1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
3077
3078
3079
3080
3081
3082
3083
3084
3085
3086
3087
3088
3089
3090
3091
3092
3093
3094
3095
3096
3097
3098
3099
3100
3101
3102
3103
3104
3105
3106
3107
3108
3109
3110
3111
3112
3113
3114
3115
3116
3117
3118
3119
3120
3121
3122
3123
3124
3125
3126
3127
3128
3129
3130
3131
3132
3133
3134
3135
3136
3137
3138
3139
3140
3141
3142
3143
3144
3145
3146
3147
3148
3149
3150
3151
3152
3153
3154
3155
3156
3157
3158
3159
3160
3161
3162
3163
3164
3165
3166
3167
3168
3169
3170
3171
3172
3173
3174
3175
3176
3177
3178
3179
3180
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186
3187
3188
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194
3195
3196
3197
3198
3199
3200
3201
3202
3203
3204
3205
3206
3207
3208
3209
3210
3211
3212
3213
3214
3215
3216
3217
3218
3219
3220
3221
3222
3223
3224
3225
3226
3227
3228
3229
3230
3231
3232
3233
3234
3235
3236
3237
3238
3239
3240
3241
3242
3243
3244
3245
3246
3247
3248
3249
3250
3251
3252
3253
3254
3255
3256
3257
3258
3259
3260
3261
3262
3263
3264
3265
3266
3267
3268
3269
3270
3271
3272
3273
3274
3275
3276
3277
3278
3279
3280
3281
3282
3283
3284
3285
3286
3287
3288
3289
3290
3291
3292
3293
3294
3295
3296
3297
3298
3299
3300
3301
3302
3303
3304
3305
3306
3307
3308
3309
3310
3311
3312
3313
3314
3315
3316
3317
3318
3319
3320
3321
3322
3323
3324
3325
3326
3327
3328
3329
3330
3331
3332
3333
3334
3335
3336
3337
3338
3339
3340
3341
3342
3343
3344
3345
3346
3347
3348
3349
3350
3351
3352
3353
3354
3355
3356
3357
3358
3359
3360
3361
3362
3363
3364
3365
3366
3367
3368
3369
3370
3371
3372
3373
3374
3375
3376
3377
3378
3379
3380
3381
3382
3383
3384
3385
3386
3387
3388
3389
3390
3391
3392
3393
3394
3395
3396
3397
3398
3399
3400
3401
3402
3403
3404
3405
3406
3407
3408
3409
3410
3411
3412
3413
3414
3415
3416
3417
3418
3419
3420
3421
3422
3423
3424
3425
3426
3427
3428
3429
3430
3431
3432
3433
3434
3435
3436
3437
3438
3439
3440
3441
3442
3443
3444
3445
3446
3447
3448
3449
3450
3451
3452
3453
3454
3455
3456
3457
3458
3459
3460
3461
3462
3463
3464
3465
3466
3467
3468
3469
3470
3471
3472
3473
3474
3475
3476
3477
3478
3479
3480
3481
3482
3483
3484
3485
3486
3487
3488
3489
3490
3491
3492
3493
3494
3495
3496
3497
3498
3499
3500
3501
3502
3503
3504
3505
3506
3507
3508
3509
3510
3511
3512
3513
3514
3515
3516
3517
3518
3519
3520
3521
3522
3523
3524
3525
3526
3527
3528
3529
3530
3531
3532
3533
3534
3535
3536
3537
3538
3539
3540
3541
3542
3543
3544
3545
3546
3547
3548
3549
3550
3551
3552
3553
3554
3555
3556
3557
3558
3559
3560
3561
3562
3563
3564
3565
3566
3567
3568
3569
3570
3571
3572
3573
3574
3575
3576
3577
3578
3579
3580
3581
3582
3583
3584
3585
3586
3587
3588
3589
3590
3591
3592
3593
3594
3595
3596
3597
3598
3599
3600
3601
3602
3603
3604
3605
3606
3607
3608
3609
3610
3611
3612
3613
3614
3615
3616
3617
3618
3619
3620
3621
3622
3623
3624
3625
3626
3627
3628
3629
3630
3631
3632
3633
3634
3635
3636
3637
3638
3639
3640
3641
3642
3643
3644
3645
3646
3647
3648
3649
3650
3651
3652
3653
3654
3655
3656
3657
3658
3659
3660
3661
3662
3663
3664
3665
3666
3667
3668
3669
3670
3671
3672
3673
3674
3675
3676
3677
3678
3679
3680
3681
3682
3683
3684
3685
3686
3687
3688
3689
3690
3691
3692
3693
3694
3695
3696
3697
3698
3699
3700
3701
3702
3703
3704
3705
3706
3707
3708
3709
3710
3711
3712
3713
3714
3715
3716
3717
3718
3719
3720
3721
3722
3723
3724
3725
3726
3727
3728
3729
3730
3731
3732
3733
3734
3735
3736
3737
3738
3739
3740
3741
3742
3743
3744
3745
3746
3747
3748
3749
3750
3751
3752
3753
3754
3755
3756
3757
3758
3759
3760
3761
3762
3763
3764
3765
3766
3767
3768
3769
3770
3771
3772
3773
3774
3775
3776
3777
3778
3779
3780
3781
3782
3783
3784
3785
3786
3787
3788
3789
3790
3791
3792
3793
3794
3795
3796
3797
3798
3799
3800
3801
3802
3803
3804
3805
3806
3807
3808
3809
3810
3811
3812
3813
3814
3815
3816
3817
3818
3819
3820
3821
3822
3823
3824
3825
3826
3827
3828
3829
3830
3831
3832
3833
3834
3835
3836
3837
3838
3839
3840
3841
3842
3843
3844
3845
3846
3847
3848
3849
3850
3851
3852
3853
3854
3855
3856
3857
3858
3859
3860
3861
3862
3863
3864
3865
3866
3867
3868
3869
3870
3871
3872
3873
3874
3875
3876
3877
3878
3879
3880
3881
3882
3883
3884
3885
3886
3887
3888
3889
3890
3891
3892
3893
3894
3895
3896
3897
3898
3899
3900
3901
3902
3903
3904
3905
3906
3907
3908
3909
3910
3911
3912
3913
3914
3915
3916
3917
3918
3919
3920
3921
3922
3923
3924
3925
3926
3927
3928
3929
3930
3931
3932
3933
3934
3935
3936
3937
3938
3939
3940
3941
3942
3943
3944
3945
3946
3947
3948
3949
3950
3951
3952
3953
3954
3955
3956
3957
3958
3959
3960
3961
3962
3963
3964
3965
3966
3967
3968
3969
3970
3971
3972
3973
3974
3975
3976
3977
3978
3979
3980
3981
3982
3983
3984
3985
3986
3987
3988
3989
3990
3991
3992
3993
3994
3995
3996
3997
3998
3999
4000
4001
4002
4003
4004
4005
4006
4007
4008
4009
4010
4011
4012
4013
4014
4015
4016
4017
4018
4019
4020
4021
4022
4023
4024
4025
4026
4027
4028
4029
4030
4031
4032
4033
4034
4035
4036
4037
4038
4039
4040
4041
4042
4043
4044
4045
4046
4047
4048
4049
4050
4051
4052
4053
4054
4055
4056
4057
4058
4059
4060
4061
4062
4063
4064
4065
4066
4067
4068
4069
4070
4071
4072
4073
4074
4075
4076
4077
4078
4079
4080
4081
4082
4083
4084
4085
4086
4087
4088
4089
4090
4091
4092
4093
4094
4095
4096
4097
4098
4099
4100
4101
4102
4103
4104
4105
4106
4107
4108
4109
4110
4111
4112
4113
4114
4115
4116
4117
4118
4119
4120
4121
4122
4123
4124
4125
4126
4127
4128
4129
4130
4131
4132
4133
4134
4135
4136
4137
4138
4139
4140
4141
4142
4143
4144
4145
4146
4147
4148
4149
4150
4151
4152
4153
4154
4155
4156
4157
4158
4159
4160
4161
4162
4163
4164
4165
4166
4167
4168
4169
4170
4171
4172
4173
4174
4175
4176
4177
4178
4179
4180
4181
4182
4183
4184
4185
4186
4187
4188
4189
4190
4191
4192
4193
4194
4195
4196
4197
4198
4199
4200
4201
4202
4203
4204
4205
4206
4207
4208
4209
4210
4211
4212
4213
4214
4215
4216
4217
4218
4219
4220
4221
4222
4223
4224
4225
4226
4227
4228
4229
4230
4231
4232
4233
4234
4235
4236
4237
4238
4239
4240
4241
4242
4243
4244
4245
4246
4247
4248
4249
4250
4251
4252
4253
4254
4255
4256
4257
4258
4259
4260
4261
4262
4263
4264
4265
4266
4267
4268
4269
4270
4271
4272
4273
4274
4275
4276
4277
4278
4279
4280
4281
4282
4283
4284
4285
4286
4287
4288
4289
4290
4291
4292
4293
4294
4295
4296
4297
4298
4299
4300
4301
4302
4303
4304
4305
4306
4307
4308
4309
4310
4311
4312
4313
4314
4315
4316
4317
4318
4319
4320
4321
4322
4323
4324
4325
4326
4327
4328
4329
4330
4331
4332
4333
4334
4335
4336
4337
4338
4339
4340
4341
4342
4343
4344
4345
4346
4347
4348
4349
4350
4351
4352
4353
4354
4355
4356
4357
4358
4359
4360
4361
4362
4363
4364
4365
4366
4367
4368
4369
4370
4371
4372
4373
4374
4375
4376
4377
4378
4379
4380
4381
4382
4383
4384
4385
4386
4387
4388
4389
4390
4391
4392
4393
4394
4395
4396
4397
4398
4399
4400
4401
4402
4403
4404
4405
4406
4407
4408
4409
4410
4411
4412
4413
4414
4415
4416
4417
4418
4419
4420
4421
4422
4423
4424
4425
4426
4427
4428
4429
4430
4431
4432
4433
4434
4435
4436
4437
4438
4439
4440
4441
4442
4443
4444
4445
4446
4447
4448
4449
4450
4451
4452
4453
4454
4455
4456
4457
4458
4459
4460
4461
4462
4463
4464
4465
4466
4467
4468
4469
4470
4471
4472
4473
4474
4475
4476
4477
4478
4479
4480
4481
4482
4483
4484
4485
4486
4487
4488
4489
4490
4491
4492
4493
4494
4495
4496
4497
4498
4499
4500
4501
4502
4503
4504
4505
4506
4507
4508
4509
4510
4511
4512
4513
4514
4515
4516
4517
4518
4519
4520
4521
4522
4523
4524
4525
4526
4527
4528
4529
4530
4531
4532
4533
4534
4535
4536
4537
4538
4539
4540
4541
4542
4543
4544
4545
4546
4547
4548
4549
4550
4551
4552
4553
4554
4555
4556
4557
4558
4559
4560
4561
4562
4563
4564
4565
4566
4567
4568
4569
4570
4571
4572
4573
4574
4575
4576
4577
4578
4579
4580
4581
4582
4583
4584
4585
4586
4587
4588
4589
4590
4591
4592
4593
4594
4595
4596
4597
4598
4599
4600
4601
4602
4603
4604
4605
4606
4607
4608
4609
4610
4611
4612
4613
4614
4615
4616
4617
4618
4619
4620
4621
4622
4623
4624
4625
4626
4627
4628
4629
4630
4631
4632
4633
4634
4635
4636
4637
4638
4639
4640
4641
4642
4643
4644
4645
4646
4647
4648
4649
4650
4651
4652
4653
4654
4655
4656
4657
4658
4659
4660
4661
4662
4663
4664
4665
4666
4667
4668
4669
4670
4671
4672
4673
4674
4675
4676
4677
4678
4679
4680
4681
4682
4683
4684
4685
4686
4687
4688
4689
4690
4691
4692
4693
4694
4695
4696
4697
4698
4699
4700
4701
4702
4703
4704
4705
4706
4707
4708
4709
4710
4711
4712
4713
4714
4715
4716
4717
4718
4719
4720
4721
4722
4723
4724
4725
4726
4727
4728
4729
4730
4731
4732
4733
4734
4735
4736
4737
4738
4739
4740
4741
4742
4743
4744
4745
4746
4747
4748
4749
4750
4751
4752
4753
4754
4755
4756
4757
4758
4759
4760
4761
4762
4763
4764
4765
4766
4767
4768
4769
4770
4771
4772
4773
4774
4775
4776
4777
4778
4779
4780
4781
4782
4783
4784
4785
4786
4787
4788
4789
4790
4791
4792
4793
4794
4795
4796
4797
4798
4799
4800
4801
4802
4803
4804
4805
4806
4807
4808
4809
4810
4811
4812
4813
4814
4815
4816
4817
4818
4819
4820
4821
4822
4823
4824
4825
4826
4827
4828
4829
4830
4831
4832
4833
4834
4835
4836
4837
4838
4839
4840
4841
4842
4843
4844
4845
4846
4847
4848
4849
4850
4851
4852
4853
4854
4855
4856
4857
4858
4859
4860
4861
4862
4863
4864
4865
4866
4867
4868
4869
4870
4871
4872
4873
4874
4875
4876
4877
4878
4879
4880
4881
4882
4883
4884
4885
4886
4887
4888
4889
4890
4891
4892
4893
4894
4895
4896
4897
4898
4899
4900
4901
4902
4903
4904
4905
4906
4907
4908
4909
4910
4911
4912
4913
4914
4915
4916
4917
4918
4919
4920
4921
4922
4923
4924
4925
4926
4927
4928
4929
4930
4931
4932
4933
4934
4935
4936
4937
4938
4939
4940
4941
4942
4943
4944
4945
4946
4947
4948
4949
4950
4951
4952
4953
4954
4955
4956
4957
4958
4959
4960
4961
4962
4963
4964
4965
4966
4967
4968
4969
4970
4971
4972
4973
4974
4975
4976
4977
4978
4979
4980
4981
4982
4983
4984
4985
4986
4987
4988
4989
4990
4991
4992
4993
4994
4995
4996
4997
4998
4999
5000
5001
5002
5003
5004
5005
5006
5007
5008
5009
5010
5011
5012
5013
5014
5015
5016
5017
5018
5019
5020
5021
5022
5023
5024
5025
5026
5027
5028
5029
5030
5031
5032
5033
5034
5035
5036
5037
5038
5039
5040
5041
5042
5043
5044
5045
5046
5047
5048
5049
5050
5051
5052
5053
5054
5055
5056
5057
5058
5059
5060
5061
5062
5063
5064
5065
5066
5067
5068
5069
5070
5071
5072
5073
5074
5075
5076
5077
5078
5079
5080
5081
5082
5083
5084
5085
5086
5087
5088
5089
5090
5091
5092
5093
5094
5095
5096
5097
5098
5099
5100
5101
5102
5103
5104
5105
5106
5107
5108
5109
5110
5111
5112
5113
5114
5115
5116
5117
5118
5119
5120
5121
5122
5123
5124
5125
5126
5127
5128
5129
5130
5131
5132
5133
5134
5135
5136
5137
5138
5139
5140
5141
5142
5143
5144
5145
5146
5147
5148
5149
5150
5151
5152
5153
5154
5155
5156
5157
5158
5159
5160
5161
5162
5163
5164
5165
5166
5167
5168
5169
5170
5171
5172
5173
5174
5175
5176
5177
5178
5179
5180
5181
5182
5183
5184
5185
5186
5187
5188
5189
5190
5191
5192
5193
5194
5195
5196
5197
5198
5199
5200
5201
5202
5203
5204
5205
5206
5207
5208
5209
5210
5211
5212
5213
5214
5215
5216
5217
5218
5219
5220
5221
5222
5223
5224
5225
5226
5227
5228
5229
5230
5231
5232
5233
5234
5235
5236
5237
5238
5239
5240
5241
5242
5243
5244
5245
5246
5247
5248
5249
5250
5251
5252
5253
5254
5255
5256
5257
5258
5259
5260
5261
5262
5263
5264
5265
5266
5267
5268
5269
5270
5271
5272
5273
5274
5275
5276
5277
5278
5279
5280
5281
5282
5283
5284
5285
5286
5287
5288
5289
5290
5291
5292
5293
5294
5295
5296
5297
5298
5299
5300
5301
5302
5303
5304
5305
5306
5307
5308
5309
5310
5311
5312
5313
5314
5315
5316
5317
5318
5319
5320
5321
5322
5323
5324
5325
5326
5327
5328
5329
5330
5331
5332
5333
5334
5335
5336
5337
5338
5339
5340
5341
5342
5343
5344
5345
5346
5347
5348
5349
5350
5351
5352
5353
5354
5355
5356
5357
5358
5359
5360
5361
5362
5363
5364
5365
5366
5367
5368
5369
5370
5371
5372
5373
5374
5375
5376
5377
5378
5379
5380
5381
5382
5383
5384
5385
5386
5387
5388
5389
5390
5391
5392
5393
5394
5395
5396
5397
5398
5399
5400
5401
5402
5403
5404
5405
5406
5407
5408
5409
5410
5411
5412
5413
5414
5415
5416
5417
5418
5419
5420
5421
5422
5423
5424
5425
5426
5427
5428
5429
5430
5431
5432
5433
5434
5435
5436
5437
5438
5439
5440
5441
5442
5443
5444
5445
5446
5447
5448
5449
5450
5451
5452
5453
5454
5455
5456
5457
5458
5459
5460
5461
5462
5463
5464
5465
5466
5467
5468
5469
5470
5471
5472
5473
5474
5475
5476
5477
5478
5479
5480
5481
5482
5483
5484
5485
5486
5487
5488
5489
5490
5491
5492
5493
5494
5495
5496
5497
5498
5499
5500
5501
5502
5503
5504
5505
5506
5507
5508
5509
5510
5511
5512
5513
5514
5515
5516
5517
5518
5519
5520
5521
5522
5523
5524
5525
5526
5527
5528
5529
5530
5531
5532
5533
5534
5535
5536
5537
5538
5539
5540
5541
5542
5543
5544
5545
5546
5547
5548
5549
5550
5551
5552
5553
5554
5555
5556
5557
5558
5559
5560
5561
5562
5563
5564
5565
5566
5567
5568
5569
5570
5571
5572
5573
5574
5575
5576
5577
5578
5579
5580
5581
5582
5583
5584
5585
5586
5587
5588
5589
5590
5591
5592
5593
5594
5595
5596
5597
5598
5599
5600
5601
5602
5603
5604
5605
5606
5607
5608
5609
5610
5611
5612
5613
5614
5615
5616
5617
5618
5619
5620
5621
5622
5623
5624
5625
5626
5627
5628
5629
5630
5631
5632
5633
5634
5635
5636
5637
5638
5639
5640
5641
5642
5643
5644
5645
5646
5647
5648
5649
5650
5651
5652
5653
5654
5655
5656
5657
5658
5659
5660
5661
5662
5663
5664
5665
5666
5667
5668
5669
5670
5671
5672
5673
5674
5675
5676
5677
5678
5679
5680
5681
5682
5683
5684
5685
5686
5687
5688
5689
5690
5691
5692
5693
5694
5695
5696
5697
5698
5699
5700
5701
5702
5703
5704
5705
5706
5707
5708
5709
5710
5711
5712
5713
5714
5715
5716
5717
5718
5719
5720
5721
5722
5723
5724
5725
5726
5727
5728
5729
5730
5731
5732
5733
5734
5735
5736
5737
5738
5739
5740
5741
5742
5743
5744
5745
5746
5747
5748
5749
5750
5751
5752
5753
5754
5755
5756
5757
5758
5759
5760
5761
5762
5763
5764
5765
5766
5767
5768
5769
5770
5771
5772
5773
5774
5775
5776
5777
5778
5779
5780
5781
5782
5783
5784
5785
5786
5787
5788
5789
5790
5791
5792
5793
5794
5795
5796
5797
5798
5799
5800
5801
5802
5803
5804
5805
5806
5807
5808
5809
5810
5811
5812
5813
5814
5815
5816
5817
5818
5819
5820
5821
5822
5823
5824
5825
5826
5827
5828
5829
5830
5831
5832
5833
5834
5835
5836
5837
5838
5839
5840
5841
5842
5843
5844
5845
5846
5847
5848
5849
5850
5851
5852
5853
5854
5855
5856
5857
5858
5859
5860
5861
5862
5863
5864
5865
5866
5867
5868
5869
5870
5871
5872
5873
5874
5875
5876
5877
5878
5879
5880
5881
5882
5883
5884
5885
5886
5887
5888
5889
5890
5891
5892
5893
5894
5895
5896
5897
5898
5899
5900
5901
5902
5903
5904
5905
5906
5907
5908
5909
5910
5911
5912
5913
5914
5915
5916
5917
5918
5919
5920
5921
5922
5923
5924
5925
5926
5927
5928
5929
5930
5931
5932
5933
5934
5935
5936
5937
5938
5939
5940
5941
5942
5943
5944
5945
5946
5947
5948
5949
5950
5951
5952
5953
5954
5955
5956
5957
5958
5959
5960
5961
5962
5963
5964
5965
5966
5967
5968
5969
5970
5971
5972
5973
5974
5975
5976
5977
5978
5979
5980
5981
5982
5983
5984
5985
5986
5987
5988
5989
5990
5991
5992
5993
5994
5995
5996
5997
5998
5999
6000
6001
6002
6003
6004
6005
6006
6007
6008
6009
6010
6011
6012
6013
6014
6015
6016
6017
6018
6019
6020
6021
6022
6023
6024
6025
6026
6027
6028
6029
6030
6031
6032
6033
6034
6035
6036
6037
6038
6039
6040
6041
6042
6043
6044
6045
6046
6047
6048
6049
6050
6051
6052
6053
6054
6055
6056
6057
6058
6059
6060
6061
6062
6063
6064
6065
6066
6067
6068
6069
6070
6071
6072
6073
6074
6075
6076
6077
6078
6079
6080
6081
6082
6083
6084
6085
6086
6087
6088
6089
6090
6091
6092
6093
6094
6095
6096
6097
6098
6099
6100
6101
6102
6103
6104
6105
6106
6107
6108
6109
6110
6111
6112
6113
6114
6115
6116
6117
6118
6119
6120
6121
6122
6123
6124
6125
6126
6127
6128
6129
6130
6131
6132
6133
6134
6135
6136
6137
6138
6139
6140
6141
6142
6143
6144
6145
6146
6147
6148
6149
6150
6151
6152
6153
6154
6155
6156
6157
6158
6159
6160
6161
6162
6163
6164
6165
6166
6167
6168
6169
6170
6171
6172
6173
6174
6175
6176
6177
6178
6179
6180
6181
6182
6183
6184
6185
6186
6187
6188
6189
6190
6191
6192
6193
6194
6195
6196
6197
6198
6199
6200
6201
6202
6203
6204
6205
6206
6207
6208
6209
6210
6211
6212
6213
6214
6215
6216
6217
6218
6219
6220
6221
6222
6223
6224
6225
6226
6227
6228
6229
6230
6231
6232
6233
6234
6235
6236
6237
6238
6239
6240
6241
6242
6243
6244
6245
6246
6247
6248
6249
6250
6251
6252
6253
6254
6255
6256
6257
6258
6259
6260
6261
6262
6263
6264
6265
6266
6267
6268
6269
6270
6271
6272
6273
6274
6275
6276
6277
6278
6279
6280
6281
6282
6283
6284
6285
6286
6287
6288
6289
6290
6291
6292
6293
6294
6295
6296
6297
6298
6299
6300
6301
6302
6303
6304
6305
6306
6307
6308
6309
6310
6311
6312
6313
6314
6315
6316
6317
6318
6319
6320
6321
6322
6323
6324
6325
6326
6327
6328
6329
6330
6331
6332
6333
6334
6335
6336
6337
6338
6339
6340
6341
6342
6343
6344
6345
6346
6347
6348
6349
6350
6351
6352
6353
6354
6355
6356
6357
6358
6359
6360
6361
6362
6363
6364
6365
6366
6367
6368
6369
6370
6371
6372
6373
6374
6375
6376
6377
6378
6379
6380
6381
6382
6383
6384
6385
6386
6387
6388
6389
6390
6391
6392
6393
6394
6395
6396
6397
6398
6399
6400
6401
6402
6403
6404
6405
6406
6407
6408
6409
6410
6411
6412
6413
6414
6415
6416
6417
6418
6419
6420
6421
6422
6423
6424
6425
6426
6427
6428
6429
6430
6431
6432
6433
6434
6435
6436
6437
6438
6439
6440
6441
6442
6443
6444
6445
6446
6447
6448
6449
6450
6451
6452
6453
6454
6455
6456
6457
6458
6459
6460
6461
6462
6463
6464
6465
6466
6467
6468
6469
6470
6471
6472
6473
6474
6475
6476
6477
6478
6479
6480
6481
6482
6483
6484
6485
6486
6487
6488
6489
6490
6491
6492
6493
6494
6495
6496
6497
6498
6499
6500
6501
6502
6503
6504
6505
6506
6507
6508
6509
6510
6511
6512
6513
6514
6515
6516
6517
6518
6519
6520
6521
6522
6523
6524
6525
6526
6527
6528
6529
6530
6531
6532
6533
6534
6535
6536
6537
6538
6539
6540
6541
6542
6543
6544
6545
6546
6547
6548
6549
6550
6551
6552
6553
6554
6555
6556
6557
6558
6559
6560
6561
6562
6563
6564
6565
6566
6567
6568
6569
6570
6571
6572
6573
6574
6575
6576
6577
6578
6579
6580
6581
6582
6583
6584
6585
6586
6587
6588
6589
6590
6591
6592
6593
6594
6595
6596
6597
6598
6599
6600
6601
6602
6603
6604
6605
6606
6607
6608
6609
6610
6611
6612
6613
6614
6615
6616
6617
6618
6619
6620
6621
6622
6623
6624
6625
6626
6627
6628
6629
6630
6631
6632
6633
6634
6635
6636
6637
6638
6639
6640
6641
6642
6643
6644
6645
6646
6647
6648
6649
6650
6651
6652
6653
6654
6655
6656
6657
6658
6659
6660
6661
6662
6663
6664
6665
6666
6667
6668
6669
6670
6671
6672
6673
6674
6675
6676
6677
6678
6679
6680
6681
6682
6683
6684
6685
6686
6687
6688
6689
6690
6691
6692
6693
6694
6695
6696
6697
6698
6699
6700
6701
6702
6703
6704
6705
6706
6707
6708
6709
6710
6711
6712
6713
6714
6715
6716
6717
6718
6719
6720
6721
6722
6723
6724
6725
6726
6727
6728
6729
6730
6731
6732
6733
6734
6735
6736
6737
6738
6739
6740
6741
6742
6743
6744
6745
6746
6747
6748
6749
6750
6751
6752
6753
6754
6755
6756
6757
6758
6759
6760
6761
6762
6763
6764
6765
6766
6767
6768
6769
6770
6771
6772
6773
6774
6775
6776
6777
6778
6779
6780
6781
6782
6783
6784
6785
6786
6787
6788
6789
6790
6791
6792
6793
6794
6795
6796
6797
6798
6799
6800
6801
6802
6803
6804
6805
6806
6807
6808
6809
6810
6811
6812
6813
6814
6815
6816
6817
6818
6819
6820
6821
6822
6823
6824
6825
6826
6827
6828
6829
6830
6831
6832
6833
6834
6835
6836
6837
6838
6839
6840
6841
6842
6843
6844
6845
6846
6847
6848
6849
6850
6851
6852
6853
6854
6855
6856
6857
6858
6859
6860
6861
6862
6863
6864
6865
6866
6867
6868
6869
6870
6871
6872
6873
6874
6875
6876
6877
6878
6879
6880
6881
6882
6883
6884
6885
6886
6887
6888
6889
6890
6891
6892
6893
6894
6895
6896
6897
6898
6899
6900
6901
6902
6903
6904
6905
6906
6907
6908
6909
6910
6911
6912
6913
6914
6915
6916
6917
6918
6919
6920
6921
6922
6923
6924
6925
6926
6927
6928
6929
6930
6931
6932
6933
6934
6935
6936
6937
6938
6939
6940
6941
6942
6943
6944
6945
6946
6947
6948
6949
6950
6951
6952
6953
6954
6955
6956
6957
6958
6959
6960
6961
6962
6963
6964
6965
6966
6967
6968
6969
6970
6971
6972
6973
6974
6975
6976
6977
6978
6979
6980
6981
6982
6983
6984
6985
6986
6987
6988
6989
6990
6991
6992
6993
6994
6995
6996
6997
6998
6999
7000
7001
7002
7003
7004
7005
7006
7007
7008
7009
7010
7011
7012
7013
7014
7015
7016
7017
7018
7019
7020
7021
7022
7023
7024
7025
7026
7027
7028
7029
7030
7031
7032
7033
7034
7035
7036
7037
7038
7039
7040
7041
7042
7043
7044
7045
7046
7047
7048
7049
7050
7051
7052
7053
7054
7055
7056
7057
7058
7059
7060
7061
7062
7063
7064
7065
7066
7067
7068
7069
7070
7071
7072
7073
7074
7075
7076
7077
7078
7079
7080
7081
7082
7083
7084
7085
7086
7087
7088
7089
7090
7091
7092
7093
7094
7095
7096
7097
7098
