Chapter VII

'IF THE FEMININE ELEMENT CROPPED UP IN THIS ...'

'Evenin' Speshul!' yelled the newsboy, his eyes, bright as a London sparrow's, on the crowd emerging from Mark Lane Tube Station. ''Ere's yer "Evenin' News"! "Star"! Big West End Mail Robb'ry! Postman in 'orspital! Evenin' Speshul!'

A tall man in dungaree trousers and an old blue jacket halted and looked round.

''Ere y'are, sir. "Evenin' News"! Full account.' The boy whipped a paper from his bundle and held it out. The man took it, dropped a penny into the boy's palm, and moved away. At the corner he stopped, and leaning his shoulder against a pillar-box, read the account deliberately. There was a dancing light in his eyes and an amused turn to the corners of his mouth.

'Quick work!' he thought. 'Let's see, it was just after eleven when I left that club. That fellow stalked me for about five minutes, I suppose, before he did his stuff. Then he had to get back to the Chief, hear the glad tidings, and rush off again in time to sandbag the postman with the midnight mail. Well, well, our friend the enemy had a busy evening. Thank God, I didn't post that letter, and thank God on all fours I managed to pick the right man to help me!'

He stuffed the paper into the pocket of his ragged coat and strode on, whistling contentedly. It was a good day, in Nick's eyes. The sun was setting redly in the smoky sky behind him, and the air was crisp with frost; he had just survived a day of more than usual excitement, and he had an inward conviction that there was more excitement to come. In fact, he was himself again. Best of all, that afternoon he had collected from the G.P.O. a letter from his unknown assistant of the night before which still gave him immense pleasure in contemplation.

He walked on steadily, hands in pockets, cap down over his eyes; circled the Tower, and made his way down Royal Mint Street, now noisy with the sound of drays, as they rattled over the cobble-stones to and from the docks. At the corner of Dray and Quay Streets he halted, and then entered a small and grimy public-house, flamboyantly labelled 'The Sailmakers' Arms.'

The bar-tender looked up and nodded affably.

'Arternoon, Nick.'

'Arternoon, mate. George in?'

'In the kitching,' the bar-tender told him, indicating with a dirty thumb a door beside the bar.

Nick nodded and passed through, but as soon as the door was shut behind him, he turned to mount a narrow little stairway. It was half dark, and the steps were badly broken, but Nick went up with the certainty of long practice, and came to a halt on the little landing at the top in front of a yellow wooden door. Pulling a bunch of keys from his pocket, he unlocked it, and entered the room beyond.

This attic was a contrast to the house he had just left. It was a bare little room, but scrupulously clean. In one corner stood a pallet bed, covered with rough brown blankets, neatly folded. There was a square kitchen table in the middle of the room, and two cheap basket chairs, rather worn, stood near by. A small fire was burning brightly in the grate, and a bucket of coal had been left beside it.

Nick gave a grunt of satisfaction and, going over to the fire, picked up a pipe from the mantelpiece. Deliberately he filled and lit it, and then rang a bell that hung beside the fireplace.

This room was one of his many burrows, and a most convenient place. It was over the shop of one Isaac Jacob, a seaman's outfitter in Quay Street. To make it yet more secure, Nick had arranged a permanent right to enter through the Sailmakers' Arms in Dray Street. These two houses had originally been one, and both were owned by George Cattle, the proprietor of the pub.

Jacob, from whom Nick rented the room, was an oily little Jew, of unprepossessing appearance, and Teutonic origin. Most of the dockyard world were firmly convinced that 'Ikey' would sell his grandmother's soul for a tanner, and his own for a pint of beer, but Nick trusted him, and his faith was not misplaced. Apart from the fact that he knew enough about the little Jew to send him to Dartmoor, he felt convinced of Jacob's loyalty, and had never had any reason to doubt it. As a matter of fact, Jacob worshipped him with a dog-like devotion, for which he could have given a number of reasons, although they never occurred to Nick.

In about ten minutes there was a knock on the door, and Jacob entered, his fat, greasy face wreathed in smiles.

'You got back then all right?' he said. 'Ain't seen you in a long time. How was it?'

'All right. I bin away,' said Nick, in the rough Cockney that was his _langue de guerre_. 'Look 'ere, Ikey, I want yeh t' do suthink fer me.'

