Part 54 (1/2)

”A district messenger?”

”A man in ordinary clothes,” Charles answered. ”He looked like a porter in a warehouse, or something of that sort. I forgot to say that you were rung up on the telephone three times previously by Mr. Greening.”

The Baron nodded.

”You can go,” he said. ”There is no reply.”

The man bowed and retired. De Grost called for his bill.

”Is it anything serious?” Violet inquired.

”No, not exactly serious,” he answered. ”I do not understand what has happened, but they have sent for me to go--well, where it was agreed that I should not go except as a matter of urgent necessity.”

Violet knew better than to show any signs of disquietude.

”It is in London?” she asked.

”Certainly,” her husband replied. ”I shall take a taxicab from here. I am sorry, dear, to have one of our evenings disturbed in this manner. I have always done my best to avoid it, but this summons is urgent.”

She rose and he wrapped her cloak around her.

”You will drive straight home, won't you?” he begged. ”I dare say that I may be back within an hour myself.”

”And if not?” she asked, in a low tone.

”If not, there is nothing to be done.”

Violet bit her lip, but, as he handed her into the small electric brougham which was waiting, she smiled into his face.

”You will come back, and soon, Peter,” she declared, confidently.

”Wherever you go I am sure of that. You see, I have faith in my star which watches over you.”

He kissed her fingers and turned away. The commissionaire had already called him a taxicab.

”To London Bridge,” he ordered, after a moment's hesitation, and drove off.

The traffic citywards had long since finished for the day, and he reached his destination within ten minutes of leaving the restaurant.

Here he paid the man, and, entering the station, turned to the refreshment room and ordered a liqueur brandy. While he sipped it, he smoked a cigarette and carefully reread in a strong light the note which he had received. The signature especially he pored over for some time.

At last, however, he replaced it in his pocket, paid his bill, and, stepping out once more on to the platform, entered a telephone booth. A few minutes later he left the station, and, turning to the right, walked slowly as far as Tooley Street. He kept on the right-hand side until he arrived at the spot where the great arches, with their scanty lights, make a gloomy thoroughfare into Bermondsey. In the shadow of the first of these he paused, and looked steadfastly across the street. There were few people pa.s.sing and practically no traffic. In front of him was a row of warehouses, all save one of which was wrapped in complete darkness.

It was the one where some lights were still burning which De Grost stood and watched.

The lights, such as they were, seemed to illuminate the ground floor only. From his hidden post he could see the shoulders of a man apparently bending over a ledger, diligently writing. At the next window a youth, seated upon a tall stool, was engaged in presumably the same occupation. There was nothing about the place in the least mysterious or out of the way. Even the blinds of the offices had been left undrawn.

The man and the boy, who were alone visible, seemed, in a sense, to be working under protest. Every now and then the former stopped to yawn, and the latter performed a difficult balancing feat upon his stool. De Grost, having satisfied his curiosity, came presently from his shelter, almost running into the arms of a policeman, who looked at him closely.

The Baron, who had an unlighted cigarette in his mouth, stopped to ask for a light, and his appearance at once set at rest any suspicions the policeman might have had.

”I have a warehouse myself down in these parts,” he remarked, as he struck the match, ”but I don't allow my people to work as late as that.”