Bobbie had no especial interest in Diana’s soul; he thought she was a nice girl.
“It must have come as a bit of a shock to you,” he said sardonically, and Gordon was hurt at theinnuendo. “What does Aunt Lizzie say about it?”
This was a subject on which he could not speak with normal politeness.
“Does it matter what she says? Bobbie, do you know what Diana tried to do? And this reveals an undreamt-of indelicacy of mind. She tried to give us the same room! A wretched little servants’ room at the top of the house. She says that Heloise is my accomplice.... It’s no laughing matter!” Bobbie was rolling helplessly in his chair. “Diana is treating me like a dog.”
Bobbie surveyed his relative critically.
“And you look a bit of a dog too in those clothes,” he said. “Where did you dig up that suit? Gordon, I’ve seen a judge send down a man for five years for wearing a suit like that. He said it revealed his criminal psychology.”
“Now, Bobbie, you’ve got to help me.” Gordon was not amused. “I’m going to get away. Once I can get to the hotel to my bag, or even if I could get to Scotland—which wouldn’t be a bad move—I’m safe. But I haven’t a penny! She made me turn out my pockets at the point of a pistol. She is the most thorough woman I haveever met. Swore that I had been trying to get at the safe and searched me for skeleton keys!”
Bobbie felt in his pockets. The trip to Ostend had exhausted most of the spare cash—and it was Sunday.
“I’m afraid I’ve no money with me,” he said. “I can get a cheque cashed at the club for a tenner——”
“That doesn’t matter,” interrupted Gordon. “I’ll tell you what I want you to do—a very simple service that you can render and will save all bother. When Diana comes——”
Here, Bobbie thought the solution was a very simple one.
“When she comes I’ll just tell her that you’re really Gordon Selsbury,” he said, and Gordon leapt up from the chair where he had been sitting.
“Do you want to ruin me?” he hissed. “Tell her I’m Gordon Selsbury? I’ve told her, haven’t I? But I gave up telling her when I remembered Heloise. How am I going to explain her?”
The crux of the problem was now displayed. Bobbie had no cut and dried solution. Such as presented were so nobbly and damp that he rejected them without examination.
“I’d forgotten about Aunt Lizzie,” he said thoughtfully.
Gordon’s triumph brought little happiness to him.
“Don’t you see it’s impossible? Now, I’ve been thinking the matter over and I’ve worked out a much better plan than yours. I can get away when this dithering old ass isn’t looking—which is pretty often. Diana has to go out early to-morrow to her bankers. That will be my chance, but I must have some money. I want it before the banks open, so you cannot possibly help me there. What you can do is this: persuade Diana to let you have the key of the safe. She’s put the lock on as well as the combination. I’ve tried to open it, so I know. Get the key and pass it to me at the first opportunity.”
Bobbie was looking at him very hard now, and Bobbie was whistling.
“Give you the key of the safe?” he said slowly. “By Jove!” His eyes were bulging, his jaw had dropped.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Gordon with a sinking feeling in his heart.
Slowly and distinctly the words came.
“You infernal rascal!”
Gordon stepped back as if he had been struck.
“What do you mean?” he gasped. Yet he could not mistake the meaning of words and looks.
Bobbie’s attitude had undergone a remarkable change. The friendliness had gone from his tone, the light of fun from his face. He glared at the man before him; judgment and condemnation and doom was in his eyes.
“YouareDouble Dan!” he breathed. “By jinks! I was deceived! You’re clever, my man, diabolically clever. Carslake said you were, and like a fool I thought he was exaggerating. YouareDouble Dan! My brother has whiskers! Where are yours? I thought there was something strange about you when I saw you. And now that I come to think of it, that cock-and-bull story of yours about Aunt Lizzie is just the kind of story you would tell if you were detected—phew! Bravo, little Diana!”
Gordon went purple and red; he uttered strange, wild animal noises that had no meaning.
“I swear——”
Bobbie shook his head.
“It won’t do, my friend,” he said. “I see thewhole plot. Of course, you and your accomplice pumped my unfortunate brother, who is on his way to Paris or some other unreachable place. You discovered that I knew he was going to Ostend, and you changed your plans. Gordon went to Paris as I feared——”
“Alone?”
Gordon was becoming an adept in self-control. Alone? That was a poser for Bobbie.
“I didn’t think of that. But there’s no reason why part of your original story shouldn’t be true. The husband appears, the lady begs the victim to go and she will follow. That is it!”
“I tell you——”
Bobbie stopped his protest.
“No, no, my man, it won’t do,” he said sternly. “My cousin, Miss Ford, who has so cleverly trapped you, must have some special reason for not wishing to hand you over to justice—had I been she, I would have sent for the police. She has probably taken the wisest course—I will not interfere with her plans.”
He laughed softly—Gordon thought that the immaculate agriculturist Abel must have laughed like that; there was something to be said for Cain.
“Give you the key of the safe, eh? I wasnearly deceived; upon my word, I was. Now go on with your dusting, little man, and thank your lucky stars you’re not in prison.”
Gordon went on with his dusting—he dusted the perspiration from his brow, and the duster was not particularly clean. The result was startling.
“Bobbie!” he wailed.
Bobbie turned on his heel.
“Do you want me to kick you?” he demanded.
Evidently Gordon didn’t. He began to rub the back of a chair listlessly. He had no heart in his work, and without enthusiasm even dusting is a failure.
Bobbie opened the door and found Mr. Superbus sitting on the bottom stair, manicuring his nails with a clasp-knife.
“Giving you any trouble, sir?” he asked eagerly, and was disappointed when Bobbie Selsbury shook his head.
“None whatever.” He walked back into the room. “Now then, Uncle Isaac, clear out!”
