The London Crimes

CHAPTER II. AT SCOTLAND YARD

THE Great Western train was a few minutes late when it reached Paddington Station, its London terminus. Seated in the cab of the gaudily painted locomotive, the engineer eyed two men as they walked along the platform.

One was Eric Delka; the engineer had heard about the Scotland Yard man when the train had been held at Taunton. Delka was the chap who, single-handed, had crippled a crew of murderous attackers. Those thugs had been turned over to the authorities at Taunton.

With Delka was a gray-haired, stoop-shouldered companion who hobbled along at a spry pace. The engineer had heard mention of his name also. The man was Phineas Twambley, who had been in Delka’s compartment during the battle.

According to report, however, Twambley had figured in the fray only as a spectator. The engineer was not surprised, once he had viewed Twambley. Delka’s companion looked too old to have been a combatant in active battle.

That opinion was shared by every one who had come in contact with Phineas Twambley, except those who had been participants in the fight. The crooks whom The Shadow had downed were in no condition to talk, while Eric Delka was tactful enough to keep his own conclusions to himself. His first commitment came when he and The Shadow had walked from the train shed. Then Delka cagily addressed his companion.

“I should like to have you accompany me to the Yard, Mr. Twambley,” vouchsafed Delka. “Perhaps you would be interested in my report to Sidney Lewsham. He’s acting as chief constable of the C.I.D. I should like, to introduce you to him.”

“Very well.” The Shadow chuckled in Twambley fashion. “However, I should like to send my luggage to the Savoy Hotel—”

“We can arrange that quite easily.”

Delka gave instructions to the porter. The luggage that bore Phineas Twambley’s tags was marked for the Savoy. During the process, however, Delka was suddenly astonished to see his stoop-shouldered companion pluck a briefcase from among the stack of bags.

“This appears to be yours, Mr. Delka,” remarked The Shadow, in a crackly tone. “I shall ask you to return my briefcase.”

Half gaping, Delka looked at the bag in his own hand. Hastily, he pulled back the zipper fastenings. He saw at once that the contents consisted entirely of steamship folders and British railway time-tables.

As The Shadow took the briefcase from Delka’s hand, the Scotland Yard man yanked open the one that The Shadow gave him.

Within were Delka’s precious documents — the fruits of his journey to New York. Realization dawned upon Delka; new proof of the protection which The Shadow had afforded him. Had crooks aboard the train managed a get-away, they would have gained nothing. The very bag for which they had battled had not been Delka’s! Thinking this over, the Scotland Yard man smiled; but made no comment.

WITH Twambley’s luggage arranged for its trip to the Savoy, Delka and his companion descended to the Paddington Station of the Bakerloo Line, the most convenient underground route to the vicinity of Scotland Yard. A dozen minutes after boarding the tube train, they arrived at the Charing Cross underground station. From there, a short southward walk along the Thames Embankment brought them to the portals of New Scotland Yard.

Delka gained prompt admittance to the office of Sidney Lewsham, acting chief of the Criminal Investigation Department. Lewsham, a towering, heavy-browed man, was curious when he gazed at Delka’s companion. Briskly, Delka introduced The Shadow as Phineas Twambley.

“Mr. Twambley aided me in subduing those ruffians aboard the train,” explained Delka. “He used his stout cane as a bludgeon during the fight. Moreover, he preserved my briefcase, with its important documents.”

“How so?” queried Lewsham, in surprise. “I had no report of this by telephone from Taunton.”

“I saw that the attackers were striving for the briefcase,” chuckled The Shadow, “so I seized it and threw it beneath a seat. The ruffians tried to make away with a similar bag that was lying with my own luggage.”

Lewsham smiled when he heard the story. So did Delka; but the investigator suppressed his momentary grin before his chief spied it. Delka knew well that Lewsham was rating Phineas Twambley as an old codger who could have been of but little use. That pleased Delka; for he had no intention of stating who Twambley really was.

