"I may want you at any moment," I told him, "and therefore, with your
permission, I'm going to put you up at my flat in Piccadilly, where you
will be well looked after and have everything you want. I'll telephone
through to my man, Preston, giving him full instructions, and you had
better take a taxi and get there at once. Preston will send a messenger
to your lodgings to bring up any clothes and so forth you may require."
He blushed rosy red, and I wondered why, for his story had been told to
me in a crisp, man-of-the-world manner that made him seem far older than
he was.
Then he shrugged his shoulders, put his hand in his trousers pocket and
pulled out--one penny.
"All I have in the world," he said, with a rueful smile.
I scribbled an order on the cashier and told him to cash it in the
office below, and, with a look of almost doglike fidelity and gratitude,
the little fellow moved towards the door.
Just at that moment it opened and Julia Dewsbury came in.
Rolston's jaw dropped and his eyes almost started out of his head in
amazement, and I saw a look come into my secretary's eyes that I should
have been glad to inspire in the eyes of one woman.
"There, there," I said, "be off with you, both of you. Miss Dewsbury,
take Mr. Rolston, now a permanent member of the staff, into your own
room and tell him something about the ways of the office."
For half an hour I walked up and down the editorial sanctum arranging my
thoughts, getting everything clear cut, and when that was done I
telephoned to Arthur Winstanley, asking him, if he had nothing
particular on, to dine with me.
His reply was that he would be delighted, as he had nothing to do till
eleven o'clock, but that I must dine with him. "I have discovered a
delightful little restaurant," he said, "which isn't fashionable yet,
though it soon will be. Don't dress; and meet me at the Club at
half-past seven."
* * * * *
My dinner with Arthur can be related very shortly, for, while it has
distinct bearing upon the story, it was only remarkable for one
incident, though, Heaven knows, that was important enough.
I met him at our Club in Saint James' and we walked together towards
Soho.
"You are going to dine," said Arthur, "at 'L'Escargot d'Or'--The Golden
Snail. It's a new departure in Soho restaurants, and only a few of us
know of it yet. Soon all the world will be going there, for the cooking
is magnificent."
"That's always the way with these Soho restaurants, they begin
wonderfully, are most beautifully select in their patrons, and then the
rush comes and everything is spoiled."
"I know, the same will happen here no doubt, though lower Bohemia will
never penetrate because the prices are going to be kept up; and this
place will always equal one of the first-class restaurants in town.
Well, how goes it?"
I knew what he meant and as we walked I told him, as in duty bound, all
there was to tell of the progress of my suit.
"Met her once," I said, "had about two minutes' talk. There's just a
chance, I am not certain, that I may meet her to-night, and not in a
crowd--in which case you may be sure I shall make the very most of my
opportunities. If this doesn't come off, I don't see any other chance of
really getting to know her until September, at Sir Walter Stileman's,
and I have to thank you for that invitation, Arthur."
He sighed.
"It's a difficult house to get into," he said, "unless you are one of
the pukka shooting set, but I told old Sir Walter that, though you
weren't much good in October and that pheasants weren't in your line,
you were A1 at driven 'birds.'"
"But I can't hit a driven partridge to save my life, unless by a
fluke!"
"I know, Tom, I don't say that you'll be liked at all, but you won the
toss and by our bond we're bound to do all we can to give you your
opportunity. I need hardly say that my greatest hope in life is that
she'll have nothing whatever to say to you. And now let's change that
subject--it's confounded thin ice however you look at it--and enjoy our
little selves. I have been on the 'phone with Anatole, and we are going
to _dine_ to-night, my son, really _dine_!"
The Golden Snail in a Soho side street presented no great front to the
world. There was a sign over a door, a dingy passage to be traversed,
until one came to another door, opened it and found oneself in a long,
lofty room shaped like a capital L. The long arm was the one at which
you entered, the other went round a rectangle. The place was very simply
decorated in black and white. Tables ran along each side, and the only
difference between it and a dozen other such places in the foreign
quarter of London was that the seats against the wall were not of red
plush but of dark green morocco leather. It was fairly full, of a mixed
company, but long-haired and impecunious Bohemia was conspicuously
absent.
