Part 10

Perrison bowed his thanks and carefully selected a cigarette. The moment for which he had been playing had now arrived, in circumstances even more favourable than he had dared to hope.

“Up to a point that is quite true,” he remarked, quietly. “Messrs. Smith and Co. have many ramifications of business—money-lending being only one of the irons they have in the fire. And because I have had many dealings with the firm professionally—over the sale of precious stones, I may say, which is my own particular line of work—they were disposed to take a lenient view about the question of the loan. Not press for payment, and perhaps—though I can’t promise this—even be content with a little less interest. But—er—Miss Daventry, it’s the other thing where the trouble is going to occur.”

The girl stared at him with dilated eyes. “What other thing, Mr. Perrison?”

“Hasn’t your brother told you?” said Perrison, surprised. “Oh, well, perhaps I—er—shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“Go on, please.” Her voice was low. “What is this other thing?”

For a moment he hesitated—a well-simulated hesitation. Then he shrugged his shoulders slightly.

“Well—if you insist. As a matter of fact, your brother didn’t tell me about it, and I only found it out in the course of my conversation with one of the Smith partners. Apparently some weeks ago he bought some distinctly valuable jewellery—a pearl-necklace, to be exact—from a certain firm. At least, when I say he bought it—he did not pay for it. He gave your father’s name as a reference, and the firm considered it satisfactory. It was worth about eight hundred pounds, this necklace, and your very stupid brother, instead of giving it to the lady whom, presumably, he had got it for, became worse than stupid. He became criminal.”

“What do you mean?” The girl was looking at him terrified.

“He pawned this necklace which he hadn’t paid for, Miss Daventry, which is, I regret to say, a criminal offence. And the trouble of the situation is that the firm he bought the pearls from has just found it out. He pawned it at a place which is one of the ramifications of Smith and Co., who gave him, I believe, a very good price for it—over five hundred pounds. The firm, in the course of business, two or three days ago—and this is the incredibly unfortunate part of it—happened to show this self-same necklace, while they were selling other things, to the man it had originally come from. Of course, being pawned, it wasn’t for sale—but the man recognised it at once. And then the fat was in the fire.”

“Do you mean to say,” whispered the girl, “that—that they might send him to prison?”

“Unless something is done very quickly, Miss Daventry, the matter will certainly come into the law courts. Messrs. Gross and Sons”—a faint noise from the darkness at the end of the conservatory made him swing round suddenly, but everything was silent again—“Messrs. Gross and Sons are very difficult people in many ways. They are the people it came from originally, I may tell you. And firms, somewhat naturally, differ, like human beings. Some are disposed to be lenient—others are not. I’m sorry to say Gross and Sons are one of those who are not.”

“But couldn’t you see them, or something, and explain?”

“My dear Miss Daventry,” said Perrison, gently, “I must ask you to be reasonable. What can I explain? Your brother wanted money, and he adopted a criminal method of getting it. That I am afraid—ugly as it sounds—is all there is to it.”

“Then, Mr. Perrison—can nothing be done?” She bent forward eagerly, her hands clasped, her lips slightly parted; and once again came that faint noise from the end of the conservatory.

But Mr. Perrison was too engrossed to heed it this time; the nearness, the appeal of this girl, who from the time he had first seen her six months previously at a theatre had dominated his life, was making his senses swim. And with it the veneer began to drop; the hairy heel began to show, though he made a tremendous endeavour to keep himself in check.

“There is one thing,” he said, hoarsely. “And I hope you will understand that I should not have been so precipitate—except for the urgency of your brother’s case. If I go to Messrs. Gross and say to them that a prosecution by them would affect me personally, I think I could persuade them to take no further steps.”

Wonder was beginning to dawn in the girl’s eyes. “Affect you personally?” she repeated.

“If, for instance, I could tell them that for family reasons—urgent, strong family reasons—they would be doing me a great service by letting matters drop, I think they would do it.”

She rose suddenly—wonder replaced by horror. She had just realised his full meaning.

“What on earth are you talking about, Mr. Perrison?” she said, haughtily.

And then the heel appeared in all its hairiness. “If I may tell them,” he leered, “that I am going to marry into the family I’ll guarantee they will do nothing more.”