'Anything, my friend ... anything I can do ... in reason, that is.'

Nick grinned. 'Keep yer 'air on, old sport. I ain't arskin' fer money. Now listen ter me. Do yer know a bloke o' the name o' Breck? Ginger Breck?'

'You mean Tom Breck, the seaman? Of course I know Breck. Was he not in the shop yesterday night, buying sea-boots? He sailed this morning for the Mediterranean. Say, the story he tells me about you and him yesterday----'

''E's a liar! Do you know when 'is boat is doo back?'

'The Pelican, ain't it? Four weeks her run is; not more than twenty-four hours out, either way. I thought you was a friend to Ginger Breck, Nick?'

'So I am; but don't you go believin' all the yarns 'e tells you ... 'specially about me. Does the Pelican carry 'er own pilot?'

'No. She picks him up at Gravesend.'

'Ho! Well, look 'ere, could you find aht when she'll be doo there?'

'Easy, easy! My dear late wife's brother he lives down the river, below Gravesend. He could send me word when they sight her. What you driving at, my friend?'

'I'll tell yeh. Could you git aboard the Pelican with the pilot, an' give Breck a message fer me? It's what yeh might call urgent that 'e gits this word afore they docks. See?'

'I see, but it is not possible to get aboard that way. Pilots is funny people.'

Nick was silent, pulling at his pipe. Jacob sniffed nervously, glancing up at his tenant, and then jerked back his greasy head in abrupt decision.

'It shall be done, my friend. Somehow, I will get the word to Breck. We Jews do not forget those who have helped us, no. What is this message?'

'It's a bit 'ard to explain. Tell Breck that as soon as they dock, a bloke will come aboard askin' for 'im.'

'A friend of yours, eh?'

'Not--likely! This bloke's arter me, Ikey.'

'Gott! Then Breck must not listen to him, eh? Breck must say to him that----'

'Fer Gawd's sake put a sock in it till I've done tellin' yeh! This bloke's goin' t' arsk Breck where 'e can find me--savvy?'

'He knows Breck?'

'Nao! Oh, look 'ere, did Breck tell you about the game 'im an' me 'ad in that railway smash yesterd'y?'

'Oh, yes! My friend, how terrible that must have been! You were near death then, both of you.'

'Garn! I bin a lot nearer than that, an' so's Breck. The point is, 'im an' me fished a feller outa that train, and passed 'im on t' the Ambulance chaps. Now I reckon that this bloke 'oo wants t' find me so bad will use that yarn. 'E'll come along to old Ginger an' say: "Me brother, wot was ser nobly saved be you an' yer mate las' month, wants t' thank ye both, an' stand y' a pint o' bitter. Where does yer mate 'ang out?" D'ye git me meanin', Ikey?'

The little Jew nodded vigorously, his boot-button eyes bright with intelligence.

'Well, Ginger's got ter play up t' that, see? 'E must lead our grateful friend to 273, Leman Street. You've 'eard that address afore, 'aven't yeh?'

'Another home of yours, ain't it? But not so good as this was.'

'Not near ser good, but very 'andy. Well, Ginger tells 'im that I'm orfen there between midnight and 6 A.M. and takes 'im there, and then they'll wait fer me, see?'

'I see.' Jacob nodded slowly. 'It shall be done, my friend. Was there any more you want to say? The shop will be filling up.'

'That's all, Ikey. Yer a good little sport. So long.'

'Good-bye.' The little Jew turned to the door, and then hesitated, his eyes searchingly on Nick.

'You're up to more dangerous games, eh, Nick?'

Nick grinned, and knocked out his pipe.

'Not wot you'd call dangerous,' he said. 'But it's a busy game all right, and it ain't exactly a bed o' roses. Don't you worry. Y' oughta know by now that I always git my fist in afore the other bloke does.'

Jacob sniffed.

'Well, I hope you take care, that's all. When you are here, I know you are all right, but when you are away, doing your mad things...! We Jews, we like to keep our friends. Take much care.'

The door shut behind him, and the sound of his shuffling feet died away. For a moment Nick stood still, his eyes grave. Then he smiled and went out by the other door, locking it after him.

'Funny little beast!' he said to himself. 'I honestly believe he means it.'

And with that he returned to the pub, bade a curt farewell to the bar-tender, and emerged once more into the twilit street.

