THE COMMANDATORE MAKES A DEDUCTION
"We are getting near the end of our resources, Guy," remarked Hora
quietly, as he held a glass of port up to the light, sipped the wine,
nodded his head approvingly, and set the glass down gently.
It was the evening of the second day after Hora's exhibition of emotion
upon hearing the name of Marven. He had not referred again to the
object of his hatred, and neither Myra nor Guy, who sat with him at the
table, had prompted his memory.
Guy looked round the room before he answered. He had been well trained
in the observance of caution. But the servants had retired, the door
was closed. The three were alone.
"All London offers replenishment of our empty coffers," he answered
light-heartedly. "Who is to have the honour?" He turned to Myra. "Shall
I peel a peach for you?" he asked.
The woman seemed not to hear the question. She was looking at Hora,
with an appeal in her glance.
Hora answered her glance. "Myra is tired of London," he remarked. "What
do you say, Guy? Shall we finish the campaign now, strike our tents and
retire like contented bourgeoisie to our vineyard to watch the grapes
ripen?"
Guy's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Retire empty-handed?" he
asked incredulously. "Why, what has come upon you, Commandatore?"
"Myra is tired," he answered briefly.
Guy looked, smilingly, at her. She flushed slightly. "Not a bit of
it," he answered. "I am quite sure she does not desire to exchange the
delights of a London season, even for the _dolce far niente_ of an
Italian summer."
"I should not mind," she answered. "London is a beastly place. The
Commandatore is right. I am sick of the sight and sound of people, and
of the perpetual menace of our life--I----"
Hora checked her speech with a gesture. The door opened and a servant
entered with coffee, and while he was present the conversation passed
lightly over topics of the day.
"I don't like that man," said Guy, as the servant withdrew. "I caught
him prying about amongst my belongings the other day when I returned to
the flat unexpectedly."
"All servants do that," murmured Hora indifferently. "Curiosity is the
mental badge of servitude. The servant is never happy until he has
surprised one of his master's secrets. It would be just as well, Guy,
if you were to supply him with a few facts to exercise his imagination
upon. Get some girl to write you a few love letters and hide them where
he can find them. He will never be at a loss then to supply a reason
for any erratic movement of yours."
Guy laughed. "Not a bad suggestion," he agreed. "Do you adopt the same
plan to protect yourself?"
Hora shrugged his shoulders. "I carefully built up my own reputation
in advance," he remarked. "Haven't I told you? I suppose not, for
you were both too young when I first located myself here." He looked
round the pleasant dining-room complacently. "I've had the place for
ten years now, and for one's name to be for ten years in the London
directory, at the same address, is a certificate of respectability
which is not easily discredited."
"Still I wonder that you did not seek greater privacy," remarked Guy,
as he lit a cigarette.
Hora smiled. "A decision for privacy always awakens suspicion, and
thus in our profession privacy _de facto_ is perhaps the one
luxury we cannot afford. Nevertheless a greater degree of privacy is
possible in the midst of a crowd than would be possible anywhere else
in the wide world. This is not such a paradoxical statement as it
sounds. In the crowd no one is intent on the doings of his neighbours.
Put a ring-fence round a man, and every eye would be fixed upon him.
Thus you see my reason for selecting a residential flat for my London
residence. The servants are not mine. Each of them has half a dozen
other objects of curiosity. When they have attended to our requirements
they disappear."
"But, nevertheless, they must be curious concerning the contents of the
art gallery?"
The allusion was to a portion of the abode into which the servants were
not supposed to enter. Though situated on the eighth story, Hora's
flat at Westminster Mansions was not the ultimate achievement of the
builder. Above were attics to which a narrow staircase gave entrance.
The stairs were shut off by a door, and the door was always locked.
