Читать книгу The House on the River - Fred M. White - Страница 6

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It was close on midnight before Ennie Barr closed the door of the little flat in Halford Street that she shared with Quint's sister, Margaret. The latter was one of a brilliant band of lady journalists connected with the "Daily Telephone," and Ennie was not sorry that her closest friend happened to be away in the North of England on business for the next few days.

She had ascertained from Michel that Margaret knew nothing of the terrible charge that was hanging over the head of her brother. It was just as well, perhaps, for Margaret could have been of no possible assistance at that moment.

For over a year now Ennie Barr had been sharing that cosy flat, and her friendship with Margaret Quint was a warm one. The girls had a deal in common, and many a paragraph Margaret Quint had made out of Ennie's adventures.

But Ennie was not thinking anything of that just now. She was quite alone in her flat, for the woman who did for the two friends only came in the early morning, and Ennie wanted to be alone. As she sat down in the cosy sitting room the tears came into her eyes, and, just for a moment, she felt like giving up the struggle in despair. For it was only in the last few hours that she had learnt the full extent of her feelings for Michel. She had seen him almost daily for the past twelve months, and though they had very much in common, she had not regarded him as a potential lover. But now everything was different. Now she knew that there was nobody else for her, and that, unless she could save Michel from the terrible danger that threatened him, life would never be quite the same again.

They had so much in common—they were both fond of sport and the outdoor life, and, indeed, Ennie was a brilliant exponent of most games herself. She had been glad of this when she had come to realize that the legitimate stage was not for her, and that unless she was to return home a confessed failure her only chance was a film actress.

And here she had made good from the first. It was not only that taking audacious beauty of hers that gave her a footing in the film world from the start. She liked the dangerous side of it, it appealed to her sporting nature, and in a very short time, she had made a big reputation as a feminine impersonator of male parts. The new big film called "The Lady Burglar" fitted her to perfection, and she was wondering now if she could turn her talents to account so far as Quint was concerned. She knew that she could pass anywhere, and in any light as a handsome young man, and gradually, as she sat there, staring at the fire, and smoking a cigarette, she began to see her way.

But the next day passed, and Saturday morning arrived with no further sign from Michel Quint. A telephone message to his flat produced no response. But surely, Ennie thought, nothing could have happened to him, or she would have seen something of it in the papers. She bought one editor after the other, and scanned it carefully without any sign to the effect that that famous athlete, Michel Quint, had fallen into the clutches of the law. It would have been impossible for him to have been arrested without the papers being full of it. So prominent a sportsman would never have been overlooked by the argus eye of the reporters, whose business it is to see to these things.

And so the hours dragged on wearily, till the Saturday afternoon of the big golf dinner at the Leinster Rooms. It was going to be a great night in the golfing world, and many ladies would be present in the gallery. It had been arranged that if all went well, Ennie was to be one of them, and, indeed, Quint had seen to it that she was allotted a prominent seat.

It was just before dinner and Ennie had come down, changed for that meal, when there came a knock at the front door of the flat, and Quint's friend, Somerset, almost stumbled in.

His face was white and wet, his lips unsteady, and he wiped his hands nervously on a handkerchief. At the sight of him Ennie felt her heart sink within her.

"Come inside, Ted," she said. "I am afraid you have very bad news for me."

Somerset groaned. He was a tall, slender, young man, with all the alert keenness of the athlete, slightly marred by a rather weak, sensitive mouth, and a none too prominent chin. The sort of man, in fact, to fail at a pinch. But his eyes were clear and honest enough, and Ennie's heart went out to him, not so much for his own sake as for that of Margaret Quint. She knew the bond of sympathy between them.

"Sit down," she said. "Will you have——"

Somerset waved the proffered cigarette aside almost impatiently.

"I couldn't," he groaned. "It would choke me. Now, you know all about it, Ennie, Mike came to see me the night before last, and told me that you knew everything. Well, the blow has fallen. There's a warrant out for our arrest, and it may be executed at any moment. They may even have followed me here."

Ennie pressed her lips together. It was no time for emotion, no time for any maudlin sympathy.

"I am sorry, Ted," she murmured. "More sorry than I can tell you. But that you know. Now, what are you going to do?"

Somerset laughed with a certain bitter helplessness.

"What can I do?" he asked. "Ennie, those devils are too clever for us, we're like rats caught in a trap. They'll prove their case, and Mike and myself will go to gaol for years. There is no other way of looking at it. It's the vilest conspiracy ever concocted. And all my work for the last three years will go to those scoundrels."

"But what are you going to do?" Ennie asked.

"I? Nothing. I'm just going to take it as it comes, and make the best of it. If Mike weren't in this thing I should let those blackguards walk off with all my work, and cut my loss for the sake of my freedom."

Ennie looked at the speaker with a certain pity that is not quite free from contempt. It was just as Mike had prophesied—Somerset had collapsed when the pinch came. And yet he was not a coward. He was a fine sportsman who had done fine things, and this strain of weakness was no fault of his.

"I didn't want Mike to fight," he went on. "I wanted him to cut his loss. But I knew he wouldn't. He would rather fight it out to the bitter end. You see, old Mike's the sort of chap who never knows when he's beaten."

"And he isn't going to be beaten now," Ennie cried.

"But he must, my dear girl, he must. Mike goes his way, and I go mine. My idea is to go to my rooms and wait there till they come for me."

