Big Money Page 7

  'I don't think I will have any coffee. As a matter of fact, I would like to go directly I have finished the sweet. If you don't mind my leaving you?'

  'My dear girl, of course not. Not at all. I will just sit here and listen to the music. I may possibly have a cigar and a liqueur. Got some shopping to do?'

  'No – but it's such a lovely day, I rather wanted to go for a run in my car. I've got it outside. I thought I would go down to the river somewhere.'

  'Streatley is a charming spot. Or Sonning.'

  'I somehow feel as if I want to get away and think today.'

  'I understand,' said Lord Hoddesdon paternally. 'Naturally. Well, don't you bother about me. I'll just sit. I like sitting.'

  Ann smiled, and looking out across the room again, immediately found her eye colliding with that of the young man in brown at the table by the wall – the seventh time this had happened since her arrival.

  There were two reasons why Ann Moon, sitting where she did, should have caught Berry Conway's eye so frequently. One was that when she looked up she had to look in his direction, because in the only other possible direction there was seated a bearded man of such sinister and revolting aspect that, whenever her gaze met his, she recoiled as if she had touched something hot. And he was not only most unpleasant to look at, but in an odd way he reminded her the tiniest little bit of her betrothed, Lord Biskerton, and she found this disturbing.

  The other reason was that, rebuke herself for the weakness though she might, she liked catching Berry's eye. The process definitely gave her pleasure. His eye seemed to her an interesting eye. It had, she noted, a kind of odd, smouldering, hungry sort of gleam in it – a gleam that might have been described as yearning. It was novel to her. None of the men she had met had ever had yearning gleams in their eyes. Clarence Dumphry, the well-known stiff, hadn't. Nor had the Burwash boy. Nor, for that matter, had Lord Biskerton. And it was a gleam she liked.

  He intrigued her, this lean, slim young man with his keen face and fine shoulders. He had the air, she thought, of one who did things. He somehow suggested brave adventures. She could picture herself, for instance, trapped in a burning house and this young man leaping gallantly to the rescue. She could see herself assailed by thugs and this young man felling them with a series of single blows. That was the sort of man he seemed to her.

  She wished she knew him.

  Berry, at his table, was wishing even more heartily that he knew her. If his eye gleamed yearningly, it had every reason to do so. He was regretting passionately that Fate, having planned that he should feel about a girl the extraordinary flood of mixed emotions which were now making him dizzy, had not arranged that he should feel them about some girl with whom he might conceivably at some time become acquainted.

  It was quite evident to him by now that he had happened upon the one member of the opposite sex who might have been constructed from his own specifications. If all the arrangements had been in his personal charge, there was not the smallest alteration which he would have made. Those eyes; that small, provocative nose; those teeth; that hair; those hands – they were all exactly right.

  And for all the chance he had of ever getting to know her they might be on different planets.

  Ships that pass in the night.

  She was leaving now. So, as a matter of fact, was the bearded man. But Berry had ceased to waste thought on him. The bearded man had been eliminated by the pressure of competition. By this time, he was to Berry just a bearded man, if that.

  It seemed to Berry that he might as well be leaving too. He called for his bill, and tried not to wince at the sight of it.

  Out in the sunshine, Ann walked pensively towards her two-seater. She had parked it up near the Square. The bearded man had parked his somewhere up there, too, it appeared, for he now passed her, giving her, as he went, a swift, strange, sinister look. The resemblance to Lord Biskerton was even more striking than it had been at a distance in the restaurant. Seen close to, he might have been Lord Biskerton's brother who had gone to the bad and taken to growing beards.

  The sight of him gave Ann a guilty feeling. In thought, she realized, she had not been altogether true to her Godfrey. She found, examining her soul, that she had been comparing him to his disadvantage with that strong, romantic-looking young man in brown, whose eye had seemed so yearning and who now, as she settled down at the wheel of her two-seater, jumped abruptly in beside her and in a voice that electrified every vertebra in her spine, whispered hoarsely:

  'Follow that car!'

