Читать книгу The Golden Bat - Fred M. White - Страница 4

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They were alone together in the warm intimacy of that perfectly-appointed room, and alone in the world, so far as they two were concerned. Ray placed the girl's hands on his shoulders, and smiled down masterfully into her eyes. Then he took the white face in his grip, and kissed her lingeringly on the trembling lips.

"There," he murmured, "now you understand. You belonged to me from the first, Angela, and I think you knew it. And so you really thought that you could run away from me like that!"

"But you don't understand," the girl murmured. "When I was staying with those friends in Hunstanton, and you came into my life——"

"And we fell in love with one another, darling."

"I did not think, I was too happy to think, Harry. Of course I knew—a girl always knows. And then suddenly, as I realised everything one night, I had to go. I told my friends I had had a telegram calling me back, and I hoped you would be too proud to ask them for my address. And—and that was the end of it."

"And, that was the end of the first chapter," Ray laughed. "I did not ask for your address because I knew I could find you, which I did in the end, quite by accident and followed you here. Then I managed, by a polite fiction, to get invited here this evening. It will be just as well to let Mr. Keen think, when he comes in, that we have just been making ourselves acquainted; in fact, I have powerful reasons for not taking him into our confidence. Angela, you will trust me in this matter? It will not be for long."

"Oh, there can be no other way," Angela cried. "I hate this vile deception, but it must be. Harry, I am more or less a prisoner here. I go out, I attend concerts and have my own friends, but I am a prisoner all the same. I am the mouse, and my guardian, Mr. Keen, is the cat. I don't even know who I am, I have no name I can claim as my own. I am called Angela Nemo, but nemo means nothing. And Mr. Keen will tell me nothing as to my parentage. I have no parents, he says. And when I press him, he laughs, and says it would be wiser for me to remain in ignorance, and hints at dreadful things. How could I let you go on loving me in the face of what I am telling you?"

Ray listened gravely. There was something wrong here, he told himself, some rascality which would have to be fathomed. What was the connection between Keen and this lovely, helpless girl, and why did a man like that allow her to become a member of his household, and treat her lavishly like a daughter? And what devilish cunning prompted him to the fiction that there was something disgraceful and sinister surrounding her birth?

"Darling, I had no idea it was like this," he said. "Not that it makes the slightest difference to me. I could not love you any more if you were the daughter of a duchess."

"Oh, I know, I know," Angela murmured. "But it might be worse, even, than it seems. It might be that there is madness in my family. Or some inherent curse. Why did we ever meet, Harry?"

"So that we might be happy," Ray said smilingly. "So that I could take you out of this mysterious bondage that darkens your innocent life. Ah, I am going to show you presently. Yet I gather you are not being badly treated here."

"No, I am not," Angela agreed. "But I am treated as a child, I am watched and followed. It frightens me, boy."

Ray soothed her tenderly; he could see that her nerves were all awry. Yet she was happier than she had been for months, as if the mere unburdening of her heart had released some mental pressure.

"And so you know nothing about yourself?" Ray said presently. "No little treasures, no photographs or things of that kind. And you can't remember anything of your parents?"

"Nothing," Angela said sadly. "I have been here and in Brazil with Mr. Keen when on his travels sometimes, ever since I was five—15 years ago. I have a confused memory of a dreadful accident in a rocky country where there was machinery and mines, and of some strange man saying somebody was dead. I think it must be that my mother had died before then."

Ray turned it all over rapidly in his mind. The plot was thickening in a manner he had not expected. He looked thoughtfully around the luxurious apartment, and for the first time noticed the cases of tropical butterflies on the walls. With his more or less superficial knowledge of the subject he saw that there were few rarities though the collection was by no means a bad one. Evidently Keen shared his distinguished friend's love of these wonderful moths. That was probably the bond between him and the eccentric John Everard Moon. Perhaps there was some other bond between them, and if so Ray was not going to rest until he found it out. It was likely to be a long job, because Moon had been for a very long time in the wild forests of Brazil, and anyway it was hard to identify that savant with anything savouring of crime or dishonour. However.. ..

"We must get to the bottom of this," Ray said. "Angela, you will have to be brave and resolute. There is a time of danger and peril coming which involves our future happiness, and most likely you will be called upon to play your part. But if you are in the least afraid or if you think that your courage is not——"

She smiled up bravely into Ray's face. There was a steady resolution in her wide grey eyes. He read no fear there.