For Delka knew himself to be one of a chosen few who had gained The Shadow’s confidence. Like Joe Cardona of the New York police, like Vic Marquette of the United States secret service, Delka had profited in the past through The Shadow’s intervention. His part, Delka knew, was to aid The Shadow; and in so doing, gain a powerful ally. It was best to accept The Shadow in the guise that he had chosen to assume.

“In fairness to Mr. Twambley,” began Delka, “I thought that he might be entitled to a partial explanation of the circumstances that forced him into his predicament aboard the train. That is why I brought him here, sir, in case you felt such an explanation permissible.”

“Of course; of course.” Lewsham nodded, as he seated himself behind his huge mahogany desk. “Well, Delka, there is no reason why Mr. Twambley should not hear the complete story. I intend to make it public within a few days. The whole country shall know of the crimes which balk us.”

“You intend to publish the facts about The Harvester?”

“I do. Moreover, our present meeting is an excellent occasion for a preliminary review. I am going into details, Delka, and your friend Mr. Twambley may hear for himself.”

LEWSHAM leaned back in his big chair. He thrust out a long arm and began to spin a large globe of the world that stood near to the desk. Stopping the revolving sphere, he leaned forward and folded his arms upon the desk.

“London has become a reaping ground,” he declared, “for an unknown criminal, whose methods are unique. We have styled this rogue ‘The Harvester,’ for want of a better sobriquet. We have no key to his identity; but we do know that he employs crafty men to aid him; also that he controls certain bands of murderers.”

Drawing Delka’s briefcase toward him, Lewsham opened it and extracted documents. He referred to records that were obviously duplicates of papers on file in Scotland Yard.

“The Harvester,” explained Lewsham, “is always preceded by another man. This fellow operated at first under the name of Humphrey Bildon. He first opened an account with a local banking house and established credit there.”

“One day, Humphrey Bildon introduced a friend: Sir James Carliff. Because of Bildon’s introduction, and because persons present had met Sir James Carliff, the banking house cashed a draft for eight thousand pounds. That sum, Mr. Twambley” — Lewsham smiled, remembering that the visitor was an American — “amounted to approximately forty thousand dollars.”

As The Shadow nodded, Delka put in a comment.

“But it was not Sir James Carliff,” stated the investigator, “who received the money.”

“It was not,” added Lewsham, emphatically. “It was an impostor; the man whom we have dubbed The Harvester. He made an excellent impersonator. Those who saw him actually took him for Sir James Carliff.”

Referring to his notes, Lewsham brought up the second case.

“Humphrey Bildon appeared again,” he stated. “He had the cheek to negotiate with another banking house, immediately after his dealing with the first. He arranged for a loan to be given Monsieur Pierre Garthou, the head of a French mining syndicate. Monsieur Garthou appeared in person and left the banking office with twenty thousand pounds in his possession.

“Immediately afterward, a fraud was suspected. Bildon and Garthou were stopped by Thomas Colbar, a representative of the banking house, when they were entering a taxicab to leave for Victoria Station. Garthou produced a revolver and riddled Colbar with bullets. The victim died instantly.”

“But the murderer was not the real Garthou,” reminded Delka. “It was The Harvester, again, passing himself as Garthou.”

“Precisely,” nodded Lewsham. “That is why we sought both Bildon and The Harvester for murder. But the leopards changed their spots. Up bobbed Bildon, this time under the name of Thomas Dabley. The bounder arranged the purchase of a steamship.”

“A STEAMSHIP?” questioned The Shadow, in an incredulous tone that suited the part of Twambley. “For what purpose?”

“I am coming to that,” replied Lewsham. “The steamship was loaded with goods for South America. Both the vessel and its contents were in the hands of receivers who wished to make a quick sale. Dabley, otherwise Bildon, introduced an American named Lemuel Brodder.”

“I have heard of him. He is a New York shipping magnate. Considered to be very wealthy.”

“Exactly. Brodder bought the vessel and its cargo for ten thousand pounds — only a fraction of the full value — and insured both the steamship and its goods for thirty thousand, through Lloyd’s.”

