“Good evening, Mr. Perrison. All well, and taking nourishment, so to
speak?”
Archie Longworth lounged into the hall, almost colliding with the other
man.
“You look pensive,” he continued, staring at him blandly. “_Agitato,
fortissimo._ Has aught occurred to disturb your masterly composure?”
But Mr. Perrison was in no mood for fooling: a message he had just
received over the telephone had very considerably disturbed his
composure.
“Let me have a look at that paper,” he snapped, making a grab at it.
“Tush! Tush!” murmured Archie. “Manners, laddie, manners! You’ve
forgotten that little word.”
And then at the far end of the hall he saw the girl, and caught his
breath. For the last two days he had almost forgotten her in the stress
of other things; now the bitterness of what had to come rose suddenly in
his throat and choked him.
“There is the paper. Run away and play in a corner.”
Then he went forward to meet her with his usual lazy smile.
“What’s happened?” she cried, a little breathlessly.
“Heaps of things,” he said, gently. “Heaps of things. The principal one
being that a very worthless sinner loves a very beautiful girl—as he
never believed it could be given to man to love.” His voice broke and
faltered: then he went on steadily. “And the next one—which is really
even more important—is that the very beautiful girl will receive a
letter in a long envelope by to-night’s mail. The address will be typed,
the postmark Strand. I do not want the beautiful girl to open it except
in my presence. You understand?”
“I understand,” she whispered, and her eyes were shining.
“Have you seen this?” Perrison’s voice—shaking with rage—made
Longworth swing round.
“Seen what, dear lad?” he murmured, taking the paper. “Robbery in
City—is that what you mean? Dear, dear—what dastardly outrages do go
unpunished these days! Messrs. Smith and Co. Really! Watchman bound and
gagged. Safe rifled. Work of a master hand. Still, though I quite
understand your horror as a law-abiding citizen at such a thing, why
this thusness? I mean—altruism is wonderful, laddie; but it seems to me
that it’s jolly old Smith and Co. who are up the pole.”
He burbled on genially, serenely unconscious of the furious face of the
other man.
“I’m trying to think where I’ve met you before, Mr. Longworth,” snarled
Perrison.
“Never, surely,” murmured the other. “Those classic features, I feel
sure, would have been indelibly printed on my mind. Perhaps in some
mission, Mr. Perrison—some evangelical revival meeting. Who knows? And
there, if I mistake not, is the mail.”
He glanced at the girl, and she was staring at him wonderingly. Just for
one moment did he show her what she wanted to know—just for one moment
did she give him back the answer which was to him the sweetest and at
the same time the most bitter in the world. Then he crossed the hall and
picked up the letters.
“A business one for you, Miss Daventry,” he murmured, mildly. “Better
open it at once, and get our business expert’s advice. Mr. Perrison is a
wonderful fellah for advice.”
With trembling fingers she opened the envelope, and, as he saw the
contents, Perrison, with a snarl of ungovernable fury, made as if to
snatch them out of her hand. The next moment he felt as if his arm was
broken, and the blue eyes boring into his brain were no longer lazy.
“You forgot yourself, Mr. Perrison,” said Archie Longworth, gently.
“Don’t do that again.”
“But I don’t understand,” cried the girl, bewildered. “What are these
papers?”
“May I see?” Longworth held out his hand, and she gave them to him at
once.
“They’re stolen.” Perrison’s face was livid. “Give them to me, curse
you.”
“Control yourself, you horrible blighter,” said Longworth, icily.
“This,” he continued, calmly, “would appear to be a receipt from Messrs.
Gross and Sons for the return of a pearl-necklace—sent out to Mr.
Daventry on approval.”
“But you said he’d bought it and pawned it.” She turned furiously on
Perrison.
“So he did,” snarled that gentleman. “That’s a forgery.”
“Is it?” said Longworth. “That strikes me as being Johnson’s signature.
Firm’s official paper. And—er—he has the necklace, I—er—assume.”
“Yes—he has the necklace. Stolen last night by—by——” His eyes were
fixed venomously on Longworth.
