Red Masquerade Part 18

Victor moved a supercilious eyebrow. "Woodbines again?"

"Sorry, sir; I know they're pretty awful and all that, but they were all I could get in France, and I contracted a taste for them I can't seem to cure. I remember, while I lay in a hospital, hardly a whole bone in my body, thanks to the Boche and his flying circus--it was that lot sent me crashing, you know--the nurses used to tempt me with the finest Turkish; but somehow I couldn't go them; I'd beg for Woodbines."

Prince Victor dismissed the subject curtly. "I am waiting to hear about Sofia."

"Not much to tell, sir. There seemed to be a storm of sorts brewing when I got there. The young woman was at her desk with a face like a thundercloud.

While I was trying to make up my mind what would be my best approach, she jumped down, flew upstairs and, I gathered, kicked up a holy row. You see, she'd seen that advertis.e.m.e.nt of Secretan & Sypher's, and smelt a rat."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing definite, sir: seemed to understand she was the daughter of Princess Sofia Va.s.silyevski, only she objected to her father being anybody but Michael Lanyard."

"Go on."

"After a bit she stampeded downstairs again, with the old girl and that swine of a Dupont at her heels. I blocked him and gave Sofia a chance to get outside. The whole establishment boiled out into the street after us, yelling like fun, but I got the girl into the car ... and here we are."

But Prince Victor seemed to have lost interest. The glow ebbing from his face, his lips tightening, the thick lids drooping low over his eyes, he sat in apparent abstraction, aping the impa.s.sivity of the graven idols that graced his study.

"I don't mind owning, sir," the younger man resumed, nervously, "she had me sparring for wind when she put it to me point-blank her father's name was Michael Lanyard."

Without moving Victor enquired in a dull voice: "What did you tell her?"

"That it was a name you had once used, sir, but.... Well, what you told her, all except the Lone Wolf business. Don't mind telling you I was in a rare funk till you capped my story so neatly."

He laughed and ventured with a hesitation quite boyish: "I say, Prince Victor--if it's not an impertinent question--was there any truth in that? I mean about your having been the Lone Wolf twenty years ago."

"Not a syllable," said Victor, dryly.

"Then your name never was Michael Lanyard?"

"Never, but ..."

During a long pause the secretary fidgeted inwardly but had the wisdom to refrain from showing further inquisitiveness. He could see that strong pa.s.sions were working in Victor: a hand, extended upon the table, unclosed and closed with a peculiar clutching action; the muscles contracted round mouth and eyes, moulding the face into a cast of disquieting malevolence.

The voice, when at length it resumed, was bitter.

"But Michael Lanyard was my enemy ... and is to-day.... He became a lover of Sofia's mother, he had a hand in overturning plans I had made, he humiliated, mocked me.... And to-day he is interfering again.... But ..."

Victor sank back in his chair. Suddenly that unholy grin of his flashed and faded.

"But now his impertinence fails, his insolence over-reaches itself. Now I have the whip-hand and ... I shall use it!"

Vindictiveness that could find relief only in action mastered the man.

"Be good enough to take this dictation."

Karslake turned to the table and opened a portfolio of illuminated Spanish leather.

"Ready, sir," he said, with pencil poised.

_"To Michael Lanyard, Intelligence Division, the War Office, Whitehall.

Sir: Your daughter Sofia is now with me. Permit me to suggest that, in consideration of this situation, you cease to meddle with my affairs. Your own intelligence must tell you nothing could be more fatal than an attempt to communicate with her._"

"Sign on the typewriter with the initial _V_."

"Yes, sir."

"Type it on plain paper, use a plain envelope, be sure that neither has a watermark, and get it off to-night without fail. Take a taxi to St. Pancras station and post it there. If you make haste you can get it in a pillar-box before the last collection."

"I shan't lose a minute, sir."

Karslake straightened up, folding the paper, and made for the door.

"One moment, Karslake.... This man, Nogam: where did you pick him up?"

"He used to b.u.t.tle for my father, sir, but got into trouble--some domestic unpleasantness, I believe--needed money, and raised a cheque. The old boy let him off easy; but I've got the cheque, and Nogam knows it. The fellow's perfectly trained and absolutely dependable, knows his place and his duties and not another blessed thing. I'll send him in if you like."

Prince Victor uttered with dry accent: "Why?"

"Thought you might care to have a talk with him, sir."

"I have."

"Oh!" Mr. Karslake exclaimed--"I didn't know."

"Quite so," commented Prince Victor. "I shan't need you again to-night, Karslake."

"Good-night, sir."

When the secretary had gone, Victor sat motionless, so still that his breathing scarcely stirred his body, with a face absolutely imperturbable, steadfastly gazing into that darkness which shrouded the workings of his mind.

On the doorstep a shrill whistle sounded: Nogam calling Karslake's taxi.

Victor heard the vehicle roll in and stand panting at the curb, then the slam of its door, the diminishing rumble of its departure.

The house door closed, and after a little the study door opened, and Nogam halted on the threshold.

Unstirring Victor enquired: "What is it, Nogam?"

"I wished to enquire would there be anything more to-night, sir."

"Nothing."

"'Nk you, sir."

"But Nogam: in this house, regardless of the custom which may have obtained in other establishments where you have served, you will always knock before entering a room, and never enter until you obtain permission."

"But if I'm sure the room is empty, sir, and get no answer--?"

"Then you may enter any room but this. Never this, unless I am here--or Mr.

Karslake is--and you get leave."