Red Shadow (26 page)

“Where did you hide your piece of the note? I had better get it—it can't stay there.”

Laura pressed her right hand against a sharp ridge of rock.

“It's in the room I had—not at first, but afterwards. When I was ill I had the room just at the top of the stairs, and when I had to find a hiding-place I managed to get as far as the next room but one. It was empty, and I pinned my piece of the note on to the under side of the mattress. And afterwards they moved me into that very room.”

“One of the two front rooms?”

“Yes.”

“Right or left as you come up the stairs?”

“Left.”

“You'd better tell me the whole thing while you're about it. What happens when the three pieces are put together?”

Laura lowered her voice.

“All the papers about the Sanquhar invention are in a safe—somewhere. Only one person knows where or in what name. That person has the key, and she will give it up to whoever brings her the whole five-pound note. It's her authority to hand over the key and to say where the safe is,”

“Who is she?” said Jim Mackenzie.

“His old housemaid, Eliza Huggins. She doesn't know anything at all about the Sanquhar invention. She only knows that she's to give up the key to the person who brings her that five-pound note.”

“And Stefanoff has two pieces——”

He hardly knew that he had spoken aloud. The words went through his mind like a bitter taste.

“
Two?
” said Laura.

“I'm afraid so. I went for a tramp after you telephoned that night, and whilst I was away some one walked into my flat and pinched my piece. Has Stefanoff got a cousin called Alec Stevens?”

“Yes.”

“Well, a man who came to see me met him on the stairs. He'd a cock-and-bull story of having tried to find me—and, I suppose, my piece of the note in his pocket.”

Laura put her hand to her breast.

“They've got your piece?”

“Yes.”

“They've got two pieces?”

“I'm afraid they have.”

She drew in her breath quickly.

“There's only my piece left——”

“I'll get it—don't worry.”

Her hand dropped. She leaned back against the rock. The sun had entered the grey haze that lay like a scarf along the horizon. It could be seen through it, a rayless crimson disk; and suddenly the water was grey, and the air cold.

Laura closed her eyes. She must tell him to go. At any moment Catherine might return, or Sasha. In less than an hour it would be dark. The sun had made it seem like spring, but when the sun was gone it would be cold. When Jim was gone, it would be very cold and dark. She must tell him to go now. She heard her own voice saying very faintly,

“You must go.”

“Not just yet,” said Jim.

Laura repeated the same words again.

“You must go.”

Then she opened her eyes and found him close to her, with a look on his face which troubled her to the depths.

“I'll go when you've told me why you did it.” Then, as she looked at him dumbly, “Why did you do it—why did you do it?” He saw all the colour leave her face. “You've got to tell me! I've got a right to know! There's something damnable about it! You're not happy. If you were I'd take my toss and make the best of it. But you're not. He's not even with you. He's——”

He pulled himself up, his hands clenched, the blood rushing to his face. He couldn't tell her in so many words about the Villa Jaureguy. Agatha Wimborough could do that—she'd enjoy it, and he had no manner of doubt that she'd do it with a will.

“You've got to tell me why you did it!” he said.

Laura looked at him, her hands pressed against cold ridges of rock. What was she to say? She made a great effort and found trembling words.

“Please—go—Jim——”

“No—I won't go. You've got to tell me. You don't care for him.”

Laura shook her head.

“Then he threatened you—he made you do it. But how—
how
?”

Laura could not find any other words. She said them again.

“Please go.”

Something broke in Jim Mackenzie. With a smashing certainty he knew what threat had brought Laura to this place. The knowledge broke his anger, his pride, and his self-control. He took a stumbling step towards her, pitched upon his knees, and caught at her with a desperate clutch.

“Was it for me? Laura—was it for me? Did you do it for me? My darling—
my darling
!”

For a moment Laura did not know which of them was shaking so. She felt the hard clasp of his arms and heard his breath come, heavy and choked with sobs, and suddenly his need gave her words. She bent over him, touching his hair, his cheek, holding him and murmuring the soft unconsidered words she would have used to a hurt child.