7099
7100
7101
7102
7103
7104
7105
7106
7107
7108
7109
7110
7111
7112
7113
7114
7115
7116
7117
7118
7119
7120
7121
7122
7123
7124
7125
7126
7127
7128
7129
7130
7131
7132
7133
7134
7135
7136
7137
7138
7139
7140
7141
7142
7143
7144
7145
7146
7147
7148
7149
7150
7151
7152
7153
7154
7155
7156
7157
7158
7159
7160
7161
7162
7163
7164
7165
7166
7167
7168
7169
7170
7171
7172
7173
7174
7175
7176
7177
7178
7179
7180
7181
7182
7183
7184
7185
7186
7187
7188
7189
7190
7191
7192
7193
7194
7195
7196
7197
7198
7199
7200
7201
7202
7203
7204
7205
7206
7207
7208
7209
7210
7211
7212
7213
7214
7215
7216
7217
7218
7219
7220
7221
7222
7223
7224
7225
7226
7227
7228
7229
7230
7231
7232
7233
7234
7235
7236
7237
7238
7239
7240
7241
7242
7243
7244
7245
7246
7247
7248
7249
7250
7251
7252
7253
7254
7255
7256
7257
7258
7259
7260
7261
7262
7263
7264
7265
7266
7267
7268
7269
7270
7271
7272
7273
7274
7275
7276
7277
7278
7279
7280
7281
7282
7283
7284
7285
7286
7287
7288
7289
7290
7291
7292
7293
7294
7295
7296
7297
7298
7299
7300
7301
7302
7303
7304
7305
7306
7307
7308
7309
7310
7311
7312
7313
7314
7315
7316
7317
7318
7319
7320
7321
7322
7323
7324
7325
7326
7327
7328
7329
7330
7331
7332
7333
7334
7335
7336
7337
7338
7339
7340
7341
7342
7343
7344
7345
7346
7347
7348
7349
7350
7351
7352
7353
7354
7355
7356
7357
7358
7359
7360
7361
7362
7363
7364
7365
7366
7367
7368
7369
7370
7371
7372
7373
7374
7375
7376
7377
7378
7379
7380
7381
7382
7383
7384
7385
7386
7387
7388
7389
7390
7391
7392
7393
7394
7395
7396
7397
7398
7399
7400
7401
7402
7403
7404
7405
7406
7407
7408
7409
7410
7411
7412
7413
7414
7415
7416
7417
7418
7419
7420
7421
7422
7423
7424
7425
7426
7427
7428
7429
7430
7431
7432
7433
7434
7435
7436
7437
7438
7439
7440
7441
7442
7443
7444
7445
7446
7447
7448
7449
7450
7451
7452
7453
7454
7455
7456
7457
7458
7459
7460
7461
7462
7463
7464
7465
7466
7467
7468
7469
7470
7471
7472
7473
7474
7475
7476
7477
7478
7479
7480
7481
7482
7483
7484
7485
7486
7487
7488
7489
7490
7491
7492
7493
7494
7495
7496
7497
7498
7499
7500
7501
7502
7503
7504
7505
7506
7507
7508
7509
7510
7511
7512
7513
7514
7515
7516
7517
7518
7519
7520
7521
7522
7523
7524
7525
7526
7527
7528
7529
7530
7531
7532
7533
7534
7535
7536
7537
7538
7539
7540
7541
7542
7543
7544
7545
7546
7547
7548
7549
7550
7551
7552
7553
7554
7555
7556
7557
7558
7559
7560
7561
7562
7563
7564
7565
7566
7567
7568
7569
7570
7571
7572
7573
7574
7575
7576
7577
7578
7579
7580
7581
7582
7583
7584
7585
7586
7587
7588
7589
7590
7591
7592
7593
7594
7595
7596
7597
7598
7599
7600
7601
7602
7603
7604
7605
7606
7607
7608
7609
7610
7611
7612
7613
7614
7615
7616
7617
7618
7619
7620
7621
7622
7623
7624
7625
7626
7627
7628
7629
7630
7631
7632
7633
7634
7635
7636
7637
7638
7639
7640
7641
7642
7643
7644
7645
7646
7647
7648
7649
7650
7651
7652
7653
7654
7655
7656
7657
7658
7659
7660
7661
7662
7663
7664
7665
7666
7667
7668
7669
7670
7671
7672
7673
7674
7675
7676
7677
7678
7679
7680
7681
7682
7683
7684
7685
7686
7687
7688
7689
7690
7691
7692
7693
7694
7695
7696
7697
7698
7699
7700
7701
7702
7703
7704
7705
7706
7707
7708
7709
7710
7711
7712
7713
7714
7715
7716
7717
7718
7719
7720
7721
7722
7723
7724
7725
7726
7727
7728
7729
7730
7731
7732
7733
7734
7735
7736
7737
7738
7739
7740
7741
7742
7743
7744
7745
7746
7747
7748
7749
7750
7751
7752
7753
7754
7755
7756
7757
7758
7759
7760
7761
7762
7763
7764
7765
7766
7767
7768
7769
7770
7771
7772
7773
7774
7775
7776
7777
7778
7779
7780
7781
7782
7783
7784
7785
7786
7787
7788
7789
7790
7791
7792
7793
7794
7795
7796
7797
7798
7799
7800
7801
7802
7803
7804
7805
7806
7807
7808
7809
7810
7811
7812
7813
7814
7815
7816
7817
7818
7819
7820
7821
7822
7823
7824
7825
7826
7827
7828
7829
7830
7831
7832
7833
7834
7835
7836
7837
7838
7839
7840
7841
7842
7843
7844
7845
7846
7847
7848
7849
7850
7851
7852
7853
7854
7855
7856
7857
7858
7859
7860
7861
7862
7863
7864
7865
7866
7867
7868
7869
7870
7871
7872
7873
7874
7875
7876
7877
7878
7879
7880
7881
7882
7883
7884
7885
7886
7887
7888
7889
7890
7891
7892
7893
7894
7895
7896
7897
7898
7899
7900
7901
7902
7903
7904
7905
7906
7907
7908
7909
7910
7911
7912
7913
7914
7915
7916
7917
7918
7919
7920
7921
7922
7923
7924
7925
7926
7927
7928
7929
7930
7931
7932
7933
7934
7935
7936
7937
7938
7939
7940
7941
7942
7943
7944
7945
7946
7947
7948
7949
7950
7951
7952
7953
7954
7955
7956
7957
7958
7959
7960
7961
7962
7963
7964
7965
7966
7967
7968
7969
7970
7971
7972
7973
7974
7975
7976
7977
7978
7979
7980
7981
7982
7983
7984
7985
7986
7987
7988
7989
7990
7991
7992
7993
7994
7995
7996
7997
7998
7999
8000
8001
8002
8003
8004
8005
8006
8007
8008
8009
8010
8011
8012
8013
8014
8015
8016
8017
8018
8019
8020
8021
8022
8023
8024
8025
8026
8027
8028
8029
8030
8031
8032
8033
8034
8035
8036
8037
8038
8039
8040
8041
8042
8043
8044
8045
8046
8047
8048
8049
8050
8051
8052
8053
8054
8055
8056
8057
8058
8059
8060
8061
8062
8063
8064
8065
8066
8067
8068
8069
8070
8071
8072
8073
8074
8075
8076
8077
8078
8079
8080
8081
8082
8083
8084
8085
8086
8087
8088
8089
8090
8091
8092
8093
8094
8095
8096
8097
8098
8099
8100
8101
8102
8103
8104
8105
8106
8107
8108
8109
8110
8111
8112
8113
8114
8115
8116
8117
8118
8119
8120
8121
8122
8123
8124
8125
8126
8127
8128
8129
8130
8131
8132
8133
8134
8135
8136
8137
8138
8139
8140
8141
8142
8143
8144
8145
8146
8147
8148
8149
8150
8151
8152
8153
8154
8155
8156
8157
8158
8159
8160
8161
8162
8163
8164
8165
8166
8167
8168
8169
8170
8171
8172
8173
8174
8175
8176
8177
8178
8179
8180
8181
8182
8183
8184
8185
8186
8187
8188
8189
8190
8191
8192
8193
8194
8195
8196
8197
8198
8199
8200
8201
8202
8203
8204
8205
8206
8207
8208
8209
8210
8211
8212
8213
8214
8215
8216
8217
8218
8219
8220
8221
8222
8223
8224
8225
8226
8227
8228
8229
8230
8231
8232
8233
8234
8235
8236
8237
8238
8239
8240
8241
8242
8243
8244
8245
8246
8247
8248
8249
8250
8251
8252
8253
8254
8255
8256
8257
8258
8259
8260
8261
8262
8263
8264
8265
8266
8267
8268
8269
8270
8271
8272
8273
8274
8275
8276
8277
8278
8279
8280
8281
8282
8283
8284
8285
8286
8287
8288
8289
8290
8291
8292
8293
8294
8295
8296
8297
8298
8299
8300
8301
8302
8303
8304
8305
8306
8307
8308
8309
8310
8311
8312
8313
8314
8315
8316
8317
8318
8319
8320
8321
8322
8323
8324
8325
8326
8327
8328
8329
8330
8331
8332
8333
8334
8335
8336
8337
8338
8339
8340
8341
8342
8343
8344
8345
8346
8347
8348
8349
8350
8351
8352
8353
8354
8355
8356
8357
8358
8359
8360
8361
8362
8363
8364
8365
8366
8367
8368
8369
8370
8371
8372
8373
8374
8375
8376
8377
8378
8379
8380
8381
8382
8383
8384
8385
8386
8387
8388
8389
8390
8391
8392
8393
8394
8395
8396
8397
8398
8399
8400
8401
8402
8403
8404
8405
8406
8407
8408
8409
8410
8411
8412
8413
8414
8415
8416
8417
8418
8419
8420
8421
8422
8423
8424
8425
8426
8427
8428
8429
8430
8431
8432
8433
8434
8435
8436
8437
8438
8439
8440
8441
8442
8443
8444
8445
8446
8447
8448
8449
8450
8451
8452
8453
8454
8455
8456
8457
8458
8459
8460
8461
8462
8463
8464
8465
8466
8467
8468
8469
8470
8471
8472
8473
8474
8475
8476
8477
8478
8479
8480
8481
8482
8483
8484
8485
8486
8487
8488
8489
8490
8491
8492
8493
8494
8495
8496
8497
8498
8499
8500
8501
8502
8503
8504
8505
8506
8507
8508
8509
8510
8511
8512
8513
8514
8515
8516
8517
8518
8519
8520
8521
8522
8523
8524
8525
8526
8527
8528
8529
8530
8531
8532
8533
8534
8535
8536
8537
8538
8539
8540
8541
8542
8543
8544
8545
8546
8547
8548
8549
8550
8551
8552
8553
8554
8555
8556
8557
8558
8559
8560
8561
8562
8563
8564
8565
8566
8567
8568
8569
8570
8571
8572
8573
8574
8575
8576
8577
8578
8579
8580
8581
8582
8583
8584
8585
8586
8587
8588
8589
8590
8591
8592
8593
8594
8595
8596
8597
8598
8599
8600
8601
8602
8603
8604
8605
8606
8607
8608
8609
8610
8611
8612
8613
8614
8615
8616
8617
8618
8619
8620
8621
8622
8623
8624
8625
8626
8627
8628
8629
8630
8631
8632
8633
8634
8635
8636
8637
8638
8639
8640
8641
8642
8643
8644
8645
8646
8647
8648
8649
8650
8651
8652
8653
8654
8655
8656
8657
8658
8659
8660
8661
8662
8663
8664
8665
8666
8667
8668
8669
8670
8671
8672
8673
8674
8675
8676
8677
8678
8679
8680
8681
8682
8683
8684
8685
8686
8687
8688
8689
8690
8691
8692
8693
8694
8695
8696
8697
8698
8699
8700
8701
8702
8703
8704
8705
8706
8707
8708
8709
8710
8711
8712
8713
8714
8715
8716
8717
8718
8719
8720
8721
8722
8723
8724
8725
8726
8727
8728
8729
8730
8731
8732
8733
8734
8735
8736
8737
8738
8739
8740
8741
8742
8743
8744
8745
8746
8747
8748
8749
8750
8751
8752
8753
8754
8755
8756
8757
8758
8759
8760
8761
8762
8763
8764
8765
8766
8767
8768
8769
8770
8771
8772
8773
8774
8775
8776
8777
8778
8779
8780
8781
8782
8783
8784
8785
8786
8787
8788
8789
8790
8791
8792
8793
8794
8795
8796
8797
8798
8799
8800
8801
8802
8803
8804
8805
8806
8807
8808
8809
8810
8811
8812
8813
8814
8815
8816
8817
8818
8819
8820
8821
8822
8823
8824
8825
8826
8827
8828
8829
8830
8831
8832
8833
8834
8835
8836
8837
8838
8839
8840
8841
8842
8843
8844
8845
8846
8847
8848
8849
8850
8851
8852
8853
8854
8855
8856
8857
8858
8859
8860
8861
8862
8863
8864
8865
8866
8867
8868
8869
8870
8871
8872
8873
8874
8875
8876
8877
8878
8879
8880
8881
8882
8883
8884
8885
8886
8887
8888
8889
8890
8891
8892
8893
8894
8895
8896
8897
8898
8899
8900
8901
8902
8903
8904
8905
8906
8907
8908
8909
8910
8911
8912
8913
8914
8915
8916
8917
8918
8919
8920
8921
8922
8923
8924
8925
8926
8927
8928
8929
8930
8931
8932
8933
8934
8935
8936
8937
8938
8939
8940
8941
8942
8943
8944
8945
8946
8947
8948
8949
8950
8951
8952
8953
8954
8955
8956
8957
8958
8959
8960
8961
8962
8963
8964
8965
8966
8967
8968
8969
8970
8971
8972
8973
8974
8975
8976
8977
8978
8979
8980
8981
8982
8983
8984
8985
8986
8987
8988
8989
8990
8991
8992
8993
8994
8995
8996
8997
8998
8999
9000
9001
9002
9003
9004
9005
9006
9007
9008
9009
9010
9011
9012
9013
9014
9015
9016
9017
9018
9019
9020
9021
9022
9023
9024
9025
9026
9027
9028
9029
9030
9031
9032
9033
9034
9035
9036
9037
9038
9039
9040
9041
9042
9043
9044
9045
9046
9047
9048
9049
9050
9051
9052
9053
9054
9055
9056
9057
9058
9059
9060
9061
9062
9063
9064
9065
9066
9067
9068
9069
9070
9071
9072
9073
9074
9075
9076
9077
9078
9079
9080
9081
9082
9083
9084
9085
9086
9087
9088
9089
9090
9091
9092
9093
9094
9095
9096
9097
9098
9099
9100
9101
9102
9103
9104
9105
9106
9107
9108
9109
9110
9111
9112
9113
9114
9115
9116
9117
9118
9119
9120
9121
9122
9123
9124
9125
9126
9127
9128
9129
9130
9131
9132
9133
9134
9135
9136
9137
9138
9139
9140
9141
9142
9143
9144
9145
9146
9147
9148
9149
9150
9151
9152
9153
9154
9155
9156
9157
9158
9159
9160
9161
9162
9163
9164
9165
9166
9167
9168
9169
9170
9171
9172
9173
9174
9175
9176
9177
9178
9179
9180
9181
9182
9183
9184
9185
9186
9187
9188
9189
9190
9191
9192
9193
9194
9195
9196
9197
9198
9199
9200
9201
9202
9203
9204
9205
9206
9207
9208
9209
9210
9211
9212
9213
9214
9215
9216
9217
9218
9219
9220
9221
9222
9223
9224
9225
9226
9227
9228
9229
9230
9231
9232
9233
9234
9235
9236
9237
9238
9239
9240
9241
9242
9243
9244
9245
9246
9247
9248
9249
9250
9251
9252
9253
9254
9255
9256
9257
9258
9259
9260
9261
9262
9263
9264
9265
9266
9267
9268
9269
9270
9271
9272
9273
9274
9275
9276
9277
9278
9279
9280
9281
9282
9283
9284
9285
9286
9287
9288
9289
9290
9291
9292
9293
9294
9295
9296
9297
9298
9299
9300
9301
9302
9303
9304
9305
9306
9307
9308
9309
9310
9311
9312
9313
9314
9315
9316
9317
9318
9319
9320
9321
9322
9323
9324
9325
9326
9327
9328
9329
9330
9331
9332
9333
9334
9335
9336
9337
9338
9339
9340
9341
9342
9343
9344
9345
9346
9347
9348
9349
9350
9351
9352
9353
9354
9355
9356
9357
9358
9359
9360
9361
9362
9363
9364
9365
9366
9367
9368
9369
9370
9371
9372
9373
9374
9375
9376
9377
9378
9379
9380
9381
9382
9383
9384
9385
9386
9387
9388
9389
9390
9391
9392
9393
9394
9395
9396
9397
9398
9399
9400
9401
9402
9403
9404
9405
9406
9407
9408
9409
9410
9411
9412
9413
9414
9415
9416
9417
9418
9419
9420
9421
9422
9423
9424
9425
9426
9427
9428
9429
9430
9431
9432
9433
9434
9435
9436
9437
9438
9439
9440
9441
9442
9443
9444
9445
9446
9447
9448
9449
9450
9451
9452
9453
9454
9455
9456
9457
9458
9459
9460
9461
9462
9463
9464
9465
9466
9467
9468
9469
9470
9471
9472
9473
9474
9475
9476
9477
9478
9479
9480
9481
9482
9483
9484
9485
9486
9487
9488
9489
9490
9491
9492
9493
9494
9495
9496
9497
9498
9499
9500
9501
9502
9503
9504
9505
9506
9507
9508
9509
9510
9511
9512
9513
9514
9515
9516
9517
9518
9519
9520
9521
9522
9523
9524
9525
9526
9527
9528
9529
9530
9531
9532
9533
9534
9535
9536
9537
9538
9539
9540
9541
9542
9543
9544
9545
9546
9547
9548
9549
9550
9551
9552
9553
9554
9555
9556
9557
9558
9559
9560
9561
9562
9563
9564
9565
9566
9567
9568
9569
9570
9571
9572
9573
9574
9575
9576
9577
9578
9579
9580
9581
9582
9583
9584
9585
9586
9587
9588
9589
9590
9591
9592
9593
9594
9595
9596
9597
9598
9599
9600
9601
9602
9603
9604
9605
9606
9607
9608
9609
9610
9611
9612
9613
9614
9615
9616
9617
9618
9619
9620
9621
9622
9623
9624
9625
9626
9627
9628
9629
9630
9631
9632
9633
9634
9635
9636
9637
9638
9639
9640
9641
9642
9643
9644
9645
9646
9647
9648
9649
9650
9651
9652
9653
9654
9655
9656
9657
9658
9659
9660
9661
9662
9663
9664
9665
9666
9667
9668
9669
9670
9671
9672
9673
9674
9675
9676
9677
9678
9679
9680
9681
9682
9683
9684
9685
9686
9687
9688
9689
9690
9691
9692
9693
9694
9695
9696
9697
9698
9699
9700
9701
9702
9703
9704
9705
9706
9707
9708
9709
9710
9711
9712
9713
9714
9715
9716
9717
9718
9719
9720
9721
9722
9723
9724
9725
9726
9727
9728
9729
9730
9731
9732
9733
9734
9735
9736
9737
9738
9739
9740
9741
9742
9743
9744
9745
9746
9747
9748
9749
9750
9751
9752
9753
9754
9755
9756
9757
9758
9759
9760
9761
9762
9763
9764
9765
9766
9767
9768
9769
9770
9771
9772
9773
9774
9775
9776
9777
9778
9779
9780
9781
9782
9783
9784
9785
9786
9787
9788
9789
9790
9791
9792
9793
9794
9795
9796
9797
9798
9799
9800
9801
9802
9803
9804
9805
9806
9807
9808
9809
9810
9811
9812
9813
9814
9815
9816
9817
9818
9819
9820
9821
9822
9823
9824
9825
9826
9827
9828
9829
9830
9831
9832
9833
9834
9835
9836
9837
9838
9839
9840
9841
9842
9843
9844
9845
9846
9847
9848
9849
9850
9851
9852
9853
9854
9855
9856
9857
9858
9859
9860
9861
9862
9863
9864
9865
9866
9867
9868
9869
9870
9871
9872
9873
9874
9875
9876
9877
9878
9879
9880
9881
9882
9883
9884
9885
9886
9887
9888
9889
9890
9891
9892
9893
9894
9895
9896
9897
9898
9899
9900
9901
9902
9903
9904
9905
9906
9907
9908
9909
9910
9911
9912
9913
9914
9915
9916
9917
9918
9919
9920
9921
9922
9923
9924
9925
9926
9927
9928
9929
9930
9931
9932
9933
9934
9935
9936
9937
9938
9939
9940
9941
9942
9943
9944
9945
9946
9947
9948
9949
9950
9951
9952
9953
9954
9955
9956
9957
9958
9959
9960
9961
9962
9963
9964
9965
9966
9967
9968
9969
9970
9971
9972
9973
9974
9975
9976
9977
9978
9979
9980
9981
9982
9983
9984
9985
9986
9987
9988
9989
9990
9991
9992
9993
9994
9995
9996
9997
9998
9999
10000
10001
10002
10003
10004
10005
10006
10007
10008
10009
10010
10011
10012
10013
10014
10015
10016
10017
10018
10019
10020
10021
10022
10023
10024
10025
10026
10027
10028
10029
10030
10031
10032
10033
10034
10035
10036
10037
10038
10039
10040
10041
10042
10043
10044
10045
10046
10047
10048
10049
10050
10051
10052
10053
10054
10055
10056
10057
10058
10059
10060
10061
10062
10063
10064
10065
10066
10067
10068
10069
10070
10071
10072
10073
10074
10075
10076
10077
10078
10079
10080
10081
10082
10083
10084
10085
10086
10087
10088
10089
10090
10091
10092
10093
10094
10095
10096
10097
10098
10099
10100
10101
10102
10103
10104
10105
10106
10107
10108
10109
10110
10111
10112
10113
10114
10115
10116
10117
10118
10119
10120
10121
10122
10123
10124
10125
10126
10127
10128
10129
10130
10131
10132
10133
10134
10135
10136
10137
10138
10139
10140
10141
10142
10143
10144
10145
10146
10147
10148
10149
10150
10151
10152
10153
10154
10155
10156
10157
10158
10159
10160
10161
10162
10163
10164
10165
10166
10167
10168
10169
10170
10171
10172
10173
10174
10175
10176
10177
10178
10179
10180
10181
10182
10183
10184
10185
10186
10187
10188
10189
10190
10191
10192
10193
10194
10195
10196
10197
10198
10199
10200
10201
10202
10203
10204
10205
10206
10207
10208
10209
10210
10211
10212
10213
10214
10215
10216
10217
10218
10219
10220
10221
10222
10223
10224
10225
10226
10227
10228
10229
10230
10231
10232
10233
10234
10235
10236
10237
10238
10239
10240
10241
10242
10243
10244
10245
10246
10247
10248
10249
10250
10251
10252
10253
10254
10255
10256
10257
10258
10259
10260
10261
10262
10263
10264
10265
10266
10267
10268
10269
10270
10271
10272
10273
10274
10275
10276
10277
10278
10279
10280
10281
10282
10283
10284
10285
10286
10287
10288
10289
10290
10291
10292
10293
10294
10295
10296
10297
10298
10299
10300
10301
10302
10303
10304
10305
10306
10307
10308
10309
10310
10311
10312
10313
10314
10315
10316
10317
10318
10319
10320
10321
10322
10323
10324
10325
10326
10327
10328
10329
10330
10331
10332
10333
10334
10335
10336
10337
10338
10339
10340
10341
10342
10343
10344
10345
10346
10347
10348
10349
10350
10351
10352
10353
10354
10355
10356
10357
10358
10359
10360
10361
10362
10363
10364
10365
10366
10367
10368
10369
10370
10371
10372
10373
10374
10375
10376
10377
10378
10379
10380
10381
10382
10383
10384
10385
10386
10387
10388
10389
10390
10391
10392
10393
10394
10395
10396
10397
|
<!DOCTYPE html>
<html lang="en">
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>
The river of stars | Project Gutenberg
</title>
<link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover">
<style>
body {
margin-left: 10%;
margin-right: 10%;
}
h1,h2 {
text-align: center;
clear: both;
}
p {
margin-top: .51em;
text-align: justify;
margin-bottom: .49em;
}
hr {
width: 33%;
margin-top: 2em;
margin-bottom: 2em;
margin-left: 33.5%;
margin-right: 33.5%;
clear: both;
}
hr.tiny {width: 20%; margin-left: 40%; margin-right: 40%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0;}
hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;}
hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;}
@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} }
div.chapter {page-break-before: always;}
h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;}
table {
margin-left: auto;
margin-right: auto;
}
td {padding-left: 0.5em;}
.tdr {text-align: right;}
.pagenum {
position: absolute;
left: 92%;
font-size: small;
text-align: right;
font-style: normal;
font-weight: normal;
font-variant: normal;
text-indent: 0;
}
.blockquot {
margin-left: 17.5%;
margin-right: 17.5%;
}
.x-ebookmaker .blockquot {
margin-left: 7.5%;
margin-right: 7.5%;
}
.indentleft {padding-left: 3em;}
.center {text-align: center;}
.right {text-align: right;}
.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;}
.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;}
.ph1 {text-align: center; font-size: large; font-weight: bold;}
div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always; page-break-after: always;}
div.titlepage p {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 2em;}
.xxlarge {font-size: 200%;}
.xlarge {font-size: 150%;}
.large {font-size: 125%;}
.x-ebookmaker .hide {display: none; visibility: hidden;}
.figcenter {
margin: auto;
text-align: center;
page-break-inside: avoid;
max-width: 100%;
}
.footnote {margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;}
.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 75%; text-align: right;}
.fnanchor {
vertical-align: super;
font-size: .8em;
text-decoration:
none;
}
.antiqua {
font-family: Blackletter, Fraktur, Textur, "Old English Text MT", "Olde English Mt",
"Olde English", "Old English", "Engravers Old English BT", "Collins Old English",
"New Old English", Gothic, serif, sans-serif;}
p.drop-cap {
text-indent: -0.35em;
}
p.drop-cap2 {
text-indent: -0.75em;
}
p.drop-cap:first-letter, p.drop-cap2:first-letter
{
float: left;
margin: 0em 0.15em 0em 0em;
font-size: 250%;
line-height:0.85em;
text-indent: 0em;
}
.x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap, .x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap2 {
text-indent: 0em;
}
.x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap:first-letter, .x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap2:first-letter
{
float: none;
margin: 0;
font-size: 100%;
}
.bbox {border: 2px solid; padding: 1em;}
.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;}
.poetry-container {text-align: center;}
.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;}
.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA;
color: black;
font-size:smaller;
margin-left: 17.5%;
margin-right: 17.5%;
padding: 1em;
margin-bottom: 1em;
font-family:sans-serif, serif; }
</style>
</head>
