Читать книгу The Grey Woman - Fred M. White - Страница 7

Table of Contents

Beaucaire started back and regarded the intruder with a menace in his eyes. He had not expected anything like this and still less had he anticipated such a move on Pamela's part. It was quite plain to him now what had happened. Pamela had telephoned to Musgrave and told him exactly what had happened and what she proposed to do at the very moment he was cooling his heels on the pavement outside the Underground station, innocently dreaming of the pleasant time that lay before him.

Somehow or another this beautiful woman with the mocking smile in her eyes had divined the fact that he was the man who had got away with the pearls. They seemed to be burning a hole in his pocket at that moment, but he was not the type of man to surrender his prey without a struggle. He was a scoundrel of the most determined type, but, whatever his failings might be, he suffered from no lack of physical courage.

"What is the meaning of all this?" he demanded. "What pearls are you talking about?"

"No use," Joe said curtly. "A lady in my party to-night was robbed of a string of pearls whilst she was on the dance floor. One of those put-up jobs of course. A man, apparently intoxicated, barged into her and you saved her from a fall. At that moment you snatched the rope from her neck, and that was about all there was to it. You are a cool hand, Beaucaire, but I think you have overdone it this time. It was like you to stay where you were with that stuff in your pocket, trusting to your cool nerve to pull you through, but it doesn't follow that every man is a fool who isn't a knave. I didn't happen to be in the club at the moment because I had left, but I learnt all that happened on the telephone, when this lady told me the story, and I got here as soon as I could. Now then!"

"Now, then, what?" Beaucaire demanded. "Do you suppose you are going to get away with this preposterous story? Suppose I tell you that I don't know what you are talking about? Suppose I assure you that I know nothing of those pearls?"

"I shouldn't believe you," Musgrave said curtly.

"Shouldn't believe me? Isn't my word as good as yours?"

"I should rather think not," Musgrave said. "Now, look here, Beaucaire, you have never got yourself into gaol yet, but you are nearer to it now than you ever were in your life. You are running a serious risk of my calling in a policeman and giving you into custody, and standing a chance of a libel action afterwards if I am wrong. But I am sure those pearls are in your pocket that I am quite prepared to do what I said."

"Despite the scandal," Beaucaire sneered.

"Oh, yes, I see what you mean. I would put up with anything to keep Miss Dacre's, name out of an unsavoury exposure. Yes, you are quite right there. I don't want the police in this business if I can help it. Now, look here. Give me those pearls and we will both forget what has happened. You can go on just as you have done before, hanging on the fringes of Society and remain a member of your clubs, which to you is a precious privilege you would be sorry to lose. But if you decline,—well, then I shall have to use force."

"In the presence of a lady?" Beaucaire exclaimed.

"Oh, please don't mind me," Pamela drawled. "I am no heroine of Victorian romance. I have even attended an international boxing championship. So get on with it Joe. I shan't faint or anything of that sort."

"I wish you were out of the room, all the same," Musgrave said. "Still, if you won't go——"

He broke off and advanced threateningly in Beaucaire's direction. The other seeing what was about to happen, lunged out suddenly and caught Musgrave a glancing blow on the side of the head. It shook him for a moment, and then grimly he returned to the attack. There was not much between the men as far as size and weight went, but one was an athlete in perfect training and the other an individual rendered soft and flabby by a long course of easy living in town. At the end of five minutes Beaucaire lay prostrate on the floor, bleeding from a cut over his left eye and quite unable to rise. Musgrave dragged him to his feet and flung him into a chair.

"Well, that's that," he breathed heavily. "Now, are you going to give me any more trouble? Oh, you are. Then I must search your pockets for myself."

With that Musgrave held the other by the throat and dived his fingers into the inside breast pocket of Beaucaire's dress coat. He brought out something wrapped in a silk handkerchief, together with a square object which, for the moment, passed unnoticed as he laid it on a table. Then, as he unrolled the handkerchief, a pearl gleamed in the light.

"Ah, here we are, Pamela," he said. "You were perfectly right. Now, what have you to say for yourself, Beaucaire?"

"It's all in the game," Beaucaire muttered. "Mind you, I don't bear any malice. I should have served you just the same way if the positions had been reversed. If you are quite satisfied, I should like to be alone."

"A wish easily gratified." Joe said lightly. "Come along, Pamela. But, before I go, I should like to say this. This story is never likely to be published, and—here, what's this? How on earth did you manage to get hold of that?"

As he spoke Musgrave pointed to the object on the table. It was nothing less than the gold snuff-box, the very object he had bought that morning in the little shop off Wardour-street.

"That is mine," Beaucaire said hurriedly.

"It's not," Joe cried. "It belongs to me. Open it, and if you don't find a dozen or more of my own cigarettes with my own monogram inside, you can keep it and eat the thing if you like. I purchased it on purpose for use as a cigarette case. Yes, I remember now, I took it out of my pocket in the club, not long before I left, and I laid it on the table by my side for a moment whilst I was having an argument with my friends. Some dexterous thief must have snatched it from under my very eyes. He probably passed it on to you, Beaucaire, as part of the evening's plunder. However, it won't concern you any longer, unless you can put in a substantial claim for it. But I don't think you will do that when you see the cigarettes inside."

