Part 17 (2/2)

”Do you think you can do it, Rolfe?” asked the inspector nervously. ”If you fell--” he glanced down to the ground far below with a shudder.

”Nonsense!” laughed Rolfe. ”I won't fall. Why, the ledge is a foot broad, and I've got a steady head. He may not have got very far, after all, and I may be able to see him from the corner.”

He got out of the window as he spoke, and started to walk carefully along the ledge towards the corner of the building. He reached it safely, peered round, screwed himself round sharply, and came back to the open window almost at a run.

”You're right!” he gasped, as he sprang through. ”I saw him. He is climbing down the spouting, using the chimney brickwork as a brace for his feet. If we get downstairs we may catch him.”

He was out of the kitchen in an instant, up the pa.s.sage, and racing down three steps at a time before the inspector had recovered from his surprise. Then he followed as quickly as he could, but Rolfe had a long start of him. When Inspector Chippenfield reached the ground floor Rolfe was nowhere in sight. The inspector looked up and down the street, wondering what had become of him.

At that instant a tall young man, bareheaded and coat-less, came running out of an alley-way, pursued by Rolfe.

”Stop him!” cried Rolfe, to his superior officer.

Inspector Chippenfield stepped quickly out into the street in front of the fugitive. The young man cannoned into the burly officer before he could stop himself, and the inspector clutched him fast. He attempted to wrench himself free, but Rolfe had rushed to his superior's a.s.sistance, and drew the baton with which he had provided himself when he set out from Scotland Yard.

”You needn't bother about using that thing,” said the young man contemptuously. ”I'm not a fool; I realise you've got me.”

”We'll not give you another chance.” Inspector Chippenfield dexterously snapped a pair of handcuffs on the young man's wrists.

”What are these for?” said the captive, regarding them sullenly.

”You'll know soon enough when we get you upstairs,” replied the inspector. ”Now then, up you go.”

They reascended the stairs in silence, Inspector Chippenfield and Rolfe walking on each side of their prisoner holding him by the arms, in case he tried to make another bolt. They reached the flat and found the front door open as they had left it. The inspector entered the hall and unlocked the drawing-room door.

The girl was sitting on the chair where they had left her, with her head bowed down in an att.i.tude of the deepest dejection. She straightened herself suddenly as they entered, and launched a terrified glance at the young man.

”Oh, Fred!” she gasped.

”They were too good for me, Doris,” he responded, as though in reply to her unspoken query. ”I would have got away from this chap”--he indicated Rolfe with a nod of his head--”but I ran into the other one.”

He stooped as he spoke to brush with his manacled hands some of the dirt from his clothes, which he had doubtless gained in his perilous climb down the side of the house, and then straightened himself to look loweringly at his captors. He was a tall, slender young fellow of about twenty-five or twenty-six, clean-shaven, with a fresh complexion and a rather effeminate air. He was well dressed in a grey lounge suit, a soft s.h.i.+rt, with a high double collar and silk necktie. He looked, as he stood there, more like a dandified city clerk than the desperate criminal suggested by Hill's confession.

”Come on, what's the charge?” he demanded insolently, with a slight glance at his manacled hands.

”Is your name Frederick Birchill?” asked Inspector Chippenfield.

The young man nodded.

”Then, Frederick Birchill, you're charged with burglariously entering the house of Sir Horace Fewbanks, at Hampstead, on the night of the 18th of August.”

”Burglary?” said Birchill ”Anything else?”

”That will do for the present,” replied the inspector. ”We may find it necessary to charge you with a more serious crime later.”

”Well, all I can say is that you've got the wrong man. But that is nothing new for you chaps,” he added with a sneer.

”Surely you are not going to charge him with the murder?” said the girl imploringly.

The inspector's reply was merely to warn the prisoner that anything he said might be used in evidence against him at his trial.

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