<body>
<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75729 ***</div>
<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450" alt=""></div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<h1>THE RIVER OF STARS</h1>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="bbox">
<p class="ph1">POPULAR NOVELS<br>
<small>BY</small><br>
<span class="large">EDGAR WALLACE</span><br>
<small>PUBLISHED BY</small><br>
<span class="smcap">Ward, Lock</span> & <span class="smcap">Co., Limited</span><br>
<small><i>In various editions</i></small></p>
<hr class="tiny">
<p>SANDERS OF THE RIVER<br>
BONES<br>
BOSAMBO OF THE RIVER<br>
BONES IN LONDON<br>
THE KEEPERS OF THE KING’S PEACE<br>
THE COUNCIL OF JUSTICE<br>
THE DUKE IN THE SUBURBS<br>
THE PEOPLE OF THE RIVER<br>
DOWN UNDER DONOVAN<br>
PRIVATE SELBY<br>
THE ADMIRABLE CARFEW<br>
THE MAN WHO BOUGHT LONDON<br>
THE JUST MEN OF CORDOVA<br>
THE SECRET HOUSE<br>
KATE PLUS TEN<br>
LIEUTENANT BONES<br>
THE ADVENTURES OF HEINE<br>
JACK O’ JUDGMENT<br>
THE DAFFODIL MYSTERY<br>
THE NINE BEARS<br>
THE BOOK OF ALL-POWER<br>
MR. JUSTICE MAXELL<br>
THE BOOKS OF BART<br>
THE DARK EYES OF LONDON<br>
CHICK<br>
SANDI THE KING-MAKER<br>
THE THREE OAK MYSTERY<br>
THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE FROG<br>
BLUE HAND<br>
GREY TIMOTHY<br>
A DEBT DISCHARGED<br>
THOSE FOLK OF BULBORO<br>
THE MAN WHO WAS NOBODY<br>
THE GREEN RUST<br>
THE FOURTH PLAGUE<br>
THE RIVER OF STARS</p>
</div></div></div></div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_title.jpg" alt="title page"></div>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="titlepage">
<p><span class="xxlarge">THE RIVER OF<br>
STARS</span></p>
<p>By<br>
<span class="xlarge">EDGAR WALLACE</span><br>
Author of “Four Just Men,” “Council of Justice,”<br>
“Sanders of the River,” etc.</p>
<p><span class="large">WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED</span><br>
LONDON AND MELBOURNE</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<p class="center"><span class="antiqua">Dedication</span><br>
<br>
TO<br>
<br>
MY SISTER<br>
<br>
<span class="large">GLADYS GANE</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p class="center">Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd., Frome and London</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2>
</div>
<table>
<tr><td class="tdr"><small>CHAP.</small></td><td class="tdr" colspan="2"> <small>PAGE</small></td></tr>
<tr><td> </td><td><span class="smcap">The Prologue</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_7"> 7</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">I</td><td> <span class="smcap">Amber</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_16"> 16</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">II</td><td> <span class="smcap">At the Whistlers</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_25"> 25</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">III</td><td> <span class="smcap">Introduces Peter, the Romancist</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_36"> 36</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">IV</td><td> <span class="smcap">Lambaire Needs a Chart</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_50"> 50</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">V</td><td> <span class="smcap">Amber Admits His Guilt</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_69"> 69</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">VI</td><td> <span class="smcap">In Flair Court</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_78"> 78</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">VII</td><td> <span class="smcap">Amber Goes to Scotland Yard</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_88"> 88</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">VIII</td><td> <span class="smcap">Francis Sutton asks a Question</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_99"> 99</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">IX</td><td> <span class="smcap">Amber Sees the Map</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_108"> 108</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">X</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Man in Convict’s Clothes</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_120"> 120</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XI</td><td> <span class="smcap">Introduces Captain Ambrose Grey</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_131"> 131</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XII</td><td> <span class="smcap">Amber Sails</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_144"> 144</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XIII</td><td> <span class="smcap">In the Forest</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_154"> 154</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XIV</td><td> <span class="smcap">A Handful o’ Pebble</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_167"> 167</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XV</td><td> <span class="smcap">In the Bed of the River</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_178"> 178</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XVI</td><td> <span class="smcap">Amber on Prospectuses</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_188"> 188</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XVII</td><td> <span class="smcap">Whitey has a Plan</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_200"> 200</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XVIII</td><td> <span class="smcap">Whitey’s Way</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_212"> 212</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XIX</td><td> <span class="smcap">Amber Runs Away</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_230"> 230</a></td></tr>
<tr><td> </td><td><span class="smcap">Chapter the Last</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_243"> 243</a></td></tr>
</table>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">THE PROLOGUE</h2>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap">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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Here, too, is the River of Stars.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>A few days before the expedition marched he
took the leader aside.</p>
<p>“Now, Sutton,” he said, “this affair has cost<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>
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——”</p>
<p>The other man interrupted him with a nervous
little laugh.</p>
<p>“It is not in Portuguese territory, of course,”
he said.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>“Only, you know, that the Colonial Office——”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“I have got two,” said the other wonderingly.</p>
<p>“Let me have ’em.”</p>
<p>“But——”</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span>
few minutes with the two instruments. He took
in exchange the one the man held and opened it.</p>
<p>It was a beautiful instrument. There was no
needle, the whole dial revolving as he turned it
about.</p>
<p>Something he saw surprised him, for he frowned.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Diamonds, I understand?”</p>
<p>Sutton nodded.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span>“Avoid trouble,” he said, “I do not want war
in my territories—<i>and</i> keep away from the Portuguese
border.”</p>
<p>Sutton smiled.</p>
<p>“We shall give that precious border a wide
berth—the Colonial Office has seen the route,
and approves.”</p>
<p>The Commissioner nodded again and eyed
Sutton gravely. “Good luck,” he said.</p>
<p>The next day the expedition marched with the
dawn, and disappeared into the wood beyond the
Isisi River.</p>
<p>A week later the stout man sailed for England.</p>
<p>Months passed and none returned, nor did any
news come of the expedition either by messenger
or by <i>Lokali</i>. A year went by, and another, and
still no sign came.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span>Nevertheless he sent two spies secretly into the
bush, cunning men, skilled in woodcraft.</p>
<p>They were absent about three months, and
returned one leading the other.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“What saw you, Messambi?” he asked in the
vernacular.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“So I thought,” said Sanders gravely, and made
his report to England.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>He had been called into the bush to settle a
witch-doctor palaver. He travelled sixty miles<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>
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.</p>
<p>The witch-doctor was an old man, but Sanders
had no respect for grey hairs.</p>
<p>“It is evident to me that you are an evil man,”
he said, “and——”</p>
<p>“Master!”</p>
<p>It was the complainant who interrupted him,
a man wasted by disease and terror, who came
into the circle of soldiery and stolid townspeople.</p>
<p>“Master, he is a bad man——”</p>
<p>“Be silent,” commanded Sanders.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>“Eh?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“What is this talk of white men?” he asked.</p>
<p>The old doctor said something in a low tone,
fiercely, and the informer hesitated.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span>“Go on,” said Sanders.</p>
<p>“He says——”</p>
<p>“Go on!”</p>
<p>The man was shaking from head to foot.</p>
<p>“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....”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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....</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The soldiers carried him into the open, and laid
him carefully on the ground.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“M—m,” said Sanders, and shook his head.</p>
<p>“... 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span>
with the chart, and your infernal compass....
I’ve left a cache of tools, and food for a couple of
years....”</p>
<p>He thrust his hand into his rag of a shirt and
brought out a scrap of paper.</p>
<p>Sanders bent down to take it, but the man
pushed him back with his thin hand.</p>
<p>“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....”</p>
<p>Ten minutes later he fell into a sound sleep.</p>
<p>Sanders found the soiled paper, and put it into
his uniform pocket.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span>
for near by in the forest the Houssas had dug up
much evidence of sacrifice.</p>
<p>“Master,” said the man, facing the stare of
grey eyes, “I see death in your face.”</p>
<p>“That is God’s truth,” said Sanders, and hanged
him then and there.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER I<br>
<small>AMBER</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">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.</p>
<p>His eyes wandered round the little room critically.</p>
<p>Spoon and basin on the shelf; prison regulations
varnished a dull yellow, above these; bed
neatly folded ... he nodded slowly, still whistling.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>
that native servants could be on occasion “very
trying.”</p>
<p>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
<i>Swiss Family Robinson</i>, 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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span>
in the ugly garb of his bondage, a singularly good-looking
young man.</p>
<p>There was the sound of a key at the door, and
he rose as the lock snapped twice and the door
swung outward.</p>
<p>“75,” said an authoritative voice, and he
stepped out of the cell into the long corridor,
standing to attention.</p>
<p>The warder, swinging his keys at the end of a
bright chain, pointed to the prisoner’s shoes neatly
arranged by the cell door.</p>
<p>“Put ’em on.”</p>
<p>Amber obeyed, the warder watching him.</p>
<p>“Why this intrusion upon privacy, my Augustus?”
asked the kneeling Amber.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span>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.</p>
<p>With a nod he dismissed the warder.</p>
<p>“75,” he said briefly, “you are going out
to-morrow, on a Home Office order.”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir,” said Amber.</p>
<p>The Governor was thoughtfully silent for a
moment, drumming his fingers noiselessly on his
blotting-pad.</p>
<p>“What are you going to do?” he demanded
suddenly.</p>
<p>Amber smiled.</p>
<p>“I shall pursue my career of crime,” he said
cheerfully, and the Governor frowned and shook
his head.</p>
<p>“I can’t understand you—haven’t you any
friends?”</p>
<p>Again the amused smile.</p>
<p>“No, sir.” Amber was even more cheerful
than before. “I have nobody to blame for my
detection but myself.”</p>
<p>The Major turned over some sheets of paper
that lay before him, read them, and frowned again.</p>
<p>“Ten convictions!” he said. “A man of
your capacity—why, with your ability you might
have been——”</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>
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.”</p>
<p>He took a step forward and leant on the edge
of the desk.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>The Governor shook his head again.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“You’re a fool,” said the Governor, and pressed
a bell.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span>“I’m an adventuring philosopher,” said 75
complacently, as the warder came in to march
him back to his cell....</p>
<p>Just before the prison bell clanged the order
for bed, a warder brought him a neat bundle of
clothing.</p>
<p>“Look over these, 75, and check them,” said
the officer pleasantly. He handed a printed list
to the prisoner.</p>
<p>“Can’t be bothered,” said Amber, taking the
list. “I’ll trust to your honesty.”</p>
<p>“Check ’em.”</p>
<p>Amber unfastened the bundle, unfolded his
clothing, shook them out and laid them over the
bed.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>He found it in the waistcoat pocket, carefully
wrapped in tissue-paper, and was warm in his
praise of the prison authorities.</p>
<p>“I’ll send a man in to shave you in the morning,”
said the warder, and lingered at the
door.</p>
<p>“75,” he said, after a pause, “don’t you come
back here.”</p>
<p>“Why not?”</p>
<p>Amber looked up with his eyebrows raised.</p>
<p>“Because this is a mug’s game,” said the
warder. “A gentleman like you! Surely you
can keep away from a place like this!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>Amber regarded the other with the glint of a
smile in his eyes.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>(It was an eccentricity of Amber’s that he
invariably employed the possessive pronoun in
his address.)</p>
<p>Still the warder lingered.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>75 raised his hand in dignified protest.</p>
<p>“My warder,” he said gravely, “you are
quotin’ the Sunday papers, and that I will not
tolerate, even from you.”</p>
<p>Later, in the Warders’ Mess, Mr. Scrutton said
that as far as <i>he</i> was concerned he gave 75 up as
a bad job.</p>
<p>“As nice a fellow as you could wish to meet,”
he confessed.</p>
<p>“How did he come down?” asked an assistant
warder.</p>
<p>“He was a curate in the West End of London,
got into debt and pawned the church plate—he
told me so himself!”</p>
<p>There were several officers in the mess-room.
One of these, an elderly man, removed his pipe
before he spoke.</p>
<p>“I saw him in Lewes two years ago; as far<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>
as my recollection serves me, he was thrown out
of the Navy for running a destroyer ashore.”</p>
<p>Amber was the subject of discussion in the little
dining-room of the Governor’s quarters, where
Major Bliss dined with the deputy governor.</p>
<p>“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....”</p>
<p>Unconscious of the interest he was exciting,
Amber slumbered peacefully on his thin mattress,
smiling in his sleep.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Amber?” he asked hesitatingly.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span>“Mr. Amber,” corrected the other, his head
perked on one side like a curious hen.</p>
<p>“Mr. Amber.” The missioner accepted the
correction gravely. “My name is Dowles. I am
a helper of the Prisoners’ Regeneration League.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>He shook his head despairingly, and with a nod
made as if to go.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>Amber looked down at him kindly, his hand
rested on the other’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“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!”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“For the good cause,” he said magnificently,
and, slipping the coin into the missioner’s hand,
he strode off.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER II<br>
<small>AT THE WHISTLERS</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap">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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>
that the world has little sympathy with a fool
confessed, so that much of the evidence that an
interfering constabulary desired was never forthcoming.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Steady, old fellow,” he said. Lambaire’s
voice was deep and rich, and ended in a little<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span>
chuckle. “Pay that infernal brute. Whitey—pay
the fare on the clock and not a penny more—here,
hold up, Sutton my lad.”</p>
<p>The boy made another blunder and laughed
foolishly.</p>
<p>“We’ll put him right in a minute, won’t we,
major?”</p>
<p>Whitey had a high little voice and spoke rapidly.</p>
<p>“Take his arm, Whitey,” said Lambaire, “a
couple of old brandies will make a new man of
you....”</p>
<p>They disappeared through the swing doors of
the club, and the hum of the departing taxi
sounded fainter and fainter.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>She hesitated a moment, then ascended the two
steps that led to the club, and hesitated again.</p>
<p>Then she came back to the car.</p>
<p>“Shall I ask, miss?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span>“If you please, John.”</p>
<p>She stood on the pavement watching the driver
as he knocked on the glass-panelled door.</p>
<p>A servant came and held the door open, regarding
the chauffeur with an unfriendly eye.</p>
<p>“Mr. Sutton—no, we’ve no such member.”</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“He’s not here, madame,” he said.</p>
<p>She came forward.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“He is not here, madame,” said the man
doggedly.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“He is here!” She stamped her foot. “In
this wretched, wicked club—he is being robbed—it
is wicked—wicked!”</p>
<p>The waiter closed the door in her face.</p>
<p>“Pardon me.”</p>
<p>A young man, clean-shaven, glass in eye, dressed
in the neatest of tweed suits, stood by her, hat
in hand.</p>
<p>He had the happiest of smiles and a half-smoked
cigarette lay on the pavement.</p>
<p>“Can I be of any assistance?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>Amber nodded courteously. Without a word
he led the way to her car, and she followed without
question. She stepped in as he indicated.</p>
<p>“What is your address?—I will bring your
brother.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>He took it, read it, and bowed slightly.</p>
<p>“Home,” he said to the driver, and stood watching
the tall lights of the brougham disappear.</p>
<p>He waited, thinking deeply.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>He saw the car vanish from sight round a corner,
and went slowly up the steps of the club.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span>The man looked at him doubtingly.</p>
<p>“Member, sir?” he asked, and was rewarded
by an indignant stare.</p>
<p>“Beg pardon, sir,” said the abashed porter.
