CHAPTER V
London's Alien Criminals
If ever David Harbor had felt inclined to play the coward it was at the precise moment, on this adventurous night when he came so abruptly, and so unexpectedly, face to face with one of the men who were engaged in robbing his employers' store. Behind him, in the office, he had left Henricksen and the ruffian known as the 'Admiral' busily engaged with their oxy-acetylene flame, eating a hole into the safe which they hoped and imagined was well filled with gold. Upstairs was the man Ovanovitch, clearing the cases of all their portable valuables, while here, on the main floor, was Spolikoff, a Russian – a man given naturally to deeds of violence – placed there to watch for the very police whom it was our hero's object to summon. The very man from whom he wished to keep farthest away was stealing towards him in the semi-darkness.
David drew in a deep breath. His hand clutched the revolver he had managed to secure. With an effort he controlled his muscles.
'Run! Shout for help!' some one seemed to scream in his ear. 'Steady,' he told himself, summoning all his pluck. 'Steady, my boy; play the game. No use bolting; he'll be just as surprised as I am.'
But, as it turned out, there was no question of surprise. While David was prepared for anything – to shoot at the man, to knock him to the ground with his fist, to rush over towards the door and bang upon it – Spolikoff sidled up to him, and spoke in a whisper that almost cloaked his foreign accent.
'That you, Admiral?' he asked. 'They've passed again, those policemen; but I didn't signal. There's no need; no one can see the glare now. You've pulled the curtain round so well.'
David nodded. He was wondering whether he could trust himself to answer the fellow, for it was obvious that his own identity was not even suspected. Then, emboldened by that fact, he answered the man in a hoarse whisper.
'I came along out here to make sure. It's fine, ain't it? Them police couldn't suspect that we'd got a hot flame going against the safe. Look here, my boy, Henricksen wants you to go along up to Ovanovitch and give him a hand. When you've cleared the jewels, get away up to the next floor. He says some new furs came in yesterday, and you could carry away in your arms enough to keep you for a year. Get along quick.'
The Russian looked at him for a moment as if he suspected, though, as a matter of fact, he was merely puzzling to translate the meaning of the words, for as yet he was not an excellent English scholar.
'Get along up and help Ovanovitch, yes,' he repeated. 'Then – I did not follow – you said?'
'S-s-sh! The police!'
There came a sudden rattle at the letter-box, whereat both he and the Russian sank promptly to the ground, while David imagined that a faint light over by the office lessened. Then there was silence again. A heavy footfall was heard on the pavement, and after it, silence once more. Slowly he and the Russian rose to their feet.
'What was it?' asked the man. 'You said I was to help Ovanovitch.'
'Listen,' whispered David, speaking very plainly, 'help Ovanovitch with the jewels.'
'Yes, yes; I have that'
'Then take him to the floor up above.'
'Floor up above. Yes, yes; I have that too.'
'Where you will find some valuable furs brought in only yesterday.'
'Only yesterday, furs; valuable furs. Yes; go on.'
'You can carry enough away on your arm to make you rich for a year. Got it?'
Spolikoff nodded vigorously, and gave expression to some guttural words of approval.
'Now?' he asked. 'You watch here?'
'Yes,' said David, 'Go at once; no need to hurry back.'
His hand was shaking ever so little as he took the Russian by the sleeve and urged him towards the stairs; for the feeble light above the place had suddenly shown him another figure. The man was descending the stairs, and was almost at the bottom. David could see that a bundle was suspended over his back. It was Ovanovitch without doubt, descending now that his task was completed.
'Tell him; go up at once,' David managed to whisper, though his tongue almost stuck to the roof of his mouth. 'I am going back to Henricksen.'
He slid off at once, slipped behind a huge showcase, and then stared back through the glass at the two Russians. And as he did so the tight feeling about his chest and neck slowly lessened. He drew in the first comfortable breath he had taken for some minutes. A sigh almost escaped him; for Spolikoff had been absolutely deceived. It was clear that he was not in the smallest degree suspicious. He had taken our hero for the Admiral, and was obeying instructions in a manner almost child-like. He went at once to Ovanovitch, and for a few seconds they whispered on the stairs. Then they turned their backs to the ground floor and went up two steps at a time, as if eager to get to their destination.
