The manager looked after him open-mouthed, then hurried out to help the old man into his car.
“Gay—he’s gay!” said Elk, as bewildered as the manager. “Jumping snakes! Who was that?”
He addressed the unnecessary question to the manager, who had returned from his duty.
“That is Maitland, the millionaire, Mr. Elk,” said the other. “First time we’ve had him here, but now that he’s come to live in town—”
“Where is he living?” asked Elk.
“He has taken the Prince of Caux’s house in Berkeley Square,” said the manager.
Elk blinked at him.
“Say that again?”
“He has taken the Prince of Caux’s house,” said the manager. “And what is more, has bought it—the agent told me this afternoon.”
Elk was incapable of comment, and the manager continued his surprising narrative.
“I don’t think he knows much about music, but he has booked seats for every big musical event next season—his secretary came in this afternoon. He seemed a bit dazed.”
Poor Johnson! thought Dick.
“He wanted me to fix dancing lessons for the old boy—” Elk clapped his hand to his mouth—he had an insane desire to scream.
“And as a matter of fact, I fixed them. He’s a bit old, but Socrates or somebody learnt Greek at eighty, and maybe Mr. Maitland’s regretting the wasted years of his life. I admit it is a bit late to start night clubs—”
Elk laid a chiding hand upon the managerial shoulder.
“You certainly deceived me, brother,” he said. “And here was I, drinking it all in, and you with a face as serious as the dial of a poorhouse clock! You’ve put it all over Elk, and I’m man enough to admit you fooled me.”
“I don’t think our friend is trying to fool you,” said Dick quietly. “You really mean what you say—old Maitland has started dancing and night clubs?”
“Certainly!” said the other. “He hasn’t started dancing, but that is where he has gone to-night—to the Heron’s. I heard him tell the chauffeur.”
It was incredible, but a little amusing—most amusing of all to see Elk’s face.
The detective was frankly dumbfounded by the news.
“Heron’s is my idea of a good finish to a happy evening,” said Elk at last, drawing a long breath. He beckoned one of his escort. “How many man do you want to cover Heron’s Club?” he asked.
“Six,” was the prompt reply. “Ten to raid it, and twenty for a rough house.”
“Get thirty!” said Elk emphatically.
Heron’s from the exterior was an unpretentious building. But once under the curtained doors, and the character of its exterior was forgotten. A luxurious lounge, softly lit and heavily carpeted, led to the large saloon, which was at once restaurant and dance-hall.
Dick stood in the doorway awaiting the arrival of the manager, and admired the richness and subtle suggestion of cosiness which the room conveyed. The tables were set about an oblong square of polished flooring; from a gallery at the far end came the strain of a coloured orchestra; and on the floor itself a dozen couples swayed and glided in rhythm to the staccato melody.
“Gilded vice,” said Elk disparagingly. “A regular haunt of sin and self-indulgence. I wonder what they charge for the food—there’s Mathusalem.”
“Mathusalem” was sitting, a conspicuous figure, at the most prominent table in the room. His polished head glistened in the light from the crystal candelabras, and in the shadow that it cast, his patriarchal beard so melted into the white of his snowy shirt front that for a moment Dick did not recognize him.
Before him was set a large glass mug filled with beer. “He’s human anyway,” said Elk.
Hagn came at that moment, smiling, affable, willing to oblige.
“This is an unexpected pleasure, Captain,” he said. “You want me to pass you in? Gentlemen, there is no necessity! Every police officer of rank is an honorary member of the club.”
He bustled in, threading his way between the tables, and found them a vacant sofa in one of the alcoves. There were revellers whose faces showed alarm at the arrival of the new guests—one at least stole forth and did not come back.
“We have many notable people here to-night,” said Hagn, rubbing his hands. “There are Lord and Lady Belfin “…he mentioned others; “and that gentleman with the beard is the great Maitland…his secretary is here somewhere. Poor gentleman, I fear he is not happy. But I invited him myself—it is sometimes desirable that we should elect the…what shall I say?…higher servants of important people?”
“Johnson?” asked Dick in surprise. “Where?”
