Tish Marches On (7 page)

Not only that! They insisted on our going up to their rooms, and refused to take any denial.

Aggie was visibly trembling by this time; seeing this, they mixed for each of us a glass of tonic, consisting of something smelling like creosote and an effervescent water. It was most effective, but for some reason it upset Aggie, who had taken cold while in the elevator. She got up and then sat down suddenly.

“There’s ad earthquake!” she said. “The roob’s moving!”

“That’s all right, sister,” said the Carlisle man. “Hold tight and all will be well.”

“I’b used to holdig tight,” she said. “All the way across the Atlatic—”

Fortunately she sneezed at that moment, and Tish rose abruptly.

“She is tired and not herself,” she observed. “I shall take her down and—”

But here Aggie laughed, quite a hysterical laugh.

“Dowd, dowd, id the dudgeod deep,” she said, swaying slightly. “Ad let go of be, Tish. I wadt to see the bachide guds.”

It was one of the worst moments of my life, but the Carlisle man merely smiled.

“Trot out the tommy-gun for the lady, Joe,” he said to one of the others.

It was bloodcurdling to see them laugh over this, and Tish and I managed finally to get Aggie downstairs and put her to bed, with no worse results than a bad headache the next morning.

That was Sunday, and since we could not go to church, Tish spent the time checking her lists for our prisoners. It was that day that I saw Mr. Smith from the window and was obliged to beat a hasty retreat. He did not see me, however. He was walking along slowly, looking at the people as they passed with searching eyes, and I must say I felt uncomfortable.

I told Tish, but she merely regarded me vaguely.

“Don’t bother me, Lizzie,” she said. “Now let me see: bottled water, blankets, bread, candles and matches, sardines, can opener—”

“It sounds like a picnic,” I said. “A bloodthirsty lot of ruffians, and you coddle them like a Sunday-school excursion.”

She was busy adding oranges to the list—because of the vitamins, I believe—and paid no attention.

There was only one other incident that day worth noting, but it showed me how narrow was our margin of safety.

The sitting-room door was open, and I heard Bettina’s high heels as she came up the stairs. She stopped outside our door, and with that the Carlisle wretch hurled himself down and put his arms around her.

“Bettina darling!” he said. “Kiss and make up, won’t you?”

She was weakening. I could see it in her face. And he kept on. He said he was sorry. He said he would get down and let her walk all over him. He said she could lock him in a dozen elevators. And indeed I do not know what would have been the end had she not seen me. I dare say that reminded her of what she had at stake, for she pushed him away suddenly and told him not to bother her.

“Bother!” he said. “What do you mean, bother?”

“Just what it sounds like. Or I can spell it for you.”

“And that’s all?”

“That’s enough, isn’t it?”

“I’m to scram?”

“You’re to scram.”

Puzzling as this language was, he at least understood it. He stood quite still. Then he took her by the shoulders, gave her a good shaking, and turned and went upstairs again, whistling. It was precisely the way gangsters treat their sweethearts in the pictures, and I was not surprised to see tears in her eyes when she came in.

“The great hulking brute,” she said stormily. “I’ll get even with him if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

Nevertheless, she did not let sentiment interfere with business. It was that day that she got Tish to sign an agreement with her; that agreement which she was to use with such duplicity later. It read:

In return for services rendered I hereby agree to give the exclusive story of our adventures on the Snark to Miss Bettina Pell and no one else.

(Signed) Letitia Carberry.

It was the next night, Monday, that we locked up the criminals.

The affair passed without incident. We readied the castle at dusk, and no caretaker being in sight, Tish led us at once to the dungeon. Here we left our supplies, and Tish carefully oiled the lock and the hinges of the door. Then, leaving a lighted candle, as Bettina had suggested, we retreated behind some fallen masonry and waited.

I must say I was highly nervous, and to add to my anxiety the damp at once affected Aggie, who began to sneeze violently. It therefore seemed a long time before we heard a car, and an even longer one before, led by flashlights, the gang appeared. The Carlisle man was in the lead, and he soon observed the light.

“This seems to be it,” he said. “All right, you fellows. Got the equipment?”

