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HARVARD
COLLEGE
LIBRARY














THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER








THE LONG ARM OF DE
MANNISTER
BY
E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
AUTHOR OF “A MAKER OF HISTORY,” “THE GREAT
SECRET," " THE AVENGER," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY FRANK SNAPP
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1908!


- PZ5102.50.5
PARVARD
COLLEGE
LIBRARY
Copyright, 1907, 1908,
BY INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE COMPANY.
Copyright 1908,
By LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
All rights reserved
Published September, 1908
COLONIAL PRESS
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, U.S. A.


CONTENTS
PAGK
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
1
30
64
90
121
CHAPTER
I. THE NoxiouS GIFT . . . .
II. TRASKE AND THE BRACELET . .
III. THE ATRUSCAN SILVER MINE . .
IV. THE DEFEAT OF RUNDERMERE . .
V. THE END OF JOHN DYKES — BURGLAR
VI. A WOMAN INTERVENES . . . .
VII. THE REGENERATION OF JACOBS . .
VIII. THE MAKING OF HAMBLEDON . .
IX. AT THE END OF THE JOURNEY . .
X. His Last QUEST . . . . .
.....
.
.
.
. 156
. 181
. 203
. 229
. 254





LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
:
.
60
"
HER HEAD DROPPED ALMOST TO HER HANDS.
...“I PROMISE,” SHE MURMURED . . Frontispiece
SHE SPRANG TO HER FEET – A CRY OF ANGUISH
BROKE AT LAST FROM HER DRY LIPS . Page 29
“ YOU DON'T REALLY BELIEVE THAT I STOLE
IT!” . . . . . . .
“ READ THAT!" HE EXCLAIMED. “FOR God's
SAKE READ THAT!” . . . . . .
FOR A MOMENT THE ROOM SEEMED TO SPIN ROUND
THE LITTLE SCENE WAS IN ITS WAY DRAMATIC
ENOUGH . . . . . . . . .
“I WILL NOT BE LEFT HERE ALONE WITH HIM"
“ SO FAR, MANNISTER, THE LUCK HAS BEEN ON
YOUR SIDE " . . . . . . . " 216





THE LONG ARM OF
MANNISTER
CHAPTER I
THE NOXIOUS GIFT
“I OOK behind - once more,” the
woman gasped, stooping a little from
the saddle.
Even with that slight movement she
swayed and almost fell. The man's hand
supported her — he only knew with what
an effort.
“There is no one in sight,” he muttered,
but he did not look. His heart was sick
with the accumulated fear of these awful
months.
They stumbled on again - a weary,


2 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
heart-sickening procession. The woman's
eyes were half closed, her cheeks were as
pale as death, her black hair was powdered
with dust, her clothing soiled and worn.
She rode a small Mexican pony, itself in the
last stage of exhaustion. By her side, on
foot, with his left hand locked in the reins,
the man staggered along. In her face was
the white numbness of despair, the despair
which takes no count of living terrors. In
his the shadow of an awful fear remained.
His eyes were glazed and framed in deep
black rims. His mouth was open like a
dog's, his knees trembled as he ran. Once
the woman had turned her head, and seeing
him had shivered. He reminded her of one
of those prairie wolves, into whose carcass
the bullet from the last cartridge in his
revolver had found its way. If her lips could
have borne the effort, she would have smiled
at the idea that it was for love of such a man
that she had thrown away her life. The


THE NOXIOUS GIFTS
terror of this unending chase had eaten the
manhood out of him. He had no longer
any hope, any courage. He followed only
the blind impulse of the hunted animal —
to flee. He wore shirt and trousers only,
his socks had gone, his feet were bleeding
through the gaps in his rent shoes. Yet he
had held himself bravely enough once in the
great world, before the cup of Iseult had
touched his lips.
A speck in front — a sombre blur upon
the landscape. He saw it and pointed.
The effort of stretching out his hand over-
balanced him. He fell in a heap upon the
rough roadway, and for a moment lay still.
Her pony also halted, trembling in every
limb, his fore-legs planted outwards, his nose
close to the ground.
She leaned down towards him.
“ Gaston,” she cried feebly, “are you
hurt?"
He rose to his feet, and as he did so she


4 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
noticed that he kept his head studiously
turned away from the direction whence they
had come. He shook the dust from his
rags of clothing, and he gathered the reins
once more into his hands. Of his hurts, if
he had received any, he took no more notice
than a dumb animal.
“ Come on,” he gasped. “There is
wooded country ahead. We may find
shelter. Come!”
“Look behind,” she directed.
“No!” he answered, shivering.
“ Look behind – I wish it,” she insisted.
“ It is better to know."
: Slowly he turned his head. There was
little room for expression left in his face, but
she saw the slow dilation of his eyes, the
animal drop of his jaw. He stood as one
turned to stone, gazing back along the way
by which they had come. As the woman
understood, she drew one long sigh and
slipped from the saddle, mercifully uncon-


THE NOXIOUS GIFT
wa
scious. The man did not heed her. His eyes
were still fixed upon that speck in the dis-
tance, a cloud of dust, a man on horseback.
Curiously enough, his most poignant feeling
was one of relief. It was the end at last then,
the end of a chase surely more terrible than
any since the days when sin itself was born.
She opened her eyes for a moment.
“ It is he?” she questioned.
“ It is he,” the man repeated, as one might
tell the time to a stranger.
She pointed to the revolver in his belt, but
he shook his head. She remembered that
his cartridges were all gone.
“Kill me some other way,” she pleaded.
“I could not,” he answered. “I am not
strong enough. I have no strength left.
We have been very foolish, Christine. We
should have waited in the city. There it
would have been man to man at least. Now
I am broken. I cannot strike a blow. I
cannot even kill myself. I cannot kill you.


6
THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
TAS
I have no strength left. This flight by night
and by day has robbed me of it. It was
foolish!”
She turned her face to the ground with a
little sob.
“I will hold my breath and die,” she
declared. “He shall not see me like this.”
The man stared at her dully. What did it
matter, the rents in her garments, such
trifles in the presence of death. He was a
stupid fellow, and he had never gauged the
measure of a woman's vanity.
The speck in the distance grew more dis-
tinct, the cloud of dust larger. Then there
came to the man a last access of strength, a
strength wholly artificial, begotten of the
terror which lay like ice upon his heart.
He plucked at the woman and half helped,
half pushed her upon the waiting pony.
“He will catch us! He is here at last,
Christine,” he jabbered. “We must get to
the wood. Perhaps we can hide, and strike


8 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
lay there with her face to the earth and her
arms stretched out. The man commenced
to groan like a stricken animal, or else he too
might have been taken for dead. So they
lay when their pursuer, on a great bay mare
as yet untired, rode up to them.
He sat on his horse looking from one to
the other. He was a man of something ap-
parently less than middle age, with smooth
fair hair and face, which the hand of time
seemed to have treated kindly. Only a
sudden and very terrible light flashed in his
eyes as he looked downward at the woman,
a light which lingered, however, but for that
single second, and passed away leaving his
whole expression nonchalant, almost un-
disturbed.
“Upon my word,” he observed, resting
his left hand lightly upon his horse's flank,
“I am distressed to have been the cause of
so much suffering. You have been unrea-
sonable, my dear Gaston, to force a lady


THE NOXIOUS GIFT
into undertaking a journey such as this. A
few words with you — that was all I asked.
Surely it was not worth while to have given
me all this trouble, and to have put your-
selves to such inconvenience! My dear
Christine, I must confess that the state of
your wardrobe distresses me!”
Her shoulders shook, but she did not
look up.
“And you too, my dear Gaston,” he con-
tinued, sitting still easily upon his horse
and lighting a cigarette. “I must confess
that it pains me to see you in such guise.
We met last — I think that it was at the
Cavalry Club, the day young Pennant tried
to wear a roll collar with a dress coat. I
remember your remarks upon the occasion,
scathing but well deserved. You were
always our recognized authority upon mat-
ters of the person. It grieves me to see you
like this, Gaston. Is that indeed a shirt,
the remnants of which you are still wearing !


10 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
And, my dear fellow, pardon me, but your
feet and hands — every finger-nail gone, I
declare. I am ashamed to ask you, but upon
my word — when did you take a bath
last ? "
The man called Gaston staggered to his
feet. With the poor remnants of his
strength, he threw himself against his per-
secutor, his nervous, bony fingers locked
around the stone which was his only weapon.
It was after all but a pitiful effort. The
newcomer touched his horse with the spur,
and his assailant rolled in the dust.
“ Get up, my friend,” the former re-
marked pleasantly, looking downwards.
“You and I must have our little conversa-
tion together, I suppose. Let us go as far
as the wood there. We shall be better
alone."
Slowly and painfully the fallen man stag-
gered to his feet. The newcomer withdrew
one foot from its stirrup.


THE NOXIOUS GIFT 11
“ Hold on to this,” he directed. “I will
ride carefully."
It was barely a hundred yards to the
border of the wood, but more than once the
man faltered and almost collapsed. When
at last they reached their destination, the
sudden change from the dazzling sunlight
to the cool darkness of the thick trees was
too much for him. He groped for a moment
like a drunken man, then staggered forward
and fell. Mannister stooped down and
dragged him to his feet. For a moment he
held him at arm's length, studying him
with all the immeasurable contempt of the
brave man for a proven coward. Then he
placed him on a fallen log with his back
to a tree trunk.
“ Don't shake so, man,” he said, feeling
in his pocket and producing a flask.“ Drink
some of this. It will give you the sort of
courage you need.”
Gaston Sinclair grabbed at the flask, a


12 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
sudden gleam of desire flashing in his glazed
eyes. His nerveless fingers failed utterly to
loosen the stopper. Mannister leaned over
and took the flask from the hand which still
clung almost passionately to it.
“You shall have your drink,” he said.
“ Don't be afraid. Here!”
A turn of his strong sinewy fingers, and
the stopper was out. He poured some of
the brandy into a silver cup and held it out
to the other man.
“ Drink,” he said. “Take it all! Don't
be afraid. There is no poison there!”
The man drank and gasped and drank
again. Mannister turned from him with the
air of one who seeks to avoid an ugly sight.
He looked through a gap in the trees out on
to the plain, his eyes travelled backwards
along that rough road to where the woman
still lay. As he watched she moved her
position, sitting up on the roadside, her
head buried in her hands, her attitude, not-


14 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
new
and across the desert places he had followed
them, his hand ever stretched out, until the
fear which never left them had become a
living thing, and their journeying a nerveless
hysterical flight. He had left them no peace,
no respite. When in some out of the way
corner of the world they had fancied them-
selves secure for a time, a telegram had been
handed to them — "I am coming ” — and
the chase began anew. And this was the
end. They were broken — absolutely at
his mercy — broken body and soul. He lit
another cigarette, and turned away from the
contemplation of that bent figure. Life,
after all, was an unsatisfying thing.
He turned round suddenly. Sinclair had
armed himself with a short stick, and his
hand was lifted to strike. Mannister
laughed as he struck down his arm.
“ Don't be a fool,” he said scornfully.
“ Can't you see that if I meant to kill you I
could have twisted your neck at any moment ?
Sit down and listen to me.”


THE NOXIOUS GIFT 15
Sinclair gasped.
“Give me another drink,” he begged.
Mannister measured him out a small
quantity.
“No more,” he said firmly. “Sit down
now. I want to talk to you.”
The man grovelled before him. His brain,
giddy with the fumes of the spirit, held but
one thought. He was to live! Mannister
did not mean to kill him! It was unnatural
- impossible!
“ You are going to kill us, to kill us
both !” he cried, in a frenzied whisper.
“We heard of the oath you took. A year
ago I could have met you like a man. To-
day we are broken, both of us. We have
lived and slept with fear so long.”
“Your lives,” Mannister answered
calmly, " are not worth a stray pin to me.
Live or die, I am indifferent. You will
come to no harm from me. If I have de-
sired vengeance," he added, with a faint


16 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
smile,“ don't you think that I have it?
You are not the Gaston Sinclair that you
were, my friend. The lady, your companion,
too, has apparently suffered.”
Sinclair's body was shaken with groans.
“If only we could have stopped,” he
moaned. “Oh, it is terrible to be hunted !
You begin to run — and you can't stop.
You want to turn round and face the thing
behind — and you can't. And your nerves
snap one by one, and your courage dies;
you forget that you are a human being.
You rush blindly on, always terrified.
Every time you look behind your heart
sinks; in every crowd you search frantically
for one face; every resting place you enter
with a sob of fear. Locked doors are use-
less. There is a knock! You must open!
A waiter perhaps, but the sweat is on your
forehead, you are shaking like a leaf. The
man thinks you are mad. Everywhere you
are suspected — shunned. Every pair of


THE NOXIOUS GIFT
17
eyes that meets yours seems to carry be-
hind them the knowledge that you are
running away. Oh, Hell! It is Hell,
Hell !”
“ This,” Mannister declared, with a pleas-
ant smile,“ is most interesting. You have
had quite an experience, my dear Sinclair,
and you speak of it most eloquently. Now
you will kindly abandon this somewhat
melodramatic attitude of yours, and —
listen to me."
The last three words were spoken with a
sudden tense note of command. Sinclair,
whose head had sunk between his hands,
looked slowly up.
“ Well ? ” he said.
“ When I first left England and followed
you to Genoa,” Mannister said, “my inten-
tions were perfectly simple, and I may add
absolutely primitive. I meant to kill you
both on sight. I lost time just at first, and
the chase became a long one. Lately I have


THE NOXIOUS GIFT 19
singularly free from all animal noises, not
even a breath of wind was stirring in the
trees. Mannister spoke again.
“You will probably,” he said, “never
come back to England. In that case you
are safe from our friends. You have at
least a chance of escape. From me, unless
you obey, you have none.”
“I thought you said that you were not
going to kill me,” Sinclair declared sullenly.
“ Under reasonable conditions, no!”
Mannister said. “ Such desire as I had for
vengeance is — well, shall we say gratified.
You will never be the man you were again,
Sinclair.”
“Curse you !” Sinclair answered bitterly.
“Curse those others — and your own
vanity — not me,” Mannister replied. “I
wish you no further harm now than has al-
ready come to you. But the truth I mean to
know, and as surely as you refuse to tell me,
so surely do you die!”


20 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
There was a moment's silence. Sinclair
was thinking of all the things from which
he must cut himself off for ever, the clubs,
the restaurants, the city haunts and friends
— all these things must go. And yet it was
something to live! Only an hour ago, life
itself would have seemed a priceless and
wonderful gift. It was no time to bargain.
“It was Colin Stevens who planned it,”
he said slowly. “ There were seven of the
others who were in it.”
“ The names of the other seven ? ” Man-
nister demanded.
“ Colin Stevens was the leader," Sinclair
repeated, unwillingly.
“ The names of the other seven," Mannis-
ter said calmly, “ or I shall wring your neck.
It is not a pleasant death."
“ Phil Rundermere.”
“ The blackguard! I saved him from
ruin once!” Mannister whispered softly,
“ Go on!”


THE NOXIOUS GIFT
21
“ John Dykes.”
“Of course! Well ? ”
“Sophy de la Mere.”
“ Ladies, too!” Mannister murmured.
“ Well, she had no cause to love me. Go
on.”
“ Fred Hambledon.”
“ Good! Who else ?”
“Benjamin Traske.”
“ Poor boy! He went where he was led,
of course. That makes five.”
“Ernest Jacobs.”
“ False little brute !” Mannister mur-
mured. “I judged he must have been in it.
One more, Sinclair.”
“ You know enough," Sinclair muttered.
“Let the other one go. He was led into it,
as I was. He never did you any real
injury.”
“ Perhaps not, Sinclair,” Mannister an-
swered smoothly, “ but nevertheless a bar-
gain is a bargain, if you please. I must
SW


22 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
know his name. Or shall I guess it? Dick
Polsover, eh? Ah, I thought so! Your
own particular friend, Sinclair. Well, it's
hard to have to give him away, isn't it?”
“You know their names now," Sinclair
said, with a sudden gleam of curiosity.
" What are you going to do? You cannot
go back to England! You would never face
it!”
"I am not quite so sure about that, my
over sanguine friend,” Mannister answered.
“ If ever I do, you may go down on your
knees and pray for those eight men — if you
think it will do them any good. By-the-bye,
you, I suppose, were the decoy to get me out
of England. It was for that purpose that
you made love to my wife. What did you
get out of it?”
“Five thousand pounds !” Sinclair an-
swered. “I was to have had more, but it
has never come.”
“A bad bargain,” Mannister declared.


THE NOXIOUS GIFT
“Why, you must have spent nearly that run-
ning away from me.”
“ We have spent it all," Sinclair answered.
“We have not enough to live on for a
month."
“I am afraid,” Mannister declared,
swinging his riding boot against the trunk
of the tree, “ that in making you a present
of the gift of life, I am not doing you a very
great service — you or the woman who is
now dependent upon you. You will have to
work, Sinclair, I am afraid. You never liked
work, did you ? "
“ Haven't you nearly finished with me ? ”
Sinclair answered. “I must look after —
her. We need food.”
“ You will find plenty in the wagon out-
side,” Mannister answered. “The lady
whom you tactfully allude to as “her,' is
already being attended to. I have a fancy
for travelling comfortably, and notwith-
standing this attack upon my fortunes, I am


24 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
not quite a pauper. Do you know, Sinclair,
I fancy that our eight friends may have been
just a little disappointed. I never believed in
keeping all my eggs in one basket. They
looked upon me as a sort of Monte Cristo,
but there were more treasure caves than
one. Come, Sinclair, we will go. I have
learned from you all that I required to know.
Come to the edge of the wood. There is one
thing more which I have to say to you.
Come to the entrance of the wood there,
and stand by my side.”
Sinclair staggered up, a weak, broken-
spirited creature of a man; he was bent
almost double, and he reached scarcely to
the other's shoulder. Mannister showed no
signs of fatigue. His white linen riding suit
was unsoiled, his tie and collar immaculate.
His hands, though brown, were unblistered,
and his nails well cared for. He might very
well have been riding through the hills on a
Simla picnic. If he had suffered through


THE NOXIOUS GIFT
25
that tireless chase, his hard bronzed face
showed little signs of it. Compared with
him, the creature by his side was negligible.
His left hand he laid upon Sinclair's
drooping shoulder, with his right forefinger
he pointed to where they had left the woman.
A covered wagon was there now, and a fire
smoking. The woman herself was just
visible, reclining in a camp chair. Mannis-
ter's voice was slower and more deliberate.
“Sinclair,” he said, “ you see there your
life. You have done me, as a man, the
greatest injury which one man has learnt
in nineteen hundred years to inflict upon
another. In leaving you alive upon the
earth, I make no pretence at forgiving you.
To kick you into eternity would be, how-
ever, only the caprice of a child. The ven-
geance of God and man strikes deeper.
The woman is yours by right of theft. I
leave you together, and I leave you the care
of her a charge upon your life. Only re-


26 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
member that my arm is long, and as you
deal with her, so shall you be dealt with by
me.”
“She loves me no more! She is weary
already!” the man muttered. “There is
no path in life which we could tread to-
gether.”
“ Too late,” Mannister answered. “You
must hew one axe in hand, even if it be
through the wilderness. And for the rest,
the love of a woman is to be won by the man
on whom she leans. You must win hers,
Sinclair. You played the lover well enough,
no doubt, when you took her from my home.
See that you play it again, and to good
purpose.”
“ I lied to her! I worked upon her jeal-
ousy!” Sinclair muttered.
“My common sense has already assured
me of that,” Mannister answered, “ else she
would never have left me for you. Never
mind. You must do your best. There is but


THE NOXIOUS GIFT
27
one royal road through life for you - and
along that road you must go hand in hand
or alone to your grave. For the smaller
matters, you will find that there is money
enough in her name to keep you from starva-
tion, and I shall require to hear of your mar-
riage within two months. My divorce decree
is before the courts.”
“She will not marry me,” Sinclair said
sullenly. “We do not speak. All day and
night she weeps because of what she has
done.”
“What you won once,” Mannister said,
“ when surely everything was against you,
you can win again now when she is alone in
the world, and the poor remnants of her
honour are in your keeping. At any rate
you must try. Remember that it is for your
life that you plead. Come.”
The two men approached the camp side
by side, Mannister leading his horse by the
bridle, tall, slim, debonair; Sinclair hob-


28 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
bling by his side, bent and broken, with
dulled eyes and wandering footsteps. The
woman leaned forward to watch them com-
ing. Her lips were parted, a tinge of colour
had come back to her cheeks. Her beautiful
eyes were fastened upon Mannister — it
seemed as though she were fighting with all
there was of life left in her, to draw from his
stony face one single sign of recognition.
He came and went amongst his servants,
giving brief orders; once he almost brushed
her skirts, and passed by with blank, un-
seeing eyes. She did not exist for him!
He did not speak to her! He could ignore
her so completely – he could act as though
she were already dead! Faster and faster
came her breath, and whiter grew her lips.
She loved him! She had known it in the
long nights, she had felt it like a mortal pain
piercing her burden of intolerable shame.
Now he was coming nearer — he had
passed. He was upon his horse — how



SHE SPRANG TO HER FEET - ACRY OF ANGUISH BROKE AT LAST
FROM HER DRY LIPS.
[Page 29.





