A Traitor's Wooing Part 27

He gave an amused little laugh. "Really it is too bad that I should be dragged into Miss Enid's home-made romance," he protested. "Did she give you chapter and verse, may I ask?"

"My daughter is not a fool," Mr. Mallory replied quietly. "She happened to have a fellow-prisoner in the grotto, who had earlier in the day heard you discussing your plans for this evening with one of your creatures--the same man who shut her into the grotto. To be quite frank with you, Mr. Nugent, the sergeant accompanies me because I intend to charge you with serious crime."

"And anything you say will be taken down and used against you," the policeman interjected with official gravity. This was the first time the worthy man had had to arrest a gentleman, and he hardly knew whether he liked the job or not.

"Serious crime is a comprehensive phrase," sneered Nugent. "Means anything from pitch and toss to manslaughter. Come, sir! What do you charge me with?"

"With a crime one degree more heinous than the worst of those you have named--with murder, as an accessory before the fact," the accuser's clear voice cut the silence. "I charge you with indirectly inciting one Pierre Legros to kill Levi Levison under circ.u.mstances that would throw suspicion on Mr. Chermside. I charge you with using the state of terror to which you reduced that unhappy man in order to induce him to fly in such a manner that he might be deemed to have eloped with the lady whom you have been suborned to s.n.a.t.c.h from her home and friends for----"

Mr. Mallory checked himself. His ancient training in international politics saved him from the indiscretion of naming the Indian prince who was behind the culprit. And, sub-consciously, he was also checked by a movement behind Nugent's chair. The great carved sandal-wood screen swayed, and was surely going to fall forward on the man who was fingering his long moustache in a vain effort to frame an answer. But no, the screen righted itself, and Nugent's tongue moistened his dry lips into power of utterance.

"Very pretty, very pretty," he said, striving for calm. "But don't you see, my dear Mallory, that all your midnight madness topples down like a house of cards unless your daughter's informant--her fellow-prisoner, as you call him--is a credible witness. I will make you a small wager that he will never come forward and tell the public the wonderful pack of lies with which he gulled that charming little girl of yours. I----"

Again that movement in the screen behind Nugent's chair, and this time with results that s.h.i.+fted the centre of interest with startling suddenness. Round the corner of the screen came Pierre Legros, gaunt and haggard, his fierce eyes in accord with the furious spasms that made a battle-ground of his unshaven face. Nugent, half turning in his chair to look up at the apparition which had drawn the gaze of the other two, broke off in the midst of his sneer with a sobbing catch in his throat.

"You say I not come forward to spik the truth?" the Frenchman began, in a voice that shook with emotion. "I was hide here to do that to you, and now these gentlemens shall hear the truth also. I only now learn it myself, for it is different from what I think till now. I say to myself, messieurs, that this _scelerat_ desire to depart in steamer with Louise Aubin, but I was wrong. What you say about Ma'amselle Maynard and that poor Jermicide, monsieur, show me all his wickedness as by flash of lightning. It is true, gentlemens, that I kill Levison, and that this Nugent tempt me to it."

The sergeant made a movement, but changed his mind. The man was in the mood to confess, and confession implied that he meant surrender. No need to lay hands on him till he had made a little more evidence. Mr. Mallory stood like a graven image watching Nugent, who, still preserving the half-turn he had made in his lounge chair, was staring up as if fascinated by the man at his shoulder.

"It is that I desire to make clean the name of a man who is innocent,"

Legros went on. "This Jermicide--I not know him, I nevair spik with him, but he do me no wrong, and Pierre Legros is not cruel, messieurs. I would not that Jermicide suffer for me, who am guilty. Nugent, he send for me, and pretend he wish to save Louise from the so deceitful Levison, who made to admire her. He say, did Nugent, that Louise, whom as a boy in Brittany I love, will meet Levison on the marsh, and that he will persuade her to fly with him to London, where Levison will leave her in disgrace. Messieurs, I was mad--my brain was hot like fire--Nugent he gave me the place and time of meeting, and I was there first--with my knife--that was all."

The tragedy in the concluding words was dramatic; even more so the silence that followed. The sergeant, good man, felt that the next move was with him, but he was single-handed, and had not bargained for having to convey two murderers to the station when he consented to accompany Mr. Mallory to The Hut. He coughed nervously to attract the attention of his two prospective prisoners, who seemed to have no eyes for any one but each other. Nugent, with his head twisted round, was looking up at Legros; Legros, behind the chair, was looking down at Nugent, his nostrils twitching strangely. The Frenchman, with innate politeness, understood, and obeyed the policeman's claim on his attention, turning a mild and friendly gaze on him.

