Chapter VI: An Ultimatum

While Nick was peacefully walking home, a young man stood on the steps of the tall house in Link Street, waiting. Anxious lines furrowed his face, and there was an expression very like fear in his eyes. Then, as a taxi drew up to the door, he ran forward eagerly.

'Did you get it?'

'Yes, sir.' The porter emerged from the cab, and handed him a long envelope. With a muttered word of praise the boy turned and hurried upstairs to the offices of the S.P.G. His chief sat at a table, writing. There were no signs of alarm in his strange dark eyes.

'Got it, Chief!'

The man looked up, and held out his hand for the letter, raising his eyebrows in gentle reproof.

'Keep cool, my boy. I wish you weren't so excitable.'

The young secretary bit his lip, and was silent, staring out of the window, while his chief opened the envelope. There was a moment's silence, and then the man at the table gave a short laugh. The boy spun round.

'You're mistaken,' said the man. 'He did not get it. Call him up.'

Aghast, the boy went out, and returned with the porter.

'How did you get this envelope, Baxter?'

'Off Mr. Davies, sir; that is, the man who....'

'Yes, yes, but how?'

The porter told his story of the pursuit, the wait outside the Jameson Club, and the attack in the Park.

'Was he walking fast when you overtook him?'

'No, sir. More dawdling, I should say.'

'And he didn't attempt to defend himself?'

'Didn't 'ave no need, sir. Just as I reached him 'e fell--tripped, sort of--and lay like a log. It looked like heart failure to me, sir.'

'Did it? It wasn't. He was expecting you. Now listen to me. That letter was left in the Jameson Club--possibly posted there. Get it.'

There was a moment's silence.

'I expect the mail goes out about midnight,' said the young secretary. 'It does from most clubs.'

'Yes. Be there ten minutes early, Baxter, and get the postman. Take all the letters and bring them here. That's all.'

The porter turned to the door, and then hesitated.

'I'm very sorry, sir ...' he began.

The Chief smiled.

'I'm not blaming you, Baxter. This fellow is no fool. Anyone might be forgiven for underrating him. But go now, or you'll be late. I'm relying on you to pull _this_ off.'

Baxter departed, his head held high. The Chief turned again to the letter in his hand.

'Is it--Scotland Yard?' asked the boy, hesitantly.

'No. Far from it. A far more interesting proposition. He signs himself "Vive le Sport."'

'Good Lord! That's the burglar.'

'Yes. Would you like to read his letter?'

The boy took it.

DEAR SIR [it ran]: I feel an explanation is due to you, for my
unwarrantable intrusion this evening. In the first place, let me
hasten to make Mr. Davies's position clear; I cannot allow you,
even for a moment, to suspect him of treason. Mr. Davies is lying
in hospital, at Reading, and suffering from severe concussion,
with, possibly, a broken ankle. He and I travelled from Cardiff
together, but in the train accident Davies was less lucky than I.
I was fortunate enough to be able to get him out of our wrecked
carriage, and succeeded in convincing him that I was fully
qualified to carry his report to you.

My motive is a little difficult to explain, without appearing
melodramatic. I, too, am an Englishman, but--forgive me if I sound
priggish!--I have a rooted conscientious objection to revolutions.
Even Dictatorship leaves me doubtful. I think there is something
in the Anglo-Saxon temperament that is definitely antipathetic to
tyranny, even under a benevolent tyrant.

And now to business. I have your list of names. This would be
of immense interest to Scotland Yard, but I hesitate to put it
into their hands, since I have seen the men who signed it. In my
opinion, they are good fellows, who have, fundamentally, a sane
outlook on life. The country would lose by their imprisonment.
Without your influence I feel sure they would regain normality.
May I suggest that you should make the _beau geste_, and save them
from ruin? If you will call off this revolution of yours and leave
the country before June 10th, I will destroy the document and keep
silence. If not--but my course must be obvious to you.

Incidentally, I may say that the document is now in safe keeping,
and not on my person. I realise that you are a busy man, and do not
wish to waste your time unnecessarily.

VIVE LE SPORT

The boy put down the letter, and faced his Chief. Stark terror stood in his eyes. The man, watching him, smiled, and shook his head slowly. The fear died in the boy's face, and he smiled faintly.

'That's better,' said the man. 'Well, what do you make of him?'

'He's a clever devil. Does he mean it?'

'That he won't act till June the 10th? Yes, I should think he does. I wonder if we have any chance of getting him to join us.'

'I shouldn't think so.'

'I expect you're right. It's a pity. I could work with that man. He'd be useful.'

'Yes.' The boy gulped. 'He must have some courage. The way he just walked in, and ... O God, Chief, I'm a funk.'

The older man put out a hand.

'You're all right, old chap. You must learn to keep your head, that's all. I haven't complained about you, have I?'

'No. I don't know why you haven't.... It's ... it's when you're not there.'

The man nodded, watching him curiously, and then his expression changed.

'This fellow has a sense of humour,' he said. 'Strength, too.' He was silent for a moment, his eyes thoughtful. 'I was right, you know,' he went on. 'My intuition told me his type when you first brought him in to-night. I greeted him--and then I had to remind myself that he was Davies. But I was right, the first time. Very interesting.'

The boy said nothing, but watched him. Finally the man rose to his feet.

'Well, we must find him. In the meantime, your job is to go down to Reading and see Davies. Get his story of the affair. Ask if there were other people in the carriage at the time. Find out if he can remember any detail that might help us to identify Vive le Sport. And ... get me a list of the members of the Jameson Club.'