The Avenger

  CHAPTER XL

  BLACKMAIL

  Sydney Barnes staggered into his apartment with a little exclamationof relief which was almost a groan. He slammed the door and sank intoan easy-chair. With both his hands he was grasping it so that hisfingers were hot and wet with perspiration. At last he had obtainedhis soul's desire!

  He sat there for several minutes without moving. The blinds were closedrawn and the room was in darkness. Gradually he began to be afraid. Herose, and with trembling fingers struck a match. On the corner of thetable--fortunately he knew exactly where to find it--was a candle. He litit, and holding it over his head, peered fearfully around. Convinced atlast that he was alone, he set it down again, wiped the perspiration fromhis forehead, and opening a cupboard in the chiffonnier, produced abottle and a glass.

  He poured out some spirits and drank it. Then, after rummaging forseveral moments in his coat pocket, he produced several crumpledcigarettes of a cheap variety. One of these he proceeded to smoke,whilst, with trembling fingers, he undid the packet which he had beencarrying, and began a painstaking study of its contents. A delicateperfume stole out into the room from those closely pressed sheets, soeagerly clutched in his yellow-stained fingers. A little bunch of crushedviolets slipped to the floor unheeded. Ghoul-like he bent over the pagesof delicate writing, the intimate, passionate cry of a soul seeking forits mate. They were no ordinary love-letters. Mostly they were beyond thecomprehension of the creature who spelt them out word for word, seekingall the time to appraise their exact monetary value to himself. But forwhat he had heard he would have found them disappointing. As it was, hegloated over them. Two thousand pounds a year his clever brother hadearned by merely possessing them! He looked at them almost reverently.Then he suddenly remembered what else his brother had earned by theirpossession, and he shivered. A moment later the electric bell outsidepealed, and there came a soft knocking at the door.

  A little cry--half stifled--broke from his lips. With numbed andtrembling fingers he began tying up the letters. The perspiration hadbroken out upon his forehead. Some one to see him! Who could it be? Hewas quite determined not to go to the door. He would let no one in. Againthe bell! Soon they would get tired of ringing and go away. He was quitesafe so long as he remained quiet. Quite safe, he told himselffeverishly. Then his pulses seemed to stop beating. There was a rush ofblood to his head. He clutched at the sides of his chair, but to rise wasa sheer impossibility.

  The thing which was terrifying him was a small thing in itself--theturning of a latch-key in the door. Before him on the table was hisown--he knew of no other. Yet some one was opening, had opened his frontdoor! He sprang to his feet at last with something which was almost ashriek. The door of the room in which he was, was slowly being pushedopen. By the dim candlelight he could distinguish the figure of hisvisitor standing upon the threshold and peering into the room.

  His impulse was, without doubt, one of relief. The figure was the figureof a complete stranger. Nor was there anything the least threateningabout his appearance. He saw a tall, white-haired gentleman, carefullydressed with military exactitude, regarding him with a benevolent andapologetic smile.

  "I really must apologize," he said, "for such an unceremonious entrance.I felt sure that you were in, but I am a trifle deaf, and I could not besure whether or not the bell was ringing. So I ventured to use my ownlatch-key, with, as you are doubtless observing, complete success."

  "Who are you, and what do you want?" Barnes asked, finding hisvoice at last.

  "My name is Colonel Fitzmaurice," was the courteous reply. "You willallow me to sit down? I have the pleasure of conversing, I believe, withMr. Sydney Barnes?"

  "That's my name," Barnes answered. "What do you want with me?"

  Despite his visitor's urbanity, he was still a little nervous. TheColonel had a somewhat purposeful air, and he had seated himself directlyin front of the door.

  "I want," the Colonel said calmly, "that packet which you have juststolen from Mrs. Morris Barnes, and which you have in your pocket there!"

  Barnes rose at once, trembling, to his feet. His bead-like eyes werebright and venomous. He was terrified, but he had the courage of despair.

