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

walketh in the darkness, poisoning every one that is in the way of his horrible infection.”

Wolfenden pulled himself together. There was no doubt about his companion’s earnestness, but it was the earnestness of an unbalanced mind. Language so exaggerated as his was out of keeping with the times and the place.

“Tell me some more about him,” he suggested. “Who is he?”

“I won’t tell you,” Felix answered, obstinately.

“Well, then, who is the lady?”

“I don’t know. It is quite enough for me to know that she is his companion for the moment.”

“You do not intend to be communicative, I can see,” said Wolfenden, after a brief pause, “but I wish I could persuade you to tell me why you attempted his life to-night.”

“There was the opportunity,” said Felix, as if that in itself were sufficient explanation. Then he smiled enigmatically. “There are at least three distinct and separate reasons why I should take his life,—all of them good. Three, I mean, why I should do it. But I have not been his only victim. There are plenty of others who have a heavy reckoning against him, and he knows what it is to carry his life in his hand. But he bears a charmed existence. Did you see his stick?”

“Yes,” said Wolfenden, “I did. It had a peculiar stone in the handle; in the electric light it looked like a huge green opal.”

Felix assented moodily.

“That is it. He struck me with a stick. He would not part with it for anything. It was given him by some Indian fakir, and it is said that while he carries it he is proof against attack.”

“Who says so?” Wolfenden inquired.

“Never mind,” said Felix. “It’s enough that it is said.” He relapsed into silence, and when he next spoke his manner was different. His excited vehemence had gone and there was nothing in his voice or demeanour inconsistent with normal sanity. Yet his words were no less charged with deep intention. “I do not know much about you, Lord Wolfenden,” he said; “but I beg you to take the advice I am offering you. No one ever gave you better in your life. Avoid that man as you would avoid the plague. Go away before he looks you up to thank you for what you did. Go abroad, anywhere; the farther the better; and stay away for ever, if that is the only means of escaping his friendship or even his acquaintance.”

Lord Wolfenden shook his head.

“I’m a very ordinary, matter of fact Englishman,” he said, “leading a very ordinary, matter of fact life, and you must forgive me if I consider such a sweeping condemnation a little extravagant and fantastic. I have no particular enemies on my conscience, I am implicated in no conspiracy, and I am, in short, an individual of very little importance. Consequently I have nothing to fear from anybody and am afraid of nobody. This man cannot have anything to gain by injuring me. I believe you said you did not know the lady?”

“The lady?” Felix repeated. “No, I do not know her, nor anything of her beyond the fact that she is with him for the time being. That is quite sufficient for me.”

Wolfenden got up.

“Thanks,” he said lazily. “I only asked you for facts. As for your suggestion—you will be well advised not to repeat it.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Felix, scornfully, “how blind and pig-headed you English people are! I have told you something of the man’s reputation. What can hers be, do you suppose, if she will sup alone with him in a public restaurant?”

“Good-night,” said Wolfenden. “I will not listen to another word.”

Felix rose to his feet and laid his hand upon Lord Wolfenden’s arm.

“Lord Wolfenden,” he said, “you are a very decent fellow: do try to believe that I am only speaking for your good. That girl——”

Wolfenden shook him off.

“If you allude to that young lady, either directly or indirectly,” he said very calmly, “I shall throw you into the river.”

Felix shrugged his shoulders.

“At least remember that I warned you,” was all he ventured to say as Lord Wolfenden strode away.

Leaving the embankment Wolfenden walked quickly to Half Moon Street, where his chambers were. His servant let him in and took his coat. There was an anxious expression upon his usually passive face and he appeared to be rather at a loss for words in which to communicate his news. At last he got it out, accompanying the question with a nervous and deprecating cough.

“I beg your pardon, my lord, but were you expecting a young lady?”

“A what, Selby?” Wolfenden exclaimed, looking at him in amazement.

“A lady, my lord: a young lady.”

“Of course not,” said Wolfenden, with a frown. “What on earth do you mean?”

Selby gathered courage.

“A young lady called here about an hour ago, and asked for you. Johnson informed her that you might be home shortly, and she said she would wait. Johnson, perhaps imprudently, admitted her, and she is in the study, my lord.”

“A young lady in my study at this time of night!” Wolfenden exclaimed, incredulously. “Who is she, and what is she, and why has she come at all? Have you gone mad, Selby?”

“Then you were not expecting her?” the man said, anxiously. “She gave no name, but she assured Johnson that you did.”

“You are a couple of idiots,” Wolfenden said angrily. “Of course I wasn’t expecting her. Surely both you and Johnson have been in my service long enough to know me better than that.”

“I am exceedingly sorry, my lord,” the man said abjectly. “But the young lady’s appearance misled us both. If you will allow me to say so, my lord, I am quite sure that she is a lady. No doubt there is some mistake; but when you see her I think you will exonerate Johnson and me from——”

His master cut his protestations short.

