CLOWNS AND CRIMINALS - Complete Series (Thriller Classics). E. Phillips Oppenheim

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СКАЧАТЬ thousand pounds is enough. Eleven weary months I have slept and toiled there in the shed.”

      “It is finished,” the older man declared. “To-night you shall come with us to London. To-morrow night your pockets shall be full of gold. It will be a change for you.”

      The youth sobbed.

      “God knows it will,” he muttered. “I haven’t two shillings in the world, and I owe for my last petrol.”

      The two men laughed heartily. The elder took a little bundle of notes from his pocket and handed them to the boy.

      “Come,” he said, “not for another moment shall you feel as poor as that. Money will have no value for you in the future. The fifty thousand pounds will only be a start. After that, you will get royalties. If I had it, I would give you a quarter of a million now for your plans; I know that I can get you more.”

      The youth laughed hysterically. They entered the tiny inn and drank home-made wine—the best they could get. Then a great car drew up outside, and the older—the clean-shaven man, who looked like an American—hurried out, and dragging a hamper from beneath the seat returned with a gold-foiled bottle in his hand.

      “Come,” he said, “a toast! We have one bottle left—one bottle of the best!”

      “Champagne!” the youth cried eagerly, holding out his hand.

      “The only wine for the conquerors,” the other declared, pouring it out into the thick tumblers. “Drink, all of you, to the Franklin Flying Machine, to the millions she will earn—to to-morrow night!”

      The youth drained his glass, watched it replenished, and drained it again. Then they went out to the car.

      “There is one thing yet to be done,” he said. “Wait here for me.”

      They waited whilst he climbed up toward the shed. The two men watched him. A little group of rustics stood open-mouthed around the great car. Then there was a little shout. From above their heads came the sound of a great explosion—red flames were leaping up from that black barn to the sky. The two men looked at one another. They rushed to the hill and met the youth descending.

      “What the—”

      He stopped them.

      “I dared not leave it here,” he explained. “It would have been madness. I am perfectly certain that I have been watched during the last few days. I can build another in a week. I have the plans in my pocket for every part.”

      The older man wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

      “You are sure—that you have the plans?” he asked.

      The youth struck himself on the chest.

      “They are here,” he answered, “every one of them!”

      “Perhaps you are right, then,” the other man answered. “It gave me a turn, though. You are sure that you can make it again in the time you say?”

      “Of course!” the youth answered, impatiently. “Besides, the thing is so simple. It speaks for itself.”

      They climbed into the car, and in a few minutes were rushing away southwards.

      “To-morrow night—to-morrow night it all begins!” the youth continued. “I must start with ready-made clothes. I’ll get the best I can, eat the best I can, drink wine, go to the music halls. To-morrow night.”

      His speech ended in a wail—a strange, half-stifled cry which rang out with a chill, ghostly sound upon the black silence. His face was covered with a wet towel, a ghastly odor was in his nostrils, his lips refused to utter any further sound. He lay back among the cushions, senseless. The car slowed down.

      “Get the papers, quick!” the elder man muttered, opening the youth’s coat. “Here they are! Catch hold, Dick! My God! What’s that?”

      He shook from head to foot. The little fair man looked at him with contempt.

      “A sheep bell on the moor,” he said. “Are you sure you have everything?”

      “Yes!” the other muttered.

      They both stood up and raised the prostrate form between them. Below them were the black waters of the lake.

      “Over with him!” the younger said. “Quick!”

      Once more his companion shrank away.

      “Listen!” he muttered, hoarsely.

      They both held their breaths. From somewhere along the road behind came a faint sound like the beating of an engine.

      “It’s a car!” the elder man exclaimed. “Quick! Over with him!”

      They lifted the body of the boy, whose lips were white and speechless now, and threw him into the water. With a great splash he disappeared. They watched for a moment. Only the ripples flowed away from the place where he had sunk. They jumped back to their seats.

      “There’s something close behind,” the older man muttered. “Get on! Fast! Fast!”

      The younger man hesitated.

      “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “it would be better to wait and see who it is coming up behind. Our young friend there is safe. The current has him, and the tarn is bottomless.”

      There was a moment’s indecision—a moment which was to count for much in the lives of three men. Then the elder one’s counsels prevailed. They crept away down the hill, smoothly and noiselessly. Behind them, the faint throbbing grew less and less distinct. Soon they heard it no more. They drove into the dawn and through the long day.

      Side by side on one of the big leather couches in the small smoking room of the Milan Hotel, Mr. James P. Rounceby and his friend Mr. Richard Marnstam sat whispering together. It was nearly two o clock, and they were alone in the room. Some of the lights had been turned out. The roar of life in the streets without had ceased. It was an uneasy hour for those whose consciences were not wholly at rest!

      The two men were in evening dress—Rounceby in dinner coat and black tie, as befitted his role of travelling American. The glasses in front of them were only half-filled, and had remained so for the last hour. Their conversation had been nervous and spasmodic. It was obvious that they were waiting for some one.

      Three o’clock struck by the little timepiece on the mantel shelf. A little exclamation of a profane nature broke from Rounceby’s lips. He leaned toward his companion.

      “Say,” he muttered, in a rather thick undertone, “how about this fellow Vincent Cawdor? You haven’t any doubts about him, I suppose? He’s on the square, all right, eh?”

      Marnstam wet his lips nervously.

      “Cawdor’s all right,” he said. “I had it direct from headquarters at Paris. What are you uneasy about, eh?”

      Rounceby pointed towards the clock.

      “Do you see the time?” he asked.

      “He СКАЧАТЬ