The Pawns Count | Page 9

nodded assent.
"Rather an odd sort of lodger for you, isn't he?"
"Not so odd as his visitors," the woman retorted, with an evil sneer.

Pamela passed into the narrow street and drew a long sigh of relief.
Then she entered her car and gave the chauffeur an address from the
slip of paper which she carried in her hand. When they stopped outside
the little block of flats he prepared to follow her.
"Tough neighbourhood this, madam," he said.
"Maybe, George," she replied, waving him back, "but you've got to stay
down here. If the man I am going to see thought I was frightened of
him I wouldn't have a chance. If I am not down in half an hour you can
try number 18C."
The chauffeur resumed his place on the driving-seat of the car. Pamela,
heartily disliking her surroundings, was escorted by a shabby porter to
a shabbier lift.
"You'll find Mr. Joseph in," the lift boy assured her with a grin.
Pamela found the number at the end of an unswept stone passage. At
her third summons the door was cautiously opened by a large,
repulsive-looking woman, with a mass of peroxidised hair. She stared
at her visitor first in amazement, then in rapidly gathering resentment.
"Mr. Joseph is at home," she admitted truculently, in response to
Pamela's inquiry. "What might you be wanting with him?"
"If you will be so good as to let me in I will explain to Mr. Joseph,"
Pamela replied.
The woman seemed on the point of slamming the door. Suddenly there
was a voice from behind her shoulder. Joseph appeared--not the smiling,
joyous Joseph of Henry's but a sullen-looking negro, dressed in shirt
and trousers only, with a heavy under-lip and frowning forehead.
"Let the lady pass and get into the kitchen, Nora," he ordered, "Come
this way, mam."
Pamela followed her guide into a parlour, redolent of stale cigar smoke,

with oilcloth on the floor and varnished walls, an abode even more
horrible than Hassan's lair. Joseph closed the door carefully behind him,
and made no apology for his dishabille. He simply faced Pamela.
"Say, what is it you want with me?" he demanded truculently.
"A trifle," she answered. "The key of the chapel in the little plot of
waste ground next Henry's."
She meant him to be staggered, and he was. He reeled back for a
moment.
"What the hell are you talking about?" he gasped.
"Facts," Pamela replied. "Do you want to save yourself, Joseph? You
can do it if you choose."
He folded his arms and stood in front of the closed door. Without a
collar, his neck bulged unpleasantly behind. There was nothing
whatever left of the suave and genial chef d'orchestra.
"Save myself from what, eh? Just let me get wise about it."
Pamela's eyebrows were daintily elevated.
"Dear me!" she murmured. "I thought you were more intelligent. Listen.
You know where we met last? Let me remind you. You were playing in
the Winter Garden at Berlin, and the gentleman whom I was with, an
attache at the American Embassy, spoke to you. He told me a good deal
about your past life, Joseph, and your present one. You are in the pay of
the Secret Service of Germany. Am I to go to Scotland Yard and tell
them so?"
He looked at her wickedly.
"You'd have to get out of here first."
"Don't be silly," she advised him contemptuously. "Remember you're
talking to an American woman and don't waste your breath. You can be

in the Secret Service of any country you like, without interference from
me. On the other hand, there's just one thing I want from you."
"What is it? I haven't got any key."
"I want to discover exactly what has become of Captain Graham," she
declared.
"What, the guy that missed his lunch to-day?" he growled.
"I see you know all about it," she continued equably.
"So he's your spark, is he?" Joseph observed slowly, his eyes blinking
as he leaned a little forward.
"On the contrary," Pamela replied, "I have never met him. However,
that's beside the point. Do I have the key of that chapel?"
"You do not."
"Have you got it?"
"Right here," Joseph assented, dangling it before her eyes.
"I think it's a fair bargain I'm offering you," she reminded him. "You
lose the key and keep your place. You only have to keep your mouth
shut and nothing happens."
"Nothing doing," the negro declared shortly. "Keys as important as this
ain't lost. If I part with it, I get the chuck, and I probably get into the
same mess as the others. If I keep it--"
"If you keep it," Pamela interrupted, "you will probably stand with your
back to the light in the Tower