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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79026 ***
+
+
+
+
+                       THE ENTERPRISING BURGLAR
+
+                          BY HEARNDEN BALFOUR
+                 _Author of 'A Gentleman from Texas'_
+
+                          BOSTON AND NEW YORK
+                       HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
+                     The Riverside Press Cambridge
+                                 1928
+
+             COPYRIGHT, 1928, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
+
+                          ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
+
+                          The Riverside Press
+                       CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS
+                         PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
+
+                                  TO
+                         ALL THE SHAREHOLDERS
+                                  IN
+                         NEW BELLS, UNLIMITED
+
+    When the enterprising burglar's not a-burgling, not a-burgling,
+    When the cut-throat isn't occupied in crime, 'pied in crime,
+    He loves to hear the little brook a-gurgling, brook a-gurgling,
+    And to listen to the merry village chime, village chime.
+
+                                          GILBERT AND SULLIVAN
+                                          ('The Pirates of Penzance')
+
+
+
+
+                               CONTENTS
+
+
+                 I. 'A POLICEMAN'S LOT ...'
+
+                II. VIVE LE SPORT
+
+               III. FOG
+
+                IV. THE MEETING OF THE FRATERNITY
+
+                 V. 'TWINKLING WILLIAM'
+
+                VI. AN ULTIMATUM
+
+               VII. 'IF THE FEMININE ELEMENT CROPPED UP IN THIS ...'
+
+              VIII. 'MINE'S BEER, TOO'
+
+                IX. SIR TOBY IS AMUSED
+
+                 X. THE FEMININE ELEMENT
+
+                XI. JERRY STRIKES OUT ON HER OWN
+
+               XII. 'BAKERLOO'
+
+              XIII. TO BE LET OR SOLD
+
+               XIV. TWINKLING WILLIAM'S DIARY
+
+                XV. BOBBY'S THEORY
+
+               XVI. NICK REFUSES TO EXPLAIN
+
+              XVII. NICK MAKES AN ALLY
+
+             XVIII. NICK EXPLAINS HIMSELF
+
+               XIX. SIR TOBY IS SURPRISED
+
+                XX. MICHAEL IS CONVINCED
+
+               XXI. JERRY EXPLAINS HERSELF
+
+              XXII. JILL HAS THE LAST WORD
+
+             XXIII. MR. ROBERTSON
+
+              XXIV. THE TENTH OF JUNE
+
+
+
+
+                       THE ENTERPRISING BURGLAR
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER I
+
+                        'A POLICEMAN'S LOT ...'
+
+
+It was a bitter November night. Spike Moseley, trudging along the
+Embankment, shivered, and cursed under his breath. He was far from
+happy. He was cold and tired, and, worst of all, desperately nervous.
+As he stumbled along he suddenly checked, listening. Was that a step
+behind him? He swung round, his pulses thumping, and stared through the
+mist that drifted up from the river. Was it a trick of the darkness,
+or had he seen a dark figure take cover in the shadow of that shelter?
+Spike waited a moment, his heart in his mouth, and then trudged on.
+
+He was afraid, and fear was a rare emotion in him. Spike had been a
+crook all his life, but he had always prided himself on the steadiness
+of his nerves. He had been in a score of tight places, and had
+extricated himself ably, but this was a different matter. Again he
+checked, every nerve taut. He knew, as a wild animal knows, that he was
+being followed, and his mouth dried as he listened. But he could hear
+nothing, except the far-off wail of a ship's siren, down river.
+
+Spike set his teeth and went on again. Maybe it was only his
+imagination; the fancies that come to a sick man. For Spike felt very
+sick that night. His head was heavy, and he could hardly drag his feet
+along. It had come upon him suddenly. He had been all right an hour
+ago. Then, after that pint he'd had in the Four Feathers, he'd begun to
+feel queer. He wanted to lie down and sleep, but that was impossible.
+He had made up his mind to see this thing through. He had decided to
+tell Mr. Strickland what he knew. It was a poor thing to turn copper's
+nark, but it seemed the lesser of two evils. Spike turned up his coat
+collar and struggled on.
+
+The policeman at the door of Scotland Yard eyed him with disfavour.
+
+'Mr. Strickland about?'
+
+His voice sounded queer. It was oddly difficult to get the words out.
+The policeman told him curtly that Mr. Strickland was busy. Spike
+fumbled in his pocket, and produced a grimy piece of paper and a stump
+of pencil. Laboriously he wrote a few words, folded the note, and gave
+it to the policeman.
+
+'For Mr. Strickland,' he explained. 'Tell'm I'll wait by the bridge. 'S
+important.' He turned and shambled across the road.
+
+Detective-Inspector Strickland was not in the best of tempers when he
+received Spike's communication. He had just been given marching orders,
+which meant throwing up a case that was absorbing all his interest. He
+knew it to be important--even urgent--but Authority had smiled, and had
+given him to understand that he was shying at a mare's nest. Just when
+proof seemed to be within his grasp, his Chief had seen fit to send him
+abroad.
+
+Spike's note gave him a flash of hope. He had long believed that Spike
+could give him the information he wanted. He had tried to get it
+before, but without success. If Spike really intended to make a clean
+breast of it this time, there was a chance that he might be able to
+convince the Chief. He flung on his hat and coat and went out to find
+Spike.
+
+The mist had thickened, and as he hurried towards Westminster Bridge
+he failed to see a man who was waiting in the shadow of the Embankment
+wall. The man saw Strickland, though, and smiled as he crouched below
+the balustrade. Then he followed, moving very softly for so big a man.
+
+Spike Moseley was sitting on the steps, his head in his hands, and did
+not look up as Strickland approached.
+
+'Well, Spike?'
+
+Moseley raised his head, and stared at Strickland vacantly.
+
+'You wanted to see me?'
+
+A flicker of intelligence lit in his eyes.
+
+'Thash right. Want see yer. Got suthing ... tell yer.'
+
+'Go ahead.'
+
+'Thishyer gang you're after ... preachin' bloody war, they are ... do
+it, too. 'S Gawd's truth. Won' stop't anythin'....'
+
+His speech was blurred and indistinct.
+
+'You know 'em?' asked Strickland.
+
+'Know'm a sight too well. But t'-night ... foun' out ... bloke's
+name....'
+
+His breath came in gasps.
+
+'Who is he, Spike?' asked Strickland urgently.
+
+'Nev' guess ... kill me, 'e would, 'f 'e knew wot I 'eard ... watch
+out, er e'll get you ... an' no jury'd convic' ... man like 'im....'
+
+Spike's head sagged forward into his hands. The words were clotting on
+his tongue.
+
+'What's his name?' asked Strickland desperately.
+
+Spike tried to lift his head, but failed. His lips moved, but no words
+came. Then he swayed over drunkenly, and Strickland caught him as he
+fell.
+
+Spike lay very still. Strickland laid a hand on his heart, and then
+straightened himself, his face very grave. For a moment he stood still,
+staring down at the huddled body. That message would never be delivered.
+
+The man who had been crouching in the shadow noted the abrupt
+silence. He moved away, soft-footed as a cat, and then made his way
+back again, tramping heavily along the pavement. When he reached the
+top of the steps he checked, and allowed himself to catch sight of
+Detective-Inspector Strickland.
+
+'Could y' spare us 'arf a dollar, sir?' he asked huskily. 'It's an
+awful night, sir, an' I ain't 'ad no work fer months.'
+
+Strickland looked up sharply. It was hard to see the man clearly in the
+mist and the dark. He was a tall chap, a navvy, by the look of him.
+
+'Yes, you can take a message for me,' he said. 'Here's half a crown. Go
+over to Scotland Yard'--he pointed across the road--'and ask Inspector
+Barrett to come here. Tell him to bring a constable with him, and say I
+sent you--Strickland. Hurry!'
+
+'Inspector Barrett. Right y'are, sir,' said the navvy, and set off at a
+lumbering trot.
+
+Strickland waited, shivering a little in the bitter wind. He was very
+angry; a cold fury that included the Commissioner, and Spike, and the
+men Spike had intended to betray. If only Spike had lived to tell
+him that name ... if only the Chief could be induced to take this
+matter seriously ... if only he himself had not received orders to go
+abroad.... Jack Strickland felt it to be a deliberate insult on the
+part of the gods.
+
+The arrival of a policeman and a burly man in plain clothes
+interrupted his thoughts. In a few words he explained to Inspector
+Barrett what had happened.
+
+'Sounds as if he'd been doped,' said Barrett at the conclusion. 'Well,
+I'll deal with this if you like. You were on your way home, weren't
+you?'
+
+'Yes. If I'm wanted, let me know. By the way, I'm off next week.'
+
+'So you couldn't convince the Chief?'
+
+'No.'
+
+'I'm sorry. I think he's wrong.'
+
+'So do I,' said Strickland, 'but there it is. If only that poor
+devil'--he nodded towards Spike--'had been able to tell his story I
+might have made 'em believe me. As it is ... oh, hell! Good-night,
+Barrett. By the way, where's that navvy I sent to fetch you?'
+
+'He pushed off as soon as he'd delivered your message,' said Barrett.
+'At any rate, he wasn't there when I came out. Good-night, Strickland.'
+
+But Inspector Barrett was wrong. The navvy had only just gone, and
+was at that moment standing by the statue of Boadicea trying to light
+a stumpy cigarette-end and sheltering the flickering match with his
+cupped hands. Strickland passed him, unnoticing. The navvy grinned, and
+then began to whistle a gay and lilting tune.
+
+Strickland heard it as he made his way home. It was a familiar air, and
+as he listened the words suddenly clicked into place.
+
+    'When constabulary duty's to be done, to be done,
+    A policeman's lot is not a happy one!'
+
+For a second Strickland checked in surprise, and swung round. But
+there was no one in sight, and with a grin he dismissed the matter and
+continued his journey.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER II
+
+                            'VIVE LE SPORT'
+
+
+Detective-Inspector Strickland was a busy man. On the evening of the
+day after the affair of Spike Moseley he did not get back to his flat
+in Buckingham Gate until after ten. As he struggled out of his dripping
+overcoat, his twin sister appeared at the door of the sitting-room and
+surveyed him gravely.
+
+'Hallo, Jill. Filthy weather. I'm drowned.'
+
+'Better change,' advised Jill.
+
+'I hope there's a decent fire,' pursued Jack Strickland, ignoring the
+advice.
+
+Jill smiled, a swift, flickering smile that lit up her small, delicate
+features.
+
+'Fed?' she inquired.
+
+'Mentally or physically?'
+
+'Physically. The other thing's fairly obvious.'
+
+Jack grinned.
+
+'As a matter of fact, I could do with some food; but Kate's gone to
+bed, hasn't she? I saw a light in her window.'
+
+'Trained observer,' said Jill, in a soft, abstracted voice. 'Nothing
+escapes the eye of the great detective. I can cook, though. What will
+you have?'
+
+'Angel! Eggs, very much in the plural, and gallons of hot coffee, and
+possibly bread and cheese. Can do?'
+
+'Can do,' said Jill with a nod, and without more words went off to the
+kitchen.
+
+Jack, shivering, made for the sitting-room and pulled up a chair to
+the fire with a sigh of relief. For a minute or two he sat in drowsy
+contemplation of the blazing coals, and then he reached up to the
+mantelpiece for his evening's mail. There were three letters there,
+all with typewritten addresses. Two of them had halfpenny stamps, and
+these he threw unopened into the waste-paper basket with an accuracy
+suggestive of long practice. The third he opened without much interest,
+and then sat up with a jerk. It contained only a visiting-card; a small
+piece of pasteboard on which were printed the words: 'Vive le Sport.'
+Jack turned it over, and on the back was written, in a small, neat hand:
+
+    I propose to call upon you between eleven and twelve to-night, and
+    hope to find you enjoying an hour's holiday. In other words (one
+    can't make oneself too clear on this point), I am relying on you
+    not to arrest me.
+
+                                                                   NICK
+
+Strickland grinned. 'Thoroughly characteristic!' he murmured. Then
+his eyes shifted from the card in his hand to the fire, and the smile
+faded. When his sister entered the room some minutes later, she noticed
+his worried frown, but refrained from comment. Instead, she laid a
+place at the table and set down a large dish of eggs and bacon.
+
+'Supper's ready,' she mentioned.
+
+Jack rose slowly to his feet.
+
+'I'm expecting an old friend to turn up to-night, Jill,' he said.
+
+His sister stared at him with wide grey eyes.
+
+'Not--not Nick?' she said.
+
+'Guessed it in one,' said Jack, with the sudden surprise that her
+intuitions always awoke in him, even though he almost expected them.
+
+'But, Jack, how splendid! Aren't you longing to see him again?'
+
+'Of course I am. But I wish to goodness I were a bank clerk or a
+bus-driver, or anything but a blinking cop. Here's the best friend
+I've got in the world, and he must needs turn burglar. It's so damned
+difficult.'
+
+The exasperated twinkle in his eyes woke a response in Jill's.
+
+'You're off duty now,' she suggested.
+
+'Woman, you have no more conscience than--than Nick himself! Here's his
+communication.' He held out the card to her.
+
+'Oh, that's all right,' said Jill when she had read it. 'I believe he's
+going to reform or something.'
+
+'Something, perhaps,' conceded Jack, hungrily attacking his eggs and
+bacon.
+
+'Don't you believe he'll ever give up his burgling?'
+
+'My dear, the man took up crime because he found life so dull after
+he came out of the Army. He wanted excitement, and, by Jove, he got
+it! He's had eleven narrow escapes from being quodded to my certain
+knowledge.'
+
+'He'll get tired of excitement soon,' said Jill.
+
+'Didn't look like it last time I saw him,' said Jack, with his mouth
+full.
+
+'When was that?'
+
+'Two years ago. Over that Fairleigh case. I begged him then to chuck
+it, and he only laughed and said he was enjoying life enormously. Since
+then he's pulled off two really big hauls, and got away by the skin of
+his teeth the last time. That was about a year ago.'
+
+'He'll give it up when he falls in love,' said Jill gravely.
+
+Jack chuckled profanely.
+
+'That gives him plenty of time,' he observed. 'Nick's a jolly sight too
+popular with women to apply his mind seriously to any one of them.'
+
+'When he marries----' began Jill, unruffled.
+
+'For Heaven's sake!' protested Jack. 'Give the man a chance, old lady.
+We don't know what his trouble _is_ yet, but there's no need to assume
+it's impending matrimony.'
+
+Jill smiled tolerantly, and held her peace until her brother had
+finished his meal and settled himself once more by the fire. Then she
+looked up from her knitting to ask:
+
+'Have you any idea at all why he wants to see you?'
+
+'Nick? Not the slightest. I hope it's just a friendly call.'
+
+'_That's_ not likely,' said Jill, with serious decision.
+
+'Aren't you a little unflattering?'
+
+Jill blinked, and then smiled.
+
+'Owl! You know what I mean. Jack, you've often talked about Nick, but
+you've never told me very much about him. Why did he start burgling?'
+
+'Sheer desire for excitement. Nick's half Irish, you know; and I
+believe it's that strain that gives him his light-hearted love of
+danger. I first met him in France, at the beginning of the war. He was
+the best subaltern I ever had. An absolutely first-rate man.'
+
+'I should have thought he lacked discipline,' said Jill, who knew how
+to get information out of her brother.
+
+'So he did, but it didn't matter. Nick was always sneaking off by
+himself to explore, but no one seemed to realise he'd gone until he
+returned; and not then, unless he brought something with him--a wounded
+man, or a prisoner, or some valuable information. I've never met anyone
+who took so many risks, and yet, unlike most of these reckless devils,
+he never ran his men into unnecessary danger. They adored him, and
+would have followed him to blazes if he'd asked them to. I tell you,
+the man was wasted in the Line; he ought to have been in the Secret
+Service, but the powers that be had a positive genius for using razors
+to cut grindstones. I tried to get him shifted when they transferred me
+to the Intelligence, but it was no use. Nick would have been far better
+at the game than I.'
+
+'And then?' asked Jill.
+
+'Oh, I lost sight of him after that, and didn't see or hear from him
+again until 1919, when he turned up at the Yard and we had lunch
+together. I told you about that, and how he said he was going to be
+a burglar because everything else was so tame in comparison to the
+war. I laughed at him. Never dreamt he meant it. He went off saying:
+"Henceforth we meet as foes, worthy, I hope, of each other's steel.
+Vive le Sport!" It wasn't till we found his card in the safe, over that
+jewel robbery, that I believed it.'
+
+'Did he laugh too?'
+
+'Yes, like anything. But Nick always seems amused, whether he's serious
+or not. Oh, confound the man! I wish he'd chuck it. And yet ... his
+motive for burgling does call for one's sympathy.'
+
+'I know he always robs profiteers,' said Jill.
+
+'Yes; and practically all the money he gets goes into anti-Bolshevik
+propaganda. He's jolly well-off, you know; he doesn't have to earn his
+living, either honestly or dishonestly, now; but the curse of it is
+that I am paid to catch him, and every failure I make is a smack in the
+eye to my reputation, even if it's a relief to me personally.'
+
+Jill shook her head.
+
+'It's stupid to try to catch him,' she said. 'He's like a rook; he does
+more good than harm.'
+
+Jack laughed outright.
+
+'What a gloriously unflattering simile!'
+
+'Nick wouldn't mind,' said Jill.
+
+Jack looked at her. 'How do you know? You've never met him.'
+
+''Deed I have. You brought him here once when you were both on leave.
+He stayed for three days.'
+
+'By Jove, I'd clean forgotten! So he did. That was twelve years ago.
+And you remember him?'
+
+'Rather!'
+
+A shade of anxiety crossed Jack Strickland's face. He glanced at his
+sister, and then quickly transferred his gaze to the fire. Jill watched
+him with quiet amusement.
+
+'Don't worry, old man,' she said soothingly.
+
+'What d'you mean?'
+
+'I mean'--she spoke slowly, with soft deliberation--'that although I
+am very fond of him, I'm not the woman Nick's going to marry; nor do I
+want to be.'
+
+Jack grinned rather sheepishly.
+
+'You're a dashed sight too quick,' he said. 'It's positively indecent.
+Anyway, I shouldn't mind if you were. Nick's the best----'
+
+He was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell and leapt to his feet.
+Jill rose, and shifted the débris of his supper to the side-table. As
+she removed the last crumbs, Jack returned, ushering in a tall man,
+whose steady eyes and friendly smile seemed as familiar to her as if
+she had seen them only yesterday.
+
+'You remember my sister?' said Jack.
+
+'Of course I do! How are you, Jill? It's a long time since we met, but
+you don't look a day older.'
+
+Jill put her hand in his, and studied his face with her odd, searching
+regard.
+
+Nick smiled down at her. 'Well, what's happened to me?' he asked.
+
+Jill twinkled. 'I believe you've grown bigger,' she said.
+
+'Heaven forbid! It's an awful curse being such a size. Apart from the
+expense of clothing oneself, it makes one so conspicuous, which is a
+terrific drawback in my profession. I wish I were a little chap like
+Jack. For instance, I have to escape him in the guise of a Robert or
+a coal-heaver; but he can pursue me as anything, from a Chinaman to a
+smart young lady. It's much easier for him.'
+
+'Less of that,' advised Jack, grinning. 'Will you have a drink?'
+
+'An admirable suggestion. Thanks awfully. Jill, I look towards you.'
+
+Jill smiled her thanks and gathering up her knitting, made her way to
+the door.
+
+'Don't go,' protested Nick.
+
+'Don't you want to talk to Jack?'
+
+'Yes, but it isn't private to you. Come back.'
+
+With a flush of pleasure Jill returned, and curled herself up in a
+chair by the fire. Nick, sitting on the wide club fender, smiled at
+her. Jack came to anchor on the other side of the fire and pulled at
+his pipe contentedly, watching Nick's face. The man looked older, he
+thought. There was something behind those eyes that was new.
+
+'How's life, Nick?' he asked.
+
+'Getting more interesting every day,' said Nick, striking a match for
+Jill's cigarette.
+
+'I'm afraid I was hoping that you'd had enough excitement.'
+
+'It's not exactly that,' said Nick slowly, 'but, as a matter of fact, I
+rather want to return from South America, where I have been since the
+war, and I thought I'd better hear what you've got to say about it.'
+
+Jack grinned.
+
+'Let's be a little more explicit,' he suggested. 'Are you proposing to
+come back as a dual personality, so to speak: burglar by night, and
+man-about-town by day? Or do you mean Vive le Sport to die, while you
+rise, phœnix-like, from the ashes?'
+
+'Again, not exactly. Vive le Sport, the burglar, has been dead for more
+than a year. Hadn't you realised that?'
+
+'I realised his inactivity, and was devoutly thankful for it, but I
+hadn't been optimistic enough to assume him dead.'
+
+Nick chuckled.
+
+'We mustn't be ungrateful. He has provided you with a great deal of
+beneficial exercise, both mental and physical, and has bequeathed me
+a very nice income. I owe the burglar a great deal, for besides that,
+he's shown me a game really worth playing. The only difficulty is that
+it definitely requires the coöperation of a man-about-town, as you put
+it.'
+
+'What is this game?'
+
+'I'll tell you in a minute. Am I right in thinking that you've been
+investigating a case on your own lately?'
+
+Jack Strickland stared.
+
+'You are,' he said at last. 'Do you know anything about it?'
+
+'A little. I've been interested in that crowd for the last year. Do
+your superiors take it seriously?'
+
+'No. I wish to God they did. I know there'll be big trouble sooner or
+later.'
+
+'I think you're right, but it's a queer business. What have you made of
+it?'
+
+'Enough to give one to think. It's a revolutionary movement that has
+got a firm foothold in every industrial centre in the country, and
+it's more confident and yet restrained than anything I've so far come
+up against. I know these secret societies come and go, but there's one
+point about this show that's new. As far as I can discover no foreigner
+is on their list of supporters.'
+
+Nick nodded slowly.
+
+'That's what makes me think, too,' he said. 'It's quite true. We don't
+like aliens, as a nation, you know, but a revolutionary movement that
+is exclusively British is a little unusual. Jack, do you know who's at
+the head of the show?'
+
+'If I did, I could get something done, perhaps. Do you?'
+
+'No. I've been trying to find out for months, and I've now come to the
+conclusion that I'm looking for him in the wrong place. Jack, the man's
+a genius. He's organising this show with cold brains, not fanaticism,
+and his methods compel one's respect, if not one's admiration. He isn't
+collecting fanatics to fight for him; he's getting sober, hard-headed
+business men, and winning them over by sheer brain and personality.
+The queer thing is that though they are unanimous in their admiration,
+no two men describe the fellow alike. I've had some startlingly varied
+descriptions of him, and the only conclusion is that he's of every
+class and every temperament. To one man he's a "real gent;" to the
+next he's "a son of the People." He's a passionate crusader, calling
+in words of fire for adherents to a sacred cause. He's a thundering
+good fellow, ready to share a pint of beer and a joke. He's going to
+alter the world; he isn't going to do much more than break up a Trust
+or two. I tell you, it's bewildering, and there's only one explanation.
+He's genuinely all things to all men. He has the power to make each
+individual man feel that he's his blood-brother--and a better man.'
+
+'Hypnotism?'
+
+'Perhaps. What's in a word? Anyway, that power he must have, and surely
+it's inevitable that he should want to use it. Only a saint could
+refrain from action under those circumstances. He must see himself as
+all-powerful--as Dictator--knowing what he can do. I tell you, Jack,
+the hold he's got over his men is amazing. As far as I can discover,
+none of them knows who he is in private life. They call him the Chief,
+and speak of him with a reverence that is most impressive. They don't
+even want to know who he is. They say we've had enough of Party
+Government. What we want is One Good Man at the Top--all in capital
+letters--and they add with absolute certainty, "and we've got him."'
+
+'But they don't know who he is?'
+
+'No. And they don't care. Now, I'm absolutely convinced that if I'm
+going to find him at all I've got to look for him in the top drawer,
+as it were, and that's why I want to return in glory from South
+America. Vive le Sport can still keep an eye on the rank and file.
+I don't mind telling you that he is looked upon as a very promising
+disciple to the Cause. Do you follow me?'
+
+'Perfectly. It seems an admirable idea.'
+
+'Good! Now, before I take the plunge, tell me this: just where do I
+stand with that great institution, the Police Force? This man we're up
+against is as clever as blazes, and I shall have my work cut out to
+swindle him, without having to keep one eye on Scotland Yard.'
+
+'My dear Nick, if you run up against the law I'm helpless, of course,
+but as a man-about-town you're as safe as be-damned. To my knowledge,
+only Jill and I know your real name, and I see no reason why we
+shouldn't remain in proud possession of that secret.'
+
+'Splendid! To tell you the truth, I've been wanting to come to life for
+some time, but it seemed a dirty trick, to put you two into a position
+like this. But when I realised that you were going away....'
+
+Jack Strickland sat up abruptly.
+
+'Would you be so good as to tell me how you came by that information?'
+he asked.
+
+Nick blinked, with an air of startled surprise, but Jill saw the
+twinkle in his eye.
+
+'I ask,' went on Jack, 'because the matter was only arranged last
+night and is generally supposed to be a secret.'
+
+'It's true, then?'
+
+'Yes, worse luck! I sail for Russia next week, on a job which my
+respected Chief thinks more urgent than this one.'
+
+'Russia?' Nick looked grave. 'How long do you expect to be away?'
+
+'About six months.'
+
+'H'm. I don't like it. If things come to a head sooner than I expect
+I shall want you badly, and if Scotland Yard takes that sort of view
+we shan't get much help there. I tell you, Jack, when it comes to a
+kill we shall have to act damned quickly. If your colleagues stop to
+argue, the Chief will have done his stuff, and in all probability we
+shall be sitting on a damp cloud and singing hymns. I'm putting it as
+optimistically as possible.'
+
+'I believe you, but what can I do? The thing's fixed up now. You must
+let me know if you want me. Jill stays here and can tell you where I'm
+to be found.'
+
+'Well, we must hope for the best,' said Nick, rising to his feet. 'And
+now I must go home to bed. Good-night, Jill; it's been very nice to see
+you again.'
+
+Jack Strickland heaved himself out of his chair, and followed his guest
+into the hall.
+
+'Pretty sickening for you, being sent to Russia just now,' said Nick.
+
+'Damnable, but I feel better now I know you're on the job. I couldn't
+pick a better man for it.'
+
+Nick nodded his thanks, a friendly smile in his eyes.
+
+'I'll do my best,' he said, 'but if you _can_ get back any sooner, I
+shall be glad.'
+
+'I shall try. Keep your eyes skinned, old chap.'
+
+'Trust me,' said Nick cheerfully. 'Where's my hat?'
+
+'That's all very well, but these people have a summary method of
+dealing with suspects.'
+
+'I know,' said Nick, and for a moment he, too, looked grave. 'Poor
+little Moseley.'
+
+Jack Strickland leant back against the wall and stared at his guest
+with an expression of mingled exasperation and amazement.
+
+'I have heard about it,' explained Nick. 'He was doped, wasn't he?'
+
+'He was,' said Jack, with restraint.
+
+'Any trace of the doper?'
+
+'None. He got it in his drink at a pub. There were a great number of
+men there, most of them unknown to the bar-tender. Did you know that
+Moseley came to see me?'
+
+'As a matter of fact, I did,' said Nick confidentially. 'I wanted to
+know the Chief's name, too, you see, so I thought that he might as
+well tell both of us at the same time. Save trouble, you know. It was
+rather agonising, wasn't it? The way he tried to get the word out and
+couldn't.'
+
+'For the love of Mike----' began Jack.
+
+'Do you mean to say you never guessed? Not even when I whistled? I
+thought you'd see the point of that. I wanted you to know that I'd
+given up my profession. Not even when I told you I was out of work?'
+
+There was a silence. Jack stared at Nick, who shuffled his feet with a
+guilty air and tried to suppress a grin.
+
+'Blast you, you owe me half a crown,' said Jack at last.
+
+Nick laughed outright.
+
+'Got it!' he said. 'Good-bye, old chap.'
+
+The door shut behind him, and Jack heard him whistle soft and clear,
+as he ran down the stairs, 'When the enterprising burglar's not
+a-burgling....'
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER III
+
+                                  FOG
+
+
+'"Argus"? "Evenin' Standard"? "John Bull"?' The bookstall boy proffered
+the papers hopefully.
+
+Nick shook his head, and continued his absent-minded study of the
+gay-coloured magazines spread out before him. It was a raw, damp
+afternoon, and Cardiff railway station was dark with fog, the thick,
+acrid fog that sometimes descends on England in April. The London
+express was half an hour late already, and Nick was anxious to be in it
+and away.
+
+On a bench, close to the bookstall, sat a tall man, clutching a leather
+dispatch-case; a man called Davies, who represented Western England for
+the Fraternity; one of the First Four, lieutenants under the Chief.
+Nick's discovery of this fact had brought him down to Cardiff a week
+ago, and there he had attended several meetings of the Fraternity,
+with increasing interest and a certain amount of apprehension. He
+had not realised till this week the perfect organisation behind this
+revolutionary movement, nor the danger that lay in the Chief's scheme.
+Personal danger there had been but little, for Nick had attended the
+meetings as a very humble follower, unnoticed by any of the leaders.
+The last meeting especially had given him to think, for Davies had
+announced his intention of going to London next day to meet the Chief,
+in conference with the county leaders; and had added that on his
+return he would probably be able to give his followers definite news
+of the Great Day. Nick was anxious. Then and there he decided that he,
+too, would travel to London, and by the same train. One never knew.
+Something might happen that would give him a chance to meet the Chief.
+Nick was a firm believer in his own luck.
+
+The bookstall boy eyed him speculatively, taking in his shabby grey
+suit, obviously ready-made, and cheap black boots. Not the sort of man
+who would buy 'The Times.' Might take the 'Herald.' But perhaps he had
+seen it before. The boy thrust forward an opened weekly.
+
+'"Tatler"?' he suggested.
+
+Nick glanced at the page idly, and then grinned. It was opened at a
+photograph of himself. 'Society at Epsom Races.' A short paragraph
+gave his description: '... Keen rider to hounds ... popular figure
+in London....' His grin broadened. If only they could have seen him
+during the past week, sitting at the feet of Davies and Crawford,
+drinking in their revolutionary doctrines, and singing 'Then raise the
+Scarlet Banner' to the tune of 'Tannenbaum'; pity they couldn't find
+a more suitable air for their anthem, one that had less sugary German
+sentiment.
+
+The London train roared in to the platform. Nick threw down a shilling,
+picked up the 'Bystander' and moved away, keeping a wary eye on Davies,
+who got into the nearest carriage. Nick entered the train a few doors
+higher up, walked down the corridor, found his man, and made himself
+comfortable in the far corner. There was no one else in the carriage.
+The train jerked twice and then started off. Davies opened a pamphlet
+on Industrial Reform, and appeared to be absorbed in it. Nick glanced
+covetously at the dispatch-case lying on the seat opposite. If the
+worst came to the worst ... but he disapproved of crude methods, and
+decided to give his luck a chance.
+
+At Newport a sailorman got in, stared at Nick, and then held out a
+horny hand.
+
+'Blimey, mate, fancy seein' you! This is a bit of all right.'
+
+'Tom!' exclaimed Nick, gripping the hand, and trying to conceal his
+apprehension, for a witness was the last thing he wanted at that moment.
+
+'That's me. Bin visitin' me married sister in Usk. Y'see, we rammed
+a barge, comin' up the river last trip. Black fog, it was, worse nor
+this. You know what it's like in the Pool in thick weather.'
+
+'Much damage?'
+
+'Stove in our bows, and had to go into dock. I took a spell ashore.
+Goin' back to join 'er to-morrow. You know 'er, don't you? The
+Pelican.'
+
+Nick nodded.
+
+'General Steam,' added the sailor. 'Good old line. I ain't got no fault
+to find with 'em. They've done well by Tom Breck, I say. Look 'ere, why
+don't you come for a trip with us? I'll square it with the old man. Do
+you good. The Mediterranean run's a bit of all right.'
+
+'Can't, Tom; wish I could.'
+
+'Well, any time you want to, drop me a line, or come down and see me.
+Butler's wharf we sail from.'
+
+The talk ran on, of ships and the sea, and that strange, self-contained
+dock-world that so few Londoners know. Nick smoked and nodded, and kept
+a wary eye on Davies, who, after one incurious glance at the newcomer,
+was again absorbed in his pamphlets. The minutes dragged by. Breck,
+tired of talking, dozed in his corner, occasionally murmuring something
+about having a drink with Nick when they got to London. Nick, staring
+out of the window, saw Didcot Station flash by. Not much more than an
+hour's run from Paddington now. The train roared on through the fog,
+and Nick, making and rejecting wild plans, began to despair. There was
+no chance of shaking Breck off, and how on earth could he shadow Davies
+adequately with a genial, bellowing sailorman at his heels? Unless his
+luck changed miraculously....
+
+There was a violent shock. It seemed to Nick that someone had struck
+him so fierce a blow on the back that he was pitched headlong forward.
+There was a shattering sound of breaking glass, a sound that stood
+out above the general pandemonium, and then the whole carriage rocked
+wildly and overturned, precipitating the occupants in a heap, where
+they lay for a moment, dazed, choking in the dust and fog, while pieces
+of glass from the broken windows pattered down on them.
+
+'Git orf of me!' said Tom Breck in a smothered voice.
+
+Nick struggled to his feet and tried not to laugh.
+
+'You hurt, Tom?'
+
+'Nao. On'y squashed. 'Ow much d'you weigh ... gross tonnage? Give us a
+hand up.'
+
+They could hear the roar of escaping steam now, and above it, faintly
+but terribly clear, human cries.
+
+'Let's git out o' this before we 'ave to pay salvage,' said Breck,
+spitting the dust out of his mouth. 'You're younger'n me. Up you go.'
+
+He pointed to the shattered glass above them, and bent to give Nick
+a leg up. After a brief struggle Nick got the corridor door open and
+climbed out. Then, leaning in, he reached down a hand to Breck and
+hauled him up.
+
+'Strewth! that was a close call!' grunted Breck, rubbing his eyes.
+'Gawd! Listen to the women!'
+
+All around them the noise seemed to increase. Below, on the line,
+people were rushing about, appearing through the fog for an instant,
+their white, terrified faces showing like men in a nightmare, only to
+disappear again as the fog swallowed them up. Women were screaming
+hysterically; men were shouting orders and crying for help. At the
+front of the train a tongue of flame leaped up, blood-red through the
+fog, and the acrid smell of burning came to their nostrils.
+
+'The first thing we'd better do is to get that fellow out of our
+carriage,' said Nick. 'Be ready to catch him, Tom, when I shout.'
+
+With that he lowered himself down into the smother below.
+
+'You there!' he shouted. 'Are you hurt?'
+
+A groan answered him. He peered through the steam and fog, and saw
+Davies lying in a huddled heap.
+
+'Anything broken?' he asked.
+
+'My head,' said Davies faintly. 'And ankle's ... smashed....'
+
+'We must get you out of here before the fire spreads. I'll try not to
+hurt you more than I can help. Ready above? Haul!'
+
+Nick lifted him as gently as he could, and hoisted him up until Breck
+could reach him from above. With the last heave a bitten-off cry of
+pain escaped the wounded man.
+
+'Fainted,' said Breck, as Nick climbed out beside him. 'Copped it
+proper, pore devil; look at 'is forehead.'
+
+For answer Nick dropped down to the ground and plunged into the fog,
+for he had just caught sight of an ambulance man, sprung into being
+miraculously.
+
+'Stretcher case here,' he said. 'Broken ankle, and, I believe,
+concussions. How on earth did you get here so quickly?'
+
+'Right y'are, sir. Bob, give us a hand with that stretcher. Why, you
+see, we rushed out in cars as soon as we heard the news. It ain't
+more'n a couple o' miles from here to Reading.'
+
+They returned to the carriage, and lowered Davies on to the stretcher.
+He was babbling incoherently.
+
+'Delirious,' said the ambulance man. 'We'd better get him to the
+dressing-station quick.'
+
+'Where am I?' asked Davies, rousing. 'Got to get to London.'
+
+'No chance of that for a day or two, mate,' said the man. 'Take it
+easy. You're lucky to be alive.'
+
+'I _must_ go to London!' Davies's voice rose to a scream, and he
+struggled to get off the stretcher. 'Where's my dispatch-case? I've got
+to go----'
+
+Nick bent over him.
+
+'Steady, Davies. We can't afford to lose you. I'll take your report to
+the Chief.'
+
+The injured man stared.
+
+'What Chief?'
+
+Nick smiled.
+
+'I don't know his name. Do any of us, except you four?'
+
+'Are you really ... follower?' Davies asked weakly.
+
+'Ask Crawford. He knows me.'
+
+Relief came into Davies's face and he lay back.
+
+'Thank God! Do you know ... where meeting?...'
+
+'No.'
+
+'Twenty, Link Street ... second floor ... nine to-night.... Say
+"Fraternity".... You won't fail?'
+
+'I give you my word.'
+
+Davies nodded. 'I'll ... tell Crawford ... useful man....' he muttered,
+and seemed to sink into unconsciousness.
+
+'That's better,' said one of the stretcher-bearers as they lifted their
+load.
+
+Nick watched them go, with conflicting desires tearing at him. Breck
+had already disappeared with a rescue party, and every fibre of Nick's
+being called him to join them, but he knew that his own game was more
+important. With a sound that was half groan, half curse, he climbed
+back into the carriage, found the little dispatch-case, and swarmed out
+again. Then he dropped to the ground and set off at the double up the
+line, trying desperately not to listen to the agonising cries for help
+behind him.
+
+It was twenty minutes to eight when he reached Reading Station.
+
+'When's the next train to London?' he asked a porter.
+
+'Seven twenty-three, just coming in, sir. They're all running late
+to-day.'
+
+As he spoke the train came in.
+
+Nick walked across the platform, selected an empty carriage, and
+dropped into a seat thankfully.
+
+Then, as they pulled out, he suddenly realised how miraculous his luck
+had been, and he sat staring out into the swirling fog, while the train
+gathered speed.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IV
+
+                     THE MEETING OF THE FRATERNITY
+
+
+The fog held, and Nick's train ran very late, but the time did not hang
+heavy on his hands; in fact he could almost have wished it longer. The
+first thing he did was to go through Davies's dispatch-case, in which
+he found the Western representative's official report to the Chief.
+After he had read it, Nick sat for a minute or two, lost in thought.
+Fate had dealt him wonderful cards, but now everything depended on his
+skill in playing his hand. He sat in a corner of the carriage, staring
+with unseeing eyes at the window, trying to memorise every gesture and
+mannerism of the man whose part he meant to play. The voice, which
+would have been the worst stumbling-block to most men, presented no
+difficulties to Nick. He was a born mimic, and had cultivated the art
+all his life. He had heard Davies speak many times, and knew that
+he could imitate that swift, lilting Welsh voice, with all its odd
+turns of speech, so that no one would suspect him. Handwriting was
+the greatest difficulty, so Nick, with the signed report as a copy,
+practised Davies's signature on the backs of old envelopes, with all
+the absorbed diligence of an accomplished forger.
+
+Nick was happy--happier than he had been through all these months of
+hunting. At last he was coming to grips with the enemy and, into the
+bargain, playing a game after his own heart. It was a dangerous game
+and a lonely one, and on his success hung the safety of the nation.
+Nick lit a cigarette, and surveyed his last effort at forgery with
+critical approval.
+
+'Hand rather shaky still,' he murmured. 'Must make allowances. Good
+enough.'
+
+Then as the increasing clatter and brighter lights told him that the
+train was drawing in to Paddington, he destroyed the envelopes and
+began to apply his mind to the question of disguise. Luckily, Davies
+was a tall man, near enough to Nick's own height, but there the
+resemblance ceased. Davies was dark and sallow, and had a drooping
+black moustache. Nick was fair, clean-shaven, and tanned a healthy
+brown. Davies had hazel eyes and a narrow, pointed chin. Nick's eyes
+were grey, and his jaw was decidedly square.
+
+The station clocks stood at 8.40 as the train pulled in to the
+platform. Nick realised that there was no time to be lost, and hailing
+a taxi, made for his flat as quickly as possible. When he emerged,
+twenty minutes later, his head and face were swathed in bandages, and
+his eyes were masked by big horn-rimmed spectacles, such as Davies
+usually affected.
+
+The late editions were already announcing the Great Western disaster.
+Nick could hear the newsboys' shrill voices as he set off in a taxi for
+Link Street. He caught sight of one flaring headline: 'Cardiff Express
+Collision in Fog.' This would help, too. The Fraternity would be
+prepared for his story and his belated arrival. Fate was indeed doing
+him handsomely. As an after-thought, he had tied up his right arm in
+a sling. It might be as well to have an alibi when it came to forging
+Davies's name, and also it would explain his slowness in writing. Nick
+had had some experience of forgery, but he knew he could not do it with
+a flourish.
+
+The taxi drew up. Nick got out, paid the driver, and surveyed the place
+with interest. Number 20 was one of a big block of offices in a long,
+grey street, empty, save for a few men lounging round a cab-rank a
+hundred yards away. There was no porter at the door, and he entered the
+high, stone-flagged hall. On the wall was a brass plate, giving the
+names of the various offices. On the second floor there was only one,
+and he stared at the neat black lettering with a puzzled frown.
+
+'The Society for the Propagation of the Gospel.'
+
+For one moment he wondered whether Davies had given him the wrong
+address. Then he smiled.
+
+'The Chief must have a sense of humour,' he thought, 'which means he
+can't be a fanatic. S.P.G.! How perfect! And no deception, of course;
+but _what_ a gospel! Well, well, let's have at it.'
+
+At the far end of the hall was an automatic lift. Nick went up to the
+second floor. As he emerged he found himself facing a door with the
+title of the society painted on it. He rang, and the door was opened by
+a grave-faced, square-shouldered man who looked like a valet.
+
+'I'm very sorry, sir,' said the man, 'but Mr. Robertson cannot see
+anyone to-night. He is conducting a special prayer meeting.'
+
+'I know it,' said Nick, through the fold of bandage across his jaw.
+'Hope I haven't kept the Fraternity waiting?'
+
+'Lord, it's Mr. Davies!' said the man, staring. 'But there, it's no
+wonder I didn't know you till you spoke. Are you hurt bad? They've all
+been very anxious about you.'
+
+'Nothing serious. Indeed, all that's wrong is a few cuts about the face
+and a bit of a shake-up.'
+
+'That's a mercy,' said the doorkeeper. 'They'll be no end relieved to
+see you.' Then he added, in a lower tone, 'The Chief's here, you know.'
+
+'I knew he was to be here. Will you take me to him?'
+
+For a moment the doorkeeper stared, a faint suspicion in his face.
+
+'You must have taken a conk on the head,' he said. 'Since when have the
+First Four needed announcing?'
+
+Nick took a step forward, reeling a little, and leant against the wall
+as if exhausted. The doorkeeper caught him by the shoulder.
+
+'Steady, Mr. Davies. I say, d'you feel bad? Here, sit down a minute.
+I'll get you some brandy.'
+
+'No, no, it's nothing. I still have moments of faintness. Give me an
+arm; I mustn't keep the Chief waiting.'
+
+'Half a minute. You sit down in that chair, and I'll bring the
+register. To tell the truth, I'd put it away.'
+
+He crossed the room to a desk and unlocked a drawer. Nick watched him,
+unseeing. So 'Mr. Robertson' was the name. Was Mr. Robertson the Chief?
+The doorkeeper returned with a large, leather-bound book and a fountain
+pen.
+
+'The muster roll was complete half an hour ago, all bar you,' he
+explained. 'I'd given up all hope of your coming. Here you are. Take
+your time; I'll hold the book.'
+
+Nick tried not to stare at the page before him. Davies must have seen
+it many times, but to him it was a revelation. It was a register of
+all the county leaders, each man's signature against the name of his
+county, and above, the names of the district representatives, North,
+South, East, and West. He realised that this meeting would be over
+sixty strong, and breathed a sigh of relief. The bigger the crowd, the
+better chance he had of remaining unsuspected. Then the porter dropped
+a bombshell.
+
+'Lucky you're left-handed,' he remarked, his eyes on the arm-sling.
+
+Nick's brain raced. Was it a trap? He'd made one slip already. Did the
+porter suspect him? _Was_ Davies left-handed? For one wild second he
+racked his brain for a memory of the man. A thousand pictures of Davies
+addressing a crowd ... no use at all, for Davies used both hands in
+those dramatic gestures of his ... and then, thank God! a sudden memory
+of the tall Welshman drinking a glass of water.
+
+'I'm not,' he said.
+
+There was a moment's silence, in which Nick felt he could almost hear
+his own heart beating. Then the doorkeeper nodded.
+
+'No more you are,' he said. 'I must have been thinking of Mr. Crawford.
+Well, you'd better sign, sir.'
+
+Nick complied, realising with an inward grin at his own expense that
+there was no need to feign a shakiness at this moment. Laboriously
+he wrote 'H. L. Davies' in the space left above the Western Counties
+names, and gave back the pen.
+
+'Right,' said the doorkeeper, putting the volume back in the desk
+drawer. 'And now let me give you an arm. Sure you won't have a drink
+first?'
+
+Nick shook his head impatiently, and, leaning on the man's shoulder,
+limped down the passage. At the end was a plain wooden door, and here
+the porter left him with a cheery 'See you later, Mr. Davies.'
+
+Nick waited for a moment, making a rapid inventory, as it were, of all
+his Davies knowledge, and then opened the door. As he did so, a buzz of
+conversation reached his ears.
+
+'What are we going to do about it?'
+
+'He ought to be here by now, if he's coming.'
+
+'I wish to Heaven he'd come on our train.'
+
+'Well, unless he's killed'--this was a bluff, North Country
+voice--'he'll get here yet. I'll back Davies every time.'
+
+'Thank you,' said Nick, entering and shutting the door behind him.
+
+There was a confused cry of surprise and welcome. Men crowded round
+him, welcoming him, asking questions, expressing concern for his
+bandaged head and arm. Nick, replying in Davies's curt, crisp voice,
+found his eyes search vainly for any man who might be the Chief. It was
+a large room, and seemed filled with men; men of all classes and types;
+but all of them seemed to be waiting, as he was. Then one of his Welsh
+group spoke to him, a little man named Williams, whom Nick knew well by
+sight.
+
+'I suppose the Chief _is_ here?' he said. 'He's supposed to be in the
+next room with R.O., and the other three, but so far we haven't seen
+him.'
+
+'He'll come when he sees fit,' said Nick, with a certainty he was far
+from feeling.
+
+'That's all very well,' grumbled the other. 'I tell you, Davies, I'm
+getting tired of following a mythical leader. You told us he'd hold
+this meeting himself, but he didn't. R.O. took it, as usual.'
+
+'Did he say anything of interest?' asked Nick.
+
+'Just what you said he would. We were given our final instructions, and
+if the Chief is satisfied with the reports, R.O. says he may even fix
+the date to-night.'
+
+Nick nodded carelessly, but his pulses were beginning to pound. The
+date meant the day of the rising itself, he felt certain. He was
+wondering whether he ought to go and attack the inner room where the
+Chief was conferring with R.O.--whoever he might be--and the other
+Three. This last Nick realised to be the Northern, Southern, and
+Eastern representatives, and his place should obviously be with them.
+The man beside him cut short his thoughts by whispering: 'Here's R.O.
+at last!' and Nick turned to see a young man approaching him with
+outstretched hand.
+
+'Well done, Davies!' he was saying. 'I've only just been told of your
+arrival. Can't tell you how worried we've been about you. We knew you
+were on that train, you see. Why didn't you come right in? Hope you've
+got your report? Good. Come along, the Chief's very anxious to see you.'
+
+With that he turned and led the way across the room. Nick followed,
+thankful that no reply was expected of him. He had just remembered
+where and how he had met this young man before. Barely a month ago
+they had been fellow-guests at a party given by Mrs. Lancaster--Adele
+Lancaster--that smart and lovely widow, whose literary parties were so
+famous among the younger intellectuals. Nick attended these parties
+from a purely self-educational point of view. He had a passion for
+acquiring dialects, and though this misty, super-artistic language was
+probably as old as the hills, he had not run across it till now, and
+had set himself to learn it with much energy and considerable success.
+This young man had talked it with ease, and Nick remembered watching
+him at that party and wondering if he were really such a fool as he
+looked and sounded. And so _he_ had a dual personality, too. This might
+be useful. Nick grinned under his mask of bandages as he followed his
+guide into the inner room.
+
+'Here is Davies, sir,' said R.O., and stood back to allow Nick to enter.
+
+There were four men in the room, but Nick hardly realised it, for his
+whole mind was occupied with one: a tall, erect man with a pointed
+black beard, who rose slowly to his feet and held out his hand.
+
+'Well played, Davies,' he said quietly.
+
+As Nick returned the grip he felt a sudden glow: the quick response of
+a man who has done good work, and whose effort has been understood
+and appreciated by his superior; the realisation that makes the
+hardest job seem supremely worth while. It was the glow he had felt
+as a subaltern when he had been praised by Jack Strickland, that best
+of company commanders. _Strickland!_ With a jerk that seemed almost
+physical he pulled himself together and realised the yawning chasm that
+had suddenly opened at his feet. He had been on the point of a smiling
+denial ... 'Oh, rot, sir. Anyone would have done as much' ... and in
+his own voice. Davies would never have said that ... and he was Davies.
+Good God! he had forgotten, under the spell of this man's charm, that
+he was Davies. He hunched one shoulder, in Davies's awkward manner, and
+spoke huskily:
+
+'Nothing is too great for the Cause, Chief.'
+
+There was a moment's pause--a moment that seemed an age--while the
+bearded man stood still, regarding him, and Nick fought desperately
+for his self-control. This man was his own sort; a man who could speak
+his own language and play the game he himself played, with the same
+delight. A born leader, quick to understand, radiating the strength of
+his personality; a man one would be proud to follow. Such a man would
+never let his followers down ... and then Nick remembered that this man
+was plotting the overthrow of England and, to Nick's mind at least, was
+proposing to let down every soul that enlisted under his revolutionary
+banner. Abruptly his vision cleared. What a man to follow, indeed; but
+still more, what an enemy to fight!
+
+'True, Davies,' the Chief was saying, 'the Cause is worthy of any
+sacrifice. Your spirit is an example to us all. And now, your report.'
+
+Nick, fumbling with the catch of Davies's dispatch-case, was conscious
+of a pang of disappointment. A man didn't speak of 'The Cause' in that
+tone. It was melodrama. And then he realised that Davies did, and it
+was to Davies the Chief was speaking. He drew a long breath, feeling
+like a man who has fought his way through flames, to emerge unhurt.
+As he had suspected, this was the secret of the Chief's power; that
+to every man he could seem his own sort, quick to understand, utterly
+sincere in sympathy. 'Genius!' he said to himself, and realised that
+the worst danger was over, and for him, at least, that strange power
+was dead. He took Davies's closely written report from the case and
+held it out, swaying a little on his feet as he did so. The Chief
+thrust forward a chair.
+
+'Take it easy, Davies,' he advised. 'You've been through a great
+strain.' He took the report as Nick sat down. 'I need not go through
+this evening's proceedings with you,' he went on. 'You know what we
+planned for this meeting. All I need tell you is that matters are
+progressing admirably. Russia has definitely promised the money on
+no security other than the signatures of our county and district
+leaders. This is merely as proof that our plans have a solid backing.
+If you want any details, R.O. can give them to you while I am reading
+your report. I may say that if it is as good as those of the other
+Three'--he smiled at the men behind him--'I shall be in a position to
+announce the date to-night.'
+
+Nick sat still, not daring to ask questions for fear of betraying
+himself. Who _was_ this man, this Mr. Robertson? After all these months
+of hunting he had come face to face with him, and was no nearer the
+solution. He rested his head in his hands, feigning faintness, and the
+other men made no attempt to engage him in talk. Luck had stood by him
+so far, but time was growing short. He would certainly not get such a
+chance again, and must make the most of it.
+
+At last the Chief rose to his feet, tapping the report with his finger.
+
+'Davies, I congratulate you. You have done magnificently. R.O., summon
+the meeting. Gentlemen,' he nodded to the Four, 'if you will take your
+places I will join you in a moment.'
+
+The young secretary opened the door, and Nick with his three colleagues
+filed out into the meeting-room. Every head turned to watch them,
+and the atmosphere was tense with suppressed excitement. The First
+Four--Nick carefully following the Northern representative--seated
+themselves at a table facing the room. R.O. stood between them, North
+and West on his right hand, South and East on his left, and rapped on
+the table for silence. There was a sudden hush.
+
+'Comrades,' he said, 'take your places. In a few moments the Chief will
+speak to you.'
+
+A murmur ran round the company, and the men made their way to the rows
+of chairs that faced the table. Nick watched them with increasing
+interest and surprise. These men were no fanatics, but intelligent,
+level-headed Englishmen. There was not a weak or a vicious face among
+them. They sprang from every social rank in the country, but each
+man was a first-class type of his kind. Again Nick marvelled at the
+personality of a man who could control thousands he had never seen;
+who could project his influence through four men in such a way as to
+bring this light into the eyes of these sixty-seven county leaders, and
+through them again to the rank and file. All the mysticism of his Irish
+blood rose in Nick. This was magic. The Chief had bewitched these men.
+They were mesmerised by the unseen power of their leader, as he himself
+had been so nearly mesmerised by his presence. These men, these sturdy,
+honest, hard-working Englishmen, were no danger in themselves. Remove
+the Chief, and they would revert to their normal lives. Metaphorically
+they would rub their eyes and wonder what this wild dream had been.
+The Chief was literally the heart of this great body, and directly
+the heart ceased to function the body would die. In a way, it was a
+comforting thought. Nick had maintained so stoutly that Bolshevism was
+an utterly alien thing to the English mind, and now--even in the face
+of this great expectant gathering--he felt certain of it. The Chief
+must be put out of the way; that was essential; but not one of these
+men should be incriminated if Nick could help it.
+
+As he came to this decision the Chief entered the room. Nick did
+not hear the door open, but he saw the faces before him light up
+with the same recognition that had filled him a few moments before.
+Each one of those men before him was feeling that sense of kinship
+and understanding, and as he watched, he realised the psychological
+genius of the man in remaining unseen until this eleventh hour. These
+followers of his would leave the meeting keyed up to a pitch of
+enthusiasm and loyalty that would carry them through death itself.
+
+'It _is_ hypnotism!' thought Nick. And then as the Chief began to
+speak, and with every word Nick felt his power grow, he began to be
+afraid. This man had humour and balance, and a mind as clean and
+cutting sharp as a razor-blade. Such a man could never believe in
+his ability to change the whole temperament of the nation. For all
+that swift sympathy, so irresistible on first sight, there was a
+cold cruelty about the man; an utter indifference to human life and
+happiness. This man, Nick felt, with sudden insight, would give up his
+life with complete satisfaction for the sake of a month's gratification
+of his lust for supreme power. He would probably die gladly, for too
+long a spell would bore him. In this cause he was proposing to raise
+revolution in England, to risk the lives of his followers, to bring
+ruin and suffering to his country. Nick's jaw set grimly as he listened
+to the Chief's level voice.
+
+He spoke slowly and quietly; there was nothing melodramatic or
+impassioned in his speech, but every word rang with an inspired
+sincerity and conviction, and with every word Nick knew he was binding
+his listeners more closely to his cause. These men had been loyal
+admirers; they were now worshippers. The Chief had given them that
+touch of fanaticism that he needed in his adherents. Little bursts
+of applause began to break out; stifled, half-hysterical words of
+admiration; and once, a burst of cheering. The Chief raised his hand,
+and the noise died away with uncanny abruptness.
+
+'My friends,' he said, 'this crusade in which we are enlisting has
+been attempted before, and has failed most pitiably for a very obvious
+reason. We are English. We may see the hideous injustice of the present
+system, and realise the dawn of a new era, but it is a dominant
+characteristic of the English mind that we would rather be misruled by
+our own people than live in a Utopia run by aliens. That is the rock
+on which all previous attempts have split. This time we are safe. We
+are all English ... British of every county and class in the Island ...
+and because of this we shall succeed. To each one of you, the men you
+lead into action will be your own kin. We do not want bloodshed. We
+will face it if necessary, but our aim is England's salvation, not her
+downfall. She is our England. She has been great, and she will be great
+again, so that the world will forget these dark years when her fate
+hung so precariously in the balance. We shall save her. As one man we
+shall rise to her aid on that glorious day which stands for ever sacred
+to the name of Freedom ... July the Fourth!'
+
+There was a moment's silence, and then a storm of cheering. As it broke
+out, the Chief turned and disappeared into the inner room. The men were
+on their feet, shouting wildly, some with tears in their eyes. Then the
+tumult subsided and R.O. stepped forward.
+
+'Comrades,' he said, 'you know the plans, and have your instructions.
+Remember that secrecy is now even more important than ever. The First
+Four will meet the Chief on June 15th to receive the funds which Russia
+is sending us, and any final orders that may be necessary. I have here
+the statement to which I referred earlier in the proceedings, the list
+of names which we are sending to Moscow as a guarantee of our strength.
+Will you all sign it before you leave. Comrades, we have a difficult
+time of waiting ahead, but remember, it is not for long. On July the
+Fourth we shall meet again, openly and victoriously, to unite all
+England, Scotland and Wales, under the banner of the greatest leader
+God ever made.'
+
+There was a broken mutter of agreement--a sound that seemed to Nick
+more moving than the wildest cheers--and then the county leaders
+came forward. Each man signed, bade good-night to the district
+representatives and R.O., and then took his departure, quietly and
+without haste.
+
+Nick sat still, head in his hands, elbows propped on the table. Even
+when his three colleagues rose to add their names to the list he did
+not stir. The Eastern and Southern representatives went off quickly,
+but the Northerner hesitated, glancing at the silent man at the table.
+
+'Shall I bring the list over to you, Davies?' he asked.
+
+Nick looked up with a start.
+
+'Who--what?' he muttered. 'Oh, the statement. Yes, I'll sign it.'
+
+He wrote his name slowly, his head sagging over the paper, and pushed
+it away.
+
+'You're the last, Abbott,' said R.O. 'Not going back to Yorkshire
+to-night, are you?'
+
+'No fear, staying in London. There you are, R.O., that's finished.'
+
+The young secretary slipped the paper into a long envelope and sealed
+it heavily. The Yorkshireman still hesitated, his eyes anxiously on the
+representative for the West.
+
+'Can I give you a lift anywhere, Davies?' he asked.
+
+'No, thanks,' muttered Nick, without looking up.
+
+R.O. caught Abbott's eye, and shook his head. Together they walked to
+the door.
+
+'He's damned plucky,' said the Northerner, under his breath, 'but he
+looks like death. He ought to be in hospital.'
+
+R.O. smiled. 'I'd be sorry for anyone who tried to take him there,' he
+said. 'You don't know Davies as well as I do. He's got the courage of a
+lion and a brilliant brain, but he's as independent as blazes, and has
+the very devil of a temper if he's rubbed up the wrong way. Even the
+Chief admits that he has to be careful how he handles Davies. All the
+Welsh pride and all their touchiness. He's best left alone.'
+
+'You may be right,' said Abbott, 'but I don't mind saying I've been
+expecting him to collapse at any minute. Have you got any brandy in the
+place?'
+
+'No. Oh, yes, we have, though. The Chief always carries a flask.'
+
+'Well, if you take my tip, you'll give him a good dose and get him off
+in a taxi. Good-night, R.O.'
+
+The young secretary waved a friendly salute, and returned to
+the meeting-room. On the floor, in front of the table, lay the
+representative for the West, in a crumpled heap.
+
+'Poor devil!' muttered the boy.
+
+He stooped over the inert body and then, realising that the man was too
+big to lift without help, went in search of restoratives. In a moment
+or two he returned, and then stopped on the threshold of the room, his
+heart in his mouth.
+
+The representative for the West had disappeared, and so had the sealed
+envelope.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER V
+
+                          'TWINKLING WILLIAM'
+
+
+More than once in his varied career Nick had found himself forced to
+hurry, but never in his life had he moved so quickly as he did now.
+
+As the young secretary left the room in his charitable search for
+restoratives, Nick leapt to his feet, thrust the precious envelope into
+his pocket, and fled. To his relief, the porter was not in his usual
+place. Nick had been prepared to use force, if he had to, to get past
+him, but he was thankful to find it unnecessary. He dared not use the
+lift, and shot down two flights of stone stairs at a break-neck pace.
+In the hall he checked for an instant. The fog had lifted. He could
+see, dim in the washy lamplight, a taxi outside the front door, and he
+guessed the Northern representative to be inside it. The porter was at
+the door of the cab, half in and half out, exchanging a cheerful word
+of farewell. Nick slipped past him unnoticed, and hurried down the
+street towards the cab-rank.
+
+Fifty yards away he glanced back. The taxi had departed in the opposite
+direction, but the porter was standing on the steps, staring after him.
+Nick cursed his white bandages: made a man a blessed lighthouse! He
+reached the rank and roused a sleepy driver.
+
+'Paddington Hotel,' he said, and as he entered the taxi, glanced back
+again.
+
+Another man had joined the porter, and was talking to him excitedly.
+Nick guessed it to be R.O., and chuckled. Then, as his taxi moved off,
+he saw the porter running, and running fast, towards the cab-rank. The
+hunt was up. Nick settled himself comfortably and lit a cigarette. The
+last few hours had been rather a strain, but this was a game after
+his own heart, a game he loved and excelled in. He picked up the
+speaking-tube.
+
+'Push her along as fast as you can, will you?'
+
+The driver responded with a wave of his hand, and trod on the gas. They
+slid through the traffic in the Strand, and just managed to escape
+a block at Trafalgar Square. Nick, looking back, perceived that his
+pursuer had unfortunately missed it, too. He could see the porter
+hanging out of the cab window, obviously urging his driver to greater
+speed, and indicating with a frenzied hand the taxi ahead. Nick laughed
+outright and picked up the tube again.
+
+'Go up through Piccadilly, and along to Hyde Park Corner.'
+
+The driver nodded resignedly. It was none of his business, but some
+fares did seem a bit loopy. Here was a bloke who asked him to hurry
+one minute, and the next wanted him to crawl through all the thickest
+traffic. Well, it wasn't _his_ affair. He swung up Cockspur Street, and
+the pursuing taxi turned after him.
+
+Nick was thinking hard. This infernal bandage was a landmark of the
+most dangerous sort, but on the other hand, was it safe to remove it?
+He didn't want any more witnesses than he could help, and the driver
+would certainly think it rather odd. Nick had no intention of slipping
+out without paying his fare; that would have been a dirty trick, and
+would have spoilt the keen pleasure he was deriving from the affair.
+Also--and more important still--if the worst came to the worst and
+the porter caught him up, he didn't want to run the risk of being
+recognised. He was not afraid of being detained--the porter was heavy,
+but hardly in the best physical training--but even in the time it
+would take to knock him out, the man might see his face well enough to
+remember again. No, the bandages must remain for the moment.
+
+As luck would have it, the road was clear from Regent Street into
+Piccadilly. The taxi sped down past Burlington House, only to pull
+up short a moment later. The pursuing taxi was close behind, only
+separated from them by a Ford van. Nick could see the porter peering
+out again. In another two seconds he would spot them and ... Nick spoke
+to his driver.
+
+'Another block?' he asked.
+
+'Yes, sir.' By now the man was quite certain that his fare was insane.
+'Traffic comin' down Bond Street.'
+
+'Damnation!' Nick stepped out of the taxi. 'I shall go on by
+Underground. Good-night. Keep the change.'
+
+He shut the door behind him, and dodging through the traffic, made for
+the north side of Piccadilly, but out of the tail of his eye he saw
+that the porter had seen him, and was following, also on foot.
+
+Nick walked steadily westward. He knew that this earnest sleuth could
+do nothing in such a crowded place, but, on the other hand, what was he
+going to do himself? He couldn't simply walk up and down till he tired
+the fellow out. Besides, he had had a heavy day, and wanted to go to
+bed. Somehow this tiresome emissary of the Chief's must be thrown off.
+
+And then, as sometimes happens in London, he discovered that the crowd
+about him had dissolved. There just happened to be no one on the
+pavement for fifty yards. In another five minutes the place would be
+swarming again, but a lot can happen in five minutes.
+
+Someone behind him broke into a run. Nick turned instinctively and saw
+an open door, obviously the door of some club, for a man in livery
+stood in the hall. Without a second thought he walked in, to find
+himself facing a long letter-board on which was written: 'Jameson Club.'
+
+The club porter came up, eyeing his bandaged head curiously.
+
+'Friend of mine ... member ... asked me to leave a message here for
+him,' said Nick crisply. 'Where can I write a note?'
+
+'Very good, sir. There's a writing-table in the lounge, sir,' said the
+man, indicating a room opposite, through the glass walls of which Nick
+could see three old gentlemen, each in far corners, reading newspapers
+in unsociable comfort.
+
+'Thanks,' said Nick, and made his way to the table indicated. He sat
+down, picked up a pen, and studied it thoughtfully. His first idea had
+been to post his stolen envelope to himself, but now he hesitated.
+Suppose ... just suppose the Chief thought of that, too. No reason
+why he shouldn't; it wasn't exactly a new idea. And it wasn't beyond
+the bounds of possibility that the Chief might try to get it. The man
+would be anxious, rather naturally. But what was the alternative? That
+infernal sleuth was sitting outside the club (Nick had no doubt about
+that), and he couldn't stop in the place all night.
+
+Nick grinned. 'Cold outside. Mustn't keep the poor devil waiting too
+long,' he murmured. But what was he going to do?
+
+He studied the faces of his three fellow-inmates, and discarded the
+thought of appealing to their help. They were all fat old fellows,
+rather short of breath, and would probably have apoplectic fits at his
+story. His eyes wandered round the room, and then he caught sight of
+the bridge party through the glass partition.
+
+There were four of them, men, and they were obviously old friends. He
+could hear what they said when they raised their voices as one was
+doing now.
+
+'Discipline? My dear boy, the younger generation have none, and
+you're not the man to teach it to 'em. You always did sympathise with
+criminals; isn't that true, Loring? Look at him! Good Lord, when he
+used to lecture at King's his students called him "Twinkling William."
+Does that sound like discipline?'
+
+Nick's eyes were on the subject of this tirade, who laughed cheerfully
+and without resentment. He was a little man, of about fifty, with
+twinkling eyes and untidy white hair. Nick watched him steadily, a
+growing conviction in his heart. This was the man for him; he'd risk
+his life on it; he'd even--he smiled, remembering an historic police
+court statement--he'd even bet on it. Then he nodded as if his mind
+were made up, pulled a sheet of paper towards him, and began to write:
+
+    DEAR SIR,
+
+    I hope you will forgive the liberty I am taking, but I find myself
+    in an awkward predicament, from which only you can assist me.
+
+So far, so good. Nick frowned thoughtfully. The question was, how
+much was it safe to tell? He must make this man--'Twinkling William!'
+enchanting nickname!--he must make him realise how important the affair
+was, and yet he didn't want to start a panic and have Scotland Yard
+called in. Curse Jack Strickland and the woolly-headed idiots who sent
+him to Russia when he was badly needed in England!
+
+    The envelope which you will find enclosed contains a document for
+    which a certain section of our anti-English society is searching. I
+    am sorry that I cannot give you any more definite information, but,
+    as you know, the essence of the Secret Service is that it should
+    remain secret.
+
+Nick grinned, remembering that in point of fact he was still 'wanted'
+on several counts.
+
+    Unfortunately, it has leaked out among my opponents that I am in
+    possession of the document, and I have been closely followed. In
+    fact, my sleuths are waiting outside for me at the moment.
+
+'Sounds better in the plural: more frightfulness!'
+
+    I am not a member of this club, but being in a tight corner I
+    entered on the pretext of writing a note for a member. The fact
+    that I know none has made my task more difficult. However, I have
+    seen you--you are playing bridge as I write--and I believe you to
+    be a man who will help me, and incidentally the State, in this
+    affair. I shall wait until you leave, and then contrive to slip
+    this letter into your pocket.
+
+    If you will write me a line addressed to V.L.S., Poste Restante,
+    G.P.O., letting me know your name and where I can find you, I will
+    call as soon as possible and relieve you of this rather dangerous
+    charge. I expect I shall be free to do this within a few days, but
+    if the worst occurs, and at the end of ten days you have neither
+    seen nor heard from me, may I beg you to keep the letter until June
+    10th, and then post it. You will see that I have addressed and
+    stamped it. I am confident that this contingency will not arise,
+    but my opponents are as able as they are unscrupulous, and it is as
+    well to face all possibilities.
+
+    In the meantime, I beg you not to mention the matter to anyone, and
+    assure you that in keeping this secret you will be doing the State
+    an incalculable service.
+
+Nick read his literary effort through, and folded it carefully. It was
+a trifle earnest, but it would do. Then he drew the sealed envelope
+from his pocket and opened it gingerly, taking care not to tear the
+flap. He extracted the list of names, and slid it into another envelope
+which he took from the rack in front of him. The bridge party in the
+next room seemed to be nearing the end of their rubber; there was
+no time to be lost. He sealed the envelope and addressed it to Jack
+Strickland.
+
+A rapid search of the desk revealed a larger envelope, into which he
+thrust Jack's and the letter to his unknown assistant, 'Twinkling
+William.' Nick chuckled again at the aptness of the name. On the
+envelope he wrote: 'Please open this when you are alone,' and then,
+with sudden childishness, he printed in large letters across the top,
+'O.H.M.S.'
+
+This done, he leant back and lit a cigarette. It was now necessary to
+write his note for the member. The hall porter had looked in rather
+curiously once or twice; it wouldn't do to walk out and leave nothing
+to explain his literary efforts. The question was, who should the
+member be? 'Smith,' he decided. A good old English name. There must
+be a Smith or three in the club. He wrote 'R. Smith, Esq.,' on an
+envelope, and stuck it down. Then he looked at the bridge party again.
+
+They had finished their game, but were enjoying hot toddies and talking
+cheerfully. It would obviously be some minutes before they departed.
+Nick took up his pen again. It would rouse the hall porter's curiosity
+if he sat there doing nothing. Then his eye fell on the envelope he had
+stolen, and a smile spread over his face. He examined it carefully. It
+could be re-sealed with perfect ease, and there was a stick of red wax
+on the desk. Nick's smile broadened. It seemed a waste to send an empty
+envelope back to the Chief. A golden opportunity.... He took another
+sheet of paper from the rack.
+
+Ten minutes later he heard the bridge players push back their chairs.
+He finished his letter hurriedly, put it into the Chief's envelope,
+sealed it, and stowed it away in his breast-pocket. The quartet were
+in the hall, putting on their coats, and chaffing each other with the
+freedom of old friends. Nick joined them unostentatiously, and slipped
+Mr. Smith's note into the rack, thanking his stars that the porter was
+too busy to watch him. 'Twinkling William' was speaking as he struggled
+into his coat, and Nick halted for an instant, listening.
+
+'Oh, my dear John, you talk a great deal of nonsense! Human nature
+doesn't alter. All this rant against these mad modern ideas has gone
+on since the days of the Pharaohs. The dominant characteristic of all
+younger generations is that they want adventure. And why shouldn't
+they? It's an admirable thing. I only wish there were more of it.'
+
+The other three men laughed as they prepared to descend the steps. Nick
+brushed past them, murmuring an apology, and in passing found the coat
+pocket he wanted. Then he set off down Piccadilly towards Hyde Park,
+and was rewarded by the sound of a well-known footstep behind him.
+
+'Poor old chap!' thought Nick. 'I bet he's tired. Well, so am I. Let's
+get this over, and then we can all go to bed happy.'
+
+He turned into the Park, now dark and deserted, and slackened his pace.
+The footsteps followed, but still did not catch him up. Nick became
+exasperated.
+
+'Why, damn the man, what's stopping him?' he grumbled. 'Why doesn't
+he _do_ something? Good Lord, have I got to walk about all night,
+waiting for some rotten sleuth to slug me? Well, if he won't take the
+initiative, I must, I suppose. Let's faint, shall we?'
+
+He hesitated, reeled a little, and came down on the grass with a thud.
+A startled oath told him that his pursuer was close at heel. Then a
+practised hand began to go through his pockets, and he heard a grunt of
+satisfaction as the sealed envelope was found. Nick lay still, hardly
+breathing, until the enemy's footsteps died away. Then he got up and
+ripped off his bandages with a sigh of relief.
+
+The fog had completely disappeared, and the night sky was spangled
+with stars. Nick drew a deep breath of the frosty air, and then walked
+leisurely back to Piccadilly.
+
+'And so to bed,' he murmured, 'to wake refreshed to another day of
+care-free crime.'
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VI
+
+                             AN ULTIMATUM
+
+
+While Nick was peacefully walking home, a young man stood on the steps
+of the tall house in Link Street, waiting. Anxious lines furrowed his
+face, and there was an expression very like fear in his eyes. Then, as
+a taxi drew up to the door, he ran forward eagerly.
+
+'Did you get it?'
+
+'Yes, sir.' The porter emerged from the cab, and handed him a long
+envelope. With a muttered word of praise the boy turned and hurried
+upstairs to the offices of the S.P.G. His chief sat at a table,
+writing. There were no signs of alarm in his strange dark eyes.
+
+'Got it, Chief!'
+
+The man looked up, and held out his hand for the letter, raising his
+eyebrows in gentle reproof.
+
+'Keep cool, my boy. I wish you weren't so excitable.'
+
+The young secretary bit his lip, and was silent, staring out of the
+window, while his chief opened the envelope. There was a moment's
+silence, and then the man at the table gave a short laugh. The boy spun
+round.
+
+'You're mistaken,' said the man. 'He did not get it. Call him up.'
+
+Aghast, the boy went out, and returned with the porter.
+
+'How did you get this envelope, Baxter?'
+
+'Off Mr. Davies, sir; that is, the man who....'
+
+'Yes, yes, but how?'
+
+The porter told his story of the pursuit, the wait outside the Jameson
+Club, and the attack in the Park.
+
+'Was he walking fast when you overtook him?'
+
+'No, sir. More dawdling, I should say.'
+
+'And he didn't attempt to defend himself?'
+
+'Didn't 'ave no need, sir. Just as I reached him 'e fell--tripped, sort
+of--and lay like a log. It looked like heart failure to me, sir.'
+
+'Did it? It wasn't. He was expecting you. Now listen to me. That letter
+was left in the Jameson Club--possibly posted there. Get it.'
+
+There was a moment's silence.
+
+'I expect the mail goes out about midnight,' said the young secretary.
+'It does from most clubs.'
+
+'Yes. Be there ten minutes early, Baxter, and get the postman. Take all
+the letters and bring them here. That's all.'
+
+The porter turned to the door, and then hesitated.
+
+'I'm very sorry, sir ...' he began.
+
+The Chief smiled.
+
+'I'm not blaming you, Baxter. This fellow is no fool. Anyone might
+be forgiven for underrating him. But go now, or you'll be late. I'm
+relying on you to pull _this_ off.'
+
+Baxter departed, his head held high. The Chief turned again to the
+letter in his hand.
+
+'Is it--Scotland Yard?' asked the boy, hesitantly.
+
+'No. Far from it. A far more interesting proposition. He signs himself
+"Vive le Sport."'
+
+'Good Lord! That's the burglar.'
+
+'Yes. Would you like to read his letter?'
+
+The boy took it.
+
+    DEAR SIR [it ran]: I feel an explanation is due to you, for my
+    unwarrantable intrusion this evening. In the first place, let me
+    hasten to make Mr. Davies's position clear; I cannot allow you,
+    even for a moment, to suspect him of treason. Mr. Davies is lying
+    in hospital, at Reading, and suffering from severe concussion,
+    with, possibly, a broken ankle. He and I travelled from Cardiff
+    together, but in the train accident Davies was less lucky than I.
+    I was fortunate enough to be able to get him out of our wrecked
+    carriage, and succeeded in convincing him that I was fully
+    qualified to carry his report to you.
+
+    My motive is a little difficult to explain, without appearing
+    melodramatic. I, too, am an Englishman, but--forgive me if I sound
+    priggish!--I have a rooted conscientious objection to revolutions.
+    Even Dictatorship leaves me doubtful. I think there is something
+    in the Anglo-Saxon temperament that is definitely antipathetic to
+    tyranny, even under a benevolent tyrant.
+
+    And now to business. I have your list of names. This would be
+    of immense interest to Scotland Yard, but I hesitate to put it
+    into their hands, since I have seen the men who signed it. In my
+    opinion, they are good fellows, who have, fundamentally, a sane
+    outlook on life. The country would lose by their imprisonment.
+    Without your influence I feel sure they would regain normality.
+    May I suggest that you should make the _beau geste_, and save them
+    from ruin? If you will call off this revolution of yours and leave
+    the country before June 10th, I will destroy the document and keep
+    silence. If not--but my course must be obvious to you.
+
+    Incidentally, I may say that the document is now in safe keeping,
+    and not on my person. I realise that you are a busy man, and do not
+    wish to waste your time unnecessarily.
+
+                                                          VIVE LE SPORT
+
+The boy put down the letter, and faced his Chief. Stark terror stood in
+his eyes. The man, watching him, smiled, and shook his head slowly. The
+fear died in the boy's face, and he smiled faintly.
+
+'That's better,' said the man. 'Well, what do you make of him?'
+
+'He's a clever devil. Does he mean it?'
+
+'That he won't act till June the 10th? Yes, I should think he does. I
+wonder if we have any chance of getting him to join us.'
+
+'I shouldn't think so.'
+
+'I expect you're right. It's a pity. I could work with that man. He'd
+be useful.'
+
+'Yes.' The boy gulped. 'He must have some courage. The way he just
+walked in, and ... O God, Chief, I'm a funk.'
+
+The older man put out a hand.
+
+'You're all right, old chap. You must learn to keep your head, that's
+all. I haven't complained about you, have I?'
+
+'No. I don't know why you haven't.... It's ... it's when you're not
+there.'
+
+The man nodded, watching him curiously, and then his expression changed.
+
+'This fellow has a sense of humour,' he said. 'Strength, too.' He was
+silent for a moment, his eyes thoughtful. 'I was right, you know,' he
+went on. 'My intuition told me his type when you first brought him in
+to-night. I greeted him--and then I had to remind myself that he was
+Davies. But I was right, the first time. Very interesting.'
+
+The boy said nothing, but watched him. Finally the man rose to his feet.
+
+'Well, we must find him. In the meantime, your job is to go down to
+Reading and see Davies. Get his story of the affair. Ask if there were
+other people in the carriage at the time. Find out if he can remember
+any detail that might help us to identify Vive le Sport. And ... get me
+a list of the members of the Jameson Club.'
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VII
+
+           'IF THE FEMININE ELEMENT CROPPED UP IN THIS ...'
+
+
+'Evenin' Speshul!' yelled the newsboy, his eyes, bright as a London
+sparrow's, on the crowd emerging from Mark Lane Tube Station. ''Ere's
+yer "Evenin' News"! "Star"! Big West End Mail Robb'ry! Postman in
+'orspital! Evenin' Speshul!'
+
+A tall man in dungaree trousers and an old blue jacket halted and
+looked round.
+
+''Ere y'are, sir. "Evenin' News"! Full account.' The boy whipped a
+paper from his bundle and held it out. The man took it, dropped a
+penny into the boy's palm, and moved away. At the corner he stopped,
+and leaning his shoulder against a pillar-box, read the account
+deliberately. There was a dancing light in his eyes and an amused turn
+to the corners of his mouth.
+
+'Quick work!' he thought. 'Let's see, it was just after eleven when
+I left that club. That fellow stalked me for about five minutes, I
+suppose, before he did his stuff. Then he had to get back to the Chief,
+hear the glad tidings, and rush off again in time to sandbag the
+postman with the midnight mail. Well, well, our friend the enemy had
+a busy evening. Thank God, I didn't post that letter, and thank God on
+all fours I managed to pick the right man to help me!'
+
+He stuffed the paper into the pocket of his ragged coat and strode on,
+whistling contentedly. It was a good day, in Nick's eyes. The sun was
+setting redly in the smoky sky behind him, and the air was crisp with
+frost; he had just survived a day of more than usual excitement, and
+he had an inward conviction that there was more excitement to come.
+In fact, he was himself again. Best of all, that afternoon he had
+collected from the G.P.O. a letter from his unknown assistant of the
+night before which still gave him immense pleasure in contemplation.
+
+He walked on steadily, hands in pockets, cap down over his eyes;
+circled the Tower, and made his way down Royal Mint Street, now noisy
+with the sound of drays, as they rattled over the cobble-stones to and
+from the docks. At the corner of Dray and Quay Streets he halted, and
+then entered a small and grimy public-house, flamboyantly labelled 'The
+Sailmakers' Arms.'
+
+The bar-tender looked up and nodded affably.
+
+'Arternoon, Nick.'
+
+'Arternoon, mate. George in?'
+
+'In the kitching,' the bar-tender told him, indicating with a dirty
+thumb a door beside the bar.
+
+Nick nodded and passed through, but as soon as the door was shut
+behind him, he turned to mount a narrow little stairway. It was half
+dark, and the steps were badly broken, but Nick went up with the
+certainty of long practice, and came to a halt on the little landing at
+the top in front of a yellow wooden door. Pulling a bunch of keys from
+his pocket, he unlocked it, and entered the room beyond.
+
+This attic was a contrast to the house he had just left. It was a bare
+little room, but scrupulously clean. In one corner stood a pallet bed,
+covered with rough brown blankets, neatly folded. There was a square
+kitchen table in the middle of the room, and two cheap basket chairs,
+rather worn, stood near by. A small fire was burning brightly in the
+grate, and a bucket of coal had been left beside it.
+
+Nick gave a grunt of satisfaction and, going over to the fire, picked
+up a pipe from the mantelpiece. Deliberately he filled and lit it, and
+then rang a bell that hung beside the fireplace.
+
+This room was one of his many burrows, and a most convenient place.
+It was over the shop of one Isaac Jacob, a seaman's outfitter in Quay
+Street. To make it yet more secure, Nick had arranged a permanent right
+to enter through the Sailmakers' Arms in Dray Street. These two houses
+had originally been one, and both were owned by George Cattle, the
+proprietor of the pub.
+
+Jacob, from whom Nick rented the room, was an oily little Jew, of
+unprepossessing appearance, and Teutonic origin. Most of the dockyard
+world were firmly convinced that 'Ikey' would sell his grandmother's
+soul for a tanner, and his own for a pint of beer, but Nick trusted
+him, and his faith was not misplaced. Apart from the fact that he knew
+enough about the little Jew to send him to Dartmoor, he felt convinced
+of Jacob's loyalty, and had never had any reason to doubt it. As a
+matter of fact, Jacob worshipped him with a dog-like devotion, for
+which he could have given a number of reasons, although they never
+occurred to Nick.
+
+In about ten minutes there was a knock on the door, and Jacob entered,
+his fat, greasy face wreathed in smiles.
+
+'You got back then all right?' he said. 'Ain't seen you in a long time.
+How was it?'
+
+'All right. I bin away,' said Nick, in the rough Cockney that was his
+_langue de guerre_. 'Look 'ere, Ikey, I want yeh t' do suthink fer me.'
+
+'Anything, my friend ... anything I can do ... in reason, that is.'
+
+Nick grinned. 'Keep yer 'air on, old sport. I ain't arskin' fer money.
+Now listen ter me. Do yer know a bloke o' the name o' Breck? Ginger
+Breck?'
+
+'You mean Tom Breck, the seaman? Of course I know Breck. Was he not in
+the shop yesterday night, buying sea-boots? He sailed this morning
+for the Mediterranean. Say, the story he tells me about you and him
+yesterday----'
+
+''E's a liar! Do you know when 'is boat is doo back?'
+
+'The Pelican, ain't it? Four weeks her run is; not more than
+twenty-four hours out, either way. I thought you was a friend to Ginger
+Breck, Nick?'
+
+'So I am; but don't you go believin' all the yarns 'e tells you ...
+'specially about me. Does the Pelican carry 'er own pilot?'
+
+'No. She picks him up at Gravesend.'
+
+'Ho! Well, look 'ere, could you find aht when she'll be doo there?'
+
+'Easy, easy! My dear late wife's brother he lives down the river, below
+Gravesend. He could send me word when they sight her. What you driving
+at, my friend?'
+
+'I'll tell yeh. Could you git aboard the Pelican with the pilot, an'
+give Breck a message fer me? It's what yeh might call urgent that 'e
+gits this word afore they docks. See?'
+
+'I see, but it is not possible to get aboard that way. Pilots is funny
+people.'
+
+Nick was silent, pulling at his pipe. Jacob sniffed nervously, glancing
+up at his tenant, and then jerked back his greasy head in abrupt
+decision.
+
+'It shall be done, my friend. Somehow, I will get the word to Breck.
+We Jews do not forget those who have helped us, no. What is this
+message?'
+
+'It's a bit 'ard to explain. Tell Breck that as soon as they dock, a
+bloke will come aboard askin' for 'im.'
+
+'A friend of yours, eh?'
+
+'Not--likely! This bloke's arter me, Ikey.'
+
+'Gott! Then Breck must not listen to him, eh? Breck must say to him
+that----'
+
+'Fer Gawd's sake put a sock in it till I've done tellin' yeh! This
+bloke's goin' t' arsk Breck where 'e can find me--savvy?'
+
+'He knows Breck?'
+
+'Nao! Oh, look 'ere, did Breck tell you about the game 'im an' me 'ad
+in that railway smash yesterd'y?'
+
+'Oh, yes! My friend, how terrible that must have been! You were near
+death then, both of you.'
+
+'Garn! I bin a lot nearer than that, an' so's Breck. The point is,
+'im an' me fished a feller outa that train, and passed 'im on t' the
+Ambulance chaps. Now I reckon that this bloke 'oo wants t' find me so
+bad will use that yarn. 'E'll come along to old Ginger an' say: "Me
+brother, wot was ser nobly saved be you an' yer mate las' month, wants
+t' thank ye both, an' stand y' a pint o' bitter. Where does yer mate
+'ang out?" D'ye git me meanin', Ikey?'
+
+The little Jew nodded vigorously, his boot-button eyes bright with
+intelligence.
+
+'Well, Ginger's got ter play up t' that, see? 'E must lead our grateful
+friend to 273, Leman Street. You've 'eard that address afore, 'aven't
+yeh?'
+
+'Another home of yours, ain't it? But not so good as this was.'
+
+'Not near ser good, but very 'andy. Well, Ginger tells 'im that I'm
+orfen there between midnight and 6 A.M. and takes 'im there,
+and then they'll wait fer me, see?'
+
+'I see.' Jacob nodded slowly. 'It shall be done, my friend. Was there
+any more you want to say? The shop will be filling up.'
+
+'That's all, Ikey. Yer a good little sport. So long.'
+
+'Good-bye.' The little Jew turned to the door, and then hesitated, his
+eyes searchingly on Nick.
+
+'You're up to more dangerous games, eh, Nick?'
+
+Nick grinned, and knocked out his pipe.
+
+'Not wot you'd call dangerous,' he said. 'But it's a busy game all
+right, and it ain't exactly a bed o' roses. Don't you worry. Y' oughta
+know by now that I always git my fist in afore the other bloke does.'
+
+Jacob sniffed.
+
+'Well, I hope you take care, that's all. When you are here, I know you
+are all right, but when you are away, doing your mad things...! We
+Jews, we like to keep our friends. Take much care.'
+
+The door shut behind him, and the sound of his shuffling feet died
+away. For a moment Nick stood still, his eyes grave. Then he smiled and
+went out by the other door, locking it after him.
+
+'Funny little beast!' he said to himself. 'I honestly believe he means
+it.'
+
+And with that he returned to the pub, bade a curt farewell to the
+bar-tender, and emerged once more into the twilit street.
+
+The air was crisply cold. Nick turned up his coat collar and stepped
+out briskly. He wanted to have a look at that room of his in Leman
+Street, and there was a pal he had to meet at Hermitage Wharf, a stoker
+on the Royal Scot, who should have news for him. It was close on eleven
+before his business was concluded, and he turned his steps westward.
+He wanted to think, and Nick always thought best in the open air.
+Unconsciously his feet led him towards the river, and at last he came
+to a halt on Tower Bridge, watching the lights of the shipping dance
+and bob on the tide.
+
+Suddenly a light touch on his arm made him turn, and he saw a girl
+beside him. She was small and slight, and as she lifted her face he was
+startled into an exclamation of surprise.
+
+'Jill! What on earth are you doing here?'
+
+'I came to find you,' she explained. 'I wanted to see you, but you left
+no address, so I couldn't write.'
+
+'But, good Lord, did you expect to find me here?'
+
+Jill hesitated, her eyes on his. 'Y-yes,' she said, and her odd, elfin
+face had the anxious look of a child longing for understanding, yet
+despairing of it.
+
+Nick laughed, and tucked his arm through hers.
+
+'All right, old lady. You were justified, though God knows how it
+happened. Let's make a move. You've got no business to be prowling
+round the East End alone at this time of night, you know. Jack would
+have a fit if he knew.'
+
+'Jack would understand,' said Jill. 'Of course, if he'd been home I
+shouldn't have come. I mean, you'd have been along to see him before
+this, wouldn't you?'
+
+There was a moment's pause, and then Nick spoke slowly:
+
+'Yes, I would,' he said. 'I'd like to see Jack.'
+
+'I know. That's why I had to come.' Jill's soft little voice was
+breathless. 'I was rather afraid you'd be angry, but, you see, I'm
+going to Norway for a week, and I'll probably see Jack in Bergen, and
+I couldn't help thinking there must be something I could tell him or
+take him from you, so I had to find you. I'm going to-morrow, you see.
+You do understand, Nick? I mean, I didn't come out of curiosity, or
+anything like that.'
+
+'It hadn't occurred to me to accuse you of anything in the least like
+that,' Nick assured her gravely. 'My alarm at the sight of you may have
+seemed unflattering, but it wasn't really. It was simply the outcome
+of my prejudice against the modern habit of considering this district
+a pleasant promenade at midnight--at any rate, for unattended and
+attractive young ladies.'
+
+Jill's flickering smile lit her eyes.
+
+'Nick, how silly. Do you really think anybody would hurt me? Rob me, or
+anything?'
+
+Nick looked at her thoughtfully.
+
+'No, I don't; but all the same, I'd much rather you had someone with
+you to make certain of it. Where shall we go?'
+
+'Anywhere, as long as we can talk.'
+
+'We-ell, I'd rather not go too far away----' he halted under a street
+lamp. 'How are you dressed, Jill?'
+
+'Very plain and ordinary.'
+
+'Yes, you'll do,' said Nick, surveying her critically. 'There's a
+bun-shop I know that's open all night, and won't have anyone much in it
+for another hour or two. Come along.'
+
+It was a dingy little place in Eastcheap, badly lit and poorly
+furnished. Except for two sailor-men, half asleep in a corner, the room
+was empty. A slatternly, tired-eyed girl brought them coffee and stale
+doughnuts, and then disappeared into a back room, presumably to sleep
+until the next customer hammered on the counter.
+
+'Would you like me to take a letter to Jack?' asked Jill.
+
+Nick shook his head.
+
+'Don't like giving too much information on paper,' he said. 'But there
+are one or two things I'd like you to tell him, if you can bear to
+listen.'
+
+'Don't be stupid,' said Jill. 'What do you think I came here for?
+Besides, I've been longing to know what's happened. Yesterday morning I
+was horribly worried about you; kept feeling something awful was going
+to happen to you. Were you in that train?'
+
+Nick stared at her, and then grinned.
+
+'It's foolish to be surprised, I suppose,' he said. 'Yes, I was. I
+think I'd better tell you all about it.'
