"Serve you damn well right," said Doran in a voice that was startlingly near.
Harrison Smith's luck had returned. He found the door and passed through it and down the hall as quietly as a draught. He heard a click as Doran switched up the lights, followed by an oath. Then he streaked down the main stairway with a flight and a half start. A second was lost at the hall door fumbling for the latch and in that second Doran fired again but missed. As Harrison Smith shot out into Albemarle Street he collided heavily with a constable, attracted to the scene by the noise of the shots, but him he overturned to such good effect that he was crossing Piccadilly before the blast of the inevitable whistle screeched through the night. There was no further opposition to his progress and in St. James's Street he fell into a walk and finally entered his own apartment unobserved.
A little breathless but entirely satisfied he flung himself on the bed for a couple of hours' sleep.
CHAPTER 21.
THE CORNISH RIVIERA.
In the summer time all the best people, and many who fall short of perfection, go westward to the Cornish Riviera. It is the thing to do. The taxi, the station 'bus, the private automobile, and even the almost extinct four-wheeler, high laden with luggage, by common consent roll down the slope into Paddington and deliver up their cargoes. Long are the queues at the booking offices, thronged the platforms, and loud the voices of those who command. Each little party of voyagers would seem to have its own alarums as an inevitable adjunct to excursion. The genius for organising is manifest on all sides with resultant chaos. Orders and injunctions are flung broadcast—misinterpreted and sometimes abused. The germ of panic infects the multitude.
There was nothing Freddie Dirk liked better than a holiday crowd. They inspired in him a sense of profound gratitude. Their generosity was boundless. To a gentleman of his skill in the matter of property exchange they represented a fortune. Whatsoever the imagination might picture and the heart of man covet could be had at the mere turn of a hand.
His appointment with Harrison Smith was for 9.50, but Freddie Dirk arrived half an hour ahead of time and this grace he put to excellent account. He had learnt from Bolt that Cornwall was their destination, wherefore his first care was to procure two first-class tickets for Plymouth from the cuff of a gentleman's raincoat—a feat in strict accordance with the laws of economy. The high cost of living had of late reduced his supply of ready cash, on which account he could hardly be blamed for taking possession of a wad of notes carelessly entrusted to a side pocket by another passenger who was seeking to economise by carrying his own bag. Being an essentially practical man Freddie Dirk resisted the temptation to acquire a suitcase in crocodile by Pound. Reticence in the matter did him credit and he rewarded himself with a single stone diamond scarf pin that greatly enhanced the appearance of his own cravat. He was debating with himself the question of a string of pearls of no very great value when Harrison Smith's hand fell upon his shoulder.
"That's a blame silly thing to do," said Dirk when he had recovered from his initial surprise. "Blame silly. Might 'ave a bit more respec' for a man's nerves."
Harrison Smith cursed him fluently as he led the way to a Ford car standing in the yard.