THE SOLDIER WHO FOLLOWED
In the train which had carried Pinto Silva to Huddersfield were one or
two remarkable passengers, and it was not a coincidence that they did
not meet. In a third-class carriage at the far end of the train was a
soldier who carried a kit-bag and who whiled away the journey by reading
a seemingly endless collection of magazines.
He got out at Huddersfield too, and Pinto might and probably did see him
as he passed through the barrier. The soldier left his kit-bag at the
cloak-room and eventually became one of the two dozen people who
patronised Lady Sybil's bazaar on that afternoon. He passed Pinto twice,
and once made a small purchase at the same stall where the Portuguese
was buying lavishly. If Pinto saw him, then he did not remember the
fact. One soldier looks very much like another, anyway.
Lady Sybil had reason to notice the representative of His Majesty's
forces, and herself informed him severely that smoking was not allowed,
and the man had put his cigarette under his heel with an apology and had
walked out of the building. When Lady Sybil and her guest had entered
her car and were driven away to Mill Hall, the soldier had been
loitering near the entrance, and a few minutes later he was following
the party in a taxi-cab which had been waiting at his order for the past
two hours.
The taxi did not turn in at the stone-pillared gates of the Hall, but
continued some distance beyond, when the soldier alighted and, turning
back, walked boldly through the main entrance and passed up the drive.
It was dusk by now, and nobody challenged him.
He made a reconnaissance of the house and found the dining-room without
any difficulty. The blinds were up and the servants were setting the
table. Then he passed round to the wing of the building and discovered
the library. He actually went into that room, because it was one of Lady
Sybil's standing orders that the library should be "aired" and that the
scent of Mr. Crotin's atrocious tobacco should be cleared.
He sniffed the stale fragrance and was satisfied that this was a room
which was lived in.
If there was any real, confidential talk between the two men, it would
be here, he thought, and looked round for a likely place of concealment.
The room was innocent of cupboards. Only a big settee drawn diagonally
across a corner of the room promised cover, and that looked too
dangerous. If anybody sat there and by chance dropped something--a pipe
or an ash-tray----
He walked back to the terrace to take his bearings in case he had to
make a rapid exit. He looked round and then dropped suddenly to the
cover of the balustrade, for he had seen a dark figure moving across the
lawn, and it was coming straight for the terrace. He slipped back into
the room and as he did so he heard a step in the passage without. He
stepped lightly over to the settee and crouched down.
It was evidently a servant, for he heard the French windows closed and
the clang of the shutters. They were evidently very ordinary
folding-shutters, fastened with an old-fashioned steel bar--he made a
mental note of this. Then he heard the swish of the curtain-rings upon
the brass pole as the curtains were drawn. A dim light was switched on,
somebody poked the fire, and then the light was put out and the door
closed softly.
The intruder did some rapid thinking. He crossed to the nearest of the
windows, noiselessly opened the shutters and pushed them back to the
position in which they stood when not in use. Then he unlatched the
window and left it, hoping that it would not blow open and betray him.
This done, he again pulled the heavy curtains across and returned to
his place of concealment. That was to be the way out for him if the
necessity for a rapid retreat should arise.
There was no sound save the ticking of the clock and the noise of
falling cinders for ten minutes, and then he heard something which
brought him to the alert, all his senses awakened and concentrated. It
was the sound of a light and stealthy footstep on the terrace outside.
He wondered whether it was a servant and whether he would see that one
of the windows was unshuttered. He had half a mind to investigate, when
there came another sound--a lumbering foot in the passage. Suddenly the
door was opened, the lights were flashed on, and the man behind the
settee hugged the floor and held his breath.
* * * * *
"How much do I want?"
Pinto laughed and lit a cigarette.
"My dear Mr. Crotin, I really don't know what you mean."
"Let's have no more foolery," said the Yorkshireman roughly. "I know
that you've come up from Colonel Boundary and I know what you've come
for. You want to buy my mill, eh? Well, I'll make it worth your while
not to buy my mill. You can take the money instead."
