Then out of the blackness ahead of me came the faintest possible rustle. Like a flash I whipped back my right hand, and hurled the picture with all the force I could straight at the sound.
I rather think it must have landed on the bridge of my visitor's nose, since no other point of contact could have produced such a yelp of surprised agony as that which cleft the darkness. I did not wait to jeer, but, ducking down again, took a couple of hasty steps to the left in the direction of the door. He evidently heard me, for, rushing forward, he landed a vicious smack on the wall, just above my head, bringing down the plaster in a scattering shower. I retaliated with a furious swipe at the empty air that nearly put my shoulder out, and then, feeling that so far I had had all the best of the duel, I leapt back out of range.
How the contest would have ended Goodness knows, for at that moment it was cut short by an unexpected interruption. From the passage outside came the noise of hurrying footsteps; then the door of the room burst open, admitting a ray of light that seemed almost blinding after the total darkness. A figure appeared on the threshold—a tall figure in white, holding a candle in one hand and a stick of some sort in the other.
I blame myself pretty badly for what happened next. If I had only had the sense of a caterpillar, I should have dashed for the door, so cutting off all chance of my visitor's escape. As it was, I'm blessed if I didn't actually jump away in the opposite direction, I suppose from some silly idea that I was going to be tackled by a fresh enemy.
I realised my mistake at once, but it was too late. There was a swift rush of feet, a wild scuffle on the threshold, and then the candle went out and I heard Milford's voice shouting for help.
With an oath I hurled myself forward, stumbling blindly over the scattered fire-irons. There was still a glimmer of light in the passage, and by its aid I could see two figures locked in a furious struggle.
Just as I reached the door, one of them collapsed, and the other, breaking free, leaped wildly for the head of the banisters. I was after him at once, and we went down that staircase in a way that would have put the fear of God into a couple of chamois.
If the front door had been locked, I should have had him. As it was, he just got it open in time, and taking the steps with a flying jump, landed clear on the pavement outside. With a last effort, I hurled my poker at him through the gate, only missing him by the merest fraction. Then he was off, bolting down the street like a rabbit, and vanishing round the corner before you could count five.
I walked out into the roadway and picked up my weapon. Except for a solitary cat, scratching herself under the opposite lamp, Park Lane was absolutely deserted. As I stood for a moment, staring up and down the long, brilliantly-lit thoroughfare, I heard a neighbouring clock strike three.
I am not a person who gives up very easily, especially when I'm annoyed, but, dressed as I was, any further pursuit was out of the question. To dash down Piccadilly at this hour of the night, clad only in pyjamas and a poker, was to court a publicity that I was only too anxious to avoid. So, after a slight shiver, for my bare feet were beginning to get unpleasantly cold, I retraced my steps into the house.
As I closed the door, I heard a kind of stifled sob from the back of the hall, and looking up, I saw in the dim light two women crouching against the banisters. They were both in their night-dresses, and one of them, whom I recognised as the parlour-maid, had her hair streaming down over her shoulders. Very pretty hair it was, too.
"It's all right," I said comfortingly. "Nobody's hurt."
The elder of the two women—the cook, I suppose—burst into a torrent of hysterical relief.
"Oh, sir! Oh, Mr. Northcote! Oh dear, oh dear! We thought you were all killed!"
"Not a bit of it," I said. "Go and put something on, and find out what's the matter with the electric light."
My brisk and cheerful manner had the desired effect. Both women stopped sobbing, and letting go each other's hands, rose unsteadily to their feet. The parlour-maid even found time to blush.
There were two candles flickering away on the hall table, and taking one of them, I hastily mounted the stairs. As I came up, I heard the sound of voices, and, reaching the landing, I found the faithful Milford apparently engaged in a wrestling match with a woman dressed as a nurse. When he saw me, he gave a sort of gulp, and sat down abruptly on an oak chest behind him.
"Well, Milford," I said severely, "this is nice behaviour for an invalid!"
He caught at the wall to steady himself, and I saw that the front of his night-dress was stained with blood.
"Are you hurt?" I asked quickly.
He shook his head. "No, no, sir; I'm all right. It was the other man—he was bleeding in the face."
I turned to the nurse, who, I felt, deserved an explanation. "It was an attempt at robbery," I explained shamelessly. "I got a new man in yesterday, and he must have come with a forged character. Anyway, when I woke up, I found him in my room; so, naturally, I tackled him. I suppose you heard the noise downstairs?"
The nurse, who seemed to be a singularly self-possessed lady, nodded her head. "My patient did," she said, arranging a shawl that she was carrying round Milford's shoulders. "I tried to keep him in bed, but it was useless. He pushed me away and rushed upstairs just as he was. All I could do was to follow him and light the candles."
"You couldn't have done anything better," I observed. "But for them God knows where we should have been. The blackguard had evidently been monkeying with the electric light."
"I was in the hall," she went on, "when you rushed past. After you'd gone, I hurried upstairs, and found my patient trying to follow you. I hope I did right in stopping him. You didn't seem to be in much need of help."
"Of course you were right," I said. Then, turning to Milford, I laid my hand on his shoulder: "You're a good friend, Milford," I added, "but you're a mighty bad patient. You must go back to bed at once."
He smiled faintly, but made no answer. Lifting him to his feet, and supporting him with my arm, I helped him slowly downstairs—the nurse following. Just as we reached the basement, the electric light went up, and the parlour-maid, this time with the addition of a dressing-gown, appeared in the passage. She still seemed a trifle embarrassed.
"We found out what was the matter with the light, sir," she said. "It had been turned off at the main switch."
"Well, that's all right," I said. "You and Cook go to bed now. There'll be no more trouble. It was only an attempt at burglary on the part of that new man I got in yesterday. He's cleared out, and we can't do anything more until the morning."
A few minutes later, having seen Milford safely tucked up and left the nurse in attendance, I made my way back to the hall, where I fastened the front door and put out both the candles and the electric light.
My visitor had left traces of blood all across the carpet, and I found spots of the same article decorating both the staircase and the landing above. It was evident that his study of art had been as intimate as it had been brief.
Somewhat cheered by this discovery, I entered my room, and, turning up the light, shut the door. The place was in a cheerful state of confusion, for, in addition to fire-irons, broken glass, and fragments of picture-frame, the overturned table and its contents were scattered generously round the room.
I tidied up things as well as I could, and then examined with some interest the marks left by the two unavailing swipes which my opponent had dealt at me in the duel. What his weapon was I could not say for certain, but from the traces which it had left behind, it appeared to have been something in the nature of an axe. My pillow was practically cut in half, while the dent which he had made in the wall left me with a certain sense of thankfulness that my head had not been in the spot where it landed.
After removing such portions of Park Lane as still adhered to my bare feet, I got into bed, turning my mangled pillow over on its other side. I left the electric light full on, for sleeping in the dark had, somehow or other, ceased to appeal to me. Then, with the agreeable feeling of a day well spent, I curled myself up under the clothes, and in five minutes I was fast asleep.
