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diff --git a/21879-h/21879-h.htm b/21879-h/21879-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2e78e9c --- /dev/null +++ b/21879-h/21879-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11030 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Sins Of Séverac Bablon, by Sax Rohmer. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i5 {display: block; margin-left: 5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sins of Séverac Bablon, by Sax Rohmer + +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: The Sins of Séverac Bablon + +Author: Sax Rohmer + +Release Date: June 20, 2007 [EBook #21879] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SINS OF SÉVERAC BABLON *** + + + + +Produced by David Clarke, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<h1>THE SINS OF SÉVERAC BABLON</h1> + +<h2>By Sax Rohmer</h2> + + +<h4>CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD<br /> +London, New York, Toronto & Melbourne</h4> + +<h4>First published <i>January 1914</i>.<br /> +Popular Edition <i>February 1919</i>.</h4> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I. <span class="smcap">To Introduce Mr. Julius Rohscheimer</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II. <span class="smcap">"Thirty Men who were all Alike"</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III. <span class="smcap">Midnight—and the Man</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV. <span class="smcap">The Head of Cæsar</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V. <span class="smcap">A Mystic Hand</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI. <span class="smcap">The Shadow of Séverac Bablon</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII. <span class="smcap">The Ring</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII. <span class="smcap">In the Dressing-room</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX. <span class="smcap">Es-Sindibad of Cadogan Gardens</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X. <span class="smcap">Kimberley</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI. <span class="smcap">Mr. Sanrack Visits the Hotel Astoria</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII. <span class="smcap">Love, Lucre and Mr. Alden</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII. <span class="smcap">The Listener</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV. <span class="smcap">Zoe Dreams</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV. <span class="smcap">At "The Cedars"</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI. <span class="smcap">The Lamp and the Mask</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII. <span class="smcap">The Damascus Curtain</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII. <span class="smcap">A White Orchid</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX. <span class="smcap">Three Letters</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX. <span class="smcap">Closed Doors</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI. <span class="smcap">A Corner in Millionaires</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII. <span class="smcap">The Turkish Yataghan</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII. <span class="smcap">M. Levi</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV. <span class="smcap">"V-e-n-g-e-n-c-e"</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV. <span class="smcap">An Official Call</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI. <span class="smcap">Grimsdyke</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII. <span class="smcap">Yellow Cigarettes</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII. <span class="smcap">At the Palace—and Later</span></a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>TO INTRODUCE MR. JULIUS ROHSCHEIMER</h3> + + +<p>"There's half a score of your ancestral halls," said Julius Rohscheimer, +"that I could sell up to-morrow morning!"</p> + +<p>Of the quartet that heard his words no two members seemed quite +similarly impressed.</p> + +<p>The pale face of Adeler, the great financier's confidential secretary, +expressed no emotion whatever. Sir Richard Haredale flashed contempt +from his grey eyes—only to veil his scorn of the man's vulgarity +beneath a cloud of tobacco smoke. Tom Sheard, of the <i>Gleaner</i>, drew +down a corner of his mouth and felt ashamed of the acquaintance. Denby, +the music-hall comedian, softly whistled those bars of a popular ballad +set to the words, "I stood in old Jerusalem."</p> + +<p>"Come along to Park Lane with me," continued Rohscheimer, fixing his +dull, prominent eyes upon Sheard, "and you'll see more English nobility +than you'd find inside the House of Lords!"</p> + +<p>"What's made him break out?" the comedian whispered, aside, to Adeler. +For it was an open secret that this man, whose financial operations +shook the thrones of monarchy, whose social fêtes were attended by the +smartest people, was subject to outbursts of the kind which now saw him +seated before a rapidly emptying magnum in a corner of the great +restaurant. At such times he would frequent the promenades of +music-halls, consorting with whom he found there, and would display the +gross vulgarity of a Whitechapel pawnbroker or tenth-rate variety agent.</p> + +<p>"'S-sh!" replied the secretary. "A big coup! It is always so with him. +Mr. Rohscheimer is overwrought. I shall induce him to take a holiday."</p> + +<p>"Trip up the Jordan?" suggested Denby, with cheery rudeness.</p> + +<p>The secretary's drooping eyelids flickered significantly, but no other +indication of resentment displayed itself upon that impassive face.</p> + +<p>"A good Jew is proud of his race—and with reason!" he said quietly. +"There are Jews and Jews."</p> + +<p>He turned, deferentially, to his employer—that great man having +solicited his attention with the words, "Hark to him, Adeler!"</p> + +<p>"I did not quite catch Mr. Sheard's remark," said Adeler.</p> + +<p>"I merely invited Mr. Rohscheimer to observe the scene upon his right," +explained Sheard.</p> + +<p>The others turned their eyes in that direction. Through a screen of palm +leaves the rose-shaded table lights, sparkling silver, and snowy covers +of the supper room were visible. Here a high-light gleamed upon a bare +shoulder; there, a stalwart male back showed, blocked out in bold black +upon the bright canvas. Waiters flitted noiselessly about. The drone of +that vocal orchestra filled the place: the masculine conversation, the +brass and wood-wind—the sweeter tones of women, the violins; their +laughter, tremolo passages.</p> + +<p>"I'm observing it," growled Rohscheimer. "Nobody in particular there."</p> + +<p>"There is comfort, luxury, there," said Sheard.</p> + +<p>The financier stared, uncomprehensively.</p> + +<p>"Now look out yonder," continued the other.</p> + +<p>It was a different prospect whereto he directed their eyes.</p> + +<p>The diminuendo of the Embankment lamps, the steely glitter of the waters +beyond, the looming bulk of the bridge, the silhouette shape of the On +monolith; these things lay below them, dimly to be seen from the +brilliant room. Within was warmth, light, and gladness; without, a cold +place of shadows, limned in the grey of discontent and the black of want +and desolation.</p> + +<p>"Every seat there," continued Sheard, as the company gazed vaguely from +the window, "has its burden of hopelessness and misery. Ranks of +homeless wretches form up in the arch yonder, awaiting the arrival of +the Salvation Army officials. Where, in the whole world, can misery in +bulk be found thus side by side with all that wealth can procure?"</p> + +<p>There was a brief silence. Sheard was on his hobbyhorse, and there were +few there disposed to follow him. The views of the <i>Gleaner</i> are not +everybody's money.</p> + +<p>"What sort of gas are you handing us out?" asked Rohscheimer. "Those +lazy scamps don't deserve any comfort; they never worked to get it! The +people here are moneyed people."</p> + +<p>"Just so!" interrupted Sheard, taking up the challenge with true +<i>Gleaner</i> ardour. "Moneyed people! That's the whole distinction in two +words!"</p> + +<p>"Well, then—what about it?"</p> + +<p>"This—that if every guest now in the hotel would write a cheque for an +amount representing 1 per cent. of his weekly income, every man, woman, +and child under the arch yonder would be provided with board and lodging +for the next six months!"</p> + +<p>"Why do it?" demanded Rohscheimer, not unreasonably. "Why feed 'em up on +idleness?"</p> + +<p>"Their idleness may be compulsory," replied Sheard. "Few would employ a +starving man while a well-nourished one was available."</p> + +<p>"Cut the Socialist twaddle!" directed the other coarsely. "It gets on my +nerves! You and your cheques! Who'd you make 'em payable to? Editor of +the <i>Gleaner</i>."</p> + +<p>"I would suggest," said Sir Richard Haredale, smiling, "to Séverac +Bablon."</p> + +<p>"To who?" inquired Rohscheimer, with greater interest than grammar.</p> + +<p>"Séverac Bablon," said Sheard, informatively, "the man who gave a +hundred dollars to each of the hands discharged from the Runek Mill, +somewhere in Ontario. That's whom you mean, isn't it, Haredale?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," assented the latter. "I was reading about it to-day."</p> + +<p>"We had it in this morning," continued Sheard. "Two thousand men."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" grunted Rohscheimer hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"Two thousand men," repeated Sheard. "Each of them received notes to the +value of a hundred dollars on the morning after the mill closed down, +and a card, 'With the compliments of Séverac Bablon.'"</p> + +<p>"Forty thousand pounds!" shouted the millionaire. "I don't believe it!"</p> + +<p>"It's confirmed by Reuter to-night."</p> + +<p>"Then the man's a madman!" pronounced Rohscheimer conclusively.</p> + +<p>"Pity he doesn't have a cut at London!" came Denby's voice.</p> + +<p>"Is it?" growled the previous speaker. "Don't you believe it! A maniac +like that would mean ruination for business if he was allowed to get +away with it!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, well!" yawned Sheard, standing up and glancing at his watch, "you +may be right. Anyway, I've got a report to put in. I'm off!"</p> + +<p>"Me, too!" said the financier thickly. "Come on, Haredale. We're overdue +at Park Lane! It's time we were on view in Park Lane, Adeler!"</p> + +<p>The tide of our narrative setting in that direction, it will be well if +we, too, look in at the Rohscheimer establishment. We shall find +ourselves in brilliant company.</p> + +<p>Julius's harshest critics were forced to concede that the house in Park +Lane was a focus of all smart society. Yet smart society felt oddly ill +at ease in the salon of Mrs. Julius Rohscheimer. Nobody knew whether the +man to whom he might be talking at the moment were endeavouring to +arrange a mortgage with Rohscheimer; whether the man's wife had fallen +in arrears with her interest—to the imminent peril of the family +necklace; or whether the man had simply dropped in because others of his +set did so, and because, being invited, he chanced to have nothing +better to do.</p> + +<p>These things did not add to the gaiety of the entertainments, but of +their brilliancy there could be no possible doubt.</p> + +<p>Jewish society was well represented, and neither at Streeter's nor +elsewhere could a finer display of diamonds be viewed than upon one of +Mrs. Rohscheimer's nights. The lady had enjoyed some reputation as a +hostess before the demise of her first husband had led her to seek +consolation in the arms (and in the cheque-book) of the financier. So +the house in Park Lane was visited by the smartest people—to the mutual +satisfaction of host and hostess.</p> + +<p>"Where's the Dook?" inquired the former, peering over a gilded +balustrade at the throng below. They had entered, unseen, by a private +stair.</p> + +<p>"I understand," replied Haredale, "that the Duke is unfortunately +indisposed."</p> + +<p>"Never turns up!" growled Rohscheimer.</p> + +<p>"Never likely to!" was Haredale's mental comment; but, his situation +being a delicate one, he diplomatically replied, "We have certainly been +unfortunate in that respect."</p> + +<p>Haredale—one of the best-known men in town—worked as few men work to +bring the right people to the house in Park Lane (and to save his +commission). This arrangement led Mr. Rohscheimer to rejoice exceedingly +over his growing social circle, and made Haredale so ashamed of himself +that, so he declared to an intimate friend, he had not looked in a +mirror for nine months, but relied implicitly upon the good taste of his +man.</p> + +<p>"Come up and give me your opinion of the new waistcoats," said +Rohscheimer. "I don't fancy my luck in 'em, personally."</p> + +<p>Following the financier to his dressing-room, Haredale, as a smart maid +stood aside to let them pass, felt the girl's hand slip a note into his +own. Glancing at it, behind Rohscheimer's back, he read: "Keep him away +as much as ever you can."