The Secret Adversary
heart was beating violently. He had risked all on this throw. How would
they decide? And all the while that this agonized questioning went on
within him, he talked flippantly to Conrad, enraging the cross-grained
doorkeeper to the point of homicidal mania.
At last the door opened, and the German called imperiously to Conrad to
return.
“Let’s hope the judge hasn’t put his black cap on,” remarked Tommy
frivolously. “That’s right, Conrad, march me in. The prisoner is at the
bar, gentlemen.”
The German was seated once more behind the table. He motioned to Tommy
to sit down opposite to him.
“We accept,” he said harshly, “on terms. The papers must be delivered to
us before you go free.”
“Idiot!” said Tommy amiably. “How do you think I can look for them if
you keep me tied by the leg here?”
“What do you expect, then?”
“I must have liberty to go about the business in my own way.”
The German laughed.
“Do you think we are little children to let you walk out of here leaving
us a pretty story full of promises?”
“No,” said Tommy thoughtfully. “Though infinitely simpler for me, I
did not really think you would agree to that plan. Very well, we must
arrange a compromise. How would it be if you attached little Conrad here
to my person. He’s a faithful fellow, and very ready with the fist.”
“We prefer,” said the German coldly, “that you should remain here.
One of our number will carry out your instructions minutely. If the
operations are complicated, he will return to you with a report and you
can instruct him further.”
“You’re tying my hands,” complained Tommy. “It’s a very delicate affair,
and the other fellow will muff it up as likely as not, and then where
shall I be? I don’t believe one of you has got an ounce of tact.”
The German rapped the table.
“Those are our terms. Otherwise, death!”
Tommy leaned back wearily.
“I like your style. Curt, but attractive. So be it, then. But one thing
is essential, I must see the girl.”
“What girl?”
“Jane Finn, of course.”
The other looked at him curiously for some minutes, then he said slowly,
and as though choosing his words with care:
“Do you not know that she can tell you nothing?”
Tommy’s heart beat a little faster. Would he succeed in coming face to
face with the girl he was seeking?
“I shall not ask her to tell me anything,” he said quietly. “Not in so
many words, that is.”
“Then why see her?”
Tommy paused.
“To watch her face when I ask her one question,” he replied at last.
Again there was a look in the German’s eyes that Tommy did not quite
understand.
“She will not be able to answer your question.”
“That does not matter. I shall have seen her face when I ask it.”
“And you think that will tell you anything?” He gave a short
disagreeable laugh. More than ever, Tommy felt that there was a
factor somewhere that he did not understand. The German looked at
him searchingly. “I wonder whether, after all, you know as much as we
think?” he said softly.
Tommy felt his ascendancy less sure than a moment before. His hold had
slipped a little. But he was puzzled. What had he said wrong? He spoke
out on the impulse of the moment.
“There may be things that you know which I do not. I have not pretended
to be aware of all the details of your show. But equally I’ve got
something up my sleeve that _you_ don’t know about. And that’s where I
mean to score. Danvers was a damned clever fellow----” He broke off as
if he had said too much.
But the German’s face had lightened a little.
“Danvers,” he murmured. “I see----” He paused a minute, then waved to
Conrad. “Take him away. Upstairs--you know.”
“Wait a minute,” said Tommy. “What about the girl?”
“That may perhaps be arranged.”
“It must be.”
“We will see about it. Only one person can decide that.”
“Who?” asked Tommy. But he knew the answer.
“Mr. Brown----”
“Shall I see him?”
“Perhaps.”
“Come,” said Conrad harshly.
Tommy rose obediently. Outside the door his gaoler motioned to him to
mount the stairs. He himself followed close behind. On the floor above
Conrad opened a door and Tommy passed into a small room. Conrad lit a
hissing gas burner and went out. Tommy heard the sound of the key being
turned in the lock.
He set to work to examine his prison. It was a smaller room than the
one downstairs, and there was something peculiarly airless about the
atmosphere of it. Then he realized that there was no window. He walked
round it. The walls were filthily dirty, as everywhere else. Four
pictures hung crookedly on the wall representing scenes from Faust.
Marguerite with her box of jewels, the church scene, Siebel and his
flowers, and Faust and Mephistopheles. The latter brought Tommy’s mind
back to Mr. Brown again. In this sealed and closed chamber, with its
close-fitting heavy door, he felt cut off from the world, and the
sinister power of the arch-criminal seemed more real. Shout as he would,
no one could ever hear him. The place was a living tomb....
With an effort Tommy pulled himself together. He sank on to the bed
and gave himself up to reflection. His head ached badly; also, he was
hungry. The silence of the place was dispiriting.
“Anyway,” said Tommy, trying to cheer himself, “I shall see the
chief--the mysterious Mr. Brown and with a bit of luck in bluffing I
shall see the mysterious Jane Finn also. After that----”
After that Tommy was forced to admit the prospect looked dreary.
CHAPTER XVII. ANNETTE
THE troubles of the future, however, soon faded before the troubles of
the present. And of these, the most immediate and pressing was that of
hunger. Tommy had a healthy and vigorous appetite. The steak and
chips partaken of for lunch seemed now to belong to another decade. He
regretfully recognized the fact that he would not make a success of a
hunger strike.
He prowled aimlessly about his prison. Once or twice he discarded
dignity, and pounded on the door. But nobody answered the summons.
