The Twelve African Novels (A Collection). Edgar Wallace

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СКАЧАТЬ grasped and shook it gratefully — he, who had come firm in the resolve to finally end the acquaintance.

      “He’s butter,” said Whitey afterwards, “keep him away from the Ice and he’s Dead Easy. It’s the Ice that’s the difficulty.

      He shook his head doubtfully.

V. Amber Admits His Guilt

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      And there was an end to it.

      So Francis Sutton informed his sister with tremendous calm.

      She stood by the window, drawing patterns with the tips of her fingers on the polished surface of a small table, and her eyes were fixed on the street without.

      Francis had been illogical and unnecessarily loud in his argument, and she had been beaten down by the erratic and tumbling waves of his eloquence. So she remained quiet, and when he had finished talking for the fifth time, he resentfully remarked upon her sulky silence.

      “You haven’t given me a chance of speaking, Francis, and I am absolutely bewildered by your change of attitude—”

      “Look here, Cynthia,” he broke in impatiently, “it’s no good your opening up this wretched subject again — Lambaire is a man of the world, we can’t judge him by convent codes, or by schoolgirl codes; if you argue the matter from now until quarter-day you won’t budge me. I’m going through with this. It’s a chance that will never come again. I’m sure father would have liked it.”

      He paused expectantly, but she did not accept the lull as an opportunity.

      “Now, for goodness sake, Cynthia, do not, I beg of you, sulk.”

      She turned from her contemplation of the outside world.

      “Do you remember how you came home the other night?” she asked suddenly, and the boy’s face went red.

      “I don’t think that’s fair,” he said hotly, “a man may make a fool of himself—”

      “I wasn’t going to speak of that,” she said, “but I want to remind you that a gentleman brought you home — he knew Lambaire better than you or I know him — yes? — you were going to say something?”

      “Go on,” said the youth, a note of triumph in his voice, “I have something to say upon that subject.”

      “He said that Lambaire was something worse than a man about town — that he was a criminal, one of the cleverest of criminals, a man without scruple or pity.”

      There was a smile on Sutton’s face when she finished.

      “And do you know who this gentleman was?” he asked in glee. “He’s Amber — you’ve never heard of Amber?”

      She shook her head.

      “He’s a thief, just a low-down thief — you can jolly well shake your head, Cynthia, but he’s a fellow who gets his living by his wits; he’s been out of gaol exactly a week — that is your Mr. Amber.”

      “Mr. Amber,” repeated a voice at the door, as a maid admitted the imperturbable subject of the conversation.

      Amber was in the conventional garb of civilization. His tightly-buttoned morning coat was of the newest cut, his linen was of the shiniest. The hat which he held in his hand shone as only a new silk hat can shine, and spotless white was alike the colour of the spats over his varnished shoes and the skin-tight gloves on his hands.

      He might have stepped out of a fashion plate, so immaculate was he.

      He smiled cheerfully at the uncomfortable youth and held out his hand to the girl.

      “Called in,” he said easily, “passin’ this way: motor ‘buses pass the door — very convenient; what I like about London is the accessibility of everywhere to everywhere else — may I put my hat down? — thank you so much. If ever I make a lot of money I shall live in Park Lane; it’s so close to the tube. And how are you?”

      Sutton muttered an ungracious platitude and made for the door.

      “One moment, Francis,” the girl had gone red and white by turn, and the hand that traced patterns on the table had trembled a little when Amber came in: now she was very self-possessed, albeit paler than usual. The boy stopped, one hand on the handle of the door, and frowned warningly at his sister.

      “Mr. Amber,” she said, ignoring the signal, “I think it is only fair to you to repeat something I have just heard.”

      “I beg of you, Cynthia!” said Sutton angrily.

      “It has been said, Mr. Amber,” she continued, “that you are — are a bad character.”

      “My lady,” said Amber, with a grave face, “I am a bad character.”

      “And — and you have recently been released from prison,” she faltered, avoiding his eyes.

      “If,” said Amber carefully, “by ‘recent’ you mean nearly a week ago — that also is true.”

      “I told you,” cried Sutton, with an exultant laugh, and Amber whipped round.

      “My Democritus, my Abderite,” he said reproachfully, “wherefore rollick? It is not so funny, this prison — quid rides*, my Sutton?” His eyebrows rose questioningly.

      [* Latin: an allusion to Horace’s Quid rides? Mutato nomine de te fabula narratur - What are you laughing at? Just change the name and the joke’s on you.]

      Something made the girl look at him. She may have expected to see him shamefaced; instead, she saw only righteous annoyance.

      “My past misfortune cannot interest you, My Lady,” he said a little sadly, “when, on a memorable night, I faced Janus, at your wish, entering the portals of an establishment to which I would not willingly invite a self-respecting screw — by which I mean the uniformed instrument of fate, the prison warder — I do not remember that you demanded my credentials, nor set me a test piece of respectability to play.”

      Then he again addressed himself to the boy.

      “Mr. Sutton,” he said softly, “methinks you are a little ungracious, a little precipitate: I came here to make, with the delicacy which the matter demanded, all the necessary confession of previous crimes, dodges, acts of venal artfulness, convictions, incarcerations, together with an appendix throwing light upon the facility with which a young and headstrong subaltern of cavalry might descend to the Avernus which awaits the reckless layer of odds on indifferent horses.”

      He said all this without taking breath, and was seemingly well satisfied with himself and the sketch he gave of his early life. He pulled himself erect, squared his shoulders and set his monocle more firmly in his eye, then with a bow to the girl, and an amused stare at the young man, he turned to the door.

      “One moment, Mr. Amber,” she found her voice, “I cannot allow you to go like this; we СКАЧАТЬ