Margaret was dressing in preparation for her interview when the
telegram came. It was brief.
Cannot see you to-night. Same time to-morrow night.
Connor.
In a sense she was relieved, though she would have been glad to have
ended the state of suspense in which she was living. She had a wild
idea of taking with her a large sum of money, and with that intention
had drawn a thousand pounds from the bank. She had revised this plan,
however, and the money was now in her safe. If it was blackmail, and
these people wanted paying, they could wait for a few hours. She did
not know the neighbourhood into which she was going, but she guessed
from its locality that it was not the place where an unprotected woman
would carry a large sum of money with impunity.
As she put the money away she caught a glimpse of an envelope which
gave her a little heartache. It contained poor Rex’s last scrawled
message. Several times she had been on the point of putting that
envelope into the fire, but something had prevented her. There was a
time when she needed the stimulation to her hatred which that pitiable
note supplied. But that time had passed. The boy’s dead hand still lay
on her, had wrecked Luke’s life and might yet bring her to disaster.
Now she must wait another twenty-four hours before she resolved her
doubts.
She heard the doorbell ring, and presently came a tap on the door and
her footman came in.
“A man wishes to see you, madam. I think he’s been here before--a Mr.
Haynes.”
At first she did not grasp who was meant, and then in a flash she
recalled the earlier visit. Here at any rate was a man who was
friendly disposed toward Luke.
“Bring him up, please,” she said.
Now she recalled more vividly the previous interview she had had with
him. He had told her that Danty Morell was a man whom no decent woman
should know, and she had rung for the servant and had him shown out.
But he was friendly to Luke, had spoken of some service which he had
rendered to him, and here she would find an ally.
Haynes was not prepared for the kindness of the welcome. In a sense it
was a little embarrassing. He had come not to give but to seek
information. It was vitally necessary that he should not betray the
fact that he had any communication with Luke.
“I’m afraid I was very rude to you the last time you came, Mr.
Haynes,” she said as she sat down behind her little desk and signalled
to him to sit. “You rather hurt my feelings about a--” she
hesitated--“a friend of mine, who isn’t so much of a friend as he
was,” she smiled.
The Gunner nodded.
“That’s the best news I’ve heard for a long time,” he said. “I was a
little impertinent. I remember I asked you why your husband left you.
I wonder you didn’t send for the police.”
She laughed at this.
“Do you know where my husband is now?” she asked, and when he shook
his head her heart sank.
She had had a vague idea that this man might have come into touch with
his benefactor.
“I can tell you where Mr. Morell is now,” he said, with a twinkle in
his eyes, “but that’s not going to help you very much. I’ve come to
repeat my impertinence, Mrs. Maddison. At the back of my mind I’ve got
a notion I can help you and your husband, who, I have reason to
believe, is in Spain.”
He said this deliberately, his eyes challenging hers.
“But--” she began.
“I believe he’s in Spain. If a man’s in Spain he can’t be in London,
can he? And if he’s a gentleman at large in Spain, taking long hikes
through the country, he can’t be burgling Taffanny’s or getting
himself mixed up with Connor.”
“You know, then?” she interrupted quickly. “I was seeing that man
to-night, but he sent me a wire----”
“I sent you the wire,” said Gunner Haynes coolly. “That engagement of
yours has got to be put off indefinitely.”
“How did you know?” she demanded.
The Gunner smiled cryptically.
“I’ve got a whole lot of sources of information that I am not making
public,” he said. “The point I want to make with you is this--your
husband is in Spain. You’ve had letters from him, which unfortunately
you’ve destroyed.”
She understood now. Did he come from Luke? There could be no other
explanation for his knowledge, and she put the question bluntly.
“I haven’t been to Ronda for years,” said the Gunner calmly. “And if I
had been, and met your husband, he wouldn’t know that I was coming to
see you. Now, Mrs. Maddison, I’m going to ask you that impertinent
question all over again: exactly why did your husband leave you? No,
no, I don’t mean that. I know why he left you. But why did you
suddenly leave him flat? I don’t know that; I’ll bet your husband
doesn’t know that. Only you know--and Danty. I guess Danty knows.”