  III

  In addition to galvanizing her spine, this polite request had had the effect of causing Ann to bite her tongue. It was with tear-filled eyes that she turned, and in a voice thickened with anguish that she replied.

  'Wock car?' asked Ann.

  Berry did not reply immediately. His emotions at the moment were those of one who has just jumped into a pool of icy water and is trying to get used to it. He was still endeavouring to convince himself that it was really he who had behaved in this remarkable manner. Such is often the effect of acting upon impulse.

  'Wock car?' said Ann.

  Berry pulled himself together. He had started something, and he must go on with it.

  'That one,' he said, pointing.

  He would have been amazed, had he known that his companion was thinking what an attractive voice he had. To his ears, the words had sounded like the croak of an aged frog.

  'The one with the bearded man in it?' said Ann.

  'Yes,' said Berry. 'Follow him wherever he goes.'

  'Why?' said Ann.

  It is proof that she was no ordinary girl that she had not begun by asking this question.

  Berry had not spent much of his valuable time in brooding on the bearded man for nothing. His answer came readily.

  'He's wanted.'

  'Who by?'

  'The police.'

  'Are you a policeman?'

  'Secret Service,' said Berry.

  Ann stepped on the accelerator. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. She had never felt so happy and excited in her life.

  It charmed her to think that her long-range estimate of this young man had not been at fault. She had classed him on sight as one who lived dangerously and dashingly, and she had been right.

  She quivered from head to foot, and her chin wiggled. At last, felt Ann Moon, she had met somebody different.

  IV

  Godfrey, Lord Biskerton, was also feeling in the pink.

  'Tra-la!' he carolled as he steered his car into Piccadilly, and 'Tum tum ti-umty-tum,' he chanted, turning southwards at Hyde Park Corner. He was filled with the justifiable exhilaration which comes to a man who has made a great and momentous experiment and has seen that experiment not only come off but prove an absolute riot from start to finish.

  In risking the trial trip of his beard and eyebrows (by Clarkson) at such a familiar haunt of his as the Berkeley, the Biscuit had known that he was applying the acid test. If nobody recognized him there, nobody would recognize him anywhere. Apart from the fact that he would be sitting in the midst of a platoon of his intimates, most of the waiters knew him well. In fact, the head-waiter had always treated him more like a younger brother than a customer.

  And what had happened? Neither Ferraro nor any of his assistants had shown in his manner the slightest suggestion of Auld Lang Syne. They might have been saying to themselves 'Ha! A distinguished, bearded stranger!' They had certainly not been saying to themselves 'Well, well! What a peculiar appearance jolly old Biskerton has today!' Not one of them had spotted him. He had passed the scrutiny with honours.

  And Ann. He had given her every opportunity. He had stared meaningly at her in the restaurant, and he had passed within a foot of her when going to depark his car. But she, too, had failed to penetrate his disguise.

  And old Berry. That, he reflected complacently, had been his greatest triumph. 'Is it that you can dee-reck-ut me to Less-ess-ter Skervare?' Right in the open, face to
face. And not a tumble out of the man.

  To sum up, then. If all these old friends and acquaintances had been utterly unable to recognize him, what hope was there for the bloodsuckers with their judgment summonses – for Jones Bros, Florists, twenty-seven pounds, nine and six, or for Galliwell and Gooch, Shoes and Bootings, thirty-four, ten, eight?

  A great relief stole over Lord Biskerton. Thanks to this A1 beard and these tried and tested eyebrows, he would be able to remain in London and go freely and without fear about his lawful occasions. Until this afternoon he had doubted whether this were possible. There had been pessimistic moments when he had seen himself having to fly to Bexhill or take cover in Wigan.

  For the rest, it was a lovely day: the car was running sweetly: and if he stepped on the gas a bit he would just be able to get to Sandown Park in time for the three o'clock race. He knew something pretty juicy for the three o'clock at Sandown and, thank Heaven, there were still a brace or so of bookies on the list who, though noticeably short on Norman blood, fully made up for the deficiency by that simple faith which the poet esteems so much more highly.

