Part 20 (2/2)

When he got out of the cab a short but sharp argument ensued with the operator; it seemed that ”the clock” was out of order and not registering--had struck in conformance to the time-honoured custom of the midnight taximeter union. But the driver's habitual demand for two and one-half times the proper fare by distance proved in this instance quite fruitless. Staff calmly counted out the right amount, put it in the man's hand, listened with critical appreciation to the resultant flow of profanity until it verged upon personality, then deliberately dragged the man by the scruff of his neck, choking and cursing, from his seat to the sidewalk.

”Now, listen,” said he in a level tone: ”you've got either to put up or shut up. I've been sort of aching to beat the tar out of one of you highwaymen for some time, and I feel just ripe for it tonight. You either put up your fists or crawl--another yap out of you and I won't wait for you to do either.”

The man bristled and then, a.n.a.lysing the gleam in Staff's eyes, crawled: that is to say, he climbed back into his seat and swung the machine to the far side of the street before again resorting to vituperation.

To this Staff paid no more attention. He was opening the front door. The pa.s.sage had comforted him considerably, but he was presently to regret it. But for that delay he might have been spared a deal of trouble.

As he let himself into the house, a man in evening dress came running down the stairs, brushed past rudely and without apology, and slammed the door behind him. Staff wondered and frowned slightly. Presumably the fellow had been calling on one of the tenants of the upper floors. There had been something familiar in his manner--something reminiscent, but too indefinite for recognition. And certainly he'd been in the devil of a hurry!

In the meantime he had mounted the first flight of stairs and turned through the hall to his study door. To his surprise it wasn't locked. He seemed distinctly to remember locking it when he had left for dinner.

Still, memory does play us odd tricks.

He pushed the door open and entered the room. At the same moment he heard the trilling of the telephone bell. The instrument stood upon his desk between the two front windows. Without pausing to switch on one of the lights in the combination gas- and electrolier in the centre of the room, he groped his way through blinding darkness to the desk and, finding the telephone instrument with the certainty of old acquaintance, lifted the receiver to his ear.

”h.e.l.lo?” he called.

A thin and business-like voice detailed his number.

”Yes,” he said. ”What is it?”

”Just a moment,” came out of the night. ”Hold the wire.”

There was a pause in which it occurred to him that a little light would be a grateful thing. He groped for his desk-lamp, found it and scorched his fingers slightly on its metal reflector. He had switched on the light and said ”d.a.m.n!” mechanically before he reflected that the said metal reflector had no right to be hot unless the light had been burning very recently.

As this thought penetrated his consciousness, the telephone waxed eloquent.

”h.e.l.lo!” called a voice. ”Is that you, Staff?”

”Why!” he exclaimed in surprise--”yes, Alison!”

”Are you alone?”

”Yes,” he said. ”What is it?”

”I just wanted to know,” returned the girl at the other end of the wire.

”I'm coming to see you.”

”What--now?”

”Of course, silly.”

”But why--this time of night--it doesn't seem--”

”Oh, I've got something most important to say to you--very important indeed. It won't keep. I'll be there in five minutes. Listen for the taxi--will you, like a dear boy?--and come down and open the door for me. Good-bye.”

”Good-bye,” he returned automatically, and hung up the receiver.

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