The Man Without A Face

by The Man Without a Face (retail) (epub)

  “We’ll talk about it tonight,” answered Harrison.

  “We certainly shall,” said Miss Williams, cordially. “By the way, may I just warn you that the streets are getting more and more dangerous, and if you were to do anything I didn’t like, we—”

  “I shouldn’t get to the party,” answered Harrison, “and that would be a pity.”

  “It would,” said Miss Williams, with conviction. “Then everything’s settled. Au revoir till this evening, Mr. Harrison.” She rose from her chair and Harrison, with the utmost politeness, went across to the door and opened it for her.

  Chapter XV

  Counter-Attack

  “Where’s Bamberger?” said Harrison, as Miss Williams disappeared, with an entrancing smile to Henry.

  “Gone out, sir,” answered Henry.

  “But I told him not to go away,” said Harrison.

  “He didn’t tell me that, sir,” said Henry. “Still, nothing would have stopped him. He marched up and down here until I got the fidgets and told him to sit down. Then he sat down and played tunes with his fingers until I nearly shrieked. Then he said he was going to look for her, and I thought it was a splendid idea.”

  “Of course you told him so,” said Harrison.

  “Well, I opened the door for him,” answered Henry. “That young man has no right to go on like that. I’ve been in love myself, sir, but I would have been ashamed to go on the way he did: a regular nuisance to everybody around.”

  “Personally Henry,” said Harrison, “I think it’s good to see a young man so genuinely head over heels as young Bamberger is. Possibly she doesn’t deserve it or, at any rate, doesn’t appreciate it. She may do when this business is over.”

  “When it is over,” echoed Henry, dismally.

  “We’re getting along, Henry,” answered Harrison; “no doubt of that. The enemy has shown the first sign of being rattled.”

  “That’s good, sir,” said Henry.

  “Come into my room and let me sit down, Henry,” said Harrison, rather wearily. “I’m too tired to stand here talking to you.”

  They moved towards the door of the inner room when Harrison suddenly drew back and threw open the front door quickly. Henry waited for a melodramatic eavesdropper to fall in but nothing happened except for a rather surprised glance from a man who was dressed like a messenger going up the stairs to a higher floor.

  Harrison shut the front door and they both settled down in his room.

  “A bit jumpy, sir?” questioned Henry.

  “Maybe, Henry,” answered Harrison, “but one has to confirm one’s suspicions.”

  “Has she been worrying you, sir?” said Henry, placing the most underlining emphasis on the feminine pronoun.

  “Not much,” answered Harrison. “That’s what I wanted to tell you about. She’s a very cunning person, Henry.”

  “I’m sure she is, sir,” replied Henry, with conviction.

  “But it wasn’t very clever to try to bluff me,” said Harrison.

  “I should call it cheek,” said Henry.

  “That’s very ungallant to an undoubtedly attractive woman, Henry,” was the answer. “The more I see of her the more I understand her power, Henry. She fascinates you, she half fascinates me and it’s more tiring, even as a physical test of endurance, to resist her than one realises at the time. She’s the incarnate feminine, Henry.”

  “That’s what Bamberger might have said about his lady love,” Henry answered, cynically.

  “I can’t help it, Henry,” answered Harrison. “She tried her enticements on me. She wanted something out of me of course, but she made me feel I was the only masculine for the feminine, and it’s an exhausting business. I pity any poor fellow who really falls in love with her, Henry.”

  “I should pity any fellow she really fell in love with herself,” said Henry, solemnly.

  “Perfectly right, Henry,” said Harrison; “you win there. He would have the worse time.”

  “You are certain you resisted her, sir?” said Henry, seriously.

  “Don’t worry, Henry, I did,” answered Harrison. “We’re rather alike about women, aren’t we? I haven’t time to be serious and you conscientiously keep yourself from being serious. When the blandishments did not work she tried bluff but not before she had a shot at seeing whether I knew about Marston.”

  “Marston?” said Henry, with surprise.

