SERGEANT-MAJOR TWILEY HAS A SURPRISE.
“So you are not playing to-night?”
“No; I have been thinking over something you said to me last night, and
fancy that a confidential conversation might prove profitable to both of
us. Suppose we slip out and compare notes?”
“I don’t mind. We can easily come back if we wish to do so.”
The speakers were Gregory Staines and Mr. Bootle, the latter being the
first to open the conversation. As they walked briskly onwards, he
gradually betrayed his real character to his companion, or, rather, he
would have done so had Mr. Bootle not thoroughly gauged it beforehand.
“How long have you lived in this part of the world, Mr. Bootle?”
“Only a few weeks. I am not in the habit of staying too long in places
likely to prove unprofitable. I’m a bird of passage, fond of migrating,
in season or out of season.”
“And in what way do you expect to make this place profitable?”
“H’m! That’s a bit of a secret yet. I don’t believe in being
indiscreet.”
“In other words, you distrust me?”
“You put your question in a somewhat abrupt style. Still, as you are no
doubt aware, there are some ways of earning a living of which the
authorities have a nasty knack of disapproving. You strike me as just
the sort of man whom I want to get hold of. Yet I have no guarantee that
such is really the case, and I have too much at stake to risk failure by
being unduly confidential.”
“Look here, Mr. Bootle. Say right out what you want to say. I don’t
think you have any real doubts as to my likelihood of proving just the
sort of man you want. If there is money in the job, and I am to have my
share in it, I’m in with you, provided there isn’t too much risk to be
run; but you need not imagine that I’ll be a mere tool for anybody.
Acting partner on equal terms, if you like, and I am your man. Now, what
do you want me to do?”
“Not much. You are lucky at cards. I would like to share your luck.”
“I see. You have something in immediate view. Who is the pigeon to be
plucked?”
“A young fellow who is visiting at Gibraltar just now. He lately
succeeded to a fortune that he did not expect, and is now doing his
level best to make ducks and drakes of it. He is outrageously fond of
cards, and loses with the best grace imaginable. It hurts me to see the
way in which he is enriching all sorts of cads, and I have often
wondered how I could divert a share of this stream of wealth in my
direction. Last night I arrived at a possible solution of my
perplexities. I saw you play. Without hinting that your methods of
playing are not all square and above board, I must say that I could not
help noticing the wonderful facility with which you were always able to
produce winning cards. Do you think you can be as successful with
anyone?”
“If it is worth my while.”
“Then will you honestly turn over half your winnings to me, if I
introduce this stranger to you?”
“With all my heart! All I stipulate is that you lose no time over it.
How are you going to manage it?”
“Well, the matter does not strike me as very difficult. I have had a few
games with your pigeon. But I am such a duffer at play that I need never
hope to make my fortune in that line. Suppose I try to persuade him to
come to Lina? You could be on the look out; I would introduce you; and
your own cleverness could do the rest.”
“When shall it be? To-morrow night?”
“That I cannot say. If I were Mr. Danvers’ bosom friend it might be
straightforward sailing. As it is, I am only a new acquaintance,
although I have done my best to ingratiate myself with him. If I invite
him over here it must be with some special excuse. A little supper party
would do it. You could invite the gentleman who seemed so partial to you
last night to make a fourth, and I’ll stand exes.”
Mr. Staines seized this plan with avidity, and almost overwhelmed his
informant with questions, all of which related in some way or other to
the supposed habits and circumstances of the myth which had been invoked
solely in Harley Riddell’s interests. Satisfied eventually that a very
good haul was probably in store for him, he went on his way rejoicing.
Mr. Bootle would not return with him to the hotel, but pleaded that his
only sensible course was to return to Gibraltar, whence he professed to
have come, in order to endeavour to make an appointment with Mr.
Danvers.
But the reader hardly needs to be told that Gibraltar saw nothing of Mr.
Bootle that evening. On the contrary, he went straight to the lodgings
that he found so comfortable and convenient. Briny was waiting for him
with his usual watchfulness, and was very glad to find that he was not
doomed to spend the whole evening alone. Instead of going to bed Mr.
Bootle carefully changed his apparel, and emerged presently from the
room attired as Miss Una Stratton.
“You are in nice time for supper, Miss Stratton,” said Mrs. Dollman. “I
hope your headache has left you.”
“Thank you,” was the reply. “I feel much better now. Do you mind my
bringing Briny into the room with me? He has had to be very quiet since
tea-time.”
“Certainly not. He’s a jolly dog, whom to know is to like. Eh, Briny?
Miss Stratton, let me introduce my brother-in-law to you. This is Mr.
Twiley.”
“Yes, I have already heard of you, Mr. Twiley, and am pleased to make
your acquaintance.”
