Chapter 8

"THE LIGHT-HAIRED MAN."

When Mallow returned to his rooms he found Lord Aldean seated in his most comfortable arm-chair. His expression was extremely thoughtful, and, withal, a trifle anxious. Polyphemus, as Laurence sometimes called him--in allusion to his size--was not usually given to a gentle melancholy. Mallow could only conclude there must be something wrong with the boy.

"You here, Jim?" said he, throwing hat and gloves on a near table. "What is the matter with you, man? You look as miserable as an owl."

"Mallow, you lack the delicacy of perception necessary for the correct understanding of the feelings of a man in my condition. Besides, your simile is rude."

"Oh, I see. Miss Ostergaard has been crushing you as usual."

"On the contrary, she is particularly amiable."

"That ought to encourage you."

"It does," said Aldean miserably; "so much so that I have made up my mind to propose to her this very day."

"One would think you had made up your mind to be hanged--from your expression. Why so dejected?"

"Mallow, I know what fear is now; my heart is in my boots."

"Is it? Then you had better reinstate it before you go on your knees. What are you afraid of, you jackass? Miss Ostergaard won't eat you."

"She might say 'No,'" groaned the wretched Jim. He paled at the bare idea of so terrible a catastrophe.

"She might, on the other hand, say 'Yes,'" replied Mallow consolingly. "Come, Polyphemus, you needn't go out in a coach-and-four to meet your troubles. Look at mine; they come right to my very door, confound them."

"Mallow, you don't know how fond I am of that girl."

"I must, indeed, be dull of understanding, then," said he, "for you have endeavoured to bring me to a very clear comprehension of your feelings upon several occasions. Cheer up, old man!"--he clapped Jim's broad shoulders--"you have every chance of success. The girl's in love with you."

"Do you really think so?" said Jim, brightening. Then, with a deeper groan, "No, no, she is always teasing me."

"Of course she is. But it is only her way. Some women are like that--especially when in love. You must interpret them contrariwise--like dreams, you know."

"In that case I may hope."

"Yes, hope and put your fortune to the test. Also, if you think you are in a fit condition to do so, answer me a question."

"What is it?" asked Aldean, accepting a cigarette. "Do you put love before friendship?"

"Well--er--no; that is not your friendship."

"You do not seem very certain on the point," said Mallow, dryly. "However, I am about to ask your aid. At present I cannot leave London. I am too heavily involved with these Anarchists, and I must remain on the spot to watch Mrs. Arne and Drabble. Now, I saw Semberry this morning, and learned, thanks to his carelessness in leaving tickets about, that he is off to Italy. I want you to follow him there and watch his little game with Carson."

"Oh, I'll go, of course," said Jim, with rather a long face; "but how do you know Semberry is going to Carson?"

"Because that blackguard is in Italy. Moreover, I told Semberry about Mrs. Purcell's assertion that the man who married Olive is not Carson. It is now the expressed intention of our good Major to bring back his friend, and--as he says--put his identity beyond doubt."

"Do you believe him?"

"No, Jim, I do not. Semberry funks Mrs. Purcell. He knows perfectly well that the man is an impostor. He is simply going over to Italy for the purpose of securing his share of the plunder. Then he will slip down to Naples or Brindisi, and board the next out-going liner for India, where he hopes to be safe. This is why I want you to hang on to his tail, and stop him clearing out."

"I'm your man, Mallow. But I don't see how I can stop the beggar without a warrant."

"Oh, a warrant is out of the question; besides, you can frighten him without that. Interview this scamp who calls himself Carson, and get the truth out of him if you can. Of course, I can't exactly forecast events for you, but you must use your common sense; you have plenty of it, you know, at a pinch. If the Major tries a bolt, tell him you will communicate with the War Office; in fact, threaten him with the most merciless exposure."

"But I can't do that."

"I can," said Mallow, with decision. "There is a man called Trall who can prove that the fellow whom Semberry introduced as Carson is a fraud. And I hope, also, when I get the evidence, to prove that the real Carson was murdered in Athelstane Place with Semberry's connivance. Tell him this. I don't think you will find him refractory then."

"He is only the more likely to skidaddle, I should think."

"In that case, he'll have to chuck the army," said Mallow. "If the War Office communicates what I know to Semberry's colonel, he will not only be cashiered, but brought back to England under arrest. However, as I say, I can't foretell events; you must use your discretion."

"I'll do my best," said Jim, feeling his muscle, as though the question were best settled that way. "When does Semberry start?"

"Either to-night or to-morrow. He says to-night; but I don't trust him. I have that man Vraik watching him; and as soon as he clears a wire will be sent here. If I am in when it comes I'll advise you; but, in any case, come round and keep a look-out for it yourself. Open it--open any letter; I have no secrets from you."

"But won't you be in this evening?"

"Perhaps yes, perhaps no; I can't say. I have heard from Vraik that the man Hain, who was concerned in that murder, is hanging round Poplar Street. He was seen talking to Semberry yesterday. I must watch for him; so, if I'm not back when you receive the wire, don't wait for me. Start straight away for Italy. Lose no time; go by the same train, if you can; or follow by the next. It's a case of life or death, Jim."