In the darkness I peered out, and I could see that the others were laden with the gun cases and so on. To my horror one of them was already opening one of them. But this was nothing to what followed. A large heavy man stepped forward and peered into the room, and I could hardly believe my eyes.

It was Inspector Jewkes!

We were greatly startled, but it was too late to draw back. When they were all inside Tish hastily slammed the heavy door and locked it; and there was a shocking uproar inside at once. I think even Tish was unnerved.

It was not until we were on our way back to London, however, that she explained.

“That man Jewkes saw me, Lizzie,” she said. “And if there was ever murder in a man’s face it was in his.”

N
ONE OF US SLEPT
well that night. I kept hearing a heavy body hurling itself against the dungeon door, and Aggie had a nightmare in which we had hung the Inspector on a church steeple and were firing at him with machine guns. And to make things worse Tish, awakening early, discovered that she had lost the key to the dungeon.

All in all it was a bad morning. And at eleven o’clock that idiot Bettina came and tried to tell us that it was all a joke!

I have never seen Tish so indignant.

“A joke!” she said. “Then all I have to say is that I hope Inspector Jewkes thinks it is funny.”

She looked blank.

“Jewkes? Who is he?” she asked.

“He is not a member of the gang?”

“I never heard of him.”

“Then I have to tell you,” Tish observed quietly, “that through some mistake an inspector from Scotland Yard is locked in with your friends. And as far as I am concerned he will have to stay here.”

I shall never forget the look of sheer anguish she gave us.

“Oh, my God!” she said. “That’s torn it!”

Nevertheless, the knowledge that the Inspector did not belong to the gang had altered the situation greatly, and after some thought Tish decided to notify the police. But repeated attempts to get the Yard by telephone merely resulted in a weary voice which said:

“Sorry. All applications must be made by mail.”

In desperation we finally went to the Yard ourselves that afternoon, and after a long wait we saw the same Commissioner we had seen before. Evidently he remembered us, for he simply looked up and said:

“What! Another plot!”

“The same one,” said Tish coldly. “Only I am happy to report that the gang is now safely locked away.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “Splendid, one less gang, eh? I’d better get the gang file. Jewkes! Where’s Jewkes?”

I saw Tish draw a long breath.

“Inspector Jewkes,” she said, “is locked away also.”

He seemed quite unimpressed. He said absently: “Well, well. Good for old Jewkes. Probably very interesting for him, eh?” Then he picked up the telephone, said “chump chops and chips” into it, and rose.

“Sorry, ladies,” he said. “Big day. Coronation tomorrow. Have to trot along now.”

He was almost out of the room when Tish confronted him.

“In a dungeon,” she stated, “and not having chump chops and chips, either. If that means anything to you.”

But he only looked at her vaguely.

“Too bad,” he said. “He was fond of them too, poor fellow.”

On that he simply went out the door and left us there. And it was on the way home that we unexpectedly saw Mr. Smith.

He was on the top of a taxicab, with an American flag in one hand and a tin horn in another; and every now and then he would yell: “Their majesties, bless their young hearts.” Quite a crowd had collected, and he had just started to yell again when his eyes fell on us, and he remained with his mouth open, staring. Then he shouted:

“Here, let me out, I want those women. Police! Police!”

He started to climb down, and Tish at once moved rapidly down the street. But he kept on after us, calling for the police, and at last Tish stepped into a doorway and dragged us in after her.

It was all most unpleasant, especially as he had now almost overtaken us. Fortunately, we discovered in time where we were, and were able to pay our way and enter before he reached us. It was Madame Tussaud’s waxworks, and never have I so appreciated Tish’s clear thinking as at that moment.

“Mix with the figures,” she said. “And stand perfectly still.”

It was near closing time and the rooms were almost empty, only a woman with a small boy being near, and thus we were able to dispose of ourselves quickly in the Chamber of Horrors. The lights being dim, my only fear was that Aggie would sneeze. And then that awful child came and stood in front of me, and stared for a long time.

“This lady winked, mother,” he said in a loud voice.

“Don’t tell me lies, young man,” said his mother.

