Tom Young, the proprietor of ‘The Green Lantern,’ was rubbing his yellow hands together uneasily, and his eyes were half-closed. ‘I am gratified that you are accepting the hospitality of my humble roof, Mr. Brown. But perhaps our very good friend means to suggest that it is not wise to give the name of my house as an address?’
‘That’s exactly what I do suggest,’ said Carlo Lewin; and Julius Brown scowled.
‘It’s merely a personal matter, I tell you,’ he repeated.
‘Then the young gentleman who called is a very good friend who can be trusted?’ asked Tom Young smoothly.
‘Never saw him before in my life,’ returned Brown, with a shrug.
‘A stranger? You gave your address here to a stranger!’ exclaimed Lewin, his small, sharp eyes glinting.
Julius Brown brought his fist down on the table. ‘I tell you that fellow was only delivering a personal letter he’d forgotten to send by district messenger. Didn’t you hear him apologizing? It’s from a friend of mine—a lady friend, if you want to know.’
‘Ah, Julius and the ladies!’ murmured Adrian Lister, who sat beside Lydia Prideaux at the other end of the table.
Tom Young had quietly left the room, and in a low voice was talking into a telephone along the passage. When he returned he locked the door carefully and, with features wreathed in smiles, took his place at the table beside Julius Brown. ‘Will my very good friends pardon my extreme timidity? I have not the courage of some others who sleep always on a soft pillow. When I listen to the footsteps of the police in the night, my craven heart is cold within me.’
‘Rot!’ said Julius Brown with a light laugh. ‘I wish I had your nerve, Tom! What about a craven heart when the river-police were shooting from their launch in the Limehouse Reach last month? Poppycock!’
‘My very good friend has a flattering tongue,’ murmured the Eurasian with a smile. ‘Perhaps we can now proceed to our business? This afternoon I received a communication from our Honourable Friend.’
‘A letter from Lord John?’ asked Mrs. Prideaux, leaning forward.
Tom Young gave a little bow. ‘But, forgive me—I forget my duties. Will my friends partake of my poor hospitality?’ He made a gesture towards the cognac and liqueurs in the centre of the table. ‘My humble roof will be honoured.’
Mrs. Prideaux shook her head, but took a cigarette from a large, carved ivory box. Adrian Lister languidly extended a lighted match to her, and nodded assent to Julius Brown, who was pouring cognac into the large thin-glass goblets. Tom Young paused until his guests had sipped the aged mellow liquor, and he bowed again.
‘To proceed. Two days ago, you may perhaps remember, we discussed the existence of certain documents. They concerned our Honourable Friend—and they concerned each of us in this room as well. Indeed’—Tom Young looked up thoughtfully at the ceiling—‘indeed, they placed us all in a position of extreme danger. I myself was considering the opportunity of a long journey on some friendly ship going down the river in the darkness of the night. A warning from our Honourable Friend is not to be taken lightly—except by those of an adventurous spirit.’ He cast a sidelong glance towards Julius Brown.
‘Where did you learn that lingo, Tom?’ he grunted. ‘Not at Pekin University, I’ll bet!’ But the Eurasian was accustomed to this banter, and moistened his smiling lips.
‘However, he continued, ‘I have word from our Honourable Friend that the danger is now past. The documents which might soon have involved us all, have been stolen from the hands of the ever-watchful police.’
In the silence that followed Julius Brown lit a short cigar and flung the match noisily into the fire-place.
‘Stolen from the police,’ repeated Tom Young. ‘But not by our Honourable Friend.’
He rose slowly to his feet. The smile had gone from his lips, and the faintly yellow skin seemed to be stretched tight and smooth over the bony structure of his face.
‘Stolen,’ he said in a clear voice, ‘by some one in this room!’
Mrs. Prideaux drew in her breath in a slight but audible gasp, and her blue eyes darted round the table at the faces of the three men who were seated there. Julius Brown was scowling at the grey tip of ash on his cigar; Carlo Lewin, opposite, was watching him covertly from below furrowed brows. Only Adrian Lister was nonchalant; he raised the glass, slowly spun his cognac round in tiny gleaming golden whorls, raised the goblet to his lips, and replaced it on the table with a hand that showed not the slightest tremor.
‘By some one in this room, Tom?’ he said in his slightly drawling voice.
Tom Young gave a polite inclination of his head. ‘I only repeat the all-wise words of our Honourable Friend. He himself had intended to remove the documents, for his spirit was troubled so long as they remained in the hands of the vigilant police. But one of his friends in this room, with a generous heart, has performed the skilful duty. Our Honourable Friend would have been grateful, but for the fact that the skilful one has held his dishonourable peace.’
‘In hanging on to the documents?’ said Adrian Lister with the suspicion of a sneer.
‘Our discerning friend has spoken the unfortunate truth,’ murmured Tom Young.
‘One of us here,’ said Carlo Lewin harshly, ‘is trying to double-cross Lord John? That’s what you’re getting at?’
Again Tom Young inclined his head politely. ‘I only repeat the words of our Honourable Friend.’
There was a long silence, which was broken by Mrs. Prideaux, who crushed out her cigarette and leaned forward, one slender white arm stretched across the table.
‘I want to put a straight question to you, Tom. We have been very useful to Lord John, one way and another, these last few months——’
‘At a price, lady—at a substantial price,’ Tom Young reminded her gently. ‘Our Honourable Friend has paid well for his information. I myself have no complaint to make about the price.’
‘I’m not objecting to the price,’ replied Lydia Prideaux; ‘I’m objecting to the way it’s paid.’
‘The lady does not trust——’
She shook her fair head impatiently. ‘Of course I trust you, Tom! Would I be here to-night if I didn’t? Would any of us? What I don’t like is the way we’re kept in the dark. For months now it has gone on. Why must we always work through you? Why can’t Lord John himself come here and meet us? We trust you, Tom, but why can’t he trust us?’
Tom Young, still on his feet, smiled down across the table at Lydia Prideaux. ‘Does not the lady consider that our Honourable Friend runs risk enough?’
‘Risk! He runs risks that terrify—yes, terrify—me! But how little more would he run to meet us here and talk frankly, instead of doing everything through you. Here’s my question, Tom.’ She looked him straight in the face. ‘Do you know who Lord John is?’
The Eurasian’s eyes were half-closed, and the corners of his lips twitched slightly as he replied: ‘The lady’s question is indeed remarkable.’
‘I want a direct answer,’ said Lydia Prideaux sharply.
Tom Young’s voice was low and mellow: ‘Our Honourable Friend might not approve of our discussion——’
But Carlo Lewin interrupted. ‘Can’t you talk straight, Tom?’ His knuckles rapped on the table. ‘How the devil do we know you aren’t Lord John yourself?’
Tom Young leaned forward, peering into Mr. Lewin’s features. ‘And you, my friend? Do any of us know that you——’
Carlo Lewin met the flashing eyes for several seconds before he flinched.
‘You mean,’ cried Lydia Prideaux, ‘Lord John may be one of us here—in this room?’