BRED IN THE BONE.
Meanwhile, Walter Lance had lost no time in reaching the studio. It
did not need any elaborate explanation on the part of Maria Delahay
for him to know that, in some way, the danger came from the man whom
he knew as Valdo. Walter did not doubt that this was not the first
time that the Corsican had visited the studio, though, as yet, he was
utterly unable to grasp how it was that the attempt had been so
successful.
There was danger here, and Walter knew it perfectly well, but he was
too filled with indignation to think of anything else. So far as he
could see, nothing had as yet taken place. The studio was absolutely
empty, and the full blaze of the electric lights disclosed no danger.
Watching eyes were probably not far off, and it behooved Walter to be
circumspect. He whistled an air. He strolled from place to place, ever
and again glancing upwards to the roof. He felt quite convinced that
it was the roof from which danger threatened, but there was nothing to
be seen, no sign of movement in the branches of the acacia.
Still, the miscreant must be near at hand. He might even be watching
the solitary occupant of the studio at that moment. Walter made up his
mind what to do. He switched off all the lights and shut the door of
the studio, at the same time affecting to turn the key in the lock. If
Valdo were hiding close at hand, he would take this for an indication
that the studio was locked and closed for the night.
This being done, Walter crept back again and took up a position at the
foot of an acacia. If Valdo entered the studio at all he was bound to
come that way. Doubtless he had made his way over the roof, and
presently it would be an easy matter to flutter from the dome on to
the top of the acacia. Such a plan as this would present no
difficulties to the flying man. Therefore, Walter braced himself for
the effort which would be required of him presently.
He had not much doubt as to the issue. From the point of physical
strength he was a match and more than a match for the Italian. There
was just the chance that the latter might make use of his knife, but
that had to be risked. A quarter of an hour passed slowly, and Walter
was beginning to get impatient. What he most feared now was that Lord
Ravenspur might return and demand to know why the studio was in
darkness. This would probably have the effect of scaring Valdo away,
and Walter would have all his trouble for his pains.
The minutes passed along, and no one came; but at length Walter's
patience was rewarded. He heard a slight swish and sway in the
branches of the acacia overhead. He could hear deep and regular
breathing coming nearer and nearer to him. Then, presently, in the
darkness, he discerned the lithe figure of the Italian. A moment
later, and the intruder was caught below the elbows in a grip that
made him fairly grunt again. He struggled just for a moment, but the
steady grip seemed to crush the life out of him, and he desisted.
Walter bore him back until his left hand shot out, and the whole
studio was bathed in flame once more. Before Valdo could realise
what had really happened, Walter's hands were all over him in a
search for weapons. Nothing more dangerous come to light than a small
sheath-knife, which Walter swept into his pocket. He was quite calm
and self-possessed now. He coolly indicated a chair, into which Valdo
flung himself sullenly.
"Now I should like to have a little conversation with you," he said.
"You will recollect that we have met before."
"I have not forgotten the fact," Luigi Silva said sullenly. "It was at
the Imperial Palace Theatre."
"Quite correct," Walter said. "I came to see that remarkable
performance of yours. I was very much interested, and I must
congratulate you warmly. At the same time, it seems to me that yours
is a dangerous kind of entertainment."
A contemptuous smile flickered over Silva's face. "There is no danger
whatever," he murmured; "anybody could do it if they had arms like
mine."
"I am afraid you don't quite take my meaning," Walter murmured. "There
are some cigarettes by your elbow. You had better help yourself,
especially as I am likely to detain you some time."
With a defiant air the Italian took and lighted a cigarette. He did
not appear in the least unnerved, though the furtive glances which he
occasionally turned in the direction of his captor showed that his
mind was not altogether at ease. He would have given much to know what
Lance was driving at. He did not like to see the other quite so sure
of his ground.
"My time is my own," he said. "Go on."
"Oh, I beg your pardon, your time is mine. But I dare say you will
wonder why I am detaining you like this. To tell you the truth, since
your last visit here----"
"That is not true," Silva cried. "I have never been here before!"
