BEDROOM 14.
Jack had not waited to ask any idle questions; he had felt quite sure
from Seymour's manner that the latter had some great scheme in hand.
It was very pleasant and exhilarating to feel that a man of Seymour's
wonderful fertility and courage should be enlisted on his side.
Masefield was not without hope that the discoveries of the night were
not yet complete. He strolled away in the direction of the Great
Metropolitan, turning these things over in his mind.
It seemed to him that the clerk in the office of the mammoth hotel
regarded him somewhat suspiciously, seeing that he had arrived without
luggage of any kind; but a deposit of a sovereign soon set that matter
right. It occurred to Jack as a good idea to secure a bedroom as
nearly as possible next to that of Carrington. The hotel was not
particularly busy, he discovered, for nobody had come in enquiring for
bedroom accommodation during the last hour. This was a discovery in
itself, for it testified to the fact that Carrington had not yet
arrived.
It was nearly an hour before he came, and then he appeared in a
desperate hurry. Discreetly Jack remained in the background, but he
was close enough to hear Carrington arguing and protesting that he
must have a certain room. The matter seemed to be settled amicably at
length, and Carrington took his key and departed. Jack strolled across
to the office again. He had decided on a bold policy.
"I am going to ask you to give me another room," he said. "I want to
be as near as possible to the gentleman who has just gone up-stairs. I
think if you do as I ask you it may save the hotel trouble. What was
the number of his room?"
The clerk was friendly enough, and inclined to talk. Was it a police
matter? he asked. Jack responded gravely that he was not in a position
to say too much, but his mysterious manner had the desired effect, and
the exchange was made.
"I haven't put you exactly next to that gentleman," the clerk
explained. "You see our bedrooms are on a sort of cubical
system--corridors down both sides, and the bedrooms back to back, if I
may so express it--with a ventilating grating between them for the
sake of air. That gentleman's bedroom is 28; therefore your room,
exactly behind it, is No. 14. I hope I have made myself plain."
Jack replied that the thing was perfectly clear. Indeed, the system
was in considerable vogue on the Continent. He lingered a little
longer in the big lounge hall, where he smoked a cigarette or two, so
as to give Carrington time to get to bed. It occurred to Jack, in an
idle kind of way, that perhaps Carrington was deceiving Anstruther, or
why had he not come straight to the hotel? Instead of that, he had
evidently gone off somewhere in a desperate hurry, and had returned at
length to the hotel looking very exhausted and agitated. Jack pondered
this matter in his mind as he went up to his own room.
It was a comfortable enough bedroom, for the Great Metropolitan was
noted for the luxury of its appointments; indeed, the room was fit for
anybody. The lighting was exceedingly efficient; even over the bed was
a pendant, evidently intended for those who cared to read after they
retired to rest. Jack smiled as he noted the elaborate dressing-table
and wash-hand-stand, to say nothing of a huge winged wardrobe, which
was almost as big as a bedroom itself. Behind this wardrobe, fairly
close to the ceiling, was the open grating which formed a ventilating
shaft between the one room and the other one behind it.
Jack carefully closed the door, and with the aid of a chair managed to
climb to the top of the wardrobe. He found that the grating was
constructed on the swivel principle, very like a big cheval glass, so
that by tilting it slightly it was just possible to see into the next
room.
In the room aforesaid the lights had not yet been turned down, so that
evidently Carrington had not gone to bed. The watcher could hear him
impatiently pacing the room and muttering to himself from time to
time. The muttering was exceedingly incoherent, but from the gist of
it Jack seemed to make out that Carrington was expecting somebody. On
the far side of the room was a wardrobe very much like the one upon
which Jack was perched, except that it had large plate-glass doors
which reflected practically everything that was taking place inside
the room.
Jack could see Carrington now, lounging in a comfortable armchair and
impatiently turning over a great mass of papers which lay on a table
before him. On the table also was a box of cigars, flanked by two
glasses and the necessary ingredients for the manufacture of whiskey
and soda. There could be no longer any doubt about it: Carrington was
expecting a friend. So far as the watcher could see, there was no
hurry. He was quite prepared to sit up all night if necessary, and had
no feelings of delicacy in listening to what the two scoundrels were
going to say--provided always that the expected visitor was a
scoundrel, of which Jack had very little doubt.
As he stood there, his whole mind strained to attention, it seemed to
him that he could hear the sound of music somewhere. To his trained
ear there was something familiar in the method of the player. Jack
wondered where he had heard that finished execution before. Then it
suddenly flashed upon him.
"How stupid," he muttered to himself. "I had quite forgotten that
Padini was here. That is Padini, without a shadow of a doubt, carrying
out the programme that Anstruther made out for him."