“Did he try to escape, sir?” asked the interested custodian.
Bobbie laughed his Cain and Abel laugh. Hisbrother wondered where Diana kept her little gun.
“Did he try to escape? I should jolly well say he did!” said Bobbie. “Look after him, Mr. Superbus. You have in your able hands a man of singular cunning and resource.”
Mr. Superbus shook his head sorrowfully.
“You’re a naughty old Uncle Isaac, that’s what you are,” he said. “I’m surprised at you.”
Gordon collected his dusters and staggered from the room. He was at the end of his dream.
“I’m a naughty old Uncle Isaac,” he moaned. “I’m a naughty old Uncle Isaac!”
His moan came up from the deep recesses of the kitchen.
“Bobbie!”
The girl came toward him with both hands outstretched. Behind her in the hall he saw a strange shadow.
“Hullo, dear! I came as soon as you wanted me, I hope?”
Mr. Dempsi was now visible. His black sombrero gave him a sinister appearance. His voice was querulous, his manner menacing.
“Dear?” he asked deeply. “Who calls you ‘dear’? What is this man to you, Diana?”
“My dear Mr. Dempsi,” she said wearily, “this gentleman.”
But he was furious; flung his hat on the ground and swung his cloak from him with the air of acapelerro. Bobbie expected to see a belt with knives and pistols—the poker dot waistcoat was an anticlimax.
“I will not endure it,” he stormed. “Do you hear, sir? You address this lady as dear—explain!”
She saved Bobbie the trouble.
“This is Mr. Selsbury, my cousin.” Diana was dangerously quiet. Probably Mr. Dempsi, from his long acquaintance with her, recognised the signs.
“Ah! Your cousin! I see the likeness. The same beautiful eyes, the same firm but gentle mouth. The slight figure, the lovely hand——”
Bobbie was annoyed.
“Thank you very much, but when you’ve finished cataloguing my features and describing my delectable points, perhaps you’ll tell me who you are?”
He was antagonistic, and he needed no introduction. For he knew the bearded man, and shared the spurious Gordon’s resentment and utter dislike.
“This is Mr. Dempsi,” said Diana. “You’ve heard me speak of him?”
There was an appeal in her eyes which Bobbie could not resist. He made a show of being happy to meet Mr. Dempsi. As an effort of simulation it was a failure.
“Won’t you change your coat, Wop—Wopsy—upstairs?” she suggested.
Dempsi kissed her hand.
“My beloved—I go. Your word is law! Sir—cousin—Bobbie, forgive me.”
Bobbie forced a smile of friendliness. His gentle cousin thought he was ill.
Mr. Dempsi went singing up the stairs:Donna e mobilewas the song. He sang it happily and flatly, as though his throat rebelled against this rejoicing in the fickleness of woman.
“Suffering cats!” said Bobbie, awe-stricken. “Is that the First Love?”
She nodded.
“And is that his style of conversation—a bit wearing, isn’t it?”
“Wearing? Bobbie, he’s just like that to every man who looks at me! He’s changed in appearance—I suppose six years makes an awful difference. I used to think there was room for nothing but improvement, for he was only a boy then. But, oh, Bobbie, he’s worse! He wanted to strangle the waiter at the Ritz-Carlton at lunch because he was rather good-looking and had a sense of humour—he smiled when I made a feeble joke. And, Bobbie, Double Dan——”
She saw that Bobbie knew, and sighed gratefully. Bobbie was to be a tower of strength: she had guessed that all along.
“He’s here,” said the young man.
“You’ve seen him? Thank heavens! Heislike Gordon, isn’t he? The make-up is astounding. I’ve tried to find out the secret. But he’s so useful about the house. That alone betrays him. Gordon lived in the clouds, where there were no laundry bills and no patent sweepers. And he came in time to be Uncle Isaac. No, we haven’t any real Uncle Isaac, but he served beautifully, and, what is more, he brought with him a perfectly good aunt——”
“The audacious scoundrel!” Bobbie cried wrathfully. “Why, do you know, he nearly deceived me? I wasn’t as clever as you. I talked with him for ten minutes about his troubles. He’s evidently studied every detail of appearance and association. And he makes no mistakes—he called me Bobbie the first time he saw me.”
“He called me Diana. But he didn’t deceive me—not for a moment,” said the girl, flopping into Gordon’s big chair. “This morning I caught him trying to get into Gordon’s dressing-room! He has to be watched day and night, and of course he has a perfectly good excuse for everything he does. He said he wanted some clothes!”
Bobbie thought that a desire to change intoclothing less vocal than the suit he was wearing was not reprehensible even in Double Dan. But the audacity of the man!
“The villain! I wish to heaven I hadn’t gone to Ostend.”
She reminded herself that she must ask him why he went at all. That could wait, however.
“I had to arrange everything on the spot,” she said, going back to the hectic moments of Saturday. “Luckily I remembered that little man’s ’phone number—you weren’t here when he told me? Hate, hate, ho, Ammersmith. Then I had to invent a story—oh, positively dozens of stories! They weren’t lies—just expedients. The stroke of genius was the one about Uncle Isaac being eccentric. Happily Dempsi loves him.”
“Who?” asked the startled Bobbie. “Not Uncle Isaac surely? He gave me the impression—but that was in his rôle of Gordon—that he hated him.”
“No, I mean Superbus. He took to him at once—it was the sort of thing he would do. He kept white mice when he was a boy and adored them! Dempsi thinks that he and Mr. Superbus must have both descended from Julius Cæsar.He spent all the morning in the book room searching for Cæsar’s Life.”
“How does Double Dan accept your treatment of him—and your discovery that he was a fake?”
