The Avenger by E. Phillips Oppenheim (crime books to read .TXT) 📕

to doubt their veracity. Yet both to Wrayson and to Duncan they had a serious import. The same thought was present in the mind of all three of them—and each avoided the others' eyes. Wrayson, however, was not disposed to let the matter go without one more effort. The corners of his mouth tightened, and he looked the Baron steadily in the face.

"Baron," he said, "I have told you that there is a man in London who has set himself to solve the mystery of Barnes' death. The two people whom he would naturally suspect are Miss Fitzmaurice and myself. There is strong presumptive evidence against us, owing to my silence at the inquest, and at any moment we might either of us have to face this charge. Knowing this, do I understand you to say that, if the necessity arose, you would be absolutely unable to throw any light upon the matter?"

"Absolutely!" the Baron declared. "Both those murders are as complete an enigma to me as to you."

"You have agents in London?"

"Agents, yes!" the Baron declared, "but they are in the nature of detectives only. They would not dream of going to such lengths, either with instructions or without them. Neither, I am sure, would any one who was employed to collect evidence upon the other side."

There was no more to be said. Wrayson rose to his feet a little abruptly.

"The air is stifling here," he said. "Let us go outside and take our coffee."

They found seats on the veranda, looking out upon the promenade. The Baron looked a little dubiously at the stream of people passing backwards and forwards.

"Are we not a little conspicuous?" he remarked.

"Does it really matter?" Wrayson asked. "It is only for this evening. I shall leave for London tomorrow, in any event. Besides, it is part of the bargain that we take coffee with these ladies. Here they are."

Wrayson introduced his friends with perfect gravity. Chairs were found, and coffee and liqueurs ordered. Wrayson contrived to sit on the outside, and next to his copper-haired friend.

"Now for our little talk," he said. "Will you have a cigarette? You'll find these all right."

She threw a sidelong glance at him and sighed. What an exceedingly earnest young man this was!

"Well," she said, "I know you'll give me no peace till I've told you. There may be nothing in it. That's for you to find out. I think myself there is. It was last Thursday night in the promenade at the Alhambra that I saw her!"

"Saw whom?" Wrayson interrupted.

"I'm coming to that," she declared. "Let me tell you my own way. I was talking to a friend, and I overheard all that she said. She was quietly dressed, and she looked frightened; a poor, pale-faced little thing she was anyway, and she was walking up and down like a stage-doll, peering round corners and looking everywhere, as though she'd lost somebody. Presently she went up to one of the attendants, and I heard her ask him if he knew a Mr. Augustus Howard who came there often. The man shook his head, and then she tried to describe him. It was a bit flattering, but an idea jumped into my head all of a sudden that it was Barnes she was looking for."

"By Jove!" Wrayson muttered, under his breath. "Did you speak to her?"

She nodded.

"I waited till she was alone, and then I made her sit down with me and describe him all over again. By the time she'd finished, I was jolly well sure that it was Barnes she was after."

"Did you tell her?" Wrayson asked.

"Not I!" she answered. "I didn't want a scene there, and besides, it's your little show, not mine. I told her that I felt sure I recognized him, and that if she would be in the same place at nine o'clock a week from that night, I could send some one whom I thought would be able to tell her about her friend. That was last Thursday. You want to be just outside the refreshment-room at nine o'clock to-morrow night, and you can't mistake her. She looks as though she'd blown in from an A B C shop."

Wrayson possessed himself of her hand for a moment in an impulse of apparent gallantry. Something which rustled pleasantly was instantly and safely transferred to the metal purse which hung from her waistband.

"You will allow me?" he murmured.

"Rather," she answered, with a little laugh. "What a stroke of luck it was meeting you here! Flo and I were both stony. We hadn't a sovereign between us when we'd paid for our tickets."

"Have you seen anything of Barnes' brother?" he asked.

"Once or twice at the Alhambra," she answered.

"He was wearing his brother's clothes, but he looked pretty dicky."

"You didn't mention this young woman to him, I suppose?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Not I! You're the only person I've told. Hope it brings you luck."

Wrayson rose to his feet. The Baron and Duncan followed his example. They took leave of the ladies and turned towards the promenade.

"I'm going to London by the morning boat," Wrayson announced. "I believe I'm on the track of those letters."

They walked up and down for a few moments talking. As they passed the front of the hotel, they heard a shrill peal of laughter. Blanche and her friend were talking to a little group of men. The Baron smiled.

"We have broken the ice for them," he said, "but I am afraid that we are already forgotten."

CHAPTER XXXIV

AN ILL-ASSORTED COUPLE

Wrayson looked anxiously at his watch. It was already ten minutes past nine, and although he was standing on the precise spot indicated, there was no one about who in the least resembled the young woman of whom he was in search. The overture to the ballet was being played, a good many people were strolling about, or seated at the small round tables, but they were all of the usual class, the ladies ornate and obvious, and all having the air of habitués. In vain Wrayson scanned the faces of the passers-by, and even the occupants of the back seats. There was no sign of the young woman of whom he was in search.

