"My good man, it is quite refreshing to hear any one talk as you do," he said. "You really appear to be in earnest, and under other circumstances I might almost be prepared to listen to you. But the prize is too good to be lost, whether I get the money or stick to the lady. Personally, I believe that Olivant may be squeezed, and may decide that it is best for him to pay; but in any case I score. No, friend Tinman, this is not a game with which you are concerned. Mind your own business, and leave these things to your betters. And as it seems that Fanshawe is not coming, I think I'll return to the lady."
"And if I follow you?" I exclaimed, maddened at the thought that he set me aside so lightly. "What then?"
He struck a match, and relit his cigar; looking at me over the smoke of it, he laughed, and shook his head. "You're really very simple, Tinman," he said. "I don't believe for a moment that you really take so deep an interest in the lady and her lover; I am inclined to believe that you are a spy from the camp of Mr. Murray Olivant. If you have the audacity to follow me, I shall do one of two things: I shall either go in a wrong direction, at some inconvenience to myself; or I shall call the attention of the first constable I meet to you, and inform him that you have been begging from me, and threatening me. You look shabby, Tinman, and you have a bad record behind you, I understand. For your own sake you'd better stay here."
At that time I had no very great faith in the powers of Moggs; however eager she might be to throw herself into the business, I felt that in all probability this astute man of the world would prove more than a match for her. It was with something very like despair in my heart that I saw him saunter out of the room. I ventured to the door the moment after he had left the room, and opened it cautiously; he was going down the stairs, and he stopped for a moment to look back at me.
"You can tell Fanshawe that it doesn't matter, after all; I'm not particularly anxious to see him. And if you want the lady, Tinman—well—your master Murray Olivant knows how to get her. Good-night to you!"
I saw nothing of Moggs; I went back into the room, and shut the door. It seemed at that time as though all I had striven to do and all I had hoped for had been brought to naught; I stood helpless in this poor shabby room, staring about me, and wondering what I should do. What power did I possess—poor broken outcast, without even a name, and assisted only by a little drab of the streets; what could we do against such men as Olivant? I recognized, now that it was too late, that I ought to have played a different game; that I should have matched cunning with cunning, and devilry with devilry; I had been too blunt and outspoken. And then my thoughts flew back to the boy, waiting doggedly outside the rooms of the man who had set out to ruin him and the girl he loved; and I saw the Fate that had dogged and destroyed me marching grimly on over me, and striking down young Arnold Millard. I had no power to stay his hand; nor was there any power behind such threats as I might use to Olivant and the others.
I was like a man who stands in the dark, with three or four roads stretching out from the point at which he is, and uncertain in his own mind which to take. I had thoughts of going to my Barbara, and making her understand more completely even than she understood yet the peril in which her child stood; but, on the other hand, I knew that to do that would be useless while the girl was still lost to us. Then I thought of sending to Lucas Savell; but remembered what manner of man he was, and how utterly useless he would be in a crisis. It seemed monstrous that I should stand here, helpless, in the midst of a great city—unable to do anything; but I had to remember, bitterly enough, that I was a man with the brand of Cain upon me, and a long prison record behind me; more than that, I was known in London and elsewhere as living under another name. It was all a horrible tangle, from which it seemed impossible that we should ever escape.
I heard a step upon the stairs—too heavy to be that of Moggs; it was a jaded weary step, and it stopped outside the door. I went to the door, and opened it; outside a man stood, and as he thrust me aside and came in I saw that it was Jervis Fanshawe. He threw down a small untidy bundle on to the bed, and tossed his hat after it, and sank into a chair.
"Give me something to drink," he said hoarsely.
I found something, and gave it to him; he drank it greedily, looking at me as he did so with a curious expression in his eyes. Once he made up his mind to speak; but he stopped, even as he opened his lips, and half rose in his chair, staring hard at the door. He did not look at me; his voice was a mere shaking whisper.