THE NOXIOUS GIFT
well he always looked upon horseback, and
her fingers were gripping the shoulder of
the poor creature whom she loathed.
“Remember," he said, looking down-
wards with a flash from his steely blue eyes.
“Remember, Sinclair!”
His horse plunged, and he was galloping
away. She sprang to her feet — a cry of
anguish broke at last from her dry lips.
“He is coming back!” she shrieked.
“ Tell me that he is coming back!”
“ He is never coming back!” Sinclair said
sullenly.
She looked at him for one moment, and
her heart sickened with loathing. Away
along the level road the figure of the re-
treating horseman grew smaller and smaller.
She tottered, and fell forward upon her face.
Sinclair sat still and understood why he was
alive.


CHAPTER II
TRASKE AND THE BRACELET
NLITTER of glass and perfume of
flowers, the music of women's laugh-
ter, the sparkle of jewels upon white bosoms,
all the nameless air of content and well-
being which pervades such a restaurant as
Luigi's during the holy hour of all English-
men — the hour when he dines. The little
orchestra, whose soft restrained playing
was one of the charms of the place, had just
finished the “ Salut D’Amour.” Smoothly
shining heads were bent towards more
elaborate coiffures; whispers and smiles
and glances, lit with meaning, flashed back-
wards and forwards between the occupants
of the small tables. Dark visaged maîtres


TRASKE AND THE BRACELET 31
d'hôtel, deft and eager, watched the scene
with interest. At one table only, a large
round one near the door, were there any
signs of dissatisfaction.
The table was laid for four, and there were
but three men present. They represented
the obvious attitude of waiting for the tardy
guest. The eldest of the party, bald-headed,
with gold-rimmed spectacles, pink cheeks,
and smooth-shaven face, looked continually
at his watch and bent forward to see every
new arrival. The other two men were talk-
ing to one another in earnest whispers
Luigi himself came up to the table, and
bowed to his customers with all the ease of a
long acquaintance.
“Mr. Polsover is later this evening, gen-
tlemen,” he remarked. “You think that
he will come, eh? You see it is half-past
eight, and the dinner was ordered for eight
o'clock punctual.”
" I'm hanged if we'll wait any longer,


32 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
Luigi,” declared the man with the gold-
rimmed glasses. “Tell them to serve up
dinner. By-the-bye, have either of you fel-
lows seen Polsover to-day ?”
“I saw him only an hour or so ago,"
Traske declared — Traske, the junior of the
party, in white waistcoat and tie of the latest
pattern, sleek, well groomed, immaculate,
after the amazing fashion of the struggling
stockbroker. “He was in at Poole's trying
a coat on, and we walked down the arcade.”
“Say anything about to-night?” the
other asked.
“ Only that we should meet again later.
By Jove, here he is! Polsover, you black-
guard! Do you know the time ?”.
They all turn towards him with a little
chorus of protests and questions. And then
as suddenly there was silence. The new
arrival, tall, slim, and darker than the
average Englishman, was slowly unwinding
his scarf and passing his hat to the attendant.


TRASKE AND THE BRACELET 38
The eyes of the three men were fastened
upon his face. Traske passed a cocktail
across the table.
" Have a drink, old chap,” he said.
Polsover took the glass, and held it with
difficulty to lips almost as pale as the white
kid gloves which as yet he had not removed.
He drained it, and set it down empty.
Then he took his place at the table. The
silence was strained and unnatural.
Waiters and maîtres d'hôtel melted away
for a moment. Traske leaned across the
table. His voice was lowered almost to a
whisper — a whisper which, notwithstand-
ing all his efforts, was hoarse and shaky.
The words came out with a jerk — harsh,
staccato.
“What's wrong, Polsover ?”
Polsover glanced around half fearfully.
His face was still the colour of chalk. He
leaned across the table, and the heads of the
four men were close together.


34 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
“Mannister is in London,” he whispered.
“I have seen him. I believe that he is
coming here."
Something unique in the way of oaths
broke from the lips of the man in the gold-
rimmed spectacles, who presided over the
little gathering. The other two simply
stared. It was incredible, astounding !
They neglected for the first few moments
even to ask him the obvious questions.
Then the coming of a waiter imposed upon
them the ghastly necessity of concealing
their terror. Conversation of some sort
was necessary. Polsover spoke of wine, and
ordered the magnum which stood in the ice
pail by their side to be immediately opened.
Never were glasses raised to the lips and
drained more eagerly. Polsover, who had
had time to realize this thing, was now
the most self-possessed of the party.
“I went into the bar at the Savoy," he
explained, “to have a Dubonnet before


TRASKE AND THE BRACELET
35
coming across. He was there, in travelling
clothes, just arrived I should think. I
nearly went through the floor.”
“What did he say? Did he speak to
you ? ” Traske asked.
“ Just as though we had parted yester-
day,” Polsover declared. “I- I had a
drink with him.”
The thing was driven home to them now
beyond a doubt. Polsover had stood before
the bar and drank with him. No one could
do that with a ghost.
“ He asked — after everybody,” Polsover
continued, “just as though he had been
away for a week-end. He said — when he
had changed — that he was coming here."
Hambledon drank his third glass of cham-
pagne, and made a brave attempt to break
through the stupefaction which seemed to
have clouded the intellects of all of them.
Hambledon was the man in the gold-rimmed
spectacles, who seemed to play the host.


36 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
“Look here,” he said, “ we're not a pack
of babies, to be scared to death just because
one man's come back from the dead. Man-
nister can't eat us. We've played it low
down against him, but we're inside the law.
He can't know much. If Sinclair and he
have ever come face to face, there would
be more shooting than talking done. I
doubt if he knows anything. Remember –
if he comes he is welcome. Not too much
surprise, mind — and no explanations to-
night.”
“ About the time ?” Traske asked
hoarsely.
“Silence !” Hambledon declared.
Then they heard Luigi's little cry of sur-
prise merged into one of welcome, and the
thunderbolt fell. Tall and lean, with
bronzed face and clear, sunburnt skin, Man-
nister, in his trim evening clothes, and un-
changing air of complete self-composure,
seemed, as he slowly advanced towards


TRASKE AND THE BRACELET 37
them, a perfectly natural part of the place
and its surroundings. Only these four men
who had known him intimately could detect
some slight but significant change in the
expression of the man who came so calmly
forward to greet them.
“ Mannister, by all that's wonderful ! ”
Hambledon exclaimed, rising and holding
out both his hands.
“ Mannister !” the others echoed, and
rose to their feet.
There was a moment's pause of breathless
expectancy. They felt that the next few
seconds would decide the momentous ques-
tion as to whether this man had come as
friend or enemy. He himself seemed for
some reason inclined to prolong the period
of uncertainty. He stood quite still for an
appreciable space of time, looking at the
four men who had risen to their feet pre-
pared to receive him with every appearance
of good fellowship, and yet, notwithstand-


38 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
ing all their efforts, showing something of
the nervousness which they all felt, in their
faces and manners. With a little laugh,
Mannister threw his coat to the cloak-room
attendant who had followed him in, and
leisurely drawing off his gloves, extended
his hand to Hambledon.
“ Can you make room for an unexpected
visitor ?” he asked. “It's like old times to
see a magnum of Pomeroy. Hambledon,
you haven't changed a bit. Traske, you are
looking fit as ever. Jacobs, how are you?
Where are you all with your dinner? I'll
chip in if I may.”
The key-note of their conversation was
struck. Their welcome was more than
effusive, it was almost uproarious. His
glass was filled, and a place was hastily laid
for him. There was no lack of conversation.
He had been away for more than a year.
There were a hundred people to ask after,
endless little pieces of news and gossip to


TRASKE AND THE BRACELET 89
re
retail to him. But the greater things they
left alone. No mention was made of the
reason of his sudden disappearance from the
country, or of the man in search of whom he
had gone. Nor did they speak of certain
transactions which had taken place during
his absence, but for which they knew very
well that a day of reckoning must come.
There were certain names, too, which Man-
nister left alone until dinner was almost
over. Then he asked after them, one by
one, and it seemed to the four men who an-
swered, that there was something sinister in
these inquiries, apparently so casual, and
yet embracing just those men and no others.
“ Colin Stevens is not here to-night, I
see,” Mannister began.
“He is over in Paris for a few days,”
Hambledon answered.
Mannister nodded.
“ And Rundermere, Phil Rundermere ? ”
“ Phil's about as usual,” Hambledon an-


40 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
swered, “but a little down on his luck
He's had a very bad season's racing.”
“ John Dykes ?”
“He may be in any moment,” Traske
declared, a little uneasily. “He doesn't
often dine with us. He's had gout badly,
and he's trying a diet cure.”
Hambledon drank a glass of wine during
the momentary silence which followed. He
felt the perspiration breaking out upon his
forehead. These names and no others!
There must be a purpose in it. Seven of the
eight, including those who were present,
had already been inquired for. There was
only one left. If he should ask for her and
no one else, they would know that it was
war. They would know that their danger
was no fancied one.
“And last, but not least,” Mannister
asked, looking intently into the contents
of his glass, “la belle Sophy, Mrs. De la
Mere, unless she has changed her name?”


TRASKE AND THE BRACELET 41
“She is dining here to-night,” Hamble-
don answered. “She is sitting immediately
behind you.”
Mannister smiled.
“Presently,” he said, “I must pay my
respects to her. It is very interesting to hear
about so many old friends.”
Then he was silent for several moments,
still apparently watching the bubbles rise
in his champagne glass, and the four men
stole glances one at the other. He had asked
after them all, all the eight! They could
not doubt any longer but that it was war!
Coffee and liqueurs were set before them.
Already half the diners in the place had left.
Mannister glanced at the clock.
“ Half-past nine,” he said. “Remember
that I have been away from London a year.
What does one do now? Have we any
He glanced meaningly at Hambledon,
who shook his head.
“No, no !” he said. “ There is nothing


TRASKE AND THE BRACELET 43
lace, a picture hat, and a feather boa. She,
perhaps, more than any of them, had suf-
fered from nerves when first she had seen
Mannister enter the restaurant, but she had
had time to get over it, and she was a
woman. So she came up to him with out-
stretched hands and a brilliant smile. It was
simpler to treat his absence as something
quite ordinary, to ignore those things con-
cerning which speech was difficult.
“ Back again to Babylon, my friend,”
she said, lightly. “Welcome home! I am
delighted to see you.”
Mannister stood and smiled down upon
her, his hand resting on the back of his chair.
“ I see that your friends," he remarked,
“ have dispersed. Won't you sit down and
have some coffee with us? It will be quite
like old times.”
“On one condition,” she answered, “ and
that is that you all come round to my rooms
afterwards. Dicky is going to South Africa


44 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
to-morrow, and we are going to give him a
send-off, music and bridge and a riotous
time generally. You'll all come, won't you ?
If you say yes I'll sit down, and we can all
go back together.”
"I shall be charmed,” Mannister an-
swered. “I do not think that any of us could
refuse such an invitation.”
His glance rested as though by accident
upon Traske, who was suddenly conscious
of a feeling of apprehension for which he
could not account.
“I am afraid,” he said, rising, “ that I
shall have to be excused. I was just ex-
plaining to Mannister here — ”
“ You will not be excused,” Mrs. De la
Mere said quietly. “You are coming, Ben.
I insist upon it.”
There was a moment's silence. No one
else intervened. They recognized that the
disposal of Traske's evening had suddenly
become a matter of some import.


46 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
“ Until he gets hold of the money. He's
got round the girl somehow or other, I sup-
pose. She's very pretty and very pious, and
that's all we know about her. He's taken
good care to keep her away from all of us ? ”
Mannister leaned back in his chair and
smiled to himself thoughtfully. He glanced
across at Traske, and the smile deepened,
although there was little of mirth in it.
PO
In the vestibule of the restaurant, Sophy
de la Mere drew Mannister on one side.
“ I want you to drive home with me,” she
said. “ The others can follow in hansoms."
Mannister bowed.
“I shall be charmed, of course,” he said,
and followed her across the pavement into
the little electric coupé. She raised her veil
as they swung off, and he looked at her
critically. She had certainly aged, and there
was more powder upon her cheeks than she
had used a year ago.


TRASKE AND THE BRACELET 47
“Look here,” she said, “I know very
well that your coming back means no good
to any of us. I watched you come and I
watched the others' faces. They are scared
out of their lives, but I don't suppose they
have had the pluck to talk to you as I mean
to. We served you a low-down miserable
trick, a trick that no man is likely to forgive.
We gambled upon your never being able to
show yourself in England again, and you
see we lost. Don't think I am going to cry
off for my share. I know very well you're
not the forgiving sort.”
Mannister looked at her curiously.
“ If one might venture to inquire "
he began.
“Don't interrupt me,” she continued.
“We have only a few minutes, and I want
to make the most of them. You're back
here to get level with all of us, and I have a
sort of an idea that you'll do it. You can't
collect our heads or reputations, or whatever


-
-
48 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
you mean to strike at, into one, and destroy
them at one blow. You'll have to take us
separately. Have you any choice as to the
order ?”
Mannister began to understand. He
thrust his hand into his breast coat pocket,
and drew from a small pocket-book a folded
strip of paper. He spread it open upon his
knee, and moved a little so that the electric
light at the back of the coupé fell upon it.
“ You see here," he remarked, “ a list of
eight names. They are in order, not al-
phabetically, as you will observe. You see
who heads the list.”
“She peered forward.
“ Benjamin Traske!” she exclaimed.
He nodded, and replaced the paper in his
pocket.
“Are you not curious,” he asked, “ to
see where yours comes ?”
“Not I,” she answered quickly. “When
my turn comes I shall be ready. Listen.


TRASKE AND THE BRACELET 49
I am not offering to make a bargain with you.
I want no mercy for what I did. If my
name stands second upon that list, I am
ready even now to tell you to do your worst.
But of my own free will I offer you this."
She touched with her slim forefinger the
place where that paper had been. “I will
help you with that first name.”
He smiled.
“So you do not like the idea,” he re-
marked, “ of our friend Benjamin's mar-
riage ?”
“I do not,” she answered. “To tell you
the truth I do not mean that marriage to
take place.”
“You would prefer,” he suggested softly,
“ that our young friend should find himself
involved, perhaps — ”
“Never mind that,” she interrupted. “I
have a scheme. I only ask you when the
time comes to play up to me. The girl he is
engaged to is a little Puritan and a fool. I


50 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
do not wish to see her miserable for life.
When she understands what sort of a man
Benjamin Traske really is, she will never
look at him again.”
Mannister nodded.
“I will be ready,” he answered. “ When
do you suppose this opportunity will come ?”
“ To-night!” she whispered in his ear.
“You will understand presently.”
The coupé had drawn up before the block
of flats in which she lived. Mannister
helped his companion to alight, and as they
passed into the building, the other hansoms
turned into the Square. Traske, who was
the last to descend, stood for a moment upon
the pavement, looking across the Square to
where the wind was moving softly in the
tops of the blossoming lime trees. A faint
breath of their perfume reached him where
he stood, and brought with it sudden swift
thoughts of a garden not so very far away, a
quaint, old-fashioned, walled garden, full


52 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
girl's voice calling to him softly, calling him
away for ever from all the things that lay
across the threshold of Mrs. De la Mere's
flat. He turned abruptly round. In a mo-
ment he would have crossed the Square.
Suddenly a hand fell upon his shoulder. He
turned round to find Mannister there.
“My dear fellow," Mannister said,
“ they're all in the lift waiting for you.
What are you doing moon-gazing out
here?”
“ I have a headache,” Traske answered.
“I am going home.”
Mannister's hand tightened on his shoul-
der like a vise.
“No,” he said, “I think not! You are
coming with me.”
Inside, the evening passed very much as
many an evening before had passed. A
little orchestra was tucked away in the cor-
ner of the larger of Mrs. De la Mere's


TRASKE AND THE BRACELET 53
sitting-rooms. Furniture was pushed back.
They danced when they felt inclined, they
sat about and talked. On the sideboard in
the smaller room were many bottles of
champagne, which, however, grew steadily
less. Several young ladies connected with
the theatrical profession had been sum-
moned from their rooms, and other friends
whom Mrs. De la Mere had invited kept
coming and going. Traske, after an hour
or so of weariness, gave in. Mrs. De la
Mere herself took him into the smaller
room, and made him open champagne for
her. When he came back to dance his face
was flushed, and his whole manner changed.
He had forgotten ali about the garden in the
suburbs, and those other things which had
troubled him for a moment. At thirty-five
it is hard to reform. So the music went
faster. A young lady, amidst uproarious
applause, danced a “Pas Seul,” and it was
Traske who took her out afterwards and


54 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
opened champagne for her. The air was
blue with cigarette smoke, faces were flushed
and hot, voices not altogether steady. Only
two people remained unchanged, and they
were Mannister and Mrs. De la Mere.
Dicky, in whose honour the feast was given,
sat upon the table which had been pushed
into a corner of the room, with a bottle of
champagne in one hand and a glass in the
other.
“We'll lock the doors,” he declared.
“We won't let a soul out till eight o'clock,
and then we'll all go round to breakfast at
my place.”
“You can stay as late as you like,” Mrs.
De la Mere answered, “ but the band must
go at three. They don'i allow music after-
wards.”
“We will dance in the street,” Dicky
declared. “Remember it's my last night in
England.”
Nevertheless, presently a few people began


TRASKE AND THE BRACELET 55
to slip away. Traske, who had been left
alone for a minute, moved suddenly to the
window of the smaller room, which chanced
to be empty, and throwing it open, leaned
out. A rush of night air upon his face, cool,
delicious, brought to his uncertain brain
some glimmering apprehension of those
other things, the memory of which had
troubled him once before. He moved reso-
lutely to a corner, took up his overcoat and
hat, and had reached the door before a shout
assailed him. It was Hambledon who had
suddenly called attention to his going, and
the others all streamed through the door-
way.
“You sneak, Ben !” Mrs. De la Mere
cried, “ trying to steal away without even
saying good night to your hostess! I'm
ashamed of you. Come back at once, sir,
and take off that coat.”
Traske looked as though he had been sur-
prised in something worse than a mere at-


56 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
tempt to make his escape from a scene of
which he had suddenly tired. His face was
flushed, and he looked confused. He mut-
tered something about the rooms being hot
and having a headache, and he still tried to
go. Mannister laid his hand upon his
shoulder.
“We can't spare you, Traske,” he said ;
“ positively we can't spare you yet. Do
you mean to say that you were going without
even wishing your hostess good night ?”
There was no opportunity for Traske to
reply, there was no opportunity just then for
any one else in the room to say a word.
From the other room came Miss Bella Del-
main, a burning spot of colour in her cheeks,
her eyes lit with anger, her voice shrill with
passion.
“My bracelet !” she cried. “I took it
off only ten minutes ago, and it has gone.
Don't let any one leave the room. Lock the
doors, please, until my bracelet is found.”


TRASKE AND THE BRACELET 57
Mrs. De la Mere turned quickly round.
“You don't mean your diamond bracelet,
Bella !” she exclaimed.
“I do!” was the excited response.“ It
cost five hundred pounds. It was given me
by — never mind. It was my diamond
bracelet, I tell you. Some one has taken it,
some one who is in the room now. If this
is a joke, for Heaven's sake drop it. I want
my bracelet back. Do you hear, all of you ?
Who has it?"
There was a dead silence. The musicians
had left off playing. Every one was drawing
toward the little group of which Bella Del-
main was the centre. Mannister intervened.
“ Where did you leave the bracelet ? ” he
asked.
“On the piano, not ten minutes ago," was
the quick reply.
" It may have slipped down,” some one
suggested, and a search was made. They
moved the piano, they shook the music


58 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
books, they went on hands and knees upon
the carpet, but there was no bracelet any-
where near the spot where it had been left.
Mannister spoke again, and this time his
voice was graver.
“This is a very unpleasant thing," he
said. “With your permission, Mrs. De la
Mere, we will lock the doors.”
Traske objected vigorously.
“Such rot !” he exclaimed. “The girl
will find the bracelet in a moment or two,
probably upon her arm. I want to go. Do
you hear, Mannister ?”
Mannister eyed him coldly.
“I am afraid,” he said, “ that you will
have to curb your impatience. Ladies and
gentlemen,” he added, turning back into the
room,“ this is a most unpleasant affair, and
there is only one way out of it. First of all
we must search the room, and then we must
search one another."
Traske, who was more than half drunk,


TRASKE AND THE BRACELET 59
shook the handle of the door with his hand.
“Rubbish ! ” he exclaimed. “I won't be
searched, and I won't stop here while you go
through such an absurd performance. Do
you hear, I want to go home.”
Mannister turned towards him, smiling,
and at that moment Traske felt the blood
run cold in his veins. There was something
in Mannister's face which he did not under-
stand, something which seemed ominous in
the faint, complacent smile with which he
was regarded. Vaguely he felt that he was
in some sort of danger, that he was trapped,
and that Mannister knew all about it, and
he lost for a moment control of himself.
“Give me the key, d-n you, Mannis-
ter!” he cried. “I am not going to stay for
this buffoonery.”
Mannister caught him by the shoulders
and addressed him with mock gravity.
“My young friend,” he said, “ you will
excuse me, but you will certainly not leave


60 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
here until you have undergone the same
search as we others are willing to submit to.
As you are in so great a hurry, however, and
as you were on the point of bidding us a
somewhat unceremonious farewell, we will
consult your convenience by searching you
first.”
Then Traske knew what was coming, and
his knees shook and his cheeks were ashen
pale. He was not even surprised when the
bracelet was drawn from his breast pocket.
He looked wildly around and saw the same
thing in every face.
“I never took it!” he cried. “My over-
coat was on the floor, and some one must
have put the bracelet there. Sophy, Man-
nister, Hambledon, you don't really believe
that I stole it!”
But there was no reply from any one of
the three. Only Mrs. De la Mere crossed the
room swiftly, and stooping down pressed the
electric bell.



