CHAPTER XX

THE BLACK KING

It is strange how occasionally one has a repetition of the same fantastic dream. I dreamed now, as I did that night at Varney's, that Corby was an animate Black bishop trying to drown me in a vat of buttermilk, and, awakening, I found him sitting staring at me with the familiar and repugnant lifeless eyes set in the dead-white face. He now wore a straggling fair beard, which didn't help his beauty. It wasn't false, because no imitation could have been such a failure.

I was lying, "hog-tied," on a couch in a barely furnished room. I was full of aches and pains as a jumping tooth, while the chloroform or ether had made me sick. But I was more sick with myself, with my trusting faith and stupidity and I groaned inwardly when I thought of what Blunt would say of it all. For one who had always rather prided himself on his cleverness I had made a sad hash of things.

I was gratified somewhat to discover that Corby had a discolored eye and several plaster crosses on his ugly, top-heavy dome. Evidently he had been a member of the reception committee, waiting inside the cab, and whose presence I hadn't suspected until too late.

He now sat at a little table, munching Swiss cheese and pretzels, and swilling buttermilk, just as I had seen him do at Knight's, just as dispassionately and thoroughly. As if attracted by the smell of the cheese, and encouraged by the silence, a mouse crept out from a corner and watched us for a moment with bright, inquisitive eyes, then scuttled away home. As I had free use of my tongue, I took it that we were in some place where I might burst my lungs with noise and be none the better for it; so I decided to save my breath. I decided also to keep my temper.

"Well, Corby," I said, "how long are you going to sit staring at me like a stuck pig? Speak up and say how happy you are to see me. Don't be bashful. You're not looking well. What's the matter with your eye?"

His thin lips opened in a mirthless smile. "You are a good fighter and a very clever man, Mr. Lawton," he said, with as much emotion as if he were speaking of the weather. "It's a pity, speaking of stuck pigs, that so much good bone and muscle and intellect as yours should go to feed the worms."

"I agree with you, but that's the ultimate fate of us all, isn't it, unless we choose the fishes? What's the idea? Why not have fed me to the worms at once, instead of carting me here?"

"Orders are orders, Mr. Lawton, and that isn't within my province. But don't worry about the worms."

"I can't help it, Corby. Naturally I don't want to figure at such a banquet earlier than I can help. Let us have a straight business talk, like sensible fellows. As I understand it, this Bowery melodrama troupe of half-baked highbinders, of which I'm surprised to see you're a member--for you seem to have more intelligence, and you should have better taste--are simply out for profit. Well, cast your avaricious thoughts on my various bank balances, and then name your figure. As a starter, how would ten thousand do to set me foot-loose and give me a chance at that window? No playing with fingers crossed, of course."

"Bribery? Fie! Mr. Lawton," he said, with grave reproof. Then he took out a double-edged knife and began to sharpen it with the air of one attending to a trivial detail. "You got me in bad with the Company for the way you slipped it to me at Sea Bright," he said, without anger or even interest. "There's some things money can't buy, Mr. Lawton. When they're done with you I believe I'm to have the pleasure of attending to you." A voracious light suddenly appeared in his dead eye as he rubbed the knife on the sole of his shoe.

"Put that thing away, you ghoul!" I said, suddenly growing very angry because I couldn't help feeling frightened. I knew it wasn't only talk with him, a trick to scare me. "I believe a lot of you are half crazy----"

The door opened. Roupell came in; and Corby, saluting like a wooden soldier, went out.

Roupell pulled up a chair and sat down by the couch, a gleam of malice and amusement in his cushioned eyes. "What a predicament for a really clever man! I'm sorry, Lawton, but you would use your beastly money, you know, and horn in where you weren't wanted."

"If you leave me five minutes alone with Frean, even with my hands tied, I'll call all bets off," I said.

"Oh, you really mustn't blame him too much. Weren't you anxious to learn all about the Black Company--an unfortunate obsession, Lawton--and didn't he oblige you? Much of what he told you was the truth; otherwise you wouldn't have believed him. And then you had to be prepared for that stirring message from the famous and, by the way, quite incompetent Lisping Jimmie. Did it never occur to you that a lisping voice, especially over the phone, is the easiest thing in the world to imitate?"

I didn't know which was the worst, Corby with his colorless face and manner, and his methodically sharpening the knife on his shoe, or this Falstaff, who stroked his fat paunch and beamed at me. In diametrically opposite ways they expressed the same sentiment--fixity of purpose and utter ruthlessness.

"It takes such elaborate stage setting, such infinite attention to detail, to impress a really clever fellow like you, Lawton," he went on, in his playful manner. "You gave us a lot of trouble, I'll admit. You were so deucedly well guarded, and, except for to-night, after leaving the Claremont, we couldn't coax you off the beaten track. I'll do you the justice to say you often tried to shake those agency bloodhounds--but no doubt you refrained from exerting your full and vast intelligence. After your skillful evasion of last night's trap and that of to-night--I won't say the former was due simply to cowardice and the latter to bad marksmanship and bull luck--we saw that the lion must be taken in his lair. We suspected you had engaged the services of the Blunt Agency, but we were sure of nothing; we didn't know how much you really knew. You have very kindly told us of your own sweet will. There's nothing like an exchange of information, a heart-to-heart talk with a repentant sinner."