'Got 'em,' David could have shouted, though he restrained himself, hugging his arms instead. 'Got 'em, I do believe. Now for the rest of the business.' His brain had been working hard in the last few minutes, and already he had mapped out a course of procedure. After all, that was exactly like the young fellow; his friends knew him to be exceedingly practical. Edward Harbor, his father, had endeavoured to train his boy to conduct matters of any moment with sense and discretion.
'Decide first of all what you're going to do,' he had often said. 'Don't start without a plan, all haphazard, and find when you are half way through that matters aren't promising. Stand away a bit, as it were, and have a clear view; then make your plans, and set to at the business.' Practical? Of course it was. Common sense management? Who can doubt it? A little advanced for one of David's age? Certainly, if you wish so to describe it. But that is worth remedying. Others can be trained as our hero had been, and the training has its undoubted advantages; for a practical young fellow is of infinitely greater value in these strenuous days than a lad always wool-gathering, who lacks energy and initiative, who begins a task only to fail, who succeeds only where a course of procedure has been already laid down, and when previous practice has made perfect. It is the uncertainties we want to train our lads to face, as well as the hum-drum certainties of this life.
'Got 'em,' David ejaculated again, in a deep whisper. 'Now to close the holes and divide the conspirators. First downstairs – that is the main burrow I have to see to.'
He had lost all his trepidation now. True, he was more than a little excited; but his hand no longer shook. He had seen already the possibilities of making a gigantic success of what had at first appeared to be an enormously difficult task. Straightway he stole across to the stairway leading to the basement, and tripped down three steps at a time. Then he ran across to the cupboard through which the four men had gained access to the store. Out came his electric torch, and a beam was flashed into the interior.
'As I thought: these fellows must have hired a house or a room in one of the buildings lying up against this place, and have knocked a hole clean through the wall. Then they cut through the back of the cupboard. No; no they didn't; they bored holes through the wood in a big circle, and so managed to remove a piece without making a sound. If they had employed a saw I should have heard them. Now, I shut the cupboard, and lock the door.'
It was not a flimsy affair, this cupboard, but a strongly built piece of furniture, firmly attached to the wall, and having doors which slid along in grooves. David gently moved the doors into place, found a key in the lock, and shot the bolt to. Then he tried to open the cupboard. It was closed and defied his efforts.
'Number one loop hole gone,' he said. 'Now for the warning and number two.'
He had planned out the whole course of movement, and came hopping up the stairs again, three at a time. A quick glance told him that the oxy-acetylene flame was still in use. A dull glow on the ceiling told its tale without shadow of error, while as he listened a gentle buzz came to his ear. From the upper floor there was not so much as a sound. At once he crossed to the door, and pulled the flap of the letter-box open. Click! Down went the glare over by the manager's office. Lying prone on the floor, and staring in that direction, David saw a man's head protruding from the opening. Then the fellow stepped out and stood listening. A whisper came to his ear, and at once the Admiral – for he it was without doubt – slid back into the manager's office to help in the task of forcing the safe. The reflection on the ceiling told its tale again promptly.
'Out with the life preserver, and then upstairs,' said David. 'No time to wait; those fellows will have found their furs by now.'
Very craftily he pushed the end of the life preserver through the flap, and left it wedged in position. Then he ran across the floor to the stairs and raced up them. Passing the first floor, he was soon at the entrance to the second. And as he reached it his eyes fell on the two figures of the Russians. They were staggering along the centre passage between the glass show cases, their arms piled with furs. They were thirty paces away, perhaps, whispering as they came.
Dare he do it? Dare he pull the door of this portion of the store to in their faces?
David closed his teeth with a firm click; his chin assumed that very bulldog squareness for which he was notorious. He stepped coolly into the opening, gripped the iron fire door, with which the entrance to every one of the departments of the store was furnished, and brought it to with a bang. The hand-operated latch went to its socket with a scrunch. The door was fast. Number two loop hole was closed. The burglars were inevitably separated.