A little brisk exercise in the small hours of the night must, I think, be an excellent thing for the health. At all events, I woke up next morning feeling splendidly fit, and came down to breakfast with an even better appetite than on the previous day. My constitution requires an occasional stimulant, and with the job which I had undertaken there appeared to be little chance of its being denied this luxury.
I regret to say that the pretty parlour-maid seemed less fortunate. I was too sleepy to pay much attention to her when I was called, but later on, when she brought me in my eggs and bacon, I noticed that she had dark shadows under her eyes, and a general air of having spent a bad night.
"I am afraid you didn't sleep very well," I said.
She shook her head. "Neither me nor Cook closed our eyes the whole night, sir," she replied reproachfully.
"Oh, I'm sorry for that," I said. "You must go to bed early this evening, to make up for it. Have you heard how Milford is this morning?"
"The nurse seemed to think he was doing well, sir. I believe the doctor is coming round almost at once."
The words had scarcely left her lips when, through the window, I saw Ritchie's car roll up to the door, and Ritchie himself step out.
"There he is," I exclaimed, getting up from the table. "Ask him to come in here a moment, will you?"
She went out, and I heard the front door open. A minute later, the doctor, carrying a glossy hat and dressed in an irreproachable grey frock-coat, entered the room.
"Good morning, Mr. Northcote," he said, extending a hand, which I shook heartily. "And how is the patient this morning?"
"Well, doctor," I said, "that's one reason why I wanted to see you. We had rather an exciting time last night."
He raised his eyebrows interrogatively, and without further waste of time I trotted out the same old lie which had already done duty for the nurse.
"It was a burglary," I said, "or rather, an attempted burglary. I had engaged another man, called Francis, in place of Milford and I woke up in the middle of the night and found him in my room, trying to break into my desk." (This last touch, I thought, was particularly happy!)
"Dear me! Dear me!" interjected the doctor, in a shocked voice.
"Of course I tackled him," I continued; "but he made such a noise that, unfortunately, he woke up Milford. In spite of his nurse, the plucky fellow insisted on coming upstairs; and just as he reached the landing, my man broke away and made a dash for the door. There was a scuffle in the passage, and Milford got bowled over."
"Bless my soul!" said the doctor. "Was he hurt?"
"No," said I; "that's the funny thing about it. Knowing how seedy he was, I expected to find him dead; but, on the contrary, he seemed to be none the worse for it."
Ritchie nodded his head. "It's quite possible," he said thoughtfully. "A shock of some kind may have been just what he needed. Still, it must have been touch-and-go. What happened to the man?"
"Unfortunately," I said, "he got away. It's an extraordinary case, because I engaged him through Seagrave's, and his references were all right, according to them. I'm going straight round there now."
"I should," said the doctor, "and, what's more, I should put the matter in the hands of the police right away."
"Quite so," I assented cordially though it was the very last thing I had any intention of doing; and with this extra fib I led the way down to the basement.
Far from being any the worse for this night's adventure, we found the gallant Milford sitting up in bed, shifting a large bowl of bread-and-milk with evident enjoyment.
"Hullo, Milford!" I said. "That looks hopeful."
The good fellow positively grinned. "I feel much better to-day, thank you, sir. I really think I can get up and do my work."
"I don't know about that," remarked the doctor, laughing, "but there's no doubt that fighting burglars agrees with you. Let's feel your pulse."
The nurse, who had taken the chance of removing the empty bowl, here observed that her patient had slept soundly ever since we had put him to bed.
"Oh, he's much better," said the doctor—"there can be no question about that. Indeed, I don't think it would do him any harm to get up. Of course he mustn't think of work for another day or two, but otherwise we can consider the cure complete. In future, I shall recommend one burglar to be taken nightly for any case that I feel doubtful about."
Chuckling heartily at his own jest, he accompanied me upstairs. "It really is a most remarkable recovery," he said. "The man is practically all right again—pulse a little weak, but otherwise nothing the matter with him. It just illustrates the value of a sudden mental shock in cases of collapse. By the way, I received the analyst's report this morning.
"Oh!" I observed. "What did he say?"
The doctor frowned. "Well, it's curious, but he admits that at present he's baffled. There are distinct traces of a vegetable poison of some kind, but it responds to none of the usual tests. However, he's going to make some further researches, so I suppose I shall hear from him again."
"You must let me know," I said brazenly, handing him his hat. "I mean to get to the bottom of this."
Promising he would, and congratulating me again on my frustration of the burglar, the worthy man went off. What his private opinion of my household must have been I hardly liked to contemplate; but since he showed no signs of communicating it to the police, I was well content to let matters rest as they were.
Before starting out to have a little chat with my friend Mr. Seagrave, I summoned the parlour-maid and gave her instructions that if Billy Logan rang up or called while I was out, she was to tell him that he would find me at home any time that afternoon. Then, equipping myself with my trusty sword-stick, I set forth for Hanover Square.
It was my intention, as you may imagine, to speak some very plain words to the portly gentleman who had sent "Francis" round on the previous day; but, as some forgotten philosopher once observed, "it takes two to make a quarrel." One can't be brutal to a worm, and Mr. Seagrave more nearly represented that creature than anybody I have ever met.
The moment I entered his office he fell upon me with apologies so abject that my pretty talent for remonstrance had no chance of asserting itself.
"You have received my note, Mr. Northcote. I can't tell you how distressed I am that such a thing should have occurred in this office. On behalf of the firm I tender you our deepest, our most sincere apologies. I only trust that there have been no regrettable consequences. What the scoundrel's object was, Heaven knows. I—"
"Look here, Mr. Seagrave," I interrupted, "what the dickens are you talking about? I've had no note from you yet."
He goggled at me, rubbing his hands together and cringing like a frightened spaniel I suppose he must have had some unpleasant experiences with my spirited double.
"You must just have missed it, Mr. Northcote," he said. "I sent it around by one of our young men a quarter of an hour ago. The fact is that we have heard from Sir Henry Tregattock this morning completely repudiating any knowledge of Francis. I had written to him overnight, asking him to confirm the character, and in reply he stated that he had no idea what I was alluding to. He had never had a servant of that name, and had not communicated with me in any shape or form. It's unparalleled, amazing, incredible, but there can be no doubt that someone else answered the telephone in Sir Henry's name. Still if there have been no unfortunate developments—"
I laughed in rather a nasty fashion. "Unfortunate developments!" I repeated. "Are you aware, Mr. Seagrave, that the man you sent me yesterday not only attempted to rob the house in the night, but did his best to murder me?"
To say that Mr. Seagrave collapsed would be an altogether inadequate expression.
"Oh dear, oh dear!" he moaned. "This is terrible, sir, terrible! Such a thing has never occurred in the whole history of the firm. It will ruin us when it comes out—absolutely ruin us!"
His frank egotism rather pleased me.