The air was crisply cold. Nick turned up his coat collar and stepped out briskly. He wanted to have a look at that room of his in Leman Street, and there was a pal he had to meet at Hermitage Wharf, a stoker on the Royal Scot, who should have news for him. It was close on eleven before his business was concluded, and he turned his steps westward. He wanted to think, and Nick always thought best in the open air. Unconsciously his feet led him towards the river, and at last he came to a halt on Tower Bridge, watching the lights of the shipping dance and bob on the tide.

Suddenly a light touch on his arm made him turn, and he saw a girl beside him. She was small and slight, and as she lifted her face he was startled into an exclamation of surprise.

'Jill! What on earth are you doing here?'

'I came to find you,' she explained. 'I wanted to see you, but you left no address, so I couldn't write.'

'But, good Lord, did you expect to find me here?'

Jill hesitated, her eyes on his. 'Y-yes,' she said, and her odd, elfin face had the anxious look of a child longing for understanding, yet despairing of it.

Nick laughed, and tucked his arm through hers.

'All right, old lady. You were justified, though God knows how it happened. Let's make a move. You've got no business to be prowling round the East End alone at this time of night, you know. Jack would have a fit if he knew.'

'Jack would understand,' said Jill. 'Of course, if he'd been home I shouldn't have come. I mean, you'd have been along to see him before this, wouldn't you?'

There was a moment's pause, and then Nick spoke slowly:

'Yes, I would,' he said. 'I'd like to see Jack.'

'I know. That's why I had to come.' Jill's soft little voice was breathless. 'I was rather afraid you'd be angry, but, you see, I'm going to Norway for a week, and I'll probably see Jack in Bergen, and I couldn't help thinking there must be something I could tell him or take him from you, so I had to find you. I'm going to-morrow, you see. You do understand, Nick? I mean, I didn't come out of curiosity, or anything like that.'

'It hadn't occurred to me to accuse you of anything in the least like that,' Nick assured her gravely. 'My alarm at the sight of you may have seemed unflattering, but it wasn't really. It was simply the outcome of my prejudice against the modern habit of considering this district a pleasant promenade at midnight--at any rate, for unattended and attractive young ladies.'

Jill's flickering smile lit her eyes.

'Nick, how silly. Do you really think anybody would hurt me? Rob me, or anything?'

Nick looked at her thoughtfully.

'No, I don't; but all the same, I'd much rather you had someone with you to make certain of it. Where shall we go?'

'Anywhere, as long as we can talk.'

'We-ell, I'd rather not go too far away----' he halted under a street lamp. 'How are you dressed, Jill?'

'Very plain and ordinary.'

'Yes, you'll do,' said Nick, surveying her critically. 'There's a bun-shop I know that's open all night, and won't have anyone much in it for another hour or two. Come along.'

It was a dingy little place in Eastcheap, badly lit and poorly furnished. Except for two sailor-men, half asleep in a corner, the room was empty. A slatternly, tired-eyed girl brought them coffee and stale doughnuts, and then disappeared into a back room, presumably to sleep until the next customer hammered on the counter.

'Would you like me to take a letter to Jack?' asked Jill.

Nick shook his head.

'Don't like giving too much information on paper,' he said. 'But there are one or two things I'd like you to tell him, if you can bear to listen.'

'Don't be stupid,' said Jill. 'What do you think I came here for? Besides, I've been longing to know what's happened. Yesterday morning I was horribly worried about you; kept feeling something awful was going to happen to you. Were you in that train?'

Nick stared at her, and then grinned.

'It's foolish to be surprised, I suppose,' he said. 'Yes, I was. I think I'd better tell you all about it.'

'Please do. I won't interrupt till you tell me I may.'

With a smile Nick began his story. He told her of his visit to Cardiff, of the train smash, and his impersonation of Davies, and finally of the adventure in the Jameson Club. Jill listened in silence, her eyes bright. Then, as he lit a cigarette....

'May I ask questions, please?'

'But of course. Jill, you're a marvel!'

'Then, Nick, please tell me what you wrote in that letter to the Chief?'

He laughed and told her.

'What did you sign yourself?'

'Vive le Sport.'

'Isn't that rather dangerous?'

'I don't think so. I mentioned in my letter that the document was in safe custody, but not on my person. He's a busy man, and I don't want to waste his time.'

