A SUMMONS FROM DR. McMURTRIE
She had risen from the sofa as I entered and was standing in the
centre of the room. The neatly cut, close-fitting dress that she was
wearing suited her dark beauty to perfection and showed off the
lines of her lithe, slender figure. She gave me a curious momentary
impression of some sort of graceful wild animal.
"Ah!" she exclaimed softly. "I am glad you weren't late. I have to go
away quite soon."
I took the hand she held out to me. "My dear Sonia," I said, "why
didn't you let me know that you were going to be the visitor?"
"I didn't know myself," she answered. "The doctor meant to come, but
he was called away unexpectedly this afternoon, so he sent me instead.
I have got a letter for you from him." She let go my fingers gently,
and picking up her bag which was lying on the table, opened it and
took out an envelope.
"Shall I read it now?" I asked.
She nodded.
I slit up the flap and pulled out a folded sheet of foolscap from
inside. It was in McMurtrie's handwriting, but there was no date and
no address.
"DEAR MR. NICHOLSON,
"All the necessary arrangements have now been made with regard to your
workshop at Tilbury. It is situated on the marshes close to the river,
three miles east of the town and a mile to the west of Cunnock Creek.
You can reach it either by the main road which runs half a mile
inland, or by walking along the saltings under the sea-wall.
"You cannot mistake the place, as it is an absolutely isolated
building, consisting of a small cabin or hut, with a large shed
attached for your work. It is not luxurious, but we have at least
fitted up the interior of your living-room as comfortably as possible,
and you will find in the shed everything that you specified in your
list as being necessary for your experiments.
"I should be glad if you would arrange to go down there and start work
the day after tomorrow. There is a train from Fenchurch Street to
Tilbury at 11.45 in the morning, and if you will catch that I will
see that there is a trap to meet you at the station and drive you out
along the road as near to the place as it is possible to get. This
hardly gives you the full week in London which you wished for, but
circumstances have arisen that make it of great importance to us to
be able to place your invention on the market as quickly as possible.
From your own point of view the sooner the work is done the sooner you
will be in possession of funds, and so able to make any use of your
liberty you choose.
"Sonia has the keys of the building, and will give them you with this
letter.
"While you are working at the hut, it will be better, I think, if you
stay entirely on the premises. I believe you will find everything
you want in the way of food and cooking materials, and you will, of
course, take down your own personal belongings with you. In the event
of anything you really need having been forgotten, you can always walk
into Tilbury, but I should strongly advise you not to do so, except
in a case of absolute necessity. Apart from any danger of your being
recognized, we are extremely anxious that no one connected with the
powder trade should have the least idea that experiments are being
conducted with regard to a new explosive. A large part of the
immediate value of your invention will consist in its coming on the
market as an absolute surprise.
"I have been unexpectedly called away for a few days, but directly I
return I shall come down to Tilbury and see you. Should you wish to
communicate with me in the interval, you can do so by writing or
wiring to me at the Hotel Russell, London, W.C.
"I hope that you have enjoyed your well-earned if rather long-delayed
holiday.
"Your sincere friend,
"L.J. McMURTRIE."
I finished reading and slowly refolded the letter.
"You know what this is about, of course, Sonia?" I said.
She nodded again. "They want you to go down there at once. You must do
it; you must do everything you are told just at present."
"I ought to be able to manage that," I said grimly. "I've had plenty
of practice the last three years."
With a swift, silent movement she came up to me and put her hands on
my arm. "You must trust me," she said, speaking in that low passionate
voice of hers. "You know that I love you; you know that I am only
waiting for the right time to act. When it comes I will give you a
chance such as few men have had--a chance that will mean wealth and
freedom and--and--love." She breathed out the last word almost in a
whisper, and then, raising her hands to my shoulders, drew down my
face and pressed her lips to mine.
I have no dislike to being kissed by a beautiful woman; indeed, on
the previous occasion when Sonia had so honoured me I had distinctly
enjoyed the experience. This time, however, I felt a trifle
uncomfortable. I had a kind of unpleasant sensation that somehow or
other I was not quite playing the game.
Still, as I have said elsewhere, an escaped convict cannot afford to
be too nice in his emotions, so I returned her kiss with the same
readiness and warmth as I had done before. Then, straightening myself,
I unlaced her arms from my neck, and looked down smilingly into those
strange dark eyes that were turned up to mine.