"I don't suppose it would do you much good," I replied: "but is there any reason why it would come out?"
I saw a ray of hope leap into his distressed face.
"The fact is," I went on, "that I object to publicity in a case like this. In the first place, I'm much too busy to be bothered about it. The man's gone, and, as it happens, there's no harm done. I don't want a lot of infernal policemen tramping all over my house." (This was true enough.) "But you ought to be more careful," I added severely.
"We ought, sir; indeed we ought. I will never accept a telephone reference again. I should be more grateful than I can say if you can see your way to overlook the matter. The scoundrel must evidently have had an accomplice in Sir Henry's house."
"Well, you must square things with Sir Henry as best you can," I said. "All I want is not to be troubled any more in the matter."
I turned to leave the office, and he bowed me out, fervently protesting that my peace should not be disturbed, and that he would for ever consider himself my most humble debtor.
Quite pleased with the success of my interview, I made my way back to Park Lane, only stopping at a shop in Bond Street to purchase one of those linen belts which are made to wear next the skin. In view of my somewhat uncertain circumstances, it seemed to be tempting Providence to wander about London with ten thousand pounds in my pocket.
During my walk home, my adventure of the previous night served to occupy my thoughts in a not unpleasant fashion. It was agreeable to reflect that at least one of my unknown friends was bearing my handiwork in fairly legible type. Whether "Francis" was the mysterious Guarez, or another gentleman with similar aims, it was at least certain that for a few days I should be able to recognise him under any disguise. I registered a grim vow that no stranger with a dismantled bridge to his nose should have the opportunity of approaching within striking distance of me.
All the afternoon I waited in, in the hopes of hearing from Billy. By six o'clock, however, no message had arrived; and, feeling rather worried, I strolled downstairs to see how Milford was getting on. I found him fully dressed, sitting in an easy-chair in the pantry, and reading theDaily Telegraph. The nurse had gone.
He seemed quite touchingly pleased to see me, but it was all I could do to persuade him to retain his comfortable seat. He appeared to think a kitchen chair altogether beneath my dignity.
"What I can't make out, Milford," I said, "is how you managed to upset yourself."
He was silent a minute. "I can't help thinking, sir," he replied slowly, "that it must have been that glass of beer I had at the Granville."
"But surely," I objected, "if the beer poisoned you, it would have poisoned everyone else."
"I don't think the beer would have poisoned me, sir, if it had been left alone," he said pointedly.
"What do you mean, Milford?" I asked.
He shifted a little uneasily in his chair. "Well, sir, it may be fancy, and you may think I'm speaking foolishly, but I can't help having an idea that the man I was speaking to may have put something in it when I wasn't looking."
"The man?" I said. "What man?"
"It was a chap in the bar, sir. A big, foreign-looking fellow he was. He started talking to me when I came in, though, as far as I know, I'd never set eyes on him before. It's my belief that for some reason of his own he put something in my drink."
This theory of Milford's fitted in so exactly with my own suspicions that for a moment I felt as if I were partly guilty.
"Would you know him again?" I asked.
"Oh yes, sir. He was a big, black-haired fellow, with one shoulder a little higher than the other. I didn't fancy him when he came up and spoke to me."
I was just going to observe that the landlord of the premises might possibly be able to tell us something about the gentleman, when there came a tap at the door, and the parlour-maid entered.
"If you please, sir," she said, "Mr. Simpson is here."
It was an embarrassing moment, as of course I hadn't the faintest notion who Mr. Simpson might be; but once more Milford came to my rescue.
"I sent him a message to come round, sir. You said you might be motoring down to Woodford to-morrow if it was fine, so I told him he'd better look in and see whether you wanted the car."
This was news indeed. Up till that moment I had no idea that I belonged to the noble army of car owners.
"Quite right, Milford," I said, getting up. "I think I shall motor if it's anything like a decent day."
I went upstairs and found Mr. Simpson in the hall. He proved to be a small, dark, clean-shaven man dressed in the conventional garb of a chauffeur.
"Good evening, sir," he said, touching his forehead. "I just looked in about the car. Mr. Milford said you might be wanting it to-morrow to go down to Suffolk."
"Yes," I said, "I shall if it's fine."
I had quite decided by this time that I would motor down to Woodford instead of going by train.
"Will you be wanting me, sir?" asked Mr. Simpson.
I reflected rapidly. I am not much of a hand at steering a car, but still I had tackled the task with average success on several occasions in Buenos Ayres. What was worrying me was the question of Billy. If he turned up in time, I intended taking him down to Woodford with me, and putting him up at the nearest inn; and there was just the chance that if Simpson came the latter might give the show away to one of Maurice's servants. On the whole, I decided to drive myself.
"No," I said, "I shan't want you, Simpson. Have the car around here at 10.30, and put some cans of petrol in. I shall only be away for two or three days."
He touched his forehead again respectfully, and withdrew.
My latest discovery had put me into a very cheerful frame of mind. With a car at my disposal I felt much better equipped for my visit to Woodford. I was a long way from trusting Master Maurice, and a motor is a devilish handy thing if you happen to want to leave a place without ceremony or delay.
The only fly in my ointment was the non-arrival of Billy. I was beginning to fear that he must have fixed up his job with Seatons, and that I should have to get through as best I could without him. However, I have made it a rule in life never to hunt for trouble before it arrives, so, still hoping for the best, I went upstairs, and began in a leisurely manner to array myself for Lord Sangatte's party.
I had ordered a little dinner for eight o'clock, and while I was discussing the excellent sole and cutlets which the cook sent me up, I further impressed upon the parlour-maid that if Billy arrived during my absence he was to be detained at all costs.
"Tell him," I said, "that I shall be back before long, and that I can put him up for the night. I suppose there is a room ready?"
"Oh yes, sir," replied the parlour-maid; "it's only a question of airing the bed."
"Air it, then," said I; "and, whatever you do, don't let Mr. Logan go till I come back."
I waited on till half-past ten, amusing myself by smoking a couple of cigars, and routing out such of Northcote's clothes as seemed to me suitable for the country. Then, as there was still no sign of Billy, I put on my hat and coat, and, sallying forth from the front door, summoned a taxi, and ordered the man to drive me to Belgrave Square.
Sangatte's house proved to be a big detached mansion, standing in its own grounds, and occupying the whole of one corner. It had a pillared entrance—a sort of Greek portico, from which a red awning stretched down to the main gate.
There were a number of carriages and motor broughams arriving and departing, with a policeman at the gate signalling to the next as soon as the one in front had deposited its cargo. Whatever his morals might be, Sangatte evidently entertained in style.
My modest taxi rolled up in its turn, and I got out, and mounted the carpeted steps that led into the house. To the left of the hall, which was full of immaculately dressed men and women, the latter blazing with diamonds and displaying a lavish amount of white arms and backs, stood a large anteroom, where a couple of liveried footmen were waiting to relieve us of our coats and hats.
