“What’s it to you, buddy?” the fat man snapped. He settled himself more comfortably in his seat and glared angrily at the three Musketeers.
D’Artagnan looked down at the man and a slow humorless smile curved his lips.
“My fat friend,” he said gently, “your manners are exceeded in repulsiveness by your appearance, but only to a slight degree. While your legs are still able to carry your chubby body, I would advise you to leave. You have ceased to amuse me.”
Phillip gripped D’Artagnan’s arm. “Please,” he whispered frantically. “You are only going to cause trouble for yourself.”
The red-haired girl turned to D’Artagnan and her cool green eyes widened in amazement. She was tall and slender, with fine square shoulders tapering to a slim graceful waist. Her light, arched eyebrows were drawn together in a worried frown.
She laid a gloved hand on D’Artagnan’s forearm.
“Don’t trouble yourself on my account,” she said softly. “I am accustomed to standing.”
“Trouble?” D’Artagnan said with mock incredulity. “I assure you, gracious lady, I consider service in your behalf the highest privilege.”
Aramis moved forward, smiling ingratiatingly. His eyes moved over the girl’s lovely face and form in a slow admiring appraisal.
“My companion,” he said smoothly, “is guilty only of an unpardonable understatement. Service for you would be Earth’s highest reward.” He waved his arm down the length of the crowded car. “Choose the location your heart desires and I, Aramis, assure you it will be yours within a very few seconds.”
“College punks!” the fat man said loudly to the man next to him. “That’s all they are.”
D’Artagnan raised one eyebrow and studied the man thoughtfully.
“It was my impression,” he said quietly, “that I told you to leave some time ago. What is the delay, my obese friend?”
“You ain’t bluffing me. I know my rights.”
D’Artagnan sighed and slowly drew his sword.
“Will you run him through?” asked Aramis, with polite interest.
“I dislike doing it in public,” D’Artagnan said regretfully.
“I see your point,” Athos said, entering the conversation for the first time. “He needs to be killed of course, but it should be done in a quiet secluded vale where he would not be able to boast of his death.”
With a flick of his wrist D’Artagnan twirled his sword in the air and its gleaming point was suddenly grazing the fat man’s gullet.
“Now, my fat one, are you still anxious to stay?” he asked.
The fat man dropped his paper and strained against the back of the seat, his breath suddenly rattling in his throat. His distended eyes stared downward in horror at the point of the sword.
“Watch what you’re doing,” he cried shrilly. “That thing is touching me. You’re liable to hurt somebody!”
“Somebody?” mused D’Artagnan. “No, my corpulent one, it will be you who are hurt.”
The fat man stared in horror at the calm icy depths of D’Artagnan’s eyes and suddenly he began to tremble like a bowl of quivering jelly.
“I was only kidding, Mister,” he croaked. “The lady can have the seat, honest she can. Just take that sticker out of my adam’s apple.”
D’Artagnan smiled gracefully.
“I knew you would do the gentlemanly thing, my friend. You only needed a slight — er — prodding in the right direction. But you must remember to be more prompt in the future.”
The point of the sword withdrew from the man’s neck. With a grin D’Artagnan flicked his wrist and the flashing blade slashed through the man’s bright silk tie, cutting it completely in two.
“Hey!” the man cried. “That was a new tie.”
“Consider yourself fortunate,” Athos said. “A tie can be replaced but a jugular vein presents a more difficult problem.”
D’Artagnan sheathed his sword. The fat man scrambled from the seat and ducked down the aisle, perspiration streaming down his neck.
D’Artagnan bowed to the young girl with a flourish.
“Our friend had a pressing appointment and was forced to leave,” he smiled. “I am sure he would be happy if you would take the seat he has vacated.”
“Thank you,” the girl said uncertainly. “But you might have gotten yourself into trouble on my account and it wouldn’t have been worth it.” She sat down and looked up at D’Artagnan’s tall figure with a peculiar expression in her eyes.
“The days when a man’s sword defended a woman are gone,” she murmured. “But sometimes—”
She dropped her eyes and D’Artagnan saw that her small shoulders were shaking softly.
“What is it?” he asked gently. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No, nothing,” the girl said in a small muffled voice. She raised her eyes and he saw that their cool green depths were misted with tears. “Thank you. I am grateful. Please leave me now.”
Phillip took D’Artagnan by the arm. “Come,” he said. “This is our stop. We must get off here.”
“But—” D’Artagnan looked down at the girl with the troubled eyes. “We can’t leave just now. I—”
“Come,” Phillip said urgently. Unwillingly D’Artagnan followed Phillip down the aisle of the car, but he stopped at the door for one last look at the girl’s small figure. Then with a sigh he stepped off the car. When it rattled past them and disappeared around a bend in the street, he shrugged his shoulders.
“I shouldn’t have left her,” he said gravely. “She was in trouble.”
“She was also very beautiful,” Aramis said. “That would be sufficient reason for staying.”
“We must hurry,” Phillip said, with an anxious glance at his watch. “I can’t afford to be late.”
With the Musketeers at his heels he crossed the street toward the huge stone building that housed the offices of the Bartlett Brokerage Company.
Chapter V
When Phillip reached the glass doors that led to the main offices of the Bartlett Brokerage Company, he paused. For the first time he began to wonder if what he was doing was wise.
He swallowed nervously and glanced at the three musketeers. Their faces were beaming expectantly. Phillip thought of Mr. Harker and his probable reaction to an invasion of the office by three cloaked, be-plumed, swaggering young men and he winced. The thought of Mr. Harker’s reaction was not pleasant.
He mopped his damp brow.
“What is it?” D’Artagnan asked. You seem worried and nervous. Let us proceed.”
“Of course,” Phillip said feebly. “It’s just that your presence here might not be understood.”
“Then you will explain our presence,” D’Artagnan said, slapping him on the back. “That is all there is to it.”
“Follow me,” Phillip said resignedly. He led the three musketeers into the office and to his own desk. He noticed with apprehension that the entrance of his companions did not go unnoticed. His fellow clerks dropped their pencils practically in unison and then their jaws dropped open as if they were synchronized.
D’Artagnan glanced about the large, desk-filled room.
“What kind of work is done here?” he asked. He was obviously not impressed with the surroundings.
“We add figures,” Phillip explained apologetically.
“All day?” D’Artagnan demanded. “Do you mean that grown men spend their days in this airless coop doing nothing but adding figures. It is incredible.”
Phillip Poincare had always known subconsciously that his work was dull and unimportant, but somehow hearing it from D’Artagnan’s lips brought it home with vivid force.
But he didn’t have time to think of that any longer for, from the corner of his eye, he saw the portly, red-faced form of Mr. Harker steaming across the floor toward his desk.