The False Faces Part 32

"Karl" remained hidden from him by the lamp, so he from "Karl." Colonel Stanistreet, facing his caller, sat half turned away from the windows.

Everything rested with Blensop's choice, which of the two windows he would elect first to close.

A right-handed man, he turned, as Lanyard had foreseen, to the right, and momentarily disappeared in the recess of the farther window.

In the same instant Lanyard slipped noiselessly from behind the portiere, and dropped into that capacious wing chair which Blensop had thoughtfully placed for him some time since.

Thus seated, making himself as small and still as possible, he was wholly concealed from all other occupants of the library but Blensop; and even this last was little likely to discover him.

He did not. He closed and latched the farther window, then that wherein Lanyard had lurked, and ambled back into the room with never a glance toward that shadowed corner which held the wing chair.

And Lanyard drew a deep breath, if a quiet one. Behind him the conversation had continued without break. It was true, he could see nothing; but he could hear all that was said, he had missed no syllable, and now every second was informing him to his profit....

"Your secretary, no doubt, has told you I am a survivor of the _a.s.syrian_ disaster."

"Yes...."

"You were, I believe, expecting a certain communication of extraordinary character by the _a.s.syrian_, to be brought, that is, by an agent of the British Secret Service."

After an almost imperceptible pause Stanistreet said evenly: "It is possible."

"A communication, in fact, of such character that it was impossible to entrust it to the mails or to cable transmission, even in code."

"And if so, sir...?"

"And you are aware that, of the two gentlemen entrusted with the care of this doc.u.ment, one was drowned when the _a.s.syrian_ went down, and the other so seriously injured that he has not yet recovered consciousness, but was transferred directly from the pier to a hospital when the _Saratoga_ docked."

"What then, Monsieur d.u.c.h.emin?"

"Colonel Stanistreet," said the impostor deliberately, "I have that communication. I will ask you not to question me too closely as to how it came into my possession. I have it: that is sufficient."

"If you possess any doc.u.ment which you conceive to be so valuable to the British Government, monsieur, and consequently to the Allied cause, I have every confidence in your intention to deliver it to me without delay."

A note of mild derision crept into the accents of "Karl."

"I have every intention of so doing, my dear sir.... But you must appreciate I have incurred considerable personal danger, hards.h.i.+p, and inconvenience in taking good care of this doc.u.ment, in seeing that it did not fall into the wrong hands; in short, in bringing it safely here to you to-night."

A slightly longer pause prefaced Stanistreet's reply, something which he delivered in measured tones: "I am able to promise you the British Government will show due appreciation of your disinterested services, Monsieur--d.u.c.h.emin."

"Not disinterested--not that!" the cheat protested. "Gentlemen of my kidney, sir, seldom put themselves out except in lively antic.i.p.ation of favours to come."

"Be good enough to make yourself more clear."

"Cheerfully. I possess this doc.u.ment. I understand its character is such that Germany would pay a round price for it. But I am a good patriot. In spite of the fact that n.o.body knew I possessed it, in spite of the fact that I need only have quietly taken it to Seventy-ninth Street to-night--"

"Monsieur d.u.c.h.emin!" Stanistreet's voice was icy. "Your price?"

"Sorry you feel that way about it," said "Karl" with ill-concealed insincerity. "You must know thieving is no more what it once was. Even I, too, often am put to it to make both ends--"

"If you please, sir--how much?"

"Ten thousand dollars."

Silence greeted this demand, a lull that to Lanyard seemed endless. For in his fury he was trembling so that he feared lest his agitation betray him.

The very walls before his eyes seemed to quake in sympathy. He was aware of the ache of swollen veins in his temples, his teeth hurt with the pressure put upon them, his breath came heavily, and his nails were digging painfully into his palms.

"Blensop?"

"Sir?"

"How much have we on hand, in the emergency fund?"

"Between ten and twelve thousand dollars, sir."

"Intuition, monsieur, is an indispensable item in the equipment of a successful _chevalier d'Industrie_. So, at least, the good novelists tell us...."

"Open the safe, Blensop, and fetch me ten thousand dollars."

"Very good, sir."

"I presume you won't object to satisfying me that you really have this doc.u.ment, before I pay you your price."

"It is this which makes it a pleasure to deal with an Englishman, monsieur: one may safely trust his word of honour."

"Indeed...."

"Permit me: here is the doc.u.ment. Use that magnifying gla.s.s I see by your elbow, monsieur; take your time, satisfy yourself."

"Thanks; I mean to."

Another break in the dialogue, during which the eavesdropper heard an odd sound, a sort of m.u.f.fled swis.h.i.+ng ending in a slight thud, then the peculiar metallic whine of a combination dial rapidly manipulated, finally the dull clank of bolts falling back into their sockets.

"Your _coffre-fort_--what do you say?--strong-box--safe--is cleverly concealed, Colonel Stanistreet."

There was no direct reply, but after a moment Stanistreet announced quietly: "This seems to be an authentic paper.... Monsieur d.u.c.h.emin, what knowledge precisely have you of the nature of this doc.u.ment?"

"Surely monsieur cannot have overlooked the circ.u.mstance that its seals were intact."

"True," Stanistreet admitted. "Still...."

"I trust Monsieur does not question my good faith?"

"Why not?" Stanistreet enquired drily.

"Monsieur!"

"Oh, d.a.m.n your play-acting, sir! If you can be capable of one infamy, you are capable of more. None the less, you are right about an Englishman's word: here is your money. Count it and--get out!"

"Thanks"--the impostor's tone was an impertinently exact imitation of Stanistreet's--"I mean to."