CHAPTER XII
We must have got home together. I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder, like the touch of a redhot iron, and my assailant staggered back five yards and fetched up against the wall with a bang that echoed across the street. As he did so, there was a clatter of footsteps, and down the pavement came the figure of a man, sprinting towards us with silent but business-like rapidity.
The gentleman who had disturbed me did not wait for further developments. He must have been a tough soul, for, despite his collision with the wall, he set off like a hare, twisting away round the corner to the left, and disappearing from sight before the newcomer could reach us.
Directly the latter came under the full glare of the nearest electric lamp, I saw it was Billy. I gave a whoop of joy, which pulled him up short in his tempestuous career.
"Burton!" he cried. "Gad! I might have known it." Then he burst out laughing. "Where's the other chap?" he demanded. "Have you eaten him?"
"No, Billy," I said. "He's gone—vamoosed. He didn't like the look of you." Then a sharp pain flickered through my shoulder. "I believe he's punctured me, though," I added ruefully.
In a moment Billy was by my side. "Bad?" he demanded sharply. "Can you wait while I fetch him back?"
I laughed and shook my head. "I don't want him, Billy," I said; "thanks all the same. Give us an arm and let's get back to the house. It's all right—I'm not booked this journey."
"Not by a long way," cried Billy stoutly. "It would take a pickaxe to kill you. Come along, and we'll have a squint at it."
I could feel the blood running rather freely down my arm, so, without wasting any more time, I accepted the support he offered, and we toddled up the pavement as far as my gate. I was still holding the latch-key in my hand, but there was no need of it, for the front door was wide open.
"Hullo, Billy," I said; "have you been entertaining in my absence?"
"I'll tell you all about it in a minute," he replied. "Damages first, though. You may have got it worse than you think."
"It feels messy," I admitted. "Shut the door and let's go up to the study."
What Billy doesn't know about knife-wounds may be justly regarded as superfluous information. He quickly but carefully relieved me of my dress-clothes, and then, slitting up the rest with a pair of scissors, brought the injured portion of my anatomy to light. It consisted of an ugly-looking cut just on the outside of my arm, from which the blood was slowly welling in kind of languid spurts. A brief examination, however, removed the frown from his brow.
"It's nothing," he said; "only a small vein. I'll dodge that up in no time."
"Don't speak in such a disappointed way, Billy," I retorted. "I'm quite satisfied."
He grinned, and, taking out his handkerchief, tied it tightly round my arm. Then, going into the bedroom, he emerged a moment later with a basin of warm water, a clean towel, and a bottle of listerine.
"You seem to know your way about," I observed.
"I ought to," he answered. "I've been waiting here for you the last three hours. Now look out for squalls—I may hurt you a bit."
Ten minutes later, bandaged up in the best professional style, I was lying languidly on the sofa, while Billy mixed a couple of brandies-and-sodas to relieve our respective fatigue.
"You're in the chair," I said, accepting the drink which he handed across. "Get your yarn off first and then I'll talk."
Billy shrugged his shoulders. "My bit won't take long," he said. "I only got your note at nine o'clock to-night. Those Maxwell people sent for me to come up to Liverpool, and when I got there, they kept me hanging about for twenty-four hours, and then refused to give me the job."
"I hope you remonstrated," I said gently.
Billy smiled. "Old Maxwell knows my opinion of him—if that's any comfort. Anyhow, I got back to London feeling a bit sick and wishing I'd fixed up with you, and there was your blessed note sitting in the glass. I jumped into a cab and came round here at once. The girl who let me in said you were at some party or something, and that I was to wait and sleep here. Well, I waited till a quarter to twelve, and then I rang for her and asked her whether you were making a night of it. She said she didn't know, and she looked so infernally sleepy that I told her she'd better go to bed, and that I'd sit up for you. She hummed and hawed a bit, and said she had something important to tell you. 'Well, whatever it is,' I said 'it will keep till the morning'; and finally she went off and left me here with the brandy. I stuck it till about one o'clock—then I got rather fed up and went down to the front door for a breath of air. I'd only been there about two minutes when I suddenly saw a kind of dog-fight going on, and, knowing your warlike nature, I guessed it was probably you. So I jogged along to see what was up, and—and here we are."
