“IF NOT, LIE TO HIM.”
When Long John arrived at the club in the street off the Chelsea
Embankment he found several members of the School waiting to receive him.
They were all assembled in a large room on the first floor of the house.
As usual, they were smoking, and as the chief entered the dense smell of
reeking tobacco filled the air. Scrivener was amongst the men present.
He looked pale and excited. The other members of the School wore their
habitual expressions, some of surly indifference, some of bravado, not
a few of ill-concealed fear. For some reason there was a shadow in the
air, and the men felt it without knowing that they did so. Scrivener
was seated close to the fire smoking very strong tobacco when Long John
appeared on the scene.
“You have come; you are welcome,” said Scrivener, starting up and going a
few steps forward to meet his chief.
“Yes,” replied Long John in a voice of irritation, “of course I’ve come.
There is not much time to lose,” he added; “the night is already late,
and it does not do to arouse suspicion by keeping this sort of place open
too long. Let us to business at once. You managed the kidnapping of the
child very well, Scrivener.”
“What child?” asked Simpkins in an eager voice.
Simpkins, as the proprietor of the club, was always treated with a
certain amount of respect, but on this occasion Long John favoured him
with a scowling glance.
“You’ll know all if you’ll keep quiet,” he said. “A child has been
kidnapped by my orders—that child from this moment belongs to our School;
we bring him up in our ways, to do our business, perhaps to lead us in
his turn. He is the nephew of your gentleman leader, my men. He is Adrian
Rowton’s nephew.”
“Silver’s nephew! Good Heaven!” cried Simpkins. He bit his lips and
looked across to one of his neighbours with a glance which was half
scared, half appalled. “I thought,” he said after a pause, “that matter
was settled. It was proposed in this room that the child should be
brought to us, but Rowton objected. It was arranged, was it not, that if
Rowton did what we wanted, the child was to be let alone?”
“I was in my right when I kidnapped the boy,” said Piper in that snappy
voice which always characterised him when his temper was getting the
upper hand. “Now, Scrivener, to business; you took the child. Where is
he?”
“I have him, sir.”
“Where?”
“In a room just above the shop in Cheapside.”
“Ah! that was a good thought. Is the lad safe? Any chance of his
escaping?”
“None whatever,” answered Scrivener. “I need not go into particulars,” he
added, “but the boy is safe enough; he won’t escape.”
“That’s right; you can keep him for the present. I shall want him
by-and-by. What sort of lad is he?”
“I told you already, Long John, that he is about the pluckiest youngster
I ever came across. To be honest, now,” continued Scrivener, “I didn’t
like the job of taking that little game chap away a bit, and I hope—yes,
I do—that he’ll soon have his liberty. I don’t hold with bringing up boys
to our trade, that I don’t.”
“Nor do I,” said Simpkins. “It’s ⸺ hard,” he added, “and it don’t seem a
bit fair to a straightforward fellow like Silver.”
“Silence!” said Piper. “Simpkins, when I want your opinion I’ll ask for
it. The boy is not to have his liberty. I shall probably send him to
America by-and-by.”
“To America!” cried Scrivener.
“Yes, why not? Am I your head, or am I not, men?”
“Of course you’re our head, Long John,” said a surly bulldog-looking man
who stood near.
“Well, then, am I to direct proceedings, or am I not?”
“You are, you are, Piper,” said several.
“Let me hear no more grumbling, then. I propose to send the kid to
America before long. The members of our School there will receive him
with effusion, and the puppy can be brought up from tender years to walk
in the way in which he should go. There’s only one thing now to be said,
and it is this; that boy never returns to Rowton Heights. Should any
member of this club be base enough to reveal his whereabouts, or even
give the slightest hint to Adrian Rowton, he gets the black mark.”
There was no need to explain what the black mark meant: the men all
looked lowering and discontented.
“I have had a letter and a telegram from Rowton,” said Long John; “both
need attention. The man is in a high state of insurrection, and must be
dealt with in a very summary manner. He is likely to come here at any
moment.”
“That is true,” said Scrivener. “I know for a fact,” he added, “that
Rowton is in town. He will, of course, demand the boy. What is your
object, Piper, in keeping the lad from him?”
Piper, otherwise Long John, did not reply for a minute. He stood up
looking gloomy and depressed. Then he said, abruptly:
“I refuse to disclose all my plans, but enough can be said to explain my
reasons for the very strong move which I have just taken. Rowton is the
gentleman leader of this School, but I, my men, am the real boss; but for
me, where would any of you be now?”
“True for you, guv’nor,” said a couple of voices.
“I am the boss of this School. Two leaders cannot exist at the same
time—one must fall. Rowton has defied me too long. All our plans will
go to pieces, the police will get an inkling of our whereabouts, clues
will be furnished to them, the scheme which we have formed to undermine
society for our own best interest will fail, if there is a division in
the camp. In short, the School will come to absolute and open grief.
Rowton has defied me. I got the boy into my power because I intend to
show Rowton who is master.”
“That’s fair enough,” said one or two again.