“That is the surprising thing,” said Diana in wonder. “He was meekness itself—I never saw a man so quickly accept a situation as he did.”
“And the perfectly good aunt?”
Diana shrugged.
“She was difficult. That is natural, being a woman. But she is tame now. I called her Aunt Lizzie to save a scandal. But”—her voice sank—“they’re not married!”
Bobbie tried hard to look surprised.
“Aren’t they?”
Diana shook her head. There was some good Puritan blood in the Fords. Bobbie never received evidence of its presence without a little shock of surprise.
“No! Isn’t it terrible? They’re not married. They are not even engaged: I could tell that by the way she orders him about. She does so with the air of a woman who has nothing to lose. But I’m determined on one thing. I thought it out before I went to bed. He shall marry her beforehe leaves this house! She has been hopelessly compromised. This adventure shall have one good result.”
Bobbie was not enthusiastic.
“I shouldn’t meddle if I were you,” he said, but made no impression on her.
Gordon Selsbury came into the room unnoticed. He carried a dustpan and a short-handled broom. He stood for a while irresolutely, neither of the pair noticing him. Then:
“Have you heard from Gordon?”
Her face lit up.
“I’ve had the loveliest wires from him. Really he has been most thoughtful! The dear man has telegraphed from almost every station.”
Bobbie coughed.
“Somehow I thought he would,” he said.
She was searching her handbag and brought out a folded paper.
“Here is the last, from Crewe; it didn’t arrive until ten o’clock this morning. ‘Having a comfortable journey. Hope everything is going smoothly—Gordon.’”
Bobbie sat up.
“Oh, I say, that’s too bad,” he protested warmly—too warmly, he realised. “I mean, it’s too bad that didn’t arrive until to-day. Write to the Post Office.”
Gordon growled under his breath, and took another step into the room. Diana saw him, but made no sign. He was one with the furniture.
“If he’d only stay away for another week!” she sighed.
It was the opportunity for which Bobbie had hoped.
“You know, old Gordon isn’t such a bad chap,” he said. “I know one’s first impression is that he is a terrible prig, and his manner is bad, I admit; and he’s a thought conceited. These intellectuals are. Though why, I’ve never understood.”
She shook her head. Evidently she had already found excuses for Gordon, and there was no need for his championship.
“Conceited? But most men are, don’t you think? I wouldn’t call it conceit—he’s a little self-important, that’s all.”
The hand that wielded the broom trembled, the dust-pan wobbled.
“Yes, I suppose that’s what he is,” said Bobbie thoughtfully. “Gordon was rather spoilt as a kid, and that makes a man a little self-important.”
“And pharisaical, don’t you think?” suggested Diana, considering. “I ought not to say anything unkind. Really I’m not. He isn’t any worse for our frankness.”
Mr. Gordon Selsbury half rose from his knees, his mouth working, his face pale with fury.
“I’m inclined to agree with you,” said Bobbie regretfully. “And poor old Gordonhasfaults.”
“The faults of age,” said Diana. “He’s the sort of man who has been forty-five ever since he was born; but, thank God, he’s not flighty!” she added piously.
The sweeper nodded in agreement, but his faint smile was to vanish.
“Don’t put any man on a pedestal, my dear,” said Bobbie in the paternal manner.
“Sneak!” said Gordon fiercely but inaudibly.
“The best of men make mistakes,” the traitor brother continued. “His very innocence is a disadvantage. I could well imagine that a woman with the right line of talk could twist him round her little finger!”
She dissented. Diana had her own views, and they were mainly unbendable.
“If I were his wife I should trust Gordon, Bobbie,” she said seriously. “He’s the very soulof honour. Whatever you say of Gordon, you’ve got to admit he’s that. He wouldn’t do anything undignified or vulgar. I could imagine many things, but I could not imagine Gordon going to Ostend, even in a mood of theosophical ecstasy, without a chaperone.”
Bobbie shifted uneasily. He was by nature honest, in spite of his being a tea-broker. There were certain fundamentals in his code with which he could not dispense, even to shield Gordon.
“N-no, perhaps not,” he said.
She smiled scornfully.
“Perhaps! You know he wouldn’t, Bobbie! I can’t think of his doing a thing like that. Why, Gordon is the very antithesis of vulgarity! Could you imagine him engaged in a clandestine friendship with a woman like Aunt Lizzie? It is absurd. Can you imagine him walking into this house with a strange female and pretending that he doesn’t know her when he is detected? I should imagine not!”
Still Bobbie had a duty to perform.
“I think you’re mad to trust any man absolutely,” he said firmly. “No man is worthy of that confidence.”
She laughed.
“You’re a cynical bachelor.”
A voice came from the background. An indignant and an emphatic voice.
“That is just what I say,” said Gordon. “I can’t imagine a more immoral point of view, striking at the very roots—er—um——”
He almost cringed under Diana’s gaze.
“How dare you interrupt?” she demanded.
“I—er—I——”
Bobbie took a hand.
“Now see here, my friend, you take my advice and drop this pretence,” he said gravely. “You will deceive nobody—though I can understand why you have not given up hope—and you may get yourself into very serious trouble. If I had my way, you would be in that position at this moment, but my cousin, for an excellent reason, has refrained from handing you over to the police. That generosity ought to be appreciated by you.”
Gordon set his teeth, cast broom and brush to the devil and leapt up.
“I don’t care—I will tell the truth,” he said doggedly. “In spite of everything—in spite of all appearances, I am Gordon Selsbury.”
He looked round: Superbus was at the door, a buff envelope in his hand. It was no use; he wentdown on his knees and groped for the dustpan. He was beaten.
“A wire for you, ma’am. I never knew they came on Sunday.”
