Читать книгу A Shadowed Love - Fred M. White - Страница 11

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"And so I am going to be left to the beauties of Pant-street and my butterflies," said Greigstein, pulling meditatively at his cigarette. "Miss Molly, I shall be desolate. Herr Dick, do not forget your old friend when you are famous."

Dick replied that it would be a long process. It was the last night he and Molly would be in Pant-street, a hot, airless night that brought the moisture shining on the faces of them all. To-morrow they would be in a pretty, sweet-smelling place of their own.

"And do you give us an occasional thought from your butterflies," Molly laughed. "You pretend to bewail our loss, and you have been out every night this week after your specimens. Again this evening."

"I must," Greigstein protested. "I go as I have done constantly of late, to Cambria Square. Positively I am on the track of a new specimen. In the gardens I shall capture him. An ugly, cruel, treacherous moth, but absolutely essential to my collection."

Two little sparks gleamed in Greigstein's eyes. At the same time he leaned back smiling in his chair, watching the blue smoke drift upwards. A collecting case was on the table by his side. Molly opened it playfully.

"But there is a revolver in here," she cried. "Surely you don't collect even the most dangerous of moths with a revolver?"

Greigstein smiled. Dick regarded him fixedly.

"A penny for your thoughts, Herr Dick," he exclaimed.

"They were professional," Dick replied. "I was wishing that I knew your life's history. It is a fascinating discovery for a novelist to make, that a harmless collector of fera-natura goes out hunting in London squares with a revolver."

Again the steely points in Greigstein's eyes flashed.

"And I," he cried, "would give much to wipe out the past and stand as you do. Good-night, my dear young friends. I invite myself to breakfast with you to-morrow. Meanwhile, my moth may be waiting."

He went off coolly enough, whistling an air as he went. Through the dark streets he took his way to Cambria Square. As he crossed over to the gardens a clock somewhere struck the hour of midnight. A policeman passing by touched his hat to the German. Evidently the two had met before. Then Greigstein sat down on the edge of the pavement, and proceeded to pull a pair of galoshes over his boots. He took a key from his pocket and proceeded to open the big iron gates leading into the gardens. The hinges slipped back noiselessly as if they had been oiled lately.

Once inside, there was no occasion for further secrecy. The big trees and the closely planted shrubs made a perfect screen. Yet Greigstein crept along noiselessly, as if fearful lest the breaking of a twig should scare away his quarry.

He crept along in the same cat-like manner until he reached the railings near the spot of Dick Stevenson's adventure. Then he lay at full length behind a laurel bush and waited patiently. He fumbled intuitively for his cigarette case, but abandoned the longing for tobacco with a sigh.

He waited patiently for an hour or more, listening intently to any passing sound. Then a shadow hovered before the railings and another figure crept through into the gardens by means of the railing that moved.

"Ah," Greigstein muttered, "so I have got my tiger moth!"

The figure came along, actually stepping on the back of the German's hand as he passed. The latter was on his feet in a moment. His arms shot out and the cold blue rim of a revolver barrel was pressed against the intruder's neck.

"Don't stir," Greigstein whispered. "As you value your precious and estimable existence, don't stir an inch. Oh, yes, it is a revolver you feel against you right enough. Go down on your knees."

The stranger obeyed. He seemed absolutely overcome by fear or surprise.

"Well, now I proceed to place these spectacles over your eyes. They fit tight by means of extra springs. For the purpose of ocular display they are not a success, seeing that the lenses are of ground glass. Now permit me to take your arm and lead you from here. If you try to give an alarm—"

The pause was ominous. The other man gave no sign, though Greigstein could feel his arm quivering. Presently they were walking rapidly along the deserted streets, stopping and turning and crossing the road as danger threatened. At length Greigstein dexterously piloted his capture into his own room, locking the door behind him.

"Now, my tiger moth," he said, jubilantly, and speaking for the first time in his natural voice, "now my scorpion, take off those glasses."

The glasses were snatched off and flung violently across the room. A tall man with a fine face and noble presence stood confessed. But the thin lips and shifty eyes detracted from the first favorable impression; there was a nasty red shade in the eyes, a certain restless movement of the hawk-like fingers.

"Von Wrangel," he exclaimed, "I might have guessed it. Always florid, always theatrical. If you had taken the trouble to send for me—"

"You would not have come, Stephen," Greigstein said quietly. "Besides, I did not know your address. By accident I heard that you were to be found some of these nights near Cambria Square, therefore I waited for you. Only force could have compelled your presence."

"But no force can compel me to speak."

"You will tell me everything that I desire to know," Greigstein said. "Bah, I have only to hold up my hand and you are no more than an empty husk of corn by the wayside. A word or a sign and you are a dead body floating on the Thames. For the sake of your good name and the noble race you belong so, I am here in London little better than an outcast. You betrayed us, and you betrayed those who were against the cause. And because of that your father drowned himself in the lake at Stanmere. You nearly killed your mother—she would be dead now if she only shared our knowledge. Bah, you will tell me all that I desire to learn, and you know it."

The other man muttered something. He was palpably ill at ease.

"Go on," he said, "and get it over. I don't suppose my society is any more congenial to you than yours is to me. Speak out."

"I am coming to it. Sit down and smoke. I shall not detain you long; I shall say nothing of your search, which is doomed to be unsuccessful. It is of the past that I desire knowledge. What have you done with the girl?"

"What girl? If you are alluding to Mary—"

"Of course I am. How a pure white soul like hers ever came—But I need not touch that. And when your mother came to love her you took her away cruelly without a word. Of all the cruel, dastardly things you ever did—"

"Stop!" the other cried. His voice rang clear and loud. "With all my faults I loved that child. She was everything to me. In her presence I was another man; of my past she guessed nothing. When the time came that I could have her back with me, I sought her. And she had vanished."

"Vanished?" Greigstein said, hoarsely. "Dog! if you dare lie to me—"

"Before God I am telling the truth, Von Wrangel. I can look you in the face and say it again and again. I know not where the child has gone. I have laid my cherished vengeance aside to find her. Aye, I would go down on my knees to you if you would tell me where Mary is now."

Greigstein had no reply. The cigarette fell from his fingers, and smouldered unheeded on the floor. The man spoke no more than the truth.

"For once in my life," Greigstein said, slowly, "I am utterly and hopelessly beaten."