“ YOU DON'T REALLY BELIEVE THAT I STOLE IT!”
(Page 60.





TRASKE AND THE BRACELET 61
ses
“ What is that for?” Traske cried.
“ What are you going to do ?”
Mrs. De la Mere faced him coldly.
“I can stand a great deal,” she said,
“from those who have been my friends, but
such a theft as this, in my own rooms, passes
even my forgiveness. John,” she added,
turning to the night porter who had an-
swered the bell, “ I want you to call up a
policeman, please.”
Traske raved, and struggled to escape,
but Mannister's hand was like a vise upon
his shoulder. The musicians and the few
remaining guests hurried away by the other
door. When the policeman arrived, only
Bella Delmain, Mrs. De la Mere, Mannister,
and Traske himself, were left. Traske fell
on his knees.
“ You are not going to charge me with
this,” he cried. “You know very well that
it will ruin me.”
Mannister smiled. Already they could


62 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
hear the heavy footsteps ascending the
stairs.
“ It may ruin you," he said, " but it will
at least save that unfortunate young woman
whom you were talking of marrying, from
making a fatal mistake.”
Traske understood then, and his face was
white with despair.
“ You are going through with this ? ” he
gasped. “You are going to have me con-
victed ?”
Mannister shook his head.
“Not necessarily,” he said. “ The evi-
dence will probably be insufficient. But
before the magistrates you certainly will go,
and every one who pays a penny for a news-
paper to-morrow will know how you spent
the evening.”
Curiously enough, Mannister's words
were prophetic. Traske was somewhat re-
luctantly discharged in the morning by a


TRASKE AND THE BRACELET 63
magistrate who obviously believed in his
guilt. The young lady in the garden was
hurried off to Switzerland by her aunt, and
Mannister, taking a sheet of paper from his
pocket, deliberately ruled a firm thick line
through the first name.


CHAPTER III
THE ATRUSCAN SILVER MINE
LAMBLEDON and Polsover were waik-
11 ing arm in arm down the Strand.
Their propinquity was not so much a matter
of affection as of a mutual desire that their
conversation should be unheard by pass-
ers-by.
“I tell you, Hambledon," Polsover was
saying, “I don't like the idea of having
Mannister in this at all. In fact I don't like
being in anything with Mannister.”
“Why not?” Hambledon asked.
Polsover looked round as though even
then he were afraid of being overheard.
"I don't trust him, Freddy,” he said,
under his breath.


THE ATRUSCAN SILVER MINE 65
“That's all very well,” Hambledon ob-
jected, “but he's putting up his own money,
and if he upsets the apple-cart, he stands to
lose as much as any of us.”
Polsover nodded.
“ That's reasonable enough,” he said,
“but, Freddy, I've always wanted to ask
you. What did you think about that Traske
affair?"
Hambledon took the cigar from his mouth
for a moment and looked at it reflectively.
“ Pol,” he said, “I'll tell you something.
Ben was on his last legs, hadn't money
enough to buy a wedding ring, much more
pay for a honeymoon. He was simply mad
to get hold of the girl. He'd been to me
twice that day, but I hadn't a tenner to spare.
As a matter of fact you know what low water
we've all been in. There was not a fifty
pound note amongst us.”
“ You think, then, ” Polsover asked," that
he took the bracelet ? "
.


66 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
"I do,” Hambledon answered, " and if it
hadn't been for Sophy De la Mere throttling
the evidence, he'd have gone to prison for it.
Didn't you think so ? ”
“I was not sure,” Polsover answered
thoughtfully. “Somehow or other I found
myself wondering whether Mannister had
anything to do with it.”
“ What, with stealing the bracelet do you
mean?” Hambledon asked.
"No, but with playing a little trick upon
Traske! Mannister seems to have forgiven
us in a way, but I tell you, Freddy, I can't
trust him. I wish to Heaven he'd never
come back, or that having come back, he'd
have gone for us like a bull in a china shop.
I don't understand the quiet way he took
things. We robbed him, Freddy."
Hambledon shrugged his shoulders.
“ True enough,” he answered,“ but Man-
nister's no fool. He'd have done the same
in our place, and he doesn't know that we


THE ATRUSCAN SILVER MINE 67
worked it with Sinclair to bolt with a certain
lady. I grant you he'd never forgive that,
and if I thought he knew it I'd go in fear and
trembling. But he don't. It's simply the
money, and I don't believe he's the sort to be
vindictive about that.”
“ You may be right,” Polsover said. “I
hope you are. I can't help wishing, though,
that Mannister had never come back. I
have an idea that we shall suffer for it.
We've lost Traske already, gone to Canada.
If any more misfortunes come, I tell you I
shall step outside while he's round.”
They turned into a side street, and push-
ing open a swing door a little way down, en-
tered the private bar of a small hotel.
Jacobs was sitting there, awaiting them.
“ Jolly late, you chaps !” he grumbled.
“I've been hanging about for half an hour."
They ordered something to drink, and
Jacobs leaned forward confidentially.
“I tell you,” he said, “ Mannister has


70 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
The luncheon party at the Savoy was cer-
tainly, so far as its immediate object went,
a great success. Cuthbertson, a dissolute
young boy within a few weeks of his ma-
jority, whose only guardians were a firm of
lawyers, was the host, and Mannister sat at
his right hand. On his left was Jacobs,
who had found him in Paris. Polsover and
Hambledon completed the little party. They
were all men, with the exception of Cuth-
bertson himself, of a certain amount of pres-
ence, assisted perhaps a little too liberally by
judicious tailoring. Mannister, however,
with his bronzed face and unostentatious
blue serge clothes, seemed somehow of a dif-
ferent order. The boy at the head of the
table listened to every word he said eagerly.
For the first part of luncheon no mention
was made of business, but with the arrival
of the champagne, Hambledon lifted his
glass.
“We must drink Mannister's health,” he


THE ATRUSCAN SILVER MINE 71
m
said, “and may he often come back from
expeditions as satisfactory as this one. I
only wish,” he continued, “ that it was as
easy to make hundreds every day as he has
made it possible for us to make thousands."
Mannister bowed ironically. The eyes of
the boy by his side were fixed upon him
eagerly.
" I say, Mr. Mannister,” he began, in an
undertone, “ about this mine."
“ What about it?" Mannister asked.
“When are you going to take your report
in to the office ?"
“ To-morrow afternoon,” Mannister an-
swered. “No one paid me for going out,
so I feel at liberty to do exactly as I please.
That is why I am giving a few of my friends
time to book up some of the shares before I
disclose the truth.”
“I suppose they'll go up a lot,” Cuthbert-
son remarked.
Jacobs leaned across the table.


72 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
“ To-day,” he said, “the five pound
shares can be bought for three pounds ten.
The day after to-morrow they will stand at
anything between fifteen and twenty
pounds.”
The boy's eyes glistened. They were not
pleasant eyes, for young though he was,
they were already dull and heavy looking.
The light that shone in them was more the
light of greed.
“ Couldn't I,” he demanded, “buy
some ?"
Jacobs shook his head. Hambledon be-
gan to talk to Polsover about something else,
as though the subject scarcely interested
him.
"I don't know,” Jacobs said thoughtfully.
“ Between us we've scooped up nearly half
of them. There are some more, of course, to
be had, but it would mean cash down, and
you might find that a little difficult, per-
haps."


THE ATRUSCAN SILVER MINE 78
“Not a bit of it,” Cuthbertson answered
eagerly. “I know a money-lender who'd
let me have twenty or thirty thousand to-
morrow. You see I'm of age in three weeks,
and he knows the money's waiting for me.”
“ It seems scarcely worth while,” Man-
nister said with a yawn, “ for you to come
into the money-making market. You'll have
plenty in a few weeks.”
“One can't have too much,” Cuthbertson
answered, with a smile. “Of course, I'm
coming in for a nice little pile, but now-a-
days it's pretty easy to get rid of it. I want
to have a yacht if I can afford it, and I'll take
all you fellows down the Mediterranean.
About these shares, Jacobs. How many do
you think you could get for me?”
“I have no idea whether I could get
any," Jacobs answered. “How much
money could you raise ? ”
“ About thirty thousand,” Cuthbertson
answered.


74 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
“About's no good,” Jacobs answered.
“You'd better see your friend this after-
noon, get to know exactly what you can
raise, and how many of the shares you would
like, and come down to my office and let me
know. Meantime I'll go round the city and
see what can be done. But — you'll for-
give me, Cuthbertson, I know,” he added,
leaning across the table, “it's a lot of money
for you to make without any risk, and my
time is worth something. I'd like to do this
for you as a pal, but as you will be making
something like a hundred thousand pounds
out of it, I shall have to charge you my
usual broker's commission. You won't
mind that?”
The boy laughed carelessly.
“ Not likely," he answered. “I don't
want you to do it for nothing. I'll go and
see old Lewis directly after luncheon. A
hundred thousand pounds! Jove! I'll have
the yacht after all! Waiter, pass the wine
In


THE ATRUSCAN SILVER MINE 75
round, and get another magnum. Mannis-
ter, you are taking nothing."
Mannister smiled.
“ Thank you,” he said, “I never drink
champagne in the middle of the day. I'm
only taking one glass out of compliment to
you and a somewhat important occasion.”
Luncheon after that was not unduly pro-
tracted. Before half past three Cuthbertson
had hurried off to see his friend. The four
men walked together into the bar smoking-
room. They stood by the window looking
down on the Embankment, out of earshot
of any one else in the place.
“He'll get the money for certain,” Jacobs
said. “ All that we need is to raise five
thousand pounds for a few hours to buy these
rotten shares. How are we going to do it ?
I have not five pounds in the bank.”
Hambledon and Polsover shook their
heads. Mannister shrugged his shoulders.
“ It is impossible,” he said quietly, " for


76 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
me to raise a sixpence beyond what I have
promised.”
It was Mannister upon whom they had
been relying. Their faces fell.
“ It seems to me,” Mannister remarked,
“ that Polsover is the man to arrange this.
You have plenty of money in the hands of
your firm, I suppose,” he continued, “ for
the purposes of investment. Why can't you
draw a cheque on your client's account?
You can cover it to-morrow, and the invest-
ment is surely good enough.”
Polsover shook his head.
“I daren't,” he said. “If my partners
found out they'd chuck me to-morrow. Be-
sides, it's fraud.”
Mannister laughed long and softly. He
was leaning with his back against the wall
and his arms folded, and there was some-
thing sinister about his mirth.
“Really,” he said, “you fellows some-
times are funny. However, if the money


78 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
does it matter whose money you use to buy
them with !”
“That's common sense,” Hambledon de-
clared.
“It sounds like it,” Polsover admitted.
At about eight o'clock that evening, Cuth-
bertson had just completed a very careful
toilette. In other words, he had succeeded
in transforming himself into as close an
imitation as possible of the young men whom
he had seen about at the restaurants and
theatres. His servant announced a visitor,
and Mannister was shown into his rooms.
“I shan't detain you five minutes,” the
newcomer remarked, closing the door after
him, “but I want you to spare me that if
you will. It's rather an important matter.”
“No difficulty about the shares, I hope ?”
Cuthbertson asked anxiously. “I have just
seen Polsover. He told me he had secured
twelve thousand, and I have arranged to give


THE ATRUSCAN SILVER MINE 79
him the money for them to-morrow morn-
ing.”
“ It is about that,” Mannister said, seat-
ing himself, “ that I came to see you. You
don't mind my smoking, do you ?” he
he added, producing a cigarette case.
“ Thanks! Nice rooms you've got here.”
“ Aren't bad, are they,” Cuthbertson said,
“ though I mean to do a good deal better
when I come into my tin. I say, why won't
you come and dine with me ? ” he added, a
little eagerly. “We will go to Luigi's or
wherever you like. I am all alone this
evening.”
Mannister shook his head.
“Sorry,” he said, “ I can't, and perhaps
you would not care to ask me when I have
finished what I am going to say to you."
The boy looked at him anxiously.
“ What do you mean ?” he asked.
“ Only this,” Mannister answered.
“ You've been got hold of by a gang of


80 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
sharks. Polsover is one, Jacobs is one,
Hambledon is one, and I am another. The
Atruscan shares which Polsover is proposing
to sell you to-morrow at three pounds fifteen,
he gave about ten shillings for, and if you
try to sell them any time within the next few
months, you probably won't be able to
realize more than half-a-crown. See ? "
Cuthbertson dropped into the chair.
“ Why," he exclaimed, “ I've signed a
promise to take them over to-morrow at
three pounds fifteen, thirty thousand pounds
worth.”
“ That is why I came to see you to-night,"
Mannister remarked. “You see, I am
going back upon my pals. Never mind
why. I have my own reasons. It may be out
of consideration for you, or it may be for my
private ends, but I give you my word of
honour that the facts are as I tell them to
you. Do you believe me?”
Cuthbertson looked at him and groaned.


THE ATRUSCAN SILVER MINE 81
“I do,” he said, “but I've signed the
paper.”
“You are a minor," Mannister said
coolly, “and they can't make you take the
shares over. Take my advice. Catch the
nine o'clock Continental train to Paris and
stay there for a week or so. The thing will
have blown over then. Leave a note for
Polsover, and tell him you have changed
your mind. That is all that is necessary.”
“I'll do it,” Cuthbertson declared, ring-
ing the bell. “My fellow shall pack me
some clothes at once. I say it's awfully
good of you, Mr. Mannister, to help me out
like this.”
“You forget,” Mannister reminded him
coldly, “ that I was one of the gang, only
you see it didn't suit me to carry the thing
right through. I am not going to tell you
even now that Atruscan shares are worthless.
They may be a great deal higher next week,
or even the week after, but I do tell you that


82 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
Polsover believes them to be absolutely
worthless, and the five pound shares which
he is selling you at three pounds fifteen, he
bought, as I told you, at an average price
of ten shillings, and if he had had a little
more time, he could probably have bought
them at five. Of course, if you care to
speculate — ”
“I don't !” the boy interrupted sharply.
“ I am going to write a note to Polsover at
once, and catch that train.”
Mannister nodded and strolled towards
the door.
“I think,” he said, “ that you will do well
to take this as a warning. The world isn't
full of casual acquaintances who are anxious
to stuff money into the pockets of strangers.
Good night!”
Mannister was sitting at breakfast the
next morning in his rooms at Germain Street.
He had finished his coffee and was preparing



"READ THAT!” HE EXCLAIMED. “FOR GOD'S SAKE READ THAT!”
(Page 83.





84 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
he said. “Even the appearance of hurry
at this hour of the morning disturbs my
digestion.”
“D-n your digestion !” Polsover cried,
holding down the letter with trembling fore-
finger. “ Read it! See what a mess we
are in!”
Mannister adjusted his eyeglass and read
the letter carefully. It consisted only of a
few hasty lines, written in Cuthbertson's
almost illegible scrawl.
“Dear Sir,” it began, “ I met a friend this
evening who gave me a very bad account of
the Atruscan mine, and it seems to me that
you may have been mistaken in your esti-
mate of the value of those shares. In any
case, I have decided not to have anything to
do with them, which kindly note. I am
going away for a few days to-night, and
hope you will not be put to any inconve-
nience in the matter. Yours faithfully,
Harold Cuthbertson.”


THE ATRUSCAN SILVER MINE 85
Mannister folded the letter up and handed
it back to Polsover.
“That's awkward,” he remarked non-
chalantly.
“Awkward !” Polsover gasped. “ Do
you know that I have used six thousand
pounds of the office money to buy those
shares! That young blackguard swore
that I should have the money by ten o'clock
this morning.”
“ You ought not to have lost sight of
him," Mannister said calmly. “ No doubt
he's met some one who has given him an
idea of the truth. The only thing you can
do is to put them back upon the market
this morning, and stand the loss.”
Polsover was shaking from head to foot.
“Put them on the market!” he faltered.
“ Why, it would take days to sell them to
realize any price at all, and even then the
margin of loss would be far and away
greater than any I could afford. I gave


86 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
shillings a share more for some of the lots,
because I wanted them quick, and I know
very well there isn't a lot I bought I could
get rid of again at anything like the price.
If I can't replace the money I borrowed by
eleven o'clock this morning, I'm done. Can
you do anything, Mannister ?”
Mannister shook his head.
“Not I,” he answered. “You ought to
have some money between you. You've
had some lucky hauls within the last few
years.”
There was a moment's silence. A swift
suspicion flashed into Polsover's mind. He
bent forward, looking into Mannister's face.
Was this a trap into which he had fallen ?
But Mannister's expression told him noth-
ing. Calm and as imperturbable as ever,
his whole attention seemed to be absorbed in
the selection of a fresh cigarette.
“We had some good hauls,” Polsover
groaned,“ but we had some thundering bad


THE ATRUSCAN SILVER MINE 87
d
luck too. You can't help me, Mannis-
ter?”
“I can't,” Mannister answered. “The
only thing I can do is this. If you see that
you absolutely can't pull through, I'll give
you a thousand pounds for the shares, and
take my chance of getting rid of them some
way or other. It will be enough to give you
a fresh start abroad. You know very well
that if you throw these shares on the market
this morning, they won't fetch a shilling a
piece.”
“How long shall you be here ? ” Polsover
asked.
“I'll stay in until eleven,” Mannister
answered, “ and I'll send to the bank for the
money."
“If I can't pull through without, I'll be
back,” Polsover answered, taking up his hat.
Mannister nodded, and returned to his
newspaper.
At twenty minutes to eleven Polsover was


88 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
back again. He was wearing a long travel-
ling coat and a pair of motor spectacles.
“I'll take your thousand, Mannister,”
he said. “You were right. I can't realize a
shilling on the shares, and I can't come any-
where near finding the money I borrowed.
It will be all out in less than an hour. I am
going to motor down to Southampton.
You've got the money ? Here are the
shares.”
He threw some scrip on the table, and
Mannister counted out Bank of England
notes and gold, a thousand pounds.
“ Give me a drink,” Polsover gasped.
“I haven't had a mouthful to-day, and I'm
nearly done."
Mannister mixed him a brandy and soda
and filled his pocket with biscuits. Polsover
held out his hand as he turned away, but
Mannister affected not to see it.
“ Better luck to you," he said drily, “and
good-bye!”


THE ATRUSCAN SILVER MINE 89
Polsover hurried away, and Mannister
watched him from the window jump into
the motor-car which was waiting below.
Then he turned back into the room and
drew a little folded paper from his breast
coat pocket. With steady fingers he drew
a firm straight line through the second name
upon the list.


CHAPTER IV
THE DEFEAT OF RUNDERMERE
M ANNISTER became aware, some few
1 weeks after the disappearance of
Polsover, of a certain restraint in the de-
meanour of both Hambledon and Jacobs
towards himself. They came less often to
Luigi's, and though they welcomed him when
they did meet there or elsewhere, he had a
very shrewd suspicion that so far as they
were able they were avoiding him. One day
he taxed them with it, and Hambledon,
with somewhat rare candour, admitted the
fact.
“It isn't that I'm particularly supersti-
tious, Mannister,” he declared, “but ever
since your return things have gone wrong


THE DEFEAT OF RUNDERMERE 91
with us. Poor Ben has been obliged to go
to Canada over that affair of the bracelet,
and they say that he's drinking like a fish
there, and Polsover we've lost altogether.
Both these things happened since you came
back to us, and within a few weeks of one
another."
“ You don't suspect — "Mannister began
calmly.
“Suspect! My dear fellow, how can you
even hint at such a thing!” Hambledon
declared, looking away. “ Of course it is
a pure coincidence, but you must admit
that you have not proved altogether a
mascot to us. In any case we are going
quiet just now. No one seems to have
any money, and there is nothing doing in
the city. I dare say something will turn
up a little later on that we can have a little
plunge at. See you soon again, I hope," and
Hambledon hurried off.
Mannister turned away with a smile, and


92 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
going to his rooms, ordered his servant to
pack his clothes.
“We are going down into the country,
Morton," he said. “We may be away for
two or three months. Very likely I shall
hunt, so you had better go through my
things and see what I want.”
“ Very good, sir,” the man answered.
“ About when shall we be leaving?"
“ The day after to-morrow," Mannister
answered. “ If I need fresh riding things,
I can come up later and have them tried
on. I am going round now to look at some
horses."
“ Who was the new man out on the big
bay, Jack ? ” one of his intimates asked the
master of the North Westshire hounds, as
they rode home one evening.
“No idea,” the Honourable Jack Dunster
answered, “ but he looks like a thundering
good sort. I never saw a man sit a horse


THE DEFEAT OF RUNDERMERE 93
better, and he took his fences like a profes-
sional steeplechase rider. Sent us a thump-
ing good cheque, too, and a very civil note.
I shall look him up to-morrow or the next
day.”
“What was his name?” the other man
asked.
“ Mannister, I think. Something like
that, anyhow," the Honourable Jack re-
plied.
“Good name,” his friend remarked. “I
like the look of the fellow too. If you get on
with him I shall look him up myself. He
looks as though he could shoot, and we're
awfully short of guns this year.”
They turned round at the sound of a
horse's hoofs on the bridle path behind.
“ Talk of the devil!” the Honourable
Jack remarked. “ Well wait for him if you
don't mind.”
Mannister rode up to them and raised his
hat in answer to the master's greeting.