She took the envelope and tore it open.
“Another! ‘Aberdeen. Very good journey and looking forward to my return. Gordon.’”
Bobbie gaped.
“What an artist!” he said.
She turned on him with a frown.
“I say, what a nasty journey!” corrected Bobbie.
She nodded slowly, thoughtfully.
“Do you know, I’m beginning to feel quite different toward Gordon,” she said.
The sweeper sat up on his heels expectantly. For a second she became conscious of his presence.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” she asked coldly.
“Nothing—nothing.” The despairing man stooped to his task.
“Where is your—your accomplice?” she asked.
Gordon turned his head.
“She’s reading—‘How to be Happy though Married,’”he said cynically.
Kindness was wasted on such a man.
“What are you going to do with Dempsi?” asked Bobbie, leaning across and dropping his voice.
She made a little face.
“I’m in despair, Bobbie. I can’t count on his losing himself again. The only thing he shows any signs of losing is his head—and I never knew him when he had one worth losing. Well?”
It was Superbus again. She wished he wouldn’t put his hand on his heart before he bowed.
“That parson gentleman’s called again,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “He’s the Vicar of Banhurst.”
Superbus was country-bred and was schooled in the values of ecclesiastical rank. The Vicar of Banhurst was a person of eminence. To Diana he was part of the marriage trap. The steel grille that would cut her off from freedom. She was panic-stricken by his very presence in the house.
“Tell him I’m ill,” she said frantically. “Tell him—I’m—I’m very ill. Ask him to come to-morrow. And please, please don’t tell Mr. Dempsi he is here.”
“He said if you’d call him up—” Superbus offered tentatively the clerical card. She waved it away.
“I don’t want his address—I don’twantit!”
Mr. Superbus did his bow and went out. Her face was the picture of woe.
“Bobbie, what am I to do? That’s the third time he’s called to-day.”
“Who is he?”
“The clergyman. Dempsi’s idea! He thinks our marriage is a matter of hours! It is so like Dempsi, so absurdly, so tragically mad; but he’d hardly been with me two minutes before he told me he was sending for the parson to ‘make us one’! And I know which one! I read the review of a book to-day by a man whose name I forget. It doesn’t matter. He says that there are conditions in which assassination is the purest and noblest expression of public sentiment. Will you get it for me?”
“But he couldn’t marry you in the evening,” persisted Bobbie. “It is against the law.”
She was darkly amused.
“Against the law! What is a little thing like that to Dempsi? He is the law!”
“It seems a simple matter to get him away.” Bobbie searched his mind for a solution. “Have you any plan?”
Had she any plan? Was there a moment of consciousness in the day that she did not form a new scheme to rid herself of her electric incubus?
“I’ve a hundred, and they’re all futile and foolish. I thought of running away. That seems about the only sane idea I have had.”
“Running away? To where?” he asked.
“To Scotland. To join Gordon.”
Bobbie jumped up, a very perturbed young man.
“You mustn’t do that!” he cried. “Whatever you do, don’t do that, Diana! In the first place, none of us knows where he is; in the second place—well ... I shouldn’t do it.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“Why not? I could tell Gordon the whole truth, and I’m sure he would be nice and sympathetic. I feel very sure of Gordon in a great crisis like this—it is a very dear feeling to have.” She smiled a little pathetically.
“Suppose Dempsi followed you—and he certainly would,” urged Bobbie. “Suppose he foundthat you’d deceived him, and came upon you on the moors with Gordon?”
The smile deepened; into her eyes came a faraway look.
“That’s an idea. Gordon would have his gun on the moors,” she said. “Hush! Here he comes.”
Bobbie had agreed readily to stay the night, for the great Superbus was tired, being human, as he explained, and having only one pair of eyes that needed rest.
There was a slight scene at dinner (Heloise cooked this, and Diana’s respect for her increased).
Dempsi, in his most extravagant mood, called for wine. He wanted wine, red wine—to drink the health of his bride. He demanded that it be red and rosy. That it bubbled with the laughter of sunny vineyards. That its hue be as of the warm, rich blood of youth, palpitating, pulsing, seething with love. This he said in so many words. Bobbie said something terse and offensive, and offered him a whisky and soda. Mr. Dempsi looked black, and Diana hastily intervened. But she might as well have attempted tostay the tide of time. Dempsi made a remarkably quick recovery; spoke tremulously of his happiness; kissed Diana’s hand; gave her for the third time the history of his life.
When he lay in the foul huts of the natives, recovering from his fever, when he searched the world through for traces of his lost love, when, under the starry skies of the Australian bush, he pressed on desperately, doggedly, unflinchingly, following the trail of his divine lady—this was the thought he had—Diana! That some day she should be his! The past sad years should be blotted out and forgotten. All the misery of life would vanish as in a cloud.
“Rot!” said Bobbie.
Mr. Dempsi dissolved into tears.
“Really, Diana, I can’t stand that fellow,” said Bobbie, when the devoted lover had flooded from the room.
Diana lay back limp in her chair, fanning herself with her handkerchief.
“Bobbie, he’s—he’s terrible!” she moaned. “Bobbie, there must be some other solution than murder?”
Mr. Dempsi, in his temperamental way, recovered his equilibrium before he had crossed the hall. Julius Superbus was making up The Study fire as he came in—Dempsi went straight to him, laid his hand on his shoulder, too overcome for speech.
“Ah, my friend!” he murmured.
Julius, at a loss for a suitable response, played for safety.
“Good-evening, sir,” he said, and patted his fellow Roman on the head.
“The one friend I have in this house—the one understanding soul! The one honest creature that is faithful to my memory.”
Mr. Dempsi invariably spoke of himself as though he had recently returned from a brief holiday in heaven.
