Читать книгу The Kingdom of Earth - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 10

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NO man upon the earth had a larger share of courage than the man who called himself John Peters; yet he walked along that dimly lit corridor with tense nerves and fast-beating heart. The carpet was of a deep red material, the walls were painted the same colour, and the electric lights were shaded with red globes. Only two or three were burning throughout the whole length of the corridor, and the general effect was one of warm and tremulous darkness. He came to within a few yards of the open space where the lift was. On his left the doors continued, on his right there was an abrupt corner, where the corridor ended and the open space around the lift began. As he neared it he kept close to the right and began to whistle softly, but when he was about a yard away, he took a swift step to the left, facing half round, so as to meet any attack from the corner. His movement amounted to inspiration. Simultaneously the few remaining lights in the corridor went out, something sprang from the corner, something whistled close to his ear with a soft, sickly swish, the hissing noise of pliant metal cutting the empty air. John Peters leaped to one side, sprang round, and caught his assailant, who was partly overbalanced, around the neck. The weapon, whatever it was, dropped to the floor. With his left hand, John Peters felt for the electric-light knob on the wall, found it, and turned on the light. So far the silence was almost unbroken, except for the hoarse breathing of the half-choked man.

"For God's sake, not so tight," he moaned.

John Peters relaxed his grip a little. The man was a baby in his arms, slim, pale, unmuscular. He was clad in dress trousers and shirt; the remains of an evening tie hung down from his crushed collar. As an unarmed adversary he was contemptible. John Peters picked up the weapon which lay upon the floor, and put it in his pocket. Then he dragged his prisoner to his feet. There were still no signs of life anywhere about. Suddenly, however, they heard the clatter of the lift coming up. They moved instinctively out of sight along the corridor.

"Look here," John Peters whispered, "if any one gets out on this floor and you try to escape, I shall give you in charge. You understand?"

The man nodded. He was still breathing heavily.

"Pull yourself together," his captor continued, "try to be talking to me naturally, if any one comes by."

Another second's waiting. The lift went up to the top floor and descended again to the basement. Once more silence. Both men were relieved, though the face of John Peters remained impassive. Very gently his hand once more rested upon the other's shoulder, close to his neck. The man shuddered. Already he seemed to feel the touch of those cruel fingers.

"Would you like," John Peters asked softly, "to save your life?"

The man's eyes seemed to recede into his head. John Peters looked at him in contempt. He was a poor pawn in the great game.

"You don't mean to kill me," he muttered; "You daren't!"

John Peters laughed almost inaudibly, but it was still a laugh. The man who heard it shuddered. "Why not? It is in self-defence. My fingers upon your throat for thirty seconds would do it. It isn't a pleasant death, either. Let me repeat my question: Would you care to save your life?"

"Yes," the man answered, with trembling lips.

"Naturally," John Peters whispered; "you are a coward, and cowards are afraid to die. I will let you go unharmed if you will take me now, this instant, to those who sent you out to kill me."

"Take you—to them?" the man faltered.

"Exactly," John Peters answered. "You must make up your mind quickly, too. We may be disturbed at any moment. These people are not all gone to bed yet, and they may have visitors."

The man seemed bewildered. The condition seemed to him amazing. Take him to them! Why, it was to transform failure into success.

"Alone?" he asked hoarsely.

"Certainly," John Peters assented.

The man nodded. "Very well," he said, "I will do it."

"If you attempt to escape," John Peters began sternly, "I shall give you up to the first policeman we see."

The man, who was recovering his confidence, laughed shortly. "There will be no policeman nor any chance of escape. The others are close here." He glanced along the corridor, and laid his fingers upon his captor's arm.

"Do you mean," John Peters asked, "that they are in this building?"

"In this building, upon this floor," the man answered. "I will keep my word. I will take you to them if you like."

John Peters nodded slowly. "So much the better," he said. "The fates played into your hands to-night with a vengeance. Pity they chose such a bungler as you, my friend. The affair might have been all nicely arranged by now."

The man felt his throat. "We drew lots," he said hoarsely. "I wish it had been some one else! I think that I shall never be able to swallow again. Come."

Softly they retraced their steps along the corridor. John Peters was thinking with knitted brows. It was a coincidence, this—the same building, the same floor. He glanced at the numbers. They were passing them one by one. They were getting to the end of the corridor. Then this strong man, who had faced his danger without flinching, and who was preparing to face even greater dangers, suddenly stopped short. His guide looked at him in amazement. He felt a sudden grip upon his shoulder which reminded him unpleasantly of the burning pain upon his throat. The face of John Peters, too, was changed. He was pale, the perspiration had broken out upon his forehead. The splendid impassivity of his features was gone. His mouth was twitching nervously; his eyes held a new thing, the thing called fear. The weakling who was in his clutch felt a sudden relief. After all, this man was human. His terror began to diminish.

"You are going to back out," he said. "I thought you would."

John Peters ignored his gibe; it is doubtful whether he even heard it. There was something else in his mind; more virulent poison was in his brain. "Where are you taking me?" he demanded hoarsely. "What is the number of the room?"

His guide frowned. "We shall be there directly," he answered. "It is just ahead."

John Peters set his teeth tightly together, and muttered things to himself. The attempt upon his life seemed to him now a small thing. Was this hideous thought of his possible? He thought of his long evening with her; in those few agonized seconds he realized how near to happiness he had come, how sweet a thing had found its way into his life. Was he to lose it already? Was she nothing but a hypocrite, an underground schemer, a Delilah who had planned to lure him into this danger? He shivered all over, and the man at his side was anxious indeed. He was sure now that he should never get him into the room. He expected every moment to find himself alone, and John Peters on his way to the lift.

"Tell me the number of the room," John Peters hissed into his ear, and this time his guide did not dare to hesitate.

"Just in front—on the right—Number 20. Are you coming on?"

John Peters did not answer for a moment. He drew himself up, and every muscle in his body seemed, for a moment, straining with a sort of physical effort, coexistent with the greater struggle which was tearing his heart. Out they came, dreams and hopes and sentiments, of sudden enough growth, forced into a wonderful vitality by the man's years of loneliness and self-repression. They were seconds only which passed, yet it was a weighty chapter of his life. The woman he loved had sent him to his death. Worse than that, she had deliberately sought him out, deliberately planned this assault, first upon his heart, then upon his life. An indifferent actress she had called herself! John Peters knew better. Never a false note, never a weak second! And he was to have been her victim!

They had stopped in front of Number 20, the door through which he had issued only a few minutes ago with the feeling of a man who has passed through the long tunnels of life, and emerged into the valley of flowers and sunshine. A sudden storm of anger shook him—anger against himself and fate and life. His pride leaped up in arms, all his indomitable faith in his destiny burned once more in his blood. His guide, looking up into his face, did not doubt now that he would enter the room.

"It is here," he said simply.

"Go first," John Peters said, slipping his hand into his overcoat pocket. "Remember that I am close behind. Say nothing. Leave that to me."