"Red Ike's gone along," he said, as Foyle supplied him. "n.o.body else has been hanging round except Freddy. The constable on the beat pa.s.sed along just after Ike."

The match, was dropped in the gutter, and the superintendent, his face set grimly, moved slowly on. The labourer crossed to the other side of the road and followed. Foyle was quite near the house when Green walked up, accompanied by his chauffeur, and made quickly up the steps. Shadowy in the fog, the superintendent could see the dim outline of a constable's uniform. The man was peering anxiously at the doorway through which Green had gone.

"Well, my man," said Foyle sharply, "are you on duty here? Who are those people who have just gone in there?"

The policeman gave a barely perceptible start, and then took a pace forward.

"I--I believe they have no right there. I must go and see," he said, but was brought up with a jerk as Foyle's hand clutched his wrist. The labourer who had wanted a light was coming across the road at a run and, though a little puzzled, had seized the constable's other hand.

"No, you don't," said Foyle peremptorily. "When you masquerade as a policeman again, my friend, make sure you have a letter of the right division on your collar. This district is B, not M. I am a police officer, and I shall arrest you on a charge of being concerned in an attempt at housebreaking. You'd better not make a fuss. Come on, Smithers. Let's get him into the car."

The prisoner made no resistance. He seemed dazed. Once in the car, the detective took the precaution to handcuff him to his subordinate--right wrist to the officer's left wrist--for he did not know how long the wait for Green might be, and it seemed wisest not to run risks. Detectives rarely handcuff their prisoners unless travelling. It is conspicuous and unnecessary.

"Now we're more comfortable," said Foyle, sinking into the cushions of the car. "If you want to give any explanation before I formally charge you, you may. Only don't forget that anything you say may be used in evidence against you."

"Is it an offence to go to a fancy-dress ball in a police officer's uniform?" asked the prisoner. "Because if it is, I shall plead guilty."

"You can make that defence if you like--if you think it will be believed," retorted Foyle. "It will be better for every one if you tell the truth, though."

The man lapsed into a surly, sullen silence, and the superintendent could feel that he was glaring at him in the darkness of the closed car.

The other detective looked through the window.

"Here comes Mr. Green, sir."

Arm in arm and in amicable converse with Ike, the chief detective-inspector was approaching the car, with the chauffeur on the other side. Ike, it appeared, had been run to earth in the dining-room, and had surrendered at discretion. He had all the philosophy of the habitual thief who knows when the game is up. He grinned a little when he saw the handcuffed policeman in the car.

"Why, it's you, Mr. Smith! Didn't you think I could be trusted for fair does over the stuff inside? You've fallen into it this time, and no blooming error. Where's Fred?"

"Fred who?" queried Foyle. "Is there some one else in this job?"

But Red Ike was too old a bird to be deceived. Instinct, as well as reason, told him that he had been betrayed, and the absence of Fred but lent fuel to his suspicions.

"Aw--don't come it, Mr. Foyle," he said disgustedly, and added a picturesque flow of language, elaborating the steps he would take to get even with Dutch Fred when he had the opportunity. Not one of the detectives interrupted him. The more he talked the better, for he might drop something of value. Not until they drew up at the police station did his eloquence desert him. The superintendent descended first and gave a few instructions, while the _soi-disant_ constable was taken to the cells. Ike found himself escorted upstairs into the C.I.D. office.

Only Heldon Foyle and Green remained with him.

"Sit down and make yourself comfortable," said the superintendent cheerfully. "We want to have a little talk with you, Ike. Would you like a drink? Here, have a cigar."

Red Ike's swift wits were on the alert. Never before had he known this kind of hospitality to be tendered in a police station to a man arrested red-handed. And although suspicious, he was nevertheless flattered. All criminals, whether at the top or bottom of their profession, are beset by vanity.

"A little out of your usual line this," went on Foyle, watching his man intently. "As neat a job as ever was spoiled by accident. Now you know, as well as I do, that we can't force you to talk. But it'll help us a bit if you tell us who you got those keys from, for instance."

The office was small and plainly furnished, and Ike stared into the fire as he sipped his whisky, with placid face. That the interview was to be the English equivalent of the third degree, he knew not. There would be no bullying, only coaxing. Foyle was in a position where consummate tact was needed if he was to extract anything from the prisoner. He dared neither threaten nor promise. However helpful Ike might be, he would still have to submit the issue of guilt and punishment to a judge and jury. Ike, unlike Dutch Fred, had no relations, and if he had it was doubtful if any promise of consideration for them would move him.

