The Yellow Face

by Fred M. White

Jack's imagination was working freely now; indeed, it would have been odd if his brain had not been screwed to a high pitch by the events of the day. Coming towards him now, swinging along at a good pace, was a tall, slim figure, which seemed familiar to Masefield. As the figure paused under a lamp to look at his watch, Jack could see the figure was that of Anstruther. He congratulated himself upon the fact that he had got away from Panton Square before Anstruther returned. He crossed the road in a casual sort of way, and passed along under the shadow of the houses so that Anstruther had no idea how he was being watched.

The latter paused again, just by the entrance to the square gardens, the gates of which had not yet been locked, though it was considerably past the hour when the gardens were closed to the public. Anstruther stood there as if debating something in his mind, then suddenly another figure came like a lightning flash from inside the garden gates, and fell upon Anstruther with terrible swiftness.

So sudden and unexpected was it that Jack could hardly believe the evidence of his own eyes. Anstruther gave one gurgling cry, his hands went up as if imploring assistance, then he settled down to a fray which could only end in one fashion. It was impossible where Jack stood for him to make out anything more than the mere outline of the man who had so unexpectedly fallen upon Anstruther. But there was no mistaking the grimness of his intention: there was sinister design in every movement of the body This was no common square thief, intent upon a paltry meed of plunder, but a man who had deliberately picked out his prey with the intention of mauling it to the death.

All this passed as it were in the twinkling of an eye. Jack knew now that he would have to pull himself together and advance to the rescue. As he flew across the road he heard in a mechanical sort of fashion the heavy footstep of a policeman clanging on the quiet pavement some little way off. Here, at any rate, was aid fairly close at hand. But Jack was not the kind of man to wait in an emergency like this. Before he could cross the road he saw that Anstruther was prostrate on the pavement, with his assailant kneeling cat-like upon his chest. The man was evidently fumbling for something, probably a weapon of the noiseless kind, for Jack could see his right hand working in a hip pocket. With a headlong leap Jack fell upon the would-be assassin, and clutched him by the throat. At the same time a police whistle shrilled.

But the man kneeling on Anstruther's chest was not taken aback for an instant. With a quick upward motion of his body he pitched Jack clean over his head, and, rolling off Anstruther's chest, darted like a snake into the gardens. By this time three policemen were upon the scene. "No, I don't think he is hurt much," Jack explained, as Anstruther scrambled to his feet, and gazed wildly around him. "No damage done, eh?"

Anstruther explained that he was none the worse for his adventure. He seemed to be under the impression that he had been the victim of some loafer's cupidity. He could give no description of his assailant; indeed, he said that he had no idea now but to get away and keep an important appointment. He tossed his card over to the police, and went coolly down the road.

"We can get that fellow all the same," Jack said. "He is in the gardens somewhere. Suppose you three men stand round the square while I go inside and drive him out. One of you lend me a lantern."

The quest was by no means a long one. At the fourth cast of the lantern Jack descried his man crouching down under a belt of laurels. He reached forward and dragged the fellow up by the neck.

"I am a bigger man than you are," Jack said. "Do you come quietly, or are you going to take it fighting?"

By way of reply the man raised his hat; his face was exposed.