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+Project Gutenberg’s Peter Ruff and the Double Four, by E. Phillips Oppenheim
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Peter Ruff and the Double Four
+
+Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim
+
+Posting Date: November 7, 2008 [EBook #1976]
+Release Date: November, 1999
+Last Updated: October 11, 2016
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PETER RUFF AND THE DOUBLE FOUR ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer
+
+
+
+
+
+PETER RUFF AND THE DOUBLE FOUR
+
+By E. Phillips Oppenheim
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+BOOK ONE
+
+CHAPTER
+
+     I        INTRODUCING MR. PETER RUFF
+
+     II       A NEW CAREER
+
+     III      VINCENT CAWDOR, COMMISSION AGENT
+
+     IV       THE INDISCRETION OF LETTY SHAW
+
+     V        DELILAH FROM STREATHAM
+
+     VI       THE LITTLE LADY FROM SERVIA
+
+     VII      THE DEMAND OF THE DOUBLE-FOUR
+
+     VIII     MRS. BOGNOR’S STAR BOARDER
+
+     IX       THE PERFIDY OF MISS BROWN
+
+     X        WONDERFUL JOHN DORY
+
+
+
+                 BOOK  TWO
+
+     I        RECALLED BY THE DOUBLE-FOUR
+
+     II       PRINCE ALBERT’S CARD DEBTS
+
+     III      THE AMBASSADOR’S WIFE
+
+     IV       THE  MAN  FROM  THE  OLD  TESTAMENT
+
+     V        THE FIRST SHOT
+
+     VI       THE SEVEN SUPPERS OF ANDREA KORUST
+
+     VII      MAJOR KOSUTH’S MISSION
+
+     VIII     THE MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN
+
+     IX       THE GHOSTS OF HAVANA HARBOR
+
+     X        THE AFFAIR OF AN ALIEN SOCIETY
+
+     XI       THE  THIRTEENTH  ENCOUNTER
+
+
+
+
+BOOK ONE
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. INTRODUCING MR. PETER RUFF
+
+
+There was nothing about the supper party on that particular Sunday
+evening in November at Daisy Villa, Green Street, Streatham, which
+seemed to indicate in any way that one of the most interesting careers
+connected with the world history of crime was to owe its very existence
+to the disaster which befell that little gathering. The villa was the
+residence and also--to his credit--the unmortgaged property of Mr. David
+Barnes, a struggling but fairly prosperous coal merchant of excellent
+character, some means, and Methodist proclivities. His habit of sitting
+without his coat when carving, although deprecated by his wife and
+daughter on account of the genteel aspirations of the latter, was a not
+unusual one in the neighbourhood; and coupled with the proximity of a
+cold joint of beef, his seat at the head of the table, and a carving
+knife and fork grasped in his hands, established clearly the fact of
+his position in the household, which a somewhat weak physiognomy might
+otherwise have led the casual observer to doubt. Opposite him, at the
+other end of the table, sat his wife, Mrs. Barnes, a somewhat voluminous
+lady with a high colour, a black satin frock, and many ornaments. On
+her left the son of the house, eighteen years old, of moderate stature,
+somewhat pimply, with the fashion of the moment reflected in his pink
+tie with white spots, drawn through a gold ring, and curving outwards to
+seek obscurity underneath a dazzling waistcoat. A white tube-rose in
+his buttonhole might have been intended as a sort of compliment to the
+occasion, or an indication of his intention to take a walk after supper
+in the fashionable purlieus of the neighbourhood. Facing him sat his
+sister--a fluffy-haired, blue-eyed young lady, pretty in her way, but
+chiefly noticeable for a peculiar sort of self-consciousness blended
+with self-satisfaction, and possessed only at a certain period in their
+lives by young ladies of her age. It was almost the air of the cat in
+whose interior reposes the missing canary, except that in this instance
+the canary obviously existed in the person of the young man who sat at
+her side, introduced formally to the household for the first time. That
+young man’s name was--at the moment--Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald.
+
+It seems idle to attempt any description of a person who, in the past,
+had secured a certain amount of fame under a varying personality; and
+who, in the future, was to become more than ever notorious under a far
+less aristocratic pseudonym than that by which he was at present known
+to the inhabitants of Daisy Villa. There are photographs of him in New
+York and Paris, St. Petersburg and Chicago, Vienna and Cape Town, but
+there are no two pictures which present to the casual observer the
+slightest likeness to one another. To allude to him by the name under
+which he had won some part, at least, of the affections of Miss Maud
+Barnes, Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald, as he sat there, a suitor on probation
+for her hand, was a young man of modest and genteel appearance. He wore
+a blue serge suit--a little underdressed for the occasion, perhaps; but
+his tie and collar were neat; his gold-rimmed spectacles--if a little
+disapproved of by Maud on account of the air of steadiness which they
+imparted--suggested excellent son-in-lawlike qualities to Mr. and Mrs.
+Barnes. He had the promise of a fair moustache, but his complexion
+generally was colourless. His features, except for a certain regularity,
+were undistinguished. His speech was modest and correct. His manner
+varied with his company. To-night it had been pronounced, by excellent
+judges--genteel.
+
+The conversation consisted--naturally enough, under the
+circumstances--of a course of subtle and judicious pumping, tactfully
+prompted, for the most part, by Mrs. Barnes. Such, for instance, as the
+following:
+
+“Talking about Marie Corelli’s new book reminds me, Mr. Fitzgerald--your
+occupation is connected with books, is it not?” his prospective
+mother-in-law enquired, artlessly.
+
+Mr. Fitzgerald bowed assent.
+
+“I am cashier at Howell & Wilson’s in Cheapside,” he said. “We sell
+a great many books there--as many, I should think, as any retail
+establishment in London.”
+
+“Indeed!” Mrs. Barnes purred. “Very interesting work, I am sure. So nice
+and intellectual, too; for, of course, you must be looking inside them
+sometimes.”
+
+“I know the place well,” Mr. Adolphus Barnes, Junior, announced
+condescendingly,--“pass it every day on my way to lunch.”
+
+“So much nicer,” Mrs. Barnes continued, “than any of the ordinary
+businesses--grocery or drapery, or anything of that sort.”
+
+Miss Maud elevated her eyebrows slightly. Was it likely that she would
+have looked with eyes of favour upon a young man engaged in any of these
+inferior occupations?
+
+“There’s money in books, too,” Mr. Barnes declared with sudden
+inspiration. His prospective son-in-law turned towards him
+deferentially.
+
+“You are right, sir,” he admitted. “There is money in them. There’s
+money for those who write, and there’s money for those who sell. My
+occupation,” he continued, with a modest little cough, “brings me often
+into touch with publishers, travellers and clerks, so I am, as it were,
+behind the scenes to some extent. I can assure you,” he continued,
+looking from Mr. Barnes to his wife, and finally transfixing Mr.
+Adolphus--“I can assure you that the money paid by some firms of
+publishers to a few well-known authors--I will mention no names--as
+advances against royalties, is something stupendous!”
+
+“Ah!” Mr. Barnes murmured, solemnly shaking his head.
+
+“Marie Corelli, I expect, and that Hall Caine,” remarked young Adolphus.
+
+“Seems easy enough to write a book, too,” Mrs. Barnes said. “Why, I
+declare that some of those we get from the library--we subscribe to a
+library, Mr. Fitzgerald--are just as simple and straightforward that
+a child might have written them. No plot whatsoever, no murders or
+mysteries or anything of that sort--just stories about people like
+ourselves. I don’t see how they can pay people for writing stories about
+people just like those one meets every day!”
+
+“I always say,” Maud intervened, “that Spencer means to write a book
+some day. He has quite the literary air, hasn’t he, mother?”
+
+“Indeed he has!” Mrs. Barnes declared, with an appreciative glance at
+the gold-rimmed spectacles.
+
+Mr. Fitzgerald modestly disclaimed any literary aspirations.
+
+“The thing is a gift, after all,” he declared, generously. “I can keep
+accounts, and earn a fair salary at it, but if I attempted fiction I
+should soon be up a tree.”
+
+Mr. Barnes nodded his approval of such sentiments.
+
+“Every one to his trade, I say,” he remarked. “What sort of salaries do
+they pay now in the book trade?” he asked guilelessly.
+
+“Very fair,” Mr. Fitzgerald admitted candidly,--“very fair indeed.”
+
+“When I was your age,” Mr. Barnes said reflectively, “I was getting--let
+me see--forty-two shillings a week. Pretty good pay, too, for those
+days.”
+
+Mr. Fitzgerald admitted the fact.
+
+“Of course,” he said apologetically, “salaries are a little higher now
+all round. Mr. Howell has been very kind to me,--in fact I have had two
+raises this year. I am getting four pounds ten now.”
+
+“Four pounds ten per week?” Mrs. Barnes exclaimed, laying down her knife
+and fork.
+
+“Certainly,” Mr. Fitzgerald answered. “After Christmas, I have some
+reason to believe that it may be five pounds.”
+
+Mr. Barnes whistled softly, and looked at the young man with a new
+respect.
+
+“I told you that--Mr.--that Spencer was doing pretty well, Mother,” Maud
+simpered, looking down at her plate.
+
+“Any one to support?” her father asked, transferring a pickle from the
+fork to his mouth.
+
+“No one,” Mr. Fitzgerald answered. “In fact, I may say that I have
+some small expectations. I haven’t done badly, either, out of the few
+investments I have made from time to time.”
+
+“Saved a bit of money, eh?” Mr. Barnes enquired genially.
+
+“I have a matter of four hundred pounds put by,” Mr. Fitzgerald admitted
+modestly, “besides a few sticks of furniture. I never cared much about
+lodging-house things, so I furnished a couple of rooms myself some time
+ago.”
+
+Mrs. Barnes rose slowly to her feet.
+
+“You are quite sure you won’t have a small piece more of beef?” she
+enquired anxiously.
+
+“Just a morsel?” Mr. Barnes asked, tapping the joint insinuatingly with
+his carving knife.
+
+“No, I thank you!” Mr. Fitzgerald declared firmly. “I have done
+excellently.”
+
+“Then if you will put the joint on the sideboard, Adolphus,” Mrs. Barnes
+directed, “Maud and I will change the plates. We always let the girl go
+out on Sundays, Mr. Fitzgerald,” she explained, turning to their guest.
+“It’s very awkward, of course, but they seem to expect it.”
+
+“Quite natural, I’m sure,” Mr. Fitzgerald murmured, watching Maud’s
+light movements with admiring eyes. “I like to see ladies interested in
+domestic work.”
+
+“There’s one thing I will say for Maud,” her proud mother declared,
+plumping down a dish of jelly upon the table, “she does know what’s what
+in keeping house, and even if she hasn’t to scrape and save as I did
+when David and I were first married, economy is a great thing when
+you’re young. I have always said so, and I stick to it.”
+
+“Quite right, Mother,” Mr. Barnes declared.
+
+“If instead of sitting there,” Mrs. Barnes continued in high good
+humour, “you were to get a bottle of that port wine out of the
+cellarette, we might drink Mr. Fitzgerald’s health, being as it’s his
+first visit.”
+
+Mr. Barnes rose to his feet with alacrity. “For a woman with sound
+ideas,” he declared, “commend me to your mother!”
+
+Maud, having finished her duties, resumed her place by the side of the
+guest of the evening. Their hands met under the tablecloth for a moment.
+To the girl, the pleasure of such a proceeding was natural enough, but
+Fitzgerald asked himself for the fiftieth time why on earth he, who,
+notwithstanding his present modest exterior, was a young man of some
+experience, should from such primitive love-making derive a rapture
+which nothing else in life afforded him. He was, at that moment, content
+with his future,--a future which he had absolutely and finally decided
+upon. He was content with his father-in-law and his mother-in-law, with
+Daisy Villa, and the prospect of a Daisy Villa for himself,--content,
+even, with Adolphus! But for Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald, these things were
+not to be! The awakening was even then at hand.
+
+The dining room of Daisy Villa fronted the street, and was removed from
+it only a few feet. Consequently, the footsteps of passers-by upon the
+flagged pavement were clearly distinguishable. It was just at the moment
+when Mrs. Barnes was inserting a few fresh almonds into a somewhat
+precarious tipsy cake, and Mr. Barnes was engaged with the decanting of
+the port, that two pairs of footsteps, considerably heavier than those
+of the ordinary promenader, paused outside and finally stopped. The gate
+creaked. Mr. Barnes looked up.
+
+“Hullo!” he exclaimed. “What’s that? Visitors?”
+
+They all listened. The front-door bell rang. Adolphus, in response to a
+gesture from his mother, rose sulkily to his feet.
+
+“Job I hate!” he muttered as he left the room.
+
+The rest of the family, full of the small curiosity of people of their
+class, were intent upon listening for voices outside. The demeanour of
+Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald, therefore, escaped their notice. It is doubtful,
+in any case, whether their perceptions would have been sufficiently keen
+to have enabled them to trace the workings of emotion in the countenance
+of a person so magnificently endowed by Providence with the art of
+subterfuge. Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald seemed simply to have stiffened in
+acute and earnest attention. It was only for a moment that he hesitated.
+His unfailing inspiration told him the truth!
+
+His course of action was simple,--he rose to his feet and strolled to
+the window.
+
+“Some people who have lost their way in the fog, perhaps,” he remarked.
+“What a night!”
+
+He laid his hand upon the sash--simultaneously there was a rush of
+cold air into the room, a half-angry, half-frightened exclamation from
+Adolphus in the passage, a scream from Miss Maud--and no Mr. Spencer
+Fitzgerald! No one had time to be more than blankly astonished. The door
+was opened, and a police inspector, in very nice dark braided uniform
+and a peaked cap, stood in the doorway.
+
+Mr. Barnes dropped the port, and Mrs. Barnes, emulating her daughter’s
+example, screamed. The inspector, as though conscious of the draught,
+moved rapidly toward the window.
+
+“You had a visitor here, Mr. Barnes,” he said quickly--“a Mr. Spencer
+Fitzgerald. Where is he?”
+
+There was no one who could answer! Mr. Barnes was speechless between
+the shock of the spilt port and the appearance of a couple of uniformed
+policemen in his dining room. John Dory, the detective, he knew well
+enough in his private capacity, but in his uniform, and attended by
+policemen, he presented a new and startling appearance! Mrs. Barnes was
+in hysterics, and Maud was gazing like a creature turned to stone at
+the open window, through which little puffs of fog were already drifting
+into the room. Adolphus, with an air of bewilderment, was standing with
+his mouth and eyes wider open than they had ever been in his life. And
+as for the honoured guest of these admirable inhabitants of Daisy Villa,
+there was not the slightest doubt but that Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald had
+disappeared through the window!
+
+
+Fitzgerald’s expedition was nearly at an end. Soon he paused, crossed
+the road to a block of flats, ascended to the eighth floor by an
+automatic lift, and rang the bell at a door which bore simply the number
+II. A trim parlourmaid opened it after a few minutes’ delay.
+
+“Is Miss Emerson at home?” he asked.
+
+“Miss Emerson is in,” the maid admitted, with some hesitation, “but I am
+not sure that she will see any one to-night.”
+
+“I have a message for her,” Fitzgerald said.
+
+“Will you give me your name, sir, please?” the maid asked.
+
+An inner door was suddenly opened. A slim girl, looking taller than she
+really was by reason of the rug upon which she stood, looked out into
+the hall--a girl with masses of brown hair loosely coiled on her head,
+with pale face and strange eyes. She opened her lips as though to call
+to her visitor by name, and as suddenly closed them again. There was not
+much expression in her face, but there was enough to show that his visit
+was not unwelcome.
+
+“You!” she exclaimed. “Come in! Please come in at once!”
+
+Fitzgerald obeyed the invitation of the girl whom he had come to visit.
+She had retreated a little into the room, but the door was no sooner
+closed than she held out her hands.
+
+“Peter!” she exclaimed. “Peter, you have come to me at last!”
+
+Her lips were a little parted; her eyes were bright with pleasure; her
+whole expression was one of absolute delight. Fitzgerald frowned, as
+though he found her welcome a little too enthusiastic for his taste.
+
+“Violet,” he said, “please don’t look at me as though I were a prodigal
+sheep. If you do, I shall be sorry that I came.”
+
+Her hands fell to her side, the pleasure died out of her face--only her
+eyes still questioned him. Fitzgerald carefully laid his hat on a vacant
+chair.
+
+“Something has happened?” she said. “Tell me that all that madness is
+over--that you are yourself again!”
+
+“So far as regards my engagement with Messrs. Howell & Wilson,” he said,
+despondently, “you are right. As regards--Miss Barnes, there has been
+no direct misunderstanding between us, but I am afraid, for the present,
+that I must consider that--well, in abeyance.”
+
+“That is something!” she exclaimed, drawing a little breath of relief.
+“Sit down, Peter. Will you have something to eat? I finished dinner an
+hour ago, but--”
+
+“Thank you,” Fitzgerald interrupted, “I supped--extremely well in
+Streatham!”
+
+“In Streatham!” she repeated. “Why, how did you get there? The fog is
+awful.”
+
+“Fogs do not trouble me,” Fitzgerald answered. “I walked. I could have
+done it as well blindfold. I will take a whisky and soda, if I may.”
+
+She led him to an easy-chair.
+
+“I will mix it myself,” she said.
+
+Without being remarkably good-looking, she was certainly a pleasant
+and attractive-looking young woman. Her cheeks were a little pale; her
+hair--perfectly natural--was a wonderful deep shade of soft brown. Her
+eyes were long and narrow--almost Oriental in shape--and they seemed
+in some queer way to match the room; he could have sworn that in the
+firelight they flashed green. Her body and limbs, notwithstanding her
+extreme slightness, were graceful, perhaps, but with the grace of the
+tigress. She wore a green silk dressing jacket, pulled together with a
+belt of lizard skin, and her neck was bare. Her skirt was of some thin
+black material. She was obviously in deshabille, and yet there was
+something neat and trim about the smaller details of her toilette.
+
+“Go on, please, Peter,” she begged. “You are keeping me in suspense.”
+
+“There isn’t much to tell,” he answered. “It’s over--that’s all.”
+
+She drew a sharp breath through her teeth.
+
+“You are not going to marry that girl--that bourgeois doll in
+Streatham?”
+
+Fitzgerald sat up in his chair.
+
+“Look here,” he said, seriously, “don’t you call her names. If I’m not
+going to marry her, it isn’t my fault. She is the only girl I have ever
+wanted, and probably--most probably--she will be the only one I ever
+shall want. That’s honest, isn’t it?”
+
+The girl winced.
+
+“Yes,” she said, “it is honest!”
+
+“I should have married her,” the young man continued, “and I should have
+been happy. I had my eye on a villa--not too near her parents--and I saw
+my way to a little increase of salary. I should have taken to gardening,
+to walks in the Park, with an occasional theatre, and I should
+have thoroughly enjoyed a fortnight every summer at Skegness or
+Sutton-on-Sea. We should have saved a little money. I should have gone
+to church regularly, and if possible I should have filled some
+minor public offices. You may call this bourgeois--it was my idea of
+happiness.”
+
+“Was!” she murmured.
+
+“Is still,” he declared, sharply, “but I shall never attain to it.
+To-night I had to leave Maud--to leave the supper table of Daisy
+Villa--through the window!”
+
+She looked at him in amazement.
+
+“The police,” he explained. “That brute Dory was at the bottom of it.”
+
+“But surely,” she murmured, “you told me that you had a bona-fide
+situation--”
+
+“So I had,” he declared, “and I was a fool not to be content with it.
+It was my habit of taking long country walks, and their rotten auditing,
+which undid me! You understand that this was all before I met Maud?
+Since the day I spoke to her, I turned over a new leaf. I have left the
+night work alone, and I repaid every penny of the firm’s money which
+they could ever have possibly found out about. There was only that one
+little affair of mine down at Sudbury.”
+
+“Tell me what you are going to do?” she whispered.
+
+“I have no alternative,” he answered. “The law has kicked me out from
+the respectable places. The law shall pay!”
+
+She looked at him with glowing eyes.
+
+“Have you any plans?” she asked, softly.
+
+“I have,” he answered. “I have considered the subject from a good many
+points of view, and I have decided to start in business for myself as a
+private detective.”
+
+She raised her eyebrows.
+
+“My dear Peter!” she murmured. “Couldn’t you be a little more original?”
+
+“That is only what I am going to call myself,” he answered. “I may tell
+you that I am going to strike out on somewhat new lines.”
+
+“Please explain,” she begged.
+
+He recrossed his knees and made himself a little more comfortable.
+
+“The weak part of every great robbery, however successful,” he began,
+“is the great wastage in value which invariably results. For jewels
+which cost--say five thousand pounds, and to procure which the artist
+has to risk his life as well as his liberty, he has to consider
+himself lucky if he clears eight hundred. For the Hermitage rubies, for
+instance, where I nearly had to shoot a man dead, I realized rather less
+than four hundred pounds. It doesn’t pay.”
+
+“Go on,” she begged.
+
+“I am not clear,” he continued, “how far this class of business will
+attract me at all, but I do not propose, in any case, to enter into any
+transactions on my own account. I shall work for other people, and for
+cash down. Your experience of life, Violet, has been fairly large. Have
+you not sometimes come into contact with people driven into a situation
+from which they would willingly commit any crime to escape if they
+dared? It is not with them a question of money at all--it is simply a
+matter of ignorance. They do not know how to commit a crime. They have
+had no experience, and if they attempt it, they know perfectly well that
+they are likely to blunder. A person thoroughly experienced in the ways
+of criminals--a person of genius like myself--would have, without a
+doubt, an immense clientele, if only he dared put up his signboard.
+Literally, I cannot do that. Actually, I mean to do so! I shall be
+willing to accept contracts either to help nervous people out of an
+undesirable crisis; or, on the other hand, to measure my wits against
+the wits of Scotland Yard, and to discover the criminals whom they have
+failed to secure. I shall make my own bargains, and I shall be paid in
+cash. I shall take on nothing that I am not certain about.”
+
+“But your clients?” she asked, curiously. “How will you come into
+contact with them?”
+
+He smiled.
+
+“I am not afraid of business being slack,” he said. “The world is full
+of fools.”
+
+“You cannot live outside the law, Peter,” she objected. “You are clever,
+I know, but they are not all fools at Scotland Yard.”
+
+“You forget,” he reminded her, “that there will be a perfectly
+legitimate side to my profession. The other sort of case I shall only
+accept if I can see my way clear to make a success of it. Needless to
+say, I shall have to refuse the majority that are offered to me.”
+
+She came a little nearer to him.
+
+“In any case,” she said, with a little sigh, “you have given up that
+foolish, bourgeois life of yours?”
+
+He looked down into her face, and his eyes were cold.
+
+“Violet,” he said, “this is no time for misunderstandings. I should
+like you to know that apart from one young lady, who possesses my whole
+affection--”
+
+“All of it?” she pleaded.
+
+“All!” he declared emphatically. “She will doubtless be faithless to
+me--under the circumstances, I cannot blame her--but so far as I am
+concerned, I have no affection whatever for any one else.”
+
+She crept back to her place.
+
+“I could be so useful to you,” she murmured.
+
+“You could and you shall, if you will be sensible,” he answered.
+
+“Tell me how?” she begged.
+
+He was silent for a moment.
+
+“Are you acting now?” he asked.
+
+“I am understudying Molly,” she answered, “and I have a very small part
+at the Globe.”
+
+He nodded.
+
+“There is no reason to interfere with that,” he said, “in fact, I wish
+you to continue your connection with the profession. It brings you into
+touch with the class of people among whom I am likely to find clients.”
+
+“Go on, please,” she begged.
+
+“On two conditions--or rather one,” he said, “you can, if you like,
+become my secretary and partner--and find the money we shall require to
+make a start.”
+
+“Conditions?” she asked.
+
+“You must understand, once and for all,” he said, “that I will not be
+made love to, and that I can treat you only as a working; companion. My
+name will be Peter Ruff, and yours Miss Brown. You will have to dress
+like a secretary, and behave like one. Sometimes there will be plenty
+of work for you, and sometimes there will be none at all. Sometimes you
+will be bored to death, and sometimes there will be excitement. I do not
+wish to make you vain, but I may add, especially as you are aware of my
+personal feelings toward you, that you are the only person in the world
+to whom I would make this offer.”
+
+She sighed gently.
+
+“Tell me, Peter,” she asked, “when do you mean to start this new
+enterprise?”
+
+“Not for six months--perhaps a year,” he answered. “I must go to
+Paris--perhaps Vienna. I might even have to go to New York. There
+are certain associations with which I must come into touch--certain
+information I must become possessed of.”
+
+“Peter,” she said, “I like your scheme, but there is just one thing.
+Such men as you should be the brains of great enterprises. Don’t you
+understand what I mean? It shouldn’t be you who does the actual thing
+which brings you within the power of the law. I am not over-scrupulous,
+you know. I hate wrongdoing, but I have never been able to treat as
+equal criminals the poor man who steals for a living, and the rich
+financier who robs right and left out of sheer greed. I agree with you
+that crime is not an absolute thing. The circumstances connected with
+every action in life determine its morality or immorality. But, Peter,
+it isn’t worth while to go outside the law!”
+
+He nodded.
+
+“You are a sensible girl,” he said, “I have always thought that. We’ll
+talk over my cases together, if they seem to run a little too close to
+the line.”
+
+“Very well, Peter,” she said, “I accept.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. A NEW CAREER
+
+
+About twelve months after the interrupted festivities at Daisy Villa,
+that particular neighbourhood was again the scene of some rejoicing.
+Standing before the residence of Mr. Barnes were three carriages, drawn
+in each case by a pair of grey horses. The coachmen and their steeds
+were similarly adorned with white rosettes. It would have been an insult
+to the intelligence of the most youthful of the loungers-by to have
+informed them that a wedding was projected.
+
+At the neighbouring church all was ready. The clerk stood at the door,
+the red drugget was down, the usual little crowd were standing all agog
+upon the pavement. There was one unusual feature of the proceedings:
+Instead of a solitary policeman, there were at least a dozen who kept
+clear the entrance to the church. Their presence greatly puzzled a
+little old gentleman who had joined the throng of sightseers. He pushed
+himself to the front and touched one of them upon the shoulder.
+
+“Mr. Policeman,” he said, “will you tell me why there are so many of you
+to keep such a small crowd in order?”
+
+“Bridegroom’s a member of the force, sir, for one reason,” the man
+answered good-humouredly.
+
+“And the other?” the old gentleman persisted.
+
+The policeman behaved as though he had not heard--a proceeding which his
+natural stolidity rendered easy. The little old gentleman, however, was
+not so easily put off. He tapped the man once more upon the shoulder.
+
+“And the other reason, Mr. Policeman?” he asked insinuatingly.
+
+“Not allowed to talk about that, sir,” was the somewhat gruff reply.
+
+The little old gentleman moved away, a trifle hurt. He was a very nicely
+dressed old gentleman indeed, and everything about him seemed to savour
+of prosperity. But he was certainly garrulous. An obviously invited
+guest was standing upon the edge of the pavement stroking a pair of
+lavender kid gloves. The little old gentleman sidled up to him.
+
+“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said, raising his hat. “I am just back from
+Australia--haven’t seen a wedding in England for fifty years. Do you
+think that they would let me into the church?”
+
+The invited guest looked down at his questioner and approved of him.
+Furthermore, he seemed exceedingly glad to be interrupted in his
+somewhat nervous task of waiting for the wedding party.
+
+“Certainly, sir,” he replied cheerfully. “Come along in with me, and
+I’ll find you a seat.”
+
+Down the scarlet drugget they went--the big best man with the red hands
+and the lavender kid gloves and the opulent-looking old gentleman with
+the gold-rimmed spectacles and the handsome walking stick.
+
+“Dear me, this is very interesting!” the latter remarked. “Is it
+the custom, sir, always, may I ask, in this country, to have so many
+policemen at a wedding?”
+
+The big man looked downward and shook his head.
+
+“Special reason,” he said mysteriously. “Fact is, young lady was engaged
+once to a very bad character--a burglar whom the police have been
+wanting for years. He had to leave the country, but he has written her
+once or twice since in a mysterious sort of way--wanted her to be true
+to him, and all that sort of thing. Dory--that’s the bridegroom--has got
+a sort of an idea that he may turn up to-day.”
+
+“This is very exciting--very!” the little old gentleman remarked.
+“Reminds me of our younger days out in Australia.”
+
+“You sit down here,” the best man directed, ushering his companion
+into an empty pew. “I must get back again outside, or I shall have the
+bridegroom arriving.”
+
+“Good-day to you, sir, and many thanks!” the little old gentleman said
+politely.
+
+Soon the bridegroom arrived--a smart young officer, well thought of at
+Scotland Yard, well set up, wearing a long tail coat a lilac and white
+tie, and shaking in every limb. He walked up the aisle accompanied by
+the best man, and the little old gentleman from Australia watched him
+genially from behind those gold-rimmed glasses. And, then, scarcely was
+he at the altar rails when through the open church door one heard the
+sounds of horses’ feet, one heard a rustle, the murmur of voices, caught
+a glimpse of a waiting group arranging themselves finally in the porch
+of the church. Maud, on the arm of her father, came slowly up the aisle.
+The little old gentleman turned his head as though this was something
+upon which he feared to look. He saw nothing of Mr. Barnes, in a new
+coat, with tuberose and spray of maidenhair in his coat, and exceedingly
+tight patent leather boots on his feet; he saw nothing of Mrs. Barnes,
+clad in a gown of the lightest magenta, with a bonnet smothered with
+violets.
+
+It was in the vestry that the only untoward incident of that highly
+successful wedding took place. The ceremony was over! Bride, bridegroom
+and parents trooped in. And when the register was opened, one witness
+had already signed! In the clear, precise writing his name stood out
+upon the virgin page--
+
+Spencer Fitzgerald
+
+
+The bridegroom swore, the bride nearly collapsed. The clerk pressed into
+the hands of the latter an envelope.
+
+“From the little old gentleman,” he announced, “who was fussing round
+the church this morning.”
+
+Mrs. Dory tore it open and gave a cry of delight. A diamond cross, worth
+all the rest of her presents put together, flashed soft lights from a
+background of dull velvet. Her husband had looked over her shoulder, and
+with a scowl seized the morocco case and threw it far from him.
+
+It was the only disturbing incident of a highly successful function!
+
+At precisely the same moment when the wedding guests were seated
+around the hospitable board of Daisy Villa, a celebration of a somewhat
+different nature was taking place in the more aristocratic neighbourhood
+of Curzon Street. Here, however, the little party was a much smaller
+one, and the innocent gaiety of the gathering at Daisy Villa was
+entirely lacking. The luncheon table around which the four men were
+seated presented all the unlovely signs of a meal where self-restraint
+had been abandoned--where conviviality has passed the bounds of licence.
+Edibles were represented only by a single dish of fruit; the tablecloth,
+stained with wine and cigar ash, seemed crowded with every sort of
+bottle and every sort of glass. A magnum of champagne, empty, another
+half full, stood in the middle of the table; whisky, brandy, liqueurs of
+various sorts were all represented; glasses--some full, some empty, some
+filled with cigar ash and cigarette stumps--an ugly sight!
+
+The guest in chief arose. Short, thick-set, red-faced, with bulbous
+eyes, and veins about his temples which just now were unpleasantly
+prominent, he seemed, indeed, a very fitting person to have been the
+recipient of such hospitality. He stood clutching a little at the
+tablecloth and swaying upon his feet. He spoke as a drunken man, but
+such words as he pronounced clearly showed him to be possessed of a
+voice naturally thick and raspy. It was obvious that he was a person of
+entirely different class from his three companions.
+
+“G--gentlemen,” he said, “I must be off. I thank you very much for
+this--hospitality. Honoured, I’m sure, to have sat down in such--such
+company. Good afternoon, all!”
+
+He lurched a little toward the door, but his neighbour at the table--who
+was also his host--caught hold of his coat tail and pulled him back into
+his chair.
+
+“No hurry, Masters,” he said. “One more liqueur, eh? It’s a raw
+afternoon.”
+
+“N--not another drop, Sir Richard!” the man declared. “Not another drop
+to drink. I am very much obliged to you all, but I must be off. Must be
+off,” he repeated, making another effort to rise.
+
+His host held him by the arm. The man resented it--he showed signs of
+anger.
+
+“D--n it all! I--I’m not a prisoner, am I?” he exclaimed angrily. “Tell
+you I’ve got--appointment--club. Can’t you see it’s past five o’clock?”
+
+“That’s all right, Masters,” the man whom he had addressed as Sir
+Richard declared soothingly. “We want just a word with you on business
+first, before you go--Colonel Dickinson, Lord Merries and myself.”
+
+Masters shook his head.
+
+“See you to-morrow,” he declared. “No time to talk business now. Let me
+go!”
+
+He made another attempt to rise, which his host also prevented.
+
+“Masters, don’t be a fool!” the latter said firmly. “You’ve got to hear
+what we want to say to you. Sit down and listen.”
+
+Masters relapsed sullenly into his chair. His little eyes seemed to
+creep closer to one another. So they wanted to talk business! Perhaps
+it was for that reason that they had bidden him sit at their table--had
+entertained him so well! The very thought cleared his brain.
+
+“Go on,” he said shortly.
+
+Sir Richard lit a cigarette and leaned further back in his chair. He was
+a man apparently about fifty years of age--tall, well dressed, with good
+features, save for his mouth, which resembled more than anything a
+rat trap. He was perfectly bald, and he had the air of a man who was a
+careful liver. His eyes were bright, almost beadlike; his fingers long
+and a trifle over-manicured. One would have judged him to be what he
+was--a man of fashion and a patron of the turf.
+
+“Masters,” he said, “we are all old friends here. We want to speak to
+you plainly. We three have had a try, as you know--Merries, Dickinson
+and myself--to make the coup of our lives. We failed, and we’re up
+against it hard.”
+
+“Very hard, indeed,” Lord Merries murmured softly.
+
+“Deuced hard!” Colonel Dickinson echoed.
+
+Masters was sitting tight, breathing a little hard, looking fixedly at
+his host.
+
+“Take my own case first,” the latter continued. “I am Sir Richard Dyson,
+ninth baronet, with estates in Wiltshire and Scotland, and a town
+house in Cleveland Place. I belong to the proper clubs for a man in my
+position, and, somehow or other--we won’t say how--I have managed to pay
+my way. There isn’t an acre of my property that isn’t mortgaged for more
+than its value. My town house--well, it doesn’t belong to me at all! I
+have twenty-six thousand pounds to pay you on Monday. To save my life, I
+could not raise twenty-six thousand farthings! So much for me.”
+
+The man Masters ground his teeth.
+
+“So much for you!” he muttered.
+
+“Take the case next,” Sir Richard continued, “of my friend Merries
+here. Merries is an Earl, it is true, but he never had a penny to bless
+himself with. He’s tried acting, reporting, marrying--anything to make
+an honest living. So far, I am afraid we must consider Lord Merries as
+something of a failure, eh?”
+
+“A rotten failure, I should say,” that young nobleman declared gloomily.
+
+“Lord Merries is, to put it briefly, financially unsound,” Sir Richard
+declared.
+
+“What is the amount of your debt to Mr. Masters, Jim?”
+
+“Eleven thousand two hundred pounds,” Lord Merries answered.
+
+“And we may take it, I presume, for granted that you have not that sum,
+nor anything like it, at your disposal?” Sir Richard asked.
+
+“Not a fiver!” Lord Merries declared with emphasis.
+
+“We come now, Mr. Masters, to our friend Colonel Dickinson,” Sir
+Richard continued. “Colonel Dickinson is, perhaps, in a more favourable
+situation than any of us. He has a small but regular income, and he has
+expectations which it is not possible to mortgage fully. At the same
+time, it will be many years before they can--er--fructify. He is,
+therefore, with us in this somewhat unpleasant predicament in which we
+find ourselves.”
+
+“Cut it short,” Masters growled. “I’m sick of so much talk. What’s it
+all mean?”
+
+“It means simply this, Mr. Masters,” Sir Richard said, “we want you to
+take six months’ bills for our indebtedness to you.”
+
+Masters rose to his feet. His thick lips were drawn a little apart. He
+had the appearance of a savage and discontented animal.
+
+“So that’s why I’ve been asked here and fed up with wine and stuff, eh?”
+ he exclaimed thickly. “Well, my answer to you is soon given. NO! I’ll
+take bills from no man! My terms are cash on settling day--cash to pay
+or cash to receive. I’ll have no other!”
+
+Sir Richard rose also to his feet.
+
+“Mr. Masters, I beg of you to be reasonable,” he said. “You will do
+yourself no good by adopting this attitude. Facts are facts. We haven’t
+got a thousand pounds between us.”
+
+“I’ve heard that sort of a tale before,” Masters answered, with a sneer.
+“Job Masters is too old a bird to be caught by such chaff. I’ll take my
+risks, gentlemen. I’ll take my risks.”
+
+He moved toward the door. No one spoke a word. The silence as he crossed
+the room seemed a little ominous. He looked over his shoulder. They were
+all three standing in their places, looking at him. A vague sense of
+uneasiness disturbed his equanimity.
+
+“No offence, gents,” he said, “and good afternoon!”
+
+Still no reply. He reached the door and turned the handle. The door
+was fast. He shook it--gently at first, and then violently. Suddenly he
+realized that it was locked. He turned sharply around.
+
+“What game’s this?” he exclaimed, fiercely. “Let me out!”
+
+They stood in their places without movement. There was something a
+little ominous in their silence. Masters was fast becoming a sober man.
+
+“Let me out of here,” he exclaimed, “or I’ll break the door down!”
+
+Sir Richard Dyson came slowly towards him. There was something in his
+appearance which terrified Masters. He raised his fist to strike the
+door. He was a fighting man, but he felt a sudden sense of impotence.
+
+“Mr. Masters,” Sir Richard said suavely, “the truth is that we cannot
+afford to let you go--unless you agree to do what we have asked. You
+see we really have not the money or any way of raising it--and the
+inconvenience of being posted you have yourself very ably pointed out.
+Change your mind, Mr. Masters. Take those bills. We’ll do our best to
+meet them.”
+
+“I’ll do nothing of the sort,” Masters answered, striking the door
+fiercely with his clenched fist. “I’ll have cash--nothing but the cash!”
+
+There was a dull, sickening thud, and the bookmaker went over like a
+shot rabbit. His legs twitched for a moment--a little moan that was
+scarcely audible broke from his lips. Then he lay quite still. Sir
+Richard bent over him with the life preserver still in his hand.
+
+“I’ve done it!” he muttered, hoarsely. “One blow! Thank Heaven, he
+didn’t want another! His skull was as soft as pudding! Ugh!”
+
+He turned away. The man who lay stretched upon the floor was an ugly
+sight. His two companions, cowering over the table, were not much
+better. Dyson’s trembling fingers went out for the brandy decanter. Half
+of what he poured out was spilled upon the tablecloth. The rest he drank
+from a tumbler, neat.
+
+“It’s nervous work, this, you fellows,” he said, hoarsely.
+
+“It’s hellish!” Dickinson answered. “Let’s have some air in the room. By
+God, it’s close!”
+
+He sank back into his chair, white to the lips. Dyson looked at him
+sharply.
+
+“Look here,” he exclaimed, “I hold you both to our bargain! I was to be
+the one he attacked and who struck the blow--in self-defence! Remember
+that--it was in self-defence! I’ve done it! I’ve done my share! I hope
+to God I’ll forget it some day. Andrew, you know your task. Be a man,
+and get to work!”
+
+Dickinson rose to his feet unsteadily. “Yes!” he said. “What was it? I
+have forgotten, for the moment, but I am ready.”
+
+“You must get his betting book from his pocket,” Sir Richard directed.
+“Then you must help Merries downstairs with him, and into the car.
+Merries is--to get rid of him.”
+
+Merries shivered. His hand, too, went out for the brandy.
+
+“To get rid of him,” he muttered. “It sounds easy!”
+
+“It is easy,” Sir Richard declared. “You have only to keep your nerve,
+and the thing is done. No one will see him inside the car, in that
+motoring coat and glasses. You can drive somewhere out into the country
+and leave him.”
+
+“Leave him!” Merries repeated, trembling. “Leave him--yes!”
+
+Neither of the two men moved.
+
+“I must do more than my share, I suppose,” Sir Richard declared
+contemptuously. “Come!”
+
+They dragged the man’s body on to a chair, wrapped a huge coat around
+him, tied a motoring cap under his chin, fixed goggles over his eyes.
+Sir Richard strolled into the hall and opened the front door. He stood
+there for a moment, looking up and down the street. When he gave
+the signal they dragged him out, supported between them, across the
+pavement, into the car. Ugh! His attitude was so natural as to be
+absolutely ghastly. Merries started the car and sprang into the driver’s
+seat. There were people in the Square now, but the figure reclining in
+the dark, cushioned interior looked perfectly natural.
+
+“So long, Jimmy,” Sir Richard called out. “See you this evening.”
+
+“Right O!” Merries replied, with a brave effort.
+
+
+Peter Ruff, summoned by telephone from his sitting room, slipped down
+the stairs like a cat--noiseless, swift. The voice which had
+summoned him had been the voice of his secretary--a voice almost
+unrecognisable--a voice shaken with fear. Fear? No, it had been terror!
+
+On the landing below, exactly underneath the room from which he had
+descended, there was a door upon which his name was written upon a small
+brass plate--Mr. Peter Ruff. He opened and closed it behind him with
+a swift movement which he had practised in his idle moments. He found
+himself looking in upon a curious scene.
+
+Miss Brown, with the radiance of her hair effectually concealed, in
+plain black skirt and simple blouse--the ideal secretary--had risen from
+the seat in front of her typewriter, and was standing facing the door
+through which he had entered, with a small revolver--which he had
+given her for a birthday present only the day before--clasped in her
+outstretched hand. The object of her solicitude was, it seemed to Peter
+Ruff, the most pitiful-looking object upon which he had ever looked. The
+hours had dwelt with Merries as the years with some people, and worse.
+He had lost his cap; his hair hung over his forehead in wild confusion;
+his eyes were red, bloodshot, and absolutely aflame with the terrors
+through which he had lived--underneath them the black marks might have
+been traced with a charcoal pencil. His cheeks were livid save for one
+burning spot. His clothes, too, were in disorder--the starch had gone
+from his collar, his tie hung loosely outside his waistcoat. He was
+cowering back against the wall. And between him and the girl, stretched
+upon the floor, was the body of a man in a huge motor coat, a limp,
+inert mass which neither moved nor seemed to have any sign of life. No
+wonder that Peter Ruff looked around his office, whose serenity had been
+so tragically disturbed, with an air of mild surprise.
+
+“Dear me,” he exclaimed, “something seems to have happened! My dear
+Violet, you can put that revolver away. I have secured the door.”
+
+Her hand fell to her side. She gave a little shiver of relief. Peter
+Ruff nodded.
+
+“That is more comfortable,” he declared. “Now, perhaps, you will
+explain--”
+
+“That young man,” she interrupted, “or lunatic--whatever he calls
+himself--burst in here a few minutes ago, dragging--that!” She pointed
+to the motionless figure upon the floor. “If I had not stopped him, he
+would have bolted off without a word of explanation.”
+
+Peter Ruff, with his back against the door, shook his head gravely.
+
+“My dear Lord Merries,” he said, “my office is not a mortuary.”
+
+Merries gasped.
+
+“You know me, then?” he muttered, hoarsely.
+
+“Of course,” Ruff answered. “It is my profession to know everybody. Go
+and sit down upon that easy-chair, and drink the brandy and soda which
+Miss Brown is about to mix for you. That’s right.”
+
+Merries staggered across the room and half fell into an easy-chair. He
+leaned over the side with his face buried in his hands, unable still
+to face the horror which lay upon the floor. A few seconds later, the
+tumbler of brandy and soda was in his hands. He drank it like a man who
+drains fresh life into his veins.
+
+“Perhaps now,” Peter Ruff suggested, pointing to the motionless figure,
+“you can give me some explanation as to this!”
+
+Merries looked away from him all the time he was speaking. His voice was
+thick and nervous.
+
+“There were three of us lunching together,” he began--“four in all.
+There was a dispute, and this man threatened us. Afterwards there was a
+fight. It fell to my lot to take him away, and I can’t get rid of him!
+I can’t get rid of him!” he repeated, with something that sounded like a
+sob.
+
+“I still do not see,” Peter Ruff argued, “why you should have brought
+him here and deposited him upon my perfectly new carpet.”
+
+“You are Peter Ruff,” Merries declared. “‘Crime Investigator and Private
+Detective,’ you call yourself. You are used to this sort of thing. You
+will know what to do with it. It is part of your business.”
+
+“I can assure you,” Peter Ruff answered, “that you are under a delusion
+as to the details of my profession. I am Peter Ruff,” he admitted, “and
+I call myself a crime investigator--in fact, I am the only one worth
+speaking of in the world. But I certainly deny that I am used to
+having dead bodies deposited upon my carpet, and that I make a habit of
+disposing of them--especially gratis.”
+
+Merries tore open his coat.
+
+“Listen,” he said, his voice shaking hysterically, “I must get rid of
+it or go mad. For two hours I have been driving about in a motor car
+with--it for a passenger. I drove to a quiet spot and I tried to lift
+it out--a policeman rode up! I tried again, a man rushed by on a motor
+cycle, and turned to look at me! I tried a few minutes later--the
+policeman came back! It was always the same. The night seemed to have
+eyes. I was watched everywhere. The--the face began to mock me. I’ll
+swear that I heard it chuckle once!”
+
+Peter Ruff moved a little further away.
+
+“I don’t think I’ll have anything to do with it,” he declared. “I don’t
+like your description at all.”
+
+“It’ll be all right with you,” Merries declared eagerly. “It’s my
+nerves, that’s all. You see, I was there--when the accident happened.
+See here,” he added, tearing a pocketbook from his coat, “I have three
+hundred and seventy pounds saved up in case I had to bolt. I’ll keep
+seventy--three hundred for you--to dispose of it!”
+
+Ruff leaned over the motionless body, looked into its face, and nodded.
+
+“Masters, the bookmaker,” he remarked. “H’m! I did hear that he had a
+lot of money coming to him over the Cambridgeshire.”
+
+Merries shuddered.
+
+“May I go?” he pleaded. “There’s the three hundred on the table. For
+God’s sake, let me go!”
+
+Peter Ruff nodded.
+
+“I wish you’d saved a little more,” he said. “However--”
+
+He turned the lock and Merries rushed out of the room. Ruff looked
+across the room towards his secretary.
+
+“Ring up 1535 Central,” he ordered, sharply.
+
+
+
+Peter Ruff had descended from his apartments on the top floor of the
+building, in a new brown suit with which he was violently displeased, to
+meet a caller.
+
+“I am sorry to intrude--Mr. Ruff, I believe it is?” Sir Richard Dyson
+said, a little irritably--“but I have not a great deal of time to
+spare--”
+
+“Most natural!” Peter Ruff declared. “Pray take a chair, Sir Richard.
+You want to know, of course, about Lord Merries and poor Masters.”
+
+Sir Richard stared at his questioner, for a moment, without speech. Once
+more the fear which he had succeeded in banishing for a while, shone in
+his eyes--revealed itself in his white face.
+
+“Try the easy-chair, Sir Richard,” Ruff continued, pleasantly. “Leave
+your hat and cane on the table there, and make yourself comfortable. I
+should like to understand exactly what you have come to me for.”
+
+Sir Richard moved his head toward Miss Brown.
+
+“My business with you,” he said, “is more than ordinarily private. I
+have the honour of knowing Miss--”
+
+“Miss Brown,” Peter interrupted quickly. “In these offices, this young
+lady’s name is Miss Violet Brown.”
+
+Sir Richard shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“It is of no importance,” he said, “only, as you may understand, my
+business with you scarcely requires the presence of a third party, even
+one with the discretion which I am sure Miss--Brown possesses.”
+
+“In these matters,” Ruff answered, “my secretary does not exist apart
+from myself. Her presence is necessary. She takes down in shorthand
+notes of our conversation. I have a shocking memory, and there are
+always points which I forget. At the conclusion of our business,
+whatever it may be, these notes are destroyed. I could not work without
+them, however.”
+
+Sir Richard glanced a little doubtfully at the long, slim back of the
+girl who sat with her face turned away from him. “Of course,” he began,
+“if you make yourself personally responsible for her discretion--”
+
+“I am willing to do so,” Ruff interrupted, brusquely. “I guarantee it.
+Go on, please.”
+
+“I do not know, of course, where you got your information from,” Sir
+Richard began, “but it is perfectly true that I have come here to
+consult you upon a matter in which the two people whose names you have
+mentioned are concerned. The disappearance of Job Masters is, of course,
+common talk; but I cannot tell what has led you to associate with it the
+temporary absence of Lord Merries from this country.”
+
+“Let me ask you this question,” Ruff said. “How are you affected by the
+disappearance of Masters?”
+
+“Indirectly, it has caused me a great deal of inconvenience,” Sir
+Richard declared.
+
+“Facts, please,” murmured Peter.
+
+“It has been rumoured,” Sir Richard admitted, “that I owed Masters a
+large sum of money which I could not pay.”
+
+“Anything else?”
+
+“It has also been rumoured,” Sir Richard continued, “that he was seen
+to enter my house that day, and that he remained there until late in the
+afternoon.”
+
+“Did he?” asked Ruff.
+
+“Certainly not,” Sir Richard answered.
+
+Peter Ruff yawned for a moment, but covered the indiscretion with his
+hand.
+
+“Respecting this inconvenience,” he said, “which you admit that the
+disappearance of Job Masters has caused you, what is its tangible side?”
+
+Sir Richard drew his chair a little nearer to the table where Ruff was
+sitting. His voice dropped almost to a whisper.
+
+“It seems absurd,” he said, “and yet, what I tell you is the truth. I
+have been followed about--shadowed, in fact--for several days. Men, even
+in my own social circle, seem to hold aloof from me. It is as though,”
+ he continued slowly, “people were beginning to suspect me of being
+connected in some way with the man’s disappearance.”
+
+Ruff, who had been making figures with a pencil on the edge of his
+blotting paper, suddenly turned round. His eyes flashed with a new light
+as they became fixed upon his companion’s.
+
+“And are you not?” he asked, calmly. Sir Richard bore himself well. For
+a moment he had shrunk back. Then he half rose to his feet.
+
+“Mr. Ruff!” he said. “I must protest--”
+
+“Stop!”
+
+Peter Ruff used no violent gesture. Only his forefinger tapped the desk
+in front of him. His voice was as smooth as velvet.
+
+“Tell me as much or as little as you please, Sir Richard,” he said, “but
+let that little or that much be the truth! On those terms only I may
+be able to help you. You do not go to your physician and expect him to
+prescribe to you while you conceal your symptoms, or to your lawyer for
+advice and tell him half the truth. I am not asking for your confidence.
+I simply tell you that you are wasting your time and mine if you choose
+to withhold it.”
+
+Sir Richard was silent. He recognized a new quality in the man--but the
+truth was an awful thing to tell! He considered--then told.
+
+Ruff briskly asked two questions. “In alluding to your heavy settlement
+with Masters, you said just now that you could not have paid him--then.”
+
+“Quite so,” Sir Richard admitted. “That is the rotten part of the whole
+affair. Four days later a wonderful double came off--one in which we
+were all interested, and one which not one of us expected. We’ve drawn a
+considerable amount already from one or two bookies, and I believe even
+Masters owes us a bit now.”
+
+“Thank you,” Ruff said. “I think that I know everything now. My fee is
+five hundred guineas.”
+
+Sir Richard looked at him.
+
+“What?” he exclaimed.
+
+“Five hundred guineas,” Ruff repeated.
+
+“For a consultation?” Sir Richard asked.
+
+Peter Ruff shook his head.
+
+“More than that,” he said. “You are a brave man in your way, Sir Richard
+Dyson, but you are going about now shivering under a load of fear. It
+sits like a devil incarnate upon your shoulders. It poisons the air
+wherever you go. Write your cheque, Sir Richard, and you can leave
+that little black devil in my wastebasket. You are under my protection.
+Nothing will happen to you.”
+
+Sir Richard sat like a man mesmerised. The little man with the amiable
+expression and the badly fitting suit was leaning back in his chair, his
+finger tips pressed together, waiting.
+
+“Nothing will happen!” Sir Richard repeated, incredulously.
+
+“Certainly not. I guarantee you against any inconvenience which might
+arise to you from this recent unfortunate affair. Isn’t that all you
+want?”
+
+“It’s all I want, certainly,” Sir Richard declared, “but I must
+understand a little how you propose to secure my immunity.”
+
+Ruff shook his head.
+
+“I have my own methods,” he said. “I can help only those who trust me.”
+
+Sir Richard drew a cheque book from his pocket. “I don’t know why I
+should believe in you,” he said, as he wrote the cheque.
+
+“But you do,” Peter Ruff said, smiling. “Fortunately for you, you do!”
+
+
+
+It was not so easy to impart a similar confidence into the breast of
+Colonel Dickinson, with whom Sir Richard dined that night tete-a-tete.
+Dickinson was inclined to think that Sir Richard ad been “had.”
+
+“You’ve paid a ridiculous fee,” he argued, “and all that you have in
+return is the fellow’s promise to see you through. It isn’t like you to
+part with money so easily, Richard. Did he hypnotise you?”
+
+“I don’t think so,” Sir Richard answered. “I wasn’t conscious of it.”
+
+“What sort of a fellow is he?” Dickinson asked.
+
+Sir Richard looked reflectively into his glass.
+
+“He’s a vulgar sort of little Johnny,” he said. “Looks as though he were
+always dressed in new clothes and couldn’t get used to them.”
+
+Three men entered the room. Two remained in the background. John Dory
+came forward towards the table.
+
+“Sir Richard Dyson,” he said, gravely, “I have come upon an unpleasant
+errand.”
+
+“Go on,” Sir Richard said, fingering something hard inside pocket of his
+coat.
+
+“I have a warrant for your arrest,” Dory continued, “in connection with
+the disappearance of Job Masters on Saturday, the 10th of November last.
+I will read the terms of the warrant, if you choose. It is my duty to
+warn you that anything you may now say can be used in evidence against
+you. This gentleman, I believe, is Colonel Dickinson?”
+
+“That is my name, sir,” Dickinson answered, with unexpected fortitude.
+
+“I regret to say,” the detective continued, “that I have also a warrant
+for your arrest in connection with the same matter.”
+
+Sir Richard had hold of the butt end of his revolver then. Like grisly
+phantoms, the thoughts chased one another through his brain. Should he
+shoot and end it--pass into black nothingness--escape disgrace, but die
+like a rat in a corner? His finger was upon the trigger. Then suddenly
+his heart gave a great leap. He raised his head as though listening.
+Something flashed in his eyes--something that was almost like hope.
+There was no mistaking that voice which he had heard in the hall! He
+made a great rally.
+
+“I can only conclude,” he said, turning to the detective, “that you have
+made some absurd blunder. If you really possess the warrants you speak
+of, however, Colonel Dickinson and I will accompany you wherever you
+choose.”
+
+Then the door opened and Peter Ruff walked in, followed by Job Masters,
+whose head was still bandaged, and who seemed to have lost a little
+flesh and a lot of colour. Peter Ruff looked round apologetically. He
+seemed surprised not to find Sir Richard Dyson and Colonel Dickinson
+alone. He seemed more than ever surprised to recognize Dory.
+
+“I trust,” he said smoothly, “that our visit is not inopportune. Sir
+Richard Dyson, I believe?” he continued, bowing--“my friend, Mr. Masters
+here, has consulted me as to the loss of a betting book, and we ventured
+to call to ask you, sir, if by any chance on his recent visit to your
+house--”
+
+“God in Heaven, it’s Masters!” Dyson exclaimed. “It’s Job Masters!”
+
+“That’s me, sir,” Masters admitted. “Mr. Ruff thought you might be able
+to help me find that book.”
+
+Sir Richard swayed upon his feet. Then the blood rushed once more
+through his veins.
+
+“Your book’s here in my cabinet, safe enough,” he said. “You left it
+here after our luncheon that day. Where on earth have you been to, man?”
+ he continued. “We want some money from you over Myopia.”
+
+“I’ll pay all right, sir,” Masters answered. “Fact is, after our
+luncheon party I’m afraid I got a bit fuddled. I don’t seem to remember
+much.”
+
+He sat down a little heavily. Peter Ruff hastened to the table and took
+up a glass.
+
+“You will excuse me if I give him a little brandy, won’t you, sir?”
+ he said. “He’s really not quite fit for getting about yet, but he was
+worrying about his book.”
+
+“Give him all the brandy he can drink,” Sir Richard answered.
+
+The detective’s face had been a study. He knew Masters well enough by
+sight--there was no doubt about his identity! His teeth came together
+with an angry little click. He had made a mistake! It was a thing which
+would be remembered against him forever! It was as bad as his failure to
+arrest that young man at Daisy Villa.
+
+“Your visit, Masters,” Sir Richard said, with a curious smile at the
+corners of his lips, “is, in some respects, a little opportune. About
+that little matter we were speaking of,” he continued, turning towards
+the detective.
+
+“We have only to offer you our apologies, Sir Richard,” Dory answered.
+
+Then he crossed the room and confronted Peter Ruff.
+
+“Do I understand, sir, that your name is Ruff--Peter Ruff?” he asked.
+
+“That is my name, sir,” Peter Ruff admitted, pleasantly “Yours I
+believe, is Dory. We are likely to come across one another now and then,
+I suppose. Glad to know you.”
+
+The detective stood quite still, and there was no geniality in his face.
+
+“I wonder--have we ever met before?” he asked, without removing his eyes
+from the other’s face. Peter Ruff smiled.
+
+“Not professionally, at any rate,” he answered. “I know that Scotland
+Yard you don’t think much of us small fry, but we find out things
+sometimes!”
+
+“Why didn’t you contradict all those rumours as to his disappearance?”
+ the detective asked, pointing to where Job Masters was contentedly
+sipping his brandy and water.
+
+“I was acting for my client, and in my own interests,” replied Peter.
+“It was surely no part of my duty to save you gentlemen at Scotland Yard
+from hunting up mare’s nests!”
+
+John Dory went out, followed by his men. Sir Richard took Peter Ruff by
+the arm, and, leading him to the sideboard, mixed him a drink.
+
+“Peter Ruff,” he said, “you’re a clever scoundrel, but you’ve earned
+your five hundred guineas. Hang it, you’re welcome to them! Is there
+anything else I can do for you?”
+
+Peter Ruff raised his glass and set it down again. Once more he eyed
+with admiration his client’s well-turned out figure.
+
+“You might give me a letter to your tailors, Sir Richard,” he begged.
+
+Sir Richard laughed outright--it was some time since he had laughed!
+
+“You shall have it, Peter Ruff,” he declared, raising his glass--“and
+here’s to you!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. VINCENT CAWDOR, COMMISSION AGENT
+
+
+For the second time since their new association, Peter Ruff had
+surprised that look upon his secretary’s face. This time he wheeled
+around in his chair and addressed her.
+
+“My dear Violet,” he said, “be frank with me. What is wrong?”
+
+Miss Brown turned to face her employer. Save for a greater demureness
+of expression and the extreme simplicity of her attire, she had changed
+very little since she had given up her life of comparative luxury to
+become Peter Ruff’s secretary. There was a sort of personal elegance
+which clung to her, notwithstanding her strenuous attempts to dress for
+her part, except for which she looked precisely as a private secretary
+and typist should look. She even wore a black bow at the back of her
+hair.
+
+“I have not complained, have I?” she asked.
+
+“Do not waste time,” Peter Ruff said, coldly. “Proceed.”
+
+“I have not enough to do,” she said. “I do not understand why you refuse
+so many cases.”
+
+Peter Ruff nodded.
+
+“I did not bring my talents into this business,” he said, “to watch
+flirting wives, to ascertain the haunts of gay husbands, or to detect
+the pilferings of servants.”
+
+“Anything is better than sitting still,” she protested.
+
+“I do not agree with you,” Peter Ruff said. “I like sitting still very
+much indeed--one has time to think. Is there anything else?”
+
+“Shall I really go on?” she asked.
+
+“By all means,” he answered.
+
+“I have idea,” she continued, “that you are subordinating your general
+interests to your secret enmity--to one man. You are waiting until you
+can find another case in which you are pitted against him.”
+
+“Sometimes,” Peter Ruff said, “your intelligence surprises me!”
+
+“I came to you,” she continued, looking at him earnestly, “for two
+reasons. The personal one I will not touch upon. The other was my love
+of excitement. I have tried many things in life, as you know, Peter,
+but I have seemed to carry always with me the heritage of weariness. I
+thought that my position here would help me to fight against it.”
+
+“You have seen me bring a corpse to life,” Peter Ruff reminded her, a
+little aggrieved.
+
+She smiled.
+
+“It was a month ago,” she reminded him.
+
+“I can’t do that sort of thing every day,” he declared.
+
+“Naturally,” she answered; “but you have refused four cases within the
+last five days.”
+
+Peter Ruff whistled softly to himself for several moments.
+
+“Seen anything of our new neighbour in the flat above?” he asked, with
+apparent irrelevance.
+
+Miss Brown looked across at him with upraised eyebrows.
+
+“I have been in the lift with him twice,” she answered.
+
+“Fancy his appearance?” Ruff asked, casually.
+
+“Not in the least!” Violet answered. “I thought him a vulgar, offensive
+person!”
+
+Peter Ruff chuckled. He seemed immensely delighted.
+
+“Mr. Vincent Cawdor he calls himself, I believe,” he remarked.
+
+“I have no idea,” Miss Brown declared. The subject did not appeal to
+her.
+
+“His name is on a small copper plate just over the letter-box,” Ruff
+said. “Rather neat idea, by the bye. He calls himself a commission
+agent, I believe.”
+
+Violet was suddenly interested. She realized, after all, that Mr.
+Vincent Cawdor might be a person of some importance.
+
+“What is a commission agent?” she asked.
+
+Peter Ruff shook his head.
+
+“It might mean anything,” he declared. “Never trust any one who is not
+a little more explicit as to his profession. I am afraid that this Mr.
+Vincent Cawdor, for instance, is a bad lot.”
+
+“I am sure he is,” Miss Brown declared.
+
+“Looks after a pretty girl, coughs in the lift--all that sort of thing,
+eh?” Peter Ruff asked.
+
+She nodded.
+
+“Disgusting!” she exclaimed, with emphasis.
+
+Peter Ruff sighed, and glanced at the clock. The existence of Mr.
+Vincent Cawdor seemed to pass out of his mind.
+
+“It is nearly one o’clock,” he said. “Where do you usually lunch,
+Violet?”
+
+“It depends upon my appetite,” she answered, carelessly. “Most often at
+an A B C.”
+
+“To-day,” Peter Ruff said, “you will be extravagant--at my expense.”
+
+“I had a poor breakfast,” Miss Brown remarked, complacently.
+
+“You will leave at once,” Peter Ruff said, “and you will go to the
+French Cafe at the Milan. Get a table facing the courtyard, and towards
+the hotel side of the room. Keep your eyes open and tell me exactly what
+you see.”
+
+She looked at him with parted lips. Her eyes were full of eager
+questioning.
+
+“Mere skirmishing,” Peter Ruff continued, “but I think--yes, I think
+that it may lead to something.”
+
+“Whom am I to watch?” she asked.
+
+“Any one who looks interesting,” Peter Ruff answered. “For instance, if
+this person Vincent Cawdor should be about.”
+
+“He would recognize me!” she declared.
+
+Peter Ruff shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“One must hold the candle,” he remarked.
+
+“I decline to flirt with him,” she declared. “Nothing would induce me to
+be pleasant to such an odious creature.”
+
+“He will be too busy to attempt anything of the sort. Of course he may
+not be there. It may be the merest fancy on my part. At any rate, you
+may rely upon it that he will not make any overtures in a public place
+like the Milan. Mr. Vincent Cawdor may be a curious sort of person, but
+I do not fancy that he is a fool!”
+
+“Very well,” Miss Brown said, “I will go.”
+
+“Be back soon after three,” Peter Ruff said. “I am going up to my room
+to do my exercises.”
+
+“And afterwards?” she asked.
+
+“I shall have my lunch sent in,” he answered. “Don’t hurry back, though.
+I shall not expect you till a quarter past three.”
+
+It was a few minutes past that time when Miss Brown returned. Peter Ruff
+was sitting at his desk, looking as though he had never moved. He was
+absorbed by a book of patterns sent in by his new tailor, and he only
+glanced up when she entered the room.
+
+“Violet,” he said, earnestly, “come in and sit down. I want to consult
+you. There is a new material here--a sort of mouse-coloured cheviot. I
+wonder whether it would suit me?”
+
+Violet was looking very handsome and a little flushed. She raised her
+veil and came over to his side.
+
+“Put that stupid book away, Peter,” she said. “I want to tell you about
+the Milan.”
+
+He leaned back in his chair.
+
+“Ah!” he said. “I had forgotten! Was Mr. Vincent Cawdor there?”
+
+“Yes!” she answered, still a little breathless. “There was some one else
+there, too, in whom you are still more interested.”
+
+He nodded.
+
+“Go on,” he said.
+
+“Mr. Vincent Cawdor,” she continued, “came in alone. He looked just as
+objectionable as ever, and he stared at me till I nearly threw my wine
+glass at him.”
+
+“He did not speak to you?” Peter Ruff asked.
+
+“I was afraid that he was going to,” Miss Brown said, “but fortunately
+he met a friend who came to his table and lunched with him.”
+
+“A friend,” Ruff remarked. “Good! What was he like?”
+
+“Fair, slight, Teutonic,” Miss Brown answered. “He wore thick
+spectacles, and his moustache was positively yellow.”
+
+Ruff nodded.
+
+“Go on,” he said.
+
+“Towards the end of luncheon,” she continued, “an American came up to
+them.”
+
+“An American?” Peter Ruff interrupted. “How do you know that?”
+
+Miss Brown smiled.
+
+“He was clean-shaven and he wore neat clothes,” she said. “He talked
+with an accent you could have cut with a knife and he had a Baedeker
+sticking out of his pocket. After luncheon, they all three went away to
+the smoking room.”
+
+Peter Ruff nodded.
+
+“Anything else?” he asked.
+
+The girl smiled triumphantly.
+
+“Yes!” she declared. “There was something else--something which I
+think you will find interesting. At the next table to me there was a
+man--alone. Can you guess who he was?”
+
+“John Dory,” Ruff said, calmly.
+
+The girl was disappointed.
+
+“You knew!” she exclaimed.
+
+“My dear Violet,” he said, “I did not send you there on a fool’s
+errand.”
+
+“There is something doing, then?” she exclaimed.
+
+“There is likely,” he answered, grimly, “to be a great deal doing!”
+
+
+
+The two men who stood upon the hill, and Peter Ruff, who lay upon his
+stomach behind a huge boulder, looked upon a new thing.
+
+Far down in the valley from out of a black shed--the only sign of man’s
+handiwork for many miles--it came--something grey at first, moving
+slowly as though being pushed down a slight incline, then afloat in the
+air, gathering speed--something between a torpedo with wings and a
+great prehistoric insect. Now and then it described strange circles, but
+mostly it came towards them as swift and as true as an arrow shot from a
+bow. The two men looked at one another--the shorter, to whose cheeks the
+Cumberland winds had brought no trace of colour, gave vent to a hoarse
+exclamation.
+
+“He’s done it!” he growled.
+
+“Wait!” the other answered.
+
+Over their heads the thing wheeled, and seemed to stand still in the
+air. The beating of the engine was so faint that Peter Ruff from behind
+the boulder, could hear all that was said. A man leaned out from his
+seat--a man with wan cheeks but blazing eyes.
+
+“Listen,” he said. “Take your glasses. There--due north--can you see a
+steeple?”
+
+The men turned their field glasses in the direction toward which the
+other pointed. “Yes!” they answered. “It is sixteen miles, as the crow
+flies, to Barnham Church--thirty-two miles there and back. Wait!”
+
+He swung round, dived till he seemed about to touch the hillside, then
+soared upwards and straight away. Peter Ruff took out his watch. The
+other two men gazed with fascinated eyes after the disappearing speck.
+
+“If he does it--” the shorter one muttered.
+
+“He will do it!” the other answered.
+
+He was back again before their eyes were weary of watching. Peter Ruff,
+from behind the boulder, closed his watch. Thirty-two miles in less than
+half an hour! The youth leaned from his seat.
+
+“Is it enough?” he asked, hoarsely.
+
+“It is enough!” the two men answered together. “We will come down.”
+
+The youth touched a lever and the machine glided down towards the
+valley, falling all the while with the effortless grace a parachute. The
+shed from which his machine had issued was midway down a slope, with
+a short length of rails which ran, apparently, through it. The machine
+seemed to hover for several moments above the building, then descended
+slowly on to the rails and disappeared in the shed. The two men were
+already half-way down the hill. Peter Ruff rose from behind the boulder,
+stretched himself with a sense of immense relief, and lit a pipe. As
+yet he dared not descend. He simply changed his hiding place for a spot
+which enabled him to command a view of the handful of cottages at the
+back of the hill. He had plenty to think about. It was a wonderful
+thing--this--which he had seen!
+
+The youth, meanwhile, was drinking deep of the poisonous cup. He walked
+between the two men--his cheeks were flushed, his eyes on fire.
+
+“If all the world to-day had seen what we have seen,” the older man was
+saying, “there would be no more talk of Wilbur Wrights or Farmans. Those
+men are babies, playing with their toys.”
+
+“Mine is the ideal principle,” the youth declared. “No one else has
+thought of it, no one else has made use of it. Yet all the time I am
+afraid--it is so simple.”
+
+“Sell quick, then,” the fair-headed man advised. “By to-morrow night I
+can promise you fifty thousand pounds.”
+
+The youth stopped. He drew a deep breath.
+
+“I shall sell,” he declared. “I need money. I want to live. Fifty
+thousand pounds is enough. Eleven weary months I have slept and toiled
+there in the shed.”
+
+“It is finished,” the older man declared. “To-night you shall come with
+us to London. To-morrow night your pockets shall be full of gold. It
+will be a change for you.”
+
+The youth sobbed.
+
+“God knows it will,” he muttered. “I haven’t two shillings in the world,
+and I owe for my last petrol.”
+
+The two men laughed heartily. The elder took a little bundle of notes
+from his pocket and handed them to the boy.
+
+“Come,” he said, “not for another moment shall you feel as poor as
+that. Money will have no value for you in the future. The fifty thousand
+pounds will only be a start. After that, you will get royalties. If I
+had it, I would give you a quarter of a million now for your plans; I
+know that I can get you more.”
+
+The youth laughed hysterically. They entered the tiny inn and drank
+home-made wine--the best they could get. Then a great car drew up
+outside, and the older--the clean-shaven man, who looked like an
+American--hurried out, and dragging a hamper from beneath the seat
+returned with a gold-foiled bottle in his hand.
+
+“Come,” he said, “a toast! We have one bottle left--one bottle of the
+best!”
+
+“Champagne!” the youth cried eagerly, holding out his hand.
+
+“The only wine for the conquerors,” the other declared, pouring it out
+into the thick tumblers. “Drink, all of you, to the Franklin Flying
+Machine, to the millions she will earn--to to-morrow night!”
+
+The youth drained his glass, watched it replenished, and drained it
+again. Then they went out to the car.
+
+“There is one thing yet to be done,” he said. “Wait here for me.”
+
+They waited whilst he climbed up toward the shed. The two men watched
+him. A little group of rustics stood open-mouthed around the great car.
+Then there was a little shout. From above their heads came the sound of
+a great explosion--red flames were leaping up from that black barn to
+the sky. The two men looked at one another. They rushed to the hill and
+met the youth descending.
+
+“What the--”
+
+He stopped them.
+
+“I dared not leave it here,” he explained. “It would have been madness.
+I am perfectly certain that I have been watched during the last few
+days. I can build another in a week. I have the plans in my pocket for
+every part.”
+
+The older man wiped the perspiration from his forehead.
+
+“You are sure--that you have the plans?” he asked.
+
+The youth struck himself on the chest.
+
+“They are here,” he answered, “every one of them!”
+
+“Perhaps you are right, then,” the other man answered. “It gave me a
+turn, though. You are sure that you can make it again in the time you
+say?”
+
+“Of course!” the youth answered, impatiently. “Besides, the thing is so
+simple. It speaks for itself.”
+
+They climbed into the car, and in a few minutes were rushing away
+southwards.
+
+“To-morrow night--to-morrow night it all begins!” the youth continued.
+“I must start with ready-made clothes. I’ll get the best I can, eat the
+best I can, drink wine, go to the music halls. To-morrow night.”
+
+His speech ended in a wail--a strange, half-stifled cry which rang out
+with a chill, ghostly sound upon the black silence. His face was covered
+with a wet towel, a ghastly odor was in his nostrils, his lips refused
+to utter any further sound. He lay back among the cushions, senseless.
+The car slowed down.
+
+“Get the papers, quick!” the elder man muttered, opening the youth’s
+coat. “Here they are! Catch hold, Dick! My God! What’s that?”
+
+He shook from head to foot. The little fair man looked at him with
+contempt.
+
+“A sheep bell on the moor,” he said. “Are you sure you have everything?”
+
+“Yes!” the other muttered.
+
+They both stood up and raised the prostrate form between them. Below
+them were the black waters of the lake.
+
+“Over with him!” the younger said. “Quick!”
+
+Once more his companion shrank away.
+
+“Listen!” he muttered, hoarsely.
+
+They both held their breaths. From somewhere along the road behind came
+a faint sound like the beating of an engine.
+
+“It’s a car!” the elder man exclaimed. “Quick! Over with him!”
+
+They lifted the body of the boy, whose lips were white and speechless
+now, and threw him into the water. With a great splash he disappeared.
+They watched for a moment. Only the ripples flowed away from the place
+where he had sunk. They jumped back to their seats.
+
+“There’s something close behind,” the older man muttered. “Get on! Fast!
+Fast!”
+
+The younger man hesitated.
+
+“Perhaps,” he said slowly, “it would be better to wait and see who it is
+coming up behind. Our young friend there is safe. The current has him,
+and the tarn is bottomless.”
+
+There was a moment’s indecision--a moment which was to count for much
+in the lives of three men. Then the elder one’s counsels prevailed. They
+crept away down the hill, smoothly and noiselessly. Behind them, the
+faint throbbing grew less and less distinct. Soon they heard it no more.
+They drove into the dawn and through the long day.
+
+
+
+Side by side on one of the big leather couches in the small smoking room
+of the Milan Hotel, Mr. James P. Rounceby and his friend Mr. Richard
+Marnstam sat whispering together. It was nearly two o clock, and they
+were alone in the room. Some of the lights had been turned out. The roar
+of life in the streets without had ceased. It was an uneasy hour for
+those whose consciences were not wholly at rest!
+
+The two men were in evening dress--Rounceby in dinner coat and black
+tie, as befitted his role of travelling American. The glasses in front
+of them were only half-filled, and had remained so for the last hour.
+Their conversation had been nervous and spasmodic. It was obvious that
+they were waiting for some one.
+
+Three o’clock struck by the little timepiece on the mantel shelf. A
+little exclamation of a profane nature broke from Rounceby’s lips. He
+leaned toward his companion.
+
+“Say,” he muttered, in a rather thick undertone, “how about this fellow
+Vincent Cawdor? You haven’t any doubts about him, I suppose? He’s on the
+square, all right, eh?”
+
+Marnstam wet his lips nervously.
+
+“Cawdor’s all right,” he said. “I had it direct from headquarters at
+Paris. What are you uneasy about, eh?”
+
+Rounceby pointed towards the clock.
+
+“Do you see the time?” he asked.
+
+“He said he’d be late,” Marnstam answered.
+
+Rounceby put his hand to his forehead and found it moist.
+
+“It’s been a silly game, all along,” he muttered. “We’d better have
+brought the young ass up here and jostled him!”
+
+“Not so easy,” Marnstam answered. “These young fools have a way of
+turning obstinate. He’d have chucked us, sure. Anyhow, he’s safer where
+he is.”
+
+They relapsed once more into silence. A storm of rain beat upon the
+window. Rounceby glanced up. It was as black out there as were the
+waters of that silent tarn! The man shivered as the thought struck
+him. Marnstam, who had no nerves, twirled his moustache and watched his
+companion with wonder.
+
+“You look as though you saw a ghost,” he remarked.
+
+“Perhaps I do!” Rounceby growled.
+
+“You had better finish your drink, my dear fellow,” Marnstam advised.
+“Afterwards--”
+
+Suddenly he stiffened into attention. He laid his hand upon his
+companion’s knee.
+
+“Listen!” he said. “There is some one coming.”
+
+They leaned a little forward. The swing doors were opened. A girl’s
+musical laugh rang out from the corridor. Tall and elegant, with her
+black lace skirt trailing upon the floor, her left hand resting upon the
+shoulder of the man into whose ear she was whispering, and whom she led
+straight to one of the writing tables, Miss Violet Brown swept into the
+room. On her right, and nearest to the two men, was Mr. Vincent Cawdor.
+
+“Now you can go and talk to your friends!” she exclaimed, lightly. “I am
+going to make Victor listen to me.”
+
+Cawdor left his two companions and sank on to the couch by Rounceby’s
+side. The young man, with his opera hat still on his head, and the light
+overcoat which he had been carrying on the floor by his side, was seated
+before the writing table with his back to them. Miss Brown was leaning
+over him, with her hand upon the back of his chair. They were out of
+hearing of the other three men.
