There is often a flaw in the best-laid plans. George Lomax had made onemistake—there was a weak spot in his preparations. The weak spot wasBill.
Bill Eversleigh was an extremely nice lad. He was a good cricketer and ascratch golfer, he had pleasant manners, and an amiable1 disposition2, buthis position in the Foreign Office had been gained, not by brains, but bygood connexions. For the work he had to do he was quite suitable. He wasmore or less George’s dog. He did no responsible or brainy work. His partwas to be constantly at George’s elbow, to interview unimportant peoplewhom George didn’t want to see, to run errands, and generally to makehimself useful. All this Bill carried out faithfully enough. When Georgewas absent, Bill stretched himself out in the biggest chair and read thesporting news, and in so doing he was merely carrying out a time-hon-oured tradition.
Being accustomed to send Bill on errands, George had dispatched him tothe union Castle offices to find out when the Granarth Castle was due in.
Now, in common with most well-educated young Englishmen, Bill had apleasant but quite inaudible voice. Any elocution master would havefound fault with his pronunciation of the word Granarth. It might havebeen anything. The clerk took it to be Carnfrae.
The Carnfrae Castle was due in on the following Thursday. He said so.
Bill thanked him and went out. George Lomax accepted the informationand laid his plans accordingly. He knew nothing about union Castle liners,and took it for granted that James McGrath would duly arrive onThursday.
Therefore, at the moment he was buttonholing Lord Caterham on thesteps of the club on Wednesday morning, he would have been greatly sur-prised to learn that the Granarth Castle had docked at Southampton thepreceding afternoon. At two o’clock that afternoon Anthony Cade, travel-ling under the name of Jimmy McGrath, stepped out of the boat train atWaterloo, hailed a taxi, and after a moment’s hesitation4, ordered thedriver to proceed to the Blitz Hotel.
“One might as well be comfortable,” said Anthony to himself as helooked with some interest out of the taxi windows.
It was exactly fourteen years since he had been in London.
He arrived at the hotel, booked a room, and then went for a short strollalong the Embankment. It was rather pleasant to be back in London again.
Everything was changed of course. There had been a little restaurantthere—just past Blackfriars Bridge—where he had dined fairly often, incompany with other earnest lads. He had been a Socialist5 then, and worna flowing red tie. Young—very young.
He retraced6 his steps back to the Blitz. Just as he was crossing the road, aman jostled against him, nearly making him lose his balance. They bothrecovered themselves, and the man muttered an apology, his eyes scan-ning Anthony’s face narrowly. He was a short, thickset man of the work-ing classes, with something foreign in his appearance.
Anthony went on into the hotel, wondering, as he did so, what had in-spired that searching glance. Nothing in it probably. The deep tan of hisface was somewhat unusual looking amongst these pallid7 Londoners andit had attracted the fellow’s attention. He went up to his room and, led bya sudden impulse, crossed to the looking glass and stood studying his facein it. Of the few friends of the old days—just a chosen few—was it likelythat any of them would recognize him now if they were to meet him faceto face? He shook his head slowly.
When he had left London he had been just eighteen—a fair, slightlychubby boy, with a misleadingly seraphic expression. Small chance thatthat boy would be recognized in the lean, brown-faced man with the quiz-zical expression.
The telephone beside the bed rang, and Anthony crossed to the receiver.
“Hullo!”
The voice of the desk clerk answered him.
“Mr. James McGrath?”
“Speaking.”
“A gentleman has called to see you.”
Anthony was rather astonished.
“To see me?”
“Yes, sir, a foreign gentleman.”
“What’s his name?”
There was a slight pause, and then the clerk said:
“I will send up a page boy with his card.”
Anthony replaced the receiver and waited. In a few minutes there was aknock on the door and a small page appeared bearing a card upon a sal-ver.
Anthony took it. The following was the name engraved8 upon it.
Baron9 Lolopretjzyl
He now fully3 appreciated the desk clerk’s pause.
For a moment or two he stood studying the card, and then made up hismind.
“Show the gentleman up.”
“Very good, sir.”
