Читать книгу A Crime On Canvas - Fred M. White - Страница 15

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"I WAS going to leave a message asking you to follow me as soon as possible," Sir Arthur explained. "Still, since you are here, I can give you ten minutes. You might let me know if you have seen or heard anything about Victor Le Blanc."

"I have just come from his studio," Lawrence explained. "I am almost ashamed to tell you that we had anything but a satisfactory interview. He seemed to divine almost by instinct why I had called upon him and who sent me. And when I suggested that I could make London too hot to hold him he retorted by a threat to charge me with blackmail. You will see at once with a record like mine how this would have ruined me. . . Sir Arthur, I will do anything in the world to help you, but I really could not go back to prison."

"Poor boy, poor boy," Sir Arthur said sadly, "I quite understand. I am sorry your mission has begun in failure, but I can find many uses for you yet. So long as Le Blanc did not know that you came from me and were acting on my behalf, why, it seems to me——"

"But he did, Sir Arthur," Lawrence cried. "It was really most unfortunate. Le Blanc was not actually in the studio at the time of my arrival; in fact, I don't mind telling you that I walked straight into the place when I found that it was useless to knock at the door. I was alone in the studio for a minute or two, and I had the opportunity of admiring a picture which the artist is just on the verge of finishing. To cut a long story short, the painting was a kind of allegory of a young girl hesitating between love and money."

"What was the face like?" Sir Arthur demanded hoarsely.

"Strangely enough, there was no face," Lawrence went on. "Everything else was finished, but the features were left a blank. As to the figure itself, it was marvellously like that of Miss Blantyre, which fact struck me directly I looked at it. It may seem rather far-fetched to say this, but the fact remains. I am afraid that Le Blanc guessed what I was thinking, for when he came in he put a question to me which threw me entirely off my balance. He asked me innocently enough if the figure did not remind me of Miss Blantyre, and like the dull fool that I was I said yes. Then he laughed at me and told me that I was far too ingenuous to make a success of the detective business. And so——But goodness gracious! you are ill, sir? Can I get anything for you?"

Sir Arthur threw himself down in a chair and covered his white face with his hands. When he looked up again his features were white and ghastly. His lips had lost their colour.

"I was not wholly unprepared for this," he groaned. "And so that scoundrel was playing with you. Of course, that frank confession of yours betrayed you into his hands."

"It did, indeed, Sir Arthur," Lawrence said sadly. "That man's intuition was wonderful. I was so taken aback that I could not stand up to him for a moment. And then he sent a message to you. He spoke of vengeance patiently waited for and diabolically worked out. He bade me tell you that he was going to strike you through the medium of that picture, and that, in a few days it would not only be exhibited, but that it would also be the talk of London. Le Blanc does not err on the side of modesty. But I hope that I am not causing you pain."

"Never mind that," Sir Arthur murmured. "I tell you this thing must be prevented. At all hazards that picture must never leave the painter's studio. It must be destroyed, mutilated, stolen—anything to prevent a public exposure. I am a rich man and, comparatively speaking, money is nothing to me. Now will you undertake this thing for me if I make it worth your while?"

The old man spoke vaguely. He was trembling from head to foot. A fierce light gleamed in his dark eyes. Then suddenly his manner changed and he broke down almost pitifully.

"You must forgive me," he murmured. "I ought not to have made such a suggestion. Perhaps I should have confided in you more fully, but I am too upset to do so now. Tell me, is there any chance of your coming in contact with Le Blanc again?"

"As a matter of fact, I am going to see him to-night after eleven," Lawrence explained. "For the present I am staying with my friend Watney, whom you may remember. I don't quite know why Le Blanc asked me to call again, unless it is to ascertain what you thought of his scheme of vengeance. I fancy he knows you are in London. But whether he is aware of your address or not I cannot say. Now don't you think it would be as well, sir, if you remained here for a day or two longer? So long as you are on the spot I can consult you at any moment. You see, Glenallan is such a long way off, and you particularly cautioned me that if I had anything to say I was not to write. It seems so important."

Sir Arthur shook his head sadly. He did not see how it was possible to delay his return to Glenallan, though he would postpone his departure till later in the day, and send a telegram to Raymond Watney's rooms announcing his final decision. With no more than this to go upon Lawrence took his departure and made his way towards the place where Watney lived. He had the rest of the afternoon to himself, for it was nearly dinner-time before Watney returned with the announcement that he had nothing further to do for the day, and that he was entirely at Lawrence's disposal. He looked curiously at his visitor over his gold spectacles. Lawrence sat there thoughtfully.

"Are you going to tell me nothing?" Watney asked. "Of course, I don't want to pry into your business, but I think I can help you a little. In the course of my professional career I come across some very peculiar people from time to time who are in a position to afford me all sorts of out-of-the-way information. And for an hour this morning I was talking to a man who seems to know a great deal about the doings of Victor Le Blanc. Now did you notice anything particularly strange about him this morning?"

"I didn't," Lawrence admitted, "except that he had changed marvellously. It occurred to me that he had a very strong and striking personality, and I am bound to confess that he got the best of me altogether. Apart from that I saw nothing striking or noteworthy."

"I thought perhaps you might," Watney said. "I find that the fellow is little better than a madman. He has a perfect monomania of hatred against those who interfere with him or cross him in any way. It doesn't matter whether the offence is great or small, for that wild hatred still exists in the same highly concentrated form. To a certain extent he inherits this characteristic from his father, who was very eccentric, as you may remember. But in Le Blanc's case this morbid characteristic is intensified and strengthened by a dreadful habit into which he has drifted—a habit which will sooner or later land him in a premature grave. The man has no vices or excesses now save one, but that one is worse than a thousand minor dissipations. To put the matter plainly and bluntly, Le Blanc is a confirmed morphia maniac. This information will be useful to you presently. Now tell me without betraying confidences what happened between you and Le Blanc when you met this morning. My curiosity is not idle."

Lawrence debated the matter a moment carefully before he replied. After all there would really be no breach of confidence. And Watney seemed to be moved by a genuine desire to aid him. He recited the whole of his adventures faithfully, not omitting to describe Le Blanc's invitation to visit the studio after eleven o'clock that night.

"Oh come, this is useful," Watney chuckled. "Now don't you think the best thing you can do is to get all the information you can? For instance, I see you are very much puzzled as to the identity of the mysterious lady who was in the studio this morning. It is quite fair to assume that she is the fair one whom Le Blanc is going to take to the theatre to-night. Don't you think it would be as well if we went to the same theatre and made ourselves sure on the point? I happen to know the restaurant where Le Blanc generally dines, and it is odds that the fair charmer will dine with him. There is not the slightest reason why we shouldn't take our modest chop at the same place and follow the couple if it is worth while when they leave the restaurant. Oh, you needn't worry about your wardrobe. I have all your clothes here, so that you will be able to look out your evening dress and make yourself presentable. Now what do you say to my suggestion?"

Lawrence approved of it. He was eagerly looking forward to the adventure. He was looking forward, too, to the pleasure of dining in a well-regulated restaurant once more.

Later Hatton found himself seated in a secluded corner of a restaurant, half shaded behind a palm which stood on the table. He glanced more or less curiously about him; then his gaze became fixed upon a solitary diner a little way down the room. The man was correctly dressed and to all outward appearances was a gentleman.

"Who is that fellow?" he asked suddenly.

"Name of Doveluck," Watney said sketchily. "Eccentric. And supposed to be a millionaire. Why?"

"Because," Lawrence whispered, "he is my friend of the penny whistle. I will take my oath on it."