+
+“Well, Rounceby, my friend,” Mr. Vincent Cawdor remarked, cheerfully,
+“you’re having a late sitting, eh?”
+
+“We’ve been waiting for you, you fool!” Rounceby answered. “What on
+earth are you thinking about, bringing a crowd like this about with you,
+eh?”
+
+Cawdor smiled, reassuringly.
+
+“Don’t you worry,” he said, in a lower tone. “I know my way in and out
+of the ropes here better than you can teach me. A big hotel like this
+is the safest and the most dangerous place in the world--just how you
+choose to make it. You’ve got to bluff ‘em all the time. That’s why I
+brought the young lady--particular friend of mine--real nice girl, too!”
+
+“And the young man?” Rounceby asked, suspiciously.
+
+Cawdor grew more serious.
+
+“That’s Captain Lowther,” he said softly--“private secretary to Colonel
+Dean, who’s the chief of the aeronaut department at Aldershot. He has
+a draft in his pocket for twenty thousand pounds. It is yours if he is
+satisfied with the plans.”
+
+“Twenty thousand pounds!” Marnstam said, thoughtfully. “It is very
+little--very little indeed for the risks which we have run!”
+
+Cawdor moved his place and sat between the men. He laid a hand upon
+Marnstam’s shoulder--another on Rounceby’s knee.
+
+“My dear friends,” he said, impressively, “if you could have built a
+model, or conducted these negotiations in the usual way, you might have
+asked a million. As it is, I think I am the only man in England who
+could have dealt with this matter--so satisfactorily.”
+
+Rounceby glanced suspiciously at the young man to whom Miss Brown was
+still devoting the whole of her attention.
+
+“Why don’t he come out and talk like a man?” he asked. “What’s the idea
+of his sitting over there with his back to us?”
+
+“I want him never to see your faces--to deal only with me,” Cawdor
+explained. “Remember that he is in an official position. The money he is
+going to part with is secret service money.”
+
+The two men were beginning to be more reassured. Rounceby slowly
+produced a roll of oilskin from his pocket.
+
+“He’ll look at them as he sits there,” he insisted. “There must be no
+copying or making notes, mind.”
+
+Cawdor smiled in a superior fashion.
+
+“My dear fellow,” he said, “you are dealing with the emissary of a
+government--not one of your own sort.”
+
+Rounceby glanced at his companion, who nodded. Then he handed over the
+plans.
+
+“Tell him to look sharp,” he said. “It’s not so late but that there may
+be people in here yet.”
+
+Cawdor crossed the room with the plans, and laid them down before the
+writing table. Rounceby rose to his feet and lit a cigar. Marnstam
+walked to the further window and back again. They stood side by side.
+Rounceby’s whole frame seemed to have stiffened with some new emotion.
+
+“There’s something wrong, Jim,” Marnstam whispered softly in his ear.
+“You’ve got the old lady in your pocket?”
+
+“Yes!” Rounceby answered thickly, “and, by Heavens, I’m going to use
+it!”
+
+“Don’t shoot unless it’s the worst,” Marnstam counselled. “I shall go
+out of that window, into the tree, and run for the river. But bluff
+first, Jim--bluff for your life!”
+
+There were swinging doors leading into the room from the hotel side, and
+a small door exactly opposite which led to the residential part of the
+place. Both of these doors were opened at precisely the same moment.
+Through the former stepped two strong looking men in long overcoats, and
+with the unmistakable appearance of policemen in plain clothes. Through
+the latter came John Dory! He walked straight up to the two men.
+It spoke volumes for his courage that, knowing their characters and
+believing them to be in desperate straits, he came unarmed.
+
+“Gentlemen,” he said, “I hold warrants for your arrest. I will not
+trouble you with your aliases. You are known to-day, I believe, as James
+Rounceby and Richard Marnstam. Will you come quietly?”
+
+Marnstam’s expression was one of bland and beautiful surprise.
+
+“My dear sir,” he said, edging, however, a little toward the
+window--“you must be joking! What is the charge?”
+
+“You are charged with the wilful murder of a young man named Victor
+Franklin,” answered Dory. “His body was recovered from Longthorp Tarn
+this afternoon. You had better say nothing. Also with the theft of
+certain papers known to have been in his possession.”
+
+Now it is possible that at this precise moment Marnstam would have made
+his spring for the window and Rounceby his running fight for liberty.
+The hands of both men were upon their revolvers, and John Dory’s life
+was a thing of no account. But at this juncture a thing happened. There
+were in the room the two policemen guarding the swing doors, and behind
+them the pale faces of a couple of night porters looking anxiously in.
+Vincent Cawdor and Miss Brown were standing side by side, a little in
+the background, and the young man who had been their companion had risen
+also to his feet. As though with some intention of intervening, he moved
+a step forward, almost in line with Dory. Rounceby saw him, and a new
+fear gripped him by the heart. He shrank back, his fingers relaxed
+their hold of his weapon, the sweat was hot upon his forehead. Marnstam,
+though he seemed for a moment stupefied, realised the miracle which had
+happened and struck boldly for his own.
+
+“If this is a joke,” he said, “it strikes me as being a particularly bad
+one. I should like to know, sir, how you dare to come into this room
+and charge me and my friend--Mr. Rounceby--with being concerned in the
+murder of a young man who is even now actually standing by your side.”
+
+John Dory started back. He looked with something like apprehension at
+the youth to whom Marnstam pointed.
+
+“My name is Victor Franklin,” that young man declared. “What’s all this
+about?”
+
+Dory felt the ground give beneath his feet. Nevertheless, he set his
+teeth and fought for his hand.
+
+“You say that your name is Victor Franklin?” he asked.
+
+“Certainly!”
+
+“You are the inventor of a flying machine?”
+
+“I am.”
+
+“You were in Westmoreland with these two men a few days go?”
+
+“I was,” the young man admitted.
+
+“You left the village of Scawton in a motor car with them?”
+
+“Yes! We quarrelled on the way, and parted.”
+
+“You were robbed of nothing?”
+
+Victor Franklin smiled.
+
+“Certainly not,” he answered. “I had nothing worth stealing except my
+plans, and they are in my pocket now.”
+
+There was a few moments’ intense silence. Dory wheeled suddenly round,
+and looked to where Mr. Vincent Cawdor had been standing.
+
+“Where is Mr. Cawdor?” he asked, sharply.
+
+“The gentleman with the grey moustache left a few seconds ago,” one of
+the men at the door said. Dory was very pale.
+
+“Gentlemen,” he said, “I have to offer you my apologies. I have
+apparently been deceived by some false information. The charge is
+withdrawn.”
+
+He turned on his heel and left the room. The two policemen followed him.
+
+“Keep them under observation,” Dory ordered shortly, “but I am afraid
+this fellow Cawdor has sold me.”
+
+He found a hansom outside, and sprang into it.
+
+“Number 27, Southampton Row,” he ordered.
+
+Rounceby and his partner were alone in the little smoking room. The
+former was almost inarticulate. The night porter brought them brandy,
+and both men drank.
+
+“We’ve got to get to the bottom of this, Marnstam,” Mr. Rounceby
+muttered.
+
+Mr. Marnstam was thinking.
+
+“Do you remember that sound through the darkness,” he said--“the beating
+of an engine way back on the road?”
+
+“What of it?” Rounceby demanded.
+
+“It was a motor bicycle,” Marnstam said quietly. “I thought so at the
+time.”
+
+“Supposing some one followed us and pulled him out,” Rounceby said,
+hoarsely, “why are we treated like this? I tell you we’ve been made
+fools of! We’ve been treated like children--not even to be punished!
+We’ll have the truth somehow out of that devil Cawdor! Come!”
+
+They made their way to the courtyard and found a cab.
+
+“Number 27, Southampton Row!” they ordered.
+
+They reached their destination some time before Dory, whose horse fell
+down in the Strand, and who had to walk. They ascended to the fourth
+floor of the building and rang the bell of Vincent Cawdor’s room--no
+answer. They plied the knocker--no result. Rounceby peered through the
+keyhole.
+
+“He hasn’t come home yet,” he remarked. “There is no light anywhere in
+the place.”
+
+The door of a flat across the passage was quietly opened. Mr. Peter
+Ruff, in a neat black smoking suit and slippers, and holding a pipe in
+his hand, looked out.
+
+“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said, “but I do not think that Mr. Cawdor is
+in. He went out early this evening, and I have not heard him return.”
+
+The two men turned away.
+
+“We are much obliged to you, sir,” Mr. Marnstam said.
+
+“Can I give him any message?” Peter Ruff asked, politely. “We generally
+see something of one another in the morning.”
+
+“You can tell him--” Rounceby began.
+
+“No message, thanks!” Marnstam interrupted. “We shall probably run
+across him ourselves to-morrow.”
+
+John Dory was nearly a quarter of an hour late. After his third useless
+summons, Mr. Peter Ruff presented himself again.
+
+“I am afraid,” he said, “you will not find my neighbour at home.
+There have been several people enquiring for him to-night, without any
+result.”
+
+John Dory came slowly across the landing.
+
+“Good evening, Mr. Ruff!” he said.
+
+“Why, it’s Mr. Dory!” Peter Ruff declared. “Come in, do, and have a
+drink.”
+
+John Dory accepted the invitation, and his eyes were busy in that little
+sitting room during the few minutes which it took his host to mix that
+whisky and soda.
+
+“Nothing wrong with our friend opposite, I hope?” Peter Ruff asked,
+jerking his head across the landing.
+
+“I hope not, Mr. Ruff,” John Dory said. “No doubt in the morning he will
+be able to explain everything. I must say that I should like to see him
+to-night, though.”
+
+“He may turn up yet,” Peter Ruff remarked, cheerfully. “He’s like
+myself--a late bird.”
+
+“I fear not,” Dory answered, drily. “Nice rooms you have here, sir. Just
+a sitting room and bedroom, eh?”
+
+Peter Ruff stood up and threw open the door of the inner apartment.
+
+“That’s so,” he answered. “Care to have a look round?”
+
+The detective did look round, and pretty thoroughly. As soon as he was
+sure that there was no one concealed upon the premises, he drank his
+whisky and soda and went.
+
+“I’ll look in again to see Cawdor,” he remarked--“to-morrow, perhaps, or
+the next day.”
+
+“I’ll let him know if I see him about,” Peter Ruff declared. “Sorry the
+lift’s stopped. Three steps to the left and straight on. Good-night!”
+
+
+
+Miss Brown arrived early the following morning, and was disposed to be
+inquisitive.
+
+“I should like to know,” she said, “exactly what has become of Mr.
+Vincent Cawdor.”
+
+Peter Ruff took her upstairs. There was a little mound of ashes in the
+grate.
+
+She nodded.
+
+“I imagined that,” she said. “But why did you send me out to watch
+yourself?”
+
+“My dear Violet,” Peter Ruff answered, “there is no man in the world
+to-day who is my equal in the art of disguising himself. At the same
+time, I wanted to know whether I could deceive you. I wanted to be quite
+sure that my study of Mr. Vincent Cawdor was a safe one. I took those
+rooms in his name and in his own person. I do not think that it occurred
+even to our friend John Dory to connect us in his mind.”
+
+“Very well,” she went on. “Now tell me, please, what took you up to
+Westmoreland?”
+
+“I followed Rounceby and Marnstam,” he answered, “I knew them when I was
+abroad, studying crime--I could tell you a good deal about both those
+men if it were worth while--and I knew, when they hired a big motor car
+and engaged a crook to drive it, that they were worth following. I saw
+the trial of the flying machine, and when they started off with young
+Franklin, I followed on a motor bicycle. I fished him out of the tarn
+where they left him for dead, brought him on to London, and made my own
+terms with him.”
+
+“What about the body which was found in the Longthorp Tarn?” she asked.
+
+“I had that telegram sent myself,” Peter Ruff answered.
+
+She looked at him severely.
+
+“You went out of your way to make a fool of John Dory!” she said,
+frowning at him.
+
+“That I admit,” he answered.
+
+“It seems to me,” she continued, “that that, after all, has been the
+chief object of the whole affair. I do not see that we--that is the
+firm--profit in the least.”
+
+Peter Ruff chuckled.
+
+“We’ve got a fourth share in the Franklin Flying Machine,” he answered,
+“and I’m hanged if I’d sell it for a hundred thousand pounds.”
+
+“You’ve taken advantage of that young man’s gratitude,” she declared.
+
+Peter Ruff shook his head.
+
+“I earned the money,” he answered.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. THE INDISCRETION OF LETTY SHAW
+
+
+Amidst a storm of whispered criticisms, the general opinion was that
+Letty Shaw was a silly little fool who ought to have known better. When
+she had entered the restaurant a few minutes before midnight, followed
+by Austen Abbott, every one looked to see a third person following them.
+No third person, however, appeared. Gustav himself conducted them to a
+small table laid for two, covered with pink roses, and handed his fair
+client the menu of a specially ordered supper. There was no gainsaying
+the fact that Letty and her escort proposed supping alone!
+
+The Cafe at the Milan was, without doubt, the fashionable rendezvous of
+the moment for those ladies connected with the stage who, after
+their performance, had not the time or the inclination to make the
+conventional toilet demanded by the larger restaurants. Letty Shaw,
+being one of the principal ornaments of the musical comedy stage, was
+well known to every one in the room. There was scarcely a person
+there who within the last fortnight had not found an opportunity of
+congratulating her upon her engagement to Captain the Honourable Brian
+Sotherst. Sotherst was rich, and one of the most popular young men about
+town. Letty Shaw, although she had had one or two harmless flirtations,
+was well known as a self-respecting and hard-working young actress who
+loved her work, and against whom no one had ever had a word to say.
+Consequently, the shock was all the greater when, within a fortnight of
+her engagement, she was thus to be seen openly supping alone with the
+most notorious woman hunter about town--a man of bad reputation, a man,
+too, towards whom Sotherst was known to have a special aversion. Nothing
+but a break with Sotherst or a fit of temporary insanity seemed to
+explain, even inadequately, the situation.
+
+Her best friend--the friend who knew her and believed in her--rose to
+her feet and came sailing down the room. She nodded gaily to Abbott,
+whom she hated, and whom she had not recognized for years, and laid her
+hand upon Letty’s arm.
+
+“Where’s Brian?” she asked.
+
+Letty shrugged her shoulders--it was not altogether a natural gesture.
+
+“On duty to-night,” she answered.
+
+Her best friend paused for a moment.
+
+“Come over and join our party, both of you,” she said. “Dicky Pennell’s
+here and Gracie Marsh--just landed. They’d love to meet you.”
+
+Letty shook her head slowly. There was a look in her face which even her
+best friend did not understand.
+
+“I’m afraid that we can’t do that,” she said. “I am Mr. Abbott’s guest.”
+
+“And to-night,” Austen Abbott intervened, looking up at the woman who
+stood between them, “I am not disposed to share Miss Shaw with anybody.”
+
+Her best friend could do no more than shake her head and go away. The
+two were left alone for the rest of the evening. When they departed
+together, people who knew felt that a whiff of tragedy had passed
+through the room. Nobody understood--or pretended to understand. Even
+before her engagement, Letty had never been known to sup alone with
+a man. That she should do so now, and with this particular man, was
+preposterous!
+
+“Something will come of it,” her best friend murmured, sadly, as she
+watched Austen Abbott help his companion on with her cloak.
+
+Something did!
+
+
+Peter Ruff rose at his accustomed time the following morning, and
+attired himself, if possible, with more than his usual care. He wore
+the grey suit which he had carefully put out the night before, but he
+hesitated long between the rival appeals of a red tie with white spots
+and a plain mauve one. He finally chose the latter, finding that it
+harmonised more satisfactorily with his socks, and after a final survey
+of himself in the looking-glass, he entered the next room, where his
+coffee was set out upon a small round table near the fire, together with
+his letters and newspapers.
+
+Peter Ruff was, after all, like the rest of us, a creature of habit.
+He made an invariable rule of glancing through the newspapers before he
+paid any regard at all to his letters or his breakfast. In the absence
+of anything of a particularly sensational character, he then opened his
+letters in leisurely fashion, and went back afterwards to the newspaper
+as he finished his meal. This morning, however, both his breakfast and
+letters remained for some time untouched. The first paragraph which
+caught his eye as he shook open the Daily Telegraph was sufficiently
+absorbing. There it was in great black type:
+
+
+      TERRIBLE TRAGEDY IN THE FLAT OF A WELL-KNOWN ACTRESS!
+                   AUSTEN ABBOTT SHOT DEAD!
+                  ARREST OF CAPTAIN SOTHERST
+
+Beyond the inevitable shock which is always associated with the taking
+of life, and the unusual position of the people concerned in it,
+there was little in the brief account of the incident to excite the
+imagination. A policeman on the pavement outside the flat in which Miss
+Shaw and her mother lived fancied that he heard, about two o’clock
+in the morning, the report of a revolver shot. As nothing further
+transpired, and as the sound was very indistinct, he did not at once
+enter the building, but kept it, so far as possible, under observation.
+About twenty minutes later, a young gentleman in evening dress came out
+into the street, and the policeman noticed at once that he was carrying
+a small revolver, which he attempted to conceal. The constable thereupon
+whistled for his sergeant, and accompanied by the young gentleman--who
+made no effort to escape--ascended to Miss Shaw’s rooms, where the body
+of Austen Abbott was discovered lying upon the threshold of the sitting
+room with a small bullet mark through the forehead. The inmates of
+the house were aroused and a doctor sent for. The deceased man was
+identified as Austen Abbott--a well-known actor--and the man under
+arrest gave his name at once as Captain the Honourable Brian Sotherst.
+Peter Ruff sighed as he laid down the paper. The case seemed to him
+perfectly clear, and his sympathies were altogether with the young
+officer who had taken the law into his own hands. He knew nothing of
+Miss Letty Shaw, and, consequently, did her, perhaps, less than justice
+in his thoughts. Of Austen Abbott, on the other hand, he knew a great
+deal--and nothing of good. It was absurd, after all, that any one should
+be punished for killing such a brute!
+
+He descended, a few minutes later, to his office, and found Miss Brown
+busy arranging a bowl of violets upon his desk.
+
+“Isn’t it horrible?” she cried, as he entered, carrying a bundle of
+papers under his arm. “I never have had such a shock!”
+
+“Do you know any of them, then?” Peter Ruff asked, straightening his tie
+in the mirror.
+
+“Of course!” she answered. “Why, I was in the same company as Letty Shaw
+for a year. I was at the Milan, too, last night. Letty was there having
+supper alone with Austen Abbott. We all said that there’d be trouble,
+but of course we never dreamed of this! Isn’t there any chance for him,
+Peter? Can’t he get off?”
+
+Peter Ruff shook his head.
+
+“I’m afraid not,” he answered. “They may be able to bring evidence of
+a quarrel and reduce it to manslaughter, but what you’ve just told me
+about this supper party makes it all the worse. It will come out in the
+evidence, of course.”
+
+“Captain Sotherst is such a dear,” Miss Brown declared, “and so
+good-looking! And as for that brute Austen Abbott, he ought to have been
+shot long ago!”
+
+Peter Ruff seated himself before his desk and hitched up his trousers at
+the knees.
+
+“No doubt you are right, Violet,” he said, “but people go about these
+things so foolishly. To me it is simply exasperating to reflect how
+little use is made of persons such as myself, whose profession in
+life it is to arrange these little matters. Take the present case, for
+example. Captain Sotherst had only to lay these facts before me, and
+Austen Abbott was a ruined man. I could have arranged the affair for
+him in half-a-dozen different ways. Whereas now it must be a life for
+a life--the life of an honest young English gentleman for that of a
+creature who should have been kicked out of the world as vermin!... I
+have some letters give you, Violet, if you please.”
+
+She swung round in her chair reluctantly.
+
+“I can’t help thinking of that poor young fellow,” she said, with a
+sigh.
+
+“Sentiment after office hours, if you please!” said Peter.
+
+Then there came a knock at the door.
+
+
+His visitor lifted her veil, and Peter Ruff recognized her immediately.
+
+“What can I do for you, Lady Mary?” he asked.
+
+She saw the recognition in his eyes even before he spoke, and wondered
+at it.
+
+“You know me?” she exclaimed.
+
+“I know most people,” he answered, drily; “it is part of my profession.”
+
+“Tell me--you are Mr. Peter Ruff,” she said, “the famous specialist in
+the detection of crime? You know that Brian Sotherst is my brother?”
+
+“Yes,” he said, “I know it! I am sorry--very sorry, indeed.”
+
+He handed her a chair. She seated herself with a little tightening of
+the lips.
+
+“I want more than sympathy from you, Mr. Ruff,” she warned him. “I want
+your help.”
+
+“It is my profession,” he admitted, “but your brother’s case makes
+intervention difficult, does it not?”
+
+“You mean--” she began.
+
+“Your brother himself does not deny his guilt, I understand.”
+
+“He has not denied it,” she answered--“very likely he will not do so
+before the magistrate--but neither has he admitted it. Mr. Ruff, you are
+such a clever man. Can’t you see the truth?”
+
+Peter Ruff looked at her steadily for several moments.
+
+“Lady Mary,” he said, “I can see what you are going to suggest. You are
+going on the assumption that Austen Abbott was shot by Letty Shaw and
+that your brother is taking the thing on his shoulders.”
+
+“I am sure of it!” she declared. “The girl did it herself, beyond a
+doubt. Brian would never have shot any one. He might have horsewhipped
+him, perhaps--even beaten him to death--but shot him in cold
+blood--never!”
+
+“The provocation--” Ruff began.
+
+“There was no provocation,” she interrupted. “He was engaged to the
+girl, and of course we hated it, but she was an honest little thing, and
+devoted to him.”
+
+“Doubtless,” Ruff admitted. “But all the same, as you will hear before
+the magistrates, or at the inquest, she was having supper alone with
+Austen Abbott that night at the Milan.”
+
+Lady Mary’s eyes flashed.
+
+“I don’t believe it!” she declared.
+
+“It is nevertheless true,” Peter Ruff assured her. “There is no shadow
+of doubt about it.”
+
+Lady Mary was staggered. For a few moment she seemed struggling to
+rearrange her thoughts.
+
+“You see,” Ruff continued, “the fact that Miss Shaw was willing to
+sup with Austen Abbott tete-a-tete renders it more improbable that she
+should shoot him in her sitting room, an hour or so later, and then go
+calmly up to her mother’s room as though nothing had happened.”
+
+Lady Mary had lost some of her confidence, but she was not daunted.
+
+“Even if we have been deceived in the girl,” she said,
+thoughtfully--“even if she were disposed to flirt with other men--even
+then there might be a stronger motive than ever for her wishing to get
+rid of Abbott. He may have become jealous, and threatened her.”
+
+“It is, of course, possible,” Ruff assented, politely. “Your theory
+would, at any rate, account for your brother’s present attitude.”
+
+She looked at him steadfastly.
+
+“You believe, then,” she said, “that my brother shot Austen Abbott?”
+
+“I do,” he admitted frankly. “So does every man or woman of common sense
+in London. On the facts as they are stated in the newspapers, with the
+addition of which I have told you, no other conclusion is possible.”
+
+Lady Mary rose.
+
+“Then I may as well go,” she said tearfully.
+
+“Not at all,” Peter Ruff declared. “Listen. This is a matter of business
+with me. I say that on the facts as they are known, your brother’s guilt
+appears indubitable. I do not say that there may not be other facts
+in the background which alter the state of affairs. If you wish me to
+search for them, engage me, and I will do my best.”
+
+“Isn’t that what I am here for?” the girl exclaimed.
+
+“Very well,” Peter Ruff said. “My services are at your disposal.”
+
+“You will do your best--more than your best, won’t you?” she begged.
+“Remember that he is my brother--my favourite brother!”
+
+“I will do what can be done,” Peter Ruff promised. “Please sit down at
+that desk and write me two letters of introduction.”
+
+She drew off her gloves and prepared to obey him.
+
+“To whom?” she asked.
+
+“To the solicitors who are defending your brother,” he said, “and to
+Miss Letty Shaw.”
+
+“You mean to go and see her?” Lady Mary asked, doubtfully.
+
+“Naturally,” Peter Ruff answered. “If your supposition is correct, she
+might easily give herself away under a little subtle cross-examination.
+It is my business to know how to ask people questions in such a way that
+if they do not speak the truth their words give some indication of it.
+If she is innocent I shall know that I have to make my effort in another
+direction.”
+
+“What other direction can there be?” Lady Mary asked dismally.
+
+Peter Ruff said nothing. He was too kind-hearted to kindle false hopes.
+
+“It’s a hopeless case, of course,” Miss Brown remarked, after Lady Mary
+had departed.
+
+“I’m afraid so,” Peter Ruff answered. “Still I must earn my money.
+Please get some one to take you to supper to-night at the Milan, and see
+if you can pick up any scandal.”
+
+“About Letty?” she asked.
+
+“About either of them,” he answered. “Particularly I should like to
+know if any explanation has cropped up of her supping alone with Austen
+Abbott.”
+
+“I don’t see why you can’t take me yourself,” she remarked. “You are on
+the side of the law this time, at any rate.”
+
+“I will,” he answered, after a moment’s hesitation. “I will call for you
+at eleven o’clock to-night.”
+
+He rose and closed his desk emphatically.
+
+“You are going out?” she asked.
+
+“I am going to see Miss Letty Shaw,” he answered.
+
+He took a taxicab to the flats, and found a handful of curious people
+still gazing up at the third floor. The parlourmaid who answered his
+summons was absolutely certain that Miss Shaw would not see him. He
+persuaded her, after some difficulty, to take in his letter while he
+waited in the hall. When she returned, she showed him into a small
+sitting room and pulled down the blinds.
+
+“Miss Shaw will see you, sir, for a few minutes,” she announced, in
+a subdued tone. “Poor dear young lady,” she continued, “she has been
+crying her eyes out all the morning.”
+
+“No wonder,” Peter Ruff said, sympathetically. “It’s a terrible
+business, this!”
+
+“One of the nicest young men as ever walked,” the girl declared, firmly.
+“As for that brute, he deserved all he’s got, and more!”
+
+Peter Ruff was left alone for nearly a quarter of an hour. Then the door
+was softly opened and Letty Shaw entered. There was no doubt whatever
+about her suffering. Ruff, who had seen her only lately at the theatre,
+was shocked. Under her eyes were blacker lines than her pencil had
+ever traced. Not only was she ghastly pale, but her face seemed wan and
+shrunken. She spoke to him the moment she entered, leaning with on hand
+upon the sideboard.
+
+“Lady Mary writes that you want to help us,” she said. “How can you? How
+is it possible?”
+
+Even her voice had gone. She spoke hoarsely, and as though short of
+breath. Her eyes searched his face feverishly. It seemed cruelty not to
+answer her at once, and Peter Ruff was not a cruel man. Nevertheless, he
+remained silent, and it seemed to her that his eyes were like points of
+fire upon her face.
+
+“What is the matter?” she cried, with breaking voice. “What have you
+come for? Why don’t you speak to me?”
+
+“Madam,” Peter Ruff said, “I should like to help you, and I will do what
+I can. But in order that I may do so, it is necessary that you should
+answer me two questions--truthfully!”
+
+Her eyes grew wider. It was the face of a terrified child.
+
+“Why not?” she exclaimed. “What have I to conceal?”
+
+Peter Ruff’s expression never changed. There was nothing about him,
+as he stood there with his hands behind him, his head thrown a little
+forward, in the least inspiring--nothing calculated to terrify the most
+timid person. Yet the girl looked at him with the eyes of a frightened
+bird.
+
+“Remember, then,” he continued, smoothly, “that what you say to me is
+sacred. You and I are alone without witnesses or eavesdroppers. Was it
+Brian Sotherst who shot Abbott--or was it you?”
+
+She gave a little cry. Her hands clasped the sides of her head in
+horror.
+
+“I!” she exclaimed, “I! God help me!”
+
+He waited. In a moment she looked up.
+
+“You cannot believe that,” she said, with a calmness for which he was
+scarcely prepared. “It is absurd. I left the room by the inner door as
+he took up his hat to step out into the hall.”
+
+“Incidentally,” he asked--“this is not my other question, mind--why did
+you not let him out yourself?”
+
+“We had disagreed,” she answered, curtly.
+
+Peter Ruff bent his head in assent.
+
+“I see,” he remarked. “You had disagreed. Abbott probably hoped that you
+would relent, so he waited for a few minutes. Brian Sotherst, who had
+escaped from his engagement in time, he thought, to come and wish you
+good night, must have walked in and found him there. By the bye, how
+would Captain Sotherst get in?”
+
+“He had a key,” the girl answered. “My mother lives here with me, and
+we have only one maid. It was more convenient. I gave him one washed in
+gold for a birthday present only a few days ago.”
+
+“Thank you,” Peter Ruff said. “The revolver, I understand, was your
+property?”
+
+She nodded.
+
+“It was a present from Brian,” she said. “He gave it to me in a joke,
+and I had it on the table with some other curiosities.”
+
+“The first question,” Peter Ruff said, “is disposed of. May I proceed to
+the second?”
+
+The girl moistened her lips.
+
+“Yes!” she answered.
+
+“Why did you sup alone with Austen Abbott last night?”
+
+She shrank a little away.
+
+“Why should I not?” she asked.
+
+“You have been on the stage, my dear Miss Shaw,” Peter Ruff continued,
+“for between four and five years. During the whole of that time, it has
+been your very wise habit to join supper parties, of course, when the
+company was agreeable to you, but to sup alone with no man! Am I not
+right?”
+
+“You seem to know a great deal about me,” she faltered.
+
+“Am I not right?” he repeated.
+
+“Yes!”
+
+“You break your rule for the first time,” Peter Ruff continued, “in
+favour of a man of notoriously bad character, a few weeks after
+the announcement of your engagement to an honourable young English
+gentleman. You know very well the construction likely to be put
+upon your behaviour--you, of all people, would be the most likely to
+appreciate the risk you ran. Why did you run it? In other words, I
+repeat my question. Why did you sup alone with Austen Abbott last
+night?”
+
+All this time she had been standing. She came a little forward now, and
+threw herself into an easy-chair.
+
+“It doesn’t help!” she exclaimed. “All this doesn’t help!”
+
+“Nor can I help you, then,” Peter Ruff said, stretching out his hand for
+his hat.
+
+She waved to him to put it down.
+
+“I will tell you,” she said. “It has nothing to do with the case,
+but since you ask, you shall know. There is a dear little girl in our
+company--Fluffy Dean we all call her--only eighteen years old. We all
+love her, she is so sweet, and just like I was when I first went on the
+stage, only much nicer. She is very pretty, she has no money, and she is
+such an affectionate little dear that although she is as good as gold,
+we are all terrified for her sake whenever she makes acquaintances.
+Several of us who are most interested made a sort of covenant. We all
+took it in turns to look after her, and try to see that she did not meet
+any one she shouldn’t. Yet, for all our precautions, Austen Abbott
+got hold of her and turned her silly little head. He was a man of
+experience, and she was only a child. She wouldn’t listen to us--she
+wouldn’t hear a word against him. I took what seemed to me to be the
+only chance. I went to him myself--I begged for mercy, I begged him
+to spare the child. I swore that if--anything happened to her, I would
+start a crusade against him, I would pledge my word that he should be
+cut by every decent man and woman on the stage! He listened to what I
+had to say and at first he only smiled. When I had finished, he made me
+an offer. He said that if I would sup with him alone at the Milan, and
+permit him to escort me home afterwards, he would spare the child. One
+further condition he made--that I was to tell no one why I did it. It
+was the man’s brutal vanity! I made the promise, but I break it now.
+You have asked me and I have told you. I went through with the supper,
+although I hated it. I let him come in for a drink as though he had been
+a friend. Then he tried to make love to me. I took the opportunity of
+telling him exactly what I thought of him. Then I showed him the door,
+and left him. Afterwards--afterwards--Brian came in! They must have met
+upon the very threshold!”
+
+Peter Ruff took up his hat.
+
+“Thank you!” he said.
+
+“You see,” she continued, drearily, “that it all has very little to do
+with the case. I meant to keep it to myself, because, of course, apart
+from anything else, apart from Brian’s meeting him coming out of my
+rooms, it supplies an additional cause for anger on Brian’s part.”
+
+“I see,” he answered. “I am much obliged to you, Miss Shaw. Believe me
+that you have my sincere sympathy!”
+
+Peter Ruff’s farewell words were unheard. Letty had fallen forward in
+her chair, her head buried in her hands.
+
+Peter Ruff went to Berkeley Square and found Lady Mary waiting for
+him. Sir William Trencham, the great solicitor, was with her. Lady Mary
+introduced the two men. All the time she was anxiously watching Ruff’s
+face.
+
+“Mr. Ruff has been to see Miss Shaw,” she explained to Sir William. “Mr.
+Ruff, tell me quickly,” she continued, with her hand upon his shoulder,
+“did she say anything? Did you find anything out?”
+
+He shook his head.
+
+“No!” he said. “I found nothing out!”
+
+“You don’t think, then,” Lady Mary gasped, “that there is any chance--of
+getting her to confess--that she did it herself?”
+
+“Why should she have done it herself?” Peter Ruff asked. “She admits
+that the man tried to make love to her. She simply left him. She was
+in her own home, with her mother and servant within call. There was no
+struggle in the room--we know that. There was no necessity for any.”
+
+“Have you made any other enquiries?” Lady Mary asked.
+
+“The few which I have made,” Peter Ruff answered gravely, “point all in
+the same direction. I ascertained at the Milan that your brother called
+there late last night, and that he heard Miss Shaw had been supping
+alone with Austen Abbott. He followed them home. I have ascertained,
+too, that he had a key to Miss Shaw’s flat. He apparently met Austen
+Abbott upon the threshold.”
+
+Lady Mary covered her face with her hands. She seemed to read in
+Ruff’s words the verdict of the two men--the verdict of common sense.
+Nevertheless, he made one more request before leaving.
+
+“I should like to see Captain Sotherst, if you can get me an order,” he
+said to Sir William.
+
+“You can go with me to-morrow morning,” the lawyer answered. “The
+proceedings this morning, of course, were simply formal. Until after the
+inquest it will be easy to arrange an interview.”
+
+Lady Mary looked up quickly.
+
+“There is still something in your mind, then?” she asked. “You think
+that there is a bare chance?”
+
+“There is always the hundredth chance!” Peter Ruff replied.
+
+Peter Ruff and Miss Brown supped at the Milan that night as they had
+arranged, but it was not a cheerful evening. Brian Sotherst had been
+very popular among Letty Shaw’s little circle of friends, and the
+general feeling was one of horror and consternation at this thing which
+had befallen him. Austen Abbot, too, was known to all of them, and
+although a good many of the men--and even the women--were outspoken
+enough to declare at once that it served him right, nevertheless, the
+shock of death--death without a second’s warning--had a paralysing
+effect even upon those who were his severest critics. Violet Brown
+spoke to a few of her friends--introduced Peter Ruff here and there--but
+nothing was said which could throw in any way even the glimmerings of
+a new light upon the tragedy. It all seemed too hopelessly and fatally
+obvious.
+
+About twenty minutes before closing time, the habitues of the place were
+provided with something in the nature of a sensation. A little party
+entered who seemed altogether free from the general air of gloom.
+Foremost among them was a very young and exceedingly pretty girl, with
+light golden hair waved in front of her forehead, deep blue eyes, and
+the slight, airy figure of a child. She was accompanied by another young
+woman, whose appearance was a little too obvious to be prepossessing,
+and three or four young men--dark, clean-shaven, dressed with the
+irritating exactness of their class--young stockbrokers or boys about
+town. Miss Brown’s eyes grew very wide open.
+
+“What a little beast!” she exclaimed.
+
+“Who?” Peter Ruff asked.
+
+“That pretty girl there,” she answered--“Fluffy Dean her name is. She is
+Letty Shaw’s protege, and she wouldn’t have dreamed of allowing her to
+come out with a crowd like that. Tonight, of all nights,” she continued,
+indignantly, “when Letty is away!”
+
+Peter Ruff was interested.
+
+“So that is Miss Fluffy Dean,” he remarked, looking at her curiously.
+“She seems a little excited.”
+
+“She’s a horrid little wretch!” Miss Brown declared. “I hope that some
+one will tell Letty, and that she will drop her now. A girl who would
+do such a thing as that when Letty is in such trouble isn’t worth taking
+care of! Just listen to them all!”
+
+They were certainly becoming a little boisterous. A magnum of champagne
+was being opened. Fluffy Dean’s cheeks were already flushed, and her
+eyes glittering. Every one at the table was talking a great deal and
+drinking toasts.
+
+“This is the end of Fluffy Dean,” Violet Brown said, severely. “I hate
+to be uncharitable, but it serves her right.”
+
+Peter Ruff paid his bill.
+
+“Let us go,” he said.
+
+In the taxicab, on their way back to Miss Brown’s rooms, Ruff was
+unusually silent, but just before he said good night to her--on the
+pavement, in fact, outside her front door--he asked a question.
+
+“Violet,” he said, “would you like to play detective for an hour or
+two?”
+
+She looked at him in some surprise.
+
+“You know I always like to help in anything that’s going,” she said.
+
+“Letty Shaw was an Australian, wasn’t she?” he asked.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“She was born there, and lived there till she was nearly eighteen--is
+that true?” he asked again.
+
+“Quite true,” Miss Brown answered.
+
+“You know the offices of the P.& O. line of steamers in Pall Mall?” he
+asked.
+
+She nodded.
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Get a sailing list to Australia--there should be a boat going Thursday.
+Present yourself as a prospective passenger. See how many young women
+alone there are going out, and ask their names. Incidentally put in a
+little spare time watching the office.”
+
+She looked at him with parted lips and wide-open eyes.
+
+“Do you think--” she began.
+
+He shook her hand warmly and stepped back into the taxicab.
+
+“Good night!” he said. “No questions, please. I sha’n’t expect you at
+the office at the usual time to-morrow, at any rate. Telephone or run
+around if you’ve anything to tell me.”
+
+The taxicab disappeared round the corner of the street. Miss Brown was
+standing still upon the pavement with the latchkey in her hand.
+
+
+*****
+
+
+It was afternoon before the inquest on the body of Austen Abbott, and
+there was gathered together in Letty Shaw’s parlor a curiously assorted
+little group of people. There was Miss Shaw herself--or rather what
+seemed to be the ghost of herself--and her mother; Lady Mary and Sir
+William Trencham; Peter Ruff and Violet Brown--and Mr. John Dory. The
+eyes of all of them were fixed upon Peter Ruff, who was the latest
+arrival. He stood in the middle of the room, calmly taking off his
+gloves, and glancing complacently down at his well-creased trousers.
+
+“Lady Mary,” he said, “and Miss Shaw, I know that you are both anxious
+for me to explain why I ask you to meet me here this afternoon, and why
+I also requested my friend Mr. Dory from Scotland Yard, who has charge
+of the case against Captain Sotherst, to be present. I will tell you.”
+
+Mr. Dory nodded, a little impatiently.
+
+“Unless you have something very definite to say,” he remarked, “I think
+it would be as well to postpone any general discussion of this matter
+until after the inquest. I must warn you that so far as I, personally,
+am concerned, I must absolutely decline to allude to the subject at all.
+It would be most unprofessional.”
+
+“I have something definite to say,” Peter Ruff declared, mildly.
+
+Lady Mary’s eyes flashed with hope--Letty Shaw leaned forward in her
+chair with white, drawn face.
+
+“Let it be understood,” Peter Ruff said, with a slight note of gravity
+creeping into his tone, “that I am here solely as the agent of Lady
+Mary Sotherst. I am paid and employed by her. My sole object is on
+her behalf, therefore, to discover proof of the innocence of Captain
+Sotherst. I take it, however,” he added, turning towards the drooping
+figure in the easy-chair, “that Miss Shaw is as anxious to have the
+truth known.”
+
+“Of course! Of course!” she murmured.
+
+“In France,” Peter Ruff continued, “there is a somewhat curious custom,
+which, despite a certain theatricality, yet has its points. The scene of
+a crime is visited, and its events, so far as may be, reconstructed. Let
+us suppose for a moment that we are now engaged upon something of the
+sort.”
+
+Letty Shaw shrank back in her chair. Her thin white fingers were
+gripping its sides. Her eyes seemed to look upon terrible things.
+
+“It is too--awful!” she faltered.
+
+“Madam,” Peter Ruff said, firmly, “we seek the truth. Be so good as to
+humour me in this. Dory, will you go to the front door, stand upon the
+mat--so? You are Captain Sotherst--you have just entered. I am Austen
+Abbott. You, Miss Shaw, have just ordered me from the room. You see,
+I move toward the door. I open it--so. Miss Shaw,” he added, turning
+swiftly towards her, “once more will you assure me that every one who
+was in the flat that night, with the exception of your domestic servant,
+is present now?”
+
+“Yes,” she murmured.
+
+“Good! Then who,” he asked, suddenly pointing to a door on the
+left--“who is in that room?”
+
+They had all crowded after him to the threshold--thronging around him as
+he stood face to face with John Dory. His finger never wavered--it
+was pointing steadily towards that closed door a few feet to the left.
+Suddenly Letty Shaw rushed past them with a loud shriek.
+
+“You shall not go in!” she cried. “What business is it of his?”
+
+She stood with her back to the door, her arms outstretched like a cross.
+Her cheeks were livid. Her eyes seemed starting from her head.
+
+Peter Ruff and John Dory laid their hands upon the girl’s wrists. She
+clung to her place frantically. She was dragged from it, screaming.
+Peter Ruff, as was his right, entered first. Almost immediately he
+turned round, and his face was very grave.
+
+“Something has happened in here, I am afraid,” he said. “Please come in
+quietly.”
+
+On the bed lay Fluffy Dean, fully dressed--motionless. One hand hung
+down toward the floor--from the lifeless fingers a little phial had
+slipped. The room was full of trunks addressed to--
+
+                           MISS SMITH,
+                      Passenger to Melborne.
+                         S.S. Caroline.
+
+Peter Ruff moved over toward the bed and took up a piece of paper, upon
+which were scribbled a few lines in pencil.
+
+“I think,” he said, “that I must read these aloud. You all have a right
+to hear them.”
+
+No one spoke. He continued:
+
+
+Forgive me, Letty, but I cannot go to Australia. They would only bring
+me back. When I remember that awful moment, my brain burns--I feel that
+I am going mad! Some day I should do this--better now. Give my love to
+the girls.
+
+FLUFFY.
+
+
+They sent for a doctor, and John Dory rang up Scotland Yard. Letty Shaw
+had fainted, and had been carried to her room. While they waited about
+in strange, half-benumbed excitement, Peter Ruff once more spoke to
+them.
+
+“The reconstruction is easy enough now,” he remarked. “The partition
+between this sitting room and that little bedroom is only an artificial
+one--something almost as flimsy as a screen. You see,” he continued,
+tapping with his knuckles, “you can almost put your hand through it.
+If you look a little lower down, you will see where an opening has been
+made. Fluffy Dean was being taken care of by Miss Shaw--staying with her
+here, even. Miss Dean hears her lover’s voice in this room--hears him
+pleading with Miss Shaw on he night of the murder. She has been sent
+home early from the theatre, and it is just possible that she saw or had
+been told that Austen Abbott had fetched Miss Shaw after the performance
+and had taken her to supper. She was mad with anger and jealousy. The
+revolver was there upon the table, with a silver box of cartridges. She
+possessed herself of it and waited in her room. What she heard proved,
+at least, her lover’s infidelity. She stood there at her door, waiting.
+When Austen Abbott comes out, she shoots, throws the revolver at
+him, closes her door, and goes off into a faint. Perhaps she hears
+footsteps--a key in the door. At any rate, Captain Sotherst arrives a
+few minutes later. He finds, half in the hall, half on the threshold of
+the sitting room, Austen Abbott dead, and Miss Shaw’s revolver by the
+side of him. If he had been a wise young man, he would have aroused the
+household. Why he did not do so, we can perhaps guess. He put two and
+two together a little too quickly. It is certain that he believed that
+the dead man had been shot by his fiancee. His first thought was to get
+rid of the revolver. At any rate, he walked down to the street with it
+in his hand, and was promptly arrested by the policeman who had heard
+the shot. Naturally he refused to plead, because he believed that
+Miss Shaw had killed the man, probably in self-defence. She, at first,
+believed her lover guilty, and when afterwards Fluffy Dean confessed,
+she, with feminine lack of common sense, was trying to get the girl out
+of the country before telling the truth. A visit of hers to the office
+of the steamship company gave me the clue I required.”
+
+Lady Mary grasped both his hands.
+
+“And Scotland Yard,” she exclaimed, with a withering glance at Dory,
+“have done their best to hang my brother!”
+
+Peter Ruff raised his eyebrows.
+
+“Dear Lady Mary,” he said, “remember that it is the business of Scotland
+Yard to find a man guilty. It is mine, when I am employed for that
+purpose, to find him innocent. You must not be too hard upon my friend
+Mr. Dory. He and I seem to come up against each other a little too
+often, as it is.”
+
+“A little too often!” John Dory repeated, softly. “But one cannot tell.
+Don’t believe, Lady Mary,” he added, “that we ever want to kill an
+innocent man.”
+
+“It is your profession, though,” she answered, “to find criminals--and
+his,” she added, touching Peter Ruff on the shoulder, “to look for the
+truth.”
+
+Peter Ruff bowed low--the compliment pleased him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. DELILAH FROM STREATHAM
+
+
+It was a favourite theory with Peter Ruff that the morning papers
+received very insufficient consideration from the majority of the
+British public. A glance at the headlines and a few of the spiciest
+paragraphs, a vague look at the leading article, and the sheets were
+thrown away to make room for more interesting literature. It was not
+so with Peter Ruff. Novels he very seldom read--he did not, in fact,
+appreciate the necessity for their existence. The whole epitome of
+modern life was, he argued, to be found among the columns of the daily
+press. The police news, perhaps, was his favourite study, but he did
+not neglect the advertisements. It followed, therefore, as a matter of
+course, that the appeal of “M” in the personal column of the Daily Mail
+was read by him on the morning of its appearance--read not once only nor
+twice--it was a paragraph which had its own peculiar interest for him.
+
+Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald, if still in England, is requested to communicate
+with “M,” at Vagali’s Library, Cook’s Alley, Ledham Street, Soho.
+
+
+
+Peter Ruff laid the paper down upon his desk and looked steadily at a
+box of India-rubber bands. Almost his fingers, as he parted with the
+newspaper, had seemed to be shaking. His eyes were certainly set in
+an unusually retrospective stare. Who was this who sought to probe his
+past, to renew an acquaintance with a dead personality? “M” could be but
+one person! What did she want of him? Was it possible that, after all,
+a little flame of sentiment had been kept alight in her bosom, too--that
+in the quiet moments her thoughts had turned towards him as his had
+so often done to her? Then a sudden idea--an ugly thought--drove the
+tenderness from his face. She was no longer Maud Barnes--she was Mrs.
+John Dory, and John Dory was his enemy! Could there be treachery lurking
+beneath those simple lines? Things had not gone well with John Dory
+lately. Somehow or other, his cases seemed to have crumpled into dust.
+He was no longer held in the same esteem at headquarters. Yet could even
+John Dory stoop to such means as these?
+
+He turned in his chair.
+
+“Miss Brown,” he said, “please take your pencil.”
+
+“I am quite ready, sir,” she answered.
+
+He marked the advertisement with a ring and passed it to her.
+
+“Reply to that as follows,” he said:
+
+DEAR SIR:
+
+I notice in the Daily Mail of this morning that you are enquiring
+through the “personal” column for the whereabouts of Mr. Spencer
+Fitzgerald. That gentleman has been a client of mine, and I have been in
+occasional communication with him. If you will inform me of the nature
+of your business, I may, perhaps, be able to put you in touch with Mr.
+Fitzgerald. You will understand, however, that, under the circumstances,
+I shall require proofs of your good faith.
+
+Truly yours,
+
+PETER RUFF.
+
+Miss Brown glanced through the advertisement and closed her notebook
+with a little snap.
+
+“Did you say--‘Dear Sir’?” she asked.
+
+“Certainly!” Peter Ruff answered.
+
+“And you really mean,” she continued, with obvious disapproval, “that I
+am to send this?”
+
+“I do not usually waste my time,” Peter Ruff reminded her, mildly, “by
+giving you down communications destined for the waste-paper basket.”
+
+She turned unwillingly to her machine.
+
+“Mr. Fitzgerald is very much better where he is,” she remarked.
+
+“That depends,” he answered.
+
+She adjusted a sheet of paper into her typewriter.
+
+“Who do you suppose ‘M’ is?” she asked.
+
+“With your assistance,” Peter Ruff remarked, a little
+sarcastically--“with your very kind assistance--I propose to find out!”
+
+Miss Brown sniffed, and banged at the keys of her typewriter.
+
+“That coal-dealer’s girl from Streatham!” she murmured to herself....
+
+
+
+A few politely worded letters were exchanged. “M” declined to reveal her
+identity, but made an appointment to visit Mr. Ruff at his office. The
+morning she was expected, he wore an entirely new suit of clothes and
+was palpably nervous. Miss Brown, who had arrived a little late, sat
+with her back turned upon him, and ignored even his usual morning
+greeting. The atmosphere of the office was decidedly chilly!
+Fortunately, the expected visitor arrived early.
+
+Peter Ruff rose to receive his former sweetheart with an agitation
+perforce concealed, yet to him poignant indeed. For it was indeed
+Maud who entered the room and came towards him with carefully studied
+embarrassment and half doubtfully extended hand. He did not see the
+cheap millinery, the slightly more developed figure, the passing of
+that insipid prettiness which had once charmed him into the bloom of an
+over-early maturity. His eyes were blinded with that sort of masculine
+chivalry--the heritage only of fools and very clever men--which takes no
+note of such things. It was Miss Brown who, from her place in a corner
+of the room, ran over the cheap attractions of this unwelcome visitor
+with an expression of scornful wonder--who understood the tinsel of her
+jewellery, the cheap shoddiness of her ready-made gown; who appreciated,
+with merciless judgment, her mincing speech, her cheap, flirtatious
+method.
+
+Maud, with a diffidence not altogether assumed, had accepted the chair
+which Peter Ruff had placed for her, and sat fidgeting, for a moment,
+with the imitation gold purse which she was carrying.
+
+“I am sure, Mr. Ruff,” she said, looking demurely into her lap, “I
+ought not to have come here. I feel terribly guilty. It’s such an
+uncomfortable sort of position, too, isn’t it?”
+
+“I am sorry that you find it so,” Peter Ruff said. “If there is anything
+I can do--”
+
+“You are very kind,” she murmured, half raising her eyes to his and
+dropping them again, “but, you see, we are perfect strangers to one
+another. You don’t know me at all, do you? And I have only heard of you
+through the newspapers. You might think all sorts of things about my
+coming here to make enquiries about a gentleman.”
+
+“I can assure you,” Peter Ruff said, sincerely, “that you need have no
+fears--no fears at all. Just speak to me quite frankly. Mr. Fitzgerald
+was a friend of yours, was he not?”
+
+Maud simpered.
+
+“He was more than that,” she answered, looking down. “We were engaged to
+be married.”
+
+Peter Ruff sighed.
+
+“I knew all about it,” he declared. “Fitzgerald used to tell me
+everything.”
+
+“You were his friend?” she asked, looking him in the face.
+
+“I was,” Peter Ruff answered fervently, “his best friend! No one was
+more grieved than I about that--little mistake.”
+
+She sighed.
+
+“In some ways,” she remarked softly, “you remind me of him.”
+
+“You could scarcely say anything,” Peter Ruff murmured “which would give
+me more pleasure. I am flattered.”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“It isn’t flattery,” she said, “it’s the truth. You may be a few years
+older, and Spencer had a very nice moustache, which you haven’t, but you
+are really not unlike. Mr. Ruff, do tell me where he is!”
+
+Peter Ruff coughed.
+
+“You must remember,” he said, “that Mr. Fitzgerald’s absence was caused
+by events of a somewhat unfortunate character.”
+
+“I know all about it,” she answered, with a little sigh.
+
+“You can appreciate the fact, therefore,” Peter Ruff continued, “that
+as his friend and well-wisher I can scarcely disclose his whereabouts
+without his permission. Will you tell me exactly why you want to meet
+him again?”
+
+She blushed--looked down and up again--betrayed, in fact, all the signs
+of confusion which might have been expected from her.
+
+“Must I tell you that?” she asked.
+
+“You are married, are you not?” Peter Ruff asked, looking down at her
+wedding ring.
+
+She bit her lip with vexation. What a fool she had been not to take it
+off!
+
+“Yes! Well, no--that is to say--”
+
+“Never mind,” Peter Ruff interrupted. “Please don’t think that I want to
+cross-examine you. I only asked these questions because I have a sincere
+regard for Fitzgerald. I know how fond he was of you, and I cannot see
+what there is to be gained, from his point of view, by reopening old
+wounds.”
+
+“I suppose, then,” she remarked, looking at him in such a manner
+that Miss Brown had to cover her mouth with her hands to prevent her
+screaming out--“I suppose you are one of those who think it a crime for
+a woman who is married even to want to see, for a few moments, an old
+sweetheart?”
+
+“On the contrary,” Peter Ruff answered, “as a bachelor, I have no
+convictions of any sort upon the subject.”
+
+She sighed.
+
+“I am glad of that,” she said.
+
+“I am to understand, then,” Peter Ruff remarked, “that your reason for
+wishing to meet Mr. Fitzgerald again is purely a sentimental one?”
+
+“I am afraid it is,” she murmured; “I have thought of him so often
+lately. He was such a dear!” she declared, with enthusiasm.
+
+“I have never been sufficiently thankful,” she continued, “that he got
+away that night. At the time, I was very angry, but often since then I
+have wished that I could have passed out with him into the fog and been
+lost--but I mustn’t talk like this! Please don’t misunderstand me, Mr.
+Ruff. I am happily married--quite happily married!”
+
+Peter Ruff sighed.
+
+“My friend Fitzgerald,” he remarked, “will be glad to hear that.”
+
+Maud fidgeted. It was not quite the effect she had intended to produce!
+
+“Of course,” she remarked, looking away with a pensive air, “one has
+regrets.”
+
+“Regrets!” Peter Ruff murmured.
+
+“Mr. Dory is not well off,” she continued, “and I am afraid that I
+am very fond of life and going about, and everything is so expensive
+nowadays. Then I don’t like his profession. I think it is hateful to
+be always trying to catch people and put them in prison--don’t you, Mr.
+Ruff?”
+
+Peter Ruff smiled.
+
+“Naturally,” he answered. “Your husband and I work from the opposite
+poles of life. He is always seeking to make criminals of the people whom
+I am always trying to prove worthy members of society.”
+
+“How noble!” Maud exclaimed, clasping her hands and looking up at him.
+“So much more remunerative, too, I should think,” she added, after a
+moment’s pause.
+
+“Naturally,” Peter Ruff admitted. “A private individual will pay more
+to escape from the clutches of the law than the law will to secure
+its victims. Scotland Yard expects them to come into its arms
+automatically--regards them as a perquisite of its existence.”
+
+“I wish my husband were in your profession, Mr. Ruff,” Maud said, with a
+sidelong glance of her blue eyes which she had always found so effective
+upon her various admirers. “I am sure that I should be a great deal
+fonder of him.”
+
+Peter Ruff leaned forward in his chair. He, too, had expressive eyes at
+times.
+
+“Madam,” he said--and stopped. But Maud blushed, all the same.
+
+She looked down into her lap.
+
+“We are forgetting Mr. Fitzgerald,” she murmured.
+
+Peter Ruff glanced up at the clock.
+
+“It is a long story,” he said. “Are you in a hurry, Mrs. Dory?
+
+“Not at all,” she assured him, “unless you want to close you office, or
+anything. It must be nearly one o’clock.”
+
+“I wonder,” he asked, “if you would do me the honour of lunching with
+me? We might go to the Prince’s or the Carlton--whichever you prefer. I
+will promise to talk about Mr. Fitzgerald all the time.”
+
+“Oh, I couldn’t!” Maud declared, with a little gasp. “At least--well,
+I’m sure I don’t know!”
+
+“You have no engagement for luncheon?” Peter Ruff asked quietly.
+
+“Oh, no!” she answered; “but, you see, we live so quietly. I have
+never been to one of those places. I’d love to go--but if we were seen!
+Wouldn’t people talk?”
+
+Peter Ruff smiled. Just the same dear, modest little thing!
+
+“I can assure you,” he said, “that nothing whatever could be said
+against our lunching together. People are not so strict nowadays, you
+know, and a married lady has always a great deal of latitude.”
+
+She looked up at him with a dazzling smile.
+
+“I’d simply love to go to Prince’s!” she declared.
+
+“Cat!” Miss Brown murmured, as Peter Ruff and his client left the room
+together.
+
+Peter Ruff returned from his luncheon in no very jubilant state of mind.
+For some time he sat in his easy-chair, with his legs crossed and
+his finger tips pressed close together, looking steadily into space.
+Contrary to his usual custom, he did not smoke. Miss Brown watched him
+from behind her machine.
+
+“Disenchanted?” she asked calmly.
+
+Peter Ruff did not reply for several moments.
+
+“I am afraid,” he admitted, hesitatingly, “that marriage with John Dory
+has--well, not had a beneficial effect. She allowed me, for instance, to
+hold her hand in the cab! Maud would never have permitted a stranger to
+take such a liberty in the old days.”
+
+Miss Brown smiled curiously.
+
+“Is that all?” she asked.
+
+Peter Ruff felt that he was in the confessional.
+
+“She certainly did seem,” he admitted, “to enjoy her champagne a great
+deal, and she talked about her dull life at home a little more, perhaps,
+than was discreet to one who was presumably a stranger. She was curious,
+too, about dining out. Poor little girl, though. Just fancy, John Dory
+has never taken her anywhere but to Lyons’ or an A B C, and the pit of a
+theatre!”
+
+“Which evening is it to be?” Miss Brown asked.
+
+“Something was said about Thursday,” Peter Ruff admitted.
+
+“And her husband?” Miss Brown enquired.
+
+“He happens to be in Glasgow for a few days,” Peter Ruff answered.
+
+Miss Brown looked at her employer steadily. She addressed him by his
+Christian name, which was a thing she very seldom did in office hours.
+
+“Peter,” she said, “are you going to let that woman make a fool of you?”
+
+He raised his eyebrows.
+
+“Go on,” he said; “say anything you want to--only, if you please, don’t
+speak disrespectfully of Maud.”
+
+“Hasn’t it ever occurred to you at all,” Miss Brown continued, rising
+to her feet, “that this Maud, or whatever you want to call her, may be
+playing a low-down game of her husband’s? He hates you, and he has
+vague suspicions. Can’t you see that he is probably making use of your
+infatuation for his common, middle-class little wife, to try and get
+you to give yourself away? Can’t you see it, Peter? You are not going to
+tell me that you are so blind as all that!”
+
+“I must admit,” he answered with a sigh, “that, although I think you go
+altogether too far, some suspicion of the sort has interfered with my
+perfect enjoyment of the morning.”
+
+Miss Brown drew a little breath of relief. After all, then, his folly
+was not so consummate as it had seemed!
+
+“What are you going to do about it, then?” she asked.
+
+Peter Ruff coughed--he seemed in an unusually amenable frame of mind,
+and submitted to cross-examination without murmur.
+
+“The subject of Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald,” he remarked, “seemed, somehow
+or other, to drop into the background during our luncheon. I propose,
+therefore, to continue to offer to Mrs. John Dory my most respectful
+admiration. If she accepts my friendship, and is satisfied with it,
+so much the better. I must admit that it would give me a great deal of
+pleasure to be her occasional companion--at such times when her husband
+happens to be in Glasgow!”
+
+“And supposing,” Miss Brown asked, “that this is not all she
+wants--supposing, for instance, that she persists in her desire for
+information concerning Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald?”
+
+“Then,” Peter Ruff admitted, “I’m afraid that I must conclude that her
+unchivalrous clod of a husband has indeed stooped to make a fool of
+her.”
+
+“And in that case,” Miss Brown demanded, “what shall you do?”
+
+“I was just thinking that out,” Peter Ruff said mildly, “when you
+spoke....”
+
+The friendship of Peter Ruff with the wife of his enemy certainly
+appeared to progress in most satisfactory fashion. The dinner and visit
+to the theatre duly took place. Mr. Ruff was afterwards permitted to
+offer a slight supper and to accompany his fair companion a portion of
+the way home in a taxicab. She made several half-hearted attempts to
+return to the subject of Spencer Fitzgerald, but her companion had been
+able on each occasion to avoid the subject. Whether or not she was the
+victim of her husband’s guile, there was no question about the reality
+of her enjoyment during the evening. Ruff, when he remembered the flash
+of her eyes across the table, the touch of her fingers in the taxi, was
+almost content to believe her false to her truant lover. If only she had
+not been married to John Dory, he realised, with a little sigh, that he
+might have taught her to forget that such a person existed as Spencer
+Fitzgerald, might have induced her to become Mrs. Peter Ruff!
+
+On their next meeting, however, Peter Ruff was forced to realise that
+his secretary’s instinct had not misled her. It was, alas, no personal
+and sentimental regrets for her former lover which had brought the fair
+Maud to his office. The pleasures of her evening--they dined at Romano’s
+and had a box at the Empire--were insufficient this time to keep her
+from recurring continually to the subject of her vanished lover. He
+tried strategy--jealousy amongst other things.
+
+“Supposing,” he said, as they sat quite close to one another in the box
+during the interval, “supposing I were to induce our friend to come to
+London--I imagine he would be fairly safe now if he kept out of your
+husband’s way--what would happen to me?”
+
+“You!” she murmured, glancing at him from behind her fan and then
+dropping her eyes.
+
+“Certainly--me!” he continued. “Don’t you think that I should be doing
+myself a very ill turn if I brought you two together? I have very few
+friends, and I cannot afford to lose one. I am quite sure that you still
+care for him.”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“Not a scrap!” she declared.
+
+“Then why did you put that advertisement in the paper?” Ruff asked, with
+smooth but swift directness.
+
+She was not quick enough to parry his question. He read the truth in her
+disconcerted face. Knowing it now for a certainty, he hastened to her
+aid.
+
+“Forgive me,” he said, looking away. “I should not have asked that
+question--it is not my business. I will write to Fitzgerald. I will tell
+him that you want to see him, and that I think it would be safe for him
+to come to London.”
+
+Maud recovered herself quickly. She thanked him with her eyes as well as
+her words.
+
+“And you needn’t be jealous, really,” she whispered behind her fan. “I
+only want to see him once for a few minutes--to ask a question. After
+that, I don’t care what becomes of him.”
+
+A poor sort of Delilah, really, with her flushed face, her too
+elaborately coiffured hair with its ugly ornament, her ready-made
+evening dress with its cheap attempts at smartness, her cleaned gloves,
+indifferent shoes. But Peter Ruff thought otherwise.
+
+“You mean that, after I have found him for you, you will still come out
+with me again sometimes?” he asked wistfully.
+
+“Of course!” she answered. “Whenever I can without John knowing,” she
+added, with an unpleasant little laugh. “If you only knew how I loved
+the music and the theatres, and this sort of life! What a good time your
+wife would have, Mr. Ruff!” she added archly.
+
+It was no joking matter with him. He had to remember that he was, in
+effect, her tool, that she was making use of him, willing to betray her
+former lover at her husband’s bidding. It was enough to make him, on
+his side, burn for revenge! Yet he put the thought away from him with
+a shiver. She was still the woman he had loved--she was still sacred to
+him! That night he pleaded an engagement, and sent her home in a taxicab
+alone.
+
+John Dory, waiting patiently at home for his wife’s return, felt a
+certain uneasiness when she swept into their little sitting room in all
+her cheap splendour, with flushed cheeks--an obvious air of satisfaction
+with herself and disdain for her immediate surroundings. John Dory was
+a commonplace looking man--the absence of his collar, and his somewhat
+shabby carpet slippers, did not improve his appearance. He had
+neglected to shave, and he was drinking beer. At headquarters he was not
+considered quite the smart young officer which he had once shown signs
+of becoming. He looked at his wife with darkening face, and his wife, on
+her part, thought of Peter Ruff in his immaculate evening clothes.
+
+“Well,” he remarked, grumblingly, “you seem to find a good deal of
+pleasure in this gadding about!”
+
+She threw her soiled fan on the table.
+
+“If I do,” she answered, “you are not the one to sit there and reproach
+me with it, are you?”
+
+“It’s gone far enough, anyway,” John Dory said. “It’s gone further than
+I meant it to go. Understand me, Maud--it’s finished! I’ll find your old
+sweetheart for myself.”
+
+She laughed heartily.
+
+“You needn’t trouble,” she answered, with a little toss of the head.
+“I am not such a fool as you seem to think me. Mr. Ruff has made an
+appointment with him.”
+
+There was a change in John Dory’s face. The man’s eyes were bright--they
+almost glittered.
+
+“You mean that your friend Mr. Ruff is going to produce Spencer
+Fitzgerald?” he exclaimed.
+
+“He has promised to,” she answered. “John,” she declared, throwing
+herself into an easy-chair, “I feel horrid about it. I wonder what Mr.
+Ruff will think when he knows!”
+
+“You can feel how you like,” John Dory answered bluntly, “so long as I
+get the handcuffs on Spencer Fitzgerald’s wrists!”
+
+She shuddered. She looked at her husband with distaste.
+
+“Don’t talk about it!” she begged sharply. “It makes me feel the meanest
+creature that ever crawled. I can’t help feeling, too, that Mr. Ruff
+will think me a wretch--quite the gentleman he’s been all the time! I
+never knew any one half so nice!”
+
+John Dory set down his empty glass.
+
+“I wonder,” he said, looking at her thoughtfully, “what made him take
+such a fancy to you! Rather sudden, wasn’t it, eh?”
+
+Maud tossed her head.
+
+“I don’t see anything so wonderful about that,” she declared.
+
+“Listen to me, Maud,” her husband said, rising to his feet. “You
+aren’t a fool--not quite. You’ve spent some time with Peter Ruff.
+How much--think carefully--how much does he remind you of Spencer
+Fitzgerald?”
+
+“Not at all,” she answered promptly. “Why, he is years older, and though
+Spencer was quite the gentleman, there’s something about Mr. Ruff, and
+the way he dresses and knows his way about--well, you can tell he’s been
+a gentleman all his life.”
+
+John Dory’s face fell.
+
+“Think again,” he said.
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“Can’t see any likeness,” she declared. “He did remind me a little of
+him just at first, though,” she added, reflectively--“little things he
+said, and sort of mannerisms. I’ve sort of lost sight of them the last
+few times, though.”
+
+“When is this meeting with Fitzgerald to come off?” John Dory asked
+abruptly.
+
+She did not answer him at once. A low, triumphant smile had parted her
+lips.
+
+“To-morrow night,” she said; “he is to meet me in Mr. Ruff’s office.”
+
+“At what time?” John Dory asked.
+
+“At eight o’clock,” she answered. “Mr. Ruff is keeping his office open
+late on purpose. Spencer thinks that afterwards he is going to take me
+out to dinner.”
+
+“You are sure of this?” John Dory asked eagerly. “You are sure that the
+man Ruff does not suspect you? You believe he means that you shall meet
+Fitzgerald?”
+
+“I am sure of it,” she answered. “He is even a little jealous,” she
+continued, with an affected laugh. “He told me--well, never mind!”
+
+“He told you what?” John Dory asked.
+
+She laughed.
+
+“Never you mind,” she said. “I have done what you asked me anyway.
+If Mr. Ruff had not found me an agreeable companion he would not have
+bothered about getting Spencer to meet me. And now he’s done it,” she
+added, “I do believe he’s a little jealous.”
+
+John Dory glared, but he said nothing. It seemed to him that his hour of
+revenge was close at hand!
+
+It was the first occasion upon which words of this sort had passed
+between Peter Ruff and his secretary. There was no denying the fact
+that Miss Violet Brown was in a passion. It was an hour past the time
+at which she usually left the office. For an hour she had pleaded, and
+Peter Ruff remained unmoved.
+
+“You are a fool!” she cried to him at last. “I am a fool, too, that I
+have ever wasted my thoughts and time upon you. Why can’t I make you
+see? In every other way, heaven knows, you are clever enough! And yet
+there comes this vulgar, commonplace, tawdry little woman from heaven
+knows where, and makes such a fool of you that you are willing to fling
+away your career--to hold your wrists out for John Dory’s handcuffs!”
+
+“My dear Violet,” Peter Ruff answered deprecatingly, “you really worry
+me--you do indeed!”
+
+“Not half so much as you worry me,” she declared. “Look at the time.
+It’s already past seven. At eight o’clock Mrs. Dory--your Maud--is
+coming in here hoping to find her old sweetheart.”
+
+“Why not?” he murmured.
+
+“Why not, indeed?” Miss Brown answered angrily. “Don’t you know--can’t
+you believe--that close on her heels will come her husband--that Mr.
+Spencer Fitzgerald, if ever he comes to life in this room, will leave it
+between two policemen?”
+
+Peter Ruff sighed.
+
+“What a pessimist you are, my dear Violet!” he said.
+
+She came up to him and laid her hands upon his shoulders.
+
+“Peter,” she said, “I will tell you something--I must! I am fond of you,
+Peter. I always have been. Don’t make me miserable if there is no need
+for it. Tell me honestly--do you really believe in this woman?”
+
+He removed her hands gently, and raised them to his lips.
+
+“My dear girl,” he said, “I believe in every one until I find them
+out. I look upon suspicion as a vice. But, at the same time,” he added,
+“there are always certain precautions which one takes.”
+
+“What precautions can you take?” she cried. “Can you sit there and make
+yourself invisible? John Dory is not a fool. The moment he is in this
+room with the door closed behind him, it is the end.”
+
+“We must hope not,” Peter Ruff said cheerfully. “There are other things
+which may happen, you know.”
+
+She turned away from him a little drearily.
+
+“You do not mind if I stay?” she said. “I am not working to-night.
+Perhaps, later on, I may be of use!”
+
+“As you will,” he answered. “You will excuse me for a little time, won’t
+you? I have some preparations to make.”
+
+She turned her head away from him. He left the room and ascended the
+stairs to his own apartments.
+
+Eight o’clock was striking from St. Martin’s Church when the door of
+Peter Ruff’s office was softly opened and closed again. A man in a
+slouch hat and overcoat entered, and after feeling along the wall for a
+moment, turned up the electric light. Violet Brown rose from her place
+with a little sob. She stretched out her hand to him.
+
+“Peter!” she cried. “Peter!”
+
+“My name,” the newcomer said calmly, “is Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald.”
+
+“Oh, listen to me!” she begged. “There is still time, if you hurry.
+Think how many clever men before you have been deceived by the woman
+in whom they trusted. Please, please go! Hurry upstairs and put those
+things away.”
+
+“Madam,” the newcomer said, “I am much obliged to you for your interest,
+but I think that you are making a mistake. I have come here to meet--”
+
+He stopped short. There was a soft knocking at the door. A stifled
+scream broke from Violet Brown’s lips.
+
+“It is too late!” she cried. “Peter! Peter!”
+
+She sank into her chair and covered her face with her hands. The door
+was opened and Maud came in. When she saw who it was who sat in Peter
+Ruff’s place, she gave a little cry. Perhaps after all, she had not
+believed that this thing would happen.
+
+“Spencer!” she cried, “Spencer! Have you really come back?”
+
+He held out his hands.
+
+“You are glad to see me?” he asked.
+
+She came slowly forward. The man rose from his place and came towards
+her with outstretched hands. Then through the door came John Dory, and
+one caught a glimpse of others behind him.
+
+“If my wife is not glad to see you, Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald,” he aid, in
+a tone from which he vainly tried to keep the note of triumph, “I can
+assure you that I am. You slipped away from me cleverly at Daisy Villa,
+but this time I think you will not find it so easy.”
+
+Maud shrank back, and her husband took her place. But Mr. Spencer
+Fitzgerald looked upon them both as one who looks upon figures in a
+dream. Miss Brown rose hurriedly from her seat. She came over to him and
+thrust her arm through his.
+
+“Peter,” she said, taking his hand in hers, “don’t shoot. It isn’t worth
+while. You should have listened to me.”
+
+The little man in the gold-rimmed spectacles looked at her, looked at
+Mr. John Dory, looked at the woman who was shrinking back now against
+the wall.
+
+“Really,” he said, “this is the most extraordinary situation in which I
+ever found myself!”
+
+“We will help you to realise it,” John Dory cried, and the triumph in
+his tone had swelled into a deeper note. “I came here to arrest Mr.
+Fitzgerald, but I hear this young lady call you ‘Peter.’ Perhaps this
+may be the solution--”
+
+The little man struck the table with the flat of his hand.
+
+“Come,” he said, “this is getting a bit too thick. First of all--you,”
+ he said, turning to Miss Brown--“my name is not Peter, and I have no
+idea of shooting anybody. As for that lady against the wall, I don’t
+know her--never saw her before in my life. As for you,” he added,
+turning to John Dory, “you talk about arresting me--what for?”
+
+Mr. John Dory smiled.
+
+“There is an old warrant,” he said, “which I have in my pocket, but I
+fancy that there are a few little things since then which we may have to
+enquire into.”
+
+“This beats me!” the little man declared. “Who do you think I am?”
+
+“Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald, to start with,” John Dory said. “It seems to me
+not impossible that we may find another pseudonym for you.”
+
+“You can find as many as you like,” the little man answered testily,
+“but my name is James Fitzgerald, and I am an actor employed at the
+Shaftesbury Theatre, as I can prove with the utmost ease. I never called
+myself Spencer; nor, to my knowledge, was I ever called by such a name.
+Nor, as I remarked before, have I ever seen any one of you three people
+before with the exception of Miss Brown here, whom I have seen on the
+stage.”
+
+John Dory grunted.
+
+“It was Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald,” he said, “a clerk in Howell & Wilson’s
+bookshop, who leapt out of the window of Daisy Villa two years ago. It
+may be Mr. James Fitzgerald now. Gentlemen of your profession have a
+knack of changing their names.”
+
+“My profession’s as good as yours, anyway!” the little man exclaimed.
+“We aren’t all fools in it! My friend Mr. Peter Ruff said to me that
+there was a young lady whom I used to know who was anxious to meet me
+again, and would I step around here about eight o’clock. Here I am, and
+all I can say is, if that’s the young lady, I never saw her before in my
+life.”
+
+There was a moment’s breathless silence. Then the door was softly
+opened. Violet Brown went staggering back like a woman who sees a
+ghost. She bit her lips till the blood came. It was Peter Ruff who stood
+looking in upon them--Peter Ruff, carefully dressed in evening clothes,
+his silk hat at exactly the correct angle, his coat and white kid gloves
+upon his arm.
+
+“Dear me,” he said, “you don’t seem to be getting on very well! Mr.
+Dory,” he added, with a note of surprise in his tone, “this is indeed an
+unexpected pleasure!”
+
+The man who stood by the desk turned to him. The others were stricken
+dumb.
+
+“Look here,” he said, “there’s some mistake. You told me to come here
+at eight o’clock to meet a young lady whom I used to know. Well, I never
+saw her before in my life,” he added, pointing to Maud. “There’s a
+man there who wants to arrest me--Lord knows what for! And here’s Miss
+Brown, whom I have seen at the theatre several times but who never
+condescended to speak to me before, telling me not to shoot! What’s it
+all about, Ruff? Is it a practical joke?”
+
+Peter Ruff laid down his coat and hat, and sat upon the table with his
+hands in his pockets.
+
+“Is it possible,” he said, “that I have made a mistake? Isn’t your
+second name Spencer?”
+
+The man shook his head.
+
+“My name is James Fitzgerald,” he said. “I haven’t missed a day at the
+Shaftesbury Theatre for three years, as you can find out by going
+round the corner. I never called myself Spencer, I was never clerk in a
+bookshop, and I never saw that lady before in my life.”
+
+Maud came out from her place against the wall, and leaned eagerly
+forward. John Dory turned his head slowly towards his wife. A sickening
+fear had arisen in his heart--gripped him by the throat. Fooled once
+more, and by Peter Ruff!
+
+“It isn’t Spencer!” Maud said huskily. “Mr. Ruff,” she added, turning
+to him, “you know very well that this is not the Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald
+whom you promised to bring here to-night--Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald to whom
+I was once engaged.”
+
+Peter Ruff pointed to the figure of her husband.
+
+“Madam,” he said, “my invitation did not include your husband.”
+
+John Dory took a step forward, and laid his hands upon the shoulders of
+the man who called himself Mr. James Fitzgerald. He looked into his face
+long and carefully. Then he turned away, and, gripping his wife by the
+arm, he passed out of the room. The door slammed behind him. The sound
+of heavy footsteps was heard descending to the floor below.
+
+Violet Brown crossed the room to where Peter Ruff was still sitting with
+a queer look upon his face, and, gripping him by the shoulders, shook
+him.
+
+“How dare you!” she exclaimed. “How dare you! Do you know that I have
+nearly cried my eyes out?”
+
+Peter Ruff came back from the world into which, for the moment, his
+thoughts had taken him.
+
+“Violet,” he said, “you have known me for some years. You have been my
+secretary for some months. If you choose still to take me for a fool, I
+cannot help it.”
+
+“But,” she exclaimed, pointing to Mr. James Fitzgerald--
+
+Peter Ruff nodded.
+
+“I have been practising on him for some time,” he said, with an air of
+self-satisfaction.
+
+“A thin, mobile face, you see, and plenty of experience in the art of
+making up. It is astonishing what one can do if one tries.”
