Читать книгу The Master Spy - Arthur Gask - Страница 4

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DR. SMITH had a suite of professional Chambers in the huge block of buildings known as Moon Buildings, upon Finsbury Pavement, and according to a notice, among some many scores of others, upon the wall of the vestibule, his speciality was 'Diseases of the Skin.'

If you had looked in the Medical Directory you would have seen that his Christian names were Raymond Colin, that he was a Doctor of Medicine of Edinburgh University, and that he had taken his degree in 1884. So you would naturally have assumed that he must be an old man, well over seventy, and therefore of considerable experience in his profession.

But it happens you would have been quite mistaken, for this particular specialist in diseases of the skin had, indeed, never seen the inside of a hospital, except once, when, as a small boy he had had his leg broken in a street accident in Leeds; and again, too, seventy years previously, his mother had not as yet been born.

He was, however, practising with the diploma of a Dr. Raymond Colin Smith who had died some seven years before, in what had at one time been known as German East Africa, and as the defunct doctor had had no relatives to mourn his loss, and no one interested in his private affairs, and as, moreover, his handwriting had been easy to imitate, news of his decease had not reached the Registrar of the General Medical Council in London.

Still, if he had had no proper medical training and no qualified experience in his adopted profession, this pseudo Dr. Smith must, nevertheless, have been something of a clever fellow, for with the knowledge acquired from the study of half-a-dozen or so of old and musty-looking volumes upon a shelf in his consulting-room, he had undoubtedly relieved the troubles of not a few bad skin sufferers.

One of the lift-men in the building, for instance, thought the world of him, for had he not cured this lift-man's wife of a form of weeping eczema, when two other practitioners had been able to do nothing for her?

In consequence, this grateful husband had recommended several patients, and would have recommended many more had not the doctor been so high in his charges. Indeed, it almost seemed as if Dr. Smith were desirous of choking off patients by charging them so much, and, further still, the very irregular nature of his attendances at his consulting-room drove a lot of people away, for upon very many mornings would-be patients, after waiting an hour and longer for him to put in an appearance and there being no sign of him, had gone off grumblingly to obtain the services of someone else.

The doctor employed no nurse or female attendant, but upon those days when he did consult at his chambers, he was always preceded by a man by name of Jasper, who used to open the windows and air the rooms, and later in the day this same man would return to do the tidying up when Dr. Smith had gone.

Even by sight Dr. Smith was known to very few of the other tenants, for his rooms being upon the first floor he seldom used the lift and, as there was a second entrance into the building from Fore street, the chances of anyone encountering him were diminished by half. His comings and goings, therefore, would at all times have been difficult to follow, especially as the fourth room of his suite of chambers had a second door opening into a different passage round the corner, thus enabling him to leave unseen, even when, it might be, a would-be patient was actually knocking upon his waiting room door.

His consulting-room was very plainly furnished with a shabby, faded carpet covering the floor. It contained a desk, three chairs, an old surgical couch, a microscope upon a small table, some dirty test-tubes in a stand, the few books we have mentioned, and a dusty pile of out-of-date medical journals in a corner.

The doctor himself certainly did appear to be an old man, well up in years, for he stooped a lot and was most slow and deliberate in all his movements. He had long, grey hair and a grey beard that hid from view any collar he might be wearing. He had big bushy eyebrows and wore large, broad-rimmed, dark glasses.

When a patient was consulting him he spoke in tones hardly above a whisper. Then he looked very grave and solemn, nodded many times, and always had recourse to a huge magnifying glass when he was examining any spots or rashes. He hummed and hawed a lot in his diagnosis, and was never inclined to give a very decided opinion. He asked everyone if there was any consumption in their family, and indeed seemed always to suggest that the ancestors of all who came to him must have been suffering from unpleasant and unpopular diseases. His one unvarying prescription was for a paste of vaseline and oxide of zinc, and he always advised every patient that fine oatmeal should be used for washing with, instead of soap. He whispered, too, the injunction to drink plenty of water and avoid greasy foods. He never encouraged anyone to come again.

