I lit another cigarette, and with careless air sauntered past him in order to gain a good view of his features.
He was, I saw, of middle height, and aged about fifty. His clean-shaven face, with heavy, square jaws, was pimply and rather bloated a face which somehow filled me with repugnance, for it was the countenance of one who was a fast liver and who indulged a little too freely in alcohol. His grey suit, grey soft felt hat, and grey gloves gave to him a certain air of smartness and distinction; yet those small brown eyes, with a peculiar, indescribable expression searching up and down the platform, were the eyes of a man full of craft and double cunning.
From the first moment I turned my gaze upon him I held him in distinct suspicion; while he, it appeared, in turn held somebody else in suspicion. I looked around, but could not discern anybody who might arouse his misgivings. About us were all honest Devon folk.
The fact that he had not taken off his gloves still remained. My injunctions were not to approach him if he failed to remove them. He had the air of a bon vivant, even to the manner in which he tucked his ebony cane beneath his arm in order to light a choice cigar.
Most of the passengers crossed the bridge on their way out, while others made their exit by the little wicket, some of them entering the dusty motor-bus which plies to Paignton.
Once, only once, his small narrow brown eyes met mine, and I saw in them a look of quick inquiry and shrewd cunning.
Then, still wearing his gloves as sign to me to hold aloof, he leisurely crossed the bridge to the down-platform, and strolled along the hot, dusty road into the town.
As far as I could discern, nobody was watching his movements at all; nevertheless, I could only suppose that he had great cause for precaution, otherwise he would have allowed me to approach and speak to him.
True, there was a queer, insignificant-looking old lady in rusty black, who had been on the platform when I had arrived, who had crossed the bridge and waited for the train from Plymouth, and who was now making her way back into Totnes in the direction we were walking.
Could it be possible that he feared her?
It struck me that he might have recognised that I had travelled there to meet him in place of the man now deceased; therefore I hurried on and got in front so that he might, if he so wished, follow me to the Seymour Hotel.
But judge my chagrin when at last we entered the main street, and while I turned down towards the bridge, he turned in the opposite direction, thus showing that he had not detected my anxiety to speak with him. And the old lady had followed in his footsteps.
Suddenly a thought occurred to me. It was surely more than probable that Mr Dawnay was there to meet the man Arnold, in ignorance of his death. Therefore, having allowed him to get on some distance, I turned upon my heel and followed him.
His movements were certainly curious. He was undoubtedly avoiding the unwelcome attentions of the old lady, who now seemed to be acting in conjunction with a dark-haired, middle-aged man with beetling brows, who wore a shabby brown suit and a last years straw hat.
The man with the red cravat entered an inn in Fore Street, and remained there a full hour, the other man watching in the vicinity. Then, on emerging, he went to a chemists, and afterwards turned his footsteps back towards the station.
I saw that his intention was to leave Totnes. Therefore, in preference to following on foot, I drove to the station in a fly.
He had never once removed those grey suède gloves, though the day was so hot, for on the up-platform the man in the straw hat was still idling behind him. A number of people were waiting for the train, and I, discerning Mr Dawnays intention of travelling, entered the booking-office and bought a ticket for Exeter.
At last the London express came roaring into the station, when the man whom I was there to meet quickly entered a first-class corridor compartment, and while I remained vigilant, I saw the mysterious watcher enter a carriage a little way behind. Then, just as the train was leaving, I sprang into the compartment next that of Mr Dawnay.
I allowed the train to travel for about ten minutes, and as we slowly ascended the steep incline to Stony Coombe, between Totnes and Newton Abbot, I passed along the corridor and entered the compartment of the fugitive.
His quick, wary eyes were upon me in an instant, and I saw him start visibly in alarm, as I shut the door behind me leading to the corridor.
I believe, I exclaimed next moment, that you are Mr Arthur Dawnay?
In an instant before, indeed, I was aware of it I found myself looking down the big barrel of a heavy Browning pistol.
Well? asked the man with the red tie, without moving from his seat, yet covering me with his weapon. And what if I am, eh?
Upon his face was a hard, evil grin, and I saw that he certainly was not a man to be trifled with.
You think youve cornered me this time, eh? he said in a hard, dry voice. But raise a finger, and, by Gad! Ill put a bullet through you. So youd best own yourself beaten, and let me slip out at Newton Abbot. Understand?
