THE WHODUNIT COLLECTION: British Murder Mysteries (15 Novels in One Volume). Charles Norris Williamson

a bluff," said Hallett coolly. "You're trying to frighten Miss Greye-Stratton. I guess she'll take the risk as I will."

      "I guess she won't," said Menzies, a little flushed about the temples. He was thoroughly honest in his belief that she might find herself in peril if she were allowed to go without surveillance at this stage. At the back of his mind, too, there lurked a suspicion that he had perhaps exposed his hand too openly and until matters had matured he didn't want to take any chances.

      "She's been shaken up a bit," he went on, "or she'd see that it would be sheer stupidity to get out of touch with us sheer fatuous stupidity."

      "Well, what are you going to do about it?" demanded Jimmie. "She naturally prefers her own friends, and I will say I agree with her. Going to threaten to arrest her as you did me?"

      The detective cocked a moody eye at him. "Something of the kind. Don't you forget I've got power to detain a person on suspicion without making any actual charge. What's to hinder me doing that to both of you if you persist in this attitude?"

      "Surely," persisted Jimmie, "considering what Miss Greye-Stratton has passed through--"

      "That's just what I am considering. I hate to use the appearance of force, but if you won't be reasonable I've got to see that precautions are taken for her own sake. Now wait a minute. Forget I'm a police officer for a minute. Miss Greye-Stratton, I'm sure I'm speaking for my wife when I ask you to be our guest for a few days. We'll do our best to make you comfortable."

      She almost laughed in her relief. "Thank you very much," she said. "It's silly of me, I know, but I just hate the idea of a police matron. It would make me feel as if I really were a criminal."

      "That's all right, then," he said, and smiled across at Hallett. "Any objections?" he asked.

      "You're a sport sometimes," said the young man and held out his hand.

Chapter XXVIII

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      The minute search of the enclosed area on which Weir Menzies had set his heart he knew to be no trifling business. The crowds, both inside and outside, the still unbroken cordons had thinned as the fire burnt out and no promise of further spectacular action presented itself.

      So far as was humanly possible the detectives and uniformed police had seen that no authorised person had entered or left the cordon. If Ling had ever been inside they were confident he could not have broken out.

      Menzies had a high respect for the brains and audacity of both Gwennie Lyne and Ling and though he believed he had managed to isolate them, as it were, in an island of some hundreds of houses, he was not altogether confident of the result.

      The whole district was a human rabbit-warren.

      The sifting of the ruins was going to take time. Enquiries which in a better class district might have resulted in something tangible were not to be thought of. The breed of liar who inhabited those slums would talk oh, yes, he would talk. A flood of information or misinformation would be let loose at a second's notice.

      Moreover the difficulty of the search was going to be increased by a number of people who had their own reasons for avoiding association with the police.

      Menzies bit his lip as Foyle, the collar of his waterproof well turned up to protect his face from the driving rain, approached.

      "Nasty weather for a job like this," he commented. "How did you get on?" He jerked his head towards the public-house.

      "Oh, her." Menzies shrugged his shoulders. "That was as easy as pie. She coughed up everything. She's a good girl and I've invited her to meet Mrs. Menzies."

      The superintendent wiped the raindrops off his pincenez. "I sometimes think you're more human than you give yourself out to be," he observed drily. "You've been the dickens and all of a time in there. Have you forgotten Ling? You've stopped this rats' hole. When are you going to begin to dig him out?"

      "Might as well begin, I suppose," agreed Menzies, a little doubtfully. "We'll have the streets cleared absolutely first, I think."

      No one of the scores of detectives took any part in this opening move. A dozen uniformed men began to steadily sweep away the few remaining groups of spectators. There was nothing unusual to be noticed about this process except by those individuals who had no retreat within the surrounded area and so were driven by ones and twos on to the detachments still lined across the roadway.

      They were dealt with with swift precision. There were few questions and no argument at least upon the side of the police. The senior officer at each barrier had a formula. "You will have to accompany a constable to the station until you have given an account of yourself and enquiries have been made." From that edict there was no appeal. Menzies' net was a wide one and he was willing to accept the risk of some estimable citizen being caught in it and raising a storm about his head.

      Not that that was likely, for Heldon Foyle had volunteered for the task of sifting those who were brought into the police-station and he had an inimitable faculty for smoothing the creases out of the most irate citizen's temper. Menzies was left to conduct operations on the spot.

      It was an advantage that both Gwennie Lyne and Ling were known crooks. Their photographs had been circulated and among the assembled detectives were at least a dozen who had been on occasion in personal contact with one or the other. This simplified matters, enabling Menzies to split up four parties to start at different points.

      None of them were novices at the game, and weapons, official and unofficial, bulged in many pockets. They had been warned there might be gun-play and though in London a crook is allowed first shot that is no reason for allowing him a second or a third. Nevertheless it was nervy work.

      The bulk of the army of detectives merely hung about the street with their eyes open, in case they were wanted. Comparatively small parties entered the houses to view the inmates, by now mostly asleep. Now and again the light from a lantern or an electric torch would rest longer than usual on the face of one of the sleepers, or someone would pull back the blanket which by accident or design had been shifted so as to conceal features.

      Those who were aroused for the most part took this domiciliary visit with apathetic curiosity. Sometimes a growling curse would be thrown at the officers, sometimes an attempt at rough chaff, which the detectives answered in kind. Only when they were met with opposition did the stern purpose beneath their good humour show itself.

      A short, stocky Cockney Irishman, red-haired and obstinate, barred the passage at one house. "An' it's meself that wants to know what for ye are troublin' dacent folk at this hour at all, at all," he demanded.

      "That's all right, Mike," said the burly Hugh goodhumouredly. "We're police officers. We're just taking a look round. Look out of the way."

      The Irishman's jaw jutted out and his face became bellicose. "It's not me house that ye'll be turning upside down," he announced. "Ye've no right at all, at all, an' by the Splindour of Hiven I'll paste the fir-r-st blagguard o' ye that tries to come it." He shook a beefy fist at them. "I'm a respectable man and I know the law."

      One of the detectives brought up from the river police peered forward. He was an Irishman himself. "That you, Tim Donovan?" he said. "Sure the last toime we met you had a lot of ship junk that some omadhaun had stuck in your cellar. An' you in the marine dealers' trade, too. We've lost sight of ye since then. Do ye want to meet that magistrate again or is your cellar full now?"

      The reminiscence an episode in which he had figured as the receiver of stolen ships' stores appeared to infuriate him. "It's meself ye forsworn Judas," he snarled, "an' if ye'll just kindly step up it's meself that'll measure the length of me fut on your carcase. Not a hair o' any of ye comes into my house."

      "That's enough," commanded Hugh curtly. "Stand aside if you don't want to be taken for obstructing the police."

      "Come and make me, ye big oaf," challenged