"It's no good, Mr. Foyle," said Ike. "The only man that was in this with me was Dutch Fred. You'd better go and get him, because I shall tell all about it in court. He gave me the keys."

"Don't be a fool, Ike," interposed Green.

The prisoner glanced from one to the other with cunning, twinkling eyes.

He was too wary to say anything that may be used as evidence.

"I guess that it isn't bursting into the place that's put you two to work," he said. "You want to know something. If I could help you I s'pose you'd drop this case?"

Heldon Foyle shook his head resolutely.

"You know we can't do that in a case of felony. Mr. Green will put in a good word for you at the trial. That's the farthest we can go to."

Ike put down his empty gla.s.s. He believed he held the whip hand--that he had much to gain and nothing to lose by holding out for better terms. It was a false impression, though a natural one. Heldon Foyle had neither the power nor the inclination to drive a bargain that would permit Ike to go unscathed to renew his depredations on society.

"It's no good, guv'nor," said Ike. "If you want me to talk I'll do it--if you'll let me go."

"Right." Foyle rose abruptly. "We'll let it go at that, Ike. You please yourself, of course. Mr. Green, you'd better charge him now."

He had pa.s.sed out of the door, and his footsteps were dying away when Ike awoke to the fact that his attempt at bluff had failed. He raised his voice. "Hi! Mr. Foyle! Don't go yet. I'll cough up what I know. Come back."

CHAPTER XXVII

A grim smile flickered under Chief Inspector Green's grey moustache as Heldon Foyle stepped briskly back into the room and closed the door. Ike met a stare of the superintendent's cold blue eyes squarely.

"You've got the bulge on me this time, guv'nor," he admitted ruefully.

"I give you best. You're welcome to all I know--though that isn't much."

Now that he was near attaining his end, Foyle had to steer a delicate course. The law very rightly insists that there shall be neither threat nor promise held out to any person who is accused of a crime. From the moment a police officer has made up his mind to arrest a man, he must not directly or indirectly induce a person to say anything that might prove his guilt--and a warning of the possible consequences is insisted upon even when a statement is volunteered. Otherwise admissions or evidence so obtained are ignored, and there is trouble for the police officer who obtained them. That is one of the reasons why detective work in England demands perhaps nicer skill than in most other countries.

Green had pulled a fountain pen from his pocket and adjusted a couple of sheets of official foolscap. Foyle remained standing.

"Don't let's have any misunderstanding," he said. "We're not making any promises except that the court will know you helped us in another case.

If you choose to keep quiet we can't do a thing to you."

"I know all about that," said Ike, with a little shrug of his shoulders. "You know I wouldn't squeal in an ordinary job. I'm no Dutch Freddy to give my pals away. I don't owe the chap anything who put me up to this. What do you want first?"

"Tell us all about it your own way. Where did you get the keys of the house?"

"Off that chap you raked in along of me. I was sitting in a little game of faro at a joint in the Commercial Road about a week ago, when this tough pulls me out and puts it up to me. I didn't much like it, but the c.h.i.n.k who runs the show told me he was straight, and he offered me half----"

"You told Freddy you were only getting a third," interposed Green.

"Did I?" Ike grinned cunningly. "It must have been a slip of the tongue.

Anyway, I said I'd chip in for half or nothing. He pow-wowed a bit, but at last he gave in. Funny thing about it was he wouldn't hear of keeping an eye open on the day we brought the job off. Said I must get a pal.

Yet here he turns up as large as life all the time."

The prisoner had hit on a point which had puzzled Foyle for a time, but light had already flashed upon him. In the ordinary course of things, a robbery at Grosvenor Gardens by two known criminal characters would not of necessity be a.s.sociated with the murder. The third man was taking no chances of being identified as an a.s.sociate.

"Anyway, I took the job on, and he handed me over the twirls and a lay-out of the house. He didn't tell me who was behind him. And I didn't ask too many questions. He called himself Mr. Smith, and we met once or twice at the ----" He named a public-house in Leman Street, Whitechapel.

"That's where I was to have met him to-night with the stuff. Now you know all I know."