The Yellow Crayon Part 11

Mr. Sabin kept silence in the carriage. The drive was a long one. When they descended he looked up at Duson, who sat upon the box.

"Duson," he said, and his voice, though low, was terrible, "I see that I can be mistaken in men. You are a villain."

The man sprung to his feet, hat in hand. His face was wrung with emotion.

"Your Grace," he said, "it is true that I betrayed you. But I did it without reward. I am a ruined man. I did it because the orders which came to me were such as I dare not disobey. Here are your keys, your Grace, and money."

Mr. Sabin looked at him steadily.

"You, too, Duson?"

"I too, alas, your Grace!"

Mr. Sabin considered for a moment.

"Duson," he said, "I retain you in my service. Take my luggage on board the Campania to-morrow afternoon, and pay the bill at the hotel. I shall join you on the boat."

Duson was amazed. The man who was standing by laughed.

"If you take my advice, sir," he remarked, "you'll order your clothes to be sent here. I've a kind of fancy the Campania will sail without you to-morrow."

"You have my orders, Duson," Mr. Sabin said. "You can rely upon seeing me."

The detective led the way into the building, and opened the door leading into a large, barely furnished office.

"Chief's gone home for the night, I guess," he remarked. "We can fix up a shakedown for you in one of the rooms behind."

"I thank you," Mr. Sabin said, sitting down in a high-backed wooden chair; "I decline to move until the charge against me is properly explained."

"There is no one here to do it just now," the man answered. "Better make yourself comfortable for a bit."

"You detain me here, then," Mr. Sabin said, "without even a sight of your warrant or any intimation as to the charge against me?"

"Oh, the chief'll fix all that," the man answered. "Don't you worry."

Mr. Sabin smiled.

In a magnificently furnished apartment somewhere in the neighbourhood of Fifth Avenue a small party of men were seated round a card table piled with chips and rolls of bills. On the sideboard there was a great collection of empty bottles, spirit decanters and Vichy syphons. Mr.

Horser was helping himself to brandy and water with one hand and holding himself up with the other. There was a knock at the door.

A man who was still playing looked up. He was about fifty years of age, clean shaven, with vacuous eyes and a weak mouth. He was the host of the party.

"Come in!" he shouted.

A young man entered in a long black overcoat and soft hat. He looked about him without surprise, but he seemed to note Mr. Horser's presence with some concern. The man at the table threw down his cards.

"What the devil do you want, Smith?"

"An important despatch from Washington has just arrived, sir. I have brought it up with the codebook."

"From Washington at this time of the night," he exclaimed thickly. "Come in here, Smith."

He raised the curtains leading into a small anteroom, and turned up the electric light. His clerk laid the message down on the table before him.

"Here is the despatch, Mr. Mace," he said, "and here is the translation."

"English Amba.s.sador demands immediate explanation of arrest of Duke Souspennier at Waldorf to-night. Reply immediately what charge and evidence. Souspennier naturalised Englishman."

Mr. Mace sprang to his feet with an oath. He threw aside the curtain which shielded the room from the larger apartment.

"Horser, come here, you d.a.m.ned fool!"

Horser, with a stream of magnificent invectives, obeyed the summons. His host pointed to the message.

"Read that!"

Mr. Horser read and his face grew even more repulsive. A dull purple flush suffused his cheeks, his eyes were bloodshot, and the veins on his forehead stood out like cords. He leaned for several moments against the table and steadily cursed Mr. Sabin, the government at Washington, and something under his breath which he did not dare to name openly.

"Oh, shut up!" his host said at last. "How the devil are we going to get out of this?"

Mr. Horser left the room and returned with a tumbler full of brandy and a very little water.

"Take a drink yourself," he said. "It'll steady you."

"Oh, I'm steady enough," Mr. Mace replied impatiently. "I want to know how you're going to get us out of this. What was the charge, anyhow?"

"Pa.s.sing forged bills," Horser answered. "Parsons fixed it up."

Mr. Mace turned a shade paler.

"Where the devil's the sense in a charge like that?" he answered fiercely. "The man's a millionaire. He'll turn the tables on us nicely."

"We've got to keep him till after the Campania sails, anyhow," Horser said doggedly.

"We're not going to keep him ten minutes," Mace replied. "I'm going to sign the order for his release."

Horser's speech was thick with drunken fury. "By --- I'll see that you don't!" he exclaimed.

Mace turned upon him angrily.

"You selfish fool!" he muttered. "You're not in the thing, anyhow. If you think I'm going to risk my position for the sake of one little job you're wrong. I shall go down myself and release him, with an apology."

"He'll have his revenge all the same," Horser answered. "It's too late now to funk the thing. They can't budge you. We'll see to that. We hold New York in our hands. Be a man, Mace, and run a little risk. It's fifty thousand."

Mace looked up at him curiously.

"What do you get out of it, Horser?"