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Motor Pirate

<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> <h3>I AM ARRESTED</h3> <div class='unindent'>As I went away from the Maitlands' house I looked neither to the right hand nor to the left. Where I went, whether I trudged along the high road or tramped across country, I have not to-day the slightest idea. I was so enveloped in my own misery, that I was absolutely blind to all external objects. I could think of nothing but my dead hopes. So onward I went, stumbling and splashing through the mud, cursing Mannering, cursing the Motor Pirate, above all cursing myself for my own pusillanimity. Why had I listened to Winter? Why should I have allowed myself to be persuaded to play the part of coward, merely that Winter's car should have been saved from injury?</div> For a long while my thoughts were as aimless as my progress, but gradually out of the incoherence one idea crystallized. It was not an idea to be proud of. My bitterness of heart produced the natural result, that was all—a burning desire to be revenged upon somebody. I contemplated revenging myself upon everybody who had anything to do with my discomfiture, upon[60] Mannering, upon Colonel Maitland, upon the Motor Pirate. Finally my choice settled upon the person of the Pirate as the most suitable object; for, next to myself, he was primarily responsible for my having made so contemptible a figure. Of course the decision was absurd. Decisions that are the outcome of any strong emotion usually are. But it fulfilled a useful purpose. It gave my mind something else to feed upon than contemplation of my own unhappiness. It brought me to myself. To-day I can laugh when I recall the childishness of my actions, the outcome of the unreasoned promptings of my puerile jealousy. For when I came to the conclusion to avenge my sufferings upon the Motor Pirate, I suddenly became aware that it was pitch dark; that I was in the middle of a field; that I was soaked to the skin; that the rain was still falling heavily; and that I had not the slightest idea where I was. However, I added one more to the acts of folly I committed that day: I solemnly held up my hands to the dripping heavens and registered my vow of revenge. Then I pushed on again, but with my physical faculties on the alert to discover where I was. I began, too, to feel the discomfort of my position, and became sensible of a sneaking wish to be before a comfortable fire. I crossed two or three fields, and eventually coming to a road I followed it, and, after paddling through the mud half a mile further, I struck a village, and in the village an inn.[61] When I opened the door and walked into the cheerful lamplight of the bar-parlour, the half-dozen occupants of the cosy little room stared at me with astonishment. Well they might. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass behind the bottles—if you have ever seen a corpse fished up by the drags from a river bed, you will be able to form some idea of the appearance I presented—so that I did not resent their stare. In fact, I was not in a condition to be able to pay much attention to the curious glances of the villagers. The warmth of the room together with the sudden cessation of exertion were for the moment too much for me, and it was as much as I could do to stagger to the nearest chair. Fortunately the landlord was a man with some modicum of common sense. I am quite sure that I should have been unceremoniously ejected from nine public houses out of ten. But mine host of the White Horse—I learned afterwards that he had been whip to a well-known hunt in the West country—was able to distinguish between fatigue and drunkenness, and he came at once to my assistance. I heard him speak to me, but I was totally unable to respond. For a while indeed I must have verged upon unconsciousness, for the next thing of which I became aware was of a glass at my lips containing something sweet and strong. I sipped. Then I drank. My consciousness returned. In a couple of minutes I could sit upright. The landlord was beaming at me with benevolent interest.[62] "Take another sup, sir," he said. "There's nothing like maraschino and gin when one is a bit overwrought. I've known many a gentleman in my part of the country who would take nothing else, after a hard day to hounds, to brace him up for those long ten miles home." I took another sup, and a good one. Then my powers of speech returning, I asked where I was. I found I had not wandered nearly so far as I expected. I was barely six miles from my home—at King's Langley; but this fact was no criterion of the distance I must have traversed in my mad frenzy, for I saw by the clock that the hour was ten. It was about five when I left Colonel Maitland's house, so that I had been pressing onward for five hours in as wild a night as any on which I have ever been abroad. I leaned back in my chair with the object of resting a few minutes before starting homewards. But, whether owing to the spirit I had swallowed, or to the heavy exertion I had undergone, or merely because of my intense mental fatigue, I felt drowsiness overcoming me so rapidly that I perceived it would never do for me to give way to it. Pulling myself together I rose to my feet, at the same time thrusting my hand into my pocket for the money to pay for my drink. The mere act of rising, however, was almost too much for me. My body felt as stiff as if I had been beaten all over. Only to move was absolute physical pain. I looked at the landlord.