"And here we are, Billy," I echoed, "and here's your very good health."
We drank to each other in silence, and then Billy put down his glass.
"And now," he said, "perhaps you'll be kind enough to explain. Last time I saw you, you were broke to the wide, and just setting off to the States. Now I find you living in Park Lane like a giddy millionaire, and calling yourself Stuart Northcote. What's it mean, you old ruffian?"
I finished my brandy-and-soda and settled myself comfortably back amongst the cushions. "I will tell you what it means," I said; "but you're not to interrupt me till I've done."
Then slowly, carefully, and, I think, without leaving out any important detail, I described to him everything which had taken place since we parted in Leicester Square. Billy sat and listened in silence, his head resting on his hand and his eyes fixed on mine. It was not until I had finished that he ventured on his one embracive criticism.
"Well, I'm hanged," he remarked.
He rose from his chair, and with his hands in his pockets paced two or three times up and down the room. Finally he broke into a long, low, delighted chuckle.
"Lord!" he said; "it's colossal!"
"I thought you would be pleased," I replied contentedly.
"Pleased!" He stopped his perambulation. "It's the most gorgeous thing I've ever struck in my life. You were always a nailer at finding trouble, but this beats the band."
"And you'll come and see me through, Billy?"
He brought his fist down with a bang on the table.
"I'm with you, my son," he said, "to your last half-penny."
There was a short pause, while Billy, overcome with the magnificence of his emotions, again attacked the brandy.
"Now let me see if I've got it right," he began, resuming his progress up and down the room. "You think that Maurice what's-his-name—this cousin of yours—is in with the gang that are trying to put you through it?"
"Well, it was by his advice I engaged Francis," I pointed out.
"And I'm to come down with you to-morrow and put up at the nearest pub—eh?"
"That's right," I said. "You see, I'm not much afraid of anything happening to me in the house. However much of a scoundrel Maurice may be, he's not the sort to run his neck into a noose if he can help it. My own idea is that some of these gentle Dagoes who have been making things so lively up here will probably follow me down and try to arrange a convenient accident. Maurice was talking a lot about the excellence of the shooting."
"I see," said Billy thoughtfully. "And that's where I shall come in."
"Precisely. Between us we ought to be able to scent any trouble that's hanging around. I've got my mark pretty plainly on one of the beauties already."
"I wish we knew who you were," remarked Billy, after pondering over the situation for a moment. "It would simplify matters so—wouldn't it? It must be something to do with San Luca. Let's get out a map and have a squint at the hole."
"Yes, Billy," I said, "and hunt up a place called Culebra. I'm the 'Satyr of Culebra,' according to Mercia, and I should like to know exactly where my happy home is."
Billy searched through the bookshelves, and lugged out a big atlas and Gazetteer. "Here we are!" he said, turning up the index. "Culebra 1035, 85-38. Great Scott! It's in Costa Rica."
"That doesn't help us much," I observed.
"The funny thing is," said Billy, "that I'm sure I've heard the phrase somewhere—'the Satyr of Culebra.'"
"Perhaps they breed them there," I suggested. "It sounds a likely place."
"And here's San Luca," he went on, turning back to a map of South America. "Let's see what they say about it. 'An inland republic, bordered by Brazil and the Argentine. Population, 300,000, including Indians—composed of a few negroes, and whites of Spanish and mixed descent.'"
"That's M. Guarez all right," I commented.
"'President,'" he read out, "'General Silveira de Selis, succeeded the late Ignace Prado, who had defeated and murdered the first President, Manuel Solano.'"
"What!" I almost shouted. "By Gad! that settles it! Mercia Solano must be his daughter, and there's no doubt that my bright double must have been one of Ignace's blackguards. No wonder the poor girl wanted to shove a bullet into me!"
Billy laughed. "It does look rather like it. All the same, she must be a pretty venomous damsel, I should think."
"She's a darling, Billy," I said firmly. "And I won't hear a word against her. I like a girl with plenty of spirit."
