“I’m a fool, am I?” asked the other, sitting up indignantly. “If sitting here all on my own while you go gadding about with Frances makes me a fool, then I am one. A perfect specimen. Why should he take you instead of me, I should like to know?”
“He thinks it safer, at present,” said Rose. “You know that as well as I do. We’ve gone all over that often enough.”
“If I thought you were trying to get him away from me—” said Dorice viciously.
“You know I’m not,” was the patient reply. “I couldn’t, if I tried. But we’re under orders, and we’ve got to do what Frances tells us. He thinks it safer, and that’s good enough for us.”
“Safer, safer,” mocked Dorice. “What’s Frances got to be afraid of? Surely not this Harrison man? Not such a friend of his, after all, eh?”
“I wouldn’t say things like that if I were you, Dorice,” said Rose, slightly threatening.
“Oh, wouldn’t you? You know best, do you? Talked it over with him and left me out of everything, that’s it, is it? Well, I can tell you, if Frances is up to no good I’m not getting mixed up in it.”
“You’ll do exactly what you are told,” was Rose’s cold comment.
This effectually silenced the other girl, and again she buried herself in the cushions, while Rose looked down on her with unconcealed contempt.
“How I hate this room,” cried Dorice, suddenly raising her head.
“That’s a change,” said Rose.
“Everything’s changed,” was Dorice’s bitter reply. “When we started here I liked it, but then Frances was nice to me and you were kind to me, too.”
“Sorry, Dorice,” said Rose, “but things aren’t easy for me either.”
“Easier than for me,” replied Dorice. “It was all right until Goliath appeared.” She shivered. “I hate the thought of him. Horrible, horrible.”
“Frances promised you nothing would happen,” said Rose.
“But will he keep it?” cried Dorice. “I shall go mad if I see that creature again, looking at me the way he did. I know I shall.”
“I’d be ashamed of myself, lying there and screaming,” said Rose, and again there was an odd note of threatening in her voice, which seemed to sober her sister.
“I suppose you’re going to run off to Frances and tell him all about me,” said Dorice, almost calmly.
“Of course not.”
“And you’ll laugh about me and say to Frances, ‘Aren’t I the nice strong sister and aren’t you glad to talk to me instead of that idiot Dorice?’”
“Oh, shut up, Dorice.”
“I’ll shut up when I please,” went on the other, in a dangerously quiet tone. “I may be an idiot, but I can see what’s going on. Go ahead and have your Frances Manners, if you want him. We may not be everybody’s money, but I, at any rate, draw the line at criminals.”
“Be quiet, Dorice.”
“You’re not so particular, Rose, but I warn you. You are playing with fire, my girl, and you’ll be sorry.”
“Who says Frances is a criminal?” asked Rose, uneasily.
“Why is he so afraid of this detective then?” answered Dorice, triumphantly, “and go hiding himself away instead of coming here?”
“And what do you think Frances will say when he hears?” returned Rose, finding a further question the best form of retort.
“His little Rose is going to have some news for him, isn’t she?” jeered Dorice.
“Now look here, Dorice, I’ve had about enough of this,” replied Rose, her temper rising. “Any more and you’ll be sorry you spoke.”
“Oh, shall I?” said Dorice, getting up from the divan and walking towards her sister with flashing eyes. “Make no mistake about it, Rose, I’ve had enough of the whole rotten business, and, if you take my tip, you’ll get out, too, before it’s too late.”
“What’s the game, Dorice?”
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot since that detective fellow was here, and I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going to be mixed up any more with Frances Manners and Goliath. It’s not good enough. Clay Harrison said I could go and see him, if I wanted to—”
“Well?” asked Rose, a cold shiver running down her spine.
“I’m going to see him, that’s all.”
“You couldn’t do it, Dorice.”
“Couldn’t I?” demanded Dorice, making for the door. “And don’t you try to stop me.”