“We’ve got so many members that it is difficult
to remember them.”</p>
<p>“I suppose so,” said Amber coldly. He
mounted the stairs with slow steps; half-way
up he turned.</p>
<p>“Is Captain Lawn in the club?”</p>
<p>“No, sir,” said the man.</p>
<p>“Or Mr. Augustus Breet?”</p>
<p>“No, sir, neither of those gentlemen are in.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The first floor was taken up with dining and
writing rooms.</p>
<p>Amber smiled internally.</p>
<p>“This,” he thought, “is where the gulls sign
their little cheques—most thoughtful arrangement.”</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span>
corner of the room, closed the door, and went
up yet another and a steeper flight.</p>
<p>Before the polished portals of the room, which
he gathered was the front room of the upper
floor, a man sat on guard.</p>
<p>He was short and broad, his face was unmistakably
that of a prize-fighter’s, and he rose and
confronted Amber.</p>
<p>“Well, sir?”</p>
<p>The tone was uncompromisingly hostile.</p>
<p>“All right,” said Amber, and made to open
the door.</p>
<p>“One moment, sir, you’re not a member.”</p>
<p>Amber stared at the man.</p>
<p>“My fellow,” he said stiffly, “you have a bad
memory for faces.”</p>
<p>“I don’t remember yours, anyway.”</p>
<p>The man’s tone was insolent, and Amber saw
the end of his enterprise before ever it had begun.</p>
<p>He thrust his hands into his pockets and laughed
quietly.</p>
<p>“I am going into that room,” he said.</p>
<p>“You’re not.”</p>
<p>Amber reached out his hand and grasped the
knob of the door, and the man gripped him by
the shoulder.</p>
<p>Only for a second, for the intruder whipped
round like a flash.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>
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.</p>
<p>Amber turned the door-handle and went in.</p>
<p>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....</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Before they could question him the door-keeper
was back, his coat off, the light of battle in his
eye.</p>
<p>“Where is he?” he roared. “I’ll learn
him....”</p>
<p>His language was violent, but justified in the
circumstances.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Put him out!”</p>
<p>Lambaire was in authority there. His face
was puckered and creased with anger, and he
pointed to the trespasser.</p>
<p>“Put him out. George——”</p>
<p>Amber’s hands were in his pockets.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>“I shall shoot,” he said quietly, and there was
a silence and a move backward.</p>
<p>Even the pugilistic janitor hesitated.</p>
<p>“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<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>; most unfriendly!”</p>
<p>He shook his head reprovingly.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Sutton,” he said loudly, “Sutton, my buck,
wake up and identify your old friend.”</p>
<p>Gradually the excitement was wearing down.
Lambaire jerked his head to the door-keeper and
reluctantly he retired.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“I’m not a gentleman,” said Amber calmly.
“I’m one of yourselves.”</p>
<p>He made his way to where the youth half sat,
half lay, and shook him.</p>
<p>“I came to see my friend,” he said, “and a
jolly nice mess some of you people have made
of him.”</p>
<p>He turned a stern face to the crowd.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>“I’m going to take him away,” he said suddenly.</p>
<p>His strength was surprising, for with one arm
he lifted the boy to his feet.</p>
<p>“Stop!”</p>
<p>Lambaire was between him and the door.</p>
<p>“You leave that young fellow here—and clear.”</p>
<p>Amber’s answer was characteristic.</p>
<p>With his disengaged hand, he lifted a chair,
swung it once in a circle round his head, and sent
it smashing through the window.</p>
<p>They heard the faint crackle of it as it struck
the street below, the tinkle of falling glass, and
then a police whistle.</p>
<p>Lambaire stood back from the door and flung
it open.</p>
<p>“You can go,” he said between his teeth. “I
shall remember you.”</p>
<p>“If you don’t,” said Amber, with his arm round
the boy, “you’ve got a jolly bad memory.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER III<br>
<small>INTRODUCES PETER, THE ROMANCIST</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">AMBER had £86 10<i>s.</i>—a respectable sum.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>There came a knock at the door, and he bade
the knocker come in.</p>
<p>A neat maid entered with a tray, on which lay
a card, and Amber took it up carelessly.</p>
<p>“Mr. George Whitey,” he read. “Show him
up.”</p>
<p>Whitey was beautifully dressed. From his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span>
glossy silk hat to his shiny patent shoes, he was
everything that a gentleman should be in
appearance.</p>
<p>He smiled at Amber, placed his top-hat carefully
upon the table, and skinned his yellow
gloves.</p>
<p>Amber, holding up the card by the corner,
regarded him benevolently.</p>
<p>When the door had shut—</p>
<p>“And what can I do for you, my Whitey?”
he demanded.</p>
<p>Whitey sat down, carefully loosened the buttons
of his frock-coat, and shot his cuffs.</p>
<p>“Name of Amber?”</p>
<p>His voice was a very high one; it was of a
whistling shrillness.</p>
<p>Amber nodded.</p>
<p>“The fact of it is, old fellow,” said the other,
with easy familiarity, “Lambaire wants an understanding,
an undertaking, and—er—um——”</p>
<p>“And who is Lambaire?” asked the innocent
Amber.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>He leant back with the triumphant air of a
man who is revealing a well-kept secret.</p>
<p>“Bull’s-eye,” said Amber calmly. “Will you
have a cigar or a butter-dish?”</p>
<p>“Now we know you—d’ye see? We’ve got<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span>
you taped down to the last hole. We bear no
resentment, no malice, no nothing.”</p>
<p>“No anything,” corrected Amber. “Yes——?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>He paused significantly, and smiled with some
meaning.</p>
<p>“Even the money,” he repeated, and Amber
raised his eyebrows.</p>
<p>“Money?” he said. “My visitor, I fail to
rise to this subtile reference.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Amber’s smile was angelic in its forgiveness.</p>
<p>“May I suggest,” he said, “that I was not
the only bad character present?”</p>
<p>“Anyway, it doesn’t matter, the money part
of it,” Whitey went on. “Lambaire doesn’t
want to prosecute.”</p>
<p>“Ha! ha!” said Amber, laughing politely.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span>“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——”</p>
<p>Whitey had sprung to his feet, his face was
unusually pale, his eyes narrowed till they were
scarcely visible, his hands twitched nervously.</p>
<p>“Oh, you—you know, do you?” he stuttered.
“I told Lambaire that you knew—that’s your
game, is it? Well, you look out!”</p>
<p>He wagged a warning finger at the astonished
young man in the chair.</p>
<p>“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!”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Here he stood for a few seconds, framing some
final message.</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>
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——”</p>
<p>“Get out,” said Amber shortly, and Whitey
went, slamming the door behind him.</p>
<p>Amber stepped to the window and from the
shadow of the curtain watched his visitor depart.</p>
<p>A cab was waiting for him, and he stepped in.</p>
<p>“No instructions for driver,” noted Amber.
“He goes home as per arrangement.”</p>
<p>He rang a bell and a maid appeared.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Also,” he went on gaily, “instruct our boots
to pack our belongings—for we are going away.”</p>
<p>The girl smiled.</p>
<p>“You haven’t been with us long, sir,” she said.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span>
the swollen waters of the Danube, his dispatches
between his teeth, and bullets striking the dark
water on either side——”</p>
<p>“Lor!” said the startled girl, “you <i>does</i> have
a time!”</p>
<p>“I does,” admitted Amber; “bring the score,
my wench.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>His little trunk was packed, and a taxi-cab
whistled for.</p>
<p>He stood with one foot upon the rubber-covered
step, deep in thought, then he turned to the
waiting girl.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>He spoke over his shoulder to the waiting
housemaid.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir,” she said, a little dazed.</p>
<p>“Tell him I have been called away to—to
Teheran.”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
<p>“On a diplomatic mission,” he added with
relish.</p>
<p>He stepped into the car, closing the door behind
him.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>An errand-boy, basket on arm, stood fascinated
in the centre of the side-walk, listening with open
mouth.</p>
<p>“I expect to be back,” he went on, reflecting
with bent head, “in August or September, 1943—you
will remember that?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir,” said the girl, visibly impressed, and
Amber, with a smile and a nod, turned to the
driver.</p>
<p>“Home,” he said.</p>
<p>“Beg pardon, sir?”</p>
<p>“Borough High Street,” corrected Amber,
and the car jerked forward.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>He placed them on a safer landing, stopped
for a moment or two to talk to them, then continued
his climb.</p>
<p>On the topmost floor he came to the door of a
room and knocked.</p>
<p>There was no reply and he knocked again.</p>
<p>“Come in,” said a stern voice, and Amber
entered.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>
window, the sill of which was a smother of scarlet
geranium.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>He dropped his work on to his knees as Amber
entered.</p>
<p>“Hullo!” he said, and shook his head reprovingly.
“Bad penny, bad penny—eh! Come in;
I’ll make you a cup of tea.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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!”</p>
<p>“My Socrates,” said Amber reproachfully.</p>
<p>“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. <i>Denver Dad’s
Bid for Fortune, or, The King of the Sioux</i>—pronounced
Soo. It’s worth reading. The twenty-fourth
part of it is out to-day.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>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.</p>
<p>“And what has my Peter been doing all this
long time?” asked Amber.</p>
<p>Peter set the cups and smiled, a little mysteriously.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>He smiled again, as at a secret thought.</p>
<p>Amber was neither piqued nor amused by the
little man’s mystery, but regarded him with
affectionate interest.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Being by nature of an orderly disposition, he
brought something of the method of his life into
his dreams.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“How did you get on?”</p>
<p>Amber was thinking of the little man’s many
lovable qualities when the question was addressed
to him.</p>
<p>“Me—oh, about the same, my Peter,” he said
with a smile.</p>
<p>Peter looked round with an extravagant show
of caution.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span>“Any difference since I was there?” he whispered.</p>
<p>“I think C. Hall has been repainted,” said
Amber gravely.</p>
<p>Peter shook his head in depreciation.</p>
<p>“I don’t suppose I’d know the place now,”
he said regretfully; “is the Governor’s room
still off A. Hall?”</p>
<p>Amber made no reply other than a nod.</p>
<p>The little man poured out the tea, and handed
a cup to the visitor.</p>
<p>“Peter,” said Amber, as he stirred the tea
slowly, “where can I stay?”</p>
<p>“Here?”</p>
<p>Peter’s face lit up and his voice was eager.</p>
<p>Amber nodded.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>Amber laughed.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Peter pointed an accusing finger.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>“You betrayed ’em, an’ they’re after you,”
he said solemnly. “They’ve sworn a vendetta——”</p>
<p>Amber shook his head.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Peter was interested.</p>
<p>His eyes gleamed through his spectacles, and
his hands trembled in his excitement.</p>
<p>“I see, I see,” he nodded vigorously. “You’re
going to frusterate ’em.”</p>
<p>“‘Frusterate’ is the very word I should have
used,” said Amber.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IV<br>
<small>LAMBAIRE NEEDS A CHART</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">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—</p>
<p> </p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">J. Lambaire</span><br>
(and at Paris)</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>It was announced that once upon a time he
had financed an expedition to Central Africa, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>His secretary stood expectantly by the desk,
mechanically sorting a sheaf of notes.</p>
<p>Mr. Lambaire walked slowly to the heavy door
of his private room, then paused, with a show of
irresolution.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span>“Perhaps it would,” said Lambaire, as though
questioning himself. “Yes, it might as well be
done to-night.”</p>
<p>“Dear Sir” (he began, and the secretary
scribbled furiously),—“Dear Sir, I have to
acknowledge your letter <i>re</i> Great Forest Diamond
Mine. Full stop. I understand your—er—annoyance——”</p>
<p>“Impatience?” suggested the secretary.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>“Is,” corrected the secretary.</p>
<p>“Is,” continued Mr. Lambaire, “prepared to
allow you the privilege, subject to the approval
of our——”</p>
<p>“Its,” said the secretary.</p>
<p>“Its brokers. Yours faithfully.”</p>
<p>Lambaire lit a cigar.</p>
<p>“How’s that?” he asked jovially.</p>
<p>“Very good, sir,” said the secretary, rubbing
his hands, “a good thing for the Board——”</p>
<p>“For me,” said Mr. Lambaire, without embarrassment.</p>
<p>“I said the <i>Board</i>,” said the pale-faced secretary,
and chuckled at the subtlety of the humour.</p>
<p>Something was pleasing Lambaire to-day, and
the secretary took advantage of the spell of good
humour.</p>
<p>“About this letter; there have been all sorts
of people here to-day,” he said suggestively, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span>
Lambaire, once more on his way to the door,
looked round sharply.</p>
<p>“What the devil do you mean, Grene?” he
demanded, all the joviality wiped from his face.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“It is this African affair,” said the clerk.</p>
<p>Lambaire stood by the door, his head sunk in
thought.</p>
<p>“I suppose you told them——?”</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“Yes, and——?”</p>
<p>“He said he didn’t believe we knew where the
mine was ourselves.”</p>
<p>Lambaire’s smile was a trifle forced.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“Very, sir,” said the secretary politely.</p>
<p>Lambaire still stood by the door.</p>
<p>“The map was in the prospectus, the mine is
just on the edge—Etruri Forest—isn’t that the
name?”</p>
<p>The secretary nodded, watching him.</p>
<p>“Buxteds’ man, eh?” Lambaire was perturbed,
for Buxteds are the shadiest and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>
sharpest solicitors in London, and they did not
love him.</p>
<p>“If Buxteds get to know,” he stopped—“what
I mean is that if Buxteds thought they could
blackmail me——”</p>
<p>He went out, thinking deeply.</p>
<p>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 <i>raison d’être</i> 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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>That it was a dream mine, the merest rumour<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“I want you,” he piped.</p>
<p>Lambaire frowned.</p>
<p>“I haven’t any time——” he began.</p>
<p>“Come back,” urged Whitey, catching his arm,
“come back into the office; I’ve got something
important to say to you.”</p>
<p>Reluctantly the big man retraced his steps.</p>
<p>Mr. Secretary Grene had a narrow shave, for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span>
he was examining a private drawer of his employers
when the footsteps of the men sounded in the
stone-flagged corridor without.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>When the door had closed on the secretary,
Lambaire turned to the other.</p>
<p>“Well?” he demanded.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>Whitey’s legs uncurled, and he sat up.</p>
<p>“This is news, Lambaire,” his impressive hand
upraised emphasized the importance of the communication
he had to convey.</p>
<p>“It’s an idea and news together,” he said.
“I’ve seen the Suttons.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span>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.</p>
<p>Whitey was obviously disappointed that his
great tidings had fallen so flat.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“You’re a good chap, Whitey,” soothed Lambaire,
“a wonderful chap; well?”</p>
<p>“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!”</p>
<p>He raised his two hands, palms outwards, as
he recalled the trying interview.</p>
<p>“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!”</p>
<p>He shivered.</p>
<p>“Well, what about the boy?”</p>
<p>Whitey smiled slyly.</p>
<p>“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!—<i>you</i>
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.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>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.”</p>
<p>“What does he think of me?” said Lambaire
quickly.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“What did you say to that?” demanded
Lambaire with a frown.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Lambaire paced the room in thought.</p>
<p>“What good will that do?” he asked.</p>
<p>Whitey raised imploring eyes to heaven.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“Here, don’t go,” said Lambaire. “I want to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>
know a lot more. Now, what is he prepared to
do?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“And suppose he won’t part with it?”</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>“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?
<i>That’s</i> what we want!”</p>
<p>He rose jerkily, thrust his hands into his trousers
pockets, and peeked his head forward, a mannerism
of his when he was excited.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>
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.</p>
<p>“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 <i>at once</i>. 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!”</p>
<p>He grew a little calmer.</p>
<p>“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;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span>
you’ve got to Up and say—‘Look here, old
man, let’s put all our cards on the table——’”</p>
<p>“I’ll be cursed if I do,” snapped Lambaire;
“you’re mad, Whitey. What do you think
I’m——”</p>
<p>“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.’”</p>
<p>What the etc. was Whitey explained in the
course of a heated, caustic and noisy five minutes.</p>
<p>At the end of that time Grene appeared on the
scene, and the conversation came to an abrupt
finish.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Lambaire grunted an ungracious rejoinder and
they parted.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Francis Sutton was a good-looking boy, though
the scowl that he thought it necessary to wear
for the occasion disfigured him.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>An imposing cheque-book was displayed before
him, and he was very busy indeed when Whitey
ushered his charge into this hive of industry.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span>“Perhaps,” said the young man, relaxing a
little, “if I came a little later——?”</p>
<p>“Not at all, not at all.”</p>
<p>Lambaire dismissed the supposition that he
was too deeply employed to see him at once with
a wave of the hand.</p>
<p>“Sit down,” he pleaded, “only for one moment.
Are you ready, Grene?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir,” said the unmoved Grene.</p>
<p>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!</p>
<p>“Send a cheque to Cautts—how much is it?”
said Lambaire.</p>
<p>“About six thousand,” said Grene at random.</p>
<p>“And pay that little account of mine at Fells—it’s
about four hundred—these wretched little
wine bills mount up.”</p>
<p>The latter portion of the sentence was addressed
to Sutton, who found himself smiling sympathetically.
As for Whitey, he was one benign grin.</p>
<p>“Now I think that is all,” and Lambaire<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>
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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>Lambaire toyed with a celluloid ruler before
he began.</p>
<p>“Mr. Sutton,” he said slowly, “you were at
school, I think, when your father went to West
Africa?”</p>
<p>“I was going up to Oxford,” said the boy
quickly.</p>
<p>Lambaire nodded.</p>
<p>“You know I equipped the expedition that
had such an unfortunate ending?”</p>
<p>“I understood you had something to do with
it.”</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span>
you. You are under the impression that I sought
your acquaintance with some ulterior motive.
You need not deny it; I had a—a——”</p>
<p>“Hunch,” said the silent Whitey suddenly.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>To be exact, the intuition of Mr. Lambaire had
less to do with his prescience than the information
Whitey had been able to supply.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>“Poor father,” murmured Whitey.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>
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.</p>
<p>All the time he spoke Lambaire was shaking
his head slowly, in melancholy protest at the
injustice.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>“Ahem!” coughed Whitey, and Lambaire
realized that he had made a mistake.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>“Owing to your wishing to float,” said Whitey
softly.</p>
<p>“I should say wishing to float a company on
the strength of the chart; still, I say, ‘if the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>
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——”</p>
<p>“It is practically of no value except to the
owner,” interrupted Whitey.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>“The exploring spirit,” Whitey put in.</p>
<p>“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!”</p>
<p>He said this impressively, dramatically, and
the boy flushed with pleasure.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span>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.</p>
<p>“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....”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>He shook his head doubtfully.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER V<br>
<small>AMBER ADMITS HIS GUILT</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">AND there was an end to it.</p>
<p>So Francis Sutton informed his sister
with tremendous calm.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“You haven’t given me a chance of speaking,
Francis, and I am absolutely bewildered by your
change of attitude——”</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>
never come again. I’m sure father would have
liked it.”</p>
<p>He paused expectantly, but she did not accept
the lull as an opportunity.</p>
<p>“Now, for goodness’ sake, Cynthia, do not, I
beg of you, sulk.”</p>
<p>She turned from her contemplation of the outside
world.</p>
<p>“Do you remember how you came home the
other night?” she asked suddenly, and the boy’s
face went red.</p>
<p>“I don’t think that’s fair,” he said hotly; “a
man may make a fool of himself——”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“Go on,” said the youth, a note of triumph
in his voice, “I have something to say upon that
subject.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>There was a smile on Sutton’s face when she
finished.</p>
<p>“And do you know who this gentleman was?”
he asked in glee. “He’s Amber—you’ve never
heard of Amber?”</p>
<p>She shook her head.</p>
<p>“He’s a thief, just a low-down thief—you can<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>
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.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Amber,” repeated a voice at the door,
as a maid admitted the imperturbable subject of
the conversation.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>He might have stepped out of a fashion-plate,
so immaculate was he.</p>
<p>He smiled cheerfully at the uncomfortable
youth and held out his hand to the girl.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>Sutton muttered an ungracious platitude and
made for the door.</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>
hand on the handle of the door, and frowned
warningly at his sister.</p>
<p>“Mr. Amber,” she said, ignoring the signal,
“I think it is only fair to you to repeat something
I have just heard.”</p>
<p>“I beg of you, Cynthia!” said Sutton angrily.</p>
<p>“It has been said, Mr. Amber,” she continued,
“that you are—are a bad character.”</p>
<p>“My lady,” said Amber, with a grave face,
“I am a bad character.”</p>
<p>“And—and you have recently been released
from prison,” she faltered, avoiding his eyes.</p>
<p>“If,” said Amber carefully, “by ‘recent’ you
mean nearly a week ago—that also is true.”</p>
<p>“I told you,” cried Sutton, with an exultant
laugh, and Amber whipped round.</p>
<p>“My Democritus, my Abderite,” he said reproachfully,
“wherefore rollick? It is not so
funny, this prison—<i>quid rides</i> my Sutton?”
His eyebrows rose questioningly.</p>
<p>Something made the girl look at him. She
may have expected to see him shamefaced;
instead, she saw only righteous annoyance.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span>Then he again addressed himself to the boy.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“One moment, Mr. Amber,” she found her
voice; “I cannot allow you to go like this; we
owe you something, Francis and I....”</p>
<p>“Owe me a memory,” said Amber in a low
voice, “that would be a pleasant reward, Miss
Sutton.”</p>
<p>Impulsively she stepped forward and held out
her hand, and he took it.</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry,” was all she said, but she knew
by the pressure on her hand that he understood.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span>Neither noticed his absence.</p>
<p>The girl’s face was upraised to Amber’s, and
in her eyes was infinite compassion.</p>
<p>“You are too good—too good for that life,”
she said, and Amber shook his head, smiling with
his eyes.</p>
<p>“You don’t know,” he said gently, “perhaps
you are wasting your pity—you make me feel a
scoundrel when you pity me.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The first words of Sutton proved this.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>“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 “<i>ne puero gladium</i>—eh?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>He was the virtuous schoolmaster reproaching
youth.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“I know you are a thief,” said Lambaire.</p>
<p>“True, O King!” admitted Amber genially.</p>
<p>“I know you’ve been convicted three or four
times for various crimes.”</p>
<p>“Sounds like a nursery rhyme,” said Amber
admiringly; “proceed, my Lambaire.”</p>
<p>“That is quite enough, I think, to freeze you
out of decent society.”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“Look here, Amber,” began Whitey.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Mister or Master, you’re a hook——” said
the other.</p>
<p>“A what?”</p>
<p>The horrified expression on Amber’s face
momentarily deceived even so experienced a man
as Whitey.</p>
<p>“I mean you are a well-known thief,” he said.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span>“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?”</p>
<p>“That’s enough, I think,” said the man rudely.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“That is mine!” he cried; but Amber was
too quick for him.</p>
<p>“No, no, my Lambie,” he said, “there is a
lady here; let us postpone our horseplay for
another occasion.”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>The boy hesitated.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span>“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.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VI<br>
<small>IN FLAIR COURT</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap">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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Well, what do you think?”</p>
<p>Whitey looked down at him keenly as he put
the question.</p>
<p>“Phew!” Lambaire wiped his forehead.</p>
<p>“Well?” demanded Whitey sharply.</p>
<p>“Whitey—that fellow’s got us.”</p>
<p>Whitey’s thin lips curled in a contemptuous
smile.</p>
<p>“You’re dead easy to beat, Lambaire,” he said
in his shrill way, “you’re Flab! You’re a Jellyfish!”</p>
<p>He was lashing himself into one of his furies,
and Lambaire feared Whitey in those moods
more than he feared anything in the world.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>“Look here. Whitey, be sensible; we’ve got
to face matters; we’ve got to arrange with him,
square him!”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Honest—why——”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>There was a long silence after he had finished.
