"And I agreed with you entirely. But you would come."
"Lanyard's no such fool as to stick round a place he knows I know about."
Karl's hands twitched and his features worked nervously. "He knows me too
well, knows that if ever I lay hands on him again--"
His voice was rising to an hysterical pitch when the other checked him with
a sibilant hiss. At the same time his hand darted out and switched off the
light. Karl uttered a startled ejaculation.
"_Sssh_!" his companion repeated.
In the street a motor-car was rumbling, stationary before the door. Then
the remote grinding of the house door-bell was heard.
"Let's get out of this," suggested the Irishman. "It's no good waiting,
anyway."
"Hold hard! We won't go till we have a clear field."
The Prussian stole out into the sitting room and stood listening at the
door to the public hallway, his companion standing by with a mutinous air.
"Oh, come along!" he insisted, in a stage whisper.
"Shut up! Listen...."
Shuffling footfalls traversed the hallway. The front door was opened. The
clear voice of an Englishwoman was answered in the slurring patois of a
negro.
"No'm, he ain't in."
The next enquiry was intelligible: the speaker had entered the hallway.
"Are you sure?"
"Yas'm. Sumbody done call him up 'bout ten min'tes ago, an' I rung an' rung
an' he don' answer. He ain't in or he don' mean to answer nobody, tha's
all."
"I am very anxious about him. Have you a key to his rooms?"
"Yas'm, I got a pass-key, but--"
"Please use it. Take this. Go in and make sure he is out, or if at home
that he is all right."
"Yas'm, thanky ma'am, but--"
"Do as I tell you. I will see that you don't get into trouble."
"All right, ma'am." The negro chuckled, probably over his tip. "Yo' sho'
has got the p'suadin'est way...."
The Irishman caught the German's arm. "Come out of this," he pleaded.
"No fear. I'll see it through. That's the Brooke girl the fool got in with
on the boat. She may know something...."
"But--"
"Leave this to me. You look out for the negro. I'll take care of Miss
Cecelia Brooke."
Swearing unhappily, the Irishman flattened against the wall to one side of
the door. Karl waited behind it as it admitted the hall attendant, who made
directly toward the central chandelier.
"Yo' jes' wait, ma'am, an' I'll mek a light an'--"
But the girl had impetuously followed him in.
The light went up, and Karl put a heavy shoulder against the door, closing
it with a slam. The negro turned and stood with gaping mouth and staring
eyes, dumb with terror. The girl recognised Karl with a little cry, and
darted back toward the door. Immediately he caught her in his arms. Her
lips opened, but their utterance was stifled by a handkerchief thrust
between them with the dexterity of a practised hand.
Without one word of warning the Irishman stepped forward and struck the
negro brutally in the face. The boy reeled, whimpering. Two more blows
delivered with murderous ferocity silenced him altogether. He collapsed
like a broken puppet, insensible on the floor, his face a curious ashen
colour beneath its glossy skin of brown.