In addition to the consulting room, three other rooms comprised the suite; a waiting room that contained a table and half a dozen chairs; a small room with a sofa, a cupboard and a large safe let into the wall; and finally, there was a much smaller room, with a gas stove, a few cooking utensils, and some plates and cups and saucers. It was this last room that had the second door opening into the other passage.

His man, Jasper, was about forty years of age, and was always dressed quietly like a gentleman's servant. He was cold and reserved in manner, but for all that, upon occasions was not averse to stopping for a little chat with the lift-man.

"The only thing regular about your governor," said the latter one day, "is the time he goes out for his lunch. One o'clock to the tick and he's always ready for his feed. Where does he live? Is it far from here?"

"He's got a flat in Fitzroy Square," replied the servant, "and I look after him. He's no trouble, for all he does is to read and write."

"Well, he certainly doesn't bother much about the practice here," remarked the lift-man, and then he added curiously, "but he gets a lot of letters. Do you know who they're from?"

"Mostly from other doctors," replied the servant. "They write to him for advice from all parts of the world. He's got a great reputation."

One morning when Dr. Smith was consulting with an elderly woman who had come to him about a rash upon her legs, he heard the bell of the waiting-room buzz, and, as per invitation inscribed upon the door, the footsteps of someone who had opened it and let himself in. The doctor's eyes glinted as if he had recognised the footsteps, or as if a caller whom he had been expecting had arrived, and with the hurried writing of the prescription for the usual zinc oxide and vaseline, and the stereotyped injunctions to use oatmeal instead of soap, and drink plenty of water, he cut short the consultation and dismissed the woman.

Then, taking a small automatic pistol from one of the drawers in his desk, and fitting a silencer on to it, he thrust it in the right hand pocket of his coat. Then, after a careful but hurried scrutiny of his face and hair in a small mirror, which he produced from another drawer, he composed his features to their usual calm, and opening the communicating door between the consulting and waiting rooms, invited the new arrival to step in.

"Good morning, Mr. Leaver," he said in the low whispering tones he always used. "I've been hoping you would come, for several days," and closing the door behind him, he beckoned to his visitor to take a seat.

The man he had ushered in was quite young, and could not have been more than six or seven and twenty. He was smartly dressed, and held himself confidently. He had a good-looking and intelligent face, marred somewhat, however, by a hard and bitter expression. His eyes and chin spoke of courage and determination. Of quite a superior type, he was an old Charterhouse boy who had once followed the profession of a chartered accountant. Three years previously, however, he had been sentenced to eighteen months' imprisonment for embezzlement. He had known Dr. Smith for about a year. He looked at him now with a lazy smile, as if for some reason he were rather amused.

"Well, any news?" asked the doctor eagerly.

The young man nodded. "Yes. I've had some luck this time. I've located one of the men who's working there. His home's in Manor Park."

"Splendid," ejaculated the doctor, looking very pleased. "Then you picked him up in the way I suggested?"

"Yes, and I was fortunate, for he came from the third firm I tapped," was the reply. "He was head blower in Wilkinson's Glass Works in Spitalfield, and he took himself off at a moment's notice last March. I palled up to one of their men as he was leaving work one night, and pretended I wanted to know where a chap called Irons lived, who had once been one of the foremen there. Of course the man swore I was mistaken, and over a couple of pints, ran over all the men in good positions who had left the firm this year. There were three of them who had suddenly given notice, and no one knew what for."

Dr. Smith clicked his tongue triumphantly. "Exactly what I thought had happened. The Government would, of course, engage the very best!"

Leaver continued. "This man only remembered where one of them lived, however, and he was deuced hazy about that, only thinking it was somewhere in Manor Park. This chap, he said, was a Tom Skelton and he used to come to work on a motor bike. That helped me a lot, for I began a round of all the garages in Manor Park and soon found one that used to supply this Tom with petrol. That's how I came to get the exact address."