She was silent; but she realized at that moment just why she had not
destroyed Rex’s last note. She had kept it to show Luke some day, and
demand from him the explanation she should have asked for when it came
to her. It was her justification--the only one she could have for her
conduct.
“That is an extraordinary request for a stranger to make, Mr. Haynes,
and I don’t know whether to enlighten you or not.”
She stood for a moment silent, and then, turning abruptly, walked out
of the room. Haynes picked up his hat from the floor and rose,
thinking the interview was at an end. But in three minutes she was
back again with a little envelope in her hand.
“I’m telling you something that nobody knows but me and Mr. Morell,”
she said. “When my poor brother shot himself, this note was found in
his room.”
She took from the envelope two telephone slips and passed them to him.
Gunner Haynes read:
Margaret darling, I have lost. For months I have been gambling. To-day
I took a desperate step on the advice of Luke Maddison. He has led me
to ruin--money is his god. I beg of you not to trust him. He has led
me from one act of folly to another. God bless you.
Rex.
He read it twice and then looked up.
“Is this your brother’s handwriting?”
She nodded.
“Could you swear to it?”
“Yes, I’m sure it’s his. I’ve had hundreds of pencilled notes from
him, and I couldn’t possibly be mistaken.”
“Who found it?”
“Mr. Morell found it in Rex’s room. Poor, dear Rex had a servant, a
very trustworthy man, and he saw the note before Mr. Morell put it in
his pocket----”
“He didn’t read it, of course?” suggested the Gunner. “The servant, I
mean?”
“I don’t think so. He only saw the note, and Mr. Morell hide it.”
The Gunner had an amazing memory. He could from that moment have
repeated every word in the letter--there was no need for him to take a
copy, and he handed it back to the girl.
“Naturally, you thought that your husband was responsible for the
death of your brother, and that was why you--acted as you did.”
“He told you?” she challenged.
The Gunner neither denied nor agreed. He stood frowning down at the
carpet, his hands pushed into his pockets, his underlip outthrust.
“Queer bird, Danty,” he said after a while, and she realized that he
was speaking as much to himself as to her. “He used to be a great
hoarder of trifles--I wonder if he’s got over it. There’s something of
a miser about Danty, though he could never keep money and never will.
All crooks die poor.”
“Will----” she began, and stopped in natural confusion.
She saw a smile dawn slowly in his face.
“You were going to ask me, shall I? No, Mrs. Maddison, I shall not die
poor, unless I go mad. I’ll never have to work again--I’m a reformed
character. That doesn’t mean,” he said quickly, “that I’ve got any
notions that I have been following the wrong track. I’ve known that
all my life. Five years ago a brother swindler traded me a block of
shares in a copper mine. They looked to be worth about the value of
the paper they were printed on, but luckily I didn’t throw them into
the fire. Copper was found on the property whilst I was on remand the
other day, and I’ve sold at a big profit. I shall only commit one more
crime.”
She would have smiled at this, but she saw something in his eyes which
froze the smile on her lips.
“Danty Morell has got to be punished one of these days--when I find
proof,” he said slowly.
He took his watch from his pocket.
“I’ve got rather an important engagement, so, if you don’t mind, Mrs.
Maddison, I’ll go. Don’t ask me to give any messages to your husband,
because I don’t know where he is. If I did, I shouldn’t tell you.”
“Is he well?” she asked anxiously.
“Pretty well,” said the Gunner.
He made no attempt to move, but stood twiddling his watch guard.
“He’ll want money,” he said suddenly, “and this sounds like the
beginning of the confidence trick. I can let him have all he wants if
there’s any need, but I think you’d better provide it, just to show
your confidence in me.” He chuckled at this. “Sounds almost like Danty
at his worst! If you have any hesitation, Mrs. Maddison, don’t give it
to me. I shall want about two hundred pounds, but three hundred would
be better.”
She went out of the room and returned with a small pad of notes.
“Four hundred will be better still,” she said, and he thrust the money
into his pocket without counting it.
“Seems a pretty easy game. Pity I didn’t start earlier,” he said.
“Danty’s the lad! There isn’t a finer tale teller in the world.”
He jerked out his hand and she took it.
“I’ll be seeing you again, Mrs. Maddison--perhaps some day when you’re
going to Ronda you’ll let me travel on the same train, in case some of
the real con men get hold of you!”