Page:The Popular Magazine v72 n1 (1924-04-20).djvu/98

 “I am Salaman Chayne—remember that. And I allow no man to be insolent with me. Remember that, also, Sover. I am engaged at present in aiding the law to run down an employer of yours—a man called Dragour.”

The flush on the jockey's thin face died down suddenly, and his eyes grew hard and watchful.

“Dragour!” repeated Mr. Chayne softly, his eyes fast on his man. “Between whom and the Countess of Barford you acted as go-between—jackal—in the matter of the Barford carved rubies.”

“Forget it, Solomon,” said Sover jauntily. “It's old stuff, all that. I've been arrested on that charge once—and proved innocent—and the case was dismissed.”

He laughed—but his eyes were searching the hawky face of Mr. Chayne, and his laugh was uneasy.

“Yes, I know, my man. There was no evidence. But I have all the evidence I need—and the rubies—which I am now on my way to return to Lord Barford. I advise you to come with me—and to be very careful to behave yourself—or I'll have you in a cell within ten minutes.”

He rapped out his threat with the clean-cut and forceful explicitness of a deadly quick firer.

“I deny everything,” said Sover uneasily. “And even if that was true, everything I've ever done was done by the direct orders of Lady Barford.”

“You'll have a chance of explaining that to Lord Barford in a moment. I haven't an atom of doubt that you've just been repulsed at the door in an attempt to blackmail Lady Barford.”

The jockey started, his eyes narrowing.

“You're going to see Lord Barford?”

“I am—now. And you are coming with me.”

“Oh, am I?”

“If I have to kick you up those steps to get you there,” said Salaman grimly.

The jockey stared at him. Small though he, too, was, yet he topped Salaman by some inches and he was not unversed in violence. But, nevertheless he found something in the air of little Mr. Chayne which strangely daunted him. The little man looked all steel wire and whipcord, and there was an odd yearning look in his hot, yellowish-gray eyes that was unmistakable. Sover, conscious that he was far from being in condition to withstand the “pressure” which the grim little hawk clearly intended to exert on him, if necessary, capitulated swiftly.

Be shrugged.

“You think you're doing a clever thing by running to Lord Barford with your cock-and-bull story—but you'll only manage to ruin Lady Barford and do yourself no good,” he said with an air of warning. “Why can't you let sleeping dogs lie? They're 'some' dogs, I'll tell you! Wake 'em and you'll be sick and sorry before you're a week older”—his voice fell to a flat whisper—“if you live that long.”

Salaman laughed acidly.

“A man like you advising a man like me what to do about sleeping dogs!” he said. “Why, it's like a situation in a bad farce. Come along.”

Reluctantly Sover accompanied Salaman to the door.

The butler, eying Sover, was inclined to make difficulties—the Earl of Barford was on the point of leaving England with the countess, he explained loftily, and could see nobody.

“You are playing with fire, my man,” said Salaman acridly. “And for every second you keep me waiting you place your situation in more serious jeopardy. Now, that's enough—go to Lord Barford at once and inform him that Mr. Salaman Chayne is desirous of restoring to him the Barford carved rubies which were lost recently.”

The butler gaped, wide-eyed, then showed them into the hall, left them to a footman from whom he had evidently taken over the matter of dealing with Sover, and hurried up the broad flight of stairs.

He was back almost at once, his manner extremely deferential—to Salaman.

He showed them into a charming little room, wholly feminine in its mode of decoration on the first floor.

“Will you wait here, if you please. Her ladyship will see you at once.”

A door at the other side of the room opened as he spoke and a woman entered—a slim, tall, fair woman, extraordinarily graceful, with deep, dark-blue eyes and a mass of pale-gold, gleaming hair. But her perfect lips were not red with the redness of natural health and the dark shadows about her eyes were not normal. She was very pale. Her glance darted from Salaman Chayne to Sover the jockey.

She looked at Salaman's card.

“I understand that you have something