The Long Arm of Mannister. E. Phillips Oppenheim

there was little of mirth in it.

      In the vestibule of the restaurant, Sophy de la Mere drew Mannister on one side.

      "I want you to drive home with me," she said. "The others can follow in hansoms."

      Mannister bowed.

      "I shall be charmed, of course," he said, and followed her across the pavement into the little electric coupé. She raised her veil as they swung off, and he looked at her critically. She had certainly aged, and there was more powder upon her cheeks than she had used a year ago.

      "Look here," she said, "I know very well that your coming back means no good to any of us. I watched you come and I watched the others' faces. They are scared out of their lives, but I don't suppose they have had the pluck to talk to you as I mean to. We served you a low-down miserable trick, a trick that no man is likely to forgive. We gambled upon your never being able to show yourself in England again, and you see we lost. Don't think I am going to cry off for my share. I know very well you're not the forgiving sort."

      Mannister looked at her curiously.

      "If one might venture to inquire——" he began.

      "Don't interrupt me," she continued. "We have only a few minutes, and I want to make the most of them. You're back here to get level with all of us, and I have a sort of an idea that you'll do it. You can't collect our heads or reputations, or whatever you mean to strike at, into one, and destroy them at one blow. You'll have to take us separately. Have you any choice as to the order?"

      Mannister began to understand. He thrust his hand into his breast coat pocket, and drew from a small pocket-book a folded strip of paper. He spread it open upon his knee, and moved a little so that the electric light at the back of the coupé fell upon it.

      "You see here," he remarked, "a list of eight names. They are in order, not alphabetically, as you will observe. You see who heads the list."

      "She peered forward.

      "Benjamin Traske!" she exclaimed.

      He nodded, and replaced the paper in his pocket.

      "Are you not curious," he asked, "to see where yours comes?"

      "Not I," she answered quickly. "When my turn comes I shall be ready. Listen. I am not offering to make a bargain with you. I want no mercy for what I did. If my name stands second upon that list, I am ready even now to tell you to do your worst. But of my own free will I offer you this." She touched with her slim forefinger the place where that paper had been. "I will help you with that first name."

      He smiled.

      "So you do not like the idea," he remarked, "of our friend Benjamin's marriage?"

      "I do not," she answered. "To tell you the truth I do not mean that marriage to take place."

      "You would prefer," he suggested softly, "that our young friend should find himself involved, perhaps——"

      "Never mind that," she interrupted. "I have a scheme. I only ask you when the lime comes to play up to me. The girl he is engaged to is a little Puritan and a fool. I do not wish to see her miserable for life. When she understands what sort of a man Benjamin Traske really is, she will never look at him again."

      Mannister nodded.

      "I will be ready," he answered. "When do you suppose this opportunity will come?"

      "To-night!" she whispered in his ear. "You will understand presently."

      The coupé had drawn up before the block of flats in which she lived. Mannister helped his companion to alight, and as they passed into the building, the other hansoms turned into the Square. Traske, who was the last to descend, stood for a moment upon the pavement, looking across the Square to where the wind was moving softly in the tops of the blossoming lime trees. A faint breath of their perfume reached him where he stood, and brought with it sudden swift thoughts of a garden not so very far away, a quaint, old-fashioned, walled garden, full of sweet smelling flowers, shadowy corners, and seats in unexpected places. Even now she would be walking there waiting for him. A sudden passionate distaste for the sort of evening which lay before him checked his footsteps even as he turned away. He could see it all through those dark curtained windows; the little rooms, over-scented, over-hot; the soft, sense-stirring music; the dancing, not quite such as one would see in a ballroom; the champagne, the flushed faces, the sense of subtle excitement, unwholesome, ignoble. It was the first time he had felt any such revulsion, and he knew very well that it was only a temporary one. These had been his pleasures, this the manner of his life. He had looked for nothing better, desired nothing better. He had lived all his days as one of the herd, and he knew it. To-night he was suddenly conscious of a hopeless, passionate desire to get away. Almost he fancied that he could hear the girl's voice calling to him softly, calling him away for ever from all the things that lay across the threshold of Mrs. De la Mere's flat. He turned abruptly round. In a moment he would have crossed the Square. Suddenly a hand fell upon his shoulder. He turned round to find Mannister there.

      "My dear fellow," Mannister said, "they're all in the lift waiting for you. What are you doing moon-gazing out here?"

      "I have a headache," Traske answered. "I am going home."

      Mannister's hand tightened on his shoulder like a vise.

      "No," he said, "I think not! You are coming with me."

      {[dhr]} Inside, the evening passed very much as many an evening before had passed. A little orchestra was tucked away in the corner of the larger of Mrs. De la Mere's sitting-rooms. Furniture was pushed back. They danced when they felt inclined, they sat about and talked. On the sideboard in the smaller room were many bottles of champagne, which, however, grew steadily less. Several young ladies connected with the theatrical profession had been summoned from their rooms, and other friends whom Mrs. De la Mere had invited kept coming and going. Traske, after an hour or so of weariness, gave in. Mrs. De la Mere herself took him into the smaller room, and made him open champagne for her. When he came back to dance his face was flushed, and his whole manner changed. He had forgotten all about the garden in the suburbs, and those other things which had troubled him for a moment. At thirty-five it is hard to reform. So the music went faster. A young lady, amidst uproarious applause, danced a "Pas Seul," and it was Traske who took her out afterwards and opened champagne for her. The air was blue with cigarette smoke, faces were flushed and hot, voices not altogether steady. Only two people remained unchanged, and they were Mannister and Mrs. De la Mere. Dicky, in whose honour the feast was given, sat upon the table which had been pushed into a corner of the room, with a bottle of champagne in one hand and a glass in the other.

      "We'll lock the doors," he declared. "We won't let a soul out till eight o'clock, and then we'll all go round to breakfast at my place."

      "You can stay as late as you like," Mrs. De la Mere answered, "but the band must go at three. They don't allow music afterwards."

      "We will dance in the street," Dicky declared. "Remember it's my last night in England."

      Nevertheless, presently a few people began to slip away. Traske, who had been left alone for a minute, moved suddenly to the window of the smaller room, which chanced to be empty, and throwing it open, leaned out. A rush of night air upon his face, cool, delicious, brought to his uncertain brain some glimmering apprehension of those other things, the memory of which had troubled him once before. He moved resolutely to a corner, took up his overcoat and hat, and had reached the door before a shout assailed him. It was Hambledon who had suddenly called attention to his going, and the others all streamed through the doorway.

      "You sneak, Ben!" Mrs. De la Mere cried, "trying to steal away without even saying good night to your hostess! I'm ashamed of you. Come back at once, sir, and take off that coat."

      Traske looked as though he had been surprised in something worse than a mere attempt to make his escape from a scene of which he had suddenly tired. His face was flushed, and he looked confused. He muttered something about the rooms being hot and having a headache, and he still tried to go. Mannister laid his hand upon his shoulder.