Chapter XX: Mr. Carsdale Is Confronted

The stranger drew back from the outer boundaries of the vast hotel with a quick, comprehensive glance at its size and splendour. He knew well enough that any one who once passed its portals was safe from such as he, or at any rate from such as his well-worn attire proclaimed him to seem to be. The woman he had been watching with curiosity and speculation during the last three hours was not only secure within those walls, but was lost as completely as if she had been but one amidst a whirl of leaves or a flock of sheep; he was well aware that he had small chance of seeing her again that night. Yet, as long as he dared, he lingered about the entrance to the courtyard, shuffling indeterminate feet, casting irresolute glances, and always wondering and considering in his purposeless mind.

He drew away to the edge of the pavement at last, and stood looking up and down the glaring Strand, busy and bright at that moment as at high noontide. For the second time that night he thrust a hand in one pocket and fingered the loose silver; poked a finger into another and ran his nail along the milled edge of his half-sovereign. He was saying to himself as he went through these mechanical performances that these coins were all he had in the world, and that he was not too certain, nor as a matter of fact, too sanguine, about the very necessary matter of picking up more.

“However, I guess it’ll run to a glass of ale and a crust of bread and cheese,” he suddenly muttered, half-aloud. “If a man knows that he’s going to starve Saturday, that’s no reason why he should fast Friday, so long as he’s got a shilling in his pocket.”

Then he remembered, with a dim remembrance of other days, that down Fleet Street about midnight, there are places where a man can get a good and a satisfying supper at very moderate cost--cheap eating-houses and restaurants frequented by printers and proof-readers and the lesser satellites of the Press. In that direction he moved, hands in pockets, the keen eyes still observing every face that came along in the crowd. And in the quieter stretches which lie between Wellington Street and St. Clement Danes, he suddenly came face to face with John Carsdale, and stopped dead before him in the full glare of a neighbouring lamp.

Carsdale’s nerves were always in good condition, and he himself was proud of the fact that he was rarely surprised, but on this occasion he not only jumped, but he gave voice to the first words that came to his lips.

“Good God! Sydney Werrick!” he exclaimed. “It--it isn’t you?”

The stranger put out a cool and steady hand.

“Sure!” he answered quietly. “How’re you, Jack?”

Carsdale glanced around him as he took the man’s hand. Just then few people were about; those who were, gave no more than a passing glance at the meeting of two men, one of whom, at any rate, was surprised to see the other. His presence of mind came back to him.

“Good Heavens!” he said, with a sharp laugh. “You--you knocked me over a bit. I thought you were dead, Sydney.”

“Who told you I was dead?” asked the other.

“Sandy Kinahan said you were dead,” answered Carsdale.

“Sandy Kinahan is a wicked liar,” said Werrick. “He always was.”

“Well, Sandy Kinahan is dead,” remarked Carsdale, with emphasis. “There’s no doubt about that, because I saw him lying dead in Charing Cross Hospital, there, not so many days ago. He was killed in a motor smash.”

“That saved me from killing him,” said Werrick. “Sandy was a bad man. If he said I was dead, he was playing some trick. But I don’t want to talk about that now. Have you a cigar on you?”

Carsdale drew out a cigar case and offered it.

“You don’t mean to say you’re so down that you can’t buy tobacco?” he said.

Werrick calmly selected a cigar, bit off the end, and began to smoke before he replied to his question.

“I’m not so down that I can’t buy tobacco, nor pay for my supper and my bed,” he replied, “but my capital is strictly limited, and I have to exercise the greatest economy. I had to lay out two shillings to-night in an unforeseen manner.”

“How,” asked Carsdale.

“To have a look at--Sylvie,” replied Werrick, with a direct glance.

Carsdale started.

“After all, it was money well laid out,” murmured Werrick. “Only I hadn’t reckoned to lay it out.”

Carsdale was thinking as fast as he could, and he was not quite sure what he ought to say as the result of his thoughts. What he did say eventually was tame and colourless enough.

“So you’ve seen her?” he said.

“I have. I caught sight of her going into that theatre behind there--the Odalium, isn’t it?--with a young fellow that seemed to be mighty anxious she shouldn’t fall down and break herself,” said Werrick. “Wherefore I spent two good shillings in order to sit in the pit and feast my eyes on her beauty. Also, I feasted on a diamond necklace which she was wearing, and which I reckoned up on pretty carefully. I should say that diamond necklace is worth every penny of eleven thousand pounds. That’s good--Sylvie with all that money on her, and me with about seventeen shillings and sixpence in the world!”

“Well?” said Carsdale.

“Ill, you mean,” said Werrick. “Very ill--for me.”

“Where is Sylvie, now?” asked Carsdale. “I’m certain you know.”

“Well, yes, I do, unless she’s cleared out. She’s in that big hotel, the _Cecil_, with the young ’un and two swells who look like military men, only one of ’em’s lost a wing,” answered Werrick. “I guess Sylvie’s busy with the champagne and the lobster salad, and to-morrow she’ll have a liver.”

“How did you come over?” asked Carsdale, who had been watching his man narrowly.

“Cattle-boat,” replied Werrick, laconically.

“And where are you going now?” said Carsdale. “Anywhere?”

Werrick flipped away the ash from the end of his cigar.

“Until I met you,” he said, “I was going down Fleet Street to find a cheap and satisfying supper place. Now that I have met you, it depends on you where I’m going.”

“Why on me?” asked Carsdale

“Merely because you’ll tell me where Sylvie is to be found,” answered Werrick, quietly.

Carsdale laughed.

“And suppose I don’t?” he suggested.

“In that case,” replied Werrick, “in that case I shall be sorry--for somebody.”

Carsdale laughed again.

“You’d better come home with me and have some supper,” he said. “I’m tired of standing here.”