  “I’ve rather given it away, haven’t I, Henry?” said Harrison. “It doesn’t matter if you know, of course, but I didn’t want to tell Bamberger. She was the reason Marston didn’t appear in the play in time.”

  “I’m not surprised,” said Henry.

  “She told me she expected I boasted of being woman-proof and added, with a knowing look, that other men proved easier. It was neatly done and I admired her for it, but I don’t think I gave myself away.”

  “And the bluff, sir?” asked Henry.

  “The crudest imaginable unless it’s a kind of a blind,” answered Harrison. “She practically asked me to tell her what I knew. In exchange she was to tell me what she knew. Well, her knowledge of what I have done and what I have found out was fragmentary in the extreme. If I could be certain that it was all she knew I should be quite happy. She gave no hint of what happened at the ‘Sun’ except to ask about Marston, and that might have been a stray shot. I don’t really think she knows I saw the chauffeur and she certainly can have no idea of the material clues; except, of course, she must know something about the book. She must know through the precious Finney that I found something, but she cannot have any idea what it is.”

  “Did she mention it, sir?” asked Henry.

  “No, she didn’t, Henry,” answered Harrison, “and that rather puzzles me. If she was really doing a quid pro quo fishing sort of business she might have used that to strengthen her argument.”

  “Then she must have been after something else,” said Henry, decisively.

  “You think so, Henry?” asked Harrison. “All this talk about getting information didn’t count? But there is no doubt that she is certain I know more than I should, and she cannot work out how far my knowledge goes. That seems to be her trouble.”

  “What else could she have come for, sir?” asked Henry.

  “Well, she invited me out this evening,” said Harrison, passing the invitation card over to Henry.

  “Reappearance of Mr. Cross,” said Henry, solemnly. “You’re not going, sir, of course?”

  “Why ‘of course,’ Henry?” said Harrison. “Of course I am.”

  “But if she was at such pains to hide the real reason, sir,” objected Henry, “she must think it’s frightfully important. It strikes me as if she is trying to trap you. Far better not go.”

  “But there’s no danger, Henry,” said Harrison.

  “I think you’re wrong there, sir,” answered Henry. “If I may say so it strikes me as very dangerous.”

  “But Henry, it’s almost a public business,” said Harrison. “Mr. Cross gives a reception, with Miss Helen Williams as hostess and a lot of well-known people there.”

  “Still there must be something behind it,” said Henry, persistently.

  “I think it’s very charming of them,” answered Harrison, “and it would be very rude of me to refuse. Besides, you’re going to have one of the opportunities of your life, Henry.”

  “I am?” asked Henry, with bewilderment.

  “Certainly,” was the reply. “Don’t you realise there’s one very important piece of material evidence missing in this case.”

  “One,” said Henry.

  “Well, it may be almost the most important of all, Henry. Don’t you realise we haven’t a photograph of Mr. Cross?”

  “That’s true, sir.”

  “And if we wanted to show it to anybody, say, for identification purposes, we couldn’t do it?”

  “I realise that, sir.”

  “Well, I want you to get the photograph, Henry.”

  “Very well,” ans
wered Henry, quite imperturbably.

  “But you haven’t asked me how it’s to be done,” said Harrison.

  “You give an order, sir,” replied Henry, “and I do my best to carry it out.”

  “Great,” said Harrison, with an affectionate smile; “I don’t know what I should do without you, Henry, but I think the scheme needs rather careful planning. I’ve got an idea, too, how it can be done.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I expect during your stray visits to various Fleet Street haunts you have come across a Press photographer or two, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very good. Then you’re to be a Press photographer. You will produce this card, give the name of a mythical agency and say Mr. Cross particularly asked you to come.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You will get hold of the right kind of camera from somewhere and you will take a photograph when Mr. Cross seems in the best position for it. You will have to be pretty careful because I am certain he will not like it.”

  “All the better, sir,” said Henry, cheerfully. “It adds to the pleasure of taking it.”