"You needn't rub it in, Roupell. I can manage to understand the sort of an ass I've been without all this labored sarcasm. You always did spoil a good story by overemphasis, you know."

Even at such a time this remark touched him on the raw, as I knew it would. Perhaps it was the only one that had power to hurt him. He wouldn't have minded being called a blackguard, but he was acutely jealous of his reputation as a raconteur.

"Yes, you're a great fool, Lawton," he said, with less amiability and more spite. "There's no fool like the one who thinks he isn't one. You've been an infernal nuisance, too, and have made your removal compulsory. We'd have let you alone if you'd let us alone. You understand that it's simply a business proposition, that we can't afford to have a paying concern injured simply because an interfering fool like you refuses to mind his own business. Instead of being content with your own fortune, you use it to try to take the bread out of the mouths of those who have never done you any harm."

"That's a novel way of putting it," I said. "Your psychology is beyond me. Well, what's the program in regard to me?"

"You'll learn that in due time. But for one thing your money is going to be of great help to us. You are going to order that dog-eared bloodhound, Blunt, back to his kennel, and write several fat checks to 'bearer.'"

"Am I? Not so much as a penny, Roupell."

"We shall see. You must understand your position, Lawton. We chose your servant's night out and gave that advice about the back stairs so that none would see you go. You may stay and rot here by inches, and none would be the wiser. I say you are going to write to Mr. Blunt, send him a check for his services, and say that you've left town incognito; that you're tired of the whole business and want a rest."

"I shall do nothing of the kind--not that it would help you any, but simply as a matter of principle. You've overplayed your hand, as usual. For if Blunt was called off, there remain the police, over whom I've no control. The police of three States are after this paying concern of yours, and my disappearance will only make the hunt keener."

"That's a feeble bluff," he said, smiling contentedly. "The police have no evidence, and refuse to believe that we exist. Credit us with knowing something. Blunt isn't the man to share your information with rivals, he'll be wanting all the glory for himself. The jealousy between private agencies and the police is well known and approved by us. No, you must understand your position, Lawton, and not make it harder than it need be. It may not be a matter of your life if we can come to a satisfactory understanding. I repeat that it's simply a business proposition, and, rest assured, we'll take every necessary measure for our protection. You shall do exactly as we say, sooner or later."

"Well, I guess I can stand anything but one of your alleged funny stories. Meanwhile, how about easing these ropes a bit and giving me a glass of water?"

"I'm truly sorry, Lawton, but, as the legislators say, the answer is in the negative. Nothing to eat or drink, not a mouthful of thick, nor a toothful of moist, until you come to terms. Nor dare we let you foot-loose, for we haven't had time to prepare an appropriate dungeon. You remain as you are, and Corby occupies the same room. For your own good, I must warn you that he has certain orders in case you attempt to escape--which I admit is virtually impossible. Still, he has a personal score to settle with you, so I wouldn't advise you to give him the slightest chance. Ta, ta! Thee you later," he finished, with a perfect imitation of the lisping voice of Blunt.

"Hold on," I said. "Will you tell me one thing? Is Varney really the head of this amiable paying concern, or was that a lie, too?"

"You'll meet the Black King all in good time," was all he said.

Corby not appearing when Roupell left, I had a whole-hearted try at my bonds; but Samson himself would have been unable to burst them, for the job had been thoroughly done. The aggravating fact was that, once free, I would have a chance of getting away, for the window was unbarred. As Roupell said, there had been no time to prepare a proper prison, and I was quartered in a humble wooden dwelling; but where it was situated I had no idea, nor could I estimate what time had elapsed between the fight in the taxi and my regaining consciousness.

If you have ever been hog-tied by a skilled and conscientious hand you will know just how powerless and cramped I was. I saw absolutely no chance of freeing myself for all my great strength. I had often read of storybook heroes in a similar position who had effected wonderful escapes, how they had severed their bonds with a bit of broken glass or by burning them over a lamp or candle, unmindful of great personal suffering. But I wasn't providentially provided with any such articles; a single incandescent lighted the room, and, even if given the chance, I would be quite unable to reach any impromptu instrument.

Then I had an idea. It dawned upon me with the reappearance of the hungry and inquisitive mouse, which, accompanied by several friends or relatives, came out to forage again. They saw what I had neglected to see until that moment--that in removing the remains of his frugal supper, Corby had dropped a slab of cheese.

It lay close beside the couch; and the foraging party, bold with hunger, made an enterprising attack on it, contemptuous of my presence. But I needed it more than they, and I routed them by jerking my head over the couch; then came the undignified and difficult task of picking up that bit of cheese with my teeth alone. I can recommend this feat to all athletes who wish a new form of indoor sport; but it would be fatal to fat men.

