Dennis Wheatley - The Shadow of Tyburn Tree

His left arm and shoulder-blade pained him sharply as he moved and his head was still aching dully. Cautiously, he lifted his arm and felt it all over; to his relief no bones seemed to be broken. He noticed that his clothes had been brushed and lay neatly folded on a nearby chair, but he felt no inclination to get up and was quite content to lie there dozing for another hour or so; until the door opened softly and his dark-clad host came in carrying a tray of food for him.

Roger expressed his thanks, then added: "I have no wish to trespass on your kindness unduly, Monsieur, and I find myself now sufficiently recovered to get up; so when I have eaten I will dress and return to my inn."

The other shook his fair, close-cropped head. "It is better that you should bide here for the night. I am sure, too, that my master will wish to see you before you leave, and 'tis unlikely that he will come in until midnight. If you feel well enough to dress then, so much the better, as he would be able to talk to you in greater comfort down­stairs."

It struck Roger as somewhat strange that his rescuer should require him, while still a semi-invalid, to wait upon him at so late an hour; but both gratitude and politeness forbade him commenting on the fact, so he said: "As you wish, Monsieur. May I know the name of the gentleman to whom I am indebted for my safety; and your name too?"

"My master is the Count Haga," came the quiet reply. "As for myself, I am usually known as the Prebendary."

Alone once more Roger pondered this slender information. The name Count Haga had a vaguely familiar ring, but somehow he could not place it, and assumed that the Count must be one of the many Swedish nobleman whom he had met casually at some reception during the past five weeks, or had heard mentioned in conversation. The designation of Prebendary conveyed nothing, except that its bearer was a clergyman, and Roger concluded that the fair man must be Count Haga's private chaplain.

When he had finished his meal he slept again. On waking he felt much better and found that the room was almost in darkness. His watch had been placed on a table beside his bed and wound up for him; a glance at it showed that it was half-past nine, so he decided to get up. Having lit the candles on the dressing table he set about his toilette. It was a slow and painful process, but by half-past ten he had made himself as presentable as was possible without a change of linen.

To kick his heels in the attic for an hour and a half seemed an uninspiring way of passing the time, so he thought he would go down­stairs and talk to me Prebendary until Count Haga put in an appear­ance. But, on going to the door, he found to his great surprise that it was locked. He remembered then having noticed earlier in the day that the single, sloping skylight in the steep roof of the attic was heavily barred.

As it dawned upon him that he was a prisoner he recalled having already thought it a little queer that, being obviously a person of quality himself, he should have been put in an attic; when, in a noble­man's house, there were nearly always a number of spare bedrooms. Puzzle his wits as he would, he could think of no possible reason why the mysterious Count Haga should wish to detain him there against his will; but there had been no indication that any harm was intended him, so he sat down to await a solution to the mystery with such patience as he could muster.

Soon after midnight the Prebendary came for him, and refraining from comment on the locked door, he followed his guide downstairs to a comfortable book-lined room on the first floor.

A richly-dressed man whom Roger judged to be a little over forty was standing with his back to the empty grate smoking a long pipe. His features were sharp; a big, slightly-curved nose jutting out from his somewhat receding chin and forehead. But his brow was broad, his eyes large and intelligent, and his mouth firm.

He returned Roger's bow only by a slight inclination of the head but courteously waved him to a chair; then said briskly in such ex­cellent French that his Swedish accent was hardly perceptible.

"I am happy to see, Monsieur, that you have sustained no serious injury. Tell me, please; what were you about outside the side-door of the Russian Embassy in the early hours of the morning?''

Strong as was Roger's cause for resentment against Natalia Andreovna, he had been brought up in the tradition that a gentleman does not "kiss and tell," so his immediate instinct was to protect her reputation. He was about to reply that, finding the summer-dawns in Stockholm irresistible, he had been taking an early morning walk, when Count Haga forestalled him, by adding:

"If you had been lying with that vicious Russian slut you are not called upon to protect her name from any mistaken sense of chivalry. 'Twould not be the first time that having quarrelled with one of her gallants she has had him whipped beneath her window."

Roger recalled Angelique de Pons' warning to him on his first night in Stockholm, that Natalia had a reputation for playing malicious tricks upon her- discarded beaux. Having never thought of himself as on the point of being discarded it had not recurred to him since; but it now appeared that the little Russian's sadistic manner of terminating her love-affairs was a habit, and comparatively well-known, so there seemed no point in lying about the matter.

"Then, Monsieur, I'll confess to having been her latest victim," he said with a rueful smile.

"I have found little time for women," remarked Count Haga, puffing out a cloud of smoke, "and from such results am glad of it."

"And I," Roger retorted crisply to this uncalled-for rudeness, "none at all for smoking a pipe. But mayhap we are both missing something."

The Prebendary had seated himself behind a desk at the end of the room and was studying some papers. He suddenly looked up and Roger, catching his startled glance, read in it an obvious fear that such a caustic comment might have given offence to his master. But the Count only laughed and cried: "Touché! You are a bold-spoken young man, and I like you for it."

In spite of the locked door of his room Roger felt now that he had spoken somewhat abruptly for a guest, so he replied: "Your pardon, Monsieur le Comte. Having been made such a fool of rankles with me still; but I should not have shown resentment at your remarking on the cause of my undoing, particularly as I have not yet expressed my deep gratitude to you for having saved me from those villains."

The Count waved his thanks aside. "Think no more of it, Monsieur. By a fortunate chance I happened to be coming here from my—my house across the bay, and I heard your cries. However, seeing that my intervention saved you from serious chastisement I think that, on balance, you may still consider yourself as the gainer from your com­merce with the Baroness Stroganof."

"I had no reason to complain of the lady's ardour," Roger admitted, as that seemed the obvious reply.

"I meant not that," said the Count quickly. "The Baroness' temperament has not the least interest for me. I referred to all that you learned, owing to your intimacy with her, of her father's affairs."

Roger's heart missed a beat, but he managed to keep his face quite blank as he murmured: "I fear that I fail to understand you, Monsieur."

"You understand me well enough!" The Count's tone now held a threatening note. "And you had best be honest in your replies to me; for I have not yet made up my mind how I shall deal with you."

Wondering what the devil was coming next, Roger replied coldly: "You speak in riddles, Monsieur; and I resent your tone."

"You will have something more solid to complain of unless you answer my questions promptly," came the swift retort. "To start with you will admit that you are a secret agent—a spy."