So said the young lady upon whom the sergeant-major’s eyes were fixed
with unaffected admiration. And when she said she was pleased to see him
she meant it, too. For she had already been revolving a plot in her mind
in which the sergeant-major played a prominent part, and her first
glance at him convinced her that he was a man whom she could trust. He
was in the very position to afford her certain aid which she desired,
and it was a great relief to her to find that he was just the sort of
man she had imagined Mrs. Twiley’s husband to be. So she resolved to
lose no time in taking him into her confidence, as she needed an able
coadjutor at once. But even urgent confidences must be repressed until a
seasonable opportunity for their disclosure occurs, and Miss Stratton
began to fear that her designs were fated to be baulked for the time
being.
At last, however, she saw a fair chance of speaking, for, supper being
over, the dining-room was left to the occupation of Miss Stratton, Mrs.
Dollman, and Sergeant-Major Twiley. The latter had come over
unexpectedly, having had some commission in the town to execute, and
still had a little time to spare ere he need return to quarters.
“Have you time to sit down here a little while, Mrs. Dollman?” asked
Miss Stratton, not without a slight touch of nervousness in her voice.
“I have something very important to tell you, and I am anxious that your
brother-in-law should listen to me also. But the door must be carefully
closed, lest we be overheard. You will appreciate my anxiety on this
score when I tell you that life itself may depend upon our caution. Nay,
do not look so dubious. I have much to confess to you, but my
confessions are not discreditable to myself. At least, I do not believe
it likely that you will think so when I have told you my story. I am
here, not in the character of a fugitive, but of a pursuer.”
“And whom are you pursuing?” asked the sergeant-major, his curiosity
considerably aroused.
“You know the man very well. He lives in this house.”
“Impossible!”
“Not a bit of it. I have known the man as Hugh Stavanger, as Paul
Torrens, and as Harry Morton, and have at last, I hope, run him to earth
as Gregory Staines.”
“Why, Miss Stratton,” said Mrs. Dollman, with some excitement, although
she obeyed the warning finger held up, and modulated her voice to a low
pitch, “you and he were the best of friends yesterday, and to-day, also,
anyone seeing you together would have thought you were old friends.”
“Poor girl! I imagined I had been too careful to have betrayed any
apparent familiarity with Staines,” thought Miss Stratton; “but ‘to the
jealous, trifles light as air are proofs as strong as Holy Writ.’ It is
well I came here before this poor child’s heart was wounded too sorely.
She is a brave girl, I am sure, and her farcical admiration for this
scoundrel will turn to disgust as soon as she learns his real
character.”
It will be noticed that our heroine spoke of the young widow as if she
herself were the senior of the two. But wisdom and self-reliance are not
always dependant upon age, and the younger girl’s experience and courage
had given her sounder judgment than is possessed by the average woman of
forty. Aloud she said:--
“Yes, I flatter myself that I have acted my part well this time. He
hates me, fears me, and flees from me as if I were grim death. And yet
he is ready to fall in love with me.”
“I don’t understand,” said Phœbe Dollman, with a troubled look in her
eyes. “How can he both hate you and love you?”
“That is easily explained. My real name is Annie Cory, and my sole
objects in life at present are to bring this scoundrel to book for a
series of crimes which he has committed, and to liberate an innocent man
from penal servitude. Hugh Stavanger--or shall we call him Gregory
Staines for the nonce?--would know me very well if my disguise were not
so perfect. But my natural appearance falls very short of what you see
now, as I will soon show you, if you will cover that window more
securely. I was watching you through it last night, and he might follow
my example to-night.”
Annie’s hearers were too astonished and mystified to say much. But they
did as she asked them, and attentively watched the transformation
wrought in her appearance. By-and-bye they saw the girl as we first knew
her--dark-haired, and of brunette complexion.
“You see what a wig can do,” she smiled, “and a little knowledge in the
art of making up. Even my figure, gait, and voice have been altered in
the service of justice. But you would be most astonished if you saw me
conversing in a familiar manner with Mr. Staines in still another
character--that of a moderately tall, slim young man, with a lovely dark
moustache. Patent cork elevators are a fine aid to height. But I see you
are dreadfully mystified, so will tell you everything, feeling sure that
I can depend upon you to help me. One word more. I am not an artist, nor
ever will be. But I have plenty of money at command, and any plan that
you may suggest will not fail through lack of finances.”
For fully half an hour not a sound was heard in the room, except Annie
rapidly relating her history, and describing the true character of
Gregory Staines, and for fully ten minutes longer the sergeant-major sat
with compressed lips and fiercely-knitted brows, intent upon inventing a
scheme to circumvent the villain.
“I have it,” he exclaimed, at last, bringing his fist fiercely down upon
the table. “You will never succeed in decoying him into Gibraltar. But
we won’t waste time over him. If he won’t go willingly into the arms of
the English authorities, he must be made to go.”
“And how can that be managed?”
“Easily. He will be rather a big child to deal with, but I guess he is
nearly at the end of his tether--we will kidnap him.”