The Chase of the Ruby Part 14

'I sha'n't tell you nothing till I'm inside.'

'You're an a.s.s! Do you think I want to keep you out?' He fumbled with the lock. 'Confound this key; it's rusty.'

'Your hand ain't steady; that's what's wrong with it.'

'Hang the thing!'

The key dropped with a clatter to the ground.

'You let me have a try at it; perhaps my hand ain't so shaky as yours.'

The man outside picked up the fallen key, thrusting his hand through the railings to enable him to do so. Soon the gate was open. When he had entered he locked it again behind him. The two men went into the house. When they were in the hall Mr Burton repeated his a.s.sertion.

'You've been a devil of a time. Do you think I want to stop up all night waiting for you?'

'That's all right. I'll tell you all about it when we get upstairs.

Who's there?'

'Old c.o.x is there, that's who's there; and he looks to me as if he were going to stop there the rest of his life--hanged if he doesn't.'

Possibly Mr Burton had been quenching his thirst too frequently with the idea of speeding the heavy hours of his vigil. The result was obvious in his speech and his appearance. At the foot of the staircase he stumbled against the bottom stair. The newcomer proffered his a.s.sistance.

'Steady, governor. Let me lend you a hand.'

Mr Burton was at once upon his dignity.

'Don't you touch me. I don't want your hand. Do you think I don't know my way up my own staircase?'

He ascended it as if in doubt. The Flyman kept close behind in case of accident. Which fact Mr Burton, when he was half way up, discovered.

Steadying himself against the banister he addressed his too-a.s.siduous attendant.

'Might I ask you not to tread upon my heels? Might I also ask you to go down to the bottom of the stairs and wait there till I'm at the top? There's too much of it.'

'All right, governor. Only don't keep me here too long, that's all.'

'You haven't kept me long? Oh, no! Not more than thirteen hours.'

When he had reached the top Mr Burton threw open the door of a room in which the gas was lighted. In an arm-chair a gentleman was smoking a cigar.

'This confounded Flyman thinks that he's the devil knows who. Seems to think he owns the place. I think I'll have a drink.'

The gentleman in the arm-chair ventured on remonstrance.

'I wouldn't if I were you; at least, not till we've got this business over.'

'Wouldn't you? Then I would. There's something the matter with this beastly siphon.'

The matter was that while he directed the nozzle of the siphon in one direction he held his gla.s.s in another. The result was that the liquor did not go where he intended. So he drank his whisky neat.

While Mr Burton was having his little discussion with the siphon, the man who had described himself as 'the Flyman' came into the room. He was rather over the average height, slightly built, with fair hair and moustache and very pale blue eyes. The eyes were his most peculiar feature. He was not bad looking, with an agreeable personality; at first sight, a likeable man, until you caught his eyes, then you wondered. They were set oddly in his head, so that they seldom seemed to move. He had a trick of regarding you with a curiously immobile stare, which, even when he smiled--which was but rarely--seemed to convey a latent threat. He was dressed like a respectable artisan, and had such a low-pitched, clear, musical voice that it was with surprise one observed how peculiar were his notions of his mother tongue.

As soon as he was inside the room Mr Burton repeated his former inquiry.

'Now, then, have you got it?'

'I have.'

'Then hand it over.'

Mr Burton held out a tremulous hand.

'Half a mo. I've got a word or two to say before we come to that. I should like you to understand how I did get it. It wasn't for the asking, I'd have you know.'

The gentleman in the arm-chair interposed. He waved his cigar.

'One moment.'

'Two, if you like, Mr c.o.x.'

He was a little, paunchy man, with 'Jew' written so large all over him that one asked oneself why he had been so ungrateful to his forefathers as to a.s.sociate himself with such a name as c.o.x--Thomas c.o.x. He got out of his chair, which was much too large for him, so that he could see the Flyman, who still kept himself modestly in the background. He punctuated his words by making little dabs in the air with his cigar.

'What we want is the ruby; that's all we want. We don't want the schedule of your adventures. We're not interested. You understand?'

'Yes, I understand you, Mr c.o.x, but it don't go.'

'What do you mean, "it don't go"?'

'I'm not all alone in this. There's three of us in this game.'

'Listen to me. You say you've got the ruby. Very well, hand it over. I will see you have what Mr Burton promised you. We'll say no more about it, and there'll be an end of the matter.'

The Flyman's manner became a trifle dogged.

'I don't hand over nothing till you've heard what I've got to say.'

Something in the speaker's manner struck the observant Mr c.o.x. He showed signs of perturbation.

'Flyman, you haven't killed him?'

'I don't know whether I have or haven't. I hit, perhaps, a bit harder than I meant. He was as good as dead when I saw him last; anyhow, he'll be silly for the rest of his days, or else I'm wrong. I know what a good downer with a sand bag means. I'm a bit afraid I gave him an extra good one. I didn't like the looks of him at all.'

'You're a fool! Why did you do it?'

'Because you told me?'

'I told you! What the devil do you mean?'

'You set me on the job--you and Mr Burton together. You said to me there's a bloke coming out of a certain house at a certain time. He's got something on him which you're to get. You knew very well I wasn't going to get it out of him by asking.'