The Yellow Crayon. E. Phillips Oppenheim
him everything.”
Mr. Horser leaned over the table. His eyes were bloodshot, his tone was fierce and threatening. Mr. Sabin was coldly courteous. The difference between the demeanour of the two men was remarkable.
“You knew what those letters meant! This is a plot! Where is Skinner’s report?”
Mr. Sabin raised his eyebrows. He signaled to the head-waiter.
“Be so good as to continue the service of my dinner,” he ordered. “The champagne is a trifle too chilled. You can take it out of the cooler.”
The man bowed, with a curious side glance at Horser.
“Certainly, your Grace!”
Horser was almost speechless with anger.
“Are you going to answer my questions?” he demanded thickly.
“I have no particular objection to doing so,” Mr. Sabin answered, “but until you can sit up and compose yourself like an ordinary individual, I decline to enter into any conversation with you at all.”
Again Mr. Horser raised his voice, and the glare in his eyes was like the glare of a wild beast.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”
Mr. Sabin looked at him coolly, and fingered his wineglass.
“Well,” he said, “I’ve a shocking memory for names, but yours is—Mr. Horser, isn’t it? I heard it for the first time this morning, and my memory will generally carry me through four-and-twenty hours.”
There was a moment’s silence. Horser was no fool. He accepted his defeat and dropped the bully.
“You’re a stranger in this city, Mr. Sabin, and I guess you aren’t altogether acquainted with our ways yet,” he said. “But I want you to understand this. The report which is in your pocket has got to be returned to me. If I’d known what I was meddling with I wouldn’t have touched your business for a hundred thousand dollars. It’s got to be returned to me, I say!” he repeated in a more threatening tone.
Mr. Sabin helped himself to fish, and made a careful examination of the sauce.
“After all,” he said meditatively, “I am not sure that I was wise in insisting upon a sauce piquante. I beg your pardon, Mr. Horser. Please do not think me inattentive, but I am very hungry. So, I believe, is my friend, Mr. Skinner. Will you not join us—or perhaps you have already dined?”
There was an ugly flush in Mr. Horser’s cheeks, but he struggled to keep his composure.
“Will you give me back that report?”
“When I have read it, with pleasure,” Mr. Sabin answered. “Before, no.”
Mr. Horser swallowed an exceedingly vicious oath. He struck the table lightly with his forefinger.
“Look here,” he said. “If you’d lived in New York a couple of years, even a couple of months, you wouldn’t talk like that. I tell you that I hold the government of this city in my right hand. I don’t want to be unpleasant, but if that paper is not in my hands by the time you leave this table I shall have you arrested as you leave this room, and the papers taken from you.”
“Dear me,” Mr. Sabin said, “this is serious. On what charge may I ask should I be exposed to this inconvenience?”
“Charge be damned!” Mr. Horser answered. “The police don’t want particulars from me. When I say do a thing they do it. They know that if they declined it would be their last day on the force.”
Mr. Sabin filled his glass and leaned back in his chair.
“This,” he remarked, “is interesting. I am always glad to have the opportunity of gaining an insight into the customs of different countries. I had an idea that America was a country remarkable for the amount of liberty enjoyed by its inhabitants. Your proposed course of action seems scarcely in keeping with this.”
“What are you going to do? Come, I’ve got to have an answer.”
“I don’t quite understand,” Mr. Sabin remarked, with a puzzled look, “what your official position is in connection with the police.”
Mr. Horser’s face was a very ugly sight. “Oh, curse my official position,” he exclaimed thickly. “If you want proof of what I say you shall have it in less than five minutes. Skinner, be off and fetch a couple of constables.”
“I really must protest,” Mr. Sabin said. “Mr. Skinner is my guest, and I will not have him treated in this fashion, just as the terrapin is coming in, too. Sit down, Mr. Skinner, sit down. I will settle this matter with you in my room, Mr. Horser, after I have dined. I will not even discuss it before.”
Mr. Horser opened his mouth twice, and closed it again. He knew that his opponent was simply playing to gain time, but, after all, he held the trump card. He could afford to wait. He turned to a waiter and ordered a cigar. Mr. Sabin and Mr. Skinner continued their dinner.
Conversation was a little difficult, though Mr. Sabin showed no signs of an impaired appetite. Skinner was white with fear, and glanced every now and then nervously at his chief. Mr. Horser smoked without ceasing, and maintained an ominous silence. Mr. Sabin at last, with a sigh, rose, and lighting a cigarette, took his stick from the waiter and prepared to leave.
“I fear, Mr. Horser,” he remarked, “that your presence has scarcely contributed to the cheerfulness of our repast. Mr. Skinner, am I to be favoured with your company also upstairs?”
Horser clutched that gentleman’s arm and whispered a few words in his ear.
“Mr. Skinner,” he said, “will join us presently. What is your number?”
“336,” Mr. Sabin answered. “You will excuse my somewhat slow progress.”
They crossed the hall and entered the elevator. Mr. Horser’s face began to clear. In a moment or two they would be in Mr. Sabin’s sitting-room-alone. He regarded with satisfaction the other’s slim, delicate figure and the limp with which he moved. He felt that the danger was already over.
CHAPTER V
BUT, after all, things did not exactly turn out as Mr. Horser had imagined. The sight of the empty room and the closed door were satisfactory enough, and he did not hesitate for a moment.
“Look here, sir,” he said, “you and I are going to settle this matter quick. Whatever you paid Skinner you can have back again. But I’m going to have that report.”
He took a quick step forward with uplifted hand—and looked into the shining muzzle of a tiny revolver. Behind it Mr. Sabin’s face, no longer pleasant and courteous, had taken to itself some very grim lines.
“I am a weak man, Mr. Horser, but I am never without the means of self-defence,” Mr. Sabin said in a still, cold tone. “Be so good as to sit down in that easy-chair.”
Mr. Horser hesitated. For one moment he stood as though about to carry out his first intention. He stood glaring at his opponent, his face contracted into a snarl, his whole appearance hideous, almost bestial. Mr. Sabin smiled upon him contemptuously—the maddening, compelling smile of the born aristocrat.
“Sit down!”
Mr. Horser sat down, whereupon Mr. Sabin followed suit.
“Now what have you to say to me?” Mr. Sabin asked quietly.
“I want that report,” was the dogged answer.
“You will not have it,” Mr. Sabin answered.