Читать книгу Flat 2 - Edgar Wallace - Страница 4

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It was not a pleasant task to meet Robert Weldrake's father when he arrived in Malta.

The dead boy had been popular both with the men and his brother-officers, and some satisfaction was felt when it was known that his father was expected. McElvie voiced the general wish when he said that he hoped Mr. Weldrake, senior, was a hefty fellow handy with his fists, who was coming with the express purpose of interviewing Emil Louba.

'And there's no other reason why he should come,' observed McElvie hopefully. 'He doesn't wear any uniform, and he can jolly well give Louba what for!'

Nevertheless, the task of greeting him and giving him details of his boy's death was not a coveted one, and Hurley Brown undertook it with misgivings.

He looked for a tall resolute man, an old and stronger edition of Robert Weldrake, and was amazed when his gaze fell on the small shrinking figure of Mr. Weldrake. If general indignation had reigned before, it was intensified by the pathetic little man upon whom the blow had fallen. It was obvious that his boy had been his world, his death a devastating shock.

He uttered no complaints, asked for no sympathy; he was touchingly grateful for the kindness shown him, tremblingly eager for any and every story, however trivial, anyone could tell him of his son. He sat in the boy's quarters alone for hours together, touching his belongings, reading his last note. He went to the grave every day, a small solitary figure.

Sympathy for Robert Weldrake was transferred to his father, and the very sight of the forlorn little man acted as fuel to the rage which burned against Louba.

It was da Costa who stirred the fire to a blaze. Meeting Weldrake one night, wandering aimlessly after his fashion, he stopped him, and pointed out Louba's place.

'That is where your son got his death-blow,' he said. 'That's where many another has been ruined. That is where Emil Louba is growing rich by ruining men and driving them to suicide.'

Weldrake's thin face turned in the direction of the red lights which illuminated the outside of the building and he nodded slowly.

Da Costa had sown the seed, and he was not surprised when Weldrake continued his quick nervous walk, going straight towards Louba's. He had been to all the places that his son had frequented, except to Louba's.

Da Costa knew the treatment he would receive from Louba, and ran to the barracks.

'Your little man has gone to Louba! Likely Louba will hoist him on the platform and make him dance for them!'

It was enough.

The soldiers outdistanced him, but he arrived in time to see Weldrake being led away with a cut on his face, looking dazed and shaken.

Inside was pandemonium. The orchestra was playing wildly in an apparent effort to drown the disturbance. People were standing on tables, others protesting shrilly, whilst in the centre were waiters and a dancing-girl trying to keep back excited and angry soldiers.

'We will see Louba!' came the insistent shout.

'Louba had nothing to do with it!' cried the girl. 'He never saw him. He sent down word he wouldn't see him. He was busy.'

'Yes, busy spinning the wheel upstairs and ruining as many more as he can!'

'He gave orders for him to be thrown out!'

'He didn't! It was the little man who wouldn't understand and wouldn't go.'

'We put him out gently at first.'

'He would come back.'

'Where's Louba?'

The babble was at its height when Louba appeared.

'Really, Gentlemen, really!' The oil of his manner fell on flames.

More soldiers were crowding into the place. Da Costa, jumping up and down to get a view, missed the beginning of it, only he knew that his hopes were being realised. Louba refused to be intimidated, and refused to restrain his mockery. It was when he drawled out that there was a great deal of fuss over a degenerate young fool who had not even honesty enough to pay his debts of honour that the first blow was struck. Louba returned it instantly. His bullies sprang into the fray; the soldiers welcomed them.

'We'll smash everything in the place!'

The threat was taken up with enthusiasm, and sealed by a loud crash, as a bottle of wine splintered against a long mirror.

Joyous hands snatched up every bottle within reach, trays and chairs in lieu of better missiles, and a deafening crash of glass announced the breaking of every mirror in the garish place.

Women screamed and ran, and some of their escorts also chose the better part of valour.

People came running in from the street, adding to the confusion.

'Upstairs, boys, and throw his paraphernalia out of the window!'

'Grab his winnings and send 'em out with the tide!'