Having got rid of these impediments, I returned to the hall, and slowly made my way towards the staircase, at the top of which Sangatte was presumably receiving his guests. Several people greeted me by name, and one or two beautiful ladies smiled at me across the hall in the most encouraging fashion. It struck me for the first time that Northcote might possibly have left me legacies of a more agreeable nature than those which I had at present encountered!
At last I reached the landing, where a solemn-looking butler who was posted there evidently recognised me.
"Mr. Stuart Northcote," he announced in a magnificent voice.
Lord Sangatte, who, with the assistance of an elderly, grey-haired lady, was welcoming each guest in turn, stepped forward on hearing my name. He was a tall, well-built man of about forty-five, with a heavy, clean-shaven face and hard blue eyes. I took a vigorous dislike to him immediately.
"I'm glad you've turned up, Northcote," he whispered, shaking my hand. "You got my note—eh? I want to have a chat with you as soon as I've got through with this tomfoolery."
"Right you are," I returned. "Where shall I find you?"
"Oh, come to my study," he said hurriedly. "I'll slip away about eleven, and you'll find me there." Then, raising his voice, he added: "I don't think you've ever met my aunt—let me introduce you. Aunt Susan, this is Mr. Northcote."
The smile which the elderly lady gave me could not have been described as effusive even by an optimist, but such as it was I accepted it with a good grace. Indeed, knowing what I did of Northcote, I rather sympathised with the old girl. Sangatte evidently noticed her lack of enthusiasm, for an angry light danced in his eyes. However, he said nothing, and I passed on into the ballroom beyond, discreetly concealing the amusement that I felt.
To the strains of a band, which I could just hear above the loud hum of conversation, a crowded roomful of people were moving spasmodically about in what I believe is technically known as "a Boston." I stood for an instant in the doorway, momentarily dazzled by the blaze of light, the gleam of diamonds, and the wonderfully coloured frocks that kept flashing past me with a provocative swirl of silken petticoats.
Suddenly I realised that there was someone behind me waiting to go in. I stepped aside, looking up as I did so, and my heart seemed to perform the absurd and inconvenient feat of jumping into my mouth. For, just in front of me, her hand resting lightly on the arm of an elderly man, whose features seemed curiously familiar, was Mercia Solano.
I was so glad to see her that I as nearly as possible made an idiot of myself. Indeed, I was just on the point of stepping forward and recklessly claiming her acquaintance, when something in Mercia's face made me pause. She had gone very pale, and I could see that the hand which was resting on her companion's sleeve had unconsciously tightened. Her troubled eyes looked momentarily into mine with an expression partly of fear, partly, it seemed to me, of relief.
Then she moved on, and the next instant I heard someone behind me pronounce my name. I turned instinctively, and found myself face to face with Lord Lammersfield, the handsome, elderly, debonair statesman who had stopped me on the previous day in Park Lane. In evening dress, and wearing the ribbon of the Garter, he made a strikingly distinguished figure.
"Ah, Northcote," he said, with an easy wave of his hand, "I was just wondering whether you had arrived. It's a mere matter of chance, finding anyone in this human maelstrom."
With an effort I pulled myself together.
"Yes," I said lightly. "Sangatte ought to provide a crier and a bell. Not that the latter would be much use."
Lord Lammersfield smiled cynically. "The human voice," he remarked, "is a very curious thing. Singly, it can be charming; collectively—" He shrugged his shoulders.
"Collectively," I finished, "it strikes me as the most unpleasant of all animal noises."
"An excellent description," said Lammersfield. "Suppose we exchange it for the smoking-room and a couple of Sangatte's cigarettes. I want to talk over one or two matters, if you can spare me ten minutes."
"Why, certainly," I replied; and turning from the door of the ballroom, I accompanied Lammersfield across the crowded landing and down a long gallery hung with family portraits. The smoking-room was at the extreme end, and when we entered we found ourselves in solitary possession.
I naturally felt curious as to what the "one or two matters" might be which a Cabinet Minister was anxious to discuss. It was just possible, I reflected, that Northcote might have been mixing himself up with politics, and as I was vastly ignorant of such things myself, I was keenly on my guard lest I should betray the fact by some inept remark.
My mind was soon to be relieved on this point, but in a totally unexpected fashion. As a matter of fact, Lammersfield's opening words baffled me much more than any political observation could possibly have done.
"It's no good beating about the bush, Northcote," he said quietly. "I haven't got the money at present, and it is quite impossible for me to raise it."
If, in my surprise, I didn't blurt out, "What money?" it was more by the grace of Heaven than from any particular intelligence on my part.
"To put matters quite frankly," continued Lammersfield pleasantly, "I am in your hands. If you choose to press me, I shall have to sell up Cranleigh and retire from politics. The British public will forgive anything on the part of its leaders except adultery or loss of money. The latter, I believe, is regarded as the greater crime of the two, especially when, as in my case, it arises from a long period of unsuccessful racing. Should you care to wait, I will pay you directly I have the opportunity. On the other hand, if my present diabolic fortune pursues me much longer, there will probably be nothing left of Cranleigh for you to realise on."
By this time I had recovered myself sufficiently to grasp the situation. It was plain that Northcote must have lent money to Lord Lammersfield—a large sum of money, from the way the latter was speaking—and that the nominal day of reckoning was at hand. What Northcote's object had been I had no idea, but I realised with rapid satisfaction that it put me in the position of being able to do a good turn to a man who might prove extremely useful. There is nothing more agreeable than being generous with other people's money, and I determined to make the most of my opportunity.
"There is an Indian proverb, Lord Lammersfield," I observed, "which says that 'Hurry is the Devil.' In the present instance I am inclined to agree with it."
"It would certainly be the devil to me," admitted his lordship frankly. "My five thousand a year from the Home Office is all that I have to live on at present. If I can hold out till next year, things ought to right themselves a little. There will be some insurance money coming in in the spring, and I have a couple of yearlings at Cranleigh, on which Morris is building very high hopes. Still we can hardly consider them a trust security!"
I laughed. If only an average Liberal voter could have overheard his respected leader, what a study his face would have been. I began to wonder whether all Cabinet Ministers were as delightfully human as Lord Lammersfield.
"Well," I said, knocking the end off my cigarette, "they are good enough for me. I rather like a slightly speculative investment."
If my companion failed to satisfy one or two of the conventional ideas of a successful British statesman, he was at least the master of his emotions. He received my words without the faintest change of expression.
"It might sound a little ironical to say that I am deeply indebted to you, Northcote," he answered. Then he paused. "To be quite candid," he added, "I never expected that you would take this—how shall we put it?—impersonal attitude. Your last letter on the subject—"
"Ah!" I interrupted quickly, inwardly anathematising Northcote. "We'll dismiss that last letter if you have no objection. I have changed my mind since then."
Lammersfield accepted this eminently true information with a courteous inclination of his head.
