P.-C. Lee: Complete Series (ALL 24 Detective Stories in One Volume). Edgar WallaceЧитать онлайн книгу.
It’s my belief that Sankey has got a theory of his own, an’ is tryin’ to work it out.’
“He rather hinted that it was like Sankey’s cheek. The idea of a uniformed policeman havin’ intelligence an’ ingenuity naturally never occurred to a Scotland Yard man.
“Sankey talked to me about the matter after Mr. Shorter left.
“‘It isn’t a question of findin’ the chap who gave me a clout on the head,’ he said. ‘It’s the bomb factory we want to find. Mr. Shorter says there’s no doubt that somewhere in this division there’s a little Woolwich Arsenal.’
“He paused for a minute, then took an old handkerchief out of his pocket. It was stained an’ gummy.
“‘When I came to myself the other night,’ he said, ‘after the doctor had dressed me, I found that although my face had been washed nobody had thought of washin’ my hands. They were a bit sticky, so I took my handkerchief and wiped ’em — smell that.’
“I smelt the handkerchief; there was a strong, sickly scent that was perfectly familiar to me, but which somehow or other I couldn’t place.
“‘I must have caught hold of the chap when I fell,’ said Police Constable Sankey, carefully folding up the handkerchief, ‘an’ I’m waiting now until I find another feller whose clothes smell like that — then I’ll give him somethin’ to nurse!’
“A week later I took over Sankey’s beat, he still bein’ on the sick list, an’ much of my time was taken up by carryin’ out instructions from headquarters. These, in a way, confirmed Sankey’s words, for I was told to keep an eye on the little factories, an’ report anything strange that came to my notice. At that time Lambeth was filled with little factories; it was the home of the struggling manufacturer. There were little saw mills and rubber works an’ chemical works, an’ sweetstuff works, every one of ’em struggling for existence.
“The rum thing was that all these factories were run by foreigners, except the sweetstuff works, which was owned by a man named Grahame, an’ was in such a bad way that it only employed a couple of hands.
“I was strollin’ along the road in which most of these factories are situated, wonderin’ in my mind whether Gregowski, at the rubber factory, or Tilloni, at the chemical works, was the gentleman I was after, when I heard a smashin’ of glass an’ turned round.
“There were a number of empty houses in the road, an’ it’s usual for the young gentry and nobility of the neighbourhood, when they find time hangin’ on their hands, to chuck a brick through a window.
“I don’t know why they did it, unless it was by way of showin’ their contempt for empty houses, but I sprinted after the boy that threw the stone an’ caught him at the corner of the street.
“I gave him a cuff, an’ asked him what he meant by it, an’ he started snivelling.
“I was proceeding to get my notebook out of my pocket when somethin’ about that boy made me stand stock still an’ stare.
“It was the peculiar scent that Sankey had talked about!
“Yes, there it was as plain an’ as distinct as though the kid had emptied a bottle of it over him; he positively reeked with it.
“‘Boy,’ said I, very sternly, ‘where did you get that scent?’
“‘What scent, sir?’ he asked innocently.
“That horrible scent you’ve got on you,’ I said, but he shook his head.
“‘I don’t know what you mean, sir,’ he whimpered.
All this time I was tryin’ to think what the scent was; it was one of those scents I’ve known for years. It wasn’t a perfume. I recognised that, but it was the smell of some familiar article, an’ it made my mouth water.
“Then it half dawned on me.
“‘What hay you been eatin’?’ I asked.
“His reply staggered me.
“‘Pear drops. sir,’ he said.
“‘Where did you get ‘em?’ I asked.
“‘Please, sir,’ said the boy, ‘the gentleman at the sweet works gave ’em to me.’
“‘What for?’
“‘For takin’ a parcel to a gentleman.’
“It was a toss up whether I’d got the right end of the stick, but I chanced it.
“‘Was it a heavy parcel?’
“‘Yes, sir; he told me to take a cab from Waterloo station, an’ told me I mustn’t drop the parcel or knock it because it was chocolates; an’ he gave me a shillin’ for myself an’ a packet of sweets.’
“‘Where did you take it to?’
“‘To a place called Greek Street, an’ when I got there the gentleman who’d sent me was waitin’ there for me. He said he’d forgotten somethin’ an’ wanted to put it in the parcel.’
“I saw the whole game. They’d funked carryin’ the bomb an’ had given it to the kid to take, followin’ him at a safe distance in another cab.
“I rushed the boy down to the station as fast as I could, an’ within twenty minutes we had surrounded the sweet factory; but when we got inside ‘Mr. Grahame’ was not present — the place was empty.
“We found all the machinery for makin’ sweetstuffs, but, more important, we found the steel cylinders, the little sticks of dynamite, the tubes of fulminate of mercury, an’ the pans of nitroglycerine we came in search of.
“We did little damage in makin’ our way in, an’ we attracted no attention in raidin’ the place, because wanted to surprise ‘Mr. Grahame’ when he came back.
“‘You must be careful,’ said the inspector, ‘to search him as soon as you get him. He may have arms, and it’s very likely he’s got some explosives concealed about his person.’
Sankey an’ me was left in charge, an’ Sankey spent the greater part of the night tryin’ to induce me to give a day’s pay for the Salvation Army self-denial week, an’ if I hadn’t kept awake he’d have had it too!
“Soon after daylight we heard a key grate in the lock an’ we stood by.
“The door opened an’ in came a man, a tall, foreign looking chap in a top hat.
“Sankey waited till he recognised him, then:
“‘Returned with thanks,’ he said, an’ struck at his head with his truncheon….
“I don’t know exactly what happened, but when I recovered consciousness I was lyin’ in one bed at Guy’s Hospital an’ Sankey was in the next.
“We weren’t out of hospital in time to attend the inquest of Mr. Grahamestein, but we made a statement that was satisfactory to the Chief Commissioner.
“The first time I got the chance of speakin’ to Sankey — it was on the day we were wheeled out into the hospital garden in our bath chairs — I asked him what he thought about the matter.
“‘I’m sorry for the chap in one way,’ he said, ‘but a man who carries explosives in his hat deserves all he gets.’”
How He Lost His Moustache
“ladies,” said P.C. Lee thoughtfully, “I know very little about bein’ a bachelor, an’ havin’ no female relatives worth speakin’ of, an’ not havin’ many opportunities for seein’ an’ talkin’