Lodge were large; blackmail and his wife's earnings aided the exchequer; he
had probably a dozen other sources of income. Yet he never extricated
himself from his sordidness; and he was always in need of money. It was no
feigned need, either; for he was sometimes short of whisky.
The man's knowledge of the minds of others was uncanny; he read Balloch
at a gesture.
"Grey never struck the Watcher," he said; "it was not his style; who was
it?"
"Simon Iff."
"I shall see to that."
Balloch understood that, though S.R.M.D. feared Iff and loathed him, his
great preoccupation was with Cyril Grey. He hated the young magician with
a perfect hatred; he would never forget his ruin at those boyish hands. Also,
he forgave nothing, from a kindness to an insult; he was malignant for the
sake of malice.
"They will have gone over to their house on Montmartre," continued
Douglas, in a voice of absolute certitude. "We must have the exits watched by
Abdul Bey and his men. But I know what Grey will do as well as if he had
told me; he will bolt somewhere warm for his damned honeymoon. You and
Akbar watch the Gare de Lyon. Now, look here! with a bit of luck, we'll
finish off this game; I'm weary of it. Mark me well!"
Douglas rose. The whisky he had drunk was impotent to affect him, head
or legs. He went over to a small table on which were painted certain curious
figures. He took a saucer, poured some [124] whisky into it, and dropped a
five-franc piece into the middle. Then he began to make weird gestures, and
to utter a long conjuration, harsh-sounding, and apparently in gibberish.
Lastly, he set fire to the whisky in the saucer. When it was nearly burnt
through, he blew it out. He took the coin, wrapped it in a piece of dark-red
silk, and gave it to his pupil.
"When Grey boards a traiin," he ordered, "go up to the engine-driver, give
him this, and tell him to drive carefully. Let me know what the fellow looks
like; get his name, if you can; say you want to drink his health. Then come
straight here in a cab."
Balloch nodded. The type of magic proposed was familiar enough to him.
He took the coin and made off.
At the Sign of the Tranquil Father, Akbar was awaiting him with his son
Abdul Bey. The latter was in charge of the Turkish Secret Service in Paris,