“Don't, darling—
don't
! It's all right. Tell Laura. Oh, my darling—don't cry! I'm here—I'm holding you.”

They clung together, and presently he lifted a convulsed face.

“
Laura
—it was for me!”

“I had to.”

“
For me!
”

“They would have shot you.”

“What did that matter?”

“I couldn't,
couldn't
bear it.”

“Isn't this—worse?” His voice went on the last word. She felt him shudder.

“Darling—don't! Let me tell you—I want to tell you.”

He said, “What is there to tell?” in a despairing voice.

“I want to tell you—it's not a real marriage.”

“
Not?
” His arms tightened.

“He didn't want me—he's not in love with me—it's nothing like that.”

He lifted his head a little.

“The damned swab!”

In the middle of it all Laura laughed.

“But, darling, you don't want him to be in love with me, do you?” Then the laugh slipped into a sob. “He didn't want me—he wanted the control of the Hallingdon combine.”

“He married you for that?”

“Yes, for that.”

He got to his feet, still holding her.

“What did you promise?”

“A seat on the boards of the different companies—and—and—to marry him.”

“And in return I was to go free. Is that it?”

She leaned against him without speaking.

He held her for a moment. Then he said,

“I would rather have died—you know that.”

“Yes—I
couldn't
bear it.”

After a little while he said in a different voice,

“Did you promise anything about the Sanquhar invention?”

“No.”

“They mustn't get that. He's only an agent of course. They mustn't get the Sanquhar invention.”

Laura steadied herself.

“You must go.”

He went on as if he had not heard.

“You must divorce him. He has given you cause. Your aunt will tell you, and—” he gave a short hard laugh—“for once in a way you can believe everything she says!”

“
Jim!
” It was her old half laughing, wholly tender reproof.

“Well, she does lay it on a bit thick.”

“But how does she come into this?”

“She'll tell you. I don't want to go into it, but you can divorce him.”

“Can I?” said Laura. Something cold touched her heart. “I don't know..… I made a bargain——”

“He's given you cause,” said Jim roughly.

She leaned away from him to the hard rock.

“It's not like—a real marriage. I made a bargain. They did their part—they set you free.”

“
Laura
——”

She spoke with pale, steady lips.

“I think—I must keep my bargain.”

“
Laura
——”

She put out her hands as if she were warding something off.

“Don't talk about it. Not now. You must go. Some one might come. They mustn't see you.”

“Who are
they?
”

“Catherine and Sasha.”

“Sasha?”

“Alec Stevens.”

“The fellow who took my piece of the note? Are they good, to you?”

“Oh yes. I love Catherine.”

“Well, don't love Sasha. And remember I'm coming back. Now kiss me!”

“
Jim!
”

“Kiss me!”

“
Jim
—
please
——”

She was at the end of her strength. So easy to let his arms take her—to slip down into his love and forget everything. If she were once in his arms, would he leave her? Or could she—
could
she let him go? She felt as if everything were failing and flowing away from her—will, strength, honour. A verse she had learned as a child came into her mind, “He that sweareth to his neighbour and disappointeth him not, though it were to his own hindrance..…”

She looked at Jim, and did not know what a desperate appeal was in her eyes.

She saw his brows draw together and his chin stick out in its most obstinate way. Then all of a sudden his face changed. He picked up her hands and kissed them gently. Then without another word he turned and went away across the sand.

Laura watched him go. There were tears in her eyes, but they were not unhappy tears. Just for the moment it was enough to have seen him.

When he was out of sight, she picked up the cushion and the rug and went back to the house, and Alec Stevens, rather cramped, got to his feet on the ledge a dozen feet up and proceeded to climb to the top of the cliff. After which he walked rapidly as far as the road, where he got into the car that was waiting for him and drove away.

