Corner House — Chapter LII, The Cage is Opened; Chapter LIII, Face to Face; Chapter LIV, A Stab in the Dark
CHAPTER LII. THE CAGE IS OPENED.
There was the sound of a faint scratching as if a mouse was working somewhere.
The warder in the courtyard pronounced it to be a mouse and passed on.
Then a figure, almost invisible in the gloom, crept along the top of the wall and dropped feet foremost into the street.
It was nothing but luck that stood René Lalage in such good stead all along.
A crumbling bit of plaster, some repairs going on in the gallery overhead, a ladder and a couple of gimlets left about by one of the carpenters engaged on the job.
Well, he was free.
He did not hesitate for a moment.
He darted swiftly down the road with the air of a man who knows exactly what he is doing and where he wants to go.
The man had not been convicted yet, therefore he had the advantage of wearing his own clothes.
Using the tramline was a bit of a risk, but Lalage took it.
He wanted to be on familiar ground before his escape had been discovered.
He had one object steadily in view, and after that was done he cared nothing.
He came at length to a dismal looking road leading off Waterloo Bridge.
Before what seemed an empty house he paused and knocked.
A
feeble gleam filtered in the fanlight and the door opened.
The man behind staggered back and muttered something that sounded like admiration.
René Lalage stepped inside and shut the door.
"The others have not come yet," he said coolly.
"I had arranged for the ceremony to take place without me.
I was being detained elsewhere.
But behold I am here to take my vengeance in my own hands.
When the others come they will be surprised to see their leader again, Beppo."
The man addressed as Beppo nodded and grinned.
There was nothing prepossessing about him.
He looked the kind of man to avoid on a dark night.
He led the way to a back room furnished only with a long table and a few chairs.
Presently there was another knock at the door, and four men came in.
Picturesque, cut-throat-looking ruffians that might have come straight from the stage of the Surrey Theatre.
These men were pleased to call themselves conspirators.
But no patriotic business brought them here tonight.
Evidently René Lalage passed as leader of them.
They greeted him with shouts of approval and many strange manifestations of pleasure.
One by one they produced tobacco and cigarette papers until the room was dim with smoke.
"You got my letter, Luigi?"
Lalage asked.
The man addressed as Luigi nodded.
"Good!"
Lalage went on.
"That letter was written in gaol.
It looked so innocent that the people there passed it.
They did not know that every letter had a meaning.
It seemed all about my defence.
You acted on that letter?"
"I did," Luigi growled, "I saw Antonio at once.
It was not long before he was on the track.
Your man will be here tonight."
They smoked on for some little time idly.
These men were prepared for most things, but they preferred idleness and tobacco to anything else.
It was only Lalage who was restless and uneasy.
As the time passed he glanced impatiently at the door.
Then there came another knock without.
Beppo crept to the door.
He came back presently followed by two men.
The latter one was dressed in superior fashion to the rest.
With a yell Lalage flew across the room and turned the key in the lock.
"Enter, Signor Luigo Balmayne," he cried mockingly.
"Signor, I have the honour to wish you a very good evening.
You are most welcome."
Balmayne promptly collapsed into the chair that Beppo had put for him.
He glanced in a white and agitated way round the room.
There was not a friendly face to be seen anywhere.
Given immunity from protection, and not one man there would have refused to cut his throat for a handful of coppers.
There was no avenue of escape.
The man's life was in danger, and he knew it.
With mocking politeness Lalage tendered him a cigarette.
He pushed it aside; he could not have smoked for untold money.
There was a great lump in his throat now, a wild beating of his heart.
"You know me?"
Lalage said.
"We have met before.
It was you who betrayed me to the police at Ravenna.
In the dock there I swore to be revenged upon you.
And I am a man of my word."
Balmayne tried to say something, but failed.
"I had two years for that," Lalage went on, "two weary years which is an agony to a restless man like myself.
You betrayed me, because I was in your way, and so that you could keep the spoil to yourself.
You were poorer and less prosperous in those days than you seem to be now.
You are rich."
"I am as poor as yourself," Balmayne contrived to say.
"Ah!
That is good hearing.
You came here tonight expecting to see Ghetti.
But we took the liberty of using Ghetti's name.
It is only by the merest accident that I am here tonight to carry out this work.
My good friends here would have done it for me otherwise.
But I was fortunate enough to escape from the gaol yonder, and here I am."
Balmayne glanced miserably about him.
He was not listening at all.
He was calculating the chances of escape, of the fate that lay before him.
Had this thing taken place in Corsica he would have been in no doubt for a moment.
All these men were joined together by blood ties or something of that kind, and insult to one was an insult to another.
They had lured him there, and he had come with his eyes open.
He cursed his folly.
But then he had been hiding, and his money was gone.
It seemed like a wonderful slice of luck to find Ghetti in London.
And behold there was no Ghetti at all, only this trap and the knowledge that his time was come.
"Well?"
Lalage burst out, furiously.
