Danty looked at the girl in horrified amazement. His consternation
was almost comic.
“You’ve given back all the money he gave you?” he stammered.
She nodded, her steady eyes on his.
“Why shouldn’t I? I have enough to live on,” she said. “Mr. Stiles, as
trustee of the fund, is making me a sufficient allowance.”
He could only gaze at her, dumbfounded. All his fine schemes had been
blown away as a feather of steam is blown by a gale. She saved him the
trouble of speaking and gave him time to recover himself, for she went
on:
“Luke has never been in Paris since he went away--some interested
person must have sent that wire. I almost feel as though I willed it
to be sent, to give me some excuse for the terrible way I treated
Luke.” She smiled. “I should be awfully uncomfortable if I thought my
money made any difference to you in your scheme, Danton. Happily,
you’re a rich man.”
Danty nodded slowly. He had that morning received a warning letter
from his banker, for he had been spending money and losing large sums
at his favourite gaming house in the faith that his financial position
would soon be unassailable.
With an effort he recovered his balance and forced his voice into a
tone of indifference.
“I’m not sure that you’re wise. Did you consult your lawyer?”
She shook her head.
“In matters of conscience one does not consult lawyers,” she said
quietly.
It was difficult enough even to make intelligent conversation. Her
attitude was a dead wall built across his easy path, and at the moment
it seemed unscalable. He had to play for time now; his native cunning
told him that so long as he had her on his side there was no reason
why he should lose hope. He had dreamed of hundreds of thousands; he
had been certain of tens of thousands; there was still an odd thousand
or two for the picking and possibly a greater haul if he played the
game shrewdly.
“When do you expect to leave for Ronda?”
“In two days’ time,” she said, quickly--so quickly that he realized
she had worked it out to the hour. “As soon as I am certain that Luke
is in Ronda I shall go to him.”
“Exactly what will you say to him?”
He could not resist asking this question, though he realized even as
he spoke the words that he was guilty of a tactical error.
He saw her stiffen; that cold look came back to the beautiful eyes.
“That is entirely a matter between Luke and me,” she said. “I have
made this mess, I am afraid, and I must get out of it.”
In his desperation he blundered again.
“You owe something to Rex’s memory,” he said. “I don’t know what
you’re feeling about Luke, but there’s a fact that can’t be blinked.
Luke could have saved your brother’s life; instead, when he found he
was ruined, he hounded him still further into the mire. His god is
money----”
“Yet he gave me everything,” she said quietly; “and when I refused him
money, he went away without a word. Don’t you realize, Danton, that
had he gone to his lawyer, had he gone to the courts--had he done
anything--I must have given him the money back, not because he had any
legal right to it but because I would not have dared to face a public
inquiry. He may have been mean, he may have been terribly cruel, but I
cannot right one wrong with another. That is the consideration which
made me give back the money to Mr. Stiles,” she went on in a voice
less tense, more agreeable, almost friendly. “We shall have to thresh
out this business of Rex--it’s very ugly and hurtful, and I can’t
think of it calmly even now. Luke may have some explanation; there may
be a very excellent reason why he refused any further help to poor
Rex. At any rate, it’s my job to find the truth.”
He was almost livid with a fury he could hardly disguise. His lips
curled in a sneer.
“It seems to me that the result of your reconciliation--I suppose
that’s what it is coming to--will be to leave me in the lurch and put
me wrong with anybody. Financially it may ruin me. Luke had a big
influence in the City, and even now the mere suggestion that I was
antagonistic to him is making a big difference.”
To his surprise she laughed.
“Danton,” she said, almost gaily, “you’re making me feel a pig! You
don’t imagine I would allow a friend of Rex’s to suffer because of the
help he tried to give me?”
Danton Morell was puzzled. Why was she so cheerful? And then he
remembered--she would be in Ronda in a few days, would be united with
her husband. The thought made him wince; he was beginning to
understand how big a place this girl had made for herself in his life.
It was not like Danton Morell to allow any woman a foothold in the
cold thing he called a heart; but insensibly, and for some reason
which he could not understand, she whom he had intended as a dupe had
become a factor. It was almost unbelievable.
And with this came another realization that momentarily left him
aghast. She was in love with her husband!
He had opened his lips to speak when there came a discreet knock at
the door and the maid entered.
“There’s a gentleman wishes to see you, madam--a Mr. Haynes.”
Had Margaret been looking at him, she would have seen Danty’s face go
pale.
“He says he knows Mr. Maddison slightly,” the girl went on, “and he
wants particularly to see you.”
Danty gaped at her.
“You didn’t tell him I was here, did you?” he began, and saw the look
of astonishment in Margaret’s face.
“Do you know him?”
