Mysterious Mr. Sabin by E. Phillips Oppenheim (read books for money TXT) 📕

the girl repeated, thoughtfully; “the name sounds familiar.”

Mr. Sabin nodded.

“Very likely,” he said. “He was in command of the Channel Squadron at the time of the Magnificent disaster. He was barely half a mile away and saw the whole thing. He came in, too, rightly or wrongly, for a share of the blame.”

“Didn’t he go mad, or something?” the girl asked.

“He had a fit,” Mr. Sabin said calmly, “and left the service almost directly afterwards. He is living in strict seclusion in Norfolk, I believe. I should not like to say that he is mad. As a matter of fact, I do not believe that he is.”

She looked at him curiously. There was a note of reserve in his tone.

“You are interested in him, are you not?” she asked.

“In a measure,” he admitted. “He is supposed, mad or not, to be the greatest living authority on the coast defences of England and the state of her battleships. They shelved him at the Admiralty, but he wrote some vigorous letters to the papers and there are people pretty high up who believe in him. Others, of course, think that he is a crank.”

“But why,” she asked, languidly, “are you interested in such matters?”

Mr. Sabin knocked the ash off the cigarette he was smoking and was silent for a moment.

“One gets interested nowadays in—a great many things which scarcely seem to concern us,” he remarked deliberately. “You, for instance, seem interested in this man’s son. He cannot possibly be of any account to us.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Did I say that I was interested in him?”

“You did not,” Mr. Sabin answered, “but it was scarcely necessary; you stopped to speak to him of your own accord, and you asked him to supper, which was scarcely discreet.”

“One gets so bored sometimes,” she admitted frankly.

“You are only a woman,” he said indulgently; “a year of waiting seems to you an eternity, however vast the stake. There will come a time when you will see things differently.”

“I wonder!” she said softly, “I wonder!”

Mr. Sabin had unconsciously spoken the truth when he had pleaded an appointment to Lord Wolfenden. His servant drew him on one side directly they entered the house.

“There is a young lady here, sir, waiting for you in the study.”

“Been here long?” Mr. Sabin asked.

“About two hours, sir. She has rung once or twice to ask about you.”

Mr. Sabin turned away and opened the study door, carefully closing it behind him at once as he recognised his visitor. The air was blue with tobacco smoke, and the girl, who looked up at his entrance, held a cigarette between her fingers. Mr. Sabin was at least as surprised as Lord Wolfenden when he recognised his visitor, but his face was absolutely emotionless. He nodded not unkindly and stood looking at her, leaning upon his stick.

“Well, Blanche, what has gone wrong?” he asked.

“Pretty well everything,” she answered. “I’ve been turned away.”

“Detected?” he asked quickly.

“Suspected, at any rate. I wrote you that Lord Deringham was watching me sharply. Where he got the idea from I can’t imagine, but he got it and he got it right, anyhow. He’s followed me about like a cat, and it’s all up.”

“What does he know?”

“Nothing! He found a sheet of carbon on my desk, no more! I had to leave in an hour.”

“And Lady Deringham?”

“She is like the rest—she thinks him mad. She has not the faintest idea that, mad or not, he has stumbled upon the truth. She was glad to have me go—for other reasons; but she has not the faintest doubt but that I have been unjustly dismissed.”

“And he? How much does he know?”

“Exactly what I told you—nothing! His idea was just a confused one that I thought the stuff valuable—how you can make any sense of such trash I don’t know—and that I was keeping a copy back for myself. He was worrying for an excuse to get rid of me, and he grabbed at it.”

“Why was Lady Deringham glad to have you go?” Mr. Sabin asked.

“Because I amused myself with her son.”

“Lord Wolfenden?”

“Yes!”

For the first time since he had entered the room Mr. Sabin’s grim countenance relaxed. The corners of his lips slowly twisted themselves into a smile.

“Good girl,” he said. “Is he any use now?”

“None,” she answered with some emphasis. “None whatever. He is a fool.”

The colour in her cheeks had deepened a little. A light shot from her eyes. Mr. Sabin’s amusement deepened. He looked positively benign.

“You’ve tried him?” he suggested.

The girl nodded, and blew a little cloud of tobacco smoke from her mouth.

“Yes; I went there last night. He was very kind. He sent his servant out with me and got me nice, respectable rooms.”

Mr. Sabin did what was for him an exceptional thing. He sat down and laughed to himself softly, but with a genuine and obvious enjoyment.

“Blanche,” he said, “it was a lucky thing that I discovered you. No one else could have appreciated you properly.”

She looked at him with a sudden hardness.

“You should appreciate me,” she said, “for what I am you made me. I am of your handiwork: a man should appreciate the tool of his own fashioning.”

“Nature,” Mr. Sabin said smoothly, “had made the way easy for me. Mine were but finishing touches. But we have no time for this sort of thing. You have done well at Deringham and I shall not forget it. But your dismissal just now is exceedingly awkward. For the moment, indeed, I scarcely see my way. I wonder in what direction Lord Deringham will look for your successor?”

“Not anywhere within the sphere of your influence,” she answered. “I do not think that I shall have a successor at all just yet. There was only a week’s work to do. He will copy that himself.”

