Читать книгу The Man in Ratcatcher and Other Stories - Sapper - Страница 8

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It had not occurred to Hugh before; for some reason or other it had not even entered his mind. And then, with a sudden crushing force, the two names leaped at him from the page of the register at the Magnificent, and for the moment numbed him.

"Doris Lethbridge," and then, a dozen lines below, "John Fordingham." What a fool, what a short-sighted fool, he was. Good God! did he not know Fordingham's reputation? And yet, through some inexplicable freak of mind, this development had not so much as crossed his brain. And there he had been sitting at his club for over an hour, in order to ensure seeing the Colt in her room and avoid any chance of having a scene downstairs.

Dimly he realised the clerk was speaking.

"Number seven hundred and ten, sir; and since you have no luggage, we must ask for a deposit of a pound."

"I see," said Hugh, speaking with a sort of deadly calmness, "that a great friend of mine is stopping here—Mr. Fordingham. When—er—did he take his room?"

"Mr. Fordingham?" The clerk glanced at the book. "Some time this afternoon, sir. He is upstairs now; would you like me to ring up his room?"

"No, thank you; I won't disturb him at this hour." He pushed a pound note across the desk and turned slowly away. Half unconsciously he walked over to the lift and stepped inside.

"Doris Lethbridge—John Fordingham." Oh! dear God!

"What number, sir?" The lift-man was watching him a trifle curiously.

"Six hundred and ninety-four," said Hugh, mechanically. "No—seven hundred and ten, I mean."

"They are both on the same floor," said the man, concealing a smile. At the Magnificent slight confusion as to numbers of rooms was not unknown.

"Doris Lethbridge—John Fordingham!"

The lift shot up, and still the names danced madly before his eyes. Every pulse in his body was hammering; wave upon wave of emotion rose in his throat, choking him; his mouth seemed parched and dry.

"Doris Lethbridge—John Fordingham!"

"To the right, sir, for both rooms."

The door shut behind him and the lift sank rapidly out of sight. For a moment he stood in the long, deserted passage; then slowly, almost falteringly he walked along it.

Six hundred and ninety. A pair of brown boots were outside, and Hugh stopped and looked at them critically.

"An unpleasant colour," he reflected; "most unpleasant."

A passing chambermaid glanced at him suspiciously, but Hugh stared right through her. He was supremely unconscious of her existence; only those two names mocked him wherever he looked, and the pair of unpleasant brown boots. He wondered if their owner was equally unpleasant.

Slowly he walked on. Six hundred and ninety-three—six hundred and ninety-four. He staggered a little, and leaned for a moment against the wall. Then, very deliberately, be pulled himself together and listened. There was no sound coming from the room at all. He listened for voices, but all was silent; and then suddenly he heard the click of a cupboard door closing.

So Doris was inside. Doris was inside—and—Hugh took a deep breath; then he knocked.

"Who's there?" The Colt's voice, a little startled, came from the room, and Hugh's heart gave a great suffocating jump. His lips moved, but only a hoarse whisper came. He heard steps coming towards the door; the handle turned, and the next moment he was looking into the Colt's eyes.

For one second there shone in them the look of a great joy. Then she frowned quickly.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded. "I don't want to see you at all."

He pushed past her into the room, and for a while the relief was so wonderful that he could only stand there staring at her foolishly. Then at last he found his voice.

"Oh, my Colt," he whispered, brokenly, "thank God I've found you!" She closed the door and came slowly towards him. "Thank God I've found you—in time!" He said the last two words under his breath, but she heard them.

"What do you mean by 'in time'?" she said, and her voice showed no sign of relenting. "If you think I'm going to come home with you, you're quite wrong. Besides," she added, irrelevantly, "the last train's a beastly one. It stops everywhere."

Hugh looked at her with a faint smile, and then sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Colt," he said, slowly, "am I the biggest brute in the world? Am I a cad, and a poisonous beast? Am I, Colt?"

She stared at him, a little perplexed; then she shrugged her shoulders.

"Certainly not," she answered. "You're merely an inconsiderate and selfish man."

"Because," he went on, ignoring her remark, "if it's any gratification to you to know it, I should have to be everything I said to deserve such a punishment as you've given me."

"I don't see it at all," she remarked. "But—as a matter of fact—if you want to know, I wasn't going to stay away for good, as I said in my letter. I was going to come back in a week or so."

"What made you change your mind?" he asked, quietly.

"Something which happened to-night."

For a moment his collar felt strangely tight.