Whitey went over to the window and looked out;
Lambaire sat biting his finger-nails.</p>
<p>By and by Whitey turned.</p>
<p>“What is the position?” he asked.</p>
<p>The other shrugged his shoulders.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>He saw the big man shiver, and nodded.</p>
<p>“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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span>
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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Then—“You’ve got nothing here, I suppose?”
said Whitey, breaking the long silence.</p>
<p>Lambaire did not answer at once, and his
companion repeated the question more sharply.</p>
<p>“No—yes,” hesitated Lambaire, “I’ve got a
couple of plates——”</p>
<p>“You fool,” hissed the other, “you hopeless
Mug! Here! Here in the first place they’d
search——”</p>
<p>“In my safe, Whitey,” said the other, almost
pleadingly, “my own safe; nobody has a key
but me.”</p>
<p>There was another long silence, broken only by
the disconnected hissings of Whitey.</p>
<p>“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?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>
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!”</p>
<p>Lambaire was silent under the tirade. It was
nearly dark before Whitey condescended to speak
again.</p>
<p>“There’s no use our sitting here,” he said
roughly. “Come and have some dinner, Lambaire—after
all, perhaps it isn’t so bad.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Now Lambaire came back to his old position
of leader.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps I am,” said Whitey feebly. “I’m a
Jute Factory on Fire when I’m upset.”</p>
<p>“I’ll be more of a salvage corps in future,”
said Lambaire humorously.</p>
<p>They dined at a little restaurant in Fleet Street,
that being the first they found open in their walk
westward.</p>
<p>“All the same,” said Whitey, as they sat at
dinner “we’ve got to get rid of those plates—the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span>
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.”<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p>
<p>“That’s true,” admitted Lambaire, “we’ll get
rid of them to-morrow; I know a place——”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“College,” to Whitey, was a vague and generic
term that signified an obscure operation by which
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>They lingered over their dinner, and the hands
of Fleet Street’s many clocks were pointing to
half-past nine before they had finished.</p>
<p>“We’ll walk back,” said Lambaire; “it’s
fortunate that there is no caretaker at Flair
Court.”</p>
<p>“You’ve got the key of the outer door?”
asked Whitey, and Lambaire nodded.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span>“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.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>He blew at the key.</p>
<p>“What is the matter?” demanded Whitey,
suddenly observing his difficulty.</p>
<p>“It’s this lock—I’m not used to the outer door—oh,
here we are.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Here they stopped.</p>
<p>“Strike a match, Whitey,” said Lambaire,
and took a key from his pocket.</p>
<p>For some reason the key would not turn.</p>
<p>“That’s curious,” muttered Lambaire, and
brought pressure to bear.</p>
<p>But still the key refused to turn.</p>
<p>Whitey fumbled at the match-box and struck
another match.</p>
<p>“Here, let me try,” he said.</p>
<p>He pressed the key over, but without success;
then he tried the handle of the door.</p>
<p>“It isn’t locked,” he said, and Lambaire swore.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Come in, Whitey,” he said, “we’ll take these
things out of the safe—who’s there?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>The safe—his private safe, was wide open.</p>
<p>Then he saw the crouching figure of a man by
the desk, and leapt at him, dropping the match.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Whitey in the doorway sprang forward, but a
hand gripped him by the throat, lifted him like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>
a helpless kitten, and sent him with a thud against
the wall....</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>With an unsteady hand, Whitey found the box.</p>
<p>“There’s a gas bracket over by the window,—curse
him!—he’s nearly settled me.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Gone!” he gasped, “the plates—they’ve
gone!”</p>
<p>He turned, sick with fear, to Whitey.</p>
<p>Whitey was standing, shaky but calm, by the
door.</p>
<p>“They’ve gone, have they?” he said, in little
more than a whisper; “then that settles Amber.”</p>
<p>“Amber?”</p>
<p>“Amber,” said Whitey huskily. “I saw him—you
know what it means, don’t you?”</p>
<p>“Amber,” repeated the other, dazed.</p>
<p>“Amber—<i>Amber</i>!” Whitey almost shouted
the name. “Don’t you hear what I say—it’s
Amber, the hook.”</p>
<p>“What shall we do?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span>The big man was like a child in his pitiable
terror.</p>
<p>“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!”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VII<br>
<small>AMBER GOES TO SCOTLAND YARD</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap">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.”</p>
<p>Peter had reached the most exciting chapter
in the variegated career of “Handsome Hike,
the Terror of Texas,” when Amber came in.</p>
<p>He came in hurriedly, and delivered a breathless
little chuckle as he closed the door behind
him.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span>
heavy substance. Amber walked over to the
mantelshelf, where an oil lamp burnt, and
examined his coat with minute interest.</p>
<p>“What’s up, Amber? What are you looking
for?”</p>
<p>“Blood, my Peter,” said Amber; “gore—human
gore. I was obliged to strike a gentleman
hard, with a knobby weapon—to wit, a
fist.”</p>
<p>“Hey?” Peter was on his feet, all eagerness,
but Amber was still smiling.</p>
<p>“Go on with your reading,” he said, “there’s
nothing doin’.”</p>
<p>That was a direct and a sharp speech for Amber,
and Peter stared, and only the smile saved it
from brusqueness.</p>
<p>Amber continued his inspection, removing his
coat, and scrutinizing the garment carefully.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>Peter was an interested spectator. “That is
a compass,” he said.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span>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.</p>
<p>He looked up to meet the troubled and puzzled
eyes of Peter, and laughed out loud.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>This was not exactly true, but it pleased Peter
to believe that he had some part in Amber’s
many nefarious schemes.</p>
<p>“It’s a Dodge <i>and</i> 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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“That’s a bit dangerous, ain’t it?” he said
uncomfortably. “Takin’ risks of that kind,
Amber,—what is it?”</p>
<p>“Forgery,” said the calm Amber, “forgery of
Bank of England notes.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span>“Good gaw,” gasped Peter, and clutched the
edge of the table for support.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Well, Mr. Amber,” bantered the constable,
“I see you’re out—going straight now?”</p>
<p>“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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>
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.</p>
<p>“Doin’ the heavy now, are you?” asked the
constable disapprovingly.</p>
<p>“In a sense I am,” said Amber, and without
moving he addressed the chauffeur, who had
brought his machine to the kerb.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“Not a bit,” Amber grinned, “my little joke;
honour amongst policemen, eh?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span>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.</p>
<p>“I want to see Mr. Fell,” said Amber.</p>
<p>“Name?”</p>
<p>“Amber.”</p>
<p>“Seem to know it,—what is the business?”</p>
<p>For answer, Amber laid one hand on the polished
counter that separated him from the officer, and
placed two fingers diagonally across it.</p>
<p>The inspector grunted affirmatively and reached
for the telephone.</p>
<p>“An outside—to see Mr. Fell.... Yes.”
He hung up the receiver.</p>
<p>“Forty-seven,” he said; “you know your
way up.”</p>
<p>It happened that Amber did not possess this
knowledge, but he found no difficulty in discovering
number forty-seven, which was a reception-room.</p>
<p>He had a few minutes to wait before a messenger
came for him and showed him into a plainly
furnished office.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span>
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.</p>
<p>“Amber, by heavens!” said the detective.
He had a habit of using strong and unnecessary
language.</p>
<p>“Amber, my boy, come in and firmey la porte.
Well——?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“You’ll have a cigar?”</p>
<p>“What’s wrong with ’em?” asked Amber,
cautiously selecting one.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Amber shook his head.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>He took the packages from his pocket and laid
them on the table.</p>
<p>“For me?” queried the officer.</p>
<p>“For you, my Hawkshaw,” said Amber.</p>
<p>The detective stripped the paper away, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span>
uttered an exclamation as he saw what the parcels
contained.</p>
<p>“Gee—Moses!” He whistled long and softly.
“Not your work, Amber? Hardly in your line,
eh?”</p>
<p>“Hardly.”</p>
<p>“Where did you get them?” Fell looked up
quickly as he asked the question.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“When?”</p>
<p>“To-night.”</p>
<p>The inspector pressed a bell and a policeman
came into the room.</p>
<p>“Send an all station message: In the event
of an office burglary being reported, keep the
complainant under observation.”</p>
<p>The man scribbled the message down and
left.</p>
<p>“I send that in case you won’t alter your mind
about giving me the information I want.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span>“I could put them under observation——”
began the inspector.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“Go on, have another cigar, that will help
you,” encouraged Fell, and opened the box.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“I do,” said Fell; “or I think I do, which
amounts to the same thing.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span>“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.”</p>
<p>“Suppose”—Amber leant over the table and
spoke earnestly—“suppose it is the work of the
big gang,—suppose I can track ’em down——”</p>
<p>“Well?”</p>
<p>“Would you find me a billet at the Yard?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“My Chief Detective Inspector,” said Amber
reproachfully, “you hurt me.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“Your convictions!” he scoffed.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Your imprisonments,” said the detective.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span>Amber said nothing, only he scratched his chin
thoughtfully.</p>
<p>“By my reckoning,” the detective went on
slowly, “you have been sentenced in your short
but lurid career to some eighty years’ penal
servitude.”</p>
<p>“It seems a lot,” said Amber.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Amber nodded.</p>
<p>“I think I can,” he said, “if I can only keep
out of prison for another week.”</p>
<p>“Try,” said Fell, with a smile.</p>
<p>“I’ll try,” said Amber cheerfully.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VIII<br>
<small>FRANCIS SUTTON ASKS A QUESTION</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">LONDON never sleeps. Of the dead silence
that lays over the world, the quiet peaceful
hush of all living things, London knows nothing.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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....</p>
<p>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;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span>
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...?</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Open the door, Lambaire.”</p>
<p>It was Whitey’s voice, impatiently demanding
admission, and with a trembling hand Lambaire
slipped back the little bolt of the door.</p>
<p>Whitey entered the room grumbling. If he
too had spent a sleepless night, there was little
in his appearance to indicate the fact.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Whitey shook his head at him disapprovingly.</p>
<p>“Oh, shut up, Whitey!” Lambaire poured
out a basin full of water, and plunged his face
into it. “I’ve had a bad night.”</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span>
your little bed,—me, tramping streets looking
for Amber—I found him.”</p>
<p>Lambaire was wiping his face on a towel, and
ceased his rubbing to stare at the speaker.</p>
<p>“You didn’t——” he whispered fearfully.</p>
<p>Whitey’s lips curled.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“How did you find out?” asked Lambaire.</p>
<p>“Don’t pad,” begged the other testily. “Don’t
Ask Questions for the Sake of Asking Questions,—get
dressed,—we’ll leave Amber.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Lambaire,” he said, as one who speaks to
himself, “drop Amber,—cut him out. Concentrate
on diamonds.”</p>
<p>“That’s what I thought,” said Lambaire
eagerly; “perhaps if we went out ourselves and
looked round——”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span>“Already?”</p>
<p>“Already,” said Whitey. “Got him on the
’phone.”</p>
<p>“What about Amber and the plates?”</p>
<p>“Blackmail,” said Whitey, and Lambaire
chuckled gleefully.</p>
<p>“So I thought, of course that is the idea—what
about Sutton?”</p>
<p>“He’s coming here to breakfast; hurry up
with your dressing.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The exact division of good and bad in him made
him vague enough; for no man is distinguished<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>Lambaire waved away the eager protestations
with a large smile.</p>
<p>“My boy,” he said generously, “say no more
about it. I exonerate you from all blame—don’t
I, Whitey?”</p>
<p>Whitey nodded with vigour.</p>
<p>“I know Amber”—Lambaire tapped his bandaged
head—“this is Amber.”</p>
<p>“Good lord!” said the boy with wide-opened
eyes, “you don’t mean that?”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“You was,” said Whitey, who at times rose
superior to grammatical conventions.</p>
<p>“But the police?” protested the young man
energetically. “Surely you could lay him by the
heels?”</p>
<p>Lambaire shook his head with a pained smile.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>He discoursed at some length on the iniquities
of the constabulary.</p>
<p>“Now let us get to business,” he said, passing
back his plate. “Have you thought over my
suggestion?”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“Oh, certainly,—I’m glad you asked. We<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>
were talking about that very thing this morning,
weren’t we, Whitey?”</p>
<p>Whitey nodded, and yawned furtively.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said Whitey absently—“no, I mean.”</p>
<p>“Our scheme is to send you out and give you
an opportunity of verifying the route.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>But still there were the objections of Cynthia
Sutton to overcome.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>Francis Sutton had pressed the knob of the
electric bell, when he turned suddenly to the two
men.</p>
<p>“By the way,” he said, “whose mine was
this?—yours or my father’s?”</p>
<p>The naïvetté of the question took Lambaire off
his guard.</p>
<p>“Your father discovered it,” he said, unthinkingly,
and as he stopped, Whitey came to his
rescue.</p>
<p>“But we floated it,” he said, in a tone that
suggested that on the score of ownership no more
need be said.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IX<br>
<small>AMBER SEES THE MAP</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap">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.”</p>
<p>“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’——’”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“No,” continued Amber thoughtfully, “I must<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span>
confess to you, my Peter, that I had none of those
interestin’ conversations with myself that your
romantic soul suggests.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“Um!” Peter resumed his search, and Amber
watched him with the gentle amusement that one
reserves for the enthusiasm of children at play.</p>
<p>“Here it is,” said Peter.</p>
<p>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—“<i>Black
Eyed Nick, or, The Desperado’s Dream of
Ducats</i>; how’s that?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span>Amber took the book from the old man and
inspected it, letting the pages run through his
fingers rapidly.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Amber waited until he was out of sight, then
made his way to his bedroom and commenced
to change his clothes.</p>
<p>A quarter of an hour later he was on his way
to Warwick Gardens.</p>
<p>The maid who answered his knock told him
that her mistress was engaged, but showed him
into a little study.</p>
<p>“Take her a note,” said Amber, and scribbled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span>
a message in his pocket-book, tearing out the
leaf.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“But, my dear young lady,” said Lambaire
eagerly, “you are wrong; it isn’t only the chart
which you have placed at our disposal——”</p>
<p>“At my brother’s,” she corrected.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>“Miss Sutton,” she corrected again.</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>
whisper—“they talk of prosecuting me, don’t
they, Whitey?”</p>
<p>“They do indeed,” said his responsive companion
truthfully.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>He smiled pleasantly at the absurdity of taking
such a course, and she looked at him curiously.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Remarkable!” said Lambaire.</p>
<p>“Astoundin’!” said Whitey, no less surprised.</p>
<p>She rose from her chair.</p>
<p>“Since the matter has been settled—so far as
I have anything to do with it,” she said, “you
will excuse my presence.”</p>
<p>She left the room, and Amber, sitting in the
little study, heard the swish of her skirts and
rose to meet her.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Good of you to see me, Miss Sutton,” said
Amber.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>
misspent career rather than showed some indication
of embarrassment in the presence of a woman
who knew him for what he was.</p>
<p>“I felt I owed you this interview at least,”
she replied steadily. “I wish——” She stopped.</p>
<p>“Yes?” Amber perked his head on one side
inquiringly. “You were going to say that you
wished——?”</p>
<p>“It does not matter,” she said. She felt herself
blushing.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“I have no objection,” she said.</p>
<p>“Your father was an explorer, was he not?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“He knew Central Africa very well?”</p>
<p>“Yes—very well.”</p>
<p>“He discovered a mine—a diamond mine, or
something of the sort?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>She shook her head with a smile.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Amber nodded.</p>
<p>“And then I suppose he came home and got
into touch with Lambaire?”</p>
<p>“That is so,” she said, wondering at the course
the interview was taking.</p>
<p>Amber nodded thoughtfully.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>She hesitated.</p>
<p>“I did—yes.”</p>
<p>He smiled.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“I believe that, Mr. Amber,” she said; “if
you wait, I will get it for you.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span>He took it, and carried it to the window, examining
it carefully.</p>
<p>“I see the route is marked from a point called
Chengli—where is that?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“I see.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Do you observe any difference in these, Miss
Sutton?” he asked, and the girl looked carefully.</p>
<p>“One is a needle compass, and on the other
there is no needle,” she said.</p>
<p>“That is so; the whole of the dial turns,”
Amber nodded. “Nothing else?” he asked.</p>
<p>“I can see no other difference,” she said,
shaking her head.</p>
<p>“Where is the north on the dial?”</p>
<p>She followed the direction of the letter N and
pointed.</p>
<p>“Where is the north of the needle?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>“What does that mean?” she asked, and their
eyes met over the table.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>Lambaire and his host had finished their business.
Francis Sutton was in a jubilant mood,
and came into the hall with his patron.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“I understand, my boy,” said the expansive
Lambaire. “We both understand, don’t we,
Whitey?”</p>
<p>“Certainly,” said Whitey.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“In the study, sir.”</p>
<p>“Come along.” He led the way to the study
and opened the door.</p>
<p>“Cynthia——” he began.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“So that’s the game, is it?” he hissed: he
was trembling with passion; “that’s your little
game, Amber!”</p>
<p>He felt Whitey’s hand grip his arm and
recovered a little of his self-possession.</p>
<p>“This man is not content with attempting to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>
blackmail,” he said, “not content with committing
a burglary at my office and stealing valuable
drawings——”</p>
<p>“What does this mean, Cynthia?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“I’ll allow you nothing,” stormed the boy;
“get out of this house before I kick you out. I
want no gaol birds here.”</p>
<p>“It is a matter of taste, my Francis,” said the
imperturbable Amber; “if you stand Lambaire
you’d stand anybody.”</p>
<p>“I’ll settle with you later,” said Lambaire
darkly.</p>
<p>“Settle now,” said Amber in his most affable
manner. “Mr. Sutton,” he said, “that man
killed your father, and he will kill you.”</p>
<p>“I want none of your lies,” said Sutton;
“there’s the door.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Francis, you hear this?” said the girl.</p>
<p>“Rubbish!” replied the youth contemptuously.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>
“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.”</p>
<p>“Exactly!” applauded Lambaire, and smiled
triumphantly.</p>
<p>Amber answered smile for smile.</p>
<p>“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, <i>and</i> the compass,
whether anybody else would be able to
locate it, or find their way to it, without Lambaire’s
Patent Compass.”</p>
<p>The tangled skein of the plot was unravelled
before the girl’s eyes, and she looked from Amber
to the stout Lambaire.</p>
<p>“I see, I see,” she whispered. “Francis,”
she cried, “don’t you understand what it all
means——”</p>
<p>“I understand that you’re a fool,” he said
roughly; “if you’ve finished your lies, you can
go, Amber.”</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span>
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.”</p>
<p>“There’s the door,” said Sutton again.</p>
<p>“Your conversation is decidedly monotonous,”
said Amber, and with a smile and a friendly nod
to the girl, he left.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER X<br>
<small>THE MAN IN CONVICT’S CLOTHES</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">ALPHONSE LAMBAIRE was a man of many
interests.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>All that Amber had said of him was true, and
more.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>There was nothing about him which suggested
the strutting villain of melodrama, yet he was a
well-defined type of criminal.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span>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.</p>
<p>Whitey said as much one afternoon, about a
week after the interview.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Lambaire grunted something.</p>
<p>He was in no mood for psychology.</p>
<p>They were on their way to Warwick Gardens
for a final interview with Sutton and his sister.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“I was afraid Sutton would turn me down.”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“Well, the girl isn’t convinced,” objected
Lambaire.</p>
<p>“And never will be,” said Whitey, “you’re
the Devil to her.” Lambaire’s face went unaccountably
black at this frank expression, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>
Whitey, who had forgotten more about human
nature than Lambaire was ever likely to learn,
was wise enough to leave the subject unpursued.</p>
<p>They were admitted to the house and ushered
into Sutton’s room.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>He greeted his visitors with a cheerful smile.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>He laughed heartily at the joke of it.</p>
<p>A servant appeared at the door and he sent
a message to his sister.</p>
<p>“I have succeeded in persuading her,” he went
on, “to let me have the chart.”</p>
<p>Lambaire breathed an inward sigh of relief,
and the twinkling eyes of Whitey danced with
glee.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span>Cynthia Sutton came into the room at that
moment.</p>
<p>She favoured Lambaire with a distant bow,
and ignored the extravagant politeness of Whitey,
who was the only one of the party that stood.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>For the first time, Lambaire viewed her as a
woman, and not as an antagonist, and he enjoyed
the experience.</p>
<p>She stood by the table where her brother sat,
her hands behind her, looking down at him
gravely.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>It was blistered by heat, and bore indications
of rough treatment. The second sheet was clean,
and this she placed before her brother.</p>
<p>He looked at it wonderingly, then raised his
eyes to the girl’s face with a puzzled air.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span>“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.</p>
<p>“But why on earth do you want a copy?”</p>
<p>For answer she slipped the original into the
envelope again.</p>
<p>“The copy is for you,” she said, “the original
I shall keep.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“It is a rum-looking map—my father seems
to have gone in a half-circle.”</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>“Dangerous bloke—fellow,” said Whitey, correcting
himself in some confusion.</p>
<p>“A dangerous fellow,” repeated Lambaire,
“who made wild and reckless charges against my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>
honesty. That man, who has been an inmate
of every gaol——”</p>
<p>“I do not think you need go into particulars
of Mr. Amber’s career.”</p>
<p>There was the faintest touch of pink in her
cheeks as she changed the course of Lambaire’s
speech.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>“Deductions?” suggested Whitey <i>sotto voce</i>.</p>
<p>“Though his deductions were wrong: the compass
your father used was a faulty one.”</p>
<p>The girl’s eyes did not leave his face.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Why was that?” questioned the girl.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>“By taking a quantity,” murmured Whitey.</p>
<p>“In a sense,” continued Lambaire impressively,
“that precaution of mine has made this expedition
of your brother’s possible. We are now<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>
able to follow in your father’s track—for we shall
work by the compass he used.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>She did not confess as much to herself. It
was the worst kind of madness.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>All her love had been lavished on her brother;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>All this passed through her mind, as she stood
by the table pretending to listen to a conversation
which had become general.</p>
<p>She became alert when Lambaire returned to
a forbidden subject.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Sutton accepted the invitation with alacrity.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span>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:</p>
<p>“What is Mr. Amber’s history?”</p>
<p>Lambaire smiled and glanced significantly at
Whitey.</p>
<p>“Not a very nice one—eh, Whitey?”</p>
<p>Whitey shook his head.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“You were,” said the other instantly.</p>
<p>“I was saying, ‘Now if I could only get Miss
Cynthia——’”</p>
<p>“Miss Sutton,” said Cynthia.</p>
<p>“I beg your pardon, Miss Sutton, to see my
point of view....”</p>
<p>“I won’t promise that,” she said with a smile,
as her brother returned.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span>“... Yes, I’m afraid Amber is a bad egg—a
wrong ’un, ye know. He’s not Big.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“No, he’s not Big—although,” said Lambaire
hastily, “I’ve no sympathy for the Big Mob.”</p>
<p>“With the——?”</p>
<p>She was puzzled.</p>
<p>“With the Big Mob—the high-class nuts—you
know what I mean—the——” He looked round
helplessly for Whitey.</p>
<p>“I think I understand,” she said.</p>
<p>They walked on in silence for another five
minutes.</p>
<p>“Do you think that if some good influence were
brought to bear on a man like Mr. Amber——”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“A bad lot,” said Lambaire as they turned
into the station.</p>
<p>On the platform Cynthia took her brother<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>
aside, whilst the other two were making inquiries
regarding the arrival of a train.</p>
<p>“I shall go back to the house—I suppose you
are determined to go through with this expedition?”</p>
<p>“Of course,” irritably; “for Heaven’s sake,
Cynthia, don’t let us go into this matter again.”</p>
<p>She shrugged her shoulders, and was about to
make some remark, when Lambaire came hurrying
along the platform, his face eloquent of
triumph.</p>
<p>“Look here,” he said, and beckoned.</p>
<p>Wondering what could have animated this
lymphatic man, she followed with her brother.</p>
<p>She turned a corner of the station building,
then came to a sudden stop, and went white to
the lips.</p>
<p>Under the care of two armed warders were a
dozen convicts in the ugly livery of their servitude.</p>
<p>They were chained wrist to wrist, and each
handcuff was fastened to the next by a steel chain.</p>
<p>Conspicuous in the foremost file was Amber,
bright, cheerful, unaffected by this ignominious
situation.</p>
<p>Then he saw the girl, and his eyes dropped and
a scarlet flush came to his tanned cheek.</p>
<p>“My Lambaire,” he murmured, “I owe you
one for this.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XI<br>
<small>INTRODUCES CAPTAIN AMBROSE GREY</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap">“YOU’RE for the governor, 634,” said the
warder.</p>
<p>“You surprise me, my warder,” said Amber
ironically.</p>
<p>“Less of your lip,” said the man shortly,
“you’ve lost enough marks in this month without
askin’ for any further trouble.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Captain Cardeen sat behind his table and
greeted Amber unpleasantly.</p>
<p>Exactly why he should take so vindictive an
interest in his charge, could be explained.</p>
<p>“634,” said the governor, “you’ve been
reported again for impertinence to an officer of
the prison.”</p>
<p>Amber made no reply.</p>
<p>“Because you spend half your life in prison I
suppose you’ve an idea that you’ve got a sort of
proprietorial right, eh?”</p>
<p>Still Amber made no reply.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span>“I have tamed a few men in my time,” the
governor went on, “and I don’t doubt but that
I shall tame you.”</p>
<p>Amber was looking at him critically.</p>
<p>“Sir,” said he, “I also am something of a
tamer.”</p>
<p>The governor’s face went purple, for there was
an indefinable insolence in the prisoner’s tone.</p>
<p>“You scoundrel,” he began, but Amber interrupted
him.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span>“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.”</p>
<p>“If anybody can break him, you can, sir,”
said his admiring satellite.</p>
<p>“I think so,” said the governor complacently.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The latter slipped his finger through the flap
of the envelope and opened it.</p>
<p>The sheet of blue foolscap it contained required
a great deal of understanding, for he read it three
times.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>It was signed with the neat signature of the
Home Secretary and bore the Home Office stamp.</p>
<p>The governor looked up with bewilderment
written in his face.</p>
<p>“What on earth is the meaning of that?”
he demanded, and passed the paper to the chief
warder.</p>
<p>The latter read it and pushed back his head.</p>
<p>“It’s against all regulations——” he began,
but the governor broke in impatiently.</p>
<p>“Don’t talk nonsense about regulations,” he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>
snapped. “Here is an order from the Home
Office: you can’t get behind that. Is anybody
with her?”</p>
<p>He addressed the question to the waiting
warder.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir, a gentleman from Scotland Yard—I
gave you his card.”</p>
<p>The card had fallen on to the floor and the
governor picked it up.</p>
<p>“Chief Inspector Fells,” he read, “let us have
him in first.”</p>
<p>A few seconds later Fells came into the room,
and smiled a cheerful greeting to the governor.</p>
<p>“Perhaps you can explain the meaning of this,
Mr. Fells,” said the governor, holding the paper
in his hand.</p>
<p>Fells shook his head.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“To see the prisoner?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
<p>He groped in the depths of an under pocket
and produced an official envelope.</p>
<p>“I have spoken to the young lady,” he said,
“and she has no objection to my seeing Mr.
