# The Day of Uniting/Chapter 5

pp. 13–15.

### CHAPTER V.

There had been a witness to the early departure of Delia and her father. Mr. Elmers had lain upon the grassy heath, immediately opposite to the priory and in full view, wondering in his thick way just how he could satisfy his employer's remarkable curiosity. He had been given a commission in regard to which he had consciously failed, and, indeed, recognizing its difficulty, had not attempted to execute. He was in the process of creating a well-tailored lie when Delia had gone home.
He waited until the dusk fell, then he rose and walked slowly toward his place of appointment, which was a little bar on the Charlton Road. The barmaid was on the point of telling him that the private saloon was not reserved for tramps, when the middle-aged gentleman, who had been sitting in the lounge the greater part of the evening, nodded to the newcomer; and since this gentleman had been very generous in his expenditure, and had stricken awe into the two barmaids' souls by ordering an expensive wine, which had to be searched for in the cellar, she restrained the caustic remark which was on the tip of her tongue.
The generous guest was plump and jovial of countenance; he was well dressed and well jeweled, and the barmaid, a keen student of human affairs, had found it extremely difficult to place him. He was too soft a man for a bookmaker, too genial and abstemious for one of the local gentry. He had a large and peculiar smile—one of those pouting smiles which gave the impression that he was amused at something quite different from the apparent cause of mirth.
“Ah, Tom, my boy,” he said. He had a deep, rich voice, had Mr. Palythorpe, a voice vibrant with good nature and tolerance. Tom Elmers blinked at the light, and rubbed his hand across his unshaven chin.
“I think I'll have a little spirits, Mr. Palythorpe,” he said.
Mr. Palythorpe nodded to the barmaid and, sitting down in the Windsor chair he had occupied for two hours, flicked a speck of fluff from his well-creased trousers, and beamed benevolently at the youth as he tossed down his whisky.
“Have another and bring your glass over here.”
Mr. Palythorpe tapped the table by his side.
“Well?” he asked, when Tom Elmers was seated. “Did you see your young lady as you expected?”
The attitude of Tom Elmers toward the man was that of a servant toward his master, struggling to assert himself against the suggestion of inferiority.
“Yes, I saw her,” he said.
“Did you get a chance of speaking with her?”
“No, I didn't, Mr. Palythorpe,” said the man apologetically. “There was another fellow there, and old Joe—damn him.”
“Ssh!” said Mr. Palythorpe reprovingly. “Is there any chance of your seeing her, to-morrow?”
“A fine chance I shall have!” said Elmers discouragingly.
“Didn't you hear anything at the house? Now don't sulk!”
The last words were in quite a different tone, and Mr. Elmers sat up.
“I listened,” he said, “but I could only just hear the voices and nothing more.”
He had “listened” from a distance of a hundred yards, but this Mr. Palythorpe did not know.
“You don't know what happened to-day, then? What was she doing at Blackheath? She was here yesterday!”
Tom grinned.
“I think I know,” he said with a little chuckle. “Van Roon has had some trouble with his proofs.”
“Well?” said the other patiently.
“Old Sennett went down to see him and took Miss Sennett. He always takes her everywhere he goes, nowadays, since the rumpus I had with him.”
Mr. Palythorpe was very patient indeed. He leaned back in his chair and surveyed the other without favor, but his tone was geniality itself.
“You told me this afternoon that you knew one of the guests at the prime minister's luncheon and you said that you were at his house, last night. As you knew him so{{bar|2}”
“By sight,” protested Tom. “I had only seen him at the works.”
“As you knew him, I brought you down here to see him on some excuse or other,” said Mr. Palythorpe insistently. “You also told me that Sennett—that was his name, wasn't it?—and the young lady that you're fond of might visit that house and that it would be a much easier job for you to find out what happened at the prime minister's to-day. Instead of doing as I told you, which was to go into Greenwich or Blackheath village and get a shave, you went drinking.”
“I've only had about two,” protested Tom; “and, besides, what could I find out?”
“You could discover what was the trouble at the luncheon party which the prime minister gave to Maggerson,” said Mr. Palythorpe. His voice was low and very gentle, but as he leaned forward to bring his face closer to the man's, it changed. “Do you expect me to go on paying you wages for nothing?” he asked harshly. “Do you think I brought you here in order to provide you with drinks?”
“You know what my job is,” said Tom sulkily. “I'm a compositor. You said you'd give me a job on your paper; you did not say anything about wanting me to spy on customers.”
