diff options
Diffstat (limited to '75729-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 75729-0.txt | 8124 |
1 files changed, 8124 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/75729-0.txt b/75729-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1ba3364 --- /dev/null +++ b/75729-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8124 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75729 *** + + + + + +THE RIVER OF STARS + + + + + POPULAR NOVELS + + BY + EDGAR WALLACE + + PUBLISHED BY + WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED + + _In various editions_ + + SANDERS OF THE RIVER + BONES + BOSAMBO OF THE RIVER + BONES IN LONDON + THE KEEPERS OF THE KING’S PEACE + THE COUNCIL OF JUSTICE + THE DUKE IN THE SUBURBS + THE PEOPLE OF THE RIVER + DOWN UNDER DONOVAN + PRIVATE SELBY + THE ADMIRABLE CARFEW + THE MAN WHO BOUGHT LONDON + THE JUST MEN OF CORDOVA + THE SECRET HOUSE + KATE PLUS TEN + LIEUTENANT BONES + THE ADVENTURES OF HEINE + JACK O’ JUDGMENT + THE DAFFODIL MYSTERY + THE NINE BEARS + THE BOOK OF ALL-POWER + MR. JUSTICE MAXELL + THE BOOKS OF BART + THE DARK EYES OF LONDON + CHICK + SANDI THE KING-MAKER + THE THREE OAK MYSTERY + THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE FROG + BLUE HAND + GREY TIMOTHY + A DEBT DISCHARGED + THOSE FOLK OF BULBORO + THE MAN WHO WAS NOBODY + THE GREEN RUST + THE FOURTH PLAGUE + THE RIVER OF STARS + + + + + THE RIVER OF + STARS + + By + EDGAR WALLACE + + Author of “Four Just Men,” “Council of Justice,” + “Sanders of the River,” etc. + + WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED + LONDON AND MELBOURNE + + + + + Dedication + TO + MY SISTER + GLADYS GANE + + + Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd., Frome and London + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAP. PAGE + + THE PROLOGUE 7 + + I AMBER 16 + + II AT THE WHISTLERS 25 + + III INTRODUCES PETER, THE ROMANCIST 36 + + IV LAMBAIRE NEEDS A CHART 50 + + V AMBER ADMITS HIS GUILT 69 + + VI IN FLAIR COURT 78 + + VII AMBER GOES TO SCOTLAND YARD 88 + + VIII FRANCIS SUTTON ASKS A QUESTION 99 + + IX AMBER SEES THE MAP 108 + + X THE MAN IN CONVICT’S CLOTHES 120 + + XI INTRODUCES CAPTAIN AMBROSE GREY 131 + + XII AMBER SAILS 144 + + XIII IN THE FOREST 154 + + XIV A HANDFUL O’ PEBBLE 167 + + XV IN THE BED OF THE RIVER 178 + + XVI AMBER ON PROSPECTUSES 188 + + XVII WHITEY HAS A PLAN 200 + + XVIII WHITEY’S WAY 212 + + XIX AMBER RUNS AWAY 230 + + CHAPTER THE LAST 243 + + + + +THE PROLOGUE + + +The road from Alebi is a bush road. It is a track scarcely discernible, +that winds through forest and swamp, across stretches of jungle land, +over thickly vegetated hills. + +No tributary of the great river runs to the Alebi country, where, so +people say, wild and unknown tribes dwell; where strange magic is +practised, and curious rites observed. + +Here, too, is the River of Stars. + +Once there went up into these bad lands an expedition under a white +man. He brought with him carriers, and heavy loads of provisions, and +landed from a coast steamer one morning in October. There were four +white men, one being in supreme authority; a pleasant man of middle +age, tall, broad, and smiling. + +There was one who made no secret of the fact that he did not intend +accompanying the expedition. He also was a tall man, heavier of build, +plump of face, and he spent the days of waiting, whilst the caravan was +being got ready, in smoking long cigars and cursing the climate. + +A few days before the expedition marched he took the leader aside. + +“Now, Sutton,” he said, “this affair has cost me a lot of money, +and I don’t want to lose it through any folly of yours--I am a +straight-speaking man, so don’t lose your temper. If you locate this +mine, you’re to bring back samples, but most of all are you to take the +exact bearings of the place. Exactly where the River is, I don’t know. +You’ve got the pencil plan that the Portuguese gave us----” + +The other man interrupted him with a nervous little laugh. + +“It is not in Portuguese territory, of course,” he said. + +“For Heaven sake, Sutton,” implored the big man in a tone of +exasperation, “get that Portuguese maggot out o’ your brain--I’ve told +you twenty times there is no question of Portuguese territory. The +River runs through British soil----” + +“Only, you know, that the Colonial Office----” + +“I know all about the Colonial Office,” interrupted the man +roughly; “it’s forbidden, I know, and it’s a bad place to get to, +anyhow--here”--he drew from his pocket a flat round case, and opened +it--“use this compass the moment you strike the first range of +hills--have you got any other compasses?” + +“I have got two,” said the other wonderingly. + +“Let me have ’em.” + +“But----” + +“Get ’em, my dear chap,” said the stout man testily; and the leader, +with a good-humoured shrug of his shoulders, left him, to return in a +few minutes with the two instruments. He took in exchange the one the +man held and opened it. + +It was a beautiful instrument. There was no needle, the whole dial +revolving as he turned it about. + +Something he saw surprised him, for he frowned. + +“That’s curious,” he said wonderingly; “are you sure this compass +is true? The north should lie exactly over that flag-staff on the +Commissioner’s house--I tested it yesterday from this very----” + +“Stuff!” interrupted the other loudly. “Rubbish; this compass has been +verified; do you think I want to lead you astray--after the money I’ve +sunk----” + +On the morning before the expedition left, when the carriers were +shouldering their loads, there came a brown-faced little man with a big +white helmet over the back of his head and a fly-whisk in his hand. + +“Sanders, Commissioner,” he introduced himself laconically. “I’ve just +come down from the interior; sorry I did not arrive before: you are +going into the bush?” + +“Yes.” + +“Diamonds, I understand?” + +Sutton nodded. + +“You’ll find a devil of a lot of primitive opposition to your march. +The Alebi people will fight you, and the Otaki folk will chop you, +sure.” He stood thinking, and swishing his whisk from side to side. + +“Avoid trouble,” he said, “I do not want war in my territories--_and_ +keep away from the Portuguese border.” + +Sutton smiled. + +“We shall give that precious border a wide berth--the Colonial Office +has seen the route, and approves.” + +The Commissioner nodded again and eyed Sutton gravely. “Good luck,” he +said. + +The next day the expedition marched with the dawn, and disappeared into +the wood beyond the Isisi River. + +A week later the stout man sailed for England. + +Months passed and none returned, nor did any news come of the +expedition either by messenger or by _Lokali_. A year went by, and +another, and still no sign came. + +Beyond the seas, people stirred uneasily; cable-gram and letter and +official dispatch came to the Commissioner, urging him to seek for the +lost expedition of the white men who had gone to find the River of +Stars. Sanders of Bofabi shook his head. + +What search could be made? Elsewhere, a swift little steamer, following +the courses of a dozen rivers, might penetrate--the fat water-jacket of +a maxim gun persuasively displayed over the bow--into regions untouched +by European influence, but the Alebi country was bush. Investigation +meant an armed force; an armed force meant money--the Commissioner +shook his head. + +Nevertheless he sent two spies secretly into the bush, cunning men, +skilled in woodcraft. + +They were absent about three months, and returned one leading the other. + +“They caught him, the wild people of the Alebi,” said the leader +without emotion, “and put out his eyes: that night, when they would +have burnt him, I killed his guard and carried him to the bush.” + +Sanders stood before his bungalow, in the green moonlight, and looked +from the speaker to the blind man, who stood uncomplainingly, patiently +twiddling his fingers. + +“What news of the white men?” he asked at last, and the speaker, +resting on his long spear, turned to the sightless one at his side. + +“What saw you, Messambi?” he asked in the vernacular. + +“Bones,” croaked the blind man, “bones I saw; bones and nearly bones. +They crucified the white folk in a big square before the chief’s house, +and there is no man left alive, so men say.” + +“So I thought,” said Sanders gravely, and made his report to England. + +Months passed and the rains came and the green season that follows the +rains, and Sanders was busy, as a West Central African Commissioner can +be busy, in a land where sleeping sickness and tribal feuds contribute +steadily to the death-rate. + +He had been called into the bush to settle a witch-doctor palaver. He +travelled sixty miles along the tangled road that leads to the Alebi +country, and established his seat of justice at a small town called +M’Saga. He had twenty Houssas with him, else he might not have gone so +far with impunity. He sat in the thatched palaver house and listened to +incredible stories of witchcraft, of spells cast, of wasting sickness +that fell in consequence, of horrible rites between moonset and +sunrise, and gave judgment. + +The witch-doctor was an old man, but Sanders had no respect for grey +hairs. + +“It is evident to me that you are an evil man,” he said, “and----” + +“Master!” + +It was the complainant who interrupted him, a man wasted by disease and +terror, who came into the circle of soldiery and stolid townspeople. + +“Master, he is a bad man----” + +“Be silent,” commanded Sanders. + +“He practises devil spells with white men’s blood,” screamed the man, +as two soldiers seized him at a gesture from the Commissioner. “He +keeps a white man chained in the forest----” + +“Eh?” + +Sanders was alert and interested. He knew natives better than any other +man; he could detect a lie--more difficult an accomplishment, he could +detect the truth. Now he beckoned the victim of the witch-doctor’s +enmity towards him. + +“What is this talk of white men?” he asked. + +The old doctor said something in a low tone, fiercely, and the informer +hesitated. + +“Go on,” said Sanders. + +“He says----” + +“Go on!” + +The man was shaking from head to foot. + +“There is a white man in the forest--he came from the River of +Stars--the Old One found him and put him in a hut, needing his blood +for charms....” + +The man led the way along a forest path, behind him came Sanders, +and, surrounded by six soldiers, the old witch-doctor with his hands +strapped together. + +Two miles from the village was a hut. The elephant grass grew so high +about it that it was scarcely visible. Its roof was rotten and sagging, +the interior was vile.... + +Sanders found a man lying on the floor, chained by the leg to a heavy +log; a man who laughed softly to himself, and spoke like a gentleman. + +The soldiers carried him into the open, and laid him carefully on the +ground. + +His clothes were in tatters, his hair and his beard were long, there +were many little scars on either forearm where the witch-doctor’s knife +had drawn blood. + +“M--m,” said Sanders, and shook his head. + +“... The River of Stars,” said the wreck, with a chuckle, “pretty +name--what? Kimberley? Why, Kimberley is nothing compared to it.... I +did not believe it until I saw it with my eyes ... the bed of the river +is packed with diamonds, and you’d never find it, Lambaire, even with +the chart, and your infernal compass.... I’ve left a cache of tools, +and food for a couple of years....” + +He thrust his hand into his rag of a shirt and brought out a scrap of +paper. + +Sanders bent down to take it, but the man pushed him back with his thin +hand. + +“No, no, no,” he breathed. “You take the blood, that’s your job--I’m +strong enough to stand it--one day I’ll get away....” + +Ten minutes later he fell into a sound sleep. + +Sanders found the soiled paper, and put it into his uniform pocket. + +He sent back to the boat and his men brought two tents which were +pitched in a clearing near the hut. The man was in such a deplorable +condition that Sanders dared not take the risk of moving him. That +night, when the camp lay wrapped in sleep and the two native women whom +the Commissioner had commanded to watch the sick man were snoring by +their charge, the wreck woke. Stealthily he rose from bed and crept out +into the starry night. + +Sanders woke to find an empty hut and a handful of rags that had once +been a white man’s coat on the banks of the tiny forest stream, a +hundred yards from the camp. + + * * * * * + +The witch-doctor of M’Saga, summoned to an early morning palaver, came +in irons and was in no doubt as to the punishment which awaited him, +for near by in the forest the Houssas had dug up much evidence of +sacrifice. + +“Master,” said the man, facing the stare of grey eyes, “I see death in +your face.” + +“That is God’s truth,” said Sanders, and hanged him then and there. + + + + +CHAPTER I + +AMBER + + +Amber sat in his cell at Wellboro’ gaol, softly whistling a little tune +and beating time on the floor with his stockinged feet. He had pushed +his stool near to the corrugated wall, and tilted it back so that he +was poised on two of its three legs. + +His eyes wandered round the little room critically. + +Spoon and basin on the shelf; prison regulations varnished a dull +yellow, above these; bed neatly folded ... he nodded slowly, still +whistling. + +Above the bed and a little to the left was a small window of toughened +glass, admitting daylight but affording, by reason of its irregular +texture, no view of the world without. On a shelf over the bed was a +Bible, a Prayer Book, and a dingy library book. + +He made a grimace at the book; it was a singularly dull account of a +singularly dull lady missionary who had spent twenty years in North +Borneo without absorbing more of the atmosphere of that place than +that it “was very hot,” and further that native servants could be on +occasion “very trying.” + +Amber was never fortunate with his library books. Five years ago, when +he had first seen the interior of one of His Majesty’s gaols, he had +planned a course of study embracing Political Economy and the Hellenic +Drama, and had applied for the necessary literature for the prosecution +of his studies. He had been “served out” with an elementary Greek +grammar and _Swiss Family Robinson_, neither of which was noticeably +helpful. Fortunately the term of imprisonment ended before he expected; +but he had amused himself by translating the adventures of the virtuous +Swiss into Latin verse, though he found little profit in the task, and +abandoned it. + +During his fourth period of incarceration he made chemistry his long +suit; but here again fortune deserted him, and no nearer could he get +to his reading of the science than to secure the loan of a Squire and a +Materia Medica. + +Amber, at the time I describe, was between twenty-eight and thirty +years of age, a little above medium height, well built, though he gave +you the impression of slightness. His hair was a reddish yellow, his +eyes grey, his nose straight, his mouth and chin were firm, and he was +ready to show two rows of white teeth in a smile, for he was easily +amused. The lower part of his face was now unshaven, which detracted +from his appearance, but none the less he was, even in the ugly garb +of his bondage, a singularly good-looking young man. + +There was the sound of a key at the door, and he rose as the lock +snapped twice and the door swung outward. + +“75,” said an authoritative voice, and he stepped out of the cell into +the long corridor, standing to attention. + +The warder, swinging his keys at the end of a bright chain, pointed to +the prisoner’s shoes neatly arranged by the cell door. + +“Put ’em on.” + +Amber obeyed, the warder watching him. + +“Why this intrusion upon privacy, my Augustus?” asked the kneeling +Amber. + +The warder, whose name was not Augustus, made no reply. In +earlier times he would have “marked” Amber for insolence, but the +eccentricities of this exemplary prisoner were now well known, besides +which he had some claim to consideration, for he it was who rescued +Assistant Warder Beit from the fury of the London Gang. This had +happened at Devizes County Gaol in 1906, but the prison world is a +small one, and the fame of Amber ran from Exeter to Chelmsford, from +Lewes to Strangeways. + +He marched with his custodian through the corridor, down a polished +steel stairway to the floor of the great hall, along a narrow stone +passage to the Governor’s office. Here he waited for a few minutes, and +was then taken to the Governor’s sanctum. + +Major Bliss was sitting at his desk, a burnt little man with a small +black moustache and hair that had gone grey at the temples. + +With a nod he dismissed the warder. + +“75,” he said briefly, “you are going out to-morrow, on a Home Office +order.” + +“Yes, sir,” said Amber. + +The Governor was thoughtfully silent for a moment, drumming his fingers +noiselessly on his blotting-pad. + +“What are you going to do?” he demanded suddenly. + +Amber smiled. + +“I shall pursue my career of crime,” he said cheerfully, and the +Governor frowned and shook his head. + +“I can’t understand you--haven’t you any friends?” + +Again the amused smile. + +“No, sir.” Amber was even more cheerful than before. “I have nobody to +blame for my detection but myself.” + +The Major turned over some sheets of paper that lay before him, read +them, and frowned again. + +“Ten convictions!” he said. “A man of your capacity--why, with your +ability you might have been----” + +“Oh no, I mightn’t,” interrupted the convict, “that’s the gag that +judges work, but it’s not true. It doesn’t follow because a man +makes an ingenious criminal that he would be a howling success as an +architect, or because he can forge a cheque that he would have made a +fortune by company promotion. An ordinary intelligent man can always +shine in crime because he is in competition with very dull-witted and +ignorant fellow-craftsmen.” + +He took a step forward and leant on the edge of the desk. + +“Look here, sir, you remember me at Sandhurst; you were a man of my +year. You know that I was dependent on an allowance from an uncle who +died before I passed through. What was I fit for when I came down? It +seemed jolly easy the first week in London, because I had a tenner to +carry on with, but in a month I was starving. So I worked the Spanish +prisoner fraud, played on the cupidity of people who thought they were +going to make an immense fortune with a little outlay--it was easy +money for me.” + +The Governor shook his head again. + +“I’ve done all sorts of stunts since then,” 75 went on unveraciously. +“I’ve worked every kind of trick,” he smiled as at some pleasant +recollection. “There isn’t a move in the game that I don’t know; there +isn’t a bad man in London I couldn’t write the biography of, if I was +so inclined. I’ve no friends, no relations, nobody in the world I care +two penn’oth of gin about, and I’m quite happy: and when you say I have +been in prison ten times, you should say fourteen.” + +“You’re a fool,” said the Governor, and pressed a bell. + +“I’m an adventuring philosopher,” said 75 complacently, as the warder +came in to march him back to his cell.... + +Just before the prison bell clanged the order for bed, a warder brought +him a neat bundle of clothing. + +“Look over these, 75, and check them,” said the officer pleasantly. He +handed a printed list to the prisoner. + +“Can’t be bothered,” said Amber, taking the list. “I’ll trust to your +honesty.” + +“Check ’em.” + +Amber unfastened the bundle, unfolded his clothing, shook them out and +laid them over the bed. + +“You keep a man’s kit better than they do in Walton,” he said +approvingly, “no creases in the coat, trousers nicely pressed--hullo, +where’s my eyeglass?” + +He found it in the waistcoat pocket, carefully wrapped in tissue-paper, +and was warm in his praise of the prison authorities. + +“I’ll send a man in to shave you in the morning,” said the warder, and +lingered at the door. + +“75,” he said, after a pause, “don’t you come back here.” + +“Why not?” + +Amber looked up with his eyebrows raised. + +“Because this is a mug’s game,” said the warder. “A gentleman like you! +Surely you can keep away from a place like this!” + +Amber regarded the other with the glint of a smile in his eyes. + +“You’re ungrateful, my warder,” he said gently. “Men like myself give +this place a tone, besides which, we serve as an example to the more +depraved and lawless of the boarders.” + +(It was an eccentricity of Amber’s that he invariably employed the +possessive pronoun in his address.) + +Still the warder lingered. + +“There’s lots of jobs a chap like you could take up,” he said, +almost resentfully, “if you only applied your ability in the right +direction----” + +75 raised his hand in dignified protest. + +“My warder,” he said gravely, “you are quotin’ the Sunday papers, and +that I will not tolerate, even from you.” + +Later, in the Warders’ Mess, Mr. Scrutton said that as far as _he_ was +concerned he gave 75 up as a bad job. + +“As nice a fellow as you could wish to meet,” he confessed. + +“How did he come down?” asked an assistant warder. + +“He was a curate in the West End of London, got into debt and pawned +the church plate--he told me so himself!” + +There were several officers in the mess-room. One of these, an elderly +man, removed his pipe before he spoke. + +“I saw him in Lewes two years ago; as far as my recollection serves +me, he was thrown out of the Navy for running a destroyer ashore.” + +Amber was the subject of discussion in the little dining-room of the +Governor’s quarters, where Major Bliss dined with the deputy governor. + +“Try as I can,” said the Governor in perplexity, “I cannot remember +that man Amber at Sandhurst--he says he remembers me, but I really +cannot place him....” + +Unconscious of the interest he was exciting, Amber slumbered peacefully +on his thin mattress, smiling in his sleep. + + * * * * * + +Outside the prison gates on the following morning was a small knot of +people, mainly composed of shabbily dressed men and women, waiting for +the discharge of their relatives. + +One by one they came through the little wicket gate, grinning +sheepishly at their friends, submitting with some evidence of +discomfort to the embraces of tearful women, receiving with greater +aplomb the rude jests of their male admirers. + +Amber came forth briskly. With his neat tweed suit, his soft Homburg +hat and his eyeglass, those who waited mistook him for an officer of +the prison and drew aside respectfully. Even the released prisoners, +such as were there, did not recognize him, for he was clean-shaven and +spruce; but a black-coated young man, pale and very earnest, had been +watching for him, and stepped forward with outstretched hand. + +“Amber?” he asked hesitatingly. + +“Mr. Amber,” corrected the other, his head perked on one side like a +curious hen. + +“Mr. Amber.” The missioner accepted the correction gravely. “My name is +Dowles. I am a helper of the Prisoners’ Regeneration League.” + +“Very interestin’--very interestin’ indeed,” murmured Amber, and shook +the young man’s hand vigorously. “Good work, and all that sort of +thing, but uphill work, sir, uphill work.” + +He shook his head despairingly, and with a nod made as if to go. + +“One moment, Mr. Amber.” The young man’s hand was on his arm. “I know +about you and your misfortune--won’t you let us help you?” + +Amber looked down at him kindly, his hand rested on the other’s +shoulder. + +“My chap,” he said gently, “I’m the wrong kind of man: can’t put me +choppin’ wood for a living. Honest toil has only the same attraction +for me as the earth has for the moon; I circle round it once in +twenty-four hours without getting any nearer to it--here!” + +He dived his hand into his trousers pocket and brought out some money. +There were a few notes--these had been in his possession when he was +arrested--and some loose silver. He selected half a crown. + +“For the good cause,” he said magnificently, and, slipping the coin +into the missioner’s hand, he strode off. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +AT THE WHISTLERS + + +No. 46, Curefax Street, West Central, is an establishment which is known +to a select few as “The Whistlers.” Its official title is Pinnock’s +Club. It was founded in the early days of the nineteenth century by one +Charles Pinnock, and in its day was a famous rendezvous. + +That it should suffer the vicissitudes peculiar to institutions of the +kind was inevitable, and its reputation rose and fell with the changing +times. It fell under suspicion, and more than once was raided by the +police; though without any result satisfactory to the raiders. + +It is indisputable that the habitués of the Whistlers were a curious +collection of people, that it had few, if any, names upon the list of +members of any standing in the social world; yet the club was popular +in a shamefaced way. The golden youth of London delighted to boast, +behind cautious hands, that they had had a night at the Whistlers; some +of them hinted at high play; but the young gentlemen of fortune who had +best reason for knowing the play was high indeed, never spoke of the +matter, realizing, doubtlessly, that the world has little sympathy +with a fool confessed, so that much of the evidence that an interfering +constabulary desired was never forthcoming. + +On a night in October the club was enjoying an unusual amount of +patronage. Taxi after taxi set down well-dressed men before the +decorous portals in Curefax Street. Men immaculately dressed, men a +little over dressed, they came in ones and twos, and parties of three, +at short intervals. + +Some came out again after a short stay and drove off, but it seemed +that the majority stayed. Just before midnight a taxi-cab drove up and +discharged three passengers. + +By accident or design, there is no outside light to the club, and the +nearest electric standard is a few yards along the street, so that a +visitor may arrive or depart in semi-darkness, and a watcher would find +difficulty in identifying a patron. + +In this case the chauffeur was evidently unacquainted with the club +premises, and overshot the mark, pulling up within a few yards of the +street lamp. + +One of the passengers was tall and soldierly in appearance. He had +a heavy black moustache, and the breadth of his shoulders suggested +great muscular strength. In the light much of his military smartness +vanished, for his face was puffed, and there were little bags under his +eyes. He was followed by a shorter man who looked much younger than he +was, for his hair, eyebrows and a little wisp of moustache were so fair +as to be almost white. His nose and chin were of the character which +for want of a better description may be called “nut-cracker,” and down +his face, from temple to chin, ran a long red scar. + +Alphonse Lambaire was the first of these men, a remarkable and a +sinister figure. Whether Lambaire was his real name or not I do not +profess to know: he was English in all else. You might search in vain +the criminal records of Scotland Yard without discovering his name, +save in that section devoted to “suspected persons.” He was a notorious +character. + +I give you a crude biography of him because he figures largely in this +story. He was a handsome man, in a heavy unhealthy way, only the great +diamond ring upon his little finger was a departure from the perfect +taste of his ensemble. + +The second man was “Whitey”: what his real name was nobody ever +discovered. “Whitey” he was to all; “Mr. Whitey” to the club servants, +and “George Whitey” was the name subscribed to the charge sheet on the +one occasion that the police made an unsuccessful attempt to draw him +into their net. + +The third was a boy of eighteen, fresh coloured, handsome, in a girlish +fashion. As he stepped from the cab he staggered slightly and Lambaire +caught his arm. + +“Steady, old fellow,” he said. Lambaire’s voice was deep and rich, and +ended in a little chuckle. “Pay that infernal brute. Whitey--pay the +fare on the clock and not a penny more--here, hold up, Sutton my lad.” + +The boy made another blunder and laughed foolishly. + +“We’ll put him right in a minute, won’t we, major?” + +Whitey had a high little voice and spoke rapidly. + +“Take his arm, Whitey,” said Lambaire, “a couple of old brandies will +make a new man of you....” + +They disappeared through the swing doors of the club, and the hum of +the departing taxi sounded fainter and fainter. + +The street was almost deserted for a few minutes, then round the corner +from St. James’s Square came a motor-car. This driver also knew little +of the locality, for he slowed down and came crawling along the street, +peering at such numbers as were visible. He stopped before No. 46 with +a jerk, jumped down from his seat and opened the door. + +“This is the place, miss,” he said respectfully, and a girl stepped +out. She was very young and very pretty. She had evidently been +spending the evening at a theatre, for she was dressed in evening +finery, and over her bare shoulders an opera wrap was thrown. + +She hesitated a moment, then ascended the two steps that led to the +club, and hesitated again. + +Then she came back to the car. + +“Shall I ask, miss?” + +“If you please, John.” + +She stood on the pavement watching the driver as he knocked on the +glass-panelled door. + +A servant came and held the door open, regarding the chauffeur with an +unfriendly eye. + +“Mr. Sutton--no, we’ve no such member.” + +“Tell him he’s here as a guest,” said the girl, and the waiter, looking +over the head of the chauffeur, saw her and frowned. + +“He’s not here, madame,” he said. + +She came forward. + +“He is here--I know he is here.” Her voice was calm, yet she evidently +laboured under some excitement. “You must tell him I want him--at once.” + +“He is not here, madame,” said the man doggedly. + +There was a spectator to the scene. He had strolled leisurely along +the street, and had come to a standstill in the shadow of the electric +brougham. + +“He is here!” She stamped her foot. “In this wretched, wicked club--he +is being robbed--it is wicked--wicked!” + +The waiter closed the door in her face. + +“Pardon me.” + +A young man, clean-shaven, glass in eye, dressed in the neatest of +tweed suits, stood by her, hat in hand. + +He had the happiest of smiles and a half-smoked cigarette lay on the +pavement. + +“Can I be of any assistance?” + +His manner was perfect, respect, deference, apology, all were suggested +by his attitude, and the girl in her distress forgot to be afraid of +this providential stranger. + +“My brother--he is there.” She pointed a shaky finger at the bland door +of the club. “He is in bad hands--I have tried....” Her voice failed +her and her eyes were full of tears. + +Amber nodded courteously. Without a word he led the way to her car, and +she followed without question. She stepped in as he indicated. + +“What is your address?--I will bring your brother.” + +With a hand that trembled, she opened a little bag of golden tissue +that hung at her wrist, opened a tiny case and extracted a card. + +He took it, read it, and bowed slightly. + +“Home,” he said to the driver, and stood watching the tall lights of +the brougham disappear. + +He waited, thinking deeply. + +This little adventure was after his own heart. He had been the +happiest man in London that day, and was on his way back to the modest +Bloomsbury bed-sitting-room he had hired, when fortune directed his +footsteps in the direction of Curefax Street. + +He saw the car vanish from sight round a corner, and went slowly up the +steps of the club. + +He pushed open the door, walked into the little hall-way, nodding +carelessly to a stout porter who sat in a little box near the foot of +the stairs. + +The man looked at him doubtingly. + +“Member, sir?” he asked, and was rewarded by an indignant stare. + +“Beg pardon, sir,” said the abashed porter. “We’ve got so many members +that it is difficult to remember them.” + +“I suppose so,” said Amber coldly. He mounted the stairs with slow +steps; half-way up he turned. + +“Is Captain Lawn in the club?” + +“No, sir,” said the man. + +“Or Mr. Augustus Breet?” + +“No, sir, neither of those gentlemen are in.” + +Amber nodded and continued on his way. That he had never heard of +either, but that he knew both were out, is a tribute to his powers of +observation. There was a rack in the hall where letters were displayed +for members, and he had taken a brief survey of the board as he passed. +Had there been any necessity, he could have mentioned half a dozen +other members, but the porter’s suspicions were lulled. + +The first floor was taken up with dining and writing rooms. + +Amber smiled internally. + +“This,” he thought, “is where the gulls sign their little cheques--most +thoughtful arrangement.” + +He mounted another flight of stairs, walked into a smoking-room where a +number of flashily dressed men were sitting, met their inquiring gaze +with a nod and a smile directed at an occupied corner of the room, +closed the door, and went up yet another and a steeper flight. + +Before the polished portals of the room, which he gathered was the +front room of the upper floor, a man sat on guard. + +He was short and broad, his face was unmistakably that of a +prize-fighter’s, and he rose and confronted Amber. + +“Well, sir?” + +The tone was uncompromisingly hostile. + +“All right,” said Amber, and made to open the door. + +“One moment, sir, you’re not a member.” + +Amber stared at the man. + +“My fellow,” he said stiffly, “you have a bad memory for faces.” + +“I don’t remember yours, anyway.” + +The man’s tone was insolent, and Amber saw the end of his enterprise +before ever it had begun. + +He thrust his hands into his pockets and laughed quietly. + +“I am going into that room,” he said. + +“You’re not.” + +Amber reached out his hand and grasped the knob of the door, and the +man gripped him by the shoulder. + +Only for a second, for the intruder whipped round like a flash. + +The door-keeper saw the blow coming and released his hold to throw up a +quick and scientific guard--but too late. A hard fist, driven as by an +arm of steel, caught him under the point of the jaw and he fell back, +missed his balance, and went crashing down the steep stairs--for this +was the top flight and conveniently ladder-like. + +Amber turned the door-handle and went in. + +The players were on their feet with apprehensive eyes fixed on the +door; the crash of the janitor’s body as it struck the stairs had +brought them up. There had been no time to hide the evidence of play, +and cards were scattered about the floor and on the tables, money and +counters lay in confusion.... + +For a moment they looked at one another, the calm man in the doorway +and the scowling players at the tables. Then he closed the door softly +behind him and came in. He looked round deliberately for a place to +hang his hat. + +Before they could question him the door-keeper was back, his coat off, +the light of battle in his eye. + +“Where is he?” he roared. “I’ll learn him....” + +His language was violent, but justified in the circumstances. + +“Gentlemen,” said Amber, standing with his back to the wall, “you can +have a rough house, and the police in, or you can allow me to stay.” + +“Put him out!” + +Lambaire was in authority there. His face was puckered and creased with +anger, and he pointed to the trespasser. + +“Put him out. George----” + +Amber’s hands were in his pockets. + +“I shall shoot,” he said quietly, and there was a silence and a move +backward. + +Even the pugilistic janitor hesitated. + +“I have come for a quiet evening’s amusement,” Amber went on. “I’m +an old member of the club, and I’m treated like a split[1]; most +unfriendly!” + +He shook his head reprovingly. + +His eyes were wandering from face to face; he knew many who were there, +though they might not know him. He saw the boy, white of face, limp, +and half asleep, sprawling in a chair at Lambaire’s table. + +“Sutton,” he said loudly, “Sutton, my buck, wake up and identify your +old friend.” + +Gradually the excitement was wearing down. Lambaire jerked his head to +the door-keeper and reluctantly he retired. + +“We don’t want any fuss,” said the big man; he scowled at the +imperturbable stranger. “We don’t know you; you’ve forced your way in +here, and if you’re a gentleman you’ll retire.” + +“I’m not a gentleman,” said Amber calmly. “I’m one of yourselves.” + +He made his way to where the youth half sat, half lay, and shook him. + +“I came to see my friend,” he said, “and a jolly nice mess some of you +people have made of him.” + +He turned a stern face to the crowd. + +“I’m going to take him away,” he said suddenly. + +His strength was surprising, for with one arm he lifted the boy to his +feet. + +“Stop!” + +Lambaire was between him and the door. + +“You leave that young fellow here--and clear.” + +Amber’s answer was characteristic. + +With his disengaged hand, he lifted a chair, swung it once in a circle +round his head, and sent it smashing through the window. + +They heard the faint crackle of it as it struck the street below, the +tinkle of falling glass, and then a police whistle. + +Lambaire stood back from the door and flung it open. + +“You can go,” he said between his teeth. “I shall remember you.” + +“If you don’t,” said Amber, with his arm round the boy, “you’ve got a +jolly bad memory.” + + + + +CHAPTER III + +INTRODUCES PETER, THE ROMANCIST + + +Amber had £86 10_s._--a respectable sum. + +He had an invitation to take tea with Cynthia Sutton at five o’clock +in the afternoon. He had thought to hand the money to her on behalf +of her brother--on second thoughts he decided to send the young man’s +losses to him anonymously. After all he was adjudging those losses by +approximation. He had a pleasant room in Bloomsbury, a comfortable +armchair, a long, thin, mild cigar and an amusing book, and he was +happy. His feet rested on a chair, a clock ticked--not unmusically--it +was a situation that makes for reverie, day-dreams, and sleep. His +condition of mind might be envied by many a more useful member of +society, for it was one of complete and absolute complaisance. + +There came a knock at the door, and he bade the knocker come in. + +A neat maid entered with a tray, on which lay a card, and Amber took it +up carelessly. + +“Mr. George Whitey,” he read. “Show him up.” + +Whitey was beautifully dressed. From his glossy silk hat to his +shiny patent shoes, he was everything that a gentleman should be in +appearance. + +He smiled at Amber, placed his top-hat carefully upon the table, and +skinned his yellow gloves. + +Amber, holding up the card by the corner, regarded him benevolently. + +When the door had shut-- + +“And what can I do for you, my