Detective and mystery stories, English; Private investigators -- England -- Fiction
"Then she went on to ask you to get rid of Steggles on Thursday afternoon
for a few minutes, and speak to her in the back lane. Now, your running
pumps, with their thin soles, almost like paper, no heels and long spikes,
hurt your feet horribly if you walk on hard ground, don't they?"
"Ay, that they do--enough to cripple you. I'd never go on much hard ground
with 'em."
"They're not like cricket shoes, I see."
"Not a bit. Cricket shoes you can walk anywhere in!"
"Well, she knew this--I think I know who told her--and she promised to
bring you a new pair of slippers, and to throw them over the fence for you
to come out in."
"I s'pose she's been tellin' you all this?" Crockett said, mournfully.
"You couldn't ha' seen the letter; I saw her tear it up and put the bits
in her pocket. She asked me for it in the lane, in case Steggles saw it."
"Well, at any rate, you sent Steggles away, and the slippers did come
over, and you went into the lane. You walked with her as far as the road
at the end, and then you were seized and gagged, and put into a carriage."
"That was Browdie did that," said Crockett, "and another chap I don't
know. But--why, this is Padfield High Street?" He looked through the
window and regarded the familiar shops with astonishment.
"Of course it is. Where did you think it was?"
"Why, where was that place you found me in?"
"Granville Road, Padfield. I suppose they told you you were in another
town?"
"Told me it was Newstead Hatch. They drove for about three or four hours,
and kept me down on the floor between the seats so as I couldn't see where
we was going."
"Done for two reasons," said Hewitt. "First, to mystify you, and prevent
any discovery of the people directing the conspiracy; and second, to be
able to put you indoors at night and unobserved. Well, I think I have told
you all you know yourself now as far as the carriage.
"But there is the Hare and Hounds just in front. We'll pull up here, and
I'll get out and see if the coast is clear. I fancy Mr. Kentish would
rather you came in unnoticed."
In a few seconds Hewitt was back, and Crockett was conveyed indoors by a
side entrance. Hewitt's instructions to the landlord were few, but
emphatic. "Don't tell Steggles about it," he said; "make an excuse to get
rid of him, and send him out of the house. Take Crockett into some other
bedroom, not his own, and let your son look after him. Then come here, and
I'll tell you all about it."
Sammy Crockett was undergoing a heavy grooming with white embrocation at
the hands of Sergeant Kentish when the landlord returned to Hewitt. "Does
Danby know you've got him?" he asked. "How did you do it?"
"Danby doesn't know yet, and with luck he won't know till he sees Crockett
running to-morrow. The man who has sold you is Steggles."
"Steggles?"
"Steggles it is. At the very first, when Steggles rushed in to report
Sammy Crockett missing, I suspected him. You didn't, I suppose?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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