"As you please," he said. "You leave me under an immense obligation to you. I can only add that if there is any matter in which I can be of service to you, now or at any time, you mustn't hesitate to mention it. The Home Secretaryship is a singularly distasteful office to an intelligent man, but it has at least the merit of putting one in a position to be occasionally useful to one's friends."
I smiled. His lordship's cynical outlook on human nature and on the privileges of Cabinet rank amused me intensely. He was evidently prepared for some request on my part in return for the favour I had done him, and I wondered what Northcote would have asked if he had been in my place. I had no doubt that my enterprising double must have had some purpose at the back of his mind when he originally advanced the money.
Throwing away my cigarette into the fire, I got up from my chair.
"Thanks very much," I said; "but at present I don't think there is anything I want to bother Whitehall about. I shall remember your offer, though. Perhaps some day I may get arrested for exceeding the speed limit."
Lord Lammersfield laughed dryly. "I shall hold myself in readiness for a summons to Holloway," he said with a bow. "Meanwhile, suppose we return to the scene of festivity. In a weak moment I said I would introduce some protégée of my wife's to several of our leading statesmen; and although, personally, I don't admire the young lady's taste, after all, a promise is a promise."
As fate would have it, almost the first person I saw as we re-entered the ballroom was Mercia. She was standing against the wall, listening rather absently to a sombre-looking gentleman with long grey whiskers, whom I recognised from his pictures as one of His Majesty's most incompetent judges. A sudden determination seized me, and I turned to Lammersfield.
"You know everybody," I said. "Who's that pretty girl over there with old Beauchamp?"
He looked across. "Ah yes! charming, isn't she? Beauchamp makes up in taste what he lacks in intelligence. She is a discovery of Lady Tregattock's, I believe—a Miss de Rosen. They are reported to have picked her up somewhere in South America. I will introduce you to her if you like."
With the memory of "Francis" still pleasantly fresh in my mind, this information about Lady Tregattock was, to say the least, a trifle startling. However, Lammersfield's keen eyes were on my face, and I managed to suppress any sign of surprise.
"Well, if it's not bothering you too much," I said carelessly.
"On the contrary," he returned, "I should consider it an amiable duty to rescue any attractive young woman from Beauchamp."
I followed him across the room to where the ill-assorted pair were standing.
"Miss de Rosen," he said, with a courteous bow, "may I have the pleasure of introducing a friend of mine—Mr. Stuart Northcote." Then, turning with a smile to the judge, he added lightly, "Ah, Beauchamp, you're the very man I want to see. Can you spare him a moment, Miss de Rosen? I'll leave Northcote to entertain you."
The thing was done so smoothly and with such delightful dexterity that, almost before I realised it, I was left alone with Mercia, and Lammersfield was strolling off, with his hand on the shoulder of an exceedingly annoyed-looking judge.
"If I am ever tried for my life," I said, with a smile, "I hope Beauchamp won't be on the Bench." Then, without waiting for a reply, I added abruptly, "I want to talk to you. Can we get out of this and find a couple of seats somewhere?"
She accepted my arm, and the mere touch of her hand upon my sleeve filled me with a ridiculous sense of happiness. We made our way through the crowded ballroom and down the broad staircase into the hall below, where desultory carriage-loads of late-comers were still arriving. To the right of the hall was a conservatory—a wonderful fairyland of azaleas and other flowering shrubs; and in the far corner, under the shelter of a couple of giant palms, I found two comfortable and fairly secluded chairs.
Mercia had seemed very charming to me the other night, but here, in the softly shaded light which gleamed upon her bare shoulders and just revealed that strange look of sorrow and tragedy in her eyes, her beauty held me in a kind of enchanted silence.
"I have been wondering if I should ever see you again," I said at last, with a little sigh of satisfaction.
She looked up at me with a sudden flash of anger that was amazingly becoming.
"Aren't you satisfied yet?" she said bitterly. "You have made me hate and despise myself for the rest of my life. Do you suppose that I can ever see you without remembering that I have betrayed my father?"
"If you mean that you would have pleased your father by putting a bullet through my head," I returned, "I think you are misjudging him."
She leant forward, her hand resting on the arm of the chair and her dark eyes fixed almost piteously on mine. "I wish I understood," she said. "Somehow, I can't believe that you are lying to me, and yet—"
"And yet?" I echoed, as she paused.
She turned away with a little gesture of despair. "I pray to God," she said wearily, "that after to-night we shall never meet again."
"There is a good chance of your prayer being granted," I remarked—"at least, if one may judge by my experience yesterday."
She looked up quickly. "What do you mean?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "Only that a butler I engaged in the morning made a highly creditable attempt to murder me in the middle of the night."
I saw her face turn pale. "Oh!" she said, and she laid her hand upon her breast. "Were you—were you hurt?" she faltered.
"No," I said, "I wasn't hurt. I am afraid the butler was, rather; but that was his fault. It's so difficult to see what one's doing in the dark." Then I paused and looked her full in the face. "The curious thing is," I added, "that the man was sent to me with excellent references from Sir Henry Tregattock."
She met my gaze without flinching, but the last vestige of colour had left her cheeks.
"Sir Henry Tregattock?" she repeated in a kind of mechanical way.
"That's right," I went on, assuming a cheerful, confidential tone. "I got the fellow through Seagrave's—those people just off Hanover Square. There was no mistake about it, because I'd been round there myself in the morning, and Seagrave had assured me that not only was the reference all that it ought to be, but that he had rung up Tregattock, and had it confirmed over the telephone."
She started very slightly, recovering herself at once. "Yes," she said in a whisper.
I lay back in my chair, rather enjoying myself, though I must confess I felt a bit of a brute. "Now we come to the interesting part of the story," I said. "This morning I learned from Seagrave that not only was the reference a forged one, but that somebody else had actually answered the telephone in Tregattock's absence. Sir Henry himself, apparently, knew nothing whatever about the matter."
She was silent for a moment, her brows slightly knitted and a puzzled expression in her eyes. "I don't understand," she said at last. "Why did you want a new butler? The other night—there was a man there—"
"Ah, yes," I interrupted; "the excellent Milford. But, you see, some of your friends had been kind enough to poison him."
"Poison him!" she echoed; and then, leaning forward, she stared at me in obviously genuine horror. "Do you mean that he is dead?"
"Oh dear, no," I said lightly. "We are rather a tough couple, Milford and I. Still, they did their best—and, after all, you can't throw stones you know! You missed me shockingly at five yards."
I am afraid the last little pleasantry was rather wasted. Mercia had momentarily covered her face with her hands, and when she took them down I saw that her beautiful eyes were alight with anger and indignation.
"But this is dreadful!" she broke out. "I did not know—I—I had heard something, but indeed I did not know. It—" She checked herself abruptly.
"It was the genial M. Guarez, no doubt," I said. "Just the kind of thing I should expect from a man with a name like that. I really didn't imagine that you had anything to do with it."
"What time," she asked, speaking rather more calmly, "did these people ring up the telephone?"