Rose seemed unable to move as her sister dashed from the room, and she listened to the hasty assumption of garments in the neighbouring bedroom without being able to grasp their meaning.
Dorice had put on some outdoor clothes and was ready to depart before Rose made any movement to stop her.
“You can’t, Dorice, you can’t,” she cried, rushing into the small hall as her sister came out of the bedroom. “You don’t know what you are doing.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Think for a moment, Dorice, it’s sheer madness.”
“I’d rather be mad then,” answered Dorice.
“You shan’t go,” cried Rose, moving in front of the door.
“You get away from that door,” shouted the other.
“You shan’t go,” repeated Rose, taking a firm stand.
Dorice dashed furiously at her sister and for a while the two struggled, Rose with her back solidly to the door and Dorice attempting to drag her away. It was not a pleasant picture, for both faces were twisted with anger as they fought with each other and their breath came in sharp jerks. Suddenly Dorice managed to obtain a twisting grip on her sister’s arm. Rose shrieked with pain, whereupon Dorice gave a further wrench and Rose shot helplessly across to the other side of the hall.
“Now try to stop me,” cried Dorice, triumphantly.
“You utter fool,” gasped Rose.
Dorice laughed back at her and turned the handle of the front door. As she opened it, she stood petrified with horror, for there on the threshold stood Frances Manners himself.
“A pleasant welcome,” said that gentleman, icily.
“Frances,” shrieked the girl, as if looking at an apparition.
“Frances,” he mocked. “And where were you going?”
“Let me pass,” cried Dorice, beside herself with terror. “Get out of my way.”
“Where were you going?” he repeated sternly.
The girl did not reply. Her courage was rapidly evaporating under his cold eyes.
“Answer me,” he said, taking hold of her wrist. “Where were you going?”
“Nowhere,” whispered the girl.
“Then why all the fuss,” he answered, taking a firmer hold on her wrist. “Come along.”
“I won’t,” shrieked the girl, cowering away from him.
“Stop that noise,” he commanded, raising his hand as if about to strike her and dragging her towards the bedroom from which she had recently come. Dorice was silent. She drooped as if she had made her supreme effort, while the man pushed her into the room, locked the door on her and placed the key in his pocket.
“Come in here,” he called to Rose as he went into the Oriental apartment and threw himself on the divan so recently graced by Dorice. “Shut those curtains,” he commanded, and Rose obeyed. “Get me a drink,” was his next order, and this also was obeyed with alacrity.
“And now,” he said, taking a deep draught, “what does all this mean?”
Rose hesitated.
“I want the truth,” he said, coldly, “and I’m going to trust you to tell me, Rose. What was that little she-devil going to do?”
“Nothing serious, really, Frances.”
“So when I come up the stairs and hear you two fighting and shrieking like a pair of cats, it’s nothing serious.”
“She didn’t mean any harm, Frances.”
“Come and sit here, Rose,” said the man, pointing beside him to the divan. “Look into my eyes and then answer me.”
The girl came towards him as if mesmerised. His sleepy e
yes, with their grey depths, seemed to her to read every secret in the uttermost parts of her soul. The truth had to be spoken, it would force its way from her lips, nothing could prevent it.
“She said she was going to see Clay Harrison,” said Rose, softly.
“I thought as much,” said Manners. “Something told me there was danger here.”
“I wondered why you came, Frances.”
“She took for granted I wouldn’t, didn’t she?” said Manners. “She didn’t think something would tell me, did she? And you tried to stop her?”
“I did.”
“Good girl,” he said, his mood softening. “Come closer to me, Rose.”
Rose obeyed, and Manners put his arm round her. Despite his pronouncement of a telepathic warning of danger, Manners had had a far different object in mind when he decided to visit his “nest.” Indeed, so strongly had he felt the deprivation of Dorice’s loving attentions that he had decided even to risk danger—the danger of being seen to visit the flat by some hireling of Harrison’s—in order to receive them once again. He had had disappointments enough, in all conscience, recently, and the game he was playing had become so much more difficult that he felt he had earned a little of the leisured ease so pleasantly furnished by Dorice and all her ways.
