"Carrington, too," Jack muttered significantly; "that is your rich banker friend, Dick. The plot thickens apace. It seems impossible for anybody to come in contact with Anstruther and retain his respectability."
[CHAPTER XII.]
LOCKED IN!
Quite unconscious that his most dangerous enemies were so near, Anstruther carefully selected a cigarette and lighted it. He proceeded then to make a careful examination of the pile of posters at his feet, and smiled his approval. "Very good, very good indeed; those hands stand out beautifully. Within a week's time from now the message will have been carried from London to St. Petersburg and from Paris to Constantinople. The men I am after cannot get away from me. Whatever great capital they are in, that poster confronts their eyes like an avenging conscience. Then they realize their helplessness and bow to the inevitable. You may doubt me if you like; but I tell you that this scheme is absolutely sure and safe."
"Provided that we have the money to carry it out," the man behind the lantern grunted. "Don't forget that. Clever as you are, you can't make money by merely holding up your little finger. You promised us a thousand pounds when we had finished our part of the bargain, and that was completed a month ago. Of course, you have got the cash in your pocket?"
A frown of annoyance crossed Anstruther's face. There was a clenching of his hands not unlike that depicted by the poster of the mysterious Nostalgo; he made a half step forward; then he seemed to get himself in hand again, and smiled carelessly. "As a matter of fact, I have not the money in my pocket. Things are not going quite as well lately as I could have wished, but it is only a matter of a day or two anyway; nay, it is only a matter of hours. Is the woman here?"
The man behind the lantern sulkily declared that he knew nothing about the woman, and cared less. He asked pointedly whether they were to expect Mr. Carrington that evening, and, if so, whether his visit was likely to be attended with substantial results.
"I tell you I don't know," Anstruther said angrily. "I told him to be here at eleven o'clock, but I suppose he has funked it. But the woman is a very different matter. Jacob, go into the back room and bring her in here."
"Not I," the man addressed as Jacob replied. "I don't forget the last time we met. She may be milk and honey to you, but she is prussic acid as far as I am concerned."
Anstruther stepped to the doorway and whistled softly. It might have been a call given to a well-broken dog, so careless and contemptuous was it. Indeed, Anstruther did not wait to see the result of his summons, but returned to the room with the easy assurance of a man who knows that his lightest call will be obeyed.