Tavernake had the feelings of a man suddenly sobered as he turned once
more into the Adelphi Terrace. Waiting until no one was in sight, he
opened the door of the empty house with the Yale key which he had kept,
and carefully closed it. He struck a match and listened for several
minutes intently; not a sound from anywhere. He moved a few yards
further to the bottom of the stairs, and listened again; still silence.
He turned the handle of the ground floor apartment and commenced a fresh
search. Room by room he examined by the light of his rapidly dwindling
matches. This time he meant to leave behind him no possibility of any
mistake. He even measured the depths of the walls for any secret hiding
place. From room to room he passed, leisurely, always on the alert,
always listening. Once, as he opened a door on the third floor there
was a soft scurrying as though of a skirt across the floor. He struck
a match quickly, to find a great rat sitting up and looking at him with
black, beady eyes. It was the only sign of life he found in the whole
building.
When he had finished his search, he came down to the ground floor and
entered the room corresponding with the one from which he had heard
voices in the adjoining house. He crouched here upon the dusty boards
for some time, listening. Now and then he fancied that he could still
hear voices on the other side of the wall, but he was never absolutely
certain.
At last he rose to stretch himself, and almost as he did so a fresh
sound from outside attracted his notice. A motor-car had turned into the
Terrace. He walked to the uncurtained window and stood there, sure of
being himself unseen. Then his heart gave a great leap. Unemotional
though he was, this was a happening which might well have excited a
more phlegmatic individual. A motor-car which he remembered very well,
although it was driven now by a man in dark livery, had stopped at the
next house. A woman and two men had descended. Tavernake never glanced
at the latter; his eyes were fastened upon their companion. She was
wrapped in a long cloak, but she lifted her skirts as she crossed the
pavement, and he saw the flash of her silver buckles. Her carriage, her
figure, were unmistakable. It was Elizabeth who was paying this early
morning visit next door! Already the little party had disappeared. They
did not even ring the bell. The door must have been opened silently
at their coming. The motor-car glided off. Once more the Terrace was
deserted.
Tavernake felt sure that he knew now the solution,--there was a way from
this house into the next one. He struck another match and, standing back
a few yards, looked critically at the dividing wall. In ancient days
this had evidently been a dwelling-house of importance, elaborately
decorated, as the fresco work upon the ceiling still indicated. The wall
had been divided into three panels, with a high wainscoting. Inch by
inch he examined it from one end to the other; he started from the back
and came toward the front. About three-quarters of the way there, he
paused. It was very simple, after all. The solid wall for a couple of
feet suddenly ceased, and the design was continued with an expanse of
stretched canvas, which yielded easily to his finger. He leaned his ear
against it; he could hear now distinctly the sound of voices--he heard
even the woman's laughter. For the height of about four feet the wall
had been bodily removed. He made a small hole in the canvas--there was
still darkness. He enlarged the hole until he could thrust his hand
through--there was nothing but canvas the other side. He knew now where
he was. There was only that single thickness of canvas between him and
the room. He had but to make the smallest hole in it and he would be
able to see through. Even now, with the removal of the barrier on his
side, the voices were more distinct. A complete section of the wall had
evidently been taken out and replaced by a detachable framework of wood
covered with stretched canvas. He stood back for a moment and felt with
his finger; he could almost trace the spot where the woodwork fitted
upon hinges. Then he went on his hands and knees again, and with his
penknife in his hand he paused to listen. He could hear the man Crease
talking--a slow, nasal drawl. Then he heard Pritchard's voice, followed
by what seemed to be a groan. There was a silence, then Elizabeth seemed
to ask a question. He heard her low laugh and some note in it sent a
shiver through his body. Pritchard was speaking fiercely now. Then, in
the middle of his sentence, there was silence once more, followed by
another groan. He could almost feel the people in that room holding
their breaths.
Tavernake was rapidly forgetting all caution. The point of his knife was
through the canvas. Slowly he worked it round until a small piece, the
size of a half-crown, was partially cut through. With infinite pains he
got his head and shoulders into the small recess and for the first time
looked into the room. Pritchard was sitting almost in the middle of the
apartment; his arms seemed to be bound to the chair and his legs were
tied together. A few yards away, Elizabeth, her fur coat laid aside, was
lounging back in an easy-chair, her dress all glittering with sequins,
a curious light in her eyes, a cruel smile parting her lips. By her
side--sitting, in fact, on the arm of her chair--was Crease, his long,
worn face paler, even, than usual; his lips curled in a smile of cynical
amusement. Major Post was there, carefully dressed as though he had been
attending some social gathering, standing upon the hearth-rug with his
coat-tails under his arms. The professor, in whose face seemed written
the most abject terror, was talking. Tavernake now could hear every word
distinctly.
“My dear Elizabeth! My dear Crease! You are both too precipitate! I tell
you that I protest--I protest most strongly. Mr. Pritchard, I am sure,
with a little persuasion, will listen to reason. I will not be a party
to any such proceeding as--as this. You understand, Crease? We have gone
quite far enough as it is. I will not have it.”
Elizabeth laughed softly.
“My dear father,” she said, “you will really have to take something for
your nerves. Nothing need happen to Mr. Pritchard at all unless he asks
for it. He has his chance--. no one should expect more.”