THE DEFEAT OF RUNDERMERE 95
OM
cross-ro
swered, “ Sir George Mannister. His place
is in Yorkshire, near Skipton.”
“I have dined there once or twice,” Lash-
more answered. “ Jolly good sportsman he
is. Hope to have the pleasure of looking you
up in a day or two, Mr. Mannister.”
“I shall be very pleased,” Mannister
answered civilly. “I expect to be here for
at least six weeks.”
They reached some cross-roads where
their ways parted.
“ You won't come along and have a
drink ? " the Honourable Jack asked. “It's
barely half a mile out of your way.”
“Not to-night, thanks,” Mannister an-
swered. “ I'm afraid my mare's had about
enough.”
They parted with civil good nights, but
Mannister did not at once pursue his way to
the village. Instead he turned back and
rode slowly along the way by which he had
come. When at last he was sure that the
as


96 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
man and the girl whom he had passed some
time before were coming along, he paused,
and dismounting, took out a cigarette case
and began striking matches. As they
passed him he looked up, and a little smile
parted his lips. He had not been mistaken
then. He mounted his horse and rode
slowly after them.
“Excuse me,” he said, as he caught them
up,“ surely this is Mr. Philip Runder-
mere?”
The man addressed turned quickly round.
He was tall and dark, of almost olive com-
plexion in fact, with deep-set black eyes, and
somewhat worn face. It was obvious that
he recognized Mannister, and it was also
obvious that the recognition was a shock to
him.
“Good God!” he muttered, under his
breath. “Why, is that you, Mannister ?”
he added, with a determined attempt to
regain his self-possession.


THE DEFEAT OF RUNDERMERE 97
“ Have I changed so much ? ” Mannister
answered, smiling. “I hope you will excuse
me for making myself known so unceremoni-
ously,” he added, raising his hat and bowing
to the girl who rode by Rundermere's side,
“ but it is several years since I saw my friend
here.”
Rundermere was forced to introduce Miss
Dunster, but it was obvious that he did
so under compulsion. Mannister, however,
whose manners when he chose were as near
perfection as possible, affected not to notice
his friend's coldness.
“I have just had the pleasure of meeting
your father, Miss Dunster,” he said. “In
fact, I only left him a few minutes ago. Are
you staying in these parts, Rundermere ? ”
“I am staying at the White Hart for a
week or so,” Rundermere answered.
“ In that case,” Mannister answered,“ we
shall meet again, for I am at the George,
exactly opposite. If you will allow me, Miss


98 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
Dunster, I will wish you good-evening. My
mare is still fresh enough to manage a canter
home, I think.”
He raised his hat and passed on ahead.
The girl looked after him admiringly.
“ What a very handsome man your friend
is, Mr. Rundermere,” she said, “ and how
beautifully he rides! You did not seem
particularly pleased to see him.”
Rundermere stooped down and looked
into her face.
“Do you suppose,” he said softly, “ that
I should welcome any one under the circum-
stances ?”
Mannister had the knack of making his
bachelor quarters seem always attractive.
He dined alone and simply, but the silver
and the table linen he had brought with him
from London, and he was the best customer
the little florist in the village had had for
some time. The book-shelves of the


THE DEFEAT OF RUNDERMERE 99
quaintly furnished sitting-room, too, were
filled with his own books, and the masculine
trifles by which he was surrounded were all
the best of their sort. Rundermere, who
was announced just as he was finishing
dinner, looked around him and shrugged his
shoulders.
“You always had the knack of making
yourself comfortable, Mannister,” he re-
marked. “My quarters seem bare enough
after yours. May I sit down for a few mo-
ments ?”
“By all means,” Mannister answered
calmly. “ Will you drink port or whiskey
and soda ?”
“Neither, thanks, just now," Runder-
mere answered. “I want to know what the
devil you are doing down here?”
Mannister smiled gently.
“ Well,” he said, “ I like candour. Since
you ask me I will tell you. I am down here
to hunt. Our friends in London did not
Swe


100 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
seem particularly well disposed towards me,
and I was bored. I looked up a place where
I thought that I could be quiet, and where I
should not be likely to meet any one I knew.
After all, though, ours is a very small coun-
try.”
Rundermere drew a little breath of relief.
“ You mean this ?” he asked.
Mannister raised his eyebrows.
“My dear fellow," he said, " what other
reason upon the earth would bring me to a
benighted region like this ?”
Rundermere hesitated for a moment and
then shrugged his shoulders. After all, that
had been a wild suspicion of his. There
was not one chance in twenty that Mannister
had even an idea how falsely he had been
dealt with by those men whom he had called
his friends. He helped himself to a glass of
port, and they talked for a few minutes of
the day's run.
“Sit down and make yourself comfort-


THE DEFEAT OF RUNDERMERE 101
able,” Mannister invited him. “I go to bed
early, but there is time for a pipe at any
rate.”
Rundermere excused himself.
“I am going up to the Hall for some
bridge,” he said. “I only looked in to see
you on the way. Do you play, by-the-
bye ?”
Mannister shook his head.
“ Bridge came to the front,” he remarked,
" whilst I was playing another sort of game.
I have never cared to learn it. Cards don't
interest me much, except an occasional
gamble. We hunt to-morrow, I suppose ?”
“ Quite close here,” Rundermere an-
swered.“ Very good country, too. I should
think we ought to have a good day.”
“ By-the-bye,” Mannister asked, “ is that
young lady you were riding with Mr. Dun-
ster's only daughter ?”
Rundermere looked him in the face
steadily.
.


102 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
em
“Yes!” he answered. “Why ? ”
“Nothing,” Mannister answered calmly,
“ only I have seen you with her once or
twice, yesterday and to-day. She's very
pretty, but very young, isn't she ?”
“She's nineteen,” Rundermere answered,
and there was a shade of challenge in his
tone.
“So old ?” Mannister remarked, turning
away. “She doesn't look it. Well, don't
let me keep you from your bridge, Runder-
mere. Good luck to you!”
“Good night!” Rundermere answered.
“I need to have good luck. They play
bridge high round here.”
Mannister turned his easy chair to the fire,
and sat for nearly half an hour with his
coffee untasted and his pipe unlit. Some-
how he could not get the child's face out of
his mind, and he was uncomfortably con-
scious of a feeling of strong repulsion when
he found himself associating her in any way


THE DEFEAT OF RUNDERMERE 103
with the man who had just left the room.
The frown on his face grew deeper as he sat
there.
“What the devil business is it of mine ? ”
he muttered at last, turning and striking a
match with unnecessary vigour. “Runder-
mere is a blackguard through and through,
but if the child believes in him it's her mis-
fortune, not mine. I wonder how far he
means to go."
Mannister became in his way a distinctly
popular member of the North Westshire
Hunt. He rode straight, and took a line of
his own. He was a fine horseman, and
though he showed little inclination to make
friends, he was still always civil, and the
women declared his manners were perfec-
tion. The only person whose society he in
any way seemed to seek was May Dunster,
the girl whom he had met riding home with
Rundermere on his first day out. Twice


104 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
he had given her a lead across country, and
on each occasion he had ridden home with
her afterwards. On the second occasion
Rundermere, whose horses were not of the
first class, and who was riding home alone,
met him on his way back from the Hall, and
rode moodily up to his side.
“ Look here, Mannister,” he said, “I do
not see what the devil you want to try and
spoil my game for!”.
Mannister turned in his saddle and re-
garded his companion with gently upraised
eyebrows.
“ Are you in earnest, Rundermere ?” he
asked.
“Of course I am,” Rundermere an-
swered. “She's a dear little girl, got lots of
money, and was getting quite fond of me
before you came.”
Mannister continued to regard his com-
panion with an air of mild wonder.
“ Have you taken leave of your senses,


THE DEFEAT OF RUNDERMERE 105
Rundermere ?” he asked. “Do you realize
that you are forty-four or forty-five years old,
that your record is about as black as a de-
cently born Englishman's can be, that you
have never gone straight at any time in your
life, even with women ? You realize these
things, and yet you talk of being in earnest
with a poor little child like this !”
Rundermere's dark face was black with
passion.
“D- n you, Mannister !” he said.
“You go too far. A man has to settle down
some time, and many worse than I have done
it. Your own record isn't altogether spot-
less, is it? I should like to know what has
become of Sinclair !”
Mannister looked steadily between his
horse's ears.
“Rundermere,” he said, " there are two
names which I do not permit any man to
mention in my presence. One is Sinclair's,
the other a lady's. I only wish to warn you


106 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
that if you should forget this little whim of
mine, your lips will not be in a condition for
use for a considerable time.”
Rundermere rode on in savage silence,
which remained unbroken until they reached
the outskirts of the village. Then he turned
once more to his companion.
“Look here, Mannister,” he said, “ why
can't you go your way and let me go mine.
I don't wish to interfere with you, and I
can't see that I'm doing you any harm.”
Mannister laughed enigmatically as he
turned away into the covered yard of his inn.
“I make no bargains with you, Runder-
mere,” he said. “I act as it pleases me.”
On his table Mannister found a note from
the Hall, asking him to dine that night. He
stood for several minutes holding it in his
hand, apparently undecided. Then, with a
little shrug of the shoulders, he dashed off a
hasty affirmative. This was the fourth invi-
tation he had received, only one of which


108 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
sandy moustache, and an exceedingly quiet
manner. He spoke to scarcely any one
during dinner-time, and took little, if any
wine.
“ One of the finest bridge players I ever
saw,” his host said in an undertone to Man-
nister, as they drew closer together after the
women had left.“ His finesses are positive
inspirations. Rundermere isn't bad himself,
but his friend knocks spots off him. They
had the devil's own luck last night too, drew
together almost every rubber.”
Mannister was interested, and would like
to have prolonged the conversation, but
Rundermere intervened with an inquiry
about some two-year-olds, which brought
their host on to one of his favourite subjects.
Mannister, hearing music in the hall, ex-
cused himself presently, and strolled out to
where May Dunster was playing a small
organ. She jumped up directly she saw him.
“Do come and look at our new fountain,


THE DEFEAT OF RUNDERMERE 109
Mr. Mannister,” she said. “We have set it
going to-day for the first time.”
He followed her into the conservatory and
duly admired the fountain.
“Of course,” she said, laying her hand
upon his arm, “ I did not bring you here to
look at it. You can guess that, can't you ? "
He nodded.
“I had an idea,” he remarked, “ that you
had something to say to me.”
She looked at him, standing up against the
background of palm trees, tall, distin-
guished, with hard bronzed face, a little
lined, but showing as yet no sign of middle
age. Was it indeed a cruel face, she won-
dered, remembering what some one had re-
marked a few days before. She sighed as
she looked away. At any rate there was
very little sentiment there. Even the not in-
frequent smile was a thing which had little
to do with mirth.
“I want to ask you something about Mr.


110 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
Rundermere,” she said. “ He is a friend of
yours, is he not ? ”
A very slight frown appeared on Mannis-
ter's face as he looked down into her eyes.
“I could not go so far as to admit that,"
he said. “I have very few friends. Run-
dermere was an acquaintance of mine some
years ago.”
“ You do not like him!” she exclaimed.
“I do not,” he answered. “ Do you ? ”.
“I wish I could tell you that !” she ex-
claimed, looking up at him, perplexed — a
little distressed. “Sometimes I think I like
him very much, sometimes I do not trust
him at all, sometimes I hate him, sometimes
I feel that it would be very easy to — "
“ To what?” he asked.
“ To do what he wants me to do," she
said softly,“ to care for him.”
“Am I right,” Mannister said, leaning a
little toward her, “in assuming that you
want my advice ?”


THE DEFEAT OF RUNDERMERE 111
“ Please,” she asked.
“ Look at me, child,” he said.
She looked, and it seemed to her that it
was a different man whose face was bent
towards hers. There was something softer
and kinder in the eyes, some lightening of
the cold firm lines of his mouth. He seemed
suddenly so much nearer to her.
“ Yes ? ” she whispered.
“Do I look like a truthful person ?” he
asked. “Stop a minute, let me tell you this.
I have committed most crimes which are
possible to a selfish man who loves his
liberty, but I have never lied to a woman.
Do you believe me?”
Her hands rested upon his very softly. It
needed only a movement on his part to turn
their touch into a caress.
“You know that I do,” she mur-
mured.
“ Then believe me when I tell you that
there is no man upon this earth less fit to be


112 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
your husband than Philip Rundermere.
He has committed a sin in daring to ask you
such a thing, a sin for which he will have to
answer. Promise me that you will not
think of him in that way any more.”
Her head dropped almost to her hands.
Her whisper was so faint it scarcely reached
his ear.
“I promise,” she murmured.
He drew his hands gently away.
“ Little girl,” he said softly, “ you are very
young, and you have seen very little indeed
of the world, but after you have lived a few
years longer you will know that it is not
middle-aged men whose lives lie behind
them, like Rundermere and myself, who
should dare to ask these things of you.
Keep that tender little heart of yours safe
until the right time comes. Very soon you
will understand what I mean.”
Almost without her knowing it he slipped
away.


THE DEFEAT OF RUNDERMERE 113
Mannister strolled into the library, where
the other four men were already seated at
the bridge table. His host looked up as he
entered.
“ Come and cut in, Mannister,” he said.
“ We have not started yet.”
Mannister shook his head.
“ Thanks,” he said, “ it's an ignoble con-
fession to make, but I do not play bridge.
I will smoke if I may, and look at the Field.”
The Honourable Jack, having done his
duty towards his guest, was much too inter-
ested in the game to think further about him
for the present. He and Lord Lashmore
were once more partners against Runder-
mere and Harrison, and the fortunes of the
game seemed still inclined toward the visit-
ors. Mannister read an article in the Field
carefully through, word by word, before he
raised his eyes. During that time Runder-
mere had three times turned round in his
chair to watch him, and noted the fact that


114 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
he was apparently absorbed in his paper.
When he had finished the article, however,
Mannister raised his head, and from be-
hind the cover of the journal which he held,
he devoted his entire attention upon the
game which the four men were playing.
After a while he changed his position, and
throwing down the Field, crossed the room
with a yawn, and stood before a picture at
the other side of the card table. His host
glanced towards him with a momentary im-
pulse of neglected hospitality.
“Sure you would not like to come in,
Mannister ?” he asked. “ I'm afraid it is
awfully slow for you.”
“I would not come in for worlds,” Man-
nister answered. “Don't bother about en-
tertaining me. I'm going round the room
looking at your prints now. Rather a hobby
of mine, prints.”
Another quarter of an hour passed. Then
Mannister went to a writing-table and


THE DEFEAT OF RUNDERMERE 115
wrote a few sentences upon a sheet of note-
paper. He thrust it into his waistcoat
pocket, and lighting another cigarette,
leaned his elbow upon the mantelpiece, and
seemed to be watching the game with lan-
guid interest. When it was Dunster's turn
to be dummy, he called him softly over.
“I wish,” he said, “ you'd explain the
meaning of this print to me.”
Dunster followed him over to the further
corner of the room. Mannister took the
paper from his waistcoat pocket and
smoothed it out.
“Mr. Dunster,” he said, “I am sorry to
say that you and Lord Lashmore are being
robbed by a pair of card sharpers. Don't!”
he added sharply, as Dunster was about to
betray his astonishment by an angry ex-
clamation.
“Are you in earnest, Mr. Mannister ? "
his host asked.
“ Absolute and sober earnest,” Mannister


116 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
replied, " and you can prove it for yourself
if you will. Am I not right in supposing that
Captain Harrison and Rundermere have
drawn together as partners nearly every
rubber that has been played ?”
“ That is so,” Mr. Dunster admitted
stiffy, “but we have always cut.”
“ Cutting,” Mannister said, " is a ridicu-
lously easy matter for an expert like Runder-
mere's friend. Of course, I have not had
time to make out the complete code, but
there are signals which pass between them
to determine the declarations, and also ask-
ing for a lead. You see there are two codes
for the declarations. In the first Harrison's
foot is pressed against his partner's, once
for spades, twice for clubs, three times for
diamonds, four times for hearts, and a quick
tap for no trumps. That in itself is abso-
lutely easy in the case of unsuspicious op-
ponents. But in case that fails, watch their
way of holding their cards. The five fingers


THE DEFEAT OF RUNDERMERE 117
are on the last five cards, or some are pushed
together to make the code. It is as simple as
ABC. Now watch. Your partner is playing
a losing trick. It will be Rundermere's lead
directly. Now watch Harrison's fingers.”
Rundermere took the trick and hesitated.
Harrison glanced through his cards, and one
of his fingers moved slightly. His first
finger was against the third card from the
end in his hand.
“Rundermere will lead a diamond,”
Mannister whispered, and almost as he
spoke Rundermere led a small card from
that suit.
Dunster had the look of a man who had
seen a ghost.
“ Nothing of this sort,” he said, “ has
ever taken place in my house. Mannister,
don't you think there is a chance that you
are mistaken?”
Mannister shook his head.
“Excuse yourself for a moment,” he said,


THE DEFEAT OF RUNDERMERE 119
“Gentlemen,” he said calmly, “ I regret
that this game cannot go on.”
Lashmore looked at him in blank amaze-
ment. Rundermere was suddenly as pale as
death, and his eyes had the wild stare of a
man who is stricken by a sudden terror.
“ What the devil do you mean, Dunster ?”
Lashmore asked.
“Mr. Rundermere and Captain Harri-
son,” Dunster said calmly, “know very well
what I mean. No money, I believe, has
changed hands to-night. The records of
this game will be destroyed. Mr. Runder-
mere, I am ringing for your dog-cart. You
will find it convenient, I trust, to finish your
season's hunting elsewhere."
Rundermere rose to his feet a little un-
steadily. For a moment he seemed about
to fight, but he looked past Dunster's deter-
mined face to where Mannister lolled in his
easy-chair with a mocking smile upon his
lips. He left the room, and Harrison fol-


CHAPTER V
THE END OF JOHN DYKES — BURGLAR
M ANNISTER brought his brief stay
VI amongst the North Westshire's to
a close within the next few days. Harrison
and Rundermere had disappeared as though
from the face of the earth, but Dunster,
although he was still civil and tried to show
his gratitude, was obviously not at his ease
with the man who had exposed the character
of his guests, and May's white face and pa-
thetic eyes seemed to haunt him wherever he
went. He became conscious very soon that
she was taking every opportunity to throw
herself in his way, and with a little shrug of
the shoulders one night he ordered his man
to pack his dressing-case, and was driven


122 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
away to catch the last train to London,
leaving his horses to be sold, and the remain-
der of his effects brought up to him later on.
He saw little of his old associates during his
first few days in town, but he met Jacobs one
afternoon, and talked to him idly for a few
minutes. The conversation, which was
somewhat one-sided, amused Mannister.
Jacobs was unable to stand still or look
him in the face. He was overcome with the
nervousness which is akin to fear.
“ By-the-bye,” the latter said, “I heard
yesterday that Sophy De la Mere was about
to be married.”
Mannister was quietly interested.
“ To whom ?” he asked.
“I have forgotten the name,” Jacobs said,
“ but it's some boy or other, about half her
age. They are down at Brighton together
ner Vousness
now.”
Mannister smiled, and that night he dined
at the Metropole at Brighton. After a glance


THE END OF JOHN DYKES
123
through the visitors' register he removed
his portmanteau to a more select and smaller
place, further down the sea-front. The first
person he saw after he had engaged his
room was the lady whose name had been
mentioned to him that morning. She was
crossing the hall alone, and he watched her
for a few moments critically. She was still
a handsome woman, with a figure which
seemed well enough, however much it may
have owed to the corsetière. Her features
had always been good, and her long eyes,
almond shaped, and of a peculiar shade
of brown, were as attractive as ever. Yes,
she was a dangerous woman still, especially
to a boy. She did not pretend to show any
pleasure at seeing him there. She stopped
short for a moment with a little start of sur-
prise. Then she came slowly on towards
him.
“My dear Mrs. De la Mere,” he said,
bowing over her hand, “ I fear that for once


124 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
in my life, at any rate, you are not glad to see
me. Tell me what I have done that you
should look at me as though I were an un-
welcome ghost.”
She laughed naturally enough. She had
the pluck of a regiment of men, and it was
often that her nerve failed her.
“ There are times, you know,” she said,
“when one does not want to see even one's
best friends, and I am not sure,” she added,
more slowly, “ whether I should ever dare to
reckon you amongst my best friends.”
“Dear lady,” he said, looking at her with
a peculiar light in his eyes, “exactly how
much of friendship have you deserved of
me ?”
“Men do not pay women according to
their deserts," she answered. “It is your
province to forgive, to make the least of
injuries, to remember that we scarcely meet
as equal foes.”
He smiled.


