CHAPTER XXXV
A BRINGER OF TIDINGS
Atherton did not wait to see who might or might not be present, but,without even pausing to take breath, he broke into full cry on theinstant,--as is occasionally his wont.
'Champnell!--Thank goodness I've found you in!--I want you!--Atonce!--Don't stop to talk, but stick your hat on, and put your bestfoot forward,--I'll tell you all about it in the cab.'
I endeavoured to call his attention to Mr Lessingham's presence,--butwithout success.
'My dear fellow--'
When I had got as far as that he cut me short.
'Don't "dear fellow" me!--None of your jabber! And none of your excuseseither! I don't care if you've got an engagement with the Queen, you'llhave to chuck it. Where's that dashed hat of yours,--or are you goingwithout it? Don't I tell you that every second cut to waste may meanthe difference between life and death?--Do you want me to drag you downto the cab by the hair of your head?'
'I will try not to constrain you to quite so drastic a resource,--and Iwas coming to you at once in any case. I only want to call yourattention to the fact that I am not alone.--Here is Mr Lessingham.'
In his harum-scarum haste Mr Lessingham had gone unnoticed. Now thathis observation was particularly directed to him, Atherton started,turned, and glared at my latest client in a fashion which was scarcelyflattering.
'Oh!--It's you, is it?--What the deuce are you doing here?'
Before Lessingham could reply to this most unceremonious query,Atherton, rushing forward, gripped him by the arm.
'Have you seen her?'
Lessingham, not unnaturally nonplussed by the other's curious conduct,stared at him in unmistakable amazement.
'Have I seen whom?'
'Marjorie Lindon!'
'Marjorie Lindon?'
Lessingham paused. He was evidently asking himself what the inquirymeant.
'I have not seen Miss Lindon since last night. Why do you ask?'
'Then Heaven help us!--As I'm a living man I believe he, she, or it hasgot her!'
His words were incomprehensible enough to stand in copious need ofexplanation,--as Mr Lessingham plainly thought.
'What is it that you mean, sir?'
'What I say,--I believe that that Oriental friend of yours has got herin her clutches,--if it is a "her;" goodness alone knows what theinfernal conjurer's real sex may be.'
'Atherton!--Explain yourself!'
On a sudden Lessingham's tones rang out like a trumpet call.
'If damage comes to her I shall be fit to cut my throat,--and yours!'
Mr Lessingham's next proceeding surprised me,--I imagine it surprisedAtherton still more. Springing at Sydney like a tiger, he caught him bythe throat.
'You--you hound! Of what wretched folly have you been guilty? If somuch as a hair of her head is injured you shall repay it me tenthousandfold!--You mischief-making, intermeddling, jealous fool!'
He shook Sydney as if he had been a rat,--then flung him from himheadlong on to the floor. It reminded me of nothing so much asOthello's treatment of Iago. Never had I seen a man so transformed byrage. Lessingham seemed to have positively increased in stature. As hestood glowering down at the prostrate Sydney, he might have stood for amaterialistic conception of human retribution.
Sydney, I take it, was rather surprised than hurt. For a moment or twohe lay quite still. Then, lifting his head, he looked up his assailant.Then, raising himself to his feet, he shook himself,--as if with a viewof learning if all his bones were whole. Putting his hands up to hisneck, he rubbed it, gently. And he grinned.
'By God, Lessingham, there's more in you than I thought. After all, youare a man. There's some holding power in those wrists ofyours,--they've nearly broken my neck. When this business is finished,I should like to put on the gloves with you, and fight it out. You'reclean wasted upon politics,--Damn it, man, give me your hand!'
Mr Lessingham did not give him his hand. Atherton took it,--and gave ita hearty shake with both of his.
If the first paroxysm of his passion had passed, Lessingham was stillsufficiently stern.
'Be so good as not to trifle, Mr Atherton. If what you say is correct,and the wretch to whom you allude really has Miss Lindon at her mercy,then the woman I love--and whom you also pretend to love!--stands inimminent peril not only of a ghastly death, but of what is infinitelyworse than death.'
'The deuce she does!' Atherton wheeled round towards me. 'Champnell,haven't you got that dashed hat of yours yet? Don't stand there like atailor's dummy, keeping me on tenter-hooks,--move yourself! I'll tellyou all about it in the cab.--And, Lessingham, if you'll come with usI'll tell you too.'
The Beetle: A Mystery Page 35