“I wouldn’t say that, sir,” said Julius generously. “There are others.”
“I do say it! I, Guiseppi Dempsi! Who denies my right?” he demanded fiercely.
Julius backed off.
“Not me, sir, I’m sure,” he said hastily. “It’s the last thing in the world I’d dream of doing.”
Guiseppi grew gentle again.
“The moment I saw you, I said: ‘Here is aman with vision, a big man, a man of sensibility! Superbus has a heart, feeling,simpatico—a man of affairs, a keen-eyed officer of the law!”
Mr. Superbus moved uneasily. He had all an amateur detective’s fear of misrepresentation. He coughed.
“Not exactly an officer of the law, sir. In a sense I am, and in a sense I’m not, though I used to be when I was a bailiff in the County Court.”
Dempsi smiled.
“But now you are a detective. A disciple of the immortal Holmes—what a man, what ingenuity! You are this—you told me?”
Julius hastened to correct a wrong impression.
“Private, sir, private. As I explained to you, sir, I was brought in——”
Dempsi never allowed anybody else to talk.
“To watch for a despicable scoundrel,” said Dempsi hotly. “That such should be at liberty! Double Dan! Even his name is deplorable! Ah! You are surprised that I have heard of this violator of sanctuaries? You clever detective, you are astounded and flabbergasted that I also know of this pestiferous brigand? Superbus, I ask a favour: when you have discovered him, send for me.”
There was a significant glitter in his eyes. His half-closed hands already dripped with the blood of his victim. Mr. Superbus was spellbound.
“Send for me,” repeated Dempsi deliberately. “I haven’t killed a man for years. But I will not speak of that. I am too sorry for his wife and family. I have a tender heart.” He gazed at Julius in admiration. “So you are a detective! One of that great and silent army of watchers, everlastingly on duty, standing between peaceable citizens like Guiseppi Dempsi and the vultures who prey upon society!”
Dempsi held out his hand. Mr. Superbus, his eyes modestly lowered, took it. He felt for once that he was being taken at a proper valuation. Dempsi was a man of the world, a Sir Hubert whose praise was praise indeed. Julius made a mental note of the words for future exhibition.
At any moment Dempsi might switch off to an unimportant subject.
“Yes, it is a bit of a job,” agreed Julius. “The public don’t understand.”
“They wouldn’t,” said Mr. Dempsi scornfully.
“We take some risks,” Mr. Superbus went on. “You can’t get about town without taking risks—I was nearly run over by a ’bus yesterday.”
Dempsi was impressed.
“No!”
Julius nodded.
“I was—in the execution of me duty,” he said. “I saw a suspicious looking man—he looked like a fellow that had been owing me money for years—and crossed the road to have a look at him.” His gesture suggested a swerving motor ’bus. “As near as that,” he said simply but impressively.
Dempsi shuddered appropriately.
“Ah, it is fine work! Have you brought many men to justice? I see you have, but it is too painful to talk about. I understand your fine feelings—you are worthy.”
“Well, I’ve brought them to the County Court,” said Julius. “That’s not exactly to justice. People who can’t pay their bills and owe tradesmen money.”
The other regarded him in awe.
“I wonder you can sleep at night,” he said in a hushed voice.
Julius smiled callously. He suggested thereby that the ruin of small litigants meant less to him than the indubitable fact that flies have corns and suffer from asthma.
“They never get on my mind,” he said; “andas for sleeping—I’m a pretty good sleeper; nothing disturbs me.”
He hoped, at any rate, that nothing would disturb him that night, for he was sleeping on a made-up bed in The Study. It was Diana’s idea and he viewed all Diana’s ideas with a suspicion which was, it must be confessed, justifiable.
“Ah, a good conscience!” said Dempsi. “What a beautiful thing!”
Mr. Superbus wasn’t sure whether this admirable characteristic of his was due entirely to conscience.
“A good digestion’s got something to do with it,” he said. “I’m a careful feeder.”
“Tell me,” said Dempsi confidentially, “have you served her long—my queen?”
Mr. Superbus called up to memory his acquaintance with contemporary history.
“I thought you had a king in Italy?” he said.
Dempsi laughed.
“No, no, you mistake me—my sweet lady—my Diana?” he asked softly. “I am jealous of your privilege in serving her.”
“Oh, you mean ma’am? No, I’ve only just got to know her.”
Dempsi changed the subject abruptly.
“I will go to bed. To-night there is no lock upon my door. If Double Dan comes, you will let me know?”
He need not ask that question. Given consciousness and the ability to scream, all the house would know from Julius that the monster had arrived.
“Why, certainly. But I can manage him.”
Dempsi bit his lower lip, viewing his friend thoughtfully.
“Yes, yes, I shall know the moment the firing starts—at the first bang I will be by your side.”
Julius turned white. In moments of great excitement all great Romans go white. Cæsar Borgia had that failing. And for the matter of that, so had Nero, the celebrated fire-bug.
“Firing?” he asked faintly.
Dempsi nodded.
“He is armed—certain to be. But remember this—and let it be in your mind all the time; the thought may comfort you—when you fall I shall be ready to take your place.”
Julius stretched his neck forward.
“When—when I fall?” he said unsteadily.“I’m not likely to fall if I keep to the carpets—it’s the par-kay that does me in.”
“You will look up and see me”—Dempsi obviously relished the picture he drew—“perhaps the last thing you will ever see on earth—standing over your prostrate body, pierced, my poor Superbus, by a dozen bullets. I shall be there, face to face with your murderer!”
Julius closed his eyes and his lips moved. Yet he was not at his devotional exercises. Before his horrified vision spread a veritable panorama of tragedy with one notable figure in the foreground somewhat inanimate.
