SIR EDWARD LEITHEN'S MYSTERIES - Complete Series. Buchan John

him. His figure was not one that is readily forgotten.

      “Good evening, Mr Docken,” I said; “will you have a glass of champagne?”

      A year before, on the South-Eastern Circuit, I had appeared for the defence in a burglary case. Criminal Law was not my province, but now and then I took a case to keep my hand in, for it is the best training in the world for the handling of witnesses. This case had been peculiar. A certain Bill Docken was the accused, a gentleman who bore a bad reputation in the eyes of the police. The evidence against him was strong, but it was more or less tainted, being chiefly that of two former accomplices—a proof that there is small truth in the proverbial honour among thieves. It was an ugly business, and my sympathies were with the accused, for though he may very well have been guilty, yet he had been the victim of a shabby trick. Anyhow I put my back into the case, and after a hard struggle got a verdict of “Not Guilty.” Mr Docken had been kind enough to express his appreciation of my efforts, and to ask in a hoarse whisper how I had “squared the old bird,” meaning the Judge. He did not understand the subtleties of the English law of evidence.

      He shambled into the room, a huge hulking figure of a man, with the thickness of chest which under happier circumstances might have made him a terror in the prize-ring. His features wore a heavy scowl which slowly cleared to a flicker of recognition.

      “By God, it’s the lawyer-chap,” he muttered.

      I pointed to the glass of champagne.

      “I don’t mind if I do,” he said. “‘Ere’s ‘ealth!” He swallowed the wine at a gulp and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “‘Ave a drop yourself, guv’nor,” he added. “A glass of bubbly will cheer you up.”

      “Well, Mr Docken,” I said, “I hope I see you fit.” I was getting wonderfully collected now that the suspense was over.

      “Pretty fair, sir. Pretty fair. Able to do my day’s work like an honest man.”

      “And what brings you here?”

      “A little job I’m on. Some friends of mine wants you out of the road for a bit and they’ve sent me to fetch you. It’s a bit of luck for you that you’ve struck a friend. We needn’t ‘ave no unpleasantness seein’ we’re both what you might call men of the world.”

      “I appreciate the compliment,” I said. “But where do you propose to take me?”

      “Dunno. It’s some lay near the Docks. I’ve got a motor-car waitin’ at the back of the ‘ouse.”

      “But supposing I don’t want to go?”

      “My orders admits no excuse,” he said solemnly. “You’re a sensible chap, and can see that in a scrap I could down you easy.”

      “Very likely,” I said. “But, man, you must be mad to talk like that. Downstairs there is a dining-room full of people. I have only to lift my voice to bring the police.”

      “You’re a kid,” he said scornfully. “Them geysers downstairs are all in the job. That was a flat-catching rig to get you up here so as you wouldn’t suspect nothing. If you was to go down now—which you ain’t going to be allowed to do—you wouldn’t find a blamed soul in the place. I must say you’re a bit softer than I ‘oped after the ‘andsome way you talked over yon old juggins with the wig at Maidstone.”

      Mr Docken took the bottle from the wine-cooler and filled himself another glass.

      It sounded horribly convincing. If I was to be kidnapped and smuggled away, Lumley would have scored half a success. Not the whole; for, as I swiftly reflected, I had put Felix on the track of Tuke, and there was every chance that Tommy and Pitt-Heron would be saved. But for myself it looked pretty black. The more my scheme succeeded the more likely the Power-House would be to wreak its vengeance on me once I was spirited from the open-air world into its dark labyrinths.

      I made a great effort to keep my voice even and calm.

      “Mr Docken,” I said, “I once did you a good turn. But for me you might be doing time now instead of drinking champagne like a gentleman. Your pals played you a pretty low trick and that was why I stuck out for you. I didn’t think you were the kind of man to forget a friend.”

      “No more I am,” said he. “The man who says Bill Docken would go back on a pal is a liar.”

      “Well, here’s your chance to pay your debts. The men who employ you are my deadly enemies and want to do me in. I’m not a match for you. You’re a stronger fellow and can drag me off and hand me over to them. But if you do I’m done with. Make no mistake about that. I put it to you as a decent fellow. Are you going to go back on the man who has been a good friend to you?”

      He shifted from one foot to another with his eyes on the ceiling. He was obviously in difficulties. Then he tried another glass of champagne.

      “I dursn’t, guv’nor. I dursn’t let you go. Them I work for would cut my throat as soon as look at me. Besides it ain’t no good. If I was to go off and leave you there’d be plenty more in this ‘ouse as would do the job. You’re up against it, guv’nor. But take a sensible view and come with me. They don’t mean you no real ‘arm. I’ll take my Bible oath on it. Only to keep you quiet for a bit, for you’ve run across one of their games. They won’t do you no ‘urt if you speak ‘em fair. Be a sport and take it smiling-like—”

      “You’re afraid of them,” I said.

      “Yuss. I’m afraid. Black afraid. So would you be if you knew the gents. I’d rather take on the whole Rat Lane crowd—you know them as I mean—on a Saturday night when they’re out for business than go back to my gents and say as ‘ow I had shirked the job.”

      He shivered. “Good Lord, they’d freeze the ‘eart out of a bull-pup.”

      “You’re afraid,” I said slowly. “So you’re going to give me up to the men you’re afraid of to do as they like with me. I never expected it of you, Bill. I thought you were the kind of lad who would send any gang to the devil before you’d go back on a pal.”

      “Don’t say that,” he said almost plaintively. “You don’t ‘alf know the ‘ole I’m in.” His eye seemed to be wandering, and he yawned deeply.

      Just then a great noise began below. I heard a voice speaking, a loud peremptory voice. Then my name was shouted: “Leithen! Leithen! Are you there?”

      There could be no mistaking that stout Yorkshire tongue. By some miracle Chapman had followed me and was raising Cain downstairs.

      My heart leaped with the sudden revulsion. “I’m here,” I yelled. “Upstairs. Come up and let me out!”

      Then I turned with a smile of triumph to Bill.

      “My friends have come,” I said. “You’re too late for the job. Get back and tell your masters that.”

      He was swaying on his feet, and he suddenly lurched towards me. “You come along. By God, you think you’ve done me. I’ll let you see.”

      His voice was growing thick and he stopped short. “What the ‘ell’s wrong with me?” he gasped. “I’m goin’ all queer. I… ‘

      He was like a man far gone in liquor, but three glasses of champagne would never have touched a head like Bill’s. I saw what was up with him. He was not drunk, but drugged.

      “They’ve doped the wine,” I cried. “They put it there for me to drink it and go to sleep.”

      There is always something which is the last straw to any man. You may insult and outrage him and he will bear it patiently, but touch the quick in his temper and he will turn. Apparently for Bill drugging was the unforgivable sin. His eye lost for a moment its confusion. He squared his shoulders and roared like a bull.

      “Doped, by God!” he cried. “Who done it?”

      “The men who shut me in this room. Burst that door and you will find