“Was that the steamship Baroda?”

“It was. An explosion occurred on board, before the vessel had passed the Scilly Islands. All on board were lost. Lemuel Brodder appeared to collect his insurance. Fortunately a swindle was suspected upon this occasion. Lloyds had already communicated with New York.”

Delka was nodding as Lewsham spoke. The investigator tapped a pile of papers that had come from the briefcase.

“The real Brodder was in America,” stated the investigator. “The swindler here in London was none other than The Harvester.”

“Impersonating Brodder!” exclaimed The Shadow, in a tone of feigned astonishment. “The Harvester again!”

“Yes,” nodded Delka. “That is why I went to New York, to see what might be learned there. The Harvester was shrewd enough to take to cover when he learned which way the wind was blowing. I met the real Brodder. He closely resembled the descriptions that I had of the impostor.”

“Rogues had been seen aboard the Baroda,” added Lewsham, “while the ship was docked here in London. They were the miscreants who placed the explosives which caused the deaths of innocent crew members. That is how we learned that The Harvester had criminal bands at his call.”

“Tonight’s attack upon you, Delka, indicates another thrust by The Harvester. Two of those miscreants are dead; I have received that news from the Taunton police. The others know nothing, except that they were to assassinate you and seize your documents.”

“So our summary is this: We have an infernally clever rogue with whom to deal; namely, The Harvester. Of him, we have no description, for always, he has appeared as some one else. To reach him, we must first apprehend his lieutenant” — Lewsham paused to emphasize the word, which he pronounced “leftenant” — “his lieutenant, who has appeared under the names of Humphrey Bildon and Thomas Dabley. Who may, in all probability, adopt another name in the future.”

Picking up another report sheet, Lewsham read:

“Height, five feet eleven. Weight, twelve stone—”

“One hundred and sixty-eight pounds,” inserted Delka in an undertone, for The Shadow’s benefit. “Fourteen pounds to a stone.”

“Military bearing,” continued Lewsham, “square face, complexion tanned. Eyes sharp, but very light blue. Hair of light color, almost whitish. Voice smooth, very persuasive and precise.

“There, Mr. Twambley, is a description of Dabley, alias Bildon. Should you meet such a person while in London, notify us at once. For this chap who aids The Harvester apparently possesses none of the chameleon traits which characterize his master. Dabley — or Bildon, — if you prefer — lacks the ability to disguise himself.”

“Within a few days, his description will be public property. For the present, we choose to wait; in hope that the man may reveal himself. Should new chances for quick swindling reach The Harvester’s notice, he might send his lieutenants to sound them out.”

THE acting chief arose and bowed to The Shadow, as indication that his interview with Phineas Twambley was concluded. It was apparent that Lewsham wished to confer with Delka, regarding information that the investigator had brought back from New York. The Shadow knew that such facts could not be vitally important; otherwise, Delka would have made an effort to have him remain.

Instead, Delka offered to have some one accompany the visitor to the Hotel Savoy. Chuckling in Twambley’s senile fashion, The Shadow shook his head.

“I shall hail a taxicab,” he declared. “I doubt that I am in personal danger, gentlemen. Certainly no scoundrels will be about in the vicinity of Scotland Yard.”

A few minutes later, the stooped figure of Phineas Twambley stepped aboard an antiquated taxi that stopped for him upon the embankment. The lights of Westminster Bridge were twinkling; other, myriad lights were glowing as the ancient vehicle rattled its way toward the Hotel Savoy. But The Shadow had no thoughts of the great metropolis about him.

A soft laugh issued from the disguised lips of Phineas Twambley, while long, tightening fingers gripped the head of the huge cane. The Shadow’s laugh was prophetic. He had learned facts that might influence the immediate future.

For The Shadow had already devised a plan whereby he might gain a trail to The Harvester. Should luck aid his coming effort, he would have opportunity to deal with that murderous supercrook while Scotland Yard stood idle.