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Lost Leader, a novel by E. Phillips Oppenheim |
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Book 3 - Chapter 5. The Journalist Intervenes |
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_ BOOK III CHAPTER V. THE JOURNALIST INTERVENES The old man had sunk into a seat. His face and hands were twitching with fear. His eyes, as though fascinated, remained fixed upon Mannering's. All the while he mumbled to himself. Fardell drew Mannering a little on one side. "What can we do with him?" he asked. "We might tear up those sheets, give him money, keep him soddened with drink. And even then he'd give the whole show away the moment any one got at him. It isn't so bad as he makes out, I suppose?" "It is not so bad as that," Mannering answered, "but it is bad enough." "What became of the woman?" Fardell asked. "Parkins's mistress, I mean?" "She is my wife," Mannering answered. Fardell threw out his hands with a little gesture of despair. "We must get him away from here," he said. "If Polden gets hold of him you might as well resign at once. It is dangerous for you to stay. He was evidently expecting that fellow Ronaldson to-night." Mannering nodded. "What shall you do with him?" he asked. "Hide him if I can," Fardell answered, grimly. "If I can get him out of this place, it ought not to be impossible. The most important thing at present is for you to get away without being recognized." Mannering took up his hat. "I will go," he said. "I shall leave the cab for you. I can find my way back to the hotel." Fardell nodded. "It would be better," he said. "Turn your coat-collar up and draw your hat down over your eyes. You mustn't be recognized down here. It's a pretty low part." Nevertheless, Mannering had not reached the corner of the street before he heard hasty footsteps behind him, and felt a light touch upon his shoulder. He turned sharply round. "Well, sir!" he exclaimed, "what do you want with me?" The newcomer was a tall, thin young man, wearing glasses, and although he was a complete stranger to Mannering, he knew at once who he was. "Mr. Mannering, I believe?" he said, quickly. "What has my name to do with you, sir?" Mannering answered, coldly. "Mine is Ronaldson," the young man answered. "I am a reporter." Mannering regarded him steadily for a moment. "You are the young man, then," he said, "who has discovered the mare's nest of my iniquity." "If it is a mare's nest," the young man answered, briskly, "I shall be quite as much relieved as disappointed. But your being down here doesn't look very much like that, does it?" "No man," Mannering answered, "hears that a bomb is going to be thrown at him without a certain amount of curiosity as to its nature. I have been down to examine the bomb. Frankly, I don't think much of it." "You are prepared, then, to deny this man Parkins's story?" the reporter asked. "I am prepared to have a shot at your paper for libel, anyhow, if you use it," Mannering answered. "Do you know the substance of his communication?" "I can make a pretty good guess at it," Mannering answered. "You really mean to deny it, then?" the reporter asked. "Assuredly, for it is not true," Mannering answered. "Pray don't let me detain you any longer!" He turned on his heel and walked away, but the reporter kept pace with him. "You will pardon me, but this is a very serious affair, Mr. Mannering," he said. "Serious for both of us. Do you mind discussing it with me?" "Not in the least," Mannering answered, "so long as you permit me to continue my way homewards." "I will walk with you, sir, if you don't mind," the reporter said. "It is a very serious matter indeed, this! My people are as keen as possible to make use of it. If they do, and it turns out a true story, you, of course, will never sit for Leeds. And if on the other hand it is false, I shall get the sack!" "Well, it is false," Mannering said. "Some parts of it, perhaps," the young man answered, smoothly. "Not all, Mr. Mannering." "Old men are garrulous," Mannering remarked. "I expect you will find that your friend has been letting his tongue run away with him." "He has committed his statements to paper," Ronaldson remarked. "And signed them?" "He is willing to do so," the reporter answered. "I was to have fetched them away to-night." "You may be a little late," Mannering remarked. The _double entente_ in his tone did not escape Ronaldson's notice. He stopped short on the pavement. "So you have bought him," he remarked. Mannering glanced at him superciliously. "Will you pardon me," he said, "if I remark that this conversation has no particular interest for me? Don't let me bring you any further out of your way." Ronaldson took off his hat. "Very good, sir," he remarked. "I will wish you good-night!" Mannering pursued his way homeward with the briefest of farewells. The young reporter retraced his steps. Arrived at Parkins's lodgings he mounted the stairs, and found the room empty. He returned and interviewed the landlord. From him he only learned that Parkins had departed with one of two gentlemen who had come to see him that evening, and that they had paid his rent for him. The reporter was obliged to depart with no more satisfactory information. But next morning, before nine o'clock, he was waiting to see Mannering, and would not be denied. He was accompanied, too, by a person of no less importance than the editor of the _Yorkshire Herald_ himself. Mannering kept them waiting an hour, and then received them coolly. "I am glad to see you, Mr. Polden," he said, glancing at the editor's card. "I have already had some conversation with our young friend there," he added, glancing towards the reporter. "What can I have the pleasure of doing for you?" Mr. Polden produced a sheet of proofs from his pocket. He passed them over to Mannering. "I should like you to examine these, sir," he said. "In type already!" Mannering remarked, calmly. "In proof for our evening's issue," Polden answered. Mannering read them through. "It will cost you several thousand pounds!" he said. "Then the money will be well spent," Polden answered. "No one has a higher regard for you politically than I have, Mr. Mannering, but we don't want you as member for West Leeds. That's all!" "It happens," Mannering said, "that I am particularly anxious to sit for West Leeds." "You will go on--in the face of this?" the editor asked Mannering. "Yes, and with the suit for libel which will follow," Mannering answered. The editor shrugged his shoulders. "Do me the favour to believe, Mr. Mannering," he said, "that we have not gone into this matter blindfold. We had a preliminary intimation as to this affair from a person whose word carries considerable weight, and our investigations have been searching. I will admit that the disappearance of the man Parkins is a little awkward for us, but we have ample justification in publishing his story." "I trust for your sakes that the law courts will support your views," Mannering said, coldly. "I scarcely think it likely." "Mr. Mannering," Polden said, "I quite appreciate your attitude, but do you really think it is a wise one? I very much regret that it should have been our duty to unearth this unsavoury story, and having unearthed it, to use it. But you must remember that the issue on hand is a great one. I belong to the Liberal party and the absolute Free Traders, and I consider that for this city to be represented by any one who shows the least indication of being unsafe upon this question would be a national disaster and a local disgrace. I want you to understand, therefore, that I am not playing a game of bluff. The proofs you hold in your hand have been set and corrected. Within a few hours the story will stand out in black and white. Are you prepared for this?" Mannering shrugged his shoulders. "I am not prepared to resign my candidature, if that is what you mean," he said. "I presume that nothing short of that will satisfy you?" "Nothing," the editor answered, firmly. "Then there remains nothing more," Mannering remarked, coldly, "than for me to wish you a very good-morning." "I am sorry," Mr. Polden said. "I trust you will believe, Mr. Mannering, that I find this a very unpleasant duty." Mannering made no answer save a slight bow. He held open the door, and Mr. Polden and his satellite passed out. Afterwards he strolled to the window and looked down idly upon the crowd. "If I act in accordance with the conventions," he murmured to himself, "I suppose I ought to take, a glass of poison, or blow my brains out. Instead of which--" He shrugged his shoulders, and rang for his hat and coat. He was due at one of the great foundries in half an hour to speak to the men during their luncheon interval. "Instead of which," he muttered, as he lit a cigarette, "I shall go on to the end." _ |
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