Mr. Palythorpe got up, never taking his eyes from his companion,
“I don't think you and I understand one another,” he said. “You had better come to my place, where I can talk.”
At the foot of Blackheath Hill they found a taxicab. They drove to the West End of London. Mr. Palythorpe had a pleasant little flat near Half Moon Street, and, although he was well aware that he was under police observation, that surveillance, which would have been fatal to any other man's peace of mind, did not disturb Mr. Palythorpe at all.
In his handsome little sitting room Mr. Palythorpe grew frank and communicative.
The Right Honorable John Stamford Chapelle, prime minister of England, had many enemies, as was natural by reason of his position. But political enmity and private hate have little in common. Mr. Palythorpe's dislike of the great political leader was purely personal. In the days when Chapelle had been a private member and a prominent figure in the courts, Mr. Palythorpe had discovered some very damaging facts about his pretty but somewhat flighty daughter, who was married to a rich stockbroker, and Mr. Palythorpe had utilized his knowledge in the usual way.
An anonymous letter had been sent to the girl demanding payment for a certain indiscreet diary which had been filched by a servant under notice, and sent by the pilferer to Mr. Palythorpe's office. The girl in her alarm went to her father, and that was the undoing of Palythorpe, for Mr. Chapelle had gone to work, despite his daughter's prayers and entreaties, knowing, as he did, that a blackmailer cannot be satisfied, and had scientifically trapped Mr. Palythorpe—not only trapped him, but had conducted the case against him with such skill, that an unsympathetic judge had sent this soft man to the rigors and restrictions of Dartmoor Prison for ten years, seven and a half years of which this genial gentleman, with the pouting smile, spent in planning revenge. He had come out of jail and had inaugurated a new paper, placing a figurehead in charge.
He did not tell Tom Elmers all this. All that he thought it was necessary to explain was that he had a very excellent reason for desiring the prime minister's discomfort.
“You understand, Elmers, that I am giving you a good salary. When you couldn't get work anywhere else——”
“I'm the best mathematical compositor in the country,” boasted Tom Elmers, his voice a little unsteady.
“Wonderful!” said the other sarcastically, “and you're the best judge of cheap whisky in the country, too.”
“I didn't drink till she turned me down,” said Tom surlily.
“She lost a good husband,” said the sarcastic Mr. Palythorpe. “Now don't interrupt me. I am giving you a good salary, and you're not earning it. You told me you'd get me into touch with the prime minister's friends.”
“So I can,” said Tom Elmers arrogantly. “I tell you all these scientific fellows know him. Why, I've spent days with Mr. Maggerson, correcting his proofs, and I know Mr. van Roon, and they're friends of Mr. Chapelle.”
Palythorpe rubbed his chin.
“I suppose there's no chance of your getting back to Ponters'?” he asked. “If I had only known then what I know now, I shouldn't have worried about trying to get official secrets.”
“There's no ghost of a chance,” said Tom savagely. “Old Joe hates me. He wouldn't have me within half a mile of him.”
“What have you done?” asked the other curiously. “Did you steal something?”
“No,” was the short reply.
“You must have done some fool thing. Were you drunk?”
“No; I tell you I didn't drink until she turned me down.”
“Oh, the girl, of course.” Mr. Palythorpe nodded. “I suppose you started courting her, eh? But that wouldn't make him chuck you out of the office. What was the reason?”
“Oh, nothing,” replied Tom; and then, “What do you want to find out about Mr. Chapelle?” he asked suddenly.
Palythorpe did not immediately reply. When he did, it was parabolically.
“Every man has some secret in his life which he doesn't want made public. The best and the greatest of them have that, Elmers. I haven't been in this game for years without knowing that the perfect man doesn't exist. Why, there are twenty people in London, men who hold big positions, whom I could ruin, if I took the risk! But I don't want to take the risk, there's nothing to it. But give me something about Chapelle, something that's going to hurt him like hell, and I'll print it, if I serve twenty years for the job!”
“I see, you want some scandal,” said Tom.
“I not only want scandal, but I think I've got it. There was something queer happened in Downing Street to-day.”
Palythorpe was talking as much to himself as to his companion.
“I have a housemaid inside No. 10 Downing Street who keeps me well informed of what happens,” he said with a certain amount of pride. “And something has happened which the prime minister is trying to hush. We've got to find what it was.”