The master criminal

by G. Sidney Paternoster

"You idiot," muttered Kenly; then he added, "You will wait here until Hora returns, or you are relieved. If he comes back, you will arrest him and take him straight to Bow Street. If the girl returns, arrest her, too." Then he turned to the other two men. "Go back to the Yard, and have a full description of him and the girl telegraphed to every port in the kingdom. Stay, though, you had better wire, also, particulars of the disguise in which he succeeded in eluding this dolt."

The subordinate shivered, and realised that if Hora did not return it would be advisable for him to retire from the force.

Kenly dictated a description of Hora's clerical disguise. There was yet a chance that he might get upon his track. He jumped into the first cab that passed and drove away to Waterloo. He could have wept with vexation at the thought of his prey escaping so easily, through the incompetence of his subordinate. He looked at his watch. A train was timed to start for Wimbledon in two minutes. With luck he would just catch it. He lifted the trap in the roof of the hansom, and shouted, "Hurry up, cabby, I have a train to catch."

Luck was apparently against him. Traffic was heavy and the cab was caught in a block. Kenly writhed with impatience. But a moment later the traffic block appeared to be a special dispensation of Providence. Kenly caught sight, in the light of a street lamp, of an old clergyman, in shabby hat and cloak and carrying a small black bag, amongst the crowd on the sidewalk. He could have shouted aloud with delight. He jumped out of the cab, and tossed the driver a half-crown piece. His first impulse was to dash forward, and there and then effect the arrest. He had recognised Hora, he could have sworn to the distinguishing limp. But a second thought restrained him. Though Guy's statements had been apparently full and frank, Kenly had not credited him when he had declared that he and Lynton Hora worked alone. He had thought that there must be other members of the gang, a supposition which had been fed by the information he had extracted from Jessel. Hora had worn his clerical disguise when communicating with Jessel. What more likely than that he should put it on when communicating with other tools? Kenly determined to follow him.

Soon he was glad that he had done so. Hora apparently had no intention of returning to Westminster Mansions. He boarded an omnibus which took him northwards. Kenly sat behind him while they drove through the brilliant streets of the West End. He changed the bus for another travelling westwards, the detective at his heels. Passengers came and went, but Hora remained until the end of the journey.

Kenly knew the district, and he thought that his suppositions were about to be verified when he observed the direction Hora took upon alighting. That way led to the quarter where the thieves of the metropolis had gathered and made themselves a colony when their old haunts in the centre of the city had been mowed down. He felt in his pocket for his whistle, and wished that he had slipped a revolver into his pocket that morning. But he followed, nevertheless, and was thankful when a couple of uniformed policemen came in sight. As he passed them he uttered a single word. The constables apparently took no notice, but when Kenly was half the length of the street distant they wheeled round and followed him steadily.

Hora pursued his way in a manner that showed that the quarter was not strange to him. The detective hunched his shoulders, pulled his cap down over his ears, and turned up his coat collar. Here he might be recognised any moment. He did not want to alarm his quarry.

Hora turned into Fancy Lane. He was walking more quickly now. He disappeared under the archway which led to "Ma" Norton's disreputable shed. Arriving there Kenly paused. The two policemen turned into the lane. He held up his hand and plunged into the blackness. The constables came on, and arriving at the entrance they stood there chatting quietly. But their eyes were keenly observant, and each had loosened the truncheon hidden beneath his tunic. They were in the enemy's country, and at any moment might be called upon to fight for their lives.

Kenly blundered on through the darkness, guided by the sound of voices, until he emerged into the yard. There his attention was attracted by a dull light filtering through dirty panes of glass. It seemed to him evidence that his objective was attained. Stealthily he made his way to the window and peeped through.

He had seen many strange tableaux during his career, but none stranger than that he now looked upon. He saw a dropsical old woman, with a glass in her hand and a maudlin grin on her bloated face, balancing herself with difficulty on a rickety chair. He saw Lynton Hora, with a mocking smile on his face, by no means in keeping with his clerical garb, pointing to the hideous figure. He saw another man at Hora's elbow, a bullet-headed man, with closely cropped red hair and with flushed face, whose eyes never wandered from the face of the fourth member of the party. Kenly recognised her, too. Myra's beauty was not easily forgotten, and it peeped out from beneath the mask of horror which was drawn over her face.