It was hopeless to argue with a man distracted and driven, and in Somerset's frame of mind.

"Does Mike know this?" Ennie asked.

"No, he doesn't," Somerset replied. "And I can't find him. You'll have to do it, Ennie, I can't go to that accursed dinner to-night, I can't. But if they haven't arrested Mike, he will turn up—old Mike will bluff it out to the finish. He knows you'll be there in the gallery, and you must contrive to warn him. You can manage that, can't you?"

"I will manage it," Ennie said, "only I must do it in my own way."

She sat there thinking for some time after Somerset had gone, with a weight at her heart, and a feeling almost akin to despair. Then her native courage came back to her, and she shook off the troubles that oppressed her, and, having forced herself to eat something, took a taxi presently and went off to the Leinster Rooms. She found her seat in the gallery, a corner seat in the front row where she could look down into the hall, and watch that brilliant array of sportsmen over their meal. It was some little time before she could make out the figure of Michel Quint, and her heart leapt in the knowledge that he was still at liberty. There were three long tables running down the room, and about the centre of the second table facing her was Quint. Opposite him, with his back to the gallery, Ennie could make out the slightly bald head and thin grey locks of Enderby. The man who sat next to him was not unlike him in age and appearance, and Ennie's nimble mind jumped to the conclusion that this was probably the capitalist, John Claw. She was to learn later that she was right.

The dinner had come to an end and the speeches had begun before Ennie managed to attract Quint's attention. He gave her a sign and a little later on rose from the table in a casual way and sauntered round to the gallery. The few seats next to Ennie were unoccupied, so that they could talk without being overheard by anyone near at hand.

"What is it?" Quint murmured. "It is bad news, Ennie. I can see it in your eyes."

"The very worst," Ennie whispered. "Ted Somerset came to see me just now in a terrible state. The warrant has been issued, and you may be arrested at any moment."

Not a muscle of Quint's face changed.

"I expected it," he said coolly. "They'll be waiting for me when I get home. How did Ted take it?"

"Oh, terribly, terribly. All the courage has left him. He is going to do nothing, Mike, he is simply going to sit down and wait for them. He wants to compromise, he wants you to let these men have all they're after on condition that there are no further proceedings."

"Yes, that would suit them very well," Quint smiled. "And would you like me to do it, Ennie?"

Ennie hesitated just for a moment. It was such an easy way out. There would be no trouble or anxiety then, and, in any case, Michel Quint would be none the worse off. Then he could look the whole world in the face, and go his own way. But it was only for a moment, and then Ennie's eyes hardened.

"No, I wouldn't," she said. "I'd fight them to the bitter end. The truth must come out some day. Oh, Mike, I hope you don't think that I am hard and unfeeling?"

"On the contrary, I never admired you more than I do at this moment," Mike said. "And I am going to fight those devils and beat them. I start to-night. In Enderby's safe lies our salvation. I believe that the alleged forged bill is there. If I can get hold of that I can laugh at Enderby, and even if I can't get away with all Ted Somerset's blue prints, without which those chaps can make nothing of their theft."

"If you only could!" Ennie sighed.

"Well, why not? I know where the stuff is. I know every inch of the ground, and I have the finest set of safe-breaking implements in the world. More than that, I have been sounding Enderby. I told him just now that I should like to see him for a few minutes after dinner, but he told me that he had important business with John Claw that would take him till after midnight. That's John Claw, sitting by his side. The bald-headed man with the sanctimonious face and the red nose. He's one of the biggest hypocrites in the City of London. A sanctimonious, oily humbug, who robs people all the week, and thanks God he is better than most men on a Sunday. He doesn't mind being a shareholder in a big golf club where Sunday play is the backbone of its fortunes. Never mind about Claw, we shall probably hear more of him later on. You see I have established the fact that Enderby won't be home till long after midnight, and by that time the papers ought to be safely in my pocket."

"And if you fail?" Ennie asked.

"Oh, I'm not going to fail."

"But, if you do?"

"Ah, there you have me," Quint confessed.

"Then let me make a suggestion," Ennie said eagerly. "If you fail, go across the common and hide yourself in the old boat-house. Stay there all to-night and half to-morrow if necessary. I can't tell you more now, because there is no time. If those men down there miss you, they may become alarmed. Go back to your seat, and good luck to you."

With a few words more, Quint strolled carelessly out of the gallery, and went back to his seat. Ennie stayed till she saw him talking across the table to Enderby and the man called John Claw, then she stole out of the gallery in her turn, and made her way homewards. Just then she rejoiced in the fact that the small flat in Halford Street boasted no porter, for the scheme she had in her mind was one that called for the utmost secrecy. She was glad, too, that Margaret was away, and that the woman who cleaned up in the flat only came there in the early mornings. Once the front door was closed behind her, Ennie darted into her bed-room. She emerged half an hour later, but changed absolutely beyond recognition.

The masses of her luxuriant hair were rolled up and tightly hidden under a tweed cap that came well down over her forehead. She was attired from head to foot in the sort of loud costume that the coster affects on a holiday. Over her coat was a double-breasted pea-jacket, and round her neck a flaming red scarf. But the boots she wore were brown tan, of a golfing pattern, with india-rubber studs on the soles. With one glance at herself in the glass to see that all was correct, she turned off the lights, and, putting down the latch of the front door, stole down the stairs unperceived, and was presently swallowed up in the darkness of the night.