“Go on,” murmured the other. “You’re being most entertaining.”
But a sudden change had come over Perrison’s face—a dawning
recognition. “By God!” he muttered, “you’re—you’re——”
“Yes. I’m—who? It’ll come in time, laddie—if you give it a chance. And
in the meantime we might examine these other papers. Now, this appears
to my inexperienced eye to be a transaction entered into on the one part
by Messrs. Smith and Co. and on the other by William Daventry. And it
concerns filthy lucre. Dear, dear. Twenty-five per cent. per month.
Three hundred per cent. Positive usury, Mr. Perrison. Don’t you agree
with me? A rapacious bloodsucker is Mr. Smith.”
But the other man was not listening: full recollection had come to him,
and with a cold look of triumph he put his hands into his pockets and
laughed.
“Very pretty,” he remarked. “Very pretty indeed. And how, in your
vernacular, do you propose to get away with the swag, Mr. Flash Pete? I
rather think the police—whom I propose to call up on the ’phone in one
minute—will be delighted to see such an old and elusive friend.”
He glanced at the girl, and laughed again at the look on her face.
“What’s he mean, Archie?” she cried, wildly. “What’s he mean?”
“I mean,” Perrison sneered, “that Mr. Archie Longworth is what is
generally described as a swell crook with a reputation in certain
unsavoury circles extending over two or three continents. And the
police, whom I propose to ring up, will welcome him as a long-lost
child.”
He walked towards the telephone, and with a little gasp of fear the girl
turned to Archie.
“Say it’s not true, dear—say it’s not true.”
For a moment he looked at her with a whimsical smile; then he sat down
on the high fender round the open fire.
“I think, Mr. Perrison,” he murmured, gently, “that if I were you I
would not be too precipitate over ringing up the police. The engaging
warrior who sent this letter to Miss Daventry put in yet one more
enclosure.”
Perrison turned round: then he stood very still.
“A most peculiar document,” continued the man by the fire, in the same
gentle voice, “which proves very conclusively that amongst their other
activities Messrs. Smith and Co. are not only the receivers of stolen
goods, but are mixed up with illicit diamond buying.”
In dead silence the two men stared at one another; then Longworth spoke
again.
“I shall keep these three documents, Mr. Perrison, as a safeguard for
your future good behaviour. Mr. Daventry can pay a certain fair sum or
not as he likes—that is his business: and I shall make a point of
explaining exactly to him who and what you are—and Smith—and Gross.
But should you be disposed to make any trouble over the necklace—or
should the idea get abroad that Flash Pete was responsible for the
burglary last night—it will be most unfortunate for you—most. This
document would interest Scotland Yard immensely.”
Perrison’s face had grown more and more livid as he listened, and when
the quiet voice ceased, unmindful of the girl standing by, he began to
curse foully and hideously. The next moment he cowered back, as two iron
hands gripped his shoulders and shook him till his teeth rattled.
“Stop, you filthy swine,” snarled Longworth, “or I’ll break every bone
in your body. Quite a number of men are blackguards, Perrison—but
you’re a particularly creeping and repugnant specimen. Now—get out—and
do it quickly. The nine-thirty will do you nicely. And don’t forget what
I’ve just said: because, as there’s a God above, I mean it.”
“I’ll be even with you for this some day, Flash Pete,” said the other
venomously over his shoulder. “And then——”
“And then,” said Longworth, contemptuously, “we will resume this
discussion. Just now—get out.”
V
“Yes: it is quite true.” She had known it was—and yet, womanlike, she
had clung to the hope that there was some mistake—some explanation. And
now, alone with the man she had grown to love, the faint hope died. With
his lazy smile, he stared down at her—a smile so full of sorrow and
pain that she could not bear to see it.
“I’m Flash Pete—with an unsavoury reputation, as our friend so kindly
told you, in three continents. It was I who broke open the safe at
Smith’s last night, I who got the receipt from Gross. You see, I spotted
the whole trick from the beginning; as I said, I had inside information.