'And now for the last move.'
Conscious that the noise he had made might well have reached Henricksen, and yet hopeful that it had not done so, David descended the stairs faster than ever before in his life. He reached the ground floor just as a sound came from the letter-box. He fancied he heard voices outside. He was sure that the oxy-acetylene flame was working, and at that second watched as its reflection seemed to be wiped away from the ceiling above the manager's office. Then he did a smart thing. He opened the outside doors of the lift with a bang, leaped in, and ran the elevator up till it was half way through the gap leading to the first floor. He brought it to a rest there with a sudden jerk, and throwing himself flat on its floor, levelled his weapon at the door of the manager's office. And by then there was a commotion in that direction. Two figures come helter-skelter from the opening, their hands held before them, their smoked glasses already torn from their faces. At the same instant there came the sound of a key in a lock, and then the main entrance of the store was burst open.
'Stop there, Henricksen and the Admiral!' David shouted. 'Stop where you are or I fire. Constable, hold the door, I have closed the other places.'
Ping! Bang! From some point up above our hero, there came a revolver shot, and he heard the missile thud against the roof of the elevator and tinkle on to the floor near him. Ping! A second came, and then he felt the elevator moving. It was ascending. Some one had put it into operation from above. At once he guessed what had happened. The two Russians, shut into the fur department, had heard the lift working. They had torn the doors open, and reaching through had gripped the rope by means of which it was operated. David at one sprang to his feet and gripped the handle which operated the rope. Instantly he brought the machine to a stop, and turning the handle again, brought the elevator back to its former position, a shot coming from above as he did so. Then he cast his eyes into the store, and at once took in the position, which had altered in the space of a few seconds. There were two constables at the door, Hemming and another, the latter of whom was at that moment lustily blowing his whistle. At the entrance to the stairs leading to the basement stood the Admiral, a revolver in his hands, while the other rascal was nowhere visible; but a minute later he came racing up the stairs, and burst into the department.
'Give me the shooter,' he cried, breathlessly. 'They've shut the cupboard below and boxed us in. Give it me. I'm not afraid to use it.'
He seized the weapon from his comrade's hand, and in an instant there was a flash. The constable blowing his whistle staggered into the doorway. David at once leaned forward, levelled his own weapon, and pulled on the trigger. And in the space of a second he had ejected three bullets in the direction of Henricksen; for his was an automatic pistol, the class of weapon that wants careful controlling, and which will fire seven shots in less number of seconds, automatically moving a fresh cartridge into position after each shot. Certainly the bullets astounded David, and Henricksen also. He swung round, and then our hero knew what it was to be under fire. Something hissed past his cheek. The hair on his head stirred restlessly. A red-hot brand appeared to have been of a sudden thrust right through his body. But he was game to the last. He leaned over a little, fixed his revolver sights as well as he was able, and pressed his trigger again.
An instant later Henricksen went staggering up against one of the glass show cases. He upset the whole affair, and came crashing to the floor with glass smashing and splintering all about him; then his comrade darted forward, and stooped to pick up the weapon which he had dropped.
'Stand away from that place,' David commanded hoarsely. 'I'll drop you, Admiral, as sure as you move a step. Now, hands up above your head.'
'Admiral, Admiral, what's that?' came from the doorway. 'Where are you, David Harbor?'
'In the lift, half way up,' our hero called out, wondering vaguely at the weakness of his own voice. 'Half way up, Hemming. The man who fired at you, and whom I have just sent down is Henricksen, one of the employees here. The fellow with his arms up is known as the Admiral.'
'Phew.' There came a shrill whistle from Hemming. 'The Admiral did you say? Wanted in a dozen capitals. Swindler, forger, burglar, everything.'
'And two Russians upstairs, whom I have trapped in the fur department. Now, Hemming, got those handcuffs?'
Feeling curiously shaky David touched the handle of the lift again, and brought it down to the floor level, unmindful of the shots which still came from above. And all the while he held his weapon directed at the man standing so close to Henricksen.
'Now, Hemming,' he called out. 'Shut the door, or he might try to bolt. Slip the handcuffs on him; but first of all, switch on the lights just inside the door.'
