19000 Pound Part 38

How should he make a.s.surance doubly sure? By Sawyer's aid.

It was certain there would be an inquest, the boy's evidence would be essential--the last human being to see him alive. He must supply that witness with material.

He took one of the knives in his hand, gently turned the key in the lock, and walked into the outer room.

Sawyer hurriedly concealed the pages of "The Bra.s.s Bound Pirate of the Pacific, or the One Eyed Man in the Crimson Mask."

It was the sort of mental food his taste ran to. Exciting and cheap--dirt cheap.

"Do you know that fancy shop--bazar--just opposite the entrance to Liverpool Street Station, Sawyer?"

"Two or three doors from the corner? Yussir."

"They have some hones in the window."

"Some which, sir?"

"Sharpening stones. You will see them in the window at a shilling each."

"Yussir."

"Get me one. Here's a shilling. I want to sharpen this knife."

"Yussir."

"You understand what I want it for. To sharpen this knife."

"Yussir."

Sawyer went out, procured the required article, and returned with it to his employer.

"You will be going to dinner in half an hour, Sawyer?"

"Yussir."

"When you do so, go into the post-office and register this letter--it is already stamped."

"Yussir."

"Now, I'll sharpen my knife."

The dentist went into his room. His fingers rested on the key in the lock for a moment.

"No," he muttered; "a locked door would create suspicion. Besides, there is no need."

He unfastened his sleeve link, and rolled back the cuff of his shirt.

He was surgeon enough to know which opened vein would drain his body the quickest, for he intended to bleed to death.

It was an almost painless way--the drawback to it, its slowness.

Thrice he poised the knife, thrice the hand holding it dropped to his side, thrice he groaned in his despair--at his own cowardice.

"Oh, G.o.d," he prayed--and if ever heartfelt prayer ascended to the heavenly throne, one went up then--"give me strength and courage to do this thing. My life has been a useless one. Give me courage, G.o.d, to end it for my wife and child's sake."

A loud rapping at the door broke in on his prayer.

He had disregarded--had not heard the previous tapping. Relieved at the interruption, he opened the door.

He started when he did so. Was he too late?

For behind Sawyer, who had been knocking, there stood two men in the uniform of the police.

CHAPTER XXVI

GERALD WALKS INTO THE TRAP

Gerald was enveloped in an atmosphere of tobacco smoke which nearly choked his landlady when she entered the room.

A telegram had come for him, and it being, as she explained, "that dratted gal's night out," she had ascended the stairs with the message herself.

Gerald was thick in smoke, because he had an idea that his brain liked it; he thought better with a pipe in his mouth.

And he was as full of thought just then as a pomegranate is of pips.

He took the telegram, opened it, and raised his eyebrows at the contents.

"What's the meaning of it?" he muttered. "What can have happened since the morning? What more can he know?"

He was in no way suspicious that it was part of a trap.

He did not credit Loide with any revengeful feeling, because he had been dealt with leniently--let fly when his wings should have been clipped.

Was it possible that there was such a thing as grat.i.tude in that tough old legal breast? He half smiled as he wholly doubted it.

And yet--well, he would go down and see what it was. Wimbledon was not far--he could soon get there and back.

He turned down his lamp, and, putting on his coat and hat, went out, took train to, and reached Wimbledon.

He had some difficulty in finding his way through the ill-lit streets, but at last he reached The Elms.

Through the slats of the Venetian blinds he saw the house well lighted.

There was nothing dark or mysterious about it.

A faint suspicion which had been born en route subsided.