I shook my head. "I don't know the exact hour, but I can find out. Anyhow, it was on Wednesday afternoon."
"Ah!" she said, with a quick little intake of her breath. Then she paused. "You know that I am living with the Tregattocks?" she added.
"Lammersfield has just told me," I answered. "But it doesn't matter. I am going down to Woodford to-morrow, to stay with Maurice Furnivall, so you are not likely to have the distressing experience of coming across me again—at all events for a few days."
She looked at me strangely. "You think you will be safer there?" she asked.
I laughed. "Well, things can't be much more strenuous than they are in town; and, after all, Maurice is my cousin, you know."
"Your cousin!" she repeated half incredulously; and then a sudden light of revelation dawned in her eyes. With a quick gesture, she leaned forward and laid her hand on my sleeve. "Don't go," she said hurriedly. "I—"
At that moment there was a sound of footsteps in the hall, and round the corner of the palm trees came the ever-to-be-accursed figure of Mr. Justice Beauchamp.
"Ah, Miss de Rosen," he began, with the kind of ponderous fatuity that passes for humour on the Bench, "I find you like the Arab maiden beneath the palms."
Mercia, dear thing, smiled in her most charming manner. "And for the same reason," she said lightly. "The ballroom is unbearably hot."
"Without the other attractions of the desert," I added. "There, at least, one's toes are not trodden on."
"Nevertheless," observed the judge, addressing Mercia and ostentatiously disregarding me, "with your permission, I am going to take you away from your oasis. On my way to rejoin you, I met Sir Henry. He is anxious for a moment's conversation with you, and I promised to bring you back with me."
He offered his arm, and, after hesitating for the fraction of a second, Mercia got up gracefully from her chair and accepted it.
As she did so, she flashed one swift glance at me. "You must tell me the rest of your story later in the evening, Mr. Northcote," she said.
I bowed, and then stood there for a moment, looking after them, as the garrulous old gentleman, who obviously imagined that he had scored off me, conducted her triumphantly out of the conservatory.
They had certainly left me something to think about. That Mercia was living with the Tregattocks, under another name, was in itself a startling bit of information; while, taken in conjunction with the forged testimonial and its fraudulent confirmation, it began to throw light on several previously rather dark corners. And yet I fully believed her denial of any complicity in the Milford affair. Of course she had tried to shoot me, but, somehow or other, that seemed a very different sort of thing. Poisoning butlers was a branch of assassination with which I could not associate Mercia at all.
I began to wonder how she had got to know the Tregattocks. Lammersfield had said something about their having picked her up in South America, and this fitted in accurately enough with my suspicions of the other evening. Her own phrase, "the Satyr of Culebra," suddenly recurred to my mind, and I remembered that I had never hunted up the place on the map, as I had meant to. Tregattock, I knew, had been Minister in Bolivia for some years, so it was more than possible that he too was mixed up in my unknown and apparently very shady past.
Then there was Maurice, whom at present I was quite unable to fit into the picture. Mercia, had, for some reason or other, given me a pretty plain hint that that amiable young gentleman was not to be trusted—and, indeed, Northcote's words and my own instincts had already led me to a similar conclusion. And yet, if he was a cousin, and one whom Northcote had apparently always treated well, why on earth should he be mixed up with Mercia and those Dago friends of hers, who, probably for excellent reasons of their own, were so eager to finish my career? It was just possible that, as my nearest relation, he might have an eye on my ill-gotten gains; but one hesitated to accept quite such a damning theory even about Maurice.
I was still puzzling my brains over all these infernal complications when a quick step sounded on the tessellated pavement, and, looking up, I saw Lord Sangatte coming briskly towards me.
"Good!" he said. "I thought I might find you here. Come along into the study."
To tell the truth, in the excitement of meeting Mercia, I had forgotten all about the appointment he had made, and his running across me in this opportune fashion was just a stroke of luck. However, naturally enough, I didn't inform his lordship of this fact, but accompanied him across the conservatory towards a door on the farther side, which he opened with a small Yale key. I was certainly having a most entertaining evening.
Sangatte's "study" was just the sort of room I should have expected. That is to say that, with the exception of a large writing-desk, there were no indications that it had ever been the scene of that severe mental energy suggested by its title. Its chief furniture seemed to be a plentiful supply of easy-chairs, a large tantalus spirit-stand, and a very professional-looking card-table in the farther corner.
My noble host started the proceedings by carefully locking the door. Then observing that "a drink wouldn't be a bad thing," he poured out a couple of stiff brandies-and-sodas, and handed one of them to me.
"I wanted that," he said, setting down the empty glass. "I'm just about played out, Northcote, I can tell you. A week of this awful entertaining business would finish me. Have a smoke?"
He held out a cigar-box, and I helped myself to a very promising Laranage.
"Yes," I said, "I can imagine a pleasanter way of spending the evening."
He laughed sourly. "Well, they're going to pay for it—that's one consolation."
Crossing the room to the desk, he opened a drawer, and took out several sheets of typewritten paper.
"Here it is," he said, handing them over to me. "Rosedale and I roughed it out after our last talk with you. I expect you'd like to take it home with you, but you might run through it first, and see if anything strikes you now. I shall be seeing Rosedale again to-morrow."
With a pleasing sense of anticipation, I accepted the papers, and settled myself down comfortably in one of the easy-chairs. One glance showed me that I held in my hand the rough draft of a prospectus, for across the top of the first page, in big capital letters, ran the following announcement:—
THE AMALGAMATED GOLDFIELDSOF SOUTH AMERICA LTD.CAPITAL £2,000,000.
I looked at it for a moment with a kind of dazzled admiration. Then, after taking a pull at my cigar to restore my composure, I read through the whole precious document from beginning to end.
It appeared to me to be one of the finest and boldest works of fiction that had ever fallen into my hands. Briefly speaking, it commended in glowing terms to the notice of the British Public a new and magnificent group of gold-mines which it declared had just been discovered in the northern provinces of the Argentine. Being fairly well acquainted with the district myself, I felt almost certain that the statement was a colossal lie, but I must admit that the evidence produced was extraordinarily convincing. The Board of Directors consisted of Stuart Northcote, Esq., Lord Sangatte, Sir Matthew Rosedale, and Señor Bonito Morales, the ex-President of the Republic. The latter gentleman I knew to be one of the completest scoundrels that even South America has produced, a fact which confirmed my suspicions as to the fraudulent nature of the entire business.
While I was reading, Lord Sangatte paced up and down the room behind me, apparently trying to recover from the unwonted exertion of being civil to a large number of people in succession. As I laid down the paper he turned impatiently and inquired what I thought of it.
"It seems fairly convincing," I said coolly, "but we might improve it a little yet."
"Well, there will be the notices in the financial papers to go in," answered Sangatte. "Rosedale is seeing about that. He says he can do the whole thing for twenty thousand in shares."
It sounded a fairly cheap way of swindling two millions out of the pockets of the British Public so I contented myself with an approving nod.
