Sexton Blake versus the Master Crooks by Mark Hodder

Author:Mark Hodder
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Crime
Publisher: Rebellion Publishing Ltd

THE FOURTH CHAPTER

“I Have a Prisoner! Kestrel Himself!”

ON MANY PREVIOUS occasions when hot upon the elusive trail of Kestrel, Blake and Tinker had suffered reverses and disappointments which had tried their patience to the utmost.

But never had they been so persistently thwarted as now, never so exasperated. Shut up, like common felons, in the bare, damp cell of a gendarmerie on the outskirts of Paris, the detective and his assistant knew themselves to be the victims of some clever trick, in which the arch-crook had used the French police to further unwittingly his own felonious ends.

Whilst they were detained helplessly on the preposterous suspicion of being fugitive forgers from London, Kestrel, doubtless in the character of Alletson, was quietly scooping in a million francs—the Grand Prix of the French State Lottery.

The man who was being robbed sat on a bench in the corner of the cell, dour and silent, bewildered beyond further emotion or sensation—in that state of mind when he expected anything and would have been surprised at nothing.

Blake, on the other hand, paced the cell like a caged animal, his brows knitted, his thin lips drawn tightly. He had explained to the gendarmes who arrested him that they were the victims of a mistake—a plot. They merely shrugged their shoulders, and said that, if there were a mistake, it was not their fault, and, anyway, the trio would be released immediately the mistake was proved.

It was useless trying to explain that time was invaluable, that delay was disastrous.

“We have our instructions,” they said. “C’est fini!”

There came presently the grating of a key in the heavy lock, and the door of the cell opened, admitting an official corresponding to the English inspector.

Blake stepped up to him quickly.

“This is a mistake,” he said—“a lamentable mistake! I am Sexton Blake, a private detective from London. This is my assistant, and this gentleman”—he indicated Alletson—“is a member of the English Parliament. I am well known to the Chief Commissioner at Scotland Yard; I am also known well to the Chief of your Prefecture in Paris. We came to Paris in pursuit of a dangerous criminal, and he has succeeded in getting us arrested by some means. We must be released without delay!”

The inspector listened attentively, and shrugged his shoulders. It was obvious that he regarded Blake as a fluent and expert purveyor of falsehood.

“I want you to take a note for me to the Chief of the Prefecture,” Blake said. “As an Englishman, I insist upon it! It is common justice!”

The inspector demurred at first; but after Blake had shown him certain correspondence supporting his claims, he consented. The detective scribbled a short note, and a messenger was dispatched to the Prefecture.

For another forty tantalising minutes Blake paced the cell, and then the inspector reappeared.

“The Chief wishes to see you!” he said gruffly. “I am to take you to him, under escort.”

“And my friends?”

“Will remain here pending instructions!”

“Very well. But I should be obliged if you take me with the least possible

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