THE END OF JOHN DYKES 125
“ Your tongue,” he remarked, “is as
subtle as ever. If you were an advocate, you
would steal justice from the jury as you steal
the hearts of men to-day. Tell me, by-the-
bye, why you are not pleased to see me at
Brighton.”
“A few months ago," she murmured,“ it
became necessary, in our joint interests, that
you should confide in me a very little. It
was that little affair of Traske and the
bracelet, you remember. I gathered then
that there were several others beside Traske
upon your black list.”
“You yourself, my dear lady, I am sorry
to say,” he said, smiling.
“Ah, well!” she declared, “I like this
better. It is open war, then. Let it be so.
I prefer it. Remember, then, that I do not
know you, that if you speak to me again I
shall treat you as any other impertinent
person who is guilty of presumption.”
She left him with her head in the air, and a


126 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
little Autter of laces and perfume, her own
peculiar perfume, familiar to him for many
years. He shrugged his shoulders and
turned into the smoking-room, not alto-
gether too pleased. Open war made the
game more difficult.
The smoke-room he discovered was in its
way somewhat unique. It was Oriental in
design and architecture, and a number of
small partitions ran round the room, in
which were lounges and small three-legged
tables. Mannister entered one, and calling
a waiter, ordered a whiskey and soda and
the evening paper. He had scarcely begun
to read, however, when he was interrupted
by a distinct snore from the next partition.
He leaned round the corner and looked to
see from whom the sound came. Then he
picked up his paper and whiskey and soda,
and quietly changed his place into the next
recess. On the lounge immediately in
front of him, a man was stretched. He was


THE END OF JOHN DYKES
127
half asleep and half drunk. His collar had
given way, his tie and waistcoat were
stained with wine. In front of him was an
empty champagne bottle and a partially
smoked cigar. Mannister studied him for
several moments and then called for a
waiter.
“Do you allow people in this condition
to lie about the smoke-room of the hotel ?"
he asked.
The waiter was apologetic.
“ The gentleman is very well known here,
sir,” he said, “ or we should have had him
turned out. I thought as there was no one
else in the room we might let him stay and
sleep it off. I have not often seen him as
bad as this, sir, but he is never quarrelsome.
He will be all right when he wakes up!”
“ You say that he is well known down
here,” Mannister remarked. “Do you
mean that he lives in Brighton ? "
“ He lives at this hotel most of his time,”


128 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
the waiter answered, “ although he goes up
to London most days."
“I think,” Mannister said, regarding the
sleeping man, “ that I know him by sight.
Is his name John Dykes ?”
“ That is it, sir,” the waiter assented,
“Mr. John Dykes. I have heard that he
is a partner in a book-making firm."
Mannister nodded.
“ All right,” he said, “ don't disturb him.
If he wakes up while I am here, I will see
that he does not make himself objection-
able.”
The waiter hurried away to serve some
newcomers, and Mannister divided his atten-
tion between the paper which he held and
the features of the man who lay on the couch
before him. Certainly there was nothing in
the appearance of Mr. John Dykes to appeal
to the lover of the beautiful. He was short
and thick-set. His round face was innocent
of beard or moustache, but his complexion


THE END OF JOHN DYKES
129
was of a grey, unhealthy colour, and his teeth
were far from perfect. His clothes were
expensive, but they hung about him badly.
In sleep, at any rate, his appearance was
almost repulsive.
“Mr. John Dykes,” Mannister said
slowly to himself, “ I wonder what you are
doing in Brighton. You have not improved,
Johnnie,” he added, looking him over with
quiet disgust. “You were never much to
look at, but you've gone backwards if any-
thing a little. I think I'd like to have a
chat with you.”
He leaned over and struck the sleeping
man upon the shoulder. Dykes sat up sud-
denly and stared at Mannister, his mouth
open in bewildered surprise.
"Eh! Eh what ? ” he exclaimed.“ By
Heavens it's Mannister! Where have I got
to ?”
He looked round the place, and appar-
ently remembered.


130 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
“I must have been asleep,” he muttered,
looking at the empty bottle. “What a
throat I've got! Do you mind touching the
bell ? ”
Then he apparently seemed to suddenly
remember who his neighbour was, and he
looked at him with astonishment mingled
with fear.
“ Mannister !” he muttered. “Why,
man, I thought — we thought – ”
“ You thought I was never likely to return
to England again," Mannister continued
calmly. “ It was just a little miscal-
culation, that's all. I am here, as you
see. I have seen something of most of the
others, but I was wondering what had be-
come of you. I think it was Polsover who
told me that you'd been doing pretty well,
or was it Hambledon ? No, it must have
been Hambledon."
The man was sitting up now. He called
for a waiter and ordered a brandy and soda.


THE END OF JOHN DYKES 131
in
“So you're back again,” he said, " and
in with the old crowd, eh ?"
“ Precisely," Mannister assented. “I am
in with the old crowd. My welcome back, I
must confess, was not exactly boisterous,
still I think that I am making my presence
felt.”
Dykes nodded heavily.
“I suppose,” he said, “ that you've come
down instead of that young blackguard
Jacobs.”
Mannister did not hesitate for a moment.
“Exactly,” he replied. “They thought
it was better that I should come. Jacobs
is rather well known in Brighton.”
“If you'd come punctually,” John Dykes
grumbled, “ you'd have saved my making
a bit of a fool of myself. I began to think
that I must have made a mistake, and that
it was to-morrow, not to-day.”
“I am sorry,” Mannister said. “ The
appointment was for to-day, but I went in


THE END OF JOHN DYKES
133
ing in absolute ignorance of whatever this
particular piece of business might be, he
could play Jacobs' part until he had learnt
whether it was of sufficient importance to
make his interference worth while ? At any
rate he was running no risk, and as regards
his first mission to Brighton, he had already
arrived at a cul-de-sac. It was scarcely
likely that he would be able to bluff Dykes
into telling him anything, if the matter was
one of importance. On the other hand,
the man was still in a stupid state, and the
experiment would at any rate cost nothing.
Dykes returned, heavy-eyed and leaden
cheeked, but looking a little tidier, and in-
clined to be as amiable as he knew how.
He drank the second brandy and soda which
Mannister considerately ordered for him, at
a gulp.
" I say,” he remarked, “ there is no need
to mention this.” He pointed to the empty
bottle. “Eh ?”


134 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
Mannister assented with a little nod of
the head.
“ All right,” he said, “I don't want to
make mischief. By-the-bye, Hambledon
thought you'd better just go over this mat-
ter again to me. There was not time for
him to explain much, and as you know I've
only just come back.”
Dykes looked for a moment a trifle sur-
prised.
“I supposed you knew all about it,” he
said, looking at Mannister thoughtfully.
“Of course I do," Mannister answered,
“ but I didn't find Hambledon very clear
upon some of the points. I should like to
hear it from you in your own words. You
have a knack of putting these things
clearly.”
Dykes called the waiter.
“I can't talk unless I drink,” he said.
“ I've got a throat like a brick kiln. Thank
Heavens you aren't Hambledon! He'd shut


THE END OF JOHN DYKES
135
me off liquor for a week, and at the end of
that time I should not have the nerve of a
kitten.”
“ Moderation,” Mannister said, " is best
for you, I am sure. We will say one more
brandy and soda.”
" It's in this way,” Dykes said, leaning
across the table after a careful glance
around. “You know very well that al-
though all of us run a bit close to the edge
now and then, we're not a gang of thieves,
and we do not care about getting on the
wrong side of the law. This little affair
comes perilously near it, which is why Ham-
bledon and the others have kept me waiting
here before they decided whether to go on or
not. I take it from your wanting to hear
the whole thing from me, that they've left it
with you to decide. Well, here goes. It
was Rundermere,” John Dykes continued,
leaning over the table, and speaking in a
hoarse, indistinct whisper, “ who first tum-


136 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
bled to the thing. He was hunting up in
Westshire, and got to know the girl and her
father. Her father was the master of a
small pack of hounds there, and Phil got on
visiting terms with them. What his game
was I don't know, and it don't particularly
concern us, but the girl and he were evi-
dently pretty thick. What's wrong, eh ? ”
he broke off a little abruptly. “You look as
though you were seeing things.”
“Nothing is wrong," Mannister said
calmly, “I can assure you I was listening
intently. Of course you are speaking now of
the Honourable Jack Dunster and his
daughter."
John Dykes nodded.
“ I see,” he remarked, “ that you have a
good memory for names. Phil and the
young woman must have got pretty thick,
for she told him all about her going to Court
this first drawing-room, and her coming to
Brighton first to stay with her aunt. Every


THE END OF JOHN DYKES 137
one in the neighbourhood knew about her
jewels, but again it was she who told him
that she was going to bring them up with
her to have them reset, so that she could
wear some of them when she went to Court.
I saw Rundermere in town a day or so ago,
looking pretty sick he was too, and he told
me, half in joke, that if I could find a man to
do a little polite burgling, there were fifty
thousand pounds worth of diamonds coming
down to Brighton which would be worth
looking after. Well, I couldn't help remem-
bering the name, although I thought no more
about it, so you can guess how I felt when
the Johnnie who looks after my clothes here
told me that every other room in this corridor
on my side, had been taken by a Lady Mary
Dunster and her niece and servants.”
“ They are here now ? ” Mannister asked
calmly.
“ They are in the hotel at this identical
moment,” Dykes answered.“ There is the


140 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
“Where are you staying?” Dykes asked.
“At the Metropole,” Mannister declared.
“ That's all right,” Dykes went on.“ All
we've got to do is to fix upon a time. Then
you pay the bill at your hotel, you bring your
luggage, you stop your cab outside this
place, you come up to my room to say good-
bye to me. You tell them in the hall you will
be down in a second, and you come down
in five minutes or so with the diamonds in
your pocket. You light a cigarette in the
hall, give a small tip to the commissionaire
who opens your cab door, and off you go to
London. Hambledon is going to make some
inquiries in the city, and if he thinks it best
for you to go straight to Antwerp, he will
meet you, but I should doubt whether it
would be necessary. You see the joke of
the whole thing is that I've been practi-
cally living in this hotel for five years, and
there is not a soul would suspect me or any
visitor of mine. I've always paid my way


THE END OF JOHN DYKES
141
and tipped the servants well, and they think
I am a bit of a millionaire.”
“ The whole thing,” Mannister remarked,
“ seems absurdly easy, but why choose the
night at all? Why not slip in when the girl's
out during the afternoon ? "
“Well,” Dykes answered, sipping a fresh
brandy and soda, “the girl has just enough
sense to lock up her room when she goes out,
and being on the first floor, there are servants
passing the whole of the time. I could get a
key to her room easy enough, but there'd
always be a big chance of being seen going
in or coming out. You see there's a service
room almost opposite. She goes to bed ab-
surdly early every night, supposed to be del-
icate or something of the sort, and every-
thing's quiet in her room long before eleven.
I thought if I slipped in there about twenty
minutes to twelve, and you came into my
room at exactly that time, you would just
catch the twelve o'clock to London."


142 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
“Supposing you wake her?” Mannister
asked. “She might not even be asleep."
“I shall be prepared for that,” Dykes
answered, a little grimly, “ not that I mean
to do the child any mischief, of course, but
she'll be easy enough to keep quiet for a few
minutes. The servants go down from my
floor at eleven o'clock, and the night porter
does not come on duty till midnight, so nat-
urally the quietest time is between eleven
and twelve. Now that's my idea. Do you
think it good enough ? ”
“ What do you say is the value of the dia-
monds ? ” Mannister asked, thoughtfully.
“ The girl told Rundermere,” he answered,
“ that they were worth at least fifty thousand
pounds.”
“ We both of us,” Mannister remarked,
“ run a fair amount of risk. How many of
us are there to stand in ?”
“Five,” Dykes answered. “Besides our-
selves there are Rundermere, Jacobs and


THE END OF JOHN DYKES
143
Hambledon. The idea was to divide two-
thirds between us two, and a third between
the other three.”
Mannister nodded.
“ Very well,” he said, “ I should like to go
up into your room, and I should like you to
show me the door of the young lady's room.
If everything is really as you say, I think it
seems good enough, but there is one thing
which I have to tell you."
“What's that ? ” Dykes asked.
“Rundermere sent word round this morn-
ing that some one from Streeter's was going
down to-morrow for the jewels, so if you
really mean business it would have to be to-
night. I am afraid you are not exactly in
condition for this sort of work.”
Dykes straightened himself and frowned.
“I can pull myself together,” he said
quickly. “I'd rather have had a day or so
to get straight in, but it can't be helped. I
was afraid somehow that some meddling
wa
O


THE END OF JOHN DYKES
145
matrimonial schemes. A little later on I
may have something to say to you.”
She raised her eyebrows, but her assumed
indifference was ill-done for so clever an
actress.
“I am immensely relieved,” she assured
him. “We are once more friends, then.”
Mannister bowed, and went on to the
manager's office. The manager, who had
seen Mannister's luggage, and noted the
excellent hang of his dinner-coat, was ex-
ceedingly civil.
“I am afraid,” Mannister said, “ that I
am going to waste your time, but if you have
two minutes to spare — "
The manager sprang up, and wheeled an
armchair to the fire.
“ Anything we can do for you, Mr. Man-
nister,” he said politely. “ Can I quote you
reduced terms for a lengthened stay, or do
you wish your room changed ? ”
“ Neither, thank you,” Mannister an-


146 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
swered. “ The fact is I am afraid you will
think that I have come on a fool's errand, but
in the smoke-room this afternoon I was ac-
costed by a man who was evidently in a half
drunken state, and he insisted upon taking
me for some one whom he knew, and telling
me the details of a robbery which he de-
clared that he was about to attempt in your
hotel this evening.”
The manager was serious enough now, but
a little dubious.
“ Has the man gone, sir ?” he asked.
“On the contrary,” Mannister answered,
“I believe that he is staying here. That is
why I preferred to see you privately, rather
than run the risk of our all making idiots of
ourselves. His name is Mr. John Dykes,
and I believe he is a book-maker, or some-
thing of the sort.”
“Mr. John Dykes !” the manager re-
peated, incredulously. “Why, he has lived
in this hotel for years."


THE END OF JOHN DYKES 147
“ He is none the less, I should think,”
Mannister remarked, “ something of an ad-
venturer. From what I could understand,
there is a young lady in the room next to him,
who has about fifty thousand pounds worth
of diamonds lying about loose. It sounds
like a drunken man's story, but you know
for yourself whether that part of it is true or
not.”
“There is a young lady in the room next
to him," the manager admitted slowly,
" and she certainly has some valuable jewel-
lery, which she will not permit me, by-the-
bye, to take care of.”
“ Then if so much of the man's story is
true,” Mannister said, “ let me suggest that
you set a watch on the corridor outside her
room to-night. He told me that he meant
to make the attempt between half-past
eleven or twelve, and to get away, or to send
the jewels away by a confederate, by the
twelve o'clock train to London. My own


148 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
room is on that corridor, and I shall be
awake and ready to join in if necessary.”
" I am very much obliged to you, sir,” the
manager said. “ This is a very serious mat-
ter, and I shall certainly have the corridor
protected. In fact I shall watch myself.
At the same time, Mr. Dykes has been a
very good customer here, although he is not
quite the class of visitor whom we desire to
encourage. Still, he has always paid his
way, and he is here in season and out of
season.”
“I know nothing about the fellow,” Man-
nister remarked, rising to take his leave,
“except that he was three-quarters drunk
this afternoon, and evidently took me for
one of his friends. Of course, what I have
told you I have told you in confidence. I do
not care about being drawn into the matter
beyond the fact that I shall certainly appear
if my aid is necessary."
The manager bowed out his visitor. Man-


150 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
dinner, regardless of the fact that he was
staying in the hotel, and leaving the room in
a leisurely manner to allow Dykes time to
watch him, put on his hat and coat and
started round for the Metropole. He stayed
there only long enough to buy a handful of
cigarettes, and leaving the hotel by the back
way, returned to the Bedford, and reached his
own room without seeing anything of Dykes.
He turned out the electric light, and leaving
his door ajar, sat on the bed and prepared to
listen. In less than five minutes he heard ex-
actly what he had expected. Dykes' door
was softly opened, and Dykes himself came
out into the corridor. For a moment or two
he stood there, looking rapidly up and
down. Then he fitted a key into the door
exactly opposite Mannister's, opened it,
and disappeared. Mannister opened his
door a little wider, and stood there waiting
to accost him when he might come out.
The events of the next few seconds hap-


*THE END OF JOHN DYKES
151
pened so quickly that Mannister, although
he always blamed himself for allowing the
girl to run such a risk, knew upon reflection
that he could not possibly have prevented it.
The door of Miss Dunster's aunt's room
was suddenly opened. May Dunster her-
self came softly out, pushed open her own
door, which was ajar, and closing it after
her, disappeared. The shriek which almost
immediately broke from her lips was half
stifled by the simultaneous slamming of the
door. Mannister heard enough to terrify him.
He sprang across the corridor, and found to
his joy the key still in the lock. He was in-
side in a second. The girl was in Dykes'
arms, and his right hand was drawn back as
though he meant to strike her and throw her
away from him at the same time. The
empty box was upon the bed, and his
pockets were bulging. He half turned his
head as Mannister entered, and relaxed his
hold of the girl. For the moment he seemed


152 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
uncertain as to whether Mannister had
come as friend or foe. Then something in
the newcomer's face told him, and with a
savage cry he rushed at him, butting up-
wards with his left arm, and holding his
right in reserve. Mannister, however, was
prepared, and Dykes went down like a log,
felled by one lightning-like blow. Mannis-
ter stood quite still, breathing hard. The
fallen man's fist had just touched his jaw –
there were not many tricks in the prize-
fighting ring which Dykes did not know.
For a moment the room seemed to spin
round. Then he regained his self-control
to find the girl standing before him, her
eyes like stars, and her hands uplifted.
“ You !” she exclaimed. “It is you al-
ways who come when I need help.”
She was almost in his arms. He was con-
scious of a sudden wild beating of the pulses,
a sense of excitement such as he had not
known for many years. He held her hands,



FOR A MOMENT THE ROOM SEEMED TO SPIN ROUND.
[Page 152.





THE END OF JOHN DYKES
153
but he kept, her from coming nearer. He
might do that, but he could not help the
things which flashed from her eyes into his
and found, perhaps, some answer.
“Don't you hear them all coming ?” he
said. “I heard you call out just in time.
My room was opposite.”
The room was full of people, an excited
waiter, a valet, some one from the office be-
low. Dykes, whom they had forgotten,
staggered suddenly to his feet, and for a
moment was master of the situation. He
stood with his back to the wall, and some-
thing small and shining flashed in his hand.
“ Which shall it be, Mannister, you or the
girl ? ” he cried out. “You hound ! ”
Mannister swung the girl behind him, and
a valet whose wages were a pound a week,
earned for himself a public house near Lon-
don, and a good deal of prospective pros-
perity. With a presence of mind rather
remarkable, he leaned over and snapped


154 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
down the electric light switch. The room
was plunged into sudden darkness. Man-
nister stole toward the door with his arms
round the girl. They could hear nothing
but Dykes' hoarse breathing. Then sud-
denly the sound for which they waited with
nerves strung almost to breaking point,
came. In the small room the sound of the
revolver shot, echoing backwards and for-
wards, sounded almost like a cannonade.
Mannister, who had found the door, swung
the girl out into the corridor. The other
three men were already there. They turned
on the lights and peered into the room.
Dykes lay there a crumpled up mass, the
revolver still locked in his hand.
“ The man has shot himself,” Mannister
said calmly. “ Quite the best thing he could
do. This is your aunt here, is it not, Miss
Dunster? You had better go to her.”
“ You must come too,” she begged. “I
want her to know.”


CHAPTER VI
A WOMAN INTERVENES
IT was a little after two o'clock in the
I morning when Mannister stepped out
of the café, where the air was stiling, into the
cool sweetness of the spring twilight. Be-
hind him was the gay music of the little red-
coated orchestra, the dulcet cries of the
mesdemoiselles whom he had passed on his
way down the stairs, the shouting of a coon
dancer, the clatter and tinkle of glasses and
crockery. It was the night world of Paris
who supped! And before him, the cool dark
streets, the sense of cleanliness that one feels
who escapes from such a miasma into the
open air. Mannister stood for a moment
bare-headed upon the pavement, and the
commissionnaire hastened to his side.


A WOMAN INTERVENES
157
“ Voiture pour monsieur ?” he com-
manded with a bow.
Mannister held up his hand.
“ Voiture ordinaire,” he corrected, and
very nearly paid with his life for the five
francs he saved.
The crazy old taximeter lumbered down
the hill. Mannister took off his hat, laid it
on the seat by his side, and leaning back
amongst the cushions, lit a cigarette. The
road from the Montmartre to the Continental
was one which he had taken many a time.
He was somewhat surprised when the cocher
left the main thoroughfare and took one of
the turns to the right. He leaned forward
in his seat a little curiously, and again for-
tune was with him. From behind the car-
riage a dark form had sprung up and made
a vicious blow with some shortly held
swinging weapon at the place where Man-
nister's head had been. The coachman,
who was in the grasp of another assailant,


A WOMAN INTERVENES
159
haunts, monsieur !” he exclaimed. “ They
will murder you there! Get in, get in! We
will drive fast.”
“ I should like to know," Mannister said,
“ what the devil you mean by making this
turn.”
“ It is the nearest way, monsieur, and the
stones are slippery along the Rue Pigalle,"
the cocher declared. “ Jump in, monsieur,
quickly. They will return, these assassins.”
Mannister reluctantly obeyed, the cocher
whipped up his horse into a gallop, and they
completed the journey to the Hotel Conti-
nental without further misadventure. But
Mannister had found something to think
about. This was the second time a night
attack had been made upon him during his
three days' stay in Paris! ...
He reported the affair next morning at
police head-quarters, and had the satisfac-
tion of receiving a great many polite assur-
ances from a very regretful and very much


160 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
uniformed personage. Afterwards, as the
morning was brilliantly fine, he walked
down the Boulevard and sat for a few
moments outside the Café de la Paix. He
had been there perhaps for five minutes
when he felt a touch on his arm. He looked
quickly up and saw Polsover standing by
his chair.
“ I thought,” Polsover said, “ that I would
give you the satisfaction of seeing me.
Look! It is your work! D-n you!”
Polsover was in rags. He was the sort of
person whom a gendarme would have
arrested on sight for speaking to a well-
dressed stranger. He was unshaven, and
he had lost at least a couple of stones in
weight. His cheeks were white, and in his
eyes was the gleam of the hunted animal.
“Sit down,” Mannister said shortly.
“I am not allowed to,” Polsover answered
bitterly. “The gendarmes in this neigh-
bourhood are down on me.”