"I'm a poor sort of host," I said, "but you see I am a little out of
training. Won't you have some tea or anything, Sonia?"
"No, no," she answered quickly. "I don't want anything. I must go in a
minute; I have to meet my father with the car." Then, taking my hand
between hers, she added: "Tell me what you have been doing yourself.
Have you seen your cousin--the man who lied about you at the trial? I
have been afraid about him; I have been afraid that you would kill him
and perhaps be found out."
"There's no hurry about it," I said. "It's rather pleasant to have
something to look forward to."
"But you have seen him?"
I nodded. "I had the pleasure of walking behind him for a couple of
miles yesterday. He looks a little worried, but quite well otherwise."
She laughed softly. "Ah, you can afford to let him wait. And the girl,
Joyce? Have you seen her?"
She asked the question quite dispassionately, and yet in some curious
way I had a sudden vague feeling of menace and danger. Anyhow, I lied
as readily and instinctively as Ananias.
"No," I said. "George is the only part of my past that interests me
now."
I thought I saw the faintest possible expression of satisfaction
flicker across her face, but if so it was gone immediately.
"Sonia," I said, "there is a question I want to ask you. Am I
developing nerves, or have I really been watched and followed since I
came to London?"
She looked at me steadily. "What makes you think so?" she asked.
"Well," I said, "it may be only my imagination, but I have an idea
that a gentleman with a scar on his face has been taking a rather
affectionate interest in my movements."
For a moment she hesitated; then with a rather scornful little laugh
she shrugged her shoulders. "I told them it was unnecessary!" she
said.
I crushed down the exclamation that nearly rose to my lips. So the man
with the scar _was_ one of McMurtrie's emissaries, after all, and his
dealings with Mr. Bruce Latimer most certainly did concern me. The
feeling that I was entangled in some unknown network of evil and
mystery came back to me with redoubled force.
"I hope the report was satisfactory," I said lightly.
Sonia nodded. "They only wanted to make certain that you had gone to
Edith Terrace. I don't think you were followed after the first night."
"No," I said, "I don't think I was." Precisely how much the boot had
been on the opposite foot it seemed unnecessary to add.
Sonia walked to the table and again opened her bag. "I mustn't stay
any longer--now," she said. "I have to meet the car at six o'clock.
Here are the keys." She took them out and came across to where I was
standing.
"Good-bye, Sonia," I said, taking her hands in mine.
"No, no," she whispered; "don't say that: I hate the word. Listen,
Neil. I am coming to you again, down there, when we shall be
alone--you and I together. I don't know when it will be, but soon--ah,
just as soon as I can. I can't help you, not in the way I mean to,
until you have finished your work, but I will come to you, and--and...."
Her voice failed, and lowering her head she buried her face in my
coat. I bent down, and in a moment her lips met mine in another long,
passionate kiss. It was hard to see how I could have acted otherwise,
but all the same I didn't feel exactly proud of myself.
Indeed, it was in a state of very mixed emotions that I came back into
the house after we had walked together as far as the corner of the
street. The mere fact of my having found out for certain that the man
with the scar was an agent of McMurtrie's was enough in itself to give
me food for pretty considerable thought. Any suspicions I may have had
as to the genuineness of the doctor's story were now amply confirmed.
I was not intimately acquainted with the working methods of the High
Explosives Trade, but it seemed highly improbable that they could
involve the drugging or poisoning of Government officials in public
restaurants. As Tommy had forcibly expressed it, there was some
"damned shady work" going on somewhere or other, and for all Sonia's
comforting assurances concerning my own eventual prosperity, I felt
that I was mixed up in about as sinister a mystery as even an escaped
murderer could very well have dropped into.
The thought of Sonia brought me back to the question of our relations.
I could hardly doubt now that she loved me with all the force of her
strange, sullen, passionate nature, and that for my sake she was
preparing to take some pretty reckless step. What this was remained to
be seen, but that it amounted to a practical betrayal of her father
and McMurtrie seemed fairly obvious from the way in which she had
spoken. From the point of view of my own interests, it was an amazing
stroke of luck that she should have fallen in love with me, and yet
somehow or other I felt distinctly uncomfortable about it. I seemed
to be taking an unfair advantage of her, though how on earth I was to
avoid doing so was a question which I was quite unable to solve. I
certainly couldn't afford to quarrel with her, and she was hardly the
sort of girl to accept anything in the nature of a disappointment to
her affections in exactly a philosophic frame of mind.