It was all done in a few moments. Constable Hemming was a sharp officer, and was not above taking advice or instructions from any one. He flooded the store with light with one movement of his finger. Then there came the metallic ring of steel. Something bright flashed under the electric lamps, while the officer strode across the floor, banging the door behind him. Click. One of the bracelets went over the wrist of the disconsolate Admiral.
'Come you along here,' commanded Hemming, dragging the man across to a radiator, bolted to the floor. 'Put that other hand there. Now, move if you can. You'll have to take the house with you.'
He passed the end of his chain through an interval in the radiator, and clicked the bracelet over the man's other wrist, leaving the Admiral firmly chained to the place.
'What now?' he demanded. 'Guess you've made a haul here. The Admiral! Gosh! The most wanted of 'em all! This is a doing!'
'Get to the door and open it. First, though, pick up that shooter,' said David. 'Don't forget that we have those Russian fellows upstairs.'
'Russians! Who? Where?' demanded Hemming, his face expressing unbounded surprise.
'Spolikoff and Ovanovitch, two men of about thirty years of age, dark complexioned, wearing black moustaches,' answered David, staggering out of the lift. 'They've done nothing but fire down on me. The top of the lift is like a sieve.'
He tripped as he stepped, and went staggering up against one of the show cases, to which his fingers clung. Meanwhile Hemming stood back exclaiming.
'Spolikoff! Ovanovitch! Russians. Men of about thirty. Dark. Dark moustaches – Mister Harbor, you've hit up against a fine crowd. The wonder is that they haven't made mincemeat of you. Spolikoff and Ovanovitch! Notorious anarchists; burglars who have been cracking cribs up and down this country.'
He wiped his forehead with a brilliantly red handkerchief which he withdrew from the inside of his helmet, and puffed cheeks and lips out. It was a staggerer to Constable Hemming, this capture which he and David were making. Then he walked across to the door as if he were in a dream, and opened it just as three constables arrived on the scene.
'We heard the whistle and came along,' explained one. 'Crispen lay on the mat. He's hit in the head; a bad scalp wound I should say. We've applied a first dressing. He's sitting with his back against the wall, feeling chippy. What's all this?'
'What's all this!' Constable Hemming could hardly contain himself. 'What's all this!' he gasped again. 'Why, just a fine capture! You know there's been a young fellow watching. Bless me, he's cornered the Admiral. I've got the bracelets on that gentleman and have chained him fast to the radiator. There's one of the fellows down, while upstairs, barred in, are two Russians, the two Russians we have been after this many a day – Spolikoff and Ovanovitch.'
There was no doubt that the news impressed his comrades, who came crowding into the store after Hemming.
'They'll shoot at sight,' said one of the constables, as they discussed the matter. 'How are we to nab them?'
'Let's ask Harbor. Harbor,' shouted Hemming, coming across the store, while a further reinforcement of half a dozen police officers poured in at the door. 'Where is he?'
They discovered David grovelling on his knees, looking particularly white about the gills.
'Felt a little upset,' he explained lamely. 'What's happened? Have you taken the Russians?'
There was little doubt but that he had actually lost consciousness while the officers were discussing matters, and now was puzzled to know what they had been doing. Hemming helped him to his feet and looked sharply at his lodger. He wondered what had caused David to fall to the floor, and never guessed the reason.
'Too much excitement, perhaps,' he thought 'Anyway, we'll give him a draft. Here, Sergeant, some sal volatile for this youngster.'
They mixed the stuff before his face, and David drained the glass at a gulp.
'Now,' he gasped. 'Those Russians?'
'They're upstairs right enough,' said the sergeant. 'I heard 'em a moment ago. How are they placed? Give us an idea as to how we can get at them? Suppose they're armed?'
The young fellow, looking so exceedingly pale still, took the officer by the sleeve and led him into the lift. Then he switched on the light and invited him to inspect the roof.
'Goodness! There are a dozen holes, bullet holes. And – blood on the floor. Whose? Yours?'
He swung round on David instantly, and like Hemming treated him to a very critical stare.
