In the middle of the night, Ambrose Sault turned in his narrow bed
and woke. He was a light sleeper and the party walls of the tiny
house were thin.
He got out of bed, switched on the light of a portable electric lamp
which stood within reach of his hand and, thrusting his feet into
slippers, opened the door. The house was silent, but a crack of
light showed under Christina's door.
"Are you awake, Christina?" he asked softly. "Is anything wrong?"
"Nothing, Mr. Sault."
It was not Christina. There was no hint of tears in her voice.
Ambrose went back to his bed, and to sleep. He knew that he had not
been mistaken either as to the sound that had awakened him or the
direction from whence it came. For one terrific moment he had
thought it was Christina and that the new treatment which had already
commenced was responsible for the loud sobs which had disturbed his
sleep. He was sorry for Evie. He was easily sorry. A cat writhing
in the middle of the street, where a too swift motor-car had passed,
wrung his heart. A child crying in pain made him sweat. When he saw
a man and a woman quarrelling in this vile neighborhood, he rushed
from the scene lest the woman be struck.
"What did he get--up for," whispered Evie, "he is
always--interfering."
"The wonder to me is that the whole street isn't up," said Christina.
"What is the matter, Evie?"
"I don't know--I'm miserable." Evie flounced over in her bed. "I
just had to cry. I'm sorry."
Christina was very serious; she too had been awakened by the
hysterical outburst. It carried a meaning to her that she had the
courage to face.
"There is nothing wrong, is there, Evie?" No answer.
"I can't be all the help to you that I should like, darling, and I am
a pig to you at times. But I get tetchy myself, and it is a bore
lying here day after day. You would tell me if there was anything
wrong, wouldn't you?"
"Yes," whispered the girl.
"I mean, really wrong. If it was anything that--affected your
health. Nothing would make you wrong in my eyes. I should just love
you and help you all I could. You know that. It isn't wise to keep
some secrets, Evie, not if you know that there is somebody who loves
you well enough to take half your burden from you."
"I don't know what you're driving at," said Evie in a fret, "you
don't mean--? I'm a virgin, if that is what you mean," she said
crudely.
Christina snorted. "Then what in hell are you snivelling about?" she
demanded savagely. She was not unreasonably irritated.
"I haven't--seen--Ronnie--for a week!" sobbed the girl.
"I wish to God you'd never seen him," snapped Christina and wished
she hadn't, for the next minute Evie was in bed with her, in her arms.
"I'm so unhappy--I wish I hadn't met him, too--I know that it isn't
right, Chris--I know it isn't--I know I shall never be happy. He is
so much above me--and I'm so ignorant--such--a--such a shop girl."
Christina cuddled the slim figure and kissed her damp face. "You'll
get over that, Evie," she said soothingly.
"But I love him so!"
"You don't really--you are too young, Evie--you can't test your
feelings. I was reading today about some people who live in
Australia, natives, who think that a sort of sour apple is the most
lovely fruit in the world. But it is only because they haven't any
other kind of fruit. If you go to a poor sort of store to buy a
dress, you get to think the best they have in stock is the best you
can buy anywhere. It takes a lot of courage to walk out of that shop
and find another. After a while you are sure and certain that the
dress they show you is lovely. It is only when you put it against
the clothes that other women have bought from the better shops, that
you see how old-fashioned and tawdry and what an ugly color it is."
She waited for an answer, but Evie was asleep.
Ambrose came home early the next day. Every other afternoon he took
Christina to Kensington Gardens. He kept the long spinal carriage in
a stable and spent at least half an hour in cleaning and polishing
the wheels and lacquered panels of the "chariot".
"Shut the door, Ambrose." He obeyed.
"You heard Evie crying? It was nothing. She hasn't seen her man for
a week and she was a little upset. I promised her to tell you that
it was all your imagination, if you asked. Poor Evie doesn't know
that you wouldn't ask anyhow."
"Is it Ronald Morelle, Christina?"
She nodded and, seeing his face lengthen, she asked: "Is he a good
man, Ambrose? Do you think there is any danger to Evie?"
"I don't know him personally," Ambrose was speaking very slowly.
"No, I don't know him. Once or twice I have seen him but I have
never spoken. Moropulos says he is rotten. That was the word he
used. There have been one or two nasty incidents. Moropulos likes
talking about that sort of thing--what was that word you told me,
Christina? It is not like me to forget? It describes a man with a
bad curiosity.
"Prurient?"
"That is the word. Moropulos has that kind of mind. He has
books--all about beastly subjects. And pictures. He says that
Ronald Morelle is bad. The worst man he has ever met. He wasn't
condemning him, you understand. In fact, he was admiring him.
Moropulos would."
Christina was plucking at her underlip pensively.
"Poor Evie!" she said. "She thinks she is in love with him. He is a
beautiful dream to her, naturally, because she has never met anybody
like him. I wish he had made the mistake of thinking she was easy,
the first time he met her. That would have ended it. What I am
afraid of, is that he does understand her, and is wearing down her
resistance gradually. What am I to do, Ambrose?"
Years before, when he was working in a penal settlement, Ambrose
Sault had bruised and cut his chin. He had been working in tapioca
fields, and the prison doctor had warned him not to touch the healing
wound with his hand for fear of poisoning it. From this warning he
had acquired a curious trick. In moments of doubt he rubbed his chin
with the knuckle of a finger. Christina had often seen him do this
and had found in the gesture sure evidence of his perplexity.
"You can't advise me?" she said, reading the sign, "I didn't think
you would be able to."