Whitey?” he demanded. + +Whitey sat down, carefully loosened the buttons of his frock-coat, and +shot his cuffs. + +“Name of Amber?” + +His voice was a very high one; it was of a whistling shrillness. + +Amber nodded. + +“The fact of it is, old fellow,” said the other, with easy familiarity, +“Lambaire wants an understanding, an undertaking, and--er--um----” + +“And who is Lambaire?” asked the innocent Amber. + +“Now, look here, dear boy,” Whitey bent forward and patted Amber’s +knee, “let us be perfectly frank and above-board. We’ve found out all +about you--you’re an old lag--you haven’t been out of prison three +days--am I right?” + +He leant back with the triumphant air of a man who is revealing a +well-kept secret. + +“Bull’s-eye,” said Amber calmly. “Will you have a cigar or a +butter-dish?” + +“Now we know you--d’ye see? We’ve got you taped down to the last hole. +We bear no resentment, no malice, no nothing.” + +“No anything,” corrected Amber. “Yes----?” + +“This is our point.” Whitey leant forward and traced the palm of his +left hand with his right finger. “You came into the Whistlers--bluffed +your way in--very clever, very clever--even Lambaire admits that--we +overlook that; we’ll go further and overlook the money.” + +He paused significantly, and smiled with some meaning. + +“Even the money,” he repeated, and Amber raised his eyebrows. + +“Money?” he said. “My visitor, I fail to rise to this subtile +reference.” + +“The money,” said Whitey slowly and emphatically, “there was close on a +hundred pounds on Lambaire’s table alone, to say nothing of the other +tables. It was there when you came in--it was gone when you left.” + +Amber’s smile was angelic in its forgiveness. + +“May I suggest,” he said, “that I was not the only bad character +present?” + +“Anyway, it doesn’t matter, the money part of it,” Whitey went on. +“Lambaire doesn’t want to prosecute.” + +“Ha! ha!” said Amber, laughing politely. + +“He doesn’t want to prosecute; all he wants you to do is to leave young +Sutton alone; Lambaire says that there isn’t any question of making +money out of Sutton, it’s a bigger thing than that, Lambaire says----” + +“Oh, blow Lambaire!” said Amber, roused to wrath. “Stifle Lambaire, +my Whitey! he talks like the captain of the Forty Thieves. Go back to +your master, my slave, and tell him young Ali Baba Amber is not in a +condition of mind to discuss a workin’ arrangement----” + +Whitey had sprung to his feet, his face was unusually pale, his eyes +narrowed till they were scarcely visible, his hands twitched nervously. + +“Oh, you--you know, do you?” he stuttered. “I told Lambaire that you +knew--that’s your game, is it? Well, you look out!” + +He wagged a warning finger at the astonished young man in the chair. + +“You look out, Amber! Forty Thieves and Ali Baba, eh? So you know all +about it--who told you? I told Lambaire that you were the sort of nut +that would get hold of a job like this!” + +He was agitated, and Amber, silent and watchful, twisted himself in his +seat to view him the better, watching his every move. Whitey picked up +his hat, smoothed it mechanically on the sleeve of his coat, his lips +were moving as though he were talking to himself. He walked round the +table that stood in the centre of the room, and made for the door. + +Here he stood for a few seconds, framing some final message. + +“I’ve only one thing to say to you,” he said at last, “and that is +this: if you want to come out of this business alive, go in with +Lambaire--he’ll share all right; if you get hold of the chart, take +it to Lambaire. It’ll be no use to you without the compass--see, an’ +Lambaire’s got the compass, and Lambaire says----” + +“Get out,” said Amber shortly, and Whitey went, slamming the door +behind him. + +Amber stepped to the window and from the shadow of the curtain watched +his visitor depart. + +A cab was waiting for him, and he stepped in. + +“No instructions for driver,” noted Amber. “He goes home as per +arrangement.” + +He rang a bell and a maid appeared. + +“My servant,” he said, regarding her with immense approval, “we will +have our bill--nay, do not look round, for there is but one of us. When +we said ‘we,’ we spoke in an editorial or kingly sense.” + +“Also,” he went on gaily, “instruct our boots to pack our +belongings--for we are going away.” + +The girl smiled. + +“You haven’t been with us long, sir,” she said. + +“A king’s messenger,” said Amber gravely, “never stays any length of +time in one place; ever at the call of exigent majesty, burdened with +the responsibilities of statescraft; the Mercury of Diplomacy, he is +the nomad of civilization.” + +He dearly loved a pose, and now he strode up and down the room with his +head on his breast, his hands clasped behind him, for the benefit of a +Bloomsbury parlourmaid. + +“One night in London, the next in Paris, the next grappling with +the brigands of Albania, resolved to sell his life dearly, the next +swimming the swollen waters of the Danube, his dispatches between his +teeth, and bullets striking the dark water on either side----” + +“Lor!” said the startled girl, “you _does_ have a time!” + +“I does,” admitted Amber; “bring the score, my wench.” + +She returned with the bill, and Amber paid, tipping her magnificently, +and kissing her for luck, for she was on the pretty side of twenty-five. + +His little trunk was packed, and a taxi-cab whistled for. + +He stood with one foot upon the rubber-covered step, deep in thought, +then he turned to the waiting girl. + +“If there should come a man of unprepossessing appearance, whitish +of hair and pallid of countenance, with a complexion suggestive of a +whitewashed vault rather than of the sad lily--in fact, if the Johnny +calls who came in an hour ago, you will tell him I am gone.” + +He spoke over his shoulder to the waiting housemaid. + +“Yes, sir,” she said, a little dazed. + +“Tell him I have been called away to--to Teheran.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“On a diplomatic mission,” he added with relish. + +He stepped into the car, closing the door behind him. + +An errand-boy, basket on arm, stood fascinated in the centre of the +side-walk, listening with open mouth. + +“I expect to be back,” he went on, reflecting with bent head, “in +August or September, 1943--you will remember that?” + +“Yes, sir,” said the girl, visibly impressed, and Amber, with a smile +and a nod, turned to the driver. + +“Home,” he said. + +“Beg pardon, sir?” + +“Borough High Street,” corrected Amber, and the car jerked forward. + +He drove eastward, crossed the river at London Bridge, and dismissed +the taxi at St. George’s Church. With the little leather trunk +containing his spare wardrobe, in his hand, he walked briskly up a +broad street until he came to a narrow thoroughfare, which was bisected +by a narrower and a meaner. He turned sharply to the left and, walking +as one who knew his way, he came to the dingiest of the dingy houses in +that unhappy street. + +19, Redcow Court, was not especially inviting. There was a panel +missing from the door, the passage was narrow and dirty, and a tortuous +broken flight of stairs ran crookedly to the floors above. + +The house was filled with the everlasting noise of shrill voices, the +voices of scolding women and fretful babies. At night there came a +deeper note in the babel; many growling, harsh-spoken men talked. +Sometimes they would shout angrily, and there were sounds of blows +and women’s screams, and a frowsy little crowd, eager for sanguinary +details, gathered at the door of No. 19. + +Amber went up the stairs two at a time, whistling cheerfully. He had +to stop half-way up the second flight because two babies were playing +perilously on the uncarpeted stairway. + +He placed them on a safer landing, stopped for a moment or two to talk +to them, then continued his climb. + +On the topmost floor he came to the door of a room and knocked. + +There was no reply and he knocked again. + +“Come in,” said a stern voice, and Amber entered. + +The room was much better furnished than a stranger would expect. It was +a sitting-room, communicating by an unexpected door with a smaller room. + +The floor was scrubbed white, the centre was covered by a bright, clean +patch of carpet, and a small gate-legged table exposed a polished +surface. There were two or three pictures on the walls, ancient and +unfashionable prints, representing mythological happenings. Ulysses +Returned was one, Perseus and the Gorgon was another. Prometheus Bound +was an inevitable third. + +The song of a dozen birds came to Amber as he closed the door softly +behind him. Their cages ran up the wall on either side of the opened +window, the sill of which was a smother of scarlet geranium. + +Sitting in a windsor chair by the table was a man of middle age. He +was bald-headed, his moustache and side whiskers were fiery red, +and, though his eyebrows were shaggy and his eyes stern, his general +appearance was one of extreme benevolence. His occupation was a +remarkable one, for he was sewing, with small stitches, a pillow-case. + +He dropped his work on to his knees as Amber entered. + +“Hullo!” he said, and shook his head reprovingly. “Bad penny, bad +penny--eh! Come in; I’ll make you a cup of tea.” + +He folded his work with a care that was almost feminine, placed it in +a little work-basket, and went bustling about the room. He wore carpet +slippers that were a little too large for him, and he talked all the +time. + +“How long have you been out?--More trouble ahead? Keep thy hands from +picking and stealing, and thy mouth free from evil speaking--tut, tut!” + +“My Socrates,” said Amber reproachfully. + +“No, no, no!” the little man was lighting a fire of sticks, “nobody +ever accused you of bad talk, as Wild Cloud says--never read that +yarn, have you? You’ve missed a treat. _Denver Dad’s Bid for Fortune, +or, The King of the Sioux_--pronounced Soo. It’s worth reading. The +twenty-fourth part of it is out to-day.” + +He chattered on, and his talk was about the desperate and decorative +heroism of the Wild West. Peter Musk, such was his name, was a +hero-worshipper, a lover of the adventurous, and an assiduous reader of +that type of romance which too hasty critics dismiss contemptuously as +“dreadfuls.” Packed away behind the bright cretonne curtains that hid +his book-shelves were many hundreds of these stories, each of which had +gone to the creation of the atmosphere in which Peter lived. + +“And what has my Peter been doing all this long time?” asked Amber. + +Peter set the cups and smiled, a little mysteriously. + +“The old life,” he said, “my studies, my birds, a little +needlework--life runs very smoothly to a broken man an’ a humble +student of life.” + +He smiled again, as at a secret thought. + +Amber was neither piqued nor amused by the little man’s mystery, but +regarded him with affectionate interest. + +Peter was ever a dreamer. He dreamt of heroic matters such as rescuing +grey-eyed damsels from tall villains in evening dress. These villains +smoked cigarettes and sneered at the distress of their victims, until +Peter came along and, with one well-directed blow, struck the sallow +scoundrels to the earth. + +Peter was in height some four feet eleven inches, and stoutish. He wore +big, round, steel-rimmed glasses, and had a false tooth--a possession +which ordinarily checks the pugilistically inclined, and can +reasonably serve as an excellent excuse for prudent inaction in moments +when the finger of heroism beckons frantically. + +Peter, moreover, led forlorn hopes; stormed (in armour of an impervious +character) breached fortresses under flights of arrows; planted +tattered flags, shot-riddled, on bristling ramparts; and between +whiles, in calmer spirit, was martyred for his country’s sake, in +certain little warlike expeditions in Central Africa. + +Being by nature of an orderly disposition, he brought something of the +method of his life into his dreams. + +Thus, he charged at the head of his men, between 19, Redcow Court, +and the fish-shop, in the morning, when he went to buy his breakfast +haddock. He was martyred between the Borough and the Marshalsea +Recreation Grounds, when he took a walk; was borne to a soldier’s +grave, amidst national lamentations, on the return journey, and did +most of his rescuing after business hours. + +Many years ago Peter had been a clerk in a city warehouse; a quiet +respectable man, given to gardening. One day money was missing from +the cashier’s desk, and Peter was suspected. He was hypnotized by the +charge, allowed himself to be led off to the police station without +protest, listened as a man in a dream to the recital of the evidence +against him--beautifully circumstantial evidence it was--and went down +from the dock not fully realizing that a grey-haired old gentleman +on the bench had awarded him six months’ hard labour, in a calm, +unemotional voice. + +Peter had served four months of his sentence when the real thief was +detected, and confessed to his earlier crime. Peter’s employers were +shocked; they were good, honest, Christian people, and the managing +director of the company was--as he told Peter afterwards--so distressed +that he nearly put off his annual holiday to the Engadine. + +The firm did a handsome thing, for they pensioned Peter off, and Peter +went to the Borough, because he had eccentric views, one of which was +that he carried about him the taint of his conviction. + +He came to be almost proud of his unique experience, boasted a little I +fear, and earned an undeserved reputation in criminal circles. He was +pointed out as he strolled forth in the cool of summer evenings, as a +man who had burgled a bank, as What’s-his-name, the celebrated forger. +He was greatly respected. + +“How did you get on?” + +Amber was thinking of the little man’s many lovable qualities when the +question was addressed to him. + +“Me--oh, about the same, my Peter,” he said with a smile. + +Peter looked round with an extravagant show of caution. + +“Any difference since I was there?” he whispered. + +“I think C. Hall has been repainted,” said Amber gravely. + +Peter shook his head in depreciation. + +“I don’t suppose I’d know the place now,” he said regretfully; “is the +Governor’s room still off A. Hall?” + +Amber made no reply other than a nod. + +The little man poured out the tea, and handed a cup to the visitor. + +“Peter,” said Amber, as he stirred the tea slowly, “where can I stay?” + +“Here?” + +Peter’s face lit up and his voice was eager. + +Amber nodded. + +“They’re after you, are they?” the other demanded with a chuckle. “You +stay here, my boy. I’ll dress you up in the finest disguise you ever +saw, whiskers an’ wig; I’ll smuggle you down to the river, an’ we’ll +get you aboard----” + +Amber laughed. + +“Oh, my Peter!” he chuckled. “Oh, my law-breaker! No, it’s not the +police--don’t look so sad, you heartless little man--no, I’m avoiding +criminals--real wicked criminals, my Peter, not petty hooks like me, +or victims of circumstance like you, but men of the big mob--top-hole +desperadoes, my Peter, worse than Denver Dick or Michigan Mike or +Settler Sam, or any of those gallant fellows.” + +Peter pointed an accusing finger. + +“You betrayed ’em, an’ they’re after you,” he said solemnly. “They’ve +sworn a vendetta----” + +Amber shook his head. + +“I’m after them,” he corrected, “and the vendetta swearing has been all +on my side. No, my Peter, I’m Virtuous Mike--I’m the great detective +from Baker Street, N.W. I want to watch somebody without the annoyance +of their watchin’ me.” + +Peter was interested. + +His eyes gleamed through his spectacles, and his hands trembled in his +excitement. + +“I see, I see,” he nodded vigorously. “You’re going to frusterate ’em.” + +“‘Frusterate’ is the very word I should have used,” said Amber. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +LAMBAIRE NEEDS A CHART + + +Lambaire had an office in the city, where he conducted a business. No +man knew what the business was. There was a brass plate on the door +which offered no solution other than that-- + + J. LAMBAIRE + (and at Paris) + +might be found within. He had callers, wrote and received letters, and +disappeared at odd intervals, whither none knew, though “and at Paris” +might be a plausible explanation. + +Some said he was an agent, a vague description which might mean +anything; others, a financier, though optimistic folk, with airy +projects, requiring a substantial flotation, were considerably +disappointed to find he had no money to spare for freakish and +adventurous promotions. + +So many strange people had offices in the city, with no apparent +object, that Lambaire’s business did not form the subject of too close +an inquiry. + +It was announced that once upon a time he had financed an expedition +to Central Africa, and if this were true, there was every reason for +his presence at No. 1, Flair Lane, E.C. Other men had financed similar +expeditions, had established themselves in similar offices, and, +through the years, had waited for some return for the money they had +spent. Such was a matter of history. + +Yet Lambaire had a business, and a very profitable business. He was +known by his bankers to be a silver broker, by yet another banker to +possess an interest in the firm of Flithenstein & Borris, a firm of +printers; he had shares in a line of tramp steamers which had gained an +unenviable reputation in shipping circles; he was interested, if truth +be told, in a hundred and one affairs, small and large, legitimate or +shady. + +He owned a horse or two; obliging horses that won when he backed them, +and were at the wrong end of the course when he did not. + +Two days following the hasty departure of Amber, he was in his office. +It was the luncheon hour, and he pulled on his gloves slowly. A smile +lingered at the corners of his mouth, and there was a satisfied twinkle +in his eye. + +His secretary stood expectantly by the desk, mechanically sorting a +sheaf of notes. + +Mr. Lambaire walked slowly to the heavy door of his private room, then +paused, with a show of irresolution. + +“Perhaps it would be better to write to-night,” he said dubiously. +The secretary nodded, and depositing his papers on the desk, opened a +note-book. + +“Perhaps it would,” said Lambaire, as though questioning himself. “Yes, +it might as well be done to-night.” + +“Dear Sir” (he began, and the secretary scribbled furiously),--“Dear +Sir, I have to acknowledge your letter _re_ Great Forest Diamond Mine. +Full stop. I understand your--er--annoyance----” + +“Impatience?” suggested the secretary. + +“Impatience,” accepted the dictator, “but the work is going forward. +Full stop. Regarding your offer to take up further shares, comma, I +have to inform you that my Board are--are----” + +“Is,” corrected the secretary. + +“Is,” continued Mr. Lambaire, “prepared to allow you the privilege, +subject to the approval of our----” + +“Its,” said the secretary. + +“Its brokers. Yours faithfully.” + +Lambaire lit a cigar. + +“How’s that?” he asked jovially. + +“Very good, sir,” said the secretary, rubbing his hands, “a good thing +for the Board----” + +“For me,” said Mr. Lambaire, without embarrassment. + +“I said the _Board_,” said the pale-faced secretary, and chuckled at +the subtlety of the humour. + +Something was pleasing Lambaire to-day, and the secretary took +advantage of the spell of good humour. + +“About this letter; there have been all sorts of people here to-day,” +he said suggestively, and Lambaire, once more on his way to the door, +looked round sharply. + +“What the devil do you mean, Grene?” he demanded, all the joviality +wiped from his face. + +His subordinate shifted uneasily; he was on a delicate topic. Lambaire +trusted him to a point; it was safe that he should confess his +knowledge of Lambaire’s affairs--up to that point. + +“It is this African affair,” said the clerk. + +Lambaire stood by the door, his head sunk in thought. + +“I suppose you told them----?” + +“I told them the usual yarn--that our surveyor was visiting +the property, and that we expected to hear from him soon. One +chap--Buxteds’ clerk--got a bit cheeky, and I----” he hesitated. + +“Yes, and----?” + +“He said he didn’t believe we knew where the mine was ourselves.” + +Lambaire’s smile was a trifle forced. + +“Ridiculous,” he said, without any great heartiness. “As if one could +float a diamond mining company without knowing where the property +is--absurd, isn’t it, Grene?” + +“Very, sir,” said the secretary politely. + +Lambaire still stood by the door. + +“The map was in the prospectus, the mine is just on the edge--Etruri +Forest--isn’t that the name?” + +The secretary nodded, watching him. + +“Buxteds’ man, eh?” Lambaire was perturbed, for Buxteds are the +shadiest and the sharpest solicitors in London, and they did not love +him. + +“If Buxteds get to know,” he stopped--“what I mean is that if Buxteds +thought they could blackmail me----” + +He went out, thinking deeply. + +There is nothing quite as foolish as floating a company, and by +specious advertising to attract the money of the speculating public, +when the very _raison d’être_ of the company is non-existent. If there +is one thing in the world that is necessary for the prosperity of a +diamond mining company it is a diamond mine, and there were reasons +why that couldn’t be included in the assets of the company. The +first reason was that Lambaire did not know within a hundred leagues +where the property was situated; the second--and one not without +importance--he possessed no certain knowledge that he had the right to +dispose of the property, even if he knew where it was. + +Yet Lambaire was not the type of enthusiast who floats diamond mines +on no more solid basis than his optimism. To be perfectly candid, the +Great Forest Diamond Mining Company had come into existence at a period +when his cash balance was extremely low; for all the multiplicity +of his interests, such periods of depression came to him. It may be +said of him, as it was said, that he did not go to allotment until +he realized that there was some doubt about the possibility of ever +discovering this mine of his. + +That it was a dream mine, the merest rumour of an Eldorado, +unconfirmed save by the ravings of a dying man, and a chart which he +did not possess, and by no means could secure, he did not admit in +the florid little prospectus which was distributed privately, but +thoroughly, to the easy investors of Britain. Rather he suggested that +the mine was located and its rights acquired. The prospectus had dealt +vaguely with “certain difficulties of transport which the company would +overcome,” and at the end came a learned and technical report from the +“resident engineer” (no name), who spoke of garnets, and “pipes,” and +contained all the conversational terminology of such reports. + +No attempt need be made to disguise the fact that Lambaire was without +scruple. Few men are wholly bad, but, reading his record, one is +inclined to the judgment that such good seed as humanity had implanted +within him never germinated. + +He had descended to the little vestibule of the building, and was +stepping into the street without, when a taxi-cab drove up and +deposited the dapper Whitey. + +“I want you,” he piped. + +Lambaire frowned. + +“I haven’t any time----” he began. + +“Come back,” urged Whitey, catching his arm, “come back into the +office; I’ve got something important to say to you.” + +Reluctantly the big man retraced his steps. + +Mr. Secretary Grene had a narrow shave, for he was examining a private +drawer of his employers when the footsteps of the men sounded in the +stone-flagged corridor without. + +With an agility and deftness that would have delighted Lambaire, had +these qualities been exercised on his behalf, instead of being to his +detriment, the secretary closed and locked the drawer with one motion, +slipped the key into his pocket, and was busily engaged in reading his +notes when the two entered. + +“You can go, Grene,” said Lambaire. “I’ve got a little business to +transact with Mr. White--have your lunch and come back in half an hour.” + +When the door had closed on the secretary, Lambaire turned to the other. + +“Well?” he demanded. + +Whitey had taken the most comfortable chair in the room, and had +crossed his elegantly cased legs. He had the pleasant air of one who by +reason of superior knowledge was master of the situation. + +“When you have finished looking like a smirking jackass, perhaps you +will tell me why you have made me postpone my lunch,” said Lambaire +unpleasantly. + +Whitey’s legs uncurled, and he sat up. + +“This is news, Lambaire,” his impressive hand upraised emphasized the +importance of the communication he had to convey. + +“It’s an idea and news together,” he said. “I’ve seen the Suttons.” + +Lambaire nodded. The audacity of Whitey was a constant surprise to him, +but it was the big man’s practice never to betray that surprise. + +Whitey was obviously disappointed that his great tidings had fallen so +flat. + +“You take a dashed lot for granted,” he grumbled. “I’ve seen the +Suttons, Lambaire--seen ’em after the affair at the Whistlers; it +wanted a bit of doing.” + +“You’re a good chap, Whitey,” soothed Lambaire, “a wonderful chap; +well?” + +“Well,” said the ruffled man in the chair, “I had a talk with the +boy--very sulky, very sulky, Lambaire; huffy, didn’t want to have any +truck with me; and his sister--phew!” + +He raised his two hands, palms outwards, as he recalled the trying +interview. + +“She gave me the Ice,” he said earnestly, “she was Cold--she was Zezo; +talking to her, Lambaire, was like sitting in a draught! Br-r!” + +He shivered. + +“Well, what about the boy?” + +Whitey smiled slyly. + +“Huffish, haughty, go to--you know where--but reasonable. He’s got the +hang of the Whistler. It was like catching a kicked cat to get him +back. He put on his dam’ Oxford and Eton dressing--haw--haw!--_you_ +know the voice. Awfully sorry, but the acquaintance had better +drop--he’d made a mistake; no thank you, let the matter drop; good +morning, mind the step.” + +Whitey was an indifferent mimic, but he conveyed the sense of the +interview. “But he couldn’t shake me--I was a sticker, I was the boy on +the burning deck; he opened the door for me to go out, and I admired +his geraniums; he rang the bell for a servant, and I said I didn’t +mind if I did; he fumed and fretted, walked up and down the room with +his hands in his pockets; he told me what he thought of me and what he +thought of you.” + +“What does he think of me?” said Lambaire quickly. + +“I’d rather not say,” said Whitey, “you’d be flattered--I don’t think. +He thinks you are a gentleman--no! Don’t mind about a trifle like that. +I sat down and argued with him. He said you were evidently the worst +kind of waster.” + +“What did you say to that?” demanded Lambaire with a frown. + +“I denied that,” said Whitey virtuously; “not the worst kind, I said; +anyway, the interview ended by his promising to come up here this +afternoon.” + +Lambaire paced the room in thought. + +“What good will that do?” he asked. + +Whitey raised imploring eyes to heaven. + +“Hear me,” he said, addressing an invisible deity. “Hark to him. I +spend all the morning working for him, and he wants to know what is the +good.” He got up slowly and polished his hat with his sleeve. + +“Here, don’t go,” said Lambaire. “I want to know a lot more. Now, what +is he prepared to do?” + +“Look here, Lambaire.” Whitey dropped all pretence at deference and +geniality, and turned on the other with a snarl. “This kid can get at +the chart. This diamond mine of ours has got to be more tangible than +it is at present or there is going to be trouble; things are going +rotten, and you know it.” + +“And suppose he won’t part with it?” + +“It is not a question of his parting with it,” said Whitey; “he hasn’t +got it; it is his sister who has it. He’s his father’s son, you’ve got +to remember that. You can bet that somewhere, tucked away out of sight +inside him, he’s got the old adventure blood; these sort of things +don’t die out. Look at me; my father was a----” + +“Don’t get off the subject,” said Lambaire impatiently. “What are +you driving at, Whitey? What does it matter to me whether he’s got +adventure blood, or lunatic blood, or any other kind of blood--he’s got +the chart that his father made, that was found on him when he died and +was sent to the daughter by some fool of a Commissioner--eh? _That’s_ +what we want!” + +He rose jerkily, thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, and peeked +his head forward, a mannerism of his when he was excited. + +Though nominally Whitey was Lambaire’s jackal, runner, general man of +affairs and dependant, it was easy to see that the big man stood in +some fear of his servant, and that there were moments when Whitey took +charge and was not to be lightly ignored. Now it was that he was the +bully, and overbearing, masterful director of things. With his high +thin voice, his vehemence as he hissed and spluttered, he was a little +uncanny, terrifying. He possessed a curious vocabulary, and strangely +unfamiliar figures of speech. To illustrate his meaning he brought +vivid if incongruous picture words to his aid. Sometimes they were +undisguised slang words, culled from other lands--Whitey was something +of a traveller and had cosmopolitan tastes. + +“You’re a Shining Red Light, Lambaire,” he went on in furious flow of +words. “People are getting out of your road; the Diamond business has +got to be settled _at once_. Let people get busy, and they won’t be +content with finding out that the mine is minus; they’ll want to know +about the silver business and the printing business, and they’ll put +two and two together--d’ye see that? You was a fool ever to tackle the +diamond game. It was the only straight deal you was ever in, but you +didn’t work it straight. If you had, you’d have got Sutton back alive; +but no, you must have a funny compass, so that he could find the mine +and make a chart of the road and only you could find it! Oh, you’re a +Hog of Cleverness, but you’ve overdone it!” + +He grew a little calmer. + +“Now look here,” he went on, “young Sutton’s coming to-day, and you’ve +got to be Amiable; you’ve got to be Honest; you’ve got to be Engaging; +you’ve got to Up and say--‘Look here, old man, let’s put all our cards +on the table----’” + +“I’ll be cursed if I do,” snapped Lambaire; “you’re mad, Whitey. What +do you think I’m----” + +“All the cards on the table,” repeated Whitey slowly, and rapped +the desk with his bony knuckles to point each word, “your own pack, +Lambaire; you’ve got to say, ‘Look here, old son, let’s understand one +another; the fact of the matter is, etc., etc.’” + +What the etc. was Whitey explained in the course of a heated, caustic +and noisy five minutes. + +At the end of that time Grene appeared on the scene, and the +conversation came to an abrupt finish. + +“Three o’clock,” said Whitey, at the bottom of the stairs, “you play +your cards well, and you get yourself out of a nasty mess.” + +Lambaire grunted an ungracious rejoinder and they parted. + +It was a different Whitey who made an appearance at the appointed hour. +An urbane, deferential, unruffled man, who piloted a youth to the +office of J. Lambaire. + +Francis Sutton was a good-looking boy, though the scowl that he thought +it necessary to wear for the occasion disfigured him. + +Yet he had a grievance, or the shreds of one, for he had the +uncomfortable feeling that he had been tricked and made a fool of, and +generally ill-treated. + +It had been made clear to him that when that man of the world, +Lambaire, had showed a preference for his society, had invited him to +dinner, and had introduced him more than once to the Whistlers, it was +not because the “financier” had taken a sudden fancy to him--not even +because Lambaire had known his father in some far-off time--but because +Lambaire wanted to get something out of him. + +By what means of realization this had come to him it is no province of +mine to say. The sweetest, the dearest, the most tender of woman being +human, for all her fragrant qualities, may, in some private moment, +be sufficiently human to administer a rebuke in language sufficiently +convincing to bring a foolish young man to his senses. + +The scowl was on his face when he came into Lambaire’s private +office. Lambaire was sitting at his big desk, which was littered +with the mechanism of commerce to an unusual extent. There was a fat +account-book open on the table before him, letters lay stacked in piles +on either hand, and his secretary sat, with open note-book, by his side. + +An imposing cheque-book was displayed before him, and he was very busy +indeed when Whitey ushered his charge into this hive of industry. + +“Ah, Mr. Sutton!” he said, answering with a genial smile the curt +nod of the other, “glad to see you. Make Mr. Sutton comfortable, +White--I’ve one or two things to finish off.” + +“Perhaps,” said the young man, relaxing a little, “if I came a little +later----?” + +“Not at all, not at all.” + +Lambaire dismissed the supposition that he was too deeply employed to +see him at once with a wave of the hand. + +“Sit down,” he pleaded, “only for one moment. Are you ready, Grene?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Dear sir,” dictated Lambaire, leaning back in his padded chair, “we +have pleasure in enclosing a cheque for four thousand six hundred and +twenty-five pounds seven and fourpence, in payment of half-yearly +dividends. Full stop. We regret that we were not able to allot you +any shares in our new issue; the flotation was twenty times over +subscribed. Yours, etc. Got that?” + +“Yes, sir,” said the unmoved Grene. + +Could this be the adventurer his sister had pictured? thought the young +man. Would a man of this type stoop to lure him to a gaming-house for +the gain of his few hundreds! + +“Send a cheque to Cautts--how much is it?” said Lambaire. + +“About six thousand,” said Grene at random. + +“And pay that little account of mine at Fells--it’s about four +hundred--these wretched little wine bills mount up.” + +The latter portion of the sentence was addressed to Sutton, who found +himself smiling sympathetically. As for Whitey, he was one benign grin. + +“Now I think that is all,” and Lambaire fluttered a few papers. “Oh, +here is a letter from S----” He handed what was in reality a peremptory +demand for the payment of the very wine bill to which he referred to +Grene. + +“Tell him I am sorry I cannot go to Cowes with him--I hate strange +yachts, and unfortunately,” this to the young man and with a smile of +protest, “I cannot afford to keep my yacht as I did a few years ago. +Now.” He swung round in his seat as the door closed behind Grene. + +“Now, Mr. Sutton, I want a straight talk with you; you don’t mind White +being here, do you? He’s my confidant in most matters.” + +“I don’t mind anybody,” said the youth, though he was obviously ill at +ease, not knowing exactly what was the object of the interview. + +Lambaire toyed with a celluloid ruler before he began. + +“Mr. Sutton,” he said slowly, “you were at school, I think, when your +father went to West Africa?” + +“I was going up to Oxford,” said the boy quickly. + +Lambaire nodded. + +“You know I equipped the expedition that had such an unfortunate +ending?” + +“I understood you had something to do with it.” + +“I had,” said Lambaire; “it cost me--however, that has nothing to do +with the matter. Now, Mr. Sutton, I am going to be frank with you. +You are under the impression that I sought your acquaintance with some +ulterior motive. You need not deny it; I had a--a----” + +“Hunch,” said the silent Whitey suddenly. + +“I had what Mr. White calls a ‘hunch’ that this was so. I know human +nature very well, Mr. Sutton; and when a man thinks badly of me, I know +the fact instinctively.” + +To be exact, the intuition of Mr. Lambaire had less to do with his +prescience than the information Whitey had been able to supply. + +“Mr. Sutton, I’m not going to deny that I did have an ulterior motive +in seeking your society.” Lambaire leant forward, his hands on his +knees, and was very earnest. “When your father----” + +“Poor father,” murmured Whitey. + +“When your poor father died, a chart of his wanderings, showing the +route he took, was sent to you, or rather to your sister, she being the +elder. It was only by accident, during the past year, that I heard of +the existence of that chart and I wrote to your sister for it.” + +“As I understand it, Mr. Lambaire,” said Sutton, “you made no attempt +to seek us out after my father’s death; though you were in no sense +responsible for his fate, my sister felt that you might have troubled +yourself to discover what was happening to those who were suddenly +orphaned through the expedition.” + +This tall youth, with his clear-cut effeminate face, had a mouth that +drooped a little weakly. He was speaking now with the assurance of one +who had known all the facts on which he spoke for years, yet it was +the fact that until that morning, when his sister had given him some +insight into the character of the man she distrusted, he had known +nothing of the circumstances attending his father’s death. + +All the time he spoke Lambaire was shaking his head slowly, in +melancholy protest at the injustice. + +“No, no, no,” he said, when the other had finished, “you’re wrong, Mr. +Sutton--I was ill at the time; I knew that you were all well off----” + +“Ahem!” coughed Whitey, and Lambaire realized that he had made a +mistake. + +“So far from being well off--however, that is unimportant; it was only +last year that, by the death of an uncle, we inherited--but rich or +poor, that is beside the question.” + +“It is indeed,” said Lambaire heartily. He was anxious to get away from +ground that was palpably dangerous. “I want to finish what I had to +say. Your sister refused us the chart; well and good, we do not quarrel +with her, we do not wish to take the matter to law; we say ‘very +good--we will leave the matter,’ although”--he wagged his finger at +the boy solemnly--“although it is a very serious matter for me, having +floated----” + +“Owing to your wishing to float,” said Whitey softly. + +“I should say wishing to float a company on the strength of the +chart; still, I say, ‘if the young lady feels that way, I’m sorry--I +won’t bother her’; then an idea struck me!” He paused dramatically. +“An idea struck me--the mine which your father went to seek is still +undiscovered; even with your chart, to which, by the way, I do not +attach a great deal of importance----” + +“It is practically of no value except to the owner,” interrupted Whitey. + +“No value whatever,” agreed Lambaire; “even with the chart, any man +who started out to hunt for my mine would miss it--what is required +is--is----” + +“The exploring spirit,” Whitey put in. + +“The exploring spirit, born and bred in the bones of the man who goes +out to find it. Mr. Sutton,” Lambaire rose awkwardly, for he was +heavily built, “when I said I sought you from ulterior motives, I spoke +the truth. I was trying to discover whether you were the man to carry +on your father’s work--Mr. Sutton, you are!” + +He said this impressively, dramatically, and the boy flushed with +pleasure. + +He would have been less than human if the prospect of such an +expedition as Lambaire’s words suggested did not appeal to him. +Physically and mentally he bore no resemblance to Sutton the explorer, +the man of many expeditions, but there was something of his father’s +intense curiosity in his composition, a curiosity which lies at the +root of all enterprise. + +In that moment all the warnings of his sister were unheeded, forgotten. +The picture of the man she had drawn faded from his mind, and all he +saw in Lambaire was a benefactor, a patron, and a large-minded man +of business. He saw things more clearly (so he told himself) without +prejudice (so he could tell his sister); these things had to be looked +at evenly, calmly. The past, with the privations, which, thanks to his +sister’s almost motherly care and self-sacrifice, he had not known or +felt, was dead. + +“I--I hardly know what to say,” he stammered; “of course I should like +to carry on my father’s work most awfully--I’ve always been very keen +on that sort of thing, exploring and all that....” + +He was breathless at the prospect which had unexpectedly been opened up +to him. When Lambaire extended a large white hand, he grasped and shook +it gratefully--he, who had come firm in the resolve to finally end the +acquaintance. + +“He’s butter,” said Whitey afterwards; “keep him away from the Ice and +he’s Dead Easy ... it’s the Ice that’s the difficulty.” + +He shook his head doubtfully. