Читать книгу A Crime On Canvas - Fred M. White - Страница 12

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LAWRENCE strode along in the direction of the Temple feeling that he had, indeed, something like an object in life. He had not dared to analyse his own sensations. But now that he was alone the full significance of the last few hours came upon him with almost overpowering force. He began to be cognizant of the fact that he was filled with a ravening sense of hunger. He had been faint with the want of food when he had met with Ethel Blantyre. But the sensations of the moment had carried him out of himself, and all physical feelings had given place to the spiritual call on his nature. At any rate, he was hungry enough now. He could go no farther without good and proper food. He was almost astonished to find that already he began to see the humorous side of life, seeing that for the past three years he had heard and witnessed nothing which was in the least likely to bring a smile to his lips.

The joy of life was moving in his veins. He felt equal to the task before him. He turned into one of the smaller restaurants in the Strand, and after studying the menu to the best advantage provided a full and satisfying meal. It was not particularly well served or well cooked for the matter of that, but after the loathsome monotony of prison fare it seemed to Lawrence to be ambrosia fit for the gods—the sweetest fare that he had ever tasted in his life. Greatly extravagant, he purchased a cigarette, then went on his way feeling quite equal to cope with any emergency. He had lost the nervous sensation of the morning, though he was still, perhaps, just a little dazed and confused with the rapid march of events. He could not altogether rid himself of the strange feeling that he was old-fashioned and behind the times, but he was human enough to note with satisfaction that there was nothing particularly old-fashioned about his clothing. So far as outward appearances were concerned men were very much the same to look at as when the doors of a prison had clanged behind him.

He would see Le Blanc without delay, though as yet he was hardly prepared with an excuse for calling upon him. And after his mission was done in this respect, he would go and look up his friend, Raymond Watney. He felt that he would find the latter useful at this juncture, for Watney was a well-known journalist who knew everybody and would be able to furnish him with the trend of recent public events. Besides this, it was possible that Watney might be able to give him some fresh hints of the career of the artist whose pictures were just now causing such a stir in the world. On the whole, he thought it would be best if he called in at Watney's chambers and saw him first. It was not difficult to obtain the journalist's address from a Post Office Directory, and Lawrence was fortunate enough to find his friend at home. The little man with the gold spectacles greeted him heartily and sincerely.

"My dear old chap, I am delighted to see you," he said. "I have looked forward to this day with pleasure. Some time or another we are going to prove your innocence and put the right man in your place. I was more than sorry I could not meet you this morning, but a most important piece of business cropped up at the last moment and prevented me. However, I felt sure you would look me up, and now, having done so, sit down and make yourself at home. On the whole, you look better and happier than I should have expected. Surely some piece of good fortune has befallen you. Help yourself to cigarettes and tell me all about it."

Thus encouraged, Lawrence told his story, the recital of which appeared to fill Watney with satisfaction.

"That is really good hearing," he said heartily. "I am glad you have found something to do, and you might be far worse employed than giving Sir Arthur a helping hand. I don't understand Blantyre myself or what he is suffering from. Of course, I haven't come in close contact with him for years, not since you and myself and Le Blanc were boys together at Glenallan. But I saw the other man the other day and I was shocked to see the change in him. You remember how frightened we used to be of him in the old days."

"I recollect," Lawrence smiled. "As a matter of fact, Blantyre has confided in me to a certain extent. As far as I can gather I am going to act as a kind of private detective. First of all, I have to look up our old acquaintance, Victor Le Blanc. He seems to be the man of whom Sir Arthur stands in such dread. There is some question of a vendetta between them, but exactly what it is I am not free to say. But I am in a position to go and see Le Blanc, because I can plead the old days when we were friends, and profess that I have called upon him with a view to finding something to do. I am told he has gone tremendously far during the last two or three years, but as to that I can say very little, because I have been out of the world. Any information on the subject of our old acquaintance I shall welcome with gratitude."

Watney puffed vigorously at his cigarette.

"Thorough blackguard," he said laconically. "And, between ourselves, he always was—though we were too young and unsophisticated in the old days to know it. Taking into consideration the fact that we were all boys together years ago——"

"Oh, I know all about that," Lawrence said grimly. "I am alluding to the last three years. Can you help me?"

"Well, I can give you more or less authentic gossip," Watney said. "Le Blanc earned for himself an evil reputation here; in fact, for the time, London was too hot to hold him, so that he fell back on the more congenial atmosphere of Paris. But after a time there he pulled himself together and changed his life. He threw all his shady friends and companions over and became so morose and misanthropic that he appeared to be simply posing. At the same time, he did not neglect his art, for he turned out three pictures one after another which attracted tremendous attention at the Salon, and now he is back in London with a big reputation already made. Of course, I am only speaking from hearsay, for I haven't taken the trouble to look the man up, and since he has been in London we have not met."

"A difficult man to approach," Lawrence suggested.

"Just in his present mood, I should say he is. He sees nobody. He goes nowhere, and declines to be interviewed. I dare say it is all part of an attitude; but there it is. Gossip has it he has just finished a marvellous picture, which will be on view before long in one of the leading galleries. But as to this, I can't say for certain, because when Le Blanc is in London he is absolutely alone in his studio and keeps nothing in the shape of servant. He has an old woman to light his fires and do his dusting, but this is only a matter of an hour or so. I am afraid I can't tell you more than this."

"A strange change for a born Sybarite like Le Blanc," Lawrence murmured. "But I will go and see him and take the bull by the horns. You say that I shall probably be refused admittance, in which case I must open the door and walk in, I suppose. I'll let you know how things go. Oh, by the way, there is one thing I had forgotten—you say you intended meeting me this morning, but were prevented by a piece of important business. Did you send anybody as a messenger, by any chance, to take your place?"

Watney shook his head resolutely. Most assuredly he had used no messenger; indeed, it was not till a few minutes before the time to set out for Wandsworth that an imperative command over the telephone changed all his plans.

"Why do you ask the question?"

"Well, because somebody did meet me," Lawrence proceeded to explain. "Outside the gaol I was accosted by a little old man whose appearance and expression of face by no means prepossessed me in his favour. He was very vague and mysterious, and all I could get out of him was that somebody wished to see me on an important matter at a certain time in the Embankment Gardens. I resolved to see the adventure through, though I am bound to confess I didn't like it in the least. But what the upshot of it would have been I can't say, because Miss Blantyre came on the scene and changed all my plans. I went off with her to Regent's Park, and from what I know to the contrary my mysterious benefactor may be still cooling his heels behind Somerset House. It suddenly occurred to me that this messenger might have been from you."

"You may abandon that idea," Watney said.

"I saw the man again," Lawrence went on. "He was in the road outside the house near Regent's Park playing the beggar with the aid of a penny whistle. Without being unduly suspicious, his appearance there struck me as strange. Evidently somebody has an eye upon me already."