The Avenger Part 46

Heneage answered him with greater composure than he had expected, though perhaps to less satisfactory effect.

"Look here, Wrayson," he said, "you appreciate plain speaking, don't you?"

Wrayson nodded. Heneage continued:

"You can go to h.e.l.l with your questions! You understand that? It's plain English."

"Admirably simple," Wrayson answered, "and perfectly satisfactory."

"What do you mean?"

"It answers my question," Wrayson declared quietly.

Heneage shrugged his shoulders.

"You can get what satisfaction you like out of it," he said doggedly.

"It isn't much," Wrayson admitted. "I wish I could induce you to treat me a little more generously."

Heneage looked at him with a curious gleam in his eyes.

"Look here," he said. "Take my advice. Drop the whole affair. You see what it's made of me. It'll do the same to you. I shan't tell you anything! You can swear to that. I've done with it, Wrayson, done with it! You understand that? Talk about something else, or leave me alone!"

Wrayson looked at the man whom he had once called his friend.

"You're in a queer sort of mood, Heneage," he said.

"Let it go at that," Heneage answered. "Every man has a right to his moods, hasn't he? No right to inflict them upon his friends, you'd say!

Perhaps not, but you know I'm a reasonable person as a rule.

Don't--don't--"

He broke off abruptly in his sentence. His eyes were fixed upon a distant corner of the room. Their expression was unfathomable, but Wrayson shuddered as he looked away and followed their direction. Then he, too, started. He recognized the miserable little figure whose presence a group just broken up left revealed. Heneage rose softly to his feet.

"Let us go before he sees us," he whispered hurriedly. "Look sharp!"

But they were too late. Already he was on his way towards them, shambling rather than walking down the room, an unwholesome, unattractive, even repulsive figure. He seemed to have shrunken in size since his arrival in England, and his brother's clothes, always too large, hung about him loose and ungraceful. His tie was grimy; his s.h.i.+rt frayed; his trousers turned up, but still falling over his heels; his hat, too large for him, came almost to his ears. In the increased pallor and thinness of his face, his dark eyes seemed to have come nearer together. He would have been a ludicrous object but for the intense earnestness of his expression. He came towards them with rapidly blinking eyes. He took no notice of Heneage, but he insisted upon shaking hands with Wrayson.

"Mr. Wrayson," he said, "I am glad to see you again, sir. You always treated me like a gentleman. Not like him," he added, motioning with his head towards Heneage. "He's a thief, he is!"

"Steady," Wrayson interrupted, "you mustn't call people names like that."

"Why not?" Barnes asked. "He is a thief. He knows it. He knows who robbed me of my money. And he won't tell. That's what I call being a thief."

Wrayson glanced towards Heneage and was amazed at his demeanour. He had shrunk back in his chair, and he was sitting with his hands in his pockets and his eyes fixed upon the table. Of the two, his miserable little accuser was the dominant figure.

"He's very likely spending it now--my money!" Barnes continued. "Here am I living on crusts and four-penny dinners, and begging my way in here, and some one else is spending my money. Never mind! It may be my turn yet! It may be only a matter of hours," he added, leaning over towards them and showing his yellow teeth, "and I may have the laugh on both of you."

Heneage looked up quickly. He was obviously discomposed.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Sydney Barnes indulged in the graceless but expressive proceeding of sticking his tongue in his cheek. After which he turned to Wrayson.

"Mr. Wrayson," he said, "lend me a quid. I've got the flat to sleep in for a few more weeks, but I haven't got money enough for a meal. I'll pay you back some day--perhaps before you expect it."

Wrayson produced a sovereign and handed it over silently.

"If I were you," he said, "I'd spend my time looking for a situation, instead of hunting about for this supposed fortune of your brother's."

Barnes took the sovereign with hot, trembling fingers, and deposited it carefully in his waistcoat pocket. Then he smiled in a somewhat mysterious manner.

"Mr. Wrayson," he said, "perhaps I'm not so far off, after all. Other people can find out what he knows," he added, pointing at Heneage. "He ain't the only one who can see through a brick wall. Say, Mr. Wrayson, you've always treated me fair and square," he added, leaning towards him and dropping his voice. "Can you tell me this? Did Morry ever go swaggering about calling himself by any other name--bit more tony, eh?"

Wrayson started. For a moment he did not reply. Thoughts were rus.h.i.+ng through his brain. Was he forestalled in his search for this girl?

Meanwhile, Barnes watched him with a cunning gleam in his deep-set eyes.

"Such as Augustus Howard, eh? Real tony name that for Morry!"

Wrayson, with a sudden instinctive knowledge, brushed him on one side, and half standing up, gazed across the room at the corner from which his questioner had come. With her back against the wall, her cheap prettiness marred by her red eyes, her ill-arranged hair, and ugly hat, sat, beyond a doubt, the girl for whom he had waited in the promenade.

CHAPTER x.x.xV

HIS WIFE

Wrayson drew a little breath and looked back at Sydney Barnes.

"You asked me a question," he said. "I believe I have heard of your brother calling himself by some such name."

Barnes grasped him by the arm.

"Look here," he said, "come and repeat that to the young lady over there.

She's with me. It won't do you any harm."

Wrayson rose to his feet, but before he could move he felt Heneage's hand fall upon his arm.

"Where are you going, Wrayson?" he asked.

Barnes looked up at him anxiously. His pale face seemed twisted into a scowl.

"Don't you interfere!" he exclaimed. "You've done me enough harm, you have. You let Mr. Wrayson pa.s.s. He's coming with me."

Heneage took no more notice of him than he would of a yapping terrier. He looked over his head into Wrayson's eyes.

"Wrayson," he said, "don't have anything more to do with this business.