</p> + +<p>"She has spotted him!" he muttered; and, in his sympathy with the +difficulties of poor Mrs. Rohscheimer's position, he forgot, +temporarily, the difficulties of his own.</p> + +<p>"By the way," said Rohscheimer, "did you bring along that late edition +with the details of the Runek Mill business?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Haredale, producing it from his overcoat pocket.</p> + +<p>"Just read it out, will you?" continued the other, "while I have a rub +down."</p> + +<p>Haredale nodded, and, lighting a cigarette, sank into a deep arm-chair +and read the following paragraph:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"A FAIRY GODMOTHER IN ONTARIO</p> + +<p>"(<i>From our Toronto Correspondent</i>)</p> + +<p>"The identity of the philanthropist who indemnified the +ex-employees of the Runek Mill still remains a mystery. Beyond the +fact that his name, real or assumed, is Séverac Bablon, nothing +whatever is known regarding him. The business was recently acquired +by J. J. Oppner, who will be remembered for his late gigantic +operation on Wall Street, and the whole of the working staff +received immediate notice to quit. No reason is assigned for this +wholesale dismissal. But each of the 2,000 men thus suddenly thrown +out of employment received at his home, in a plain envelope, +stamped with the Three Rivers postmark, the sum of one hundred +dollars, and a typed slip bearing the name, 'Séverac Bablon.' Mr. +Oppner had been approached, but is very reticent upon the subject. +There is a rumour circulating here to the effect that he himself is +the donor. But I have been unable to obtain confirmation of this."</p></div> + +<p>"It wouldn't be Oppner," spluttered Rohscheimer, appearing, towel in +hand. "He's not such a fool! Sounds like one of these 'Yellow' fables to +me."</p> + +<p>Haredale shrugged his shoulders, dropping the paper on the rug.</p> + +<p>"A man at once wealthy and generous is an improbable, but not an +impossible, being," he said.</p> + +<p>Rohscheimer stared, dully. There were times when he suspected Haredale +of being studiously rude to him. He preserved a gloomy silence +throughout the rest of the period occupied by his toilet, and in silence +descended to the ballroom.</p> + +<p>The throng was considerable, and the warmth oppressive at what time Mrs. +Rohscheimer's ball was in full swing. Scarcely anyone was dancing, but +the walls were well lined, and the crush about the doors suggestive of a +cup tie.</p> + +<p>"Who's that tall chap with the white hair?" inquired Rohscheimer from +the palmy corner to which Haredale discreetly had conveyed him.</p> + +<p>"That is the Comte de Noeue," replied his informant; "a distinguished +member of the French diplomatic corps."</p> + +<p>"We're getting on!" chuckled the millionaire. "He's a good man to have, +isn't he Haredale?"</p> + +<p>"Highly respectable!" said the latter dryly.</p> + +<p>"We don't seem to get the dooks, and so on?"</p> + +<p>"The older nobility is highly conservative!" explained Haredale +evasively. "But Mrs. Rohscheimer is a recognised leader of the smart +set."</p> + +<p>Rohscheimer swayed his massive head in bear-like discontent.</p> + +<p>"I don't get the hang of this smart set business," he complained. +"Aren't the dooks and earls and so on in the smart set?"</p> + +<p>"Not strictly so!" answered Haredale, helping himself to +brandy-and-soda.</p> + +<p>This social conundrum was too much for the millionaire, and he lapsed +into heavy silence, to be presently broken with the remark:</p> + +<p>"All the Johnnies holding the wall up are alike, Haredale! It's funny I +don't know any of 'em! You see them in the sixpenny monthlies, with the +girl they're going to marry in the opposite column. Give me their names, +will you—starting with the one this end?"</p> + +<p>Haredale, intending, good-humouredly, to comply, glanced around the +spacious room—only to realise that he, too, was unacquainted with the +possibly distinguished company of muralites.</p> + +<p>"I rather fancy," he said, "a lot of the people you mean are +Discoveries—of Mrs. Rohscheimer's, you know—writers and painters and +so forth."</p> + +<p>"No, no!" complained the host. "I know all that lot—and they all know +me! I mean the nice-looking fellows round the wall! I haven't been +introduced, Haredale. They've come in since this waltz started."</p> + +<p>Haredale looked again, and his slightly bored expression gave place to +one of curiosity.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>"THIRTY MEN WHO WERE ALL ALIKE"</h3> + + +<p>The room was so inconveniently crowded that dancing was a mere farce, +only kept up by the loyal support of Mrs. Rohscheimer's compatriots. The +bulk of the company crowded around in intermingling groups, to the +accompaniment of ceaseless shuffling and murmuring which all but drowned +the strains of the celebrated orchestra. But lining the wall around was +a rank of immaculately groomed gentlemen who seemed to assume a closer +formation as Haredale, from behind the palms, observed them.</p> + +<p>In two particulars this rank excited his curiosity.</p> + +<p>The individuals comprising it were, as Rohscheimer had pointed out, +remarkably alike, being all of a conventional Army type; and they were +unobtrusively entering, one behind the other, and methodically taking up +their places around the room!</p> + +<p>Even as he watched, the last man entered, and the big double doors were +closed behind him!</p> + +<p>"What's this, Haredale?" came a hoarse whisper from Rohscheimer. "Where +are these Johnnies comin' from? Does Mrs. R. know they're here?"</p> + +<p>"Couldn't say," was the reply. "But it would be a simple matter for a +number of impostors to gain access to the house whilst dancing was in +progress, provided they came in small parties and looked the part."</p> + +<p>"Impostors!" growled Rohscheimer uneasily. "Don't you think they've been +invited, then?"</p> + +<p>"Well, who shut those doors?" muttered Haredale, leaning across the +little table the better to observe what was going forward.</p> + +<p>"You don't mean——" began Rohscheimer, and broke off, as the orchestra +dashed through the coda of the waltz and ceased.</p> + +<p>For stark amazement froze the words upon his tongue.</p> + +<p>Coincident with the last pair of dancers performing their final gyration +and the hum of voices assuming a louder tone, each of the men standing +around the walls produced a brace of revolvers and covered the +particular group nearest to him!</p> + +<p>The conversational hum rose to a momentary roar, and ceased abruptly. +The horns of taxi-cabs passing below could be plainly heard, and the +drone and rattle of motor-buses. Men who had done good work in other +emergencies looked down the gleaming barrels, back to the crowds of +women—and had no inspiration, but merely wondered. Nobody moved. Nobody +fainted.</p> + +<p>"Held up!" came, in pronounced Kansas, from somewhere amongst the crush.</p> + +<p>"Quick!" whispered Haredale. "We're overlooked! Through the +conservatory, and——"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me!"</p> + +<p>Rohscheimer and Haredale turned, together, and each found himself +looking directly into the little ring of a revolver's muzzle. A tall, +slim figure in faultless evening dress stood behind them, half in the +shadows. This mysterious stranger had jet black hair, and wore a black +silk half-mask.</p> + +<p>The melodramatic absurdity of the thing came home strongly to Haredale. +But its harsh reality was equally obvious.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," continued the masked speaker, in a low, refined voice, and +with a faint, elusive accent, "you will oblige me, Mr. Rohscheimer, by +stepping forward so that your guests can see you? Sir Richard +Haredale—may I trouble you?"</p> + +<p>Rohscheimer, his heavy features slightly pale, rose unsteadily. +Haredale, after a rapid glance about him, rose also, with tightened +lips; and the trio moved forward into full view of the assembled +company.</p> + +<p>"The gentlemen surrounding you," said the man in the mask, slightly +raising his voice, "are all sworn to the Cause which I represent. You +would, perhaps, term them anarchists!"</p> + +<p>An audible shudder passed through the assemblage.</p> + +<p>"They are desperate men," he continued, "indifferent to death, and +would, without compunction, shoot down everyone present—if I merely +raised my hand! Each of them is a social pariah, with a price upon his +head. Let no man think this is a jest! Any movement made without my +permission will be instantly fatal."</p> + +<p><i>Dzing!</i> went the bell of a bus below. <i>Grr-r-r!</i> went the motor in +re-starting. <i>OO-oo! OO-oo!</i> came from the horn of a taxi-cab. And +around the wall stood the silent rank with the raised revolvers.</p> + +<p>"I shall call upon those gentlemen whom I consider most philanthropic," +resumed the musical voice, "to subscribe to my Cause! Mr. Rohscheimer, +your host, will head the list with a diamond stud, valued at one +thousand guineas, and two rings, representing, together, three thousand +pounds! Place them on that pedestal, Mr. Rohscheimer!"</p> + +<p>"I won't do it!" cried the financier, in rising cadence. "I defy you! +I——"</p> + +<p>"Cut it!" snapped Haredale roughly. "Don't be such a cad as to expose +women——" He had caught sight of a pretty, pale face in the throng, +that made the idea of these mysterious robbers opening fire doubly, +trebly horrible. "It goes against the grain, but hand them over. We can +do nothing—yet!"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Sir Richard!" said the masked spokesman, and waved aside the +hand with which Haredale proffered his own signet ring. "I have not +called upon you, sir! Mr. Hohsmann, your daughters would feel affronted +did you not give them an opportunity of appearing upon the subscription +list! The necklace and the aigrette will do! I shall post, of course, a +formal receipt to Hamilton Place!"</p> + +<p>And so the incredible comedy proceeded—until thousands of pounds' worth +of jewellery lay upon the pedestal at the foot of a bronze statuette of +Pandora!</p> + +<p>"The list is closed!" called the spokesman. "Doors!"</p> + +<p>Open came the doors at his command, and revealed to those who could see +outside, a double rank of evening-dress bandits.</p> + +<p>"The company," he resumed, "will pass out in single file to the white +drawing-room. Mr. Rohscheimer—will you lead the way?"</p> + +<p>In sullen submission out went Rohscheimer, and after him his guests—or, +rather, his wife's guests—until that whole brilliant company was packed +into the small white room. Someone had thoughtfully closed the shutters +of the windows giving on Park Lane, and securely screwed them; so that, +when the last straggler had entered, and the door was shut, they were in +a trap!</p> + +<p>"Listen, everybody!" came Haredale's voice. "Keep cool! You fellows by +the door—get your shoulders to it!"</p> + +<p>At his words, the men standing nearest to the door turned to execute +these instructions, and were confronted by the following type-written +notice pinned upon the white panels:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"A detailed subscription list will appear in the leading papers +to-morrow, and it will doubtless relieve and gratify subscribers to +learn that <i>the revolvers were not loaded</i>!"</p></div> + +<p>There was little delay after that. Within sixty seconds the door was +open; within three minutes the wires were humming with the astounding +news.</p> + +<p>Tom Sheard, his work completed, was about to leave the <i>Gleaner</i> office, +when—</p> + +<p>"Sheard!" shouted the news editor from an upper landing. "Amazing +business at Rohscheimer's in Park Lane! Robbery! Brigands! Terrific! Off +you go! Taxi!"</p> + +<p>And off went Sheard without delay.</p> + +<p>He entered Park Lane, to find that part of the thoroughfare adjacent to +the financier's house packed with vehicles of all sorts and sizes. Women +in full dress, pressmen, policemen, loafers, were pouring out and +rushing in to Mr. Rohscheimer's residence! Never before was such a scene +witnessed at that hour of the night in Park Lane.</p> + +<p>As he passed under the awning, pressing his way towards the steps, he +encountered an excited young gentleman who wore a closed opera hat, but +was evidently ignorant of his interesting appearance. This young +gentleman he chanced to know, and having rectified the irregularity in +his toilet, from him he secured some splendid copy.</p> + +<p>"You see, I just dropped in to take a look round, and as I strolled up a +mob of jokers jumped out of a cab just in front of me, and we all +crawled in together, sort of thing. I happened to notice a footman going +upstairs and two of the jokers I spoke about behind him. They were +laughing, and so forth, and he was just on the first landing, when they +nabbed him from behind—positive fact!—and threw the chap down on his +face! I'm thinking it's a poor kind of joke when the other two fellows +jolly well nobble <i>me</i>! Before I know what's up, I'm pushed into an +anteroom or somewhere, and I hear these chaps banging the front door and +running upstairs! I should have sung out like steam, only they'd +handcuffed me wrong way round and tied a beastly cork arrangement in my +mouth!