“I am very much afraid,” Mr. Sabin said, “that he will; yet we must have that copy.”

“You will be very clever,” she said slowly. “He has put watches all round the place, and the windows are barricaded. He sleeps with a revolver by his side, and there are several horrors in the shape of traps all round the house.”

“No wonder,” Mr. Sabin said, “that people think him mad.”

The girl laughed shortly.

“He is mad,” she said. “There is no possible doubt about that; you couldn’t live with him a day and doubt it.”

“Hereditary, no doubt,” Mr. Sabin suggested quietly.

Blanche shrugged her shoulders and leaned back yawning.

“Anyhow,” she said, “I’ve had enough of them all. It has been very tiresome work and I am sick of it. Give me some money. I want a spree. I am going to have a month’s holiday.”

Mr. Sabin sat down at his desk and drew out a cheque-book.

“There will be no difficulty about the money,” he said, “but I cannot spare you for a month. Long before that I must have the rest of this madman’s figures.”

The girl’s face darkened.

“Haven’t I told you,” she said, “that there is not the slightest chance of their taking me back? You might as well believe me. They wouldn’t have me, and I wouldn’t go.”

“I do not expect anything of the sort,” Mr. Sabin said. “There are other directions, though, in which I shall require your aid. I shall have to go to Deringham myself, and as I know nothing whatever about the place you will be useful to me there. I believe that your home is somewhere near there.”

“Well!”

“There is no reason, I suppose,” Mr. Sabin continued, “why a portion of the vacation you were speaking of should not be spent there?”

“None!” the girl replied, “except that it would be deadly dull, and no holiday at all. I should want paying for it.”

Mr. Sabin looked down at the cheque-book which lay open before him.

“I was intending,” he said, “to offer you a cheque for fifty pounds. I will make it one hundred, and you will rejoin your family circle at Fakenham, I believe, in one week from to-day.”

The girl made a wry face.

“The money’s all right,” she said; “but you ought to see my family circle! They are all cracked on farming, from the poor old dad who loses all his spare cash at it, down to little Letty my youngest sister, who can tell you everything about the last turnip crop. Do ride over and see us! You will find it so amusing!”

“I shall be charmed,” Mr. Sabin said suavely, as he commenced filling in the body of the cheque. “Are all your sisters, may I ask, as delightful as you?”

She looked at him defiantly.

“Look here,” she said, “none of that! Of course you wouldn’t come, but in any case I won’t have you. The girls are—well, not like me, I’m glad to say. I won’t have the responsibility of introducing a Mephistocles into the domestic circle.”

“I can assure you,” Mr. Sabin said, “that I had not the faintest idea of coming. My visit to Norfolk will be anything but a pleasure trip, and I shall have no time to spare.

“I believe I have your address: ‘Westacott Farm, Fakenham,’ is it not? Now do what you like in the meantime, but a week from to-day there will be a letter from me there. Here is the cheque.”

The girl rose and shook out her skirts.

“Aren’t you going to take me anywhere?” she asked. “You might ask me to have supper with you to-night.”

Mr. Sabin shook his head gently.

“I am sorry,” he said, “but I have a young lady living with me.”

“Oh!”

“She is my niece, and it takes more than my spare time to entertain her,” he continued, without noticing the interjection. “You have plenty of friends. Go and look them up and enjoy yourself—for a week. I have no heart to go pleasure-making until my work is finished.”

She drew on her gloves and walked to the door. Mr. Sabin came with her and opened it.

“I wish,” she said, “that I could understand what in this world you are trying to evolve from those rubbishy papers.”

He laughed.

“Some day,” he said, “I will tell you. At present you would not understand. Be patient a little longer.”

“It has been long enough,” she exclaimed. “I have had seven months of it.”

“And I,” he answered, “seven years. Take care of yourself and remember, I shall want you in a week.”

CHAPTER XI THE FRUIT THAT IS OF GOLD

At precisely the hour agreed upon Harcutt and Densham met in one of the ante-rooms leading into the “Milan” restaurant. They surrendered their coats and hats to an attendant, and strolled about waiting for Wolfenden. A quarter of an hour passed. The stream of people from the theatres began to grow thinner. Still, Wolfenden did not come. Harcutt took out his watch.

“I propose that we do not wait any longer for Wolfenden,” he said. “I saw him this afternoon, and he answered me very oddly when I reminded him about to-night. There is such a crowd here too, that they will not keep our table much longer.”

“Let us go in, by all means,” Densham agreed. “Wolfenden will easily find us if he wants to!”

Harcutt returned his watch to his pocket slowly, and without removing his eyes from Densham’s face.

“You’re not looking very fit, old chap,” he remarked. “Is anything wrong?”

Densham shook his head and turned away.

“I am a little tired,” he said. “We’ve been keeping late hours the last few nights. There’s nothing the matter with me, though. Come, let us go in!”

Harcutt linked his arm in Densham’s. The two men stood in the doorway.

“I have not asked you yet,” Harcutt said, in a low tone. “What fortune?”

Densham laughed a little bitterly.

“I will tell you all that I know presently,” he said.

“You have found out something, then?”

“I have found out,” Densham answered, “all that I care to know! I have found out so much that I am leaving England within a