+
+Mr. James Fitzgerald picked up his hat and coat.
+
+“It was worth more than five quid,” he growled; “when I saw the
+handcuffs in that fellow’s hand, I felt a cold shiver go down my spine.”
+
+Peter Ruff counted out two banknotes and passed them to his confederate.
+
+“You have earned the money,” he said. “Go and spend it. Perhaps,
+Violet,” he added, turning towards her, “I have been a little
+inconsiderate. Come and have dinner with me, and forget it.”
+
+She drew a little sigh.
+
+“You are sure,” she murmured, “that you wouldn’t rather take Maud?”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. THE LITTLE LADY FROM SERVIA
+
+
+Westward sped the little electric brougham, driven without regard to
+police regulations or any rule of the road: silent and swift, wholly
+regardless of other vehicles--as though, indeed, its occupants were
+assuming to themselves the rights of Royalty. Inside, Peter Ruff, a
+little breathless, was leaning forward, tying his white cravat with the
+aid of the little polished mirror set in the middle of the dark green
+cushions. At his right hand was Lady Mary, watching his proceedings with
+an air of agonised impatience.
+
+“Let me tell you--” she begged.
+
+“Kindly wait till I have tied this and put my studs in,” Peter Ruff
+interrupted. “It is impossible for me to arrive at a ball in this
+condition, and I cannot give my whole attention to more than one thing
+at a time.”
+
+“We shall be there in five minutes!” she exclaimed. “What is the good,
+unless you understand, of your coming at all?”
+
+Peter Ruff surveyed his tie critically. Fortunately, it pleased him.
+He began to press the studs into their places with firm fingers. Around
+them surged the traffic of Piccadilly; in front, the gleaming arc of
+lights around Hyde Park Corner. They had several narrow escapes. Once
+the brougham swayed dangerously as they cut in on the wrong side of an
+island lamp-post. A policeman shouted after them, another held up his
+hand--the driver of the brougham took no notice.
+
+“I am ready,” Peter Ruff said, quietly.
+
+“My younger brother--Maurice,” she began, breathlessly--“you’ve never
+met him, I know, but you’ve heard me speak of him. He is private
+secretary to Sir James Wentley--”
+
+“Minister for Foreign Affairs?” Ruff asked, swiftly.
+
+“Yes! Maurice wants to go in for the Diplomatic Service. He is a dear,
+and so clever!”
+
+“Is it Maurice who is in trouble?” Peter Ruff asked. “Why didn’t he come
+himself?”
+
+“I am trying to explain,” Lady Mary protested. “This afternoon he had an
+important paper to turn into cipher and hand over to the Prime Minister
+at the Duchess of Montford’s dance to-night. The Prime Minister will
+arrive in a motor car from the country at about two o’clock, and the
+first thing he will ask for will be that paper. It has been stolen!”
+
+“At what time did your brother finish copying it, and when did he
+discover its loss?” Ruff asked, with a slight air of weariness. These
+preliminary enquiries always bored him.
+
+“He finished it in his own rooms at half-past seven,” Lady Mary
+answered. “He discovered its loss at eleven o’clock--directly he had
+arrived at the ball.”
+
+“Why didn’t he come to me himself?” Peter Ruff asked. “I like to have
+these particulars at first hand.”
+
+“He is in attendance upon Sir James at the ball,” Lady Mary answered.
+“There is trouble in the East, as you know, and Sir James is expecting
+dispatches to-night. Maurice is not allowed to leave.”
+
+“Has he told Sir James yet?”
+
+“He had not when I left,” Lady Mary answered. “If he is forced to do so,
+it will be ruin! Mr. Ruff, you must help us Maurice is such a dear,
+but a mistake like this, at the very beginning of his career, would be
+fatal. Here we are. That is my brother waiting just inside the hall.”
+
+A young man came up to them in the vestibule. He was somewhat pale, but
+otherwise perfectly self-possessed. From the shine of his glossy black
+hair to the tips of his patent boots he was, in appearance, everything
+that a young Englishman of birth and athletic tastes could hope to be.
+Peter Ruff liked the look of him. He waited for no introduction, but
+laid his hand at once upon the young man’s shoulder.
+
+“Between seven-thirty and arriving here,” he said, drawing him on one
+side--“quick! Tell me, whom did you see? What opportunities were there
+of stealing the paper, and by whom?”
+
+“I finished it at five and twenty past seven,” the young man said,
+“sealed it in an official envelope, and stood it up on my desk by the
+side of my coat and hat and muffler, which my servant had laid there,
+ready for me to put on. My bedroom opens out from my sitting room. While
+I was dressing, two men called for me--Paul Jermyn and Count von Hern.
+They walked through to my bedroom first, and then sat together in the
+sitting room until I came out. The door was wide open, and we talked all
+the time.”
+
+“They called accidentally?” Peter Ruff asked.
+
+“No--by appointment,” the young man replied. “We were all coming on here
+to the dance, and we had agreed to dine together first at the Savoy.”
+
+“You say that you left the paper on your desk with your coat and hat?”
+ Peter Ruff asked. “Was it there when you came out?”
+
+“Apparently so,” the young man answered. “It seemed to be standing in
+exactly the same place as where I had left it. I put it into my breast
+pocket, and it was only when I arrived here that I fancied the envelope
+seemed lighter. I went off by myself and tore it open. There was nothing
+inside but half a newspaper!”
+
+“What about the envelope?” Peter Ruff asked. “That must have been the
+same sort of one as you had used or you would have noticed it?”
+
+“It was,” the Honorable Maurice answered.
+
+“It was a sort which you kept in your room?”
+
+“Yes!” the young man admitted.
+
+“The packet was changed, then, by some one in your room, or some one who
+had access to it,” Peter Ruff said. “How about your servant?”
+
+“It was his evening off. I let him put out my things and go at seven
+o’clock.”
+
+“You must tell me the nature of the contents of the packet,” Peter Ruff
+declared. “Don’t hesitate. You must do it. Remember the alternative.”
+
+The young man did hesitate for several moments, but a glance into his
+sister’s appealing face decided him.
+
+“It was our official reply to a secret communication from Russia
+respecting--a certain matter in the Balkans.”
+
+Peter Ruff nodded.
+
+“Where is Count von Hern?” he asked abruptly.
+
+“Inside, dancing.”
+
+“I must use a telephone at once,” Peter Ruff said. “Ask one of the
+servants here where I can find one.”
+
+Peter Ruff was conducted to a gloomy waiting room, on the table of
+which stood a small telephone instrument. He closed the door, but he
+was absent for only a few minutes. When he rejoined Lady Mary and her
+brother they were talking together in agitated whispers. The latter
+turned towards him at once.
+
+“Do you mean that you suspect Count von Hern?” he asked, doubtfully. “He
+is a friend of the Danish Minister’s, and every one says that he’s
+such a good chap. He doesn’t seem to take the slightest interest in
+politics--spends nearly all his time hunting or playing polo.”
+
+“I don’t suspect any one,” Peter Ruff answered. “I only know that Count
+von Hern is an Austrian spy, and that he took your paper! Has he been
+out of your sight at all since you rejoined him in the sitting room? I
+mean to say--had he any opportunity of leaving you during the time you
+were dining together, or did he make any calls en route, either on the
+way to the Savoy or from the Savoy here?”
+
+The young man shook his head.
+
+“He has not been out of my sight for a second.”
+
+“Who is the other man--Jermyn?” Peter Ruff asked. “I never heard of
+him.”
+
+“An American--cousin of the Duchess. He could not have had the slightest
+interest in the affair.”
+
+“Please take me into the ballroom,” Peter Ruff said to Lady Mary. “Your
+brother had better not come with us. I want to be as near the Count von
+Hern as possible.”
+
+They passed into the crowded rooms, unnoticed, purposely avoiding the
+little space where the Duchess was still receiving the late comers among
+her guests. They found progress difficult, and Lady Mary felt her heart
+sink as she glanced at the little jewelled watch which hung from her
+wrist. Suddenly Peter Ruff came to a standstill.
+
+“Don’t look for a moment,” he said, “but tell me as soon as you can--who
+is that tall young man, like a Goliath, talking to the little dark
+woman? You see whom I mean?”
+
+Lady Mary nodded, and they passed on. In a moment or two she answered
+him.
+
+“How strange that you should ask!” she whispered in his ear. “That is
+Mr. Jermyn.”
+
+They were on the outskirts now of the ballroom itself. One of Lady
+Mary’s partners came up with an open programme and a face full of
+reproach.
+
+“Do please forgive me, Captain Henderson,” Lady Mary begged. “I have
+hurt my foot, and I am not dancing any more.”
+
+“But surely I was to take you in to supper?” the young officer
+protested, good-humouredly. “Don’t tell me that you are going to cut
+that?”
+
+“I am going to cut everything to-night with everybody,” Lady Mary said.
+“Please forgive me. Come to tea to-morrow and I’ll explain.”
+
+The young man bowed, and, with a curious glance at Ruff, accepted his
+dismissal. Another partner was simply waved away.
+
+“Please turn round and come back,” Peter Ruff said. “I want to see those
+two again.”
+
+“But we haven’t found Count von Hern yet,” she protested. “Surely that
+is more important, is it not? I believe that I saw him dancing just
+now--there, with the tall girl in yellow.”
+
+“Never mind about him, for the moment,” Ruff answered. “Walk down this
+corridor with me. Do you mind talking all the time, please? It will
+sound more natural, and I want to listen.”
+
+The young American and his partner had found a more retired seat now,
+about three quarters of the way down the pillared vestibule which
+bordered the ballroom. He was bending over his companion with an air of
+unmistakable devotion, but it was she who talked. She seemed, indeed,
+to have a good deal to say to him. The slim white fingers of one hand
+played all the time with a string of magnificent pearls. Her dark, soft
+eyes--black as aloes and absolutely un-English--flashed into his. A
+delightful smile hovered at the corners of her lips. All the time she
+was talking and he was listening. Lady Mary and her partner passed by
+unnoticed. At the end of the vestibule they turned and retraced their
+steps. Peter Ruff was very quiet--he had caught a few of those rapid
+words. But the woman’s foreign accent had troubled him.
+
+“If only she would speak in her own language!” he muttered.
+
+Lady Mary’s hand suddenly tightened upon his arm.
+
+“Look!” she exclaimed. “That is Count von Hern!”
+
+A tall, fair young man, very exact in his dress, very stiff in his
+carriage, with a not unpleasant face, was standing talking to Jermyn and
+his companion. Jermyn, who apparently found the intrusion an annoyance,
+was listening to the conversation between the two, with a frown upon his
+face and a general attitude of irritation. As Lady Mary and her
+escort drew near, the reason for the young American’s annoyance
+became clearer--his two companions were talking softly, but with great
+animation, in a foreign language, which it was obvious that he did not
+understand. Peter Ruff’s elbow pressed against his partner’s arm, and
+their pace slackened. He ventured, even, to pause for a moment, looking
+into the ballroom as though in search of some one, and he had by no
+means the appearance of a man likely to understand Hungarian. Then, to
+Lady Mary’s surprise, he touched the Count von Hern on the shoulder and
+addressed him.
+
+“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said, “but I fancy that we accidentally
+exchanged programmes, a few minutes ago, at the buffet. I have lost mine
+and picked up one which does not belong to me. As we were standing side
+by side, it is possibly yours.”
+
+“I believe not, sir,” he answered, with that pleasant smile which had
+gone such a long way toward winning him the reputation of being “a good
+fellow” amongst a fairly large circle of friends. “I believe at any
+rate,” he added, glancing at his programme, “that this is my own. You
+mistake me, probably, for some one else.”
+
+Peter Ruff, without saying a word, was actor enough to suggest that he
+was unconvinced. The Count good-humouredly held out his programme.
+
+“You shall see for yourself,” he remarked. “That is not yours, is it?
+Besides, I have not been to the buffet at all this evening.”
+
+Peter Ruff cast a swift glance down the programme which the Count had
+handed him. Then he apologised profusely.
+
+“I was mistaken,” he admitted. “I am very sorry.”
+
+The Count bowed.
+
+“It is of no consequence, sir,” he said, and resumed his conversation.
+
+Peter Ruff passed on with Lady Mary. At a safe distance, she glanced at
+him enquiringly.
+
+“It was his programme I wanted to see,” Peter Ruff explained. “It is as
+I thought. He has had four dances with the Countess--”
+
+“Who is she?” Lady Mary asked, quickly.
+
+“The little dark lady with whom he is talking now,” Peter Ruff
+continued. “He seems, too, to be going early. He has no dances reserved
+after the twelfth. We will go downstairs at once, if you please. I must
+speak to your brother.”
+
+“Have you been able to think of anything?” she asked, anxiously. “Is
+there any chance at all, do you think?”
+
+“I believe so,” Peter Ruff answered. “It is most interesting. Don’t
+be too sanguine, though. The odds are against us, and the time is very
+short. Is the driver of your electric brougham to be trusted?”
+
+“Absolutely,” she assured him. “He is an old servant.”
+
+“Will you lend him to me?” Peter Ruff asked, “and tell him that he is to
+obey my instructions absolutely?”
+
+“Of course,” she answered. “You are going away, then?”
+
+Peter Ruff nodded. He was a little sparing of words just then. The
+thoughts were chasing one another through his brain. He was listening,
+too, for the sweep of a dress behind.
+
+“Is there nothing I can do?” Lady Mary begged, eagerly.
+
+Peter Ruff shook his head. In the distance he saw the Honourable Maurice
+come quickly toward them. With a firm but imperceptible gesture he waved
+him away.
+
+“Don’t let your brother speak to me,” he said. “We can’t tell who is
+behind. What time did you say the Prime Minister was expected?”
+
+“At two o’clock,” Lady Mary said, anxiously.
+
+Peter Ruff glanced at his watch. It was already half an hour past
+midnight.
+
+“Very well,” he said, “I will do what I can. If my theory is wrong, it
+will be nothing. If I am right--well, there is a chance, anyhow. In the
+meantime--”
+
+“In the meantime?” she repeated, breathlessly.
+
+“Take your brother back to the ballroom,” Peter Ruff directed. “Make him
+dance--dance yourself. Don’t give yourselves away by looking anxious.
+When the time is short--say at a quarter to two--he can come down here
+and wait for me.”
+
+“If you don’t come!” she exclaimed.
+
+“Then we shall have lost,” Peter Ruff said, calmly. “If you don’t see
+me again to-night, you had better read the newspapers carefully for the
+next few days.”
+
+“You are going to do something dangerous!” she protested.
+
+“There is danger in interfering at all in such a matter as this,” he
+answered, “but you must remember that it is not only my profession--it
+is my hobby. Remember, too,” he added, with a smile, “that I do not
+often lose!”
+
+For twenty minutes Peter Ruff sat in the remote corner of Lady Mary’s
+electric brougham, drawn up at the other side of the Square, and waited.
+At last he pressed a button. They glided off. Before them was a large,
+closed motor car. They started in discreet chase.
+
+Fortunately, however, the chase was not a long one. The car which Peter
+Ruff had been following was drawn up before a plain, solid-looking
+house, unlit and of gloomy appearance. The little lady with the
+wonderful eyes was already halfway up the flagged steps. Hastily lifting
+the flap and looking behind as they passed, her pursuer saw her open the
+door with a latchkey, and disappear. Peter Ruff pulled the check-string
+and descended. For several moments he stood and observed the house
+into which the lady whom he had been following had disappeared. Then he
+turned to the driver.
+
+“I want you to watch that house,” he said, “never to take your eyes off
+it. When I reappear from it, if I do at all, I shall probably be in a
+hurry. Directly you see me be on your box ready to start. A good deal
+may depend upon our getting away quickly.”
+
+“Very good, sir,” the man answered. “How long am I to wait here for
+you?”
+
+Peter Ruff’s lips twisted into a curious little smile.
+
+“Until two o’clock,” he answered. “If I am not out by then, you needn’t
+bother any more about me. You can return and tell your mistress exactly
+what has happened.”
+
+“Hadn’t I better come and try and get you out, sir?” the man asked.
+“Begging your pardon, but her Ladyship told me that there might be queer
+doings. I’m a bit useful in a scrap, sir,” he added. “I do a bit of
+sparring regularly.”
+
+Peter Ruff shook his head.
+
+“If there’s any scrap at all,” he said, “you had better be out of it. Do
+as I have said.”
+
+The motor car had turned round and disappeared now, and in a few moments
+Peter Ruff stood before the door of the house into which the little lady
+had disappeared. The problem of entrance was already solved for him. The
+door had been left unlatched; only a footstool had been placed against
+it inside. Peter Ruff, without hesitation, pushed the door softly open
+and entered, replaced the footstool in its former position, and stood
+with his back to the wall, in the darkest corner of the hall, looking
+around him--listening intently. Nearly opposite the door of a room stood
+ajar. It was apparently lit up, but there was no sound of any one moving
+inside. Upstairs, in one of the rooms on the first floor, he could hear
+light footsteps--a woman’s voice humming a song. He listened to the
+first few bars, and understanding became easier. Those first few bars
+were the opening ones of the Servian national anthem!
+
+With an effort, Peter Ruff concentrated his thoughts upon the immediate
+present. The little lady was upstairs. The servants had apparently
+retired for the night. He crept up to the half-open door and peered in.
+The room, as he had hoped to find it, was empty, but Madame’s easy-chair
+was drawn up to the fire, and some coffee stood upon the hob. Stealthily
+Peter Ruff crept in and glanced around, seeking for a hiding place. A
+movement upstairs hastened his decision. He pushed aside the massive
+curtains which separated this from a connecting room. He had scarcely
+done so when light footsteps were heard descending the stairs.
+
+Peter Ruff found his hiding place all that could have been desired. This
+secondary room itself was almost in darkness, but he was just able to
+appreciate the comforting fact that it possessed a separate exit into
+the hall. Through the folds of the curtain he had a complete view of the
+further apartment. The little lady had changed her gown of stiff white
+satin for one of flimsier material, and, seated in the easy-chair, she
+was busy pouring herself out some coffee. She took a cigarette from a
+silver box, and lighting it, curled herself up in the chair and composed
+herself as though to listen. To her as well as to Peter Ruff, as he
+crouched in his hiding place, the moments seemed to pass slowly enough.
+Yet, as he realised afterward, it could not have been ten minutes before
+she sat upright in a listening attitude. There was some one coming!
+Peter Ruff, too, heard a man’s firm footsteps come up the flagged
+stones.
+
+The little lady sprang to her feet.
+
+“Paul!” she exclaimed.
+
+Paul Jermyn came slowly to meet her. He seemed a little out of breath.
+His tie was all disarranged and his collar unfastened.
+
+The little lady, however, noticed none of these things. She looked only
+into his face.
+
+“Have you got it?” she asked, eagerly.
+
+He thrust his hand into his breast-coat pocket, and held an envelope out
+toward her.
+
+“Sure!” he answered. “I promised!”
+
+She gave a little sob, and with the packet in her hand came running
+straight toward the spot where Peter Ruff was hiding.
+
+He shrank back as far as possible. She stopped just short of the
+curtain, opened the drawer of a table which stood there, and slipped
+the packet in. Then she came back once more to where Paul Jermyn was
+standing.
+
+“My friend!” she cried, holding out her hands--“my dear, dear friend!
+Shall I ever be able to thank you enough?”
+
+“Why, if you try,” he answered, smiling, “I think that you could!”
+
+She laid her hand upon his arm--a little caressing, foreign gesture.
+
+“Tell me,” she said, “how did you manage it?”
+
+“We left the dance together,” Jermyn said. “I could see that he wanted
+to get rid of me, but I offered to take him in my motor car. I told the
+man to choose some back streets, and while we were passing through one
+of them, I took Von Hern by the throat. We had a struggle, of course,
+but I got the paper.”
+
+“What did you do with Von Hern?” she asked.
+
+“I left him on his doorstep,” the young American answered. “He wasn’t
+really hurt, but he was only half conscious. I don’t think he’ll bother
+any one to-night.”
+
+“You dear, brave man!” she murmured. “Paul, what am I to say to you?”
+
+He laughed.
+
+“That’s what I’m here to ask,” he declared. “You wouldn’t give me my
+answer at the ball. Perhaps you’ll give it me now?”
+
+They sprang apart. Ruff felt his nerves stiffen--felt himself
+constrained to hold even his breath as he widened a little the crack
+in the curtains. This was no stealthy entrance. The door had been flung
+open. Von Hern, his dress in wild disorder, pale as a ghost, and with a
+great bloodstain upon his cheek, stood confronting them.
+
+“When you have done with your love-making,” he called out, “I’ll trouble
+you to restore my property!”
+
+The electric light gleamed upon a small revolver which flashed out
+toward the young American. Paul Jermyn never hesitated for a moment. He
+seized the chair by his side and flung it at Von Hern. There was a shot,
+the crash of the falling chair, a cry from Jermyn, who never hesitated,
+however, in his rush. The two men closed. A second shot went harmlessly
+to the ceiling. The little lady stole away--stole softly across the room
+toward the table. She opened the drawer. Suddenly the blood in her veins
+was frozen into fear. From nowhere, it seemed to her, came a hand which
+held her wrists like iron!
+
+“Madam,” Peter Ruff whispered from behind the curtain, “I am sorry to
+deprive you of it, but this is stolen property.”
+
+Her screams rang through the room. Even the two men released one
+another.
+
+“It is gone! It is gone!” she cried. “Some one was hiding in the room!
+Quick!”
+
+She sprang into the hall. The two men followed her. The front door was
+slammed. They heard flying footsteps outside. Von Hern was out first,
+clearing the little flight of steps in one bound. Across the road he
+saw a flying figure. A level stream of fire poured from his hand--twice,
+three times. But Peter Ruff never faltered. Round the corner he tore.
+The man had kept his word--the brougham was already moving slowly.
+
+“Jump in, sir,” the man cried. “Throw yourself in. Never mind about the
+door.”
+
+They heard the shouts behind. Peter Ruff did as he was bid, and sat upon
+the floor, raising himself gradually to the seat when they had turned
+another corner. Then he put his head out of the window.
+
+“Back to the Duchess of Montford’s!” he ordered.
+
+The latest of the guests had ceased to arrive--a few were already
+departing. It was an idle time, however, with the servants who loitered
+in the vestibules of Montford House, and they looked with curiosity upon
+this strange guest who arrived at five minutes to two, limping a little,
+and holding his left arm in his right hand. One footman on the threshold
+nearly addressed him, but the words were taken out of his mouth when he
+saw Lady Mary and her brother--the Honorable Maurice Sotherst--hasten
+forward to greet him.
+
+Peter Ruff smiled upon them benignly.
+
+“You can take the paper out of my breast-coat pocket,” he said.
+
+The young man’s fingers gripped it. Through Lady Mary’s great
+thankfulness, however, the sudden fear came shivering.
+
+“You are hurt!” she whispered. “There is blood on your sleeve.”
+
+“Just a graze,” Peter Ruff answered. “Von Hern wasn’t much good at a
+running target. Back to the ballroom, young man,” he added. “Don’t you
+see who’s coming?”
+
+The Prime Minister came up the tented way into Montford House. He, too,
+wondered a little at the man whom he met on his way out, holding his
+left arm, and looking more as though he had emerged from a street fight
+than from the Duchess of Montford’s ball. Peter Ruff went home smiling.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. THE DEMAND OF THE DOUBLE-FOUR
+
+
+It was about this time that Peter Ruff found among his letters
+one morning a highly-scented little missive, addressed to him in a
+handwriting with which he had once been familiar. He looked at it for
+several moments before opening it. Even as the paper cutter slid through
+the top of the envelope, he felt that he had already divined the nature
+of its contents.
+
+
+FRIVOLITY THEATRE
+
+March 10th
+
+MY DEAR Mr. RUFF: I expect that you will be surprised to hear from me
+again, but I do hope that you will not be annoyed. I know that I behaved
+very horridly a little time ago, but it was not altogether my fault, and
+I have been more sorry for it than I can tell you--in fact, John and I
+have never been the same since, and for the present, at any rate, I have
+left him and gone on the stage. A lady whom I knew got me a place in the
+chorus here, and so far I like it immensely.
+
+Won’t you come and meet me after the show to-morrow night, and I will
+tell you all about it? I should like so much to see you again.
+
+MAUD.
+
+
+Peter Ruff placed this letter in his breast-coat pocket, and withheld it
+from his secretary’s notice. He felt, however, very little pleasure at
+the invitation it conveyed. He hesitated for some time, in fact, whether
+to accept it or not. Finally, after his modest dinner that evening, he
+bought a stall for the Frivolity and watched the piece. The girl he had
+come to see was there in the second row of the chorus, but she certainly
+did not look her best in the somewhat scant costume required by the
+part. She showed no signs whatever of any special ability--neither her
+dancing nor her singing seemed to entitle her to any consideration. She
+carried herself with a certain amount of self-consciousness, and her
+eyes seemed perpetually fixed upon the occupants of the stalls. Peter
+Ruff laid down his glasses with something between a sigh and a groan.
+There was something to him inexpressibly sad in the sight of his old
+sweetheart so transformed, so utterly changed from the prim, somewhat
+genteel young person who had accepted his modest advances with such
+ladylike diffidence. She seemed, indeed, to have lost those very gifts
+which had first attracted him. Nevertheless, he kept his appointment at
+the stage-door.
+
+She was among the first to come out, and she greeted him warmly--almost
+noisily. With her new profession, she seemed to have adopted a different
+and certainly more flamboyant deportment.
+
+“I thought you’d come to-night,” she declared, with an arch look.
+“I felt certain I saw you in the stalls. You are going to take me to
+supper, aren’t you? Shall we go to the Milan?”
+
+Peter Ruff assented without enthusiasm, handed her into a hansom, and
+took his place beside her. She wore a very large hat, untidily put on;
+some of the paint seemed still to be upon her face; her voice, too,
+seemed to have become louder, and her manner more assertive. There were
+obvious indications that she no longer considered brandy and soda an
+unladylike beverage. Peter Ruff was not pleased with himself or proud of
+his companion.
+
+“You’ll take some wine?” he suggested, after he had ordered, with a few
+hints from her, a somewhat extensive supper.
+
+“Champagne,” she answered, decidedly. “I’ve got quite used to it,
+nowadays,” she went on. “I could laugh to think how strange it tasted
+when you first took me out.”
+
+“Tell me,” Peter Ruff said, “why you have left your husband?”
+
+She laughed.
+
+“Because he was dull and because he was cross,” she answered, “and
+because the life down at Streatham was simply intolerable. I think it
+was a little your fault, too,” she said, making eyes; at him across the
+table. “You gave me a taste of what life was like outside Streatham, and
+I never forgot it.”
+
+Peter Ruff did not respond--he led the conversation, indeed, into other
+channels. On the whole, the supper was scarcely a success. Maud, who was
+growing to consider herself something of a Bohemian, and who certainly
+looked for some touch of sentiment on the part of her old admirer, was
+annoyed by the quiet deference with which he treated her. She reproached
+him with it once, bluntly.
+
+“Say,” she exclaimed, “you don’t seem to want to be so friendly as you
+did! You haven’t forgiven me yet, I suppose?”
+
+Peter Ruff shook his head.
+
+“It is not that,” he said, “but I think that you have scarcely done a
+wise thing in leaving your husband. I cannot think that this life on the
+stage is good for you.”
+
+She laughed, scornfully.
+
+“Well,” she said, “I never thought to have you preaching at me!”
+
+They finished their supper. Maud accepted a cigarette and did her
+best to change her companion’s mood. She only alluded once more to her
+husband.
+
+“I don’t see how I could have stayed with him, anyhow,” she said. “You
+know, he’s been put back--he only gets two pounds fifteen a week now. He
+couldn’t expect me to live upon that.”
+
+“Put back?” Peter Ruff repeated.
+
+She nodded.
+
+“He seemed to have a lot of bad luck this last year,” she said. “All his
+cases went wrong, and they don’t think so much of him at Scotland Yard
+as they did. I am not sure that he hasn’t begun to drink a little.”
+
+“I am sorry to hear it,” Peter Ruff said, gravely.
+
+“I don’t see why you should be,” she answered, bluntly. “He was no
+friend of yours, nor isn’t now. He may not be so dangerous as he was,
+but if ever you come across him, you take my tip and be careful. He
+means to do you a mischief some day, if he can. I am not sure,” she
+added, “that he doesn’t believe that it was partly your fault about my
+leaving home.”
+
+“I should be sorry for him to think that,” Peter Ruff answered. “While
+we are upon the subject, can’t you tell me exactly why your husband
+dislikes me so?”
+
+“For one thing, because you have been up against him in several of his
+cases, and have always won.”
+
+“And for the other?”
+
+“Well,” she said, doubtfully, “he seems to connect you in his
+mind, somehow, with a boy who was in love with me once--Mr. Spencer
+Fitzgerald--you know who I mean.”
+
+Ruff nodded.
+
+“He still has that in his mind, has he?” he remarked.
+
+“Oh, he’s mad!” she declared. “However, don’t let us talk about him any
+more.”
+
+The lights were being put out. Peter Ruff paid his bill and they rose
+together.
+
+“Come down to the fiat for an hour or so,” she begged, taking his arm.
+“I have a dear little place with another girl--Carrie Pearce. I’ll sing
+to you, if you like. Come down and have one drink, anyhow.”
+
+Peter Ruff shook his head firmly.
+
+“I am sorry,” he said, “but you must excuse me. In some ways, I am very
+old-fashioned,” he added. “I never sit up late, and I hate music.”
+
+“Just drive as far as the door with me, then,” she begged.
+
+Peter Ruff shook his head.
+
+“You must excuse me,” he said, handing her into the hansom. “And, Maud,”
+ he added--“if I may call you so--take my advice: give it up--go back to
+your husband and stick to him--you’ll be better off in the long run.”
+
+She would have answered him scornfully, but there was something
+impressive in the crisp, clear words--in his expression, too, as he
+looked into her eyes. She threw herself back in a corner of the cab with
+an affected little laugh, and turned her head away from him.
+
+Peter Ruff walked back into the cloak-room for his coat and hat, and
+sighed softly to himself. It was the end of the one sentimental episode
+of his life!
+
+It had been the study of Peter Ruff’s life, so far as possible, to
+maintain under all circumstances an equable temperament, to refuse to
+recognize the meaning of the word “nerves,” and to be guided in all
+his actions by that profound common sense which was one of his natural
+gifts. Yet there were times when, like any other ordinary person, he
+suffered acutely from presentiments. He left his rooms, for instance, at
+five o’clock on the afternoon of the day following his supper with Maud,
+suffering from a sense of depression for which he found it altogether
+impossible to account. It was true that the letter which he had in his
+pocket, the appointment which he was on his way to keep, were both of
+them probable sources of embarrassment and annoyance, if not of danger.
+He was being invited, without the option of refusal, to enter upon some
+risky undertaking which would yield him neither fee nor reward. Yet his
+common sense told him that it was part of the game. In Paris, he had
+looked upon his admittance into the order of the “Double-Four” as one of
+the stepping-stones to success in his career. Through them he had gained
+knowledge which he could have acquired in no other way. Through them,
+for instance, he had acquired the information that Madame la Comtesse de
+Pilitz was a Servian patriot and a friend of the Crown Prince; and that
+the Count von Hern, posing in England as a sportsman and an idler, was a
+highly paid and dangerous Austrian spy. There had been other occasions,
+too, upon which they had come to his aid. Now they had made an appeal
+to him--an appeal which must be obeyed. His time--perhaps, even, his
+safety--must be placed entirely at their disposal. It was only an
+ordinary return a thing expected of him--a thing which he dared not
+refuse. Yet he knew very well what he could not explain to them--that
+the whole success of his life depended so absolutely upon his remaining
+free from any suspicion of wrong-doing, that he had received his summons
+with something like dismay, and proceeded to obey it with unaccustomed
+reluctance.
+
+He drove to Cirey’s cafe in Regent Street, where he dismissed the driver
+of his hansom and strolled in with the air of an habitue. He selected a
+corner table, ordered some refreshment, and asked for a box of dominoes.
+The place was fairly well filled. A few women were sitting about; a
+sprinkling of Frenchmen were taking their aperitif; here and there a
+man of affairs, on his way from the city, had called in for a glass
+of vermouth. Peter Ruff looked them over, recognizing the
+type--recognizing, even, some of their faces. Apparently, the person
+whom he was to meet had not yet arrived.
+
+He lit a cigarette and smoked slowly. Presently the door opened and a
+woman entered in a long fur coat, a large hat, and a thick veil. She
+raised it to glance around, disclosing the unnaturally pale face and
+dark, swollen eyes of a certain type of Frenchwoman. She seemed to
+notice no one in particular. Her eyes traveled over Peter Ruff without
+any sign of interest. Nevertheless, she took a seat somewhere near his
+and ordered some vermouth from the waiter, whom she addressed by
+name. When she had been served and the waiter had departed, she looked
+curiously at the dominoes which stood before her neighbor.
+
+“Monsieur plays dominoes, perhaps?” she remarked, taking one of them
+into her fingers and examining it. “A very interesting game!”
+
+Peter Ruff showed her a domino which he had been covering with his
+hand--it was a double four. She nodded, and moved from her seat to one
+immediately next him.
+
+“I had not imagined,” Peter Ruff said, “that it was a lady whom I was to
+meet.”
+
+“Monsieur is not disappointed, I trust?” she said, smiling. “If I talk
+banalities, Monsieur must pardon it. Both the waiters here are spies,
+and there are always people who watch. Monsieur is ready to do us a
+service?”
+
+“To the limits of my ability,” Peter Ruff answered. “Madame will
+remember that we are not in Paris; that our police system, if not so
+wonderful as yours, is still a closer and a more present thing. They
+have not the brains at Scotland Yard, but they are persistent--hard to
+escape.”
+
+“Do I not know it?” the woman said. “It is through them that we send for
+you. One of us is in danger.”
+
+“Do I know him?” Peter Ruff asked.
+
+“It is doubtful,” she answered. “Monsieur’s stay in Paris was so brief.
+If Monsieur will recognize his name--it is Jean Lemaitre himself.”
+
+Peter Ruff started slightly.
+
+“I thought,” he said, with some hesitation, “that Lemaitre did not visit
+this country.”
+
+“He came well disguised,” the woman answered. “It was thought to be
+safe. Nevertheless, it was a foolish thing. They have tracked him
+down from hotel to apartments, till he lives now in the back room of
+a wretched little cafe in Soho. Even from there we cannot get him
+away--the whole district is watched by spies. We need help.”
+
+“For a genius like Lemaitre,” Peter Ruff said, thoughtfully, “to have
+even thought of Soho, was foolish. He should have gone to Hampstead
+or Balham. It is easy to fool our police if you know how. On the other
+hand, they hang on to the scent like leeches when once they are on the
+trail. How many warrants are there out against Jean in this country?”
+
+“Better not ask that,” the woman said, grimly. “You remember the raid on
+a private house in the Holloway Road, two years ago, when two policemen
+were shot and a spy was stabbed? Jean was in that--it is sufficient!”
+
+“Are any plans made at all?” Peter Ruff asked.
+
+“But naturally,” the woman answered. “There is a motor car, even now, of
+sixty-horse-power, stands ready at a garage in Putney. If Jean can once
+reach it, he can reach the coast. At a certain spot near Southampton
+there is a small steamer waiting. After that, everything is easy.”
+
+“My task, then,” Peter Ruff said, thoughtfully, “is to take Jean
+Lemaitre from this cafe in Soho, as far as Putney, and get him a fair
+start?”
+
+“It is enough,” she answered. “There is a cordon of spies around the
+district. Every day they seem to chose in upon us. They search the
+houses, one by one. Only last night, the Hotel de Netherlands--a
+miserable little place on the other side of the street--was suddenly
+surrounded by policemen and every room ransacked. It may be our turn
+to-night.”
+
+“In one hour’s time,” Peter Ruff said, glancing at his watch, “I shall
+present myself as a doctor at the cafe. Tell me the address. Tell me
+what to say which will insure my admission to Jean Lemaitre!”
+
+“The cafe,” she answered, “is called the Hotel de Flandres. You enter
+the restaurant and you walk to the desk. There you find always Monsieur
+Antoine. You say to him simply--‘The Double-Four!’ He will answer that
+he understands, and he will conduct you at once to Lemaitre.”
+
+Ruff nodded.
+
+“In the meantime,” he said, “let it be understood in the cafe--if there
+is any one who is not in the secret--that one of the waiters is sick. I
+shall come to attend him.”
+
+She nodded thoughtfully.
+
+“As well that way as any other,” she answered. “Monsieur is very kind. A
+bientot!”
+
+She shook hands and they parted. Peter Ruff drove back to his rooms,
+rang up an adjoining garage for a small covered car such as are usually
+let out to medical men, and commenced to pack a small black bag with the
+outfit necessary for his purpose. Now that he was actually immersed in
+his work, the sense of depression had passed away. The keen stimulus of
+danger had quickened his blood. He knew very well that the woman had not
+exaggerated. There was no man more wanted by the French or the English
+police than the man who had sought his aid, and the district in which he
+had taken shelter was, in some respects, the very worst for his purpose.
+Nevertheless, Peter Ruff, who believed, at the bottom of his heart, in
+his star, went on with his preparations feeling morally certain that
+Jean Lemaitre would sleep on the following night in his native land.
+
+At precisely the hour agreed upon, a small motor brougham pulled
+up outside the door of the Hotel de Flandres and its occupant--whom
+ninety-nine men out of a hundred would at once, unhesitatingly, have
+declared to be a doctor in moderate practice--pushed open the swing
+doors of the restaurant and made his way to the desk. He was of medium
+height; he wore a frock-coat--a little frayed; gray trousers which had
+not been recently pressed; and thick boots.
+
+“I understand that one of your waiters requires my attendance,” he
+said, in a tone not unduly raised but still fairly audible. “I am Dr.
+Gilette.”
+
+“Dr. Gilette,” Antoine repeated, slowly.
+
+
+“And number Double-Four,” the doctor murmured.
+
+Antoine descended from his desk.
+
+“But certainly, Monsieur!” he said. “The poor fellow declares that he
+suffers. If he is really ill, he must go. It sounds brutal, but what can
+one do? We have so few rooms here, and so much business. Monsieur will
+come this way?”
+
+Antoine led the way from the cafe into a very smelly region of narrow
+passages and steep stairs.
+
+“It is to be arranged?” Antoine whispered, as they ascended.
+
+“Without a doubt,” the doctor answered. “Were there spies in the cafe?”
+
+“Two,” Antoine answered.
+
+The doctor nodded, and said no more. He mounted to the third story.
+Antoine led him through a small sitting-room and knocked four times
+upon the door of an inner room. It suddenly was opened. A man--unshaven,
+terrified, with that nameless fear in his face which one sees reflected
+in the expression of some trapped animal--stood there looking out at
+them.
+
+“‘Double-Four’!” the doctor said, softly. “Go back into the room,
+please. Antoine will kindly leave us.”
+
+“Who are you?” the man gasped.
+
+“‘Double-Four’!” the doctor answered. “Obey me, and be quick for your
+life! Strip!”
+
+The man obeyed.
+
+Barely twenty minutes later, the doctor--still carrying his
+bag--descended the stairs. He entered the cafe from a somewhat remote
+door. Antoine hurried to meet him, and walked by his side through the
+place. He asked many questions, but the doctor contented himself with
+shaking his head. Almost in silence he left Antoine, who conducted him
+even to the door of his motor. The proprietor of the cafe watched the
+brougham disappear, and then returned to his desk, sighing heavily.
+
+A man who had been sipping a liqueur dose at hand, laid down his paper.
+
+“One of your waiters ill, did I understand?” he asked. Monsieur Antoine
+was at once eloquent. It was the ill-fortune which had dogged him
+for the last four months! The man had been taken ill there in the
+restaurant. He was a Gascon--spoke no English--and had just arrived.
+It was not possible for him to be removed at the moment, so he had been
+carried to an empty bedroom. Then had come the doctor and forbidden
+his removal. Now for a week he had lain there and several of his other
+voyageurs had departed. One did not know how these things got about, but
+they spoke of infection. The doctor, who had just left--Dr. Gilette of
+Russell Square, a most famous physician--had assured him that there was
+no infection--no fear of any. But what did it matter--that? People were
+so hard to convince. Monsieur would like a cigar? But certainly! There
+were here some of the best.
+
+Antoine undid the cabinet and opened a box of Havanas. John Dory
+selected one and called for another liqueur.
+
+“You have trouble often with your waiters, I dare say,” he remarked.
+“They tell me that all Frenchmen who break the law in their own country,
+find their way, sooner or later, to these parts. You have to take them
+without characters, I suppose?”
+
+Antoine lifted his shoulders.
+
+“But what could one do?” he exclaimed. “Characters, they were easy
+enough to write--but were they worth the paper they were written on?
+Indeed no!”
+
+“Not only your waiters,” Dory continued, “but those who stay in the
+hotels round here have sometimes an evil name.”
+
+Antoine shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“For myself,” he said, “I am particular. We have but a few rooms, but we
+are careful to whom we let them.”
+
+“Do you keep a visitors’ book?”
+
+“But no, Monsieur!” Antoine protested. “For why the necessity? There are
+so few who come to stay for more than the night--just now scarcely any
+one at all.”
+
+There entered, at that moment, a tall, thin man dressed in dark clothes,
+who walked with his hands in his overcoat pockets, as though it were a
+habit. He came straight to Dory and handed him a piece of paper.
+
+John Dory glanced it through and rose to his feet. A gleam of
+satisfaction lit his eyes.
+
+“Monsieur Antoine,” he said, “I am sorry to cause you any inconvenience,
+but here is my card. I am a detective officer from Scotland Yard, and
+I have received information which compels me with your permission, to
+examine at once the sleeping apartments in your hotel.”
+
+Antoine was fiercely indignant.
+
+“But, Monsieur!” he exclaimed. “I do not understand! Examine my rooms?
+But it is impossible! Who dares to say that I harbor criminals?”
+
+“I have information upon which I can rely,” John Dory answered, firmly.
+“This comes from a man who is no friend of mine, but he is well-known.
+You can read for yourself what he says.”
+
+Monsieur Antoine, with trembling fingers, took the piece of paper from
+John Dory’s hands. It was addressed to--
+
+
+Mr. JOHN DORY, DETECTIVE:
+
+If you wish to find Jean Lemaitre, search in the upper rooms of the
+Hotel de Flandres. I have certain information that he is to be found
+there.
+
+PETER RUFF.
+
+
+“Never,” Antoine declared, “will I suffer such an indignity!”
+
+Dory raised a police whistle to his lips.
+
+“You are foolish,” he said. “Already there is a cordon of men about the
+place. If you refuse to conduct me upstairs I shall at once place you
+under arrest.”
+
+Antoine, white with fear, poured himself out a liqueur of brandy.
+
+“Well, well,” he said, “what must be done, then! Come!”
+
+He led the way out into that smelly network of passages, up the stairs
+to the first floor. Room after room he threw open and begged Dory to
+examine. Some of them were garishly furnished with gilt mirrors, cheap
+lace curtains tied back with blue ribbons. Others were dark, miserable
+holes, into which the fresh air seemed never to have penetrated. On the
+third floor they reached the little sitting-room, which bore more traces
+of occupation than some of the rooms below. Antoine would have passed
+on, but Dory stopped him.
+
+“There is a door there,” he said. “We will try that.”
+
+“It is the sick waiter who lies within,” Antoine protested. “Monsieur
+can hear him groan.”
+
+There was, indeed, something which sounded like a groan to be heard, but
+Dory was obstinate.
+
+“If he is so ill,” he demanded, “how is he able to lock the door on the
+inside? Monsieur Antoine, that door must be opened.”
+
+Antoine knocked at it softly.
+
+“Francois,” he said, “there is another doctor here who would see you.
+Let us in.”
+
+There was no answer, Antoine turned to his companion with a little shrug
+of the shoulders, as one who would say--“I have done my best. What would
+you have?”
+
+Dory put his shoulder to the door.
+
+“Listen,” he shouted through the keyhole, “Mr. Sick Waiter, or whoever
+you are, if you do not unlock this door, I am coming in!”
+
+“I have no key,” said a faint voice. “I am locked in. Please break open
+the door.”
+
+“But that is not the Voice of Francois!” Antoine exclaimed, in
+amazement.
+
+“We’ll soon see who it is,” Dory answered.
+
+He charged at the door fiercely. At the third assault it gave way. They
+found themselves in a small back bedroom, and stretched on the floor,
+very pale, and apparently only half-conscious, lay Peter Ruff. There was
+a strong smell of chloroform about. John Dory threw open the window. His
+fingers trembled a little. It was like Fate--this! At the end of every
+unsuccessful effort there was this man--Peter Ruff!
+
+“What the devil are you doing here?” he asked.
+
+Peter Ruff groaned.
+
+“Help me up,” he begged, “and give me a little brandy.”
+
+Antoine set him in an easy-chair and rang the bell furiously.
+
+“It will come directly!” he exclaimed. “But who are you?”
+
+Peter Ruff waited for the brandy. When he had sipped it, he drew a
+little breath as though of relief.
+
+“I heard,” he said, speaking still with an evident effort, “that
+Lemaitre was here. I had secret information. I thought at first that I
+would let you know--I sent you a note early this morning. Afterwards, I
+discovered that there was a reward, and I determined to track him down
+myself. He was in here hiding as a sick waiter. I do not think,” Peter
+Ruff added, “that Monsieur Antoine had any idea. I presented myself as
+representing a charitable society, and I was shown here to visit him. He
+was too clever, though, was Jean Lemaitre--too quick for me.”
+
+“You were a fool to come alone!” John Dory said. “Don’t you know the
+man’s record? How long ago did he leave?”
+
+“About ten minutes,” Peter Ruff answered. “You must have missed him
+somewhere as you came up. I crawled to the window and I watched him go.
+He left the restaurant by the side entrance, and took a taxicab at the
+corner there. It went northward toward New Oxford Street.”
+
+Dory turned on his heel--they heard him descending the stairs. Peter
+Ruff rose to his feet.
+
+“I am afraid,” he said, as he plunged his head into a basin of water,
+and came into the middle of the room rubbing it vigorously with a small
+towel, “I am afraid that our friend John Dory will get to dislike me
+soon! He passed out unnoticed, eh, Antoine?”
+
+Antoine’s face wore a look of great relief.
+
+“There was not a soul who looked,” he said. “We passed under the nose of
+the gentleman from Scotland Yard. He sat there reading his paper; and he
+had no idea. I watched Jean step into the motor. Even by now he is well
+on his way southwards. Twice he changes from motor to train, and back.
+They will never trace him.”
+
+Peter Ruff, who was looking amazingly better, sipped a further glass of
+liqueur. Together he and Antoine descended to the street.
+
+“Mind,” Peter Ruff whispered, “I consider that accounts are squared
+between me and ‘Double-Four’ now. Let them know that. This sort of thing
+isn’t in my line.”
+
+“For an amateur,” Antoine said, bowing low, “Monsieur commands my
+heartfelt congratulations!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. Mrs. BOGNOR’S STAR BOARDER
+
+In these days, the duties of Miss Brown as Peter Ruff’s secretary had
+become multifarious. Together with the transcribing of a vast number of
+notes concerning cases, some of which he undertook and some of which he
+refused, she had also to keep his cash book, a note of his investments
+and a record of his social engagements. Notwithstanding all these
+demands upon her time, however, there were occasions when she found
+herself, of necessity, idle. In one of these she broached the subject
+which had often been in her mind. They were alone, and not expecting
+callers. Consequently, she sat upon the hearthrug and addressed her
+employer by his Christian name.
+
+“Peter,” she said softly, “do you remember the night when you came
+through the fog and burst into my little flat?”
+
+“Quite well,” he answered, “but it is a subject to which I prefer that
+you do not allude.”
+
+“I will be careful,” she answered. “I only spoke of it for this reason.
+Before you left, when we were sitting together, you sketched out the
+career which you proposed for yourself. In many respects, I suppose, you
+have been highly successful, but I wonder if it has ever occurred to
+you that your work has not proceeded upon the lines which you first
+indicated?”
+
+He nodded.
+
+“I think I know what you mean,” he said. “Go on.”
+
+“That night,” she murmured softly, “you spoke as a hunted man; you
+spoke as one at war with Society; you spoke as one who proposes almost
+a campaign against it. When you took your rooms here and called yourself
+Peter Ruff, it was rather in your mind to aid the criminal than to
+detect the crime. Fate seems to have decreed otherwise. Why, I wonder?”
+
+“Things have gone that way,” Peter Ruff remarked.
+
+“I will tell you why,” she continued. “It is because, at the bottom
+of your heart, there lurks a strong and unconquerable desire for
+respectability. In your heart you are on the side of the law and
+established things. You do not like crime; you do not like criminals.
+You do not like the idea of associating with them. You prefer the
+company of law-abiding people, even though their ways be narrow. It
+was part of that sentiment, Peter, which led you to fall in love with a
+coal-merchant’s daughter. I can see that you will end your days in the
+halo of respectability.”
+
+Peter Ruff was a little thoughtful. He scratched his chin and
+contemplated the tip of his faultless patent boot. Self-analysis
+interested him, and he recognized the truth of the girl’s words.
+
+“You know, I am rather like that,” he admitted. “When I see a family
+party, I envy them. When I hear of a man who has brothers and sisters
+and aunts and cousins, and gives family dinner-parties to family
+friends, I envy him. I do not care about the loose ends of life. I do
+not care about restaurant life, and ladies who transfer their regards
+with the same facility that they change their toilettes. You have very
+admirable powers of observation, Violet. You see me, I believe, as I
+really am.”
+
+“That being so,” she remarked, “what are you going to say to Sir Richard
+Dyson?”
+
+Peter Ruff was frank.
+
+“Upon my soul,” he answered, “I don’t know!”
+
+“You’ll have to make up your mind very soon,” she reminded him. “He is
+coming here at twelve o’clock.”
+
+Peter Ruff nodded.
+
+“I shall wait until I hear what he has to say,” he remarked.
+
+“His letter gave you a pretty clear hint,” Violet said, “that it was
+something outside the law.”
+
+“The law has many outposts,” Peter Ruff said. “One can thread one’s
+way in and out, if one knows the ropes. I don’t like the man, but he
+introduced me to his tailor. I have never had any clothes like those he
+has made me.”
+
+She sighed.
+
+“You are a vain little person,” she said.
+
+“You are an impertinent young woman!” he answered. “Get back to your
+work. Don’t you hear the lift stop?”
+
+She rose reluctantly, and resumed her place in front of her desk.
+
+“If it’s risky,” she whispered, leaning round towards him, “don’t you
+take it on. I’ve heard one or two things about Sir Richard lately.”
+
+Peter Ruff nodded. He, too, quitted his easy-chair, and took up a bundle
+of papers which lay upon his desk. There was a sharp tap at the door.
+
+“Come in!” he said.
+
+Sir Richard Dyson entered. He was dressed quietly, but with the perfect
+taste which was obviously an instinct with him, and he wore a big bunch
+of violets in his buttonhole. Nevertheless, the spring sunshine seemed
+to find out the lines in his face. His eyes were baggy--he had aged even
+within the last few months.
+
+“Well, Mr. Ruff,” he said, shaking hands, “how goes it?”
+
+“I am very well, Sir Richard,” Peter Ruff answered. “Please take a
+chair.”
+
+Sir Richard took the easy-chair, and discovering a box of cigarettes
+upon the table, helped himself. Then his eyes fell upon Miss Brown.
+
+“Can’t do without your secretary?” he remarked.
+
+“Impossible!” Peter Ruff answered. “As I told you before, I am her
+guarantee that what you say to me, or before her, is spoken as though to
+the dead.”
+
+Sir Richard nodded.
+
+“Just as well,” he remarked, “for I am going to talk about a man who I
+wish were dead!”
+
+“There are few of us,” Peter Ruff said, “who have not our enemies.”
+
+“Have you any experience of blackmailers?” Sir Richard asked.
+
+“In my profession,” Peter Ruff answered, “I have come across such
+persons.”
+
+“I have come to see you about one,” Sir Richard proceeded. “Many years
+ago, there was a fellow in my regiment who went to the bad--never mind
+his name. He passes to-day as Ted Jones--that name will do as well as
+another. I am not,” Sir Richard continued, “a good-natured man, but some
+devilish impulse prompted me to help that fellow. I gave him money three
+or four times. Somehow, I don’t think it’s a very good thing to give a
+man money. He doesn’t value it--it comes too easily. He spends it and
+wants more.”
+
+“There’s a good deal of truth in what you say, Sir Richard,” Peter Ruff
+admitted.
+
+“Our friend, for instance, wanted more,” Sir Richard continued. “He came
+to me for it almost as a matter of course. I refused. He came again; I
+lost my temper and punched his head. Then his little game began.”
+
+Peter Ruff nodded.
+
+“He had something to work upon, I suppose?” he remarked.
+
+“Most certainly he had,” Sir Richard admitted. “If ever I achieved
+sufficient distinction in any branch of life to make it necessary that
+my biography should be written, I promise you that you would find it in
+many places a little highly colored. In other words, Mr. Ruff, I have
+not always adhered to the paths of righteousness.”
+
+A faint smile flickered across Peter Ruff’s face.
+
+“Sir Richard,” he said, “your candor is admirable.”
+
+“There was one time,” Sir Richard continued, “when I was really on my
+last legs. It was just before I came into the baronetcy. I had borrowed
+every penny I could borrow. I was even hard put to it for a meal. I went
+to Paris, and I called myself by another man’s name. I got introduced to
+a somewhat exclusive club there. My assumed name was a good one--it
+was the name, in fact, of a relative whom I somewhat resembled. I was
+accepted without question. I played cards, and I lost somewhere about
+eighteen thousand francs.”
+
+“A sum,” Peter Ruff remarked, “which you probably found it inconvenient
+to pay.”
+
+“There was only one course,” Sir Richard continued, “and I took it.
+I went back the next night and gave checks for the amount of my
+indebtedness--checks which had no more chance of being met than if I
+were to draw to-night upon the Bank of England for a million pounds.
+I went back, however, with another resolve. I was considered to have
+discharged my liabilities, and we played again. I rose a winner of
+something like sixty thousand francs. But I played to win, Mr. Ruff! Do
+you know what that means?”
+
+“You cheated!” Peter Ruff said, in an undertone.
+
+“Quite true,” Sir Richard admitted. “I cheated! There was a scandal, and
+I disappeared. I had the money, and though my checks for the eighteen
+thousand francs were met, there was a considerable balance in my
+pocket when I escaped out of France. There was enough to take me out to
+America--big game shooting in the far West. No one ever associated me
+with the impostor who had robbed these young French noblemen--no one,
+that is to say, except the person who passes by the name of Teddy
+Jones.”
+
+“How did he get to know?” Peter Ruff asked.
+
+“The story wouldn’t interest you,” Sir Richard answered. “He was in
+Paris at the time--we came across one another twice. He heard the
+scandal, and put two and two together. I shipped him off to Australia
+when I came into the title. He has come back. Lately, I can tell you,
+he has pretty well drained me dry. He has become a regular parasite a
+cold-blooded leech. He doesn’t get drunk now. He looks after his health.
+I believe he even saves his, money. There’s scarcely a week I don’t hear
+from him. He keeps me a pauper. He has brought me at last to that state
+when I feel that there must be an ending!”
+
+“You have come to seek my help,” Peter Ruff said, slowly. “From what you
+say about this man, I presume that he is not to be frightened?”
+
+“Not for a single moment,” Sir Richard answered. “The law has no terrors
+for him. He is as slippery as an eel. He has his story pat. He even has
+his witnesses ready. I can assure you that Mr. Teddy Jones isn’t by any
+means an ordinary sort of person.”
+
+“He is not to be bluffed,” Peter Ruff said, slowly; “he is not to be
+bribed. What remains?”
+
+“I have come here,” Sir Richard said, “for your advice, Mr. Ruff.”
+
+“The blackmailer,” Peter Ruff said, “is a criminal.”
+
+“He is a scoundrel!” Sir Richard assented.
+
+“He is not fit to live,” Peter Ruff repeated.
+
+“He contaminates the world with every breath he draws!” Sir Richard
+assented.
+
+“Perhaps,” Peter Ruff said, “you had better give me his address, and the
+name he goes under.”
+
+“He lives at a boarding-house in Russell Street, Bloomsbury,” Sir
+Richard said. “It is Mrs. Bognor’s boarding-house. She calls it, I
+believe, the ‘American Home from Home.’ The number is 17.”
+
+“A boarding-house,” Peter Ruff repeated, thoughtfully. “Makes it a
+little hard to get at him privately, doesn’t it?”
+
+“Fling him a bait and he will come to you,” Sir Richard answered. “He is
+an adventurer pure and simple, though perhaps you wouldn’t believe it to
+look at him now. He has grown fat on the money he has wrung from me.”
+
+“You had better leave the matter in my hands for a few days,” Peter
+Ruff said. “I will have a talk with this gentleman and see whether he is
+really so unmanageable. If he is, there is, of course, only one way, and
+for that way, Sir Richard, you would have to pay a little high.”
+
+“If I were to hear to-morrow,” Sir Richard said quietly, “that Teddy
+Jones was dead, I would give five thousand pounds to the man who brought
+me the information!”
+
+Peter Ruff nodded.
+
+“It would be worth that,” he said--“quite! I will drop you a line in the
+course of the next few days.”
+
+Sir Richard took up his hat, lit another of Peter Ruff’s cigarettes, and
+departed. They heard the rattle of the lift as it descended. Then Miss
+Brown turned round in her chair.
+
+“Don’t you do it, Peter!” she said solemnly. “The time has gone by for
+that sort of thing. The man may be unfit to live, but you don’t need to
+risk as much as that for a matter of five thousand pounds.”
+
+Peter Ruff nodded.
+
+“Quite right,” he said; “quite right, Violet. At the same time, five
+thousand pounds is an excellent sum. We must see what can be done.”
+
+Peter Ruff’s method of seeing what could be done was at first the very
+obvious one of seeking to discover any incidents in the past of the
+person known as Teddy Jones likely to reflect present discredit upon him
+if brought to light. From the first, it was quite clear that the career
+of this gentleman had been far from immaculate. His researches proved,
+beyond a doubt, that the gentleman in question had resorted, during
+the last ten or fifteen years, to many and very questionable methods of
+obtaining a living. At the same time, there was nothing which Peter
+Ruff felt that the man might not brazen out. His present mode of life
+seemed--on the surface, at any rate--to be beyond reproach. There was
+only one association which was distinctly questionable, and it was in
+this one direction, therefore, that Peter Ruff concentrated himself. The
+case, for some reason, interested him so much that he took a close and
+personal interest in it, and he was rewarded one day by discovering this
+enemy of Sir Richard’s sitting, toward five o’clock in the afternoon,
+in a cafe in Regent Street, engrossed in conversation with a person
+whom Peter Ruff knew to be a very black sheep indeed--a man who had been
+tried for murder, and concerning whom there were still many unpleasant
+rumors. From behind his paper in a corner of the cafe, Peter Ruff
+watched these two men. Teddy Jones--or Major Edward Jones, as it seemed
+he was now called--was a person whose appearance no longer suggested the
+poverty against which he had been struggling most of his life. He was
+well dressed and tolerably well turned out. His face was a little puffy,
+and he had put on flesh during these days of his ease. His eyes, too,
+had a somewhat furtive expression, although his general deportment was
+one of braggadocio. Peter Ruff, quick always in his likes or dislikes,
+found the man repulsive from the start. He felt that he would have a
+genuine pleasure, apart from the matter of the five thousand pounds, in
+accelerating Major Jones’s departure from a world which he certainly did
+not adorn.
+
+The two men conducted their conversation in a subdued tone, which made
+it quite impossible for Peter Ruff, in his somewhat distant corner, to
+overhear a single word of it. It was obvious, however, that they were
+not on the best of terms. Major Jones’s companion was protesting, and
+apparently without success, against some course of action or speech of
+his companions. The conversation, on the other hand, never reached a
+quarrel, and the two men left the place together apparently on ordinary
+terms of friendliness. Peter Ruff at once quitted his seat and crossed
+the room toward the spot where they had been sitting. He dived under the
+table and picked up a newspaper--it was the only clue left to him as to
+the nature of their conversation. More than once, Major Jones who had,
+soon after their arrival, sent a waiter for it, had pointed to a certain
+paragraph as though to give weight to his statements. Peter Ruff had
+noticed the exact position of that paragraph. He smoothed out the paper
+and found it at once. It was an account of the murder of a wealthy old
+woman, living on the outskirts of a country village not far from London.
+Peter Ruff’s face did not change as he called for another vermouth and
+read the description, slowly. Yet he was aware that he had possibly
+stumbled across the very thing for which he had searched so urgently!
+The particulars of the murder he already knew well, as at one time
+he had felt inclined to aid the police in their so far fruitless
+investigations. He therefore skipped the description of the tragedy,
+and devoted his attention to the last paragraph, toward which he fancied
+that the finger of Major Jones had been chiefly directed. It was a list
+of the stolen property, which consisted of jewelry, gold and notes to a
+very considerable amount. With the waiter’s permission, he annexed the
+paper, cut out the list of articles with a sharp penknife, and placed it
+in his pocketbook before he left the cafe.
+
+In the course of some of the smaller cases with which Peter Ruff had
+been from time to time connected, he had more than once come into
+contact with the authorities at Scotland Yard, and he had several
+acquaintances there--not including Mr. John Dory--to whom, at times, he
+had given valuable information. For the first time, he now sought some
+return for his many courtesies. He drove straight from the cafe to
+the office of the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department. The
+questions he asked there were only two, but they were promptly and
+courteously answered. Peter Ruff left the building and drove back to
+his rooms in a somewhat congratulatory frame of mind. After all, it was
+chance which was the chief factor in the solution of so many of these
+cases! Often he had won less success after months of untiring effort
+than he had gained during that few minutes in the cafe in Regent Street.
+
+Peter Ruff became an inmate of that very select boarding-house carried
+on by Mrs. Bognor at number 17 Russell Street, Bloomsbury. He arrived
+with a steamer trunk, an elaborate traveling-bag and a dressing-case;
+took the best vacant room in the house, and dressed for dinner. Mrs.
+Bognor looked upon him as a valuable addition to her clientele, and
+introduced him freely to her other guests. Among these was Major Edward
+Jones. Major Jones sat at Mrs. Bognor’s right hand, and was evidently
+the show guest of the boarding-house. Peter Ruff, without the least
+desire to attack his position, sat upon her left and monopolized the
+conversation. On the third night it turned, by chance, upon precious
+stones. Peter Ruff drew a little chamois leather bag from his pocket.
+
+“I am afraid,” he said, “that my tastes are peculiar. I have been in the
+East, and I have seen very many precious stones in their uncut state. To
+my mind, there is nothing to be compared with opals. These are a few I
+brought home from India. Perhaps you would like to look at them, Mrs.
+Bognor.”
+
+They were passed round, amidst a little chorus of admiration.
+
+“The large one with the blue fire,” Peter Ruff remarked, “is, I think,
+remarkably beautiful. I have never seen a stone quite like it.”
+
+“It is wonderful!” murmured the young lady who was sitting at Major
+Jones’s right hand. “What a fortunate man you are, Mr. Ruff, to have
+such a collection of treasures!”
+
+Peter Ruff bowed across the table. Major Jones, who was beginning to
+feel that his position as show guest was in danger, thrust his hand
+into his waistcoat pocket and produced a lady’s ring, in which was set a
+single opal.
+
+“Very pretty stones,” he remarked carelessly, “but I can’t say I am very
+fond of them. Here’s one that belonged to my sister, and my grandmother
+before her. I have it in my pocket because I was thinking of having the
+stone reset and making a present of it to a friend of mine.”
+
+Peter Ruff’s popularity waned--he had said nothing about making a
+present to any one of even the most insignificant of his opals! And
+the one which Major Jones now handed round was certainly a magnificent
+stone. Peter Ruff examined it with the rest, and under the pretext
+of studying the setting, gazed steadfastly at the inside through his
+eyeglass. Major Jones, from the other side of the table, frowned, and
+held out his hand for the ring.
+
+“A very beautiful stone indeed!” Peter Ruff declared, passing it across
+the tablecloth. “Really, I do not think that there is one in my little
+collection to be compared with it. Have you many treasures like this,
+Major Jones?”
+
+“Oh, a few!” the Major answered carelessly, “family heirlooms, most of
+them.”
+
+“You will have to give me the ring, Major Jones,” the young lady on his
+right remarked archly. “It’s bad luck, you know, to give it to any one
+who is not born in October, and my birthday is on the twelfth.”
+
+“My dear Miss Levey,” Major Jones answered, whispering in her ear, “more
+unlikely things have happened than that I should beg your acceptance of
+this little trifle.”
+
+“Sooner or later,” Peter Ruff said genially, “I should like to have a
+little conversation with you, Major. I fancy that we ought to be able to
+find plenty of subjects of common interest.”
+
+“Delighted, I’m sure!” the latter answered, utterly unsuspicious. “Shall
+we go into the smoking-room now, or would you rather play a rubber
+first?”
+
+“If it is all the same to you,” Peter Ruff said, “I think we will have a
+cigar first. There will be plenty of time for bridge afterwards.”
+
+“May I offer you a cigar, sir?” Major Jones inquired, passing across a
+well-filled case.
+
+Peter Ruff sighed.
+
+“I am afraid, Major,” he said, “that there is scarcely time. You see, I
+have a warrant in my pocket for your arrest, and I am afraid that by the
+time we got to the station--”
+
+Major Jones leaned forward in his chair. He gripped the sides tightly
+with both hands. His eyes seemed to be protruding from his head.
+
+“For my what?” he exclaimed, in a tone of horror.
+
+“For your arrest,” Peter Ruff explained calmly. “Surely you must have
+been expecting it! During all these years you must have grown used to
+expecting it at every moment!”
+
+Major Jones collapsed. He looked at Ruff as one might look at a man who
+has taken leave of his senses. Yet underneath it all was the coward’s
+fear!
+
+“What are you talking about, man?” he exclaimed. “What do you mean?
+Lower your voice, for heaven’s sake! Consider my position here! Some
+one might overhear! If this is a joke, let me tell you that it’s a
+d----d foolish one!”
+
+Peter Ruff raised his eyebrows.
+
+“I do not wish,” he said, “to create a disturbance--my manner of coming
+here should have assured you of that. At the same time, business is
+business. I hold a warrant for your arrest, and I am forced to execute
+it.”
+
+“Do you mean that you are a detective, then?” Major Jones demanded.
+
+He was a big man, but his voice seemed to have grown very small indeed.
+
+“Naturally,” Peter Ruff answered. “I should not come here without
+authority.”
+
+“What is the charge?” the other man faltered.
+
+“Blackmail,” Peter Ruff said slowly. “The information against you is
+lodged by Sir Richard Dyson.”
+
+It seemed to Peter Ruff, who was watching his companion closely, that a
+wave of relief passed over the face of the man who sat cowering in his
+chair. He certainly drew a little gasp--stretched out his hands, as
+though to thrust the shadow of some fear from him. His voice, when he
+spoke, was stronger. Some faint show of courage was returning to him.
+
+“There is some ridiculous mistake,” he declared. “Let us talk this over
+like sensible men, Mr. Ruff. If you will wait until I have spoken to Sir
+Richard, I can promise you that the warrant shall be withdrawn, and that
+you shall not be the loser.”
+
+“I am afraid it is too late for anything of that sort,” Peter Ruff said.
+“Sir Richard’s patience has been completely exhausted by your repeated
+demands.”
+
+“He never told me so,” Major Jones whined. “I quite thought that he was
+always glad to help an old friend. As a matter of fact, I had not meant
+to ask him for anything else. The last few hundreds I had from him was
+to have closed the thing up. It was the end.”
+
+Peter Ruff shook his head.
+
+“No,” he said, “it was not the end! It never would have been the end!
+Sir Richard sought my advice, and I gave it him without hesitation.
+Sooner or later, I told him, he would have to adopt different measures.
+I convinced him. I represent those measures!”
+
+“But the matter can be arranged,” Major Jones insisted, with a little
+shudder, “I am perfectly certain it can be arranged. Mr. Ruff, you are
+not an ordinary police officer--I am sure of that. Give me a chance of
+having an interview with Sir Richard before anything more is done.
+I will satisfy him, I promise you that. Why, if we leave the place
+together like this, every one here will get to know about it!”
+
+“Be reasonable,” Peter Ruff answered. “Of course everyone will get to
+know about it! Blackmailing cases always excite a considerable amount of
+interest. Your photograph will probably be in the Daily Mirror tomorrow
+or the next day. In the meantime, I must trouble you to pay your
+respects to Mrs. Bognor and to come with me.”
+
+“To Sir Richard’s house?” Major Jones asked, eagerly.
+
+“To the police-stations,” Peter Ruff answered.
+
+Major Jones did not rise. He sat for a few moments with his head buried
+in his hands.
+
+“Mr. Ruff,” he said hoarsely, “listen to me. I have been fortunate
+lately in some investments. I am not so poor as I was. I have my
+check-book in my pocket, and a larger balance in the bank now than I
+have ever had before. If I write you a check for, say, a hundred--no,
+two!--five!” he cried, desperately, watching Peter Ruff’s unchanging
+face--“five hundred pounds, will you come round with me to Sir Richard’s
+house in a hansom at once?”
+
+Peter Ruff shook his head.
+
+“Five thousand pounds would not buy your liberty from me, Major Jones,”
+ he said.
+
+The man became abject.
+
+“Have pity, then,” he pleaded. “My health is not good--I couldn’t stand
+imprisonment. Think of what it means to a man of my age suddenly to
+leave everything worth having in life just because he may have imposed
+a little on the generosity of a friend! Think how you would feel, and be
+merciful!”
+
+Peter Ruff shook his head slowly. His face was immovable, but there was
+a look in his eyes from which the other man shrank.
+
+“Major Jones,” he said, “you ask me be merciful. You appeal to my pity.
+For such as you I have no pity, nor have I ever shown any mercy. You
+know very well, and I know, that when once the hand of the law touches
+your shoulder, it will not be only a charge o’ blackmail which the
+police will bring against you!”
+
+“There is nothing else--nothing else!” he cried. “Take half my fortune,
+Mr. Ruff. Let me get away. Give me a chance--just a sporting chance!”
+
+“I wonder,” Peter Ruff said, “what chance that poor old lady in Weston
+had? No, I am not saying you murdered her. You never had the pluck. Your
+confederate did that, and you handled the booty. What were the initials
+inside that ring you showed us to-night, Major Jones?”
+
+“Let me go to my bedroom,” he said, in a strange, far-away tone. “You
+can come with me and stand outside.”
+
+Peter Ruff assented.
+
+“To save scandal,” he said, “yes!”
+
+Three flights of stairs they climbed. When at last they reached the
+door, the trembling man made one last appeal.
+
+“Mr. Ruff,” he said, “have a little mercy. Give me an hour’s start--just
+a chance for my life!”
+
+Peter Ruff pushed him in the door.
+
+“I am not a hard man,” he said, “but I keep my mercy for men!”
+
+He took the key from the inside of the door, locked it, and with the key
+in his pocket descended to the drawing-room. The young lady who had sat
+on Major Jones’s right was singing a ballad. Suddenly she paused in the
+middle of her song. The four people who were playing bridge looked up.
+Mrs. Bognor screamed.
+
+“What was that?” she asked quickly.
+
+“It sounded,” Peter Ruff said, “very much like revolver shot.”
+
+“I see,” Sir Richard remarked, with a queer look in his eyes, as he
+handed over a roll of notes to Peter Ruff, “the jury brought it in
+‘Suicide’! What I can’t understand is--”
+
+“Don’t try,” Peter Ruff interrupted briskly. “It isn’t in the bond that
+you should understand.”
+
+Sir Richard helped himself to a drink. A great burden had passed from
+his shoulders, but he was not feeling at his best that morning. He could
+scarcely keep his eyes from Peter Ruff.
+
+“Ruff,” he said, “I have known you some time, and I have known you to be
+a square man. I have known you to do good-natured actions. I came to you
+in desperation but I scarcely expected this!”
+
+Peter Ruff emptied his own tumbler and took up his hat.
+
+“Sir Richard,” he said, “you are like a good many other people. Now that
+the thing is done, you shrink from the thought of it. You even wonder
+how I could have planned to bring about the death of this man. Listen,
+Sir Richard. Pity for the deserving, or for those who have in them one
+single quality, one single grain, of good, is a sentiment which deserves
+respect. Pity for vermin, who crawl about the world leaving a poisonous
+trail upon everything they touch, is a false and unnatural sentiment.
+For every hopelessly corrupt man who is induced to quit this life there
+is a more deserving one, somewhere or other, for whom the world is a
+better place.”
+
+“So that, after all, you are a philanthropist, Mr. Ruff,” Sir Richard
+said, with a forced smile.
+
+Peter Ruff shook his head.
+
+“A philosopher,” he answered, buttoning up his notes.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. THE PERFIDY OF MISS BROWN
+
+
+Peter Ruff came down to his office with a single letter in his hand,
+bearing a French postmark. He returned his secretary’s morning greeting
+a little absently, and seated himself at his desk.
+
+“Violet,” he asked, “have you ever been to Paris?”
+
+She looked at him compassionately.
+
+“More times than you, I think, Peter,” she answered.
+
+He nodded.
+
+“That,” he exclaimed, “is very possible! Could you get ready to leave by
+the two-twenty this afternoon?”
+
+“What, alone?” she exclaimed.
+
+“No--with me,” he answered.
+
+She shut down her desk with a bang.
+
+“Of course I can!” she exclaimed. “What a spree!”
+
+Then she caught sight of a certain expression on Peter Ruff’s face, and
+she looked at him wonderingly.
+
+“Is anything wrong, Peter?” she asked.
+
+“No,” he answered, “I cannot say that anything is wrong. I have had an
+invitation to present myself before a certain society in Paris of which
+you have some indirect knowledge. What the summons means I cannot say.”
+
+“Yet you go?” she exclaimed.
+
+“I go,” he answered. “I have no choice. If I waited here twenty-four
+hours, I should hear of it.”
+
+“They can have nothing against you,” she said. “On the contrary, the
+only time they have appealed for your aid, you gave it--very valuable
+aid it must have been, too.”
+
+Peter Ruff nodded.
+
+“I cannot see,” he admitted, “what they can have against me. And yet,
+somehow, the wording of my invitation seemed to me a little ominous.
+Perhaps,” he added, walking to the window and standing looking out for a
+moment, “I have a liver this morning. I am depressed. Violet, what does
+it mean when you are depressed?”
+
+“Shall you wear your gray clothes for traveling?” she asked, a little
+irrelevantly.
+
+“I have not made up my mind,” Peter Ruff answered. “I thought of wearing
+my brown, with a brown overcoat. What do you suggest?”
+
+“I like you in brown,” she answered, simply. “I should change, if I were
+you.”
+
+He smiled faintly.
+
+“I believe,” he said, “that you have a sort of superstition that as I
+change my clothes I change my humors.”
+
+“Should I be so very far wrong?” she asked. “Don’t think that I am
+laughing at you, Peter. The greatest men in the world have had their
+foibles.”
+
+Peter Ruff frowned.
+
+“We shall be away for several days,” he said. “Be sure that you take
+some wraps. It will be cold, crossing.”
+
+“Are you going to close the office altogether?” she asked.
+
+Peter Ruff nodded.
+
+“Put up a notice,” he said--“‘Back on Friday.’ Pack up your books and
+take them round to the Bank before you leave. The lift man will call you
+a taxi-cab.”
+
+He watched her preparations with a sort of gloomy calm.
+
+“I wish you’d tell me what is the matter with you?” she asked, as she
+turned to follow her belongings.
+
+“I do not know,” Peter Ruff said. “I, suppose I am suffering from what
+you would call presentiments. Be at Charing-Cross punctually.”
+
+“Why do you go at all?” she asked. “These people are of no further use
+to you. Only the other day, you were saying that you should not accept
+any more outside cases.”
+
+“I must go,” Peter Ruff answered. “I am not afraid of many things, but I
+should be afraid of disobeying this letter.”
+
+They had a comfortable journey down, a cool, bright crossing, and found
+their places duly reserved for them in the French train. Miss Brown, in
+her neat traveling clothes and furs, was conscious of looking her best,
+and she did all that was possible to entertain her traveling companion.
+But Peter Ruff seemed like a man who labors under some sense of
+apprehension. He had faced death more than once during the last few
+years--faced it without flinching, and with a certain cool disregard
+which can only come from the highest sort of courage. Yet he knew, when
+he read over again in the train that brief summons which he was on
+his way to obey, that he had passed under the shadow of some new and
+indefinable fear. He was perfectly well aware, too, that both on the
+steamer and on the French train he was carefully shadowed. This fact,
+however, did not surprise him. He even went out of his way to enter into
+conversation with one of the two men whose furtive glances into their
+compartment and whose constant proximity had first attracted his
+attention. The man was civil but vague. Nevertheless, when they took
+their places in the dining-car, they found the two men at the next
+table. Peter Ruff pointed them out to his companion.
+
+“‘Double-Fours’!” he whispered. “Don’t you feel like a criminal?”
+
+She laughed, and they took no more notice of the men. But as the
+train drew near Paris, he felt some return of the depression which had
+troubled him during the earlier part of the day. He felt a sense of
+comfort in his companion’s presence which was a thing utterly strange to
+him. On the other hand, he was conscious of a certain regret that he had
+brought her with him into an adventure of which he could not foresee the
+end.
