The Datchet Diamonds Page 6

  CHAPTER VI

  THE ADVENTURES OF A NIGHT

  "There was something about Mr. John Ireland's manner which I couldn'tquite make out."

  This was what Mr. Paxton told himself as he came out of the Bodega. Heturned down Ship Street, on to the front, meaning to stroll along theKing's Road to his hotel. As he came out of the hotel his eye caught aglimpse of a loiterer standing in the shadow of a door higher up thestreet. When he had gone a little distance along the King's Road,glancing over his shoulder, he perceived that some one was standing atthe corner of Ship Street, with his face turned in his direction.

  "It occurs to me as being just possible that the events of the nightare going to form a fitting climax to a day of adventure. That Irelandcan have the slightest inkling of how the case really stands iscertainly impossible; and yet, if I didn't know it was impossible, Ishould feel just a trifle uneasy. His manner's queer. I wonder if hehas any suspicions of Lawrence, or of Lawrence's friend. That he knewthe pair I'll bet my boots. Plainly, Lawrence is not the fellow's realname; it is simply the name by which he chose to be known to Daisy. IfIreland has cause to suspect the precious pair, seeing me with themtwice, under what may seem to him to be curious circumstances, maycause him to ask himself what the deuce I am doing in such a galley.Undoubtedly, there was something in Mr. Ireland's manner whichsuggested that, in his opinion, I knew more about the matter than Ialtogether ought to."

  Again Mr. Paxton glanced over his shoulder. About a hundred yardsbehind him a man advanced in his direction. Looking across the road,on the seaward side, he perceived that another man was there--a manwho, as soon as Mr. Paxton turned his head, stopped short, seeming tobe wholly absorbed in watching the sea. The man immediately behindhim, however, was still advancing. Mr. Paxton hesitated. A fine rainwas falling. It was late for Brighton. Except these two, not acreature was in sight.

  "I wonder if either of those gentlemen is shadowing me, and, if so,which?"

  He turned up West Street. When he had gone some way up it he peeped tosee. A man was coming up the same side of the street on which he was.

  "There's Number One." He went farther; then looked again. The same manwas coming on; at the corner of the street a second man was loitering."There's Number Two. Unless I am mistaken that is the gentleman who ona sudden found himself so interested in the sea. The question is,whether they are both engaged by the same person, or if they are inseparate employ. I have no doubt whatever that one of them defies thechances of catching cold in the interests of Mr. Lawrence. Until thelittle mystery connected with the disappearance of his Gladstone bagis cleared up, if he can help it, he is scarcely likely to allow me toescape his constant supervision. For him I am prepared; but to beattended also by a myrmidon of Ireland's is, I confess, a prospectwhich I do not relish."

  He trudged up the hill, pondering as he went. The rain was fallingfaster. He pulled his coat collar up about his ears. He had noumbrella.

  "This is for me an experience of an altogether novel kind, anduncommonly pleasant weather it is in which to make its acquaintance.One obvious reason why Mr. Lawrence should have me shadowed is becauseof the strong desire which he doubtless feels to know where it is thatI am staying. The natural deduction being that where I stay, therealso stays my Gladstone bag. The odds are that Mr. Lawrence feels aquite conceivable curiosity to know in what the difference exactlyconsists between my Gladstone bag, and the one from which he, as heputs it, for a time has parted. Why John Ireland should wish to havemy movements dogged I do not understand; and I am bound to add I wouldmuch rather not know either."

  Mr. Paxton had reached the top of West Street. The man on the sameside of the road still plodded along. On the opposite side of thestreet, much farther behind, came the other man too. Mr. Paxton formedan immediate resolution.

  "I have no intention of tramping the streets of Brighton to see whichof us can be tired first. I'm off indoors. The Gladstone, with itscontents, I'll confide to the landlord of the hotel, to hold in hissafe keeping. Then we'll see what will happen."

  He swept round the corner into North Street, turning his face againtowards the front. As he expected, first one follower, then the other,appeared.