[63] "I'm afraid I am more knocked up than I thought. Can you manage a hot bath and a bed for me to-night?" I asked. He glanced at me curiously, and, after a moment's consideration, he replied— "I'll see what the missus'll say." Luckily "the missus" said "Yes," so ten minutes later I was sluicing hot water over my aching limbs with a stable sponge in the bath which, I suspect, did duty on ordinary occasions for the family washing. Whatever it was, it did excellently well for my purpose. Gradually a delicious feeling of relaxation stole over me. I tumbled between the sheets and was asleep even before my host entered my room to take away my soaked clothing to be dried. My sleep might have lasted one second. In point of fact I slept until nine o'clock the next morning, and should have continued to sleep if I had not felt a hand on my arm shaking me, and heard a voice bidding me arise. Fancying I was at home, and that my man was calling me, I said, "All right, Wilson," and turned over for another snooze. "Now then, get up out of that!" said the voice. "None of your shamming! We are not to be put off that way." It was not Wilson's voice. Wondering what was happening, I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes sleepily. "What the deuce——!" I began. Then I stopped suddenly. A couple of constables in uniform stood at[64] the bedside, and I gathered that it was the voice of the sergeant which had so rudely disturbed my slumbers. "What do you want?" I demanded. "You know well enough," replied the sergeant. "You make haste and dress yourself and come along with us." I thought my senses had deserted me. "What in the name of good fortune for?" I asked. "You're not going to kid us, my good feller," he answered. Adding facetiously, "If we puts a name to it and calls it piracy on the 'igh road, I wonder what you'll 'ave to say to it, remembering, of course, that anything you do say will be taken down and used in evidence against you." Then all that had happened flashed across my mind; my strange appearance and arrival at the inn; my peculiar manner; my possession of plenty of money; the curious glances of the village folk; the fact that somewhere in the vicinity the Motor Pirate had last been seen. Under the circumstances, nothing could be more likely than that the bucolic intelligence should jump to the conclusion that I was the famous criminal. To me, however, the idea seemed so absurd that I fell into hearty laughter. My merriment seemed to annoy the sergeant, for he declared crossly that if I did not dress quickly, he would find himself under the necessity of taking me away as I was. I thought it expedient to temporize, and as a result[65] of a little diplomacy, in which one of the coins from my pocket found another resting-place, I obtained permission to breakfast before I left. I made a hearty meal, the landlord attending upon my wants. I was glad to see that he, at least, had no hand in thrusting upon me the indignity of being arrested. He explained as much, telling my captors they were making idiots of themselves. As he seemed trustworthy, I gave him Winter's address, with instructions to wire to him, telling him of my predicament, and asking him to come to my assistance. Necessarily I gave the instructions in the presence of the policemen, and directly I had done so I could see that their cocksureness was shaken. They became more polite in their attitude, and the sergeant took the trouble to explain that he was acting under instructions, and had no option but to insist upon my accompanying him to Watford. Into Watford I went accordingly. I am not going to dwell in any detail upon the incidents of the journey; I am naturally of a retiring disposition, and every circumstance attending my progress was in the nature of an outrage upon my diffidence. For instance, upon my departure from the inn, the whole of the population from King's Langley, so far as I could judge, had gathered about the door of the White Horse to give me a send-off. The crowd was in no sense a hostile one. The majority of its component parts, especially the more youthful units, seemed indeed to view me with admiration not unmixed[66] with envy. Only one yokel expressed disbelief in my identity. "Ee ain't no pirut," he declared with unconcealed disdain, as he spat into the gutter. "Anybody can see he's only a toff." I scarcely knew whether to be pleased with his conclusion or angry that he should find my personal appearance so unimpressive; and before I could make up my mind on the subject, I was seated in the trap provided for us and driven away seated between the two constables. Our entry into Watford was still more in the nature of a triumph. Long before we reached the county police office I was wild enough, at being made such an exhibition of, to have given ten years of my life for the chance of punching the head of any one of the throng of gaping onlookers. Then, as a culminating blow to my pride, who should we meet at a point in the High Street where it was impossible to avoid recognition, but my rival Mannering in his trumpery old motor-car, accompanied by—above all persons in the world, the one I least desired to see—Miss Maitland. I ground my teeth with rage, and as I alighted and followed the sergeant into the police station, I wished that I were the Motor Pirate in reality. When I reached the presence of the officer in charge of the station I just managed to control my temper, though I fancy there must have been traces of my rage still visible in my voice as I demanded to know why a peaceable citizen should be subjected to such ignominy.