Hushed Up! A Mystery of London Part 12

"What do you mean by this, you infernal blackguards!" I cried angrily.

"Release me!"

They only grinned in triumph. I struggled to free my right hand, in order to get at my revolver. But it was held far too securely.

I saw that I had been cleverly entrapped!

The man with the pimply face placed his hand within my breast pocket and took therefrom its contents with such confidence that it appeared certain I had been watched while writing the cheque. He selected it from among my letters and papers, and, opening it, said in a tone of satisfaction--

"That's all right--as far as it goes. But we must have another thousand."

"You'll have nothing from me," I replied, sitting there powerless, yet defiant. "I don't believe Marlowe has been here at all! It's only a trap, and I've fallen into it!"

"You've paid your friend's debts," replied the man gruffly; "now you'll pay your own."

"I owe you nothing, you infernal swindler!" I responded quickly. "This is a pretty game you are playing--one which you've played before, it seems! The police shall know of this. It will interest them."

"They won't know through you," laughed the fellow. "But we don't want to discuss that matter. I'm just going to write out a cheque for one thousand, and you'll sign it."

"I'll do nothing of the sort!" I declared firmly.

"Oh yes, you will," remarked the younger man. "You've got money, and you can easily afford a thousand."

"I'll not give you one single penny," I declared. "And, further, I shall stop that cheque you've stolen from me."

Reckitt had already seated himself, opened my cheque-book, and was writing out a draft.

When he had finished it he crossed to me, with the book and pen in hand, saying--

"Now you may as well just sign this at first, as at last."

"I shall do no such thing," was my answer. "You've entrapped me here, but you are holding me at your peril. You can't frighten me into giving you a thousand pounds, for I haven't it at the bank."

"Oh yes, you have," replied the man with the red face. "We've already taken the precaution to find out. We don't make haphazard guesses, you know. Now sign it, and at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning you shall be released--after we have cashed your cheques."

"Where is Marlowe?" I inquired.

"With the girl, I suppose."

"What girl?"

"Well," exclaimed the other, "her photograph is in the next room; perhaps you'd like to see it."

"It does not interest me," I replied.

But the fellow Forbes left the room for a moment and returned with a fine panel photograph in his hand. He held it before my gaze. I started in utter amazement.

It was the picture of Sylvia! The same that I had seen in Shuttleworth's study.

"You know her--eh?" remarked Reckitt, with a grim smile.

"Yes," I gasped. "Where is she?"

"Across the road--with your friend Jack Marlowe."

"It's a lie! A confounded lie! I won't believe it," I cried. Yet at that moment I realized the ghastly truth, that I had tumbled into the hidden pitfall against which both Shuttleworth and Sylvia had warned me.

Could it be possible, I asked myself, that Sylvia--my adored Sylvia--had some connection with these blackguards--that she had been aware of their secret intentions?

"Sign this cheque, and you shall see her if you wish," said the man who had written out the draft. "She will remain with you here till eleven to-morrow."

"Why should I give you a thousand pounds?" I demanded.

"Is not a thousand a small price to pay for the service we are prepared to render you--to return to you your lost lady-love?" queried the fellow.

I was dying with anxiety to see her, to speak with her, to hold her hand. Had she not warned me against this cunningly-devised trap, yet had I not foolishly fallen into it? They had followed me to England, and run me to earth at home!

"And supposing that I gave you the money, how do I know that you would keep faith with me?" I asked.

"We shall keep faith with you, never fear," Reckitt replied, his sinister face broadening into a smile. "It is simply for you to pay for your release; or we shall hold you here--until you submit. Just your signature, and to-morrow at eleven you are a free man."

"And if I refuse, what then?" I asked.

"If you refuse--well, I fear that you will ever regret it, that's all.

I can only tell you that it is not wise to refuse. We are not in the habit of being met with refusal--the punishment is too severe." The man spoke calmly, leaning with his back against the table, the cheque and pen still in his hand.

"And if I sign, you will bring Sylvia here? You will promise me that--upon your word of honour?"

"Yes, we promise you," was the man's reply.

"I want to see Marlowe, if he is here."

"I tell you he's not here. He's across the way with her."

I believe, if I could have got to my revolver at that moment, I should have shot the fellow dead. I bit my lip, and remained silent.

I now felt no doubt that this was the trap of which Sylvia had given me warning on that moonlit terrace beside the Italian lake. By some unaccountable means she knew what was intended against me. This clever trapping of men was apparently a regular trade of theirs!

If I could but gain time I felt that I might outwit them. Yet, sitting there like a trussed fowl, I must have cut a pretty sorry figure. How many victims had, like myself, sat there and been "bled"?

"Come," exclaimed the red-faced adventurer impatiently, "we are losing time. Are you going to sign the cheque, or not?"

"I shall not," was my firm response. "You already have stolen one cheque of mine."

"And we shall cash it when your bank opens in the morning, my dear sir," remarked Forbes airily.

"And make yourselves scarce afterwards, eh? But I've had a good look at you, remember; I could identify you anywhere," I said.

"You won't have that chance, I'm afraid," declared Reckitt meaningly.