+
+The lights of Paris flashed around them--the train was gradually
+slackening speed. Peter Ruff, with a sigh, began to collect their
+belongings.
+
+“Violet,” he said, “I ought not to have brought you.” Something in his
+voice puzzled her. There had been every few times, during all the years
+she had known him, when she had been able to detect anything approaching
+sentiment in his tone--and those few times had been when he had spoken
+of another woman.
+
+“Why not?” she asked, eagerly.
+
+Peter Ruff looked out into the blackness, through the glittering arc
+of lights, and perhaps for once he suffered his fancy to build for
+him visions of things that were not of earth. If so, however, it was a
+moment which swiftly passed. His reply was in a tone as matter of fact
+as his usual speech.
+
+“Because,” he said, “I do not exactly see the end of my present
+expedition--I do not understand its object.”
+
+“You have some apprehension?” she asked.
+
+“None at all,” he answered. “Why should I? There is an unwritten
+bargain,” he added, a little more slowly, “to which I subscribed with
+our friends here, and I have certainly kept it. In fact, the balance is
+on my side. There is nothing for me to fear.”
+
+The train crept into the Gare du Nord, and they passed through the usual
+routine of the Customs House. Then, in an omnibus, they rumbled slowly
+over the cobblestones, through the region of barely lit streets and
+untidy cafes, down the Rue Lafayette, across the famous Square and into
+the Rue de Rivoli.
+
+“Our movements,” Peter Ruff remarked dryly, “are too well known for
+us to attempt to conceal them. We may as well stop at one of the large
+hotels. It will be more cheerful for you while I am away.”
+
+They engaged rooms at the Continental. Miss Brown, whose apartments were
+in the wing of the hotel overlooking the gardens, ascended at once to
+her room. Peter Ruff, who had chosen a small suite on the other side,
+went into the bar for a whiskey and soda. A man touched him on the
+elbow.
+
+“For Monsieur,” he murmured, and vanished.
+
+Peter Ruff turned and opened the note. It bore a faint perfume, it had a
+coronet upon the flap of the envelope, and it was written in a delicate
+feminine handwriting.
+
+DEAR Mr. RUFF:
+
+If you are not too tired with your journey, will you call soon after one
+o’clock to meet some old friends?
+
+BLANCHE DE MAUPASSIM.
+
+
+Peter Ruff drank his whiskey and soda, went up to his rooms, and made a
+careful toilet. Then he sent a page up for Violet, who came down within
+a few minutes. She was dressed with apparent simplicity in a high-necked
+gown, a large hat, and a single rope of pearls. In place of the
+usual gold purse, she carried a small white satin bag, exquisitely
+hand-painted. Everything about her bespoke that elegant restraint so
+much a feature of the Parisian woman of fashion herself. Peter Ruff,
+who had told her to prepare for supping out, was at first struck by
+the simplicity of her attire. Afterwards, he came to appreciate its
+perfection.
+
+They went to the Cafe de Paris, where they were the first arrivals.
+People, however, began to stream in before they had finished their
+meal, and Peter Ruff, comparing his companion’s appearance with the more
+flamboyant charms of these ladies from the Opera and the theatres,
+began to understand the numerous glances of admiration which the
+impressionable Frenchmen so often turned in their direction. There
+was between them, toward the end of the meal, something which amounted
+almost to nervousness.
+
+“You are going to keep your appointment to-night, Peter?” his companion
+asked.
+
+Peter Ruff nodded.
+
+“As soon as I have taken you home,” he said. “I shall probably return
+late, so we will breakfast here to-morrow morning, if you like, at
+half-past twelve. I will send a note to your room when I am ready.”
+
+She looked him in the eyes.
+
+“Peter,” she said, “supposing that note doesn’t come!”
+
+He shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“My dear Violet,” he said, “you and I--or rather I, for you are not
+concerned in this--live a life which is a little different from the
+lives of most of the people around us. The million pay their taxes, and
+they expect police protection in times of danger. For me there is
+no such resource. My life has its own splendid compensations. I have
+weapons with which to fight any ordinary danger. What I want to explain
+to you is this--that if you hear no more of me, you can do nothing. If
+that note does not come to you in the morning, you can do nothing. Wait
+here for three days, and after that go back to England. You will find a
+letter on your desk, telling you there exactly what to do.”
+
+“You have something in your mind,” she said, “of which you have not told
+me.”
+
+“I have nothing,” he answered, firmly. “Upon my honor, I know of no
+possible cause of offense which our friends could have against me. Their
+summons is, I will admit, somewhat extraordinary, but I go to obey
+it absolutely without fear. You can sleep well, Violet. We lunch here
+to-morrow, without a doubt.”
+
+They drove back to the hotel almost in silence. Violet was looking
+fixedly out of the window of the taxicab, as though interested in
+watching the crowds upon the street. Peter Ruff appeared to be absorbed
+in his own thoughts. Yet perhaps they were both of them nearer to
+one another than either surmised. Their parting in the hall of the
+Continental Hotel was unemotional enough. For a moment Peter Ruff had
+hesitated while her hand had lain in his. He had opened his lips as
+though he had something to say. Her eyes grew suddenly softer--seemed to
+seek his as though begging for those unspoken words. But Peter Ruff did
+not say them then.
+
+“I shall be back all right,” he said. “Good night, Violet! Sleep well!”
+
+He turned back towards the waiting taxicab.
+
+“Number 16, Rue de St. Quintaine,” he told the man. It was not a long
+ride. In less than a quarter of an hour, Peter Ruff presented himself
+before a handsome white house in a quiet, aristocratic-looking street.
+At his summons, the postern door flew open, and a man-servant in plain
+livery stood at the second entrance.
+
+“Madame la Marquise?” Peter Ruff asked.
+
+The man bowed in silence, and took the visitor’s hat and overcoat. He
+passed along a spacious hall and into a delightfully furnished reception
+room, where an old lady with gray hair sat in the midst of a little
+circle of men. Peter Ruff stood, for a moment, upon the threshold,
+looking around him. She held out her hands.
+
+“It is Monsieur Peter Ruff, is it not? At last, then, I am gratified. I
+have wished for so long to see one who has become so famous.”
+
+Peter Ruff took her hands in his and raised them gallantly to his lips.
+
+“Madame,” he said, “this is a pleasure indeed. At my last visit here,
+you were in Italy.”
+
+“I grow old,” she answered. “I leave Paris but little now. Where one has
+lived, one should at least be content to die.”
+
+“Madame speaks a philosophy,” Peter Ruff answered, “which as yet she has
+no need to learn.”
+
+The old lady turned to a man who stood upon her right:
+
+“And this from an Englishman!” she exclaimed.
+
+There were others who took Peter Ruff by the hand then. The servants
+were handing round coffee in little Sevres cups. On the sideboard was
+a choice of liqueurs and bottles of wine. Peter Ruff found himself
+hospitably entertained with both small talk and refreshments. But every
+now and then his eyes wandered back to where Madame sat in her chair,
+her hair as white as snow--beautiful still, in spite of the cruel mouth
+and the narrow eyes.
+
+“She is wonderful!” he murmured to a man who stood by his side.
+
+“She is eighty-six,” was the answer in a whisper, “and she knows
+everything.”
+
+As the clock struck two, a tall footman entered the room and wheeled
+Madame’s chair away. Several of the guests left at the same time. Ruff,
+when the door was closed, counted those who remained. As he had imagined
+would be the case, he found that there were eight.
+
+A tall, gray-bearded man, who from the first had attached himself to
+Ruff, and who seemed to act as a sort of master of ceremonies, now
+approached him once more and laid his hand upon his shoulder.
+
+“Mon ami,” he said, “we will now discuss, if it pleases you, the little
+matter concerning which we took the liberty of asking you to favor us
+with a visit.”
+
+“What, here?” Peter Ruff asked, in some surprise.
+
+His friend, who had introduced himself as Monsieur de Founcelles,
+smiled.
+
+“But why not?” he asked. “Ah, but I think I understand!” he added,
+almost immediately. “You are English, Monsieur Peter Ruff, and in some
+respects you have not moved with the times. Confess, now, that your idea
+of a secret society is a collection of strangely attired men who meet in
+a cellar, and build subterranean passages in case of surprise. In Paris,
+I think, we have gone beyond that sort of thing. We of the ‘Double-Four’
+have no headquarters save the drawing-room of Madame; no hiding-places
+whatsoever; no meeting-places save the fashionable cafes or our own
+reception rooms. The police follow us--what can they discover?--nothing!
+What is there to discover?--nothing! Our lives are lived before the eyes
+of all Paris. There is never any suspicion of mystery about any of our
+movements. We have our hobbies, and we indulge in them. Monsieur the
+Marquis de Sogrange here is a great sportsman. Monsieur le Comte
+owns many racehorses. I myself am an authority on pictures, and own a
+collection which I have bequeathed to the State. Paris knows us well as
+men of fashion and mark--Paris does not guess that we have perfected
+an organization so wonderful that the whole criminal world pays toll to
+us.”
+
+“Dear me,” Peter Ruff said, “this is very interesting!”
+
+“We have a trained army at our disposal,” Monsieur de Founcelles
+continued, “who numerically, as well as in intelligence, outnumber the
+whole force of gendarmes in Paris. No criminal from any other country
+can settle down here and hope for success, unless he joins us. An
+exploit which is inspired by us cannot fail. Our agents may count on our
+protection, and receive it without question.”
+
+“I am bewildered,” Peter Ruff said, frankly. “I do not understand how
+you gentlemen--whom one knows by name so well as patrons of sport and
+society, can spare the time for affairs of such importance.”
+
+Monsieur de Founcelles nodded.
+
+“We have very valuable aid,” he said. “There is below us--the
+‘Double-Four’--the eight gentlemen now present, an executive council
+composed of five of the shrewdest men in France. They take their orders
+from us. We plan, and they obey. We have imagination, and special
+sources of knowledge. They have the most perfect machinery for carrying
+out our schemes that it is possible to imagine. I do not wish to boast,
+Mr. Ruff, but if I take a directory of Paris and place after any man’s
+name, whatever his standing or estate, a black cross, that man dies
+before seven days have passed. You buy your evening paper--a man
+has committed suicide! You read of a letter found by his side: an
+unfortunate love affair--a tale of jealousy or reckless speculation. Mr.
+Ruff, the majority of these explanations are false. They are invented
+and arranged for by us. This year alone, five men in Paris, of position,
+have been found dead, and accounted, for excellent reasons, suicides.
+In each one of these cases, Monsieur Ruff, although not a soul has
+a suspicion of it, the removal of these men was arranged for by the’
+Double-Four.’”
+
+“I trust,” Peter Ruff said, “that it may never be my ill-fortune to
+incur the displeasure of so marvelous an association.”
+
+“On the contrary, Monsieur Ruff,” the other answered, “the attention
+of the association has been directed towards certain incidents of your
+career in a most favorable manner. We have spoken of you often lately,
+Mr. Ruff, between ourselves. We arrive now at the object for which we
+begged the honor of your visit. It is to offer you the Presidency of our
+Executive Council.”
+
+Peter Ruff had thought of many things, but he had not thought of this!
+He gasped, recovered himself, and realized at once the dangers of the
+position in which he stood.
+
+“The Council of Five!” he said thoughtfully.
+
+“Precisely,” Monsieur de Founcelles replied. “The salary--forgive me
+for giving such prominence to a matter which you doubtless consider of
+secondary importance--is ten thousand pounds a year, with a residence
+here and in London--also servants.”
+
+“It is princely!” Peter Ruff declared. “I cannot imagine, Monsieur, how
+you could have believed me capable of filling such a position.”
+
+“There is not much about you, Mr. Ruff, which we do not know,” Monsieur
+de Founcelles answered. “There are points about your career which
+we have marked with admiration. Your work over here was rapid and
+comprehensive. We know all about your checkmating the Count von Hern and
+the Comtesse de Pilitz. We have appealed to you for aid once only--your
+response was prompt and brilliant. You have all the qualifications we
+desire. You are still young, physically you are sound, you speak all
+languages, and you are unmarried.”
+
+“I am what?” Peter Ruff asked, with a start.
+
+“A bachelor,” Monsieur de Founcelles answered. “We who have made
+crime and its detection a life-long study, have reduced many matters
+concerning it to almost mathematical exactitude. Of one thing we have
+become absolutely convinced--it is that the great majority of cases in
+which the police triumph are due to the treachery of women. The criminal
+who steers clear of the other sex escapes a greater danger than the
+detectives who dog his heels. It is for that reason that we choose only
+unmarried men for our executive council.”
+
+Peter Ruff made a gesture of despair. “And I am to be married in a
+month!” he exclaimed.
+
+There was a murmur of dismay. If those other seven men had not once
+intervened, it was because the conduct of the affair had been voted into
+the hands of Monsieur de Founcelles, and there was little which he had
+left unsaid. Nevertheless, they had formed a little circle around the
+two men. Every word passing between them had been listened to eagerly.
+Gestures and murmured exclamations had been frequent enough. There
+arose now a chorus of voices which their leader had some difficulty in
+silencing.
+
+“It must be arranged!”
+
+“But it is impossible--this!”
+
+“Monsieur Ruff amuses himself with us!”
+
+“Gentlemen,” Peter Ruff said, “I can assure you that I do nothing of
+the sort. The affair was arranged some months ago, and the young lady is
+even now in Paris, purchasing her trousseau.”
+
+Monsieur de Founcelles, with a wave of the hand, commanded silence.
+There was probably a way out. In any case, one must be found.
+
+“Monsieur Ruff,” he said, “putting aside, for one moment, your sense of
+honor, which of course forbids you even to consider the possibility
+of breaking your word--supposing that the young lady herself should
+withdraw--”
+
+“You don’t know Miss Brown!” Peter Ruff interrupted. “It is a pleasure
+to which I hope to attain,” Monsieur de Founcelles declared, smoothly.
+“Let us consider once more my proposition. I take it for granted that,
+apart from this threatened complication, you find it agreeable?”
+
+“I am deeply honored by it,” Peter Ruff declared.
+
+“Well, that being so,” Monsieur de Founcelles said, more cheerfully,
+“we must see whether we cannot help you. Tell me, who is this fortunate
+young lady--this Miss Brown?”
+
+“She is a young person of good birth and some means,” Peter Ruff
+declared. “She is, in a small way, an actress; she has also been my
+secretary from the first.” Monsieur de Founcelles nodded his head
+thoughtfully.
+
+“Ah!” he said. “She knows your secrets, then, I presume?”
+
+“She does,” Peter Ruff assented. “She knows a great deal!”
+
+“A young person to be conciliated by all means,” Monsieur de Founcelles
+declared. “Well, we must see. When, Monsieur Ruff, may I have the
+opportunity of making the acquaintance of this young lady?”
+
+“To-morrow morning, or rather this morning, if you will,” Peter Ruff
+answered. “We are taking breakfast together at the cafe de Paris. It
+will give me great pleasure if you will join us.”
+
+“On the contrary,” Monsieur de Founcelles declared, “I must beg of you
+slightly to alter your plans. I will ask you and Mademoiselle to do me
+the honor of breakfasting at the Ritz with the Marquis de Sogrange and
+myself, at the same hour. We shall find there more opportunity for a
+short discussion.”
+
+“I am entirely at your service,” Peter Ruff answered. There were signs
+now of a breaking-up of the little party.
+
+“We must all regret, dear Monsieur Ruff,” Monsieur de Founcelles said,
+as he made his adieux, “this temporary obstruction to the consummation
+of our hopes. Let us pray that Mademoiselle will not be unreasonable.”
+
+“You are very kind,” Peter Ruff murmured.
+
+Peter Ruff drove through the gray dawn to his hotel, in the splendid
+automobile of Monsieur de Founcelles, whose homeward route lay in
+that direction. It was four o’clock when he accepted his key from a
+sleepy-looking clerk, and turned towards the staircase. The hotel was
+wrapped in semi-gloom. Sweepers and cleaners were at work. The palms had
+been turned out into the courtyard. Dust sheets lay over the furniture.
+One person only, save himself and the untidy-looking servants, was
+astir. From a distant corner which commanded the entrance, he saw Violet
+stealing away to the corridor which led to her part of the hotel. She
+had sat there all through the night to see him come in--to be assured of
+his safety! Peter Ruff stared after her disappearing figure as one might
+have watched a ghost.
+
+The luncheon-party was a great success. Peter Ruff was human enough to
+be proud of his companion--proud of her smartness, which was indubitable
+even here, surrounded as they were by Frenchwomen of the best class;
+proud of her accent, of the admiration which she obviously excited
+in the two Frenchmen. His earlier enjoyment of the meal was a little
+clouded from the fact that he felt himself utterly outshone in the
+matter of general appearance. No tailor had ever suggested to him a coat
+so daring and yet so perfect as that which adorned the person of the
+Marquis de Sogrange. The deep violet of his tie was a shade unknown
+in Bond Street--inimitable--a true education in color. They had the
+bearing, too, these Frenchmen! He watched Monsieur de Founcelles bending
+over Violet, and he was suddenly conscious of a wholly new sensation. He
+did not recognize--could not even classify it. He only knew that it was
+not altogether pleasant, and that it set the warm blood tingling through
+his veins.
+
+It was not until they were sitting out in the winter garden, taking
+their coffee and liqueurs, that the object of their meeting was referred
+to. Then Monsieur de Founcelles drew Violet a little away from the
+others, and the Marquis, with a meaning smile, took Peter Ruff’s arm and
+led him on one side. Monsieur de Founcelles wasted no words at all.
+
+“Mademoiselle,” he said, “Monsieur Ruff has doubtless told you that last
+night I made him the offer of a great position among us.”
+
+She looked at him with twinkling eyes.
+
+“Go on, please,” she said.
+
+“I offered him a position of great dignity--of great responsibility,”
+ Monsieur de Founcelles continued. “I cannot explain to you its exact
+nature, but it is in connection with the most wonderful organization of
+its sort which the world has ever known.”
+
+“The ‘Double-Four,’” she murmured.
+
+“Attached to the post is a princely salary and but one condition,”
+ Monsieur de Founcelles said, watching the girl’s face. “The condition is
+that Mr. Ruff remains a bachelor.”
+
+Violet nodded.
+
+“Peter’s told me all this,” she remarked. “He wants me to give him up.”
+
+Monsieur de Founcelles drew a little closer to his companion. There was
+a peculiar smile upon his lips.
+
+“My dear young lady,” he said softly, “forgive me if I point out to you
+that with your appearance and gifts a marriage with our excellent friend
+is surely not the summit of your ambitions! Here in Paris, I promise
+you, here--we can do much better than that for you. You have not,
+perhaps, a dot? Good! That is our affair. Give up our friend here, and
+we deposit in any bank you like to name the sum of two hundred and fifty
+thousand francs.”
+
+“Two hundred and fifty thousand francs!” Violet repeated, slowly.
+
+Monsieur de Founcelles nodded.
+
+“It is enough?” he asked.
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“It is not enough,” she answered.
+
+Monsieur de Founcelles raised his eyebrows.
+
+“We do not bargain,” he said coldly, “and money is not the chief thing
+in the world. It is for you, then, to name a sum.”
+
+“Monsieur de Founcelles,” she said, “can you tell me the amount of the
+national debt of France?”
+
+“Somewhere about nine hundred million francs, I believe,” he answered.
+
+She nodded.
+
+“That is exactly my price,” she declared.
+
+“For giving up Peter Ruff?” he gasped.
+
+She looked at her employer thoughtfully.
+
+“He doesn’t look worth it, does he?” she said, with a queer little
+smile. “I happen to care for him, though--that’s all.”
+
+Monsieur de Founcelles shrugged his shoulders. He knew men and women,
+and for the present he accepted defeat. He sighed heavily.
+
+“I congratulate our friend, and I envy him,” he said. “If ever you
+should change your mind, Mademoiselle--”
+
+“It is our privilege, isn’t it?” she remarked, with a brilliant smile.
+“If I do, I shall certainly let you know.”
+
+On the way home, Peter Ruff was genial--Miss Brown silent. He had
+escaped from a difficult position, and his sense of gratitude toward his
+companion was strong. He showed her many little attentions on the
+voyage which sometimes escaped him. From Dover, they had a carriage to
+themselves.
+
+“Peter,” Miss Brown said, after he had made her comfortable, “when is it
+to be?”
+
+“When is what to be?” he asked, puzzled.
+
+“Our marriage,” she answered, looking at him for a moment in most
+bewildering fashion and then suddenly dropping her eyes.
+
+Peter Ruff returned her gaze in blank amazement.
+
+“What do you mean, Violet?” he exclaimed.
+
+“Just what I say,” she answered, composedly. “When are we going to be
+married?”
+
+Peter Ruff frowned.
+
+“What nonsense!” he said. “We are not going to be married. You know that
+quite well.”
+
+“Oh, no, I don’t!” she declared, smiling at him in a heavenly fashion.
+“At your request I have told Monsieur de Founcelles that we were
+engaged. Incidentally, I have refused two hundred and fifty thousand
+francs and, I believe, an admirer, for your sake. I declared that I was
+going to marry you, and I must keep my word.”
+
+Peter Ruff began to feel giddy.
+
+“Look here, Violet,” he said, “you know very well that we arranged all
+that between ourselves.”
+
+“Arranged all that?” she repeated, with a little laugh. “Perhaps we did.
+You asked me to marry you, and you posed as my fiancee. You kept it up
+just as long as you--it suits me to keep it up a little longer.”
+
+“Do you mean to say--do you seriously mean that you expect me to marry
+you?” he asked, aghast.
+
+“I do,” she admitted. “I have meant you to for some time, Peter!”
+
+She was very alluring, and Peter Ruff hesitated. She held out her hands
+and leaned towards him. Her muff fell to the floor. She had raised her
+veil, and a faint perfume of violets stole into the carriage. Her lips
+were a little parted, her eyes were saying unutterable things.
+
+“You don’t want me to sue you, do you, Peter?” she murmured.
+
+Peter Ruff sighed--and yielded.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. WONDERFUL JOHN DORY
+
+
+The woman who had been Peter Ruff’s first love had fallen upon evil
+days. Her prettiness was on the wane--powder and rouge, late hours,
+and excesses of many kinds, had played havoc with it, even in these few
+months. Her clothes were showy but cheap. Her boots themselves, unclean
+and down at heel, told the story. She stood upon the threshold of Peter
+Ruff’s office, and looked half defiantly, half doubtfully at Violet, who
+was its sole occupant.
+
+“Can I do anything for you?” the latter asked, noticing the woman’s
+hesitation.
+
+“I want to see Mr. Ruff,” the visitor said.
+
+“Mr. Ruff is out at present,” Violet answered.
+
+“When will he be in?”
+
+“I cannot tell you,” Violet said. “Perhaps you had better leave a
+message. Or will you call again? Mr. Ruff is very uncertain in his
+movements.”
+
+Maud sank into a chair.
+
+“I’ll wait,” she declared.
+
+“I am not sure,” Violet remarked, raising her eyebrows, “whether that
+will be convenient. There may be other clients in. Mr. Ruff himself may
+not be back for several hours.”
+
+“Are you his secretary?” Maud asked, without moving.
+
+“I am his secretary and also his wife,” Violet declared. The woman
+raised herself a little in her chair.
+
+“Some people have all the luck,” she muttered. “It’s only a few months
+ago that Mr. Ruff was glad enough to take me out. You remember when I
+used to come here?”
+
+“I remember,” Violet assented.
+
+“I was all right then,” the woman continued, “and now--now I’m down and
+out,” she added, with a little sob. “You see what I am like. You look as
+though you didn’t care to have me in the office, and I don’t wonder
+at it. You look as though you were afraid I’d come to beg, and you are
+right--I have come to beg.”
+
+“I am sure Mr. Ruff will do what he can for you,” Violet said,
+“although--”
+
+“I see you know all about it,” Maud interrupted, with a hard little
+laugh. “I came once to wheedle information out of him. I came to try
+and betray the only man who ever really cared for me. Mr. Ruff was too
+clever, and I am thankful for it. I have been as big a fool as a woman
+can be, but I am paying--oh, I am paying for it right enough!”
+
+She swayed in her chair, and Violet was only just in time to catch her.
+She led the fainting woman to an inner room, made her comfortable upon
+a sofa, and sent out for some food and a bottle of wine. Down in the
+street below, John Dory, who had tracked his wife to the building, was
+walking away with face as black as night. He knew that Maud had lost her
+position, that she was in need of money--almost penniless. He had
+waited to see to whom she would turn, hoping--poor fool as he called
+himself--that she would come back to him. And it was his enemy to whom
+she had gone! He had seen her enter the building; he knew that she had
+not left it. In the morning they brought him another report--she was
+still within. It was the end, this, he told himself! There must be a
+settlement between him and Peter Ruff!
+
+Mr. John Dory, who had arrived at Clenarvon Court in a four-wheel cab
+from the nearest railway station, was ushered by the butler to the
+door of one of the rooms on the ground floor, overlooking the Park. A
+policeman was there on guard--a policeman by his attitude and salute,
+although he was in plain clothes. John Dory nodded, and turned to the
+butler.
+
+“You see, the man knows me,” he said. “Here is my card. I am John Dory
+from Scotland Yard. I want to have a few words with the sergeant.”
+
+The butler hesitated.
+
+“Our orders are very strict, sir,” he said. “I am afraid that I cannot
+allow you to enter the room without a special permit from his lordship.
+You see, we have had no advice of your coming.”
+
+John Dory nodded.
+
+“Quite right,” he answered. “If every one were to obey his orders as
+literally, there would be fewer robberies. However, you see that this
+man recognizes me.”
+
+The butler turned toward an elderly gentleman in a pink coat and
+riding-breeches, who had just descended into the hall.
+
+“His lordship is here,” he said. “He will give you permission, without
+a doubt. There is a gentleman from Scotland Yard, your lordship,” he
+explained, “who wishes to enter the morning-room to speak with the
+sergeant.”
+
+“Inspector John Dory, at your lordship’s service,” saluting. “I have
+been sent down from town to help in this little business.”
+
+Lord Clenarvon smiled.
+
+“I should have thought that, under the circumstances,” he said, “two of
+you would have been enough. Still, it is not for me to complain. Pray go
+in and speak to the sergeant. You will find him inside. Rather dull work
+for him, I’m afraid, and quite unnecessary.”
+
+“I am not so sure, your lordship,” Dory answered. “The Clenarvon
+diamonds are known all over the world, and I suppose there isn’t a
+thieves’ den in Europe that does not know that they will remain here
+exposed with your daughter’s other wedding presents.”
+
+Lord Clenarvon smiled once more and shrugged his shoulders. He was a man
+who had unbounded faith in his fellow-creatures.
+
+“I suppose,” he said, “it is the penalty one has to pay for historical
+possessions. Go in and talk to the sergeant, by all means, Mr. Dory. I
+hope that Graves will succeed in making you comfortable during your stay
+here.”
+
+John Dory was accordingly admitted into the room which was so jealously
+guarded. At first sight, it possessed a somewhat singular appearance.
+The windows had every one of them been boarded up, and the electric
+lights consequently fully turned on. A long table stood in the middle of
+the apartment, serving as support for a long glass showcase, open at the
+top. Within this, from end to end, stretched the presents which a large
+circle of acquaintances were presenting to one of the most popular young
+women in society, on the occasion of her approaching marriage to the
+Duke of Rochester. In the middle, the wonderful Clenarvon diamonds, set
+in the form of a tiara, flashed strange lights into the somberly lit
+apartment. At the end of the table a police sergeant was sitting, with
+a little pile of newspapers and illustrated journals before him. He rose
+to his feet with alacrity at his superior’s entrance.
+
+“Good morning, Saunders,” John Dory said. “I see you’ve got it pretty
+snug in here.”
+
+“Pretty well, thank you, sir,” Saunders answered. “Is there anything
+stirring?”
+
+John Dory looked behind to be sure that the door was closed. Then he
+stopped for a moment to gaze at the wonderful diamonds, and finally sat
+on the table by his subordinate’s side.
+
+“Not exactly that, Saunders,” he said. “To tell you the truth, I came
+down here because of that list of guests you sent me up.”
+
+Saunders smiled.
+
+“I think I can guess the name you singled out, sir,” he said.
+
+“It was Peter Ruff, of course,” Dory said. “What is he doing here in the
+house, under his own name, and as a guest?”
+
+“I have asked no questions, sir,” Saunders answered. “I underlined the
+name in case it might seem worth your while to make inquiries.”
+
+John Dory nodded.
+
+“Nothing has happened, of course?” he asked.
+
+“Nothing,” Saunders answered. “You see, with the windows all boarded up,
+there is practically only the ordinary door to guard, so we feel fairly
+secure.”
+
+“No one hanging about?” the detective asked. “Mr. Ruff himself, for
+instance, hasn’t been trying to make your acquaintance?”
+
+“No sign of it, sir,” the man answered. “I saw him pass through the hall
+yesterday afternoon, as I went off duty, and he was in riding clothes
+all splashed with mud. I think he has been hunting every day.”
+
+John Dory muttered something between his lips, and turned on his heel.
+
+“How many men have you here, Saunders?” he asked.
+
+“Only two, sir, beside myself,” the man replied.
+
+The detective went round the boarded windows, examining the work
+carefully until he reached the door.
+
+“I am going to see if I can have a word with his lordship,” he said.
+
+He caught Lord Clenarvon in the act of mounting his horse in the great
+courtyard.
+
+“What is it, Mr. Dory?” the Earl asked, stooping down.
+
+“There is one name, your lordship, among your list of guests, concerning
+which I wish to have a word with you,” the detective said--“the name of
+Mr. Peter Ruff.”
+
+“Don’t know anything about him,” Lord Clenarvon answered, cheerfully.
+“You must see my daughter, Lady Mary. It was she who sent him his
+invitation. Seems a decent little fellow, and rides as well as the best.
+You’ll find Lady Mary about somewhere, if you’d like to ask her.”
+
+Lord Clenarvon hurried off, with a little farewell wave of his crop,
+and John Dory returned into the house to make inquiries respecting Lady
+Mary. In a very few minutes he was shown into her presence. She smiled
+at him cheerfully.
+
+“Another detective!” she exclaimed. “I am sure I ought to feel quite
+safe now. What can I do for you, Mr. Dory?”
+
+“I have had a list of the guests sent to me,” Dory answered, “in which I
+notice the name of Mr. Peter Ruff.”
+
+Lady Mary nodded.
+
+“Well?” she asked.
+
+“I have just spoken to his lordship,” the detective continued, “and he
+referred me to you.”
+
+“Do you want to know all about Mr. Ruff?” Lady Mary asked, smiling.
+
+“If your ladyship will pardon my saying so, I think that neither you
+nor any one else could tell me that. What I wished to say was that I
+understood that we at Scotland Yard were placed in charge of your jewels
+until after the wedding. Mr. Peter Ruff is, as you may be aware, a
+private detective himself.”
+
+“I understand perfectly,” Lady Mary said. “I can assure you, Mr. Dory,
+that Mr. Ruff is here entirely as a personal and very valued friend
+of my own. On two occasions he has rendered very signal service to my
+family--services which I am quite unable to requite.”
+
+“In that case, your ladyship, there is nothing more to be said. I
+conceive it, however, to be my duty to tell you that in our opinion--the
+opinion of Scotland Yard--there are things about the career of Mr.
+Peter Ruff which need explanation. He is a person whom we seldom let
+altogether out of our sight.”
+
+Lady Mary laughed frankly.
+
+“My dear Mr. Dory,” she said, “this is one of the cases, then, in which
+I can assure you that I know more than Scotland Yard. There is no person
+in the world in whom I have more confidence, and with more reason, than
+Mr. Peter Ruff.”
+
+John Dory bowed.
+
+“I thank your ladyship,” he said. “I trust that your confidence will
+never be misplaced. May I ask one more question?”
+
+“Certainly,” Lady Mary replied, “so long as you make no insinuations
+whatever against my friend.”
+
+“I should be very sorry to do so,” John Dory declared. “I simply wish
+to know whether Mr. Ruff has any instructions from you with reference to
+the care of your jewels?”
+
+“Certainly not,” Lady Mary replied, decidedly. “Mr. Ruff is here
+entirely as my guest. He has been in the room with the rest of us, to
+look at them, and it was he, by the bye, who discovered a much more
+satisfactory way of boarding the windows. Anything else, Mr. Dory?”
+
+“I thank your ladyship, nothing!” the detective answered. “With your
+permission, I propose to remain here until after the ceremony.”
+
+“Just as you like, of course,” Lady Mary said. “I hope you will be
+comfortable.”
+
+John Dory bowed, and returned to confer with his sergeant. Afterwards,
+finding the morning still fine, he took his hat and went for a walk in
+the park.
+
+As a matter of fact, this, in some respects the most remarkable of
+the adventures which had ever befallen Mr. Peter Ruff, came to him by
+accident. Lady Mary had read the announcement of his marriage in the
+paper, had driven at once to his office with a magnificent present, and
+insisted upon his coming with his wife to the party which was assembling
+at Clenarvon Court in honor of her own approaching wedding. Peter
+Ruff had taken few holidays of late years, and for several days had
+thoroughly enjoyed himself. The matter of the Clenarvon jewels he
+considered, perhaps, with a slight professional interest; but so far as
+he could see, the precautions for guarding them were so adequate that
+the subject did not remain in his memory. He had, however, a very
+distinct and disagreeable shock when, on the night of John Dory’s
+appearance, he recognized among a few newly-arrived guests the
+Marquis de Sogrange. He took the opportunity, as soon as possible,
+of withdrawing his wife from a little circle among whom they had been
+talking, to a more retired corner of the room. She saw at once that
+something had happened to disturb him.
+
+“Violet,” he said, “don’t look behind now--”
+
+“I recognized him at once,” she interrupted. “It is the Marquis de
+Sogrange.”
+
+Peter Ruff nodded.
+
+“It will be best for you,” he said, “not to notice him. Of course, his
+presence here may be accidental. He has a perfect right to enter any
+society he chooses. At the same time, I am uneasy.”’
+
+She understood in a moment.
+
+“The Clenarvon diamonds!” she whispered. He nodded.
+
+“It is just the sort of affair which would appeal to the ‘Double-Four,’”
+ he said. “They are worth anything up to a quarter of a million, and it
+is an enterprise which could scarcely be attempted except by some one in
+a peculiar position. Violet, if I were not sure that he had seen me, I
+should leave the house this minute.”
+
+“Why?” she asked, wonderingly.
+
+“Don’t you understand,” Peter Ruff continued, softly, “that I myself am
+still what they call a corresponding member of the ‘Double-Four,’ and
+they have a right to appeal to me for help in this country, as I have a
+right to appeal to them for help or information in France? We have both
+made use of one another, to some extent. No doubt, if the Marquis has
+any scheme in his mind, he would look upon me as a valuable ally.”
+
+She turned slowly pale.
+
+“Peter,” she said, “you wouldn’t dream--you wouldn’t dare to be so
+foolish?”
+
+He shook his head firmly.
+
+“My dear girl,” he said, “we talked that all out long ago. A few years
+since, I felt that I had been treated badly, that I was an alien, and
+that the hand of the law was against me. I talked wildly then, perhaps.
+When I put up my sign and sat down for clients, I meant to cheat the
+law, if I could. Things have changed, Violet. I want nothing of that
+sort. I have kept my hands clean and I mean to do so. Why, years ago,”
+ he continued, “when I was feeling at my wildest, these very jewels were
+within my grasp one foggy night, and I never touched them.”
+
+“What would happen if you refused to help?”
+
+“I do not know,” Peter Ruff answered. “The conditions are a little
+severe. But, after all, there are no hard and fast rules. It rests with
+the Marquis himself to shrug his shoulders and appreciate my position.
+Perhaps he may not even exchange a word with me. Here is Lord Sotherst
+coming to talk to you, and Captain Hamilton is waiting for me to tell
+him an address. Remember, don’t recognize Sogrange.”
+
+Dinner that night was an unusually cheerful meal. Peter Ruff, who was
+an excellent raconteur, told many stories. The Marquis de Sogrange was
+perhaps the next successful in his efforts to entertain his neighbors.
+Violet found him upon her left hand, and although he showed not the
+slightest signs of having ever seen her before, they were very soon
+excellent friends. After dinner, Sogrange and Peter Ruff drifted
+together on their way to the billiard-room. Sogrange, however, continued
+to talk courteously of trifles until, having decided to watch the first
+game, they found themselves alone on the leather divan surrounding the
+room.
+
+“This is an unexpected pleasure, my friend,” Sogrange said, watching the
+ash of his cigar. “Professional?”
+
+Peter Ruff shook his head. “Not in the least,” he answered. “I have
+had the good fortune to render Lady Mary and her brother, at different
+times, services which they are pleased to value highly. We are here as
+ordinary guests--my wife and I.” The Marquis sighed.
+
+“Ah, that wife of yours, Ruff,” he said. “She is charming, I admit, and
+you are a lucky man; but it was a price--a very great price to pay.”
+
+“You, perhaps, are ambitious, Marquis,” Peter Ruff answered. “I have not
+done so badly. A little contents me.”
+
+Sogrange looked at him as though he were some strange creature.
+
+“I see!” he murmured. “I see! With you, of course, the commercial side
+comes uppermost. Mr. Ruff, what do you suppose the income from my estate
+amounts to?” Peter Ruff shook his head. He did not even know that the
+Marquis was possessed of estates!
+
+“Somewhere about seven millions of francs,” Sogrange declared. “There
+are few men in Paris more extravagant than I, and I think that we
+Frenchmen know what extravagance means. But I cannot spend my income.
+Do you think that it is for the sake of gain that I have come across the
+Channel to add the Clenarvon diamonds to our coffers?”
+
+Peter Ruff sat very still.
+
+“You mean that?” he said.
+
+“Of course!” Sogrange answered. “Didn’t you realize it directly you
+saw me? What is there, do you think, in a dull English house-party to
+attract a man like myself? Don’t you understand that it is the gambler’s
+instinct--the restless desire to be playing pitch-and-toss with fate,
+with honor, with life and death, if you will--that brings such as myself
+into the ranks of the ‘Double-Four’? It is the weariness which kills,
+Peter Ruff. One must needs keep it from one’s bones.”
+
+“Marquis,” Peter Ruff answered, “I do not profess to understand you.
+I am not weary of life, in fact I love it. I am looking forward to the
+years when I have enough money--and it seems as though that time is not
+far off--when I can buy a little place in the country, and hunt a
+little and shoot a little, and live a simple out-of-door life. You see,
+Marquis, we are as far removed as the poles.”
+
+“Obviously!” Sogrange answered.
+
+“Your confidence,” Peter Ruff continued, “the confidence with which you
+have honored me, inspires me to make you one request. I am here, indeed,
+as a friend of the family. You will not ask me to help in any designs
+you may have against the Clenarvon jewels?”
+
+Sogrange leaned back in his chair and laughed softly. His lips, when
+they parted from his white teeth, resolved themselves into lines
+which at that moment seemed to Peter Ruff more menacing than mirthful.
+Sogrange was, in many ways, a man of remarkable appearance.
+
+“Oh, Peter Ruff,” he said, “you are a bourgeois little person! You
+should have been the burgomaster in a little German town, or a French
+mayor with a chain about your neck. We will see. I make no promises.
+All that I insist upon, for the present, is that you do not leave this
+house-party without advising me--that is to say, if you are really
+looking forward to that pleasant life in the country, where you will
+hunt a little and shoot a little, and grow into the likeness of a
+vegetable. You, with your charming wife! Peter Ruff, you should be
+ashamed to talk like that! Come, I must play bridge with the Countess. I
+am engaged for a table.”
+
+The two men parted. Peter Ruff was uneasy. On his way from the room,
+Lord Sotherst insisted upon his joining a pool.
+
+“Charming fellow, Sogrange,” the latter remarked, as he chalked his cue.
+“He has been a great friend of the governor’s--he and his father before
+him. Our families have intermarried once or twice.”
+
+“He seems very agreeable,” Peter Ruff answered, devoting himself to the
+game.
+
+The following night, being the last but one before the wedding itself,
+a large dinner-party had been arranged for, and the resources of even so
+princely a mansion as Clenarvon Court were strained to their utmost
+by the entertainment of something like one hundred guests in the great
+banqueting-hall. The meal was about half-way through when those who were
+not too entirely engrossed in conversation were startled by hearing a
+dull, rumbling sound, like the moving of a number of pieces of heavy
+furniture. People looked doubtfully at one another. Peter Ruff and the
+Marquis de Sogrange were among the first to spring to their feet.
+
+“It’s an explosion somewhere,” the latter cried. “Sounds close at hand,
+too.”
+
+They made their way out into the hall. Exactly opposite now was the
+room in which the wedding presents had been placed, and where for days
+nothing had been seen but a closed door and a man on duty outside. The
+door now stood wide open, and in place of the single electric light
+which was left burning through the evening, the place seemed almost
+aflame.
+
+Ruff, Sogrange and Lord Sotherst were the first three to cross the
+threshold. They were met by a rush of cold wind. Opposite to them, two
+of the windows, with their boardings, had been blown away. Sergeant
+Saunders was still sitting in his usual place at the end of the table,
+his head bent upon his folded arms. The man who had been on duty outside
+was standing over him, white with horror. Far away in the distance, down
+the park, one could faintly hear the throbbing of an engine, and Peter
+Ruff, through the chasm, saw the lights of a great motor-car flashing in
+and out amongst the trees. The room itself--the whole glittering
+array of presents--seemed untouched. Only the great center-piece--the
+Clenarvon diamonds--had gone. Even as they stood there, the rest of the
+guests crowding into the open door, John Dory tore through, his face
+white with excitement. Peter Ruff’s calm voice penetrated the din of
+tongues.
+
+“Lord Sotherst,” he said, “you have telephones in the keepers’ lodges.
+There is a motor-car being driven southwards at full speed. Telephone
+down, and have your gates secured. Dory, I should keep every one out of
+the room. Some one must telephone for a doctor. I suppose your man has
+been hurt.”
+
+The guests were wild with curiosity, but Lord Clenarvon, with an
+insistent gesture, led the way back to the diningroom.
+
+“Whatever has happened,” he said, “the people who are in charge there
+know best how to deal with the situation. There is a detective from
+Scotland Yard and his subordinates, and a gentleman in whom I also have
+most implicit confidence. We will resume our dinner, if you please,
+ladies and gentlemen.”
+
+Unwillingly, the people were led away. John Dory was already in his
+great-coat, ready to spring into the powerful motor-car which had been
+ordered out from the garage. A doctor, who had been among the guests,
+was examining the man Saunders, who sat in that still, unnatural
+position at the head of the table.
+
+“The poor fellow has been shot in the back of the head with some
+peculiar implement,” he said. “The bullet is very long--almost like a
+needle--and it seems to have penetrated very nearly to the base of the
+brain.”
+
+“Is he dead?” Peter Ruff asked.
+
+The doctor shook his head.
+
+“No!” he answered. “An inch higher up and he must have died at once.
+I want some of the men-servants to help me carry him to a bedroom, and
+plenty of hot water. Some one else must go for my instrument case.”
+
+Lord Sotherst took these things in charge, and John Dory turned to the
+man whom they had found standing over him.
+
+“Tell us exactly what happened,” he said, briefly.
+
+“I was standing outside the door,” the man answered. “I heard no sound
+inside--there was nothing to excite suspicion in any way. Suddenly there
+was this explosion. It took me, perhaps, thirty or forty seconds to get
+the key out of my pocket and unlock the door. When I entered, the side
+of the room was blown in like that, the diamonds were gone, Saunders
+was leaning forward just in the position he is in now, and there wasn’t
+another soul in sight. Then you and the others came.”
+
+John Dory rushed from the room; they had brought him word that the car
+was waiting. At such a moment, he was ready even to forget his ancient
+enmity. He turned towards Peter Ruff, whose calm bearing somehow or
+other impressed even the detective with a sense of power.
+
+“Will you come along?” he asked.
+
+Peter Ruff shook his head.
+
+“Thank you, Dory, no!” he said. “I am glad you have asked me, but I
+think you had better go alone.”
+
+A few seconds later, the pursuit was started. Saunders was carried out
+of the room, followed by the doctor. There remained only Peter Ruff and
+the man who had been on duty outside. Peter Ruff seated himself where
+Saunders had been sitting, and seemed to be closely examining the table
+all round for some moments. Once he took up something from between the
+pages of the book which the Sergeant had apparently been reading, and
+put it carefully into his own pocketbook. Then he leaned back in the
+chair, with his hands clasped behind his head and his eyes fixed upon
+the ceiling, as though thinking intently.
+
+“Hastings,” he said to the policeman, who all the time was pursuing a
+stream of garrulous, inconsequent remarks, “I wonder whether you’d step
+outside and see Mr. Richards, the butler. Ask him if he would be so good
+as to spare me a moment.”
+
+“I’ll do it, sir,” the man answered, with one more glance through the
+open space. “Lord!” he added, “they must have been in through there and
+out again like cats!”
+
+“It was quick work, certainly,” Peter Ruff answered, genially, “but
+then, an enterprise like this would, of course, only be attempted by
+experts.”
+
+Peter Ruff was not left alone long. Mr. Richards came hurrying in.
+
+“This is a terrible business, sir!” he said. “His lordship has excused
+me from superintending the service of the dinner. Anything that I can do
+for you I am to give my whole attention to. These were my orders.”
+
+“Very good of you, Richards,” Peter Ruff answered, “very thoughtful of
+his lordship. In the first place, then, I think, we will have the rest
+of this jewelry packed in cases at once. Not that anything further is
+likely to happen,” he continued, “but still, it would be just as well
+out of the way. I will remain here and superintend this, if you will
+send a couple of careful servants. In the meantime, I want you to do
+something else for me.”
+
+“Certainly, sir,” the man answered.
+
+“I want a plan of the house,” Peter Ruff said, “with the names of the
+guests who occupy this wing.”
+
+The butler nodded gravely.
+
+“I can supply you with it very shortly, sir,” he said. “There is no
+difficulty at all about the plan, as I have several in my room; but it
+will take me some minutes to pencil in the names.”
+
+Peter Ruff nodded.
+
+“I will superintend things here until you return,” he said.
+
+“It is to be hoped, sir,” the man said, as he retreated, “that the
+gentleman from Scotland Yard will catch the thieves. After all, they
+hadn’t more than ten minutes’ start, and our Daimler is a flyer.”
+
+“I’m sure I hope so,” Peter Ruff answered, heartily.
+
+But, alas! no such fortune was in store for Mr. John Dory. At daybreak
+he returned in a borrowed trap from a neighboring railway station.
+
+“Our tires had been cut,” he said, in reply to a storm of questions.
+“They began to go, one after the other, as soon as we had any speed on.
+We traced the car to Salisbury, and there isn’t a village within forty
+miles that isn’t looking out for it.”
+
+Peter Ruff, who had just returned from an early morning walk, nodded
+sympathetically.
+
+“Shall you be here all day, Mr. Dory?” he asked. “There’s just a word or
+two I should like to have with you.”
+
+Dory turned away. He had forced himself, in the excitement of the
+moment, to speak to his ancient enemy, but in this hour of his humility
+the man’s presence was distasteful to him.
+
+“I am not sure,” he said, shortly. “It depends on how things may turn
+out.”
+
+The daily life at Clenarvon Court proceeded exactly as usual. Breakfast
+was served early, as there was to be big day’s shoot. The Marquis de
+Sogrange and Peter Ruff smoked their cigarettes together afterwards in
+the great hall. Then it was that Peter Ruff took the plunge.
+
+“Marquis,” he said, “I should like to know exactly how I stand with
+you--the ‘Double-Four,’ that is to say--supposing I range myself for an
+hour or so on the side of the law?”
+
+Sogrange smiled.
+
+“You amuse yourself, Mr. Ruff,” he remarked genially.
+
+“Not in the least,” Peter Ruff answered. “I am serious.”
+
+Sogrange watched the blue cigarette smoke come down his nose.
+
+“My dear friend,” he said, “I am no amateur at this game. When I choose
+to play it, I am not afraid of Scotland Yard. I am not afraid,” he
+concluded, with a little bow, “even of you!”
+
+“Do you ever bet, Marquis?” Peter Ruff asked.
+
+“Twenty-five thousand francs,” Sogrange said, smiling, “that your
+efforts to aid Mr. John Dory are unavailing.”
+
+Peter Ruff entered the amount in his pocketbook. “It is a bargain,” he
+declared. “Our bet, I presume, carries immunity for me?”
+
+“By all means,” Sogrange answered, with a little bow.
+
+The Marquis beckoned to Lord Sotherst, who was crossing the hall.
+
+“My dear fellow,” he said, “do tell me the name of your hatter in
+London. Delions failed me at the last moment, and I have not a hat fit
+for the ceremony to-morrow.”
+
+“I’ll lend you half-a-dozen, if you can wear them,” Lord Sotherst
+answered, smiling. “The governor’s sure to have plenty, too.”
+
+Sogrange touched his head with a smile.
+
+“Alas!” he said. “My head is small, even for a Frenchman’s. Imagine
+me--otherwise, I trust, suitably attired--walking to the church
+to-morrow in a hat which came to my ears!”
+
+Lord Sotherst laughed.
+
+“Scotts will do you all right,” he said. “You can telephone.”
+
+“I shall send my man up,” Sogrange determined. “He can bring me back a
+selection. Tell me, at what hour is the first drive this morning, and
+are the places drawn yet?”
+
+“Come into the gun-room and we’ll see,” Lord Sotherst answered.
+
+Peter Ruff made his way to the back quarters of the house. In a little
+sitting-room he found the man he sought, sitting alone. Peter Ruff
+closed the door behind him.
+
+“John Dory,” he said, “I have come to have a few words with you.”
+
+The detective rose to his feet. He was in no pleasant mood. Though
+the telephone wires had been flashing their news every few minutes, it
+seemed, indeed, as though the car which they had chased had vanished
+into space.
+
+“What do you want to say to me?” he asked gruffly.
+
+“I want, if I can,” Peter Ruff said earnestly, “to do you a service.”
+
+Dory’s eyes glittered.
+
+“I think,” he said, “that I can do without your services.”
+
+“Don’t be foolish,” Peter Ruff said. “You are harboring a grievance
+against me which is purely an imaginary one. Now listen to the facts.
+You employ your wife--which after all, Dory, I think, was not quite
+the straight thing--to try and track down a young man named Spencer
+Fitzgerald, who was formerly, in a small way, a client of mine. I find
+your wife an agreeable companion--we become friends. Then I discover her
+object, and know that I am being fooled. The end of that little episode
+you remember. But tell me why should you bear me ill-will for defending
+my friend and myself?”
+
+The detective came slowly up to Peter Ruff. He took hold of the lapel
+of the other’s coat with his left hand, and his right hand was clenched.
+But Peter Ruff did not falter.
+
+“Listen to me,” said Dory. “I will tell you what grudge I bear against
+you. It was your entertainment of my wife which gave her the taste
+for luxury and for gadding about. Mind, I don’t blame you for that
+altogether, but there the fact remains. She left me. She went on the
+stage.”
+
+“Stop!” Peter Ruff said. “You must still hold me blameless. She wrote to
+me. I went out with her once. The only advice I gave her was to return
+to you. So far as I am concerned, I have treated her with the respect
+that I would have shown my own sister.”
+
+“You lie!” Dory cried, fiercely. “A month ago, I saw her come to your
+fiat. I watched for hours. She did not leave it--she did not leave it
+all that night!”
+
+“If you object to her visit,” Peter Ruff said quietly, “it is my wife
+whom you must blame.”
+
+John Dory relaxed his hand and took a quick step backwards.
+
+“Your wife?” he muttered.
+
+“Exactly!” Peter Ruff answered. “Maud--Mrs. Dory--called to see me; she
+was ill--she had lost her situation--she was even, I believe, faint and
+hungry. I was not present. My wife talked to her and was sorry for her.
+While the two women were there together, your wife fainted. She was put
+to bed in our one spare room, and she has been shown every attention and
+care. Tell me, how long is it since you were at home?”
+
+“Not for ten days,” Dory answered, bitterly. “Why?”
+
+“Because when you go back, you will find your wife there,” Peter Ruff
+answered. “She has given up the stage. Her one desire is to settle down
+and repay you for the trouble she has caused you. You needn’t believe me
+unless you like. Ask my wife. She is here. She will tell you.”
+
+Dory was overcome. He went back to his seat by the window, and he buried
+his face for a moment in his hands.
+
+“Ruff,” he said, “I don’t deserve this. I’ve had bad times lately,
+though. Everything has gone against me. I think I have been a bit
+careless, with the troubles at home and that.”
+
+“Stop!” Peter Ruff insisted. “Now I come to the immediate object of my
+visit to you. You have had some bad luck at headquarters. I know of it.
+I am going to help you to reinstate yourself brilliantly. With that, let
+us shake hands and bury all the soreness that there may be between us.”
+
+John Dory stared at his visitor.
+
+“Do you mean this?” he asked.
+
+“I do,” answered Peter. “Please do not think that I mean to make any
+reflection upon your skill. It is just a chance that I was able to see
+what you were not able to see. In an hour’s time, you shall restore the
+Clenarvon diamonds to Lord Clenarvon. You shall take the reward which
+he has just offered, of a thousand pounds. And I promise you that the
+manner in which you shall recover the jewels shall be such that you will
+be famous for a long time to come.”
+
+“You are a wonderful man!” said Dory, hoarsely. “Do you mean, then, that
+the jewels were not with those men in the motor-car?”
+
+“Of course not!” Peter Ruff answered. “But come along. The story will
+develop.”
+
+At half-past ten that morning, a motor-car turned out from the garage
+at Clenarvon Court, and made its way down the avenue. In it was a single
+passenger--the dark-faced Parisian valet of the Marquis de Sogrange. As
+the car left the avenue and struck into the main road, it was hailed by
+Peter Ruff and John Dory, who were walking together along the lane.
+
+“Say, my man,” Peter Ruff said, addressing the chauffeur, “are you going
+to the station?”
+
+“Yes, sir!” the man answered. “I am taking down the Marquis de
+Sogrange’s servant to catch the eleven o’clock train to town.”
+
+“You don’t mind giving us a lift?” Peter Ruff asked, already opening the
+door.
+
+“Certainly not, sir,” the man answered, touching his hat.
+
+Peter Ruff and John Dory stepped into the tonneau of the car. The man
+civilly lifted the hatbox from the seat, and made room for his enforced
+companions. Nevertheless, it was easy to see that he was not pleased.
+
+“There’s plenty of room here for three,” Peter Ruff said, cheerfully, as
+they sat on either side of him. “Drive slowly, please, chauffeur. Now,
+Mr. Lemprise,” Peter Ruff added, “we will trouble you to change places.”
+
+“What do you mean?” the man called out, suddenly pale as death.
+
+He was held as though in a vice. John Dory’s arm was through his on one
+side, and Peter Ruff’s on the other. Apart from that, the muzzle of a
+revolver was pressed to his forehead.
+
+“On second thoughts,” Peter Ruff said, “I think we will keep you like
+this. Driver,” he called out, “please return to the Court at once.”
+
+The man hesitated.
+
+“You recognize the gentleman who is with me?” Peter Ruff said. “He
+is the detective from Scotland Yard. I have full authority from Lord
+Clenarvon over all his servants. Please do as I say.”
+
+The man hesitated no more. The car was backed and turned, the Frenchman
+struggling all the way like a wild cat. Once he tried to kick the hatbox
+into the road, but John Dory was too quick for him. So they drove up to
+the front door of the Court, to be welcomed with cries of astonishment
+from the whole of the shooting party, who were just starting. Foremost
+among them was Sogrange. They crowded around the car. Peter Ruff touched
+the hatbox with his foot.
+
+“If we could trouble your Lordship,” he said, “to open that hatbox,
+you will find something that will interest you. Mr. Dory has planned a
+little surprise for you, in which I have been permitted to help.”
+
+The women, who gathered that something was happening, came hastening out
+from the hall. They all crowded round Lord Clenarvon, who was cutting
+through the leather strap of the hatbox. Inside the silk hat which
+reposed there, were the Clenarvon diamonds. Monsieur le Marquis de
+Sogrange was one of the foremost to give vent to an exclamation of
+delight.
+
+“Monsieur le Marquis,” Peter Ruff said, “this should be a lesson to you,
+I hope, to have the characters of your servants more rigidly verified.
+Mr. Dory tells me that this man came into your employ at the last moment
+with a forged recommendation. He is, in effect, a dangerous thief.”
+
+“You amaze me!” Sogrange exclaimed.
+
+“We are all interested in this affair,” Peter Ruff said, “and my friend
+John Dory here is, perhaps, too modest properly to explain the matter.
+If you care to come with me, we can reconstruct, in a minute, the
+theft.”
+
+John Dory and Peter Ruff first of all handed over their captive, who was
+now calm and apparently resigned, to the two policemen who were still on
+duty in the Court. Afterwards, Peter Ruff led the way up one flight of
+stairs, and turned the handle of the door of an apartment exactly over
+the morning-room. It was the bedroom of the Marquis de Sogrange.
+
+“Mr. Dory’s chase in the motor-car,” he said, “was, as you have
+doubtless gathered now, merely a blind. It was obvious to his
+intelligence that the blowing away of the window was merely a ruse to
+cover the real method of the theft. If you will allow me, I will show
+you how it was done.”
+
+The floor was of hardwood, covered with rugs. One of these, near the
+fireplace, Peter Ruff brushed aside. The seventh square of hardwood
+from the mantelpiece had evidently been tampered with. With very little
+difficulty, he removed it.
+
+“You see,” he explained, “the ceiling of the room below is also of
+paneled wood. Having removed this, it is easy to lift the second one,
+especially as light screws have been driven in and string threaded about
+them. There is now a hole through which you can see into the room below.
+Has Dory returned? Ah, here he is!”
+
+The detective came hurrying into the room, bearing in his hand a
+peculiar-shaped weapon, a handful of little darts like those which had
+been found in the wounded man’s head, and an ordinary fishing-rod in a
+linen case.
+
+“There is the weapon,” Peter Ruff said, “which it was easy enough to
+fire from here upon the man who was leaning forward exactly below. Then
+here, you will see, is a somewhat peculiar instrument, which shows a
+great deal of ingenuity in its details.”
+
+He opened the linen case, which was, by the bye, secured by a padlock,
+and drew out what was, to all appearance, an ordinary fishing-rod,
+fitted at the end with something that looked like an iron hand. Peter
+Ruff dropped it through the hole until it reached the table, moved it
+backwards and forwards, and turned round with a smile.
+
+“You see,” he said, “the theft, after all, was very simple. Personally,
+I must admit that it took me a great deal by surprise, but my friend Mr.
+Dory has been on the right track from the first. I congratulate him most
+heartily.”
+
+Dory was a little overcome. Lady Mary shook him heartily by the hand,
+but as they trooped downstairs she stooped and whispered in Peter Ruff’s
+ear.
+
+“I wonder how much of this was John Dory,” she said, smiling.
+
+Peter Ruff said nothing. The detective was already on the telephone,
+wiring his report to London. Every one was standing about in little
+knots, discussing this wonderful event. Sogrange sought Lord Clenarvon,
+and walked with him, arm in arm, down the stairs.
+
+“I cannot tell you, Clenarvon,” he said, “how sorry I am that I should
+have been the means of introducing a person like this to the house. I
+had the most excellent references from the Prince of Strelitz. No doubt
+they were forged. My own man was taken ill just before I left, and I had
+to bring some one.”
+
+“My dear Sogrange,” Lord Clenarvon said, “don’t think of it. What we
+must be thankful for is that we had so brilliant a detective in the
+house.”
+
+“As John Dory?” Sogrange remarked, with a smile. Lord Clenarvon nodded.
+
+“Come,” he said, “I don’t see why we should lose a day’s sport because
+the diamonds have been recovered. I always felt that they would turn up
+again some day or other. You are keen, I know, Sogrange.”
+
+“Rather!” the Marquis answered. “But excuse me for one moment. There is
+Mrs. Ruff looking charming there in the corner. I must have just a word
+with her.”
+
+He crossed the room and bowed before Violet.
+
+“My dear lady,” he said, “I have come to congratulate you. You have a
+clever husband--a little cleverer, even, than I thought. I have just had
+the misfortune to lose to him a bet of twenty-five thousand francs.”
+
+Violet smiled, a little uneasily.
+
+“Peter doesn’t gamble as a rule,” she remarked.
+
+Sogrange sighed.
+
+“This, alas, was no gamble!” he said. “He was betting upon certainties,
+but he won. Will you tell him from me, when you see him, that although
+I have not the money in my pocket at the moment, I shall pay my debts.
+Tell him that we are as careful to do that in France as we are to keep
+our word!”
+
+He bowed, and passed out with the shooting-party on to the terrace.
+Peter Ruff came up, a few minutes later, and his wife gave him the
+message.
+
+“I did that man an injustice,” Peter Ruff said with a sigh of relief. “I
+can’t explain now, dear. I’ll tell you all about it later in the day.”
+
+“There’s nothing wrong, is there?” she asked him, pleadingly.
+
+“On the contrary,” Peter Ruff declared, “everything is right. I have
+made friends with Dory, and I have won a thousand pounds. When we leave
+here, I am going to look out for that little estate in the country.
+If you come out with the lunch, dear, I want you to watch that man
+Hamilton’s coat. It’s exactly what I should like to wear myself at my
+own shooting parties. See if you can make a sketch of it when he isn’t
+looking.”
+
+Violet laughed.
+
+“I’ll try,” she promised.
+
+
+
+
+
+BOOK TWO
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. RECALLED BY THE DOUBLE-FOUR
+
+
+It is the desire of Madame that you should join our circle here on
+Thursday evening next at ten o’clock.
+
+The man looked up from the sheet of note-paper which he held in his
+hand, and gazed through the open French-windows before which he was
+standing. It was a very pleasant and very peaceful prospect. There
+was his croquet lawn, smooth-shaven, the hoops neatly arranged, the
+chalk-mark firm and distinct upon the boundary. Beyond, the tennis
+court, the flower gardens, and, to the left, the walled fruit garden.
+A little farther away was the paddock and orchard, and a little farther
+still, the farm, which for the last four years had been the joy of his
+life. His meadows were yellow with buttercups; a thin line of willows
+showed where the brook wound its lazy way through the bottom fields. It
+was a home, this, in which a man could well lead a peaceful life, could
+dream away his days to the music of the west wind, the gurgling stream,
+the song of birds, and the low murmuring of insects. Peter Ruff stood
+like a man turned to stone, for, even as he looked, these things passed
+away from before his eyes, the roar of the world beat in his ears--the
+world of intrigue, of crime, the world where the strong man hewed his
+way to power, and the weaklings fell like corn before the sickle.
+
+“It is the desire of Madame!”
+
+Peter Ruff clenched his fists as he stood there. It was a message from
+a world every memory of which had been deliberately crushed, a world,
+indeed, in which he had seemed no longer to hold any place. Scarcely yet
+of middle age, well-preserved, upright, with neat figure dressed in the
+conventional tweeds and gaiters of an English country gentleman, he
+not only had loved his life, but he looked the part. He was Peter Ruff,
+Esquire, of Aynesford Manor, in the county of Somerset. It could not be
+for him, this strange summons.
+
+The rustle of a woman’s soft draperies broke in upon his reverie. He
+turned around with his usual morning greeting upon his lips. If country
+life had agreed with Peter Ruff, it had transformed his wife. Her cheeks
+were no longer pale; the extreme slimness of her figure was no longer
+apparent. She was just a little more matronly, perhaps, but without
+doubt a most beautiful woman. She came smiling across the room--a dream
+of white muslin and pink ribbons.
+
+“Another forage bill, my dear Peter?” she demanded, passing her arm
+through his. “Put it away and admire my new morning gown. It came
+straight from Paris, and you will have to pay a great deal of money for
+it.”
+
+He pulled himself together--he had no secrets from his wife.
+
+“Listen,” he said, and read aloud:
+
+
+RUE DE ST. QUINTAINE.
+
+PARIS.
+
+DEAR Mr. RUFF, It is a long time since we had the pleasure of a visit
+from you. It is the desire of Madame that you should join our circle
+here on Thursday evening next at ten o’clock.
+
+SOGRANGE.
+
+
+Violet was a little perplexed. She failed, somehow, to recognize the
+sinister note underlying those few sentences, “It sounds friendly
+enough,” she remarked. “You are not obliged to go, of course.”
+
+Peter Ruff smiled grimly.
+
+“Yes, it sounds all right,” he admitted.
+
+“They won’t expect you to take any notice of it, surely?” she continued.
+“When you bought this place, Peter, and left your London offices, you
+gave them definitely to understand that you had retired into private
+life, that all these things were finished with you.”
+
+“There are some things,” Peter Ruff said, slowly, “which are never
+finished.”
+
+“But you resigned,” she reminded him. “I remember your letter
+distinctly.”
+
+“From the Double-Four,” he answered, “no resignation is recognized save
+death. I did what I could and they accepted my explanations, gracefully
+and without comment. Now that the time has come, however, when they
+think they need my help, you see they do not hesitate to claim it.”
+
+“You will not go, Peter? You will not think of going?” she begged.
+
+He twisted the letter between his fingers and sat down to his breakfast.
+
+“No,” he said, “I shall not go.”
+
+That morning Peter Ruff spent upon his farm, looking over his stock,
+examining some new machinery, and talking crops with his bailiff. In the
+afternoon he played his customary round of golf. It was the sort of
+day which, as a rule, he found completely satisfactory, yet, somehow or
+other, a certain sense of weariness crept in upon him toward its close.
+
+Two days later he received another letter. This time it was couched in
+different terms. On a square card, at the top of which was stamped a
+small coronet, he read as follows:
+
+Madame de Maupassim at home, Saturday evening, May 2nd, at ten o’clock.
+
+In small letters at the bottom left-hand corner were added the words:
+
+To meet friends.
+
+Peter Ruff put the card upon the fire and went out for a morning’s
+rabbit shooting with his keeper. When he returned luncheon was ready,
+but Violet was absent. He rang the bell.
+
+“Where is your mistress, Jane?” he asked the parlor-maid.
+
+The girl had no idea. Mrs. Ruff had left for the village several hours
+before; since then she had not been seen. Peter Ruff ate his luncheon
+alone, and understood. The afternoon wore on, and at night he traveled
+up to London. He knew better than to waste time by purposeless
+inquiries. Instead he took the nine o’clock train the next morning to
+Paris.
+
+It was a chamber of death into which he was ushered, dismal--yet, of its
+sort, unique, marvelous. The room itself might have been the sleeping
+apartment of an empress--lofty, with white paneled walls, adorned simply
+with gilded lines; with high windows, closely curtained now, so that
+neither sound nor the light of day might penetrate into the room. In the
+middle of the apartment upon a canopy bedside, which had once adorned
+a king’s palace, lay Madame de Maupassim. Her face was already touched
+with the finger of death, yet her eyes were undimmed and her lips
+unquivering. Her hands, covered with rings, lay out before her upon
+the lace coverlid. Supported by many pillows, she was issuing her last
+instructions with the cold precision of the man of affairs who makes the
+necessary arrangements for a few days, absence from his business.
+
+Peter Ruff, who had not even been allowed sufficient time to change his
+traveling clothes, was brought without hesitation to her bedside. She
+looked at him in silence for a moment, with a cold glitter in her eyes.
+
+“You are four days late, Monsieur Peter Ruff,” she remarked. “Why did
+you not obey your first summons?
+
+“Madame,” he answered, “I thought there must be a misunderstanding. Four
+years ago, I gave notice to the council that I had married and retired
+into private life. A country farmer is of no further use to the world.”
+
+The woman’s thin lip curled.
+
+“From death and the Double Four,” she said, “there is no resignation
+which counts. You are as much our creature to-day, as I am the creature
+of the disease which is carrying me across the threshold of death.”
+
+Peter Ruff remained silent. The woman’s words seemed full of dread
+significance. Besides, how was it possible to contradict the dying?
+
+“It is upon the unwilling of the world,” she continued, speaking slowly,
+yet with extraordinary distinctness, “that its greatest honors are often
+conferred. The name of my successor has been balloted for, secretly. It
+is you, Peter Ruff, who have been chosen.”
+
+This time he was silent because he was literally bereft of words. This
+woman was dying and fancying strange things! He looked from one to the
+other of the stern, pale faces of those who were gathered around her
+bedside. Seven of them there were--the same seven. At that moment their
+eyes were all focused upon him. Peter Ruff shrank back.
+
+“Madame,” he murmured, “this cannot be.”
+
+Her lips twitched as though she would have smiled. “What we have
+decided,” she said, “we have decided. Nothing can alter that, not even
+the will of Mr. Peter Ruff.”
+
+“I have been out of the world for four years,” Peter Ruff protested. “I
+have no longer ambitions, no longer any desire--”
+
+“You lie!” the woman interrupted. “You lie or you do yourself an
+injustice. We gave you four years, and looking into your face, I think
+that it has been enough. I think that the weariness is there already. In
+any case, the charge which I lay upon you in these my last moments, is
+one which you can escape by death only.”
+
+A low murmur of voices from those others repeated her words.
+
+“By death only!”
+
+Peter Ruff opened his lips, but closed them again without speech. A
+wave of emotion seemed passing through the room. Something strange was
+happening. It was Death itself, which had come among them.
+
+A morning journalist wrote of the death of Madame eloquently, and with
+feeling. She had been a broad-minded aristocrat, a woman of brilliant
+intellect and great friendships, a woman of whose inner life during the
+last ten or fifteen years little was known, yet who, in happier times,
+might well have played a great part in the history of her country.
+
+Peter Ruff drove back from the cemetery with the Marquis de Sogrange,
+and, for the first time since the death of Madame, serious subjects were
+spoken of.
+
+“I have waited here patiently,” he declared, “but there are limits. I
+want my wife.”
+
+Sogrange took him by the arm and led him into the library of the house
+in the Rue de St. Quintaine. The six men who were already there waiting
+rose to their feet.
+
+“Gentlemen,” the Marquis said, “is it your will that I should be
+spokesman?”
+
+There was a murmur of assent. Then Sogrange turned toward his companion,
+and something new seemed to have crept into his manner--a solemn, almost
+a threatening note.
+
+“Peter Ruff,” he continued, “you have trifled with the one organization
+in this world which has never allowed liberties to be taken with it. Men
+who have done greater service than you have died, for the disobedience
+of a day. You have been treated leniently, according to the will of
+Madame. According to her will, and in deference to the position which
+you must now take up among us, we will treat you as no other has ever
+been treated by us. The Double-Four admits your leadership and claims
+you for its own.”
+
+“I am not prepared to discuss anything of the sort,” Peter Ruff
+declared, doggedly, “until my wife is restored to me.”
+
+The Marquis smiled.
+
+“The traditions of your race, Mr. Ruff,” he said, “are easily manifest
+in you. Now hear our decision. Your wife shall be restored to you on the
+day when you take up this position to which you have become entitled.
+Sit down and listen.”
+
+Peter Ruff was a rebel at heart, but he felt the grip of iron.
+
+“During these four years when you, my friend, have been growing turnips
+and shooting your game, events in the great world have marched, new
+powers have come into being, a new page of history has been opened. As
+everything which has good at the heart evolves toward the good, so we
+of the Double-Four have lifted our great enterprise onto a higher plane.
+The world of criminals is still at our beck and call, we still claim
+the right to draw the line between moral theft and immoral honesty, but
+to-day the Double-Four is concerned with greater things. Within the
+four walls of this room, within the hearing of these my brothers, whose
+fidelity is as sure as the stones of Paris, I tell you a great secret.
+The government of our country has craved for our aid and the aid of our
+organization. It is no longer the wealth of the world alone, which we
+may control, but the actual destinies of nations.”
+
+“What I suppose you mean to say is,” Peter Ruff remarked, “that you’ve
+been going in for politics?”
+
+“You put it crudely, my English bull-dog,” Sogrange answered, “but you
+are right. We are occupied now by affairs of international importance.
+More than once, during the last few month, ours has been the hand which
+has changed the policy of an empire.”
+
+“Most interesting,” Peter Ruff declared, “but so far as I, personally,
+am concerned--”
+
+“Listen,” interrupted the Marquis. “Not a hundred yards from the French
+Embassy, in London, there is waiting for you a house and servants no
+less magnificent than the Embassy itself. You will become the ambassador
+in London of the Double-Four, titular head of our association, a
+personage whose power is second to none in your great city. I do not
+address words of caution to you, my friend, because we have satisfied
+ourselves as to your character and capacity before we consented that you
+should occupy your present position. But I ask you to remember this. The
+will of Madame lives even beyond the grave. The spirit which animated
+her when alive breathes still in all of us. In London you will wield
+a great power. Use it for the common good. And, remember this--the
+Double-Four has never failed, the Double-Four never can fail.”
+
+“I am glad to hear you are so confident,” Peter Ruff said. “Of course,
+if I have to take this thing on, I shall do my best, but if I might
+venture to allude, for a moment, to anything so trifling as my own
+domestic affairs, I am very anxious to know about my wife.”
+
+Sogrange smiled.
+
+“You will find Mrs. Ruff awaiting you in London,” he announced. “Your
+address is Porchester House, Porchester Square.”
+
+“When do I go there?” Peter Ruff asked.
+
+“To-night,” was the answer.
+
+“And what do I do when I get there?” he persisted.
+
+“For three days,” the Marquis told him, “you will remain indoors, and
+give audience to whoever may come to you. At the end of that time, you
+will understand a little more of our purpose and our objects--perhaps,
+even, of our power.”
+
+“I see difficulties,” Peter Ruff remarked. “There will be a good many
+people who will remember me when I had offices in Southampton Row. My
+name, you see, is uncommon.”
+
+Sogrange drew a document from the breast pocket of his coat.
+
+“When you leave this house to-night,” he proclaimed, “we bid good-by
+forever to Mr. Peter Ruff. You will find in this envelope the title
+deeds of a small property which is our gift to you. Henceforth you will
+be known by the name and title of your estates.”
+
+“Title!” Peter Ruff gasped.
+
+“You will reappear in London,” Sogrange continued, “as the Baron de
+Grost.”
+
+Peter Ruff shook his head.
+
+“It won’t do,” he declared, “people will find me out.”
+
+“There is nothing to be found out,” the Marquis went on, a little
+wearily. “Your country life has dulled your wits, Baron. The title and
+the name are justly yours--they go with the property. For the rest, the
+history of your family, and of your career up to the moment when you
+enter Porchester House to-night, will be inside this packet. You can
+peruse it upon the journey, and remember that we can, at all times,
+bring a hundred witnesses, if necessary, to prove that you are who you
+declare yourself to be. When you get to Charing-Cross, do not forget
+that it will be the carriage and servants of the Baron de Grost which
+await you.”
+
+Peter Ruff shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“Well,” he said, thoughtfully, “I suppose I shall get used to it.”
+
+“Naturally,” Sogrange answered. “For the moment, we are passing through
+a quiet time, necessitated by the mortal illness of Madame. You will be
+able to spend the next few weeks in getting used to your new position.
+You will have a great many callers, inspired by us, who will see that
+you make the right acquaintances and that you join the right clubs.
+At the same time, let me warn you always to be ready. There is trouble
+brewing just now all over Europe. In one way or another, we may become
+involved at any moment. The whole machinery of our society will be
+explained to you by your secretary. You will find him already installed
+at Porchester House. A glass of wine, Baron, before you leave.”
+
+Peter Ruff glanced at the clock.
+
+“There are my things to pack,” he began--
+
+Sogrange smiled.
+
+“Your valet is already on the front seat of the automobile which is
+waiting,” he remarked. “You will find him attentive and trustworthy.
+The clothes which you brought with you we have taken the liberty of
+dispensing with. You will find others in your trunk, and at Porchester
+House you can send for any tailor you choose. One toast, Baron. We drink
+to the Double-Four--to the great cause!”
+
+There was a murmur of voices. Sogrange lifted once more his glass.
+
+“May Peter Ruff rest in peace!” he said. “We drink to his ashes. We
+drink long life and prosperity to the Baron de Grost!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. PRINCE ALBERT’S CARD DEBTS
+
+
+It was half past twelve, and every table at the Berkeley Bridge Club
+was occupied. On the threshold of the principal room a visitor, who was
+being shown around, was asking questions of the secretary.
+
+“Is there any gambling here?” he inquired.
+
+The secretary shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“I am afraid that some of them go a little beyond the club points,”
+ he answered. “You see that table against the wall? They are playing
+shilling auction there.”
+
+The table near the wall was, perhaps, the most silent. The visitor
+looked at it last and most curiously.
+
+“Who is the dissipated-looking boy playing there?” he asked.
+
+“Prince Albert of Trent,” the secretary answered.
+
+“And who is the little man, rather like Napoleon, who sits in the
+easy-chair and watches?”
+
+“The Baron de Grost.”
+
+“Never heard of him,” the visitor declared.
+
+“He is a very rich financier who has recently blossomed out in London,”
+ the secretary said. “One sees him everywhere. He has a good-looking
+wife, who is playing in the other room.”
+
+“A good-looking wife,” the visitor remarked, thoughtfully. “But, yes! I
+thank you very much, Mr. Courtledge for showing me round. I will find my
+friends now.”
+
+He turned away, leaving Courtledge alone, for a minute or two, on the
+threshold of the card room. The secretary’s attention was riveted upon
+the table near the wall, and the frown on his face deepened. Just as he
+was moving off, the Baron de Grost rose and joined him.
+
+“They are playing a little high in here this evening,” the latter
+remarked quietly.
+
+Courtledge frowned.