  By the time he reached Esher, the Biscuit was trolling a gay stave. And it was as he approached the Jolly Harvesters, licensed to sell wines, spirits and tobacco, that there floated into his mind the thought that what the situation called for was a beaker of the best.

  He braked the two-seater and went in.

  V

  In the car which was following him there had at first reigned a silence broken only by the whirring of the engine as Ann's shapely foot bore down on the accelerator. It was not until the Kingston by-pass had been reached that its two occupants substituted talk for meditation. Each had begun the journey borne down by weight of thought, and each had good reason to think.

  Ann was a conscientious girl. Indeed, her conscience, the legacy of a long line of New England ancestors, had always had an unpleasant habit of spoiling for her many of the more attractive happenings of life. It had clawed her in the restaurant. It now bit her. It was a conscience that seemed to possess all the least likeable qualities of a wild-cat.

  She could not deceive herself. Hers was essentially an honest nature, and she was well aware that, having pledged herself to marry Lord Biskerton, she had limited the scope of her actions. There are certain things which an engaged girl has not the right to do. Or, if she does them, she must not like doing them. As, for instance, catching the eye of strange young men in restaurants. As, for further instance, thinking long and earnestly about a strange young man whose eye she has caught in a restaurant and wishing she could get to know him. And, for a final instance, allowing such a young man to leap into her car and initiate what, despite its grim, official, Secret Service nature, Conscience persisted in describing as a joy-ride.

  'Don't talk to me about the call of duty,' said Conscience, in its worst New England manner. 'You're liking it.'

  And Ann had to admit that she was. Reluctantly, she was obliged to confess to herself that she had never felt happier since, at the age of fourteen, she had received a signed photograph from John Barrymore.

  If the possession of parents with a great deal of money and a high social position has a defect, it is that it involves on a girl a rather sheltered and conventional life. Ann's, ever since she was old enough to remember, had been lived in a luxurious and somewhat narrow groove. A finishing-school in Paris, a series of seasons in New York, winters at Palm Beach or Aiken, summers in Maine or at Southampton . . .A cramping existence for a romantic soul.

  The men she knew were well-groomed, handsome, polite, but – well, ordinary. Of a pattern. Sometimes she had to collect herself to remember which was which. This one beside her was something new.

  Nevertheless, it was quite wrong of her – and she knew that it was quite wrong – to feel this extraordinary fluttering sensation. She should either have refused his extraordinary request, or if an excusable desire to assist the Secret Service of Great Britain had led her to comply with it, should have preserved a detached and impersonal attitude, as if she had been a taxi-driver.

  So Ann drove on, and her conscience clawed her abominably.

  As for Berry, it would be too much to say that anything in the nature of a real reaction had set in from the mood of rash impulsiveness which had spurred him on to take that sudden leap into this car. He still felt he had done the right thing. Looking back, he could find nothing in his conduct to deplore. Behaviour which in other circumstances might possibly have lain open to the charge of being slightly eccentric, became on a day like this normal and prudent. Had he not acted as he had done, this wonderful girl would have passed out of his life for ever. To prevent a tragedy so unthinkable, no course of action could be called injudicious.

  Nevertheless, he was sufficiently restored to sanity to realize that his position might be described as one of some slight embarrassment. Like an enthusiastic but ill-advised sportsman in the jungles of India who has caught a tiger by the tail, he was feeling that he was all right so far, but that his next move would require a certain amount of careful thought.

  And so, wrapped in silence, the car turned into the Kingston by-pass. The other car was bowling rapidly ahead over the smooth concrete. Where its occupant was going it was impossible to guess, but he was certainly on his way.

  Berry was the first to break the silence.

  'This is most awfully good of you,' he said.

  'Oh, no,' said Ann.

  'Oh, yes.'

  'Oh, no.'

  'Oh, but it is,' said Berry.

  'Oh, but it isn't,' said Ann.