And Perrison is Smith and Co.; moreover he’s very largely Gross as
well—and half a dozen other rotten things in addition. The whole thing
was worked with one end in view right from the beginning: the girl your
brother originally bought the pearls for was in it; it was she who
suggested the pawning. Bill told me that the night before last.” He
sighed and paced two or three times up and down the dim-lit
conservatory. And after a while he stopped in front of her again, and
his blue eyes were very tender.
“Just a common sneak-thief—just a common worthless sinner. And he’s
very, very glad that he has been privileged to help the most beautiful
girl in all the world. Don’t cry, my dear, don’t cry: there’s nothing
about that sinner’s that’s worth a single tear of yours. You must forget
his wild presumption in falling in love with that beautiful girl: his
only excuse is that he couldn’t help it. And maybe, in the days to come,
the girl will think kindly every now and then of a man known to some as
Archie Longworth—known to others as Flash Pete—known to himself
as—well, we won’t bother about that.”
He bent quickly and raised her hand to his lips; then he was gone almost
before she had realised it. And if he heard her little gasping
cry—“Archie, my man, come back—I love you so!” he gave no sign.
For in his own peculiar code a very worthless sinner must remain a very
worthless sinner to the end—and he must run the course alone.
_IX_ _Jimmy Lethbridge’s Temptation_
I
“WHAT a queer little place, Jimmy!” The girl glanced round the tiny
restaurant with frank interest, and the man looked up from the menu he
was studying with a grin.
“Don’t let François hear you say that, or you’ll be asked to leave.” The
head-waiter was already bearing down on them, his face wreathed in an
expansive smile of welcome. “To him it is the only restaurant in
London.”
“Ah, m’sieur! it is long days since you were here.” The little Frenchman
rubbed his hands together delightedly. “And mam’selle—it is your first
visit to Les Coquelins, n’est-ce-pas?”
“But not the last, I hope, François,” said the girl with a gentle smile.
“Ah, mais non!” Outraged horror at such an impossible idea shone all
over the head-waiter’s face. “My guests, mam’selle, they come here once
to see what it is like—and they return because they know what it is
like.”
Jimmy Lethbridge laughed.
“There you are, Molly,” he cried. “Now you know what’s expected of you.
Nothing less than once a week—eh, François?”
“Mais oui, m’sieur. There are some who come every night.” He produced
his pencil and stood waiting. “A few oysters,” he murmured. “They are
good ce soir: real Whitstables. And a bird, M’sieur Lethbridge—with an
omelette aux fines herbes——”
“Sounds excellent, François,” laughed the man. “Anyway, I know that once
you have decided—argument is futile.”
“It is my work,” answered the waiter, shrugging his shoulders. “And a
bottle of Corton—with the chill just off. Toute de suite.”
François bustled away, and the girl looked across the table with a
faintly amused smile in her big grey eyes.
“He fits the place, Jimmy. You must bring me here again.”
“Just as often as you like, Molly,” answered the man quietly, and after
a moment the girl turned away. “You know,” he went on steadily, “how
much sooner I’d bring you to a spot like this, than go to the Ritz or
one of those big places. Only I was afraid it might bore you. I love it:
it’s so much more intimate.”
“Why should you think it would bore me?” she asked, drawing off her
gloves and resting her hands on the table in front of her. They were
beautiful hands, ringless save for one plain signet ring on the little
finger of her left hand. And, almost against his will, the man found
himself staring at it as he answered:
“Because I can’t trust myself, dear; I can’t trust myself to amuse you,”
he answered slowly. “I can’t trust myself not to make love to you—and
it’s so much easier here than in the middle of a crowd whom one knows.”
The girl sighed a little sadly.
“Oh, Jimmy, I wish I could! You’ve been such an absolute dear. Give me a
little longer, old man, and then—perhaps——”
“My dear,” said the man hoarsely, “I don’t want to hurry you. I’m
willing to wait years for you—years. At least”—he smiled
whimsically—“I’m not a little bit willing to wait years—really. But if
it’s that or nothing—then, believe me, I’m more than willing.”