Amber first.”</p>
<p>There was something about that “Mr.” which
annoyed the governor.</p>
<p>“I can understand many things,” he said irritably,
“but I really cannot understand the process<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span>
of mind which induces you to refer to a convict
as ‘Mr. Amber’—a man with your experience
of criminals, Inspector.”</p>
<p>“Habit, sir, habit,” said Fells easily, “a slip
of the tongue.”</p>
<p>The governor was reading the new order, which
was couched in similar terms to that which he
had already read.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“M—m—yes,” hesitated the detective; “pardon
my asking, but isn’t this the gaol where
the man Gallers died?”</p>
<p>“It is,” said the governor coldly; “he had a
fit or a something.”</p>
<p>“He was undergoing some punishment,” said
Fells, in the reflective tone of one striving to
recollect a circumstance.</p>
<p>“It was stated so by irresponsible people,”
said the governor roughly.</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” said the polite detective.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span>
opened. He did not trouble to rise until he saw
Fells. Then he got up with difficulty.</p>
<p>“Now, Mr. Fells, if you have anything to say
to this man, you had better say it,” said the
governor.</p>
<p>“I think,” Fells spoke hesitatingly, deferentially,
but none the less emphatically, “I think
I may have this interview alone—yes?”</p>
<p>The governor stiffened.</p>
<p>“If you would prefer it, of course,” he said
grudgingly, and turned to go.</p>
<p>“Excuse me,” Fells laid his hand on the official’s
arm. “I would rather the irons were off this
man.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Very good, sir,” replied Fells. He waited
until the door clanged and then turned to Amber.</p>
<p>“Mr. Amber,” he said, “I have been sent
down from the Home Office on a curious mission—I
understand you are tired of prison?”</p>
<p>“My Fells,” said Amber wearily, “I have
never found prison so dull as I do at present.”</p>
<p>Fells smiled. From his pocket he produced
a sheet of foolscap paper closely covered with
entries.</p>
<p>“I’ve discovered your guilty secret.” He
shook the paper before the prisoner’s eyes.</p>
<p>“A list of your convictions, my Amber,” he
mocked, but Amber said nothing.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span>“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.</p>
<p>“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....”</p>
<p>He waited, but Amber offered no comment.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Still Amber did not speak, and the inspector
went on slowly and deliberately.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“I remember something about it,” said Amber
carelessly.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>He looked at Amber again.</p>
<p>“You surprise me,” said Amber.</p>
<p>“Although you were released in August, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span>
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.”</p>
<p>“I believe there was,” said Amber gravely.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>He ran his fingers down the paper.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>A slow smile dawned on Amber’s face.</p>
<p>“And has my chief inspector come amblin’
all the way from London to make these startlin’
and mysterious communications?”</p>
<p>The detective dropped his banter.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Lent?” Amber’s eyebrows rose.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Amber twiddled his manacled hands restlessly.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to go out of England just now,”
he began.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span>“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.”</p>
<p>“So they’ve gone, have they?”</p>
<p>He was disappointed and did not attempt to
disguise the fact.</p>
<p>“I hoped that I should be out in time to stop
’em, but that racket has nothing to do with the
Colonial Office.”</p>
<p>“Hasn’t it?”</p>
<p>Fells went to the wall where the prisoner’s
bell was, and pushed it. Two minutes later the
door swung open.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>In ten minutes the door opened again.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“You are probably surprised to see me, Mr.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span>
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.”</p>
<p>“Did you find any difficulty in obtaining permission?”
There was an odd twinkle in Amber’s
eye which she did not observe.</p>
<p>“None—or almost none,” she said. “It was
very wonderful.”</p>
<p>“Not so wonderful, my lady,” said Amber.
“I’m an old client: anything to oblige a regular
customer.”</p>
<p>She was looking at him with pain in her eyes.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>He dropped his eyes and, for the matter of
that, so did she.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>She declined the seat with a smile and began
her story.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span>Her brother had sailed, so also had Lambaire
and Whitey, taking with them a copy of the chart.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Why did he see them?” demanded Amber.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Well?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Isn’t it in British territory?”</p>
<p>“No, it is well over the border-line that marks
the boundary between British and Portuguese
West Africa.”</p>
<p>Amber was puzzled.</p>
<p>“What can I do?” he asked.</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span>
spot indicated in his map, and there is neither
forest nor river there, only a great dry plateau.”</p>
<p>“You told them about the false compass?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Have you got the map with you?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Open it and let me see, please.”</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>She nodded.</p>
<p>“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....”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“There is something wrong, some mystery
that has not been unravelled: my father was a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span>
careful man and could not have made a mistake:
all along we knew that the river was in British
territory.”</p>
<p>“The boundary may have been altered,” suggested
Amber. But she shook her head.</p>
<p>“No, I asked that question: it was demarcated
in 1875, and has not been altered.”</p>
<p>Amber looked again at the map, then at the girl.</p>
<p>“I will see you to-morrow,” he said.</p>
<p>“But——” She looked at him in astonishment.</p>
<p>“I may not be able to get permission to-morrow.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Time’s up,” said the governor gruffly. Amber
looked at the detective and nodded; then called
authoritatively to the prison chief.</p>
<p>“Take these handcuffs off, Cardeen,” he said.</p>
<p>“What——!”</p>
<p>“Give him the order, Fells,” said Amber, and
the detective obediently handed a paper to the
bewildered man.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>The chief warder’s hands were shaking horribly
as he turned the key that opened the hinged bar
of the handcuffs.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XII<br>
<small>AMBER SAILS</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span>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?</p>
<p>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!”</p>
<p>She smiled again.</p>
<p>“You will have plenty of time,” she said
quietly. “I am going to Southampton.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>She was politely interested....</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Amber heaved a long sigh and then, observing
the glimmer of amusement in the girl’s eyes, smiled
also.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span>“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.”</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>In the great barnlike shed adjoining the quayside
they left the carriage and made their way
across the steaming quay to the gangway.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“For,” he excused, “there may be rocks that
way, and it is better to be uncomfortable at sea
than drowned on the beach.”</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span>
before he woke up to the fact that his errand was
still unperformed.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Why, you are wet through,” was her greeting.
Amber smiled sheepishly.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“You are to go straight to your cabin and
change your clothes,” she ordered.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about that, I——”</p>
<p>She shook her head.</p>
<p>“You must,” she said firmly, “you will catch
all sorts of things, besides you look funny.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>He had an exciting and passionate half-hour,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>He rose, a little pale.</p>
<p>“I am afraid this is where we part,” he said
unsteadily, “and there were one or two things I
wanted to say to you.”</p>
<p>She sprang up, a little alarmed, he thought—certainly
confused, if he judged rightly by the
pink and white that came to her cheek.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span>“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.</p>
<p>“Perhaps you had better wait,” she said gently.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Amber looked hopelessly down at her. Then
he sighed.</p>
<p>“I am afraid I shall have to write after all,”
he said ruefully, and laughed.</p>
<p>Her smile answered his, but she made no movement.</p>
<p>Again the bell clanged.</p>
<p>“Unless you want to be taken on to the Alebi
Coast,” he said, half jestingly, “you will have
to go ashore.”</p>
<p>Again she smiled.</p>
<p>“I want to be taken out to the Alebi Coast,”
she said, “that is what I have paid my passage
money for.”</p>
<p>Amber was wellnigh speechless.</p>
<p>“But—you can’t—your luggage?”</p>
<p>“My luggage is in my cabin,” she said innocently;
“didn’t you know I was coming with you?”</p>
<p>Amber said nothing, his heart being too full
for words.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“<i>J’y suis—J’y reste!</i>” 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.</p>
<p>“I’m an explorer’s daughter,” she went on
half seriously, “you have to remember that,
Captain Grey.”</p>
<p>“I’d rather you called me Amber,” he said.</p>
<p>“Well, Mr. Amber,” she corrected, “though
it seems a little familiar; what was I saying?”</p>
<p>“You were boasting about your birth,” he said.
He pulled a chair to her side—“and we were
listening respectfully.”</p>
<p>She did not speak for some time, her eyes
following the dancing wavelets that slipped astern
as the ship pushed through the water.</p>
<p>“It is a big business, isn’t it?” she said suddenly.
“This country killed my father—it has
taken my brother——”</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span>She laughed out loud, a long low laugh of
infinite amusement.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>She was wholly serious now.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“Even if we do,” she suggested quietly; and
he nodded.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Do you think that was the idea?” she
asked.</p>
<p>Amber shook his head.</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span>
anybody else but himself—if by chance they fell
into other hands.”</p>
<p>“But why take Francis?” she asked in perplexity.</p>
<p>“The only way they could get the plan—anyway
their position was strengthened by the inclusion
of the dead explorer’s son.”</p>
<p>This was the only conversation they had on
the subject. At Sierra Leone they transferred
their baggage to the <i>Pinto Colo</i>, 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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“Dem Consul, he lib...?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span>“How you call um, them white man who go
dead?” he asked.</p>
<p>Before the man could answer something
attracted his attention and he looked up. There
was a bird circling slowly above him.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>“To O. C. Houssas.</p>
<p>“Messrs. Lambaire and White have reached
Alebi Mission Station. They report having discovered
diamond field and state Sutton died
fever month ago.</p>
<p class="right">(Signed) <span class="smcap">H. Sanders</span>.”</p>
</div>
<p>He read it again slowly, the girl watching with
a troubled face.</p>
<p>“What does it say?” she asked.</p>
<p>Amber folded the paper carefully.</p>
<p>“I do not think it was intended for us,” he
said evasively.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIII<br>
<small>IN THE FOREST</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap">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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“This is the end of it,” said Lambaire thickly.</p>
<p>Whitey said nothing.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Four hundred,” interrupted Whitey impatiently,
“and it might as well be four thousand.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>There was a long pause in the conversation.</p>
<p>“Where does this river lead to?” asked Lambaire;
“it must go somewhere.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“A cursed fine explorer,” repeated Lambaire.</p>
<p>Sutton half turned his head. “Don’t quarrel
with me,” he said drearily, “because if you
do——”</p>
<p>“Hey! if I do?” Lambaire was ripe for
quarrelling with anybody.</p>
<p>“If you do, I’ll shoot you dead,” said the boy,
and turned his head again in the direction of the
river.</p>
<p>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’——”</p>
<p>“Oh, shut up!” snarled Whitey, “we don’t
want your jabber, Lambaire—we want a way
out!”</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>And the end of it was that the expedition must
turn back, passing through the outraged territories
they had forced.</p>
<p>“There is no other way,” persisted Lambaire.
Whitey shook his head.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>And that thief man, Amber; a rum name,
Amber—gold, diamonds. No diamonds, no River<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>
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.</p>
<p>He sprang up. “When shall we start?” he
asked dully.</p>
<p>“Start?” Lambaire looked up.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“I suppose we can start to-morrow,” he said
listlessly.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>Before the sun came up, a little expedition
began its weary march coastward.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span>
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.</p>
<p>“It is sleeping sickness,” said Sutton.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“What can we do?” fretted Lambaire. “We
can’t leave him—he would starve, or he might
get free—that’s worse.”</p>
<p>Eventually they let the problem stand over
till the morning, setting a guard to watch the
lunatic.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Soon Whitey caught up with the party—Whitey,
pallid of face, with his mouth trembling.</p>
<p>Lambaire looked at him fearfully.</p>
<p>“What did you do?” he whispered.</p>
<p>“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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Does it occur to you fellows what we are
marching towards?” he asked.</p>
<p>Neither answered him. Sutton took a listless
interest in the conversation, but the eyes of Whitey
narrowed watchfully.</p>
<p>“We are marching to the devil,” said Lambaire
impressively. “I am marching to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span>
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.”</p>
<p>He saw the boy wince, and went on:</p>
<p>“Me and Whitey floated a Company—got
money out of the public—diamond mine—brilliant
prospects and all that sort of thing—see?”</p>
<p>He caught Whitey nodding his head thoughtfully,
and saw the puzzled interest in Sutton’s
face.</p>
<p>“We are going back——”</p>
<p>“If we get back,” murmured Whitey.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>“Go on—go on,” said Whitey impatiently,
“when we get back?”</p>
<p>“When we do,” said Lambaire, “we’ve got
to say, ‘Look here, you people—the fact of it
is——’”</p>
<p>“Making a clean breast of the matter,” murmured
Whitey.</p>
<p>“Making a clean breast of the matter—‘there’s
no mine.’”</p>
<p>Lambaire paused, as much to allow the significance
of the situation to sink into his own mind
as into the minds of the hearers.</p>
<p>“Well?” asked Whitey.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span>“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——”</p>
<p>Whitey’s eyes were dancing now; no need to
ask him how the ingenious plan appealed to him.
But Sutton questioned.</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Sutton’s ridiculous scruples stood between them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span>
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.</p>
<p>Lambaire and Whitey went for a walk in the
forest. Neither of them spoke, they each knew
the mind of the other.</p>
<p>“Well?” said Whitey at last.</p>
<p>Lambaire avoided his eye.</p>
<p>“It means ruin for us—and there’s safety and
a fortune if he’d be sensible.”</p>
<p>Again a long silence.</p>
<p>“Is he bad?” asked Lambaire suddenly, and
the other shrugged his shoulders.</p>
<p>“No worse than I’ve been half a dozen times.
It’s his first attack of fever.”</p>
<p>There was another long pause, broken by
Whitey.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>They walked aimlessly up and down, each
man intent on his own thoughts. They spoke
no more, but returned to their little camp, where<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span>
a semi-delirious youth moaned and fretted querulously,
talking in the main to himself.</p>
<p>Lambaire stood by him, looking down at the
restless figure; then he went in search of Whitey.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>The two memorandums were drawn up in identical
terms. Whitey demurred, but signed....</p>
<p>Before the accustomed hour, Whitey woke the
coast boy who acted as interpreter and was one
of the two remaining carriers.</p>
<p>“Get up,” he said gruffly; “get them guns
on your head and move quickly.”</p>
<p>The native rose sleepily. The fire was nearly
out, and he gave it a kick with his bare foot to
rouse it to flame.</p>
<p>“None of that,” fumed Whitey—he was in
an unusual mood. “Get the other man, and
trek.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>He stopped of a sudden and turned to Lambaire,
who shuffled along in his rear.</p>
<p>“Dem young massa, I no lookum.”</p>
<p>“Go on,” said Whitey gruffly. “Dem massa
he die one time.”</p>
<p>The native grunted and continued his way.
Death in this land, where men rise up hale in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>
morning and are buried in sunset, was not a great
matter.</p>
<p>They halted at daybreak to eat the meal which
was usually partaken of before marching.</p>
<p>The two white men ate in silence—neither
looking at the other.</p>
<p>Not until the forest was flooded with the rising
sunlight did Whitey make any reference to the
events of the night.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>But he had a basket full of carrier pigeons.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“When did Sutton die?” he asked, and they
told him.</p>
<p>“Where?”</p>
<p>Here they were at fault, for the spot indicated
was a hundred miles inland.</p>
<p>Sanders made a rapid calculation.</p>
<p>“It must be nearer than that,” he said. “You
could not have marched to the mission station
in the time.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span>They admitted possibility of error and Sanders
accepted the admission, having some experience
in the unreliability of starved men’s memory.</p>
<p>He questioned the carriers, and they were no
more explicit.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Since the forests of the Alebi are mainly composed
of camwood and gum, the Commissioner
was no wiser.</p>
<p>A fortnight after this conversation, Lambaire
and Whitey reached the little coast town where
Sanders had his headquarters.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIV<br>
<small>A HANDFUL O’ PEBBLE</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap">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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Hullo,” growled Lambaire. “What is the
meaning of this?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>They did not answer him, and he repeated the
question.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“When did he die?”</p>
<p>They told him, speaking in chorus, eagerly.</p>
<p>“Who buried him?”</p>
<p>Again the chorus.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“We buried him,” Lambaire found his voice,
“because he was white and we were white—see?”</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“Point out the place where he was buried.”
And Amber laid the map upon the knees of
Whitey.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span>“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!”</p>
<p>As his courage revived he began to swear—perhaps
the courage waited upon the expletives.</p>
<p>“... After goin’ through all this!” he
spluttered, “an’ hunger an’ thirst an’ fightin’—to
be questioned by a crook.”</p>
<p>He felt the fierce grip of Whitey’s hand on his
wrist and stopped himself.</p>
<p>“Say nothin’—more than you can help,”
muttered Whitey. Lambaire swallowed his wrath
and obeyed.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“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!”</p>
<p>He groped round on the floor of the half darkened
bungalow and found his hat.</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span>
by that smile which was Amber’s chief charm.</p>
<p>“Mr. Whitey!” said Amber softly, “you will
not leave to-morrow, the ship will sail without
you.”</p>
<p>“Eh!”</p>
<p>“The ship will sail minus,” repeated Amber.
“No Whitey, no Lambaire.”</p>
<p>He shook his head.</p>
<p>“What do you mean?”</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>There was another pause.</p>
<p>“What do you mean by that, Mr. Amber?”
asked Whitey, and his voice was unsteady.</p>
<p>“Exactly what I say,” said the other quietly.</p>
<p>“Do you think we murdered him?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Lambaire was as white as death.</p>
<p>“We did nothing to Sutton,” he said doggedly.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span>Amber inclined his head.</p>
<p>“That we shall know,” he said.</p>
<p>Walking from the bungalow to the hut which
the Commissioner had placed at their disposal,
Lambaire suddenly stopped and touched his
companion’s arm.</p>
<p>“Suppose,” he gasped, “suppose——”</p>
<p>Whitey shook off the grip. “Don’t go mad,”
he said roughly, “suppose what?”</p>
<p>“Suppose—some wandering native—found
him and speared him. We’d get the credit for
that.”</p>
<p>“My God, I never thought of that!”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>
party back to make an examination of the place
where Sutton was buried.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“What will you do when the search party
returns?” asked Amber.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Weeks passed—weeks of intolerable suspense
for Whitey and Lambaire, playing bumble puppy
whist in the shade of their hut.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>They found the Commissioner sitting at a big
table, which was the one notable article of furniture
in his office.</p>
<p>Three travel-stained natives in the worn blue
uniform of police stood by the desk. Sanders
was speaking rapidly in a native dialect which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span>
was incomprehensible to any other of the white
people in the room.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>It was curiously suggestive of a magistrate’s
court, where the positions of plaintiff and defendant
are well defined.</p>
<p>Lambaire shot a sidelong glance at the girl in
her cool white frock and her snowy helmet, and
made a little nervous grimace.</p>
<p>They took their seats, Lambaire walking heavily
to his.</p>
<p>Sanders finished talking, and with a jerk of his
hand motioned his men to the centre of the room.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>Whitey coughed to clear his throat, tried to
frame an agreement, failed, and expressed his
approval with a nod.</p>
<p>“Did you find the place of the four trees?”
asked Sanders of the native.</p>
<p>“Lord, we found the place,” said the man.</p>
<p>Sentence by sentence as he spoke, Sanders
translated the narrative.</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span>
that the white men had kindled; also cartridges
and other things which white men throw away.”</p>
<p>“How many days’ journey did the white men
come?” asked Sanders.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“How do you know this?” said Sanders, in
the vernacular.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Lambaire’s lips were dry; his mouth was like
a limekiln as, sentence by sentence, the native’s
statement was translated.</p>
<p>“Did you find the white master who was left
behind?” asked Sanders.</p>
<p>“Lord, we did not find him.”</p>
<p>Lambaire made a little choking noise in his
throat. Whitey stared, saying nothing. He half
rose, then sat down again.</p>
<p>“Was there a grave?”</p>
<p>The native shook his head.</p>
<p>“We saw an open grave, but there was no
man in it.” Lambaire shot a swift startled glance
at the man by his side.</p>
<p>“There was no sign of the white master?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>“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.</p>
<p>Cynthia rose and took it in her hands.</p>
<p>“Yes, this was my brother’s,” she said in a
low voice. She handed it to Sanders.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“Do you know what these signify?” he asked
Whitey, and he shook his head.</p>
<p>Sanders addressed the native in Arabic.</p>
<p>“Abiboo,” he said, “you know the ways and
customs of Alebi folk—what do these things
mean?”</p>
<p>But Abiboo was at a loss.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Sanders turned the pebbles over with his finger.</p>
<p>“I am afraid this beats me,” he began, when
Amber stepped forward.</p>
<p>“Let me see them,” he said, and they were
emptied into his palm.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“These we may keep, I suppose?” he said;
“you have no objection?”</p>
<p>Lambaire shook his head.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>It took little to induce panic in Lambaire—Whitey
gave him no chance of betraying his
agitation.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span>“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?”</p>
<p>Lambaire, who was directly addressed, made
no reply. It was safer to rely upon Whitey when
matters of chronology were concerned.</p>
<p>“Before,” said Whitey, after the slightest
pause.</p>
<p>“Long before?”</p>
<p>“Yes—a week or so.”</p>
<p>Amber tapped the table restlessly—like a man
deep in thought.</p>
<p>“Did Mr. Sutton know of the discovery?”</p>
<p>“No,” said Whitey—and could have bitten
his tongue at the slip; “when the discovery was
made he was down with fever,” he added.</p>
<p>“And he knew nothing?”</p>
<p>“Nothing.”</p>
<p>Amber opened his hand and allowed the four
pebbles to slip on to the table.</p>
<p>“And yet he had these,” he said.</p>
<p>“What are they to do with it?” asked Whitey.</p>
<p>Amber smiled.</p>
<p>“Nothing,” he said, “except that these are
diamonds.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XV<br>
<small>IN THE BED OF THE RIVER</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap">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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“I wish you would come,” she said simply,
and he knew her heart at that moment.</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span>
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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Au revoir,” she said, and her lip trembled.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Au revoir, my love,” he whispered, and kissed
her lips.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>Amber left the next morning for the Alebi,
and with him went Abiboo, a taciturn sergeant
of Houssas and Sanders’ right-hand man.</p>
<p>It was a conventional African journey into
the bush.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>On the twenty-eighth day of the march, the
expedition reached the place where Lambaire<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>
had said Sutton died. Here, in accordance with
his plans, Amber established something of a
permanent camp.</p>
<p>Accompanied by Abiboo he inspected the spot
where the handkerchief and diamonds had been
found, and the depression where the “grave”
had been located.</p>
<p>“Master,” said Abiboo, “it was here that a hole
had been dug.”</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Water has been here,” said Abiboo, “but
<i>cala cala</i>,” which means long ago.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span>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.</p>
<p>The occasional storms had been followed by
irregular downpours, and he himself had had an
attack of fever.</p>
<p>“I will stay two more days,” he told Abiboo;
“if by then I find nothing, we strike camp.”</p>
<p>That night, as he sat in his tent writing a letter
to Cynthia, there came a summons from Abiboo.</p>
<p>“Master,” said the Houssa, “one of my men
has heard a shot.”</p>
<p>Amber slipped on his jacket and stepped out
of the tent.</p>
<p>“Where—in what direction?” he asked. It
was pitch-dark, and a gentle drizzle of rain was
falling.</p>
<p>“Towards the east,” said the native.</p>
<p>Amber returned to the tent for his electric
lamp and together they stood listening.</p>
<p>Far away they heard a noise like that made
by a cat in pain; the long howls came faintly in
their direction.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span>“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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“H’m,” said Amber, and walked up to it.
