When It Was Dark: The Story of a Great Conspiracy. Thorne Guy

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СКАЧАТЬ himself to the heat and warmth like a great cat. He was an integral part of the mise-en-scène– lost, and arrogant of his degradation.

      A key clicked in the lock, there was a rustling of silk, and Gertrude Hunt swept into the room.

      "So you're come to time, then," she said in a deep, musical voice, but spoilt by an unpleasing Cockney twang. "I'm dead tired. The theatre was crammed; I had to sing the Coon of Coons twice. Get me a brandy-and-soda, Bob. There's a good boy – the decanter's in the sideboard."

      She threw off her long cloak and sank into a chair. The sticky grease-paint of the theatre had hardly been removed. She looked, as she said, worn out.

      They chatted for a few moments on indifferent subjects, and she lit a cigarette. When she took it from her lips, Llwellyn noticed that the end was crimsoned by the paint upon them.

      "Well," she said at length, "somehow or other you must pay those bills I sent on to you. They must be paid. I can't do it. I'm only getting twenty-five pounds from the theatre now, and that's just about enough to pay my drink bill!"

      Llwellyn's face clouded. "I'm just about at my last gasp myself," he said. "I'm threatened with bankruptcy as it is."

      "Oh, cheer up!" she cried. "Here, have a B. and S. I do hate to hear any one talk like that. It gives me the hump at once. Now look here, Bob. You know that I like you better than any one else. We've been pals for seven or eight years now, and I'd rather have you a thousand times than the others. You understand that, don't you?"

      He nodded back at her. His face was pleased at her expression of affection, at the kindness of this dancing-girl to the great scholar!

      "But," she continued, "you know me, and you know that I can't go on unless I have what I want all the time. And I want a lot, too. If you can't give it me, Bob, it must be some one else – that's all. Captain Parker's ready to do anything, any time. He's almost a millionaire, you know. Can't you raise any 'oof anyhow? If I'd a thousand at once, and another in a week or two, I could manage for a bit. But I must have a river-house at Shepperton. That cat, Lulu Wallace, has one, and an electric launch and all. What about your German friend – the M.P.? He's got tons of stuff. Touch him for a bit more."

      "Had a letter from him this afternoon," said Llwellyn, "with a demand for about fourteen thousand that I owe him now. Threatens to sell me up. But there was something which looked brighter at the end of the letter, though I couldn't quite make out what he was driving at."

      "What was that?"

      "The tone of the letter changed; it had been nasty before. He said that I could do him a service for which he would not only wipe out the old debt, but for which I could get a lot more money."

      "You'll go to him at once, Bob, won't you?"

      "I suppose I must. There's no way out of it. I can't think, though, how I can do him any service. He's a dabbler, an amateur in my own work, but he's not going to pay a good many thousands for any help in that."

      "Let it alone till you find out," she said, with the instinctive dislike of her class to the prolonged discussion of anything unpleasant. She got up and rang the bell for her maid and supper.

      For some reason Llwellyn could eat nothing. A weight oppressed him – a presage of danger and disaster. The unspeakable mental torments that the vicious man who is highly educated undergoes – torments which assail him in the very act and article of his pleasures – have never been adequately described. "What a frail structure his honours and positions were," he thought as the woman chatted of the coulisses and the blackguard news of the demi-monde. His indulgent life had acted on the Professor with a dire physical effect. His nerves were unstrung and he became childishly superstitious. The slightest hint of misfortune set his brain throbbing with a horrid fear. The spectre of overwhelming disaster was always waiting, and he could not exorcise it.

      The two accidental and trivial facts that the knives at his place were crossed, and that he spilt the salt as he was passing it to his mistress, set him crossing himself with nervous rapidity.

      The girl laughed at him, but she was interested nevertheless. For the moment they were on an intellectual level. He explained that the sign of the Cross was said to avert misfortune, and she imitated him clumsily.

      Llwellyn thought nothing of it at the time, but the meaningless travesty came back afterwards when he thought over that eventful night.

      Surely the holy sign of God's pain was never so degraded as now.

      Their conversation grew fitful and strained. The woman was physically tired by her work at the theatre, and the dark cloud of menace crept more rapidly into the man's brain. The hour grew late. At last Llwellyn rose to go.

      "You'll get the cash somehow, dear, won't you?" she said with tired eagerness.

      "Yes, yes, Gertie," he replied. "I suppose I can get it somehow. I'll get home now. If it's a clear night I shall walk home. I'm depressed – it's liver, I suppose – and I need exercise."

      "Have a drink before you go?"

      "No, I've had two, and I can't take spirits at this time."

      He went out with a perfunctory and uninterested kiss. She came to the archway with him.

      London was now quite silent in its most mysterious and curious hour. The streets were deserted, but brilliantly lit by the long row of lamps.

      They stood talking for a moment or two in the quadrangle.

      "Queer!" she said; "queer, isn't it, just now? I walked back from the Covent Garden ball once at this time. Makes you feel lonesome. Well, so long, Bob. I shall have a hot bath and go to bed."

      The Professor's feet echoed loudly on the flags as he approached the open space. Never had he seemed to hear the noises of his own progress so clearly before. It was disconcerting, and emphasised the fact of his sole movement in this lighted city of the dead.

      On the island in the centre of the cross-roads he suddenly caught sight of a tall policeman standing motionless under a lamp. The fellow seemed a figure of metal hypnotised by the silence.

      Llwellyn walked onwards, when, just as he was passing the Oxford Music Hall, he became conscious of quick footsteps behind him. He turned quickly, and a man came up. He was of middle size, with polite, watchful eyes and clean shaven.

      The stranger put his hand into the pocket of his neat, unobtrusive black overcoat and drew out a letter.

      "For you, sir," he said in calm, ordinary tones.

      The Professor stared at him in uncontrollable surprise and took the envelope, opening it under a lamp. This was the note. He recognised the handwriting at once.

"Hotel Cecil.

      "Dear Llwellyn, – Kindly excuse the suddenness of my request and come down to the Cecil with my valet. I have sent him to meet you. I want to settle our business to-night, and I am certain that we shall be able to make some satisfactory arrangement. I know you do not go to bed early. – Most sincerely yours,

"Constantine Schuabe."

      "This is a very sudden request," he said to the servant rather doubtfully, but somewhat reassured by the friendly signature of the note. "Why, it's two o'clock in the morning!"

      "Extremely sorry to trouble you, sir," replied the valet civilly, "but my master's strict orders were that I should find you СКАЧАТЬ