The Long Arm of Mannister. E. Phillips OppenheimЧитать онлайн книгу.
part of the place and its surroundings. Only these four men who had known him intimately could detect some slight but significant change in the expression of the man who came so calmly forward to greet them.
"Mannister, by all that's wonderful!" Hambledon exclaimed, rising and holding out both his hands.
"Mannister!" the others echoed, and rose to their feet.
There was a moment's pause of breathless expectancy. They felt that the next few seconds would decide the momentous question as to whether this man had come as friend or enemy. He himself seemed for some reason inclined to prolong the period of uncertainty. He stood quite still for an appreciable space of time, looking at the four men who had risen to their feet prepared to receive him with every appearance of good fellowship, and yet, notwithstanding all their efforts, showing something of the nervousness which they all felt, in their faces and manners. With a little laugh, Mannister threw his coat to the cloak-room attendant who had followed him in, and leisurely drawing off his gloves, extended his hand to Hambledon.
"Can you make room for an unexpected visitor?" he asked. "It's like old times to see a magnum of Pomeroy. Hambledon, you haven't changed a bit. Traske, you are looking fit as ever. Jacobs, how are you? Where are you all with your dinner? I'll chip in if I may."
The key-note of their conversation was struck. Their welcome was more than effusive, it was almost uproarious. His glass was filled, and a place was hastily laid for him. There was no lack of conversation. He had been away for more than a year. There were a hundred people to ask after, endless little pieces of news and gossip to retail to him. But the greater things they left alone. No mention was made of the reason of his sudden disappearance from the country, or of the man in search of whom he had gone. Nor did they speak of certain transactions which had taken place during his absence, but for which they knew very well that a day of reckoning must come. There were certain names, too, which Mannister left alone until dinner was almost over. Then he asked after them, one by one, and it seemed to the four men who answered, that there was something sinister in these inquiries, apparently so casual, and yet embracing just those men and no others.
"Colin Stevens is not here to-night, I see," Mannister began.
"He is over in Paris for a few days," Hambledon answered.
Mannister nodded.
"And Rundermere, Phil Rundermere?"
"Phil's about as usual," Hambledon answered, "but a little down on his luck He's had a very bad season's racing."
"John Dykes?"
"He may be in any moment," Traske declared, a little uneasily. "He doesn't often dine with us. He's had gout badly, and he's trying a diet cure."
Hambledon drank a glass of wine during the momentary silence which followed. He felt the perspiration breaking out upon his forehead. These names and no others! There must be a purpose in it. Seven of the eight, including those who were present, had already been inquired for. There was only one left. If he should ask for her and no one else, they would know that it was war. They would know that their danger was no fancied one.
"And last, but not least," Mannister asked, looking intently into the contents of his glass, "la belle Sophy, Mrs. De la Mere, unless she has changed her name?"
"She is dining here to-night," Hambledon answered. "She is sitting immediately behind you."
Mannister smiled.
"Presently," he said, "I must pay my respects to her. It is very interesting to hear about so many old friends."
Then he was silent for several moments, still apparently watching the bubbles rise in his champagne glass, and the four men stole glances one at the other. He had asked after them all, all the eight! They could not doubt any longer but that it was war!
Coffee and liqueurs were set before them. Already half the diners in the place had left. Mannister glanced at the clock.
"Half-past nine," he said. "Remember that I have been away from London a year. What does one do now? Have we any——?"
He glanced meaningly at Hambledon, who shook his head.
"No, no!" he said. "There is nothing of that sort on just now. We might go to a music-hall for an hour, and round to Cumberland Mansions afterwards, all of us except Ben, that is. Ben is a reformed character. In fact this is something in the way of a farewell dinner. Ben is going to be married next month to somebody very young and very rich."
Traske was obviously annoyed.
"Don't listen to Hambledon's rot," he said, "but that reminds me. I must be off."
Mannister stretched out a detaining hand.
"Don't hurry," he said. "Remember that your old friends too have claims. By-the-bye, what about Sophy de la Mere?"
Traske was uncomfortable, and showed it. Such questioning from any one else he would have resented at once.
"Oh, Sophy's all right," he declared. "Not likely to round upon an old pal."
Sophy herself appeared, radiant in white lace, a picture hat, and a feather boa. She, perhaps, more than any of them, had suffered from nerves when first she had seen Mannister enter the restaurant, but she had had time to get over it, and she was a woman. So she came up to him with outstretched hands and a brilliant smile. It was simpler to treat his absence as something quite ordinary, to ignore those things concerning which speech was difficult.
"Back again to Babylon, my friend," she said, lightly. "Welcome home! I am delighted to see you."
Mannister stood and smiled down upon her, his hand resting on the back of his chair.
"I see that your friends," he remarked, "have dispersed. Won't you sit down and have some coffee with us? It will be quite like old times."
"On one condition," she answered, "and that is that you all come round to my rooms afterwards. Dicky is going to South Africa to-morrow, and we are going to give him a send-off, music and bridge and a riotous time generally. You'll all come, won't you? If you say yes I'll sit down, and we can all go back together."
"I shall be charmed," Mannister answered. "I do not think that any of us could refuse such an invitation."
His glance rested as though by accident upon Traske, who was suddenly conscious of a feeling of apprehension for which he could not account.
"I am afraid," he said, rising, "that I shall have to be excused. I was just explaining to Mannister here——"
"You will not be excused," Mrs. De la Mere said quietly. "You are coming, Ben. I insist upon it."
There was a moment's silence. No one else intervened. They recognized that the disposal of Traske's evening had suddenly become a matter of some import.
"I am sorry," Traske began, but without any conviction in his tone, "but I really have an important engagement this evening. If to-morrow evening or——"
"No other evening will do," Mrs. De la Mere said. "I am thinking of leaving town myself almost directly, so this may very well be a farewell party in more senses than one. You must come, Ben."
Traske resumed his seat, but his face was troubled. Hambledon whispered in Mannister's ear.
"Extraordinary thing about Ben. He made up to a little girl somewhere in the suburbs just because she had a lot of money, and upon my word I believe it's coming off. Talks of chucking the city and town life, and going to live in the country."
"Is he honest, do you suppose?" Mannister asked.
Hambledon smiled—an unpleasant smile.
"Until he gets hold of the money. He's got round the girl somehow or other, I suppose. She's very pretty and very pious, and that's all we know about her. He's taken good care to keep her away from all of us? "
Mannister leaned back in his chair and smiled to himself thoughtfully. He glanced across at Traske, and the smile deepened,