Читать книгу Captains of Souls - Edgar Wallace - Страница 10

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Two days later Sir John Maxton made an unexpected call upon the doctor, and it occurred to him that he might also have made an unwelcome appearance, for he interrupted a tete-a-tete. "I thought I should find the doctor in. Well, Ronnie, how are you after all these years?"

Ronnie was relieved to see him—that was the impression which the lawyer received. And Beryl, although she was her sweet, equable self, would gladly have excused his presence. Maxton had an idea that he had surprised them in the midst of a quarrel. The girl was flushed and her eyes were unusually bright. Ronnie's countenance was clouded with gloom. Sir John was sensitive to atmosphere. "No, I really won't stay. I wanted to have a chat with the doctor about the extraordinary story he told us the other night. I was dining with the Lord Chief and some other judges last night, and without mentioning names, of course, I repeated the story. They were remarkably interested. Barham says that he had heard of such a case..."

"What is all this about?" asked Ronnie curiously. "You didn't tell me anything, Beryl. Who, what, and where is the 'case'?"

"Mr. Sault," she said shortly.

"Oh, Sault! He is an extraordinary fellow...I must meet him. They say that he cannot read or write."

"Is that a fact?" Sir John Maxton looked at the girl.

"Yes...I believe so. Ronnie, on the contrary, is in the way of becoming a famous writer, Sir John."

"So I hear." He wondered why she had so deliberately and so abruptly brought the conversation into another channel.

Ronald Morelle, for his part, was not inclined to let the subject drift. "It is quaint how that coon intrigues you all," he said; "Oh yes, he is coloured. You haven't seen him, John, or you wouldn't ask that question."

"I have seen him; it did not appear to me that he was coloured—he has a striking face."

"At any rate, he seems to have struck you and Beryl all of a heap," said Ronnie, smiling. "Really, I must meet him. Are you going, Sir John?" Maxton was taking his farewell of the girl. "Because if you are, I'll walk a little way with you. 'Bye, Beryl."

"Good-bye, Ronnie," she said quietly.

Once in the street Maxton asked: "What is the matter with you and Beryl?"

"Nothing...Beryl is just a little grandmotherly. She went to the theatre last night with some people and she spotted me in a box."

"I see," said Sir John dryly; "and of course you were not alone in the box."

"Why on earth should I be?" demanded the other. "Beryl is really unreasonable. She swore that my friend was a girl she had seen me with in the park."

"And who was it...is that a discreet question?"

"No, it isn't," said Ronnie instantly. "I don't think one ought to chuck names about...it is most dishonourable and caddish. The lady was a very great friend of mine."

"Then I probably know her," said Sir John, wilfully dense. "I know most of the people in your set, and I cannot imagine that you would be scoundrel enough to escort the kind of girl you couldn't introduce to me or Beryl or any other of your friends."

"I give you my word of honour"—Ronnie was earnest—"that the lady was not only presentable, but is known personally to you. The fact is that she had a row with her fiance, a man I know very well, a Coldstreamer, and I was doing no more than trying to reconcile them...bring them together, you understand? She was dreadfully depressed and I got a box at the theatre with the idea of cheering her up. My efforts," he added virtuously, "were successful. Beryl said that it was a girl—the daughter of a dear friend of mine, she had seen me talking with in the park."

"What dear friend of yours was this?"

"I don't think you've met him," parried Ronnie.

"Did she have trouble with her fiance too?" asked Sir John innocently. "Really, Ronnie, you are coming out strong as a disinterested friend of distressed beauty! If I may employ the imagery and language of an American burglar whom I recently defended, Sir Galahad has nothing on you!"

"You don't believe me, John," said Ronnie, injured.

"Of course I cannot believe you. I am not a child. You had some girl with you, some 'pick up', innocent or guilty, God knows. I will assume her innocence. The sophisticated have no appeal for you. There was a girl named East—a chorus girl, if I remember rightly—"

"If you're going to talk about that disgraceful attempt to blackmail me, I'm finished," said Ronnie, resigned.

"Why didn't you charge her and her brother with blackmail? They came to me..."

"Good lord, did they? I'll break that infernal blackguard's neck!"

"When will you meet him?" Ronnie did not answer. "They came to me and I knew that the story was true. The brother, of course, is a blackmailer. He is levying blackmail now and you are paying him...don't argue, Ronnie, of course you are paying him. You said just now that you would break his neck, which meant to me that you see him frequently...when he comes to draw his blood-money. If it was a case of blackmail, why did you not prosecute? The mere threat of the prosecution would have been sufficient to have sent him to ground—it struck me that the girl was acting under the coercion of her brother, and I do not think you would have had any trouble from her. Ronnie, you are rotten."

He said this as he stopped at the corner of Park Lane and Piccadilly, and Ronnie smiled nervously. "Oh, come now, John, that is rather a strong expression."

"Rotten," repeated the lawyer. He screwed a monocle in his eye and surveyed his companion dispassionately. "Chorus-girls...shop-girls...the mechanics of joy who serve Madame Ritti...that made you jump, eh? I know quite a lot about you. They are your life. And God gave you splendid gifts and the love of the sweetest, dearest girl in this land."

"Who is this?" asked the young man slowly.

"Beryl. You do not need to be told that. Search the ranks of your light women for her beauty, Ronnie."

A girl passed them, a wisp of a girl on the border-line of womanhood. She carried a little bag and was hurrying home from the store where she was employed. Even as he listened to the admonition of his companion, Ronnie caught her eyes and smiled into them...she paused and looked round once... he was still watching her. "I am afraid I must leave you, John, I've a lot of work to do, and you are quite mistaken as to my character...and Beryl."

He left the lawyer abruptly and walked toward the gates of the park where the girl had stopped, ostensibly to tie a shoelace. Sir John saw her pass leisurely into the park; a few seconds later Ronnie had followed. His time was his own, for Evie Colebrook was working that evening, the annual stocktaking was in progress, as she had told him when they were at the theatre on the previous night. "Rotten!" repeated Maxton, and stalked gloomily to his club.