+
+'Please do. I won't interrupt till you tell me I may.'
+
+With a smile Nick began his story. He told her of his visit to Cardiff,
+of the train smash, and his impersonation of Davies, and finally of
+the adventure in the Jameson Club. Jill listened in silence, her eyes
+bright. Then, as he lit a cigarette....
+
+'May I ask questions, please?'
+
+'But of course. Jill, you're a marvel!'
+
+'Then, Nick, please tell me what you wrote in that letter to the Chief?'
+
+He laughed and told her.
+
+'What did you sign yourself?'
+
+'Vive le Sport.'
+
+'Isn't that rather dangerous?'
+
+'I don't think so. I mentioned in my letter that the document was in
+safe custody, but not on my person. He's a busy man, and I don't want
+to waste his time.'
+
+'Did you tell him _that_, too?'
+
+'Surely. Politeness costs little, and promotes good feeling.'
+
+'Oh, Nick! So the Chief has until June 10th to leave the country.'
+
+'And to notify his followers that the show is off.'
+
+'Do you think he'll go?'
+
+'I don't know. Probably not. The man's not a coward.'
+
+'Well, what happens now?'
+
+Nick grinned, a little ruefully.
+
+'Well, now I've got to put myself into a position to carry out my
+threat. You see, I still don't know who the chap is, in private life.
+It's rather like a game of Bears, with both sides playing the same
+game. I want to find out who the Chief is. The Chief wants to find Vive
+le Sport. So far we are merely names to each other, without a local
+habitation, so to speak. For myself, I've got a good clue in that
+young secretary. I know him in mufti, and I shall stick to him like a
+leech, in the hope that sooner or later he will lead me to the Chief.
+The difficulty is that that young man appears to know everyone in
+London. However, we must trust to luck.'
+
+'And what do you think the Chief has got in the way of clues?'
+
+Nick nodded approvingly.
+
+'Clever child! I see Jack's training in that sage question. The Chief
+will have gone to see Davies, and Davies will tell him about Breck.
+Ginger--the oaf!--gave away his name in his usual lusty bellow, and
+it's the Bank of England to a tanner that Davies hasn't forgotten it.
+No fool, Davies. He'd make a good burglar if he wasn't so earnest. The
+Chief will try to get hold of Breck as a clue to me. At least, that's
+what I think will happen, and I'm laying my plans accordingly. With a
+little care I think I ought to be able to work it so that I see the
+Chief before he sees me.'
+
+'They're two to one,' said Jill. 'I mean, there's the secretary, isn't
+there? I wish Jack were home.'
+
+'So do I, but the thought of the secretary doesn't worry me.'
+
+'Do I know him?'
+
+Nick faced her steadily, with a smile in his eyes, and shook his head.
+Jill flushed.
+
+'Sorry, Nick, but--I wondered if I could help.'
+
+'No, thanks, Jill. You're a darling, and I know you'd be terribly
+skilful, but I'd rather not have any woman mixed up in this. It's a
+tricky business as it is, and if the feminine element cropped up in it,
+I believe I should jack the whole thing up.'
+
+'But, Nick----' She checked herself, looked at him curiously, and then
+went on: 'Don't run too many risks.'
+
+'Not I. Safety first is my watchword, and now that I've got that
+document stowed away----Oh, but I forgot to tell you. I had an answer
+from my unknown assistant this afternoon.'
+
+'What did he say?'
+
+Nick took a letter from his breast-pocket and spread it out on the
+table.
+
+'I think I must read it to you,' he said. 'It's written from the
+Jameson Club:
+
+    DEAR SIR,
+
+    I discovered your letter when I arrived home last night. May I be
+    forgiven for saying that much as I regret your anxious position,
+    you have given me more pleasure than I had ever expected to taste
+    again. I am, I fear, a confirmed romantic, who has felt for some
+    years that romance has left my life for good.
+
+    The letter you enclosed is now in my bank, where I left it this
+    morning, and where it will remain until I call for it. If I have
+    not claimed it before June 10th, my bank manager has instructions
+    to post it to the address you gave. In the meantime it is
+    perfectly safe, and I beg that you will honour me with its keeping
+    until such time as you consider it expedient to withdraw it. Should
+    you wish to, I am to be found at this club every Friday evening,
+    and a letter addressed to me here will always reach me.
+
+    I shall greatly look forward to our meeting. I am an old man now,
+    but to feel that I am--however passively--playing a part in this
+    game of yours, revives my youth. I am honoured by your trust in me,
+    and I think you may rest assured that I shall respect it.
+
+                                                       Yours faithfully
+                                                    WILLIAM G. MITCHELL
+
+'He _is_ a darling!' said Jill.
+
+'Isn't he? I'm longing to meet him, too. Well, I think he's right. The
+letter is perfectly safe at his bank, and it leaves me free to get on
+with the job.'
+
+'Tracking the secretary? You'll be busy, Nick.'
+
+'I shall indeed. He's an energetic and a popular young man. Well, well,
+it may be amusing. And now, Jill, I'm going to send you home.'
+
+As luck would have it, they picked up a taxi by the Monument. Nick put
+Jill into it, and gave the address to the driver.
+
+'Good-night, Nick, and--take care, won't you?'
+
+'Always,' Nick assured her. 'Good-night, Jill. There's an exciting time
+coming.'
+
+She suddenly laughed, a soft chuckle of complete amusement.
+
+'Yes, indeed, Nick. And lots of surprises!'
+
+The taxi lurched off, leaving Nick staring.
+
+'I wonder what _that_ meant!' he said to himself, and then with a grin
+at his own curiosity, he turned eastward once more.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER VIII
+
+                          'MINE'S BEER, TOO'
+
+
+Mrs. Hamilton-Browne, of Barton Manor, Suffolk, was worried. Anxiously
+she scanned her ballroom, now filled with all the youth and beauty of
+the county. They were dancing and appeared to be enjoying themselves.
+The band was excellent, the floor perfect, and even her husband, who
+was popularly supposed to have left his liver in Upper Burma, admitted
+that there was nothing wrong with her supper menu. To an unbiased eye
+the party seemed an unqualified success, but still a cloud shadowed
+her kindly, middle-aged face. Unsatisfied, her gaze wandered round the
+room, and at last came to rest on a sturdy, cheerful-looking young man,
+who was standing by the door. With the air of one who clutches at a
+passing straw, she made her way over to his side.
+
+'Oh, Bobby, have you seen Mr. Doone?'
+
+Bobby Manvers blinked, in some surprise.
+
+'Doone? Is that the black-haired, silent chap? No, I've not seen him
+for some time. Why?'
+
+'I'm so terribly afraid he isn't enjoying himself. It's all so
+different for him, you see, poor boy.'
+
+'Is it?' said Bobby helplessly.
+
+'Oh, it must be! I mean, brought up on that island somewhere near
+Honolulu, or wherever it was. I remember his father so well. Charming,
+but _too_ erratic! Of course, he was Irish, and that accounts for it
+perhaps. And when he married he settled down somewhere in the Pacific,
+you know.'
+
+'It d-doesn't sound a frightfully good place to settle,' said Bobby,
+with the slight stammer that always attacked him in moments of
+emotional stress.
+
+After a second's bewilderment Mrs. Hamilton-Browne smiled indulgently.
+
+'Silly boy, Bobby! You know perfectly well what I mean. And so, you
+see, poor Michael has never had any of the advantages of home, such as
+his father enjoyed. He ought to have been sent to Eton, but instead of
+that, he ran wild till he was about fourteen, and then had three years'
+schooling in some small Australian town. No social training at all. My
+dear, he never saw anyone, stuck there on that tiny island, except his
+parents and, I suppose, natives. Patrick Doone ought to have brought
+the boy home when his wife died, but no!--nothing would make him leave
+his dreadful little island. And now Patrick is dead, too, and of course
+he feels it very deeply. I _do_ so understand, don't you?'
+
+'Er--yes,' said Bobby. He realised that an answer was expected of him
+and, on the whole, 'Yes' seemed slightly more fitting than 'No.'
+
+'I _knew_ you would,' said Mrs. Hamilton-Browne, 'and that's why I
+want you to go and find him. You're so brilliant with shy people.'
+
+'B-but I don't believe he's shy,' protested Bobby. 'H-haven't spoken to
+him myself, but I heard Rex tryin' t-to. He looked just ordinary fed-up
+to me.'
+
+'It's all the same thing,' said Mrs. Hamilton-Browne, with a splendid
+disregard for such psychological distinctions. 'He needs a friend,
+Bobby. We must make him feel that this place is going to be a _home_
+for him. Sir Toby Ward asked me 'specially to look after him.'
+
+'Oh, d-does he know old Toby?' asked Bobby, with a flicker of interest.
+
+'Indeed, yes. Sir Toby was an old friend of Patrick Doone's and he's
+Michael's trustee. The boy has come over on legal business. Selling the
+Irish property, and all that sort of thing. I simply must go now, and
+look after those people on the terrace. I'm sure they're not enjoying
+themselves. Do go and find him, Bobby. I think he went into the
+library.'
+
+Mrs. Hamilton-Browne hurried away and Bobby Manvers set off with a
+reluctant heart and lagging feet to carry out her orders.
+
+She was right. In the library he found Michael Doone, sitting on his
+shoulder blades in the largest chair in the room, long legs stretched
+out before him, chin down on chest, and his shirt-front bulging
+unbecomingly. His mouth was set in a sullen line, and his black brows
+were drawn down over his eyes in an uncompromising scowl. He did
+not look up on Bobby's entry, and Mrs. Hamilton-Browne's envoy slid
+nervously into a chair, and racked his brains for a suitable topic of
+conversation.
+
+'Bit of a b-bore, these private dances, what?' he said at last. He was
+acutely conscious of inadequacy, but felt one must start somewhere.
+
+Michael Doone made no sign of having heard, but continued his sullen
+contemplation of the empty grate.
+
+'I'm afraid you're f-finding this show a bit of a b-blight,' continued
+Bobby bravely.
+
+Michael Doone opened his eyes and regarded his companion steadily for
+some seconds. Then, with a faint, sardonic smile, he returned his gaze
+to the fireplace.
+
+Bobby flushed, but persevered with a gallantry worthy of a better cause.
+
+'I suppose all this is f-frightfully different to--er--to what it's
+like in--er--where you come from?'
+
+Michael Doone's mouth twitched suddenly. Then he rolled over in his
+chair and faced Bobby, with an expression of suppressed frenzy.
+
+'For the love of God, what's biting you?' he asked.
+
+The words were offensive, but the exasperated grin that lit up his lean
+face and queer, green-grey eyes was oddly attractive. Bobby smiled
+guiltily in return.
+
+'W-well, y' see, Mrs. Hamilton-Browne's awfully worried about you,' he
+said, 'and she--she sent me to ... I s-say, will you have a drink?'
+
+Michael Doone heaved a sigh of relief.
+
+'Yes!' he said, hoisting himself up in the chair with sudden alacrity.
+'That's the first intelligent remark I've heard to-night. You'll do!'
+
+'S-say when,' said Bobby thankfully, juggling with decanters on the
+side-table.
+
+'When. Thanks. Here's luck,' said Doone, raising the tall glass.
+
+'I believe you know old Toby Ward,' said Bobby a moment later.
+
+Michael nodded.
+
+'Good fellow,' pursued Bobby. 'Dashed clever, too.'
+
+'Is he?' said Michael indifferently.
+
+'Oh, rather! He's retired now, of course, but they say he was the most
+brilliant K.C. of his age. Never lost a case. Pity he had to chuck it,
+but his health wouldn't stand it.'
+
+'Nice old buffer,' said Michael, 'and human, as lawyers go. I'm staying
+the week-end at his place. By the way, how far is it from here to High
+Ash?'
+
+'Twenty-eight miles,' said Bobby. 'I know that road well. W-what did
+you do it in?'
+
+'Thirty-two minutes.'
+
+'Pretty good! That's your B-bentley in the garage, isn't it?'
+
+Michael nodded.
+
+'You must have let her out on the straight.' Bobby grinned. 'Almost
+worth c-coming for, that, wasn't it?'
+
+Michael laughed. 'Almost. I was pretty fed-up before I started. Old
+Toby shoved me into this show; put it so that I couldn't refuse ... he
+and Mrs. Browne between 'em.'
+
+'You'd better not let her catch you calling her "Browne,"' warned
+Bobby. 'She's a dear old soul, but that's the one thing that makes her
+see red.'
+
+'I don't see why it should,' argued Michael. 'It's sheer swank
+sticking on the "Hamilton" like that. This country's too full of
+Battenberg-Smiths for me.'
+
+'L-let 'em have their fun,' said Bobby tolerantly. 'It m-makes for a
+quiet life, in the long run.'
+
+'Quiet life? They've got too much of it. That's their trouble,' said
+Michael. 'I'd like to maroon 'em on one of the Solomons and see how
+they'd make out. Of course, it's the fault of their upbringing. They've
+missed all the fun in life.'
+
+Bobby smiled at the fireplace.
+
+'Out with it!' commanded Michael, watching him.
+
+'W-well, y' know, that's more or less what she feels about _y-you_,'
+said Bobby. 'It's all a question of the point of view.'
+
+Michael Doone laughed. 'It's too late to reform me,' he said. 'By the
+way, what's your name?'
+
+'M-Manvers.'
+
+Michael nodded, but any reply he might have contemplated was cut short
+by the sound of a hurried step in the corridor.
+
+'Here she is!' whispered Bobby.
+
+'Gawd!' said Michael with deep feeling and, setting down his half-empty
+glass, made for the French windows which opened on the terrace.
+
+'No, d-dash it all!' protested Bobby, rising to his feet abruptly. 'I'm
+n-not going to be left to stand the racket.'
+
+'Come on, then,' said Michael, and together they slipped out onto the
+terrace.
+
+It was a perfect May night, clear and starry, and a half-moon showed in
+the east like burnished pewter. Michael halted for a second, his eyes
+on the rolling country beneath him, now enchanted in the soft shadows
+and silver moonlight. Bobby, watching, saw a sudden wistfulness in his
+face.
+
+'It is rather ... er ... j-jolly, isn't it?' he said tentatively.
+
+Michael looked at him sourly.
+
+'I left my drink in that room,' he said. 'Only half finished.'
+
+'L-let's go and get some supper,' said Bobby hastily.
+
+In silence they walked down the terrace and round the corner of the
+house to where the doors of the ballroom gave onto the garden. Here
+were set little tables, lit with twinkling lights, under huge grey
+beeches, and people moved among them happily, supping, talking and
+smoking in the cool air. At the nearest table sat a woman of about
+thirty, tall, slim, and beautifully dressed.
+
+'Th-that's Adele Lancaster,' whispered Bobby. 'M-must introduce you to
+her. G-gives jolly good parties.'
+
+She was opening an elaborate gold cigarette-case, and signed to a
+hovering waiter to bring her a match. Bobby chuckled.
+
+'She'd make eyes at the shadow of a wooden Indian outside a tobacco
+shop,' he whispered. 'Watch her bring down that waiter!'
+
+Michael, however, was watching the waiter himself. A tall chap,
+well-made and light on his feet. Ought to put up a good fight. Queer,
+that a man like that should choose such a job. The lady was speaking,
+and her voice was soft and clear.
+
+'I feel sure I've seen you before somewhere.' Her cigarette was lit
+now, and she looked at the man from under her lashes.
+
+'It's very kind of you to remember me, madam. I have frequently seen
+you in London. Principally at Lady Wroxham's house, madam.'
+
+'Really? And what were you doing there?'
+
+'Waiting, madam. Her ladyship is good enough to employ me when she
+gives large receptions.'
+
+'So you're a sort of free-lance waiter? It seems a pity. Wouldn't you
+prefer regular employment? I might be able to find you a good place.'
+
+'That is very kind of you, madam.'
+
+'But perhaps you prefer this odd-job work?' Her words were commonplace,
+but her tone provocative.
+
+'It is very interesting, madam,' returned the waiter deferentially.
+
+Bobby stifled a giggle, and the man looked up sharply. The woman,
+watching him, looked round too.
+
+'Hullo, Bobby!' she said. 'Won't you come and join me? My partner has
+deserted me, and I hate supping alone.'
+
+'R-rather,' said Bobby, advancing. The waiter drew back chairs for
+them. 'May I introduce Mr. Doone? D-Doone, Mrs. Lancaster.'
+
+'Mrs. Hamilton-Browne has been looking for you, Mr. Doone,' said the
+lady, with an arch smile. 'I believe she wanted to introduce you to me.
+So fatal, to be introduced by Katherine. But I've been hearing so much
+about you. _Too_ romantic, your living on that wild island in the South
+Seas. How terribly dull England must seem to you.'
+
+At that moment Michael was absorbed in helping himself to some food
+offered by the waiter, and made no reply. Bobby grinned, but Adele
+Lancaster continued gallantly.
+
+'Why have you never brought Mr. Doone to any of my parties, Bobby?'
+
+'Because D-Doone and I have only just m-met,' said Bobby. 'We have a
+mutual friend in Toby Ward.'
+
+'Oh, Sir Toby. Isn't he charming?' she addressed herself to Michael.
+'So eighteenth century.'
+
+'Is he?' said Michael, who hadn't the least idea what she meant, and
+cared, if possible, rather less.
+
+For a moment the lady seemed disconcerted, and her eyes wandered to the
+tall waiter, who was now serving the next table.
+
+'Bobby, have you noticed that man?' she said in an undertone. 'Isn't he
+amazing? I wonder if he's a Russian Archduke in exile?'
+
+Bobby glanced round indifferently. 'My dear Adele, why should he be?
+I n-never saw anyone so completely English in my life. What makes you
+think him Russian?'
+
+'I don't know.' She laughed. Thoroughly girlish, Michael decided
+sourly. 'Perhaps it's that little moustache. And he's too fair to be
+French, isn't he? I can't think why a man as good-looking as that
+should be a waiter.'
+
+'I can't think why any man is,' said Michael suddenly. 'It's only
+one degree better than carrying sandwich boards, or selling ladies'
+underwear.'
+
+'I n-never can see why it isn't as good to sell one thing as another,'
+said Bobby argumentatively. 'In this country, Doone, a man may sell
+cars, but not petrol; houses, but not bricks; and pictures, though
+never, never, paint or turpentine. We've got a string of the most
+hopelessly illogical social conventions....'
+
+'Now, Bobby!' interrupted Adele, 'we can't have these sentiments from
+a respectable, if briefless, barrister. By the way, I know a perfectly
+fascinating man who sells petrol. He keeps a garage in Bermondsey and
+talks too thrillingly about revolution and all that. He's coming to my
+party on Thursday. Mr. Doone, won't you come? Bobby will be there and,
+I hope, Sir Toby Ward. Bobby, do persuade Mr. Doone to come. Oh, here's
+Hubert, looking for me. Heavens, I promised him this dance! Hubert,
+please forgive me. I'll come now, honestly I will!'
+
+She rose and, taking the arm of a young man who had just come up, swept
+him away.
+
+'Exit Hubert, looking longingly backwards at the food,' said Michael.
+
+Bobby chuckled.
+
+'There's no one like her,' he said. 'What's that?' to the tall
+waiter, who was murmuring something at his elbow. 'Oh, champagne, I
+suppose. Doone, what will you drink? I'm afraid there's nothing very
+interesting, but, you s-see, the Colonel isn't allowed it, and his
+wife's a tee-totaller.'
+
+'It's all a question of taste,' said Michael in a thoughtful drawl.
+'Mine's beer.'
+
+'Lager, sir?' asked the waiter in a respectful undertone. Michael
+glanced up, and their eyes met. Then he nodded, and the waiter sped
+away.
+
+'You'd b-better come to Adele's party,' said Bobby. 'She's a bit of a
+sh-shock at first, but her parties are good fun. I m-mean, everyone
+goes to 'em, and if a fella's got to live in London, he may as well
+_live_ in London, if you s-see what I mean. By the way, you must look
+me up. Where do you hang out?'
+
+'Quebec Street. Number 60,' said Michael.
+
+'Got a flat there?'
+
+'Rooms. Two and a bath. Not what you'd call swagger, but it suits me
+all right. The food's very good.'
+
+'That's the principal thing,' agreed Bobby. 'F-feed me well, and I'll
+be perfectly h-happy. I've got a flat in Knightsbridge. Ought to have a
+card on me somewhere. Oh, yes, here we are. D-do look me up some time.'
+
+'Right,' said Michael, pocketing the card. 'Hullo, here's the drink.'
+
+It was not the tall waiter who brought it, but the butler of the house.
+
+'You are wanted on the telephone, Mr. Manvers,' he said. 'A London
+call, I believe, sir. I have had the telephone switched through to the
+library.'
+
+'O Lord!' Bobby rose regretfully. 'Forgive me, Doone. Shan't be long.
+At l-least I hope not, but these long-distance calls are the devil!'
+
+He went off to the house, and Michael sat over his beer in solitude. He
+was wondering how soon he could leave this wilderness of apes without
+disgracing Sir Toby. Then he caught sight of Mrs. Hamilton-Browne
+advancing towards him. She had obviously not seen him yet, but she
+was peering round in an ominous manner. Michael groaned, and gulped
+down the last of his beer. Blast the woman! Why couldn't she leave a
+man alone? He rose to his feet and made a hasty retreat to the house,
+entering by a side door. Once inside, he looked at his watch. It was
+only half-past twelve. With savage despair in his heart he made his
+way to the library. Perhaps he could find a book with which to beguile
+the weary hours until such time as he could leave with decency. As he
+opened the door he heard Bobby's voice at the telephone.
+
+'Yes, he's in London to-night. I'll pick him up and bring him along.
+We'll get there as soon as possible.... Right. Don't lose sight of him
+till we arrive.... Good.... So long.'
+
+Michael was about to retire, but Bobby hung up the receiver and turned
+round.
+
+'D-don't go,' he said; 'I've finished. Dashed annoyin'!'
+
+'What's the trouble?' asked Michael, dropping into a chair.
+
+'Well, I was expecting an American fellow to come and see me on
+Monday--on business, you know--and now I hear he's arrived in London,
+and wants to s-see me to-morrow morning. Only a Yank would want to
+do business on S-Sunday morning. I s-suppose he's going to see York
+Minster and Stratford-on-Avon the rest of the day, and will catch the
+early boat home on Monday. Well, I shall have to c-clear out right
+away. _Dashed_ annoying! Can't miss him, though. My first client, an'
+all that.'
+
+'How'll you go?'
+
+'Oh, by road. I've got my car here. And now I'd better go and say
+good-bye to my hostess, I suppose. You're c-comin' back to town on
+Monday, aren't you? Let's forgather, shall we? What about dinner and a
+show that night?'
+
+'Good scheme,' agreed Michael.
+
+'Right you are, then. So long. Dashed annoying!' And, muttering
+wrathfully, Bobby went out.
+
+Michael, too lazy to find a book, stretched himself sleepily in his
+chair, and stared out of the open French window. Beside it hung a
+long mirror--an ugly mirror, he thought. As he surveyed it, with
+disapproval, he realised that it reflected another window, behind him;
+a wide window, half shrouded with heavy curtains. It was open, too, and
+Michael wondered lazily why he hadn't noticed it before. The library
+was long and narrow, and must occupy the whole width of that wing.
+Then, as he watched, he saw the curtain move. There was no breath of
+wind, and Michael's interest deepened. He sat still, his eyes on the
+mirror. A man stole out from behind the curtain, and like a flash
+slipped over the window-sill and disappeared.
+
+Michael leapt to his feet, and crossed the room in three strides. The
+window was some eight feet above the ground, for there was a basement
+floor on this side of the house.
+
+Below him he saw the mysterious visitor, running across the lawn in the
+direction of the stables. The moonlight caught his face for an instant,
+and Michael recognized him. It was the tall waiter.
+
+Without thinking, Michael flung a leg over the sill and dropped to
+the ground. It never occurred to him to yell 'Thieves!' and rouse the
+house. His natural instinct was to give chase, and he ran like a hare,
+feeling for the first time that evening a spark of interest in life.
+
+'Came in here to pinch something,' he thought as he ran. 'Interrupted
+by Bobby, and then by me. Saw I was going to stop, and reckoned he'd
+make a move. Gone away!'
+
+But it seemed the waiter was a fair sprinter, too, for, as Michael
+reached the gate of the stable-yard, a long, grey two-seater roared
+past him and down the drive.
+
+For a moment Michael stood still, and then he raced into the yard
+where his own car stood. It was the hired waiter all right. He had seen
+his face again as the car shot past him. Michael flung himself into his
+Bentley, buzzed the obedient self-starter, and swung through the gates
+and into the drive.
+
+He knew the pace of his machine, and guessed that with any ordinary
+luck he could overtake the two-seater. Reason for so doing he had
+little, nor did he bother to consider what he would do when he caught
+it up. For the first time since he landed in England he was perfectly
+happy, and he crooned a song to himself as he thrust his car along the
+narrow Suffolk lanes. Five hundred yards from the lodge gates he came
+upon a straight strip of road, running without a turn for nearly a
+mile, and far away ahead he saw a red pin-prick of light.
+
+'Tail lamp!' he said contentedly. 'The bloke can drive! Get on, old
+lady.'
+
+After a couple of miles he realised that this was going to be a close
+race. His own car was the better of the two, and on the straight he
+gained perceptibly, but this other fellow obviously knew the country,
+and his cornering was superb. Michael's approval increased.
+
+It was a long chase, through the winding country roads. Michael had no
+idea where he was, and cared less. As long as he could see, every now
+and then, that red point of light, he was content to follow. Finally
+his quarry, who was about half a mile ahead, turned off the road down a
+rough cart-track, scarred deep with ruts, and shadowed by great trees
+that met overhead. Michael plunged after him, bumping wildly; emerged
+into broad moonlight--and crammed on his brakes.
+
+Standing by the side of the road was a grey two-seater. Michael backed
+his car and drew up alongside. The two-seater was deserted. He got out
+and walked round it. Queer place to stop. He looked about him. Set in
+the hedge was a stile. Michael went up and looked over it. It led to a
+footpath, which crossed a meadow to a long, low farmhouse, in which one
+lighted window flickered like a watchful and suspicious eye.
+
+Michael whistled softly, regarding the house speculatively as he leant
+over the stile. Then he went back to his car and from the tool-box
+selected a large and heavy spanner, which he pocketed. There was a
+happy glint in his eyes as he vaulted the stile and set off briskly
+across the field.
+
+He had gone about halfway when he heard a sound that made him stop
+dead. A car was being started in the lane; _his_ car; he could swear
+to the throb of that engine! Michael took to his heels and pelted back
+to the road, but it was too late. Only one car stood there--a grey
+two-seater.
+
+For a moment Michael stood still. Then he grinned and got into the car.
+'No fool, that chap,' he thought. 'Hid behind the hedge and let me
+make him a present of the thing. Hullo, what's this?'
+
+'This' was a visiting-card, stuck in the wheel. He picked it up, and
+read the neat pencil writing on its blank side:
+
+    Forgive me, but my carburettor's possessed of the devil, and I'm in
+    a frightful hurry. If you will take my bus to Dorset Mews any night
+    between ten and twelve you will find yours waiting for you. Very
+    many thanks for your assistance.
+
+Michael's grin broadened. He turned the card over. Printed on the other
+side were the three words: 'Vive le Sport!' and underneath in pencil:
+'Mine's beer, too!'
+
+'Holy Wars!' said Michael thoughtfully. Then he crawled out of the car.
+'Well, I reckon we'd better have a look at his carburettor.'
+
+Twenty minutes later he drove the two-seater back to the main road and
+studied the signpost at the corner. There was no point in going back
+to Barton Manor. The signpost assured him that the road before him led
+to Stoneham, and eventually to Bury St. Edmunds. Between the two, he
+knew, lay High Ash, Sir Toby Ward's house. Contentedly Michael drove on
+through the summer night. The stable clock was striking three when he
+finally reached his destination.
+
+'Vive le Sport!' he thought, as he tumbled into bed. 'Stout fella!
+Looks as if there might be some fun to be got out of this darned
+country, after all!'
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IX
+
+                          SIR TOBY IS AMUSED
+
+
+Breakfast-time at High Ash was peculiarly elastic, and Michael took
+full advantage of it next morning. It was close on ten-thirty when he
+arrived in the morning room, and the sun was streaming in through the
+leaded windows. As he was exploring the hot dishes on the sideboard,
+his host's valet entered.
+
+'Morning, Ruff,' said Michael. 'How's Sir Toby?'
+
+As Bobby Manvers once said, it would be almost impossible to choose a
+more unsuitable name than Ruff's. His voice was soft, his manner gentle
+and benign, and he always looked as if he had just had a bath and
+brushed his hair.
+
+'Not too well, I'm afraid, sir,' he said. 'He had one of his bad nights
+again.'
+
+'Not serious, is it?' asked Michael, helping himself generously to
+kedgeree.
+
+Ruff shook his head dubiously.
+
+'He won't admit it to be serious himself, sir,' he said, 'but these
+heart attacks worry me. His gout's nothing much, though very painful,
+of course, and keeps him laid up at times, but heart trouble's another
+matter. I've served Sir Toby for ten years, and I know that these
+attacks are getting slowly worse. But he won't listen to reason, sir.'
+
+'No, he's a sportsman,' said Michael.
+
+The valet hesitated.
+
+'If you could persuade him to--er--take it gently to-day, you'd be
+doing him a real service, sir,' he suggested.
+
+'All right, Ruff, I'll do what I can.'
+
+'Thank you, sir. I believe I hear Sir Toby coming now.'
+
+Ruff adjusted the toasting-machine, and then opened the door to admit a
+smiling, grey-haired man of about fifty.
+
+Everyone knew Sir Toby Ward, and everyone liked him. Even Michael
+Doone, who disliked the whole English nation on principle, admitted
+that there was a good deal to be said for him, and actually rose to his
+feet as his host entered the room.
+
+'Morning, Michael. Sit down; don't let me interrupt your breakfast,'
+said Sir Toby. 'Coffee, please, Ruff. No, thanks, nothing else.'
+
+He lowered himself, with some difficulty, into a chair by the window,
+and sat sipping his coffee, and watching his guest with amused and
+understanding eyes. To Michael, food was the paramount object of a
+meal. He had never grasped the fact that the essence of good table
+manners is to disregard it; to eat, as it were, half consciously. He
+sat now, completely absorbed in his breakfast, a shaft of sunlight
+across his face, lighting up his high cheekbones and compressed,
+sensitive mouth. Across his forehead hung a lock of black, straight
+hair. No matter how short he cropped it, that lock always seemed to be
+there, a perpetual defiance to civilisation. At last he pushed back his
+plate, and faced his host with a smile.
+
+'Toast?' suggested Sir Toby, indicating the machine.
+
+'Thanks.' Michael leant over and helped himself. 'I hear you had a bad
+night. Rotten luck.'
+
+'Oh, it's nothing to worry about,' said Sir Toby, accepting the offer
+of conversation with an amused twinkle. 'Ruff exaggerates. Well, what
+sort of a show was it last night?'
+
+'Very average, I imagine,' said Michael. 'Rather overcrowded.'
+
+'All the élite of the county, I suppose,' said Sir Toby, 'and Katherine
+Hamilton-Browne rushing distractedly about, trying to force people into
+enjoying themselves. A dear soul. She's escaped religious mania, but
+has got hospitality instead, in much the same way. A sense of duty is a
+paralysing thing.'
+
+'It must be,' said Michael. 'Not that I know much about it myself.'
+
+'Nor I. In my youth I had occasional spasms of conscience, but I soon
+discovered that whenever I did a thing from a sense of duty, it was
+inevitably a failure. So I gave it up. No point in asking for trouble.
+Anybody interesting there?'
+
+Michael pondered, frowning thoughtfully. Sir Toby watched him amusedly.
+
+'Anybody you liked at all?' he substituted.
+
+'Fellow called Manvers,' said Michael, with a reminiscent grin. 'Not at
+all a bad chap. Stutters.'
+
+'Oh, yes, our Bobby. I know him well. In fact, I believe he's my
+godson, but I have so many that I forget. Bobby's a good soul, and
+has more brains than you might guess. Poor lad, he's an example of
+misplaced duty. His people wanted him to follow in his father's
+footsteps, and now he's a barrister, without much hope of a brief. A
+depressing life.'
+
+'Did he want to do something else?' asked Michael.
+
+'Yes.' Sir Toby's twinkle broadened into a mischievous grin. 'He wanted
+to get into the C.I.D.'
+
+Michael gave a sudden yelp of laughter.
+
+'Oh, it's a crime! _What_ a detective he'd have made! W-Watson, pass me
+the m-morphia! But, not seriously?'
+
+'Perfectly seriously. Criminology is now his hobby. He can tell you the
+life history of every English murderer, and he will, too, if you don't
+see it coming and head him off. He revels in clues and finger-prints
+and alibis. One of these days he'll go a little too far with his
+amateur detecting, and there'll be a newspaper scandal. I'm his
+trustee, too, God help me!'
+
+'It doesn't seem to worry you much,' commented Michael.
+
+Sir Toby chuckled comfortably. 'I don't go in for worrying, Michael.
+Life's too short. Ruff does all mine for me. That's why he's so thin.
+But you haven't told me much about the party. Were you terribly bored?'
+
+'More or less,' admitted Michael.
+
+'Poor lad! What time did you leave?'
+
+'About one, I suppose.'
+
+Sir Toby's eyebrows rose.
+
+'Ruff told me you didn't get in till three.'
+
+'Perfectly correct. I spent the intervening time exploring Suffolk by
+moonlight.'
+
+'By yourself?' Sir Toby had a twinkle in his eye.
+
+'By myself.'
+
+'Oh, my dear Michael!' Sir Toby sighed. 'What a waste of moonlight!'
+
+Michael grinned reminiscently. Sir Toby waited patiently, watching his
+guest.
+
+'I was chasing a waiter,' he said at last.
+
+Sir Toby laughed outright.
+
+'Dear me, I'd no idea you were suffering from what poor Katherine calls
+"this terrible servant problem." Do tell me all about it, Michael.'
+
+Michael complied. Sir Toby was an excellent listener, and when Michael
+described, vividly enough, his emotions on finding his Bentley gone and
+the grey two-seater left, his host laughed helplessly.
+
+'Wait a bit,' went on Michael, now thoroughly warmed up. 'The chap had
+left his card, stuck in the wheel.'
+
+'Good Lord! What was his name?'
+
+'Vive le Sport.'
+
+The amusement on Sir Toby's face gave place to surprise. 'Vive le
+Sport! But I never knew he stole cars. This is a new game.'
+
+'Do you know him, then?'
+
+'Not personally; I've heard a good deal about him.'
+
+'Who is he?'
+
+'A burglar. London's full of wild stories about him, but as far as I
+can gather, he's an ex-officer who came out of the war with a craving
+for excitement. He's reported to have said that one cannot appreciate
+life unless one is in danger of losing it. I disagree, but never
+mind. Scotland Yard knows him by his card, which he always leaves
+in any house he burgles. Incidentally, he's never been known to rob
+anyone except fat and prosperous profiteers. I tell you the insurance
+companies must hate him.'
+
+'Sportsman!' said Michael, with deep approval.
+
+'I quite agree, but consider the morals of the country! He's a very
+dangerous element, just because he is a sportsman! So far, his story
+has been kept out of the papers, but if they get hold of it, think of
+the effect on the public! There'd be a wave of popular sympathy towards
+this modern Robin Hood, who robs the rich company promoters and laughs
+at Scotland Yard. It won't do, you know.'
+
+'Rot!' said Michael. 'You know you're all for him, too.'
+
+'Of course I am,' admitted Sir Toby. 'But I also see that to make a
+popular public character of a successful house-breaker is unthinkable.'
+
+'Does he specialise in burglary?'
+
+'More or less. The experts swear that the safe isn't made that he can't
+open. Also, he has a positive genius for disguise, and disguise isn't
+merely a question of a false nose. It's acting ... living the part
+you're playing.'
+
+'What's his real name?'
+
+'Nobody knows.'
+
+'Vive le Sport! I wish I'd known all this last night!'
+
+'Incidentally, what was he doing at Barton? Hamilton-Browne made his
+money quite legitimately. Michael, do ring up and find out if they've
+missed any valuables.'
+
+With a nod Michael departed, to return a few minutes later. 'Not a
+thing. I made Ruff do the telephoning. All's well at Barton.'
+
+'Very odd,' said Sir Toby. 'I wonder what he was there for? By the
+way, what are you going to do about your car? This two-seater sounds a
+poor exchange.'
+
+'Oh, she's not at all a bad little bus,' said Michael. 'I got
+sixty-five out of her easy, coming back here, and she wasn't running
+her best. As for mine, he told me on the card that I'd find her in
+Dorset Mews any night between ten and twelve.'
+
+'That's good,' said Sir Toby. 'I should hate the idea of his becoming a
+miserable car thief.'
+
+'Nice sentiments for a law-abiding householder!' grinned Michael.
+
+'I know. It's impossible to be consistent where Vive le Sport is
+concerned. We all feel the same, and that's why we're so anxious not to
+let the general public get hold of the story. And now let's go out into
+the garden. One mustn't miss sunshine in this country. You've got to
+take it quickly when it comes ... like many other things.'
+
+Michael smiled, but made no reply.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER X
+
+                         THE FEMININE ELEMENT
+
+
+Jerry Mitchell sat up in bed and listened. She didn't know what had
+wakened her ... the big Hampstead house was as silent as the grave ...
+but the fact remained; she had been sleeping soundly, and of a sudden
+she was wide awake, listening, with every nerve taut.
+
+For a full minute she sat rigid, and then relaxed, telling herself not
+to be a fool. There was no sound, and the whole thing had been a dream.
+But for some reason her thoughts kept returning to her father. It was
+absurd. He was perfectly all right. She called up a vivid picture of
+him as she had seen him a few hours previously. She had come in from a
+party, and had poked her head into the study to say good-night.
+
+'Don't sit up too late and lose your beauty sleep, William!'
+
+He had chuckled, thrusting his spectacles up on to his forehead.
+
+'Impertinent hussy! Had a good time?'
+
+'Very good. What are you up to, Daddy? Some frightfully complicated
+essay on economics?'
+
+He had laughed, rather guiltily, like a small boy found out in some
+adventurous pretence.
+
+'Not quite that. A particular ploy that I'll tell you about some day.
+Run along to bed, child, you're half asleep now.'
+
+'More than half,' she had confessed. 'Good-night, William, darling.'
+
+'Good-night, sweetheart, and happy dreams.'
+
+All so everyday and serene. Why should she be haunted by the thought of
+him now? And yet, the thought persisted and refused to go. She glanced
+at her travelling clock, by her bedside. Ten to four. Well, it was
+no good sitting here and thinking. With a shrug of her shoulders she
+climbed out of bed and slipped on a dressing-gown. The only thing to do
+was to go downstairs and see for oneself. Of course he'd have gone to
+bed and the study would be deserted, and then perhaps one could go to
+sleep in peace. With a half smile for her own folly she thrust her feet
+into a pair of slippers and descended the stairs.
+
+The hall was grey and chilly in the dawn light, and she wrapped her
+dressing-gown closer about her as she opened the study door. The light
+was still on, and the heavy curtains were drawn. For a moment she
+thought the room was empty, and then she caught her breath with a gasp.
+Her father was lying on the hearth, face downwards, in a curiously
+twisted position.
+
+For one stricken moment she stood staring, and then, with an effort,
+fought down her fear. He had fainted, that was all. It had happened
+once or twice before. She knelt beside him. He lay terribly still,
+and as she lifted his head, she saw a wound in his temple. 'Must have
+fallen with his head on the fender,' she whispered. 'Dad!... Dad!...'
+and then her fear became a certainty.
+
+Slowly she laid him back on the rug, and slowly rose to her feet.
+
+He was dead. One ought to telephone to somebody and tell them. She had
+a curious feeling that she herself had become someone different. One
+must do something in moments like this, and the thing to do was to
+ring up on the telephone. But who was the right person to ring up? The
+Police? Or was it the coroner? Or perhaps the doctor. She didn't know
+any doctors at all well, because neither she nor William was ever ill,
+but there was a man who had come when Lucy sprained her ankle. Collins,
+his name was. Poor Lucy! This would be a shock to her when she arrived
+on the tick of seven, as she always did. Lucy was a paragon among
+charladies, and she adored 'the professor.' Yes, it would be a horrid
+business, breaking the news to Lucy.
+
+Jerry pulled her mind back with a jerk to the business in hand. One
+rang up the doctor first. She sat down on the desk, looked up the
+number, and took off the receiver. 'Hullo. Hampstead 5776, please.
+Yes.' One asked for Dr. Collins, and when he came, one said: 'Miss
+Mitchell speaking. I wonder if you would mind coming round at once,
+Dr. Collins? I think my father is dead, and....'
+
+Quite suddenly a queer chill descended on her, and her fingers
+tightened on the receiver. It was like a shadow of something worse to
+come ... something very like panic. What _was_ the matter with the
+telephone? She rattled the receiver bracket desperately.
+
+'Hullo, Exchange. Can't you get me Hampstead 5776?' Her voice shook a
+little.
+
+'Sorry. No reply.' Terribly impersonal, the operator sounded.
+
+'But ... but there _must_ be!'
+
+'Sorry. No reply.' Click! She heard him cut off.
+
+Slowly Jerry replaced the receiver. One ought to ring up someone
+else ... one ought to ring up quickly, before this shuddering fear
+overwhelmed one. It was coming, for already she dared not look at that
+huddled figure on the rug. Suppose it moved. With a sudden reaction she
+pulled herself together, and found her last state worse than her first.
+She was not afraid, because that still thing was William, and he was
+dead. He was the only thing on God's earth that belonged to her, and
+she would never hear him speak again. Jerry slipped off the desk, and
+ran out of the room.
+
+In the hall she paused, shutting the study door behind her. The grey
+light was brightening, and with a sudden longing for daylight she
+opened the front door. The dawn wind was cool and fresh, and she
+studied the houses opposite as if she had never seen them before.
+She still had that curious feeling that someone else was occupying
+her mind. After a moment she went out onto the steps and looked down
+the long grey street. A few yards away stood a big touring-car, much
+splashed with mud, and a man was changing a wheel. He worked quickly,
+like a man who is in a hurry, but he whistled light-heartedly enough,
+as he turned his spanner. Jerry observed that he had nearly finished
+the job, and with that came the realisation that when he went there
+would be nobody ... no one in the world except herself and that still
+body in the study. She descended the steps, silent as an owl in her
+soft slippers, and made her way to his side.
+
+'Good-morning,' she said, noting with pride the steadiness and
+self-possession of her tone.
+
+He jerked himself upright, and stared down at her blankly.
+
+'Good-morning.' His voice was slow, and sounded a little surprised.
+
+'You must have come a long way, to get your car so muddy. She's a
+Bentley, isn't she?' Jerry felt she was doing rather well. _Why_
+couldn't he talk, too, and help her out?
+
+'Yes.' He hesitated, his grave eyes on her face. 'What's up?' he asked,
+point-blank.
+
+'I ... what d'you mean?' She didn't quite know what to say.
+
+'What's happened? Can I help?'
+
+'That's awfully nice of you, but I don't think there's anything one can
+do. You see, the telephone number was engaged.'
+
+She wondered if that made sense. It was becoming more and more
+difficult to find words, and the man wouldn't help her. He was looking
+at his watch now; looking as if he were trying to make up his mind.
+
+'I believe it's going to be a very jolly day.' (She couldn't bear him
+to go away, and leave her absolutely alone.)
+
+'Yes; one gets the best of a spring morning up here. Have you lived in
+Hampstead long?'
+
+She sighed with relief. He really was going to talk, at last.
+
+'For eighteen years.'
+
+'All your life, in fact.' He smiled at her.
+
+'No,' she corrected him. 'We came here when I was nearly two. William
+bought the house when my mother died. I don't remember her at all, but
+William--that's my father--says she would have loved it.'
+
+'Where is he?'
+
+'He ...' Jerry checked abruptly, and took a deep breath. One must keep
+one's head and behave in a rational manner.
+
+'Well, as a matter of fact, he's dead. I went into the study just
+now, and found him there, lying on the rug. I know I ought to ring up
+someone, but the number's engaged, and ... and there isn't anyone in
+the house but me.'
+
+'I wonder if you could give me a glass of water,' said the man slowly.
+'I've been driving all night, and I'm frightfully thirsty.'
+
+'Of course,' said Jerry. 'Do come in. Let me make you some tea. It's
+quite easy. I do it on the electric stove in my sitting-room.'
+
+'That sounds awfully good,' said the man, and followed her into the
+house. Jerry felt that a weight had been lifted off her. At last there
+was something definite to do. She led him into a little room at the
+back of the house.
+
+'You see, I've got a kettle all ready,' she said. 'I always keep one
+there. Very often I make tea in the evenings for William, but last
+night I went to bed before....'
+
+She checked abruptly, and stared at him, her eyes wide with horrified
+memory. The man said nothing, but laid a hand on her shoulder, and the
+gentleness of his touch made her feel that something had snapped in her
+mind. She covered her face with her hands, and felt as if her knees
+were giving under her.
+
+'I think I'd better go and see what I can do,' he said quietly. 'Tell
+me where the telephone is.'
+
+'In the study.' She pulled herself together. 'Shall I come with you?'
+
+'I'd rather you waited here, if you don't mind.'
+
+'All right. It's the first door on the left, across the hall.'
+
+'Right. I won't be long.' He went out, shutting the door behind him.
+
+Jerry slid into a chair, and shut her eyes. For some minutes she didn't
+think at all. All she knew was that she was very tired, and someone
+else was in charge. Then the sputtering kettle roused her, and she got
+up and made some tea. There was no sound in the house. She sat down by
+the glowing stove. He was a long time. She wondered if he were ringing
+up for a doctor. She wondered what he thought of the whole affair. It
+suddenly occurred to her that a man might well be surprised at being
+addressed by a girl in pyjamas and dressing-gown in a London street at
+four in the morning.
+
+Then he reëntered, and she forgot to wonder. He looked very tired and
+worried, she thought, but he smiled at her, and pulled up a chair for
+himself.
+
+'How good that looks,' he said, his eyes on the teapot.
+
+She gave him a cup, and asked: 'Did you get hold of anyone?'
+
+'Yes: a doctor chap I know. He's coming along as soon as he's dressed.
+Don't you think it would be a good plan if you went to bed and tried to
+sleep?'
+
+She shook her head violently, and he added hastily: 'All right. Shall
+I stay here till he comes, or would you rather be alone?'
+
+'I'd rather you stayed, please. Who did you tell him we were?'
+
+He hesitated.
+
+'I didn't. I told him the address. Who _are_ you?'
+
+'Geraldine Mitchell.'
+
+'It's a large name for a small person,' he smiled. 'Mine's the reverse.
+Nick.'
+
+'Yes.' She smiled, too, surveying him. 'It's a ridiculously small name.
+Will you have some more tea?'
+
+'May I? One doesn't realise how thirsty one is until one starts
+drinking.'
+
+There was a silence. It frightened Jerry. The back of her mind seemed
+to be full of dark things that threatened to swoop down on her and
+become part of her conscious thoughts. She must talk--speech kept them
+at bay. It didn't matter what one talked about. She looked at the man
+and noticed for the first time that he was in evening dress.
+
+'Have you been to a party?'
+
+'Yes. Miles away in the country.'
+
+'Was it a good show?'
+
+'Marvellous! All the women were dreams of loveliness, and all the men
+Sir Galahads.' He smiled suddenly. 'Except one.'
+
+'And what was he?'
+
+'We-ell, I didn't see much of him, but I rather think he was a pretty
+stout fellow.'
+
+Jerry nodded appreciatively. William would have liked this man. She
+began to talk about her father. Nick listened, and seemed to understand
+exactly what she meant. Once or twice she wondered if she were talking
+too much--she seemed to be telling him an awful lot--but the relief of
+speech was too great to resist. And, anyway, what did it matter? This
+man was all right. Then, before she had half finished, the bell rang,
+and she looked up in sudden alarm.
+
+'That's my friend Thorpe, I expect,' said Nick, rising.
+
+'Must I see him? Will he want to ask things?'
+
+He shook his head.
+
+'There's no earthly reason why you should. I'll go and talk to him, and
+he can come back and see you later on. Listen--wouldn't you be awfully
+wise to go to bed? I would, if I were you.'
+
+'I'm all right....'
+
+'I know you are, but there'll probably be a lot of fuss and bother
+presently, and people coming in and out, and you're much too tired to
+cope with it. Much better leave it to Thorpe. I know you'll like him.'
+
+'Besides, there's Lucy.'
+
+'Lucy?'
+
+'Our charlady. She'll be here at seven. She's always punctual.'
+
+'I'll either see her myself or warn Thorpe. Do be a wise little person
+and go to bed.'
+
+'All right.' She turned to the door and she hesitated. 'Thank you most
+awfully. I--I wish you'd met William.'
+
+He looked much older, suddenly.
+
+'So do I. I know I should have loved him.'
+
+'Everyone did. He hadn't an enemy in the world. I--I am saying "thank
+you" to you for both of us. Good-bye.'
+
+His voice was very gentle as he answered:
+
+'Good-bye, very brave child.'
+
+He stood in the hall watching her climb wearily up the stairs.
+Ridiculously young she looked, Nick thought. At the corner, where the
+stairs turned, she waved to him. He lifted a hand in salute, and went
+to open the front door. A grey-haired, middle-aged man entered, and
+studied Nick with keen dark eyes as he took off his coat.
+
+'Another emergency, Nick? This is a new district for you.'
+
+'It's purely accidental. I was changing a wheel in the road, and a girl
+came out and told me she'd just found her father dead.'
+
+'Where is she?'
+
+'I've sent her off to bed.'
+
+'Sensible chap! _Is_ the man dead?'
+
+'Yes. Come along.'
+
+Nick led the way to the study and sat down on the edge of the desk
+while the doctor was making an examination. He lit a cigarette and
+noticed, absently, that his hand was not quite steady. Unusual,
+for him. His whole life had made him accustomed to the unexpected
+happening, but this morning's occurrences had been a trifle beyond the
+ordinary, and the discovery that the dead man was none other than his
+friend of the Jameson Club had been more of a shock to him than he
+had realised. He had entered that study expecting to see a stranger,
+and his first feeling was of desperate regret. He had so much wanted
+to thank the man; had wanted to meet him; had wanted--after the show
+was over--to tell him the story. And now he was dead--and the show was
+not over. Nick's thoughts had flown to his precious envelope--safe,
+thank Heaven, in the dead man's bank. The girl's property now. His
+first thought on realising this had been to ask her about it, but on
+returning to her little sitting-room he had dismissed the idea. The
+child was in no fit state to be bothered with that sort of thing. After
+all, the paper was perfectly safe. He would give her time to get her
+balance, would come back and see her one day next week. Poor, plucky
+child! How she had adored her father!
+
+Nick moved restlessly as he waited for the doctor to give his verdict.
+So well did he remember that April night. He could almost hear that
+happy chuckle. 'Twinkling William.' And now he lay there inert, with
+that dark stain on his forehead. Suddenly a cold suspicion gripped
+Nick, and wiped all other thoughts from his mind. Thorpe rose to his
+feet.
+
+'Fractured skull,' he said curtly. 'He obviously fell on the fender.
+Heavy man, and would fall hard. Who is his M.O.?'
+
+'Hasn't got one, so his daughter told me. Apparently the man who used
+to attend them died about three years ago, and they haven't called
+anyone in since then.'
+
+'What's their name, did you say?'
+
+'Mitchell.'
+
+'H'm. You don't know, I suppose, if the old man had ever had any heart
+trouble?'
+
+'I don't, but the girl told me that he sometimes had sudden fainting
+fits.'
+
+'Ah! That would account for it.'
+
+'Death by misadventure?' Nick's voice was steady as he put his question.
+
+'Oh, yes. There'll have to be an inquest, of course, but I don't think
+there's any doubt about the verdict. He fell--probably in a faint--and
+hit his head on that brass fender. That was certainly the cause of
+death. Look at the wound.'
+
+'I see. Well, I ought to be going, Thorpe.'
+
+'All right. I'll make all arrangements. Anyone else in the house
+besides the girl?'
+
+'No, but there's a charwoman arriving at seven. Name of Lucy. What do
+you make the time?'
+
+Thorpe consulted his watch.
+
+'Five past six.'
+
+'H'm!' Nick frowned thoughtfully. 'All the same, I think I'd better be
+going. Keep me out of this affair, Thorpe, if you can.'
+
+'Of course I can, if the girl doesn't object.'
+
+'I don't think she will. So long, Thorpe, and thanks awfully.'
+
+'Not a bit. By the way, Nick, that woman Bates that you asked me to
+see----'
+
+'In Dock Street? Yes, what about it?'
+
+'What she needs is three weeks at the seaside and some decent food. Her
+husband's a bit of a terror.'
+
+'I know it. Well, be a good fellow and arrange it, will you? Send the
+bill in to me, and keep your mouth shut as usual.'
+
+'Right.' The doctor smiled at him affectionately. 'You're a rum animal,
+Nick.'
+
+'Rot! Good-bye, Thorpe.'
+
+'Good-bye.'
+
+Nick went back to his car and, climbing in, sat for a moment lost in
+thought. Five past six. He'd missed the bus. By the time he had put
+the car away, changed, and got to Leman Street his visitors would have
+gone. Well, one might as well find out what had happened, anyway. He
+started up the car and drove on slowly.
+
+At the first telephone call-box he stopped, and rang up the little shop
+in Quay Street. Jacob's sniffling voice answered him.
+
+'That you, Ikey?'
+
+'Yes, my friend. You do not come to meet your guests, then?'
+
+'No. Are they still there?'
+
+'Tom Breck is there. I met him, as you said.'
+
+'Good for you. Wot 'appened?'
+
+'I stayed around, my friend, in case you came too. I do not like you
+doing these things by yourself. Two men came, and they talked long to
+Breck, but they talk quietly, and I did not like to go too close. Then
+they all go to Leman Street, and I followed.'
+
+'That's the stuff! And then?'
+
+'They went in, and I waited outside--a long time. It was cold, I tell
+you.'
+
+'Poor old Sexton Blake! Go on.'
+
+'Soon after six they come out, the two men. One is young. The other has
+a black beard. The young man says, "No good waiting any longer," and
+black-beard nods. That man is dangerous, Nick.'
+
+'I know it!'
+
+'Then they go away, and I slip into your rooms to see what Breck is
+doing. He was asleep on your bed.'
+
+'Blind?'
+
+'What's that you say?'
+
+'I says was he blind? Boozed--sozzled--tanked?'
+
+'Drunk? Yes, very drunk.'
+
+'Ho! Well, let him sleep it orf. So long, Ikey, and thanks for the
+information. We know where we are now. See yer later.'
+
+Nick rang off and drove home. It had just occurred to him that he could
+do with some sleep himself.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XI
+
+                     JERRY STRIKES OUT ON HER OWN
+
+
+Jerry Mitchell sat over her fire with her head in her hands. To a
+casual observer she would have seemed a very young and pathetic
+figure, but there was no pathos in her face. Her expression, for all
+her youthfulness, was one of cold fury--the savage resentment that so
+often accompanies acute and unuttered sorrow. Jerry hated everybody at
+that moment, and Lucy, the charwoman, who entered the room a little
+cautiously, knew it only too well. She could not understand it, for
+to a woman of her type the pain of loss is invariably relieved by the
+pleasure of funeral trappings, but she had looked after Jerry for
+twelve years, and knew her to be 'a queer one to cross.'
+
+'There's a gentleman at the door,' she said tentatively. ''E wondered
+when 'e might call.'
+
+'What does he mean by that?' said Jerry, with some irritation. 'And who
+is he, anyway?'
+
+Lucy held out a card, and Jerry read it, frowning:
+
+'Mr. Robert Manvers. Who on earth...?'
+
+Then her face cleared. Scotland ... last August. A very jolly
+house-party, and a cheerful, round-faced man who made her laugh. She'd
+met him in London, too, at dances. Bobby! She'd forgotten that his name
+was Manvers. Of course it was Bobby; that priceless boy who stammered,
+and made bad jokes, and was such a surprisingly good shot. Bobby had
+been the jest of the party, but Jerry had always had a conviction that
+he wasn't so much of a fool as he seemed.
+
+'He may call now,' she said with decision. 'I'd like to see him.'
+
+Lucy hesitated.
+
+'Your auntie told me----' she began dubiously.
+
+'I--would--like--to--see--him,' said Jerry slowly and clearly.
+
+Lucy met her eye, quailed and faded away, to return a minute later with
+a rather embarrassed-looking young man.
+
+'Come in, Bobby,' said Jerry, rising. 'How nice to see you. Do sit
+down. Have you had tea?'
+
+'I--er--yes....'
+
+He seemed surprised, and glanced involuntarily at the clock. Jerry's
+eyes followed his.
+
+'Ten to six--yes, I suppose it _is_ a bit late,' she said. 'Sorry. I've
+rather lost count of time.'
+
+'Have you had a frightfully busy day?' asked Bobby.
+
+'Frightfully is the word. Funeral, and all that.' Her voice had the
+abrupt harshness of overstrain.
+
+Bobby looked startled.
+
+'I s-say, Jerry, forgive me. I didn't know--I mean I thought it'd be
+all over--that is, I----'
+
+'It's all right, Bobby. I'm very glad to see you. It's a relief.'
+
+'I know what it's like,' he said slowly, his eyes on the fire. 'I
+remember when my mother died.... One feels like killing someone. You
+can b-bash me on the head with the poker if you like.'
+
+Jerry smiled faintly.
+
+'Thanks awfully. That's exactly it, but it's no good, you know. I've
+been restraining myself from murder all day, but the mere fact that
+you've suggested yourself as a victim makes you safe.'
+
+'Relations, and all that?' asked Bobby sympathetically.
+
+'By the score.' She rose to her feet, and walked restlessly across to
+the window. 'Horrible people!'
+
+'Suppose you tell me what you think of 'em,' suggested Bobby. 'No good
+bottling it up, y' know. Were they all pretty grim?'
+
+'Grim? They were positively ghoulish! They started by pulling down all
+the blinds--shutting out God's own sunshine. I pulled 'em all up again.
+Then they told me I must wear black for at least three months, because
+if I didn't people wouldn't _realise_, my dear. As if I wanted people
+to realise, which means, I suppose, sympathise. The less people will
+say about my troubles, the better I'll like it. But of course they
+couldn't understand that. Bobby, they _loved_ it all! They revelled
+in all the gruesome details. They were bitterly disappointed because
+they weren't told in time to rush up to London and have a look at the
+corpse. It was incredible, honestly it was. They seemed quite average,
+if somewhat stupid old women, but underneath they were ghouls, dabbling
+their horrible soft hands in fresh-spilt blood.'
+
+Jerry put her arm across her eyes, in a sudden childish gesture. Bobby
+held his peace, watching her.
+
+'Why must everything be made harder?' she burst out. 'It's hard
+enough to bear as it is. One's soul is raw, and then everyone has
+the right to come and jab at it with their clumsy fingers. It wasn't
+_their_ business, anyway. They didn't like William, and he didn't like
+them. They never wrote without some acid criticism of him. And then,
+directly he's dead, they come and slobber and weep, and say what a nice
+little boy he used to be, and how devoted they were to him. Damned
+hypocrites!' She turned away from the window, her young face dark with
+savage pain. 'Bobby, if they'd _meant_ to be beastly to me, I could
+forgive them. But they didn't. They've been putting me through all the
+tortures of the Spanish Inquisition out of sheer blind stupidity. They
+can't begin to understand. They think I'm callous and ungrateful, and
+very rude. They also say that I can't have cared for William, since I
+pay no respect to his memory.'
+
+'That's simply comic,' said Bobby.
+
+'I know it's comic, but I don't want comedy just now. I want to be
+left alone. I could stand the inquest--that was a job of work in a
+way, and everyone felt that the sooner it was over the better. But the
+funeral--why should one be forced to provide an entertainment for these
+drivelling women?'
+
+'God knows,' said Bobby. 'It's the custom of this most un-Christian
+country. And anyway, there's no reason why you should ever see any of
+'em again, is there?'
+
+Jerry smiled unpleasantly.
+
+'My Aunt Cordelia has offered me a kind home.'
+
+'But you're not going?'
+
+'No, Bobby. I'd rather die in a ditch. It'd be an easier death.'
+
+'Are you going to stay on here?'
+
+'Not if I can help it. This place----' She hesitated--'I love it, but
+it reminds me too much. Besides, Lucy would drive me to drink. I know
+I'm a fool, but I just can't bear any more female sympathy. She talks
+about William with a sort of gloomy relish, and ... do you understand?'
+
+'Absolutely. Look here, Jerry, why don't you get right away and start
+somewhere on your own?'
+
+'That's what I want to do. I'm not broke, you see. William wasn't what
+you'd call well-off, but I shall have enough to live on. I'd like to
+get a job of some kind.'
+
+'I wouldn't do that just at once,' advised Bobby. 'You don't realise
+how tired you'll feel when you let go, so to speak. Shall I poke round
+and see if I can find a flat for you? As a matter of fact, I believe I
+know a place that'd suit you down to the ground.'
+
+'Do you, Bobby? You brick! Will you find out and let me know?'
+
+'Rather!' He hesitated, and then said: 'Jerry, I say, couldn't you dine
+with me to-morrow?'
+
+'I'd love to.' She laughed. 'What would my aunts say?'
+
+'To blazes with them! What you want is a change of air. We'll dine at
+the Berkeley and go to the play.'
+
+'Perfect. Oh, Bobby, you're the first intelligent person I've spoken
+to for three days--and they seem like three years. Bobby, when did you
+hear about ... all this?'
+
+'Yesterday. I was away last week-end--staying down in Suffolk--and
+didn't get back to London till Monday evening. Then on Tuesday
+morning--that _was_ yesterday, wasn't it?--someone told me. It was an
+awful shock, Jerry. I had no idea that he was ill.'
+
+'He wasn't.'
+
+'Then how...?' Bobby stared.
+
+'It was all very queer. I just woke up in the night, and felt worried
+about him and came downstairs; and there he was, lying on the study
+floor, dead. The doctor said he must have fallen and hit his head on
+the fender.'
+
+'Was there a wound in his head?'
+
+'Yes. Quite small, but his skull was fractured.'
+
+'It sounds to me ...' Bobby hesitated, and then substituted, 'It sounds
+very odd.'
+
+Jerry looked at him, puzzled. Then her face cleared and she smiled.
+
+'Of course! Our Tame Detective! D'you remember how Jim ragged you over
+that staged burglary in Scotland? No, no, Bobby, I can't believe it was
+murder. Nothing was touched in the room, and William hadn't an enemy in
+the world. Awfully sorry to disappoint you, old thing.'
+
+Bobby grinned, rather sheepishly.
+
+'But if you like to explore the study for finger-prints, you have my
+full permission,' Jerry added graciously.
+
+His round face brightened. 'May I really, Jerry? Thanks awfully. I
+mean, it's all so odd, y' know, and dashed interestin', and....' He
+halted abruptly, and grew very red. 'I s-say, Jerry, please forgive me.
+I've no business to t-talk like that when----'
+
+'Oh, Bobby, don't apologise!' Jerry was halfway between laughter and
+tears. 'You're saving my sanity. After the stuff I've had to listen to
+to-day, you can't think how refreshing it is to hear someone call it
+"dashed interesting"!'
+
+'What _you_ need,' said Bobby, 'is a jolly stiff drink and about twelve
+hours' sleep.'
+
+'Do I? All right, I'll take it. What form of alcohol would you
+recommend?'
+
+'Anything, so long as it's strong enough. Jerry, I must be off now. I
+shall blow in and collect you soon after seven to-morrow night.'
+
+'I'll be ready, and I'll wear my cheerfulest frock. Thanks awfully,
+Bobby. You're a man and a brother.'
+
+'Rot! I've been through the mill too. Don't get up; I can let myself
+out. Good-night, old thing.'
+
+'Good-night.'
+
+The door slammed behind him, and Jerry, curled up in the big chair,
+felt that some of the tenseness had gone from aching nerve and muscle.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XII
+
+                              'BAKERLOO'
+
+
+'Mister Doo-oone!'
+
+It was two syllables, in Milly's piercing Cockney voice. Michael,
+sprawling on his iron-hard, lodging-house sofa, reading a novel,
+grinned, but made no reply. He could hear the sound of flying feet on
+the stairs, and knew that the handmaid of No. 60 Quebec Street was
+merely heralding her approach in her usual manner. The racing footsteps
+drew nearer, mingled now with heavy panting, and there was a furious
+tattoo on his door.
+
+'Come in!' grunted Michael.
+
+''Ul_low_, Mr. Doone! You don't 'arf look comf'table!' She leant
+against the lintel of the door, still panting a little. 'I b'lieve you
+bin asleep there all the arternoon. Wot time did _you_ come in las'
+night?'
+
+Michael surveyed her, amusedly. He liked Milly. He liked her
+irrepressible Cockney tongue, her everlasting good temper, and her
+buccaneering manner. Besides, she was distinctly pretty, with her
+dancing blue eyes and curly black hair that never looked tidy. Her
+pink silk stockings and her short skirts were a perpetual source of
+strife between her and her mistress, Michael's landlady; a battle in
+which Milly always triumphed. Michael had heard the story from both
+combatants several times. The girl was impertinent; she was 'familiar'
+with the lodgers; she was untidy; she was noisy; but, for all that, she
+did the work of three women in the house, and Mrs. Briggs knew it.
+
+'Ain't yer goin' ter say nothink?' asked Milly, regarding Michael
+curiously, as if wondering whether he had not been stricken dumb
+suddenly.
+
+'I was wondering what you wanted me for.'
+
+'Oh! Well, o' course it's nothink ter do with _me_ wot time you come
+in lars' night, but wot I was goin' ter say _was_, there's a gentleman
+downstairs wants ter see yer.'
+
+'Who is it?'
+
+'I dunno 'is name. 'E's bin 'ere before, though. 'Im an' you come in
+tergether Monday night. Young gentleman, with wot yer might call a
+chubby face. 'E stutters, too.'
+
+'Oh, yes,' said Michael. 'Manvers.'
+
+'That's right. 'E don't arf make me larf! "I s-say," 'e ses, "y-your
+name's M-Milly, ain't it?" 'E's a one!'
+
+To be strictly accurate, she said: ''E's a wud!' for, like so many of
+her race, her adenoids formed an essential part of her speech.
+
+'Show him up,' said Michael, rousing himself.
+
+'Right-o. You goin' ter 'ave supper in, Mr. Doone?'
+
+'No.'
+
+'That's a good job, for there ain't nothink to eat. Well, I s'pose I
+better go an' find Mr. Manvers afore 'e loses 'isself. I tell you wot
+'e reminds me of. 'E's jest like one o' them----Ow, 'ere 'e is!'
+
+Smiling, and entirely unabashed, Milly stood back to let Bobby Manvers
+enter the room.
+
+'Wh-what am I like, Milly?' asked Bobby with a grin.
+
+''Fraid I couldn't tell yer, Mr. Manvers. Don't know yer well
+enough--yet. Well, I better 'op it, or she'll start 'ollerin' for me.
+G'night, Mr. Doone!'
+
+She sped downstairs, singing 'All that I ask is Love' at the top of her
+voice. Michael grinned and offered his guest a cigarette.
+
+'Bit early, aren't you?' he asked. 'What time does this party start?'
+
+'Oh, not till nine, but I wanted to see you, because--w-well, as a
+matter of fact, I can't go. But I do hope you will.'
+
+'You're a nice chap!' said Michael. 'Make me swear to come to this show
+with you, much against my better judgment, and then back out of it
+yourself. And a high-brow party at that. No, thanks.'
+
+'It w-won't be exclusively high-brow,' pleaded Bobby. 'Adele
+Lancaster's parties are pretty mixed, y' know, and several of the
+people y-you met at Barton will be there. Adele specially asked me to
+bring you.'
+
+'Why aren't you going?' demanded Michael. 'Changed your mind in rather
+a hurry, haven't you?'
+
+'Well, as a matter of fact, I'm going to take a girl I know out to
+dinner. Sh-she's just lost her father, and she's pretty down on her
+luck. Topping child, she is, too, plucky as they make 'em, and awfully
+pretty. She's got no brothers or sisters, and her mother died when
+she was a baby. And there she is, all alone, cooped up in that great
+barrack of a house, where every mortal thing reminds her.... I don't
+wonder she wants to get out of it.' He halted suddenly. 'I s-say,
+Doone, are there any rooms to let here?'
+
+'I believe there's a flat on the top floor,' said Michael, rather
+reluctantly.
+
+'What's the rent of it, d'you think?'
+
+'I don't know. Ask Milly.'
+
+'I will. I believe this place would do Jerry a lot of good. And if
+y-you could keep an eye on her....' He paused doubtfully.
+
+'Not much in my line, I'm afraid,' said Michael hastily.
+
+'She'd simply love Milly,' said Bobby. 'I shall make her come round
+here to-morrow, to s-see the landlady.'
+
+'I should,' said Michael, inwardly deciding to be out himself.
+
+'Well, that'll be a good thing to tell her to-night,' said Bobby. 'And,
+l-look here, Doone, you will go to this party, won't you? I mean,
+Adele'll be frightfully disappointed if you don't.'
+
+For a moment Michael considered, his green eyes narrowed to slits. Then
+he said slowly: 'All right, I'll go.'
+
+'G-good man! Well, I must clear out now. Nine o'clock. You've got the
+address, haven't you?'
+
+'Yes. So long. Look me up again some time.'
+
+'Rather. So long.'
+
+As the door shut behind his guest Michael dropped on to the sofa again,
+and scowled at the picture above his fireplace--one of those lurid
+desert scenes, straight from Woolworth's. Confound Adele Lancaster! Why
+had he promised to go to her rotten party? The only bright thought was
+that Sir Toby would be there, and Toby would probably have something
+amusing to say. Michael looked at his watch, and struggled to his feet.
+Infernal nuisance, having to change. What a cow of a country this was!
+He wandered away and turned on his bath; then loafed disconsolately
+back to his bedroom to dig out a clean shirt. As he was putting in
+his links, he suddenly remembered that he had been going to dine with
+that deserter, Bobby. He flung down the shirt, and, returning to his
+sitting-room, rang the bell. After a few seconds Milly entered with a
+crash.
+
+'Wot is it now?' she demanded.
+
+'I've changed my mind, and I will have supper in, after all.'
+
+She stared at him steadily.
+
+'Please, Milly,' added Michael, with a grin.
+
+'Anythink to oblige,' assented Milly graciously. 'Wot'll you 'ave?
+Oysters? Or a tasty bit o' salmon?'
+
+Michael leant against the wall, hands in pockets.
+
+'Ham and eggs,' he suggested.
+
+Milly copied his attitude ludicrously.
+
+'Well, we might manage that, but the on'y thing is, I ain't certain as
+we've got any 'am, an' I'm afraid there ain't no eggs.'
+
+Michael allowed his face to fall dismally. Milly gave him a flashing
+smile.
+
+'I'll see wot I can do,' she said confidentially. 'Trouble is, y' see,
+the old girl ses ter me: "Find out 'ow many o' the gentlemen want
+supper before six, Millicent. Don't take no orders arter that."'
+
+'I'm in your hands, Milly,' said Michael humbly.
+
+'So's every man in the 'ouse!' said Milly. 'I 'ave me work cut out, I
+tell yer straight. Yer a bad lot, y' know.'
+
+'Admitted,' said Michael.
+
+'Not but wot yer a lot better than when you come. I will say that for
+yer,' conceded Milly.
+
+'Oh, that's rot!' protested Michael, to whom any suggestion of
+personal improvement was anathema. 'For the first week I never had a
+meal in, except breakfast.'
+
+'That ain't wot I mean. You may be more trouble than you was, but yer a
+lot more human, as yer might say,' explained Milly.
+
+Michael laughed.
+
+'You goin' ter stop 'ere long, Mr. Doone?'
+
+'Yes. If I can get supper when I want it.'
+
+'Can't think o' nothink but their stummicks, men can't,' sighed Milly.
+'All right. I'll go an' cook it.'
+
+'Thanks awfully. By the way, is that top flat still to let?'
+
+'Yuss. You 'eard of anyone wantin' it?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'Oh, I _am_ glad. I likes to 'ave all the rooms full. 'Oo is 'e, Mr.
+Doone?'
+
+'It's a she, as a matter of fact,' said Michael.
+
+Milly regarded him with a gravely reproachful face, though her eyes
+danced wickedly.
+
+'Oh, Mr. Doone! I didn't think you was one o' these 'ere
+elastic-'earted gentlemen!'
+
+'It's nothing to do with me,' blurted Michael, realising his rashness.
+
+Milly shook her head sadly.
+
+'An' you ser quiet an' everythink, an' lettin' on ter be a woman-'ater.
+Coo! It jest shows 'ow you can be mistaken in a man. You, as useter
+say----'
+
+'That's enough, Milly,' said Michael, with an attempt at severity.
+
+'Take my advice, Mr. Doone; don't you have nothink ter do with 'er.
+Well, I must say, I never thought as----'
+
+'Clear out!' said Michael, snatching up a cushion.
+
+Milly ducked, and fled downstairs, laughing. With a grin, Michael
+departed to have his bath.
+
+He was late for his party, thanks to the fact that he had stopped to
+hear the local news bulletin from Milly when she cleared away his
+supper. She always had something to report about every tenant. Michael
+sometimes wondered what she said about him to other people.
+
+'Young Mr. Blake, 'e went orf yesterday arternoon, an' 'e ain't back
+yet. 'Orrid little stop-out! I won't 'arf talk to 'im when 'e comes
+'ome. An' Mr. Crewe, 'e wasn't 'arf in a temper this mornin'. Found a
+beetle in 'is bath, 'e did, an' let the 'ole 'ouse know it. Might 'a'
+bin a corpse, be the way 'e carried on. But 'e can't 'elp it, pore
+chap. 'E's got insomlia, y' know. Can't sleep proper. Went t' bed
+early, 'e did, lars' night, but the lady nex' door woke 'im up singin'
+"Abide with Me." 'E said 'e wouldn't, not if it was ever so. Proper
+fed-up, 'e was.'
+
+Consequently it was close on ten when Michael arrived at Adele
+Lancaster's house. He was shown into a room full of people and blue
+with tobacco smoke. Everyone seemed to be collected in little groups,
+talking in staccato voices. Some were lying about on the floor, or
+sitting on brilliantly coloured cushions. There was no sign of Sir
+Toby. Michael had a good look round, decided that he loathed the whole
+lot of them, and was on the point of making for the door again when
+Adele Lancaster saw him. She was talking to a tall, fair, clean-shaven
+man, and she broke off to greet Michael.
+
+'Oh, here you are at last! I'm so glad you could come. Bobby rang me up
+just now to tell me of his desertion. Do you know Stephen Nicholson?'
+
+The man bowed, rather theatrically.
+
+'Stephen, this is Mr. Doone, whose home is on a South Sea island. Isn't
+it _too_ romantic? To me the very name of the Pacific Ocean spells
+enchantment--a magic land----'
+
+The man interrupted her, in a weary drawl.
+
+'My dear Adele, magic is everywhere, if only one's soul be attuned to
+it.'
+
+'I believe that's true,' said Mrs. Lancaster, assuming a raptly
+thoughtful expression.
+
+Michael thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and leant his
+shoulder against the wall. His green eyes had become as blank as
+stones--always a bad sign, as his friends knew well.
+
+'Stephen, are you going to the Albert Hall ball next week?'
+
+'Dear lady, I cannot dance.'
+
+'How absurd you are!' She turned to Michael. 'He's the best dancer in
+London.'
+
+Michael received this confidence in stony silence. The man Stephen
+laughed self-consciously.
+
+'How nice of you! But the fact is, I've sprained my ankle. Hullo,
+surely that's Boris Kaufletz over there?'
+
+'Yes. Didn't you know he was coming? He has promised to read us some of
+his poems later on.'
+
+He raised his eyebrows.
+
+'Is our Boris becoming famous?' he murmured. 'He'll lose his power if
+he does. Such a gift as his is born of starvation and a bitter memory
+of his wrongs.'
+
+'Tell me, Stephen: people say he is a great poet. Is it true? His verse
+seems to me rather wonderful.'
+
+'I think quite exceptional,' pronounced the man. 'It's so strangely
+luminous ... a queer, phosphorescent gleam of genius.' He waved his
+hand suddenly and intoned:
+
+    'As the empurpled blood of Phrygian slaves
+    Dripping ... flowing ... oozing angrily ...
+    So her passionate purple eyes ...'
+
+Adele Lancaster caught her breath in a little gasp. 'But, Stephen, it's
+magnificent! And how characteristically Boris! What is that called?'
+
+'"Bakerloo."' He frowned morosely at the ceiling, and then burst out
+again:
+
+    'Footsteps down the echoing passages.
+    Hurry!... Torrent in spate!
+    White faces of women, open-mouthed ...
+    Shriek after shriek, and yet no sound....
+    Hate!... Love!... Lust!...
+    And like some poisonous fog
+    Stifling all....
+    Inhibition!'
+
+There was a moment's silence. Adele and Stephen gazed intently into
+each other's eyes. Michael lit a cigarette with hands that shook a
+little. He wanted to laugh, and weep, and kill someone. The whole thing
+was too much for him. Then Adele gave a little sigh and said:
+
+'We can't be flippant after that, Stephen. I shall ask Boris to read to
+us now.'
+
+She moved away, a mystic light in her eyes. The man Stephen took a
+cigarette from the box beside him, and, as he bent over the lighted
+match, said quietly:
+
+'I hope you got your car back safely.'
+
+For a second Michael stood as if turned to stone. Then a slow smile
+spread over his face.
+
+'Yes, thanks,' he said. 'Did she run all right?'
+
+'Perfectly,' the other assured him. 'Taking my carburettor into
+consideration, I more than made up the time I spent dodging you. I
+had to do it y' know. You'd have caught me on the main road, and I
+couldn't afford to stop and explain. I had an important engagement in
+London.'
+
+'Did you make it?'
+
+'As a matter of fact, I didn't, but it wasn't your Bentley's fault.
+Hullo, there's Kaufletz getting ready to spout.'
+
+Michael looked round apprehensively.
+
+'Can't we get out somewhere?' he said. 'Or do you want to listen?'
+
+Stephen Nicholson chuckled and led the way to the door. Outside on
+the landing, a widely opened window looked out over the Square.
+Instinctively both men drifted towards it. They were silent for a
+moment, and then said simultaneously:
+
+'What are _you_ doing here?'
+
+Nicholson laughed. 'You first,' he said.
+
+'Well, I came because a man I know wanted to bring me, but at the last
+minute he backed out,' said Michael. 'And you?'
+
+'I,' said Nicholson gravely, 'am an eccentric bachelor, with a passion
+for _vers libre_ and ultra-modern art generally. I'm terribly artistic
+and all that, and so, of course, I attend those parties. I'm a literary
+authority in my own way. It was I, and I alone, who gave Boris
+Kaufletz, who is an unwashed, uneducated, half-witted Armenian Jew, his
+reputation for genius. A man must have some aim in life.'
+
+Michael grinned appreciatively.
+
+'Sorry to hear you've twisted your ankle,' he remarked. 'How did it
+happen? Tripping over a poet?'
+
+Nicholson chuckled.
+
+'Between ourselves, there was a bit of an argument in Nightingale
+Lane last night. I'd been attending a Socialist meeting on Tower Hill
+the day before, and we'd had rather a good time. The speaker ... chap
+called Flint ... was simply marvellous. In half an hour he'd got the
+whole crowd at fever heat. I was awfully worked up myself; never heard
+anything so stirring. We were all on fire to attack the West End, and
+burn the houses of the bloated capitalists who grind the faces of the
+poor. I was all for that, so I got up, too, and urged 'em on some
+more. Flint was awfully pleased at first. Said "There speaks a gallant
+comrade!" or words to that effect. Then, unfortunately, I lost my head
+and started telling 'em what houses we'd start on. They were all big,
+expensive places, but it doesn't do to come down to details in a show
+like that. It's so infernally hard to remember who are the capitalists
+and who aren't. I mentioned two houses, and then realised that they
+both belonged to Communist leaders. Bad break! I tried to recover
+myself; mentioned a third, and then remembered that it was Flint's own
+house. Of course I said, "As you were, comrades," but somehow it was
+too late. Some ass of a dockyard matey started to laugh, and--er--I
+left.'
+
+'And Flint?'
+
+'Well, he was a bit peevish, I believe, but I went off to have a drink
+with some sailors who were in the crowd, so we didn't meet. But last
+night, as I was coming up Nightingale Lane, three fellows popped out
+from one of the wharves and we--er--had a bit of an argument. As a
+matter of fact, as soon as I saw what they were driving at, I ran like
+a hare. A coaster that I knew was lying at Irongate Wharf, and I just
+managed to get aboard her. The night watchman's a pal of mine. He beat
+them off with a flood of the purest Glasgow invective, while I sat
+in the galley and listened. It was a liberal education, his speech.
+If it hadn't been for him I'd have been done, for I tripped over a
+steam-pipe--what a godless tangle a coaster's deck is!--and wrenched my
+ankle rather badly.'
+
+'Pretty good!' said Michael. 'D'you often do this sort of thing?'
+
+'Fairly often. I've got a passion for rhetoric. Whenever I hear a man
+making a speech, I always long to join in.'
+
+'If you ever want company, I'm rather like that myself,' mentioned
+Michael.
+
+Nicholson looked him over thoughtfully.
+
+'Good work. I'll remember that,' he said. 'Your name's Doone, isn't it?'
+
+'Yes. How did you----Oh, of course, that supper at Barton,' said
+Michael, and added: 'Can't think why I didn't recognise you just now.
+You don't seem disguised at all.'
+
+'As a matter of fact, I'm not at the moment,' said Nicholson
+confidentially. 'This is me, as it were. Beauty unadorned,
+metaphorically speaking. As for the brief period of my waiterhood,
+it was the moustache that put you off. No one ever knows me when I'm
+complete with whiskers. They all feel they've seen me before, but can't
+remember where, you know. Then I tell 'em, and all's well.'
+
+'It must be your voice,' said Michael. 'Just now, for instance----'
+
+'My poetry?' asked Nicholson. 'Pretty hot, wasn't it? Extempore, too.'
+
+'Good Lord! Wasn't it that bloke's stuff?'
+
+Nicholson looked wounded. 'My dear chap, you don't suppose I read that
+sort of thing, do you?'
+
+'But Mrs. Lancaster....'
+
+'Adele takes a lot of things for granted. Poetry and waiters, for
+instance.'
+
+Michael laughed.
+
+'What _were_ you after that night?' he asked. 'Every day I've been
+expecting to hear that Mrs. Browne's pearls had gone, but nothing's
+happened so far.'
+
+'Oh, no. I wasn't after filthy lucre that time,' said Nicholson; and
+added, after a moment's pause: 'I gather you've heard something about
+me.'
+
+'You don't realise you're famous,' said Michael.
+
+'What is fame? A bagatelle! Give me a match.'
+
+Michael handed over his box, watching Nicholson with amusement.
+
+'Come and look me up sometime, will you?' he said. 'I'm in digs.--60
+Quebec Street.'
+
+'I'd like to. Thanks awfully.' He glanced at Michael with a twinkle in
+his eyes. 'You think I'm devilish reckless, don't you?'
+
+'Something like it,' admitted Michael. 'After all, isn't it a bit of a
+risk coming here?'
+
+Nicholson chuckled. 'Don't you worry,' he said. 'It's as safe as
+houses. I've been playing this game for years.'
+
+'All right; but suppose I was a cop?'
+
+'Setting aside my lightning intuition, which tells me that there's
+nothing you'd dislike more, I'm perfectly safe because you've got
+nothing against me except your own suspicions and second hand
+information. I am Stephen Nicholson; fairly well known,' said he
+modestly. 'Unless you caught me crawling out of a window with a gun in
+my teeth and the Crown Jewels in my pocket, no one would believe you.
+I doubt if they would then, unless you could produce a photograph. Of
+course, I'd love to have the reputation of being a dare-devil and all
+that, but as a matter of fact I belong to the school of the cunning
+cowards.'
+
+'All right,' grinned Michael. 'Does that mean you will come and see
+me?'
+
+'Rather. One day next week. Sit tight; someone's coming.'
+
+'I don't hear----' began Michael, but broke off as Adele Lancaster
+opened the drawing-room door and advanced on them.
+
+'So this is where you've been all this time,' she said. 'I've a good
+mind to scold you both, but I'll forgive you if you do your duty. The
+young enthusiasts have started the gramophone, and you must come and
+dance.'
+
+'I'm afraid I'm _hors de combat_,' said Nicholson, 'but I'll come and
+watch, if that would give you any pleasure.'
+
+Michael, slightly bemused, allowed himself to be led off and introduced
+to countless females. His partners found him distrait and, as a matter
+of fact, he hardly noticed them at all. He danced automatically, his
+mind on Stephen Nicholson, until he heard a cry of welcome from Adele,
+and glanced round to see Sir Toby Ward entering. As soon as the dance
+came to an end, he made his way over to where Adele, Nicholson, and Sir
+Toby were talking.
+
+There was a distinct twinkle in Sir Toby's eye as he greeted Michael--a
+twinkle that said, 'What on earth are _you_ doing in this crowd?'--but
+he wisely refrained from putting it into speech. Adele was lamenting
+the dullness of life.
+
+'London's a desert of ennui,' she was saying. 'Except for Boris, no
+one is writing anything fit to read; there are no plays worthy of the
+name, and no subject of any interest to discuss.'
+
+'It's terrible,' agreed Sir Toby, with a chuckle. 'All crime seems to
+be on the decrease. Even'--he glanced at Michael--'even Vive le Sport
+seems to have disappeared.'
+
+'Who's he?' asked Stephen Nicholson in a languid drawl.
+
+'My _dear_, don't you know?' Adele turned to him in surprise. 'He's the
+most divine person! He's a burglar who burgles with the grand manner.
+All women fall in love with him, and then he rides away in the approved
+style. I wish he'd rob this house.'
+
+Sir Toby smiled mischievously.
+
+'I was told the other day that he was an American,' he said. 'He was
+had up for rum-running, and had to get away quickly. Born and bred in
+the Bowery, I believe, and they called him "Shorty Bill" over there. As
+a matter of fact, he's a romantic legend.'
+
+'I don't believe a word of it!' declared Adele. '_I_ was told that he's
+a 'Varsity man. Very tall, fair, and marvellously good looking.'
+
+'Sounds like Nicholson,' observed Michael.
+
+There was a shout of laughter from the other two.
+
+'Stephen? Oh, what a divine idea!' said Adele. 'Our ineffable Stephen,
+who never dreams of getting up before eleven, and detests getting his
+hands dirty. But it's no good, Mr. Doone. Apart from the fact that he's
+got so much money that he doesn't know what to do with it, Stephen has
+only been in England since last December, while Vive le Sport has been
+flourishing for years.'
+
+'It's a very nice idea, all the same,' laughed Sir Toby, surveying
+Nicholson with a smile that held a slight tinge of amused contempt.
+
+Nicholson smiled, too, with a weary superiority that made Michael want
+to laugh and kick him, and then said that they misjudged him. The talk
+drifted to other topics, and soon afterwards Michael bade Adele good
+night. As he turned to go, Stephen Nicholson looked round to wave a
+farewell, and Michael saw a devil of laughter in his eyes.
+
+Michael went home from that party on foot, and more than once he
+scandalised a solitary Robert on point duty with a sudden yelp of
+laughter.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XIII
+
+                          'TO BE LET OR SOLD'
+
+
+Thursday, June 4th. Exactly a week after Adele Lancaster's party. Nick,
+who had been dozing in a large chair, roused himself and looked at his
+watch. He was sleepy, because he had travelled down from Scotland the
+night before, and had talked Socialism all the way with a prominent
+agitator. It had been a tricky business, getting into his flat in
+Jermyn Street, without calling the porter's attention to his clothes.
+
+On the whole, the past week had been a very satisfactory bit of work.
+He had spent most of the time in Glasgow, and had acquired a good deal
+of useful information.
+
+Four o'clock. He pulled himself together and collected his hat. He was
+going to call on Jerry Mitchell. Time was getting on, and it might be
+as well to have that document handy. As he drove up to Hampstead he
+thought about her a good deal. To tell the truth, he had been thinking
+about her more than a little, during these ten days. An attractive
+child. He remembered her level, honest eyes, her quick smile. A
+courageous little person, with a charm all her own. It would be good to
+see her again.
+
+It was a cheerful, sunshiny afternoon, and Nick whistled softly as he
+drove along. It would be fun to take Jerry out into the country for
+tea. The last week would have been pretty grim for her, with all the
+unnecessary horrors attached to inquests and funerals. He hoped Thorpe
+had looked after her. But Thorpe would certainly have stood by; sound
+man, Thorpe.
+
+He remembered the road as he turned into it. The big, detached houses,
+relics of a more expansive age. Then, as he came to a standstill, he
+stared blankly. This was Mitchell's house, but the blinds were down and
+there was a large board up: 'To be let or sold.'
+
+For a moment he sat still, frowning in thought. Then he drove on, and
+stopped his car fifty yards down the street. The precaution might be
+unnecessary, but Nick left nothing to chance. Having locked his gear,
+he went back to the house.
+
+There might be a caretaker in charge, but somehow he didn't want to
+ring and find out. This was purely instinctive, but it never occurred
+to him to question that instinct. A high brick wall enclosed the
+garden. He prowled along it, and was rewarded by the sight of an iron
+gate, set in the end wall.
+
+The garden was deserted and untidy. Keeping under cover of the bushes
+that lined the wall, he made his way towards the house. The study, he
+knew, looked out this way, and there were the big bay windows. Then he
+realised that the blinds were drawn back.
+
+Nick moved quickly to the house, and keeping close to the wall, peered
+cautiously into the study. The furniture was still there--he remembered
+that heavy writing-desk, on which stood the telephone. Then he saw a
+man, stooping over a drawer in the big cupboard by the door. His back
+was turned, and he was busily sorting papers.
+
+There was a laurel bush close to the house wall. It needed pruning
+badly, for it had grown almost across one side of the bay window. Nick
+wriggled himself into it, and kept very still. The man in the study
+thrust the papers back and shut the drawer with a gesture of annoyance.
+Then he turned towards the door, and Nick saw his face. It was Bobby
+Manvers.
+
+He went through the desk with meticulous care, searching every drawer,
+examining every scrap of paper. Then he rose to his feet, smoothing
+back his hair and, lighting a cigarette, ran a thoughtful eye over the
+room. It was a glance that said as plainly as words: 'Is there anything
+I can have missed?'
+
+Apparently he had not, for a moment later he went out, shutting the
+door behind him.
+
+Nick slid out of his laurel bush, and made his way with swift caution
+to the gate. As he reached the front of the house he saw Bobby Manvers,
+in the distance, walking down the road.
+
+Nick went slowly back to his car. He was wondering. He wanted to know a
+good many things, but the principal one was where Jerry could be found.
+The notice board said that the house was in the hands of Messrs. Carter
+and Brough, Golders Green, and accordingly he drove to their office.
+
+The young man in charge was very polite, but uncommunicative. Yes,
+Miss Mitchell had put her house in their hands. Was Nick thinking of
+buying it? It was a most desirable residence with.... Oh. Quite. No,
+they could not say where Miss Mitchell was at the moment. Miss Mitchell
+had left some five days ago. They believed they were right in saying
+Miss Mitchell did not contemplate living in the house any more. They
+believed that Professor Mitchell had died suddenly, and so.... Yes.