I was still pondering over this rather delicate problem, when there
came a knock at the door, and in answer to my summons Gertie 'Uggins
inserted her head.
"The lidy's gorn?" she observed, looking inquiringly round the room.
I nodded. "There is no deception, Gertrude," I said. "You can search
the coal-scuttle if you like."
She wriggled the rest of her body in round the doorway. "Mrs. Oldbury
sent me up to ask if you'd be wantin' dinner."
"No," I said; "I am going out."
Gertie nodded thoughtfully. "Taikin' 'er, I s'pose?"
"To be quite exact," I said, "I am dining with another lady."
There was a short pause. Then, with an air of some embarrassment
Gertie broke the silence. '"Ere," she said: "you know that five bob
you give me?"
"Yes," I said.
"Well, I ain't spendin' it on no dinner--see. I'm goin' to buy a 'at
wiv it--a 'at like 'ers: d'yer mind?"
"I do mind," I said severely. "That money was intended for your
inside, Gertie, not your outside. You have your dinner, and I'll buy
you a new hat myself."
She clasped her hands together. "Ow!" she cried. "Yer mean it? Yer
reely mean it?"
"I never joke," I said, "on sacred subjects."
Then to my dismay she suddenly began to cry. "You ain't 'alf--'alf bin
good to me," she jerked out. "No one ain't never bin good to me like
you. I'd--I'd do anyfink for you."
"In that case," I said, "you may give me my hat--and cheer up."
She obeyed both commands, and then, still sniffing, valiantly marched
to the front door and opened it for me to go out.
"Goo'-night, sir," she said.
"Good-night, Gertrude," I replied; and leaving her standing on the
step I set off down the street. Whatever else prison might have done
for me, it certainly seemed to have given me a capacity for making
friends.
I reached Florence Court at about a quarter to seven, keeping a
sharp lookout along the embankment as I approached for any sign of
a loitering detective. Except for one aged gentleman, however, who
seemed to be wholly occupied in spitting in the Thames, the stretch in
front of the studios was absolutely deserted. Glancing at the board
in the hall as I entered, I saw that "Mr. Morrison" and "Miss Vivien"
were both "in"--a statement which in Tommy's case was confirmed a
moment later by his swift appearance at the door in answer to my
knock.
"Mr. Morrison, I believe?" I said.
He seized me by the arm and dragged me inside.
"This is fine. I never thought you'd be back as quick as this. Are
things all right?"
"I should hardly go as far as that," I said. "But we seem to be
getting along quite nicely."
He nodded. "Good! I just want a wash, and then we'll go right in to
Joyce's place. We are going to have supper there, and you can tell us
all about it while we're feeding."
He splashed out some water into a basin in the corner of the studio,
and made his ablutions with a swiftness that reminded me of some of my
own toilets in the grey twilight of a Dartmoor dawn. Tommy was never a
man who wasted much trouble over the accessories of life.
"Come along," he said, flinging down the towel on the sofa. "Joyce
will be dying to hear what's happened!"
I turned towards the hall, but he suddenly put his hand on my shoulder
and pulled me back.
"Not that way. We've a private road now--runs along the back of the
studios."
He crossed the room, and opened a door which led out into a narrow
stone passage roofed in by glass.
I followed him along this till we came to another door, on which Tommy
tapped twice with his knuckles. In a moment we heard a key turn and
Joyce was standing on the threshold. When she saw who it was she gave
a little cry of welcome and held out both her hands.
"But how nice!" she exclaimed. "I never thought you'd be here so
soon."
We had each taken a hand, and talking and laughing at the same time,
she pulled us in after her and shut the door.
"At last!" she cried softly; "at last!" And for a second or two we all
three stood there just gripping each other's hands and not saying a
word. It certainly was rather a good feeling.
Tommy was the first to break the silence. "Damn it," he said huskily,
"if Neil didn't look so exactly like a brigand chief I believe I
should blubber. Eh, Joyce--how do you feel?"