  "I have stolen nothing," he declared, "I don't know what you're talkingabout. I won't listen to you. You have no right to force your way into myflat. Colonel or no colonel, I won't have it. I'll send for the police."

  The Colonel smiled.

  "No," he said, "don't do that. Besides, I know what I'm talking about. Imean the packet which I think I can see sticking out of your coat pocket.You have just stolen that from Mrs. Barnes' tin trunk, you know."

  "I have stolen nothing," the young man declared, "nothing at all. I amnot a thief. I am not afraid of the police."

  The Colonel smiled tolerantly.

  "That is good," he said. "I hate cowards. But I am going to make you verymuch afraid of me--unless you are wise and give me that packet."

  Barnes breathed thickly for a moment. Coward he knew that he was to themarrow of his bones, but other of the evil passions were stirring in himthen. His narrow eyes were alight with greed. He had the animal courageof vermin hard pressed.

  "The packet is mine," he said fiercely. "It's nothing to do with you. Getout of my room."

  He rose to his feet. The Colonel awaited him with equable countenance. Hemade, however, no advance.

  "Young man," the Colonel said quietly, "do you know what happened toyour brother?"

  Sydney Barnes stood still and shivered. He could say nothing. His tongueseemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth.

  "Your brother was another of your breed," the Colonel continued. "Ablackmailer! A low-living, evil-minded brute. Do you know how he came bythose letters?"

  "I don't know and I don't care," Barnes answered with a weak attempt atbluster. "They're mine now, and I'm going to stick to them."

  The Colonel shook his head.

  "He broke his trust to a dying man," he said softly,--"to a man who layon the veldt at Colenso with three great wounds in his body, and hislife's blood staining the ground. He had carried those letters intoaction with him, because they were precious to him. His last thought wasthat they should be destroyed. Your brother swore to do this. He brokehis word. He turned blackmailer."

  "You're very fond of that word," Barnes muttered. "How do you know somuch?"

  "The soldier was my son," the Colonel answered, "and he did not die. Yousee I have a right to those letters. Will you give them to me?"

  Give them up! Give up all his hopes of affluence, his dreams of an easylife, of the cheap luxuries and riches which formed the Heaven of hisdesire! No! He was not coward enough for that. He did not believe thatthis mild-looking old gentleman would use force. Besides, he could not bevery strong. He ought to be able to push him over and escape!

  "No!" he answered bluntly, "I won't!"

  The Colonel looked thoughtful.

  "It is a pity," he said quietly. "I am sorry to hear you say that. Yourbrother, when I asked him, made the same reply."

  Barnes felt himself suddenly grow hot and then cold. The perspirationstood out upon his forehead.

  "I called upon your brother a few days before his death," the Colonelcontinued calmly. "I explained my claim to the letters and I asked himfor them. He too refused! Do you remember, by the by, what happened toyour brother?"

  Sydney Barnes did not answer, but his cheeks were like chalk. His mouthwas a little open, disclosing his yellow teeth. He stared at the Colonelwith frightened, fascinated eyes.

  "I can see," the Colonel continued, "that you remember. Young man," headded, with a curious alteration in his tone, "be wiser than yourbrother! Give me the packet."

  "You killed him," the young man gasped. "It was you who killed Morris."

  The Colonel nodded gravely.

  "He had his chance," he said, "even as you have it."

  There was a dead silence. The Colonel was waiting. Sydney Barnes wasbreathing hard. He was alone, then, with a murdere
r. He tried to speak,but found a difficulty in using his voice. It was a situation which mighthave abashed a bolder ruffian.

  The Colonel rose to his feet.

  "I am sorry to hurry you," he said, "but we are already late for ourappointment with Wrayson and his friends."

  Sydney Barnes snatched up the packet and retreated behind the table. TheColonel leaned forward and blew out the candle.

  "I can see better in the dark," he remarked calmly. "You are a veryfoolish young man!"