“Butyou shall not die unavenged, my Superbus!”
Dempsi’s affectionate hand was on his arm. Julius moved away from the fire; he had gone suddenly hot.
“You’re sure he carries firearms?”
Dempsi nodded.
“Loaded? That’s against the lore, sir. A man could be pinched for that.”
Mr. Dempsi treated the matter light-heartedly. Julius could not but feel that his indifference was almost criminal.
“Certain,” he said carelessly. “I’ve never met a desperado yet—and I’ve met a few—that didn’t carry a loaded gun—generally throwing a hollow-nosed bullet. And they’re pretty good shots.”
He appeared to take a pride in their marksmanship. Julius leered at him—there is no other description for the grimace.
“Yes, I suppose so,” he said huskily. “Of course, my good lady——”
Dempsi did not let him finish. He became suddenly serious as though the gravity of the situation had forced itself upon him.
“Your wife? Have no fear, Superbus,” he said quickly. “She shall never want. I will make it my business to see that she is provided for. And your deed shall be commemorated: I promise you that. I myself have suffered from a thoughtless failure to immortalise my name. I have in my mind a great tablet of black marble, chaste of design. Simple yet grand. Plain, yet in a sense decorative. And an inscription in letters of gold:
“‘To the memory of Julius Superbus,A Hero, a Gentleman and a Roman.’”
“‘To the memory of Julius Superbus,A Hero, a Gentleman and a Roman.’”
“‘To the memory of Julius Superbus,A Hero, a Gentleman and a Roman.’”
His voice trembled as he spoke. Already he stood before the monument in tears. Julius wiped the perspiration from his pale face.
“Yes, very pretty,” he said, and now his hoarseness was chronic. “As I was saying, my good lady will be pleased. She always had a good opinion of me, though she’s never mentioned it. But at the same time, though I’m very much obliged to you, and nobody could be kinder about it——”
“Can’t you see her standing reading the inscription?” asked Dempsi in a hushed voice. “Can’t you imagine her looking up to the slab—fixed in a respectable church, perhaps under a stained-glass window—with proud, shining eyes, her children by her side——”
“I haven’t got any children,” said Julius loudly.
Dempsi spread out his expressive hands.
“She may marry again,” he said considerately. “She is probably in the prime of life. There may still be happiness for her.”
Mr. Superbus sat down limply.
“You ain’t half putting the wind up me!” he said fretfully.
Dempsi bent over him, speaking softly.
“To-night I sleep in sound of your voice. Have no hesitation in calling me. Perhaps I may arrive in time to save you. I pray that this may be. I like you. We are—who knows?—kinsmen. He who strikes you, strikes me—Guiseppi Dempsi.”
Mr. Superbus got up; his knees were without strength, his tongue was parched.
“Well, if you’re sleeping here, and Mr. Bobbie is sleeping here, there doesn’t seem any call for me to stay, does there? Not that it worries me.Far from it. Danger is always welcome to a Superbus. It’s my good lady I’m thinking of. I was going to sleep in this room. Seems silly.”
“I shall be on hand,” said Mr. Dempsi, and examined the short-barrelled revolver he had taken from his hip pocket.
Julius almost swooned.
“I’m a match for any man of my own weight,” he said, his voice trembling as he thought of the terrible risk which any burglar of his own weight would run, “if he’ll only give me a chance. But they don’t give you a chance. They’re on you before you know where you are—is that fair?”
Dempsi did not answer. Aunt Lizzie had chosen that moment to wander into the room. Julius seized the opportunity to steal from the unnecessary gaiety that shone through Mr. Dempsi’s sympathy—his eagerness to frame epitaphs which Julius would never see, his cold-blooded plottings for the future of his good lady.
Theatmosphere of a kitchen, however clean and well-ordered it may be, is calculated to pall on any man of intellect and genius. It needs the gross mind of a materialist, a man like the husband of Heloise (Gordon’s expression was one of distaste as he thought of that man) to appreciate the lingering fragrance of long-baked and long-consumed pies, the everlasting aroma which the spluttering hot oven has sent forth from time to time through the years, to permeate the homely furniture, and through that medium to retain its delicate nidus for the joy of those lovers of good food to whom such smells were appetising.
Gordon had read everything that was readable. He had skipped through two cookery books, and had read the old newspapers in the wood cupboard. The almanac above the kitchen range he knew by heart, so that he could have told you the exact date when everybody of importance was born, married or assassinated.
Happily, he had seen little of Heloise and less of Diana. At the thought of Diana his expression changed from one of great sadness to one of intense malignity. And then he would laugh softly, for, despite all that had been said (and that in his hearing) he possessed a sense of humour. How remarkably capable she was! In his bitterest moments this fact worked out from the confusion of his resentment. And how lovely! Once he had tried to patronise her ... he blushed at the memory. Suppose he hadn’t gone away on this mad adventure, would he have recognised all her excellent qualities as he saw them now? It was doubtful. He was so keyed up, his nerves were stretched at such tension, that every note of her was detected and valued. And of course she was behaving in this outrageous way in his interest. He warmed at this thought. But Dempsi ... his heart went back into the refrigerator.
The door opened slowly and he looked up, hoping to see the subject of his thoughts. But he was to be disappointed. It was Heloise. She threw down the book she was carrying, tore off the selvedge of an old newspaper that lay on the table, and, by its aid and the kitchen fire, lit a cigarette.
He got up from the Windsor chair before the fire, and, without a word of thanks, she droppedinto his place. She smoked, watching the fire. She was pretty too, but in a harder way. He felt just a little sorry for her....
Presently Gordon broke into her thoughts.