"You can depend on me," said Jim, shaking Mallow's hand; "I'll hang on like grim death. If he gets away from me he'll be a smarter man than I take him to be. But I say, Mallow, don't you get into trouble with these beastly Anarchist chaps. They're a queer lot, you know."

"No fear, my boy; I know them. If I should get into any mess, however--for accidents will occur--look up Vraik at the private inquiry office I told you about. He knows Trall, and Trall is my very good friend. He hates Drabble, and will help me so far as he is able in any little difficulty."

"I understand," said Jim, with a nod.

"My poor Polyphemus, this will put an end to your courtship."

Lord Aldean looked somewhat rueful. "I am not likely to be away more than a week or so, am I? and I dare say Tui will still be free when I get back."

"Oh, you call her Tui now, do you?" laughed Mallow. "In my own mind, I do--not to her face."

"That will be a pleasure to come. Seriously, Jim, I am greatly obliged to you for your readiness to help me. Believe me, I shan't forget it."

"Oh, that's all right, Mallow. Our friendship is more than a name, I hope," said Jim, with another shake of his whilom tutor's hand. He then took his departure, in, be it said, a considerably more cheerful frame of mind.

That same afternoon Mallow walked as far as Soho, with the intention of seeing Mrs. Arne, and telling her that he had decided to take the oath. As a matter of fact, he had not; but, as there were eight days to the time appointed for his installation, he hoped that something might turn up in the interval which would render it unnecessary for him to go so far.

It was four o'clock when he arrived in the neighbourhood of Soho. The sky was growing darker every minute; but there was still light sufficient to distinguish the passers-by. At the entrance to Poplar Street he was passed by a man walking swiftly--a tall, fair-bearded man, who looked neither to right nor left, but raced on breathlessly towards No. 49. Instinctively Mallow guessed this was his enemy. "Francis Hain, to a certainty," he muttered under his breath; "light hair, light beard, tall, thin--the exact description given in the papers. Will he enter No. 49?" At No. 49, surely enough, the man pulled up, and admitting himself, evidently with a latch-key, disappeared within. Mallow's hot blood was at boiling point. Here was the wretch who had murdered the unfortunate Carson within his grasp. Heedless of the danger he was running, he knocked at the door of No. 49. It was opened almost immediately. He had given the signal knock which Rouge had taught him. The door-keeper recognized him at once, and the next minute he was standing in the dark passage of that dangerous den.

"Where is the gentleman who entered just now?" he asked the door-keeper breathlessly.

"Upstairs; he goes to see Madame," replied the man, who had no idea that anything was wrong. Mallow had given the signal, and his face was known to him. The door-keeper was quite easy in his mind.

Up the narrow stairs Mallow sprang two at a time, reckless, and full of fierce courage. He was determined to face Hain, and wring the truth from him at all costs. Caution, wisdom, fear, all went to the four winds. The hot Irish fighting blood fizzled through his veins--burned in his cheek. Rash and unthinking, he dashed forward with a courage absolutely blind--the courage which wins or loses all. On the first landing he caught a glimpse of a tall figure. He heard the click of a turning door-knob. The next moment Mallow the hero, Mallow the fool, had flung open the door and stood on the threshold of Mrs. Arne's room. She was there, and near her stood the man Hain. "At last!" cried Mallow between his teeth. "At last I have got you."

"What does he mean?" demanded Madame, in her metallic voice.

"It means that I want Francis Hain for murder."

The tall man slipped back a pace. His voice quavered. "I am not Hain," he said, keeping a wary eye on Mallow.

"You liar!" Mallow sprang forward. "You are Hain the murderer. You and that woman--one of you--killed young Carson."

"Madman! Carson is alive in Italy."

"Carson is dead--murdered! You killed him. You are Hain."

"He is not Hain," said Mrs. Arne, simply.

"I am not Hain," repeated the man. Something in the tone of his voice sounded strangely familiar to Mallow.

"No, you are not Hain," said Mallow, throwing himself at the man's throat. "I know you now--you are Drabble"--his hand twitched away the light beard, and the doctor's clean-shaven face was revealed--"Drabble the murderer!"

"Kill the spy," breathed Madame Death-in-Life; "he knows too much."

"Enough to hang you both." Mallow threw Drabble on one side, ran past Mrs. Arne, and dashed his gloved fist through the window. "Help! help! Police! police!"

"Kill him! Kill him!" shrieked Madame, fiercely.

"Spy!" roared Drabble.

The two men swung and reeled across the floor. Neither uttered a word. With clenched teeth and muscles tense they battled fiercely in the small space. Madame rushed to the door and flung it open.

"A spy! a spy! Danger! Up! up! up!" she cried down the well of the staircase. Immediately there was a noise of rushing feet--a babel of fierce voices. Mallow heard rather than saw the room filling. He had a firm grip on Drabble's throat, and the man was staggering and gurgling for want of breath. Then a hundred hands--as it seemed--plucked him back. He was hurled to the ground, and beaten and trampled into insensibility.