The Plague, Pestilence & Apocalypse MEGAPACK™

by Robert Reed

  Vera had a shrewd idea that at that moment Sir Ralph was en-

  gaged in a heated interview with the offending butcher who had put

  a halfpenny upon the price of beef, but she did not think it fair to

  her husband, or consonant with her own dignity, to admit as much .

  “He’ll return very soon,” she said .

  He looked at her sharply, for no reason as far as she could see .

  There had been nothing in her tone to justify the look of quick inter-

  est which came to his face .

  “I have met you before somewhere, Lady Morte-Mannery,” he

  said quickly, “and it is very unusual for me that I cannot for the mo-

  ment recall the circumstance .”

  “Really?” said Vera, in a tone which suggested that she had no in-

  terest in the matter, “one does have these queer impressions—you’ll

  excuse me now, won’t you, doctor,” she said, “I have got rather a

  bad headache and I thought of lying down . Miss Meagh will enter-

  tain you till Sir Ralph returns .”

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  He stepped quickly to the door and opened it for her, and fa-

  voured her with a little bow as she passed . Then he closed the door

  and walked slowly back to Marjorie .

  “Where, where, where?” he said, tapping his chin and looking

  solemnly at the girl .

  She laughed .

  “You must not confuse me with the Oracle,” she said . “You know,

  doctor, we ask such questions of you .”

  Again that beautiful smile of his illuminated the sombre counte-

  nance .

  “I was asking this Oracle,” he said, tapping his breast . “And now

  I remember . There was a raid on a gambling house . It was run by one

  of my compatriots, and I was in court .”

  “I hope you will forget that, Doctor Tillizini,” said Marjorie,

  quietly . “Lady Morte-Mannery may have been very foolish to have

  been found in such a place, but it would not be kind to remember—”

  She stopped when she saw the look of astonishment on the other’s

  face .

  “My dear lady,” he said, with his winning smile, “you do not

  suggest that Lady Morte-Mannery was in any way complicated? It

  would be wicked, it would be absurd, it would be villainous,” he said

  extravagantly, “to associate such a lady with so sordid a business .”

  “This was a very commonplace raid,” he went on, “they were

  mostly Italians engaged, and mostly people of very low origin, and

  my interest in the case was merely the hope of identifying some of

  the participants as gentlemen who had another interest for me . Lady

  Mannery was in court, certainly, but she was in court as the guest

  of the magistrate, Mr . Curtain, the Metropolitan Police Magistrate,

  who, I think, is some relation of Sir Ralph .” This was so, as Marjorie

  knew . Then why had Vera lied to her? She understood how easy it

  was for her to make up the story; but why give that as an excuse for

  not wanting to meet Tillizini?

  “There is Sir Ralph,” she said suddenly . She had seen the car go

  past the window . “Do you mind staying here alone, while I go and

  tell him you are here?”

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  He opened the door for her, with his quaint little bow . She met Sir

  Ralph in the hall, and explained the fact that the visitor was waiting .

  “Where is Vera?” he asked .

  “She has gone to lie down,” said Marjorie, “she has a very bad

  headache .”

  Sir Ralph swore under his breath .

  It was her main weapon of defence—that headache . A convenient,

  but, to his mind, grossly unfair method of evading her responsibili-

  ties . He was more incensed now because he felt that not only had

  she failed to do the honours of his house towards a man for whose

  position he had an immense respect, but she had escaped from the

  just consequence of her carelessness . He had discovered that it was

  entirely due to her that the extra halfpenny had been put upon beef .

  She had acquiesced to the imposition in a letter which the butcher

  had triumphantly produced to vindicate his character .

  He was, therefore, at the disadvantage which every man must be,

  half of whose mind is occupied by a private grievance, when he met

  Tillizini .

  The two men went off to the library for about a quarter of an hour .

  At the end of that time they returned to the drawing-room—Til-

  lizini to take his leave of the girl—and Sir Ralph to see him to his

  waiting fly.

  Marjorie saw that the Chairman of the Burboro’ Sessions was

  considerably ruffled. His face was red, his thin grey hair untidy—

  ever a sign of perturbation . He was, too, a little stiff with his guest .

  As for Tillizini, he was the same imperturbable, cool, masterful

  man . Yes, that was the word which Marjorie sought . This man was

  masterful to an extent which she could not divine .

  “Some day I shall meet you again,” said Tillizini, as he took the

  girl’s hand in his own . She was surprised at the strength of his grip .

  “I would not go so soon, but Sir Ralph has kindly given me permis-

  sion to see this man, Mansingham, who was convicted to-day .”

  “I think your labours are entirely misdirected, Professor,” said

  Sir Ralph, gruffly. “You will learn nothing from him but a pack of

  lies .”

