The Frightened Man

motor-car enthusiast, quite mad, he’s the money, of course, but noisy contraptions, smelly, too, but he adored the idea. “Lang,” he said, “row fifty for the minute on this one. Go all out! This is a twentieth-century idea!”’ Lang sat there and enjoyed his own good news. ‘Here is the arrangement: eight hundred pounds in advance against your usual royalty plus expenses plus the firm will provide the motor car. Between you and me and the gatepost, Gwen means to pick out the motor car himself but he was going on about making a trip to Paris with you to find absolutely the right one, because he believes the French make the best motor cars in the world, which is not very loyal, if you ask me.’ He sipped his sherry again. ‘Where was I? Expenses, the car — yes, subsidiary rights, ah, yes. We want to serialize — sixty per cent for you, the rights already sold in England — oh, yes, my dear, I moved quickly — to Every Other Week for three hundred pounds, including Ireland. I have a cable from Chapman at Century in New York — where is it, where is it-? Doesn’t matter, he’s offering ten thousand dollars for North America. I haven’t heard from L’Affiche d’Aujourd’hui or Kunst, but I will. You’re assured, in short, of at least three thousand pounds.’ He looked up with the guilelessness of a child. ‘Is that all right?’

‘All right?’ As Lang had talked, Denton had felt the black mood slipping away. Everything’s going to be all right, he thought. Everything. He jumped up and pulled Lang from the armchair and threw his good arm around him. The editor gasped; Denton tightened his grip into half of a bear hug. ‘Oh-’ Lang cried, ‘oh, this is too-Oh, dear-You Americans are so emotional-Really, you needn’t-’

And then Atkins was coming from the stairs, Rupert lumbering behind him. Atkins was shouting, ‘Congratulations, General! Well done, sir! No need now to go to the agent’s, nor did I want to-!’ Any pretence of not having eavesdropped was out of the window. ‘Three thousand pounds! Out of funds, my hat!’

Everything would be all right; he would be rich — and then he thought of Janet Striker, the injured face, the moment when he pulled the trigger, and he understood that if he accepted Lang’s offer he would be gone for months. What would she think of him? Or — what was worse — would she even care?

Denton let go of Lang, who fell back into the armchair. Atkins poured him another sherry without taking his eyes from Denton.

‘You heard?’ Denton temporized, his mind still on Mrs Striker.

‘I couldn’t help, the gentlemen having a rather carrying voice and clear enunciation.’

‘Transylvania,’ Denton said. ‘It’s a long way.’

‘In Europe, in’t it?’

‘By motor car. We’d be gone a long time.’ Thinking, we can write to each other; maybe it will be even better — get to know each other a different way-But he wanted them to get to know each other in the usual way — dinners, walks, then-

Atkins grinned. ‘Three thousand pounds!’

‘You’d have to learn to drive, Sergeant.’

‘How difficult can it be? Look at the fools what smashes them up all over London.’

‘To Transylvania, Sergeant. You’re willing to travel with me all the way to Transylvania?’ Wanting Atkins to say no, to cause him not to go. Knowing he had to go, had to have the money, and at the same time wanting that damned woman who lay in a hospital bed with her face slashed.

Atkins raised his head, pushed out his lips, then hesitated. ‘If there’s room for Rupert.’ He looked down at the enormous dog. ‘You’d like to see Transylvania, wouldn’t you, old fellow?’

The stump of tail thumped on the floor. Denton stared at it. He sighed. He would write her lots of letters.