The gamblers upstairs objected to the invasion of the wreckers, knowing nothing of the meaning of it, and the tumult did not diminish.

Da Costa, rejoicing, leapt over the performers' platform, gaining the tiny dressing-room at the back. This was deserted.

There were several candles on the high bench which served as a dressing table. Flimsy dresses hung on the walls: muslin draped the looking-glass. Da Costa soon had a blaze there.

Going out into the hall again, which was deserted except for the crowd clustering and struggling about the entrance leading to the stairs, striving to join the throng upstairs, or endeavouring to find out what it was all about, he flung a shower of lighted matches over the floor, where pools of fiery spirits lay soaking into the carpet amid the litter of broken bottles which had contained them.

The flames leapt along the group, and were climbing up to the inflammable decorations suspended from the roof before a scream called attention to them.

No one attempted to put them out. It was 'safety first'.

Da Costa was one of the first to reach the street and to run to a safe distance. From there he watched the deep blue of the sky take on an ominous glow, and gradually lighten to a spreading rose colour that flickered, alternately dull and fierce, whilst the flames of the burning building leapt into view.

It was not late and the streets were full of people, asking what was on fire. Officers and military police hastened down, summoned by news of the riot.

Hurley Brown hurried by with an anxious face. It was one thing to have Louba's house sacked and burned, another for soldiers to suffer for it.

Da Costa, aching for someone with whom to rejoice, seized on Weldrake, when his small figure appeared in sight.

'It's Louba's,' he announced, exulting. 'It's Louba's place that's on fire!'

The sky was lit up with an angry crimson that glowed and sank in the breeze; the surrounding buildings stood out in beautiful and uncanny distinctness.

As the crimson became sullen, screened by black smoke, Hurley Brown returned, and paused beside Weldrake. Only da Costa chattered.

Men drifted back to the barracks and Louba, coatless, for he had taken it off to wrap round his face as he fought his way to the streets, strode up to them with a threatening air,

'T'ere will be something to pay for this, Captain Hurley Brown!' he exclaimed. 'We'll see what those military aut'orities you spoke of will say to this!'

'If you have any sense, Louba, you will just sail away and say nothing about it,' put in da Costa. 'If you start them asking questions they may ask a great deal more than you'll like.'

'What, you? You've had a hand in this, da Costa! I know; Eulalie saw you there.'

'Does she want to come back to Tripoli?' jeered da Costa.

'Perhaps she will—and I, too! Hear that? I drove you out of Port Said, and I'll drive you out of Tripoli.'

'Don't you threaten me, Louba! I'm more than a match for you! You've done me some injuries in the past, but I'll make you regret it,' cried da Costa, truculently, transported with triumph.

'I never regret anything,' returned Louba insolently, and turned from him. 'If you think this will drive me from Malta, Captain Hurley Brown, you will live to discover your mistake.'

'It did not need this, Louba. I have said you'll go, and you will go,' said Brown. 'Tonight is only another addition to the harm you've done —the men implicated in this business are only a few more added to the number of those who've suffered through you.'

'And I'll see they do suffer,' muttered Louba, between his teeth. 'I'll make them sorry they ever lifted a hand against me.'

'The only thing they had to be sorry for,' ejaculated da Costa, 'is that you weren't burned along with your house.'

Louba turned his baleful eyes upon him. 'Very well, very well,' he said. 'Time is before me.'

'Time and Nemesis,' added Hurley Brown.

'Time and me!' boasted da Costa.

'I take you,' sneered Louba. 'I take you both—and as many more as you like to bring.'

Weldrake remained silent, looking from the defiant Louba to the two who hated him. Captain Hurley Brown, grim with mouth hard-set and da Costa, alive with unrestrained passion.

Weldrake slipped away.

An hour later, whilst Hurley Brown made anxious inquiries about him, he was kneeling in the dark beside his boy's grave.

'It's all right, Robert,' he was whispering reassuringly. 'You'll be avenged. I'll see to it. I'll never forget. I won't stay home until he's paid...I know it will be all right. You'll be avenged, Robert...'