“You’ve landed me in a pretty fine mess,” he said without heat.
She looked up at him sideways, flicking the ash from her cigarette with a cute little snap of her forefinger.
“I’velandedyou!” she said ironically. “I like that—anyway, there’s no call to get mad, Man.”
A cold chill ran down his spine at that familiar form of address.
“I wish you wouldn’t call me Man. It belongs to bobbed hair and empress gowns and art serge ... and soul.”
She laughed quietly; she hadn’t laughed for a long time.
“You used to like me calling you Man—in the days of our spiritual freedom, when deep called to deep—oh, gee! I forget the mush! And only two days ago I was word-perfect—knew every line.”
Gordon rivetted his shocked gaze upon her.
“I don’t understand ... knew your lines? What do you mean?”
She was examining the cigarette between her fingers. He had a dreadful foreboding that a revelation was imminent.
“I mean all that stuff we used to talk—the O Man! stuff and the O Woman! stuff. And about our being on planes, and affinities of souls. My, but I had a bad time trying not to go to sleep. You’re different now—I kinder like you this way. I’m strong for common sense and nature. Man! I’ve been the making of you.”
“The breaking of me, you mean,” he snapped, the old grievance revived. “If you hadn’t come here, I could have explained everything to Diana—Miss Ford.”
“I like ‘Diana’ better,” she said. “That young dame is surely no miss. She’s either been married or she’s studied first-hand. If I hadn’t come!” She jerked up her head derisively.
“Why did you?” he asked. Even now he half believed the story she had told. Illusions die hard, but she was mercifully sudden.
“Because my man double-crossed me,” she said coolly.
Gordon could not believe the evidence of his ears.
“Your man? Your husband, you mean?”
She flung away the cigarette, stood up and stretched her hands about her head.
“My husband is the straightest thing that ever happened,” she answered. “I’m talking of Dan—Double Dan, you call him!”
The tick-tick of the kitchen clock filled the interval.
“You’re working—with—Double—Dan?” he breathed. Even now he could not believe her.
She smiled pityingly.
“Surely,” she nodded. “Why do you think I allowed myself to be made love to by you? Be honest with yourself and tell me what there is in your equipment that a woman could rave about?”
He stammered a wrathful denial.
“I didn’t make love to you,” said Gordon hotly. “We talked about things ... and you ... and me—about our tastes....”
“If you had as much experience as I have,” said Heloise, “you’d know that that was being made love to.” She nodded wisely. “Maybe you didn’t know—you know now.”
Gordon’s anger was rising.
“We talked on—on a higher plane,” he said sharply. “We talked of ... imponderable things. There was never ... never a caress. I hardly held your hand. Do you suggest there was anything in our little talks about prehistoric creatures,” he sneered, “or in our interchange of thought about the subconscious ego?”
To his horror she nodded.
“Sure! That’s how highbrows make love. When they start in to tell me about the Dinornis and the Silurian age, I know they got a crush on me.”
She herself might have been a Dinornis or something equally extinct and terrible by his attitude toward her.
“Then itwasa plot to get me away?” he asked breathlessly.
“Didn’t you know?” She was frankly surprised. “You’re a slow thinker—but you’re right! It was my job to get you away good and safe, and I could have done it, whilst Double Dan——”
“Impersonated me!”
He saw all things clearly. Mysteries were mysteries no more. There was little left upon which a harassed man need speculate.
Her face was sombre and brooding. Evidently she was thinking happily.
“He put one over on me. Gosh! Thatfellow’s mind is so constructed that he couldn’t go straight if he was sliding down a tube! And I went into it with my eyes open—yes, sir. Some of the boys who’d worked with him and one of his partners told me he’d do it before I left Manhattan Island. I had my warning—but I’m one of those dames who know it all and I wouldn’t believe ’em. That’s the kind of mad woman I am. And all they said came true. Yesterday morning, when everything was fixed for me to tote you to Ostend, I went to see him to split the Mendlesohn money. No, I wasn’t in that. But the little friend of mine who brought Father Eli to the verge of marriage had to go back home. Her eldest boy was ill, and I advanced her her share. Forty-sixty, that’s how I shared, and how Freda had arranged to share. And that’s how I paid her—and it was worth it. Freda put in a whole lot of good, solid work for that guy. Only interest he had in life was stamps—postal stamps. Freda studied those darned foolish things so that she jumped every time the postman knocked. Dan would part on terms—and I’m his friend! Used to be in the same touring company as me, back home!”
Gordon was rubbing his head mechanically.
“Your—your husband, is he?”
Her scorn was visible.
“My husband!” she scoffed. “Now listen! I’m a respectable married woman and you gotta remember that, Man! Married ten years. I’ve the daisiest little apartment over in New York—and a real nice lovely boy of a husband.”
“In New York?” he managed to ask.
She hesitated.
“Why, he’s not in New York now: he’s in the State Penitentiary—an innocent man, as heaven is my judge! You know what these Central Office men are! They’d swear you into the chair for a nickel. And John could have got evidence that he was a sleep-walker. Yes, sir. He’s been that way for years. When the bulls got him in Ackensmidt’s Jewellery Store, he didn’t know how he got there himself—he’s one of the best singers in the Sing Sing Glee Party, is John. But he’s due home in a month and naturally I’m going home to meet him.”
“But is he a—a thief?” he blurted.
A pink and angry flush spread on the classic face of Heloise.
“Say, where did you get all that personal stuff? Thief! John’s no thief—he’s had a lot of badluck, I guess. But sleep-walking is at the bottom of it. When he’s awake he wouldn’t take anything unless he got a receipt for it. It’s at nights he goes kinder crazy. No, sir, John is a gentleman—though he’s on the register as a safe and strong-room expoit—expert.”
