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One Crowded Hour
by
“Well, what’s the matter?” asked the latter.
Still the young man did not speak. He was clearly on the edge of an interview which he found it most difficult to open. His host grew impatient.
“You don’t seem yourself this morning. What on earth is the matter? Anything upset you?”
“Yes,” said Ronald Barker, with emphasis.
“What has?”
“You have.”
Sir Henry smiled. “Sit down, my dear fellow. If you have any grievance against me, let me hear it.”
Barker sat down. He seemed to be gathering himself for a reproach. When it did come it was like a bullet from a gun.
“Why did you rob me last night?”
The magistrate was a man of iron nerve. He showed neither surprise nor resentment. Not a muscle twitched upon his calm, set face.
“Why do you say that I robbed you last night?”
“A big, tall fellow in a motor-car stopped me on the Mayfield road. He poked a pistol in my face and took my purse and my watch. Sir Henry, that man was you.”
The magistrate smiled.
“Am I the only big, tall man in the district? Am I the only man with a motor-car?”
“Do you think I couldn’t tell a Rolls-Royce when I see it–I, who spend half my life on a car and the other half under it? Who has a Rolls-Royce about here except you?”
“My dear Barker, don’t you think that such a modern highwayman as you describe would be more likely to operate outside his own district? How many hundred Rolls-Royces are there in the South of England?”
“No, it won’t do, Sir Henry–it won’t do! Even your voice, though you sunk it a few notes, was familiar enough to me. But hang it, man! What did you do it for? That’s what gets over me. That you should stick up me, one of your closest friends, a man that worked himself to the bone when you stood for the division–and all for the sake of a Brummagem watch and a few shillings–is simply incredible.”
“Simply incredible,” repeated the magistrate, with a smile.
“And then those actresses, poor little devils, who have to earn all they get. I followed you down the road, you see. That was a dirty trick, if ever I heard one. The City shark was different. If a chap must go a- robbing, that sort of fellow is fair game. But your friend, and then the girls–well, I say again, I couldn’t have believed it.”
“Then why believe it?”
“Because it is so.”
“Well, you seem to have persuaded yourself to that effect. You don’t seem to have much evidence to lay before any one else.”
“I could swear to you in a police-court. What put the lid on it was that when you were cutting my wire–and an infernal liberty it was!–I saw that white tuft of yours sticking out from behind your mask.”
For the first time an acute observer might have seen some slight sign of emotion upon the face of the baronet.
“You seem to have a fairly vivid imagination,” said he.
His visitor flushed with anger.
“See here, Hailworthy,” said he, opening his hand and showing a small, jagged triangle of black cloth. “Do you see that? It was on the ground near the car of the young women. You must have ripped it off as you jumped out from your seat. Now send for that heavy black driving-coat of yours. If you don’t ring the bell I’ll ring it myself, and we shall have it in. I’m going to see this thing through, and don’t you make any mistake about that.”
The baronet’s answer was a surprising one. He rose, passed Barker’s chair, and, walking over to the door, he locked it and placed the key in his pocket.
“You are going to see it through,” said he. “I’ll lock you in until you do. Now we must have a straight talk, Barker, as man to man, and whether it ends in tragedy or not depends on you.”