A Master of Deception
Copyright© 2025 by Richard Marsh
Chapter 9: The Second
Mr. Patterson glared at his nephew as if he had been guilty of a gross liberty in placing himself where he had done--indeed, he said as much.
“Go back to your own end of the carriage at once, you young scoundrel. How dare you come so close to me? Isn’t it sufficient contamination to have to breathe the air of the same compartment, without being polluted by your immediate neighbourhood?”
Rodney was not at all abashed, nor did he show any sign of an intention to return whence he came. On the contrary, leaning a little forward, he smiled at his uncle blandly.
“Softly, sir, softly! If you allow yourself to become excited you may do yourself a mischief--excitement is the worst possible thing for you.”
“None of your insolence, you young hound; don’t you think I’ll allow you to be insolent to me! Are you going back to the other end of the carriage?”
“No, sir; I am not.”
“Then----”
Mr. Patterson made as if to move, then checked himself. Rodney asked:
“What were you going to do?”
“If you don’t go back to the other end of the carriage at once I’ll pull the communication cord and stop the train.”
“And then?”
“I’ll give you into custody before the whole trainful of passengers.”
“Into whose custody?”
“The guard will take charge of you till we get to a station; he won’t let you go till he has seen you safe in the hands of a policeman. You won’t have a chance of running; you’ll sleep in gaol tonight. Are you going back to your own seat?”
“I propose to remain where I am.”
“Then I’ll stop the train!”
He made as if to do as he said, but Rodney, rising first, laid his hand upon his shoulder to such effect that he found himself unable to move. Indignation brought back the purple to Mr. Patterson’s face.
“You dare to touch me? You infernal young villain--take away your hand!”
“I don’t intend to allow you to touch the communication cord.”
“You don’t intend! We’ll see about that.”
They did see, on the instant. The black knob of the alarm bell was over the centre seat in front of Mr. Patterson. Putting out his strength, evading Rodney’s grip, he gained his feet. Elmore took him by the shoulders with both his hands. There was a scuffle--sharp, but brief. For a moment it looked as if the elder man might be a match for the younger, but for a moment only. On a sudden Mr. Patterson collapsed on to his seat as if the stiffening had gone all out of him and left him but a mass of boneless pulp. He could only gasp out words.
“You shall smart for this!”
“If you’re not very careful, sir, you’ll smart first--my dear uncle.”
“Don’t you call me your dear uncle.”
“My dear uncle.”
“Damn you, you----”
A flood of vituperation poured from the elder man’s lips, which, when he had finished, left him an even darker shade of purple. Rodney never ceased to smile. So soon as the flood had stopped he repeated the endearing form of address.
“My dear uncle”--Mr. Patterson was panting, for the moment he was speechless--”turn and turn about’s fair play, and fair play’s a jewel. You’ve had your say, now I’m going to have mine--you’ll find mine as interesting as I found yours. To begin with, I’m going to ask you one or two questions.”
“I’ll answer no questions of yours.”
“Oh, yes, you will, when you find what they are. In the first place, am I to understand that you are really serious--weigh your words, my dear uncle!--in saying that you’d tell Gladys--what you said you’d tell her?”
“So soon as I get home I’ll tell her everything--everything--about you, and your rascally father, too.”
“Will you?”
“I will--as sure as you are living!”
“So surely as that? And are you prepared to take your oath that you’ll take out that warrant you were speaking of, or--was that intended for a jest?”
“Oath! I’ll take no oath to you--you Nature’s gaol-bird! But of this I assure you, you’ll sleep in a prison cell to-night, and many and many another night to come.”
Mr. Patterson, dragging the silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, used it to wipe away the perspiration which again bedewed his brow.
“Shall I?”
“You will.”
“Oh, no, I won’t; nor will you tell Gladys those unkind things about me and my father.”
“Who the devil’s going to stop me?”
“I’m the devil who’s going to stop you.”
Rodney was leaning a little forward. His uncle stopped in the process of wiping his brow to stare at him, as if there were something in his manner which struck him as peculiar. About the young gentleman’s lips was the same easy, unconcerned smile which had been there all the time; there was a smile also in his eyes--it was, apparently, this latter which gave him the odd expression which had struck his uncle. Mr. Patterson glanced about him as if in search of something he would have liked to find. Rodney sat perfectly still. As he put a query to him his uncle’s pursy lips showed a tendency to twitch.
“How are you going to stop me?”
“Can’t you guess how I am going to stop you?”
“I can do nothing of the kind. You can’t stop me, or anyone. I am going to do my duty to my daughter and to society, and nothing can stop me.”
“You know better than that. From something which has just come upon your face I can see that already you know better.”
Mr. Patterson gave what he doubtless meant to be a spring towards the alarm bell opposite; but, for reasons which were beyond his control, his movements were slower than they should have been--the younger man was much too quick for him. Gripping him again by both his shoulders, exerting greater strength than on the first occasion, he forced him back upon his seat with a degree of violence which seemed to drive the sense half out of him. As Rodney, remaining on his feet, stood towering above him, one perceived more clearly that his was the build of the athlete, and how great were the probabilities, if they came to grips, that the big man would be helpless in his hands. He addressed his uncle as an elder person might have spoken to a mutinous child.
“My dearest uncle--you really must permit me to lay stress upon your avuncular relationship on what will probably be my last chance of doing so--you are not going to pull the alarm bell, you are not going to stop the train. You have no more chance of doing either than you have of flying to the moon, so get that into your drink-sodden brain. Nor are you going to libel me to Gladys, nor commit me to the mercy of a ruthless police. Presently you will see that as clearly as I do now.”
Rodney resumed his seat, still keeping his glance fixed on his uncle, in whose demeanour a change seemed to have taken place which was both mental and physical. Possibly his nephew had used more violence than he supposed. The vigour had gone all out of him; inert, he stared at Rodney with bloodshot eyes, as if drink had taken sudden effect and bemused his brain. The young man’s smile became more pronounced, as if he found the singularity of the other’s appearance amusing. The tone of his voice, when he spoke, was genial and pleasant.
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