"I have nothing to say to you," I said, curtly.
"But I have a great deal to say to you," he retorted. "I have been on
the look-out for you for some time, and now that there is no one to
listen to us I would like to give you a small piece of advice."
"I don't want it," I interrupted.
"Perhaps not," he continued; "but if you don't take it you will be
very sorry one of these days. Are you going to pay Jackson his three
thousand pounds or are you not?"
His manner was brusque and overbearing to the last degree, and my
temper began to rise.
"What has that to do with you?" I demanded.
"That's my affair," he snapped. "Make your trustees pay up, or----"
"Or what?"
"You'll see, and pretty soon, too."
"Look here, Captain Wyngate," I exclaimed, hotly, "I am not going to
be bullied. You and your friends have had all you will get out of me.
I know you to be one of the biggest scoundrels in London, and if you
interfere with me, look out for yourself, that's all."
"Indeed!" he sneered. "So you think you can trick me and get off
scot-free, do you? Listen! If that money isn't paid in a week I'll have
your life!"
"Don't talk rubbish," I interposed.
"Ah, you think yourself safe," he went on, in the same ironical tone.
"You imagine the police will protect you, I suppose. You young idiot,
your life won't be worth sixpence!"
"Touch me if you dare!" I exclaimed.
"Oh, you're quite safe now," he sneered. "I give you a week to think it
over, and then, if the money isn't paid, look out. You have had fair
warning."
"More than the man in Switzerland had," I suggested sarcastically, as
Wyngate turned away.
He gave me one look of concentrated hate, and seemed about to speak,
but checked himself, turned his back on me, and disappeared in the
darkness.
"Bluff!" I said to myself. "What can he do?" And I continued my walk
home.
I was quite as strong as Wyngate, and felt well able to hold my own
if he attacked me. As to the idea of being murdered in the heart of
London, it was preposterous. This kind of thing might happen among
secret society men and weird foreigners handy with their knives; but
Englishmen had nothing to fear, I assured myself, and several fellows
to whom I mentioned the matter casually at the club agreed with me. I
did not even think it worth while to tell Mr. Benedict of the meeting.
One night I was walking home through a fog which, though not possessing
the regulation pea-soup consistency, was thick enough to make it
impossible to see anyone more than twenty yards away. As I entered
St. James's Square I heard footsteps behind me, but having no thought
of danger I paid no attention to them. Suddenly I felt a violent
blow on the shoulder, and turning sharply round I saw a man with an
uplifted bludgeon, in the act of striking at me again. I was absolutely
defenceless, having not even a cane with me. The thought, "Wyngate's at
the bottom of this!" flashed across my mind. I had just time to jump
aside and avoid the stick as it fell. Then I dashed off at full speed
into the fog. I was at too great a disadvantage to be heroic.
My assailant made no attempt to follow me. His coup having failed,
he no doubt thought it prudent to clear out at once. I could not
distinguish his features, but one thing was certain: he was not
Wyngate. He was a rather short, thick-set man, wearing a soft hat
pulled well down over his eyes. The only other detail that struck me
during the instant we were at close quarters was the strong smell
of drink which he gave out. I put him down as a hired ruffian, and
it became evident to me that if Wyngate were capable of using such
instruments of revenge I should have to take him a good deal more
seriously than hitherto.
As long as there was the bruise on my shoulder to remind me of the
adventure in St. James's Square I was almost prudent. I took to
carrying a sword-cane, and went home at night in cabs instead of
walking. I also gave myself a certain amount of entertainment by
manœuvering to find out whether I was being followed. To this end I
used to stop suddenly and pretend to look into shop-windows, in the
hope of catching the spy unawares; but, if he existed at all, he was
cleverer than I at the game. Nothing happened except a collision now
and then, caused by some innocent promenader running into me from
behind when I pulled up. Then I had to apologize and try not to look
foolish. Finally my natural insouciance got the upper hand, and I
ceased to worry about my enemy.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "I SAW A MAN WITH AN UPLIFTED BLUDGEON, IN THE ACT OF
STRIKING AT ME AGAIN."]
Christmas was drawing near, and I was preparing to leave town to spend
the festive season with friends in the country, when I received a
wire one morning from Archie Hunter, my Cambridge chum, telling me he
was coming to town in the afternoon, and asking me to meet him at six
o'clock in the bar of a small West-end hotel where we had foregathered
on previous occasions. I was on hand at the appointed time, but there
was no sign of Hunter.
