The Best British Short Stories of 1922 | Page 3

the other man, whose name was Toller, dashed to the door. On
the pavement there was a confused scramble. Blows were struck
indiscriminately. Two policemen appeared. One was laid hors de
combat by a kick on the knee-cap from Toller. The two men fled into
the darkness, followed by a hue-and-cry. Born and bred in the locality,
they took every advantage of their knowledge. They tacked through
alleys and raced down dark mews, and clambered over walk.
Fortunately for them, the people they passed, who might have tripped
them up or aided in the pursuit, merely fled indoors. The people in
Wapping are not always on the side of the pursuer. But the police held
on. At last Ben and Toller slipped through the door of an empty house
in Aztec Street barely ten yards ahead of their nearest pursuer. Blows
rained on the door, but they slipped the bolts, and then fell panting to
the floor. When Ben could speak, he said:

"If they cop us, it means swinging."
"Was the nigger done in?"
"I think so. But even if 'e wasn't, there was that other affair the night
before last. The game's up."
The ground-floor rooms were shuttered and bolted, but they knew that
the police would probably force the front door. At the back there was
no escape, only a narrow stable yard, where lanterns were already
flashing. The roof only extended thirty yards either way and the police
would probably take possession of it. They made a round of the house,
which was sketchily furnished. There was a loaf, a small piece of
mutton, and a bottle of pickles, and--the most precious
possession--three bottles of whisky. Each man drank half a glass of
neat whisky; then Ben said: "Well be able to keep 'em quiet for a bit,
anyway," and he went and fetched an old twelve-bore gun and a case of
cartridges. Toller was opposed to this last desperate resort, but Ben
continued to murmur, "It means swinging, anyway."
And thus began the notorious siege of Aztec Street. It lasted three days
and four nights. You may remember that, on forcing a panel of the front
door, Sub-Inspector Wraithe, of the V Division, was shot through the
chest. The police then tried other methods. A hose was brought into
play without effect. Two policemen were killed and four wounded. The
military was requisitioned. The street was picketed. Snipers occupied
windows of the houses opposite. A distinguished member of the
Cabinet drove down in a motorcar, and directed operations in a top-hat.
It was the introduction of poison-gas which was the ultimate cause of
the downfall of the citadel. The body of Ben Orming was never found,
but that of Toller was discovered near the front door with a bullet
through his heart. The medical officer to the Court pronounced that the
man had been dead three days, but whether killed by a chance bullet
from a sniper or whether killed deliberately by his fellow-criminal was
never revealed. For when the end came Orming had apparently planned
a final act of venom. It was known that in the basement a considerable
quantity of petrol had been stored. The contents had probably been
carefully distributed over the most inflammable materials in the top

rooms. The fire broke out, as one witness described it, "almost like an
explosion." Orming must have perished in this. The roof blazed up, and
the sparks carried across the yard and started a stack of light timber in
the annexe of Messrs. Morrel's piano-factory. The factory and two
blocks of tenement buildings were burnt to the ground. The estimated
cost of the destruction was one hundred and eighty thousand pounds.
The casualties amounted to seven killed and fifteen wounded.
At the inquiry held under Chief Justice Pengammon various odd
interesting facts were revealed. Mr. Lowes-Parlby, the brilliant young
K.C., distinguished himself by his searching cross-examination of
many witnesses. At one point a certain Mrs. Dawes was put in the box.
"Now," said Mr. Lowes-Parlby, "I understand that on the evening in
question, Mrs. Dawes, you, and the victims, and these other people who
have been mentioned, were all seated in the public bar of the Wagtail,
enjoying its no doubt excellent hospitality and indulging in a friendly
discussion. Is that so?"
"Yes, sir."
"Now, will you tell his lordship what you were discussing?"
"Diseases, sir."
"Diseases! And did the argument become acrimonious?"
"Pardon?"
"Was there a serious dispute about diseases?"
"No, sir."
"Well, what was the subject of the dispute?"
"We was arguin' as to where Wych Street was, sir."
"What's that?" said his lordship.

"The witness states, my lord, that they were arguing as to where Wych
Street was."
"Wych Street? Do you mean W-Y-C-H?"
"Yes, sir."
"You mean the narrow old street that used