Tom Tiddler's Island, стр. 43

the street, he’d never heard of Leven before. Leven might be a distinguished scientist, as the papers said. But making gold? The man in the street wasn’t going to be such a ruddy fool as to swallow that. So he just muttered ‘Fake!’ and turned over to the sporting news. In another couple of days the public had forgotten about the whole affair. In chemical circles there was a certain amount of Schadenfreude, some rather cheerful rubbing of the hands, and nods and winks among the people who hated Leven most. In their view he’d come down badly—been fairly caught out in a bluff. They thought it was an attempt at self-advertisement on Leven’s part, and they rather rejoiced at it having gone wrong. Most of them simply disbelieved the whole tale and thought the reporters had invented the story about the Mint.

“Perhaps it was another of Leven’s calculated indiscretions. Or possibly his hand was forced in some way. I don’t know. Anyway, the thing had a very brief publicity, of a kind—and then there was dead silence on the subject. But Leven went on selling his gold. It was as good as the next man’s, whether Nature made it or Leven, and he easily found a market.

“But that newspaper stunt made one change in the situation. Leven got frightened, I judge. After all, if you get a reputation of being a gold-maker, you may be worth burgling. That must have been the real factor behind the story Miss Arrow told you the other night. He got into a funk and he hired a guard—that creature Zelensky. Doesn’t that suggest that goldmaking’s a paying business for Leven?”

“Suppose it does,” Colin agreed. “But who is this Zelensky cove?”

Northfleet pondered a few moments before answering.

“Well, you’ve more or less promised your help,” he decided at last, “so I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell you what I know in the matter. Zelensky’s biography’s been looked up. One extract will be enough. You remember the Separatist stunt in the Rhineland? Zelensky commanded one of the squads that played a part in that show. By and by the Separatist business fizzled out, and Zelensky’s paymasters were left with his gang of ruffians on their hands. They didn’t want them any longer. What was to be done? They put it to Zelensky, and he got them out of the difficulty—easy enough, too. He got his pack of armed scoundrels together; filled them up with drink; proposed a raid on some villages up in the hill-district near by; loaded his crew on to a motor-lorry and started them off in great glee at the treat before them—loot and all the rest of it. Zelensky himself contrived to get left behind. He walked straight off and phoned up the road, warning the villagers of the coming of the looters. The country people had no use for Separatists; they’d heard all about them. So they just ambushed the lorry on a steep gradient——”

“And?” Colin interjected as Northfleet paused. “Oh, they got ’em at a disadvantage, of course. Killed the lot with scythes, pruning-knives, or anything else that came handy. No one asked any questions. Why should they?”

“You mean the beggar betrayed his own men?” Colin ejaculated, aghast at such coldblooded treachery.

“I don’t suppose that worried him much,” was Northfleet’s comment. “His paymasters wanted a job done. They paid him to do it. He did it. That’s how he’d look at it, I expect.”

Colin looked sharply at Northfleet. The chemist’s matter-of-fact tone almost suggested that he felt no particular disapproval of the episode. In fact, the neatness and efficiency of Zelensky seemed to have extracted a faint tribute of respect. Northfleet met his eye with a sardonic expression.

“Not going into mourning for them, are you?” he asked. “My own view is that the fewer scoundrels there are the better world it’ll be. So I don’t weep when a few ruffians get their deserts. One ought to look at these affairs dispassionately.”

Colin abruptly changed the subject.

“Leven—that’s old Arrow, I suppose, under a false name?”

Northfleet nodded.

“Yes. He took Miss Arrow’s name to hide under. Probably she would have refused to masquerade under a false name herself; so he chose hers to save bother when he brought her up here.”

Colin plunged into reflection for a few moments before he spoke again.

“Leven must be putting a fair strain on a scoundrel like this Zelensky—having him around with all this gold-making going on.”

“I doubt if Zelensky has even a glimmering that there’s gold at all,” Northfleet answered thoughtfully. “Leven wouldn’t need to tell him. Zelensky’s hired as a bodyguard. No need for him to be taken into Leven’s confidence. Nor Natorp either. He’s a Lett of some sort, I believe, with a Russian record no better than his colleague’s.”

“Take it as read, then,” Colin suggested. “Makes one sick to hear about that sort of thing. Go on with the story.”

“Very well. It looks as though Leven evidently didn’t feel safe in London, even under the guard of these two beauties. Or there may have been another reason. I’m merely guessing there. To stick to facts, he resigned from the Adelphi College—which in itself shows he was doing pretty well out of his gold-making—and he disappeared from London. He covered his tracks, came north, and settled down in Ruffa here, to carry on his work. He brought his niece along with him, probably so as to leave no one behind who could let out where he was. She’s entirely dependent on him, so she had to do as she was told, I gather.”

“How much of all this does Miss Arrow know?” Colin asked with some reluctance.

“Next to nothing,” said Northfleet curtly. “She was at school when the newspaper stunt happened, and I’ve learned that it was one of these weird boarding-schools where the girls aren’t allowed to see a newspaper of any sort. So she heard nothing about the gold-making business, I expect. I’ve never questioned her—I prefer to play the game in this case—but