Musgrave flicked the lid open and disclosed two rows of cigarettes, bearing his own monogram in gold inside the box. Beaucaire glared at him with a murderous look in his eyes.

"Get out," he cried. "Get out, damn you. I have had about enough of this. Now then, begone!"

"With pleasure," Joe smiled. "Come on, Pamela. I will walk with you as far as your flat. It is not the slightest use trying to get a taxi at this time of the morning."

The door of the dining-room closed behind Beaucaire's late visitors, leaving him alone. He hardly heard the front door close before he flew to the telephone and called a certain number.

He stood cursing and muttering to himself at the delay until a voice spoke at the other end of the wire.

"Is that you, Phasy?" he demanded.

"That's me," came the response. "Who is it? Vivian Beaucaire. You, is it? What do you want?"

The voice came in a strongly pronounced foreign accent, although the English was correct enough.

"A most infernal thing has happened," Beaucaire said. "I don't know what I should have done if I hadn't found you. I was afraid that they would have detained you at the club, or perhaps taken you to Bow-street."

"You needn't have worried about me," the voice said. "I was not far off when you made your way down the fire escape. And I wasn't going to spoil sport when I saw you with that pretty girl in the Haymarket. What's wrong?"

"Everything," Beaucaire growled. "I got away with the pearls, but the beauty you saw me with belonged to the same party as the girl who lost them. She tricked me finely. I can't tell you now how she did it, because there is no time to be lost, but she and a man friend of hers have got the pearls back again, and they are on their way at the present moment to the young woman's flat. But that is not the worst."

"Oh, isn't it?" the voice at the other end of the wire asked jeeringly. "What else could have happened?"

"Well, that gold snuff-box," Beaucaire said. "You know the one I mean. Pawned by Ratty Dutton with a Jew dealer off Wardour-street. The very thing he promised to bring us, only I hadn't the money to pay him at the moment. I was just five minutes too late this morning to try and get it back, because the dealer had sold it. It was a real slice of luck when I spotted Musgrave using it at The Aphrodite and still better luck when that Dago waiter managed to sneak it for me. Now, listen."

In a few words, Beaucaire told the man at the other end of the wire exactly what had happened over those pearls and the strange recovery by Musgrave of his lost property.

"That is bad," the voice with the foreign accent muttered. "We must get that box back, whatever happens."

"Of course we must," Beaucaire agreed. "I can't do it, because I am out of commission for the moment. But you can. Now, listen. Musgrave is walking home with the girl who is the cause of all the mischief, and in about ten minutes time he will be returning to his flat by way of Coventry-street and Horton-street. He must pass down Manton-street. Very dark there and all that. You must wait at the corner for him and lay him out. Kill the blighter if necessary. Do anything you like, so long as you get that box back."

"All right, I will do my best," the other man said. "If successful, I will come round and tell you."

Meanwhile Pamela and Joe Musgrave were making their way in the direction of the former's flat. Somewhere in the distance a clock was striking the hour of three and the streets were utterly deserted. There was not even a belated taxi to be seen. It was a quiet walk, too, for both had a good deal to think about and, so far as Pamela was concerned, she was a great deal more shaken than she would have cared to confess. It had, indeed, been a tremendous night's adventure with a triumphant conclusion, and yet Pamela would have been a great deal more satisfied if she could have taken it as easily as Joe seemed to do. She was beginning to realise that she was, after all, nothing but a mere woman, and it was sheer pride that kept her from breaking down and sobbing there and then in the street.

Joe was not altogether ignorant of his companion's physical condition, though he knew that any allusion to it would be resented promptly. He did not even offer Pamela his arm, though, when they reached the flat, he followed her up the stairs with, apparently, every intention of seeing her safely inside.

"I think I shall do now, Joe," she said.

"U'm. Perhaps," he responded. "And perhaps not. I noticed when I picked you up just now that our late host had prepared a cocktail for you, but you hadn't touched it."

"Now, did you really notice that?" Pamela asked. "You must have had yourself very well in hand to have remarked such a trivial thing. I don't mind confessing to you, Joe, that I wanted that little drink very badly. Three or four times after leaving that wretched dance club I was as near the verge of collapse as possible. I thought I should have enjoyed an adventure like that, but I didn't. I wasn't exactly frightened——"

"You wouldn't be," Joe said stoutly.

"Thank you, Joe. That is a real compliment. But I was dreadfully scared and afraid of doing something to give the whole game away. And you were such a time."

"I wasn't," Joe protested. "I turned out of bed directly I got your telephone message from Piccadilly station and hurried round without losing a minute. The mere thought of you being under the same roof as that scoundrel was positive torture to me. And, of course, I had to appear there just as if nothing had happened. I even put on a fresh collar and a new tie. But don't let's talk about that for the present. My dear Pam, I don't think I ever admired you so much as I do at this moment. Your courage and resource was absolutely splendid."