Then, next moment, the train unfortunately entered the tunnel, and we were plunged in complete darkness.
Chapter Five
The Sign of the Gloves
Those moments of security seemed hours as I sat there with the pistol turned upon me.
Truly his was a strange greeting.
At length, however, daylight showed again as we commenced to descend the incline towards Newton Abbot, yet I saw that his hand practised, no doubt, with a weapon by the manner he had whipped it forth was still uplifted against me.
Really, sir, you have no cause for alarm, I assured him, with a laugh. I could not approach; you openly, so I adopted the ruse of travelling with you in order to speak. You came to Totnes to-day in order to meet me, did you not?
No, I certainly did not, he said, the expression upon his countenance showing him to be much puzzled by my words.
Then perhaps you came to meet Mr Melvill Arnold? I suggested.
And why do you wish to know that, pray? he asked, in the refined voice of a gentleman, still regarding me with antagonism. His small, closely set eyes peered forth at me with a ferret-like expression, while about his clean-shaven mouth was a curious hardness as his hand still held the weapon pointed in my direction.
Because you are wearing the signs the scarlet tie, the carnation, and I see that you carry the ebony walking-stick, was my cool reply. I was trying to prevent myself from flinching before that grim, business-like weapon of his.
And what if I am? What business is it of yours? he asked resentfully, and in evident alarm.
My business is with you if your name is Alfred Dawnay, I said. Mr Melvill Arnold is, I regret to say, dead, and
Dead! he gasped, lowering his weapon and staring at me, the colour dying from his face. Arnold dead! Is this the truth are you quite certain?
The unfortunate gentleman died in my presence.
Where? Abroad, I suppose?
No; in a small hotel off the Strand, was my reply.
The news I had imparted to him seemed to hold him amazed and stupefied.
Poor Arnold! Dead! he repeated blankly to himself, sitting with both hands upon his knees for he had flung the pistol upon the cushion. Ah! he exclaimed suddenly, raising his eyes to mine.
Forgive me for receiving you in this antagonistic manner, sir, but but you dont know what Mr Arnolds death means to me. It means everything to me all that But his lips closed with a snap without concluding his sentence.
A few moments before he died he gave me this letter, with instructions to meet you at Totnes to-day, and I handed him the dead mans missive.
Eagerly, with trembling fingers, he broke open the black seals; but the letter was in a second envelope, also carefully sealed with black wax. This he also tore open, and breathlessly read the closely scribbled lines which it contained the message from the dead.
He bit his full red lips, his cheeks went ashen pale, and his nostrils dilated.
I I wish to thank you for carrying out Arnolds injunctions, he managed to gasp. I went to Totnes for the purpose of meeting him, for he had made the appointment with me three months ago. Yet it seemed that he must have had some presentiment that he could not keep it himself, or he would not have suggested me wearing a red tie, a carnation, and carrying this old-fashioned ebony stick which he gave me long ago.
Briefly I recounted my meeting with him when he came on board at Naples, his sudden illness, and its fatal termination in the Strand hotel.
Ah, yes, sighed the man Dawnay the man whom I was to help, but not to trust. Poor Arnold was a great traveller ever on the move; but for years he knew that he had a weak heart.
I was about to make further inquiry regarding the man who had so strangely left me a legacy, but Dawnay suddenly exclaimed
You and I must not be seen together, Mr Kemball for I notice by this letter that that is your name.
Where can I meet you again? I inquired; for I recollected the dead mans words that my strange companion might be in sore need of a friend.
I hardly know, was his hasty answer, as he replaced his pistol in his pocket. I am closely watched. Probably you saw the man a fellow in a straw hat.
Yes and the old woman.
Ah! then you are observant, Mr Kemball, he exclaimed, with a slight grin. Yes, I am in danger grave danger at this moment; and how to escape I know not.
Escape from what?
From arrest.
Is that young-looking man a police-officer? I asked, much surprised.
Yes; hes older than he looks. I ought never to have dared to go to Totnes.
Why not Totnes? I asked.
I was lying low for a certain reason, Mr Kemball. All of us have to wash in dirty water sometimes, you know, he smiled grimly. You are an honest man, no doubt I too was, once.
And now the police are in search of you eh?