  "It's the second beggar who bothers me. I wonder what it means?"

  Arrived at the hotel, Mr. Paxton went straight to the office. He askedfor the landlord. He was told that the landlord did not reside in thebuilding, but that he could see the manager. He saw the manager.

  "I have property of considerable value in my Gladstone bag. Have you astrong room in which you could keep it for me till the morning?"

  The manager replied in the affirmative, adding that he was alwayspleased to take charge of valuables which guests might commit to hischarge. Mr. Paxton went to his bedroom. He unlocked the Gladstonebag--again with some difficulty--unwrapped the evening paper whichserved as an unworthy covering for such priceless treasures. Therethey were--a sight to gladden a connoisseur's heart; to make the bloodin his veins run faster! How they sparkled, and glittered, andgleamed! How they threw off coruscations, each one a fresh revelationof beauty, with every movement of his hands and of his eyes. He wouldget nothing for them--was that what John Ireland said? Nothing, at anyrate, but the lowest market price, as for the commonest gems. JohnIreland's correctness remained to be proved. There were ways andmeans in which a man in his position--a man of reputation and of theworld--could dispose of such merchandise, of which perhaps JohnIreland, with all his knowledge of the shady side of life, had neverdreamed.

  Putting the stones back into the bag, Mr. Paxton took the bag downinto the office. Then he went into the smoking-room. It was empty whenhe entered. But hardly had he settled himself in a chair, than someone else came in, a short, broad-shouldered individual, with piercingblack eyes and shaven chin and cheeks. Mr. Paxton did not fancy hisappearance; the man's manner, bearing, and attire were somewhat rough;he looked rather like a prizefighter than the sort of guest one wouldexpect to encounter in an hotel of standing. Still less was Mr. Paxtonpleased with the familiarity of his address. The man, placing himselfin the adjoining chair, plunged into the heart of a conversation as ifthey had been the friends of years. After making one or two remarks,which were of so extremely confidential a nature that Mr. Paxtonhardly knew whether to smile at them as the mere gaucheries of anill-bred person, or to openly resent them as an intentionalimpertinence, the man began to subject him to a species ofcross-examination which caused him to eye the presumptuous strangerwith suddenly aroused but keen suspicion.

  "Stopping here?"

  "It seems that I am, doesn't it?"

  "On what floor?"

  "Why do you ask?"

  "On the third floor, ain't you?"

  "Why should you suppose that I am on the third floor?"

  "I don't suppose nothing. Perhaps you're on the fourth. Are you on thefourth?"

  "The world is full of possibilities."

  The man took a pull or two at his pipe; then, wholly unabashed, beganagain--

  "What's your number?"

  "My number?"

  "What's the number of your room?"

  "I see."

  "Well--what is it?"

  "What is what?"

  "What is what! Why, what's the number of your room?"

  "Precisely."

  "Well, you haven't told me what it is."

  "No."

  "Aren't you going to tell me?"

  "I am afraid that I must wish you good-night." Rising, Mr. Paxtonmoved towards the door. Turning in his chair, the stranger stared athim with an air of grievance.

  "You don't seem very polite, not answering a civil question whenyou're asked one."

  Mr. Paxton only smiled.

  "Good-night."

  He could hear the stranger grumbling to himself, even after the doorwas closed. He asked the porter in the hall casually who the man mightbe.

  "I don't know, sir. He came in just after you. I don't think I haveever seen him
before. He has taken a bed for the night."

  Mr. Paxton went up the stairs, smiling to himself as he went.

  "They are hot on the scent. Mr. Lawrence evidently has no intention ofallowing the grass to grow under his feet. He means, if the thing ispossible, to have a sight of that Gladstone bag, at any rate bydeputy. I may be wrong, but the deputy whom I fancy he has selected isan individual possessed of such a small amount of tact--whatever othervirtues he may have--that I hardly think I am. In any case it isprobably just as well that that Gladstone bag sleeps downstairs, whileI sleep up."

