Читать книгу The Price of Silence - Fred M. White - Страница 6

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Primery came down into the yellow drawing-room on the following Saturday evening just before seven o'clock to find Sir Wilton awaiting him there. Both men were arrayed in full evening attire, white ties and waistcoats and claw-hammer coats, as if prepared for some outstanding social function. There was an air of cheerful gaiety about the cripple which was not shared by his companion.

"Come, this will never do," Primery rallied his host. "You look as if you were going to a funeral, instead of a great dinner party in honour of a young and charming bride-to-be. My dear fellow, you don't seem to recognise the wonderful chance that fate has literally thrown in our way. I don't know anything about this man Pryor. In fact, I have never seen him so far as I know, but I suppose you have met him often enough during the time he has been down here."

"Oh, I have dined with him and he has dined with me, if that is what you mean," Oakes muttered. "Great, big burly chap, clean shaven and blue about the chin, as if he had once been an actor or perhaps wore a big, black beard. A nasty customer to tackle I should say, and as strong as an ox. Fellow who has knocked about all over the world, and up to every move on the board."

"Yes, quite so. I expected to hear something like that," Primery said thoughtfully. "How did he make his money?"

"Oh, oils," Oakes explained. "He was in that Big Texas boom a few years ago, and got out just at the right time. You remember all about it, surely. One of the biggest swindles ever perpetrated on the public."

There came into Primery's eyes that peculiar gleam which Cecil Oakes had seen a day or two before in the long gallery, a gleam of malice, and triumph, and secret satisfaction which was entirely lost upon the brooding baronet.

"Oh that," he said. "That was the ramp you drew your poor old father into. Oh, yes, you did, it's no use frowning at me. I remember perfectly well. You were in New York, absolutely on your uppers, not knowing where to turn for a dollar, and so you played the prodigal son on the old man, and he was soft enough to send you ten thousand pounds to invest in Texas Oil shares. And you bought them at a few cents each and sent them home to the old gentleman as evidence of your penitence. It's no use trying to humbug me, Oakes. What became of those certificates?"

"How do I know?" Oakes growled. "They were absolutely worthless, and if the old man thought he was going to turn them into good money, then so much the worse for him."

"And you had the ten thousand pounds," Primery laughed. "And it lasted you just six months. However, we needn't worry about that. I am more concerned about to-night."

"Well, what about to-night?" Oakes asked truculently.

"Just to hear the man talk," Primery cried. "We are going to dine and spend the evening in the house of a millionaire who, at the present moment has something approaching a hundred thousand pounds worth of gems under his roof. Need I say I am alluding to the wedding presents of that very charming daughter of his. And with any luck, those will be in our possession before the week is out. We know where to dispose of the spoil, and how to do it without arousing the slightest suspicions. Of course, that man in Amsterdam will want the lion's share of the plunder, but we ought to be able to cut up thirty or forty thousand pounds between us. And just think what you could do with twenty thousand pounds at the present moment. You could pay off those two very pressing mortgages and have enough ready cash to carry on here for the next six months. And by that time we shall have looted half the big houses between here and Southampton. By the end of the year you ought to be quite clear and in the enjoyment of a princely income again. Sir Wilton Oakes of Priors Gate, and one of the most eligible bachelors in the county of Hampshire. After that, you have only to keep to the straight path with nothing to worry you henceforth. Why, good Lord, man, it's enough to make one's mouth water."

"Yes," Oakes growled. "It sounds very nice, I know. But how is the thing going to be done?"

"Why, my dear chap, have you ever known me to fail? Did you ever know one of my ingenious schemes go wrong? And, mind you, Sir Wilton Oakes is beyond suspicion. Everybody knows he is poor, but he is a baronet of high degree, and as to his shady past—well, that secret is buried in the grave with your poor old father. Nobody would suppose for a minute that you were mixed up in that sort of thing. And, I ask you, who would point a finger at a poor unfortunate cripple like myself, who can barely cross the room without assistance? And here we shall be honoured guests in the house where all that stuff is, and in a position to find out exactly where the treasure is hidden and how to get it. By the time we get back here to-night I shall have a perfect plan of Heron's Nest in my mind. I'll tell you later on how the thing will be worked. Meanwhile, you can enjoy yourself and think no more about it. Come along, I think I can hear the car at the door."

They came in due course to the great house known as Heron's Nest, and there in the big pink and gold drawing-room half the county awaited them. There were quite sixty guests altogether, and Bertram Pryor stood there with his back to the great carved mantel-piece dominating them all by sheer weight of personality, and the knowledge of the money that stood behind him. It was a glittering scene of refinement and gaiety, and Audrey Venables, sitting by herself in one corner of the huge, brilliantly-lighted apartment, felt almost bewildered by the splendour of her surroundings.

Then the great double doors were thrown back with a flourish, and dinner was announced. The guests flocked in, laughing and chattering gaily, with the bride-to-be and her bridegroom the centre of attraction, seated presently at a high table across the far end of the dining-room on either side of the burly host. Near to the bride was Audrey Venables and her dinner partner, and next to her, half-huddled in his seat, Primery, surveying the scene with a bland smile upon that beautiful face of his. Just opposite to him sat Sir Wilton, who, for the moment, had thrown aside his moodiness, and was, for the time being, at any rate, just a well-bred country gentleman surrounded by his peers.

As the dinner proceeded and the champagne corks began to pop, so did the conversation rise to a higher crescendo of mirth and bubbling laughter. And in the midst of it sat Primery like a Greek god at a feast, beaming benignly upon his more fortunate fellow-creatures and putting his physical misfortunes bravely behind him. He did not appear to be keenly watching everything that was going on around him, but all the same, he was; moreover, he was particularly interested in the big man who sat at the head of the table.

Then the cloth was cleared away, and a great galaxy of purple and golden fruit stood there in so many crystal bowls, whilst coffee and liqueurs and cigarettes were handed round. Primery was tapping absently with a silver knife on his desert fruit. At the same time, he caught Sir Wilton's eye for a moment.

Sir Wilton sat up alertly and listened to the tapping with all his ears. The Morse message came clearly.

"Look at our host," Primery was saying with gentle tinkles on his plate. "Look at his right hand. What do you see there?"

Back came the reply in the some code: "A red scar like a diamond, extending from the wrist to the knuckles. But what about it?"

"We shall come to that presently. Directly we get back in the drawing-room come and speak to me. Message finished."

With laughter and mirth and a soft swishing of feminine garments, the women drifted away and the men were left alone. Then one by one they finished their wine and vanished in their turn. Primery sauntered out in his slow, painful manner, and in the far corner of the drawing-room seemed to be busy with a volume of prints. A minute or two later Oakes dropped into a chair by his side.

"Something big," he murmured. "Found out a chink in the armour of our host? Or, what is it?"

"Do you remember a man called 'Bat' Bronson?" Primery said, with barely-moving lips. "The Texan?"

"What? Oh, of course I know of him. I never met him, and I never heard before that you did."

"Well, I never have—at least only just once, and I am certain he never spotted me. But I saw that scar on the back of his hand, and that's the sort of thing I don't forget."

"Then the millionaire Pryor is Bat Bronson, eh?"

"Yes; you can gamble all you're worth on that."