Peter did not answer, and it was Jeffrey who took up the conversation.
“See here, Peter,” he said, “I’m not going to make a song about this business of mine. I’m going to put all my cards on the table. I want my wife.”
“You know where Lila is better than I,” said Peter. “She’s not in my employment now.”
“Lila nothing!” retorted Jeffrey. “If you fall for that stuff, you’re getting soft. I certainly married Lila, but she was married already, and I can give you proof of it.”
The conversation flagged here, for the waiter came in to serve the soup.
“What wine will you have, sir?”
“The same as Mr. Emanuel,” said Peter.
Emanuel Legge chuckled softly.
“Think I’m going to ‘knock you out,’ eh, Peter? What a suspicious old man you are!”
“Water,” said Johnny softly when the waiter came to him.
“On the water-wagon, Johnny? That’s good. A young man in your business has got to keep his wits about him. I’ll have champagne, Fernando, and so will Major Floyd. Nothing like champagne to keep your heart up,” he said.
Peter watched, all his senses alert, as the wine came, bubbling and frothing, into the long glasses.
“That will do, Fernando,” said Emanuel, watching the proceedings closely.
As the door closed, Johnny could have sworn he heard an extra click.
“Locking us in?” he asked pleasantly, and Emanuel’s eyebrows rose.
“Locking you in, Johnny? Why, do you think I’m afraid of losing you, like you’re afraid of losing Marney?”
Johnny sipped the glass of water, his eyes fixed on the old man’s face. What was behind that buffet? That was the thought which puzzled him. It was a very ordinary piece of furniture, of heavy mahogany, a little shallow, but this was accounted for by the fact that the room was not large, and, in furnishing, the proprietors of the club had of necessity to economise space.
There were two cupboard doors beneath the ledge on which the side dishes should have been standing. Was it his imagination that he thought he saw one move the fraction of an inch?
“Ever been in ‘bird’ before, Johnny?”
It was Emanuel who did most of the talking.
“I know they gave you three years, but was that your first conviction?”
“That was my first conviction,” said Johnny.
The old man looked up at the ceiling, pulling at his chin.
“Ever been in Keytown?” he demanded. “No good asking you, Peter, I know. You’ve never been in Keytown or any bad boob, have you? Clever old Peter!”
“Let us talk about something else,” said Peter. “I don’t believe for one moment the story you told me about Lila having been married before. You’ve told me a fresh lie every time the matter has been discussed. I’m going to give you a show, Emanuel, for old times’ sake. You’ve been a swine, and you’ve been nearer to death than you know, for, if your plan had come off as you expected it would, I’d have killed you.”
Emanuel chuckled derisively.
“Old Peter’s going to be a gunman,” he said. “And after all the lectures you’ve given me! I’m surprised at you, Peter. Now I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.” He rested his elbows on the table and cupped his chin in his hands, his keen eyes, all the keener for the magnification of his spectacles, fixed hardly upon his sometime friend. “By my reckoning, you owe me forty thousand pounds, and I know I’m not going to get it without a struggle. Weigh in with that money, and I’ll make things easy for my son’s wife.” He emphasised the last word.
“You can cut that out!”
It was Jeffrey whose rough interruption checked his father’s words.
“There’s no money in the world that’s going to get Marney from me. Understand that.” He brought his hand down with a crash upon the table. “She belongs to me, and I want her, Peter. Do you get it? And what is more, I’m going to take her.”
Johnny edged a little farther from the table, and folding his arms across his chest, his lips parted in a smile. His right hand reached for the gun that he carried under his armpit: a little Browning, but a favourite one of Johnny’s in such crises as these. For the cupboard door had moved again, and the door of the room was locked: of that he was certain. All this talk of Marney was sheer blind to keep them occupied.
It had long passed the time when the plates should have been cleared and the second course make its appearance. But there was to be no second course, at that dinner. Emanuel was speaking chidingly, reproachfully.
“Jeffrey, my boy, you mustn’t spoil a good deal,” he said. “The truth is—”
And then all the lights of the room went out. Instantly Johnny was on his feet, his back to the wall, his gun fanning the dark.
“What’s the game?” asked Peter’s voice sharply. “There’ll be a real dead man here if you start fooling.”
“I don’t know,” said Emanuel, speaking from the place where he had been. “Ring the bell, Jeff. I expect the switch has gone.”
There was somebody else in the room: Johnny felt the presence instinctively—a stealthy somebody who was moving toward him. Holding out one hand, ready to pounce the moment it touched, he waited. A second passed—five seconds—ten seconds—and then the lights went on again.
Peter was also standing with his back to the wall, and in his hand a murderous looking Webley. Jeffrey and his father were side by side in the places they had been when the lights went out. There was no fifth man in the room.
“What’s the game?” asked Peter suspiciously.
“The game, my dear Peter? What a question to ask! You don’t make me responsible for the fuses, do