+
+“I wish I had been in the club when they started,” he said, gloomily.
+“My task is all the more difficult now.”
+
+The Baron de Grost looked pensively, for a moment, at the cigarette
+which he was carrying.
+
+“By the bye, Mr. Courtledge,” he asked, with apparent irrelevance, “what
+was the name of the tall man with whom you were talking just now?”
+
+“Count von Hern. He was brought in by one of the attaches at the German
+Embassy.”
+
+Baron de Grost passed his arm through the secretary’s and led him a
+little way through the corridor.
+
+“I thought I recognized our friend,” he remarked. “His presence here
+this evening is quite interesting.”
+
+“Why this evening?”
+
+Baron de Grost avoided the question.
+
+“Mr. Courtledge,” he said, “I think that you will allow me to ask you
+something without thinking me impertinent. You know that my wife and I
+have taken some interest in Prince Albert. It is on his account, is it
+not, that you look so gloomy to-night, as though you had an execution in
+front of you?”
+
+Courtledge nodded.
+
+“I am afraid,” he announced, “that we have come to the end of our tether
+with that young man. It’s a pity, too, for he isn’t a bad sort, and it
+will do the club no good if it gets about. But he hasn’t settled up for
+a fortnight, and the matter came before the committee this afternoon. He
+owes one man over seven hundred pounds.”
+
+The Baron de Grost listened gravely.
+
+“Are you going to speak to him to-night?” he asked.
+
+“I must. I am instructed by the committee to ask him not to come to the
+club again until he has discharged his obligations.”
+
+De Grost smoked thoughtfully for a few moments.
+
+“Well,” he said, “I suppose there is no getting out of it. Don’t rub it
+in too thick, though. I mean to have a talk with the boy afterwards, and
+if I am satisfied with what he says, the money will be all right.”
+
+Courtledge raised his eyebrows.
+
+“You know, of course, that he has a very small income and no
+expectations?”
+
+“I know that,” Baron de Grost answered. “At the same time, it is hard
+to forget that he really is a member of the royal house, even though the
+kingdom is a small one.”
+
+“Not only is the kingdom a small one,” Courtledge remarked, “but there
+are something like five lives between him and the succession. However,
+it’s very good-natured of you, Baron, to think of lending him a hand.
+I’ll let him down as lightly as I can. You know him better than any one;
+I wonder if you could make an excuse to send him out of the room? I’d
+rather no one saw me talking to him.”
+
+“Quite easy,” said the Baron. “I’ll manage it.”
+
+The rubber was just finishing as De Grost re-entered the room. He
+touched the young man, who had been the subject of their conversation,
+upon the shoulder.
+
+“My wife would like to speak to you for a moment,” he said. “She is in
+the other room.”
+
+Prince Albert rose to his feet. He was looking very pale, and the
+ash-tray in front of him was littered with cigarette ends.
+
+“I will go and pay my respects to the Baroness,” he declared. “It will
+change my luck, perhaps. Au revoir!”
+
+He passed out of the room and all eyes followed him.
+
+“Has the Prince been losing again to-night?” the Baron asked.
+
+One of the three men at the table shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“He owes me about five hundred pounds,” he said, “and to tell you the
+truth, I’d really rather not play any more. I don’t mind high points,
+but his doubles are absurd.”
+
+“Why not break up the table?” the Baron suggested. “The boy can scarcely
+afford such stakes.”
+
+He strolled out of the room in time to meet the Prince, who was standing
+in the corridor. A glance at his face was sufficient--the secretary had
+spoken. He would have hurried off, but the Baron intercepted him.
+
+“You are leaving, Prince?” he asked.
+
+“Yes!” was the somewhat curt reply.
+
+“I will walk a little way with you, if I may,” De Grost continued.
+“My wife brought Lady Brownloe, and the brougham only holds two
+comfortably.”
+
+Prince Albert made no reply. He seemed just then scarcely capable of
+speech. When they had reached the pavement, however, the Baron took his
+arm.
+
+“My young friend,” he inquired, “how much does it all amount to?”
+
+The Prince turned towards him with darkening face.
+
+“You knew, then,” he demanded, “that Mr. Courtledge was going to speak
+to me of my debts?”
+
+“I was sorry to hear that it had become necessary,” the Baron answered.
+“You must not take it too seriously. You know very well that at a club
+like the Berkeley, which has such a varied membership, card debts must
+be settled on the spot.”
+
+“Mine will be settled before mid-day to-morrow,” the young man declared,
+sullenly. “I am not sure that it may not be to-night.”
+
+De Grost was silent for a moment. They had turned into Piccadilly. He
+summoned a taxicab.
+
+“Do you mind coming round to my house and talking to me, for a few
+minutes?” he asked.
+
+The young man hesitated.
+
+“I’ll come round later on,” he suggested. “I have a call to make first.”
+
+De Grost held open the door of the taxicab.
+
+“I want a talk with you,” he said, “before you make that call.”
+
+“You speak as though you knew where I was going,” the Prince remarked.
+
+His companion made no reply, but the door of the taxicab was still open
+and his hand had fallen ever so slightly upon the other’s shoulder. The
+Prince yielded to the stronger will. He stepped inside.
+
+They drove in silence to Porchester Square. The Baron led the way
+through into his own private sanctum, and closed the door carefully.
+Cigars, cigarettes, whiskey and soda, and liqueurs were upon the
+sideboard.
+
+“Help yourself, Prince,” he begged, “and then, if you don’t mind, I am
+going to ask you a somewhat impertinent question.”
+
+The Prince drank the greater part of a whiskey and soda and lit a
+cigarette. Then he set his tumbler down and frowned.
+
+“Baron de Grost,” he said, “you have been very kind to me since I have
+had the pleasure of your acquaintance. I hope you will not ask me any
+question that I cannot answer.”
+
+“On the contrary,” his host declared, “the question which I shall ask
+will be one which it will be very much to your advantage to answer.
+I will put it as plainly as possible. You are going, as you admit
+yourself, to pay your card debts to-night or to-morrow morning, and you
+are certainly not going to pay them out of your income. Where is the
+money coming from?”
+
+Albert of Trent seemed suddenly to remember that after all he was of
+royal descent. He drew himself up and bore himself, for a moment, as a
+Prince should.
+
+“Baron de Grost,” he said, “you pass the limits of friendship when you
+ask such a question. I take the liberty of wishing you good-night.”
+
+He moved towards the door. The Baron, however, was in the way--a strong,
+motionless figure, and his tone, when he spoke again, was convincing.
+
+“Prince,” he declared, “I speak in your own interests. You have not
+chosen to answer my question. Let me answer it for you. The money to
+pay your debts, and I know not how much besides, was to come from the
+Government of a country with whom none of your name or nationality
+should willingly have dealings.”
+
+The Prince started violently. The shock caused him to forget his
+new-found dignity.
+
+“How, in the devil’s name, do you know that?” he demanded.
+
+“I know more,” the Baron continued. “I know the consideration which you
+were to give for this money.”
+
+Then the Prince began plainly to show the terror which had crept into
+his heart--the terror and the shame. He looked at his host like a man
+dazed with hearing strange things.
+
+“It comes to nothing,” he said, in a hard, unnatural tone. “It is a
+foolish bargain, indeed. Between me and the throne are four lives.
+My promise is not worth the paper it is written upon. I shall never
+succeed.”
+
+“That, Prince, is probably where you are misinformed,” the Baron
+replied. “You are just now in disgrace with your family, and you hear
+from them only what the newspapers choose to tell.”
+
+“Has anything been kept back from me?” the Prince asked.
+
+“Tell me this first,” De Grost insisted. “Am I not right in assuming
+that you have signed a solemn undertaking that, in the event of your
+succeeding to the throne of your country, you will use the whole of your
+influence towards concluding a treaty with a certain Power, one of the
+provisions of which is that that Power shall have free access to any one
+of your ports in the event of war with England?”
+
+There was a moment’s silence. The Prince clutched the back of the chair
+against which he was leaning.
+
+“Supposing it were true?” he muttered. “It is, after all, an idle
+promise.”
+
+The Baron shook his head slowly.
+
+“Prince,” he said, “it is no such idle promise as it seems. The man who
+is seeking to trade upon your poverty knew more than he would tell you.
+You may have read in the newspapers that your two cousins are confined
+to the palace with slight colds. The truth has been kept quiet, but it
+is none the less known to a few of us. The so-called cold is really a
+virulent attack of diphtheria, and, according to to-night’s reports,
+neither Prince Cyril nor Prince Henry are expected to live.”
+
+“Is this true?” the Prince gasped.
+
+“It is true,” his host declared. “My information can be relied upon.”
+
+The Prince sat down suddenly. He was looking whiter than ever, and very
+scared.
+
+“Even then,” he murmured, “there is John.”
+
+“You have been out of touch with your family for some months,” De
+Grost reminded his visitor. “One or two of us, however, know what you,
+probably, will soon hear. Prince John has taken the vows and solemnly
+resigned, before the Archbishop, his heirship. He will be admitted into
+the Roman Catholic Church in a week or two, and will go straight to a
+monastery.”
+
+“It’s likely enough,” the Prince gasped. “He always wanted to be a
+monk.”
+
+“You see now,” the Baron continued, “that your friend’s generosity was
+not so wonderful a thing. Count von Hern was watching you to-night at
+the Bridge Club. He has gone home; he is waiting now to receive you.
+Apart from that, the man Nisch, with whom you have played so much, is a
+confederate of his, a political tout, not to say a spy.”
+
+“The brute!” Prince Albert muttered. “I am obliged to you, Baron, for
+having warned me,” he added, rising slowly to his feet. “I shall sign
+nothing. There is another way.”
+
+De Grost shook his head.
+
+“My young friend,” he said, “there is another way, indeed, but not the
+way you have in your mind at this moment. I offer you an alternative.
+I will give you notes for the full amount you owe to-night, so that
+you can, if you will, go back to the club direct from here and pay
+everything--on one condition.”
+
+“Condition!”
+
+“You must promise to put your hand to no document which the Count von
+Hern may place before you, and pledge your word that you have no further
+dealings with him.”
+
+“But why should you do this for me?” the Prince exclaimed. “I do not
+know that I shall ever be able to pay you.”
+
+“If you succeed to the throne, you will pay me,” the Baron de Grost
+said. “If you do not succeed, remember that I am a rich man, and that I
+shall miss this money no more than the sixpence which you might throw to
+a crossing-sweeper.”
+
+The Prince was silent. His host unlocked a small cabinet and took from
+it a bundle of notes.
+
+“Tell me the whole amount you owe,” he insisted, “every penny, mind.”
+
+“Sixteen hundred pounds,” was the broken reply.
+
+De Grost counted a little roll and laid it upon the table.
+
+“There are two thousand pounds,” he said. “Listen, Prince. A name such
+as you bear carries with it certain obligations. Remember that, and try
+and shape your life accordingly. Take my advice--go back to your own
+country and find some useful occupation there, even if you only rejoin
+your regiment and wear its uniform. The time may come when your country
+will require you, for her work comes sooner or later to every man. You
+are leading a rotten life over here, a life which might have led to
+disaster and dishonor, a life, as you know, which might have ended in
+your rooms to-night with a small bullet hole in your forehead. Brave men
+do not die like that. Take up the money, please.”
+
+The Baron de Grost sent a cipher dispatch to Paris that night, and
+received an answer which pleased him.
+
+“It is a small thing,” he read, “but it is well done. Particulars of a
+matter of grave importance will reach you to-morrow.” letter.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. THE AMBASSADOR’S WIFE
+
+
+Alone in his study, with fast-locked door, Peter, Baron de Grost, sat
+reading, word by word, with zealous care the despatch from Paris which
+had just been delivered into his hands. From the splendid suite of
+reception rooms which occupied the whole of the left-hand side of the
+hall came the faint sound of music. The street outside was filled
+with automobiles and carriages setting down their guests. Madame was
+receiving to-night a gathering of very distinguished men and women, and
+it was only for a few moments, and on very urgent business indeed, that
+her husband had dared to leave her side.
+
+The room in which he sat was in darkness except for the single heavily
+shaded electric lamp which stood by his elbow. Nevertheless, there was
+sufficient illumination to show that Peter had achieved one, at least,
+of his ambitions. He was wearing court dress, with immaculate black silk
+stockings and diamond buckles upon his shoes. A red ribbon was in
+his buttonhole and a French order hung from his neck. His passion for
+clothes was certainly amply ministered to by the exigencies of his new
+position. Once more he read those last few words of this unexpectedly
+received despatch, read them with a frown upon his forehead and the
+light of trouble in his eyes. For three months he had done nothing but
+live the life of an ordinary man of fashion and wealth. His first task,
+for which, to tell the truth, he had been anxiously waiting, was here
+before him, and he found it little to his liking. Again, he read slowly
+to himself the last paragraph of Sogrange’s.
+
+As ever, dear friend, one of the greatest sayings which the men of my
+race have ever perpetrated once more justifies itself--“Cherchez la
+femme!” Of Monsieur we have no manner of doubt. We have tested him in
+every way. And to all appearance Madame should also be above suspicion.
+Yet those things of which I have spoken have happened. For two hours
+this morning I was closeted with Picon here. Very reluctantly he has
+placed the matter in my hands. I pass it on to you. It is your first
+undertaking, cher Baron, and I wish you bon fortune. A man of gallantry,
+as I know you are, you may regret that it should be a woman, and a
+beautiful woman, too, against whom the finger must be pointed. Yet,
+after all, the fates are strong and the task is yours.
+
+SOGRANGE.
+
+
+The music from the reception rooms grew louder and more insistent.
+Peter rose to his feet, and moving to the fireplace, struck a match
+and carefully destroyed the letter which he had been reading. Then he
+straightened himself, glanced for a moment at the mirror, and left the
+room to join his guests.
+
+
+“Monsieur le Baron jests,” the lady murmured.
+
+The Baron de Grost shook his head.
+
+“Indeed, no, Madame!” he answered earnestly. “France has offered us
+nothing more delightful in the whole history of our entente than the
+loan of yourself and your brilliant husband. Monsieur de Lamborne makes
+history among us politically, while Madame--”
+
+The Baron sighed, and his companion leaned a little towards him; her
+dark eyes were full of sentimental regard.
+
+“Yes?” she murmured. “Continue. It is my wish.”
+
+“I am the good friend of Monsieur de Lamborne,” the Baron said, and in
+his tone there seemed to lurk some far-away touch of regret, “yet Madame
+knows that her conquests here have been many.”
+
+The Ambassador’s wife fanned herself and remained silent for a moment,
+a faint smile playing at the corners of her full, curving lips. She
+was, indeed, a very beautiful woman--elegant, a Parisienne to the
+finger-tips, with pale cheeks, but eyes dark and soft, eyes trained to
+her service, whose flash was an inspiration, whose very droop had set
+beating the hearts of men less susceptible than the Baron de Grost. Her
+gown was magnificent, of amber satin, a color daring, but splendid; the
+outline of her figure, as she leaned slightly back in her seat, might
+indeed have been traced by the inspired finger of some great sculptor.
+De Grost, whose reputation as a man of gallantry was well established,
+felt the whole charm of her presence--felt, too, the subtle indications
+of preference which she seemed inclined to accord to him. There was
+nothing which eyes could say which hers were not saying during those few
+minutes. The Baron, indeed, glanced around a little nervously. His wife
+had still her moments of unreasonableness; it was just as well that
+she was engaged with some of her guests at the farther end of the
+apartments.
+
+“You are trying to turn my head,” his beautiful companion whispered.
+“You flatter me.”
+
+“It is not possible,” he answered.
+
+Again the fan fluttered for a moment before her face. She sighed.
+
+“Ah. Monsieur!” she continued, dropping her voice until it scarcely
+rose above a whisper, “there are not many men like you. You speak of my
+husband and his political gifts. Yet what, after all, do they amount to?
+What is his position, indeed, if one glanced behind the scenes, compared
+with yours?”
+
+The face of the Baron de Grost became like a mask. It was as though
+suddenly he had felt the thrill of danger close at hand, danger even in
+that scented atmosphere wherein he sat.
+
+“Alas, Madame!” he answered, “it is you, now, who are pleased to jest.
+Your husband is a great and powerful ambassador. I, unfortunately, have
+no career, no place in life save the place which the possession of a few
+millions gives to a successful financier.”
+
+She laughed very softly, and again her eyes spoke to him. “Monsieur,”
+ she murmured, “you and I together could make a great alliance, is it not
+so?”
+
+“Madame,” he faltered, doubtfully, “if one dared hope--”
+
+Once more the fire of her eyes, this time not only voluptuous. Was the
+man stupid, she wondered, or only cautious?
+
+“If that alliance were once concluded,” she said, softly, “one might
+hope for everything.”
+
+“If it rests only with me,” he began, seriously, “oh, Madame!”
+
+He seemed overcome. Madame was gracious, but was he really stupid or
+only very much in earnest?
+
+“To be one of the world’s money kings,” she whispered, “it is
+wonderful--that. It is power--supreme, absolute power. There is nothing
+beyond, there is nothing greater.”
+
+Then the Baron, who was watching her closely, caught another gleam in
+her eyes, and he began to understand. He had seen it before among a
+certain type of her countrywomen--the greed of money. He looked at
+her jewels and he remembered that, for an ambassador, her husband was
+reputed to be a poor man. The cloud of misgiving passed away from him;
+he settled down to the game.
+
+“If money could only buy the desire of one’s heart,” he murmured.
+“Alas!”
+
+His eyes seemed to seek out Monsieur de Lamborne among the moving
+throngs. She laughed softly, and her hand brushed his.
+
+“Money and one other thing, Monsieur le Baron,” she whispered in his
+ear, “can buy the jewels from a crown--can buy, even, the heart of a
+woman--”
+
+A movement of approaching guests caught them up, and parted them for a
+time. The Baroness de Grost was at home from ten till one, and her rooms
+were crowded. The Baron found himself drawn on one side, a few minutes
+later, by Monsieur de Lamborne himself.
+
+“I have been looking for you, De Grost,” the latter declared. “Where can
+we talk for a moment?”
+
+His host took the ambassador by the arm and led him into a retired
+corner. Monsieur de Lamborne was a tall, slight man, somewhat cadaverous
+looking, with large features, hollow eyes, thin but carefully arranged
+gray hair, and a pointed gray beard. He wore a frilled shirt, and an
+eye-glass suspended by a broad black ribbon hung down upon his chest.
+His face, as a rule, was imperturbable enough, but he had the air, just
+now, of a man greatly disturbed.
+
+“We cannot be overheard here,” De Grost remarked. “It must be an affair
+of a few words only, though.”
+
+Monsieur de Lamborne wasted no time in preliminaries. “This afternoon,”
+ he said, “I received from my Government papers of immense importance,
+which I am to hand over to your Foreign Minister at eleven o’clock
+to-morrow morning.”
+
+The Baron nodded.
+
+“Well?”
+
+De Lamborne’s thin fingers trembled as they played nervously with the
+ribbon of his eye-glass.
+
+“Listen,” he continued, dropping his voice a little. “Bernadine has
+undertaken to send a copy of their contents to Berlin by to-morrow
+night’s mail.”
+
+“How do you know that?”
+
+The ambassador hesitated.
+
+“We, too, have spies at work,” he remarked, grimly. “Bernadine wrote and
+sent a messenger with the letter to Berlin. The man’s body is drifting
+down the Channel, but the letter is in my pocket.”
+
+“The letter from Bernadine?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“What does he say?”
+
+“Simply that a verbatim copy of the document in question will be
+despatched to Berlin to-morrow evening, without fail.”
+
+“There are no secrets between us,” De Grost declared, smoothly. “What is
+the special importance of this document?”
+
+De Lamborne shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“Since you ask,” he said, “I will tell you. You know of the slight
+coolness which there has been between our respective Governments. Our
+people have felt that the policy of your ministers in expending all
+their energies and resources in the building of a great fleet to the
+utter neglect of your army is a wholly one-sided arrangement, so far as
+we are concerned. In the event of a simultaneous attack by Germany upon
+France and England, you would be utterly powerless to render us any
+measure of assistance. If Germany should attack England alone, it is
+the wish of your Government that we should be pledged to occupy
+Alsace-Lorraine. You, on the other hand, could do nothing for us, if
+Germany’s first move were made against France.”
+
+The Baron was deeply interested, although the matter was no new one to
+him.
+
+“Go on,” he directed. “I am waiting for you to tell me the specific
+contents of this document.”
+
+“The English Government has asked us two questions: first, how many
+complete army corps we consider she ought to place at our disposal in
+this eventuality; and, secondly, at what point should we expect them
+to be concentrated. The despatch which I received to-night contains the
+reply to these questions.”
+
+“Which Bernadine has promised to forward to Berlin to-morrow night,” the
+Baron remarked, softly.
+
+De Lamborne nodded.
+
+“You perceive,” he said, “the immense importance of the affair. The very
+existence of that document is almost a casus belli.”
+
+“At what time did the despatch arrive,” the Baron asked, “and what has
+been its history since?”
+
+“It arrived at six o’clock, and went straight into the inner pocket of
+my coat; it has not been out of my possession for a single second. Even
+while I talk to you I can feel it.”
+
+“And your plans? How are you intending to dispose of it to-night?”
+
+“On my return to the Embassy I shall place it in the safe, lock it up,
+and remain watching it until morning.”
+
+“There doesn’t seem to be much chance for Bernadine,” the Baron
+remarked, thoughtfully.
+
+“But there must be no chance--no chance at all,” Monsieur de Lamborne
+asserted, with a note of passion in his thin voice. “It is incredible,
+preposterous, that he should even make the attempt. I want you to
+come home with me and share my vigil. You shall be my witness in case
+anything happens. We will watch together.”
+
+De Grost reflected for a moment.
+
+“Bernadine makes few mistakes,” he said, thoughtfully. Monsieur de
+Lamborne passed his hand across his forehead.
+
+“Do I not know it?” he muttered. “In this instance, though, it seems
+impossible for him to succeed. The time is so short and the conditions
+so difficult. I may count upon your assistance, Baron?”
+
+The Baron drew from his pocket a crumpled piece of paper.
+
+“I received a telegram from headquarters this after noon,” he said,
+“with instructions to place myself entirely at your disposal.”
+
+“You will return with me, then, to the Embassy?” Monsieur de Lamborne
+asked, eagerly.
+
+The Baron de Grost did not at once reply. He was standing in one of
+his characteristic attitudes, his hands clasped behind him, his head
+a little thrust forward, watching with every appearance of courteous
+interest the roomful of guests, stationary just now, listening to the
+performance of a famous violinist. It was, perhaps, by accident that
+his eyes met those of Madame de Lamborne, but she smiled at him subtly,
+more, perhaps, with her wonderful eyes than her lips themselves. She
+was the centre of a very brilliant group, a most beautiful woman holding
+court, as was only right and proper, among her admirers. The Baron
+sighed.
+
+“No,” he said, “I shall not return with you, De Lamborne. I want you to
+follow my suggestions, if you will.”
+
+“But, assuredly!”
+
+“Leave here early and go to your club. Remain there until one, then come
+to the Embassy. I shall be there awaiting your arrival.”
+
+“You mean that you will go there alone? I do not understand,” the
+ambassador protested. “Why should I go to my club? I do not at all
+understand.”
+
+“Nevertheless, do as I say,” De Grost insisted. “For the present, excuse
+me. I must look after my guests.”
+
+The music had ceased, there was a movement toward the supper-room. The
+Baron offered his arm to Madame de Lamborne, who welcomed him with a
+brilliant smile. Her husband, although, for a Frenchman, he was by no
+means of a jealous disposition, was conscious of a vague feeling of
+uneasiness as he watched them pass out of the room together. A few
+minutes later he made his excuses to his wife and with a reluctance for
+which he could scarcely account left the house. There was something
+in the air, he felt, which he did not understand. He would not have
+admitted it to himself, but he more than half divined the truth. The
+vacant seat in his wife’s carriage was filled that night by the Baron de
+Grost.
+
+At one o’clock precisely Monsieur de Lamborne returned to his house
+and heard with well-simulated interest that Monsieur le Baron de Grost
+awaited his arrival in the library. He found De Grost gazing with
+obvious respect at the ponderous safe let into the wall.
+
+“A very fine affair--this,” he remarked, motioning with his head toward
+it.
+
+“The best of its kind,” Monsieur de Lamborne admitted. “No burglar yet
+has ever succeeded in opening one of its type. Here is the packet,” he
+added, drawing the document from his pocket. “You shall see me place it
+in safety myself.”
+
+The Baron stretched out his hand and examined the sealed envelope for a
+moment closely. Then he moved to the writing-table, and, placing it upon
+the letter scales, made a note of its exact weight. Finally, he watched
+it deposited in the ponderous safe, suggested the word to which the
+lock was set, and closed the door. Monsieur de Lamborne heaved a sigh of
+relief.
+
+“I fancy this time,” he said, “that our friends at Berlin will be
+disappointed. Couch or easy-chair, Baron?”
+
+“The couch, if you please,” De Grost replied, “a strong cigar, and a
+long whiskey and soda. So! Now, for our vigil.”
+
+The hours crawled away. Once De Grost sat up and listened.
+
+“Any rats about?” he inquired.
+
+The ambassador was indignant.
+
+“I have never heard one in my life,” he answered. “This is quite a
+modern house.”
+
+De Grost dropped his match-box and stooped to pick it up.
+
+“Any lights on anywhere, except in this room?” he asked.
+
+“Certainly not,” Monsieur de Lamborne answered. “It is past three
+o’clock, and every one has gone to bed.”
+
+The Baron rose and softly unbolted the door. The passage outside was in
+darkness. He listened intently, for a moment, and returned, yawning.
+
+“One fancies things,” he murmured, apologetically.
+
+“For example?” De Lamborne demanded.
+
+The Baron shook his head.
+
+“One mistakes,” he declared. “The nerves become over sensitive.”
+
+The dawn broke and the awakening hum of the city grew louder and louder.
+De Grost rose and stretched himself.
+
+“Your servants are moving about in the house,” he remarked. “I think
+that we might consider our vigil at an end.”
+
+Monsieur de Lamborne rose with alacrity.
+
+“My friend,” he said, “I feel that I have made false pretenses to you.
+With the day I have no fear. A thousand pardons for your sleepless
+night.”
+
+“My sleepless night counts for nothing,” the Baron assured him, “but,
+before I go, would it not be as well that we glance together inside the
+safe?”
+
+De Lamborne shook out his keys.
+
+“I was about to suggest it,” he replied.
+
+The ambassador arranged the combination and pressed the lever. Slowly
+the great door swung back. The two men peered in.
+
+“Untouched!” De Lamborne exclaimed, a little note of triumph in his
+tone.
+
+De Grost said nothing, but held out his hand.
+
+“Permit me,” he interposed.
+
+De Lamborne was conscious of a faint sense of uneasiness. His companion
+walked across the room and carefully weighed the packet.
+
+“Well?” De Lamborne cried. “Why do you do that? What is wrong?”
+
+The Baron turned and faced him.
+
+“My friend,” he said, “this is not the same packet.” The ambassador
+stared at him incredulously.
+
+“You are jesting!” he exclaimed. “Miracles do not happen. The thing is
+impossible.”
+
+“It is the impossible, then, which has happened,” De Grost replied,
+swiftly. “This packet can scarcely have gained two ounces in the night.
+Besides, the seal is fuller. I have an eye for these details.”
+
+De Lamborne leaned against the back of the table. His eyes were a little
+wild, but he laughed hoarsely.
+
+“We fight, then, against the creatures of another world,” he declared.
+“No human being could have opened that safe last night.”
+
+The Baron hesitated.
+
+“Monsieur de Lamborne,” he said, “the room adjoining is your wife’s.”
+
+“It is the salon of Madame,” the ambassador admitted.
+
+“What are the electrical appliances doing there?” the Baron demanded.
+“Don’t look at me like that, De Lamborne. Remember that I was here
+before you arrived.”
+
+“My wife takes an electric massage every day,” Monsieur de Lamborne
+answered, in a hard, unnatural voice. “In what way is Monsieur le Baron
+concerned in my wife’s doings?”
+
+“I think that there need be no answer to that question,” De Grost said,
+quietly. “It is a greater tragedy which we have to face.”
+
+Quick as lightning, the Frenchman’s hand shot out. De Grost barely
+avoided the blow.
+
+“You shall answer to me for this, sir,” De Lamborne cried. “It is the
+honor of my wife which you assail.”
+
+“I maintain only,” the Baron answered, “that your safe was entered from
+that room. A search will prove it.”
+
+“There will be no search there,” De Lamborne declared, fiercely. “I am
+the Ambassador of France, and my power under this roof is absolute. I
+say that you shall not cross that threshold.”
+
+De Grost’s expression did not change. Only his hands were suddenly
+outstretched with a curious gesture--the four fingers were raised, the
+thumbs depressed. Monsieur De Lamborne collapsed.
+
+“I submit,” he muttered. “It is you who are the master. Search where you
+will.”
+
+
+“Monsieur has arrived?” the woman demanded, breathlessly.
+
+The proprietor of the restaurant himself bowed a reply. His client was
+evidently well-known to him. He answered her in French--French, with a
+very guttural accent.
+
+“Monsieur has ascended some few minutes ago. Myself, I have not had the
+pleasure of wishing him bon aperitif, but Fritz announced his coming.”
+
+The woman drew a little sigh of relief. A vague misgiving had troubled
+her during the last few hours. She raised her veil as she mounted the
+narrow staircase which led to the one private room at the Hotel de
+Lorraine. She entered, without tapping, the room at the head of the
+stairs, pushing open the ill-varnished door with its white-curtained
+top. At first she thought that the little apartment was empty.
+
+“Are you there?” she exclaimed, advancing a few steps.
+
+The figure of a man glided from behind the worn screen close by her
+side, and stood between her and the door.
+
+“Madame!” De Grost said, bowing low.
+
+Even then she scarcely realized that she was trapped. “You?” she cried.
+“You, Baron? But I do not understand. You have followed me here?”
+
+“On the contrary, Madame,” he answered. “I have preceded you.”
+
+Her colossal vanity triumphed over her natural astuteness. The man had
+employed spies to watch her! He had lost his head. It was an awkward
+matter, this, but it was to be arranged. She held out her hands.
+
+“Monsieur,” she said, “let me beg you now to go away. If you care to,
+come and see me this evening. I will explain everything. It is a little
+family affair which brings me here.”
+
+“A family affair, Madame, with Bernadine, the enemy of France,” De Grost
+declared, gravely.
+
+She collapsed miserably, her fingers grasping at the air, the cry which
+broke from her lips harsh and unnatural. Before he could tell what was
+happening, she was on her knees before him.
+
+“Spare me,” she begged, trying to seize his hands.
+
+“Madame,” De Grost answered, “I am not your judge. You will kindly hand
+over to me the document which you are carrying.”
+
+She took it from the bosom of her dress. De Grost glanced at it, and
+placed it in his breast-pocket.
+
+“And now?” she faltered.
+
+De Grost sighed--she was a very beautiful woman.
+
+“Madame,” he said, “the career of a spy is, as you have doubtless
+sometimes realized, a dangerous one.”
+
+“It is finished,” she assured him, breathlessly. “Monsieur le Baron, you
+will keep my secret? Never again, I swear it, will I sin like this. You,
+yourself, shall be the trustee of my honor.”
+
+Her eyes and arms besought him, but it was surely a changed man--this.
+There was none of the suaveness, the delicate responsiveness of her
+late host at Porchester House. The man who faced her now possessed the
+features of a sphinx. There was not even pity in his face.
+
+“You will not tell my husband?” she gasped.
+
+“Your husband already knows, Madame,” was the quiet reply. “Only a few
+hours ago I proved to him whence had come the leakage of so many of our
+secrets lately.”
+
+She swayed upon her feet.
+
+“He will never forgive me,” she cried.
+
+“There are others,” De Grost declared, “who forgive more rarely, even,
+than husbands.”
+
+A sudden illuminating flash of horror told her the truth. She closed her
+eyes and tried to run from the room.
+
+“I will not be told,” she screamed. “I will not hear. I do not know who
+you are. I will live a little longer.”
+
+“Madame,” De Grost said, “the Double-Four wages no war with women, save
+with spies only. The spy has no sex. For the sake of your family, permit
+me to send you back to your husband’s house.”
+
+That night, two receptions and a dinner party were postponed. All London
+was sympathizing with Monsieur de Lamborne, and a great many women swore
+never again to take a sleeping draught. Madame de Lamborne lay dead
+behind the shelter of those drawn blinds, and by her side an empty
+phial.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. THE MAN PROM THE OLD TESTAMENT
+
+
+Bernadine, sometimes called the Count von Hern, was lunching at
+the Savoy with the pretty wife of a Cabinet Minister, who was just
+sufficiently conscious of the impropriety of her action to render the
+situation interesting.
+
+“I wish you would tell me, Count von Hern,” she said, soon after they
+had settled down in their places, “why my husband seems to object to
+you so much. I simply dared not tell him that we were going to lunch
+together, and as a rule he doesn’t mind what I do in that way.”
+
+Bernadine smiled slowly.
+
+“Ah, well,” he remarked, “your husband is a politician and a very
+cautious man. I dare say he is like some of those others, who believe
+that, because I am a foreigner and live in London, therefore I am a
+spy.”
+
+“You a spy,” she laughed. “What nonsense!”
+
+“Why nonsense?”
+
+She shrugged her shoulders. She was certainly a very pretty woman, and
+her black gown set off to fullest advantage her deep red hair and fair
+complexion.
+
+“I suppose because I can’t imagine you anything of the sort,” she
+declared. “You see, you hunt and play polo, and do everything which the
+ordinary Englishmen do. Then one meets you everywhere. I think, Count
+von Hern, that you are much too spoilt, for one thing, to take life
+seriously.”
+
+“You do me an injustice,” he murmured.
+
+“Of course,” she chattered on, “I don’t really know what spies do. One
+reads about them in these silly stories, but I have never felt sure that
+as live people they exist at all. Tell me, Count, what could a foreign
+spy do in England?”
+
+Bernadine twirled his fair moustache and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“Indeed, my dear lady,” he admitted, “I scarcely know what a spy could
+do nowadays. A few years ago, you English people were all so trusting.
+Your fortifications, your battleships, not to speak of your country
+itself, were wholly at the disposal of the enterprising foreigner who
+desired to acquire information. The party who governed Great Britain
+then seemed to have some strange idea that these things made for peace.
+To-day, however, all that is changed.”
+
+“You seem to know something about it,” she remarked.
+
+“I am afraid that mine is really only the superficial point of view,” he
+answered, “but I do know that there is a good deal of information,
+which seems absolutely insignificant in itself, for which some foreign
+countries are willing to pay. For instance, there was a Cabinet Council
+yesterday, I believe, and some one was going to suggest that a secret,
+but official, visit be paid to your new harbor works up at Rosyth. An
+announcement will probably be made in the papers during the next few
+days as to whether the visit is to be undertaken or not. Yet there are
+countries who are willing to pay for knowing even such an insignificant
+item of news as that, a few hours before the rest of the world.”
+
+Lady Maxwell laughed.
+
+“Well, I could earn that little sum of money,” she declared gayly, “for
+my husband has just made me cancel a dinner-party for next Thursday,
+because he has to go up to the stupid place.”
+
+Bernadine smiled. It was really a very unimportant matter, but he loved
+to feel, even in his idle moments, that he was not altogether wasting
+his time.
+
+“I am sorry,” he said, “that I am not myself acquainted with one of
+these mythical personages that I might return you the value of your
+marvelous information. If I dared think, however, that it would be in
+any way acceptable, I could offer you the diversion of a restaurant
+dinner-party for that night. The Duchess of Castleford has kindly
+offered to act as hostess for me and we are all going on to the Gaiety
+afterwards.”
+
+“Delightful!” Lady Maxwell exclaimed. “I should love to come.”
+
+Bernadine bowed.
+
+“You have, then, dear lady, fulfilled your destiny,” he said. “You have
+given secret information to a foreign person of mysterious identity, and
+accepted payment.”
+
+Now, Bernadine was a man of easy manners and unruffled composure. To the
+natural insouciance of his aristocratic bringing up, he had added the
+steely reserve of a man moving in the large world, engaged more often
+than not in some hazardous enterprise. Yet, for once in his life, and
+in the midst of the idlest of conversations, he gave himself away so
+utterly that even this woman with whom he was lunching--a very butterfly
+lady, indeed could not fail to perceive it. She looked at him in
+something like astonishment. Without the slightest warning his face had
+become set in a rigid stare, his eyes were filled with the expression
+of a man who sees into another world. The healthy color faded from his
+cheeks, he was white even to the parted lips, the wine dripped from his
+raised glass onto the tablecloth.
+
+“Why, whatever is the matter with you?” she demanded. “Is it a ghost
+that you see?”
+
+Bernadine’s effort was superb, but he was too clever to deny the shock.
+
+“A ghost, indeed,” he answered, “the ghost of a man whom every newspaper
+in Europe has declared to be dead.”
+
+Her eyes followed his. The two people who were being ushered to a
+seat in their immediate vicinity were certainly of somewhat unusual
+appearance. The man was tall, and thin as a lath, and he wore the
+clothes of the fashionable world without awkwardness, yet with the
+air of one who was wholly unaccustomed to them. His cheek-bones were
+remarkably high, and receded so quickly towards his pointed chin that
+his cheeks were little more than hollows. His eyes were dry and burning,
+flashing here and there as though the man himself were continually
+oppressed by some furtive fear. His thick black hair was short cropped,
+his forehead high and intellectual. He was a strange figure, indeed,
+in such a gathering, and his companion only served to accentuate the
+anachronisms of his appearance. She was, above all things, a woman of
+the moment--fair, almost florid, a little thick-set, with tightly-laced,
+yet passable figure. Her eyes were blue, her hair light-colored. She
+wore magnificent furs, and, as she threw aside her boa, she disclosed a
+mass of jewelry around her neck and upon her bosom, almost barbaric in
+its profusion and setting.
+
+“What an extraordinary couple!” Lady Maxwell whispered.
+
+Bernadine smiled.
+
+“The man looks as though he had stepped out of the Old Testament,” he
+murmured.
+
+Lady Maxwell’s interest was purely feminine, and was riveted now upon
+the jewelry worn by the woman. Bernadine, under the mask of his habitual
+indifference, which had easily reassumed, seemed to be looking away out
+of the restaurant into the great square of a half-savage city, looking
+at that marvelous crowd, numbered by their thousands, even by their
+hundreds of thousands, of men and women whose arms flashed out toward
+the snow-hung heavens, whose lips were parted in one chorus of rapturous
+acclamation; looking beyond them to the tall, emaciated form of the
+bare-headed priest in his long robes, his wind-tossed hair and wild
+eyes, standing alone before that multitude, in danger of death, or
+worse, at any moment--their idol, their hero. And again, as the memories
+came flooding into his brain, the scene passed away, and he saw the
+bare room with its whitewashed walls and blocked-up windows; he felt
+the darkness, lit only by those flickering candles. He saw the white,
+passion-wrung faces of the men who clustered together around the rude
+table, waiting; he heard their murmurs, he saw the fear born in their
+eyes. It was the night when their leader did not come.
+
+Bernadine poured himself out a glass of wine and drank it slowly. The
+mists were clearing away now. He was in London, at the Savoy Restaurant,
+and within a few yards of him sat the man with whose name all Europe
+once had rung--the man hailed by some as martyr, and loathed by others
+as the most fiendish Judas who ever drew breath. Bernadine was not
+concerned with the moral side of this strange encounter. How best to use
+his knowledge of this man’s identity was the question which beat upon
+his brain. What use could be made of him, what profit for his country
+and himself? And then a fear--a sudden, startling fear. Little profit,
+perhaps, to be made, but the danger--the danger of this man alive with
+such secrets locked in his bosom! The thought itself was terrifying, and
+even as he realized it a significant thing happened--he caught the eye
+of the Baron de Grost, lunching alone at a small table just inside the
+restaurant.
+
+“You are not at all amusing,” his guest declared. “It is nearly five
+minutes since you have spoken.”
+
+“You, too, have been absorbed,” he reminded her.
+
+“It is that woman’s jewels,” she admitted. “I never saw anything more
+wonderful. The people are not English, of course. I wonder where they
+come from.”
+
+“One of the Eastern countries, without a doubt,” he replied, carelessly.
+
+Lady Maxwell sighed.
+
+“He is a peculiar-looking man,” she said, “but one could put up with
+a good deal for jewels like that. What are you doing this
+afternoon--picture-galleries or your club?”
+
+“Neither, unfortunately,” Bernadine answered. “I have promised to go
+with a friend to look at some polo ponies.”
+
+“Do you know,” she remarked, “that we have never been to see those
+Japanese prints yet?”
+
+“The gallery is closed until Monday,” he assured her, falsely. “If you
+will honor me then, I shall be delighted.”
+
+She shrugged her shoulders but said nothing. She had an idea that she
+was being dismissed, but Bernadine, without the least appearance of
+hurry, gave her no opportunity for any further suggestions. He handed
+her into the automobile, and returned at once into the restaurant. He
+touched Baron de Grost upon the shoulder.
+
+“My friend, the enemy!” he exclaimed, smiling.
+
+“At your service in either capacity,” the Baron replied. Bernadine made
+a grimace and accepted the chair which De Grost had indicated.
+
+“If I may, I will take my coffee with you,” he said. “I am growing old.
+It does not amuse me so much to lunch with a pretty woman. One has to
+entertain, and one forgets the serious business of lunching. I will take
+my coffee and cigarettes in peace.”
+
+De Grost gave an order to the waiter and leaned back in his chair.
+
+“Now,” he suggested, “tell me exactly what it is that has brought you
+back into the restaurant?”
+
+Bernadine shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“Why not the pleasure of this few minutes’ conversation with you?” he
+asked.
+
+The Baron carefully selected a cigar, and lit it.
+
+“That,” he said, “goes well, but there are other things.”
+
+“As, for instance?”
+
+De Grost leaned back in his chair, and watched the smoke of his cigar
+curl upwards.
+
+“One talks too much,” he remarked. “Before the cards are upon the table,
+it is not wise.”
+
+They chatted upon various matters. De Grost himself seemed in no hurry
+to depart, nor did his companion show any signs of impatience. It was
+not until the two people whose entrance had had such a remarkable effect
+upon Bernadine, rose to leave, that the mask was, for a moment, lifted.
+De Grost had called for his bill and paid it. The two men strolled out
+together.
+
+“Baron,” Bernadine said, suavely, linking his arm through the other
+man’s as they passed into the foyer, “there are times when candor even
+among enemies becomes an admirable quality.”
+
+“Those times, I imagine,” De Grost answered, grimly, “are rare. Besides,
+who is to tell the real thing from the false?”
+
+“You do less than justice to your perceptions, my friend,” Bernadine
+declared, smiling.
+
+De Grost merely shrugged his shoulders. Bernadine persisted.
+
+“Come,” he continued, “since you doubt me, let me be the first to give
+you a proof that on this occasion, at any rate, I am candor itself.
+You had a purpose in lunching at the Savoy to-day. That purpose I have
+discovered by accident. We are both interested in those people.” The
+Baron de Grost shook his head slowly.
+
+“Really,” he began--
+
+“Let me finish,” Bernadine insisted. “Perhaps when you have heard all
+that I have to say, you may change your attitude. We are interested in
+the same people, but in different ways. If we both move from opposite
+directions, our friend will vanish--he is clever enough at disappearing,
+as he has proved before. We do not want the same thing from him, I am
+convinced of that. Let us move together and made sure that he does not
+evade us.”
+
+“Is it an alliance which you are proposing?” De Grost asked, with a
+quiet smile.
+
+“Why not? Enemies have united before to-day against a common foe.”
+
+De Grost looked across the palm court to where the two people who formed
+the subject of their discussion were sitting in a corner, both smoking,
+both sipping some red-colored liqueur.
+
+“My dear Bernadine,” he said, “I am much too afraid of you to listen any
+more. You fancy because this man’s presence here was an entire surprise
+to you, and because you find me already on his track, that I know more
+than you do and that an alliance with me would be to your advantage.
+You would try to persuade me that your object with him would not be
+my object. Listen. I am afraid of you--you are too clever for me. I am
+going to leave you in sole possession.”
+
+De Grost’s tone was final and his bow valedictory. Bernadine watched him
+stroll in a leisurely way through the foyer, exchanging greetings here
+and there with friends, watched him enter the cloakroom, from which he
+emerged with his hat and overcoat, watched him step into his automobile
+and leave the restaurant. He turned back with a clouded face, and threw
+himself into an easy chair.
+
+Ten minutes passed uneventfully. People were passing backwards and
+forwards all the time, but Bernadine, through his half-closed eyes, did
+little save watch the couple in whom he was so deeply interested. At
+last the man rose, and, with a word of farewell to his companion, came
+out from the lounge, and made his way up the foyer, turning toward the
+hotel. He walked with quick, nervous strides, glancing now and then
+restlessly about him. In his eyes, to those who understood, there was
+the furtive gleam of the hunted man. It was the passing of one who was
+afraid.
+
+The woman, left to herself, began to look around her with some
+curiosity. Bernadine, to whom a new idea had occurred, moved his chair
+nearer to hers, and was rewarded by a glance which certainly betrayed
+some interest. A swift and unerring judge in such matters, he came
+to the instant conclusion that she was not unapproachable. He acted
+immediately and upon impulse. Rising to his feet, he approached her, and
+bowed easily but respectfully.
+
+“Madame,” he said, “it is impossible that I am mistaken. I have had the
+pleasure, have I not, of meeting you in St. Petersburg?”
+
+Her first reception of his coming was reassuring enough. At his mention
+of St. Petersburg, however, she frowned.
+
+“I do not think so,” she answered, in French. “You are mistaken. I do
+not know St. Petersburg.”
+
+“Then it was in Paris,” Bernadine continued, with conviction. “Madame is
+Parisian, without a doubt.”
+
+She shook her head, smiling.
+
+“I do not think that I remember meeting you, Monsieur,” she replied,
+doubtfully, “but perhaps--”
+
+She looked up, and her eyes dropped before his. He was certainly a very
+personable looking man, and she had spoken to no one for so many months.
+
+“Believe me, Madame, I could not possibly be mistaken,” Bernadine
+assured her, smoothly. “You are staying here for long?”
+
+She shrugged her shoulders.
+
+“Heaven knows!” she declared. “My husband he has, I think, what you call
+the wander fever. For myself, I am tired of it. In Rome we settle down,
+we stay five days, all seems pleasant, and suddenly my husband’s whim
+carries us away without an hour’s notice. The same thing at Monte Carlo,
+the same in Paris. Who can tell what will happen here? To tell you the
+truth, Monsieur,” she added, a little archly, “I think that if he were
+to come back at this moment, we should probably leave England to-night.”
+
+“Your husband is very jealous?” Bernadine whispered, softly.
+
+She shrugged her shoulders.
+
+“Partly jealous, and partly, he has the most terrible distaste for
+acquaintances. He will not speak to strangers himself, or suffer me to
+do so. It is sometimes--oh! it is sometimes very triste.”
+
+“Madame has my sympathy,” Bernadine assured her. “It is an impossible
+life--this. No husband should be so exacting.”
+
+She looked at him with her round, blue eyes, a touch of added color in
+her cheeks.
+
+“If one could but cure him!” she murmured.
+
+“I would ask your permission to sit down,” Bernadine remarked, “but I
+fear to intrude. You are afraid, perhaps, that your husband may return.”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“It will be better that you do not stay,” she declared. “For a moment or
+two he is engaged. He has an appointment in his room with a gentleman,
+but one never knows how long he may be.”
+
+“You have friends in London, then,” Bernadine remarked, thoughtfully.
+
+“Of my husband’s affairs,” the woman said, “there is no one so ignorant
+as I. Yet since we left our own country, this is the first time I have
+known him willingly speak to a soul.”
+
+“Your own country,” Bernadine repeated, softly. “That was Russia, of
+course. Your husband’s nationality is very apparent.”
+
+The woman looked a little annoyed with herself. She remained silent.
+
+“May I not hope,” Bernadine begged, “that you will give me the pleasure
+of meeting you again?”
+
+She hesitated for a moment.
+
+“He does not leave me,” she replied. “I am not alone for five minutes
+during the day.”
+
+Bernadine scribbled the name by which he was known in that locality, on
+a card, and passed it to her.
+
+“I have rooms in St. James’s Street, quite close to here,” he said. “If
+you could come and have tea with me to-day or to-morrow, it would give
+me the utmost pleasure.”
+
+She took the card, and crumpled it in her hand. All the time, though,
+she shook her head.
+
+“Monsieur is very kind,” she answered. “I am afraid--I do not think that
+it would be possible. And now, if you please, you must go away. I am
+terrified lest my husband should return.”
+
+Bernadine bent low in a parting salute.
+
+“Madame,” he pleaded, “you will come?”
+
+Bernadine was a handsome man, and he knew well enough how to use
+his soft and extraordinarily musical voice. He knew very well, as he
+retired, that somehow or other she would accept his invitation. Even
+then, he felt dissatisfied and ill at ease, as he left the place. He had
+made a little progress, but, after all, was it worth while? Supposing
+that the man with whom her husband was even at this moment closeted, was
+the Baron de Grost! He called a taxicab and drove at once to the Embassy
+of his country.
+
+Even at that moment, De Grost and the Russian--Paul Hagon he called
+himself--were standing face to face in the latter’s sitting-room. No
+conventional greetings of any sort had been exchanged. De Grost
+had scarcely closed the door behind him before Hagon addressed him
+breathlessly, almost fiercely.
+
+“Who are you, sir,” he demanded, “and what do you want with me?”
+
+“You had my letter?” De Grost inquired.
+
+“I had your letter,” the other admitted. “It told me nothing. You speak
+of business. What business have I with any here?”
+
+“My business is soon told,” De Grost replied, “but in the first place,
+I beg that you will not unnecessarily alarm yourself. There is,
+believe me, no need for it, no need whatever, although, to prevent
+misunderstandings, I may as well tell you at once that I am perfectly
+well aware who it is that I am addressing.”
+
+Hagon collapsed into a chair. He buried his face in his hands and
+groaned.
+
+“I am not here necessarily as an enemy,” De Grost continued. “You have
+very excellent reasons, I make no doubt, for remaining unknown in
+this city, or wherever you may be. As yet, let me assure you that your
+identity is not even suspected, except by myself and one other. Those
+few who believe you alive, believe that you are in America. There is no
+need for any one to know that Father--”
+
+“Stop!” the man begged, piteously. “Stop!”
+
+De Grost bowed.
+
+“I beg your pardon,” he said.
+
+“Now tell me,” the man demanded, “what is your price? I have had money.
+There is not much left. Sophia is extravagant and traveling costs a
+great deal. But why do I weary you with these things?” he added. “Let me
+know what I have to pay for your silence.”
+
+“I am not a blackmailer,” De Grost answered, sternly. “I am myself a
+wealthy man. I ask from you nothing in money--I ask you nothing in that
+way at all. A few words of information, and a certain paper, which I
+believe you have in your possession, is all that I require.”
+
+“Information,” Hagon repeated, shivering.
+
+“What I ask,” De Grost declared, “is really a matter of justice. At the
+time when you were the idol of all Russia and the leader of the great
+revolutionary party, you received funds from abroad.”
+
+“I accounted for them,” Hagon muttered. “Up to a certain point I
+accounted for everything.”
+
+“You received funds from the Government of a European power,” De Grost
+continued, “funds to be applied towards developing the revolution. I
+want the name of that Power, and proof of what I say.”
+
+Hagon remained motionless for a moment. He had seated himself at the
+table, his head resting upon his hand and his face turned away from De
+Grost.
+
+“You are a politician, then?” he asked, slowly.
+
+“I am a politician,” De Grost admitted. “I represent a great secret
+power which has sprung into existence during the last few years. Our
+aim, at present, is to bring closer together your country and Great
+Britain. Russia hesitates because an actual rapprochement with us is
+equivalent to a permanent estrangement with Germany.”
+
+Hagon nodded.
+
+“I understand,” he said, in a low tone. “I have finished with politics.
+I have nothing to say to you.”
+
+“I trust,” De Grost persisted, suavely, “that you will be better
+advised.”
+
+Hagon turned round and faced him.
+
+“Sir,” he demanded, “do you believe that I am afraid of death?”
+
+De Grost looked at him steadfastly.
+
+“No,” he answered, “you have proved the contrary.”
+
+“If my identity is discovered,” Hagon continued, “I have the means of
+instant death at hand. I do not use it because of my love for the one
+person who links me to this world. For her sake I live, and for her
+sake I bear always the memory of the shameful past. Publish my name and
+whereabouts, if you will. I promise you that I will make the tragedy
+complete. But for the rest, I refuse to pay your price. A great power
+trusted me, and whatever its motives may have been, its money came very
+near indeed to freeing my people. I have nothing more to say to you,
+sir.”
+
+The Baron de Grost was taken aback. He had scarcely contemplated
+refusal.
+
+“You must understand,” he explained, “that this is not a personal
+matter. Even if I myself would spare you, those who are more powerful
+than I will strike. The society to which I belong does not tolerate
+failure. I am empowered even to offer you its protection, if you will
+give me the information for which I ask.”
+
+Hagon rose to his feet, and, before De Grost could foresee his purpose,
+had rung the bell.
+
+“My decision is unchanging,” he said. “You can pull down the roof upon
+my head, but I carry next my heart an instant and unfailing means of
+escape.”
+
+A waiter stood in the doorway.
+
+“You will take this gentleman to the lift,” Hagon directed.
+
+There was once more a touch in his manner of that half divine authority
+which had thrilled the great multitude of his believers. De Grost was
+forced to admit defeat.
+
+“Not defeat,” he said to himself, as he followed the man to the lift,
+“only a check.”
+
+Nevertheless, it was a serious check. He could not, for the moment, see
+his way further. Arrived at his house, he followed his usual custom
+and made his way at once to his wife’s rooms. Violet was resting upon a
+sofa, but laid down her book at his entrance.
+
+“Violet,” he declared, “I have come for your advice.”
+
+“He refuses, then?” she asked, eagerly.
+
+“Absolutely. What am I to do? Bernadine is already upon the scent. He
+saw him at the Savoy to-day, and recognized him.”
+
+“Has Bernadine approached him yet?” Violet inquired.
+
+“Not yet. He is half afraid to move. I think he realizes, or will very
+soon, how serious this man’s existence may be for Germany.”
+
+Violet was thoughtful for several moments, then she looked up quickly.
+
+“Bernadine will try the woman,” she asserted. “You say that Hagon is
+infatuated?”
+
+“Blindly,” De Grost replied. “He scarcely lets her out of his sight.”
+
+“Your people watch Bernadine?”
+
+“Always.”
+
+“Very well, then,” Violet went on, “you will find that he will attempt
+an intrigue with the woman. The rest should be easy for you.”
+
+De Grost sighed as he bent over his wife.
+
+“My dear,” he said, “there is no subtlety like the subtlety of a woman.”
+
+Bernadine’s instinct had not deceived him, and the following afternoon
+his servant, who had already received orders, silently ushered Madame
+Hagon into his apartments. She was wrapped in magnificent sables and
+heavily veiled. Bernadine saw at once that she was very nervous and
+wholly terrified. He welcomed her in as matter-of-fact a manner as
+possible.
+
+“Madame,” he declared, “this is quite charming of you. You must sit in
+my easy-chair here, and my man shall bring us some tea. I drink mine
+always after the fashion of your country, with lemon, but I doubt
+whether we make it so well. Won’t you unfasten your jacket? I am afraid
+that my rooms are rather warm.”
+
+Madame had collected herself, but it was quite obvious that she was
+unused to adventures of this sort. Her hand, when he took it, trembled,
+and more than once she glanced furtively toward the door.
+
+“Yes, I have come,” she murmured. “I do not know why. It is not right
+for me to come. Yet there are times when I am weary, times when Paul
+seems fierce and when I am terrified. Sometimes I even wish that I were
+back--”
+
+“Your husband seems very highly strung,” Bernadine remarked. “He has
+doubtless led an exciting life.”
+
+“As to that,” she replied, gazing around her now and gradually becoming
+more at her ease, “I know but little. He was a student professor
+at Moschaume, when I met him. I think that he was at one of the
+universities in St. Petersburg.”
+
+Bernadine glanced at her covertly. It came to him as an inspiration that
+the woman did not know the truth.
+
+“You are from Russia, then, after all,” he said, smiling. “I felt sure
+of it.”
+
+“Yes,” reluctantly. “Paul is so queer in these things. He will not let
+me talk of it. He prefers that we are taken for French people. Indeed,
+it is not I who desire to think too much of Russia. It is not a year
+since my father was killed in the riots, and two of my brothers were
+sent to Siberia.”
+
+Bernadine was deeply interested.
+
+“They were among the revolutionaries?” he asked.
+
+She nodded.
+
+“Yes,” she answered.
+
+“And your husband?”
+
+“He, too, was with them in sympathy. Secretly, too, I believe that he
+worked among them. Only he had to be careful. You see, his position at
+the college made it difficult.”
+
+Bernadine looked into the woman’s eyes and he knew then that she was
+speaking the truth. This man was, indeed, a great master; he had kept
+her in ignorance!
+
+“Always,” Bernadine said, a few minutes later, as he passed her tea, “I
+read with the deepest interest of the people’s movement in Russia. Tell
+me, what became eventually of their great leader--the wonderful Father
+Paul?”
+
+She set down her cup untasted, and her blue eyes flashed with a fire
+which turned them almost to the color of steel.
+
+“Wonderful indeed!” she exclaimed “Wonderful Judas! It was he who
+wrecked the cause. It was he who sold the lives and liberty of all of us
+for gold.”
+
+“I heard a rumor of that,” Bernadine remarked, “but I never believed
+it.”
+
+“It was true,” she declared passionately.
+
+“And where is he now?” Bernadine asked.
+
+“Dead!” she answered fiercely. “Torn to pieces, we believe, one night in
+a house near Moscow. May it be so!”
+
+She was silent for a moment, as though engaged in prayer. Bernadine
+spoke no more of these things. He talked to her kindly, keeping up
+always his role of respectful but hopeful admirer.
+
+“You will come again soon?” he begged, when, at last, she insisted upon
+going.
+
+She hesitated.
+
+“It is so difficult,” she murmured. “If my husband knew--”
+
+Bernadine laughed, and touched her fingers caressingly.
+
+“Need one tell him?” he whispered. “You see, I trust you. I pray that
+you will come-”
+
+Bernadine was a man rarely moved towards emotion of any sort. Yet even
+he was conscious of a certain sense of excitement, as he stood looking
+out upon the Embankment from the windows of Paul Hagon’s sitting-room,
+a few days later. Madame was sitting on the sofa, close at hand. It was
+for her answer to a certain question that he waited.
+
+“Monsieur,” she said at last, turning slowly towards him, “it must
+be no. Indeed, I am sorry, for you have been very charming to me, and
+without you I should have been dull. But to come to your rooms and dine
+alone to-night, it is impossible.”
+
+“Your husband cannot return before the morning, Bernadine reminded her.
+
+“It makes no difference,” she answered. “Paul is sometimes fierce and
+rough, but he is generous, and all his life he has worshiped me. He
+behaves strangely at times, but I know that he cares--all the time more,
+perhaps, than I deserve.”
+
+“And there is no one else,” Bernadine asked softly, “who can claim even
+the smallest place in your heart?”
+
+“Monsieur,” the woman begged, “you must not ask me that. I think that
+you had better go away.”
+
+Bernadine stood quite still for several moments. It was the climax
+towards which he had steadfastly guided the course of this mild
+intrigue.
+
+“Madame,” he declared, “you must not send me away. You shall not.”
+
+She held out her hand.
+
+“Then you must not ask impossible things,” she answered.
+
+Then Bernadine took the plunge. He became suddenly very grave.
+
+“Sophia,” he said, “I am keeping a great secret from you and I can do it
+no longer. When you speak to me of your husband you drive me mad. If
+I believed that you really loved him, I would go away and leave it to
+chance whether or not you ever discovered the truth. As it is--”
+
+“Well?” she interposed breathlessly.
+
+“As it is,” he continued, “I am going to tell you now. Your husband has
+deceived you--he is deceiving you every moment.”
+
+She looked at him incredulously.
+
+“You mean that there is another woman?”
+
+Bernadine shook his head.
+
+“Worse than that,” he answered. “Your husband stole even your love under
+false pretenses. You think that his life is a strange one, that
+his nerves have broken down, that he flies from place to place for
+distraction, for change of scene. It is not so. He left Rome, he left
+Nice, he left Paris, for one and the same reason. He left because he was
+in peril of his life. I know little of your history, but I know as
+much as this. If ever a man deserved the fate from which he flees, your
+husband deserves it.”
+
+“You are mad,” she faltered.
+
+“No, I am sane,” he went on. “It is you who are mad, not to have
+understood. Your husband goes ever in fear of his life. His real name
+is one branded with ignominy throughout the world. The man whom you have
+married, to whom you are so scrupulously faithful, is the man who sent
+your father to death and your brothers to Siberia.”
+
+“Father Paul!” she screamed.
+
+“You have lived with him, you are his wife,” Bernadine declared.
+
+The color had left her cheeks; her eyes, with their penciled brows, were
+fixed in an almost ghastly stare; her breath was coming in uneven gasps.
+She looked at him in silent terror.
+
+“It is not true,” she cried at last; “it cannot be true.”
+
+“Sophia,” he said, “you can prove it for yourself. I know a little of
+your husband and his doings. Does he not carry always with him a black
+box which he will not allow out of his sight?”
+
+“Always,” she assented. “How did you know? By night his hand rests upon
+it. By day, if he goes out, it is in my charge.”
+
+“Fetch it now,” Bernadine directed, “and I will prove my words.”
+
+She did not hesitate for a moment. She disappeared into the inner room;
+and came back, only a few moments absent, carrying in her hand a black
+leather despatch-box.
+
+“You have the key?” he asked.
+
+“Yes,” she answered, looking at him and trembling, “but I dare not--oh,
+I dare not open it!”
+
+“Sophia,” he said, “if my words are not true, I will pass out of your
+life for always. I challenge you. If you open that box you will know
+that your husband is, indeed, the greatest scoundrel in Europe.”
+
+She drew a key from a gold chain around her neck.
+
+“There are two locks,” she told him. “The other is a combination, but I
+know the word. Who’s that?”
+
+She started suddenly. There was a loud tapping at the door. Bernadine
+threw an antimacassar half over the box, but he was too late. De Grost
+and Hagon had crossed the threshold. The woman stood like some dumb
+creature. Hagon, transfixed, stood with his eyes riveted upon Bernadine.
+His face was distorted with passion, he seemed like a man beside himself
+with fury. De Grost came slowly forward into the middle of the room.
+
+“Count von Hern,” he said, “I think that you had better leave.”
+
+The woman found words.
+
+“Not yet,” she cried, “not yet! Paul, listen to me. This man has told me
+a terrible thing.”
+
+The breath seemed to come through Hagon’s teeth like a hiss.
+
+“He has told you!”
+
+“Listen to me,” she continued. “It is the truth which you must tell now.
+He says that you--you are Father Paul.”
+
+Hagon did not hesitate for a second.
+
+“It is true,” he admitted.
+
+Then there was a silence--short, but tragical. Hagon seemed suddenly to
+have collapsed. He was like a man who has just had a stroke. He stood
+muttering to himself.
+
+“It is the end--this--the end!” he said, in a low tone. “Sophia!”
+
+She shrank away from him. He drew himself up. Once more the great light
+flashed in his face.
+
+“It was for your sake,” he said simply, “for your sake, Sophia. I came
+to you poor and you would have nothing to say to me. My love for you
+burned in my veins like fever. It was for you I did it--for your sake I
+sold my honor, the love of my country, the freedom of my brothers. For
+your sake I risked an awful death. For your sake I have lived like a
+hunted man, with the cry of the wolves always in my ears, and the fear
+of death and of eternal torture with me day by day. No other man since
+the world was made has done more. Have pity on me!”
+
+She was unmoved; her face had lost all expression. No one noticed in
+that rapt moment that Bernadine had crept from the room.
+
+“It was you,” she cried, “who killed my father, and sent my brothers
+into exile.”
+
+“God help me!” he moaned.
+
+She turned to De Grost.
+
+“Take him away with you, please,” she said. “I have finished with him.”
+
+“Sophia!” he pleaded.
+
+She leaned across the table and struck him heavily upon the cheek.
+
+“If you stay here,” she muttered, “I shall kill you myself....”
+
+That night, the body of an unknown foreigner was found in the attic of a
+cheap lodging-house in Soho. The discovery itself and the verdict at the
+inquest occupied only a few lines in the morning newspapers. Those few
+lines were the epitaph of one who was very nearly a Rienzi. The greater
+part of his papers De Grost mercifully destroyed, but one in particular
+he preserved. Within a week the much delayed treaty was signed at Paris,
+London and St. Petersburg.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. THE FIRST SHOT
+
+
+De Grost and his wife were dining together at the corner table in a
+fashionable but somewhat Bohemian restaurant. Both had been in the humor
+for reminiscences, and they had outstayed most of their neighbors.
+
+“I wonder what people really think of us,” Violet remarked pensively. “I
+told Lady Amershal, when she asked us to go there this evening, that we
+always dined together alone somewhere once a week, and she absolutely
+refused to believe me. ‘With your own husband, my dear?’ She kept on
+repeating.”
+
+“Her Ladyship’s tastes are more catholic,” the Baron declared dryly.
+“Yet, after all, Violet, the real philosophy of married life demands
+something of this sort.”
+
+Violet smiled and fingered her pearls for a minute.
+
+“What the real philosophy of married life may be I do not know,” she
+said, “but I am perfectly content with our rendering of it. What a
+fortunate thing, Peter, with your intensely practical turn of mind, that
+nature endowed you with so much sentiment.”
+
+De Grost gazed reflectively at the cigarette which he had just selected
+from his case.
+
+“Well,” he remarked, “there have been times when I have cursed myself
+for a fool, but, on the whole, sentiment keeps many fires burning.”
+
+She leaned towards him and dropped her voice a little. “Tell me,”
+ she begged, “do you ever think of the years we spent together in the
+country? Do you ever regret?”
+
+He smiled thoughtfully.
+
+“It is a hard question, that,” he admitted. “There were days there which
+I loved, but there were days, too, when the restlessness came, days when
+I longed to hear the hum of the city and to hear men speak whose words
+were of life and death and the great passions. I am not sure, Violet,
+whether, after all, it is well for one who has lived to withdraw
+absolutely from the thrill of life.”
+
+She laughed, Softly but gayly.
+
+“I am with you,” she declared, “absolutely. I think that the fairies
+must have poured into my blood the joy of living for its own sake. I
+should be an ungrateful woman indeed, if I found anything to complain
+of, nowadays. Yet there is one thing that troubles me,” she went on,
+after a moment’s pause.
+
+“And that?” he asked.
+
+“The danger,” she said, slowly. “I do not want to lose you, Peter. There
+are times when I am afraid.”
+
+De Grost flicked the ash from his cigarette.
+
+“The days are passing,” he remarked, “when men point revolvers at one
+another, and hire assassins to gain their ends. Now, it is more a battle
+of wits. We play chess on the board of Life still, but we play with
+ivory pieces instead of steel and poison. Our brains direct and not our
+muscles.”
+
+She sighed.
+
+“It is only the one man of whom I am afraid. You have outwitted him so
+often and he does not forgive.”
+
+De Grost smiled. It was an immense compliment--this.
+
+“Bernadine,” he murmured, softly, “otherwise, our friend the Count von
+Hern.”
+
+“Bernadine!” she repeated. “All that you say is true, but when one fails
+with modern weapons, one changes the form of attack. Bernadine at heart
+is a savage.”
+
+“The hate of such a man,” De Grost remarked complacently, “is worth
+having. He has had his own way over here for years. He seems to
+have found the knack of living in a maze of intrigue and remaining
+untouchable. There were a dozen things before I came upon the scene
+which ought to have ruined him. Yet there never appeared to be anything
+to take hold of. Even the Criminal Department once thought they had a
+chance. I remember John Dory telling me in disgust that Bernadine was
+like one of those marvelous criminals one only reads about in fiction,
+who seem, when they pass along the dangerous places, to walk upon the
+air, and, leave no trace behind.”
+
+“Before you came,” she said, “he had never known a failure. Do you think
+that he is a man likely to forgive?”
+
+“I do not,” De Grost answered grimly. “It is a battle, of course, a
+battle all the time. Yet, Violet, between you and me, if Bernadine were
+to go, half the savor of life for me would depart with him.”
+
+Then there came a curious and wholly unexpected interruption. A man in
+dark, plain clothes, still wearing his overcoat, and carrying a bowler
+hat, had been standing in the entrance of the restaurant for a moment or
+two, looking around the room as though in search of some one. At last he
+caught the eye of the Baron de Grost and came quickly toward him.
+
+“Charles,” the Baron remarked, raising his eyebrows. “I wonder what he
+wants.”
+
+A sudden cloud had fallen upon their little feast. Violet watched the
+coming of her husband’s servant, and the reading of the note which he
+presented to his master, with an anxiety which she could not wholly
+conceal. The Baron read the note twice, scrutinizing a certain part of
+it closely with the aid of the monocle which he seldom used. Then he
+folded it up and placed it in the breast pocket of his coat.
+
+“At what hour did you receive this, Charles?” he asked.
+
+“A messenger brought it in a taxicab about ten minutes ago, sir,” the
+man replied. “He said that it was of the utmost importance, and that I
+had better try and find you.”
+
+“A district messenger?”
+
+“A man in ordinary clothes,” Charles answered. “He looked like a porter
+in a warehouse, or something of that sort. I forgot to say that you were
+rung up on the telephone three times previously by Mr. Greening.”
+
+The Baron nodded.
+
+“You can go,” he said. “There is no reply.”
+
+The man bowed and retired. De Grost called for his bill.
+
+“Is it anything serious?” Violet inquired.
+
+“No, not exactly serious,” he answered. “I do not understand what has
+happened, but they have sent for me to go--well, where it was agreed
+that I should not go except as a matter of urgent necessity.”
+
+Violet knew better than to show any signs of disquietude.
+
+“It is in London?” she asked.
+
+“Certainly,” her husband replied. “I shall take a taxicab from here. I
+am sorry, dear, to have one of our evenings disturbed in this manner. I
+have always done my best to avoid it, but this summons is urgent.”
+
+She rose and he wrapped her cloak around her.
+
+“You will drive straight home, won’t you?” he begged. “I dare say that I
+may be back within an hour myself.”
+
+“And if not?” she asked, in a low tone.
+
+“If not, there is nothing to be done.”
+
+Violet bit her lip, but, as he handed her into the small electric
+brougham which was waiting, she smiled into his face.
+
+“You will come back, and soon, Peter,” she declared, confidently.
+“Wherever you go I am sure of that. You see, I have faith in my star
+which watches over you.”
+
+He kissed her fingers and turned away. The commissionaire had already
+called him a taxicab.
+
+“To London Bridge,” he ordered, after a moment’s hesitation, and drove
+off.
+
+The traffic citywards had long since finished for the day, and he
+reached his destination within ten minutes of leaving the restaurant.
+Here he paid the man, and, entering the station, turned to the
+refreshment room and ordered a liqueur brandy. While he sipped it, he
+smoked a cigarette and carefully reread in a strong light the note which
+he had received. The signature especially he pored over for some time.
+At last, however, he replaced it in his pocket, paid his bill, and,
+stepping out once more on to the platform, entered a telephone booth. A
+few minutes later he left the station, and, turning to the right, walked
+slowly as far as Tooley Street. He kept on the right-hand side until he
+arrived at the spot where the great arches, with their scanty lights,
+make a gloomy thoroughfare into Bermondsey. In the shadow of the first
+of these he paused, and looked steadfastly across the street. There were
+few people passing and practically no traffic. In front of him was a row
+of warehouses, all save one of which was wrapped in complete darkness.
+It was the one where some lights were still burning which De Grost stood
+and watched.
+
+The lights, such as they were, seemed to illuminate the ground
+floor only. From his hidden post he could see the shoulders of a man
+apparently bending over a ledger, diligently writing. At the next window
+a youth, seated upon a tall stool, was engaged in presumably the same
+occupation. There was nothing about the place in the least mysterious
+or out of the way. Even the blinds of the offices had been left undrawn.
+The man and the boy, who were alone visible, seemed, in a sense, to be
+working under protest. Every now and then the former stopped to yawn,
+and the latter performed a difficult balancing feat upon his stool. De
+Grost, having satisfied his curiosity, came presently from his shelter,
+almost running into the arms of a policeman, who looked at him closely.
+The Baron, who had an unlighted cigarette in his mouth, stopped to ask
+for a light, and his appearance at once set at rest any suspicions the
+policeman might have had.
+
+“I have a warehouse myself down in these parts,” he remarked, as he
+struck the match, “but I don’t allow my people to work as late as that.”
+
+He pointed across the way, and the policeman smiled.
+
+“They are very often late there, sir,” he said. “It’s a Continental wine
+business, and there’s always one or two of them over time.”
+
+“It’s bad business, all the same,” De Grost declared pleasantly. “Good
+night, policeman!”
+
+“Good night, sir!”
+
+De Grost crossed the road diagonally, as though about to take the short
+cut across London Bridge, but as soon as the policeman was out of sight
+he retraced his steps to the building which they had been discussing,
+and turning the battered brass handle of the door, walked calmly in. On
+his right and left were counting houses framed with glass; in front,
+the cavernous and ugly depths of a gloomy warehouse. He knocked upon the
+window-pane on the right and passed forward a step or two, as though
+to enter the office. The boy, who had been engaged in the left-hand
+counting house, came gliding from his place, passed silently behind the
+visitor and turned the key of the outer door. What followed seemed to
+happen as though by some mysteriously directed force. The figures of men
+came stealing out from the hidden places. The clerk who had been working
+so hard at his desk calmly divested himself of a false mustache and
+wig, and, assuming a more familiar appearance, strolled out into
+the warehouse. De Grost looked around him with absolutely unruffled
+composure. He was the centre of a little circle of men, respectably
+dressed, but every one of them hard-featured, with something in
+their faces which suggested not the ordinary toiler, but the fighting
+animal--the man who lives by his wits and knows something of danger. On
+the outskirts of the circle stood Bernadine.
+
+“Really,” De Grost declared, “this is most unexpected. In the matter of
+dramatic surprises, my friend Bernadine, you are certainly in a class by
+yourself.”
+
+Bernadine smiled.
+
+“You will understand, of course,” he said, “that this little
+entertainment is entirely for your amusement--well stage-managed,
+perhaps, but my supers are not to be taken seriously. Since you are
+here, Baron, might I ask you to precede me a few steps to the tasting
+office?
+
+“By all means,” De Grost answered cheerfully. “It is this way, I
+believe.”
+
+He walked with unconcerned footsteps down the warehouse, on either side
+of which were great bins and a wilderness of racking, until he came to
+a small, glass-enclosed office, built out from the wall. Without
+hesitation he entered it, and removing his hat, selected the more
+comfortable of the two chairs. Bernadine alone of the others followed
+him inside, closing the door behind. De Grost, who appeared exceedingly
+comfortable, stretched out his hand and took a small black bottle from a
+tiny mahogany racking fixed against the wall by his side.
+
+“You will excuse me, my dear Bernadine,” he said, “but I see my friend
+Greening has been tasting a few wines. The ‘XX’ upon the label here
+signifies approval. With your permission.”
+
+He half filled a glass and pushed the bottle toward Bernadine.
+
+“Greening’s taste is unimpeachable,” De Grost declared, setting down
+his glass empty. “No use being a director of a city business, you know,
+unless one interests oneself personally in it. Greening’s judgment is
+simply marvelous. I have never tasted a more beautiful wine. If the
+boom in sherry does come,” he continued complacently, “we shall be in an
+excellent position to deal with it.”
+
+Bernadine laughed softly.
+
+“Oh, my friend--Peter Ruff, or Baron de Grost, or whatever you may
+choose to call yourself,” he said, “I am indeed wise to have come to the
+conclusion that you and I are too big to occupy the same little spot on
+earth!”
+
+De Grost nodded approvingly.
+
+“I was beginning to wonder,” he remarked, “whether you would not soon
+arrive at that decision.”
+
+“Having arrived at it,” Bernadine continued, looking intently at his
+companion, “the logical sequence naturally occurs to you.”
+
+“Precisely, my dear Bernadine,” De Grost asserted. “You say to yourself,
+no doubt, ‘One of us two must go!’ Being yourself, you would naturally
+conclude that it must be I. To tell you the truth, I have been expecting
+some sort of enterprise of this description for a considerable time.”
+
+Bernadine shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“Your expectations,” he said, “seem scarcely to have provided you with a
+safe conduct.”
+
+De Grost gazed reflectively into his empty glass.
+
+“You see,” he explained, “I am such a lucky person. Your arrangements
+to-night, however, are, I perceive, unusually complete.”
+
+“I am glad you appreciate them,” Bernadine remarked dryly.
+
+“I would not for a moment,” De Grost continued, “ask an impertinent or
+an unnecessary question, but I must confess that I am rather concerned
+to know the fate of my manager--the gentleman whom you yourself with the
+aid, I presume, of Mr. Clarkson, so ably represented.”
+
+Bernadine sighed.
+
+“Alas!” he said, “your manager was a very obstinate person.”
+
+“And my clerk?”
+
+“Incorruptible, absolutely incorruptible. I congratulate you, De Grost.
