Book Read Free

The Plague, Pestilence & Apocalypse MEGAPACK™

Page 34

by Robert Reed


  agent of somebody who was carrying on some sort of——” he hesi-

  tated . “I hardly like to say it—some sort of intrigue,” he continued

  boldly, “and did not want this fact to leak out .”

  THE 4TH PLAGUE, by Edgar Wallace (Part 1) | 266

  His eyes roved round the Bench and halted when they met those

  of Lady Morte-Mannery . They looked at each other; she calmly, in-

  curiously, he hopefully, with a wondering, puzzled stare .

  “It is my first offence,” he went on. “I have never been in this

  position before, and although the jury have found me ‘Guilty,’ my

  lord, I do hope that you will take a lenient view of my offence,

  not only for my own sake, but for the sake of my wife and unborn

  child .” His voice shook a little as he pleaded . It was the only sign of

  emotion he had given .

  Sir Ralph nodded again . It was a grim nod . It put a period to the

  prisoner’s speech . The Chairman adjusted his gold pince-nez, and

  bent his head from left to right, consulting his colleagues .

  “Your offence, George Mansingham,” he said, “is peculiarly ab-

  horrent to me . I do not consider the fact that the house burgled was

  my own . Fortunately I am unaffected by personal considerations,

  and the fact that I, myself, was away from home that night enables

  me to try this case in an unprejudiced spirit .”

  He looked down at the paper on his desk musingly . Then he sud-

  denly jerked his head up .

  “You will be kept in penal servitude for seven years,” he said .

  Something like a gasp ran through the court . Hilary George,

  monocle in eye, half started to his feet, then sank back again . The

  man in the dock stood dazed .

  “Seven years,” he repeated, and shook his head as though he

  could not understand it, then turned and stepped down the stairs

  which led to the cells below .

  Hilary George was a stout man; he had a large fresh face, and

  eyes that told plainly of his immense vitality and joy of life . Seeing

  him you thought of an overgrown boy, and the monocle, as a friend

  had remarked, seemed out of place in one so young . He had one of

  the biggest practices at the Bar; he was a skilful lawyer and a bril-

  liant debater .

  You might think him an easy man to manage, with his parted lips

  that showed two rows of white even teeth and that look of surprise

  and delight which shone in his eyes . But no man who had ever tried

  THE 4TH PLAGUE, by Edgar Wallace (Part 1) | 267

  to persuade Hilary George against his will or against his better judg-

  ment, had ever repeated the attempt .

  He stood now, an immaculate figure, on the steps of the Session

  House . He was not smiling, he looked as grave as his facial confor-

  mation would allow . Very slowly, very deliberately, he buttoned the

  white gloves over his huge hands . He looked at his watch, and, as

  he did so, the East Mannery party came out, Lady Morte-Mannery

  a little ahead, Sir Ralph following with two or three of his guests .

  “Will you drive over in the car with us, or will you take the wag-

  onette,” asked Sir Ralph, pleasantly . He was rather in awe of the

  big barrister—as much in awe as he could be of anybody—and he

  invariably cloaked his uneasiness with a certain perkiness of manner

  which passed with Sir Ralph for good-humour .

  “I’m not coming over, Ralph,” said Hilary George, quietly .

  The Chairman raised his brows .

  “Not coming over?” he repeated . “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going back to town,” said Hilary, slowly as before .

  “But why? What has happened? I thought you were keen on the

  shooting .”

  “I’d rather not say why,” said Hilary . “If you’ll be good enough

  to tell my man to bring my boxes to the station—I’ll amuse myself

  in Burboro’ for another hour .”

  “But what is the reason?” persisted Sir Ralph . “Have you had any

  news? Is there any necessity for your going back to town?”

  Hilary scratched his chin reflectively.

  “I’ll tell you,” he said, and faced the other squarely . “You’ve just

  sentenced a man to seven years penal servitude .”

  “Yes?” replied Sir Ralph, wonderingly .

  “It was a perfectly beastly sentence,” said the K .C ., and every

  word cut like a knife . “A perfectly beastly, malicious, vindictive,

  unjust sentence,” he repeated, “and I would not stay another hour in

  the house of the man who passed it .

  “More than this!” he said, with a sudden accession of fierceness

  and benevolent malignity, if the paradox may be allowed, which

  THE 4TH PLAGUE, by Edgar Wallace (Part 1) | 268

  almost paralyzed his hearer, “I will not rest until that sentence is

  reduced . My solicitors shall take it to the Court of Appeal .”

  “You—you—how dare you!” spluttered Sir Ralph .

  “A perfectly beastly sentence,” repeated the other, with annoying

  deliberation . “Don’t talk to me, Sir Ralph, I’m not a tyro, I’m a bar-

  rister . I know the game better than you . I know what sentence was

  justifiable there. I know exactly how your own personal prejudice

  stepped in to confine this man—this young man, a first offender—to

  a living hell .”

  He spoke with vehemence, his plump face growing redder and

  redder as his anger rose .