"Train late, I suppose," I thought, and sat down to wait. There was
no one I knew in the bar, but, being sociably inclined, I was soon in
conversation with two or three other men whose only object seemed to be
to while away the time. With them were a couple of fashionably-dressed
girls, and by and by I noticed that one of them looked at me
frequently, not as if she wanted to begin a flirtation, but rather with
curiosity. I had never seen her before, but, beyond wondering vaguely
whether she had remarked something peculiar about my appearance, I paid
no attention, engaged as I was in discussing cricket with one of the
men.
Presently two of them began to talk billiards, at which, it seemed,
they were old rivals, and, as neither would admit inferiority, they
decided to go upstairs to the billiard-room and play a couple of
hundred up.
"We may as well go and watch them," remarked the man with whom I was
talking.
"All right," I said, unsuspectingly, and, emptying my glass, I prepared
to go upstairs.
The billiard-players led the way, the others following. The girl who
had been looking at me was the last except myself to leave the bar. The
door-handle apparently slipped from her fingers and the door, which had
an ordinary spring, closed in her face with a slam, thus momentarily
cutting us off from the others. To my intense surprise she turned and
whispered, hurriedly:--
"Don't go upstairs; they will throw you down!"
In another instant she had pulled the door open and was ascending the
stairs.
"Wyngate again!" was the thought that flashed through my mind.
At first I was inclined to disregard the warning, but a moment's
reflection showed me that there was no disgrace in declining an unequal
combat, and that, even if I were not knocked downstairs by some
cleverly-contrived "accident," I could be sure of being dealt some
underhand blow by agents of so unscrupulous a person as my late guest.
I went up three or four steps, and then--exclaiming, "Forgotten my
stick; I'll be back in a moment!"--I returned to the bar, went out
quickly by another door, jumped into a hansom, and made good my retreat.
"Two not out, captain!" I remarked, with satisfaction; but, as I was
soon to discover, the game was not by any means finished.
I wrote to Hunter at once, asking him if he had wired me to meet him.
He replied that he had not done so, and that someone must have been
using his name.
The more I thought over the situation the less I liked it. It was
evident that I had become the object of a sort of vendetta on the part
of a very clever scoundrel, who would stick at nothing to obtain his
revenge and was always ready to strike at me when I least expected it.
To apply to the police would have been useless, as I had not a scrap
of evidence against him. I had slipped through his fingers twice, but
I could hardly count upon another such timely warning as I received in
the hotel bar. The girl must have known that there was a plot against
me, but why did she interfere? Was it caprice or a good instinct?
In the hope of finding out something I dropped in two or three times
at the hotel at different hours, but the few guarded inquiries I
made led to nothing. The girl and her companions were merely chance
customers, quite unknown to the hotel people, who would have been
almost as disagreeably surprised as myself if Wyngate's little scheme
had succeeded.
Feeling that the air of London was becoming decidedly unwholesome,
I went off to my friends at Folkestone, rather unwisely leaving my
address, so that letters could be forwarded. Thanks to cheerful
surroundings--the society of nice people has a really remarkable effect
in changing the current of one's ideas--my enemy's sinister figure
began to recede into the background. I was one of a house-party of
about a dozen, and they were all intensely interested in my story,
though nobody could suggest anything better than going abroad for a
year or two.
On the Tuesday after my arrival somebody mentioned that there was to
be a ball on the following Monday at one of the hotels on the cliff,
and we decided to make up a party and go. Tickets were taken, and, of
course, we made no secret of our intention, which was known to the
servants, tradespeople, and, in fact, anyone who might have taken an
interest in our doings.
On the Monday afternoon, while we were talking and tea-drinking in
the drawing-room, Charlie Barbour, one of the party, came in, walked
straight up to me, and remarked:--
"Well, old chap, there's some more fun in store for you."
"What on earth do you mean?" I demanded, vaguely uneasy.
"Only that your friend Wyngate is beginning again," he replied.
Then he told us that, happening to stroll into a barber's to get
himself smartened up for the evening, he had overheard two men talking
confidentially in German while waiting their turn to be shaved. As
it happened, Charlie was educated in Germany, and understood the
language perfectly well. At first, having no desire to overhear what
was not intended for him, he paid no attention, but presently he caught
a remark about the ball to which we were going the same evening.