In a few minutes the Baron Lolopretjzyl was ushered10 into the room, abig man with an immense fan-like black beard and a high, bald forehead.
He brought his heels together with a click, and bowed.
“Mr. McGrath,” he said.
Anthony imitated his movements as nearly as possible.
“Baron,” he said. Then, drawing forward a chair, “Pray sit down. I havenot, I think had the pleasure of meeting you before?”
“That is so,” agreed the Baron, seating himself. “It is my misfortune,” headded politely.
“And mine also,” responded Anthony, on the same note.
“Let us now to business come,” said the Baron. “I represent in Londonthe Loyalist party of Herzoslovakia.”
“And represent it admirably, I am sure,” murmured Anthony.
The Baron bowed in acknowledgement of the compliment.
“You are too kind,” he said stiffly. “Mr. McGrath, I will not from you con-ceal anything. The moment has come for the restoration of the monarchy11,in abeyance12 since the martyrdom of His Most Gracious Majesty13 King Nich-olas IV of blessed memory.”
“Amen,” murmured Anthony. “I mean hear, hear.”
“On the throne will be placed His Highness Prince Michael, who the sup-port of the British Government has.”
“Splendid,” said Anthony. “It’s very kind of you to tell me all this.”
“Everything arranged is—when you come here to trouble make.”
The Baron fixed14 him with a stern eye.
“My dear Baron,” protested Anthony.
“Yes, yes, I know what I am talking about. You have with you the mem-oirs of the late Count Stylptitch.”
He fixed Anthony with an accusing eye.
“And if I have? What have the memoirs15 of Count Stylptitch to do withPrince Michael?”
“They will cause scandals.”
“Most memoirs do that,” said Anthony soothingly16.
“Of many secrets he the knowledge had. Should he reveal but thequarter of them, Europe into war plunged17 may be.”
“Come, come,” said Anthony. “It can’t be as bad as all that.”
“An unfavourable opinion of the Obolovitch will abroad be spread. Sodemocratic is the English spirit.”
“I can quite believe,” said Anthony, “that the Obolovitch may have beena trifle high-handed now and again. It runs in the blood. But people inEngland expect that sort of thing from the Balkans. I don’t know why theyshould, but they do.”
“You do not understand,” said the Baron. “You do not understand at all.
And my lips sealed are.” He sighed.
“What exactly are you afraid of?” asked Anthony.
“Until I have read the memoirs I do not know,” explained the Baronsimply. “But there is sure to be something. These great diplomats18 are al-ways indiscreet. The applecart upset will be, as the saying goes.”
“Look here,” said Anthony kindly19. “I’m sure you’re taking altogether toopessimistic a view of the thing. I know all about publishers—they sit onmanuscripts and hatch ’em like eggs. It will be at least a year before thething is published.”
“Either a very deceitful or a very simple young man you are. All is ar-ranged for the memoirs in a Sunday newspaper to come out immediately.
“Oh!” Anthony was somewhat taken aback. “But you can always denyeverything,” he said hopefully.
The Baron shook his head sadly.
“No, no, through the hat you talk. Let us to business come. One thousandpounds you are to have, is it not so? You see, I have the good informationgot.”
“I certainly congratulate the Intelligence Department of the Loyalists.”
“Then I to you offer fifteen hundred.”
“Anthony stared at him in amazement20, then shook his head ruefully.
“I’m afraid it can’t be done,” he said, with regret.
“Good. I to you offer two thousand.”
“You tempt21 me, Baron, you tempt me. But I still say it can’t be done.”
“Your own price name, then.”
“I’m afraid you don’t understand the position. I’m perfectly22 willing tobelieve that you are on the side of the angels, and that these memoirs maydamage your cause. Nevertheless, I’ve undertaken the job, and I’ve got tocarry it through. See? I can’t allow myself to be bought off by the otherside. That kind of thing isn’t done.”
The Baron listened very attentively23. At the end of Anthony’s speech henodded his head several times.
“I see. Your honour as an Englishman it is?”
“Well, we don’t put it that way ourselves,” said Anthony. “But I daresay,allowing for a difference in vocabulary, that we both mean much the samething.”
