A Rogue by Compulsion, Victor Bridges [best books to read for knowledge TXT] 📗

that for some little time our conversation was inclined to be a trifle incoherent: indeed, it was not until we had settled down round the table and Tommy had knocked the head off the first bottle of champagne with the back of his knife that we in any way got back to our real environment.

It was Joyce who brought about the change. "I keep on feeling I shall wake up in a minute," she said, "and find out that it's all a dream."

"Put it off as long as possible," said Tommy gravely. "It would be rotten for Neil to find himself back in Dartmoor before he'd finished his champagne."

"I don't know when I shall get any more as it is," I said. "I've got to start work the day after tomorrow."

There was a short pause: Joyce pushed away her plate and leaned forward, her eyes fixed on mine; while Tommy stretched out his arm and filled up my glass.

"Go on," he said. "What's happened?"

In as few words as possible I told them about my interview with Sonia, and showed them the letter which she had brought me from McMurtrie. They both read it—Joyce first and then Tommy, the latter tossing it back with a grunt that was more eloquent than any possible comment.

"It's too polite," he said. "It's too damn' polite altogether. You can see they're up to some mischief."

"I am afraid they are, Tommy," I said; "and it strikes me that it must be fairly useful mischief if we're right about Mr. Bruce Latimer. By the way, does Joyce know?"

Tommy nodded. "She's right up to date: I've told her everything. The question is, how much has that affair got to do with us? It's quite possible, if they're the sort of scoundrels they seem to be, that they might be up against the Secret Service in some way quite apart from their dealings with you."

"By Jove, Tommy!" I exclaimed, "I never thought of that. One's inclined to get a bit egotistical when one's an escaped murderer."

"It was Joyce's idea," admitted Tommy modestly, "but it's quite likely there's something in it. Of course we've no proof at present one way or the other. What do you think this girl—what's her name—Sonia—means to do?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Goodness knows," I said. "It looks as if there was a chance of making a big immediate profit on my invention, and that she intended me to scoop it in instead of her father and McMurtrie. I can't think of anything else."

Tommy pulled up a fresh plate and helped himself to some cheese.

"She must be pretty keen on you," he observed.

"Well, you needn't rub it in, Tommy," I said. "I feel quite enough of a cad as it is."

"You're not," interrupted Joyce indignantly. "If she really loves you, of course she wants to help you whether you love her or not."

"Still, she'll expect a quid pro quo," persisted Tommy.

"Then it isn't love," returned Joyce scornfully, "and in that case there's no need to bother about her."

This seemed a most logical point of view, and I determined to adopt it for the future if my conscience would allow me.

"What about your invention?" asked Tommy. "How long will it take you to work it out?"

"Well, as a matter of fact," I said, "it is worked out—as much as any invention can be without being put to a practical test. I was just on that when the smash came. I had actually made some of the powder and proved its power, but I'd never tried it on what one might call a working basis. If they've given me all the things I want, I don't see any reason why I shouldn't fix it up in two or three days. There's no real difficulty in its manufacture. I wasn't too definite with McMurtrie. I thought it best to give myself a little margin."

Tommy nodded. "You've handled the whole thing splendidly up till now," he said. "I rather think it's the ticklish part that's coming, though." Then he paused. "Look here!" he added suddenly. "I've got a great notion. Why shouldn't we run down tomorrow in the Betty and have a squint at this place of yours? There's nothing like taking a few soundings when you're not too sure about things."

I drew in a deep breath. "I'd love to, Tommy," I said, "but it's rather asking for trouble, isn't it? Suppose there was still someone about there? If McMurtrie had the faintest idea I'd given away the show—"

"He won't," interrupted Tommy; "he can't. We'll take precious good care of that. Listen here: I've got the whole thing mapped out in my mind. The Betty's at Leigh, where I laid her up yesterday. I had a seven-horse-power Kelvin engine put in her last year, so we can get up, whatever the wind is—I know the tide will be about right. Well, my idea is that we three go down to Leigh tomorrow morning and take her up to this place Cunnock Creek, or somewhere near. Then if it's all serene you can land and have a look round; if there seems to be any one about we can just push off again. Joyce and I won't show up at all, anyway: we'll stop on board and let you do the scouting."

"Yes, yes," exclaimed Joyce, her eyes shining eagerly. "Let's go. It can't do any harm, and you might find out all sorts of useful things."

"Besides," added Tommy, "it would be the deuce of a day, and it's a long time since any of us had a good day, eh, Joyce?"

"Three years," said Joyce quietly.

That decided me. "Right you are," I said. "You're—you're something like pals, you two."

We clinched the arrangement with a grip, and then Joyce, jumping up from the table, crossed the room to a small writing-desk. "I've got a time-table somewhere here," she said, "so we can look out the train right away."

"It's all right," said Tommy. "I know 'em backwards. We'll catch the nine-five from Fenchurch Street. It's low water at eight-thirty, so that will get us in about the right time. We can leave the Betty at Tilbury or Gravesend afterwards, and come back by train from there. We'll be home for dinner or supper or something."

