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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9f57f44 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,13 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text +*.htm text +*.html text +*.png binary +*.jpg binary +*.svg text +*.pdf binary +*.bmp binary +*.zip binary +*.midi binary +*.mp3 binary diff --git a/79026-0.txt b/79026-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..209de6a --- /dev/null +++ b/79026-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9036 @@ +*** 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 *** diff --git a/79026-h/79026-h.htm b/79026-h/79026-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..877df9b --- /dev/null +++ b/79026-h/79026-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9254 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + The Enterprising Burglar | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + 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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> diff --git a/79026-h/images/cover.jpg b/79026-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5ae3b12 --- /dev/null +++ b/79026-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/79026-h/images/illusc.jpg b/79026-h/images/illusc.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..00e773d --- /dev/null +++ b/79026-h/images/illusc.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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