Lawless made hasty preparations for leaving Cape Town. He did not give
up his room at the hotel. When a man is spending other people's money
there is no particular need for him to study economy. His headquarters
were at Cape Town--he was merely taking a holiday while he matured his
plans. On the day before he left he lunched with Van Bleit at the
latter's invitation. Van Bleit was openly admiring, and not a little
envious.
"Going on your honeymoon," he murmured, growing maudlin over his wine.
"You lucky devil! But the luck was always with you, Grit."
"It depends on what one reckons luck," was the dry response.
"That's just like you favoured chaps--always grudging in your thanks.
You expect the world to come to heel, and it usually does."
"Yes; and yaps at your trouser hems until it frays them. I've been out
at elbow and empty in pocket... If that's luck I don't appreciate it.
I've no desire to have the world at my heels, with its sneaking hands
dipping into my pockets, and its servile lips smiling while its teeth
worry holes in my clothes. I like to face the enemy and have my foot on
it."
"You, to talk of the world as your enemy! Why, man alive, it gives you
all you ask for."
Lawless looked gloomy enough for a wealthy and successful lover. The
other's envying admiration gave him no pleasure. He took up his glass
and drained it. Both men had been drinking freely, but both were well
seasoned, and, save for their flushed faces, there was no outward sign
of the quantity of wine they had imbibed.
"I wish to God," Van Bleit said, "that I were as successful in my wooing
as you. Give me your secret, Grit... I believe it's that damned scar
on your jaw that helps you with the women--that, and a certain dash you
have."
"Oh! call it swagger," growled Lawless.
"No,--damn you!--I would if I could; but it's not that. All things
considered, you're a fairly modest beast."
"I've not had so much to make me vain as you imagine," Lawless answered,
and added curtly: "Look here, Karl, if you don't wish to be offensive,
give over personalities. I'm sick of myself."
Van Bleit looked slightly annoyed.
"You're so devilishly unsympathetic," he complained sulkily. "I notice
you take no interest in another man's affairs... You never trouble to
inquire how my suit prospers."
Lawless made no immediate response. He took a cigar from a case of Van
Bleit's that lay open on the table, snipped the end deliberately, and
proceeded to light it. When he had had two or three whiffs at it, he
took it from his mouth, leant forward with his elbows on the table and
looked squarely at his host.
"I don't need to inquire," he said. "I've been observing... You are
making no headway at all."
"That's true enough," Van Bleit replied, reddening. "Though, dash it
all! you needn't be quite so brutally frank. I'm not making headway.
Sometimes I fancy I have gone back a few paces. At one time she liked
me--I'll swear she did. She used to appear glad to see me. That was
before you turned up."
He paused, and eyed Lawless for a moment suspiciously. The alteration
in Mrs Lawless' manner and the advent of Lawless on the scene being
contemporaneous roused a sudden doubt in his mind.
"You've not been giving me away?" he asked... "You haven't told her of
any of our little sprees? If I thought you'd made mischief! ... I've
noticed you talking with her, though you as good as told me she'd sooner
talk with the devil."
Lawless puffed away at his cigar indifferently.
"My good fellow," he said, "she has not the faintest idea that you are a
friend of mine. And we do not discuss sprees, or anything of that
nature. The only topic she ever gets on with me is that of my morals,
which ever since I have known her have caused her distress and
annoyance. It is a topic which you may easily imagine holds no interest
for me."
Van Bleit looked only half convinced.
"I'd let a woman like that talk to me about anything," he returned.
"I'd let her try her hand at reforming me--I _would_ reform for her
sake."
"You might--for a month or so... yes."
"Oh, go to blazes!" ejaculated Van Bleit irritably. "You don't believe
in anything."
"I don't believe in a nimbus for you, Karl, old man," Lawless replied
with unruffled serenity. "All the same, I'm glad to see you in earnest
for once. When a man is in downright earnest he generally wins."
He smoked for a few moments in silence.
"Have you put your luck to the test yet?" he asked, trimming the ash of
his cigar with careful deliberation.
"No."
Van Bleit drummed on the table, and stared moodily at the cloth.