“Marry you?” The biting scorn in her tone changed the leer to a snarl.

“Yes—marry me, or see your brother jugged. Money won’t save him—so there’s no good going to your father. Money will square up the Smith show—it won’t square the other.” And then his tone changed. “Why not, little girl? I’m mad about you; have been ever since I saw you at a theatre six months ago. I’m pretty well off even for these days, and——” He came towards her, his arms outstretched, while she backed away from him, white as a sheet. Her hands were clenched, and it was just as she had retreated as far as she could, and the man was almost on her, that she saw red. One hand went up; hit him—hit the brute—was her only coherent thought. And the man, realising it, paused—an ugly look in his eyes.

Then occurred the interruption. A strangled snort, as of a sleeper awakening, came from behind some palms, followed by the creaking of a chair. With a stifled curse Perrison fell back and the girl’s hand dropped to her side as the branches parted and Archie Longworth, rubbing his eyes, stepped into the light.

“Lord save us, Miss Daventry, I’ve been asleep,” he said, stifling a yawn. “I knew I oughtn’t to have had a third glass of port. Deuced bad for the liver, but very pleasant for all that, isn’t it, Mr.—Mr. Perrison?”

He smiled engagingly at the scowling Perrison, and adjusted his eyeglass.

“You sleep very silently, Mr. Longworth,” snarled that worthy.

“Yes—used to win prizes for it at an infant school. Most valuable asset in class. If one snores it disconcerts the lecturer.”

Perrison swung round on his heel. “I would like an answer to my suggestion by to-morrow, Miss Daventry,” he said, softly. “Perhaps I might have the pleasure of a walk where people don’t sleep off the effects of dinner.”

With a slight bow he left the conservatory, and the girl sat down weakly.

“Pleasant type of bird, isn’t he?” drawled Longworth, watching Perrison’s retreating back.

“He’s a brute—an utter brute,” whispered the girl, shakily.

“I thought the interview would leave you with that impression,” agreed the man.

She sat up quickly. “Did you hear what was said?”

“Every word. That’s why I was there.” He smiled at her calmly.

“Then why didn’t you come out sooner?” she cried, indignantly.

“I wanted to hear what he had to say, and at the same time I didn’t want you to biff him on the jaw—which from your attitude I gathered you were on the point of doing.”

“Why not? I’d have given anything to have smacked his face.”

“I know. I’d have given anything to have seen you do it. But—not yet. In fact, to-morrow you’ve got to go for a walk with him.”

“I flatly refuse!” cried Sybil Daventry.

“More than that,” continued Longworth, calmly, “you’ve got to keep him on the hook. Play with him; let him think he’s got a chance.”

“But why?” she demanded. “I loathe him.”

“Because it is absolutely essential that he should remain here until the day after to-morrow at the earliest.”

“I don’t understand.” She looked at him with a puzzled frown.

“You will in good time.” It seemed to her his voice was just a little weary. “Just now it is better that you shouldn’t. Do you trust me enough to do that, Sybil?”

“I trust you absolutely,” and she saw him wince.

“Then keep him here till I come back.”

“Are you going away, Archie?” Impulsively she laid her hand on his arm.

“To-morrow, first thing. I shall come back as soon as possible.”

For a moment or two they stood in silence, then, with a gesture strangely foreign to one so typically British, he raised her hand to his lips. And the next instant she was alone.

A little later she saw him talking earnestly to her brother in a corner; then someone suggested billiard-fives. An admirable game, but not one in which it is wise to place one’s hand on the edge of the table with the fingers over the cushion. Especially if the owner of the hand is not paying attention to the game. It was Perrison’s hand, and the agony of being hit on the fingers by a full-sized billiard ball travelling fast must be experienced to be believed. Of course it was an accident: Longworth was most apologetic. But in the middle of the hideous scene that followed she caught his lazy blue eye and beat a hasty retreat to the hall. Unrestrained mirth in such circumstances is not regarded as the essence of tact.

III

It was about ten o’clock on the morning of the next day but one that a sharp-looking, flashily-dressed individual presented himself at the door of Messrs. Gross and Sons. He was of the type that may be seen by the score any day of the week propping up the West-end bars and discoursing on racing form in a hoarse whisper.

