CHAPTER XXXIV.A TOAST.
Absorbed in his own disturbed thoughts, Rowton never knew that he was followed. Simpkins saw him enter the little hotel off the Strand which has been mentioned in an earlier part of this story.
At an early hour on the following morning, as Rowton was having breakfast in the coffee room, Scrivener was announced. The landlord brought in the information.
“There’s a man of the name of Dawson outside,” he said to Rowton, “he’ll be glad to speak to you for a minute.”
“Show him in,” said Rowton, nodding.
The next moment Scrivener stood before him.
“Ah, Dawson,” said Rowton, taking his cue immediately, “what may your business be?”
“Nothing much,” replied Scrivener. “I have come here with a message from the club.”
“Well, sit down and have a cup of coffee. I’ll walk out with you presently.”
Scrivener, otherwise Dawson, complied. The two men drank coffee together. Then Rowton rose from his seat.
“We can take a turn on the Embankment,” he said.
A moment later the men were seen walking side by side on the Thames Embankment. The morning was a fine one, and a fresh breeze from the river blew on their faces. A man with a smooth face and a perfectlyinnocent expression passed them slowly. He looked full at Rowton, who nodded to him.
“That is my servant, Jacob,” he said, turning to Scrivener. “What is he doing here?”
“Mischief,” muttered Scrivener. “We had best not be seen in such an open place as this. Let us turn up this by-street into the Strand.”
The men did so. From the Strand they passed into a narrow court. In the court was a public-house. They entered it, asked for a private room, and sat down by the fire. Scrivener took out his pipe and lighted it, but Rowton did not smoke.
“Now,” said Rowton, “your business, and quickly.”
“The boss is sorry you parted from him in anger,” said Scrivener. “There’s a wine party at our club to-night, and I was to bring you a special invitation. Long John has sent it to you himself. Matters may be smoothed over. Long John naturally does not want to get into your black books. Will you come, or will you not? That is the question.”
“When I left the club yesterday evening,” said Rowton, “I said I would never darken its doors again.”
“That is likely enough. I don’t wonder you took some of the words the chief said rather hard; but if matters are spliced up between us, you won’t forsake your own School, will you, mate?”
“If the boy is given back to me I’ll not forsake the School,” said Rowton after a pause.
“I believe that will be done,” said Scrivener. “Anyhow you are bidden to come to-night to talk over the matter.”
“Are you square with me?” asked Rowton, looking full into Scrivener’s face.
“As square as daylight,” replied the man.
Rowton turned away with a suppressed sigh.
“I’ll be there,” he said; “not that I believe matters will be smoothed over. This will doubtless be my last visit.”
“No, mate,” answered Scrivener, “we cannot do without a jolly dog like you.”
“I’ll be there; that is enough,” answered Rowton.
“One last word before I go, mate,” said Scrivener. “You had best keep dark to-day. The police have got wind of your identity and are after you.”
“How do you know?” asked Rowton.
“Long John had a warning last night. Spider is in town, and is prying round as usual. It is true, I tell you. You may thank your stars that you have not been arrested before this. It is all the doings of that footman of yours.”
“My footman! Do you mean Jacob Short?”
“I mean Jacob Short. He is a spy from Scotland Yard. Now you know enough, and I dare not breathe another word.”
Scrivener went away, but Rowton sat on by the fire in the back room of the public-house. His thoughts and sensations were known to himself alone. After a time he got up, paid for the use of the room, and by a circuitous route got back again to the hotel in the Strand. As he was going in he came face to face with Jacob standing near the door of the hotel.
“What are you doing here?” asked Rowton.
“I came up for a holiday, sir. I hope to return to my duties to-morrow night.”
“See you do. I don’t wish my servants to come to town without my special permission.”
Rowton spoke in his chuffiest and most forbidding tones. Jacob’s face flushed. Rowton ran quickly upstairs to his room. It was at the top of the house. On the landing outside a ladder was placed which communicated with a skylight. Rowton packed a few things in a black bag, and a moment afterwards, had anyone looked, might have been seen crossing the leads of the house to another at some distance off. Jacob did not catch sight of Rowton again that day, although he kicked his heels for a long time at the door of the hotel.
Punctually at the appointed hour the men met at the smoking club in Chelsea. Their full number was present. Long John looked at his best. At such moments he could be delightful. He was gracious now, unbending; there was not a shadow of care on his brow; his great eyes glowed with the softest and sweetest expression, his lips unbent in genial smiles. There are times when even men of the Silver School can relax, and, to all appearance, forget their cares. The present seemed to be one.
“Welcome back,” said Long John to Rowton. He went down the room to meet his guest, shaking hands with him warmly.
“You know the condition on which I have come,” answered Rowton.
“Yes,” replied Long John, “but we won’t discussunpleasantnesses until after supper. Now, men, let us gather round and enjoy ourselves.”
The men sat round a table and began to smoke and drink. The wine was of the best. Under its influence they all soon became convivial and merry. Even Rowton lost his sense of depression; he filled his glass several times. Soon toasts of different kinds were proposed. The men talked in metaphor, and slang terms were freely used.
“To the success of our next meeting,” said Long John, rising from his seat, and raising a glassful of wine high into the air drained it off at a bumper.
“To a short life and a merry one,” said Rowton, rising also in his turn.
“To the sale of the black diamond,” cried Scrivener.
Scrivener was seated next to Rowton. At this moment Long John gave him an almost imperceptible signal. Taking up a wine bottle which stood near he filled Rowton’s glass to the brim.
“To the sale of the black diamond,” he repeated.
All the men, in a spirit of high bravado, drained off their glasses. A moment later they sat down. Other toasts followed. The party grew wilder and more merry. Each man capped his neighbour’s story. The room was clouded with smoke, and echoed from end to end with the sound of boisterous mirth. Suddenly, in the midst of a very wild and daring tale, Rowton staggered to his feet. He made a step or two forward in the chief’s direction.
“You scoundrel, you have poisoned me!” he cried.