The Complete Master Criminal Series (Illustrated Edition). Fred M. White
by th« door.
His movements were peculiar and rapid. He touched a spring on each box and the basket frames fell all to pieces. These were immediately hidden under mail bags. Three huge portmanteaux of different colour were revealed. To each of these a label bearing a different name was attached; the baggage was quite transformed.
Then the shivering Orientals went on their way to the carriage reserved for them. Directly they were inside the blinds were pulled down. The loose Eastern robes were discarded, and beneath them were disclosed three typical English garbs—a parson’s, a country squire’s, and that of a man about town. With the free use of the lavatory and a make-up box produced by Gryde, he and the other artists were utterly changed by the time Slough was reached. Just before then a big bundle was carefully dropped out of the window. The train pulled up at Slough. Gryde opened the window opposite the platform.
“Now,” he whispered, “you’ve all got your tickets?”
Confederates One and Two nodded curtly. An instant later the door was closed again with the curtains still down, and the trio had reached the further platform without attracting the slightest attention. When they strolled back again by the proper way to the train they appeared to be strangers to each other, for each entered a different carriage, not, needless to remark, the one with the drawn blinds. Then the train sped on towards Paddington.
Once arrived there, Gryde was out of the carriage before the train had fairly stopped. In this move the other actors were not far behind him. The great object now was to secure the baggage and get it out of the station without delay. Out came the stuff tumbling on the platform, and a moment later the three precious portmanteaux were hoisted upon three cabs and all driven away at once to separate destinations. The coup had been accomplished!
But not with much to spare. As Gryde looked with lamb-like gaze over the tops of his glasses, a parson to the life, he saw coming down the slope into the station two quiet men, who appeared to see nothing. Gryde smiled.
“They’ve found it out and telegraphed,” he chuckled, “or else two shining lights like Marsh and Elliott would not have been put on the job. If they have found Nana Rau, why we have no time to lose. If not, why so much the better.”
It was about nine o’clock the same evening, and the three conspirators, absolutely without disguise, and qua Gryde and Co., were seated over dinner in the former’s rooms. They had the air of men who had done well and virtuously
“You managed to get rid of your lot?” Gryde asked.
“Yes,” the first man responded. “All beyond recognition by this time. You’ll see to the disposal?”
“I suppose you are all right?” Gryde said to the other.
“I am also satisfied,” said he. “We both deposited the plunder as you directed. Most of my stuff was jewelled, and you can’t recognise jewels. We are as safe as houses. For my part I should like to have a bit of a rest, considering that I haven’t seen my own natural face for a fortnight. When I look at myself in the glass I feel quite startled.”
“Let’s go round to a restaurant,” suggested Gryde, ” and see if anything’s come out.”
The proposal found favour in the eyes of the others. In the St. Giles’s one or two men were languidly discussing something in connection with Windsor Castle and incidentally Indian princes.
“What’s that?” Gryde demanded.
“All in the Globe,” said an exhausted voice. “Rum case, by Jove!”
Gryde took up the special Globe and turned it over languidly. He had hardly’ expected to find the case public. But all the same it was, and nothing had been lost in the display of the juicy item:
BURGLARY AT WINDSOR CASTLE
INGENIOUS AND SUCCESSFUL FRAUD
AN INDIAN PRINCE IS DRUGGED AND IMPERSONATED BY THIEVES
From information just received it is evident that last night a clever and successful attempt at burglary was carried out at Windsor Castle.
It appears that H.R.H. the Mahrajah of Curriebad was summoned to Windsor for some purpose of State, and this seems to have been known to the miscreants. The Prince was lured away to Epsom by an individual claiming to be an old friend of his, the pretext being an invitation to luncheon. There he and his attendants were drugged and locked in a deserted house whilst the pseudo Indians repaired to Windsor.
What happened there we are not in a position to say, but early this morning the Prince and his attendants escaped from their prison-house, and lost no time in laying the case before the proper authorities. The police are extremely reticent upon the point, but we have the best authority for saying that during the night the daring thieves carried away from Windsor articles to the value of thousands of pounds. How they managed to get clear away is a mystery, for though the sham Indians were seen to enter their reserved carriage at Windsor, it is certain they did not detrain en route. Up to the present nothing has been heard or seen of them.
At the last moment we are informed that a large bundle of Oriental robes have been picked up on the line near Slough. How they got there must for the present remain a mere matter for conjecture.
Gryde smiled as he laid the paper aside.
“Looks to me like a hoax,” he said,
“Depend upon it, our friend the Mahrajah got screwed and imagined the whole thing. Burglary at Windsor Castle! The whole thing is too absurd.”
With which Gryde went off to play pool, at which game, as usual, he proved singularly successful. But he declined to stay late.
“No,” he said; “I was up nearly all night. Some other time, perhaps. But you chaps may depend upon it those ‘Indians’ will never be caught. See you fellows in a day or two. I’m going out of town to-morrow for a time.”
But Gryde’s tools never saw him again. They had pooled their plunder, and Gryde was to dispose of it. Yet days and weeks went by, and like the raven,
“Still is sitting, never flitting,”
they tarried for the master who came not.
“Some day,” growled No. 1, “we shall meet Vaughan again; then let him look to himself. I should know him anywhere.”
Vain boast, fond delusion. Tools it was necessary for Gryde to have, but as to using them and making familiar as Gryde with them—never! A myth was “Vaughan,” and as a myth he is likely to remain.
THE SILVERPOOL CUP
CHAPTER I
SACKVILLE MAYNE was still sober, although it was nearly two. The marble clock in the Mornington Arms Hotel recorded the hour and the phenomenon. Years of vinous environment has not yet robbed Mayne of the manorial air, although the necessary acres for the part were gone long ago.
Neither had Mayne quite lost the art of dining. He had done ample justice to the dinner presented by his peripatetic host the Duke de Cavour. The wines left nothing to be desired.
“I am charmed,” said the Duke in quite passable English, “charmed to have met you again. Our last foregathering in Naples