  “Then I can trust you to do your best in that direction,” answered Harrison. “Now you will need an efficient flashlight apparatus. Some of them seem to misfire at the critical moment. If that happened we should be done. You must make as certain as possible that it will work all right. The next part of the scheme will need a pretty cool head.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You will do your flashlight business and take your photograph at once, Henry,” said Harrison; “then you will put an extra large dose of magnesium in the apparatus and give another flash as quickly as you can.”

  “I see, sir,” said Henry. “That’s to give me a chance to get away.”

  “Exactly,” said Harrison, “but it is an essential part of the scheme.”

  “I won’t forget, sir,” said Henry.

  “It sounds as if the place is an old-fashioned one,” said Harrison, “so there should be curtains and alcoves enough to make your preparations. At any rate, let’s trust our luck holds to that extent. Now for the time: make it ten o’clock. I expect there will still be guests arriving then and that will make it easier for you. Ten o’clock, then, Henry.”

  “Very well, sir,” said Henry.

  “And I should think you’d better have a moustache,” said Harrison. “Somebody might recognise you as belonging to me and that wouldn’t do at all. Better go to Spoker’s for it. He was very helpful and we ought to do what we can in return.”

  “Poetic justice I call that, sir,” said Henry, with a smile.

  “Have it your own way, Henry,” said Harrison. “Now you understand everything you have to do?”

  “Perfectly, sir.”

  “That’s good,” said Harrison, “and so much depends on that photograph I know you—”

  A loud knocking on the door interrupted him.

  “Not much peace this morning, Henry,” said Harrison.

  “Anybody who comes banging like that on our door needs a lesson,” said Henry, viciously, “and is going to get it.”

  He went to the door with a determined step and threw it open sharply, all prepared to deliver the verbal lesson he had promised and in rushed Philip Bamberger.

  “It’s you, is it?” said Henry. “What do you want to make a din like that for?”

  “Where is he?” shouted Philip, who seemed almost beside himself.

  “Steady, steady,” said Henry. “You can’t come making a scene like this, you know.”

  “I must see Mr. Harrison at once,” said Bamberger, and started to push Henry aside.

  This was too much for Henry. It will be realised that the sleepless night had left both men in a somewhat over-strained condition. Their nerves were unsteady to the last point, and with Henry the loud and almost blasphemous knocking on his sacred door had been enough to add that extra drop which makes the full cup overflow. He caught hold of Bamberger by the shoulders and the two started struggling in earnest.

  Such a proceeding could not be carried out in entire silence and Harrison heard sounds of strife proceeding from the outer room. Realising that anything might happen on this particular day, and being prepared for any scenes of violence—although surprised at the early nature of this one—he went cautiously to the door and opened it quietly. Seeing Henry struggling he was preparing to launch himself at the assailant when he realised that it was Philip Bamberger.

  “What in heaven’s name are you two doing?” he shouted, and the assailants immediately left hold of one another and stood sheepishly apart like two schoolboys discovered struggling in the schoolroom by their master. They both started explaining at once until Harrison had to stop them and call on Bamberger individually.

  “She’s gone,” shouted Bamberger, wildly. “She’s gone.”

  “Just a little quieter, Mr. Bamberger, please,” said Harrison.

  “But you don’t understand,” Bamberger shouted still. “She’s gone. Livia’s gone.”

  “Calm yourself,” said Harrison. “Do you realise the front door is open still? Close it, Henry, please, and let us try and behave like normal human beings.”

  Henry shut the door, and Bamberger again repeated, although somewhat more quietly, “She’s gone.”

  “But that’s no explanation for attacking Henry,” Harrison, coldly.

  “I didn’t attack him,” answered Bamberger. “He tried to stop my seeing you and I had to see you. Harrison, I had to see you—” His voice was now near a sob.

  “I suppose it’s my fault, sir,” said Henry, sadly. “He’s got on my nerves enough as it is, and then when he started banging on the door and pushing past me I suppose I saw red. I’m sorry, sir, I really am.”