A WOMAN INTERVENES
161
Mannister rose languidly to his feet.
“ Follow me,” he said shortly.
At the corner of the Rue Scribe he paused
at a large clothing store, and beckoned Pol-
sover to follow him in.
“ You will supply this person,” he said to
the man who came forward to wait upon
him, “ with a complete outfit of clothes.
Here are two hundred francs. The change I
shall call for in a couple of hours.”
Then he turned to Polsover.
“ They will make you respectable here,”
he said. “When they have done with you
come to the American bar of the Hotel
Chatham. I shall wait there for you.”
Polsover stood like a man in a dream, and
Mannister walked out of the shop and
crossed the street. An hour afterwards, as
he sat before one of the small tables in the
bar of the Chatham, Polşover entered,
metamorphosed, with something restored
of his original carriage and bearing as he


162 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
felt himself again in the garb of civilized
men. Nevertheless he was curiously changed,
thinner, and aged, grey about the temples,
and with the spring gone from his walk.
Mannister watched him approach, noticing
all these things with unchanged face.
“Sit down,” he said. “You will take
something to drink ?”
“Scotch whiskey and soda,” Polsover
answered. “I have been nearly poisoned
with cheap drinks for the last few months.
Be thankful that you do not know what it is
to drink their brandy at the cafés where I
have been dining."
Mannister gave an order to the barman
and turned to his companion.
“ What the devil have you done this for,
Mannister ? ” Polsover asked abruptly.
“ Are there some further refinements of
torture you have it in your mind to use
against me, or do you think that I have come
down low enough even for you ? "


A WOMAN INTERVENES
163
Mannister yawned slightly.
“Don't be melodramatic,” he said. “I
detest it. I was quite content to let you go to
the devil. When I saw you this afternoon
at the Café de la Paix, however, the whim
seized me to pull you back for a day or
so at any rate. You might be useful to
me.”
ver answe
Polsover leaned a little across the table.
“You never spoke a truer word,” he said.
“I might be useful to you. In fact I might
save your life.”
“ Is it in any particular danger ? " Man-
nister asked.
“Well,” Polsover answered, helping him-
self with trembling fingers to a cigarette,
“ I should say that it was.”
Mannister appeared pleasantly interested.
“ I was right, then,” he declared. “ There
was something in these two attacks. My
friend,” he continued, “ you are interesting
me. You talk about saving my life. I have
was
ma


164 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
had to do that twice for myself within the
last two days, I might almost say hours.”
“ Apaches ? ” Polsover asked.
Mannister nodded.
“ Two night attacks,” he said. “I put
them down, of course, to the usual thing, but
since your last remark I have begun to doubt
it, especially as they seem to go for my per-
son rather more than for my belongings.”
“ The attacks were inspired,” Polsover
answered. “I can tell you that, and I can
tell you by whom.”
“ It seems to me,” Mannister remarked,
" that it might be worth your while to do so.”
Polsover leaned across the table still
further, and his voice dropped till it was
almost a whisper.
“ You came back to England, Mannister,”
he said, “ a deeply wronged man, and I do
not know who can blame you that you set
yourself deliberately out to revenge your-
self upon those who had treated you dis-


A WOMAN INTERVENES
165
gracefully. Four, or is it five of us, you have
pretty well broken upon the wheel, and yet
the man in whose brain was hatched that
scheme against you, goes so far untouched.
Why?"
“ You mean Colin Stevens ? ” Mannis-
ter asked calmly.
“ Yes!”
“ His turn may come,” Mannister said.
“It may come before long."
“ You are in Paris,” Polsover said, “ be-
cause you know that he is here. You have
come in search of him.”
“ Possibly,” Mannister admitted.
“ He guesses it,” Polsover continued.
“ You see he has met you more than half
way.”
“ You mean,” Mannister remarked,“ that
these attacks "
“ He is hand in hand,” Polsover inter-
rupted, “ with several of the greatest crimi-
nals in Paris. He can do what he likes with


166 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
some of these night gangs, who rob whom
they please and defy the police.”
“ Where is Stevens now ? ” Mannister
asked abruptly.
“He was at Chantilly yesterday,” Pol-
sover said slowly.“ He will be in Paris to-
night.”
“ Are you one of his creatures ? ” Man-
nister asked.
“ Not I,” Polsover answered. “I went to
him for alms, and he tossed me a ten franc
piece and told me to go to the devil. I am
not his man, or I should not have told you
what I have told you."
Mannister nodded.
“I shall see Colin Stevens to-night,” he
said, “ and he may find that the time has
come for our accounts to be squared. As
for you, you had better go back to England.”
“How can I?” Polsover exclaimed bit-
terly. “My partners paid the six thousand
pounds and said that I had gone abroad for


A WOMAN INTERVENES 167
sa
a holiday. It was the only way they could
save the firm's reputation.”
“Exactly,” Mannister interrupted. “ You
can return from your holiday and pay back
the six thousand pounds. You may remem-
ber that my profit on that little deal with
you amounted to something like sixty
thousand, so I can spare you the odd six.”
He took a cheque-book from his pocket
and wrote out a cheque rapidly, passing it
across the table to Polsover.
“You don't mean this, Mannister ?”
Polsover stammered.
“Don't be a fool,” Mannister replied. “I
am not giving you the money. I am not
afflicted by a sudden spasm of generosity.
You've sold me information, and I've
bought it cheap. I knew all about Atrus-
cans. I knew very well that I was giving
you a thousand pounds for something that
was nearer worth one hundred thousand. If
you think I'm generous, tear the cheque up


168 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER,
if you like. If you are not a fool you'll take
it back to London and make friends with
your partners. There's only one thing,
mind. If you try to thank me I'll stop pay-
ment of it. I hate humbug. Now,” he
continued, rising, “I think that I will go
to Henri's bar and look for Colin Stevens.”
Polsover, too, rose to his feet.
“ He goes in fear of you," he said, " and
he goes armed.”
Mannister smiled as he rose and took up
his hat and stick
“I am afraid,” he said, “ that our friend
is getting a little old-fashioned. When I am
prepared to talk, it will not be arms that will
save him.”
Mannister turned into the Rue Danau, but
he did not at once make his way to Henri's
bar. He entered, instead, a suite of offices,
and held a brief interview with the small
grey-haired man who sat at a bare desk in a
bare room at the top of the building, and


A WOMAN INTERVENES
169
whose plate announced that he was a private
agent unrivalled in the detection of crimi-
nals, erring wives, and runaway children.
Afterwards he took a fiacre to the Café des
Ambassadeurs, and asked for the chief
maître d'hôtel.
“I want,” he explained, " to see your
plan of the tables for dinner to-night."
The maître d'hôtel handed a chair to
Mannister and brought the plan, together
with the menu and a wine card.
“Monsieur would doubtless desire to
order some dinner,” he suggested blandly.
Mannister pointed to a table for two in
the front row.
“I want this table,” he said.
The maître d'hôtel was in despair, but it
was impossible. That table was already
engaged, also the one next to it. An excel-
lent place on the second row, or a corner
table in the front row, if Monsieur desired !
But Monsieur checked him.


170 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
“Look here,” Mannister said, slipping a
twenty franc piece into his hand, “I want
that table for a special reason, to please
madame, you understand ? Give it me, and
serve me my dinner yourself, and there
shall be two more of these at the close of the
evening."
The maître d'hôtel was only human. He
disappeared into the bureau, and returned,
with his face wreathed in smiles.
“ It shall be as Monsieur desires,” he
announced. “The table was engaged for
an excellent client, but he does not know its
exact location. And for the dinner ?”
Mannister took out a heavy gold pencil,
and wrote with the care of a man who is pro-
posing for himself a dinner de luxe, a list of
dishes which commanded the respect even
of the maître d'hôtel himself. Then he
added the wine and a few further particu-
lars and departed, walking up the Champs
Élysées until he came to a turn to the right.


A WOMAN INTERVENES
171
Here he walked for a few yards down the
street, rang the bell at a handsome suite of
apartments, and was instantly admitted.
“Will you take my card,” he asked, " to
Madame de Modina ? ”
“ Madame does not receive this after-
noon,” the servant remarked hesitatingly.
“ Will you tell Madame that I am an old
friend,” Mannister said, “ and that I have
come from England to see her. It will be
an affair of five minutes only, but she will
always be grateful to me for coming. I have
news for her."
The maid tripped away, and returned
after a few minutes' absence.
“Madame will receive Monsieur," she
announced, with a smile. “Will you be
pleased to come this way."
Mannister laid down his hat and stick, and
followed her into a small reception-room.
A woman, typically French — or was there,
perhaps, some dash of Spanish blood in her


172 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
veins which accounted for the pale cheeks
and blue-black hair — half rose from a
couch and looked towards him inquiringly.
Mannister bowed, and waited till the servant
who had admitted him had left the room.
“Madame de Modina,” he said, “my
name is Mannister. It is doubtless un-
known to you.”
The lady, somewhat impressed by Man-
nister's appearance, murmured her regrets
and pointed to a chair.
“I fear,” Mannister continued, “ that I
shall not greatly recommend myself to you
when I say that I was once a friend of
Monsieur Colin Stevens."
She leaned a little towards him. The
change in her expression was unmistakable.
“Once a friend ?" she murmured.
Mannister bowed.
“ It is because I can say that,” he an-
swered, “ that I am here."
The woman's face was distorted with a


A WOMAN INTERVENES
173
sudden fit of passion. She sat upright upon
the couch and stamped upon the floor with
her high-heeled shoes. She leaned forward
toward Mannister, and there was some-
thing almost tragic in her expression.
“How do you dare, sir,” she exclaimed,
“ to come here and to mention to me that
man's name!”
“ Because,” Mannister answered, “I
thought that it would interest you to know
that to-night he is dining at the Café des
Ambassadeurs with Mademoiselle de Fleu-
rier.”
She sprang to her feet and dashed to the
ground the book which she had been reading.
“ It has come to that, then!” she ex-
claimed fiercely. “He will dine in public
with her!”
“It has come to that,” Mannister an-
swered.
“And you ? ” she asked, turning suddenly
upon him, “ what business is it of yours ?


A WOMAN INTERVENES
175
“At what hour, Monsieur,” she asked,
“ will you call for me ? ”
“At eight o'clock,” Mannister answered.
“ We shall do well to be there first.”
Mannister, although his back was to-
ward the entrance, knew very well the exact
moment when Colin Stevens and the lady
who was his guest entered the restaurant.
Two courses had passed untouched by the
woman who sat opposite to him, with her
eyes fixed upon the doorway. The dash of
carmine upon her lips seemed to make even
more startling the dead whiteness of her
cheeks. Her black eyes seemed unnaturally
large and bright. People looked at her and
admired. Of her type she was surely won-
derful. But when Mademoiselle de Fleurier
rustled in, there was a little murmur of half
stifled admiration. In her wonderful lace
gown and picture hat, a rope of pearls about
her neck, her blonde hair faultlessly


176 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
arranged, the blush of youth upon her
cheeks, she was certainly a companion to be
proud of. Colin Stevens, dark and tall,
with streaks of grey in his hair, and lines
about his worn face, nevertheless held him-
self like a young man, as preceded by the
maître d'hôtel they took their seats at the
little table, which by his foresight was al-
most smothered with pink roses. Her back
was towards Mannister, whom Stevens had
not recognized. It was not until several
minutes after their entrance that Stevens,
glancing around him for the first time, was
aware of his neighbours. Mademoiselle de
Fleurier leaned across the table and touched
his hand affectionately.
“ You are ill, mon ami,” she asked, “ or
is it a ghost that you see ?”.
A ghost! It was worse than that, Stevens
thought, as he raised his glass to his lips and
drank. Down the long avenues of his ill-
spent life they came pell-mell in headlong


A WOMAN INTERVENES
177
procession, the ghosts of wronged women, of
mis-spent hours, of friends deceived. It
was an epitome of all these which seemed to
look at him from the dark, sombre eyes of
the woman a few feet away. For a moment
his courage faltered.
“ The place is hot,” he muttered, half
rising.
She laughed softly and pulled him down.
“ Foolish!” she murmured. “Why, we
are out of doors here. Look across at the
trees. See how cool and green they are in
the lamplight. There is no place so cool as
this in Paris. Drink some more wine. You
are over-tired perhaps.”
She laughed into his eyes, and Stevens sat
down in his chair prepared to face he knew
not what. All this time Mannister had not
looked at him, and yet in the face of his
companion he judged something of what
was passing.
“Our friend, I fear,” he murmured,


-
----
-
-
-
---


A WOMAN INTERVENES
179
flicker of an eyelid. Then he heard the
rustling of her skirts cease, and turned
round. Almost simultaneously the man's
shriek rang through the place. The little
scene was in its way dramatic enough.
Stevens was still standing upon his feet, his
face covered with a napkin which barely
stifled his inhuman cries. Before him the
woman stood, immovable, her scarlet lips
pressed close together, her eyes still blazing
with anger. From her outstretched hand
the light fumes were still curling. A great
brown hole was burnt in the tablecloth just
below. Mademoiselle de Fleurier had fallen
backwards, and lay fainting, with her head
resting upon the next table. Every one in
the restaurant was standing up. One who
was a doctor came hurrying from the rear.
Mannister went up to the woman who had
been his companion and touched her arm.
“ You had better come away,” he said.
“ They have sent for the police.”
W
&


180 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
She flung his arm away.
“ What do I care for the police !” she an-
swered. “I want to see him suffer."
Mannister turned on his heel with a little
shiver.
“ If I had known that the woman was
such a fiend !” he muttered.
Nevertheless, on his way back to the hotel
he drew from his pocket-book a sheet of
paper, and with firm fingers drew a line
through the name of Colin Stevens.


182 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
“Rotten!” Hambledon declared. “You
look scared to death.”
“And I back you've lost a stone the last
few months,” Jacobs declared a little
viciously. “I never saw a man gone off
so.”
ma
Hambledon's white fingers trembled a
little as he clutched his wine-glass.
“Isn't it enough to shatter a man's
nerves ? ” he asked hoarsely, “ this cursed
waiting for something, and all the time we
don't know what! Here's Sophy coming.
Darned if she hasn't got more pluck than
any of us!”
Sophy de la Mere swept into the room,
followed by a couple of her youthful adorers.
She was carrying a tiny little dog, and she
was wearing a new and wonderful hat. She
stopped to shake hands with the two men,
looking from one to the other scornfully.
“ What's the matter ? " she asked.
“ Nerves gone wrong?”


184 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
“It was Mannister,” Hambledon de-
clared. “It was he who stood in the back-
ground and pulled the strings."
For a moment she was paler. Then she
laughed a little unnaturally.
“ That leaves only us three, then," she
declared. “Upon my word it is getting a
little uncanny.”
She spoke bravely enough, but even she
shivered when Mannister bowed before her.
“ Is this a conspiracy of three ? ” he asked,
smiling genially at them. “You seem to be
discussing some awful deed.”
Hambledon sat down heavily in his seat,
and little Jacobs clutched at the tablecloth,
but Sophy de la Mere, after her first start,
faced him bravely enough.
“I have just been told about poor Colin,"
she said. “ It was rather a shock to me.”
Mannister shrugged his shoulders.
“ It was a most unfortunate occurrence,”
he said, “but better men than he have


THE REGENERATION OF JACOBS 185
Torn ne
seen
suffered for making love to two women at
the same time. One must pay for one's
luxuries, you know. Don't you agree with
me, Hambledon ? ”
“One has always to pay, of course,”
Hambledon muttered, “ but it was a great
price. They say that he is blind for life, and
that he has sworn never to be seen upon the
streets.”
“ The streets will be the purer then,”
Mannister answered calmly. “I am afraid
that I am not a sentimentalist. I have yet
to find the man or the woman who knew
Colin Stevens and was not the worse
for it.”
Sophy de la Mere patted her dog's head
for a moment, and looked absently up the
room to where her two admirers were sitting.
“ Justice,” she said, " is sometimes cruel,
and justice seems to have been rather busy
amongst us lately, Mr. Mannister. Let me
see. There is Colin Stevens, blind and dis-
POS
was
worse


186 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
figured for life. Polsover, disgraced and
exiled. Traske, robbed of an heiress and a
chance of reformation, cleaning boots at a
Toronto railway station. Then there is
John Dykes, degenerated into a burglar and
dead — temporary insanity, the jury said,
but it was very nearly felo de se. Sinclair,
gone God knows where. Rundermere,
starving at a gambling hell in Cairo. Justice
indeed seems to have been rather busy
amongst our friends just lately — or should
you call it retribution !”
Mannister smiled thoughtfully.
“ Certainly," he remarked, “ we have
been unfortunate. Still, you and our friends
Hambledon and Jacobs here, remain."
Sophy de la Mere looked him squarely in
the face.
“For how long?" she answered.
“ Whose turn is it next ? "
Mannister sighed.
“My difficulties,” he murmured,“ are


THE REGENERATION OF JACOBS 187
enough, without adding to them by putting
you on your guard.”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Well,” she said, “I am ready to take
my chance. Luck has gone your way so far,
but it may change. I am not going to spoil
my dinner by wondering what is going to
happen to me before to-morrow evening."
She nodded, and swept up the room.
Mannister looked after her admiringly.
“A wonderful woman that,” he mur-
mured. “ By-the-bye, what became of that
little affair of hers with some young man ? "
“ His guardian warned him off,” Hamble-
don answered. “Are you going to dine with
us, Mannister ? We've only just begun.”
“I shall be delighted,” Mannister an-
swered.“ To tell you the truth, I am glad
to have the opportunity of a chat. You
see,” he added, studying the menu, “ the
well of my imagination is running dry. As
you remarked a short time ago, there are you


THE REGENERATION OF JACOBS 193
he said. “I do not want to go for a drive.
I have an engagement for this evening."
Mannister, who was sipping his liqueur,
ignored his words absolutely. He called
for the bill and paid it.
“ If you are quite ready," he said to
Jacobs politely.
“I am ready to leave," Jacobs answered,
rising, “but I am going to the Alhambra.
I promised to meet a client of mine in the
promenade.”
“As you like,” Mannister answered care-
lessly, “but I will drive you there. Won't
you light another cigar before we go ?”
They made their way outside, and the
commissionnaire called up Mannister's elec-
tric brougham. Even then Jacobs hesitated
upon the pavement. He was more than
half inclined to make a bolt for it.
“I think if you don't mind I'll walk,” he
said. “I have had no exercise to-day and it
is a fine evening."


194 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
Mannister's hand grew a little heavier
upon his shoulder, and Jacobs found himself
without alternative save to enter the carriage.
Mannister spoke a few words to the driver
before entering. The carriage glided off
citywards.
“ This is not the way to the Alhambra,"
Jacobs protested.
“ It is not " Mannister admitted. “The
fact is we are going to pay a little call first.”
Jacobs made a sudden spring toward the
door, but Mannister was too quick for him.
“Sit still,” he commanded, in an altered
tone. “ If you try to escape it will only be
the worse for you.”
“I want to know at any rate where we are
going,” Jacobs protested doggedly.
“ You will find out very soon,” Mannister
answered. “You are going to call upon
an old friend. You need not be alarmed.
I will undertake that you receive a hearty
welcome.”