"She never gives me a chance," he said. "She's cleverer than any woman
I ever knew at putting one off. She makes a man realise that if he
persists in coming to his point he'll get the wrong answer, and, of
course, when a fellow's in earnest he isn't going to risk that."
"Naturally."
There was silence for a few seconds. Then Lawless spoke again.
"You might win if you'd try the right tactics," he said. "But I know
that it's no use advising a man in love... You simply wouldn't take the
advice."
"Well, let's hear it, anyway," Van Bleit said churlishly, still drumming
on the tablecloth with his big, coarse fingers. "If I think it's worth
anything, I'll follow it, I daresay."
"Keep away from her for a time."
Van Bleit looked up at him sharply.
"You say that!" he cried... "You!--just off on a honeymoon of your own!
What would you reply if a man advised you to chuck it?"
"If you were off on your honeymoon," Lawless returned calmly, "my advice
would be unnecessary."
"But why," Van Bleit persisted, "should I keep out of her way? What
purpose could it possibly serve? ... It would give others a chance,
that's all."
"She would probably miss you," Lawless answered. "When she realised
that, she would want you; and when you returned you would be sure of
your welcome... You needn't scowl. You asked for the advice. I didn't
suppose you would take it, and I shan't feel offended if you don't."
"I don't believe in the efficacy of that plan," Van Bleit said shortly.
"A man in love wouldn't," Lawless returned indifferently. "The moth has
to make for the light."
"Well, but--"
Van Bleit appeared to be wavering. He stared hard at the inscrutable
face opposite, trying to gauge the purpose of the carelessly given
advice that accorded so ill with his own inclinations. But he could
make nothing of it. The man baffled him as he baffled many another.
Although he had given the advice, it seemed to be a matter of supreme
indifference to him whether it were acted upon or not.
"I've a great belief in your knowledge of women," he said slowly.
Lawless smiled.
"It's faith in my disinterestedness you lack," he threw in, and Van
Bleit did not deny it.
"You've never been keen on it, somehow," he observed. "I noticed that
when I first told you about it... Seems as though you couldn't get out
of the manger. I suppose it is human nature that a man should object to
seeing another fellow's success in the case of a beautiful woman, even
though he knows himself out of the running."
Lawless leant back in his seat and puffed a number of blue rings into
the air.
"You may know a lot about human nature, Karl," he said presently,
"you're very human yourself--but you don't know me. If I've been
somewhat unsympathetic over this affair it's because I happen to know
something of both of you. I realised that you were serious, but I never
imagined you stood anything of a chance... It wasn't until I saw you
together that it occurred to me that, if your chance was not great, she
certainly liked you. She is not prodigal of her favour, so I think you
have grounds to feel flattered. But women, when they grow accustomed to
having a man at their beck and call, are inclined to take it rather as a
matter of course. Relegate him to a distance, and they appreciate a
service they have not realised until they are called upon to do without
it. That's my experience... But go your own way, old man, and if you
find your tactics fail then follow mine."
Lawless left Cape Town that night. He did not go alone, a fact that
transpired very quickly, and caused consternation in more breasts than
one. Colonel Grey was beside himself with fury. The man was an
adventurer of the worst kind. He was living riotously on the money that
was allowed him for a definite purpose, and that purpose, which was
hazardous and dangerous and highly important, was being neglected while
he amused himself after his own loose fashion with the funds that should
only have been applied to one end.
The Colonel summoned Simmonds to a consultation, and told him in the
plainest language what he thought of the man he had recommended.
"I did not recommend him," Simmonds returned. "I told you I knew very
little about him. His noted pluck was the only qualification I gave
you."
The Colonel stared at him.
"True!" he muttered. "His courage! ... Yes! I accepted that without
proof. And when I saw the man I accepted him. This is where it leaves
me."
He looked at the other for a while without speaking, thinking deeply.
This man--the traitor, the coward, the licentious liver--was in his pay
for a term of six months. He had agreed to that, knowing what he did of
the man's past life. He had believed in him. The strong, virile
personality had been strangely convincing, all the more so in view of
the fact that he had made no attempt to vindicate himself, nor sought to
explain away facts. There had been something almost attractive in the
curt directness of speech and manner that had seemed to repudiate the
necessity for self-justification. That he had allowed himself to be
deceived in this matter was entirely his own fault. It was only
consistent with his record that the man should misuse the funds
entrusted to him. And there was no redress possible because of the
secret nature of the undertaking.