'Did you tell him _that_, too?'

'Surely. Politeness costs little, and promotes good feeling.'

'Oh, Nick! So the Chief has until June 10th to leave the country.'

'And to notify his followers that the show is off.'

'Do you think he'll go?'

'I don't know. Probably not. The man's not a coward.'

'Well, what happens now?'

Nick grinned, a little ruefully.

'Well, now I've got to put myself into a position to carry out my threat. You see, I still don't know who the chap is, in private life. It's rather like a game of Bears, with both sides playing the same game. I want to find out who the Chief is. The Chief wants to find Vive le Sport. So far we are merely names to each other, without a local habitation, so to speak. For myself, I've got a good clue in that young secretary. I know him in mufti, and I shall stick to him like a leech, in the hope that sooner or later he will lead me to the Chief. The difficulty is that that young man appears to know everyone in London. However, we must trust to luck.'

'And what do you think the Chief has got in the way of clues?'

Nick nodded approvingly.

'Clever child! I see Jack's training in that sage question. The Chief will have gone to see Davies, and Davies will tell him about Breck. Ginger--the oaf!--gave away his name in his usual lusty bellow, and it's the Bank of England to a tanner that Davies hasn't forgotten it. No fool, Davies. He'd make a good burglar if he wasn't so earnest. The Chief will try to get hold of Breck as a clue to me. At least, that's what I think will happen, and I'm laying my plans accordingly. With a little care I think I ought to be able to work it so that I see the Chief before he sees me.'

'They're two to one,' said Jill. 'I mean, there's the secretary, isn't there? I wish Jack were home.'

'So do I, but the thought of the secretary doesn't worry me.'

'Do I know him?'

Nick faced her steadily, with a smile in his eyes, and shook his head. Jill flushed.

'Sorry, Nick, but--I wondered if I could help.'

'No, thanks, Jill. You're a darling, and I know you'd be terribly skilful, but I'd rather not have any woman mixed up in this. It's a tricky business as it is, and if the feminine element cropped up in it, I believe I should jack the whole thing up.'

'But, Nick----' She checked herself, looked at him curiously, and then went on: 'Don't run too many risks.'

'Not I. Safety first is my watchword, and now that I've got that document stowed away----Oh, but I forgot to tell you. I had an answer from my unknown assistant this afternoon.'

'What did he say?'

Nick took a letter from his breast-pocket and spread it out on the table.

'I think I must read it to you,' he said. 'It's written from the Jameson Club:

DEAR SIR,

I discovered your letter when I arrived home last night. May I be
forgiven for saying that much as I regret your anxious position,
you have given me more pleasure than I had ever expected to taste
again. I am, I fear, a confirmed romantic, who has felt for some
years that romance has left my life for good.

The letter you enclosed is now in my bank, where I left it this
morning, and where it will remain until I call for it. If I have
not claimed it before June 10th, my bank manager has instructions
to post it to the address you gave. In the meantime it is
perfectly safe, and I beg that you will honour me with its keeping
until such time as you consider it expedient to withdraw it. Should
you wish to, I am to be found at this club every Friday evening,
and a letter addressed to me here will always reach me.

I shall greatly look forward to our meeting. I am an old man now,
but to feel that I am--however passively--playing a part in this
game of yours, revives my youth. I am honoured by your trust in me,
and I think you may rest assured that I shall respect it.

Yours faithfully
WILLIAM G. MITCHELL

'He _is_ a darling!' said Jill.

'Isn't he? I'm longing to meet him, too. Well, I think he's right. The letter is perfectly safe at his bank, and it leaves me free to get on with the job.'

'Tracking the secretary? You'll be busy, Nick.'

'I shall indeed. He's an energetic and a popular young man. Well, well, it may be amusing. And now, Jill, I'm going to send you home.'

As luck would have it, they picked up a taxi by the Monument. Nick put Jill into it, and gave the address to the driver.

'Good-night, Nick, and--take care, won't you?'

'Always,' Nick assured her. 'Good-night, Jill. There's an exciting time coming.'

She suddenly laughed, a soft chuckle of complete amusement.

'Yes, indeed, Nick. And lots of surprises!'

The taxi lurched off, leaving Nick staring.

'I wonder what _that_ meant!' he said to himself, and then with a grin at his own curiosity, he turned eastward once more.