+Your society is one of the most wonderful upon the face of this earth. I
+know little about it, but my admiration is very sincere. Their attention
+to details, and the personnel of their staff, is almost perfect. I may
+tell you at once that no sum that could be offered, tempted either of
+these men.”
+
+“I am delighted to hear it,” De Grost replied, “but I must plead guilty
+to a little temporary anxiety as to their present whereabouts.”
+
+“At this moment,” Bernadine remarked, “they are within a few feet of
+us, but, as you are doubtless aware, access to your delightful river is
+obtainable from these premises. To be frank with you, my dear Baron, we
+are waiting for the tide to rise.”
+
+“So thoughtful about these trifles,” De Grost murmured. “But their
+present position? They are, I trust, not uncomfortable?”
+
+Bernadine stood up and moved to the further end of the office. He
+beckoned his companion to his side and, drawing an electric torch from
+his pocket, flashed the light into a dark corner behind an immense
+bin. The forms of a man and a youth, bound with ropes and gagged, lay
+stretched upon the floor. De Grost sighed.
+
+“I am afraid,” he said, “that Mr. Greening, at any rate, is most
+uncomfortable.”
+
+Bernadine turned off the light.
+
+“At least, Baron,” he declared, “if such extreme measures should become
+necessary, I can promise you one thing--you shall have a quicker passage
+into Eternity than they.”
+
+De Grost resumed his seat.
+
+“Has it really come to that?” he asked. “Will nothing but so crude a
+proceeding as my absolute removal satisfy you?”
+
+“Nothing else is, I fear, practicable,” Bernadine replied, “unless you
+decide to listen to reason. Believe me, my dear friend, I shall miss you
+and our small encounters exceedingly, but, unfortunately, you stand in
+the way of my career. You are the only man who has persistently balked
+me. You have driven me to use against you means which I had grown to
+look upon as absolutely extinct in the upper circles of our profession.”
+
+De Grost peered through the glass walls of the office.
+
+“Eight men, not counting yourself,” he remarked, “and my poor manager
+and his faithful clerk lying bound and helpless. It is heavy odds,
+Bernadine.”
+
+“There is no question of odds, I think,” Bernadine answered smoothly.
+“You are much too clever a person to refuse to admit that you are
+entirely in my power.”
+
+“And as regards terms? I really don’t feel in the least anxious to make
+my final bow with so little notice,” De Grost said. “To tell you the
+truth, I have been finding life quite interesting lately.”
+
+Bernadine eyed his prisoner keenly. Such absolute composure was in
+itself disturbing. He was, for the moment, aware of a slight sensation
+of uneasiness, which his common sense, however, speedily disposed of.
+
+“There are two ways,” he announced, “of dealing with an opponent.
+There is the old-fashioned one--crude, but in a sense eminently
+satisfactory--which sends him finally to adorn some other sphere.”
+
+“I don’t like that one,” De Grost interrupted. “Get on with the
+alternative.”
+
+“The alternative,” Bernadine declared, “is when his capacity for harm
+can be destroyed.”
+
+“That needs a little explanation,” De Grost murmured.
+
+“Precisely. For instance, if you were to become absolutely discredited,
+I think that you would be effectually out of my way. Your people do not
+forgive.”
+
+“Then discredit me, by all means,” De Grost begged. “It sounds
+unpleasant, but I do not like your callous reference to the river.”
+
+Bernadine gazed at his ancient opponent for several moments. After
+all, what was this but the splendid bravado of a beaten man, who is too
+clever not to recognize defeat?
+
+“I shall require,” he said, “your code, the keys of your safe, which
+contains a great many documents of interest to me, and a free entry into
+your house.”
+
+De Grost drew a bunch of keys reluctantly from his pocket and laid them
+upon the desk.
+
+“You will find the code bound in green morocco leather,” he announced,
+“on the left-hand side, underneath the duplicate of a proposed Treaty
+between Italy and some other Power. Between ourselves, Bernadine, I
+really expect that that is what you are after.”
+
+Bernadine’s eyes glistened.
+
+“What about the safe conduct into your house?” he asked.
+
+De Grost drew his case from his pocket and wrote few lines on the back
+of one of his cards.
+
+“This will insure you entrance there,” he said, “and access to my study.
+If you see my wife, please reassure her as to my absence.”
+
+“I shall certainly do so,” Bernadine agreed, with a faint smile.
+
+“If I may be pardoned for alluding to a purely personal matter,” De
+Grost continued, “what is to become of me?”
+
+“You will be bound and gagged in the same manner as your manager and his
+clerk,” Bernadine replied, smoothly. “I regret the necessity, but you
+see, I can afford to run no risks. At four o’clock in the morning, you
+will be released. It must be part of our agreement that you allow the
+man who stays behind the others for the purpose of setting you free, to
+depart unmolested. I think I know you better than to imagine you would
+be guilty of such gaucherie as an appeal to the police.”
+
+“That, unfortunately,” De Grost declared, with a little sigh, “is,
+as you well know, out of the question. You are too clever for me,
+Bernadine. After all, I shall have to go back to my farm.”
+
+Bernadine opened the door and called softly to one of his men. In less
+than five minutes De Grost was bound hand and foot. Bernadine stepped
+back and eyed his adversary with an air of ill-disguised triumph.
+
+“I trust, Baron,” he said, “that you will be as comfortable as possible,
+under the circumstances.”
+
+De Grost lay quite still. He was powerless to move or speak.
+
+“Immediately,” Bernadine continued, “I have presented myself at your
+house, verified your safe conduct, and helped myself to certain
+papers which I am exceedingly anxious to obtain,” he went on, “I shall
+telephone here to the man whom I leave in charge and you will be set at
+liberty in due course. If, for any reason, I meet with treachery and I
+do not telephone, you will join Mr. Greening and his young companion
+in a little--shall we call it aquatic recreation? I wish you a pleasant
+hour and success in the future, Baron--as a farmer.”
+
+Bernadine withdrew and whispered his orders to his men. Soon the
+electric light was turned out and the place was in darkness. The front
+door was opened and closed; the group of confederates upon the pavement
+lit cigarettes and wished one another good night with the brisk air
+of tired employees, released at last from long labors. Then there was
+silence.
+
+It was barely eleven when Bernadine reached the west end of London. His
+clothes had become a trifle disarranged and he called for a few minutes
+at his rooms in St. James’s Street. Afterwards, he walked to Porchester
+House and rang the bell. To the servant who answered it, he handed his
+master’s card.
+
+“Will you show me the way to the library?” he asked. “I have some papers
+to collect for the Baron de Grost.”
+
+The man hesitated. Even with the card in his hand, it seemed a somewhat
+unusual proceeding.
+
+“Will you step inside, sir?” he begged. “I should like to show this
+to the Baroness. The master is exceedingly particular about any one
+entering his study.”
+
+“Do what you like so long as you do not keep me waiting,” Bernadine
+replied. “Your master’s instructions are clear enough.”
+
+Violet came down the great staircase a few moments later, still in her
+dinner gown, her face a little pale, her eyes luminous. Bernadine smiled
+as he accepted her eagerly offered hand. She was evidently anxious. A
+thrill of triumph warmed his blood. Once she had been less kind to him
+than she seemed now.
+
+“My husband gave you this!” she exclaimed.
+
+“A few minutes ago,” Bernadine answered. “He tried to make his
+instructions as clear as possible. We are jointly interested in a small
+matter which needs immediate action.”
+
+She led the way to the study.
+
+“It seems strange,” she remarked, “that you and he should be working
+together. I always thought that you were on opposite sides.”
+
+“It is a matter of chance,” Bernadine told her. “Your husband is a wise
+man, Baroness. He knows when to listen to reason.”
+
+She threw open the door of the study, which was in darkness.
+
+“‘If you will wait a moment,” she said, closing the door, “I will turn
+on the electric light.”
+
+She touched the knobs in the wall and the room was suddenly flooded with
+illumination. At the further end of the apartment was the great safe.
+Close to it, in an easy chair, his evening coat changed for a smoking
+jacket, with a neatly tied black tie replacing his crumpled white
+cravat, the Baron de Grost sat awaiting his guest. A fierce oath broke
+from Bernadine’s lips. He turned toward the door only in time to hear
+the key turn. Violet tossed it lightly in the air across to her husband.
+
+“My dear Bernadine,” the latter remarked, “on the whole, I do not think
+that this has been one of your successes. My keys, if you please.”
+
+Bernadine stood for a moment, his face dark with passion. He bit his
+lip till the blood came, and the veins at the back of his clenched hands
+were swollen and thick. Nevertheless, when he spoke he had recovered in
+great measure his self-control.
+
+“Your keys are here, Baron de Grost,” he said, placing them upon the
+table. “If a bungling amateur may make such a request of a professor,
+may I inquire how you escaped from your bonds, passed through the door
+of a locked warehouse and reached here before me?”
+
+The Baron de Grost smiled as he pushed the cigarettes across to his
+visitor.
+
+“Really,” he said, “you have only to think for yourself for a moment, my
+dear Bernadine, and you will understand. In the first place, the letter
+you sent me signed ‘Greening’ was clearly a forgery. There was no one
+else anxious to get me into their power, hence I associated it at once
+with you. Naturally, I telephoned to the chief of my staff--I, too,
+am obliged to employ some of these un-uniformed policemen, my dear
+Bernadine, as you may be aware. It may interest you to know, further,
+that there are seven entrances to the warehouse in Tooley Street.
+Through one of these something like twenty of my men passed and were
+already concealed in the place when I entered. At another of the doors a
+motor-car waited for me. If I had chosen to lift my finger at any time,
+your men would have been overpowered and I might have had the pleasure
+of dictating terms to you in my own office. Such a course did not appeal
+to me. You and I, as you know, dear Count von Hern, conduct our peculiar
+business under very delicate conditions, and the least thing we either
+of us desire is notoriety. I managed things, as I thought, for the best.
+The moment you left the place my men swarmed in. We kindly, but gently,
+ejected your guard, released Greening and my clerk, and I passed you
+myself in Fleet Street, a little more comfortable, I think, in my
+forty-horsepower motor-car than you in that very disreputable hansom.
+As to my presence here, I have an entrance from the street there which
+makes me independent of my servants. The other details are too absurdly
+simple; one need not enlarge upon them.”
+
+Bernadine turned slowly to Violet.
+
+“You knew?” he muttered. “You knew when you brought me here?”
+
+“Naturally,” she answered. “We have telephones in every room in the
+house.”
+
+“I am at your service,” Bernadine declared, calmly.
+
+De Grost laughed.
+
+“My dear fellow,” he said, “need I say that you are free to come or go,
+to take a whiskey and soda with me, or to depart at once, exactly as
+you feel inclined? The door was locked only until you restored to me my
+keys.”
+
+He crossed the room, fitted the key in the lock and turned it.
+
+“We do not make war as those others,” he remarked, smiling.
+
+Bernadine drew himself up.
+
+“I will not drink with you,” he said, “I will not smoke with you. But
+some day this reckoning shall come.”
+
+He turned to the door. De Grost laid his finger upon the bell.
+
+“Show Count von Hern out,” he directed the astonished servant who
+appeared a moment or two later.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. THE SEVEN SUPPERS OF ANDREA KORUST
+
+
+Peter, Baron de Grost, was enjoying what he had confidently looked
+forward to as an evening’s relaxation, pure and simple. He sat in one of
+the front rows of the stalls of the Alhambra, his wife by his side
+and an excellent cigar in his mouth. An hour or so ago he had been in
+telephonic communication with Paris, had spoken with Sogrange himself,
+and received his assurance of a calm in political and criminal affairs
+amounting almost to stagnation. It was out of season, and, though his
+popularity was as great as ever, neither he nor his wife had any social
+engagements; hence this evening at a music hall, which Peter, for his
+part, was finding thoroughly amusing.
+
+The place was packed--some said owing to the engagement of Andrea Korust
+and his brother, others to the presence of Mademoiselle Sophie Celaire
+in her wonderful danse des apaches. The violinist that night had a great
+reception. Three times he was called before the curtain; three times
+he was obliged to reiterate his grateful but immutable resolve never to
+yield to the nightly storm which demanded more from a man who has given
+of his best. Slim, with the worn face and hollow eyes of a genius, he
+stood and bowed his thanks, but when he thought the time had arrived, he
+disappeared, and though the house shook for minutes afterwards, nothing
+could persuade him to reappear.
+
+Afterwards came the turn which, notwithstanding the furore caused by
+Andrea Korust’s appearance, was generally considered to be equally
+responsible for the packed house--the apache dance of Mademoiselle
+Sophie Celaire. Peter sat slightly forward in his chair as the curtain
+went up. For a time he seemed utterly absorbed by the performance.
+Violet glanced at him once or twice curiously. It began to occur to her
+that it was not so much the dance as the dancer in whom her husband was
+interested.
+
+“You have seen her before--this Mademoiselle Celaire?” she whispered.
+
+“Yes,” said Peter, nodding, “I have seen her before.”
+
+The dance proceeded. It was like many others of its sort, only a little
+more daring, a little more finished. Mademoiselle Celaire, in her
+tight-fitting, shabby black frock, with her wild mass of hair, her
+flashing eyes, her seductive gestures, was, without doubt, a marvelous
+person. Peter, Baron de Grost, watched her every movement with absorbed
+attention. When the curtain went down he forgot to clap. His eyes
+followed her off the stage. Violet shrugged her shoulders. She was
+looking very handsome herself in a black velvet dinner gown, and a hat
+so exceedingly Parisian that no one had had the heart to ask her to
+remove it.
+
+“My dear Peter,” she remarked, reprovingly, “a moderate amount of
+admiration for that very agile young lady I might, perhaps, be inclined
+to tolerate; but, having watched you for the last quarter of an hour, I
+am bound to confess that I am becoming jealous.”
+
+“Of Mademoiselle Celaire?” he asked.
+
+“Of Mademoiselle Sophie Celaire.”
+
+He leaned a little towards her. His lips were parted; he was about to
+make a statement or a confession. Just then a tall commissionaire leaned
+over from behind and touched him on the shoulder.
+
+“For Monsieur le Baron de Grost,” he announced, handing Peter a note.
+
+Peter glanced towards his wife.
+
+“You permit me?” he murmured, breaking the seal.
+
+Violet shrugged her shoulders, ever so slightly. Her husband was already
+absorbed in the few lines hastily scrawled across the sheet of notepaper
+which he held in his hand.
+
+                    MONSIEUR LE BARON DE GHOST.
+                    Dear Monsieur le Baron,
+             4  Come to my dressing-room, without  4
+                fail, as soon as you receive this.
+                              SOPHIE CELAIRE.
+
+
+Violet looked over his shoulder.
+
+“The hussy!” she exclaimed, indignantly. Her husband raised his
+eyebrows. With his forefinger he merely tapped the two numerals.
+
+“The Double-Four!” she gasped.
+
+He looked around and nodded. The commissionaire was waiting. Peter took
+up his silk hat from under the seat.
+
+“If I am detained, dear,” he whispered, “you’ll make the best of it,
+won’t you? The car will be here and Frederick will be looking out for
+you.”
+
+“Of course,” she answered, cheerfully. “I shall be quite all right.”
+
+She nodded brightly and Peter took his departure. He passed through a
+door on which was painted “Private,” and through a maze of scenery and
+stage hands and ballet ladies by a devious route to the region of the
+dressing-rooms. His guide conducted him to the door of one of these and
+knocked.
+
+“Entrez, monsieur,” a shrill feminine voice replied.
+
+Peter entered and closed the door behind him. The commissionaire
+remained outside. Mademoiselle Celaire turned to greet her visitor.
+
+“It is a few words I desire with you as quickly as possible, if you
+please, Monsieur le Baron,” she said, advancing towards him. “Listen.”
+
+She had brushed out her hair and it hung from her head straight and a
+little stiff, almost like the hair of an Indian woman. She had washed
+her face, too, free of all cosmetics and her pallor was almost waxen.
+She wore a dressing gown of green silk. Her discarded black frock lay
+upon the floor.
+
+“I am entirely at your service, mademoiselle,” Peter answered, bowing.
+“Continue, if you please.”
+
+“You sup with me to-night--you are my guest.”
+
+He hesitated.
+
+“I am very much honored,” he murmured. “It is an affair of urgency,
+then? Mademoiselle will remember that I am not alone here.”
+
+She threw out her hands scornfully.
+
+“They told me in Paris that you were a genius!” she exclaimed. “Cannot
+you feel, then, when a thing is urgent? Do you not know it without
+being told? You must meet me with a carriage at the stage door in forty
+minutes. We sup in Hamilton Place with Andrea Korust and his brother.”
+
+“With whom?” Peter asked, surprised.
+
+“With the Korust Brothers,” she repeated. “I have just been talking to
+Andrea. He calls himself a Hungarian. Bah! They are as much Hungarian,
+those young men, as I am!”
+
+Peter leaned slightly against the table and looked thoughtfully at his
+companion. He was trying to remember whether he had ever heard anything
+of these young men.
+
+“Mademoiselle,” he said, “the prospect of partaking of any meal in your
+company is in itself enchanting, but I do not know your friends, the
+Korust Brothers. Apart from their wonderful music, I do not recollect
+ever having heard of them before in my life. What excuse have I, then,
+for accepting their hospitality? Pardon me, too, if I add that you have
+not as yet spoken as to the urgency of this affair.”
+
+She turned from him impatiently and, throwing herself back into the
+chair from which she had risen at his entrance, she began to exchange
+the thick woolen stockings which she had been wearing upon the stage for
+others of fine silk.
+
+“Oh, la, la!” she exclaimed. “You are very slow, Monsieur le Baron. It
+is, perhaps, my stage name which has misled you. I am Marie Lapouse.
+Does that convey anything to you?”
+
+“A great deal,” Peter admitted, quickly. “You stand very high upon the
+list of my agents whom I may trust.”
+
+“Then stay here no longer,” she begged, “for my maid waits outside and I
+need her services. Go back and make your excuses to your wife. In forty
+minutes I shall expect you at the stage door.”
+
+“An affair of diplomacy, this, or brute force?” he inquired.
+
+“Heaven knows what may happen!” she replied. “To tell you the truth, I
+do not know myself. Be prepared for anything, but, for Heaven’s sake, go
+now! I can dress no further without my maid, and Andrea Korust may come
+in at any moment. I do not wish him to find you here.”
+
+Peter made his way thoughtfully back to his seat. He explained the
+situation to his wife so far as he could, and sent her home. Then he
+waited about until the car returned, smoking a cigarette and trying once
+more to remember if he had ever heard anything from Sogrange of Andrea
+Korust or his brother. Punctually at the time stated he was outside
+the stage door of the music-hall, and a few minutes later Mademoiselle
+Celaire appeared, a dazzling vision of fur and smiles and jewelry
+imperfectly concealed. A small crowd pressed around to see the famous
+Frenchwoman. Peter handed her gravely across the pavement into his
+waiting car. One or two of the loungers gave vent to a groan of envy at
+the sight of the diamonds which blazed from her neck and bosom. Peter
+smiled as he gave the address to his servant and took his place by the
+side of his companion.
+
+“They see only the externals, this mob,” he remarked. “They picture to
+themselves, perhaps, a little supper for two. Alas!”
+
+Mademoiselle Celaire laughed at him softly.
+
+“You need not trouble to assume that most disconsolate of expressions,
+my dear Baron,” she assured him. “Your reputation as a man of gallantry
+is beyond question; but remember that I know you also for the most
+devoted and loyal of husbands. We waste no time in folly, you and I. It
+is the business of the Double-Four.”
+
+Peter was relieved, but his innate politeness forbade his showing it.
+
+“Proceed,” he said.
+
+“The Brothers Korust,” she went on, leaning towards him, “have a week’s
+engagement at the Alhambra. Their salary is six hundred pounds. They
+play very beautifully, of course, but I think that it is as much as they
+are worth.”
+
+Peter agreed with her fervently. He had no soul for music.
+
+“They have taken the furnished house belonging to one of your dukes, in
+Hamilton Place, for which we are now bound; taken it, too, at a fabulous
+rent,” Mademoiselle Celaire continued. “They, have installed there a
+chef and a whole retinue of servants. They are here for seven nights;
+they have issued invitations for seven supper parties.”
+
+“Hospitable young men they seem to be,” Peter murmured. “I read in one
+of the stage papers that Andrea is a Count in his own country, and that
+they perform in public only for the love of their music and for the sake
+of the excitement and travel.”
+
+“A paragraph wholly inspired and utterly false,” Mademoiselle Celaire
+declared, firmly, sitting a little forward in the car, and laying her
+hand, ablaze with jewels, upon his coat sleeve. “Listen. They call
+themselves Hungarians. Bah! I know that they are in touch with a great
+European court, both of them, the court of the country to which they
+belong. They have plans, plans and schemes connected with their visit
+here, which I do not understand. I have done my best with Andrea Korust,
+but he is not a man to be trusted. I know that there is something more
+in these seven supper parties than idle hospitality. I and others like
+me, artistes and musicians, are invited, to give the assembly a properly
+Bohemian tone; but there are to be other guests, attracted there, no
+doubt, because the papers have spoken of these gatherings.”
+
+“You have some idea of what it all means, in your mind?” Peter
+suggested.
+
+“It is too vague to put into words,” she declared, shaking her head. “We
+must both watch. Afterwards, we will, if you like, compare notes.”
+
+The car drew up before the doors of a handsome house in Hamilton Place.
+A footman received Peter and relieved him of his hat and overcoat. A
+trim maid performed the same office for Mademoiselle Celaire. They met,
+a moment or two later, and were ushered into a large drawing-room in
+which a dozen or two of men and women were already assembled, and from
+which came a pleasant murmur of voices and laughter. The apartment
+was hung with pale green satin; the furniture was mostly Chippendale,
+upholstered in the same shade. A magnificent grand piano stood open in a
+smaller room, just visible beyond. Only one thing seemed strange to the
+two newly arrived guests. The room was entirely lit with shaded candles,
+giving a certain mysterious but not unpleasant air of obscurity to the
+whole suite of apartments. Through the gloom, the jewels and eyes of the
+women seemed to shine with a new brilliance. Slight eccentricities of
+toilette, for a part of the gathering was distinctly Bohemian, were
+softened and subdued. The whole effect was somewhat weird, but also
+picturesque.
+
+Andrea Korust advanced from a little group to meet his guests. Off the
+stage he seemed at first sight frailer and slighter than ever. His dress
+coat had been exchanged for a velvet dinner jacket, and his white tie
+for a drooping black bow. He had a habit of blinking nearly all the
+time, as though his large brown eyes, which he seldom wholly opened,
+were weaker than they appeared to be. Nevertheless, when he came to
+within a few paces of his newly arrived visitors, they shone with plenty
+of expression. Without any change of countenance, however, he held out
+his hand.
+
+“Dear Andrea,” Mademoiselle Celaire exclaimed, “you permit me that I
+present to you my dear friend, well known in Paris--alas! many years
+ago--Monsieur le Baron de Grost. Monsieur le Baron was kind enough to
+pay his respects to me this evening, and I have induced him to become my
+escort here.”
+
+“It was my good fortune,” Peter remarked, smiling, “that I saw
+Mademoiselle Celaire’s name upon the bills this evening--my good
+fortune, since it has procured for me the honor of an acquaintance with
+a musician so distinguished.”
+
+“You are very kind, Monsieur le Baron,” Korust replied.
+
+“You stay here, I regret to hear, a very short time?”
+
+“Alas!” Andrea Korust admitted, “it is so. For myself I would that it
+were longer. I find your London so attractive, the people so friendly.
+They fall in with my whims so charmingly. I have a hatred, you know, of
+solitude. I like to make acquaintances wherever I go, to have delightful
+women and interesting men around, to forget that life is not always gay.
+If I am too much alone, I am miserable, and when I am miserable I am in
+a very bad way indeed. I cannot then make music.”
+
+Peter smiled gravely and sympathetically.
+
+“And your brother? Does he, too, share your gregarious instincts?”
+
+Korust paused for a moment before replying. His eyes were quite wide
+open now. If one could judge from his expression, one would certainly
+have said that the Baron de Grost’s attempts to ingratiate himself with
+his host were distinctly unsuccessful.
+
+“My brother has exactly opposite instincts,” he said slowly. “He finds
+no pleasure in society. At the sound of a woman’s voice, he hides.”
+
+“He is not here, then?” Peter asked, glancing around.
+
+Andrea Korust shook his head.
+
+“It is doubtful whether he joins us this evening at all,” he declared.
+“My sister, however, is wholly of my disposition. Monsieur le Baron will
+permit that I present him.”
+
+Peter bowed low before a very handsome young woman with flashing
+black eyes, and a type of features undoubtedly belonging to one of the
+countries of eastern Europe. She was picturesquely dressed in a gown
+of flaming red silk, made as though in one piece, without trimming or
+flounces, and she seemed inclined to bestow upon her new acquaintance
+all the attention that he might desire. She took him at once into a
+corner and seated herself by his side. It was impossible for Peter not
+to associate the empressement of her manner with the few words which
+Andrea Korust had whispered into her ear at the moment of their
+introduction.
+
+“So you,” she murmured, “are the wonderful Baron de Grost. I have heard
+of you so often.”
+
+“Wonderful!” Peter repeated, with twinkling eyes. “I have never
+been called that before. I feel that I have no claims whatever to
+distinction, especially in a gathering like this.”
+
+She shrugged her shoulders and glanced carelessly across the room.
+
+“They are well enough,” she admitted, “but one wearies of genius on
+every side of one. Genius is not the best thing in the world to live
+with, you know. It has whims and fancies. For instance, look at these
+rooms--the gloom, the obscurity--and I love so much the light.”
+
+Peter smiled.
+
+“It is the privilege of genius,” he remarked, “to have whims and to
+indulge in them.”
+
+She sighed.
+
+“To do Andrea justice,” she said, “it is, perhaps, scarcely a whim that
+he chooses to receive his guests in semi-darkness. He has weak eyes
+and he is much too vain to wear spectacles. Tell me, you know every one
+here?”
+
+“No one,” Peter declared. “Please enlighten me, if you think it
+necessary. For myself,” he added, dropping his voice a little, “I feel
+that the happiness of my evening is assured, without making any further
+acquaintances.”
+
+“But you came as the guest of Mademoiselle Celaire,” she reminded him,
+doubtfully, with a faint regretful sigh and a provocative gleam in her
+eyes.
+
+“I saw Mademoiselle Celaire to-night for the first time for years,”
+ Peter replied. “I called to see her in her dressing-room and she claimed
+me for an escort this evening. I am, alas! a very occasional wanderer in
+the pleasant paths of Bohemia.”
+
+“If that is really true,” she murmured, “I suppose I must tell you
+something about the people, or you will feel that you have wasted your
+opportunity.”
+
+“Mademoiselle,” Peter whispered.
+
+She held out her hand and laughed into his face.
+
+“No!” she interrupted. “I shall do my duty. Opposite you is Mademoiselle
+Trezani, the famous singer at Covent Garden. Do I need to tell you that,
+I wonder? Rudolf Maesterling, the dramatist, stands behind her there
+in the corner. He is talking to the wonderful Cleo, whom all the world
+knows. Monsieur Guyer there, he is manager, I believe, of the Alhambra;
+and talking to him is Marborg, the great pianist. One of the ladies
+talking to my brother is Esther Braithwaite, whom, of course, you know
+by sight; she is leading lady, is she not, at the Hilarity? The other
+is Miss Ransome; they tell me that she is your only really great English
+actress.”
+
+Peter nodded appreciatively.
+
+“It is all most interesting,” he declared. “Now tell me, please, who
+is the military person with the stiff figure and sallow complexion,
+standing by the door? He seems quite alone.”
+
+The girl made a little grimace.
+
+“I suppose I ought to be looking after him,” she admitted, rising
+reluctantly to her feet. “He is a soldier just back from India--a
+General Noseworthy, with all sorts of letters after his name. If
+Mademoiselle Celaire is generous, perhaps we may have a few minutes’
+conversation later on,” she added, with a parting smile.
+
+“Say, rather, if Mademoiselle Korust is kind,” De Grost replied, bowing.
+“It depends upon that only.”
+
+He strolled across the room and rejoined Mademoiselle Celaire a few
+moments later. They stood apart in a corner.
+
+“I should like my supper,” Peter declared.
+
+“They wait for one more guest,” Mademoiselle Celaire announced.
+
+“One more guest! Do you know who it is?”
+
+“No idea,” she answered. “One would imagine that it was some one of
+importance. Are you any wiser than when you came, dear master?” she
+added, under her breath.
+
+“Not a whit,” he replied, promptly.
+
+She took out her fan and waved it slowly in front of her face.
+
+“Yet you must discover what it all means to-night or not at all,” she
+whispered. “The dear Andrea has intimated to me most delicately that
+another escort would be more acceptable if I should honor him again.”
+
+“That helps,” he murmured. “See, our last guest arrives.”
+
+A tall,--spare-looking man was just being announced. They heard his name
+as Andrea presented him to a companion--
+
+“Colonel Mayson!”
+
+Mademoiselle Celaire saw a gleam in her companion’s eyes.
+
+“It is coming--the idea?” she whispered.
+
+“Very vaguely,” he admitted.
+
+“Who is this Colonel Mayson?”
+
+“Our only military aeronaut,” Peter replied.
+
+She raised her eyebrows.
+
+“Aeronaut!” she repeated, doubtfully. “I see nothing in that. Both my
+own country and Germany are years ahead of poor England in the air. Is
+it not so?”
+
+Peter smiled and held out his arm.
+
+“See,” he said, “supper has been announced. Afterwards, Andrea Korust
+will play to us, and I think that Colonel Mayson and his distinguished
+brother officer from India will talk. We shall see.”
+
+They passed into a room whose existence had suddenly been revealed
+by the drawing back of some beautiful brocaded curtains. Supper was a
+delightful meal, charmingly served. Peter, putting everything else out
+of his head for the moment, thoroughly enjoyed himself, and, remembering
+his duty as a guest, contributed in no small degree towards the success
+of the entertainment. He sat between Mademoiselle Celaire and his
+hostess, both of whom demanded much from him in the way of attention.
+But he still found time to tell stories which were listened to by every
+one, and exchanged sallies with the gayest. Only Andrea Korust, from his
+place at the head of the table, glanced occasionally towards his popular
+guest with a curious, half-hidden expression of distaste and suspicion.
+
+The more the Baron de Grost shone, the more uneasy he became. The signal
+to rise from the meal was given almost abruptly. Mademoiselle Korust
+hung on to Peter’s arm. Her own wishes and her brother’s orders seemed
+absolutely to coincide. She led him towards a retiring corner of the
+music room. On the way, however, Peter overheard the introduction which
+he had expected.
+
+“General Noseworthy is just returned from India, Colonel Mayson,”
+ Korust said, in his usual quiet, tired tone. “You will, perhaps, find it
+interesting to talk together a little. As for me, I play because all
+are polite enough to wish it, but conversation disturbs me not in the
+least.”
+
+Peter passed, smiling, on to the corner pointed out by his companion,
+which was the darkest and most secluded in the room. He took her fan and
+gloves, lit her cigarette, and leaned back by her side.
+
+“How does your brother, a stranger to London, find time to make the
+acquaintance of so many interesting people?” he asked.
+
+“He brought many letters,” she replied. “He has friends everywhere.”
+
+“I have an idea,” Peter remarked, “that an acquaintance of my own, the
+Count von Hern, spoke to me once about him.”
+
+She took her cigarette from her lips and turned her head slightly.
+Peter’s expression was one of amiable reminiscence. His cheeks were a
+trifle flushed, his appearance was entirely reassuring. She laughed at
+her brother’s caution. She found her companion delightful.
+
+“Yes, the Count von Hern is a friend of my brother’s,” she admitted,
+carelessly.
+
+“And of yours?” he whispered, his arm slightly pressed against hers.
+
+She laughed at him silently and their eyes met. Decidedly Peter, Baron
+de Grost, found it hard to break away from his old weakness! Andrea
+Korust, from his place near the piano, breathed a sigh of relief as he
+watched. A moment or two later, however, Mademoiselle Korust was obliged
+to leave her companion to receive a late but unimportant guest, and
+almost simultaneously Colonel Mayson passed by on his way to the farther
+end of the apartment. Andrea Korust was bending over the piano to give
+some instructions to his accompanist. Peter leaned forward and his face
+and tone were strangely altered.
+
+“You will find General Noseworthy of the Indian Army a little
+inquisitive, Colonel,” he remarked.
+
+The latter turned sharply round. There was meaning in those few words,
+without doubt! There was meaning, too, in the still, cold face which
+seemed to repel his question. He passed on thoughtfully. Mademoiselle
+Korust, with a gesture of relief, came back and threw herself once more
+upon the couch.
+
+“We must talk in whispers,” she said, gayly. “Andrea always declares
+that he does not mind conversation, but too much noise is, of course,
+impossible. Besides, Mademoiselle Celaire will not spare you to me for
+long.”
+
+“There is a whole language,” he replied, “which was made for whispers.
+And as for Mademoiselle Celaire--”
+
+“Well?”
+
+He laughed softly.
+
+“Mademoiselle Celaire is, I think, more your brother’s friend than
+mine,” he murmured. “At least, I will be generous. He has given me a
+delightful evening. I resign my claims upon Mademoiselle Celaire.”
+
+“It would break your heart,” she declared.
+
+His voice sank even below a whisper. Decidedly, Peter, Baron de Grost,
+did not improve!
+
+He rose to leave precisely at the right time, neither too early nor too
+late. He had spent altogether a most amusing evening. There were one or
+two little comedies which had diverted him extremely. At the moment of
+parting, the beautiful eyes of Mademoiselle Korust had been raised to
+his very earnestly.
+
+“You will come again very soon--to-morrow night?” she had whispered. “Is
+it necessary that you bring Mademoiselle Celaire?”
+
+“It is altogether unnecessary,” Peter replied.
+
+“Let me try and entertain you instead, then!”
+
+It was precisely at that instant that Andrea had sent for his sister.
+Peter watched their brief conversation with much interest and intense
+amusement. She was being told not to invite him there again and she was
+rebelling! Without a doubt, he had made a conquest! She returned to him
+flushed and with a dangerous glitter in her eyes.
+
+“Monsieur le Baron,” she said, leading him on one side, “I am ashamed
+and angry.”
+
+“Your brother is annoyed because you have asked me here to-morrow
+night?” he asked, quickly.
+
+“It is so,” she confessed. “Indeed, I thank you that you have spared me
+the task of putting my brother’s discourtesy into words. Andrea takes
+violent fancies like that sometimes. I am ashamed, but what can I do?”
+
+“Nothing, mademoiselle,” he admitted, with a sigh. “I obey, of course.
+Did your brother mention the source of his aversion to me?”
+
+“He is too absurd sometimes,” she declared. “One must treat him like a
+great baby.”
+
+“Nevertheless, there must be a reason,” Peter persisted, gently.
+
+“He has heard some foolish thing from Count von Hern,” she admitted,
+reluctantly. “Do not let us think anything more about it. In a few days
+it will have passed. And meanwhile--”
+
+She paused. He leaned a little towards her. She was looking intently at
+a ring upon her finger.
+
+“If you would really like to see me,” she whispered, “and if you are
+sure that Mademoiselle Celaire would not object, could you not ask me to
+tea to-morrow--or the next day?”
+
+“To-morrow,” Peter insisted, with a becoming show of eagerness. “Shall
+we say at the Canton at five?”
+
+She hesitated.
+
+“Isn’t that rather a public place?” she objected.
+
+“Anywhere else you like.”
+
+She was silent for a moment. She seemed to be waiting for some
+suggestion from him. None came, however.
+
+“The Carlton at five,” she murmured. “I am angry with Andrea. I feel,
+even, that I could break his wonderful violin in two!”
+
+Peter sighed once more.
+
+“I should like to twist von Hern’s neck,” he declared. “Lucky for him
+that he’s in St. Petersburg! Let us forget this unpleasant matter,
+mademoiselle. The evening has been too delightful for such memories.”
+
+Mademoiselle Celaire turned to her escort eagerly as soon as they were
+alone together in the car.
+
+“As an escort, let me tell you, my dear Baron,” she exclaimed, with some
+pique, “that you are a miserable failure! For the rest--”
+
+“For the rest, I will admit that I am puzzled,” Peter said. “I need to
+think. I have the glimmerings of an idea--no more.”
+
+“You will act? It is an affair for us--for the Double-Four?”
+
+“Without a doubt--an affair and a serious one,” Peter assured her. “I
+shall act; exactly how I cannot say until after to-morrow.”
+
+“To-morrow?” she repeated, inquiringly.
+
+“Mademoiselle Korust takes tea with me,” he explained.
+
+In a quiet sort of way, the series of supper parties given by Andrea
+Korust became the talk of London. The most famous dancer in the world
+broke through her unvarying rule and night after night thrilled the
+distinguished little gathering. An opera singer, the “star” of the
+season, sang, a great genius recited, and Andrea himself gave always of
+his best. Apart from this wonderful outpouring of talent, Andrea Korust
+himself seemed to possess the peculiar art of bringing into touch with
+one another people naturally interested in the same subjects. On the
+night after the visit of Peter, Baron de Grost, His Grace the Duke of
+Rosshire was present, the man in whose hands lay the destinies of the
+British Navy; and, curiously enough, on the same night, a great French
+writer on naval subjects was present, whom the Duke had never met,
+and with whom he was delighted to talk for some time apart. On another
+occasion, the Military Secretary to the French Embassy was able to have
+a long and instructive chat with a distinguished English general on
+the subject of the recent maneuvers, and the latter received, in the
+strictest confidence, some very interesting information concerning the
+new type of French guns. On the following evening, the greatest of our
+Colonial statesmen, a red-hot Imperialist, was able to chat about the
+resources of the Empire with an English politician of similar views
+whom he chanced never to have previously met. Altogether, these parties
+seemed to be the means of bringing together a series of most interesting
+people, interesting not only in themselves, but in their relations to
+one another. It was noticeable, however, that from this side of his
+little gatherings Andrea Korust remained wholly apart. He frankly
+admitted that music and cheerful companionship were the only two things
+in life he cared for. Politics or matters of world import seemed to
+leave him unmoved. If a serious subject of conversation were started at
+supper time, he was frankly bored, and took no particular pains to hide
+the fact. It is certain that whatever interesting topics were alluded to
+in his presence, he remained entirely outside any understanding of them.
+Mademoiselle Celaire, who was present most evenings, although with other
+escorts, was entirely puzzled. She could see nothing whatever to account
+for the warning which she had received, and which she had passed on, as
+was her duty, to the Baron de Grost. She failed, also, to understand
+the faint but perceptible enlightenment to which Peter himself had
+admittedly attained after that first evening. Take that important
+conversation, for instance, between the French military attach, and the
+English general. Without a doubt it was of interest, and especially so
+to the country which she was sure claimed his allegiance, but it was
+equally without doubt that Andrea Korust neither overheard a word of
+that conversation nor betrayed the slightest curiosity concerning
+it. Mademoiselle Celaire was a clever woman and she had never felt so
+hopelessly at fault....
+
+The seventh and last of these famous supper parties was in full swing.
+Notwithstanding the shaded candles, which left the faces of the guests
+a little indistinct, the scene was a brilliant one. Mademoiselle Celaire
+was wearing her famous diamonds, which shone through the gloom like
+pin-pricks of fire. Garda Desmaines, the wonderful Garda, sat next to
+her host, her bosom and hair on fire with jewels, yet with the most
+wonderful light of all glowing in her eyes. A famous actor, who had
+thrown his proverbial reticence to the winds, kept his immediate
+neighbors in a state of semi-hysterical mirth. The clink of wine
+glasses, the laughter of beautiful women, the murmur of cultivated
+voices, rising and swelling through the faint, mysterious gloom, made a
+picturesque, a wonderful scene. Pale as a marble statue, with the covert
+smile of the gracious host, Andrea Korust sat at the head of his table,
+well pleased with his company, as indeed he had the right to be. By his
+side was a great American statesman, who was traveling around the world
+and yet had refused all other invitations of this sort. He had come for
+the pleasure of meeting the famous Dutch writer and politician, Mr. Van
+Jool. The two were already talking intimately. It was at this point that
+tragedy, or something like it, intervened. A impatient voice was
+heard in the hall outside, a voice which grew louder and louder, more
+impatient, finally more passionate. People raised their heads to listen.
+The American statesman, who was, perhaps, the only one to realize
+exactly what was coming, slipped his hand into his pocket and gripped
+something cold and hard. Then the door was flung open. An apologetic
+and much disturbed butler made the announcement which had evidently been
+demanded of him.
+
+“Mr. Von Tassen!”
+
+A silence followed--breathless--the silence before the bursting of the
+storm. Mr. Von Tassen was the name of the American statesman, and the
+man who rose slowly from his place by his host’s side was the exact
+double of the man who stood now upon the threshold, gazing in upon the
+room. The expression of the two alone was different. The newcomer was
+furiously angry, and looked it. The sham Mr. Von Tassen was very much at
+his ease. It was he who broke the silence, and his voice was curiously
+free from all trace of emotion. He was looking his double over with an
+air of professional interest.
+
+“On the whole,” he said, calmly, “very good. A little stouter, I
+perceive, and the eyebrows a trifle too regular. Of course, when you
+make faces at me like that, it is hard to judge of the expression. I can
+only say that I did the best I could.”
+
+“Who the devil are you, masquerading in my name?” the newcomer demanded,
+with emphasis. “This man is an impostor!” he added, turning to Andrea
+Korust. “What is he doing at your table?”
+
+Andrea leaned forward and his face was an evil thing to look upon.
+
+“Who are you?” he hissed out.
+
+The sham Mr. Von Tassen turned away for a moment and stooped down. The
+trick has been done often enough upon the stage, often in less time, but
+seldom with more effect. The wonderful wig disappeared, the spectacles,
+the lines in the face, the make-up of diabolical cleverness. With his
+back to the wall and his fingers playing with something in his pocket,
+Peter, Baron de Grost, smiled upon his host.
+
+“Since you insist upon knowing--the Baron de Grost, at your service!” he
+announced.
+
+Andrea Korust was, for the moment, speechless. One of the women
+shrieked. The real Mr. Von Tassen looked around him helplessly.
+
+“Will some one be good enough to enlighten me as to the meaning of
+this?” he begged. “Is it a roast? If so, I only want to catch on. Let me
+get to the joke, if there is one. If not, I should like a few words of
+explanation from you, sir,” he added, addressing Peter.
+
+“Presently,” the latter replied. “In the meantime, let me persuade you
+that I am not the only impostor here.”
+
+He seized a glass of water and dashed it in the face of Mr. Van Jool.
+There was a moment’s scuffle, and no more of Mr. Van Jool. What emerged
+was a good deal like the shy Maurice Korust, who accompanied his brother
+at the music hall, but whose distaste for these gatherings had been
+Andrea’s continual lament. The Baron de Grost stepped back once more
+against the wall. His host was certainly looking dangerous. Mademoiselle
+Celaire was leaning forward, staring through the gloom with distended
+eyes. Around the table every head was turned towards the centre of the
+disturbance. It was Peter again who spoke.
+
+“Let me suggest, Andrea Korust,” he said, “that you send your
+guests--those who are not immediately interested in this affair--into
+the next room. I will offer Mr. Von Tassen then the explanation to which
+he is entitled.”
+
+Andrea Korust staggered to his feet. The nerve had failed. He was
+shaking all over. He pointed to the music room.
+
+“If you would be so good, ladies and gentlemen?” he begged. “We will
+follow you immediately.”
+
+They went with obvious reluctance. All their eyes seemed focussed upon
+Peter. He bore their scrutiny with calm cheerfulness. For a moment he
+had feared Korust, but that moment had passed. A servant, obeying his
+master’s gesture, pulled back the curtains after the departing crowd.
+The four men were alone.
+
+“Mr. Von Tassen,” Peter said, easily, “you are a man who loves
+adventures. To-night you experience a new sort of one. Over in your
+great country, such methods are laughed at as the cheap device of
+sensation mongers. Nevertheless, they exist. To-night is a proof that
+they exist.”
+
+“Get on to facts, sir,” the American admonished. “You’ve got to explain
+to me what you mean by passing yourself off as Thomas Von Tassen, before
+you leave this room.”
+
+Peter bowed.
+
+“With much pleasure, Mr. Von Tassen,” he declared. “For your
+information, I might tell you that you are not the only person in whose
+guise I have figured. In fact, I have had quite a busy week. I have
+been--let me see--I have been Monsieur le Marquis de Beau Kunel on
+the night when our shy friend, Maurice Korust, was playing the part of
+General Henderson. I have also been His Grace the Duke of Rosshire when
+my friend Maurice here was introduced to me as Francois Defayal, known
+by name to me as one of the greatest writers on naval matters. A little
+awkward about the figure I found His Grace, but otherwise I think that
+I should have passed muster wherever he was known. I have also passed as
+Sir William Laureston, on the evening when my rival artist here sang the
+praises of Imperial England.”
+
+Andrea Korust leaned forward with venomous eyes.
+
+“You mean that it was you who was here last night in Sir William
+Laureston’s place?” he almost shrieked.
+
+“Most certainly,” Peter admitted, “but you must remember that, after
+all, my performances have been no more difficult than those of your
+shy but accomplished brother. Whenever I took to myself a strange
+personality I found him there, equally good as to detail, and with his
+subject always at his finger tips. We settled that little matter of the
+canal, didn’t we?” Peter remarked, cheerfully, laying his hand upon the
+shoulder of the young man.
+
+They stared at him, those two white-faced brothers, like tiger-cats
+about to spring. Mr. Von Tassen was getting impatient.
+
+“Look here,” he protested, “you may be clearing matters up so far as
+regards Mr. Andrea Korust and his brother, but I’m as much in the fog as
+ever. Where do I come in?”
+
+“Your pardon, sir,” Peter replied. “I am getting nearer things now.
+These two young men--we will not call them hard names--are suffering
+from an excess of patriotic zeal. They didn’t come and sit down on
+a camp stool and sketch obsolete forts, as those others of their
+countrymen do when they want to pose as the bland and really exceedingly
+ignorant foreigner. They went about the matter with some skill. It
+occurred to them that it might be interesting to their country to know
+what Sir William Laureston thought about the strength of the Imperial
+Navy, and to what extent his country was willing to go in maintaining
+their allegiance to Great Britain. Then there was the Duke of Rosshire.
+They thought they’d like to know his views as to the development of the
+Navy during the next ten years. There was that little matter, too, of
+the French guns. It would certainly be interesting to them to know what
+Monsieur le Marquis de Beau Kunel had to say about them. These people
+were all invited to sit at the hospitable board of our host here. I,
+however, had an inkling on the first night of what was going on, and
+I was easily able to persuade those in authority to let me play their
+several parts. You, sir,” Peter added, turning to Mr. Von Tassen, “you,
+sir, floored me. You were not an Englishman, and there was no appeal
+which I could make. I simply had to risk you. I counted upon your not
+turning up. Unfortunately, you did. Fortunately, you are the last guest.
+This is the seventh supper.”
+
+Mr. Von Tassen glanced around at the three men and made up his mind.
+
+“What do you call yourself?” he asked Peter.
+
+“The Baron de Grost,” Peter replied.
+
+“Then, my friend the Baron de Grost,” Von Tassen said, “I think that you
+and I had better get out of this. So I was to talk about Germany with
+Mr. Van Jool, eh?”
+
+“I have already explained your views,” Peter declared, with twinkling
+eyes. “Mr. Van Jool was delighted.”
+
+Mr. Von Tassen shook with laughter.
+
+“Say,” he exclaimed, “this is a great story! If you’re ready, Baron de
+Grost, lead the way to where we can get a whiskey and soda and a chat.”
+
+Mademoiselle Celaire came gliding out to them.
+
+“I am not going to be left here,” she whispered, taking Peter’s arm.
+
+Peter looked back from the door.
+
+“At any rate, Mr. Andrea Korust,” he said, “your first supper was a
+success. Colonel Mayson was genuine. Our real English military aeronaut
+was here, and he has disclosed to you, Maurice Korust, all that he ever
+knew. Henceforth, I presume your great country will dispute with us for
+the mastery of the air.
+
+“Queer country, this!” Mr. Von Tassen remarked, pausing on the step to
+light a cigar. “Seems kind of humdrum after New York, but there’s no use
+talking. Things do happen over here, anyway!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. MAJOR KOSUTH’S MISSION
+
+
+His host, very fussy as he always was on the morning of his big shoot,
+came bustling towards Peter, Baron de Grost, with a piece of paper in
+his hand. The party of men had just descended from a large brake and
+were standing about on the edge of the common, examining cartridges,
+smoking a last cigarette before the business of the morning, and
+chatting together over the prospects of the day’s sport. In the
+distance, a cloud of dust indicated the approach of a fast traveling
+motor-car.
+
+“My dear Baron,” Sir William Bounderby said, “I want you to change your
+stand to-day. I must have a good man at the far corner as the birds
+go off my hand from there, and Addington was missing them shockingly
+yesterday. Besides, there is a new man coming on your left and I know
+nothing of his shooting--nothing at all!”
+
+Peter smiled.
+
+“Anywhere you choose to put me, Sir William,” he assented. “They came
+badly for Addington yesterday, and well for me. However, I’ll do my
+best.”
+
+“I wish people wouldn’t bring strangers, especially to the one
+shoot where I’m keen about the bag. I told Portal he could bring his
+brother-in-law, and he’s bringing this foreign fellow instead. Don’t
+suppose he can shoot for nuts! Did you ever hear of him, I wonder? The
+Count von Hern, he calls himself.”
+
+The motor-car had come to a standstill by this time. From it descended
+Mr. Portal himself, a large neighboring land owner, a man of culture
+and travel. With him was Bernadine, in a very correct shooting suit and
+Tyrolese hat. On the other side of Mr. Portal was a short, thick
+set man, with olive complexion, keen black eyes, black mustache and
+imperial, who was dressed in city clothes. Sir William’s eyebrows were
+slightly raised as he advanced to greet the party. Peter was at once
+profoundly interested.
+
+Mr. Portal introduced his guests.
+
+“You will forgive me, I am sure, for bringing a spectator, Bounderby,”
+ he said. “Major Kosuth, whom I have the honor to present--Major Kosuth,
+Sir William Bounderby--is high up in the diplomatic service of a country
+with whom we must feel every sympathy--the young Turks. The Count von
+Hern, who takes my brother-in-law’s place, is probably known to you by
+name.”
+
+Sir William welcomed his visitors cordially.
+
+“You do not shoot, Major Kosuth?” he asked.
+
+“Very seldom,” the Turk answered. “I come to-day with my good friend,
+Count von Hern, as a spectator, if you permit.”
+
+“Delighted,” Sir William replied. “We will find you a safe place near
+your friend.”
+
+The little party began to move toward the wood. It was just at this
+moment that Bernadine felt a touch upon his shoulder, and, turning
+around, found Peter by his side.
+
+“An unexpected pleasure, my dear Count,” the latter declared, suavely.
+“I had no idea that you took interest in such simple sports.”
+
+The manners of Count von Hern were universally quoted as being almost
+too perfect. It is a regrettable fact, however, that at that moment he
+swore--softly, perhaps, but with distinct vehemence. A moment later he
+was exchanging the most cordial of greetings with his old friend.
+
+“You have the knack, my dear De Grost,” he remarked, “of turning up in
+the most surprising places. I certainly did not know that among your
+many accomplishments was included a love for field sports.”
+
+Peter smiled quietly. He was a very fine shot, and knew it.
+
+“One must amuse oneself these days,” he said. “There is little else to
+do.”
+
+Bernadine bit his lip.
+
+“My absence from this country, I fear, has robbed you of an occupation.”
+
+“It has certainly deprived life of some of its savor,” Peter admitted,
+blandly. “By the bye, will you not present me to your friend? I have
+the utmost sympathy with the intrepid political party of which he is a
+member.”
+
+Von Hern performed the introduction with a reluctance which he wholly
+failed to conceal. The Turk, however, had been walking on his other
+side, and his hat was already lifted. Peter had purposely raised his
+voice.
+
+“It gives me the greatest pleasure, Major Kosuth,” Peter said, “to
+welcome you to this country. In common, I believe, with the majority
+of my country people, I have the utmost respect and admiration for the
+movement which you represent.”
+
+Major Kosuth smiled slowly. His features were heavy and unexpressive.
+There was something of gloom, however, in the manner of his response.
+
+“You are very kind, Baron,” he replied, “and I welcome very much this
+expression of your interest in my party. I believe that the hearts of
+your country people are turned towards us in the same manner. I could
+wish that your country’s political sympathies were as easily aroused.”
+
+Bernadine intervened promptly.
+
+“Major Kosuth has been here only one day,” he remarked, lightly. “I tell
+him that he is a little too impatient. See, we are approaching the wood.
+It is as well here to refrain from conversation.”
+
+“We will resume it later,” Peter said, softly. “I have interests in
+Turkey, and it would give me great pleasure to have a talk with Major
+Kosuth.”
+
+“Financial interests?” the latter inquired, with some eagerness.
+
+Peter nodded.
+
+“I will explain after the first drive,” he said, turning away.
+
+Peter walked rather quickly until he reached a bend in the wood, and
+overtaking his host, paused for a moment.
+
+“Lend me a loader for half an hour, Sir William,” he begged. “I have to
+send my servant to the village with a telegram.”
+
+“With pleasure!” Sir William answered. “There are several to spare.
+I’ll send one to your stand. There’s Von Hern going the wrong way!” he
+exclaimed, in a tone of annoyance.
+
+Peter was just in time to stop the whistle from going to his mouth.
+
+“Do me another favor, Sir William,” he pleaded. “Give me time to send
+off my telegram before the Count sees what I’m doing. He’s such an
+inquisitive person,” he went on, noticing his host’s look of blank
+surprise. “Thank you ever so much.”
+
+Peter hurried on to his place. It was round the corner of the wood and
+for the moment out of sight of the rest of the party. He tore a
+sheet from his pocket-book and scribbled out a telegram. His man had
+disappeared and a substitute taken his place by the time von Hern
+arrived. The latter was now all amiability. It was hard to believe, from
+his smiling salutation, that he and the man to whom he waved his hand in
+so airy a fashion had ever declared war to the death!
+
+The shooting began a few minutes later. Major Kosuth, from a campstool a
+few yards behind his friend, watched with somewhat languid interest. He
+gave one, indeed, the impression that his thoughts were far removed from
+this simple country party, the main object of whose existence for the
+present seemed to be the slaying of a certain number of inoffensive
+birds. He watched the indifferent performance of his friend and the
+remarkably fine shooting of his neighbor on the left, with the same
+lack-luster eye and want of enthusiasm. The beat was scarcely over
+before Peter, resigning his smoking guns, lit a cigarette and strolled
+across to the next stand. He plunged at once into a conversation with
+Kosuth, notwithstanding Bernadine’s ill-concealed annoyance.
+
+“Major Kosuth,” he began, “I sympathize with you. It is a hard task for
+a man whose mind is centered upon great events, to sit still and watch
+a performance of this sort. Be kind to us all and remember that this
+represents to us merely a few hours of relaxation. We, too, have our
+more serious moments.”
+
+“You read my thoughts well,” Major Kosuth declared. “I do not seek to
+excuse them. For half a life-time we Turks have toiled and striven,
+always in danger of our lives, to help forward those things which
+have now come to pass. I think that our lives have become tinged with
+somberness and apprehension. Now that the first step is achieved, we go
+forward, still with trepidation. We need friends, Baron de Grost.”
+
+“You cannot seriously doubt but that you will find them in this
+country,” Peter remarked. “There has never been a time when the English
+nation has not sympathized with the cause of liberty.”
+
+“It is not the hearts of your people,” Major Kosuth said, “which I fear.
+It is the antics of your politicians. Sympathy is a great thing, and
+good to have, but Turkey to-day needs more. The heart of a nation is
+big, but the number of those in whose hands it remains to give practical
+expression to its promptings, is few.”
+
+Bernadine, who had stood as much as he could, seized forcibly upon his
+friend.
+
+“You must remember our bargain, Kosuth,” he insisted, “no politics
+to-day. Until to-morrow evening we rest. Now I want to introduce you to
+a very old friend of mine--the Lord-Lieutenant of the county.”
+
+No man was better informed in current political affairs, but Peter,
+instead of joining the cheerful afternoon tea party at the close of
+the day, raked out a file of the Times from the library, and studied it
+carefully in his room. There were one or two items of news concerning
+which he made pencil notes. He had scarcely finished his task before
+a servant brought in a dispatch. He opened it with interest and drew
+pencil and paper towards him. It was from Paris, and in the code which
+he had learned by heart, no written key of which existed. Carefully he
+transposed it on to paper and read it through. It was dated from Paris a
+few hours back.
+
+Kosuth left for England yesterday. Envoy from new Turkish Government.
+Requiring loan one million pounds. Asked for guarantee that it was
+not for warlike movement against Bulgaria, declined to give same.
+Communicated with English Ambassador and informed Kosuth yesterday that
+neither government would sanction loan unless undertaking were given
+that the same was not to be applied for war against Bulgaria. Turkey
+is under covenant to enter into no financial obligations with any other
+Power while the interest of former loans remains in abeyance. Kosuth
+has made two efforts to obtain loan privately, from prominent English
+financier and French Syndicate. Both have declined to treat on
+representations from government. Kosuth was expected return direct to
+Turkey. If, as you say, he is in England with Bernadine, we commend the
+affair to your utmost vigilance. Germany exceedingly anxious enter into
+close relations with new government of Turkey. Fear Kosuth’s association
+with Bernadine proof of bad faith. Have had interview with Minister for
+foreign affairs, who relies upon our help. French Secret Service at your
+disposal, if necessary.
+
+Peter read the message three times with the greatest care. He was on the
+point of destroying it when Violet came into the room. She was wearing
+a long tea jacket of sheeny silk. Her beautiful hair was most becomingly
+arranged, her figure as light and girlish as ever. She came into the
+room humming gayly and swinging a gold purse upon her finger.
+
+“Won three rubbers out of four, Peter,” she declared, “and a compliment
+from the Duchess. Am I a pupil to be proud of?”
+
+She stopped short. Her lips formed themselves into the shape of a
+whistle. She knew very well the signs. Her husband’s eyes were kindling,
+there was a firm set about his lips, the palm of his hand lay flat upon
+that sheet of paper.
+
+“It was true?” she murmured. “It was Bernadine who was shooting to-day?”
+
+Peter nodded.
+
+“He was on the next stand,” he replied.
+
+“Then there is something doing, of course,” Violet continued. “My dear
+Peter, you may be an enigma to other people. To me you have the most
+expressive countenance I ever saw. You have had a cable which you have
+just transcribed. If I had been a few minutes later, I think you would
+have torn up the result. As it is, I think I have come just in time to
+hear all about it.”
+
+Peter smiled, grimly but fondly. He uncovered the sheet of paper and
+placed it in her hands.
+
+“So far,” he said, “there isn’t much to tell you. Von Hern turned up
+this morning with a Major Kosuth, who was one of the leaders of the
+revolution in Turkey. I wired Paris and this is the reply.”
+
+She read the message through thoughtfully and handed it back. Peter lit
+a match, and standing over the fireplace calmly destroyed it.
+
+“A million pounds is not a great sum of money,” Violet remarked. “Why
+could not Kosuth borrow it for his country from a private individual?”
+
+“A million pounds is not a large sum to talk about,” Peter replied, “but
+it is an exceedingly large sum for any one, even a multi-millionaire,
+to handle in cash. And Turkey, I gather, wants it at once. Besides,
+considerations which might be a security from a government, are no
+security at all as applied to a private individual.”
+
+She nodded.
+
+“Do you think that Kosuth means to go behind the existing treaty and
+borrow from Germany?”
+
+Peter shook his head.
+
+“I can’t quite believe that,” he said. “It would mean the straining of
+diplomatic relations with both countries. It is out of the question.”
+
+“Then where does Bernadine come in?”
+
+“I do not know,” Peter answered.
+
+Violet laughed.
+
+“What is it that you are going to try and find out?” she asked.
+
+“I am trying to discover who it is that Bernadine and Kosuth are waiting
+to see,” Peter replied. “The worst of it is, I daren’t leave here. I
+shall have to trust to the others.”
+
+She glanced at the clock.
+
+“Well, go and dress,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ve a little of your blood
+in me, after all. Life seems more stirring when Bernadine is on the
+scene.”
+
+
+The shooting party broke up two days later and Peter and his wife
+returned at once to town. The former found the reports which were
+awaiting his arrival disappointing. Bernadine and his guest were not in
+London, or if they were they had carefully avoided all the usual haunts.
+Peter read his reports over again, smoked a very long cigar alone in
+his study, and finally drove down to the city and called upon his
+stockbroker, who was also a personal friend. Things were flat in the
+city, and the latter was glad enough to welcome an important client. He
+began talking the usual market shop until his visitor stopped him.
+
+“I have come to you, Edwardes, more for information than anything,”
+ Peter declared, “although it may mean that I shall need to sell a lot of
+stock. Can you tell me of any private financier who could raise a loan
+of a million pounds in cash within the course of a week?”
+
+The stockbroker looked dubious.
+
+“In cash,” he repeated. “Money isn’t raised that way, you know. I doubt
+whether there are many men in the whole city of London who could put up
+such an amount with only a week’s notice.”
+
+“But there must be some one,” Peter persisted. “Think! It would probably
+be a firm or a man not obtrusively English. I don’t think the Jews would
+touch it, and a German citizen would be impossible.”
+
+“Semi-political, eh?”
+
+Peter nodded.
+
+“It is rather that way,” he admitted.
+
+“Would your friend Count von Hern be likely to be concerned in it?”
+
+“Why?” Peter asked, with immovable face.
+
+“Nothing, only I saw him coming out of Heseltine-Wrigge’s office the
+other day,” the stockbroker remarked, carelessly.
+
+“And who is Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge?”
+
+“A very wealthy American financier,” the stockbroker replied, “not at
+all an unlikely person for a loan of the sort you mention.”
+
+“American citizen?” Peter inquired.
+
+“Without a doubt. Of German descent, I should say, but nothing much left
+of it in his appearance. He settled over here in a huff because New York
+society wouldn’t receive his wife.”
+
+“I remember all about it,” Peter declared. “She was a chorus girl,
+wasn’t she? Nothing particular against her, but the fellow had no tact.
+Do you know him, Edwardes?”
+
+“Slightly,” the stockbroker answered.
+
+“Give me a letter to him,” Peter said. “Give my credit as good a leg as
+you can. I shall probably go as a borrower.”
+
+Mr. Edwardes wrote a few lines and handed them to his client.
+
+“Office is nearly opposite,” he remarked. “Wish you luck, whatever your
+scheme is.”
+
+Peter crossed the street and entered the building which his friend had
+pointed out. He ascended in the lift to the third floor, knocked at the
+door which bore Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge’s name, and almost ran into the
+arms of a charmingly dressed little lady, who was being shown out by a
+broad-shouldered, typical American. Peter hastened to apologize.
+
+“I beg your pardon,” he said, raising his hat. “I was rather in a hurry
+and I quite thought I heard some one say ‘Come in.’”
+
+The lady replied pleasantly. Her companion, who was carrying his hat in
+his hand, paused reluctantly.
+
+“Did you want to see me?” he asked.
+
+“If you are Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge, I did,” Peter admitted. “I am the
+Baron de Grost, and I have a letter of introduction to you from Mr.
+Edwardes.”
+
+Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge tore open the envelope and glanced through the
+contents of the note. Peter, meanwhile, looked at his wife with genuine
+but respectfully cloaked admiration. The lady obviously returned his
+interest.
+
+“Why, if you’re the Baron de Grost,” she exclaimed, “didn’t you marry Vi
+Brown? She used to be at the Gaiety with me, years ago.”
+
+“I certainly did marry Violet Brown,” Peter confessed, “and, if you will
+allow me to say so, Mrs. Heseltine-Wrigge, I should have recognized you
+anywhere from your photographs.”
+
+“Say, isn’t that queer?” the little lady remarked, turning to her
+husband. “I should love to see Vi again.”
+
+“If you will give me your address,” Peter declared, promptly, “my wife
+will be delighted to call upon you.”
+
+The man looked up from the note.
+
+“Do you want to talk business with me, Baron?” he asked.
+
+“For a few moments only,” Peter answered. “I am afraid I am a great
+nuisance, and if you wish it I will come down to the city again.”
+
+“That’s all right,” Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge replied. “Myra won’t mind
+waiting a minute or two. Come through here.”
+
+He turned and led the way into a quiet-looking suite of offices, where
+one or two clerks were engaged writing at open desks. They all three
+passed into an inner room.
+
+“Any objections to my wife coming in?” Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge asked.
+“there’s scarcely any place for her out there.”
+
+“Delighted,” Peter answered.
+
+She glanced at the clock.
+
+“Remember we have to meet the Count von Hern at half past one at
+Prince’s, Charles,” she reminded him.
+
+Her husband nodded. There was nothing in Peter’s expression to denote
+that he had already achieved the first object of his visit!
+
+“I shall not detain you,” he said. “Your name has been mentioned to me,
+Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge, as a financier likely to have a large sum of
+money at his disposal. I have a scheme which needs money. Providing the
+security is unexceptionable, are you in a position to do a deal?”
+
+“How much do you want?” Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge asked.
+
+“A million to a million and a half,” Peter answered.
+
+“Dollars?
+
+“Pounds.”
+
+It was not Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge’s pose to appear surprised.
+Nevertheless, his eyebrows were slightly raised.
+
+“Say, what is this scheme?” he inquired.
+
+“First of all,” Peter replied, “I should like to know whether there’s
+any chance of business if I disclose it.”
+
+“Not an atom,” Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge declared. “I have just committed
+myself to the biggest financial transaction of my life and it will clean
+me out.”
+
+“Then I won’t waste your time,” Peter announced, rising.
+
+“Sit down for a moment,” Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge invited, biting the end
+off a cigar and passing the box toward Peter. “That’s all right. My
+wife doesn’t mind. Say, it strikes me as rather a curious thing that
+you should come in here and talk about a million and a half, when that’s
+just the amount concerned in my other little deal.”
+
+Peter smiled.
+
+“As a matter of fact, it isn’t at all queer,” he answered. “I don’t want
+the money. I came to see whether you were really interested in the other
+affair--the Turkish loan, you know.”
+
+Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge withdrew his cigar from his mouth and looked
+steadily at his visitor.
+
+“Say, Baron,” he declared, “you’ve got a nerve!”
+
+“Not at all,” Peter replied. “I’m here as much in your interests as my
+own.”
+
+“Whom do you represent, anyway?” Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge inquired.
+
+“A company you have never heard of,” Peter replied. “Our offices are in
+the underground places of the world, and we don’t run to brass plates. I
+am here because I am curious about that loan. Turkey hasn’t a shadow of
+security to offer you. Everything which she can pledge is pledged, to
+guarantee the interest on existing loans to France and England. She
+is prevented by treaty from borrowing in Germany. If you make a loan
+without security, Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge, I suppose you understand your
+position. The loan may be repudiated at any moment.”
+
+“Kind of a philanthropist, aren’t you, Baron?” Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge
+remarked quietly.
+
+“Not in the least,” Peter assured him. “I know there is some tricky work
+going on and I haven’t brains enough to get to the bottom of it. That’s
+why I’ve come blundering in to you, and why I suppose you’ll be telling
+the whole story to the Count von Hern at luncheon in an hour’s time.”
+
+Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge smoked in silence for a moment or two.
+
+“This transaction of mine,” he said at last, “Isn’t one I can talk
+about. I guess I’m on to what you want to know, but I simply can’t tell
+you. The security is unusual, but it’s good enough for me.”
+
+“It seems so to you, beyond a doubt,” Peter replied. “Still, you have
+to do with a remarkably clever young man in the Count von Hern. I don’t
+want to ask you any questions you feel I ought not to, but I do wish
+you’d tell me one thing.”
+
+“Go right ahead,” Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge invited. “Don’t be shy.”
+
+“What day are you concluding this affair?”
+
+Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge scratched his chin for a moment thoughtfully and
+glanced at his diary. “Well, I’ll risk that,” he decided. “A week to-day
+I hand over the coin.”
+
+Peter drew a little breath of relief. A week was an immense time! He
+rose to his feet.
+
+“That ends our business, then, for the present,” he said. “Now I am
+going to ask both of you a favor. Perhaps I have no right to, but as a
+man of honor, Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge, you can take it from me that I ask
+it in your interests as well as my own. Don’t tell the Count von Hern of
+my visit to you.”
+
+Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge held out his hand.
+
+“That’s all right,” he declared. “You hear, Myra?”
+
+“I’ll be dumb, Baron,” she promised. “Say, when do you think Vi can come
+and see me?”
+
+Peter was guilty of snobbery. He considered it quite a justifiable
+weapon.
+
+“She is at Windsor this afternoon,” he remarked.
+
+“What, at the Garden-Party?” Mrs. Heseltine-Wrigge almost shrieked.
+
+Peter nodded.
+
+“I believe there’s some fete or other to-morrow,” he said, “but we’re
+alone this evening. Why won’t you dine with us, say at the Carlton?”
+
+“We’d love to,” the lady assented, promptly.
+
+“At eight o’clock,” Peter said, taking his leave.
+
+The dinner party was a great success. Mrs. Heseltine-Wrigge found
+herself among the class of people with whom it was her earnest desire
+to become acquainted, and her husband was well satisfied to see her keen
+longing for society likely to be gratified. The subject of Peter’s call
+at the office in the city was studiously ignored. It was not until the
+very end of the evening, indeed, that the host of this very agreeable
+party was rewarded by a single hint. It all came about in the most
+natural manner. They were speaking of foreign capitals.
+
+“I love Paris,” Mrs. Heseltine-Wrigge told her host. “Just adore it.
+Charles is often there on business and I always go along.”
+
+Peter smiled. There was just a chance here.
+
+“Your husband does not often have to leave London though,” he remarked,
+carelessly.
+
+She nodded.
+
+“Not often enough,” she declared. “I just love getting about. Last week
+we had a perfectly horrible trip, though. We started off for Belfast
+quite unexpectedly, and I hated every minute of it.”
+
+Peter smiled inwardly, but he said never a word. His companion was
+already chattering on about something else. Peter crossed the hall a few
+minutes later, to speak to an acquaintance, slipped out to the telephone
+booth and spoke to his servant.
+
+“A bag and a change,” he ordered, “at Euston Station at twelve o’clock,
+in time for the Irish mail. Your mistress will be home as usual.”
+
+An hour later the dinner party broke up. Early the next morning, Peter
+crossed the Irish Channel. He returned the following day and crossed
+again within a few hours. In five days the affair was finished, except
+for the denouement.
+
+Peter ascended in the lift to Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge’s office the
+following Thursday, calm and unruffled as usual, but nevertheless a
+little exultant. It was barely half an hour since he had become finally
+prepared for this interview. He was looking forward to it now with
+feelings of undiluted satisfaction. Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge was in, he was
+told, and he was at once admitted to his presence. The financier greeted
+him with a somewhat curious smile.
+
+“Say, this is very nice of you to look me up again!” he exclaimed.
+“Still worrying about that loan, eh?”
+
+Peter shook his head.
+
+“No, I’m not worrying about that any more,” he answered, accepting one
+of his host’s cigars. “The fact of it is that if it were not for me, you
+would be the one who would have to do the worrying.”
+
+Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge stopped short in the act of lighting his cigar.
+
+“I’m not quite on,” he remarked. “What’s the trouble?”
+
+“There is no trouble, fortunately,” Peter replied. “Only a little
+disappointment for our friends the Count von Hern and Major Kosuth. I
+have brought you some information which I think will put an end to that
+affair of the loan.”
+
+Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge sat quite still for a moment. He brows were
+knitted, he showed no signs of nervousness.
+
+“Go right on,” he said.
+
+“The security upon which you were going to advance a million and a
+half to the Turkish Government,” Peter continued, “consisted of two
+Dreadnoughts and a cruiser, being built to the order of that country by
+Messrs. Shepherd & Hargreaves at Belfast.”
+
+“Quite right,” Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge admitted, quietly. “I have been up
+and seen the boats. I have seen the shipbuilders, too.”
+
+“Did you happen to mention to the latter,” Peter inquired, “that you
+were advancing money upon those vessels?”
+
+“Certainly not,” Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge replied. “Kosuth wouldn’t hear of
+such a thing. If the papers got wind of it, there’d be the devil to pay.
+All the same, I have got an assignment from the Turkish Government.”
+
+“Not worth the paper it’s written on,” Peter declared, blandly.
+
+Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge rose unsteadily to his feet. He was a strong,
+silent man, but there was a queer look about his mouth.
+
+“What the devil do you mean?” he demanded.
+
+“Briefly, this,” Peter explained. “The first payment, when these ships
+were laid down, was made not by Turkey but by an emissary of the German
+Government, who arranged the whole affair in Constantinople. The second
+payment was due ten months ago, and not a penny has been paid. Notice
+was given to the late government twice and absolutely ignored. According
+to the charter, therefore, these ships reverted to the shipbuilding
+companies who retained possession of the first payment as indemnity
+against loss. The Count von Hern’s position was this. He represents the
+German Government. You were to find a million and a half of money with
+the ships as security. You also have a contract from the Count von Hern
+to take those ships off your hands provided the interest on the loan
+became overdue, a state of affairs which I can assure you would have
+happened within the next twelve months. Practically, therefore, you were
+made use of as an independent financier to provide the money with
+which the Turkish Government, broadly speaking, have sold the ships to
+Germany. You see, according to the charter of the shipbuilding company,
+these vessels cannot be sold to any foreign government without the
+consent of Downing Street. That is the reason why the affair had to be
+conducted in such a roundabout manner.”
+
+“All this is beyond me,” Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge said, hoarsely. “I don’t
+care a d-n who has the ships in the end so long as I get my money!”
+
+“But you would not get your money,” Peter pointed out, “because there
+will be no ships. I have had the shrewdest lawyers in the world at
+work upon the charter, and there is not the slightest doubt that these
+vessels are, or rather were, the entire property of Messrs. Shepherd &
+Hargreaves. To-day they belong to me. I have bought them and paid two
+hundred thousand pounds deposit. I can show you the receipt and all the
+papers.”
+
+Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge, said only one word, but that word was profane.
+
+“I am sorry, of course, that you have lost the business,” Peter
+concluded, “but surely it’s better than losing your money?”
+
+Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge struck the table fiercely with his fist. There was
+a gray and unfamiliar look about his face.
+
+“D-n it, the money’s gone!” he declared, hoarsely. “They changed the
+day. Kosuth had to go back. I paid it twenty-four hours ago.”
+
+Peter whistled softly.
+
+“If only you had trusted me a little more!” he murmured. “I tried to
+warn you.”
+
+Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge snatched up his hat.
+
+“They don’t leave till the two-twenty,” he shouted. “We’ll catch them at
+the Milan. If we don’t, I’m ruined! By God, I’m ruined!”
+
+They found Major Kosuth in the hall of the hotel. He was wearing a fur
+coat and was otherwise attired for traveling. His luggage was already
+being piled upon a cab. Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge wasted no words upon him.
+
+“You and I have got to have a talk, right here and now,” he declared.
+“Where’s the Count?”
+
+Major Kosuth frowned gloomily.
+
+“I do not understand you,” he said, shortly. “Our business is concluded
+and I am leaving by the two-twenty train.”
+
+“You are doing nothing of the sort,” the American answered, standing
+before him, grim and threatening.
+
+The Turk showed no sign of terror. He gripped his silver-headed cane
+firmly.
+
+“I think,” he said, “that there is no one here who will prevent me.”
+
+Peter, who saw a fracas imminent, hastily intervened. “If you will
+permit me for a moment,” he said, “there is a little explanation I
+should perhaps make to Major Kosuth.”
+
+The Turk took a step towards the door.
+
+“I have no time to listen to explanations from you or any one,” he
+replied. “My cab is waiting. I depart. If Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge is not
+satisfied with our transaction, I am sorry, but it is too late to alter
+anything.”
+
+For a moment it seemed as though a struggle between the two men was
+inevitable. Already people were glancing at them curiously, for Mr.
+Heseltine-Wrigge came of a primitive school, and he had no intention
+whatever of letting his man escape. Fortunately, at that moment Count
+von Hern came up and Peter at once appealed to him.
+
+“Count,” he said, “may I beg for your good offices? My friend, Mr.
+Heseltine-Wrigge here, is determined to have a few words with Major
+Kosuth before he leaves. Surely this is not an unreasonable request
+when you consider the magnitude of the transaction which has taken place
+between them! Let me beg of you to persuade Major Kosuth to give us
+ten minutes. There is plenty of time for the train, and this is not the
+place for a brawl.”
+
+“It will not take us long, Kosuth, to hear what our friend has to say,”
+ he remarked. “We shall be quite quiet in the smoking-room. Let us go in
+there and dispose of the affair.”
+
+The Turk turned unwillingly in the direction indicated. All four
+men passed through the cafe, up some stairs, and into the small
+smoking-room. The room was deserted. Peter led the way to the far
+corner, and standing with his elbow leaning upon the mantelpiece,
+addressed them.
+
+“The position is this,” he said. “Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge has parted with
+a million and a half of his own money, a loan to the Turkish Government,
+on security which is not worth a snap of the fingers.”
+
+“It is a lie!” Major Kosuth exclaimed.
+
+“My dear Baron, you are woefully misinformed,” the Count declared.
+
+Peter shook his head slowly.