"But how did you find out he is now working on Foulness Island?" asked the doctor sharply.

"I suspected it at once," replied Leaver, "and now, after three days' enquiry in his neighborhood, am quite sure. He's got a wife and two children, but only comes home to them once a month and then, each time, for five days. No letters come to the house through the post when he's away, but his wife writes plenty, for she's always borrowing stamps from the neighbors." He nodded. "In passing, my idea is she goes and calls for letters somewhere. Well, she tells everyone her husband is working in Birmingham, but when asked where, she always says she can't remember the name of the firm."

"Go on," said the doctor, because Leaver had stopped speaking to take out and light a cigarette.

"Then according to all reports," went on Leaver, "this Skelton's altered a lot in his ways and, when he meets his friends now, won't talk about his job. He avoids them as much as he can, too, and never goes to the local pub. Again, he's taken to living in a much better style of late, as if he were getting a considerably higher wage. He's bought an expensive sidecar outfit and both he and his wife have got leather motoring coats. He looks bronzed and sunburnt, too, when he comes home, as if he'd been getting plenty of fresh air. Also——"

"But all this is no evidence," interrupted the doctor testily, "to link him up with working on Foulness Island."

"Yesterday afternoon I saw his wife go out with the two children," went on Leaver, as if he had not heard the interruption, "and, knowing the house to be empty, waited an opportunity until no one was passing in the street, and then slipped round into the backyard. I got into the house through the scullery window. I found it very nicely furnished, but all with new stuff, and there was an expensive wireless in the parlor. Then making a hurried search everywhere, I came upon a letter in the tea-caddy from this Tom Skelton to his wife, dated only two days ago, and I made an exact copy." He nodded triumphantly as he took out his pocket-book, "Now you just listen."

He searched for a few moments and then extracting a small piece of paper, proceeded to read out:—

"Tuesday evening, September 3rd. 1937.

"Dear Martha—

"I am always glad to get your letters and know the kids are well. I am all right, too. I don't write more often, because there is no news to tell. As I expected I shall be coming home again on Friday, the sixth, for the usual five days. I don't know the exact time, of course, but expect it will be pretty late as usual. I shall try and bring some more cockles, but I have learnt the tip is to soak them in salt water to make them throw out that sand.—

"Your loving husband,

"Tom."

He leant back in his chair. "Now what could be more conclusive than that. First—he gives no address and the omission is undoubtedly intentional, for he is a methodical man, as is shown by his not only mentioning the day on which he is writing, but also adding the date as well, 'Tuesday evening, September 3rd.' Then, second—the Essex coast right round from Leigh-on-Sea up to Clacton is noted for its cockles and they are horribly sandy little beasts to eat. Yet a third thing—he writes about the cockles 'throwing out the sand,' and that can only mean that they will be still alive when he brings them to Manor Park, which, of course, shows that they will have been gathered that same day." He laughed. "Who ever heard of cockles coming from anywhere near Birmingham."

Dr. Smith considered for a few moments and then nodded approvingly.

"Yes, I think you've scored a bullseye this time, for there is undoubtedly mystery about that letter, and it fits in with exactly what we should have expected he would write, if he were on secret work on Foulness Island. Naturally, of course, he would have been forbidden to put any address." He nodded again. "Yes, I believe as you do that we shall find he's one of the men we have been looking for, and the thing is now to determine what we must do next."

A short silence followed and then with a deep sigh, as if of regret, he made an almost imperceptible shrug with his shoulders and asked Leaver to open the window.

"We shall have to put up with the noise of the traffic," he said, "but the room is stuffy and I feel rather faint." Then, when the young man had complied with his request, he leant back in his chair and regarded him very intently. Several times he opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but then each time he stopped himself and stared on.

