The Lion's Mouse
Page 22
XXII
THE VOICE THAT DID NOT SEEM STRANGE
What happened was that the telephone began ringing in the nextroom--Peterson's room. It began when Clo had counted up to forty.
She had hoped not to go back to the room of the dead man. She hadsearched it from end to end. But now she knew the thing would have to bedone.
Already the jet and steel bag hung by its ribbons over her arm. Closwitched off the electricity, and let herself out into the hall. Beforeshe had finished her count of sixty seconds she was once more locked inPeterson's room. So confidently had she expected to hear the sameforeign-sounding accents that she almost dropped the receiver andstarted away when her "Hello!" was answered by a strange voice.
Yet--was it a strange voice? As it went on to ask: "Is this Mr.Peterson?" Clo had a strong impression that she had heard the voicebefore. Assuredly it was not the one which had talked to "Kit," but itsounded astonishingly familiar. Though she could not yet identify thetones recognition was only a question of instants.
"This is Mr. Peterson's room," she replied. "He is--here. He wishes meto speak for him."
"I had better tell you before we go further, then, that I'm talking forMr. John Heron. When you have explained that, Mr. Peterson will decidewhether he'd rather come to the 'phone and attend to the businesshimself."
Clo was glad of the pause. "John Heron!" That was the man Peterson hadmentioned during her second conversation with him. He had said thatRoger Sands was "working for John Heron" when Roger and Beverley met inthe train; and she--Clo--had heard the name with a queer thrill whichshe could not understand. So far as she knew, it was strange to her: yetshe seemed to have heard it in dreams--sad dreams, where someone hadsobbed in the dark. Through the strenuous adventures which had kept bodyand brain busy the girl had recalled it again and again, since themoment when the name had fallen from Peterson's lips. She had wonderedif she would ever have the "cheek" to ask Angel who was John Heron.Whoever he might be, John Heron was in some way concerned withBeverley's secret, or Peterson would not have spoken his name in thatconnection.
She answered quietly: "Mr. Peterson allows me to go on speaking forhim."
"Very well," returned the voice. "Mr. Peterson called Mr. Heron up notlong ago, to say he could sell him a rope of fine pearls for Mrs. Heron,at a low price. He'd heard, it appears, that Mr. Heron wished to buypearls, and he suggested an appointment for to-night. Mr. Heron did notreceive this message himself; he was indisposed at the time it came, andMrs. Heron took it, but was unable to answer for her husband. He asks meto say, in his name, that if Mr. Peterson has some particularly finepearls to dispose of, he'll be pleased to look at them, not to-night,but to-morrow morning about ten o'clock, at his hotel, the Dietz."
"The Dietz!" cried Clo. "Now I know who's speaking to me. You're JustinO'Reilly!"
Inadvertently she had kept her lips at the receiver. The cry had flownto the man who held the line.
"And you're my girl burglar! By Jove, I thought I knew that voice! Areyou in the pearl business, too? Has Mrs. Sands commissioned you and somefellow called Peterson to sell her pearls to Mrs. Heron? Now I begin tosee light! She tried to make a bargain with me over those pearls. Irefused in Heron's name and my own. What's her game now, when there'snothing left to bargain for, and you've sent the papers back?"
"Sent the papers back!" Clo gasped into the telephone. This coming intotouch with O'Reilly over the wire had been a shock. But she forgot thesurprise of it in the new surprise of his last words.
"Wasn't it you who sent them?" he went on.
She stopped to think before daring a reply. O'Reilly had got the papersback, or he wanted her to think so, for some reason of his own.
"Well, if you must know, perhaps I did send them," she prevaricated.
"I'm glad to have this chance to thank you for repenting. I felt at thetime you weren't the stuff trick-confidence-ladies and burglaresses aremade of."
"I didn't exactly repent," confessed Clo. "I had an object to gain. I'mglad the papers weren't lost on the way. You're sure no one had tamperedwith the envelope?"
"Apparently not. The messenger handed it to me sealed up and seeminglyintact, with the address of my bank on it in my own handwriting. The boywouldn't say how he knew I was staying at the Dietz. He is an ornamentto his profession! I want you to know that I don't bear malice."
As Clo listened she was surprised at the soothing effect of his voiceupon her nerves. It was like hearing the voice of a friend. After all,why should they be enemies, since of the two O'Reilly was the injuredparty, and had just assured her that he didn't "bear malice?" But he wasgoing on to ask what was the "object" she had wished to gain. "Do youmean to tell me, or is it one of your many mysteries?"
"I realized I'd gone to work with you in the wrong way," she ventured."Now I need someone's help. I need it horribly. It ought to be a man'shelp. And, except Mr. Sands, you're the only man I know."
She heard O'Reilly laughing. He wouldn't laugh if he could see what hereyes saw!
"So you want to call a truce?" he asked.
"Yes, if I could trust you."
"I like that! I wasn't the betrayer. But never mind. Your secondthoughts are best. And anyhow, you weren't working for yourself. Do youreally want my help?"
"Don't I? But it would be for--for----You know whom I mean. And you'reher enemy, aren't you?"
"Not the least in the world. But I can't buy her pearls, and I'm sureHeron will refuse to bargain if----"
"The pearls aren't for sale any more. They've been stolen. She thinksyou took them for a hold-up."
"The devil she does! But you know better. Tell me what you wish me to dofor you, and I'll do it; I wanted to see you again. You were like a badbut interesting dream, broken off in the midst, that I longed to dreamover again."
"I _feel_ as if I had been broken off in the midst!" said Clo. "I may bebroken past mending if somebody doesn't pick up the pieces good andquick! What I want you to do is to meet me outside the Westmorland. Willyou? And if so, how soon?"
"I will," came the answer. "I'll be there in eight minutes, with a taxi.Does that suit you?"
"Yes. Have the taxi drawn up in front of the hotel, and as it slowsdown, I'll jump in. Give the chauffeur an order--before he starts--notto stop, you know, but to go on the instant I'm in. A lot may depend onthat."
"What mischief have you been up to?" asked the laughing voice, which toClo, in the room of death, seemed to come from another world.
She shuddered as her eyes turned to the figure in the chair.
"Good-bye!" she said, and hung up the receiver without another word.
Eight minutes! It would take her about three to get out of the room,down the stairs, and to the front door--if all went well. What was sheto do with the other five? Now that her mission was ended, she could notstay where she was. She had reached, and almost passed, the limit of herendurance. One idle moment in that place would surely drive her mad! Yetshe could not stand in the street, waiting for O'Reilly to come to therescue. Kit and the man who had talked to Kit might be ready to pounceupon her there.