“Mornin’,” he remarked. “Mr. Johnson here yet?”

“What do you want to see him about?” demanded the assistant.

“To tell him that your hair wants cutting,” snapped the other. “Hop along, young fellah; as an ornament you’re a misfit. Tell Mr. Johnson that I’ve a message from Mr. Perrison.”

The youth faded away, to return in a minute or two with a request that the visitor would follow him.

“Message from Perrison? What’s up?” Mr. Johnson rose from his chair as the door closed behind the assistant.

The flashy individual laughed and pulled out his cigarette-case.

“He’s pulled it off,” he chuckled. “At the present moment our one and only Joe is clasping the beauteous girl to his bosom.”

“Strike me pink—he hasn’t, has he?” Mr. Johnson slapped his leg resoundingly and shook with merriment.

“That’s why I’ve come round,” continued the other. “From Smith, I am. Joe wants to give her a little present on account.” He grinned again, and felt in his pocket. “Here it is—and he wants a receipt signed by you—acknowledging the return of the necklace which was sent out—on approval.” He winked heavily. “He’s infernally deep, is Joe.” He watched the other man as he picked up the pearls, and for a moment his blue eyes seemed a little strained. “He wants to give that receipt to the girl—so as to clinch the bargain.”

“Why the dickens didn’t he ’phone me direct?” demanded Johnson, and once again the other grinned broadly.

“Strewth!” he said, “I laughed fit to burst this morning. The ’phone at his girl’s place is in the hall, as far as I could make out, and Joe was whispering down it like an old woman with lumbago. ‘Take ’em round to Johnson,’ he said. ‘Approval—approval—you fool.’ And then he turned away and I heard him say—‘Good morning, Lady Jemima.’ Then back he turns and starts whispering again. ‘Do you get me, Bob?’ ‘Yes,’ I says, ‘I get you. You want me to take round the pearls to Johnson and get a receipt from him. And what about the other thing—you know, the money the young boob borrowed?’ ‘Put it in an envelope and send it to me here, with the receipt,’ he says. ‘I’m going out walking this morning.’ Then he rings off, and that’s that. Lord! think of Joe walking.”

The grin developed into a cackling laugh, in which Mr. Johnson joined.

“He’s deep—you’re right,” he said, admiringly. “Uncommonly deep. I never thought he’d pull it off. Though personally, mark you, I think he’s a fool. They’ll fight like cat and dog.” He rang a bell on his desk then opening a drawer he dropped the necklace inside.

“Bring me a formal receipt form,” he said to the assistant. “Have you got the other paper?” he asked, as he affixed the firm’s signature to the receipt, and the flashy individual produced it from his pocket.

“Here it is,” he announced. “Put ’em both in an envelope together and address it to Joe. I’m going along; I’ll post it.”

“Will you have a small tiddley before you go?” Mr. Johnson opened a formidable-looking safe, disclosing all the necessary-looking ingredients for the manufacture of small tiddleys.

“I don’t mind if I do,” conceded the other. “Here’s the best—and to the future Mrs. Joe.”

A moment or two later he passed through the outer office and was swallowed up in the crowd. And it was not till after lunch that day that Mr. Johnson got the shock of his life—when he opened one of the early evening papers.

“DARING ROBBERY IN WELL-KNOWN CITY FIRM.

“_A most daring outrage was carried out last night at the office of Messrs. Smith and Co., the well-known financial and insurance brokers. At a late hour this morning, some time after work was commenced, the night watchman was discovered bound and securely gagged in a room at the top of the premises. Further investigation revealed that the safe had been opened—evidently by a master hand—and the contents rifled. The extent of the loss is at present unknown, but the police are believed to possess several clues._”

And at the same time that Mr. Johnson was staring with a glassy stare at this astounding piece of news, a tall, spare man with lazy blue eyes, stretched out comfortably in the corner of a first-class carriage, was also perusing it.

“Several clues,” he murmured. “I wonder! But it was a very creditable job, though I say it myself.”

