Kate Plus 10 · Chapter 6 (2/2)

The staggering question nearly took his breath away.

“Well, if you aren’t the real Kate!” he said admiringly.

“I’m in your chair I’m afraid,” she said.

“Not a bit.”

He dropped into a deep settee.

“Now tell me all the news. But before we go any farther,” he said with mock concern, “wouldn’t you like a chaperone?”

“Don’t worry,” she replied, “I have a chaperone.”

“Not in my flat I hope,” he said in a tone of alarm. “You, I can trust, Kate, but the idea of your low thieving friends being up against all my movable goods gives me a little pain.”

She fished in her bag and produced a little gold case. She opened it and took out a cigarette.

“You won’t have one, of course?”

“Not one of yours, Kate,” he said reproachfully. “No, I’ll have one of my own if you don’t mind.”

“I think you are very rude,” she said with a lift of her brows.

“It’s better to be rudely awake than politely asleep,” he said meaningly. “When one has to deal with clever criminals one has to take all sorts of precautions.”

She laughed and looked at him curiously.

“I wonder what made you a policeman?”

“Nature,” he said promptly.

She was puzzled.

“I don’t quite get your humor,” she said.

“Nature provides all things with some form of protection. It gives the oyster its shell and the tiger its stripes. It gives the squid his ink-sack and the shark his teeth. Nature always produces antidotes. When criminals are stupid they have stupid policemen to deal with them. When criminals are extraordinarily clever, Nature provides the police force with an officer of unusual intelligence. I came to the police in blind obedience to the laws of Nature.”

She laughed softly in his face.

“It’s so nice to be able to discuss things with a man of sensibility,” she said. “Of course, some of my friends are awfully clever and uncle is very philosophical, but then they all take a very one-sided view of things, and I think it’s so much better to hear the other side of every question. You can get two views on all subjects except crime,” she went on. “If you believe in Darwin’s theory you can meet hosts of clever people who bitterly oppose it. If you are a Christian Scientist you can meet hosts of Theosophists. Even if you are a firm believer in monogamy you can generally hire a Mormon to argue on the other side. It is only when we come down to crime that you meet the truly insular view, held by people who know nothing whatever about its finesse, or the genius necessary to break the laws without leaving a big hole to show where you went in and another to show where you came out. That is why I like you, Mike,” she said frankly.

“Any appreciation is very gratifying to me,” said Michael, “but that which is so enthusiastic that it leads my admirer to break into my flat to ravish my secret thoughts, is a little overwhelming.”

“I wanted to know what you were saying about me,” she said, “though I ought to have known that you would not leave things about for me to read⁠—still,” she justified herself, “to do myself justice, I did not expect to find your confidential reports on your desk.”

There was a big safe in one corner of the room.

“I was going to open that.”

She nodded toward the strongbox.

“You saw me the other night,” she turned the conversation suddenly.

“At Sebo’s⁠—yes,” he said, “I saw you.”

“What did you think?” she asked quietly.

“I thought you were with the loquacious Mr. Boltover for a special reason of your own,” he said slowly.

“He is an orator⁠—isn’t he?” she agreed⁠—“but he’s quite a nice boy, really. God didn’t give him brains and it’s not fair to make fun of a man’s deficiencies.”

“What did you want of Reggie?” asked Michael.

“I just wanted to know all about him,” she said, “that kind of people are always interesting to me.”

“What did you want of Reggie?” he asked again.

“How insistent you are!” she laughed.

She got up and began strolling about the room, taking down books from the big bookshelf and examining their titles.

“What catholic tastes you have, Mike⁠—and Tennyson, too. How depraved!”

“You will find a Browning somewhere,” he said carelessly.

“That’s more encouraging,” she smiled. “It’s an awfully comfortable room. Quite like the room I thought you would have.”

She looked at a book plate on the cover of one volume.

“You were at Winchester, I see. So was uncle.”

“The poison and the antidote!”

“You are not fair with uncle. He’s a mental degenerate, too. Crime is a disease with him.”

“And with you?” said Michael quickly.

“It’s a hobby. It’s a tremendous excitement.”

She put the book down and turned to him.

“You don’t know what it’s like. To work things out and make them happen, to cover a couple of sheets of paper with writing and then see all sorts of things move in obedience to those instructions, to see thousands and tens of thousands of pounds change hands, to know that men are going long journeys, that special trains are being run, that telegraph wires are humming all over the Continent, that a dozen brilliant thief-catchers are working and worrying in a vain attempt to undo all that twenty or thirty lines of writing have done.”