  The door of Mr. Paxton's bedroom was furnished with a bolt as well asa lock. He carefully secured both.

  "I don't think that any one will be able to get through that doorwithout arousing me. And even should any enterprising person succeedin doing so, I fear that his success will go no farther. His labourswill be unrewarded."

  Mr. Paxton was master of a great art--the art of being able to go tosleep when he wished. Practically, in bed or out of it, whenever hechose, he could treat himself to the luxury of a slumber; and also,when he chose, he could wake out of it. This very desirableaccomplishment did not fail him then. As soon as he was between thesheets he composed himself to rest; and in an infinitesimally shortspace of time rest came to him. He slept as peacefully as if he hadnot had a care upon his mind.

  And his sleep continued far into the night. But, profound and restfulthough it was, it was light. The slightest unusual sound wassufficient to awake him. It was indeed a sound which would have beeninaudible to nine sleepers out of ten which actually did arouse him.Instantly his eyes were wide open and his senses keenly on the alert.He lay quite still in bed, listening. And as he listened he smiled.

  "I thought so. My friend of the smoking-room, unless I err. Trying toturn the key in the lock with a pair of nippers, from outside. Itwon't do, my man. You are a little clumsy at your work. Yourclumsiness betrayed you. You should get a firm hold of the key beforeyou begin to turn, or your nippers are apt to slip, and when they slipthey make a noise."

  Mr. Paxton permitted no sign to escape him which could show theintruder who was endeavouring to make an unceremonious entrance intothe apartment that he had ceased to sleep. He continued to lie quitestill and to listen, enjoying what he heard. Either the lock was rustyor the key refractory, or, as Mr. Paxton said, the operator clumsy,but certainly he did take what seemed to be an unconscionable lengthof time in performing what is supposed to be a rudimentary function inthe burglar's art. He fumbled and fumbled, time after time, in vain.One could hear in the prevailing silence the tiny click which hisnippers made each time they lost their hold. Some three or fourminutes probably elapsed before a slight grating sound--which seemedto show that the lock was rusty--told that, after all, the key hadbeen turned. Mr. Paxton almost chuckled.

  "Now for the scattering of the labourer's hopes of harvest!"

  The person who was outside the door, satisfied that the lock had beenopened, firmly, yet no doubt gently, grasped the handle of the door.He turned it. With all his gentleness it grated. One could hear thathe gave it an inward push, only to discover that the bolt was shotinside. And that same moment Mr. Paxton's voice rang out, clear andcold--

  "Who's there?"

  No answer. Mr. Paxton's sharp ears imagined that they could justdetect the shuffling along the passage of retreating footsteps.

  "Is any one at the door?"

  Still no reply. Mr. Paxton's next words were uttered _sotto voce_ witha grin.

  "I don't fancy that there is any one outside the door just now; northat to-night there is likely to be again. I'll just jump out and undothe result of that poor man's patient labours."

  Re-locking the door, Mr. Paxton once more composed himself to rest,and again sleep came to him almost in the instant that he sought it.And for the second time he was aroused by a sound so faint that itwould hardly have penetrated to the average sleeper's senses. On thisoccasion the interruption was unexpected. He turned himself slightlyin bed, so that he might be in a better position for listening.

  "What's that? If it's my friend of the smoking-room again, he's apersevering man. It doesn't sound as if it were coming from the door;it sounds more as if it were coming from the window--and, by George,it is! What does it mean? It occurs to me that this is a case in whichit might be advisable that I should make personal inquiries."

  Slipping out of bed, Mr. Paxton thrust his legs into a pair oftrousers. He took a revolver from underneath his pillow.

  "It's lucky," he said to himself, as his fingers closed upon theweapon, "that my prophetic soul told me that this was a playthingwhich might be likely to come in handy."

  In his bare feet he moved towards the window, holding the revolver inhis hand.

