The river of stars

“I  WISH you would let me come with you,” begged the young man, but Amber shook his head.

“You stay here,” he said.

He was dressed in a thick motor coat and a tweed cap was pulled down over his forehead. The girl had made him some tea and prepared a little meal for him.

He looked at his watch.

“One o’clock,” he said, “and here’s the car.”

The soft hum of a motor-car as it swung in a circle before the door of the house came to them.

“I’m afraid I’m late, sir.” It was the constable, who lifted his cycle from the tonneau as he spoke. “But I had some difficulty in collecting the people together, and my report at the station took me longer than I thought. We have wired to headquarters, and the main roads leading into London are being watched.”

“It will probably be too late,” replied Amber, “though they could hardly do the journey under an hour and a half.”

He took a brief farewell of the girl and jumped into the car by the side of the driver. In a few minutes he was being whirled along the Maidstone Road.

“It is a nearer way,” explained the driver, “we get on the main road. To reach London through Rochester means a bad road all the way, and a long journey.”

The car was a fast one and the journey lacked interest. It was not until they reached the outskirts of London that their progress was checked.

Turning into the Lewisham High Road, a red lamp was waved before them and they pulled up to discover two policemen. Amber had no difficulty in establishing his identity. Had anything been seen of the other car?

“No, sir,” said the sergeant; “though a car with four men passed through the Blackwall Tunnel at half-past twelve—before the special police had arrived to watch it. Our people believed from the description you sent that this was the party you are looking for.”

Amber had taken a chance when he had circulated a faithful description of Whitey.

He thanked the sergeant and the car moved towards London. He had taken the precaution of locating Lambaire and Whitey, and at half-past three the car stopped at the end of the street in which the latter’s hotel was situated.

“You will find a coffee-stall at the end of Northumberland Avenue,” he said. “Get yourself some food and be back here in a quarter of an hour.”

The street was empty and the hotel as silent as the grave. There had been no rain in London that night nor on the previous day, and the pavement was quite dry. Amber stood for a while before he rang the night bell, and with his little lamp examined the hearthstoned steps that led to the door.

There was no mark to indicate the recent arrival of one who had been walking in clay.

He pushed the button and to his surprise the door was almost immediately opened.

The night porter, usually the most lethargic of individuals, was alert and wakeful.

Evidently it was not Amber he was expecting, for he suddenly barred the opening.

“Yes, sir?” he queried sharply.

“I want a room for the night,” said Amber. “I’ve just arrived from the Continent.”

“You’re late, sir,” said the man suspiciously; “the Continental was in on time at eleven.”

“Oh, I came by way of Newhaven,” responded Amber carelessly. He trusted to the porter’s ignorance of this unfamiliar route.

“I don’t know whether we’ve got a room,” said the man slowly. “Any baggage?”

“I’ve left it at the station.”

Amber put his hand into his breast pocket and took out a flat wad of bank-notes. He detached one and handed it to the man.

“Don’t keep me talking all night, my good chap,” he said good-humouredly. “Take this fiver on account and deduct a sovereign for the trouble I have given you.”

The man’s attitude of hostility changed.

“You quite understand, sir,” he said as he led the way up the somewhat narrow stairs, “that I have to be——”

“Oh, quite,” interrupted Amber. “Where are you going to put me—second floor?”

“The second floor is engaged, sir,” said the porter. “In fact, I was expecting the gentleman and his friend at the moment you rang.”

“Late bird, eh?” said Amber.

“He’s been in once to-night—about an hour ago—he had to go out again on business.”

On the third floor Amber was shown the large front room to his entire satisfaction—for the fact that such a room was available told him that he had the entire floor to himself.

The porter lit the fire which was laid in the grate.

“Is there anything else you want, sir?”

“Nothing, thank you.”

Amber followed the man to the landing and stood there as he descended.

The porter stopped half-way down, arrested by the visitor’s irresolute attitude.

“You are sure there is nothing I can do for you, sir—cup of tea or anything?”

“Nothing, thank you,” said Amber, slowly removing his coat.

A little puzzled, the man descended.

Amber wanted something very badly, but he did not tell the man. He wanted to know whether the stairs creaked, and was gratified to find that they did not.

He waited a while till he heard the slippered feet shuffling on the paved hall below.

There was no time to be lost. He kicked off his shoes and noiselessly descended to the second floor.