A table had been reserved for us at the other end opposite the door, so
that sitting there we could see in both directions.
We started with little tiny oysters from Belon in Brittany--I don't
suppose there was another restaurant in London at that moment that was
serving them. The soup was asparagus cream soup of superlative
excellence, and then came a young guinea-fowl stuffed with mushrooms,
which was perfection itself.
"How on earth do you find these places, Arthur?" I asked.
"Well," he answered, "ever since I left Oxford I've been going about
London and Paris gathering information of all sorts. I've lived among
the queerest set of people in Europe. My father thinks I'm a waster, but
he doesn't know. My mother, angel that she is, understands me perfectly.
She knows that I've only postponed going into politics until I have had
more experience than the ordinary young man in my position gets. I
absolutely refused to be shoved into the House directly I had come down
with my degree, the Union, and all those sort of blushing honors thick
upon me. In a year or two you will see, Tom, and meanwhile here's the
Moulin a Vent."
Anatole poured out that delightful but little known burgundy for us
himself, and it was a wine for the gods.
"A little interval," said Arthur, "in which a cigarette is clearly
indicated, and then we are to have some slices of bear ham, stewed in
champagne, which I _rather_ think will please you."
We sat and smoked, looking up the long room, when the swing doors at the
end opened and a man and a girl entered. They came down towards us,
obviously approaching a table reserved for them in the short arm of the
restaurant, and I noticed the man at once.
For one thing he was in full evening dress, whereas the only other
diners who were in evening kit at all wore dinner jackets and black
ties. He was a tall man of about fifty with wavy, gray hair. His face
was clean shaved, and a little full. I thought I had never seen a
handsomer man, or one who moved with a grace and ease which were so
perfectly unconscious. The girl beside him was a pretty enough young
creature with a powdered face and reddened lips--nothing about her in
the least out of the ordinary. When he came opposite our table, his face
lighted up suddenly. He smiled at Arthur, and opened his mouth as if to
speak.
Arthur looked him straight in the face with a calm and stony stare--I
never saw a more cruel or explicit cut.
The man smiled again without the least bravado or embarrassment, gave an
almost imperceptible bow and passed on towards his table without any one
but ourselves having noticed what occurred. The whole affair was a
question of some five or six seconds.
He sat down with his back to us.
"Who is he?" I asked of Arthur.
He hesitated for a moment and then he gave a little shudder of disgust.
I thought, also, that I saw a shade come upon his face.
"No one you are ever likely to meet in life, Tom," he replied, "unless
you go to see him tried for murder at the Old Bailey some day. He is a
fellow called Mark Antony Midwinter."
"A most distinguished looking man."
"Yes, and I should say he stands out from even his own associates in a
preeminence of evil. Tom," he went on, with unusual gravity, "deep down
in the soul of every man there's some foul primal thing, some troglodyte
that, by the mercy of God, never awakes in most of us. But when it does
in some, and dominates them, then a man becomes a fiend, lost, hopeless,
irremediable. That man Midwinter is such an one. You could not find his
like in Europe. He walks among his fellows with a panther in his soul;
and the high imagination, the artistic power in him makes him doubly
dangerous. I could tell you details of his career which would make your
blood run cold--if it were worth while. It isn't.
"But I perceive our bear's flesh stewed in Sillery is approaching. Let's
forget this intrusion."
Well, we dined after the fashion of Sybaris, went to the Club for an
hour and smoked, and then Arthur returned to his chambers in Jermyn
Street to dress. I went back to mine, found from Preston that little Mr.
Rolston was safely in bed and fast asleep, changed into a dinner jacket
and walked the few yards to the Ritz Hotel, my heart beating high with
hope.
