Читать книгу A Shadowed Love - Fred M. White - Страница 16

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Turned out into a cold and heartless world, Venner made his way from Victoria Station in an easterly direction. He had nothing in his pockets, the accommodating establishments under the three golden balls were all closed for the night, and his land lady was of a harsh and suspicious nature. Even the bright genius of Horace Venner could see no way out of the difficulty—-but one.

He would go and see his wife. Hunger and thirst—especially the latter—had sharpened his wits, and before he had come to the end of his journey a dozen brilliant lies and plausible excuses for the loan of a sovereign occurred to him. It was cruelly hard work, for he had counted upon seeing Lady Stanmere, who might have been 'good for anything' up to three figures. And now that was entirely a thing of the past. He knew and feared Mr. Martlett too well to disregard his instructions.

He reached his destination at length, a fairly large house at the back of Southampton square, let out into rooms and suites of rooms. On the second floor he paused, and then passed into a pleasantly furnished little sitting room, which was empty. There was a bedroom beyond, and into this Venner peeped. It was empty, but the gas was not turned down, so the occupant of the rooms could not be far off. Venner knew his wife's careful, thrifty ways.

He could afford to wait patiently, for the simple reason that he had nowhere else to go, unless good luck were on his side. His predatory eye glanced round the room disapprovingly. There was none of that class of portable property here such as the soul of Mr. Wemmick loved—no watch, no spoons or rings or anything of that kind. A gold watch, now, might have saved a useless discussion.

Perhaps they were in the bedroom. Women often keep trifles of that kind on their dressing-tables. Venner strolled casually into the bedroom, whistling an air. His heart glowed within him. There was a gold watch there with an inscription upon it, a present from a grateful patient.

Venner conveyed it to his pocket. The air on his lips grew more gay, and then suddenly stopped altogether. For there were voices in the sitting room, low and hurried voices; a man's, hard and defiant; a woman's, urging and persuading. There was some familiar suggestion about the man, as to the woman, there was no mistake whatever. It was Venner's wife.

Well, he would wait for developments. If he was caught he would slip the watch back again, and make some excuse for his appearance there. He was listening intently now, for experience told him that though listeners seldom heard any good of themselves they frequently heard ill of other people, and knowledge of human weaknesses is something remunerative.

"I fancy I managed it all right," the man said. "It was a stroke of genius using your cloak and bonnet in the dark. And of course you passed unmolested. I fancy it quite safe to go now."

"Not just yet," the woman's voice urged. "Stay a little longer, sir. For the sake of the old days, and Stanmere, don't run into needless danger."

The listener started joyfully. Here was a piece of amazing luck, luck so stupendous that he could hardly contain himself. He stumbled quite by accident upon the very man out of all the world that he most desired to see. In his own wife's lodgings he had found him.

Yet there was nothing so wonderful about it, seeing that Cecilia Venner had ever been devoted to the family of Stanmere.

"But I can't stay," the man said. "I am pretty sure that we baffled them and that the coast is clear. My dear soul, you need not be alarmed."

"All the same, I am going down into the roadway to see, sir," Nurse Cecilia said. "You can wait at the top of the stairs. It is quite dark there. But, whatever you do, don't go downstairs till I come back."

"Well, then, I won't. What a loyal little thing you are, to be sure. If all the people about Stanmere had been like you, I might have turned out differently."

The listener peeped through the crack of the door. He saw his wife creep out, he could make out the outline of the man's figure. There was no mistake about it, the passing years had made changes on hair and features and carriage, but there was the man that Venner longed to see. As the man followed impatiently into the darkness of the landing Venner crept after him. On second thoughts he decided to retain possession of the watch for the present.

He was safe now, he was quite sure that his quarry had not seen him emerge on the landing. He had only to wait now and to follow, and the £10,000 would be in his grip. The mere thought of it turned him dizzy. There was a footstep on the stairs and a few whispered words. It was all safe evidently. The stranger was in the street at length and Venner close behind him. He could swear to that walk and the swing of those shoulders anywhere. The man in front came presently into Gordon square, silent and deserted now, and then Venner ranged up alongside the figure in front.

His discoloured teeth showed in a broad grin, he reached out his hand playfully and smote the other on the shoulder.

"So I've got you at last," he said. "I've had some bits of good luck in my time, but never anything quite so fine as this. Say that you are glad to see me, say that the sight of my rugged, honest face—"

Venner paused. The man turned and faced him with a cool smile and a face as unbroken as that of an amused child. Venner had expected him to stagger back and cry out, to turn white and stammer for mercy.

There was nothing of this in the programme. The man with the cool smile flashed out an arm with the suddenness of lightning; there was a sickening sound, and Venner went down headlong to the ground with blood trickling from a cut lip. Only the instinct that it might spoil the game kept him from howling for mercy.

"Now, don't you try that on with me again," the stranger said with perfect equanimity. "Get up, you rascal. If this had happened in San Francisco—"

"You are a bold hand, Mr. Paul," Venner said, as he struggled to his feet. "But you shall pay for this a hundred-fold."

The cool smile faded from the other man's face.

"Well, I almost fancied that I recognised you," he said. "But my good man, you have made a great mistake. I am not Paul, but the other man. And you are Paul's valet, Horace Venner. There is no mistaking that half-cringing, half-bullying manner of yours. I have known a good many scoundrels in my time, but never a worse than you. And your father was an honest man."

"So was your father for that matter," Venner said, sullenly.

The other man laughed silently, as if the joke amused him.

"You are looking for your master," he said. "Strange to say, I am also looking for your late master. I have been looking for him for years. And when I do meet him there will be an account that will take some wiping out. Where is he?"

Venner gave a gesture of despair.

"Goodness knows," he muttered. "I thought I had him here to-night. When I was in—but never mind that. I followed the wrong man. Trust a Stanmere to do queer things. I should prefer Cambria Square; but there is no accounting for tastes."

"What has Cambria Square got to do with it?"

Venner executed an ingenious wink expressive of deep cunning.

"Knowledge is power," he said. "I've seen you coming out of that handsome flat in Cambria Square more than once. You must have had a good stroke of luck lately to be able to afford a place like that. Only it can't be pleasant to have to creep out after dark, like the bats and the cats—what's up?"

The other man gave a cry, a cry of pain. He staggered back with his hand to his side, his face was ghastly white.

"An old wound," he said, "I got in New Orleans. The pain is dreadful. You are an excellent scout, Venner, and have a way of nosing out secrets that is marvelous. But I wouldn't say too much about Cambria Square if I were you. Sometimes I am there and sometimes I have missions that take me elsewhere. Good-night."

"Half a minute sir," Venner said, eagerly. "If you've got a sovereign or two about you—"

"I haven't got five shillings; I am as poor as you are. And even if circumstances were otherwise I shouldn't help you. You are a pestilential scoundrel, Venner, and I would gladly come to your execution to-morrow. Good-night Venner, I am going back to Cambria Square."

The speaker turned on his heel and strode rapidly into the darkness. His face was white and set, his eyes gleamed like sullen fire.

"So I have got it at last," he muttered. "Almost! Confound my impetuosity! I might have got Venner to tell me the number of my flat in Cambria Square."