"When I see any signs of curiosity I always take an early opportunity
of gratifying it," said Hora. "Every one of the servants who has
ever waited upon me has had the privilege of inspecting that chamber,
and not one of them has ever been sufficiently interested to enter it
a second time, except at my especial request. You see they are all
aware why I took possession of the attic. They think it is the fad of
a nervous invalid. Those attics were entered from another staircase
when first I took the flat, and some of the servants slept there. I
complained of the noise, continually. Half a dozen of the poor devils
must have been dismissed at one time or another for purely imaginary
offences in consequence. Then I declared I could stay no longer, and I
gave notice to leave. The agent for the landlord was apologetic, and
asked if there was no way in which he would not be able to meet me. I
offered to rent the place, saying that I would make it into a storeroom
for the books and trifles which I am continually accumulating. He
jumped at the offer I made, and I know he thought me a fool." Hora
chuckled. "How surprised he would be to learn that the proceeds of
many a rich haul have been stored there for months. But I have drifted
away from my original point. I was telling you of the manner in which
I built up my original reputation for eccentricity, the safest cloak a
man may wear. It was a simple matter. I merely answered for myself the
references I gave to my landlord. I described myself as an unfavourable
tenant from every point of view, but the pecuniary one. My habits I
described as irregular, my requirements exacting to a degree, my manner
brusque and overbearing, and my disposition faddy and changeable, and
further said I was given to making continual requests for structural
alterations in any dwelling place that I occupied in order to make
accommodation for any new collecting craze which seized me."
"I wonder any landlord ventured to accept you," laughed Myra.
"The London landlord has a high opinion of his capability for
withstanding the demands of his tenants," said Hora drily. "He is a
man lavish of promises, but meagre of fulfilments, and possessed of a
genius for extracting the uttermost farthing of his rent. Moreover, he
would take Satan himself as a tenant if he offered to pay six months'
rent in advance. Naturally I proved acceptable, and not turning out to
be the terror I depicted myself I am now looked upon as the best tenant
in the whole building. I am free to do as I like. My treasure-house
ceases to excite curiosity, and I believe if I were to place the crown
jewels upon one of the tables up there they would be undisturbed, so
long as my rent was paid regularly, until they were hidden beneath the
accumulated dust of ages."
The allusion gave Guy an idea.
"Do you contemplate an imitation of Colonel Blood's exploit for the
replenishment of our empty exchequer?" he said, smiling.
"I have often envied Blood's opportunities," answered Hora
thoughtfully, "but at the present day there are much greater
difficulties in the way than Blood had to contend with. Some day,
perhaps, but just now I have another scheme in my mind." He rose from
the table. "I have something to tell you," he remarked. "You will
excuse me for a minute."
He left the room. As the door closed on Hora, Myra turned eagerly to
her companion. She felt that, despite her promise to Hora, she must
give utterance to the fears which once again possessed her mind.
"Guy," she said, "I wish you would persuade the Commandatore to leave
London for a while. He would listen to any wish of yours."
"Do you think so?" he asked. "I don't think that any expression of mine
would turn him from any purpose he has in view."
"But can you not try?" she persisted. "For my sake, Guy."
"Why, whatever is the matter with you, Myra?" asked the young man, his
attention captured by the obvious anxiety in her voice. "Surely you are
not becoming afraid?"
"Becoming afraid?" she repeated after him mechanically. "No, I am
not becoming afraid. I learned what fear was long ago, when first
I ventured to put my own desires in opposition to the will of the
Commandatore. I have always been afraid since then." She fell to
silence.
"There's no reason to fear the Commandatore," answered Guy cheerfully.
"You are growing morbid, Myra."
She paid no heed to his comment. "It is not fear now, or at least not
what is generally understood by fear. There is an oppression in the
air, the weight of something unseen and unknown presses on me."
"But there is nothing for you to fear. Whatever were to happen you
would be quite safe," argued Guy.
"Myself? It is not myself I am thinking about," she cried passionately.
"Whatever impends does not threaten me. It is you, Guy, I fear for.
Ever since the night of Lady Greyston's dance I have felt it. I
thought you would never return that evening, but you came back, and
for a while I could laugh at my fears. But, now the Commandatore has
some other proposal to make, my dread has returned. I shall not have a
moment's rest."
"Why this is sheer hysteria, if not madness," said Guy in great concern.
"Call it what you like," she replied earnestly, "but listen to what I
say--promise me!"
She heard Hora's lagging footstep in the passage outside, and she
ceased speaking suddenly. "Not a word of this to the Commandatore," she
said hastily, as the door opened, and Hora re-entered.
If the elder man observed that his re-entry had broken in upon a
confidence from which he was excluded, he gave no signs of having done
so. Myra breathed more freely when he seated himself again at the
table, and spread out a newspaper he had brought with him on the table.
"There are three items of news in this evening's paper," he remarked
quietly, "which supply the data from which may be deduced the means
whereby an enterprising man may build a fortune."
