The Man Without A Face

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

  “I’m certain you’re secretly admiring me,” she said with a smile.

  “Quite right,” answered Harrison. “I admit it.”

  “But that wasn’t all,” she went on; “you frowned as well. You think nature rather overdid it in giving such presents to me in particular, don’t you?”

  “Well—” started Harrison.

  “You know I’m right,” she said; “always the puritan, Mr. Harrison.” She leaned towards him and said very softly, “A bad woman with the face of an angel, don’t you think?”

  Harrison was rather taken aback and had no ready answer.

  “Your puritanism and morality and law are very trying, Mr. Harrison,” still in the same soft voice, her breath touching his cheek. “All your pictures must have a moral behind them, all your stories a religious ending. You cannot take beauty for itself alone. I am beautiful; isn’t that enough? Beauty is worth having on its own account if it is the highest beauty.” She paused and then said in a seductive voice, “Why can’t you take my beauty for itself alone?”

  She looked into his eyes with half-closed lids and waited for an answer. Harrison said nothing. Still she waited and then impatiently she stood erect again and threw back her beautiful head defiantly.

  “I am afraid I have been forgetting Mr. Cross,” she said. “He so wanted to meet you again.”

  Cross, who had been standing patiently by her side listening to nothing in particular—or, as Harrison thought, taking particular note of the whole conversation—seemed to shake into some kind of life at the mention of his name, and immediately greeted Harrison.

  “It was kind of your friends to bring me,” said Harrison.

  “The greatest pleasure to us all, I am sure,” answered Cross.

  “We felt it was the only way to get you here,” said Miss Williams, with a bright look.

  “Certainly you couldn’t have thought of a better,” answered Harrison.

  “Now I really must talk to some of my other guests, Mr. Harrison,” said Miss Williams, “but I know you have a lot to do, and directly I have a chance we must have a chat.”

  “Delighted, I am sure,” said Harrison, with unconscious mimicry of Cross and moved away, surrounded by his escort. Very carefully he walked to the back of Miss Williams and sat down at the far end of the room from the door while the faithful Josephs and Skelofski settled down beside him.

  Guests were still arriving and there were a number of groups standing talking in different parts of the room. Harrison was surprised at the number of faces he recognised. Members of society whose portraits continually appeared in the illustrated press; commercial and industrial figures whose portraits likewise had a habit of being reproduced in the daily press in a half columned but generally recognisable state whenever their names were mentioned; other people of his personal acquaintance. All these had been gathered together by Miss Williams to do honour to Mr. Cross.

  There were also one or two women, irreproachable in looks and dress, whose technical reputations were not above suspicion but the size of type used on their play bills had been sufficient to counterbalance any moral backslidings. There were unattached men who had obviously left their domestic hearth to play the cavalier to these dames and Miss Williams. There were further one or two men who looked distinctly out of place in this well-dressed and well-groomed assembly. They were certainly in correct evening costume but the fitting was not entirely above suspicion and Harrison guessed that they might be a kind of bodyguard to the group which was headed by Miss Williams and Mr. Cross.

  Suddenly from the crowd there emerged a figure who walked enthusiastically up to Harrison. Josephs and Skelofski looked suspiciously at Harrison as he rose to greet the stranger and did the same, still keeping closely to his side.

  “Hearty greetings, Mr. Crime Chaser,” said the stranger, shaking hands.

  “Good evening, Sir George,” answered Harrison, cordially, recalling that Sir George Woover was “something in the City” and that he had once been able to assist him in a small matter.

  “May I introduce you to my friends?” continued Harrison, “Mr. Josephs, Mr. Skelofski—Sir George Woover, the famous financier.”

  “You flatter me, Harrison,” answered Sir George, shaking hands effusively with the members of the escort; “in fact I didn’t think you’d remember me at all. We only came across each other for a very short time but I suppose you have to have a good memory for faces.”