There was no sign of the laceration which marks
the beast wounded in fight.</p>
<p>“Turn it over.”</p>
<p>The men obeyed, and Amber whistled. There
was an indisputable bullet wound behind the left
shoulder.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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?</p>
<p>He called up Abiboo from the fire round which
the Houssas were squatting.</p>
<p>“It is strange to me, Abiboo,” he said, “that
the white man should shoot the leopard.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>After one of these détours they struck a clear
smooth stretch.</p>
<p>“It must be somewhere near,” began Amber,
when Abiboo raised his hand abruptly. “Listen,”
he whispered.</p>
<p>They stood motionless, their heads bent.
Above the quiet of the forest came a new sound.</p>
<p>“Click—click!” It was faint, but unmistakable.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span>Amber crept forward.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Bang!”</p>
<p>A bullet whistled past him and struck the bank
at his side with a thud.</p>
<p>Quick as thought, he dropped to cover, bewildered.
The man who dug had had his back
to him—somebody else had fired that shot!</p>
<p>He looked round at the sergeant.</p>
<p>“Abiboo,” he said grimly, “this is a bad
palaver: we have come to save a man who desires
to kill us.”</p>
<p>Crawling forward again he peeped out: the
man had disappeared.</p>
<p>Taking the risk of another shot, Amber stepped
out into the open.</p>
<p>“Sutton!” he called clearly. There was no
answer.</p>
<p>“Sutton!” he shouted,—only the echo came
to him. Followed by his men he moved forward.</p>
<p>There was a hole in the centre of the watercourse,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Cautiously he began to climb till he lay under
the opening. Then swiftly he plucked the dead
brush away.</p>
<p>“Bang!”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“<i>Ba—lek!</i>” shouted Amber warningly.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Damn!” said a voice, and the pistol dropped
to the ground.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span>Still holding the wrist, Amber called gently,
“Sutton!” There was a pause.</p>
<p>“Who are you?” said the voice in astonishment.</p>
<p>“You’ll remember me as Amber.” There was
another little pause.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Amber released the wrist, and by-and-by there
struggled through a grimy tattered young man,
indisputably Sutton.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Amber said nothing.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“Father,” he called softly, “come out—I
want to introduce you to a sportsman.”</p>
<p>Amber stood dumbfounded and silent as the
other turned to him.</p>
<p>“My father isn’t very well,” he said with a
catch in his voice; “you’ll have to help me get
him away.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVI<br>
<small>AMBER ON PROSPECTUSES</small></h2>
</div>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<p class="center">THE RIVER OF STARS, LTD.</p>
<p><span class="indentleft">Share Capital, £800,000.</span><br>
100,000 Ordinary Shares of £5 each.<br>
30,000 Deferred Shares of £10 each.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Directors</span>:</p>
<p>Augustus Lambaire, Esq. (<i>Chairman</i>).<br>
Felix White, Esq.<br>
The Hon. Griffin Pullerger.<br>
Lord Corsington.</p>
</div></div>
<p class="drop-cap">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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>When they had arrived in England they had
decided upon the campaign; they came with
greater prestige than they had ever dared to hope<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>City editors, examining the prospectus, shook
their heads in bewilderment. Some damned it
instanter, some saw its romantic side and wrote<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span>
accordingly. Not a few passed it unnoticed,
following the golden precept, “No advertisement:
no puff.”</p>
<p>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<i>s.</i> 9<i>d.</i> have risen to
£99 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> 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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>“In many ways, Lambaire,” said Whitey,
“you’re a wonder!”</p>
<p>The big man, to whom approval was as the
breath of life, smiled complacently.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span>They walked slowly along the crowded thoroughfare
in the direction of Piccadilly Circus. There
was a subject which Lambaire wished to broach.</p>
<p>“By the way, Whitey,” he said, as they stood
hesitating at the corner of the Haymarket, “do
you remember a little memorandum we signed?”</p>
<p>“Memorandum?”</p>
<p>“Yes—in the Alebi forest. I forget how it
went, but you had a copy and I had a copy.”</p>
<p>“What was it about?”</p>
<p>Lambaire might have thought, had he not
known Whitey, that the memorandum had slipped
from his mind—but Lambaire was no fool.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Amber is in London,” he said, “he arrived
last Saturday.”</p>
<p>“What about the girl?”</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t think she’d lost a brother,” he
went on, “no black, no mourning, theatres and
concerts every night—heartless little devil.”</p>
<p>Whitey looked up sharply.</p>
<p>“Who told you that?” he asked.</p>
<p>“One of my fellers,” said Lambaire carelessly.</p>
<p>“Oh!” said Whitey.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span>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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Once beyond the range of Lambaire’s observation,
he leant out of the carriage window and gave
fresh instructions.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Lambaire shrank from it, made himself deaf
to its warnings, blind to its possibilities. He
endeavoured to forget it, and generally succeeded.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>He arrived at the house in Pembroke Gardens,
and telling the chauffeur to wait, rang the bell.
A maid answered his ring.</p>
<p>“Miss Sutton in?” he asked.</p>
<p>“No, sir.” The girl replied so promptly that
Whitey was suspicious.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>“I’ve come on very important business, my
gel,” he said, “matter of life and death.”</p>
<p>“She’s not at home, sir—I’m sorry,” repeated
the maid.</p>
<p>“I know,” said Whitey with an ingratiating
smile, “but you tell her.”</p>
<p>“Really, sir, Miss Sutton is not at home. She
left London last Friday,” protested the girl;
“if you write I will forward the letter.”</p>
<p>“Last Friday, eh?” Whitey was very
thoughtful. “Friday?” He remembered that
Amber had returned on Saturday.</p>
<p>“If you could give me her address,” he said,
“I could write to her—this business being very
important.”</p>
<p>The girl shook her head emphatically.</p>
<p>“I don’t know it, sir,” she said. “I send all
the letters to the bank, and they forward them.”</p>
<p>Whitey accepted this statement as truth, as
it was.</p>
<p>Walking slowly back to his taxi-cab, he decided
to see Amber.</p>
<p>He was anxious to know whether he had read
the prospectus.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>Many copies of the prospectus had, as a matter
of fact, come to Amber’s hands.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>
adventures of the explorers as set forth in the
prospectus.</p>
<p>Amber patted him on the shoulder as he passed
at his back to his favourite seat by the window.</p>
<p>“My Peter,” he said, “what is this literature?”</p>
<p>Peter removed his glasses and smiled benignly.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Amber shook his head.</p>
<p>“Wangles pay no dividends, my Crœsus,” he
said reproachfully.</p>
<p>“You never know,” protested Peter stoutly.
“I’ve got fifty shares in the Treasure Hill of the
Aztec Company.”</p>
<p>“Run by Stolvetch,” mused Amber, “now
undergoing five of the longest and saddest in our
royal palace at Dartmoor.”</p>
<p>“It was a good idea.”</p>
<p>Amber smiled kindly.</p>
<p>“What else?” he asked.</p>
<p>“I’ve got a founder’s share in the El Mandeseg
Syndicate,” said Peter impressively.</p>
<p>Amber smiled again.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>Peter nodded, with an embarrassed grin.</p>
<p>“Let me see your prospectus.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span>The romantic Peter handed the precious document
across the table.</p>
<p>Amber read it carefully—not for the first time.</p>
<p>“It’s very rum,” he said when he had finished,
“very, very rum.”</p>
<p>“What’s rum, Amber?”</p>
<p>The other drew a cigarette-case from his pocket:
selected one and lit it.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>Peter was impressed.</p>
<p>“You’re a reader, Amber,” he said, with a
note of respect in his voice. “I can see now that
you’ve read <i>Haunted by Fate, or, The Convict’s
Bride</i>. It’s what I might describe as a masterpiece.
It’s got——”</p>
<p>“I know—it’s another of the rum things of
life—Peter, would you like a job?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span>Peter looked up over his spectacles.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>Amber laughed.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>He changed the subject abruptly.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>A knock at the door interrupted him.</p>
<p>“Come in.”</p>
<p>The handle turned, and Whitey entered.</p>
<p>“Oh, here you are,” said Whitey.</p>
<p>He stood by the door, his glossy silk hat in
his hand, and smiled pleasantly.</p>
<p>“Come in,” invited Amber. “You don’t
mind?”—he looked at Peter. The old man
shook his head.</p>
<p>“Well?”</p>
<p>“I’ve been lookin’ for you,” said Whitey.</p>
<p>He took the chair Amber indicated.</p>
<p>“I thought you might be here,” he went on,
“knowing that you visited here.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span>“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.”</p>
<p>Whitey was not embarrassed.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“I’ve seen it,” said Amber grimly—“a beautiful
production. How is the money coming in?”</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“Very unbelievin’, these organs of public
opinion,” said the sympathetic Amber, “fellers
of little faith, these journalists.”</p>
<p>“We didn’t give ’em advertisements,” explained
Whitey—“that’s the secret of it.”</p>
<p>“You gave the <i>Financial Herald</i> an advertisement,”
reflected Amber, “in spite of which they
said funny things—you gave the <i>Bullion and
Mining Gazette</i> a good order, yet they didn’t let
you down lightly.”</p>
<p>Whitey changed direction.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>The audacity of the offer staggered even Amber.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span>“Whitey,” he said admiringly, “you’re the
last word in refrigeration! Come in on the ground
floor! Not into the basement, my Whitey!”</p>
<p>“Can I speak to you alone?” Whitey looked
meaningly in the direction of Peter, and Amber
shook his head.</p>
<p>“You can say what you’ve got to say here,”
he said, “Peter is in my confidence.”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>Amber’s fingers drummed the table thoughtfully.</p>
<p>“No,” he said, after a while, “my interest in
the Company is quite big enough.”</p>
<p>“What Company?” asked Whitey.</p>
<p>“The River of Stars Diamonds, Ltd.,” said
Amber.</p>
<p>Whitey leant over the table and eyed him
narrowly.</p>
<p>“You’ve no interest in our Company,” he said
shortly.</p>
<p>Amber laughed.</p>
<p>“On the contrary,” he said, “I have an interest
in the River of Stars Diamond Fields, Ltd.”</p>
<p>“That’s not my Company,” said Whitey.</p>
<p>“Nor your Diamond Field either,” said Amber.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVII<br>
<small>WHITEY HAS A PLAN</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap">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.</p>
<p>“Hullo, Whitey,” he said lazily, “aren’t you
going to dress for dinner?”</p>
<p>Whitey closed the door carefully.</p>
<p>“Nobody can hear us?” he asked shortly.</p>
<p>Lambaire frowned.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Everything’s wrong.” Whitey was unusually
vehement. “I’ve seen Amber.”</p>
<p>“That doesn’t make everything wrong, does
it?” It was a characteristic of Lambaire’s
that alarm found expression in petulance.</p>
<p>“Don’t bark, Lambaire,” said Whitey, “don’t
get funny—I tell you that Amber knows.”</p>
<p>“Knows what?”</p>
<p>“That we didn’t find the mine.”</p>
<p>Lambaire laughed scornfully.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span>“Any fool can guess that,—how’s he going to
prove it?”</p>
<p>“There’s only one way,” replied Whitey grimly,
“and he’s found it.”</p>
<p>“Well,” demanded Lambaire as his friend
paused.</p>
<p>“He’s located the real mine. Lambaire, I
know it. Look here.”</p>
<p>He pulled up a chair to the table.</p>
<p>“You know why Amber came out?”</p>
<p>“With the girl, I suppose,” said Lambaire.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Fake! Fake! Fake!”</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>Lambaire rose.</p>
<p>“You’re mad,” he said roughly, “and what
does it matter, anyway?”</p>
<p>“Matter! Matter!” spluttered Whitey. “You
great lumbering dolt! You blind man! Amber
can turn us down! He’s only got to put his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>
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.”</p>
<p>Lambaire sank back into his chair, his head
bent in thought. He was a slow thinker.</p>
<p>“We can take all the money that’s come in
and bolt,” he said, and Whitey’s shrill contemptuous
laugh answered him.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>“Aw, dry up, Whitey,” growled the big man.
“I’m tired of hearing you.”</p>
<p>“You’ll be tireder,” said Whitey, and his
excitement justified the lapse.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“How?”</p>
<p>“Somebody knows where it is—that girl knows,
I’ll swear. Amber knows—there’s another party
that knows—but that girl knows.”</p>
<p>He bent his head till his lips were near Lambaire’s
ear.</p>
<p>“There’s another River of Stars Company been
floated,” he whispered, “and it’s the real river<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span>
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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>The idea began to take shape in Lambaire’s
mind.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“I don’t quite follow you,” said Lambaire.</p>
<p>“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!”</p>
<p>Lambaire saw it now; slowly he began to
appreciate the possibilities of the scheme.</p>
<p>“How did you find all this out?” he asked.</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>
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.”</p>
<p>“I forgot that,” admitted Lambaire.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“I’ll do anything that’s reasonable,” said
Lambaire.</p>
<p>An hour later he presented himself at the little
hotel which Whitey used as his London headquarters.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“We shall have to be a bit careful,” were Lambaire’s
parting words.</p>
<p>Whitey sniffed, but said nothing.</p>
<p>“I’ll walk with you as far as—which way do
you go?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Along the Embankment to Westminster,”
said Lambaire.</p>
<p>They walked from Northumberland Avenue and
crossed the broad road opposite the National<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span>
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.</p>
<p>“... couple o’ ’apence ... get a night’s bed,
sir ... gnawing hunger...!”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Let’s have a look at you,” he said.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“That’ll do, guv’nor,” growled the man, “keep
your hands to yourself.”</p>
<p>Whitey dived into his pocket and produced
half a crown.</p>
<p>“Here,” he said, “get yourself a drink and a
bed, my son.”</p>
<p>With muttered thanks the beggar took the coin
and turned on his heel.</p>
<p>“You’re getting soft,” said the sarcastic Lambaire
as they pursued their way.</p>
<p>“I dare say,” said the other carelessly, “I am
full of generous impulses—did you see his dial?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span>Whitey laughed.</p>
<p>“Well?”</p>
<p>“A split,” said Whitey shortly, “that’s all—man
named Mardock from Scotland Yard.”</p>
<p>Lambaire turned pale.</p>
<p>“What’s the game?” he demanded fretfully;
“what’s he mean, Whitey—it’s disgraceful, watching
two men of our position!”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Drive me to Victoria,” he said. Half-way
down Victoria Street he thrust his head from the
window.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Coals had served Whitey and Lambaire before<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span>
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.</p>
<p>Your small criminal is a creature of habit—a
blessed circumstance for the police of our land.</p>
<p>Whitey was fortunate, for he had no difficulty
in finding the man.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Whitey was waiting at some distance from the
public-house, and Coals came to him apprehensively,
for Whitey was ominously respectable.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span>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:</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“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....”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Coals,” said Whitey, “I’ve got a job for
you.”</p>
<p>Coals shot a suspicious glance at him.</p>
<p>“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....”</p>
<p>“It’s a job that will suit you,” said Whitey,
“not much risk and a hundred pounds.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span>“Oh,” said Coals thoughtfully, “not a laggin’
job?”</p>
<p>“That’s your business.” Whitey was brusque
to the point of rudeness. “You’ve done lagging
for less.”</p>
<p>“That’s true,” admitted the man. Whitey
searched his pocket and found a sovereign.</p>
<p>“In the course of the next day or two,” he said,
“I shall send for you—you can read, can’t you?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Indeed,” said Whitey, without enthusiasm.
He did not like to hear men talk with such pride
of their prison reputations.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span>
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.</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Old Jim’s got a job.”</p>
<p>“Go on.”</p>
<p>“Wonderful, ain’t it—he’s got a job....”</p>
<p>“See the fire engine to-night?”</p>
<p>“No—where?”</p>
<p>“Up the High Street, two.”</p>
<p>“Where they going?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>“New Cut—somewhere.”</p>
<p>“What time?”</p>
<p>“About—what time is it, Charley?”</p>
<p>“I dunno. Just when old Mr. Musk was
going.”</p>
<p>“’S he gone?”</p>
<p>“Went in a four-wheeler—gave Tom a bob for
carrying his birds.”</p>
<p>“Goo’law! Old Musk gone ... in a cab ...
I bet he’s an old miser.”</p>
<p>“I bet he is too ... very close ... he’s not
gone away for good.”</p>
<p>“Where’s he gone?”</p>
<p>Whitey, sipping his coffee, edged nearer the
speaker.</p>
<p>“Gone to a place in Kent—Maidstone ...
where the hopping is.”</p>
<p>(Oh, indiscreet Peter! bursting with importance!)</p>
<p>“No, it ain’t Maidstone—it’s a place called
Were.”</p>
<p>“Well, that’s Maidstone—anyway, Maidstone’s
the station.”</p>
<p>Whitey finished his coffee and went home to
bed.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVIII<br>
<small>WHITEY’S WAY</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap2">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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>“I like your Peter,” she said, after a pause.</p>
<p>“He’s a rum bird,” confessed Amber.</p>
<p>“Father likes him too,” she went on, and sighed.
“Do you think father will ever be well again?”</p>
<p>Amber was a long time framing a reply, so long
that she stopped.</p>
<p>“I wish you would tell me,” she said quietly.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“He is not——” She did not finish the
sentence.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“He has lost his memory—and yet he remembers
me and the River of Stars.”</p>
<p>They walked on in silence, both too much
engaged in their own thoughts for conversation.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Frank Sutton was sitting before a crackling
wood fire, a book on his knees. He looked up
with a smile as they entered.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span>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.</p>
<p>“What news?” he asked.</p>
<p>Amber stretched his hands to the blazing fire.</p>
<p>“To-morrow the Colonial Office will ask Lambaire
to locate his mine,” he said. “I fear my
Lambaire will experience a difficulty.”</p>
<p>“I think he will,” said the other dryly. “How
long will he be given?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“An unusual course,” said Sutton.</p>
<p>“An unusual situation, my intrepid explorer,”
rejoined Amber.</p>
<p>Sutton grinned.</p>
<p>“Don’t rot me,” he pleaded. “I feel I’m
rather a pup.”</p>
<p>Amber looked at him with a kindly eye.</p>
<p>“We all pass through the furniture-gnawing
stage,” he said. “Really, I think you’re a rather
wonderful kid.”</p>
<p>The boy coloured, for there was a note of sincerity
in the other’s voice.</p>
<p>“Where is your father?” Amber asked
suddenly.</p>
<p>“In the grounds with your friend; really, it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span>
was an inspiration to send our friend—what is
his name—Musk?”</p>
<p>“Peter—you must call him Peter,” said Amber.
He rose and walked to the French window that
opened on to the lawn.</p>
<p>“Peter interests the governor no end,” Sutton
went on. “He’s a perfect library of romance.”</p>
<p>“Let us go out and meet them,” said Amber.</p>
<p>They walked towards the little walled garden
where the explorer found his recreation, and came
upon the two unexpectedly.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>He passed his hand over his eyes wearily.</p>
<p>“Father,” said Frank gently, “here is our
friend Captain Grey.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>The explorer turned sharply.</p>
<p>“Captain Grey?” he half queried, and held
out his hand.</p>
<p>Some fugitive memory of Amber flickered across
his mind.</p>
<p>“Captain Grey; I’m afraid my son shot at
you!”</p>
<p>“It is of no account, sir,” said Amber.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>They walked slowly back to the house, Amber
and Peter bringing up the rear.</p>
<p>“He’s more sensible, Mr. Amber,” said Peter.
