A Master Of Deception Part 11

"Oath! I'll take no oath to you--you Nature's gaol-bird! But of this I a.s.sure you, you'll sleep in a prison cell to-night, and many and many another night to come."

Mr. Patterson, dragging the silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, used it to wipe away the perspiration which again bedewed his brow.

"Shall I?"

"You will."

"Oh, no, I won't; nor will you tell Gladys those unkind things about me and my father."

"Who the devil's going to stop me?"

"I'm the devil who's going to stop you."

Rodney was leaning a little forward. His uncle stopped in the process of wiping his brow to stare at him, as if there were something in his manner which struck him as peculiar. About the young gentleman's lips was the same easy, unconcerned smile which had been there all the time; there was a smile also in his eyes--it was, apparently, this latter which gave him the odd expression which had struck his uncle.

Mr. Patterson glanced about him as if in search of something he would have liked to find. Rodney sat perfectly still. As he put a query to him his uncle's pursy lips showed a tendency to twitch.

"How are you going to stop me?"

"Can't you guess how I am going to stop you?"

"I can do nothing of the kind. You can't stop me, or anyone. I am going to do my duty to my daughter and to society, and nothing can stop me."

"You know better than that. From something which has just come upon your face I can see that already you know better."

Mr. Patterson gave what he doubtless meant to be a spring towards the alarm bell opposite; but, for reasons which were beyond his control, his movements were slower than they should have been--the younger man was much too quick for him. Gripping him again by both his shoulders, exerting greater strength than on the first occasion, he forced him back upon his seat with a degree of violence which seemed to drive the sense half out of him. As Rodney, remaining on his feet, stood towering above him, one perceived more clearly that his was the build of the athlete, and how great were the probabilities, if they came to grips, that the big man would be helpless in his hands. He addressed his uncle as an elder person might have spoken to a mutinous child.

"My dearest uncle--you really must permit me to lay stress upon your avuncular relations.h.i.+p on what will probably be my last chance of doing so--you are not going to pull the alarm bell, you are not going to stop the train. You have no more chance of doing either than you have of flying to the moon, so get that into your drink-sodden brain.

Nor are you going to libel me to Gladys, nor commit me to the mercy of a ruthless police. Presently you will see that as clearly as I do now."

Rodney resumed his seat, still keeping his glance fixed on his uncle, in whose demeanour a change seemed to have taken place which was both mental and physical. Possibly his nephew had used more violence than he supposed. The vigour had gone all out of him; inert, he stared at Rodney with bloodshot eyes, as if drink had taken sudden effect and bemused his brain. The young man's smile became more p.r.o.nounced, as if he found the singularity of the other's appearance amusing. The tone of his voice, when he spoke, was genial and pleasant.

"My dear uncle, if you, the only relative I have in the world, had treated me, when first I entered your office, as you might have been expected to do, I might have become an affectionate and worthy nephew."

"Not you. You started robbing me before you'd been in the place a week."

"Is that so? So soon as that? Perhaps you have never known what it is to be in want of ready cash."

"When I was eighteen I was keeping myself on fifty pounds a year, for which I was working anything up to sixteen hours a day."

"Indeed! It might have been better if that period of your life had lasted longer. You wouldn't have been in the rotten condition you are."

"What's the matter with my condition? I never had a day's illness in my life."

"My dear uncle, if you weren't in a rotten condition you'd have rung that alarm bell before this, wouldn't you? But, although it's only within a foot or two, you'll never ring it--never, because you are rotten."

Mr. Patterson glanced towards the black k.n.o.b. Rodney shook his head.

"It's no good, uncle. You won't be able to get at it--you know that.

What an ill.u.s.tration you are of the desirability of keeping oneself fit! It seems that from the first you kept a sharper eye on me than I suspected."

"I'm not the fool you took me for."

"Aren't you? That remains to be seen. Do you think that it was the part of wisdom to threaten me as you have been doing when you and I were alone together in a compartment of a railway train which doesn't stop, at least, till it gets to Croydon?"

"I've not been threatening you; I wouldn't condescend. I've only been telling you what you may expect."

