Читать книгу The Green Pack - Edgar Wallace - Страница 10

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For several minutes Jacqueline stood motionless, staring at the cable, conscious of nothing but the "Larry" at the end of the message. And then, as the significance of the word burned its way through and touched her understanding, her hands suddenly gripped the paper more tightly, and she slowly raised her head and glanced towards the door. As she did so, Louis came in, carrying the coffee tray.

"Sorry I've been so long, darling," he began in his smooth voice, "but Stimson's patent percolator was inclined to be obstinate—"

"Louis!"

Her voice had a keen, cutting edge to it. Louis glanced at her quickly, saw her standing rigid, staring at him, turned his head abruptly, and set the tray on the table. He hoped she was not going to become hysterical. He picked up the coffee pot and turned to her with a smile.

"Black or white, darling?"

"Louis, I wish to God I could kill you!"

Louis, meeting her glance, recognized something more than the not unusual nervous reaction which would eventually find relief in an outburst of tears. He realized that in this instance comforting words and coffee would be unavailing.

"What's wrong, Jackie?" he inquired solicitously.

She strode forward.

"That," she said, tossed the cable on the table, and stood gazing at him with a fixity which he found vaguely disconcerting.

He shifted his gaze, picked up the cable and read it. Then, with raised eyebrows, he glanced up again.

"Well?"

"That cable was despatched from Benguella ten days ago.

He nodded.

"Quite true, Jackie. But I only received it—"

"Then you knew," exclaimed Jacqueline in sudden fury. "It makes no difference when you received it—today, yesterday, a week ago. You knew—tonight—when I came here—that Larry was alive. You knew, and you—you didn't tell me."

"I didn't tell you, Jackie, because—"

"Do you think I don't know why?" she interrupted. "Two days ago I asked you if you had heard anything of Larry, and you said you'd had no news of him for six months. You did your best to make me believe that there would never be any news of him again. I did believe it. I'd been half believing it for months, and what you said convinced me that it was useless hoping any longer. And all the time you'd had that cable, you knew you were lying to me—"

"My dear Jackie, please try to control yourself. I admit that I hesitated to raise false hopes—"

"You knew," she repeated passionately. "You knew, at any rate, that Larry was alive, and you didn't tell me two days ago for the same reason that you didn't tell me tonight. You knew that if I'd had any idea that Larry was living, that there was the least chance of my ever seeing him again, I'd never have come here tonight, never have done what I have done, never have accepted your beastly proposal. So you didn't tell me. You wanted me and you meant to have me, and you didn't care how much you lied and cheated to get what you wanted."

She paused, breathless and trembling. Louis smiled indulgently.

"And so you want to kill me, eh, Jackie?" He shook his head. "You're overlooking one or two facts, my dear, and you've said a good many things which I'm sure you'll regret when you're a little calmer. Naturally the news that Larry is still alive has been a shock to you. It was a shock to me—a very pleasant shock. As you know, I was very fond of Larry—"

"Can't you ever stop lying? You hate Larry. You've always hated him."

"And to show the violence of my hatred of him I supplied him with two thousand pounds for his expedition, knowing all the time that I was throwing away my money—"

"You hated him," she repeated. "I'm beginning to understand things now—beginning to understand you. It wouldn't be you, Louis, to risk two thousand pounds if you couldn't see the chance of a good return for your money, and it wasn't friendship for Larry that prompted you to finance the expedition. You did it because you hated him, and you hated him because he was in your way."

Louis smiled indulgently—a smile which suggested that the idea of Larry Deans being an obstacle which could seriously inconvenience Louis Creet was too absurd to require contradiction.

"You wanted him out of your way, didn't you?" continued Jacqueline. "You knew that so long as Larry was in England you could never hope to get from me what you'd set your heart on getting. Too risky for one thing, eh, Louis? Larry would have been a nasty sort of customer to deal with if he had discovered what you were up to, wouldn't he? Besides, you knew that, with Larry here, I'd never have agreed—"

"You seem to imagine, Jacqueline, that I forced Larry to go to Africa. He went of his own free will. It was his suggestion that I should provide the necessary capital—"

"And two thousand pounds to get him out of the country—with pretty long odds against his ever coming back—struck you as a good investment. I'm just saying that it wasn't from friendship for Larry that you did it; it was just a matter of business with you, Louis. And when that cable came and you found that Larry hadn't died on the trip as you hoped he would, that he was still alive and might still be in your way, you lied and cheated, didn't tell me and tricked me into—"

"Really, Jacqueline," interrupted Creet, "you must try to be reasonable. You're being terribly unjust and hurting me very much. Caring for you as I do—"

"Oh, for God's sake, Louis, stop posing!"