  “That’s true,” said Harrison; “it’s essential for my job. My two friends here will agree with that.”

  Messrs. Josephs and Skelofski gave an unsmiling and grudging assent.

  “I really don’t quite know why we’re all here,” said Sir George, “except, I suppose, that Cross wants to make a bit of a splash for the European Development Company.”

  “Is that so?” asked Harrison.

  “Don’t pretend to be ignorant, Harrison; it doesn’t suit you,” said Sir George, with a laugh. “Most people nowadays know all about the company.”

  “I can assure you I don’t,” replied Harrison. “What do they develop?”

  “Well, they’ve got a huge capital,” answered Sir George, “and they spend it on developing small but profitable industries in all parts of Europe. Financiers with international reputations are on the board, and they pay big profits, too. But—you’re pulling my leg, Harrison.”

  “I’m not, Sir George,” said Harrison. “I know nothing about it.”

  “But if you know nothing about it,” protested Sir George, “what on earth are you here for?”

  “Keeping an eye on things,” answered Harrison.

  “Surely there’s nothing in your line at a reception like this,” said Sir George, with a note of alarm in his voice.

  “As a matter of fact, Miss Williams insisted on my coming,” said Harrison.

  “That’s good enough for me,” said Sir George, emphatically. “You must be a great friend of hers, Harrison. I watched you talking to her just now and your heads were pretty close together, weren’t they? An extremely attractive woman. I admire your taste.”

  “And you, Sir George, aren’t you a friend of hers?” asked Harrison.

  “Of course, of course,” was the reply, “but not as close as you seem to be.” He laughed heartily at his own humour. “Still, quite seriously, Harrison, even if I didn’t know the company was perfectly safe, I should have no qualms after seeing you here as a guarantee of respectability.”

  Harrison smiled but inwardly gave a further mark on the credit side to Miss Williams. Not only was she using the reception for her plans against Harrison but she was using Harrison for her plans regarding the reception. Even if Sir George Woover did not spread the good news that Harrison was there as a guest, Miss Williams or Cross or somebody else would do it and he flattered himself that any waverers might be lulled into security if the information was imparted to them in a discreet manner.

  “Good lord, there’s young Malkin,” cried Sir George. “Excuse me, Harrison, I must have a word with him. He’s off to New York in a day or two.”

  He dashed away and Harrison sat down again, his escort following suit. For a moment Harrison had the wild idea of jumping up and down like a jack-in-the-box to see whether his escort would do likewise. He was morally certain that they would do their best to accommodate him, but knock-about farce would not quite suit the present situation. The name Malkin, however, stirred something in his memory. A great individualist who had amassed a large fortune, that was it, and he had recently died. There had been quite a lot in the papers about the phenomenal success of Malkin and the millions his young heir would inherit. By the kindly tone of the notices, he had gathered that young Malkin was not a man of his father’s ability. Certainly Miss Williams and Mr. Cross were big-game hunting and a very useful victim was walking into the trap.

  The stream of visitors was growing appreciably less and Miss Williams, delegating her duties to Mr. Cross and a feminine acquaintance, came across to Harris
on.

  “Enjoying yourself, Mr. Harrison?” she asked, unblushingly.

  “Very much,” was the reply; “amazingly interesting people.”

  “Will you come upstairs?” she said, with a hard look.

  “Gambling?” he asked.

  “Good heavens, no,” was the reply. “You must have a poor opinion of me if you think I would risk that sort of thing. The only gambling in this house to-night is the gathering of all these guests for a perfectly innocent reception.” She smiled as she saw Harrison jump to her meaning.

  “Exactly, Miss Williams.”

  “A certainty.”

  “How pleasant,” said Harrison, ironically.

  “I am afraid you will need all your coolness when you get upstairs, Mr. Harrison,” she said.

  “I’m not coming upstairs,” was the quiet answer.

  “You will do as you are told,” said Miss Williams, emphatically.

