And he sat back in his cab in a deep reverie. Already he was tired of London, though he had not set foot in it for three years. He was too near Challas. When absent on the Continent, he simply obeyed orders, and led the easy-going life of the cosmopolitan concession-hunter, always well-dressed, always apparently flush of money, always merry and prosperous-looking, and always outwardly, at least, presenting the appearance of a gentleman.
Here, in London, however, he was simply the cat's-paw of an unscrupulous parvenu who cloaked his evil doings beneath the remarkable sanctity and generous philanthropy.
"It's a blackguardly shame that poor little Gwen, a smart little girl and yet sweet and innocent as a child, should be parted from her lover like this!" he went on, still murmuring to himself. "No doubt this man Farquhar, whoever he is, doubts her. I'd do the same if the girl to whom I was engaged ran away from home, stayed away a few days, and then on her return refused to give any account of herself. Frank Farquhar isn't a fool, and I admire him for that. I'm to blame for the whole thing," he added with a bitter imprecation, "because I'm a coward and fear nowadays to face the music. Yes," he went on, "Red Mullet is in fear of his enemies! It's no good denying it. Hitherto he's always defied them, even at the muzzle of a gun! But recently they've become just one too many for him!"
He paused and lit a cigarette. Then with a sudden gesture of despair he asked himself aloud: "How can I assist the little girl to get back her lover? Frank Farquhar is a good fellow, I've discovered. And he's devoted to her. How can I compel him to believe in her?"
When he entered his chambers, he flung himself again into the armchair in which Gwen had sat.
"It would be a cursed shame if ever the sacred relics of Israel fell into the hands of such a blackguardly hypocrite as Challas. What does he care for their antiquity, or their religious significance? Nothing.
The gold he'd melt down and sell at its market value per ounce, while the sacred objects of the Holy of Holies he would wantonly destroy, in face of the Jews and in order to laugh them to scorn. He shan't do that! By Heaven! he shan't. If the treasure is still there it shall be recovered by the Doctor and Griffin. I'll help them, and I'll still remain little Gwen's protector, even if it costs me my liberty to do so.
Besides--"
His fierce words of determination were interrupted by a ring at the front door bell, and he went along the small hall to open it.
Jim Jannaway, in a light overcoat and crush hat, stood upon the mat.
"By Jove, Charlie!" he cried, "I'm jolly glad you're at home, old chap!"
"Why?" asked Mullet admitting him, and closing the door.
"Well, my dear fellow," he said in a breathless voice. "Something ugly has happened. You've been given away. Somebody has recognised that you're back in London!"
"Who?" gasped the red-haired man.
"Ah! that we don't know yet. The `boss' has just sent me round to tell you to clear out at once--this instant!"
"H'm," remarked "Red Mullet." "Now that's deuced funny! Why didn't he keep his fears to himself, and let me take the consequences--eh?"
"Why, of course he wouldn't do that. He never lets us down--you surely know him too well for that," remarked the other.
"And he gives me the tip to clear out!" said Charlie Mullet. "It's really very kind and considerate of him."
"Well, my dear fellow. You don't seem to appreciate his kindness very much."
"I never appreciate the solicitude of my enemies, my dear Jim," he replied with perfect nonchalance. "It's my failing, I suppose."
Jannaway disregarded the sarcasm, and said:
"I was with him only half an hour ago round in Berkeley Square, and he told me to come along at once to you, and urge you to get away. He gave me these for you," and from his pocket he produced three thousand-franc notes.
"My dear Jim, both you and Felix seem to take me for a silly mug,"
laughed Red Mullet defiantly, "but you must please remember that I've been mug-hunting too long to be bluffed like this. The exemplary Baronet is desirous that I should leave London, and sends you, his emissary, to give me timely warning. Well, my dear boy. I want no warning," he said, for he was now on his mettle. "I shall simply remain here. If they send anybody from Scotland Yard--well, here's a drink for them," and he indicated the tantalus and glasses upon a side table.
"But surely you don't wish to remain here, and give the whole game away!" cried Jannaway, anxiously, standing in the centre of the room, his hat pushed slightly to the back of his head.
"What does it matter to me? I never move without just cause. I'm growing rather sceptical in my old age. What proof have I of this extraordinary _contretemps_?"
"What proof do you want? I'm here to warn you. Are you a fool, Charlie?"
"Yes. Until I know why this warning has been given me. How does Felix know?"
"He has a pal down at Scotland Yard--a sergeant whom he helped `over the stile' a few years ago. He gives him valuable tips sometimes. One of them is that you've been recognised, and that the warrant has been given for your arrest to-night."
"Ah, my boy," replied "Red Mullet," lighting a fresh cigarette without turning a hair, "that's really interesting. And if I go down to Bow Street depend upon it I shan't go alone. So you can just go back to Berkeley Square, and tell Felix what I say."
"Why--what's the matter with you to-night, Charlie?" asked the other, looking at him in surprise.
What could the man know, he wondered? He seemed to scent the betrayal intended as soon as he was across the Channel.
"Matter?" he echoed. "Why, my dear Jim, I merely keep my eyes skinned, that's all."
"And you refuse to heed Felix's warning?"
"Yes, I'm very comfortable at home here--and here I mean to stay. Let the police come along if they like and I'll entertain them with a very interesting story. They re fond of hearing stories from men like myself, Jim."
"What the devil is the matter with you!" cried Jannaway, turning upon him fiercely.
"Nothing, I'm only surprised to find you such a fool, Jim. I thought better of you," was the other's calm response. "Do you know," he added, "you people who live in London want the moss scraped off you. We boys on the Continent are a lot sharper. We see the word danger written up, even when it's beyond the horizon and the detective is still off the map. You people here deliberately run your heads into nooses."
"How?"
"Well, you and Felix have arranged the little loop for yourselves in this affair, my dear boy. So do go home and sleep on it," he laughed merrily.
"You're a fool!" declared the other, turning from him impatiently.
"Of course. I'm a fool for not falling into the very clever trap which Sir Felix Challas and his sharp `cat's-paw', Jim Jannaway, have laid for me," he answered, looking the fellow straight in the face.
"Bah! All this quarrel arises over a girl--a little chit of a girl who, after all, hasn't much of a reputation to lose."
"And to whom do you refer, pray?" asked Charlie, indignantly.
"To Griffin's girl, of course--the girl who was with you so long in these chambers, and whom you pretended to regard with such paternal care," he sneered.
"You cast a slur upon the poor girl who was your victim!" cried the red-haired man angrily.
"I cast no slur. I speak the truth."
"Then you're an accursed liar!" cried Mullet, angrily. "Having failed to entrap her, you come here to-night to try and have me! But your ruse is a little bit too thin! Let the police come and learn from me the truth concerning our beautiful Birthday Baronet! I'll welcome them. So first go back with my compliments to Berkeley Square."
"Then your intention, now you're in danger, is to give us away--eh?"
exclaimed Jannaway, now flushed and excited. And in a second he had snatched up a heavy bronze ornament from the mantelshelf, intending to bring it down upon the other's head with a blow that must have crushed him.
In an instant, however, Mullet was on his guard. He was not a man to be taken by surprise.
"Now put that down at once, Jim, and clear out of my rooms," he cried, and Jannaway found himself looking down the plated barrel of a serviceable-looking Smith-Wesson revolver.
"Curse you!" cried the man, and he cast the ornament heavily upon the floor.