"That's all; and by doing so you've made the issue a simple one. If you reach town alive, to all intents I shall be dead; whereas, if you reach town dead, I--shall be on velvet, because you see, my dear uncle, I'm Gladys' lover; and she loves me, if possible, even more than I do her. I've proofs of it. Since she is your only child, when you are dead everything you have will be hers, which is tantamount to saying that it will be mine, which is just what I should like. So you will at once perceive how--from every point of view--very much to my advantage it would be that you should be dead."

"You young h.e.l.l-hound! Unfortunately for you, I'm not dead, and I'm not likely to die."

"Oh, yes, you are, very likely--unfortunately for you. You told me that my father only found one way to escape trouble--suicide. You hinted in your most affectionate manner that some time, in my turn, I might only find one way. Your kindly hint made such an impression on me that I actually made preparations, so that I might never be at a loss if ever that time should come. Those preparations are contained in this dainty little box."

Rodney took from his waistcoat pocket what might have pa.s.sed as a silver needle-case or receptacle for pins. He held it out in front of his uncle, who was as much moved by the sight of it as if it had been some object of horror.

"You--you're not going to make away with yourself before my eyes?

You--you don't suppose I'll let you do it?"

"How would you propose to stop me?"

Again Mr. Patterson mopped his brow with his silk handkerchief of many colours. He presented a pitiable spectacle. His lips twitched, his hand trembled, and his whole huge frame seemed to s.h.i.+ver like a ma.s.s of jelly. His voice was broken and husky, he stammered in his speech.

"Elmore, you--you're quite right; I'm--I'm not very well. I--I've had a great deal to put up with lately, and it's unhinged me. Give me that infernal thing you've got there--I don't know what is in it, or if you're playing a trick with me, but--you give it me."

"I'm going to--shortly."

The young man's airy self-possession was in almost painful contrast to the elder's agitation. He glanced at his watch, holding the slender, round case between the finger and thumb of his other hand.

"Nearly half-past nine. What was that station we pa.s.sed? Was it Hayward's Heath? I fancy we do stop at Croydon, so that there's not much time to spare. I'm going to act on your suggestion, uncle--with a difference. I am not going to commit suicide, but you are!"

"I am?--you young fool!--what do you mean?"

"In fact, you practically have committed suicide already."

"The man's mad."

"Possibly--but not on this particular point. When you told me in such very coa.r.s.e language what I might expect, you practically committed suicide, as--I'm about to prove. You remember the case of the eminent financier who, within five minutes of being sentenced to a long term of penal servitude, was in a room which was immediately outside the court in which he had received his sentence, from which he was instantly to be haled to gaol, under the very noses of his warders slipped something between his lips and--escaped. You will probably remember the case better than I do, since at the time I was only a boy; yet I have studied it to such purpose that within this pretty little box are--shall we call them tabloids?--which are in all essentials identical with the one he swallowed. They kill as by a flash of lightning. Whoever has one of these within his reach no man shall stay him from--escaping. You are going to swallow one of these tabloids, uncle--this one."

Uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the top of his silver box, Rodney removed the cap, and took from it what looked like a small peppermint lozenge, holding it up between his finger and thumb.

"You see, uncle--this one; as it were, death reduced to its lowest possible denomination."

At that moment Rodney seemed to be exercising over his uncle some of the fabulous qualities attributed to the serpent. Beyond doubt Mr.

Patterson recognised with sufficient vividness that this young man in front of him was much more dangerous than he had supposed; that he had underrated his capacity for evil; that he might as well have shut himself in with a tiger as with his sister's son. But the recognition came too late. The very force of it had the effect of destroying his few remaining powers of volition. In face of the deadly purpose with which he perceived that his nephew was filled, he was as one paralysed. He could only grow purpler and purpler, and splutter.

"Don't--don't you play any of your infernal tricks on me, you--you villain! Curse it, why can't I get at that bell!" He made as if to rise, but, seemingly, was as incapable of movement as if he had been glued to his seat. As if conscious that his peril was imminent, he raised his voice to a raucous scream.

"Don't--don't you dare to lay your hands on me! Don't--don't you dare to touch me! Help!"