Part 27 (1/2)

”No, no,” she whispered; ”don't say that: I hate the word. Listen, Neil. I am coming to you again, down there, when we shall be alone--you and I together. I don't know when it will be, but soon--ah, just as soon as I can. I can't help you, not in the way I mean to, until you have finished your work, but I will come to you, and--and....”

Her voice failed, and lowering her head she buried her face in my coat. I bent down, and in a moment her lips met mine in another long, pa.s.sionate kiss. It was hard to see how I could have acted otherwise, but all the same I didn't feel exactly proud of myself.

Indeed, it was in a state of very mixed emotions that I came back into the house after we had walked together as far as the corner of the street. The mere fact of my having found out for certain that the man with the scar was an agent of McMurtrie's was enough in itself to give me food for pretty considerable thought. Any suspicions I may have had as to the genuineness of the doctor's story were now amply confirmed.

I was not intimately acquainted with the working methods of the High Explosives Trade, but it seemed highly improbable that they could involve the drugging or poisoning of Government officials in public restaurants. As Tommy had forcibly expressed it, there was some ”d.a.m.ned shady work” going on somewhere or other, and for all Sonia's comforting a.s.surances concerning my own eventual prosperity, I felt that I was mixed up in about as sinister a mystery as even an escaped murderer could very well have dropped into.

The thought of Sonia brought me back to the question of our relations.

I could hardly doubt now that she loved me with all the force of her strange, sullen, pa.s.sionate nature, and that for my sake she was preparing to take some pretty reckless step. What this was remained to be seen, but that it amounted to a practical betrayal of her father and McMurtrie seemed fairly obvious from the way in which she had spoken. From the point of view of my own interests, it was an amazing stroke of luck that she should have fallen in love with me, and yet somehow or other I felt distinctly uncomfortable about it. I seemed to be taking an unfair advantage of her, though how on earth I was to avoid doing so was a question which I was quite unable to solve. I certainly couldn't afford to quarrel with her, and she was hardly the sort of girl to accept anything in the nature of a disappointment to her affections in exactly a philosophic frame of mind.

I was still pondering over this rather delicate problem, when there came a knock at the door, and in answer to my summons Gertie 'Uggins inserted her head.

”The lidy's gorn?” she observed, looking inquiringly round the room.

I nodded. ”There is no deception, Gertrude,” I said. ”You can search the coal-scuttle if you like.”

She wriggled the rest of her body in round the doorway. ”Mrs. Oldbury sent me up to ask if you'd be wantin' dinner.”

”No,” I said; ”I am going out.”

Gertie nodded thoughtfully. ”Taikin' 'er, I s'pose?”

”To be quite exact,” I said, ”I am dining with another lady.”

There was a short pause. Then, with an air of some embarra.s.sment Gertie broke the silence. '”Ere,” she said: ”you know that five bob you give me?”

”Yes,” I said.

”Well, I ain't spendin' it on no dinner--see. I'm goin' to buy a 'at wiv it--a 'at like 'ers: d'yer mind?”

”I do mind,” I said severely. ”That money was intended for your inside, Gertie, not your outside. You have your dinner, and I'll buy you a new hat myself.”

She clasped her hands together. ”Ow!” she cried. ”Yer mean it? Yer reely mean it?”

”I never joke,” I said, ”on sacred subjects.”

Then to my dismay she suddenly began to cry. ”You ain't 'alf--'alf bin good to me,” she jerked out. ”No one ain't never bin good to me like you. I'd--I'd do anyfink for you.”

”In that case,” I said, ”you may give me my hat--and cheer up.”

She obeyed both commands, and then, still sniffing, valiantly marched to the front door and opened it for me to go out.

”Goo'-night, sir,” she said.

”Good-night, Gertrude,” I replied; and leaving her standing on the step I set off down the street. Whatever else prison might have done for me, it certainly seemed to have given me a capacity for making friends.

I reached Florence Court at about a quarter to seven, keeping a sharp lookout along the embankment as I approached for any sign of a loitering detective. Except for one aged gentleman, however, who seemed to be wholly occupied in spitting in the Thames, the stretch in front of the studios was absolutely deserted. Glancing at the board in the hall as I entered, I saw that ”Mr. Morrison” and ”Miss Vivien”

were both ”in”--a statement which in Tommy's case was confirmed a moment later by his swift appearance at the door in answer to my knock.

”Mr. Morrison, I believe?” I said.