+Quite. No, Miss Mitchell was having her correspondence sent to them,
+and every now and then she would come and collect it. Would he care to
+leave a note for Miss Mitchell?
+
+Nick pondered. On the whole, it didn't seem a good plan. It would need
+too much explanation, and might be dangerous. He would have a shot at
+finding her first. It was not very difficult to trace people in London,
+if you knew the right way to go about it. Nick had his own methods of
+acquiring information. He came out of his muse, thanked the young man
+politely, and drove away.
+
+So Bobby Manvers was interested in Jerry. Or ... what was Bobby Manvers
+interested in? Suddenly Nick remembered his passion for amateur
+detective work, and laughed aloud. No fool, Bobby, but very, very
+young.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIV
+
+                       TWINKLING WILLIAM'S DIARY
+
+
+Saturday, June 6th, and eleven o'clock of a glorious sunny morning.
+Jerry Mitchell, being a woman of leisure, ought to have been out in
+the Park, but instead, she leant against the window-sill in the tiny
+sitting-room of her flat in 60 Quebec Street. In her hand she held a
+receipted bill; a bill for a week's board and lodging.
+
+A whole week! It was seven days since she had left the Hampstead house.
+And yet in some ways it seemed more. They had not been uneventful,
+those seven days. Jerry smiled suddenly. No house that contained Milly
+could ever be uneventful. She herself had fallen for Milly on sight,
+and when she had listened to her first instalment of the Local News at
+breakfast, she had realised that she was going to enjoy herself in this
+strange place.
+
+'Mr. Doone, 'im wot lives underneath 'ere, 'e's a one, an' no mistake!
+Thinks 'e's a woman-'ater, 'e does, but 'e'll learn 'is error in time.
+Comes from the Cannibal Islands, er some such. Ever ser nice 'e is,
+reely, but 'e wants tickin' orf at times. You know! It ain't that 'e's
+forward, as you might say, but it's jest that 'is manners are a bit
+orf. 'Owever, we're learnin' 'im, by degrees.'
+
+'I'm all for good manners,' approved Jerry.
+
+'So'm I, Miss Mitchell, an' wot I ses is, if they ain't got none, you
+got ter learn 'em, that's all. 'Tain't their fault, arf the time. It's
+the way they bin brought up. 'E useter frighten me at first, Mr. Doone
+did. Set there on 'is sofa, 'e did, an' scowl suthink orful. 'E does
+it still, sometimes, but all you got ter say is: "Now, then, no narsty
+temper, please!" an' 'e'll smile as sunny as anythink.'
+
+Jerry chuckled, as she remembered how soon she had had proof of Milly's
+statement. That same evening her electric light had gone out. Mrs.
+Briggs had told her, when she first inspected the flat, that the light
+was run on a shilling-in-the-slot-meter. Jerry found the machine, but
+in the dark could not discover how it worked. After several efforts,
+and the useless expenditure of a shilling, she rang the bell. There was
+no reply. She waited a few minutes and then rang it again, with the
+same result. Rather nervously, feeling herself a stranger in an unknown
+country, she went out onto her landing and listened, hoping to hear the
+sound of Milly's racing feet. Below her all was dark. She waited in the
+gathering dusk, and at last heard hasty footsteps ascending the stairs.
+
+'Is that you, Milly?' she called.
+
+A second's silence, and then a man's voice, curtly 'No.' A pause, and
+then, 'I expect she's in the kitchen. D'you want her?'
+
+'Well, my light's gone out, and....'
+
+He had come up the last flight of stairs and was standing beside her,
+peering up at her wall. She noticed with amusement that he did not even
+look at her.
+
+'Shilling-in-the-slot meter,' he said.
+
+'I know. I put a shilling in, but nothing happened.'
+
+He reached up and turned a handle. She heard the shilling fall with a
+click, and her sitting-room was lit up suddenly. Abruptly he turned
+away, saying gruffly, 'Perfectly simple.'
+
+Jerry had a flashing memory of Milly's impertinent face, coupled with
+a vision of herself saying, 'Now, then, no narsty temper, please!' and
+had laughed outright. The man darted a glance at her, grinned guiltily,
+and growled, 'Shut up!' Exactly like a small boy, she reflected.
+
+After that they had talked; had exchanged names; had spoken of Bobby
+Manvers, and then he had departed abruptly. But next day he had looked
+in to tell her that she was on no account to let Mrs. Briggs charge her
+a shilling a scuttle for coal, unless it was the big cauldron full.
+And since then they seemed to have developed a friendship of years;
+slightly domineering on Michael's part, and affectionately amused on
+Jerry's. She chuckled again at the thought of him. Rather a darling,
+Michael. And if it gave him pleasure to play the part of an irascible
+watch-dog--to scold her for staying indoors, or not eating enough
+lunch--who was she to deny him?
+
+She pulled up a chair to her table, and picking up a big,
+leather-bound, loose-leaf book, began to read, but almost before she
+had found her place a knock on the door disturbed her.
+
+'Come in!' she called.
+
+Michael entered and stood, hands in pockets, regarding her with stern
+disapproval.
+
+'You idiotic child, why must you fug indoors on a day like this?' he
+began. 'If you don't get a little fresh air and exercise you'll be ill,
+and serve you darned well right. It's a gorgeous day.'
+
+'Gorgeous!' agreed Jerry placidly. 'You been out yet, Michael?'
+
+'No; I've been waiting for you.'
+
+'Hoo!' said Jerry, in open disbelief.
+
+Michael grinned.
+
+'Well, anyway, I'm going out now, so get a move on.'
+
+'Sorry, old thing. I can't. Busy.'
+
+'Rot! What's the book?'
+
+She looked grave suddenly.
+
+'William's diary. Don't wait for me if you'd rather not.'
+
+'How long will you be?'
+
+'Half an hour.'
+
+'I'll wait ... if I may.'
+
+This last was unexpected, and Jerry flashed him a surprised smile.
+'Thanks awfully, Michael. That's angelic of you.'
+
+Michael grunted, and picked up a copy of 'Punch.' For five minutes
+there was silence and then Jerry looked up.
+
+'By the way, I've got a message for you.'
+
+'Shoot!' mumbled Michael, absorbed in reading 'Punch.'
+
+'Bobby rang up after tea yesterday, and he told me to tell you that you
+were a frightful success at Adele Lancaster's party.'
+
+'The hell I was!' said Michael ungratefully. 'What's Bobby been up to,
+anyway? He's simply disappeared for the last week. I can't believe it's
+work. No one in their senses would employ Bobby as a barrister. Not
+sleuthing, is he?'
+
+'As a matter of fact, he is,' said Jerry, with a slight frown. 'You
+see, he's convinced that William was murdered. Absolute rot, I think,
+but you know what a passion Bobby has for this detective stuff. I told
+him he could search the study for finger-prints, and he took me very
+seriously. In fact, I believe he has spent the last three days in going
+over the furniture with a magnifying-glass.'
+
+Michael chuckled. 'I can't see our chubby Robert as a sleuth,' he said.
+
+'Nor can I,' agreed Jerry. 'And yet--I know he's got brains, and he's
+certainly studied the subject. Oh, Michael, you're not to interrupt me
+any more.'
+
+To this entirely unjustified attack Michael made no reply, but buried
+himself once more in his paper. For ten minutes there was not a sound
+but the rustle of turned pages, and then Jerry gave a little gasp.
+Michael looked up. Her eyes were on a page of the diary, and her face
+had lost all colour. Michael leapt to his feet.
+
+'Jerry! What on earth...?'
+
+She looked up at him oddly.
+
+'There's a very queer story in here, Michael. May I read it to you?
+I--I don't know what to think.'
+
+Michael sat down on a corner of the table, one long leg dangling. 'Go
+ahead,' he said.
+
+'The first mention of the affair,' said Jerry, turning back several
+pages, 'happened on April 24th this year. Listen.
+
+    'A very curious event has occurred; an event so unusual that at
+    moments I wonder if it can be true. I hardly know what to think of
+    it, but I must confess it gives me great pleasure.
+
+    'I dined to-night, as I always do on Fridays, at the club, and
+    afterwards played bridge with Loring, Collett, and John Rogers.
+    On my way to the club I meant to post a letter, a somewhat bulky
+    envelope, which I put in my pocket. The evening passed, as so
+    many similar meetings have, without incident. Indeed, I remember
+    thinking, as I put on my coat on leaving the club, that not a
+    single detail of my life had changed for many years, and the
+    thought gave me a feeling of regret. I have, I fear, an incurably
+    romantic temperament, which Jerry inherits, and I comforted myself
+    with the reflection that although nothing exciting would ever
+    happen to me, there was every likelihood of adventure coming to her.
+
+    'As I was nearing home I happened to put my hand into my pocket
+    and, to my surprise and annoyance, found that my envelope was still
+    there. I thought I remembered posting it, and drew it out, looking
+    round me to see if there were a letter-box in sight. There was not,
+    but I was standing under a street lamp at the time and my eye fell
+    on the envelope.
+
+    'It was not mine, nor had I ever seen it before. On it was written,
+    in a small neat hand: "Please open this when you are alone," and
+    across the top were inscribed the letters: "O.H.M.S."
+
+    'The night was cold, so I did not hesitate, but hurried home, much
+    intrigued by this strange occurrence. I remember that the hall
+    clock was striking midnight as I sat down by my desk to open the
+    letter. It contained a note, and a second envelope addressed to "J.
+    F. Strickland, Esq., 31, Buckingham Gate Mansions."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    'The note was, apparently, addressed to me, although the writer did
+    not know my name. He explained that he was doing Secret Service
+    work, and that this second letter contained information for which,
+    in his own words, "a certain section of our anti-English society is
+    searching." His enemies were pursuing him, and he had taken refuge
+    in the club, although he knew none of the members. Realising that
+    something must be done, he conceived the brilliant idea of slipping
+    the letter into my pocket. On reading his letter, I bitterly
+    regretted that I had not been more observant. I now remember
+    vaguely that there was a man in the lobby as I left the club, but I
+    cannot recall a single detail of his appearance. His writing--and,
+    in a small way, I have studied calligraphy--is that of a scholar
+    and a gentleman, and every line of his letter carries conviction.
+
+    'He went on to say that he would call for his envelope as soon as
+    possible, but asked me, if need arose, to keep it for him until
+    June 10th. That is, apparently, an important date. If he has not
+    fetched it by then, I am to send it to this Mr. Strickland. He gave
+    me an address to which I could write, but no name, only initials,
+    and as the address was a _poste restante_ one, I imagine that it
+    would not be permanent. I shall write to-morrow morning, and tell
+    him how honoured I am to have his confidence.'
+
+Jerry paused, and looked at Michael.
+
+'Very odd,' said he. 'Didn't he tell you anything about it?'
+
+'Not a word. You wait.' She continued reading:
+
+    '_April 25th._--I have been considering last night's affair with
+    much deliberation. I have read a great many books of adventure and
+    mystery, and some of the customs common to both heroes and villains
+    have struck me as being strangely unintelligent. In particular,
+    the curious habit of carrying valuable documents on the person--a
+    perpetual invitation to assault by the other party. I do not
+    intend to run that risk, especially as I know myself to be both
+    absent-minded and deplorably untidy. This morning, therefore, I
+    took the envelope to the bank, and repeated my correspondent's
+    instructions, namely--that if I have not withdrawn it before
+    June 10th, it is to be sent to this Mr. Strickland. I must say I
+    sincerely hope it will be fetched before then, as I am anxious
+    to meet my correspondent. My only regret is that I am unable to
+    tell Jerry of the affair. She would enjoy it so enormously. But my
+    correspondent urgently begged me to mention the matter to no one,
+    and I feel bound to respect his wishes.'
+
+Again Jerry paused, her eyes on the familiar crabbed handwriting.
+
+Michael nodded appreciatively.
+
+'Sportsman!' he said.
+
+Suddenly the girl buried her face in her hands.
+
+'It's all so frightfully like him,' she said in a muffled voice that
+shook a little.
+
+Michael's face changed swiftly, and he put out a hand and stroked her
+bent head awkwardly.
+
+Jerry pulled herself together.
+
+'He says no more about it for some time,' she went on. 'It crops up
+again on May 22d.'
+
+    'My strange adventure of April 24th has had a sequel. Every day
+    I have wondered whether my unknown friend would call, and I had
+    almost given up hope when this afternoon a Mr. Robertson called on
+    me.
+
+    'He was a tall man with a neatly trimmed black beard; swarthy and
+    dark-eyed. If it had not been for his name and his perfect English
+    voice, I should have put him down as an Italian. Having never seen
+    him before, I was at a loss to understand his visit, but he came to
+    the point at once. Apologising for the strangeness of his question,
+    he asked me if I had been given a letter, in the Jameson Club, on
+    the night of April 24th.
+
+    'I am afraid I hesitated. The question was so sudden and unexpected
+    that it took me off my guard. Seeing my obvious hesitation, his
+    face cleared.
+
+    '"What a relief!" he said. "I see that you are the man I have
+    been looking for. Let me explain myself. The man who gave you
+    that letter is a friend of mine. For many reasons I would rather
+    conceal his name; no doubt you will have gathered that his mission
+    was a somewhat secret one. Last week I had an urgent message from
+    the Birmingham General Hospital. My friend had been in a motor
+    accident, and is now in hospital, suffering from severe concussion.
+    I gathered that he had been continually asking for me, and that the
+    doctor considered it wise to send for me. Of course I caught the
+    next train north. Poor old chap, I found him terribly ill."
+
+    'I may say that my caller looked very distressed indeed. I offered
+    him a cigar, and begged him to continue. He went on to tell me
+    that his friend was only half conscious, but that it was obvious
+    that something was preying on his mind. By dint of much careful
+    questioning, this Mr. Robertson had gathered that his friend was
+    very anxious to recover some papers, or a paper ... which he had
+    given into the charge of a member of the Jameson Club. "Since I
+    returned to London," he added, "I have called on almost every
+    member, for my poor friend was unable to tell me the man's name.
+    The fact that he seems to have lost his memory is distressing him
+    terribly. He kept telling me that he must have the papers before
+    June 10th. That date seemed to ring in his head."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    'It rang in mine, too, for that was the date upon which my unknown
+    correspondent had asked me to post his letter, should he not have
+    claimed it. And yet I hesitated, principally, I must admit, from a
+    feeling of disappointment. I had hoped to meet the man.
+
+    '"I may say," continued Mr. Robertson, "that I have no idea
+    what information these papers contain; nor have I any desire to
+    know, but I am more than a little anxious about my friend, for
+    the doctors tell me that he is in a critical condition, and they
+    consider this obsession is dangerous. Therefore, I beg you to let
+    me have the papers, so that I may take them to him, and set his
+    mind at rest."
+
+    'I felt myself to be in a difficult position. I did not doubt Mr.
+    Robertson's story--indeed the man's distress seemed obviously
+    genuine--but still I felt myself pledged to my unknown friend. So,
+    believing frankness to be the better part, I laid the position
+    before him. I told him that I had been given the letter, with a
+    covering note asking me to keep it until a certain date, and adding
+    that if the writer himself had not claimed it before then, I was to
+    post it to an address he had given me.'
+
+    '"Forgive me, but do you know him?" he asked.
+
+    'I told him that I did not know the man, but that he knew me. I
+    said that he had arranged to call in person for the letter, and
+    that until then he had expressly asked me to keep it for him.
+
+    '"Oh, that explains it," he said. "Poor old chap, I understand now.
+    That was why he was so distressed at having forgotten your name. It
+    was terrible, Professor Mitchell, for one could do nothing to help
+    him."
+
+    'His distress moved me very much, but I persisted in my
+    explanation. I told him, with many apologies, that, though I did
+    not doubt his story, he had given me no actual proof that he came
+    from my correspondent, and that, until he did so, I could not feel
+    justified in breaking faith with a man who had trusted me.
+
+    'For a minute he was silent, his eyes on the floor. Then he looked
+    up and smiled.
+
+    '"You're perfectly right, Professor," he said. "George is a sound
+    judge of men. May I suggest a means of proving my statement? Will
+    you write to the Matron of the Birmingham Hospital, and ask her
+    if she has a serious concussion case in at the moment? Mention my
+    name. I was there exactly a week ago, and she will remember me."
+
+    'I considered, and said that it seemed a perfectly satisfactory
+    plan. He sighed with relief.
+
+    '"In that case, I will say good-bye," he said. "Thank you a
+    thousand times, Professor Mitchell. By the way, I should be very
+    grateful if you would ask the Matron to wire her reply. I know that
+    every minute is important in my friend's critical condition. If
+    you write to-night, you will get her answer by to-morrow afternoon.
+    If I may, I will call to-morrow night for the papers. I have no
+    doubt that the Matron will confirm my story."
+
+    'And with that he left. As soon as he had gone I wrote to the
+    Matron of the Birmingham Hospital, and asked her to wire her
+    patient's authority for me to hand the papers to his friend. Then I
+    posted the letter and, since returning to the house, have recorded
+    the incident.
+
+    'It is all very strange. And I must say I had not imagined his name
+    to be George.'
+
+Jerry turned the page slowly, and hesitated.
+
+'Carry on,' said Michael.
+
+'This one's dated May 23d,' she said. 'That was that Saturday----'
+
+She bit her lip, and continued reading:
+
+    '_May 23d--midday._--This morning I had qualms about my letter to
+    the Matron. Knowing the matter to be on her patient's mind, would
+    she not run the risk and give me permission on her own authority,
+    hoping to set him at rest? Women have little sense of proportion.
+    And even if she assured me that she had a patient with serious
+    concussion, and that he had a friend called Robertson, was I
+    justified in assuming my caller to be the same man? And yet again,
+    what proof had I that the man in hospital was my man? A hundred
+    times I told myself that I was simply making difficulties to hide
+    my own disappointment, but the doubt persisted, and finally,
+    while I was out for a walk this morning, I decided to ring up the
+    Birmingham Hospital. I think I had some wild hope that I might be
+    allowed to speak to the man myself.
+
+    'I got through fairly quickly, and spoke to the Matron. To my
+    astonishment she failed to identify Mr. Robertson, knew nothing of
+    my letter, and, what is more, assured me that they had no serious
+    concussion case in the hospital at the moment. I thanked her and
+    returned home, my brain in a whirl. It seems incredible that Mr.
+    Robertson should have told me such a fabrication of lies, and
+    yet.... It is all very disturbing, but I must admit, very exciting,
+    too. Very sad that I cannot tell Jerry the whole story. But, of
+    course, she might urge me to inform the police. I feel certain my
+    unknown friend did not want their assistance in this affair.
+
+    '_Later._--A telegram has just arrived. It reads:
+
+    Patient confirms Robertson's story, authorises you deliver
+    letter.--Matron.
+
+    'So my suspicion was justified. It has brought home to me the
+    fact that this affair is really serious. To start with, my
+    correspondence has been tampered with. Mr. Robertson is a rogue
+    and is, no doubt, one of the "opponents" of whom my correspondent
+    spoke. He certainly did not appear to be a violent man, but now
+    I come to think of it, the villains of fiction are usually of a
+    blameless appearance, so why not the villains of real life?
+
+    'When he comes to-night I shall tell him that I have changed my
+    mind, and shall keep the letter until his friend is well enough
+    to fetch it himself in the prearranged manner. Mr. Robertson is a
+    scoundrel. I hope I shall not become angry with him, for in that
+    case I may be tempted to tell him what I think of him.
+
+    '_Later still._--Jerry has just looked in to say good-night, and
+    again I longed to tell her the story. I wish that she could find
+    out, so that we could discuss it with a clear conscience. I know
+    she would be as loyal to this strange friend of mine as I would be
+    myself.
+
+    'It is late. I do not think Mr. Robertson can be coming to-night.
+    A little disappointing. It would give me pleasure to deny him the
+    letter. However, the time will come, no doubt. And eventually I
+    still hope to meet my friend who trusted me ... I hope, not in
+    vain.'
+
+Jerry put down the book and faced Michael. There was a long silence.
+Then she got up and walked over to the fireplace. Michael watched her,
+his face set grimly.
+
+'Michael,' she said at last, quietly.
+
+'Yes?'
+
+'That man killed him.'
+
+Michael nodded.
+
+'He came that night, after I'd gone to bed. Probably William lost his
+temper--lying always made him see red--and Robertson killed him.'
+
+Michael nodded again. His savage expression seemed to give Jerry
+self-possession. Her voice was even and steady as she went on:
+
+'Dr. Thorpe told me he had not been dead more than half an hour when I
+found him. He thought probably less. The murderer may even have been in
+the house. Why didn't he search it, I wonder? Nothing was disturbed.'
+
+'Probably your father told him the letter was in the bank,' said
+Michael gruffly.
+
+She nodded slowly. 'Yes, I expect he did. My blessed, truculent old
+William. Anyway, Robertson didn't get it. I tell you, Michael, I'm
+going to take on this thing for William. His man shall get that letter,
+or no one.'
+
+A shade of anxiety crossed Michael's face, and he moved uncomfortably.
+Jerry guessed his thoughts.
+
+'Are you seeing me as the next victim?' She smiled. 'I think we'll be
+able to avoid that. We won't give ourselves away as William did. But
+of course this man Robertson must know about me. Cheer up, Michael; if
+he calls, I promise I'll send for you. You shall be in the scrap, old
+thing!'
+
+Michael grinned at her, but his eyes held something very like
+admiration.
+
+'It's rather good to have something to fight, isn't it?' said Jerry.
+'No quarter! We'll smash this bloke, Michael. Of course, we may have
+to wait a while, but sooner or later there'll be our cue. Enter the
+murderer!'
+
+As if in answer to her words, there was a heavy knock on the door.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XV
+
+                            BOBBY'S THEORY
+
+
+Michael slid off the table and took two strides in the direction of the
+door, but Jerry checked him with a warning hand, and said steadily:
+'Come in.'
+
+Slowly the door opened and Bobby Manvers's chubby, smiling face
+appeared. With a shout of laughter, Michael dropped into a chair.
+
+'What's the joke?' asked Bobby, in some surprise.
+
+'Nothing, Bobby,' Jerry assured him. 'We weren't expecting to see you,
+that's all.'
+
+'By the look on Michael's face you were expecting a s-summons at
+least,' said Bobby. 'Anyway, how are you, Jerry? Feel as if I hadn't
+seen you for years.'
+
+'It seems ages,' agreed Jerry. 'That's because so much happens these
+days. What have you been up to, Bobby? Found any clues?'
+
+'N-not many,' admitted Bobby, 'but I still----Well, I know you won't
+believe me, Jerry, but I still think it was murder.'
+
+'As a matter of fact,' said Jerry, mechanically twisting a candlestick
+on her mantelpiece, 'I'm not sure I don't agree with you.'
+
+'Good Lord! Why, what's happened?'
+
+For answer she took from the loose-leaf book the pages she had just
+read to Michael, and handed them to Bobby, who sat down on the table
+to read them, his round young face very grave. Jerry offered Michael a
+cigarette, and lit one herself. There was silence in the little room,
+until at last Bobby laid the papers down on the table.
+
+'That proves it,' he said slowly. 'Jerry, what do you feel about this
+business?'
+
+'I feel that it is our duty to see that this enterprising unknown gets
+his envelope back, and that the man Robertson be apprehended, tried,
+sentenced, and well and truly hanged,' said Jerry, with a flippancy
+that did not hide the stark purpose underlying her tone.
+
+Bobby nodded. 'We've still got some time in hand, as far as the
+envelope is concerned,' he said. 'Let's see, to-day's the sixth, isn't
+it? But we've got to set about getting this chap Robertson. Look here,
+Jerry, will you tell me exactly what happened that Sunday morning, when
+you found your father?'
+
+Jerry told him, with no more words than were necessary. She told him
+how she had waked suddenly; had gone down and found her father dead;
+had rung up the doctor, and failed to get through.
+
+'And then what did you do?' asked Bobby.
+
+'Went out to the front door. I wanted some fresh air.'
+
+'Was anyone in sight?'
+
+'Yes. A motorist, changing a tyre.'
+
+'Did he see you?'
+
+'Yes.' Jerry hesitated, and then continued coolly: 'I spoke to him,
+and told him what had happened. He was very helpful. I didn't know
+what to do, so he came in, and got hold of a doctor for me, and saw to
+everything. Then I went back to bed, and left him and the doctor in
+charge.'
+
+Bobby was silent for a moment.
+
+'What was his name?' he asked suddenly.
+
+'I don't know,' said Jerry. 'He didn't tell me his surname; just said
+he was called "Nick."'
+
+'Didn't that strike you as being rather odd?'
+
+'Oh, my dear Bobby!' Jerry's tone was impatient. 'So many impossible
+things had already happened that morning that nothing seemed odd any
+longer. What are you driving at?'
+
+'Well, has it never occurred to you that he might have been the
+murderer?'
+
+Jerry stared, and then smiled.
+
+'No, Bobby, it hasn't. And it doesn't strike me as probable, even now.'
+
+'Well, you must admit that it's all rather strange. To start with,
+according to medical authority, the professor had been dead less than
+half an hour when you found him. I wouldn't mind betting that it was
+the sound of his fall that woke you. Now, the murderer came for that
+letter and he didn't search for it. One of two reasons prevented him.
+Either your father told him that it was in the bank, or else he heard
+you coming downstairs. Imagine that he heard you, and cleared out.
+Which would have been his easiest exit? He didn't go by the window, we
+know. It was still bolted when Lucy went in there. She told me so.'
+
+'The front door,' said Jerry. 'He'd have had to pass the foot of the
+stairs to go out by the back.'
+
+'Well, suppose he went out by the front door. Wouldn't this motorist
+chap have seen him? You can't change a wheel in less than five minutes,
+you know.'
+
+'Yes, I suppose so,' said Jerry slowly.
+
+'And if he did see him, as it seems he must, isn't it a little odd that
+he didn't say so?'
+
+'But look here, Bobby, this man was about thirty, fair and
+clean-shaven. William's description of Mr. Robertson doesn't fit.'
+
+'That might easily be a disguise, which he removed before you came out.
+And then, if he was innocent, why didn't he turn up to give evidence at
+the inquest? He was the first person, bar you, in the house. Why didn't
+the doctor fellow call him as a witness?'
+
+'There might be half a hundred reasons for that,' said Jerry. 'He
+might have been out of England. For the rest of your theory, the
+murderer may have never left the house till afterwards; or he may
+equally well have gone before the motorist arrived; I don't know how
+long I was in the study. I hate to crab your theory, but it doesn't
+sound frightfully conclusive to me. I admit that it might have been
+the motorist, but it might just as easily not have been. None of his
+actions were suspicious, unless you count the fact that he didn't tell
+me his surname, and a good many men have concealed that in their time,
+I expect.'
+
+Bobby shook his head, unconvinced, and even Michael looked grave. Jerry
+laughed, conscious of rising irritation.
+
+'The thing to decide, at the moment, is whether or not we are to hand
+these papers of William's to Scotland Yard. I'm against it, myself.
+If William's pal had wanted his story to go to the police, he'd have
+said so. The envelope isn't addressed to the Yard, remember. If we
+give them William's papers, they'll want the envelope, too. Suppose we
+advertise for the man? We might try a notice in "The Times," headed
+"The Jameson," and see what happens.'
+
+'Far too dangerous,' said Bobby decidedly. 'This man Robertson is no
+fool. You bet he'll be on the lookout. And he knows you're alone, now.'
+
+'Still clinging to the idea of the murderous motorist?' said Jerry.
+'You're barking up the wrong tree, Bobby.'
+
+'My dear child, I'm sure the fellow was frightfully sympathetic and
+all that, but you mustn't let it upset your judgment. You can't take
+people by their face values in a show like this. After all, that's what
+your father did with Robertson. And to put an advertisement in the
+paper at this stage would be insanity. I won't have you running into
+danger like that.'
+
+Jerry raised her eyebrows, and her voice was dangerously silky as she
+answered.
+
+'I haven't yet decided what I'll do, Bobby, darling, but when I do,
+I'll let you know. In the mean time, I would rather you refrained from
+taking any steps without referring to me.'
+
+There was a second's silence.
+
+'I know it's n-none of my business,' said Bobby, 'but for God's sake,
+don't get yourself into a hole, Jerry. We're all reasonably fond of
+you, and I've got a horrid feeling that you don't realise how dangerous
+this affair may be.'
+
+'I do, and I only wish I had someone to advise me,' said Jerry,
+with deliberate intent to wound. 'Some man with a certain amount of
+experience, who knew what he was talking about. I'm tired of jumping to
+conclusions.'
+
+Bobby bit his lip and looked unhappily at the floor.
+
+'Why not ask old Toby Ward what he thinks about it?' suggested Michael.
+'He's a lawyer, and at the same time he manages to be human.'
+
+'I don't think I know him,' said Jerry frostily.
+
+Michael restrained a smile, and his eyes narrowed.
+
+'I should very much like you to meet him,' he said.
+
+Their eyes met and clashed. Then Jerry bubbled with laughter.
+
+'All right, Michael,' she said. 'Will you drive me down there
+to-morrow?'
+
+'I will.'
+
+Jerry glanced at Bobby, and relented.
+
+'Can we take Bobby, too?' she asked. 'Will you come, Robert? Do!'
+
+Bobby's face cleared, and he rose to his feet.
+
+'Thanks awfully, I'd love to,' he said. 'I s-say, it's past two, and
+I'm starving. Can't you both come and have lunch with me?'
+
+'I think I should like to very much,' said Jerry. 'I must be back by
+half-past three, though, because I'm going out to tea.' She caught
+Michael's eye and smiled. 'If you will wait two minutes while I get my
+hat on----' The sentence unfinished, she ran off.
+
+Michael offered Bobby a cigarette in silent sympathy.
+
+'One has got to be damned careful with that child,' said Bobby. 'I was
+a fool.'
+
+Michael nodded.
+
+'All the same, Mike, it _d-does_ look a bit suspicious. That motorist
+bloke, and all.'
+
+'I know,' said Michael. 'Not sure I don't agree with you. But there's
+no point in my saying so too. She's having tea with me this afternoon.
+Here she comes.'
+
+'I'm ready,' announced Jerry blithely. 'Lead me to lunch, Bobby. Exit
+three care-free people, screaming for food.'
+
+Michael and Bobby exchanged a swift glance, in which amusement,
+despair, and resignation were evenly blended.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XVI
+
+                        NICK REFUSES TO EXPLAIN
+
+
+'I'm sorry I snubbed poor Bobby so hard,' said Jerry, curling herself
+comfortably in Michael's largest chair, 'but if you give him his head
+with this detective stuff he becomes intolerable. I'm fond of Bobby,
+but I will not be dictated to by any man on earth.'
+
+'Have some more tea?' suggested Michael, steering clear of danger.
+
+'No, thanks. Very good meal, Michael.'
+
+'Yes, Milly's done us proud to-day.' He rose and hunted in the litter
+on his sideboard for cigarettes.
+
+'"Ever ser dice, Mister Dood is,"' quoted Jerry.
+
+Michael laughed, and as if in echo, they heard Milly's voice on the
+stairs.
+
+'Yuss, I know 'e's in, sir. Mind that loose carpet. If yer fall down
+I'll come an' pick yer up.'
+
+'Who the blazes----' began Michael, but a crash on the door interrupted
+him.
+
+'Gennleman ter see yer,' announced Milly, turning to make devastating
+eyes at someone outside.
+
+Michael took a step towards the door.
+
+'Hullo, Nicholson!' he said. 'Good business! Come in.'
+
+'I told yer 'e was in,' said Milly, lingering. 'D'yer want any more
+sangwidges, Mr. Doone?'
+
+'No, thanks, Milly. We've got plenty.'
+
+'Right-o. Good-bye!' This directly to the guest.
+
+'Good-bye, and thanks very much,' said Stephen Nicholson, with an
+amused twinkle. 'How are you, Doone?'
+
+'Flourishing, thanks. May I introduce----'
+
+Michael checked, in surprise. Jerry was standing on the hearth, staring
+at his guest, and there was a smile in her eyes.
+
+'Hullo, Nick!' she said quietly.
+
+Nicholson crossed the room in two strides and held out his hand.
+
+'You!' he said. 'How surprising, and how perfectly splendid!'
+
+They shook hands enthusiastically, and then, with a sudden
+self-consciousness, Jerry turned to Michael.
+
+'My friend the motorist,' she explained; then to Nicholson, 'I've often
+wanted to tell you what a perfect brick that man Thorpe was. No one
+could have been nicer or more comforting. I fell in love with him.'
+
+'I was afraid you would,' smiled Nicholson. 'In fact, I was pretty
+self-sacrificing about it. But he's a good chap, Thorpe. I've known
+him for years.'
+
+'So I gathered.' Jerry laughed.
+
+'Did you? Has Thorpe been giving me away? Let's hear the worst.'
+
+'I can tell you exactly what he said about you,' said Jerry. 'I told
+him how kind you'd been, and all that'--Nicholson made a grimace--and
+he rubbed his chin and said, "Adequate fella, Nick. Always was."'
+
+They laughed together. Michael watched them, filling his pipe with
+exaggerated care. He had not missed the change in Jerry, nor the fact
+that Nicholson never took his eyes off her. And so Vive le Sport was
+her unknown motorist. Michael suddenly began to wonder. After all, he
+knew nothing about the man, except from hearsay. He was a good fellow,
+all right, and for his own part he liked him, but Jerry was another
+proposition. A host of queries and doubts began to grow in his mind
+and, added to them, came a vivid memory of Adele Lancaster's affected
+voice: 'All women fall in love with him, and then he rides away in the
+approved style.' Michael looked at Jerry and scowled.
+
+'Have you had tea?' she was saying. 'I'm afraid we've finished, but
+there's some left, isn't there, Michael?'
+
+'I expect it's cold,' said Michael.
+
+Nicholson gave him a swift glance, and something like a smile glinted
+in his eyes.
+
+'I never drink tea,' he said, 'not even under pressure. Tell me, when
+did you leave Hampstead? I had a horrible shock the other day. I called
+on you, and found a "Let or Sold" board up.'
+
+'I'm so sorry, but I couldn't write and let you know, could I? I left
+last Saturday. It was a bit grim, you know, that house.'
+
+Nicholson nodded with quick sympathy.
+
+'Then Bobby had the great idea of finding me rooms. Bobby Manvers.
+D'you know him?'
+
+There was a second's silence before Nicholson answered. So slight a
+pause as to be almost imperceptible, but Michael noticed it. 'Yes, I've
+met him. Is he a friend of yours?'
+
+'Rather! I've known him for ages. Well, you see, Bobby and Michael
+discovered that the top flat in this house was to let, so I took it,
+and I've been here a week now. It's a good spot, my flat. You must come
+and see it some time.'
+
+'I'd love to. This seems to be an exciting house, altogether.'
+
+'You mean Milly?' She chuckled. 'Milly's the mainspring of the house,
+and the sunshine of our lives, isn't she, Michael?'
+
+Michael at that moment was relighting his pipe, and did not answer.
+Nicholson glanced at him again, and this time his smile was
+unconcealed. A church clock tolled solemnly, and Jerry looked at her
+watch.
+
+'Heavens! it's half-past six, and I've got to get changed and go out to
+dinner by seven! Good-bye, Nick. Come and see me some time. So long,
+Michael, old thing. Thank you for my nice tea.'
+
+She ran off, and they heard her quick footsteps on the stairs. As the
+sound died away Nicholson pulled out his case and lit a cigarette. He
+took some time about it, but as he threw the match into the grate, he
+turned and faced Michael squarely.
+
+'Well, what is it?' he asked.
+
+Michael hesitated. This was a direct appeal, and Nicholson meant it.
+His eyes were steady and very friendly. He was puzzled, Michael knew,
+and anxious to hear what was wrong, and yet.... The moment went by, and
+Michael bent forward to knock the ashes out of his pipe.
+
+'Amazing coincidence, that you should turn out to be Jerry's motorist
+pal,' he said.
+
+Nicholson's eyes lost all expression suddenly, and his smile had a
+twist of contempt.
+
+'Amazing,' he agreed. 'Beastly business, that. Frightful shock for the
+child.'
+
+'Why didn't you turn up at the inquest?' asked Michael.
+
+'Wasn't in England. Why? Would it have made any difference to her if I
+had?'
+
+'I don't know,' said Michael. 'By the way, did you see anyone come out
+of that house when you were changing your wheel?'
+
+'Your wheel, to be exact. No. Why?'
+
+'Because old Mitchell hadn't been dead for more than half an hour when
+Jerry found him, and it's beginning to look as if that fall of his
+wasn't an accident.'
+
+For a moment Nicholson was silent, staring at his cigarette. Then he
+said slowly: 'Murder, was it? H'm!'
+
+Michael said nothing.
+
+'Who's in charge of the case?' asked Nicholson suddenly.
+
+'In charge? What d'you mean?'
+
+'Well, damn it, someone must be. Who's investigating it? Hasn't anyone
+from the Yard been here?' His tone was impatient.
+
+'Not as far as I know.'
+
+'Has no one asked Jerry anything about it? They must have.'
+
+For some reason Michael resented his casual use of the Christian name.
+
+'The information that suggests that it was murder has only just cropped
+up,' he said. 'We don't want Jerry to be worried by any infernal
+policemen, asking fatuous questions. Manvers knows her end of the
+story, of course, and he can tell Scotland Yard all they want to know.'
+
+'So Manvers is in charge, is he?' said Nicholson. 'Good Lord!'
+
+'He seems to have as much right to interfere as anyone else,' said
+Michael.
+
+Nicholson cocked one eyebrow and smiled.
+
+'Perhaps you're right,' he said. 'Well, well, this is an astonishing
+world. I think I'd better be going.'
+
+Michael did not attempt to detain him. Nicholson collected his hat and
+gloves, and tucked his stick under his arm, frowning abstractedly.
+
+As he turned to the door Michael spoke:
+
+'When I lost you that night, you were on the Colchester Road, heading
+southwest for London, and in a devil of a hurry to keep an appointment.
+I wonder why you went the longest way round, and came in by Hampstead?'
+
+Nicholson laughed outright.
+
+'My dear chap, Hampstead affects me like that,' he said confidentially.
+'It has a curious magnetic influence over me, 'specially when I'm
+tired. If I don't concentrate like blazes, I simply drive straight to
+Hampstead. All most peculiar, but, anyway, there it is. So long.'
+
+The door shut behind him. In spite of himself, Michael grinned. And
+then he remembered Jerry, and the smile vanished.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XVII
+
+                          NICK MAKES AN ALLY
+
+
+Stephen Nicholson went down the steps of No. 60 Quebec Street slowly
+and thoughtfully. He was worried. In the hall he met Milly, who gave
+him a friendly, impertinent smile and nod.
+
+'Do you know if Miss Mitchell has gone out, Milly?'
+
+'Just two minutes ago, sir. Saw 'er into the taxi meself.'
+
+'Oh. Know where she was going?'
+
+'No idea. Out ter dinner, she told me, an' dancin' afterwards. Said she
+wouldn't be in till late. She did a quick change all right. I 'elped
+'er. Ever ser nice she looked.'
+
+'I'm sure she did. Good-night, Milly.'
+
+'G'night, sir.'
+
+Nick crossed the road and entered the Park. He wanted to think and, as
+usual, he made for open country. In his ears rang Michael's curt voice:
+'It wasn't an accident.'
+
+So the Chief had found out. The Chief had traced that infernal
+document, and the result had been the death of 'Twinkling William.'
+Then Nick thought of Jerry, and cold terror gripped him. For the first
+time in his life he realised what it meant to be afraid for someone
+else, and he set his teeth. He checked his stride, with a sudden desire
+to go back to Quebec Street, but realised that it was useless. He
+couldn't sit outside the house until the small hours of the morning and
+then spring this wild story on her.
+
+Nick dropped onto a bench and lit a cigarette. There wasn't anything
+he could do, at the moment. It was hopeless to try to find out where
+she was. The only person who would be likely to know was Michael Doone,
+and it was highly improbable that he would tell. With a flicker of
+exasperated amusement, Nick wondered what had been the matter with
+Michael. Did he really think that he--Stephen Nicholson--had been
+Mitchell's murderer? Or was he merely jealous of his acquaintance
+with Jerry? Perhaps Michael was in love with her. Only too probable,
+in fact. It was bad luck on Michael, but couldn't be helped. Nick was
+conscious of a sudden certainty. Jerry was his, and he hadn't known how
+much she meant to him until he had realised her danger. Then another
+stab of thought drove him to his feet again. It was all damned fine
+to know that he loved her and that she was in danger, but what was he
+going to do about it? He'd got to make certain of her safety, and he
+had no shadow of right to interfere. Good God! she might be walking
+straight into a trap at this very moment.
+
+He threw away his cigarette and tried to consider the position sanely.
+The whole affair turned on the problem he had set himself to unravel
+long before he knew of Jerry's existence. He had got to discover the
+Chief, before either he or Jerry could consider themselves safe.
+To-morrow he would go and see Jerry and tell her the whole story. That
+at least would put her on her guard. It wouldn't be a very pleasant
+job telling her. Jerry would take it bravely, that was one comfort. A
+plucky child; he'd had ample proof of that.
+
+In the meantime, what could he do? It was no good sitting still and
+contemplating the fact that if it had not been for him, Jerry and her
+father would still have been living happily together. That way lay
+madness. All things considered, the best thing would be to go down to
+the docks and see if any of his old friends, the enemy, were still
+looking for him. At best, he might get some information. At worst,
+there might be a scrap, and that would comfort him a good deal. He
+turned on his heel and tramped off to his rooms to change.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At ten o'clock next morning he stood outside No. 60 Quebec Street,
+waiting impatiently for an answer to his ring. It was an early hour
+to pay a call, but he dared not risk missing Jerry. For an hour he
+had tramped up and down the Park, keeping one eye on his watch, and
+wondering how soon he could see her, and what he was going to say when
+he did. And now--was the household dead? He rang again.
+
+There was a sound of shuffling footsteps, and the door was opened by
+a thin, wispy-looking woman with a sackcloth apron, who stared at him
+blankly.
+
+'Is Miss Mitchell in?' he asked.
+
+'Miss Mitchell?' she echoed dully.
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'Is that the top flat?'
+
+'Er ... yes.'
+
+'I ain't seen 'er go out,' she admitted cautiously, and stood back,
+holding the door open.
+
+Nicholson entered, rather doubtfully. 'I suppose she's ... er ... had
+her breakfast?' he asked.
+
+'I couldn't say, sir,' said the woman, 'I'm the char.'
+
+'All right. I'll go up and see,' said Nicholson.
+
+'That'd be best, I expec',' said the woman, with obvious relief.
+
+Nicholson made his way up the narrow, badly lit staircase. No one was
+about. Below, in the basement, he could hear a shrill voice raised
+in song; some popular sentimental ballad of unrequited love, of the
+type that every Londoner must always associate with a Cockney twang.
+But abovestairs everything was as quiet as the grave. At the door of
+Jerry's sitting-room he knocked. There was no answer. He hesitated a
+moment and then opened the door and looked in. The room was empty. The
+open windows let in a flood of sunshine, and a bowl of roses on the
+table glowed in the golden light. The whole room cried aloud of Jerry,
+so that he could almost see her before him, slim and erect, dancing
+eyes and friendly smile.
+
+From the street below a voice cried: 'Cu' fla!' in a musical jodel. He
+walked to the window and looked down, to see a hawker with a barrow
+full of bunches of cut flowers, bright splashes of colour in the grey
+street. Slowly Nicholson turned back to the room. Where was Jerry?
+Still in bed, perhaps. Lazy little brute!
+
+On the desk by the window stood a photograph, a snapshot of a man and
+a girl. Jerry herself. He picked it up. A good snap: very like her.
+Just the impertinent cock of the head, and those level, laughing eyes.
+And the man? Nicholson bit his lip. His friend in need, to whom he had
+brought this ghastly finish. Such a decent fellow, too. And ... Jerry's
+father. He dropped into a chair, and rubbed his forehead wearily.
+
+Suddenly a voice behind him spoke:
+
+''Ullo. Wot's _yore_ trouble?'
+
+Nick started and looked round. In the doorway stood Milly, leaning
+negligently against the jamb, and surveying him with serenely
+impertinent blue eyes.
+
+'I--er--called to see Miss Mitchell,' said Nick, feeling slightly
+disconcerted.
+
+'Yer luck's out. She's gone,' said Milly.
+
+'What?' He started to his feet.
+
+Milly waved a restraining hand.
+
+'Keep yer seat, sir. Don't let's 'ave no panic. She's comin' back.'
+
+'Where's she gone, and how?'
+
+'She's gone for a motor drive with Mr. Doone.'
+
+'Where?'
+
+Milly raised her eyebrows, and flicked at the sideboard with her
+duster. 'Can't say as I arst 'er,' she said distantly.
+
+Nick bit his lip, and tried to check the flood of imaginary horrors
+that swept through his brain.
+
+'Excuse me, sir,' Milly's tone was extravagantly polite, 'but are you
+wot y' might call engaged to Miss Mitchell?'
+
+'Not yet,' said Nick.
+
+Milly smiled, disarmed.
+
+'She's ever ser nice,' she said.
+
+'She is.'
+
+'You don't need ter worry about 'er an' Mr. Doone,' volunteered Milly
+encouragingly. 'She ain't keen on 'im, not wot you'd call _keen_, y'
+know. Likes 'im like a brother, she does. I c'n tell be the way she
+talks to 'im.'
+
+'I'm not worried about that,' said Nick, 'but I want to see her, badly.
+Where have they gone?'
+
+'You ain't goin' after 'em, are yer? I wouldn't, if I was you,' advised
+Milly. 'I tell yer straight, Miss Mitchell ain't the one ter be got by
+that there cave-man stuff. She ain't that sort. If she likes yer, she
+does, but she won't stand fer no interference. Take it from me.'
+
+'Look here, Milly,' said Nick desperately, 'this is serious. I've got
+to know where she is.'
+
+Milly laughed indulgently.
+
+'You ain't arf got it bad,' she commented. 'Won't it keep till this
+evenin'? She'll be back ter dinner, I expect.'
+
+'No, it won't,' said Nick. 'Milly, can you hold your tongue?'
+
+'Yuss. No one believes it, but it's true.'
+
+'Then listen to me, and keep this to yourself. Miss Mitchell's in very
+considerable danger. I can't tell you the whole story, but she's got
+something which one or two people want very badly, and they mean to
+get it. They tried to get it from her father, but they didn't succeed.
+She doesn't know anything about it, and neither does Mr. Doone. I only
+found out myself last night.'
+
+He paused. Milly's cheerful face had become oddly grave, and her eyes
+never left Nick's.
+
+'Didn't you ought ter put 'er wise?'
+
+'That's what I came here for, this morning.'
+
+'I 'eard someone say as 'er father 'ad been murdered. Is that true?'
+
+'It is. Now will you tell me where she's gone?'
+
+'Down t' the country, Ipswich way, she told me at breakfast. Mr.
+Doone's drivin' 'er down to 'ave lunch with a Sir Somebody Suthink.'
+
+'O Lord! Can't you remember any more than that?'
+
+'Lemme think. She did say the name of the 'ouse. She said it ter Mr.
+Doone when they was gettin' inter the car. I saw 'em orf. She ses: "'Ow
+long will it take ter git ter ..." now, wot was it? Funny name. Put me
+in mind o' food, some'ow.'
+
+Milly stirred up her hair reflectively. Nick waited, with as much
+patience as he could muster. Suddenly her face cleared.
+
+''Igh Ash! That was it!' she announced triumphantly.
+
+''Igh...? Oh, yes, High Ash. Sir Toby Ward's house.'
+
+'That's 'im! That's where they've gone. Mr. Doone's takin' 'er there t'
+lunch, an' they're pickin' up Mr. Manvers an' takin' 'im too, so you
+'aven't got no call to worry.' She chuckled.
+
+Nick whistled. 'Are they, begad! Well, it's a strange world. What time
+did they start, Milly?'
+
+'About nine.'
+
+'That was early.'
+
+'That's wot I said, but Mr. Doone said suthink about startin' early
+so's they could get the pow-wow over before lunch.'
+
+Nick looked up sharply. 'What did Miss Mitchell say?'
+
+'Oh, she says: "All right, but if I don't like 'im I ain't goin' ter
+tell 'im anythink, an' you an' Bobby can go t' blazes." She knows 'er
+own mind, Miss Mitchell does.'
+
+In spite of his worry, Nick grinned.
+
+'Well, thanks most awfully, Milly. You've been a great help. Now
+listen. Don't say anything about Miss Mitchell to anyone. It's more
+than likely that people will come here and ask you questions about her.
+Put them off. Make them think that you don't know anything about her.
+Don't tell them anything, even if they say they're friends of hers.'
+
+'Not even if they say they're sweet on 'er?'
+
+''Specially not then.'
+
+'Well, it's a good job fer you that no one's bin round ter tell me that
+afore you come, ain't it?' said Milly.
+
+Nick looked at her. 'This is serious, you know, Milly.'
+
+'I know, Mr. Nicholson. I believe yer ... Lord knows why.' She thought
+for a moment, frowning, and then added: 'I reckon it's because I seen
+yer lookin' at that there photygraft.'
+
+Nick said nothing.
+
+'I likes Miss Mitchell,' said Milly, raising her eyes to his.
+
+'So do I,' said Nick.
+
+Milly smiled suddenly.
+
+'Well, she might do worse than 'ave you,' she conceded.
+
+Nick laughed. 'Thank you, Milly. Now I must go. Good-bye.'
+
+'Good-bye, Mr. Nicholson. Can y' find yer own way out? I gotta sweep
+this room.'
+
+'Rather.' Nick picked up his hat and stick and departed.
+
+As he reached the turn of the stairs, Milly hailed him, and he looked
+up to see her hanging over the banisters, the old impertinent twinkle
+in her eyes.
+
+'Arsk us t' the weddin', won't yer?'
+
+'Bet your life!' laughed Nick, and ran downstairs.
+
+It seemed an age before he got back to his garage, and another before
+his car was ready to start, but at last he got under way, and struggled
+through the traffic to the Great North Road. Long experience had taught
+him that the shortest route from London to the eastern counties took
+longest, and he made for the north and the clear roads. A clock stood
+at eleven-thirty as he drove through Golders Green. Over a hundred and
+twenty miles to go. He could do it in three hours, with luck and a
+certain amount of law-breaking. Nick settled down to drive.
+
+After Hatfield the road was clear of traffic, and he let his car
+out. She was running well, and the drone of the engine made a level
+background for his thoughts. Jerry, principally. Half a hundred
+pictures of her. Jerry as he had seen her on that opal-coloured
+morning, standing beside him in the grey Hampstead street. Her pluck,
+her childlike trustfulness, her everlasting honesty. He felt as if he
+knew her better than he had ever known anyone. Life with Jerry wouldn't
+be all smooth sailing. Hers was a temper that would flare quickly, and
+if he made blunders where she was concerned she would let him know it.
+Independent, self-willed, even truculent at times. He smiled at the
+memory of her. A self-sufficient little person. Nothing clinging about
+Jerry. If she married him, he would know it was because she really
+cared for him, not because she couldn't get along without someone to
+hold her hand.
+
+Through Stevenage, and on to Baldock, the car running at a steady
+sixty. Then he slowed, to pass a company of infantry on the march.
+Territorials, he supposed. How young they looked! Boys, all of them,
+slim, pink-cheeked, round-eyed. Very different from his tanned,
+hard-bitten Tynesiders of the War. It seemed a long time ago.
+
+He thought of his brother officers. Good fellows, all of them. Those
+few that had come back had drifted away from his ken. Married, most
+of them, and now torn between their wives and their regiments. Most
+women seemed to get in the way of a man's work. Not Jerry, though. She
+would always understand that a man's job was the biggest thing about
+him. Take away that, and he didn't amount to much. With a jolt Nick
+came back to his own future. What was he going to do about it? Not
+that Jerry would interfere, even there. He chuckled at the thought. If
+she decided to marry a burglar, she would aid and abet his schemes
+whole-heartedly. But that, of course, was out of the question. Not that
+he regretted his career of crime. He had been an eminently successful
+burglar, and he considered that every robbery he had committed had been
+justified. Not a man had he robbed but was a thief himself, albeit he
+had remained within the law. These years had been satisfactory and, on
+the whole, very amusing, but now his criminal career was over. What was
+he going to do now? It was queer, this worry about the future. It was
+a new state of mind, for him. He had never looked farther ahead than
+his next leave, or his next robbery, before. Jerry was responsible for
+this, because his future would be hers, too. At least, it wouldn't be
+his fault if it wasn't.
+
+The tall clock in Newmarket told him the time as he crawled through
+the town, under the basilisk eye of the policeman by the crossroads.
+Ten past one. They would be lunching now, Jerry and Michael and Sir
+Toby. And Bobby Manvers. Unconsciously Nick pushed the car on faster.
+He had got to get hold of Jerry somehow; to get her away before it was
+too late. Once he had got her, he could put her in safe hands. The
+Stricklands would help him there. The difficulty was going to be at the
+outset. It was only too likely that Jerry would laugh at any attempted
+interference with her plans. Nick let the car out on the rolling Bury
+Road, and there was a dancing light of battle in his eyes.
+
+Soon after Bury he took to the country lanes. The going was necessarily
+slower now, for Suffolk by-roads remain much as they were in the Middle
+Ages. It was close on half-past two when he arrived at the village of
+St. Anthony's Ash, and knew that his objective was all but reached.
+Just outside the village he stopped and practically emptied his petrol
+tank, and then drove on to High Ash and, leaving the car at the gate,
+walked up to the house, with a pleasant feeling of impending strife in
+his heart.
+
+The old Tudor manor house, with its great oak beams and coppery tiled
+roof, seemed to greet him with the smiling serenity of its five hundred
+years. On his inquiry for Sir Toby, a manservant led him into the
+garden, where he saw the four of them sitting under a copper beech. Sir
+Toby had his foot tied up with bandages and propped on a stool. The
+dappled sunlight fell cross his sparse silvery hair as he listened,
+smiling, to the younger generation. Michael was lying on the grass,
+arms and legs flung out carelessly, like a puppy, the sun full on his
+face, and one lank, black lock of hair falling across his eyes. Bobby's
+chubby face was pink and worried, and Jerry was looking wickedly amused.
+
+Nick bit back a smile. Bless her! Loving Jerry would probably be a
+duel to the death. Well, it was a bond between them. She could no
+more endure a human doormat than he could. Then the servant, moving
+soft-footed over the grass, coughed gently, and Sir Toby looked up.
+
+'Stephen Nicholson, as I live! My dear boy, what a pleasant surprise!
+I'm delighted to see you. What fortunate wind blows you this way?'
+
+'To be honest, sir, I've run out of petrol. I'm on my way to London,
+and I felt rather hopeless till I remembered you, and then I decided to
+cast myself on your mercy.'
+
+'But of course! I've plenty of petrol you can have. Where is your car?
+Did you have to leave her?'
+
+'Luckily, no. She ran out just at your gate. Then I discovered that I
+was carrying an empty tin.'
+
+'I'm more than glad that you remembered me. This is an excellent moment
+to arrive. Miss Mitchell, may I introduce Stephen Nicholson?'
+
+'We've met before,' said Jerry, with a smile.
+
+'I should have guessed it. Nicholson knows everyone worth knowing. By
+the way, have you had lunch?'
+
+'I have, thanks very much,' said Nick, unblushing.
+
+'Then may I suggest a drink? What will you have--whiskey? Beer?...
+Beer; good. Ruff, bring some beer.'
+
+Michael, lying on the grass, crooked his forearm over his eyes. He
+remembered that night at Barton, and that scribbled note stuck in
+the wheel of a two-seater--'Mine's beer, too'--and he felt vaguely
+uncomfortable. Luckily, no one expected him to talk. Bobby was doing
+most of it, with Sir Toby putting in a word now and then. Bobby was
+telling how he had broken down in Suffolk once and had to walk ten
+miles before he found help.
+
+'It was freezing like the devil that day,' he was saying, 'and not
+a soul could tell me the way to anywhere I wanted. I struggled with
+the car till my fingers were frost-bitten, and one small boy stood
+and watched me. Whenever I spoke to him he stared blankly and said:
+"Fares rough, that do. Wholly cold that be. Reckon our mutt's frorne."
+It sounded like a foreign language, and I never construed the last
+sentence at all.'
+
+'Don't betray your ignorance,' chuckled Sir Toby. 'It's simply mediæval
+English. Read the Paston Letters.'
+
+'I suppose by "mutt" he meant me,' grinned Bobby.
+
+'The term would have been justified, but, as a matter of fact, he meant
+"moat." Half these farmhouses have moats round them. And "frorne" is
+old English for "frozen." You'll find it in the "Canterbury Tales."
+Chaucer was an East Anglian.'
+
+'I dare say, sir. East Anglia was a go-ahead place in Chaucer's
+time, but I maintain that it hasn't moved since then, and one notices
+a few deficiencies nowadays. You must admit that Suffolk's the back
+of beyond. Look at your village. No water supply; only a communal
+pump, round which the young men and maidens gather and giggle in the
+twilight. No gas or electric light. And as for drainage...!' Bobby
+shuddered, and Sir Toby laughed.
+
+'They survive, though, these villagers. In fact, I think they're the
+healthiest lot I know.'
+
+'I like them,' struck in Jerry. 'I liked the look of the people in the
+villages as we came down. They're so broad and fair, and look at you so
+straightly.'
+
+'They're Saxon and Danish, and have all the traits of their race:
+silent, and stubborn, and land-loving. Loyal to the death, if they like
+you; blank as a clod of Suffolk clay if they don't. And they really
+love England. They're the true patriot. They love the soil itself, and
+it's they and their like that make it a country worth having.'
+
+Jerry's eyes lit with sympathy. Bobby scoffed. But Nick watched Sir
+Toby with a growing respect. The man knew what he was talking about.
+Nick had spent a good deal of time in learning to understand people.
+His life had depended on it, both in the war and since. He had known
+his company, every man of them, and in later years had come to know the
+dockyard population of his Quay Street lodgings, as he had known the
+criminals of his own calling. But this old man with the game foot knew
+the English countryman, a far harder proposition. Nick admired him,
+and liked him for his interest in them. Then he glanced at Jerry. His
+absorbed interest in Sir Toby had removed her from his mind for the
+moment, but as he looked at her, he realised that she had been absorbed
+too, he guessed, in much the same way.
+
+The talk wandered on pleasantly. The garden was sunny and serene. Tea
+was brought out to them, and Jerry dealt with it, quietly competent,
+not interrupting the conversation. She didn't say much, but seemed
+content to listen, interested in the talk more than the speakers. Sir
+Toby even roused Michael to the point of joining in. He seemed to
+have the gift for making men interesting and interested. Nick enjoyed
+himself, and it was with a sigh that he looked at his watch.
+
+'What is the time?' asked Jerry.
+
+'Five o'clock.'
+
+'We must be going, Michael,' said Jerry. 'I've got to get up early
+to-morrow.'
+
+'Lots of time,' mumbled Michael, half asleep in the sunshine.
+
+'It seems a shame to rouse him,' laughed Bobby.
+
+'It does,' said Nick. 'Look here, do let me drive you up to London? I
+simply hate motoring by myself, and you're three in your car. Please.'
+
+Michael sat up and, behind Nick's back, frowned at Jerry, shaking his
+head. Jerry gave him a wide-eyed stare, and then smiled graciously at
+Nick.
+
+'Will you really take me? I'd love to,' she said.
+
+'Splendid!' said Nick. 'That's most awfully nice of you. Good-bye, Sir
+Toby. Many thanks for rescuing me. This has been the best break-down in
+my experience.'
+
+Sir Toby had a twinkle in his eye as he shook hands.
+
+'Good-bye, Nicholson. Look me up again some time. I shall always be
+charmed to see you, though I can't guarantee such good company as we've
+had to-day.'
+
+Smiling and unruffled, Jerry made her farewells. Michael's face had
+become completely expressionless, and Nick thought with amusement that
+Bobby Manvers would have a depressing drive home.
+
+They made their way to the gate, where they found Sir Toby's chauffeur
+filling the petrol tank of Nick's two-seater. Nick thanked him
+adequately, started the car up, and climbed in. Then, as they slipped
+out onto the road, he heaved a sigh of relief. The first fence was
+taken.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XVIII
+
+                         NICK EXPLAINS HIMSELF
+
+
+For a while they drove in silence. Jerry seemed supremely content,
+dreamily watching the green fields slide by. Nick was far from happy.
+This thing he had got to say was becoming more terrifying every minute.
+He'd chased her halfway across England to tell her the truth, and now
+he'd got her he didn't know how to begin. Surreptitiously he glanced at
+her. She looked so young, so unused to fear and tragedy.
+
+Then suddenly Jerry spoke, and he was conscious of a guilty sense of
+relief at this temporary reprieve.
+
+'_Very_ nice bus, Nick.'
+
+'Not too bad, is she?'
+
+'By the way,' she looked at him inquiringly, 'how many cars have you
+got?'
+
+'Only one. What d'you take me for--Rockefeller?'
+
+'No; but last time I saw you in a car, it was a Bentley.'
+
+'She wasn't mine. I'd borrowed her.'
+
+'Oh!' There was a pause. 'From Michael?'
+
+'Got it in one.'
+
+A worried little frown wrinkled her brow, and she looked straight
+ahead. Nick smiled at her.
+
+'What is it?' he asked.
+
+'I was only wondering ...' the sentence trailed off.
+
+'About Michael?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'He doesn't love me awfully,' said Nick, at a venture.
+
+She glanced at him swiftly, and looked away, as if he had guessed her
+thoughts too closely.
+
+'It's because I've butted in and kidnapped you, and left him to drive
+home with Manvers. Who shall blame him?'
+
+'Nonsense!' said Jerry. 'It's something much deeper than that, but I
+don't know what it is. I wish I did. Do you?'
+
+'I can guess.'
+
+'Then tell me. It's all very odd. I should have said you were just the
+sort of man he _would_ like.'
+
+Nick laughed aloud at her serious face.
+
+'Oh, he doesn't disapprove of me from his own point of view, but I
+shrewdly suspect him of thinking I'm not the sort of man for you to
+like.'
+
+'Why not?'
+
+'Largely because of my profession.'
+
+'What _is_ your profession?'
+
+Nick glanced round with exaggerated caution, and then said in an
+impressive undertone: 'I'm a burglar!'
+
+Jerry bubbled with laughter.
+
+'Nick, you idiot! Do be serious.'
+
+'My dear, I was never more serious in my life. One of the penalties I
+have to pay for being a successful liar is that when I tell the cold
+truth no one believes me. Of course I'm a burglar, but don't tell Sir
+Toby. He might have me up.'
+
+'Not he! He'd love it. Isn't he a dear?'
+
+'He's a great soul. Have you known him long?'
+
+'Met him for the first time to-day.'
+
+'Heavens! What was Bobby about not to have introduced you years ago?'
+
+'I can't imagine. And, incidentally, it wasn't Bobby that brought me
+here to-day. It was Michael's brain-wave.'
+
+'Good for Michael! How did he meet ... oh, but Sir Toby's his family
+lawyer, isn't he? He's known Michael since he was in crawlers and all
+that.'
+
+'Metaphorically, if not actually. Michael was never in England until a
+month or two ago.'
+
+'Wasn't he? I didn't know that. I like Michael. Tell me about him.'
+
+Nick had his own reasons for wanting to know about Michael, and he
+watched the girl's face keenly, but Jerry, serenely unconscious, talked
+on.
+
+'I don't know much about him myself. Michael isn't given to
+confidences. Beyond the fact that he's spent his life between Australia
+and one of the Western Pacific islands, I know nothing of his personal
+history.'
+
+'But I want to know a lot more,' said Nick. 'Why did he inhabit a
+Pacific island? I can't see him with flowers in his hair, dancing
+_hula-hulas_ on the beach.'
+
+'Neither can I,' agreed Jerry, with a chuckle. 'Must he necessarily
+have done that, if he lived there?'
+
+'The best people do, I believe, but I admit I don't know very much
+about it. Why did he live there? Do go on, Jerry. Don't interrupt the
+story with these irrelevancies.'
+
+'Grr! You...!'
+
+'Our friendship progresses,' said Nick. 'Very soon you'll attack me
+with a spanner.'
+
+'Not while you're driving at sixty. Self-preservation is my long suit.
+To continue, in spite of your quite fatuous interruptions, Michael's
+father practically owned this island. He was an Irishman, and a poet,
+and was frightfully keen on sailing. He married an Australian girl, and
+they had some marvellous voyages. They both hated civilization, and
+never bothered about the rest of the world. It accounts for lots of
+Michael's peculiarities, I think. He's rather a darling, though, and a
+born brother. When and where did you first meet him, Nick?'
+
+'Three weeks ago, and about thirty miles from here, at a
+very society-society dance, given by a dear good lady called
+Hamilton-Browne.'
+
+'Heavens! It doesn't sound in Michael's line.'
+
+'I don't think it was, but I didn't get much chance to talk to him,
+because he was a guest, whereas I was a waiter.'
+
+Jerry clapped her hands to her ears in despair.
+
+'Nick, this is exactly like a conversation out of "Alice in
+Wonderland." I'm sorry, but you must explain. I can't bear it any
+longer.'
+
+Nick bit his lip, and prepared to take the plunge, but once more Jerry
+forestalled him.
+
+'First of all, suppose you explain this burglary business,' she
+suggested.
+
+'All right, I'll try. That takes us a long way back. Back to the year
+of Grace 1920, when I first took to crime.'
+
+'Why did you?'
+
+Nick considered.
+
+'It's rather hard to explain truthfully, because there were so many
+reasons all working together. In the first place, I had come out of
+the army with no people, no settled career, and no money beyond my war
+bonus. I was rather better off than most fellows, because I didn't
+spend very much leave at home. I used to wander round, you know, poking
+my nose into other people's business. Spent five days in Brussels once.
+That was rather exciting.'
+
+'Secret Service, Nick?'
+
+'Sort of. Unofficially. Of course, I was only a "pore blooming
+infantryman" really, but I knew some fellows in the intelligence,
+and they were kind to me.' He laughed. 'I've never grown out of
+pretending, you know. I love dressing-up and being someone else just as
+much now as I did when I was six.'
+
+Jerry chuckled. 'Go on, Nick.'
+
+'Well, as I was saying, I had more money than most of 'em when I was
+demobbed, and I meant to have a holiday, and I jolly well had it. Then
+the others--fellows like me, who'd gone straight from school into the
+war--began to look for jobs. They didn't find 'em, of course. They
+were untrained; they'd had four years or so in a position of some
+responsibility, and employers didn't feel like puttin' 'em to lick
+stamps. It was far better to get eighteen-year-old boys just starting,
+with a proper appreciation of the importance of office life. So my pals
+found themselves in the soup, most of 'em. Some were lucky and got
+jobs, and tried to like it. Some drifted from doss-house to doss-house,
+slipping farther down the hill with every move. Some saw that coming,
+and turned the gas on in the oven--with their heads inside.
+
+'Then I began to get angry. Not for myself exactly--I always had a
+curious conceit about my ability to survive--but because of all the rot
+that had been talked in those four years. Here they were, our heroes,
+our saviours of the world, our gallant defenders, and nobody gave a
+hoot what happened to them. I was very young then; I couldn't see any
+explanation in it. Worst of all--and this still makes me unreasonably
+angry--the men themselves were in an awful way. My batman had been a
+dockyard matey, and I met him, by accident, one day. He was dying,
+of sheer starvation. He wasn't the only one, either. They were the
+salt of the earth, those fellows, and they were starving, while the
+fat profiteers bought more Rolls-Royces. As I say, I was young and
+foolish, and it made me angry. I swore I wasn't going to be driven
+out of England, and at the same time I wasn't going to work like a
+galley-slave in an office to add to the blighters' peace-time profits.
+I'd done my whack of slaving, I thought. Still less did I mean to
+starve. I'd kept their dinners safe for them for four years, and now
+they could provide me with mine. And they've done it, royally, ever
+since. The work entailed in collecting the cash was pure fun, and added
+just that spice of excitement that makes bread-winning worth while. I
+made quite a lot of money, enough to live on for the rest of my life,
+if I wanted to stop work, but I don't think I should have given it up
+if I hadn't found an even more amusing game. I may say that I haven't
+burgled for over two years now.'
+
+'But weren't you burgling that night at Barton, when you were
+pretending to be a waiter?'
+
+'Not that time, though Michael thought I was. I went down there to try
+and get some information.'
+
+'Did you get what you wanted?'
+
+'No; but I overheard a telephone conversation that concerned me
+rather closely. Then I realised that if I was going to make use of
+the information my eavesdropping had given me, I would have to be in
+London before 5 A.M., and as it was past midnight by then, I
+thought I'd better be going. Unfortunately, the sudden departure of
+a hired waiter in a fast car looks a bit suspicious. Michael saw me
+go, and followed in his Bentley. I think he was bored and wanted a
+bit of sport. Anyway, he jolly nearly caught me--damned good driver,
+Michael!--but luckily I managed to swop cars with him.'
+
+'How on earth ...' began Jerry, and then another thought struck her,
+wiping the first question out of her mind.
+
+'_Nick!_ That's why you had been driving all night!'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'And because of me you had all that for nothing. Oh, Nick, I'm so
+sorry. I remember you looked at your watch, and seemed in a hurry. And
+then quite suddenly you weren't in a hurry any longer. Nick, was it
+frightfully important? I couldn't know, could I?'
+
+'Sweet child, of course you couldn't. And you don't think I regret it,
+do you?'
+
+'Nick, you--you saved my sanity that morning. I simply don't know what
+I should have done without you. And they tried to make me think you
+were the murderer!' Her eyes flashed. 'I never believed it. If they
+only knew....'
+
+'O God!' Nick's voice was sharp with pain. 'Jerry, darling, for
+Heaven's sake hear me out. In a way, I am. I've been chasing all over
+England to find you to-day, to tell you about it, but I don't know how
+I'm going to do it, now I've got you.'
+
+'I don't understand,' said Jerry, bewildered.
+
+'Tell me this. Do you know why your father was murdered?'
+
+Jerry hesitated for a moment.
+
+'Yes,' she said at last.
+
+'That makes it easier to explain. I am the man who gave him that letter
+at the club. Will you believe me when I say that I never dreamt I'd be
+putting him in danger?'
+
+'But....' Jerry stared blankly.
+
+'I told you just now that I gave up burglary for a better game,' said
+Nick.
+
+'Yes. But what has that to do with it?'
+
+He told her, quietly and without much detail. He told her of the
+railway smash and the impersonation of Davies. A sparkle of excitement
+lit her eyes when he described his escape from the meeting of the
+Fraternity; but when he told of how he had seen her father, and decided
+to trust him, Nick kept his gaze on the road ahead. It didn't seem
+quite fair to watch her face just then.
+
+'It was my fault,' he concluded, 'and I shall never forgive myself. I
+underrated the Chief. But I never dreamt that he would be able to trace
+your father, and ... Jerry, for God's sake, say you believe me!'
+
+She spoke quietly, but with a curious certainty:
+
+'Of course I do.'
+
+Nick was silent. He could not trust himself to speak. Jerry glanced at
+him, puzzled by his expression. He realised her perplexity, and made a
+colossal effort.
+
+'The bus _is_ running well this evening.'
+
+'Pretty poor,' he reflected, with a sardonic smile at his own expense.
+But Jerry jumped at it.
+
+'She's a lamb, Nick. Will you teach me how to drive, some day?'
+
+'Rather! Would you like to steer? Here's a good straight bit of road.'
+
+'Oh, _may_ I?'
+
+Nick relinquished the wheel, and flung his left arm along the back
+of the seat, watching her glowing, childlike face. It was dangerous,
+but he could not resist it. She was so near now, leaning against his
+shoulder. So near and so lovable, and so utterly unconscious. She did
+not speak, being entirely absorbed in steering. Nick was silent too,
+but for other reasons.
+
+At last....
+
+'Nick, here's a car coming. You'd better take her.'
+
+He dropped one hand onto the wheel, and Jerry let it go.
+
+'Oh, Nick, it's heavenly! Do teach me to drive, and then I'll come and
+fetch you next time you burgle a house, and help you get away quickly.
+I'd love to be a burglar too. Can't you teach me the trade, and take me
+into partnership?'
+
+Nick bit his lip.
+
+'The idea doesn't appeal to him,' said Jerry to the speedometer.
+
+'Doesn't.... Good Lord! Jerry, will you marry me?'
+
+She slid away from him, staring wide-eyed.
+
+'My _dear_ Nick!'
+
+Her startled face made him take refuge for them both in nonsense.
+
+'Why not? I'd be an exemplary husband. I'd give up burglary and only
+rob on the Stock Exchange. I'd catch the nine-fifteen every morning,
+and be home punctually at half-past six. I'd never swear, and----Gosh!
+we nearly hit that hen!'
+
+'You ought to have seen it coming. The first thing to cultivate when
+driving a car is psychic insight into the ways of hens and push-bikes.'
+
+'Very true. As a general rule I have it to a marked degree, but to-day
+I'm not in the best of form. I'm thinking of something else.'
+
+Jerry looked straight ahead. Nick had a twinkle in his eye as he
+watched her. He had recovered his balance. As for Jerry, she'd got to
+get used to the idea, so one had better chaff about it.
+
+'It's extraordinary how falling in love puts one's eye out.'
+
+'It must be a distressing state. I hope I shall remain immune.'
+
+'Oh, but that's worse. It's like not seeing a play that everyone else
+has seen. They're all discussing it, and you can't.'
+
+He could see her trying not to smile.
+
+'You're talking nonsense, Nick. There's no need for the subject to
+arise at all.'
+
+'Isn't there? Do you think I'm the sort of chap who suffers in silence?'
+
+The smile broke into a chuckle.
+
+'Nick, you're unique. Let's talk about your crimes. Whom do you burgle?'
+
+'Profiteers, mostly.'
+
+'Robin Hood up to date.'
+
+'Exactly, except that Robin Hood was a bit luckier. Maid Marian----'
+
+'Tell me, are you wanted--is that the word?--by Scotland Yard?'
+
+'Oh, rather! Terribly badly. But, as a matter of fact, I've given up
+burglary. My career of crime is a thing of the past from now on.'
+
+'Won't life seem awfully tame without it?'
+
+'I don't think so. You see, I took to burglary because I wanted variety
+and excitement. When I marry you I shall have all I can deal with,
+without going out to look for it.'
+
+Jerry blinked.
+
+'Did you say "When"?' she asked.
+
+Nick grinned.
+
+'That's one to you,' he admitted.
+
+Jerry gave him a smile.
+
+'Thank you,' she said. 'And now, do you mind awfully if we change the
+subject?'
+
+'Must we?'
+
+'Please. Think of something else.'
+
+'No--hang it, that's more than you can expect of me.'
+
+'It was said deliberately,' explained Jerry. 'If I think of a topic,
+you will consider that you have every right to side-track me. If _you_
+do, you can't!'
+
+Nick laughed outright.
+
+'_Can't_ I?'
+
+'Please, Nick!'
+
+A Ford van close ahead of them suddenly swung to the right, without
+warning, and made for a side road. Nick jammed on his brakes to avoid
+a crash. There was a violent doubleway skid, the two-seater rocked for
+one agonising moment on two wheels, and then righted herself and sped
+on.
+
+'Near thing, that,' said Jerry calmly.
+
+Nick looked at her appreciatively.
+
+'There's no doubt about it, you're a courageous child,' he said.
+
+'William used to tell me it wasn't courage, but pure love of danger,'
+said Jerry. 'As a matter of fact, he was just as bad himself. He
+adored thrills.'
+
+Nick hesitated.
+
+'Did he ... did he tell you about me?'
+
+'No. You asked him not to, didn't you?'
+
+'Yes. I didn't know you existed; otherwise I shouldn't have put it like
+that. But how do you know?'
+
+'Because I found his diary. Nick, would you mind stopping for a minute?'
+
+Obediently he pulled in to the side of the road.
+
+'I want you to read this,' said Jerry, pulling some papers out of her
+pocket. 'I found it yesterday.'
+
+Nick took the crumpled pages in silence. Jerry watched his grave face
+as he read. Finally he gave them back to her, and their eyes met.
+
+'I wish to God I'd known him,' he said.
+
+'So do I! You would have liked each other. Now, listen to me, Nick. I
+am William's understudy. What are we going to do about it? By the way,
+do you know Mr. Robertson?'
+
+'Not personally. He is the Chief.'
+
+'Do you know anything about him besides that?'
+
+'No. That's what I've been trying to find out for the last six months.
+Are you going to help me, Jerry?'
+
+'Of course I am.'
+
+'I warn you it may mean doing things you don't see a reason for at the
+moment.'
+
+'I'll obey orders. You're in charge of this show.'
+
+Nick turned to her impulsively, and then pulled himself together and
+started the car.
+
+'It's safer driving,' he said grimly.
+
+'I expect it is,' agreed Jerry. 'Michael and Bobby might catch us up if
+we stopped much longer.'
+
+Nick grinned rather wildly, and stood on the gas.
+
+'In the first place,' he went on, 'how many people have you shown that
+diary to?'
+
+'Michael, Bobby, and Sir Toby.'
+
+'Sir Toby? What made you tell him?'
+
+'Well, Michael was with me when I found it, and later, when Bobby came
+in, I showed it to him. He's been trying to find out clues and all
+that sort of thing, you know.' Nick nodded. 'Bobby was frightfully
+interested, of course, but he got a bit too domineering, and wanted
+to take the whole thing out of my hands. That made me furious. I know
+Bobby was only trying to help, but he irritated me. I ticked him off
+pretty thoroughly, and then said rather pointedly that I wished I had
+someone of some experience to advise me. Michael suggested Sir Toby; I
+said I'd let him introduce me, and that if I liked him I'd ask for his
+advice.'
+
+'Poor Bobby! How did he take that suggestion?'
+
+'Oh, he was all for it. Thought it an admirable plan. He's as fond of
+Sir Toby as Michael is.'
+
+'I see. Well, what advice did Sir Toby give you?'
+
+'To my immense relief he didn't urge me to hand the matter over to the
+police. In fact, he seemed to understand absolutely. He pointed out
+that the bank will probably be watched--I'm certain William would have
+told the man that the document was there--and asked if I would like him
+to fetch the paper and keep it safe for me, and if the right man didn't
+turn up for it before June 10th, he would post it himself.'
+
+Jerry paused, a puzzled frown on her face.
+
+'It seems rather pointless now,' she said, 'but somehow when Sir Toby
+was talking about it, it seemed to solve all the problems. I wonder if
+there was something else, some other reason I've forgotten?'
+
+'Never mind,' said Nick reassuringly. 'What did you say?'
+
+'I accepted gratefully. I had no idea I was going to meet the right man
+so soon. But it doesn't matter. We can easily let him know, and tell
+him not to fetch the paper, or let him get it for you, whichever you
+prefer.'
+
+'How was he going to get it?'
+
+'I gave him a note for the bank manager.'
+
+For a few minutes Nick drove in silence. Jerry waited for his decision.
+Finally he spoke.
+
+'Well, my child, I think somehow we won't let him know just yet, but
+all the same, we'll fetch the paper first.'
+
+'But he's bound to know as soon as he goes to the bank.'
+
+'Not necessarily. Don't let's hurt old Toby's feelings. Let's get the
+paper to-night, but leave the envelope, stuck down again. Then he'll be
+none the wiser, if we tell the bank manager to keep his mouth shut. I'd
+hate Sir Toby to feel he wasn't trusted.'
+
+'As I said before, this is your show,' said Jerry, 'but there's one
+flaw in the scheme. We can't get it to-night. The bank will have shut
+ages ago.'
+
+'Is it the Hampstead branch bank?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'Then it's a hundred to one the manager lives on the premises. I think
+we'll wangle it somehow. Now listen, Jerry; I've got a plan, but you'll
+have to forgive me if I can't explain much at this stage.'
+
+'Go ahead, Nick. I'll agree to anything you like, on one condition.'
+
+'And that is----?'
+
+'That you'll let me be in at the death.'
+
+Nick looked at her with some surprise. She faced him steadily, and he
+saw the grim determination in her eyes.
+
+'Right. If it's humanly possible, you shall be,' he said quietly.
+'Now look here; after we've got this paper I want to take you to the
+Stricklands' flat. They're friends of mine, and they're the only
+other people in the world who know as much about me as you do. Jack
+Strickland's a C.I.D. man, and the best friend I have. His twin sister
+Jill is a darling, and I know they'll both understand. Will you come?'
+
+'Rather; but can't I get some clothes from Quebec Street first?'
+
+'Daren't risk it. The house may be watched. Jill will lend you all you
+need for a day or two.'
+
+'All right.'
+
+'In the second place, I don't want you to communicate with anyone until
+you see me again and I can tell you what's happening.'
+
+'I don't like that, Nick. Michael and Bobby have been awfully good to
+me, and they'll be worried.'
+
+'I'll let Michael know. Will that do?'
+
+'Of course.'
+
+'Bless you, Jerry, you're a partner in a thousand! I wish I'd known you
+eight years ago.'
+
+Jerry laughed.
+
+'You were in your cradle, of course,' went on Nick, 'but you must have
+been a nice child.'
+
+'William had a hard life with me,' she told him; and then, suddenly,
+the smile faded out of her eyes and her mouth set hard.
+
+'Well?' said Nick.
+
+She looked up, her small face white through the dusk.
+
+'Nick, are we going to get this man Robertson?'
+
+'I think so,' said Nick quietly, and put out a large hand.
+
+Jerry gripped it tightly.
+
+'I'm glad it was you,' she said.
+
+Nick drove on in silence. For the second time that evening he felt that
+he could not trust himself to answer.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIX
+
+                         SIR TOBY IS SURPRISED
+
+
+As Nick had guessed, Bobby Manvers found that drive to London a
+depressing one. Michael was silent, sliding lower and lower in the
+driving seat, staring sullenly at the road ahead. Bobby's few attempts
+at conversation met at the best with monosyllabic replies, and finally
+he abandoned the struggle. His only comfort lay in the fact that
+Michael was driving at a high rate of speed and that, in consequence,
+the journey would be over in the shortest possible time. The last
+half-hour through London, however, was a considerable strain to his
+nerves, and when Michael dropped him at his flat he got out thankfully,
+with a sigh of relief and a hypocritical 'Thanks awfully, old man.
+Topping run!'
+
+Michael drove on, unnoticing, left his car at the garage he patronised,
+and went back to Quebec Street on foot. It was a close, stuffy
+evening, with a feeling of thunder about. Michael looked up at the
+tall houses that hemmed him in, and was conscious for the thousandth
+time of a desperate desire to get away from it all. There was no air,
+no sunshine, no freedom of mind or body in this swarming antheap of a
+city. Well, his legal affairs were finished, thank Heaven. He'd had
+a word with Sir Toby just before lunch, and had been assured that all
+was over bar the shouting, and that in another week's time he would
+be free to shake the dust of England from his feet. Free to go back
+to his own place, where the sun really shone, and a man could do as
+he chose. It would be good to be home again; to see the long, low
+coast-line, fringed to the shore with the dark, unchanging bush, and
+above, silhouetted against the sky, a bunch of lanky coconuts: then,
+as his cutter drew near to the shore, the surf breaking in a gleaming
+line, apparently endless but for the narrow break in the reef where the
+fresh water pierces the coral and opens the way into the clear, sunlit
+lagoon. The scrunch of the keel on the beach, the laughing natives, the
+low, white house with its broad veranda.
+
+Michael drew a deep breath of satisfaction. He could almost hear the
+thunder of the breakers, smell the coconut oil and aromatic herbs. Lost
+in his thoughts, he let himself into the tall grey house in Quebec
+Street, and went to bed, to dream of blue seas and white surf.
+
+The sun was streaming into his room when he woke next morning. 'Going
+home in a week's time,' he told himself, and whistled cheerfully as he
+ran his bath water. Even London seemed a comparatively good place on
+such a morning, and he felt disappointed when Milly, entering with his
+breakfast, failed to greet him with her usual beaming smile.
+
+'It's a decent morning, Milly,' he observed reproachfully, as he
+hungrily attacked his eggs and bacon.
+
+'I dessay.' She stood, arms akimbo, eyeing him disapprovingly. 'Where's
+Miss Mitchell?'
+
+Michael stopped eating, and stared at her.
+
+'She ain't bin 'ome, an' 'er bed ain't bin slep' in.'
+
+'Good Lord! Where's she gone?'
+
+'That's wot I'm arskin' _you_. You took 'er out yesterday. I'm anxious
+about 'er, I tell yer straight. It ain't like 'er to go orf without
+s'much as a word.'
+
+Michael was silent, his thoughts racing.
+
+'Fer Gawd's sake, speak up!' burst out Milly furiously. 'You was with
+'er, wasn't you?'
+
+'Yes, but I didn't bring her home.'
+
+'Oo did?'
+
+'Man called Nicholson.'
+
+Milly's face cleared suddenly, and she heaved a sigh of relief.
+
+'Mr. Nicholson? Oh, _that's_ all right then. She won't come to no 'arm
+along with 'im.'
+
+'You know him well, of course,' said Michael, with the irritation of a
+badly worried man.
+
+Milly regarded him pityingly.
+
+'I ain't known 'im long, but you c'n take it from me, I knows a decent
+fella when I meets one. Don't you fret about Mr. Nicholson. _'E's_ all
+right.'
+
+'Feminine intuition, I suppose,' said Michael, continuing his breakfast.
+
+Milly's eyes danced naughtily.
+
+'You ain't arf fetchin' when you smiles sarcastic that way,' she told
+him. 'Puts me in mind of a movie I seen last week. The 'ero, 'e ses:
+"Hah, wimmin!" he ses, an' smiles lopsided, same as you. Lovely 'e was.'
+
+'Shut up!' said Michael, trying not to grin. 'And go away, Milly;
+that's enough.'
+
+'Right y' are, sir,' assented Milly cheerfully. At the door she
+hesitated, her face grave.
+
+'Mr. Doone....'
+
+'Hullo?'
+
+She flung out her hands with the abrupt, passionate, almost Latin
+gesture of the Cockney.
+
+'Honest, Mr. Doone, 'e's all right, that bloke.'
+
+Michael looked at her curiously.
+
+'Nicholson?'
+
+'Yuss. If you was to tell me 'e'd bin jugged fer murder, I'd tell you
+'e never; or, if 'e did, there was a damn good reason for it. 'E's all
+right, straight 'e is. I _know_ it!'
+
+She swung round and disappeared, leaving Michael staring. How much
+did she know, he wondered. It might be far more than he knew himself;
+it might be nothing at all. He went on with his breakfast, wondering
+where Jerry was, and what he ought to do about it. Then he pulled the
+telephone towards him, and rang up Nick's flat in Jermyn Street. The
+porter answered him. Mr. Nicholson was not in. Mr. Nicholson had left
+the previous morning and had not been home since. Michael rang off,
+frowning thoughtfully. They might have had an accident, but Michael had
+a deep respect for Nick's driving, and thought it unlikely. And even if
+they were both in hospital, there would be some news of them. Secondly,
+they might have eloped, but somehow that didn't seem very like Jerry.
+Michael had heard her express her views on the subject of love affairs
+and marriage. Thirdly--and a disquieting thought--suppose Bobby's
+theory were right, and Nick had been concerned in the murder, he would
+have a definite reason for wanting to get Jerry out of the way.
+
+Michael looked at his watch. Ten-thirty. Sir Toby was coming up to
+London this morning early. It might be worth while asking his advice.
+
+Michael reached for the telephone, rang up Sir Toby's flat, and in due
+time was answered by Ruff. Yes, Sir Toby had arrived, but was lying
+down. He was not very well, had had a return of his heart trouble.
+Could he see Mr. Doone some time to-day? Ruff would inquire. Michael
+waited impatiently, till he heard Ruff's soft, respectful voice again.
+Sir Toby had a luncheon engagement, but would be delighted to see Mr.
+Doone at three. Sir Toby had said that Mr. Manvers might be looking in
+about that time, but that if Mr. Doone's business was private, he would
+put Mr. Manvers off. Michael had no objection to Bobby's presence, and
+said so. Ruff murmured, 'Very good, sir,' and faded away.
+
+Michael rose to his feet and tramped restlessly across his room. What
+the blazes was Nicholson up to? Bobby's theory seemed infernally
+plausible, but somehow he hated the idea. Then again, had he any
+right to withhold the secret of Vive le Sport's identity? If anything
+happened to Jerry, both Sir Toby and Bobby would blame him for
+concealing the information. Quite rightly, too. After all, if Bobby
+were wrong, he could trust both him and Sir Toby to keep their mouths
+shut. Michael went out into the Park. He needed fresh air and exercise.
+
+For once in his life he was punctual that afternoon, and arrived at the
+door of Sir Toby's block of flats on the stroke of three. He was just
+speaking to the hall porter when a cheerful voice hailed him.
+
+'Hullo, Michael! You c-come to see Toby, too?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'Good work!' said Bobby heartily. 'Ruff tells me the old chap's had
+another heart attack. It's rotten for him, isn't it? Let's take the
+lift, shall we?'
+
+They found Sir Toby in an armchair, propped up with pillows. His face
+was white and drawn, and he looked desperately tired, but he greeted
+them with a smile.
+
+'Very nice to see you both. Well, Michael, has anything happened? You
+look very serious. Pull up that chair, Bobby. You'll find cigarettes in
+the box by your elbow.'
+
+'You're not looking too fit, sir,' said Bobby, obeying. 'I say, would
+you rather I cleared out? I mean, won't one of us be enough for you
+just now, so to speak?'
+
+'No, no, I like company. It's nothing to worry about. These absurd
+attacks come and go. I shall be all right to-morrow. Now, Michael,
+let's hear about it. I feel convinced you have something on your mind.'
+
+'Very true,' said Michael. 'It's Jerry. She's disappeared.'
+
+'Really?' Sir Toby looked interested. 'When was she--er--last seen?'
+
+'When she left High Ash yesterday.'
+
+'In Nicholson's car. Do you think they've made a runaway match?'
+
+'I don't. To start with, she'd got no kit with her. And then, why
+should she? Even if she suddenly decided to marry Nicholson, there was
+no reason for secrecy. Besides, Jerry isn't that sort.'
+
+Sir Toby smiled.
+
+'When you're my age, Michael, you'll hesitate before you say, "She's
+not that sort," of any woman. They're unaccountable creatures. But
+I admit it sounds unlikely. She didn't seem terribly attracted by
+Nicholson when I saw them together.'
+
+'Of course, Stephen's a jolly dark horse,' put in Bobby. 'He's a bit of
+a devil with the ladies, you know, and Jerry's very young. She might
+have been swept off her feet and all that. And then he may have made
+her swear not to tell you. I've been told that Nicholson has a queer
+sort of power, if you know what I mean.'
+
+'Bunk!' said Michael offensively.
+
+Sir Toby took no notice of Bobby's theory.
+
+'Go on, Michael,' he said quietly. 'Tell me what exactly is worrying
+you.'
+
+'Well, I can't help wondering.... Did you get that letter from Jerry's
+bank?'
+
+'Yes. I collected it on the way up. Here it is.' He tapped his pocket.
+
+'Carrying it on the person, sir?' asked Bobby. 'Isn't that a bit
+dangerous?'
+
+'Not more so than putting it into my safe. With the present crime wave,
+burglary's an everyday occurrence.'
+
+'Talking about burglars,' said Michael. 'Do you think Vive le Sport
+could have had anything to do with the Mitchell affair?'
+
+'In what way?'
+
+'Oh, in Robertson's pay, for instance?'
+
+'It doesn't sound likely,' said Sir Toby. 'After all, his line is
+burglary, and nothing was stolen. Besides, I shouldn't like to think of
+him as a murderer.'
+
+Michael rose to his feet and walked over to the window, where he stood,
+hands in pockets, staring down into the street below.