+
+“No,” he said, “I am not misinformed. My friend here has parted with the
+money on the security of two battleships and a cruiser, now building in
+Shepherd & Hargreaves’ yard at Belfast. The two battleships and cruiser
+in question belong to me. I have paid two hundred thousand pounds on
+account of them, and hold the shipbuilder’s receipt.”
+
+“You are mad!” Bernadine cried, contemptuously.
+
+Peter shook his head and continued.
+
+“The battleships were laid down for the Turkish Government, and the
+money with which to start them was supplied by the Secret Service of
+Germany. The second installment was due ten months ago and has not been
+paid. The time of grace provided for has expired. The shipbuilders, in
+accordance with their charter, were consequently at liberty to dispose
+of the vessels as they thought fit. On the statement of the whole of the
+facts to the head of the firm, he has parted with these ships to me. I
+need not say that I have a purchaser within a mile from here. It is a
+fancy of mine, Count von Hern, that those ships will sail better under
+the British flag.”
+
+There was a moment’s tense silence. The face of the Turk was black with
+anger. Bernadine was trembling with rage.
+
+“This is a tissue of lies!” he exclaimed.
+
+Peter shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“The facts are easy enough for you to prove,” he said, “and I have
+here,” he added, producing a roll of papers, “copies of the various
+documents for your inspection. Your scheme, of course, was simple
+enough. It fell through for this one reason only. A final notice,
+pressing for the second installment and stating the days of grace,
+was forwarded to Constantinople about the time of the recent political
+troubles. The late government ignored it. In fairness to Major Kosuth,
+we will believe that the present government was ignorant of it. But the
+fact remains that Messrs. Shepherd & Hargreaves became at liberty to
+sell those vessels, and that I have bought them. You will have to give
+up that money, Major Kosuth.”
+
+“By God, he shall!” the American muttered.
+
+Bernadine leaned a little towards his enemy.
+
+“You must give us a minute or two,” he insisted. “We shall not go away,
+I promise you. Within five minutes you shall hear our decision.”
+
+Peter sat down at the writing-table and commenced a letter. Mr.
+Heseltine-Wrigge mounted guard over the door and stood there, a grim
+figure of impatience. Before the five minutes was up, Bernadine crossed
+the room.
+
+“I congratulate you, Baron,” he said, dryly. “You are either an
+exceedingly lucky person or you are more of a genius than I believe.
+Kosuth is even now returning his letters of credit to your friend. You
+are quite right. The loan cannot stand.”
+
+“I was sure,” Peter answered, “that you would see the matter correctly.”
+
+“You and I,” Bernadine continued, “know very well that I don’t care a
+fig about Turkey, new or old. The ships I will admit that I intended to
+have for my own country. As it is, I wish you joy of them. Before they
+are completed, we may be fighting in the air.”
+
+Peter smiled, and, side by side with Bernadine, strolled across to
+Heseltine-Wrigge, who was buttoning up a pocket-book with trembling
+fingers.
+
+“Personally,” Peter said, “I believe that the days of wars are over.”
+
+“That may or may not be,” Bernadine answered. “One thing is very
+certain. Even if the nations remain at peace, there are enmities which
+strike only deeper as the years pass. I am going to take a drink now
+with my disappointed friend Kosuth. If I raise my glass ‘To the Day!’
+you will understand.”
+
+Peter smiled.
+
+“My friend Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge and I are for the same destination,”
+ he replied, pushing open the swing door which led to the bar. “I return
+your good wishes, Count. I, too, drink ‘To the Day!’”
+
+Bernadine and Kosuth left, a few minutes afterwards. Mr.
+Heseltine-Wrigge, who was feeling himself again, watched them depart
+with ill-concealed triumph.
+
+“Say, you had those fellows on toast, Baron,” he declared, admiringly.
+“I couldn’t follow the whole affair, but I can see that you’re in for
+big things sometimes. Remember this. If money counts at any time, I’m
+with you.”
+
+Peter clasped his hand.
+
+“Money always counts,” he said, “and friends!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. THE MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN
+
+
+Peter, Baron de Grost, glanced at the card which his butler had brought
+in to him, carelessly at first, afterwards with that curious rigidity of
+attention which usually denotes the setting free of a flood of memories.
+
+“The gentleman would like to see you, sir,” the man announced.
+
+“You can show him in at once,” Peter replied. The servant withdrew.
+Peter, during those few minutes of waiting, stood with his back to
+the room and his face to the window, looking out across the square, in
+reality seeing nothing, completely immersed in this strange flood of
+memories. John Dory--Sir John Dory now--his quondam enemy, and he, had
+met but seldom during these years of their prosperity. The figure of
+this man, who had once loomed so largely in his life, had gradually
+shrunk away into the background. Their avoidance of each other arose,
+perhaps, from a sort of instinct which was certainly no matter of
+ill-will. Still, the fact remained that they had scarcely exchanged a
+word for years, and Peter turned to receive his unexpected guest with a
+curiosity which he did not trouble wholly to conceal.
+
+Sir John Dory--Chief Commissioner now of Scotland Yard, a person of
+weight and importance--had changed a great deal during the last few
+years. His hair had become gray, his walk more dignified. There was the
+briskness, however, of his best days in his carriage and in the flash of
+his brown eyes. He held out his hand to his ancient foe with a smile.
+
+“My dear Baron,” he said, “I hope you are going to say that you are glad
+to see me.”
+
+“Unless,” Peter replied, with a good-humored grimace, “your visit is
+official, I am more than glad--I am charmed. Sit down. I was just going
+to take my morning cigar. You will join me? Good! Now I am ready for the
+worst that can happen.”
+
+The two men seated themselves. John Dory pulled at his cigar
+appreciatively, sniffed its flavor for a moment, and then leaned forward
+in his chair.
+
+“My visit, Baron,” he announced, “is semi-official. I am here to ask you
+a favor.”
+
+“An official favor?” Peter demanded quickly.
+
+His visitor hesitated as though he found the question hard to answer.
+
+“To tell you the truth,” he declared, “this call of mine is wholly an
+inspiration. It does not in any way concern you personally, or your
+position in this country. What that may be I do not know, except that I
+am sure it is above any suspicion.”
+
+“Quite so,” Peter murmured. “How diplomatic you have become, my dear
+friend!”
+
+John Dory smiled.
+
+“Perhaps I am fencing about too much,” he said. “I know, of course, that
+you are a member of a very powerful and wealthy French Society, whose
+object and aims, so far as I know, are entirely harmless.”
+
+“I am delighted to be assured that you recognize that fact,” Peter
+admitted.
+
+“I might add,” John Dory continued, “that this harmlessness--is of
+recent date.”
+
+“Really, you do seem to know a good deal,” Peter confessed.
+
+“I find myself still fencing,” Dory declared. “A matter of habit, I
+suppose. I didn’t mean to when I came. I made up my mind to tell you
+simply that Guillot was in London, and to ask you if you could help me
+to get rid of him.”
+
+Peter looked thoughtfully into his companion’s face, but he did not
+speak. He understood at such moments the value of silence.
+
+“We speak together,” Dory continued softly, “as men who understand one
+another. Guillot is the one criminal in Europe whom we all fear; not I
+alone, mind you--it is the same in Berlin, in Petersburg, in Vienna.
+He has never been caught. It is my honest belief that he never will be
+caught. At the same time, wherever he arrives the thunder-clouds gather.
+He leaves behind him always a trail of evil deeds.”
+
+“Very well put,” Peter murmured. “Quite picturesque.”
+
+“Can you help me to get rid of him?” Dory inquired. “I have my hands
+full just now, as you can imagine, what with the political crisis and
+these constant mass meetings. I want Guillot out of the country. If you
+can manage this for me, I shall be your eternal debtor.”
+
+“Why do you imagine,” Peter asked, “that I can help you in this matter?”
+
+There was a brief silence. John Dory knocked the ash from his cigar.
+
+“Times have changed,” he said. “The harmlessness of your great Society,
+my dear Baron, is at present admitted. But there were days--”
+
+“Exactly,” Peter interrupted. “As shrewd as ever, I perceive. Do you
+know anything of the object of his coming?”
+
+“Nothing.”
+
+“Anything of his plans?”
+
+“Nothing.”
+
+“You know where he is staying?”
+
+“Naturally,” Dory answered. “He has taken a second-floor flat in
+Crayshaw Mansions, Shaftesbury Avenue. As usual, he is above all petty
+artifices. He has taken it under the name of Monsieur Guillot.”
+
+“I really don’t know whether there is anything I can do,” Peter decided,
+“but I will look into the matter for you, with pleasure. Perhaps I may
+be able to bring a little influence to bear--indirectly, of course. If
+so, it is at your service. Lady Dory is well, I trust?”
+
+“In the best of health,” Sir John replied, accepting the hint and rising
+to his feet. “I shall hear from you soon?”
+
+“Without a doubt,” Peter answered. “I must certainly call upon Monsieur
+Guillot.”
+
+Peter certainly wasted no time in paying his promised visit. That same
+afternoon he rang the bell at the flat in Crayshaw Mansions. A typical
+French butler showed him into the room where the great man sat. Monsieur
+Guillot, slight, elegant, pre-eminently a dandy, was lounging upon a
+sofa, being manicured by a young lady. He threw down his Petit Journal
+and rose to his feet, however, at his visitor’s entrance.
+
+“My dear Baron,” he exclaimed, “but this is charming of you!
+Mademoiselle,” he added, turning to the manicurist, “you will do me the
+favor of retiring for a short time. Permit me.”
+
+He opened the door and showed her out. Then he came back to Peter.
+
+“A visit of courtesy, Monsieur le Baron?” he asked.
+
+“Without a doubt,” Peter replied.
+
+“It is beyond all measure charming of you,” Guillot declared, “but let
+me ask you a little question. Is it peace or war?”
+
+“It is what you choose to make it,” Peter answered.
+
+The man threw out his hands. There was the shadow of a frown upon his
+pale forehead. It was a matter for protest, this.
+
+“Why do you come?” he demanded. “What have we in common? The Society
+has expelled me. Very well, I go my own way. Why not? I am free of your
+control to-day. You have no more right to interfere with my schemes than
+I with yours.”
+
+“We have the ancient right of power,” Peter said, grimly. “You were once
+a prominent member of our organization, the spoilt protege of Madame,
+a splendid maker, if you will, of criminal history. Those days have
+passed. We offered you a pension which you have refused. It is now our
+turn to speak. We require you to leave this city in twenty-four hours.”
+
+The face was livid with anger. He was of the fair type of Frenchman,
+with deep-set eyes, and a straight, cruel mouth only partly concealed
+by his golden mustache. Just now, notwithstanding the veneer of his too
+perfect clothes and civilized air, the beast had leaped out. His face
+was like the face of a snarling animal.
+
+“I refuse!” he cried. “It is I who refuse! I am here on my own affairs.
+What they may be is no business of yours or of any one else’s. That is
+my answer to you, Baron de Grost, whether you come to me for yourself
+or on behalf of the Society to which I no longer belong. That is my
+answer--that and the door,” he added, pressing the bell. “If you will,
+we fight. If you are wise, forget this visit as quickly as you can.”
+
+Peter took up his hat. The man-servant was already in the room.
+
+“We shall probably meet again before your return, Monsieur Guillot,” he
+remarked.
+
+Guillot had recovered himself. His smile was wicked, but his bow
+perfection.
+
+“To the fortunate hour, Monsieur le Baron!” he replied.
+
+Peter drove hack to Berkeley Square, and without a moment’s hesitation
+pressed the levers which set to work the whole underground machinery of
+the great power which he controlled. Thenceforward, Monsieur Guillot was
+surrounded with a vague army of silent watchers. They passed in and out
+of his fiat, their motor cars were as fast as his in the streets, their
+fancy in restaurants identical with his. Guillot moved through it all
+like a man wholly unconscious of espionage, showing nothing of the
+murderous anger which burned in his blood. The reports came to Peter
+every hour, although there was, indeed, nothing worth chronicling.
+Monsieur Guillot’s visit to London would seem, indeed, to be a visit
+of gallantry. He spent most of his time with Mademoiselle Louise, the
+famous dancer. He was prominent at the Empire, to watch her nightly
+performance, they were a noticeable couple supping together at the Milan
+afterwards. Monsieur Guillot was indeed a man of gallantry, but he had
+the reputation of using these affairs to cloak his real purposes. Those
+who watched him, watched only the more closely. Monsieur Guillot, who
+stood it very well at first, unfortunately lost his temper. He drove
+in the great motor car which he had brought with him from Paris, to
+Berkeley Square, and confronted Peter.
+
+“My friend,” he exclaimed, though indeed the glitter in his eyes knew
+nothing of friendship, “it is intolerable, this! Do you think that I
+do not see through these dummy waiters, these obsequious shopmen, these
+ladies who drop their eyes when I pass, these commissionaires,
+these would-be acquaintances? I tell you that they irritate me, this
+incompetent, futile crowd. You pit them against me! Bah! You should know
+better. When I choose to disappear, I shall disappear, and no one will
+follow me. When I strike, I shall strike, and no one will discover what
+my will may be. You are out of date, dear Baron, with your third-rate
+army of stupid spies. You succeed in one thing only--you succeed in
+making me angry.”
+
+“It is at least an achievement, that,” Peter declared.
+
+“Perhaps,” Monsieur Guillot admitted, fiercely. “Yet mark now the
+result. I defy you, you and all of them. Look at your clock. It is five
+minutes to seven. It goes well, that clock, eh?”
+
+“It is the correct time,” Peter said.
+
+“Then by midnight,” Guillot continued, shaking his fist in the other’s
+face, “I shall have done that thing which brought me to England and I
+shall have disappeared. I shall have done it in spite of your watchers,
+in spite of your spies, in spite, even, of you, Monsieur le Baron de
+Grost. There is my challenge. Voila. Take it up if you will. At midnight
+you shall hear me laugh. I have the honor to wish you good-night!”
+
+Peter opened the door with his own hands.
+
+“This is excellent,” he declared. “You are now, indeed, the Monsieur
+Guillot of old. Almost you persuade me to take up your challenge.”
+
+Guillot laughed derisively.
+
+“As you please!” he exclaimed. “By midnight tonight!”
+
+The challenge of Monsieur Guillot was issued precisely at four minutes
+before seven. On his departure, Peter spent the next half-hour studying
+certain notes and sending various telephone messages. Afterwards, he
+changed his clothes at the usual time and sat down to a tete-a-tete
+dinner with his wife. Three times during the course of the meal he
+was summoned to the telephone, and from each call he returned more
+perplexed. Finally, when the servants had left the room, he took his
+chair around to his wife’s side.
+
+“Violet,” he said, “you were asking me just now about the telephone.
+You were quite right. These were not ordinary messages which I have
+been receiving. I am engaged in a little matter which, I must confess,
+perplexes me. I want your advice, perhaps your help.”
+
+“I am quite ready,” she answered, smiling. “It is a long time since you
+gave me anything to do.”
+
+“You have heard of Guillot?”
+
+She reflected for a moment.
+
+“You mean the wonderful Frenchman,” she asked, “the head of the criminal
+department of the Double-Four?”
+
+“The man who was at its head when it existed. The criminal department,
+as you know, has all been done away with. The Double-Four has now no
+more concern with those who break the law, save in those few instances
+where great issues demand it.”
+
+“But Monsieur Guillot still exists?”
+
+“He not only exists,” answered Peter, “but he is here in London, a rebel
+and a defiant one. Do you know who came to see me the other morning?”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“Sir John Dory,” Peter continued. “He came here with a request. He
+begged for my help. Guillot is here, committed to some enterprise which
+no one can wholly fathom. Dory has enough to do with other things, as
+you can imagine, just now. Besides, I think he recognizes that Monsieur
+Guillot is rather a hard nut for the ordinary English detective to
+crack.”
+
+“And you?” she demanded, breathlessly.
+
+“I join forces with Dory,” Peter admitted. “Sogrange agrees with me.
+Guillot was associated with the Double-Four too long for us to have him
+make scandalous history either here or in Paris.”
+
+“You have seen him?”
+
+“I have not only seen him, but declared war against him.”
+
+“And he?”
+
+“Guillot is defiant,” Peter replied. “He has been here only this
+evening. He mocks at me. He swears that he will bring off this
+enterprise, whatever it may be, before midnight to-night, and he has
+defied me to stop him.”
+
+“But you will,” she murmured, softly.
+
+Peter smiled. The conviction in his wife’s tone was a subtle compliment
+which he did not fail to appreciate.
+
+“I have hopes,” he confessed, “and yet, let me tell you this, Violet.
+I have never been more puzzled. Ask yourself, now. What enterprise is
+there worthy of a man like Guillot, in which he could engage himself
+here in London between now and midnight? Any ordinary theft is beneath
+him. The purloining of the crown jewels, perhaps, he might consider, but
+I don’t think that anything less in the way of robbery would bring him
+here. He has his code and he is as vain as a peacock. Yet money is at
+the root of everything he does.”
+
+“How does he spend his time here?” Violet asked.
+
+“He has a handsome flat in Shaftesbury Avenue,” Peter answered, “where
+he lives, to all appearance, the life of an idle man of fashion. The
+whole of his spare time is spent with Mademoiselle Louise, the danseuse
+at the Empire. You see, it is half-past eight now. I have eleven men
+altogether at work, and according to my last report he was dining with
+her in the grill-room at the Milan. They have just ordered their coffee
+ten minutes ago, and the car is waiting outside to take Mademoiselle to
+the Empire. Guillot’s box is engaged there, as usual. If he proposes to
+occupy it, he is leaving himself a very narrow margin of time to carry
+out any enterprise worth speaking of.”
+
+Violet was thoughtful for several moments. Then she crossed the room,
+took up a copy of an illustrated paper, and brought it across to Peter.
+He smiled as he glanced at the picture to which she pointed, and the few
+lines underneath.
+
+“It has struck you, too, then!” he exclaimed. “Good! You have answered
+me exactly as I hoped. Somehow, I scarcely trusted myself. I have both
+cars waiting outside. We may need them. You won’t mind coming to the
+Empire with me?”
+
+“Mind!” she laughed. “I only hope I may be in at the finish.”
+
+“If the finish,” Peter remarked, “is of the nature which I anticipate, I
+shall take particularly good care that you are not.”
+
+The curtain was rising upon the first act of the ballet as they entered
+the most popular music-hall in London and were shown to the box which
+Peter had engaged. The house was full--crowded, in fact, almost to
+excess. They had scarcely taken their seats when a roar of applause
+announced the coming of Mademoiselle Louise. She stood for a moment to
+receive her nightly ovation, a slim, beautiful creature, looking out
+upon the great house with that faint, bewitching smile at the corners of
+her lips, which every photographer in Europe had striven to
+reproduce. Then she moved away to the music, an exquisite figure, the
+personification of all that was alluring in her sex. Violet leaned
+forward to watch her movements as she plunged into the first dance.
+Peter was occupied looking around the house. Monsieur Guillot was there,
+sitting insolently forward in his box, sleek and immaculate. He even
+waved his hand and bowed as he met Peter’s eye. Somehow or other, his
+confidence had its effect. Peter began to feel vaguely troubled. After
+all, his plans were built upon a surmise. It was so easy for him to be
+wrong. No man would show his hand so openly, unless he were sure of the
+game. Then his face cleared a little. In the box adjoining Guillot’s,
+the figure of a solitary man was just visible, a man who had leaned over
+to applaud Louise, but who was now sitting back in the shadows. Peter
+recognized him at once, notwithstanding the obscurity. This was so much
+to the good, at any rate. He took up his hat.
+
+“For a quarter of an hour you will excuse me, Violet,” he said. “Watch
+Guillot. If he leaves his place, knock at the door of your own box, and
+one of my men, who is outside, will come to you at once. He will know
+where to find me.”
+
+Peter hurried away, pausing for a moment in the promenade, to scribble a
+line or two at the back of one of his own cards. Presently he knocked
+at the door of the box adjoining Guillot’s and was instantly admitted.
+Violet continued her watch. She remained alone until the curtain fell
+upon the first act of the ballet. A few minutes later, Peter returned.
+She knew at once that things were going well. He sank into a chair by
+her side.
+
+“I have messages every five minutes,” he whispered in her ear, “and I am
+venturing upon a bold stroke. There is still something about the affair,
+though, which I cannot understand. You are absolutely sure that Guillot
+has not moved?”
+
+Violet pointed with her program across the house. “There he sits,” she
+remarked. “He left his chair as the curtain went down, but he could
+scarcely have gone out of the box, for he was back within ten seconds.”
+
+Peter looked steadily across at the opposite box. Guillot was sitting
+a little further back now, as though he no longer courted observation.
+Something about his attitude puzzled the man who watched him. With a
+sudden quick movement he caught up the glasses which stood by his wife’s
+side. The curtain was going up for the second act, and Guillot had
+turned his head. Peter held the glasses only for a moment to his eyes,
+and then glanced down at the stage.
+
+“My God!” he muttered. “The man’s a genius! Violet, the small motor is
+coming for you.”
+
+He was out of the box in a single step. Violet looked after him,
+looked down upon the stage and across at Guillot’s box. It was hard to
+understand.
+
+The curtain had scarcely rung up upon the second act of the ballet when
+a young lady who met from all the loungers, and even from the doorkeeper
+himself, the most respectful attention, issued from the stage-door at
+the Empire and stepped into the large motor car which was waiting, drawn
+up against the curb. The door was opened from inside and closed at once.
+She held out her hands, as yet ungloved, to the man who sat back in the
+corner.
+
+“At last!” she murmured. “And I thought, indeed, that you had forsaken
+me.”
+
+He took her hands and held them tightly, but he answered only in a
+whisper. He wore a sombre black cloak and a broad-brimmed black hat. A
+muffler concealed the lower part of his face. She put her finger upon
+the electric light, but he stopped her.
+
+“I must not be recognized,” he said thickly. “Forgive me, Louise, if I
+seem strange at first, but there is more in it than I can tell you. No
+one must know that I am in London to-night. When we reach this place to
+which you are taking me, and we are really alone, then we can talk. I
+have so much to say.”
+
+She looked at him doubtfully. It was indeed a moment of indecision with
+her. Then she began to laugh softly.
+
+“Dear one, but you have changed!” she exclaimed, compassionately. “After
+all, why not? I must not forget that things have gone so hardly with
+you. It seems odd, indeed, to see you sitting there, muffled up like
+an old man, afraid to show yourself. You know how foolish you are? With
+your black cape and that queer hat, you are so different from all the
+others. If you seek to remain unrecognized, why do you not dress as all
+the men do? Any one who was suspicious would recognize you from your
+clothes.”
+
+“It is true,” he muttered. “I did not think of it.”
+
+She leaned towards him.
+
+“You will not even kiss me?” she murmured.
+
+“Not yet,” he answered.
+
+She made a little grimace.
+
+“But you are cold!”
+
+“You do not understand,” he answered. “They are watching me--even
+to-night they are watching me. Oh, if you only knew, Louise, how I have
+longed for this hour that is to come!”
+
+Her vanity was assuaged. She patted his hand but came no nearer.
+
+“You are a foolish man,” she said, “very foolish.”
+
+“It is not for you to say that,” he replied. “If I have been foolish,
+were not you often the cause of my folly?” Again she laughed.
+
+“Oh, la, la! It is always the same! It is always you men who accuse! For
+that presently I shall reprove you. But now--as for now, behold, we have
+arrived!”
+
+“It is a crowded thoroughfare,” the man remarked, nervously, looking up
+and down Shaftesbury Avenue.
+
+“Stupid!” she cried, stepping out. “I do not recognize you to-night,
+little one. Even your voice is different. Follow me quickly across the
+pavement and up the stairs. There is only one flight. The flat I have
+borrowed is on the second floor. I do not care very much that people
+should recognize me either, under the circumstances. There is nothing
+they love so much,” she added, with a toss of the head, “as finding an
+excuse to have my picture in the paper.”
+
+He followed her down the dim hall and up the broad, flat stairs, keeping
+always some distance behind. On the first landing she drew a key from
+her pocket and opened a door. It was the door of Monsieur Guillot’s
+sitting-room. A round table in the middle was laid for supper. One light
+alone, and that heavily shaded, was burning.
+
+“Oh, la, la!” she exclaimed. “How I hate this darkness! Wait till I can
+turn on the lights, dear friend, and then you must embrace me. It is
+from outside, I believe. No, do not follow. I can find the switch for
+myself. Remain where you are. I return instantly.”
+
+She left him alone in the room, closing the door softly. In the passage
+she reeled for a moment and caught at her side. She was very pale.
+Guillot, coming swiftly up the steps, frowned as he saw her.
+
+“He is there?” he demanded, harshly.
+
+“He is there,” Louise replied, “but, indeed, I am angry with myself.
+See, I am faint. It is a terrible thing, this, which I have done. He
+did me no harm, that young man, except that he was stupid and heavy, and
+that I never loved him. Who could love him, indeed! But, Guillot--”
+
+He passed on, scarcely heeding her words, but she clung to his arm.
+
+“Dear one,” she begged, “promise that you will not really hurt him.
+Promise me that, or I will shriek out and call the people from the
+streets here. You would not make an assassin of me? Promise!”
+
+Guillot turned suddenly towards her and there were strange things in his
+face. He pointed down the stairs.
+
+“Go back, Louise,” he ordered, “back to your rooms, for your own
+sake. Remember that you have left the theatre too ill to finish your
+performance. You have had plenty of time already to get home. Quick!
+Leave me to deal with this young man. I tell you to go.”
+
+She retreated down the stairs, dumb, her knees shaking with fear.
+Guillot entered the room, closing the door behind him. Even as he bowed
+to that dark figure standing in the corner, his left hand shot forward
+the bolt.
+
+“Monsieur,” he said--
+
+“What is the meaning of this?” the visitor interrupted, haughtily. “I am
+expecting Mademoiselle Louise. I did not understand that strangers had
+the right of entry into this room.”
+
+Guillot bowed low.
+
+“Monsieur,” he said once more, “it is a matter for my eternal regret
+that I am forced to intrude even for a moment upon an assignation so
+romantic. But there is a little matter which must first be settled. I
+have some friends here who have a thing to say to you.”
+
+He walked softly, with catlike tread, along by the wall to where the
+thick curtains shut out the inner apartment. He caught at the thick
+velvet, dragged it back, and the two rooms were suddenly flooded with
+light. In the recently discovered one, two stalwart-looking men in plain
+clothes, but of very unmistakable appearance, were standing waiting.
+Guillot staggered back. They were strangers to him. He was like a man
+who looks upon a nightmare. His eyes protruded. The words which he
+tried to utter, failed him. Then, with a swift, nervous presentiment,
+he turned quickly around towards the man who had been standing in the
+shadows. Here, too, the unexpected had happened. It was Peter, Baron de
+Grost, who threw his muffler and broad-brimmed hat upon the table.
+
+“Five minutes to eleven, I believe, Monsieur Guillot,” Peter declared.
+“I win by an hour and five minutes.”
+
+Guillot said nothing for several seconds. After all, though, he had
+great gifts. He recovered alike his power of speech and his composure.
+
+“These gentlemen,” he said, pointing with his left hand towards the
+inner room--“I do not understand their presence in my apartments.”
+
+Peter shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“They represent, I am afraid, the obvious end of things,” he explained.
+“You have given me a run for my money, I confess. A Monsieur Guillot
+who is remarkably like you, still occupies your box at the Empire, and
+Mademoiselle Jeanne Lemere, the accomplished understudy of the lady
+who has just left us, is sufficiently like the incomparable Louise to
+escape, perhaps, detection for the first few minutes. But you gave the
+game away a little, my dear Guillot, when you allowed your quarry to
+come and gaze even from the shadows of his box at the woman he adored.”
+
+“Where is--he?” Guillot faltered.
+
+“He is on his way back to his country home,” Peter replied. “I think
+that he will be cured of his infatuation for Mademoiselle. The assassins
+whom you planted in that room are by this time in Bow Street. The price
+which others beside you knew, my dear Guillot, was placed upon that
+unfortunate young head, will not pass this time into your pocket. For
+the rest--”
+
+“The rest is of no consequence,” Guillot interrupted, bowing. “I admit
+that I am vanquished. As for those gentlemen there,” he added, waving
+his hand towards the two men who had taken a step forward, “I have a
+little oath which is sacred to me concerning them. I take the liberty,
+therefore, to admit myself defeated, Monsieur le Baron, and to take my
+leave.”
+
+No one was quick enough to interfere. They had only a glimpse of him as
+he stood there with the revolver pressed to his temple, an impression of
+a sharp report, of Guillot staggering back as the revolver slipped
+from his fingers on to the floor. Even his death cry was stifled. They
+carried him away without any fuss, and Peter was just in time, after
+all, to see the finish of the second act of the ballet. The sham
+Monsieur Guillot still smirked at the sham Louise, but the box by his
+side was empty.
+
+“It is over?” Violet asked, breathlessly.
+
+“It is over,” Peter answered.
+
+It was, after all, an unrecorded tragedy. In an obscure corner of
+the morning papers one learned the next day that a Frenchman, who had
+apparently come to the end of his means, had committed suicide in a
+furnished flat of Shaftesbury Avenue. Two foreigners were deported
+without having been brought up for trial, for being suspected persons.
+A little languid interest was aroused at the inquest when one of
+the witnesses deposed to the deceased’s having been a famous French
+criminal. Nothing further transpired, however, and the readers of the
+halfpenny press for once were deprived of their sensation. For the rest,
+Peter received, with much satisfaction, a remarkably handsome signet
+ring, bearing some famous arms, and a telegram from Sogrange: “Well
+done, Baron! May the successful termination of your enterprise nerve you
+for the greater undertaking which is close at hand. I leave for London
+by the night train. Sogrange.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. THE GHOSTS OF HAVANA HARBOR
+
+
+“We may now,” Sogrange remarked, buttoning up his ulster, and stretching
+himself out to the full extent of his steamer chair, “consider ourselves
+at sea. I trust, my friend, that you are feeling quite comfortable.”
+
+Peter, lying at his ease upon a neighboring chair, with a pillow behind
+his head, a huge fur coat around his body, and a rug over his feet, had
+all the appearance of being very comfortable indeed. His reply, however,
+was a little short--almost peevish.
+
+“I am comfortable enough for the present, thank you. Heaven knows how
+long it will last!”
+
+Sogrange waved his arms towards the great uneasy plain of blue sea, the
+showers of foam leaping into the sunlight, away beyond the disappearing
+coast of France.
+
+“Last!” he repeated. “For eight days, I hope. Consider, my dear Baron!
+What could be more refreshing, more stimulating to our jaded nerves than
+this? Think of the December fogs you have left behind, the cold, driving
+rain, the puddles in the street, the gray skies--London, in short, at
+her ugliest and worst.”
+
+“That is all very well,” Peter protested, “but I have left several other
+things behind, too.”
+
+“As, for instance?” Sogrange inquired, genially.
+
+“My wife,” Peter informed him. “Violet objects very much to these abrupt
+separations. This week, too, I was shooting at Saxthorpe, and I had also
+several other engagements of a pleasant nature. Besides, I have reached
+that age when I find it disconcerting to be called out of bed in the
+middle of the night to answer a long distance telephone call, and
+told to embark on a White Star liner leaving Liverpool early the next
+morning. It may be your idea of a pleasure trip. It isn’t mine.”
+
+Sogrange was amused. His smile, however, was hidden. Only the tip of his
+cigarette was visible.
+
+“Anything else?”
+
+“Nothing much, except that I am always seasick,” Peter replied
+deliberately. “I can feel it coming on now. I wish that fellow would
+keep away with his beastly mutton broth. The whole ship seems to smell
+of it.”
+
+Sogrange laughed, softly but without disguise.
+
+“Who said anything about a pleasure trip?” he demanded.
+
+Peter turned his head.
+
+“You did. You told me when you came on at Cherbourg that you had to go
+to New York to look after some property there, that things were very
+quiet in London, and that you hated traveling alone. Therefore, you sent
+for me at a few hours’ notice.”
+
+“Is that what I told you?” Sogrange murmured.
+
+“Yes! Wasn’t it true?” Peter asked, suddenly alert.
+
+“Not a word of it,” Sogrange admitted. “It is quite amazing that you
+should have believed it for a moment.”
+
+“I was a fool,” Peter confessed. “You see, I was tired and a little
+cross. Besides, somehow or other, I never associated a trip to America
+with--”
+
+Sogrange interrupted him quietly, but ruthlessly.
+
+“Lift up the label attached to the chair next to yours. Read it out to
+me.”
+
+Peter took it into his hand and turned it over. A quick exclamation
+escaped him.
+
+“Great Heavens! The Count von Hern--Bernadine!”
+
+“Just so,” Sogrange assented. “Nice clear writing, isn’t it?”
+
+Peter sat bolt upright in his chair.
+
+“Do you mean to say that Bernadine is on board?” Sogrange shook his
+head.
+
+“By the exercise, my dear Baron,” he said, “of a superlative amount of
+ingenuity, I was able to prevent that misfortune. Now lean over and read
+the label on the next chair.”
+
+Peter obeyed. His manner had acquired a new briskness. “La Duchesse
+della Nermino,” he announced.
+
+Sogrange nodded.
+
+“Everything just as it should be,” he declared. “Change those labels, my
+friend, as quickly as you can.”
+
+Peter’s fingers were nimble and the thing was done in a few seconds.
+
+“So I am to sit next the Spanish lady,” he remarked, feeling for his
+tie.
+
+“Not only that, but you are to make friends with her,” Sogrange replied.
+“You are to be your captivating self, Baron. The Duchesse is to forget
+her weakness for hot rooms. She is to develop a taste for sea air and
+your society.”
+
+“Is she,” Peter asked, anxiously, “old or young?”
+
+Sogrange showed a disposition to fence with the question. “Not old,” he
+answered; “certainly not old. Fifteen years ago she was considered to be
+one of the most beautiful women in the world.”
+
+“The ladies of Spain,” Peter remarked, with a sigh, “are inclined to
+mature early.”
+
+“In some cases,” Sogrange assured him, “there are no women in the world
+who preserve their good looks longer. You shall judge, my friend. Madame
+comes! How about that sea-sickness now?”
+
+“Gone,” Peter declared, briskly. “Absolutely a fancy of mine. Never felt
+better in my life.”
+
+An imposing little procession approached along the deck. There was
+the deck steward leading the way; a very smart French maid carrying
+a wonderful collection of wraps, cushions and books; a black-browed,
+pallid man-servant, holding a hot water bottle in his hand, and leading
+a tiny Pekinese spaniel, wrapped in a sealskin coat; and finally Madame
+la Duchesse. It was so obviously a procession intended to impress,
+that neither Peter nor Sogrange thought it worth while to conceal their
+interest.
+
+The Duchesse, save that she was tall and wrapped in magnificent furs,
+presented a somewhat mysterious appearance. Her features were entirely
+obscured by an unusually thick veil of black lace, and the voluminous
+nature of her outer garments only permitted a suspicion as to her
+figure, which was, at that time, at once the despair and the triumph
+of her corsetiere. With both hands she was holding her fur-lined skirts
+from contact with the deck, disclosing at the same time remarkably
+shapely feet encased in trim patent shoes with plain silver buckles, and
+a little more black silk stocking than seemed absolutely necessary. The
+deck steward, after a half-puzzled scrutiny of the labels, let down the
+chair next to the two men. The Duchesse contemplated her prospective
+neighbors with some curiosity, mingled with a certain amount of
+hesitation. It was at that moment that Sogrange, shaking away his rug,
+rose to his feet.
+
+“Madame la Duchesse permits me to remind her of my existence?” he said,
+bowing low. “It is some years since we met, but I had the honor of a
+dance at the Palace in Madrid.”
+
+She held out her hand at once, yet somehow Peter felt sure that she was
+thankful for her veil. Her voice was pleasant, and her air the air of a
+great lady. She spoke French with the soft, sibilant intonation of the
+Spaniard.
+
+“I remember the occasion perfectly, Marquis,” she admitted. “Your sister
+and I once shared a villa in Mentone.”
+
+“I am flattered by your recollection, Duchesse,” Sogrange murmured.
+
+“It is a great surprise to meet with you here, though,” she continued.
+“I did not see you at Cherbourg or on the train.”
+
+“I motored from Paris,” Sogrange explained, “and arrived, contrary to my
+custom, I must confess, somewhat early. Will you permit that I
+introduce an acquaintance, whom I have been fortunate enough to find on
+board--Monsieur le Baron de Grost--Madame la Duchesse della Nermino.”
+
+Peter was graciously received and the conversation dealt, for a few
+moments, with the usual banalities of the voyage. Then followed the
+business of settling the Duchesse in her place. When she was really
+installed, and surrounded with all the paraphernalia of a great and
+fanciful lady, including a handful of long cigarettes, she raised
+for the first time her veil. Peter, who was at the moment engaged in
+conversation with her, was a little shocked by the result. Her features
+were worn, her face dead-white, with many signs of the ravages wrought
+by the constant use of cosmetics. Only her eyes had retained something
+of their former splendor. These latter were almost violet in color,
+deep-set, with dark rims, and were sufficient almost in themselves
+to make one forget for a moment the less prepossessing details of her
+appearance. A small library of books was by her side, but after a
+while she no longer pretended any interest in them. She was a born
+conversationalist, a creature of her country entirely and absolutely
+feminine, to whom the subtle and flattering deference of the other sex
+was the breath of life itself. Peter burned his homage upon her altar
+with a craft which amounted to genius. In less than half an hour,
+Madame la Duchesse was looking many years younger. The vague look
+of apprehension had passed from her face. Their voices had sunk to a
+confidential undertone, punctuated often by the music of her laughter.
+Sogrange, with a murmured word of apology, had slipped away long ago.
+Decidedly, for an Englishman, Peter was something of a marvel!
+
+Madame la Duchesse moved her head towards the empty chair.
+
+“He is a great friend of yours--the Marquis de Sogrange?” she asked,
+with a certain inflection in her tone which Peter was not slow to
+notice.
+
+“Indeed no!” he answered. “A few years ago I was frequently in Paris. I
+made his acquaintance then, but we have met very seldom since.”
+
+“You are not traveling together, then?”
+
+“By no means. I recognized him only as he boarded the steamer at
+Cherbourg.”
+
+“He is not a popular man in our world,” she remarked. “One speaks of him
+as a schemer.”
+
+“Is there anything left to scheme for in France?” Peter asked,
+carelessly. “He is, perhaps, a monarchist?”
+
+“His ancestry alone would compel a devoted allegiance to royalism,” the
+Duchesse declared, “but I do not think that he is interested in any of
+these futile plots to reinstate the House of Orleans. I, Monsieur le
+Baron, am Spanish.”
+
+“I have scarcely lived so far out of the world as to have heard nothing
+of the Duchesse della Nermino,” Peter replied with empressement. “The
+last time I saw you, Duchesse, you were in the suite of the Infanta.”
+
+“Like all Englishmen, I see you possess a memory,” she said, smiling.
+
+“Duchesse,” Peter answered, lowering his voice, “without the memories
+which one is fortunate enough to collect as one passes along, life would
+be a dreary place. The most beautiful things in the world cannot
+remain always with us. It is well, then, that the shadow of them can be
+recalled to us in the shape of dreams.”
+
+Her eyes rewarded him for his gallantry. Peter felt that he was doing
+very well indeed. He indulged himself in a brief silence. Presently she
+returned to the subject of Sogrange.
+
+“I think,” she remarked, “that of all the men in the world I expected
+least to see the Marquis de Sogrange on board a steamer bound for New
+York. What can a man of his type find to amuse him in the New World?”
+
+“One wonders, indeed,” Peter assented. “As a matter of fact, I did read
+in a newspaper a few days ago that he was going to Mexico in connection
+with some excavations there. He spoke to me of it just now. They seem to
+have discovered a ruined temple of the Incas, or something of the sort.”
+
+The Duchesse breathed what sounded very much like a sigh of relief.
+
+“I had forgotten,” she admitted, “that New York itself need not
+necessarily be his destination.”
+
+“For my own part,” Peter continued, “it is quite amazing, the interest
+which the evening papers always take in the movements of one connected
+ever so slightly with their world. I think that a dozen newspapers
+have told their readers the exact amount of money I am going to lend or
+borrow in New York, the stocks I am going to bull or bear, the mines I
+am going to purchase. My presence on an American steamer is accounted
+for by the journalists a dozen times over. Yours, Duchesse, if one might
+say so without appearing over curious, seems the most inexplicable. What
+attraction can America possibly have for you?”
+
+She glanced at him covertly from under her sleepy eyelids. Peter’s face
+was like the face of a child.
+
+“You do not, perhaps, know,” she said, “that I was born in Cuba. I lived
+there, in fact, for many years. I still have estates in the country.”
+
+“Indeed?” he answered. “Are you interested, then, in this reported
+salvage of the Maine?”
+
+There was a short silence. Peter, who had not been looking at her when
+he had asked his question, turned his head, surprised at her lack
+of response. His heart gave a little jump. The Duchesse had all the
+appearance of a woman on the point of fainting. One hand was holding
+a scent bottle to her nose; the other, thin and white, ablaze with
+emeralds and diamonds, was gripping the side of her chair. Her
+expression was one of blank terror. Peter felt a shiver chill his
+own blood at the things he saw in her face. He himself was confused,
+apologetic, yet absolutely without understanding. His thoughts reverted
+at first to his own commonplace malady.
+
+“You are ill, Duchesse!” he exclaimed. “You will allow me to call the
+deck steward? Or perhaps you would prefer your own maid? I have some
+brandy in this flask.”
+
+He had thrown off his rug, but her imperious gesture kept him seated.
+She was looking at him with an intentness which was almost tragical.
+
+“What made you ask me that question?” she demanded.
+
+His innocence was entirely apparent. Not even Peter could have
+dissembled so naturally.
+
+“That question?” he repeated, vaguely. “You mean about the Maine? It was
+the idlest chance, Duchesse, I assure you. I saw something about it
+in the paper yesterday and it seemed interesting. But if I had had the
+slightest idea that the subject was distasteful to you, I would not have
+dreamed of mentioning it. Even now--I do not understand--”
+
+She interrupted him. All the time he had been speaking she had shown
+signs of recovery. She was smiling now, faintly and with obvious effort,
+but still smiling.
+
+“It is altogether my own fault, Baron,” she admitted, graciously.
+“Please forgive my little fit of emotion. The subject is a very sore one
+among my countrypeople, and your sudden mention of it upset me. It was
+very foolish.”
+
+“Duchesse, I was a clumsy idiot!” Peter declared, penitently. “I deserve
+that you should be unkind to me for the rest of the voyage.”
+
+“I could not afford that,” she answered, forcing another smile. “I am
+relying too much upon you for companionship. Ah! could I trouble you?”
+ she added. “For the moment I need my maid. She passes there.”
+
+Peter sprang up and called the young woman, who was slowly pacing the
+deck. He himself did not at once return to his place. He went instead in
+search of Sogrange, and found him in his stateroom. Sogrange was lying
+upon a couch, in a silk smoking suit, with a French novel in his hand
+and an air of contentment which was almost fatuous. He laid down the
+volume at Peter’s entrance.
+
+“Dear Baron,” he murmured, “why this haste! No one is ever in a hurry
+upon a steamer. Remember that we can’t possibly get anywhere in less
+than eight days, and there is no task in the world, nowadays, which
+cannot be accomplished in that time. To hurry is a needless waste
+of tissue, and, to a person of my nervous temperament, exceedingly
+unpleasant.”
+
+Peter sat down on the edge of the bunk.
+
+“I presume you have quite finished?” he said. “If so, listen to me. I
+am moving in the dark. Is it my fault that I blunder? By the merest
+accident I have already committed a hideous faux pas. You ought to have
+warned me.”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“I have spoken to the Duchesse of the Maine disaster.”
+
+The eyes of Sogrange gleamed for a moment, but he lay perfectly still.
+
+“Why not?” he asked. “A good many people are talking about it. It is one
+of the strangest things I have ever heard of, that after all these years
+they should be trying to salve the wreck.”
+
+“It seems worse than strange,” Peter declared. “What can be the use of
+trying to stir up bitter feelings between two nations who have fought
+their battles and buried the hatchet? I call it an act of insanity.”
+
+A bugle rang. Sogrange yawned and sat up.
+
+“Would you mind touching the bell for my servant, Baron,” he asked.
+“Dinner will be served in half an hour. Afterwards, we will talk, you
+and I.”
+
+Peter turned away, not wholly pleased.
+
+“The sooner, the better,” he grumbled, “or I shall be putting my foot
+into it again.”...
+
+After dinner, the two men walked on deck together. The night was dark
+but fine, with a strong wind blowing from the northwest. The deck
+steward called their attention to a long line of lights, stealing up
+from the horizon on their starboard side.
+
+“That’s the Lusitania, sir. She’ll be up to us in half an hour.”
+
+They leaned over the rail. Soon the blue fires began to play about their
+mast head. Sogrange watched them thoughtfully.
+
+“If one could only read those messages,” he remarked, with a sigh, “it
+might help us.”
+
+Peter knocked the ash from his cigar and was silent for a time. He was
+beginning to understand the situation.
+
+“My friend,” he said at last, “I have been doing you an injustice. I
+have come to the conclusion that you are not keeping me in ignorance of
+the vital facts connected with our visit to America, willfully. At the
+present moment you know just a little more, but a very little more than
+I do.”
+
+“What perception!” Sogrange murmured. “My dear Baron, sometimes
+you amaze me. You are absolutely right. I have some pieces and I am
+convinced that they would form a puzzle the solution of which would be
+interesting to us, but how or where they fit in, I frankly don’t know.
+You have the facts so far.”
+
+“Certainly,” Peter replied.
+
+“You have heard of Sirdeller?”
+
+“You mean the Sirdeller?” Peter asked.
+
+“Naturally. I mean the man whose very movements sway the money markets
+of the world, the man who could, if he chose, ruin any nation, make war
+impossible; who could if he had ten more years of life and was allowed
+to live, draw to himself and his own following the entire wealth of the
+universe.”
+
+“Very eloquent,” Peter remarked. “We’ll take the rest for granted.”
+
+“Then,” Sogrange continued, “you have probably also heard of Don Pedro,
+Prince of Marsine, one time Pretender to the Throne of Spain?”
+
+“Quite a striking figure in European politics,” Peter assented, quickly.
+“He is suspected of radical proclivities, and is still, it is rumored,
+an active plotter against the existing monarchy.”
+
+“Very well,” Sogrange said. “Now listen carefully. Four months ago,
+Sirdeller was living at the Golden Villa, near Nice. He was visited more
+than once by Marsine, introduced by the Count von Hern. The result
+of those visits was a long series of cablegrams to certain great
+engineering firms in America. Almost immediately, the salvage of the
+Maine was started. It is a matter of common report that the entire cost
+of these works is being undertaken by Sirdeller.”
+
+“Now,” Peter murmured, “you are really beginning to interest me.”
+
+“This week,” Sogrange went on, “it is expected that the result of the
+salvage works will be made known. That is to say, it is highly possible
+that the question of whether the Maine was blown up from outside or
+inside, will be settled once and for all. This week, mind, Baron. Now
+see what happens. Sirdeller returns to America. The Count von Hern and
+Prince Marsine come to America. The Duchesse della Nermino comes to
+America. The Duchesse, Sirdeller and Marsine are upon this steamer. The
+Count von Hern travels by the Lusitania only because it was reported
+that Sirdeller at the last minute changed his mind and was traveling by
+that boat. Mix these things up in your brain--the conjurer’s hat, let
+us call it,” Sogrange concluded, laying his hand upon Peter’s arm,
+“Sirdeller, the Duchesse, Von Hern, Marsine, the raising of the
+Maine--mix them up and what sort of an omelette appears?”
+
+Peter whistled softly.
+
+“No wonder,” he said, “that you couldn’t make the pieces of the puzzle
+fit. Tell me more about the Duchesse?”
+
+Sogrange considered for a moment.
+
+“The principal thing about her which links her with the present
+situation,” he explained, “is that she was living in Cuba at the time of
+the Maine disaster, married to a rich Cuban.”
+
+The affair was suddenly illuminated by the searchlight of romance.
+Peter, for the first time, saw not the light, but the possibility of it.
+
+“Marsine has been living in Germany, has he not?” he asked.
+
+“He is a personal friend of the Kaiser,” Sogrange replied.
+
+They both looked up and listened to the crackling of the electricity
+above their heads.
+
+“I expect Bernadine is a little annoyed,” Peter remarked.
+
+“It isn’t pleasant to be out of the party,” Sogrange agreed. “Nearly
+everybody, however, believed at the last moment that Sirdeller had
+transferred his passage to the Lusitania.”
+
+“It’s going to cost him an awful lot in marconigrams,” Peter said.
+“By the bye, wouldn’t it have been better for us to have traveled
+separately, and incognito?”
+
+Sogrange shrugged his shoulders slightly.
+
+“Von Hern has at least one man on board,” he replied. “I do not think
+that we could possibly have escaped observation. Besides, I rather
+imagine that any move we are able to make in this matter must come
+before we reach Fire Island.”
+
+“Have you any theory at all?” Peter asked.
+
+“Not the ghost of a one,” Sogrange admitted. “One more fact, though,
+I forgot to mention. You may find it important. The Duchesse comes
+entirely against Von Hern’s wishes. They have been on intimate terms for
+years, but for some reason or other he was exceedingly anxious that she
+should not take this voyage. She, on the other hand, seemed to have
+some equally strong reason for coming. The most useful piece of advice I
+could give you would be to cultivate her acquaintance.”
+
+“The Duchesse--”
+
+Peter never finished his sentence. His companion drew him suddenly back
+into the shadow of a lifeboat.
+
+“Look!”
+
+A door had opened from lower down the deck, and a curious little
+procession was coming towards them. A man, burly and broad-shouldered,
+who had the air of a professional bully, walked by himself ahead. Two
+others of similar build walked a few steps behind. And between them a
+thin, insignificant figure, wrapped in an immense fur coat and using
+a strong walking stick, came slowly along the deck. It was like
+a procession of prison warders guarding a murderer, or perhaps a
+nerve-racked royal personage moving the end of his days in the midst of
+enemies. With halting steps the little old man came shambling along. He
+looked neither to the left nor to the right. His eyes were fixed and yet
+unseeing, his features were pale and bony. There was no gleam of life,
+not even in the stone-cold eyes. Like some machine-made man of a new
+and physically degenerate age, he took his exercise under the eye of his
+doctor, a strange and miserable-looking object.
+
+“There goes Sirdeller,” Sogrange whispered. “Look at him--the man whose
+might is greater than any emperor’s. There is no haven in the universe
+to which he does not hold the key. Look at him--master of the world!”
+
+Peter shivered. There was something depressing in the sight of that
+mournful procession.
+
+“He neither smokes nor drinks,” Sogrange continued. “Women, as a sex, do
+not exist for him. His religion is a doubting Calvinism. He has a doctor
+and a clergyman always by his side to inject life and hope if they can.
+Look at him well, my friend. He represents a great moral lesson.”
+
+“Thanks!” Peter replied. “I am going to take the taste of him out of my
+mouth with a whiskey and soda. Afterwards, I’m for the Duchesse.”
+
+But the Duchesse, apparently, was not for Peter. He found her in the
+music-room with several of the little Marconi missives spread out before
+her, and she cut him dead. Peter, however, was a brave man, and skilled
+at the game of bluff. So he stopped by her side and without any preamble
+addressed her.
+
+“Duchesse,” he said, “you are a woman of perceptions. Which do you
+believe, then, in your heart to be the more trustworthy--the Count von
+Hern or I?”
+
+She simply stared at him. He continued promptly.
+
+“You have received your warning, I see.”
+
+“From whom?”
+
+“From the Count von Hern. Why believe what he says? He may be a friend
+of yours--he may be a dear friend--but in your heart you know that he is
+both unscrupulous and selfish. Why accept his word and distrust me? I,
+at least, am honest.”
+
+She raised her eyebrows.
+
+“Honest?” she repeated. “Whose word have I for that save your own? And
+what concern is it of mine if you possess every one of the bourgeois
+qualities in the world? You are presuming, sir.”
+
+“My friend Sogrange will tell you that I am to be trusted,” Peter
+persisted.
+
+“I see no reason why I should trouble myself about your personal
+characteristics,” she replied, coldly. “They do not interest me.”
+
+“On the contrary, Duchesse,” Peter continued, fencing wildly, “you have
+never in your life been more in need of any one’s services than you are
+of mine.”
+
+The conflict was uneven. The Duchesse was a nervous, highly strung
+woman. The calm assurance of Peter’s manner oppressed her with a sense
+of his mastery. She sank back upon the couch from which she had arisen.
+
+“I wish you would tell me what you mean,” she said. “You have no right
+to talk to me in this fashion. What have you to do with my affairs?”
+
+“I have as much to do with them as the Count von Hem,” Peter insisted,
+boldly.
+
+“I have known the Count von Hern,” she answered, “for very many years.
+You have been a shipboard acquaintance of mine for a few hours.”
+
+“If you have known the Count von Hern for many years,” Peter asserted,
+“you have found out by this time that he is an absolutely untrustworthy
+person.”
+
+“Supposing he is,” she said, “will you tell me what concern it is of
+yours? Do you suppose for one moment that I am likely to discuss my
+private affairs with a perfect stranger?”
+
+“You have no private affairs,” Peter declared, sternly. “They are the
+affairs of a nation.”
+
+She glanced at him with a little shiver.
+
+From that moment he felt that he was gaining ground. She looked around
+the room. It was still filled, but in their corner they were almost
+unobserved.
+
+“How much do you know?” she asked in a low tone which shook with
+passion.
+
+Peter smiled enigmatically.
+
+“Perhaps more, even, than you, Duchesse,” he replied. “I should like to
+be your friend. You need one--you know that.”
+
+She rose abruptly to her feet.
+
+“For to-night it is enough,” she declared, wrapping her fur cloak around
+her. “You may talk to me to-morrow, Baron. I must think. If you desire
+really to be my friend, there is, perhaps, one service which I may
+require of you. But to-night, no!”
+
+Peter stood aside and allowed her to step past him. He was perfectly
+content with the progress he had made. Her farewell salute was by no
+means ungracious. As soon as she was out of sight, he returned to the
+couch where she had been sitting. She had taken away the marconigrams,
+but she had left upon the floor several copies of the New York Herald.
+He took them up and read them carefully through. The last one he found
+particularly interesting, so much so that he folded it up, placed it
+in his coat pocket, and went off to look for Sogrange, whom he found at
+last in the saloon, watching a noisy game of “Up Jenkins!” Peter sank
+upon the cushioned seat by his side.
+
+“You were right,” he remarked. “Bernadine has been busy.”
+
+Sogrange smiled.
+
+“I trust,” he said, “that the Duchesse is not proving faithless?”
+
+“So far,” Peter replied, “I have kept my end up. Tomorrow will be the
+test. Bernadine had filled her with caution. She thinks that I know
+everything--whatever everything may be. Unless I can discover a little
+more than I do now, to-morrow is going to be an exceedingly awkward day
+for me.”
+
+“There is every prospect of your acquiring a great deal of valuable
+information before then,” Sogrange declared. “Sit tight, my friend.
+Something is going to happen.”
+
+On the threshold of the saloon, ushered in by one of the stewards, a
+tall, powerful-looking man, with a square, well-trimmed black beard,
+was standing looking around as though in search of some one. The steward
+pointed out, with an unmistakable movement of his head, Peter and
+Sogrange. The man approached and took the next table.
+
+“Steward,” he directed, “bring me a glass of Vermouth and some
+dominoes.”
+
+Peter’s eyes were suddenly bright. Sogrange touched his foot under the
+table and whispered a word of warning. The dominoes were brought. The
+newcomer arranged them as though for a game. Then he calmly withdrew the
+double-four and laid it before Sogrange.
+
+“It has been my misfortune, Marquis,” he said, “never to have made your
+acquaintance, although our mutual friends are many, and I think I may
+say that I have the right to claim a certain amount of consideration
+from you and your associates. You know me?”
+
+“Certainly, Prince,” Sogrange replied. “I am charmed. Permit me to
+present my friend, the Baron de Grost.”
+
+The newcomer bowed and glanced a little nervously around.
+
+“You will permit me,” he begged. “I travel incognito. I have lived so
+long in England that I have permitted myself the name of an Englishman.
+I am traveling under the name of Mr. James Fanshawe.”
+
+“Mr. Fanshawe, by all means,” Sogrange agreed. “In the meantime--”
+
+“I claim my rights as a corresponding member of the Double-Four,” the
+newcomer declared. “My friend the Count von Hern finds menace to certain
+plans of ours in your presence upon this steamer. Unknown to him, I come
+to you openly. I claim your aid, not your enmity.”
+
+“Let us understand one another clearly,” Sogrange said. “You claim our
+aid in what?”
+
+Mr. Fanshawe glanced around the saloon and lowered his voice.
+
+“I claim your aid towards the overthrowing of the usurping House of
+Brangaza and the restoration to power in Spain of my own line.”
+
+Sogrange was silent for several moments. Peter was leaning forward
+in his place, deeply interested. Decidedly, this American trip seemed
+destined to lead towards events!
+
+“Our active aid towards such an end,” Sogrange said at last, “is
+impossible. The Society of the Double-Four does not interfere in the
+domestic policy of other nations for the sake of individual members.”
+
+“Then let me ask you why I find you upon this steamer?” Mr. Fanshawe
+demanded, in a tone of suppressed excitement. “Is it for the sea voyage
+that you and your friend the Baron de Grost cross the Atlantic this
+particular week, on the same steamer as myself, as Mr. Sirdeller,
+and--and the Duchesse? One does not believe in such coincidences! One is
+driven to conclude that it is your intention to interfere.”
+
+“The affair almost demands our interference,” Sogrange replied,
+smoothly. “With every due respect to you, Prince, there are great
+interests involved in this move of yours.”
+
+The Prince was a big man, but for all his large features and bearded
+face his expression was the expression of a peevish and passionate
+child. He controlled himself with an effort.
+
+“Marquis,” he said, “this is necessary--I say that it is necessary that
+we conclude an alliance.”
+
+Sogrange nodded approvingly.
+
+“It is well spoken,” he said, “but remember--the Baron de Grost
+represents England and the English interests of our Society.”
+
+The Prince of Marsine’s face was not pleasant to look upon.
+
+“Forgive me if you are an Englishman by birth, Baron,” he said, turning
+towards him, “but a more interfering nation in other people’s affairs
+than England has never existed in the pages of history. She must have a
+finger in every pie. Bah!”
+
+Peter leaned over from his place.
+
+“What about Germany--Mr. Fanshawe?” he asked, with emphasis.
+
+The Prince tugged at his beard. He was a little nonplussed.
+
+“The Count von Hern,” he confessed, “has been a good friend to me. The
+rulers of his country have always been hospitable and favorably inclined
+towards my family. The whole affair is of his design. I myself could
+scarcely have moved in it alone. One must reward one’s helpers. There
+is no reason, however,” he added, with a meaning glance at Peter, “why
+other helpers should not be admitted.”
+
+“The reward which you offer to the Count von Hern,” Peter remarked, “is
+of itself absolutely inimical to the interests of my country.”
+
+“Listen!” the Prince demanded, tapping the table before him. “It is true
+that within a year I am pledged to reward the Count von Hern in certain
+fashion. It is not possible that you know the terms of our compact, but
+from your words it is possible that you have guessed. Very well. Accept
+this from me. Remain neutral now, allow this matter to proceed to its
+natural conclusion, let your government address representations to me
+when the time comes, adopting a bold front, and I promise that I will
+obey them. It will not be my fault that I am compelled to disappoint
+the Count von Hern. My seaboard would be at the mercy of your fleet.
+Superior force must be obeyed.”
+
+“It is a matter, this,” Sogrange said, “for discussion between my
+friend and me. I think that you will find that we are neither of us
+unreasonable. In short, Prince, I see no insuperable reason why we
+should not come to terms.”
+
+“You encourage me,” the Prince declared, in a gratified tone. “Do not
+believe, Marquis, that I am actuated in this matter wholly by motives of
+personal ambition. No, it is not so. A great desire has burned always in
+my heart, but it is not that alone which moves me. I assure you that
+of my certain knowledge Spain is honeycombed--is rotten with treason. A
+revolution is a certainty. How much better that that revolution should
+be conducted in a dignified manner; that I, with my reputation for
+democracy which I have carefully kept before the eyes of my people,
+should be elected President of the new Spanish Republic, even if it is
+the gold of the American which places me there. In a year or two, what
+may happen who can say? This craving for a republic is but a passing
+dream. Spain, at heart, is monarchial. She will be led back to the
+light. It is but a short step from the president’s chair to the throne.”
+
+Sogrange and his companion sat quite still. They avoided looking at each
+other.
+
+“There is one thing more,” the Prince continued, dropping his voice, as
+if, even at that distance, he feared the man of whom he spoke. “I shall
+not inform the Count von Hern of our conversation. It is not necessary,
+and, between ourselves, the Count is jealous. He sends me message after
+message that I remain in my stateroom, that I seek no interview with
+Sirdeller, that I watch only. He is too much of the spy--the Count von
+Hern. He does not understand that code of honor, relying upon which I
+open my heart to you.”
+
+“You have done your cause no harm,” Sogrange assured him, with subtle
+sarcasm. “We come now to the Duchesse.”
+
+The Prince leaned towards him. It was just at this moment that a steward
+entered with a marconigram, which he presented to the Prince. The latter
+tore it open, glanced it through, and gave vent to a little exclamation.
+The fingers which held the missive trembled. His eyes blazed with
+excitement. He was absolutely unable to control his feelings.
+
+“My two friends,” he cried, in a tone broken with emotion, “it is you
+first who shall hear the news! This message has just arrived. Sirdeller
+will have received its duplicate. The final report of the works
+in Havana Harbor will await us on our arrival in New York, but the
+substance of it is this. The Maine was sunk by a torpedo, discharged at
+close quarters underneath her magazine. Gentlemen, the House of Brangaza
+is ruined!”
+
+There was a breathless silence.
+
+“Your information is genuine?” Sogrange asked, softly.
+
+“Without a doubt,” the Prince replied. “I have been expecting this
+message. I shall cable to Von Hern. We are still in communication. He
+may not have heard.”
+
+“We were about to speak of the Duchesse,” Peter reminded him.
+
+The Prince shook his head.
+
+“Another time,” he declared. “Another time.”
+
+He hurried away. It was already half past ten and the saloon was almost
+empty. The steward came up to them.
+
+“The saloon is being closed for the night, sir,” he announced.
+
+“Let us go on deck,” Peter suggested.
+
+They found their way up on to the windward side of the promenade,
+which was absolutely deserted. Far away in front of them now were the
+disappearing lights of the Lusitania. The wind roared by as the great
+steamer rose and fell on the black stretch of waters. Peter stood very
+near to his companion.
+
+“Listen, Sogrange,” he said, “the affair is clear now save for one
+thing.”
+
+“You mean Sirdeller’s motives?”
+
+“Not at all,” Peter answered. “An hour ago, I came across the
+explanation of these. The one thing I will tell you afterwards. Now
+listen. Sirdeller came abroad last year for twelve months’ travel. He
+took a great house in San Sebastian.”
+
+“Where did you hear this?” Sogrange asked.
+
+“I read the story in the New York Herald,” Peter continued. “It is
+grossly exaggerated, of course, but this is the substance of it.
+Sirdeller and his suite were stopped upon the Spanish frontier and
+treated in an abominable fashion by the customs officers. He was forced
+to pay a very large sum, unjustly I should think. He paid under protest,
+appealed to the authorities, with no result. At San Sebastian he was
+robbed right and left, his privacy intruded upon. In short, he took a
+violent dislike and hatred to the country and every one concerned in it.
+He moved with his entire suite to Nice, to the Golden Villa. There he
+expressed himself freely concerning Spain and her Government. Count von
+Hern heard of it and presented Marsine. The plot was, without doubt,
+Bernadine’s. Can’t you imagine how he would put it? ‘A revolution,’ he
+would tell Sirdeller, ‘is imminent in Spain. Here is the new President
+of the Republic. Money is no more to you than water. You are a patriotic
+American. Have you forgotten that a warship of your country with six
+hundred of her devoted citizens was sent to the bottom by the treachery
+of one of this effete race? The war was an inefficient revenge. The
+country still flourishes. It is for you to avenge America. With money
+Marsine can establish a republic in Spain within twenty-four hours.’
+Sirdeller hesitates. He would point out that it had never been proved
+that the destruction of the Maine was really due to Spanish treachery.
+It is the idea of a business man which followed. He, at his own expense,
+would raise the Maine. If it were true that the explosion occurred from
+outside, he would find the money. You see, the message has arrived.
+After all these years the sea has given up its secret. Marsine will
+return to Spain with an unlimited credit behind him. The House of
+Brangaza will crumble up like a pack of cards.”
+
+Sogrange looked out into the darkness. Perhaps he saw in that great
+black gulf the pictures of these happenings which his companion had
+prophesied. Perhaps, for a moment, he saw the panorama of a city in
+flames, the passing of a great country under the thrall of these new
+ideas. At any rate, he turned abruptly away from the side of the vessel,
+and taking Peter’s arm, walked slowly down the deck.
+
+“You have solved the puzzle, Baron,” he said, gravely. “Now tell me the
+one thing. Your story seems to dovetail everywhere.”
+
+“The one thing,” Peter said, “is connected with the Duchesse. It was
+she, of her own will, who decided to come to America. I believe that,
+but for her coming, Bernadine and the Prince would have waited in their
+own country. Money can flash from America to England over the wires. It
+does not need to be fetched. They have still one fear. It is connected
+with the Duchesse. Let me think.”
+
+They walked up and down the deck. The lights were extinguished one by
+one, except in the smoking-room. A strange breed of sailors from the
+lower deck came up with mops and buckets. The wind changed its quarter
+and the great ship began to roll. Peter stopped abruptly.
+
+“I find this motion most unpleasant,” he said. “I am going to bed.
+To-night I cannot think. To-morrow, I promise you, we will solve this.
+Hush!”
+
+He held out his hand and drew his companion back into the shadow of
+a lifeboat. A tall figure was approaching them along the deck. As he
+passed the little ray of light thrown out from the smoking-room, the
+man’s features were clearly visible. It was the Prince. He was walking
+like one absorbed in thought. His eyes were set like a sleep-walker’s.
+With one hand he gesticulated. The fingers of the other were twitching
+all the time. His head was lifted to the skies. There was something in
+his face which redeemed it from its disfiguring petulance.
+
+“It is the man who dreams of power,” Peter whispered. “It is one of his
+best moments, this. He forgets the vulgar means by which he intends to
+rise. He thinks only of himself, the dictator, king, perhaps emperor. He
+is of the breed of egoists.”
+
+Again and again the Prince passed, manifestly unconscious even of his
+whereabouts. Peter and Sogrange crept away unseen to their staterooms.
+
+In many respects the room resembled a miniature court of justice. The
+principal sitting-room of the royal suite, which was the chief glory
+of the Adriatic, had been stripped of every superfluous article of
+furniture or embellishment. Curtains had been removed, all evidences of
+luxury disposed of. Temporarily the apartment had been transformed into
+a bare, cheerless place. Seated on a high chair, with his back to the
+wall, was Sirdeller. At his right hand was a small table, on which stood
+a glass of milk, a phial, a stethoscope. Behind his doctor. At his left
+hand a smooth-faced, silent young man--his secretary. Before him stood
+the Duchesse, Peter and Sogrange. Guarding the door was one of the
+watchmen, who, from his great physique, might well have been a policeman
+out of livery. Sirdeller himself, in the clear light which streamed
+through the large window, seemed more aged and shrunken than ever. His
+eyes were deep set. No tinge of color was visible in his cheeks. His
+chin protruded, his shaggy gray eyebrows gave him an unkempt appearance.
+He wore a black velvet gown, a strangely cut black morning coat and
+trousers, felt slippers, and his hands were clasped upon a stout ash
+walking-stick. He eyed the newcomers keenly but without expression.
+
+“The lady may sit,” he said.
+
+He spoke almost in an undertone, as though anxious to avoid the fatigue
+of words. The guardian of the door placed a chair, into which the
+Duchesse subsided. Sirdeller held his right hand towards his doctor, who
+felt his pulse. All the time Sirdeller watched him, his lips a little
+parted, a world of hungry excitement in his eyes. The doctor closed his
+watch with a snap and whispered something in Sirdeller’s ear, apparently
+reassuring.
+
+“I will hear this story,” Sirdeller announced. “In two minutes every one
+must leave. If it takes longer, it must remain unfinished.”
+
+Peter spoke up briskly.
+
+“The story is this,” he began. “You have promised to assist the Prince
+of Marsine to transform Spain into a republic, providing the salvage
+operations on the Maine prove that that ship was destroyed from outside.
+The salvage operations have been conducted at your expense and finished.
+It has been proved that the Maine was destroyed by a mine or torpedo
+from the outside. Therefore, on the assumption that it was the
+treacherous deed of a Spaniard or Cuban imagining himself to be a
+patriot, you are prepared to carry out your undertaking and supply the
+Prince of Marsine with means to overthrow the Kingdom of Spain.”
+
+Peter paused. The figure on the chair remained motionless. No flicker
+of intelligence or interest disturbed the calm of his features. It was
+a silence almost unnatural. “I have brought the Duchesse here,” Peter
+continued, “to tell you the truth as to the Maine disaster.”
+
+Not even then was there the slightest alteration in those ashen gray
+features. The Duchesse looked up. She had the air of one only too eager
+to speak and finish.
+
+“In those days,” she said, “I was the wife of a rich Cuban gentleman,
+whose name I withhold. The American officers on board the Maine used to
+visit at our house. My husband was jealous; perhaps he had cause.”
+
+The Duchesse paused. Even though the light of tragedy and romance side
+by side seemed suddenly to creep into the room, Sirdeller listened as
+one come back from a dead world.
+
+“One night,” the Duchesse went on, “my husband’s suspicions were changed
+into knowledge. He came home unexpectedly. The American--the officer--I
+loved him--he was there on the balcony with me. My husband said nothing.
+The officer returned to the ship. That night my husband came into my
+room. He bent over my bed. ‘It is not you,’ he whispered, ‘whom I shall
+destroy, for the pain of death is short. Anguish of mind may live.
+To-night six hundred ghosts may hang about your pillow!’”
+
+Her voice broke. There was something grim and unnatural in that curious
+stillness. Even the secretary was at last breathing a little faster.
+The watchman at the door was leaning forward. Sirdeller simply moved his
+hand to the doctor, who held up his finger while he felt the pulse. The
+beat of his watch seemed to sound through the unnatural silence. In a
+minute he spoke.
+
+“The lady may proceed,” he announced.
+
+“My husband,” the Duchesse continued, “was an officer in charge of the
+Mines and Ordnance Department. He went out that night in a small boat,
+after a visit to the strong house. No soul has ever seen or heard of him
+since, or his boat. It is only I who know!”
+
+Her voice died away. Sirdeller stretched out his hand and very
+deliberately drank a tablespoonful or two of his milk.
+
+“I believe the lady’s story,” he declared. “The Marsine affair is
+finished. Let no one be admitted to have speech with me again upon this
+subject.”
+
+He had half turned towards his secretary. The young man bowed. The
+doctor pointed towards the door. The Duchesse, Peter and Sogrange filed
+slowly out. In the bright sunlight the Duchesse burst into a peal of
+hysterical laughter. Even Peter felt, for a moment, unnerved. Suddenly
+he, too, laughed.
+
+“I think,” he said, “that you and I had better get out of the way,
+Sogrange, when the Count von Hern meets us at New York!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. THE AFFAIR or AN ALIEN SOCIETY
+
+
+Sogrange and Peter, Baron de Grost, standing upon the threshold of their
+hotel, gazed out upon New York and liked the look of it. They had landed
+from the steamer a few hours before, had already enjoyed the luxury of a
+bath, a visit to an American barber’s, and a genuine cocktail.
+
+“I see no reason,” Sogrange declared, “why we should not take a week’s
+holiday.”
+
+Peter, glancing up into the blue sky and down into the faces of the
+well-dressed and beautiful women who were streaming up Fifth Avenue, was
+wholly of the same mind.
+
+“If we return by this afternoon’s steamer,” he remarked, “we shall have
+Bernadine for a fellow passenger. Bernadine is annoyed with us just now.
+I must confess that I should feel more at my ease with a few thousand
+miles of the Atlantic between us.”
+
+“Let it be so,” Sogrange assented. “We will explore this marvelous city.
+Never,” he added, taking his companion’s arm, “did I expect to see
+such women save in my own, the mistress of all cities. So chic, my dear
+Baron, and such a carriage! We will lunch at one of the fashionable
+restaurants and drive in the Park afterwards. First of all, however, we
+must take a stroll along this wonderful Fifth Avenue.”
+
+The two men spent a morning after their own hearts. They lunched
+astonishingly well at Sherry’s and drove afterwards in Central Park.
+When they returned to the hotel, Sogrange was in excellent spirits.
+
+“I feel, my friend,” he announced, “that we are going to have a very
+pleasant and, in some respects, a unique week. To meet friends and
+acquaintances, everywhere, as one must do in every capital in Europe,
+is, of course, pleasant, but there is a monotony about it from which
+one is glad sometimes to escape. We lunch here and we promenade in the
+places frequented by those of a similar station to our own, and behold!
+we know no one. We are lookers on. Perhaps for a long time it might
+gall. For a brief period there is a restfulness about it which pleases
+me.”
+
+“I should have liked,” Peter murmured, “an introduction to the lady in
+the blue hat.”
+
+“You are a gregarious animal,” Sogrange declared. “You do not understand
+the pleasures of a little comparative isolation with an intellectual
+companion such as myself... What the devil is the meaning of this!”
+
+They had reached their sitting-room and upon a small round table stood
+a great collection of cards and notes. Sogrange took them up helplessly,
+one after the other, reading the names aloud and letting them fall
+through his fingers. Some were known to him, some were not. He began to
+open the notes. In effect they were all the same--what evening would the
+Marquis de Sogrange and his distinguished friend care to dine, lunch,
+yacht, golf, shoot, go to the opera, join a theatre party? Of what clubs
+would they care to become members? What kind of hospitality would be
+most acceptable?
+
+Sogrange sank into a chair.
+
+“My friend,” he exclaimed, “they all have to be answered--that
+collection there! The visits have to be returned. It is magnificent,
+this hospitality, but what can one do?”
+
+Peter looked at the pile of correspondence upon which Sogrange’s inroad,
+indeed, seemed to have had but little effect.
+
+“One could engage a secretary, of course,” he suggested, doubtfully.
+“But the visits! Our week’s holiday is gone.”
+
+“Not at all,” Sogrange replied. “I have an idea.”
+
+The telephone bell rang. Peter took up the receiver and listened for a
+moment. He turned to Sogrange, still holding it in his hand.
+
+“You will be pleased, also, to hear,” he announced, “that there are half
+a dozen reporters downstairs waiting to interview [Transcriber’s note:
+word missing].”
+
+Sogrange received the information with interest.
+
+“Have them sent up at once,” he directed, “every one of them.”
+
+“What, all at the same time?” Peter asked.
+
+“All at the same time it must be,” Sogrange answered. “Give them to
+understand that it is an affair of five minutes only.”
+
+They came trooping in. Sogrange welcomed them cordially.
+
+“My friend, the Baron de Grost,” he explained, indicating Peter. “I am
+the Marquis de Sogrange. Let us know what we can do to serve you.”
+
+One of the men stepped forward.
+
+“Very glad to meet you, Marquis, and you, Baron,” he said. “I won’t
+bother you with any introductions, but I and the company here represent
+the Press of New York. We should like some information for our papers as
+to the object of your visit here and the probable length of your stay.”
+
+Sogrange extended his hands.
+
+“My dear friend,” he exclaimed, “the object of our visit was, I thought,
+already well known. We are on our way to Mexico. We leave to-night. My
+friend the Baron is, as you know, a financier. I, too, have a little
+money to invest. We are going out to meet some business acquaintances
+with a view to inspecting some mining properties. That is absolutely all
+I can tell you. You can understand, of course, that fuller information
+would be impossible.”
+
+“Why, that’s quite natural, Marquis,” the spokesman of the reporters
+replied. “We don’t like the idea of your hustling out of New York like
+this, though?”
+
+Sogrange glanced at the clock.
+
+“It is unavoidable,” he declared. “We are relying upon you, gentlemen,
+to publish the fact, because you will see,” he added, pointing to the
+table, “that we have been the recipients of a great many civilities,
+which it is impossible for us to acknowledge properly. If it will give
+you any pleasure to see us upon our return, you will be very welcome. In
+the meantime, you will understand our haste.”
+
+There were a few more civilities and the representatives of the Press
+took their departure. Peter looked at his companion doubtfully, as
+Sogrange returned from showing them out.
+
+“I suppose this means that we have to catch to-day’s steamer, after
+all?” he remarked.
+
+“Not necessarily,” Sogrange answered. “I have a plan. We will leave for
+the Southern depot, wherever it may be. Afterwards, you shall use that
+wonderful skill of yours, of which I have heard so much, to effect some
+slight change in our appearance. We will then go to another hotel, in
+another quarter of New York, and take our week’s holiday incognito. What
+do you think of that for an idea?”
+
+“Not much,” Peter replied. “It isn’t so easy to dodge the newspapers and
+the Press in this country. Besides, although I could manage myself very
+well, you would be an exceedingly awkward subject. Your tall and elegant
+figure, your aquiline nose, the shapeliness of your hands and feet, give
+you a distinction which I should find it hard to conceal.”
