CHAPTER VII
INCIDENTS
Several months went by and John Steele saw nothing further, although heheard often, of Miss Jocelyn Wray. His business to the continent,whatever its nature, had seemed sufficiently important to authorize fromhim to her, in due process of time, a short perfunctory messageregretting his inability to present himself at the appointed hour atStrathorn House. Whether the young girl found in the letter a vaguenesswarranting a suspicion that John Steele preferred the heavy duties ofthe city to the light frivolities of the country matters not; suffice itthe weeks passed and no further invitations, in the ponderous script ofthe wife of Sir Charles, arrived to tempt him from his accustomed ways.But the days of this long interim had not passed altogetheruneventfully; a few incidents, apart from the routine of his work,obtruded themselves upon his attention.
A number of supposedly prospective clients had called to ask for him athis office during his sojourn on the other side of the channel. That wasto have been expected; but one or two of these, by dint of flattery, orpossibly silver-lined persuasion, had succeeded in gaining access to hischambers.
"I should like to have a look into John Steele's library; I've heardit's worth while," one had observed to the butler at the door. "Only abit of a peep around!" His manner of putting his desire, supplemented bya half-crown, left the butler no alternative save to comply with therequest, until the "peep around" began to develop into more than cursoryexamination, when his sense of propriety became outraged and thevisitor's welcome was cut short.
"He was that curious, a regular Paul Pry!" explained the servant to JohnSteele, in narrating the incident on the latter's return to London."Seemed specially taken by the reports of the old trials you have on theshelves, sir. 'What an interesting collection of _causes celebres!_' hekept remarking. 'I suppose your master makes much of them?' He wouldhave been handling of them, too, and when I showed him thedoor--trusting I did right, sir, even if he should happen to be aclient!--he asked more questions before going."
"What questions?" quietly.
"Personal-like. But I put a stop to that."
For a few moments John Steele said nothing; his face, on hisreappearance in London, had looked slightly paler, more set anddetermined, not unlike that of a man, who, strongly assailed, has madeup his mind to do battle to the end. With whom? How many? He might putout his hand, clench it; the thin air made no answer. He regarded theshadows now; they seemed to wave around him, intangible, obscure. A darkday in town, the streets were oppressive; the people below passed likepoorly done replicas of themselves; the rattle of the wheels resembled asullen, disgruntled mumble.
"You will admit no one to my chambers during my absence in the future,"said Steele at length, to the man, sternly. "No one, you understand,under any pretext whatever; even," a flicker of grim humor in the deepeyes, "if he should say he was a client of mine!"
The butler returned a subdued answer, and John Steele, after a moment'sthought, stepped to a large safe in the corner, and applying a somewhatelaborate combination, swung open the door. Taking from a compartment abundle of papers carefully rolled, he unfastened the tape, spread themon a table and examined them, one after the other. They made avoluminous heap; here and there on the white pages in bold regularscript appeared the name of a woman; her life lay before him, thevarious stages of an odd and erratic career. At a cabaret at Montmartre;at a casino in the Paris Bohemian quarter; in London--at a variety hallof amusement. And afterward!--wastrel, nomad! Throughout the writing, inmany of the documents, another name, too, a titled name, a man's, oftencame and went, flitted elusively from leaf to leaf.
The reader looked at this name, wrote a page or two, and inserted them.But his task seemed to afford him little satisfaction; his face wore anexpression not remote from discouragement; none knew better than he theactual value, for his purpose, of the material before him. The chaff,froth, bubble of the case!--almost contemptuously he regarded it. Had hesought the unattainable? Certainly he had left no stone unturned, nostone, and yet the head and front of what he sought had ever escapedhim--should he ever grasp it?--with these new secret activities menacinghim?--harassing the future?
He drew himself up suddenly, as if to shake off momentary doubt ordepression. Replacing his documents in the safe and locking it, hewalked into a room adjoining; in a bare, square place on the wall hungfoils and broadswords, and the only furnishings were the conventionalappointments of a home gymnasium.
Here, having doffed his street clothes and assumed the scant costume ofthe athlete, for an hour or more he exercised vigorously, every muscleresponding to its task with an untiring ease that told of a perfectsystem of training. As he stood in the glow, breathing deep and full,his figure, with its perfect lines of strength and litheness, the superbbut not too pronounced swell of limb and shoulder, would have been thedelight of the professional expounder of dumb-bells, bars and clubs, asthe most proper medium of "fitness" and condition. Whether he exercisedfor the sake of exercising, or because bodily movement served tostimulate his mind in the consideration of problems of moment, JohnSteele certainly had never been in finer physical fettle than at thisparticular period of his varied and eventful career. Which proved ofservice to him and his well-being, for one night, not long thereafter,he was called upon to defend himself from a number of footpads who setupon him.
The episode occurred in his own street near a corner, where the shadowswere black at an hour when the narrow way seemed silent and deserted.For a block or more footfalls had sounded behind him, now quickening,then becoming more deliberate, in unison with his own steps, as fromtime to time he purposely altered his pace. Once he had stopped;whereupon they too had paused. A moment he stood looking up at St.Paul's, immense, ominous, casting at that late hour a dim patch ofshadow over scores of pigmy buildings and paltry byways; when he wenton, patter!--patter!--the trailing of feet, inevitable as fate, followedthrough the darkness. But they came no nearer until, abruptly wheeling,he entered the short street where his chambers were located; at the sametime two men, apparently sauntering from the river in that sidethoroughfare, approached him somewhat rapidly, separating slightly asthey did so.
