IV
“Good evening, Mr. Perrison. All well, and taking nourishment, so to speak?”
Archie Longworth lounged into the hall, almost colliding with the other man.
“You look pensive,” he continued, staring at him blandly. “Agitato, fortissimo. Has aught occurred to disturb your masterly composure?”
But Mr. Perrison was in no mood for fooling: a message he had just received over the telephone had very considerably disturbed his composure.
“Let me have a look at that paper,” he snapped, making a grab at it.
“Tush! Tush!” murmured Archie. “Manners, laddie, manners! You’ve forgotten that little word.”
And then at the far end of the hall he saw the girl, and caught his breath. For the last two days he had almost forgotten her in the stress of other things; now the bitterness of what had to come rose suddenly in his throat and choked him.
“There is the paper. Run away and play in a corner.”
Then he went forward to meet her with his usual lazy smile.
“What’s happened?” she cried, a little breathlessly.
“Heaps of things,” he said, gently. “Heaps of things. The principal one being that a very worthless sinner loves a very beautiful girl—as he never believed it could be given to man to love.” His voice broke and faltered: then he went on steadily. “And the next one—which is really even more important—is that the very beautiful girl will receive a letter in a long envelope by to-night’s mail. The address will be typed, the postmark Strand. I do not want the beautiful girl to open it except in my presence. You understand?”
“I understand,” she whispered, and her eyes were shining.
“Have you seen this?” Perrison’s voice—shaking with rage—made Longworth swing round.
“Seen what, dear lad?” he murmured, taking the paper. “Robbery in City—is that what you mean? Dear, dear—what dastardly outrages do go unpunished these days! Messrs. Smith and Co. Really! Watchman bound and gagged. Safe rifled. Work of a master hand. Still, though I quite understand your horror as a law-abiding citizen at such a thing, why this thusness? I mean—altruism is wonderful, laddie; but it seems to me that it’s jolly old Smith and Co. who are up the pole.”
He burbled on genially, serenely unconscious of the furious face of the other man.
“I’m trying to think where I’ve met you before, Mr. Longworth,” snarled Perrison.
“Never, surely,” murmured the other. “Those classic features, I feel sure, would have been indelibly printed on my mind. Perhaps in some mission, Mr. Perrison—some evangelical revival meeting. Who knows? And there, if I mistake not, is the mail.”
He glanced at the girl, and she was staring at him wonderingly. Just for one moment did he show her what she wanted to know—just for one moment did she give him back the answer which was to him the sweetest and at the same time the most bitter in the world. Then he crossed the hall and picked up the letters.
“A business one for you, Miss Daventry,” he murmured, mildly. “Better open it at once, and get our business expert’s advice. Mr. Perrison is a wonderful fellah for advice.”
With trembling fingers she opened the envelope, and, as he saw the contents, Perrison, with a snarl of ungovernable fury, made as if to snatch them out of her hand. The next moment he felt as if his arm was broken, and the blue eyes boring into his brain were no longer lazy.
“You forgot yourself, Mr. Perrison,” said Archie Longworth, gently. “Don’t do that again.”
“But I don’t understand,” cried the girl, bewildered. “What are these papers?”
“May I see?” Longworth held out his hand, and she gave them to him at once.
“They’re stolen.” Perrison’s face was livid. “Give them to me, curse you.”
“Control yourself, you horrible blighter,” said Longworth, icily. “This,” he continued, calmly, “would appear to be a receipt from Messrs. Gross and Sons for the return of a pearl-necklace—sent out to Mr. Daventry on approval.”
“But you said he’d bought it and pawned it.” She turned furiously on Perrison.
“So he did,” snarled that gentleman. “That’s a forgery.”
“Is it?” said Longworth. “That strikes me as being Johnson’s signature. Firm’s official paper. And—er—he has the necklace, I—er—assume.”
“Yes—he has the necklace. Stolen last night by—by——” His eyes were fixed venomously on Longworth.
“Go on,” murmured the other. “You’re being most entertaining.”
But a sudden change had come over Perrison’s face—a dawning recognition. “By God!” he muttered, “you’re—you’re——”
“Yes. I’m—who? It’ll come in time, laddie—if you give it a chance. And in the meantime we might examine these other papers. Now, this appears to my inexperienced eye to be a transaction entered into on the one part by Messrs. Smith and Co. and on the other by William Daventry. And it concerns filthy lucre. Dear, dear. Twenty-five per cent. per month. Three hundred per cent. Positive usury, Mr. Perrison. Don’t you agree with me? A rapacious bloodsucker is Mr. Smith.”
But the other man was not listening: full recollection had come to him, and with a cold look of triumph he put his hands into his pockets and laughed.
“Very pretty,” he remarked. “Very pretty indeed. And how, in your vernacular, do you propose to get away with the swag, Mr. Flash Pete? I rather think the police—whom I propose to call up on the ’phone in one minute—will be delighted to see such an old and elusive friend.”
He glanced at the girl, and laughed again at the look on her face.
“What’s he mean, Archie?” she cried, wildly. “What’s he mean?”
“I mean,” Perrison sneered, “that Mr. Archie Longworth is what is generally described as a swell crook with a reputation in certain unsavoury circles extending over two or three continents. And the police, whom I propose to ring up, will welcome him as a long-lost child.”
He walked towards the telephone, and with a little gasp of fear the girl turned to Archie.
“Say it’s not true, dear—say it’s not true.”
For a moment he looked at her with a whimsical smile; then he sat down on the high fender round the open fire.
“I think, Mr. Perrison,” he murmured, gently, “that if I were you I would not be too precipitate over ringing up the police. The engaging warrior who sent this letter to Miss Daventry put in yet one more enclosure.”
Perrison turned round: then he stood very still.
“A most peculiar document,” continued the man by the fire, in the same gentle voice, “which proves very conclusively that amongst their other activities Messrs. Smith and Co. are not only the receivers of stolen goods, but are mixed up with illicit diamond buying.”
In dead silence the two men stared at one another; then Longworth spoke again.
“I shall keep these three documents, Mr. Perrison, as a safeguard for your future good behaviour. Mr. Daventry can pay a certain fair sum or not as he likes—that is his business: and I shall make a point of explaining exactly to him who and what you are—and Smith—and Gross. But should you be disposed to make any trouble over the necklace—or should the idea get abroad that Flash Pete was responsible for the burglary last night—it will be most unfortunate for you—most. This document would interest Scotland Yard immensely.”
Perrison’s face had grown more and more livid as he listened, and when the quiet voice ceased, unmindful of the girl standing by, he began to curse foully and hideously. The next moment he cowered back, as two iron hands gripped his shoulders and shook him till his teeth rattled.
“Stop, you filthy swine,” snarled Longworth, “or I’ll break every bone in your body. Quite a number of men are blackguards, Perrison—but you’re a particularly creeping and repugnant specimen. Now—get out—and do it quickly. The nine-thirty will do you nicely. And don’t forget what I’ve just said: because, as there’s a God above, I mean it.”
“I’ll be even with you for this some day, Flash Pete,” said the other venomously over his shoulder. “And then——”
“And then,” said Longworth, contemptuously, “we will resume this discussion. Just now—get out.”