“This will be used in evidence against you,” warned Michael flippantly.

The girl was not posing. Of that he was convinced. Her big grey eyes were brighter, her whole face was alight with the excitement of the thought, her voice had a new thrill. She was exalted, transfigured at the thought of the power which her shrewd brain gave to her.

“What did you want of Reggie?” he asked again.

The light faded out of her eyes and she was her normal self again.

“Oh, I wanted to pick his pocket,” she said mockingly; “or, no, I know something better⁠—I wanted to marry him. He’s worth two millions.”

“I don’t think you will ever marry for money,” said Michael.

“What makes you say that?” she asked quickly.

He shrugged his shoulders.

“That is the estimate I have formed of you. I may be wrong.”

“I shall never marry,” she said with decision. “I’m not of the marrying kind. I hate men in some ways. I hate them so much, that it gives me a real joy to take away the one thing in the world that they really love. You know the Claude Duval tradition⁠—I mean the idealized Claude Duval of tradition, not the sneak-thief valet of actuality⁠—of robbing the rich and never robbing the poor⁠—well, I rob men, and I never rob women.”

“In fact you rob the people who have the money,” said Michael. “That isn’t clever.”

“No, but it sounds awfully good. I’m thinking of including it in the great speech I shall deliver one of these days at the Old Bailey.”

“What did you want from Reggie?” he asked.

“You are almost monotonous,” she laughed. “Well, I wanted information.”

She turned and again he saw that bright light in her eye and that eager look in her face.

“I will tell you, Michael Pretherston,” she said, pointing a white finger toward him. “We will play fair. I am going to do a big thing. I am going to make the most wonderful steal that the world has ever known. That is why I found Reggie. That is why I made a martyr of myself and endured the boredom of Lord Flanborough’s society.”

She clapped her hands like a child.

“It’s a big thing, Michael, but it’s full of complications, wonderfully full of strategy, and I am going to do it all with your assistance.”

He jumped up and flung out his hand.

“Put it there, Kate,” he said.

“This is going to be the big thing for both of us and I am going to be the victor. If you win you have whatever you’re after. If I win, you have me,” she said with a little laugh.

He looked at her in silence.

“I can almost see you gripping my arm and pushing me into the steel pen,” she said. “I can see you sitting in court in a brown⁠—no, a blue⁠—overcoat, with your hat nicely balanced on your knees, looking up at me in the dock and wondering how I am going to take it.”

A cloud passed over his face.

“You’re a pessimistic little devil,” he growled. “No, I wasn’t thinking about that.”

“What were you thinking about?” she asked, her eyes wide open in surprise.

“I was thinking I’d marry you,” he said.

She looked at him in amusement.

“You’re mad, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he said; “didn’t you know?”

“Marry you!” she said scornfully. “Great Heavens!”

“You might do worse,” he said with his cheerful smile.

“Can you name anything I could do that would be more hopelessly degrading than marry a policeman?”

“Yes,” he said, “you might be an old maid and keep cats. You take it for granted, of course,” he went on, “that I am letting you go now.”

“Naturally,” she replied, “I have given you something to live for.”

“You may be right,” he said quietly and opened the door for her.

They walked down the felt covered passage to the front door.

“I owe you something,” she said as they stood in the doorway. “The young man from the South nearly put an end to my promising career.”

“A little thing like that is hardly worth mentioning. Good night, Kate, are you sure it is safe for you to be out alone so late?”

She made a little face at him and went tripping down the stairs. She turned into the street, but had not gone two paces when a hand caught her arm.

“Excuse me,” said a voice.

By the light of a street lamp she recognized her captor as a detective sergeant from Scotland Yard.

Before she could protest a voice spoke from the darkness of the balcony above and it was the voice of Michael.

“All right, sergeant,” he said.

She shook herself free of the man and looked wrathfully up at the dim figure.

“I forgot you’d have your nurse handy, Michael,” she jeered.

“Good night, dear,” said the voice from the balcony and to her intense annoyance she felt an extraordinary sensation wholly new to her, but which with her quick woman’s wit she correctly diagnosed, as she hurried angrily along the street.

For Kate Westhanger had blushed for the first time in her life.