Men of Affairs Part 28

"You run along and play," said Hipps.

And so the interview ended.

Smith was heartily offended to be brushed aside in this fashion. He had served his employers faithfully and with sound intelligence.

Practically the entire control of the ring which had prevented Barraclough's escape on the preceding days had been in his hands.

Earlier in the night he had received telephone instructions to call off his watchers and having done so he had driven over to Laurence's house to satisfy himself that all was in order.

It was quite absurd he should be a.s.sailed by these feelings of doubt.

Barraclough had been caught and there the matter ended. But in his own mind it refused to end. Why hadn't Barraclough put up a fight and how had Barraclough grown funny lines round his eyes? These were mysteries which for his own peace he was bound to elucidate.

It was four o'clock when he got to bed but he was up again in good time next morning, roughly sketching out a programme for the day.

At nine fifteen precisely he was standing by the ticket barrier at Liverpool Street station awaiting the arrival of the Woodford train.

Presently it steamed alongside the platform and one of the first persons to get out was Nugent Ca.s.sis. He was swinging his cane and _mirabile dictu_ he was whistling. In his b.u.t.tonhole he wore a flower.

From a distance Smith had studied Nugent Ca.s.sis on many previous occasions and knew his peculiarities by heart--also he knew that there was no single precedent for this rare display of jauntiness.

Harrison Smith shook his head hopelessly. It was inconceivable with all their immense resources that Torrington's crowd had set no watch on Barraclough's movements over night. Surely they must be aware that his intended flight had been frustrated. Why Barraclough's servant Doran would surely have rung up and informed them. He was confident that somewhere a breakdown had occurred.

As he pa.s.sed by Nugent Ca.s.sis said "good morning" to the ticket collector--a thing he had never done before.

Harrison Smith got into a taxi and drove to Shepherd Street, Mayfair.

He sent up his card by the parlour maid with the request that Miss Craven would grant him an interview. He was asked to wait and was kept waiting the best part of three quarters of an hour while Auriole completed her toilet. When at last she entered she did not show the least enthusiasm for his presence but asked rather shortly what he wanted.

"I'm tired," she added, "so be as quick as you can."

"All right," he said. "It's only this. You were an old flame of Barraclough's?"

"Well?"

"How long is it since last you met?"

"Until last night--four years, I suppose."

"Hm! Had he changed at all?"

"Changed?"

"In appearance--er--manner."

She tapped her chin thoughtfully.

"Bit more amusing perhaps--less of a prig."

"Ah!" said Smith. "Go on--anything else?"

"He seemed to have learnt how to smile."

Harrison Smith leapt to his feet and paced up and down.

"I knew I was right," he said, "but what the deuce does it mean?

Anything else to tell me?"

"Yes. Sit down, for Heaven's sake. My head's aching and you irritate me walking about."

He obeyed and continued his interrogation.

"In love with him once, weren't you?"

"Once," she replied.

"And you've no very good reason for wishing him well?"

"I've a very particular reason for wishing him ill."

"Hm! His engagement to Miss Irish?"

"Perhaps."

"How did you come to be mixed up in this affair?"

"I happened to know Mr. Hipps and heard what was going on through him.

It was my idea--kidnapping Anthony. Doubt if they'd have had the nerve to think of it for themselves."

"D'you think they'll get him to talk?"

"I don't think _they_ will get him to talk," she replied, "but----"

"Yes?"

"But I could. He's a tough proposition among men but a woman can worm a secret out of him--at least----" She stopped and shook her head.

"Yes?"

"That used to be my impression."

"Has it altered then?"

"I'm not quite so certain as I used to be. He was different last night----"

Harrison Smith leant forward.

"Tell me," he said, very earnestly, "did you notice anything queer about his eyes?"

"I don't know."

"Try to remember."

"Four years is a long while."