the gaoler on duty hauled forth. Before he could be handled, the van disgorged twenty Central Office men, and from the side streets came a score of mounted policemen, clubs in hand. The riot lasted less then three minutes. Some of the wild-looking men succeeded in making their escape, but the majority, chained in twos, went, meekly enough, between their mounted escorts.
Dick Gordon, who was also something of an organizer, watched the fight from the top of an omnibus, which, laden with policemen, had shadowed the van. He joined Elk after the excitement had subsided.
“Have you arrested anybody of importance?” he asked.
“It’s too early to say,” said Elk. “They look like ordinary tadpoles to me. I guess Litnov is in Wandsworth by now—I sent him in a closed police car before the van left.”
Arrived at Scotland Yard, he paraded the Frogs in two open ranks, watched, at a distance, by the curious crowd which packed both entrances. One by one he examined their wrists, and in every case the tattoo mark was present.
He finished his scrutiny at last, and his captives were herded into an inner yard under an armed guard.
“One man wants to speak to you, sir.”
The last file had disappeared when the officer in charge reported, and Elk exchanged a glance with his chief.
“See him,” said Dick. “We can’t afford to miss any information.”
A policeman brought the Frog to them—a tall man with a week’s growth of beard, poorly dressed and grimy. His battered hat was pulled down over his eyes, his powerful wrists visible beneath the sleeves of a jacket that was made for a smaller man.
“Well, Frog?” said Elk, glowering at him. “What’s your croak?”
“Croak is a good word,” said the man, and at the sound of his voice Elk stared. “You don’t think that old police car of yours is going to reach Wandsworth, do you?”
“Who are you?” asked Elk, peering forward.
“They want Litnov badly,” said the Frog. “They want to settle with him, and if the poor fish thinks it’s brotherly love that makes old man Frog go to all this trouble, he’s reserved a big jar for himself.”
“Broad! What…!”
The American licked his finger and wiped away the frog from his wrist.
“I’ll explain after, Mr. Elk, but take a friend’s advice and call up Wandsworth.”
Elk’s telephone was buzzing furiously when he reached his office.
It was Wandsworth station calling.
“Your police car was held up on the Common, two of your men were wounded, and the prisoner was shot dead,” was the report.
“Thank you!” said Elk bitterly.
XI - MR. BROAD EXPLAINS
Detained under police supervision, Mr. Broad did not seem in any way surprised or disconcerted. Dick Gordon and his assistant reached Wandsworth Common ten minutes after the news came through, and found the wreckage of the police car surrounded by a large crowd, kept at a distance by police.
The dead prisoner had been taken into the prison, together with one of the attackers, who had been captured by a party of warders, returning to the gaol after their luncheon hour.
A brief examination of Litnov told them no more than they knew. He had been shot through the heart, and death must have been instantaneous.
The prisoner, brought from a cell, was a man of thirty and better educated than the average run of Frogs. No weapon had been found upon him and he protested his innocence of any complicity in the plot. According to his story, he was an out-of-work clerk who had been strolling across the Common when the ambush occurred. He had seen the fight, seen the second motorcar which carried the attackers away, and had been arrested whilst running in pursuit of the murderers.
His captors told a different story. The warder responsible for his arrest said that the man was on the point of boarding the car when the officer had thrown his truncheon at him and brought him down. The car was moving at the time, and the remainder of the party had not dared to stop
Dick Gordon, who was also something of an organizer, watched the fight from the top of an omnibus, which, laden with policemen, had shadowed the van. He joined Elk after the excitement had subsided.
“Have you arrested anybody of importance?” he asked.
“It’s too early to say,” said Elk. “They look like ordinary tadpoles to me. I guess Litnov is in Wandsworth by now—I sent him in a closed police car before the van left.”
Arrived at Scotland Yard, he paraded the Frogs in two open ranks, watched, at a distance, by the curious crowd which packed both entrances. One by one he examined their wrists, and in every case the tattoo mark was present.
He finished his scrutiny at last, and his captives were herded into an inner yard under an armed guard.
“One man wants to speak to you, sir.”
The last file had disappeared when the officer in charge reported, and Elk exchanged a glance with his chief.
“See him,” said Dick. “We can’t afford to miss any information.”
A policeman brought the Frog to them—a tall man with a week’s growth of beard, poorly dressed and grimy. His battered hat was pulled down over his eyes, his powerful wrists visible beneath the sleeves of a jacket that was made for a smaller man.
“Well, Frog?” said Elk, glowering at him. “What’s your croak?”
“Croak is a good word,” said the man, and at the sound of his voice Elk stared. “You don’t think that old police car of yours is going to reach Wandsworth, do you?”
“Who are you?” asked Elk, peering forward.
“They want Litnov badly,” said the Frog. “They want to settle with him, and if the poor fish thinks it’s brotherly love that makes old man Frog go to all this trouble, he’s reserved a big jar for himself.”
“Broad! What…!”
The American licked his finger and wiped away the frog from his wrist.
“I’ll explain after, Mr. Elk, but take a friend’s advice and call up Wandsworth.”
Elk’s telephone was buzzing furiously when he reached his office.
It was Wandsworth station calling.
“Your police car was held up on the Common, two of your men were wounded, and the prisoner was shot dead,” was the report.
“Thank you!” said Elk bitterly.
XI - MR. BROAD EXPLAINS
Detained under police supervision, Mr. Broad did not seem in any way surprised or disconcerted. Dick Gordon and his assistant reached Wandsworth Common ten minutes after the news came through, and found the wreckage of the police car surrounded by a large crowd, kept at a distance by police.
The dead prisoner had been taken into the prison, together with one of the attackers, who had been captured by a party of warders, returning to the gaol after their luncheon hour.
A brief examination of Litnov told them no more than they knew. He had been shot through the heart, and death must have been instantaneous.
The prisoner, brought from a cell, was a man of thirty and better educated than the average run of Frogs. No weapon had been found upon him and he protested his innocence of any complicity in the plot. According to his story, he was an out-of-work clerk who had been strolling across the Common when the ambush occurred. He had seen the fight, seen the second motorcar which carried the attackers away, and had been arrested whilst running in pursuit of the murderers.
His captors told a different story. The warder responsible for his arrest said that the man was on the point of boarding the car when the officer had thrown his truncheon at him and brought him down. The car was moving at the time, and the remainder of the party had not dared to stop
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