Do not imagine that the detective inspector sat idle while he balanced these things in his mind. He had to adjust the machinery to meet the case. As soon as he was perfectly clear on the facts, he had begun to work.
“All station” messages to the two hundred or so police stations in London were being sent out over the private wires. To those county and borough forces that held sway over certain strategic points on the roads leading from the metropolis, requests were broadcast to “stop and detain” Larry’s car and its passengers. Thus thousands of men would be on the look out for the fugitives, although Labar feared it would be too late. Before instructions could reach the men on their patrols the car would in all likelihood be far away. But there was more than a chance that the route would be picked up, although Labar was too old a hand to rely confidently even upon this.
Men were on their way to Larry’s house at Hampstead, and Malone was even then swearing out a search warrant. All this was more or less an ordinary adaptation of the Scotland Yard organisation to meet an emergency. Labar considered the advisability of getting on to the Yard and obtaining permission to use the newspapers. It was a resort of which the authorities were not too fond, for there is still a certain suspicion of the Press at Scotland Yard. The inspector resolved that the step might well wait till all else failed.
As his grip on the work before him tightened, a flash of inspiration came to Labar. He nodded grimly in confirmation of his own reasoning. There was only one way in which Larry Hughes could make certain that Penelope could be forever prevented from giving evidence. A married woman, so the law runs, cannot be compelled to give evidence against her husband.
He turned cold at the thought. Would Larry dare? Was there after all anything he would not dare? But even so no marriage could take place without the consent of the girl. Was she likely to succumb to Larry’s persuasions—or threats?
He stood at the door of his room and shouted a name. “Here, you! Tumble down to Somerset House—Registrar-General’s Department. I want to know what steps have to be taken to get a special marriage licence. If any application comes in with regard to a couple called Hughes and Noelson, I want to know at once. Get off right away.”
There was nothing more he could do for the present in regard to the abduction. He glanced at his watch. He ought to go down to Streetly House, but at any moment they might bring in Gold Dust Teddy, and he wanted to be at hand to see that gentleman. He decided to wait. Throwing himself back in his chair he put his feet on the desk and closing his eyes indulged in the luxury of a nap.
Half-an-hour passed before he was roused by the information that Teddy was downstairs in the charge-room awaiting his pleasure.
“Have much trouble?” he asked the officer who brought him the news.
“Not what you might call a lot, sir. Found him in his favourite pub and jumped him before he had a chance to get ugly. He was half-lit up, and gave Down a black eye before we got the bracelets on him. But he’s sobered up a lot now, though he’s still talking big.”
“Right oh. Put him in the detention-room. I’ll be down to see him in a minute.”
Gold Dust Teddy greeted Labar with a sort of surly amiability some five minutes later. There is no overt enmity between the ordinary professional rogue and the police. He recognises that the detectives are merely doing a job in bringing him to justice, and, though he will do anything to keep out of their clutches, once there he accepts matters as they are with a sort of philosophy. Now and again there is an officer against whom he nourishes some bitter grievance, and he will talk with venom and contempt of the “Johns” and the “bodies” among his intimates. But face to face detective and crook meet on those terms of intimacy that might exist between members of opposing teams.
Teddy did not look a Bill Sikes. He would have passed any normal scrutiny as a respectable middle-class citizen. He wore a collar and tie, and there were distinct traces of a crease in his trousers. His cleanshaven face was hard, but not in the least forbidding, except that the puffy eyes betrayed something of sottishness. You might set him down as a hard case perhaps, but you would not condemn him on his looks.
“I been wanting to see you, Mr. Labar,” he said aggressively. “It’s a bit tough on a bloke that’s trying to run straight to have your fellers come and rough house him without giving him a chance. Wouldn’t even tell me what it was for. It’s illegal, that’s what it is.”
“Just wanted a little talk with you, Teddy,” observed Labar quietly. “Nothing to get excited about.”
“Excited. You should tell them birds not to get excited. On my back like a pair of ravening wolves they was. And I’m telling you, Mr. Labar, there ain’t anything against me. Not a thing. I’ve got a clean sheet, I have, since I did that last lot.”
“Glad to hear that, Teddy. Got enough money to retire on, have you? Or have you got a job? Let’s see. It’s nine months since you came out of stir. What have you been doing, besides drink?”
Well aware that Labar knew a great deal about him, Teddy shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve had a glass now and again,” he said defiantly. “Why shouldn’t I? You know how hard it is for a bloke like me, guv’nor. Tried hard
