The Devil's Paw Part 23

She rose slowly to her feet and came towards him.

"I am your partner in this hateful enterprise," she reminded him. "Show me that paper which you have just concealed."

He laid his hand on the lid of the desk, but she caught it and held it open.

"I insist upon seeing it," she said firmly.

He turned and faced her. There was a most unpleasant light in his eyes.

"And I say that you shall not," he declared.

There was a brief, intense silence. Each seemed to be measuring the other's strength. Of the two, Catherine was the more composed. Fenn's face was still white and strained. His lips were twitching, his manner nervous and jerky. He made a desperate effort to reestablish ordinary relations.

"Look here, Miss Abbeway," he said, "we don't need to quarrel about this. That paper I came across has a special interest for me personally.

I want to think about it before I say anything to a soul in the world."

"You can consult with me," she persisted. "Our aims are the same. We are here for the same purpose."

"Not altogether," he objected. "I brought you here as my a.s.sistant."

"Did you?"

"Well, have the truth, then!" he exclaimed. "I brought you here to be alone with you, because I hoped that I might find you a little kinder."

"I am afraid you have been disappointed, haven't you?" she asked sweetly.

"I have," he answered, with unpleasant meaning in his tone, "but we are not out of here yet."

"You cannot frighten me," she a.s.sured him. "Of course, you are a man--of a sort--and I am a woman, but I do not fancy that you would find, if it came to force, that you would have much of an advantage. However, we are wandering from the point. I claim an equal right with you to see anything which you may discover in Mr. Orden's papers. I might, indeed, if I chose, claim a prior right."

"Indeed?" he answered, with an ugly scowl on his face. "Mr. Julian Orden is by way of being a particular friend, eh?"

"As a matter of fact," Catherine told him, "we are engaged to be married. It isn't a serious engagement. It was entered into by him in a most chivalrous manner, to save me from the consequences of a very clumsy attempt on my part to get back that packet. But there it is.

Every one down at his home believes at the present moment that we are engaged and that I have come up to London to see our Amba.s.sador."

"If you are engaged," Fenn sneered, "why hasn't he told you more of his secrets?"

"Secrets!" she repeated, a little scornfully. "I shouldn't think he has any. I should imagine his daily life could be investigated without the least fear."

"You'd imagine wrong, then."

"But how interesting! You excite my curiosity. And must you continue to hold my wrist?"

"Let me pull down the top of this desk, then."

"No!"

"Why not?"

"I intend to examine those papers."

With a quick movement he gained a momentary advantage and shut the desk down. The key, however, disturbed by the jerk, fell on to the carpet, and Catherine possessed herself of it. She sprang lightly back from him and pressed the bell.

"D----n you, what are you going to do now?" he demanded.

"You will see," she replied. "Don't come any nearer, or you may find that I can be unpleasant."

He shrugged his shoulders and waited. She turned towards the servant who presently appeared.

"Robert," she said, "will you telephone for me?"

"Certainly, madam," the man answered.

"Telephone to 1884 Westminster. Say that you are speaking for Miss Abbeway, and ask Mr. Furley, Mr. Cross, or whoever is there, to come at once to this address."

"Look here, there's no sense in that," Fenn interrupted.

"Will you do as I ask, please, Robert?" she persisted.

The man bowed and left the room. Fenn strode sulkily back to the desk.

"Very well, then," he conceded, "I give in. Give me the key, and I'll show you the letter."

"You intend to keep your word?"

"I do," he a.s.sured her.

She held out the key. He took it, opened the desk, searched amongst the little pile of papers, drew out the half-sheet of notepaper, and handed it to her.

"There you are," he said, "although if you are really engaged to marry Mr. Julian Orden," he added, with disagreeable emphasis, "I am surprised that he should have kept such a secret from you."

She ignored him and started to read the letter, glancing first at the address at the top. It was from the British Review, and was dated a few days back:

My dear Orden,

I think it best to let you know, in case you haven't seen it yourself, that there is a reward of 100 pounds offered by some busybody for the name of the author of the 'Paul Fiske' articles. Your anonymity has been splendidly preserved up till now, but I feel compelled to warn you that a disclosure is imminent. Take my advice and accept it with a good grace. You have established yourself so irrevocably now that the value of your work will not be lessened by the discovery of the fact that you yourself do not belong to the cla.s.s of whom you have written so brilliantly.

I hope to see you in a few days.

Sincerely,

M. HALKIN.

Even after she had concluded the letter, she still stared at it.

She read again the one conclusive sentence--"Your anonymity has been splendidly preserved up till now." Then she suddenly broke into a laugh which was almost hysterical.

"So this is his hack journalism!" she exclaimed. "Julian Orden--Paul Fiske!"