The music was not far off; it seemed to Jack that he could almost hear
the scraping of the bow. It was not lost upon him, however, that the
whole of the pieces were Chopin's compositions. The music ceased
presently with a sudden twang, much as if the E string had violently
parted. A moment later, by the aid of the friendly mirror, Jack saw
Carrington's door open, and the figure of Padini come in. Carrington
glared at the intruder.
"What do you mean by keeping me waiting all this time?" he growled.
"Didn't you get my telephone message?"
"And hadn't I got my work to do?" Padini retorted. "I dare say you
consider yourself to be an exceedingly clever fellow, but once you
elect to match your wits with Anstruther, you will find yourself a
lost man. It is no use you being in a hurry; as a matter of fact, I
should have kept you a full hour longer, only I have broken my E
string, and I don't happen to have another one on the premises."
With an angry gesture Padini threw his violin on the table. In a
mechanical sort of way Carrington looked at the severed string. He was
always a suspicious man, for it was an axiom of his never to trust
anybody, and he was wondering now if this were not part of some dodge
being worked out by his visitor. His face grew a little anxious as he
held one end of the broken string between his thumb and finger.
"I suppose you call this a simple fracture," he said. "String worn
out, and all that kind of thing. If you will look at it carefully, you
will see that it has been half cut; you can actually see how far the
knife has gone."
Padini examined the string carefully. His face also had grown a little
gray and anxious.
"It is exactly as you say, my friend," he exclaimed. "But I wonder how
that was done, and why. It is not as if I left my violin about--one is
not so careless with a genuine Amati like mine. I brought the fiddle
back with me from my afternoon recital, and I am prepared to swear
that there was nothing the matter with it then. I locked it up in my
box, and there it stayed till a couple of hours ago. Now what does
this mean? Does anybody suspect us? Has Anstruther's clever scheme
come to the knowledge of anybody? The police, perhaps, might have
discovered----"
"The police have nothing whatever to do with that," Carrington said
angrily. "What have any of us done to bring ourselves within the reach
of the law--at present? The man that we have most to fear is Seymour.
How you came to let him slip through your fingers the other night is
an absolute mystery to me."
Padini shrugged his shoulders, and something like an oath escaped him.
By aid of the friendly mirror Jack obtained a perfect view of his
face. It was white and sinister; the dark eyes gleamed like living
coals.
"But Seymour must be dead," the violinist said hoarsely. "We know he
is dead; did we not read it in the papers? It may be that some friends
stole his body for purposes of their own, but dead he is. If I thought
he was still alive, I should have to leave London; I dare not stay
here with a horror like that hanging over me."
"You are absolutely wrong," Carrington cried. "Seymour is still alive;
he is still in London, thirsting for vengeance. He is rich, he has the
courage of a lion, and the mind of a Machiavelli. You smile, my
friend, but it is the smile of a thoroughly frightened man. Seymour is
after you; he is after me. Look at this. Don't say you fail to
recognize it."
"It is his tobacco pouch," Padini faltered.
"Yes; I thought you would recognize it. And where do you suppose I
found that to-night? In my own room, lying on the floor. Do you want
any greater proof than that, that Seymour was working in my own rooms
to-night?"
Padini nodded moodily. Jack noticed how his hand trembled as he helped
himself to the whiskey and soda. "I am sick of this," he muttered. "I
mean to get out of it--I am as anxious as you are to get outside
Anstruther's influence. That is why I am here to-night. I am going to
tell you my plan--call it murderous and treacherous if you like--which
is the only way of settling Anstruther's claims upon us. If you have
any pluck at all--if there is anything of the man about you----"
"No, no," Carrington faltered. "I tell you I dare not."
As the speaker broke off, Jack was conscious of something like an
altercation outside his door. The night porter was protesting that
something or other was not his fault; the other man's voice was
equally sure that it was. It did not require much intelligence to
discover that the newcomer wanted that particular room. With a thrill
Jack recognized the voice of Anstruther. In an instant he had made up
his mind what to do. Like a flash he came down from the top of the
wardrobe, switched on the light over the bed, and proceeded softly to
unlock the door. There was a knock on the panel at the same moment.
Jack glanced hastily round, and bundled one or two of his belongings
into the wing of the wardrobe. He had barely time to conceal himself
there, before the handle of the door turned and Anstruther entered.
"You can see it is exactly as I said," the latter remarked. "I engaged
this room an hour ago. It is quite evident that no other guest has
taken this apartment. If he were here, surely there would be a
portmanteau, or a dressing-case, or something of that kind. Take this
half-sovereign, and say no more about it. If there is any fuss I will
take the blame."
The man departed; the door was locked behind him, and a moment later
Jack could feel the heavy form of Anstruther climbing to the top of
the wardrobe.