  “Not yet, at any rate,” said Harrison.

  “You know what refusal means,” she said, looking meaningly at his companions, who both had their hands in their pockets undoubtedly prepared to use firearms if ordered to do so.

  “I am sorry to have to refuse your very kind invitation,” said Harrison, “but I’m not coming upstairs.”

  “Bring him along,” said Miss Williams to Josephs and Skelofski, and both of them pressed automatics very uncomfortably into Harrison’s ribs.

  “You know you daren’t shoot,” said Harrison, quietly. “You wouldn’t risk it. Take the things away.”

  The men looked at Miss Williams, who nodded angrily.

  “Try the other way,” she said, after a moment.

  They moved even nearer to him and were forcing him to rise when he jumped up quickly and exclaimed, “I warn you, Miss Williams, that I shall make a most unpleasant scene if you try to get me out of this room now. You may be able to do it easily later on but there are enough people here who know me to make it quite difficult at present.”

  A number of guests had turned to look at them and Cross was starting to move towards them but Miss Williams motioned him to keep away and, smiling in the most cordial manner, took Harrison’s arm and sat down beside him.

  “What good you think it will do you I can’t imagine,” she said, in the quietest of tones. “You know as well as I do how things stand. If you really made a scene you would get no mercy—you know that.”

  “But you don’t want one, do you?” asked Harrison, sweetly.

  “Of course not,” was the reply, “but you can take it from me that, if you do come upstairs, nothing is going to happen to you until everyone has gone.”

  “I still propose to stay here,” said Harrison.

  “Very well,” answered Miss Williams, with resignation. “It’s not so easy to talk here. I think you’re making a mistake, for I really do want to talk to you.”

  “I prefer the mistake, then,” said Harrison, as he smiled at an acquaintance who was passing, “and, although it sounds ungallant, I have no wish to talk to you.”

  Miss Williams flushed but she swallowed an angry retort.

  Ten minutes to go, thought Harrison, and I must keep her occupied during that time. If she goes up to Cross and they start moving off anywhere, the whole scheme may be upset. Tell a woman to do something and ten to one she’ll do the opposite, he thought. That’s not true of every woman but it only applies to an angry one. With all her cunning she is a woman, after all, and if her calm is a bit ruffled she may be easier to manage.

  “Why don’t you go away and leave me in peace?” he said, viciously.

  “You’re behaving like a baby,” was Miss Williams’ reply. “Can’t you see I still want to come to some arrangement with you while there’s time?”

  “Even if I am a baby, I can see through that,” he said. “No sane man would trust you an inch.”

  “I keep my word,” she spat out.

  “Keep your word,” he said spitefully. “A woman like you keep her word. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “That settles it,” replied Miss Williams, indignantly. “I was going to make you an offer; now you’ll get what’s coming to you. You have brought it on yourself.”

  “Oh, get back to your precious Cross,” said Harrison, as if irritated beyond measure.

  “No, I won’t,” she answered, decisively. “When I make up my mind to do a thing I do it. I’m going to give you another chance. You’re fooling me, Mr. Harrison; you’ve been trying to make me angry with you. Oh, you’re very clever but I’ve seen through it.”

  “Nonsense,” he answered.

  “Your nerve must be pretty strong to go on like this,” said Miss Williams. “I don’t know why you’re acting in this way but it’s no help to you. I’m going to talk to you whether you appear to like it or not.”

  Harrison smiled to himself. The woman may have inferred correctly but she could not be certain of it and he knew she was somewhat rattled. She was keeping calm with much more of an effort now than should have been necessary.

  “Maybe I was hasty,” he said, apologetically, and Miss Williams smiled in relief at the confirmation of her thoughts, “but if death were staring you in the face would you remain calm and cheerful? Of course, you wouldn’t.”

  “I should listen to what the other person had to say,” she replied.

  “Clutch at a straw,” he answered; “what good is it?”