THE REGENERATION OF JACOBS 195
“ An old friend ? ” Jacobs repeated, in-
credulously.
“ Certainly," Mannister answered. “I
can assure you that he is looking forward
very much to renewing his acquaintance
with you.”
Jacobs for the time asked no more ques-
tions. He looked longingly out of the
windows of the carriage, but he made no
movement to escape. In his heart he knew
very well that it was useless. They passed
through the broader thoroughfares of the
city, now almost deserted, and continued
until they reached the Bethnal Green Road.
Suddenly the carriage slowed up and came
to a smooth stop. Mannister opened the
door, and putting his arm through his
companion's, invited him to descend.
“Where on earth are we going to here ? "
Jacobs asked, as they stepped on to the
pavement.
In front of them was a shop with plate


196 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
glass windows, filled with dummies in boy's
clothing, and all the other paraphernalia of a
ready-made tailoring establishment. The
premises were closed, and shutters had been
drawn over the entrance, but Mannister led
the way to a side entrance, and knocked
softly at the door. Jacobs looked about him
in bewilderment. Suddenly his eyes caught
the name stretched across the front of the
shop in great gilt letters, and his knees
seemed to give way beneath him. But for
Mannister's arm he would have fallen.
“No!” he cried, trying to draw back,
“I will not go in here. Let me alone.”
The door was suddenly opened, and be-
fore he realized it Jacobs found himself in-
side, with the door fast closed behind them.
They were in almost complete darkness until
the man who had admitted them struck a
light. His features were indiscernible. They
could see only his broad back as he led the
way.
a


THE REGENERATION OF JACOBS 197
“ Come into the office,” he said, and once
more the knees of the young man whom
Mannister was half dragging along, seemed
to give way beneath him. They passed
along a small passage, where the atmosphere
was heavy with the odour of piled-up cloth,
and into a smaller room, where there was a
sudden glare of light. Then the man who
had been their guide wheeled round.
Jacobs, whom Mannister's arm no longer
supported, staggered back against the wall,
and stood there with ashen face and dis-
tended eyes.
“So it is you !” he began. “You scamp!
You — hound!”
No one answered. Mannister, lounging
easily against the mahogany counter on one
side of the room, glanced from one to the
other of the two remaining figures in the
little tableau. The man who had admitted
them, tall and powerful, with curly black
hair and hooked nose, was glaring at Jacobs


THE REGENERATION OF JACOBS 201
“ You shall have your money,” Jacobs
said, falteringly. “I meant to pay you back.
It was only a loan.”
“ You meant to pay me back!” Goldberg
repeated, with a gleam of his white teeth.
“When, I wonder ? Not till you were
caught! I think that if this gentleman had
not come and asked me a few questions
about a cashier named Aaron Levinstein, I
think that I should never have seen you
again, Aaron, you or that money."
Mannister lit another cigarette and took
up his hat.
“I think,” he said, “ that I will leave you
two to settle your differences. I have no
doubt but that you will be able to arrive at
a reasonable solution.”
Goldberg, with an ugly smile, stretched
out his hand, and took from the mantelpiece
by his side a short whip. Jacobs clung to
Mannister's arm.
“I will not be left here alone with him,"


202 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
he called out.“ He will murder me. Mr.
Mannister, do you hear? I will pay him the
money, but I will not be left alone with him."
Mannister thrust him back, and paused
with his hand upon the door.
“My young friend,” he said, “ you will
pay him the money back, but you will also
receive from the hands of Mr. Goldberg the
thrashing you deserve, and you will marry
his daughter, or else you will go to prison !
Good night!”
Mannister closed the door behind him and
walked down the passage. As he struck a
match to let himself out, he heard a shrill cry
of pain from the room which he had left.
Outside on the pavement he drew a paper
and a pencil from his pocket, and delib-
erately drew a thick black line through one
of the last of the names on the list.


CHAPTER VIII
THE MAKING OF HAMBLEDON
THE round table at Luigi's was laid for
four, but Mannister sat there alone.
He studied the menu without interest, and
ordered his dinner mechanically. Then he
leaned back in his seat, and his eyes for the
moment travelled through the opposite walls
into a distant corner of the world, and the
ghosts leapt up like puppets, to bend over
and deride. Mannister was very bored and
very weary. As he sat there he realized that
he was a man to whom fortune in all ma-
terial ways had latterly been most kind,
but whose life was slipping away in a
somewhat dreary procession of empty days
and empty weeks. His lips curled a little


204 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
bitterly as he realized how little indeed he
valued the life which flowed in his veins and
beat in his pulses. The money in his bank
lay idle, the world's many pleasures re-
mained untasted. He lived because he was
alive. There was no purpose nor any
happiness in the slowly passing days. The
task which he had set himself when the iron
of suffering had entered his soul and made
of his life a wreck, was already almost
achieved. He thought of them one by one,
these men who had wrought this evil thing
against him, and he knew that the misfor-
tunes which had befallen them were just
and well deserved. And now even this
interest in his life was passing away. Two
only were left. Already he was weary to
death of the executioner's knife. In all his
life there remained no other purpose, he
could think of no pleasure which would
cause his pulses to thrill, no task which
might make his heart beat the lighter.


THE MAKING OF HAMBLEDON 205
And he was lonely! Somehow the sight
of the empty table at which he sat struck a
chill in his heart. It was his own hand which
had thrust to their doom these quondam
companions of his, and there was not one of
them whom for a moment he regretted.
And yet he found his solitude distasteful,
typical of his life itself. He was impatient
with the weakness which made even the
faintest sense of loneliness possible. And
yet the empty chairs round this table spoke
to him of the days when he had been like
other men, with the cup of life pressed hard
to his lips, and joy in his heart. Had he
indeed passed outside all alone ? Was his
to be for all time a life of lonely days, of
weariness, of solitude ?
Sophy de la Mere saw him on her way up
the room, and stopped and turned back.
She pointed to the empty places, and she
laughed at him softly, and without fear.
“ You remind me," she said, “ of a child


206 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
who has thrown his toys out of the window,
and who sits on the nursery floor bewailing
his loneliness.”
He smiled, and patted the head of her
little dog.
“ The toys,” he answered, “ are not all
destroyed.”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“You must really tell me,” she said,
“what it is that you have done to Ernest
Jacobs. I am beginning to suspect that you
may have a sense of humour. I saw him
two nights ago in the pit at the Adelphi
Theatre, sitting between a big, dark, Jewish-
looking man and a girl, who must have been
his daughter — sharp featured, with a terri-
ble fringe. He looked as though he were
wearing ready-made clothes and were trying
to grow a moustache. If this is your doing
it is the justice of Heaven. I never saw any
one who looked so miserable and yet so
thoroughly in touch with his surroundings."


208 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
“ Your latest statement," she remarked,
“interests me. Of course you know that
there are only Fred Hambledon and myself
left. Now if I am going to be dealt with
after the manner of Jacobs, that is to say put
in my proper place in the world, let me hear
your idea as to what that may be.”
He smiled.
“Forewarned is forearmed,” he said.
“ Why should I give myself away?"
She pushed up her veil so that her face
was exposed.
“ Look at me,” she said, and he obeyed.
“What do you see ? ” she asked. “Be
truthful!”
“ I see,” he said, “ the face of a woman
who has known many things and suffered
many things, and who is a little tired of them
all.”
“ Look again,” she said.
“How much shall I tell you ?” he con-
tinued. “You have been beautiful, but you


THE MAKING OF HAMBLEDON 209
remain
remain only charming. There are lines
about your eyes and at the corners of your
mouth. Life does not mean to you what it
meant five or ten or fifteen years ago.”
“ Life,” she said, “ will never mean any-
thing to me again. Now you know why I
sit here and talk lightly with you. It is not
because I am not afraid. Nothing that you
can say can wound me, nothing that you can
do can harm me. Nothing, that is to say,
unless you countermand your invitation to
dinner, for I could not possibly afford myself
all these good things which you have or-
dered.”
He smiled.
“ The dinner,” he said, “ is a certainty.
To tell you the truth I am indebted to you
for coming. Have you ever known what it is
to be lonely?”
“I have been lonely for so many years,"
she said, “ that I shall never be lonely any
more. It is past.”


210 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
Mannister thought over her words as he
sipped his wine.
“You are a young woman still,” he said.
“I am forty-two,” she answered, “ and
there is not a person in the world who cares
two pins whether I live or die. The
woman of forty-two who is loved has life be-
fore her, and all the happiness that life can
hold. The woman who has reached my age
without winning the love of any one, can
never win anything. Her life is over.”
Mannister sipped his wine thoughtfully.
“I am almost tempted,” he said, “ to play
the part of consoler, to remind you that the
spinning of time brings us always back
again, some day or other, to those who have
cared, but from whom we may have drifted
away. New fires may not be lighted, but
the old ones may leap again into flame.”
She laughed at him softly.
“ I don't know which is the more conso-
ling,” she said, “your Pommery or your


212 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
It was not wonderful that Mannister
failed to recognize the man who a little
timidly had entered the room, and stood
hesitating now a few feet away from their
table. Hambledon was still in morning
dress, and he was certainly in evil condition.
He had grown thinner, so that his clothes
hung about him loosely. He had ceased to
be particular about his linen and the folding
of his tie. Behind his gold spectacles his
eyes were bloodshot, and he carried with
him the faint nauseating odour of the man
who is an habitual drinker. Mannister
beckoned to him, and he came up to the
table at once.
“ What the devil have you been doing to
yourself ? ” Mannister demanded.
“I have been ill — upset - a nervous
break-down,” Hambledon stammered. “I
have been – d-nit all! you know what
it is, Mannister!” he wound up abruptly.
“Let me sit down and talk. My knees
lan


THE MAKING OF HAMBLEDON 213
shake if I stand. Excuse me, Mrs. De la
Mere. I did not recognize you at first."
“Sit down,” Mannister said shortly.
“ Will you have some wine ?”
Hambledon drank a glass off greedily.
“ You know what is the matter with me,
Mannister,” he said. “Haven't I seen them
all go, one by one? There's Traske, some-
where down in Hell. Polsover, a fugitive
and ruined. They told me he was back, but
it can't be true. Stevens, Colin Stevens, in
a hospital with a bandage on his face, and
God help him when the time comes for him
to take it off! Rundermere, starving in some
dirty foreign place. Jacobs, little Ernie,
you walked him off from this very spot, and
never a soul has seen him since. Dykes,
dead and buried with a bullet in his fore-
head. I have seen them all go, and I am the
last. God help me, I am the last !”.
“ You forget me," Sophy de la Mere said
calmly.


214 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
sa
“ You and I, then,” Hambledon said.
“ There's no one else left. They're all gone.
I wish to Heaven I'd lost every farthing I
possessed in the world before I'd robbed
you, Mannister.”
Mannister leaned back in his seat, and
surveyed the other man contemptuously.
“It was not the money, Hambledon,” he
said quietly.
Hambledon clasped his hands and the
tears stood in his eyes as he swore —
" It was not I who schemed to get you out
of the country. I had nothing to do with
Sinclair and that part of it, I swear. It was
Stevens who thought that out.”
“ You were a party to it,” Mannister said
coldly.
“I did not approve — I did not agree,”
Hambledon declared. “I swear that I did
not. Ask Mrs. De la Mere. There's no one
else left to ask.”
Mannister shrugged his shoulders.


THE MAKING OF HAMBLEDON 215
“ Let that go,” he said. “Tell me why
you have come here to-night like this."
“ I had not the heart to change,” Hamble-
don said. “ I have lost my pluck. Hang it
all,” he continued, “ can't you see that I'm
broken? What more do you want of me?
You remember the man I was. Look at me
now. I am fit for nothing but the scrap-
heap. If you have anything planned in
your mind against me, Mannister, go on
with it, go on with it quickly. You may try
your hardest, but I doubt whether you can
do me any further evil.
Mannister sipped his wine thoughtfully.
His eyes lingered upon the man who sat on
the other side of the table; there was no
sympathy in his face, only a great contempt.
“Your temperament is too elastic, Ham-
bledon,” he said drily. “ If the fear of me
were removed from you to-night, you would
blossom out to-morrow a new man. I am
not disposed to let you off so cheaply.”


216 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
Hambledon rose from his chair a little
abruptly.
“ Was it to tell me this,” he asked, “ that
you sent for me ? ”
“Not entirely,” Mannister answered. “I
was curious to see you. You can go now if
you like. You will hear from me again in a
day or two."
Hambledon spoke one last word before he
turned away.
“So far, Mannister,” he said, leaning a
little across the table, “ the luck has been on
your side, but it may change. Remember
that it may change at any moment.”
He turned and left the restaurant. Man-
nister looked towards his companion with a
smile.
“Do you believe in luck, dear lady ? ” he
asked.
“I do,” she answered, “ but I believe also
in you. I have had a delightful dinner, but
I am afraid that I must tear myself away


THE MAKING OF HAMBLEDON 217
now. I am going round to Peggy Lancas-
ter's to play bridge.”
Mannister rose and bowed his adieux.
“I imagine,” he said, “ that we shall meet
again before long."
She smiled at him gaily.
“ Whenever you please,” she answered.
“I at least am not afraid of you, and I have
enjoyed my dinner immensely.”
Once more Mannister was alone. He
ordered a liqueur, and lighting a cigarette,
he sat for some time at the table. Then
calling a waiter, he paid his bill and left the
restaurant. From his pocket-book he took
a small piece of paper and handed it up to
the driver of his electric brougham.
" Find out where this is,” he said, " and
drive me there. It is somewhere in Bal-
ham.”
Balham is a large neighbourhood, and the
house which Mannister sought was in a very
small street. Nevertheless they found it at


218 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
last, after stopping several times for in-
quiries, and the carriage pulled up with a
jerk in front of one of a tiny row of poor-
looking houses. Mannister descended, and
after looking up and down the street, rang
the bell of the house opposite to him. There
was some delay before it was answered, then
the door was cautiously opened by a woman,
whose face was invisible in the passage.
“ Is Mrs. Hambledon in ?” Mannister
asked.
“I am Mrs. Hambledon,” the woman
answered.
“ I shoul be glad,” Mannister said, “ to
have a few minutes' conversation with you."
The woman looked at him in amazement,
and then at the carriage which waited out-
side. Suddenly an idea occurred to her.
“ Has anything happened to — to my
husband ?” she asked.
Mannister shook his head.
“ Nothing that I know of,” he answered.


THE MAKING OF HAMBLEDON 221
income is nearer a thousand a year than three
hundred pounds a year. I have some time
ago been one of his associates, and I know
something of the manner of his life, and I
repeat that he is not treating you well.”
“If,” she said, looking at Mannister
fixedly, "you know what you are talking
about, if there is any truth at all in what you
say, then he has treated me like a devil. I
was better off by far before I was married.
I had a comfortable home then, and no
anxieties. Now it is nothing but work and
trouble from Monday morning to Saturday
night. I would not mind that so much,” she
continued, “ if there was any one to share it
with me, but the children are too young to
understand, and his business keeps him
out always till ten or eleven o'clock, some-
times all night. That is,” she added, after
a moment's breathless pause, and with a
sudden new light in her eyes, “ if he tells
me the truth!”


222 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
Mannister looked at his watch.
“Put on your hat, Mrs. Hambledon,” he
said, “ and come with me."
“ Come with you! Where?” she re-
peated. “What for?”
“I am going,” Mannister said, “ to make
things quite clear to you, and then I am
going to show you how to act so that you
may have a different husband and a different
home."
The woman did not hesitate. She disap-
peared for a few moments, and returned
dressed quietly enough, but with some rem-
nants of gentility, for the street. Mannister
placed her in the carriage and sat by her side.
They drove almost in silence to a small block
of flats near the Museum. Here Mannister
assisted her to alight and whispered a ques-
tion to the janitor, who shook his head.
“We have an appointment for ten o'clock,"
Mannister said. “Take us up into his
rooms and let us wait.”


224 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
The woman covered her face with her
handkerchief and sobbed. Mannister laid
his hand gently upon her shoulder.
“We are going to have all this changed,"
he said. “You must not worry. Life is
made up of disappointments, you know. I
dare say there are many worse in the world
than your husband.”
She looked up at him again in a moment.
“Tell me," she asked quietly,“ what con-
cern all this is of yours ? "
Mannister smiled.
“ In a few minutes,” he said, “ your hus-
band will be here, and you may understand
a little; you will never understand altogether,
It is sufficient if I tell you that I think I can
make your husband promise that there shall
be no more of this sort of thing," he added,
after a moment's pause.
The woman sat down, and with her chin
resting upon her hands, looked fixedly into
the fireplace.


THE MAKING OF HAMBLEDON 227
who deceives his wife as to his means, and
lives in luxury himself, while he forces his
family to subsist on a beggarly pittance.
Your wife knows everything, Hambledon.
She will forgive you on certain conditions.
Three parts of your income is to be spent in
maintaining a proper establishment for her
and your children. This flat you do not
enter again. Your spare time, whatever it is,
with reasonable exceptions, is to be given to
fulfilling your duties as a husband and a
father. Your acceptance of these conditions
settles the difference between us. If you
refuse them, or your wife refuses to forgive
you, that difference must be settled in an-
other way.”
The man and the woman stood looking at
one another. Dimly she seemed to under-
stand that there was some danger with which
her husband was threatened, and that it
came from Mannister. She looked at him
almost threateningly, and half held out her


CHAPTER IX
AT THE END OF THE JOURNEY
n
“ INCE when,” Mrs. De la Mere
asked, “ have you been your own
chauffeur ?”
“ Since I bought a car of my own,” Man-
nister answered. “ One must do something.
I hate golf, I am too old for cricket. The
sports I know anything of come later. This
is interesting, at any rate, and one gets into
the country easily.”
“ Interesting ?” she repeated. “I call
it delightful! And you drive as though you
knew all about it. I declare that I am not
in the least nervous.”
Mannister did not reply, for they were still
in the suburbs of London, and the great car


230 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
which he was driving needed all his attention.
But soon the tramway lines came to an end,
the road broadened, they were passing from
suburbanism to the country proper. Mrs.
De la Mere leaned back amongst the cush-
ions and half closed her eyes.
“ After all,” she murmured, “I am sure
that there is nothing more beautiful than the
simple pleasures of life. What is it in the
hedges that smells so sweet?”
The west wind blew in their faces Man-
nister took off his cap and threw it behind to
the chauffeur.
“ Why do we waste our time at Ranelagh
and Richmond ?” he remarked. “ The
Londoner's love of the country, after all,
has something artificial about it. One likes
groves and trees and flower-beds, but one
loves the flavour of civilization with them
all.”
“ A basket chair on the lawn, and cucum-
ber sandwiches with one's tea,” Mrs. De la


AT THE END OF THE JOURNEY 231
Mere murmured. “But this, at any rate, is
the real thing.”
They rushed on through the fragrant air.
It was a late warm day in spring. The
violets were still in the hedges, and the early
cowslips were showing in the meadows.
Above their heads the birds were singing.
Here and there an early butterfly fluttered
across the honeysuckle-wreathed hedge.
“ It is years,” Mrs. De la Mere mur-
mured,“ since I really felt that I was in the
country. Do you know, I wonder, that I
once lived in a village ?”
Mannister looked straight ahead down
the white dusty road.
“Yes,” he said. “I know that you did.
I seem to have one of those wearisome
memories that forget nothing. I remember
the name of the village where you lived.”
They passed a hay-field, caught for a
moment the delicious perfume of the falling
grass, and heard the musical whirr of the


232 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
mowing machines. Then on again across a
common, where the yellow gorse was bud-
ding, and far below a faint blue mist rose
from the lower lands.
Mrs. De la Mere raised her veil, and for-
got that there was powder upon her face.
There was something familiar about the
swiftly rushing air, the song of the birds, and
the sunshine. She turned a little doubtfully
toward Mannister.
“Will you tell me why,” she demanded,
“ you have asked me to come with you to-
day ? "
He shook his head.
“Not yet,” he answered. “Call it a
whim if you like."
“You are not a person of whims,” she
said thoughtfully. “You do not do things
without an object. Why did you ask me to
come with you ? "
“ If I had any reason at all,” Mannister
said, “ beyond the obvious one of securing


AT THE END OF THE JOURNEY 233
for myself a delightful companion, you will
know very soon. In the meantime, be pa-
tient. Surely there are worse ways of spend-
ing a spring day than this !”
“I am content,” she murmured.“ Even
though you are my enemy, I am at least go-
ing to meet my fate pleasantly. How far are
we going, my host? What shall we find at
the end of the journey ? "
“ We are going a long way,” he answered,
“and what we find at the end of the journey
depends a little upon ourselves.”
The villages grew fewer and the road
more deserted. Mannister increased the
pace of the car, and with the gathering
speed, the possibility for conversation, so
far as he was concerned, seemed to pass
away. He sat a little forward in his seat,
his eyes fixed upon the road ahead, his
whole attention rivetted upon his task. The
woman at his side, who had all the courage
of the fatalist, sat there calm and without


234 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
misgivings. If the time had come for the
payment of her debt to this man, she knew
him well enough to be sure that no protests
of hers would be of any avail. Her chief
sensation was curiosity. Of late she had had
some curious thoughts concerning Mannis-
ter. She had begun to wonder whether he
were indeed the man of steel he seemed.
They stayed for lunch at a wayside inn.
Mannister ate little, and seemed
anxious to depart. She had taken it for
granted when they started off again that he
would turn back toward London. Instead
he kept the car going steadily westwards.
“I am not unduly curious,” she remarked,
settling down once more by his side,“ but
we seem to have come about a hundred
miles, and you are still rushing away from
London. Is this a day excursion ? Do you
intend to be back in London in time for
dinner? I did not prepare for a tour."
“ When we return,” Mannister said, “ de-


AT THE END OF THE JOURNEY 235
pends on many things. At present we are
going straight ahead. If it becomes neces-
sary there is always the railway.”
“For me,” she murmured, “ no railway.
I am content. Drive like this through such
a country, and I do not care whether it be
night or day. In an hour or two I shall
forget that I am an old woman, and that my
home is under the limelight.”
“No one's home is there,” Mannister an-
swered. “We flutter around those lights
like moths around a candle. We imagine
ourselves prisoners, but in our hearts we
know that we lack only the will to be free.
Once we have made up our minds to break
away, then the rest is not so difficult."
Mrs. De la Mere smiled bitterly.
“ My friend,” she said; “I beg your
pardon, my enemy — you speak now of
things you know little about. The chains
that bind us to our every-day life, the chains
of custom and habit, are not easily broken.