Which seemed a strange soliloquy for a well-dressed man in a first-class carriage. And what might have seemed almost stranger, had there been any way of knowing such a recondite fact, was that in one of the mail bags reposing in the back of the train, a mysterious transformation had taken place. For a letter which had originally contained two documents and had been addressed to J. Perrison, Esq., now contained three and was consigned to Miss Sybil Daventry. Which merely goes to show how careful one should be over posting letters.

IV

“Good evening, Mr. Perrison. All well, and taking nourishment, so to speak?”

Archie Longworth lounged into the hall, almost colliding with the other man.

“You look pensive,” he continued, staring at him blandly. “_Agitato, fortissimo._ Has aught occurred to disturb your masterly composure?”

But Mr. Perrison was in no mood for fooling: a message he had just received over the telephone had very considerably disturbed his composure.

“Let me have a look at that paper,” he snapped, making a grab at it.

“Tush! Tush!” murmured Archie. “Manners, laddie, manners! You’ve forgotten that little word.”

And then at the far end of the hall he saw the girl, and caught his breath. For the last two days he had almost forgotten her in the stress of other things; now the bitterness of what had to come rose suddenly in his throat and choked him.

“There is the paper. Run away and play in a corner.”

Then he went forward to meet her with his usual lazy smile.

“What’s happened?” she cried, a little breathlessly.

“Heaps of things,” he said, gently. “Heaps of things. The principal one being that a very worthless sinner loves a very beautiful girl—as he never believed it could be given to man to love.” His voice broke and faltered: then he went on steadily. “And the next one—which is really even more important—is that the very beautiful girl will receive a letter in a long envelope by to-night’s mail. The address will be typed, the postmark Strand. I do not want the beautiful girl to open it except in my presence. You understand?”

“I understand,” she whispered, and her eyes were shining.

“Have you seen this?” Perrison’s voice—shaking with rage—made Longworth swing round.

“Seen what, dear lad?” he murmured, taking the paper. “Robbery in City—is that what you mean? Dear, dear—what dastardly outrages do go unpunished these days! Messrs. Smith and Co. Really! Watchman bound and gagged. Safe rifled. Work of a master hand. Still, though I quite understand your horror as a law-abiding citizen at such a thing, why this thusness? I mean—altruism is wonderful, laddie; but it seems to me that it’s jolly old Smith and Co. who are up the pole.”

He burbled on genially, serenely unconscious of the furious face of the other man.

“I’m trying to think where I’ve met you before, Mr. Longworth,” snarled Perrison.

“Never, surely,” murmured the other. “Those classic features, I feel sure, would have been indelibly printed on my mind. Perhaps in some mission, Mr. Perrison—some evangelical revival meeting. Who knows? And there, if I mistake not, is the mail.”

He glanced at the girl, and she was staring at him wonderingly. Just for one moment did he show her what she wanted to know—just for one moment did she give him back the answer which was to him the sweetest and at the same time the most bitter in the world. Then he crossed the hall and picked up the letters.

“A business one for you, Miss Daventry,” he murmured, mildly. “Better open it at once, and get our business expert’s advice. Mr. Perrison is a wonderful fellah for advice.”

With trembling fingers she opened the envelope, and, as he saw the contents, Perrison, with a snarl of ungovernable fury, made as if to snatch them out of her hand. The next moment he felt as if his arm was broken, and the blue eyes boring into his brain were no longer lazy.

“You forgot yourself, Mr. Perrison,” said Archie Longworth, gently. “Don’t do that again.”

“But I don’t understand,” cried the girl, bewildered. “What are these papers?”

“May I see?” Longworth held out his hand, and she gave them to him at once.

“They’re stolen.” Perrison’s face was livid. “Give them to me, curse you.”

“Control yourself, you horrible blighter,” said Longworth, icily. “This,” he continued, calmly, “would appear to be a receipt from Messrs. Gross and Sons for the return of a pearl-necklace—sent out to Mr. Daventry on approval.”

“But you said he’d bought it and pawned it.” She turned furiously on Perrison.

“So he did,” snarled that gentleman. “That’s a forgery.”

“Is it?” said Longworth. “That strikes me as being Johnson’s signature. Firm’s official paper. And—er—he has the necklace, I—er—assume.”

“Yes—he has the necklace. Stolen last night by—by——” His eyes were fixed venomously on Longworth.

“Go on,” murmured the other. “You’re being most entertaining.”