"It's a bad business," he said at last--"the worst bungle that has been
made so far. The fellow is entirely unprincipled. A man of that
unscrupulous order is capable of turning the knowledge he has acquired
to his own account. I feel now that I shall never see those letters."
Simmonds did not feel particularly sanguine either. But he sought to
encourage his chief.
"In a case where a man is governed by his passions, you can't tell," he
said. "This escapade is possibly merely an interlude. He'll come up to
the mark later."
His hearer did not look reassured.
"It's somewhat of a coincidence," he added, after a moment's reflection,
"that a woman has stepped in in two instances to the frustrating of your
plans."
Colonel Grey glanced up sharply.
"The other affair was a matter of outwitting," he said. "This is
different altogether. We've put ourselves in the power of a rogue, and
we shall have to pay for it--dearly."
"Yes."
Simmonds looked at the other inquiringly. The Colonel was staring hard
at the light that stood on the table between them, swiftly revolving, in
a mind much given to scheming of late, plan after plan which, after a
brief consideration, he put successively on one side as ineffectual or
unfeasible. While he thought he smoked in a state of inward fume,
oblivious of his companion altogether. It was very evident that the
last check had hit him hard. He saw no opening for his next move.
"There is one thing fairly certain," he remarked at length, "we shall
have to pull this off without assistance. Van Bleit knows we are both
his enemies; we must fight openly. We can't trust this matter to other
hands."
"I agree with you there," Simmonds answered. "You might keep all the
rogues in the Colony. It's the soft sort of billet they would tumble to
promptly. And there's no possible guarantee of good faith--save their
word."
"Their word!" Colonel Grey repeated sourly. "Lawless passed me his
word--and I accepted it."
He thought for a moment.
"One piece of information he gave me which may prove of service," he
said, suddenly looking up. "Van Bleit carries the letters on his
person--and a loaded revolver. I'm not scared of revolvers. I'd like
to see this one of Van Bleit's at close range--here, in this room."
"You've got a plan?" said Simmonds interrogatively.
"Not much of one... It may not work. We must get him here, if
possible... You must see him... Ask him to come here to treat with
me... Tell him I've a new proposal to make. Then, when we've got him,
we'll lock the door; and if there should be any firing, no one will be
any the wiser--unless someone gets hurt."
"He won't come," Simmonds answered confidently.
"He's slim, is Van Bleit, and a coward--of the bullying sort. He'll
scent danger."
"We can but try it," Colonel Grey said. And added grimly: "If we once
get him inside this room he doesn't leave it until we get those
letters."
Simmonds smiled drily.
"If I know anything of the man," he said, "he'll not bring them with
him. He may carry them around as a rule, but he isn't at all likely to
march into the enemy's camp with them. You forget Denzil's in this. He
will leave the letters with him."
"He may do."
The Colonel spoke with a slight irritation, the result of
discouragement. He had been many months striving to get hold of these
papers, and he was no nearer success than when he first landed in Cape
Town. The rogue he had to deal with was insatiable, unprincipled, and
unrelenting. He had attempted in the first instance straightforward
methods; but Van Bleit, being possessed of a crooked mind, was
suspicious of straightforward dealings, and he had been forced to resort
to more subtle and underhand means. It was, he felt sure, by no open
and honest device that he would prevail against him--if, indeed, he ever
prevailed. To-night, baffled and disheartened, he believed that he
would be forced to throw down the cards and acknowledge himself beaten.
"I'd give five years of my life," he said--"and my years are not so many
now that I can spare them--to best that scoundrel. To think that a
contemptible hound like that should have the power to intimidate anyone
with a Damocles' sword in the form of a packet of damning letters! The
law of the land ought to permit one to shoot blackmailers on sight."
"I rather fancy the law--out here, anyway--would bring it in
manslaughter," Simmonds replied coolly. He knocked the ash out of his
pipe. "Then, I understand you wish me to try to induce him to come
here?"
"Yes, that's it."
The Colonel was still meditating on the unsatisfactoriness of the law.
"I'd bring it in justifiable homicide," he said at last.