</p> + +<p>"Just before I burst a blood-vessel it occurred to me that I might as +well keep quiet; so I sat on the floor listening; but I didn't hear +anything for what seemed like an hour! Then there was a mob of fellows +came downstairs—and the door opened. They seemed to slip out in twos +and threes from what I could gather, and by the time they'd nearly all +gone a perfect pandemonium broke out, upstairs and down!</p> + +<p>"The servants—who'd all been locked in the cellar—got out first. Then +Haredale came bounding downstairs, and, luckily for me, heard me kicking +at the door. Then everybody was rushing about! Rohscheimer was bawling +in the telephone! Some other chap was rushing for a doctor—for Adeler, +who got knocked on the head in the library. Now here's the wretched +police arresting everybody who looks as though he'd been in the Army! +That's all the beastly description anyone can give! They suspected Dick +Langley the minute they saw him, because he's got a military appearance! +And I shouldn't be surprised to hear that they'd arrested every fellow +in the Guards' Club!</p> + +<p>"Here's the thing, though: they've all got clean away! With about forty +thousand pounds' worth of jewellery! It's a preposterous sort of thing, +isn't it?"</p> + +<p>Sheard agreed that it was the most preposterous sort of thing +imaginable; and, leaving his excited acquaintance, he set out to seek +further particulars. But very few were forthcoming.</p> + +<p>As to the manner in which the clique had obtained admission, that called +for little explanation. They had simply presented themselves, armed with +invitations, singly and in small parties, whilst dancing was in +progress, and in a house open to such mixed society had been admitted +without arousing suspicion. There was little that was obscure or +inexplicable in the coup; it was an amazing display of <i>force majeure</i>, +an act of stark audacity. It pointed to the existence in London of a +hitherto unsuspected genius. Such was Sheard's opinion.</p> + +<p>From an American guest, who had kept perfectly cool during the +"hold-up," and had quietly taken stock of the robbers, he learnt that, +exclusive of the spokesman, they numbered exactly thirty; were much of a +similar build, being well-set-up men of military bearing; and, most +extraordinary circumstance, were facially all alike!</p> + +<p>"Gee! but it's a fact!" declared his informant. "They all had moderate +fair hair, worn short and parted left-centre, neat blonde moustaches, +and fresh complexions, and the whole thirty were like as beans!"</p> + +<p>Two other interesting facts Sheard elicited from Adeler, who wore a +white bandage about his damaged skull. The whole of the guests +victimised were compatriots of their host.</p> + +<p>"It is from those who are of my nation that they have taken all their +booty," he said, smiling. "This daring robber has evidently strong +racial prejudices! Then, each of the victims had received, during the +past month threatening letters demanding money for various charities. +These letters did not emanate from the institutions named, but were +anonymous appeals. The point seems worth notice."</p> + +<p>And so, armed with the usual police assurance that several sensational +arrests might be expected in the morning, Sheard departed with this +enthralling copy hot for the machines that had been stopped to take it.</p> + +<p>When, thoroughly tired, he again quitted the <i>Gleaner</i> office, it was to +direct his weary footsteps towards the Embankment and the all-night car +that should bear him home.</p> + +<p>Crossing Tallis Street, he became aware of a confused murmur proceeding +from somewhere ahead, and as he approached nearer to the river this took +definite form and proclaimed itself a chaotic chorus of human voices.</p> + +<p>As he came out on to the Embankment an extraordinary scene presented +itself.</p> + +<p>Directly in his path stood a ragged object—a piece of social flotsam—a +unit of London's misery. This poor filthy fellow was singing at the top +of his voice, a music-hall song upon that fertile topic, "the girls," +was dancing wildly around a dilapidated hat which stood upon the +pavement at his feet, and was throwing sovereigns into this same hat +from an apparently inexhaustible store in his coat pocket!</p> + +<p>Seeing Sheard standing watching him, he changed his tune and burst into +an extempore lyric, "<i>The quids! The quids! The golden quids—the +quids!</i>" and so on, until, filled with a sudden hot suspicion, he +snatched up his hat, with its jingling contents, hugged it to his +breast, and ran like the wind!</p> + +<p>Following him with his eyes as he made off towards Waterloo Bridge, the +bewildered pressman all but came to the conclusion that he was the +victim of a weird hallucination.</p> + +<p>For the night was filled with the songs, the shouts, the curses, the +screams, of a ragged army of wretches who threw up gold in the air—who +juggled with gold—who played pitch-and-toss with gold—who ran with +great handfuls of gold clutched to their bosoms—who pursued one another +for gold—who fought to defend the gold they had gained—who wept for +the gold they had lost.</p> + +<p>One poor old woman knelt at the kerb, counting bright sovereigns into +neat little piles, and perfectly indifferent to the advice of a kindly +policeman, who, though evidently half dazed with the wonders of the +night, urged her to get along to a safer place.</p> + +<p>Two dilapidated tramps, one of whom wore a battered straw hat, whilst +his friend held an ancient green parasol over his bare head, appeared +arm-in-arm, displaying much elegance of deportment, and, hailing a +passing cab, gave the address, "Savoy," with great aplomb.</p> + +<p>Fights were plentiful, and the available police were kept busy arresting +the combatants. Two officers passed Sheard, escorting a lean, ragged +individual whose pockets jingled as he walked, and who spoke of the +displeasure with which this unseemly arrest would fill "his people."</p> + +<p>Presently a bewildered Salvation Army official appeared. Sheard promptly +buttonholed him.</p> + +<p>"Don't ask me, sir!" he said, in response to the obvious question. +"Heaven only knows what it <i>is</i> about! But I can tell you this much: no +less than forty thousand pounds has been given away on the Embankment +to-night! And in gold! Such an incredible example of ill-considered +generosity I've never heard of! More harm has been done to our work +to-night than we can hope to rectify in a twelvemonth!</p> + +<p>"Of course, it will do good in a few, a very few, cases. But, on the +whole, it will do, I may say, incalculable harm. How was it distributed? +In little paper bags, like those used by the banks. It sent half the +poor fellows crazy! Just imagine—a broken-down wretch who'd lived on +the verge of starvation for, maybe, years, suddenly has a bag of +sovereigns put into his hand! Good heavens! what madness!"</p> + +<p>"Who did the distributing?"</p> + +<p>"That's the curious part of it! The bags were distributed by a number of +men wearing the dark overcoats and uniform caps of the Salvation Army! +That's how they managed to get through with the business without +arousing the curiosity of the police. I don't know how many of them +there were, but I should imagine twenty or thirty. They were through +with it and gone before we woke up to what they had done!"</p> + +<p>Sheard thanked him for his information, stood a moment, irresolute; and +turned back once more to the <i>Gleaner</i> office.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Thus, then, did a strange personality announce his coming and flood the +British press with adjectives.</p> + +<p>The sensation created, on the following day, by the news of the Park +Lane robbery was no greater than that occasioned by the news of the +extraordinary Embankment affair.</p> + +<p>"What do we deduce," demanded a talkative and obtrusively clever person +in a late City train, "from the circumstance that all thirty of the Park +Lane brigands were alike?"</p> + +<p>"Obviously," replied a quiet voice, "that it was a 'make-up.' Thirty +identical wigs, thirty identical moustaches, and the same grease-paint!"</p> + +<p>A singularly handsome man was the speaker. He was dark, masterful, and +had notably piercing eyes. The clever person became silent.</p> + +<p>"Being all made up as a very common type of man-about-town," continued +this striking-looking stranger, "they would pass unnoticed anywhere. If +the police are looking for thirty blonde men of similar appearance they +are childishly wasting their time. They are wasting their time in any +event—as the future will show."</p> + +<p>Everyone in the carriage was listening now, and a man in a corner asked: +"Do you think there is any connection between the Park Lane and +Embankment affairs, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Think!" smiled the other, rising as the train slowed into Ludgate Hill. +"You evidently have not seen this."</p> + +<p>He handed his questioner an early edition of an evening paper, and with +a terse "Good morning," left the carriage.</p> + +<p>Glaringly displayed on the front page was the following:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>WHO IS HE?</p> + +<p>"We received early this morning the following advertisement, +prepaid in cash, and insert it here by reason of the great interest +which we feel sure it will possess for our readers:</p> + +<p>"'<span class="smcap">On Behalf</span> of the Poor Ones of the Embankment, I thank the +following philanthropists for their generous donations:"</p> + +<p><i>(Here followed a list of those guests of Mrs. Rohscheimer's who +had been victimised upon the previous night, headed with the name +of Julius Rohscheimer himself; and beside each name appeared an +amount representing the value of the article, or articles, +appropriated.)</i></p> + +<p>"'They may rest assured that not one halfpenny has been deducted +for working expenses. In fact, when the donations come to be +realised the Operative may be the loser. But no matter. "Expend +your money in pious uses, either voluntarily or by constraint."</p> + +<p>"'(Signed) <span class="smcap">Séverac Bablon</span>.'"</p></div> + +<p>The paper was passed around in silence.</p> + +<p>"That fellow seemed to know a lot about it!" said someone.</p> + +<p>None of the men replied; but each looked at the other strangely—and +wondered.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>MIDNIGHT—AND THE MAN</h3> + + +<p>The next two days were busy ones for Sheard, who, from a variety of +causes—the chief being his intimacy with the little circle which, +whether it would or not, gathered around Mr. Julius Rohscheimer—found +himself involved in the mystery of Séverac Bablon. He had interviewed +this man and that, endeavouring to obtain some coherent story of the +great "hold up," but with little success. Everything was a mysterious +maze, and Scotland Yard was without any clue that might lead to the +solution. All the Fleet Street crime specialists had advanced theories, +and now, on the night of the third day after the audacious robbery, +Sheard was contributing his theory to the Sunday newspaper for which he +worked.</p> + +<p>The subject of his article was the identity of Séverac Bablon, whom +Sheard was endeavouring to prove to be not an individual, but a society; +a society, so he argued, formed for the immolation of Capital upon the +altars of Demos.</p> + +<p>The course of reasoning that he had taken up proved more elusive than he +had anticipated.</p> + +<p>His bundle of notes lay before him on the table. The news of the latest +outrage, the burning of the great Runek Mills in Ontario, had served to +convince him that his solution was the right one; yet he could make no +headway, and the labours of the last day or so had left him tired and +drowsy.</p> + +<p>He left his table and sank into an arm-chair by the study fire, knocking +out his briar on a coal and carefully refilling and lighting that +invaluable collaborator. With his data presently arranged in better +mental order, he returned to the table and covered page after page with +facile reasoning. Then the drowsiness which he could not altogether +shake off crept upon him again, and staring at the words "Such societies +have existed in fiction, now we have one existing in fact," he dropped +into a doze—as the clock in the hall struck one.</p> + +<p>When he awoke, with his chin on his breast, it was to observe, firstly, +that the MS. no longer lay on the pad, and, secondly, on looking up, +that a stranger sat in the arm-chair, opposite, reading it!</p> + +<p>"Who——" began Sheard, starting to his feet.</p> + +<p>Whereupon the stranger raised a white, protesting hand.</p> + +<p>"Give me but one moment's grace, Mr. Sheard," he said quietly, "and I +will at once apologise and explain!"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" rapped the journalist. "How dare you enter my house +in this way, and——" He broke off from sheer lack of words, for this +calm, scrupulously dressed intruder was something outside the zone of +things comprehensible.