The Baron rose to his feet.
“For the English honour I much respect have,” he announced. “We mustanother way try. I wish you good morning.”
He drew his heels together, clicked, bowed and marched out of theroom, holding himself stiffly erect24.
“Now I wonder what he meant by that,” mused25 Anthony. “Was it athreat? Not that I’m in the least afraid of old Lollipop26. Rather a good namefor him, that, by the way. I shall call him Baron Lollipop.”
He took a turn or two up and down the room, undecided on his nextcourse of action. The date stipulated28 upon for delivering the manuscriptwas a little over a week ahead. Today was the 5th of October. Anthony hadno intention of handing it over before the last moment. Truth to tell, hewas by now feverishly29 anxious to read these memoirs. He had meant to doso on the boat coming over, but had been laid low with a touch of fever,and not at all in the mood for deciphering crabbed31 and illegible32 handwrit-ing, for none of the manuscript was typed. He was now more than everdetermined to see what all the fuss was about.
There was the other job too.
On an impulse, he picked up the telephone book and looked up thename of Revel33. There were six Revels34 in the book: Edward Henry Revel,surgeon, of Harley Street; and James Revel and Co., saddlers; Lennox Revelof Abbotbury Mansions35, Hampstead; Miss Mary Revel with an address inEaling; Hon. Mrs. Timothy Revel of 487 Pont Street; and Mrs. Willis Revelof 42 Cadogan Square. Eliminating the saddlers and Miss Mary Revel, thatgave him four names to investigate—and there was no reason to supposethat the lady lived in London at all! He shut up the book with a short shakeof the head.
“For the moment I’ll leave it to chance,” he said. “Something usuallyturns up.”
The luck of the Anthony Cades of this world is perhaps in some measuredue to their own belief in it. Anthony found what he was after not half anhour later, when he was turning over the pages of an illustrated36 paper. Itwas a representation of some tableaux37 organized by the Duchess of Perth.
Below the central figure, a woman in Eastern dress, was the inscription38:
The Hon. Mrs. Timothy Revel as Cleopatra. Before hermarriage, Mrs. Revel was the Hon. Virginia Cawthron, adaughter of Lord Edgbaston.
Anthony looked at the picture some time, slowly pursing up his lips asthough to whistle. Then he tore out the whole page, folded it up and put itin his pocket. He went upstairs again, unlocked his suitcase and took outthe packet of letters. He took out the folded page from his pocket andslipped it under the string that held them together.
Then at a sudden sound behind him, he wheeled round sharply. A manwas standing39 in the doorway40, the kind of man whom Anthony had fondlyimagined existed only in the chorus of a comic opera. A sinister-lookingfigure, with a squat41 brutal42 head and lips drawn43 back in an evil grin.
“What the devil are you doing here?” asked Anthony. “And who let youcome up?”
“I pass where I please,” said the stranger. His voice was guttural and for-eign, though his English was idiomatic44 enough.
“Another dago,” thought Anthony.
“Well, get out, do you hear?” he went on aloud.
The man’s eyes were fixed on the packet of letters which Anthony hadcaught up.
“I will get out when you have given me what I have come for.”
“And what’s that, may I ask?”
The man took a step nearer.
“The memoirs of Count Stylptitch,” he hissed45.
“It’s impossible to take you seriously,” said Anthony. “You’re so com-pletely the stage villain46. I like your getup very much. Who sent you here?
Baron Lollipop?”
“Baron?—” The man jerked out a string of harsh sounding consonants47.
“So that’s how you pronounce it, is it? A cross between gargling andbarking like a dog. I don’t think I could say it myself—my throat’s notmade that way. I shall have to go on calling him Lollipop. So he sent you,did he?”
But he received a vehement48 negative. His visitor went so far as to spitupon the suggestion in a very realistic manner. Then he drew from hispocket a sheet of paper which he threw upon the table.
“Look,” he said. “Look and tremble, accursed Englishman.”
Anthony looked with some interest, not troubling to fulfil the latter partof the command. On the paper was traced the crude design of a humanhand in red.
