THE COMPLETE JIM MAITLAND SERIES. H. C. McNeile / Sapper

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      And then, little by little, we heard the whole pitiful tale— not new to those who listen, but bitterly, tragically new to each one who tells. And as we heard it, told falteringly with many a pause, my only coherent wish was to have the throats of some of the men involved between my hands. I left MacTavert to Jim, who was staring at that gentleman with smouldering eyes.

      She had run away from home, had the girl who was called Colette. It was dull, and a gentleman had assured her that she would be able to earn big money in London. On the stage, he said—pretty clothes, and jewels and lots of dancing and amusement. So she'd stolen out of the house one night, and gone up to London to an address he had told her of. She had never seen her mother and father again—and for a time, as she came to that part of her story, she fell silent. The automatic piano thumped on in MacTavert's bar, the haze of tobacco smoke grew denser, but all Colette could see was a little cottage, way back in Sussex, with honeysuckle climbing round the windows and a kitchen spotlessly clean. Just home—that's all...

      The Dago she had been dancing with lurched by with a snarl, which effaced itself as he caught Jim's eyes fixed on him, and with a little start Colette came back to reality. She was telling us her story—that new and original story—little dreaming how well we knew every line before she spoke it. For the main theme is always the same—only the details differ.

      The address in London to which she had gone so hopefully turned out to be a theatrical agency. And there an oily gentleman had taken stock of her, and offered her a job on the spot with a company that was to go on tour in South America. He had assured her that all she required was experience, and that on her return he, personally, would get her an engagement at a West-End theatre. And she swallowed it whole, as hundreds of other unfortunate girls have swallowed it.

      Then came the awakening. The company had played for a week in a fifth- rate hall in Valparaiso to find last Saturday night that the manager had decamped with what money there was. They were stranded—penniless, or practically so in a foreign town, with not a soul to turn to for assistance. The rest we knew already; the woman with the kindly offer of assistance—the woman in MacTavert's pay.

      "She seemed so nice," said Colette, miserably, "and then I found myself here."

      Once again the poor child's eyes filled with tears; she was paying a big price for her one mistake of foolish vanity in England. And Jim's eyes were very gentle as he looked at her.

      "I see, Colette," he said quietly. "I understand. I'm thinking it was very lucky you saw us today."

      For a moment he looked at me; how lucky it was I don't think the girl quite realised. A good deal of the innocence of that little Sussex village still remained to Colette.

      "And so now," continued Jill cheerfully, "the only thing that remains is to get you away. I don't think we'll bother about your box and things tonight; I'll fix up about them tomorrow morning. We'll just walk out, and I'll find you a room at some hotel."

      He smiled as he saw the look of amazed hope on the girl's face—a look which faded almost as quickly as it had come.

      "Well—what's troubling you now?" he said.

      "I can't, Jim," she cried. "It's wonderful of you to have thought of it—but I can't."

      "Why not?" His voice was a little stern.

      "There was a missionary here last night," she said, at length. "And he took one of the girls away. And that brute MacTavert's got two men he keeps here. And they threw him into the docks and nearly drowned him."

      For a moment Jim look puzzled; then with ostentatious deliberation he lit a cigarette.

      "And you're afraid, Colette, that they will do that to me?" She nodded. "I couldn't have you hurt for me," she answered. "I'm not worth it."

      And Jim was polishing his eyeglass, which had suddenly become a bit misty.

      "Thank you, little girl," he said quietly, after a while. "That's awfully sweet of you. But you needn't worry about it, I promise you. Somehow or other, I don't, think MacTavert and his pals will throw me or Dick into any dock. And if they do," he went on, with a sudden grin, "I'll guarantee that they will come in with us."

      He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet.

      "Come along; we'll go now."

      He led the way towards the door, and after a moment's hesitation the girl followed him. And they had got half-way when MacTavert saw them. With a shout of anger he rushed out from behind the bar, and reached the door just ahead of Jim.

      "Where are you taking that gel to?" he demanded, barring the way.

      Instantly a silence settled on the room; everyone craned forward with zest to see what was going to happen. And Colette, her breath coming in little frightened gasps, cowered close to me, while her eyes were fixed on the tall figure of Jim just in front of her.

      "In England, MacTavert," he remarked, and every word cut like a knife through the room, "in England you would be flogged with the cat for your method of living. Unfortunately, we are not in England, and so I propose to take the law into my own hands. If you don't get out of my way I shall hit you."

      And MacTavert laughed, or rather he bared his yellow teeth in what was intended to be a grin. At last this man was talking the language that he understood, and when that language was talked MacTavert, to do him justice, was no coward.

      "You'll hit me, Percy, will you?" he mimicked.' "Sure, you frighten me, darling."

      A burst of laughter went round the room, which died away in a gasp of astonishment. At one moment MacTavert was standing there leering at Jim—the next he had disappeared. And only the drumming of his feet, which stuck out from under a table that he had overturned in his fall, indicated his position. Not till the drumming ceased did Jim turn and contemplate the room.

      "When he takes interest again," he remarked pleasantly, to no one in particular, "you can remind him that I gave him fair warning."

      He passed through the door and we followed—no one lifting a finger to prevent us.

      "Easy money," said Jim, grinning, "but I think we'll get a move on now. When MacTavert wakes up he won't be full of brotherly love."

      We walked quickly away up the street, the girl between us, and as we turned the corner that hid the flaring notice out of sight, I looked back. As far as I could see the street was deserted, and I breathed more freely. At last we reached a small and respectable-looking hotel, and after a brief survey Jim decided it would do. A room was available, and he engaged it for Colette.

      "I'll be round in the morning," he said, cutting short her thanks with a smile. "Until then you go to bed and sleep."

      We watched her go up the stairs before we left. At the top she turned and waved her hand, and Jim waved back.

      "Poor little kid," he said, as we went out into the street. "Thank heaven we were here, and she saw us! Otherwise..."

      He paused suddenly, gripping my arm, and stared across the road.

      "Under that tree, Dick," he whispered. "Do you see anything?"

      And it seemed to me there was a shadow on the path such as a man might throw. But when we got there and looked about there was nothing. The road was deserted, and at last we СКАЧАТЬ