Part 22 (1/2)

He held out his hands.

”You are glad to see me?” he asked.

She came slowly forward. The man rose from his place and came towards her with outstretched hands. Then through the door came John Dory, and one caught a glimpse of others behind him.

”If my wife is not glad to see you, Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald,” he aid, in a tone from which he vainly tried to keep the note of triumph, ”I can a.s.sure you that I am. You slipped away from me cleverly at Daisy Villa, but this time I think you will not find it so easy.”

Maud shrank back, and her husband took her place. But Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald looked upon them both as one who looks upon figures in a dream. Miss Brown rose hurriedly from her seat. She came over to him and thrust her arm through his.

”Peter,” she said, taking his hand in hers, ”don't shoot. It isn't worth while. You should have listened to me.”

The little man in the gold-rimmed spectacles looked at her, looked at Mr. John Dory, looked at the woman who was shrinking back now against the wall.

”Really,” he said, ”this is the most extraordinary situation in which I ever found myself!”

”We will help you to realise it,” John Dory cried, and the triumph in his tone had swelled into a deeper note. ”I came here to arrest Mr.

Fitzgerald, but I hear this young lady call you 'Peter.' Perhaps this may be the solution--”

The little man struck the table with the flat of his hand.

”Come,” he said, ”this is getting a bit too thick. First of all--you,”

he said, turning to Miss Brown--”my name is not Peter, and I have no idea of shooting anybody. As for that lady against the wall, I don't know her--never saw her before in my life. As for you,” he added, turning to John Dory, ”you talk about arresting me--what for?”

Mr. John Dory smiled.

”There is an old warrant,” he said, ”which I have in my pocket, but I fancy that there are a few little things since then which we may have to enquire into.”

”This beats me!” the little man declared. ”Who do you think I am?”

”Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald, to start with,” John Dory said. ”It seems to me not impossible that we may find another pseudonym for you.”

”You can find as many as you like,” the little man answered testily, ”but my name is James Fitzgerald, and I am an actor employed at the Shaftesbury Theatre, as I can prove with the utmost ease. I never called myself Spencer; nor, to my knowledge, was I ever called by such a name.

Nor, as I remarked before, have I ever seen any one of you three people before with the exception of Miss Brown here, whom I have seen on the stage.”

John Dory grunted.

”It was Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald,” he said, ”a clerk in Howell & Wilson's bookshop, who leapt out of the window of Daisy Villa two years ago. It may be Mr. James Fitzgerald now. Gentlemen of your profession have a knack of changing their names.”

”My profession's as good as yours, anyway!” the little man exclaimed.

”We aren't all fools in it! My friend Mr. Peter Ruff said to me that there was a young lady whom I used to know who was anxious to meet me again, and would I step around here about eight o'clock. Here I am, and all I can say is, if that's the young lady, I never saw her before in my life.”

There was a moment's breathless silence. Then the door was softly opened. Violet Brown went staggering back like a woman who sees a ghost. She bit her lips till the blood came. It was Peter Ruff who stood looking in upon them--Peter Ruff, carefully dressed in evening clothes, his silk hat at exactly the correct angle, his coat and white kid gloves upon his arm.

”Dear me,” he said, ”you don't seem to be getting on very well! Mr.

Dory,” he added, with a note of surprise in his tone, ”this is indeed an unexpected pleasure!”

The man who stood by the desk turned to him. The others were stricken dumb.