I asked. So my estimate of the man was not very far wrong.
He nodded slowly in the affirmative.
A silence fell between us. This discovery, coupled with Arnolds mysterious connection with the trial of the adventuress who called herself Lady Lettice Lancaster, caused me to ponder. Arnold had warned me not to trust him entirely.
The train was now rushing down the incline, and in a few moments would be at Newton Abbot, the junction for Torquay.
Without a word, my companion suddenly sprang to his feet, and taking a railway key from his pocket, went out into the corridor and locked both doors at either end of the carriage so that no one could pass along.
Then, returning to me, he said
Perhaps it would be better, Mr Kemball, if you went into the next compartment while we are stopping. We must not appear to have knowledge of each other.
Scarcely had I time to enter the adjoining compartment when the train pulled up. I lit a cigarette, and sat gazing lazily out of the window, when, sure enough, the man in the straw hat who had travelled in the rear of the train strolled aimlessly along, and as he passed the compartment occupied by Dawnay glanced in to satisfy himself that he was still there.
The wait was long, for the corridor coaches from Torquay for London were being joined on. But at last we moved off again, and as soon as we did so I returned to the mysterious fugitive.
Tell me, Mr Dawnay, something concerning Mr Arnold, I urged earnestly, without preamble. He did me the honour of entrusting me with certain purely personal matters, but gave me no information as to who or what he was.
Melvill Arnold was a most remarkable person, declared the man in the red tie. He divided his time between life in London and exploring the remains of the extinct civilisation in Egypt.
Then he lived in Egypt?
Mostly in the deserts. His knowledge of Egyptology was, perhaps, unequalled. The last letter I received from him was from El Fasher, in Darfur.
Arnold was not his real name?
Not exactly his baptismal one, laughed Dawnay, lightly. It would hardly have suited him to use that!
What was it? Is there any reason why I should not know?
Yes. I am scarcely likely to betray my dead friend, Mr Kemball.
I was silent beneath his stern rebuke. At one moment I felt repulsion when I gazed upon his pimply face, yet at the next I experienced a curious sense of fascination. The mystery of it all had become most tantalising. Thought of the bronze cylinder and what it might contain flashed across my mind, whereupon I asked whether Arnold had had any permanent address in London.
No. I usually wrote to him to the Poste Restante at Charing Cross. He was an elusive man always, and when in London which was on very rare occasions seemed to change his abode each day. He boasted that he never slept two nights running in the same bed. He had reasons for that the same reasons, truth to tell, that I had.
He feared the police eh?
Dawnays fat face relaxed again into a grim smile. But now that Arnold is dead I have to secure my own safety, he exclaimed quickly. Im in an infernal trap here in this train. I may be arrested when I step out of it who knows?
And would arrest entail serious consequences? I asked slowly, my eyes fixed upon his.
Yes, very serious consequences. For myself I dont care very much, but for another a woman it would, alas! be fatal, he added hoarsely.
A woman! Did he refer to that remarkable adventuress, details of whose strange career I had read in that old copy of the newspaper?
I remembered that Arnold, in his letter to me, had appealed to me to assist this man who was evidently his very intimate friend.
You must evade this person who is watching, I said. How can it be done?
He shrugged his shoulders with an expression indicative of bewilderment.
A sudden thought occurred to me.
You and I are about the same build. Could we not exchange clothes? I suggested. At Exeter, you could walk up to the front of the train and escape away, and out of the station, while I will still sit here, my back turned towards the window. The detective will believe you to be still in the train.
Capital? he cried, starting up. A splendid plan, Mr Kemball! By Jove! you are resourceful! And he began quickly divesting himself of coat and trousers. This train is express to Exeter, therefore we shall not stop at either Teignmouth or Dawlish. I threw off my coat, vest, cravat, and trousers, and in five minutes had exchanged my garments for his, and had assumed the scarlet tie in place of my own, while he, on his part, got into my suit, which, however, seemed slightly tight for him. He laughed heartily as we stood regarding each other so quickly transformed.
I assumed the grey suède gloves, slightly large for me, tilted the smart grey hat a little over my eyes, and then ensconced myself against the corridor, so that my back only could be visible when the train drew up at St. Davids Station in Exeter.
Dawnay went out into the corridor to observe the effect critically.