[67] The inspector in reply merely asked me for my name and address. Before meeting Miss Maitland I had cherished the hope that my identity would not be disclosed, but now I had no further reason for desiring to conceal it, I gave both at once. The inspector quietly made a note of them, while another man in plain clothes, who was standing gazing out of the window, suddenly turned on me with the inquiry— "How comes it, Mr. Sutgrove, that living at St. Albans you should choose to spend the night at a little inn at King's Langley?" "I suppose I am at liberty to sleep where I like?" I retorted. "Perfectly so," replied the stranger. "You will have no difficulty, I presume, in proving your identity?" "Not the slightest," I said. "In fact I have already wired to a friend of mine—Mr. Winter, of Hailscombe, St. Albans—to come here for the purpose." "I know Mr. Winter very well," said the inspector. The stranger looked at me keenly, and when his scrutiny was completed he fell to whistling a bar of Chopin's Marche Funèbre. Then he turned to his colleague in uniform. "It's no go," he said. "This is not our man." Again he turned to me. "I am Inspector Forrest of Scotland Yard, detailed for special duty in connection with this Motor Pirate affair. Unfortunately I did not reach[68] Watford until after arrangements had been made to bring you here, or—— I hope you will not take it amiss if we detain you until Mr. Winter's arrival." This gave me the opening I had been wishing for, and I took it. I said a lot more than I can recall now, though I can remember a good deal. Most of it was to the effect that I would make somebody pay dearly for the annoyance to which I had been subjected. Inspector Forrest listened patiently to me until I had finished. "Come, come, Mr. Sutgrove!" he said then. "You must not bear any malice. Surely you must admit that appearances were not altogether in your favour," and he detailed to me the information which had led to my arrest. "You see," he said in conclusion, "that practically we had no option in the matter." I dissented from his view. He said a word to the inspector in uniform, who left us alone in the room. Then he came close to me and remarked in a confidential tone. "The fact is, our friend, who has just left us, has been too precipitate. You can make things exceedingly unpleasant for him if you like; but frankly, is it worth while? Think it over a little, bearing in mind that if we are to get hold of the Motor Pirate, we must take the chance of capturing the wrong man, since there is no description of him obtainable. You will not be the only one, I'll swear." Since I had relieved my mind I felt better. Besides[69] I was rather attracted by the personality of the man who was speaking to me. He did not at all fulfil my idea of a detective. He was a tall, slight, stiffly built man, with a pleasant open face and an agreeable manner. I saw, too, that I had only my own folly to blame for the predicament in which I now found myself. In another ten minutes he was smoking one of my cigars and we were chatting confidentially. Before twenty had elapsed, I had confided to him not only Winter's and my own experience with the Motor Pirate, but also the chain of events which had led to my spending the night at the inn. He was exceedingly sympathetic and quite grave throughout, though he appeared more interested in the encounter with the Pirate than in the account of my mental tortures. However, when I told him of my vow, he brightened up and asked me if I was still determined to keep it. I had just assured him that I would willingly spend the rest of my life in the quest, when the other inspector entered the room and with him Winter. The latter came straight across to me and held out his hand, and never in my life was I so glad to see his honest face and beaming smile. "What have you been up to now, Sutgrove?" he remarked. "Not emulating the deeds of the Motor Pirate?" "The police have somehow arrived at the conclusion that I am that distinguished person himself," I replied ruefully.[70] He roared with laughter. It was infectious. There was no help for it. The two inspectors joined in the merriment, and the last of my anger was borne away on the flood. There was of course no question of my further detention. In a few minutes I was seated beside Winter in his car, and we were making the mud fly as we dashed towards St. Albans. Inspector Forrest accompanied us. I had promised to find him some lunch if he would do so, and to drive him back afterwards, and he was glad of the opportunity of obtaining from us such particulars as we could furnish him with concerning the person of whom he was in search. <hr style="width: 65%;" />[71] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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