+
+'You know, I don't like this about Jerry,' said Bobby. 'I mean, it's
+all so dashed queer, isn't it? Suppose we try to trace Nicholson's car?'
+
+'From what I've seen of Miss Mitchell I should imagine that she would
+not be likely to welcome any interference with her affairs,' said Sir
+Toby.
+
+Bobby grew rather red.
+
+'That's perfectly true,' he said, 'but all the same, she's only a
+child, and Stephen Nicholson ... well, I don't trust him. He's got a
+frightfully taking manner and all that, but there's something queer
+about him. I think he's dangerous.'
+
+'Oh, my dear Bobby!' laughed Sir Toby, 'this is obviously the result
+of an overdose of detective fiction. Stephen Nicholson is an idle
+young plutocrat, with a curious passion for _vers libre_ and all the
+extravagant ugliness of modern art. I don't believe one-third of the
+rumours about him, and suspect them of being the invention of one or
+two silly women. I like Nicholson, and I think he's a shining example
+of how a good man can waste his life. What he needs is a little honest
+work. What do you say, Michael?'
+
+'I--don't--know,' said Michael slowly. Then he turned and faced them.
+'You see, Nicholson is Vive le Sport.'
+
+There was a dead silence. Bobby's jaw dropped and he stared blankly.
+Then Sir Toby sat up, put his gouty foot to the ground, swore and fell
+back on his pillows, stretching out one hand weakly towards a glass of
+water which stood on the table. Michael handed it to him, startled by
+the old man's ghastly pallor, and Sir Toby sipped the water gratefully.
+
+'Forgive me,' he said. 'Your announcement was so unexpected that I put
+too much weight on my bad foot, and the pain made me feel rather faint.
+It's all right now. Michael, this is the most amazing information. I
+find it almost incredible. How do you know?'
+
+'Nicholson told me so himself.'
+
+'Nicholson told you?' echoed Bobby. 'Good Lord! Well, I always said
+there was something queer about that man.'
+
+Michael ignored him, and addressed himself to Sir Toby. 'That's why I'm
+worried,' he said. 'You see, Nicholson isn't only what he seems, and if
+he can play one part so perfectly, God knows how many more he may not
+be playing.'
+
+'I entirely understand your anxiety,' said Sir Toby, 'and the evidence
+seems to be piling up against him. To start with, he was outside
+Mitchell's door immediately after the murder. Then he disappeared,
+didn't attend the inquest, made no reference to the affair. He didn't
+even make himself known to Miss Mitchell. In fact, he appeared to have
+lost all interest. It's very odd, that. Then, again, one can only
+assume that the first thing this fellow Robertson will try to do is to
+get hold of Miss Mitchell. He's got to get that paper before some date
+in June, hasn't he? I've forgotten the exact day.'
+
+'The tenth,' said Michael.
+
+'And to-day's the eighth. He hasn't got much time, you see. And he
+can't get the paper without Miss Mitchell's assistance. Yes, it seems
+to fit in only too well. Michael, I think we ought to open this letter.
+It may give us a clue to Mr. Robertson, and should at least tell us the
+identity of the man who gave it to Professor Mitchell.'
+
+Michael considered.
+
+'I think you're right,' he said.
+
+Bobby held his peace, but he looked worried. Sir Toby took the long
+envelope from his pocket and tore it open.
+
+'It's empty!' he said. 'No, it isn't, begad!' He shook the envelope,
+and out fell a small visiting-card, which he read and then held up to
+the others, smiling a little.
+
+'"Vive le Sport!"' read Bobby, in an awestruck tone. 'But, d-dash it
+all, how on earth----'
+
+'Oh, that's dead easy,' broke in Michael impatiently. 'He got Jerry to
+get it for him last night, took the letter, and left his card instead.
+That proves he had got something to do with the murder, anyway. The
+question is, _what_?'
+
+Sir Toby nodded slowly, his face very grave.
+
+'As far as I can see, there are just three possible theories,' he said.
+'Firstly, he may be the man who gave Mitchell the envelope.'
+
+'Then why the secrecy?' asked Michael. 'Why hasn't he said so ages ago?
+He knew who Mitchell was, and he knew Jerry.'
+
+'He must have convinced _her_ that he was the man, or he wouldn't have
+got the envelope,' remarked Sir Toby.
+
+'He might have got it by force,' put in Bobby darkly.
+
+Michael laughed, and Sir Toby smothered a smile.
+
+'I don't think that's very likely,' he said, 'but, of course,
+anything's possible in this romantic age. The question that is
+occupying me is why he bothered to insert his card and seal the
+envelope up again. I can't believe he suspected me of being Mr.
+Robertson.'
+
+'Hardly!' said Michael, with a grin. 'He may have put it there for the
+benefit of Mr. Robertson, though, feeling that he would certainly try
+to get it from you.'
+
+'That's possible. The second theory is that Nicholson really did take
+a definite part in the murder. I still find it hard to believe that
+he actually committed the crime, but, as you said just now, he may be
+in Robertson's pay. In that case, I assume he left the card for the
+benefit of the real owner--the fellow who wrote the letter.'
+
+'Yes, I see that,' said Bobby, nodding sagely.
+
+'Robert sees it,' said Michael. 'Loud applause, instantly suppressed.
+What's your third theory?'
+
+'That Nicholson has nothing whatever to do with the affair, but on
+hearing the story decided to take a hand in it for the fun of the
+thing. It would be quite in keeping with his character. He adores
+mystery, he adores adventure, and, if I'm not much mistaken, he adores
+Miss Mitchell.'
+
+There was a moment's silence. Bobby moved restlessly, and stared
+unhappily at the floor. Michael lit a cigarette, his green eyes as
+blank as stones. Sir Toby studied the little card in his hand.
+
+'It seems to me,' said Michael at last, 'that it all hangs on whether
+this'--he picked it up--'is the original envelope or not.'
+
+Bobby gaped, and even Sir Toby looked a little surprised.
+
+'I should think that probably it is,' he said.
+
+'But what would it prove if it wasn't?' asked Bobby.
+
+'Nothing,' said Michael. 'Look here, Bobby, suppose you have a look for
+Nicholson's car? It's about time you did a spot of useful work, and
+showed us what you can do in the sleuth line. Go and ask the police.'
+
+'I don't think that's a good plan,' said Bobby. 'The police, I mean.
+They'd want to know why, and we can't tell 'em.'
+
+'Why not?'
+
+'Bobby's right,' interposed Sir Toby. 'We don't want a newspaper
+scandal if we can avoid it. After all, there may be a perfectly natural
+explanation.'
+
+'And one can find out about the car without the help of the police,'
+added Bobby, his face brightening.
+
+'How?' asked Michael sceptically.
+
+'Oh'--Bobby shrugged his shoulders, and rose to go--'one has one's
+methods.'
+
+Sir Toby laughed.
+
+'That makes you quits, I think,' he said. 'Let's have a truce now.'
+
+Michael grinned, and a smile spread over Bobby's chubby face.
+
+'Right you are,' he said. 'Well, I must be off. Good-bye, sir. I hope
+you'll be all right soon.'
+
+'I know I shall. These attacks never last long, thank Heaven. Good-bye,
+Bobby.'
+
+'I'd better be moving too,' said Michael. 'Come and have dinner at my
+place to-night, Robert, and tell us your news, if any.'
+
+'Love to. Thanks awfully. Good Lord, it's past four! I shall have to
+sprint.'
+
+Michael collected his hat, said good-bye to Sir Toby, and took his
+leave. As he was closing the door behind him he heard Sir Toby's voice.
+
+'Did you call me?' he asked, poking his head round the door.
+
+'Yes; tell me, Michael'--Sir Toby had a smile in his eyes--'what would
+it prove if this were the original envelope?'
+
+'A good deal,' said Michael. 'It's addressed in Nicholson's
+handwriting. So long.'
+
+He went out, shutting the door behind him.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XX
+
+                         MICHAEL IS CONVINCED
+
+
+'Taxi, sir?' inquired the hall porter as Michael came down the steps.
+
+Michael shook his head. He wanted to think, and he thought best on the
+move. He was puzzled. To begin with, he was certain now that Nick was
+Professor Mitchell's unknown correspondent. That envelope had the name
+of the Jameson Club stamped on the flap. It was almost obliterated
+by the seal, but Michael had seen it. He pulled out his pocketbook
+and searched through the muddle of papers it contained. Surely he had
+put Nick's card away in it that night they swopped cars in a Suffolk
+lane? Yes, here it was. 'Mine's beer, too.' Unmistakably the same
+handwriting. Michael was conscious of a curious feeling of relief. He
+hadn't realised before just how much he had minded thinking Nick a
+blackguard.
+
+But--and here lay the puzzle--why had Nick been so silent? It was
+inconceivable that he should distrust Sir Toby, and if he were
+suspicious of Michael, why had he given away his identity at that
+party of Mrs. Lancaster's? Or was the suspect Bobby? Michael chuckled,
+remembering how offensive he himself had been to the unfortunate
+amateur detective that afternoon. Well, the first thing to do was
+to find Nick. Not too easy a proposition. Michael had no hope of
+finding him in his Jermyn Street flat. He remembered the address on
+that fateful envelope: 'J. F. Strickland, Esq., 31, Buckingham Gate
+Mansions'; but, after consideration, he abandoned the idea. This man
+Strickland would certainly be in the game, and the odds were a hundred
+to one that he would deny all knowledge of Nick.
+
+Then suddenly a bright idea struck him. Nick's doctor friend--the
+man he had sent for on the night of the murder. Jerry had liked the
+man, and had talked about him a good deal. Thorpe. That was the name.
+Question, how to get hold of him.
+
+Michael stopped and looked round. Just over the way, a few yards down
+the street, was an Underground station. He crossed the road and, going
+to the ticket office, changed half a crown into coppers. Thorpe was
+a common name, he reflected. Then he entered a call-box, taking the
+telephone directory with him. As he expected, there were dozens of
+Thorpes, and nine of them were doctors. Michael settled down to ring
+them all up.
+
+The first two were out, which depressed him, but he continued doggedly.
+Numbers three, four, and five had not been called in to attend a
+Professor Mitchell on the morning of May 24th, but the sixth admitted
+it quite calmly, and added that he remembered the case well. Could
+Michael call and see him? Certainly; he would be free till six. The
+address--Michael wrote it down--was somewhere in the wilds of Stepney.
+
+Michael was just about to leave the box when he remembered his
+invitation to Bobby. He rang up Quebec Street and warned his landlady
+that he would need supper for two that night. Then with a sigh of
+relief he emerged into the fresh air and hailed a taxi....
+
+Dr. Thorpe impressed him favourably. He liked the man's shrewd, steady
+eyes and clear-cut, crisp voice.
+
+'Well, Mr. Doone, what can I do for you?'
+
+'I want you to tell me where I can find Stephen Nicholson.'
+
+Thorpe looked surprised. 'Stephen Nicholson? Who is he?'
+
+'It's all right,' said Michael; 'I'm a friend of his.'
+
+A flicker of amusement lit the doctor's eyes.
+
+'My dear sir, I don't doubt it, but the trouble is, I'm not. I've never
+even heard of the gentleman.'
+
+There was a moment's silence, and then Michael turned to go.
+
+'Right you are,' he said quietly. 'Sorry to have wasted your time.'
+
+As he reached the door the doctor spoke:
+
+'I don't know what you're driving at, Mr. Doone,' he said, 'but I
+should like you to believe that I really do not know the man you speak
+of. I have never heard the name before, to my knowledge. There must be
+a misunderstanding somewhere.'
+
+Michael halted and surveyed the doctor with his slow, unwinking stare.
+Then suddenly he grinned.
+
+'Perhaps you know him as "Nick"?' he suggested.
+
+Thorpe's face cleared.
+
+'Good Heavens!' he said, 'is _that_ the man you want? I know him by a
+good many names, but I never heard him called Stephen Nicholson.'
+
+'Do you know where he is?'
+
+'No, I haven't the least idea, but I expect I shall see him sooner or
+later. He drifts in here pretty frequently with cases for me.'
+
+'Cases?'
+
+'Yes. Patients. Protégés of his own, mostly from the docks. Sometimes
+he sends 'em with a note; sometimes he brings 'em himself.' The doctor
+chuckled. 'Last time he came he was playing the part of a navvy. Talked
+the purest quayside Cockney, chewed tobacco, and spat into my fire,
+confound him!'
+
+'What was he up to?' Michael was interested.
+
+'Oh, he'd brought along a woman and a small boy. The woman was
+underfed, and the child had rickets. Poor little devil, he was half
+starved, too! He's down at the sea now, in a home, and doing very well,
+they tell me. Nick's footing the bill, of course.'
+
+'Does he often do that sort of thing?'
+
+'Frequently. He's one of the very few people I've met who can combine
+philanthropy and intelligence.'
+
+'What else does he do?'
+
+Thorpe looked at him sharply.
+
+'I'm afraid I don't know any more about him,' he said. 'I am a busy
+man, and singularly uninterested in other people's affairs, except when
+they concern my work. As I said, I know him by a variety of names,
+but I've no idea which of them, if any, is his real one. Nor do I
+care. I consider him a thundering good fellow, and I have no desire to
+interfere with his private affairs.'
+
+'You're about right,' said Michael slowly, 'but I want to find him.
+Truth is, he--well, he's in rather a dangerous position, and I want to
+put him wise.'
+
+'I wish I could help you,' said Thorpe, 'but I honestly have no idea
+where he is. Look here, if he comes in to see me, I'll tell him what
+you say. He knows _your_ name, I suppose?'
+
+'Yes, he knows my name,' said Michael. 'Thanks. I'd like you to let him
+know, if I don't find him myself first. Good-bye.'
+
+'Good-bye, Mr. Doone. If I see Nick I'll tell him'.
+
+Michael returned to Quebec Street. It was getting late, and Bobby would
+certainly arrive early. He always did. As Michael reached his rooms he
+caught sight of Milly coming down the stairs from Jerry's flat.
+
+'Hullo, Milly! Has Miss Mitchell come back?'
+
+'No such luck! You 'eard anythink of 'er?'
+
+'Not a word. When I saw you coming out of her room I thought she must
+be back.' His eyes, growing accustomed to the dim light, caught sight
+of a large brown paper parcel which she was carrying.
+
+'Me? Oh, I bin up ter git 'er washing. Got ter send it to the laundry
+whether she's 'ome or not, 'aven't I?'
+
+'I suppose so. By the way, did Mrs. Briggs tell you that I'm expecting
+Mr. Manvers to supper?'
+
+'Yuss. Cold beef an' salid, or 'am an' eggs?'
+
+'Cold beef, I think. It's so hot and stuffy to-night.'
+
+'There'll be a thunderstorm soon, you mark my words,' said Milly.
+'Well, I can't stop 'ere chattin', or She'll be after me: "Millicent, I
+will not 'ave you makin' free with the gentlemen lodgers. You remember
+your place, an' they'll remember theirs." Wot a 'ope! S'long, Mr.
+Doone.'
+
+She ran downstairs, whistling, and Michael retired to spread himself
+out on his sofa with a novel.
+
+As usual, Bobby turned up about seven. He was very pleased with
+himself, having discovered that an all-night garage in Golders Green
+had supplied Nick with petrol at one o'clock that morning.
+
+'It was Nicholson's car all right,' he announced. 'The man described it
+and remembered the number, but the extraordinary thing is that he was
+alone, and travelling north.'
+
+'Very odd,' said Michael, but was saved from further comment by the
+entrance of Milly with the supper. Having slapped it down on the table
+in her usual swashbuckling manner, she fished a note out of her pocket,
+and handed it to Michael.
+
+'Boy's jus' brought it,' she explained. 'No answer, 'e said.'
+
+Michael opened it. Milly lingered by the door.
+
+'It's from Jerry,' he said.
+
+'Oh, Mr. Doone! Is she all right?'
+
+'What does she say?' demanded Bobby.
+
+'It's short and to the point: "I hope you haven't been too worried
+about me. All's well, but don't try to find me just yet. I'll write
+to-night and tell you all about it, and arrange where we can meet. No
+time for more now."'
+
+'Thank God!' said Bobby.
+
+'If you ask me, I don't believe she meant ter come back yesterday,'
+said Milly suddenly.
+
+'What on earth makes you think that?' asked Bobby.
+
+'Well, fer one thing, she didn't take 'er latchkey. Miss Mitchell's
+never forgotten it before.'
+
+'That doesn't prove anything,' said Michael. 'She went out with me, and
+she knew I had a key.'
+
+'Yuss! Not arf you 'aven't! 'Ow many times 'ave you lorst it since you
+come 'ere?' demanded Milly swiftly.
+
+'How d'you know she didn't take it?' asked Bobby.
+
+Milly stared at him wide-eyed, and then dropped her voice to a
+confidential whisper.
+
+'Well, y' see, I 'ad a clue, so ter speak. I seen the key on 'er
+mantelpiece this mornin', and that sort o' gave me the idea, if yer
+foller me so far.'
+
+'Go away, Milly!' said Michael.
+
+Milly shrugged her shoulders resignedly.
+
+''E likes the last word, Mr. Doone does. An' the last word's always "Go
+away!" It ain't wot you'd call a snappy bit o' repartee, but it soots
+'im, some'ow. Goo'-bye! Be good.'
+
+The door slammed behind her. Michael and Bobby looked at each other,
+laughed, and sat down to their supper.
+
+Bobby was full of theories, which he poured out in an endless stream.
+He had worked out several brilliant ideas to explain Nick's appearance
+in Golders Green. Michael was frankly bored. He didn't care a hang
+what Nick had been doing that morning. What _he_ wanted to know was
+what Nick intended to do next, and above all, where he was to be found.
+
+'I tell you, that's a dangerous man,' said Bobby. 'Sir Toby's a
+romantic old chap, and he's got sort of attached to his own picture of
+Vive le Sport, but what I say is, the man's a criminal, and we can't
+encourage crime, can we?'
+
+Michael yawned. He considered throwing Bobby out, came to the reluctant
+conclusion that it might be thought a little discourteous, and relapsed
+into profound meditation, hardly aware of the flow of conversation from
+his guest. When Bobby finally said that he ought to be going, Michael
+bade him a polite good-night, but made no attempt to detain him.
+
+'Can you find your own way down?' he asked.
+
+'Oh, rather. Good-night, Michael. May I look in to-morrow to hear what
+Jerry's got to say?'
+
+'Of course. So long.'
+
+The door shut behind him. Michael returned to his sofa and picked up
+his book.
+
+As a matter of fact, it was a pity that his natural bad manners had
+prevented him from going to the door, for Bobby's subsequent movements
+might have interested him. Young Mr. Manvers walked noisily down six
+steps, and then very quietly mounted them again. For a moment he
+stood listening on Michael's landing. There was no one about. Then,
+very softly, he went up the stairs to the top-floor flat, and entered
+Jerry's sitting-room. He moved across the room gingerly, and struck
+a match, shielding it in his hands. On the mantelpiece lay Jerry's
+latchkey, as Milly had said. Bobby slipped it into his pocket and
+retraced his steps very cautiously. He moved remarkably quietly for so
+sturdy a young man, all the way downstairs to the first landing. Then
+he continued with his usual heavy tread.
+
+Milly was in the hall, studying a trades directory, and she looked up
+as he arrived.
+
+'Hullo, Milly, what are you d-doing?'
+
+'Lookin' for a plumber,' said Milly shortly. 'Goo'-night, Mr. Manvers.'
+
+'I should have thought you'd have had a tame plumber up your sleeve,'
+said Bobby. 'Whenever I come here, there always seems to be something
+wrong with a tap somewhere.'
+
+'Our usual one's out o' sorts,' said Milly. 'We got ter git another.
+Can y' let yerself out, Mr. Manvers?'
+
+'Oh, rather! What's wrong with your plumber, Milly? A broken heart? I
+suppose you've been flirting with him.'
+
+Milly lifted her eyes from the directory and regarded Bobby with a
+cool, disconcerting stare.
+
+'You ain't guessin' well this evenin',' she said.
+
+'Terribly crushing you are! Do tell me about your plumber friend.'
+
+Milly shut the directory with a snap.
+
+''Is wife's 'ad triplets, and 'e's congratulated 'isself into D.T.'s,'
+she said. 'It all comes o' not knowin' when ter stop. There's the door,
+Mr. Manvers. Don't slam it after you.'
+
+Bobby let himself out. Milly watched the door shut behind him, and then
+raced up the stairs to Michael's room.
+
+'Mr. Doone!'
+
+Michael looked up from his book.
+
+'I got a message for yer.'
+
+'Who sent it?'
+
+'There wasn't no name. I was told ter give it yer when you was alone.'
+
+'Well, go ahead.'
+
+'It was askin' yer to call at 31 Buckingham Gate Mansions this evenin'.
+But I was ter be sure and tell yer to come alone.'
+
+Michael leapt to his feet and looked at his watch.
+
+'It's half-past ten. Blast the man!' he said. 'Where's my hat?'
+
+Milly handed it to him.
+
+'You blastin' the bloke wot sent that message?' she asked.
+
+'No!' Michael grinned. 'I'm blasting the mutt who's been wasting my
+time this evening.'
+
+'Oh, _'im_!' Milly beamed on him. 'Mr. Bloomin' Manvers. 'E's got a
+sauce, 'e 'as! I don't think much of 'im, Mr. Doone.'
+
+'Oh, you don't, don't you?' said Michael, fumbling in his pocket to see
+if he'd got his latchkey.
+
+'No. 'E ain't no good. But you don't believe me when I tells yer wot a
+bloke's like.'
+
+Michael, halfway through the door, checked for a second and looked at
+her.
+
+'I'm beginning to think you're not such a bad judge, after all,' he
+said.
+
+'That's right, Mr. Doone! Now you c'n 'op orf an' tell 'im, so, too.
+Give 'im my love!'
+
+'Right!' said Michael, and descended the stairs three steps at a time.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXI
+
+                        JERRY EXPLAINS HERSELF
+
+
+That same Monday evening Jerry Mitchell was curled up in a big chair in
+the Stricklands' sitting-room, half listening, half absorbed in her own
+thoughts.
+
+She was only half listening, because Nick was giving Jack Strickland an
+account of his adventures of the past four months, and she had heard
+the story before. She watched them thoughtfully; Jack's keen, dark
+face, alight with understanding and appreciation, and Nick, laughter
+in his eyes, telling of his successes and failures with equal zest.
+Just now, she thought, he seemed so young; an everlasting boy. And yet
+she knew, if the occasion arose, his face could change suddenly....
+'Adequate fella, Nick. Always was.' She could hear Thorpe's crisp
+voice, and smiled at the memory. It seemed an age ago. She had lost
+all count of time lately. For instance, she could hardly believe that
+it had been only last night that Nick had brought her here. Her face
+softened, remembering Jill's serene, friendly, unquestioning welcome.
+Then, early next morning, Jack Strickland had arrived from Russia, and
+Jerry had fallen for him as quickly as she had for his sister. They
+were a heavenly couple, and how they both loved Nick! Jill had spoken
+to her of Nick; had told her how he had saved Jack's life in France,
+and a few other facts of that far-away war-time, that had made Jerry
+curiously dumb. She didn't want to talk about Nick. She wasn't even
+sure if it were quite safe to think about him, though it was hard
+not to. To tell the honest truth--and Jerry was usually honest with
+herself--she was afraid. Not of Nick, but of herself. It was a queer,
+overwhelming feeling that took her suddenly, and made her scramble
+desperately back to safety. Difficult, sometimes, especially when his
+voice grew gentle. Nick was so certain of himself, and how could she be
+certain? And yet, if Nick went away.... She jerked herself back to the
+talk.
+
+'So now you understand what _your_ job is,' Nick was saying.
+
+'Perfectly.' Jack laughed. 'But look here, Nick, that's not all. I want
+to know a little more. To start with, who _is_ the Chief? If I've got
+to arrest him, I feel I ought to know.'
+
+Nick shook his head.
+
+'I'd rather not tell you, Jack, if you can bear it. You might meet him
+to-morrow, and ... I won't take any chances. But I swear I'll let you
+know before you do your stuff. Will that do?'
+
+Jack surveyed him amusedly.
+
+'It'll have to, I suppose. The Playboy must have his mystery. Well, is
+that all my orders?'
+
+'That's all, thanks.'
+
+Jack rose to his feet.
+
+'Then, if you'll forgive me, I'm going to bed. I've had precious little
+sleep for the last three nights, and I've got to look intelligent for
+the benefit of my superiors to-morrow morning. Good-night, Jerry. By
+the way, where's Jill?'
+
+'In the kitchen, turning out a cupboard,' said Jerry.
+
+'It's a curious vice, that,' said Jack. 'Jill's always succumbing to
+it. Her idea of heaven is a place full of endless cupboards, which she
+will turn out all day long. Good-night, Nick.'
+
+'Good-night, old man. It's good to have you back.'
+
+For answer, Jack dropped a hand on Nick's shoulder for an instant and
+then went out.
+
+There was silence in the little room. Nick sat on the padded leather
+fender, staring at the glowing end of the cigarette in his hand. Jerry
+watched his grave face. The boy had turned into a man--a very adequate
+man. For one second she contemplated retreat, and then dismissed the
+idea. One must keep one's head, and not be a fool.
+
+Then Nick looked up and spoke, gravely:
+
+'The end's in sight, old lady.'
+
+Jerry nodded, with a feeling of relief. She knew that tone. They were
+partners when he spoke like that; he was thinking of the job.
+
+'Are things panning out as well as you expected?'
+
+'Better.' He spoke deliberately. 'Now Jack's home we're set safely.
+I've got the information I want, and I wouldn't mind betting that,
+with Michael's help, we shall pull off this show without the slightest
+hitch. By the way, you didn't forget to post that letter, did you?'
+
+'No. Put it in the letter-box myself.' Jerry jumped to her feet
+impulsively. 'Nick, it's marvellous of you to let me be in this. I
+don't believe anyone else would understand just why and how much I want
+to be there. I want to stop hating him, you see, and ... oh, well, I
+can't explain.'
+
+'I should feel just the same,' said Nick. 'But there's no question of
+"letting" you be in it. I want your help. You're an essential part of
+the scheme. I couldn't pull it off without you.'
+
+'Honestly, Nick?'
+
+'Absolutely honestly. You ask Jack.'
+
+Jerry walked over to the window, and stood staring out at the
+smoky-blue summer night sky. 'It's awfully good,' she murmured.
+
+'What is?'
+
+'To feel that I'm really playing an essential part in the game--that it
+hasn't been taken clean out of my hands.'
+
+Nick crossed the room with a slow stride, and came over to the window.
+
+'I wish you knew what an infernally essential part you're beginning to
+play in all my games,' he said.
+
+Jerry was silent, staring at the sky. Nick watched her stern young
+face, white against the dark panelling.
+
+'No chance for me at all?' he asked at last, and Jerry knew there was
+laughter as well as gravity in his eyes. She steeled herself to answer
+lightly.
+
+'Nick, for goodness' sake talk about something else.'
+
+'I can't. I can't think of anything else. I love you.'
+
+Jerry caught her breath. It wasn't fair. Then Nick put a hand on her
+shoulder, and the gentleness of his touch was more than she could bear.
+
+'Don't!' she said, in sudden anger that was half pain.
+
+Nick released her instantly, and she saw his face whiten.
+
+'I'm sorry,' he said quietly, and turned away.
+
+With a little gasp, Jerry ran to him.
+
+'Nick! Nick, please forgive me. I didn't mean to hurt you. But oh! how
+can I explain?'
+
+She took hold of his coat with both hands and, looking up, laughed a
+little uncertainly at the sight of his perplexed face. Very cautiously,
+Nick put his arms round her, and she leant her head against him, with a
+sudden feeling of comfort and safety.
+
+'I wish I knew just exactly what's worrying you, small person,' he said
+to her hair.
+
+Jerry sighed, and disengaged herself.
+
+'I don't know if I can explain, but I'll try. Sit down there.'
+
+Obediently, Nick sat down on the back of the sofa, but still kept an
+arm round her. Jerry looked at the wavering lines in the Persian rug at
+her feet. Nick looked at Jerry. There was a long silence.
+
+'Well, _one_ of us must start soon,' said Nick plaintively, 'or we
+shall never get to the bottom of this business. Shall I have a shot?'
+
+Jerry nodded.
+
+'You said just now that it was good to feel you were playing an
+essential part in this game of ours.'
+
+'Yes.' In a very small voice. 'And to feel that it hadn't been taken
+right out of my hands.'
+
+Nick was silent. He was just beginning to see the fences ahead.
+
+'It's too big for me!' Jerry burst out suddenly. 'I don't know what I'm
+doing. I never felt like this before. It doesn't seem _me_ at all.'
+
+'I never felt like this before, either,' said Nick quietly.
+
+'But it's different for you. You're certain of yourself. You know what
+you're doing. At least, you seem to.'
+
+'Of course I do,' said Nick. 'A lot of chance I should have if I
+didn't, shouldn't I? Why, you'd laugh me to scorn, stamp on me, and
+then hang me out to dry. _I_ know you!'
+
+A smile flickered in Jerry's eyes, and faded again.
+
+'Nick, please try to understand. _Can't_ you?'
+
+'I am trying, but you must make allowances for a man's stupidity. I
+love you, you see, and I'm oddly anxious to know if you care for me, at
+all. By the way, you believe that I love you, I suppose?'
+
+'Yes.' Jerry nodded gravely. 'You say you do, and I think you know your
+own mind, and mean what you say.'
+
+'Thank you.'
+
+'But, Nick'--she twisted round and faced him--'am I in love with you?
+That's what I want to know.'
+
+'So do I. Badly.'
+
+'You see, one ought to be able to make up one's mind reasonably, but I
+can't because you keep upsetting things so.'
+
+'I'm sorry,' said Nick humbly. 'Am I upsetting things now?'
+
+'No. But I always feel you may, any minute.'
+
+'It happens sometimes,' said Nick, 'when you beat round the bush. I
+hate having the subject changed for me, and I have to fight down a
+temptation to pick you up and spank you.'
+
+'Please, Nick!' said Jerry hastily.
+
+He laughed. 'All right. Now listen to me. Do you like me?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'Much?'
+
+'Better than anyone I've met so far.'
+
+'Well, then----'
+
+'Is that enough?' asked Jerry swiftly.
+
+There was a pause, and then Nick said, 'No.'
+
+'You see, Nick'--the words came tumbling out of her--'I feel that if I
+fall in love with you, I shall never be the same again.'
+
+'Neither shall I!'
+
+'Yes, you will!'
+
+'Superficially I may seem the same, but fundamentally I shall change a
+lot.'
+
+'Now you're going to be funny, I suppose. I'm serious, Nick.'
+
+'So am I. Deadly. Fundamentally I shall be a better and nobler man.'
+
+Jerry regarded him thoughtfully.
+
+'Yes, I don't suppose it will show much on the surface,' she said
+dispassionately.
+
+'Now _you're_ lowering the tone of the conversation. Jerry, darling,
+why not try falling in love with me and see how it works? I'm perfectly
+willing to take the risk.'
+
+'Nick, don't be so incredibly stupid! Can't you understand that I could
+probably bear it if you found out after a while that you didn't care
+for me, but I should simply die if I stopped caring for you.'
+
+There was another silence. Nick pulled Jerry down beside him. She leant
+her head back against his shoulder, contentedly.
+
+'Jerry,' said Nick at last.
+
+'Yes?'
+
+'Suppose--just suppose you knew that we were both going to be drowned
+in six months' time. Would you admit that you love me?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'And marry me?'
+
+'I expect so.'
+
+Another silence.
+
+'It's no good,' said Nick. 'I'm sorry, but I can't consent to our
+deaths. Couldn't you manage an extension of the time? Say, to forty
+years? They'd go awfully quickly.'
+
+Jerry began to laugh.
+
+'Oh, Nick, there's no one like you! I expect I'm a fool, but I've got
+to think it out for myself.'
+
+'All right,' said Nick. 'You'll let me know as soon as you have
+decided, won't you?'
+
+'I promise. I'll either say: "Never, no chance," or else I'll say:
+"Whenever you like, Nick."'
+
+Nick's arm round her tightened.
+
+'And while you're deciding, golden days are going to waste. Oh, Jerry,
+darling, give it up. You're making mountains out of molehills.'
+
+'I can't help it.'
+
+'It doesn't fit you at all. You ought to be a dashed good gambler.'
+
+Jerry disengaged herself, and walked over to the window.
+
+'It isn't a thing I care to gamble on,' she said coldly. 'I suppose men
+are made differently.'
+
+'Possibly,' said Nick, with dangerous calm.
+
+'Well, this argument has proved that you can't see what I'm driving at,
+anyway. I suppose you feel that I can't understand you either.'
+
+'As a matter of fact, I haven't been trying to explain myself, much.
+We've been more or less concentrating on your side of the affair,
+haven't we?'
+
+'We have. Without much success. However, if you leave me alone, I've no
+doubt I shall be able to make up my mind in time.'
+
+A flame of laughter lit in Nick's eyes.
+
+'One word more in that tone, young woman,' he said deliberately, 'and I
+shall make up your mind for you.'
+
+'Do you really flatter yourself you could?'
+
+'I know I can.'
+
+Jerry smiled, defiantly. Nick rose to his feet and advanced on her
+swiftly. There was a prolonged peal from the front doorbell, and Jerry
+held up a protesting hand.
+
+'There's someone at the door!'
+
+'I guessed it,' said Nick. 'It won't hurt them to wait a minute.'
+
+'You can't let people hang about on the landing.'
+
+'Can't I?' said Nick grimly.
+
+The bell rang again, furiously. Sudden alarm filled Jerry's face, and
+she caught Nick by the sleeve.
+
+'Nick! I suppose--it isn't Mr. Robertson?'
+
+He slipped an arm round her protectively, and felt her shivering.
+
+'No such luck, old lady. It's probably Michael. If it were Robertson,
+I'd kill him twice over--the second time for interrupting me just as I
+was about to give you a well-deserved lesson.'
+
+'All right, Nick, go ahead. There's Jack's riding-crop.'
+
+'I can't now,' said Nick. 'But next time you talk to me like that, by
+Jove, you'll catch it! I suppose I must let this untimely blighter in.'
+
+'I think you'd better,' said Jerry serenely. 'Whatever our manners may
+be to each other, let's try to be decently polite to outsiders.'
+
+Nick grinned rather wildly.
+
+'You know, you're enough to drive any man completely crazy,' he said.
+
+'Yes, Nick, I know. But do answer the door.'
+
+Nick took her face in his hands, hesitated, and then kissed the top of
+her head. As he turned to go, he said, over his shoulder: 'That was
+amazing moderation on my part!'
+
+Jerry chuckled, and watched him cross the hall and open the door. On
+the mat stood Michael.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXII
+
+                        JILL HAS THE LAST WORD
+
+
+'Hullo, Doone,' said Nick. 'Come in.'
+
+Michael entered, and flung down his hat.
+
+'Look here, Nick, I've sold you to Manvers and Sir Toby,' he said
+abruptly.
+
+Jerry saw Nick's quick smile.
+
+'I told 'em you were Vive le Sport,' went on Michael doggedly. 'In
+fact, I've made a damned fool of myself.'
+
+Nick held out his hand, and they shook in silence.
+
+'Come in and have a drink,' suggested Nick. 'There's a lot I want to
+tell you. Jerry's here, by the way.'
+
+'How goes it, old thing?' said Jerry, coming across the hall.
+
+'Not so badly.' Michael smiled at her. 'What's the big idea, Jerry?'
+
+'Nick will tell you. It's a long story, but very, very beautiful.'
+
+'Yes. There's a sort of wistful charm about it,' said Nick, leading
+Michael into the sitting-room. 'Come along in. Jerry, do you know where
+Jill keeps the glasses?'
+
+'In the kitchen, I expect. What are you going to drink?'
+
+Nick looked at Michael inquiringly.
+
+'Mine's beer,' said Michael, meeting his eyes, and Jerry was aware,
+uncomprehending, of complete understanding between the two men.
+
+'Well, I don't like beer,' she said, 'so I think I'll go to bed and
+leave you to discuss the plan of campaign. Good-night.'
+
+'Good-night, old thing,' said Michael.
+
+Nick, behind his back, blew a kiss to her, and then turned to his guest.
+
+'Make yourself comfortable,' he said. 'Tobacco in that box. Help
+yourself. I'll go and hunt up some glasses.'
+
+A light was burning in the kitchen, but the room appeared to be empty.
+Nick opened a door in the wall, with great caution, only to discover
+that it led to the larder. Then he heard a faint noise behind him, and
+swung round to see Jill emerging from a large cupboard.
+
+'Hullo, Nick,' she said calmly. 'Are you hungry?'
+
+'No. Thirsty. I was looking for some glasses.' He surveyed her with
+amusement. 'Jill, I've never seen you look untidy before.'
+
+'Haven't you? I've been turning out that cupboard, you see.'
+
+'I do see. The result is most disturbing. Your hair's standing on end,
+your face is flushed with exertion, and you've got a large black
+smudge on your nose. This is terribly unusual, Jill. I don't feel I
+recognise you.'
+
+'If it comes to that, you're hardly yourself, either,' said Jill
+thoughtfully. 'There's a light in your eyes, Nick, that is new to me.
+Is it a good world?'
+
+'Divil a doubt of it! Where are those glasses, Jill?'
+
+She laughed. 'You coward! On the top shelf of the dresser.'
+
+'What d'you mean--"coward"?' demanded Nick, turning to the shelf
+indicated. 'Have you forgotten that I got an O.B.E. in the Great War?
+"Their memories are short, said he bitterly. They do not remember the
+men who bled for them. Pints of blood I shed, too."'
+
+'Their memories aren't so bad, really,' said Jill. 'They remember the
+men who said: "If a woman cropped up in this game I should jack the
+whole thing up."'
+
+Nick dropped a glass with a crash.
+
+'Jill, you--little--devil!' he said.
+
+Jill looked interested.
+
+'Nick, do you know, I've never been called that before. Dear old chap,
+don't grind that glass into the linoleum if you can help it.'
+
+'I'm awfully sorry,' said Nick, collecting the fragments. 'For breaking
+the glass I mean, not for the well-deserved epithet. Jill, I'd clean
+forgotten that I said that.'
+
+'Their memories are short', said she with satisfaction. 'They forget
+the harsh things they said about the weaker sex.'
+
+'Weaker! Heaven help us! Jill, I'll buy you another glass. What shall I
+do with the pieces?'
+
+'Throw them into that bucket. Yes, do. Woolworth's. Sixpence. I'll
+come with you. I love watching people in Woolworth's. They go in so
+scornfully--and they come out thrilled.'
+
+'I never go anywhere scornfully--and I'm always thrilled. Jill, tell
+me, did you _know_, that night?'
+
+'I didn't exactly _know_--I just thought--I don't know, Nick. I can't
+explain.'
+
+'The world's full of people who can't explain. Jill, am I unusually
+stupid, do you think?'
+
+'Not for a man. Give her time, Nick.'
+
+'I'd like to give her socks! There _isn't_ any time!'
+
+Jill laughed.
+
+'You'd better be careful,' she warned. 'She isn't the sort of child
+who'll stand....'
+
+'I know it! Only too well do I know it! Jill, tell me ... no, I'd
+rather you didn't.'
+
+'Very wise man! Hadn't you better take those glasses along and give
+your accomplice a drink? You'll find the beer in the dining-room.'
+
+'Right. Thanks, awfully.' He collected two tumblers from the dresser,
+and moved towards the door. 'Are you going to disappear into that
+cupboard again?'
+
+'No.' Jill sighed regretfully. 'It's finished.'
+
+'That crowded hour of glorious life is over. Poor little Jill!'
+
+'I like doing it,' said Jill. 'You know where you are with a cupboard.'
+
+'_Jill!_' Nick brandished a glass above her head menacingly. 'If you
+say one more thing like that--I shan't merely call you names.'
+
+'Well, if you _will_ come and trail the tail of your coat all round my
+peaceful kitchen, what can you expect?'
+
+'I certainly didn't expect this, and it's a great shock to me. I had no
+idea you were capable of such provocation.'
+
+'But, Nick, my dear, never before has there been such a perfect
+opportunity to pull your leg, because ... but I think you'd better go
+and look after Michael Doone.'
+
+'Confound Michael Doone! "Because" why?'
+
+'You won't like it if I tell you.'
+
+'Never mind. Finish the sentence.'
+
+'Because usually you are so certain. That's why you always get away
+with everything. Up to now, you've always _known_; just like that. And
+now you don't know--and everyone else does!'
+
+'I _don't_ like it,' said Nick. 'And I'm going. Good-bye. I mean,
+good-night!'
+
+Jill watched his dignified exit, her eyes alight with laughter.
+
+'Vive le Sport!' she said softly.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXIII
+
+                            'MR. ROBERTSON'
+
+
+Bobby Manvers rose unusually early next morning, and before seven he
+was in Quebec Street, walking casually past No. 60. Seven A.M.
+is a trying hour for a fashionable young man, and, to make matters
+worse, Bobby was very anxious. The date was worrying him. Tuesday, June
+the 9th. It rang in his head like the ominous tolling of a bell. June
+the 9th! And on June the 10th....
+
+Then he saw the postman come round the corner, stepping along with the
+busy air that postmen invariably wear. Bobby waited till he heard the
+rat-tat at the door of No. 58, and then, producing Jerry's latchkey,
+let himself into No. 60. As he guessed, the house was as silent as
+the grave. Bobby left the door open, and waited. The postman came
+and, seeing the open door, hesitated. Bobby bade him a cheerful good
+morning, and added: 'Shall I take the letters?'
+
+'Thank you, sir. Quite a number this morning.'
+
+The postman handed them over, and went off. Bobby ran through the
+letters quickly. There was one addressed to Michael in Jerry's
+handwriting. Bobby slipped it into his pocket, dropped the others on
+the mat, and went out, shutting the door softly behind him. He walked
+briskly to the nearest Tube station, and entering a call-box, opened
+Jerry's letter. It was dated June 8th.
+
+    DEAR MICHAEL,
+
+    I want you to come to-morrow night to Isaac Jacob's shop in Quay
+    Street. It's a sort of clothier's, next door to a pub called The
+    Sailmaker's Arms. You can't miss it. Go in and speak to old Jacob.
+    The password is 'V.L.S.' When you say that, he will bring you
+    upstairs to us. Nick has a room above the shop.
+
+    I can't tell you much now, but Nick is William's friend--the man
+    who gave him the envelope. Nick has found out who Mr. Robertson is,
+    and he's worked out all his plans to catch him. You remember the
+    10th of June? Well, that's the day when Nick will take action, but
+    he wants to see you first, so will you come down to-morrow--the
+    9th--between 10 and 11 P.M. I shall be there, too, and will tell
+    you all about our adventures since I last saw you.
+
+    Nick says be sure not to tell anyone about this, not even Bobby,
+    until the show's over. We don't want the news to leak out.
+
+                                                             Yours ever
+                                                                  JERRY
+
+Bobby stuffed the letter into his pocket, and wiped his forehead.
+He was conscious of a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It
+had been a close shave. If he had not managed to get this letter,
+things might have been alarming. As it was, he must let the Chief
+know immediately. Plans would have to be altered a good deal. Jacob's
+shop in Quay Street! And all this time he had had a man watching an
+innocent house in Leman Street, while Vive le Sport had come and gone
+freely elsewhere. Bobby took off the telephone receiver and rang up the
+Chief.
+
+Three minutes later he emerged from the call-box, and took a bus to
+Commercial Road. Turning down Leman Street he found his assistant,
+propping up the walls of a public-house. In a few guarded sentences
+Bobby explained himself.
+
+'Right y' are,' said the watcher, nodding. 'Ikey Jacob's. I know 'im.
+No point in worryin' abaht it till s'arternoon, is there?'
+
+'I want you to be there by three, at the latest,' said Bobby. 'Watch
+who goes in and comes out, and let me know. I shall be back about
+half-past ten to-night.'
+
+'Right-o, guv'nor.' The watcher nodded again, and Bobby made his way
+back to the West End.
+
+As a matter of fact, it was barely ten past ten when he arrived in Quay
+Street, this time accompanied by a tall man with a black beard. The
+watcher arose from the darkness to greet them.
+
+'Lots o' blokes 'ave bin in and out,' he whispered. 'But there's
+one went in two hour ago, and ain't shown up since. Tall bloke,
+clean-shaven, an' 'ad a gal with 'im.'
+
+Bobby glanced at his companion with an expression of triumph, not
+unmixed with apprehension. Mr. Robertson smiled faintly, but made no
+comment.
+
+'Good' said Bobby to the watcher. 'Keep on at your post till we come
+out. We may need you, but you know what to expect.'
+
+'Yessir. Right y' are.' He lifted up his voice in the true beggar's
+whine: 'Spare us a tanner, gentlemen. Ain't 'ad a bite since day 'fore
+yesterday, swelp me, Bob! Thank ye, sir. Gawd bless yer!'
+
+Bobby and his companion entered the shop.
+
+It was a dingy little place, lit by a flaring gas jet. Jacob himself,
+with his bright boot-button eyes, sat behind the counter, and sniffed
+into his straggling grey beard. The room smelt of cheese and oilskins
+and escaping gas. A long, lanky fellow in blue trousers and sweater
+leant up against the far end of the counter. He was talking in an
+undertone to Jacob, and did not look up as the newcomers entered.
+
+Bobby nodded curtly.
+
+'V.L.S.,' he said, without preface.
+
+'That's right,' said Jacob, waving his hand towards a door at the back
+of the shop. 'Upstairs and the first on your right. But you know the
+way, maybe?'
+
+Bobby nodded, and crossed the little room. His companion followed him,
+with a curious glance over his shoulder at the lanky sailor, who was
+struggling to pull on a pair of sea-boots, and cursing under his breath
+in vivid Cockney. They passed out into a narrow passage, shutting the
+shop door behind them, and began to mount the stairs. At the top Bobby
+hesitated. His companion glanced at him and smiled.
+
+'I suppose ... er ... I suppose this is the right way?' said Bobby in
+an undertone.
+
+There was a shadow of doubt in his voice, and his companion heard it.
+Without a word he stepped in front of him, and knocked sharply on the
+door. Nick's voice answered. 'Come in, Michael!' they heard him say.
+
+The man with the beard entered the room, revolver in hand. Bobby
+followed close. Jerry and Nick were sitting over the fire talking
+gravely, and as they turned Nick leapt to his feet, with a startled
+exclamation.
+
+'Don't move, please,' said the man with the beard. 'Let me explain at
+once that this little weapon of mine has a silencer. I find it very
+handy. My secretary here, whom I believe you have met, always uses the
+same type.'
+
+Nick bowed.
+
+'May I introduce Miss Mitchell?' he said. 'Jerry, this is Mr.
+Robertson, whom you have been so anxious to meet. Also his
+second-in-command, Mr. Manvers. You remember him?'
+
+'I do indeed,' said Jerry. She surveyed Bobby coolly, and gave a
+contemptuous little laugh. 'How absurd!' she said.
+
+Bobby flushed, and scowled. The man with the beard smiled
+appreciatively.
+
+'I'm delighted to meet you both,' he said, 'but forgive me if I
+talk business. Time's getting short. May I have that list of names,
+Nicholson?'
+
+'I'm afraid not,' said Nick. 'It's not in my possession.'
+
+Robertson turned to Jerry.
+
+'Perhaps you can help me. I want the letter given to your father in the
+Jameson Club on the night of April 24th. It was stolen from me that
+evening by this most efficient burglar, Mr. Nicholson.'
+
+Jerry smiled.
+
+'I'm afraid it's no good, Mr. Robertson. Surely you must see that, as
+my father's executor, my hands are tied. I have his instructions, and
+must carry them out.'
+
+'I see that you are indeed your father's daughter,' said the bearded
+man, 'but, believe me, you're being rather foolish. I must have that
+paper. I would rather not resort to force if I can make you see reason
+without it. In fact, I shrink from the idea of hurting either you
+or your secretive friend. By the way, he ought to have confided in
+you a little more fully. If he had, you would not be in this awkward
+position. But, as I was saying, I beg you to be reasonable, and not
+force me to use drastic measures. I have felt the keenest affection for
+Vive le Sport ever since he began his romantic career, and I cannot but
+admire a young lady of your courage.'
+
+'Thank you,' said Jerry, and her voice had an edge to it. 'I wonder if
+you admired my father?'
+
+'Immensely. I regretted having to use force there more than I can say,
+but he gave me no alternative. That is why I implore you to be more
+sensible.'
+
+'It's a form of insanity that runs in our family, this keeping of
+promises,' said Jerry. 'We call it common decency, when we have to
+refer to it, but generally one takes it for granted. I don't suppose
+you understand that, though.'
+
+The appreciation in the man's eyes deepened as he watched her. Then,
+suddenly, he turned to Nick.
+
+'For Heaven's sake, be reasonable, Nicholson,' he said. 'I know only
+too well that you enjoy risking your own life, but you have no right to
+risk Miss Mitchell's. Hand me over that list and let's have done.'
+
+'I'm afraid you can't have heard me,' said Nick. 'The list is not in my
+possession.'
+
+'Have you sent it to Scotland Yard?'
+
+Nick raised his eyebrows.
+
+'Mr. Robertson,' he said gently, 'your memory is failing you. If you
+remember, I told you that if you were not out of the country by June
+the 10th I should be obliged to take steps against you. I also said
+that I should make every effort to save the rank and file of your
+maniac army, although I intended to expose you. I always endeavour to
+keep my word. The police have _not_ got that list ... yet.'
+
+Mr. Robertson smiled.
+
+'You know,' he said, 'you're a man after my own heart. I wish you
+weren't. It would save me considerable regret. I suppose you wouldn't
+consider--no, of course you wouldn't. Well, it's a great pity. I could
+have worked with you.'
+
+'We should have clashed on every question of ethics,' said Nick. 'But,
+apart from that, I believe you're right. By the way, I've always wanted
+to know--and I may never get another chance to ask you--why did you
+choose Manvers as your second-in-command? It makes me think of the
+numbers of brilliant men and women who deliberately marry congenital
+idiots. A common occurrence, but it never ceases to amaze me.'
+
+'Oh, our Bobby has his uses,' said Mr. Robertson tolerantly. 'He hasn't
+really made a mess of any job before. It was when you crossed his path
+that Bobby lost his head, and that was partly luck. You must admit
+you've been lucky, you know. That railway smash, for instance. I'm not
+decrying your skill, but people like Vive le Sport don't grow on every
+blackberry bush. It wasn't all Bobby's stupidity, though I must confess
+he's lamentably weak on psychology.'
+
+'Oh, good God!' broke in Bobby, with an irritation that betrayed
+nervousness. 'Do get on with the job. It's getting late!'
+
+'But I'm enjoying myself,' protested Mr. Robertson. 'As a student of
+human nature, Nicholson interests me enormously. But I dare say you're
+right. I take it'--he turned to Nick--'that in spite of all my advice
+you refuse to return my property?'
+
+'You take it correctly.'
+
+'You do realise that you're in my power, don't you?'
+
+'I admit it looks like it.'
+
+'Looks?' Mr. Robertson raised his eyebrows. 'You're not expecting a
+dramatic rescue by Michael Doone, are you? I'm afraid there's no hope
+of that. To tell you the truth, he never got your letter asking him to
+come.'
+
+There was no answer, but Mr. Robertson, watching closely, saw Nick bite
+his lip. Jerry's face was averted.
+
+'Think it over, Nicholson,' he advised. 'For a quixotic idea you're
+proposing to sacrifice not only yourself but this charming young lady.
+You're not very chivalrous, are you? And martyrdom is out of date.'
+
+'Don't worry about me, Nick,' said Jerry clearly. 'I'm with you ...
+whenever you like!'
+
+Their eyes met. Nick took an impulsive step towards her, and then
+checked himself, throwing up his hands with a despairing, half-comic
+gesture of helplessness. They both smiled; a smile of complete
+understanding.
+
+'You have at least one loyal supporter,' said Mr. Robertson.
+
+Nick's eyes narrowed.
+
+'You're wasting time, Mr. Robertson,' he said coldly. 'I tried to make
+the position clear to you last April. Either you leave the country and
+call off your crusade by to-morrow, or else Scotland Yard will receive
+the list of your supporters. That stands. Nothing you may do to me
+will alter it. If I had guessed that you would deliberately murder an
+innocent man, I should have made my terms rather different.'
+
+Mr. Robertson sighed, weighing his revolver thoughtfully in his hand.
+
+'It was a pity about Mitchell,' he said; 'but he was so hasty. I
+assure you, Nicholson, I regretted the necessity. You see, he refused
+to tell me where the list was, and attempted to telephone for the
+police. It was essential that I should search his room, and so I had no
+alternative. Then, as it happened, I was not able to look for the list,
+for I heard someone moving in the room above me. However, we had a look
+later.'
+
+'Yes,' said Nick. 'I shall never forget Bobby's disappointed face when
+he realised it wasn't there.'
+
+'You saw him? Upon my word, my admiration for you increases every
+minute. Yes, it was a pity. If only he had told me that the envelope
+was in his bank we should have all been saved this regrettable affair.'
+
+'I think your own psychology was not too good there.'
+
+Mr. Robertson shrugged his shoulders.
+
+'Well, there's no more to be said, I suppose. Will you be so good
+as to sit down in that chair, Nicholson? Though I may not look like
+a desperate man, I admit frankly that the time has come when I can
+take no chances, and I respect your physical attributes as much as I
+do your mentality. I have a vivid memory of seeing you engaged in a
+little--er--argument in Nightingale Lane one evening. While Bobby is
+tying you to the chair, I shall keep Miss Mitchell covered, and if you
+resist I shall shoot. You do believe me, don't you?'
+
+'Surely,' said Nick, sitting down obediently. 'Come along, Bobby. Do
+your stuff.'
+
+Bobby Manvers advanced with some hesitation. Nick watched him with
+unconcealed amusement.
+
+'Isn't his caution flattering?' he said to Jerry. 'It's all right,
+Bobby. Do your duty and fear not. I'm helpless.'
+
+'Shut your mouth, damn you!' snarled Bobby, jerking viciously at the
+rope.
+
+Mr. Robertson glanced at him reprovingly.
+
+'Bobby, Bobby, remember your manners,' he said. 'I must apologise for
+him, Nicholson. His temperament is just a _little_ too excitable. You
+understand?'
+
+'Perfectly,' said Nick, submitting to be tied to the chair.
+
+Mr. Robertson crossed the room and tried the door on the far side. It
+was locked and there was no key.
+
+'Where does this lead to?' he asked.
+
+'The Sailmaker's Arms, next door.'
+
+'Have you the key?'
+
+'No.'
+
+'Then who has? The proprietor--or Jacob?'
+
+'Neither. The landlord has it. These two houses were originally one.'
+
+'I see. Well, Bobby, stand by Nicholson, and gag him if he attempts to
+speak. I don't think he will, but one never knows. Miss Mitchell, I
+want to speak to you. Won't you sit down?'
+
+Jerry leaning against the table, shook her head. Mr. Robertson slipped
+his revolver into his pocket, and studied her face thoughtfully.
+
+'In the first place,' he began, 'please don't think I am actuated by
+any malice against Nicholson. When I said just now that he was a man
+after my own heart, I meant it, every word. I like him better than any
+man I have ever met. I like his courage, his audacity, and, above all,
+his sense of humour, which is only another way of saying balance. In
+fact'--he smiled--'may I congratulate you? He's one in a thousand.'
+
+Jerry bowed.
+
+'But--I hate to say it--but he has his failings. He has all the Irish
+pride. He expects to be believed, whether he explains himself or not.
+If you don't trust him implicitly, you can go to the devil. _He'll_
+not bother to state his case. And no man on earth is always right,
+Miss Mitchell. Vive le Sport! He takes up the cudgels and wades into
+the fray without stopping to think. Just now he's fighting most
+gallantly--on behalf of a man who doesn't desire or need defence. It's
+enough to make one weep, although his utter sincerity compels one's
+affection and respect.'
+
+He paused. Jerry gripped the edge of the table, and tried to shut her
+ears to the charm of his voice.
+
+'I wonder if you really understand what I am driving at,' he went
+on. 'This Fraternity of mine--you don't look upon it as a mob of
+revolutionaries, do you? That's the difficulty, so often. Whenever
+a man wants to start a reform of any kind, three-quarters of the
+population immediately conjure up a horrid vision of a vast crowd of
+frenzied insurgents, armed with knives and pitchforks, sweeping through
+the streets of London, by the light of flaming torches, and leaving
+havoc and slaughter in their wake. It's curious, for the English as a
+race are deeply attached to the English of all classes. If you could
+only meet some of my crowd you'd believe me when I say that riot is
+the last thing they would contemplate or allow. They really care
+about England, and they care enough to want to do something about it.
+No one in his senses can fail to see that all is not well with the
+country under the present system. Four years of the most ghastly war
+in history have almost wrecked England. You have only to use your own
+eyes. Aliens, and, worse still, English profiteers who care nothing
+for England, are in power. Our best men are left in the mud. Take
+Nicholson's own case. Whatever he may or may not have told you, I am
+certain he has concealed nothing of his previous career from you. Why
+did he take to burglary? Simply because he was bitterly angry--and
+quite rightly bitter--at the sight of the injustice around him. Because
+of the rottenness of the system that let such men as he die like dogs
+of starvation, after they had risked life and health and sanity to save
+their country. I want to alter that; and who shall say I am not right?'
+
+'It's a great ideal, Mr. Robertson,' said Jerry steadily. 'But your
+methods don't appeal to me. I find it hard to believe that you will
+save England by murder.'
+
+There was another pause, and the silence was electric.
+
+'You're in love, of course,' said Mr. Robertson slowly, almost as if he
+were explaining something to himself. 'Also, you're a woman. "Launched
+for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same." I've never met it
+before. It's curious.'
+
+He regarded her musingly for a while, and then straightened his
+shoulders.
+
+'Well, you force my hand,' he said abruptly. 'I'll give you three
+minutes in which to tell me where and how I can get that list.'
+
+'And if I don't, you'll murder me as you did my father,' said Jerry.
+
+'No, not quite like that. I killed him in self-defence, but I am
+becoming rather annoyed with you. I hit him over the head with a loaded
+cane I often carry; a handy little weapon in an emergency. I think that
+your death will not be so pleasant, nor so swift. Shall I tell you how
+I propose to deal with you?'
+
+'No, thanks,' said a voice behind him. 'Put your hands up.'
+
+Bobby Manvers, standing by Nicholson, gave a strangled gasp, and Jerry,
+turning, saw Jack Strickland with two other men.
+
+'The landlord, I presume,' said Mr. Robertson. 'At any rate, he appears
+to have the key of that door.'
+
+'As a matter of fact, his is the spare key,' said Nick. 'I'm afraid I
+forgot to mention it. This is Inspector Strickland of Scotland Yard.
+Jack, Sir Toby Ward. Hullo, gone away!'
+
+Bobby Manvers had bolted. He tore open the door behind him, and
+collided violently with a man who had been waiting patiently outside;
+the long, lanky seaman who had been buying boots when they entered.
+
+'Don't!' he said, pushing Bobby back into the room. 'I hate having my
+arm jerked when I've got a gun in my hand. It might go off.'
+
+'Come in, Michael, and shut the door,' said Nick.
+
+'By God, it's a trap!' Bobby's voice rose to a scream.
+
+'Quite,' said Michael pleasantly. 'What intuition!'
+
+White and shaking, Bobby turned back to the room. One of the men who
+had entered with Jack was untying Nicholson. The other stood by the far
+door, while Michael effectively blocked the one behind him. Jack, hands
+in pockets, was watching Sir Toby, who stood regarding the proceedings
+with a faint, detached smile.
+
+'Sir Toby Ward,' said Jack quietly, 'I arrest you for the wilful murder
+of William Mitchell on the morning of May 24th. I may say that the
+statements you have made during the last half-hour have been taken down
+in full. Would you care to sign the document?'
+
+'In my capacity of lawyer I am aware that it will make very little
+difference whether I do or not,' said Sir Toby; 'so if it would give
+you any pleasure I will certainly sign it. May I sit down? To tell the
+truth, I feel a little shaky. It's my infernal heart again. Thanks,
+very much. By the way, here is my revolver. I presume you require it.'
+
+Jack took the gun in silence, and Nick, watching him, knew that he,
+too, was conscious of the man's queer charm. Sir Toby smiled suddenly.
+
+'You won't be able to add "in unlawful possession of firearms" to my
+list of charges,' he told Jack. 'I've got the necessary licence.'
+
+Jack found himself responding to the smile. It was impossible not to
+admire a man who took a beating so gamely. Then he turned to Bobby.
+
+'Robert Oliver Manvers----' he began, but Bobby interrupted him.
+
+'I wasn't in that murder!' he burst out. 'I can prove it. _He_ did it!
+And as for the Fraternity, I acted only under compulsion. I didn't
+want a revolution--I did only what he told me. And, anyway, there are
+hundreds of others in it. Nicholson's got a list of their signatures.
+You aren't going to arrest me and let them off scot-free?'
+
+Jack turned sharply to Nick.
+
+'If this is true I must ask you for that list.'
+
+'No good, I'm afraid. I've destroyed it.'
+
+'Destroyed it?' Bobby stared blankly. 'When?'
+
+Nick's smile held more than a trace of contempt.
+
+'Miss Mitchell and I burnt it, with appropriate ceremony, just before
+you and Sir Toby came in.'
+
+Sir Toby nodded with deep satisfaction.
+
+'I always knew I should like to work with you,' he said.
+
+'It's easy enough for you to take it calmly,' Bobby screamed. 'You
+won't live long, anyway. Look here, Strickland, I know all the leaders
+of this show. There are sixty-seven of them. I can tell you their
+names. If you'll let me off I'll turn King's evidence and----'
+
+A revolver cracked suddenly. Bobby crumpled up curiously, sank to the
+floor, twitched convulsively, and lay still. Jerry gave a little gasp.
+Nick put out a hand to her, but his eyes were on Sir Toby, who was
+handing a small automatic to Jack.
+
+'Forgive me for startling you,' he said gently, 'but, really, I could
+not allow him to continue that sentence. I usually keep a spare for
+emergencies, but in this case I felt his need was greater than mine.'
+
+'I retract,' said Nick. 'On some ethical points we obviously see eye to
+eye.'
+
+Sir Toby smiled.
+
+'Vive le Sport!' he said. 'We should have made a good team. I might
+even have felt it worth while to adapt myself to your conscience.
+Nicholson, I would have killed you this evening, if necessary, but I
+should have hated doing it as I've never hated anything in my life.'
+
+'You'd kill anybody,' said Jerry suddenly, in a curiously colourless
+voice. 'Human life means nothing to you.'
+
+Sir Toby looked at her with mild surprise.
+
+'My dear young lady, if you had seen as much of human life as I
+have--and Heaven send you never may--you would attach as little
+importance to it as I do. Human beings, generally speaking, are a poor
+lot, and such specimens as _that_'--he nodded to the still body by the
+door--'are worth less than a rat, fighting for existence in a sewer.'
+
+Jerry walked over to the window, and stood looking out. Sir Toby
+glanced at Nick, but his eyes were on the girl. Thoughtfully the man
+regarded him. Nick could not, and never would, understand. He loved
+life and people, and had nothing but pity for those who did not share
+his views. Sir Toby shrugged his shoulders philosophically, and his
+eyes travelled slowly round the company. Jack was looking annoyed. Sir
+Toby had made a messy job of a clean arrest, and _he_ would get the
+blame. He was speaking to one of his plain-clothes men. The other still
+stood by the door, his face an impassive mask.
+
+Then Sir Toby's eyes fell on Michael Doone, and he smiled. Michael
+was staring reflectively at the body at his feet, and he looked up
+and caught Sir Toby's eye. He understood that smile, and answered
+it. Michael alone, by virtue of his Australian blood, was capable
+of understanding and to some extent sympathising with that supreme
+indifference.
+
+'I'd ha' done it if you hadn't,' he drawled.
+
+'It's time we were moving,' said Jack curtly. 'Sir Toby, would you
+prefer to keep your disguise until we reach the station?'
+
+'My beard? Yes, I think I'll go to jail as Mr. Robertson. I doubt very
+much if you will ever get me to the dock as Toby Ward. I know the law,
+and the slowness of its processes. Would you mind giving me an arm?
+Thanks, very much.'
+
+As the door shut behind them, Nick went over to Jerry.
+
+'I take off my hat to you,' he said quietly. 'You're the finest partner
+in the world.'
+
+Jerry bit her lip, and then, as Nick's arms came round her, buried her
+face in his coat.
+
+Michael turned to go. This seemed to him an anticlimax. 'See you at
+breakfast,' he said casually.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXIV
+
+                           THE TENTH OF JUNE
+
+
+It was a perfect June morning, and sunshine was streaming in the
+wide-opened windows of the top-floor flat in 60 Quebec Street.
+Jerry, Nick, and Michael, having just finished a large and very late
+breakfast, tilted back their chairs and smiled at each other.
+
+'Amazingly quiet it is here,' commented Nick.
+
+'It always is, in the mornings,' Jerry told him. 'As Milly says, "Thank
+Gawd, they're all chloroformed till lunch-time."'
+
+Michael chuckled.
+
+'What did Milly say to you this morning?' he asked.
+
+'Say? She talked for half an hour without stopping. Mostly about Nick.
+"Ever ser nice, Mr. Nicholson is. Such a takin' way 'e's got!" I didn't
+tell her that his "taking way" had been giving Scotland Yard a headache
+for the last six years. What did she say to you?'
+
+'Don't ask me! I fled to the bath. Milly asks too many questions. And
+by the same token'--he turned to Nick--'there are one or two I want to
+ask myself.'
+
+'Shoot!' said Nick lazily.
+
+'In the first place, how did you find out?'
+
+'Yes. I want to know that, too,' put in Jerry. 'How did you guess that
+Sir Toby was the Chief?'
+
+Nick grinned.
+
+'You told me so,' he said.
+
+Jerry surveyed him, exasperation in her eye.
+
+'Don't be comic at breakfast,' she said severely. 'It's indecent. Tell
+the story your own way, if you like.'
+
+Nick groaned.
+
+'Seconded,' said Michael. 'Get a move on.'
+
+With a sigh Nick heaved himself up in his chair, and lit another
+cigarette.
+
+'Well, you see, I knew Manvers. I recognised him at the fateful
+Fraternity meeting in April. After that, I simply trailed the lad,
+hoping he would lead me to the Chief, but he didn't. Sickening, it was.
+One time I thought I'd got 'em both on toast, but it didn't come off.'
+
+'When was that?' demanded Michael.
+
+'The morning after that dance at Barton. Manvers was rung up from
+London, and I took care to overhear his conversation. You came in for
+the tail-end of it, if you remember. Manvers was obviously told that
+Breck's boat was due in at five the next morning, and I gathered that
+he and the Chief intended to meet it, so I made a desperate effort
+to get there first. I hoped to be able to trail Mr. Robertson to a
+permanent address, as it were. How Manvers got hold of him that
+night I don't know. They were pretty quick. I think he must have
+picked him up at the Hampstead house. If I hadn't wasted time playing
+touchlast with you, Michael, I might have run into them. They can't
+have been gone more than a few minutes when I picked up that puncture.
+Incidentally, Toby might have cited _that_ as one of my bits of luck.'
+
+'Look here, Nick,' Michael grinned, 'why _did_ you go in by Hampstead?'
+
+Nick laughed.
+
+'Yes, you asked me that before, didn't you? It's quite simple. I had to
+go to Jermyn Street and change, and for anywhere in the West End the
+North Road is far the best entrance to London. It's more mileage, but
+much quicker.'
+
+'I wish you'd explain how, when, and where I told you about Sir Toby,'
+said Jerry. '_I_ didn't know. I nearly had a fit when you told me,
+while we were burning that list of names.'
+
+'Oh, you were warned, were you?' said Michael.
+
+'Yes. Weren't you?'
+
+'No,' said Nick, 'but his reception of the news led me to believe that
+he had guessed.'
+
+'No, I hadn't,' said Michael, with a yawn. 'But I didn't worry. He'd
+finished my job, thank Heaven.'
+
+'I thought you liked him,' said Jerry.
+
+Michael looked surprised.
+
+'So I did. So I do. Cheery old soul, and took his licking like a
+sportsman. Get on with the yarn, Nick. When did Jerry tell you?'
+
+'Last Sunday, when we were driving back from High Ash. She said that
+Bobby was all in favour of her showing the diary to Sir Toby. I'd
+wondered before, but it seemed too fantastic, and even then I wanted
+more proof; so after I'd left Jerry at Strickland's I drove back to
+Suffolk.'
+
+'That accounts for it,' said Michael with satisfaction. 'Bobby
+found a garage at Golders Green that said they sold you petrol at 1
+A.M.'
+
+'_Did_ he?' said Nick. 'That was unusually bright of Bobby. Well, I
+hung about in that little village--what's its name? St. Anthony's
+Ash--until midday Monday. It was a complicated job, but after a good
+deal of careful search and more than careful questioning, I discovered
+that Sir Toby had been in London on the night of the murder, and, in
+fact, didn't get back till nearly nine next morning. Toby, by the way,
+keeps two cars. One of 'em lives in an old barn, in that wood behind
+the house. None of his servants, except the chauffeur and possibly
+Ruff, know anything about his strange adventures, but you know what
+village gossip is. It never goes farther than the village, but it
+circulates there pretty thoroughly.
+
+'Well, that was enough proof for me, but, of course, not nearly enough
+for Scotland Yard. After all, why shouldn't a respectable lawyer keep
+a Daimler in a barn if he wants to? And also, why shouldn't he go
+to London and come home at 9 A.M.? He's a bachelor, and his
+private affairs are his own. I didn't want the police to have a hearty
+laugh at my expense, but all the same I had a curious longing to get
+him jugged. There's no prig like the reformed criminal, you know!
+Altogether it seemed to me that the only thing to do was to make him
+give himself away. Then, when I got back to London, and found Jack had
+arrived, I began to see daylight. Jack and I had a devil of a pow-wow
+that Monday afternoon.'
+
+'That was when I was busy giving you away to the enemy,' said Michael.
+'You blighter! You might have saved me that!'
+
+'Dear old chap, I'm afraid that was deliberate. You see, I knew that
+if you heard nothing from me you'd have to tell Sir Toby what you knew
+about Vive le Sport. And the moment had come when I wanted him to know
+it. He'd had one nasty jolt already that day, when he got the envelope
+and found my card inside. By the way, it's a very fine tribute to the
+Jameson Club's stationery, isn't it? When you think of the number of
+times that blessed envelope's been opened and sealed up again....'
+
+'Never mind that,' said Jerry sternly. 'Get on with the yarn.'
+
+'Well, that told Sir Toby I was on the spot, so to speak, and he'd got
+to get a move on. After I'd had the palaver with Jack, I rang up this
+place. It was about six then. Milly told me Michael was out, and that
+he and Bobby were expected in to supper.'
+
+'Milly?' Michael stared. 'Has she been in this show too?'
+
+'Very much so. Milly's a most admirable accomplice.'
+
+'Deceitful little brute!' said Michael. 'I must talk to her about this.'
+
+'Do,' said Nick. 'By the way, I haven't seen Milly this morning. That
+strange charlady let me in.'
+
+'You'll see her before you go,' prophesied Jerry.
+
+'Will he?' Michael cocked an eyebrow. 'The char always clears _my_
+table. Milly brings my breakfast up, and after that I never see her
+again till tea-time.'
+
+'Neither do I,' said Jerry serenely, 'but we shall this morning. Go on
+with your epic, Nick.'
+
+'Having conferred with Milly, I borrowed Jerry's key, came round here,
+climbed to the top of the house, and rang the bell. Milly entered,
+wearing such a perfect "Hist-we-must-not-be-discovered" expression that
+I nearly laughed. I told her as much as I thought safe of the campaign,
+and arranged with her to deliver Jerry's note and the message. Also,
+Jerry wanted some clothes. Milly was rather impossible about that. She
+seemed uproariously amused at the thought of my taking 'em, and drew a
+lurid picture of the parcel coming undone _en route_. It took me some
+time to check her.'
+
+'I bet it did!' said Michael with sympathy. 'But, gosh! she _is_ a
+little liar! I saw her with the parcel, coming downstairs, and she said
+it was washing.'
+
+'I heard her,' said Nick with a grin.
+
+'You?'
+
+'Me! I was skulking upstairs, and my heart was going pit-a-pat.
+However, you didn't come up, so all was well. I waited till I heard
+your door slam, and then I went downstairs with catlike tread. Oh, yes,
+I left Jerry's latchkey on her mantelpiece, and told Milly to see that
+Bobby knew it was there. That really _was_ rather clever of me.'
+
+'Stop chucking bouquets at yourself,' said Michael. 'What then?'
+
+'That was all, really. I went back to Strickland's, and had a bath. I
+knew you'd tell Bobby about that note from Jerry. I was prepared to bet
+that he would use the latchkey and pinch the letter that arrived next
+morning. I was absolutely certain that if he and the Chief read that
+letter, they'd act on it, so I staged Jack and the witnesses, and Sir
+Toby did the rest. All quite simple, really.'
+
+Michael grinned. 'Too easy,' he agreed. 'It was a shame to take the
+money. Nick, you got away with it very nicely. And talking about
+getting away, I'm sailing next week.'
+
+'No, hang it,' expostulated Nick, 'you can't!'
+
+'Passage booked. I'm going home. This country's too exciting for me.
+I'm off to the islands where there's no such word as crime.'
+
+'It's so common, I suppose,' said Nick. 'English is rich in words that
+other nations don't need. "Sober," for instance. There's no French
+equivalent, I believe. Over there it's merely normal.'
+
+Michael surveyed him thoughtfully.
+
+'Talkin' about sobriety,' he said, in his slowest drawl, 'I should like
+to get you really and thoroughly tight before I leave.'
+
+'What a scandalous ambition!' said Jerry. 'Why?'
+
+'I'd like to hear what he talks about,' explained Michael.
+
+'Religion as a rule,' Nick told him. 'Deeply philosophical, I am. But
+lit up with humour at moments.'
+
+'Speshul!' The shrill cry of a newsboy floated up the street. 'Evenin'
+spesh-ul! Death of well-known K.C.! Speshul!'
+
+The three looked at each other, the same thought obvious in all their
+minds.
+
+'Rot!' said Michael, answering the unspoken question. 'There's more
+than one well-known K.C. in the country.'
+
+'Quite,' said Nick, making for the door, 'but all the same....' He ran
+down the stairs.
+
+In a few minutes he returned, paper in hand. There was an odd smile on
+his face.
+
+'It's true,' he said, handing the paper to Jerry.
+
+'What's it say?' demanded Michael.
+
+'"Sudden Death of Well-known K.C.,"' read Jerry. '"Sir Toby Ward found
+dead in his flat. Heart failure." But, Nick, how on earth....'
+
+Nick waved a hand, imploring silence. He was at the telephone. 'Western
+1743 ... please.' He turned to the other two. 'Jack will know, anyway.
+Hullo!... That you, Strickland?... Nick. I've just seen the news. Is it
+true?... Then how did it happen?'
+
+There was a pause. Jerry and Michael waited impatiently.
+
+'I see,' said Nick at last. 'You must have had a hectic time....
+What?... Oh, much the best thing that could have happened.... Jack,
+you're a marvel!... Yes, I suppose they were a bit anxious.... What?...
+All right.... So long.'
+
+He replaced the receiver slowly.
+
+'Nick, tell us everything immediately,' commanded Jerry.
+
+'It's quite true--as far as it goes. He was found dead in his flat this
+morning. But he died of heart failure in the car, before he got to the
+police station.'
+
+'I thought that heart stuff was a fake,' said Michael.
+
+'Oh, Lord, no! His gout was camouflage, but the heart attacks were
+perfectly genuine. Any sort of shock upset him, and the last few days
+must have been pretty trying.'
+
+'And so he died in the cab, and then Jack....'
+
+Nick nodded. 'He was rather a well-known man, you know--public
+character and all that--and the Powers that Be were a trifle
+apprehensive. So Jack arranged it. Much the best thing to do. No point
+in making a racket and getting the general public excited about a
+danger that's over.'
+
+'No point at all,' agreed Jerry.
+
+Michael stared for a moment, and then buried himself in the paper, with
+the air of a man who abandons a hopeless puzzle.
+
+'In his way, he was rather a great man,' said Nick slowly. 'He jolly
+nearly convinced me once or twice. Trouble was, one couldn't quite
+trust him. He wasn't human enough.'
+
+'He certainly wasn't!' said Jerry. 'It's queer, though. You'd think
+that he had a pretty full and satisfactory life as he was, without
+playing a double part.'
+
+Nick shook his head.
+
+'Not full enough,' he said. 'There were three big reasons for it.
+First, that power of leadership. A man can't have a gift like that
+and not use it. Secondly and thirdly, he was almost an invalid and
+entirely a cynic. A man who isn't very strong physically must always
+long for action, and if he can't achieve it himself he must inspire it
+in others. And a man who doesn't really care a damn for any individual
+person must attach his affection to a cause--a crowd of people.
+Toby really cared about his Fraternity, though he'd have knifed any
+individual one of 'em if he'd thought it advisable.'
+
+'It's a wonderful country, this,' said Michael, looking up from the
+paper. 'There's a tribute here to the late lamented. You might almost
+have written it yourself.'
+
+'What does it say?'
+
+'It's a dream. Listen. "The sudden death of Sir Toby Ward will mean
+a great loss to the country. He, as much as any man in England, has
+been responsible for the safeguarding of the nation in these troublous
+post-war times. His just and kindly arbitration between employers and
+labour has on many occasions saved us from bitter disputes, and even,
+some say, from open revolution." Can you beat it?'
+
+Nick nodded. 'That's the stuff,' he said. 'Is there more of it?'
+
+'Yards! "Genial ... tolerant ... the best type of English
+gentleman.... Holy Wars!'
+
+Nick laughed outright.
+
+'You see, Michael, in this country----' he began, but he was
+interrupted by a furious tattoo on the door, and the entrance of Milly,
+flushed and panting.
+
+'Joo ring, Miss Mitchell?' she asked, turning to Jerry with a smile of
+childlike innocence.
+
+Jerry shook her head, biting back a chuckle.
+
+'Oh, didn't yer? I could 'a' sworn I 'eard your bell. _'Ullo_, Mr.
+Nicholson, fancy seein' you!'
+
+'How are you, Milly?' asked Nick, holding out his hand.
+
+Milly shook it enthusiastically.
+
+'Ever ser well, thank yer. It _is_ nice to see you again. Y' see,
+we've----' She hesitated, assuming an obviously artificial air of
+carelessness--'We've got Miss Mitchell back again.'
+
+She glanced at Michael out of the corner of her eye, and then looked
+interrogatively at Nick.
+
+'It's all right, he knows,' said Nick.
+
+'Yes, I do,' said Michael. 'Milly, I had no idea you were capable of
+such deceit.'
+
+She laughed delightedly.
+
+'I wasn't 'arf frightened of you,' she said confidentially. 'Ain't it
+awful, though, 'avin' ter keep a secret? I seen you lookin' at me ser
+piercin', an' I come over all of a tremble. Milly, GO AWAY!'
+
+The last three words were said in exactly Michael's tone. Jerry and
+Nick laughed outright.
+
+'Well, I'm orf,' said Milly. 'Goo'-bye, Miss Mitchell. Goo'-bye, Mr.
+Nicholson.'
+
+'Good-bye, Milly,' said Nick.
+
+She went out, hesitated, and poked her head in again, her eyes sternly
+on Michael.
+
+''Ere! Sst!' She snapped her fingers at him.
+
+Michael looked round with an expression halfway between amusement and
+exasperation. Milly jerked her head back, and indicated the stairs
+with her thumb. Michael stared blankly.
+
+'Come on, can't yer!' she whispered hoarsely. 'Don't yer see you ain't
+wanted, you long, lazy chump!'
+
+Michael leapt to his feet. Milly retreated a pace or two, her eyes
+dancing wickedly.
+
+'My word, Milly,' he said between his teeth, 'I've had just about as
+much from you as----'
+
+He shot out of the room, as Milly fled, shrieking, downstairs.
+
+'She's a Napoleon!' said Nick with deep satisfaction.
+
+
+                                THE END
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79026 ***
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+    <meta charset="UTF-8">
+    <title>
+      The Enterprising Burglar | Project Gutenberg
+    </title>
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+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79026 ***</div>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter x-ebookmaker-drop">
+  <img src="images/illusc.jpg" alt="">
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+
+<div class="titlepage">
+
+<h1>THE ENTERPRISING BURGLAR</h1>
+
+<p class="ph1">BY HEARNDEN BALFOUR</p>
+
+<p><i>Author of 'A Gentleman from Texas'</i></p>
+
+<p>BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br>
+HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br>
+The Riverside Press Cambridge<br>
+1928</p>
+
+<p>COPYRIGHT, 1928, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY</p>
+
+<p>ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</p>
+
+<p>The Riverside Press<br>
+CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS<br>
+PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.</p>
+
+<p>TO<br>
+ALL THE SHAREHOLDERS<br>
+IN<br>
+NEW BELLS, UNLIMITED</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">When the enterprising burglar's not a-burgling, not a-burgling,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">When the cut-throat isn't occupied in crime, 'pied in crime,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">He loves to hear the little brook a-gurgling, brook a-gurgling,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">And to listen to the merry village chime, village chime.</div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent10"><span class="smcap">Gilbert and Sullivan</span></div>
+    <div class="verse indent10">('The Pirates of Penzance')</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<table>
+<tr><td class="tdr">I.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">'<span class="smcap">A Policeman's Lot</span> ...'</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">II.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_II"><span class="smcap">Vive le Sport</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">III.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_III"><span class="smcap">Fog</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">IV.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><span class="smcap">The Meeting of the Fraternity</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">V.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">'<span class="smcap">Twinkling William</span>'</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">VI.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><span class="smcap">An Ultimatum</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">VII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">'<span class="smcap">If the Feminine Element Cropped up in This</span> ...'</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">VIII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">'<span class="smcap">Mine's Beer, too</span>'</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">IX.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><span class="smcap">Sir Toby is Amused</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">X.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_X"><span class="smcap">The Feminine Element</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XI.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><span class="smcap">Jerry Strikes out on Her Own</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">'<span class="smcap">Bakerloo</span>'</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XIII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><span class="smcap">To be Let or Sold</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XIV.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><span class="smcap">Twinkling William's Diary</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XV.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><span class="smcap">Bobby's Theory</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XVI.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><span class="smcap">Nick Refuses to Explain</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XVII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><span class="smcap">Nick Makes an Ally</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XVIII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><span class="smcap">Nick Explains Himself</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XIX.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><span class="smcap">Sir Toby is Surprised</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XX.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX"><span class="smcap">Michael is Convinced</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXI.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"><span class="smcap">Jerry Explains Herself</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"><span class="smcap">Jill has the Last Word</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXIII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"><span class="smcap">Mr. Robertson</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXIV.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV"><span class="smcap">The Tenth of June</span></a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+
+<h2>THE ENTERPRISING BURGLAR</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>'A POLICEMAN'S LOT ...'</h3>
+
+
+<p>It was a bitter November night. Spike Moseley, trudging along the
+Embankment, shivered, and cursed under his breath. He was far from
+happy. He was cold and tired, and, worst of all, desperately nervous.
+As he stumbled along he suddenly checked, listening. Was that a step
+behind him? He swung round, his pulses thumping, and stared through the
+mist that drifted up from the river. Was it a trick of the darkness,
+or had he seen a dark figure take cover in the shadow of that shelter?
+Spike waited a moment, his heart in his mouth, and then trudged on.</p>
+
+<p>He was afraid, and fear was a rare emotion in him. Spike had been a
+crook all his life, but he had always prided himself on the steadiness
+of his nerves. He had been in a score of tight places, and had
+extricated himself ably, but this was a different matter. Again he
+checked, every nerve taut. He knew, as a wild animal knows, that he was
+being followed, and his mouth dried as he listened. But he could hear
+nothing, except the far-off wail of a ship's siren, down river.</p>
+
+<p>Spike set his teeth and went on again. Maybe it was only his
+imagination; the fancies that come to a sick man. For Spike felt very
+sick that night. His head was heavy, and he could hardly drag his feet
+along. It had come upon him suddenly. He had been all right an hour
+ago. Then, after that pint he'd had in the Four Feathers, he'd begun to
+feel queer. He wanted to lie down and sleep, but that was impossible.
+He had made up his mind to see this thing through. He had decided to
+tell Mr. Strickland what he knew. It was a poor thing to turn copper's
+nark, but it seemed the lesser of two evils. Spike turned up his coat
+collar and struggled on.</p>
+
+<p>The policeman at the door of Scotland Yard eyed him with disfavour.</p>
+
+<p>'Mr. Strickland about?'</p>
+
+<p>His voice sounded queer. It was oddly difficult to get the words out.
+The policeman told him curtly that Mr. Strickland was busy. Spike
+fumbled in his pocket, and produced a grimy piece of paper and a stump
+of pencil. Laboriously he wrote a few words, folded the note, and gave
+it to the policeman.</p>
+
+<p>'For Mr. Strickland,' he explained. 'Tell'm I'll wait by the bridge. 'S
+important.' He turned and shambled across the road.</p>
+
+<p>Detective-Inspector Strickland was not in the best of tempers when he
+received Spike's communication. He had just been given marching orders,
+which meant throwing up a case that was absorbing all his interest. He
+knew it to be important—even urgent—but Authority had smiled, and had
+given him to understand that he was shying at a mare's nest. Just when
+proof seemed to be within his grasp, his Chief had seen fit to send him
+abroad.</p>
+
+<p>Spike's note gave him a flash of hope. He had long believed that Spike
+could give him the information he wanted. He had tried to get it
+before, but without success. If Spike really intended to make a clean
+breast of it this time, there was a chance that he might be able to
+convince the Chief. He flung on his hat and coat and went out to find
+Spike.</p>
+
+<p>The mist had thickened, and as he hurried towards Westminster Bridge
+he failed to see a man who was waiting in the shadow of the Embankment
+wall. The man saw Strickland, though, and smiled as he crouched below
+the balustrade. Then he followed, moving very softly for so big a man.</p>
+
+<p>Spike Moseley was sitting on the steps, his head in his hands, and did
+not look up as Strickland approached.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, Spike?'</p>
+
+<p>Moseley raised his head, and stared at Strickland vacantly.</p>
+
+<p>'You wanted to see me?'</p>
+
+<p>A flicker of intelligence lit in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>'Thash right. Want see yer. Got suthing ... tell yer.'</p>
+
+<p>'Go ahead.'</p>
+
+<p>'Thishyer gang you're after ... preachin' bloody war, they are ... do
+it, too. 'S Gawd's truth. Won' stop't anythin'....'</p>
+
+<p>His speech was blurred and indistinct.</p>
+
+<p>'You know 'em?' asked Strickland.</p>
+
+<p>'Know'm a sight too well. But t'-night ... foun' out ... bloke's
+name....'</p>
+
+<p>His breath came in gasps.</p>
+
+<p>'Who is he, Spike?' asked Strickland urgently.</p>
+
+<p>'Nev' guess ... kill me, 'e would, 'f 'e knew wot I 'eard ... watch
+out, er e'll get you ... an' no jury'd convic' ... man like 'im....'</p>
+
+<p>Spike's head sagged forward into his hands. The words were clotting on
+his tongue.</p>
+
+<p>'What's his name?' asked Strickland desperately.</p>
+
+<p>Spike tried to lift his head, but failed. His lips moved, but no words
+came. Then he swayed over drunkenly, and Strickland caught him as he
+fell.</p>
+
+<p>Spike lay very still. Strickland laid a hand on his heart, and then
+straightened himself, his face very grave. For a moment he stood still,
+staring down at the huddled body. That message would never be delivered.</p>
+
+<p>The man who had been crouching in the shadow noted the abrupt
+silence. He moved away, soft-footed as a cat, and then made his way
+back again, tramping heavily along the pavement. When he reached the
+top of the steps he checked, and allowed himself to catch sight of
+Detective-Inspector Strickland.</p>
+
+<p>'Could y' spare us 'arf a dollar, sir?' he asked huskily. 'It's an
+awful night, sir, an' I ain't 'ad no work fer months.'</p>
+
+<p>Strickland looked up sharply. It was hard to see the man clearly in the
+mist and the dark. He was a tall chap, a navvy, by the look of him.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, you can take a message for me,' he said. 'Here's half a crown. Go
+over to Scotland Yard'—he pointed across the road—'and ask Inspector
+Barrett to come here. Tell him to bring a constable with him, and say I
+sent you—Strickland. Hurry!'</p>
+
+<p>'Inspector Barrett. Right y'are, sir,' said the navvy, and set off at a
+lumbering trot.</p>
+
+<p>Strickland waited, shivering a little in the bitter wind. He was very
+angry; a cold fury that included the Commissioner, and Spike, and the
+men Spike had intended to betray. If only Spike had lived to tell
+him that name ... if only the Chief could be induced to take this
+matter seriously ... if only he himself had not received orders to go
+abroad.... Jack Strickland felt it to be a deliberate insult on the
+part of the gods.</p>
+
+<p>The arrival of a policeman and a burly man in plain clothes
+interrupted his thoughts. In a few words he explained to Inspector
+Barrett what had happened.</p>
+
+<p>'Sounds as if he'd been doped,' said Barrett at the conclusion. 'Well,
+I'll deal with this if you like. You were on your way home, weren't
+you?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes. If I'm wanted, let me know. By the way, I'm off next week.'</p>
+
+<p>'So you couldn't convince the Chief?'</p>
+
+<p>'No.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'm sorry. I think he's wrong.'</p>
+
+<p>'So do I,' said Strickland, 'but there it is. If only that poor
+devil'—he nodded towards Spike—'had been able to tell his story I
+might have made 'em believe me. As it is ... oh, hell! Good-night,
+Barrett. By the way, where's that navvy I sent to fetch you?'</p>
+
+<p>'He pushed off as soon as he'd delivered your message,' said Barrett.
+'At any rate, he wasn't there when I came out. Good-night, Strickland.'</p>
+
+<p>But Inspector Barrett was wrong. The navvy had only just gone, and
+was at that moment standing by the statue of Boadicea trying to light
+a stumpy cigarette-end and sheltering the flickering match with his
+cupped hands. Strickland passed him, unnoticing. The navvy grinned, and
+then began to whistle a gay and lilting tune.</p>
+
+<p>Strickland heard it as he made his way home. It was a familiar air, and
+as he listened the words suddenly clicked into place.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">'When constabulary duty's to be done, to be done,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">A policeman's lot is not a happy one!'</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>For a second Strickland checked in surprise, and swung round. But
+there was no one in sight, and with a grin he dismissed the matter and
+continued his journey.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>'VIVE LE SPORT'</h3>
+
+
+<p>Detective-Inspector Strickland was a busy man. On the evening of the
+day after the affair of Spike Moseley he did not get back to his flat
+in Buckingham Gate until after ten. As he struggled out of his dripping
+overcoat, his twin sister appeared at the door of the sitting-room and
+surveyed him gravely.</p>
+
+<p>'Hallo, Jill. Filthy weather. I'm drowned.'</p>
+
+<p>'Better change,' advised Jill.</p>
+
+<p>'I hope there's a decent fire,' pursued Jack Strickland, ignoring the
+advice.</p>
+
+<p>Jill smiled, a swift, flickering smile that lit up her small, delicate
+features.</p>
+
+<p>'Fed?' she inquired.</p>
+
+<p>'Mentally or physically?'</p>
+
+<p>'Physically. The other thing's fairly obvious.'</p>
+
+<p>Jack grinned.</p>
+
+<p>'As a matter of fact, I could do with some food; but Kate's gone to
+bed, hasn't she? I saw a light in her window.'</p>
+
+<p>'Trained observer,' said Jill, in a soft, abstracted voice. 'Nothing
+escapes the eye of the great detective. I can cook, though. What will
+you have?'</p>
+
+<p>'Angel! Eggs, very much in the plural, and gallons of hot coffee, and
+possibly bread and cheese. Can do?'</p>
+
+<p>'Can do,' said Jill with a nod, and without more words went off to the
+kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>Jack, shivering, made for the sitting-room and pulled up a chair to
+the fire with a sigh of relief. For a minute or two he sat in drowsy
+contemplation of the blazing coals, and then he reached up to the
+mantelpiece for his evening's mail. There were three letters there,
+all with typewritten addresses. Two of them had halfpenny stamps, and
+these he threw unopened into the waste-paper basket with an accuracy
+suggestive of long practice. The third he opened without much interest,
+and then sat up with a jerk. It contained only a visiting-card; a small
+piece of pasteboard on which were printed the words: 'Vive le Sport.'