"Why don't you speak; what have you got to say before I put the knife into your heart?"
CHAPTER LIII. FACE TO FACE.
Balmayne grovelled helplessly.
There were tears in his eyes.
The man could plot and intrigue, he could make the weapons for others, but he had no heart for them himself.
He was an abject coward without feeling for anyone but himself.
He would have left his nearest to starve or die without a prick of conscience, but he was nervous for himself.
And he read his sentence in Lalage's eyes.
"Get up!"
the latter cried.
"Why do you grovel there?
Faugh!
you sicken me.
Is there no spark of manhood in you at all?
You are going to die."
An approving chorus followed from the others.
"You hear that?"
Lalage went on.
"You are going to die.
Your life has been given over to me to do as I please with.
There is one way to save your delicate skin, one way to freedom if you choose to take it."
Balmayne rose from the floor.
Something like hope crept into his haggard eyes.
"It shall be done," he said hoarsely.
"Speak."
"Ah, I knew you would listen to reason; I knew there was nothing so vile and degraded that you would not do to save yourself.
Answer me the question, then.
Tell me at once where I can find Leona Lalage?"
Balmayne started.
Not that he desired to show any courage and refuse.
He knew why, none better, Lalage wanted to see his brother's wife.
And he would have betrayed her to save himself without the smallest hesitation.
It would mean the loss of all his plans, it would mean hiding in poverty in England instead of something like luxury on the Continent, but he did not hesitate.
Leona Lalage would never have acted like that.
"I will show you where she is," he said hoarsely.
"Of course you will," Lalage laughed.
"Heaven be praised you are no countryman of mine?
Oh you dog, you gutter cur, you slimy reptile, to betray a mere woman like this!
And not even to make a good fight of it.
But whilst I revile you and try to get the blood into your white cowardly cheeks it is good that you should obey.
I spare your life because it will not be for long."
Balmayne sat there without a word.
He had no feeling, no sense of shame.
"I am going to take this man with me," said Lalage as he rose.
"He is known to you all, and you have marked him well.
In his way he will betray us if he can.
He will not go to the police, because they may ask awkward questions, and as like as not there is a warrant out for his arrest also.
But he is a man of many ideas.
If anything happens to me, repeat it to the Brotherhood at the headquarters.
After that I would not give a week for the life of this Balmayne."
Balmayne nodded and turned.
He knew only too well what that threat meant.
So far as he could see there was no way out of it whatever.
He had come to the end of his resources.
If he could only get away from this!
"Goodnight, comrades," said Lalage.
"I shall return presently.
Come on, dog, follow at the heels of your master."
Lalage struck out boldly into the street followed by Balmayne.
There was only one thing uppermost in his mind, one great project that filled his untutored brain.
A great wrong had been done, and he was to right it by blood.
There was no crime about this, it had been the custom of his race for centuries.
His own kin had been done to death, and he was going to avenge the murder.
To this end he had caused Balmayne to be lured from his hiding place by those who knew how to bait the trap for the rascal.
Once Balmayne was in his power he would be compelled to speak.
And the night was very dark.
Balmayne slunk by the side of his companion.
He longed to cry aloud that here was a man who had escaped from gaol, to have him bound hand and foot, and to feel that he was out of the way for the present.
He wanted to go to the nearest policeman and tell him all this.
But then the police would want to know too much, and he did not feel that he himself was anything like out of the wood.
Again, there was the Brotherhood.
That it was no idle threat on the part of Lalage, Balmayne knew only too well.
Once he betrayed the latter his life was not worth a week's purchase.
"Are we getting near the spot?"
Lalage asked.
"We are getting very near now," Balmayne croaked.
They had come to a better part of the town.
They paused at length before Lytton Avenue.
The house of many festivities was dark and dismantled.
There was no sign of life or movement there.
"A good idea," Lalage muttered.
"An excellent doubling of the tracks.
May I guess that you are going to meet Leona Lalage here tonight?"
Balmayne nodded.
He spoke so low that the other hardly caught the words.
"Here is the latchkey," he said.
"There are several of them.
There is no caretaker in the place as yet.
Go in, you have no further need of me."
Lalage entered gently.
He stood in the pitchy darkness for some time.
He could not hear a sound.
Presently his patience was rewarded.
There was the click of a key in the door and something swished by him.
Lalage thrust out his arm and grasped a silken shoulder.
"Not a cry," he whispered, hoarsely.
"I don't know the house and you do.
I am going to hold on to you, and you are going to guide me to a back room where we can turn on the electric light in safety.
And recollect that I have two hands, and that there is a long knife in the other one."
The woman moved on without further sound or protest.
She came at length to a room at the back of the house, and fumbled along the wall.
There was a click, and the place was flooded with brilliant light.
Leona Lalage fell back with a faint cry.
Just for a moment she covered her eyes with her hands.
Lalage stood like a statue.
He smiled, but there was nothing of mirth in it.
"René Lalage!"
Leona said.