"I really am honest when I tell you that I don't understand what you are
talking about. I have certainly come up to buy a mill--that is true. It
is also true that I want to buy your mill."
"And what might you be thinking of paying for it?" asked Crotin between
his teeth.
"Twenty thousand pounds," said Pinto nonchalantly.
"Twenty thousand, eh? It was thirty thousand the last time. You'll want
me to give it to you soon. Nay, nay, my friend, I'll pay, but not in
mills."
"Think of the poor," murmured Pinto.
"I'm thinking of them," said the other. "I'm thinking of the poor woman
in Wales, too, and the poor woman in there." He jerked his head. Then,
in a calmer tone: "I guessed at dinner where you came from. Colonel
Boundary sent you."
Pinto shrugged.
"Let us mention no names," he said politely. "And who is Colonel
Boundary, anyway?"
Crotin was at his desk now. He had taken out his cheque-book and slapped
it down upon the writing-pad.
"You've got me proper," he said, and his voice quavered. "I'll make an
offer to you. I'll give you fifty thousand pounds if you write an
agreement that you will not molest or bother me again."
There was a silence, and the soldier crouched behind the settee,
listening intently. He heard Pinto laugh softly as one who is greatly
amused.
"That, my good friend," said Pinto, "would be blackmail. You don't
imagine that I would be guilty of such an iniquity? I know nothing about
your past; I merely suggest that you should sell me one of your mills at
a reasonable price."
"Twenty thousand pounds is reasonable for you, I suppose," said Crotin
sarcastically.
"It is a lot of money," replied Pinto.
The Yorkshireman pulled open the drawer of his desk and slammed in the
cheque-book, closing it with a bang.
"Well, I'll give you nothing," he said, "neither mill nor money. You can
clear out of here."
He crossed the room to the telephone.
"What are you going to do?" asked Pinto, secretly alarmed.
"I'm going to send for the police," said the other grimly. "I'm going to
give myself up and I'm going to pinch thee too!"
If Crotin had turned the handle of the old-fashioned telephone, if he
had continued in his resolution, if he had shown no sign of doubt, a
different story might have been told. But with his hand raised, he
hesitated, and Pinto clinched his argument.
"Why have all that trouble?" he said. "Your liberty and reputation are
much more to you than a mill. You're a rich man. Your wife is wealthy in
her own right. You have enough to live on for the rest of your life.
Why make trouble?"
The little man dropped his head with a groan and walked wearily back to
the desk.
"Suppose I sell this?" he said in a low voice. "How do I know you won't
come again----"
"When a gentleman gives his word of honour," began Pinto with dignity,
but was interrupted by a shrill laugh that made his blood run cold.
He swung round with an oath. Framed in an opening of the curtains which
covered one of the windows was the Figure!
The black silk gown, the white masked face, the soft felt hat pulled
down over the eyes--his teeth chattered at the sight of it, and he fell
back against the wall.
"Who wouldn't trust Pinto?" squeaked the voice. "Who wouldn't take
Pinto's word of honour? Jack o' Judgment wouldn't, poor old Jack o'
Judgment!"
Jack o' Judgment! The soldier behind the settee heard the words and
gasped. Without any thought of consequence he raised his head and
looked. The Jack o' Judgment was standing where he expected him to be.
He had come through the window which the soldier had left unbarred. This
time he carried no weapon in his hand, and Pinto was quick to see the
possibilities. The electric switch was within reach, and his hand shot
out. There was a click and the room went dark.
But the figure of Jack o' Judgment was silhouetted against the night,
and Pinto whipped out the long knife which never left him and sent it
hurtling at his enemy. He saw the figure duck, heard the crash of broken
glass, and then Jack o' Judgment vanished. In a rage which was three
parts terror, he sprang through the open French windows on to the
terrace in time to see a dark figure drop over the balustrade and fly
across the park.