue 'The Harvester,' for want of a better sobriquet. We have no key to his
identity; but we do know that he employs crafty men to aid him; also that he controls certain bands of
murderers."
Drawing Delka's briefcase toward him, Lewsham opened it and extracted documents. He referred to
records that were obviously duplicates of papers on file in Scotland Yard.
"The Harvester," explained Lewsham, "is always preceded by another man. This fellow operated at first
under the name of Humphrey Bildon. He first opened an account with a local banking house and
established credit there."
"One day, Humphrey Bildon introduced a friend: Sir James Carliff. Because of Bildon's introduction, and
because persons present had met Sir James Carliff, the banking house cashed a draft for eight thousand
pounds. That sum, Mr. Twambley"—Lewsham smiled, remembering that the visitor was an American—
"amounted to approximately forty thousand dollars."
As The Shadow nodded, Delka put in a comment.
"But it was not Sir James Carliff," stated the investigator, "who received the money."
"It was not," added Lewsham, emphatically. "It was an impostor; the man whom we have dubbed The
Harvester. He made an excellent impersonator. Those who saw him actually took him for Sir James
Carliff."
Referring to his notes, Lewsham brought up the second case.
"Humphrey Bildon appeared again," he stated. "He had the cheek to negotiate with another banking
house, immediately after his dealing with the first. He arranged for a loan to be given Monsieur Pierre
Garthou, the head of a French mining syndicate. Monsieur Garthou appeared in person and left the
banking office with twenty thousand pounds in his possession.
"Immediately afterward, a fraud was suspected. Bildon and Garthou were stopped by Thomas Colbar, a
representative of the banking house, when they were entering a taxicab to leave for Victoria Station.
Garthou produced a revolver and riddled Colbar with bullets. The victim died instantly."
"But the murderer was not the real Garthou," reminded Delka. "It was The Harvester, again, passing
himself as Garthou."
"Precisely," nodded Lewsham. "That is why we sought both Bildon and The Harvester for murder. But
the leopards changed their spots. Up bobbed Bildon, this time under the name of Thomas Dabley. The
bounder arranged the purchase of a steamship."
"A STEAMSHIP?" questioned The Shadow, in an incredulous tone that suited the part of Twambley.
"For what purpose?"
"I am coming to that," replied Lewsham. "The steamship was loaded with goods for South America. Both
the vessel and its contents were in the hands of receivers who wished to make a quick sale. Dabley,
otherwise Bildon, introduced an American named Lemuel Brodder."
"I have heard of him. He is a New York shipping magnate. Considered to be very wealthy."
"Exactly. Brodder bought the vessel and its cargo for ten thousand pounds —only a fraction of the full
value—and insured both the steamship and its goods for thirty thousand, through Lloyd's."
"Was that the steamship Baroda?"
"It was. An explosion occurred on board, before the vessel had passed the Scilly Islands. All on board
were lost. Lemuel Brodder appeared to collect his insurance. Fortunately a swindle was suspected upon
this occasion. Lloyds had already communicated with New York."
Delka was nodding as Lewsham spoke. The investigator tapped a pile of papers that had come from the
briefcase.
"The real Brodder was in America," stated the investigator. "The swindler here in London was none other
than The Harvester."
"Impersonating Brodder!" exclaimed The Shadow, in a tone of feigned astonishment. "The Harvester
again!"
"Yes," nodded Delka. "That is why I went to New York, to see what might be learned there. The
Harvester was shrewd enough to take to cover when he learned which way the wind was blowing. I met
the real Brodder. He closely resembled the descriptions that I had of the impostor."
"Rogues had been seen aboard the Baroda," added Lewsham, "while the ship was docked here in
London. They were the miscreants who placed the explosives which caused the deaths of innocent crew
members. That is how we learned that The Harvester had criminal bands at his call."
"To-night's attack upon you, Delka, indicates another thrust by The Harvester. Two of those miscreants
are dead; I have received that news from the Taunton police. The others know nothing, except that they
were to assassinate you and seize your documents."
"So our summary is this: We have an infernally clever rogue with whom to deal; namely, The Harvester.
Of him, we have no description, for always, he has appeared as some one else. To reach him, we must
first apprehend his lieutenant" —Lewsham paused to emphasize the word, which he pronounced
"leftenant"—"his lieutenant, who has appeared under the names of Humphrey Bildon and Thomas
Dabley. Who may, in all probability, adopt another name in the future."
Picking up another report sheet, Lewsham read:
"Height, five feet eleven. Weight, twelve stone -"
"One hundred and sixty-eight pounds," inserted Delka in an undertone, for The Shadow's benefit.
"Fourteen pounds to a stone."
"Military bearing," continued Lewsham, "square face, complexion tanned. Eyes sharp, but very light blue.
Hair of light color, almost whitish. Voice smooth, very persuasive and precise.
"There, Mr. Twambley, is a description of Dabley, alias Bildon. Should you meet such a person while in
London, notify us at once. For this chap who aids The Harvester apparently possesses none of the
chameleon traits which characterize his master. Dabley—or Bildon,— if you prefer—lacks the ability to
disguise himself."
"Within a few days, his description will be public property. For the present, we choose to wait; in hope
that the man may reveal himself. Should new chances for quick swindling reach The Harvester's notice,
he might send his lieutenants to sound them out."
THE acting chief arose and bowed to The Shadow, as indication that his interview with Phineas
Twambley was concluded. It was apparent that Lewsham wished to confer with Delka, regarding
information that the investigator had brought back from New York. The Shadow knew that such facts
could not be vitally important; otherwise, Delka would have made an effort to have him remain.