Joyce nodded. "That will just do," she said. "I am going out again with George in the evening. Oh, I haven't told either of you about last night—have I?"

I shook my head. "No," I said, "but in any case I wish you'd drop that part of it, Joyce dear. I hate to think of you dining with George: it offends my sense of decency."

She took an envelope out of the desk and came back to her place at the table. "I mean to drop it quite soon," she said calmly, "but I must go tomorrow. George is on the point of being rather interesting." She paused a moment. "He told me last night that he was expecting to get a cheque for twelve thousand pounds."

"Twelve thousand pounds!" I echoed in astonishment.

"Where the Devil's he going to get it from?" demanded Tommy.

"That," said Joyce, "is exactly what I mean to find out. You see George is at present under the impression that if he can convince me he is speaking the truth I am coming away with him for a yachting cruise in the Mediterranean. Well, tomorrow I am going to be convinced—and it will have to be done very thoroughly."

Tommy gave a long whistle. "I wonder what dog's trick he's up to now. He can't be getting the money straight: I know they've done nothing there the last year."

"It would be interesting to find out," I admitted. "All the same,
Joyce, I don't see why you should do all the dirty work of the firm."

"It's my job for the minute," said Joyce cheerfully, "and none of the firm's work is dirty to me."

She came across, and opening my coat, slipped the envelope which she had taken out of her desk into my inner pocket. "I got those out of the bank today," she said—"twenty five-pound notes. You had better take them before we forget: you're sure to want some money."

Then, before I could speak, she picked up the second bottle of champagne that Tommy had just opened, and filled up all three glasses.

"I like your description of us as the firm," she said; "don't you,
Tommy? Let's all drink a health to it!"

Tommy jumped to his feet and held up his glass. "The Firm!" he cried. "And may all the fools who sent Neil to prison live to learn their idiocy!"

I followed his example. "The Firm!" I cried, "and may everyone in trouble have pals like you!"

Joyce thrust her arm through mine and rested her head against my shoulder. "The Firm!" she said softly. Then, with a little break in her voice, she added in a whisper: "And you don't really want Sonia, do you, Neil?"

CHAPTER XV A HUMAN "CATCH"

It's not often that the weather in England is really appropriate to one's mood, but the sunshine that was streaming down into Edith Terrace as I banged the front door at half-past eight the next morning seemed to fit in exactly with my state of mind. I felt as cheerful as a schoolboy out for a holiday. Apart altogether from the knowledge that I was going to spend a whole delightful day with Tommy and Joyce, the mere idea of getting on the water again was enough in itself to put me into the best of spirits.

I stopped for a moment at the flower-stall outside Victoria Station to buy Joyce a bunch of violets—she had always been fond of violets—and then calling up a taxi instructed the man to drive me to Fenchurch Street.

I found Tommy and Joyce waiting for me on the platform. The former looked superbly disreputable in a very old and rather dirty grey flannel suit, while Joyce, who was wearing a white serge skirt with a kind of green knitted coat, seemed beautifully in keeping with the sunshine outside.

"Hullo!" exclaimed Tommy. "We were just getting the jim-jams about you. Thought you'd eloped with Sonia or something."

I shook my head. "I never elope before midday," I said. "I haven't the necessary stamina."

I offered Joyce the bunch, which she took with a smile, giving my hand a little squeeze by way of gratitude. "You dear!" she said. "Fancy your remembering that."

"Well, come along," said Tommy. "This is the train all right; I've got the tickets and some papers."

He opened the door of a first-class carriage just behind us, and we all three climbed in. "We shall have it to ourselves," he added. "No one ever travels first on this line except the Port of London officials, and they don't get up till the afternoon."

We settled ourselves down, Tommy on one side and Joyce and I on the other, and a minute later the train steamed slowly out of the station. Joyce slipped her hand into mine, and we sat there looking out of the window over the sea of grey roofs and smoking chimney-stacks which make up the dreary landscape of East London.

"Have a paper?" asked Tommy, holding out the Daily Mail.

"No, thanks, Tommy," I said. "I'm quite happy as I am. You can tell us the news if there is any."

He opened the sheet and ran his eye down the centre page. "There's nothing much in it," he said, "bar this German business. No one seems to know what's going to happen about that. I wonder what the Kaiser thinks he's playing at. He can't be such a fool as to want to fight half Europe."

"How is the Navy these days?" I asked. "One doesn't worry about trifles like that in Dartmoor."

"Oh, we're all right," replied Tommy cheerfully. "The Germans haven't got a torpedo to touch yours yet, and we're still a long way ahead of 'em in ships. We could wipe them off the sea in a week if they came out to fight."

"Well, that's comforting," I said. "I don't want them sailing up the Thames till I've finished. I've no use for a stray shell in my line of business."

"I tell you what I'm going to do, Neil," said Tommy. "I was thinking it over in bed last night after you'd gone. If there is any possible sort of anchorage for a boat in this Cunnock Creek I shall leave the Betty there.