"I feel all right," said Joyce. "And he doesn't look a bit like a
brigand chief. He looks splendid." She stood back and surveyed me with
a sort of tender proprietorship.
"I suppose we shall get used to it," remarked Tommy. "It nearly gave
me heart disease to begin with." Then, going and locking the side
door, he added cheerfully, "I vote we have supper at once. I've had
nothing except whisky since I came off the boat."
"Well, there's heaps to eat," said Joyce. "I've been out marketing in
the King's Road."
"What have you got?" demanded Tommy hungrily.
Joyce ticked them off with her fingers. "There's a cold chicken and
salad, some stuffed olives--those are for you, Neil, you always used
to like them--a piece of Stilton cheese and a couple of bottles of
champagne. They're all in the kitchen, so come along both of you and
help me get them."
"Where's the faithful Clara?" asked Tommy.
"I've sent her out for the evening. I didn't want any one to be here
except just us three."
We all trooped into Joyce's tiny kitchen and proceeded to carry back
our supper into the studio, where we set it out on the table in the
centre. We were so ridiculously happy that for some little time our
conversation was inclined to be a trifle incoherent: indeed, it was
not until we had settled down round the table and Tommy had knocked
the head off the first bottle of champagne with the back of his knife
that we in any way got back to our real environment.
It was Joyce who brought about the change. "I keep on feeling I shall
wake up in a minute," she said, "and find out that it's all a dream."
"Put it off as long as possible," said Tommy gravely. "It would be
rotten for Neil to find himself back in Dartmoor before he'd finished
his champagne."
"I don't know when I shall get any more as it is," I said. "I've got
to start work the day after tomorrow."
There was a short pause: Joyce pushed away her plate and leaned
forward, her eyes fixed on mine; while Tommy stretched out his arm and
filled up my glass.
"Go on," he said. "What's happened?"
In as few words as possible I told them about my interview with Sonia,
and showed them the letter which she had brought me from McMurtrie.
They both read it--Joyce first and then Tommy, the latter tossing it
back with a grunt that was more eloquent than any possible comment.
"It's too polite," he said. "It's too damn' polite altogether. You can
see they're up to some mischief."
"I am afraid they are, Tommy," I said; "and it strikes me that it must
be fairly useful mischief if we're right about Mr. Bruce Latimer. By
the way, does Joyce know?"
Tommy nodded. "She's right up to date: I've told her everything. The
question is, how much has that affair got to do with us? It's quite
possible, if they're the sort of scoundrels they seem to be, that they
might be up against the Secret Service in some way quite apart from
their dealings with you."
"By Jove, Tommy!" I exclaimed, "I never thought of that. One's
inclined to get a bit egotistical when one's an escaped murderer."
"It was Joyce's idea," admitted Tommy modestly, "but it's quite likely
there's something in it. Of course we've no proof at present one
way or the other. What do you think this girl--what's her
name--Sonia--means to do?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "Goodness knows," I said. "It looks as if
there was a chance of making a big immediate profit on my invention,
and that she intended me to scoop it in instead of her father and
McMurtrie. I can't think of anything else."
Tommy pulled up a fresh plate and helped himself to some cheese.
"She must be pretty keen on you," he observed.
"Well, you needn't rub it in, Tommy," I said. "I feel quite enough of
a cad as it is."
"You're not," interrupted Joyce indignantly. "If she really loves you,
of course she wants to help you whether you love her or not."
"Still, she'll expect a _quid pro quo_," persisted Tommy.
"Then it isn't love," returned Joyce scornfully, "and in that case
there's no need to bother about her."
This seemed a most logical point of view, and I determined to adopt it
for the future if my conscience would allow me.
"What about your invention?" asked Tommy. "How long will it take you
to work it out?"
"Well, as a matter of fact," I said, "it is worked out--as much as any
invention can be without being put to a practical test. I was just on
that when the smash came. I had actually made some of the powder and
proved its power, but I'd never tried it on what one might call a
working basis. If they've given me all the things I want, I don't see
any reason why I shouldn't fix it up in two or three days. There's
no real difficulty in its manufacture. I wasn't too definite with
McMurtrie. I thought it best to give myself a little margin."