“So’m I,” said Werrick. “I thought you liked it. Is your place far?”

“Not in one of these things,” answered Carsdale, and he hailed a passing taxi-cab, and, motioning Werrick to enter, bade the driver go to Jermyn Street. “And when did you strike town, Sydney?” he asked, in friendly fashion. “Not long since, I suppose?”

“Early hours of this afternoon,” answered Werrick. “Two o’clock, maybe.”

“Any object?” continued Carsdale.

“Only to find Sylvie--and you,” answered Werrick. “I reckoned I could do a good deal in that way in twenty-four hours. And so, Sandy Kinahan set forth that I was departed, did he?”

“Sandy Kinahan told Sylvie that you were dead,” answered Carsdale. “Moreover, he said how you died. He said that you were shot in some scrap or other in some mining town--Nevada, or Colorado, or somewhere. Moreover, Sandy Kinahan said that if Sylvie would cable to the sheriff she would get confirmatory news, and she did so, and she got the news, sure enough.”

“Then Sandy Kinahan and the sheriff had put up some game,” said Werrick, slowly. “I was in that place, and Sandy Kinahan was there, too, only he cleared out before I did. And I would like to know what their game was. Also, I would like to know what Sylvie’s game is with the young fellow and the diamonds. But that, of course, you are going to tell me.”

And Carsdale knew that this last assertion was a true one. He had a man by his side with whom it was not safe to trifle, and he rapidly sized the situation up and formed his plans.

“I always take care to be provided in case I come home hungry, and want anything in a hurry,” he said, when he and his unexpected guest had safely reached the Jermyn Street chambers. “Bachelor as I am, I keep larder, and at this moment I have a fine cold pigeon-pie in it, and a cut of ripe old Stilton cheese, which couldn’t be beaten from here to the Mansion House. As to the drinkables, you can open that cupboard, cast your eye over its contents, and select whatever strikes your fancy.”

And in his usual bustling way, Carsdale spread his own table, laid out the supper, and attended to his guest as if he were delighted to see him. The truth was, that he had been quick to recognize the inevitable, and was rapidly making up his mind to make the best of it. And when the two men had eaten, he produced whiskey and cigars, and settled down to business.

“Now, Sydney,” he said, “let’s be frank and business-like. You saw the young fellow with Sylvie to-night?”

“I saw him,” answered Werrick.

“He wants to marry her,” said Carsdale. “And he’s worth--well, a tidy lot.”

“How much?” asked Werrick.

Carsdale knew it was useless to evade or prevaricate.

“A good quarter of a million, anyhow,” he replied.

Werrick examined his cigar with the air of a connoisseur.

“Well, that’s a great pity for Sylvie,” he said. “I’m sorry for her, but I don’t just see how it’s going to be done. Because, as I say, Sandy Kinahan was a wicked liar.”

“She didn’t accept the boy until she’d seen Sandy Kinahan,” remarked Carsdale. “Of course, she believed the cable from the sheriff.”

“Naturally. But he’s a wicked liar, too,” said Werrick. He smoked meditatively for a time, staring hard at the ceiling. “It’s a delicate situation,” he said, at last. “I’m awfully sorry for Sylvie, but I don’t propose to go and make a hole in the Thames or in my own head simply because she wants to marry the boy’s money-bags.”

“I don’t know what’s to be done,” said Carsdale. He began to drum on the table before him. “It’s awkward--awkward!” he murmured.

“Well,” said Werrick, speaking with slow deliberation, “I never yet heard of any situation that couldn’t be turned to somebody’s advantage. I reckon that if this youngster has a quarter of a million there must be something very wrong indeed with you and me and Sylvie if we don’t profit by the fact.”

“I knew you’d want to share,” commented Carsdale, with a chuckle.

“Certainly, I want to share,” said Werrick, with quiet determination. “I reckon, all things considered, that I have a moral right to share.”

Carsdale’s eyes twinkled.

“And supposing you’re taken into partnership, what capital do you propose to invest?” he asked with a grin.

Werrick eyed him sideways over the point of his cigar.

“I guess you know what I can invest,” he said. “It’s something that neither you or Sylvie could ever invest, with all your cleverness.”

“All right, my son, all right,” said Carsdale. “Well, of course, Sylvie must be consulted.”

“Oh, of course, of course!” agreed Werrick. “Didn’t you always find me a reasonable man?”

“I always found you able to keep quiet in tongue and body till the time for action came,” said Carsdale. “Now where are you going to-night? Anywhere? Then why not stop here? There’s a spare room--a more comfortable one than you’d get in any cheap hotel.”

“I’ll accept that offer,” said Werrick.

“Very good,” said Carsdale, rising. He glanced at his watch. “Now, then, I’ve got to go out for an hour or two, midnight though it is. In there you’ll find everything you want. Make yourself at home, Sydney.”

Werrick merely nodded, and Carsdale, picking up his hat and walking-cane, went off without further ceremony. Once in the street, he paused for a second and swore softly to himself; then, knowing he had plenty of time, he set out at a steady pace and walked all the way to Bloomsbury, and to the flats in which Mrs. Walsingham resided. From a convenient vantage point there he watched until he saw Richard Shrewsbury’s motor-car arrive, and he made sure that Mrs. Walsingham entered the mansions alone. He let ten minutes elapse, and then he entered. The night-porter was used to seeing him at all hours, and merely gave him a nod which signified that Mrs. Walsingham had come in. And Carsdale went up quietly and with his mental activities braced by his walk through the cool night.

Mrs. Walsingham opened the door to him herself. She was still in all her theatre finery, save for the diamond necklace. Carsdale laid his finger to his lip, and softly followed her into the dining-room. And it was she who first spoke.

“What is it?” she whispered. “There’s something--I know there is! What is it?”