</p> + +<p>In person he was slender, but of his height it was impossible to judge +accurately whilst he remained seated. He was perfectly attired in +evening-dress, and wore a heavy, fur-lined coat. A silk hat, by an +eminent hatter, stood upon Sheard's writing-table, a pair of gloves +beside it. A gold-mounted ebony walking-stick was propped against the +fireplace. But the notable and unusual characteristic of the man was his +face. Its beauty was literally amazing. Sheard, who had studied +black-and-white, told himself that here was an ideal head—that of +Apollo himself.</p> + +<p>And this extraordinary man, with his absolutely flawless features +composed, and his large, luminous eyes half closed, lounged in Sheard's +study at half-past one in the early morning and toyed with an unfinished +manuscript—like some old and privileged friend who had dropped in for a +chat.</p> + +<p>"Look here!" said the outraged pressman, stepping around the table as +the calm effrontery of the thing burst fully upon him. "Get out! <i>Now!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Sheard," said the other, "if I apologise frankly and fully for my +intrusion, will you permit me to give my reasons for it?"</p> + +<p>Sheard again found himself inarticulate. He was angrily conscious of a +vague disquiet. The visitor's suave courtesy under circumstances so +utterly unusual disarmed him, as it must have disarmed any average man +similarly situated. For a moment his left fist clenched, his mind swung +in the balance, irresolute. The other turned back a loose page and +quietly resumed his perusal of the manuscript.</p> + +<p>That decided Sheard's attitude, and he laughed.</p> + +<p>Whereat the stranger again raised the protestant hand.</p> + +<p>"We shall awake Mrs. Sheard!" he said solicitously. "And now, as I see +you have decided to give me a hearing, let me begin by offering you my +sincere apology for entering your house uninvited."</p> + +<p>Sheard, his mind filled with a sense of phantasy, dropped into a chair +opposite the visitor, reached into the cabinet at his elbow, and +proffered a box of Turkish cigarettes.</p> + +<p>"Your methods place you beyond the reach of ordinary castigation," he +said. "I don't know your name and I don't know your business; but I +honestly admire your stark impudence!"</p> + +<p>"Very well," replied the other in his quiet, melodious voice, with its +faint, elusive accent. "A compliment is intended, and I thank you! And +now, I see you are wondering how I obtained admittance. Yet it is so +simple. Your front door is not bolted, and Mrs. Sheard, but a few days +since, had the misfortune to lose a key. You recollect? I found that +key! Is it enough?"</p> + +<p>"Quite enough!" said Sheard grimly. "But why go to the trouble? What do +you want?"</p> + +<p>"I want to insure that one, at least, of the influential dailies shall +not persistently misrepresent my actions!"</p> + +<p>"Then who——" began Sheard, and got no farther; for the stranger handed +him a card—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Séverac Bablon</span></p></div> + +<p>"You see," continued the man already notorious in two continents, "your +paper, here, is inaccurate in several important particulars! Your +premises are incorrect, and your inferences consequently wrong!"</p> + +<p>Sheard stared at him, silent, astounded.</p> + +<p>"I have been described in the Press of England and America as an +incendiary, because I burned the Runek Mills; as a maniac, because I +compensated men cruelly thrown out of employment; as a thief, because I +took from the rich in Park Lane and gave to the poor on the Embankment. +I say that this is unjust!"</p> + +<p>His eyes gleamed into a sudden blaze. The delicate, white hand that held +Sheard's manuscript gripped it so harshly that the paper was crushed +into a ball. That Séverac Bablon was mad seemed an unavoidable +conclusion; that he was forceful, dominant, a power to be counted with, +was a truth legible in every line of his fine features, in every vibrant +tone of his voice, in the fire of his eyes. The air of the study seemed +charged with his electric passion.</p> + +<p>Then, in an instant, he regained his former calm. Rising to his feet, he +threw off the heavy coat he wore and stood, a tall, handsome figure, +with his hands spread out, interrogatively.</p> + +<p>"Do I look such a man?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>Despite the theatrical savour of the thing, Sheard could not but feel +the real sincerity of his appeal; and, as he stared, wondering, at the +fine brow, the widely-opened eyes, the keen nostrils and delicate yet +indomitable mouth and chin, he was forced to admit that here was no mere +up-to-date cracksman, but something else, something more. "Is he mad?" +flashed again through his mind.</p> + +<p>"No!" smiled Séverac Bablon, dropping back into the chair; "I am as sane +as you yourself!"</p> + +<p>"Have I questioned it?"</p> + +<p>"With your eyes and the left corner of your mouth, yes!" Sheard was +silent.</p> + +<p>"I shall not weary you with a detailed exculpation of my acts," +continued his visitor; "but you have a list on your table, no doubt, of +the people whom I forced to assist the Embankment poor?"</p> + +<p>Sheard nodded.</p> + +<p>"Mention but one whose name has ever before been associated with +charity; I mean the charity that has no relation to advertisement! You +are silent! You say"—glancing over the unfinished article—"that 'this +was a capricious burlesque of true philanthropy.' I reply that it served +its purpose—of proclaiming my arrival in London and of clearly +demonstrating the purpose of my coming! You ask who are my accomplices! +I answer—they are as the sands of the desert! You seek to learn who I +am. Seek, rather, to learn <i>what</i> I am!"</p> + +<p>"Why have you selected me for this—honour?"</p> + +<p>"I overheard some remarks of yours, contrasting a restaurant supper-room +with the Embankment which appealed to me! But, to come to the point, do +you believe me to be a rogue?"</p> + +<p>Sheard smiled a trifle uneasily.</p> + +<p>"You are doubtful," the other continued. "It has entered your mind that +a proper course would be to ring up Scotland Yard! Instead, come with +me! I will show you how little you know of me and of what I can do. I +will show you that no door is closed to me! Why do you hesitate? You +shall be home again, safe, within two hours. I pledge my word!"</p> + +<p>Possessing the true journalistic soul, Sheard was sorely tempted; for to +the passion of the copy-hunter such an invitation could not fail in its +appeal. With only a momentary hesitation, he stood up.</p> + +<p>"I'll come!" he said.</p> + +<p>A smart landaulette stood waiting outside the house; and, without a word +to the chauffeur, Séverac Bablon opened the door and entered after +Sheard. The motor immediately started, and the car moved off silently. +The blinds were drawn.</p> + +<p>"You will have to trust yourself implicitly in my hands," said Sheard's +extraordinary companion. "In a moment I shall ask you to fasten your +handkerchief about your eyes and to give me your word that you are +securely blindfolded!"</p> + +<p>"Is it necessary?"</p> + +<p>"Quite! Are you nervous?"</p> + +<p>"No!"—shortly.</p> + +<p>There was a brief interval of silence, during which the car, as well as +it was possible to judge, whirled through the deserted streets at a +furious speed.</p> + +<p>"Will you oblige me?" came the musical voice.</p> + +<p>The journalist took out his pocket-handkerchief, and making it into a +bandage, tied it firmly about his head.</p> + +<p>"Are you ready?" asked Séverac Bablon.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>A click told of a raised blind.</p> + +<p>"Can you see?"</p> + +<p>"Not a thing!"</p> + +<p>"Then take my hand and follow quickly. Do not speak; do not stumble!"</p> + +<p>Cautiously feeling his way, Sheard, one hand clasping that of his guide, +stepped out into the keen night air, and was assisted by some third +person—probably the chauffeur—on to the roof of the car!</p> + +<p>"Be silent!" from Séverac Bablon. "Fear nothing! Step forward as your +feet will be directed and trust implicitly to me!"</p> + +<p>As a man in a dream Sheard stood there—on the roof of a motor-car, in a +London street—and waited. There came dimly to his ears, and from no +great distance, the sound of late traffic along what he judged to be a +main road. But immediately about him quiet reigned. They were evidently +in some deserted back-water of a great thoroughfare. A faint scuffling +sound arose, followed by that of someone lightly dropping upon a stone +pavement.</p> + +<p>Then an arm was slipped about him and he was directed, in a whisper, to +step forward. He found his foot upon what he thought to be a flat +railing. His ankle was grasped from below and the voice of Séverac +Bablon came, "On to my shoulders—so!"</p> + +<p>Still with the supporting arm about him, he stepped gingerly +forward—and stood upon the shoulders of the man below.</p> + +<p>"Stand quite rigidly!" said Séverac Bablon.</p> + +<p>He obeyed; and was lifted, lightly as a feather, and deposited upon the +ground! It was such a feat as he had seen professional athletes perform, +and he marvelled at the physical strength of his companion.</p> + +<p>A keen zest for this extravagant adventure seized him. He thought that +it must be good to be a burglar. Then, as he heard the motor re-started +and the car move off, a sudden qualm of disquiet came; for it was +tantamount to burning one's boats.</p> + +<p>"Take my hand!" he heard; and was led to the head of a flight of steps. +Cautiously he felt his way down, in the wake of his guide.</p> + +<p>A key was turned in a well-oiled lock, and he was guided inside a +building. There was a faint, crypt-like smell—vaguely familiar.</p> + +<p>"Quick!" said the soft voice—"remove your boots and leave them here!"</p> + +<p>Sheard obeyed, and holding the guiding hand tightly in his own, +traversed a stone-paved corridor. Doors were unlocked and re-locked. A +flight of steps was negotiated in phantom silence; for his companion's +footsteps, like his own, were noiseless. Another door was unlocked.</p> + +<p>"Now!" came the whispered words: "Remove the handkerchief!"</p> + +<p>Rapidly enough, Sheard obeyed, and, burning with curiosity, looked about +him.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" he muttered.</p> + +<p>A supernatural fear of his mysterious cicerone momentarily possessed +him. For he thought that he stood in a lofty pagan temple!</p> + +<p>High above his head a watery moonbeam filtered through a window, and +spilled its light about the base of a gigantic stone pillar. Towering +shapes, as of statues of gods, loomed, awesomely, in the gloom. Behind +the pillar dimly he could discern a painted procession of deities upon +the wall. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the tall figure of +Séverac Bablon was at his elbow.</p> + +<p>"Where do you stand?" questioned his low voice.</p> + +<p>And, like an inspiration, the truth burst in upon Sheard's mind.</p> + +<p>"The British Museum!" he whispered hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"Correct!" was the answer; "the treasure-house of your modern Babylon! +Wait, now, until I return; and, if you have no relish for arrest as a +burglar, do not move—do not breathe!"</p> + +<p>With that, he was gone, into the dense shadows about; and Henry Thomas +Sheard, of the <i>Gleaner</i>, found himself, at, approximately, a +quarter-past two in the morning, standing in an apartment of the British +Museum, with no better explanation to offer, in the event of detection, +than that he had come there in the company of Séverac Bablon.</p> + +<p>He thought of the many printing-presses busy, even then, with the +deductions of Fleet Street theorists, regarding this man of mystery. All +of their conclusions must necessarily be wrong, since their premises +were certainly so. For which of them who had assured his readers that +Séverac Bablon was a common cracksman (on a large scale) would not have +reconsidered his opinion had he learned that the common cracksman held +private keys of the national treasure-house?</p> + +<p>His eyes growing more accustomed to the darkness, Sheard began to see +more clearly the objects about him. A seated figure of the Pharaoh Seti +I. surveyed him with a scorn but thinly veiled; beyond, two towering +Assyrian bulls showed gigantic in the semi-light. He could discern, now, +the whole length of the lofty hall—a carven avenue; and, as his gaze +wandered along that dim vista, he detected a black shape emerging from +the blacker shadows beyond the bulls.</p> + +<p>It was Séverac Bablon. In an instant he stood beside him, and Sheard saw +that he carried a bag.</p> + +<p>"Follow me—quickly!" he said. "Not a second to spare!"</p> + +<p>But too fully alive to their peril, Sheard slipped away in the wake of +this greatly daring man. The horror of his position was strong upon him +now.</p> + +<p>"This way!"</p> + +<p>Blindly he stumbled forward, upstairs, around a sharp corner, and then a +door was unlocked and re-locked behind them. "Egyptian Room!" came a +quick whisper. "In here!"