“’Tain’t fair to my way of thinking,” said Simpkins suddenly. “There
ain’t one of us like Silver. No one has done us the good turns Silver has
done, and he’s straight. I’d trust him—I’d trust him to the death.”
“Silence!” said Long John.
There was a heavy oak chair at one end of the room. Piper now approached
it, seated himself, and looked down the long room. His face was even
thinner and more cadaverous than usual, his eyes more luminous, his lips
firmer and more cruel. Scrivener watched him in silence; then he went up
the room and asked him a question.
“What do you want done,” he said, “with the plate and jewels which we
have just taken from Rowton Heights?”
“They belong to Silver, and he must have them back again,” answered Long
John with a weary sigh. “That plant on public credulity was the finest
stroke of business we have done for a long time. We crown all when we not
only punish and completely gull the public, but also take the desire of
his eyes from Rowton.”
“Aye, but that, to my way of thinking, was the step too far,” muttered
Scrivener under his breath.
“What are you saying, Scrivener? Speak out! I allow no mutterings here.”
“I am saying this,” answered Scrivener; “we put ourselves into danger
when we aroused the indignation of a man like Rowton. You may push your
authority too far, Long John. I have spoken, now; I won’t say another
word.”
“You had better not. Now about the plate and jewels. You can keep them at
your place in Cheapside, Scrivener, for a bit, can’t you?”
“I can, Piper, but to be frank with you, I don’t want them to remain
there. They might implicate me.”
“Not a bit of it. The best plan would be to convert them into money,
which you can easily do. You have crucibles, and can melt down the plate.
The jewels can be taken from their settings, and one of our men can go
over to Holland with a part of them in the course of the next fortnight.
Rowton would as lief have a good large sum of money as the goods back
again. In fact, he cannot have them back; it might arouse suspicion.”
“How about this?” said Scrivener after a pause. “You think yourselves
safe enough,” he added, looking at the chief, his ugly small eyes
flashing, “but I said we did wrong to get to the black side of a man like
Rowton. How about this?” He put his hand into his breast pocket, drew out
a small morocco case, and touched a spring. The case flew open, and the
black diamond was revealed to view.
Long John was a man not easily moved; his outward calm seldom or never
deserted him. He took the diamond from its case, looked at it, and put it
back again.
“That black diamond,” he said, “was, by my orders, to be sold by Rowton
in Spain. He came here and told a dastardly lie about it. Did I not say
that fighting-cock, that bravado, wanted humiliating, crushing, defying?
He said he had received fifteen hundred pounds for the gem; five hundred,
as I told him at the time, too little. He gave me the money in your
presence, mates.”
“He did that,” said a man who stood near. “I don’t know what all this row
is about,” he continued, “we never had a straighter fellow among us than
Silver.”
“Hush, there! When I want your opinion I’ll ask for it. Now, Scrivener,
speak. How did you come by this diamond?”
“There’s treachery in the matter,” said Scrivener.
“Well, man, speak up, out with it.”
“It is this,” said Scrivener; “Silver has played us a scurvy trick.
Instead of selling the gem and putting it out of the power of the police
to trace it to us, he kept it and gave it to his wife. Mrs. Rowton wore
the black diamond in her hair on the night of the ball at Rowton Heights.”
“You swear this as a fact?” said Long John.
“My proof, sir, is that I have the diamond,” said Scrivener. “A girl
of the name of Hester Winsome, whom I heavily bribed while staying at
Pitstow, managed to secure it for me. She took it out of her mistress’s
wardrobe after the lady had retired for the night. And here it is, sir.”
Scrivener pointed to the gem as he spoke.
“Yes, the proof is convincing,” said Long John.
A growl came from one or two throats near. Long John took up the diamond,
looked at it again, and then replaced it on the table.
At that moment there came a knock at the door.
“Silver’s knock,” said Scrivener; “you won’t betray me, Piper?”
“You dog! Get along and let me alone,” said Piper. “Open the door,
someone.”
Simpkins went down the room and threw the door open.
“Welcome, Silver,” he said in a voice which slightly shook.
Rowton nodded to him and entered. Without looking to right or left he
came straight up the room. It was not his way to be ungracious, and the
men resented what they termed his haughty bearing.
“You received my letter?” he said in a curt voice, looking full at Long
John.
“I did, my fine fellow. You crow loud and fierce, my fighting cock. How
dare you address your boss in that tone?”
“What I dare to do is my own affair,” answered Rowton. “Your part of the
business is this; you keep your faith with me; if you break it, I’ll
stick to my word. Unless the boy is given back to me in two hours, I
break with the Silver School.”
“There are two words to that,” said Long John; “and as to my breaking
faith with you, wait a while—we may equalise the balance. Give me that
case here, Scrivener. Ha! what do you say to this, Rowton? How did this
come into your possession?”
“That is the black diamond,” said Rowton in a cool voice. “I bought it
for my wife. I forgot that it was stolen with the other things.”
He took up the gem as he spoke, looked at it with a peculiar expression,
and then laid it back on the table.
“My wife wore it the night of the ball,” he said.
