Billy Bungey had crawled up beside him and pointed out the destroyer.
“I know,” said Larry petulantly. “God, I’ve got eyes, haven’t I?”
He turned over to scan the marshes. In the distance he could see Mope’s Bottom, but around it and as far as he could see there was no sign of life.
“Not a soul, Billy,” he observed. “All the same I don’t like it. It is early yet and if Labar wasn’t bluffing we’ll be in a hole—in every sense.”
“We could take a chance and bolt for it now,” said the other. “No use waiting till it’s too late.”
The eyes of the two men met. There was a significance in Billy Bungey’s words that Larry did not fail to appreciate. He remained silent and thoughtful, and the rougher scoundrel slid back to the trapdoor.
“You there, Tom?” he asked. “Get back to the boys, will you? It looks reasonably clear here, but the boss and I are going to take a bit of a look round. We’ll be along presently.”
He came back to where Larry was lying on the shingle. “That’s got rid of him. There might be a chance for two of us. There wouldn’t be any for a crowd. What do you say?”
For once in his life Larry Hughes was irresolute. In his career there were few codes that he had not broken. But always he had made it a practice to keep faith with those who had come under his sway. He could say, outlaw though he was, that he had never betrayed a friend nor forgiven an enemy. It was a rigid part of his policy to enforce honour among thieves to himself as to his associates. He could neither afford to forgive a man who had let him down nor to abandon those who had worked with him. That was the reason for the strength that he had acquired in the underworld. Once that policy was abandoned the prestige that had been so profitable to him would be gone.
Those people who were back in the tunnel would not understand that if they were in a trap his return could do no good to them. They would think that he had deliberately planned to make them scapegoats. There was the risk, too, that their loyalty—always a frail thing—would not stand the strain of his leaving them. They would talk. And if they began talking to the police, Larry knew that his escape would have to be made good, for the evidence that would be accumulated against him would be overwhelming.
He shrugged his shoulders in contempt at his own lack of decision. What did it matter? There was enough against him as it was. Nothing that they could say or do could make any difference. Why should he worry? In cases like this it was each man for himself and the devil take the hindmost.
He rose cautiously to his feet. “Come along, Billy. We’ll take the chance.”
XXVI
In the underground chamber where the little group awaited the return of Larry time passed slowly. Labar could hear the ticking of his watch above the whispered conversation that passed among the others. He was not of a morbid cast of mind but he could not help reflecting on the possibility that his life hung upon a hair.
Once finally convinced that they were cornered the views of the more desperate of the gang that he was better out of the way were likely to prevail. He had to face that probability, and he liked it the less the more that he thought of it. He considered the situation from another angle. It was just on the cards that the tunnel might remain undiscovered by the men who were following him. In that case his dilemma would be worse. His captors were scarcely likely to leave him alive to take up the trail after them once more. Men of the habit of thought of Billy Bungey would be liable to take a simple method of ridding themselves of an embarrassment. Larry, the most dangerous of them all, would not lift a finger to stay his sacrifice unless policy dictated that he should remain alive. There would be little to hope for from that direction. If he was to get clear of the predicament into which he had fallen his own wit must save him.
No one now remained near him. The man who had hitherto been at his elbow had moved over to the group to take part in the conversation. It was a reasonable assumption that the detective, tied as he was, and with all egress from the tunnel barred, could do no harm. Labar himself realised his impotence, and with no conscious thought in his mind moved quietly a pace or two so that he might place his back against the wall. There he remained in the blackest of the shadows cast by the feeble oil lamp.
A figure detached itself from the cluster and moved casually over to him as though to assure herself of his security. If any of the others noticed they showed no sign. He had no difficulty in recognising Sophie Lengholm. She stood by him for a second saying no word and then he felt her hand thrust something into his. It was a small open penknife.
Unhurriedly she returned to the others, and the astonished officer remained stone still. It was no time to probe into motives. Whatever had actuated her the fact was that he had in his hand the means of comparative freedom. If the worst came to the worst now he need not be butchered without some sort of a fight.
Very silently, very cautiously he set himself with much straining of the wrist, and with some danger of