  “I said I had an offer to make you,” she said.

  “And you’ll go back on it, if it suits your purpose,” he replied.

  “I swear I won’t, Mr. Harrison; I swear I won’t,” she answered, intensely. “I’ll carry out my side of the bargain if you carry out yours.”

  “Oh, very well,” said Harrison, with resignation. “What is this precious offer?”

  He stretched himself to make himself more comfortable. Miss Williams was not sitting too close to him—she had not the affectionate contact which the escort had deemed so necessary. The man on the other side of him was certainly no longer gripping his pistol in his pocket and certainly gave Harrison a little more room as he stretched—possibly because he could not imagine any harm befalling while the great Miss Williams was with them. A few minutes gone, thought Harrison, if Henry is to time, it may work all right.

  “As you know, Mr. Harrison, I have a great admiration for you—” started Miss Williams.

  “You have often told me that,” he answered, “but really it doesn’t seem to help much.”

  “Honestly I have,” she continued. “You have one of the better brains in this world—and there are very few of them about. It would be a pity to waste it. I might say there are many other ways it might be useful to the world than what it is doing at present.”

  “A matter of opinion, of course,” said Harrison, grimly.

  “Of course,” said Miss Williams.

  “Really what you mean is this,” said Harrison. “You don’t want to take the risk of getting rid of me—if it is possible to avoid it.”

  “There you are making a mistake,” replied Miss Williams, emphatically. “Everything is carefully arranged for that event, Mr. Harrison. You may make your mind easy over that. I rather enjoy taking risks.”

  “True enough,” said Harrison, with a smile.

  “There, you see, we understand each other so well that it would be a pity if we didn’t agree on this point,” said Miss Williams, in the most persuasive tone. “All on have to do is to sign a small statement that you give up all inquiries—”

  “In what direction?”

  “That is not specified. We both understand what it means. Don’t we?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Good. Will you do it?”

  “What happens if I do sign?”

  “You can go away from here with the other guests.”

  “No gentleman with a knife waiting round the corner?”

  “Of course not. I trust you.”

  “And you will let everybody know I’ve s
igned a paper like that?”

  “Why should I?” returned Miss Williams. “I might if you did not carry out the bargain, but I know you would, once you had signed.”

  “Where is it?” asked Harrison.

  “Upstairs,” was the answer.

  “I should prefer to sign it down here,” said Harrison.

  “If you are really willing,” answered Miss Williams, “I’m perfectly agreeable to that.”

  “But I must have time to think it over,” said Harrison. “There must be some trick in it somewhere. How do I know I can trust you?”

  “If you were a bit less suspicious, Mr. Harrison, you’d be a much happier man,” was the light reply. “I may have different ideas over society from you but I play the game and you can take my word, although you don’t want to. Besides, it is really your only way out.”

  “Is it?” asked Harrison, simply.

  The ten minutes had passed and Harrison had seen a slight movement of the heavy curtain draped at the side of one of the alcoves near the door. Even as he spoke, the curtain was quickly pulled back and there were revealed a large camera on a tripod, ready fixed for action, and beside it a small man with the fiercest of walrus moustaches. This figure was an arrangement for magnesium flashlight and glared at the people in the room.

  “Just a moment, everybody, please,” shouted the photographer, peremptorily. “Stand exactly where you are.”

  “What the devil,” shouted Cross, and started to dash across to the camera but, before he could do so, there was a flash of blinding light and the photograph presumably had been taken.

  “This is an outrage,” almost shrieked Cross, dashing down the room. “Stop that man. He has no right here. Take away his camera, someone.”

  The guests, dazzled by the unexpected glare, did not move from their laces. Harrison had carefully made no movement at all and his escort, equally dazzled, did not disguise their relief that he was still seated between them.

  The truculent-looking photographer seemed in no way perturbed. He was pouring some more magnesium powder into the flashlight apparatus and, as Cross came near to him, he raised it above his head again.