"And then there'll be Lammersfield," went on Sangatte. "If you can only work your business with him, the thing's as good as done. With an ex-Home Secretary on the board, the shares will go like hot cakes. I know the idiots."
It only needed this illuminating observation to make the whole affair plain to me. I saw at once that Northcote must have advanced the money to Lord Lammersfield in order to compel that genial nobleman to fall in with his schemes. As Home Secretary, it would, of course, be impossible for the latter to accept a Directorship of any kind, so Northcote's plan had evidently been to compel him to resign office by a judicious mixture of bullying and bribery. With Lammersfield's name on the board, "The Amalgamated Goldfields of South America" would, as Sangatte observed, sell "like hot cakes." It was a pretty little scheme, worthy indeed of the high opinion I had already formed of my talented double.
"Lammersfield will be all right," I said, with a gentle irony that was wasted on my companion. "He is in my hands."
Sangatte grinned evilly. "I thought as much. I saw you talking to him to-night. You're a good man of business, Northcote; I will say that for you."
I accepted the compliment with a gracious smile, though I felt a severe temptation to show his lordship that as a man of action I was still more accomplished. Indeed, with the honourable exception of Maurice, I had never met anyone whom I felt a more ardent desire to kick.
Blissfully unaware of his peril, Lord Sangatte helped himself to a second drink.
"I think I told you in my note," he said, "that I'd fixed up about theSeagull. That old devil, Morton, wanted a thousand for her, but I beat him down to nine hundred in the end. She's a decent boat, for her size, but—"
His interesting discourse was suddenly cut short by a discreet knock. With an irritable exclamation, he crossed the room and flung open the door.
"Well, what is it?" he demanded.
The footman, who was standing on the mat, bowed apologetically. "I beg your pardon, my lord, but her ladyship has sent me to ask you if you could come upstairs."
I regret to say that Lord Sangatte swore. "Very well," he added; "tell her I'll be up in a minute." Then, shutting the door and turning to me, he observed graciously: "I suppose I must go back and make myself pleasant to all this scum. You take the prospectus and let me know what you want altered."
I put the papers in my pocket, and followed him out into the conservatory, where, before we had taken a couple of steps, we were pounced on by a stout and elderly lady who made up for her regrettable lack of costume by an almost painful display of jewels.
With a muttered excuse, Sangatte bolted, leaving me to face the fire.
I had not the remotest notion who my new friend might be, but, fortunately, my ignorance did not matter, for she started talking at once with a velocity and vehemence that gave me no chance of replying, even had I wished to. As far as I could gather, Northcote had accepted some invitation from her which he had failed to comply with, for she began rebuking me with an arch playfulness that I found very distressing.
"Of course I know what you great financiers are—the terrible demands you have on your time. We poor Society people have to catch you when we can. But, my dear Mr. Northcote, you can't think how disappointed poor Constance was. The silly child has taken quite a fancy to you—ha, ha, ha! She was quite rude to poor dear Lord Clevedon, who has been really most attentive to her. But girls are all alike, aren't they? I always say that the thing we haven't got is just the thing we want. Terribly hot, isn't it? They seem to have asked everyone in London. I was just saying—"
To save my reason, I cut short the torrential outpour by asking the good lady whether I couldn't have the felicity of taking her in to supper. She jumped at my offer with avidity, and, still bubbling out an inexhaustible store of commonplace, accepted my escort upstairs to the big room where Sangatte's guests were restoring their spent energies.
On the way, through the interruption of a ferret-faced youth who waylaid us on the stairs, I discovered that my companion's name was Mrs. Garnett. Beyond arousing in me a certain vague sympathy for Mr. Garnett, this information was not of much use, for the only Garnett I had ever known was a gentleman whom I had seen shot in a saloon brawl in Villa Maria some years previously.
Under the circumstances, I refrained from inquiring whether he was any relation, contenting myself with looking after my companion's wants, and interjecting an occasional hearty "Yes" or "No" whenever there was a sufficient break in the monologue to warrant such an intrusion.
We must have been in the supper-room for a good half-hour altogether, during the course of which I consumed the best part of a bottle of champagne, and, as far as I remember, pledged myself definitely to come down to Staines on the following Saturday and relieve the vexation of the amorous Constance. Of course I had no intention of doing anything of the kind, but even my natural affection for the truth had become temporarily paralysed, and I should have agreed to anything rather than attempt to argue.
On returning to the ballroom, Mrs. Garnett's attention was happily diverted by some rash stranger. I took the opportunity of escaping, but only to fall into the clutch of the aged Director of the London General Traffic Company, who had sat next me at our merry little meeting on the previous afternoon.
The old gentleman buttonholed me with such obvious gratification that, although I was very anxious to find Mercia and continue our conversation, I didn't like to hurt his feelings by being too curt with him. When eventually I got away, the ballroom was filling up again, but there was no sign of the one beautiful face for which my eyes were hungering. I tried both the landing and the two long corridors where people were sitting out, but I drew blank in each case. If Mercia was not at supper it was evident that she must be in the conservatory, so down I went, praying devoutly that no more of Northcote's entertaining acquaintances would waylay me on the road.
To my surprise, I found the place quite empty. I suppose the combination of supper and a ballroom in which it was now possible to dance were attractive enough to keep people upstairs; anyhow, I took advantage of my solitude by seating myself in a retired corner, close to the door of Sangatte's study, and indulging in a surreptitious cigarette.
It was possible, I reflected, that Mercia might have gone home. I would have one more look round, and if this proved to be the case, I determined that I would follow her example. Somehow or other, I had a sort of presentiment that Billy was waiting for me in Park Lane, and the thought of the cheery grin with which he would receive my astounding confidence made me long to hurry up our meeting.
As for my—What was that? From within Sangatte's room had come a sudden faint cry, followed almost immediately by the muffled crash of an overturning chair. I leaped to my feet, listening intently, and then again—Good Lord! it was Mercia's voice! In one stride I had crossed the intervening space and gripped the handle of the door. It was locked, but I was in no mood for ceremony. Stepping back, I gave it the full benefit of my fourteen stone, and with a crash of splintering wood it flew open before me.
Sangatte was standing in the centre of the room, his face flushed and angry. Mercia, panting, indignant, and pale, leaned against the mantelpiece. When his lordship saw who it was that had so rudely disturbed his privacy, his expression changed momentarily to one of utter bewilderment. Then, with a furious scowl, he advanced towards me.
"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, in a hoarse whisper.
I took absolutely no notice of him.
"Miss de Rosen," I said, in my most cheerful manner, "I think this is the dance you were kind enough to promise me."
Mercia laughed softly. "I think it must be," she said.
I stepped forward, and for the fraction of a second Sangatte barred my path. Then his good angel must have whispered in his ear, for he moved suddenly aside, and, without so much as glancing at him, I advanced and offered my arm to Mercia.
"I am sorry I was a trifle late," I said calmly.
