“We’ll risk it,” said Labar.
The thought of retreating back along the tunnel and allowing Tom and his confederates to follow up he had dismissed at the moment it had arisen. These ruffians would have a point of vantage as soon as the tunnel opened out and might conceivably do much damage if they then determined to resist arrest. He was not going to abandon the strength of his position. It was no occasion for scruples, although he felt that the fears of the trapped men might have some foundation.
The knot was cut at the sound of a deep voice echoing from the trapdoor. “Heigh! You down below there!”
“That’s Whitehead,” said Moreland, naming one of his sergeants. He raised his voice to a shout. “It’s all right, Whitehead. This is Moreland. Stand by and your friends will come up like little gentlemen.”
“Right you are, sir,” agreed the sergeant. “We’ll be waiting.”
“Now then. Out you go,” said Labar, and slowly the men backed with the two inspectors and their aides following them closely.
As Labar and Moreland pulled themselves out of the tunnel they were confronted by a bunch of plain-clothes men and uniformed police with three dejected prisoners in their midst. The Chief Constable who had gone from Mope’s Bottom with the Flying Squad men was mopping his brow with a silk handkerchief.
“You were right,” he greeted Labar. “We were just in time for a bit of a scrap.”
“What happened?” asked Labar.
“Some of our people found these men”—he jerked his head towards the prisoners—“skulking in a dyke. They were challenged and opened fire. A running fight took place for a while, and we were just in time to take a hand in the last part of it before they went to ground.”
“Might as well find out what they know,” whispered Moreland, and Labar nodded.
Moreland gave an order to one of his men and Tom was detached from his companions and brought forward well out of earshot. The Yard men knew better than to question the three together.
“You’re the man who posed as Larry’s valet?” said Labar.
“I was Mr. Hughes’ body servant, sir,” corrected Tom, mildly.
“Where is he now?”
The valet shook his head. “I know no more than you do, sir. He has vanished.”
“So it seems. He’s put you in the cart, anyway—you and your pals. What are you going to do about it? He’s doubled-crossed you. I suppose you realise that?”
Tom shook his head stolidly. “I don’t know that, sir. In these emergencies accidents are likely to happen beyond one’s control. I should say that Mr. Hughes has found it impossible to communicate with us. I remember that you suggested something of the sort down below. You will forgive me if I take the liberty of suggesting that you are mistaken.”
“You play the part well,” said Labar, with a half-sneer. “I suppose that it’s got into your blood. But I warn you. You can’t play with us. Larry Hughes has let you down. You may save yourself trouble if you talk plain English. Give us the whole truth.”
“I am quite willing to tell you as much as I know,” said the valet.
“We’ll see,” said the inspector, sternly. “Go on.”
But Tom was neither to be coaxed nor threatened. Whether he had any part in the escape of Larry and Billy Bungey, Labar found it hard to decide. His mask of a face showed as little beneath the surface as his soft, carefully chosen words.
With an air of complete frankness he told of his excursion to the mouth of the tunnel, with his chief and Billy Bungey, and how he had been ordered to return while the two explored the immediate neighbourhood. He had, as Labar knew, gone back with one man but Larry had disappeared. Once more he had gone back to the tunnel. There he had found the man wounded by Labar, who had just recovered consciousness, and had given him rough first-aid. Meantime his other companion had been sent on to close the interior door of the tunnel. Then it was that the three had determined to make a bolt for it. Tom admitted indirectly that Labar’s coup and Larry’s absence had inclined them to panic. They had determined to get away from the place at all costs. Thus it was that they had encountered one of the patrols of police who had by then reached the neighbourhood of the exit, and had strove to regain their refuge in the tunnel.
All of this was exactly as might have been surmised by the detective. There was nothing that carried them any farther in the search for Larry Hughes. The other two men each examined separately told the same story, and Labar was forced to conclude that they knew no more than he did of the whereabouts of the master rogue.
The prisoners were sent back to Mope’s Bottom and a hurried council of war was held.
XXVIII
The immediate question to be solved was whether Larry Hughes was still hiding on the marsh, or whether he had eluded the network of police and got safely away. So far as the detectives could tell every one of the gang who had been at Mope’s Bottom, except Larry and Billy Bungey, was safely in custody. Messengers were hurriedly despatched in various directions, and a fresh and combined sweep of the marshes begun. Meantime motor cars were sent for from various points by which the prisoners already gathered in might be escorted to Lydd, where they were to remain for the time guarded by a strong force of police.
Labar had enough respect for Larry to think that, for the time, he had again eluded them. He did not believe that Larry would be found on the marsh, and the events of the next couple of hours proved that he was right. The master crook had somehow got through the cordon or had hidden himself and his companion with supreme cunning. But the odds were now with justice.