Instead, Delka offered to have some one accompany the visitor to the Hotel Savoy. Chuckling in
Twambley's senile fashion, The Shadow shook his head.
"I shall hail a taxicab," he declared. "I doubt that I am in personal danger, gentlemen. Certainly no
scoundrels will be about in the vicinity of Scotland Yard."
A few minutes later, the stooped figure of Phineas Twambley stepped aboard an antiquated taxi that
stopped for him upon the embankment. The lights of Westminster Bridge were twinkling; other, myriad
lights were glowing as the ancient vehicle rattled its way toward the Hotel Savoy. But The Shadow had
no thoughts of the great metropolis about him.
A soft laugh issued from the disguised lips of Phineas Twambley, while long, tightening fingers gripped the
head of the huge cane. The Shadow's laugh was prophetic. He had learned facts that might influence the
immediate future.
For The Shadow had already devised a plan whereby he might gain a trail to The Harvester. Should luck
aid his coming effort, he would have opportunity to deal with that murderous supercrook while Scotland
Yard stood idle.
CHAPTER III. OPPORTUNITY KNOCKS
TWO days after the arrival of The Shadow and Eric Delka, an unusual advertisement appeared in the
classified columns of the London Times. The announcement was printed under the heading "Personal"
and read as follows:
SILVER MINE: Wealthy American is willing to dispose of his shares
in prosperous Montana silver mine. Prefers transaction involving one
purchaser only. Apply to H. B. Wadkins, representative, Suite H 2,
Caulding Court, S. W. 1.
When Eric Delka entered the office of his acting chief, Sidney Lewsham thrust a copy of the Times
across the desk. A blue-pencil mark encircled that single paragraph, of all the advertisements that
covered the front page. Delka nodded slowly as he read the silver mine offer.
"It sounds like The Harvester," said Delka. "But it is not in keeping with his technique."
"Quite true," returned Lewsham, sourly. "That is the only trouble, Eric. I can not believe that The
Harvester would become so bold as to openly flaunt his activities before our faces."
"A 'sucker' game," remarked Delka. "That is what they would term it in the States. This chap Wadkins,
whoever he may be, is out to trap some unsuspecting investor."
"Yet he is working blindly," mused Lewsham, "like a spider in the center of a web. I doubt that The
Harvester would strive in such fashion, Eric. I can fancy him taking advantage of this announcement, once
it had appeared. Yet I cannot picture him inserting the advertisement."
"Suppose I call there this morning," suggested Delka. "A chat with Mr. H. B. Wadkins might prove
enlightening."
"Not too hasty, Eric." Lewsham shook his head. "Wait until the day is more advanced. Make your visit
shortly before tea time. He might suspect an early caller."
Reluctantly, Delka came to agreement with his chief. Somehow, Delka had a hunch that an early visit to
Caulding Court might be preferable to a late one.
In that opinion, Delka happened to be correct. Had he gone immediately from Scotland Yard to
Caulding Court, he would have obtained a prompt result.
EXACTLY half an hour after Delka had held his conference with Lewsham, a man of military bearing
arrived at an arched entryway that bore the sign "Caulding Court."
The arrival was attired in well-fitted tweeds; he was swinging a light cane as he paused to study the
obscure entrance. Tanned complexion, with light hair and sharp, blue eyes—Eric Delka would have
recognized the man upon the instant. The arrival was Thomas Dabley, alias Humphrey Bildon, chief
lieutenant of The Harvester.
Passing through the archway, the tweed-clad man surveyed various doorways that were grouped about
the inner court. He chose the one that was marked H 2. Warily, he entered, to find a young man seated
in a small anteroom that apparently served as outer office.
"Mr. Wadkins?" queried the light-haired visitor.
"No, sir," replied the young man. His gaze was a frank one. "I am secretary to Mr. Wadkins. He is in his
private office. Whom shall I announce?"
"Here is my card." The visitor extended the pasteboard. "I am Captain Richard Darryat, formerly of the
Australian-New Zealand Army Corps. Announce my name to Mr. Wadkins."
The visitor smiled as the secretary entered an inner office. The alias of Darryat suited him better than
either Bildon or Dabley, for he looked the part of an Anzac officer. Seating himself, Darryat inserted a
cigarette in a long holder. Scarcely had he applied a match before the secretary returned.
"Mr. Wadkins will see you, Captain Darryat."
Darryat entered the inner office. Behind the table, he saw a hunched, bearded man, whose hair formed a
heavy, black shock. Shrewd, dark eyes peered from the bushy countenance. Half rising, H. B. Wadkins
thrust his arm across the desk and shook hands with Captain Darryat.
"From Australia, eh?" chuckled Wadkins, his voice a harsh one. "Well, captain, perhaps you know
something about silver mines yourself?"
"I do," replied Darryat, with a slight smile. "As much as most Americans."
"Wrong, captain," Wadkins grinned through his heavy beard. "I am a Canadian. Spent a lot of time,
though, in the States. That's how I became interested in Montana silver. I hail from Vancouver. Hadn't
been in London long before an old partner of mine wrote me and sent along his shares in the Topoco
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THELONDONCRIMESbyMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.ABOARDTHEBOATTRAIN?CHAPTERII.ATSCOTLANDYARD?CHAPTERIII.OPPORTUNITYKNOCKS?CHAPTERIV.THEGAMEDEEPENS?CHAPTERV.THECOUNTERTHRUST?CHAPTERVI.THELAWLEARNSFACTS?CHAPTERVII.THESHADOWDECIDES?CHAPTERVIII.DOWNFRO...

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