With a charming little smile, she put her hand upon my sleeve. "You are always the soul of promptness, Mr. Northcote," she said.
If looks could kill, we should neither of us have reached the door; but Providence having fortunately arranged otherwise, Sangatte's murderous expression had no other effect beyond adding to my secret felicity. As we went out, I looked at him over my shoulder.
"I'll come back and have a chat with you, if you'll wait here, Sangatte," I said.
He made no answer, and I conducted Mercia into the conservatory, closing the somewhat unhappy-looking door behind me.
"Our acquaintance," I observed, "seems fated to be rather an exciting one."
"It seems fated," she returned, "that I should be under an obligation to you. I suppose the gods are amusing themselves at our expense."
I laughed contentedly. "I don't grudge them their fun," I said. "I was beginning to think you had gone home, and that our interesting little conversation would have to remain unfinished."
She stopped for a moment, and looked quickly round, as if to make sure that there was no one within hearing.
"I meant what I said," she whispered hurriedly. "Don't go to Woodford. I—I can't explain to you; indeed I am wrong even in warning you; but make some excuse to-morrow—don't go."
"If we went upstairs and found a couple of chairs," I suggested, "—perhaps—"
"No, no," she interrupted quickly. "I can't stay here any longer. Sir Henry is waiting to take me back; and, in any case, I could tell you nothing more."
We had reached the big hall, where several people were standing about, apparently preparing to leave. Amongst them I noticed the elderly white-haired man who had been Mercia's companion when she first entered the ballroom. I realised now that he must be Sir Henry Tregattock, which explained to me why his face had seemed familiar. He looked much older, however, than when I had met him in La Paz ten years before.
He saw us at once and came forward to meet us.
"Oh, there you are, Mercia," he said. "I was wondering what had happened to you. I don't want to hurry you, but—"
He stopped abruptly. His eyes were fixed on mine, and he had suddenly drawn himself up with a gesture in which amazement and hostility were very evenly blended.
Mercia had gone rather white. "You—you know Mr. Northcote," she faltered. "I will go and put on my things. I shan't be a minute."
She vanished from my side, leaving me in what appeared likely to be a somewhat embarrassing position. It seemed to me highly improbable that Sir Henry could possibly remember me from our five minutes' conversation in the dim past, and, in any case, if he did, there was no earthly reason why he should have bristled up in this alarming fashion. It struck me at once that he must be mistaking me for my double.
"I think Miss de Rosen is right, Mr. Northcote," he remarked, with icy politeness. "We have met before, but under rather different circumstances."
"Yes," I said boldly. "I had the pleasure of five minutes' conversation with you in La Paz ten years ago."
His eyebrows lifted the fraction of an inch. "Indeed!" he remarked dryly. "But I was referring to a somewhat later date. Possibly your experiences in San Luca were not sufficiently pleasant to warrant your retaining any very clear recollection of them."
This was what Billy would have called "a jab in the plexus," but I received it without wincing.
"I have never been in San Luca in my life," I replied boldly.
Sir Henry Tregattock's real answer was written legibly in his eyes. What he actually said was almost as direct.
"I fear San Luca is not as fortunate as you make out."
It was the first time that I had ever been called a liar, at all events by a man, and for a second my temper almost got the better of me. I took a step forward, and then I recollected my promise to Northcote. With a big effort I crushed down my anger.
"It is at least plain that you have retired from diplomacy, Sir Henry," I said.
We were both so intent upon paying compliments that for a moment neither of us noticed that Mercia had returned. It must have been fairly evident to her that the situation was a trifle strained, and she had doubtless hurried over her preparations to prevent things from reaching any distressing crisis. In a white satin opera cloak, with a light Indian shawl thrown over her hair, she looked more beautiful than ever. Coming up to Sir Henry, she laid her hand lightly on his arm.
"Shall I ask them to call the carriage?" she said.
He turned at once, and with a bow to Mercia I stepped back into the conservatory and left them together.
My brisk little interview with Sir Henry had put me in rather an aggressive mood, and it occurred to me that the promotion of a clearer understanding with Lord Sangatte would be an agreeable way of spending the next few minutes. So, without wasting time, I crossed the conservatory and knocked at his door.
"Come in," he said.
He must have guessed who it was, for there was a distinct and regrettable lack of cordiality about the invitation. However, I accepted it for what it was worth, and, entering the room, closed the door behind me.
Sangatte was standing with his back to the fireplace, looking about as amiable as a tiger with a headache. I strolled up to him, and stationed myself in an equally impressive attitude against the end of the sofa.
"Look here, Northcote," he broke out, making an evident effort to keep his temper, "I'd like to know what on earth you think you're playing at."
"We are both looking for information," I returned. "I want to know what you mean by insulting Miss de Rosen."
He scowled at me for a moment, and then laughed—a singularly unpleasant, suggestive sort of laugh.
"Oh, that's how the land lies, is it!" Then he paused.
My fingers itched to take him by the throat and bang his head against the wall, but, fortunately for us both perhaps, that cursed promise of mine to Northcote held me back.
"Well, I don't know what you think about it," he said surlily, "but it seems to me that you and I can't afford to quarrel about a woman just at present. Women and business don't mix."
"I think they will in this case," I said, "unless you play the game a little straighter."
He favoured me with a glance which no one could have described as affectionate.
"You're taking a queer line, Northcote. I'm not a safe man to threaten, as you ought to know."
I laughed. "If it comes to that," I said, "you're not altogether ignorant about me."
It was a chance shot, for at present I was quite unaware how much of my double's unsavoury career Sangatte was really acquainted with. That his knowledge was fairly extensive, however, was plain from his answer to my remark.
"I'll give you credit for being a pretty complete scoundrel, Northcote," he observed graciously, "but, all the same, I tell you plainly I'm not going to stand any interference in this business. You play your hand, and I'll play mine."
"My only objection to that," I observed, "is that your hand seems to be such an excessively dirty one."
He flushed hotly. "It's a new thing to find you playing the moralist," he sneered. "What's the matter? Do you want to marry the girl?"
I kept my temper. "Suppose we leave Miss de Rosen's name out of it," I suggested. "We'll say that, until the Company's launched, it will be safer for you, and better for business generally, if you can manage to restrain your emotions within decent limits."
There must have been a dangerous note in my voice, for, angry as he was, I could see that my words had sobered him. He made one last effort at bluff, however.
"If you think you can frighten me," he declared, "you've got your money on the wrong horse. This isn't South America, you know."
I smiled. "If it was, I shouldn't have troubled to warn you," I said pleasantly.
There was a short silence, Sangatte eyeing me malevolently and, I suppose, weighing up the situation. At last he shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, have it your own way," he snarled. "I'm not going to wreck the Company for the sake of any woman in the world."
"That's right," I said cheerfully. "I thought you'd take a reasonable view of the matter."
As I spoke, the big timepiece in the corner gave out a deep, solitary tang. It was one o'clock. I remembered that Billy might possibly be waiting for me.