He shrugged.

"I admit that—for various reasons—I didn't tell you that I had received the cable, but my reasons were not the ones you so ungenerously impute to me. And even if I had told you about the cable, I can't see how it would have altered the situation. You would still have owed Monty Can a thousand pounds, and it would still have been just as impossible for you to pay it—"

"Larry would have helped."

"Larry?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Why not?" demanded Jacqueline. "You may find it hard to believe, Louis, but there are a few men in the world whom a girl could ask for a thousand pounds and not be afraid of what they'd ask in return. Larry happens to be one of them. If I'd cabled to him—"

"Larry, I'm sure, would have gallantly emptied his pockets for you," said Creet. "But you know as well as I do, Jackie, that Larry's pockets have never contained much more than unpaid bills, and you've no reason for supposing that he's any more able to write a check for a thousand now than he ever has been."

"But if they've found the goldfield, and if it's as rich as Larry says—"

"'If they've found it and, if it's as rich as Larry says'," interrupted Creet. "I wouldn't build too much on that if I were you. In this sort of business it doesn't do to count on anything until the most careful examinations and tests have been made. It was because I didn't want you to jump to the conclusion that Larry has suddenly become a millionaire that I intended saying nothing about the cable until I had made further enquiries."

Jacqueline turned away from him with a contemptuous smile.

"I see," she said, seating herself on the settee.

"That was terribly considerate of you, Louis. So you think that Larry, after all, may still be as hard up as ever?"

"It remains to be seen," said Louis, with a shrug. "But if you're counting on Larry coming back a rich man—in a position to marry you—"

"I'm not," said Jacqueline. "I'm not counting on anything—now."

She sat for some time gazing into the fire. She felt crushed, oppressed with a sense of utter futility. Even her resentment against Louis had petered out. Louis did not seem to matter; nothing seemed to matter; and she herself did not seem of the slightest consequence. She felt that nothing could ever matter to her again. When Louis seated himself beside her and took her hand in his, she gave no sign that she was aware of the action, and without consciously listening to him she heard all that he said and felt that it was all utterly unimportant. He was very fond of her, and later, of course, he would get his divorce and they would be married, and she would have a wonderful time. There was nothing he would not do for her, and she should never have cause to regret this evening. He was sure that they were going to be wonderfully happy together. And somehow it did not seem worth while to tell him that, once she had left his flat, she intended never to set eyes on him again.

Suddenly she withdrew her hand and stood up.

"I'm going, Louis."

She went to the door and paused, hesitating. There was something she must say to Louis, she remembered, and the necessity of saying it repelled her. She searched for a phrase which would not sound too crude, some tactful expression which would not too shamelessly lay bare the sordidness of the transaction. She felt suddenly a fierce resentment against Louis for having left it to her to refer to the matter. He could hardly have forgotten that there was his side of the bargain still to be fulfilled, and he might at least have had the decency to spare her this final humiliation of having to remind him.

"Louis," she said, "about—about Monty Carr. I promised him—"

Creet nodded, smiling.

"You needn't worry about Monty, Jackie," he said. "I'll see to that in the morning." He rose and went to her and placed an arm round her shoulders. "You won't have to worry any more about anything, darling. I'm going to look after you now. We must manage to see more of each other than we have in the past, but that won't be difficult. I'll telephone you tomorrow and fix something, shall I?"

She gazed at him with eyes that seemed frozen. It was not worth while to disillusion him. All that mattered was that she should go. His arm tightened round her shoulders, and he smiled.

"Sweethearts, eh, Jackie?"

As he drew her towards him she suddenly freed herself, flung open the door, and hurried along the corridor and out of the flat.