A COCKNEY CONSPIRATOR
"The bar closes in ten minutes, sir!" the smoking room stewardannounced.
The young man who had been the subject of Wingrave's remarks hastilyordered another drink, although he had an only half-emptied tumbler infront of him. Presently he stumbled out on to the deck. It was a darknight, and a strong head wind was blowing. He groped his way to therailing and leaned over, with his head half buried in his hands. Below,the black tossing sea was churned into phosphorescent spray, as thesteamer drove onwards into the night.
Was it he indeed--George Richardson? He doubted it. The world of tapemeasures and calico counters seemed so far away; the interior ofhis quondam lodgings in a by-street of Islington, so unfamiliar andimpossible. He felt himself swallowed up in this new and bewilderingexistence, of which he was so insignificant an atom, the existence wheretragedy reared her gloomy head, and the shadows of great things loomedaround him. Down there in the cold restless waste of black waters--whatwas it that he saw? The sweat broke out upon his forehead, the bloodseemed turned to ice in his veins. He knew very well that his fancymocked him, that it was not indeed a man's white face gleaming on thecrest of the waves. But none the less he was terrified.
Mr. Richardson was certainly nervous. Not all the brandy he haddrunk--and he had never drunk half as much before in his life--affordedhim the least protection from these ghastly fancies. The step of asailor on the deck made him shiver; the thought of his empty state roomwas a horror. He tried to think of the woman at whose bidding he hadleft behind him Islington and the things that belonged to Islington! Hetried to recall her soft suggestive whispers, the glances which promisedmore even than her spoken words, all the perfume and mystery of herwonderful presence. Her very name was an allurement. MademoiselleViolet! How softly it fell from the lips!... God in heaven, what wasthat? He started round, trembling in every limb. It was nothing morethan the closing of the smoking room door behind him. Sailors withbuckets and mops were already beginning their nightly tasks. He must goto his state room! Somehow or other, he must get through the night...
He did it, but he was not a very prepossessing looking object when hestaggered out on deck twelve hours later, into the noon sunshine. Thechair towards which he looked so eagerly was occupied. He scarcely knewhimself whether that little gulp of acute feeling, which shot throughhis veins, was of relief or disappointment. While he hesitated, Wingraveraised his head.
Wingrave did not, as a rule, speak to his fellow passengers. OfRichardson, he had not hitherto taken the slightest notice. Yet thismorning, of all others, he addressed him.
"I believe," he said, holding it out towards him, "that this envelope isyours. I found it under your chair."
Richardson muttered something inarticulate, and almost snatched it away.It was the envelope of the fatal letter which Mademoiselle Violet hadwritten him to Queenstown.
"Sit down, Mr. Richardson, if you are not in a hurry," Wingravecontinued calmly. "I was hoping that I might see you this morning. Canyou spare me a few minutes?"
Richardson subsided into his chair. His heart was thumping against hisribs. Wingrave's voice sounded to him like a far-off thing.
"The handwriting upon that envelope which I have just restored toyou, Mr. Richardson, is well known to me," Wingrave continued, gazingsteadfastly at the young man whom he was addressing.
"The envelope! The handwriting!" Richardson faltered. "I--it was from--"
An instant's pause. Wingrave raised his eyebrows.
"Ah!" he said. "We need not mention the lady's name. That she should bea correspondent of yours, however, helps me to understand better severalmatters which have somewhat puzzled me lately. No! Don't go, my dearsir. We must really have this affair straightened out."
"What affair?" Richardson demanded, with a very weak attempt at bluster."I don't understand you--don't understand you at all."
Wingrave leaned a little forward in his chair. His eyebrows were drawnclose together; his gaze was entirely merciless.
"You are not well this morning," he remarked. "A little headacheperhaps! Won't you try one of these phenacetine lozenges--excellentthings for a headache, I believe? Warranted, in fact, to cure all bodilyailments for ever! What! You don't like the look of them?"
The young man cowered back in his chair. He was gripping the sidestightly with both hands, and the pallor of a ghastly fear had spreadover his face.
"I--don't know what you mean," he faltered. "I haven't a headache!"
Wingrave looked thoughtfully at the box between his fingers.
"If you took one of these, Mr. Richardson," he said, "you would neverhave another, at any rate. Now, tell me, sir, how you came by them!"
"I know nothing about--" the young man began.
"Don't lie to me, sir," Wingrave said sharply. "I have been wonderingwhat the ---- you meant by hanging around after me, giving the decksteward five shillings to put your chair next mine, and pretendingto read, while all the time you were trying to overhear any scraps ofconversation between my secretary and myself. I thought you were simplyguilty of impertinent curiosity. This, however, rather alters the lookof affairs."
