He gave a gasp and collapsed into unconsciousness. Poole straightened himself and turned again towards the alley-way. As he did so, Ryland Fratten emerged from it, hobbling uncertainly.
“Sorry I couldn’t get out before, Inspector,” he said. “My legs were asleep—they’ll hardly carry me now.”
“What were you doing up—no, never mind that now; we must find these people.” He ran down into the street and looked to right and left. From the direction of Cannon Street Station a disconsolate-looking uniformed police-constable was approaching at an awkward shuffle.
“Where the hell have you been?” demanded the Inspector angrily. “Where have those people got to?”
“Couldn’t say, I’m sure, sir,” replied the constable in an aggrieved voice. “When the body fell, sir, I ran to it. Then I ’eard a shout, and lookin’ round, saw the other ’tec bein’ laid out by a bloke with a gun. I darted after ’im” (the idea of the solid police-constable Munt “darting” anywhere would have tickled Poole at any other time). “The girl ’ad gone off down the alley—’er mate follered ’er. I made after ’im and as I turned into the street ’e was waiting for me and caught me slap in the wind with ’is knee—doubled me right up. ’E pushed me over and give me two more with the ’eel of ’is boot—in the belly and them parts—brutal it was, sir. Took me a couple o’ minutes to come round. But I’d seen which way e’d gone—turned up Chaffer’s Way there—’undred yards along—leads into Leadenhall it does. I went after ’em as soon as I could but I couldn’t see nothing of them.”
“Did you spread the warning? Did you tell the nearest possible points or patrols?”
“No, sir. I come back to see if I could ’elp that pore ’tec what ’ad been knocked out.”
“You blasted fool,” exclaimed Poole in a white heat of rage. “Your superintendent shall hear of this. If they get away I’ll have you hounded out of the force. Get off now and telephone to your divisional headquarters—give them a description—Captain and Mrs. Wraile—tell them to look out for a two-seater Caxton coupé and to search all garages in this neighbourhood for it. Tell them to ring all the garages round here and warn them not to let that car out—to hold the owners if they can. Then get round to the men on point duty round here yourself and warn them—and any patrols you meet. It’s murder they’re wanted for, mind. Do this job thoroughly and I may forget the rest. Shift yourself.”
P. C. Munt went off at the nearest to a “dart” that he had ever attained. Poole turned to Ryland.
“There ought to have been two plain-clothes men here from the Yard long ago,” he explained. “I was going to put them on to the Wrailes in any case; luckily I linked up here with Fallows, who was on your trail, Mr. Fratten, and we picked up that uniformed fool just outside. I can’t stop to explain more now, sir, but if you wouldn’t mind staying with Fallows till I can send an ambulance—I’ll get on to the Yard and get general information out. These people’ll make for the ports in all probability. The roads and railways must both be watched—they may not use their car. I wish I knew what garage they used round here—it must be close at hand—I ought to have asked that fool Munt for the nearest ones—fool myself.”