Leaver was now leaning back too. He had again that half smile upon his face, as he blew ring after ring of smoke into the air. All along his manner towards the doctor had been rather casual, and it seemed as if, having made his report, he did not intend to exert himself to continue the conversation. The sounds of the traffic in the street below came up noisily into the room.

At last the doctor spoke again, and he had now to raise his voice a little to make himself heard.

"Now let me see," he said slowly. "Your pay is due next week, and if it turns out you are right about this man, there will be the promised bonus of £50, as well." He leant forward and looking hard at Leaver, began to speak more quickly. "You are quite satisfied with what I am paying you, are you not? There is no thought at the back of your mind that you should be receiving more?"

"Certainly not," replied Leaver with no hesitation. "I have always considered the pay quite good."

Dr. Smith spoke musingly. "I picked you out of the gutter, didn't I? You had not many rags to your back when I found you and you were down and out in every way! You couldn't get work anywhere and you were nearly starving!"

Leaver nodded coldly. "Exactly!" he replied. "My record was too bad for anyone to employ me." He added bitterly. "One little slip in this damned country and you go under for ever." His lip curled. "You may just as well become an habitual criminal at once. You are driven to it."

"And I give you £10 a week," continued the doctor, "and a life of adventure with some danger and some risk!" He smiled whimsically. "Now what more could a young man want? Surely you must regard me as your benefactor."

"Most certainly I do," nodded the young man. "You are making life very pleasant for me. I am having quite a good time."

The doctor slid his hand very slowly down on to the little automatic in his pocket, and suddenly leaning forward, rapped out with a snarl—"Then why are you spying upon me now, Mr. Leaver?" His whisper was like the hiss of a snake. "Why are you selling me—you Judas?"

Leaver, with all his habitual air of self-control, at once looked the very picture of consternation. His jaw dropped and his eyes opened very wide. He was speechless in his astonishment.

"No, no," went on the doctor furiously, "don't you attempt to deny it. You are having me watched."

Instantly then Leaver found his voice. "It's a lie," he exclaimed angrily. "I'm not and I've never even spoken about you to a living soul. I've never mentioned you to anyone since the first moment I came to know you."

The doctor made a gesture of contemptuous disbelief, and, with long forefinger upraised, slowly punctuated his next words. "Upon two occasions last week you followed me when I went out for lunch, and on Thursday and Friday afternoons there was a man, disguised as a railway porter, waiting outside this building to trail me as I went home. All these attempts were, of course, associated together and part of one plan." He shook his fist menacingly in Leaver's face. "You are in someone else's pay, you wretch. You are trying to sell me, I say."

Leaver had now in part recovered his composure. "No, I am not, Dr. Smith," he said firmly, but at the same looking very shame-faced. "Nothing of the kind is going on, although I realise now that I have been very stupid." A smile curved to his lips. "Certainly, I did follow you, and I confess I was that porter myself"—he made a grimace—"but as I made no discoveries, no harm has been done and all your secrets are safe."

The doctor appeared incredulous. "You were that porter!" he exclaimed. He gritted his teeth together. "Then you admit you are double-crossing me?"

"No, I don't," returned Leaver instantly. "There has been no double dealing at all and I tell you I deny I have spoken about you to anyone. I have just been too curious about you and that is all. As you are my employer I ought, of course, to have minded my own business." He reddened uncomfortably. "I realise that my attempt to trail you was a dishonorable thing to do."

The doctor's face was grim as death. His grip upon the little automatic tightened and his thumb felt gently along towards the safety catch. Then he half drew the pistol from his pocket. "Have you made any such attempts before?" he asked coldly.

"No," was the curt reply, "and you can rest easy I shall make none again." He nodded his head jerkily. "I apologise to you."

Dr. Smith looked icily disdainful. "And your only explanation is that you were curious!" he sneered. "Am I really expected to believe that?"