+Jack turned it over, and on the back was written, in a small, neat hand:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>I propose to call upon you between eleven and twelve to-night, and
+hope to find you enjoying an hour's holiday. In other words (one can't
+make oneself too clear on this point), I am relying on you not to
+arrest me.</p>
+
+<p class="ph2"><span class="smcap">Nick</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Strickland grinned. 'Thoroughly characteristic!' he murmured. Then
+his eyes shifted from the card in his hand to the fire, and the smile
+faded. When his sister entered the room some minutes later, she noticed
+his worried frown, but refrained from comment. Instead, she laid a
+place at the table and set down a large dish of eggs and bacon.</p>
+
+<p>'Supper's ready,' she mentioned.</p>
+
+<p>Jack rose slowly to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>'I'm expecting an old friend to turn up to-night, Jill,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>His sister stared at him with wide grey eyes.</p>
+
+<p>'Not—not Nick?' she said.</p>
+
+<p>'Guessed it in one,' said Jack, with the sudden surprise that her
+intuitions always awoke in him, even though he almost expected them.</p>
+
+<p>'But, Jack, how splendid! Aren't you longing to see him again?'</p>
+
+<p>'Of course I am. But I wish to goodness I were a bank clerk or a
+bus-driver, or anything but a blinking cop. Here's the best friend
+I've got in the world, and he must needs turn burglar. It's so damned
+difficult.'</p>
+
+<p>The exasperated twinkle in his eyes woke a response in Jill's.</p>
+
+<p>'You're off duty now,' she suggested.</p>
+
+<p>'Woman, you have no more conscience than—than Nick himself! Here's his
+communication.' He held out the card to her.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, that's all right,' said Jill when she had read it. 'I believe he's
+going to reform or something.'</p>
+
+<p>'Something, perhaps,' conceded Jack, hungrily attacking his eggs and
+bacon.</p>
+
+<p>'Don't you believe he'll ever give up his burgling?'</p>
+
+<p>'My dear, the man took up crime because he found life so dull after
+he came out of the Army. He wanted excitement, and, by Jove, he got
+it! He's had eleven narrow escapes from being quodded to my certain
+knowledge.'</p>
+
+<p>'He'll get tired of excitement soon,' said Jill.</p>
+
+<p>'Didn't look like it last time I saw him,' said Jack, with his mouth
+full.</p>
+
+<p>'When was that?'</p>
+
+<p>'Two years ago. Over that Fairleigh case. I begged him then to chuck
+it, and he only laughed and said he was enjoying life enormously. Since
+then he's pulled off two really big hauls, and got away by the skin of
+his teeth the last time. That was about a year ago.'</p>
+
+<p>'He'll give it up when he falls in love,' said Jill gravely.</p>
+
+<p>Jack chuckled profanely.</p>
+
+<p>'That gives him plenty of time,' he observed. 'Nick's a jolly sight too
+popular with women to apply his mind seriously to any one of them.'</p>
+
+<p>'When he marries——' began Jill, unruffled.</p>
+
+<p>'For Heaven's sake!' protested Jack. 'Give the man a chance, old lady.
+We don't know what his trouble <i>is</i> yet, but there's no need to assume
+it's impending matrimony.'</p>
+
+<p>Jill smiled tolerantly, and held her peace until her brother had
+finished his meal and settled himself once more by the fire. Then she
+looked up from her knitting to ask:</p>
+
+<p>'Have you any idea at all why he wants to see you?'</p>
+
+<p>'Nick? Not the slightest. I hope it's just a friendly call.'</p>
+
+<p>'<i>That's</i> not likely,' said Jill, with serious decision.</p>
+
+<p>'Aren't you a little unflattering?'</p>
+
+<p>Jill blinked, and then smiled.</p>
+
+<p>'Owl! You know what I mean. Jack, you've often talked about Nick, but
+you've never told me very much about him. Why did he start burgling?'</p>
+
+<p>'Sheer desire for excitement. Nick's half Irish, you know; and I
+believe it's that strain that gives him his light-hearted love of
+danger. I first met him in France, at the beginning of the war. He was
+the best subaltern I ever had. An absolutely first-rate man.'</p>
+
+<p>'I should have thought he lacked discipline,' said Jill, who knew how
+to get information out of her brother.</p>
+
+<p>'So he did, but it didn't matter. Nick was always sneaking off by
+himself to explore, but no one seemed to realise he'd gone until he
+returned; and not then, unless he brought something with him—a wounded
+man, or a prisoner, or some valuable information. I've never met anyone
+who took so many risks, and yet, unlike most of these reckless devils,
+he never ran his men into unnecessary danger. They adored him, and
+would have followed him to blazes if he'd asked them to. I tell you,
+the man was wasted in the Line; he ought to have been in the Secret
+Service, but the powers that be had a positive genius for using razors
+to cut grindstones. I tried to get him shifted when they transferred me
+to the Intelligence, but it was no use. Nick would have been far better
+at the game than I.'</p>
+
+<p>'And then?' asked Jill.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, I lost sight of him after that, and didn't see or hear from him
+again until 1919, when he turned up at the Yard and we had lunch
+together. I told you about that, and how he said he was going to be
+a burglar because everything else was so tame in comparison to the
+war. I laughed at him. Never dreamt he meant it. He went off saying:
+"Henceforth we meet as foes, worthy, I hope, of each other's steel.
+Vive le Sport!" It wasn't till we found his card in the safe, over that
+jewel robbery, that I believed it.'</p>
+
+<p>'Did he laugh too?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, like anything. But Nick always seems amused, whether he's serious
+or not. Oh, confound the man! I wish he'd chuck it. And yet ... his
+motive for burgling does call for one's sympathy.'</p>
+
+<p>'I know he always robs profiteers,' said Jill.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes; and practically all the money he gets goes into anti-Bolshevik
+propaganda. He's jolly well-off, you know; he doesn't have to earn his
+living, either honestly or dishonestly, now; but the curse of it is
+that I am paid to catch him, and every failure I make is a smack in the
+eye to my reputation, even if it's a relief to me personally.'</p>
+
+<p>Jill shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>'It's stupid to try to catch him,' she said. 'He's like a rook; he does
+more good than harm.'</p>
+
+<p>Jack laughed outright.</p>
+
+<p>'What a gloriously unflattering simile!'</p>
+
+<p>'Nick wouldn't mind,' said Jill.</p>
+
+<p>Jack looked at her. 'How do you know? You've never met him.'</p>
+
+<p>''Deed I have. You brought him here once when you were both on leave.
+He stayed for three days.'</p>
+
+<p>'By Jove, I'd clean forgotten! So he did. That was twelve years ago.
+And you remember him?'</p>
+
+<p>'Rather!'</p>
+
+<p>A shade of anxiety crossed Jack Strickland's face. He glanced at his
+sister, and then quickly transferred his gaze to the fire. Jill watched
+him with quiet amusement.</p>
+
+<p>'Don't worry, old man,' she said soothingly.</p>
+
+<p>'What d'you mean?'</p>
+
+<p>'I mean'—she spoke slowly, with soft deliberation—'that although I
+am very fond of him, I'm not the woman Nick's going to marry; nor do I
+want to be.'</p>
+
+<p>Jack grinned rather sheepishly.</p>
+
+<p>'You're a dashed sight too quick,' he said. 'It's positively indecent.
+Anyway, I shouldn't mind if you were. Nick's the best——'</p>
+
+<p>He was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell and leapt to his feet.
+Jill rose, and shifted the débris of his supper to the side-table. As
+she removed the last crumbs, Jack returned, ushering in a tall man,
+whose steady eyes and friendly smile seemed as familiar to her as if
+she had seen them only yesterday.</p>
+
+<p>'You remember my sister?' said Jack.</p>
+
+<p>'Of course I do! How are you, Jill? It's a long time since we met, but
+you don't look a day older.'</p>
+
+<p>Jill put her hand in his, and studied his face with her odd, searching
+regard.</p>
+
+<p>Nick smiled down at her. 'Well, what's happened to me?' he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Jill twinkled. 'I believe you've grown bigger,' she said.</p>
+
+<p>'Heaven forbid! It's an awful curse being such a size. Apart from the
+expense of clothing oneself, it makes one so conspicuous, which is a
+terrific drawback in my profession. I wish I were a little chap like
+Jack. For instance, I have to escape him in the guise of a Robert or
+a coal-heaver; but he can pursue me as anything, from a Chinaman to a
+smart young lady. It's much easier for him.'</p>
+
+<p>'Less of that,' advised Jack, grinning. 'Will you have a drink?'</p>
+
+<p>'An admirable suggestion. Thanks awfully. Jill, I look towards you.'</p>
+
+<p>Jill smiled her thanks and gathering up her knitting, made her way to
+the door.</p>
+
+<p>'Don't go,' protested Nick.</p>
+
+<p>'Don't you want to talk to Jack?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, but it isn't private to you. Come back.'</p>
+
+<p>With a flush of pleasure Jill returned, and curled herself up in a
+chair by the fire. Nick, sitting on the wide club fender, smiled at
+her. Jack came to anchor on the other side of the fire and pulled at
+his pipe contentedly, watching Nick's face. The man looked older, he
+thought. There was something behind those eyes that was new.</p>
+
+<p>'How's life, Nick?' he asked.</p>
+
+<p>'Getting more interesting every day,' said Nick, striking a match for
+Jill's cigarette.</p>
+
+<p>'I'm afraid I was hoping that you'd had enough excitement.'</p>
+
+<p>'It's not exactly that,' said Nick slowly, 'but, as a matter of fact, I
+rather want to return from South America, where I have been since the
+war, and I thought I'd better hear what you've got to say about it.'</p>
+
+<p>Jack grinned.</p>
+
+<p>'Let's be a little more explicit,' he suggested. 'Are you proposing to
+come back as a dual personality, so to speak: burglar by night, and
+man-about-town by day? Or do you mean Vive le Sport to die, while you
+rise, phœnix-like, from the ashes?'</p>
+
+<p>'Again, not exactly. Vive le Sport, the burglar, has been dead for more
+than a year. Hadn't you realised that?'</p>
+
+<p>'I realised his inactivity, and was devoutly thankful for it, but I
+hadn't been optimistic enough to assume him dead.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick chuckled.</p>
+
+<p>'We mustn't be ungrateful. He has provided you with a great deal of
+beneficial exercise, both mental and physical, and has bequeathed me
+a very nice income. I owe the burglar a great deal, for besides that,
+he's shown me a game really worth playing. The only difficulty is that
+it definitely requires the coöperation of a man-about-town, as you put
+it.'</p>
+
+<p>'What is this game?'</p>
+
+<p>'I'll tell you in a minute. Am I right in thinking that you've been
+investigating a case on your own lately?'</p>
+
+<p>Jack Strickland stared.</p>
+
+<p>'You are,' he said at last. 'Do you know anything about it?'</p>
+
+<p>'A little. I've been interested in that crowd for the last year. Do
+your superiors take it seriously?'</p>
+
+<p>'No. I wish to God they did. I know there'll be big trouble sooner or
+later.'</p>
+
+<p>'I think you're right, but it's a queer business. What have you made of
+it?'</p>
+
+<p>'Enough to give one to think. It's a revolutionary movement that has
+got a firm foothold in every industrial centre in the country, and
+it's more confident and yet restrained than anything I've so far come
+up against. I know these secret societies come and go, but there's one
+point about this show that's new. As far as I can discover no foreigner
+is on their list of supporters.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick nodded slowly.</p>
+
+<p>'That's what makes me think, too,' he said. 'It's quite true. We don't
+like aliens, as a nation, you know, but a revolutionary movement that
+is exclusively British is a little unusual. Jack, do you know who's at
+the head of the show?'</p>
+
+<p>'If I did, I could get something done, perhaps. Do you?'</p>
+
+<p>'No. I've been trying to find out for months, and I've now come to the
+conclusion that I'm looking for him in the wrong place. Jack, the man's
+a genius. He's organising this show with cold brains, not fanaticism,
+and his methods compel one's respect, if not one's admiration. He isn't
+collecting fanatics to fight for him; he's getting sober, hard-headed
+business men, and winning them over by sheer brain and personality.
+The queer thing is that though they are unanimous in their admiration,
+no two men describe the fellow alike. I've had some startlingly varied
+descriptions of him, and the only conclusion is that he's of every
+class and every temperament. To one man he's a "real gent;" to the
+next he's "a son of the People." He's a passionate crusader, calling
+in words of fire for adherents to a sacred cause. He's a thundering
+good fellow, ready to share a pint of beer and a joke. He's going to
+alter the world; he isn't going to do much more than break up a Trust
+or two. I tell you, it's bewildering, and there's only one explanation.
+He's genuinely all things to all men. He has the power to make each
+individual man feel that he's his blood-brother—and a better man.'</p>
+
+<p>'Hypnotism?'</p>
+
+<p>'Perhaps. What's in a word? Anyway, that power he must have, and surely
+it's inevitable that he should want to use it. Only a saint could
+refrain from action under those circumstances. He must see himself as
+all-powerful—as Dictator—knowing what he can do. I tell you, Jack,
+the hold he's got over his men is amazing. As far as I can discover,
+none of them knows who he is in private life. They call him the Chief,
+and speak of him with a reverence that is most impressive. They don't
+even want to know who he is. They say we've had enough of Party
+Government. What we want is One Good Man at the Top—all in capital
+letters—and they add with absolute certainty, "and we've got him."'</p>
+
+<p>'But they don't know who he is?'</p>
+
+<p>'No. And they don't care. Now, I'm absolutely convinced that if I'm
+going to find him at all I've got to look for him in the top drawer,
+as it were, and that's why I want to return in glory from South
+America. Vive le Sport can still keep an eye on the rank and file.
+I don't mind telling you that he is looked upon as a very promising
+disciple to the Cause. Do you follow me?'</p>
+
+<p>'Perfectly. It seems an admirable idea.'</p>
+
+<p>'Good! Now, before I take the plunge, tell me this: just where do I
+stand with that great institution, the Police Force? This man we're up
+against is as clever as blazes, and I shall have my work cut out to
+swindle him, without having to keep one eye on Scotland Yard.'</p>
+
+<p>'My dear Nick, if you run up against the law I'm helpless, of course,
+but as a man-about-town you're as safe as be-damned. To my knowledge,
+only Jill and I know your real name, and I see no reason why we
+shouldn't remain in proud possession of that secret.'</p>
+
+<p>'Splendid! To tell you the truth, I've been wanting to come to life for
+some time, but it seemed a dirty trick, to put you two into a position
+like this. But when I realised that you were going away....'</p>
+
+<p>Jack Strickland sat up abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>'Would you be so good as to tell me how you came by that information?'
+he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Nick blinked, with an air of startled surprise, but Jill saw the
+twinkle in his eye.</p>
+
+<p>'I ask,' went on Jack, 'because the matter was only arranged last
+night and is generally supposed to be a secret.'</p>
+
+<p>'It's true, then?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, worse luck! I sail for Russia next week, on a job which my
+respected Chief thinks more urgent than this one.'</p>
+
+<p>'Russia?' Nick looked grave. 'How long do you expect to be away?'</p>
+
+<p>'About six months.'</p>
+
+<p>'H'm. I don't like it. If things come to a head sooner than I expect
+I shall want you badly, and if Scotland Yard takes that sort of view
+we shan't get much help there. I tell you, Jack, when it comes to a
+kill we shall have to act damned quickly. If your colleagues stop to
+argue, the Chief will have done his stuff, and in all probability we
+shall be sitting on a damp cloud and singing hymns. I'm putting it as
+optimistically as possible.'</p>
+
+<p>'I believe you, but what can I do? The thing's fixed up now. You must
+let me know if you want me. Jill stays here and can tell you where I'm
+to be found.'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, we must hope for the best,' said Nick, rising to his feet. 'And
+now I must go home to bed. Good-night, Jill; it's been very nice to see
+you again.'</p>
+
+<p>Jack Strickland heaved himself out of his chair, and followed his guest
+into the hall.</p>
+
+<p>'Pretty sickening for you, being sent to Russia just now,' said Nick.</p>
+
+<p>'Damnable, but I feel better now I know you're on the job. I couldn't
+pick a better man for it.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick nodded his thanks, a friendly smile in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>'I'll do my best,' he said, 'but if you <i>can</i> get back any sooner, I
+shall be glad.'</p>
+
+<p>'I shall try. Keep your eyes skinned, old chap.'</p>
+
+<p>'Trust me,' said Nick cheerfully. 'Where's my hat?'</p>
+
+<p>'That's all very well, but these people have a summary method of
+dealing with suspects.'</p>
+
+<p>'I know,' said Nick, and for a moment he, too, looked grave. 'Poor
+little Moseley.'</p>
+
+<p>Jack Strickland leant back against the wall and stared at his guest
+with an expression of mingled exasperation and amazement.</p>
+
+<p>'I have heard about it,' explained Nick. 'He was doped, wasn't he?'</p>
+
+<p>'He was,' said Jack, with restraint.</p>
+
+<p>'Any trace of the doper?'</p>
+
+<p>'None. He got it in his drink at a pub. There were a great number of
+men there, most of them unknown to the bar-tender. Did you know that
+Moseley came to see me?'</p>
+
+<p>'As a matter of fact, I did,' said Nick confidentially. 'I wanted to
+know the Chief's name, too, you see, so I thought that he might as
+well tell both of us at the same time. Save trouble, you know. It was
+rather agonising, wasn't it? The way he tried to get the word out and
+couldn't.'</p>
+
+<p>'For the love of Mike——' began Jack.</p>
+
+<p>'Do you mean to say you never guessed? Not even when I whistled? I
+thought you'd see the point of that. I wanted you to know that I'd
+given up my profession. Not even when I told you I was out of work?'</p>
+
+<p>There was a silence. Jack stared at Nick, who shuffled his feet with a
+guilty air and tried to suppress a grin.</p>
+
+<p>'Blast you, you owe me half a crown,' said Jack at last.</p>
+
+<p>Nick laughed outright.</p>
+
+<p>'Got it!' he said. 'Good-bye, old chap.'</p>
+
+<p>The door shut behind him, and Jack heard him whistle soft and clear,
+as he ran down the stairs, 'When the enterprising burglar's not
+a-burgling....'</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>FOG</h3>
+
+
+<p>'"Argus"? "Evenin' Standard"? "John Bull"?' The bookstall boy proffered
+the papers hopefully.</p>
+
+<p>Nick shook his head, and continued his absent-minded study of the
+gay-coloured magazines spread out before him. It was a raw, damp
+afternoon, and Cardiff railway station was dark with fog, the thick,
+acrid fog that sometimes descends on England in April. The London
+express was half an hour late already, and Nick was anxious to be in it
+and away.</p>
+
+<p>On a bench, close to the bookstall, sat a tall man, clutching a leather
+dispatch-case; a man called Davies, who represented Western England for
+the Fraternity; one of the First Four, lieutenants under the Chief.
+Nick's discovery of this fact had brought him down to Cardiff a week
+ago, and there he had attended several meetings of the Fraternity,
+with increasing interest and a certain amount of apprehension. He
+had not realised till this week the perfect organisation behind this
+revolutionary movement, nor the danger that lay in the Chief's scheme.
+Personal danger there had been but little, for Nick had attended the
+meetings as a very humble follower, unnoticed by any of the leaders.
+The last meeting especially had given him to think, for Davies had
+announced his intention of going to London next day to meet the Chief,
+in conference with the county leaders; and had added that on his
+return he would probably be able to give his followers definite news
+of the Great Day. Nick was anxious. Then and there he decided that he,
+too, would travel to London, and by the same train. One never knew.
+Something might happen that would give him a chance to meet the Chief.
+Nick was a firm believer in his own luck.</p>
+
+<p>The bookstall boy eyed him speculatively, taking in his shabby grey
+suit, obviously ready-made, and cheap black boots. Not the sort of man
+who would buy 'The Times.' Might take the 'Herald.' But perhaps he had
+seen it before. The boy thrust forward an opened weekly.</p>
+
+<p>'"Tatler"?' he suggested.</p>
+
+<p>Nick glanced at the page idly, and then grinned. It was opened at a
+photograph of himself. 'Society at Epsom Races.' A short paragraph
+gave his description: '... Keen rider to hounds ... popular figure
+in London....' His grin broadened. If only they could have seen him
+during the past week, sitting at the feet of Davies and Crawford,
+drinking in their revolutionary doctrines, and singing 'Then raise the
+Scarlet Banner' to the tune of 'Tannenbaum'; pity they couldn't find
+a more suitable air for their anthem, one that had less sugary German
+sentiment.</p>
+
+<p>The London train roared in to the platform. Nick threw down a shilling,
+picked up the 'Bystander' and moved away, keeping a wary eye on Davies,
+who got into the nearest carriage. Nick entered the train a few doors
+higher up, walked down the corridor, found his man, and made himself
+comfortable in the far corner. There was no one else in the carriage.
+The train jerked twice and then started off. Davies opened a pamphlet
+on Industrial Reform, and appeared to be absorbed in it. Nick glanced
+covetously at the dispatch-case lying on the seat opposite. If the
+worst came to the worst ... but he disapproved of crude methods, and
+decided to give his luck a chance.</p>
+
+<p>At Newport a sailorman got in, stared at Nick, and then held out a
+horny hand.</p>
+
+<p>'Blimey, mate, fancy seein' you! This is a bit of all right.'</p>
+
+<p>'Tom!' exclaimed Nick, gripping the hand, and trying to conceal his
+apprehension, for a witness was the last thing he wanted at that moment.</p>
+
+<p>'That's me. Bin visitin' me married sister in Usk. Y'see, we rammed
+a barge, comin' up the river last trip. Black fog, it was, worse nor
+this. You know what it's like in the Pool in thick weather.'</p>
+
+<p>'Much damage?'</p>
+
+<p>'Stove in our bows, and had to go into dock. I took a spell ashore.
+Goin' back to join 'er to-morrow. You know 'er, don't you? The
+Pelican.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick nodded.</p>
+
+<p>'General Steam,' added the sailor. 'Good old line. I ain't got no fault
+to find with 'em. They've done well by Tom Breck, I say. Look 'ere, why
+don't you come for a trip with us? I'll square it with the old man. Do
+you good. The Mediterranean run's a bit of all right.'</p>
+
+<p>'Can't, Tom; wish I could.'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, any time you want to, drop me a line, or come down and see me.
+Butler's wharf we sail from.'</p>
+
+<p>The talk ran on, of ships and the sea, and that strange, self-contained
+dock-world that so few Londoners know. Nick smoked and nodded, and kept
+a wary eye on Davies, who, after one incurious glance at the newcomer,
+was again absorbed in his pamphlets. The minutes dragged by. Breck,
+tired of talking, dozed in his corner, occasionally murmuring something
+about having a drink with Nick when they got to London. Nick, staring
+out of the window, saw Didcot Station flash by. Not much more than an
+hour's run from Paddington now. The train roared on through the fog,
+and Nick, making and rejecting wild plans, began to despair. There was
+no chance of shaking Breck off, and how on earth could he shadow Davies
+adequately with a genial, bellowing sailorman at his heels? Unless his
+luck changed miraculously....</p>
+
+<p>There was a violent shock. It seemed to Nick that someone had struck
+him so fierce a blow on the back that he was pitched headlong forward.
+There was a shattering sound of breaking glass, a sound that stood
+out above the general pandemonium, and then the whole carriage rocked
+wildly and overturned, precipitating the occupants in a heap, where
+they lay for a moment, dazed, choking in the dust and fog, while pieces
+of glass from the broken windows pattered down on them.</p>
+
+<p>'Git orf of me!' said Tom Breck in a smothered voice.</p>
+
+<p>Nick struggled to his feet and tried not to laugh.</p>
+
+<p>'You hurt, Tom?'</p>
+
+<p>'Nao. On'y squashed. 'Ow much d'you weigh ... gross tonnage? Give us a
+hand up.'</p>
+
+<p>They could hear the roar of escaping steam now, and above it, faintly
+but terribly clear, human cries.</p>
+
+<p>'Let's git out o' this before we 'ave to pay salvage,' said Breck,
+spitting the dust out of his mouth. 'You're younger'n me. Up you go.'</p>
+
+<p>He pointed to the shattered glass above them, and bent to give Nick
+a leg up. After a brief struggle Nick got the corridor door open and
+climbed out. Then, leaning in, he reached down a hand to Breck and
+hauled him up.</p>
+
+<p>'Strewth! that was a close call!' grunted Breck, rubbing his eyes.
+'Gawd! Listen to the women!'</p>
+
+<p>All around them the noise seemed to increase. Below, on the line,
+people were rushing about, appearing through the fog for an instant,
+their white, terrified faces showing like men in a nightmare, only to
+disappear again as the fog swallowed them up. Women were screaming
+hysterically; men were shouting orders and crying for help. At the
+front of the train a tongue of flame leaped up, blood-red through the
+fog, and the acrid smell of burning came to their nostrils.</p>
+
+<p>'The first thing we'd better do is to get that fellow out of our
+carriage,' said Nick. 'Be ready to catch him, Tom, when I shout.'</p>
+
+<p>With that he lowered himself down into the smother below.</p>
+
+<p>'You there!' he shouted. 'Are you hurt?'</p>
+
+<p>A groan answered him. He peered through the steam and fog, and saw
+Davies lying in a huddled heap.</p>
+
+<p>'Anything broken?' he asked.</p>
+
+<p>'My head,' said Davies faintly. 'And ankle's ... smashed....'</p>
+
+<p>'We must get you out of here before the fire spreads. I'll try not to
+hurt you more than I can help. Ready above? Haul!'</p>
+
+<p>Nick lifted him as gently as he could, and hoisted him up until Breck
+could reach him from above. With the last heave a bitten-off cry of
+pain escaped the wounded man.</p>
+
+<p>'Fainted,' said Breck, as Nick climbed out beside him. 'Copped it
+proper, pore devil; look at 'is forehead.'</p>
+
+<p>For answer Nick dropped down to the ground and plunged into the fog,
+for he had just caught sight of an ambulance man, sprung into being
+miraculously.</p>
+
+<p>'Stretcher case here,' he said. 'Broken ankle, and, I believe,
+concussions. How on earth did you get here so quickly?'</p>
+
+<p>'Right y'are, sir. Bob, give us a hand with that stretcher. Why, you
+see, we rushed out in cars as soon as we heard the news. It ain't
+more'n a couple o' miles from here to Reading.'</p>
+
+<p>They returned to the carriage, and lowered Davies on to the stretcher.
+He was babbling incoherently.</p>
+
+<p>'Delirious,' said the ambulance man. 'We'd better get him to the
+dressing-station quick.'</p>
+
+<p>'Where am I?' asked Davies, rousing. 'Got to get to London.'</p>
+
+<p>'No chance of that for a day or two, mate,' said the man. 'Take it
+easy. You're lucky to be alive.'</p>
+
+<p>'I <i>must</i> go to London!' Davies's voice rose to a scream, and he
+struggled to get off the stretcher. 'Where's my dispatch-case? I've got
+to go——'</p>
+
+<p>Nick bent over him.</p>
+
+<p>'Steady, Davies. We can't afford to lose you. I'll take your report to
+the Chief.'</p>
+
+<p>The injured man stared.</p>
+
+<p>'What Chief?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick smiled.</p>
+
+<p>'I don't know his name. Do any of us, except you four?'</p>
+
+<p>'Are you really ... follower?' Davies asked weakly.</p>
+
+<p>'Ask Crawford. He knows me.'</p>
+
+<p>Relief came into Davies's face and he lay back.</p>
+
+<p>'Thank God! Do you know ... where meeting?...'</p>
+
+<p>'No.'</p>
+
+<p>'Twenty, Link Street ... second floor ... nine to-night.... Say
+"Fraternity".... You won't fail?'</p>
+
+<p>'I give you my word.'</p>
+
+<p>Davies nodded. 'I'll ... tell Crawford ... useful man....' he muttered,
+and seemed to sink into unconsciousness.</p>
+
+<p>'That's better,' said one of the stretcher-bearers as they lifted their
+load.</p>
+
+<p>Nick watched them go, with conflicting desires tearing at him. Breck
+had already disappeared with a rescue party, and every fibre of Nick's
+being called him to join them, but he knew that his own game was more
+important. With a sound that was half groan, half curse, he climbed
+back into the carriage, found the little dispatch-case, and swarmed out
+again. Then he dropped to the ground and set off at the double up the
+line, trying desperately not to listen to the agonising cries for help
+behind him.</p>
+
+<p>It was twenty minutes to eight when he reached Reading Station.</p>
+
+<p>'When's the next train to London?' he asked a porter.</p>
+
+<p>'Seven twenty-three, just coming in, sir. They're all running late
+to-day.'</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke the train came in.</p>
+
+<p>Nick walked across the platform, selected an empty carriage, and
+dropped into a seat thankfully.</p>
+
+<p>Then, as they pulled out, he suddenly realised how miraculous his luck
+had been, and he sat staring out into the swirling fog, while the train
+gathered speed.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>THE MEETING OF THE FRATERNITY</h3>
+
+
+<p>The fog held, and Nick's train ran very late, but the time did not hang
+heavy on his hands; in fact he could almost have wished it longer. The
+first thing he did was to go through Davies's dispatch-case, in which
+he found the Western representative's official report to the Chief.
+After he had read it, Nick sat for a minute or two, lost in thought.
+Fate had dealt him wonderful cards, but now everything depended on his
+skill in playing his hand. He sat in a corner of the carriage, staring
+with unseeing eyes at the window, trying to memorise every gesture and
+mannerism of the man whose part he meant to play. The voice, which
+would have been the worst stumbling-block to most men, presented no
+difficulties to Nick. He was a born mimic, and had cultivated the art
+all his life. He had heard Davies speak many times, and knew that
+he could imitate that swift, lilting Welsh voice, with all its odd
+turns of speech, so that no one would suspect him. Handwriting was
+the greatest difficulty, so Nick, with the signed report as a copy,
+practised Davies's signature on the backs of old envelopes, with all
+the absorbed diligence of an accomplished forger.</p>
+
+<p>Nick was happy—happier than he had been through all these months of
+hunting. At last he was coming to grips with the enemy and, into the
+bargain, playing a game after his own heart. It was a dangerous game
+and a lonely one, and on his success hung the safety of the nation.
+Nick lit a cigarette, and surveyed his last effort at forgery with
+critical approval.</p>
+
+<p>'Hand rather shaky still,' he murmured. 'Must make allowances. Good
+enough.'</p>
+
+<p>Then as the increasing clatter and brighter lights told him that the
+train was drawing in to Paddington, he destroyed the envelopes and
+began to apply his mind to the question of disguise. Luckily, Davies
+was a tall man, near enough to Nick's own height, but there the
+resemblance ceased. Davies was dark and sallow, and had a drooping
+black moustache. Nick was fair, clean-shaven, and tanned a healthy
+brown. Davies had hazel eyes and a narrow, pointed chin. Nick's eyes
+were grey, and his jaw was decidedly square.</p>
+
+<p>The station clocks stood at 8.40 as the train pulled in to the
+platform. Nick realised that there was no time to be lost, and hailing
+a taxi, made for his flat as quickly as possible. When he emerged,
+twenty minutes later, his head and face were swathed in bandages, and
+his eyes were masked by big horn-rimmed spectacles, such as Davies
+usually affected.</p>
+
+<p>The late editions were already announcing the Great Western disaster.
+Nick could hear the newsboys' shrill voices as he set off in a taxi for
+Link Street. He caught sight of one flaring headline: 'Cardiff Express
+Collision in Fog.' This would help, too. The Fraternity would be
+prepared for his story and his belated arrival. Fate was indeed doing
+him handsomely. As an after-thought, he had tied up his right arm in
+a sling. It might be as well to have an alibi when it came to forging
+Davies's name, and also it would explain his slowness in writing. Nick
+had had some experience of forgery, but he knew he could not do it with
+a flourish.</p>
+
+<p>The taxi drew up. Nick got out, paid the driver, and surveyed the place
+with interest. Number 20 was one of a big block of offices in a long,
+grey street, empty, save for a few men lounging round a cab-rank a
+hundred yards away. There was no porter at the door, and he entered the
+high, stone-flagged hall. On the wall was a brass plate, giving the
+names of the various offices. On the second floor there was only one,
+and he stared at the neat black lettering with a puzzled frown.</p>
+
+<p>'The Society for the Propagation of the Gospel.'</p>
+
+<p>For one moment he wondered whether Davies had given him the wrong
+address. Then he smiled.</p>
+
+<p>'The Chief must have a sense of humour,' he thought, 'which means he
+can't be a fanatic. S.P.G.! How perfect! And no deception, of course;
+but <i>what</i> a gospel! Well, well, let's have at it.'</p>
+
+<p>At the far end of the hall was an automatic lift. Nick went up to the
+second floor. As he emerged he found himself facing a door with the
+title of the society painted on it. He rang, and the door was opened by
+a grave-faced, square-shouldered man who looked like a valet.</p>
+
+<p>'I'm very sorry, sir,' said the man, 'but Mr. Robertson cannot see
+anyone to-night. He is conducting a special prayer meeting.'</p>
+
+<p>'I know it,' said Nick, through the fold of bandage across his jaw.
+'Hope I haven't kept the Fraternity waiting?'</p>
+
+<p>'Lord, it's Mr. Davies!' said the man, staring. 'But there, it's no
+wonder I didn't know you till you spoke. Are you hurt bad? They've all
+been very anxious about you.'</p>
+
+<p>'Nothing serious. Indeed, all that's wrong is a few cuts about the face
+and a bit of a shake-up.'</p>
+
+<p>'That's a mercy,' said the doorkeeper. 'They'll be no end relieved to
+see you.' Then he added, in a lower tone, 'The Chief's here, you know.'</p>
+
+<p>'I knew he was to be here. Will you take me to him?'</p>
+
+<p>For a moment the doorkeeper stared, a faint suspicion in his face.</p>
+
+<p>'You must have taken a conk on the head,' he said. 'Since when have the
+First Four needed announcing?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick took a step forward, reeling a little, and leant against the wall
+as if exhausted. The doorkeeper caught him by the shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>'Steady, Mr. Davies. I say, d'you feel bad? Here, sit down a minute.
+I'll get you some brandy.'</p>
+
+<p>'No, no, it's nothing. I still have moments of faintness. Give me an
+arm; I mustn't keep the Chief waiting.'</p>
+
+<p>'Half a minute. You sit down in that chair, and I'll bring the
+register. To tell the truth, I'd put it away.'</p>
+
+<p>He crossed the room to a desk and unlocked a drawer. Nick watched him,
+unseeing. So 'Mr. Robertson' was the name. Was Mr. Robertson the Chief?
+The doorkeeper returned with a large, leather-bound book and a fountain
+pen.</p>
+
+<p>'The muster roll was complete half an hour ago, all bar you,' he
+explained. 'I'd given up all hope of your coming. Here you are. Take
+your time; I'll hold the book.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick tried not to stare at the page before him. Davies must have seen
+it many times, but to him it was a revelation. It was a register of
+all the county leaders, each man's signature against the name of his
+county, and above, the names of the district representatives, North,
+South, East, and West. He realised that this meeting would be over
+sixty strong, and breathed a sigh of relief. The bigger the crowd, the
+better chance he had of remaining unsuspected. Then the porter dropped
+a bombshell.</p>
+
+<p>'Lucky you're left-handed,' he remarked, his eyes on the arm-sling.</p>
+
+<p>Nick's brain raced. Was it a trap? He'd made one slip already. Did the
+porter suspect him? <i>Was</i> Davies left-handed? For one wild second he
+racked his brain for a memory of the man. A thousand pictures of Davies
+addressing a crowd ... no use at all, for Davies used both hands in
+those dramatic gestures of his ... and then, thank God! a sudden memory
+of the tall Welshman drinking a glass of water.</p>
+
+<p>'I'm not,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>There was a moment's silence, in which Nick felt he could almost hear
+his own heart beating. Then the doorkeeper nodded.</p>
+
+<p>'No more you are,' he said. 'I must have been thinking of Mr. Crawford.
+Well, you'd better sign, sir.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick complied, realising with an inward grin at his own expense that
+there was no need to feign a shakiness at this moment. Laboriously
+he wrote 'H. L. Davies' in the space left above the Western Counties
+names, and gave back the pen.</p>
+
+<p>'Right,' said the doorkeeper, putting the volume back in the desk
+drawer. 'And now let me give you an arm. Sure you won't have a drink
+first?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick shook his head impatiently, and, leaning on the man's shoulder,
+limped down the passage. At the end was a plain wooden door, and here
+the porter left him with a cheery 'See you later, Mr. Davies.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick waited for a moment, making a rapid inventory, as it were, of all
+his Davies knowledge, and then opened the door. As he did so, a buzz of
+conversation reached his ears.</p>
+
+<p>'What are we going to do about it?'</p>
+
+<p>'He ought to be here by now, if he's coming.'</p>
+
+<p>'I wish to Heaven he'd come on our train.'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, unless he's killed'—this was a bluff, North Country
+voice—'he'll get here yet. I'll back Davies every time.'</p>
+
+<p>'Thank you,' said Nick, entering and shutting the door behind him.</p>
+
+<p>There was a confused cry of surprise and welcome. Men crowded round
+him, welcoming him, asking questions, expressing concern for his
+bandaged head and arm. Nick, replying in Davies's curt, crisp voice,
+found his eyes search vainly for any man who might be the Chief. It was
+a large room, and seemed filled with men; men of all classes and types;
+but all of them seemed to be waiting, as he was. Then one of his Welsh
+group spoke to him, a little man named Williams, whom Nick knew well by
+sight.</p>
+
+<p>'I suppose the Chief <i>is</i> here?' he said. 'He's supposed to be in the
+next room with R.O., and the other three, but so far we haven't seen
+him.'</p>
+
+<p>'He'll come when he sees fit,' said Nick, with a certainty he was far
+from feeling.</p>
+
+<p>'That's all very well,' grumbled the other. 'I tell you, Davies, I'm
+getting tired of following a mythical leader. You told us he'd hold
+this meeting himself, but he didn't. R.O. took it, as usual.'</p>
+
+<p>'Did he say anything of interest?' asked Nick.</p>
+
+<p>'Just what you said he would. We were given our final instructions, and
+if the Chief is satisfied with the reports, R.O. says he may even fix
+the date to-night.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick nodded carelessly, but his pulses were beginning to pound. The
+date meant the day of the rising itself, he felt certain. He was
+wondering whether he ought to go and attack the inner room where the
+Chief was conferring with R.O.—whoever he might be—and the other
+Three. This last Nick realised to be the Northern, Southern, and
+Eastern representatives, and his place should obviously be with them.
+The man beside him cut short his thoughts by whispering: 'Here's R.O.
+at last!' and Nick turned to see a young man approaching him with
+outstretched hand.</p>
+
+<p>'Well done, Davies!' he was saying. 'I've only just been told of your
+arrival. Can't tell you how worried we've been about you. We knew you
+were on that train, you see. Why didn't you come right in? Hope you've
+got your report? Good. Come along, the Chief's very anxious to see you.'</p>
+
+<p>With that he turned and led the way across the room. Nick followed,
+thankful that no reply was expected of him. He had just remembered
+where and how he had met this young man before. Barely a month ago
+they had been fellow-guests at a party given by Mrs. Lancaster—Adele
+Lancaster—that smart and lovely widow, whose literary parties were so
+famous among the younger intellectuals. Nick attended these parties
+from a purely self-educational point of view. He had a passion for
+acquiring dialects, and though this misty, super-artistic language was
+probably as old as the hills, he had not run across it till now, and
+had set himself to learn it with much energy and considerable success.
+This young man had talked it with ease, and Nick remembered watching
+him at that party and wondering if he were really such a fool as he
+looked and sounded. And so <i>he</i> had a dual personality, too. This might
+be useful. Nick grinned under his mask of bandages as he followed his
+guide into the inner room.</p>
+
+<p>'Here is Davies, sir,' said R.O., and stood back to allow Nick to enter.</p>
+
+<p>There were four men in the room, but Nick hardly realised it, for his
+whole mind was occupied with one: a tall, erect man with a pointed
+black beard, who rose slowly to his feet and held out his hand.</p>
+
+<p>'Well played, Davies,' he said quietly.</p>
+
+<p>As Nick returned the grip he felt a sudden glow: the quick response of
+a man who has done good work, and whose effort has been understood
+and appreciated by his superior; the realisation that makes the
+hardest job seem supremely worth while. It was the glow he had felt
+as a subaltern when he had been praised by Jack Strickland, that best
+of company commanders. <i>Strickland!</i> With a jerk that seemed almost
+physical he pulled himself together and realised the yawning chasm that
+had suddenly opened at his feet. He had been on the point of a smiling
+denial ... 'Oh, rot, sir. Anyone would have done as much' ... and in
+his own voice. Davies would never have said that ... and he was Davies.
+Good God! he had forgotten, under the spell of this man's charm, that
+he was Davies. He hunched one shoulder, in Davies's awkward manner, and
+spoke huskily:</p>
+
+<p>'Nothing is too great for the Cause, Chief.'</p>
+
+<p>There was a moment's pause—a moment that seemed an age—while the
+bearded man stood still, regarding him, and Nick fought desperately
+for his self-control. This man was his own sort; a man who could speak
+his own language and play the game he himself played, with the same
+delight. A born leader, quick to understand, radiating the strength of
+his personality; a man one would be proud to follow. Such a man would
+never let his followers down ... and then Nick remembered that this man
+was plotting the overthrow of England and, to Nick's mind at least, was
+proposing to let down every soul that enlisted under his revolutionary
+banner. Abruptly his vision cleared. What a man to follow, indeed; but
+still more, what an enemy to fight!</p>
+
+<p>'True, Davies,' the Chief was saying, 'the Cause is worthy of any
+sacrifice. Your spirit is an example to us all. And now, your report.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick, fumbling with the catch of Davies's dispatch-case, was conscious
+of a pang of disappointment. A man didn't speak of 'The Cause' in that
+tone. It was melodrama. And then he realised that Davies did, and it
+was to Davies the Chief was speaking. He drew a long breath, feeling
+like a man who has fought his way through flames, to emerge unhurt.
+As he had suspected, this was the secret of the Chief's power; that
+to every man he could seem his own sort, quick to understand, utterly
+sincere in sympathy. 'Genius!' he said to himself, and realised that
+the worst danger was over, and for him, at least, that strange power
+was dead. He took Davies's closely written report from the case and
+held it out, swaying a little on his feet as he did so. The Chief
+thrust forward a chair.</p>
+
+<p>'Take it easy, Davies,' he advised. 'You've been through a great
+strain.' He took the report as Nick sat down. 'I need not go through
+this evening's proceedings with you,' he went on. 'You know what we
+planned for this meeting. All I need tell you is that matters are
+progressing admirably. Russia has definitely promised the money on
+no security other than the signatures of our county and district
+leaders. This is merely as proof that our plans have a solid backing.
+If you want any details, R.O. can give them to you while I am reading
+your report. I may say that if it is as good as those of the other
+Three'—he smiled at the men behind him—'I shall be in a position to
+announce the date to-night.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick sat still, not daring to ask questions for fear of betraying
+himself. Who <i>was</i> this man, this Mr. Robertson? After all these months
+of hunting he had come face to face with him, and was no nearer the
+solution. He rested his head in his hands, feigning faintness, and the
+other men made no attempt to engage him in talk. Luck had stood by him
+so far, but time was growing short. He would certainly not get such a
+chance again, and must make the most of it.</p>
+
+<p>At last the Chief rose to his feet, tapping the report with his finger.</p>
+
+<p>'Davies, I congratulate you. You have done magnificently. R.O., summon
+the meeting. Gentlemen,' he nodded to the Four, 'if you will take your
+places I will join you in a moment.'</p>
+
+<p>The young secretary opened the door, and Nick with his three colleagues
+filed out into the meeting-room. Every head turned to watch them,
+and the atmosphere was tense with suppressed excitement. The First
+Four—Nick carefully following the Northern representative—seated
+themselves at a table facing the room. R.O. stood between them, North
+and West on his right hand, South and East on his left, and rapped on
+the table for silence. There was a sudden hush.</p>
+
+<p>'Comrades,' he said, 'take your places. In a few moments the Chief will
+speak to you.'</p>
+
+<p>A murmur ran round the company, and the men made their way to the rows
+of chairs that faced the table. Nick watched them with increasing
+interest and surprise. These men were no fanatics, but intelligent,
+level-headed Englishmen. There was not a weak or a vicious face among
+them. They sprang from every social rank in the country, but each
+man was a first-class type of his kind. Again Nick marvelled at the
+personality of a man who could control thousands he had never seen;
+who could project his influence through four men in such a way as to
+bring this light into the eyes of these sixty-seven county leaders, and
+through them again to the rank and file. All the mysticism of his Irish
+blood rose in Nick. This was magic. The Chief had bewitched these men.
+They were mesmerised by the unseen power of their leader, as he himself
+had been so nearly mesmerised by his presence. These men, these sturdy,
+honest, hard-working Englishmen, were no danger in themselves. Remove
+the Chief, and they would revert to their normal lives. Metaphorically
+they would rub their eyes and wonder what this wild dream had been.
+The Chief was literally the heart of this great body, and directly
+the heart ceased to function the body would die. In a way, it was a
+comforting thought. Nick had maintained so stoutly that Bolshevism was
+an utterly alien thing to the English mind, and now—even in the face
+of this great expectant gathering—he felt certain of it. The Chief
+must be put out of the way; that was essential; but not one of these
+men should be incriminated if Nick could help it.</p>
+
+<p>As he came to this decision the Chief entered the room. Nick did
+not hear the door open, but he saw the faces before him light up
+with the same recognition that had filled him a few moments before.
+Each one of those men before him was feeling that sense of kinship
+and understanding, and as he watched, he realised the psychological
+genius of the man in remaining unseen until this eleventh hour. These
+followers of his would leave the meeting keyed up to a pitch of
+enthusiasm and loyalty that would carry them through death itself.</p>
+
+<p>'It <i>is</i> hypnotism!' thought Nick. And then as the Chief began to
+speak, and with every word Nick felt his power grow, he began to be
+afraid. This man had humour and balance, and a mind as clean and
+cutting sharp as a razor-blade. Such a man could never believe in
+his ability to change the whole temperament of the nation. For all
+that swift sympathy, so irresistible on first sight, there was a
+cold cruelty about the man; an utter indifference to human life and
+happiness. This man, Nick felt, with sudden insight, would give up his
+life with complete satisfaction for the sake of a month's gratification
+of his lust for supreme power. He would probably die gladly, for too
+long a spell would bore him. In this cause he was proposing to raise
+revolution in England, to risk the lives of his followers, to bring
+ruin and suffering to his country. Nick's jaw set grimly as he listened
+to the Chief's level voice.</p>
+
+<p>He spoke slowly and quietly; there was nothing melodramatic or
+impassioned in his speech, but every word rang with an inspired
+sincerity and conviction, and with every word Nick knew he was binding
+his listeners more closely to his cause. These men had been loyal
+admirers; they were now worshippers. The Chief had given them that
+touch of fanaticism that he needed in his adherents. Little bursts
+of applause began to break out; stifled, half-hysterical words of
+admiration; and once, a burst of cheering. The Chief raised his hand,
+and the noise died away with uncanny abruptness.</p>
+
+<p>'My friends,' he said, 'this crusade in which we are enlisting has
+been attempted before, and has failed most pitiably for a very obvious
+reason. We are English. We may see the hideous injustice of the present
+system, and realise the dawn of a new era, but it is a dominant
+characteristic of the English mind that we would rather be misruled by
+our own people than live in a Utopia run by aliens. That is the rock
+on which all previous attempts have split. This time we are safe. We
+are all English ... British of every county and class in the Island ...
+and because of this we shall succeed. To each one of you, the men you
+lead into action will be your own kin. We do not want bloodshed. We
+will face it if necessary, but our aim is England's salvation, not her
+downfall. She is our England. She has been great, and she will be great
+again, so that the world will forget these dark years when her fate
+hung so precariously in the balance. We shall save her. As one man we
+shall rise to her aid on that glorious day which stands for ever sacred
+to the name of Freedom ... July the Fourth!'</p>
+
+<p>There was a moment's silence, and then a storm of cheering. As it broke
+out, the Chief turned and disappeared into the inner room. The men were
+on their feet, shouting wildly, some with tears in their eyes. Then the
+tumult subsided and R.O. stepped forward.</p>
+
+<p>'Comrades,' he said, 'you know the plans, and have your instructions.
+Remember that secrecy is now even more important than ever. The First
+Four will meet the Chief on June 15th to receive the funds which Russia
+is sending us, and any final orders that may be necessary. I have here
+the statement to which I referred earlier in the proceedings, the list
+of names which we are sending to Moscow as a guarantee of our strength.
+Will you all sign it before you leave. Comrades, we have a difficult
+time of waiting ahead, but remember, it is not for long. On July the
+Fourth we shall meet again, openly and victoriously, to unite all
+England, Scotland and Wales, under the banner of the greatest leader
+God ever made.'</p>
+
+<p>There was a broken mutter of agreement—a sound that seemed to Nick
+more moving than the wildest cheers—and then the county leaders
+came forward. Each man signed, bade good-night to the district
+representatives and R.O., and then took his departure, quietly and
+without haste.</p>
+
+<p>Nick sat still, head in his hands, elbows propped on the table. Even
+when his three colleagues rose to add their names to the list he did
+not stir. The Eastern and Southern representatives went off quickly,
+but the Northerner hesitated, glancing at the silent man at the table.</p>
+
+<p>'Shall I bring the list over to you, Davies?' he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Nick looked up with a start.</p>
+
+<p>'Who—what?' he muttered. 'Oh, the statement. Yes, I'll sign it.'</p>
+
+<p>He wrote his name slowly, his head sagging over the paper, and pushed
+it away.</p>
+
+<p>'You're the last, Abbott,' said R.O. 'Not going back to Yorkshire
+to-night, are you?'</p>
+
+<p>'No fear, staying in London. There you are, R.O., that's finished.'</p>
+
+<p>The young secretary slipped the paper into a long envelope and sealed
+it heavily. The Yorkshireman still hesitated, his eyes anxiously on the
+representative for the West.</p>
+
+<p>'Can I give you a lift anywhere, Davies?' he asked.</p>
+
+<p>'No, thanks,' muttered Nick, without looking up.</p>
+
+<p>R.O. caught Abbott's eye, and shook his head. Together they walked to
+the door.</p>
+
+<p>'He's damned plucky,' said the Northerner, under his breath, 'but he
+looks like death. He ought to be in hospital.'</p>
+
+<p>R.O. smiled. 'I'd be sorry for anyone who tried to take him there,' he
+said. 'You don't know Davies as well as I do. He's got the courage of a
+lion and a brilliant brain, but he's as independent as blazes, and has
+the very devil of a temper if he's rubbed up the wrong way. Even the
+Chief admits that he has to be careful how he handles Davies. All the
+Welsh pride and all their touchiness. He's best left alone.'</p>
+
+<p>'You may be right,' said Abbott, 'but I don't mind saying I've been
+expecting him to collapse at any minute. Have you got any brandy in the
+place?'</p>
+
+<p>'No. Oh, yes, we have, though. The Chief always carries a flask.'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, if you take my tip, you'll give him a good dose and get him off
+in a taxi. Good-night, R.O.'</p>
+
+<p>The young secretary waved a friendly salute, and returned to
+the meeting-room. On the floor, in front of the table, lay the
+representative for the West, in a crumpled heap.</p>
+
+<p>'Poor devil!' muttered the boy.</p>
+
+<p>He stooped over the inert body and then, realising that the man was too
+big to lift without help, went in search of restoratives. In a moment
+or two he returned, and then stopped on the threshold of the room, his
+heart in his mouth.</p>
+
+<p>The representative for the West had disappeared, and so had the sealed
+envelope.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>'TWINKLING WILLIAM'</h3>
+
+
+<p>More than once in his varied career Nick had found himself forced to
+hurry, but never in his life had he moved so quickly as he did now.</p>
+
+<p>As the young secretary left the room in his charitable search for
+restoratives, Nick leapt to his feet, thrust the precious envelope into
+his pocket, and fled. To his relief, the porter was not in his usual
+place. Nick had been prepared to use force, if he had to, to get past
+him, but he was thankful to find it unnecessary. He dared not use the
+lift, and shot down two flights of stone stairs at a break-neck pace.
+In the hall he checked for an instant. The fog had lifted. He could
+see, dim in the washy lamplight, a taxi outside the front door, and he
+guessed the Northern representative to be inside it. The porter was at
+the door of the cab, half in and half out, exchanging a cheerful word
+of farewell. Nick slipped past him unnoticed, and hurried down the
+street towards the cab-rank.</p>
+
+<p>Fifty yards away he glanced back. The taxi had departed in the opposite
+direction, but the porter was standing on the steps, staring after him.
+Nick cursed his white bandages: made a man a blessed lighthouse! He
+reached the rank and roused a sleepy driver.</p>
+
+<p>'Paddington Hotel,' he said, and as he entered the taxi, glanced back
+again.</p>
+
+<p>Another man had joined the porter, and was talking to him excitedly.
+Nick guessed it to be R.O., and chuckled. Then, as his taxi moved off,
+he saw the porter running, and running fast, towards the cab-rank. The
+hunt was up. Nick settled himself comfortably and lit a cigarette. The
+last few hours had been rather a strain, but this was a game after
+his own heart, a game he loved and excelled in. He picked up the
+speaking-tube.</p>
+
+<p>'Push her along as fast as you can, will you?'</p>
+
+<p>The driver responded with a wave of his hand, and trod on the gas. They
+slid through the traffic in the Strand, and just managed to escape
+a block at Trafalgar Square. Nick, looking back, perceived that his
+pursuer had unfortunately missed it, too. He could see the porter
+hanging out of the cab window, obviously urging his driver to greater
+speed, and indicating with a frenzied hand the taxi ahead. Nick laughed
+outright and picked up the tube again.</p>
+
+<p>'Go up through Piccadilly, and along to Hyde Park Corner.'</p>
+
+<p>The driver nodded resignedly. It was none of his business, but some
+fares did seem a bit loopy. Here was a bloke who asked him to hurry
+one minute, and the next wanted him to crawl through all the thickest
+traffic. Well, it wasn't <i>his</i> affair. He swung up Cockspur Street, and
+the pursuing taxi turned after him.</p>
+
+<p>Nick was thinking hard. This infernal bandage was a landmark of the
+most dangerous sort, but on the other hand, was it safe to remove it?
+He didn't want any more witnesses than he could help, and the driver
+would certainly think it rather odd. Nick had no intention of slipping
+out without paying his fare; that would have been a dirty trick, and
+would have spoilt the keen pleasure he was deriving from the affair.
+Also—and more important still—if the worst came to the worst and
+the porter caught him up, he didn't want to run the risk of being
+recognised. He was not afraid of being detained—the porter was heavy,
+but hardly in the best physical training—but even in the time it
+would take to knock him out, the man might see his face well enough to
+remember again. No, the bandages must remain for the moment.</p>
+
+<p>As luck would have it, the road was clear from Regent Street into
+Piccadilly. The taxi sped down past Burlington House, only to pull
+up short a moment later. The pursuing taxi was close behind, only
+separated from them by a Ford van. Nick could see the porter peering
+out again. In another two seconds he would spot them and ... Nick spoke
+to his driver.</p>
+
+<p>'Another block?' he asked.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, sir.' By now the man was quite certain that his fare was insane.
+'Traffic comin' down Bond Street.'</p>
+
+<p>'Damnation!' Nick stepped out of the taxi. 'I shall go on by
+Underground. Good-night. Keep the change.'</p>
+
+<p>He shut the door behind him, and dodging through the traffic, made for
+the north side of Piccadilly, but out of the tail of his eye he saw
+that the porter had seen him, and was following, also on foot.</p>
+
+<p>Nick walked steadily westward. He knew that this earnest sleuth could
+do nothing in such a crowded place, but, on the other hand, what was he
+going to do himself? He couldn't simply walk up and down till he tired
+the fellow out. Besides, he had had a heavy day, and wanted to go to
+bed. Somehow this tiresome emissary of the Chief's must be thrown off.</p>
+
+<p>And then, as sometimes happens in London, he discovered that the crowd
+about him had dissolved. There just happened to be no one on the
+pavement for fifty yards. In another five minutes the place would be
+swarming again, but a lot can happen in five minutes.</p>
+
+<p>Someone behind him broke into a run. Nick turned instinctively and saw
+an open door, obviously the door of some club, for a man in livery
+stood in the hall. Without a second thought he walked in, to find
+himself facing a long letter-board on which was written: 'Jameson Club.'</p>
+
+<p>The club porter came up, eyeing his bandaged head curiously.</p>
+
+<p>'Friend of mine ... member ... asked me to leave a message here for
+him,' said Nick crisply. 'Where can I write a note?'</p>
+
+<p>'Very good, sir. There's a writing-table in the lounge, sir,' said the
+man, indicating a room opposite, through the glass walls of which Nick
+could see three old gentlemen, each in far corners, reading newspapers
+in unsociable comfort.</p>
+
+<p>'Thanks,' said Nick, and made his way to the table indicated. He sat
+down, picked up a pen, and studied it thoughtfully. His first idea had
+been to post his stolen envelope to himself, but now he hesitated.
+Suppose ... just suppose the Chief thought of that, too. No reason
+why he shouldn't; it wasn't exactly a new idea. And it wasn't beyond
+the bounds of possibility that the Chief might try to get it. The man
+would be anxious, rather naturally. But what was the alternative? That
+infernal sleuth was sitting outside the club (Nick had no doubt about
+that), and he couldn't stop in the place all night.</p>
+
+<p>Nick grinned. 'Cold outside. Mustn't keep the poor devil waiting too
+long,' he murmured. But what was he going to do?</p>
+
+<p>He studied the faces of his three fellow-inmates, and discarded the
+thought of appealing to their help. They were all fat old fellows,
+rather short of breath, and would probably have apoplectic fits at his
+story. His eyes wandered round the room, and then he caught sight of
+the bridge party through the glass partition.</p>
+
+<p>There were four of them, men, and they were obviously old friends. He
+could hear what they said when they raised their voices as one was
+doing now.</p>
+
+<p>'Discipline? My dear boy, the younger generation have none, and
+you're not the man to teach it to 'em. You always did sympathise with
+criminals; isn't that true, Loring? Look at him! Good Lord, when he
+used to lecture at King's his students called him "Twinkling William."
+Does that sound like discipline?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick's eyes were on the subject of this tirade, who laughed cheerfully
+and without resentment. He was a little man, of about fifty, with
+twinkling eyes and untidy white hair. Nick watched him steadily, a
+growing conviction in his heart. This was the man for him; he'd risk
+his life on it; he'd even—he smiled, remembering an historic police
+court statement—he'd even bet on it. Then he nodded as if his mind
+were made up, pulled a sheet of paper towards him, and began to write:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,</p>
+
+<p>I hope you will forgive the liberty I am taking, but I find myself in
+an awkward predicament, from which only you can assist me.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>So far, so good. Nick frowned thoughtfully. The question was, how
+much was it safe to tell? He must make this man—'Twinkling William!'
+enchanting nickname!—he must make him realise how important the affair
+was, and yet he didn't want to start a panic and have Scotland Yard
+called in. Curse Jack Strickland and the woolly-headed idiots who sent
+him to Russia when he was badly needed in England!</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>The envelope which you will find enclosed contains a document for
+which a certain section of our anti-English society is searching. I am
+sorry that I cannot give you any more definite information, but, as
+you know, the essence of the Secret Service is that it should remain
+secret.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Nick grinned, remembering that in point of fact he was still 'wanted'
+on several counts.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>Unfortunately, it has leaked out among my opponents that I am in
+possession of the document, and I have been closely followed. In fact,
+my sleuths are waiting outside for me at the moment.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>'Sounds better in the plural: more frightfulness!'</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>I am not a member of this club, but being in a tight corner I entered
+on the pretext of writing a note for a member. The fact that I know
+none has made my task more difficult. However, I have seen you—you
+are playing bridge as I write—and I believe you to be a man who will
+help me, and incidentally the State, in this affair. I shall wait
+until you leave, and then contrive to slip this letter into your
+pocket.</p>
+
+<p>If you will write me a line addressed to V.L.S., Poste Restante,
+G.P.O., letting me know your name and where I can find you, I will
+call as soon as possible and relieve you of this rather dangerous
+charge. I expect I shall be free to do this within a few days, but if
+the worst occurs, and at the end of ten days you have neither seen
+nor heard from me, may I beg you to keep the letter until June 10th,
+and then post it. You will see that I have addressed and stamped it.
+I am confident that this contingency will not arise, but my opponents
+are as able as they are unscrupulous, and it is as well to face all
+possibilities.</p>
+
+<p>In the meantime, I beg you not to mention the matter to anyone, and
+assure you that in keeping this secret you will be doing the State an
+incalculable service.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Nick read his literary effort through, and folded it carefully. It was
+a trifle earnest, but it would do. Then he drew the sealed envelope
+from his pocket and opened it gingerly, taking care not to tear the
+flap. He extracted the list of names, and slid it into another envelope
+which he took from the rack in front of him. The bridge party in the
+next room seemed to be nearing the end of their rubber; there was
+no time to be lost. He sealed the envelope and addressed it to Jack
+Strickland.</p>
+
+<p>A rapid search of the desk revealed a larger envelope, into which he
+thrust Jack's and the letter to his unknown assistant, 'Twinkling
+William.' Nick chuckled again at the aptness of the name. On the
+envelope he wrote: 'Please open this when you are alone,' and then,
+with sudden childishness, he printed in large letters across the top,
+'O.H.M.S.'</p>
+
+<p>This done, he leant back and lit a cigarette. It was now necessary to
+write his note for the member. The hall porter had looked in rather
+curiously once or twice; it wouldn't do to walk out and leave nothing
+to explain his literary efforts. The question was, who should the
+member be? 'Smith,' he decided. A good old English name. There must
+be a Smith or three in the club. He wrote 'R. Smith, Esq.,' on an
+envelope, and stuck it down. Then he looked at the bridge party again.</p>
+
+<p>They had finished their game, but were enjoying hot toddies and talking
+cheerfully. It would obviously be some minutes before they departed.
+Nick took up his pen again. It would rouse the hall porter's curiosity
+if he sat there doing nothing. Then his eye fell on the envelope he had
+stolen, and a smile spread over his face. He examined it carefully. It
+could be re-sealed with perfect ease, and there was a stick of red wax
+on the desk. Nick's smile broadened. It seemed a waste to send an empty
+envelope back to the Chief. A golden opportunity.... He took another
+sheet of paper from the rack.</p>
+
+<p>Ten minutes later he heard the bridge players push back their chairs.
+He finished his letter hurriedly, put it into the Chief's envelope,
+sealed it, and stowed it away in his breast-pocket. The quartet were
+in the hall, putting on their coats, and chaffing each other with the
+freedom of old friends. Nick joined them unostentatiously, and slipped
+Mr. Smith's note into the rack, thanking his stars that the porter was
+too busy to watch him. 'Twinkling William' was speaking as he struggled
+into his coat, and Nick halted for an instant, listening.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, my dear John, you talk a great deal of nonsense! Human nature
+doesn't alter. All this rant against these mad modern ideas has gone
+on since the days of the Pharaohs. The dominant characteristic of all
+younger generations is that they want adventure. And why shouldn't
+they? It's an admirable thing. I only wish there were more of it.'</p>
+
+<p>The other three men laughed as they prepared to descend the steps. Nick
+brushed past them, murmuring an apology, and in passing found the coat
+pocket he wanted. Then he set off down Piccadilly towards Hyde Park,
+and was rewarded by the sound of a well-known footstep behind him.</p>
+
+<p>'Poor old chap!' thought Nick. 'I bet he's tired. Well, so am I. Let's
+get this over, and then we can all go to bed happy.'</p>
+
+<p>He turned into the Park, now dark and deserted, and slackened his pace.
+The footsteps followed, but still did not catch him up. Nick became
+exasperated.</p>
+
+<p>'Why, damn the man, what's stopping him?' he grumbled. 'Why doesn't
+he <i>do</i> something? Good Lord, have I got to walk about all night,
+waiting for some rotten sleuth to slug me? Well, if he won't take the
+initiative, I must, I suppose. Let's faint, shall we?'</p>
+
+<p>He hesitated, reeled a little, and came down on the grass with a thud.
+A startled oath told him that his pursuer was close at heel. Then a
+practised hand began to go through his pockets, and he heard a grunt of
+satisfaction as the sealed envelope was found. Nick lay still, hardly
+breathing, until the enemy's footsteps died away. Then he got up and
+ripped off his bandages with a sigh of relief.</p>
+
+<p>The fog had completely disappeared, and the night sky was spangled
+with stars. Nick drew a deep breath of the frosty air, and then walked
+leisurely back to Piccadilly.</p>
+
+<p>'And so to bed,' he murmured, 'to wake refreshed to another day of
+care-free crime.'</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>AN ULTIMATUM</h3>
+
+
+<p>While Nick was peacefully walking home, a young man stood on the steps
+of the tall house in Link Street, waiting. Anxious lines furrowed his
+face, and there was an expression very like fear in his eyes. Then, as
+a taxi drew up to the door, he ran forward eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>'Did you get it?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, sir.' The porter emerged from the cab, and handed him a long
+envelope. With a muttered word of praise the boy turned and hurried
+upstairs to the offices of the S.P.G. His chief sat at a table,
+writing. There were no signs of alarm in his strange dark eyes.</p>
+
+<p>'Got it, Chief!'</p>
+
+<p>The man looked up, and held out his hand for the letter, raising his
+eyebrows in gentle reproof.</p>
+
+<p>'Keep cool, my boy. I wish you weren't so excitable.'</p>
+
+<p>The young secretary bit his lip, and was silent, staring out of the
+window, while his chief opened the envelope. There was a moment's
+silence, and then the man at the table gave a short laugh. The boy spun
+round.</p>
+
+<p>'You're mistaken,' said the man. 'He did not get it. Call him up.'</p>
+
+<p>Aghast, the boy went out, and returned with the porter.</p>
+
+<p>'How did you get this envelope, Baxter?'</p>
+
+<p>'Off Mr. Davies, sir; that is, the man who....'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, yes, but how?'</p>
+
+<p>The porter told his story of the pursuit, the wait outside the Jameson
+Club, and the attack in the Park.</p>
+
+<p>'Was he walking fast when you overtook him?'</p>
+
+<p>'No, sir. More dawdling, I should say.'</p>
+
+<p>'And he didn't attempt to defend himself?'</p>
+
+<p>'Didn't 'ave no need, sir. Just as I reached him 'e fell—tripped, sort
+of—and lay like a log. It looked like heart failure to me, sir.'</p>
+
+<p>'Did it? It wasn't. He was expecting you. Now listen to me. That letter
+was left in the Jameson Club—possibly posted there. Get it.'</p>
+
+<p>There was a moment's silence.</p>
+
+<p>'I expect the mail goes out about midnight,' said the young secretary.
+'It does from most clubs.'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes. Be there ten minutes early, Baxter, and get the postman. Take all
+the letters and bring them here. That's all.'</p>
+
+<p>The porter turned to the door, and then hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>'I'm very sorry, sir ...' he began.</p>
+
+<p>The Chief smiled.</p>
+
+<p>'I'm not blaming you, Baxter. This fellow is no fool. Anyone might
+be forgiven for underrating him. But go now, or you'll be late. I'm
+relying on you to pull <i>this</i> off.'</p>
+
+<p>Baxter departed, his head held high. The Chief turned again to the
+letter in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>'Is it—Scotland Yard?' asked the boy, hesitantly.</p>
+
+<p>'No. Far from it. A far more interesting proposition. He signs himself
+"Vive le Sport."'</p>
+
+<p>'Good Lord! That's the burglar.'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes. Would you like to read his letter?'</p>
+
+<p>The boy took it.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span> [it ran]: I feel an explanation is due to you, for
+my unwarrantable intrusion this evening. In the first place, let
+me hasten to make Mr. Davies's position clear; I cannot allow you,
+even for a moment, to suspect him of treason. Mr. Davies is lying in
+hospital, at Reading, and suffering from severe concussion, with,
+possibly, a broken ankle. He and I travelled from Cardiff together,
+but in the train accident Davies was less lucky than I. I was
+fortunate enough to be able to get him out of our wrecked carriage,
+and succeeded in convincing him that I was fully qualified to carry
+his report to you.</p>
+
+<p>My motive is a little difficult to explain, without appearing
+melodramatic. I, too, am an Englishman, but—forgive me if I sound
+priggish!—I have a rooted conscientious objection to revolutions.
+Even Dictatorship leaves me doubtful. I think there is something
+in the Anglo-Saxon temperament that is definitely antipathetic to
+tyranny, even under a benevolent tyrant.</p>
+
+<p>And now to business. I have your list of names. This would be of
+immense interest to Scotland Yard, but I hesitate to put it into their
+hands, since I have seen the men who signed it. In my opinion, they
+are good fellows, who have, fundamentally, a sane outlook on life. The
+country would lose by their imprisonment. Without your influence I
+feel sure they would regain normality. May I suggest that you should
+make the <i>beau geste</i>, and save them from ruin? If you will call off
+this revolution of yours and leave the country before June 10th, I
+will destroy the document and keep silence. If not—but my course must
+be obvious to you.</p>
+
+<p>Incidentally, I may say that the document is now in safe keeping, and
+not on my person. I realise that you are a busy man, and do not wish
+to waste your time unnecessarily.</p>
+
+<p class="ph2"><span class="smcap">Vive le Sport</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>The boy put down the letter, and faced his Chief. Stark terror stood in
+his eyes. The man, watching him, smiled, and shook his head slowly. The
+fear died in the boy's face, and he smiled faintly.</p>
+
+<p>'That's better,' said the man. 'Well, what do you make of him?'</p>
+
+<p>'He's a clever devil. Does he mean it?'</p>
+
+<p>'That he won't act till June the 10th? Yes, I should think he does. I
+wonder if we have any chance of getting him to join us.'</p>
+
+<p>'I shouldn't think so.'</p>
+
+<p>'I expect you're right. It's a pity. I could work with that man. He'd
+be useful.'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes.' The boy gulped. 'He must have some courage. The way he just
+walked in, and ... O God, Chief, I'm a funk.'</p>
+
+<p>The older man put out a hand.</p>
+
+<p>'You're all right, old chap. You must learn to keep your head, that's
+all. I haven't complained about you, have I?'</p>
+
+<p>'No. I don't know why you haven't.... It's ... it's when you're not
+there.'</p>
+
+<p>The man nodded, watching him curiously, and then his expression changed.</p>
+
+<p>'This fellow has a sense of humour,' he said. 'Strength, too.' He was
+silent for a moment, his eyes thoughtful. 'I was right, you know,' he
+went on. 'My intuition told me his type when you first brought him in
+to-night. I greeted him—and then I had to remind myself that he was
+Davies. But I was right, the first time. Very interesting.'</p>
+
+<p>The boy said nothing, but watched him. Finally the man rose to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, we must find him. In the meantime, your job is to go down to
+Reading and see Davies. Get his story of the affair. Ask if there were
+other people in the carriage at the time. Find out if he can remember
+any detail that might help us to identify Vive le Sport. And ... get me
+a list of the members of the Jameson Club.'</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>'IF THE FEMININE ELEMENT CROPPED UP IN THIS ...'</h3>
+
+
+<p>'Evenin' Speshul!' yelled the newsboy, his eyes, bright as a London
+sparrow's, on the crowd emerging from Mark Lane Tube Station. ''Ere's
+yer "Evenin' News"! "Star"! Big West End Mail Robb'ry! Postman in
+'orspital! Evenin' Speshul!'</p>
+
+<p>A tall man in dungaree trousers and an old blue jacket halted and
+looked round.</p>
+
+<p>''Ere y'are, sir. "Evenin' News"! Full account.' The boy whipped a
+paper from his bundle and held it out. The man took it, dropped a
+penny into the boy's palm, and moved away. At the corner he stopped,
+and leaning his shoulder against a pillar-box, read the account
+deliberately. There was a dancing light in his eyes and an amused turn
+to the corners of his mouth.</p>
+
+<p>'Quick work!' he thought. 'Let's see, it was just after eleven when
+I left that club. That fellow stalked me for about five minutes, I
+suppose, before he did his stuff. Then he had to get back to the Chief,
+hear the glad tidings, and rush off again in time to sandbag the
+postman with the midnight mail. Well, well, our friend the enemy had
+a busy evening. Thank God, I didn't post that letter, and thank God on
+all fours I managed to pick the right man to help me!'</p>
+
+<p>He stuffed the paper into the pocket of his ragged coat and strode on,
+whistling contentedly. It was a good day, in Nick's eyes. The sun was
+setting redly in the smoky sky behind him, and the air was crisp with
+frost; he had just survived a day of more than usual excitement, and
+he had an inward conviction that there was more excitement to come.
+In fact, he was himself again. Best of all, that afternoon he had
+collected from the G.P.O. a letter from his unknown assistant of the
+night before which still gave him immense pleasure in contemplation.</p>
+
+<p>He walked on steadily, hands in pockets, cap down over his eyes;
+circled the Tower, and made his way down Royal Mint Street, now noisy
+with the sound of drays, as they rattled over the cobble-stones to and
+from the docks. At the corner of Dray and Quay Streets he halted, and
+then entered a small and grimy public-house, flamboyantly labelled 'The
+Sailmakers' Arms.'</p>
+
+<p>The bar-tender looked up and nodded affably.</p>
+
+<p>'Arternoon, Nick.'</p>
+
+<p>'Arternoon, mate. George in?'</p>
+
+<p>'In the kitching,' the bar-tender told him, indicating with a dirty
+thumb a door beside the bar.</p>
+
+<p>Nick nodded and passed through, but as soon as the door was shut
+behind him, he turned to mount a narrow little stairway. It was half
+dark, and the steps were badly broken, but Nick went up with the
+certainty of long practice, and came to a halt on the little landing at
+the top in front of a yellow wooden door. Pulling a bunch of keys from
+his pocket, he unlocked it, and entered the room beyond.</p>
+
+<p>This attic was a contrast to the house he had just left. It was a bare
+little room, but scrupulously clean. In one corner stood a pallet bed,
+covered with rough brown blankets, neatly folded. There was a square
+kitchen table in the middle of the room, and two cheap basket chairs,
+rather worn, stood near by. A small fire was burning brightly in the
+grate, and a bucket of coal had been left beside it.</p>
+
+<p>Nick gave a grunt of satisfaction and, going over to the fire, picked
+up a pipe from the mantelpiece. Deliberately he filled and lit it, and
+then rang a bell that hung beside the fireplace.</p>
+
+<p>This room was one of his many burrows, and a most convenient place.
+It was over the shop of one Isaac Jacob, a seaman's outfitter in Quay
+Street. To make it yet more secure, Nick had arranged a permanent right
+to enter through the Sailmakers' Arms in Dray Street. These two houses
+had originally been one, and both were owned by George Cattle, the
+proprietor of the pub.</p>
+
+<p>Jacob, from whom Nick rented the room, was an oily little Jew, of
+unprepossessing appearance, and Teutonic origin. Most of the dockyard
+world were firmly convinced that 'Ikey' would sell his grandmother's
+soul for a tanner, and his own for a pint of beer, but Nick trusted
+him, and his faith was not misplaced. Apart from the fact that he knew
+enough about the little Jew to send him to Dartmoor, he felt convinced
+of Jacob's loyalty, and had never had any reason to doubt it. As a
+matter of fact, Jacob worshipped him with a dog-like devotion, for
+which he could have given a number of reasons, although they never
+occurred to Nick.</p>
+
+<p>In about ten minutes there was a knock on the door, and Jacob entered,
+his fat, greasy face wreathed in smiles.</p>
+
+<p>'You got back then all right?' he said. 'Ain't seen you in a long time.
+How was it?'</p>
+
+<p>'All right. I bin away,' said Nick, in the rough Cockney that was his
+<i>langue de guerre</i>. 'Look 'ere, Ikey, I want yeh t' do suthink fer me.'</p>
+
+<p>'Anything, my friend ... anything I can do ... in reason, that is.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick grinned. 'Keep yer 'air on, old sport. I ain't arskin' fer money.
+Now listen ter me. Do yer know a bloke o' the name o' Breck? Ginger
+Breck?'</p>
+
+<p>'You mean Tom Breck, the seaman? Of course I know Breck. Was he not in
+the shop yesterday night, buying sea-boots? He sailed this morning
+for the Mediterranean. Say, the story he tells me about you and him
+yesterday——'</p>
+
+<p>''E's a liar! Do you know when 'is boat is doo back?'</p>
+
+<p>'The Pelican, ain't it? Four weeks her run is; not more than
+twenty-four hours out, either way. I thought you was a friend to Ginger
+Breck, Nick?'</p>
+
+<p>'So I am; but don't you go believin' all the yarns 'e tells you ...
+'specially about me. Does the Pelican carry 'er own pilot?'</p>
+
+<p>'No. She picks him up at Gravesend.'</p>
+
+<p>'Ho! Well, look 'ere, could you find aht when she'll be doo there?'</p>
+
+<p>'Easy, easy! My dear late wife's brother he lives down the river, below
+Gravesend. He could send me word when they sight her. What you driving
+at, my friend?'</p>
+
+<p>'I'll tell yeh. Could you git aboard the Pelican with the pilot, an'
+give Breck a message fer me? It's what yeh might call urgent that 'e
+gits this word afore they docks. See?'</p>
+
+<p>'I see, but it is not possible to get aboard that way. Pilots is funny
+people.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick was silent, pulling at his pipe. Jacob sniffed nervously, glancing
+up at his tenant, and then jerked back his greasy head in abrupt
+decision.</p>
+
+<p>'It shall be done, my friend. Somehow, I will get the word to Breck.
+We Jews do not forget those who have helped us, no. What is this
+message?'</p>
+
+<p>'It's a bit 'ard to explain. Tell Breck that as soon as they dock, a
+bloke will come aboard askin' for 'im.'</p>
+
+<p>'A friend of yours, eh?'</p>
+
+<p>'Not—likely! This bloke's arter me, Ikey.'</p>
+
+<p>'Gott! Then Breck must not listen to him, eh? Breck must say to him
+that——'</p>
+
+<p>'Fer Gawd's sake put a sock in it till I've done tellin' yeh! This
+bloke's goin' t' arsk Breck where 'e can find me—savvy?'</p>
+
+<p>'He knows Breck?'</p>
+
+<p>'Nao! Oh, look 'ere, did Breck tell you about the game 'im an' me 'ad
+in that railway smash yesterd'y?'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, yes! My friend, how terrible that must have been! You were near
+death then, both of you.'</p>
+
+<p>'Garn! I bin a lot nearer than that, an' so's Breck. The point is,
+'im an' me fished a feller outa that train, and passed 'im on t' the
+Ambulance chaps. Now I reckon that this bloke 'oo wants t' find me so
+bad will use that yarn. 'E'll come along to old Ginger an' say: "Me
+brother, wot was ser nobly saved be you an' yer mate las' month, wants
+t' thank ye both, an' stand y' a pint o' bitter. Where does yer mate
+'ang out?" D'ye git me meanin', Ikey?'</p>
+
+<p>The little Jew nodded vigorously, his boot-button eyes bright with
+intelligence.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, Ginger's got ter play up t' that, see? 'E must lead our grateful
+friend to 273, Leman Street. You've 'eard that address afore, 'aven't
+yeh?'</p>
+
+<p>'Another home of yours, ain't it? But not so good as this was.'</p>
+
+<p>'Not near ser good, but very 'andy. Well, Ginger tells 'im that I'm
+orfen there between midnight and 6 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span> and takes 'im there,
+and then they'll wait fer me, see?'</p>
+
+<p>'I see.' Jacob nodded slowly. 'It shall be done, my friend. Was there
+any more you want to say? The shop will be filling up.'</p>
+
+<p>'That's all, Ikey. Yer a good little sport. So long.'</p>
+
+<p>'Good-bye.' The little Jew turned to the door, and then hesitated, his
+eyes searchingly on Nick.</p>
+
+<p>'You're up to more dangerous games, eh, Nick?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick grinned, and knocked out his pipe.</p>
+
+<p>'Not wot you'd call dangerous,' he said. 'But it's a busy game all
+right, and it ain't exactly a bed o' roses. Don't you worry. Y' oughta
+know by now that I always git my fist in afore the other bloke does.'</p>
+
+<p>Jacob sniffed.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, I hope you take care, that's all. When you are here, I know you
+are all right, but when you are away, doing your mad things...! We
+Jews, we like to keep our friends. Take much care.'</p>
+
+<p>The door shut behind him, and the sound of his shuffling feet died
+away. For a moment Nick stood still, his eyes grave. Then he smiled and
+went out by the other door, locking it after him.</p>
+
+<p>'Funny little beast!' he said to himself. 'I honestly believe he means
+it.'</p>
+
+<p>And with that he returned to the pub, bade a curt farewell to the
+bar-tender, and emerged once more into the twilit street.</p>
+
+<p>The air was crisply cold. Nick turned up his coat collar and stepped
+out briskly. He wanted to have a look at that room of his in Leman
+Street, and there was a pal he had to meet at Hermitage Wharf, a stoker
+on the Royal Scot, who should have news for him. It was close on eleven
+before his business was concluded, and he turned his steps westward.
+He wanted to think, and Nick always thought best in the open air.
+Unconsciously his feet led him towards the river, and at last he came
+to a halt on Tower Bridge, watching the lights of the shipping dance
+and bob on the tide.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a light touch on his arm made him turn, and he saw a girl
+beside him. She was small and slight, and as she lifted her face he was
+startled into an exclamation of surprise.</p>
+
+<p>'Jill! What on earth are you doing here?'</p>
+
+<p>'I came to find you,' she explained. 'I wanted to see you, but you left
+no address, so I couldn't write.'</p>
+
+<p>'But, good Lord, did you expect to find me here?'</p>
+
+<p>Jill hesitated, her eyes on his. 'Y-yes,' she said, and her odd, elfin
+face had the anxious look of a child longing for understanding, yet
+despairing of it.</p>
+
+<p>Nick laughed, and tucked his arm through hers.</p>
+
+<p>'All right, old lady. You were justified, though God knows how it
+happened. Let's make a move. You've got no business to be prowling
+round the East End alone at this time of night, you know. Jack would
+have a fit if he knew.'</p>
+
+<p>'Jack would understand,' said Jill. 'Of course, if he'd been home I
+shouldn't have come. I mean, you'd have been along to see him before
+this, wouldn't you?'</p>
+
+<p>There was a moment's pause, and then Nick spoke slowly:</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, I would,' he said. 'I'd like to see Jack.'</p>
+
+<p>'I know. That's why I had to come.' Jill's soft little voice was
+breathless. 'I was rather afraid you'd be angry, but, you see, I'm
+going to Norway for a week, and I'll probably see Jack in Bergen, and
+I couldn't help thinking there must be something I could tell him or
+take him from you, so I had to find you. I'm going to-morrow, you see.
+You do understand, Nick? I mean, I didn't come out of curiosity, or
+anything like that.'</p>
+
+<p>'It hadn't occurred to me to accuse you of anything in the least like
+that,' Nick assured her gravely. 'My alarm at the sight of you may have
+seemed unflattering, but it wasn't really. It was simply the outcome
+of my prejudice against the modern habit of considering this district
+a pleasant promenade at midnight—at any rate, for unattended and
+attractive young ladies.'</p>
+
+<p>Jill's flickering smile lit her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>'Nick, how silly. Do you really think anybody would hurt me? Rob me, or
+anything?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick looked at her thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>'No, I don't; but all the same, I'd much rather you had someone with
+you to make certain of it. Where shall we go?'</p>
+
+<p>'Anywhere, as long as we can talk.'</p>
+
+<p>'We-ell, I'd rather not go too far away——' he halted under a street
+lamp. 'How are you dressed, Jill?'</p>
+
+<p>'Very plain and ordinary.'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, you'll do,' said Nick, surveying her critically. 'There's a
+bun-shop I know that's open all night, and won't have anyone much in it
+for another hour or two. Come along.'</p>
+
+<p>It was a dingy little place in Eastcheap, badly lit and poorly
+furnished. Except for two sailor-men, half asleep in a corner, the room
+was empty. A slatternly, tired-eyed girl brought them coffee and stale
+doughnuts, and then disappeared into a back room, presumably to sleep
+until the next customer hammered on the counter.</p>
+
+<p>'Would you like me to take a letter to Jack?' asked Jill.</p>
+
+<p>Nick shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>'Don't like giving too much information on paper,' he said. 'But there
+are one or two things I'd like you to tell him, if you can bear to
+listen.'</p>
+
+<p>'Don't be stupid,' said Jill. 'What do you think I came here for?
+Besides, I've been longing to know what's happened. Yesterday morning I
+was horribly worried about you; kept feeling something awful was going
+to happen to you. Were you in that train?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick stared at her, and then grinned.</p>
+
+<p>'It's foolish to be surprised, I suppose,' he said. 'Yes, I was. I
+think I'd better tell you all about it.'</p>
+
+<p>'Please do. I won't interrupt till you tell me I may.'</p>
+
+<p>With a smile Nick began his story. He told her of his visit to Cardiff,
+of the train smash, and his impersonation of Davies, and finally of
+the adventure in the Jameson Club. Jill listened in silence, her eyes
+bright. Then, as he lit a cigarette....</p>
+
+<p>'May I ask questions, please?'</p>
+
+<p>'But of course. Jill, you're a marvel!'</p>
+
+<p>'Then, Nick, please tell me what you wrote in that letter to the Chief?'</p>
+
+<p>He laughed and told her.</p>
+
+<p>'What did you sign yourself?'</p>
+
+<p>'Vive le Sport.'</p>
+
+<p>'Isn't that rather dangerous?'</p>
+
+<p>'I don't think so. I mentioned in my letter that the document was in
+safe custody, but not on my person. He's a busy man, and I don't want
+to waste his time.'</p>
+
+<p>'Did you tell him <i>that</i>, too?'</p>
+
+<p>'Surely. Politeness costs little, and promotes good feeling.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, Nick! So the Chief has until June 10th to leave the country.'</p>
+
+<p>'And to notify his followers that the show is off.'</p>
+
+<p>'Do you think he'll go?'</p>
+
+<p>'I don't know. Probably not. The man's not a coward.'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, what happens now?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick grinned, a little ruefully.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, now I've got to put myself into a position to carry out my
+threat. You see, I still don't know who the chap is, in private life.
+It's rather like a game of Bears, with both sides playing the same
+game. I want to find out who the Chief is. The Chief wants to find Vive
+le Sport. So far we are merely names to each other, without a local
+habitation, so to speak. For myself, I've got a good clue in that
+young secretary. I know him in mufti, and I shall stick to him like a
+leech, in the hope that sooner or later he will lead me to the Chief.
+The difficulty is that that young man appears to know everyone in
+London. However, we must trust to luck.'</p>
+
+<p>'And what do you think the Chief has got in the way of clues?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick nodded approvingly.</p>
+
+<p>'Clever child! I see Jack's training in that sage question. The Chief
+will have gone to see Davies, and Davies will tell him about Breck.
+Ginger—the oaf!—gave away his name in his usual lusty bellow, and
+it's the Bank of England to a tanner that Davies hasn't forgotten it.
+No fool, Davies. He'd make a good burglar if he wasn't so earnest. The
+Chief will try to get hold of Breck as a clue to me. At least, that's
+what I think will happen, and I'm laying my plans accordingly. With a
+little care I think I ought to be able to work it so that I see the
+Chief before he sees me.'</p>
+
+<p>'They're two to one,' said Jill. 'I mean, there's the secretary, isn't
+there? I wish Jack were home.'</p>
+
+<p>'So do I, but the thought of the secretary doesn't worry me.'</p>
+
+<p>'Do I know him?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick faced her steadily, with a smile in his eyes, and shook his head.
+Jill flushed.</p>
+
+<p>'Sorry, Nick, but—I wondered if I could help.'</p>
+
+<p>'No, thanks, Jill. You're a darling, and I know you'd be terribly
+skilful, but I'd rather not have any woman mixed up in this. It's a
+tricky business as it is, and if the feminine element cropped up in it,
+I believe I should jack the whole thing up.'</p>
+
+<p>'But, Nick——' She checked herself, looked at him curiously, and then
+went on: 'Don't run too many risks.'</p>
+
+<p>'Not I. Safety first is my watchword, and now that I've got that
+document stowed away——Oh, but I forgot to tell you. I had an answer
+from my unknown assistant this afternoon.'</p>
+
+<p>'What did he say?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick took a letter from his breast-pocket and spread it out on the
+table.</p>
+
+<p>'I think I must read it to you,' he said. 'It's written from the
+Jameson Club:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,</p>
+
+<p>I discovered your letter when I arrived home last night. May I be
+forgiven for saying that much as I regret your anxious position, you
+have given me more pleasure than I had ever expected to taste again.
+I am, I fear, a confirmed romantic, who has felt for some years that
+romance has left my life for good.</p>
+
+<p>The letter you enclosed is now in my bank, where I left it this
+morning, and where it will remain until I call for it. If I have not
+claimed it before June 10th, my bank manager has instructions to post
+it to the address you gave. In the meantime it is perfectly safe, and
+I beg that you will honour me with its keeping until such time as you
+consider it expedient to withdraw it. Should you wish to, I am to be
+found at this club every Friday evening, and a letter addressed to me
+here will always reach me.</p>
+
+<p>I shall greatly look forward to our meeting. I am an old man now, but
+to feel that I am—however passively—playing a part in this game of
+yours, revives my youth. I am honoured by your trust in me, and I
+think you may rest assured that I shall respect it.</p>
+
+<p class="ph2">Yours faithfully</p>
+
+<p class="ph2"><span class="smcap">William G. Mitchell</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>'He <i>is</i> a darling!' said Jill.</p>
+
+<p>'Isn't he? I'm longing to meet him, too. Well, I think he's right. The
+letter is perfectly safe at his bank, and it leaves me free to get on
+with the job.'</p>
+
+<p>'Tracking the secretary? You'll be busy, Nick.'</p>
+
+<p>'I shall indeed. He's an energetic and a popular young man. Well, well,
+it may be amusing. And now, Jill, I'm going to send you home.'</p>
+
+<p>As luck would have it, they picked up a taxi by the Monument. Nick put
+Jill into it, and gave the address to the driver.</p>
+
+<p>'Good-night, Nick, and—take care, won't you?'</p>
+
+<p>'Always,' Nick assured her. 'Good-night, Jill. There's an exciting time
+coming.'</p>
+
+<p>She suddenly laughed, a soft chuckle of complete amusement.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, indeed, Nick. And lots of surprises!'</p>
+
+<p>The taxi lurched off, leaving Nick staring.</p>
+
+<p>'I wonder what <i>that</i> meant!' he said to himself, and then with a grin
+at his own curiosity, he turned eastward once more.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>'MINE'S BEER, TOO'</h3>
+
+
+<p>Mrs. Hamilton-Browne, of Barton Manor, Suffolk, was worried. Anxiously
+she scanned her ballroom, now filled with all the youth and beauty of
+the county. They were dancing and appeared to be enjoying themselves.