There were three rooms which he judged communicated. One of these was locked. He entered the other two in turn. The first was a conventional sitting-room and opened through folding doors to a small bedroom.

From the appearance of the shaving apparatus on the dressing-table and the articles of dress hanging in the wardrobe, he gathered that this was Whitey’s bedroom. There was a door leading to the front room, but this was locked.

He crept out to the landing and listened.

There was no sound save a far-away whistling which told of the porter’s presence in some remote part of the building—probably in the basement.

To open the front door which led to the landing might mean detection; he resolved to try the door between the two rooms.

There was a key in the lock, the end of it projected an eighth of an inch beyond the lock on the bedroom side.

Amber took from his coat pocket a flat wallet and opened it. It was filled with little tools. He selected a powerful pair of pliers and gripped the end of the key. They were curious shaped pliers, for their grip ran at right angles to their handles. The effect was to afford an extraordinary leverage.

He turned the key cautiously.

Snap!

The door was unlocked.

Again he made a journey to the landing and listened. There was no sound.

He gathered his tools together, opened the door, and stepped into the room. It had originally been a bedroom. He gathered as much from the two old-fashioned bed-pulls which hung on one wall. There was a big table in the centre of the room, and a newspaper or two. He looked at the dates and smiled—they were two days old. Whitey had not occupied that room the two days previous. Amber knew him to be an inveterate newspaper reader. There were half a dozen letters and he examined the post-marks—these too supported his view, for three had been delivered by the last post two nights before.

A hasty examination of the room failed to discover any evidence that the stolen papers had been deposited there. He slipped his hand between bed and mattress, looked through contents of a despatch box, which strangely enough had been left unlocked.

Though the room was comfortably furnished, there were few places where the papers could be concealed.

Whitey must have them with him. Amber had hardly hoped to discover them with such little trouble. He had turned back the corner of the hearthrug before the fireplace, and was on the point of examining a pile of old newspapers which stood on a chair in the corner of the room, when he heard footsteps in the street without.

They were coming down the street—now they had stopped before the hotel. He heard the far-off tinkle of a bell and was out of the room in a second. He did not attempt to lock the door behind him, contenting himself with fastening it.

There were low voices in the hall below, and interchange of speech between the porter and the new arrivals, and Amber nimbly mounted to the floor above as he heard footsteps ascending.

It was Whitey and Lambaire. He heard the sibilant whisper of the one and the growl of the other.

Whitey unlocked the landing door and passed in, followed by Lambaire. Amber heard the snick of the lock as Whitey fastened it behind him.

He heard all this from the upper landing, then when silence reigned again he descended.

Noiselessly he opened the bedroom door, closing it again behind him.

The communicating door was of the conventional matchwood variety, and there was no difficulty, though the two men spoke in low tones, in hearing what they said.

Whitey was talking.

“... it surprised me ... old man ... thought he was dead....” and he heard the rumble of Lambaire’s expression of astonishment. “... providential ... seeing him in the garden ... scared to death....”

Amber crouched closer to the door. It took him some time before he trained his ear to catch every word, and luckily during that time they talked of things which were of no urgent importance.

“And now,” said Whitey’s voice, “we’ve got to get busy.”

“Coals is in no danger?” asked Lambaire.

“No—little wound in the leg ... that swine Amber....”

Amber grinned in the darkness.

“Here is the prospectus they were drawing up.”

The listener heard the crackling of paper and then a long silence. The men were evidently reading together.

“M—m!” It was Lambaire’s grunt of satisfaction he heard. “I think this is all we want to know—we must get this copied at once. There won’t be much difficulty in placing the mine ... oh, this is the map....”

There was another long pause.

Amber had to act, and act quickly. They were gaining information which would enable them to describe the position of the mine, even if they succeeded in making no copy of the little map which accompanied the prospectus.

He judged from the indistinct tone of their voices that they were sitting with their backs to the door behind which he crouched.

Lambaire and Whitey were in fact in that position.

They sat close together under the one electric light the room possessed, greedily absorbing the particulars.

“We shall have to check this with a bigger map,” said Whitey. “I don’t recognize some of these places—they are called by native names.”

“I’ve got a real good map at my diggings,” Lambaire said. “Suppose you bring along these things. It isn’t so much that we’ve got to give an accurate copy of this plan—we’ve got to be sure in our own minds exactly where the ‘pipe’ is situated.”

