The even voice of Larry Hughes broke on his ear. “No use trying to deceive the astute Mr. Labar. You’ve guessed right. There is a secret panel in this room. But as you see you started at the wrong end. And rather than wait the arrival of your friends we have decided to show you everything ourselves. Keep very still, please. My friend Mr. Bungey is a hasty man. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to you.”
Still stooping the detective permitted his gaze to swing slowly round. Before an open panel in the woodwork stood Larry Hughes and Billy Bungey each with a levelled pistol in his hand.
XXV
Harry Labar had been in many tight corners in his life, but now he knew himself in the tightest of them all. He had fallen into an ambush. He was certain that at the first false move he made neither of the men who confronted him would hesitate to shoot him down. They were in a situation where nothing—not even murder—could make matters much worse for them. Unless they escaped the net that was closing round them they knew as well as he did that practically the remainder of their lives would be spent in prison.
He smiled sweetly upon the two. “Do you mind if I raise myself a little?” he asked. “This attitude is somewhat cramping.”
“First of all I think that you had better drop your gun on the floor,” said Larry. “That’s a sensible man,” as Labar dragged out his weapon and tossed it on the carpet. “Now you may stand up while Billy attends to you. But,” he made a menacing gesture with his own pistol—“don’t do anything foolish.”
It was far from Labar’s intention to do anything foolish. He knew in what jeopardy he stood. So he remained perfectly still while Billy Bungey skilfully lashed his arms to his side, and as he finished surveyed the trussed detective with some satisfaction.
“What about a gag?” he asked taking out a handkerchief and considering it speculatively. “We shan’t want him kicking up an uproar when his pals arrive.”
“He’ll do as he is,” declared Larry. “I want to have a chat with him.” He moved into the room and put a hand at Labar’s elbow. “Come on, Mr. Inspector. For your own sake you had better not play any tricks. If your men get on to us I assure you that the first man who is put out will be yourself. Get that.”
“I appreciate the compliment,” agreed the inspector.
As he was led through the open panel, with Larry and Billy Bungey on each side of him, one of them slid it into place behind. For a second they were in impenetrable blackness. Then someone switched on an electric torch and Labar gathered that he was in a narrow tunnel which widened as they advanced. They had gone a hundred yards or so when they were halted. Labar turned to see a steel door slide across the tunnel.
“A little modern addition of my own to an old smugglers tunnel,” said Larry. “Nothing short of dynamite will shift that.”
“I half-suspected that you would have a bolthole,” said Labar with the indifferent air of one making conversation. “This is where you stowed your stuff, I suppose. Where does it lead to?”
“Shut up,” ordered Larry. “You can talk when I ask you to. Let’s get along.”
As near as the detective could estimate they had traversed another quarter of a mile when there was a gleam of light ahead. In a little they had reached a widening of several yards in the tunnel, which formed a sort of room, dimly lit by an oil lamp. Lounging on suitcases and other baggage about this space were several spectral figures whom Labar rightly assumed to be the rest of Larry’s party.
“You may sit down,” said Hughes. “I don’t think that the formality of an introduction is necessary to most of these ladies and gentlemen. You know them. They have been waiting your arrival.”
“You expected me then?” asked Labar in a tone of mild surprise.
“We guessed there would be an early arrival this morning, and we hoped that it might be you,” said Larry. “We left the outer gates open as a bait in case you came snooping around.”
Although he was feeling very far from laughter Labar managed to enunciate a convincing chuckle. “Well, you have got me,” he said. “I may be very dense, Larry, but I fail to see how that is going to help you. What are you going to do with me?”
“There are many things that we might do,” said Larry significantly. “Indeed I cannot say what we shall do if you don’t behave reasonably. There’s an old proverb you know.”
“ ‘Dead men tell no tales.’ That’s what you are trying to hint?”
“You have a quick mind, my dear Labar. Use it a little farther and guess why we want you.”
Labar thought for a moment before replying. “That shouldn’t be difficult,” he said slowly. “You are in a hole and want to know what steps I have taken to dig you out. Suppose I don’t tell you.”
Larry thrust his face, sinister and threatening, close to that of the prisoner. “Oh, yes you will,” he said menacingly.
The detective laughed. “Well, you will know soon enough. I gather that you have been disappointed in the arrival of your yacht. This tunnel probably leads out somewhere by the shore and you hope to slip away tonight by sea, while the police are watching the ports. But there are a hundred armed men on the marsh and the shore is patrolled. There is a fast motor boat just off the beach and beyond that a destroyer. You’ve only just got to show your nose above ground and you’re gone coons, Larry. Now you know just where you stand. I hope