"Don't, Joe," Pamela said tearfully. "Please don't. I can't stand it, at least, not just now. I have had a lesson and I am not going to forget it. What you must have thought about me these last few months, goodness knows. But one thing I can promise you is that I am not going to pose any more. And if ever you see me drinking another cocktail, I hope you will box my ears, even if it is in public. I have behaved like a perfect beast, Joe, and you know it."

"Oh, well," Joe said tolerantly. "We all have our weaknesses. But you are going to have something before you go to bed, even if I have to stand over you and make you take it. Now then, turn out your latchkey. I am coming inside for a few minutes."

"Twice in one evening," Pamela laughed unsteadily. "What would the censorious world say if they knew that Pamela Dacre had spent the best part of an hour in one man's flat and subsequently entertained another in her own?"

All the same, Pamela felt none the worse for the touch of stimulant that Joe prepared for her and declared that she must have a cigarette to soothe her nerves before she went to bed. Then, suddenly, she stood up and asked Joe a question which he answered to the best of his ability.

"I had nearly forgotten," she cried. "I suppose the pearl business put it out of my head."

"Forgotten what?" Joe asked.

"Why, all that about the mysterious cigarette case. The one you have in your pocket. The one that Beaucaire declared belonged to him. What about it, Joe? Was there any particular reason why Beaucaire should want it?"

"Ah, there you have me guessing," Joe replied. "I bought the case, or rather, the box, this morning—from a little Jew dealer in a lane off Wardour-street. It isn't a cigarette case in the proper sense of the word, but a gold snuff-box of antique design, which I thought I could use for a more modern purpose. And my own cigarettes exactly fitted it. But that is not the most extraordinary part of it. There is no doubt that the box is a very old one and of Italian or French workmanship. In the centre of the lid is a miniature of an exceedingly pretty girl, which must have been painted some considerable time after the box was made. It is let into the top and covered by an oval sheet of crystal. I think it was this picture that really induced me to buy it. I wonder if the girl reminds you of anybody."

Thereupon, Joe took the box from his pocket and placed it in Pamela's hand. She held it up to the light and then a sharp cry broke from her lips.

"Why, Joe, this is me," she cried. "At least it would be me but for the difference in the costume and the dressing of the hair. That miniature must be nearly a hundred years old, so that it can't have been inspired by my humble self. But did you ever see such a wonderful likeness?"

"Never," Joe said. "It's amazing. I should have shown it to you sooner or later in any case. But, putting all that aside for the moment, why was Beaucaire so anxious to get hold of it? And how did he know that I had got it? Yet he took a considerable risk in stealing it, or getting it stolen by one of his light-fingered friends. And you saw how he fought to obtain possession of it just now. But, seeing that my own cigarettes were inside, he could not very well carry off the bluff. Anyway, I am going to find out. I will know why that scoundrel ran all the risks he did in order to get hold of that case. And I believe that you are in some way at the bottom of it."

"But how could I be?" Pamela protested.

"Ah, that is wrapped in mystery. But I am not going to rest until I know more about this thing than I do at present. Now, look here, Pam, I have known you a great many years—ever since you were a child, in fact. You have always moved in the same set, and it was a relative of mine who introduced you to society. She is dead now, poor old thing, so we can't get any information from her. There is only one person in the world who can tell us, and that is your dry old guardian, Hartley Horne. And it is about as much use to go to him as it is to go to an oyster. Upon my word I hardly know how to put it. We shall never get to the bottom of this little mystery until we know who you are and all about your parents. Of course, we take you for granted, because you are one of us, and you couldn't be anything but a lady in mind and physical beauty, even if you walked about the streets in rags. But you are a mystery, my dear, though I hate to say so. I ought not to mention these things, and I shouldn't if I thought less of you than I do."

"That's just like you, Joe," Pamela said gratefully. "Never ask any questions, and take everything for granted. But what can I do to help? It is not the slightest use going to Mr. Horne. He is a dried-up old sphinx. He has no object in life except his business and the guarding of family secrets. At any rate, he guards my family secrets closely enough. Some day or another I shall go to him and force the truth out of him."

"Not a bit of use," Joe said. "He belongs to one of the same clubs that I do. I often see him at The Marathon, though why he joins a sporting club like that I can't for the life of me understand. He dines there sometimes, and invariably has a cutlet and rice pudding, with a small bottle of claret. But he is always by himself, and never seems to talk to anybody. We shan't get anything out of Horne."

"I am afraid you are right, Joe," Pamela sighed. "But you must have been watched this morning when you were buying that box. I think somebody else was after it, and you just managed to get hold of it purely by chance a few minutes before the other man. I can't make any other suggestion. We might talk about this all night without getting within sight of a solution. And, my word, I am tired!"

"I am sorry," Joe said penitently. "I had no business to have kept you up like this. I'll be off now, and you go to bed at once. By Jove, I had forgotten all about Daphne and the pearls. Try and get her on the telephone after I have gone. I don't suppose she is asleep, even at this hour."