"What does?" Richardson asked faintly. "That box ain't mine."
"Perhaps not," Wingrave answered, "but you found it in my state room andfilled it up with its present contents. My servant saw you coming out,and immediately went in to see what you had stolen, and report you. Hefound nothing missing, but he found this box full of lozenges, which heknows quite well was half full before you went in. Now, what was yourobject, Mr. Richardson, in tampering with that box upon my shelf?"
"I have--I have never seen it before," Richardson declared. "I havenever been in your state room!"
The deck steward was passing. Wingrave summoned him.
"I wish you would ask my servant to step this way," he said. "You willfind him in my state room."
The man disappeared through the companion way. Richardson rose to hisfeet.
"I'm not going to stay here to be bullied and cross examined," hedeclared. "I'm off!"
"One moment," Wingrave said. "If you leave me now, I shall ask thecaptain to place you under arrest."
Richardson looked half fearfully around.
"What for?"
"Attempted murder! Very clumsily attempted, but attempted murder nonethe less."
The young man collapsed. Wingrave's servant came down the deck.
"You sent for me, sir?" he inquired respectfully.
Wingrave pointed towards his companion.
"Was that the person whom you saw coming out of my state room?" heasked.
"Yes sir," the man replied at once.
"You could swear to him, if necessary?"
"Certainly, sir."
"That will do, Morrison."
The man withdrew. Wingrave turned to his victim. "A few weeks ago," heremarked, "I had a visit from the lady whose handwriting is upon thatenvelope. I had on the table before me a box of phenacetine lozenges.She naturally concluded that I was in the habit of using them. That ladyhas unfortunately cause to consider me, if not an enemy, something verymuch like it. You are in correspondence with her. Only last night youplaced in my box of these lozenges some others, closely resembling them,but fortunately a little different in shape. Mine were harmless--as amatter of fact, a single one of yours would kill a man in ten minutes.Now, Mr. Richardson, what have you to say about all this? Why should Inot send for the captain, and have you locked up till we arrive at NewYork?"
Richardson drew his handkerchief across his damp forehead.
"You can't prove nothing," he muttered.
"I am afraid that I must differ from you," Wingrave answered. "We willsee what the captain has to say."
He leaned forward in his chair, to attract the attention of a seaman.
Richardson interposed.
"All right," he said thickly. "Suppose I own up! What then?"
"A few questions--nothing terrifying. I am not very frightened of you."
"Go on
!"
"How did you become acquainted with the writer of that letter?"
Richardson hesitated.
"She came to a dancing class at Islington," he said.
Wingrave's face was expressionless, but his tone betrayed hisincredulity.
"A dancing class at Islington! Nonsense!"
"Mind," the young man asserted, "it was her mistress who put her up tothis! It was nothing to do with her. It was for her mistress's sake."
"Do you know the mistress?" Wingrave asked.
"No; I don't know her name even. Never heard it."
"Your letter, then, was from the maid?"
"Of course, it was," Richardson answered. "If you recognize the writing,you must know that yourself."
Wingrave looked reflectively seaward. The matter was not entirely clearto him. Yet he was sure that this young man was telling the truth, sofar as he could divine it.
"Well," he said, "you have made your attempt and failed. If fortune hadfavored you, you might at this moment have been a murderer. I might havewarned you, by the bye, that I am an exceedingly hard man to kill."
Richardson looked uneasily around.
"I ain't admitting anything, you know," he said.
"Precisely! Well, what are you going to do now? Are you satisfied withyour first reverse, or are you going to renew the experiment?"
"I've had enough," was the dogged answer. "I've been made a fool of. Ican see that. I shall return home by the next steamer. I never ought tohave got mixed up in this."
"I am inclined to agree with you," Wingrave remarked calmly. "Do Iunderstand that if I choose to forget this little episode, you willreturn to England by the next steamer?"
"I swear it," Richardson declared.
"And in the meantime, that you make no further attempt of a similarnature?"
"Not I!" he answered with emphasis. "I've had enough."
"Then," Wingrave said, "we need not prolong this conversation. Forgivemy suggesting, Mr. Richardson, that whilst I am on deck, the other sideof the ship should prove more convenient for you!"
The young man rose, and without a word staggered off. Wingrave watchedhim through half-closed eyes, until he disappeared.
"It was worth trying," he said softly to himself. "A very clever womanthat! She looks forward through the years, and she sees the cloudsgathering. It was a little risky, and the means were very crude. But itwas worth trying!"
The Malefactor Page 13