“Supposing we all shouted together,” I suggested, after we had sat in silence for several minutes. “Somebody must hear surely.”
We let out a series of deafening bellows, and at length our efforts were rewarded. A heavy blow was struck on the other side of the door, and an infuriated voice shouted through the keyhole.
“Stop that filthy row. You’ll have plenty of time to sing glees when you’re breaking stones on Dartmoor. If you do it any more now I’ll turn a hose on you.”
We heard the sound of retreating footsteps, and MacIver gave a gasp of amazement.
“Am I mad?” he spluttered. “Am I completely insane? That was Fosdick’s voice—the man on duty next door.”
And then every semblance of self-control left him, and he raved like a lunatic.
“I’ll sack the fellow! I’ll have him out of the force in disgrace. He’s been drinking: the fool’s drunk. Fosdick—come here, damn you, Fosdick!”
He went on shouting and beating on the door with one of the tin reservoirs, till once again came a blow from the other side followed by Fosdick’s voice.
“Look ’ere, you bally twitterer: I’m getting fair fed up with you. There’s a crowd outside the door now asking when the performing hyenas are going to be let out. Now listen to me. Every time I ’ears a sound from any of you, you stops down there another ’alf-hour without your breakfasts. The van when she comes can easily wait, and I ain’t in no hurry.”
“Listen, you fool,” roared MacIver. “You’re drunk: you’ve gone mad. I order you to open the door. It’s me—Inspector MacIver.”
“Inspector my aunt,” came the impassive reply. “Now don’t you forget what I said. The van oughtn’t to be long now.”
“The van,” said MacIver weakly, as the footsteps outside departed. “What van? In the name of Heaven, what is the man talking about?”
“Oh! Lord, Mac,” cried Drummond helplessly, “don’t make me laugh any more. As it is I’ve got the most infernal stitch.”
“I fail to see the slightest humour in the situation,” said MacIver acidly. “The only possible conclusion I can come to is that Fosdick has suddenly lost his reason. And in the meantime I, sir, am locked in here at a time when every moment is of value. In the whole of my career such a thing has never happened.”
“There’s no doubt about it, old man,” agreed Drummond in a shaking voice, “that up-to-date our investigations have not yet met with that measure of success which they justly deserve. We can muster between us five stiff necks, one parboiled face, and an excessively uncomfortable floor to sit on.”
“The whole thing is entirely owing to your unwarrantable interference,” snapped the detective.
“My dear Mac,” said Drummond, “if, as you think, your bloke Fosdick has gone off the deep end you really can’t blame me. Personally I don’t think he has.”
“Then perhaps you’d be good enough to explain what he’s doing this for,” said MacIver sarcastically. “A little game, I suppose.”
“Nothing of the sort,” answered Drummond. “My dear man, cease going off like a steam-engine and think for a moment. The whole thing is perfectly obvious. The van is to take us to prison.”
“What on earth …” stuttered MacIver.
“No more and no less,” went on Drummond calmly. “Yonder stouthearted warrior is under the firm impression that he has a band of bloodthirsty criminals safe under lock and key. He sees promotion in store for him: dazzling heights—”
“Inspector MacIver! Inspector MacIver. Are you there?”
It was Fosdick’s agitated voice from the other side of the door.
“I should rather think I am,” said MacIver grimly. “Open this door, you perishing fool …”
“I will, sir, at once. It’s all a mistake.”
“Damn your mistakes! Open the door.”
“But I haven’t got the key. Wait a bit, sir, I’ll get a screwdriver.”
“Hurry,” roared MacIver. “May Heaven help that man when I get at him.”
“I wouldn’t be too hasty if I was you, Mac,” said Drummond quietly. “Better men than he have been caught napping.”
It was a quarter of an hour before the door was opened and we trooped upstairs, followed by the trembling Fosdick.
“Now, you fool,” said MacIver, “will you kindly explain this little jest of yours?”
“Well, sir,” answered the man. “I’m very sorry, I’m sure—but I acted for the best.”
“Get on with it,” stormed the Inspector.
“I was on duty outside Number 10, when I saw you come out of the house.”
“You saw me come out of this house? Why, you blithering idiot, I’ve been locked up in the cellar all the morning.”
“I know that now, sir, but at the time I thought it was you. You passed me, sir—at least the man did—and you said to me, ‘We’ve got the whole bunch.’ It was your voice, sir; your voice exactly. ‘They’re in the cellar in Number 12—locked in, and I’ve got the key. I’m going round to the Yard now, and I’ll send a van up for ’em. They can’t get out, but they may make a row.’ And then you went on—or rather the other man did—‘By Jove! this is a big thing. I’ve got one of ’em in there that the police of Europe and America are looking for. I had him once before—and do you know how he got away? Why, by imitating my voice over the telephone so well that my man thought it was me!’ ”
“How perfectly gorgeous,” said Drummond ecstatically.
“And then you see, sir, when I heard your voice in that there cellar I thought it was this other bloke imitating you.”
“I see.” Despite himself MacIver’s lips were beginning to twitch. “And what finally made you decide that I wasn’t imitating my own voice?”
“Well, sir, I waited and waited and the van never came—and then I