  “I will never forgive you, Hilary,” cried Sir Ralph, shaking with

  anger . “You have mortally offended me . You know I believe in long

  sentences .”

  “I don’t care a damn what you believe in,” said the other, and his

  very calmness emphasized the strength of his language . “I bid you

  good morning .”

  He walked over to where Lady Morte-Mannery stood watching

  them .

  “I am sorry, Lady Morte-Mannery,” he said, a little stiffly. “I

  shall not be coming back to the house . An important engagement

  has called me to London .”

  She murmured her sorrow conventionally, though she was by no

  means displeased to see the back of a man whom at first she had

  regarded as one who might easily be influenced to her views. Her

  views, it may here be remarked, were peculiar .

  “Why has he gone?” she asked her husband, as the car drove

  through the main street of Burboro’ .

  Sir Ralph, who was glowering with rage, vouchsafed a snarling

  answer .

  “How do I know? Why do you ask ridiculous questions? Because

  he’s a fool,” he went on viciously . “Because he’s a blackguard . He’s

  grossly insulted me, and I’ll never forgive him .” He was in a white

  heat of temper, and for the whole day brooded on the affront which

  had been offered him .

  THE 4TH PLAGUE, by Edgar Wallace (Part 1) | 269

  Vera made one or two ineffectual attempts to smooth his ruffled

  plumage . She was particularly anxious to get him into a good mood .

  She had one or two requests to make, which in his present frame of

  mind she knew would be rejected without thought . Her efforts were

  unavailing .

  “I wish you wouldn’t potter round,
” he growled, when she went

  into the library on the pretext of tidying away some books which

  had been left out by some careless guest .

  “Oh, come here,” he said, as she was going out of the room .

  “Here’s a bill from Burt’s . How many packets of prepared oats did

  we have in last week?”

  “I forget, dear,” she said .

  “Six,” he growled . “Do you know we have never had more than

  four before?”

  “Mr . George liked it for breakfast,” she answered .

  “Mr . George!” he almost shouted . “Don’t mention that man’s

  name . Why is Bulgered charging 1s . 0½ d . a pound for his beef?

  It’s monstrous—change the butcher . I wish to goodness you’d show

  some interest in the conduct of your house, Vera .”

  He scowled at her under his white shaggy brows .

  “You go on as if I was made of money . Practise some sense of

  economy . My dear girl, before you were married you counted every

  penny . Imagine they are your mother’s, and count mine .”

  With a shrug, she left him . He was utterly impossible in these

  moods . She went into the drawing-room wondering how she should

  approach her lord on the subject which lay uppermost in her mind . A

  girl sat in one of the windows, reading . She looked up with a smile

  as Vera entered .

  “Isn’t it a bore?” she said . “They’ve just told me that Mr . George

  has gone back to town . He played such beautiful piquet . Why has

  he gone?”

  She rose lazily, putting her book down . She was a tall, beautiful

  girl, of that exquisite colouring which is the English gentlewoman’s

  heritage . The well-poised head was crowned with a luxurious mass

  of russet gold hair . Her eyebrows, two delicate lines of jet black,

  THE 4TH PLAGUE, by Edgar Wallace (Part 1) | 270

  were set over a pair of the loveliest eyes that man ever looked into .

  At least, so thought many a man who knew her . Even Sir Ralph, self-

  engrossed and contemptuous, he said, of beauty, had commented

  upon their liquid loveliness .

  A straight nose, and a firm, rebellious chin, a perfectly calm

  mouth, completed the picture . As she moved she displayed the grace

  of her slender figure. Every movement suggested the life of free-

  dom—freedom of field and road—eloquently, as did her complex-

  ion of the softening qualities of her native Ireland .

  “The horrible thing about being a poor relation,” she said, as she

  dropped her strong hand affectionately on the other’s shoulder, “is

  that one can’t command the friends of one’s rich relations . I should

  have told Hilary George: ‘You cannot go to London, however press-

  ing your business may be, because my niece Marjorie, wants some-

  body to play piquet with her .’”

  Vera shook the hand from her shoulder with a scarcely percep-

  tible movement .

  “Don’t be silly, Marjorie,” she said a little tartly . “Ralph’s very

  worried . Hilary has been awfully rude to your uncle .”

  The girl’s eyebrows rose .

  “Rude?” she repeated . “Why, I thought they were such good

  friends .”

  “He has been very rude,” she said again . “By the way,” she said,

  “your man is coming down to-day, isn’t he?”

  The girl’s face flushed. She drew herself up a little.

  “I wish you wouldn’t say that sort of thing, Vera,” she said . “I do

  try to be nice to you, and you never lose an opportunity of speaking

  unkindly .”

  Vera laughed, and strolled across to the piano . “I didn’t know that

  was unkind,” she said, as she seated herself, and pulled out some

  music from the rack at her side .

  The girl followed her, her hands behind her back; she stood be-

  hind her .

  “Do you like me, Vera?” she asked .

  Vera looked round, and stared at her .

  THE 4TH PLAGUE, by Edgar Wallace (Part 1) | 271

  “My dear child,” she said, “don’t be absurd . I don’t dislike you .”