</p> + +<p>A white beam cut the blackness, temporarily dazzling him, and Sheard saw +that his companion was directing the light of an electric torch into a +wall-cabinet—which he held open. It contained mummy cases, and, without +quite knowing how he got there, Sheard found himself crouching behind +one. Séverac Bablon vanished.</p> + +<p>Darkness followed, and to his ears stole the sound of distant voices.</p> + +<p>The voices grew louder.</p> + +<p>Behind him, upon the back of the cabinet, danced a sudden disc of light, +and, within it, a moving shadow! Someone was searching the room!</p> + +<p>Muffled and indistinct the voices sounded through the glass and the +mummy-case; but that the searchers were standing within a foot of his +hiding-place Sheard was painfully certain. He shrank behind the +sarcophagus lid like a tortoise within its shell, fearful lest a hand, +an arm, a patch of clothing should protrude.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>THE HEAD OF CÆSAR</h3> + + +<p>The voices died away. A door banged somewhere.</p> + +<p>Then Sheard all but cried out; for a hand was laid upon his arm.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ssh!</i>" came Séverac Bablon's voice from the next mummy-case; and a +creak told of the cabinet door swinging open. "This way!"</p> + +<p>Sheard followed immediately, and was guided along the whole length of +the room. A door was unlocked and re-locked behind them. Downstairs they +passed, and along a narrow corridor lined with cases, as he could dimly +see. Through another door they went, and came upon stone steps.</p> + +<p>"Your boots!" said his companion, and put them into his hands.</p> + +<p>Rapidly enough he fastened them. A faint creak was followed by a draught +of cool air; and, being gently pushed forward, Sheard found himself +outside the Museum and somewhere in the rear of the building. The place +lay in deep shadow.</p> + +<p>"<i>Sss! Sss!</i>" came in his ear. "Quiet!"</p> + +<p>Whilst he all but held his breath, a policeman tramped past slowly +outside the railings. As the sound of his solid tread died away, Séverac +Bablon raised something to his lips and blew a long-sustained, minor +note—shrill, eerie.</p> + +<p>A motor-car appeared, as if by magic, stopped before them, and was +backed right on to the pavement. The chauffeur, mounting on the roof, +threw a short rope ladder across the railings.</p> + +<p>"Up!" Sheard was directed, and, nothing loath, climbed over.</p> + +<p>He was joined immediately by his companion in this night's bizarre +adventures; and, almost before he realised that they were safe, he found +himself seated once more in the swiftly moving car.</p> + +<p>"What's the meaning of it?" he demanded rapidly.</p> + +<p>"Fear nothing!" was the reply. "You have my word!"</p> + +<p>"But to what are you committing me?"</p> + +<p>"To nothing that shall lie very heavily upon your conscience! You have +seen, to-night, something of my opportunities. With the treasures of the +nation thus at my mercy, am I a common cracksman? If I were, should I +not ere this have removed the portable gems of the collection? I say to +you again, that no door is closed to me; yet never have I sought to +enrich myself. But why should these things lie idle, when they are such +all-powerful instruments?"</p> + +<p>"I don't follow you."</p> + +<p>"To-morrow all will be clear!"</p> + +<p>"Why did you blindfold me?"</p> + +<p>"Should you have followed had you seen where I led? I wish to number you +among my friends. You are not of my people, and I can claim no fealty of +you; but I desire your friendship. Can I count upon it?"</p> + +<p>The light of a street-lamp flashed momentarily into the car, striking a +dull, venomous green spark from a curious ring which Séverac Bablon +wore. In some strange fashion it startled Sheard, but, in the ensuing +darkness, he sought out the handsome face of his companion and found the +big, luminous eyes fixed upon him. Something about the man—his daring, +perhaps, his enthusiasm, his utterly mysterious purpose—appealed, +suddenly, all but irresistibly.</p> + +<p>Sheard held out his hand. And withdrew it again.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow——" he began.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow you will have no choice!"</p> + +<p>"How so? You have placed yourself in my hands. I can now, if I desire, +publish your description!—report all that you have told me—all that I +have seen!"</p> + +<p>"You will not do so! You will be my friend, my defender in the Press. Of +what you have seen to-night you will say nothing!"</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"No matter! It will be so!"</p> + +<p>A silence fell between them that endured until the car pulled up before +Sheard's gate.</p> + +<p>With ironic courtesy, he invited Séverac Bablon to enter and partake of +some refreshment after the night's excitement. With a grace that made +the journalist slightly ashamed of his irony, that incomprehensible man +accepted.</p> + +<p>Leaving him in the same arm-chair which he had occupied when first he +set eyes upon him, Sheard went to the dining-room and returned with a +siphon, a decanter, and glasses. He found Séverac Bablon glancing +through an edition of Brugsch's "Egypt Under the Pharaohs." He replaced +the book on the shelf as Sheard entered.</p> + +<p>"These Egyptologists," he said, "they amuse me! Dissolve them all in a +giant test-tube, and the keenest analysis must fail to detect one single +grain of imagination!"</p> + +<p>His words aroused Sheard's curiosity, but the lateness of the hour +precluded the possibility of any discussion upon the subject.</p> + +<p>When, shortly, Séverac Bablon made his departure, he paused at the gate +and proffered his hand, which Sheard took without hesitation.</p> + +<p>"Good-night—or, rather, good-morning!" he said smilingly. "We shall +meet again very soon!"</p> + +<p>The other, too tired to wonder what his words might portend, returned to +the house, and, lingering only to scrawl a note that he was not to be +awakened at the usual time, hastened to bed. As he laid his weary head +upon the pillow the cold grey of dawn was stealing in at the windows and +brushing out the depths of night's blacker shadows.</p> + +<p>It was noon when Sheard awoke—to find his wife gently shaking him.</p> + +<p>He sat up with a start.</p> + +<p>"What is it, dear?"</p> + +<p>"A messenger boy. Will you sign for the letter?"</p> + +<p>But half awake, he took the pencil and signed. Then, sleepily, he tore +open the envelope and read as follows.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Sheard</span>,—</p> + +<p>"You were tired last night, so I did not further weary you with a +discourse upon Egyptology; moreover, I had a matter of urgency to +attend to; but you may remember I hinted that the initiated look +beyond Brugsch.</p> + +<p>"I should be indebted if you could possibly arrange to call upon +Sir Leopold Jesson in Hamilton Place at half-past four. You will +find him at home. It is important that you take a friend with you. +In your Press capacity, desire him to show you his celebrated +collection of pottery. Seize the opportunity to ask him for a +subscription (not less than £10,000) towards the re-opening of the +closed ward of Sladen Hospital. He will decline. Offer to accept, +instead, the mahogany case which he has in his smaller Etruscan +urn. When you have secured this, decide to accept a cheque also. +Arrange to be alone in your study at 12.40 to-night.</p> + +<p>"By the way, although Brugsch's book is elementary, there is +something more behind it. Look into the matter.—S.B."</p></div> + +<p>This singular communication served fully to arouse Sheard, and, +refreshed by his bath, he sat down to a late breakfast. Propping the +letter against the coffee-pot, he read and re-read every line of the +small, neat, and oddly square writing.</p> + +<p>The more he reflected upon it the more puzzled he grew. It was a link +with the fantastic happenings of the night, and, as such, not wholly +welcome.</p> + +<p>Why Séverac Bablon desired him to inspect the famous Jesson collection +he could not imagine; and that part of his instructions: "Decide to +accept a cheque," seemed to presume somewhat generously upon Sheard's +persuasive eloquence. The re-opening of the closed ward was a good and +worthy object, and the sum of ten, or even twenty thousand pounds, one +which Sir Leopold Jesson well could afford. But he did not remember to +have heard that the salving of derelict hospitals was one of Sir +Leopold's hobbies.</p> + +<p>Moreover, he considered the whole thing a piece of presumption upon the +part of his extraordinary acquaintance. Why should he run about London +at the behest of Séverac Bablon?</p> + +<p>"Eleven-thirty results!" came the sing-song of a newsboy. And Sheard +slipped his hand in his pocket for a coin. As he did so, the boy paused +directly outside the house.</p> + +<p>"Robbery at the British Museum! Eleven-thirty!"</p> + +<p>His heart gave a sudden leap, and he cast a covert glance towards his +wife. She was deep in a new novel.</p> + +<p>Without a word, Sheard went to the door, and walking down to the gate, +bought a paper. The late news was very brief.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>BRITISH MUSEUM MYSTERY</p> + +<p>"An incredibly mysterious burglary was carried out last night at +the British Museum. By some means at present unexplained the Head +of Cæsar has been removed from its pedestal and stolen, and the +world-famous Hamilton Vase (valued at £30,000) is also missing. The +burglar has left no trace behind him, but as we go to press the +police report an important clue."</p></div> + +<p>Sheard returned to the house.</p> + +<p>Seated in his study with the newspaper and Séverac Bablon's letter +before him, he strove to arrange his ideas in order, to settle upon a +plan of action—to understand.</p> + +<p>That the "important clue" would lead to the apprehension of the real +culprit he did not believe for a moment. Séverac Bablon, unless Sheard +were greatly mistaken, stood beyond the reach of the police measures. +But what was the meaning of this crass misuse of his mysterious power? +How could it be reconciled with his assurances of the previous night? +Finally, what was the meaning of his letter?</p> + +<p>He wished him to interview Sir Leopold Jesson, for some obscure reason. +So much was evident. But by what right did he impose that task upon him? +Sheard was nonplussed, and had all but decided not to go, when the +closing lines of the letter again caught his eye. "Although Brugsch's +book is elementary, there is something more behind it——"</p> + +<p>A sudden idea came into his head, an unpleasant idea, and with it, a +memory.</p> + +<p>His visitor of the night before had brought a mysterious bag (which +Sheard first had observed in his hand as they fled from the Museum) into +the house with him. It was evidently heavy; but to questions regarding +it he had shaken his head, smilingly replying that he would know in good +time why it called for such special attention. He remembered, too, that +the midnight caller carried it when he departed, for he had rested it +upon the gravel path whilst bidding him good-night.</p> + +<p>Frowning uneasily, he stepped to the bookcase.</p> + +<p>It was a very deep one, occupying a recess. With nervous haste he +removed "Egypt Under the Pharaohs," and his painful suspicion became a +certainty.</p> + +<p>Why, he had asked himself, should he run about London at the behest of +Séverac Bablon? And here was the answer.</p> + +<p>Placed between the books and the wall at the back, and seeming to frown +upon him through the gap, was the stolen Head of Cæsar!</p> + +<p>Sheard hastily replaced the volume, and with fingers that were none too +steady filled and lighted his pipe.</p> + +<p>His reflections brought him little solace. He was in the toils. The +intervening hours with their divers happenings passed all but unnoticed. +That day had space for but one event, and its coming overshadowed all +others. The hour came, then, all too soon, and punctually at four-thirty +Sheard presented himself in Hamilton Place.</p> + +<p>Sir Leopold Jesson's collection of china and pottery is one of the three +finest in Europe, and Sheard, under happier auspices, would have enjoyed +examining it. Ralph Crofter, the popular black-and-white artist who +accompanied him, was lost in admiration of the pure lines and exquisite +colouring of the old Chinese ware in particular.</p> + +<p>"This piece would be hard to replace, Sir Leopold?" he said, resting his +hand upon a magnificent jar of delicate rose tint, that seemed to blush +in the soft light.</p> + +<p>The owner nodded complacently. He was a small man, sparely built, and +had contracted, during forty years' labour in the money market, a +pronounced stoop. His neat moustache was wonderfully black, blacker than +Nature had designed it, and the entire absence of hair upon his high, +gleaming crown enabled the craniologist to detect, without difficulty, +Sir Leopold's abnormal aptitude for finance.</p> + +<p>"Two thousand would not buy it, sir!" he answered.</p> + +<p>Crofton whistled softly and then passed along the room.</p> + +<p>"This is very beautiful!" he said suddenly, and bent over a small vase +with figures in relief. "The design and sculpture are amazingly fine!"