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  “Ah, but lies!” said Tillizini, with an ecstatic gesture . “They are

  so interesting, Sir Ralph, so much more interesting than the com-

  monplace truth, and so much more informative .”

  The elder man, who prided himself in post-prandial speeches

  upon being a plain, blunt Englishman, and inferentially typical of

  all that was best in an Englishman, had no mind for paradoxes . He

  grunted unsympathetically .

  “You are an Italian,” he said . “I suppose these things amuse you .

  But here in England we believe in the obvious . It saves a lot of trou-

  ble and it is generally accurate . You know,” he said testily, “these

  stories of mysterious organizations are all very well for novels . I

  admit that in your country you have the Camorra, and the posses-

  sion of that factor probably unbalances your judgment; but I assure

  you “—he laid his hands with heavy and paternal solicitude upon

  the younger man’s shoulder—“nothing of that sort .”

  They were standing by the window; the dusk was beginning to

  fall, and the gas had not yet been lit . He got so far, when of a sud-

  den a pane of glass, on a level with Tillizini’s head, splintered with

  a crash . It seemed to splinter three times in rapid succession, and

  simultaneously from without came a thick staccato “Crack! crack!

  crack!”

  CHAPTER IV

  THE “RED HAND” DRAW BLANK

  Sir Ralph felt the whiz of bullets as they passed him, heard the

  smash of the picture they struck on the opposite wall, and jumped

  back, white and shaking . Tillizini reached out his hand and thrust the

  girl back to cover with one motion .

  In an inst
ant he was down on his knees, crawling quickly to

  the window . He reached up his hands, threw up the sash, and leant

  out suddenly. For a second he stood thus, and then a jet of flame

  leapt from his hand, and they were deafened with the report of his

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  Browning. Again he fired, and waited. Then he turned, and came

  back to them, a beatific smile illuminating his face.

  “You were saying,” he said calmly, “that these things do not hap-

  pen in England?”

  His voice was even and unshaken . The hand that raised a spotless

  white handkerchief to wipe a streak of blood from his forehead, did

  not tremble .

  “What happened?” asked Sir Ralph, in agitation . “It must have

  been a poacher or something . Those beggars hate me!”

  “Poachers do not use Mauser pistols,” said Tillizini quietly . “If

  you take the trouble to dig out the bullets from your wall, which I

  am afraid is somewhat damaged, you will discover that they bear

  no resemblance whatever to the pellets which, I understand, filled

  the cartridges of your friends . No,” he smiled, “those shots were not

  intended for you, Sir Ralph . They were very much intended for me .”

  He looked wistfully out of the window .

  “I’m afraid I didn’t hit him,” he said . “I saw him fairly distinctly

  as he made his way through the trees .”

  “Who was it?” asked Sir Ralph anxiously .

  Tillizini looked at him with an expression of slyness .

  “Who was it?” he answered, deliberately . “I think it was the

  Italian who sent William Mansingham to your house to receive a

  packet .”

  “But from whom?” asked Sir Ralph .

  “That we shall know some day,” replied the other, evasively .

  * * * *

  Sir Ralph went down to the railway station to meet Tillizini and

  to see him off . He was consumed with curiosity as to the result of the

  interview which he had granted the detective .

  Whether he had the right of instructing the warders of the local

  gaol to admit Tillizini was a moot point; but since the Italian had

  such extraordinarily wide powers deputed to him by the Home Of-

  fice, it was probable that the interview would have taken place even

  without Sir Ralph’s permission .

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  The Chairman had hinted that it would be graceful, if not decent,

  for Tillizini to see the prisoner in his presence, but the Italian had

  artistically overlooked the suggestion .

  It was five minutes before the train left that Tillizini sprang out of

  the fly which brought him to the station entrance. He was smoking a

  long, thin cigar, and was, as Sir Ralph judged, tremendously pleased

  with himself, for between his clenched teeth he hummed a little tune

  as he strode through the booking-hall on to the platform .

  “Well?” asked the Chairman, curiously, “what had our friend to

  say for himself?”

  “Nothing that you do not know,” replied the other, brightly . “He

  merely repeated the story that he told in the dock about my mysteri-

  ous fellow-countryman . He gave me one or two details, which were

  more interesting to me than they would be to you .”

  “Such as?” suggested Sir Ralph .

  “Well,” Tillizini hesitated . “He told me that his instructor had

  informed him that the packet would be small enough to put in his

  waistcoat pocket .”

  Sir Ralph smiled sarcastically .

  “There are a dozen objects in my collection which might be car-

  ried in a man’s waistcoat pocket . No!” he corrected himself, “there

  are at least fifty. By the way,” he said suddenly, “you’ve never asked

  to see my collection .”

