Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 8).djvu/274

"I'm a-lookin' for a bilker." cabbies and 'busmen. "I'm a-lookin' for a bilker. I'm told one o' the bloke's off this rank carried 'im last Saturday, and I want to know where he went. I ain't 'ad a chance o' gettin' 'is address yet. Took a cab just as it got dark, I'm told. Tallish chap, muffled up a lot, in a long black overcoat. Any of ye seen 'im?"

The cabbies looked at one another and shook their heads; it chanced that none of them had been on that particular rank at that time. But the waterman said, "'Old on—I bet 'e's the bloke wot old Bill Stammers took. Yorkey was fust on the rank, but the bloke wouldn't 'ave a 'ansom—wanted a four-wheeler; so old Bill took 'im. Biggish chap in a long black coat, collar up an' muffled thick; soft wideawake 'at, pulled over 'is eyes; and he was in a 'urry, too. Jumped in sharp as a weasel."

"Didn't see 'is face, did ye?"

"No—not a inch of it; too much muffled. Couldn't tell if he 'ad a face."

"Was his arm in a sling?"

"Aye, it looked so. Had it stuffed through the breast of his coat, like as though there might be a sling inside."

"That's 'im. Any of ye tell me where I might run across old Bill Stammers? He'll tell me where my precious bilker went to."

As to this there was plenty of information, and in five minutes Martin Hewitt, who had become an unoccupied cabman for the occasion, was on his way to find old Bill Stammers. That respectable old man gave him exact particulars as to the place in the East-end where he had driven his muffled fare on Saturday, and soon Hewitt had begun an eighteen or twenty hours' search beyond Whitechapel.

At about three on Tuesday afternoon, as Nettings was in the act of leaving Bow Street Police Station, Hewitt drove up in a four-wheeler. Some prisoner appeared to be crouching low in the vehicle, but leaving him to take care of himself, Hewitt hurried into the station and shook Nettings by the hand. "Well," he said, "have you got the murderer of Rameau yet?"

"No," Nettings growled. "Unless—well, Goujon's under remand still, and after all I've been thinking that he may know something——"

"Pooh, nonsense!" Hewitt answered. "You'd better let him go. Now, I have got somebody." Hewitt laughed and slapped the inspector's shoulder. "I've got the man who carried Rameau's body away!"

"The deuce you have! Where? Bring him in. We must have him——"

"All right, don't be in a hurry—he won't bolt." And Hewitt stepped out to the cab and produced his prisoner, who, pulling his hat further over his eyes, hurried furtively into the station. One hand was stowed in the breast of his long coat, and below the wide brim of his hat a small piece of white bandage could be seen; and as he lifted his face it was seen to be that of a negro.

"Inspector Nettings," Hewitt said, ceremoniously, "allow me to introduce Mr. César Rameau!"

Nettings gasped.