236 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
P
"
Sometimes they are lengthened, and we
stray a little further away, but one always
goes back, that is to say we ordinary people
do. There may be men who are strong
enough to file away the rivets — men, not
often women!”
Mannister bent over the handles and the
car slackened speed. He brought it to a
standstill close to the left-hand side of the
road, beneath a grove of chestnut trees.
Across the low hedge they could see an old-
fashioned ivy-covered house, with lawns
coming down almost to the road. A little
pathway from the house, bordered by a ring
fence, passed close to the side of the hedge
and ended at the drive a few yards further
on. Beyond was a small paddock, and
several rhododendron beds in the zenith of
their splendour. Mannister took out his
case and lit a cigarette.
“A peaceful little place that,” he re-
marked.


238 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
was looking steadily back in the direction
whence they had come. She was tall and
graceful, her fair hair was brushed simply
back from her forehead, her gown was
white, simply made, and a little short.
Whilst they watched her she raised her hand
and shaded her eyes. Mannister looked
from the girl to his companion.
“You see,” he murmured, “ she is typical
of all the world. She is looking to where,
beyond the horizon, those lights are calling.
She has probably just left school, a convent
in Belgium or Paris perhaps, and she is long-
ing for the things which come with free-
dom.”
Mrs. De la Mere had watched the girl
with fascinated eyes. Suddenly she looked
away.
“Do drive on!” she said, in a low tone.
“ I dislike looking at children of that age.”
“We cannot go for a moment,” Mannis-
ter answered. “ The engine needs cooling.


AT THE END OF THE JOURNEY 239
This rest is doing it good. Tell me what
you think she is looking for, that child.”
Once more Sophy de la Mere's eyes were
fixed upon the slim girlish figure. She
stared as one who is fascinated against her
will. At that moment the door of the house
opened, and an elderly man, leaning a little
upon his stick, came out. He passed his
arm through the girl's and they began to
walk slowly towards the little path. Mrs.
De la Mere stirred in her place uneasily.
“ Can't you start the car Mr. Mannis-
ter ? ” she asked. “ If they come all the
way round the path they will pass along by
the side of the hedge, and they will think that
we stopped here to watch them.”
Mannister shook his head.
“ Five minutes or so we must have," he
said. “ This is a new car, and I dare not
risk having her over-heated. Open the
bonnet, George,” he added, turning round
to the chaffeur. “She is hot, isn't she ?”


AT THE END OF THE JOURNEY 241
he asked civilly. “ Can we be of any assis-
tance ?”
“ Thank you very much,” Mannister an-
swered. “ We are only doing a very slight
repair. It will barely take five minutes,.
but we could not resist choosing such a de-
lightful spot for our brief rest.”
The two passed on. Mrs. De la Mere
turned slowly round in her seat and her eyes
followed them. Her breath was coming fast.
She made no apologies to Mannister, for she
knew very well that he understood. When
at last she spoke to him her tone was almost
hysterical.
“You are getting more subtle in your tor-
tures,” she said. “Is it over now? May
we go on?”
“No!” he answered. “It is not over!”
“What do you mean ?" she asked
hoarsely.
Mannister called to the chauffeur, who
was on the point of completing his task.


242 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
“ Take my flask to the lodge gates there,"
he directed, “ and have it half filled with
water. You need not hurry. We shall be
here for another quarter of an hour.”
“ Very good, sir," the man answered, and
a few seconds later disappeared. Mannis-
ter turned once more to the woman by his
side.
“ Sophy de la Mere," he said, “ you are
the last upon that list which I have carried in
my pocket since my return to England. One
by one those names have been crossed off.
Yours alone is left there. This morning I
am going to draw a line through your name
too, and scatter the fragments of that little
document for the west wind to play with.
But before I draw that line you must pay.”
“ Haven't I paid ? ” she moaned. “Do
you think that I am so callous ? Do you
think that the passing of those two was not
agony as great to me as anything those others
may have suffered ? "


244 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
She laughed fiercely.
“ One can suffer enough in five minutes,"
she answered, “ to carry the brand of one's
suffering to the doors of death.”
“ It will be your hard fortune if you find it
so,” he answered. “ Allow me!”
He had descended from the car and stood
with outstretched hands. She shrank away
from him.
“I will not come,” she said.
Mannister remained unmoved. His hand
was still extended. He said nothing. He
simply waited.
“ You cannot ask this thing of me," she
moaned. “It is impossible. There is noth-
ing for me to say. I could not bear to look
her in the face.”
Still Mannister did not move. Still his
hands were stretched out and his eyes fixed
upon hers. With a little sob she descended
and stood by his side. Without a word he
led her through the gate. The girl had gone


246 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
“Mr. Heronswell,” Mannister said, “I
am neither philanthropist nor meddler. I
am one of those who by force of circum-
stances live outside the world, and realize the
truth of the most trite of all sayings, that
*Outsiders see most of the game. You
knew me years ago. My name is Mannister.
I knew this lady when she was your wife.
You disagreed, she treated you badly, and
there was a scandal. She left you, and
through some quixotism you declined to
divorce her. That is to say you left her upon
the world a woman with no clearly defined
position. You never gave her the chance to
marry again or to start a new life. In other
words, your whim, for it was nothing more,
is responsible for anything that may have
happened to her since.”
“I am a Catholic," the man said slowly,
" and I do not recognize divorce."
“And I,” Mannister answered quickly,
“ recognize no creed whatever save that one


AT THE END OF THE JOURNEY 247
which teaches men and women to be the
keepers of their own conscience. I should
like you to understand that Mrs. De la Mere
had no notion this morning of where she was
coming, or of whom she was going to see.
She had no notion of making any sort of
appeal to you, she did not even know where
you lived. It is I who planned this visit,
and the first part of it has been a penance to
her sufficient to cover many sins. For the
rest, I want you at least to hear from an
outsider a little summary of the present
situation so far as it concerns you, your con-
science, and the woman who was your wife.”
“ Who was my wife !” the man repeated,
looking fixedly at the figure upon the seat.
Mrs. De la Mere's head had dropped be-
tween her hands. Mannister was execu-
tioner indeed.
“ Briefly,” Mannister said,“ the outsider's
view is this. You declined to give your wife
her freedom, therefore I say that her sub-


248 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
ness
sequent life, whatever it may have been, is
of your making. Her sins and her weak-
nesses can be written down to your account,
and I think that the account is nearly full.
It is time for you to intervene, for your own
sake, for hers, and for your daughter's.”
“You mean,” Heronswell said, and his
voice seemed to them all to come from a long
way off, “you mean that I should apply now,
after all these years, for a divorce ?"
Mannister did not answer for a moment.
A breath of wind brought them a waft of
faint sweet perfume from the rose bushes.
The momentary silence was broken only by
the humming of bees and the soft sighing of
the wind in the little grove. All the time
Heronswell's eyes were fixed upon Mannister.
“ You mean that,” he repeated, “ after all
these years ? "
“No,” Mannister answered, " I do not
mean that. I mean that her place is here
with you.”


AT THE END OF THE JOURNEY 249
The woman rose suddenly up. For the
first time she spoke.
“Bernard,” she said, “ don't listen to
him. I did not know. I would not have
come if I had known what he was going to
say to you. Shake hands with me once if
you will, and let me go. I am afraid to stay
here. I am afraid that she will come back.”
The woman looked anxiously up toward
the house. Heronswell turned his head and
followed the direction of her gaze.
“She is very like you were, Sophy,” he
said quietly.
“ Take care of her,” the woman sobbed,
“and don't be too stern.”
“No!” the man answered, thoughtfully.
“I have learnt my lesson."
The woman stepped back with a little
gasp. She would have hastened away to-
ward the lodge gates, but Mannister caught
her by the wrist. The girl, with a rose basket
upon her arm, was coming round the side of


250 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
the house, and seeing them had hesitated for
a moment.
“ Heronswell,” Mannister said, " in the
old days you were a little to blame. You
have a chance now to prove yourself a man.
Take her back. Give the girl her mother.
You will never repent it."
The woman struggled to get away, and
Mannister pointed towards the house. The
girl was coming slowly towards them.
“Look,” he said, “there is something
there which should call to you loudly and
sweetly enough to break your heart in the
days to come if you should close your ears.
Heronswell !”
He passed her hand on to Heronswell,
who grasped it in his own and drew it to-
wards him. Mannister, with a faint smile,
raised his hat and swung round. The
chauffeur was in his place, and with a touch
of the handle the engine was started.
“ We are not waiting for the lady, sir?”


AT THE END OF THE JOURNEY 251
Mannister shook his head, and the car
swept on. ...
Mannister dined alone in his rooms that
night, for though he drove with a reckless-
ness somewhat unusual to him, it was eight
o'clock before he reached London. Behind
him lay the fragments of an eventful day;
the fragments, too, of that torn paper, which
seemed to him somehow to have become
associated with all the changing passions
of his later life. It was not until past
ten o'clock that he noticed the little
pile of letters by his side. One by one he
glanced them through carelessly enough.
He came at last to a black-bordered en-
velope, which he tore open. The announce-
ment it contained was brief enough. Sir
George Mannister, of Sherwell Court, was.
dead, and his lawyers would be glad to
receive instructions from the new baronet.
Mannister threw it aside, and leaning back
in his chair laughed long and loudly.


AT THE END OF THE JOURNEY 253
out here is delightful. I know that England
doesn't mean much for you in the spring.
Do make up your mind, and send me a tele-
gram to-morrow.”
Mannister did not wait until the morrow.
He kept his finger pressed to the bell button
until his servant hastily appeared.
"A Continental ABC at once, Morton,”
his master ordered.


HIS LAST QUEST
255
Mannister and Sinclair stood face to face.
The latter turned to his servant.
“I will go to that seat,” he said, pointing.
“I want to talk for a few minutes with this
gentleman.”
“I am sorry," Mannister said politely, as
they walked thither, " to see you in such
indifferent health.”
Sinclair answered him with a look of
hatred, but he did not speak a word until the
servant had gone.
“Don't tell lies, Mannister,” he said then.
“I am what you made me. I have never
been myself for a single day since you chased
me half over the world. Don't tell lies about
being sorry for me. You are sorry for no
one who stands in your way, or who does you
ill. Oh, I've heard things !” he went on.
“ I've heard — never mind! There is noth-
ing you could do to me. I'm past it. You
couldn't even strike a helpless brute like I
am. I at least can defy you.'


256 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
“Where is your wife ?” Mannister asked.
“I have no wife,” the other answered.
“ I have never been married.”
Mannister was very quiet, but there was
something in his still voice which made the
other, notwithstanding his assurance, crouch
back in his seat.
“Do you remember, Gaston Sinclair,
what I told you would happen if you failed
to take up the charge I laid upon you ? "
“I was willing to do it,” Sinclair an-
swered. “Upon my soul I was willing to do
it. Look here, I knew I should meet you
some day, and I made her write this."
With trembling fingers he drew from his
breast pocket a sheet of paper and handed
it to Mannister. Upon it was written a few
sentences in delicate feminine handwriting.
“ Gaston Sinclair has offered to marry me
and I have refused. Nothing would induce
me to become his wife. I write this at his
request. Christine.”


HIS LAST QUEST 257
Mannister held the paper in his hand
much longer than was necessary to decipher
those few sentences. He read it over and
over again. He fancied even that there
came from its folds a faint suggestion of the
perfume which always hung about her
clothes and her belongings. Then he folded
it up, but he did not pass it back to the other
man.
“Why did she refuse to marry you ?” he
asked.
Sinclair laughed, a hard unpleasant sound
it was.
“ Because from the day you left us on the
Oomanda Plain, she hated me. Because
from that day to this she never even suffered
her fingers to rest in my hand.”
“ Where is she ? ” Mannister asked coldly.
“I do not know,” Sinclair answered. “I
have neither seen nor heard from her since
the day she left the hospital at Buenos
Ayres."


258 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
“She was ill, then ? ” Mannister asked.
“ She was taken ill with a fever the day
you left," Sinclair answered. “ They got her
back to the city and into the hospital. I
stayed there, although she refused always
to see me. When she was well enough to
leave I saw her for five minutes only. I
made her write down her refusal of what I
offered. Apart from that she declined to
have anything to say to me. She would not
tell me her plans, where she was going or
what she meant to do. She had finished
with me, and she told me so as plainly as a
woman could speak. I came back to Eng-
land, and I have been as you see me ever
since.”
“You left her in Buenos Ayres ?” Man-
nister said.
“I know only that she came to London,"
Sinclair answered.
Mannister's teeth were hard set. He was
looking out through the network of luxurious


260 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
Mannister rose to his feet.
“No!” he said. “As you are I am con-
tent to leave you."
The other plucked at his sleeve.
“ Sit down, Mannister,” he said. “ Listen
calmly if you can. Do not strike me. Look
at what I am, and restrain yourself. I did
not win your wife away from you fairly.
She did not go because she loved me and
hated you. I forged letters and showed
them to her. I invented lies and filled her
ears with them. She charged me with it
that day after you had caught us, and I told
her the truth."
Mannister looked at him as one might
regard some noxious insect.
“I shall not strike you, Gaston Sinclair,”
he said. “To be what you are, and to know
yourself for what you are, is punishment
enough for any one on earth.”
Mannister turned on his heel and walked
back to the villa where he was staying. A


262 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
world whom I wanted so much to see. Come
down into the garden.”
He followed her a little unwillingly to a
spot where the shrubs had been cleared
away, and where one looked down upon the
whitewashed villas and gardens of Nice, and
beyond the sea. She turned and motioned
him to lean by her side against the railing.
“I wanted,” she said, “ so much to see
you. I wanted to ask your advice.”
He smiled a little bitterly.
“I am afraid,” he said, “ that one who
has done so ill with his own life, is a poor
person to show others the way to happiness.
However, tell me what it is that troubles you,
and I will do my best."
“I have been in Rome,” she said, " for
two months with my aunt, and on the whole
— yes, I am sure that I have enjoyed it very
much indeed. From the first there was some
one there who was very nice and kind to me.
He took us, my aunt and myself, to all the


HIS LAST QUEST
263
places I wanted to see. He always danced
with me and rode. No one could have been
so kind or so delightful as he was. And then,
a few days before I came away, he asked me
to marry him.”
Mannister nodded.
“What was his name?” he asked.
“ Phillimore,” she answered. “He is a
son of Lord Ernest Phillimore, the ambassa-
dor at Rome.”
“I know him," Mannister remarked.
“At least, that is I have met him once or
twice. If he is only half such a decent
fellow as I thought he was, and as I know
his father is, you ought to be very happy."
She turned and looked into his face, looked
with such earnestness that he felt obliged
to turn toward her. There was nothing in
his eyes which answered in the least the
somewhat wistful gleam which shone in hers.
She looked at him steadily, and when she
turned away she sighed a little.


264 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
“ Well,” she said, “ when he asked me I
could not answer him. It seemed to me that
I liked him very much, but there was some-
thing away back in my thoughts which kept
me from saying yes to him, as it would have
kept me from saying yes to any one. Per-
haps it was a little girlish sentiment, perhaps
it was something more. But I do not know,
I could not feel sure of myself, because, you
see, it was something which, however foolish
it may seem, has somehow grown almost
dear to me. I did not feel that I could part
with it very easily. I did not feel that I could
marry any one unless I found out really
whether it was just a fancy founded upon a
dream, or whether there was anything real
beneath it all. I thought,” she added wist-
fully, “ that I should know the truth when I
met you again. I told him that I could
not answer him for a little time. When I said
a little time, what I really meant was that I
could not answer him until I had seen you."


266 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
must have for your husband. I am old
enough to be your father, and although I do
not speak of these things because there is
trouble connected with them, I have a wife
who lives still somewhere. Write and tell
him your answer. I should like so much to
see him before I leave Nice."
He raised the hand upon which his fingers
were resting to his lips, and turned away
toward the house. Those few tears he knew
very well would soon have passed. Already
he was only anxious to leave the place.
Then Mannister became a wanderer upon
the face of the earth. He sought no new
lands, nor did he betray the traveller's inter-
est in unexplored places. He passed from
country to country of Europe, he was heard
of even in the great cities of America. To
all appearance his journeying was the jour-
neying of a restless man. For two years he
neither shot nor hunted, sport of no kind


HIS LAST QUEST
267
seemed able to attract him. The few people
who met him spoke of him as aged. With
the scattering to the winds of those frag-
ments of paper, it seemed as though the
purpose had gone out of his life. There was
no one who suspected that his restless
travelling hither and thither was in reality
nothing more nor less than a search. It was
in Paris that he received the first gleam of
encouragement in all those weary two years.
He was driving down from the Bois one
afternoon, and when in the Champs Ély-
sées he passed a carriage in which were
seated two ladies, one old and one young.
He himself was in a hired voiture, looking
down with only faintly simulated interest
upon the constant stream of automobiles
and carriages. Nevertheless their eyes met,
although it was only for a second, and Man-
nister, galvanized into sudden and complete
life, springing to his feet, stopped the cocher
and upset the whole traffic for several mo-


HIS LAST QUEST
269
will pardon my intrusion, but for two years
I have been searching for the lady whom I
saw in your carriage yesterday afternoon.
She is perhaps your guest in Paris.”
Madame la Comtesse touched the bell
even as she answered him.
“ Monsieur,” she said, “the history of
that lady is very well known to me. Be
assured that you will never hear of her or
from her under this roof. She was my guest.
I was hoping that she would remain so for
some time to come. But at the sight of you
she packed her trunks. By this time she is
far from Paris.”
“ Her address ?” Mannister demanded.
“ She does not understand. I do not wish
her any harm.”
Madame la Comtesse turned to the servant
who had answered her summons.
“ The door to Monsieur,” she ordered,
and Mannister had no option but to go.
He returned to London, accepted an in-


HIS LAST QUEST
271
Two nights afterwards he dined on the
balcony of a long, low white villa overlooking
the Adriatic, with the perfume of the orange
groves floating from the land, and the soft
sea-breeze, travelling across a sea almost as
still as glass, rustling gently amongst the
shrubs and lemon trees which encircled the
house. After dinner she drew him on one
side and pointed across the water, faintly
agleam now with the light of the rising moon,
to a tiny island barely a mile away.
“I wonder,” she said, “ whether you can
see amongst the trees there a little villa, the
villa D’Ajuta they call it. It has been empty
for three years. A fortnight ago it was taken
by a countrywoman of ours.”
He looked at it without interest.
“ Well ?” he asked.
“Do you know,” she said, hesitatingly, “I
am not sure even now whether I have been
justified in sending you that letter. You see
in Rome every one knows every one else's


272 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
business. I have heard new things of my
oldest friends, and amongst others I have
heard things about Sir George Mannister.”
He smiled a little wearily.
“People have had many things to say
about me,” he answered," and I fear that it
could have been nothing good that you
heard from the tongues of gossips.”
“I heard this, at any rate,” she answered,
“ that for two years you had travelled about
in the fashion of a man who seeks something
which he can never find. I heard other
things, and I heard other people's construc-
tion of these things and of your journeyings,
and then I put them together and I came to a
different conclusion from any of them, and
I may have been right, and I may have been
wrong, but I sent for you to tell you that I
believe that the woman who has taken the
villa that you can see amongst the trees there,
is the woman for whom you have been
searching these last two years."


HIS LAST QUEST
278
Mannister would take no boatman, or
heed the warnings of those who spoke to him
of the sudden squalls. It seemed to him that
the suppressed energy of years throbbed in
his muscles as he drove the long sharp-
prowed boat through the still waters. He felt
no fatigue. He looked neither to the right
nor to the left, but only to that faintly burn-
ing light towards which he held his way. The
phosphorus which gleamed in the water,
which dropped even amongst the spray
which fell from his oars, he took no heed of.
The brown-sailed fishing smack which
crossed his bows, with a quaint horn lantern
hanging from the mast, passed him un-
noticed. He returned no answer to the
musical greetings of the men who lounged
there smoking their long cigarettes. To him
there was but one object in life, and he
attained it when he drove with one last
powerful stroke his little boat on to the sandy
beach of the island toward which May


HIS LAST QUEST
275
but certain it was that she had gone, and
gone for some time.
Mannister was at first incredulous. He
produced gold, but the old man, though his
eyes were lit with desire, kept to his story.
“I will show the Signor,” he declared,
"every room in the villa, and he will see that
the Signora has indeed gone.”
Mannister accepted his challenge. The
villa was a small one, the apartments in the
front of the house were certainly all empty,
and showed signs of a hasty departure.
There were traces of packing, several trunks
were already there ready for forwarding, and
the rooms themselves were devoid of any
signs of present occupation. Mannister
asked for pen and ink, and wrote a letter.
“You have trunks there,” he said, “ to
forward to the Signora. You will forward
with them this letter.”
He placed gold upon the table, and the old
man promised. Then Mannister rowed


276 THE LONG ARM OF MANNISTER
back to the mainland, but he rowed as a man
weary and tired, and daylight was breaking
eastward before his journey was over. Then
he went wearily up to his room and slept.
On the morrow he turned homeward
again. For three weeks he stayed in his
rooms. Then one night he received a tele-
gram from Rome.
“I am breaking a promise,” it said, “but
I do it for your sake. Meet the Continental
train at Victoria, due 6.45.”
Mannister was there half an hour before
the train was due, only to find that it was an
hour late. Restlessly he walked up and
down the platform. Was this, then, to be
the end of his search, a meeting in a railway
station? What could he say to her there, or
she to him ? What was there to be said ?
What could be the possible outcome ? His
heart sank, and rose again as he thought
over the possibilities of the next few minutes.
At one time it seemed to him that he was