'A mere nothing,' said our hero, somewhat feebly, smiling all the same.
'Set men to watch all round the place.'
'Done already,' came the prompt answer. 'I placed the men as soon as we heard there was an alarm.'
'Put two at the entrance to the basement staircase, and send two more down to the large cupboard with its back to the wall – here's the key. Let them go through the hole these burglars entered by, at the back of the cupboard, and learn what happened there, whose premises they are, and all that.'
'He's like an officer,' cried the sergeant. 'Hole in the wall! You don't mean to say these fellows broke through from outside premises, and cloaked the entrance by means of a cupboard? That looks like an inside accomplice.'
'He's there,' said David promptly, jerking his finger at the form lying amid the debris of broken glass and the contents of the overturned case. 'Henricksen we knew him as; from the jewellery department. Sergeant, there's a steel flap on the outside of the fire doors I closed on those Russians. Second floor, don't forget. A man might see them through it. Then we might rush them through the door or get at them by the lift.'
It took but a few minutes to prepare their plans. The sergeant relieved David of his revolver, and himself went to the door upstairs, reporting that the Russians were to be seen at the far end of the store. Then Hemming joined him, while a constable was sent off to the nearest station to procure more arms. By the time he was back again there were fifty constables on the scene, the outside of the house as well as the inside being guarded. As for our hero, that he was wounded by Henricksen's shot he knew, and no doubt the shock and loss of blood had caused him to lose consciousness. But he had got over that now. The draught he had received had revived him wonderfully, and that and the desire to see the matter to its very end kept him bright and smiling. He took a revolver from one of the officers, and at a signal from the sergeant above, set the lift in motion. With him there was an inspector and four officers, all armed with revolvers.
'The sergeant and Hemming have orders to fire if the men do not halt at their order,' said the former. 'You can take us clear up, please. We're going to rush them.'
He had hardly spoken, the elevator had not reached the level of the first floor when there was a loud call from above. Dull reports were heard, and then two sharp explosions. David jerked the handle over and sent the lift shooting up. With another jerk he brought it to a stand still at the second floor, and threw the doors open. Instantly all the occupants burst out. But, fortunately for them, there was no need for fire-arms. The sergeant had managed the situation with wonderful skill. He had seen the two Russians running towards him, and waiting till they were near enough, had ordered them to stop. Shots at once answered him, the bullets crashing against the door. And then he had sent two in return. Only two, but with the desired effect. Spolikoff dropped his weapon and nursed his right arm. Ovanovitch plunged forward heavily and fell on his face. In two minutes they were securely in the hands of the police.
When Hemming and the inspector, together with the manager of the store, hastily summoned to the scene by the police, went in search of David, they found him huddled in a corner of the room, as white as a sheet, bleeding slowly from the mouth.
'Chest wound,' said the inspector, gripping the situation with an experienced eye. 'We have a surgeon below; I'll send for him.'
When our hero came to his senses he was lying in a beautifully comfortable bed, with bright rays from a warm fire playing on him. A nurse stood near at hand, and beside her, discussing some matter very seriously, was some man whose features seemed to be familiar. David puzzled wonderfully. He began to fret about the matter; then, fatigued by even such a little thing, he went off into a blissful slumber.
'The best of everything, please, nurse,' said the manager of the store, before he departed. 'Order anything you want. I will be responsible for all expenses. And please do send constant information to the porter at the lodge. I am arranging with him to 'phone to me constantly.'
'Wouldn't lose that lad for a whole heap,' he told Hemming, when the latter was ensconced in his office with the manager of the store. 'He did magnificently; splendid pluck and resource he showed; seemed to have worked his plans out like a general. I feel horrible about the matter; as if by offering such a bright young fellow such a job I was accountable for his wound. Certainly, I'll send you a wire every three hours, saying how he is progressing.'
Yes, David had made a stir in the London world. Mr. Ebenezer's none too handsome face went scarlet when he read the accounts, and saw the photograph of our hero in the papers. He blew his huge nose violently, then he sat down and stared moodily into the fire. David Harbor had already become an excessively big thorn in this gentleman's side.