“You are right, my dear Elizabeth,” declared Crease, speaking very
slowly and with his usual drawl. “This question of his health for
the future--at any rate, for the immediate future--is entirely in
Pritchard's own hands. There is no one who has received so many warnings
as he. Bramley was cautioned twice; Mallison was warned three times and
burned to death; Forsith had word from us only once, and he was shot in
a drunken brawl. This man Pritchard has been warned a dozen times, he
has escaped death twice. The time has come to show him that we are in
earnest. Threats are useless; the time has come for deeds. I say that
if Pritchard refuses this trifling request of ours, let us see that he
leaves this house in such a state that he will not be able to do us any
harm for some time at least.”
“But he will give his word!” the professor cried excitedly. “I am quite
sure that if you allow me to talk to him reasonably, he will pledge
his word to go back to the States and interfere no longer with your
affairs.”
Pritchard turned his head slightly. He was a little pale, and the blood
was dropping slowly on to the floor from a wound in his temple, but his
tone was contemptuous.
“I will give you my word, Professor, and you, Elizabeth Gardner, and
you, Jim Post, and you, Walter Crease, that crippled, or straight, in
evil or good health, from the very jaws of death I will hang on to life
until you have paid your just debts. You understand that, all of you?
I don't know what sort of a show this is. You may be in earnest, or you
may be trying a rag. In any case, let me assure you of this. You won't
get me to beg for mercy. If you force me to drink that stuff you are
talking about, I'll find the antidote, and as sure as there's a prison
in America, so surely I'll make you suffer for it! If you take my
advice,” he went on slowly, “and I know what I'm talking about, you'll
cut these ropes and set open your front door. You 'll live longer, all
of you.”
“An idiot,” Elizabeth remarked pleasantly, “can do but little harm in
the world. The word of a person of weak intellect is not to be relied
upon. For my part, I am very tired of our friend, Mr. Pritchard. If you
others had been disposed to go to much greater lengths, if you had said
'Hang him from the ceiling,' I should have been well pleased.”
Pritchard made a slight movement in his chair--it was certainly not a
movement of fear.
“Madam,” he said, “I admire your candor. Let me return it. I don't
believe there's one of you here has the pluck to attempt to do me
any serious injury. If there is, get on with it. You hear, Mr. Walter
Crease? Bring out that bottle of yours.”
Crease removed his cigar from his lips and rose slowly to his feet. From
his waistcoat pocket he produced a small phial, from which he drew the
cork.
“Seems to me it's up to us to do the trick,” he remarked languidly.
“Catch hold of his forehead, Jimmy.”
The man known as Major Post threw away his cigarette, and coming round
behind Pritchard's chair, suddenly bent the man's head backward.
Crease advanced, phial in hand. Then all Hell seemed to be let loose in
Tavernake. He stepped back in his place and marked the extent of that
wooden partition. Then, setting his teeth, he sprang at it, throwing
the great weight of his massive shoulder against the framework door.
Scratched and bleeding, but still upon his feet, he burst into the room,
with the noise of bricks falling behind,--an apparition so unexpected
that the little company gathered there seemed turned into some waxwork
group from the Chamber of Horrors--motionless, without even the power of
movement.
Tavernake, in those few moments, was like a giant among a company of
degenerates. He was strong, his muscles were like whipcord, and his
condition was perfect. Walter Crease went over like a log before his
fist; Major Post felt the revolver at which he had snatched struck from
his hand, and he himself remembered nothing more till he came to his
senses some time afterwards. A slash and a cut and Pritchard was free.
The professor stood wringing his hands. Elizabeth had risen to her feet.
She was pale, but she was still more nearly composed than any other
person in the room. Tavernake and Pritchard were masters of the
situation. Pritchard leaned toward the mirror and straightened his tie.
“I am afraid,” he said looking down at Walter Crease's groaning figure,
“that our hosts are scarcely in fit condition to take leave of us. Never
mind, Mrs. Gardner, we excuse ourselves to you. I cannot pretend to be
sorry that my friend's somewhat impetuous entrance has disturbed your
plans for the evening, but I do hope that you will realize now the
fatuousness of such methods in these days. Good-night! It is time we
finished our stroll together, Tavernake.”
They moved towards the door--there was no one to stop them. Only the
professor tried to say a few words.
“My dear Mr. Pritchard--my dear Pritchard, if you will allow me to call
you so,” he exclaimed, “let me beg of you, before you leave us, not to
take this trifling adventure too seriously! I can assure you that it was
simply an attempt to coerce you, not in the least an affair to be taken
seriously!”
Pritchard smiled.
“Professor,” he said, “and you, Walter Crease, and you, Jimmy Post, if
you're able to listen, listen to me. You have played the part of
children to-night. So surely as men and women exist who live as you do,
so surely must the law wait upon their heels. You cannot cheat justice.
It is as inexorable as Time itself. When you try these little tricks,
you simply give another turn to the wheel, add another danger to life.
You had better learn to look upon me as necessary, all of you, for I am
certainly inevitable.”
They passed backwards through the door, then they went down the silent
hall and out into the street. Even as they did so, the clock struck a
quarter to two.
“My friend Tavernake,” Pritchard declared, lighting a cigarette with
steady fingers, “you are a man. Come into the club with me while I bathe
my forehead. After all, we'll have that drink together before we say
goodnight.”