I was shown up at once to the floor inhabited by the millionaire, and
knew, therefore, that I was expected. The man who conducted me knocked
at a door, opened it, and I entered. I found myself in a comfortable
room with writing tables and desks, telephone and a typewriter. A young
man of two or three and twenty was seated at one of the tables smoking a
cigarette.
He jumped up at once.
"Oh, Sir Thomas," he said, "Mr. Morse has not yet returned, and I think
it quite likely he may be some little time. But the Senora Balmaceda and
Miss Morse are in the drawing-room and perhaps you would like to--"
"I shall be delighted," I said, cutting him short, but who on earth was
Senora Balmaceda? The chaperone, I supposed, confound it!
The obliging young man led me through two or three very gorgeously
furnished rooms and at last into a large apartment brilliantly lit from
the roof, and with flowers everywhere. At one end was a little alcove.
"I have brought Sir Thomas, Senora," he said, looking about the room,
but there was no one remotely resembling a Senora there. Nevertheless,
directly he spoke, some one stepped out of the conservatory from behind
a tropical shrub in a green tub, and came towards us.
It was Juanita, and she was alone. The secretary withdrew and I advanced
to meet her.
"How do you do, Sir Thomas," she said in her beautiful, bell-like voice.
"Father said you might be coming and I'm afraid he won't be in just yet.
And it's so tiresome, poor Auntie has gone to bed with a bad headache."
"I'm very sorry, Miss Morse," I answered as we shook hands, "I must do
what I can to take her place," and then I looked at her perfectly
straight.
Yes, I dared to look into those marvelous limpid eyes and I know she saw
the hunger in mine, for she took her hand away a little hurriedly.
"What a charming room! Is that a little conservatory over there? It must
look out over the Green Park?"
"Yes, it does," she replied almost in a whisper.
"Then do let's sit there, Miss Morse."
Was I acting in a play or what on earth gave me this sense of confidence
and strength? Heaven only knows, but I never faltered from the first
moment that I entered the room. Oh, the gods were with me that night!
We went to the alcove without a further word, and she sat down upon a
couch. I have described her once, at Lady Brentford's ball, but at this
moment I am not going to attempt to describe her at all.
For half a minute we said nothing and then I took her hand and pressed
it to my lips.
"Juanita," I said, "there are mysterious currents and forces in this
world stronger than we are ourselves. This is the third time that I've
seen you, but no power on earth can prevent me from telling you--"
She was looking at me with parted lips and eyes suffused with an angelic
tenderness and modesty. My voice broke in my throat with unutterable
joy. I was certain that she loved me.
And then, just as I was about to say the sealing words--remember, I had
invoked the gods--there was the sound of a door opening sharply.
I stiffened and rose to my feet. From where we sat we could survey the
whole, rich room. Through the open door--I must say there were several
doors in the room--came a tall man, _walking backwards_.
He was in full evening dress with a camellia in his button-hole.
He stepped back lightly with cat-like steps, his arms a little curved,
his fingers all extended.
I saw his face. It was convulsed with the satanic fury of an old
Japanese mask. Line for line, it was just like that, and it was also the
face of the bland and smiling man I had seen two hours before at the
restaurant of The Golden Snail.
I felt something warm and trembling at my side. Juanita was clinging to
me and I put my arm around her waist. Through the open door there now
came another figure.
A quiet, resonant voice cut into the tense, horrible silence.
"Quick, Mark Antony Midwinter--that's your door, quick--quick!"
The big man paused for an instant and a hissing spitting noise came from
his mouth.
There was a sharp crack and a great mirror on the wall shivered in
pieces. There was another, and then the big man turned and literally
bounded over the soft carpet, flung himself through the door and
disappeared.
Gideon Mendoza Morse advanced into the drawing-room, smiling to himself
and looking down at a little steel-blue automatic in his hand.
Then Juanita and I came out of the alcove, hand in hand, and he saw us.