Tommy nodded. "You've handled the whole thing splendidly up till
now," he said. "I rather think it's the ticklish part that's coming,
though." Then he paused. "Look here!" he added suddenly. "I've got a
great notion. Why shouldn't we run down tomorrow in the _Betty_ and
have a squint at this place of yours? There's nothing like taking a
few soundings when you're not too sure about things."
I drew in a deep breath. "I'd love to, Tommy," I said, "but it's
rather asking for trouble, isn't it? Suppose there was still someone
about there? If McMurtrie had the faintest idea I'd given away the
show--"
"He won't," interrupted Tommy; "he can't. We'll take precious good
care of that. Listen here: I've got the whole thing mapped out in my
mind. The _Betty's_ at Leigh, where I laid her up yesterday. I had a
seven-horse-power Kelvin engine put in her last year, so we can get
up, whatever the wind is--I know the tide will be about right. Well,
my idea is that we three go down to Leigh tomorrow morning and take
her up to this place Cunnock Creek, or somewhere near. Then if it's
all serene you can land and have a look round; if there seems to be
any one about we can just push off again. Joyce and I won't show up at
all, anyway: we'll stop on board and let you do the scouting."
"Yes, yes," exclaimed Joyce, her eyes shining eagerly. "Let's go. It
can't do any harm, and you might find out all sorts of useful things."
"Besides," added Tommy, "it would be the deuce of a day, and it's a
long time since any of us had a good day, eh, Joyce?"
"Three years," said Joyce quietly.
That decided me. "Right you are," I said. "You're--you're something
like pals, you two."
We clinched the arrangement with a grip, and then Joyce, jumping up
from the table, crossed the room to a small writing-desk. "I've got a
time-table somewhere here," she said, "so we can look out the train
right away."
"It's all right," said Tommy. "I know 'em backwards. We'll catch the
nine-five from Fenchurch Street. It's low water at eight-thirty, so
that will get us in about the right time. We can leave the _Betty_ at
Tilbury or Gravesend afterwards, and come back by train from there.
We'll be home for dinner or supper or something."
Joyce nodded. "That will just do," she said. "I am going out again
with George in the evening. Oh, I haven't told either of you about
last night--have I?"
I shook my head. "No," I said, "but in any case I wish you'd drop that
part of it, Joyce dear. I hate to think of you dining with George: it
offends my sense of decency."
She took an envelope out of the desk and came back to her place at the
table. "I mean to drop it quite soon," she said calmly, "but I must
go tomorrow. George is on the point of being rather interesting." She
paused a moment. "He told me last night that he was expecting to get a
cheque for twelve thousand pounds."
"Twelve thousand pounds!" I echoed in astonishment.
"Where the Devil's he going to get it from?" demanded Tommy.
"That," said Joyce, "is exactly what I mean to find out. You see
George is at present under the impression that if he can convince me
he is speaking the truth I am coming away with him for a yachting
cruise in the Mediterranean. Well, tomorrow I am going to be
convinced--and it will have to be done very thoroughly."
Tommy gave a long whistle. "I wonder what dog's trick he's up to now.
He can't be getting the money straight: I know they've done nothing
there the last year."
"It would be interesting to find out," I admitted. "All the same,
Joyce, I don't see why you should do all the dirty work of the firm."
"It's my job for the minute," said Joyce cheerfully, "and none of the
firm's work is dirty to me."
She came across, and opening my coat, slipped the envelope which she
had taken out of her desk into my inner pocket. "I got those out of
the bank today," she said--"twenty five-pound notes. You had better
take them before we forget: you're sure to want some money."
Then, before I could speak, she picked up the second bottle of
champagne that Tommy had just opened, and filled up all three glasses.
"I like your description of us as the firm," she said; "don't you,
Tommy? Let's all drink a health to it!"
Tommy jumped to his feet and held up his glass. "The Firm!" he cried.
"And may all the fools who sent Neil to prison live to learn their
idiocy!"
I followed his example. "The Firm!" I cried, "and may everyone in
trouble have pals like you!"
Joyce thrust her arm through mine and rested her head against my
shoulder. "The Firm!" she said softly. Then, with a little break in
her voice, she added in a whisper: "And you don't really want Sonia,
do you, Neil?"