John Steele seemed oblivious. He moved into a doorway and drawing fromhis pocket a cigar, unconcernedly lighted a match. The fellows looked athim, at the tiny flame; it flickered and went out. They hesitated; hefelt in his pocket, giving them time to move by. They did not do so; ina moment the others from the main highway would join them. As ifdisappointed in not finding what he sought, Steele, looking around,appeared to see for the first time the evil-looking miscreants who hadcame from the direction of the Thames, and striding toward them askedbruskly for a light. One of the fellows thus unceremoniously addressedhad actually begun to feel in his shabby garments for the articlerequired when his companion uttered a short derisory oath.
It served as a sudden stimulus to him against whom it was directed; theold precept that he who strikes first strikes best, John Steele seemedfully to appreciate. His heavy stick flashed in the air, rang hard; theway before him cleared, he did not linger. But close behind now theothers came fast; his door, however, was near. Now he reached it, fittedthe heavy key. Had it turned as usual, the episode would have beenbrought to a speedy conclusion, but, as it was, the key stuck. Theforemost of those who had been trailing fell upon Steele but soon drewback; one of them, unable to repress a groan, held his hand to a brokenwrist, while from his helpless fingers a knife dropped to the ground.
A hoarse voice in thieves' jargon, unintelligible to the layman, cursedthem for cowards; John Steele on a sudden laughed loudly, exultantly;whereupon he who had thus spoken from the background stared. Aponderous, hulking fellow, about six feet three, with a shock of redhair and a thick hanging lip,--obviously this one of his assailantspossessed immense, unusual strength. In appearance he was the reverse ofpleasing; his bloodshot eyes seemed to shine like coals from thedarkness, the huge body to quiver with rage or with lust for theconflict.
"Let me at him
, ye--!" he cried in foul and flash tongue, when JohnSteele suddenly called him by name, said something in that selfsamedialect of pickpurses and their ilk.
Whatever the words or their portent, the effect was startling. Steele'sbulky assailant paused, remained stock-still, his purpose arrested, allhis anger gone out of him.
"How the--? Who--?" the man began.
"Call off your fellows!" John Steele's voice seemed to thrill; a fierceelation shone from his glance. "I want to talk with you. It'll be moreworth your while than any prigging or bagging you've ever yet done."
"Well, I'm blowed!" The man's tone was puzzled; surprise, suspiciongleamed from the bloodshot eyes. "How should a swell gent like youknow--? And you want to talk with me? Here's a gamey cove!"
"I tell you I must talk with you! And it will be better for you, myman--" a sharp metallic click told that the speaker had turned the keyin the lock behind him--"to step in here with me. You needn't be afraidI'm going to nab you; I've got a lay better than hooking you for thedock. As for the others, they can go, for all of me."
"Oh, they can!" The big man's face expressed varying feelings--vaguewonder; at the same time he began to edge cautiously away. "That wouldbe a nice plant, wouldn't it? Let's out of this, blokies!" suddenly,"this cove knows too much, and--"
"Wait!" Steele stepped slightly toward him. "I want you, Tom Rogers, andI'm going to have you; it'll be quids in your pocket and not Newgate."
"Slope for it, mates!" The big man's voice rang out; around the cornerin the direction of the Thames the burly figure of a policeman appearedin the dim light. "That's his little game!" and turned.
But John Steele sprang savagely forward. "You fool! You'll not get awayso easily!" he exclaimed, when one of the others put out a foot. Itcaught the pursuing man fairly and tripped him. John Steele went downhard; his head struck the stone curb violently.
For some moments he lay still; when at length he did move, to lifthimself on his elbow, as through a mist he made out the broad andsolicitous face of a policeman bending over him.
"That was a nasty fall you got, sir."
"Fall?" John Steele arose, stood swaying. "That man!--must notescape--Do you hear? must not!" As he spoke he made as if to rushforward; the other laid steadying fingers on his arm.
"Hold hard a bit, sir," he said. "Not quite yourself; besides, they'rewell out of sight now. No use running after."
Steele moved, grasped the railing leading up the front step; his browthrobbed; a thousand darting pains shot through his brain. But for themoment these physical pangs were as nothing; disappointment,self-reproach moved him. To have allowed himself to go down like that;to have been caught by such a simple trick! Clumsy clod!--and at amoment when--He laughed fiercely; from his head the blood flowed; he didnot feel that hurt now.
The officer regarded the strong, noble figure moving just a little toand fro, the lips set ironically, the dark eyes that gleamed in thenight as with sardonic derision.
"Pardon me, sir," he said in a brisker tone, "but hadn't we better goin? This, I take it, is your house; you can look after yourselfsomewhat, and afterward describe your assailants. Then we'll start outto find and arrest them, if possible!"
"Arrest?" John Steele looked at the officer; his gaze slowly regainedits accustomed steadiness. "I am afraid I can't help you; the darkness,the suddenness of the attack--"
"But surely you must have noticed something, sir; whether they werelarge, or small; what sort of clothes they wore--" The other shook hishead; the man appeared disappointed. "Well, I'll make a report of theattack, but--"
Steele loosened his hold on the railing; he appeared now to haverecovered his strength. "That's just what I don't want you to do. Myname is John Steele, you know of me?" And, as the other returned arespectful affirmative, "It is my desire to escape any notoriety in thislittle matter, you understand? As one whose profession brings him inconnection with these people, the episode seems rather anomalous as wellas humiliating. It might even," his accents had a covert mocking sound,"furnish a paragraph for one of the comic weeklies. So you see--"Something passed from his hand to the policeman's.
"I didn't think of that, sir; but I suppose there is something in yourway of looking at it, and as there isn't much chance of getting them,anyhow, without any clue, or description--" his voice died away.
Walking quickly up the steps John Steele opened the door, murmured aperfunctory "Good night" and let himself in. But as he mounted to hischambers, some of the moment's exultation that had seized him at sightof the man, revived.
"He has come back--he is here--in London. I surely can lay hands onhim--I must! I will!"
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