CHAPTER XI
WHERE SILAS LINDEN COMES INTO HIS OWN
SILAS LINDEN, prizefighter and fake-medium, had had some great days in his life—days crowded with incidents for good or evil. There was the time when he had backed Rosalind at 100 to 1 in the Oaks and had spent twenty-four hours of brutal debauchery on the strength of it. There was the day also when his favourite right upper-cut had connected in most accurate and rhythmical fashion with the protruded chin of Bull Wardell of Whitechapel, whereby Silas put himself in the way of a Lonsdale Cup and a try for the championship. But never in all his varied career had he such a day as this supreme one, so it is worth our while to follow him to the end of it. Fanatical believers have urged that it is dangerous to cross the path of spiritual things when the heart is not clean. Silas Linden’s name might be added to their list of examples, but his cup of sin was full and overflowing before the judgment fell.
He emerged from the room of Algernon Mailey with every reason to know that Lord Roxton’s grip was as muscular as ever. In the excitement of the struggle he had hardly realised his injuries, but now he stood outside the door with his hand to his bruised throat and a hoarse stream of oaths pouring through it. His breast was aching also where Malone had planted his knee, and even the successful blow which had struck Mailey down had brought retribution, for it had jarred that injured hand of which he had complained to his brother. Altogether, if Silas Linden was in a most cursed temper, there was a very good reason for his mood.
“I’ll get you one at a time,” he growled, looking back with his angry pig’s eyes at the outer door of the flats. “You wait, my lads, and see!” Then with sudden purpose he swung off down the street.
It was to the Bardsley Square Police Station that he made his way, and he found the jovial, rubicund, black-moustached Inspector Murphy seated at his desk.
“Well, what do you want?” asked the Inspector in no very friendly voice.
“I hear you got that medium right and proper.”
“Yes, we did. I learn he was your brother.”
“That’s neither here nor there. I don’t hold with such things in any man. But you got your conviction. What is there for me in it?”
“Not a shilling!”