CHAPTER XI.

CAPTAIN TALHAM’S PROGRESS.

For a second only Soo stood. He saw the gleam of two pistol barrels directed at his breast, and then with a sudden jerk of his arm, he brought the girl into the line of fire.

A second later, he was running with all speed across the building and through the gate.

He heard fleet footsteps coming after him, and looking over his shoulder he saw the tall form of Talham silhouetted in the doorway of the warehouse. He could have shot him then, and was tempted to take the risk, but thought better of it. A shot would arouse the neighbourhood, would set whistles blowing, and might perhaps dissipate his last chance of escape.

He could trust his men to preserve his secret. He sped without hesitation to the end of the wharf. The boat was still away. He understood now why it had not put in an appearance. He heard a whistle blow, and cursed himself for his failure to make use of an opportunity of killing Talham which the gods had put into his hands.

The place was surrounded--he guessed that. He guessed it just as soon as he understood the significance of the boat’s absence. There was no time to hesitate, without a pause he leapt from the edge of the wharf into the dark and noisome waters of the canal. He came to the surface for a moment to breathe, and cast his eyes back to the bank.

Innumerable beams of light were searching the water. The police had recently been equipped with a new truncheon torch.

He could swim under water like a fish, and he did not come up again until the black hulk of a moored barge offered protection from the prying eyes of the police.

“He’s gone, I’m afraid!” said Tillizinni with an expression of vexation. “I’d like to have seen his face.”

“But didn’t you see it?” asked Talham in astonishment.

“I saw an ingenious mask,” said the other.

“I thought it was curious,” said Talham, “that a European could run as that man ran. He had that curious sideways waddle which only the Chinks have.”

They were talking in the little warehouse, half filled with police now, and bright with light. Four Chinamen sat on the ground handcuffed together and philosophical.

“I could have wished to capture the car,” said Tillizinni. “I might then have found its owner. Yet”--he turned a dazzling smile upon the girl--“we have succeeded in doing what we set out to accomplish.”

She looked very white and shaky, and Talham was no less pale.

“I am grateful this has turned out so well for me,” she said softly.

Tillizinni explained how they had taken the wrong road, and how by great good fortune they had come upon the car they were chasing drawn up at a coffee stall, where the chauffeur was taking an early morning breakfast. They had got back to Tower Bridge, and picked up the trail with no difficulty, save that none had seen the car turn into the little street which runs by the side of the canal. Here, however, the two men had to do some quick guessing, and once in the little _cul de sac_, the hiding place had easily been located.

Exactly how, he did not explain, but two hours later he was comparing the cigarette end which he had picked up outside of the warehouse with one Talham had found in Mr. de Costa’s study.

“I don’t know whether this is enough to issue a warrant on,” he said. “It would be quite sufficient for the detective in fiction”--he smiled--“but unfortunately police magistrates have little imagination and no romance, and require something more substantial in the shape of evidence than the characteristics of Chinese tobacco.”

* * * * *

An ordinary man would have waited a day or two before he attempted to renew acquaintance with a woman whose charms had created so profound an impression upon him, and moreover, who had been responsible for so much mental suffering on the part of the woman whom he loved. But Talham was no ordinary man. He called the next day, and having no more idea of social conventions than a cow has of painting on silk, he chose a quarter to one in the afternoon as the hour.

Mercifully, both Mrs. Yale and her daughter were indulging in the luxury of a day’s shopping, and Talham came back to Adelphi Terrace crestfallen, and sat moodily at the lunch table watching his host eat. Tillizinni expostulated with him.

“It was absurd to call at an hour like that,” he said.

“I thought they might ask me to lunch,” said Talham naïvely.

He refused to eat anything for a little while, and then his healthy appetite overcame his desire for starving to death, with the result that the detective had to wait another three-quarters of an hour at the table whilst he fed, which annoyed him intensely.

“Do you think if I called this afternoon----” he asked tentatively.

“You’ll make yourself a nuisance. Moreover,” Tillizinni said as a bright idea struck him, “Miss Yale will not unnaturally think that we regard our rescue of her as giving us the right of entrance into the house at all inconvenient hours of the day and night.”

His face fell, and he made no attempt to put his threat of calling into execution. Indeed, during the next few days he was so busy with his preparation for departure, that Tillizinni hoped that his infatuation had died a natural death. When, later, he mentioned the material prospects of the Yales, Tillizinni was sufficiently indiscreet as to suggest that they might be well left to work out their own salvation.

“It is to such unsympathetic pharisaical souls as yours,” he said, amongst other things, “that we owe the shocking and cynical disregard for infant life in England, the deterioration of the national physique, the growth of anti-militist in France.”

On the fourth day after the abduction, Talham called. At four o’clock in the afternoon he issued from his room at the Pall Mall Palace Hotel arrayed like a modern Solomon in all his glory. From the tips of his enamelled American shoes, to the crown of his glossy Bond Street hat, he was the man about town.

