“Is everything in going order, Jenks?”
“Yes, Sir,” was the reply. “The man is there all right. Dr. Gray saw him; but I should mention, Sir, that he doesn’t think it’s the right man.”
“The devil he doesn’t!” exclaimed Miller, looking at me uneasily, and then glancing at Thorndyke.
“That man isn’t Morris,” said I. “He is that red-nosed man whom I told you about. You remember.”
“I remember,” Thorndyke replied calmly. “Well, I suppose we shall have to content ourselves with the red-nosed man;” upon which ex-Sergeant Barber’s countenance became wreathed in smiles and the Superintendent looked relieved.
“Are all the arrangements complete, Sergeant?” Miller inquired, turning to Sergeant Porter.
“Yes, sir,” the latter replied. “Inspector Follett has got some local men, who know the neighbourhood well, posted in the rear watching the back garden, and there are some uniformed men waiting round both the corners to stop him, in case he slips past us. Everything is ready, sir.”
“Then,” said the Superintendent, “we may as well open the ball at once. I hope it will go off quietly. It ought to. We have got enough men on the job.”
He nodded to Sergeant Porter, who at once picked up his parcel and went out into the garden, accompanied by Barber. Miller, Thorndyke, and I now adjourned to the lobby window, where, with the two painter-detectives, we established a lookout. Presently we saw the Sergeant and Barber advancing separately on the opposite side of the road, the latter leading and carrying the parcel. Arrived at the house, he entered the front garden and knocked a loud single knock. Immediately the mysterious woman appeared at the ground-floor window—it was a bay-window—and took a long, inquisitive look at ex-Sergeant Barber. There ensued a longish pause, during which Sergeant Porter walked slowly past the house. Then the door opened a very short distance—being evidently chained—and the woman appeared in the narrow opening. Barber offered the parcel, which was much too large to go through the opening without unchaining the door, and appeared to be giving explanations. But the woman evidently denied all knowledge of it, and, having refused to receive it, tried to shut the door, into the opening of which Barber had inserted his foot; but he withdrew it somewhat hastily as a coal-hammer descended, and before he could recover himself the door shut with a bang and was immediately bolted.
The ball was opened, as Miller had expressed it, and the developments followed with a bewildering rapidity that far outpaced any possible description.
The Sergeant returning, and joining Barber, the two men were about to force the ground-floor window, when pistol shots and police whistles from the rear announced a new field of operations. At once, Miller opened the studio door and sallied forth, with the two detectives and Thorndyke; and when I had called out to Marion to bolt the door, I followed, shutting it after me. Meanwhile, from the rear of the opposite houses came a confused noise of police-whistles, barking dogs and women’s voices, with an occasional report. Following three rapid pistol-shots there came a brief interval; then, suddenly, the door of a house farther down the street burst open and the fugitive rushed out, wild-eyed and terrified, his white face contrasting most singularly with his vividly red nose. Instantly, the two detectives and Miller started in pursuit, followed by the Sergeant and Barber; but the man ran like a hare and was speedily drawing ahead when suddenly a party of constables appeared from a side turning and blocked the road. The fugitive zigzagged and made as if he would try to dodge between them, flinging away his empty pistol and drawing out another. The detectives and Miller were close on him, when in an instant he turned, and with extraordinary agility, avoided them. Then, as the two Sergeants bore down on him, he fired at them at close range, stopping them both, though neither actually fell. Again he outran his pursuers, racing down the road towards us, yelling like a maniac and firing his pistol wildly at Thorndyke and me. And suddenly my left leg doubled up and I fell heavily to the ground nearly opposite the studio door.
The fall confused me for a moment and as I lay, half-dazed, I was horrified to see Marion dart out of the studio. In an instant she was kneeling by my side with her arm around my neck. “Stephen! Oh, Stephen, darling!” she sobbed, and gazed into my face with eyes full of terror and affection, oblivious of everything but my peril. I besought her to go back, and struggled to get out my pistol, for the man, still gaining on his pursuers, was now rapidly approaching. He had flung away his second pistol and had drawn a large knife; and as he bore down on us, mad with rage and terror, he gibbered and grinned like a wild cat.
When he was but a couple of dozen paces away, I saw Thorndyke raise his pistol and take a careful aim. But before he had time to fire, a most singular diversion occurred. From the open door of the studio, Miss Boler emerged, swinging a massive stool with amazing ease. The man, whose eyes were fixed on me and Marion, did not observe her until she was within a few paces of him; when, gathering all her strength, she hurled the heavy stool with almost incredible force. It struck him below the knees, knocking his feet from under him, and he fell with a sort of dive or half-somersault, falling with the hand