  'Well, all I can say,' said Berry, 'is that I think it's most awfully good of you.'

  These polite exchanges seemed to diminish the tension. Berry began to breathe again, and Ann went so far as to take an excited eye off the road and flash it at his face. Seen in profile, that face appealed to her strongly. Strenuous exercise and a sober life had given Berry rather a good profile, lean and hard-looking. There were little muscles over his cheekbones and a small white scar in front of the ear which had an attractive and exciting aspect. A bullet graze, Ann knew, would cause a scar just like that.

  'Most girls would have been scared stiff,' said Berry.

  'Well, I was.'

  'Yes,' said Berry with rising enthusiasm. 'But you didn't hesitate. You didn't falter. You took in the situation in a second, and were off like a flash.'

  'Who is he?' asked Ann breathlessly, peering through the wind-screen at the flying two-seater. 'Or,' she added, 'mustn't you say?'

  Berry would have preferred not to say, but there was plainly nothing else to be done. The owner of a commandeered car has certain rights. He felt that it was fortunate that in his meditations in the restaurant he had gone so deeply into this question of the identity of the bearded bird.

  'I think,' he said, 'he is The Sniffer.'

  'The Sniffer?' Ann's voice was a squeak. 'What Sniffer? How do you mean, The Sniffer? Who is The Sniffer? Why The Sniffer?'

  'The head of the great cocaine ring. They call him The Sniffer. If, that is to say, he is the man I suppose. He may be a perfectly innocent person—'

  'Oh, I hope not.'

  '– Who has the misfortune to resemble one of the most dangerous criminals at present in the country. But I feel sure it's the man himself. You have probably heard how the drug traffic has been increasing of late?'

  'No, I haven't.'

  'Well, it has. And it is this man who is responsible.'

  'The Sniffer?'

  'The Sniffer.'

  There was silence for a moment. Then Ann drew a deep breath.

  'I suppose all this seems very ordinary to you,' she said. 'But I'm just quivering like an aspen. You take it just as a matter of course, I suppose?'

  Young men in Old England do not possess New England consciences. There is the Nonconformist conscience, but Berry was not subject even to that. He replied not only steadily, but with a quiet smile.

  'Well, of course, it is all in the day's
work,' he said.

  'You mean this sort of thing is happening to you all the time?'

  'More or less.'

  'Well!' said Ann.

  It was a personal question, she felt, but she could keep it in no longer.

  'How did you get that scar?' she asked breathlessly.

  'Scar?'

  'There's a little white scar just in front of your ear. Was that caused by a bullet that grazed you?'

  Berry swallowed painfully. Girls bring these things on themselves, he felt. Look at Othello and Desdemona. Othello hadn't dreamed of saying all that stuff about moving accidents by blood and field, of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach, until that girl dragged it out of him with her questions. Othello knew perfectly well that when he talked of the Cannibals that each other eat and the men whose heads grow beneath their shoulders he was piling it on. But what could he do?

  And what, in a similar situation, could Berry Conway do?

  'It was,' he said, and felt that from now on nothing mattered.

  'Coo!' said Ann. 'It must have come pretty close.'

  'It would have come closer,' said Berry, his better self now definitely dead, 'if I had fired a second later.'

  'You fired?'

  'Well, I had to.'

  'Oh, I'm not blaming you,' said Ann.

  'I saw his hand go to his pocket. . . .'

  'Whose hand?'

  'Jack Malloy's. It was when I was rounding up the Malloy gang.'

  'Who were they?'

  'A gang of men who went in for arson.'

  'Fire-bugs?'

  'That's it,' said Berry, wishing he had thought of the word himself. 'They had a headquarters in Deptford. The Chief sent me there to spy out the ground, but my beard came off.'

  'Were you wearing a beard?'

  'Yes.'

  'I don't think I should like you in a beard,' said Ann critically.

  'I never wear one,' Berry hastened to explain, 'unless I'm rounding up a gang.'

  'How many gangs have you rounded up?'