He was calmer now and prepared, if necessary, to enquire into the profits of the business.
“He’s a bank-smasher!” he said sagely. “How interesting! And of course he smashes the banks where he hasn’t a deposit.”
The futility of his remark was palpable even to himself.
“Sure thing. That’s what John is. I used to work with him, but it got him rattled when I was around, so I fixed to work with Dan, who’s a snake but a workman. I’ll say that for him—he’s all for business. Dan always treats his partner as a lady. When I’ve said that I come right to the end of Dan’s attractions.”
She spoke as an actress might speak about a fellow member of the cast—without anger, fairly. Gordon stopped strumming funeral marches on the kitchen table and became alive to the realities.
“But is Dan coming here?” he asked.“Disguised as me! Is—is that the game? What a blind idiot I was! And you, of course, were the decoy ... and all that soul stuff, as you call it, was——?”
“Bunk,” she said. “It would have been bunk anyway if I’d meant it. That kind of talk is never anything else.”
He was still helplessly puzzled.
“But ... why did you come here?”
“Because I want my money back—the money I advanced to my little friend. And he just wouldn’t split with me. Said he hadn’t got Mendlesohn’s cheque—can’t you see Dan taking cheques? Said he was short of money—that fellow has got Ananias down for the count. Yes, sir. Why, he was so stuffed with bills you couldn’t touch him without he crackled! He had so much money he had to carry it under his arm! When I told him I wouldn’t go on till he’d settled the old account, he told me to go to blue blazes. Or some place. Said I’d no right to pay the girl, and that he’d finish the job without me. But he won’t!”
Gordon glowered down on her.
“Why do you tell me this? Don’t you realise that you’ve placed yourself in my hands?” heasked. “I have only to ’phone the police and you’re finished!”
She was not perturbed.
“Man, you’ve got a head like a haunted house! Forget it—Uncle Isaac!”
He wilted under the blow. Uncle Isaac! He was in a hopeless position.
“How shall I recognise him—this Double Dan—when he comes? When do you expect him?”
Whatever happened, Double Dan’s scheme should be brought to failure, he decided.
“Why, Dan sort of happens naturally,” she said lazily. “I lift my tile to him every time. He is certainly the most artistic guy in the business. I can’t let my feelings prejudice me. He a great artist. The Lord didn’t give him any ideas about simple division, but we’re not all born mathematicians. You’ll not know him when he comes. He doesn’t always pretend to be the sucker he’s robbing. Sometimes he’s a butler.”
Gordon started. Superbus! Yet it seemed impossible that a man could sink so low that he would impersonate the Roman.
“You mean—our stout friend the detective?”
“Well, I’ve known him before to make up like a detective who’s watching for him, and, what’s more, get away with it. It’s one of Dan’s favourite disguises, and he’s got others. I’m giving you a million dollars’ worth of information, Man. You ought to thank me on your knees, but you won’t. Another good one of his is to be a visiting clergyman—that’s one of his best. He told me once that he’d made a quarter of a million dollars out of the church.”
“A minister—there’s been one here to-day,” said Gordon thoughtfully. “Why don’t you turn King’s evidence against him?”
“State’s evidence, I guess that means? No, sir. That means nothing to me, and you’re insulting me by suggesting it. This is a private matter between D. D. and H. C.—Chowster is my name—my father was a Reverend Chowster of Minneapolis and I’m a high-school girl and don’t forget it. Anyway, I’m just too much of a lady to start makin’ entries in the squeal book. Birth and education count for something, Man.”
He covered his face with his hands.
“What a fool I’ve been, what a fool!” he groaned.
Heloise looked at him: in this mood he was interesting.
“Why, I guess every man’s a fool—he’s bornthat way, and has got twen’y years to pull himself right before some woman comes along and spoils his chance. I used to know a boy in Ontario, where I was born—Minneapolis, I mean—who got right after he was married, but he was an exception. And he’d done the mischief then.”
“I’ll not stand it,” said Gordon between his teeth. “Whatever happens, I’m going to put a spoke in the wheel of this Double Dan.”
“You don’t say?” She was politely intrigued.
“Am I going to remain quietly by and see a couple of crooks——”
“Oh, say!” she protested.
“—robbing society with impunity?”
“That’s fine. And if Dan gets busy he’ll rob with any old thing that’s handy. He’s a genius that way. My John says that Dan could open a safe with a hairpin——”
“I’ll report this to the police,” said Gordon firmly. “I was a fool not to take this step before. It may mean exposure, it may mean social ruin; it will certainly mean....” He stopped before he came to the possible effect upon Diana. “I’ll have you both in gaol—both of you.”
She was unaffected by his fury.
“Honey bunch, oh honey!” she cooed. “Don’t get mad, baby!”
He turned on her in fury.
“You’ve done your best to make Miss Ford think I’m—I’m something to you. I would have forgiven you everything but that.”
“Well, ain’t you?” she drawled. “Ah, peachy boy, don’t be mad at your little snookums! Smile, baby, show little toothsies.”
Diana, in the opening of the kitchen door, heard only this.
“Will you kindly reserve your love-making until you are out of my house?” she asked severely.
At the sound of her voice Gordon reeled. The final straw had dropped brutally upon a camel, already over-burdened.
“Why, I don’t know,” said Heloise, her insolent gaze turned on the intruder. “It seems to me that a cook’s got a right to a li’l bit of love, honey? I’ll admit that Uncle Isaac ain’t so cute as darling Wopsy. But he’s a real nice boy in Aunt Lizzie’s eyes.”
Gordon would have intervened, but his spirit was broken. He slunk into the scullery and dropped his aching head upon the knife-machine.