“Hang it all!” said Tommy indignantly. “They can’t mean to starve me
to death.” A new-born fear passed through his mind that this might,
perhaps, be one of those “pretty ways” of making a prisoner speak, which
had been attributed to Boris. But on reflection he dismissed the idea.
“It’s that sour-faced brute Conrad,” he decided. “That’s a fellow I
shall enjoy getting even with one of these days. This is just a bit of
spite on his part. I’m certain of it.”
Further meditations induced in him the feeling that it would be
extremely pleasant to bring something down with a whack on Conrad’s
egg-shaped head. Tommy stroked his own head tenderly, and gave himself
up to the pleasures of imagination. Finally a bright idea flashed
across his brain. Why not convert imagination into reality? Conrad
was undoubtedly the tenant of the house. The others, with the possible
exception of the bearded German, merely used it as a rendezvous.
Therefore, why not wait in ambush for Conrad behind the door, and when
he entered bring down a chair, or one of the decrepit pictures, smartly
on to his head. One would, of course, be careful not to hit too hard.
And then--and then, simply walk out! If he met anyone on the way down,
well---- Tommy brightened at the thought of an encounter with his fists.
Such an affair was infinitely more in his line than the verbal encounter
of this afternoon. Intoxicated by his plan, Tommy gently unhooked the
picture of the Devil and Faust, and settled himself in position. His
hopes were high. The plan seemed to him simple but excellent.
Time went on, but Conrad did not appear. Night and day were the same
in this prison room, but Tommy’s wrist-watch, which enjoyed a certain
degree of accuracy, informed him that it was nine o’clock in the
evening. Tommy reflected gloomily that if supper did not arrive soon
it would be a question of waiting for breakfast. At ten o’clock hope
deserted him, and he flung himself on the bed to seek consolation in
sleep. In five minutes his woes were forgotten.
The sound of the key turning in the lock awoke him from his slumbers.
Not belonging to the type of hero who is famous for awaking in full
possession of his faculties, Tommy merely blinked at the ceiling and
wondered vaguely where he was. Then he remembered, and looked at his
watch. It was eight o’clock.
“It’s either early morning tea or breakfast,” deduced the young man,
“and pray God it’s the latter!”
The door swung open. Too late, Tommy remembered his scheme of
obliterating the unprepossessing Conrad. A moment later he was glad that
he had, for it was not Conrad who entered, but a girl. She carried a
tray which she set down on the table.
In the feeble light of the gas burner Tommy blinked at her. He decided
at once that she was one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen.
Her hair was a full rich brown, with sudden glints of gold in it as
though there were imprisoned sunbeams struggling in its depths. There
was a wild-rose quality about her face. Her eyes, set wide apart, were
hazel, a golden hazel that again recalled a memory of sunbeams.
A delirious thought shot through Tommy’s mind.
“Are you Jane Finn?” he asked breathlessly.
The girl shook her head wonderingly.
“My name is Annette, monsieur.”
She spoke in a soft, broken English.
“Oh!” said Tommy, rather taken aback. _“Française?”_ he hazarded.
“Oui, monsieur. Monsieur parle français?”
“Not for any length of time,” said Tommy. “What’s that? Breakfast?”
The girl nodded. Tommy dropped off the bed and came and inspected the
contents of the tray. It consisted of a loaf, some margarine, and a jug
of coffee.
“The living is not equal to the _Ritz_,” he observed with a sigh. “But
for what we are at last about to receive the Lord has made me truly
thankful. Amen.”
He drew up a chair, and the girl turned away to the door.
“Wait a sec,” cried Tommy. “There are lots of things I want to ask you,
Annette. What are you doing in this house? Don’t tell me you’re Conrad’s
niece, or daughter, or anything, because I can’t believe it.”
“I do the _service_, monsieur. I am not related to anybody.”
“I see,” said Tommy. “You know what I asked you just now. Have you ever
heard that name?”
“I have heard people speak of Jane Finn, I think.”
“You don’t know where she is?”
Annette shook her head.
“She’s not in this house, for instance?”
“Oh no, monsieur. I must go now--they will be waiting for me.”
She hurried out. The key turned in the lock.
“I wonder who ‘they’ are,” mused Tommy, as he continued to make inroads
on the loaf. “With a bit of luck, that girl might help me to get out of
here. She doesn’t look like one of the gang.”
At one o’clock Annette reappeared with another tray, but this time
Conrad accompanied her.
“Good morning,” said Tommy amiably. “You have _not_ used Pear’s soap, I
see.”
Conrad growled threateningly.
“No light repartee, have you, old bean? There, there, we can’t always
have brains as well as beauty. What have we for lunch? Stew? How did I
know? Elementary, my dear Watson--the smell of onions is unmistakable.”
“Talk away,” grunted the man. “It’s little enough time you’ll have to
talk in, maybe.”
The remark was unpleasant in its suggestion, but Tommy ignored it. He
sat down at the table.
“Retire, varlet,” he said, with a wave of his hand. “Prate not to thy
betters.”
That evening Tommy sat on the bed, and cogitated deeply. Would Conrad
again accompany the girl? If he did not, should he risk trying to make
an ally of her? He decided that he must leave no stone unturned. His
position was desperate.
At eight o’clock the familiar sound of the key turning made him spring
to his feet. The girl was alone.
“Shut the door,” he commanded. “I want to speak to you.” She obeyed.