+
+Sogrange smiled.
+
+“You are a remarkably observant fellow, Baron. I quite appreciate your
+difficulty. Still, with a club foot, eh, and spectacles instead of my
+eyeglass--”
+
+“Oh, no doubt, something could be managed,” Peter interrupted. “You’re
+really in earnest about this, are you?”
+
+“Absolutely,” Sogrange declared. “Come here!”
+
+He drew Peter to the window. They were on the twelfth story, and to
+a European there was something magnificent in that tangled mass of
+buildings threaded by the elevated railway, with its screaming trains,
+the clearness of the atmosphere, and in the white streets below, like
+polished belts through which the swarms of people streamed like insects.
+
+“Imagine it all lit up!” Sogrange exclaimed. “The sky-signs all ablaze,
+the flashing of fire from those cable wires, the lights glittering from
+those tall buildings! This is a wonderful place, Baron. We must see it.
+Ring for the bill. Order one of those magnificent omnibuses. Press the
+button, too, for the personage whom they call the valet. Perhaps, with a
+little gentle persuasion, he could be induced to pack our clothes.”
+
+With his finger upon the hell, Peter hesitated. He, too, loved
+adventures, but the gloom of a presentiment had momentarily depressed
+him.
+
+“We are marked men, remember, Sogrange,” he said. “An escapade of this
+sort means a certain amount of risk, even in New York.”
+
+Sogrange laughed.
+
+“Bernadine caught the midday steamer! We have no enemies here that I
+know of.”
+
+Peter pressed the button. An hour or so later, the Marquis de Sogrange
+and Peter, Baron de Grost, took their leave of New York.
+
+They chose a hotel on Broadway, within a stone’s throw of Rector’s.
+Peter, with whitened hair, gold-rimmed spectacles, a slouch hat and
+a fur coat, passed easily enough for an English maker of electrical
+instruments; while Sogrange, shabbier, and in ready-made American
+clothes, was transformed into a Canadian having some connection with the
+theatrical business. They plunged into the heart of New York life, and
+found the whole thing like a tonic. The intense vitality of the people,
+the pandemonium of Broadway at midnight, with its flaming illuminations,
+its eager crowd, its inimitable restlessness, fascinated them both.
+Sogrange, indeed, remembering the decadent languor of the crowds of
+pleasure seekers thronging his own boulevards, was never weary of
+watching these men and women. They passed from the streets to the
+restaurants, from the restaurants to the theatre, out into the streets
+again, back to the restaurants, and once more into the streets. Sogrange
+was like a glutton. The mention of bed was hateful to him. For three
+days they existed without a moment’s boredom.
+
+On the fourth evening, Peter found Sogrange deep in conversation with
+the head porter. In a few minutes he led Peter away to one of the bars
+where they usually took their cocktail.
+
+“My friend,” he announced, “to-night I have a treat for you. So far we
+have looked on at the external night life of New York. Wonderful and
+thrilling it has been, too. But there is the underneath, also. Why not?
+There is a vast polyglot population here, full of energy said life. A
+criminal class exists as a matter of course. To-night we make our bow to
+it.”
+
+“And by what means?” Peter inquired.
+
+“Our friend the hall-porter,” Sogrange continued, “has given me the card
+of an ex-detective who will be our escort. He calls for us to-night,
+or rather to-morrow morning, at one o’clock. Then behold! the wand is
+waved, the land of adventures opens before us.”
+
+Peter grunted.
+
+“I don’t want to damp your enthusiasm, my Canadian friend,” he said,
+“but the sort of adventures you may meet with to-night are scarcely
+likely to fire your romantic nature. I know a little about what they
+call this underneath world in New York. It will probably resolve itself
+into a visit to Chinatown, where we shall find the usual dummies taking
+opium and quite prepared to talk about it for the usual tip. After that
+we shall visit a few low dancing halls, be shown the scene of several
+murders, and the thing is done.”
+
+“You are a cynic,” Sogrange declared. “You would throw cold water upon
+any enterprise. Anyway, our detective is coming. We must make use of
+him, for I have engaged to pay him twenty-five dollars.”
+
+“We’ll go where you like,” Peter assented, “so long as we dine on a
+roof garden. This beastly fur coat keeps me in a state of chronic
+perspiration.”
+
+“Never mind,” Sogrange said, consolingly, “it’s most effective. A roof
+garden, by all means.”
+
+“And recollect,” Peter insisted, “I bar Chinatown. We’ve both of us seen
+the real thing, and there’s nothing real about what they show you here.”
+
+“Chinatown is erased from our program,” Sogrange agreed. “We go now to
+dine. Remind me, Baron, that I inquire for those strange dishes of
+which one hears Terrapin, Canvas-backed Duck, Green Corn, Strawberry
+Shortcake.”
+
+Peter smiled grimly.
+
+“How like a Frenchman,” he exclaimed, “to take no account of seasons!
+Never mind, Marquis, you shall give your order and I will sketch the
+waiter’s face. By the bye, if you’re in earnest about this expedition
+to-night, put your revolver into your pocket.”
+
+“But we ‘re going with an ex-detective,” Sogrange replied.
+
+“One never knows,” Peter said, carelessly.
+
+They dined close to the stone palisading of one of New York’s most
+famous roof gardens. Sogrange ordered an immense dinner but spent most
+of his time gazing downwards. They were higher up than at the hotel
+and they could see across the tangled maze of lights even to the river,
+across which the great ferry-boats were speeding all the while--huge
+creatures of streaming fire and whistling sirens. The air where they
+sat was pure and crisp. There was no fog, no smoke, to cloud the almost
+crystalline clearness of the night.
+
+“Baron,” Sogrange declared, “if I had lived in this city I should have
+been a different man. No wonder the people are all conquering.”
+
+“Too much electricity in the air for me,” Peter answered. “I like a
+little repose. I can’t think where these people find it.”
+
+“One hopes,” Sogrange murmured, “that before they progress any further
+in utilitarianism, they will find some artist, one of themselves, to
+express all this.”
+
+“In the meantime,” Peter interrupted, “the waiter would like to know
+what we are going to drink. I’ve eaten such a confounded jumble of
+things of your ordering that I should like some champagne.”
+
+“Who shall say that I am not generous!” Sogrange replied, taking up the
+wine carte. “Champagne it shall be. We need something to nerve us for
+our adventures.”
+
+Peter leaned across the table.
+
+“Sogrange,” he whispered, “for the last twenty-four hours I have had
+some doubts as to the success of our little enterprise. It has occurred
+to me more than once that we are being shadowed.”
+
+Sogrange frowned.
+
+“I sometimes wonder,” he remarked, “how a man of your suspicious nature
+ever acquired the reputation you undoubtedly enjoy.”
+
+“Perhaps it is because of my suspicious nature,” Peter said. “There is a
+man staying in our hotel whom we are beginning to see quite a great
+deal of. He was talking to the head porter a few minutes before you this
+afternoon. He supped at the same restaurant last night. He is dining
+now three places behind you to the right, with a young lady who has been
+making flagrant attempts at flirtation with me, notwithstanding my gray
+hairs.”
+
+“Your reputation, my dear Peter,” Sogrange murmured--
+
+“As a decoy,” Peter interrupted, “the young lady’s methods are too
+vigorous. She pretends to be terribly afraid of her companion, but it is
+entirely obvious that she is acting on his instructions. Of course, this
+may be a ruse of the reporters. On the other hand, I think it would be
+wise to abandon our little expedition to-night.”
+
+Sogrange shook his head.
+
+“So far as I am concerned,” he said, “I am committed to it.”
+
+“In which case,” Peter replied, “I am certainly committed to being your
+companion. The only question is whether one shall fall to the decoy
+and suffer oneself to be led in the direction her companion desires, or
+whether we shall go blundering into trouble on our own account with your
+friend the ex-detective.”
+
+Sogrange glanced over his shoulder, leaned back in his chair for a
+moment, as though to look at the stars, and finally lit a cigarette.
+
+“There is a lack of subtlety about that young person, Baron,” he
+declared, “which stifles one’s suspicions. I suspect her to be merely
+one more victim to your undoubted charms. In the interests of Madame
+your wife, I shall take you away. The decoy shall weave her spells in
+vain.”
+
+They paid their bill and departed a few minutes later. The man and the
+girl were also in the act of leaving. The former seemed to be having
+some dispute about the bill. The girl, standing with her back to him,
+scribbled a line upon a piece of paper, and, as Peter went by, pushed it
+into his hand with a little warning gesture. In the lift he opened it.
+The few penciled words contained nothing but an address: Number 15,
+100th Street, East.
+
+“Lucky man!” Sogrange sighed.
+
+Peter made no remark, but he was thoughtful for the next hour or so.
+
+The ex-detective proved to be an individual of fairly obvious
+appearance, whose complexion and thirst indicated a very possible reason
+for his life of leisure. He heard with surprise that his patrons were
+not inclined to visit Chinatown, but he showed a laudable desire to fall
+in with their schemes, provided always that they included a reasonable
+number of visits to places where refreshment could be obtained. From
+first to last, the expedition was a disappointment. They visited various
+smoke-hung dancing halls, decorated for the most part with oleographs
+and cracked mirrors, in which sickly-Looking young men of unwholesome
+aspect were dancing with their feminine counterparts. The attitude of
+their guide was alone amusing.
+
+“Say, you want to be careful in here!” he would declare, in an awed
+tone, on entering one of these tawdry palaces. “Guess this is one of
+the toughest spots in New York City. You stick close to me and I’ll make
+things all right.”
+
+His method of making things all right was the same in every case. He
+would form a circle of disreputable-looking youths, for whose drinks
+Sogrange was called upon to pay. The attitude of these young men was
+more dejected than positively vicious. They showed not the slightest
+signs of any desire to make themselves unpleasant. Only once, when
+Sogrange incautiously displayed a gold watch, did the eyes of one or
+two of their number glisten. The ex-detective changed his place and
+whispered hoarsely in his patron’s ear.
+
+“Say, don’t you flash anything of that sort about here! That young cove
+right opposite to you is one of the best known sneak-thieves in the
+city. You’re asking for trouble that way.”
+
+“If he or any other of them want my watch,” Sogrange answered calmly,
+“let them come and fetch it. However,” he added, buttoning up his coat,
+“no doubt you are right. Is there anywhere else to take us?”
+
+The man hesitated.
+
+“There ain’t much that you haven’t seen,” he remarked.
+
+Sogrange laughed softly as he rose to his feet.
+
+“A sell, my dear friend,” he said to Peter. “This terrible city keeps
+its real criminal class somewhere else rather than in the show places.”
+
+A man who had been standing in the doorway, looking in for several
+moments, strolled up to them. Peter recognized him at once and touched
+Sogrange on the arm. The newcomer accosted them pleasantly.
+
+“Say, you’ll excuse my butting in,” he began, “but I can see you’re kind
+of disappointed. These suckers”--indicating the ex-detective--“talk a
+lot about what they’re going to show you, and when they get you round it
+all amounts to nothing. This is the sort of thing they bring you to, as
+representing the wickedness of New York! That’s so, Rastall, isn’t it?”
+
+The ex-detective looked a little sheepish.
+
+“Yes, there ain’t much more to be seen,” he admitted. “Perhaps you’ll
+take the job on if you think there is.”
+
+“Well, I’d show the gentlemen something of a sight more interesting that
+this,” the newcomer continued. “They don’t want to sit down and drink
+with the scum of the earth.”
+
+“Perhaps,” Sogrange suggested, “this gentleman has something in his mind
+which he thinks would appeal to us. We have a motor car outside and we
+are out for adventures.”
+
+“What sort of adventures?” the newcomer asked, bluntly.
+
+Sogrange shrugged his shoulders lightly.
+
+“We are lookers-on merely,” he explained. “My friend and I have traveled
+a good deal. We have seen something of criminal life in Paris and
+London, Vienna and Budapest. I shall not break any confidence if I tell
+you that my friend is a writer, and material such as this is useful.”
+
+The newcomer smiled.
+
+“Well,” he exclaimed, “in a way, it’s fortunate for you that I happened
+along! You come right with me and I’ll show you something that very few
+other people in this city know of. Guess you’d better pay this fellow
+off,” he added, indicating the ex-detective. “He’s no more use to you.”
+
+Sogrange and Peter exchanged questioning glances.
+
+“It is very kind of you, sir,” Peter decided, “but for my part I have
+had enough for one evening.”
+
+“Just as you like, of course,” the other remarked, with studied
+unconcern.
+
+“What sort of place would it be?” Sogrange asked.
+
+The newcomer drew them on one side, although, as a matter of fact, every
+one else had already melted away.
+
+“Have you ever heard of the Secret Societies of New York?” he inquired.
+“Well, I guess you haven’t, any way--not to know anything about them.
+Well, then, listen. There’s a Society meets within a few steps of here,
+which has more to do with regulating the criminal classes of the city
+than any police establishment. There’ll be a man there within an hour or
+so, who, to my knowledge, has committed seven murders. The police can’t
+get him. They never will. He’s under our protection.”
+
+“May we visit such a place as you describe without danger?” Peter asked,
+calmly.
+
+“No!” the man answered. “There’s danger in going anywhere, it seems to
+me, if it’s worth while. So long as you keep a still tongue in your head
+and don’t look about you too much, there’s nothing will happen to you.
+If you get gassing a lot, you might tumble in for almost anything. Don’t
+come unless you like. It’s a chance for your friend, as he’s a writer,
+but you’d best keep out of it if you’re in any way nervous.”
+
+“You said it was quite close?” Sogrange inquired.
+
+“Within a yard or two,” the man replied. “It’s right this way.”
+
+They left the hall with their new escort. When they looked for their
+motor car, they found it had gone.
+
+“It don’t do to keep them things waiting about round here,” their new
+friend remarked, carelessly. “I guess I’ll send you back to your hotel
+all right. Step this way.”
+
+“By the bye, what street is this we are in?” Peter asked.
+
+“100th Street,” the man answered.
+
+Peter shook his head.
+
+“I’m a little superstitious about that number,” he declared. “Is that an
+elevated railway there? I think we’ve had enough, Sogrange.”
+
+Sogrange hesitated. They were standing now in front of a tall gloomy
+house, unkempt, with broken gate--a large but miserable-looking abode.
+The passers-by in the street were few. The whole character of the
+surroundings was squalid. The man pushed open the broken gate.
+
+“You cross the street right there to the elevated,” he directed. “If you
+ain’t coming, I’ll bid you good-night.”
+
+Once more they hesitated. Peter, perhaps, saw more than his companion.
+He saw the dark shapes lurking under the railway arch. He knew
+instinctively that they were in some sort of danger. And yet the love of
+adventure was on fire in his blood. His belief in himself was immense.
+He whispered to Sogrange.
+
+“I do not trust our guide,” he said. “If you care to risk it, I am with
+you.”
+
+“Mind the broken pavement,” the man called out. “This ain’t exactly an
+abode of luxury.”
+
+They climbed some broken steps. Their guide opened a door with a
+Yale key. The door swung to, after them, and they found themselves in
+darkness. There had been no light in the windows; there was no light,
+apparently, in the house. Their companion produced an electric torch
+from his pocket.
+
+“You had best follow me,” he advised. “Our quarters face out the other
+way. We keep this end looking a little deserted.”
+
+They passed through a swing door and everything was at once changed. A
+multitude of lamps hung from the ceiling, the floor was carpeted, the
+walls clean.
+
+“We don’t go in for electric light,” their guide explained, “as we try
+not to give the place away. We manage to keep it fairly comfortable,
+though.”
+
+He pushed open the door and entered a somewhat gorgeously furnished
+salon. There were signs here of feminine occupation, an open piano, and
+the smell of cigarettes. Once more Peter hesitated.
+
+“Your friends seem to be in hiding,” he remarked. “Personally, I am
+losing my curiosity.”
+
+“Guess you won’t have to wait very long,” the man replied, with meaning.
+
+The room was suddenly invaded on all sides. Four doors, which were quite
+hidden by the pattern of the wall, had opened almost simultaneously, and
+at least a dozen men had entered. This time both Sogrange and Peter knew
+that they were face to face with the real thing. These were men who came
+silently in, no cigarette-stunted youths. Two of them were in evening
+dress; three or four had the appearance of prize fighters. In their
+countenances was one expression common to all--an air of quiet and
+conscious strength.
+
+A fair-headed man, in dinner jacket and black tie, became at once their
+spokesman. He was possessed of a very slight American accent, and he
+beamed at them through a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles.
+
+“Gentlemen,” he said, “I am glad to meet you both.”
+
+“Very kind of you, I’m sure,” Sogrange answered. “Our friend here,” he
+added, indicating their guide, “found us trying to gain a little insight
+into the more interesting part of New York life. He was kind enough to
+express a wish to introduce us to you.”
+
+The man smiled. He looked very much like some studious clerk, except
+that his voice seemed to ring with some latent power.
+
+“I am afraid,” he said, “that your friend’s interest in you was not
+entirely unselfish. For three days he has carried in his pocket an order
+instructing him to produce you here.”
+
+“I knew it!” Peter whispered, under his breath.
+
+“You interest me,” Sogrange replied. “May I know whom I have the honor
+of addressing?”
+
+“You can call me Burr,” the man announced, “Philip Burr. Your names it
+is not our wish to know.”
+
+“I am afraid I do not quite understand,” Sogrange said.
+
+“It was scarcely to be expected that you should,” Mr. Philip Burr
+admitted. “All I can tell you is that, in cases like yours, I really
+prefer not to know with whom I have to deal.”
+
+“You speak as though you had business with us,” Peter remarked.
+
+“Without doubt, I have,” the other replied, grimly. “It is my business
+to see that you do not leave these premises alive.”
+
+Sogrange drew up a chair against which he had been leaning, and sat
+down.
+
+“Really,” he said, “that would be most inconvenient.” Peter, too, shook
+his head, sitting upon the end of a sofa and folding his arms. Something
+told him that the moment for fighting was not yet.
+
+“Inconvenient or not,” Mr. Philip Burr continued, “I have orders to
+carry out which I can assure you have never yet been disobeyed since the
+formation of our Society. From what I can see of you, you appear to
+be very amiable gentlemen, and if it would interest you to choose the
+method--say, of your release--why, I can assure you we’ll do all we can
+to meet your views.”
+
+“I am beginning,” Sogrange remarked, “to feel quite at home.”
+
+“You see, we’ve been through this sort of thing before,” Peter added,
+blandly.
+
+Mr. Philip Burr took a cigar from his case and lit it. At a motion of
+his hand, one of the company passed the box to his two guests.
+
+“You’re not counting upon a visit from the police, or anything of that
+sort, I hope?” Mr. Philip Burr asked.
+
+Sogrange shook his head.
+
+“Certainly not,” he replied. “I may say that much of the earlier portion
+of my life was spent in frustrating the well-meant but impossible
+schemes of that body of men.”
+
+“If only we had a little more time,” Mr. Burr declared, “it seems to me
+I should like to make the acquaintance of you two gentlemen.”
+
+“The matter is entirely in your own hands,” Peter reminded him. “We are
+in no hurry.”
+
+Mr. Burr smiled genially.
+
+“You make me think better of humanity,” he confessed. “A month ago we
+had a man here--got him along somehow or another--and I had to tell him
+that he was up against it like you two are. My! the fuss he made! Kind
+of saddened me to think a man should be such a coward.”
+
+“Some people like that,” Sogrange remarked. “By the bye, Mr. Burr,
+you’ll pardon my curiosity. Whom have we to thank for our introduction
+here to-night?”
+
+“I don’t know as there’s any particular harm in telling you,” Mr. Burr
+replied--
+
+“Nor any particular good,” a man who was standing by his side
+interrupted. “Say, Phil, you drag these things out too much. Are there
+any questions you’ve got to ask ‘em, or any property to collect?”
+
+“Nothing of the sort,” Mr. Burr admitted.
+
+“Then let the gang get to work,” the other declared.
+
+The two men were suddenly conscious that they were being surrounded.
+Peter’s hand stole on to the butt of his revolver. Sogrange rose slowly
+to his feet. His hands were thrust out in front of him with the thumbs
+turned down. The four fingers of each hand flashed for a minute through
+the air. Mr. Philip Burr lost all his self-control.
+
+“Say, where the devil did you learn that trick?” he cried.
+
+Sogrange laughed scornfully.
+
+“Trick!” he exclaimed. “Philip Burr, you are unworthy of your position.
+I am the Marquis de Sogrange, and my friend here is the Baron de Grost.”
+
+Mr. Philip Burr had no words. His cigar had dropped on to the carpet. He
+was simply staring.
+
+“If you need proof,” Sogrange continued, “further than any I have given
+you, I have in my pocket, at the present moment, a letter, signed by
+you yourself, pleading for formal reinstatement. This is how you would
+qualify for it! You make use of your power to run a common decoy house,
+to do away with men for money. What fool gave you our names, pray?”
+
+Mr. Philip Burr was only the wreck of a man. He could not even control
+his voice.
+
+“It was some German or Belgian nobleman,” he faltered. “He brought us
+excellent letters, and he made a large contribution. It was the Count
+von Hern.”
+
+The anger of Sogrange seemed suddenly to fade away. He threw himself
+into a chair by the side of his companion.
+
+“My dear Baron,” he exclaimed, “Bernadine has scored, indeed! Your
+friend has a sense of humor which overwhelms me. Imagine it. He has
+delivered the two heads of our great Society into the hands of one of
+its cast-off branches! Bernadine is a genius, indeed!”
+
+Mr. Philip Burr began slowly to recover himself. He waved his hand. Nine
+out of the twelve men left the room.
+
+“Marquis,” he said, “for ten years there has been no one whom I have
+desired to meet so much as you. I came to Europe but you declined to
+receive me. I know very well we can’t keep our end up like you over
+there, because we haven’t politics and that sort of things to play
+with, but we’ve done our best. We’ve encouraged only criminology of the
+highest order. We’ve tried all we can to keep the profession select. The
+jail-bird, pure and simple, we have cast out. The men who have suffered
+at our hands have been men who have met with their deserts.”
+
+“What about us?” Peter demanded. “It seems to me that you had most
+unpleasant plans for our future.”
+
+Philip Burr held up his hands.
+
+“As I live,” he declared, “this is the first time that any money
+consideration has induced me to break away from our principles. That
+Count von Hern, he had powerful friends who were our friends, and he
+gave me the word, straight, that you two had an appointment down below
+which was considerably overdue. I don’t know, even now, why I consented.
+I guess it isn’t much use apologizing.”
+
+Sogrange rose to his feet.
+
+“Well,” he said, “I am not inclined to bear malice, but you must
+understand this from me, Philip Burr. As a Society, I dissolve you.
+I deprive you of your title and of your signs. Call yourself what you
+will, but never again mention the name of the ‘Double-Four.’ With us in
+Europe, another era has dawned. We are on the side of law and order. We
+protect only criminals of a certain class, in whose operations we have
+faith. There is no future for such a society in this country. Therefore,
+as I say, I dissolve it. Now, if you are ready, perhaps you will be so
+good as to provide us with the means of reaching our hotel.”
+
+Philip Burr led them into a back street, where his own handsome
+automobile was placed at their service.
+
+“This kind of breaks me all up,” he declared, as he gave the
+instructions to the chauffeur. “If there were two men on the face of
+this earth whom I’d have been proud to meet in a friendly sort of way,
+it’s you two.”
+
+“We bear no malice, Mr. Burr,” Sogrange assured him. “You can, if
+you will do us the honor, lunch with us to-morrow at one o’clock at
+Rector’s. My friend here is quite interested in the Count von Hern, and
+he would probably like to hear exactly how this affair was arranged.”
+
+“I’ll be there, sure,” Philip Burr promised, with a farewell wave of the
+hand.
+
+Sogrange and Peter drove back towards their hotel in silence. It was
+only when they emerged into the civilized part of the city that Sogrange
+began to laugh softly.
+
+“My friend,” he murmured, “you bluffed fairly well, but you were afraid.
+Oh, how I smiled to see your fingers close round the butt of that
+revolver!”
+
+“What about you?” Peter asked, gruffly. “You don’t suppose you took me
+in, do you?”
+
+Sogrange smiled.
+
+“I had two reasons for coming to New York,” he said. “One we
+accomplished upon the steamer. The other was--”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“To reply personally to this letter of Mr. Philip Burr,” Sogrange
+replied, “which letter, by the bye, was dated from 15, 100th Street, New
+York. An ordinary visit there would have been useless to me. Something
+of this sort was necessary.”
+
+“Then you knew!” Peter gasped. “Notwithstanding all your bravado, you
+knew!”
+
+“I had a very fair idea,” Sogrange admitted. “Don’t be annoyed with me,
+my friend. You have had a little experience. It is all useful. It isn’t
+the first time you’ve looked death in the face. Adventures come to some
+men unasked. You, I think, were born with the habit of them.”
+
+Peter smiled. They had reached the hotel courtyard and he raised himself
+stiffly.
+
+“There’s a little fable about the pitcher that went once too often
+to the well,” he remarked. “I have had my share of luck--more than my
+share. The end must come sometime, you know.”
+
+“Is this superstition?” Sogrange asked.
+
+“Superstition, pure and simple,” Peter confessed, taking his key from
+the office. “It doesn’t alter anything. I am fatalist enough to shrug
+my shoulders and move on. But I tell you, Sogrange,” he added, after a
+moment’s pause, “I wouldn’t admit it to any one else in the world, but
+I am afraid of Bernadine. I have had the best of it so often. It
+can’t last. In all we’ve had twelve encounters. The next will be the
+thirteenth.”
+
+Sogrange shrugged his shoulders slightly as he rang for the lift.
+
+“I’d propose you for the Thirteen Club, only there’s some uncomfortable
+clause about yearly suicides which might not suit you,” he remarked.
+“Good-night, and don’t dream of Bernadine and your thirteenth
+encounter.”
+
+“I only hope,” Peter murmured, “that I may be in a position to dream
+after it.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. THE THIRTEENTH ENCOUNTER
+
+
+The Marquis de Sogrange arrived in Berkeley Square with the gray dawn of
+an October morning, showing in his appearance and dress few enough signs
+of his night journey. Yet he had traveled without stopping from Paris,
+by fast motor car and the mail boat.
+
+“They telephoned me from Charing Cross,” Peter said, “that you could not
+possibly arrive until midday. The clerk assured me that no train had yet
+reached Calais.”
+
+“They had reason in what they told you,” Sogrange remarked, as he leaned
+back in a chair and sipped the coffee which had been waiting for him in
+the Baron de Grost’s study. “The train itself never got more than a mile
+away from the Gare du Nord. The engine-driver was shot through the head
+and the metals were torn from the way. Paris is within a year now of a
+second and more terrible revolution.”
+
+“You really believe this?” Peter asked, gravely.
+
+“It is a certainty,” Sogrange replied. “Not I alone but many others can
+see this clearly. Everywhere the Socialists have wormed themselves into
+places of trust. They are to be met with in every rank of life, under
+every form of disguise. The post-office strike has already shown us what
+deplorable disasters even a skirmish can bring about. To-day the railway
+strike has paralyzed France. To-day our country lies absolutely at the
+mercy of any invader. As it happens, none is, for the moment, prepared.
+Who can tell how it may be next time?”
+
+“This is had news,” Peter declared. “If this is really the position of
+affairs, the matter is much more serious than the newspapers would have
+us believe.”
+
+“The newspapers,” Sogrange muttered, “ignore what lies behind. Some of
+them, I think, are paid to do it. As for the rest, our Press had always
+an ostrich-like tendency. The Frenchman of the cafe does not buy his
+journal to be made sad.”
+
+“You believe, then,” Peter asked, “that these strikes have some definite
+tendency?”
+
+Sogrange set down his cup and smiled bitterly. In the early sunlight,
+still a little cold and unloving, Peter could see that there was a
+change in the man. He was no longer the debonair aristocrat of the
+race-courses and the boulevards. The shadows under his eyes were deeper,
+his cheeks more sunken. He had lost something of the sprightliness of
+his bearing. His attitude, indeed, was almost dejected. He was like
+a man who sees into the future and finds there strange and gruesome
+things.
+
+“I do more than believe that,” he declared. “I know it. It has fallen
+to my lot to make a very definite discovery concerning them. Listen,
+my friend. For more than six months the government has been trying to
+discover the source of this stream of vile socialistic literature which
+has contaminated the French working classes. The pamphlets have been
+distributed with devilish ingenuity among all national operatives,
+the army and the navy. The government has failed. The Double-Four has
+succeeded.”
+
+“You have really discovered their source?” Peter exclaimed.
+
+“Without a doubt,” Sogrange assented. “The government appealed to
+us first some months ago when I was in America. For a time we had no
+success. Then a clue, and the rest was easy. The navy, the army, the
+post-office employees, the telegraph and telephone operators and the
+railway men, have been the chief recipients of this incessant stream
+of foul literature. To-day one cannot tell how much mischief has been
+actually done. The strikes which have already occurred are only the
+mutterings of the coming storm. But mark you, wherever those pamphlets
+have gone, trouble has followed. What men may do the government is
+doing, but all the time the poison is at work, the seed has been sown.
+Two millions of money have been spent to corrupt that very class which
+should be the backbone of France. Through the fingers of one man has
+come this shower of gold, one man alone has stood at the head of the
+great organization which has disseminated this loathsome disease. Behind
+him--well, we know.”
+
+“The man?”
+
+“It is fitting that you should ask that question,” Sogrange replied.
+“The name of that man is Bernadine, Count von Hern.”
+
+Peter remained speechless. There was something almost terrible in the
+slow preciseness with which Sogrange had uttered the name of his enemy,
+something unspeakably threatening in the cold glitter of his angry eyes.
+
+“Up to the present,” Sogrange continued, “I have
+watched--sympathetically, of course, but with a certain amount of
+amusement--the duel between you and Bernadine. It has been against your
+country and your country’s welfare that most of his efforts have been
+directed, which perhaps accounts for the equanimity with which I have
+been contented to remain a looker-on. It is apparent, my dear Baron,
+that in most of your encounters the honors have remained with you.
+Yet, as it has chanced, never once has Bernadine been struck a real and
+crushing blow. The time has come when this and more must happen. It is
+no longer a matter of polite exchanges. It is a duel a outrance.”
+
+“You mean,” Peter began--
+
+“I mean that Bernadine must die,” Sogrange declared.
+
+There was a brief silence. Outside, the early morning street noises were
+increasing in volume as the great army of workers, streaming towards the
+heart of the city from a hundred suburbs, passed on to their tasks.
+A streak of sunshine had found its way into the room, lay across the
+carpet and touched Sogrange’s still, waxen features. Peter glanced
+half fearfully at his friend and visitor. He himself was no coward, no
+shrinker from the great issues. He, too, had dealt in life and death.
+Yet there was something in the deliberate preciseness of Sogrange’s
+words, as he sat there only a few feet away, unspeakably thrilling.
+It was like a death sentence pronounced in all solemnity upon some
+shivering criminal. There was something inevitable and tragical about
+the whole affair. A pronouncement had been made from which there was no
+appeal--Bernadine was to die!
+
+“Isn’t this a little exceeding the usual exercise of our powers?” Peter
+asked, slowly.
+
+“No such occasion as this has ever yet arisen,” Sogrange reminded him.
+“Bernadine has fled to this country with barely an hour to spare. His
+offense is extraditable by a law of the last century which has never
+been repealed. He is guilty of treason against the Republic of France.
+Yet they do not want him back, they do not want a trial. I have papers
+upon my person which, if I took them into an English court, would
+procure for me a warrant for Bernadine’s arrest. It is not this we
+desire. Bernadine must die. No fate could be too terrible for a man who
+has striven to corrupt the soul of a nation. It is not war, this. It
+is not honest conspiracy. Is it war, I ask you, to seek to poison the
+drinking water of an enemy, to send stalking into their midst some
+loathsome disease? Such things belong to the ages of barbarity.
+Bernadine has striven to revive them and Bernadine shall die.”
+
+“It is justice,” Peter admitted.
+
+“The question remains,” Sogrange continued, “by whose hand--yours or
+mine?”
+
+Peter started uneasily.
+
+“Is that necessary?” he asked.
+
+“I fear that it is,” Sogrange replied. “We had a brief meeting of the
+executive council last night, and it was decided, for certain reasons,
+to entrust this task into no other hands. You will smile when I tell you
+that these accursed pamphlets have found their way into the possession
+of many of the rank and file of our own order. There is a marked
+disinclination on the part of those who have been our slaves, to accept
+orders from any one. Espionage we can still command--the best, perhaps,
+in Europe--because here we use a different class of material. But of
+those underneath, we are, for the moment, doubtful. Paris is all in a
+ferment. Under its outward seemliness a million throats are ready to
+take up the brazen cry of revolution. One trusts nobody. One fears all
+the time.”
+
+“You or I!” Peter repeated, slowly. “It will not be sufficient, then,
+that we find Bernadine and deliver him over to your country’s laws?”
+
+“It will not be sufficient,” Sogrange answered, sternly. “From those he
+may escape. For him there must be no escape.”
+
+“Sogrange,” Peter said, speaking in a low tone, “I have never yet killed
+a human being.”
+
+“Nor I,” Sogrange admitted. “Nor have I yet set my heel upon its head
+and stamped the life from a rat upon the pavement. But one lives and one
+moves on. Bernadine is the enemy of your country and mine. He makes
+war after the fashion of vermin. No ordinary cut-throat would succeed
+against him. It must be you or I.”
+
+“How shall we decide?” Peter asked.
+
+“The spin of a coin,” Sogrange replied. “It is best that way. It is
+best, too, done quickly.”
+
+Peter produced a sovereign from his pocket and balanced it on the palm
+of his hand.
+
+“Let it be understood,” Sogrange continued, “that this is a dual
+undertaking. We toss only for the final honor--for the last stroke. If
+the choice falls upon me, I shall count upon you to help me to the end.
+If it falls upon you, I shall be at your right hand even when you strike
+the blow.”
+
+“It is agreed,” Peter said. “See, it is for you to call.”
+
+He threw the coin high into the air.
+
+“I call heads,” Sogrange decided.
+
+It fell upon the table. Peter covered it with his hand and then slowly
+withdrew the fingers. A little shiver ran through his veins. The
+harmless head that looked up at him was like the figure of death. It was
+for him to strike the blow!
+
+“Where is Bernadine now?” he asked.
+
+“Get me a morning paper and I will tell you,” Sogrange declared, rising.
+“He was in the train which was stopped outside the Gare du Nord, on his
+way to England. What became of the passengers I have not heard. I knew
+what was likely to happen, and I left an hour before in a 100 H. P.
+Charron.”
+
+Peter rang the bell and ordered the servant who answered it to procure
+the Daily Telegraph. As soon as it arrived, he spread it open upon the
+table and Sogrange looked over his shoulder. These are the headings
+which they saw in large black characters:
+
+                     RENEWED RIOTS IN PARIS
+
+                  THE GARE DU NORD IN FLAMES
+
+         TERRIBLE ACCIDENT TO THE CALAIS-DOUVRES EXPRESS
+
+                         MANY DEATHS
+
+
+Peter’s forefinger traveled down the page swiftly. It paused at the
+following paragraph:
+
+The 8.55 train from the Gare du Nord, carrying many passengers for
+London, after being detained within a mile of Paris for over an hour
+owing to the murder of the engine-driver, made an attempt last night
+to proceed, with terrible results. Near Chantilly, whilst travelling
+at over fifty miles an hour, the switches were tampered with and
+the express dashed into a goods train laden with minerals. Very few
+particulars are yet to hand, but the express was completely wrecked and
+many lives have been lost.
+
+Among the dead are the following:
+
+One by one Peter read out the names. Then he stopped short. A little
+exclamation broke from Sogrange’s lips. The thirteenth name upon that
+list of dead was that of Bernadine, Count von Hern.
+
+“Bernadine!” Peter faltered. “Bernadine is dead!”
+
+“Killed by the strikers!” Sogrange echoed! “It is a just thing, this.”
+
+The two men looked down at the paper and then up at one another. A
+strange silence seemed to have found its way into the room. The shadow
+of death lay between them. Peter touched his forehead and found it wet.
+
+“It is a just thing, indeed,” he repeated, “but justice and death are
+alike terrible.”...
+
+Late in the afternoon of the same day, a motor car, splashed with mud,
+drew up before the door of the house in Berkeley Square. Sogrange, who
+was standing talking to Peter before the library window, suddenly broke
+off in the middle of a sentence. He stepped back into the room and
+gripped his friend’s shoulder.
+
+“It is the Baroness!” he exclaimed, quickly. “What does she want here?”
+
+“The Baroness who? Peter demanded.
+
+“The Baroness von Ratten. You must have heard of her--she is the friend
+of Bernadine.”
+
+The two men had been out to lunch at the Ritz with Violet and had walked
+across the Park home. Sogrange had been drawing on his gloves in the act
+of starting out for a call at the Embassy.
+
+“Does your wife know this woman?” he asked. Peter shook his head.
+
+“I think not,” he replied.
+
+“Then she has come to see you,” Sogrange continued. “What does it mean,
+I wonder?”
+
+Peter shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“We shall know in a minute.”
+
+There was a knock at the door and his servant entered, bearing a card.
+
+“This lady would like to see you, sir, on important business,” he said.
+
+“You can show her in here,” Peter directed.
+
+There was a very short delay. The two men had no time to exchange
+a word. They heard the rustling of a woman’s gown, and immediately
+afterwards the perfume of violets seemed to fill the room.
+
+“The Baroness von Ratten!” the butler announced.
+
+The door was closed behind her. The servant had disappeared. Peter
+advanced to meet his guest. She was a little above medium height, very
+slim, with extraordinarily fair hair, colorless face, and strange eyes.
+She was not strictly beautiful and yet there was no man upon whom her
+presence was without its effect. Her voice was like her movements, slow
+and with a grace of its own.
+
+“You do not mind that I have come to see you?” she asked, raising her
+eyes to Peter’s. “I believe before I go that you will think terrible
+things of me, but you must not begin before I have told you my errand.
+It has been a great struggle with me before I made up my mind to come
+here.”
+
+“Won’t you sit down, Baroness?” Peter invited.
+
+She saw Sogrange and hesitated.
+
+“You are not alone,” she said, softly. “I wish to speak with you alone.”
+
+“Permit me to present to you the Marquis de Sogrange,” Peter begged. “He
+is my oldest friend, Baroness. I think that whatever you might have to
+say to me you might very well say before him.”
+
+“It is--of a private nature,” she murmured.
+
+“The Marquis and I have no secrets,” Peter declared, “either political
+or private.”
+
+She sat down and motioned Peter to take a place by her side upon the
+sofa.
+
+“You will forgive me if I am a little incoherent,” she implored. “To-day
+I have had a shock. You, too, have read the news? You must know that the
+Count von Hern is dead--killed in the railway accident last night?”
+
+“We read it in the Daily Telegraph,” Peter replied.
+
+“It is in all the papers,” she continued. “You know that he was a very
+dear friend of mine?”
+
+“I have heard so,” Peter admitted.
+
+“Yet there was one subject,” she insisted, earnestly, “upon which we
+never agreed. He hated England. I have always loved it. England was kind
+to me when my own country drove me out. I have always felt grateful. It
+has been a sorrow to me that in so many of his schemes, in so much of
+his work, Bernadine should consider his own country at the expense of
+yours.”
+
+Sogrange drew a little nearer. It began to be interesting, this.
+
+“I heard the news early this morning by telegram,” she went on. “For
+a long time I was prostrated. Then early this afternoon I began to
+think--one must always think. Bernadine was a dear friend, but things
+between us lately have been different, a little strained. Was it his
+fault or mine--who can say? Does one tire with the years, I wonder? I
+wonder!”
+
+Her eyes were lifted to his and Peter was conscious of the fact that
+she wished him to know that they were beautiful. She looked slowly away
+again.
+
+“This afternoon, as I sat alone,” she proceeded, “I remembered that
+in my keeping were many boxes of papers and many letters which have
+recently arrived, all belonging to Bernadine. I reflected that there
+were certainly some who were in his confidence, and that very soon
+they would come from his country and take them all away. And then I
+remembered what I owed to England, and how opposed I always was to
+Bernadine’s schemes, and I thought that the best thing I could do to
+show my gratitude would be to place his papers all in the hands of some
+Englishman, so that they might do no more harm to the country which has
+been kind to me. So I came to you.”
+
+Again her eyes were lifted to his and Peter was very sure indeed that
+they were wonderfully beautiful. He began to realize the fascination of
+this woman, of whom he had heard so much. Her very absence of coloring
+was a charm.
+
+“You mean that you have brought me these papers?” he asked.
+
+She shook her head slowly.
+
+“No,” she said, “I could not do that. There were too many of them--they
+are too heavy, and there are piles of pamphlets--revolutionary
+pamphlets, I am afraid--all in French, which I do not understand. No, I
+could not bring them to you. But I ordered my motor car and I drove
+up here to tell you that if you like to come down to the house in the
+country where I have been living, to which Bernadine was to have come
+to-night--yes, and bring your friend, too, if you will--you shall look
+through them before any one else can arrive.”
+
+“You are very kind,” Peter murmured. “Tell me where it is that you
+live.”
+
+“It is beyond Hitchin,” she told him, “up the Great North Road. I tell
+you at once, it is a horrible house in a horrible lonely spot. Within
+a day or two I shall leave it myself forever. I hate it--it gets on
+my nerves. I dream of all the terrible things which perhaps have taken
+place there. Who can tell? It was Bernadine’s long before I came to
+England.”
+
+“When are we to come?” Peter asked.
+
+“You must come back with me now, at once,” the Baroness insisted. “I
+cannot tell how soon some one in his confidence may arrive.”
+
+“I will order my car,” Peter declared.
+
+She laid her hand upon his arm.
+
+“Do you mind coming in mine?” she begged. “It is of no consequence, if
+you object, but every servant in Bernadine’s house is a German and a
+spy. There are no women except my own maid. Your car is likely enough
+known to them and there might be trouble. If you will come with me
+now, you and your friend, if you like, I will send you to the station
+to-night in time to catch the train home. I feel that I must have this
+thing off my mind. You will come? Yes?”
+
+Peter rang the bell and ordered his coat.
+
+“Without a doubt,” he answered. “May we not offer you some tea first?”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“To-day I cannot think of eating or drinking,” she replied. “Bernadine
+and I were no longer what we had been, but the shock of his death seems
+none the less terrible. I feel like a traitor to him for coming here,
+yet I believe that I am doing what is right,” she added, softly.
+
+“If you will excuse me for one moment,” Peter said, “while I take leave
+of my wife, I will rejoin you presently.”
+
+Peter was absent for only a few minutes. Sogrange and the Baroness
+exchanged the merest commonplaces. As they all passed down the hall,
+Sogrange lingered behind.
+
+“If you will take the Baroness out to the car,” he suggested, “I will
+telephone to the Embassy and tell them not to expect me.”
+
+Peter offered his arm to his companion. She seemed, indeed, to need
+support. Her fingers clutched at his coat-sleeve as they passed on to
+the pavement.
+
+“I am so glad to be no longer quite alone,” she whispered. “Almost I
+wish that your friend were not coming. I know that Bernadine and you
+were enemies, but then you were enemies not personally, but politically.
+After all, it is you who stand for the things which have become so dear
+to me.”
+
+“It is true that Bernadine and I were bitter antagonists,” Peter
+admitted, gravely. “Death, however, ends all that. I wish him no further
+harm.”
+
+She sighed.
+
+“As for me,” she said, “I am growing used to being friendless. I was
+friendless before Bernadine came, and latterly we have been nothing to
+one another. Now, I suppose, I shall know what it is to be an outcast
+once more. Did you ever hear my history, I wonder?”
+
+Peter shook his head.
+
+“Never, Baroness,” he replied. “I understood, I believe, that your
+marriage--”
+
+“My husband divorced me,” she confessed, simply. “He was quite within
+his rights. He was impossible. I was very young and very sentimental.
+They say that Englishwomen are cold,” she added. “Perhaps that is so.
+People think that I look cold. Do you?”
+
+Sogrange suddenly opened the door of the car in which they were already
+seated. She leaned back and half closed her eyes.
+
+“It is rather a long ride,” she said, “and I am worn out. I hope you
+will not mind, but for myself I cannot talk when motoring. Smoke, if it
+pleases you.”
+
+“Might one inquire as to our exact destination?” Sogrange asked.
+
+“We go beyond Hitchin, up the Great North Road,” she told him again.
+“The house is called the High House. It stands in the middle of a heath
+and I think it is the loneliest and most miserable place that was ever
+built. I hate it and I am frightened in it. For some reason or other, it
+suited Bernadine, but that is all over now.”
+
+The little party of three relapsed into silence. The car, driven
+carefully enough through the busy streets, gradually increased its
+pace as they drew clear of the suburbs. Peter leaned back in his place,
+thinking. Bernadine was dead! Nothing else would have convinced him
+so utterly of the fact as that simple sentence in the Daily Telegraph,
+which had been followed up by a confirmation and a brief obituary notice
+in all the evening papers. Curiously enough, the fact seemed to have
+drawn a certain spice out of even this adventure; to point, indeed, to
+a certain monotony in the future. Their present enterprise, important
+though it might turn out to be, was nothing to be proud of. A woman,
+greedy for gold, was selling her lover’s secrets before the breath was
+out of his body. Peter turned in his cushioned seat to look at her.
+Without doubt, she was beautiful to one who understood, beautiful in
+a strange, colorless, feline fashion, the beauty of soft limbs, soft
+movements, a caressing voice, with always the promise beyond of more
+than the actual words. Her eyes now were closed, her face was a little
+weary. Did she really rest, Peter wondered? He watched the rising and
+falling of her bosom, the quivering now and then of her eyelids. She had
+indeed the appearance of a woman who had suffered.
+
+The car rushed on into the darkness. Behind them lay that restless
+phantasmagoria of lights streaming to the sky. In front, blank space.
+Peter, through half-closed eyes, watched the woman by his side. From
+the moment of her entrance into his library, he had summed her up in
+his mind with a single word. She was, beyond a doubt, an adventuress. No
+woman could have proposed the things which she had proposed, who was
+not of that ilk. Yet for that reason it behooved them to have a care in
+their dealings with her. At her instigation they had set out upon this
+adventure, which might well turn out according to any fashion that she
+chose. Yet without Bernadine what could she do? She was not the woman
+to carry on the work which he had left behind, for the love of him. Her
+words had been frank, her action shameful but natural. Bernadine
+was dead and she had realized quickly enough the best market for his
+secrets. In a few days’ time his friends would have come and she would
+have received nothing. He told himself that he was foolish to doubt her.
+There was not a flaw in the sequence of events, no possible reason for
+the suspicions which yet lingered at the back of his brain. Intrigue,
+it was certain, was to her as the breath of her body. He was perfectly
+willing to believe that the death of Bernadine would have affected her
+little more than the sweeping aside of a fly. His very common sense bade
+him accept her story.
+
+By degrees he became drowsy. Suddenly he was startled into a very
+wide-awake state. Through half-closed eyes he had seen Sogrange draw
+a sheet of paper from his pocket, a gold pencil from his chain, and
+commence to write. In the middle of a sentence, his eyes were abruptly
+lifted. He was looking at the Baroness. Peter, too, turned his head;
+he, also, looked at the Baroness. Without a doubt, she had been watching
+both of them. Sogrange’s pencil continued its task, only he traced
+no more characters. Instead, he seemed to be sketching a face, which
+presently he tore carefully up into small pieces and destroyed. He did
+not even glance towards Peter, but Peter understood very well what had
+happened. He had been about to send him a message, but had found
+the Baroness watching. Peter was fully awake now. His faint sense of
+suspicion had deepened into a positive foreboding. He had a reckless
+desire to stop the car, to descend upon the road and let the secrets of
+Bernadine go where they would. Then his natural love of adventure blazed
+up once more. His moment of weakness had passed. The thrill was in his
+blood, his nerves were tightened. He was ready for what might come,
+seemingly still half asleep, yet, indeed, with every sense of intuition
+and observation keenly alert.
+
+Sogrange leaned over from his place.
+
+“It is a lonely country, this, into which we are coming, madame,” he
+remarked.
+
+She shrugged her shoulders.
+
+“Indeed, it is not so lonely here as you will think it when we arrive
+at our destination,” she replied. “There are houses here, but they are
+hidden by the trees. There are no houses near us.”
+
+She rubbed the pane with her hand.
+
+“We are, I believe, very nearly there,” she said. “This is the nearest
+village. Afterwards, we just climb a hill and about half a mile along
+the top of it is the High House.”
+
+“And the name of the village,” Sogrange inquired.
+
+“St Mary’s,” she told him, “In the summer people call it beautiful
+around here. To me it is the most melancholy spot I ever saw. There
+is so much rain, and one hears the drip, drip in the trees all the day
+long. Alone I could not bear it. To-morrow or the next day I shall pack
+up my belongings and come to London. I am, unfortunately,” she added,
+with a little sigh, “very, very poor, but it is my hope that you may
+find the papers, of which I have spoken to you, valuable.”
+
+Sogrange smiled faintly. Peter and he could scarcely forbear to exchange
+a single glance. The woman’s candor was almost brutal. She read their
+thoughts.
+
+“We ascend the hill,” she continued. “We draw now very near to the end
+of our journey. There is still one thing I would say to you. Do not
+think too badly of me for what I am about to do. To Bernadine, while he
+lived, I was faithful. Many a time I could have told you of his plans
+and demanded a great sum of money, and you would have given it me
+willingly, but my lips were sealed because, in a way, I loved him. While
+he lived I gave him what I owed. To-day he is dead, and, whatever I do,
+it cannot concern him any more. To-day I am a free woman and I take the
+side I choose.”
+
+“Dear madame,” he replied, “what you have proposed to us is, after all,
+quite natural and very gracious. If one has a fear at all about the
+matter, it is as to the importance of these documents you speak of.
+Bernadine, I know, has dealt in great affairs; but he was a diplomat by
+instinct, experienced and calculating. One does not keep incriminating
+papers.”
+
+She leaned a little forward. The car had swung round a corner now and
+was making its way up an avenue as dark as pitch.
+
+“The wisest of us, Monsieur le Marquis,” she whispered, “reckon
+sometimes without that one element of sudden death. What should you say,
+I wonder, to a list of agents in France pledged to circulate in certain
+places literature of an infamous sort? What should you say, monsieur, to
+a copy of a secret report of your late maneuvers, franked with the name
+of one of your own staff officers? What should you say,” she went
+on, “to a list of Socialist deputies with amounts against their name,
+amounts paid in hard cash? Are these of no importance to you?”
+
+“Madame,” Sogrange answered, simply, “for such information, if it were
+genuine, it would be hard to mention a price which we should not be
+prepared to pay.”
+
+The car came to a sudden standstill. The first impression of the two men
+was that the Baroness had exaggerated the loneliness and desolation of
+the place. There was nothing mysterious or forbidding about the plain,
+brownstone house before which they had stopped. The windows were
+streaming with light; the hall door, already thrown open, disclosed a
+very comfortable hall, brilliantly illuminated. A man-servant assisted
+his mistress to alight, another ushered them in. In the background were
+other servants. The Baroness glanced at the clock.
+
+“About dinner, Carl?” she asked.
+
+“It waits for madame,” the man answered.
+
+She nodded.
+
+“Take care of these gentlemen till I descend,” she ordered. “You will
+not mind?” she added, turning pleadingly to Sogrange. “To-day I have
+eaten nothing. I am faint with hunger. Afterwards, it will be a matter
+but of half an hour. You can be in London again by ten o’clock.”
+
+“As you will, madame,” Sogrange replied. “We are greatly indebted to you
+for your hospitality. But for costume, you understand that we are as we
+are?”
+
+“It is perfectly understood,” she assured him. “For myself, I rejoin you
+in ten minutes. A loose gown, that is all.”
+
+Sogrange and Peter were shown into a modern bathroom by a servant who
+was so anxious to wait upon them that they had difficulty in sending him
+away. As soon as he was gone and the door closed behind him, Peter put
+his foot against it and turned the key.
+
+“You were going to write something to me in the car?”
+
+Sogrange nodded.
+
+“There was a moment,” he admitted, “when I had a suspicion. It has
+passed. This woman is no Roman. She sells the secrets of Bernadine as
+she would sell herself. Nevertheless, it is well always to be prepared.
+There were probably others beside Bernadine who had the entree here.”
+
+“The only suspicious circumstance which I have noticed,” Peter remarked,
+“is the number of men-servants. I have seen five already.”
+
+“It is only fair to remember,” Sogrange reminded him, “that the Baroness
+herself told us that there were no other save men-servants here and
+that they were all spies. Without a master, I cannot see that they are
+dangerous. One needs, however, to watch all the time.”
+
+“If you see anything suspicious,” Peter said, “tap the table with your
+forefinger. Personally, I will admit that I have had my doubts of the
+Baroness, but on the whole I have come to the conclusion that they
+were groundless. She is not the sort of woman to take up a vendetta,
+especially an unprofitable one.”
+
+“She is an exceedingly dangerous person for an impressionable man like
+myself,” Sogrange remarked, arranging his tie.
+
+The butler fetched them in a very few moments and showed them into a
+pleasantly-furnished library, where he mixed cocktails for them from
+a collection of bottles upon the sideboard. He was quite friendly and
+inclined to be loquacious, although he spoke with a slight foreign
+accent. The house belonged to an English gentleman from whom the honored
+Count had taken it, furnished. They were two miles from a station and
+a mile from the village. It was a lonely part, but there were always
+people coming or going. With one’s work one scarcely noticed it. He was
+gratified that the gentlemen found his cocktails so excellent. Perhaps
+he might be permitted the high honor of mixing them another? It was a
+day, this, of deep sadness and gloom. One needed to drink something,
+indeed, to forget the terrible thing which had happened. The Count had
+been a good master, a little impatient sometimes, but kind-hearted. The
+news had been a shock to them all.
+
+
+Then, before they had expected her, the Baroness reappeared. She wore
+a wonderful gray gown which seemed to be made in a single piece, a gown
+which fitted her tightly, and yet gave her the curious appearance of a
+woman walking without the burden of clothes. Sogrange, Parisian to the
+finger-tips, watched her with admiring approval. She laid her fingers
+upon his arm, although it was towards Peter that her eyes traveled.
+
+“Will you take me in, Marquis?” she begged. “It is the only formality we
+will allow ourselves.”
+
+They entered a long, low dining-room, paneled with oak, and with the
+family portraits of the owner of the house still left upon the wall.
+Dinner was served upon a round table and was laid for four. There was
+a profusion of silver, very beautiful glass, and a wonderful cluster
+of orchids. The Marquis, as he handed his hostess to her chair, glanced
+towards the vacant place.
+
+“It is for my companion, an Austrian lady,” she explained. “To-night,
+however, I think that she will not come. She was a distant connection of
+Bernadine’s and she is much upset. We leave her place and see. You will
+sit on my other side, Baron.”
+
+The fingers which touched Peter’s arm brushed his hand, and were
+withdrawn as though with reluctance. She sank into her chair with a
+little sigh.
+
+“It is charming of you two, this,” she declared, softly. “You help me
+through this night of solitude and sadness. What I should do if I were
+alone, I cannot tell. You must drink with me a toast, if you will. Will
+you make it to our better acquaintance?”
+
+No soup had been offered and champagne was served with the hors
+d’oeuvre. Peter raised his glass and looked into the eyes of the woman
+who was leaning so closely towards him that her soft breath fell upon
+his cheek. She whispered something in his ear. For a moment, perhaps, he
+was carried away, but for a moment only. Then Sogrange’s voice and
+the beat of his forefinger upon the table stiffened him into sudden
+alertness. They heard a motor car draw up outside.
+
+“Who can it be?” the Baroness exclaimed, setting her glass down
+abruptly.
+
+“It is, perhaps, our fourth guest who arrives,” Sogrange remarked.
+
+They all three listened, Peter and Sogrange with their glasses still
+suspended in the air.
+
+“Our fourth guest?” the Baroness repeated. “Madame von Estenier is
+upstairs, lying down. I cannot tell who this may be.”
+
+Her lips were parted. The lines of her forehead had suddenly appeared.
+Her eyes were turned toward the door, hard and bright. Then the glass
+which she had nervously picked up again and was holding between her
+fingers, fell on to the tablecloth with a little crash, and the yellow
+wine ran bubbling on to her plate. Her scream echoed to the roof and
+rang through the room. It was Bernadine who stood there in the doorway,
+Bernadine in a long traveling ulster and the air of one newly arrived
+from a journey. They all three looked at him, but there was not one who
+spoke. The Baroness, after her one wild cry, was dumb.
+
+“I am indeed fortunate,” Bernadine said. “You have as yet, I see,
+scarcely commenced. You probably expected me. I am charmed to find so
+agreeable a party awaiting my arrival.”
+
+He divested himself of his ulster and threw it across the arm of the
+butler, who stood behind him.
+
+“Come,” he continued; “for a man who has just been killed in a railway
+accident, I find myself with an appetite. A glass of wine, Carl. I
+do not know what that toast was, the drinking of which my coming
+interrupted, but let us all drink it together. Aimee, my love to you,
+dear. Let me congratulate you upon the fortitude and courage with which
+you ignored those lying reports of my death. I had fears that I might
+find you alone in a darkened room, with tear-stained eyes and sal
+volatile by your side. This is infinitely better. Gentlemen, you are
+welcome.”
+
+Sogrange lifted his glass and bowed courteously. Peter followed suit.
+
+“Really,” Sogrange murmured, “the Press nowadays becomes more unreliable
+every day. It is apparent, my dear Von Hern, that this account of your
+death was, to say the least of it, exaggerated.”
+
+Peter said nothing. His eyes were fixed upon the Baroness. She sat in
+her chair quite motionless, but her face had become like the face of
+some graven image. She looked at Bernadine, but her eyes said nothing.
+Every glint of expression seemed to have left her features. Since that
+one wild shriek she had remained voiceless. Encompassed by danger though
+he knew they now must be, Peter found himself possessed by one thought
+only. Was this a trap into which they had fallen, or was the woman, too,
+deceived?
+
+“You bring later news from Paris than I myself,” Sogrange proceeded,
+helping himself to one of the dishes which a footman was passing round.
+“How did you reach the coast? The evening papers stated distinctly that
+since the accident no attempt had been made to run trains.”
+
+“By motor car from Chantilly,” Bernadine replied. “I had the misfortune
+to lose my servant, who was wearing my coat, and who, I gather from the
+newspaper reports, was mistaken for me. I myself was unhurt. I hired a
+motor car and drove to Boulogne--not the best of journeys, let me tell
+you, for we broke down three times. There was no steamer there, but I
+hired a fishing boat, which brought me across the Channel in something
+under eight hours. From the coast I motored direct here. I was so
+anxious,” he added, raising his eyes, “to see how my dear friend--my
+dear Aimee--was bearing the terrible news.”
+
+She fluttered for a moment like a bird in a trap. Peter drew a little
+sigh of relief. His self-respect was reinstated. He had decided that she
+was innocent. Upon them, at least, would not fall the ignominy of having
+been led into the simplest of traps by this white-faced Delilah. The
+butler had brought her another glass, which she raised to her lips. She
+drained its contents, but the ghastliness of her appearance remained
+unchanged. Peter, watching her, knew the signs. She was sick with
+terror.
+
+“The conditions throughout France are indeed awful,” Sogrange remarked.
+“They say, too, that this railway strike is only the beginning of worse
+things.”
+
+Bernadine smiled.
+
+“Your country, dear Marquis,” he said, “is on its last legs. No one
+knows better than I that it is, at the present moment, honeycombed with
+sedition and anarchical impulses. The people are rotten. For years the
+whole tone of France has been decadent. Its fall must even now be close
+at hand.”
+
+“You take a gloomy view of my country’s future,” Sogrange declared.
+
+“Why should one refuse to face facts?” Bernadine replied. “One does not
+often talk so frankly, but we three are met together this evening under
+somewhat peculiar circumstances. The days of the glory of France are
+past. England has laid out her neck for the yoke of the conqueror. Both
+are doomed to fall. Both are ripe for the great humiliation. You two
+gentlemen whom I have the honor to receive as my guests,” he concluded,
+filling his glass and bowing towards them, “in your present unfortunate
+predicament represent precisely the position of your two countries.”
+
+“Ave Caesar!” Peter muttered grimly, raising his glass to his lips.
+
+Bernadine accepted the challenge.
+
+“It is not I, alas! who may call myself Caesar,” he replied, “although
+it is certainly you who are about to die.”
+
+Sogrange turned to the man who stood behind his chair.
+
+“If I might trouble you for a little dry toast?” he inquired. “A modern
+but very uncomfortable ailment,” he added, with a sigh. “One’s digestion
+must march with the years, I suppose.”
+
+Bernadine smiled.
+
+“Your toast you shall have, with pleasure, Marquis,” he said, “but as
+for your indigestion, do not let that trouble you any longer. I think
+that I can promise you immunity from that annoying complaint for the
+rest of your life.”
+
+“You are doing your best,” Peter declared, leaning back in his chair,
+“to take away my appetite.”
+
+Bernadine looked searchingly from one to the other of his two guests.
+
+“Yes,” he admitted, “you are brave men. I do not know why I should ever
+have doubted it. Your pose is excellent. I have no wish, however, to see
+you buoyed up by a baseless optimism. A somewhat remarkable chance has
+delivered you into my hands. You are my prisoners. You, Peter, Baron
+de Grost, I have hated all my days. You have stood between me and the
+achievement of some of my most dearly-cherished tasks. Always I have
+said to myself that the day of reckoning must come. It has arrived. As
+for you, Marquis de Sogrange, if my personal feelings towards you are
+less violent, you still represent the things absolutely inimical to
+me and my interests. The departure of you two men was the one thing
+necessary for the successful completion of certain tasks which I have in
+hand at the present moment.”
+
+Peter pushed away his plate.
+
+“You have succeeded in destroying my appetite, Count,” he declared. “Now
+that you have gone so far in expounding your amiable resolutions towards
+us, perhaps you will go a little further and explain exactly how,
+in this eminently respectable house, situated, I understand, in an
+eminently respectable neighborhood, with a police station within a mile,
+and a dozen or so witnesses as to our present whereabouts, you intend to
+expedite our removal?”
+
+Bernadine pointed toward the woman who sat facing him.
+
+“Ask the Baroness how these things are arranged.”
+
+They turned towards her. She fell back in her chair with a little gasp.
+She had fainted. Bernadine shrugged his shoulders. The butler and one
+of the footmen, who during the whole of the conversation had stolidly
+proceeded with their duties, in obedience to a gesture from their master
+took her up in their arms and carried her from the room.
+
+“The fear has come to her, too,” Bernadine murmured, softly. “It may
+come to you, my brave friends, before morning.”
+
+“It is possible,” Peter answered, his hand stealing around to his hip
+pocket, “but in the meantime, what is to prevent--”
+
+The hip pocket was empty. Peter’s sentence ended abruptly. Bernadine
+mocked him.
+
+“To prevent your shooting me in cold blood, I suppose,” he remarked.
+“Nothing except that my servants are too clever. No one save myself is
+allowed to remain under this roof with arms in their possession.
+Your pocket was probably picked before you had been in the place five
+minutes. No, my dear Baron, let me assure you that escape will not be so
+easy! You were always just a little inclined to be led away by the fair
+sex. The best men in the world, you know, have shared that failing, and
+the Baroness, alone and unprotected, had her attractions, eh?”
+
+Then something happened to Peter which had happened to him barely a
+dozen times in his life. He lost his temper and lost it rather badly.
+Without an instant’s hesitation, he caught up the decanter which stood
+by his side and flung it in his host’s face. Bernadine only partly
+avoided it by thrusting out his arms. The neck caught his forehead and
+the blood came streaming over his tie and collar. Peter had followed the
+decanter with a sudden spring. His fingers were upon Bernadine’s throat
+and he thrust his head back. Sogrange sprang to the door to lock it, but
+he was too late. The room seemed full of men-servants. Peter was dragged
+away, still struggling fiercely.
+
+“Tie them up!” Bernadine gasped, swaying in his chair. “Tie them up, do
+you hear? Carl, give me brandy.”
+
+He swallowed half a wineglassful of the raw spirit. His eyes were red
+with fury.
+
+“Take them to the gun room,” he ordered, “three of you to each of them,
+mind. I’ll shoot the man who lets either escape.”
+
+But Peter and Sogrange were both of them too wise to expend any more
+of their strength in a useless struggle. They suffered themselves to be
+conducted without resistance across the white stone hall, down a long
+passage, and into a room at the end, the window and fireplace of
+which were both blocked up. The floor was of red flags and the walls
+whitewashed. The only furniture was a couple of kitchen chairs and a
+long table. The door was of stout oak and fitted with a double lock. The
+sole outlet, so far as they could see, was a small round hole at the top
+of the roof. The door was locked behind them. They were alone.
+
+“The odd trick to Bernadine!” Peter exclaimed hoarsely, wiping a spot
+of blood from his forehead. “My dear Marquis, I scarcely know how to
+apologize. It is not often that I lose my temper so completely.”
+
+“The matter seems to be of very little consequence,” Sogrange answered.
+“This was probably our intended destination in any case. Seems to be
+rather an unfortunate expedition of ours, I am afraid.”
+
+“One cannot reckon upon men coming back from the dead,” Peter declared.
+“It isn’t often that you find every morning and every evening paper
+mistaken. As for the woman, I believe in her. She honestly meant to sell
+us those papers of Bernadine’s. I believe that she, too, will have to
+face a day of reckoning.”
+
+Sogrange strolled around the room, subjecting it everywhere to a close
+scrutiny. The result was hopeless. There was no method of escape save
+through the door.
+
+“There is certainly something strange about this apartment,” Peter
+remarked. “It is, to say the least of it, unusual to have windows in the
+roof and a door of such proportions. All the same, I think that those
+threats of Bernadine’s were a little strained. One cannot get rid
+of one’s enemies, nowadays, in the old-fashioned, melodramatic way.
+Bernadine must know quite well that you and I are not the sort of men to
+walk into a trap of any one’s setting, just as I am quite sure that he
+is not the man to risk even a scandal by breaking the law openly.”
+
+“You interest me,” Sogrange said. “I begin to suspect that you, too,
+have made some plans.”
+
+“But naturally,” Peter replied. “Once before Bernadine set a trap for me
+and he nearly had a chance of sending me for a swim in the Thames. Since
+then one takes precautions as a matter of course. We were followed down
+here, and by this time I should imagine that the alarm is given. If all
+was well, I was to have telephoned an hour ago.”
+
+“You are really,” Sogrange declared, “quite an agreeable companion, my
+dear Baron. You think of everything.”
+
+The door was suddenly opened. Bernadine stood upon the threshold and
+behind him several of the servants.
+
+“You will oblige me by stepping back into the study, my friends,” he
+ordered.
+
+“With great pleasure,” Sogrange answered, with alacrity. “We have no
+fancy for this room, I can assure you.”
+
+Once more they crossed the stone hall and entered the room into which
+they had first been shown. On the threshold, Peter stopped short and
+listened. It seemed to him that from somewhere upstairs he could hear
+the sound of a woman’s sobs. He turned to Bernadine.
+
+“The Baroness is not unwell, I trust?” he asked.
+
+“The Baroness is as well as she is likely to be for some time,”
+ Bernadine replied, grimly.
+
+They were all in the study now. Upon a table stood a telephone
+instrument. Bernadine drew a small revolver from his pocket.
+
+“Baron de Grost,” he said, “I find that you are not quite such a fool as
+I thought you. Some one is ringing up for you on the telephone. You will
+reply that you are well and safe and that you will be home as soon as
+your business here is finished. Your wife is at the other end. If you
+breathe a single word to her of your approaching end, she shall hear
+through the telephone the sound of the revolver shot that sends you to
+Hell.”
+
+“Dear me,” Peter protested, “I find this most unpleasant. If you will
+excuse me, I don’t think I’ll answer the call at all.”
+
+“You will answer it as I have directed,” Bernadine insisted. “Only
+remember this--if you speak a single ill-advised word, the end will be
+as I have said.”
+
+Peter picked up the receiver and held it to his ear.
+
+“Who is there?” he asked.
+
+It was Violet whose voice he heard. He listened for a moment to her
+anxious flood of questions.
+
+“There is not the slightest cause to be alarmed, dear,” he said. “Yes, I
+am down at the High House, near St. Mary’s. Bernadine is here. It seems
+that those reports of his death were absolutely unfounded.... Danger?
+Unprotected? Why, my dear Violet, you know how careful I always am.
+Simply because Bernadine used once to live here, and because the
+Baroness was his friend, I spoke to Sir John Dory over the telephone
+before we left, and an escort of half-a-dozen police followed us. They
+are about the place now, I have no doubt, but their presence is quite
+unnecessary. I shall be home before long, dear.... Yes, perhaps it
+would be as well to send the car down. Any one will direct him to the
+house--the High House, St. Mary’s, remember. Good-by!”
+
+Peter replaced the receiver and turned slowly round. Bernadine was
+smiling.
+
+“You did well to reassure your wife, even though it was a pack of lies
+you told her,” he remarked.
+
+Peter shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
+
+“My dear Bernadine,” he said, “up till now I have tried to take you
+seriously. You are really passing the limit. I must positively ask you
+to reflect a little. Do men who live the life that you and I live, trust
+any one? Am I--is the Marquis de Sogrange here--after a lifetime of
+experience, likely to leave the safety of our homes in company with a
+lady of whom we knew nothing except that she was your companion,
+without precautions? I do you the justice to believe you a person of
+commonsense. I know that we are as safe in this house as we should be in
+our own. War cannot be made in this fashion in an over-policed country
+like England.”
+
+“Do not be too sure,” Bernadine replied. “There are secrets about this
+house which have not yet been disclosed to you. There are means, my dear
+Baron, of transporting you into a world where you are likely to do much
+less harm than here, means ready at hand, and which would leave no more
+trace behind than those crumbling ashes can tell of the coal mine from
+which they came.”
+
+Peter preserved his attitude of bland incredulity.
+
+“Listen,” he said, drawing a whistle from his pocket, “it is just
+possible that you are in earnest. I will bet you, then, if you like, a
+hundred pounds, that if I blow this whistle you will either have to open
+your door within five minutes or find your house invaded by the police.”
+
+No one spoke for several moments. The veins were standing out upon
+Bernadine’s forehead.
+
+“We have had enough of this folly,” he cried. “If you refuse to realize
+your position, so much the worse for you. Blow your whistle, if you
+will. I am content.”
+
+Peter waited for no second bidding. He raised the whistle to his lips
+and blew it, loudly and persistently. Again there was silence. Bernadine
+mocked him.
+
+“Try once more, dear Baron,” he advised. “Your friends are perhaps a
+little hard of hearing. Try once more, and when you have finished, you
+and I and the Marquis de Sogrange will find our way once more to the
+gun room and conclude that trifling matter of business which brought you
+here.”
+
+Again Peter blew his whistle and again the silence was broken only by
+Bernadine’s laugh. Suddenly, however, that laugh was checked. Every one
+had turned toward the door, listening. A bell was ringing throughout the
+house.
+
+“It is the front door!” one of the servants exclaimed.
+
+No one moved. As though to put the matter beyond doubt, there was a
+steady knocking to be heard from the same direction.
+
+“It is a telegram or some late caller,” Bernadine declared, hoarsely.
+“Answer it, Carl. If any one would speak with the Baroness, she is
+indisposed and unable to receive. If any one desires me, I am here.”
+
+The man left the room. They heard him withdraw the chain from the door.
+Bernadine wiped the sweat from his forehead as he listened. He still
+gripped the revolver in his hand. Peter had changed his position a
+little and was standing now behind a high-backed chair. They heard
+the door creak open, a voice outside, and presently the tramp of heavy
+footsteps. Peter nodded understandingly.
+
+“It is exactly as I told you,” he said. “You were wise not to bet, my
+friend.”
+
+Again the tramp of feet in the hall. There was something unmistakable
+about the sound, something final and terrifying. Bernadine saw his
+triumph slipping away. Once more this man who had defied him so
+persistently, was to taste the sweets of victory. With a roar of fury
+he sprang across the room. He fired his revolver twice before Sogrange,
+with a terrible blow, knocked his arm upwards and sent the weapon
+spinning to the ceiling. Peter struck his assailant in the mouth,
+but the blow seemed scarcely to check him. They rolled on the floor
+together, their arms around one another’s necks. It was an affair, that,
+but of a moment. Peter, as lithe as a cat, was on his feet again almost
+at once, with a torn collar and an ugly mark on his face. There were
+strangers in the room now and the servants had mostly slipped away
+during the confusion. It was Sir John Dory himself who locked the door.
+Bernadine struggled slowly to his feet. He was face to face with half a
+dozen police constables in plain clothes.
+
+“You have a charge against this man, Baron?” the police commissioner
+asked.
+
+Peter shook his head.
+
+“The quarrel between us,” he replied, “is not for the police courts,
+although I will confess, Sir John, that your intervention was
+opportune.”
+
+“I, on the other hand,” Sogrange put in, “demand the arrest of the Count
+von Hern and the seizure of all papers in this house. I am the bearer of
+an autograph letter from the President of France in connection with this
+matter. The Count von Hern has committed extraditable offenses against
+my country. I am prepared to swear an information to that effect.”
+
+The police commissioner turned to Peter.
+
+“Your friend’s name?” he demanded.
+
+“The Marquis de Sogrange,” Peter told him.
+
+“He is a person of authority?”
+
+“To my certain knowledge,” Peter replied, “he has the implicit
+confidence of the French Government.”
+
+Sir John Dory made a sign. In another moment Bernadine would have been
+arrested. It seemed, indeed, as though nothing could save him now from
+this crowning humiliation. He himself, white and furious, was at a loss
+how to deal with an unexpected situation. Suddenly a thing happened
+stranger than any one of them there had ever dreamed of, so strange that
+even men such as Peter, Sogrange and Dory, whose nerves were of iron,
+faced one another, doubting and amazed. The floor beneath them rocked
+and billowed like the waves of a canvas sea. The windows were filled
+with flashes of red light, a great fissure parted the wall, the pictures
+and book-cases came crashing down beneath a shower of masonry. It was
+the affair of a second. Above them shone the stars and around them a
+noise like thunder. Bernadine, who alone understood, was the first to
+recover himself. He stood in the midst of them, his hands above his
+head, laughing as he looked around at the strange storm, laughing like a
+madman.
+
+“The wonderful Carl,” he cried. “Oh, matchless servant. Arrest me now,
+if you will, you dogs of the police. Rout out my secrets, dear Baron de
+Grost. Tuck them under your arm and hurry to Downing Street. This is
+the hospitality of the High House, my friends. It loves you so well that
+only your ashes shall leave it.”
+
+His mouth was open for another sentence when he was struck. A whole
+pillar of marble from one of the rooms above came crashing through and
+buried him underneath a falling shower of masonry. Peter escaped by a
+few inches. Those who were left unhurt sprang through the yawning wall
+out into the garden. Sir John, Sogrange and Peter, three of the men--one
+limping badly, came to a standstill in the middle of the lawn. Before
+them, the house was crumbling like a pack of cards, and louder even than
+the thunder of the falling structure was the roar of the red flames.
+
+“The Baroness!” Peter cried, and took one leap forward.
+
+“I am here,” she sobbed, running to them from out of the shadows. “I
+have lost everything--my jewels, my clothes, all except what I have on.
+They gave me but a moment’s warning.”
+
+“Is there any one else in the house?” Peter demanded.
+
+“No one but you who were in that room,” she answered.
+
+“Your companion!”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“There was no companion,” she faltered. “I thought it sounded better
+to speak of her. I had her place laid at table, but she never even
+existed.”
+
+Peter tore off his coat.
+
+“There are the others in the room!” he exclaimed. “We must go back.”
+
+Sogrange caught him by the shoulder and pointed to a shadowy group some
+distance away.
+
+“We are all out but Bernadine,” he said. “For him were is no hope.
+Quick!”
+
+They sprang back only just in time. The outside wall of the house fell
+with a terrible crash. The room which they had quitted was blotted
+now out of existence. From right and left, in all directions along the
+country road, came the flashing of lights and little knots of hurrying
+people.
+
+“It is the end!” Peter muttered. “Yesterday I should have regretted the
+passing of a brave enemy. To-day I hail with joy the death of a brute.”
+
+The Baroness, who had been sitting upon a garden seat, sobbing, came
+softly up to them. She laid her fingers upon Peter’s arm imploringly.
+
+“You will not leave me friendless?” she begged. “The papers I promised
+you are destroyed, but many of his secrets are here.”
+
+She tapped her forehead.
+
+“Madame,” Peter answered, “I have no wish to know them. Years ago I
+swore that the passing of Bernadine should mark my own retirement
+from the world in which we both lived. I shall keep my word. To-night
+Bernadine is dead. To-night, Sogrange, my work is finished.” The
+Baroness began to sob again.
+
+“And I thought that you were a man,” she moaned, “so gallant, so
+honorable--”
+
+“Madame,” Sogrange intervened, “I shall commend you to the pension list
+of the Double-Four.”
+
+She dried her eyes.
+
+“It is not money only I want,” she whispered, her eyes following Peter.
+
+Sogrange shook his head.
+
+“You have never seen the Baroness de Grost?” he asked her.
+
+“But no!”
+
+“Ah!” Sogrange murmured.... “Our escort, madame, is at your service--as
+far as London.”
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Peter Ruff and the Double Four, by
+E. Phillips Oppenheim
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PETER RUFF AND THE DOUBLE FOUR ***
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