"Never when I have you," she murmured. "If you think that, Harry, you are mistaken. I would do anything to——"

She drew back hastily as a step was heard on the landing outside. Then the door opened and Edward Keen came in. He discovered the lovers on each side of the fireplace, seated, and apparently engaged in casual conversation. Ray rose and bowed.

"It is very good of you to ask me here in this informal way, Mr. Keen," he said easily. "I came, perhaps, a little too soon, but Miss, er, Nemo—is not that right?—was good enough to entertain me till you came. You had a pleasant journey?"

The other man inclined his head rather formally. Evidently on guard, Ray thought. His host was a man apparently about fifty years of age, though he did not look it until the infinitely fine lines round the eyes and mouth came under observation. He was dark enough to suggest foreign blood, with hair cropped close and shaven high up the back of the neck and over the ears, and on his upper lip was a small black moustache very fine and silky.

"On the contrary, it was very good of you to come," he said. "As you can see by looking round, I am also an enthusiastic collector, and share my friend, Moon's, hobby. Not, of course, that I compare myself with him. But being a Brazilian produce merchant, and having spent half my life in that country, I have had some humble part in those wonderful books of his, and he has been so kind as to acknowledge the fact in print. So you know the country, too?"

"I was there for over eighteen months," Ray explained. "For the benefit of my health. Crocked up in the war, and managed to get out there in a destroyer by a little influence. Having much time on my hands and wanting some recreation, I took up butterfly hunting none too successfully. I have never met the great man, but I was in the same drawing-room with him one night after a big dinner in San Salvador. A fine old gentleman with grey hair and long beard and spectacles. I had no opportunity of an introduction, which was very disappointing, as I wanted to talk about that unique Golden Bat to him. I don't think even he had a specimen."

"Nobody has," Keen replied. "There is a legend to the effect that one was brought to England twenty years ago by some diplomatic individual, but it has yet to be proved. And you really think that you are in touch with one, Mr. Ray?"

"Well, I am sanguine," Ray smiled. "Novices' luck, you understand. A friend of mine up in the mines. He wrote me that he had secured a Golden Bat and was bringing it home for me. He may be back this month or by the end of the year for certain. That's why I took the liberty of ringing you up, seeing that you are an enthusiast and more or less a partner of Mr. Moon's. And if I might venture to ask you to put me in touch with him——"

"Dinner is served, Miss," the butler announced.

It was a pleasant meal well served and cooked, and the wines were all that the most fastidious could desire. It was not until Angela had gone and the two men were alone over their liqueurs and cigars that the subject of the Golden Bat cropped up again.

"My friend Moon will he delighted to meet you," Keen said. "He is very exclusive, at a rule, but any one who is really interested in entomology has his ear. Quite a recluse, you understand, and a bit eccentric. Where he is exactly at the present moment I know no more than the dead. Been away in South America for ages. But liable to reappear at any moment with material for another of those priceless books of his. When this happens he stays at home till the book is ready for the press; buries himself away in his cottage until it is finished; a cottage in the heart of the country with only a dour old man to do everything for him. Even I have to write for an appointment when I wish to visit the Thatched House at Shepperton."

"That's a very strange thing," Ray cried. "Thatched House at Shepperton. Closed for years at a time and nobody allowed to go inside. Kind of mystery in the neighbourhood—what?"

With narrowing eyes Keen looked up uneasily.

"It is as you say," he muttered. "Nobody down there knows that Moon is the great Moon. When he goes away the place is closed. But why does the fact surprise you?"

"Because the Thatched House at Shepperton was burgled last night. By the merest chance I read the meagre details in the 'Evening Mail' just before I came out. There was quite a lot about the lonely house, and the newspaper man had made the most of it—what they call a 'story' in Fleet-street. Wonderful how those chaps get hold of things. And that is where Moon lives when he is in England. Funny I should read that paragraph when I was practically on my way here. I hope no valuables were kept there."

Ray spoke slowly and with his eyes on the man on the other side of the table. Keen half rose to his feet with a strangled cry, and then dropped back again as if suddenly deprived of his strength. He struggled up and rang the bell violently.

"Go out and get me a copy of the 'Evening Mail'," he said hoarsely, as the butler entered. "Get it quick!"