Lutchester left Sonia and the Ritz-Carlton a few minutes before
midnight, to find a great yellow moon overhead, which seemed to have
risen somewhere at the back of Central Park. The broad thoroughfare up
which he turned seemed to have developed a new and unfamiliar beauty.
The electric lamps shone with a pale and almost unnatural glow. The
flashing lights of the automobiles passing up and down were almost
whimsically unnecessary. Lutchester walked slowly up Fifth Avenue in
the direction of his hotel.
Something--the beauty of the night, perhaps, or some faint aftermath of
sentimentality born of Sonia's emotion--tempted him during those few
moments to relax. He threw aside his mask and breathed the freer for
it. Once more he was a human being, treading the streets of a real
city, his feet very much upon the earth, his heart full of the simplest
things. All the scheming of the last few days was forgotten, the great
issues, the fine yet devious way to be steered amidst the rocks which
beset him; even the depression of the calamitous news from the North
Sea passed away. He was a very simple human being, and he was in love.
It was all so unpractical, so illusionary, and yet so real. Events,
actual happenings--he thrust all thoughts of these away from his mind.
What she might be thinking of him at the moment he ignored. He was
content to let his thoughts rest upon her, to walk through the moonlit
street, his brain and heart revelling in that subtle facility of the
imagination which brought her so easily to his presence. It was such a
vividly real Pamela, too, who spoke and walked and moved by his side.
His memory failed him nowhere, followed faithfully the kaleidoscopic
changes in her face and tone, showed him even that long, grateful,
searching glance when their eyes had met in Von Teyl's sitting-room.
There had been times when she had shown clearly enough that she was
anxious to understand, anxious to believe in him. He clung to the
memory of these; pushed into the background that faint impression he
had had of her at the roof-garden, serene and proud, yet with a faint
look of something like pain in her startled eyes.
A large limousine passed him slowly, crawling up Fifth Avenue.
Lutchester, with all his gifts of observation dormant, took no notice
of its occupant, who leaned forward, raised the speaking-tube to his
lips, and talked for a moment to his chauffeur. The car glided round a
side street and came to a standstill against the curb. Its solitary
passenger stepped quietly out and entered a restaurant. The chauffeur
backed the car a little, slipped from his place, and followed
Lutchester.
By chance the little throng of people here became thicker for a few
moments and then ceased. Lutchester drew a little sigh of relief as he
saw before him almost an empty pavement. Then, just as he was relapsing
once more into thought, some part of his subconscious instinct suddenly
leaped into warning life. Without any actual perception of what it
might mean, he felt the thrill of imminent danger, connected it with
that soft footfall behind him, and swung round in time to seize a
deadly uplifted hand which seemed to end in a shimmer of dull steel.
His assailant flung himself upon Lutchester with the lithe ferocity of
a cat, clinging to his body, twisting and turning his arm to wrest it
free. It was a matter of seconds only before his intended victim, with
a fierce backward twist, broke the man's wrist and, wrenching himself
free from the knees which clung around him, flung him forcibly against
the railings which bordered the pavement. Lutchester paused for a
moment to recover his breath and looked around. A man from the other
side of the street was running towards them, but no one else seemed to
have noticed the struggle which had begun and finished in less than
thirty seconds. The man, who was half-way across the thoroughfare,
suddenly stopped short. He shouted a warning to Lutchester, who swung
around. His late assailant, who had been lying motionless, had raised
himself slightly, with a revolver clenched in his left hand.
Lutchester's spring on one side saved his life, for the bullet passed
so close to his cheek that he felt the rush and heat of the air. The
man in the center of the road was busy shouting an alarm vociferously,
and other people on both sides of the thoroughfare were running up.
Lutchester's eyes now never left the dark, doubled-up figure upon the
pavement. His whole body was tense. He was prepared at the slightest
movement to spring in upon his would-be murderer. The man's eyes seemed
to be burning in his white face. He called out to Lutchester hoarsely.
"Don't move or I shall shoot!"
He looked up and down the street. One of the nearest of the hastening
figures was a policeman. He turned the revolver against his own temple
and pulled the trigger....
Lutchester and a policeman walked slowly back along Fifth Avenue.
Behind them, a little crowd was still gathered around the spot from
which the body of the dead man had already been removed in an
ambulance.
"I really remember nothing," Lutchester told his companion, "until I
heard the footsteps behind me, and, turning round, saw the knife. This
is simply an impression of mine--that he might have descended from the
car which passed me and stopped just round the corner of that street."
"He's a chauffeur, right enough," the inspector remarked. "It don't
seem to have been a chance job, either. Looks as though he meant doing
you in. Got any enemies?"
"None that I know of," Lutchester answered cautiously. "Why, the car's
there still," he added, as they reached the corner.
"And no chauffeur," the other muttered.
The officer searched the car and drew out a license from the flap
pocket. The commissionaire from the restaurant approached them.
"Say, what are you doing with that car?" he demanded.
"Better fetch the gentleman to whom it belongs," the inspector
directed.
"What's up, anyway?" the man persisted.
"You do as you're told," was the sharp reply.
The commissionaire disappeared. The officer studied the license which
he had just opened.
"What's the name?" Lutchester inquired.
The man hesitated for a moment, then passed it over.
"Oscar H. Fischer," he said. "Happen to know the name?"
Lutchester's face was immovable. He passed the license back again. They
both turned round. Mr. Fischer had issued from the restaurant.
"What's wrong?" he asked hastily. "The commissionaire says you want me,
Mr. Officer?"
The inspector produced his pocketbook.
"Just want to ask you a few questions about your chauffeur, sir."
Fischer glanced at the driver's seat of the car, as though aware of the
man's disappearance for the first time.
"What's become of the fellow?" he inquired.
"Shot himself," the inspector replied, "after a deliberate attempt to
murder this gentleman."
Mr. Fischer's composure was admirable. There was a touch of gravity
mingled with his bewilderment. Nevertheless, he avoided meeting
Lutchester's eyes.
"You horrify me!" he exclaimed. "Why, the fellow's only been driving
for me for a few hours."
"That so?" the officer remarked, with a grunt. "Get any references with
him?"
"As a matter of fact, I did not," Fischer admitted frankly. "I
discharged my chauffeur yesterday, at a moment's notice, and this man
happened to call just as I was wanting the car out this afternoon. He
promised to bring me references to-morrow from Mr. Gould and others. I
engaged him on that understanding. He told me that his name was Kay--
Robert Kay. That is all that I know about him, except that he was an
excellent driver. I am exceedingly sorry Mr. Lutchester," he went on,
turning towards him, "that this should have happened."
"So you two know one another, eh?" the officer observed.
"Oh, yes, we know one another!" Lutchester admitted drily.
"I shall have to ask you both for your names and addresses," the
official continued. "I think I won't ask you any more questions at
present. Seems to me headquarters had better take this on."
"I shall be quite at your service," Lutchester promised.
The man made a few more notes, saluted, and took his leave. Fischer and
Lutchester remained for a moment upon the pavement.
"It is a dangerous custom," Lutchester remarked, "to take a servant
without a reference."
"It will be a warning to me for the remainder of my life," Fischer
declared.
"I, too, have learnt something," Lutchester concluded, as he turned
away.