</p> + +<p>"That piece," replied Sir Leopold, clearing his throat, "is almost +unique. There is only one other example known—the Hamilton Vase!"</p> + +<p>"The stolen one?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. They are of the same period, and both from the Barberini Palace."</p> + +<p>"Of course you have read the latest particulars of that extraordinary +affair? What do you make of it?"</p> + +<p>Jesson shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"The vase is known to every connoisseur in Europe," he said. "No one +dare buy it—though," he added smiling, "many would like to!"</p> + +<p>Sheard coughed uneasily. He had a task to perform.</p> + +<p>"Your collection represents a huge fortune, Sir Leopold," he said.</p> + +<p>"Say four hundred thousand pounds!" answered the collector comfortably.</p> + +<p>"A large sum. Think of the thousands whom that amount would make happy!"</p> + +<p>Having broken the ice, Sheard found his enforced task not altogether +distasteful. It seemed wrong to him, unjust, and in strict disaccordance +with the views of the <i>Gleaner</i>, that these thousands should be locked +up for one man's pleasure, while starvation levied its toll upon the +many. Moreover, he nurtured a temperamental distaste for the whole +Semitic race—a Western resentment of that insidious Eastern power.</p> + +<p>Crofter looked surprised, and clearly thought his friend's remark in +rather bad taste. Sir Leopold faced round abruptly, and a hard look +crept into his small bright eyes.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Sheard," he said harshly. "I began life as a pauper. What I have, I +have worked for."</p> + +<p>"You have enjoyed excellent health."</p> + +<p>"I admit it."</p> + +<p>"Had you, in those days of early poverty, been smitten down with +sickness, of what use to you would your admittedly fine commercial +capacity have been? You would then, only too gladly, have availed +yourself of such an institution as the Sladen Hospital, for instance."</p> + +<p>Sir Leopold started.</p> + +<p>"What have you to do with the Sladen Hospital?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. It has accomplished great work in the past."</p> + +<p>"Do you know anything of <i>this</i>?"</p> + +<p>Jesson's manner became truculent. He pulled some papers from his pocket, +and selecting a plain correspondence card, handed it to Sheard.</p> + +<p>The card bore no address, being headed simply: "Final appeal." It read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Your cheque toward the re-opening of the Out-Patient's Wing of +Sladen Hospital has not been forwarded."</p></div> + +<p>Sheard failed to recognise the writing, and handed the card back, +shaking his head.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Jesson suspiciously; "because I've had three of these +anonymous applications—and they don't come from the hospital +authorities."</p> + +<p>"Why not comply?" asked Sheard. "Let me announce in the <i>Gleaner</i> that +you have generously subscribed ten thousand pounds."</p> + +<p>"<i>What!</i>" rapped Sir Leopold. "Do you take me for a fool?" He glared +angrily. "Before we go any farther, sir—is this touting business the +real object of your visit?"</p> + +<p>The pressman flushed. His conduct, he knew well, was irreconcilable with +good form; but Jesson's tone had become grossly offensive. Something +about the man repelled Sheard's naturally generous instincts, and no +shade of compunction remained. A score of times, during the past quarter +of an hour, he had all but determined to throw up this unsavoury affair +and to let Séverac Bablon do with him as he would. Now, he stifled all +scruples and was glad that the task had been required of him. He would +shirk no more, but would go through with the part allotted him in this +strange comedy, lead him where it might.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and no!" he answered evasively. "Really I have come to ask you for +something—the mahogany case which is in your smaller Etruscan urn!"</p> + +<p>Jesson stared; first at Sheard, and then, significantly, at Crofter.</p> + +<p>"I begin to suspect that you have lunched unwisely!" he sneered.</p> + +<p>Sheard repressed a hot retort, and Crofter, to cover the embarrassment +which he felt at this seeming contretemps, hummed softly and instituted +a painstaking search for the vessel referred to. He experienced little +difficulty in finding it, for it was one of two huge urns standing upon +ebony pedestals.</p> + +<p>"The smaller, you say?" he called with affected cheeriness.</p> + +<p>Sheard nodded. It was a crucial moment. Did the pot contain anything? If +not, he had made a fool of himself. And if it did, in what way could its +contents assist him in his campaign of extortion?</p> + +<p>The artist, standing on tiptoe, reached into the urn—and produced a +mahogany case, such as is used for packing silver ware.</p> + +<p>"What's that?" rapped Jesson excitedly. "I know nothing of it!"</p> + +<p>"You might open it, Crofter!" directed Sheard with enforced calm.</p> + +<p>Crofter did so—and revealed, in a nest of black velvet, a small piece +of exquisite pottery.</p> + +<p>A passage hitherto obscure in Séverac Bablon's letter instantly +explained itself in Sheard's mind. "I did not further weary you with a +discourse upon Egyptology; moreover, <i>I had a matter of urgency to +attend to</i>!"</p> + +<p>Sir Leopold Jesson took one step forward, and then, with staring eyes, +and face unusually pale, turned on the journalist.</p> + +<p>"The Hamilton Vase! You villain!"</p> + +<p>"Sir Leopold!" cried Sheard with sudden asperity, "be good enough to +moderate your language! If you can offer any explanation of how this +vase, stolen only last night from the national collection, comes to be +concealed in your house, I shall be interested to hear it!"</p> + +<p>Jesson looked at Crofter, who still held the case in his hands; the +artist's face expressed nothing but blank amazement. He looked at +Sheard, who met his eyes calmly.</p> + +<p>"There is roguery here!" he said. "I don't know if there are two of +you——"</p> + +<p>"Sir Leopold Jesson!" cried Crofter angrily, "you have said more than +enough! Your hobby has become a mania, sir! How you obtained possession +of the vase I do not know, nor do I know how my friend has traced the +theft to you; least of all how this scandal is to be hushed up. But have +the decency to admit facts! There is no defence, absolutely!"</p> + +<p>"What do you want?" said Jesson tersely. "This is a cunning trap—and +I've fallen right into it!"</p> + +<p>"You have!" said Crofter grimly. "I must congratulate my friend on a +very smart piece of detective work!"</p> + +<p>"What do you want?" repeated Jesson, moistening his dry lips.</p> + +<p>His quick mind had been at work since the stolen vase was discovered in +his possession, and although he knew himself the victim of an amazing +plot, he also recognised that rebellion was out of the question. As +Crofter had said, there was no defence.</p> + +<p>"Suppose," suggested Sheard, "you authorise the announcement in the +<i>Gleaner</i> to which I have already referred? I, for my part, will +undertake to return the vase to the proper authorities and to keep your +name out of the matter entirely. Would you agree to keep silent, +Crofter?"</p> + +<p>"Can you manage what you propose?"</p> + +<p>"I can!" answered Sheard, confidently.</p> + +<p>"All right!" said Crofter slowly. "It's connivance, but in a good +cause!"</p> + +<p>"I shall make the cheque payable to the hospital!" said Jesson, +significantly.</p> + +<p>Sheard stared for a moment, then, as the insinuation came home to his +mind: "How dare you!" he cried hotly. "Do you take us for thieves?"</p> + +<p>"I hardly know what to take you for," replied the other. "Your +proceedings are unique."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>A MYSTIC HAND</h3> + + +<p>"It amounts," said J. J. Oppner, the lord of Wall Street, "to a panic. +No man of money is safe. I ain't boilin' over with confidence in +Scotland Yard, and I've got some Agency boys here in London with me."</p> + +<p>"A panic, eh?" grunted Baron Hague, Teutonically. "So you vear this +Bablon, eh?"</p> + +<p>"A bit we do," drawled Oppner, "and then some. After that a whole lot, +and we're well scared. He held me up at my Canadian mills for a pile; +but I've got wise to him, and if he crowds me again he's a full-blown +genius."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rohscheimer's dinner party murmured sympathetically.</p> + +<p>"Of course you have heard, Baron," said the hostess, "that in his +outrage here—here, in Park Lane!—he was assisted by no fewer than +thirty accomplices?"</p> + +<p>"Dirty aggomblices, eh? Dirty?"</p> + +<p>"Dirty's the word!" growled Mr. Oppner.</p> + +<p>"The wonder is," said Sir Richard Haredale, "that a rogue with so many +assistants has not been betrayed."</p> + +<p>To those present at the Rohscheimer board this subject, indeed, was one +of quite extraordinary interest, in view of the fact that it was only a +few days since the affair of the dramatic ball. Sixteen diners there +were, and in order to appreciate the electric atmosphere which prevailed +in the airy salon, let us survey the board. Reading from left to right, +as in the case of society wedding groups, the diners were:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mrs. Julius Rohscheimer.[1]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Baron Hague.[1]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Miss Zoe Oppner.[1]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sir Richard Haredale.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mrs. Maurice Hohsmann.[1]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mr. J. J. Oppner.[1]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mrs. Wellington Lacey.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mr. Sheard (Press).<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Miss Salome Hohsmann.[1]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sir Leopold Jesson.[1]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lady Vignoles.[1]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mr. Julius Rohscheimer.[1]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lady Mary Evershed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lord Vignoles.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Miss Charlotte Hohsmann.[1]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mr. Antony Elschild.[1]<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>[1] Representatives of capital.</p> + + +<p>"I understand that the man holds private keys to the British Museum!" +cried Mrs. Hohsmann.</p> + +<p>"Nobody would be surprised to hear," came the thick voice of Julius +Rohscheimer, "that he'd got a private subway between his bedroom and the +Bank of England!"</p> + +<p>Extravagant though this may appear, it would not indeed, at this time, +have surprised the world at large to learn <i>anything</i>—however amazing +in an ordinary man—respecting Séverac Bablon. The real facts of his +most recent exploit were known only to a select few; but it was +universal property how, at about half-past eleven one morning shortly +after the theft from the British Museum, and whilst all London, together +with a great part of the Empire, was discussing the incredibly +mysterious robbery, a cab drove up to the main entrance of that +institution, containing a District Messenger and a large box.</p> + +<p>The box was consigned to the trustees of the Museum, and the boy, being +questioned, described the consigner as "a very old gentleman, with long, +white hair."</p> + +<p>It contained, carefully and scientifically packed, the Hamilton Vase and +the Head of Cæsar!</p> + +<p>Furthermore, it contained the following note:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Gentlemen</span>,—</p> + +<p>"I beg to return, per messenger, the Head of Cæsar and the Hamilton +Vase. My reason for taking the liberty of borrowing them was that I +desired to convince a wealthy friend that a rare curio is a +powerful instrument for good, and that to allow of great wealth +lying idle when thousands sicken and die in poverty is a misuse of +a power conferred by Heaven.</p> + +<p>"I trust that you will forgive my having unavoidably occasioned you +so much anxiety.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Séverac Bablon</span>."</p></div> + +<p>The contents of the note were made public with the appearance of the +3.30 editions; nor was there a news-sheet of them all that failed to +reprint, from the <i>Gleaner</i>, a paragraph announcing that Sir Leopold +Jesson had made the magnificent donation of £10,000 to the Sladen +Hospital. But the link that bound these items together was invisible to +the eyes of the world. Two persons at Rohscheimer's table, however, were +aware of all the facts; and although Sheard often glanced at Jesson, he +studiously avoided meeting his eyes.</p> + +<p>Séverac Bablon's activities had not failed to react upon the temperature +of the Stock Exchange. Loudly it was whispered that influential and +highly-placed persons were concerned with him. No capitalist felt safe. +No man trusted his staff, his solicitor, his broker. It was felt that +minions of Séverac Bablon were everywhere; that Séverac Bablon was +omnipresent.