Da Souza's office was neither furnished nor located with the idea of impressing casual visitors.It was in a back-street off an alley,and although within a stone's throw of Lothbury its immediate surroundings were not exhilarating.A blank wall faced it,a green-grocer's shop shared with a wonderful,cellar-like public-house the honour of its more immediate environment.Trent,whose first visit it was,looked about him with surprise mingled with some disgust.
He pushed open the swing door and found himself face to face with Da Souza's one clerk -a youth of unkempt appearance,shabbily but flashily dressed,with sallow complexion and eyes set close together.
He was engaged at that particular moment in polishing a large diamond pin upon the sleeve of his coat,which operation he suspended to gaze with much astonishment at this unlocked-for visitor.Trent had come straight from Ascot,straight indeed from his interview with Francis,and was still wearing his racing-glasses.
"I wish to see Mr.Da Souza,"Trent said."Is he in?""I believe so,sir,"the boy answered."What name?""Trent!Mr.Scarlett Trent!"The door of an inner office opened,and Da Souza,sleek and curled,presented himself.He showed all his white teeth in the smile with which he welcomed his visitor.The light of battle was in his small,keen eyes,in his cringing bow,his mock humility.
"I am most honoured,Mr.Trent,sir,"he declared."Welcome back to England.When did you return?""Yesterday,"Trent said shortly.
"And you have come,"Da Souza continued,"fresh from the triumphs of the race-course.It is so,I trust?""I have come straight from Ascot,"Trent replied,"but my horse was beaten if that is what you mean.I did not come here to talk about racing though.I want a word with you in private.""With much pleasure,sir,"Da Souza answered,throwing open with a little flourish the door of his sanctum."Will you step in?This way!The chair is dusty.Permit me!"Trent threw a swift glance around the room in which he found himself.
It was barely furnished,and a window,thick with dust,looked out on the dingy back-wall of a bank or some public building.The floor was uncovered,the walls were hung with yellow maps of gold-mines all in the West African district.Da Souza himself,spick and span,with glossy boots and a flower in his buttonhole,was certainly the least shabby thing in the room.
"You know very well,"Trent said,"what I have come about.Of course you'll pretend you don't,so to save time I'll tell you.What have you done with Monty?"Da Souza spread outwards the palms of his hands.He spoke with well-affected impatience.
"Monty!always Monty!What do I want with him?It is you who should look after him,not I."Trent turned quietly round and locked the door.Da Souza would have called out,but a paroxy** of fear had seized him.His fat,white face was pallid,and his knees were shaking.Trent's hand fell upon his shoulder,and Da Souza felt as though the claws of a trap had gripped him.
"If you call out I'll throttle you,"Trent said."Now listen.
Francis is in England and,unless Monty is produced,will tell the whole story.I shall do the best I can for all of us,but I'm not going to have Monty done to death.Come,let's have the truth."Da Souza was grey now with a fear greater even than a physical one.
He had been so near wealth.Was he to lose everything?
"Mr.Trent,"he whispered,"my dear friend,have reason.Monty,Itell you,is only half alive,he hangs on,but it is a mere thread of life.Leave it all to me!To-morrow he shall be dead!-oh,quite naturally.There shall be no risk!Trent,Trent!"His cry ended in a gurgle,for Trent's hand was on his throat.
"Listen,you miserable hound,"he whispered."Take me to him this moment,or I'll shake the life out of you.Did you ever know me go back from my word?"Da Souza took up his hat with an ugly oath and yielded.The two men left the office together.
"Listen!"The two women sat in silence,waiting for some repetition of the sound.This time there was certainly no possibility of any mistake.
>From the room above their heads came the feeble,quavering sobbing of an old man.Julie threw down her book and sprang up.
"Mother,I cannot bear it any longer,"she cried."I know where the key is,and I am going into that room"Mrs.Da Souza's portly frame quivered with excitement.
"My child,"she pleaded,"don't Julie,do remember!Your father will know,and then -oh,I shall be frightened to death!""It is nothing to do with you,mother,"the girl said,"I am going."Mrs.Da Souza produced a capacious pocket-handkerchief,reeking with scent,and dabbed her eyes with it.From the days when she too had been like Julie,slim and pretty,she had been every hour in dread of her husband.Long ago her spirit had been broken and her independence subdued.To her friend and confidants no word save of pride and love for her husband had ever passed her lips,yet now as she watched her daughter she was conscious of a wild,passionate wish that her fate at least might be a different one.And while she mopped her eyes and looked backward,Julie disappeared.
