“No,” Bill said. “He has a new one now. At the moment he's collecting autographs. You'll hear about it.”
“Thanks for breaking it. Bill,” Sandy said, whipping the little leather-bound book out of an overall pocket. He turned over the pages and stuck a pencil in the Duke's hand. “Just sign it there.”
The Duke of Malbury wrote his name and chuckled. “You still work fast, eh?”
“Can you arrange things so that they put the Lancer under lock and key for me here?” Bill asked him.
“Easily,” the duke said. “I have a motor here. Well roll down to London. I'm anxious to hear your story. Knowing you, I know it won't be prosaic.”
A short time later the three of them were settled in Malbury's chauffeur-driven Sunbeam landaulet.
“You'd better plug up that speaking tube so your chauffeur won't hear us,” Bill said when Malbury asked him a question.
“Righto.” Malbury stuck a handkerchief into the mouthpiece.
Then Bill unfolded the things that had occurred to him during the past twenty-four hours, interspersing them with an account of the man he called the Saver of Souls.
They were deep into the heart of the great city of London before Bill had finished. Malbury had only interrupted a half-dozen times to ask questions.
Now, his breath exhaled through his lips in a long, low whistle. His eyes were half-closed as he shook his head slowly from side to side.
“A tale I would not believe if it hadn't come from you, Barnes,” he said. “A most incredible thing.”
“It is,” Bill said. “I wouldn't believe it if it hadn't happened to me. The thing is, where shall we start to find this man? He must be somewhere in the British Isles. You know the ropes. You know who to go to to start such a search. The man must have a vast amount of money. You wouldn't hunt for him in the places you would look for the average dangerous character. Every possible landing place in Ireland and England must be checked to get trace of those dun-colored- biplanes.”
“We'll have to know everything before we release the facts,” Malbury said. “I have a friend, a pal. Lord Hereburn —he's the man to go to. We must start the ball rolling from the top. He is high up. All the machinery of the home office will begin to click it he gives the word. An ant couldn't get out of England then if they didn't want it to.”
“Where can we find him?” Bill asked.
“Easy does it, my boy,” Malbury said. “I'll have to locate him and talk to him alone first. He isn't the kind you can walk in on. You said you were going to the Hotel Cecil? You're sure you wouldn't like me to put you up at one of my clubs?”
“No,” Bill said. “I prefer to go to the Cecil until this thing is over. Then, I would like to spend a few days with you at Arunway. This,” he added bitterly, “is supposed to be a holiday for me.”
“Yes,” Malbury said. “We'll rest up out at the old pile of rocks when we get this thing straightened out. I'll drop you at the Cecil and start my hunt for Hereburn. I may reach him immediately, or it may be morning before I find him. You look as though you needed rest. You'd better get it now because there is nothing you can do. We'll have the jolly old ball rolling when you wake up.”
Malbury's chauffeur helped them into the lobby of the Cecil with the luggage they had brought with them.
“I'll ring you sometime tonight or the first thing in the morning,” Malbury said as he turned away.
“Eight,” Bill said. “I'll be anxious to hear from you.”
His eyes were two bright coals and his face was lined and haggard. Reaction had set in and he was tired as he could never remember being before.
They were assigned two rooms with a bath between them in a quiet spot on the third floor of the enormous hostelry. Bill picked up the telephone in his room and asked for a waiter with a menu.
“I suppose we've got to eat something,” he said to Sandy.
“Eat something?” Sandy said. “Say, if I don't get some food pretty quick something serious is going to happen. I'm famished. I haven't had anything to eat since we left Barnes Field.”
“Who ate all those chicken sandwiches you brought along—your automatic pilot?” Bill asked in disgust.
“I ate them,” Sandy said. “But there were only twelve of them.”
Bill ordered a light meal for himself and then turned the menu over to Sandy. He got a bath while Sandy was ordering because even the mention of food made him a little sick.
When the food was brought Bill couldn't help noticing the way the waiter's eyes roved over the room and their possessions. When the man brushed against him and let his hand flick across the two patch pockets in his dressing gown, he knew he was trying to find out if they were armed.
“The Saver of Souls knows how to handle his cutthroat business,” he said to himself. “He is probably going crazy because I stuck my nose in his little scheme.”
After they had finished eating Bill said to Sandy, “You hop in there and turn your light out and get some sleep, kid.” He followed Sandy into his room and saw that the fire escape that was outside his own room did not reach to Sandy's. There was a sheer drop of thirty feet to the roof of the next building.
“Good night, kid,” Bill said. “I'll let you know as soon as I hear from Malbury.”
“Okay, Bill,” Sandy said. “Gosh, I'm sleepy.”
VIII—THE QUIVERING KNIFE
WHEN Bill went back into his own room his nerves were jangling. He was tired to the point of exhaustion, yet he didn't want to risk falling asleep. He was almost certain that an attempt would be made to kill him before morning, and he realized he couldn't stay awake to defend himself. He thought of trying to get in touch with Malbury again and have him secretly get a couple of men from Scotland Yard to guard him while he slept. He discarded the idea as not being feasible. He finally decided that his nerves were jumpy and his imagination was running away with him.
But he didn't sleep in the soft, three-quarter bed that was in the room. Instead he rolled up a blanket and put it in the bed where he should have been. At the end of the blanket on the pillow he placed an overall bunched up to give the general outline of his head.
Then he lay down on the couch that was against a wall, determined to stay awake as long as he could. In three minutes his eyes were closed and he was deep in sleep.
The room was shrouded in darkness, except for a thin stream of moonlight cutting across the bottom of the window sill. There wasn't any sound or the faintest rustle to disturb the quiet of the night.
Suddenly Bill was wide awake. Instinct warned him not to move, not even to raise his arm to look at the luminous dial of his wrist watch. The muscles in his body became tense, and he could feel perspiration oozing from his face. He knew that something was in the room. He continued to draw deep, even breaths as though he was still sleeping.
Then a tiny beam of light danced across the bed and was gone. For an instant a lean brown hand had appeared in the beam of light—a hand that clasped a knife. The blade was only four inches above the form in the bed.
Bill waited to hear the knife swish down into the bedclothes and rolled blanket. But no such sound came to his ears. He knew that the person holding the knife had detected his ruse and was silently waiting until he located the spot from which the sound of breathing came.
Cold sweat ran into Bill's eyes as he conquered an almost overwhelming desire to shout or leap to his feet and snap on a light. He knew that when he moved he must be sure of the location of that figure or the knife would find a resting place in his body.
He saw a faint shadow moving toward the little hallway that led into the bathroom and Sandy's room. Slowly, without moving the rest of his body, he brought his legs up. He knew he must stop that form from getting into Sandy's room. Like a streak of lightning he whirled his body off the couch to the floor.