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +AMBER ADMITS HIS GUILT + + +And there was an end to it. + +So Francis Sutton informed his sister with tremendous calm. + +She stood by the window, drawing patterns with the tips of her fingers +on the polished surface of a small table, and her eyes were fixed on +the street without. + +Francis had been illogical and unnecessarily loud in his argument, +and she had been beaten down by the erratic and tumbling waves of his +eloquence. So she remained quiet, and when he had finished talking for +the fifth time, he resentfully remarked upon her sulky silence. + +“You haven’t given me a chance of speaking, Francis, and I am +absolutely bewildered by your change of attitude----” + +“Look here, Cynthia,” he broke in impatiently, “it’s no good your +opening up this wretched subject again--Lambaire is a man of the world, +we can’t judge him by convent codes, or by school-girl codes; if you +argue the matter from now until quarter-day you won’t budge me. I’m +going through with this. It’s a chance that will never come again. I’m +sure father would have liked it.” + +He paused expectantly, but she did not accept the lull as an +opportunity. + +“Now, for goodness’ sake, Cynthia, do not, I beg of you, sulk.” + +She turned from her contemplation of the outside world. + +“Do you remember how you came home the other night?” she asked +suddenly, and the boy’s face went red. + +“I don’t think that’s fair,” he said hotly; “a man may make a fool of +himself----” + +“I wasn’t going to speak of that,” she said, “but I want to remind you +that a gentleman brought you home--he knew Lambaire better than you or +I know him--yes?--you were going to say something?” + +“Go on,” said the youth, a note of triumph in his voice, “I have +something to say upon that subject.” + +“He said that Lambaire was something worse than a man about town--that +he was a criminal, one of the cleverest of criminals, a man without +scruple or pity.” + +There was a smile on Sutton’s face when she finished. + +“And do you know who this gentleman was?” he asked in glee. “He’s +Amber--you’ve never heard of Amber?” + +She shook her head. + +“He’s a thief, just a low-down thief--you can jolly well shake your +head, Cynthia, but he’s a fellow who gets his living by his wits; he’s +been out of gaol exactly a week--that is your Mr. Amber.” + +“Mr. Amber,” repeated a voice at the door, as a maid admitted the +imperturbable subject of the conversation. + +Amber was in the conventional garb of civilization. His tightly +buttoned morning coat was of the newest cut, his linen was of the +shiniest. The hat which he held in his hand shone as only a new silk +hat can shine, and spotless white was alike the colour of the spats +over his varnished shoes and the skin-tight gloves on his hands. + +He might have stepped out of a fashion-plate, so immaculate was he. + +He smiled cheerfully at the uncomfortable youth and held out his hand +to the girl. + +“Called in,” he said easily, “passin’ this way: motor ’buses pass the +door--very convenient; what I like about London is the accessibility +of everywhere to everywhere else--may I put my hat down?--thank you so +much. If ever I make a lot of money I shall live in Park Lane; it’s so +close to the tube. And how are you?” + +Sutton muttered an ungracious platitude and made for the door. + +“One moment, Francis.” The girl had gone red and white by turn, and the +hand that traced patterns on the table had trembled a little when Amber +came in: now she was very self-possessed, albeit paler than usual. The +boy stopped, one hand on the handle of the door, and frowned warningly +at his sister. + +“Mr. Amber,” she said, ignoring the signal, “I think it is only fair to +you to repeat something I have just heard.” + +“I beg of you, Cynthia!” said Sutton angrily. + +“It has been said, Mr. Amber,” she continued, “that you are--are a bad +character.” + +“My lady,” said Amber, with a grave face, “I am a bad character.” + +“And--and you have recently been released from prison,” she faltered, +avoiding his eyes. + +“If,” said Amber carefully, “by ‘recent’ you mean nearly a week +ago--that also is true.” + +“I told you,” cried Sutton, with an exultant laugh, and Amber whipped +round. + +“My Democritus, my Abderite,” he said reproachfully, “wherefore +rollick? It is not so funny, this prison--_quid rides_ my Sutton?” His +eyebrows rose questioningly. + +Something made the girl look at him. She may have expected to see him +shamefaced; instead, she saw only righteous annoyance. + +“My past misfortune cannot interest you, My Lady,” he said a little +sadly, “when, on a memorable night, I faced Janus, at your wish, +entering the portals of an establishment to which I would not willingly +invite a self-respecting screw--by which I mean the uniformed +instrument of fate, the prison warder--I do not remember that you +demanded my credentials, nor set me a test piece of respectability to +play.” + +Then he again addressed himself to the boy. + +“Mr. Sutton,” he said softly, “methinks you are a little ungracious, +a little precipitate: I came here to make, with the delicacy which +the matter demanded, all the necessary confession of previous crimes, +dodges, acts of venal artfulness, convictions, incarcerations, together +with an appendix throwing light upon the facility with which a young +and headstrong subaltern of cavalry might descend to the Avernus which +awaits the reckless layer of odds on indifferent horses.” + +He said all this without taking breath, and was seemingly well +satisfied with himself and the sketch he gave of his early life. He +pulled himself erect, squared his shoulders and set his monocle more +firmly in his eye, then with a bow to the girl, and an amused stare at +the young man, he turned to the door. + +“One moment, Mr. Amber,” she found her voice; “I cannot allow you to go +like this; we owe you something, Francis and I....” + +“Owe me a memory,” said Amber in a low voice, “that would be a pleasant +reward, Miss Sutton.” + +Impulsively she stepped forward and held out her hand, and he took it. + +“I’m so sorry,” was all she said, but she knew by the pressure on her +hand that he understood. + +As they stood there, for the briefest space of time, hand to hand, +Sutton slipped from the room, for he had been expecting visitors, and +had heard the distant thrill of a bell. + +Neither noticed his absence. + +The girl’s face was upraised to Amber’s, and in her eyes was infinite +compassion. + +“You are too good--too good for that life,” she said, and Amber shook +his head, smiling with his eyes. + +“You don’t know,” he said gently, “perhaps you are wasting your +pity--you make me feel a scoundrel when you pity me.” + +Before she could reply the door was flung open, and Sutton burst into +the room; behind him was Lambaire, soberly arrayed, sleek of hair +and perfectly groomed, and no less decorous of appearance was the +inevitable Whitey bringing up the rear. + +Cynthia Sutton gazed blankly at the newcomers. It was a bold move of +her brother’s to bring these men to her house. Under any circumstances +their reception would have been a stiff one; now, a cold anger took +possession of her, for she guessed that they had been brought to +complete the rout of Amber. + +The first words of Sutton proved this. + +“Cynthia,” he said, with a satisfaction which he did not attempt to +conceal, “these are the gentlemen that Mr. Amber has vilified--perhaps +he would care to repeat----” + +“Young, very young,” said Amber tolerantly. He took the management of +the situation from the girl’s hands, and for the rest of the time she +was only a spectator “_ne puero gladium_--eh?” + +He was the virtuous schoolmaster reproaching youth. + +“And here we have evidence,” he exhibited Lambaire and his companion +with a sweep of his hand, “confronted by the men he has so deeply +wronged; and now, my Lambaire, what have you to say about us that we +have not already revealed?” + +“I know you are a thief,” said Lambaire. + +“True, O King!” admitted Amber genially. + +“I know you’ve been convicted three or four times for various crimes.” + +“Sounds like a nursery rhyme,” said Amber admiringly; “proceed, my +Lambaire.” + +“That is quite enough, I think, to freeze you out of decent society.” + +“More than enough--much more than enough,” confessed the unabashed +young man, with a melancholy smile, “and what says my Whitey, eh? What +says my pallid one?” + +“Look here, Amber,” began Whitey. + +“I once had occasion to inform you,” interrupted Amber severely, “that +under no circumstances were you to take liberties with my name; I am +Mister Amber to you, my Whitey.” + +“Mister or Master, you’re a hook----” said the other. + +“A what?” + +The horrified expression on Amber’s face momentarily deceived even so +experienced a man as Whitey. + +“I mean you are a well-known thief,” he said. + +“That is better,” approved Amber, “the other is a coarse expression +which a gentleman of parts should never permit himself to employ, my +Boswell; and what else are we?” + +“That’s enough, I think,” said the man rudely. + +“Now that you mention the fact, I think that ‘enough’ is the word,” he +looked round the group, from face to face, with the quizzical smile +that was seldom absent. “More than enough,” he repeated. “We are +detected, undone, fruster-ated, as a dear friend of mine would say.” + +He slowly unbuttoned his tight-fitting morning coat and thrust his +hands into an inside pocket. With a great show of deliberation, he +produced a gaudy pocket-book of red morocco. With its silver fittings, +it was sufficiently striking to attract attention, even to those who +had never seen it before. But there was one who knew it, and Lambaire +made a quick step forward and snatched at it. + +“That is mine!” he cried; but Amber was too quick for him. + +“No, no, my Lambie,” he said, “there is a lady here; let us postpone +our horseplay for another occasion.” + +“That is mine,” cried Lambaire angrily; “it was stolen the night you +forced your way into the Whistlers. Mr. Sutton, I am going to make an +example of this fellow. He came out of gaol last week, he goes back +to-day; will you send for a policeman?” + +The boy hesitated. + +“Save you the trouble--save you the scandal--club raid and all that +sort of thing,” said Amber easily. “Here is your portmanie--you will +find the money intact.” He handed over the pocket-book with a pleasant +little nod. + +“I have retained,” he went on, “partly as a reward for my +honesty, partly as a souvenir of a pleasant occasion, one little +fiver--commission--eh?” + +He held between his fingers a bank-note, and crackled it lovingly, +and Cynthia, looking from one to the other in her bewilderment, saw +Lambaire’s face go grey with fear. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +IN FLAIR COURT + + +No word was spoken by Lambaire or Whitey as a taxi-cab carried them +through the city to the big man’s office. They had taken a hurried and +disjointed farewell of Sutton and had left immediately after Amber. + +It was after business hours, and Grene had gone, when Lambaire snapped +the lock of his private room behind him, and sank into his padded +lounge chair. + +“Well, what do you think?” + +Whitey looked down at him keenly as he put the question. + +“Phew!” Lambaire wiped his forehead. + +“Well?” demanded Whitey sharply. + +“Whitey--that fellow’s got us.” + +Whitey’s thin lips curled in a contemptuous smile. + +“You’re dead easy to beat, Lambaire,” he said in his shrill way, +“you’re Flab! You’re a Jellyfish!” + +He was lashing himself into one of his furies, and Lambaire feared +Whitey in those moods more than he feared anything in the world. + +“Look here. Whitey, be sensible; we’ve got to face matters; we’ve got +to arrange with him, square him!” + +“Square him!” Whitey’s derision and scorn was in his whistling laugh. +“Square Amber--you fool! Don’t you see he’s honest! He’s honest, that +fellow, and don’t forget it.” + +“Honest--why----” + +“Honest, honest, honest!” Whitey beat the desk with his clenched fist +with every word. “Can’t you see, Lambaire, are you blind? Don’t you see +that the fellow can be a lag and honest--that he can be a thief and go +straight--he’s that kind.” + +There was a long silence after he had finished. Whitey went over to the +window and looked out; Lambaire sat biting his finger-nails. + +By and by Whitey turned. + +“What is the position?” he asked. + +The other shrugged his shoulders. + +“Things are very bad; we’ve got to go through with this diamond +business: you’re a genius, Whitey, to suggest the boy; if we send him +to carry out the work, it will save us.” + +“Nothing can save us,” Whitey snapped. “We’re in a mess, Lambaire; it’s +got beyond the question of shareholders talkin’, or an offence under +the Companies Act--it’s felony, Lambaire.” + +He saw the big man shiver, and nodded. + +“Don’t let us deceive ourselves,” Whitey kept up a nodding of head that +was grotesquely reminiscent of a Chinese toy, “it’s twenty years for +you, and twenty years for me; the police have been searching the world +for the man that can produce those bank-notes--and Amber can put ’em +wise.” + +Again a long silence. A silence that lasted for the greater part of an +hour; as the two men sat in the gathering darkness, each engaged with +his own thoughts. + +It was such an half-hour that any two guilty men, each suspicious +of the other, might spend. Neither the stirrings of remorse nor the +pricking of conscience came into their broodings. Crude schemes of +self-preservation at any cost--at whose expense they cared not--came in +irregular procession to their minds. + +Then--“You’ve got nothing here, I suppose?” said Whitey, breaking the +long silence. + +Lambaire did not answer at once, and his companion repeated the +question more sharply. + +“No--yes,” hesitated Lambaire, “I’ve got a couple of plates----” + +“You fool,” hissed the other, “you hopeless Mug! Here! Here in the +first place they’d search----” + +“In my safe, Whitey,” said the other, almost pleadingly, “my own safe; +nobody has a key but me.” + +There was another long silence, broken only by the disconnected +hissings of Whitey. + +“To-morrow--we clear ’em out, d’ye hear, Lambaire; I’d rather be at +the mercy of a Nut like Amber, than have my life in the hands of a +fool like you. An’ how have you got the plates? Wrapped up in a full +signed confession, I’ll take my oath! Little tit-bits about the silver +business, eh? An’ the printing establishment at Hookley, eh? Full +directions and a little diagram to help the Splits--oh, you funny fool!” + +Lambaire was silent under the tirade. It was nearly dark before Whitey +condescended to speak again. + +“There’s no use our sitting here,” he said roughly. “Come and have some +dinner, Lambaire--after all, perhaps it isn’t so bad.” + +He was slipping back to the old position of second fiddle, his voice +betrayed that. Only in his moments of anger did he rise to the +domination of his master. In all the years of their association, these +strange reversals of mastery had been a feature of their relationship. + +Now Lambaire came back to his old position of leader. + +“You gas too much, Whitey,” he said, as he locked the door and +descended the dark stairs. “You take too much for granted, and, +moreover, you’re a bit too free with your abuse.” + +“Perhaps I am,” said Whitey feebly. “I’m a Jute Factory on Fire when +I’m upset.” + +“I’ll be more of a salvage corps in future,” said Lambaire humorously. + +They dined at a little restaurant in Fleet Street, that being the first +they found open in their walk westward. + +“All the same,” said Whitey, as they sat at dinner “we’ve got to get +rid of those plates--the note we can explain away; the fact that Amber +has it in his possession is more likely to damage him than us--he’s a +Suspected Person, an’ he’s under the Act.”[2] + +“That’s true,” admitted Lambaire, “we’ll get rid of them to-morrow; I +know a place----” + +“To-night!” said Whitey definitely. “It’s no good waitin’ for +to-morrow; we might be in the cart to-morrow--we might be in Bridewell +to-morrow. I don’t like Amber. He’s not a policeman, Lambaire--he’s a +Head--he’s got Education and Horse sense--if he gets Funny, we’ll be +sendin’ S.O.S. messages to one another from the cells.” + +“To-night, then,” agreed Lambaire hastily; he saw Whitey’s anger, so +easily aroused, returning to life, “after we’ve had dinner. And what +about Amber--who is he? A swell down on his luck or what?” + +Throughout these pages there may be many versions of the rise and fall +of Amber, most, indeed all but one, from Amber’s lips. Whether Whitey’s +story was nearer the truth than any other the reader will discover in +time. + +“Amber? He’s Rum. He’s been everything, from Cow-boy to Actor. I’ve +heard about him before. He’s a Hook because he loves Hooking. That’s +the long and the short of it. He’s been to College.” + +“College,” to Whitey, was a vague and generic term that signified an +obscure operation by which learning, of an undreamt-of kind, was +introduced to the human mind. College was a place where information was +acquired which was not available elsewhere. He had the half-educated +man’s respect for education. + +“He got into trouble over a scheme he started for a joke; a sort of +you-send-me-five-shillings-and-I’ll-do-the-rest. It was so easy that +when he came out of gaol he did the same thing with variations. He took +up hooking just as another chap takes up collecting stamps.” + +They lingered over their dinner, and the hands of Fleet Street’s many +clocks were pointing to half-past nine before they had finished. + +“We’ll walk back,” said Lambaire; “it’s fortunate that there is no +caretaker at Flair Court.” + +“You’ve got the key of the outer door?” asked Whitey, and Lambaire +nodded. + +They passed slowly up Ludgate Hill, arm in arm, two eminently +respectable city men, top-hatted, frock-coated, at peace with the world +to all outward showing, and perfectly satisfied with themselves. + +Flair Court runs parallel with Lothbury, and at this hour of the night +is deserted. They passed a solitary policeman, trying the doors of the +buildings, and he gave them a civil good night. + +Standing at the closed door of the building in which the office was +situated, Whitey gave his companion the benefit of his views on the +projected Sutton expedition. + +“It’s our chance, Lambaire,” he said, “and the more I think of it the +bigger chance it is: why, if it came off we could run straight, there +would be money to burn--we could drop the tricky things--forget ’em, +Lambaire.” + +“That’s what I thought,” said the other, “that was my idea at the +time--I was too clever, or I might have brought it off.” + +He blew at the key. + +“What is the matter?” demanded Whitey, suddenly observing his +difficulty. + +“It’s this lock--I’m not used to the outer door--oh, here we are.” + +The door-key turned in the lock and the door opened. They closed it +behind them, and Lambaire struck a match to light a way up the dark +stairs. He lit another at the first landing, and by its light they made +their way to the floor above. + +Here they stopped. + +“Strike a match, Whitey,” said Lambaire, and took a key from his pocket. + +For some reason the key would not turn. + +“That’s curious,” muttered Lambaire, and brought pressure to bear. + +But still the key refused to turn. + +Whitey fumbled at the match-box and struck another match. + +“Here, let me try,” he said. + +He pressed the key over, but without success; then he tried the handle +of the door. + +“It isn’t locked,” he said, and Lambaire swore. + +“It’s that cursed fool Grene,” he said. “I’ve told him a thousand times +to make certain that he closed and locked the door when he left at +night.” + +He went into the outer office. There was no electric light in the room, +and he needed more matches as he made his way to his private room. He +took another key and snapped open the patent lock. + +“Come in, Whitey,” he said, “we’ll take these things out of the +safe--who’s there?” + +There was somebody in the room. He felt the presence rather than saw +it. The place was in pitch darkness; such light as there was came from +a lamp in the Court without, but only the faintest of reflected rays +pierced the gloom of the office. + +“Keep the door, Whitey,” cried Lambaire, and a match spluttered in +his hand. For a moment he saw nothing; then, as he peered through the +darkness and his eyes became accustomed to the shadows, he uttered an +imprecation. + +The safe--his private safe, was wide open. + +Then he saw the crouching figure of a man by the desk, and leapt at +him, dropping the match. + +In the expiring flicker of light, he saw the figure straighten, then a +fist, as hard as teak, and driven by an arm of steel, caught him full +in the face, and he went over with a crash. + +Whitey in the doorway sprang forward, but a hand gripped him by the +throat, lifted him like a helpless kitten, and sent him with a thud +against the wall.... + +“Strike a match, will you.” It was Lambaire who was the first to +recover, and he bellowed like a mad bull--“Light--get a light.” + +With an unsteady hand, Whitey found the box. + +“There’s a gas bracket over by the window,--curse him!--he’s nearly +settled me.” + +The glow of an incandescent lamp revealed Lambaire, dishevelled, pale +as death, his face streaming with blood, where he had caught his head +on the sharp corner of the desk. + +He ran to the safe. There was no apparent disorder, there was no sign +that it had been forced; but he turned over the papers, throwing them +on to the floor with feverish haste, in his anxiety to find something. + +“Gone!” he gasped, “the plates--they’ve gone!” + +He turned, sick with fear, to Whitey. + +Whitey was standing, shaky but calm, by the door. + +“They’ve gone, have they?” he said, in little more than a whisper; +“then that settles Amber.” + +“Amber?” + +“Amber,” said Whitey huskily. “I saw him--you know what it means, don’t +you?” + +“Amber,” repeated the other, dazed. + +“Amber--_Amber_!” Whitey almost shouted the name. “Don’t you hear what +I say--it’s Amber, the hook.” + +“What shall we do?” + +The big man was like a child in his pitiable terror. + +“Do!” Whitey laughed; it was a curious little laugh, and it spoke the +concentrated hatred that lay in his heart. “We’ve got to find Amber, +we’ve got to meet Amber, and we’ve got to kill Amber, damn him!” + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +AMBER GOES TO SCOTLAND YARD + + +Peter Musk had the entire top floor of 19, Redcow Court, and was +accounted an ideal tenant by his landlord, for he paid his rent +regularly. Of the three rooms, Peter occupied one, Amber (“My nephew +from the country,” said Peter elaborately) the other, and the third was +Peter’s “common room.” + +Peter had reached the most exciting chapter in the variegated career of +“Handsome Hike, the Terror of Texas,” when Amber came in. + +He came in hurriedly, and delivered a breathless little chuckle as he +closed the door behind him. + +Peter looked up over his spectacles, and dropped his romance to his +lap. “In trouble?” he demanded eagerly, and when Amber shook his head +with a smile, a disappointed frown gathered on the old man’s face. + +“No, my Peter,” said Amber, hanging up his hat, “I am not in +trouble--to any extent.” He took from his pocket two flat packages and +laid them on the table carefully. They were wrapped in newspaper and +contained articles of some heavy substance. Amber walked over to the +mantelshelf, where an oil lamp burnt, and examined his coat with minute +interest. + +“What’s up, Amber? What are you looking for?” + +“Blood, my Peter,” said Amber; “gore--human gore. I was obliged to +strike a gentleman hard, with a knobby weapon--to wit, a fist.” + +“Hey?” Peter was on his feet, all eagerness, but Amber was still +smiling. + +“Go on with your reading,” he said, “there’s nothing doin’.” + +That was a direct and a sharp speech for Amber, and Peter stared, and +only the smile saved it from brusqueness. + +Amber continued his inspection, removing his coat, and scrutinizing the +garment carefully. + +“No incriminating stains,” he retorted flippantly, and went to the +table, where his packages lay. He had resumed his coat, and, diving +into one of the pockets, he produced a flat round leather case. He +pressed a spring, and the cover opened like the face of a watch. + +Peter was an interested spectator. “That is a compass,” he said. + +“True, my Peter; it is a compass--but it has the disadvantage that +it does not cump: in other words, it is a most unblushing liar of a +compass; a mis-leader of men, my Peter; it is the old one who is the +devil of compasses, because it leadeth the feet to stray--in other +words, it’s a dud.” + +He shook it a little, gave it a twist or two, and shook his head +severely. He closed it and put it on the table by his side. Then he +turned his attention to the other packages. Very gingerly he unwrapped +them. They were revealed as two flat plates of steel, strangely +engraved. He leant over them, his smile growing broader and broader, +till he broke into a gleeful little laugh. + +He looked up to meet the troubled and puzzled eyes of Peter, and +laughed out loud. + +“Amber, there’s a game on,” said Peter gloomily; “there’s a dodge on, +and I’m not in it. Me that has been with you in every dodge you’ve +worked.” + +This was not exactly true, but it pleased Peter to believe that he had +some part in Amber’s many nefarious schemes. + +“It’s a Dodge _and_ a Game, my Peter,” said Amber, carefully wrapping +up the plates. “It’s this much of a game, that if the police suddenly +appeared and found these in my possession I should go down to the tombs +for seven long bright years, and you for no less a period.” + +It may have been an effect of the bad lighting of the room, but it +seemed that Peter, the desperate criminal, went a little pale at the +prospect so crudely outlined. + +“That’s a bit dangerous, ain’t it?” he said uncomfortably. “Takin’ +risks of that kind, Amber,--what is it?” + +“Forgery,” said the calm Amber, “forgery of Bank of England notes.” + +“Good gaw,” gasped Peter, and clutched the edge of the table for +support. + +“I was thinkin’ the same,” said Amber, and rose. “I am going to take +these precious articles of virtue and bigotry to a safe place,” he said. + +“Where?--be careful, ol’ man--don’t get yourself into trouble, an’ +don’t get me into trouble--after me keepin’ clear of prison all these +years,--chuck ’em into the river; borrer a boat down by Waterloo.” + +He gave his advice in hoarse whispers as Amber left the room, with a +little nod, and continued it over the crazy balustrades, as Amber went +lightly down the stairs. + +He turned into the Borough, and walked quickly in the direction of +London Bridge. He passed a policeman, who, as bad luck would have it, +knew him, and the man looked at him hard, then beckoned him. + +Amber desired many things, but the one thing in the world that he did +not wish was an interview with an inquisitorial policeman. To pass on, +pretending not to have noticed the summons, would annoy the man, so +Amber stopped, with his most winning smile. + +“Well, Mr. Amber,” bantered the constable, “I see you’re out--going +straight now?” + +“So straight, my constable,” said Amber earnestly, “that you could use +my blameless path as a T square.” He observed the quick, professional +“look over” the man gave him. The plates were showing out of his pocket +he knew, and the next remark might easily be a request for information +regarding the contents of the flat package. His eye roved for a means +of escape, and a slow-moving taxi-cab attracted him. He raised his hand +and whistled. + +“Doin’ the heavy now, are you?” asked the constable disapprovingly. + +“In a sense I am,” said Amber, and without moving he addressed the +chauffeur, who had brought his machine to the kerb. + +“I want you to take me to New Scotland Yard,” he said; then addressing +the policeman, he asked, “Do you think Chief Inspector Fell will be on +duty?” + +“Inspector Fell”--there was a note of respect in the constable’s +voice--“I couldn’t say, we don’t know very much about the Yard +people--what are you going to see him about?” + +“I am afraid I cannot appease your curiosity, my officer,” said Amber +as he stepped into the cab, “but I will inform the chief inspector that +you were anxious to know.” + +“Here, Amber, none of that!” said the alarmed policeman, stepping to +the edge of the pavement, and laying his hand upon the door. “You’re +not going to say that?” + +“Not a bit,” Amber grinned, “my little joke; honour amongst policemen, +eh?” + +The cab made a wide circle, and Amber, looking back through the little +back window, saw the policeman standing in that indefinable attitude +which expresses doubt and suspicion. + +It was a close shave, and Amber breathed a sigh of relief as the danger +slipped past. He had ten minutes to decide upon his plan. Being more +than ordinary nimble of wit, his scheme was complete before the cab ran +smoothly over Westminster Bridge and turned into New Scotland Yard. +There was an inspector behind a desk, who looked up from a report he +was writing. + +“I want to see Mr. Fell,” said Amber. + +“Name?” + +“Amber.” + +“Seem to know it,--what is the business?” + +For answer, Amber laid one hand on the polished counter that separated +him from the officer, and placed two fingers diagonally across it. + +The inspector grunted affirmatively and reached for the telephone. + +“An outside--to see Mr. Fell.... Yes.” He hung up the receiver. + +“Forty-seven,” he said; “you know your way up.” + +It happened that Amber did not possess this knowledge, but he +found no difficulty in discovering number forty-seven, which was a +reception-room. + +He had a few minutes to wait before a messenger came for him and showed +him into a plainly furnished office. + +Very little introduction is needed to Josiah Fell, who has figured +in every great criminal case during the past twenty years. A short, +thickset man, bald of forehead, with a pointed brown beard. His +nose was short and retroussé, his forehead was bald, the flesh about +his mild blue eyes was wrinkled and creased by much laughter. He was +less like the detective of fiction than the unknowledgable would dare +imagine. + +“Amber, by heavens!” said the detective. He had a habit of using strong +and unnecessary language. + +“Amber, my boy, come in and firmey la porte. Well----?” + +He unlocked a drawer and produced a box of cigars. He was always glad +to meet his “clients,” and Amber was an especial favourite of his. +Though, when he came to think about the matter, he had not met Amber +professionally. + +“You’ll have a cigar?” + +“What’s wrong with ’em?” asked Amber, cautiously selecting one. + +“Nothing much,” and as Amber lit the cheroot he had taken--“What do +you want? Confession, fresh start in life--oh! of course, you’ve got +somebody to put away; they telephoned up that you were doing outside +work.” + +Amber shook his head. + +“I told ’em that because I knew that would get me an interview without +fuss,--an old convict I met in prison gave me the sign.” + +He took the packages from his pocket and laid them on the table. + +“For me?” queried the officer. + +“For you, my Hawkshaw,” said Amber. + +The detective stripped the paper away, and uttered an exclamation as +he saw what the parcels contained. + +“Gee--Moses!” He whistled long and softly. “Not your work, Amber? +Hardly in your line, eh?” + +“Hardly.” + +“Where did you get them?” Fell looked up quickly as he asked the +question. + +“That’s the one thing I’m not going to tell you,” said Amber quietly, +“but if you want to know how I got them, I burgled an office and found +them in a safe.” + +“When?” + +“To-night.” + +The inspector pressed a bell and a policeman came into the room. + +“Send an all station message: In the event of an office burglary being +reported, keep the complainant under observation.” + +The man scribbled the message down and left. + +“I send that in case you won’t alter your mind about giving me the +information I want.” + +“I’m not likely to tell you,” said Amber decisively. “In the first +place, it won’t help you much to know where they came from, unless you +can find the factory.” The inspector nodded. “When a gang can do work +like this, they usually possess more than ordinary resources. If you +went for them you’d only bite off a bit of the tail, but the rest of +the body would go to earth quicker than money melts.” + +“I could put them under observation----” began the inspector. + +“Pouf!” said Amber scornfully, “pouf, my inspector! Observation be +blowed! They’d twig the observer in two shakes; they’d recognize his +boots, and his moustache, and his shaven chin. I know your observers. I +can pick ’em out in a crowd. No, that’s not my idea.” Amber hesitated, +and appeared to be a little ill at ease. + +“Go on, have another cigar, that will help you,” encouraged Fell, and +opened the box. + +“I thank you, but no,” said Amber firmly. “I can talk without any such +drastic inducement. What I want to say is this; you know my record?” + +“I do,” said Fell; “or I think I do, which amounts to the same thing.” + +“My Chief Inspector,” said Amber with some severity, “I beg you to +apply your great intellect to a matter which concerns me, as it +concerns you. A flippant and a careless interest in the problem I am +putting forward may very well choke the faucet of frankness which at +present is turning none too easily. In other words, I am embarrassed.” + +He was silent for awhile; then he got up from the other side of Fell’s +desk, where he had sat at the detective’s invitation, and began to pace +the room. + +“It’s common talk throughout the prisons of England that there is a +gang, a real swell gang, putting bank-notes into circulation--not only +English but foreign notes,” he began. + +“It is also common talk in less exclusive circles, Amber, my dear lad,” +said Fell dryly; “we want that gang badly.” He picked up a plate, and +held it under the light. “This looks good, but until we ‘pull’ it I +cannot tell how good.” + +“Suppose”--Amber leant over the table and spoke earnestly--“suppose it +is the work of the big gang,--suppose I can track ’em down----” + +“Well?” + +“Would you find me a billet at the Yard?” + +They looked at each other for a space of time, then the lines about +the inspector’s eyes creased and puckered, and he burst into a roar of +laughter. + +“My Chief Detective Inspector,” said Amber reproachfully, “you hurt me.” + +But Amber’s plaintive protest did not restore the detective’s gravity. +He laughed until the tears streamed down his face, and Amber watched +him keenly. + +“Oh dear!” gasped the detective, wiping his eyes. “You’re an amusing +devil--here.” He got up, took a bunch of bright keys from his pocket +and opened a cupboard in the wall. From a drawer he took a sheet of +foolscap paper, laid it on his desk and sat down. + +“Your convictions!” he scoffed. + +The paper was ruled exactly down the centre. On the left--to which the +detective pointed, were two entries. On the right there was line after +line of cramped writing. + +“Your imprisonments,” said the detective. + +Amber said nothing, only he scratched his chin thoughtfully. + +“By my reckoning,” the detective went on slowly, “you have been +sentenced in your short but lurid career to some eighty years’ penal +servitude.” + +“It seems a lot,” said Amber. + +“It does,” said the detective, and folded the paper. “So when you come +to me and suggest that you would like to turn over a new leaf; would +like, in fact, to join the criminal investigation department, I smile. +You’ve pulled my leg once, but never again. Seriously, Amber,” he went +on, lowering his voice, “can you do anything for us in this forgery +business?--the Chief is getting very jumpy about the matter.” + +Amber nodded. + +“I think I can,” he said, “if I can only keep out of prison for another +week.” + +“Try,” said Fell, with a smile. + +“I’ll try,” said Amber cheerfully. