and come to Athens Street," he said. "We'll walk down both sides of the street and see if you spot the place. I have a car outside. We'll be there in twenty minutes."
"What, now?"
"Yes, now," Parkins said curtly.
"Well, all right," Harry said, and began to dress hurriedly.
Parkins lit a cigarette and rested back in the chair.
"Fisher was a good lad. He came to me for help a number of times, and I liked him. I'm willing to bet he found out something about this gang, and they've silenced him. The Doc says he may not recover consciousness for weeks, so it's no use waiting for his statement I'll have to move fast if I'm going to catch this chap."
"Do you think the fella who hit me has anything to do with the gang?" Harry asked, struggling into his coat.
"I should say he's one of the ring leaders. That's why I'm anxious to find out why he stole that roll of film off you. I think it's likely you took one of the gang's photographs. Maybe they were working in the background, and you didn't see them. It was something like that. Are you ready?"
Harry said he was, and followed the inspector from the room.
Although it was after two o'clock, Mrs. Westerham lurked in the front room. She popped out as soon as she heard footsteps, and turned pale when she saw Harry coming down the stairs with the inspector.
"He's not taking you away?" she gasped, clutching Harry's arm.
"It's all right," Harry said. "Ron's met with an accident. I'm just helping the police. I'll tell you about it when I get bade."
He shook his arm free, forced a smile and hurriedly followed the inspector out of the house.
"I believe she thought you were arresting me," he said as he climbed into the car and sat beside Parkins.
Parkins grunted, and told the uniformed driver to go to Athens Street and to be quick about it. It was surprising how quickly they got there. The roads were practically deserted, although as they rushed along Piccadilly there were still a few street prowlers to be seen, and looking out of the window, Parkins snorted at the sight of them.
"Those are the fellows who give us so much trouble," he said. "They hang about the West End looking for a girl, and when they find one and she picks their pockets, they come squealing to us. If they'd only keep out of the West End they wouldn't lose their money — the damned fools!"
And suddenly Harry felt a cold prickle run up his spine. He remembered Sam Wingate. He had picked up Clair and had lost his wallet! Could Clair . . . but that was impossible! His mind jumped to Brady and to the tow-headed chap. Ron had been after information about the gang, and had been silenced by the tow-headed chap. He suddenly wanted to be sick. Was Clair tied up with this gang? She had passed the wallet to him. He remembered Ron had said that was their method. He refused to believe it, pushing it out of his mind. It was a coincidence. It must be! But he would have to warn her. She must never give way to such a dangerous, stupid impulse again. She might have been hauled to Vine Street. The car slid to a standstill in Dean Street and Parkins got out.
"We'll walk the rest of the way. It's down here. Now keep your eyes open. There are about a dozen crates here. See if you can recognise the name."
Athens Street was a narrow, dimly lit thoroughfare, lined on either side with shops, cafes and public houses. One or two loafers stood under the street lamps, but at the sight of Parkins's burly form they melted into the darkness.
Harry walked down the street, peering at the darkened shop facias. He noticed at the far end of the street a big American car standing outside a building. As they approached he saw a sign hanging over the door, and he caught hold of Parkins's arm.
"That's it!" he said excitedly. "The Red Circle cafe. I remember now."
"Sure?"
"Positive."
"All right. Now you hop back to the car and wait for me. I'm going inside."
"Can't I go with you?"
"Not with that scar you can't," Parkins said shortly. "You keep
"What, now?"
"Yes, now," Parkins said curtly.
"Well, all right," Harry said, and began to dress hurriedly.
Parkins lit a cigarette and rested back in the chair.
"Fisher was a good lad. He came to me for help a number of times, and I liked him. I'm willing to bet he found out something about this gang, and they've silenced him. The Doc says he may not recover consciousness for weeks, so it's no use waiting for his statement I'll have to move fast if I'm going to catch this chap."
"Do you think the fella who hit me has anything to do with the gang?" Harry asked, struggling into his coat.
"I should say he's one of the ring leaders. That's why I'm anxious to find out why he stole that roll of film off you. I think it's likely you took one of the gang's photographs. Maybe they were working in the background, and you didn't see them. It was something like that. Are you ready?"
Harry said he was, and followed the inspector from the room.
Although it was after two o'clock, Mrs. Westerham lurked in the front room. She popped out as soon as she heard footsteps, and turned pale when she saw Harry coming down the stairs with the inspector.
"He's not taking you away?" she gasped, clutching Harry's arm.
"It's all right," Harry said. "Ron's met with an accident. I'm just helping the police. I'll tell you about it when I get bade."
He shook his arm free, forced a smile and hurriedly followed the inspector out of the house.
"I believe she thought you were arresting me," he said as he climbed into the car and sat beside Parkins.
Parkins grunted, and told the uniformed driver to go to Athens Street and to be quick about it. It was surprising how quickly they got there. The roads were practically deserted, although as they rushed along Piccadilly there were still a few street prowlers to be seen, and looking out of the window, Parkins snorted at the sight of them.
"Those are the fellows who give us so much trouble," he said. "They hang about the West End looking for a girl, and when they find one and she picks their pockets, they come squealing to us. If they'd only keep out of the West End they wouldn't lose their money — the damned fools!"
And suddenly Harry felt a cold prickle run up his spine. He remembered Sam Wingate. He had picked up Clair and had lost his wallet! Could Clair . . . but that was impossible! His mind jumped to Brady and to the tow-headed chap. Ron had been after information about the gang, and had been silenced by the tow-headed chap. He suddenly wanted to be sick. Was Clair tied up with this gang? She had passed the wallet to him. He remembered Ron had said that was their method. He refused to believe it, pushing it out of his mind. It was a coincidence. It must be! But he would have to warn her. She must never give way to such a dangerous, stupid impulse again. She might have been hauled to Vine Street. The car slid to a standstill in Dean Street and Parkins got out.
"We'll walk the rest of the way. It's down here. Now keep your eyes open. There are about a dozen crates here. See if you can recognise the name."
Athens Street was a narrow, dimly lit thoroughfare, lined on either side with shops, cafes and public houses. One or two loafers stood under the street lamps, but at the sight of Parkins's burly form they melted into the darkness.
Harry walked down the street, peering at the darkened shop facias. He noticed at the far end of the street a big American car standing outside a building. As they approached he saw a sign hanging over the door, and he caught hold of Parkins's arm.
"That's it!" he said excitedly. "The Red Circle cafe. I remember now."
"Sure?"
"Positive."
"All right. Now you hop back to the car and wait for me. I'm going inside."
"Can't I go with you?"
"Not with that scar you can't," Parkins said shortly. "You keep
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