Men of Affairs Part 22

"Don't blame me," he said sweetly, "I never said there was a map, did I?"

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Auriole with a flush of what might easily have been taken for pleasure on her cheeks. It was very perplexing.

"Hm!" Van Diest nodded. "Hm! A wise man keep this sort of informations in his head."

"'Course he does."

"Yes, yes. Mr. Barraclough, a great deal you oblige by coming with us to an apartment we have prepared for your receptions."

"It's nice of you but I'm very comfortable here."

"I'm afraid we must insist."

"Since you're so pressing."

"And as a gentleman you make no troubles--no noise."

"There's no such thing as a noisy gentleman."

Ezra P. Hipps rapped the b.u.t.t of his automatic on the table top.

"You can keep the cross-talking for the automobile," he said. "We're through here--step out."

As they moved toward the door Laurence slipped a hand through Richard's arm.

"My dear old fellow," he said, "if you only knew how distasteful all this is to me."

Richard drew his arm away sharply.

"So's that to me," he said, brus.h.i.+ng his sleeve with the deliberate will to offend. Then he turned and bowed to Auriole. "Your friends are amusing but I'm afraid they are going to waste a lot of time. Are you coming our way?"

CHAPTER 10.

NERVES.

The clocks were striking seven when Anthony Barraclough descended the stairs of the flats and hailed a taxi. The street was deserted save for a policeman and an old hag who was sorting over the contents of a dustbin outside the adjoining house. She shot a quick glance at Barraclough and broke into a cackle of thin laughter.

"Didn't take you long to come up in the world," she piped. "Always thought you were a bit of a fraud."

Barraclough gasped. The disappointment was so cruel.

"You are making a mistake," he said and opened the taxi door.

"You've had a shave, that's all, but, bless you, that don't deceive me."

"Look here----" he began.

"You don't want to be recognised, my dear. I can easily forget, you know, if I'm encouraged." She stretched out a filthy clawlike hand.

There was something queer in her manner--a difference from the rank and file of Van Diest's regiment.

Clearly, too, her poverty was genuine. With a little tact her allegiance might be diverted. He pulled a note case from his pocket and detached a fiver.

"Take that," he said, "and if you want more----"

He rattled off Lord Almont's address in Park Lane.

"Save my soul!" gasped the old woman. "Are you crazy? Didn't expect more'n a florin. Bless your pretty heart. You must be badly frightened of something."

But Barraclough waited for no more. He jumped into the taxi with the words 'Westminster Bridge' and drove away, swearing to himself.

"Of all rotten luck. Yet I can't help feeling she didn't belong to that gang after all. Wonder if I've made an almighty fool of myself."

For the first time in his life his nerves were beginning to fray. His fingers drummed a tattoo on the leather seat of the cab and, despite the chill of early morning, his brow was hot and clammy.

"Likely enough it was just a begging stunt."

He put his head out of the window and said 'Waterloo Station.' A sudden memory persuaded him to glance above his head and rea.s.sure himself no other pa.s.senger was concealed upon the roof. The action in itself was fresh evidence of nerves.

"Must pull myself together," he said. "Those infernal hours in the wine cupboard have shaken me up."

To a man of action nothing is so wearing as inactivity. It had been intolerable sitting in the darkness while the new proxy had borne the enemy's a.s.sault unaided. He had heard the rumble of talk which had followed the first stifled cry from Doran when the sponge of chloroform was thrust into his face, and every now and again he had heard Frencham Altar's voice ring out high and mocking and exasperatingly like his own. Finally the front door had slammed but he remained concealed for over an hour in case of misadventure. Doran was lying in the hall when he stepped from his hiding place. Barraclough knew a little of the rough science of medicine and very heartily cursed the man who had doped his servant. A little more of the anaesthetic would have put a period to Doran's career. There was an hour's hard work with ammonia and respiratory exercises before the good fellow blinked an eyelid and made the wry faces of recovery. After that Barraclough stewed himself a cup of coffee, broke a couple of eggs into it and made ready for departure. Altogether it had been a trying night as his nerves were beginning to testify.

It was encouraging to find no suspicious watcher at booking office or barrier. He pa.s.sed through un.o.bserved and entered an empty first-cla.s.s compartment in the 7.30 to Southampton. There were ten minutes to wait before they were due to start--minutes which dragged interminably. But at last the green flag dropped, the couplings tightened and the train began to move.

"Thank G.o.d for that," he exclaimed and relaxed against the cus.h.i.+ons of the seat.

But his relief was short lived. A large man, running at full speed, came abreast the carriage window which was lowered, a suitcase came flying through and landed on the opposite seat, while the man himself leapt to the running board, threw open the door and sprang into the carriage.

"Jing! but that was a near squeak," he exclaimed. "Another half minute and you'd have beaten me."

Barraclough's muscles tightened and his mouth went hard and straight.

So the bluff had failed after all. He was spotted. That idiot from the benches had given them away.

The man opposite did not appear to have lost his breath through the race and was looking at Barraclough with an expression of good-natured humour in a pair of twinkly blue eyes. He was of very powerful physique, broad-shouldered and bull necked. Also he had the appearance of being uncommonly fit. In any other circ.u.mstance Barraclough would have taken him for a pleasant, likeable fellow, who might have helped to pa.s.s the tedium of a long journey. But his actual feelings were far removed from any such consideration. The smug affability of the man coupled with his obvious strength aroused such indignation in Barraclough that he was scarcely able to remain seated. The difference in their weight and stature precluded all chances of a successful frontal attack. It would be sheer waste of energy to seize this intruder and try to chuck him on the line. But, on the other hand, something drastic would have to be done. At such a stage of the game it was intolerable to contemplate defeat. He thought of his words to Mr. Torrington the evening before and of the a.s.surance he had given to Isabel. Then there was the immense prize that success would award him.

Was everything to be lost because of one piece of infernal bad luck.

If he could reach Southampton un.o.bserved he was confident that the arrangements he had prepared would baffle observation. Besides the presumption was that the watchers had been called off and this infernal smiling idiot on the seat opposite had failed to receive new instructions and was acting upon the old.

In Barraclough's right hip pocket was an automatic pistol but between its b.u.t.t and his hand was a thick b.u.t.toned upholster. Any attempt to reach the weapon would surely result in an immediate counter offensive, with himself at a disadvantage. No, he must think of something subtler than that.

On the seat beside him lay a packet of Gold Flake cigarettes, bought from a trolley on the platform. It gave him an idea. He put one in his mouth and began to slap his pockets as though searching for matches. He might have saved himself the pains for the man opposite produced a lighter and offered it with a friendly word.

"Always keep one handy."

Barraclough, silently swearing, thanked him and lit up.