"Yes, you are," was the cool rejoinder, "for it's the truth and in the circumstances only what you could reasonably expect." He quickened his words and spoke with some anger. "Here have I, for nearly a year now, been doing dirty jobs for you, some of which, if found out, would certainly have landed me into penal servitude. Damned dirty jobs—playing the traitor, spying for the enemies of Britain and selling her"—he laughed bitterly—"I don't even know to whom."

He slapped his hand upon the desk. "Yes, that's where the thing hurts—helping some damned country, perhaps, that all my life I've been brought up to hate. And there you sit, every time I come for my instructions, like an old mummy in some museum, with your stained hands, your wig and your false beard." He scoffed contemptuously in his turn. "I know for certain that you're not the Dr. Smith of Moon Buildings down in the medical directory, for your ears are not those of a man as old as he must be." He calmed down all at once and sat back in his chair. "Good heavens, man, if I weren't curious I should be a blithering fool, and by no means the type of individual to have found out all I have for you." His jaws closed with a snap. "And that's that, Dr. Smith."

The doctor was still fingering the safety catch of his little automatic, but his face was quite expressionless as he said slowly:—"Give me in detail your exact procedure"—he hesitated a moment—"last Friday afternoon, in detail, please."

Leaver looked in no wise abashed, indeed now, he seemed to be deriving some amusement from the doctor's questions.

"I came into the building through the Fore street entrance," he began, "at about a quarter to four and used the staircase, as I always do. I had to saunter about for several minutes until there was no one in the passage, and then I put my ear to your door to make certain you were there. I heard a woman talking and had just time to bolt away before you showed her out. I heard her say 'Good-bye, Doctor.' Then I would have liked to wait in the passage to make sure which way you went out, but didn't dare to do so because it happened the lift-man had seen me three times, and I thought that the third time he was eyeing me very suspiciously. So I went down and waited outside on Finsbury Pavement until six o'clock came, and then, not seeing you, I guessed I had made another miss, and that you had gone out the other way."

A thought seemed suddenly to strike him, and he went on triumphantly—"And that proves I was acting all upon my own, for if I'd been working for anybody else there'd, of course, have been a watch set at both entrances to catch you."

"Did you come up and listen at my door again," asked the doctor, "to make sure I had actually gone?"

"No. That lift-man had scared me, and, besides, I had got sick of the whole business. I was tired and thirsty."

"And where did you go then?" was the next question.

"To the Talbot Hotel to have a drink. I needed one badly."

"And what did you do after that?" persisted the doctor.

"Went to a restaurant in Great Portland street to get a feed, then on to the Juno to see 'The Jest of Life,' and finally to Beak street, to my lodgings. I was home by eleven o'clock."

"Eight minutes past," corrected the doctor dryly, "and it was just striking the half hour when you put out your light."

With a sigh that seemed one of great relief he drew out the hand in his pocket, and with a quick, decisive movement, laid the little automatic upon the desk before him. "Pull down the window, please, Mr. Leaver," he went on with a grim smile. "The stuffiness of the room no longer upsets me." His smile became more pleasant. "The atmosphere has cleared, and the noise of the traffic is no longer needed to deaden any sounds in here."

With a frown the young man did as he was requested, and then resumed his seat, with his heart, however, beating quickly as he eyed the pistol now in full view before him.

"So that was intended for me," he scowled with a slight catch in his breath. "You were going to murder me, were you?"

The doctor held up his hand in protest. "An unpleasant word," he replied, "that should never be used among friends"—he smiled genially—"for I see, after all, we are going to be friends." He nodded in the direction of the pistol. "Yes, that was intended for you, and if you had not been truthful in every particular just now"—his voice hardened—"you would have gone out from here in a packing case to-morrow, for I was quite aware of everything you had been doing, and my questions were only put to try you out." He leant over the desk. "Do you know, young man, you have had a very narrow escape, or, indeed, several narrow escapes, for I have been having you under observation during every hour of the twenty four for longer than a week, and if last Friday, after your fruitless waiting for me here, you had gone into a telephone box, or had only happened to post a letter that night"—his voice was very low—"quite apart from anything that has been happening this morning, you would not be alive now."