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +FRANCIS SUTTON ASKS A QUESTION + + +London never sleeps. Of the dead silence that lays over the world, the +quiet peaceful hush of all living things, London knows nothing. + +Long after the roar of the waking world dies down, there is a fitful +rumbling of traffic, a jingling of bells, as belated hansoms come +clip-clopping through the deserted streets, the whine of a fast +motor-car--then a little silence. + +A minute’s rest from world noises, then the distant shriek of a +locomotive and the staccato clatter of trucks. Somewhere, in a far-away +railway yard, with shunters’ lanterns swinging, the work of a new day +has already begun. + +A far-off rattle of slow-moving wheels, nearer and nearer--a market +cart on its way to Covent Garden; a steady tramp of feet--policemen +going to their beats in steady procession. More wheels, more shrieks, a +church clock strikes the hour, a hurrying footstep in the street.... + +All these things Lambaire heard, tossing from side to side in his +bed. All these and more, for to his ear there came sounds which had +no origin save in his imagination. Feet paused at his door; voices +whispered excitedly. He heard the click of steel, the squeak of a +key opening a handcuff. He dozed at intervals, only to sit up in bed +suddenly, the sweat pouring off him, his ears strained to catch some +fancied sound. The little clock over the fireplace ticked mercilessly, +“ten years, ten years,” until he got out of bed, and after a futile +attempt to stop it, wrapped it in a towel and then in a dressing-gown +to still its ominous prophecy. + +All night long he lay, turning over in his mind plans, schemes, methods +of escape, if escape were necessary. His bandaged head throbbed +unpleasantly, but still he thought, and thought, and thought. + +If Amber had the plates, what would he do with them? It was hardly +likely he would take them to the police. Blackmail, perhaps. That +was more in Amber’s line. A weekly income on condition he kept his +mouth shut. If that was the course adopted, it was plain sailing. +Whitey would do something, Whitey was a desperate, merciless devil.... +Lambaire shuddered--there must be no murder though. + +He had been reading that very day an article which showed that only +four per cent. of murderers in England escape detection ... if by a +miracle this blew over, he would try a straighter course. Drop the +“silver business” and the “printing business” and concentrate on the +River of Stars. That was legitimate. If there was anything shady about +the flotation of the Company, that would all be forgotten in the +splendid culmination.... De Beers would come along and offer to buy a +share; he would be a millionaire ... other men have made millions and +have lived down their shady past. There was Isadore Jarach, who had a +palatial residence off Park Lane, he was a bad egg in his beginnings. +There was another man ... what was his name...? + +He fell into a troubled sleep just as the dawn began to show faintly. A +knocking at the door aroused him, and he sprang out of bed. He was full +of the wildest fears, and his eyes wandered to the desk wherein lay a +loaded Derringer. + +“Open the door, Lambaire.” + +It was Whitey’s voice, impatiently demanding admission, and with a +trembling hand Lambaire slipped back the little bolt of the door. + +Whitey entered the room grumbling. If he too had spent a sleepless +night, there was little in his appearance to indicate the fact. + +“It’s a good job you live at an hotel,” he said. “I should have knocked +and knocked without getting in. Phew! Wreck! You’re a wreck.” + +Whitey shook his head at him disapprovingly. + +“Oh, shut up, Whitey!” Lambaire poured out a basin full of water, and +plunged his face into it. “I’ve had a bad night.” + +“I’ve had no night at all,” said Whitey, “no night at all,” he repeated +shrilly. “Do I look like a sea-sick turnip? I hope not. You in your +little bed,--me, tramping streets looking for Amber--I found him.” + +Lambaire was wiping his face on a towel, and ceased his rubbing to +stare at the speaker. + +“You didn’t----” he whispered fearfully. + +Whitey’s lips curled. + +“I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you mean,” he said shortly. “Don’t +jump, Lambaire, you’re a great man for jumping--no, I didn’t kill +him--he lives in the Borough,” he added inconsequently. + +“How did you find out?” asked Lambaire. + +“Don’t pad,” begged the other testily. “Don’t Ask Questions for the +Sake of Asking Questions,--get dressed,--we’ll leave Amber.” + +“Why?” + +Whitey put two long white fingers into his waistcoat pocket and found +a golden tooth-pick; he used this absent-mindedly, gazing through the +window with a far-away expression. + +“Lambaire,” he said, as one who speaks to himself, “drop Amber,--cut +him out. Concentrate on diamonds.” + +“That’s what I thought,” said Lambaire eagerly; “perhaps if we went out +ourselves and looked round----” + +“Go out be--blowed,” snapped Whitey. “If you see me going out to +Central Africa ... heat ... fever.... Rot! No, we’ll see the young +lady, tell her the tale; throw ourselves, in a manner of speaking, on +her mercy--I’ve fixed an interview with young Sutton.” + +“Already?” + +“Already,” said Whitey. “Got him on the ’phone.” + +“What about Amber and the plates?” + +“Blackmail,” said Whitey, and Lambaire chuckled gleefully. + +“So I thought, of course that is the idea--what about Sutton?” + +“He’s coming here to breakfast; hurry up with your dressing.” + +Half an hour later Lambaire joined him in the big lounge of the hotel. +A bath and a visit to the hotel barber had smartened him, but the +traces of his night with Conscience had not been entirely removed, and +the black silk bandage about his head gave him an unusually sinister +appearance. + +On the stroke of nine came Francis Sutton, carrying himself a little +importantly, as became an explorer in embryo, and the three adjourned +to the dining-room. + +There is a type of character which resolutely refuses to be drawn, and +Francis Sutton’s was such an one. It was a character so elusive, so +indefinite, so exasperatingly plastic, that the outline one might draw +to-day would be false to-morrow. Much easier would it be to sketch a +nebula, or to convey in the medium of black and white the changing +shape of smoke, than to give verity to this amorphous soul. + +The exact division of good and bad in him made him vague enough; +for no man is distinguished unless there is an overbalancing of +qualities. The scale must go down on the one side or the other, or, if +the adjustment of virtue and evil is so nice that the scale’s needle +trembles hesitatingly between the two, be sure that the soul in the +balance is colourless, formless, vague. + +Francis Sutton possessed a responsive will, which took inspiration from +the colour and temperature of the moment. He might start forth from +his home charged with a determination to act in a certain direction, +and return to his home in an hour or so, equally determined, but in a +diametrically opposite course, and, curiously enough, be unaware of any +change in his plans. + +Once he had come to Lambaire for an interview which was to be final. +An interview which should thrust out of his life an unpleasant +recollection (he usually found this process an easy one), and should +establish an independence of which--so he deluded himself--he was +extremely jealous. On this occasion he arrived in another mood; he came +as the approved protégé of a generous patron. + +“Now we’ve got to settle up matters,” said Lambaire as they sat +at breakfast. “The impertinence of that rascally friend of yours +completely put the matter out of my mind yesterday----” + +“I’m awfully sorry about that business,” Sutton hastened to say. “It is +just like Cynthia to get mixed up with a scoundrel like Amber. I assure +you----” + +Lambaire waved away the eager protestations with a large smile. + +“My boy,” he said generously, “say no more about it. I exonerate you +from all blame--don’t I, Whitey?” + +Whitey nodded with vigour. + +“I know Amber”--Lambaire tapped his bandaged head--“this is Amber.” + +“Good lord!” said the boy with wide-opened eyes, “you don’t mean that?” + +“I do,” said the other. “Last night, coming back to the hotel, I was +set upon by Amber and half a dozen roughs--wasn’t I, Whitey?” + +“You was,” said Whitey, who at times rose superior to grammatical +conventions. + +“But the police?” protested the young man energetically. “Surely you +could lay him by the heels?” + +Lambaire shook his head with a pained smile. + +“The police are no good,” he said, “they’re all in the swim +together--my dear boy, you’ve no idea of the corruption of the police +force; I could tell you stories that would raise your hair.” + +He discoursed at some length on the iniquities of the constabulary. + +“Now let us get to business,” he said, passing back his plate. “Have +you thought over my suggestion?” + +“I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought,” said Sutton. “I +suppose there will be a contract and all that sort of thing?” + +“Oh, certainly,--I’m glad you asked. We were talking about that very +thing this morning, weren’t we, Whitey?” + +Whitey nodded, and yawned furtively. + +“I’m afraid your sister is prejudiced against us,” Lambaire went on. +“I regret this: it pains me a little. She is under the impression that +we want to obtain possession of the plan she has. Nothing of the sort! +We do not wish to see the plan. So far as we know, the river lies +due north-west through the Alebi country. As a matter of fact,” said +Lambaire in confidence, “we don’t expect that plan to be of very much +use to you,--do we, Whitey?” + +“Yes,” said Whitey absently--“no, I mean.” + +“Our scheme is to send you out and give you an opportunity of verifying +the route.” + +They spoke in this strain for the greater part of an hour, discussing +equipment and costs, and the boy, transported on the breath of fancy +to another life and another sphere, talked volubly, being almost +incoherent in his delight. + +But still there were the objections of Cynthia Sutton to overcome. + +“A matter of little difficulty,” said the boy airily, and the two men +did not urge the point, knowing that, so far from being a pebble on the +path, to be lightly brushed aside, this girl, with her clear vision and +sane judgment, was a very rock. + +Later in the morning, when they approached the house in Warwick +Gardens, they did not share the assurance of the chattering young man +who led the way. + +Francis Sutton had pressed the knob of the electric bell, when he +turned suddenly to the two men. + +“By the way,” he said, “whose mine was this?--yours or my father’s?” + +The naïvetté of the question took Lambaire off his guard. + +“Your father discovered it,” he said, unthinkingly, and as he stopped, +Whitey came to his rescue. + +“But we floated it,” he said, in a tone that suggested that on the +score of ownership no more need be said. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +AMBER SEES THE MAP + + +Cynthia Sutton was twenty-three, and, by all standards, beautiful. Her +hair was a rich chestnut, her eyes were big, and of that shade which is +either blue or grey, according to the light in which they were seen. +Her nose was straight, her upper lip short; her lips full and red, her +skin soft and unblemished. “She has the figure of a woman, and the eyes +of a child,” said Amber, describing her, “and she asked me to come to +tea.” + +“And you didn’t go,” said Peter, nodding his head approvingly. “You +realized that your presence might compromise this innercent flower. +‘No,’ you sez to yourself, ‘no, I will go away, carrying a fragrant +memory, an’----’” + +“To be exact, my Peter,” said Amber, “I forgot all about the +appointment in the hurry and bustle of keeping out of Lambaire’s way.” + +They were sitting in the little room under the roof of 19, Redcow +Court, and the sweet song of the caged birds filled the apartment with +liquid melody. + +“No,” continued Amber thoughtfully, “I must confess to you, my Peter, +that I had none of those interestin’ conversations with myself that +your romantic soul suggests.” + +He looked at his watch. It was ten o’clock in the forenoon, and he +stared through the open window, his mind intent upon a problem. + +“I ought to see her,” he said, half to himself; he was groping for +excuses. “This business of young Sutton’s ... compass and chart ... +hidden treasures and all that sort of thing, eh, my Peter?” + +Peter’s eyes were gleaming from behind his gold-rimmed spectacles, and +his hand shook with excitement, as he rose and made his way to the +cretonne-curtained shelves. + +“I’ve got a yarn here,” he said, fumbling eagerly amongst his literary +treasures, “that will give you some ideas: money and pieces of +eight--what is a piece of eight?” He turned abruptly with the question. + +“A sovereign,” said Amber promptly, “eight half-crowns.” He was in the +mood when he said just the first thing that came into his head. + +“Um!” Peter resumed his search, and Amber watched him with the gentle +amusement that one reserves for the enthusiasm of children at play. + +“Here it is,” said Peter. + +He drew forth from a pile of books one, gaudy of colour and +reckless of design. “This is the thing,”--he dusted the paper cover +tenderly--“_Black Eyed Nick, or, The Desperado’s Dream of Ducats_; +how’s that?” + +Amber took the book from the old man and inspected it, letting the +pages run through his fingers rapidly. + +“Fine,” he said, with conviction. “Put it with my pyjamas, I’ll read +myself to sleep with it”--he spoke a little absently, for his mind was +elsewhere. + +It was a relief to him when Peter left him to “shop.” Shopping was the +one joy of Peter’s life, and usually entailed a very careful rehearsal. + +“A penn’oth of canary seed, a quarter of tea, two of sugar, four +bundles of wood, a pint of paraffin, tell the greengrocer to send me +half a hundred of coal, eggs, bit of bacon--you didn’t like the bacon +this morning, did you, Amber?--some kippers, a chop--how will a chop +suit you?--and a pound of new potatoes; I think that’s all.” + +Leaning out of the window, Amber saw him disappearing up the court, his +big rush bag gripped tightly in his hand, his aged top-hat tilted to +the back of his head. + +Amber waited until he was out of sight, then made his way to his +bedroom and commenced to change his clothes. + +A quarter of an hour later he was on his way to Warwick Gardens. + +The maid who answered his knock told him that her mistress was engaged, +but showed him into a little study. + +“Take her a note,” said Amber, and scribbled a message in his +pocket-book, tearing out the leaf. + +When the twisted slip of paper came to her, Cynthia was engaged in +a fruitless, and, so far as Lambaire was concerned, a profitless +discussion on her brother’s projected expedition. She opened the note +and coloured. “Yes,” she said with a nod to the maid, and crumpled the +note in her hand. + +“I hardly think it is worth while continuing this discussion,” she +said; “it is not a question of my approval or disapproval: if my +brother elects to take the risk, he will go, whatever my opinions are +on the subject.” + +“But, my dear young lady,” said Lambaire eagerly, “you are wrong; it +isn’t only the chart which you have placed at our disposal----” + +“At my brother’s,” she corrected. + +“It isn’t only that,” he went on, “it’s the knowledge that you are in +sympathy with our great project: it means a lot to us, ye know, Miss +Cynthia----” + +“Miss Sutton,” she corrected again. + +“It means more than you can imagine; I’ve made a clean breast of my +position. On the strength of your father’s statement about this mine, +I floated a company; I spent a lot of money on the expedition. I sent +him out to Africa with one of the best caravans that have been got +together--and now the shareholders are bothering me. ‘Where’s that +mine of yours?’ they say. Why”--his voice sank to an impressive +whisper--“they talk of prosecuting me, don’t they, Whitey?” + +“They do indeed,” said his responsive companion truthfully. + +“So it was a case of fair means or foul,” he went on. “I had to get the +plan, and you wouldn’t give it me. I couldn’t burgle your house for it, +could I?” + +He smiled pleasantly at the absurdity of taking such a course, and she +looked at him curiously. + +“It is strange that you should say that,” she replied slowly, “for +remarkably enough this house was burgled twice after my refusal to part +with the little map.” + +“Remarkable!” said Lambaire. + +“Astoundin’!” said Whitey, no less surprised. + +She rose from her chair. + +“Since the matter has been settled--so far as I have anything to do +with it,” she said, “you will excuse my presence.” + +She left the room, and Amber, sitting in the little study, heard the +swish of her skirts and rose to meet her. + +There was a touch of pink in her cheeks, but she was very grave and +self-possessed, as she favoured him with the slightest of bows and +motioned him to a seat. + +“Good of you to see me, Miss Sutton,” said Amber. + +She noted, with a little pang, that he was quite at ease. There +could be little hope for a man who was so lost to shame that he +gloried in his misspent career rather than showed some indication of +embarrassment in the presence of a woman who knew him for what he was. + +“I felt I owed you this interview at least,” she replied steadily. “I +wish----” She stopped. + +“Yes?” Amber perked his head on one side inquiringly. “You were going +to say that you wished----?” + +“It does not matter,” she said. She felt herself blushing. + +“You wish you could do something for me,” he said with a half-smile, +“but, my lady, half the good people in the world are trying to do +something for me. I am hopeless, I am incorrigible; regard me as that.” + +Nevertheless, lightly as he discussed the question of his regeneration, +he eyed her keenly to see how she would take the rejection of help. +To his relief, and somewhat to his annoyance also, be it admitted, he +observed she accepted his valuation of himself very readily. + +“I have come to see you to-day,” he went on, “in relation to a matter +which is of supreme importance to you. Do you mind answering a few +questions I put to you?” + +“I have no objection,” she said. + +“Your father was an explorer, was he not?” + +“Yes.” + +“He knew Central Africa very well?” + +“Yes--very well.” + +“He discovered a mine--a diamond mine, or something of the sort?” + +She shook her head with a smile. + +“That has yet to be proved,” she said. “He had heard, from the natives, +of a wonderful river--the River of Stars they called it, because in its +bed were stones, many of which had been polished by the action of the +water until they glittered,--they were undoubtedly diamonds, for my +father purchased a number from the people of the country.” + +Amber nodded. + +“And then I suppose he came home and got into touch with Lambaire?” + +“That is so,” she said, wondering at the course the interview was +taking. + +Amber nodded thoughtfully. + +“The rest of the story I know,” he said. “I was at pains to look up +the circumstances attending your father’s death. You received from the +Commissioner of the district a chart?” + +She hesitated. + +“I did--yes.” + +He smiled. + +“I have no designs upon the mine, but I am anxious to see the +chart--and before you refuse me, Miss Sutton, let me tell you that I am +not prompted by idle curiosity.” + +“I believe that, Mr. Amber,” she said; “if you wait, I will get it for +you.” + +She was gone for ten minutes and returned with a long envelope. From +this she extracted a soiled sheet of paper and handed it to the +ex-convict. + +He took it, and carried it to the window, examining it carefully. + +“I see the route is marked from a point called Chengli--where is that?” + +“In the Alebi forest,” she said; “the country is known as far as +Chengli; from there on, my father mapped the country, inquiring his way +from such natives as he met--this was the plan he had set himself.” + +“I see.” + +He looked again at the map, then from his pocket he took the compass he +had found in Lambaire’s safe. He laid it on the table by the side of +the map and produced a second compass, and placed the two instruments +side by side. + +“Do you observe any difference in these, Miss Sutton?” he asked, and +the girl looked carefully. + +“One is a needle compass, and on the other there is no needle,” she +said. + +“That is so; the whole of the dial turns,” Amber nodded. “Nothing +else?” he asked. + +“I can see no other difference,” she said, shaking her head. + +“Where is the north on the dial?” + +She followed the direction of the letter N and pointed. + +“Where is the north of the needle?” + +Her brows knit in a puzzled frown, for the thin delicate needle of the +smaller compass pointed ever so slightly in a more westerly direction +than its fellow. + +“What does that mean?” she asked, and their eyes met over the table. + + * * * * * + +Lambaire and his host had finished their business. Francis Sutton was +in a jubilant mood, and came into the hall with his patron. + +“You mustn’t worry about my sister,” he said; “she’ll come round to +my way of thinking after a while--she’s a woman, you know,” he added +vaguely. + +“I understand, my boy,” said the expansive Lambaire. “We both +understand, don’t we, Whitey?” + +“Certainly,” said Whitey. + +“Still, she’ll probably be annoyed if you go off without saying +good-bye,--where is your mistress, Susan?” he asked of the maid who had +come in answer to his bell. + +“In the study, sir.” + +“Come along.” He led the way to the study and opened the door. + +“Cynthia----” he began. + +They were leaning over the table; between them lay the map and the two +compasses. What Sutton saw, the other two saw; and Lambaire, sweeping +past the youth, snatched up his property. + +“So that’s the game, is it?” he hissed: he was trembling with passion; +“that’s your little game, Amber!” + +He felt Whitey’s hand grip his arm and recovered a little of his +self-possession. + +“This man is not content with attempting to blackmail,” he said, “not +content with committing a burglary at my office and stealing valuable +drawings----” + +“What does this mean, Cynthia?” + +Sutton’s voice was stern, and his face was white with anger. For the +second time Amber came to the rescue. “Allow me,” he said. + +“I’ll allow you nothing,” stormed the boy; “get out of this house +before I kick you out. I want no gaol birds here.” + +“It is a matter of taste, my Francis,” said the imperturbable Amber; +“if you stand Lambaire you’d stand anybody.” + +“I’ll settle with you later,” said Lambaire darkly. + +“Settle now,” said Amber in his most affable manner. “Mr. Sutton,” he +said, “that man killed your father, and he will kill you.” + +“I want none of your lies,” said Sutton; “there’s the door.” + +“And a jolly nice door too,” said Amber; “but I didn’t come here to +admire your fixtures: ask Lambaire to show you the compass, or one like +it, that he provided for your father’s expedition. Send it to Greenwich +and ask the astronomers to tell you how many points it is out of the +true--they will work out to a mile or so how far wrong a man may go who +made his way by it, and tried to find his way back from the bush by +short cuts.” + +“Francis, you hear this?” said the girl. + +“Rubbish!” replied the youth contemptuously. “What object could Mr. +Lambaire have had? He didn’t spend thousands of pounds to lose my +father in the bush! The story isn’t even plausible, for, unless my +father got back again to civilization with the plan, the expedition was +a failure.” + +“Exactly!” applauded Lambaire, and smiled triumphantly. + +Amber answered smile for smile. + +“It wasn’t the question of his getting back, as I understand the +matter,” he said quietly; “it was a question whether, having located +the mine, and having returned with the map, _and_ the compass, whether +anybody else would be able to locate it, or find their way to it, +without Lambaire’s Patent Compass.” + +The tangled skein of the plot was unravelled before the girl’s eyes, +and she looked from Amber to the stout Lambaire. + +“I see, I see,” she whispered. “Francis,” she cried, “don’t you +understand what it all means----” + +“I understand that you’re a fool,” he said roughly; “if you’ve finished +your lies, you can go, Amber.” + +“I have only a word to add,”--Amber picked up his hat. “If you do not +realize that Lambaire is the biggest wrong ’un outside prison--I might +add for your information that he is a notorious member of the Big Five +Gang; a forger of bank-notes and Continental securities; he has also a +large interest in a Spanish coining establishment--didn’t think I knew +it, eh, my Lambie?--where real silver half-crowns are manufactured +at a profit, thanks to the fact that silver is a drug on the market. +Beyond that I know nothing against him.” + +“There’s the door,” said Sutton again. + +“Your conversation is decidedly monotonous,” said Amber, and with a +smile and a friendly nod to the girl, he left. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE MAN IN CONVICT’S CLOTHES + + +Alphonse Lambaire was a man of many interests. + +In his forty-two years of life he had collected them as another man +might collect old prints. That he started forth at the outset, and of +perversity chose the shadier walks of life, is a supposition which need +not seriously be entertained, for it is not in accordance with the rule +of things that a man should deliberately set himself in opposition to +the laws of civilization. + +All that Amber had said of him was true, and more. + +He was a coiner in the sense that, with the notorious Señor Villitissi, +and the no less notorious companions of that sometime senator, he had +to do with the alarming increase in the silver coinage from which the +markets of the world suffered. + +It is a known fact that one “batch” of coins which was distributed in +Spain brought the rate of exchange from twenty-eight pesetas ten to +thirty-one pesetas in a month. + +There was nothing about him which suggested the strutting villain of +melodrama, yet he was a well-defined type of criminal. + +Whitey--Cornelius Josiah White, to give him the only name which ever +appeared to have a resemblance to a real name employed by him--was +a lesser man in point of originality, greater when measured by the +standards of daring and crude villainy. + +Whitey said as much one afternoon, about a week after the interview. + +“What you want, Lambaire, is Dash,” he said. “When the least little bit +of trouble comes along, instead of Swelling up to it, you get Shrunk.” + +Lambaire grunted something. + +He was in no mood for psychology. + +They were on their way to Warwick Gardens for a final interview with +Sutton and his sister. + +“After Amber’s ‘give away,’” Whitey went on, “you’d have chucked the +whole business; you would, Lambaire! You’d have chucked it for a hook +like Amber ... your big schemes too, Imperial I call ’em ... along +comes a feller fresh from gaol, a swell thief, and you start looking +round for Exits-in-case-of-Emergency.” + +“I was afraid Sutton would turn me down.” + +“Bosh!” said Whitey unsympathetically, “he couldn’t turn you down +without turning down himself: don’t you know that chaps of his age will +do anything to prove they are right?” + +“Well, the girl isn’t convinced,” objected Lambaire. + +“And never will be,” said Whitey, “you’re the Devil to her.” Lambaire’s +face went unaccountably black at this frank expression, and Whitey, +who had forgotten more about human nature than Lambaire was ever likely +to learn, was wise enough to leave the subject unpursued. + +They were admitted to the house and ushered into Sutton’s room. + +The youth sat amidst a litter of catalogues, maps, and samples of +equipment. He was sitting in his shirt sleeves, smoking a pipe, and was +obviously and most absurdly pleased with himself. + +He greeted his visitors with a cheerful smile. + +“Come in, and find a place to sit down if you can,” he invited. “I will +let Cynthia know that you are here.” He leant back and pushed a bell by +the side of the fireplace. + +“We had better fix up the question of the chart,” he said; “that +confounded man Amber has upset everything; you know how suspicious +women are, and the dear girl suspects you good people of all sorts of +sinister plans.” + +He laughed heartily at the joke of it. + +A servant appeared at the door and he sent a message to his sister. + +“I have succeeded in persuading her,” he went on, “to let me have the +chart.” + +Lambaire breathed an inward sigh of relief, and the twinkling eyes of +Whitey danced with glee. + +“It will surprise you to learn that, save for a momentary glimpse, even +I have never seen it,” he said, “and really, after all the bother that +has been made about the thing, I shall be disappointed if it is not the +most lucid of documents.” + +Cynthia Sutton came into the room at that moment. + +She favoured Lambaire with a distant bow, and ignored the extravagant +politeness of Whitey, who was the only one of the party that stood. + +Lambaire, with an eye for the beautiful, and having for the first time +leisure to observe her, noted with a pleasant feeling of surprise +that she was more than ordinarily pretty. Her features were perfectly +modelled, her eyes were large and grey, she was slender and tall, and +her every movement betrayed her supple grace. + +For the first time, Lambaire viewed her as a woman, and not as an +antagonist, and he enjoyed the experience. + +She stood by the table where her brother sat, her hands behind her, +looking down at him gravely. + +Whitey derived no small amount of satisfaction from the fact that from +where he sat he saw that in one hand she held an envelope of a large +size. He guessed that therein was the chart which had been the subject +of so much discussion. + +This proved to be the case, for without preamble, she produced two +sheets of paper. The first was a discoloured and stained little map, +drawn on thick cartridge paper. + +It was blistered by heat, and bore indications of rough treatment. The +second sheet was clean, and this she placed before her brother. + +He looked at it wonderingly, then raised his eyes to the girl’s face +with a puzzled air. + +“Yes,” she said, as in answer to his unspoken question, “this is a +copy, but I have brought the original that you may compare it.” She +laid the discoloured plan by its side. “The copy is a perfect one,” she +said. + +“But why on earth do you want a copy?” + +For answer she slipped the original into the envelope again. + +“The copy is for you,” she said, “the original I shall keep.” + +Sutton was too pleased to secure the plan to care overmuch whether it +was the original or a copy. As he pored over it insensibly the two men +were drawn to the table. + +“It is a rum-looking map--my father seems to have gone in a +half-circle.” + +“What I can’t understand is this dotted line,” said the youth, and +indicated a straight line that formed the base of an obtuse triangle, +the other two sides being formed by the travellers’ route. + +“I think this is a favourable moment to make an explanation,” said +Lambaire in his gentlest voice. He addressed himself to the girl, who +shifted her gaze from her brother’s face to his. + +“On the occasion of my last visit here,” he continued, “there was a +painful scene, which was not of my seeking. A man I can only describe +as a--a----” + +“Dangerous bloke--fellow,” said Whitey, correcting himself in some +confusion. + +“A dangerous fellow,” repeated Lambaire, “who made wild and reckless +charges against my honesty. That man, who has been an inmate of every +gaol----” + +“I do not think you need go into particulars of Mr. Amber’s career.” + +There was the faintest touch of pink in her cheeks as she changed the +course of Lambaire’s speech. + +“As you wish.” He was irritated, for he was a man of no very great gift +of speech, and he had come prepared with his explanation. “I only wish +to say this, that the man Amber spoke the truth--though his----” + +“Deductions?” suggested Whitey _sotto voce_. + +“Though his deductions were wrong: the compass your father used was a +faulty one.” + +The girl’s eyes did not leave his face. + +“It was a faulty one,” continued Lambaire, “and it was only yesterday +that I discovered the fact. There were four compasses made, two of +which your father had, and two I kept locked up in my safe.” + +“Why was that?” questioned the girl. + +“That is easily explained,” responded the other eagerly. “I knew +that even if Mr. Sutton succeeded, another expedition would be +necessary, and, as a business man, I of course bought in a businesslike +manner--one buys these instruments cheaper----” + +“By taking a quantity,” murmured Whitey. + +“In a sense,” continued Lambaire impressively, “that precaution of mine +has made this expedition of your brother’s possible. We are now able +to follow in your father’s track--for we shall work by the compass he +used.” + +He felt that his explanation was all that was necessary. More than +this, he half believed all that he had said, and felt an inexplicable +sense of satisfaction in the realization of his forethought. + +Cynthia said nothing. She had gone beyond the place where she felt the +duty or inclination to oppose her brother’s will. It could be said with +truth that her brother and his project had faded into the background, +for there had come a newer and a more astounding interest into her life. + +She did not confess as much to herself. It was the worst kind of +madness. + +A convict--with not even the romantic interest of a great conviction. A +mean larcenist, for all the polish of his address, and the gay humour +of those honest eyes of his. + +Her brother would go to the coast in search of the River of Stars. +Possibly he might find it: she was sufficiently blessed with the goods +of this world not to care whether he did or not. She would like her +father’s judgment vindicated, but here again she had no fervency of +desire to that end. + +Her father had been a vague shadow of a man, with little or no concern +with his family. His children, during the rare periods he stayed in the +same house with them, had been “noises” to be incontinently “stopped.” + +All her love had been lavished on her brother; her struggles, in +the days before the happy legacy had placed her beyond the need for +struggling, had been for his comfort and ease. She had been willingly +blind to his follies, yet had been frantic in her efforts to check +those follies from degenerating into vices.... She remembered she had +been on the verge of tears the first time she met Amber, and almost +smiled at the recollection. + +Francis would go out, and would come back again alive: she had no doubt +about this: the tiny ache in her heart had an origin foreign to the +question of her brother’s safety. + +All this passed through her mind, as she stood by the table pretending +to listen to a conversation which had become general. + +She became alert when Lambaire returned to a forbidden subject. + +“I don’t know why he has interfered,” he was saying, answering a +question Sutton had addressed to him; “that night he came into the +Whistlers----” A warning caught from Whitey brought him on to another +tack. “Well, well,” he said benevolently, “it is not for us to judge +the poor fellow, one doesn’t know what temptations assail a man: he +probably saw an opportunity for making easy money,” another cough from +Whitey, and he pulled out his watch. “I must be getting along,” he +said, “I have to meet a man at Paddington: would you care to come? I +have one or two other matters to talk over with you.” + +Sutton accepted the invitation with alacrity. + +What impelled Cynthia Sutton to take the step she did it is difficult +to say. It may have been the merest piece of feminine curiosity, a +mischievous desire to hinder the free exchange of ideas; the chances +are that another explanation might be found, for as Sutton left the +room to change his coat she turned to Lambaire and asked: + +“What is Mr. Amber’s history?” + +Lambaire smiled and glanced significantly at Whitey. + +“Not a very nice one--eh, Whitey?” + +Whitey shook his head. + +“I am a little interested,” she said; “should I be a bother to you if I +walked with you to Paddington--it is a beautiful afternoon?” + +“Madam,” said the gratified Lambaire, “I shall be overjoyed. I feel +that if I can only gain your confidence--I was saying this morning, +wasn’t I, Whitey?” + +“You were,” said the other instantly. + +“I was saying, ‘Now if I could only get Miss Cynthia----’” + +“Miss Sutton,” said Cynthia. + +“I beg your pardon, Miss Sutton, to see my point of view....” + +“I won’t promise that,” she said with a smile, as her brother returned. + +He was inclined to be annoyed when she walked ahead with his patron, +but his annoyance was certainly not shared by Lambaire, who trod on +air. + +“... Yes, I’m afraid Amber is a bad egg--a wrong ’un, ye know. He’s not +Big.” + +Her heart sank as she recognized the echo of her own thoughts. It was +absurd that the mediocrity of Amber’s criminal attainments should fill +her with numb despair, but so it was. + +“No, he’s not Big--although,” said Lambaire hastily, “I’ve no sympathy +for the Big Mob.” + +“With the----?” + +She was puzzled. + +“With the Big Mob--the high-class nuts--you know what I mean--the----” +He looked round helplessly for Whitey. + +“I think I understand,” she said. + +They walked on in silence for another five minutes. + +“Do you think that if some good influence were brought to bear on a man +like Mr. Amber----” + +“No, absolutely no, miss,” said Lambaire emphatically, “he’s the sort +of man that only gaol can reform. A friend of mine, who is Governor +of Clemstead Gaol, told me that Amber was one of the most hardened +prisoners he’d ever had--there’s no hope for a man like that.” + +Cynthia sighed. In a vague way she wondered how it came about that such +a man as she judged Lambaire to be, should have friends in the prison +service. + +“A bad lot,” said Lambaire as they turned into the station. + +On the platform Cynthia took her brother aside, whilst the other two +were making inquiries regarding the arrival of a train. + +“I shall go back to the house--I suppose you are determined to go +through with this expedition?” + +“Of course,” irritably; “for Heaven’s sake, Cynthia, don’t let us go +into this matter again.” + +She shrugged her shoulders, and was about to make some remark, when +Lambaire came hurrying along the platform, his face eloquent of triumph. + +“Look here,” he said, and beckoned. + +Wondering what could have animated this lymphatic man, she followed +with her brother. + +She turned a corner of the station building, then came to a sudden +stop, and went white to the lips. + +Under the care of two armed warders were a dozen convicts in the ugly +livery of their servitude. + +They were chained wrist to wrist, and each handcuff was fastened to the +next by a steel chain. + +Conspicuous in the foremost file was Amber, bright, cheerful, +unaffected by this ignominious situation. + +Then he saw the girl, and his eyes dropped and a scarlet flush came to +his tanned cheek. + +“My Lambaire,” he murmured, “I owe you one for this.” + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +INTRODUCES CAPTAIN AMBROSE GREY + + +“You’re for the governor, 634,” said the warder. + +“You surprise me, my warder,” said Amber ironically. + +“Less of your lip,” said the man shortly, “you’ve lost enough marks in +this month without askin’ for any further trouble.” + +Amber said nothing. He stepped out from his cell and marched ahead of +the warder down the steel stairway that led to the ground floor of the +prison hall. + +Captain Cardeen sat behind his table and greeted Amber unpleasantly. + +Exactly why he should take so vindictive an interest in his charge, +could be explained. + +“634,” said the governor, “you’ve been reported again for impertinence +to an officer of the prison.” + +Amber made no reply. + +“Because you spend half your life in prison I suppose you’ve an idea +that you’ve got a sort of proprietorial right, eh?” + +Still Amber made no reply. + +“I have tamed a few men in my time,” the governor went on, “and I don’t +doubt but that I shall tame you.” + +Amber was looking at him critically. + +“Sir,” said he, “I also am something of a tamer.” + +The governor’s face went purple, for there was an indefinable insolence +in the prisoner’s tone. + +“You scoundrel,” he began, but Amber interrupted him. + +“I am tired of prison life, my governor,” he said brusquely, “and I’ll +take a thousand to thirty you do not know what I mean: I am tired of +this prison, which is Hell with the lid off.” + +“Take him back to his cell,” roared the governor, on his feet and +incoherent with rage. “I’ll teach you, my man--I’ll have you flogged +before I’m through with you.” + +Two warders, truncheons in hand, hustled Amber through the door. They +flung rather than pushed him into the cell. A quarter of an hour later +a key turned in the door and two warders came in, the foremost dangling +a pair of bright steel handcuffs. + +Amber was prepared: he turned about obediently as they snapped the +irons about his wrist, fastening his hands behind him. It was a +favourite punishment of Captain Cardeen. + +The door clanged to, and he was left alone with his thoughts, and for +Amber, remembering his equable temperament, they were very unpleasant +thoughts indeed. + +“I’ll teach him something,” said the governor to his chief warder. “I +know something about this man--I had a letter some time ago from a +fellow-member of the Whistlers--one of my clubs, Mr. Rice--who gave me +his history.” + +“If anybody can break him, you can, sir,” said his admiring satellite. + +“I think so,” said the governor complacently. + +A warder interrupted any further exchange of views. He handed a letter +to the chief warder with a salute, and that official glanced at the +address and passed it on to his superior. + +The latter slipped his finger through the flap of the envelope and +opened it. + +The sheet of blue foolscap it contained required a great deal of +understanding, for he read it three times. + +“The bearer of this, Miss Cynthia Sutton, has permission to interview +No. 634 /c.c./ John Amber. The interview shall be a private one: no +warder is to be present.” + +It was signed with the neat signature of the Home Secretary and bore +the Home Office stamp. + +The governor looked up with bewilderment written in his face. + +“What on earth is the meaning of that?” he demanded, and passed the +paper to the chief warder. + +The latter read it and pushed back his head. + +“It’s against all regulations----” he began, but the governor broke in +impatiently. + +“Don’t talk nonsense about regulations,” he snapped. “Here is an order +from the Home Office: you can’t get behind that. Is anybody with her?” + +He addressed the question to the waiting warder. + +“Yes, sir, a gentleman from Scotland Yard--I gave you his card.” + +The card had fallen on to the floor and the governor picked it up. + +“Chief Inspector Fells,” he read, “let us have him in first.” + +A few seconds later Fells came into the room, and smiled a cheerful +greeting to the governor. + +“Perhaps you can explain the meaning of this, Mr. Fells,” said the +governor, holding the paper in his hand. + +Fells shook his head. + +“I never explain anything,” he said. “It’s the worst waste of energy +to attempt to explain the actions of your superiors--I’ve got an order +too.” + +“To see the prisoner?