  Tillizini shook his head vigorously, amusement in his eyes .

  “That would be unnecessary,” he said . “I know every article you

  have, Sir Ralph, its size, its origin, almost the price you paid for it .”

  Sir Ralph turned to him in surprise .

  “But how?” he asked wonderingly . “I have only my private cata-

  logue, and no copy exists outside my house .”

  “Very good,” said Tillizini . “Let me enumerate them .”

  He told them off on his hands, finger by finger.

  “Number 1, an Egyptian locket from the Calliciti collection—

  gold, studded with uncut rubies—value, £420 . Number 2, a plaque

  of Tanagra ware, rather an unusual specimen in a frame of soft gold,

  inscribed with Syrian mottoes . Number 3, a crystal medallion, taken

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  by Napoleon from Naples, on the inverse side a bust of Beatrice

  D’Este, on the reverse side Il Moro, the Duke of Milan, value—by

  the way, I didn’t give you the previous value because I don’t know

  it—£600 . Number 4, a Venetian charm in the shape of a harp—”

  “But,” gasped Sir Ralph, “these facts, regarding my collection

  are only known to me .

  “They are also known to me,” said the other .

  The train had come in as they were speaking . Tillizini walked

  towards an empty carriage, and entered it . He closed the door behind

  him, and leant out of the window .

  “There are many things to be learnt, and this is not the least of

  them,” he said . “Between the man with the secret, and the man who

  knows that secret, there are intermediaries who have surprised the

  first and informed the second.”

  Sir Ralph was puzzling this out when the train drew out of the

  station, and its tail lights vanished through the tunnel which pen-

  etrates Burboro’ Hill .

  Left to himself, Tillizini locked both doors and pulled down all

  the blinds of his carriage . He had no doubt as to the sinister inten-

  tions of the man or men who had dogged his footsteps so persistently

  since he had left London . If he was to be killed, he decided that it

  should not be by a shot fired by a man from the footboard.

  It was a fast train from Burboro’ to London, and the first stop

  would be at London Bridge . He took the central seat of the carriage,

  put his feet up upon the opposite cushions, laid his Browning pistol

  on the seat beside him, and composed himself to read . He had half

  a dozen London papers in the satchel which was his inseparable

  companion .

  One of these he had systematically exhausted on the journey

  down; he now turned his attention to another . His scrutiny was con-

  centrated upon the advertisement columns . He did not bother with

  the agonies, because he knew that no up-to-date criminal would

  employ such method of communication .

  One by one he examined the prosaic announcements under the

  heading “Domestic Servants Wanted .” He reached the end without

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  discovering anything exciting . He laid the paper down and took up

  another .

  Half-way down the “Domestic Wants” column his eye was ar-

  rested by a notice . To the ordinary reader it was the commonplace

  requirement of an average housewife . It ran:—

  “Coo
k-General; Italian cooking preferred . Four in family . Fri-

  days; not Thursdays as previously announced . State amount willing

  to give .”

  The address was an advertising agency in the City . He read it

  again; took a little penknife from his waistcoat pocket, and carefully

  cut it from the paper .

  There were many peculiarities about that announcement . There

  was a certain egotism in the “Fridays, not Thursdays as previously

  announced,” which was unusual in this type of advertisement . Who

  cared whether it was Thursday or Friday that had been previously

  given, presumably, as the evening “out”?

  But the glaring error in the advertisement lay in the last para-

  graph . The average advertiser would be more anxious to know

  what wages the newcomer would require, and would most certainly

  never suggest that the “Cook-General” whose services were sought,

  should contribute, in addition to her labour, anything in the nature of

  payment for the privilege .”

  Tillizini looked up at the roof of the carriage in thought . To-day

  was Monday . Something had been arranged for Thursday . It had

  been postponed till the following day . For that something a price

  was to be paid, possibly an advance on the original price agreed

  upon was demanded . The advertiser would hardly undertake to per-

  form the service without some previous agreement as to price .

  He did not in any way associate the announcement with the re-

  cent events at Highlawn; they were but part of the big game which

  was being played . The emissaries of that terrible society whose

  machinations he had set himself to frustrate were no doubt travel-

  ling by the same train . He was so used to this espionage that he

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  ignored it, without despising it . He was ever prepared for the move,

  inevitable as it seemed to him, which would be made against his life

  and against his security .

  It was too much to expect that the “Red Hand” would forgive

  him the work he had accomplished in America . He had cleared the

  United States from the greatest scourge of modern times .

  It was no fault of his that they had taken advantage of the lax

  emigration laws of England to settle in the Metropolis .

  He replaced the papers in his satchel, and just before the train ran

  into London Bridge he let up the spring blinds of the compartment .