  “Very well,” said Harrison. “We’ve all had a pretty hectic time, I know, but we can’t give in now. There’s too much work to be done. If our own camp splits up and we start fighting among ourselves we may as well throw our hand in straight away. What about it, Bamberger?”

  Harrison’s gentle voice, speaking evenly and yet persuasively, seemed to have a tonic effect on Bamberger, who suddenly quietened down and said, in almost his normal voice, “I’m sorry too, Harrison.”

  Harrison smiled happily and all three went into his room, the door being carefully shut behind them.

  “Not a bad thing if the little quarrel is reported to the enemy,” said Harrison.

  “Reported?” asked Bamberger.

  “Yes,” said Harrison. “We are being rather carefully watched, at the moment. Now, what about Miss Marston?”

  “She’s never been to the place at all.”

  “Are you certain you went to the right spot?”

  “The Magenta Hotel. There can’t be more than one in West Kensington.”

  “That’s the right name,” said Henry.

  “That woman and the letter, too,” said Bamberger, despairingly. “There can’t be any doubt.”

  “I think you had better start at the beginning, Bamberger,” said Harrison, “and tell me exactly what happened. I’m not very clear at the moment.”

  “I went to the Magenta Hotel straight from here,” answered Bamberger. “It’s a pleasant little private hotel not far from Baron’s Court station. I asked the reception clerk for Miss Marston and he said he had never heard of the name. I felt as if I had been hit between the eyes and must have looked it for the clerk seemed really concerned and had another look at his book.”

  “With no result?” asked Harrison.

  “None at all,” answered Bamberger, “so I asked him about Miss Williams. I thought she might have arranged things without using Livia’s name, but he had not heard of that precious woman either. I was at my wit’s end and without quite knowing why I did it, I mentioned your name, and he seemed to recognise it at once.”

  “Of course he did,” said Henry. “Who doesn’t?”

  “But it wasn’t because of Mr. Harrison being Mr. Harrison,” answere
d Bamberger. “The clerk thought for a moment and then said, ‘That’s a curious coincidence because we’re expecting a Mr. Clay Harrison to stay here very shortly.’”

  It was now Harrison’s turn to look surprised.

  “That’s news to me,” he said.

  “It certainly was to me,” said Bamberger. “The clerk turned to the pigeon-holes for letters behind him and produced one addressed to you. ‘Yes, that’s it,’ he said, reading the name on the envelope. ‘Clay Harrison.’ I guessed there was something queer about the whole business and I saw that there wasn’t a stamp on the envelope so I asked him how it got there. He explained that a very beautiful woman.”

  “Miss Williams,” said Henry.

  “Of course,” said Harrison.

  “She had called yesterday,” continued Bamberger. “He had been most impressed by her. She had asked for Mr. Harrison and when he told her there was no such person in the hotel she said she was certain he would be arriving any day now. She produced the letter and asked the clerk to give it to him when he arrived. He really was impressed.”

  “And the letter?” said Harrison.

  “I explained a little bit what had happened,” said Philip Bamberger, “and said I was coming straight back to you so I could bring the letter. He did not like parting with it but I managed to persuade him. I signed all sorts of receipts but he wouldn’t take a tip or anything like that.”

  “A valuable man,” said Harrison. “What does the letter say?”

  Bamberger produced a rather large envelope of very good character, with Harrison’s name boldly written upon it and handed it over. Harrison extracted a handsome piece of notepaper and read the following to the others:

  DEAR MR. HARRISON,

  I cannot thank you for arranging a travelling companion.

  I am very fond, of course, of Livia, but her company is not what I should myself have asked for at the present moment. Considering her feelings for yourself I am surprised that you should have taken the trouble to press her on to me. Still, here she is and I can assure you she will be well looked after. Please reassure your friend, Mr. Bamberger, and her parents, and tell them that, though they are not likely to hear from her for a little while, she is quite safe and happy. Yours, till our next meeting,