“That is a string of lies,” she said scornfully.
“Not altogether, I think,” he said thoughtfully, his dark piercing eyes fixed unwaveringly on her, as though he would read her thoughts. “There is truth in it somewhere. How much? How much has Adèle told you?” He thrust his face even closer towards her. “I know there is a reason for your actions. I am your friend and hers. I am taking a heavy risk to help you whether you appreciate it or not. We are all in the same boat—all suspect. Let us clear the air.”
His voice was low and persuasive, and his hand sought and found hers. She hastily tore hers away from his touch. For once Larry Hughes had overplayed his part. Penelope had got a clue to things that had been dark to her, and some at least of her doubts of the man who sat by her side were resolved.
“Adèle—and you,” she murmured, softly, more to herself than to the man. “I begin to understand.”
“Well, tell me,” he said.
“You,” she said holding away from him as from some abhorrent thing, “you are the blackmailer. You are the man she has been buying silence from. You are the man who wrecked her life, who has driven her to forgery, and worse. I believe you are the most contemptible creature on God’s earth.”
Not a muscle of the man’s face moved as he listened. “Like you, I begin to see,” he declared, his tone smooth as before. “Well, it doesn’t matter a whole lot. Adèle has been putting her foot in it, possibly getting out of her depth at the races, and she has hinted to you that she is being blackmailed. Anyhow, she has done some foolish things, and you are standing between her and trouble. That’s what it amounts to. No, Miss Noelson, I am not a blackmailer. There was something between Adèle and me many years ago, before her marriage, and possibly a crook has got some foolish letters of ours.”
Mentally he cursed himself for a fool. So sure had he been that the charges Labar had made against this girl could only be explained by one reason—that she was fully in Adèle Gertstein’s confidence—that he had let slip enough to enable her to make a guess somewhere near the truth. It was not Larry Hughes’ habit to talk loosely. However, it could not be helped. He had acted on the assumption that the knowledge she had might make disclosures from her dangerous. He realised that he had been wrong. He might have left her alone and all Labar’s efforts to extract anything from her that would have inculpated Larry would have been vain. But now by his own act he had made her the very menace he had feared. The guard that he had ever maintained upon himself had been incautiously relaxed. At least it was not irretrievable. He was where he had thought himself to be. Scotland Yard would have a long way to go ere it would be able to bring any crime against him.
The girl shrank as far from him as the limits of the car would allow. “But why this?” she demanded. “Why are you carrying me away, and where are you taking me?”
He made an impatient little gesture. “I am taking you away because you are not safe in London. You need have no fear. You will be well looked after.”
Penelope did not miss the sinister construction that might have been put upon his words. She felt herself shudder inwardly. But to the man she presented a brave front.
“Why?” she demanded again. “I am nothing to you. I insist that you put me down.”
“And let Labar twist you as he will. I am not raving mad.” With a sudden movement he possessed himself of her hands. “Penelope, you are something to me. Can’t you understand, child? You are everything to me.”
“No,” she protested. “Do not touch me.”
He paid no heed. “I want you, child. I have wanted you ever since I met you. Listen. You have no one to consider but yourself. I am rich—richer than you could imagine. I can give you everything that the world holds. You and I together. Will you marry me?”
“No,” she declared, vehemently. “Marry a thief—a blackmailer—God knows what—no!”
He flung her roughly from him. He had heard harder words in his life and had met them sneering and unmoved. But somehow to hear them from her stung him.
“You think you won’t—now,” he said viciously. “But you will, my girl. If you think you can set your silly obstinacy against my will, my dear, and win, you are booked for trouble. I have given you your chance and I don’t permit man nor woman to stand in my way. Bigger people than you have learnt that.”
She returned no answer. The car turned from the smooth road, and slowed as it took a rough track through a windswept marshland. In a little it came to a halt.
“Here we are,” said Larry Hughes.
VIII
Although it would have pleased Harry Labar to tumble into the fastest motor car he could find and engage in swift and melodramatic chase of Larry Hughes and Penelope, he was deterred by many considerations. Chief among them was the fact that they had a start that made pursuit in such a manner impracticable. Then, again, the whole thing might prove a wild goose chase. It might be just a pleasant comedy staged by Larry for reasons of his own.
Labar forced himself to reason coldly on the matter, although there was a tinge of apprehension in his mind so far as Penelope was concerned. But he dare not take his own personal feelings into account. He was surprised, but then Larry had a habit of doing the unexpected thing. Larry would appreciate the construction that must be