"You have come here to kill me!"
CHAPTER LIV. A STAB IN THE DARK.
"If there is one thing that is likely to come between you and Bruce," said Lawrence, as he struggled into his overcoat, "it is your devotion to that child, Hetty.
There is nothing the matter with her at all.
She is merely suffering from strawberries.
I had an idea to work this afternoon, contrary to my usual custom, and I soothed Mamie with strawberries.
Blame me as you like, but there it is."
Hetty laughed.
It was past eleven, and Lawrence was going down to his club for an hour.
The little girl had been a bit more fretful than usual.
"I'm so sorry for the poor child," she said.
"And so am I. You've done as much for her as if she were your own, but all the same I should not be sorry if somebody claimed her.
I've never had the slightest doubt that she is no relation to the Countess at all."
"Then why should a woman like that encumber herself----" "My dear child, I don't look upon it in that light at all.
The child gave our picturesque friend a certain distinction--'My husband is dead, and this is my only child,' and all that sort of thing.
It pays in society."
With which cynical remark Lawrence lighted a cigarette and departed.
From above the fretful voice of Mamie called to her dear Hetty.
In sooth, the child was running a great risk of being spoilt.
"What is it, darling?"
Hetty said.
"What can I do for you?"
Mamie was thirsty.
She scornfully refused a suggestion of soda-water;
nothing would content her but a certain fruit salt that came from a certain place some way off.
She was quite sure that she could not do without it, and that unless the salt was forthcoming she would have a dreadful headache in the morning.
"All right," Hetty said cheerfully.
"I'll go and get it for you."
There was the best part of a mile to go; it was getting very late, but Hetty had not been out all day, so that she enjoyed the walk.
She made her way back along the darkness of Alton Square.
Most of the houses were dark, and nobody was to be seen.
From a little way off came the sound of rapid footsteps.
The step grew swifter, and there was the sound of another behind.
As if by magic a half score of people seemed to spring from under the trees against the square yonder.
It all seemed like a dream to Hetty after, a confused mist out of which came two struggling figures, there was the flash of a knife, and Hetty, heedless of danger, darted forward with an idea of interfering.
The cry that rose to her lips was stifled, a firm hand grasped her arm, another was laid tightly over her mouth.
"You must say and do nothing," a hoarse voice whispered.
"It is a fair quarrel and a fair punishment.
Accept my deepest apologies for handling a lady so roughly, but I am but the creature of circumstance."
Hetty's heart was beating violently.
The struggle seemed interminable, but in reality it was a mere matter of seconds.
Then one figure fell to the ground and lay there rigid and motionless.
It was too dark to see more than the outline of the tragedy, and almost before it had begun it had dissolved away, leaving only that ominously still figure lying prone in the roadway.
Hetty's antagonist had vanished also.
He had gone clean out of sight before Hetty realised that she was free.
Then she called loudly for help.
A policeman came from somewhere, and Hetty was pouring out her tale.
"Seems pretty bad," said the policeman gruffly, as he flashed his lantern down on the white still face.
"This here's a job for the ambulance."
He whistled again and again, and presently the ambulance came trotting up.
It was only when the body was raised that Hetty recognized the white still face.
With a thrill it came to her that she was looking at Balmayne.
She was conscious of no feeling of astonishment.
At every turn she seemed to be brought into contact with the central figures of the Corner House tragedy.
A sudden inspiration came to her.
"As it happens, I know the gentleman," she said.
"When I was governess to the Countess Lalage's little girl he frequently came to the house.
I am a niece of Mr. Gilbert Lawrence, the novelist, who lives close by.
There is a room to spare in his house, and this looks like a bad case.
If you will follow me----" The sergeant in charge of the ambulance had no objection to make.
A
little later and Balmayne was stripped and in bed.
A doctor who had been summoned shook his head as he made his diagnosis of the wound.
"Critical," he said.
"There has been a great loss of blood, too.
It is all a matter of constitution now.
Till I can send a nurse in----" Hetty nodded.
She perfectly understood.
And Bruce had often told her that she was one of the best nurses he had ever met.
There was nothing to do for the moment beyond watching over the patient to see that no change occurred.
Hetty sat there all alone for some time wondering.
It looked as if fate was playing into her hands.
If the man lying at the point of death could only speak, if he could only be induced to do so.
Balmayne opened his eyes and looked languidly about him.
It was quite evident that he had not the slightest idea what had happened.
"Where am I?"
he murmured, faintly.
Hetty explained in a few words.
The patient was not to talk.
He was to lie there and try to sleep again.
If he did so and obeyed instructions, before long he would be out and well again.
A queer smile played over the listener's face.
"Till next time," he said.
"It's all over with me.
The pitcher has gone too often to the well, and it has got broken at last.
And I deserved all I got--there is no question whatever about that."
"You are not to say another word," Hetty said sternly.
"All right.
Only that you are an angel of goodness.
If I could only tell you----" He lay back exhausted and closed his eyes again.