Leavers face was damp and white. "And you talk about us being friends!" he ejaculated jerkily, "after telling me that!"

"Why not?" asked the doctor with great pleasantness. "We understand one another now, don't we?" He shook his head. "I never quite thought you were going to betray me, and all along put your actions down to just curiosity, as you have explained." He shook his finger warningly. "But no more of it, Mr. Leaver, please, for I shan't overlook it a second time."

Leaver eyed him sullenly. "Who are we working for?" he asked sharply. "Which country is it?"

The doctor looked angry. "Mind your own business," he began, "and don't——" but then suddenly he stopped speaking. He drummed with his fingers upon the desk, he bit his lip, and he stared thoughtfully out of the window. Then at last he turned again to the young man and smiled.

"Yes," he said, "you have a right to know, for you are not of the ordinary run of people we employ." His whispering voice was lower than ever. "The Soviet, my friend. We are working for Russia."

"Russia!" ejaculated Leaver. "Why, we're quite friendly with her!"

"Of course we are," laughed the doctor, "and our work is in consequence only a matter of routine." He spoke impressively. "You don't appear to understand things, Mr. Leaver, and realise that every Power in times of peace, far more than in times of war, has its secret agents in every other country. It is routine, I tell you, for they all want to know what one another are doing." He spread out his hands. "Why, what Britain spends on her secret service is publicly given out every year in the Estimates, and this year I saw they are allowing for nearly half a million pounds."

"You are not a Russian!" said Leaver frowning.

The doctor bowed and smiled. "I beg your pardon, my friend. I was born in Moscow but was educated over here. I speak English faultlessly. As a matter of fact, I am a Master of Arts of Oxford University." He went on impressively. "The position is this. As you say, Russia is at present friendly with England, and at the same time she is friendly with other countries." He shook his head. "But that does not say she will always be friendly, does it? No, of course not! And so, as an insurance for the future, she has to keep herself in touch with all that is going on everywhere. That is why such individuals as I have these enquiries made, and why, again, I employ such men as you. Now do you understand?" He regarded Leaver intently. "Does this explanation satisfy you?"

Leaver hesitated a moment, and then nodded. "All right," he said. "I'll believe you."

"Of course you will," laughed the doctor, "for its the truth." He spoke earnestly. "I should be very sorry indeed to fall out with you, for you are intelligent, well educated, and have plenty of courage. You are just the very kind of man wanted for this particular work."

"Fall out!" exclaimed Leaver, looking very reproachful. "That's putting it mild, isn't it? You were going to shoot me!"

The doctor's voice was very stern. "Listen, Mr. Leaver," he said, "our investigations in this country are just as criminal acts now, as they would be if an actual state of war existed. The only difference is that the punishments for discovery are not so severe." He spoke with some irritation. "If then you were successful in giving me away, not only I, but many others as well would undoubtedly be sent into penal servitude. So naturally we will go to any lengths to safeguard ourselves and the life of anyone who would betray us becomes a mere bagatelle. You understand that?"

"Yes," replied Leaver dryly, "and I am in with you up to the neck, I see."

The doctor nodded. "And you have been so for a long time now." His eyes narrowed. "Don't you forget, my friend, you've not been altogether too squeamish yourself, and when you got those fuses for me from Woolwich Arsenal last May—remember—you put out that sentry with your bar of lead and we've never learnt to what extent you injured him." He nodded again. "So if you're caught it may not be just a question of imprisonment for you, as you mentioned just now, for you may indeed have all along been wanted upon the capital charge. Also, there's that little affair when you pushed the watchman over into the dock at Chatham." He rubbed his hands together and chuckled maliciously. "You don't know that he wasn't drowned?"