Presently he began to stroll somewhat aimlessly about, still taking note of every one amongst the throng, and in a little while he caught sight of a familiar figure, sitting alone at one of the small round tables. He accosted him at once.

"How are you, Heneage?" he said quietly. "What are you doing in town at this time of the year?"

Heneage started when he was addressed, and his manner, when he recognized Wrayson, lacked altogether its usual composure.

"I'm all right," he answered. "Beastly hot in town, though, isn't it? I'm off in a day or two. Where have you been to?"

"North of France," Wrayson answered. "You look as though you wanted a change!"

"I'm going to Scotland directly I can get away."

The two men looked at one another for a moment. Heneage was certainly looking ill. There were dark lines under his eyes, and his face seemed thinner. Then, too, he was still in his morning clothes, his tie was ill arranged, and his linen not unexceptionable. Wrayson was puzzled. Something had gone wrong with the man.

"You see," he said quietly, "I have been forced to disregard your warning. I shall be in England for some little time at any rate. May I ask, am I in any particular danger?"

Heneage shook his head.

"Not from me, at any rate!"

Wrayson looked at him for a moment steadily.

"Do you mean that, Heneage?" he asked.

"Yes!"

"You are satisfied, then, that neither I nor the young lady had anything to do with the death of Morris Barnes?" Heneage moved in his chair uneasily.

"Yes!" he answered. "Don't talk to me about that damned business," he added, with a little burst of half-suppressed passion. "I've done with it. Come and have a drink."

Wrayson drew a sigh of relief. Perhaps, for the first time, he realized how great a weight this thing had been upon his spirits. He had feared Heneage!—not this man, but the cold, capable Stephen Heneage of his earlier acquaintance; feared him not only for his own sake, but hers. After all, his visit to the Alhambra had brought some good to him.

Heneage had risen to his feet.

"We'll go into the American bar," he said. "Not here. The women fuss round one so. I'm glad you've turned up, Wrayson. I've got the hump!"

The bar was crowded, but they found a quiet corner. Heneage ordered a large brandy and soda, and drunk half of it at a gulp.

"How's every one?" Wrayson asked. "I haven't been in the club yet."

"All right, I believe. I haven't been in myself for a week," Heneage answered.

Wrayson looked at him in surprise.

"Haven't been in the club for a week?" he repeated. "That's rather unusual, isn't it?"

"Damn it all! I'm not obliged to go there, am I?" Heneage exclaimed testily.

Wrayson looked at him in amazement. Heneage, as a rule, was one of the most deliberate and even-tempered of men.

"Of course not," he answered. "You won't mind telling me how the Colonel is, though, will you?"

"I believe he is very well," Heneage answered, more calmly. "He doesn't come up to town so often this hot weather. Forgive me for being a bit impatient, old fellow. I've got a fit of nerves, I think."

"You want a change," Wrayson said earnestly. "There's no doubt about that."

"I am going away very soon," Heneage answered. "As soon as I can get off. I don't mind telling you, Wrayson, that I've had a shock, and it has upset me."

Wrayson nodded sympathetically.

"All right, old chap," he said. "I'm beastly sorry, but if you take my advice, you'll get out of London as soon as you can. Go to Trouville or Dinard, or some place where there's plenty of life. I shouldn't busy myself in the country, if I were you. By the bye," he added, "there is one more question I should like to ask you, if you don't mind."

Heneage called a waiter and ordered more drinks. Then he turned to Wrayson.

"Well," he said, "go on!"

"About that little brute, Barnes' brother. Is he about still?"

Heneage's face darkened. He clenched his fist, but recovered himself with a visible effort.

"Yes!" he answered shortly, "he is about. He is everywhere. The little brute haunts me! He dogs my footsteps, Wrayson. Sometimes I wonder that I don't sweep him off the face of the earth."

"But why?" Wrayson asked. "What does he want with you?"

"I will tell you," Heneage answered. "When he first turned up, I was interested in his story, as you know. We commenced working at the thing together. You understand, Wrayson?"

"Perfectly!"

"Well—after a while it suited me—to drop it. Perhaps I told him so a little abruptly. At any rate, he was disappointed. Now he has got an idea in his brain. He believes that I have discovered something which I will not tell him. He follows me about. He pesters me to death. He is a slave to that one idea—a hideous, almost unnatural craving to get his hands on the source of his brother's money. I think that he will very soon be mad. To tell you the truth, I came in here to-night because I thought I should be safe from him. I don't believe he has five shillings to get in the place."

Wrayson lit a cigarette and smoked for a moment in silence. Then he turned towards his companion.

"Heneage," he said, "I don't want to annoy you, but you must remember that this matter means a good deal to me. I am forced to ask you a question, and you must answer it. Have you really found anything out? You don't often give a thing up without a reason."

Heneage answered him with greater composure than he had expected, though perhaps to less satisfactory effect.

"Look here, Wrayson," he said, "you appreciate plain speaking, don't you?"

Wrayson nodded. Heneage continued:

"You can go to hell with your questions! You understand that?