"You've got one," retorted Billy grimly. "You'll make a pretty pair between you." Then he got up and looked at his watch. "You ought to turn in now, Jack," he added, "if we're going to start at half-past ten. That jab of yours will be all right in the morning, but you've lost a bit of blood, and you'll want some sleep—tough as you are."
"You're right, Doctor," I said reluctantly, for, strenuous as my evening had been, I didn't feel in the least like bed. "We'll continue these interesting speculations to-morrow on our way down."
"By the way," said Billy, "what about my traps?"
"Oh, that's all right," I answered, getting up carefully from the sofa. "We'll stop the car somewhere and buy you a bag and a toothbrush. Money doesn't count these days."
"Good," said Billy. "I want a new outfit badly."
I showed him his room first, and then, coming into mine he helped me to finish undressing without disturbing the bandage. Beyond locking both doors, I took no further precautions. I felt that even M. Guarez and his friends must have an occasional evening off, and that after my little dust-up outside I might reckon on a few peaceful hours.
My hope proved to be well founded. I slept right through the remainder of the night without interruption, and was only awakened next morning by the tapping of the pretty housemaid at my door.
As before, I jumped out of bed and let her in. I remembered, of course, what Billy had said on the previous evening about her having something important to tell me, but my first glimpse of her expression would have made this fact quite plain to me.
"Well," I said, bracing myself up, "what is it now?"
She put down the tea beside my bed. "If you please, sir," she said, "do you know what's happened to Mr. Milford?"
I stared at her in amazement. "Bless my soul!" I ejaculated, "you don't mean to say that he's in trouble again?"
"He went away last night, sir, soon after you left the house, and he's never come back."
I digested this startling information in silence.
"Went away!" I repeated at last. "How did he go away? He was much too seedy to walk, surely?"
She shook her head. "I don't know about that, sir. A boy brought a note for him, and he went away at once in a cab—a taxi-cab, sir."
I began to laugh. I really couldn't help it. "Well," I said, "Mr. Milford about takes the biscuit."
The pretty housemaid looked at me in a rather startled fashion. "Perhaps he's funny in his head, sir. Cook and me thought that perhaps he didn't rightly know what he was doing. He seemed very queer, sir."
I nodded. "I shouldn't wonder if you've hit it," I said.
As a matter of fact, her theory didn't strike me as being at all a probable one, but for the moment I could think of nothing else to say.
"You might ask Mr. Logan to come in," I added, as she prepared to withdraw. "We'll see about Milford as soon as I get up."
A moment later Billy came in, blinking, in his pyjamas.
"This is a nice game, Billy," I said. "We've lost Milford now." Then I proceeded to tell him what I had just learned.
The comic side seemed to strike him as forcibly as it did me. Anyhow, he sat down on the bed and grinned at me cheerfully.
"There's no monotony about this job," he observed; "that's one thing to be said in its favour. What on earth can have happened to the chap?"
I shook my head. "Goodness knows," I said, "unless he's been decoyed away and spifflicated by the gentle Guarez. I should hardly have thought he'd have been such an ass, though."
"I suppose he isn't one of the gang?" suggested Billy hopefully.
"No," I said. "I feel pretty sure Milford's straight. Why did they try to poison him, otherwise, and why should he have waltzed in and lent me a hand the other night? I'm rather worried about it, Billy."
"Yes," said Billy. "It's awkward. What are you going to do?"
"I don't know," I said, getting out of bed. "I can't put the police on. We must wait and see—that's all."
"And, meanwhile," observed Billy, "let's have a look at that arm of yours."
He took off the bandage, and inspected the fruits of my last night's adventure with an approving eye.
"First chop," he pronounced. "Healed up as clean as a whistle. That's the result of having led a decent and moral life. I think we'll keep the bandage on to-day, however, just to make certain."
"Well, you can put it on again after I've had my bath," I said. "By the way, can you drive a car?"
Billy nodded. "I've done a lot of it. Buenos Ayres reeks with 'em at present."
"You can drive me down to-day, then," I remarked. "I'm not a professor at the best of times, and with this arm on me I'd rather be excused."
"You leave it to me," said Billy confidently.