"All right! All right!" exclaimed Leaver quickly. "You needn't bring those things up. I'll carry on as you want to."

The doctor was at once all smiles again. "Of course you will, for you're a sensible fellow." He pulled his chair up to the desk. "And now after this little digression let's get back to business again." He considered. "Well, you must find some excuse to get speech with this Tom Skelton, of Raymond street, Manor Park—oh, yes, I know the exact address, for you were followed to the house—early on Saturday morning, and then come straight back here and tell me exactly what kind of a man he is. We must be very sure he is the type of individual we dare approach, for we can't risk his going straight off and giving us away to the authorities. Now is there anything more we need discuss?"

Leaver hesitated and then spoke with studied carelessness. "I think you might give me a few pounds on account," he said. "I've run a bit short."

"You shall have £10," said the doctor, and producing a wallet from his pocket he took out a thick wad of notes and began counting some off.

Instantly then, Leaver sprang to his feet and in a lightning movement reached over and snatched up the automatic on the desk. Then, pointing it straight at the doctor, he stepped backwards to the window, and with his disengaged hand finding the catch, he pulled it up sharply and the noise of the traffic at once came up into the room.

"Now, Dr. Smith," he exclaimed triumphantly, "what about it? The tables are turned, my friend."

The doctor's mouth gaped in discomforted surprise, and he half rose from his chair, but then quickly recovering himself, he sank down again and chuckled as if he were in the enjoyment of some good joke.

"Excellent!" he exclaimed in great good humor, and appearing in no wise put out. "I did well to form the high opinion of you that I have, for I see you are quick to seize an opportunity and are not wanting in resource." He eyed him tauntingly. "But the thing is—would you dare to shoot? Have you courage enough?" He scattered the wad of notes over the desk. "Look, there is more than £100 here, and"—he pointed to the adjoining room—"you'll find a good £1,000 in the safe." He nodded confidingly. "That silencer, too, makes very little noise."

Leaver spoke with perfect self-possession. "I would not shoot you for money, Dr. Smith," he said, "and so you're quite safe there." His eyes gleamed. "But what about taking off those glasses and that wig and beard. I want to see what manner of man my esteemed employer is."

Dr. Smith turned his eyes down and began gathering up the notes. "All right," he said testily. "I suppose I'll have to do it," and then he added with a scowl, "but it'll cost you £5 a week, for I shall dock your pay that much."

For perhaps ten seconds Leaver still stood covering him, and then, turning sharply, he pulled down the window and stepped over to the desk.

"You can keep your wig on, Doctor," he said quietly. "It was only a joke," and he put the pistol back upon the desk.

"Ho! ho!" exclaimed Dr. Smith, as if rather surprised, but without looking round, and continuing to gather up the notes, "then you are confident you are safe with me after this impudent display of insubordination?"

"Yes, quite," replied Leaver. "I don't think you are spiteful, for you take much too broad a view of life."

The doctor paused now and glanced up at the young man with a cunning look upon his face.

"But I noticed you shut that window before returning this pistol. You were bent upon minimising your risks!"

Leaver colored ever so little. "You might perhaps have been annoyed for the moment, and I thought——"

"You did quite right," nodded the doctor with a smile, "and I think the more of you for your precaution. No. I'm not spiteful, and in proof of it—here I'll make you a present of the pistol. It may come in useful some day, and if it does you'll find the silencer is a wonderful invention. The shot can hardly be heard."

Leaver colored still more. "It's very nice of you, Doctor, I am sure. I'll take it with great pleasure. You are a good sport, whoever you may be."

They talked on for a few minutes, and then parted on the most amiable terms.

"Yes," remarked the doctor musingly when he was once more alone, "it is always better to work with a man of his class, for whatever he does, as an old Charterhouse boy and a gentleman, he'll always retain something of his sense of honor." He nodded. "Yes, I did well to let him go."