CHAPTER XXXII

Jim Mackenzie had a half-mile walk across a stretch of rough moorland to where he had left his car. He walked with a kind of furious energy. If he had slackened his pace, he would have gone back. The impulse that had taken him from Laura was caught by half a dozen wild cross-currents of passion, jealousy, and fear. To leave her when he had found her again! What a fool's game! He didn't deserve his luck if he could throw it away like that. He should have made her come with him. Made her? You couldn't
make
Laura do what she thought wrong. The currents beat themselves against something that he knew was rock.

Anyhow he was coming back. They'd got to have the whole thing out. At the moment it was his business to get to Putney and make sure of Laura's piece of the five-pound note; but as soon as that was safe he was going to come back and have the whole thing out with her. An angry triumph lifted itself in him as he thought of the arguments that were to demolish her scruples. Stevens would have to be bought off. There was one point about dealing with a blackguard—he would have his price. Well, if it took the whole Hallingdon fortune, he could have it, if he would stand out of the game and let Laura go.

He reached the road and got into the car. The grey of the dusk was closing in; a half light made everything colourless. He switched on his lights, started up, and got away, revving the engine all out on the lower gears. The flat, dark headland fell away, the road came rushing to meet him, a long straight road that ran for miles within sound and sight of the sea.

He had gone perhaps a couple of miles, when the honk of a horn sent him over to the left and a car shot by like a black streak. The tail-light dwindled to a red pin-point and was gone. The roar died to a hum and faded out.

Jim took the middle of the road again. His speedometer showed a steady fifty-three. The car that had passed him must have been doing something like sixty-five.

He drove on, and had his thoughts for company.

Laura..… No, it didn't do to think of Laura—not of the way she looked, or of her sweetness—not now, when he'd got a job on hand—better think of other things—plenty to think about, and better get it all straightened out. He could think very well while he was driving like this. He wondered who had given him Laura's address..… Damned odd, to come back from France and find it lying on his table.

“The right address is Hermitage, Lynn Cliff, Devon,”

Who had sent him that? No, not sent—
brought
. It was an open sheet of paper lying on his table. How did it get there? Who had brought it? Who wanted him to have Laura's address? He hadn't stopped to ask any of those questions at the time, but he asked them now. If he had kept his head, he would have asked them of Laura. But he hadn't kept his head; he had most surprisingly and suddenly lost his self-control. On a dangerous wave of emotion came the memory of Laura holding him, comforting him. He
must not
think about Laura—at least not like that. He must think about the business in hand.

Some one had walked into his flat and put that address on his table—some one who had a key. Mrs Mabb's key had never been found. If that fellow Stevens—what was his name? Alec—Laura called him Sasha—Alec Stevens—Sasha Stefanoff—he had pinched the piece of the five-pound note. Kennedy Jackson had seen him letting himself out of the flat. If he could let himself out, he could let himself in. If he let himself in, he had the key. He could walk in and out and put a sheet of paper down on the table any damned time he liked—a sheet of paper with Laura's address. But why in the name of all that was inexplicable should Sasha Stefanoff want him to have Laura's address? He felt as if he were walking in the pitch dark through unknown country, and the dark full of faint sly whispers—sounds that were not quite sounds—words that you couldn't catch, and footsteps that you couldn't hear. You guessed, you listened, you strained, and there was nothing there; but as soon as you stopped listening, the faint sly whispers came crowding back.

He put his foot down hard on the accelerator and hoped for a clear road.

It was getting on for nine o'clock when he turned into Leeming Lane, slowed to a crawl, and stopped some thirty or forty yards short of where he guessed the house should be. He took the torch which he always kept in the cubby-hole and began to walk along the right-hand side of the lane. Pretty soon he came to where the wall began. He didn't want to show a light if he could help it, so he felt his way with a hand on the rough stone till he came to the oak door, and so past it to the continuing wall. It was most extraordinarily dark. The fine day had gone down in fog. Leeming Lane was full of it, thick to breathe and like a bandage over one's eyes. If he hadn't had the wall to guide him, he could hardly have found his way.