“We shall have to get you married, Joan,” he said, as he sat down with a grimace before an unappealing breakfast. “That man Clifford is probably a good fellow. It’s rather awkward, finding that he’s the senior partner, and I’m glad I didn’t say the things I was tempted to say when we met–-“
“I am getting married on Friday,” said Joan quietly, and he gaped up at her with a frightened expression.
“On Friday?” he squeaked. “Impossible—impossible! It’s—it’s indelicate! Why, you don’t know the man!”
He sprang up from his chair in a weak rage.
“I will not have it! The thing must be done as I wish! Does Mabel know?”
It was surprising that Mabel had not told him, thought Joan. She learnt afterwards that Mr Narth’s elder daughter was reserving this tit-bit for the privacy of a family council.
“Decency, decency!” quavered Mr Narth, so unlike his sual self that the girl could only look at him. “There’s a lot to happen before—before you’re married. You owe me something, Joan. You haven’t forgotten your brother–-“
“You have not given me much chance of forgetting, Mr Narth,” she said, with rising anger. “It was because of all you did for my brother that I agreed to marry Mr Lynne at all. Clifford Lynne wishes the marriage to take place on Friday—and I have agreed.”
“Have I nothing to do with this?” he stormed. “Am I not to be consulted?”
“Consult him by all means,” said the girl coldly.
“Wait, wait!” he called after her as she was leaving the room. “Don’t let us lose our tempers, Joan. I have an especial eason for asking you to postpone this marriage till a later date–-What is it?” he snapped irritably at the newly-returned butler who appeared in the doorway, still in his street attire.
“Will you see Mr Lynne?” asked the man.
“Does he want to see me?” Stephen demanded. “You’re sure he doesn’t mean Miss Joan?”
“He particularly asked for you, sir.”
Narth’s trembling hand went up to his mouth.
“Put him in the library,” he said ungraciously, and steeled himself to an interview which instinct told him would be unpleasant; and in this case instinct did not lie, for Clifford had come to ask a few very uncomfortable questions.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
He was pacing the library floor when Mr Narth went in (“as though it were his own,” complained Stephen bitterly to his daughter) and turned abruptly to face the senior partner of Narth brothers.
“Shut that door, will you?”
It was a command rather than a request, and it was strange how instantly Stephen obeyed.
“You came back here at four o’clock this morning,” he began. “You had supper at Giro’s, which closed at one. What did you and your daughters do between one and four?”
Narth could not believe his ears.
“May I ask–-” he began.
“Ask nothing. If you were going to ask me what authority I have for putting these questions to you, you can save yourself the trouble,” said Clifford briefly. “I want to know what you were doing between one and four.”
“And I absolutely refuse to satisfy your curiosity,” said the other angrily. “Things have come to a pretty pass when–-“
“At three o’clock this morning,” the man from China broke in brusquely, “an attempt was made to carry off Joan Bray from this house. That is news to you?”
The man nodded dumbly.
“You think the attempt has not been made, but you expected it. I was in the bushes listening to you when you were talking to the chauffeur. You asked him to come into the house after he had put the car away; you told him you were nervous, that there had been burglaries in the neighbourhood recently. You were astonished to find that Joan Bray was in her room and unharmed.”
White to the lips, Stephen Narth was incapable of replying.
“You had to fill in the hours between one and four; how did you do it?” The keen eyes were searching his very soul. “You wouldn’t have gone to Fing-Su’s place, and rightly, because you would not wish your daughters to be brought into contact with this man. Shall I tell you what you did?”
Narth made no answer.
“You sneaked out whilst the dance was on and locked the gears of your car. You made that an excuse to take your girls to one of those queer all-night clubs in Fitzroy Square. And then, providentially, at the right moment you discovered the key in your pocket.”
Now Mr Narth found his voice.
“You’re a bit of a detective, Lynne,” he answered. “And, strangely enough, you’re right, except that I did not lock the gears. My chauffeur did that and lost the key. I happened to discover a duplicate in my pocket.”
“You didn’t want to get back until the dirty wor^ was finished, eh?” Clifford’s eyes were glowing like live fires. “You swine!” He spoke the word in a voice that was little above a whisper. “I’m going to tell you something, Narth. If any harm comes to that girl whilst she is in your house and under your care, you’ll never live to enjoy the competence which Joe Bray is supposed to have left you. I’m going to kill your friend—he knows that, doesn’t he? If he doesn’t, just tell him so from me! There’s an old saying that one may as well be hanged for a sheep as for a goat. I don’t know which of the two you are. Listen carefully, Narth—it isn’t an angry man talking to you—threats of killing come pretty glibly to people who couldn’t see a rooster’s neck wrung without fainting. But I’ve killed men, yellow and white, and I’m not going to shiver when I send you down to hell. Get that into your mind and let it walk around! Joan won’t be with you very long, but during that time she’s got to be safe.”
And now Stephen Narth found his voice.
“It’s a lie, a lie!” he screamed. “Why didn’t Joan tell me? I knew nothing about it! Do you think I would allow Fing-Su to take her away–-“
“I didn’t say it was Singili,” said the other quickly. “How did you know?”
“Well, Chinamen–-“
“I didn’t even say Chinamen. You’ve convicted yourself, Mr Stephen Narth! I’ve warned you before, and I’m warning you again. Fing-Su has bought you for fifty thousand pounds, but you could twist out of that, because you’re naturally a twister. But he’s going to hold you in a tighter bond than monetary obligation. He nearly did it last night. He’ll do it before the week’s out—how or where or when, I do not know.” He paused. “That’s all I have to say to you,” he said, and strode past the paralysed man into the hall.
He was walking down the drive when he heard Stephen’s voice calling him, and, turning, he saw the white-faced man gesticulating wildly, in a mad abandonment of rage. He was pouring forth a torrent of wild, incoherent abuse:
“…you won’t marry Joan…do you hear that? I don’t care a damn if all Joe Bray’s fortune goes to you! I’ll see her dead first…”
Clifford let him rave on, and when from sheer exhaustion he stopped:
“Then you did see Fing-Su last night? What offer did he make to you?”
Stephen glowered at him, and then, as though he feared that his secret thoughts could be read by those piercing eyes, he turned and ran back to the house like a man possessed.
*
“There’s going to be trouble, Joe, and as you’ve caused most of it I hope you’ll get your share.”
Joe Bray, dozing before an unnecessary fire, for the day was warm, his hands clasped before his stomach, woke with a start.
“Eh?…I wish you wouldn’t pop in and out like a—a—what d’you call ‘em, Cliff. What did you say?”