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +He groped in the depths of an under pocket and produced an official +envelope. + +“I have spoken to the young lady,” he said, “and she has no objection +to my seeing Mr. Amber first.” + +There was something about that “Mr.” which annoyed the governor. + +“I can understand many things,” he said irritably, “but I really cannot +understand the process of mind which induces you to refer to a convict +as ‘Mr. Amber’--a man with your experience of criminals, Inspector.” + +“Habit, sir, habit,” said Fells easily, “a slip of the tongue.” + +The governor was reading the new order, which was couched in similar +terms to that which he had already read. + +“You had better see him first,” and made a sign to the chief warder. +“The beggar has been grossly impertinent and is now undergoing a little +mild punishment.” + +“M--m--yes,” hesitated the detective; “pardon my asking, but isn’t this +the gaol where the man Gallers died?” + +“It is,” said the governor coldly; “he had a fit or a something.” + +“He was undergoing some punishment,” said Fells, in the reflective tone +of one striving to recollect a circumstance. + +“It was stated so by irresponsible people,” said the governor roughly. + +He took down his hat from a peg and put it on. “It was said he was +being punished in the same manner that Amber is--that he became ill and +was unable to ring the bell--but it was a lie.” + +“Of course,” said the polite detective. + +The governor led the way through the spotless corridors up the steel +stairs to the landing whereon Amber’s cell was situated. He turned +the key and entered, followed by the detective. Amber was sitting on +a wooden stool when the cell door opened. He did not trouble to rise +until he saw Fells. Then he got up with difficulty. + +“Now, Mr. Fells, if you have anything to say to this man, you had +better say it,” said the governor. + +“I think,” Fells spoke hesitatingly, deferentially, but none the less +emphatically, “I think I may have this interview alone--yes?” + +The governor stiffened. + +“If you would prefer it, of course,” he said grudgingly, and turned to +go. + +“Excuse me,” Fells laid his hand on the official’s arm. “I would rather +the irons were off this man.” + +“Attend to your business and allow me to attend to mine, Mr. +Inspector,” said the governor. “The code allows me the right to award +punishment.” + +“Very good, sir,” replied Fells. He waited until the door clanged and +then turned to Amber. + +“Mr. Amber,” he said, “I have been sent down from the Home Office on a +curious mission--I understand you are tired of prison?” + +“My Fells,” said Amber wearily, “I have never found prison so dull as I +do at present.” + +Fells smiled. From his pocket he produced a sheet of foolscap paper +closely covered with entries. + +“I’ve discovered your guilty secret.” He shook the paper before the +prisoner’s eyes. + +“A list of your convictions, my Amber,” he mocked, but Amber said +nothing. + +“Never, so far as I can trace, have you appeared before a judge and +jury.” He looked up, but the man in front of him was silent, and his +face was expressionless. + +“And yet,” the detective went on, “to my knowledge, you have been +committed to seventeen gaols, on seventeen distinct and separate +orders, each signed by a judge and countersigned by the Home Office....” + +He waited, but Amber offered no comment. + +“In 1901, you were committed to Chengford Gaol on an order signed at +Devizes. I can find no record of your having been brought before a +court of any description at Devizes.” + +Still Amber did not speak, and the inspector went on slowly and +deliberately. + +“At the time of your committal to Chengford, there had been all sorts +of stories current about the state of affairs in the gaol. There had +been a mutiny of prisoners, and allegations of cruelty against the +governor and the warders.” + +“I remember something about it,” said Amber carelessly. + +“You were admitted on May 10. On August 1 you were released on an order +from the Home Office. On August 3 the governor, the assistant governor +and the chief warder were summarily suspended from their duties and +were eventually dismissed from the prison service.” + +He looked at Amber again. + +“You surprise me,” said Amber. + +“Although you were released in August, and was apparently a free +man, you arrived in the custody of warders at the Preston Convict +Establishment on September 9. There had been some trouble at Preston, I +believe.” + +“I believe there was,” said Amber gravely. + +“This time,” the detective continued, “it was on an order from the Home +Office ‘to complete sentence.’ You were six months in Preston Prison, +and after you left, three warders were suspended for carrying messages +to prisoners.” + +He ran his fingers down the paper. + +“You weren’t exactly a mascot to these gaols, Mr. Amber,” he said +ironically, “you left behind you a trail of casualties--and nobody +seems to have connected your presence with gaps in the ranks.” + +A slow smile dawned on Amber’s face. + +“And has my chief inspector come amblin’ all the way from London to +make these startlin’ and mysterious communications?” + +The detective dropped his banter. + +“Not exactly, Mr. Amber,” he said, and the note of respect came to his +voice which had so unaccountably irritated the governor. “The fact is, +you’ve been lent.” + +“Lent?” Amber’s eyebrows rose. + +“You’ve been lent,” repeated the detective. “The Home Office has lent +you to the Colonial Office, and I am here to effect the transfer.” + +Amber twiddled his manacled hands restlessly. + +“I don’t want to go out of England just now,” he began. + +“Oh yes, you do, Mr. Amber; there’s a River of Stars somewhere in the +world, and a cargo of roguery on its way to locate it.” + +“So they’ve gone, have they?” + +He was disappointed and did not attempt to disguise the fact. + +“I hoped that I should be out in time to stop ’em, but that racket has +nothing to do with the Colonial Office.” + +“Hasn’t it?” + +Fells went to the wall where the prisoner’s bell was, and pushed it. +Two minutes later the door swung open. + +“There’s another visitor, who will explain,” he said, and left the +exasperated Amber muttering rude things about government departments in +general and the Home Office in particular. + +In ten minutes the door opened again. + +Amber was not prepared for his visitor, and as he sprang awkwardly +to his feet, he went alternately red and white. The girl herself was +pale, and she did not speak until the door closed behind the warders. +That brief space of time gave Amber the opportunity to recover his +self-possession. + +“I fear that I cannot offer you the courtesies that are due to you,” he +said. “For the moment my freedom of movement is somewhat restricted.” + +She thought he referred to his presence in prison, and half smiled +at the politeness of a speech so out of all harmony with the grim +surroundings. + +“You are probably surprised to see me, Mr. Amber,” she said. “It was +in desperation that I went to the Home Office to endeavour to secure an +interview with you--there is no one else in the world knows so much of +this expedition and the men who have formed it.” + +“Did you find any difficulty in obtaining permission?” There was an odd +twinkle in Amber’s eye which she did not observe. + +“None--or almost none,” she said. “It was very wonderful.” + +“Not so wonderful, my lady,” said Amber. “I’m an old client: anything +to oblige a regular customer.” + +She was looking at him with pain in her eyes. + +“Please--please don’t talk like that,” she said in a low voice. “You +rather hurt me: I want to feel that you are not beyond--help, and when +you talk so flippantly and make so light of your--trouble, it does +hurt, you know.” + +He dropped his eyes and, for the matter of that, so did she. + +“I am sorry,” he said in a quieter tone, “if I have bothered you: any +worry on your part has been unnecessary, not,” he added with a touch of +the old Amber, “that I have not been worth worrying about, but you have +not quite understood the circumstances. Now please tell me why you wish +to see me; there is a stool--it is not very comfortable, but it is the +best I can offer you.” + +She declined the seat with a smile and began her story. + +Her brother had sailed, so also had Lambaire and Whitey, taking with +them a copy of the chart. + +“I have not worried very much about the expedition,” she said, “because +I thought that my father’s map was sufficiently accurate to lead them +to this fabulous river. The Colonial Office officials, whom my brother +saw, took this view also.” + +“Why did he see them?” demanded Amber. + +“To get the necessary permission to prospect in British territory--it +is a Crown possession, you know. After my brother had arrived in +Africa, and I had received a cable to that effect, I had an urgent +message from the Colonial Office, asking me to take the chart to +Downing Street. I did so, and they made a careful examination of it, +measuring distances and comparing them on another map.” + +“Well?” + +“Well,” she shrugged her shoulders, “the expedition is futile: if the +River of Stars is not in Portuguese territory, it has no existence at +all.” + +“Isn’t it in British territory?” + +“No, it is well over the border-line that marks the boundary between +British and Portuguese West Africa.” + +Amber was puzzled. + +“What can I do?” he asked. + +“Wait,” she went on rapidly, “I have not told you all, for if my +father’s map is true, the River of Stars is a fable, for they +definitely located the spot indicated in his map, and there is neither +forest nor river there, only a great dry plateau.” + +“You told them about the false compass?” + +“Lambaire was very frank to me before Francis sailed. He showed me the +false and the true and I saw for myself the exact deflection; what is +more, I took careful notice of the difference, and it was on this that +the Colonial Office worked out its calculations. A cable has been sent +to stop my brother, but he has already left the coast with the two men +and is beyond the reach of the telegraph.” + +“Have you got the map with you?” + +She took the soiled chart from her bag and offered it to him. He did +not take it, for his hands were still behind him, and suddenly she +understood why and flushed. + +“Open it and let me see, please.” + +He studied it carefully: then he said, “By the way, who told the +Colonial Office that I knew all about this business--oh, of course, you +did.” + +She nodded. + +“I did not know what to do--I have lost my father in that country--for +the first time I begin to fear for my brother--I have nobody to whom I +can appeal for advice....” + +She checked herself quickly, being in a sudden terror lest this thief +with his shaven head and his steel-clamped wrists should discover how +big a place he held in her thoughts. + +“There is something wrong, some mystery that has not been unravelled: +my father was a careful man and could not have made a mistake: all +along we knew that the river was in British territory.” + +“The boundary may have been altered,” suggested Amber. But she shook +her head. + +“No, I asked that question: it was demarcated in 1875, and has not been +altered.” + +Amber looked again at the map, then at the girl. + +“I will see you to-morrow,” he said. + +“But----” She looked at him in astonishment. + +“I may not be able to get permission to-morrow.” + +A key turned in the lock and the heavy door opened slowly. Outside was +the governor with a face as black as thunder, the chief warder and +Fells. + +“Time’s up,” said the governor gruffly. Amber looked at the detective +and nodded; then called authoritatively to the prison chief. + +“Take these handcuffs off, Cardeen,” he said. + +“What----!” + +“Give him the order, Fells,” said Amber, and the detective obediently +handed a paper to the bewildered man. + +“You are suspended from duty,” said Amber shortly, “pending an inquiry +into your management of this gaol. I am Captain Ambrose Grey, one of +His Majesty’s inspectors of prisons.” + +The chief warder’s hands were shaking horribly as he turned the key +that opened the hinged bar of the handcuffs. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +AMBER SAILS + + +Amber went down to Southampton one cheerless day in December, when +a grey, sad mist lay on the waters, and all that was land spoke of +comfort, of warm, snug chimney corners and drawn curtains, and all the +sea was hungry dreariness. + +He did not expect to see Cynthia when he came to Waterloo, for he had +taken a shaky farewell the night before.... She had been irritatingly +calm and self-composed, so matter-of-fact in her attitude, that the +words he had schooled himself to say would not come. + +He was busily engaged composing a letter to her--a letter to be posted +before the ship sailed--and had reached the place where in one sketchy +sentence he was recounting his worldly prospects for her information, +when she came along the train and found him. + +An awkward moment for Amber--he was somewhat incoherent--remarked on +the beauty of the day oblivious of the rain that splashed down upon the +carriage window--and was conventionally grateful to her for coming to +see him off. + +He could not have been lucid or intelligent, for he caught her +smiling--but what is a man to say when his mind is full of thoughts +too tremendous for speech, and his tongue is called upon to utter the +pleasantries of convention? + +All too quickly it seemed, the guard’s whistle shrilled. “Oh, hang it!” +Amber jumped up. “I am sorry--I wanted to say---- Oh, dash it!” + +She smiled again. + +“You will have plenty of time,” she said quietly. “I am going to +Southampton.” + +An overjoyed and thankful man sank back on to his seat as the +train drew out of the station. What he might have said is easy to +imagine. Here was an opportunity if ever there was one. He spoke +about the beauty of the day--she might have thought him rude but for +understanding. He spent half an hour explaining how the hatters had +sent him a helmet two sizes larger than necessary and gave her a +graphic picture of how he had looked. + +She was politely interested.... + +Too quickly the train rattled over the points at Eastleigh and slowed +for Southampton town. It was raining, a thin cold drizzle of rain that +blurred the windows and distorted the outlines of the buildings through +which the train passed slowly on its way to the docks. + +Amber heaved a long sigh and then, observing the glimmer of amusement +in the girl’s eyes, smiled also. + +“Rank bad weather, my lady,” he said ruefully, “heaven’s weepin’, +England in mourning at the loss of her son, and all that sort of thing.” + +“She must bear her troubles,” said the girl mockingly, and Amber +marvelled that she could be so cheerful under such distressing +circumstances--for I fear that Amber was an egotist. + +In the great barnlike shed adjoining the quayside they left the +carriage and made their way across the steaming quay to the gangway. + +“We will find a dry place,” said Amber, “and I will deposit you in +comfort whilst I speak a few kindly words to the steward.” He left her +in the big saloon, and went in search of his cabin. + +He had other matters to think about--the important matters; matters +affecting his life, his future, his happiness. Now if he could only +find a gambit--an opening. If she would only give him a chance of +saying all that was in his heart. Amber, a young man remarkably +self-possessed in most affairs of life, tossed wildly upon a +tempestuous sea of emotion, in sight of land, with a very life-line at +hand to bring him to a place of safety, yet without courage to grasp +the line or put the prow of his boat to shore. + +“For,” he excused, “there may be rocks that way, and it is better to be +uncomfortable at sea than drowned on the beach.” + +Having all these high matters to fill his mind, he passed his +cabin twice, missed his steward and found himself blundering into +second-class accommodation amongst shivering half-caste folk before he +woke up to the fact that his errand was still unperformed. + +He came back to the saloon to find it empty, and a wild panic came on +him. She had been tired of waiting--there was an early train back to +town and she had gone. + +He flew out on to the deck, ran up and down companionways innumerable, +sprinted along the broad promenade deck to the amazement of stolid +quartermasters, took the gangway in two strides and reached the damp +quay, then as quickly came back to the ship again to renew his search. + +What a hopeless ass he was! What a perfect moon-calf! A picture of +tragic despair, he came again to the saloon to find her, very cool and +very dry--which he was not. + +“Why, you are wet through,” was her greeting. Amber smiled sheepishly. + +“Yes, lost a trunk, you know, left on the quay--just a little rain--now +I want to say something----” He was breathless but determined as he sat +beside her. + +“You are to go straight to your cabin and change your clothes,” she +ordered. + +“Don’t worry about that, I----” + +She shook her head. + +“You must,” she said firmly, “you will catch all sorts of things, +besides you look funny.” + +A crowning argument this, for men will brave dangers and suppress all +manner of heroic desires, but ridicule is a foe from which they flee. + +He had an exciting and passionate half-hour, unlocking trunks, and +dragging to light such garments as were necessary for the change. +For the most part they lay at the bottom of each receptacle and were +elusive. He was hot and dishevelled, when with fingers that shook from +agitation he fastened the last button and closed the door on the chaos +in his cabin. + +There was a precious half-hour gone--another was to be sacrificed to +lunch--for the ship provided an excellent déjeuner for the passengers’ +friends, and my lady was humanly hungry. + +When he came to the covered promenade deck the mails were being run on +board, which meant that in half an hour the bell would ring for all who +were not travelling to go on shore, and the blessed opportunity which +fate had thrown in his way would be lost. + +She seemed more inclined to discuss the possibility of his reaching her +brother--a pardonable anxiety on her part, but which, unreasonably, +he resented. Yet he calmed himself to listen, answering more or less +intelligently. + +He writhed in silent despair as the minutes passed, and something like +a groan escaped from him as the ship’s bell clanged the familiar signal. + +He rose, a little pale. + +“I am afraid this is where we part,” he said unsteadily, “and there +were one or two things I wanted to say to you.” + +She sprang up, a little alarmed, he thought--certainly confused, if he +judged rightly by the pink and white that came to her cheek. + +“I wanted to say--to ask you--I am not much of a fellow as fellows go, +and I dare say you think I am a----” He had too many openings to this +speech of his and was trying them all. + +“Perhaps you had better wait,” she said gently. + +“I intended writing to you,” he went on, “as soon as we touched Sierra +Leone--in fact, I was going to write from here.” A quartermaster came +along the deck. “Any more for the shore?” He glanced inquiringly at the +pair. “Last gangway’s bein’ pulled off, m’am.” + +Amber looked hopelessly down at her. Then he sighed. + +“I am afraid I shall have to write after all,” he said ruefully, and +laughed. + +Her smile answered his, but she made no movement. + +Again the bell clanged. + +“Unless you want to be taken on to the Alebi Coast,” he said, half +jestingly, “you will have to go ashore.” + +Again she smiled. + +“I want to be taken out to the Alebi Coast,” she said, “that is what I +have paid my passage money for.” + +Amber was wellnigh speechless. + +“But--you can’t--your luggage?” + +“My luggage is in my cabin,” she said innocently; “didn’t you know I +was coming with you?” + +Amber said nothing, his heart being too full for words. + + * * * * * + +When they were five days out, and the sugar-loaf mountain of Teneriffe +was sinking behind them, Amber awoke to the gravity of the situation. + +“I’ve been a selfish pig,” he said; “if I’d had the heart to do it I +could have persuaded you to leave the ship at Santa Cruz--you ought not +to come.” + +“_J’y suis--J’y reste!_” she said lazily. She was stretched on a wicker +lounge chair, a dainty picture from the tip of her white shoes to the +crown of her pretty head. + +“I’m an explorer’s daughter,” she went on half seriously, “you have to +remember that, Captain Grey.” + +“I’d rather you called me Amber,” he said. + +“Well, Mr. Amber,” she corrected, “though it seems a little familiar; +what was I saying?” + +“You were boasting about your birth,” he said. He pulled a chair to her +side--“and we were listening respectfully.” + +She did not speak for some time, her eyes following the dancing +wavelets that slipped astern as the ship pushed through the water. + +“It is a big business, isn’t it?” she said suddenly. “This country +killed my father--it has taken my brother----” + +“It shall not take you,” he said between his teeth. “I’ll have no folly +of that kind; you must go back. We shall meet the homeward Congo boat +at Grand Bassam and I shall transfer you----” + +She laughed out loud, a long low laugh of infinite amusement. + +“By force, I suppose,” she rallied him, “or wrapped up in canvas +labelled ‘Stow away from boilers.’ No, I am going to the base of +operations--if no further. It is my palaver--that is the right word, +isn’t it?--much more than yours.” + +She was wholly serious now. + +“I suppose it is,” he said slowly, “but it’s a man’s palaver, and a +nasty palaver at that. Before we catch up to Lambaire and his party +even----” He hesitated. + +“Even if we do,” she suggested quietly; and he nodded. + +“There is no use in blinking possibilities,” he went on. His little +drawl left him and the gentleness in his voice made the girl shiver. + +“We have got to face the worst,” he said. “Lambaire may or may not +believe that the River of Stars is in Portuguese territory. His object +in falsifying the compass may have been to hoodwink the British +Government into faith in his bona fides--you see, we should have +believed your father, and accepted his survey without question.” + +“Do you think that was the idea?” she asked. + +Amber shook his head. + +“Frankly, no. My theory is that the compass was faked so that your +father should not be able to find the mine again: I think Lambaire’s +idea was to prevent the plans from being useful to anybody else but +himself--if by chance they fell into other hands.” + +“But why take Francis?” she asked in perplexity. + +“The only way they could get the plan--anyway their position was +strengthened by the inclusion of the dead explorer’s son.” + +This was the only conversation they had on the subject. At Sierra Leone +they transferred their baggage to the _Pinto Colo_, a little Portuguese +coasting steamer, and then followed for them a leisurely crawl along +the coast, where, so it seemed, at every few miles the ship came to an +anchor to allow of barrels of German rum to be landed. + +Then one morning, when a thick white mist lay on the oily water, they +came to an anchor off a low-lying coast--invisible from the ship--which +was the beginning of the forbidden territory. + +“We have arrived,” said Amber, an hour later, when the surf-boat was +beached. He turned to a tall thin native who stood aloof from the crowd +of boatmen who had assisted at the landing. + +“Dem Consul, he lib...?” + +“Massa,” said the black man impressively, “him lib for bush one +time--dem white man him lib for bush, but dem bush feller he chop um +one time, so Consul him lib for bush to hang um bush feller.” + +To the girl this was so much gibberish, and she glanced from the native +to Amber, who stood alert, his eyelids narrow, his face tense. + +“How you call um, them white man who go dead?” he asked. + +Before the man could answer something attracted his attention and he +looked up. There was a bird circling slowly above him. + +He stretched out his arms and whistled softly, and the bird dropped +down like a stone to the sandy beach, rose with an effort, waddled a +step or two and fell over, its great crop heaving. + +The native lifted it tenderly--it was a pigeon. Round one red leg, +fastened by a rubber band, was a thin scrap of paper. Amber removed the +tissue carefully and smoothed it out. + + “To O. C. Houssas. + + “Messrs. Lambaire and White have reached Alebi Mission Station. They + report having discovered diamond field and state Sutton died fever + month ago. + + (Signed) H. SANDERS.” + +He read it again slowly, the girl watching with a troubled face. + +“What does it say?” she asked. + +Amber folded the paper carefully. + +“I do not think it was intended for us,” he said evasively. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +IN THE FOREST + + +In the K’hassi backland three men sat at chop. The sun was going down, +and a log fire such as the native will build on the hottest day sent up +a thin straight whisp of smoke. + +The stout man in the soiled ducks was Lambaire, the thin man with the +yellow unshaven face was Whitey. He was recovering from his second +attack of fever, and the hand that he raised to his mouth shook +suggestively. Young Sutton was a sulky third. + +They did not speak as they disposed of the unpalatable river fish which +their headman had caught for them. Not until they had finished and had +strolled down to the edge of the river, did they break the silence. + +“This is the end of it,” said Lambaire thickly. + +Whitey said nothing. + +“Three thousand pounds this expedition has cost, and I don’t know how +many years of my life,” Lambaire continued, “and we’re a thousand miles +from the coast.” + +“Four hundred,” interrupted Whitey impatiently, “and it might as well +be four thousand.” + +There was a long pause in the conversation. + +“Where does this river lead to?” asked Lambaire; “it must go somewhere.” + +“It goes through a fine cannibal country,” said Whitey grimly; “if +you’re thinking of a short cut to the sea leave out the river.” + +“And there’s no River of Stars--no diamonds: a cursed fine explorer +that father of yours, Sutton.” He said this savagely, but the boy with +his head on his knees, looking wistfully at the river, made no reply. + +“A cursed fine explorer,” repeated Lambaire. + +Sutton half turned his head. “Don’t quarrel with me,” he said drearily, +“because if you do----” + +“Hey! if I do?” Lambaire was ripe for quarrelling with anybody. + +“If you do, I’ll shoot you dead,” said the boy, and turned his head +again in the direction of the river. + +Lambaire’s face twitched and he half rose--they were sitting on the +river bank. “None o’ that talk, none o’ that talk, Sutton,” he growled +tremulously; “that’s not the sort o’----” + +“Oh, shut up!” snarled Whitey, “we don’t want your jabber, Lambaire--we +want a way out!” + +A way out! This is what the search for the river had come to: this was +the end of four months’ wandering, every day taking them farther and +farther into the bush; every week snapped one link that held them to +civilization. They had not reached the Portuguese border, because, +long before they had arrived within a hundred miles of the frontier, it +was apparent that the map was all wrong. There had been little villages +marked upon it which they had not come by: once when a village had +been traced, and a tribal headquarters located, they had discovered, +as other African travellers had discovered, that a score of villages +bearing the same name might be found within a radius of a hundred miles. + +And all the time the little party, with its rapidly diminishing band +of carriers, was getting farther and farther into the bush. They had +parleyed with the Alebi folk, fought a running fight with the bush +people of the middle forest, held their camp against a three-day attack +of the painted K’hassi, and had reached the dubious security which the +broken-spirited slave people of the Inner Lands could offer. + +And the end of it was that the expedition must turn back, passing +through the outraged territories they had forced. + +“There is no other way,” persisted Lambaire. Whitey shook his head. + +A singularly futile ending to a great expedition. I am following the +train of thought in Sutton’s mind as he gloomed at the river flowing +slowly past. Not the way which such expeditions ended in books. Cynthia +would laugh, he shuddered. Perhaps she would cry, and have cause, +moreover. + +And that thief man, Amber; a rum name, Amber--gold, diamonds. No +diamonds, no River of Stars: the dream had faded. This was a river. +It slugged a way through a cannibal land, it passed over hundreds of +miles of cataracts and came to the sea ... where there were ships that +carried one to England ... to London. + +He sprang up. “When shall we start?” he asked dully. + +“Start?” Lambaire looked up. + +“We’ve got to go back the way we came,” said the boy. “We might as well +make a start now--the carriers are going--two went last night. We’ve no +white man’s food; we’ve about a hundred rounds of ammunition apiece.” + +“I suppose we can start to-morrow,” he said listlessly. + + * * * * * + +Before the sun came up, a little expedition began its weary march +coastward. + +For three days they moved without opposition; on the fourth day they +came upon a hunting regiment of the K’hassi--an ominous portent, for +they had hoped to get through the K’hassi country without any serious +fighting. The hunting regiment abandoned its search for elephant and +took upon itself the more joyous task of hunting men. + +Fortunately the little party struck the open plain which lies to the +westward of the K’hassi land proper, and in the open they held the +enemy at bay. On the fifth day their headman, marching at the rear of +the sweating carriers, suddenly burst into wild and discordant song. +Sutton and Whitey went back to discover the reason for the outburst, +and the man with a chuckle told them that he had seen several devils. +That night the headman took a billet of wood, and creeping stealthily +upon a carrier with whom he had been on perfectly friendly terms, +smashed his skull. + +“It is sleeping sickness,” said Sutton. + +The three white men were gathered near the tree to which the mad +headman was bound--not without a few minor casualties among the +carriers. + +“What can we do?” fretted Lambaire. “We can’t leave him--he would +starve, or he might get free--that’s worse.” + +Eventually they let the problem stand over till the morning, setting a +guard to watch the lunatic. + +The carriers were assembled in the morning under a new headman, and the +caravan marched, Whitey remaining behind. Lambaire, marching in the +centre of the column, heard the sharp explosion of a revolver, and then +after a pause another. He shuddered and wiped his moist forehead with +the back of his hand. + +Soon Whitey caught up with the party--Whitey, pallid of face, with his +mouth trembling. + +Lambaire looked at him fearfully. + +“What did you do?” he whispered. + +“Go on, go on,” snarled the other. “You are too questioning, Lambaire; +you are too prying--you know damn’d well what I have done. Can’t leave +a nigger to starve to death--hey? Got to do something?” His voice rose +to a shrill scream, and Lambaire, shaking his head helplessly, asked no +more. + +In romances your rascal is so thorough paced a rascal that no good may +be said of him, no meritorious achievement can stand to his credit. +In real life great villains can be heroic. Lambaire was naturally a +coward--he was all the greater hero that he endured the rigours of +that march and faced the dangers which every new day brought forth, +uncomplainingly. + +They had entered the Alebi country on the last long stage of the +journey, when the great thought came to Lambaire. He confided to +nobody, but allowed the matter to turn over in his mind two whole days. + +They came upon a native village, the inhabitants of which were friendly +disposed to the strange white men, and here they rested their weary +bodies for the space of three days. + +On the evening of the second day, as they sat before a blazing +fire--for the night air had a nip even in equatorial Africa--Lambaire +spoke his mind. + +“Does it occur to you fellows what we are marching towards?” he asked. + +Neither answered him. Sutton took a listless interest in the +conversation, but the eyes of Whitey narrowed watchfully. + +“We are marching to the devil,” said Lambaire impressively. “I am +marching to the bankruptcy court, and so are you, Whitey. Sutton is +marching to something that will make him the laughing-stock of London; +and,” he added slowly, watching the effect of his words, “that will +make his father’s name ridiculous.” + +He saw the boy wince, and went on: + +“Me and Whitey floated a Company--got money out of the public--diamond +mine--brilliant prospects and all that sort of thing--see?” + +He caught Whitey nodding his head thoughtfully, and saw the puzzled +interest in Sutton’s face. + +“We are going back----” + +“If we get back,” murmured Whitey. + +“Don’t talk like a fool,” snapped Lambaire. “My God, you make me sick, +Whitey; you spoil everything! Get back! Of course we will get back--the +worst of the fighting is over. It’s marchin’ now--we are in reach of +civilization----” + +“Go on--go on,” said Whitey impatiently, “when we get back?” + +“When we do,” said Lambaire, “we’ve got to say, ‘Look here, you +people--the fact of it is----’” + +“Making a clean breast of the matter,” murmured Whitey. + +“Making a clean breast of the matter--‘there’s no mine.’” + +Lambaire paused, as much to allow the significance of the situation to +sink into his own mind as into the minds of the hearers. + +“Well?” asked Whitey. + +“Well,” repeated the other, “why should we? Look here!”