The Twelve African Novels (A Collection). Edgar Wallace

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      “And who is Lambaire?” asked the innocent Amber.

      “Now, look here, dear boy,” Whitey bent forward and patted Amber’s knee, “let us be perfectly frank and above board. We’ve found out all about you — you’re an old lag — you haven’t been out of prison three days — am I right?”

      He leant back with the triumphant air of a man who is revealing a well-kept secret.

      “Bull’s-eye,” said Amber calmly. “Will you have a cigar or a butter dish?”

      “Now we know you — d’ye see? We’ve got you taped down to the last hole. We bear no resentment, no malice, no nothing.”

      “No anything,” corrected Amber. “Yes — ?”

      “This is our point.” Whitey leant forward and traced the palm of his left hand with his right finger. “You came into the Whistlers — bluffed your way in — very clever, very clever — even Lambaire admits that — we overlook that; we’ll go further and overlook the money.”

      He paused significantly, and smiled with some meaning.

      “Even the money,” he repeated, and Amber raised his eyebrows.

      “Money?” he said. “My visitor, I fail to rise to this subtile reference.” “ The money,” said Whitey slowly and emphatically, “there was close on a hundred pounds on Lambaire’s table alone, to say nothing of the other tables. It was there when you came in — it was gone when you left.”

      Amber’s smile was angelic in its forgiveness. “May I suggest,” he said, “that I was not the only bad character present?”

      “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, the money part of it,” Whitey went on. “Lambaire doesn’t want to prosecute.”

      “Ha! ha! “ said Amber, laughing politely. “He doesn’t want to prosecute; all he wants you to do is to leave young Sutton alone; Lambaire says that there isn’t any question of making money out of Sutton, it’s a bigger thing than that, Lambaire says—”

      “Oh, blow Lambaire!” said Amber, roused to wrath. “Stifle Lambaire, my Whitey! he talks like the captain of the Forty Thieves. Go back to your master, my slave, and tell him young Ali Baba Amber is not in a condition of mind to discuss a workin’ arrangement—”

      Whitey had sprung to his feet, his face was unusually pale, his eyes narrowed till they were scarcely visible, his hands twitched nervously. “Oh, you — you know, do you?” he stuttered.

      “I told Lambaire that you knew — that’s your game, is it? Well, you look out!”

      He wagged a warning finger at the astonished young man in the chair.

      “You look out, Amber! Forty Thieves and Ali Baba, eh? So you know all about it — who told you? I told Lambaire that you were the sort of nut that would get hold of a job like this !”

      He was agitated, and Amber, silent and watchful, twisted himself in his seat to view him the better, watching his every move. Whitey picked up his hat, smoothed it mechanically on the sleeve of his coat, his lips were moving as though he were talking to himself. He walked round the table that stood in the centre of the room, and made for the door.

      Here he stood for a few seconds, framing some final message.

      “I’ve only one thing to say to you,” he said at last, “and that is this: if you want to come out of this business alive, go in with Lambaire — he’ll share all right; if you get hold of the chart, take it to Lambaire. It’ll be no use to you without the compass — see, an’ Lambaire’s got the compass, and Lambaire says—”

      “Get out,” said Amber shortly, and Whitey went, slamming the door behind him.

      Amber stepped to the window and from the shadow of the curtain watched his visitor depart.

      A cab was waiting for him, and he stepped in.

      “No instructions for driver,” noted Amber. “He goes home as per arrangement.”

      He rang a bell and a maid appeared.

      “My servant,” he said, regarding her with immense approval, “we will have our bill — nay, do not look round, for there is but one of us. When we said ‘we,’ we spoke in an editorial or kingly sense.”

      “Also,” he went on gaily, “instruct our boots to pack our belongings — for we are going away.”

      The girl smiled.

      “You haven’t been with us long, sir,” she said.

      “A king’s messenger,” said Amber gravely, “never stays any length of time in one place; ever at the call of exigent majesty, burdened with the responsibilities of statescraft; the Mercury of Diplomacy, he is the nomad of civilization.”

      He dearly loved a pose, and now he strode up and down the room with his head on his breast, his hands clasped behind him, for the benefit of a Bloomsbury parlourmaid.

      “One night in London, the next in Paris, the next grappling with the brigands of Albania, resolved to sell his life dearly, the next swimming the swollen waters of the Danube, his despatches between his teeth, and bullets striking the dark water on either side—”

      “Lor!” said the startled girl, “you does have a time !”

      “I does,” admitted Amber; “bring the score, my wench.”

      She returned with the bill, and Amber paid, tipping her magnificently, and kissing her for luck, for she was on the pretty side of twentyfive.

      His little trunk was packed, and a taxicab whistled for.

      He stood with one foot upon the rubber-covered step, deep in thought, then he turned to the waiting girl.

      “If there should come a man of unprepossessing appearance, whitish of hair and pallid of countenance, with a complexion suggestive of a whitewashed vault rather than of the sad lily — in fact if the Johnny calls who came in an hour ago, you will tell him I am gone.”

      He spoke over his shoulder to the waiting housemaid.

      “Yes, sir,” she said, a little dazed.

      “Tell him I have been called away to — to Teheran.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “On a diplomatic mission,” he added with relish.

      He stepped into the car, closing the door behind him.

      An errand-boy, basket on arm, stood fascinated in the centre of the sidewalk, listening with open mouth.

      “I expect to be back,” he went on, reflecting with bent head, “in August or September, 1943 — you will remember that?”

      “Yes, sir,” said the girl, visibly impressed, СКАЧАТЬ