"You know, you'll have to come along with me, both of you, after this,"

said the sergeant haltingly. "You won't give any trouble, Legros?" It did not occur to his mind that the gentleman would otherwise than "go quietly."

"Oh, yes," Legros answered gently. "We shall both of us give you nothing of the trouble, monsieur. I myself, Pierre Legros, will see that this wolf in the clothes of the sheep will go from this apartment with complacence the most profound."

Nugent essayed to rise, unsteadily, to his feet, but Legros shot out a brown hand on to his shoulder, and firmly pressed him back into a sitting posture.

"Stay there, _chien_, till you have the orders to move," he snarled.

The eyes of the master of the house glittered balefully. "Really, sergeant, if you persist in coupling us in this absurd charge, I must ask your protection against this man," he protested. "I was going to ring the bell for my servant to arrange matters before leaving; perhaps you will kindly do it for me."

In answer to the summons Sinnett appeared, furtively scanning his employer's face for some sign of his wishes other than what he might hear in words. A quick look of intelligence pa.s.sed between them, though Nugent's request sounded simple enough.

"There has been a stupid misunderstanding, Sinnett, which will entail my going with Sergeant Bruce till it has been explained," he said quietly.

"I want you to put a few things in my handbag, please--just absolute necessaries, such as a change of linen and a tooth brush. You will know what I am most likely to need. Don't keep us waiting, there's a good fellow."

The silent-footed servitor bowed and retired, and with an air of contemptuous resignation Nugent lay back in his chair. As he fingered his fair moustache his gaze, lazily contemplative, was all for the observant face of Mr. Mallory, whose attention was directed at the supple form of the French sailor. Legros himself had no eyes for any one but the man over whose chair he hovered, expectant and menacing. The sergeant kept s.h.i.+fting from one foot to another, emphasizing the silence with deprecatory coughs. He was probably the most uncomfortable man in the room.

The tableau was not unduly prolonged, for in less than three minutes Sinnett reappeared, carrying a small leather bag, which he brought to his master. Nugent placed it on his lap, and, idly fingering the catch, proceeded to instruct his servant on various household matters. The gardener was to be careful to attend to the heating of the orchid house; Nugent was minutely particular about ordering his dinner for the following night, as he had no doubt that after explaining to the magistrates at Exmouth he should be at home in good time to enjoy it.

Dixon, the chauffeur, was to have the car at the police court at noon, so as to be ready to bring him back.

"And now, sergeant, I think I am ready to end this business," he concluded, looking blandly round. "It really galls me to give you so much trouble, but you, like my dear friend Mallory, have brought it on yourself, you see."

As he spoke the fingers which had been toying with the catch of the bag closed, snapping it open and diving swift as lightning into the interior. At the same moment Pierre Legros thrust his hand into the bosom of his blue blouse, and withdrew it just as Nugent lifted a revolver from the bag. There was a gleam of steel, and a great sheath-knife shot downwards like a streak of fire into the back of Nugent's neck ere he could level the weapon. The point of the knife came out above the collar-stud, and the Frenchman dragged it out with a vicious wrench as the corpse fell forward on to a magnificent tiger-skin rug.

"He make to shoot us all," said Legros calmly. "But most he make to shoot you, Monsieur Mallory, and I glad to save the father of the brave ma'amselle. But I have no love for the Ingleesh rope or the Ingleesh madhouse--so _bon voyage_, messieurs."

And before they could guess his intention the big knife was driven home, through the blue blouse, into his own tumultuous heart.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE STING OF THE NETTLE

The moment when the _Snipe_ was first sighted from the bridge of the _Cobra_ was immediately after Brant's refusal to put into Plymouth to allow Miss Jimpson to communicate with her "young man." The girl had just turned away to rejoin Violet in the saloon, when her quick ears caught the phrase--

"There's a torpedo craft of sorts away to the nor'-east, and I'm jiggered if I don't think she's chasing us."

The speaker was Bully Cheeseman, who thus pa.s.sed on his discovery to the captain. The latter took a long survey of the distant destroyer through his telescope, and then, c.o.c.king his eye to see if Nettle was within earshot, a.s.sented to the mate's statement in a string of imprecations, the pith of which was that the stranger was travelling thirty knots to their twenty.

Which was perfectly true as far as it went, though had he so wished Brant might have added that the _Cobra_, fast as she was moving through the water, was only going at half her possible speed of forty knots. But he was seized with a malicious desire to raise false hopes on the part of his prisoners, and he wanted Nettle to draw the inference that the war vessel could easily overtake them.

To add to the disappointment of the girl who had flouted him he sent verbal instructions to the engine-room to reduce the speed still further, with the result, as we know, that the _Snipe_ began to rapidly creep up. Nettle, after taking in the situation as she believed it to exist, ran excitedly into the saloon and imparted the glad tidings to Violet.