  The room was in darkness, but Mr. Paxton was aware that in front ofthe window stood the dressing-table. He knew also that the windowitself was screened, not only by the blind, but by a pair of heavycurtains. Placing himself by the side of the dressing-table, hegingerly moved one of the curtains, with a view of ascertaining if hisdoing so would enable him to see what was going on without. One thingthe movement of the curtains did reveal to him, that there was a densefog out of doors. The blind did not quite fit the window, and enoughspace was left at the side to show that the lights in the King's Roadwere veiled by a thick white mist. Mr. Paxton moved both the blind andthe curtain sufficiently aside to enable him to see all that there wasto be seen, without, however, unnecessarily exposing himself.

  For a moment or so that all was nothing. Then, gradually becomingaccustomed to the light, or want of it, he saw something which, whilelittle enough in itself, was yet sufficient to have given a nervousperson a considerable shock. Something outside seemed to reach fromtop to bottom of the window. At first Mr. Paxton could not make outwhat it was. Then he understood.

  "A ladder--by George, it is! It would almost seem as if my friend ofthe smoking-room had given his friends outside the 'office,' and thatthey are taking advantage of the fog to endeavor to succeed where hehas failed. If I had expected this kind of thing, I should havepreferred to sleep a little nearer to the sky. Instead of the firstfloor, it should have been the third, or even the fourth, beyond thereach of ladders. Messrs. Lawrence and Co. seem resolved to beat theiron while it's hot. The hunt becomes distinctly keen. It is perhapsonly natural to expect that they should be anxious; but, so far as Iam concerned, a little of this sort of thing suffices. They are slowat getting to work, considering how awkward they might find it if someone were to come along and twig that ladder. Hallo, the fun begins!Unless my ears deceive me, some one's coming now."

  Mr. Paxton's ears did not deceive him. Even as he spoke a darksomething appeared on the ladder above the level of the window. It wasa man's head. The head was quickly followed by a body. The acutevision of the unseen watcher could dimly make out, against the whitebackground of fog, the faint outline of a man's figure. This figuredid an unexpected thing. Without any sort of warning, the shutter of adark lantern was suddenly opened, and the light thrown on the windowin such a way that it shone full into Mr. Paxton's eyes. Thatgentleman retained his presence of mind. He withdrew his head, whilekeeping his hold on the blind; if he had let it go the movement couldscarcely have failed to have been perceived.

  The light vanished almost as quickly as it came. It was followed by adarkness which seemed even denser than before. It was a second or twobefore Mr. Paxton could adapt his dazzled eyes to the restoration ofthe blackness. When he did so, he perceived that the man on the ladderwas leaning over towards the window. If the lantern had been flashedon him just then, it would have been seen that an ugly look was on Mr.Paxton's countenance.

  "You startled me, you brute, with your infernal lantern, and now I'vehalf a mind to startle you."

  Mr. Paxton made his half-mind a whole one. He brought his revolverto the level of his elbow; he pointed it at the window, and hefired. The figure on the ladder disappeared with the rapidity of ajack-in-the-box. Whether the man had fallen or not, t
here was for themoment no evidence to show. Mr. Paxton dragged the dressing-tableaway, threw up the window, and looked out. The mist came streaming in.In the distance could be heard the stampede of feet. Plainly two orthree persons were making off as fast as their heels would carry them.An imperious knocking came at the bedroom door.

  "Anything the matter in there?"

  Mr. Paxton threw the door wide open. A porter was standing in thelighted corridor.

  "A good deal's the matter. Burglary's the matter."

  "Burglary?"

  "Yes, burglary. I caught a man in the very act of opening my window,so I had a pop at him. He appears to have got off; but his ladder hehas left behind."

  Other people came into the room, among them the manager. Anexamination of the premises was made from without. The man hadescaped; but the precipitancy of his descent was evidenced by the factthat his lantern, falling from his grasp, had been shattered tofragments on the ground.

  The fragments he had not stayed to gather. Still less had he and hisassociates stood on the order of their going sufficiently long toenable them to remove the ladder.