There was a breathless silence, then the thick voice bade him good night, and he knew that the danger was past. The next moment the swing doors of the restaurant opened and shut. The Bearded One had disappeared.
For an endless five minutes Lessing forced himself to sit still, then he paid his account, put on his hat, and opening the door, stood on the outer step of the restaurant looking anxiously to right and to left. He had purposely left behind his coat, since in the event of finding the Bearded One still hanging about, he could then be able to assert that he was impatiently waiting for the arrival of more Brothers. The night was chill and there were but few pedestrians in the narrow street. Running his eye to right and left he could count a dozen in all, no one of whom bore any resemblance in figure or clothing to his late companion.
A better moment for escape could not be desired, and as if sent by Providence a taxi suddenly came into sight, and the chauffeur held up an inquiring hand. In another second Lessing was seated inside, and had given an address in Mayfair. He did not risk returning for his coat, a telephone message to the manager would possibly secure it from theft, if not the coat must go. This was not a moment for considering coats.
Lessing sat motionless on his seat until the taxi had covered a couple of miles westwards, when he touched the communicating cord and startled the chauffeur by an imperative order:
“Scotland Yard. And as quick as you can go!”
Throughout the years that followed Lessing remembered his interview with the Scotland Yard officials with a smarting indignation. To his excited senses the calmness, the stolidity, the insistent incredulity which greeted his story, were exasperating to the last degree. He discovered to his dismay that the first impression left on his hearers was that he himself was drunk, but the realisation forced him to a composure which won an eventual grudging attention. The officials reiterated that the scheme propounded was impracticable, but a minute description of the Bearded One, together with the signal of the spilling of salt, made an undoubted effect. It was known to the police that such a signal did indeed exist among certain societies, and its usage on the present occasion was of evident weight. Lessing was assured that immediate steps should be taken to ensure the safety of the oil tanks. He had the satisfaction of hearing telephonic messages dispatched to various police centres, giving instructions for largely increased guard. There was nothing more to be done. He had given the alarm; had held to his point until he had succeeded in securing immediate help. Sleep was impossible for him that night, but he would return to his rooms, pass the time with a book and a pipe, until the fateful hour had passed. He passed out into the street, and looked round for the taxi which he had instructed to wait. To his annoyance it was not to be seen, but after a momentary hesitation it occurred to him that there might be some rule forbidding vehicles to remain before the entrance, as in the crowded thoroughfares of the west, and that he might find the man waiting round one of the nearest turnings. He strode on therefore, but without success, till finally he decided to take the nearest cut which should lead him to a Tube station. The cut was represented by a narrow lane, lined on either side with small shops. Lessing walked sharply, looking neither to right nor left. The interview had left him nervously exhausted, and he shivered in the chill night air; he was irritated with the recalcitrant chauffeur, irritated with himself for failing to do the one sensible thing under the circumstances—turn back into the office, and telephone for another car. To walk through the streets in the vicinity of Scotland Yard, a noticeable figure without outer coat or wrapping, was the last thing in the world which he should have done on such an occasion.
But it was too late to turn back. A few more minutes would take him to the Tube station, or better still to a thoroughfare where he could pick up another car.
By this time Lessing had reached the end of the cross-road, at which was situated an eating-house of a rough and unsavoury appearance. As he approached the door it opened, and a group of men streamed into the street, talking together in some eager unintelligible patois, at the sound of which a shiver of impending danger shot through Lessing’s veins. Instinctively he averted his head, and quickened his pace, but instinct was a true prophet, it projected the coming event upon his brain, so that he knew what was before him, before the dark, bearded face glared into his, and the thick voice hissed the eloquent word into his ear:
“Traitor!”
Lessing did not stop to think. He was one to six, and escape was the necessity of the moment. He took to his heels, ran at full speed until the narrow lane was left behind, and the lights of Trafalgar Square shone around him, when following his first impulse he leaped into a taxi, and told the man to drive to Oxford Circus.