The Brigand Read Online

'We are waiting for a friend of ours.'

    'You'll wait a long time, that's my opinion,' said Sergeant Maud, of Scotland Yard. 'I have been watching that lad all the afternoon.'

    He clicked his teeth cheerfully, and viewed with great joy the consternation and horror that was dawning on the faces of his victims.

    'It is occasions like these, Dan, that make all the policemen in heaven rise up and sing hallelujah,' he added.

    Polite brigandage has its novel aspects and its moments of fascination. Vulgar men, crudely furnished in the matter of ideas, may find profit in violence, but the more subtle and the more delicate nuances of the art of gentle robbery had an especial attraction for one who, in fulfilment of the poet's ambition, could count the game before the prize.

    So it came about that Mr Newton found himself in an awkward situation. The two near wheels of his car were in a ditch; he with some difficulty had maintained himself at the steering wheel, though the branches of the overhanging hedge were so close to him that he had to twist is head on one side. Nevertheless, he maintained an attitude of supreme dignity as he climbed out of his car, and the eyes that met the girl's alarmed gaze were full of gentle reproach.

    She sat bolt upright at the wheel of her beautiful Daimler, and for a while was speechless.

    'You were on the wrong side of the road,' said Tony gently.

    'I'm awfully sorry,' she gasped. 'I sounded my horn, but these wretched Sussex lanes are so blind....'

    'Say no more about it,' said Anthony. He surveyed the ruins of his car gravely.

    'I thought you would see me as you came down the hill,' she said in excuse. 'I saw you and I sounded my horn.'

    'I didn't hear it,' said Anthony, 'but that is beside the question. The fault is entirely mine, but I fear my poor car is completely ruined.'

    She got out and stood beside him, the figure of penitence, her eyes fixed upon the drunken wreck.

    'If I had not turned immediately into the ditch,' said Anthony, 'there would have been a collision. And it is better that I should ruin my car than I should occasion you the slightest apprehension.'

    She drew a quick sigh.

    'Thank goodness it is only an old car,' she said. 'Of course, Daddy will—'

    Anthony could not allow the statement to pass unchallenged.

    'It looks old now,' he said gently; 'it looks even decrepit. It has all the appearance of ruin which old age, alas, brings, but it is not an old car.'

    'It is an old model,' she insisted. 'Why, that's about twenty years old—I can tell from the shape of the wing.'

    'The wings of my car,' said Anthony, 'may be old fashioned. I am an old fashioned man, and I like old fashioned wings. In fact, I insisted upon having those old fashioned wings put on this perfectly new car. You have only to look at the beautiful coach work—the lacquer—'

    'You lacquered it yourself,' she accused him. 'Anybody can see that that has been newly done.' She touched the paint with her finger, and it left a little black stain. 'There,' she said triumphantly, 'It has been done with "Binko", you can see the advertisements in all the papers: "Binko dries in two hours."' She touched the paint again and looked at the second stain on her finger. 'That means you painted it a fortnight ago,' she said, 'it always takes a month to dry.'

    Anthony said nothing. He felt that her discovery called for silence. Moreover, he could not, for the moment, think of any appropriate rejoinder.

    'Of course,' she went on more warmly, 'it was very fine of you to take such a dreadful risk. My father, I know, will be very grateful.'

    She looked at the car again.

    'You don't think you could get it up,' she said.

    Anthony was very sure he could not restore the equilibrium of his car. He had bought it a week before for thirty pounds. The owner had stuck out for thirty-five, and Anthony had tossed him thirty pounds or forty, and had won. Anthony always won those tosses. He kept a halfpenny in his pocket which had a tail on each side, and since ninety-nine people out of a hundred say 'heads' when you flip a coin in the air, it was money for nothing.

    'Shall I drive you into Pilbury?' she said.

    'Is there anywhere I can find a telephone?' asked Anthony.

    'I'll take you back to the house,' said Jane Mansar suddenly. 'It's quite near, you can telephone from there, and I'd like you to have a talk with father. Of course, we will not allow you to lose by your unselfish action, though I did sound my horn as I came round the corner.'

    'I didn't hear it,' said Anthony gravely.

    He climbed in, and she backed the car into a gateway, turned and sped at a reckless pace back the way she had come. She turned violently from the road, missed one of the lodge gates by a fraction of an inch and accelerated up a broad drive to a big white house that showed sketchily between the encircling elms. She braked suddenly and Anthony got out with relief.

    Mr Gerald Mansar was a stout, bald man, whose fiery countenance was relieved by a pure white moustache and bristling white eyebrows.