Part 22 (2/2)
”Look here,” he said, ”there's some mistake. You told me to come here at eight o'clock to meet a young lady whom I used to know. Well, I never saw her before in my life,” he added, pointing to Maud. ”There's a man there who wants to arrest me--Lord knows what for! And here's Miss Brown, whom I have seen at the theatre several times but who never condescended to speak to me before, telling me not to shoot! What's it all about, Ruff? Is it a practical joke?”
Peter Ruff laid down his coat and hat, and sat upon the table with his hands in his pockets.
”Is it possible,” he said, ”that I have made a mistake? Isn't your second name Spencer?”
The man shook his head.
”My name is James Fitzgerald,” he said. ”I haven't missed a day at the Shaftesbury Theatre for three years, as you can find out by going round the corner. I never called myself Spencer, I was never clerk in a bookshop, and I never saw that lady before in my life.”
Maud came out from her place against the wall, and leaned eagerly forward. John Dory turned his head slowly towards his wife. A sickening fear had arisen in his heart--gripped him by the throat. Fooled once more, and by Peter Ruff!
”It isn't Spencer!” Maud said huskily. ”Mr. Ruff,” she added, turning to him, ”you know very well that this is not the Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald whom you promised to bring here to-night--Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald to whom I was once engaged.”
Peter Ruff pointed to the figure of her husband.
”Madam,” he said, ”my invitation did not include your husband.”
John Dory took a step forward, and laid his hands upon the shoulders of the man who called himself Mr. James Fitzgerald. He looked into his face long and carefully. Then he turned away, and, gripping his wife by the arm, he pa.s.sed out of the room. The door slammed behind him. The sound of heavy footsteps was heard descending to the floor below.
Violet Brown crossed the room to where Peter Ruff was still sitting with a queer look upon his face, and, gripping him by the shoulders, shook him.
”How dare you!” she exclaimed. ”How dare you! Do you know that I have nearly cried my eyes out?”
Peter Ruff came back from the world into which, for the moment, his thoughts had taken him.
”Violet,” he said, ”you have known me for some years. You have been my secretary for some months. If you choose still to take me for a fool, I cannot help it.”
”But,” she exclaimed, pointing to Mr. James Fitzgerald--
Peter Ruff nodded.
”I have been practising on him for some time,” he said, with an air of self-satisfaction.
”A thin, mobile face, you see, and plenty of experience in the art of making up. It is astonis.h.i.+ng what one can do if one tries.”
Mr. James Fitzgerald picked up his hat and coat.
”It was worth more than five quid,” he growled; ”when I saw the handcuffs in that fellow's hand, I felt a cold s.h.i.+ver go down my spine.”
Peter Ruff counted out two banknotes and pa.s.sed them to his confederate.
”You have earned the money,” he said. ”Go and spend it. Perhaps, Violet,” he added, turning towards her, ”I have been a little inconsiderate. Come and have dinner with me, and forget it.”
She drew a little sigh.
”You are sure,” she murmured, ”that you wouldn't rather take Maud?”
CHAPTER VI. THE LITTLE LADY FROM SERVIA
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