--he leant +forward and spoke rapidly and with great earnestness--“what’s to +prevent our saying that we have located the diamond patch, eh? We can +cut out the river--make it a dried river bed--we have seen hundreds of +places where there are rivers in the wet season. Suppose we get back +safe and sound with our pockets full of garnets and uncut diamonds--I +can get ’em in London----” + +Whitey’s eyes were dancing now; no need to ask him how the ingenious +plan appealed to him. But Sutton questioned. + +The young man’s face was stiff with resentment. “You are mad, +Lambaire,” he said roughly. “Do you think that I would go back and lie? +Do you imagine that I would be a party to a fraud of that kind--and +lend my father’s name and memory to it? You are mad.” + +Neither man had regarded him as a serious factor in the expedition +and its object. They did not look for opposition from one whom they +had regarded more or less as a creature. Yet such opposition they had +to meet, opposition that grew in strength with every argument they +addressed to him. + +Men who find themselves out of touch with civilization are apt to take +perverted moral views, and before they had left the friendly village +both Whitey--the saner of the pair--and Lambaire had come to regard +themselves as ill-used men. + +Sutton’s ridiculous scruples stood between them and fortunes; this +crank by his obstinacy prevented their reaping the reward of their +industry. At the end of a week--a week unrelieved by the appearance of +a danger which might have shaken them to a clarity of thought--Sutton +was outcast. Worse than that, for him, he developed a malignant form of +malaria, and the party came to a halt in a big clearing of the forest. +Here, near a dried watercourse, they pitched their little camp, being +induced to the choice by the fact that water was procurable a few feet +below the surface. + +Lambaire and Whitey went for a walk in the forest. Neither of them +spoke, they each knew the mind of the other. + +“Well?” said Whitey at last. + +Lambaire avoided his eye. + +“It means ruin for us--and there’s safety and a fortune if he’d be +sensible.” + +Again a long silence. + +“Is he bad?” asked Lambaire suddenly, and the other shrugged his +shoulders. + +“No worse than I’ve been half a dozen times. It’s his first attack of +fever.” + +There was another long pause, broken by Whitey. + +“We can’t carry him--we’ve got two carriers, and there’s another fifty +miles to go before we reach a mission station--so the carriers say.” + +They walked aimlessly up and down, each man intent on his own thoughts. +They spoke no more, but returned to their little camp, where a +semi-delirious youth moaned and fretted querulously, talking in the +main to himself. + +Lambaire stood by him, looking down at the restless figure; then he +went in search of Whitey. + +“This thing has got to be done regularly,” he said, and produced a +note-book. “I trust you, Whitey, and you trust me--but we will have it +down in black and white.” + +The two memorandums were drawn up in identical terms. Whitey demurred, +but signed.... + +Before the accustomed hour, Whitey woke the coast boy who acted as +interpreter and was one of the two remaining carriers. + +“Get up,” he said gruffly; “get them guns on your head and move +quickly.” + +The native rose sleepily. The fire was nearly out, and he gave it a +kick with his bare foot to rouse it to flame. + +“None of that,” fumed Whitey--he was in an unusual mood. “Get the other +man, and trek.” + +The little party went silently along the dark forest path, the native +leading the way with a lantern as protection against possible attacks +from wild beasts. + +He stopped of a sudden and turned to Lambaire, who shuffled along in +his rear. + +“Dem young massa, I no lookum.” + +“Go on,” said Whitey gruffly. “Dem massa he die one time.” + +The native grunted and continued his way. Death in this land, where men +rise up hale in the morning and are buried in sunset, was not a great +matter. + +They halted at daybreak to eat the meal which was usually partaken of +before marching. + +The two white men ate in silence--neither looking at the other. + +Not until the forest was flooded with the rising sunlight did Whitey +make any reference to the events of the night. + +“We couldn’t leave a nigger behind to starve--and I am cursed if we +haven’t left a white man,” he said, and swore horribly. + +“Don’t do it--don’t say it,” implored Lambaire, raising his big hand in +protest; “we couldn’t--we couldn’t do what we did ... you know ... what +we did to the madman.... Be sensible, Whitey ... he’s dead.” + +Three days later they reached an outlying mission station, and a +heliograph message carried the news of their arrival to a wandering +district commissioner, who was “working” a country so flat that +heliographic communication was not possible with the coast. + +But he had a basket full of carrier pigeons. + + * * * * * + +Three weeks’ rest, soft beds to lie upon, Christian food to eat, and +the use of a razor, make all the difference in the world to men of +Lambaire’s type. He had a convenient memory. He forgot things easily. +There came to the mission station a small keen-faced man in khaki, the +redoubtable Commissioner Sanders, who asked questions, but in view +of the debilitated condition of the mission guests did not press for +information. He heard without surprise that the River of Stars had been +discovered,--he gathered from the vague description the men gave him +of the locality where the discovery had been made that the new diamond +field was in British territory--he was disappointed but did not show it. + +For no man charged with the well-being of native peoples welcomes the +discovery of precious stones or metal in his dominion. Such wealth +means wars and the upheaval of new forces. It means the end of a +regular condition, and the super-imposition of a hasty civilization. + +There have been critics who asked why the Commissioner then and +there did not demand a view of the specimens that Lambaire and his +confederate brought from the mythical mine. But Sanders, as I have +explained elsewhere, was a simple man who had never been troubled +with the administration of a mineralized region, and frankly had no +knowledge as to what a man ought to do in the circumstances. + +“When did Sutton die?” he asked, and they told him. + +“Where?” + +Here they were at fault, for the spot indicated was a hundred miles +inland. + +Sanders made a rapid calculation. + +“It must be nearer than that,” he said. “You could not have marched to +the mission station in the time.” + +They admitted possibility of error and Sanders accepted the admission, +having some experience in the unreliability of starved men’s memory. + +He questioned the carriers, and they were no more explicit. + +“Master,” said the headman, speaking in the riverian dialect, “it was +at a place where there are four trees all growing together, two being +of camwood and one of copal.” + +Since the forests of the Alebi are mainly composed of camwood and gum, +the Commissioner was no wiser. + +A fortnight after this conversation, Lambaire and Whitey reached the +little coast town where Sanders had his headquarters. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +A HANDFUL O’ PEBBLE + + +To walk into a room in West Central Africa with your mind engaged +on such matters as occupied the minds of Lambaire and Whitey, and +to come suddenly upon a man whom you thought was picking oakum in a +county gaol, is somewhat disconcerting. Such was the experience of +the two explorers. There was a dramatic pause as Amber rose from the +Commissioner’s lounge chair. + +They looked at him, and he looked at them in silence. The mocking smile +which they had come to know so well was missing from his face. He was +wholly serious. + +“Hullo,” growled Lambaire. “What is the meaning of this?” + +It was not a striking question. For the moment Amber did not speak. The +three were alone in the Commissioner’s bungalow. He motioned them to +seats, and they sat immediately, hypnotized by the unexpectedness of +the experience. “What have you done with Sutton?” asked Amber quietly. + +They did not answer him, and he repeated the question. + +“He’s dead,” said Whitey. His voice was unnecessarily loud. “He’s +dead--died of fever on the march. It was very sad; he died ... of +fever.” + +For the first time in his life Whitey was horribly frightened. There +was a curious note of command in Amber’s tone which was difficult to +define. It seemed as though this convict had suddenly assumed the +function of judge. Neither Whitey nor Lambaire could for the moment +realize that the man who demanded information was one whom they had +seen handcuffed to a chain of convicts on Paddington station. + +“When did he die?” + +They told him, speaking in chorus, eagerly. + +“Who buried him?” + +Again the chorus. + +“Yet you had two natives with you--and told them nothing. You did +not even ask them to dig a grave.” His voice was grim, the eyes that +watched them were narrowed until they seemed almost shut. + +“We buried him,” Lambaire found his voice, “because he was white and we +were white--see?” + +“I see.” He walked to the table and took from it a sheet of paper. They +saw it was the rough plan of a country, and guessed that it represented +the scene of their wanderings. + +“Point out the place where he was buried.” And Amber laid the map upon +the knees of Whitey. + +“Show nothing!” Lambaire recovered a little of his self-possession. +“What do you insinuate. Amber? Who the devil are you that you should go +round askin’ this or that?--an old lag too!” + +As his courage revived he began to swear--perhaps the courage waited +upon the expletives. + +“... After goin’ through all this!” he spluttered, “an’ hunger an’ +thirst an’ fightin’--to be questioned by a crook.” + +He felt the fierce grip of Whitey’s hand on his wrist and stopped +himself. + +“Say nothin’--more than you can help,” muttered Whitey. Lambaire +swallowed his wrath and obeyed. + +“What is this talk about a diamond field?” Amber went on in the same +passionless, level voice. “The Government know of no such field--or +such river. You have told the Commissioner that you have found such a +place. Where is it?” + +“Find out, Amber,” shrilled Whitey, “you are clever--find out, like we +had to; we didn’t get our information by asking people,--we went and +looked!” + +He groped round on the floor of the half darkened bungalow and found +his hat. + +“We’re leavin’ to-morrow,” said Whitey, “an’ the first thing we shall +do when we reach a civilized port is to put them wise to you--eh? It +don’t do to have gaol birds wandering and gallivanting about British +Possessions!” He nodded his head threateningly, and was rewarded by +that smile which was Amber’s chief charm. + +“Mr. Whitey!” said Amber softly, “you will not leave to-morrow, the +ship will sail without you.” + +“Eh!” + +“The ship will sail minus,” repeated Amber. “No Whitey, no Lambaire.” + +He shook his head. + +“What do you mean?” + +For answer Amber tapped the foolscap which he had taken back from the +protesting hand of Whitey. “Somewhere here,” he pointed to a place +marked with a cross, “near a dried river bed, a man died. I want +evidence of his death, and of the manner in which he met it, before I +let you go.” + +There was another pause. + +“What do you mean by that, Mr. Amber?” asked Whitey, and his voice was +unsteady. + +“Exactly what I say,” said the other quietly. + +“Do you think we murdered him?” + +Amber shrugged his shoulders. “We shall know one way or the other +before you leave us,” he said easily. There was something in his tone +which chilled the two men before him. + +“I shall know, because I have sent a search party back to the place +where you say you left Mr. Sutton,” he went on. “Your late interpreter +will have no difficulty in finding the spot--he is already on his way.” + +Lambaire was as white as death. + +“We did nothing to Sutton,” he said doggedly. + +Amber inclined his head. + +“That we shall know,” he said. + +Walking from the bungalow to the hut which the Commissioner had +placed at their disposal, Lambaire suddenly stopped and touched his +companion’s arm. + +“Suppose,” he gasped, “suppose----” + +Whitey shook off the grip. “Don’t go mad,” he said roughly, “suppose +what?” + +“Suppose--some wandering native--found him and speared him. We’d get +the credit for that.” + +“My God, I never thought of that!” + +It gave them both something to think about in the weary days of +waiting. They learnt that the word of Amber was law. They saw him once +at a distance, but they sought no interview with him. Also they learnt +of the presence, at headquarters, of Cynthia Sutton. For some reason +this worried them, and they wondered how much she knew. + +She knew all, if the truth be told. Dry-eyed and pale she had listened +whilst Amber, with all the tenderness of a woman, had broken the news +the Commissioner had sent. + +“I would like to hold out some hope,” he said gently, “but that would +be cruel; the story has the ring of truth, and yet there is something +in it which leads me to the belief that there is something behind it +which we do not know.” He did not tell her of his suspicions. These he +had confided to Sanders, and the little man had sent a party back to +make an examination of the place where Sutton was buried. + +“White men die very suddenly in the Alebi,” said Sanders. “There is +every chance that the story is true--yet they are not the kind of men +who from any sentimental consideration would take upon themselves the +work of burying a poor chap. That’s the part I can’t believe.” + +“What will you do when the search party returns?” asked Amber. + +“I have thought it out,” replied Sanders. “I shall ask them for no +report except in the presence of yourself and the men; this inquiry is +to be an impartial one, it is already a little irregular.” + +Weeks passed--weeks of intolerable suspense for Whitey and Lambaire, +playing bumble puppy whist in the shade of their hut. + +Sanders paid them duty calls. He gave them the courteous attention +which a prison governor would give to distinguished prisoners--that +was how it struck Lambaire. Then, one morning, an orderly came with a +note for them--Their presence was required at “The Residency.” No two +men summoned from the cells below the dock ever walked to judgment with +such apprehension as did these. + +They found the Commissioner sitting at a big table, which was the one +notable article of furniture in his office. + +Three travel-stained natives in the worn blue uniform of police stood +by the desk. Sanders was speaking rapidly in a native dialect which +was incomprehensible to any other of the white people in the room. + +Amber, with Cynthia Sutton, sat on chairs to the right of the +Commissioner’s desk, and two vacant chairs had been placed on the left +of the desk. + +It was curiously suggestive of a magistrate’s court, where the +positions of plaintiff and defendant are well defined. + +Lambaire shot a sidelong glance at the girl in her cool white frock and +her snowy helmet, and made a little nervous grimace. + +They took their seats, Lambaire walking heavily to his. + +Sanders finished talking, and with a jerk of his hand motioned his men +to the centre of the room. + +“I was getting their story in consecutive order,” he said. “I will ask +them questions and will translate their answers, if it is agreeable to +you?” + +Whitey coughed to clear his throat, tried to frame an agreement, +failed, and expressed his approval with a nod. + +“Did you find the place of the four trees?” asked Sanders of the native. + +“Lord, we found the place,” said the man. + +Sentence by sentence as he spoke, Sanders translated the narrative. + +“For many days we followed the path the white men came; resting only +one day, which was a certain feast-day, we being of the Sufi Sect and +worshippers of one god,” said the policeman. “We found sleeping places +by the ashes of fires that the white men had kindled; also cartridges +and other things which white men throw away.” + +“How many days’ journey did the white men come?” asked Sanders. + +“Ten days,” said the native, “for there were ten night fires where +there was much ash, and ten day fires, and where there was only so +much ash as would show the boiling of a pot. Also at these places no +beds had been prepared. Two white men travelled together for ten days, +before then were three white men.” + +“How do you know this?” said Sanders, in the vernacular. + +“Lord, that were an easy matter to tell, for we found the place where +they had slept. Also we found the spot where the third white man had +been left behind.” + +Lambaire’s lips were dry; his mouth was like a limekiln as, sentence by +sentence, the native’s statement was translated. + +“Did you find the white master who was left behind?” asked Sanders. + +“Lord, we did not find him.” + +Lambaire made a little choking noise in his throat. Whitey stared, +saying nothing. He half rose, then sat down again. + +“Was there a grave?” + +The native shook his head. + +“We saw an open grave, but there was no man in it.” Lambaire shot a +swift startled glance at the man by his side. + +“There was no sign of the white master?” + +“None, lord, he had vanished, and only this left behind.” He dived into +the inside of his stained blue tunic and withdrew what was apparently a +handkerchief. It was grimy, and one corner was tied into several knots. + +Cynthia rose and took it in her hands. + +“Yes, this was my brother’s,” she said in a low voice. She handed it to +Sanders. + +“There is something tied up here,” he said, and proceeded to unknot the +handkerchief. Three knots in all he untied, and with each untying, save +the last, a little grey pebble fell to the table. In the last knot were +four little pebbles no larger than the tip of a boy’s finger. Sanders +gathered them into the palm of his hand and looked at them curiously. + +“Do you know what these signify?” he asked Whitey, and he shook his +head. + +Sanders addressed the native in Arabic. + +“Abiboo,” he said, “you know the ways and customs of Alebi folk--what +do these things mean?” + +But Abiboo was at a loss. + +“Lord,” he said, “if they were of camwood it would mean a marriage, +if they were of gum it would mean a journey--but these things signify +nothing, according to my knowledge.” + +Sanders turned the pebbles over with his finger. + +“I am afraid this beats me,” he began, when Amber stepped forward. + +“Let me see them,” he said, and they were emptied into his palm. + +He walked with them to the window, and examined them carefully. He took +a knife from his pocket and scraped away at the dull surface. + +He was intensely occupied, so much so that he did not seem +to realize that he was arresting the inquiry. They waited +patiently--three--five--ten--minutes. Then he came back from the +window, jingling the pebbles in his hand. + +“These we may keep, I suppose?” he said; “you have no objection?” + +Lambaire shook his head. + +He was calmer now, though he had no reason to be, as Whitey, licking +his dry lips, realized. The next words of the Commissioner supplied a +reason. + +“You say that you buried Mr. Sutton at a certain spot,” he said +gravely. “My men find no trace of a grave--save an open grave--how do +you explain this?” + +It took little to induce panic in Lambaire--Whitey gave him no chance +of betraying his agitation. + +“I give no explanation,” he piped in his thin voice; “we buried him, +that’s all we know--your men must have mistaken the spot. You can’t +detain us any longer; it’s against the law--what do you accuse us of, +hey? We’ve told you everything there is to tell; and you’ve got to make +up your mind what you are going to do.” + +He said all this in one breath and stopped for lack of it, and what he +said was true--no one knew the fact better than Amber. + +“Let me ask you one question,” he said. “Did you discover the +diamond mine, of which we have heard so little, before or after +the--disappearance of Mr. Sutton?” + +Lambaire, who was directly addressed, made no reply. It was safer to +rely upon Whitey when matters of chronology were concerned. + +“Before,” said Whitey, after the slightest pause. + +“Long before?” + +“Yes--a week or so.” + +Amber tapped the table restlessly--like a man deep in thought. + +“Did Mr. Sutton know of the discovery?” + +“No,” said Whitey--and could have bitten his tongue at the slip; “when +the discovery was made he was down with fever,” he added. + +“And he knew nothing?” + +“Nothing.” + +Amber opened his hand and allowed the four pebbles to slip on to the +table. + +“And yet he had these,” he said. + +“What are they to do with it?” asked Whitey. + +Amber smiled. + +“Nothing,” he said, “except that these are diamonds.” + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +IN THE BED OF THE RIVER + + +It was a fortunate circumstance that within three days two +homeward-bound ships called at the little coast town where the +Commissioner for the Alebi district made his headquarters. Fortunate, +for it allowed Lambaire and Whitey to travel homewards by one ship, and +Cynthia Sutton by the other. Amber went to the beach where the heavy +surf-boat waited--to see her off. + +“I ought to be taking my ticket with you,” he said, “or, better +still, follow you secretly, so that when you sit down to dinner +to-night--enter Amber in full kit, surprise of lady--curtain.” + +She stood watching him seriously. The heat of the coast had made her +face whiter and finer drawn. She was in Amber’s eyes the most beautiful +woman he had ever seen. Though he could jest, his heart was heavy +enough and hungry enough for tears. + +“I wish you would come,” she said simply, and he knew her heart at that +moment. + +“I’ll stay.” He took her hand in both of his. “There’s a chance, though +it is a faint one, that your brother is alive. Sanders says there is +no doubt that those men left him to die--there is no proof that he is +dead. I shall stay long enough to convince myself one way or the other.” + +The boat was ready now, and Sanders was discreetly watching the steamer +that lay anchored a mile from the shore in four fathoms of water. + +“Au revoir,” she said, and her lip trembled. + +Amber held out his arms to her, and she came to him without fear. He +held her tight for the space of a few seconds, and she lifted her face +to his. + +“Au revoir, my love,” he whispered, and kissed her lips. + + * * * * * + +Amber left the next morning for the Alebi, and with him went Abiboo, a +taciturn sergeant of Houssas and Sanders’ right-hand man. + +It was a conventional African journey into the bush. + +The monotony of hot marches by day, of breathless humming nights, of +village palavers, of sudden tropical storms where low-lying yellow +clouds came tumbling and swirling across the swaying tree-tops, and +vivid lightnings flickered incessantly through the blue-dark forest. + +The party followed the beaten track which led from village to village, +and at each little community inquiries were made, but no white man had +been seen since Lambaire and Whitey had passed. + +On the twenty-eighth day of the march, the expedition reached the place +where Lambaire had said Sutton died. Here, in accordance with his +plans, Amber established something of a permanent camp. + +Accompanied by Abiboo he inspected the spot where the handkerchief and +diamonds had been found, and the depression where the “grave” had been +located. + +“Master,” said Abiboo, “it was here that a hole had been dug.” + +“I see no hole,” said Amber. He spoke in Arabic: there was a time +when Captain Ambrose Grey had been a secretary of legation, and his +knowledge of Arabic was a working one. + +An examination of the ground showed the depression to be the dried bed +of a watercourse. Amber explored it for a mile in either direction +without discovering any sign of the opening which Abiboo had led him to +expect. In some places it was overgrown with a thick tangle of elephant +grass and a variety of wild bramble which is found in African forests. + +“Water has been here,” said Abiboo, “but _cala cala_,” which means long +ago. + +The fact that the grave had disappeared proved nothing. The heavy rains +which they had experienced on the march would have been sufficient to +wash down the débris and the loose earth which had stood about the hole. + +For three weeks Amber pursued his investigations. From the camp he sent +messengers to every village within a radius of fifty miles, without +finding any trace of Sutton. + +Regretfully he decided to give up the search; two of his carriers had +gone down with beri-beri, and the rainy season was getting nearer and +nearer. Worse than this the Isisi--Alebi folk--were restless. He had +had advice of crucifixions and dances, and Sanders had sent him six +more soldiers to strengthen his escort. + +The occasional storms had been followed by irregular downpours, and he +himself had had an attack of fever. + +“I will stay two more days,” he told Abiboo; “if by then I find +nothing, we strike camp.” + +That night, as he sat in his tent writing a letter to Cynthia, there +came a summons from Abiboo. + +“Master,” said the Houssa, “one of my men has heard a shot.” + +Amber slipped on his jacket and stepped out of the tent. + +“Where--in what direction?” he asked. It was pitch-dark, and a gentle +drizzle of rain was falling. + +“Towards the east,” said the native. + +Amber returned to the tent for his electric lamp and together they +stood listening. + +Far away they heard a noise like that made by a cat in pain; the long +howls came faintly in their direction. + +“That is a wounded leopard,” said Abiboo. Amber was thinking rapidly. +Save for the gentle murmur of rain, there was no sound in the forest. +It was certainly not the night for a leopard to advertise his presence. + +“If there is a white man in the forest,” said Amber, “he would come +for this.” He slipped his revolver from his pocket and fired two shots +in the air. He waited, but there came no answer. At intervals of half +a minute he emptied the chambers of the weapon without eliciting any +reply. + +For the greater part of an hour Amber remained listening. The cries +of the leopard--if leopard it was--had died down to a whimper and had +ceased. There was nothing to be gained by a search that night; but +as soon as daylight came, Amber moved out with two Houssa guards and +Abiboo. + +It was no light task the party had set itself, to beat six square miles +of forest, where sapling and tree were laced together with rope upon +rope of vegetation. It was well into the afternoon when Abiboo found +the spoor of a wild beast. + +Following it they came to flecks of dried blood. It might have been--as +Amber realized--the blood of an animal wounded by another. Half an +hour’s trailing brought them to a little clearing, where stretched at +the foot of a tree lay the leopard, dead and stiff. + +“H’m,” said Amber, and walked up to it. There was no sign of the +laceration which marks the beast wounded in fight. + +“Turn it over.” + +The men obeyed, and Amber whistled. There was an indisputable bullet +wound behind the left shoulder. + +Amber knelt down, and with his hunting knife cut down in search of +the bullet. He found it after a long search and brought it to light. +It was a flattened Webley revolver bullet. He went back to camp in a +thoughtful mood that night. + +If it was Sutton’s revolver, where was Sutton? Why did he hide himself +in the forest? He had other problems to settle to his satisfaction, but +these two were uppermost in his mind. + +The day had been a fine one, and the customary storm had not +eventuated. A beautiful moonlight night had followed the most glorious +of sunsets. It was such a night as only Africa sees, a night of silver +light that touched all things tenderly and beautified them. Amber had +seen such nights in other parts of the great Continent, but never had +he remembered such as this. + +He sat in a camp chair at the entrance of his tent speculating upon the +events of the day. Who was this mysterious stranger that went abroad +at night? For the matter of that, what had the leopard been doing to +invite his death? + +He called up Abiboo from the fire round which the Houssas were +squatting. + +“It is strange to me, Abiboo,” he said, “that the white man should +shoot the leopard.” + +“Lord, so I have said to my men,” said Abiboo, “and they think, as I, +that the leopard was creeping into a place that sheltered the white +master.” + +Amber smoked a reflective pipe. It occurred to him that the place where +they had come upon the first blood-stains had been near to a similar +dried-up waterway. When he came to give the matter fuller consideration +he realized that it was a continuation of the river bed near which they +were encamped. Following its course he might come upon the spot under +an hour. It was a perfect night for investigation--at any rate, he +resolved to make an attempt. + +He took with him four soldiers including the sergeant, who led the +way with the lamp. The soldiers were necessary, for a spy had come in +during the day with news that the warlike folk of the “Little Alebi” +had begun to march in his direction. + +Though the river bed made a well-defined path for the party, it +was fairly “hard-going.” In places where the deputation made an +impenetrable barrier they had to climb up the steep banks and make a +détour through the forest. + +Once they came upon a prowling leopard who spat furiously at the +brilliant white glow of the electric lamp and, turning tail, fled. Once +they surprised a bulky form that trumpeted loudly and went blundering +away through the forest to safety. + +After one of these détours they struck a clear smooth stretch. + +“It must be somewhere near,” began Amber, when Abiboo raised his hand +abruptly. “Listen,” he whispered. + +They stood motionless, their heads bent. Above the quiet of the forest +came a new sound. + +“Click--click!” It was faint, but unmistakable. + +Amber crept forward. + +The river bed turned abruptly to the right, and pressing closely to the +right bank he dropped to his knees and crawled cautiously nearer the +turn. He got his head clear of the bush that obstructed his view and +saw what he saw. + +In the centre of the river, plain to see in the bright moonlight, a +man in shirt and trousers was digging. Every now and again he stooped +and gathered the earth in both hands and laughed, a low chuckling +laugh that made Amber’s blood run cold to hear. Amber watched for five +minutes, then stepped out from his place of concealment. + +“Bang!” + +A bullet whistled past him and struck the bank at his side with a thud. + +Quick as thought, he dropped to cover, bewildered. The man who dug had +had his back to him--somebody else had fired that shot! + +He looked round at the sergeant. + +“Abiboo,” he said grimly, “this is a bad palaver: we have come to save +a man who desires to kill us.” + +Crawling forward again he peeped out: the man had disappeared. + +Taking the risk of another shot, Amber stepped out into the open. + +“Sutton!” he called clearly. There was no answer. + +“Sutton!” he shouted,--only the echo came to him. Followed by his men +he moved forward. + +There was a hole in the centre of the watercourse, and a discarded +spade lay beside it. He picked it up and examined it. The blade was +bright from use, the haft was polished smooth from constant handling. +He put it down again and took a swift survey of the place. + +He was in what was for all the world like a railway cutting. The dead +river had worn its deepest channel here. On the moonlit side of the +“cutting” he could see no place that afforded shelter. He walked along +by the bank which lay in the shadow, moving the white beam of his lamp +over its rugged side. + +He thought he saw an opening a little way up. A big dead bush half +concealed it--and that dead bush was perched at such an angle as to +convince Amber that it owed its position to human agency. + +Cautiously he began to climb till he lay under the opening. Then +swiftly he plucked the dead brush away. + +“Bang!” + +He felt the powder burn his face and pressed himself closer to the +earth. Abiboo in the bed of the river below came with a leap up the +side of the bank. + +“_Ba--lek!_” shouted Amber warningly. + +A hand, grasping a heavy army revolver, was thrust out through the +opening, the long black muzzle pointing in the direction of the +advancing Houssa. Amber seized the wrist and twisted it up with a jerk. + +“Damn!” said a voice, and the pistol dropped to the ground. + +Still holding the wrist, Amber called gently, “Sutton!” There was a +pause. + +“Who are you?” said the voice in astonishment. + +“You’ll remember me as Amber.” There was another little pause. + +“The devil you are!” said the voice; “let go my wrist, and I’ll come +out--thought you were the Alebi folk on the warpath.” + +Amber released the wrist, and by-and-by there struggled through a grimy +tattered young man, indisputably Sutton. + +He stood up in the moonlight and shook himself. “I’m afraid I’ve been +rather uncivil,” he said steadily, “but I’m glad you’ve come--to the +‘River of Stars.’” He waved his hand towards the dry river bed with a +rueful smile. + +Amber said nothing. + +“I should have left months ago,” Sutton went on; “we’ve got more +diamonds in this hole than---- Curse the beastly things!” he said +abruptly. He stooped down to the mouth of the cave. + +“Father,” he called softly, “come out--I want to introduce you to a +sportsman.” + +Amber stood dumbfounded and silent as the other turned to him. + +“My father isn’t very well,” he said with a catch in his voice; “you’ll +have to help me get him away.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +AMBER ON PROSPECTUSES + + + THE RIVER OF STARS, LTD. + + Share Capital, £800,000. + 100,000 Ordinary Shares of £5 each. + 30,000 Deferred Shares of £10 each. + + DIRECTORS: + + Augustus Lambaire, Esq. (_Chairman_). + Felix White, Esq. + The Hon. Griffin Pullerger. + Lord Corsington. + +Such was the heading of the prospectus which found its way into every +letter-box of every house of every man who had speculated wisely, or +unwisely, in stock exchange securities. + +Both Lambaire and Whitey shirked the direct appeal to the public which +city conventions demand. I think it was that these two men, when +they were confronted with a straightforward way and a crooked way of +conducting business with which they might be associated, instinctively +moved towards the darker method. + +When they had arrived in England they had decided upon the campaign; +they came with greater prestige than they had ever dared to hope +for--the discovery, astonishing as it had been to them at the moment, +of the diamonds in Sutton’s knotted handkerchief,--gave support to +their story, which was all the stronger since the proof of the mine’s +existence came from the enemy. + +On the voyage to England they had grown weary of discussing by what +mysterious process, by what uncanny freak of fortune, the stones had +been so found, and they had come to a condition of mind where they +accepted the fact. The preparation of the prospectus had been a labour +of love; there was no difficulty in securing a name or two for the +directors. They had had the inestimable advantage of a Press sensation. +They might, indeed, have chosen the latter-day method of publishing in +the newspapers. Their prospectus was very feasible. + +There were not wanting critics who were curious as to the exact +location of the diamond field of fabulous wealth, but this difficulty +they had got over in part by the cunning constitution of the company, +which allowed of a large portion of working capital for purposes of +exploration; for the further development of “Company Property,” and for +the opening up of roads to the interior. The Company was registered +in Jersey; the significance of that fact will be appreciated by those +acquainted with Company procedure. + +City editors, examining the prospectus, shook their heads in +bewilderment. Some damned it instanter, some saw its romantic side and +wrote accordingly. Not a few passed it unnoticed, following the golden +precept, “No advertisement: no puff.” + +There is a type of shareholder who loves, and dearly loves a mystery. +He lives in the clouds, thinking in millions. His high spirit despises +the 2½ per cent. of safety. He dreams of fortunes to come in the night, +of early morning intimations that shares which cost him 3_s._ 9_d._ +have risen to £99 2_s._ 6_d._ He can work out in his head at a moment’s +notice the profit accruing from the possession of a thousand such +shares as these. It was from this class that Lambaire expected much, +and he was not disappointed. + +The promise of the River of Stars was not explicit; there was a hint of +risk--frankly set forth--a cunning suggestion of immense profit. + +“Rap-rap!” went the knocker of fifty thousand doors as the weighty +prospectus dropped with a thud upon the suburban mat ... an interval +of a day or so, and there began a trickle of reply which from day to +day gathered force until it became a veritable stream. Lambaire, in +his multifarious undertakings, had acquired addresses in very much the +same way as small boys collect postage stamps. He collected addresses +with discrimination. In one of the many books he kept--books which +were never opened to any save himself, you might see page after page +as closely written as his sprawling caligraphy allowed, the names of +“possibles,” with some little comment on each victim. + +“In many ways, Lambaire,” said Whitey, “you’re a wonder!” + +The big man, to whom approval was as the breath of life, smiled +complacently. + +They sat at lunch at the most expensive hotel in London, and through +the open windows of the luxurious dining-room came the hum of +Piccadilly’s traffic. + +“We’ve got a good proposition,” said Lambaire, and rubbed his hands +comfortably, “a real good proposition. We’ve got all sorts of back +doors out if the diamonds don’t turn up trumps--if I could only get +those stones of Sutton’s out of my mind.” + +“Don’t start talking that all over again--you can be thankful that +things turned out as they did. I saw that feller Amber yesterday.” + +With a return to civilization, Amber had receded to the background +as a factor. They now held him in the good-natured contempt that the +prosperous have for their less prosperous fellows. + +There was some excuse for their sudden arrogance. The first batch of +prospectuses had produced an enormous return. Money had already begun +to flow to the bankers of the “Stars.” + +“When this has settled down an’ the thing’s finished,” said Whitey, +“I’m goin’ to settle down too, Lam! The crook line isn’t good enough.” + +They lingered over lunch discussing their plans. It was three o’clock +in the afternoon when Lambaire paid the bill, and arm in arm with +Whitey walked out into Piccadilly. + +They walked slowly along the crowded thoroughfare in the direction of +Piccadilly Circus. There was a subject which Lambaire wished to broach. + +“By the way, Whitey,” he said, as they stood hesitating at the corner +of the Haymarket, “do you remember a little memorandum we signed?” + +“Memorandum?” + +“Yes--in the Alebi forest. I forget how it went, but you had a copy and +I had a copy.” + +“What was it about?” + +Lambaire might have thought, had he not known Whitey, that the +memorandum had slipped from his mind--but Lambaire was no fool. + +He did not pursue the subject, nor advance the suggestion which he had +framed, that it would be better for all concerned if the two tell-tale +documents were destroyed. Instead, he changed the subject. + +“Amber is in London,” he said, “he arrived last Saturday.” + +“What about the girl?” + +“She’s been back months,”--Lambaire made a little grimace, for he had +paid a visit to Pembroke Gardens and had had a chilling reception. + +“You wouldn’t think she’d lost a brother,” he went on, “no black, no +mourning, theatres and concerts every night--heartless little devil.” + +Whitey looked up sharply. + +“Who told you that?” he asked. + +“One of my fellers,” said Lambaire carelessly. + +“Oh!” said Whitey. + +He took out his watch. “I’ve got an appointment,” he said, and jerked +his head to an approaching taxi. “See you at the Whistlers.” + +Whitey was a man with no illusions. The wonder is that he had not +amassed a fortune in a line of business more legitimate and more +consistent than that in which he found himself. Since few men know +themselves thoroughly well, and no man knows another at all, I do not +attempt to explain the complexities of Whitey’s mind. He had ordered +the taxi-driver to take him to an hotel--the first that came into his +head. + +Once beyond the range of Lambaire’s observation, he leant out of the +carriage window and gave fresh instructions. + +He was going to see Cynthia Sutton. The difference between Lambaire and +Whitey was never so strongly emphasized as when they were confronted +with a common danger. + +Lambaire shrank from it, made himself deaf to its warnings, blind to +its possibilities. He endeavoured to forget it, and generally succeeded. + +Whitey, on the contrary, got the closer to the threatening force: +examined it more or less dispassionately, prodded it and poked it until +he knew its exact strength. + +He arrived at the house in Pembroke Gardens, and telling the chauffeur +to wait, rang the bell. A maid answered his ring. + +“Miss Sutton in?” he asked. + +“No, sir.” The girl replied so promptly that Whitey was suspicious. + +“I’ve come on very important business, my gel,” he said, “matter of +life and death.” + +“She’s not at home, sir--I’m sorry,” repeated the maid. + +“I know,” said Whitey with an ingratiating smile, “but you tell her.” + +“Really, sir, Miss Sutton is not at home. She left London last Friday,” +protested the girl; “if you write I will forward the letter.” + +“Last Friday, eh?” Whitey was very thoughtful. “Friday?” He remembered +that Amber had returned on Saturday. + +“If you could give me her address,” he said, “I could write to +her--this business being very important.” + +The girl shook her head emphatically. + +“I don’t know it, sir,” she said. “I send all the letters to the bank, +and they forward them.” + +Whitey accepted this statement as truth, as it was. + +Walking slowly back to his taxi-cab, he decided to see Amber. + +He was anxious to know whether he had read the prospectus. + + * * * * * + +Many copies of the prospectus had, as a matter of fact, come to Amber’s +hands. + +Peter ... a dreamer, dabbled in stock of a questionable character. +Amber called to see him one morning soon after his return to England, +and found the little man, his glasses perched on the end of his nose, +laboriously following the adventures of the explorers as set forth in +the prospectus. + +Amber patted him on the shoulder as he passed at his back to his +favourite seat by the window. + +“My Peter,” he said, “what is this literature?” + +Peter removed his glasses and smiled benignly. + +“A little affair,” he said--life was a succession of affairs to Peter. +“A little affair, Amber. I do a little speculation now and then. I’ve +got shares in some of the most wonderful wangles you ever heard tell +of.” + +Amber shook his head. + +“Wangles pay no dividends, my Crœsus,” he said reproachfully. + +“You never know,” protested Peter stoutly. “I’ve got fifty shares in +the Treasure Hill of the Aztec Company.” + +“Run by Stolvetch,” mused Amber, “now undergoing five of the longest +and saddest in our royal palace at Dartmoor.” + +“It was a good idea.” + +Amber smiled kindly. + +“What else?” he asked. + +“I’ve got a founder’s share in the El Mandeseg Syndicate,” said Peter +impressively. + +Amber smiled again. + +“Sunken Spanish treasure ship, isn’t it? I thought so, and I’ll bet +you’ve got an interest in two or three gold-recovery-from-the-restless- +ocean companies?” + +Peter nodded, with an embarrassed grin. + +“Let me see your prospectus.” + +The romantic Peter handed the precious document across the table. + +Amber read it carefully--not for the first time. + +“It’s very rum,” he said when he had finished, “very, very rum.” + +“What’s rum, Amber?” + +The other drew a cigarette-case from his pocket: selected one and lit +it. + +“Everything is rum, my inveterate optimist,” he said. “Wasn’t it rum to +get a letter from me from the wild and woolly interior of the dark and +dismal desert?” + +“That was rum,” admitted Peter gravely. “I got all sorts of ideas from +that. There’s a tale I’ve been readin’ about a feller that got pinched +for a perfe’ly innercent crime.” Amber grinned. “He was sent to penal +servitude, one day----” + +“I know, I know,” said Amber, “a fog rolled up from the sea, he escaped +from the quarry where he had been workin’, friend’s expensive yacht +waitin’ in the offin’--‘bang! bang!’ warders shootin’, bells ringin’, +an’ a little boat all ready for the errin’ brother--yes?” + +Peter was impressed. + +“You’re a reader, Amber,” he said, with a note of respect in his voice. +“I can see now that you’ve read _Haunted by Fate, or, The Convict’s +Bride_. It’s what I might describe as a masterpiece. It’s got----” + +“I know--it’s another of the rum things of life--Peter, would you like +a job?” + +Peter looked up over his spectacles. + +“What sort of a job?”