"I can go to Morelle and warn him," suggested Sault, "but that means
trouble--here. I don't want to make mischief."
She nodded. "Evie would never forgive us," she said with a sigh.
"I'm ready, Ambrose."
He stooped and lifted her from the bed, as though, as she once
described it, she were of no greater weight than a pillow.
* * * * *
Mr. Jan Steppe was dressing for dinner when Sault was announced.
"Tell him to wait--no, send him up."
"Here, sir?" asked the valet.
"Where else, you fool, huh?"
Sault came into the dressing-room and waited until his employer had
fixed a refractory collar.
"Don't wait, you." The valet retired discreetly.
"Well, Sault, what do you want?"
"The daughter of the woman I lodge with knows Morelle," said Ambrose
Sault briefly. "She's a pretty child and I don't want anything to
happen to her that will necessitate my taking Morelle and breaking
his neck."
Steppe looked round with a scowl. "'Necessitate'? You talk like a
damned professor. I'm not Morelle's keeper. It is enough trouble to
keep him up to the scratch in other matters. As to breaking his
neck, I've got something to say to that, Sault, huh?" He faced the
visitor, a terrifying figure, his attitude a threat and a challenge.
"You might have to identify him," said Sault thoughtfully, "that is
true."
Steppe's face went red. "Now see here, Sault. I've never had a
fight with you and I don't want to, huh? You're the only one of the
bunch that is worth ten cents as a man, but I'll allow nobody to
dictate to me--nobody, whether he is a girl-chasing dude or an
escaped convict. Get that right! I've smashed bigger men and
stronger men than you, by God!"
"You'll not smash me," said Sault coolly, "and you needn't smash
Morelle. I'm telling you that I won't have that girl hurt. A word
from you will send Morelle crawling at her feet. I don't know him,
but I know of him. He's that kind."
Steppe glared. "You're telling me, are you?" he breathed. "You
think you've got me because you're indispensable now that you know
about the safe. But I'll have another safe and another word. D'ye
hear? I'll show you that no damned lag can bully me!"
The other smiled. "You know that the code is safe with me. That's
my way. I would break Morelle or you for the matter of that--kill
you with my hands before your servant could come--but the code would
be with me. You know that, too." He met, had not feared to meet,
the fury of Steppe's eyes and presently the big man turned away with
a shrug.
"You might," he said, speaking more to himself than to Ambrose Sault.
"One of these days I'll try you out. I'm not a weakling and I've
beaten every man that stood up to me." He looked round at the
visitor and the anger had gone from his face.
"I believe you about the safe. You're the first man or woman I've
ever believed in my life. Sounds queer, huh? It is a fact. I'm not
frightened of you--nobody knows that better than you." Sault nodded.
"About Morelle--I'll talk to him. What is this girl--you're not in
love with her yourself, huh? Can't imagine that. All right, I'll
speak to Morelle--a damned cur. Anything more?"
"Nothing," said Ambrose and went out.
Steppe stared at the closed door. "A man," he said and shivered. No
other man breathing had caused Steppe to shiver.
He saw Ronnie at a club late that night. "Here, I want you," he
jerked his head in the direction of a quiet corner of the smoking
room, and Ronnie followed him, expecting compliments, for they had
not met since the meeting.
"You've got a parcel of women in tow, huh?" said Steppe.
"I don't quite understand--" began Ronnie.
"You understand all right. One of them is a friend of
Sault's--Colebrook, I think her name must be. Go steady. She is a
friend of Sault's. He says he'll break your neck if you monkey
around there, do you get that, huh? Sault says so. He'll do it."
Ronnie did not know Ambrose Sault any better than Ambrose knew him.
The threat did not sound very dreadful and he smiled.
"You can grin; maybe I'll see the same grin when I come to look at
you on the mortuary slab. Sault is a hell of a bad man to cross. He
has had his kill once and that will make the second seem like blowing
bubbles. That's all."
Ronnie was annoyed, but not greatly impressed. He only knew Sault as
a sort of superior workman, who did the dirty work of the
confederacy. Sometimes he used to wonder how Steppe employed him,
but then he also speculated upon the exact standing of Moropulos
whose name never appeared on a prospectus and who had, apparently, no
particular duties.
Threats did not greatly distress Ronnie Morelle. He had been
threatened so often; and it was his experience that the worst was
over when the threat came. He was free of the park now. Walking
down Regent Street, one Saturday afternoon, he had come face to face
with The Girl Who Had Screamed. She was with a tall,
broad-shouldered young man and she had recognized him. After he had
passed them, Ronnie, from the tail of his eye, saw the couple stop
and the girl point after him. The man looked as though he were going
to follow, but The Girl Who Screamed caught his arm. And that was
the end of it.
The man might hate him, but would not make a fuss. The offense was
comparatively old, and men did not pursue other people's stale
vendettas. The beginning and end of vengeance was a threatening
gesture. He knew just what that broad-shouldered man was saying, and
thinking. He was a scoundrel, he deserved flogging. If he had been
on hand when the girl squealed, he would have torn the heart out of
the offender. But he wasn't there; and the girl had shown both her
purity and her intelligence by preferring his gentle courtship to the
violent love-making of Ronnie Morelle. In a sense the incident was
subtly flattering to the broad-shouldered young man.
Ronnie was not seeing Evie in these days, he was more pleasingly
engaged. The new game was infinitely more intriguing, an opponent
better armed for the fight and offering a more glorious triumph.
But Steppe's warning piqued him. Sault! His lips curled in
derision. That nigger! That half-caste jail-bird!
He wrote to Evie that night making an appointment.