The Secret of the Tower. Anthony Hope

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СКАЧАТЬ us with excellent billets and rations. Moreover, a thing that you certainly will not appreciate, it gratifies my taste for the mysterious.”

      “I hope there’s a bit more coming from it than that,” said the Sergeant. “That is, if we stick together faithful, sir.”

      “Oh, we shall! One thing puzzles me about you, Sergeant. I don’t think I’ve mentioned it before. Sometimes you speak almost like an educated man; at others your speech is, well, illiterate.”

      “Well, sir, it’s a sort of mixture of my mother; she was class, the blighter who come after my father, and the Board School—”

      “Of course! What they call the educational ladder! That explains it. By the way, I’m thinking of changing our doctor.”

      “Good job, too. I ‘ate that Irechester. Stares at you, that chap does.”

      “Does he stare at your eyes?’ ” asked Beaumaroy thoughtfully.

      “I don’t know that he does at my eyes particularly. Nothing wrong with ’em, is there?” The Sergeant sounded rather truculent.

      “Never mind that; but I fancied he stared at Mr. Saffron’s. And I’ve read somewhere, in some book or other, that doctors can tell, or guess, by the eyes. Well, that’s only an idea. How does a lady doctor appeal to you, Sergeant?”

      “I should be shy,” said the Sergeant, grinning.

      “Vulgar! vulgar!” Beaumaroy murmured.

      “That Dr. Mary Arkroyd?”

      “I had thought of her.”

      “She ought to be fair easy to kid. You ’ave notions sometimes, sir.”

      Beaumaroy stretched out his legs, debonnair, well-rounded legs, to the seducing blaze of oak logs.

      “I haven’t really a care in the world,” he said.

      The Sergeant’s reply, or comment, had a disconcerting ring. “And you’re sure of ‘Eaven? That’s what the bloke always says to the ‘angman.”

      “I’ve no intention of being a murderer, Sergeant.” Beaumaroy’s eyebrows were raised in gentle protest.

      “Once you’re in with a job, you never know,” his retainer observed darkly.

      Beaumaroy laughed. “Oh, go to the devil! and mix me another whisky.” Yet a vague uneasiness showed itself on his face; he looked across the room at the evil-shaped man handling the bottles in the cupboard. He made one queer, restless movement of his arms, as though to free himself. Then, in a moment, he sprang from his chair, a glad kindly smile illuminating his face; he bowed in a very courtly fashion, exclaiming, “Ah! here you are, sir? And all well, I hope?”

      Mr. Saffron had entered from the door leading to the Tower, carefully closing it after him. Hooper’s hand went up to his forehead in the ghost of a military salute, but a sneering smile persisted on his lips. The only notice Mr. Saffron took of him was a jerk of the head towards the passage, an abrupt and ungracious dismissal, which, however, the Sergeant silently accepted and stumped out. The greeting reserved for Beaumaroy was vastly different. Beaumaroy’s own cordiality was more than reciprocated. It seemed impossible to doubt that a genuine affection existed between the elder and the younger man, though the latter had not thought fit to mention the fact to Sergeant Hooper.

      “A tiring day, my dear Hector, very tiring. I’ve transacted a lot of business. But never mind that, it will keep. What of your doings?”

      Having sat the old man in the big chair by the fire, Beaumaroy sauntered across to the door of the Tower, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. Then he returned to the fire and, standing in front of it, gave a lively and detailed account of his visit to Old Place.

      “They appear to be pleasant people, very pleasant. I should like to know them, if it was not desirable for me to live an entirely secluded life.” Mr. Saffron’s speech was very distinct and clean cut, rather rapid, high in tone but not disagreeable. “You make pure fun of this Miss Wall, as you do of so many things, Hector, but—” he smiled up at Beaumaroy—“inquisitiveness is not our favorite sin just now!”

      “She’s so indiscriminately inquisitive that it’s a thousand to one against her really finding out anything of importance, sir.” Beaumaroy sometimes addressed his employer as “Mr. Saffron,” but much more commonly he used the respectful “sir.” “I think I’m equal to putting Miss Delia Wall off.”

      “Still she noticed our weekly journeys!”

      “Half Inkston goes to town every day, sir, and the rest three times, twice, or once a week. I called her particular attention to the bag, and told her it was for books from Mudie’s!”

      “Positive statements like that are a mistake.” Mr. Saffron spoke with a sudden sharpness, in pointed rebuke. “If I form a right idea of that woman, she’s quite capable of going to Mudie’s to ask about us.”

      “By Jove, you’re right, sir, and I was wrong. We’d better go and take out a subscription tomorrow; she’ll hardly go so far as to ask the date we started it.”

      “Yes, let that be done. And, remember, no unnecessary talk.” His tone grew milder, as though he were mollified by Beaumaroy’s ready submission to his reproof. “We have some places to call at to-morrow, have we?”

      “They said they’d have some useful addresses ready for us, sir. I’m afraid, though, that we’re exhausting the most obvious resources.”

      “Still, I hope for a few more good consignments. I suppose you remain confident that the Sergeant has no suspicions as regards that particular aspect of the matter?”

      “I’m sure of it, up to the present. Of course there might be an accident, but with him and Mrs. Wiles both off the premises at night, it’s hardly likely; and I never let the bag out of my sight while it’s in the room with them, hardly out of my hand.”

      “I should like to trust him, but it’s hardly fair to put such a strain on his loyalty.”

      “Much safer not, sir, as long as we’re not driven to it. After all though, I believe the fellow is out to redeem his character, his isn’t an unblemished record.”

      “But the work, the physical labor, entailed on you, Hector!”

      “Make yourself easy about that, sir. I’m as strong as a horse. The work’s good for me. Remember I’ve had four years’ service.”

      Mr. Saffron smiled pensively. “It would have been funny if we’d met over there! You and I!”

      “It would, sir,” laughed Beaumaroy. “But that could hardly have happened without some very curious accident.”

      The old man harked back. “Yes, a few more good consignments, and we can think in earnest of your start.” He was warming his hands, thin yellowish hands, at the fire now, and his gaze was directed into it. Looking down on him, Beaumaroy allowed a smile to appear on his lips, a queer smile, which seemed to be compounded of affection, pity, and amusement.

      “The difficulties СКАЧАТЬ