“Be kind to me, Rose,” he murmured, as he placed his head on her lap. “I’m tired.”
Rose spoke an almost inaudible word of comfort, and stroked his forehead.
“And what was our Dorice going to tell this Mr. Clay Harrison?” he asked, without opening his eyes.
“That Frances Manners was a criminal,” the girl answered, in a matter-of-fact tone.
“I suppose she could prove it,” he drawled, half opening his eyes.
“I doubt it,” was the reply.
“So Mr. Clay Harrison would be grateful, wouldn’t he?” said Manners. “And what does Rose think?”
“About what?”
“This criminal business.”
“I don’t care.”
“That’s no answer,” said Manners. “Does Rose agree with Dorice?”
“All I know is that I don’t care if Frances gets his living in ways that—”
“Go on.”
“The police wouldn’t like.”
Manners laughed. “Very tactful, my girl, very tactful,” he said. “And suppose he does? If he’s cleverer than they are it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“And he is cleverer,” said Rose.
“What do you think?”
“And cleverer than Clay Harrison, too,” ventured Rose.
“Now look here, Rose,” he exclaimed, sitting up but still holding her close to him, “why should this Clay Harrison man frighten all of you? He doesn’t frighten me. He came here once. Well, it didn’t need any particular intelligence on his part to find the way. He hasn’t been again, has he? He doesn’t really know anything about us. He can’t; because there isn’t anything to know. Frances Manners has seen to that.”
Rose, feeling that the statement might be a somewhat highly-coloured version of the position, would have liked to question further, but her companion gave her no opportunity, for he immediately went on, “Frances Manners is all right. The crack of dawn isn’t early enough to get up before him. But it’s the women. Why must women always let one down?”
“Not all of them, Frances?” ventured Rose.
“Most of them,” was the reply. “I’m not meaning you. You’re a tower of strength, Rose, and a great comfort, too.”
“Dorice got hysterical, Frances,” said Rose. “It wasn’t as bad as all that.”
“I’m not thinking of Dorice either,” answered Manners.
“Then who do you mean?”
“Well, Rose, my girl,” said Manners, speaking softly and drawing her closer to him, “I’m going to tell you something I never told anyone else. My work, or, at least, the work which brings me in the money, is mainly to do with women. Now don’t start asking me any questions about it. I’m giving you more of my confidence than I’ve given to a living soul.”
“A bit of a ladies’ man, Frances?” asked Rose.
“Well, not quite that,” answered Manners, gratified at the suggestion, but inwardly intensely amused at the contrast between the idea and the facts themselves. “Still, there are some ladies in this country of ours who are interested in the slightest word I say to them, although they may not always be in love with me or even enjoy what I have to tell them.” He chuckled and even Rose, unfastidious as she might be, felt a thrill of repulsion as she lay in his arms.
“Naturally I expect them to play the game,” he went on, with ugly suavity. “That is the least I am entitled to. But do they? Not on your life, and the more aristocratic they are the less they do it. But they’re fools to get up against Frances Manners, aren’t they?”
“They certainly are,” endorsed Rose.
“You say so yourself and you don’t know half the story,” said Manners, gloating. “Frances Manners has ways of punishing them if they’re naughty, ways you wouldn’t dream of. But they go and do it, and so they have to be taught to behave themselves. Only this morning a lady dared to break an appointment with me. No by your leave or with your leave, no sorry I can’t come, just didn’t turn up. Of course she didn’t realise. But she’ll be sorry if I don’t hear of her by this evening. Very sorry, Rose.”
The man closed his eyes and his body was intensely still, as if the mental picture of the just punishment his recalcitrant lady was likely to receive gave him ecstatic pleasure.