+The band was excellent, the floor perfect, and even her husband, who
+was popularly supposed to have left his liver in Upper Burma, admitted
+that there was nothing wrong with her supper menu. To an unbiased eye
+the party seemed an unqualified success, but still a cloud shadowed
+her kindly, middle-aged face. Unsatisfied, her gaze wandered round the
+room, and at last came to rest on a sturdy, cheerful-looking young man,
+who was standing by the door. With the air of one who clutches at a
+passing straw, she made her way over to his side.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, Bobby, have you seen Mr. Doone?'</p>
+
+<p>Bobby Manvers blinked, in some surprise.</p>
+
+<p>'Doone? Is that the black-haired, silent chap? No, I've not seen him
+for some time. Why?'</p>
+
+<p>'I'm so terribly afraid he isn't enjoying himself. It's all so
+different for him, you see, poor boy.'</p>
+
+<p>'Is it?' said Bobby helplessly.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, it must be! I mean, brought up on that island somewhere near
+Honolulu, or wherever it was. I remember his father so well. Charming,
+but <i>too</i> erratic! Of course, he was Irish, and that accounts for it
+perhaps. And when he married he settled down somewhere in the Pacific,
+you know.'</p>
+
+<p>'It d-doesn't sound a frightfully good place to settle,' said Bobby,
+with the slight stammer that always attacked him in moments of
+emotional stress.</p>
+
+<p>After a second's bewilderment Mrs. Hamilton-Browne smiled indulgently.</p>
+
+<p>'Silly boy, Bobby! You know perfectly well what I mean. And so, you
+see, poor Michael has never had any of the advantages of home, such as
+his father enjoyed. He ought to have been sent to Eton, but instead of
+that, he ran wild till he was about fourteen, and then had three years'
+schooling in some small Australian town. No social training at all. My
+dear, he never saw anyone, stuck there on that tiny island, except his
+parents and, I suppose, natives. Patrick Doone ought to have brought
+the boy home when his wife died, but no!—nothing would make him leave
+his dreadful little island. And now Patrick is dead, too, and of course
+he feels it very deeply. I <i>do</i> so understand, don't you?'</p>
+
+<p>'Er—yes,' said Bobby. He realised that an answer was expected of him
+and, on the whole, 'Yes' seemed slightly more fitting than 'No.'</p>
+
+<p>'I <i>knew</i> you would,' said Mrs. Hamilton-Browne, 'and that's why I
+want you to go and find him. You're so brilliant with shy people.'</p>
+
+<p>'B-but I don't believe he's shy,' protested Bobby. 'H-haven't spoken to
+him myself, but I heard Rex tryin' t-to. He looked just ordinary fed-up
+to me.'</p>
+
+<p>'It's all the same thing,' said Mrs. Hamilton-Browne, with a splendid
+disregard for such psychological distinctions. 'He needs a friend,
+Bobby. We must make him feel that this place is going to be a <i>home</i>
+for him. Sir Toby Ward asked me 'specially to look after him.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, d-does he know old Toby?' asked Bobby, with a flicker of interest.</p>
+
+<p>'Indeed, yes. Sir Toby was an old friend of Patrick Doone's and he's
+Michael's trustee. The boy has come over on legal business. Selling the
+Irish property, and all that sort of thing. I simply must go now, and
+look after those people on the terrace. I'm sure they're not enjoying
+themselves. Do go and find him, Bobby. I think he went into the
+library.'</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Hamilton-Browne hurried away and Bobby Manvers set off with a
+reluctant heart and lagging feet to carry out her orders.</p>
+
+<p>She was right. In the library he found Michael Doone, sitting on his
+shoulder blades in the largest chair in the room, long legs stretched
+out before him, chin down on chest, and his shirt-front bulging
+unbecomingly. His mouth was set in a sullen line, and his black brows
+were drawn down over his eyes in an uncompromising scowl. He did
+not look up on Bobby's entry, and Mrs. Hamilton-Browne's envoy slid
+nervously into a chair, and racked his brains for a suitable topic of
+conversation.</p>
+
+<p>'Bit of a b-bore, these private dances, what?' he said at last. He was
+acutely conscious of inadequacy, but felt one must start somewhere.</p>
+
+<p>Michael Doone made no sign of having heard, but continued his sullen
+contemplation of the empty grate.</p>
+
+<p>'I'm afraid you're f-finding this show a bit of a b-blight,' continued
+Bobby bravely.</p>
+
+<p>Michael Doone opened his eyes and regarded his companion steadily for
+some seconds. Then, with a faint, sardonic smile, he returned his gaze
+to the fireplace.</p>
+
+<p>Bobby flushed, but persevered with a gallantry worthy of a better cause.</p>
+
+<p>'I suppose all this is f-frightfully different to—er—to what it's
+like in—er—where you come from?'</p>
+
+<p>Michael Doone's mouth twitched suddenly. Then he rolled over in his
+chair and faced Bobby, with an expression of suppressed frenzy.</p>
+
+<p>'For the love of God, what's biting you?' he asked.</p>
+
+<p>The words were offensive, but the exasperated grin that lit up his lean
+face and queer, green-grey eyes was oddly attractive. Bobby smiled
+guiltily in return.</p>
+
+<p>'W-well, y' see, Mrs. Hamilton-Browne's awfully worried about you,' he
+said, 'and she—she sent me to ... I s-say, will you have a drink?'</p>
+
+<p>Michael Doone heaved a sigh of relief.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes!' he said, hoisting himself up in the chair with sudden alacrity.
+'That's the first intelligent remark I've heard to-night. You'll do!'</p>
+
+<p>'S-say when,' said Bobby thankfully, juggling with decanters on the
+side-table.</p>
+
+<p>'When. Thanks. Here's luck,' said Doone, raising the tall glass.</p>
+
+<p>'I believe you know old Toby Ward,' said Bobby a moment later.</p>
+
+<p>Michael nodded.</p>
+
+<p>'Good fellow,' pursued Bobby. 'Dashed clever, too.'</p>
+
+<p>'Is he?' said Michael indifferently.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, rather! He's retired now, of course, but they say he was the most
+brilliant K.C. of his age. Never lost a case. Pity he had to chuck it,
+but his health wouldn't stand it.'</p>
+
+<p>'Nice old buffer,' said Michael, 'and human, as lawyers go. I'm staying
+the week-end at his place. By the way, how far is it from here to High
+Ash?'</p>
+
+<p>'Twenty-eight miles,' said Bobby. 'I know that road well. W-what did
+you do it in?'</p>
+
+<p>'Thirty-two minutes.'</p>
+
+<p>'Pretty good! That's your B-bentley in the garage, isn't it?'</p>
+
+<p>Michael nodded.</p>
+
+<p>'You must have let her out on the straight.' Bobby grinned. 'Almost
+worth c-coming for, that, wasn't it?'</p>
+
+<p>Michael laughed. 'Almost. I was pretty fed-up before I started. Old
+Toby shoved me into this show; put it so that I couldn't refuse ... he
+and Mrs. Browne between 'em.'</p>
+
+<p>'You'd better not let her catch you calling her "Browne,"' warned
+Bobby. 'She's a dear old soul, but that's the one thing that makes her
+see red.'</p>
+
+<p>'I don't see why it should,' argued Michael. 'It's sheer swank
+sticking on the "Hamilton" like that. This country's too full of
+Battenberg-Smiths for me.'</p>
+
+<p>'L-let 'em have their fun,' said Bobby tolerantly. 'It m-makes for a
+quiet life, in the long run.'</p>
+
+<p>'Quiet life? They've got too much of it. That's their trouble,' said
+Michael. 'I'd like to maroon 'em on one of the Solomons and see how
+they'd make out. Of course, it's the fault of their upbringing. They've
+missed all the fun in life.'</p>
+
+<p>Bobby smiled at the fireplace.</p>
+
+<p>'Out with it!' commanded Michael, watching him.</p>
+
+<p>'W-well, y' know, that's more or less what she feels about <i>y-you</i>,'
+said Bobby. 'It's all a question of the point of view.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael Doone laughed. 'It's too late to reform me,' he said. 'By the
+way, what's your name?'</p>
+
+<p>'M-Manvers.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael nodded, but any reply he might have contemplated was cut short
+by the sound of a hurried step in the corridor.</p>
+
+<p>'Here she is!' whispered Bobby.</p>
+
+<p>'Gawd!' said Michael with deep feeling and, setting down his half-empty
+glass, made for the French windows which opened on the terrace.</p>
+
+<p>'No, d-dash it all!' protested Bobby, rising to his feet abruptly. 'I'm
+n-not going to be left to stand the racket.'</p>
+
+<p>'Come on, then,' said Michael, and together they slipped out onto the
+terrace.</p>
+
+<p>It was a perfect May night, clear and starry, and a half-moon showed in
+the east like burnished pewter. Michael halted for a second, his eyes
+on the rolling country beneath him, now enchanted in the soft shadows
+and silver moonlight. Bobby, watching, saw a sudden wistfulness in his
+face.</p>
+
+<p>'It is rather ... er ... j-jolly, isn't it?' he said tentatively.</p>
+
+<p>Michael looked at him sourly.</p>
+
+<p>'I left my drink in that room,' he said. 'Only half finished.'</p>
+
+<p>'L-let's go and get some supper,' said Bobby hastily.</p>
+
+<p>In silence they walked down the terrace and round the corner of the
+house to where the doors of the ballroom gave onto the garden. Here
+were set little tables, lit with twinkling lights, under huge grey
+beeches, and people moved among them happily, supping, talking and
+smoking in the cool air. At the nearest table sat a woman of about
+thirty, tall, slim, and beautifully dressed.</p>
+
+<p>'Th-that's Adele Lancaster,' whispered Bobby. 'M-must introduce you to
+her. G-gives jolly good parties.'</p>
+
+<p>She was opening an elaborate gold cigarette-case, and signed to a
+hovering waiter to bring her a match. Bobby chuckled.</p>
+
+<p>'She'd make eyes at the shadow of a wooden Indian outside a tobacco
+shop,' he whispered. 'Watch her bring down that waiter!'</p>
+
+<p>Michael, however, was watching the waiter himself. A tall chap,
+well-made and light on his feet. Ought to put up a good fight. Queer,
+that a man like that should choose such a job. The lady was speaking,
+and her voice was soft and clear.</p>
+
+<p>'I feel sure I've seen you before somewhere.' Her cigarette was lit
+now, and she looked at the man from under her lashes.</p>
+
+<p>'It's very kind of you to remember me, madam. I have frequently seen
+you in London. Principally at Lady Wroxham's house, madam.'</p>
+
+<p>'Really? And what were you doing there?'</p>
+
+<p>'Waiting, madam. Her ladyship is good enough to employ me when she
+gives large receptions.'</p>
+
+<p>'So you're a sort of free-lance waiter? It seems a pity. Wouldn't you
+prefer regular employment? I might be able to find you a good place.'</p>
+
+<p>'That is very kind of you, madam.'</p>
+
+<p>'But perhaps you prefer this odd-job work?' Her words were commonplace,
+but her tone provocative.</p>
+
+<p>'It is very interesting, madam,' returned the waiter deferentially.</p>
+
+<p>Bobby stifled a giggle, and the man looked up sharply. The woman,
+watching him, looked round too.</p>
+
+<p>'Hullo, Bobby!' she said. 'Won't you come and join me? My partner has
+deserted me, and I hate supping alone.'</p>
+
+<p>'R-rather,' said Bobby, advancing. The waiter drew back chairs for
+them. 'May I introduce Mr. Doone? D-Doone, Mrs. Lancaster.'</p>
+
+<p>'Mrs. Hamilton-Browne has been looking for you, Mr. Doone,' said the
+lady, with an arch smile. 'I believe she wanted to introduce you to me.
+So fatal, to be introduced by Katherine. But I've been hearing so much
+about you. <i>Too</i> romantic, your living on that wild island in the South
+Seas. How terribly dull England must seem to you.'</p>
+
+<p>At that moment Michael was absorbed in helping himself to some food
+offered by the waiter, and made no reply. Bobby grinned, but Adele
+Lancaster continued gallantly.</p>
+
+<p>'Why have you never brought Mr. Doone to any of my parties, Bobby?'</p>
+
+<p>'Because D-Doone and I have only just m-met,' said Bobby. 'We have a
+mutual friend in Toby Ward.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, Sir Toby. Isn't he charming?' she addressed herself to Michael.
+'So eighteenth century.'</p>
+
+<p>'Is he?' said Michael, who hadn't the least idea what she meant, and
+cared, if possible, rather less.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment the lady seemed disconcerted, and her eyes wandered to the
+tall waiter, who was now serving the next table.</p>
+
+<p>'Bobby, have you noticed that man?' she said in an undertone. 'Isn't he
+amazing? I wonder if he's a Russian Archduke in exile?'</p>
+
+<p>Bobby glanced round indifferently. 'My dear Adele, why should he be?
+I n-never saw anyone so completely English in my life. What makes you
+think him Russian?'</p>
+
+<p>'I don't know.' She laughed. Thoroughly girlish, Michael decided
+sourly. 'Perhaps it's that little moustache. And he's too fair to be
+French, isn't he? I can't think why a man as good-looking as that
+should be a waiter.'</p>
+
+<p>'I can't think why any man is,' said Michael suddenly. 'It's only
+one degree better than carrying sandwich boards, or selling ladies'
+underwear.'</p>
+
+<p>'I n-never can see why it isn't as good to sell one thing as another,'
+said Bobby argumentatively. 'In this country, Doone, a man may sell
+cars, but not petrol; houses, but not bricks; and pictures, though
+never, never, paint or turpentine. We've got a string of the most
+hopelessly illogical social conventions....'</p>
+
+<p>'Now, Bobby!' interrupted Adele, 'we can't have these sentiments from
+a respectable, if briefless, barrister. By the way, I know a perfectly
+fascinating man who sells petrol. He keeps a garage in Bermondsey and
+talks too thrillingly about revolution and all that. He's coming to my
+party on Thursday. Mr. Doone, won't you come? Bobby will be there and,
+I hope, Sir Toby Ward. Bobby, do persuade Mr. Doone to come. Oh, here's
+Hubert, looking for me. Heavens, I promised him this dance! Hubert,
+please forgive me. I'll come now, honestly I will!'</p>
+
+<p>She rose and, taking the arm of a young man who had just come up, swept
+him away.</p>
+
+<p>'Exit Hubert, looking longingly backwards at the food,' said Michael.</p>
+
+<p>Bobby chuckled.</p>
+
+<p>'There's no one like her,' he said. 'What's that?' to the tall
+waiter, who was murmuring something at his elbow. 'Oh, champagne, I
+suppose. Doone, what will you drink? I'm afraid there's nothing very
+interesting, but, you s-see, the Colonel isn't allowed it, and his
+wife's a tee-totaller.'</p>
+
+<p>'It's all a question of taste,' said Michael in a thoughtful drawl.
+'Mine's beer.'</p>
+
+<p>'Lager, sir?' asked the waiter in a respectful undertone. Michael
+glanced up, and their eyes met. Then he nodded, and the waiter sped
+away.</p>
+
+<p>'You'd b-better come to Adele's party,' said Bobby. 'She's a bit of a
+sh-shock at first, but her parties are good fun. I m-mean, everyone
+goes to 'em, and if a fella's got to live in London, he may as well
+<i>live</i> in London, if you s-see what I mean. By the way, you must look
+me up. Where do you hang out?'</p>
+
+<p>'Quebec Street. Number 60,' said Michael.</p>
+
+<p>'Got a flat there?'</p>
+
+<p>'Rooms. Two and a bath. Not what you'd call swagger, but it suits me
+all right. The food's very good.'</p>
+
+<p>'That's the principal thing,' agreed Bobby. 'F-feed me well, and I'll
+be perfectly h-happy. I've got a flat in Knightsbridge. Ought to have a
+card on me somewhere. Oh, yes, here we are. D-do look me up some time.'</p>
+
+<p>'Right,' said Michael, pocketing the card. 'Hullo, here's the drink.'</p>
+
+<p>It was not the tall waiter who brought it, but the butler of the house.</p>
+
+<p>'You are wanted on the telephone, Mr. Manvers,' he said. 'A London
+call, I believe, sir. I have had the telephone switched through to the
+library.'</p>
+
+<p>'O Lord!' Bobby rose regretfully. 'Forgive me, Doone. Shan't be long.
+At l-least I hope not, but these long-distance calls are the devil!'</p>
+
+<p>He went off to the house, and Michael sat over his beer in solitude. He
+was wondering how soon he could leave this wilderness of apes without
+disgracing Sir Toby. Then he caught sight of Mrs. Hamilton-Browne
+advancing towards him. She had obviously not seen him yet, but she
+was peering round in an ominous manner. Michael groaned, and gulped
+down the last of his beer. Blast the woman! Why couldn't she leave a
+man alone? He rose to his feet and made a hasty retreat to the house,
+entering by a side door. Once inside, he looked at his watch. It was
+only half-past twelve. With savage despair in his heart he made his
+way to the library. Perhaps he could find a book with which to beguile
+the weary hours until such time as he could leave with decency. As he
+opened the door he heard Bobby's voice at the telephone.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, he's in London to-night. I'll pick him up and bring him along.
+We'll get there as soon as possible.... Right. Don't lose sight of him
+till we arrive.... Good.... So long.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael was about to retire, but Bobby hung up the receiver and turned
+round.</p>
+
+<p>'D-don't go,' he said; 'I've finished. Dashed annoyin'!'</p>
+
+<p>'What's the trouble?' asked Michael, dropping into a chair.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, I was expecting an American fellow to come and see me on
+Monday—on business, you know—and now I hear he's arrived in London,
+and wants to s-see me to-morrow morning. Only a Yank would want to
+do business on S-Sunday morning. I s-suppose he's going to see York
+Minster and Stratford-on-Avon the rest of the day, and will catch the
+early boat home on Monday. Well, I shall have to c-clear out right
+away. <i>Dashed</i> annoying! Can't miss him, though. My first client, an'
+all that.'</p>
+
+<p>'How'll you go?'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, by road. I've got my car here. And now I'd better go and say
+good-bye to my hostess, I suppose. You're c-comin' back to town on
+Monday, aren't you? Let's forgather, shall we? What about dinner and a
+show that night?'</p>
+
+<p>'Good scheme,' agreed Michael.</p>
+
+<p>'Right you are, then. So long. Dashed annoying!' And, muttering
+wrathfully, Bobby went out.</p>
+
+<p>Michael, too lazy to find a book, stretched himself sleepily in his
+chair, and stared out of the open French window. Beside it hung a
+long mirror—an ugly mirror, he thought. As he surveyed it, with
+disapproval, he realised that it reflected another window, behind him;
+a wide window, half shrouded with heavy curtains. It was open, too, and
+Michael wondered lazily why he hadn't noticed it before. The library
+was long and narrow, and must occupy the whole width of that wing.
+Then, as he watched, he saw the curtain move. There was no breath of
+wind, and Michael's interest deepened. He sat still, his eyes on the
+mirror. A man stole out from behind the curtain, and like a flash
+slipped over the window-sill and disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>Michael leapt to his feet, and crossed the room in three strides. The
+window was some eight feet above the ground, for there was a basement
+floor on this side of the house.</p>
+
+<p>Below him he saw the mysterious visitor, running across the lawn in the
+direction of the stables. The moonlight caught his face for an instant,
+and Michael recognized him. It was the tall waiter.</p>
+
+<p>Without thinking, Michael flung a leg over the sill and dropped to
+the ground. It never occurred to him to yell 'Thieves!' and rouse the
+house. His natural instinct was to give chase, and he ran like a hare,
+feeling for the first time that evening a spark of interest in life.</p>
+
+<p>'Came in here to pinch something,' he thought as he ran. 'Interrupted
+by Bobby, and then by me. Saw I was going to stop, and reckoned he'd
+make a move. Gone away!'</p>
+
+<p>But it seemed the waiter was a fair sprinter, too, for, as Michael
+reached the gate of the stable-yard, a long, grey two-seater roared
+past him and down the drive.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Michael stood still, and then he raced into the yard
+where his own car stood. It was the hired waiter all right. He had seen
+his face again as the car shot past him. Michael flung himself into his
+Bentley, buzzed the obedient self-starter, and swung through the gates
+and into the drive.</p>
+
+<p>He knew the pace of his machine, and guessed that with any ordinary
+luck he could overtake the two-seater. Reason for so doing he had
+little, nor did he bother to consider what he would do when he caught
+it up. For the first time since he landed in England he was perfectly
+happy, and he crooned a song to himself as he thrust his car along the
+narrow Suffolk lanes. Five hundred yards from the lodge gates he came
+upon a straight strip of road, running without a turn for nearly a
+mile, and far away ahead he saw a red pin-prick of light.</p>
+
+<p>'Tail lamp!' he said contentedly. 'The bloke can drive! Get on, old
+lady.'</p>
+
+<p>After a couple of miles he realised that this was going to be a close
+race. His own car was the better of the two, and on the straight he
+gained perceptibly, but this other fellow obviously knew the country,
+and his cornering was superb. Michael's approval increased.</p>
+
+<p>It was a long chase, through the winding country roads. Michael had no
+idea where he was, and cared less. As long as he could see, every now
+and then, that red point of light, he was content to follow. Finally
+his quarry, who was about half a mile ahead, turned off the road down a
+rough cart-track, scarred deep with ruts, and shadowed by great trees
+that met overhead. Michael plunged after him, bumping wildly; emerged
+into broad moonlight—and crammed on his brakes.</p>
+
+<p>Standing by the side of the road was a grey two-seater. Michael backed
+his car and drew up alongside. The two-seater was deserted. He got out
+and walked round it. Queer place to stop. He looked about him. Set in
+the hedge was a stile. Michael went up and looked over it. It led to a
+footpath, which crossed a meadow to a long, low farmhouse, in which one
+lighted window flickered like a watchful and suspicious eye.</p>
+
+<p>Michael whistled softly, regarding the house speculatively as he leant
+over the stile. Then he went back to his car and from the tool-box
+selected a large and heavy spanner, which he pocketed. There was a
+happy glint in his eyes as he vaulted the stile and set off briskly
+across the field.</p>
+
+<p>He had gone about halfway when he heard a sound that made him stop
+dead. A car was being started in the lane; <i>his</i> car; he could swear
+to the throb of that engine! Michael took to his heels and pelted back
+to the road, but it was too late. Only one car stood there—a grey
+two-seater.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Michael stood still. Then he grinned and got into the car.
+'No fool, that chap,' he thought. 'Hid behind the hedge and let me
+make him a present of the thing. Hullo, what's this?'</p>
+
+<p>'This' was a visiting-card, stuck in the wheel. He picked it up, and
+read the neat pencil writing on its blank side:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>Forgive me, but my carburettor's possessed of the devil, and I'm in
+a frightful hurry. If you will take my bus to Dorset Mews any night
+between ten and twelve you will find yours waiting for you. Very many
+thanks for your assistance.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Michael's grin broadened. He turned the card over. Printed on the other
+side were the three words: 'Vive le Sport!' and underneath in pencil:
+'Mine's beer, too!'</p>
+
+<p>'Holy Wars!' said Michael thoughtfully. Then he crawled out of the car.
+'Well, I reckon we'd better have a look at his carburettor.'</p>
+
+<p>Twenty minutes later he drove the two-seater back to the main road and
+studied the signpost at the corner. There was no point in going back
+to Barton Manor. The signpost assured him that the road before him led
+to Stoneham, and eventually to Bury St. Edmunds. Between the two, he
+knew, lay High Ash, Sir Toby Ward's house. Contentedly Michael drove on
+through the summer night. The stable clock was striking three when he
+finally reached his destination.</p>
+
+<p>'Vive le Sport!' he thought, as he tumbled into bed. 'Stout fella!
+Looks as if there might be some fun to be got out of this darned
+country, after all!'</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>SIR TOBY IS AMUSED</h3>
+
+
+<p>Breakfast-time at High Ash was peculiarly elastic, and Michael took
+full advantage of it next morning. It was close on ten-thirty when he
+arrived in the morning room, and the sun was streaming in through the
+leaded windows. As he was exploring the hot dishes on the sideboard,
+his host's valet entered.</p>
+
+<p>'Morning, Ruff,' said Michael. 'How's Sir Toby?'</p>
+
+<p>As Bobby Manvers once said, it would be almost impossible to choose a
+more unsuitable name than Ruff's. His voice was soft, his manner gentle
+and benign, and he always looked as if he had just had a bath and
+brushed his hair.</p>
+
+<p>'Not too well, I'm afraid, sir,' he said. 'He had one of his bad nights
+again.'</p>
+
+<p>'Not serious, is it?' asked Michael, helping himself generously to
+kedgeree.</p>
+
+<p>Ruff shook his head dubiously.</p>
+
+<p>'He won't admit it to be serious himself, sir,' he said, 'but these
+heart attacks worry me. His gout's nothing much, though very painful,
+of course, and keeps him laid up at times, but heart trouble's another
+matter. I've served Sir Toby for ten years, and I know that these
+attacks are getting slowly worse. But he won't listen to reason, sir.'</p>
+
+<p>'No, he's a sportsman,' said Michael.</p>
+
+<p>The valet hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>'If you could persuade him to—er—take it gently to-day, you'd be
+doing him a real service, sir,' he suggested.</p>
+
+<p>'All right, Ruff, I'll do what I can.'</p>
+
+<p>'Thank you, sir. I believe I hear Sir Toby coming now.'</p>
+
+<p>Ruff adjusted the toasting-machine, and then opened the door to admit a
+smiling, grey-haired man of about fifty.</p>
+
+<p>Everyone knew Sir Toby Ward, and everyone liked him. Even Michael
+Doone, who disliked the whole English nation on principle, admitted
+that there was a good deal to be said for him, and actually rose to his
+feet as his host entered the room.</p>
+
+<p>'Morning, Michael. Sit down; don't let me interrupt your breakfast,'
+said Sir Toby. 'Coffee, please, Ruff. No, thanks, nothing else.'</p>
+
+<p>He lowered himself, with some difficulty, into a chair by the window,
+and sat sipping his coffee, and watching his guest with amused and
+understanding eyes. To Michael, food was the paramount object of a
+meal. He had never grasped the fact that the essence of good table
+manners is to disregard it; to eat, as it were, half consciously. He
+sat now, completely absorbed in his breakfast, a shaft of sunlight
+across his face, lighting up his high cheekbones and compressed,
+sensitive mouth. Across his forehead hung a lock of black, straight
+hair. No matter how short he cropped it, that lock always seemed to be
+there, a perpetual defiance to civilisation. At last he pushed back his
+plate, and faced his host with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>'Toast?' suggested Sir Toby, indicating the machine.</p>
+
+<p>'Thanks.' Michael leant over and helped himself. 'I hear you had a bad
+night. Rotten luck.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, it's nothing to worry about,' said Sir Toby, accepting the offer
+of conversation with an amused twinkle. 'Ruff exaggerates. Well, what
+sort of a show was it last night?'</p>
+
+<p>'Very average, I imagine,' said Michael. 'Rather overcrowded.'</p>
+
+<p>'All the élite of the county, I suppose,' said Sir Toby, 'and Katherine
+Hamilton-Browne rushing distractedly about, trying to force people into
+enjoying themselves. A dear soul. She's escaped religious mania, but
+has got hospitality instead, in much the same way. A sense of duty is a
+paralysing thing.'</p>
+
+<p>'It must be,' said Michael. 'Not that I know much about it myself.'</p>
+
+<p>'Nor I. In my youth I had occasional spasms of conscience, but I soon
+discovered that whenever I did a thing from a sense of duty, it was
+inevitably a failure. So I gave it up. No point in asking for trouble.
+Anybody interesting there?'</p>
+
+<p>Michael pondered, frowning thoughtfully. Sir Toby watched him amusedly.</p>
+
+<p>'Anybody you liked at all?' he substituted.</p>
+
+<p>'Fellow called Manvers,' said Michael, with a reminiscent grin. 'Not at
+all a bad chap. Stutters.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, yes, our Bobby. I know him well. In fact, I believe he's my
+godson, but I have so many that I forget. Bobby's a good soul, and
+has more brains than you might guess. Poor lad, he's an example of
+misplaced duty. His people wanted him to follow in his father's
+footsteps, and now he's a barrister, without much hope of a brief. A
+depressing life.'</p>
+
+<p>'Did he want to do something else?' asked Michael.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes.' Sir Toby's twinkle broadened into a mischievous grin. 'He wanted
+to get into the C.I.D.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael gave a sudden yelp of laughter.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, it's a crime! <i>What</i> a detective he'd have made! W-Watson, pass me
+the m-morphia! But, not seriously?'</p>
+
+<p>'Perfectly seriously. Criminology is now his hobby. He can tell you the
+life history of every English murderer, and he will, too, if you don't
+see it coming and head him off. He revels in clues and finger-prints
+and alibis. One of these days he'll go a little too far with his
+amateur detecting, and there'll be a newspaper scandal. I'm his
+trustee, too, God help me!'</p>
+
+<p>'It doesn't seem to worry you much,' commented Michael.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Toby chuckled comfortably. 'I don't go in for worrying, Michael.
+Life's too short. Ruff does all mine for me. That's why he's so thin.
+But you haven't told me much about the party. Were you terribly bored?'</p>
+
+<p>'More or less,' admitted Michael.</p>
+
+<p>'Poor lad! What time did you leave?'</p>
+
+<p>'About one, I suppose.'</p>
+
+<p>Sir Toby's eyebrows rose.</p>
+
+<p>'Ruff told me you didn't get in till three.'</p>
+
+<p>'Perfectly correct. I spent the intervening time exploring Suffolk by
+moonlight.'</p>
+
+<p>'By yourself?' Sir Toby had a twinkle in his eye.</p>
+
+<p>'By myself.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, my dear Michael!' Sir Toby sighed. 'What a waste of moonlight!'</p>
+
+<p>Michael grinned reminiscently. Sir Toby waited patiently, watching his
+guest.</p>
+
+<p>'I was chasing a waiter,' he said at last.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Toby laughed outright.</p>
+
+<p>'Dear me, I'd no idea you were suffering from what poor Katherine calls
+"this terrible servant problem." Do tell me all about it, Michael.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael complied. Sir Toby was an excellent listener, and when Michael
+described, vividly enough, his emotions on finding his Bentley gone and
+the grey two-seater left, his host laughed helplessly.</p>
+
+<p>'Wait a bit,' went on Michael, now thoroughly warmed up. 'The chap had
+left his card, stuck in the wheel.'</p>
+
+<p>'Good Lord! What was his name?'</p>
+
+<p>'Vive le Sport.'</p>
+
+<p>The amusement on Sir Toby's face gave place to surprise. 'Vive le
+Sport! But I never knew he stole cars. This is a new game.'</p>
+
+<p>'Do you know him, then?'</p>
+
+<p>'Not personally; I've heard a good deal about him.'</p>
+
+<p>'Who is he?'</p>
+
+<p>'A burglar. London's full of wild stories about him, but as far as I
+can gather, he's an ex-officer who came out of the war with a craving
+for excitement. He's reported to have said that one cannot appreciate
+life unless one is in danger of losing it. I disagree, but never
+mind. Scotland Yard knows him by his card, which he always leaves
+in any house he burgles. Incidentally, he's never been known to rob
+anyone except fat and prosperous profiteers. I tell you the insurance
+companies must hate him.'</p>
+
+<p>'Sportsman!' said Michael, with deep approval.</p>
+
+<p>'I quite agree, but consider the morals of the country! He's a very
+dangerous element, just because he is a sportsman! So far, his story
+has been kept out of the papers, but if they get hold of it, think of
+the effect on the public! There'd be a wave of popular sympathy towards
+this modern Robin Hood, who robs the rich company promoters and laughs
+at Scotland Yard. It won't do, you know.'</p>
+
+<p>'Rot!' said Michael. 'You know you're all for him, too.'</p>
+
+<p>'Of course I am,' admitted Sir Toby. 'But I also see that to make a
+popular public character of a successful house-breaker is unthinkable.'</p>
+
+<p>'Does he specialise in burglary?'</p>
+
+<p>'More or less. The experts swear that the safe isn't made that he can't
+open. Also, he has a positive genius for disguise, and disguise isn't
+merely a question of a false nose. It's acting ... living the part
+you're playing.'</p>
+
+<p>'What's his real name?'</p>
+
+<p>'Nobody knows.'</p>
+
+<p>'Vive le Sport! I wish I'd known all this last night!'</p>
+
+<p>'Incidentally, what was he doing at Barton? Hamilton-Browne made his
+money quite legitimately. Michael, do ring up and find out if they've
+missed any valuables.'</p>
+
+<p>With a nod Michael departed, to return a few minutes later. 'Not a
+thing. I made Ruff do the telephoning. All's well at Barton.'</p>
+
+<p>'Very odd,' said Sir Toby. 'I wonder what he was there for? By the
+way, what are you going to do about your car? This two-seater sounds a
+poor exchange.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, she's not at all a bad little bus,' said Michael. 'I got
+sixty-five out of her easy, coming back here, and she wasn't running
+her best. As for mine, he told me on the card that I'd find her in
+Dorset Mews any night between ten and twelve.'</p>
+
+<p>'That's good,' said Sir Toby. 'I should hate the idea of his becoming a
+miserable car thief.'</p>
+
+<p>'Nice sentiments for a law-abiding householder!' grinned Michael.</p>
+
+<p>'I know. It's impossible to be consistent where Vive le Sport is
+concerned. We all feel the same, and that's why we're so anxious not to
+let the general public get hold of the story. And now let's go out into
+the garden. One mustn't miss sunshine in this country. You've got to
+take it quickly when it comes ... like many other things.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael smiled, but made no reply.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>THE FEMININE ELEMENT</h3>
+
+
+<p>Jerry Mitchell sat up in bed and listened. She didn't know what had
+wakened her ... the big Hampstead house was as silent as the grave ...
+but the fact remained; she had been sleeping soundly, and of a sudden
+she was wide awake, listening, with every nerve taut.</p>
+
+<p>For a full minute she sat rigid, and then relaxed, telling herself not
+to be a fool. There was no sound, and the whole thing had been a dream.
+But for some reason her thoughts kept returning to her father. It was
+absurd. He was perfectly all right. She called up a vivid picture of
+him as she had seen him a few hours previously. She had come in from a
+party, and had poked her head into the study to say good-night.</p>
+
+<p>'Don't sit up too late and lose your beauty sleep, William!'</p>
+
+<p>He had chuckled, thrusting his spectacles up on to his forehead.</p>
+
+<p>'Impertinent hussy! Had a good time?'</p>
+
+<p>'Very good. What are you up to, Daddy? Some frightfully complicated
+essay on economics?'</p>
+
+<p>He had laughed, rather guiltily, like a small boy found out in some
+adventurous pretence.</p>
+
+<p>'Not quite that. A particular ploy that I'll tell you about some day.
+Run along to bed, child, you're half asleep now.'</p>
+
+<p>'More than half,' she had confessed. 'Good-night, William, darling.'</p>
+
+<p>'Good-night, sweetheart, and happy dreams.'</p>
+
+<p>All so everyday and serene. Why should she be haunted by the thought of
+him now? And yet, the thought persisted and refused to go. She glanced
+at her travelling clock, by her bedside. Ten to four. Well, it was
+no good sitting here and thinking. With a shrug of her shoulders she
+climbed out of bed and slipped on a dressing-gown. The only thing to do
+was to go downstairs and see for oneself. Of course he'd have gone to
+bed and the study would be deserted, and then perhaps one could go to
+sleep in peace. With a half smile for her own folly she thrust her feet
+into a pair of slippers and descended the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>The hall was grey and chilly in the dawn light, and she wrapped her
+dressing-gown closer about her as she opened the study door. The light
+was still on, and the heavy curtains were drawn. For a moment she
+thought the room was empty, and then she caught her breath with a gasp.
+Her father was lying on the hearth, face downwards, in a curiously
+twisted position.</p>
+
+<p>For one stricken moment she stood staring, and then, with an effort,
+fought down her fear. He had fainted, that was all. It had happened
+once or twice before. She knelt beside him. He lay terribly still,
+and as she lifted his head, she saw a wound in his temple. 'Must have
+fallen with his head on the fender,' she whispered. 'Dad!... Dad!...'
+and then her fear became a certainty.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly she laid him back on the rug, and slowly rose to her feet.</p>
+
+<p>He was dead. One ought to telephone to somebody and tell them. She had
+a curious feeling that she herself had become someone different. One
+must do something in moments like this, and the thing to do was to
+ring up on the telephone. But who was the right person to ring up? The
+Police? Or was it the coroner? Or perhaps the doctor. She didn't know
+any doctors at all well, because neither she nor William was ever ill,
+but there was a man who had come when Lucy sprained her ankle. Collins,
+his name was. Poor Lucy! This would be a shock to her when she arrived
+on the tick of seven, as she always did. Lucy was a paragon among
+charladies, and she adored 'the professor.' Yes, it would be a horrid
+business, breaking the news to Lucy.</p>
+
+<p>Jerry pulled her mind back with a jerk to the business in hand. One
+rang up the doctor first. She sat down on the desk, looked up the
+number, and took off the receiver. 'Hullo. Hampstead 5776, please.
+Yes.' One asked for Dr. Collins, and when he came, one said: 'Miss
+Mitchell speaking. I wonder if you would mind coming round at once,
+Dr. Collins? I think my father is dead, and....'</p>
+
+<p>Quite suddenly a queer chill descended on her, and her fingers
+tightened on the receiver. It was like a shadow of something worse to
+come ... something very like panic. What <i>was</i> the matter with the
+telephone? She rattled the receiver bracket desperately.</p>
+
+<p>'Hullo, Exchange. Can't you get me Hampstead 5776?' Her voice shook a
+little.</p>
+
+<p>'Sorry. No reply.' Terribly impersonal, the operator sounded.</p>
+
+<p>'But ... but there <i>must</i> be!'</p>
+
+<p>'Sorry. No reply.' Click! She heard him cut off.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly Jerry replaced the receiver. One ought to ring up someone
+else ... one ought to ring up quickly, before this shuddering fear
+overwhelmed one. It was coming, for already she dared not look at that
+huddled figure on the rug. Suppose it moved. With a sudden reaction she
+pulled herself together, and found her last state worse than her first.
+She was not afraid, because that still thing was William, and he was
+dead. He was the only thing on God's earth that belonged to her, and
+she would never hear him speak again. Jerry slipped off the desk, and
+ran out of the room.</p>
+
+<p>In the hall she paused, shutting the study door behind her. The grey
+light was brightening, and with a sudden longing for daylight she
+opened the front door. The dawn wind was cool and fresh, and she
+studied the houses opposite as if she had never seen them before.
+She still had that curious feeling that someone else was occupying
+her mind. After a moment she went out onto the steps and looked down
+the long grey street. A few yards away stood a big touring-car, much
+splashed with mud, and a man was changing a wheel. He worked quickly,
+like a man who is in a hurry, but he whistled light-heartedly enough,
+as he turned his spanner. Jerry observed that he had nearly finished
+the job, and with that came the realisation that when he went there
+would be nobody ... no one in the world except herself and that still
+body in the study. She descended the steps, silent as an owl in her
+soft slippers, and made her way to his side.</p>
+
+<p>'Good-morning,' she said, noting with pride the steadiness and
+self-possession of her tone.</p>
+
+<p>He jerked himself upright, and stared down at her blankly.</p>
+
+<p>'Good-morning.' His voice was slow, and sounded a little surprised.</p>
+
+<p>'You must have come a long way, to get your car so muddy. She's a
+Bentley, isn't she?' Jerry felt she was doing rather well. <i>Why</i>
+couldn't he talk, too, and help her out?</p>
+
+<p>'Yes.' He hesitated, his grave eyes on her face. 'What's up?' he asked,
+point-blank.</p>
+
+<p>'I ... what d'you mean?' She didn't quite know what to say.</p>
+
+<p>'What's happened? Can I help?'</p>
+
+<p>'That's awfully nice of you, but I don't think there's anything one can
+do. You see, the telephone number was engaged.'</p>
+
+<p>She wondered if that made sense. It was becoming more and more
+difficult to find words, and the man wouldn't help her. He was looking
+at his watch now; looking as if he were trying to make up his mind.</p>
+
+<p>'I believe it's going to be a very jolly day.' (She couldn't bear him
+to go away, and leave her absolutely alone.)</p>
+
+<p>'Yes; one gets the best of a spring morning up here. Have you lived in
+Hampstead long?'</p>
+
+<p>She sighed with relief. He really was going to talk, at last.</p>
+
+<p>'For eighteen years.'</p>
+
+<p>'All your life, in fact.' He smiled at her.</p>
+
+<p>'No,' she corrected him. 'We came here when I was nearly two. William
+bought the house when my mother died. I don't remember her at all, but
+William—that's my father—says she would have loved it.'</p>
+
+<p>'Where is he?'</p>
+
+<p>'He ...' Jerry checked abruptly, and took a deep breath. One must keep
+one's head and behave in a rational manner.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, as a matter of fact, he's dead. I went into the study just
+now, and found him there, lying on the rug. I know I ought to ring up
+someone, but the number's engaged, and ... and there isn't anyone in
+the house but me.'</p>
+
+<p>'I wonder if you could give me a glass of water,' said the man slowly.
+'I've been driving all night, and I'm frightfully thirsty.'</p>
+
+<p>'Of course,' said Jerry. 'Do come in. Let me make you some tea. It's
+quite easy. I do it on the electric stove in my sitting-room.'</p>
+
+<p>'That sounds awfully good,' said the man, and followed her into the
+house. Jerry felt that a weight had been lifted off her. At last there
+was something definite to do. She led him into a little room at the
+back of the house.</p>
+
+<p>'You see, I've got a kettle all ready,' she said. 'I always keep one
+there. Very often I make tea in the evenings for William, but last
+night I went to bed before....'</p>
+
+<p>She checked abruptly, and stared at him, her eyes wide with horrified
+memory. The man said nothing, but laid a hand on her shoulder, and the
+gentleness of his touch made her feel that something had snapped in her
+mind. She covered her face with her hands, and felt as if her knees
+were giving under her.</p>
+
+<p>'I think I'd better go and see what I can do,' he said quietly. 'Tell
+me where the telephone is.'</p>
+
+<p>'In the study.' She pulled herself together. 'Shall I come with you?'</p>
+
+<p>'I'd rather you waited here, if you don't mind.'</p>
+
+<p>'All right. It's the first door on the left, across the hall.'</p>
+
+<p>'Right. I won't be long.' He went out, shutting the door behind him.</p>
+
+<p>Jerry slid into a chair, and shut her eyes. For some minutes she didn't
+think at all. All she knew was that she was very tired, and someone
+else was in charge. Then the sputtering kettle roused her, and she got
+up and made some tea. There was no sound in the house. She sat down by
+the glowing stove. He was a long time. She wondered if he were ringing
+up for a doctor. She wondered what he thought of the whole affair. It
+suddenly occurred to her that a man might well be surprised at being
+addressed by a girl in pyjamas and dressing-gown in a London street at
+four in the morning.</p>
+
+<p>Then he reëntered, and she forgot to wonder. He looked very tired and
+worried, she thought, but he smiled at her, and pulled up a chair for
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>'How good that looks,' he said, his eyes on the teapot.</p>
+
+<p>She gave him a cup, and asked: 'Did you get hold of anyone?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes: a doctor chap I know. He's coming along as soon as he's dressed.
+Don't you think it would be a good plan if you went to bed and tried to
+sleep?'</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head violently, and he added hastily: 'All right. Shall
+I stay here till he comes, or would you rather be alone?'</p>
+
+<p>'I'd rather you stayed, please. Who did you tell him we were?'</p>
+
+<p>He hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>'I didn't. I told him the address. Who <i>are</i> you?'</p>
+
+<p>'Geraldine Mitchell.'</p>
+
+<p>'It's a large name for a small person,' he smiled. 'Mine's the reverse.
+Nick.'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes.' She smiled, too, surveying him. 'It's a ridiculously small name.
+Will you have some more tea?'</p>
+
+<p>'May I? One doesn't realise how thirsty one is until one starts
+drinking.'</p>
+
+<p>There was a silence. It frightened Jerry. The back of her mind seemed
+to be full of dark things that threatened to swoop down on her and
+become part of her conscious thoughts. She must talk—speech kept them
+at bay. It didn't matter what one talked about. She looked at the man
+and noticed for the first time that he was in evening dress.</p>
+
+<p>'Have you been to a party?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes. Miles away in the country.'</p>
+
+<p>'Was it a good show?'</p>
+
+<p>'Marvellous! All the women were dreams of loveliness, and all the men
+Sir Galahads.' He smiled suddenly. 'Except one.'</p>
+
+<p>'And what was he?'</p>
+
+<p>'We-ell, I didn't see much of him, but I rather think he was a pretty
+stout fellow.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry nodded appreciatively. William would have liked this man. She
+began to talk about her father. Nick listened, and seemed to understand
+exactly what she meant. Once or twice she wondered if she were talking
+too much—she seemed to be telling him an awful lot—but the relief of
+speech was too great to resist. And, anyway, what did it matter? This
+man was all right. Then, before she had half finished, the bell rang,
+and she looked up in sudden alarm.</p>
+
+<p>'That's my friend Thorpe, I expect,' said Nick, rising.</p>
+
+<p>'Must I see him? Will he want to ask things?'</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>'There's no earthly reason why you should. I'll go and talk to him, and
+he can come back and see you later on. Listen—wouldn't you be awfully
+wise to go to bed? I would, if I were you.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'm all right....'</p>
+
+<p>'I know you are, but there'll probably be a lot of fuss and bother
+presently, and people coming in and out, and you're much too tired to
+cope with it. Much better leave it to Thorpe. I know you'll like him.'</p>
+
+<p>'Besides, there's Lucy.'</p>
+
+<p>'Lucy?'</p>
+
+<p>'Our charlady. She'll be here at seven. She's always punctual.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'll either see her myself or warn Thorpe. Do be a wise little person
+and go to bed.'</p>
+
+<p>'All right.' She turned to the door and she hesitated. 'Thank you most
+awfully. I—I wish you'd met William.'</p>
+
+<p>He looked much older, suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>'So do I. I know I should have loved him.'</p>
+
+<p>'Everyone did. He hadn't an enemy in the world. I—I am saying "thank
+you" to you for both of us. Good-bye.'</p>
+
+<p>His voice was very gentle as he answered:</p>
+
+<p>'Good-bye, very brave child.'</p>
+
+<p>He stood in the hall watching her climb wearily up the stairs.
+Ridiculously young she looked, Nick thought. At the corner, where the
+stairs turned, she waved to him. He lifted a hand in salute, and went
+to open the front door. A grey-haired, middle-aged man entered, and
+studied Nick with keen dark eyes as he took off his coat.</p>
+
+<p>'Another emergency, Nick? This is a new district for you.'</p>
+
+<p>'It's purely accidental. I was changing a wheel in the road, and a girl
+came out and told me she'd just found her father dead.'</p>
+
+<p>'Where is she?'</p>
+
+<p>'I've sent her off to bed.'</p>
+
+<p>'Sensible chap! <i>Is</i> the man dead?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes. Come along.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick led the way to the study and sat down on the edge of the desk
+while the doctor was making an examination. He lit a cigarette and
+noticed, absently, that his hand was not quite steady. Unusual,
+for him. His whole life had made him accustomed to the unexpected
+happening, but this morning's occurrences had been a trifle beyond the
+ordinary, and the discovery that the dead man was none other than his
+friend of the Jameson Club had been more of a shock to him than he
+had realised. He had entered that study expecting to see a stranger,
+and his first feeling was of desperate regret. He had so much wanted
+to thank the man; had wanted to meet him; had wanted—after the show
+was over—to tell him the story. And now he was dead—and the show was
+not over. Nick's thoughts had flown to his precious envelope—safe,
+thank Heaven, in the dead man's bank. The girl's property now. His
+first thought on realising this had been to ask her about it, but on
+returning to her little sitting-room he had dismissed the idea. The
+child was in no fit state to be bothered with that sort of thing. After
+all, the paper was perfectly safe. He would give her time to get her
+balance, would come back and see her one day next week. Poor, plucky
+child! How she had adored her father!</p>
+
+<p>Nick moved restlessly as he waited for the doctor to give his verdict.
+So well did he remember that April night. He could almost hear that
+happy chuckle. 'Twinkling William.' And now he lay there inert, with
+that dark stain on his forehead. Suddenly a cold suspicion gripped
+Nick, and wiped all other thoughts from his mind. Thorpe rose to his
+feet.</p>
+
+<p>'Fractured skull,' he said curtly. 'He obviously fell on the fender.
+Heavy man, and would fall hard. Who is his M.O.?'</p>
+
+<p>'Hasn't got one, so his daughter told me. Apparently the man who used
+to attend them died about three years ago, and they haven't called
+anyone in since then.'</p>
+
+<p>'What's their name, did you say?'</p>
+
+<p>'Mitchell.'</p>
+
+<p>'H'm. You don't know, I suppose, if the old man had ever had any heart
+trouble?'</p>
+
+<p>'I don't, but the girl told me that he sometimes had sudden fainting
+fits.'</p>
+
+<p>'Ah! That would account for it.'</p>
+
+<p>'Death by misadventure?' Nick's voice was steady as he put his question.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, yes. There'll have to be an inquest, of course, but I don't think
+there's any doubt about the verdict. He fell—probably in a faint—and
+hit his head on that brass fender. That was certainly the cause of
+death. Look at the wound.'</p>
+
+<p>'I see. Well, I ought to be going, Thorpe.'</p>
+
+<p>'All right. I'll make all arrangements. Anyone else in the house
+besides the girl?'</p>
+
+<p>'No, but there's a charwoman arriving at seven. Name of Lucy. What do
+you make the time?'</p>
+
+<p>Thorpe consulted his watch.</p>
+
+<p>'Five past six.'</p>
+
+<p>'H'm!' Nick frowned thoughtfully. 'All the same, I think I'd better be
+going. Keep me out of this affair, Thorpe, if you can.'</p>
+
+<p>'Of course I can, if the girl doesn't object.'</p>
+
+<p>'I don't think she will. So long, Thorpe, and thanks awfully.'</p>
+
+<p>'Not a bit. By the way, Nick, that woman Bates that you asked me to
+see——'</p>
+
+<p>'In Dock Street? Yes, what about it?'</p>
+
+<p>'What she needs is three weeks at the seaside and some decent food. Her
+husband's a bit of a terror.'</p>
+
+<p>'I know it. Well, be a good fellow and arrange it, will you? Send the
+bill in to me, and keep your mouth shut as usual.'</p>
+
+<p>'Right.' The doctor smiled at him affectionately. 'You're a rum animal,
+Nick.'</p>
+
+<p>'Rot! Good-bye, Thorpe.'</p>
+
+<p>'Good-bye.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick went back to his car and, climbing in, sat for a moment lost in
+thought. Five past six. He'd missed the bus. By the time he had put
+the car away, changed, and got to Leman Street his visitors would have
+gone. Well, one might as well find out what had happened, anyway. He
+started up the car and drove on slowly.</p>
+
+<p>At the first telephone call-box he stopped, and rang up the little shop
+in Quay Street. Jacob's sniffling voice answered him.</p>
+
+<p>'That you, Ikey?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, my friend. You do not come to meet your guests, then?'</p>
+
+<p>'No. Are they still there?'</p>
+
+<p>'Tom Breck is there. I met him, as you said.'</p>
+
+<p>'Good for you. Wot 'appened?'</p>
+
+<p>'I stayed around, my friend, in case you came too. I do not like you
+doing these things by yourself. Two men came, and they talked long to
+Breck, but they talk quietly, and I did not like to go too close. Then
+they all go to Leman Street, and I followed.'</p>
+
+<p>'That's the stuff! And then?'</p>
+
+<p>'They went in, and I waited outside—a long time. It was cold, I tell
+you.'</p>
+
+<p>'Poor old Sexton Blake! Go on.'</p>
+
+<p>'Soon after six they come out, the two men. One is young. The other has
+a black beard. The young man says, "No good waiting any longer," and
+black-beard nods. That man is dangerous, Nick.'</p>
+
+<p>'I know it!'</p>
+
+<p>'Then they go away, and I slip into your rooms to see what Breck is
+doing. He was asleep on your bed.'</p>
+
+<p>'Blind?'</p>
+
+<p>'What's that you say?'</p>
+
+<p>'I says was he blind? Boozed—sozzled—tanked?'</p>
+
+<p>'Drunk? Yes, very drunk.'</p>
+
+<p>'Ho! Well, let him sleep it orf. So long, Ikey, and thanks for the
+information. We know where we are now. See yer later.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick rang off and drove home. It had just occurred to him that he could
+do with some sleep himself.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>JERRY STRIKES OUT ON HER OWN</h3>
+
+
+<p>Jerry Mitchell sat over her fire with her head in her hands. To a
+casual observer she would have seemed a very young and pathetic
+figure, but there was no pathos in her face. Her expression, for all
+her youthfulness, was one of cold fury—the savage resentment that so
+often accompanies acute and unuttered sorrow. Jerry hated everybody at
+that moment, and Lucy, the charwoman, who entered the room a little
+cautiously, knew it only too well. She could not understand it, for
+to a woman of her type the pain of loss is invariably relieved by the
+pleasure of funeral trappings, but she had looked after Jerry for
+twelve years, and knew her to be 'a queer one to cross.'</p>
+
+<p>'There's a gentleman at the door,' she said tentatively. ''E wondered
+when 'e might call.'</p>
+
+<p>'What does he mean by that?' said Jerry, with some irritation. 'And who
+is he, anyway?'</p>
+
+<p>Lucy held out a card, and Jerry read it, frowning:</p>
+
+<p>'Mr. Robert Manvers. Who on earth...?'</p>
+
+<p>Then her face cleared. Scotland ... last August. A very jolly
+house-party, and a cheerful, round-faced man who made her laugh. She'd
+met him in London, too, at dances. Bobby! She'd forgotten that his name
+was Manvers. Of course it was Bobby; that priceless boy who stammered,
+and made bad jokes, and was such a surprisingly good shot. Bobby had
+been the jest of the party, but Jerry had always had a conviction that
+he wasn't so much of a fool as he seemed.</p>
+
+<p>'He may call now,' she said with decision. 'I'd like to see him.'</p>
+
+<p>Lucy hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>'Your auntie told me——' she began dubiously.</p>
+
+<p>'I—would—like—to—see—him,' said Jerry slowly and clearly.</p>
+
+<p>Lucy met her eye, quailed and faded away, to return a minute later with
+a rather embarrassed-looking young man.</p>
+
+<p>'Come in, Bobby,' said Jerry, rising. 'How nice to see you. Do sit
+down. Have you had tea?'</p>
+
+<p>'I—er—yes....'</p>
+
+<p>He seemed surprised, and glanced involuntarily at the clock. Jerry's
+eyes followed his.</p>
+
+<p>'Ten to six—yes, I suppose it <i>is</i> a bit late,' she said. 'Sorry. I've
+rather lost count of time.'</p>
+
+<p>'Have you had a frightfully busy day?' asked Bobby.</p>
+
+<p>'Frightfully is the word. Funeral, and all that.' Her voice had the
+abrupt harshness of overstrain.</p>
+
+<p>Bobby looked startled.</p>
+
+<p>'I s-say, Jerry, forgive me. I didn't know—I mean I thought it'd be
+all over—that is, I——'</p>
+
+<p>'It's all right, Bobby. I'm very glad to see you. It's a relief.'</p>
+
+<p>'I know what it's like,' he said slowly, his eyes on the fire. 'I
+remember when my mother died.... One feels like killing someone. You
+can b-bash me on the head with the poker if you like.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry smiled faintly.</p>
+
+<p>'Thanks awfully. That's exactly it, but it's no good, you know. I've
+been restraining myself from murder all day, but the mere fact that
+you've suggested yourself as a victim makes you safe.'</p>
+
+<p>'Relations, and all that?' asked Bobby sympathetically.</p>
+
+<p>'By the score.' She rose to her feet, and walked restlessly across to
+the window. 'Horrible people!'</p>
+
+<p>'Suppose you tell me what you think of 'em,' suggested Bobby. 'No good
+bottling it up, y' know. Were they all pretty grim?'</p>
+
+<p>'Grim? They were positively ghoulish! They started by pulling down all
+the blinds—shutting out God's own sunshine. I pulled 'em all up again.
+Then they told me I must wear black for at least three months, because
+if I didn't people wouldn't <i>realise</i>, my dear. As if I wanted people
+to realise, which means, I suppose, sympathise. The less people will
+say about my troubles, the better I'll like it. But of course they
+couldn't understand that. Bobby, they <i>loved</i> it all! They revelled
+in all the gruesome details. They were bitterly disappointed because
+they weren't told in time to rush up to London and have a look at the
+corpse. It was incredible, honestly it was. They seemed quite average,
+if somewhat stupid old women, but underneath they were ghouls, dabbling
+their horrible soft hands in fresh-spilt blood.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry put her arm across her eyes, in a sudden childish gesture. Bobby
+held his peace, watching her.</p>
+
+<p>'Why must everything be made harder?' she burst out. 'It's hard
+enough to bear as it is. One's soul is raw, and then everyone has
+the right to come and jab at it with their clumsy fingers. It wasn't
+<i>their</i> business, anyway. They didn't like William, and he didn't like
+them. They never wrote without some acid criticism of him. And then,
+directly he's dead, they come and slobber and weep, and say what a nice
+little boy he used to be, and how devoted they were to him. Damned
+hypocrites!' She turned away from the window, her young face dark with
+savage pain. 'Bobby, if they'd <i>meant</i> to be beastly to me, I could
+forgive them. But they didn't. They've been putting me through all the
+tortures of the Spanish Inquisition out of sheer blind stupidity. They
+can't begin to understand. They think I'm callous and ungrateful, and
+very rude. They also say that I can't have cared for William, since I
+pay no respect to his memory.'</p>
+
+<p>'That's simply comic,' said Bobby.</p>
+
+<p>'I know it's comic, but I don't want comedy just now. I want to be
+left alone. I could stand the inquest—that was a job of work in a
+way, and everyone felt that the sooner it was over the better. But the
+funeral—why should one be forced to provide an entertainment for these
+drivelling women?'</p>
+
+<p>'God knows,' said Bobby. 'It's the custom of this most un-Christian
+country. And anyway, there's no reason why you should ever see any of
+'em again, is there?'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry smiled unpleasantly.</p>
+
+<p>'My Aunt Cordelia has offered me a kind home.'</p>
+
+<p>'But you're not going?'</p>
+
+<p>'No, Bobby. I'd rather die in a ditch. It'd be an easier death.'</p>
+
+<p>'Are you going to stay on here?'</p>
+
+<p>'Not if I can help it. This place——' She hesitated—'I love it, but
+it reminds me too much. Besides, Lucy would drive me to drink. I know
+I'm a fool, but I just can't bear any more female sympathy. She talks
+about William with a sort of gloomy relish, and ... do you understand?'</p>
+
+<p>'Absolutely. Look here, Jerry, why don't you get right away and start
+somewhere on your own?'</p>
+
+<p>'That's what I want to do. I'm not broke, you see. William wasn't what
+you'd call well-off, but I shall have enough to live on. I'd like to
+get a job of some kind.'</p>
+
+<p>'I wouldn't do that just at once,' advised Bobby. 'You don't realise
+how tired you'll feel when you let go, so to speak. Shall I poke round
+and see if I can find a flat for you? As a matter of fact, I believe I
+know a place that'd suit you down to the ground.'</p>
+
+<p>'Do you, Bobby? You brick! Will you find out and let me know?'</p>
+
+<p>'Rather!' He hesitated, and then said: 'Jerry, I say, couldn't you dine
+with me to-morrow?'</p>
+
+<p>'I'd love to.' She laughed. 'What would my aunts say?'</p>
+
+<p>'To blazes with them! What you want is a change of air. We'll dine at
+the Berkeley and go to the play.'</p>
+
+<p>'Perfect. Oh, Bobby, you're the first intelligent person I've spoken
+to for three days—and they seem like three years. Bobby, when did you
+hear about ... all this?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yesterday. I was away last week-end—staying down in Suffolk—and
+didn't get back to London till Monday evening. Then on Tuesday
+morning—that <i>was</i> yesterday, wasn't it?—someone told me. It was an
+awful shock, Jerry. I had no idea that he was ill.'</p>
+
+<p>'He wasn't.'</p>
+
+<p>'Then how...?' Bobby stared.</p>
+
+<p>'It was all very queer. I just woke up in the night, and felt worried
+about him and came downstairs; and there he was, lying on the study
+floor, dead. The doctor said he must have fallen and hit his head on
+the fender.'</p>
+
+<p>'Was there a wound in his head?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes. Quite small, but his skull was fractured.'</p>
+
+<p>'It sounds to me ...' Bobby hesitated, and then substituted, 'It sounds
+very odd.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry looked at him, puzzled. Then her face cleared and she smiled.</p>
+
+<p>'Of course! Our Tame Detective! D'you remember how Jim ragged you over
+that staged burglary in Scotland? No, no, Bobby, I can't believe it was
+murder. Nothing was touched in the room, and William hadn't an enemy in
+the world. Awfully sorry to disappoint you, old thing.'</p>
+
+<p>Bobby grinned, rather sheepishly.</p>
+
+<p>'But if you like to explore the study for finger-prints, you have my
+full permission,' Jerry added graciously.</p>
+
+<p>His round face brightened. 'May I really, Jerry? Thanks awfully. I
+mean, it's all so odd, y' know, and dashed interestin', and....' He
+halted abruptly, and grew very red. 'I s-say, Jerry, please forgive me.
+I've no business to t-talk like that when——'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, Bobby, don't apologise!' Jerry was halfway between laughter and
+tears. 'You're saving my sanity. After the stuff I've had to listen to
+to-day, you can't think how refreshing it is to hear someone call it
+"dashed interesting"!'</p>
+
+<p>'What <i>you</i> need,' said Bobby, 'is a jolly stiff drink and about twelve
+hours' sleep.'</p>
+
+<p>'Do I? All right, I'll take it. What form of alcohol would you
+recommend?'</p>
+
+<p>'Anything, so long as it's strong enough. Jerry, I must be off now. I
+shall blow in and collect you soon after seven to-morrow night.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'll be ready, and I'll wear my cheerfulest frock. Thanks awfully,
+Bobby. You're a man and a brother.'</p>
+
+<p>'Rot! I've been through the mill too. Don't get up; I can let myself
+out. Good-night, old thing.'</p>
+
+<p>'Good-night.'</p>
+
+<p>The door slammed behind him, and Jerry, curled up in the big chair,
+felt that some of the tenseness had gone from aching nerve and muscle.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>'BAKERLOO'</h3>
+
+
+<p>'Mister Doo-oone!'</p>
+
+<p>It was two syllables, in Milly's piercing Cockney voice. Michael,
+sprawling on his iron-hard, lodging-house sofa, reading a novel,
+grinned, but made no reply. He could hear the sound of flying feet on
+the stairs, and knew that the handmaid of No. 60 Quebec Street was
+merely heralding her approach in her usual manner. The racing footsteps
+drew nearer, mingled now with heavy panting, and there was a furious
+tattoo on his door.</p>
+
+<p>'Come in!' grunted Michael.</p>
+
+<p>''Ul<i>low</i>, Mr. Doone! You don't 'arf look comf'table!' She leant
+against the lintel of the door, still panting a little. 'I b'lieve you
+bin asleep there all the arternoon. Wot time did <i>you</i> come in las'
+night?'</p>
+
+<p>Michael surveyed her, amusedly. He liked Milly. He liked her
+irrepressible Cockney tongue, her everlasting good temper, and her
+buccaneering manner. Besides, she was distinctly pretty, with her
+dancing blue eyes and curly black hair that never looked tidy. Her
+pink silk stockings and her short skirts were a perpetual source of
+strife between her and her mistress, Michael's landlady; a battle in
+which Milly always triumphed. Michael had heard the story from both
+combatants several times. The girl was impertinent; she was 'familiar'
+with the lodgers; she was untidy; she was noisy; but, for all that, she
+did the work of three women in the house, and Mrs. Briggs knew it.</p>
+
+<p>'Ain't yer goin' ter say nothink?' asked Milly, regarding Michael
+curiously, as if wondering whether he had not been stricken dumb
+suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>'I was wondering what you wanted me for.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh! Well, o' course it's nothink ter do with <i>me</i> wot time you come
+in lars' night, but wot I was goin' ter say <i>was</i>, there's a gentleman
+downstairs wants ter see yer.'</p>
+
+<p>'Who is it?'</p>
+
+<p>'I dunno 'is name. 'E's bin 'ere before, though. 'Im an' you come in
+tergether Monday night. Young gentleman, with wot yer might call a
+chubby face. 'E stutters, too.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, yes,' said Michael. 'Manvers.'</p>
+
+<p>'That's right. 'E don't arf make me larf! "I s-say," 'e ses, "y-your
+name's M-Milly, ain't it?" 'E's a one!'</p>
+
+<p>To be strictly accurate, she said: ''E's a wud!' for, like so many of
+her race, her adenoids formed an essential part of her speech.</p>
+
+<p>'Show him up,' said Michael, rousing himself.</p>
+
+<p>'Right-o. You goin' ter 'ave supper in, Mr. Doone?'</p>
+
+<p>'No.'</p>
+
+<p>'That's a good job, for there ain't nothink to eat. Well, I s'pose I
+better go an' find Mr. Manvers afore 'e loses 'isself. I tell you wot
+'e reminds me of. 'E's jest like one o' them——Ow, 'ere 'e is!'</p>
+
+<p>Smiling, and entirely unabashed, Milly stood back to let Bobby Manvers
+enter the room.</p>
+
+<p>'Wh-what am I like, Milly?' asked Bobby with a grin.</p>
+
+<p>''Fraid I couldn't tell yer, Mr. Manvers. Don't know yer well
+enough—yet. Well, I better 'op it, or she'll start 'ollerin' for me.
+G'night, Mr. Doone!'</p>
+
+<p>She sped downstairs, singing 'All that I ask is Love' at the top of her
+voice. Michael grinned and offered his guest a cigarette.</p>
+
+<p>'Bit early, aren't you?' he asked. 'What time does this party start?'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, not till nine, but I wanted to see you, because—w-well, as a
+matter of fact, I can't go. But I do hope you will.'</p>
+
+<p>'You're a nice chap!' said Michael. 'Make me swear to come to this show
+with you, much against my better judgment, and then back out of it
+yourself. And a high-brow party at that. No, thanks.'</p>
+
+<p>'It w-won't be exclusively high-brow,' pleaded Bobby. 'Adele
+Lancaster's parties are pretty mixed, y' know, and several of the
+people y-you met at Barton will be there. Adele specially asked me to
+bring you.'</p>
+
+<p>'Why aren't you going?' demanded Michael. 'Changed your mind in rather
+a hurry, haven't you?'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, as a matter of fact, I'm going to take a girl I know out to
+dinner. Sh-she's just lost her father, and she's pretty down on her
+luck. Topping child, she is, too, plucky as they make 'em, and awfully
+pretty. She's got no brothers or sisters, and her mother died when
+she was a baby. And there she is, all alone, cooped up in that great
+barrack of a house, where every mortal thing reminds her.... I don't
+wonder she wants to get out of it.' He halted suddenly. 'I s-say,
+Doone, are there any rooms to let here?'</p>
+
+<p>'I believe there's a flat on the top floor,' said Michael, rather
+reluctantly.</p>
+
+<p>'What's the rent of it, d'you think?'</p>
+
+<p>'I don't know. Ask Milly.'</p>
+
+<p>'I will. I believe this place would do Jerry a lot of good. And if
+y-you could keep an eye on her....' He paused doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p>'Not much in my line, I'm afraid,' said Michael hastily.</p>
+
+<p>'She'd simply love Milly,' said Bobby. 'I shall make her come round
+here to-morrow, to s-see the landlady.'</p>
+
+<p>'I should,' said Michael, inwardly deciding to be out himself.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, that'll be a good thing to tell her to-night,' said Bobby. 'And,
+l-look here, Doone, you will go to this party, won't you? I mean,
+Adele'll be frightfully disappointed if you don't.'</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Michael considered, his green eyes narrowed to slits. Then
+he said slowly: 'All right, I'll go.'</p>
+
+<p>'G-good man! Well, I must clear out now. Nine o'clock. You've got the
+address, haven't you?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes. So long. Look me up again some time.'</p>
+
+<p>'Rather. So long.'</p>
+
+<p>As the door shut behind his guest Michael dropped on to the sofa again,
+and scowled at the picture above his fireplace—one of those lurid
+desert scenes, straight from Woolworth's. Confound Adele Lancaster! Why
+had he promised to go to her rotten party? The only bright thought was
+that Sir Toby would be there, and Toby would probably have something
+amusing to say. Michael looked at his watch, and struggled to his feet.
+Infernal nuisance, having to change. What a cow of a country this was!
+He wandered away and turned on his bath; then loafed disconsolately
+back to his bedroom to dig out a clean shirt. As he was putting in
+his links, he suddenly remembered that he had been going to dine with
+that deserter, Bobby. He flung down the shirt, and, returning to his
+sitting-room, rang the bell. After a few seconds Milly entered with a
+crash.</p>
+
+<p>'Wot is it now?' she demanded.</p>
+
+<p>'I've changed my mind, and I will have supper in, after all.'</p>
+
+<p>She stared at him steadily.</p>
+
+<p>'Please, Milly,' added Michael, with a grin.</p>
+
+<p>'Anythink to oblige,' assented Milly graciously. 'Wot'll you 'ave?
+Oysters? Or a tasty bit o' salmon?'</p>
+
+<p>Michael leant against the wall, hands in pockets.</p>
+
+<p>'Ham and eggs,' he suggested.</p>
+
+<p>Milly copied his attitude ludicrously.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, we might manage that, but the on'y thing is, I ain't certain as
+we've got any 'am, an' I'm afraid there ain't no eggs.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael allowed his face to fall dismally. Milly gave him a flashing
+smile.</p>
+
+<p>'I'll see wot I can do,' she said confidentially. 'Trouble is, y' see,
+the old girl ses ter me: "Find out 'ow many o' the gentlemen want
+supper before six, Millicent. Don't take no orders arter that."'</p>
+
+<p>'I'm in your hands, Milly,' said Michael humbly.</p>
+
+<p>'So's every man in the 'ouse!' said Milly. 'I 'ave me work cut out, I
+tell yer straight. Yer a bad lot, y' know.'</p>
+
+<p>'Admitted,' said Michael.</p>
+
+<p>'Not but wot yer a lot better than when you come. I will say that for
+yer,' conceded Milly.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, that's rot!' protested Michael, to whom any suggestion of
+personal improvement was anathema. 'For the first week I never had a
+meal in, except breakfast.'</p>
+
+<p>'That ain't wot I mean. You may be more trouble than you was, but yer a
+lot more human, as yer might say,' explained Milly.</p>
+
+<p>Michael laughed.</p>
+
+<p>'You goin' ter stop 'ere long, Mr. Doone?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes. If I can get supper when I want it.'</p>
+
+<p>'Can't think o' nothink but their stummicks, men can't,' sighed Milly.
+'All right. I'll go an' cook it.'</p>
+
+<p>'Thanks awfully. By the way, is that top flat still to let?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yuss. You 'eard of anyone wantin' it?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, I <i>am</i> glad. I likes to 'ave all the rooms full. 'Oo is 'e, Mr.
+Doone?'</p>
+
+<p>'It's a she, as a matter of fact,' said Michael.</p>
+
+<p>Milly regarded him with a gravely reproachful face, though her eyes
+danced wickedly.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, Mr. Doone! I didn't think you was one o' these 'ere
+elastic-'earted gentlemen!'</p>
+
+<p>'It's nothing to do with me,' blurted Michael, realising his rashness.</p>
+
+<p>Milly shook her head sadly.</p>
+
+<p>'An' you ser quiet an' everythink, an' lettin' on ter be a woman-'ater.
+Coo! It jest shows 'ow you can be mistaken in a man. You, as useter
+say——'</p>
+
+<p>'That's enough, Milly,' said Michael, with an attempt at severity.</p>
+
+<p>'Take my advice, Mr. Doone; don't you have nothink ter do with 'er.
+Well, I must say, I never thought as——'</p>
+
+<p>'Clear out!' said Michael, snatching up a cushion.</p>
+
+<p>Milly ducked, and fled downstairs, laughing. With a grin, Michael
+departed to have his bath.</p>
+
+<p>He was late for his party, thanks to the fact that he had stopped to
+hear the local news bulletin from Milly when she cleared away his
+supper. She always had something to report about every tenant. Michael
+sometimes wondered what she said about him to other people.</p>
+
+<p>'Young Mr. Blake, 'e went orf yesterday arternoon, an' 'e ain't back
+yet. 'Orrid little stop-out! I won't 'arf talk to 'im when 'e comes
+'ome. An' Mr. Crewe, 'e wasn't 'arf in a temper this mornin'. Found a
+beetle in 'is bath, 'e did, an' let the 'ole 'ouse know it. Might 'a'
+bin a corpse, be the way 'e carried on. But 'e can't 'elp it, pore
+chap. 'E's got insomlia, y' know. Can't sleep proper. Went t' bed
+early, 'e did, lars' night, but the lady nex' door woke 'im up singin'
+"Abide with Me." 'E said 'e wouldn't, not if it was ever so. Proper
+fed-up, 'e was.'</p>
+
+<p>Consequently it was close on ten when Michael arrived at Adele
+Lancaster's house. He was shown into a room full of people and blue
+with tobacco smoke. Everyone seemed to be collected in little groups,
+talking in staccato voices. Some were lying about on the floor, or
+sitting on brilliantly coloured cushions. There was no sign of Sir
+Toby. Michael had a good look round, decided that he loathed the whole
+lot of them, and was on the point of making for the door again when
+Adele Lancaster saw him. She was talking to a tall, fair, clean-shaven
+man, and she broke off to greet Michael.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, here you are at last! I'm so glad you could come. Bobby rang me up
+just now to tell me of his desertion. Do you know Stephen Nicholson?'</p>
+
+<p>The man bowed, rather theatrically.</p>
+
+<p>'Stephen, this is Mr. Doone, whose home is on a South Sea island. Isn't
+it <i>too</i> romantic? To me the very name of the Pacific Ocean spells
+enchantment—a magic land——'</p>
+
+<p>The man interrupted her, in a weary drawl.</p>
+
+<p>'My dear Adele, magic is everywhere, if only one's soul be attuned to
+it.'</p>
+
+<p>'I believe that's true,' said Mrs. Lancaster, assuming a raptly
+thoughtful expression.</p>
+
+<p>Michael thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and leant his
+shoulder against the wall. His green eyes had become as blank as
+stones—always a bad sign, as his friends knew well.</p>
+
+<p>'Stephen, are you going to the Albert Hall ball next week?'</p>
+
+<p>'Dear lady, I cannot dance.'</p>
+
+<p>'How absurd you are!' She turned to Michael. 'He's the best dancer in
+London.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael received this confidence in stony silence. The man Stephen
+laughed self-consciously.</p>
+
+<p>'How nice of you! But the fact is, I've sprained my ankle. Hullo,
+surely that's Boris Kaufletz over there?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes. Didn't you know he was coming? He has promised to read us some of
+his poems later on.'</p>
+
+<p>He raised his eyebrows.</p>
+
+<p>'Is our Boris becoming famous?' he murmured. 'He'll lose his power if
+he does. Such a gift as his is born of starvation and a bitter memory
+of his wrongs.'</p>
+
+<p>'Tell me, Stephen: people say he is a great poet. Is it true? His verse
+seems to me rather wonderful.'</p>
+
+<p>'I think quite exceptional,' pronounced the man. 'It's so strangely
+luminous ... a queer, phosphorescent gleam of genius.' He waved his
+hand suddenly and intoned:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">'As the empurpled blood of Phrygian slaves</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Dripping ... flowing ... oozing angrily ...</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">So her passionate purple eyes ...'</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Adele Lancaster caught her breath in a little gasp. 'But, Stephen, it's
+magnificent! And how characteristically Boris! What is that called?'</p>
+
+<p>'"Bakerloo."' He frowned morosely at the ceiling, and then burst out
+again:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">'Footsteps down the echoing passages.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Hurry!... Torrent in spate!</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">White faces of women, open-mouthed ...</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Shriek after shriek, and yet no sound....</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Hate!... Love!... Lust!...</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">And like some poisonous fog</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Stifling all....</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Inhibition!'</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>There was a moment's silence. Adele and Stephen gazed intently into
+each other's eyes. Michael lit a cigarette with hands that shook a
+little. He wanted to laugh, and weep, and kill someone. The whole thing
+was too much for him. Then Adele gave a little sigh and said:</p>
+
+<p>'We can't be flippant after that, Stephen. I shall ask Boris to read to
+us now.'</p>
+
+<p>She moved away, a mystic light in her eyes. The man Stephen took a
+cigarette from the box beside him, and, as he bent over the lighted
+match, said quietly:</p>
+
+<p>'I hope you got your car back safely.'</p>
+
+<p>For a second Michael stood as if turned to stone. Then a slow smile
+spread over his face.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, thanks,' he said. 'Did she run all right?'</p>
+
+<p>'Perfectly,' the other assured him. 'Taking my carburettor into
+consideration, I more than made up the time I spent dodging you. I
+had to do it y' know. You'd have caught me on the main road, and I
+couldn't afford to stop and explain. I had an important engagement in
+London.'</p>
+
+<p>'Did you make it?'</p>
+
+<p>'As a matter of fact, I didn't, but it wasn't your Bentley's fault.
+Hullo, there's Kaufletz getting ready to spout.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael looked round apprehensively.</p>
+
+<p>'Can't we get out somewhere?' he said. 'Or do you want to listen?'</p>
+
+<p>Stephen Nicholson chuckled and led the way to the door. Outside on
+the landing, a widely opened window looked out over the Square.
+Instinctively both men drifted towards it. They were silent for a
+moment, and then said simultaneously:</p>
+
+<p>'What are <i>you</i> doing here?'</p>
+
+<p>Nicholson laughed. 'You first,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, I came because a man I know wanted to bring me, but at the last
+minute he backed out,' said Michael. 'And you?'</p>
+
+<p>'I,' said Nicholson gravely, 'am an eccentric bachelor, with a passion
+for <i>vers libre</i> and ultra-modern art generally. I'm terribly artistic
+and all that, and so, of course, I attend those parties. I'm a literary
+authority in my own way. It was I, and I alone, who gave Boris
+Kaufletz, who is an unwashed, uneducated, half-witted Armenian Jew, his
+reputation for genius. A man must have some aim in life.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael grinned appreciatively.</p>
+
+<p>'Sorry to hear you've twisted your ankle,' he remarked. 'How did it
+happen? Tripping over a poet?'</p>
+
+<p>Nicholson chuckled.</p>
+
+<p>'Between ourselves, there was a bit of an argument in Nightingale
+Lane last night. I'd been attending a Socialist meeting on Tower Hill
+the day before, and we'd had rather a good time. The speaker ... chap
+called Flint ... was simply marvellous. In half an hour he'd got the
+whole crowd at fever heat. I was awfully worked up myself; never heard
+anything so stirring. We were all on fire to attack the West End, and
+burn the houses of the bloated capitalists who grind the faces of the
+poor. I was all for that, so I got up, too, and urged 'em on some
+more. Flint was awfully pleased at first. Said "There speaks a gallant
+comrade!" or words to that effect. Then, unfortunately, I lost my head
+and started telling 'em what houses we'd start on. They were all big,
+expensive places, but it doesn't do to come down to details in a show
+like that. It's so infernally hard to remember who are the capitalists
+and who aren't. I mentioned two houses, and then realised that they
+both belonged to Communist leaders. Bad break! I tried to recover
+myself; mentioned a third, and then remembered that it was Flint's own
+house. Of course I said, "As you were, comrades," but somehow it was
+too late. Some ass of a dockyard matey started to laugh, and—er—I
+left.'</p>
+
+<p>'And Flint?'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, he was a bit peevish, I believe, but I went off to have a drink
+with some sailors who were in the crowd, so we didn't meet. But last
+night, as I was coming up Nightingale Lane, three fellows popped out
+from one of the wharves and we—er—had a bit of an argument. As a
+matter of fact, as soon as I saw what they were driving at, I ran like
+a hare. A coaster that I knew was lying at Irongate Wharf, and I just
+managed to get aboard her. The night watchman's a pal of mine. He beat
+them off with a flood of the purest Glasgow invective, while I sat
+in the galley and listened. It was a liberal education, his speech.
+If it hadn't been for him I'd have been done, for I tripped over a
+steam-pipe—what a godless tangle a coaster's deck is!—and wrenched my
+ankle rather badly.'</p>
+
+<p>'Pretty good!' said Michael. 'D'you often do this sort of thing?'</p>
+
+<p>'Fairly often. I've got a passion for rhetoric. Whenever I hear a man
+making a speech, I always long to join in.'</p>
+
+<p>'If you ever want company, I'm rather like that myself,' mentioned
+Michael.</p>
+
+<p>Nicholson looked him over thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>'Good work. I'll remember that,' he said. 'Your name's Doone, isn't it?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes. How did you——Oh, of course, that supper at Barton,' said
+Michael, and added: 'Can't think why I didn't recognise you just now.
+You don't seem disguised at all.'</p>
+
+<p>'As a matter of fact, I'm not at the moment,' said Nicholson
+confidentially. 'This is me, as it were. Beauty unadorned,
+metaphorically speaking. As for the brief period of my waiterhood,
+it was the moustache that put you off. No one ever knows me when I'm
+complete with whiskers. They all feel they've seen me before, but can't
+remember where, you know. Then I tell 'em, and all's well.'</p>
+
+<p>'It must be your voice,' said Michael. 'Just now, for instance——'</p>
+
+<p>'My poetry?' asked Nicholson. 'Pretty hot, wasn't it? Extempore, too.'</p>
+
+<p>'Good Lord! Wasn't it that bloke's stuff?'</p>
+
+<p>Nicholson looked wounded. 'My dear chap, you don't suppose I read that
+sort of thing, do you?'</p>
+
+<p>'But Mrs. Lancaster....'</p>
+
+<p>'Adele takes a lot of things for granted. Poetry and waiters, for
+instance.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael laughed.</p>
+
+<p>'What <i>were</i> you after that night?' he asked. 'Every day I've been
+expecting to hear that Mrs. Browne's pearls had gone, but nothing's
+happened so far.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, no. I wasn't after filthy lucre that time,' said Nicholson; and
+added, after a moment's pause: 'I gather you've heard something about
+me.'</p>
+
+<p>'You don't realise you're famous,' said Michael.</p>
+
+<p>'What is fame? A bagatelle! Give me a match.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael handed over his box, watching Nicholson with amusement.</p>
+
+<p>'Come and look me up sometime, will you?' he said. 'I'm in digs.—60
+Quebec Street.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'd like to. Thanks awfully.' He glanced at Michael with a twinkle in
+his eyes. 'You think I'm devilish reckless, don't you?'</p>
+
+<p>'Something like it,' admitted Michael. 'After all, isn't it a bit of a
+risk coming here?'</p>
+
+<p>Nicholson chuckled. 'Don't you worry,' he said. 'It's as safe as
+houses. I've been playing this game for years.'</p>
+
+<p>'All right; but suppose I was a cop?'</p>
+
+<p>'Setting aside my lightning intuition, which tells me that there's
+nothing you'd dislike more, I'm perfectly safe because you've got
+nothing against me except your own suspicions and second hand
+information. I am Stephen Nicholson; fairly well known,' said he
+modestly. 'Unless you caught me crawling out of a window with a gun in
+my teeth and the Crown Jewels in my pocket, no one would believe you.
+I doubt if they would then, unless you could produce a photograph. Of
+course, I'd love to have the reputation of being a dare-devil and all
+that, but as a matter of fact I belong to the school of the cunning
+cowards.'</p>
+
+<p>'All right,' grinned Michael. 'Does that mean you will come and see
+me?'</p>
+
+<p>'Rather. One day next week. Sit tight; someone's coming.'</p>
+
+<p>'I don't hear——' began Michael, but broke off as Adele Lancaster
+opened the drawing-room door and advanced on them.</p>
+
+<p>'So this is where you've been all this time,' she said. 'I've a good
+mind to scold you both, but I'll forgive you if you do your duty. The
+young enthusiasts have started the gramophone, and you must come and
+dance.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'm afraid I'm <i>hors de combat</i>,' said Nicholson, 'but I'll come and
+watch, if that would give you any pleasure.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael, slightly bemused, allowed himself to be led off and introduced
+to countless females. His partners found him distrait and, as a matter
+of fact, he hardly noticed them at all. He danced automatically, his
+mind on Stephen Nicholson, until he heard a cry of welcome from Adele,
+and glanced round to see Sir Toby Ward entering. As soon as the dance
+came to an end, he made his way over to where Adele, Nicholson, and Sir
+Toby were talking.</p>
+
+<p>There was a distinct twinkle in Sir Toby's eye as he greeted Michael—a
+twinkle that said, 'What on earth are <i>you</i> doing in this crowd?'—but
+he wisely refrained from putting it into speech. Adele was lamenting
+the dullness of life.</p>
+
+<p>'London's a desert of ennui,' she was saying. 'Except for Boris, no
+one is writing anything fit to read; there are no plays worthy of the
+name, and no subject of any interest to discuss.'</p>
+
+<p>'It's terrible,' agreed Sir Toby, with a chuckle. 'All crime seems to
+be on the decrease. Even'—he glanced at Michael—'even Vive le Sport
+seems to have disappeared.'</p>
+
+<p>'Who's he?' asked Stephen Nicholson in a languid drawl.</p>
+
+<p>'My <i>dear</i>, don't you know?' Adele turned to him in surprise. 'He's the
+most divine person! He's a burglar who burgles with the grand manner.
+All women fall in love with him, and then he rides away in the approved
+style. I wish he'd rob this house.'</p>
+
+<p>Sir Toby smiled mischievously.</p>
+
+<p>'I was told the other day that he was an American,' he said. 'He was
+had up for rum-running, and had to get away quickly. Born and bred in
+the Bowery, I believe, and they called him "Shorty Bill" over there. As
+a matter of fact, he's a romantic legend.'</p>
+
+<p>'I don't believe a word of it!' declared Adele. '<i>I</i> was told that he's
+a 'Varsity man. Very tall, fair, and marvellously good looking.'</p>
+
+<p>'Sounds like Nicholson,' observed Michael.</p>
+
+<p>There was a shout of laughter from the other two.</p>
+
+<p>'Stephen? Oh, what a divine idea!' said Adele. 'Our ineffable Stephen,
+who never dreams of getting up before eleven, and detests getting his
+hands dirty. But it's no good, Mr. Doone. Apart from the fact that he's
+got so much money that he doesn't know what to do with it, Stephen has
+only been in England since last December, while Vive le Sport has been
+flourishing for years.'</p>
+
+<p>'It's a very nice idea, all the same,' laughed Sir Toby, surveying
+Nicholson with a smile that held a slight tinge of amused contempt.</p>
+
+<p>Nicholson smiled, too, with a weary superiority that made Michael want
+to laugh and kick him, and then said that they misjudged him. The talk
+drifted to other topics, and soon afterwards Michael bade Adele good
+night. As he turned to go, Stephen Nicholson looked round to wave a
+farewell, and Michael saw a devil of laughter in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Michael went home from that party on foot, and more than once he
+scandalised a solitary Robert on point duty with a sudden yelp of
+laughter.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>'TO BE LET OR SOLD'</h3>
+
+
+<p>Thursday, June 4th. Exactly a week after Adele Lancaster's party. Nick,
+who had been dozing in a large chair, roused himself and looked at his
+watch. He was sleepy, because he had travelled down from Scotland the
+night before, and had talked Socialism all the way with a prominent
+agitator. It had been a tricky business, getting into his flat in
+Jermyn Street, without calling the porter's attention to his clothes.</p>
+
+<p>On the whole, the past week had been a very satisfactory bit of work.
+He had spent most of the time in Glasgow, and had acquired a good deal
+of useful information.</p>
+
+<p>Four o'clock. He pulled himself together and collected his hat. He was
+going to call on Jerry Mitchell. Time was getting on, and it might be
+as well to have that document handy. As he drove up to Hampstead he
+thought about her a good deal. To tell the truth, he had been thinking
+about her more than a little, during these ten days. An attractive
+child. He remembered her level, honest eyes, her quick smile. A
+courageous little person, with a charm all her own. It would be good to
+see her again.</p>
+
+<p>It was a cheerful, sunshiny afternoon, and Nick whistled softly as he
+drove along. It would be fun to take Jerry out into the country for
+tea. The last week would have been pretty grim for her, with all the
+unnecessary horrors attached to inquests and funerals. He hoped Thorpe
+had looked after her. But Thorpe would certainly have stood by; sound
+man, Thorpe.</p>
+
+<p>He remembered the road as he turned into it. The big, detached houses,
+relics of a more expansive age. Then, as he came to a standstill, he
+stared blankly. This was Mitchell's house, but the blinds were down and
+there was a large board up: 'To be let or sold.'</p>
+
+<p>For a moment he sat still, frowning in thought. Then he drove on, and
+stopped his car fifty yards down the street. The precaution might be
+unnecessary, but Nick left nothing to chance. Having locked his gear,
+he went back to the house.</p>
+
+<p>There might be a caretaker in charge, but somehow he didn't want to
+ring and find out. This was purely instinctive, but it never occurred
+to him to question that instinct. A high brick wall enclosed the
+garden. He prowled along it, and was rewarded by the sight of an iron
+gate, set in the end wall.</p>
+
+<p>The garden was deserted and untidy. Keeping under cover of the bushes
+that lined the wall, he made his way towards the house. The study, he
+knew, looked out this way, and there were the big bay windows. Then he
+realised that the blinds were drawn back.</p>
+
+<p>Nick moved quickly to the house, and keeping close to the wall, peered
+cautiously into the study. The furniture was still there—he remembered
+that heavy writing-desk, on which stood the telephone. Then he saw a
+man, stooping over a drawer in the big cupboard by the door. His back
+was turned, and he was busily sorting papers.</p>
+
+<p>There was a laurel bush close to the house wall. It needed pruning
+badly, for it had grown almost across one side of the bay window. Nick
+wriggled himself into it, and kept very still. The man in the study
+thrust the papers back and shut the drawer with a gesture of annoyance.
+Then he turned towards the door, and Nick saw his face. It was Bobby
+Manvers.</p>
+
+<p>He went through the desk with meticulous care, searching every drawer,
+examining every scrap of paper. Then he rose to his feet, smoothing
+back his hair and, lighting a cigarette, ran a thoughtful eye over the
+room. It was a glance that said as plainly as words: 'Is there anything
+I can have missed?'</p>
+
+<p>Apparently he had not, for a moment later he went out, shutting the
+door behind him.</p>
+
+<p>Nick slid out of his laurel bush, and made his way with swift caution
+to the gate. As he reached the front of the house he saw Bobby Manvers,
+in the distance, walking down the road.</p>
+
+<p>Nick went slowly back to his car. He was wondering. He wanted to know a
+good many things, but the principal one was where Jerry could be found.