“He seems to have improved durin’ the last two
days.”</p>
<p>“How long has he had the benefit of your
society, my Peter?” asked the other.</p>
<p>“Two days,” replied the unconscious Mr. Musk.</p>
<p>Amber had an opportunity of studying the old
man as they sat at tea—the meals at White House
were of a democratic character.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span>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.</p>
<p>On one subject his mind was clear, and that was
the subject which none cared to discuss with him—the
River of Stars.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“... 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.”</p>
<p>They were silent when he paused. By-and-by
he went on again.</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span>
illustrates the uncertainty of exploration ...
uncertainty ... uncertainty? that is hardly the
word, I think....”</p>
<p>He covered his eyes with his hand.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The conversation became general again, and
soon after Mr. Sutton went to his room.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Frank nodded.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Amber waited until Peter had bustled away
importantly—he took very kindly to the office
of nurse—and the three were left together.</p>
<p>“When did you first realize the fact that he
had discovered the River of Stars?”</p>
<p>Frank Sutton filled his pipe slowly.</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span>
weak at the time. When I got better I used to
lie and watch him scratching about in the bed of
the river.”</p>
<p>“He was quite rational?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“And all this time, Frank, you knew it was
father?”</p>
<p>It was the girl who spoke, and Frank nodded
again.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>He got up from the deep chair in which he was
sitting.</p>
<p>“I’m going to leave you people for a while—you’ll
find me in the library.”</p>
<p>“I’ll go with you for a moment, if you will<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span>
excuse me,” said Amber, and the girl smiled her
assent.</p>
<p>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?”</p>
<p>“Yes, you wired me not to send the copy to
the printers. Why?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“I never thought of that,” said Sutton; “but
how could he get it from a little country
printer’s?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Amber returned to the girl. She was sitting
in the corner of the settee which was drawn up
at right angles to the fireplace.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“I want to talk to you seriously,” he said, and
took his seat at the other end of the couch.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span>“Please don’t talk too seriously; I want to
be amused,” she said.</p>
<p>There was silence for a few minutes, then:</p>
<p>“I suppose you realize,” he said, “that within
a week or so you will be the daughter of a very
rich man?”</p>
<p>He could not see her face distinctly in the half-light,
but he thought he saw her smile.</p>
<p>“I have not realized it,” she replied quietly,
“but I suppose that you are right. Why?”</p>
<p>“Why? Oh, nothing—except that I am not
immensely wealthy myself.”</p>
<p>She waited for him to go on.</p>
<p>“You see?” he suggested after a while.</p>
<p>She laughed outright.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>He wished her to see more than he cared for
the moment to describe, but she was blandly
obstinate and most unhelpful.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>She laughed again, a clear whole-hearted laugh
of girlish enjoyment.</p>
<p>“Come and sit by me,” she commanded;
“closer....”</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span>“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.”</p>
<p>He walked across the room and jabbed the fire.</p>
<p>“And you’ve let the fire go out, you wretched
people.”</p>
<p>Cynthia rose guiltily.</p>
<p>“I’m afraid,” she faltered, “Captain Grey—we——”</p>
<p>“I’m afraid you have,” agreed her brother,
as with a smile he kissed her. “Say good night
to Amber: father is asleep.”</p>
<p>They heard the rustle of her skirts as she went
through the hall to the stairs.</p>
<p>“Talking with Peter?” questioned Amber.
“I thought you were working most industriously
in your library.”</p>
<p>Sutton was poking the fire vigorously.</p>
<p>“Finished that an hour ago; how long do you
think you people have been gassing?”</p>
<p>Amber discreetly hazarded no opinion.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“’Ware hasty judgment,” said Amber gravely,
“these pernicious——”</p>
<p>There was a hasty step in the hall, the door
opened and Cynthia came in a little white of face.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span>Amber took a quick step forward.</p>
<p>“What is it?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Father is not in his room,” she said breathlessly.
“I went in to say good night—he has
not been to bed——”</p>
<p>The three looked at each other.</p>
<p>“He is in the garden, I expect,” said Frank
uneasily. “He has gone out before, though I’ve
begged him not to.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The girl threw a shawl round her shoulders
and followed.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>He found the lamp, turned out the light, and
rejoined the others.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The circuit of the grounds took them very little
time. There was no sign of the explorer.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span>In the circle of light the lamps threw upon the
weather-stained door a fluttering white paper
attracted their attention.</p>
<p>It was a half-sheet of notepaper fastened by
a drawing-pin, and Amber raised his lamp and
read:</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>“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.</p>
<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">A Friend.</span>”</p>
</div>
<p>“Wait a moment.”</p>
<p>Amber held the other’s arm as he made for
the lane.</p>
<p>“Don’t delay, for God’s sake, Amber!” cried
Sutton fretfully; “we may be in time.”</p>
<p>“Wait,” commanded Amber sharply.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Come along!” Sutton was hurrying up the
road, and Amber and the girl followed.</p>
<p>“Have you got a gun?” asked Amber.</p>
<p>For answer Sutton slipped a Smith Weison
from his pocket.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span>“Did you expect this?” asked the girl by his
side.</p>
<p>“Something like it,” was the quiet answer.
“Until we had settled this business I insisted
that we should all be armed—I know Whitey.”</p>
<p>Sutton fell back until he was abreast of
them.</p>
<p>“I can see no sign of footmarks,” he said, “and
I’m worried about that message.”</p>
<p>“There is one set of footprints,” said Amber
shortly.</p>
<p>His light had been searching the road all the
time. “As to the message, I am more puzzled
than worried. Hullo, what is that?”</p>
<p>In the middle of the road lay a black object,
and Sutton ran forward and picked it up.</p>
<p>“It is a hat,” he said. “By Heaven, Amber,
it is my father’s!”</p>
<p>“Oh,” said Amber shortly, and stopped dead.</p>
<p>They stood for the space of a few seconds.</p>
<p>“I’m going back,” said Amber suddenly.</p>
<p>They stared at him.</p>
<p>“But—” said the bewildered girl, “but—you
are not going to give up the search?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>With no other word he turned and went running<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span>
back the way he came with the long loping stride
of a cross-country runner.</p>
<p>They stood watching him till he vanished in
the gloom.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Frank had his revolver out in an instant and
flashed his lamp ahead.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“No, sir,” said the constable, “nobody has
passed here.”</p>
<p>“A quarter of an hour ago?” suggested Frank.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Briefly Frank explained the situation.</p>
<p>“Well,” said the man slowly, “they couldn’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span>
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.”</p>
<p>On the way back Frank gave him such particulars
as he thought necessary.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>Frank was silent. He understood now Amber’s
sudden resolve to return.</p>
<p>The road was downhill and in ten minutes
they were in sight of the house.</p>
<p>“I expect Peter——” began Frank.</p>
<p>Crack!—Crack!</p>
<p>Two pistol-shots rang out in the silent night.</p>
<p>Crack—crack—crack!</p>
<p>There was a rapid exchange of shots and the
policeman swung himself on to the cycle.</p>
<p>“Take this!”</p>
<p>Frank thrust his revolver into the constable’s
hand.</p>
<p>At the full speed the policeman went spinning
down the hill and the two followed at a run.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“It’s all right.”</p>
<p>Amber’s voice was cheery.</p>
<p>“What of father?” gasped the girl.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span>“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.”</p>
<p>He took the girl’s trembling arm and led her
toward the house.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Where are they?” asked Frank.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>He led the way to the sitting-room.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span>“We heard firing,” said the girl.</p>
<p>Amber smiled grimly.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“You are not hurt?” she asked anxiously.</p>
<p>“My lady,” said Amber gaily, “I am unscathed.”</p>
<p>“But I don’t understand it,” persisted Frank.
“What did the beggars want to take the governor
for?”</p>
<p>Amber shook his head.</p>
<p>“That is beyond my——” He stopped suddenly.
“Let us take a look at the library,” he
said, and led them to the room.</p>
<p>“Hullo, I thought I turned this light out!”</p>
<p>The light was blazing away, the gas flaring in
the draught made by the open door.</p>
<p>Well might it flare, for the window was open.
So, too, was the door of the safe hanging wretchedly
on one hinge.</p>
<p>Amber said nothing—only he whistled.</p>
<p>“So that was why they lured us from the
house,” he said softly. “This is Whitey’s work,
and jolly clever work too.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIX<br>
<small>AMBER RUNS AWAY</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="drop-cap">“I  WISH you would let me come with you,”
begged the young man, but Amber shook
his head.</p>
<p>“You stay here,” he said.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>He looked at his watch.</p>
<p>“One o’clock,” he said, “and here’s the car.”</p>
<p>The soft hum of a motor-car as it swung in a
circle before the door of the house came to
them.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“It will probably be too late,” replied Amber,
“though they could hardly do the journey under
an hour and a half.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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?</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Amber had taken a chance when he had circulated
a faithful description of Whitey.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“You will find a coffee-stall at the end of
Northumberland Avenue,” he said. “Get yourself<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span>
some food and be back here in a quarter of
an hour.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>There was no mark to indicate the recent
arrival of one who had been walking in clay.</p>
<p>He pushed the button and to his surprise the
door was almost immediately opened.</p>
<p>The night porter, usually the most lethargic
of individuals, was alert and wakeful.</p>
<p>Evidently it was not Amber he was expecting,
for he suddenly barred the opening.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir?” he queried sharply.</p>
<p>“I want a room for the night,” said Amber.
“I’ve just arrived from the Continent.”</p>
<p>“You’re late, sir,” said the man suspiciously;
“the Continental was in on time at eleven.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I came by way of Newhaven,” responded
Amber carelessly. He trusted to the porter’s
ignorance of this unfamiliar route.</p>
<p>“I don’t know whether we’ve got a room,”
said the man slowly. “Any baggage?”</p>
<p>“I’ve left it at the station.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Don’t keep me talking all night, my good<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span>
chap,” he said good-humouredly. “Take this
fiver on account and deduct a sovereign for the
trouble I have given you.”</p>
<p>The man’s attitude of hostility changed.</p>
<p>“You quite understand, sir,” he said as he led
the way up the somewhat narrow stairs, “that I
have to be——”</p>
<p>“Oh, quite,” interrupted Amber. “Where are
you going to put me—second floor?”</p>
<p>“The second floor is engaged, sir,” said the
porter. “In fact, I was expecting the gentleman
and his friend at the moment you rang.”</p>
<p>“Late bird, eh?” said Amber.</p>
<p>“He’s been in once to-night—about an hour
ago—he had to go out again on business.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The porter lit the fire which was laid in the
grate.</p>
<p>“Is there anything else you want, sir?”</p>
<p>“Nothing, thank you.”</p>
<p>Amber followed the man to the landing and
stood there as he descended.</p>
<p>The porter stopped half-way down, arrested
by the visitor’s irresolute attitude.</p>
<p>“You are sure there is nothing I can do for
you, sir—cup of tea or anything?”</p>
<p>“Nothing, thank you,” said Amber, slowly
removing his coat.</p>
<p>A little puzzled, the man descended.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span>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.</p>
<p>He waited a while till he heard the slippered
feet shuffling on the paved hall below.</p>
<p>There was no time to be lost. He kicked off
his shoes and noiselessly descended to the second
floor.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>He crept out to the landing and listened.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>To open the front door which led to the landing
might mean detection; he resolved to try the
door between the two rooms.</p>
<p>There was a key in the lock, the end of it projected
an eighth of an inch beyond the lock on
the bedroom side.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span>
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.</p>
<p>He turned the key cautiously.</p>
<p>Snap!</p>
<p>The door was unlocked.</p>
<p>Again he made a journey to the landing and
listened. There was no sound.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Though the room was comfortably furnished,
there were few places where the papers could be
concealed.</p>
<p>Whitey must have them with him. Amber
had hardly hoped to discover them with such<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>It was Whitey and Lambaire. He heard the
sibilant whisper of the one and the growl of the
other.</p>
<p>Whitey unlocked the landing door and passed
in, followed by Lambaire. Amber heard the snick
of the lock as Whitey fastened it behind him.</p>
<p>He heard all this from the upper landing, then
when silence reigned again he descended.</p>
<p>Noiselessly he opened the bedroom door, closing
it again behind him.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Whitey was talking.</p>
<p>“... it surprised me ... old man ...
thought he was dead....” and he heard the
rumble of Lambaire’s expression of astonishment.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span>
“... providential ... seeing him in the
garden ... scared to death....”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“And now,” said Whitey’s voice, “we’ve got
to get busy.”</p>
<p>“Coals is in no danger?” asked Lambaire.</p>
<p>“No—little wound in the leg ... that swine
Amber....”</p>
<p>Amber grinned in the darkness.</p>
<p>“Here is the prospectus they were drawing
up.”</p>
<p>The listener heard the crackling of paper and
then a long silence. The men were evidently
reading together.</p>
<p>“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....”</p>
<p>There was another long pause.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>He judged from the indistinct tone of their
voices that they were sitting with their backs to
the door behind which he crouched.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span>Lambaire and Whitey were in fact in that
position.</p>
<p>They sat close together under the one electric
light the room possessed, greedily absorbing the
particulars.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>He folded up the documents and slipped them
into a long envelope. Then he stood thinking.</p>
<p>“Lammie,” he said, “did you hear the porter
say that a visitor had come during the night?”</p>
<p>“Yes, but that’s usual, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>Whitey shook his head.</p>
<p>“Unusual,” he said shortly, “dam’ unusual.”</p>
<p>“Do you think——”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>“Don’t be a fool, and don’t ask foolish questions,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span>
snarled Whitey. “Visitors put their boots
outside the door, don’t they? You can tell a
lot from a pair of boots.”</p>
<p>He handed the envelope containing the stolen
prospectus to his companion.</p>
<p>“Take this,” he said, “and wait till I come
down.”</p>
<p>He unlocked the door and mounted the stairs
cautiously.</p>
<p>Lambaire waited there.</p>
<p>“Lambaire!” hissed a voice from the open
door.</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Give me the envelope, quick.”</p>
<p>A hand, an eager demanding hand, reached
through the little gap.</p>
<p>“Stay where you are—give me the envelope.”</p>
<p>Quickly Lambaire obeyed. The hand grasped
the envelope, another closed the door quickly,
and there was silence.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“Nobody there,” he said breathlessly. “A
pair of shoes covered with mud and a pair of
gloves—it’s Amber.”</p>
<p>“Amber!”</p>
<p>“He’s followed us—let’s get out of this quick.
Give me the envelope.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>Lambaire went white.</p>
<p>“I—I gave it to you,” he stammered.</p>
<p>“You liar!” Whitey was in a white heat of
fury. “You gave me nothin’! Give me the
envelope.”</p>
<p>“I gave it to you, Whitey,” Lambaire almost
whimpered. “As soon as you left the room you
came back and asked for it.”</p>
<p>“Did I come in—quick.”</p>
<p>“No, no,” The agitation of the big man was
pitiable. “You put in your hand and whispered——”</p>
<p>“Amber!” howled the other. He broke with
a torrent of curses. “Come on, you fool, he can’t
have got far.”</p>
<p>He flew down the stairs, followed by Lambaire.
The hall was deserted, the door had been left ajar.</p>
<p>“There he is!”</p>
<p>By the light of a street lamp they saw the
fleeing figure and started off in pursuit.</p>
<p>There were few people in sight when a man
in his stockinged feet came swiftly from Northumberland
Avenue to the Embankment.</p>
<p>“Stop, thief!” bawled Whitey.</p>
<p>The car was further along the Embankment
than he had intended it to be, but it was within
easy sprinting distance.</p>
<p>“Stop, thief!” shouted Whitey again.</p>
<p>Amber had gained the car when a policeman
appeared from nowhere.</p>
<p>“Hold hard,” said the man and grasped Amber’s
arm.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span>The two pursuers were up to them in an instant.</p>
<p>“That man has stolen something belonging to
me,” said Whitey, his voice unsteady from his
exertions.</p>
<p>“You are entirely mistaken.” Amber was
more polite and less perturbed than most detected
thieves.</p>
<p>“Search him, constable—search him!” roused
Whitey.</p>
<p>Amber laughed.</p>
<p>“My dear man, the policeman cannot search
me in the street. Haven’t you an elementary
knowledge of the law?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“You charge this man,” the constable was
saying.</p>
<p>“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....”</p>
<p>The two policemen who had arrived elbowed
their way through the little crowd, and suddenly
Whitey felt sick—ill.</p>
<p>“I agree to go to the station,” said Amber
smoothly. “I, in turn, accuse these men of
burglary.”</p>
<p>“Take him off,” said Whitey, “my friend and
I will follow and charge him.”</p>
<p>“We’ll take the car,” said Amber, “but I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span>
insist upon these two men accompanying us.”</p>
<p>Here was a situation which Whitey had not
foreseen.</p>
<p>They were caught in a trap unless a miracle
delivered them.</p>
<p>“We will return to our hotel and get our coats,”
said Whitey with an air of indifference.</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“None of your lip,” said the constable, seating
himself by his side.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER THE LAST</h2>
</div>
<p>“... <span class="allsmcap">AND</span>,” 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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>The inspector smiled.</p>
<p>“Well, sir,” he admitted, “I think the stockings
would have convinced me.”</p>
<p>Amber nodded and met the policeman’s grateful
glance with a grin.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span>The inspector shook his head.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>A messenger had brought Amber’s shoes and
greatcoat and he was ready to depart.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span>
of crisis, and now he took charge of the arrangements.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Lambaire was next to useless. He sat in the
sitting-room Whitey had engaged biting his finger-nails
and cursing helplessly.</p>
<p>“It’s no good swearing, Lambaire,” said Whitey.
“We’re up against it—good. We’re <i>peleli</i>—as the
Kaffirs say—finished. Get your cheque-book.”</p>
<p>“Couldn’t we brazen it out?” querulously
demanded the big man. “Couldn’t we put up a
bluff——?”</p>
<p>“Brazen!” sneered Whitey, “you’re a cursed
fine brazener! You try to brazen a jury!
Where’s the pass-book?”</p>
<p>Reluctantly Lambaire produced it, and Whitey
made a brief examination.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span>“Wait a bit,” growled Lambaire as his friend
reached for the cheque, “who’s going to draw
this?”</p>
<p>“I am,” said Whitey.</p>
<p>Lambaire looked at him suspiciously.</p>
<p>“Why not me?” he asked, “the bank knows
me.”</p>
<p>“You—you thief!” spluttered Whitey, “you
dog! Haven’t I trusted you?”</p>
<p>“This is a big matter,” said Lambaire doggedly.</p>
<p>With an effort Whitey mastered his wrath.</p>
<p>“Go and change it,” he said. “I’m not afraid
of you running away—only go quickly—the banks
are just opening.”</p>
<p>“I don’t—I haven’t got any suspicion of you,
Whitey,” said Lambaire with heavy affability,
“but business is business.”</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Here I am, you see.” Lambaire’s tone was
one of gentle raillery. “I haven’t run away.”</p>
<p>“No,” admitted Whitey. “I trust you more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span>
than you trust me—though you half made up
your mind to bolt with the swag when you came
out of the bank.”</p>
<p>Lambaire’s face went red.</p>
<p>“How—how do you know—what d’ye mean?”
he demanded noisily.</p>
<p>“I followed you,” said Whitey simply, “in a
taxi-cab.”</p>
<p>“Is that what you call trusting me?”
demanded Lambaire with some bitterness.</p>
<p>“No,” said Whitey without shame, “that’s
what I call takin’ reasonable precautions.”</p>
<p>Lambaire laughed, an unusual thing for him
to do.</p>
<p>He pulled from his breast pockets two thick
pads of bank-notes.</p>
<p>“There’s your lot, and there’s mine,” he said;
“they are in fifties—I’ll count them for you.”</p>
<p>Deftly he fingered the notes, turning them
rapidly as an accountant turns the leaves of his
ledger. There were sixty-two.</p>
<p>Whitey folded them and put them into his
pocket.</p>
<p>“Now what’s your plan?” asked Whitey.</p>
<p>“The Continent,” said Lambaire. “I’ll leave
by the Harwich route for Holland—we had better
separate.”</p>
<p>Whitey nodded.</p>
<p>“I’ll get out by way of Ireland,” he lied.
He looked at his watch. It was nearly ten
o’clock.</p>
<p>“I shall see you—sometime,” he said, turning<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span>
as he left the room, and Lambaire nodded. When
he returned the big man had gone.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Whitey resolved to take a tourist ticket at an
office in Ludgate Hill and a taxi-cab to Herne
Hill.</p>
<p>He purchased the ticket and was leaving the
office, when a thought struck him.</p>
<p>He crossed to the counter where the money-changers
sit. “Let me have a hundred pounds’
worth of French money.”</p>
<p>He took two fifty-pound notes and pushed them
through the grill.</p>
<p>The clerk looked at them, fingered them, then
looked at Whitey.</p>
<p>“Notice anything curious about these?” he
asked dryly.</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>There was a horribly sinking sensation in
Whitey’s heart.</p>
<p>“They are both numbered the same,” said the
clerk, “and they are forgeries.”</p>
<p>Mechanically Whitey took the bundle of notes
from his pocket and examined them. They were
all of the same number.</p>
<p>His obvious perturbation saved him from an
embarrassing inquiry.</p>
<p>“Have you been sold?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span>“I have,” muttered the duped man. He took
the notes the man offered him and walked out.</p>
<p>A passing taxi drew to the kerb at his uplifted
hand. He gave the address of Lambaire’s lodging.</p>
<p>Lambaire had gone when he arrived: he had
probably left before Whitey. Harwich was a
blind—Whitey knew that.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Winter excursions to the Netherlands, eh?”
said Whitey; “that’s not a bad move, Lammie:
no splits watch excursion trains.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“I want to know,” he asked rapidly, “if the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span>
ten forty-five excursion from Holborn stops at
any London stations?”</p>
<p>“Every one of ’em,” was the prompt reply,
“as far as Penge: we pick up all through the
suburbs.”</p>
<p>“What time is it due away from Penge?”</p>
<p>He waited in a fume of impatience whilst the
official consulted a time-table.</p>
<p>“Eleven eighteen,” was the reply.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Penge Station,” he said. “I’ll give you a
sovereign over your fare if you get there within
half an hour.”</p>
<p>The chauffeur’s face expressed his doubt.</p>
<p>“I’ll try,” he said.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The train was already at the platform and
Whitey went up the stairs two at a time.</p>
<p>“Ticket,” demanded the collector.</p>
<p>“I’ve no ticket—I’ll pay on the train.”</p>
<p>“You can’t come on without a ticket, sir,” said
the man.</p>
<p>The train was within a few feet of him and was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span>
slowly moving, and Whitey made a dart, but a
strong hand grasped him and pushed him back
and the gate clanged in his face.</p>
<p>He stood leaning against the wall, his face white,
his fingers working convulsively.</p>
<p>Something in his appearance moved the
collector.</p>
<p>“Can’t be helped, sir,” he said. “I had——”</p>
<p>He stopped and looked in the direction of the
departing train.</p>
<p>Swiftly he leant down and unlocked the door.</p>
<p>“Here—quick,” he said, “she’s stopped outside
the station—there’s a signal against her.
You’ll just catch it.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“On me!” he muttered again and again, “to
put them on me!”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>In his cold way Whitey had decided. He had
a code of his own. Against Amber he had no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span>
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.</p>
<p>Nor against the law which pursued him—for
instinct told him that there would be no mercy
from Amber now.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The maker had committed the blunder of giving
all the notes the same number.</p>
<p>“They weren’t good enough for the public—but
good enough for me,” thought Whitey, and
set his jaw.</p>
<p>The guard tried to make conversation, but his
passenger had nothing to say, save “yes” or “no.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The third-class carriages were sparsely filled.
It seemed that the “winter excursion” was
poorly patronized.</p>
<p>Whitey gave little attention to the thirds—he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span>
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.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>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.</p>
<p>With him was a placid inspector from Scotland
Yard—by name Fells.</p>
<p>“We shall just do it, I think,” said Amber,
looking at his watch, “and, anyway, you will
have people waiting?”</p>
<p>The inspector nodded. Speaking was an effort
at the pace the car was travelling.</p>
<p>He roused himself to the extent of expressing
his surprise that Amber had troubled to take the
journey.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span>The last passenger was aboard.</p>
<p>“They could not have come,” said Amber
disappointedly. “If——”</p>
<p>At that moment a railway official came running
toward them.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>They reached the carriage and Amber it was
who opened the door....</p>
<p>“Come along, Whitey,” he said quietly.</p>
<p>But the man who sat in one corner of the
carriage slowly counting two thick packages of
bank-notes took no notice.</p>
<p>“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!”</p>
<p>He groaned the words, swaying from side to
side as if in pain.</p>
<p>“Come out,” said Amber sharply.</p>
<p>Whitey saw him and rose from his seat.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>He thrust out a handful of notes and Amber
started back, for they were splotched and blotted
with blood.</p>
<p>“These are good ’uns,” said Whitey. His<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span>
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.”</p>
<p>And he laughed horribly.</p>
<p>Under the seat they found Lambaire, shot
through the heart.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The End.</span></p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<p class="ph1">FOOTNOTES:</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> Thieves’ argot for “detective.”</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> Prevention of Crimes Act.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<div class="transnote">
<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p>
<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p>
<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p>
<p>Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.</p>
</div></div>
<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75729 ***</div>
</body>
</html>
|