In an hour and a half, considerably agitated, he called upon Tillizinni. Whatever had happened he did not say, but he directed the vials of his wrath upon two gentlemen who had had the singular bad taste to be present, and to monopolise much of the lady’s time during Talham’s visit.

Talham would have sent them out, but they had apparently called to take the girl out to a “five o’clock.”

“It was impossible to say what I wanted to say,” he said moodily, striding up and down the apartment, “so I hit upon a ruse.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“What was the ruse?” asked Tillizinni; but the other seemed disinclined to go on.

“In love as in war,” he began at last, “all means are justified. Remembering the seriousness of the issue, remembering the tremendous effect which the decision one way or the other might produce upon posterity, and remembering, too, that in love as in war, as I say, we come against the elementary passions which are superior to the trivial conventions of modern life----”

Tillizinni waited, wonderingly.

“My suggestion to the two young men--one, as I have told you, was De Costa, and the other a Mr. William Dixon, of forty-three, Claremont Gardens, S.W.,” he added imposingly and significantly, “my suggestion was, I contend, perfectly pardonable and quite admissible within the rules of war. It was that I had a friend who in a moment of exuberation had struck a policeman.”

Tillizinni gasped.

“As a result of that unlawful act, my friend had been arrested and taken to Bow Street police station, the police being ignorant as to his identity. I myself was a stranger in the country; I had not sufficient influence to secure his release. Would these gentlemen of their charity drive to Bow Street and vouch for the respectability of my unfortunate friend?”

He said all this hesitatingly, yet hurriedly; there were long pauses between each sentence. Talham was obviously ill at ease.

“And who,” Tillizinni asked slowly, “might this unfortunate friend of yours be?”

Talham looked at the ceiling thoughtfully.

“If by any chance,” he said, “I have overstepped----”

“Not me!” cried the detective in horror. “You didn’t say it was me?”

Talham nodded silently.

“I will only say this in extenuation,” he said with that seriousness which made all his actions so real and plausible: “that I took particular care to impress upon them that you were perfectly sober.”

Tillizinni fell back in the chair helplessly, with silent laughter.

“Well?” he asked at last. “Having resigned myself to the loss of what little character I possessed, I should like to know what these two young people did?”

“I must confess,” said Talham, “that they were very decent. They went at once, took a taxi-cab, and drove straight away to the police station. Not finding you there, and ascertaining by telephone that you were not at Adelphi Terrace, they came back. In the meantime I had thrown myself upon the mercy of Yvonne.”

“Did you call her Yvonne?” Tillizinni asked.

“I called her Yvonne,” said Talham gravely, “because that is her name. I put before her as much of my prospects as I deemed it expedient to reveal. I gave her a brief resumé of my views of love and matrimony and the duty which we owe to the future. I told her in the terms which I have discovered are usual”--(It was afterwards discovered that Talham had sent out a comprehensive commission to the nearest bookstall for all the latest novels in which love dominated)--“that I loved her, and would endeavour by a life-long service, by a devotion which should be unique in the history of the world, to make her life an increasing joy and pleasure.”

He was walking up and down all the time he spoke. He stopped in front of the window and stared out. Thunder clouds were banking up over South London, and on the murky horizon there was the flicker of lightning.

“That is as it should be,” he said.

Talham was approving of the elements; it was not the first time he had suggested that the incidence of natural phenomena were directed by an all-wise Providence to coincide with his moods.

“She could not agree,” he said. “She was startled, I thought at first that she was angry; but possibly I am doing her an injustice.”

“What of the young men?”

“They returned as I was going,” said Talham.

He swung round on Tillizinni.

“I have their cards and their addresses; that is what I wish to see you about. If you are my friend, you will call on them to-morrow and arrange a meeting.”

The detective had no words; he simply arose from the chair with his mouth open.

“Arrange a meeting!” he stammered.

“Arrange a meeting,” said Talham. “They used language to me which I will not permit any man to use. Moreover, what they said was in the presence of my future wife.”

“But she refused you!”

“My future wife,” repeated Talham in such a tone of decision as left no room for argument.

“But what do you mean by a meeting? You don’t for one moment imagine that these people will fight a duel?”

“That remains to be seen,” said the other. “I think that Hyde Park in the early hours of the morning would be an admirable rendezvous. You may leave to them the choice of weapons. I know very little about these fancy small swords which duellists favour, but if they will be kind enough to choose cavalry swords, I should be glad. I will fight them with Chinese knives, or, of course, with rapiers, if they prefer those weapons. I have no doubt that I shall make myself proficient in a few hours. As honourable men, they will not, of course, desire to take me at a disadvantage.”

He discussed the punctilio of duelling at some length. There was no use in arguing with him.

They spent the evening together, Tillizinni examining the documents which had been removed from the Chinese Embassy, and Talham assisting him.

“You understand, of course,” the detective explained, “that if I come upon any information which is likely to be of service to you in your search for your tomb----”

“Not my tomb,” corrected Talham.