Presently he saw that plump and philosophical man. He sat in a remote corner, looking awkward and miserable in his old-fashioned dress clothes. Before him was a glass which, Dick guessed, contained orange squash.
A solemn, frightened figure he made, sitting on the edge of his chair, his big red hands resting on the table. Dick Gordon laughed softly and whispered to Elk:
“Go and get him”
Elk, who was never self-conscious, walked through the dancers and reached Mr. Johnson, who looked up startled and shook hands with the vigour of one rescued from a desert island.
“It was good of you to ask me to come over,” said Johnson, as he greeted Dick. “This is new to me, and I’m feeling about as much at home as a chicken in a pie.”
“Your first visit?”
“And my last,” said Johnson emphatically. “This isn’t the kind of life that I care for. It interferes with my reading, and it—well, it’s sad.”
His eyes were fixed on a noisy little party in the opposite alcove. Gordon had seen them almost as soon as he had sat down. Ray, in his most hectic mood, Lola Bassano, beautifully and daringly gowned, and the heavy-looking ex-pugilist, Lew Brady.
Presently, with a sigh, Johnson’s eyes roved toward the old man and remained fixed on him, fascinated.
“Isn’t it a miracle?” he asked in a hushed voice. “He changes his habits in a day! Bought the house in Berkeley Square, called in an army of tailors, sent me rushing round to fix theatre seats, bought jewellery…”
He shook his head.
“I can’t understand it,” he confessed, “because it has made no difference to him in the office. He’s the same old hog. He wanted me to become his resident secretary, but I struck at that. I must have some sort of life worth living. What scares me is that he may fire me if I don’t agree. He’s been very unpleasant this week. I wonder if Ray has seen him? Ray Bennett had not seen his late employer. He was too completely engrossed in the joy of being with Lola, too, inspired and stimulated from more material sources, to take an interest in anything but himself and the immediate object of his affections.
“You are making a fool of yourself, Ray. Everybody is looking at you,” warned Lola.
He glanced round, and for the first time began to notice who was in the room. Presently his eyes fell upon the shining pate of Mr. Maitland, and his jaw dropped. He could not believe the evidence of his vision, and, rising, walked unsteadily across the floor, shouldering the other guests, stumbling against chairs and tables, until he stood by the table of his late employer.
“Gosh!” he gasped. “It is you—”
The old man raised his eyes slowly from the cloth which he had been contemplating steadily for ten minutes, and his steely eyes met the gaze steadily.
“You hoary old sinner!” breathed Ray.
“Go away,” snarled Mr. Maitland.
“‘Go away,’ is it? I’m going to talk to you and give you a few words of advice and warning, Moses!”
Ray sat down suddenly in a chair, and faced his glaring victim with drunken solemnity. His words of warning remained unuttered. Somebody gripped his arm and jerked him to his feet, and he looked into the dark face of Lew Brady.
“Here, what—” he began. But Brady led him and pushed him back to his own table.
“You fool!” he hissed. “Why do you want to advertise yourself in this way? You’re a hell of a Secret Service man!”
“I don’t want any of that stuff from you,” said Ray roughly as he jerked his arm free.
“Sit down, Ray,” said Lola in a low voice. “Half Scotland Yard is in the club, watching you.”
He followed the direction of her eyes and saw Dick Gordon regarding him gravely, and the sight and knowledge of that surveillance maddened him. Leaping to his feet, he crossed the room to where they sat.
“Looking for me?” he asked loudly. “Want me for anything?”
Dick shook his head.
“You damned police spy!” stormed the youth, white with unreasoning passion. “Bringing your bloodhounds after me! What are you doing with this gang, Johnson? Are you turned policeman too?”
“My dear Ray,” murmured Johnson.
“My dear Ray!” sneered the other. “You’re jealous, you poor worm—jealous because I’ve got away from the bloodsucker’s clutches! As to you “—he waved a threatening finger in Dick’s face—“you leave me alone—see? You’ve got a whole lot of work to do without carrying tales to my sister.”
“I think you had better go back to your friends,” said Dick coolly. “Or, better still, go home and sleep.”
