It was dark before he had finished his preparations, but he made no attempt to light the room. His dress-suit was laid out in an adjoining room, his trunks stood packed.
He looked at his watch. In half an hour he would be on his way to the Sandfords. Here was another risk which none but a madman would take—so he told himself, but he contemplated the outcome of his visit with equanimity.
He went into his bedroom and began his preparations, then remembered that he had left a bundle of notes on his writing-table, and went back. He found the notes and was returning when there was a click, and the room was flooded with light.
He whipped round with an oath, dropping his hand to his hip-pocket.
“Don’t move, please,” said the visitor quietly.
“You!” gasped Black.
The tall man with the little pointed beard nodded.
“Keep your hand away from your pocket, colonel,” he said; “there is no immediate danger.”
He was unarmed. The thin cigar between his white teeth testified his serenity.
“De la Monte!” stammered Black.
Again the bearded man nodded.
“The last time we met was in Cordova,” he said, “but you have changed since then.”
Black forced a smile.
“You are confusing me with Dr. Essley,” he said.
“I am confusing you with Dr. Essley,” agreed the other. “Yet I think I am justified in my confusion.”
He did not remove his cigar, seemed perfectly at ease, even going so far as to cast an eye upon a chair, inviting invitation.
“Essley or Black,” he said steadily, “your day is already dusk, and the night is very near.”
A cold wave of terror swept over the colonel. He tried to speak, but his throat and his mouth were dry, and he could only make inarticulate noises.
“Tonight—now?” he croaked—his shaking hands went up to his mouth. Yet he was armed and the man before him bore no weapon. A quick movement of his hand and he would lay the spectre which had at one time terrorized Europe. He did not doubt that he was face to face with one of the dreaded Four, and he found himself endeavouring to memorize the face of the man before him for future use. Yet he did not touch the pistol which lay snug in his hip-pocket. He was hypnotized, paralysed by the cool confidence of the other. All that he knew was that he wanted the relief which could only come if this calm man were to go. He felt horribly trapped, saw no way of escape in the presence of this force.
The other divined what was going on in Black’s mind.
“I have only one piece of advice to offer you,” he said, “and that is this—keep away from the Sandfords’ dinner.”
“Why—why?” stammered Black.
The other walked to the fireplace and flicked the ash of his cigar into the grate.
“Because,” he said, without turning round, “at the Sandford dinner you come within the jurisdiction of the ‘Four Just Men’—who, as you may know, are a protecting force. Elsewhere—”
“Yes—elsewhere?”
“You come within the jurisdiction of the law, Colonel Black, for at this present moment an energetic young Assistant-Commissioner of Police is applying for a warrant for your arrest on the charge of murder.”
With a little nod, Manfred turned his back and walked leisurely towards the door.
“Stop!”
The words were hissed. Black, revolver in hand, was livid with rage and fear.
Manfred laughed quietly. He did not check his walk, but looked backward over his shoulder.
“Let the cobbler stick to his last,” he quoted. “Poison, my dear colonel, is your last—or the knife in the case of Jakobs. An explosion, even of a Webley revolver, would shatter your nerves.”
He opened the door and walked out, closing it carefully behind him.
Black sank into the nearest chair, his mouth working, the perspiration streaming down his face.
This was the end. He was a spent force. He crossed the room to the telephone and gave a number. After a little while he got an answer.
Yes, the car was in readiness; there had been no inquiries. He hung up the telephone and called up six depots where cars could be hired. To each he gave the same instructions. Two cars were to be waiting—he changed the locality with each order. Two fast cars, each able to cover the eighty miles to Dover without fear of a breakdown.
“I shall take one,” he said, “the other must follow immediately behind—yes, empty. I am going to Dover to meet a party of people.”
He would take no risk of a breakdown. The second car must be close at hand in case he had an accident with the first.
He was something of an organizer. In the short space of time he was at the telephone, he arranged the cars so that whatever avenue of escape he was forced to take he would find the vehicles waiting.
This done, he completed his dressing. The reaction from the fear had come. He was filled with black hate for the men who had put a period to his career of villainy. Most of all he hated Sandford, the man who could have saved him.
He would take the risk of the Four—take his chance with the police. Curiously, he feared the police least of all.
One final blow he would strike and break the man whose obstinacy had broken him.
He was mad with anger—he saw nothing but the fulfilment of his plan of revenge. He went into his room, unlocked a cupboard and took out the green bottle. There was no need for the feather, he would do the job thoroughly.
He finished his dressing, pocketed his banknotes, and slipped the little green bottle into his waistcoat pocket. One last look round he gave, then, with a sense of the old exhilaration which had been his before the arrival of Manfred, he put on his hat, threw
