They entered the house without the slightest difficulty. Manfred left his two-seater outside a doctor’s house, a place where an unattended car would not be noticed, and went on foot to Lynne’s residence. It was a large detached house, expensively furnished, and as Leon had expected, the servants had gone. He located Lynne’s room, a big apartment at the front of the house.
“There is his noise box,” said Leon pointing to a handsome cabinet near the window. “Electrical, too. Where does that wire lead?”
He followed the flex to a point above the head of the bed, where it terminated in what looked like a hanging bell push.
Leon was momentarily puzzled and then a light dawned upon him.
“Of course, if he has this infernal noise to make him go to sleep, the bell push switches off the music and saves him getting out of bed.”
He opened the lid of the gramophone cabinet and examined the record.
“1812,” he chuckled. He lifted the needle from the disc, turned the switch and the green table revolved. Then he walked to the head of the bed and pushed the knob of the bell push. Instantly the revolutions stopped.
“That is it,” he nodded, and turned over the soundbox, letting the needle rest upon the edge of the record.
“That,” he pointed to a bronze rod which ran from the centre to the side of the disc and fitted to some adjustment in the soundbox, “is the repeater. It is an American invention which I saw in Buenos Aires, but I haven’t seen many on this side. When the record is finished the rod automatically transfers the needle to the beginning of the record.”
“So that it can go on and on and on,” said Manfred interested. “I don’t wonder our friend is unpopular.”
Leon was looking round the room for something and at last he found what he was seeking. It was a brass clothes peg fastened to a door which led to a dressing-room. He put all his weight on the peg but it held firm.
“Excellent,” he said, and opened his bag. From this he took a length of stout cord and skilfully knotted one end to the clothes hook. He tested it but it did not move. From the bag he took a pair of handcuffs, unlocked and opened them and laid them on the bed. Then he took out what looked to be a Field-Marshal’s baton. It was about fourteen inches long, and fastened around were two broad strips of felt; tied neatly to the baton were nine pieces of cord which were fastened at one end to the cylinder. The cords were twice the length of the handle and were doubled over neatly and temporarily fastened to the handle by pieces of twine.
Leon looked at one end of the baton and Manfred saw a red seal.
“What on earth is that, Leon?”
Leon showed him the seal, and Manfred read:
“Prison Commission.”
“That,” said Leon, “is what is colloquially known as the ‘cat.’ In other words, the ‘cat of nine tails.’ It is an authentic instrument which I secured with some difficulty.”
He cut the twine that held the cords to the handle and let the nine thongs fall straight. Manfred took them into his hands and examined them curiously. The cords were a little thinner than ordinary window line, but more closely woven: at the end of each thong there was a binding of yellow silk for about half an inch.
Leon took the weapon in his hands and sent the cords whistling round his head.
“Made in Pentonville Gaol,” he explained, “and I’m afraid I’m not as expert as the gentleman who usually wields it.”
The dusk grew to darkness. The two men made their way downstairs and waited in the room leading from the hall.
At half past ten exactly they heard a key turn in the lock and the door close.
“Are you there, Mandez?” called the voice of Mr. Lynne, and it sounded anxious.
He took three steps towards the door and then Gonsalez stepped out.
“Good evening, Mr. Lynne,” he said.
The man switched on the light.
He saw before him a figure plainly dressed, but who it was he could not guess, for the intruder’s face was covered by a white semi-diaphanous veil.
“Who are you? What do you want?” gasped Lynne.
“I want you,” said Leon shortly. “Before we go any further, I will tell you this, Mr. Lynne, that if you make an outcry, if you attempt to attract attention from outside, it will be the last sound you ever make.”
“What do you want of me?” asked the stout man shakily, and then his eyes fell upon Manfred similarly veiled and he collapsed into the hall chair.
Manfred gripped his arm and led him upstairs to his bedroom. The blinds were pulled and the only light came from a small table-lamp by the side of the bed.
“Take off your coat,” said Manfred.
Mr. Lynne obeyed.
“Now your waistcoat.”
The waistcoat was discarded.
“Now I fear I shall have to have your shirt,” said Gonsalez.
“What are you going to do?” asked the man hoarsely.
“I will tell you later.”
The stout man, his face twitching, stood bare to the waist, and offered no resistance when Manfred snapped the handcuffs on him.
They led him to the door where the hat peg was, and deftly Leon slipped the loose end of the rope through the links and pulled his manacled hands tightly upwards.
“Now we can talk,” said Gonsalez. “Mr. Lynne, for some time you have been engaged in abominable traffic. You have been sending women, who sometimes were no more than children, to South America, and the penalties for that crime are, as you know, a term of imprisonment and this.”
He picked the baton from where he had placed it, and shook out the loose
