The Council of Justice Read Online

On the contrary,' he added with a whimsical smile, 'I have helped them.'

  The detective remembered that this hereditary Prince of the Escorial bore a reputation for eccentricity.

  With a suddenness which was confusing, the Prince turned with a smile on his lips.

  'You are thinking of my dreadful reputation?'

  'No, no!' disclaimed the embarrassed Mr. Falmouth. 'I—'

  'Oh, yes—I've done lots of things,' said the other with a little laugh; 'it's in the blood—my illustrious cousin—'

  'I assure your Highness,' said Falmouth impressively, 'my reflections were not—er—reflections on yourself—there is a story that you have dabbled in socialism—but that, of course—'

  'Is perfectly true,' concluded the Prince calmly. He turned his attention to the hole in the floor.

  'Have you any theory?' he asked.

  The detective nodded.

  It's more than a theory—it's knowledge—you see we've seen Jessen, and the threads of the story are all in hand.'

  'What will you do?'

  'Nothing,' said the detective stolidly; 'hush up the inquest until we can lay the Four Just Men by the heels.'

  'And the manner of killing?'

  'That must be kept quiet,' replied Falmouth emphatically. This conversation may furnish a clue as to the unprecedented conduct of the police at the subsequent inquest.

  In the little coroner's court there was accommodation for three pressmen and some fifty of the general public. Without desiring in any way to cast suspicion upon the cleanest police force in the world, I can only state that the jury were remarkably well disciplined, that the general public found the body of the court so densely packed with broad-shouldered men that they were unable to obtain admission. As to the press, the confidential circular had done its work, and the three shining lights of journalism that occupied the reporters' desk were careful to carry out instructions.

  The proceedings lasted a very short time, a verdict, '…some person or persons unknown,' was recorded, and another London mystery was added (I quote from the Evening News) to the already alarming and formidable list of unpunished crimes.

  Charles Garrett was one of the three journalists admitted to the inquest, and after it was all over he confronted Falmouth.

  'Look here, Falmouth,' he said pugnaciously, 'what's the racket?' Falmouth, having reason to know, and to an extent stand in awe of, the little man, waggled his head darkly.

  'Oh, rot!' said Charles rudely, 'don't be so disgustingly mysterious—why aren't we allowed to say these chaps died—?'

  'Have you seen Jessen?' asked the detective.

  'I have,' said Charles bitterly, 'and after what I've done for that man; after I've put his big feet on the rungs of culture—'

  'Wouldn't he speak?' asked Falmouth innocently.

  'He was as close,' said Charles sadly, 'as the inside washer of a vacuum pump.'

  'H'm!' the detective was considering. Sooner or later the connection must occur to Charles, and he was the only man who would be likely to surprise Jessen's secret. Better that the journalist should know now.

  'If I were you,' said Falmouth quietly, 'I shouldn't worry Jessen; you know what he is, and in what capacity he serves the Government. Come along with me.'

  He did not speak a word in reply to the questions Charles put until they passed through the showy portals of Carlby Mansions and a lift had deposited them at the door of the flat.

  Falmouth opened the door with a key, and Charles went into the flat at his heels.

  He saw the hole in the floor.

  'This wasn't mentioned at the inquest,' he said; 'but what's this to do with Jessen?'

  He looked up at the detective in perplexity, then a light broke upon him and he whistled.

  'Well, I'm—' he said, then he added softly—'But what does the Government say to this?'

  'The Government,' said Falmouth in his best official manner, smoothing the nap of his hat the while—'the Government regard the circumstances as unusual, but they have accepted the situation with great philosophy.'

  That night Mr. Long (or Jessen) reappeared at the Guild as though nothing whatever had happened, and addressed his audience for half an hour on the subject of 'Do burglars make good caretakers?'

  From what secret place in the metropolis the Woman of Gratz reorganized her forces we shall never know; whence came her strength of purpose and her unbounded energy we can guess. With Starque's death she became virtually and actually the leader of the Red Hundred, and from every corner of Europe came reinforcements of men and money to strengthen her hand and to re-establish the shaking prestige of the most powerful association that Anarchism had ever known.

  Great Britain had ever been immune from the active operations of the anarchist. It had been the sanctuary of the revolutionary for centuries, and Anarchism had hesitated to jeopardize the security of refugees by carrying on its propaganda on British soil. That the extremists of the movement had chafed under the restriction is well known, and when the Woman of Gratz openly declared war on England, she was acclaimed enthusiastically.

  Then followed perhaps the most extraordinary duels that the world had ever seen. Two powerful bodies, both outside the pale of the law, fought rapidly, mercilessly, asking no quarter and giving none. And the eerie thing about it all was, that no man saw the agents of either of the combatants. It was as though two spirit forces were engaged in some titanic combat. The police were almost helpless. The fight against the Red Hundred was carried on, almost single-handedly, by the Four Just Men, or, to give them the title with which they signed their famous proclamation, 'The Council of Justice'…

  Since the days of the Fenian scare, London had never lived under the terror that the Red Hundred inspired. Never a day passed but preparations for some outrage were discovered, the most appalling of which was the attempt on the Tube Railway. If I refer to them as 'attempts', and if the repetition of that word wearies the reader, it is because, thanks to the extraordinary vigilance of the Council of Justice, they were no more.

  'This sort of thing cannot go on,' said the Home Secretary petulantly at a meeting of the heads of the police. 'Here we have admittedly the finest police force in the world, and we must needs be under obligation to men for whom warrants exist on a charge of murder!'

  The chief commissioner was sufficiently harassed, and was inclined to resent the criticism in the minister's voice.

  'We've done everything that can be done, sir,' he said shortly; 'if you think my resignation would help you out of the difficulty——'

  'Now for heaven's sake, don't be a fool,' pleaded the Home Secretary, in his best unparliamentary manner. 'Cannot you see———'

  'I can see that no harm has been done so far,' said the commissioner doggedly; then he burst forth:

  'Look here, sir! our people have very often to employ characters a jolly sight worse than the Four Just Men—if we don't employ them we exploit them. Mean little sneak-thieves, "narks" they call 'em, old lags, burglars—and once or twice something worse. We are here to protect the public; so long as the public is being protected, nobody can kick—-'

  'But it is not you who are protecting the public—you get your information—

  'From the Council of Justice, that is so; but where it comes from doesn't matter. Now, listen to me, sir.'

  He was very earnest and emphasized his remarks with little raps on the desk.

  'Get the Prince of the Escorial out of the country,' he said seriously. 'I've got information that the Reds are after his blood. No, I haven't been warned by the Just Men, that's the queer part about it. I've got it straight from a man who's selling me information.