  “But you do,” persisted the other . “I have seen it so often . I’ve

  had such convincing evidence, and it makes me a little unhappy .”

  She drew up a chair by the side of the piano and sat down .

  “Don’t play,” she said, “just let us have a heart-to-heart talk .”

  “That’s the kind of talk I loathe . I’ve just been having a heart-

  to-heart talk about Quaker oats,” said the other . “But this young

  man—what’s his name?”

  “Gillingford—Frank Gillingford,” said Marjorie, steadily .

  “You are rather keen on him, aren’t you?”

  “I am hoping that he is rather keen on me,” said the girl, her sense

  of humour getting the better of her resentment .

  “What is he, an engineer or something?” asked Vera, touching

  the keys lightly with her sensitive hands .

  “Something of the sort .” And Marjorie changed the conversation .

  “Didn’t uncle rather—rather”—she hesitated for a simile—“as Mr .

  George would say, ‘whack it into’ that unfortunate person?”

  “You mean the burglar?”

  Marjorie nodded .

  “I don’t think he got any more than he deserved,” said Vera .

  “Do you really think he came after uncle’s collection?

  “Why not?” asked Vera, without looking round . “It is a very valu-

  able one . There are medallions there worth three or four hundred

  pounds each—there is one there worth a thousand, at least,” she

  added quickly . “I believe that is so .”

  “But what use would they be to him?” persisted the girl .

  “Well——” Vera shrugged her shoulders .

  “You are asking me to give a psychological survey of a burglar’s

  mind,” she said, “and that I am not prepared to do .”

  Marjorie walked back to the window and looked out on to the

  dismal landscape . It had been raining for the last hour, and the trees

  looked especially miserable, half enveloped as they were by a mist

  which was driving up from the Medway valley .

  THE 4TH PLAGUE, by Edgar Wallace (Part 1) | 272

  “I shouldn’t advise you to discuss the question of that sentence

  with your uncle,” said Vera across her shoulder . “He is rather sore; I

  think that was the cause of his quarrel with Hilary George .”

  The girl made no reply . She could not understand Vera . She had

  always been an enigma to her . That she was a disappointed woman,

  Marjorie knew . She had expected to inherit a life of luxurious calm;

  instead, she had merely succeeded the house-keeper, whom Sir

  Ralph had thoughtfully discharged, and had, moreover, dated his

  discharge as from the date of his wedding .

  Vera was an ambitious woman . She had set no limit upon her

  possibilities . She had come, as she had thought, into a wider world,

  to a larger life, with scope for the exercise of her undoubted genius,

  but had found herself restricted to the prosaic duties of housekeep-

  ing for a querulous and a mean old man .

  Marjorie’s reverie was cut short by the sudden cessation of the

  music . There was a little pause, and then Vera’s voice asked—
>
  “Where could I raise five hundred pounds?”

  CHAPTER II

  THE CALL OF TILLIZINI

  Marjorie turned with a start .

  “Five hundred pounds?” she repeated .

  Vera nodded .

  “I want that sum,” she said, “for a purpose . You understand that

  this is confidential?”

  “Oh, quite,” said Marjorie, “but it is a lot of money . Couldn’t you

  get it from Uncle Ralph?”

  “Uncle Ralph,” repeated the other, contemptuously . “He wouldn’t

  give five hundred potatoes! A demand for five hundred pounds

  would estrange us for the rest of our lives .”

  She gave a bitter little laugh .

  Marjorie knit her pretty brows in thought .

  “I can’t think of anybody,” she said slowly .

  THE 4TH PLAGUE, by Edgar Wallace (Part 1) | 273

  “Then don’t,” said Vera, briskly . “I don’t know exactly why I

  asked you .”

  Further discussion of the subject was made impossible by the

  arrival of Sir Ralph himself .

  He had evidently forgotten that any strained relations existed be-

  tween himself and his wife, or that her iniquitous extravagance in

  prepared oats had ever come between them .

  “Vera,” he said, going towards her, “did you notice a man in the

  court to-day, a peculiarly foreign-looking man?”

  She thought a moment .

  “Yes, there was a person sitting near—” she nearly said Hilary

  George, but deemed it tactful to mention another barrister who had

  been engaged in the case .

  “How did he impress you?” he asked .

  “I should like to say that he did not impress me at all,” she said,

  with a smile . She was most anxious to restore him to good-humour .

  “But unfortunately, I did take particular notice of him; rather a dis-

  tinguished-looking man, clean-shaven and with a lined, thoughtful

  face .”

  Sir Ralph nodded .

  “That’s the man,” he said . “I’ve just had a note from him . I didn’t

  know he was in Burboro’ . That is Tillizini .”

  He said this impressively . At the moment, Tillizini’s name was in

  the mouth of half the population of England .

  He nodded .

  “None other,” he said . “I had a note from one of the under secre-

  taries of the Home Office saying that he was coming down. I don’t

  know why our little burglary should have attracted his attention, but

 

‹ Prev