We each of us had a bath, after which Billy did up my arm, and I returned his kindness by lending him some shaving tackle. The cook's emotion at Milford's disappearance did not prevent her from sending up another excellent breakfast, to which we did ample justice, Billy being vastly impressed at the luxurious scale on which I lived.
It was then ten o'clock. The car was ordered for ten-thirty, so, lighting a pipe, I took advantage of the remaining time to go downstairs and interview what was left of my domestic staff. I was beginning to fear that, in view of their recent experiences, both the cook and the housemaid would be giving me notice, or clearing out while I was away, and this was a tragedy I was determined to prevent if possible.
I found them in the kitchen, and, knowing that a rapid attack is the best weapon of defence, I promptly opened fire.
"This is a dreadful nuisance about Milford," I said. "There's no doubt the poor fellow must have been queer in his head. I shall have inquiries made this morning, and I expect that we shall find him all right, but, meanwhile, I'm wondering what to do for the best. After our last experience, I don't want to get in a new man without the most careful inquiry. Do you two feel equal to looking after the house for me until I come back? It's rather a large order, I know, so I intend to give you double wages, if you consider that arrangement satisfactory."
My sporting offer proved successful. Both women at once expressed their readiness and ability to wrestle with the problem, the cook going so far as to observe, with respectful enthusiasm, that she would do more than that to oblige a gentleman like myself.
They were obviously thirsting to discuss Milford's disappearance, but, under cover of finishing my packing, I escaped upstairs again to the hall. There I found Billy admiring the marble pillars.
"This little hut must have cost a bit," he said critically. "I wonder what Northcote's income is."
"Well, it's four hundred pounds a year less than it was," I said, patting my belt with some satisfaction. "Come along up and help me strap my bags."
We had just finished our preparations when I heard the car roll up to the door, and looking out of the window, I saw the faithful Simpson preparing to dismount.
"He will bring them out, Billy," I said. "Don't you worry."
Going downstairs, I gave instructions to this effect, and while my belongings were being placed in the car routed out a couple of Northcote's best coats—one for Billy and one for myself.
"How's the car going, Simpson?" I asked, as the chauffeur, having secured my luggage, opened the door with a respectful salute.
"Very sweetly, sir," was his comforting reply. "I ran through 'er last night, and I don't think you'll have no trouble. The petrol's in at the back, sir."
"Mr. Logan's steering her," I said. "I've hurt my arm."
Billy, who had climbed into the driving-seat, made a brief inspection of the levers, asked one or two questions, and then, starting on the switch and sliding in his clutch, set her moving gently down the street.
"Thank goodness we're off," I said, with a little sigh of relief. "I'm just about fed up with Park Lane, Billy."
He smiled, and, cutting neatly across the bows of an on-rushing motor-bus, swept us away down Knightsbridge before the indignant driver of the latter could recall a single adequate word.
"This is the wrong way, isn't it?" he inquired. "What's the programme?"
"I must send a wire to Maurice first," I said; "then we must pick up some traps for you. What about Harrod's?"
"Oh, Harrod's will do," said Billy. "I'm not proud."
He twisted the Napier off to the left down Brompton Road, and pulled up outside the big shop. As we entered through the swinging doors I handed him a bundle of notes.
"Get what you want, Billy," I said, "and shove it in the car. I'll send off the wire."
My message to Maurice, composed after some little deliberation, took the following shape:—
"Don't trouble to meet train. Am motoring down. Arrive dinner.—NORTHCOTE."
Having sent this off, I purchased a good map of Essex and Suffolk at a neighbouring counter, and then set off to find Billy.
I discovered him in the shirt department, laying in an impressive stock of under-clothes, which a sombre assistant was packing away into a large new Gladstone bag.
"Found what you wanted?" I inquired.
Billy nodded. "They're doing their best," he said kindly. "Not quite my usual style, but good enough for the country."
The assistant's face was a study, but we had no time to waste in appreciating it, for there were still various trifles needed, such as a sponge and a tooth-brush, to complete the bag. Having secured these, we returned to the car, and deposited the Gladstone with the rest of the luggage.
Climbing in, Billy took the wheel, and I spread out the map on my knee.
"Right away," I said. "Bank first; and then slap down through the East End."
And, with a triumphant toot, we slid off upon our journey.