"Why play with me?" Walter asked contemptuously. "It is some days
since you were here last. To refresh your memory, I am alluding to the
night when you came here by way of the ventilator in the dome, and
made a murderous attack upon my uncle, who owes his life to the fact
that I was not very far away. It is no use your denying this, because
I am in a position to prove it. I dare say you congratulated yourself
upon the fact that you got clear away. You would chuckle to think how
mystified we all were. Here is a murderous onslaught made upon a
public man in his own studio, from which there is no exit but the
door; and on the night of the strange affair the door was locked. No
one but a bird could have escaped through the ventilator. You can
picture to yourself what a sensation the business would have caused if
the police had been called in and the affair made known to the Press.
Now I dare say you wonder why the police were not called in at once?"
Silva pulled at his cigarette savagely, but made no reply.
"Well, I am going to be more polite than you are," Walter said; "and I
am going to tell you. I had a fancy to play the detective myself. I
looked around for some sort of a clue, and at length I found one. Ah,
I see you are interested."
"Only in my own safety," Silva muttered.
"Well, that is the same thing. On the floor close by where you are
seated I found a shabby yellow playbill, advertising the performance
of Valdo, the flying man, at the Imperial Palace Theatre. The bill was
neatly folded, and was of recent date. Now I know perfectly well that
neither Lord Ravenspur nor any of his friends would be interested in
that kind of thing. Therefore, how did the bill get here? Probably
left by the flying man himself, and a flying man would be the only
kind of human being capable of getting in and out of this studio in
that mysterious fashion. Upon this, I made up my mind to come and see
you, and I did. I have only to place this information, together with
my testimony, in the hands of the police. Indeed, I have only to send
for a constable now and give you into custody. After that you would
not be likely to give us any cause for anxiety the next seven years."
The Italian's eyes gleamed as he glanced restlessly about him. There
was no reason for Walter to ask himself if his prisoner understood.
Silva shrugged his shoulders.
"That is what you are going to do?" he asked.
"Oh, we'll come to that presently. In the meantime, I want a little
information. You will remember when we were talking to you in the
manager's room at the Imperial, a lady came in and addressed a few
words to you. She was only there for a moment, but she stayed quite
long enough for me to recognise her features. I want to know what Mrs.
Delahay needed to see you for."
A sharp laugh broke from Silva's lips.
"You are very clever," he sneered. "Oh, so clever. So you are
interested in Mrs. Delahay? You think, perhaps, that I know a deal
about the murder of her husband. I know less about it than you do, and
I have no concern with her at all. You had better ask her. She will
probably be astonished----"
"Ah, I see what you mean," Walter exclaimed. "It was stupid of me not
to grasp the problem sooner. Of course, it was not Mrs. Delahay at all
I saw with you, but her sister, Countess Flavio."
Something like an oath broke from Silva's lips.
"Thank you very much," Walter said. "You could not tell me any more if
you were ever so candid. And now I know exactly what brings you here.
It is not robbery----"
"Robbery!" Silva broke out vehemently. "Sir, your words are a deadly
insult. I am an honest man, though I may only be a servant; I would
scorn to touch what does not belong to me."
"In that case you came here for violence, then," Walter said. "Yours
must be a strangely illogical mind. You would not soil your hands with
another man's money, but you would not hesitate to stab him in the
back under cover of the darkness. Come, don't let us argue any longer.
You came here the other night to murder my uncle. But for a fortunate
chance, Lord Ravenspur would be in his grave now. It is useless to
deny it."
"Have I made any attempt to deny it?" Silva said, in a voice that was
utterly devoid of passion. "Have I lied to you in any way? Oh, I see
there is no mercy in your face, and doubtless if our positions were
reversed, I should act as you are acting tonight. You are going to
hand me over to the authorities. I shall be no worse treated if I tell
the truth. I did come here to take Lord Ravenspur's life. I am only
sorry that I failed."