His tone was thoughtful. For a moment he ceased to see the scene which
surrounded him; a fair vision rose before his mental eyes—he felt
clinging arms round his neck. The next, the vision had faded and the
black present was alone with him. He started from his reverie and spoke
abruptly.
“That robbery was very well planned, Piper,” he said. “I must
congratulate you on the whole way the thing was executed. But for the one
step too far—but for the kidnapping of my lad—I could admire the pluck
and courage of my confederates.” He looked round the room at the men,
whose eyes glowed with delight at his words of praise.
“Hold your tongue and listen,” said Long John, interlarding his words
with a terrific oath. “How did that diamond get into your possession?”
“I bought it,” answered Rowton. “I gave you fifteen hundred pounds for
it.”
“Then, do you know what you have done? By this act alone you have sold
us. There are ugly stories known to the police in connection with this
black diamond. I could lay my hands at the present moment on three men
in this room whom this precious gem of infernal night might bring to the
gallows.”
“Hush, for Heaven’s sake!” said Scrivener, “walls have ears.”
“There are moments when one must speak out, danger or not,” said Long
John. “The fact is plainly this. By your action, Rowton, you have
imperilled us all. You broke faith with us when you appropriated this
diamond for your own purposes. It is a lucky chance which brings it again
into our possession. Understand, now, that this matter makes us quits,
and that you have nothing whatever to do with the child.”
“Then my letter to you holds good,” said Rowton. “My men, I must wish you
good evening.”
He took up his hat, walked down the length of the room, opened the door,
and went out.
“Follow him,” said Long John, nodding to Simpkins as he spoke.
Without a word Simpkins also left the room.
When the two men had departed, and the sound of their footsteps going
downstairs had completely died away, Long John seated himself once more
in the old oak chair. He remained gloomy and silent for a moment. Then
his voice sounded full and sonorous.
“Come up near me, all of you,” he said; “we have an important matter to
discuss.”
All the men flocked, without a word, to the upper end of the room.
Scrivener stood exactly in front of Long John. Long John’s eyes, pathetic
to almost unbearable sadness, gazed full into the shifty eyes of his spy,
his lips became thin as a line, his face showed white and cadaverous,
even more deathly in hue than usual. On each cheek there came out slowly
an angry spot of flame about the size of a halfpenny; the eyes grew
brighter as the spot deepened. The lips were now so thin that they looked
like a mere thread. The men all waited in perfect silence. They knew this
mood of their leader, and trembled before it.
“There is only one thing to be done,” said Long John; “I name it with
regret, but it must be done.”
“What is that?” asked Scrivener.
“We have had too much to do with our gentleman leader—he has defied us
and put us in peril. Men, if we do not wish, each one of us, to taste the
sweets of penal servitude, if three or four of us do not wish to swing by
the neck until they die, Rowton must go.”
“He must go, it is true,” echoed Scrivener.
“It don’t seem to me as if that verdict was fair,” said a man on the
outer edge of the circle.
Long John fixed him with his glittering eyes.
“What do you mean, Danvers?” he said.
“What I say,” replied the man, getting a little bolder. “Silver may have
been wrong about that diamond, but after all, when all’s said and done,
he give it to his wife, and, except for the black diamond, we never did
have a straighter feller to work with.”
“If the black diamond is found by the police,” continued Long John, “we
are all undone. The police have information with regard to it which will
hang three men. Must three hang for one? I repeat that Adrian Rowton must
go.”
All the men were silent now. One or two looked eager and impressed, one
or two alarmed. Long John, after a silence which might almost be felt,
spoke again.
“If we don’t give him away, he gives us away.”
“No,” said the man called Danvers, “’tain’t in Silver to give evidence
agin his pals.”
“We have him in a cleft stick,” continued Long John. “Seeing himself at
our mercy he will turn round and defy us. Has he not done so already?
To-night, in your presence, mates, he named impossible conditions; when
they were not acceded to, he went away with threatening words on his
lips. He has done us harm, and, I repeat again, he must go. A diamond,
well known to the police, has been found in his establishment. His wife
has worn it. It is, doubtless, even now written in their records as part
of the stolen goods from Rowton Heights. I repeat once again, the man
must go. Do not let us discuss the fact of his going. A word or two as to
the means and this meeting may break up.”
Just then there came a timid knock at the door.
Scrivener went on tiptoe to open it. The servant girl who brought it
stood without. She handed a little twisted note.
Scrivener took it to Long John. He opened it, read the contents, and
thrust it into his pocket.
“I have grave information here,” he said. “Spider is in town, and has
been acting the spy for us as usual. We have no time to lose, mates. The
police have already got wind of Silver’s identity. Spider has informed me
in this note that they identify him with Adrian Rowton, master of Rowton
Heights. Before twenty-four hours are over he will be arrested. Now, look
here, we arrest him first. You understand, don’t you?”
“Yes,” answered several voices. They were all eager now. Their apathy had
vanished.
“We have a wine party here to-morrow night,” said Long John, rising as he
spoke. “Scrivener, it will be your duty to bring Silver here as guest.
Use fair means to get him to come, if necessary; if not, lie to him.
Good-night, men. We meet to-morrow evening at nine.”