There remained the still difficult task of placing the bit of cheese under me and against the cords connecting my feet and hands. The warmth of my body would do the rest. In all this I succeeded simply because I knew I must, for I was reduced to a position where a lowly piece of cheese might mean the difference between life and death. I had no faith in Roupell's statement that I would be spared if I agreed to do their bidding; they would utilize me first, and then put an end to me. They couldn't afford to let me live.

I had hardly finished performing my novel calisthenics when the door opened, and, instead of Corby, Frean entered. He sidled over to the couch like a maimed crab and looked at me in the most curious and repulsive manner. It was a blending of hatred, fear, triumph and shame. Yes, he had the grace to be ashamed, yet at the same time I knew he wouldn't lift a finger to undo the work he had done. More curious still, he started to justify and excuse himself, while reviling me in the same breath.

"I couldn't do anything else," he said. "I told you it was my life or yours, and so it was. They'd have killed me if I hadn't hooked you. You're going to get yours at last, you big bruiser! I owe you for a lot, and it's going to be paid. And when you're under the sod I'll marry Brenda Gelette! I'll marry her, do you hear? I'll make her glad to marry me! I'll make you sweat blood for that licking you gave me, for every lying thing you've said about me--for--for----"

"Well, don't get hysterical, Frean. I quite understand your trying to justify yourself. I dare say even the original Judas did. I congratulate you on your acting, and never knew you had it in you. It was simply a masterpiece. That part about the revolver was great, and I fell for it like a child. Of course, I see now you would never have run the risk of using it; that would take some courage and nerve. Now, don't spoil such a fine bit of work by trying to explain it. Such gems don't need explaining any more than a beautiful sunset. They're beyond it."

"Yes, I know what you think of me," he said, plucking at a trembling lip. "But you or any one would have done just the same in my position. You would if--if you'd been taught to know what fear is. And I'm not sorry!" he shouted in swift transition, working himself into a frenzy. "I'd do it again! And so would you, if you hated any one as I hate you!"

Now I had no desire to prolong this edifying discourse; I knew it was no use appealing to Frean, nor could I have brought myself to attempt it. There are some things one can't do. They say there is some good in the worst of us, and so I had always believed until I came to know the real Frean. I realized now, when too late, the truth of what Mr. Hannay and Ashton had said--that there was absolutely nothing to appeal to in him. He was too utterly selfish, too utterly a coward; too utterly weak, vicious, and depraved. A man who could act as he had done was past understanding. While he stood chattering there, I might be losing my one chance of escape. If I could get him out of the room before Corby returned--granting that they thought I really needed a jailer--then the little play of the Lion and the Mouse--though indeed I felt anything but a lion--could begin all the sooner. So I closed my eyes and paid no attention to Frean, no more than as if he wasn't there. After yelling filth at me for a while and finding little satisfaction in it, he suddenly lost his last vestige of self-control and hit me a resounding blow in the face. Even that I accepted with outward equanimity and, with a final barrage of abuse, he left me.

"You'll say something before we're done with you!" were his final words. "You'll crawl for mercy. See if you don't!"

The mice came out, as though at a signal, the moment Frean closed the door. Evidently the good news of the free lunch had been broadcasted, for now the bread, or rather cheese line had increased most gratifyingly. I am sure there were a dozen of them, of all ages and sizes. I don't suppose they got much to eat in that house and hunger had made them bold; for when I heaved over with my face to the wall, thus exposing my wrists, they squeaked and scuttled, but promptly came back.

I lay quiet, hardly daring to breathe, and they swarmed over me. I thought of Bishop Hatto and was glad they weren't rats. Rats are voracious creatures and might not have known or cared very much where the cheese ended and I began. Or do rats like cheese at all? I don't know much about them; no, nor mice either. They were never a hobby with me; in fact I never cared to know them intimately. As a boy, I was singularly lacking in the ambition to produce a white mouse or rat from my coat sleeve or the back of my neck, and now these mice were gayly cavorting over my face as they rushed to the feast. It was not pleasant.

As I had hoped, the warmth of my body had smeared the cheese thoroughly over the ropes binding my wrists and I couldn't see how this army could partake of one without the other. I felt them nibbling away, nor should it take very long for those sharp little fangs to begin what my strength could finish. I urged them on in silent and eloquent prayer.

"Go to it, you filthy little beggars. Little do you know what mighty events may wait upon your beastly appetites. Eat hearty, you vermin!"

I have heard a great deal about the efficacy of prayer, but that one of mine seemed to be a dismal failure; perhaps it wasn't eloquent enough. At all events they suddenly squeaked in chorus, volplaned to the floor, and disappeared as if by magic. The next moment I heard heavy footsteps and, breathing a curse, I heaved over on my back.

The door opened and Roupell entered, Roupell and another man. They came over to the couch. "Let me present you to His Majesty, the Black King," said Roupell with an extravagant flourish. "I think you've met before."

We had. It was Big Tim Scallon.