"Palford & Grimby are clever old ducks, and they know that much.Thing they'd know best would be that to set a raft of lies going about a man who's got money enough to defend himself, and to make them pay big damages for it afterward, would be pretty bum business.I guess they know all about what proof stands for.They may have to wait; so may you, same as I have."Palliser realized that he was in the position of a man striking at an adversary whose construction was of India-rubber.He struck home, but left no bruise and drew no blood, which was an irritating thing.He lost his temper.
"Proof!" he jerked out."There will be proof enough, and when it is made public, you will not control the money you threaten to use.""When you get proof, just you let me hear about it," T.Tembarom said.
"And all the money I'm threatening on shall go where it belongs, and I'll go back to New York and sell papers if I have to.It won't come as hard as you think."The flippant insolence with which he brazened out his pretense that he had not lied, that his ridiculous romance was actual and simple truth, suggested dangerous readiness of device and secret knowledge of power which could be adroitly used.
"You are merely marking time," said Palliser, rising, with cold determination to be juggled with no longer."You have hidden him away where you think you can do as you please with a man who is an invalid.
That is your dodge.You've got him hidden somewhere, and his friends had better get at him before it is too late.""I'm not answering questions this evening, and I'm not giving addresses, though there are no witnesses to take them down.If he's hidden away, he's where he won't be disturbed," was T.Tembarom's rejoinder."You may lay your bottom dollar on that."Palliser walked toward the door without speaking.He had almost reached it when he whirled about involuntarily, arrested by a shout of laughter.
"Say," announced Tembarom, "you mayn't know it, but this lay-out would make a first-rate turn in a vaudeville.You think I'm lying, I look like I'm lying, I guess every word I say sounds like I'm lying.To a fellow like you, I guess it couldn't help but sound that way.And I'm not lying.That's where the joke comes in.I'm not lying.I've not told you all I know because it's none of your business and wouldn't help; but what I have told you is the stone-cold truth."He was keeping it up to the very end with a desperate determination not to let go his hold of his pose until he had made his private shrewd deal, whatsoever it was.At least, so it struck Palliser, who merely said:
"I 'm leaving the house by the first train to-morrow morning." He fixed a cold gray eye on the fool's grin.
"Six forty-five," said T.Tembarom."I'll order the carriage.I might go up myself."The door closed.
Tembarom was looking cheerful enough when he went into his bedroom.He had become used to its size and had learned to feel that it was a good sort of place.It had the hall bedroom at Mrs.Bowse's boarding-house "beaten to a frazzle." There was about everything in it that any man could hatch up an idea he'd like to have.He had slept luxuriously on the splendid carved bed through long nights, he had lain awake and thought out things on it, he had lain and watched the fire-light flickering on the ceiling, as he thought about Ann and made plans, and "fixed up" the Harlem flat which could be run on fifteen per.He had picked out the pieces of furniture from the Sunday Earth advertisement sheet, and had set them in their places.He always saw the six-dollar mahogany-stained table set for supper, with Ann at one end and himself at the other.He had grown actually fond of the old room because of the silence and comfort of it, which tended to give reality to his dreams.Pearson, who had ceased to look anxious, and who had acquired fresh accomplishments in the form of an entirely new set of duties, was waiting, and handed him a telegram.
"This just arrived, sir," he explained."James brought it here because he thought you had come up, and I didn't send it down because I heard you on the stairs.""That's right.Thank you, Pearson," his master said.
He tore the yellow envelop, and read the message.In a moment Pearson knew it was not an ordinary message, and therefore remained more than ordinarily impassive of expression.He did not even ask of himself what it might convey.
Mr.Temple Barholm stood still a few seconds, with the look of a man who must think and think rapidly.
"What is the next train to London, Pearson?" he asked.
"There is one at twelve thirty-six, sir," he answered."It's the last till six in the morning.You have to change at Crowley.""You're always ready, Pearson," returned Mr.Temple Barholm."I want to get that train."Pearson was always ready.Before the last word was quite spoken he had turned and opened the bedroom door.
"I'll order the dog-cart; that's quickest, sir," he said.He was out of the room and in again almost immediately.Then he was at the wardrobe and taking out what Mr.Temple Barholm called his "grip," but what Pearson knew as a Gladstone bag.It was always kept ready packed for unexpected emergencies of travel.
Mr.Temple Barholm sat at the table and drew pen and paper toward him.
He looked excited; he looked more troubled than Pearson had seen him look before.
"The wire's from Sir Ormsby Galloway, Pearson," he said.
"It's about Mr.Strangeways.He's done what I used to be always watching out against: he's disappeared.""Disappeared, sir!" cried Pearson, and almost dropped the Gladstone bag."I beg pardon, sir.I know there's no time to lose." He steadied the bag and went on with his task without even turning round.
His master was in some difficulty.He began to write, and after dashing off a few words, stopped, and tore them up.
"No," he muttered, "that won't do.There's no time to explain." Then he began again, but tore up his next lines also.
"That says too much and not enough.It'd frighten the life out of her."He wrote again, and ended by folding the sheet and putting it into an envelop.