+The notice board said that the house was in the hands of Messrs. Carter
+and Brough, Golders Green, and accordingly he drove to their office.</p>
+
+<p>The young man in charge was very polite, but uncommunicative. Yes,
+Miss Mitchell had put her house in their hands. Was Nick thinking of
+buying it? It was a most desirable residence with.... Oh. Quite. No,
+they could not say where Miss Mitchell was at the moment. Miss Mitchell
+had left some five days ago. They believed they were right in saying
+Miss Mitchell did not contemplate living in the house any more. They
+believed that Professor Mitchell had died suddenly, and so.... Yes.
+Quite. No, Miss Mitchell was having her correspondence sent to them,
+and every now and then she would come and collect it. Would he care to
+leave a note for Miss Mitchell?</p>
+
+<p>Nick pondered. On the whole, it didn't seem a good plan. It would need
+too much explanation, and might be dangerous. He would have a shot at
+finding her first. It was not very difficult to trace people in London,
+if you knew the right way to go about it. Nick had his own methods of
+acquiring information. He came out of his muse, thanked the young man
+politely, and drove away.</p>
+
+<p>So Bobby Manvers was interested in Jerry. Or ... what was Bobby Manvers
+interested in? Suddenly Nick remembered his passion for amateur
+detective work, and laughed aloud. No fool, Bobby, but very, very
+young.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>TWINKLING WILLIAM'S DIARY</h3>
+
+
+<p>Saturday, June 6th, and eleven o'clock of a glorious sunny morning.
+Jerry Mitchell, being a woman of leisure, ought to have been out in
+the Park, but instead, she leant against the window-sill in the tiny
+sitting-room of her flat in 60 Quebec Street. In her hand she held a
+receipted bill; a bill for a week's board and lodging.</p>
+
+<p>A whole week! It was seven days since she had left the Hampstead house.
+And yet in some ways it seemed more. They had not been uneventful,
+those seven days. Jerry smiled suddenly. No house that contained Milly
+could ever be uneventful. She herself had fallen for Milly on sight,
+and when she had listened to her first instalment of the Local News at
+breakfast, she had realised that she was going to enjoy herself in this
+strange place.</p>
+
+<p>'Mr. Doone, 'im wot lives underneath 'ere, 'e's a one, an' no mistake!
+Thinks 'e's a woman-'ater, 'e does, but 'e'll learn 'is error in time.
+Comes from the Cannibal Islands, er some such. Ever ser nice 'e is,
+reely, but 'e wants tickin' orf at times. You know! It ain't that 'e's
+forward, as you might say, but it's jest that 'is manners are a bit
+orf. 'Owever, we're learnin' 'im, by degrees.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'm all for good manners,' approved Jerry.</p>
+
+<p>'So'm I, Miss Mitchell, an' wot I ses is, if they ain't got none, you
+got ter learn 'em, that's all. 'Tain't their fault, arf the time. It's
+the way they bin brought up. 'E useter frighten me at first, Mr. Doone
+did. Set there on 'is sofa, 'e did, an' scowl suthink orful. 'E does
+it still, sometimes, but all you got ter say is: "Now, then, no narsty
+temper, please!" an' 'e'll smile as sunny as anythink.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry chuckled, as she remembered how soon she had had proof of Milly's
+statement. That same evening her electric light had gone out. Mrs.
+Briggs had told her, when she first inspected the flat, that the light
+was run on a shilling-in-the-slot-meter. Jerry found the machine, but
+in the dark could not discover how it worked. After several efforts,
+and the useless expenditure of a shilling, she rang the bell. There was
+no reply. She waited a few minutes and then rang it again, with the
+same result. Rather nervously, feeling herself a stranger in an unknown
+country, she went out onto her landing and listened, hoping to hear the
+sound of Milly's racing feet. Below her all was dark. She waited in the
+gathering dusk, and at last heard hasty footsteps ascending the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>'Is that you, Milly?' she called.</p>
+
+<p>A second's silence, and then a man's voice, curtly 'No.' A pause, and
+then, 'I expect she's in the kitchen. D'you want her?'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, my light's gone out, and....'</p>
+
+<p>He had come up the last flight of stairs and was standing beside her,
+peering up at her wall. She noticed with amusement that he did not even
+look at her.</p>
+
+<p>'Shilling-in-the-slot meter,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>'I know. I put a shilling in, but nothing happened.'</p>
+
+<p>He reached up and turned a handle. She heard the shilling fall with a
+click, and her sitting-room was lit up suddenly. Abruptly he turned
+away, saying gruffly, 'Perfectly simple.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry had a flashing memory of Milly's impertinent face, coupled with
+a vision of herself saying, 'Now, then, no narsty temper, please!' and
+had laughed outright. The man darted a glance at her, grinned guiltily,
+and growled, 'Shut up!' Exactly like a small boy, she reflected.</p>
+
+<p>After that they had talked; had exchanged names; had spoken of Bobby
+Manvers, and then he had departed abruptly. But next day he had looked
+in to tell her that she was on no account to let Mrs. Briggs charge her
+a shilling a scuttle for coal, unless it was the big cauldron full.
+And since then they seemed to have developed a friendship of years;
+slightly domineering on Michael's part, and affectionately amused on
+Jerry's. She chuckled again at the thought of him. Rather a darling,
+Michael. And if it gave him pleasure to play the part of an irascible
+watch-dog—to scold her for staying indoors, or not eating enough
+lunch—who was she to deny him?</p>
+
+<p>She pulled up a chair to her table, and picking up a big,
+leather-bound, loose-leaf book, began to read, but almost before she
+had found her place a knock on the door disturbed her.</p>
+
+<p>'Come in!' she called.</p>
+
+<p>Michael entered and stood, hands in pockets, regarding her with stern
+disapproval.</p>
+
+<p>'You idiotic child, why must you fug indoors on a day like this?' he
+began. 'If you don't get a little fresh air and exercise you'll be ill,
+and serve you darned well right. It's a gorgeous day.'</p>
+
+<p>'Gorgeous!' agreed Jerry placidly. 'You been out yet, Michael?'</p>
+
+<p>'No; I've been waiting for you.'</p>
+
+<p>'Hoo!' said Jerry, in open disbelief.</p>
+
+<p>Michael grinned.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, anyway, I'm going out now, so get a move on.'</p>
+
+<p>'Sorry, old thing. I can't. Busy.'</p>
+
+<p>'Rot! What's the book?'</p>
+
+<p>She looked grave suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>'William's diary. Don't wait for me if you'd rather not.'</p>
+
+<p>'How long will you be?'</p>
+
+<p>'Half an hour.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'll wait ... if I may.'</p>
+
+<p>This last was unexpected, and Jerry flashed him a surprised smile.
+'Thanks awfully, Michael. That's angelic of you.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael grunted, and picked up a copy of 'Punch.' For five minutes
+there was silence and then Jerry looked up.</p>
+
+<p>'By the way, I've got a message for you.'</p>
+
+<p>'Shoot!' mumbled Michael, absorbed in reading 'Punch.'</p>
+
+<p>'Bobby rang up after tea yesterday, and he told me to tell you that you
+were a frightful success at Adele Lancaster's party.'</p>
+
+<p>'The hell I was!' said Michael ungratefully. 'What's Bobby been up to,
+anyway? He's simply disappeared for the last week. I can't believe it's
+work. No one in their senses would employ Bobby as a barrister. Not
+sleuthing, is he?'</p>
+
+<p>'As a matter of fact, he is,' said Jerry, with a slight frown. 'You
+see, he's convinced that William was murdered. Absolute rot, I think,
+but you know what a passion Bobby has for this detective stuff. I told
+him he could search the study for finger-prints, and he took me very
+seriously. In fact, I believe he has spent the last three days in going
+over the furniture with a magnifying-glass.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael chuckled. 'I can't see our chubby Robert as a sleuth,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>'Nor can I,' agreed Jerry. 'And yet—I know he's got brains, and he's
+certainly studied the subject. Oh, Michael, you're not to interrupt me
+any more.'</p>
+
+<p>To this entirely unjustified attack Michael made no reply, but buried
+himself once more in his paper. For ten minutes there was not a sound
+but the rustle of turned pages, and then Jerry gave a little gasp.
+Michael looked up. Her eyes were on a page of the diary, and her face
+had lost all colour. Michael leapt to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>'Jerry! What on earth...?'</p>
+
+<p>She looked up at him oddly.</p>
+
+<p>'There's a very queer story in here, Michael. May I read it to you?
+I—I don't know what to think.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael sat down on a corner of the table, one long leg dangling. 'Go
+ahead,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>'The first mention of the affair,' said Jerry, turning back several
+pages, 'happened on April 24th this year. Listen.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>'A very curious event has occurred; an event so unusual that at
+moments I wonder if it can be true. I hardly know what to think of it,
+but I must confess it gives me great pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>'I dined to-night, as I always do on Fridays, at the club, and
+afterwards played bridge with Loring, Collett, and John Rogers. On my
+way to the club I meant to post a letter, a somewhat bulky envelope,
+which I put in my pocket. The evening passed, as so many similar
+meetings have, without incident. Indeed, I remember thinking, as I
+put on my coat on leaving the club, that not a single detail of my
+life had changed for many years, and the thought gave me a feeling of
+regret. I have, I fear, an incurably romantic temperament, which Jerry
+inherits, and I comforted myself with the reflection that although
+nothing exciting would ever happen to me, there was every likelihood
+of adventure coming to her.</p>
+
+<p>'As I was nearing home I happened to put my hand into my pocket and,
+to my surprise and annoyance, found that my envelope was still there.
+I thought I remembered posting it, and drew it out, looking round
+me to see if there were a letter-box in sight. There was not, but I
+was standing under a street lamp at the time and my eye fell on the
+envelope.</p>
+
+<p>'It was not mine, nor had I ever seen it before. On it was written, in
+a small neat hand: "Please open this when you are alone," and across
+the top were inscribed the letters: "O.H.M.S."</p>
+
+<p>'The night was cold, so I did not hesitate, but hurried home, much
+intrigued by this strange occurrence. I remember that the hall clock
+was striking midnight as I sat down by my desk to open the letter.
+It contained a note, and a second envelope addressed to "J. F.
+Strickland, Esq., 31, Buckingham Gate Mansions."</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>
+<p>'The note was, apparently, addressed to me, although the writer did
+not know my name. He explained that he was doing Secret Service
+work, and that this second letter contained information for which,
+in his own words, "a certain section of our anti-English society is
+searching." His enemies were pursuing him, and he had taken refuge
+in the club, although he knew none of the members. Realising that
+something must be done, he conceived the brilliant idea of slipping
+the letter into my pocket. On reading his letter, I bitterly regretted
+that I had not been more observant. I now remember vaguely that there
+was a man in the lobby as I left the club, but I cannot recall a
+single detail of his appearance. His writing—and, in a small way, I
+have studied calligraphy—is that of a scholar and a gentleman, and
+every line of his letter carries conviction.</p>
+
+<p>'He went on to say that he would call for his envelope as soon as
+possible, but asked me, if need arose, to keep it for him until June
+10th. That is, apparently, an important date. If he has not fetched it
+by then, I am to send it to this Mr. Strickland. He gave me an address
+to which I could write, but no name, only initials, and as the address
+was a <i>poste restante</i> one, I imagine that it would not be permanent.
+I shall write to-morrow morning, and tell him how honoured I am to
+have his confidence.'</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Jerry paused, and looked at Michael.</p>
+
+<p>'Very odd,' said he. 'Didn't he tell you anything about it?'</p>
+
+<p>'Not a word. You wait.' She continued reading:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>'<i>April 25th.</i>—I have been considering last night's affair with
+much deliberation. I have read a great many books of adventure and
+mystery, and some of the customs common to both heroes and villains
+have struck me as being strangely unintelligent. In particular,
+the curious habit of carrying valuable documents on the person—a
+perpetual invitation to assault by the other party. I do not intend to
+run that risk, especially as I know myself to be both absent-minded
+and deplorably untidy. This morning, therefore, I took the envelope to
+the bank, and repeated my correspondent's instructions, namely—that
+if I have not withdrawn it before June 10th, it is to be sent to this
+Mr. Strickland. I must say I sincerely hope it will be fetched before
+then, as I am anxious to meet my correspondent. My only regret is
+that I am unable to tell Jerry of the affair. She would enjoy it so
+enormously. But my correspondent urgently begged me to mention the
+matter to no one, and I feel bound to respect his wishes.'</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Again Jerry paused, her eyes on the familiar crabbed handwriting.</p>
+
+<p>Michael nodded appreciatively.</p>
+
+<p>'Sportsman!' he said.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the girl buried her face in her hands.</p>
+
+<p>'It's all so frightfully like him,' she said in a muffled voice that
+shook a little.</p>
+
+<p>Michael's face changed swiftly, and he put out a hand and stroked her
+bent head awkwardly.</p>
+
+<p>Jerry pulled herself together.</p>
+
+<p>'He says no more about it for some time,' she went on. 'It crops up
+again on May 22d.'</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>'My strange adventure of April 24th has had a sequel. Every day I have
+wondered whether my unknown friend would call, and I had almost given
+up hope when this afternoon a Mr. Robertson called on me.</p>
+
+<p>'He was a tall man with a neatly trimmed black beard; swarthy and
+dark-eyed. If it had not been for his name and his perfect English
+voice, I should have put him down as an Italian. Having never seen
+him before, I was at a loss to understand his visit, but he came to
+the point at once. Apologising for the strangeness of his question,
+he asked me if I had been given a letter, in the Jameson Club, on the
+night of April 24th.</p>
+
+<p>'I am afraid I hesitated. The question was so sudden and unexpected
+that it took me off my guard. Seeing my obvious hesitation, his face
+cleared.</p>
+
+<p>'"What a relief!" he said. "I see that you are the man I have been
+looking for. Let me explain myself. The man who gave you that letter
+is a friend of mine. For many reasons I would rather conceal his
+name; no doubt you will have gathered that his mission was a somewhat
+secret one. Last week I had an urgent message from the Birmingham
+General Hospital. My friend had been in a motor accident, and is now
+in hospital, suffering from severe concussion. I gathered that he had
+been continually asking for me, and that the doctor considered it wise
+to send for me. Of course I caught the next train north. Poor old
+chap, I found him terribly ill."</p>
+
+<p>'I may say that my caller looked very distressed indeed. I offered him
+a cigar, and begged him to continue. He went on to tell me that his
+friend was only half conscious, but that it was obvious that something
+was preying on his mind. By dint of much careful questioning, this Mr.
+Robertson had gathered that his friend was very anxious to recover
+some papers, or a paper ... which he had given into the charge of a
+member of the Jameson Club. "Since I returned to London," he added, "I
+have called on almost every member, for my poor friend was unable to
+tell me the man's name. The fact that he seems to have lost his memory
+is distressing him terribly. He kept telling me that he must have the
+papers before June 10th. That date seemed to ring in his head."</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>
+<p>'It rang in mine, too, for that was the date upon which my unknown
+correspondent had asked me to post his letter, should he not have
+claimed it. And yet I hesitated, principally, I must admit, from a
+feeling of disappointment. I had hoped to meet the man.</p>
+
+<p>'"I may say," continued Mr. Robertson, "that I have no idea what
+information these papers contain; nor have I any desire to know, but I
+am more than a little anxious about my friend, for the doctors tell me
+that he is in a critical condition, and they consider this obsession
+is dangerous. Therefore, I beg you to let me have the papers, so that
+I may take them to him, and set his mind at rest."</p>
+
+<p>'I felt myself to be in a difficult position. I did not doubt Mr.
+Robertson's story—indeed the man's distress seemed obviously
+genuine—but still I felt myself pledged to my unknown friend. So,
+believing frankness to be the better part, I laid the position before
+him. I told him that I had been given the letter, with a covering note
+asking me to keep it until a certain date, and adding that if the
+writer himself had not claimed it before then, I was to post it to an
+address he had given me.'</p>
+
+<p>'"Forgive me, but do you know him?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>'I told him that I did not know the man, but that he knew me. I said
+that he had arranged to call in person for the letter, and that until
+then he had expressly asked me to keep it for him.</p>
+
+<p>'"Oh, that explains it," he said. "Poor old chap, I understand now.
+That was why he was so distressed at having forgotten your name. It
+was terrible, Professor Mitchell, for one could do nothing to help
+him."</p>
+
+<p>'His distress moved me very much, but I persisted in my explanation. I
+told him, with many apologies, that, though I did not doubt his story,
+he had given me no actual proof that he came from my correspondent,
+and that, until he did so, I could not feel justified in breaking
+faith with a man who had trusted me.</p>
+
+<p>'For a minute he was silent, his eyes on the floor. Then he looked up
+and smiled.</p>
+
+<p>'"You're perfectly right, Professor," he said. "George is a sound
+judge of men. May I suggest a means of proving my statement? Will you
+write to the Matron of the Birmingham Hospital, and ask her if she has
+a serious concussion case in at the moment? Mention my name. I was
+there exactly a week ago, and she will remember me."</p>
+
+<p>'I considered, and said that it seemed a perfectly satisfactory plan.
+He sighed with relief.</p>
+
+<p>'"In that case, I will say good-bye," he said. "Thank you a thousand
+times, Professor Mitchell. By the way, I should be very grateful
+if you would ask the Matron to wire her reply. I know that every
+minute is important in my friend's critical condition. If you write
+to-night, you will get her answer by to-morrow afternoon. If I may,
+I will call to-morrow night for the papers. I have no doubt that the
+Matron will confirm my story."</p>
+
+<p>'And with that he left. As soon as he had gone I wrote to the Matron
+of the Birmingham Hospital, and asked her to wire her patient's
+authority for me to hand the papers to his friend. Then I posted the
+letter and, since returning to the house, have recorded the incident.</p>
+
+<p>'It is all very strange. And I must say I had not imagined his name to
+be George.'</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Jerry turned the page slowly, and hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>'Carry on,' said Michael.</p>
+
+<p>'This one's dated May 23d,' she said. 'That was that Saturday——'</p>
+
+<p>She bit her lip, and continued reading:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>'<i>May 23d—midday.</i>—This morning I had qualms about my letter to the
+Matron. Knowing the matter to be on her patient's mind, would she not
+run the risk and give me permission on her own authority, hoping to
+set him at rest? Women have little sense of proportion. And even if
+she assured me that she had a patient with serious concussion, and
+that he had a friend called Robertson, was I justified in assuming
+my caller to be the same man? And yet again, what proof had I that
+the man in hospital was my man? A hundred times I told myself that I
+was simply making difficulties to hide my own disappointment, but the
+doubt persisted, and finally, while I was out for a walk this morning,
+I decided to ring up the Birmingham Hospital. I think I had some wild
+hope that I might be allowed to speak to the man myself.</p>
+
+<p>'I got through fairly quickly, and spoke to the Matron. To my
+astonishment she failed to identify Mr. Robertson, knew nothing of
+my letter, and, what is more, assured me that they had no serious
+concussion case in the hospital at the moment. I thanked her and
+returned home, my brain in a whirl. It seems incredible that Mr.
+Robertson should have told me such a fabrication of lies, and yet....
+It is all very disturbing, but I must admit, very exciting, too. Very
+sad that I cannot tell Jerry the whole story. But, of course, she
+might urge me to inform the police. I feel certain my unknown friend
+did not want their assistance in this affair.</p>
+
+<p>'<i>Later.</i>—A telegram has just arrived. It reads:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>Patient confirms Robertson's story, authorises you deliver
+letter.—Matron.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>'So my suspicion was justified. It has brought home to me the fact
+that this affair is really serious. To start with, my correspondence
+has been tampered with. Mr. Robertson is a rogue and is, no doubt, one
+of the "opponents" of whom my correspondent spoke. He certainly did
+not appear to be a violent man, but now I come to think of it, the
+villains of fiction are usually of a blameless appearance, so why not
+the villains of real life?</p>
+
+<p>'When he comes to-night I shall tell him that I have changed my mind,
+and shall keep the letter until his friend is well enough to fetch it
+himself in the prearranged manner. Mr. Robertson is a scoundrel. I hope
+I shall not become angry with him, for in that case I may be tempted to
+tell him what I think of him.</p>
+
+<p>'<i>Later still.</i>—Jerry has just looked in to say good-night, and again
+I longed to tell her the story. I wish that she could find out, so that
+we could discuss it with a clear conscience. I know she would be as
+loyal to this strange friend of mine as I would be myself.</p>
+
+<p>'It is late. I do not think Mr. Robertson can be coming to-night. A
+little disappointing. It would give me pleasure to deny him the letter.
+However, the time will come, no doubt. And eventually I still hope to
+meet my friend who trusted me ... I hope, not in vain.'</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Jerry put down the book and faced Michael. There was a long silence.
+Then she got up and walked over to the fireplace. Michael watched her,
+his face set grimly.</p>
+
+<p>'Michael,' she said at last, quietly.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes?'</p>
+
+<p>'That man killed him.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael nodded.</p>
+
+<p>'He came that night, after I'd gone to bed. Probably William lost his
+temper—lying always made him see red—and Robertson killed him.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael nodded again. His savage expression seemed to give Jerry
+self-possession. Her voice was even and steady as she went on:</p>
+
+<p>'Dr. Thorpe told me he had not been dead more than half an hour when I
+found him. He thought probably less. The murderer may even have been in
+the house. Why didn't he search it, I wonder? Nothing was disturbed.'</p>
+
+<p>'Probably your father told him the letter was in the bank,' said
+Michael gruffly.</p>
+
+<p>She nodded slowly. 'Yes, I expect he did. My blessed, truculent old
+William. Anyway, Robertson didn't get it. I tell you, Michael, I'm
+going to take on this thing for William. His man shall get that letter,
+or no one.'</p>
+
+<p>A shade of anxiety crossed Michael's face, and he moved uncomfortably.
+Jerry guessed his thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>'Are you seeing me as the next victim?' She smiled. 'I think we'll be
+able to avoid that. We won't give ourselves away as William did. But
+of course this man Robertson must know about me. Cheer up, Michael; if
+he calls, I promise I'll send for you. You shall be in the scrap, old
+thing!'</p>
+
+<p>Michael grinned at her, but his eyes held something very like
+admiration.</p>
+
+<p>'It's rather good to have something to fight, isn't it?' said Jerry.
+'No quarter! We'll smash this bloke, Michael. Of course, we may have
+to wait a while, but sooner or later there'll be our cue. Enter the
+murderer!'</p>
+
+<p>As if in answer to her words, there was a heavy knock on the door.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>BOBBY'S THEORY</h3>
+
+
+<p>Michael slid off the table and took two strides in the direction of the
+door, but Jerry checked him with a warning hand, and said steadily:
+'Come in.'</p>
+
+<p>Slowly the door opened and Bobby Manvers's chubby, smiling face
+appeared. With a shout of laughter, Michael dropped into a chair.</p>
+
+<p>'What's the joke?' asked Bobby, in some surprise.</p>
+
+<p>'Nothing, Bobby,' Jerry assured him. 'We weren't expecting to see you,
+that's all.'</p>
+
+<p>'By the look on Michael's face you were expecting a s-summons at
+least,' said Bobby. 'Anyway, how are you, Jerry? Feel as if I hadn't
+seen you for years.'</p>
+
+<p>'It seems ages,' agreed Jerry. 'That's because so much happens these
+days. What have you been up to, Bobby? Found any clues?'</p>
+
+<p>'N-not many,' admitted Bobby, 'but I still——Well, I know you won't
+believe me, Jerry, but I still think it was murder.'</p>
+
+<p>'As a matter of fact,' said Jerry, mechanically twisting a candlestick
+on her mantelpiece, 'I'm not sure I don't agree with you.'</p>
+
+<p>'Good Lord! Why, what's happened?'</p>
+
+<p>For answer she took from the loose-leaf book the pages she had just
+read to Michael, and handed them to Bobby, who sat down on the table
+to read them, his round young face very grave. Jerry offered Michael a
+cigarette, and lit one herself. There was silence in the little room,
+until at last Bobby laid the papers down on the table.</p>
+
+<p>'That proves it,' he said slowly. 'Jerry, what do you feel about this
+business?'</p>
+
+<p>'I feel that it is our duty to see that this enterprising unknown gets
+his envelope back, and that the man Robertson be apprehended, tried,
+sentenced, and well and truly hanged,' said Jerry, with a flippancy
+that did not hide the stark purpose underlying her tone.</p>
+
+<p>Bobby nodded. 'We've still got some time in hand, as far as the
+envelope is concerned,' he said. 'Let's see, to-day's the sixth, isn't
+it? But we've got to set about getting this chap Robertson. Look here,
+Jerry, will you tell me exactly what happened that Sunday morning, when
+you found your father?'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry told him, with no more words than were necessary. She told him
+how she had waked suddenly; had gone down and found her father dead;
+had rung up the doctor, and failed to get through.</p>
+
+<p>'And then what did you do?' asked Bobby.</p>
+
+<p>'Went out to the front door. I wanted some fresh air.'</p>
+
+<p>'Was anyone in sight?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes. A motorist, changing a tyre.'</p>
+
+<p>'Did he see you?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes.' Jerry hesitated, and then continued coolly: 'I spoke to him,
+and told him what had happened. He was very helpful. I didn't know
+what to do, so he came in, and got hold of a doctor for me, and saw to
+everything. Then I went back to bed, and left him and the doctor in
+charge.'</p>
+
+<p>Bobby was silent for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>'What was his name?' he asked suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>'I don't know,' said Jerry. 'He didn't tell me his surname; just said
+he was called "Nick."'</p>
+
+<p>'Didn't that strike you as being rather odd?'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, my dear Bobby!' Jerry's tone was impatient. 'So many impossible
+things had already happened that morning that nothing seemed odd any
+longer. What are you driving at?'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, has it never occurred to you that he might have been the
+murderer?'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry stared, and then smiled.</p>
+
+<p>'No, Bobby, it hasn't. And it doesn't strike me as probable, even now.'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, you must admit that it's all rather strange. To start with,
+according to medical authority, the professor had been dead less than
+half an hour when you found him. I wouldn't mind betting that it was
+the sound of his fall that woke you. Now, the murderer came for that
+letter and he didn't search for it. One of two reasons prevented him.
+Either your father told him that it was in the bank, or else he heard
+you coming downstairs. Imagine that he heard you, and cleared out.
+Which would have been his easiest exit? He didn't go by the window, we
+know. It was still bolted when Lucy went in there. She told me so.'</p>
+
+<p>'The front door,' said Jerry. 'He'd have had to pass the foot of the
+stairs to go out by the back.'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, suppose he went out by the front door. Wouldn't this motorist
+chap have seen him? You can't change a wheel in less than five minutes,
+you know.'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, I suppose so,' said Jerry slowly.</p>
+
+<p>'And if he did see him, as it seems he must, isn't it a little odd that
+he didn't say so?'</p>
+
+<p>'But look here, Bobby, this man was about thirty, fair and
+clean-shaven. William's description of Mr. Robertson doesn't fit.'</p>
+
+<p>'That might easily be a disguise, which he removed before you came out.
+And then, if he was innocent, why didn't he turn up to give evidence at
+the inquest? He was the first person, bar you, in the house. Why didn't
+the doctor fellow call him as a witness?'</p>
+
+<p>'There might be half a hundred reasons for that,' said Jerry. 'He
+might have been out of England. For the rest of your theory, the
+murderer may have never left the house till afterwards; or he may
+equally well have gone before the motorist arrived; I don't know how
+long I was in the study. I hate to crab your theory, but it doesn't
+sound frightfully conclusive to me. I admit that it might have been
+the motorist, but it might just as easily not have been. None of his
+actions were suspicious, unless you count the fact that he didn't tell
+me his surname, and a good many men have concealed that in their time,
+I expect.'</p>
+
+<p>Bobby shook his head, unconvinced, and even Michael looked grave. Jerry
+laughed, conscious of rising irritation.</p>
+
+<p>'The thing to decide, at the moment, is whether or not we are to hand
+these papers of William's to Scotland Yard. I'm against it, myself.
+If William's pal had wanted his story to go to the police, he'd have
+said so. The envelope isn't addressed to the Yard, remember. If we
+give them William's papers, they'll want the envelope, too. Suppose we
+advertise for the man? We might try a notice in "The Times," headed
+"The Jameson," and see what happens.'</p>
+
+<p>'Far too dangerous,' said Bobby decidedly. 'This man Robertson is no
+fool. You bet he'll be on the lookout. And he knows you're alone, now.'</p>
+
+<p>'Still clinging to the idea of the murderous motorist?' said Jerry.
+'You're barking up the wrong tree, Bobby.'</p>
+
+<p>'My dear child, I'm sure the fellow was frightfully sympathetic and
+all that, but you mustn't let it upset your judgment. You can't take
+people by their face values in a show like this. After all, that's what
+your father did with Robertson. And to put an advertisement in the
+paper at this stage would be insanity. I won't have you running into
+danger like that.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry raised her eyebrows, and her voice was dangerously silky as she
+answered.</p>
+
+<p>'I haven't yet decided what I'll do, Bobby, darling, but when I do,
+I'll let you know. In the mean time, I would rather you refrained from
+taking any steps without referring to me.'</p>
+
+<p>There was a second's silence.</p>
+
+<p>'I know it's n-none of my business,' said Bobby, 'but for God's sake,
+don't get yourself into a hole, Jerry. We're all reasonably fond of
+you, and I've got a horrid feeling that you don't realise how dangerous
+this affair may be.'</p>
+
+<p>'I do, and I only wish I had someone to advise me,' said Jerry,
+with deliberate intent to wound. 'Some man with a certain amount of
+experience, who knew what he was talking about. I'm tired of jumping to
+conclusions.'</p>
+
+<p>Bobby bit his lip and looked unhappily at the floor.</p>
+
+<p>'Why not ask old Toby Ward what he thinks about it?' suggested Michael.
+'He's a lawyer, and at the same time he manages to be human.'</p>
+
+<p>'I don't think I know him,' said Jerry frostily.</p>
+
+<p>Michael restrained a smile, and his eyes narrowed.</p>
+
+<p>'I should very much like you to meet him,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>Their eyes met and clashed. Then Jerry bubbled with laughter.</p>
+
+<p>'All right, Michael,' she said. 'Will you drive me down there
+to-morrow?'</p>
+
+<p>'I will.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry glanced at Bobby, and relented.</p>
+
+<p>'Can we take Bobby, too?' she asked. 'Will you come, Robert? Do!'</p>
+
+<p>Bobby's face cleared, and he rose to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>'Thanks awfully, I'd love to,' he said. 'I s-say, it's past two, and
+I'm starving. Can't you both come and have lunch with me?'</p>
+
+<p>'I think I should like to very much,' said Jerry. 'I must be back by
+half-past three, though, because I'm going out to tea.' She caught
+Michael's eye and smiled. 'If you will wait two minutes while I get my
+hat on——' The sentence unfinished, she ran off.</p>
+
+<p>Michael offered Bobby a cigarette in silent sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>'One has got to be damned careful with that child,' said Bobby. 'I was
+a fool.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael nodded.</p>
+
+<p>'All the same, Mike, it <i>d-does</i> look a bit suspicious. That motorist
+bloke, and all.'</p>
+
+<p>'I know,' said Michael. 'Not sure I don't agree with you. But there's
+no point in my saying so too. She's having tea with me this afternoon.
+Here she comes.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'm ready,' announced Jerry blithely. 'Lead me to lunch, Bobby. Exit
+three care-free people, screaming for food.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael and Bobby exchanged a swift glance, in which amusement,
+despair, and resignation were evenly blended.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>NICK REFUSES TO EXPLAIN</h3>
+
+
+<p>'I'm sorry I snubbed poor Bobby so hard,' said Jerry, curling herself
+comfortably in Michael's largest chair, 'but if you give him his head
+with this detective stuff he becomes intolerable. I'm fond of Bobby,
+but I will not be dictated to by any man on earth.'</p>
+
+<p>'Have some more tea?' suggested Michael, steering clear of danger.</p>
+
+<p>'No, thanks. Very good meal, Michael.'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, Milly's done us proud to-day.' He rose and hunted in the litter
+on his sideboard for cigarettes.</p>
+
+<p>'"Ever ser dice, Mister Dood is,"' quoted Jerry.</p>
+
+<p>Michael laughed, and as if in echo, they heard Milly's voice on the
+stairs.</p>
+
+<p>'Yuss, I know 'e's in, sir. Mind that loose carpet. If yer fall down
+I'll come an' pick yer up.'</p>
+
+<p>'Who the blazes——' began Michael, but a crash on the door interrupted
+him.</p>
+
+<p>'Gennleman ter see yer,' announced Milly, turning to make devastating
+eyes at someone outside.</p>
+
+<p>Michael took a step towards the door.</p>
+
+<p>'Hullo, Nicholson!' he said. 'Good business! Come in.'</p>
+
+<p>'I told yer 'e was in,' said Milly, lingering. 'D'yer want any more
+sangwidges, Mr. Doone?'</p>
+
+<p>'No, thanks, Milly. We've got plenty.'</p>
+
+<p>'Right-o. Good-bye!' This directly to the guest.</p>
+
+<p>'Good-bye, and thanks very much,' said Stephen Nicholson, with an
+amused twinkle. 'How are you, Doone?'</p>
+
+<p>'Flourishing, thanks. May I introduce——'</p>
+
+<p>Michael checked, in surprise. Jerry was standing on the hearth, staring
+at his guest, and there was a smile in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>'Hullo, Nick!' she said quietly.</p>
+
+<p>Nicholson crossed the room in two strides and held out his hand.</p>
+
+<p>'You!' he said. 'How surprising, and how perfectly splendid!'</p>
+
+<p>They shook hands enthusiastically, and then, with a sudden
+self-consciousness, Jerry turned to Michael.</p>
+
+<p>'My friend the motorist,' she explained; then to Nicholson, 'I've often
+wanted to tell you what a perfect brick that man Thorpe was. No one
+could have been nicer or more comforting. I fell in love with him.'</p>
+
+<p>'I was afraid you would,' smiled Nicholson. 'In fact, I was pretty
+self-sacrificing about it. But he's a good chap, Thorpe. I've known
+him for years.'</p>
+
+<p>'So I gathered.' Jerry laughed.</p>
+
+<p>'Did you? Has Thorpe been giving me away? Let's hear the worst.'</p>
+
+<p>'I can tell you exactly what he said about you,' said Jerry. 'I told
+him how kind you'd been, and all that'—Nicholson made a grimace—and
+he rubbed his chin and said, "Adequate fella, Nick. Always was."'</p>
+
+<p>They laughed together. Michael watched them, filling his pipe with
+exaggerated care. He had not missed the change in Jerry, nor the fact
+that Nicholson never took his eyes off her. And so Vive le Sport was
+her unknown motorist. Michael suddenly began to wonder. After all, he
+knew nothing about the man, except from hearsay. He was a good fellow,
+all right, and for his own part he liked him, but Jerry was another
+proposition. A host of queries and doubts began to grow in his mind
+and, added to them, came a vivid memory of Adele Lancaster's affected
+voice: 'All women fall in love with him, and then he rides away in the
+approved style.' Michael looked at Jerry and scowled.</p>
+
+<p>'Have you had tea?' she was saying. 'I'm afraid we've finished, but
+there's some left, isn't there, Michael?'</p>
+
+<p>'I expect it's cold,' said Michael.</p>
+
+<p>Nicholson gave him a swift glance, and something like a smile glinted
+in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>'I never drink tea,' he said, 'not even under pressure. Tell me, when
+did you leave Hampstead? I had a horrible shock the other day. I called
+on you, and found a "Let or Sold" board up.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'm so sorry, but I couldn't write and let you know, could I? I left
+last Saturday. It was a bit grim, you know, that house.'</p>
+
+<p>Nicholson nodded with quick sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>'Then Bobby had the great idea of finding me rooms. Bobby Manvers.
+D'you know him?'</p>
+
+<p>There was a second's silence before Nicholson answered. So slight a
+pause as to be almost imperceptible, but Michael noticed it. 'Yes, I've
+met him. Is he a friend of yours?'</p>
+
+<p>'Rather! I've known him for ages. Well, you see, Bobby and Michael
+discovered that the top flat in this house was to let, so I took it,
+and I've been here a week now. It's a good spot, my flat. You must come
+and see it some time.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'd love to. This seems to be an exciting house, altogether.'</p>
+
+<p>'You mean Milly?' She chuckled. 'Milly's the mainspring of the house,
+and the sunshine of our lives, isn't she, Michael?'</p>
+
+<p>Michael at that moment was relighting his pipe, and did not answer.
+Nicholson glanced at him again, and this time his smile was
+unconcealed. A church clock tolled solemnly, and Jerry looked at her
+watch.</p>
+
+<p>'Heavens! it's half-past six, and I've got to get changed and go out to
+dinner by seven! Good-bye, Nick. Come and see me some time. So long,
+Michael, old thing. Thank you for my nice tea.'</p>
+
+<p>She ran off, and they heard her quick footsteps on the stairs. As the
+sound died away Nicholson pulled out his case and lit a cigarette. He
+took some time about it, but as he threw the match into the grate, he
+turned and faced Michael squarely.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, what is it?' he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Michael hesitated. This was a direct appeal, and Nicholson meant it.
+His eyes were steady and very friendly. He was puzzled, Michael knew,
+and anxious to hear what was wrong, and yet.... The moment went by, and
+Michael bent forward to knock the ashes out of his pipe.</p>
+
+<p>'Amazing coincidence, that you should turn out to be Jerry's motorist
+pal,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>Nicholson's eyes lost all expression suddenly, and his smile had a
+twist of contempt.</p>
+
+<p>'Amazing,' he agreed. 'Beastly business, that. Frightful shock for the
+child.'</p>
+
+<p>'Why didn't you turn up at the inquest?' asked Michael.</p>
+
+<p>'Wasn't in England. Why? Would it have made any difference to her if I
+had?'</p>
+
+<p>'I don't know,' said Michael. 'By the way, did you see anyone come out
+of that house when you were changing your wheel?'</p>
+
+<p>'Your wheel, to be exact. No. Why?'</p>
+
+<p>'Because old Mitchell hadn't been dead for more than half an hour when
+Jerry found him, and it's beginning to look as if that fall of his
+wasn't an accident.'</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Nicholson was silent, staring at his cigarette. Then he
+said slowly: 'Murder, was it? H'm!'</p>
+
+<p>Michael said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>'Who's in charge of the case?' asked Nicholson suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>'In charge? What d'you mean?'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, damn it, someone must be. Who's investigating it? Hasn't anyone
+from the Yard been here?' His tone was impatient.</p>
+
+<p>'Not as far as I know.'</p>
+
+<p>'Has no one asked Jerry anything about it? They must have.'</p>
+
+<p>For some reason Michael resented his casual use of the Christian name.</p>
+
+<p>'The information that suggests that it was murder has only just cropped
+up,' he said. 'We don't want Jerry to be worried by any infernal
+policemen, asking fatuous questions. Manvers knows her end of the
+story, of course, and he can tell Scotland Yard all they want to know.'</p>
+
+<p>'So Manvers is in charge, is he?' said Nicholson. 'Good Lord!'</p>
+
+<p>'He seems to have as much right to interfere as anyone else,' said
+Michael.</p>
+
+<p>Nicholson cocked one eyebrow and smiled.</p>
+
+<p>'Perhaps you're right,' he said. 'Well, well, this is an astonishing
+world. I think I'd better be going.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael did not attempt to detain him. Nicholson collected his hat and
+gloves, and tucked his stick under his arm, frowning abstractedly.</p>
+
+<p>As he turned to the door Michael spoke:</p>
+
+<p>'When I lost you that night, you were on the Colchester Road, heading
+southwest for London, and in a devil of a hurry to keep an appointment.
+I wonder why you went the longest way round, and came in by Hampstead?'</p>
+
+<p>Nicholson laughed outright.</p>
+
+<p>'My dear chap, Hampstead affects me like that,' he said confidentially.
+'It has a curious magnetic influence over me, 'specially when I'm
+tired. If I don't concentrate like blazes, I simply drive straight to
+Hampstead. All most peculiar, but, anyway, there it is. So long.'</p>
+
+<p>The door shut behind him. In spite of himself, Michael grinned. And
+then he remembered Jerry, and the smile vanished.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>NICK MAKES AN ALLY</h3>
+
+
+<p>Stephen Nicholson went down the steps of No. 60 Quebec Street slowly
+and thoughtfully. He was worried. In the hall he met Milly, who gave
+him a friendly, impertinent smile and nod.</p>
+
+<p>'Do you know if Miss Mitchell has gone out, Milly?'</p>
+
+<p>'Just two minutes ago, sir. Saw 'er into the taxi meself.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh. Know where she was going?'</p>
+
+<p>'No idea. Out ter dinner, she told me, an' dancin' afterwards. Said she
+wouldn't be in till late. She did a quick change all right. I 'elped
+'er. Ever ser nice she looked.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'm sure she did. Good-night, Milly.'</p>
+
+<p>'G'night, sir.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick crossed the road and entered the Park. He wanted to think and, as
+usual, he made for open country. In his ears rang Michael's curt voice:
+'It wasn't an accident.'</p>
+
+<p>So the Chief had found out. The Chief had traced that infernal
+document, and the result had been the death of 'Twinkling William.'
+Then Nick thought of Jerry, and cold terror gripped him. For the first
+time in his life he realised what it meant to be afraid for someone
+else, and he set his teeth. He checked his stride, with a sudden desire
+to go back to Quebec Street, but realised that it was useless. He
+couldn't sit outside the house until the small hours of the morning and
+then spring this wild story on her.</p>
+
+<p>Nick dropped onto a bench and lit a cigarette. There wasn't anything
+he could do, at the moment. It was hopeless to try to find out where
+she was. The only person who would be likely to know was Michael Doone,
+and it was highly improbable that he would tell. With a flicker of
+exasperated amusement, Nick wondered what had been the matter with
+Michael. Did he really think that he—Stephen Nicholson—had been
+Mitchell's murderer? Or was he merely jealous of his acquaintance
+with Jerry? Perhaps Michael was in love with her. Only too probable,
+in fact. It was bad luck on Michael, but couldn't be helped. Nick was
+conscious of a sudden certainty. Jerry was his, and he hadn't known how
+much she meant to him until he had realised her danger. Then another
+stab of thought drove him to his feet again. It was all damned fine
+to know that he loved her and that she was in danger, but what was he
+going to do about it? He'd got to make certain of her safety, and he
+had no shadow of right to interfere. Good God! she might be walking
+straight into a trap at this very moment.</p>
+
+<p>He threw away his cigarette and tried to consider the position sanely.
+The whole affair turned on the problem he had set himself to unravel
+long before he knew of Jerry's existence. He had got to discover the
+Chief, before either he or Jerry could consider themselves safe.
+To-morrow he would go and see Jerry and tell her the whole story. That
+at least would put her on her guard. It wouldn't be a very pleasant
+job telling her. Jerry would take it bravely, that was one comfort. A
+plucky child; he'd had ample proof of that.</p>
+
+<p>In the meantime, what could he do? It was no good sitting still and
+contemplating the fact that if it had not been for him, Jerry and her
+father would still have been living happily together. That way lay
+madness. All things considered, the best thing would be to go down to
+the docks and see if any of his old friends, the enemy, were still
+looking for him. At best, he might get some information. At worst,
+there might be a scrap, and that would comfort him a good deal. He
+turned on his heel and tramped off to his rooms to change.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>At ten o'clock next morning he stood outside No. 60 Quebec Street,
+waiting impatiently for an answer to his ring. It was an early hour
+to pay a call, but he dared not risk missing Jerry. For an hour he
+had tramped up and down the Park, keeping one eye on his watch, and
+wondering how soon he could see her, and what he was going to say when
+he did. And now—was the household dead? He rang again.</p>
+
+<p>There was a sound of shuffling footsteps, and the door was opened by
+a thin, wispy-looking woman with a sackcloth apron, who stared at him
+blankly.</p>
+
+<p>'Is Miss Mitchell in?' he asked.</p>
+
+<p>'Miss Mitchell?' she echoed dully.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes.'</p>
+
+<p>'Is that the top flat?'</p>
+
+<p>'Er ... yes.'</p>
+
+<p>'I ain't seen 'er go out,' she admitted cautiously, and stood back,
+holding the door open.</p>
+
+<p>Nicholson entered, rather doubtfully. 'I suppose she's ... er ... had
+her breakfast?' he asked.</p>
+
+<p>'I couldn't say, sir,' said the woman, 'I'm the char.'</p>
+
+<p>'All right. I'll go up and see,' said Nicholson.</p>
+
+<p>'That'd be best, I expec',' said the woman, with obvious relief.</p>
+
+<p>Nicholson made his way up the narrow, badly lit staircase. No one was
+about. Below, in the basement, he could hear a shrill voice raised
+in song; some popular sentimental ballad of unrequited love, of the
+type that every Londoner must always associate with a Cockney twang.
+But abovestairs everything was as quiet as the grave. At the door of
+Jerry's sitting-room he knocked. There was no answer. He hesitated a
+moment and then opened the door and looked in. The room was empty. The
+open windows let in a flood of sunshine, and a bowl of roses on the
+table glowed in the golden light. The whole room cried aloud of Jerry,
+so that he could almost see her before him, slim and erect, dancing
+eyes and friendly smile.</p>
+
+<p>From the street below a voice cried: 'Cu' fla!' in a musical jodel. He
+walked to the window and looked down, to see a hawker with a barrow
+full of bunches of cut flowers, bright splashes of colour in the grey
+street. Slowly Nicholson turned back to the room. Where was Jerry?
+Still in bed, perhaps. Lazy little brute!</p>
+
+<p>On the desk by the window stood a photograph, a snapshot of a man and
+a girl. Jerry herself. He picked it up. A good snap: very like her.
+Just the impertinent cock of the head, and those level, laughing eyes.
+And the man? Nicholson bit his lip. His friend in need, to whom he had
+brought this ghastly finish. Such a decent fellow, too. And ... Jerry's
+father. He dropped into a chair, and rubbed his forehead wearily.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a voice behind him spoke:</p>
+
+<p>''Ullo. Wot's <i>yore</i> trouble?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick started and looked round. In the doorway stood Milly, leaning
+negligently against the jamb, and surveying him with serenely
+impertinent blue eyes.</p>
+
+<p>'I—er—called to see Miss Mitchell,' said Nick, feeling slightly
+disconcerted.</p>
+
+<p>'Yer luck's out. She's gone,' said Milly.</p>
+
+<p>'What?' He started to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>Milly waved a restraining hand.</p>
+
+<p>'Keep yer seat, sir. Don't let's 'ave no panic. She's comin' back.'</p>
+
+<p>'Where's she gone, and how?'</p>
+
+<p>'She's gone for a motor drive with Mr. Doone.'</p>
+
+<p>'Where?'</p>
+
+<p>Milly raised her eyebrows, and flicked at the sideboard with her
+duster. 'Can't say as I arst 'er,' she said distantly.</p>
+
+<p>Nick bit his lip, and tried to check the flood of imaginary horrors
+that swept through his brain.</p>
+
+<p>'Excuse me, sir,' Milly's tone was extravagantly polite, 'but are you
+wot y' might call engaged to Miss Mitchell?'</p>
+
+<p>'Not yet,' said Nick.</p>
+
+<p>Milly smiled, disarmed.</p>
+
+<p>'She's ever ser nice,' she said.</p>
+
+<p>'She is.'</p>
+
+<p>'You don't need ter worry about 'er an' Mr. Doone,' volunteered Milly
+encouragingly. 'She ain't keen on 'im, not wot you'd call <i>keen</i>, y'
+know. Likes 'im like a brother, she does. I c'n tell be the way she
+talks to 'im.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'm not worried about that,' said Nick, 'but I want to see her, badly.
+Where have they gone?'</p>
+
+<p>'You ain't goin' after 'em, are yer? I wouldn't, if I was you,' advised
+Milly. 'I tell yer straight, Miss Mitchell ain't the one ter be got by
+that there cave-man stuff. She ain't that sort. If she likes yer, she
+does, but she won't stand fer no interference. Take it from me.'</p>
+
+<p>'Look here, Milly,' said Nick desperately, 'this is serious. I've got
+to know where she is.'</p>
+
+<p>Milly laughed indulgently.</p>
+
+<p>'You ain't arf got it bad,' she commented. 'Won't it keep till this
+evenin'? She'll be back ter dinner, I expect.'</p>
+
+<p>'No, it won't,' said Nick. 'Milly, can you hold your tongue?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yuss. No one believes it, but it's true.'</p>
+
+<p>'Then listen to me, and keep this to yourself. Miss Mitchell's in very
+considerable danger. I can't tell you the whole story, but she's got
+something which one or two people want very badly, and they mean to
+get it. They tried to get it from her father, but they didn't succeed.
+She doesn't know anything about it, and neither does Mr. Doone. I only
+found out myself last night.'</p>
+
+<p>He paused. Milly's cheerful face had become oddly grave, and her eyes
+never left Nick's.</p>
+
+<p>'Didn't you ought ter put 'er wise?'</p>
+
+<p>'That's what I came here for, this morning.'</p>
+
+<p>'I 'eard someone say as 'er father 'ad been murdered. Is that true?'</p>
+
+<p>'It is. Now will you tell me where she's gone?'</p>
+
+<p>'Down t' the country, Ipswich way, she told me at breakfast. Mr.
+Doone's drivin' 'er down to 'ave lunch with a Sir Somebody Suthink.'</p>
+
+<p>'O Lord! Can't you remember any more than that?'</p>
+
+<p>'Lemme think. She did say the name of the 'ouse. She said it ter Mr.
+Doone when they was gettin' inter the car. I saw 'em orf. She ses: "'Ow
+long will it take ter git ter ..." now, wot was it? Funny name. Put me
+in mind o' food, some'ow.'</p>
+
+<p>Milly stirred up her hair reflectively. Nick waited, with as much
+patience as he could muster. Suddenly her face cleared.</p>
+
+<p>''Igh Ash! That was it!' she announced triumphantly.</p>
+
+<p>''Igh...? Oh, yes, High Ash. Sir Toby Ward's house.'</p>
+
+<p>'That's 'im! That's where they've gone. Mr. Doone's takin' 'er there t'
+lunch, an' they're pickin' up Mr. Manvers an' takin' 'im too, so you
+'aven't got no call to worry.' She chuckled.</p>
+
+<p>Nick whistled. 'Are they, begad! Well, it's a strange world. What time
+did they start, Milly?'</p>
+
+<p>'About nine.'</p>
+
+<p>'That was early.'</p>
+
+<p>'That's wot I said, but Mr. Doone said suthink about startin' early
+so's they could get the pow-wow over before lunch.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick looked up sharply. 'What did Miss Mitchell say?'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, she says: "All right, but if I don't like 'im I ain't goin' ter
+tell 'im anythink, an' you an' Bobby can go t' blazes." She knows 'er
+own mind, Miss Mitchell does.'</p>
+
+<p>In spite of his worry, Nick grinned.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, thanks most awfully, Milly. You've been a great help. Now
+listen. Don't say anything about Miss Mitchell to anyone. It's more
+than likely that people will come here and ask you questions about her.
+Put them off. Make them think that you don't know anything about her.
+Don't tell them anything, even if they say they're friends of hers.'</p>
+
+<p>'Not even if they say they're sweet on 'er?'</p>
+
+<p>''Specially not then.'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, it's a good job fer you that no one's bin round ter tell me that
+afore you come, ain't it?' said Milly.</p>
+
+<p>Nick looked at her. 'This is serious, you know, Milly.'</p>
+
+<p>'I know, Mr. Nicholson. I believe yer ... Lord knows why.' She thought
+for a moment, frowning, and then added: 'I reckon it's because I seen
+yer lookin' at that there photygraft.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>'I likes Miss Mitchell,' said Milly, raising her eyes to his.</p>
+
+<p>'So do I,' said Nick.</p>
+
+<p>Milly smiled suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, she might do worse than 'ave you,' she conceded.</p>
+
+<p>Nick laughed. 'Thank you, Milly. Now I must go. Good-bye.'</p>
+
+<p>'Good-bye, Mr. Nicholson. Can y' find yer own way out? I gotta sweep
+this room.'</p>
+
+<p>'Rather.' Nick picked up his hat and stick and departed.</p>
+
+<p>As he reached the turn of the stairs, Milly hailed him, and he looked
+up to see her hanging over the banisters, the old impertinent twinkle
+in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>'Arsk us t' the weddin', won't yer?'</p>
+
+<p>'Bet your life!' laughed Nick, and ran downstairs.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed an age before he got back to his garage, and another before
+his car was ready to start, but at last he got under way, and struggled
+through the traffic to the Great North Road. Long experience had taught
+him that the shortest route from London to the eastern counties took
+longest, and he made for the north and the clear roads. A clock stood
+at eleven-thirty as he drove through Golders Green. Over a hundred and
+twenty miles to go. He could do it in three hours, with luck and a
+certain amount of law-breaking. Nick settled down to drive.</p>
+
+<p>After Hatfield the road was clear of traffic, and he let his car
+out. She was running well, and the drone of the engine made a level
+background for his thoughts. Jerry, principally. Half a hundred
+pictures of her. Jerry as he had seen her on that opal-coloured
+morning, standing beside him in the grey Hampstead street. Her pluck,
+her childlike trustfulness, her everlasting honesty. He felt as if he
+knew her better than he had ever known anyone. Life with Jerry wouldn't
+be all smooth sailing. Hers was a temper that would flare quickly, and
+if he made blunders where she was concerned she would let him know it.
+Independent, self-willed, even truculent at times. He smiled at the
+memory of her. A self-sufficient little person. Nothing clinging about
+Jerry. If she married him, he would know it was because she really
+cared for him, not because she couldn't get along without someone to
+hold her hand.</p>
+
+<p>Through Stevenage, and on to Baldock, the car running at a steady
+sixty. Then he slowed, to pass a company of infantry on the march.
+Territorials, he supposed. How young they looked! Boys, all of them,
+slim, pink-cheeked, round-eyed. Very different from his tanned,
+hard-bitten Tynesiders of the War. It seemed a long time ago.</p>
+
+<p>He thought of his brother officers. Good fellows, all of them. Those
+few that had come back had drifted away from his ken. Married, most
+of them, and now torn between their wives and their regiments. Most
+women seemed to get in the way of a man's work. Not Jerry, though. She
+would always understand that a man's job was the biggest thing about
+him. Take away that, and he didn't amount to much. With a jolt Nick
+came back to his own future. What was he going to do about it? Not
+that Jerry would interfere, even there. He chuckled at the thought. If
+she decided to marry a burglar, she would aid and abet his schemes
+whole-heartedly. But that, of course, was out of the question. Not that
+he regretted his career of crime. He had been an eminently successful
+burglar, and he considered that every robbery he had committed had been
+justified. Not a man had he robbed but was a thief himself, albeit he
+had remained within the law. These years had been satisfactory and, on
+the whole, very amusing, but now his criminal career was over. What was
+he going to do now? It was queer, this worry about the future. It was
+a new state of mind, for him. He had never looked farther ahead than
+his next leave, or his next robbery, before. Jerry was responsible for
+this, because his future would be hers, too. At least, it wouldn't be
+his fault if it wasn't.</p>
+
+<p>The tall clock in Newmarket told him the time as he crawled through
+the town, under the basilisk eye of the policeman by the crossroads.
+Ten past one. They would be lunching now, Jerry and Michael and Sir
+Toby. And Bobby Manvers. Unconsciously Nick pushed the car on faster.
+He had got to get hold of Jerry somehow; to get her away before it was
+too late. Once he had got her, he could put her in safe hands. The
+Stricklands would help him there. The difficulty was going to be at the
+outset. It was only too likely that Jerry would laugh at any attempted
+interference with her plans. Nick let the car out on the rolling Bury
+Road, and there was a dancing light of battle in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Soon after Bury he took to the country lanes. The going was necessarily
+slower now, for Suffolk by-roads remain much as they were in the Middle
+Ages. It was close on half-past two when he arrived at the village of
+St. Anthony's Ash, and knew that his objective was all but reached.
+Just outside the village he stopped and practically emptied his petrol
+tank, and then drove on to High Ash and, leaving the car at the gate,
+walked up to the house, with a pleasant feeling of impending strife in
+his heart.</p>
+
+<p>The old Tudor manor house, with its great oak beams and coppery tiled
+roof, seemed to greet him with the smiling serenity of its five hundred
+years. On his inquiry for Sir Toby, a manservant led him into the
+garden, where he saw the four of them sitting under a copper beech. Sir
+Toby had his foot tied up with bandages and propped on a stool. The
+dappled sunlight fell cross his sparse silvery hair as he listened,
+smiling, to the younger generation. Michael was lying on the grass,
+arms and legs flung out carelessly, like a puppy, the sun full on his
+face, and one lank, black lock of hair falling across his eyes. Bobby's
+chubby face was pink and worried, and Jerry was looking wickedly amused.</p>
+
+<p>Nick bit back a smile. Bless her! Loving Jerry would probably be a
+duel to the death. Well, it was a bond between them. She could no
+more endure a human doormat than he could. Then the servant, moving
+soft-footed over the grass, coughed gently, and Sir Toby looked up.</p>
+
+<p>'Stephen Nicholson, as I live! My dear boy, what a pleasant surprise!
+I'm delighted to see you. What fortunate wind blows you this way?'</p>
+
+<p>'To be honest, sir, I've run out of petrol. I'm on my way to London,
+and I felt rather hopeless till I remembered you, and then I decided to
+cast myself on your mercy.'</p>
+
+<p>'But of course! I've plenty of petrol you can have. Where is your car?
+Did you have to leave her?'</p>
+
+<p>'Luckily, no. She ran out just at your gate. Then I discovered that I
+was carrying an empty tin.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'm more than glad that you remembered me. This is an excellent moment
+to arrive. Miss Mitchell, may I introduce Stephen Nicholson?'</p>
+
+<p>'We've met before,' said Jerry, with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>'I should have guessed it. Nicholson knows everyone worth knowing. By
+the way, have you had lunch?'</p>
+
+<p>'I have, thanks very much,' said Nick, unblushing.</p>
+
+<p>'Then may I suggest a drink? What will you have—whiskey? Beer?...
+Beer; good. Ruff, bring some beer.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael, lying on the grass, crooked his forearm over his eyes. He
+remembered that night at Barton, and that scribbled note stuck in
+the wheel of a two-seater—'Mine's beer, too'—and he felt vaguely
+uncomfortable. Luckily, no one expected him to talk. Bobby was doing
+most of it, with Sir Toby putting in a word now and then. Bobby was
+telling how he had broken down in Suffolk once and had to walk ten
+miles before he found help.</p>
+
+<p>'It was freezing like the devil that day,' he was saying, 'and not
+a soul could tell me the way to anywhere I wanted. I struggled with
+the car till my fingers were frost-bitten, and one small boy stood
+and watched me. Whenever I spoke to him he stared blankly and said:
+"Fares rough, that do. Wholly cold that be. Reckon our mutt's frorne."
+It sounded like a foreign language, and I never construed the last
+sentence at all.'</p>
+
+<p>'Don't betray your ignorance,' chuckled Sir Toby. 'It's simply mediæval
+English. Read the Paston Letters.'</p>
+
+<p>'I suppose by "mutt" he meant me,' grinned Bobby.</p>
+
+<p>'The term would have been justified, but, as a matter of fact, he meant
+"moat." Half these farmhouses have moats round them. And "frorne" is
+old English for "frozen." You'll find it in the "Canterbury Tales."
+Chaucer was an East Anglian.'</p>
+
+<p>'I dare say, sir. East Anglia was a go-ahead place in Chaucer's
+time, but I maintain that it hasn't moved since then, and one notices
+a few deficiencies nowadays. You must admit that Suffolk's the back
+of beyond. Look at your village. No water supply; only a communal
+pump, round which the young men and maidens gather and giggle in the
+twilight. No gas or electric light. And as for drainage...!' Bobby
+shuddered, and Sir Toby laughed.</p>
+
+<p>'They survive, though, these villagers. In fact, I think they're the
+healthiest lot I know.'</p>
+
+<p>'I like them,' struck in Jerry. 'I liked the look of the people in the
+villages as we came down. They're so broad and fair, and look at you so
+straightly.'</p>
+
+<p>'They're Saxon and Danish, and have all the traits of their race:
+silent, and stubborn, and land-loving. Loyal to the death, if they like
+you; blank as a clod of Suffolk clay if they don't. And they really
+love England. They're the true patriot. They love the soil itself, and
+it's they and their like that make it a country worth having.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry's eyes lit with sympathy. Bobby scoffed. But Nick watched Sir
+Toby with a growing respect. The man knew what he was talking about.
+Nick had spent a good deal of time in learning to understand people.
+His life had depended on it, both in the war and since. He had known
+his company, every man of them, and in later years had come to know the
+dockyard population of his Quay Street lodgings, as he had known the
+criminals of his own calling. But this old man with the game foot knew
+the English countryman, a far harder proposition. Nick admired him,
+and liked him for his interest in them. Then he glanced at Jerry. His
+absorbed interest in Sir Toby had removed her from his mind for the
+moment, but as he looked at her, he realised that she had been absorbed
+too, he guessed, in much the same way.</p>
+
+<p>The talk wandered on pleasantly. The garden was sunny and serene. Tea
+was brought out to them, and Jerry dealt with it, quietly competent,
+not interrupting the conversation. She didn't say much, but seemed
+content to listen, interested in the talk more than the speakers. Sir
+Toby even roused Michael to the point of joining in. He seemed to
+have the gift for making men interesting and interested. Nick enjoyed
+himself, and it was with a sigh that he looked at his watch.</p>
+
+<p>'What is the time?' asked Jerry.</p>
+
+<p>'Five o'clock.'</p>
+
+<p>'We must be going, Michael,' said Jerry. 'I've got to get up early
+to-morrow.'</p>
+
+<p>'Lots of time,' mumbled Michael, half asleep in the sunshine.</p>
+
+<p>'It seems a shame to rouse him,' laughed Bobby.</p>
+
+<p>'It does,' said Nick. 'Look here, do let me drive you up to London? I
+simply hate motoring by myself, and you're three in your car. Please.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael sat up and, behind Nick's back, frowned at Jerry, shaking his
+head. Jerry gave him a wide-eyed stare, and then smiled graciously at
+Nick.</p>
+
+<p>'Will you really take me? I'd love to,' she said.</p>
+
+<p>'Splendid!' said Nick. 'That's most awfully nice of you. Good-bye, Sir
+Toby. Many thanks for rescuing me. This has been the best break-down in
+my experience.'</p>
+
+<p>Sir Toby had a twinkle in his eye as he shook hands.</p>
+
+<p>'Good-bye, Nicholson. Look me up again some time. I shall always be
+charmed to see you, though I can't guarantee such good company as we've
+had to-day.'</p>
+
+<p>Smiling and unruffled, Jerry made her farewells. Michael's face had
+become completely expressionless, and Nick thought with amusement that
+Bobby Manvers would have a depressing drive home.</p>
+
+<p>They made their way to the gate, where they found Sir Toby's chauffeur
+filling the petrol tank of Nick's two-seater. Nick thanked him
+adequately, started the car up, and climbed in. Then, as they slipped
+out onto the road, he heaved a sigh of relief. The first fence was
+taken.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>NICK EXPLAINS HIMSELF</h3>
+
+
+<p>For a while they drove in silence. Jerry seemed supremely content,
+dreamily watching the green fields slide by. Nick was far from happy.
+This thing he had got to say was becoming more terrifying every minute.
+He'd chased her halfway across England to tell her the truth, and now
+he'd got her he didn't know how to begin. Surreptitiously he glanced at
+her. She looked so young, so unused to fear and tragedy.</p>
+
+<p>Then suddenly Jerry spoke, and he was conscious of a guilty sense of
+relief at this temporary reprieve.</p>
+
+<p>'<i>Very</i> nice bus, Nick.'</p>
+
+<p>'Not too bad, is she?'</p>
+
+<p>'By the way,' she looked at him inquiringly, 'how many cars have you
+got?'</p>
+
+<p>'Only one. What d'you take me for—Rockefeller?'</p>
+
+<p>'No; but last time I saw you in a car, it was a Bentley.'</p>
+
+<p>'She wasn't mine. I'd borrowed her.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh!' There was a pause. 'From Michael?'</p>
+
+<p>'Got it in one.'</p>
+
+<p>A worried little frown wrinkled her brow, and she looked straight
+ahead. Nick smiled at her.</p>
+
+<p>'What is it?' he asked.</p>
+
+<p>'I was only wondering ...' the sentence trailed off.</p>
+
+<p>'About Michael?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes.'</p>
+
+<p>'He doesn't love me awfully,' said Nick, at a venture.</p>
+
+<p>She glanced at him swiftly, and looked away, as if he had guessed her
+thoughts too closely.</p>
+
+<p>'It's because I've butted in and kidnapped you, and left him to drive
+home with Manvers. Who shall blame him?'</p>
+
+<p>'Nonsense!' said Jerry. 'It's something much deeper than that, but I
+don't know what it is. I wish I did. Do you?'</p>
+
+<p>'I can guess.'</p>
+
+<p>'Then tell me. It's all very odd. I should have said you were just the
+sort of man he <i>would</i> like.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick laughed aloud at her serious face.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, he doesn't disapprove of me from his own point of view, but I
+shrewdly suspect him of thinking I'm not the sort of man for you to
+like.'</p>
+
+<p>'Why not?'</p>
+
+<p>'Largely because of my profession.'</p>
+
+<p>'What <i>is</i> your profession?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick glanced round with exaggerated caution, and then said in an
+impressive undertone: 'I'm a burglar!'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry bubbled with laughter.</p>
+
+<p>'Nick, you idiot! Do be serious.'</p>
+
+<p>'My dear, I was never more serious in my life. One of the penalties I
+have to pay for being a successful liar is that when I tell the cold
+truth no one believes me. Of course I'm a burglar, but don't tell Sir
+Toby. He might have me up.'</p>
+
+<p>'Not he! He'd love it. Isn't he a dear?'</p>
+
+<p>'He's a great soul. Have you known him long?'</p>
+
+<p>'Met him for the first time to-day.'</p>
+
+<p>'Heavens! What was Bobby about not to have introduced you years ago?'</p>
+
+<p>'I can't imagine. And, incidentally, it wasn't Bobby that brought me
+here to-day. It was Michael's brain-wave.'</p>
+
+<p>'Good for Michael! How did he meet ... oh, but Sir Toby's his family
+lawyer, isn't he? He's known Michael since he was in crawlers and all
+that.'</p>
+
+<p>'Metaphorically, if not actually. Michael was never in England until a
+month or two ago.'</p>
+
+<p>'Wasn't he? I didn't know that. I like Michael. Tell me about him.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick had his own reasons for wanting to know about Michael, and he
+watched the girl's face keenly, but Jerry, serenely unconscious, talked
+on.</p>
+
+<p>'I don't know much about him myself. Michael isn't given to
+confidences. Beyond the fact that he's spent his life between Australia
+and one of the Western Pacific islands, I know nothing of his personal
+history.'</p>
+
+<p>'But I want to know a lot more,' said Nick. 'Why did he inhabit a
+Pacific island? I can't see him with flowers in his hair, dancing
+<i>hula-hulas</i> on the beach.'</p>
+
+<p>'Neither can I,' agreed Jerry, with a chuckle. 'Must he necessarily
+have done that, if he lived there?'</p>
+
+<p>'The best people do, I believe, but I admit I don't know very much
+about it. Why did he live there? Do go on, Jerry. Don't interrupt the
+story with these irrelevancies.'</p>
+
+<p>'Grr! You...!'</p>
+
+<p>'Our friendship progresses,' said Nick. 'Very soon you'll attack me
+with a spanner.'</p>
+
+<p>'Not while you're driving at sixty. Self-preservation is my long suit.
+To continue, in spite of your quite fatuous interruptions, Michael's
+father practically owned this island. He was an Irishman, and a poet,
+and was frightfully keen on sailing. He married an Australian girl, and
+they had some marvellous voyages. They both hated civilization, and
+never bothered about the rest of the world. It accounts for lots of
+Michael's peculiarities, I think. He's rather a darling, though, and a
+born brother. When and where did you first meet him, Nick?'</p>
+
+<p>'Three weeks ago, and about thirty miles from here, at a
+very society-society dance, given by a dear good lady called
+Hamilton-Browne.'</p>
+
+<p>'Heavens! It doesn't sound in Michael's line.'</p>
+
+<p>'I don't think it was, but I didn't get much chance to talk to him,
+because he was a guest, whereas I was a waiter.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry clapped her hands to her ears in despair.</p>
+
+<p>'Nick, this is exactly like a conversation out of "Alice in
+Wonderland." I'm sorry, but you must explain. I can't bear it any
+longer.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick bit his lip, and prepared to take the plunge, but once more Jerry
+forestalled him.</p>
+
+<p>'First of all, suppose you explain this burglary business,' she
+suggested.</p>
+
+<p>'All right, I'll try. That takes us a long way back. Back to the year
+of Grace 1920, when I first took to crime.'</p>
+
+<p>'Why did you?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick considered.</p>
+
+<p>'It's rather hard to explain truthfully, because there were so many
+reasons all working together. In the first place, I had come out of
+the army with no people, no settled career, and no money beyond my war
+bonus. I was rather better off than most fellows, because I didn't
+spend very much leave at home. I used to wander round, you know, poking
+my nose into other people's business. Spent five days in Brussels once.
+That was rather exciting.'</p>
+
+<p>'Secret Service, Nick?'</p>
+
+<p>'Sort of. Unofficially. Of course, I was only a "pore blooming
+infantryman" really, but I knew some fellows in the intelligence,
+and they were kind to me.' He laughed. 'I've never grown out of
+pretending, you know. I love dressing-up and being someone else just as
+much now as I did when I was six.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry chuckled. 'Go on, Nick.'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, as I was saying, I had more money than most of 'em when I was
+demobbed, and I meant to have a holiday, and I jolly well had it. Then
+the others—fellows like me, who'd gone straight from school into the
+war—began to look for jobs. They didn't find 'em, of course. They
+were untrained; they'd had four years or so in a position of some
+responsibility, and employers didn't feel like puttin' 'em to lick
+stamps. It was far better to get eighteen-year-old boys just starting,
+with a proper appreciation of the importance of office life. So my pals
+found themselves in the soup, most of 'em. Some were lucky and got
+jobs, and tried to like it. Some drifted from doss-house to doss-house,
+slipping farther down the hill with every move. Some saw that coming,
+and turned the gas on in the oven—with their heads inside.</p>
+
+<p>'Then I began to get angry. Not for myself exactly—I always had a
+curious conceit about my ability to survive—but because of all the rot
+that had been talked in those four years. Here they were, our heroes,
+our saviours of the world, our gallant defenders, and nobody gave a
+hoot what happened to them. I was very young then; I couldn't see any
+explanation in it. Worst of all—and this still makes me unreasonably
+angry—the men themselves were in an awful way. My batman had been a
+dockyard matey, and I met him, by accident, one day. He was dying,
+of sheer starvation. He wasn't the only one, either. They were the
+salt of the earth, those fellows, and they were starving, while the
+fat profiteers bought more Rolls-Royces. As I say, I was young and
+foolish, and it made me angry. I swore I wasn't going to be driven
+out of England, and at the same time I wasn't going to work like a
+galley-slave in an office to add to the blighters' peace-time profits.
+I'd done my whack of slaving, I thought. Still less did I mean to
+starve. I'd kept their dinners safe for them for four years, and now
+they could provide me with mine. And they've done it, royally, ever
+since. The work entailed in collecting the cash was pure fun, and added
+just that spice of excitement that makes bread-winning worth while. I
+made quite a lot of money, enough to live on for the rest of my life,
+if I wanted to stop work, but I don't think I should have given it up
+if I hadn't found an even more amusing game. I may say that I haven't
+burgled for over two years now.'</p>
+
+<p>'But weren't you burgling that night at Barton, when you were
+pretending to be a waiter?'</p>
+
+<p>'Not that time, though Michael thought I was. I went down there to try
+and get some information.'</p>
+
+<p>'Did you get what you wanted?'</p>
+
+<p>'No; but I overheard a telephone conversation that concerned me
+rather closely. Then I realised that if I was going to make use of
+the information my eavesdropping had given me, I would have to be in
+London before 5 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span>, and as it was past midnight by then, I
+thought I'd better be going. Unfortunately, the sudden departure of
+a hired waiter in a fast car looks a bit suspicious. Michael saw me
+go, and followed in his Bentley. I think he was bored and wanted a
+bit of sport. Anyway, he jolly nearly caught me—damned good driver,
+Michael!—but luckily I managed to swop cars with him.'</p>
+
+<p>'How on earth ...' began Jerry, and then another thought struck her,
+wiping the first question out of her mind.</p>
+
+<p>'<i>Nick!</i> That's why you had been driving all night!'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes.'</p>
+
+<p>'And because of me you had all that for nothing. Oh, Nick, I'm so
+sorry. I remember you looked at your watch, and seemed in a hurry. And
+then quite suddenly you weren't in a hurry any longer. Nick, was it
+frightfully important? I couldn't know, could I?'</p>
+
+<p>'Sweet child, of course you couldn't. And you don't think I regret it,
+do you?'</p>
+
+<p>'Nick, you—you saved my sanity that morning. I simply don't know what
+I should have done without you. And they tried to make me think you
+were the murderer!' Her eyes flashed. 'I never believed it. If they
+only knew....'</p>
+
+<p>'O God!' Nick's voice was sharp with pain. 'Jerry, darling, for
+Heaven's sake hear me out. In a way, I am. I've been chasing all over
+England to find you to-day, to tell you about it, but I don't know how
+I'm going to do it, now I've got you.'</p>
+
+<p>'I don't understand,' said Jerry, bewildered.</p>
+
+<p>'Tell me this. Do you know why your father was murdered?'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry hesitated for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes,' she said at last.</p>
+
+<p>'That makes it easier to explain. I am the man who gave him that letter
+at the club. Will you believe me when I say that I never dreamt I'd be
+putting him in danger?'</p>
+
+<p>'But....' Jerry stared blankly.</p>
+
+<p>'I told you just now that I gave up burglary for a better game,' said
+Nick.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes. But what has that to do with it?'</p>
+
+<p>He told her, quietly and without much detail. He told her of the
+railway smash and the impersonation of Davies. A sparkle of excitement
+lit her eyes when he described his escape from the meeting of the
+Fraternity; but when he told of how he had seen her father, and decided
+to trust him, Nick kept his gaze on the road ahead. It didn't seem
+quite fair to watch her face just then.</p>
+
+<p>'It was my fault,' he concluded, 'and I shall never forgive myself. I
+underrated the Chief. But I never dreamt that he would be able to trace
+your father, and ... Jerry, for God's sake, say you believe me!'</p>
+
+<p>She spoke quietly, but with a curious certainty:</p>
+
+<p>'Of course I do.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick was silent. He could not trust himself to speak. Jerry glanced at
+him, puzzled by his expression. He realised her perplexity, and made a
+colossal effort.</p>
+
+<p>'The bus <i>is</i> running well this evening.'</p>
+
+<p>'Pretty poor,' he reflected, with a sardonic smile at his own expense.
+But Jerry jumped at it.</p>
+
+<p>'She's a lamb, Nick. Will you teach me how to drive, some day?'</p>
+
+<p>'Rather! Would you like to steer? Here's a good straight bit of road.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, <i>may</i> I?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick relinquished the wheel, and flung his left arm along the back
+of the seat, watching her glowing, childlike face. It was dangerous,
+but he could not resist it. She was so near now, leaning against his
+shoulder. So near and so lovable, and so utterly unconscious. She did
+not speak, being entirely absorbed in steering. Nick was silent too,
+but for other reasons.</p>
+
+<p>At last....</p>
+
+<p>'Nick, here's a car coming. You'd better take her.'</p>
+
+<p>He dropped one hand onto the wheel, and Jerry let it go.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, Nick, it's heavenly! Do teach me to drive, and then I'll come and
+fetch you next time you burgle a house, and help you get away quickly.
+I'd love to be a burglar too. Can't you teach me the trade, and take me
+into partnership?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick bit his lip.</p>
+
+<p>'The idea doesn't appeal to him,' said Jerry to the speedometer.</p>
+
+<p>'Doesn't.... Good Lord! Jerry, will you marry me?'</p>
+
+<p>She slid away from him, staring wide-eyed.</p>
+
+<p>'My <i>dear</i> Nick!'</p>
+
+<p>Her startled face made him take refuge for them both in nonsense.</p>
+
+<p>'Why not? I'd be an exemplary husband. I'd give up burglary and only
+rob on the Stock Exchange. I'd catch the nine-fifteen every morning,
+and be home punctually at half-past six. I'd never swear, and——Gosh!
+we nearly hit that hen!'</p>
+
+<p>'You ought to have seen it coming. The first thing to cultivate when
+driving a car is psychic insight into the ways of hens and push-bikes.'</p>
+
+<p>'Very true. As a general rule I have it to a marked degree, but to-day
+I'm not in the best of form. I'm thinking of something else.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry looked straight ahead. Nick had a twinkle in his eye as he
+watched her. He had recovered his balance. As for Jerry, she'd got to
+get used to the idea, so one had better chaff about it.</p>
+
+<p>'It's extraordinary how falling in love puts one's eye out.'</p>
+
+<p>'It must be a distressing state. I hope I shall remain immune.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, but that's worse. It's like not seeing a play that everyone else
+has seen. They're all discussing it, and you can't.'</p>
+
+<p>He could see her trying not to smile.</p>
+
+<p>'You're talking nonsense, Nick. There's no need for the subject to
+arise at all.'</p>
+
+<p>'Isn't there? Do you think I'm the sort of chap who suffers in silence?'</p>
+
+<p>The smile broke into a chuckle.</p>
+
+<p>'Nick, you're unique. Let's talk about your crimes. Whom do you burgle?'</p>
+
+<p>'Profiteers, mostly.'</p>
+
+<p>'Robin Hood up to date.'</p>
+
+<p>'Exactly, except that Robin Hood was a bit luckier. Maid Marian——'</p>
+
+<p>'Tell me, are you wanted—is that the word?—by Scotland Yard?'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, rather! Terribly badly. But, as a matter of fact, I've given up
+burglary. My career of crime is a thing of the past from now on.'</p>
+
+<p>'Won't life seem awfully tame without it?'</p>
+
+<p>'I don't think so. You see, I took to burglary because I wanted variety
+and excitement. When I marry you I shall have all I can deal with,
+without going out to look for it.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry blinked.</p>
+
+<p>'Did you say "When"?' she asked.</p>
+
+<p>Nick grinned.</p>
+
+<p>'That's one to you,' he admitted.</p>
+
+<p>Jerry gave him a smile.</p>
+
+<p>'Thank you,' she said. 'And now, do you mind awfully if we change the
+subject?'</p>
+
+<p>'Must we?'</p>
+
+<p>'Please. Think of something else.'</p>
+
+<p>'No—hang it, that's more than you can expect of me.'</p>
+
+<p>'It was said deliberately,' explained Jerry. 'If I think of a topic,
+you will consider that you have every right to side-track me. If <i>you</i>
+do, you can't!'</p>
+
+<p>Nick laughed outright.</p>
+
+<p>'<i>Can't</i> I?'</p>
+
+<p>'Please, Nick!'</p>
+
+<p>A Ford van close ahead of them suddenly swung to the right, without
+warning, and made for a side road. Nick jammed on his brakes to avoid
+a crash. There was a violent doubleway skid, the two-seater rocked for
+one agonising moment on two wheels, and then righted herself and sped
+on.</p>
+
+<p>'Near thing, that,' said Jerry calmly.</p>
+
+<p>Nick looked at her appreciatively.</p>
+
+<p>'There's no doubt about it, you're a courageous child,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>'William used to tell me it wasn't courage, but pure love of danger,'
+said Jerry. 'As a matter of fact, he was just as bad himself. He
+adored thrills.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>'Did he ... did he tell you about me?'</p>
+
+<p>'No. You asked him not to, didn't you?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes. I didn't know you existed; otherwise I shouldn't have put it like
+that. But how do you know?'</p>
+
+<p>'Because I found his diary. Nick, would you mind stopping for a minute?'</p>
+
+<p>Obediently he pulled in to the side of the road.</p>
+
+<p>'I want you to read this,' said Jerry, pulling some papers out of her
+pocket. 'I found it yesterday.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick took the crumpled pages in silence. Jerry watched his grave face
+as he read. Finally he gave them back to her, and their eyes met.</p>
+
+<p>'I wish to God I'd known him,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>'So do I! You would have liked each other. Now, listen to me, Nick. I
+am William's understudy. What are we going to do about it? By the way,
+do you know Mr. Robertson?'</p>
+
+<p>'Not personally. He is the Chief.'</p>
+
+<p>'Do you know anything about him besides that?'</p>
+
+<p>'No. That's what I've been trying to find out for the last six months.
+Are you going to help me, Jerry?'</p>
+
+<p>'Of course I am.'</p>
+
+<p>'I warn you it may mean doing things you don't see a reason for at the
+moment.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'll obey orders. You're in charge of this show.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick turned to her impulsively, and then pulled himself together and
+started the car.</p>
+
+<p>'It's safer driving,' he said grimly.</p>
+
+<p>'I expect it is,' agreed Jerry. 'Michael and Bobby might catch us up if
+we stopped much longer.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick grinned rather wildly, and stood on the gas.</p>
+
+<p>'In the first place,' he went on, 'how many people have you shown that
+diary to?'</p>
+
+<p>'Michael, Bobby, and Sir Toby.'</p>
+
+<p>'Sir Toby? What made you tell him?'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, Michael was with me when I found it, and later, when Bobby came
+in, I showed it to him. He's been trying to find out clues and all
+that sort of thing, you know.' Nick nodded. 'Bobby was frightfully
+interested, of course, but he got a bit too domineering, and wanted
+to take the whole thing out of my hands. That made me furious. I know
+Bobby was only trying to help, but he irritated me. I ticked him off
+pretty thoroughly, and then said rather pointedly that I wished I had
+someone of some experience to advise me. Michael suggested Sir Toby; I
+said I'd let him introduce me, and that if I liked him I'd ask for his
+advice.'</p>
+
+<p>'Poor Bobby! How did he take that suggestion?'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, he was all for it. Thought it an admirable plan. He's as fond of
+Sir Toby as Michael is.'</p>
+
+<p>'I see. Well, what advice did Sir Toby give you?'</p>
+
+<p>'To my immense relief he didn't urge me to hand the matter over to the
+police. In fact, he seemed to understand absolutely. He pointed out
+that the bank will probably be watched—I'm certain William would have
+told the man that the document was there—and asked if I would like him
+to fetch the paper and keep it safe for me, and if the right man didn't
+turn up for it before June 10th, he would post it himself.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry paused, a puzzled frown on her face.</p>
+
+<p>'It seems rather pointless now,' she said, 'but somehow when Sir Toby
+was talking about it, it seemed to solve all the problems. I wonder if
+there was something else, some other reason I've forgotten?'</p>
+
+<p>'Never mind,' said Nick reassuringly. 'What did you say?'</p>
+
+<p>'I accepted gratefully. I had no idea I was going to meet the right man
+so soon. But it doesn't matter. We can easily let him know, and tell
+him not to fetch the paper, or let him get it for you, whichever you
+prefer.'</p>
+
+<p>'How was he going to get it?'</p>
+
+<p>'I gave him a note for the bank manager.'</p>
+
+<p>For a few minutes Nick drove in silence. Jerry waited for his decision.
+Finally he spoke.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, my child, I think somehow we won't let him know just yet, but
+all the same, we'll fetch the paper first.'</p>
+
+<p>'But he's bound to know as soon as he goes to the bank.'</p>
+
+<p>'Not necessarily. Don't let's hurt old Toby's feelings. Let's get the
+paper to-night, but leave the envelope, stuck down again. Then he'll be
+none the wiser, if we tell the bank manager to keep his mouth shut. I'd
+hate Sir Toby to feel he wasn't trusted.'</p>
+
+<p>'As I said before, this is your show,' said Jerry, 'but there's one
+flaw in the scheme. We can't get it to-night. The bank will have shut
+ages ago.'</p>
+
+<p>'Is it the Hampstead branch bank?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes.'</p>
+
+<p>'Then it's a hundred to one the manager lives on the premises. I think
+we'll wangle it somehow. Now listen, Jerry; I've got a plan, but you'll
+have to forgive me if I can't explain much at this stage.'</p>
+
+<p>'Go ahead, Nick. I'll agree to anything you like, on one condition.'</p>
+
+<p>'And that is——?'</p>
+
+<p>'That you'll let me be in at the death.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick looked at her with some surprise. She faced him steadily, and he
+saw the grim determination in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>'Right. If it's humanly possible, you shall be,' he said quietly.
+'Now look here; after we've got this paper I want to take you to the
+Stricklands' flat. They're friends of mine, and they're the only
+other people in the world who know as much about me as you do. Jack
+Strickland's a C.I.D. man, and the best friend I have. His twin sister
+Jill is a darling, and I know they'll both understand. Will you come?'</p>
+
+<p>'Rather; but can't I get some clothes from Quebec Street first?'</p>
+
+<p>'Daren't risk it. The house may be watched. Jill will lend you all you
+need for a day or two.'</p>
+
+<p>'All right.'</p>
+
+<p>'In the second place, I don't want you to communicate with anyone until
+you see me again and I can tell you what's happening.'</p>
+
+<p>'I don't like that, Nick. Michael and Bobby have been awfully good to
+me, and they'll be worried.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'll let Michael know. Will that do?'</p>
+
+<p>'Of course.'</p>
+
+<p>'Bless you, Jerry, you're a partner in a thousand! I wish I'd known you
+eight years ago.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry laughed.</p>
+
+<p>'You were in your cradle, of course,' went on Nick, 'but you must have
+been a nice child.'</p>
+
+<p>'William had a hard life with me,' she told him; and then, suddenly,
+the smile faded out of her eyes and her mouth set hard.</p>
+
+<p>'Well?' said Nick.</p>
+
+<p>She looked up, her small face white through the dusk.</p>
+
+<p>'Nick, are we going to get this man Robertson?'</p>
+
+<p>'I think so,' said Nick quietly, and put out a large hand.</p>
+
+<p>Jerry gripped it tightly.</p>
+
+<p>'I'm glad it was you,' she said.</p>
+
+<p>Nick drove on in silence. For the second time that evening he felt that
+he could not trust himself to answer.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>SIR TOBY IS SURPRISED</h3>
+
+
+<p>As Nick had guessed, Bobby Manvers found that drive to London a
+depressing one. Michael was silent, sliding lower and lower in the
+driving seat, staring sullenly at the road ahead. Bobby's few attempts
+at conversation met at the best with monosyllabic replies, and finally
+he abandoned the struggle. His only comfort lay in the fact that
+Michael was driving at a high rate of speed and that, in consequence,
+the journey would be over in the shortest possible time. The last
+half-hour through London, however, was a considerable strain to his
+nerves, and when Michael dropped him at his flat he got out thankfully,
+with a sigh of relief and a hypocritical 'Thanks awfully, old man.
+Topping run!'</p>
+
+<p>Michael drove on, unnoticing, left his car at the garage he patronised,
+and went back to Quebec Street on foot. It was a close, stuffy
+evening, with a feeling of thunder about. Michael looked up at the
+tall houses that hemmed him in, and was conscious for the thousandth
+time of a desperate desire to get away from it all. There was no air,
+no sunshine, no freedom of mind or body in this swarming antheap of a
+city. Well, his legal affairs were finished, thank Heaven. He'd had
+a word with Sir Toby just before lunch, and had been assured that all
+was over bar the shouting, and that in another week's time he would
+be free to shake the dust of England from his feet. Free to go back
+to his own place, where the sun really shone, and a man could do as
+he chose. It would be good to be home again; to see the long, low
+coast-line, fringed to the shore with the dark, unchanging bush, and
+above, silhouetted against the sky, a bunch of lanky coconuts: then,
+as his cutter drew near to the shore, the surf breaking in a gleaming
+line, apparently endless but for the narrow break in the reef where the
+fresh water pierces the coral and opens the way into the clear, sunlit
+lagoon. The scrunch of the keel on the beach, the laughing natives, the
+low, white house with its broad veranda.</p>
+
+<p>Michael drew a deep breath of satisfaction. He could almost hear the
+thunder of the breakers, smell the coconut oil and aromatic herbs. Lost
+in his thoughts, he let himself into the tall grey house in Quebec
+Street, and went to bed, to dream of blue seas and white surf.</p>
+
+<p>The sun was streaming into his room when he woke next morning. 'Going
+home in a week's time,' he told himself, and whistled cheerfully as he
+ran his bath water. Even London seemed a comparatively good place on
+such a morning, and he felt disappointed when Milly, entering with his
+breakfast, failed to greet him with her usual beaming smile.</p>
+
+<p>'It's a decent morning, Milly,' he observed reproachfully, as he
+hungrily attacked his eggs and bacon.</p>
+
+<p>'I dessay.' She stood, arms akimbo, eyeing him disapprovingly. 'Where's
+Miss Mitchell?'</p>
+
+<p>Michael stopped eating, and stared at her.</p>
+
+<p>'She ain't bin 'ome, an' 'er bed ain't bin slep' in.'</p>
+
+<p>'Good Lord! Where's she gone?'</p>
+
+<p>'That's wot I'm arskin' <i>you</i>. You took 'er out yesterday. I'm anxious
+about 'er, I tell yer straight. It ain't like 'er to go orf without
+s'much as a word.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael was silent, his thoughts racing.</p>
+
+<p>'Fer Gawd's sake, speak up!' burst out Milly furiously. 'You was with
+'er, wasn't you?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, but I didn't bring her home.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oo did?'</p>
+
+<p>'Man called Nicholson.'</p>
+
+<p>Milly's face cleared suddenly, and she heaved a sigh of relief.</p>
+
+<p>'Mr. Nicholson? Oh, <i>that's</i> all right then. She won't come to no 'arm
+along with 'im.'</p>
+
+<p>'You know him well, of course,' said Michael, with the irritation of a
+badly worried man.</p>
+
+<p>Milly regarded him pityingly.</p>
+
+<p>'I ain't known 'im long, but you c'n take it from me, I knows a decent
+fella when I meets one. Don't you fret about Mr. Nicholson. <i>'E's</i> all
+right.'</p>
+
+<p>'Feminine intuition, I suppose,' said Michael, continuing his breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>Milly's eyes danced naughtily.</p>
+
+<p>'You ain't arf fetchin' when you smiles sarcastic that way,' she told
+him. 'Puts me in mind of a movie I seen last week. The 'ero, 'e ses:
+"Hah, wimmin!" he ses, an' smiles lopsided, same as you. Lovely 'e was.'</p>
+
+<p>'Shut up!' said Michael, trying not to grin. 'And go away, Milly;
+that's enough.'</p>
+
+<p>'Right y' are, sir,' assented Milly cheerfully. At the door she
+hesitated, her face grave.</p>
+
+<p>'Mr. Doone....'</p>
+
+<p>'Hullo?'</p>
+
+<p>She flung out her hands with the abrupt, passionate, almost Latin
+gesture of the Cockney.</p>
+
+<p>'Honest, Mr. Doone, 'e's all right, that bloke.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael looked at her curiously.</p>
+
+<p>'Nicholson?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yuss. If you was to tell me 'e'd bin jugged fer murder, I'd tell you
+'e never; or, if 'e did, there was a damn good reason for it. 'E's all
+right, straight 'e is. I <i>know</i> it!'</p>
+
+<p>She swung round and disappeared, leaving Michael staring. How much
+did she know, he wondered. It might be far more than he knew himself;
+it might be nothing at all. He went on with his breakfast, wondering
+where Jerry was, and what he ought to do about it. Then he pulled the
+telephone towards him, and rang up Nick's flat in Jermyn Street. The
+porter answered him. Mr. Nicholson was not in. Mr. Nicholson had left
+the previous morning and had not been home since. Michael rang off,
+frowning thoughtfully. They might have had an accident, but Michael had
+a deep respect for Nick's driving, and thought it unlikely. And even if
+they were both in hospital, there would be some news of them. Secondly,
+they might have eloped, but somehow that didn't seem very like Jerry.