"Something which recalled you as you used to be—not as you are now. It made me determine to give you another chance."

"Ah—h!" A great sigh of relief came from the man. "Was it—a piece of music?"

She looked at him quickly.

"How did you know?"

"An arrow at a venture," he answered. "Was it Our Tune?"

"Yes—it was."

"And where did you hear it?"

"At the restaurant where I was dining." She lit a cigarette with studied indifference. "The Milan. I dined there with Mr. Fordingham."

Hugh nodded thoughtfully.

"They give you good grub there, don't they? I see Fordingham is stopping here."

"Is he?" said the girl. "I believe, now you mention it, he did say something about it." She was looking away, and did not see the sudden penetrating glance from the man on the bed. And he—in that one vital moment—knew, and was utterly and completely happy. His Colt was as innocent as a little child, and nothing else mattered on God's earth. Then, through the great joy which was singing in his brain, he heard her speaking again.

"I like Mr. Fordingham, Hugh. And you will have to understand that if I consent to come back to you, it will only be on the condition that if I want to I can go out and dine with him."

It was at that moment that once again there came a knock on the door.

The Colt looked up quickly, and Hugh rose.

"In case it's a message," he whispered, "I'll get over here."

He moved to a place where he could not be seen, and waited. On his face there was a grim smile as he watched her cross the room. In his mind there was absolute certainty as to who had knocked. If she wanted to, after this, she should dine with Fordingham as much as she wished.

She opened the door, and stopped in amazement.

"Mr. Fordingham!" she gasped. "What on earth do you want?"

With a quick movement Fordingham stepped into the room and shut the door.

"What do I want?" he answered, in the low, vibrant tone that was generally very successful. "Why, you, my darling little girl." Engrossed in his desire he failed to notice Hugh, who was leaning on a chest of drawers watching the scene. He also failed to notice that the look of blank amazement on the Colt's face had been succeeded by one of outraged fury. "Give him up little girl," he went on, "give him up and come to me."

The next moment he staggered back, with a hand to his cheek.

"You little spitfire," he snarled, and then quite suddenly he stood very still. For Hugh's voice, clear and faintly amused, was speaking.

"Good for you, Colt. Now the other cheek."

The sound of a second blow rang through the room, and Hugh laughed gently.

"I—I—" stammered Fordingham. "There's been a mistake. I—I—must apologise. The wrong room—"

He stood cringing by the door, staring fearfully at Hugh, who had left his position by the chest of drawers, and was standing in front of him.

"You lie, you miserable hound," said Lethbridge, contemptuously. "You've made a mistake right enough; but it was not a mistake in the matter of the room. You deliberately planned the whole show, and now—" he took him by the collar, "you can reap the reward."

He shook Fordingham, as a terrier shakes a rat; then he flung him into a corner.

"Open the door, Colt," he said, quietly, "and well throw the mess into the passage."

The mess did not wait to be thrown; it gathered unto itself legs, and departed rapidly.

"Hang it!" said Hugh, as he closed the door, "I've nearly broken my toe on him."

He limped to the bed, where he sat rubbing his foot. Just once he stole a glance at the Colt, who was standing rigidly by the mantelpiece; then he resumed the rubbing. And on his face there was a faint, tender smile.

Then the massage ceased as a pair of soft arms came round his neck from behind.

"Boy! oh, boy!" and her mouth was very closed to his ear. "You don't think—oh! tell me you don't think—that I—"

He put his hand over her mouth.

"It's no question of thinking, my Colt, I know—" For a while he stared at the face so close to his own; then very gently he kissed her on the lips. "I know—I was at the Milan myself to-night, Colt—behind a pillar. I told 'em to play Our Tune."

He stood up and smiled at her.

"We'll manage the show better now. I've been worried; I've been a fool. I won't be any more. And now it's time you went to bed." He turned away abruptly. "I'll be getting off to my own room."

But she was at the door before him, arms outstretched, barring the way.

"Just wait a moment," she cried, a little breathlessly, "I want to telephone before—before you go—"

"Telephone!" His surprise showed on his face. "At this hour?"

But the Colt was already speaking.

"Halloa! Is that the office? Oh, it's Mrs. Lethbridge speaking. My husband has suddenly arrived. He has a room here, so could you give us a double room, in exchange for our two singles? You can? Thank you."

She replaced the receiver and turned to the Man.

"There are a whole lot of things I don't understand," she said, demurely, "and it won't be any more expensive."

But the Man had her in his arms.

"My Colt!" he whispered, triumphantly. "My Colt!"