Rose was silent also. Eventually, as her position was not too comfortable and Manners seemed as if he would lie like that for ever, she exclaimed, “Goliath.”
Had she regarded this as a password for stirring Manners into action, she could not have been more successful, for he sprang up quickly and bent over her as she lay on the divan, his eyes glaring with passion.
“What the devil?” he cried.
The girl cried out with terror.
“What do you know?” asked Manners, fiercely.
“I don’t understand,” said the girl; “I only mentioned Goliath.”
“Why? Answer me. Why?”
“I was thinking of Dorice.”
“You’re not deceiving me? I warn you, you’d better not try.”
“Of course I’m not, Frances,” was the reply. “I was thinking about Dorice when you talked about punishing people. You threatened her with Goliath, didn’t you?”
“And that’s all you meant? You swear it?” he demanded.
“Of course. What else?”
“Nothing else. And don’t you imagine there is,” he answered emphatically.
“I don’t imagine there is,” said Rose, calmly. “What is going to happen to Dorice?”
“Dorice will get what is coming to her.”
“Come and sit down again, Frances,” she said, endearingly and the man settled down to his former position. “Dorice has been a fool, we both know that, but you won’t let Goliath do anything to her, will you, Frances?”
“She knew the risk.”
“But Goliath.”
“Goliath’s not so bad.”
“Yes, he is, Frances, he’s horrible,” said Rose; “Dorice has had her lesson.”
“Has she?” asked Manners grimly.
“I know she has,” answered Rose. “For my sake, Frances.”
“Very well,” said Manners. “You’re the sort of girl a man does things for, Rose.”
“You promise?” asked Rose.
“I promise.”
When Frances Manners finally bestirred himself, he handed the key of the bedroom to Rose with strict injunctions to guard her sister and allow her no chance of freedom until she heard from him again. He then made his way carefully forth, taking minute precautions to make sure he was not being followed. All of this trouble he might, of course, have spared himself, had be known that Harrison and Henry were at Hested and Eric faithfully chained to his guardianship of the c
hambers in their absence.
Chapter XVI
Discovery Of The Devil
Harrison had practically finished smoking a cigar and Henry had expelled clouds of the most noxious tobacco fumes from a particularly black pipe without a word passing between them. Henry had recognised the well-known look on his master’s face which implied intense concentration on a problem, and, although prepared to ask a number of questions regarding the possible meaning of the arsenic attempt, his usual tact and understanding had prevailed.
All the time, however, he kept a close watch on Harrison’s face, and noticed that his eyes constantly turned to the window.
“He doesn’t seem likely to reappear, Henry,” said the detective.
“Who, sir, the landlord?”
“No, I mean Clem, the big fellow.”
Henry looked somewhat pained. Surely his master could not have spent all his deep minutes in cogitation wondering whether the lout in the yard would reappear. The lout might be interested in them, but that was no excuse for reciprocity on their part. Besides, they had far more important things to think about. People didn’t try to poison one every day.
“Very inexpert, I should say,” said Harrison.
“What, sir?”
“The effort to poison us, Henry,” was the reply. “That’s what you were thinking about, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” said Henry, weakly. “How did you know?”
“Obvious, Henry,” said Harrison. “As it is the most striking thing that’s happened to us for many a day, it is therefore likely to be the only thing you could think about, at the moment. Besides, you made such a strange grimace, as if you were tasting something peculiarly unpleasant, that one couldn’t doubt what you were thinking about. But, as I was saying, so inexpert, Henry. A poor sort of mind which puts a pound of arsenic in a drink where an ounce will do. It makes detection so much easier. A child wouldn’t have touched that beer.”
“Making certain, sir,” suggested Henry.
“If that is so, Henry, the making certain was done in a ludicrously clumsy fashion. Staff work good, no doubt of that, but individual execution depressingly poor.”
Henry looked with admiration at Harrison. Who but his wonderful master would settle down so calmly to analyse a determined effort to take his life?
Methylated Murder Page 16