“It looks like a hand,” he remarked. “But, if you say so, I’m quite pre-pared to admit that it’s a Cubist picture of Sunset at the North Pole.”
“It is the sign of the Comrades of the Red Hand. I am a Comrade of theRed Hand.”
“You don’t say so,” said Anthony, looking at him with much interest.
“Are the others all like you? I don’t know what the Eugenic49 Society wouldhave to say about it.”
The man snarled50 angrily.
“Dog,” he said. “Worse than dog. Paid slave of an effete51 monarchy. Giveme the memoirs, and you shall go unscathed. Such is the clemency52 of theBrotherhood.”
“It’s very kind of them, I’m sure,” said Anthony, “but I’m afraid that boththey and you are labouring under a misapprehension. My instructions areto deliver the manuscript—not to your amiable society, but to a certainfirm of publishers.”
“Pah!” laughed the other. “Do you think you will ever be permitted toreach that office alive? Enough of this fool’s talk. Hand over the papers, orI shoot.”
He drew a revolver from his pocket and brandished53 it in the air.
But there he misjudged his Anthony Cade. He was not used to men whocould act as quickly—or quicker than they could think. Anthony did notwait to be covered by the revolver. Almost as soon as the other got it out ofhis pocket, Anthony had sprung forward and knocked it out of his hand.
The force of the blow sent the man swinging round, so that he presentedhis back to his assailant.
The chance was too good to be missed. With one mighty54, well-directedkick, Anthony sent the man flying through the doorway into the corridor,where he collapsed55 in a heap.
Anthony stepped out after him, but the doughty56 Comrade of the RedHand had had enough. He got nimbly to his feet and fled down the pas-sage. Anthony did not pursue him, but went back into his own room.
“So much for the Comrades of the Red Hand,” he remarked. “Pictur-esque appearance, but easily routed by direct action. How the hell did thatfellow get in, I wonder? There’s one thing that stands out pretty clearly—this isn’t going to be quite such a soft job as I thought. I’ve already fallenfoul of both the Loyalist and the Revolutionary parties. Soon, I suppose,the Nationalists and the Independent Liberals will be sending up a delega-tion. One thing’s fixed. I start on that manuscript tonight.”
Looking at his watch, Anthony discovered that it was nearly nineo’clock, and he decided27 to dine where he was. He did not anticipate anymore surprise visits, but he felt that it was up to him to be on his guard.
He had no intention of allowing his suitcase to be rifled whilst he wasdownstairs in the Grill57 Room. He rang the bell and asked for the menu, se-lected a couple of dishes and ordered a bottle of Chambertin. The waitertook the order and withdrew.
Whilst he was waiting for the meal to arrive, he got out the package ofmanuscript and put it on the table with the letters.
There was a knock at the door, and the waiter entered with a small tableand the accessories of the meal. Anthony had strolled over to the mantel-piece. Standing there with his back to the room, he was directly facing themirror, and idly glancing in it he noticed a curious thing.
The waiter’s eyes were glued on the parcel of manuscript. Shooting littleglances sideways at Anthony’s immovable back, he moved softly roundthe table. His hands were twitching58 and he kept passing his tongue overhis dry lips. Anthony observed him more closely. He was a tall man,supple like all waiters, with a clean-shaven, mobile face. An Italian, An-thony thought, not a Frenchman.
At the critical moment Anthony wheeled round abruptly59. The waiterstarted slightly, but pretended to be doing something with the saltcellar.
“What’s your name?” asked Anthony abruptly.
“Giuseppe, monsieur.”
“Italian, eh?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
Anthony spoke60 to him in that language, and the man answered fluentlyenough. Finally Anthony dismissed him with a nod, but all the while hewas eating the excellent meal which Giuseppe served to him, he wasthinking rapidly.
Had he been mistaken? Was Giuseppe’s interest in the parcel just ordin-ary curiosity? It might be so, but remembering the feverish30 intensity61 of theman’s excitement, Anthony decided against that theory. All the same, hewas puzzled.
“Dash it all,” said Anthony to himself, “everyone can’t be after the blas-ted manuscript. Perhaps I’m fancying things.”
