"Suppose that a certain man is threatened by another—goes, in fact, in fear of his life from a madman; and suppose that it is not convenient for him to have that other arrested, or cautioned, or withheld from what he means to do by the law. In other words, he does not wish a certain fair lady's name to be dragged into the light of day, and things said about her. I have always been mighty sensitive on such matters," he added complacently.
"You have indeed!" broke in Fanshawe, with a grin.
"Suppose I suddenly say that I am tired of the whole business, and that I have made up my mind to go abroad, and to leave these people in peace and security," went on Olivant. "Suppose I decide to take the faithful Tinman with me; suppose I even go so far as to take tickets on a certain steamer for the faithful Tinman and myself, and to publish the fact abroad that I'm going. And then suppose, after that, that I never go at all."
"But why not?" I asked helplessly; for I did not see his drift.
"Dolt! Everybody is expecting that I have gone; everybody knows that I have gone; and our young friend Millard, who hasn't money enough to follow me, and who has no reason for following me as I've left the coast clear, is thrown off the scent. I slip away quietly from this place, after sending a mountain of luggage—or no luggage at all, if it pleases me; and I go to an obscure lodging where no one thinks of looking for me. And in due course, after the vessel has sailed on which I am supposed to be, our dear Fanshawe here—or our faithful Tinman—making careful inquiries, discovers the lady, and brings her to me. I'm abroad, and all suspicions are lulled; I am at home, and am playing out to a finish the game I started upon."
I saw the fiendish ingenuity of the thing at once. This man would publicly start off upon a voyage; his name would be entered upon the list of passengers; and he would quietly lie in hiding in London. The boy would feel that his vengeance had been snatched away from him; he would give up the battle in despair—only to learn too late the trick that had been played upon him. For my own part, I could do nothing; because to warn Arnold Millard of that trick would be but to put him more strongly and eagerly on the track of his enemy. I was powerless; Olivant and Fanshawe would play the game out to the end, and I should have to look on, a helpless spectator. There might be a faint chance that the girl would not be found by either of them; on the other hand, I had a shrewd suspicion that Fanshawe already knew where she was. I was certain in my own mind that he had smuggled her away from the house in which he lodged that very night; that explained his presence in Murray Olivant's rooms at the time I reached them with the boy.
"You'll come here to-morrow, Tinman," said Olivant, with a yawn, "and I'll give you money to get the tickets, and full instructions. Then I'll tell you where to engage a lodging for me, and under what name. I mean to play the game thoroughly, I assure you; not a living soul shall suspect who I am; no one shall know till long afterwards that I have not sailed for another country. It's a beautiful scheme; we'll work it out to-morrow."
It was getting well into the small hours when I came down the stairs at last, with Jervis Fanshawe at my heels. I could not trust myself then to speak to him; I held him in such loathing that I was afraid of what I might do. He spoke to me once as I walked away, but I paid no attention to him. I walked on and on doggedly, wondering bitterly what I should do, and realizing more every moment how helpless I was; seeing only that I was beating feeble hands against a wall that I could not break down.