Guy was all attention on the instant, and Myra, viewing his keen face,
let her head droop upon her hand.
"Those items are?" queried the young man, as Hora paused.
"You will find the first in the Court News," was the reply. "The Rt.
Hon. Sir Gadsby Dimbleby, who is the minister in attendance upon His
Majesty the King, arrived at Sandringham last night."
"The Minister of Foreign Affairs, is he not?" asked Guy.
Hora nodded, and turned to another page from which he read: "Just
before the close all markets sagged badly on selling orders from
Berlin. A variety of rumours were afloat as to the reason, but no
definite information which would supply justification for a bear raid
on the market was forthcoming from any well-informed quarter. In
the street, afterwards, prices were put up again generally, though
fluctuations were considerable."
"Yes," said Guy, beginning to look puzzled.
"The third item is a mere addition to the Reuter's telegram from
Australia, giving particulars of the cricket match between the English
and Australian teams. The result is placed in the space left for late
news, and over it are the words "delayed in transmission.""
Hora ceased speaking.
"If the rehabilitation of our fortunes depends upon translating that
puzzle we shall end our days in the workhouse yet," said Guy.
"Yet, there is much wealth for the man who can piece together those
scraps of information, and will act promptly on the knowledge,"
answered Hora.
"How? By speculation on the Stock Exchange?" asked Guy. "I thought,
Commandatore, that you eschewed all forms of gambling."
"I do," said Hora drily. "But to buy and sell on a certainty has
nothing of the gambling element about it. I feel inclined to make
either the bulls or the bears contribute to our maintenance.
But action must be prompt if it is to succeed. There is work
for you to do to-night, Guy, if you care about it."
"Care about it?" The young man sprang to his feet, every fibre of his
frame quivering for action.
Hora laughed good-naturedly. "There--there, Guy, take matters a bit
easily. There's plenty of time before you yet, if you decide to go on
with the job. It's more risky than the last."
"The greater the risk, the better I shall be pleased," exclaimed Guy,
as he dropped again into his chair, "though how you are going to evolve
anything of a risky nature from those paragraphs you have just read, I
entirely fail to understand."
"You'll understand soon enough," remarked Hora quietly, "and you
will then be surprised that the meaning of these three items of news
should have conveyed so little to you. Let me reverse the order and
read into these three facts my own conclusions. What can be the reason
for the delay in the transmission of the cable containing the cricket
result? Either the cable had broken down, or it was monopolised for
more important work. The former theory is untenable, for if you take
the trouble to compare the time of the insertion of the news with
the time when it should have been inserted, you will find a delay of
three or four hours only has to be accounted for. Thus I arrive at the
decision that the cable was fully occupied by someone with a prior
claim for its use. Who could that be? Here again the choice is between
two possibilities. Either some big financier or body of financiers or
the Government. Again the indications point to one conclusion. The
City was merely uneasy by reason of German selling, which could not
be accounted for, and not because of information which had come over
the wires. Therefore, the wires must have been occupied by
important despatches to the British Government. I think," said Hora,
"that if the knowledge of what has passed over the cable is in my
possession by to-morrow morning, we shall be in a position to spoil the
Egyptians of Throgmorton Street to some purpose."
Guy looked at Hora with admiration. Some idea of his companion's
purpose dawned upon him--but only faintly. He asked eagerly for further
guidance.
"As to the nature of the despatch which has been received at the
Foreign Office, I have no more idea than yourself," he continued,
"though it probably affects Germany, and it is hardly worth while
troubling to guess. I am only concerned with times, places, and people.
As I calculate, the cable was not clear for ordinary business until
close upon six o'clock. Six would, therefore, be very near the time
when the end of the message was delivered at the Foreign Office.
Of course it would have been cabled in the official cypher. By the
time the message would be de-coded there is only one train by which
a special messenger could take the de-coded despatch to his chief,
who happens to be the minister in attendance upon His Majesty at
Sandringham."
Hora looked up at the clock. "That train starts from St. Pancras at
9.50. It proceeds as far as Lynn, where the messenger carrying the
despatch will probably be met by a motor-car. It is just nine o'clock
now, Guy, so there is plenty of time for you to decide whether it is
worth while making an effort to obtain the information which will be in
his despatch box."
Guy's eyes sparkled. "It's worth while trying
any way, Commandatore." He turned to the young
woman. "Wish me luck, Myra," he said.