“But she did wink,” he persisted, “I saw her.”

They were still arguing over this when Mr. Smith came in. He was breathing hard, but after a look he was about to depart when that wretched boy, having moved to Aggie, stuck a toy feather duster in her face. As Aggie is allergic to feathers she sneezed immediately, and Mr. Smith started.

“What was that?” he said in a savage voice.

“Just my little boy,” said the woman. “Come here, Reginald, and let mother wipe your nose. He won’t wear his jacket, sir, and that’s a fact.”

“I didn’t sneeze,” said the little monster. “It was that—”

Here the woman slapped him for telling another falsehood, and at last they all departed, leaving us alone. Somewhere we could hear Mr. Smith insisting that we had come in and that he was staying until we came out again. But as it was already closing time he was obliged to leave, and we could then face our situation.

It was bad indeed. The lights went out almost at once, and soon after the entrance was closed and locked. How can I describe our sensations, left alone in that weird spot, with the lifelike effigies of dreadful criminals all around us? Nor were matters improved when, after making a reconnaissance, Tish reported that Mr. Smith was still outside the entrance and that he was talking to a constable. Also that some cleaners had appeared, and we could not long hope to remain undiscovered.

Rarely have I put in such a night. The constable never moved, and to add to our misery was the fact that soon the Coronation would commence and that, after all we had endured, we would not see it.

But I had counted without Tish, and at three in the morning she came to me with her idea. This was merely to exchange our outer garments for those of various figures near by, preferably male, and thus be able to escape the constable’s eye. And this in the end was what we did: Aggie chose those of an Indian potentate in a turban and so on; I donned with some repugnance a street sweeper’s outfit, with brush and pan; Tish took the uniform from a policeman who had murdered his wife.

This, I think, fully explains our costumes on the morning of the Coronation; and the necessity which drove us to them. It also explains the terrified shrieks from one of the charwomen, and her statement to the press later.

“Of course I screamed,” she said. “What would you ’ave done? I looked up from my pail and there was those three bloody murderers as I ’ave dusted for fifteen years, coming at me in a row.”

It was gray dawn when we reached the street. As no taxis or cars were allowed, it was already jammed with people, and with great relief we lost ourselves among them; Tish observing that having done our duty we could now look forward to a bath and breakfast, and later to the Coronation itself with peaceful minds.

But it was not to be. When we approached our building we saw Charlie Sands outside talking to the hall porter. He seemed in a frenzy of rage, and we heard him clear across the street.

“But damn it, man,” he shouted, “when did they go? And where?”

“That would be the night before last, sir,” said the porter. “As to where, that I couldn’t say. They had an inspector from Scotland Yard along, that’s all I know.”

Well, he looked stupefied, and just then a most astonishing thing happened. Dirty and unshaven, the Carlisle man came running up the street, followed by the rest of the gang, and Charlie Sands gave him a furious look and said:

“Where the hell have you been?”

“Someday,” said the Carlisle man, grinning, “when I’ve got a long, long time to spare, I’ll tell you.”

Tish said nothing. I could see her marching on, in that dreadful uniform, and I merely followed her.

I do not know just where we lost Aggie, although as events turned out, it was probably near Buckingham Palace. I do not know where some unidentified man thrust a street cleaner’s cart before me and told me to get a move on, or words to that effect. I do recall most vividly that when we went into a public washroom to perform our morning ablutions we were put out angrily by a red-faced woman, who asked us if we had no decency.

But I do know when and where we saw Aggie again. It must have been eleven o’clock by that time, and what with Tish’s ominous silence and pushing the cart ahead of me, I was dropping on my feet. Then the crowd around us began to cheer, and we saw that we were on the route of march. The gold coach went by, with the young King and Queen inside, for all the world like fairy-tale royalty, and following them came the King’s Indian guard.

On a horse among them, and looking completely agonized, was our unfortunate friend!

How can I record our feelings! Every now and then the horse turned its head and took a nip at Aggie’s leg. And then, even as we watched, the tragedy occurred. A mounted band struck up close by, and that horse simply lifted his head, whirled, and bolted down a side street with Aggie clinging helplessly to his back.