Men of Affairs Part 23

Clearly his companion was a person of some geniality. He spread out his legs, cleared his throat, and observed:

"All's well as ends well. Still, I didn't expect to catch you."

Barraclough a.s.sumed an air of indifference.

"Did you not?" he said.

"It's a fact, I didn't. Lying in bed I was twelve minutes ago. Used some words, too, when they called me up on the 'phone. But, all said, it was worth the rush. Means a good deal of money to me."

This final remark did little to improve Barraclough's temper. However, he preserved an outward calm and said he supposed so.

"I'm tenacious," said the man. "That's what I am--tenacious."

"A fine quality."

"And pretty useful in my trade."

"Must be."

Barraclough's mind was concentrated on finding a weak spot at which to attack and already a delicate idea was maturing. In the rack above his companion's head was his suitcase, the handle projecting outward.

Apparently it was unusually heavy for Barraclough had noticed with what a resonant whack it hit the carriage cus.h.i.+ons when thrown in through the window and also that it was only lifted to its present position with an effort. If that suitcase could be persuaded to fall on its owner's head it was reasonable to suppose the result would be anesthetic. And in Barraclough's hand was a crooked stick. The a.s.sociation of idea is obvious.

"Going far?" came the pleasant enquiry.

In common with all South Western Railway carriages, the wooden part.i.tioning above the upholstery was decorated with choicely coloured views of cities and country-side.

"Since there would appear to be no point in hiding anything from you,"

Barraclough replied, "there is a picture of my destination behind your head."

"That's funny," said the man and, responding to natural curiosity, turned to examine the picture, while Barraclough embraced the opportunity to slip the crook of his stick through the handle of the bag and tug hard. But the bag was heavier than he had imagined. It scarcely moved and only by bracing his foot on the seat opposite was he able to upset its balance. Just a fraction of a second too soon the man turned. Conceivably he saw murder in Barraclough's eyes or else he was unusually quick at grasping a situation. He flashed his eyes upward at the moment the bag was toppling, realised it was too late to save himself, and dropped his head forward. He caught the weight of the bag on his ma.s.sive shoulders and, as though it were a pillow, slewed sideways and heaved it straight on to Barraclough's chest.

And Barraclough's lungs emptied like a burst balloon. Next instant he felt himself lifted into mid air as though he were a child.

"I've a d.a.m.n good mind to pitch you through the window," said the man.

"I would, too, if I didn't reckon you were mad. As it is, I guess I'll stick you up in the luggage rack out of harm's way."

And this he did without apparent effort.

"d.a.m.n me!" he went on. "What's the game?"

"The game," replied Barraclough, "isn't played out yet."

Which was true, for in the tussle his overcoat had rolled up under his arms, the pistol pocket was clear, and a blue black automatic flashed dully in the man's face.

"If either of us leaves this carriage I fancy it's going to be you."

To do the man justice he betrayed more amazement than alarm. He backed away a pace and his hand travelled upward to the communicator.

"If you touch that cable I'll put a bullet through your wrist," said Barraclough. "Sit down and attend to me."

He obeyed, shaking his head perplexedly.

"d.a.m.n me, if I can get the strength of it."

"Then listen," said Barraclough, steadying his aim along the ash rail of the luggage rack, "and keep your hands in your lap. I'm going to carry my scheme through even if I have to shoot you and lots like you.

My patience has run out--understand? I've been fooled and badgered and headed off and shot at for as long as I can stand. The boot's on the other leg now and whoever tries to stop me or follow me or get in my way will find all the trouble he's looking for."

"Yes, but it seems to me," said the big man plaintively, "that it's you who's looking for trouble. Been a nice thing if that bag had caught me on the lid. There were two fifty pound bells inside and a coil of wire for my trapeze act."

"Your what?" said Barraclough.

"Trapeze act. Done in my tour nicely, that would."

Barraclough's eyes narrowed and he looked at the man closely.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "What's your name?"

"My real name's John Lever," he replied, "but I'm better known to the music hall public as Madrooba, the Muscular Muscovite."

"Madrooba--the chap who lets eight men stand on his chest?"

"That's me."

"Then what in blazes were you following me for?"

"Following you?" repeated Mr. Madrooba. "Never set eyes on you before.

Run after the train 'cause I got a contract to appear in Paris tonight."

Barraclough lowered the point of his pistol slowly.

"And you've never heard of Van Diest?"

"Never! Van Biene I know and Van Hoven, but----"

"Then it looks to me," said Barraclough regretfully. "It looks to me as if I've made a pretty substantial fool of myself. If you're big enough to accept an apology, Mr. Madrooba, I'd be glad to come off this perch and offer it."

"I reckon if I can stand eight men on my chest," came the reply, "I don't need to take a lot of notice of this little misunderstanding.

Let yourself drop and I'll catch you."

And from sheer relief Barraclough began to laugh--and laughed solidly for ten miles of the journey.

CHAPTER 11.

OUTLINING A PROGRAMME.