Dinner concluded and cleared away, he applied62 himself to the perusal63 ofthe memoirs. Owing to the illegibility64 of the late Count’s handwriting, thebusiness was a slow one. Anthony’s yawns succeeded one another withsuspicious rapidity. At the end of the fourth chapter, he gave it up.
So far, he had found the memoirs insufferably dull, with no hint of scan-dal of any kind.
He gathered up the letters and the wrapping of the manuscript whichwere lying in a heap together on the table and locked them up in the suit-case. Then he locked the door, and as an additional precaution put a chairagainst it. On the chair he placed the water bottle from the bathroom.
Surveying these preparations with some pride, he undressed and gotinto bed. He had one more shot at the Count’s memoirs, but felt his eyelidsdrooping, and stuffing the manuscript under his pillow, he switched outthe light and fell asleep almost immediately.
It must have been some four hours later that he awoke with a start.
What had awakened65 him he did not know—perhaps a sound, perhapsonly the consciousness of danger which in men who have led an adventur-ous life is very fully developed.
For a moment he lay quite still, trying to focus his impressions. He couldhear a very stealthy rustle66, and then he became aware of a denser67 black-ness somewhere between him and the window—on the floor by the suit-case.
With a sudden spring, Anthony jumped out of bed, switching the lighton as he did so. A figure sprang up from where it had been kneeling by thesuitcase.
It was the waiter, Giuseppe. In his right hand gleamed a long thin knife.
He hurled68 himself straight upon Anthony, who was by now fully consciousof his own danger. He was unarmed and Giuseppe was evidently thor-oughly at home with his own weapon.
Anthony sprang to one side, and Giuseppe missed him with the knife.
The next minute the two men were rolling on the floor together, locked ina close embrace. The whole of Anthony’s faculties69 were centred on keep-ing a close grip of Giuseppe’s right arm so that he would be unable to usethe knife. He bent70 it slowly back. At the same time he felt the Italian’sother hand clutching at his windpipe, stifling71 him, choking. And still, des-perately, he bent the right arm back.
There was a sharp tinkle72 as the knife fell on the floor. At the same time,the Italian extricated73 himself with a swift twist from Anthony’s grasp. An-thony sprang up too, but made the mistake of moving towards the door tocut off the other’s retreat. He saw, too late, that the chair and the waterbottle were just as he had arranged them.
Giuseppe had entered by the window, and it was the window he madefor now. In the instant’s respite74 given him by Anthony’s move towards thedoor, he had sprung out on the balcony, leaped over to the adjoining bal-cony and had disappeared through the adjoining window.
Anthony knew well enough that it was of no use to pursue him. His wayof retreat was doubtless fully assured. Anthony would merely get himselfinto trouble.
He walked over to the bed, thrusting his hand beneath the pillow anddrawing out the memoirs. Lucky that they had been there and not in thesuitcase. He crossed over to the suitcase and looked inside, meaning totake out the letters.
Then he swore softly under his breath.
The letters were gone.
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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baron
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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monarchy
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abeyance
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majesty
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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memoirs
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soothingly
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plunged
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diplomats
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kindly
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amazement
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tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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perfectly
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attentively
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erect
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mused
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lollipop
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| n.棒棒糖 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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stipulated
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feverishly
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feverish
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crabbed
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illegible
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revel
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revels
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mansions
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illustrated
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tableaux
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inscription
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standing
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doorway
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squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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idiomatic
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| adj.成语的，符合语言习惯的 | |
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hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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consonants
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| n.辅音，子音( consonant的名词复数 )；辅音字母 | |
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vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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eugenic
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| adj.优生的 | |
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snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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effete
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| adj.无生产力的，虚弱的 | |
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clemency
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| n.温和，仁慈，宽厚 | |
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53
brandished
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| v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 )；炫耀 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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doughty
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| adj.勇猛的，坚强的 | |
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grill
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| n.烤架，铁格子，烤肉；v.烧，烤，严加盘问 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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illegibility
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| n.不清不楚，不可辨认，模糊 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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denser
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| adj. 不易看透的, 密集的, 浓厚的, 愚钝的 | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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extricated
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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