Prince Charlie Part 24

PLAYING THE SPY

When the child had pa.s.sed all the signposts on the road of convalescence, had reached perfect health, Masters ceased his visits to the bungalow. His interest in Gracie induced him not to avoid meeting her on the front.

The child was all warmth and affection and love for the man she was going to marry. The mother hid her aching heart behind a smile: a woman's usual veil. It was not what a novelist describes as a sad sweet smile; it had degenerated into an hysterical, jerky, clattering, little laugh.

The weather continued fine; the author prolonged his stay. For that reason--anyway, for his own satisfaction he set down that as the cause--he stayed on at Wivernsea.

Not a day pa.s.sed but he met his little sweetheart. Not a day pa.s.sed but the breach between the man and woman widened. Soon the conventional greeting at meeting and parting came to be dreaded by each.

They dared not look into each other's eyes. As hands met for those two brief moments, each involuntarily looked away from the other. Fingers were clasped limply; fell away awkwardly. Heartiness, even of the faintest description, was sadly lacking in the shake.

One morning he had a letter from his lawyers. It called for his attendance in London; a question of making an affidavit over some copyright infringement. He resolved to catch the fast train up, and so be able to get back by the fast evening train down.

He was at the station early, having inquiries to make. A parcel of books sent down to him had, by reason of the railway company's vagaries, not reached him. Those inquiries made and satisfied, he purchased newspapers.

Messrs. Smith and Son occupied a s.p.a.ce in the booking office. As he dealt with the juvenile representative of the great Strand firm, he was standing with his back to the ticket pigeon-hole. He was presently startled by hearing a voice he recognized, saying:

"First-cla.s.s, return, London, please."

He turned round sharply, expecting to see the mistress of Ivy Cottage; he could have sworn to her voice anywhere. A woman plainly dressed, almost shabbily, with a long thick veil, stood purchasing the ticket.

She repeated the demand; the ticket seller had not caught the words.

Hearing it a second time, Masters had no shadow of doubt about the voice's owner. There were no two voices like it in the world. But the costume amazed him; could only be explained one way.

Not a pleasant way, either. It was a disguise! Masters felt certain of it. She had always been well, expensively dressed. Now, by reason of that, the change was the more striking.

There were three minutes before the train was due; five minutes pa.s.sed before it arrived. The shabbily-dressed woman paced the platform.

Masters watched her from the waiting-room window; five minutes of utter misery.

The station bell rang a second time, the train came in. The veiled woman hurried to a first-cla.s.s carriage in front of the train. The guard opened a door and she entered one of its compartments. A moment after Masters had entered another.

His purchases at the bookstall lay on the seat beside him all the way to London; he did not read a line of them. For two whole hours he sat stonily looking out of the window, thinking. Thinking, as well as the numb feeling of wretchedness and horror holding him would allow.

It was the first really cold day of the approaching winter. With a view to travelling in comfort, Masters had unpacked, and was wearing a long heavy ulster. It changed his appearance altogether. He knew that, and, bred of the knowledge, there came a desire to track the woman in the other compartment.

With his coat-collar up, she would not be likely to recognize him. It would be possible to follow her and see what this mysterious disguise and flight to London meant; whether she was really as black as his suspicion painted her, as appearances represented her.

Was it a gentlemanly thing to do?... He did not pause to answer his own question. Curiosity and the desire, the necessity, to either set at rest or confirm his fears outweighed everything. Any certainty is better than suspense; we always say so and feel it so--until that certainty is known.

His mind was quickly made up: to follow her. Besides, how could he tell but what she might have need of him; the disguise led to the thought of such a possibility. Masters' was a fertile brain; a dozen such possibilities entered his mind at once. Disguise very frequently meant danger. If that were the case it was his duty, as a man, to s.h.i.+eld her.

He would not fail her--so he argued with himself. A desire to do any particular thing causes us to find reasons for its justification; excellent reason. He had made up his mind to follow her.

At Charing Cross the woman in the front part of the train alighted....

Got into a hansom cab.... Masters got into another. A disturbing recollection came to him of a private detective in one of his own books who had acted in similar fas.h.i.+on. But he was not deterred by it.

"Where to, sir?"

Through the trap in the cab roof the inquiry came. Looking up he answered the driver:

"Keep that hansom in sight. I want to see, and not be seen--do you understand?"

"I'm fly."

As the Jehu answered he shut one eye. Then, as he closed the trap, said to himself:

"Man from the Yard--what's she been a-doin' of, I wonder?"

The first cab went over Westminster Bridge, turned into Lambeth, pulled up outside a corner public house. The second cab slowed down and pa.s.sed the first at walking pace. The woman was paying her fare. Then she entered a door on the gla.s.s panels of which were inscribed the words:

BOTTLE AND JUG DEPARTMENT

Masters' cabman knew his business; promptly reined in his horse just round the corner.

"That do you, sir?"

He put the question as Masters alighted, and was feeling in his trousers pocket; the driver continued:

"She's gone into the _Green Dragon_ round the corner, she has. We pa.s.sed the pub a minute agone."

Masters winced. Then reflected that the cabman was only fulfilling his duty zealously. Rewarded him with a half-sovereign.

"Going back, sir?"

Golden fares are rare enough to be worth looking after for a return journey.

"Perhaps--I don't know."

"I'll be stopping here, sir--here, for half-an-hour if you should want me, sir."

Masters nodded.... Pa.s.sed through a door bra.s.s-plated with the words:

HOTEL ENTRANCE.

A flight of stairs faced him. To the left was another door, gla.s.s-lettered with the word:

SALLOON.

Into the saloon Masters went. Square panels of bevelled ground gla.s.s pivoted on their centres along the top of the bar, s.h.i.+elding the occupants of the saloon from the gaze of those in the opposite bar.

As he entered, Masters heard the woman he had followed enquiring over the bar:

"Mr. Rigby? He is staying here--he expects me."

The hesitation in the enquiring voice made the barman look up.

Nervousness in women is rather an uncommon thing to find in the bar of a Surrey-side public-house.

"Oh, yes. But you've come in the wrong way. Round the corner and in at the hotel entrance. You'll find him on the second floor, room 15."