He nodded, and glanced significantly at the girl.
“Just wait a moment outside, will you?” said Margaret, and, when the
maid had gone and the door was closed: “Who is he?”
“He’s a man I don’t wish to see, and a man I don’t think you ought to
see. He’s a criminal, the fellow who was arrested that night at the
Carlton. If you take my advice you’ll send him away.”
She hesitated.
“If he knows Luke----” she began.
“He doesn’t--that’s just a trick to see you. He’ll probably want
money, and he’s a pretty dangerous man.”
“Then you’d better be here when he comes,” she said, and saw by his
consternation that this was not an acceptable suggestion. “I’d better
see him,” she said. “Will you wait in the little drawing room?”
Margaret in that mood he could not combat; he agreed sulkily to her
suggestion, and was in the little drawing room when he heard the quick
step of the Gunner pass the closed door.
Margaret was unprepared for the type that came into the drawing room.
The tanned, hawk face had a strength and a certain refinement which
she had not expected.
“Are you Mrs. Maddison?” drawled the visitor, and she inclined her
head slightly. “My name’s Haynes--the police know me as Gunner Haynes.
I am a jewel thief among other things,” he said.
His tone was as calm as though he were announcing himself the member
of an honourable guild.
“I met your husband once; he tried to do me a service--I should like
to do him one, Mrs. Maddison.”
Again she nodded.
“Mr. Danton Morell is a friend of yours, isn’t he?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said coldly. “Why?”
She saw his lips twitch.
“I was wondering… Mrs. Maddison, would you think I was impertinent if
I asked you why your husband left you?”
Her steady eyes met his.
“Do you think you would be?” she asked quietly, and saw that faint
smile of his.
“I should be a little worse than impertinent. And yet, Mrs. Maddison,
I have a very deep interest in your husband’s affairs. I have many bad
qualities, but disloyalty is not one of them. Your husband went out of
his way to warn me, at a moment when he knew the police were coming to
arrest me. If ever there was a white and wholesome man, that man is
Luke Maddison. I ought not to have asked you the question and I could
not very well expect a satisfactory answer. The only thing I am
anxious to know is this: have you any idea where your husband is?”
“Do you wish to find him?” she challenged.
He shook his head.
“No, but I’d like to know exactly where he is. I have a very special
reason for asking this. Is he in London?”
She shook her head.
“He’s in Spain at the moment, but I’m afraid I cannot give you the
address.”
“Mr. Morell--is he in Spain? Pardon me, Mrs. Maddison, but if I have a
reason for asking you the one question, I have a doubly important
reason for asking the other. Morell is the kind of man that no decent
woman should know----”
She walked to the table and pressed the little onyx bell push. This
time he smiled.
“That means you’re going to turn me out, and I don’t blame you. I’m
afraid I’ve blundered this interview, which I intended should be very
discreet and diplomatic. I particularly wished to know where Mr.
Maddison was----”
“I have told you,” she said, as the maid appeared in the doorway.
“As far as Danty Morell is concerned----” he began.
Her hand pointed to the door.
“I am not prepared to discuss my friends--even with the criminal
acquaintances of my husband,” she said, and she heard him chuckling as
he went down the stairs as though at a very good joke.
She waited till she heard the street door close, and went in search of
Danty, but he was not in the small drawing room. The maid told her he
had left within a few seconds of Gunner Haynes’s arrival. Danty was
not a man who took unnecessary risks.
She had some business to do in the West End of London, and as the
afternoon progressed she ordered the car to drive her into the park.
Near the Marble Arch she signalled to the driver to stop and got out.
She wanted the walk and the solitude that the park gave her. Here she
could think more clearly.
She walked slowly along the asphalt path that runs parallel with the
roadway. As she did so she saw a car coming slowly along the tan on
the other side of the road. It was an electric brougham containing two
people: a beautiful-looking girl, fashionably dressed; by her side,
his face half hidden under a broad-brimmed Stetson hat, a bearded man
of striking appearance. Ahead of her was walking a stout-looking man,
and by his side a rather pretty girl. As she overtook them she heard
the stout man say:
“Take a look at that swell woman! That’s Jean Gurlay--the biggest
crook in London, my dear.”
Those ahead of her she recognized as the Sparrow and his companion,
and, not wishing to be seen by them, sat down on a garden seat, her
eyes following curiously the electric brougham. She saw the machine
turn at the Marble Arch and come slowly along by the side of the curb,
and she watched with a detached interest the beautiful girl and the
bearded man, whose head was turned toward his companion. As they
passed she heard the man say:
“This is all very mysterious. What does it mean?”
In an instant she was on her feet, pale and shaking; she had
recognized the voice of the bearded man. It was her husband.