"The brute refused to call at Plymouth, but we've beat him for all that," she cried. "There's a Navy s.h.i.+p chevying us and catching up like mad. Your friends must have got news through to the admiral at Plymouth, and he's sent that dear dirty little boat after us. We shall soon be all right now, Miss Maynard."

The girl's cheery optimism was infectious, and Violet roused herself from the apathy of despair. "I hope so, dear," she said, leaping up from the couch where she had spent the miserable night. "Shall we go out on deck and watch Brant's discomfiture?"

But Nettle was wise according to her lights. "I think it would be better for you to stay here," she advised. "The captain is such a beast that he might be rude if you showed on deck. He might hide you away somewhere till the danger was past," she added, remembering the ghastly inferno on the lower deck, to which Leslie Chermside had been relegated.

"Then how shall we know what happens?"

"I will keep you posted," Nettle rejoined eagerly. "It doesn't matter about me. Anyhow, I'll stay on deck till I'm stopped, and run in here now and again. What a lark it would be if that was the _Snipe_, with my Ned aboard. I was reading a tale the other day where they hung a pirate at his own yard-arm, which is a thing I don't believe they've got on this ugly up-and-down steamer. But I'll bet a pair of Grigg and Winter's best one-and-eleven-penny white kids that Mr. Edward Parsons, of his Majesty's destroyer _Snipe_, will find something to hang Captain Simon Brant on if that's him out yonder."

She skipped out on to the deck without waiting for an answer, and her stout heart pulsed with joy as she saw the lean, venomous hull of the wars.h.i.+p much nearer than when she had entered the saloon. Her appearance was the signal for a violent flow of language from Brant, who had confided the secret of his mummery to the mate. Cheeseman, with his tongue in his cheek, played up to the lead of the apelike skipper, simulating the wildest terror of the oncoming destroyer.

Nettle leaned over the rail not far from the saloon door, into which she darted at brief intervals with the latest news. Each time she was able to improve on her last report--that she could make out objects on the deck of the pursuer clearer than before. But the highwater mark of ecstasy was reached when Nettle ran in with the announcement that it was indeed the _Snipe_ which was after them, that she had recognized her Ned, and had received an answer to her signals.

"They'll be alongside in a few minutes," she cheered Violet. "Brant and Cheeseman are tearing their hair with rage."

But disaster followed swift on her triumph. Running back to the rail, she saw to her dismay that the distance between the two vessels had increased, and that the reason was not far to seek. The _Snipe_ was steaming as fast as ever; but the _Cobra_ was tearing through the calm sea at the pace of an express train. During Nettle's absence in the saloon Brant had rung down to the engineers to let loose the full power of the mighty turbines, and the fugitive was running away at ten knots an hour faster than the little war-vessel could follow.

From behind the wind-screen on the bridge the evil face of the captain peered down at the girl he had mocked with false hopes. Miss Jimpson was engaged in a dumb-show demonstration of her requirements to her lover, whose stalwart figure as he conversed with his officers in the conning-house of the _Snipe_ seemed to be growing momentarily smaller.

Her gestures did not conform to the correct motions as laid down in the gunnery drill-book, but they conveyed a fair impression of what she wanted.

Brant's sinister face was creased in a malignant grin. "Go it, my vixen," he jeered down from his eyrie. "Living statues ain't in it with you for showing off the female figure in the wrong pose. But you can spare your antics, for they'll never dare fire on us without orders, and them I'll lay a whale to a herring they haven't got."

Nettle bit her ripe red lip to keep back the retort that surged up. It was no time for wasting breath in futile insults, when something had to be done, and done quickly, if the tragedy implied by the escape of the _Cobra_ was not to be consummated. But, if the _Snipe_ would not use her guns or torpedoes, how was she, with the pluck of the devil but only the experience of a draper's girl, to enable a slower s.h.i.+p to catch a faster one? If only she had a man to help her, with knowledge equal to her determination.

And then, suddenly, it flashed across her brain that there was such a man on board if only she could get to him un.o.bserved. Chermside, chained in the black hole on the lower deck, had risked life once already in Violet Maynard's cause, and would doubtless do so again, were he granted the opportunity. Or if that were not possible he might tell her what to do.

Deciding for the present not to harrow Violet with news of the altered situation, she spent a grudged five minutes in lulling suspicion by sauntering about the upper deck. The crew were too interested in the game their captain was playing with the destroyer to pay any attention to her movements, and, watching Brant out of the tail of her eye, she at last slipped down the companion stairs on to the main deck. In another minute she had clambered down the ladder into the obscurity of the lower deck, and so safely reached the den where Leslie was confined.