by Lewis Hockley [Percy Longhurst].
Originally published in The Magnet Library (The Amalgamated Press, Ltd.) vol.1 #21 (04 Jul 1908).
Lomax Gains His Information.
But this simulation of slumber had been an inspiration, a sudden suggestion that had sprung into his mind, and he had acted upon it instantly. And it had succeeded far beyond his expectations. If the words of the drunken prizefighter were truth, and not the wild imaginings of his over-mastered brain, he had, and at once, learned what he so desired to know—the place where Mrs. Brewer was concealed.
He had pretended sleep, and once started, the deception had to be carried through. Only by the strongest effort of will had such been possible. At every moment he had feared discovery. The strain had been awful; the tension of his brain and nerve an agony. When McDonald had attempted to pull his wig, his muscles had twitched with the desire to act and restrain him. When he heard the man declare the address where Mrs. Brewer was hidden, the impulse to betray, either by expression or movement, the exultation that leaped into his heart, and sent the blood pulsing the quicker through his veins was all but irresistible. Yet he had resisted it successfully, and neither McDonald nor the Jew was aware that their words fell upon the ears of a man whose brain was far from being asleep.
Still the cab rolled on. Lomax had told the driver that he was just to drive wherever he pleased; he'd be told when his fares had had enough of it. And the cabman, though he thought his hirer mad or drunk, knew he was piling up a respectable sized fare, and went where he liked—not too far away, nor at too hurried a pace. His private impressions was that Lomax was a lunatic, and the other two men his keepers.
All at once McDonald's voice, never very low, began to be raised. He wanted to get out, and the Jew's attempts to restrain him aroused his temper. He was quickly passing from the loquacious to the quarrelsome stage of intoxication.
"Want to get out!" he declared.
"No, you don't!" the Jew declared.
"Tell yer I do; an' I'm going' to get out!" returned the boxer. "Who says I ain't—eh? Ain't that 'ouse there No. 4? Who'll keep me 'ere away from my 'ouse, I'd like to know? Ain't old Brewer there? All alone, nothin' to eat an' nothin' to drink. 'Ere, ol' pal, lemme out, so's I can get 'er a bite, or she'll be deaded, an' then we won't get none o' the dibs at all."
"Will you thit down?"
"Not if I knows it, when I wants to get out. 'Ere!"
McDonald's hand found the window-strap. He jerked it, and the window fell with a crash that would have waked the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus.
And then Lomax, having heard all that he required to hear, and fearful of over-doing his part, awakened with a sudden start; his his eyes opened, and he sat upright in his corner with a jerk that almost drove the hat from his head.
"Here, I say— Why, what—where am I? I—why, what's this? I been asleep?"
The acting, though it might have been improved upon by a Beerbohm Tree, or George Alexander, was sufficiently good to impose upon Bob's companions. McDonald turned on him with a vacant laugh, and the Hebrew pulled him down into his seat.