What a mess! What a perfect hell of a mess he was in. He stood by
the window, biting his nails. Suppose Beryl told? He wiped his
forehead. Girls had queer ideas about their duty in that respect.
He knew of cases. One of those threatening gestures which had come
his way was the result of such a misguided act of confession on the
part of a girl whom he had treated very handsomely indeed. A baser
case of ingratitude it would be difficult to imagine. Beryl might.
She had principles. Phew!
He heard the trill of the telephone in François' pantry.
"Mr. Moropulos," said François, emerging from his room.
Ronnie scowled. "Tell him--no, put him through." He laid down his
walking stick and gloves.
"Yes, Moropulos--good morning--lunch? Well, I was going out to lunch
with some people."
Moropulos said that his business was important.
"All right--oh, anywhere--one of those little places in Soho." He
slammed down the instrument viciously. But this was a time to
consolidate his friends and their interests. Not that Moropulos was
a friend, but he was useful and might be more so.
The Greek arrived at the restaurant to the minute and was looking
more spruce than usual.
"Have you seen Steppe?" was his first question.
"I understood he was on his way to see you--he seemed angry," said
Ronnie.
"Our dear Steppe is always angry," answered the Greek coolly. "This
time, however, he has no cause. If he has gone to my house, he will
not see me."
"What is the trouble?"
Moropulos shrugged. "He has been informed by evil-minded people that
during his absence I was--well, not to put too fine a point on it,
very drunk."
"And were you?"
"On the contrary, at the very hour, when his spies informed him I was
dancing on a table in a low part of the east end, and shouting that
the Mackenzie report was a forgery--"
Ronnie went pale. "Good God! You never said that?" he gasped.
"Of course not. If I had, it would be a serious thing for me. I,
Paul Moropulos, tell you, Ronald Morelle, that it would be a
disastrous thing for me. Just now my relations with dear Jan
are--er--strained. I do not wish a breach."
"But surely if Steppe's men say--"
"'Let them say,'" quoted Moropulos, "it is what I say, and you say,
and somebody else says, that counts, for at the very moment I was
supposed to be misbehaving," he emphasized his words, "I was dining
with you and the lovely Miss Merville in your flat."
"What! Why, that is a lie!"
"What is one lie worse than another? Observe I give you the date; it
was one day before the charming Miss Merville spent the night with
you alone in your very beautiful flat." Had the floor collapsed,
Ronald Morelle could not have received a worse shock.
"I recognize your embarrassment and sympathize with you," said
Moropulos, "but it is essential for my happiness and ultimate
prosperity, that both you and Miss Merville should testify that I
dined with you on the previous night."
Ronnie had nothing to say. He had not yet realized the tremendous
import of the man's threat.
"I will save you a lot of trouble by telling you that I followed you
from the Pavilion to Knightsbridge. I spent the whole of the night
outside, wondering when she would come out, and I photographed her as
she got into the cab. The photograph, an excellent one, is now in a
secret place. Steppe, I hope, will never see it," he added, looking
at his _vis-à-vis_ from under his eyelids. "Steppe is angry with me;
how unjust! It was impossible that I could have been making a fool
of myself, at the very hour we three together were talking of--what
were we talking of?--Greece, let us say, the academies. Steppe would
not believe you, of course, but he would believe Miss Merville and a
great unpleasantness would be avoided. I am sorry to make this
demand upon you, but you see how I am situated? I swear to you that
I had no intention of using my knowledge. It was an amusing little
secret of my own."
Ronald found his voice. "Am I to tell--Miss Merville that you know?
That you have a photograph?"
Moropulos spread his hands. "Why should she know? It is not
necessary."
Ronnie was relieved. It was something to be spared the scene which
would follow the disclosure that a third person was in their secret.
He asked for no proofs that Moropulos knew, and any thought of the
girl and what this meant to her, never entered his head. If Steppe
knew! He grew cold at the thought. Steppe would kill him, pull his
life out of him. Ronald Morelle was prepared to go a long way to
keep his master in ignorance.
"I will see Miss Merville," he said, and then feeling that a protest
was called for: "You have behaved disgracefully, Moropulos--to
blackmail me. That is what it amounts to!"
"Not at all. It was a simple matter to tell Steppe that on the night
in question I was waiting soberly outside your flat, watching his
interests. He is immensely partial to Beryl Merville. A confusion
of dates would not have been remarked; he would be so mad that the
lesser would be absorbed in the greater injury. He, he would
forgive--you--"
Ronald shuddered.
In the afternoon he made his call. "It is lucky finding you alone,
dear," he began, awkwardly for him, "you'll never guess what I've
been through during the past few days--"
She was very calm and self-possessed. A shade paler, perhaps, but
she was of a type that pallor suited. And she met his eyes without
embarrassment. That made matters more difficult for Ronald. He
plunged straight away into the object of his visit.
"Where were you on Tuesday night, Beryl?"