But a sudden change had come over Perrison’s face—a dawning recognition. “By God!” he muttered, “you’re—you’re——”

“Yes. I’m—who? It’ll come in time, laddie—if you give it a chance. And in the meantime we might examine these other papers. Now, this appears to my inexperienced eye to be a transaction entered into on the one part by Messrs. Smith and Co. and on the other by William Daventry. And it concerns filthy lucre. Dear, dear. Twenty-five per cent. per month. Three hundred per cent. Positive usury, Mr. Perrison. Don’t you agree with me? A rapacious bloodsucker is Mr. Smith.”

But the other man was not listening: full recollection had come to him, and with a cold look of triumph he put his hands into his pockets and laughed.

“Very pretty,” he remarked. “Very pretty indeed. And how, in your vernacular, do you propose to get away with the swag, Mr. Flash Pete? I rather think the police—whom I propose to call up on the ’phone in one minute—will be delighted to see such an old and elusive friend.”

He glanced at the girl, and laughed again at the look on her face.

“What’s he mean, Archie?” she cried, wildly. “What’s he mean?”

“I mean,” Perrison sneered, “that Mr. Archie Longworth is what is generally described as a swell crook with a reputation in certain unsavoury circles extending over two or three continents. And the police, whom I propose to ring up, will welcome him as a long-lost child.”

He walked towards the telephone, and with a little gasp of fear the girl turned to Archie.

“Say it’s not true, dear—say it’s not true.”

For a moment he looked at her with a whimsical smile; then he sat down on the high fender round the open fire.

“I think, Mr. Perrison,” he murmured, gently, “that if I were you I would not be too precipitate over ringing up the police. The engaging warrior who sent this letter to Miss Daventry put in yet one more enclosure.”

Perrison turned round: then he stood very still.

“A most peculiar document,” continued the man by the fire, in the same gentle voice, “which proves very conclusively that amongst their other activities Messrs. Smith and Co. are not only the receivers of stolen goods, but are mixed up with illicit diamond buying.”

In dead silence the two men stared at one another; then Longworth spoke again.

“I shall keep these three documents, Mr. Perrison, as a safeguard for your future good behaviour. Mr. Daventry can pay a certain fair sum or not as he likes—that is his business: and I shall make a point of explaining exactly to him who and what you are—and Smith—and Gross. But should you be disposed to make any trouble over the necklace—or should the idea get abroad that Flash Pete was responsible for the burglary last night—it will be most unfortunate for you—most. This document would interest Scotland Yard immensely.”

Perrison’s face had grown more and more livid as he listened, and when the quiet voice ceased, unmindful of the girl standing by, he began to curse foully and hideously. The next moment he cowered back, as two iron hands gripped his shoulders and shook him till his teeth rattled.

“Stop, you filthy swine,” snarled Longworth, “or I’ll break every bone in your body. Quite a number of men are blackguards, Perrison—but you’re a particularly creeping and repugnant specimen. Now—get out—and do it quickly. The nine-thirty will do you nicely. And don’t forget what I’ve just said: because, as there’s a God above, I mean it.”

“I’ll be even with you for this some day, Flash Pete,” said the other venomously over his shoulder. “And then——”

“And then,” said Longworth, contemptuously, “we will resume this discussion. Just now—get out.”

V

“Yes: it is quite true.” She had known it was—and yet, womanlike, she had clung to the hope that there was some mistake—some explanation. And now, alone with the man she had grown to love, the faint hope died. With his lazy smile, he stared down at her—a smile so full of sorrow and pain that she could not bear to see it.

“I’m Flash Pete—with an unsavoury reputation, as our friend so kindly told you, in three continents. It was I who broke open the safe at Smith’s last night, I who got the receipt from Gross. You see, I spotted the whole trick from the beginning; as I said, I had inside information. And Perrison is Smith and Co.; moreover he’s very largely Gross as well—and half a dozen other rotten things in addition. The whole thing was worked with one end in view right from the beginning: the girl your brother originally bought the pearls for was in it; it was she who suggested the pawning. Bill told me that the night before last.” He sighed and paced two or three times up and down the dim-lit conservatory. And after a while he stopped in front of her again, and his blue eyes were very tender.