</p> + +<p>"You've gone pretty deep into the case, Sheard," said Rohscheimer. "What +do you know about these cards he sends to people he's goin' to rob?"</p> + +<p>Sheard cleared his throat somewhat nervously. All eyes sought him.</p> + +<p>"The authorities have established the fact," he replied, "that all those +whom Séverac Bablon has victimised have received—due warning."</p> + +<p>Sir Leopold Jesson was watching him covertly.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by 'due warning'?" he snapped.</p> + +<p>"They have been requested, anonymously," Sheard explained, "to subscribe +to some worthy object. When they have failed voluntarily to comply they +have been <i>compelled</i>, forcibly, to do so!"</p> + +<p>Julius Rohscheimer began to turn purple. He spluttered furiously, ere +gaining command of speech.</p> + +<p>"Is this a free country?" came in a hoarse roar. "If a man ain't out +buildin' hospitals for beggars does he have to be held up——"</p> + +<p>He caught Mrs. Rohscheimer's glance, laden with entreaty.</p> + +<p>"Good Lord!" he concluded, weakly. "Isn't it funny!"</p> + +<p>Baron Hague was understood to growl that he should no longer feel safe +until back to Berlin he had gone.</p> + +<p>"I am told," said Mr. Antony Elschild, "that a new Séverac Bablon +outrage is anticipated by the authorities."</p> + +<p>That loosed the flood-gates. A dozen voices were asking at once: "Have +<i>you</i> received a card?"</p> + +<p>It seemed that this was a matter which had lain at the back of each +mind; that each had feared to broach; that each, now, was glad to +discuss. An extraordinary and ominous circumstance, then, was now +brought to light.</p> + +<p>A note had been received by each of the capitalists present, stating +that £1,000,000 was urgently needed by the British Government for the +establishment of an aerial fleet. That was all. But the notes all bore a +certain seal.</p> + +<p>"How many of us"—Julius Rohscheimer's coarse voice rose above them +all—"have got these notes?"</p> + +<p>A moment's silence, wherein it became evident that five of the gentlemen +present had received such communications. Mrs. Hohsmann stated that her +husband had been the recipient of a note also.</p> + +<p>"With Hohsmann," resumed Rohscheimer, "six of us."</p> + +<p>"It appears to me," the soft voice was Antony Elschild's, "that no time +should be lost in ascertaining how many of these notes have been +sent——"</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Rohscheimer.</p> + +<p>"Because, from what we know of Séverac Bablon, it is evident that he +intends to raise this sum, or a great part of it, for this highly +patriotic purpose, amongst our particular set. One is naturally anxious +to learn the amount of one's share in the responsibility!"</p> + +<p>Baron Hague inquired, in stentorian but complicated English, whether +<i>he</i> was to be expected to contribute towards the establishment of a +British aerial fleet.</p> + +<p>"You have British interests, Baron!" said Sheard, smiling.</p> + +<p>"What about me?" said Mr. Oppner.</p> + +<p>Replied his beautiful daughter, laughing:</p> + +<p>"You've got Canadian interests, Pa!"</p> + +<p>So the impending outrage—for all present felt that these notes presaged +an outrage—was treated lightly enough, and the question, serious though +it was felt to be, might well have given place to topics less exciting, +when a buzz of conversation arose at the lower end of the table.</p> + +<p>"Exactly the same," came Miss Salome Hohsmann's voice, "as the one +father received!"</p> + +<p>She was observed to be passing something to her neighbour—Mr. Sheard. +He examined it curiously, and passed it on to Mrs. Lacey. Thus, from +hand to hand it performed a circuit of the table and came to Julius +Rohscheimer.</p> + +<p>"That's one of 'em!" He threw it down upon the cloth—a small, square +correspondence card. It bore the words:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"£1,000,000 is required by His Majesty's Government, immediately, +in order to found an aerial service commensurate with Great +Britain's urgent requirements. A fund for the purpose (under the +patronage of the Marquess of Evershed and the Lord Mayor) has been +opened by the <i>Gleaner</i>."</p></div> + +<p>At the foot was a seal, designed in the form of two triangles crossed.</p> + +<p>"Whose is this?" continued Rohscheimer, and turned the card over.</p> + +<p>He read what was neatly type-written upon the other side, and his gross, +empurpled face was seen to change, to assume a patchy greyness.</p> + +<p>The superscription was:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"To Baron Hague, Sir Leopold Jesson, Messrs. Julius Rohscheimer, +John Jacob Oppner, and Antony Elschild.</p> + +<p><i>"Second Notice"</i></p></div> + +<p>He clutched the arms of his chair, and stood up. A dead silence had +fallen.</p> + +<p>"Where"—Rohscheimer moistened his lips—"did this come from?"</p> + +<p>A moment more of silence, then:</p> + +<p>"Sir Leopold passed it to me," came Salome Hohsmann's frightened voice.</p> + +<p>Rohscheimer stared at Jesson. Jesson turned and stared at Miss Hohsmann.</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken," he replied slowly. "I have not had the card in my +hand!"</p> + +<p>Miss Hohsmann's fine, dark eyes grew round in wonder.</p> + +<p>"But, Sir Leopold!" she cried. "I <i>took</i> it from your hand!"</p> + +<p>Jesson's face was a study in perplexity.</p> + +<p>"I can only say," contributed Sheard, who sat upon the other side of the +girl, "that I saw Miss Hohsmann looking at the card and I asked to be +allowed to examine it. I then passed it on to Mrs. Lacey. I may +add"—smiling—"that it does not emanate from the <i>Gleaner</i> office, and +is in no way official!"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Lacey passed it along to me," came Oppner's parched voice.</p> + +<p>"But," Sir Leopold's incisive tones cut in upon the bewildering +conversation, "Miss Hohsmann is in error in supposing that she received +the card from me. I have not handled it—neither, I believe, has Lady +Vignoles?" He turned to the latter.</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>"No, sir," she said transatlantically, "I saw Mr. Rohscheimer take it +from Mary" (Lady Mary Evershed).</p> + +<p>"I mean to say, Sheila"—Lord Vignoles leant forward in his chair and +looked along to his wife—"I mean to say, <i>I</i> had it from Miss Charlotte +Hohsmann, on my left."</p> + +<p>Rohscheimer's protruding eyes looked from face to face. Wonder was +written upon every one.</p> + +<p>"Where the——" Mrs. Rohscheimer coughed.</p> + +<p>The great financier sat down. Let us conclude his sentence for him:</p> + +<p><i>Where had the ominous "second notice" come from?</i></p> + +<p>Amid a thrilling silence, the guests sought, each in his or her own +fashion, for the solution to this truly amazing conundrum. The order may +be seen from a glance at the foregoing list of guests. It has only to be +remembered that they were seated around a large oval table and their +relative positions become apparent.</p> + +<p>"It appears to me," said Sir Leopold Jesson, "that the mystery has its +root here. Miss Hohsmann is under the impression that I handed the card +to her. I did not do so. Miss Hohsmann, as well as myself, has been +victimised by this common enemy, so that"—he smiled dryly—"we cannot +suspect her, and you cannot suspect me, of complicity. Was there any +servant in the room at the time?"</p> + +<p>A brief inquiry served to show that there had been no servant on that +side of the room at the time.</p> + +<p>"Did you pick it up from the table, dear," cried Mrs. Hohsmann, "or +actually take it from—someone's hand?"</p> + +<p>Amid a tense silence the girl replied:</p> + +<p>"From—someone's hand!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>THE SHADOW OF SÉVERAC BABLON</h3> + + +<p>The mystery of personality is one which eludes research along the most +scientific lines. It is a species of animal magnetism as yet +unclassified. Personality is not confined to the individual: it clings +to his picture, his garments, his writing; it has the persistency of a +civet perfume.</p> + +<p>From this slip of cardboard lying upon Rohscheimer's famous oval table +emanated rays—unseen, but cogent. The magnetic words "Séverac Bablon" +seemed to glow upon the walls, as of old those other words had glowed +upon a Babylonian wall.</p> + +<p>There were those present to whom the line "Who steals my purse steals +trash" appealed, as the silliest ever written. And it was at the purses +of these that the blow would be struck—<i>id est</i>, at the most vital and +fonder part of their beings.</p> + +<p>"That card"—Julius Rohscheimer moistened his lips—"can't have dropped +from the ceiling!"</p> + +<p>But he looked upward as he spoke; and it was evident that he credited +Séverac Bablon with the powers of an Indian fakir.</p> + +<p>"It would appear," said Antony Elschild, "that a phantom hand appeared +in our midst!"</p> + +<p>The incident was eerie; a thousand times more so in that it was +associated with Séverac Bablon. Rohscheimer gave orders that the outer +door was on no account to be opened, until the house had been thoroughly +searched. He himself headed the search party—whilst Mrs. Rohscheimer +remained with the guests.</p> + +<p>All search proving futile, Rohscheimer returned and learnt that a new +discovery had been made. He was met outside the dining-room door by +Baron Hague.</p> + +<p>"Rohscheimer!" cried the latter, "my name on that card, it is underlined +in red ink!"</p> + +<p>Rohscheimer's rejoinder was dramatic.</p> + +<p>"The diamonds!" he whispered.</p> + +<p>Indeed, this latest discovery was significant. Baron Hague had brought +with him, for Rohscheimer's examination, a packet of rough diamonds. +Rohscheimer had established his fortunes in South Africa; and, be it +whispered, there were points of contact between his own early history +and the history of the packet of diamonds which Hague carried to-night. +In both records there were I.D.B. chapters.</p> + +<p>The two men stared at each other—and sometimes glanced into the shadows +of the corridor.</p> + +<p>"He must be in league with the devil," continued Rohscheimer, "if he has +got to know about those stones! But it certainly looks as though——"</p> + +<p>"Where can I hide them from <i>him</i>—from this man who I hear cannot be +kept out of anywhere?"</p> + +<p>"Hague," said Rohscheimer, shakily, "you'd be safer at your hotel than +here. He's held people up in my house once before!"</p> + +<p>As may be divined, Rohscheimer's chiefest fear was that <i>his</i> name, +<i>his</i> house, should be associated with another mysterious outrage. He +knew Baron Hague to have about his person stones worth a small fortune, +and he was all anxiety—first, to save them from Séverac Bablon, the +common enemy; second, if Baron Hague <i>must</i> be robbed, to arrange that +he be robbed somewhere else!</p> + +<p>"I have not ordered my gar until twelve o'clock," said the Baron.</p> + +<p>"Mine can be got ready in——"</p> + +<p>"I won't wait! Gall me a gab!"</p> + +<p>That proposal fell into line with Rohscheimer's personal views, and he +wasted not a moment in making the necessary arrangements.</p> + +<p>The library door opening, and Adeler, his private secretary, appearing, +with a book under his arm, Mr. Rohscheimer called to him:</p> + +<p>"Adeler!"</p> + +<p>Adeler approached, deferentially. His pale, intellectual face was quite +expressionless.</p> + +<p>"If you're goin' downstairs, Adeler, tell someone to call a cab for the +Baron: Heard nothing suspicious while you've been in the library, have +you?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," said Adeler—bowed, and departed.</p> + +<p>The two plutocrats rejoined the guests. Sir Leopold Jesson was standing +in a corner engaged in an evidently interesting conversation with Salome +Hohsmann.</p> + +<p>"You positively saw the hand?"</p> + +<p>"Positively!" the girl assured him. "It just slipped the card into mine +as Mr. Sheard leaned over and asked me if my diamond aigrette had been +traced—the one that was stolen from me here, in this house, by Séverac +Bablon."</p> + +<p>Sheard was standing near.</p> + +<p>"I saw you take the card, Miss Hohsmann!" he said; "though I was unable +to see from whose hand you took it. Sir Leopold sat on your left, +however, and there was no one else near at the time."</p> + +<p>Sir Leopold Jesson stared hard at Sheard. Sheard stared back +aggressively. There was that between them that cried out for open +conflict. Yet open conflict was impossible!</p> + +<p>"Now then, you two!" Rohscheimer's coarse voice broke in, "what's the +good o' fightin' about it?"</p> + +<p>But the atmosphere of uneasiness prevailed throughout the gilded salon. +Mrs. Rohscheimer, clever hostess though admittedly she was, found +herself hard put to it to keep up the spirits of her guests—or those of +her guests whose names had appeared upon the mysterious "second notice."</p> + +<p>Lady Mary Evershed and Sir Richard Haredale sat under a drooping palm +behind a charming statuette representing Pandora in the familiar +attitude with the casket.