“Well, the Emperor’s tomb,” said the other. “I cannot allow you to see it.”

“You will find nothing,” said Talham with confidence. “Every scrap referring to the Tomb of the First Emperor was in the stolen docket.”

It was nearly half-past ten when his servant brought Tillizinni a card. The detective read it and passed it to the other. It was inscribed:

Raymond de Costa & Gregory de Costa.

The two exchanged glances.

“Show them up!” said Tillizinni.

Talham’s face brightened up.

“I wonder----” he began, but did not finish his sentence. It might have been that he imagined that the visit would symbolise an act of self-abnegation of which young De Costa was incapable.

All his doubts were disposed of a few minutes later when the sulky young man, looking stouter and more unpleasant than ever, came into the room and introduced his father.

De Costa bowed ceremoniously to both men.

“This is my father,” said young De Costa.

Something made Tillizinni look at Talham. He had the faintest of smiles upon his lips, as at some amusing recollection.

“You know my father, I think,” said young De Costa.

“I haven’t that pleasure,” replied Talham.

The older man favoured him with a malicious little grin.

“I think we have done business together, Mr.--er--Talham.”

“Is it Talham?” asked the other innocently. “I seem to remember another name. May I sit down?”

Tillizinni apologised, and pushed forward two chairs, and the men seated themselves. They were both in evening dress; in De Costa senior’s shirt front blazed a diamond even larger than that which his son affected on such occasions.

“I may recall to you, Mr. Talham”--there was an offensive little pause before the name--“that I am engaged in the shipping trade. I sometimes send cargoes to South America”--he smiled again--“and sometimes to China.”

“That is very interesting,” said Talham. “I think shipping is one of the most fascinating branches of commercial endeavour.”

“I am glad you think so,” said the old De Costa. “Sometimes,” he continued, “I find it necessary to engage a super-cargo to carry out the more delicate and intricate negotiations which are sometimes associated with the transference of the goods shipped.”

Talham nodded.

“I quite understand the functions of the super-cargo,” he said.

“Some years ago,” the old man went on reminiscently, “I had to send rather an important cargo to one of the islands of the West Pacific.” He shrugged his shoulders and waved his hands in one motion. “I cannot recall exactly where the cargo was to land, or what it consisted of; but I have a most vivid recollection of a gentleman who called upon me at my office in Little Saville Street on one occasion. And I also remember having engaged him to carry out certain duties. In so engaging him it was necessary to take him into my confidence, to an extent”--he smiled. “For instance, I had to explain that he would pick up a collier at a certain point at sea, and that he would land bales of hardware in a very difficult place.”

“In the Philippines,” said Talham cheerily. “And it was not hardware, but rifles, if I remember rightly.”

“As to that,” the other hastened to say, “I have no distinct recollection. At any rate there was an accident: my coal was stolen, my collier, which I specially chartered to meet my ship, was met by another. The coal was stolen, I repeat. Later my ship was held up by a make-believe warship, and the merchandise was removed, against the captain’s wish. That Mr.--er--Talham, was piracy.”

“It was piracy,” admitted Talham pleasantly. “A gross act of piracy, undoubtedly.”

“I am glad you agree,” said De Costa.

“What would you call the act of running guns for half-breed Philippians?” asked Captain Talham.

The old man flushed. It was not the accusation which annoyed him; it was that horrid word “half-breed.”

“That would not be piracy,” continued Talham drily. “That would be just an act contrary to every civilised law. Yes,” he said, “I am Talham. I don’t need to hide it from you. What I really called myself in those days does not matter. I took your coal; I took your rifles. The rifles you were sending to niggers to enable them to shoot white men.”

“Mr. Talham!” said the old man, springing to his feet.

“The rifles you were sending to niggers, I repeat,” said Talham, “so that they might snipe the solitary pickets of the United States army--so that they might murder and terrorise the helpless and unarmed islanders. You’re not a fool--you know the breed of the Puljanes. Why, you’re one yourself!”

Talham in his insolence was a most offensive man. Tillizinni had never seen him in this mood except twice during the time he knew him.

Talham held very strong views regarding the colour question. With him a man was either black or white; he recognised no intermediary stage. Once let him depart from the pure white stock, and in Talham’s eyes he might as well be coal-black. On this point he was a fanatic.

It was curious to see the old man wilt under the tall man’s vitriolic tongue. It was as though he insensibly did homage in that moment to the dominant race. Despite his vast riches, despite his undoubted influence, he was a native in the presence of a white man.

Under the spell of Talham’s mastery he cringed. Not so the son. He was one generation nearer whiteness. With a horrible noise which was half a scream and half a strangled cry of hatred, he leapt at the other.

Talham half turned. His hand went out rigidly. It seemed to Tillizinni that the young man did not check in his flight, but rather continued it, describing a curve about the spot where Talham stood, until he pulled up with a crash against the opposite wall. He went down in a heap.

“I’m sorry!” said Talham--but he was addressing Tillizinni.