+Michael had heard her express her views on the subject of love affairs
+and marriage. Thirdly—and a disquieting thought—suppose Bobby's
+theory were right, and Nick had been concerned in the murder, he would
+have a definite reason for wanting to get Jerry out of the way.</p>
+
+<p>Michael looked at his watch. Ten-thirty. Sir Toby was coming up to
+London this morning early. It might be worth while asking his advice.</p>
+
+<p>Michael reached for the telephone, rang up Sir Toby's flat, and in due
+time was answered by Ruff. Yes, Sir Toby had arrived, but was lying
+down. He was not very well, had had a return of his heart trouble.
+Could he see Mr. Doone some time to-day? Ruff would inquire. Michael
+waited impatiently, till he heard Ruff's soft, respectful voice again.
+Sir Toby had a luncheon engagement, but would be delighted to see Mr.
+Doone at three. Sir Toby had said that Mr. Manvers might be looking in
+about that time, but that if Mr. Doone's business was private, he would
+put Mr. Manvers off. Michael had no objection to Bobby's presence, and
+said so. Ruff murmured, 'Very good, sir,' and faded away.</p>
+
+<p>Michael rose to his feet and tramped restlessly across his room. What
+the blazes was Nicholson up to? Bobby's theory seemed infernally
+plausible, but somehow he hated the idea. Then again, had he any
+right to withhold the secret of Vive le Sport's identity? If anything
+happened to Jerry, both Sir Toby and Bobby would blame him for
+concealing the information. Quite rightly, too. After all, if Bobby
+were wrong, he could trust both him and Sir Toby to keep their mouths
+shut. Michael went out into the Park. He needed fresh air and exercise.</p>
+
+<p>For once in his life he was punctual that afternoon, and arrived at the
+door of Sir Toby's block of flats on the stroke of three. He was just
+speaking to the hall porter when a cheerful voice hailed him.</p>
+
+<p>'Hullo, Michael! You c-come to see Toby, too?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes.'</p>
+
+<p>'Good work!' said Bobby heartily. 'Ruff tells me the old chap's had
+another heart attack. It's rotten for him, isn't it? Let's take the
+lift, shall we?'</p>
+
+<p>They found Sir Toby in an armchair, propped up with pillows. His face
+was white and drawn, and he looked desperately tired, but he greeted
+them with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>'Very nice to see you both. Well, Michael, has anything happened? You
+look very serious. Pull up that chair, Bobby. You'll find cigarettes in
+the box by your elbow.'</p>
+
+<p>'You're not looking too fit, sir,' said Bobby, obeying. 'I say, would
+you rather I cleared out? I mean, won't one of us be enough for you
+just now, so to speak?'</p>
+
+<p>'No, no, I like company. It's nothing to worry about. These absurd
+attacks come and go. I shall be all right to-morrow. Now, Michael,
+let's hear about it. I feel convinced you have something on your mind.'</p>
+
+<p>'Very true,' said Michael. 'It's Jerry. She's disappeared.'</p>
+
+<p>'Really?' Sir Toby looked interested. 'When was she—er—last seen?'</p>
+
+<p>'When she left High Ash yesterday.'</p>
+
+<p>'In Nicholson's car. Do you think they've made a runaway match?'</p>
+
+<p>'I don't. To start with, she'd got no kit with her. And then, why
+should she? Even if she suddenly decided to marry Nicholson, there was
+no reason for secrecy. Besides, Jerry isn't that sort.'</p>
+
+<p>Sir Toby smiled.</p>
+
+<p>'When you're my age, Michael, you'll hesitate before you say, "She's
+not that sort," of any woman. They're unaccountable creatures. But
+I admit it sounds unlikely. She didn't seem terribly attracted by
+Nicholson when I saw them together.'</p>
+
+<p>'Of course, Stephen's a jolly dark horse,' put in Bobby. 'He's a bit of
+a devil with the ladies, you know, and Jerry's very young. She might
+have been swept off her feet and all that. And then he may have made
+her swear not to tell you. I've been told that Nicholson has a queer
+sort of power, if you know what I mean.'</p>
+
+<p>'Bunk!' said Michael offensively.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Toby took no notice of Bobby's theory.</p>
+
+<p>'Go on, Michael,' he said quietly. 'Tell me what exactly is worrying
+you.'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, I can't help wondering.... Did you get that letter from Jerry's
+bank?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes. I collected it on the way up. Here it is.' He tapped his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>'Carrying it on the person, sir?' asked Bobby. 'Isn't that a bit
+dangerous?'</p>
+
+<p>'Not more so than putting it into my safe. With the present crime wave,
+burglary's an everyday occurrence.'</p>
+
+<p>'Talking about burglars,' said Michael. 'Do you think Vive le Sport
+could have had anything to do with the Mitchell affair?'</p>
+
+<p>'In what way?'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, in Robertson's pay, for instance?'</p>
+
+<p>'It doesn't sound likely,' said Sir Toby. 'After all, his line is
+burglary, and nothing was stolen. Besides, I shouldn't like to think of
+him as a murderer.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael rose to his feet and walked over to the window, where he stood,
+hands in pockets, staring down into the street below.</p>
+
+<p>'You know, I don't like this about Jerry,' said Bobby. 'I mean, it's
+all so dashed queer, isn't it? Suppose we try to trace Nicholson's car?'</p>
+
+<p>'From what I've seen of Miss Mitchell I should imagine that she would
+not be likely to welcome any interference with her affairs,' said Sir
+Toby.</p>
+
+<p>Bobby grew rather red.</p>
+
+<p>'That's perfectly true,' he said, 'but all the same, she's only a
+child, and Stephen Nicholson ... well, I don't trust him. He's got a
+frightfully taking manner and all that, but there's something queer
+about him. I think he's dangerous.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, my dear Bobby!' laughed Sir Toby, 'this is obviously the result
+of an overdose of detective fiction. Stephen Nicholson is an idle
+young plutocrat, with a curious passion for <i>vers libre</i> and all the
+extravagant ugliness of modern art. I don't believe one-third of the
+rumours about him, and suspect them of being the invention of one or
+two silly women. I like Nicholson, and I think he's a shining example
+of how a good man can waste his life. What he needs is a little honest
+work. What do you say, Michael?'</p>
+
+<p>'I—don't—know,' said Michael slowly. Then he turned and faced them.
+'You see, Nicholson is Vive le Sport.'</p>
+
+<p>There was a dead silence. Bobby's jaw dropped and he stared blankly.
+Then Sir Toby sat up, put his gouty foot to the ground, swore and fell
+back on his pillows, stretching out one hand weakly towards a glass of
+water which stood on the table. Michael handed it to him, startled by
+the old man's ghastly pallor, and Sir Toby sipped the water gratefully.</p>
+
+<p>'Forgive me,' he said. 'Your announcement was so unexpected that I put
+too much weight on my bad foot, and the pain made me feel rather faint.
+It's all right now. Michael, this is the most amazing information. I
+find it almost incredible. How do you know?'</p>
+
+<p>'Nicholson told me so himself.'</p>
+
+<p>'Nicholson told you?' echoed Bobby. 'Good Lord! Well, I always said
+there was something queer about that man.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael ignored him, and addressed himself to Sir Toby. 'That's why I'm
+worried,' he said. 'You see, Nicholson isn't only what he seems, and if
+he can play one part so perfectly, God knows how many more he may not
+be playing.'</p>
+
+<p>'I entirely understand your anxiety,' said Sir Toby, 'and the evidence
+seems to be piling up against him. To start with, he was outside
+Mitchell's door immediately after the murder. Then he disappeared,
+didn't attend the inquest, made no reference to the affair. He didn't
+even make himself known to Miss Mitchell. In fact, he appeared to have
+lost all interest. It's very odd, that. Then, again, one can only
+assume that the first thing this fellow Robertson will try to do is to
+get hold of Miss Mitchell. He's got to get that paper before some date
+in June, hasn't he? I've forgotten the exact day.'</p>
+
+<p>'The tenth,' said Michael.</p>
+
+<p>'And to-day's the eighth. He hasn't got much time, you see. And he
+can't get the paper without Miss Mitchell's assistance. Yes, it seems
+to fit in only too well. Michael, I think we ought to open this letter.
+It may give us a clue to Mr. Robertson, and should at least tell us the
+identity of the man who gave it to Professor Mitchell.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael considered.</p>
+
+<p>'I think you're right,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>Bobby held his peace, but he looked worried. Sir Toby took the long
+envelope from his pocket and tore it open.</p>
+
+<p>'It's empty!' he said. 'No, it isn't, begad!' He shook the envelope,
+and out fell a small visiting-card, which he read and then held up to
+the others, smiling a little.</p>
+
+<p>'"Vive le Sport!"' read Bobby, in an awestruck tone. 'But, d-dash it
+all, how on earth——'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, that's dead easy,' broke in Michael impatiently. 'He got Jerry to
+get it for him last night, took the letter, and left his card instead.
+That proves he had got something to do with the murder, anyway. The
+question is, <i>what</i>?'</p>
+
+<p>Sir Toby nodded slowly, his face very grave.</p>
+
+<p>'As far as I can see, there are just three possible theories,' he said.
+'Firstly, he may be the man who gave Mitchell the envelope.'</p>
+
+<p>'Then why the secrecy?' asked Michael. 'Why hasn't he said so ages ago?
+He knew who Mitchell was, and he knew Jerry.'</p>
+
+<p>'He must have convinced <i>her</i> that he was the man, or he wouldn't have
+got the envelope,' remarked Sir Toby.</p>
+
+<p>'He might have got it by force,' put in Bobby darkly.</p>
+
+<p>Michael laughed, and Sir Toby smothered a smile.</p>
+
+<p>'I don't think that's very likely,' he said, 'but, of course,
+anything's possible in this romantic age. The question that is
+occupying me is why he bothered to insert his card and seal the
+envelope up again. I can't believe he suspected me of being Mr.
+Robertson.'</p>
+
+<p>'Hardly!' said Michael, with a grin. 'He may have put it there for the
+benefit of Mr. Robertson, though, feeling that he would certainly try
+to get it from you.'</p>
+
+<p>'That's possible. The second theory is that Nicholson really did take
+a definite part in the murder. I still find it hard to believe that
+he actually committed the crime, but, as you said just now, he may be
+in Robertson's pay. In that case, I assume he left the card for the
+benefit of the real owner—the fellow who wrote the letter.'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, I see that,' said Bobby, nodding sagely.</p>
+
+<p>'Robert sees it,' said Michael. 'Loud applause, instantly suppressed.
+What's your third theory?'</p>
+
+<p>'That Nicholson has nothing whatever to do with the affair, but on
+hearing the story decided to take a hand in it for the fun of the
+thing. It would be quite in keeping with his character. He adores
+mystery, he adores adventure, and, if I'm not much mistaken, he adores
+Miss Mitchell.'</p>
+
+<p>There was a moment's silence. Bobby moved restlessly, and stared
+unhappily at the floor. Michael lit a cigarette, his green eyes as
+blank as stones. Sir Toby studied the little card in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>'It seems to me,' said Michael at last, 'that it all hangs on whether
+this'—he picked it up—'is the original envelope or not.'</p>
+
+<p>Bobby gaped, and even Sir Toby looked a little surprised.</p>
+
+<p>'I should think that probably it is,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>'But what would it prove if it wasn't?' asked Bobby.</p>
+
+<p>'Nothing,' said Michael. 'Look here, Bobby, suppose you have a look for
+Nicholson's car? It's about time you did a spot of useful work, and
+showed us what you can do in the sleuth line. Go and ask the police.'</p>
+
+<p>'I don't think that's a good plan,' said Bobby. 'The police, I mean.
+They'd want to know why, and we can't tell 'em.'</p>
+
+<p>'Why not?'</p>
+
+<p>'Bobby's right,' interposed Sir Toby. 'We don't want a newspaper
+scandal if we can avoid it. After all, there may be a perfectly natural
+explanation.'</p>
+
+<p>'And one can find out about the car without the help of the police,'
+added Bobby, his face brightening.</p>
+
+<p>'How?' asked Michael sceptically.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh'—Bobby shrugged his shoulders, and rose to go—'one has one's
+methods.'</p>
+
+<p>Sir Toby laughed.</p>
+
+<p>'That makes you quits, I think,' he said. 'Let's have a truce now.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael grinned, and a smile spread over Bobby's chubby face.</p>
+
+<p>'Right you are,' he said. 'Well, I must be off. Good-bye, sir. I hope
+you'll be all right soon.'</p>
+
+<p>'I know I shall. These attacks never last long, thank Heaven. Good-bye,
+Bobby.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'd better be moving too,' said Michael. 'Come and have dinner at my
+place to-night, Robert, and tell us your news, if any.'</p>
+
+<p>'Love to. Thanks awfully. Good Lord, it's past four! I shall have to
+sprint.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael collected his hat, said good-bye to Sir Toby, and took his
+leave. As he was closing the door behind him he heard Sir Toby's voice.</p>
+
+<p>'Did you call me?' he asked, poking his head round the door.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes; tell me, Michael'—Sir Toby had a smile in his eyes—'what would
+it prove if this were the original envelope?'</p>
+
+<p>'A good deal,' said Michael. 'It's addressed in Nicholson's
+handwriting. So long.'</p>
+
+<p>He went out, shutting the door behind him.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>MICHAEL IS CONVINCED</h3>
+
+
+<p>'Taxi, sir?' inquired the hall porter as Michael came down the steps.</p>
+
+<p>Michael shook his head. He wanted to think, and he thought best on the
+move. He was puzzled. To begin with, he was certain now that Nick was
+Professor Mitchell's unknown correspondent. That envelope had the name
+of the Jameson Club stamped on the flap. It was almost obliterated
+by the seal, but Michael had seen it. He pulled out his pocketbook
+and searched through the muddle of papers it contained. Surely he had
+put Nick's card away in it that night they swopped cars in a Suffolk
+lane? Yes, here it was. 'Mine's beer, too.' Unmistakably the same
+handwriting. Michael was conscious of a curious feeling of relief. He
+hadn't realised before just how much he had minded thinking Nick a
+blackguard.</p>
+
+<p>But—and here lay the puzzle—why had Nick been so silent? It was
+inconceivable that he should distrust Sir Toby, and if he were
+suspicious of Michael, why had he given away his identity at that
+party of Mrs. Lancaster's? Or was the suspect Bobby? Michael chuckled,
+remembering how offensive he himself had been to the unfortunate
+amateur detective that afternoon. Well, the first thing to do was
+to find Nick. Not too easy a proposition. Michael had no hope of
+finding him in his Jermyn Street flat. He remembered the address on
+that fateful envelope: 'J. F. Strickland, Esq., 31, Buckingham Gate
+Mansions'; but, after consideration, he abandoned the idea. This man
+Strickland would certainly be in the game, and the odds were a hundred
+to one that he would deny all knowledge of Nick.</p>
+
+<p>Then suddenly a bright idea struck him. Nick's doctor friend—the
+man he had sent for on the night of the murder. Jerry had liked the
+man, and had talked about him a good deal. Thorpe. That was the name.
+Question, how to get hold of him.</p>
+
+<p>Michael stopped and looked round. Just over the way, a few yards down
+the street, was an Underground station. He crossed the road and, going
+to the ticket office, changed half a crown into coppers. Thorpe was
+a common name, he reflected. Then he entered a call-box, taking the
+telephone directory with him. As he expected, there were dozens of
+Thorpes, and nine of them were doctors. Michael settled down to ring
+them all up.</p>
+
+<p>The first two were out, which depressed him, but he continued doggedly.
+Numbers three, four, and five had not been called in to attend a
+Professor Mitchell on the morning of May 24th, but the sixth admitted
+it quite calmly, and added that he remembered the case well. Could
+Michael call and see him? Certainly; he would be free till six. The
+address—Michael wrote it down—was somewhere in the wilds of Stepney.</p>
+
+<p>Michael was just about to leave the box when he remembered his
+invitation to Bobby. He rang up Quebec Street and warned his landlady
+that he would need supper for two that night. Then with a sigh of
+relief he emerged into the fresh air and hailed a taxi....</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Thorpe impressed him favourably. He liked the man's shrewd, steady
+eyes and clear-cut, crisp voice.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, Mr. Doone, what can I do for you?'</p>
+
+<p>'I want you to tell me where I can find Stephen Nicholson.'</p>
+
+<p>Thorpe looked surprised. 'Stephen Nicholson? Who is he?'</p>
+
+<p>'It's all right,' said Michael; 'I'm a friend of his.'</p>
+
+<p>A flicker of amusement lit the doctor's eyes.</p>
+
+<p>'My dear sir, I don't doubt it, but the trouble is, I'm not. I've never
+even heard of the gentleman.'</p>
+
+<p>There was a moment's silence, and then Michael turned to go.</p>
+
+<p>'Right you are,' he said quietly. 'Sorry to have wasted your time.'</p>
+
+<p>As he reached the door the doctor spoke:</p>
+
+<p>'I don't know what you're driving at, Mr. Doone,' he said, 'but I
+should like you to believe that I really do not know the man you speak
+of. I have never heard the name before, to my knowledge. There must be
+a misunderstanding somewhere.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael halted and surveyed the doctor with his slow, unwinking stare.
+Then suddenly he grinned.</p>
+
+<p>'Perhaps you know him as "Nick"?' he suggested.</p>
+
+<p>Thorpe's face cleared.</p>
+
+<p>'Good Heavens!' he said, 'is <i>that</i> the man you want? I know him by a
+good many names, but I never heard him called Stephen Nicholson.'</p>
+
+<p>'Do you know where he is?'</p>
+
+<p>'No, I haven't the least idea, but I expect I shall see him sooner or
+later. He drifts in here pretty frequently with cases for me.'</p>
+
+<p>'Cases?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes. Patients. Protégés of his own, mostly from the docks. Sometimes
+he sends 'em with a note; sometimes he brings 'em himself.' The doctor
+chuckled. 'Last time he came he was playing the part of a navvy. Talked
+the purest quayside Cockney, chewed tobacco, and spat into my fire,
+confound him!'</p>
+
+<p>'What was he up to?' Michael was interested.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, he'd brought along a woman and a small boy. The woman was
+underfed, and the child had rickets. Poor little devil, he was half
+starved, too! He's down at the sea now, in a home, and doing very well,
+they tell me. Nick's footing the bill, of course.'</p>
+
+<p>'Does he often do that sort of thing?'</p>
+
+<p>'Frequently. He's one of the very few people I've met who can combine
+philanthropy and intelligence.'</p>
+
+<p>'What else does he do?'</p>
+
+<p>Thorpe looked at him sharply.</p>
+
+<p>'I'm afraid I don't know any more about him,' he said. 'I am a busy
+man, and singularly uninterested in other people's affairs, except when
+they concern my work. As I said, I know him by a variety of names,
+but I've no idea which of them, if any, is his real one. Nor do I
+care. I consider him a thundering good fellow, and I have no desire to
+interfere with his private affairs.'</p>
+
+<p>'You're about right,' said Michael slowly, 'but I want to find him.
+Truth is, he—well, he's in rather a dangerous position, and I want to
+put him wise.'</p>
+
+<p>'I wish I could help you,' said Thorpe, 'but I honestly have no idea
+where he is. Look here, if he comes in to see me, I'll tell him what
+you say. He knows <i>your</i> name, I suppose?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, he knows my name,' said Michael. 'Thanks. I'd like you to let him
+know, if I don't find him myself first. Good-bye.'</p>
+
+<p>'Good-bye, Mr. Doone. If I see Nick I'll tell him'.</p>
+
+<p>Michael returned to Quebec Street. It was getting late, and Bobby would
+certainly arrive early. He always did. As Michael reached his rooms he
+caught sight of Milly coming down the stairs from Jerry's flat.</p>
+
+<p>'Hullo, Milly! Has Miss Mitchell come back?'</p>
+
+<p>'No such luck! You 'eard anythink of 'er?'</p>
+
+<p>'Not a word. When I saw you coming out of her room I thought she must
+be back.' His eyes, growing accustomed to the dim light, caught sight
+of a large brown paper parcel which she was carrying.</p>
+
+<p>'Me? Oh, I bin up ter git 'er washing. Got ter send it to the laundry
+whether she's 'ome or not, 'aven't I?'</p>
+
+<p>'I suppose so. By the way, did Mrs. Briggs tell you that I'm expecting
+Mr. Manvers to supper?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yuss. Cold beef an' salid, or 'am an' eggs?'</p>
+
+<p>'Cold beef, I think. It's so hot and stuffy to-night.'</p>
+
+<p>'There'll be a thunderstorm soon, you mark my words,' said Milly.
+'Well, I can't stop 'ere chattin', or She'll be after me: "Millicent, I
+will not 'ave you makin' free with the gentlemen lodgers. You remember
+your place, an' they'll remember theirs." Wot a 'ope! S'long, Mr.
+Doone.'</p>
+
+<p>She ran downstairs, whistling, and Michael retired to spread himself
+out on his sofa with a novel.</p>
+
+<p>As usual, Bobby turned up about seven. He was very pleased with
+himself, having discovered that an all-night garage in Golders Green
+had supplied Nick with petrol at one o'clock that morning.</p>
+
+<p>'It was Nicholson's car all right,' he announced. 'The man described it
+and remembered the number, but the extraordinary thing is that he was
+alone, and travelling north.'</p>
+
+<p>'Very odd,' said Michael, but was saved from further comment by the
+entrance of Milly with the supper. Having slapped it down on the table
+in her usual swashbuckling manner, she fished a note out of her pocket,
+and handed it to Michael.</p>
+
+<p>'Boy's jus' brought it,' she explained. 'No answer, 'e said.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael opened it. Milly lingered by the door.</p>
+
+<p>'It's from Jerry,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, Mr. Doone! Is she all right?'</p>
+
+<p>'What does she say?' demanded Bobby.</p>
+
+<p>'It's short and to the point: "I hope you haven't been too worried
+about me. All's well, but don't try to find me just yet. I'll write
+to-night and tell you all about it, and arrange where we can meet. No
+time for more now."'</p>
+
+<p>'Thank God!' said Bobby.</p>
+
+<p>'If you ask me, I don't believe she meant ter come back yesterday,'
+said Milly suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>'What on earth makes you think that?' asked Bobby.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, fer one thing, she didn't take 'er latchkey. Miss Mitchell's
+never forgotten it before.'</p>
+
+<p>'That doesn't prove anything,' said Michael. 'She went out with me, and
+she knew I had a key.'</p>
+
+<p>'Yuss! Not arf you 'aven't! 'Ow many times 'ave you lorst it since you
+come 'ere?' demanded Milly swiftly.</p>
+
+<p>'How d'you know she didn't take it?' asked Bobby.</p>
+
+<p>Milly stared at him wide-eyed, and then dropped her voice to a
+confidential whisper.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, y' see, I 'ad a clue, so ter speak. I seen the key on 'er
+mantelpiece this mornin', and that sort o' gave me the idea, if yer
+foller me so far.'</p>
+
+<p>'Go away, Milly!' said Michael.</p>
+
+<p>Milly shrugged her shoulders resignedly.</p>
+
+<p>''E likes the last word, Mr. Doone does. An' the last word's always "Go
+away!" It ain't wot you'd call a snappy bit o' repartee, but it soots
+'im, some'ow. Goo'-bye! Be good.'</p>
+
+<p>The door slammed behind her. Michael and Bobby looked at each other,
+laughed, and sat down to their supper.</p>
+
+<p>Bobby was full of theories, which he poured out in an endless stream.
+He had worked out several brilliant ideas to explain Nick's appearance
+in Golders Green. Michael was frankly bored. He didn't care a hang
+what Nick had been doing that morning. What <i>he</i> wanted to know was
+what Nick intended to do next, and above all, where he was to be found.</p>
+
+<p>'I tell you, that's a dangerous man,' said Bobby. 'Sir Toby's a
+romantic old chap, and he's got sort of attached to his own picture of
+Vive le Sport, but what I say is, the man's a criminal, and we can't
+encourage crime, can we?'</p>
+
+<p>Michael yawned. He considered throwing Bobby out, came to the reluctant
+conclusion that it might be thought a little discourteous, and relapsed
+into profound meditation, hardly aware of the flow of conversation from
+his guest. When Bobby finally said that he ought to be going, Michael
+bade him a polite good-night, but made no attempt to detain him.</p>
+
+<p>'Can you find your own way down?' he asked.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, rather. Good-night, Michael. May I look in to-morrow to hear what
+Jerry's got to say?'</p>
+
+<p>'Of course. So long.'</p>
+
+<p>The door shut behind him. Michael returned to his sofa and picked up
+his book.</p>
+
+<p>As a matter of fact, it was a pity that his natural bad manners had
+prevented him from going to the door, for Bobby's subsequent movements
+might have interested him. Young Mr. Manvers walked noisily down six
+steps, and then very quietly mounted them again. For a moment he
+stood listening on Michael's landing. There was no one about. Then,
+very softly, he went up the stairs to the top-floor flat, and entered
+Jerry's sitting-room. He moved across the room gingerly, and struck
+a match, shielding it in his hands. On the mantelpiece lay Jerry's
+latchkey, as Milly had said. Bobby slipped it into his pocket and
+retraced his steps very cautiously. He moved remarkably quietly for so
+sturdy a young man, all the way downstairs to the first landing. Then
+he continued with his usual heavy tread.</p>
+
+<p>Milly was in the hall, studying a trades directory, and she looked up
+as he arrived.</p>
+
+<p>'Hullo, Milly, what are you d-doing?'</p>
+
+<p>'Lookin' for a plumber,' said Milly shortly. 'Goo'-night, Mr. Manvers.'</p>
+
+<p>'I should have thought you'd have had a tame plumber up your sleeve,'
+said Bobby. 'Whenever I come here, there always seems to be something
+wrong with a tap somewhere.'</p>
+
+<p>'Our usual one's out o' sorts,' said Milly. 'We got ter git another.
+Can y' let yerself out, Mr. Manvers?'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, rather! What's wrong with your plumber, Milly? A broken heart? I
+suppose you've been flirting with him.'</p>
+
+<p>Milly lifted her eyes from the directory and regarded Bobby with a
+cool, disconcerting stare.</p>
+
+<p>'You ain't guessin' well this evenin',' she said.</p>
+
+<p>'Terribly crushing you are! Do tell me about your plumber friend.'</p>
+
+<p>Milly shut the directory with a snap.</p>
+
+<p>''Is wife's 'ad triplets, and 'e's congratulated 'isself into D.T.'s,'
+she said. 'It all comes o' not knowin' when ter stop. There's the door,
+Mr. Manvers. Don't slam it after you.'</p>
+
+<p>Bobby let himself out. Milly watched the door shut behind him, and then
+raced up the stairs to Michael's room.</p>
+
+<p>'Mr. Doone!'</p>
+
+<p>Michael looked up from his book.</p>
+
+<p>'I got a message for yer.'</p>
+
+<p>'Who sent it?'</p>
+
+<p>'There wasn't no name. I was told ter give it yer when you was alone.'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, go ahead.'</p>
+
+<p>'It was askin' yer to call at 31 Buckingham Gate Mansions this evenin'.
+But I was ter be sure and tell yer to come alone.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael leapt to his feet and looked at his watch.</p>
+
+<p>'It's half-past ten. Blast the man!' he said. 'Where's my hat?'</p>
+
+<p>Milly handed it to him.</p>
+
+<p>'You blastin' the bloke wot sent that message?' she asked.</p>
+
+<p>'No!' Michael grinned. 'I'm blasting the mutt who's been wasting my
+time this evening.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, <i>'im</i>!' Milly beamed on him. 'Mr. Bloomin' Manvers. 'E's got a
+sauce, 'e 'as! I don't think much of 'im, Mr. Doone.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, you don't, don't you?' said Michael, fumbling in his pocket to see
+if he'd got his latchkey.</p>
+
+<p>'No. 'E ain't no good. But you don't believe me when I tells yer wot a
+bloke's like.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael, halfway through the door, checked for a second and looked at
+her.</p>
+
+<p>'I'm beginning to think you're not such a bad judge, after all,' he
+said.</p>
+
+<p>'That's right, Mr. Doone! Now you c'n 'op orf an' tell 'im, so, too.
+Give 'im my love!'</p>
+
+<p>'Right!' said Michael, and descended the stairs three steps at a time.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>JERRY EXPLAINS HERSELF</h3>
+
+
+<p>That same Monday evening Jerry Mitchell was curled up in a big chair in
+the Stricklands' sitting-room, half listening, half absorbed in her own
+thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>She was only half listening, because Nick was giving Jack Strickland an
+account of his adventures of the past four months, and she had heard
+the story before. She watched them thoughtfully; Jack's keen, dark
+face, alight with understanding and appreciation, and Nick, laughter
+in his eyes, telling of his successes and failures with equal zest.
+Just now, she thought, he seemed so young; an everlasting boy. And yet
+she knew, if the occasion arose, his face could change suddenly....
+'Adequate fella, Nick. Always was.' She could hear Thorpe's crisp
+voice, and smiled at the memory. It seemed an age ago. She had lost
+all count of time lately. For instance, she could hardly believe that
+it had been only last night that Nick had brought her here. Her face
+softened, remembering Jill's serene, friendly, unquestioning welcome.
+Then, early next morning, Jack Strickland had arrived from Russia, and
+Jerry had fallen for him as quickly as she had for his sister. They
+were a heavenly couple, and how they both loved Nick! Jill had spoken
+to her of Nick; had told her how he had saved Jack's life in France,
+and a few other facts of that far-away war-time, that had made Jerry
+curiously dumb. She didn't want to talk about Nick. She wasn't even
+sure if it were quite safe to think about him, though it was hard
+not to. To tell the honest truth—and Jerry was usually honest with
+herself—she was afraid. Not of Nick, but of herself. It was a queer,
+overwhelming feeling that took her suddenly, and made her scramble
+desperately back to safety. Difficult, sometimes, especially when his
+voice grew gentle. Nick was so certain of himself, and how could she be
+certain? And yet, if Nick went away.... She jerked herself back to the
+talk.</p>
+
+<p>'So now you understand what <i>your</i> job is,' Nick was saying.</p>
+
+<p>'Perfectly.' Jack laughed. 'But look here, Nick, that's not all. I want
+to know a little more. To start with, who <i>is</i> the Chief? If I've got
+to arrest him, I feel I ought to know.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>'I'd rather not tell you, Jack, if you can bear it. You might meet him
+to-morrow, and ... I won't take any chances. But I swear I'll let you
+know before you do your stuff. Will that do?'</p>
+
+<p>Jack surveyed him amusedly.</p>
+
+<p>'It'll have to, I suppose. The Playboy must have his mystery. Well, is
+that all my orders?'</p>
+
+<p>'That's all, thanks.'</p>
+
+<p>Jack rose to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>'Then, if you'll forgive me, I'm going to bed. I've had precious little
+sleep for the last three nights, and I've got to look intelligent for
+the benefit of my superiors to-morrow morning. Good-night, Jerry. By
+the way, where's Jill?'</p>
+
+<p>'In the kitchen, turning out a cupboard,' said Jerry.</p>
+
+<p>'It's a curious vice, that,' said Jack. 'Jill's always succumbing to
+it. Her idea of heaven is a place full of endless cupboards, which she
+will turn out all day long. Good-night, Nick.'</p>
+
+<p>'Good-night, old man. It's good to have you back.'</p>
+
+<p>For answer, Jack dropped a hand on Nick's shoulder for an instant and
+then went out.</p>
+
+<p>There was silence in the little room. Nick sat on the padded leather
+fender, staring at the glowing end of the cigarette in his hand. Jerry
+watched his grave face. The boy had turned into a man—a very adequate
+man. For one second she contemplated retreat, and then dismissed the
+idea. One must keep one's head, and not be a fool.</p>
+
+<p>Then Nick looked up and spoke, gravely:</p>
+
+<p>'The end's in sight, old lady.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry nodded, with a feeling of relief. She knew that tone. They were
+partners when he spoke like that; he was thinking of the job.</p>
+
+<p>'Are things panning out as well as you expected?'</p>
+
+<p>'Better.' He spoke deliberately. 'Now Jack's home we're set safely.
+I've got the information I want, and I wouldn't mind betting that,
+with Michael's help, we shall pull off this show without the slightest
+hitch. By the way, you didn't forget to post that letter, did you?'</p>
+
+<p>'No. Put it in the letter-box myself.' Jerry jumped to her feet
+impulsively. 'Nick, it's marvellous of you to let me be in this. I
+don't believe anyone else would understand just why and how much I want
+to be there. I want to stop hating him, you see, and ... oh, well, I
+can't explain.'</p>
+
+<p>'I should feel just the same,' said Nick. 'But there's no question of
+"letting" you be in it. I want your help. You're an essential part of
+the scheme. I couldn't pull it off without you.'</p>
+
+<p>'Honestly, Nick?'</p>
+
+<p>'Absolutely honestly. You ask Jack.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry walked over to the window, and stood staring out at the
+smoky-blue summer night sky. 'It's awfully good,' she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>'What is?'</p>
+
+<p>'To feel that I'm really playing an essential part in the game—that it
+hasn't been taken clean out of my hands.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick crossed the room with a slow stride, and came over to the window.</p>
+
+<p>'I wish you knew what an infernally essential part you're beginning to
+play in all my games,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>Jerry was silent, staring at the sky. Nick watched her stern young
+face, white against the dark panelling.</p>
+
+<p>'No chance for me at all?' he asked at last, and Jerry knew there was
+laughter as well as gravity in his eyes. She steeled herself to answer
+lightly.</p>
+
+<p>'Nick, for goodness' sake talk about something else.'</p>
+
+<p>'I can't. I can't think of anything else. I love you.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry caught her breath. It wasn't fair. Then Nick put a hand on her
+shoulder, and the gentleness of his touch was more than she could bear.</p>
+
+<p>'Don't!' she said, in sudden anger that was half pain.</p>
+
+<p>Nick released her instantly, and she saw his face whiten.</p>
+
+<p>'I'm sorry,' he said quietly, and turned away.</p>
+
+<p>With a little gasp, Jerry ran to him.</p>
+
+<p>'Nick! Nick, please forgive me. I didn't mean to hurt you. But oh! how
+can I explain?'</p>
+
+<p>She took hold of his coat with both hands and, looking up, laughed a
+little uncertainly at the sight of his perplexed face. Very cautiously,
+Nick put his arms round her, and she leant her head against him, with a
+sudden feeling of comfort and safety.</p>
+
+<p>'I wish I knew just exactly what's worrying you, small person,' he said
+to her hair.</p>
+
+<p>Jerry sighed, and disengaged herself.</p>
+
+<p>'I don't know if I can explain, but I'll try. Sit down there.'</p>
+
+<p>Obediently, Nick sat down on the back of the sofa, but still kept an
+arm round her. Jerry looked at the wavering lines in the Persian rug at
+her feet. Nick looked at Jerry. There was a long silence.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, <i>one</i> of us must start soon,' said Nick plaintively, 'or we
+shall never get to the bottom of this business. Shall I have a shot?'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry nodded.</p>
+
+<p>'You said just now that it was good to feel you were playing an
+essential part in this game of ours.'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes.' In a very small voice. 'And to feel that it hadn't been taken
+right out of my hands.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick was silent. He was just beginning to see the fences ahead.</p>
+
+<p>'It's too big for me!' Jerry burst out suddenly. 'I don't know what I'm
+doing. I never felt like this before. It doesn't seem <i>me</i> at all.'</p>
+
+<p>'I never felt like this before, either,' said Nick quietly.</p>
+
+<p>'But it's different for you. You're certain of yourself. You know what
+you're doing. At least, you seem to.'</p>
+
+<p>'Of course I do,' said Nick. 'A lot of chance I should have if I
+didn't, shouldn't I? Why, you'd laugh me to scorn, stamp on me, and
+then hang me out to dry. <i>I</i> know you!'</p>
+
+<p>A smile flickered in Jerry's eyes, and faded again.</p>
+
+<p>'Nick, please try to understand. <i>Can't</i> you?'</p>
+
+<p>'I am trying, but you must make allowances for a man's stupidity. I
+love you, you see, and I'm oddly anxious to know if you care for me, at
+all. By the way, you believe that I love you, I suppose?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes.' Jerry nodded gravely. 'You say you do, and I think you know your
+own mind, and mean what you say.'</p>
+
+<p>'Thank you.'</p>
+
+<p>'But, Nick'—she twisted round and faced him—'am I in love with you?
+That's what I want to know.'</p>
+
+<p>'So do I. Badly.'</p>
+
+<p>'You see, one ought to be able to make up one's mind reasonably, but I
+can't because you keep upsetting things so.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'm sorry,' said Nick humbly. 'Am I upsetting things now?'</p>
+
+<p>'No. But I always feel you may, any minute.'</p>
+
+<p>'It happens sometimes,' said Nick, 'when you beat round the bush. I
+hate having the subject changed for me, and I have to fight down a
+temptation to pick you up and spank you.'</p>
+
+<p>'Please, Nick!' said Jerry hastily.</p>
+
+<p>He laughed. 'All right. Now listen to me. Do you like me?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes.'</p>
+
+<p>'Much?'</p>
+
+<p>'Better than anyone I've met so far.'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, then——'</p>
+
+<p>'Is that enough?' asked Jerry swiftly.</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause, and then Nick said, 'No.'</p>
+
+<p>'You see, Nick'—the words came tumbling out of her—'I feel that if I
+fall in love with you, I shall never be the same again.'</p>
+
+<p>'Neither shall I!'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, you will!'</p>
+
+<p>'Superficially I may seem the same, but fundamentally I shall change a
+lot.'</p>
+
+<p>'Now you're going to be funny, I suppose. I'm serious, Nick.'</p>
+
+<p>'So am I. Deadly. Fundamentally I shall be a better and nobler man.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry regarded him thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, I don't suppose it will show much on the surface,' she said
+dispassionately.</p>
+
+<p>'Now <i>you're</i> lowering the tone of the conversation. Jerry, darling,
+why not try falling in love with me and see how it works? I'm perfectly
+willing to take the risk.'</p>
+
+<p>'Nick, don't be so incredibly stupid! Can't you understand that I could
+probably bear it if you found out after a while that you didn't care
+for me, but I should simply die if I stopped caring for you.'</p>
+
+<p>There was another silence. Nick pulled Jerry down beside him. She leant
+her head back against his shoulder, contentedly.</p>
+
+<p>'Jerry,' said Nick at last.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes?'</p>
+
+<p>'Suppose—just suppose you knew that we were both going to be drowned
+in six months' time. Would you admit that you love me?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes.'</p>
+
+<p>'And marry me?'</p>
+
+<p>'I expect so.'</p>
+
+<p>Another silence.</p>
+
+<p>'It's no good,' said Nick. 'I'm sorry, but I can't consent to our
+deaths. Couldn't you manage an extension of the time? Say, to forty
+years? They'd go awfully quickly.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry began to laugh.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, Nick, there's no one like you! I expect I'm a fool, but I've got
+to think it out for myself.'</p>
+
+<p>'All right,' said Nick. 'You'll let me know as soon as you have
+decided, won't you?'</p>
+
+<p>'I promise. I'll either say: "Never, no chance," or else I'll say:
+"Whenever you like, Nick."'</p>
+
+<p>Nick's arm round her tightened.</p>
+
+<p>'And while you're deciding, golden days are going to waste. Oh, Jerry,
+darling, give it up. You're making mountains out of molehills.'</p>
+
+<p>'I can't help it.'</p>
+
+<p>'It doesn't fit you at all. You ought to be a dashed good gambler.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry disengaged herself, and walked over to the window.</p>
+
+<p>'It isn't a thing I care to gamble on,' she said coldly. 'I suppose men
+are made differently.'</p>
+
+<p>'Possibly,' said Nick, with dangerous calm.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, this argument has proved that you can't see what I'm driving at,
+anyway. I suppose you feel that I can't understand you either.'</p>
+
+<p>'As a matter of fact, I haven't been trying to explain myself, much.
+We've been more or less concentrating on your side of the affair,
+haven't we?'</p>
+
+<p>'We have. Without much success. However, if you leave me alone, I've no
+doubt I shall be able to make up my mind in time.'</p>
+
+<p>A flame of laughter lit in Nick's eyes.</p>
+
+<p>'One word more in that tone, young woman,' he said deliberately, 'and I
+shall make up your mind for you.'</p>
+
+<p>'Do you really flatter yourself you could?'</p>
+
+<p>'I know I can.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry smiled, defiantly. Nick rose to his feet and advanced on her
+swiftly. There was a prolonged peal from the front doorbell, and Jerry
+held up a protesting hand.</p>
+
+<p>'There's someone at the door!'</p>
+
+<p>'I guessed it,' said Nick. 'It won't hurt them to wait a minute.'</p>
+
+<p>'You can't let people hang about on the landing.'</p>
+
+<p>'Can't I?' said Nick grimly.</p>
+
+<p>The bell rang again, furiously. Sudden alarm filled Jerry's face, and
+she caught Nick by the sleeve.</p>
+
+<p>'Nick! I suppose—it isn't Mr. Robertson?'</p>
+
+<p>He slipped an arm round her protectively, and felt her shivering.</p>
+
+<p>'No such luck, old lady. It's probably Michael. If it were Robertson,
+I'd kill him twice over—the second time for interrupting me just as I
+was about to give you a well-deserved lesson.'</p>
+
+<p>'All right, Nick, go ahead. There's Jack's riding-crop.'</p>
+
+<p>'I can't now,' said Nick. 'But next time you talk to me like that, by
+Jove, you'll catch it! I suppose I must let this untimely blighter in.'</p>
+
+<p>'I think you'd better,' said Jerry serenely. 'Whatever our manners may
+be to each other, let's try to be decently polite to outsiders.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick grinned rather wildly.</p>
+
+<p>'You know, you're enough to drive any man completely crazy,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, Nick, I know. But do answer the door.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick took her face in his hands, hesitated, and then kissed the top of
+her head. As he turned to go, he said, over his shoulder: 'That was
+amazing moderation on my part!'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry chuckled, and watched him cross the hall and open the door. On
+the mat stood Michael.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>JILL HAS THE LAST WORD</h3>
+
+
+<p>'Hullo, Doone,' said Nick. 'Come in.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael entered, and flung down his hat.</p>
+
+<p>'Look here, Nick, I've sold you to Manvers and Sir Toby,' he said
+abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>Jerry saw Nick's quick smile.</p>
+
+<p>'I told 'em you were Vive le Sport,' went on Michael doggedly. 'In
+fact, I've made a damned fool of myself.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick held out his hand, and they shook in silence.</p>
+
+<p>'Come in and have a drink,' suggested Nick. 'There's a lot I want to
+tell you. Jerry's here, by the way.'</p>
+
+<p>'How goes it, old thing?' said Jerry, coming across the hall.</p>
+
+<p>'Not so badly.' Michael smiled at her. 'What's the big idea, Jerry?'</p>
+
+<p>'Nick will tell you. It's a long story, but very, very beautiful.'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes. There's a sort of wistful charm about it,' said Nick, leading
+Michael into the sitting-room. 'Come along in. Jerry, do you know where
+Jill keeps the glasses?'</p>
+
+<p>'In the kitchen, I expect. What are you going to drink?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick looked at Michael inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p>'Mine's beer,' said Michael, meeting his eyes, and Jerry was aware,
+uncomprehending, of complete understanding between the two men.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, I don't like beer,' she said, 'so I think I'll go to bed and
+leave you to discuss the plan of campaign. Good-night.'</p>
+
+<p>'Good-night, old thing,' said Michael.</p>
+
+<p>Nick, behind his back, blew a kiss to her, and then turned to his guest.</p>
+
+<p>'Make yourself comfortable,' he said. 'Tobacco in that box. Help
+yourself. I'll go and hunt up some glasses.'</p>
+
+<p>A light was burning in the kitchen, but the room appeared to be empty.
+Nick opened a door in the wall, with great caution, only to discover
+that it led to the larder. Then he heard a faint noise behind him, and
+swung round to see Jill emerging from a large cupboard.</p>
+
+<p>'Hullo, Nick,' she said calmly. 'Are you hungry?'</p>
+
+<p>'No. Thirsty. I was looking for some glasses.' He surveyed her with
+amusement. 'Jill, I've never seen you look untidy before.'</p>
+
+<p>'Haven't you? I've been turning out that cupboard, you see.'</p>
+
+<p>'I do see. The result is most disturbing. Your hair's standing on end,
+your face is flushed with exertion, and you've got a large black
+smudge on your nose. This is terribly unusual, Jill. I don't feel I
+recognise you.'</p>
+
+<p>'If it comes to that, you're hardly yourself, either,' said Jill
+thoughtfully. 'There's a light in your eyes, Nick, that is new to me.
+Is it a good world?'</p>
+
+<p>'Divil a doubt of it! Where are those glasses, Jill?'</p>
+
+<p>She laughed. 'You coward! On the top shelf of the dresser.'</p>
+
+<p>'What d'you mean—"coward"?' demanded Nick, turning to the shelf
+indicated. 'Have you forgotten that I got an O.B.E. in the Great War?
+"Their memories are short, said he bitterly. They do not remember the
+men who bled for them. Pints of blood I shed, too."'</p>
+
+<p>'Their memories aren't so bad, really,' said Jill. 'They remember the
+men who said: "If a woman cropped up in this game I should jack the
+whole thing up."'</p>
+
+<p>Nick dropped a glass with a crash.</p>
+
+<p>'Jill, you—little—devil!' he said.</p>
+
+<p>Jill looked interested.</p>
+
+<p>'Nick, do you know, I've never been called that before. Dear old chap,
+don't grind that glass into the linoleum if you can help it.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'm awfully sorry,' said Nick, collecting the fragments. 'For breaking
+the glass I mean, not for the well-deserved epithet. Jill, I'd clean
+forgotten that I said that.'</p>
+
+<p>'Their memories are short', said she with satisfaction. 'They forget
+the harsh things they said about the weaker sex.'</p>
+
+<p>'Weaker! Heaven help us! Jill, I'll buy you another glass. What shall I
+do with the pieces?'</p>
+
+<p>'Throw them into that bucket. Yes, do. Woolworth's. Sixpence. I'll
+come with you. I love watching people in Woolworth's. They go in so
+scornfully—and they come out thrilled.'</p>
+
+<p>'I never go anywhere scornfully—and I'm always thrilled. Jill, tell
+me, did you <i>know</i>, that night?'</p>
+
+<p>'I didn't exactly <i>know</i>—I just thought—I don't know, Nick. I can't
+explain.'</p>
+
+<p>'The world's full of people who can't explain. Jill, am I unusually
+stupid, do you think?'</p>
+
+<p>'Not for a man. Give her time, Nick.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'd like to give her socks! There <i>isn't</i> any time!'</p>
+
+<p>Jill laughed.</p>
+
+<p>'You'd better be careful,' she warned. 'She isn't the sort of child
+who'll stand....'</p>
+
+<p>'I know it! Only too well do I know it! Jill, tell me ... no, I'd
+rather you didn't.'</p>
+
+<p>'Very wise man! Hadn't you better take those glasses along and give
+your accomplice a drink? You'll find the beer in the dining-room.'</p>
+
+<p>'Right. Thanks, awfully.' He collected two tumblers from the dresser,
+and moved towards the door. 'Are you going to disappear into that
+cupboard again?'</p>
+
+<p>'No.' Jill sighed regretfully. 'It's finished.'</p>
+
+<p>'That crowded hour of glorious life is over. Poor little Jill!'</p>
+
+<p>'I like doing it,' said Jill. 'You know where you are with a cupboard.'</p>
+
+<p>'<i>Jill!</i>' Nick brandished a glass above her head menacingly. 'If you
+say one more thing like that—I shan't merely call you names.'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, if you <i>will</i> come and trail the tail of your coat all round my
+peaceful kitchen, what can you expect?'</p>
+
+<p>'I certainly didn't expect this, and it's a great shock to me. I had no
+idea you were capable of such provocation.'</p>
+
+<p>'But, Nick, my dear, never before has there been such a perfect
+opportunity to pull your leg, because ... but I think you'd better go
+and look after Michael Doone.'</p>
+
+<p>'Confound Michael Doone! "Because" why?'</p>
+
+<p>'You won't like it if I tell you.'</p>
+
+<p>'Never mind. Finish the sentence.'</p>
+
+<p>'Because usually you are so certain. That's why you always get away
+with everything. Up to now, you've always <i>known</i>; just like that. And
+now you don't know—and everyone else does!'</p>
+
+<p>'I <i>don't</i> like it,' said Nick. 'And I'm going. Good-bye. I mean,
+good-night!'</p>
+
+<p>Jill watched his dignified exit, her eyes alight with laughter.</p>
+
+<p>'Vive le Sport!' she said softly.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>'MR. ROBERTSON'</h3>
+
+
+<p>Bobby Manvers rose unusually early next morning, and before seven he
+was in Quebec Street, walking casually past No. 60. Seven <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span>
+is a trying hour for a fashionable young man, and, to make matters
+worse, Bobby was very anxious. The date was worrying him. Tuesday, June
+the 9th. It rang in his head like the ominous tolling of a bell. June
+the 9th! And on June the 10th....</p>
+
+<p>Then he saw the postman come round the corner, stepping along with the
+busy air that postmen invariably wear. Bobby waited till he heard the
+rat-tat at the door of No. 58, and then, producing Jerry's latchkey,
+let himself into No. 60. As he guessed, the house was as silent as
+the grave. Bobby left the door open, and waited. The postman came
+and, seeing the open door, hesitated. Bobby bade him a cheerful good
+morning, and added: 'Shall I take the letters?'</p>
+
+<p>'Thank you, sir. Quite a number this morning.'</p>
+
+<p>The postman handed them over, and went off. Bobby ran through the
+letters quickly. There was one addressed to Michael in Jerry's
+handwriting. Bobby slipped it into his pocket, dropped the others on
+the mat, and went out, shutting the door softly behind him. He walked
+briskly to the nearest Tube station, and entering a call-box, opened
+Jerry's letter. It was dated June 8th.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Dear Michael</span>,</p>
+
+<p>I want you to come to-morrow night to Isaac Jacob's shop in Quay
+Street. It's a sort of clothier's, next door to a pub called The
+Sailmaker's Arms. You can't miss it. Go in and speak to old Jacob. The
+password is 'V.L.S.' When you say that, he will bring you upstairs to
+us. Nick has a room above the shop.</p>
+
+<p>I can't tell you much now, but Nick is William's friend—the man who
+gave him the envelope. Nick has found out who Mr. Robertson is, and
+he's worked out all his plans to catch him. You remember the 10th of
+June? Well, that's the day when Nick will take action, but he wants
+to see you first, so will you come down to-morrow—the 9th—between
+10 and 11 <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span> I shall be there, too, and will tell you all
+about our adventures since I last saw you.</p>
+
+<p>Nick says be sure not to tell anyone about this, not even Bobby, until
+the show's over. We don't want the news to leak out.</p>
+
+<p class="ph2">Yours ever</p>
+
+<p class="ph2"><span class="smcap">Jerry</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Bobby stuffed the letter into his pocket, and wiped his forehead.
+He was conscious of a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It
+had been a close shave. If he had not managed to get this letter,
+things might have been alarming. As it was, he must let the Chief
+know immediately. Plans would have to be altered a good deal. Jacob's
+shop in Quay Street! And all this time he had had a man watching an
+innocent house in Leman Street, while Vive le Sport had come and gone
+freely elsewhere. Bobby took off the telephone receiver and rang up the
+Chief.</p>
+
+<p>Three minutes later he emerged from the call-box, and took a bus to
+Commercial Road. Turning down Leman Street he found his assistant,
+propping up the walls of a public-house. In a few guarded sentences
+Bobby explained himself.</p>
+
+<p>'Right y' are,' said the watcher, nodding. 'Ikey Jacob's. I know 'im.
+No point in worryin' abaht it till s'arternoon, is there?'</p>
+
+<p>'I want you to be there by three, at the latest,' said Bobby. 'Watch
+who goes in and comes out, and let me know. I shall be back about
+half-past ten to-night.'</p>
+
+<p>'Right-o, guv'nor.' The watcher nodded again, and Bobby made his way
+back to the West End.</p>
+
+<p>As a matter of fact, it was barely ten past ten when he arrived in Quay
+Street, this time accompanied by a tall man with a black beard. The
+watcher arose from the darkness to greet them.</p>
+
+<p>'Lots o' blokes 'ave bin in and out,' he whispered. 'But there's
+one went in two hour ago, and ain't shown up since. Tall bloke,
+clean-shaven, an' 'ad a gal with 'im.'</p>
+
+<p>Bobby glanced at his companion with an expression of triumph, not
+unmixed with apprehension. Mr. Robertson smiled faintly, but made no
+comment.</p>
+
+<p>'Good' said Bobby to the watcher. 'Keep on at your post till we come
+out. We may need you, but you know what to expect.'</p>
+
+<p>'Yessir. Right y' are.' He lifted up his voice in the true beggar's
+whine: 'Spare us a tanner, gentlemen. Ain't 'ad a bite since day 'fore
+yesterday, swelp me, Bob! Thank ye, sir. Gawd bless yer!'</p>
+
+<p>Bobby and his companion entered the shop.</p>
+
+<p>It was a dingy little place, lit by a flaring gas jet. Jacob himself,
+with his bright boot-button eyes, sat behind the counter, and sniffed
+into his straggling grey beard. The room smelt of cheese and oilskins
+and escaping gas. A long, lanky fellow in blue trousers and sweater
+leant up against the far end of the counter. He was talking in an
+undertone to Jacob, and did not look up as the newcomers entered.</p>
+
+<p>Bobby nodded curtly.</p>
+
+<p>'V.L.S.,' he said, without preface.</p>
+
+<p>'That's right,' said Jacob, waving his hand towards a door at the back
+of the shop. 'Upstairs and the first on your right. But you know the
+way, maybe?'</p>
+
+<p>Bobby nodded, and crossed the little room. His companion followed him,
+with a curious glance over his shoulder at the lanky sailor, who was
+struggling to pull on a pair of sea-boots, and cursing under his breath
+in vivid Cockney. They passed out into a narrow passage, shutting the
+shop door behind them, and began to mount the stairs. At the top Bobby
+hesitated. His companion glanced at him and smiled.</p>
+
+<p>'I suppose ... er ... I suppose this is the right way?' said Bobby in
+an undertone.</p>
+
+<p>There was a shadow of doubt in his voice, and his companion heard it.
+Without a word he stepped in front of him, and knocked sharply on the
+door. Nick's voice answered. 'Come in, Michael!' they heard him say.</p>
+
+<p>The man with the beard entered the room, revolver in hand. Bobby
+followed close. Jerry and Nick were sitting over the fire talking
+gravely, and as they turned Nick leapt to his feet, with a startled
+exclamation.</p>
+
+<p>'Don't move, please,' said the man with the beard. 'Let me explain at
+once that this little weapon of mine has a silencer. I find it very
+handy. My secretary here, whom I believe you have met, always uses the
+same type.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick bowed.</p>
+
+<p>'May I introduce Miss Mitchell?' he said. 'Jerry, this is Mr.
+Robertson, whom you have been so anxious to meet. Also his
+second-in-command, Mr. Manvers. You remember him?'</p>
+
+<p>'I do indeed,' said Jerry. She surveyed Bobby coolly, and gave a
+contemptuous little laugh. 'How absurd!' she said.</p>
+
+<p>Bobby flushed, and scowled. The man with the beard smiled
+appreciatively.</p>
+
+<p>'I'm delighted to meet you both,' he said, 'but forgive me if I
+talk business. Time's getting short. May I have that list of names,
+Nicholson?'</p>
+
+<p>'I'm afraid not,' said Nick. 'It's not in my possession.'</p>
+
+<p>Robertson turned to Jerry.</p>
+
+<p>'Perhaps you can help me. I want the letter given to your father in the
+Jameson Club on the night of April 24th. It was stolen from me that
+evening by this most efficient burglar, Mr. Nicholson.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry smiled.</p>
+
+<p>'I'm afraid it's no good, Mr. Robertson. Surely you must see that, as
+my father's executor, my hands are tied. I have his instructions, and
+must carry them out.'</p>
+
+<p>'I see that you are indeed your father's daughter,' said the bearded
+man, 'but, believe me, you're being rather foolish. I must have that
+paper. I would rather not resort to force if I can make you see reason
+without it. In fact, I shrink from the idea of hurting either you
+or your secretive friend. By the way, he ought to have confided in
+you a little more fully. If he had, you would not be in this awkward
+position. But, as I was saying, I beg you to be reasonable, and not
+force me to use drastic measures. I have felt the keenest affection for
+Vive le Sport ever since he began his romantic career, and I cannot but
+admire a young lady of your courage.'</p>
+
+<p>'Thank you,' said Jerry, and her voice had an edge to it. 'I wonder if
+you admired my father?'</p>
+
+<p>'Immensely. I regretted having to use force there more than I can say,
+but he gave me no alternative. That is why I implore you to be more
+sensible.'</p>
+
+<p>'It's a form of insanity that runs in our family, this keeping of
+promises,' said Jerry. 'We call it common decency, when we have to
+refer to it, but generally one takes it for granted. I don't suppose
+you understand that, though.'</p>
+
+<p>The appreciation in the man's eyes deepened as he watched her. Then,
+suddenly, he turned to Nick.</p>
+
+<p>'For Heaven's sake, be reasonable, Nicholson,' he said. 'I know only
+too well that you enjoy risking your own life, but you have no right to
+risk Miss Mitchell's. Hand me over that list and let's have done.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'm afraid you can't have heard me,' said Nick. 'The list is not in my
+possession.'</p>
+
+<p>'Have you sent it to Scotland Yard?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick raised his eyebrows.</p>
+
+<p>'Mr. Robertson,' he said gently, 'your memory is failing you. If you
+remember, I told you that if you were not out of the country by June
+the 10th I should be obliged to take steps against you. I also said
+that I should make every effort to save the rank and file of your
+maniac army, although I intended to expose you. I always endeavour to
+keep my word. The police have <i>not</i> got that list ... yet.'</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Robertson smiled.</p>
+
+<p>'You know,' he said, 'you're a man after my own heart. I wish you
+weren't. It would save me considerable regret. I suppose you wouldn't
+consider—no, of course you wouldn't. Well, it's a great pity. I could
+have worked with you.'</p>
+
+<p>'We should have clashed on every question of ethics,' said Nick. 'But,
+apart from that, I believe you're right. By the way, I've always wanted
+to know—and I may never get another chance to ask you—why did you
+choose Manvers as your second-in-command? It makes me think of the
+numbers of brilliant men and women who deliberately marry congenital
+idiots. A common occurrence, but it never ceases to amaze me.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, our Bobby has his uses,' said Mr. Robertson tolerantly. 'He hasn't
+really made a mess of any job before. It was when you crossed his path
+that Bobby lost his head, and that was partly luck. You must admit
+you've been lucky, you know. That railway smash, for instance. I'm not
+decrying your skill, but people like Vive le Sport don't grow on every
+blackberry bush. It wasn't all Bobby's stupidity, though I must confess
+he's lamentably weak on psychology.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, good God!' broke in Bobby, with an irritation that betrayed
+nervousness. 'Do get on with the job. It's getting late!'</p>
+
+<p>'But I'm enjoying myself,' protested Mr. Robertson. 'As a student of
+human nature, Nicholson interests me enormously. But I dare say you're
+right. I take it'—he turned to Nick—'that in spite of all my advice
+you refuse to return my property?'</p>
+
+<p>'You take it correctly.'</p>
+
+<p>'You do realise that you're in my power, don't you?'</p>
+
+<p>'I admit it looks like it.'</p>
+
+<p>'Looks?' Mr. Robertson raised his eyebrows. 'You're not expecting a
+dramatic rescue by Michael Doone, are you? I'm afraid there's no hope
+of that. To tell you the truth, he never got your letter asking him to
+come.'</p>
+
+<p>There was no answer, but Mr. Robertson, watching closely, saw Nick bite
+his lip. Jerry's face was averted.</p>
+
+<p>'Think it over, Nicholson,' he advised. 'For a quixotic idea you're
+proposing to sacrifice not only yourself but this charming young lady.
+You're not very chivalrous, are you? And martyrdom is out of date.'</p>
+
+<p>'Don't worry about me, Nick,' said Jerry clearly. 'I'm with you ...
+whenever you like!'</p>
+
+<p>Their eyes met. Nick took an impulsive step towards her, and then
+checked himself, throwing up his hands with a despairing, half-comic
+gesture of helplessness. They both smiled; a smile of complete
+understanding.</p>
+
+<p>'You have at least one loyal supporter,' said Mr. Robertson.</p>
+
+<p>Nick's eyes narrowed.</p>
+
+<p>'You're wasting time, Mr. Robertson,' he said coldly. 'I tried to make
+the position clear to you last April. Either you leave the country and
+call off your crusade by to-morrow, or else Scotland Yard will receive
+the list of your supporters. That stands. Nothing you may do to me
+will alter it. If I had guessed that you would deliberately murder an
+innocent man, I should have made my terms rather different.'</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Robertson sighed, weighing his revolver thoughtfully in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>'It was a pity about Mitchell,' he said; 'but he was so hasty. I
+assure you, Nicholson, I regretted the necessity. You see, he refused
+to tell me where the list was, and attempted to telephone for the
+police. It was essential that I should search his room, and so I had no
+alternative. Then, as it happened, I was not able to look for the list,
+for I heard someone moving in the room above me. However, we had a look
+later.'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes,' said Nick. 'I shall never forget Bobby's disappointed face when
+he realised it wasn't there.'</p>
+
+<p>'You saw him? Upon my word, my admiration for you increases every
+minute. Yes, it was a pity. If only he had told me that the envelope
+was in his bank we should have all been saved this regrettable affair.'</p>
+
+<p>'I think your own psychology was not too good there.'</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Robertson shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, there's no more to be said, I suppose. Will you be so good
+as to sit down in that chair, Nicholson? Though I may not look like
+a desperate man, I admit frankly that the time has come when I can
+take no chances, and I respect your physical attributes as much as I
+do your mentality. I have a vivid memory of seeing you engaged in a
+little—er—argument in Nightingale Lane one evening. While Bobby is
+tying you to the chair, I shall keep Miss Mitchell covered, and if you
+resist I shall shoot. You do believe me, don't you?'</p>
+
+<p>'Surely,' said Nick, sitting down obediently. 'Come along, Bobby. Do
+your stuff.'</p>
+
+<p>Bobby Manvers advanced with some hesitation. Nick watched him with
+unconcealed amusement.</p>
+
+<p>'Isn't his caution flattering?' he said to Jerry. 'It's all right,
+Bobby. Do your duty and fear not. I'm helpless.'</p>
+
+<p>'Shut your mouth, damn you!' snarled Bobby, jerking viciously at the
+rope.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Robertson glanced at him reprovingly.</p>
+
+<p>'Bobby, Bobby, remember your manners,' he said. 'I must apologise for
+him, Nicholson. His temperament is just a <i>little</i> too excitable. You
+understand?'</p>
+
+<p>'Perfectly,' said Nick, submitting to be tied to the chair.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Robertson crossed the room and tried the door on the far side. It
+was locked and there was no key.</p>
+
+<p>'Where does this lead to?' he asked.</p>
+
+<p>'The Sailmaker's Arms, next door.'</p>
+
+<p>'Have you the key?'</p>
+
+<p>'No.'</p>
+
+<p>'Then who has? The proprietor—or Jacob?'</p>
+
+<p>'Neither. The landlord has it. These two houses were originally one.'</p>
+
+<p>'I see. Well, Bobby, stand by Nicholson, and gag him if he attempts to
+speak. I don't think he will, but one never knows. Miss Mitchell, I
+want to speak to you. Won't you sit down?'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry leaning against the table, shook her head. Mr. Robertson slipped
+his revolver into his pocket, and studied her face thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>'In the first place,' he began, 'please don't think I am actuated by
+any malice against Nicholson. When I said just now that he was a man
+after my own heart, I meant it, every word. I like him better than any
+man I have ever met. I like his courage, his audacity, and, above all,
+his sense of humour, which is only another way of saying balance. In
+fact'—he smiled—'may I congratulate you? He's one in a thousand.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry bowed.</p>
+
+<p>'But—I hate to say it—but he has his failings. He has all the Irish
+pride. He expects to be believed, whether he explains himself or not.
+If you don't trust him implicitly, you can go to the devil. <i>He'll</i>
+not bother to state his case. And no man on earth is always right,
+Miss Mitchell. Vive le Sport! He takes up the cudgels and wades into
+the fray without stopping to think. Just now he's fighting most
+gallantly—on behalf of a man who doesn't desire or need defence. It's
+enough to make one weep, although his utter sincerity compels one's
+affection and respect.'</p>
+
+<p>He paused. Jerry gripped the edge of the table, and tried to shut her
+ears to the charm of his voice.</p>
+
+<p>'I wonder if you really understand what I am driving at,' he went
+on. 'This Fraternity of mine—you don't look upon it as a mob of
+revolutionaries, do you? That's the difficulty, so often. Whenever
+a man wants to start a reform of any kind, three-quarters of the
+population immediately conjure up a horrid vision of a vast crowd of
+frenzied insurgents, armed with knives and pitchforks, sweeping through
+the streets of London, by the light of flaming torches, and leaving
+havoc and slaughter in their wake. It's curious, for the English as a
+race are deeply attached to the English of all classes. If you could
+only meet some of my crowd you'd believe me when I say that riot is
+the last thing they would contemplate or allow. They really care
+about England, and they care enough to want to do something about it.
+No one in his senses can fail to see that all is not well with the
+country under the present system. Four years of the most ghastly war
+in history have almost wrecked England. You have only to use your own
+eyes. Aliens, and, worse still, English profiteers who care nothing
+for England, are in power. Our best men are left in the mud. Take
+Nicholson's own case. Whatever he may or may not have told you, I am
+certain he has concealed nothing of his previous career from you. Why
+did he take to burglary? Simply because he was bitterly angry—and
+quite rightly bitter—at the sight of the injustice around him. Because
+of the rottenness of the system that let such men as he die like dogs
+of starvation, after they had risked life and health and sanity to save
+their country. I want to alter that; and who shall say I am not right?'</p>
+
+<p>'It's a great ideal, Mr. Robertson,' said Jerry steadily. 'But your
+methods don't appeal to me. I find it hard to believe that you will
+save England by murder.'</p>
+
+<p>There was another pause, and the silence was electric.</p>
+
+<p>'You're in love, of course,' said Mr. Robertson slowly, almost as if he
+were explaining something to himself. 'Also, you're a woman. "Launched
+for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same." I've never met it
+before. It's curious.'</p>
+
+<p>He regarded her musingly for a while, and then straightened his
+shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, you force my hand,' he said abruptly. 'I'll give you three
+minutes in which to tell me where and how I can get that list.'</p>
+
+<p>'And if I don't, you'll murder me as you did my father,' said Jerry.</p>
+
+<p>'No, not quite like that. I killed him in self-defence, but I am
+becoming rather annoyed with you. I hit him over the head with a loaded
+cane I often carry; a handy little weapon in an emergency. I think that
+your death will not be so pleasant, nor so swift. Shall I tell you how
+I propose to deal with you?'</p>
+
+<p>'No, thanks,' said a voice behind him. 'Put your hands up.'</p>
+
+<p>Bobby Manvers, standing by Nicholson, gave a strangled gasp, and Jerry,
+turning, saw Jack Strickland with two other men.</p>
+
+<p>'The landlord, I presume,' said Mr. Robertson. 'At any rate, he appears
+to have the key of that door.'</p>
+
+<p>'As a matter of fact, his is the spare key,' said Nick. 'I'm afraid I
+forgot to mention it. This is Inspector Strickland of Scotland Yard.
+Jack, Sir Toby Ward. Hullo, gone away!'</p>
+
+<p>Bobby Manvers had bolted. He tore open the door behind him, and
+collided violently with a man who had been waiting patiently outside;
+the long, lanky seaman who had been buying boots when they entered.</p>
+
+<p>'Don't!' he said, pushing Bobby back into the room. 'I hate having my
+arm jerked when I've got a gun in my hand. It might go off.'</p>
+
+<p>'Come in, Michael, and shut the door,' said Nick.</p>
+
+<p>'By God, it's a trap!' Bobby's voice rose to a scream.</p>
+
+<p>'Quite,' said Michael pleasantly. 'What intuition!'</p>
+
+<p>White and shaking, Bobby turned back to the room. One of the men who
+had entered with Jack was untying Nicholson. The other stood by the far
+door, while Michael effectively blocked the one behind him. Jack, hands
+in pockets, was watching Sir Toby, who stood regarding the proceedings
+with a faint, detached smile.</p>
+
+<p>'Sir Toby Ward,' said Jack quietly, 'I arrest you for the wilful murder
+of William Mitchell on the morning of May 24th. I may say that the
+statements you have made during the last half-hour have been taken down
+in full. Would you care to sign the document?'</p>
+
+<p>'In my capacity of lawyer I am aware that it will make very little
+difference whether I do or not,' said Sir Toby; 'so if it would give
+you any pleasure I will certainly sign it. May I sit down? To tell the
+truth, I feel a little shaky. It's my infernal heart again. Thanks,
+very much. By the way, here is my revolver. I presume you require it.'</p>
+
+<p>Jack took the gun in silence, and Nick, watching him, knew that he,
+too, was conscious of the man's queer charm. Sir Toby smiled suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>'You won't be able to add "in unlawful possession of firearms" to my
+list of charges,' he told Jack. 'I've got the necessary licence.'</p>
+
+<p>Jack found himself responding to the smile. It was impossible not to
+admire a man who took a beating so gamely. Then he turned to Bobby.</p>
+
+<p>'Robert Oliver Manvers——' he began, but Bobby interrupted him.</p>
+
+<p>'I wasn't in that murder!' he burst out. 'I can prove it. <i>He</i> did it!
+And as for the Fraternity, I acted only under compulsion. I didn't
+want a revolution—I did only what he told me. And, anyway, there are
+hundreds of others in it. Nicholson's got a list of their signatures.
+You aren't going to arrest me and let them off scot-free?'</p>
+
+<p>Jack turned sharply to Nick.</p>
+
+<p>'If this is true I must ask you for that list.'</p>
+
+<p>'No good, I'm afraid. I've destroyed it.'</p>
+
+<p>'Destroyed it?' Bobby stared blankly. 'When?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick's smile held more than a trace of contempt.</p>
+
+<p>'Miss Mitchell and I burnt it, with appropriate ceremony, just before
+you and Sir Toby came in.'</p>
+
+<p>Sir Toby nodded with deep satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>'I always knew I should like to work with you,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>'It's easy enough for you to take it calmly,' Bobby screamed. 'You
+won't live long, anyway. Look here, Strickland, I know all the leaders
+of this show. There are sixty-seven of them. I can tell you their
+names. If you'll let me off I'll turn King's evidence and——'</p>
+
+<p>A revolver cracked suddenly. Bobby crumpled up curiously, sank to the
+floor, twitched convulsively, and lay still. Jerry gave a little gasp.
+Nick put out a hand to her, but his eyes were on Sir Toby, who was
+handing a small automatic to Jack.</p>
+
+<p>'Forgive me for startling you,' he said gently, 'but, really, I could
+not allow him to continue that sentence. I usually keep a spare for
+emergencies, but in this case I felt his need was greater than mine.'</p>
+
+<p>'I retract,' said Nick. 'On some ethical points we obviously see eye to
+eye.'</p>
+
+<p>Sir Toby smiled.</p>
+
+<p>'Vive le Sport!' he said. 'We should have made a good team. I might
+even have felt it worth while to adapt myself to your conscience.
+Nicholson, I would have killed you this evening, if necessary, but I
+should have hated doing it as I've never hated anything in my life.'</p>
+
+<p>'You'd kill anybody,' said Jerry suddenly, in a curiously colourless
+voice. 'Human life means nothing to you.'</p>
+
+<p>Sir Toby looked at her with mild surprise.</p>
+
+<p>'My dear young lady, if you had seen as much of human life as I
+have—and Heaven send you never may—you would attach as little
+importance to it as I do. Human beings, generally speaking, are a poor
+lot, and such specimens as <i>that</i>'—he nodded to the still body by the
+door—'are worth less than a rat, fighting for existence in a sewer.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry walked over to the window, and stood looking out. Sir Toby
+glanced at Nick, but his eyes were on the girl. Thoughtfully the man
+regarded him. Nick could not, and never would, understand. He loved
+life and people, and had nothing but pity for those who did not share
+his views. Sir Toby shrugged his shoulders philosophically, and his
+eyes travelled slowly round the company. Jack was looking annoyed. Sir
+Toby had made a messy job of a clean arrest, and <i>he</i> would get the
+blame. He was speaking to one of his plain-clothes men. The other still
+stood by the door, his face an impassive mask.</p>
+
+<p>Then Sir Toby's eyes fell on Michael Doone, and he smiled. Michael
+was staring reflectively at the body at his feet, and he looked up
+and caught Sir Toby's eye. He understood that smile, and answered
+it. Michael alone, by virtue of his Australian blood, was capable
+of understanding and to some extent sympathising with that supreme
+indifference.</p>
+
+<p>'I'd ha' done it if you hadn't,' he drawled.</p>
+
+<p>'It's time we were moving,' said Jack curtly. 'Sir Toby, would you
+prefer to keep your disguise until we reach the station?'</p>
+
+<p>'My beard? Yes, I think I'll go to jail as Mr. Robertson. I doubt very
+much if you will ever get me to the dock as Toby Ward. I know the law,
+and the slowness of its processes. Would you mind giving me an arm?
+Thanks, very much.'</p>
+
+<p>As the door shut behind them, Nick went over to Jerry.</p>
+
+<p>'I take off my hat to you,' he said quietly. 'You're the finest partner
+in the world.'</p>
+
+<p>Jerry bit her lip, and then, as Nick's arms came round her, buried her
+face in his coat.</p>
+
+<p>Michael turned to go. This seemed to him an anticlimax. 'See you at
+breakfast,' he said casually.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>THE TENTH OF JUNE</h3>
+
+
+<p>It was a perfect June morning, and sunshine was streaming in the
+wide-opened windows of the top-floor flat in 60 Quebec Street.
+Jerry, Nick, and Michael, having just finished a large and very late
+breakfast, tilted back their chairs and smiled at each other.</p>
+
+<p>'Amazingly quiet it is here,' commented Nick.</p>
+
+<p>'It always is, in the mornings,' Jerry told him. 'As Milly says, "Thank
+Gawd, they're all chloroformed till lunch-time."'</p>
+
+<p>Michael chuckled.</p>
+
+<p>'What did Milly say to you this morning?' he asked.</p>
+
+<p>'Say? She talked for half an hour without stopping. Mostly about Nick.
+"Ever ser nice, Mr. Nicholson is. Such a takin' way 'e's got!" I didn't
+tell her that his "taking way" had been giving Scotland Yard a headache
+for the last six years. What did she say to you?'</p>
+
+<p>'Don't ask me! I fled to the bath. Milly asks too many questions. And
+by the same token'—he turned to Nick—'there are one or two I want to
+ask myself.'</p>
+
+<p>'Shoot!' said Nick lazily.</p>
+
+<p>'In the first place, how did you find out?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes. I want to know that, too,' put in Jerry. 'How did you guess that
+Sir Toby was the Chief?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick grinned.</p>
+
+<p>'You told me so,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>Jerry surveyed him, exasperation in her eye.</p>
+
+<p>'Don't be comic at breakfast,' she said severely. 'It's indecent. Tell
+the story your own way, if you like.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick groaned.</p>
+
+<p>'Seconded,' said Michael. 'Get a move on.'</p>
+
+<p>With a sigh Nick heaved himself up in his chair, and lit another
+cigarette.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, you see, I knew Manvers. I recognised him at the fateful
+Fraternity meeting in April. After that, I simply trailed the lad,
+hoping he would lead me to the Chief, but he didn't. Sickening, it was.
+One time I thought I'd got 'em both on toast, but it didn't come off.'</p>
+
+<p>'When was that?' demanded Michael.</p>
+
+<p>'The morning after that dance at Barton. Manvers was rung up from
+London, and I took care to overhear his conversation. You came in for
+the tail-end of it, if you remember. Manvers was obviously told that
+Breck's boat was due in at five the next morning, and I gathered that
+he and the Chief intended to meet it, so I made a desperate effort
+to get there first. I hoped to be able to trail Mr. Robertson to a
+permanent address, as it were. How Manvers got hold of him that
+night I don't know. They were pretty quick. I think he must have
+picked him up at the Hampstead house. If I hadn't wasted time playing
+touchlast with you, Michael, I might have run into them. They can't
+have been gone more than a few minutes when I picked up that puncture.
+Incidentally, Toby might have cited <i>that</i> as one of my bits of luck.'</p>
+
+<p>'Look here, Nick,' Michael grinned, 'why <i>did</i> you go in by Hampstead?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick laughed.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, you asked me that before, didn't you? It's quite simple. I had to
+go to Jermyn Street and change, and for anywhere in the West End the
+North Road is far the best entrance to London. It's more mileage, but
+much quicker.'</p>
+
+<p>'I wish you'd explain how, when, and where I told you about Sir Toby,'
+said Jerry. '<i>I</i> didn't know. I nearly had a fit when you told me,
+while we were burning that list of names.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, you were warned, were you?' said Michael.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes. Weren't you?'</p>
+
+<p>'No,' said Nick, 'but his reception of the news led me to believe that
+he had guessed.'</p>
+
+<p>'No, I hadn't,' said Michael, with a yawn. 'But I didn't worry. He'd
+finished my job, thank Heaven.'</p>
+
+<p>'I thought you liked him,' said Jerry.</p>
+
+<p>Michael looked surprised.</p>
+
+<p>'So I did. So I do. Cheery old soul, and took his licking like a
+sportsman. Get on with the yarn, Nick. When did Jerry tell you?'</p>
+
+<p>'Last Sunday, when we were driving back from High Ash. She said that
+Bobby was all in favour of her showing the diary to Sir Toby. I'd
+wondered before, but it seemed too fantastic, and even then I wanted
+more proof; so after I'd left Jerry at Strickland's I drove back to
+Suffolk.'</p>
+
+<p>'That accounts for it,' said Michael with satisfaction. 'Bobby
+found a garage at Golders Green that said they sold you petrol at 1
+<span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span>'</p>
+
+<p>'<i>Did</i> he?' said Nick. 'That was unusually bright of Bobby. Well, I
+hung about in that little village—what's its name? St. Anthony's
+Ash—until midday Monday. It was a complicated job, but after a good
+deal of careful search and more than careful questioning, I discovered
+that Sir Toby had been in London on the night of the murder, and, in
+fact, didn't get back till nearly nine next morning. Toby, by the way,
+keeps two cars. One of 'em lives in an old barn, in that wood behind
+the house. None of his servants, except the chauffeur and possibly
+Ruff, know anything about his strange adventures, but you know what
+village gossip is. It never goes farther than the village, but it
+circulates there pretty thoroughly.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, that was enough proof for me, but, of course, not nearly enough
+for Scotland Yard. After all, why shouldn't a respectable lawyer keep
+a Daimler in a barn if he wants to? And also, why shouldn't he go
+to London and come home at 9 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span>? He's a bachelor, and his
+private affairs are his own. I didn't want the police to have a hearty
+laugh at my expense, but all the same I had a curious longing to get
+him jugged. There's no prig like the reformed criminal, you know!
+Altogether it seemed to me that the only thing to do was to make him
+give himself away. Then, when I got back to London, and found Jack had
+arrived, I began to see daylight. Jack and I had a devil of a pow-wow
+that Monday afternoon.'</p>
+
+<p>'That was when I was busy giving you away to the enemy,' said Michael.
+'You blighter! You might have saved me that!'</p>
+
+<p>'Dear old chap, I'm afraid that was deliberate. You see, I knew that
+if you heard nothing from me you'd have to tell Sir Toby what you knew
+about Vive le Sport. And the moment had come when I wanted him to know
+it. He'd had one nasty jolt already that day, when he got the envelope
+and found my card inside. By the way, it's a very fine tribute to the
+Jameson Club's stationery, isn't it? When you think of the number of
+times that blessed envelope's been opened and sealed up again....'</p>
+
+<p>'Never mind that,' said Jerry sternly. 'Get on with the yarn.'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, that told Sir Toby I was on the spot, so to speak, and he'd got
+to get a move on. After I'd had the palaver with Jack, I rang up this
+place. It was about six then. Milly told me Michael was out, and that
+he and Bobby were expected in to supper.'</p>
+
+<p>'Milly?' Michael stared. 'Has she been in this show too?'</p>
+
+<p>'Very much so. Milly's a most admirable accomplice.'</p>
+
+<p>'Deceitful little brute!' said Michael. 'I must talk to her about this.'</p>
+
+<p>'Do,' said Nick. 'By the way, I haven't seen Milly this morning. That
+strange charlady let me in.'</p>
+
+<p>'You'll see her before you go,' prophesied Jerry.</p>
+
+<p>'Will he?' Michael cocked an eyebrow. 'The char always clears <i>my</i>
+table. Milly brings my breakfast up, and after that I never see her
+again till tea-time.'</p>
+
+<p>'Neither do I,' said Jerry serenely, 'but we shall this morning. Go on
+with your epic, Nick.'</p>
+
+<p>'Having conferred with Milly, I borrowed Jerry's key, came round here,
+climbed to the top of the house, and rang the bell. Milly entered,
+wearing such a perfect "Hist-we-must-not-be-discovered" expression that
+I nearly laughed. I told her as much as I thought safe of the campaign,
+and arranged with her to deliver Jerry's note and the message. Also,
+Jerry wanted some clothes. Milly was rather impossible about that. She
+seemed uproariously amused at the thought of my taking 'em, and drew a
+lurid picture of the parcel coming undone <i>en route</i>. It took me some
+time to check her.'</p>
+
+<p>'I bet it did!' said Michael with sympathy. 'But, gosh! she <i>is</i> a
+little liar! I saw her with the parcel, coming downstairs, and she said
+it was washing.'</p>
+
+<p>'I heard her,' said Nick with a grin.</p>
+
+<p>'You?'</p>
+
+<p>'Me! I was skulking upstairs, and my heart was going pit-a-pat.
+However, you didn't come up, so all was well. I waited till I heard
+your door slam, and then I went downstairs with catlike tread. Oh, yes,
+I left Jerry's latchkey on her mantelpiece, and told Milly to see that
+Bobby knew it was there. That really <i>was</i> rather clever of me.'</p>
+
+<p>'Stop chucking bouquets at yourself,' said Michael. 'What then?'</p>
+
+<p>'That was all, really. I went back to Strickland's, and had a bath. I
+knew you'd tell Bobby about that note from Jerry. I was prepared to bet
+that he would use the latchkey and pinch the letter that arrived next
+morning. I was absolutely certain that if he and the Chief read that
+letter, they'd act on it, so I staged Jack and the witnesses, and Sir
+Toby did the rest. All quite simple, really.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael grinned. 'Too easy,' he agreed. 'It was a shame to take the
+money. Nick, you got away with it very nicely. And talking about
+getting away, I'm sailing next week.'</p>
+
+<p>'No, hang it,' expostulated Nick, 'you can't!'</p>
+
+<p>'Passage booked. I'm going home. This country's too exciting for me.
+I'm off to the islands where there's no such word as crime.'</p>
+
+<p>'It's so common, I suppose,' said Nick. 'English is rich in words that
+other nations don't need. "Sober," for instance. There's no French
+equivalent, I believe. Over there it's merely normal.'</p>
+
+<p>Michael surveyed him thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>'Talkin' about sobriety,' he said, in his slowest drawl, 'I should like
+to get you really and thoroughly tight before I leave.'</p>
+
+<p>'What a scandalous ambition!' said Jerry. 'Why?'</p>
+
+<p>'I'd like to hear what he talks about,' explained Michael.</p>
+
+<p>'Religion as a rule,' Nick told him. 'Deeply philosophical, I am. But
+lit up with humour at moments.'</p>
+
+<p>'Speshul!' The shrill cry of a newsboy floated up the street. 'Evenin'
+spesh-ul! Death of well-known K.C.! Speshul!'</p>
+
+<p>The three looked at each other, the same thought obvious in all their
+minds.</p>
+
+<p>'Rot!' said Michael, answering the unspoken question. 'There's more
+than one well-known K.C. in the country.'</p>
+
+<p>'Quite,' said Nick, making for the door, 'but all the same....' He ran
+down the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>In a few minutes he returned, paper in hand. There was an odd smile on
+his face.</p>
+
+<p>'It's true,' he said, handing the paper to Jerry.</p>
+
+<p>'What's it say?' demanded Michael.</p>
+
+<p>'"Sudden Death of Well-known K.C.,"' read Jerry. '"Sir Toby Ward found
+dead in his flat. Heart failure." But, Nick, how on earth....'</p>
+
+<p>Nick waved a hand, imploring silence. He was at the telephone. 'Western
+1743 ... please.' He turned to the other two. 'Jack will know, anyway.
+Hullo!... That you, Strickland?... Nick. I've just seen the news. Is it
+true?... Then how did it happen?'</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause. Jerry and Michael waited impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>'I see,' said Nick at last. 'You must have had a hectic time....
+What?... Oh, much the best thing that could have happened.... Jack,
+you're a marvel!... Yes, I suppose they were a bit anxious.... What?...
+All right.... So long.'</p>
+
+<p>He replaced the receiver slowly.</p>
+
+<p>'Nick, tell us everything immediately,' commanded Jerry.</p>
+
+<p>'It's quite true—as far as it goes. He was found dead in his flat this
+morning. But he died of heart failure in the car, before he got to the
+police station.'</p>
+
+<p>'I thought that heart stuff was a fake,' said Michael.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, Lord, no! His gout was camouflage, but the heart attacks were
+perfectly genuine. Any sort of shock upset him, and the last few days
+must have been pretty trying.'</p>
+
+<p>'And so he died in the cab, and then Jack....'</p>
+
+<p>Nick nodded. 'He was rather a well-known man, you know—public
+character and all that—and the Powers that Be were a trifle
+apprehensive. So Jack arranged it. Much the best thing to do. No point
+in making a racket and getting the general public excited about a
+danger that's over.'</p>
+
+<p>'No point at all,' agreed Jerry.</p>
+
+<p>Michael stared for a moment, and then buried himself in the paper, with
+the air of a man who abandons a hopeless puzzle.</p>
+
+<p>'In his way, he was rather a great man,' said Nick slowly. 'He jolly
+nearly convinced me once or twice. Trouble was, one couldn't quite
+trust him. He wasn't human enough.'</p>
+
+<p>'He certainly wasn't!' said Jerry. 'It's queer, though. You'd think
+that he had a pretty full and satisfactory life as he was, without
+playing a double part.'</p>
+
+<p>Nick shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>'Not full enough,' he said. 'There were three big reasons for it.
+First, that power of leadership. A man can't have a gift like that
+and not use it. Secondly and thirdly, he was almost an invalid and
+entirely a cynic. A man who isn't very strong physically must always
+long for action, and if he can't achieve it himself he must inspire it
+in others. And a man who doesn't really care a damn for any individual
+person must attach his affection to a cause—a crowd of people.
+Toby really cared about his Fraternity, though he'd have knifed any
+individual one of 'em if he'd thought it advisable.'</p>
+
+<p>'It's a wonderful country, this,' said Michael, looking up from the
+paper. 'There's a tribute here to the late lamented. You might almost
+have written it yourself.'</p>
+
+<p>'What does it say?'</p>
+
+<p>'It's a dream. Listen. "The sudden death of Sir Toby Ward will mean
+a great loss to the country. He, as much as any man in England, has
+been responsible for the safeguarding of the nation in these troublous
+post-war times. His just and kindly arbitration between employers and
+labour has on many occasions saved us from bitter disputes, and even,
+some say, from open revolution." Can you beat it?'</p>
+
+<p>Nick nodded. 'That's the stuff,' he said. 'Is there more of it?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yards! "Genial ... tolerant ... the best type of English
+gentleman.... Holy Wars!'</p>
+
+<p>Nick laughed outright.</p>
+
+<p>'You see, Michael, in this country——' he began, but he was
+interrupted by a furious tattoo on the door, and the entrance of Milly,
+flushed and panting.</p>
+
+<p>'Joo ring, Miss Mitchell?' she asked, turning to Jerry with a smile of
+childlike innocence.</p>
+
+<p>Jerry shook her head, biting back a chuckle.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, didn't yer? I could 'a' sworn I 'eard your bell. <i>'Ullo</i>, Mr.
+Nicholson, fancy seein' you!'</p>
+
+<p>'How are you, Milly?' asked Nick, holding out his hand.</p>
+
+<p>Milly shook it enthusiastically.</p>
+
+<p>'Ever ser well, thank yer. It <i>is</i> nice to see you again. Y' see,
+we've——' She hesitated, assuming an obviously artificial air of
+carelessness—'We've got Miss Mitchell back again.'</p>
+
+<p>She glanced at Michael out of the corner of her eye, and then looked
+interrogatively at Nick.</p>
+
+<p>'It's all right, he knows,' said Nick.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, I do,' said Michael. 'Milly, I had no idea you were capable of
+such deceit.'</p>
+
+<p>She laughed delightedly.</p>
+
+<p>'I wasn't 'arf frightened of you,' she said confidentially. 'Ain't it
+awful, though, 'avin' ter keep a secret? I seen you lookin' at me ser
+piercin', an' I come over all of a tremble. Milly, <span class="smcap">Go away!</span>'</p>
+
+<p>The last three words were said in exactly Michael's tone. Jerry and
+Nick laughed outright.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, I'm orf,' said Milly. 'Goo'-bye, Miss Mitchell. Goo'-bye, Mr.
+Nicholson.'</p>
+
+<p>'Good-bye, Milly,' said Nick.</p>
+
+<p>She went out, hesitated, and poked her head in again, her eyes sternly
+on Michael.</p>
+
+<p>''Ere! Sst!' She snapped her fingers at him.</p>
+
+<p>Michael looked round with an expression halfway between amusement and
+exasperation. Milly jerked her head back, and indicated the stairs
+with her thumb. Michael stared blankly.</p>
+
+<p>'Come on, can't yer!' she whispered hoarsely. 'Don't yer see you ain't
+wanted, you long, lazy chump!'</p>
+
+<p>Michael leapt to his feet. Milly retreated a pace or two, her eyes
+dancing wickedly.</p>
+
+<p>'My word, Milly,' he said between his teeth, 'I've had just about as
+much from you as——'</p>
+
+<p>He shot out of the room, as Milly fled, shrieking, downstairs.</p>
+
+<p>'She's a Napoleon!' said Nick with deep satisfaction.</p>
+
+
+<p class="ph3">THE END</p>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79026 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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+This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
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+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
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+[Project Gutenberg](https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook [#79026](https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79026)