“That’s so,” said the other reluctantly. “It ought to be done at once. Amber will suspect us and we shall move in a Haze of Splits by this time to-morrow.”

He folded up the documents and slipped them into a long envelope. Then he stood thinking.

“Lammie,” he said, “did you hear the porter say that a visitor had come during the night?”

“Yes, but that’s usual, isn’t it?”

Whitey shook his head.

“Unusual,” he said shortly, “dam’ unusual.”

“Do you think——”

“I don’t know. I’m a bit nervy,” said the other, “but the visitor has been on my mind ever since I came in. I’m going up to have a look at his boots.”

“Why?”

“Don’t be a fool, and don’t ask foolish questions,” snarled Whitey. “Visitors put their boots outside the door, don’t they? You can tell a lot from a pair of boots.”

He handed the envelope containing the stolen prospectus to his companion.

“Take this,” he said, “and wait till I come down.”

He unlocked the door and mounted the stairs cautiously.

Lambaire waited there.

“Lambaire!” hissed a voice from the open door.

“Yes.”

“Give me the envelope, quick.”

A hand, an eager demanding hand, reached through the little gap.

“Stay where you are—give me the envelope.”

Quickly Lambaire obeyed. The hand grasped the envelope, another closed the door quickly, and there was silence.

“Now what the devil is wrong,” muttered the startled Lambaire. He felt himself turning pale. There had been a hint of imminent danger in the urgency of the voice. He waited, tense, alert, fearful; then he heard quick steps on the stairs, and Whitey dashed into the room.

“Nobody there,” he said breathlessly. “A pair of shoes covered with mud and a pair of gloves—it’s Amber.”

“Amber!”

“He’s followed us—let’s get out of this quick. Give me the envelope.”

Lambaire went white.

“I—I gave it to you,” he stammered.

“You liar!” Whitey was in a white heat of fury. “You gave me nothin’! Give me the envelope.”

“I gave it to you, Whitey,” Lambaire almost whimpered. “As soon as you left the room you came back and asked for it.”

“Did I come in—quick.”

“No, no,” The agitation of the big man was pitiable. “You put in your hand and whispered——”

“Amber!” howled the other. He broke with a torrent of curses. “Come on, you fool, he can’t have got far.”

He flew down the stairs, followed by Lambaire. The hall was deserted, the door had been left ajar.

“There he is!”

By the light of a street lamp they saw the fleeing figure and started off in pursuit.

There were few people in sight when a man in his stockinged feet came swiftly from Northumberland Avenue to the Embankment.

“Stop, thief!” bawled Whitey.

The car was further along the Embankment than he had intended it to be, but it was within easy sprinting distance.

“Stop, thief!” shouted Whitey again.

Amber had gained the car when a policeman appeared from nowhere.

“Hold hard,” said the man and grasped Amber’s arm.

The two pursuers were up to them in an instant.

“That man has stolen something belonging to me,” said Whitey, his voice unsteady from his exertions.

“You are entirely mistaken.” Amber was more polite and less perturbed than most detected thieves.

“Search him, constable—search him!” roused Whitey.

Amber laughed.

“My dear man, the policeman cannot search me in the street. Haven’t you an elementary knowledge of the law?”

A little crowd of night wanderers had collected like magic. More important fact, two other policemen were hurrying towards the group. All this Amber saw and smiled internally, for things had fallen out as he had planned.

“You charge this man,” the constable was saying.

“I want my property back,” fumed Whitey, “he’s a thief: look at him! He’s in his stockinged feet! Give me the envelope you stole....”

The two policemen who had arrived elbowed their way through the little crowd, and suddenly Whitey felt sick—ill.

“I agree to go to the station,” said Amber smoothly. “I, in turn, accuse these men of burglary.”

“Take him off,” said Whitey, “my friend and I will follow and charge him.”

“We’ll take the car,” said Amber, “but I insist upon these two men accompanying us.”

Here was a situation which Whitey had not foreseen.

They were caught in a trap unless a miracle delivered them.

“We will return to our hotel and get our coats,” said Whitey with an air of indifference.

The policeman hesitated, for the request was a reasonable one. “One of you chaps go back with these gentlemen,” he said, “and you,” to Amber, “had better come along with me. It seems to me I know you.”

“I dare say,” said Amber as he stepped into the car, “and if those two men get away from your bovine friends you will know me much better than you ever wish to know me.”

“None of your lip,” said the constable, seating himself by his side.