“Wait where you are until I ring,” he said. “It never entered my head that you could be such an incredible idiot.”

He strode into the study, closing the door behind him, and Selby obediently waited for the bell. But a long time passed before the summons came.

CHAPTER IV AT THE RUSSIAN AMBASSADOR’S

The brougham containing the man who had figured in the “Milan” table list as Mr. Sabin, and his companion, turned into the Strand and proceeded westwards. Close behind it came Harcutt’s private cab—only a few yards away followed Densham’s hansom. The procession continued in the same order, skirting Trafalgar Square and along Pall Mall.

Each in a different manner, the three men were perhaps equally interested in these people. Geoffrey Densham was attracted as an artist by the extreme and rare beauty of the girl. Wolfenden’s interest was at once more sentimental and more personal. Harcutt’s arose partly out of curiosity, partly from innate love of adventure. Both Densham and Harcutt were exceedingly interested as to their probable destination. From it they would be able to gather some idea as to the status and social position of Mr. Sabin and his companion. Both were perhaps a little surprised when the brougham, which had been making its way into the heart of fashionable London, turned into Belgrave Square and pulled up before a great, porticoed house, brilliantly lit, and with a crimson drugget and covered way stretched out across the pavement. Harcutt sprang out first, just in time to see the two pass through the opened doorway, the man leaning heavily upon his stick, the girl, with her daintily gloved fingers just resting upon his coat-sleeve, walking with that uncommon and graceful self-possession which had so attracted Densham during her passage through the supper-room at the “Milan” a short while ago.

Harcutt looked after them, watching them disappear with a frown upon his forehead.

“Rather a sell, isn’t it?” said a quiet voice in his ear.

He turned abruptly round. Densham was standing upon the pavement by his side.

“Great Scott!” he exclaimed testily. “What are you doing here?”

Densham threw away his cigarette and laughed.

“I might return the question, I suppose,” he remarked. “We both followed the young lady and her imaginary papa! We were both anxious to find out where they lived—and we are both sold!”

“Very badly sold,” Harcutt admitted. “What do you propose to do now? We can’t wait outside here for an hour or two!”

Densham hesitated.

“No, we can’t do that,” he said. “Have you any plan?”

Harcutt shook his head.

“Can’t say that I have.”

They were both silent for a moment. Densham was smiling softly to himself. Watching him, Harcutt became quite assured that he had decided what to do.

“Let us consider the matter together,” he suggested, diplomatically. “We ought to be able to hit upon something.”

Densham shook his head doubtfully.

“No,” he said; “I don’t think that we can run this thing in double harness. You see our interests are materially opposed.”

Harcutt did not see it in the same light.

“Pooh! We can travel together by the same road,” he protested. “The time to part company has not come yet. Wolfenden has got a bit ahead of us to-night. After all, though, you and I may pull level, if we help one another. You have a plan, I can see! What is it?”

Densham was silent for a moment.

“You know whose house this is?” he asked.

Harcutt nodded.

“Of course! It’s the Russian Ambassador’s!”

Densham drew a square card from his pocket, and held it out under the gas-light. From it, it appeared that the Princess Lobenski desired the honour of his company at any time that evening between twelve and two.

“A card for to-night, by Jove!” Harcutt exclaimed.

Densham nodded, and replaced it in his pocket.

“You see, Harcutt,” he said, “I am bound to take an advantage over you! I only got this card by an accident, and I certainly do not know the Princess well enough to present you. I shall be compelled to leave you here! All that I can promise is, that if I discover anything interesting I will let you know about it to-morrow. Good-night!”

Harcutt watched him disappear through the open doors, and then walked a little way along the pavement, swearing softly to himself. His first idea was to wait about until they came out, and then follow them again. By that means he would at least be sure of their address. He would have gained something for his time and trouble. He lit a cigarette, and walked slowly to the corner of the street. Then he turned back and retraced his steps. As he neared the crimson strip of drugget, one of the servants drew respectfully aside, as though expecting him to enter. The man’s action was like an inspiration to him. He glanced down the vista of covered roof. A crowd of people were making their way up the broad staircase, and amongst them Densham. After all, why not? He laughed softly to himself and hesitated no longer. He threw away his cigarette and walked boldly in. He was doing a thing for which he well knew that he deserved to be kicked. At the same time, he had made up his mind to go through with it, and he was not the man to fail through nervousness or want of savoir faire.

At the cloak-room the multitude of men inspired him with new confidence. There were some, a very fair sprinkling, whom he knew, and who greeted him indifferently, without appearing in any way to regard his presence as a thing out of the common. He walked up the staircase, one of a little group; but as they passed through the ante-room to where in the distance Prince and Princess Lobenski were standing to receive their guests, Harcutt adroitly disengaged himself—he affected to pause for a moment or two to speak to an acquaintance. When he was left alone, he turned sharp to the right and entered the main dancing-salon.

He was quite safe