All this had occurred between the dances, and now the band struck up, but if the attention of the crowded clubroom was in no wise relaxed, there was this change, that Ray’s high voice now did not rise above the efforts of the trap drummer.
Dick looked round for the watchful Hagn. He knew that the manager, or one of the officials of the club, would interfere instantly. It was not Hagn, but a head waiter, who came up and pushed the young man back.
So intent was everybody on that little scene that followed, in the spectacle of that flushed youth struggling against the steady pressure which the head waiter and his fellows asserted, that nobody saw the man who for a while stood in the doorway surveying the scene, before pushing aside the attendants he strode into the centre of the room.
Ray, looking round, was almost sobered by the sight of his father.
The rugged, grey-haired man, in his worn, tweed suit, made a striking contrast to that gaily-dressed throng. He stood, his hands behind him, his face white and set, surveying his son, and the boy’s eyes dropped before him.
“I want you, Ray,” he said simply.
The floor was deserted; the music ceased, as though the leader of the orchestra had been signalled that something was wrong.
“Come back with me to Horsham, boy.”
“I’m not going,” said Ray sullenly.
“He is not with you, Mr. Gordon?”
Dick shook his head, and at this intervention the fury of Ray Bennett flamed again.
“With him!” he said scornfully. “Would I be with a sneaking policeman?”
“Go with your father, Ray.” It was Johnson’s urgent advice, and his hand lay for a second on the boy’s shoulder.
Ray shook him off.
“I’ll stay here,” he said, and his voice was loud and defiant. “I’m not a baby, that I can’t be trusted out alone. You’ve no right to come here, making me look a fool.” He glowered at his father. “You’ve kept me down all these years, denied me money that I ought to have had—and who are you that you should pretend to be shocked because I’m in a decent club, wearing decent clothes? I’m straight: can you say the same? If I wasn’t straight, could you blame me? You’re not going to put any of that kind father stuff over—”
“Come away.” John Bennett’s voice was hoarse.
“I’m staying here,” said Ray violently. “And in future you can leave me alone. The break had to come some time, and it might as well come now.”
They stood facing one another, father and son, and in the tired eyes of John Bennett was a look of infinite sadness.
“You’re a silly boy, Ray. Perhaps I haven’t done all I could—”
“Perhaps!” sneered the other. “Why, you know it! You get out!”
And then, as he turned his head, he saw the suppressed smiles on the face of the audience, and the hurt to his vanity drove him mad.
“Come,” said John gently, and laid his hand on the boy’s arm. With a roar of fury Ray broke loose…in a second the thing was done. The blow that struck John Bennett staggered him, but he did not fall.
And then, through the guests who thronged about the two, came Ella. She realized instantly what had happened. Elk had slipped from his seat and was standing behind the boy, ready to pin him if he raised his hand again. But Ray Bennett stood, frozen with horror, speechless, incapable of movement.
“Father!” The white-faced girl whispered the word.
The head of John Bennett dropped, and he suffered himself to be led away.
Dick Gordon wanted to follow and comfort, but he saw Johnson going after them and went back to his table. Again the music started, and they took Ray Bennett back to his table, where he sat, head on hand, till Lola signalled a waiter to bring more wine.
“There are times,” said Elk, “when the prodigal son and the fatted calf look so like one another that you can’t tell ‘em apart.”
Dick said nothing, but his heart bled for the mystery man of Horsham. For he had seen in John Bennett’s face the agony of the damned.
XIII - A RAID ON ELDOR STREET
Johnson did not come back, and in many respects the two men were glad. Elk had been on the point of telling the secretary to clear, and he hoped that Mr. Maitland would follow his example. As if reading his thoughts, the old man rose soon after the room had quietened down. He had sat through the scene which had followed Ray’s meeting with his father, and had apparently displayed not the slightest interest in the proceedings. It was as though his mind were so far away that he could not bring himself to a realization of actualities.
“He’s going, and he hasn’t paid his bill,” whispered Elk.
In spite of his remissness, the aged millionaire was escorted to the door by the three chief waiters, his topcoat, silk hat and walking-stick were brought to him, and he was out of Dick Gordon’s sight before the bowing servants had straightened themselves.