--his voice shook a little. “I ain’t so young as +I used to be, an’ me heart’s not as strong as it was. It ain’t one of +them darin’ wangles of yours----” + +Amber laughed. + +“Nothin’ so wicked, my desperado--how would you like to be the +companion of a gentleman who is recovering from a very severe sickness: +a sickness that has upset his memory and brought him to the verge of +madness----” He saw the sudden alarm in Peter’s eyes. “No, no, he’s +quite all right now, though there was a time----” + +He changed the subject abruptly. + +“I shall trust you not to say a word to any soul about this matter,” he +said. “I have a hunch that you are the very man for the job--there is +no guile in you, my Peter.” + +A knock at the door interrupted him. + +“Come in.” + +The handle turned, and Whitey entered. + +“Oh, here you are,” said Whitey. + +He stood by the door, his glossy silk hat in his hand, and smiled +pleasantly. + +“Come in,” invited Amber. “You don’t mind?”--he looked at Peter. The +old man shook his head. + +“Well?” + +“I’ve been lookin’ for you,” said Whitey. + +He took the chair Amber indicated. + +“I thought you might be here,” he went on, “knowing that you visited +here.” + +“In other words,” said Amber, “your cab passed mine in the Strand, and +you told the driver to follow me at a respectable distance--I saw you.” + +Whitey was not embarrassed. + +“A feller would have to be wide to get over you, Captain,” he said +admiringly. “I’ve come to talk to you about----” He saw the prospectus +on the table. “Ah! you’ve seen it?” + +“I’ve seen it,” said Amber grimly--“a beautiful production. How is the +money coming in?” + +“Not too well, not too well,” lied Whitey, with a melancholy shake +of the head. “People don’t seem to jump at it: the old adventurous +spirit is dead. Some of the papers....” He shrugged his shoulders with +good-natured contempt. + +“Very unbelievin’, these organs of public opinion,” said the +sympathetic Amber, “fellers of little faith, these journalists.” + +“We didn’t give ’em advertisements,” explained Whitey--“that’s the +secret of it.” + +“You gave the _Financial Herald_ an advertisement,” reflected Amber, +“in spite of which they said funny things--you gave the _Bullion and +Mining Gazette_ a good order, yet they didn’t let you down lightly.” + +Whitey changed direction. + +“What I want to see about,” he said slowly, “is this: you’ve had +convincin’ proof that we’ve located the mine--would you like to come +into the company on the ground floor?” + +The audacity of the offer staggered even Amber. + +“Whitey,” he said admiringly, “you’re the last word in refrigeration! +Come in on the ground floor! Not into the basement, my Whitey!” + +“Can I speak to you alone?” Whitey looked meaningly in the direction of +Peter, and Amber shook his head. + +“You can say what you’ve got to say here,” he said, “Peter is in my +confidence.” + +“Well,” said Whitey, “man to man, and between gentlemen, what do you +say to this: you join our board, an’ we’ll give you £4,000 in cash an’ +£10,000 in shares?” + +Amber’s fingers drummed the table thoughtfully. + +“No,” he said, after a while, “my interest in the Company is quite big +enough.” + +“What Company?” asked Whitey. + +“The River of Stars Diamonds, Ltd.,” said Amber. + +Whitey leant over the table and eyed him narrowly. + +“You’ve no interest in our Company,” he said shortly. + +Amber laughed. + +“On the contrary,” he said, “I have an interest in the River of Stars +Diamond Fields, Ltd.” + +“That’s not my Company,” said Whitey. + +“Nor your Diamond Field either,” said Amber. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +WHITEY HAS A PLAN + + +Whitey met Lambaire by appointment at the Whistlers. Lambaire was the +sole occupant of the card-room when the other entered. He was sitting +at one of the green baize-covered tables dressed in evening kit, and +was enlivening his solitude with a game of Chinese Patience. He looked +up. + +“Hullo, Whitey,” he said lazily, “aren’t you going to dress for dinner?” + +Whitey closed the door carefully. + +“Nobody can hear us?” he asked shortly. + +Lambaire frowned. + +“What’s wrong?” he asked. + +“Everything’s wrong.” Whitey was unusually vehement. “I’ve seen Amber.” + +“That doesn’t make everything wrong, does it?” It was a characteristic +of Lambaire’s that alarm found expression in petulance. + +“Don’t bark, Lambaire,” said Whitey, “don’t get funny--I tell you that +Amber knows.” + +“Knows what?” + +“That we didn’t find the mine.” + +Lambaire laughed scornfully. + +“Any fool can guess that,--how’s he going to prove it?” + +“There’s only one way,” replied Whitey grimly, “and he’s found it.” + +“Well,” demanded Lambaire as his friend paused. + +“He’s located the real mine. Lambaire, I know it. Look here.” + +He pulled up a chair to the table. + +“You know why Amber came out?” + +“With the girl, I suppose,” said Lambaire. + +“Girl nothing--” said Whitey. “He came out because the Government +thought the mine was in Portuguese territory--your infernal compasses +puzzled ’em, Lambaire; all your cursed precautions were useless. All +our schemin’ to get hold of the plan was waste of time. It was a faked +plan.” + +“Fake! Fake! Fake!” + +Whitey thumped the table with his fist. “I don’t attempt to explain +it--I don’t know whether old Sutton did it for a purpose, but he did +it. You gave him compasses so that he couldn’t find his way back after +he’d located it. Lambaire--he knew those compasses were wrong. It was +tit for tat. You gave him a false compass--he gave you a spoof plan.” + +Lambaire rose. + +“You’re mad,” he said roughly, “and what does it matter, anyway?” + +“Matter! Matter!” spluttered Whitey. “You great lumbering dolt! You +blind man! Amber can turn us down! He’s only got to put his finger on +the map and say ‘Our mine is here,’ to bring our Company to ruin. He’s +takin’ the first step to-morrow. The Colonial Office is going to ask us +to locate the River of Stars--and we’ve got to give them an answer in a +week.” + +Lambaire sank back into his chair, his head bent in thought. He was a +slow thinker. + +“We can take all the money that’s come in and bolt,” he said, and +Whitey’s shrill contemptuous laugh answered him. + +“You’re a Napoleon of finance, you are,” he piped; “you’re a brain +broker! You’ve got ideas that would be disgustin’ in a child of +fourteen! Bolt! Why, if you gave any sign of boltin’ you’d have half +the splits in London round you! You’re----” + +“Aw, dry up, Whitey,” growled the big man. “I’m tired of hearing you.” + +“You’ll be tireder,” said Whitey, and his excitement justified the +lapse. + +“You’ll be tireder in Wormwood Scrubbs, servin’ the first part of your +sentence--no, there’s no bolt, no bank, no fencing business; we’ve got +to locate the mine.” + +“How?” + +“Somebody knows where it is--that girl knows, I’ll swear. Amber +knows--there’s another party that knows--but that girl knows.” + +He bent his head till his lips were near Lambaire’s ear. + +“There’s another River of Stars Company been floated,” he whispered, +“and it’s the real river this time. Lambaire, if you’re a man we’ve +got the whole thing in our hands.” Whitey went on slowly, emphasizing +each point with the thrust of his finger at Lambaire’s snowy +shirt-front till it was spotted with little grey irregular discs. + +“If we can go to the Colonial Office and say, ‘This is where we found +the mine,’ and it happens to be the identical place where Amber’s gang +say they found it, we establish ourselves and kill Amber’s Company.” + +The idea began to take shape in Lambaire’s mind. + +“We’ve announced the fact that we’ve located the mine,” Whitey went on. +“Amber’s goin’ to make the same announcement. We jump in first--d’ye +see?” + +“I don’t quite follow you,” said Lambaire. + +“You wouldn’t,” snarled Whitey. “Listen--if we say our mine is located +at a certain place, the Colonial Office will ask Amber if there is a +diamond mine there, and Amber will be obliged to say, Yes--that’s where +my mine is! But what chance has Amber got? All along we’ve claimed that +we have found a mine; it’s only an eleventh hour idea of Amber’s; it is +his word against ours--and we claimed the mine first!” + +Lambaire saw it now; slowly he began to appreciate the possibilities of +the scheme. + +“How did you find all this out?” he asked. + +“Saw Amber--he dropped a hint; took the bull by the horns and went to +the Colonial Office. There’s a chap there I know--he gave me the tip. +We shall get a letter to-morrow asking us to explain exactly where +the mine is. It appears that there is a rotten law which requires the +Government to ‘proclaim’ every mining area.” + +“I forgot that,” admitted Lambaire. + +“You didn’t know it, so you couldn’t have forgotten it,” said Whitey +rudely. “Get out of these glad clothes of yours and meet me at my hotel +in about an hour’s time.” + +“I’ll do anything that’s reasonable,” said Lambaire. + +An hour later he presented himself at the little hotel which Whitey +used as his London headquarters. + +It was situated in a narrow street that runs from the Strand to +Northumberland Avenue--a street that contains more hotels than any +other thoroughfare in London. Whitey’s suite occupied the whole of the +third floor, in fine he had three small rooms. From the time Lambaire +entered until he emerged from the swing door, two hours elapsed. The +conference was highly satisfactory to both men. + +“We shall have to be a bit careful,” were Lambaire’s parting words. + +Whitey sniffed, but said nothing. + +“I’ll walk with you as far as--which way do you go?” he asked. + +“Along the Embankment to Westminster,” said Lambaire. + +They walked from Northumberland Avenue and crossed the broad road +opposite the National Liberal Club. Big Ben struck eleven as they +reached the Embankment. An occasional taxi whirred past. The tramway +cars, ablaze with lights and crowded with theatre-goers, glided +eastward and westward. They shared the pavement with a few shuffling +night wanderers. One of these came sidling towards them with a whine. + +“... couple o’ ’apence ... get a night’s bed, sir ... gnawing +hunger...!” + +They heard and took no notice. The man followed them, keeping pace +with his awkward gait. He was nearest Whitey, and as they reached an +electric standard he turned suddenly and gripped the man by the coat. + +“Let’s have a look at you,” he said. + +For one so apparently enfeebled by want the vagrant displayed +considerable strength as he wrenched himself free. Whitey caught a +momentary glimpse of his face, strong, resolute, unshaven. + +“That’ll do, guv’nor,” growled the man, “keep your hands to yourself.” + +Whitey dived into his pocket and produced half a crown. + +“Here,” he said, “get yourself a drink and a bed, my son.” + +With muttered thanks the beggar took the coin and turned on his heel. + +“You’re getting soft,” said the sarcastic Lambaire as they pursued +their way. + +“I dare say,” said the other carelessly, “I am full of generous +impulses--did you see his dial?” + +“No.” + +Whitey laughed. + +“Well?” + +“A split,” said Whitey shortly, “that’s all--man named Mardock from +Scotland Yard.” + +Lambaire turned pale. + +“What’s the game?” he demanded fretfully; “what’s he mean, Whitey--it’s +disgraceful, watching two men of our position!” + +“Don’t bleat,” Whitey snapped; “you don’t suppose Amber is leavin’ a +stone unturned to catch us, do you? It’s another argument for doing +something quick.” + +He left his companion at Westminster, and walked back the way he had +come. A slow-moving taxi-cab overtook him and he hailed it. There was +nobody near to overhear his directions, but he took no risks. + +“Drive me to Victoria,” he said. Half-way down Victoria Street he +thrust his head from the window. + +“Take me down to Kennington,” he said, and gave an address. He changed +his mind again and descended at Kennington Gate. From thence he took a +tram that deposited him at the end of East Lane, and from here to his +destination was a short walk. + +Whitey sought one named Coals. Possibly the man’s name had in a dim and +rusty past been Cole; as likely it had been derived from the profession +he had long ceased to follow, namely that of a coal-heaver. + +Coals had served Whitey and Lambaire before and would serve them +again, unless one of two catastrophes had overtaken him. For if he were +neither dead nor in prison, he would be in a certain public-house, +the informal club from which his successive wives gathered him at +12.30 a.m. on five days of the week, and at 12 midnight and 11 p.m. on +Saturdays and Sundays. + +Your small criminal is a creature of habit--a blessed circumstance for +the police of our land. + +Whitey was fortunate, for he had no difficulty in finding the man. + +He was standing in his accustomed corner of the public bar, remarkably +sober, and the boy who was sent in to summon him was obeyed without +delay. + +Whitey was waiting at some distance from the public-house, and Coals +came to him apprehensively, for Whitey was ominously respectable. + +“Thought you was a split, sir,” said Coals, when his visitor had made +himself known, “though there’s nothing against me as far as I know.” + +He was a tall broad-shouldered man with a big shapeless head and a +big shapeless face. He was, for a man of his class and antecedents, +extremely talkative. + +“How are things going with you, sir?” he rattled on in a dead +monotonous tone, without pause or emphasis. “Been pretty bad round this +way. No work, it’s cruel hard the work’s scarce. Never seen so much +poverty in me life; blest if I know what will happen to this country +unless something’s done.” + +The scarcity of work was a favourite topic with Coals; it was a pet +belief of his that he was the victim of an economic condition which +laid him on the shelf to rust and accumulate dust. If you asked Coals +how it was with him he would reply without hesitation: + +“Out of work,” and there would be a hint of gloom and resentment in +his tone which would convince you that here was a man who, but for the +perversity of the times, might be an active soldier in the army of +commerce. + +“Some say it’s the Government,” droned Coals, “some say it’s Germany, +but something ought to be done about it, that’s what I say ... tramping +about from early morn to jewy eve, as the good Book sez....” + +Whitey cut him short. They had been walking all this time in the +direction of the Old Kent Road. The street was empty, for it was close +on half-past twelve, and the reluctant clients of the public-houses +were beginning to form in groups about the closing doors. + +“Coals,” said Whitey, “I’ve got a job for you.” + +Coals shot a suspicious glance at him. + +“I’m very much obliged to you, Mr. White, sir,” he said breathlessly, +“an’ I’d be glad to take it if my leg was better; but what with the wet +weather an’ hardships and trouble I’ve been in....” + +“It’s a job that will suit you,” said Whitey, “not much risk and a +hundred pounds.” + +“Oh,” said Coals thoughtfully, “not a laggin’ job?” + +“That’s your business.” Whitey was brusque to the point of rudeness. +“You’ve done lagging for less.” + +“That’s true,” admitted the man. Whitey searched his pocket and found a +sovereign. + +“In the course of the next day or two,” he said, “I shall send for +you--you can read, can’t you?” + +“Yes, sir, thank God,” said Coals, heartily for him, “I’ve had my +schooling and good use I’ve made of it; I’ve always been a well-behaved +man inside, and never lost a mark.” + +“Indeed,” said Whitey, without enthusiasm. He did not like to hear men +talk with such pride of their prison reputations. + +They parted at the Kent Road end of the street, and Whitey went to the +Embankment by a convenient tramway car. He went to his hotel, but only +to get an overcoat, for the night was chilly. In a few minutes he was +back on the Embankment, going eastward. He hoped to learn something +from the Borough. + +Near the end of the thoroughfare wherein Peter resided was a +coffee-stall. The folks of Redcow Court were of irregular habits; +rising at such hours as would please them and seeking sleep as and +when required. Meals in Redcow Court were so many movable feasts, +but there was one habit which gave to the Courtiers a semblance of +regularity. Near the end of the court was a coffee-stall which took +up a position at twelve midnight and removed itself at 7 a.m. At +this stall the more affluent and the more Bohemian residents might +be found in the neighbourhood of one o’clock. Whitey--he possessed a +remarkable knowledge of the metropolis, acquired often under stress of +circumstances--came to the stall hopefully, and was not disappointed. + +With his coat buttoned up to his chin he ordered a modest cup of coffee +and took his place in the circle of people that stood at a respectful +distance from the brazier of glowing coke. He listened in silence to +the gossip of the court; it was fairly innocent gossip, for though +there were many in the circle who were acquainted with the inside of +his Majesty’s prisons, the talk was not of “business.” + +Crime was an accident among the poorer type of criminal, such people +never achieved the dignity of being concerned in carefully planned +coups. Their wrong-doing synchronizes with opportunity, and opportunity +that offers a minimum of immediate risk. + +So the talk was of how So-and-So ought to take something for that cold +of his, and how it would pay this or that person to keep a civil tongue +in her head. + +“Old Jim’s got a job.” + +“Go on.” + +“Wonderful, ain’t it--he’s got a job....” + +“See the fire engine to-night?” + +“No--where?” + +“Up the High Street, two.” + +“Where they going?” + +“New Cut--somewhere.” + +“What time?” + +“About--what time is it, Charley?” + +“I dunno. Just when old Mr. Musk was going.” + +“’S he gone?” + +“Went in a four-wheeler--gave Tom a bob for carrying his birds.” + +“Goo’law! Old Musk gone ... in a cab ... I bet he’s an old miser.” + +“I bet he is too ... very close ... he’s not gone away for good.” + +“Where’s he gone?” + +Whitey, sipping his coffee, edged nearer the speaker. + +“Gone to a place in Kent--Maidstone ... where the hopping is.” + +(Oh, indiscreet Peter! bursting with importance!) + +“No, it ain’t Maidstone--it’s a place called Were.” + +“Well, that’s Maidstone--anyway, Maidstone’s the station.” + +Whitey finished his coffee and went home to bed. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +WHITEY’S WAY + + +Amber found the road from Maidstone to Rochester a most pleasant way. +There are those who in the early spring might have complained that it +erred on the side of monotony, that tiresome winding, climbing and +dipping road; although bleak enough with the gaunt Kentish rag rising +untidily to a modest eminence on the one hand, and the valley of the +Medway showing dimly through a white haze on the other. + +Yet Amber found the walk invigorating and desirable, and neither grey +skies above, nor the keen gusty wind that drove from the sea seeking +one’s very marrow, chilled or depressed him. + +“We might have driven out,” said the girl who was with him--her +presence explained his oblivion to all else. “I’m so afraid that the +weather----” + +“Produces complications in the poor African traveller,” said he, and +laughed. “Peter gave me a long lecture on the same subject. It appears +that a hero of his was subject to brain fever as a result of a sudden +change of climate--though that can’t be true, for heroes are not +affected by the weather.” + +“I like your Peter,” she said, after a pause. + +“He’s a rum bird,” confessed Amber. + +“Father likes him too,” she went on, and sighed. “Do you think father +will ever be well again?” + +Amber was a long time framing a reply, so long that she stopped. + +“I wish you would tell me,” she said quietly. + +“I want to tell you,” he said. “I was trying to put my most private +thoughts into words. Yes,” he considered again. “Yes, I believe he will +get better.” + +“He is not----” She did not finish the sentence. + +“No, he is not--mad, as madness is understood. He has an obsession--he +is so full of one happening that everything has stood still since then.” + +“He has lost his memory--and yet he remembers me and the River of +Stars.” + +They walked on in silence, both too much engaged in their own thoughts +for conversation. + +The problem of Sutton the explorer was one which had occupied no small +amount of their waking thoughts. The house Cynthia had taken stood back +from the road. It had originally been a farm-house, but a succession of +leisured tenants had converted it into a comfortable little mansion, +and with its four acres of wooded grounds it made an admirable retreat. + +Frank Sutton was sitting before a crackling wood fire, a book on his +knees. He looked up with a smile as they entered. + +His experience had made a man of him--the fact had never struck Amber +so forcibly as it did at that moment. His face was tanned and thin, +he had lost the boyish roundness of cheek, and lost, too, the air of +impatience which had distinguished him when Amber had first met him. + +“What news?” he asked. + +Amber stretched his hands to the blazing fire. + +“To-morrow the Colonial Office will ask Lambaire to locate his mine,” +he said. “I fear my Lambaire will experience a difficulty.” + +“I think he will,” said the other dryly. “How long will he be given?” + +“A week, and if no explanation is made at the end of that time the +Colonial Office will issue a statement casting doubt upon Lambaire’s +bona fides.” + +“An unusual course,” said Sutton. + +“An unusual situation, my intrepid explorer,” rejoined Amber. + +Sutton grinned. + +“Don’t rot me,” he pleaded. “I feel I’m rather a pup.” + +Amber looked at him with a kindly eye. + +“We all pass through the furniture-gnawing stage,” he said. “Really, I +think you’re a rather wonderful kid.” + +The boy coloured, for there was a note of sincerity in the other’s +voice. + +“Where is your father?” Amber asked suddenly. + +“In the grounds with your friend; really, it was an inspiration to +send our friend--what is his name--Musk?” + +“Peter--you must call him Peter,” said Amber. He rose and walked to the +French window that opened on to the lawn. + +“Peter interests the governor no end,” Sutton went on. “He’s a perfect +library of romance.” + +“Let us go out and meet them,” said Amber. + +They walked towards the little walled garden where the explorer found +his recreation, and came upon the two unexpectedly. + +Peter with a stick was illustrating a story he was telling, and the +bent man with the straggling beard and the seamed face stood by, +nodding his head gravely at the other. + +“Sir Claude,” Peter was saying, “was holding the bridge here, so to +speak, and Sir Reginald was crossin’ the moat there; the men-at-arms +was a hurlin’ down stones from the battlements, and Lady Gwendoline, +sword in hand, defended the White Tower. At that minute, when the +heroic youth was a urgin’ his valiant archers forward, there arose a +loud cry, ‘St. George and England!’--you understand me, Mr. Sutton? +There was no idea that the King’s army was so close.” + +“Perfectly,” said the explorer, “perfectly, Mr.--er--perfectly. I +remember a similar experience when we were attacking the Mashangonibis +in ’88--I--I think I remember.” + +He passed his hand over his eyes wearily. + +“Father,” said Frank gently, “here is our friend Captain Grey.” + +The explorer turned sharply. + +“Captain Grey?” he half queried, and held out his hand. + +Some fugitive memory of Amber flickered across his mind. + +“Captain Grey; I’m afraid my son shot at you!” + +“It is of no account, sir,” said Amber. + +The only association the sick man had with Amber was that other +dramatic meeting, and though they met almost daily, the elder Sutton +had no comment to offer than that. + +Day by day, whether he greeted him in the morning at breakfast, or took +leave of him at night, the explorer’s distressed, “I am afraid my son +shot at you,” was the beginning and the end of all conversation. + +They walked slowly back to the house, Amber and Peter bringing up the +rear. + +“He’s more sensible, Mr. Amber,” said Peter. “He seems to have improved +durin’ the last two days.” + +“How long has he had the benefit of your society, my Peter?” asked the +other. + +“Two days,” replied the unconscious Mr. Musk. + +Amber had an opportunity of studying the old man as they sat at +tea--the meals at White House were of a democratic character. + +Old he was not as years went, but the forest had whitened his hair and +made deep seams in his face. Amber judged him to be of the same age as +Lambaire. + +He spoke only when he was addressed. For the greater part of the time +he sat with his head sunk on his breast deep in thought, his fingers +idly tapping his knee. + +On one subject his mind was clear, and that was the subject which none +cared to discuss with him--the River of Stars. + +In the midst of a general conversation he would begin talking quickly, +with none of the hesitation which marked his ordinary speech, and it +would be about diamonds. + +Amber was giving an account of his visit to London when the old man +interrupted him. At first his voice was little above a whisper, but it +grew in strength as he proceeded. + +“... there were a number of garnets on the ground,” he said softly, +as though speaking to himself. “There were also other indications of +the existence of a diamond pipe ... the character of the earth is +similar to that found in Kimberley and near the Vaal River ... blue +ground, indubitable blue ground ... naturally it was surprising to find +these indications at a place so far remote from the spot wherein our +inquiries had led us to believe the mine would be located.” + +They were silent when he paused. By-and-by he went on again. + +“The rumours of a mine and such specimens as I had seen led me to +suppose that the pipe itself led to the north-westward of the great +forest, that it should be at the very threshold of the country rather +than at the furthermost border illustrates the uncertainty of +exploration ... uncertainty ... uncertainty? that is hardly the word, I +think....” + +He covered his eyes with his hand. + +Though they waited he said no more. It was a usual ending to these +narratives of his; some one word had failed him and he would hesitate, +seeking feebly the exact sentence to convey a shade of meaning, and +then relapse into silence. + +The conversation became general again, and soon after Mr. Sutton went +to his room. + +“He’s better,” said Amber heartily, as the door closed upon the bent +figure. “We get nearer and nearer to the truth about that discovery of +his.” + +Frank nodded. + +“You might have thought that all those months when he and I were alone +in the forest, I should have learnt the truth,” he said. “Yet from the +moment he found me lying where that precious pair of scoundrels left me +to the night you discovered us both, he told me nothing.” + +Amber waited until Peter had bustled away importantly--he took very +kindly to the office of nurse--and the three were left together. + +“When did you first realize the fact that he had discovered the River +of Stars?” + +Frank Sutton filled his pipe slowly. + +“I don’t know when I realized it,” he said. “The first recollection I +have is of somebody bending over me and giving me a drink. I think that +he must have given me food too. I was awfully weak at the time. When I +got better I used to lie and watch him scratching about in the bed of +the river.” + +“He was quite rational?” + +“Quite, though it used to worry me a bit, when he would bring me a +couple of pebbles and beg of me to take great care of them. To humour +him I kept them; I used to make a great show of tying them up in my +pocket handkerchief, never realizing for a moment that they were +diamonds.” + +“And all this time, Frank, you knew it was father?” + +It was the girl who spoke, and Frank nodded again. + +“I don’t know how I knew, but I knew,” he said simply. “I was only a +child when he went out, and he has changed from the man I remembered. I +tried to persuade him to trek to the coast, but he would not move, and +there was nothing to do but to stay and chance getting hold of a native +to send to the coast with a message. But the natives regarded the place +as haunted, and none came near, not even the hunting regiments. And the +curious thing was,” he said thoughtfully, “that I did not believe the +stones were anything but pebbles.” + +He got up from the deep chair in which he was sitting. + +“I’m going to leave you people for a while--you’ll find me in the +library.” + +“I’ll go with you for a moment, if you will excuse me,” said Amber, +and the girl smiled her assent. + +When the library door had closed behind them: “Sutton,” said Amber, “I +want you to be jolly careful about that prospectus--you got my wire?” + +“Yes, you wired me not to send the copy to the printers. Why?” + +“It contains too much information that would be valuable to Lambaire,” +said the other. “It contains the very information, in fact, that he +would give his head to obtain.” + +“I never thought of that,” said Sutton; “but how could he get it from a +little country printer’s?” + +“I don’t think he could get it, but Whitey would. To-morrow or to-day +the Colonial Office asks Lambaire to locate his mine--we want to make +sure that he does not secure his information from us.” + +“I take you,” said the young man with a cheery nod. “I’m making a copy +of the map you prepared, and to-morrow we’ll send it to the Colonial +Office.” + +Amber returned to the girl. She was sitting in the corner of the settee +which was drawn up at right angles to the fireplace. + +She screened her face from the blaze with an opened fan, and he saw +little save what an emulating flame leaping higher than its fellows, +revealed. + +“I want to talk to you seriously,” he said, and took his seat at the +other end of the couch. + +“Please don’t talk too seriously; I want to be amused,” she said. + +There was silence for a few minutes, then: + +“I suppose you realize,” he said, “that within a week or so you will be +the daughter of a very rich man?” + +He could not see her face distinctly in the half-light, but he thought +he saw her smile. + +“I have not realized it,” she replied quietly, “but I suppose that you +are right. Why?” + +“Why? Oh, nothing--except that I am not immensely wealthy myself.” + +She waited for him to go on. + +“You see?” he suggested after a while. + +She laughed outright. + +“I see all there is to be seen, namely, that father will be very rich, +and you will not be as rich. What else do you wish me to see?” + +He wished her to see more than he cared for the moment to describe, but +she was blandly obstinate and most unhelpful. + +“I hate being conventional,” he said, “more than I hate being heroic. I +feel that any of Peter’s heroes might have taken the line I take--and +it is humiliating. But I--I want to marry you, dear, and you have of a +sudden become horribly rich.” + +She laughed again, a clear whole-hearted laugh of girlish enjoyment. + +“Come and sit by me,” she commanded; “closer....” + + * * * * * + +“Do you ever go to bed, my dear?” asked Frank Sutton from the doorway. +“It is past eleven o’clock, and Peter and I are bored with one another.” + +He walked across the room and jabbed the fire. + +“And you’ve let the fire go out, you wretched people.” + +Cynthia rose guiltily. + +“I’m afraid,” she faltered, “Captain Grey--we----” + +“I’m afraid you have,” agreed her brother, as with a smile he kissed +her. “Say good night to Amber: father is asleep.” + +They heard the rustle of her skirts as she went through the hall to the +stairs. + +“Talking with Peter?” questioned Amber. “I thought you were working +most industriously in your library.” + +Sutton was poking the fire vigorously. + +“Finished that an hour ago; how long do you think you people have been +gassing?” + +Amber discreetly hazarded no opinion. + +“I found Peter tremendously interesting,” Sutton said with a laugh. +“The little room we have given him looks like nothing so much as a +newsagent’s--one of those newsagents that specialize in the pernicious +literature beloved of youth.” + +“’Ware hasty judgment,” said Amber gravely, “these pernicious----” + +There was a hasty step in the hall, the door opened and Cynthia came in +a little white of face. + +Amber took a quick step forward. + +“What is it?” he asked. + +“Father is not in his room,” she said breathlessly. “I went in to say +good night--he has not been to bed----” + +The three looked at each other. + +“He is in the garden, I expect,” said Frank uneasily. “He has gone out +before, though I’ve begged him not to.” + +He went out into the hall and took an electric hand lamp that stood on +the hall-stand. Amber drew the curtains and, opening the French window, +stepped out. + +The girl threw a shawl round her shoulders and followed. + +“There’s another lamp in the study, Amber,” said Sutton; and Amber with +a nod strode through the room and down the passage that led to the +library. + +He found the lamp, turned out the light, and rejoined the others. + +A thin fog overhung the country-side and shrouded the grounds, but it +was not so thick that it offered any obstacle to their search. + +The circuit of the grounds took them very little time. There was no +sign of the explorer. + +At the furthermost corner of the little estate was a wicket gate which +opened to a narrow lane leading from the main road to the Nigerhill +Road, and toward this the search party made. As they drew near Amber +smothered an oath. The wicket was wide open. + +In the circle of light the lamps threw upon the weather-stained door a +fluttering white paper attracted their attention. + +It was a half-sheet of notepaper fastened by a drawing-pin, and Amber +raised his lamp and read: + + “They have took him to the quarry on the Rag. Follow quickly. Turn to + the right as you get out of the gate and follow the road up the hill. + Go quickly and you can save everything. + + “A FRIEND.” + +“Wait a moment.” + +Amber held the other’s arm as he made for the lane. + +“Don’t delay, for God’s sake, Amber!” cried Sutton fretfully; “we may +be in time.” + +“Wait,” commanded Amber sharply. + +He flashed his lamp on the ground. The soil was of clay and soft. There +were footmarks--of how many people he could not tell. He stepped out +into the road. The ground was soft here with patches of grass. Whoever +had passed through the wicket had by good fortune or intention missed +the soft patches of clay, for there was no recent footprint. + +“Come along!” Sutton was hurrying up the road, and Amber and the girl +followed. + +“Have you got a gun?” asked Amber. + +For answer Sutton slipped a Smith Weison from his pocket. + +“Did you expect this?” asked the girl by his side. + +“Something like it,” was the quiet answer. “Until we had settled this +business I insisted that we should all be armed--I know Whitey.” + +Sutton fell back until he was abreast of them. + +“I can see no sign of footmarks,” he said, “and I’m worried about that +message.” + +“There is one set of footprints,” said Amber shortly. + +His light had been searching the road all the time. “As to the message, +I am more puzzled than worried. Hullo, what is that?” + +In the middle of the road lay a black object, and Sutton ran forward +and picked it up. + +“It is a hat,” he said. “By Heaven, Amber, it is my father’s!” + +“Oh,” said Amber shortly, and stopped dead. + +They stood for the space of a few seconds. + +“I’m going back,” said Amber suddenly. + +They stared at him. + +“But--” said the bewildered girl, “but--you are not going to give up +the search?” + +“Trust me, please,” he said gently. “Sutton go ahead; there are +some labourers’ cottages a little way along. Knock them up and get +assistance. There is a chance that you are on the right track--there +is a bigger chance that I am. Anyway, it will be less dangerous for +Cynthia to follow you than to return with me.” + +With no other word he turned and went running back the way he came +with the long loping stride of a cross-country runner. + +They stood watching him till he vanished in the gloom. + +“I don’t understand it,” muttered Frank. The girl said nothing; she +was bewildered, dumbfounded. Mechanically she fell in by her brother’s +side. He was still clutching the hat. + +They had a quarter of a mile to go before they reached the cottages, +but they had not traversed half that distance before, in turning a +sharp bend of the lane, they were confronted by a dark figure that +stood in the centre of the road. + +Frank had his revolver out in an instant and flashed his lamp ahead. + +The girl, who had started back with a heart that beat more quickly, +gave a sigh of relief, for the man in the road was a policeman, and +there was something very comforting in his stolid, unromantic figure. + +“No, sir,” said the constable, “nobody has passed here.” + +“A quarter of an hour ago?” suggested Frank. + +“Not during the last three hours,” said the policeman. “I thought I +heard footsteps down the lane the best part of an hour since, but +nobody has passed.” + +He had been detailed for special duty, to detect poachers, and he had +not, he said, moved from the spot since seven o’clock--it was then +eleven. + +Briefly Frank explained the situation. + +“Well,” said the man slowly, “they couldn’t have brought him this +way--and it is the only road to the quarry. Sounds to me like a blind. +If you’ll wait whilst I get my bicycle, which is behind the hedge, I’ll +walk back with you.” + +On the way back Frank gave him such particulars as he thought necessary. + +“It’s a blind,” said the man positively. “Why should they take the +trouble to tell you which way they went? You don’t suppose, sir, that +you had a friend in the gang?” + +Frank was silent. He understood now Amber’s sudden resolve to return. + +The road was downhill and in ten minutes they were in sight of the +house. + +“I expect Peter----” began Frank. + +Crack!