thank God,” he went on. “Don’t faint, old chap. I can’t give you a drink, but I am going to rub some brandy on your lips. God, what a fool I was to let you sleep in my room!”
“An undersized little rat,” Micky gasped, with feeble indignation. “I could have squeezed the life out of him if he’d given me the chance. He turned out the lights and stole up behind. What are you in trouble with the Dagos for, Martin?”
“You think he was a Dago, then?”
“Sure. What about the police?”
Fawley shook his head.
“We ought to send for them, I suppose, but it is not altogether etiquette in the profession.”
“Am I in on one of your jobs, then, Martin?” the boy asked, with a weak grin.
“Looks like it,” his brother assented. “I’m damned sorry. It was Jenkins’ fault, putting you in there. You were not prepared, of course.”
“Well, I didn’t think it was necessary to hold a gun in your right hand and untie your tie with the left in London,” Micky grumbled.
Then the door swung open. The man with the bald head, the beady eyes and the long jaw stood upon the threshold. He seemed to grasp the situation in a moment. With an impatient turn of the shoulder, he threw back the long evening cape he was wearing. His hand flashed out just too late. He was looking into the muzzle of Fawley’s steadily held and vicious-looking revolver.
“That won’t do here, Patoni,” the latter said, in a voice such as no one in the room had ever heard him use before. “Drop your gun. Before I count three, mind. There’s going to be none of that sort of thing. One—two—”
Patoni’s weapon fell smoothly on to the carpet. Fawley kicked it towards Elida, who stooped and picked it up. From outside they heard the rattle of the lift.
“That’s the doctor,” Fawley announced. “Micky, can you get back to your room? You will find Jenkins there to help you.”
“I guess so,” the young man replied, moving unsteadily towards the door.
“An accident, remember,” Fawley continued. “You were unpacking your gun and it went off—shaking a cartridge out or anything you like. The doctor won’t be too particular. He leaves that sort of thing to the police and we don’t want the police in on this.”
There were hurried footsteps outside and the door was thrown open. Jenkins was there, the doctor, the liftman. Micky staggered towards them.
“Take Mr. Michael into my room, Jenkins,” Fawley ordered. “Let the doctor examine him there and report. I have looked at the wound. I do not think it is dangerous. Close the door and leave us.”
Fawley’s voice was not unduly raised but some quality in it seemed to compel obedience. They all disappeared. Elida, obeying a gesture from him, closed the door. He pointed to a chair.
“Sit down, Prince,” he directed.
CHAPTER XXII
Fawley, gentle though he was in his methods, was running no risks. He seated himself at his desk, his revolver lying within a few inches of his fingers. Patoni was a yard or so away towards the middle of the room. Elida was on Fawley’s left.
“What do you want with me, Prince Patoni?” Fawley asked.
The Italian’s eyes were full of smouldering anger.
“A great deal,” he answered. “General Berati has sent me here with an order which I have in my pocket—you can see it when you choose—that you accompany me at once to Rome. Furthermore, I am here to know what my cousin the Princess Elida is doing in London, and particularly what she is doing in your room at this hour of the night.”
“That is my own affair entirely,” Elida declared. “He is an impertinent fellow, this cousin of mine,” she went on, turning to Fawley. “He follows me about. He persecutes me. In Rome it is not permitted. There are too many of my own people there. I have a brother, if I need a protector.”
“Is it not true,” he demanded, “that you were once engaged to me?”
“For four days,” she answered. “Then I discovered that I hated your type. Proceed with your business with Major Fawley. Leave me out of it, if you please.”
Patoni’s eyes flamed for a moment with malignant fire. He turned his shoulder upon her and faced Fawley. For the moment he had lost his guise of the cardinal’s nephew, the politician’s secretary. His rasping tone, his drawn-up frame once more recalled the cavalry officer.
“I have told you, Major Fawley,” he said, “that I have in my pocket an order from General Berati requiring your immediate presence in Rome. I have an aeroplane waiting at Heston now. I should be glad to know whether it would be convenient for you to leave at dawn.”
“Most inconvenient,” Fawley answered. “Besides, I hate the early morning air. Why does the General want me before my work is finished?”
“He demands to know what part of the work he entrusted you with concerns England?”
“He will find that easy to understand later on,” was the smooth rejoinder.
“I am not talking about later on,” Patoni declared harshly. “I am talking about now. I represent General Berati. You can see my mandate if you will. I am your Chief. What are you doing in England when you should have taken the information you gained in Berlin direct to Rome?”
“Working still for the good of your country,” Fawley assured him.
“No one has asked you to work independently for the good of our country,” was the swift retort. “You have been asked to obey orders, to study certain things and report on them. Not one of these concerns England. You are not supposed to employ any initiative. You are supposed to work to orders.”
“I must have misunderstood the position,” Fawley observed. “I never work in that way. I preserve my own independence always. Was Berati not satisfied with me for my work on the frontier?”
“It was fine work,” Patoni admitted grudgingly. “To show you that I am not prejudiced, I will tell you something. Five men we have sent one after the other to check the details of your work, to confirm the startling information you submitted as to the calibre of the anti-aircraft guns and to report further upon the object of the subterranean work which has been carried to our side of the frontier. One by one they disappeared. Not one of the five has returned alive!”
“It was murder to send them,” Fawley remarked. “I do not say that they might not have done as well as I did if they had been the first, but unfortunately I did not get clean away, and after that the French garrison redoubled their guards.”
“The matter of the frontier is finished and done with,” Patoni declared. “I have no wish to sit here talking. Here are the General’s instructions.”
He drew a