“I’ve argued it out with myself, Jimmy.” And now she was staring at the
signet ring on her finger. “And when I’ve finished the argument, I know
that I’m not a bit further on. You can’t argue over things like that.
I’ve told myself times out of number that it isn’t fair to you——”
He started to speak, but she stopped him with a smile.
“No, dear man, it is not fair to you—whatever you like to say. It isn’t
fair to you even though you may agree to go on waiting. No one has a
right to ask another person to wait indefinitely, though I’m thinking
that is exactly what I’ve been doing. Which is rather like a woman,” and
once again she smiled half sadly.
“But I’m willing to wait, dear,” he repeated gently. “And then I’m
willing to take just as much as you care to give. I won’t worry you,
Molly; I won’t ask you for anything you don’t feel like granting me. You
see, I know now that Peter must always come first. I had hoped that
you’d forget him; I still hope, dear, that in time you will——”
She shook her head, and the man bit his lip.
“Well, even if you don’t, Molly,” he went on steadily, “is it fair to
yourself to go on when you know it’s hopeless? There can be no doubt now
that he’s dead; you know it yourself—you’ve taken off your engagement
ring—and is it fair to—you? Don’t worry about me for the moment—but
what is the use? Isn’t it better to face facts?”
The girl gave a little laugh that was half a sob.
“Of course it is, Jimmy. Much better. I always tell myself that in my
arguments.” Then she looked at him steadily across the table. “You’d be
content, Jimmy—would you?—with friendship at first.”
“Yes,” he answered quietly. “I would be content with friendship.”
“And you wouldn’t bother me—ah, no! forgive me, I know you wouldn’t.
Because, Jimmy, I don’t want there to be any mistake. People think I’ve
got over it because I go about; in some ways I have. But I seem to have
lost something—some part of me. I don’t think I shall ever be able to
_love_ a man again. I like you, Jimmy—like you most frightfully—but I
don’t know whether I’ll ever be able to love you in the way I loved
Peter.”
“I know that,” muttered the man. “And I’ll risk it.”
“You dear!” said the girl—and her eyes were shining. “That’s where the
unfairness comes in. You’re worth the very best—and I can’t promise to
give it to you.”
“You are the very best, whatever you give me,” answered the man quietly.
“I’d sooner have anything from you than everything from another woman.
Oh, my dear!” he burst out, “I didn’t mean to worry you to-night—though
I knew this damned restaurant would be dangerous—but can’t you say yes?
I swear you’ll never regret it, dear—and I—I’ll be quite content to
know that you care just a bit.”
For a while the girl was silent; then with a faint smile she looked at
him across the table.
“All right, Jimmy,” she said.
“You mean you will, Molly?” he cried, a little breathlessly.
And the girl nodded.
“Yes, old man,” she answered steadily. “I mean I will.”
· · · · ·
It was two hours later when Molly Daventry went slowly upstairs to her
room and shut the door. Jimmy Lethbridge had just gone; she had just
kissed him. And the echo of his last whispered words—“My dear! my very
dear girl!”—was still sounding in her ears.
For a while she stood by the fireplace smiling a little sadly. Then she
crossed the room and switched on a special light. It was so placed that
it shone directly on the photograph of an officer in the full dress of
the 9th Hussars. And at length she knelt down in front of the table on
which the photograph stood, so that the light fell on her own face
also—glinting through the red-gold of her hair, glistening in the
mistiness of her eyes. For maybe five minutes she knelt there, till it
seemed to her as if a smile twitched round the lips of the officer—a
human smile, an understanding smile.
“Oh, Peter!” she whispered, “he was your pal. Forgive me, my
love—forgive me. He’s been such a dear.”
And once again the photograph seemed to smile at her tenderly.
“It’s only you, Peter, till Journey’s End—but I must give him the next
best, mustn’t I? It’s only fair, isn’t it?—and you hated unfairness.
But, dear God! it’s hard.”
Slowly she stretched out her left hand, so that the signet ring touched
the big silver frame.
“Your ring, Peter,” she whispered, “your dear ring.”
And with a sudden little choking gasp she raised it to her lips.