Listening more attentively, he made out that somebody at the ball was
to be given a letter asking him to come outside for a few minutes on
to the terrace at the top of the cliff. This did not at first strike
him as suspicious, but when the two men, who looked like innocent
commercial travellers, had left the shop it suddenly occurred to
Charlie that their conversation might relate to me. It was so very much
like Wyngate's style, he thought, to get me on top of a cliff at night,
when there would probably be no one to see what happened to me. With
this idea in his head, Charlie escaped from the barber's as promptly
as possible and spent an hour or two prowling about in search of the
two men, but in vain; after which he made for home to tell me his story.
The girls became very much excited, and one of them said I was like
the hero of a sensational novel. We held a sort of council of war, and
decided that, if any letter of the kind were sent in to me while the
dance was going on, I should go outside with a revolver in my pocket,
and that Barbour and another man, Carruthers, also armed, should follow
close behind.
We were still discussing the affair when a telegram was brought to me.
I opened it and read:--
"If you value your life, leave Folkestone immediately."
There was no signature, but I had not the least doubt that the
telegram, which came from London, was sent by the unknown girl who had
already befriended me once.
Somebody remarked that the situation was becoming quite dramatic. I
agreed; but when I asked whether anyone would like to take my part as
the hero there were no offers.
Calling in the police was suggested; but Barbour and Carruthers--both
strong, active fellows--objected strongly to giving anyone else a
chance of capturing a brace of modern desperadoes, and we concluded to
keep the matter perfectly quiet, so as to give the enemy no hint of the
counter-mine we were preparing.
I never went to such an exciting dance in my life as I did that
evening; and all the others in our party were equally on the _qui
vive_. I rather enjoyed it after a time, as the ladies were so very
anxious to keep me dancing with them; while Barbour and Carruthers
several times got into trouble with their partners through trying to
keep their eye on me instead of attending to business.
It was nearly twelve o'clock before the expected summons came. I had
just taken my partner back to her seat when one of the hotel servants
came and told me a gentleman was anxious to see me outside on important
business.
Signalling to Barbour and Carruthers, I left the ball-room and strolled
as unconcernedly as possible out on to the terrace. There was no
moon, and, but for a few twinkling gas-lamps and the light from the
hotel windows, all was dark outside. I could just distinguish two men
standing on the terrace about twenty yards away. Seeing me walk towards
them they moved to meet me, but at this moment Barbour and Carruthers
made their appearance behind me. This was quite enough for my enemies.
Without a word they turned and ran off at full speed, taking different
directions as they reached the main road. We gave chase, but they ran
as fast as we did, and we soon lost them in the darkness.
It was annoying to have let the fellows slip through our fingers, but
there was some satisfaction in knowing that I was in no danger when
with friends, and that Wyngate's emissaries were not conspicuous for
courage. Like himself, no doubt, they were ready to strike only when
there was no danger of being caught.
As soon as possible after returning to London I gave up my rooms,
stored such of my belongings as were not portable, and went to live at
my club, on the principle that there is safety in numbers. In this I
was again mistaken, as I was soon to learn.
A fortnight later I went to a fancy dress ball at the Covent Garden
Opera house. I had just been chatting with an acquaintance, and was
standing amid a small group of people who were strangers to me, at the
top of the grand staircase, looking down at the people coming up, when
I felt myself suddenly seized from behind and hurled down the steps. I
was completely taken by surprise and could do nothing to save myself.
My unknown assailant no doubt reckoned that my head would come into
contact with the wall at the bottom of the flight of steps, and that I
should either be killed or badly hurt. By great good luck, however, a
portly commissionaire, taking tickets, was standing just in the right
spot, and I dashed into him with great violence, bowling him over like
a ninepin, but luckily without hurting him. I was stunned by the shock,
and by the time I recovered it was of course useless to look for the
man who had thrown me down the staircase. He must have shadowed me for
some time and chosen his moment well, for no one saw the act, unless it
be that he had accomplices who screened him from observation.
After this fourth experience I confessed that my nerve was considerably
shaken. To go on living by myself in London was only to court disaster
and live in daily expectation of a fifth attempt on my life. I need
not trouble the reader with the details of my consultations with the
Benedicts and my father, who became reconciled to me on hearing my
story. The end of it was that, after a few months' strict seclusion
with a coach in the country, I entered the Militia.
At L----, where I am stationed, I ought to be fairly safe among my
brother officers and the soldiers. And yet, who knows? Perhaps Wyngate
(who goes about openly in London, dines at the best restaurants, and
stares defiantly at friends of mine who know the story) is tired of
pursuing me, or thinks the game is not worth the candle. I hope so, at
any rate, for I sometimes feel that if he keeps to his purpose he will,
sooner or later, achieve it.