--Crack! + +Two pistol-shots rang out in the silent night. + +Crack--crack--crack! + +There was a rapid exchange of shots and the policeman swung himself on +to the cycle. + +“Take this!” + +Frank thrust his revolver into the constable’s hand. + +At the full speed the policeman went spinning down the hill and the two +followed at a run. + +No other shots broke the stillness and they arrived out of breath at +the wicket gate to find Amber and the constable engaged in a hurried +consultation. + +“It’s all right.” + +Amber’s voice was cheery. + +“What of father?” gasped the girl. + +“He’s in the house,” said Amber. “I found him gagged and bound in the +gardener’s hut at the other end of the garden.” + +He took the girl’s trembling arm and led her toward the house. + +“He went out for a little walk in the grounds,” he explained, “and +they pounced on him. No, they didn’t hurt him. There were three of the +rascals.” + +“Where are they?” asked Frank. + +“Gone--there was a motor-car waiting for them at the end of the +lane. The policeman has gone after them in the hope that they have a +breakdown.” + +He led the way to the sitting-room. + +“Peter is with your father. Sit down, you want a little wine, I +think”--her face was very white--“I’ll tell you all about it. I +didn’t quite swallow that friendly notice on the wicket. I grew more +suspicious when I failed to see any footmarks on the road to support +the abduction theory. Then of a sudden it occurred to me that the whole +thing was a scheme to get us out of the house whilst they had time to +remove your father. + +“When I got back to the wicket I made another hurried search of the +garden and happed upon the tool-house by luck. The first thing I saw +was your father lying on a heap of wood trussed and gagged. I had +hardly released him when I heard a voice outside. Three men were +crossing the lawn toward the wicket. It was too dark to see who they +were, but I ran out and called upon them to stop.” + +“We heard firing,” said the girl. + +Amber smiled grimly. + +“This was their answer,” he said; “I followed them to the road. They +fired at me again, and I replied. I rather fancy I hit one.” + +“You are not hurt?” she asked anxiously. + +“My lady,” said Amber gaily, “I am unscathed.” + +“But I don’t understand it,” persisted Frank. “What did the beggars +want to take the governor for?” + +Amber shook his head. + +“That is beyond my----” He stopped suddenly. “Let us take a look at the +library,” he said, and led them to the room. + +“Hullo, I thought I turned this light out!” + +The light was blazing away, the gas flaring in the draught made by the +open door. + +Well might it flare, for the window was open. So, too, was the door of +the safe hanging wretchedly on one hinge. + +Amber said nothing--only he whistled. + +“So that was why they lured us from the house,” he said softly. “This +is Whitey’s work, and jolly clever work too.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +AMBER RUNS AWAY + + +“I wish you would let me come with you,” begged the young man, but +Amber shook his head. + +“You stay here,” he said. + +He was dressed in a thick motor coat and a tweed cap was pulled down +over his forehead. The girl had made him some tea and prepared a little +meal for him. + +He looked at his watch. + +“One o’clock,” he said, “and here’s the car.” + +The soft hum of a motor-car as it swung in a circle before the door of +the house came to them. + +“I’m afraid I’m late, sir.” It was the constable, who lifted his cycle +from the tonneau as he spoke. “But I had some difficulty in collecting +the people together, and my report at the station took me longer than I +thought. We have wired to headquarters, and the main roads leading into +London are being watched.” + +“It will probably be too late,” replied Amber, “though they could +hardly do the journey under an hour and a half.” + +He took a brief farewell of the girl and jumped into the car by the +side of the driver. In a few minutes he was being whirled along the +Maidstone Road. + +“It is a nearer way,” explained the driver, “we get on the main road. +To reach London through Rochester means a bad road all the way, and a +long journey.” + +The car was a fast one and the journey lacked interest. It was not +until they reached the outskirts of London that their progress was +checked. + +Turning into the Lewisham High Road, a red lamp was waved before them +and they pulled up to discover two policemen. Amber had no difficulty +in establishing his identity. Had anything been seen of the other car? + +“No, sir,” said the sergeant; “though a car with four men passed +through the Blackwall Tunnel at half-past twelve--before the special +police had arrived to watch it. Our people believed from the +description you sent that this was the party you are looking for.” + +Amber had taken a chance when he had circulated a faithful description +of Whitey. + +He thanked the sergeant and the car moved towards London. He had taken +the precaution of locating Lambaire and Whitey, and at half-past three +the car stopped at the end of the street in which the latter’s hotel +was situated. + +“You will find a coffee-stall at the end of Northumberland Avenue,” +he said. “Get yourself some food and be back here in a quarter of an +hour.” + +The street was empty and the hotel as silent as the grave. There had +been no rain in London that night nor on the previous day, and the +pavement was quite dry. Amber stood for a while before he rang the +night bell, and with his little lamp examined the hearthstoned steps +that led to the door. + +There was no mark to indicate the recent arrival of one who had been +walking in clay. + +He pushed the button and to his surprise the door was almost +immediately opened. + +The night porter, usually the most lethargic of individuals, was alert +and wakeful. + +Evidently it was not Amber he was expecting, for he suddenly barred the +opening. + +“Yes, sir?” he queried sharply. + +“I want a room for the night,” said Amber. “I’ve just arrived from the +Continent.” + +“You’re late, sir,” said the man suspiciously; “the Continental was in +on time at eleven.” + +“Oh, I came by way of Newhaven,” responded Amber carelessly. He trusted +to the porter’s ignorance of this unfamiliar route. + +“I don’t know whether we’ve got a room,” said the man slowly. “Any +baggage?” + +“I’ve left it at the station.” + +Amber put his hand into his breast pocket and took out a flat wad of +bank-notes. He detached one and handed it to the man. + +“Don’t keep me talking all night, my good chap,” he said +good-humouredly. “Take this fiver on account and deduct a sovereign for +the trouble I have given you.” + +The man’s attitude of hostility changed. + +“You quite understand, sir,” he said as he led the way up the somewhat +narrow stairs, “that I have to be----” + +“Oh, quite,” interrupted Amber. “Where are you going to put me--second +floor?” + +“The second floor is engaged, sir,” said the porter. “In fact, I was +expecting the gentleman and his friend at the moment you rang.” + +“Late bird, eh?” said Amber. + +“He’s been in once to-night--about an hour ago--he had to go out again +on business.” + +On the third floor Amber was shown the large front room to his entire +satisfaction--for the fact that such a room was available told him that +he had the entire floor to himself. + +The porter lit the fire which was laid in the grate. + +“Is there anything else you want, sir?” + +“Nothing, thank you.” + +Amber followed the man to the landing and stood there as he descended. + +The porter stopped half-way down, arrested by the visitor’s irresolute +attitude. + +“You are sure there is nothing I can do for you, sir--cup of tea or +anything?” + +“Nothing, thank you,” said Amber, slowly removing his coat. + +A little puzzled, the man descended. + +Amber wanted something very badly, but he did not tell the man. He +wanted to know whether the stairs creaked, and was gratified to find +that they did not. + +He waited a while till he heard the slippered feet shuffling on the +paved hall below. + +There was no time to be lost. He kicked off his shoes and noiselessly +descended to the second floor. + +There were three rooms which he judged communicated. One of these was +locked. He entered the other two in turn. The first was a conventional +sitting-room and opened through folding doors to a small bedroom. + +From the appearance of the shaving apparatus on the dressing-table and +the articles of dress hanging in the wardrobe, he gathered that this +was Whitey’s bedroom. There was a door leading to the front room, but +this was locked. + +He crept out to the landing and listened. + +There was no sound save a far-away whistling which told of the porter’s +presence in some remote part of the building--probably in the basement. + +To open the front door which led to the landing might mean detection; +he resolved to try the door between the two rooms. + +There was a key in the lock, the end of it projected an eighth of an +inch beyond the lock on the bedroom side. + +Amber took from his coat pocket a flat wallet and opened it. It was +filled with little tools. He selected a powerful pair of pliers and +gripped the end of the key. They were curious shaped pliers, for their +grip ran at right angles to their handles. The effect was to afford an +extraordinary leverage. + +He turned the key cautiously. + +Snap! + +The door was unlocked. + +Again he made a journey to the landing and listened. There was no sound. + +He gathered his tools together, opened the door, and stepped into the +room. It had originally been a bedroom. He gathered as much from the +two old-fashioned bed-pulls which hung on one wall. There was a big +table in the centre of the room, and a newspaper or two. He looked at +the dates and smiled--they were two days old. Whitey had not occupied +that room the two days previous. Amber knew him to be an inveterate +newspaper reader. There were half a dozen letters and he examined the +post-marks--these too supported his view, for three had been delivered +by the last post two nights before. + +A hasty examination of the room failed to discover any evidence that +the stolen papers had been deposited there. He slipped his hand between +bed and mattress, looked through contents of a despatch box, which +strangely enough had been left unlocked. + +Though the room was comfortably furnished, there were few places where +the papers could be concealed. + +Whitey must have them with him. Amber had hardly hoped to discover +them with such little trouble. He had turned back the corner of the +hearthrug before the fireplace, and was on the point of examining a +pile of old newspapers which stood on a chair in the corner of the +room, when he heard footsteps in the street without. + +They were coming down the street--now they had stopped before the +hotel. He heard the far-off tinkle of a bell and was out of the room in +a second. He did not attempt to lock the door behind him, contenting +himself with fastening it. + +There were low voices in the hall below, and interchange of speech +between the porter and the new arrivals, and Amber nimbly mounted to +the floor above as he heard footsteps ascending. + +It was Whitey and Lambaire. He heard the sibilant whisper of the one +and the growl of the other. + +Whitey unlocked the landing door and passed in, followed by Lambaire. +Amber heard the snick of the lock as Whitey fastened it behind him. + +He heard all this from the upper landing, then when silence reigned +again he descended. + +Noiselessly he opened the bedroom door, closing it again behind him. + +The communicating door was of the conventional matchwood variety, and +there was no difficulty, though the two men spoke in low tones, in +hearing what they said. + +Whitey was talking. + +“... it surprised me ... old man ... thought he was dead....” and +he heard the rumble of Lambaire’s expression of astonishment. “... +providential ... seeing him in the garden ... scared to death....” + +Amber crouched closer to the door. It took him some time before he +trained his ear to catch every word, and luckily during that time they +talked of things which were of no urgent importance. + +“And now,” said Whitey’s voice, “we’ve got to get busy.” + +“Coals is in no danger?” asked Lambaire. + +“No--little wound in the leg ... that swine Amber....” + +Amber grinned in the darkness. + +“Here is the prospectus they were drawing up.” + +The listener heard the crackling of paper and then a long silence. The +men were evidently reading together. + +“M--m!” It was Lambaire’s grunt of satisfaction he heard. “I think this +is all we want to know--we must get this copied at once. There won’t be +much difficulty in placing the mine ... oh, this is the map....” + +There was another long pause. + +Amber had to act, and act quickly. They were gaining information which +would enable them to describe the position of the mine, even if they +succeeded in making no copy of the little map which accompanied the +prospectus. + +He judged from the indistinct tone of their voices that they were +sitting with their backs to the door behind which he crouched. + +Lambaire and Whitey were in fact in that position. + +They sat close together under the one electric light the room +possessed, greedily absorbing the particulars. + +“We shall have to check this with a bigger map,” said Whitey. “I don’t +recognize some of these places--they are called by native names.” + +“I’ve got a real good map at my diggings,” Lambaire said. “Suppose +you bring along these things. It isn’t so much that we’ve got to give +an accurate copy of this plan--we’ve got to be sure in our own minds +exactly where the ‘pipe’ is situated.” + +“That’s so,” said the other reluctantly. “It ought to be done at once. +Amber will suspect us and we shall move in a Haze of Splits by this +time to-morrow.” + +He folded up the documents and slipped them into a long envelope. Then +he stood thinking. + +“Lammie,” he said, “did you hear the porter say that a visitor had come +during the night?” + +“Yes, but that’s usual, isn’t it?” + +Whitey shook his head. + +“Unusual,” he said shortly, “dam’ unusual.” + +“Do you think----” + +“I don’t know. I’m a bit nervy,” said the other, “but the visitor has +been on my mind ever since I came in. I’m going up to have a look at +his boots.” + +“Why?” + +“Don’t be a fool, and don’t ask foolish questions,” snarled Whitey. +“Visitors put their boots outside the door, don’t they? You can tell a +lot from a pair of boots.” + +He handed the envelope containing the stolen prospectus to his +companion. + +“Take this,” he said, “and wait till I come down.” + +He unlocked the door and mounted the stairs cautiously. + +Lambaire waited there. + +“Lambaire!” hissed a voice from the open door. + +“Yes.” + +“Give me the envelope, quick.” + +A hand, an eager demanding hand, reached through the little gap. + +“Stay where you are--give me the envelope.” + +Quickly Lambaire obeyed. The hand grasped the envelope, another closed +the door quickly, and there was silence. + +“Now what the devil is wrong,” muttered the startled Lambaire. He felt +himself turning pale. There had been a hint of imminent danger in the +urgency of the voice. He waited, tense, alert, fearful; then he heard +quick steps on the stairs, and Whitey dashed into the room. + +“Nobody there,” he said breathlessly. “A pair of shoes covered with mud +and a pair of gloves--it’s Amber.” + +“Amber!” + +“He’s followed us--let’s get out of this quick. Give me the envelope.” + +Lambaire went white. + +“I--I gave it to you,” he stammered. + +“You liar!” Whitey was in a white heat of fury. “You gave me nothin’! +Give me the envelope.” + +“I gave it to you, Whitey,” Lambaire almost whimpered. “As soon as you +left the room you came back and asked for it.” + +“Did I come in--quick.” + +“No, no,” The agitation of the big man was pitiable. “You put in your +hand and whispered----” + +“Amber!” howled the other. He broke with a torrent of curses. “Come on, +you fool, he can’t have got far.” + +He flew down the stairs, followed by Lambaire. The hall was deserted, +the door had been left ajar. + +“There he is!” + +By the light of a street lamp they saw the fleeing figure and started +off in pursuit. + +There were few people in sight when a man in his stockinged feet came +swiftly from Northumberland Avenue to the Embankment. + +“Stop, thief!” bawled Whitey. + +The car was further along the Embankment than he had intended it to be, +but it was within easy sprinting distance. + +“Stop, thief!” shouted Whitey again. + +Amber had gained the car when a policeman appeared from nowhere. + +“Hold hard,” said the man and grasped Amber’s arm. + +The two pursuers were up to them in an instant. + +“That man has stolen something belonging to me,” said Whitey, his voice +unsteady from his exertions. + +“You are entirely mistaken.” Amber was more polite and less perturbed +than most detected thieves. + +“Search him, constable--search him!” roused Whitey. + +Amber laughed. + +“My dear man, the policeman cannot search me in the street. Haven’t you +an elementary knowledge of the law?” + +A little crowd of night wanderers had collected like magic. More +important fact, two other policemen were hurrying towards the group. +All this Amber saw and smiled internally, for things had fallen out as +he had planned. + +“You charge this man,” the constable was saying. + +“I want my property back,” fumed Whitey, “he’s a thief: look at him! +He’s in his stockinged feet! Give me the envelope you stole....” + +The two policemen who had arrived elbowed their way through the little +crowd, and suddenly Whitey felt sick--ill. + +“I agree to go to the station,” said Amber smoothly. “I, in turn, +accuse these men of burglary.” + +“Take him off,” said Whitey, “my friend and I will follow and charge +him.” + +“We’ll take the car,” said Amber, “but I insist upon these two men +accompanying us.” + +Here was a situation which Whitey had not foreseen. + +They were caught in a trap unless a miracle delivered them. + +“We will return to our hotel and get our coats,” said Whitey with an +air of indifference. + +The policeman hesitated, for the request was a reasonable one. “One of +you chaps go back with these gentlemen,” he said, “and you,” to Amber, +“had better come along with me. It seems to me I know you.” + +“I dare say,” said Amber as he stepped into the car, “and if those two +men get away from your bovine friends you will know me much better than +you ever wish to know me.” + +“None of your lip,” said the constable, seating himself by his side. + + + + +CHAPTER THE LAST + + +“... AND,” said the inspector savagely, “if you’d only known the A B +C of your duty, constable, you would have brought the two prosecutors +here.” + +Amber was warming himself before the great fire that blazed in the +charge-room. A red-faced young policeman was warming himself before the +inspector’s desk. + +“It can’t be helped, Inspector,” said Amber cheerfully, “I don’t know +but that if I had been in the constable’s place I should have behaved +in any other way. Stocking-footed burglar flyin’ for his life, eh? +Respectable gentlemen toiling in the rear; what would you have done?” + +The inspector smiled. + +“Well, sir,” he admitted, “I think the stockings would have convinced +me.” + +Amber nodded and met the policeman’s grateful glance with a grin. + +“I don’t think there is much use in waiting,” said Amber. “Our friends +have given the policemen the slip. There is a back entrance to the +hotel which I do not doubt they have utilized. Your men could not have +the power to make a summary arrest?” + +The inspector shook his head. + +“The charges are conspiracy and burglary, aren’t they?” he asked, “that +would require a warrant. A constable could take the responsibility for +making a summary arrest, but very few would care to take the risk.” + +A messenger had brought Amber’s shoes and greatcoat and he was ready to +depart. + +“I will furnish the Yard with the necessary affidavit,” he said; +“the time has come when we should make a clean sweep. I know almost +enough to hang them without the bother of referring to their latest +escapade--their complicated frauds extending over years are bad enough; +they are distributors, if not actual forgers, of spurious paper +money--that’s worse from a jury’s point of view. Juries understand +distributing.” + +He had sent the car back to Maidstone to bring Sutton. He was not +surprised when he came down to breakfast at his hotel to find that +not only Frank, but his sister had arrived. Very briefly he told the +adventures of the night. + +“We will finish with them,” he said. “They have ceased to be amusing. +A warrant will be issued to-day and with luck we should have them +to-night.” + + * * * * * + +Lambaire and Whitey in the meantime had reached the temporary harbour +afforded by the Bloomsbury boarding-house where Lambaire lived. +Whitey’s was ever the master mind in moments of crisis, and now he +took charge of the arrangements. + +He found a shop in the city that opened early and purchased trunks +for the coming journey. Another store supplied him with such of his +wardrobe as was replaceable at a moment’s notice. He dared not return +to his hotel for the baggage he had left. + +Lambaire was next to useless. He sat in the sitting-room Whitey had +engaged biting his finger-nails and cursing helplessly. + +“It’s no good swearing, Lambaire,” said Whitey. “We’re up against +it--good. We’re _peleli_--as the Kaffirs say--finished. Get your +cheque-book.” + +“Couldn’t we brazen it out?” querulously demanded the big man. +“Couldn’t we put up a bluff----?” + +“Brazen!” sneered Whitey, “you’re a cursed fine brazener! You try to +brazen a jury! Where’s the pass-book?” + +Reluctantly Lambaire produced it, and Whitey made a brief examination. + +“Six thousand three hundred--that’s the balance,” he said with relish, +“and a jolly good balance too. We’ll draw all but a hundred. There will +be delay if the account is closed.” + +He took the cheque-book and wrote in his angular caligraphy an order to +pay bearer six thousand two hundred pounds. Against the word Director +he signed his name and pushed the cheque-book to Lambaire. The other +hesitated, then signed. + +“Wait a bit,” growled Lambaire as his friend reached for the cheque, +“who’s going to draw this?” + +“I am,” said Whitey. + +Lambaire looked at him suspiciously. + +“Why not me?” he asked, “the bank knows me.” + +“You--you thief!” spluttered Whitey, “you dog! Haven’t I trusted you?” + +“This is a big matter,” said Lambaire doggedly. + +With an effort Whitey mastered his wrath. + +“Go and change it,” he said. “I’m not afraid of you running away--only +go quickly--the banks are just opening.” + +“I don’t--I haven’t got any suspicion of you, Whitey,” said Lambaire +with heavy affability, “but business is business.” + +“Don’t jaw--go,” said his companion tersely. If the truth be told, +Whitey recognized the danger of visiting the bank. There was a +possibility that a warrant had already been issued and that the bank +would be watched. There was a chance, however, that some delay might +occur, and in his old chivalrous way he had been willing to take the +risk. + +Lambaire went to his room before he departed, and was gone for half +an hour. He found Whitey standing with his back to the fire in a +meditative mood. + +“Here I am, you see.” Lambaire’s tone was one of gentle raillery. “I +haven’t run away.” + +“No,” admitted Whitey. “I trust you more than you trust me--though you +half made up your mind to bolt with the swag when you came out of the +bank.” + +Lambaire’s face went red. + +“How--how do you know--what d’ye mean?” he demanded noisily. + +“I followed you,” said Whitey simply, “in a taxi-cab.” + +“Is that what you call trusting me?” demanded Lambaire with some +bitterness. + +“No,” said Whitey without shame, “that’s what I call takin’ reasonable +precautions.” + +Lambaire laughed, an unusual thing for him to do. + +He pulled from his breast pockets two thick pads of bank-notes. + +“There’s your lot, and there’s mine,” he said; “they are in +fifties--I’ll count them for you.” + +Deftly he fingered the notes, turning them rapidly as an accountant +turns the leaves of his ledger. There were sixty-two. + +Whitey folded them and put them into his pocket. + +“Now what’s your plan?” asked Whitey. + +“The Continent,” said Lambaire. “I’ll leave by the Harwich route for +Holland--we had better separate.” + +Whitey nodded. + +“I’ll get out by way of Ireland,” he lied. He looked at his watch. It +was nearly ten o’clock. + +“I shall see you--sometime,” he said, turning as he left the room, and +Lambaire nodded. When he returned the big man had gone. + +There is a train which leaves for the Continent at eleven from +Victoria--a very dangerous train, as Whitey knew, for it is well +watched. There was another which left at the same hour from +Holborn--this stops at Herne Hill. + +Whitey resolved to take a tourist ticket at an office in Ludgate Hill +and a taxi-cab to Herne Hill. + +He purchased the ticket and was leaving the office, when a thought +struck him. + +He crossed to the counter where the money-changers sit. “Let me have a +hundred pounds’ worth of French money.” + +He took two fifty-pound notes and pushed them through the grill. + +The clerk looked at them, fingered them, then looked at Whitey. + +“Notice anything curious about these?” he asked dryly. + +“No.” + +There was a horribly sinking sensation in Whitey’s heart. + +“They are both numbered the same,” said the clerk, “and they are +forgeries.” + +Mechanically Whitey took the bundle of notes from his pocket and +examined them. They were all of the same number. + +His obvious perturbation saved him from an embarrassing inquiry. + +“Have you been sold?” + +“I have,” muttered the duped man. He took the notes the man offered him +and walked out. + +A passing taxi drew to the kerb at his uplifted hand. He gave the +address of Lambaire’s lodging. + +Lambaire had gone when he arrived: he had probably left before Whitey. +Harwich was a blind--Whitey knew that. + +He went to Lambaire’s room. In his flight Lambaire had left many things +behind. Into one of the trunks so left Whitey stuck the bundle of +forgeries. If he was to be captured he would not be found in possession +of these damning proofs of villainy. A search of the room at first +revealed no clue to Lambaire’s destination, then Whitey happened upon a +tourist’s guide. It opened naturally at one page, which meant that one +page had been consulted more frequently than any other. + +“Winter excursions to the Netherlands, eh?” said Whitey; “that’s not a +bad move, Lammie: no splits watch excursion trains.” + +The train left Holborn at a quarter to eleven by way of Queensborough- +Flushing. He looked at his watch: it wanted five minutes to the +quarter, and to catch that train seemed an impossibility. Then an idea +came to him. There was a telephone in the hall of the boarding-house +usually well patronized. It was his good luck that he reached it before +another boarder came. It was greater luck that he got through to the +traffic manager’s office at Victoria with little delay. + +“I want to know,” he asked rapidly, “if the ten forty-five excursion +from Holborn stops at any London stations?” + +“Every one of ’em,” was the prompt reply, “as far as Penge: we pick up +all through the suburbs.” + +“What time is it due away from Penge?” + +He waited in a fume of impatience whilst the official consulted a +time-table. + +“Eleven eighteen,” was the reply. + +There was time. Just a little over half an hour. He fled from the +house. No taxi was in sight; but there was a rank at no great distance. +He had not gone far, however, before an empty cab overtook him. + +“Penge Station,” he said. “I’ll give you a sovereign over your fare if +you get there within half an hour.” + +The chauffeur’s face expressed his doubt. + +“I’ll try,” he said. + +Through London that day a taxi-cab moved at a rate which was +considerably in excess of the speed limit. Clear of the crowded West +End, the road was unhampered by traffic to any great extent, but it +was seventeen minutes past eleven when the cab pulled up before Penge +Station. + +The train was already at the platform and Whitey went up the stairs two +at a time. + +“Ticket,” demanded the collector. + +“I’ve no ticket--I’ll pay on the train.” + +“You can’t come on without a ticket, sir,” said the man. + +The train was within a few feet of him and was slowly moving, and +Whitey made a dart, but a strong hand grasped him and pushed him back +and the gate clanged in his face. + +He stood leaning against the wall, his face white, his fingers working +convulsively. + +Something in his appearance moved the collector. + +“Can’t be helped, sir,” he said. “I had----” + +He stopped and looked in the direction of the departing train. + +Swiftly he leant down and unlocked the door. + +“Here--quick,” he said, “she’s stopped outside the station--there’s a +signal against her. You’ll just catch it.” + +The rear carriages were not clear of the platform, and Whitey, +sprinting along, scrambled into the guard’s van just as the train was +moving off again. + +He sank down into the guard’s seat. Whitey was a man of considerable +vitality. Ordinarily the exertion he had made would not have +inconvenienced him, but now he was suffering from something more than +physical distress. + +“On me!” he muttered again and again, “to put them on me!” + +It was not the loss of the money that hurt him, it was not Lambaire’s +treachery--he knew Lambaire through and through. It was the +substitution of the notes and the terrible risk his estimable friend +had inflicted on him. + +In his cold way Whitey had decided. He had a code of his own. Against +Amber he had no grudge. Such spaces of thought as he allowed him were +of a complimentary character. He recognized the master mind, paid +tribute to the shrewdness of the man who had beaten him at his own game. + +Nor against the law which pursued him--for instinct told him that there +would be no mercy from Amber now. + +It was against Lambaire that his rage was directed. Lambaire, whose +right-hand man he had been in a score of nefarious schemes. They had +been together in bogus companies; they had dealt largely in “Spanish +silver”; they had been concerned in most generous systems of forgery. +The very notes that Lambaire had employed to fool him with were part of +an old stock. + +The maker had committed the blunder of giving all the notes the same +number. + +“They weren’t good enough for the public--but good enough for me,” +thought Whitey, and set his jaw. + +The guard tried to make conversation, but his passenger had nothing to +say, save “yes” or “no.” + +It was raining heavily when the train drew up at Chatham, and Whitey +with his coat collar turned up, his hat pulled over his eyes and a +handkerchief to his mouth, left the guard’s van and walked quickly +along the train. + +The third-class carriages were sparsely filled. It seemed that the +“winter excursion” was poorly patronized. + +Whitey gave little attention to the thirds--he had an eye for the +first-class carriages, which were in the main empty. He found his man +in the centre of the train--alone. He took him in with a glance of +his eye and walked on. The whistle sounded and as the train began to +glide from the platform he turned, opened the door of the carriage and +stepped in. + + * * * * * + +There were other people who knew Lambaire was on the train. Amber came +through Kent as fast as a 90-horse-power car could carry him. He might +have caught the train at Penge had he but known. It would have been +better for two people if he had. + +With him was a placid inspector from Scotland Yard--by name Fells. + +“We shall just do it, I think,” said Amber, looking at his watch, “and, +anyway, you will have people waiting?” + +The inspector nodded. Speaking was an effort at the pace the car was +travelling. + +He roused himself to the extent of expressing his surprise that Amber +had troubled to take the journey. + +But Amber, who had seen the beginning of the adventure, was no man to +hear the end from another. He was out to finish the business, or to see +the finish. They reached the quay station as the excursion train came +in and hurried along the slippery quay. Already the passengers were +beginning their embarkation. By each gangway stood two men watching. + +The last passenger was aboard. + +“They could not have come,” said Amber disappointedly. “If----” + +At that moment a railway official came running toward them. + +“You gentlemen connected with the police?” he asked. “There’s something +rum in one of these carriages....”--he led the way, giving information +incoherently--“... gentleman won’t get out.” + +They reached the carriage and Amber it was who opened the door.... + +“Come along, Whitey,” he said quietly. + +But the man who sat in one corner of the carriage slowly counting two +thick packages of bank-notes took no notice. + +“That’s a good ’un,” he muttered, “an’ that’s a good ’un--eh, Lammie? +These are good--but the other lot was bad. What a fool--fool--fool! Oh, +my God, what a fool you always was!” + +He groaned the words, swaying from side to side as if in pain. + +“Come out,” said Amber sharply. + +Whitey saw him and rose from his seat. + +“Hullo, Amber,” he said and smiled. “I’m coming ... what about our +River of Stars, eh? Here’s a pretty business--here’s money--look.” + +He thrust out a handful of notes and Amber started back, for they were +splotched and blotted with blood. + +“These are good ’uns,” said Whitey. His lips were trembling, and in +his colourless eyes there was a light which no man had ever seen. “The +others were bad ’uns. I had to kill old Lammie--he annoyed me.” + +And he laughed horribly. + +Under the seat they found Lambaire, shot through the heart. + + +THE END. + + + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] Thieves’ argot for “detective.” + +[2] Prevention of Crimes Act. + + + + +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: + + + Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. + + Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. + + Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. + + Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75729 *** |