</p> + +<p>"It was through that door, yonder," said Haredale, pointing, "that the +masked man came."</p> + +<p>"Yes," assented the girl. "I was over there—by the double doors."</p> + +<p>"You were," replied Haredale; "I saw you first of all, when I looked +up!"</p> + +<p>A short silence fell, then:</p> + +<p>"Do you know," said Lady Mary, "I cannot sympathise with any of the +people who lost their property. They were all of them people who never +gave a penny away in their lives! In fact, Mr. Rohscheimer's particular +set are all dreadfully mean! When you come to think of it, isn't it +funny how everybody visits here?"</p> + +<p>When he came to think of it, Haredale did not find it amusing in the +slightest degree. Julius Rohscheimer was an octopus whose tentacles were +fastened upon the heart of society. Haredale was so closely in the coils +that, short of handing in his papers, he had no alternative but to +appear as Rohscheimer's social <i>alter ego</i>. Lord and Lady Vignoles were +regular visitors to the house in Park Lane; and although the Marquess of +Evershed did not actually visit there, he countenanced the appearance of +his daughter, chaperoned by Mrs. Wellington Lacey, at the millionaire's +palace. Moreover, Haredale knew why!</p> + +<p>What a wondrous power is gold!</p> + +<p>Haredale was watching the fleeting expressions which crossed Lady Mary's +beautiful face as, with a little puzzled frown, she glanced about the +room.</p> + +<p>Baron Hague came to make his <i>adieux</i>. He was a man badly frightened. +When finally he departed, Julius Rohscheimer conducted him downstairs.</p> + +<p>"Take care of yourself, Hague," he said with anxiety. "First thing in +the morning I should put the parcel in safe deposit till it's wanted."</p> + +<p>The Baron assured him that he should follow his advice.</p> + +<p>Outside, in Park Lane, a taxi-cab was waiting, and Adeler held the door +open. Baron Hague made no acknowledgment of the attention, ignoring the +secretary as completely as he would have ignored a loafer who had opened +the door for him.</p> + +<p>Adeler seemed to expect no thanks, but turned and walked up the steps to +the house again.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Hague!" called Rohscheimer. "Don't forget what I told you +about the one with the brown stain!"</p> + +<p>The cab drove off.</p> + +<p>A cloud of apprehension had settled upon the house, it seemed. Several +others of the party determined, upon one pretence or another, to return +home earlier than they had anticipated doing. From this Julius +Rohscheimer did nothing to discourage them.</p> + +<p>A family party was the next to leave, then, consisting of Lord and Lady +Vignoles, Mr. J. J. Oppner and Zoe. Mrs. Hohsmann and the Misses +Hohsmann followed very shortly. Mrs. Wellington Lacey, with Lady Mary +Evershed, departed next, Sir Richard Haredale escorting them.</p> + +<p>"Half a minute, though, Haredale!" called the host.</p> + +<p>Haredale, in the hall-way, turned.</p> + +<p>"I suppose," continued Rohscheimer, half closing his eyes from the +bottom upward—"you haven't got any sort of idea how the card trick was +done, Haredale? Do you think I ought to let the police know?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't the slightest idea," was the reply. "In regard to the police, +I should most certainly ring them up at once. Good night."</p> + +<p>Haredale escaped, well aware that Rohscheimer was seeking some excuse to +detain him. Even at the risk of offending that weighty financier he was +not going to be deprived of the drive, short though it was, with Mary +Evershed, with the possibility of a delightful little intimate chat at +the end of it.</p> + +<p>"I endorse what Haredale says," came Sheard's voice.</p> + +<p>Rohscheimer turned. A footman was assisting the popular Fleet Street man +into his overcoat. Mr. Antony Elschild, already equipped, was lighting a +cigarette and evidently waiting for Sheard.</p> + +<p>"What's the name of the man who has the Séverac Bablon case in hand?" +asked the host.</p> + +<p>"Chief Inspector Sheffield."</p> + +<p>"Right-oh!" said Rohscheimer. "I'll give him a ring."</p> + +<p>Upstairs Sir Leopold Jesson was waiting for a quiet talk with +Rohscheimer.</p> + +<p>"Come into the library," said the latter. "Adeler's finished, so there's +no one to interrupt us."</p> + +<p>The pair entered the luxuriously appointed library, with its rows of +morocco-bound, unopened works. Jesson stood before the fire looking down +at Rohscheimer, who had spread himself inelegantly in a deep arm-chair, +and lay back puffing at the stump of a cigar.</p> + +<p>"I distrust Sheard!" snapped Jesson suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Eh," grunted the other. "Pull yourself together! It ain't likely that a +man who gets his livin', you might say, by keepin' in with the right +people" (he glanced down at his diamond studs) "is goin' to be mixed up +with a brigand like Bablon!"</p> + +<p>"I'm not so sure!" persisted Jesson. "My position is a peculiar one; but +I'll go so far as to say that I don't trust him, and I won't go a step +farther. I don't expect you," he added, "to quote my opinion to +anybody."</p> + +<p>"I shan't," said Rohscheimer. "It's too damn silly! What would he have +to gain? He ain't one of us."</p> + +<p>"I'll say no more!" declared Jesson. "But keep your eyes open!"</p> + +<p>"I'll do that!" Rohscheimer assured him. "I suppose you haven't any idea +who worked the card trick?"</p> + +<p>"As to that—yes! I <i>have</i> an idea—but I can only repeat that I'll say +no more."</p> + +<p>"I hope Hague is all right," growled Rohscheimer. "He's got some good +rough stuff on him to-night. Brought it over to show me. I didn't like +that red line under his name. Looked as if he was sort of number one on +the list!"</p> + +<p>"That's how it struck me. By the way, what became of the card?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know," was the reply. "Push that bell. I want a whisky and soda."</p> + +<p>Jesson pressed the bell, and Rohscheimer, tossing the stump into the +grate, dipped two fat fingers into his waistcoat pocket in quest of a +new cigar. It was his custom to carry two or three stuck therein.</p> + +<p>"Hallo!"</p> + +<p>Jesson turned to him—and saw that he held a card in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Have you got the card?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Rohscheimer, and turned it over.</p> + +<p>Whereupon his face changed colour, and became an unclean grey.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" cried Jesson.</p> + +<p>His hand shaking slightly, Rohscheimer passed him the card. Jesson +peered at it anxiously.</p> + +<p>The message which it bore was the same as that borne by the mysterious +card which had caused such a panic at the dinner table, but, upon the +other side, only one name appeared.</p> + +<p>It was that of Julius Rohscheimer, and it was heavily underlined in red!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>THE RING</h3> + + +<p>As the cab containing Baron Hague drove off along Park Lane, the Baron +heaved a sigh of relief. This incomprehensible Séverac Bablon who had +descended like a simoon upon London was a perturbing presence—a breath +of hot fear that parched the mind! And the house in Park Lane, too, +recently had been made the scene of a unique outrage by this most +singular robber to afford any sense of security.</p> + +<p>The Baron was glad to be away from that house, and, as the cab turned +the corner by the Park, was glad to be away from Park Lane. A man with +several thousand pounds' worth of diamonds upon him may be excused a +certain nervousness.</p> + +<p>Baron Hague was not intimately acquainted with London; but it seemed to +him, now, that the taxi-driver was pursuing an unfamiliar route. Had he +made some error? Perhaps that fool Adeler had directed him wrongly.</p> + +<p>The Baron took up the speaking-tube.</p> + +<p>"Hi!" he called. "Hi, you! Is it the Hotel Astoria you take me?"</p> + +<p>No notice did the man vouchsafe; looking neither to right nor to left, +but driving straight ahead. Baron Hague snorted with anger. Again he +raised the tube.</p> + +<p>A cloud of something seemed to strike him in the face.</p> + +<p>He dropped the tube, and reached out towards a window. Vaguely he +wondered to find it immovable. The lights of the thoroughfare—the sound +of the traffic, were fading away, farther, farther, to a remote +distance. He clutched at the cushions—slipping—slipping——</p> + +<p>His next impression was of a cell-like room, the floor composed of +blocks of red granite, the walls smoothly plastered. An unglazed window +made a black patch in one wall; and upon a big table covered with books +and papers stood a queer-looking lamp. It was apparently silver, and in +the form of a clutching hand. Within the hand rested a globe of light, +above which was attached a coloured shade. The table was black with +great age, and a carven chair, equally antique, stood by it upon a +coarse fibre mat. The place was the abode of an anchorite, save for a +rich Damascene curtain draped before a recess at one end.</p> + +<p>The Baron found himself to be in a heavily cushioned chair, gazing +across at this table—whereat was seated a very dark and singularly +handsome man who wore a garment like an Arab's robe.</p> + +<p>This stranger had his large, luminous eyes set fixedly upon the Baron's +face.</p> + +<p>"I am dreaming!"</p> + +<p>Baron Hague stood up, unsteadily, raising his hand to his head.</p> + +<p>There was a faint perfume in the air of the room; and now Hague saw that +the man who sat so attentively watching him was smoking a yellow-wrapped +cigarette. His brain grew clearer. Memory began to return; and he knew +that he was not dreaming. Frantically he thrust his hand into the inside +breast pocket.</p> + +<p>"Do not trouble yourself, Baron," the speaker's voice was low and +musical; "the packet of diamonds lies here!"</p> + +<p>And as he spoke the man at the table held up the missing packet.</p> + +<p>Hague started forward, fists clenched.</p> + +<p>"You have robbed me! Gott! you shall be sorry for this! Who the devil +are you, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Baron," was the reply. "I am Séverac Bablon!"</p> + +<p>Baron Hague paused, in the centre of the room, staring, with a sort of +madness, at this notorious free-booter—this suave, devilishly handsome +enemy of Capital.</p> + +<p>Then he turned and leapt to the door. It was locked. He faced about. +Séverac Bablon smoked.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Baron," he reiterated.</p> + +<p>The head of the great Berlin banking house looked about for a weapon. +None offered. The big, carven, chair was too heavy to wield. With his +fingers twitching, he approached again, closer to the table.</p> + +<p>Séverac Bablon stood up, keeping his magnetic gaze upon the +Baron—seeming to pierce to his brain.</p> + +<p>"For the last time—sit down, Baron!"</p> + +<p>The words were spoken quietly enough, and yet they seemed to clamour +upon the hearer's brain—to strike upon his consciousness as though it +were a gong. Again Hague paused, pulled up short by the force of those +strange eyes. He weighed his chances.</p> + +<p>From all that he had heard and read of Séverac Bablon, his accomplices +were innumerable. Where this cell might be situate he could form no +idea, nor by whom or what surrounded. Séverac Bablon apparently was +unarmed (save that his glance was a sword to stay almost any man); +therefore he had others near to guard him. Baron Hague decided that to +resort to personal violence at that juncture would be the height of +unwisdom.</p> + +<p>He sat down.</p> + +<p>"Now," said Séverac Bablon, in turn resuming his seat, "let us consider +this matter of the million pounds!"</p> + +<p>"I will not——" began Hague.</p> + +<p>Séverac Bablon checked him, with a gesture.</p> + +<p>"You will not contribute to a fund designed to aid in the defence of +England? That is unjust. You reap large profits from England, Baron. To +mention but one instance—you must draw quite twenty thousand pounds per +annum from the firm of Romilis and Imer, Hatton Garden!"</p> + +<p>Baron Hague stared in angry bewilderment.</p> + +<p>"I have nothing to do with Romilis and Imer!"</p> + +<p>"No? Then you can have no objection to my placing in the proper hands +particulars—which, you will find, have been abstracted from your +notebook—of the manner in which this parcel of diamonds reached Hatton +Garden! I have the letter from your agent in Cape Town, addressed to the +firm, and I have one signed 'Geo. Imer,' addressed to <i>you</i>! Finally, I +am a telephone subscriber, and De Beers' number is Bank 5740! Shall I +ring up the London office in the morning and draw their attention to +this parcel, and to the interesting correspondence bearing upon it?"</p> + +<p>Baron Hague's large features grew suddenly pinched in appearance. He +leant forward, his hands resting upon his knees. Rôles were reversed. +The great banker found himself seeking for a defence—one that might +satisfy the rogue for whom the police of Europe were seeking!</p> + +<p>"Why do you make a victim of <i>me</i>?" he gasped. "Antony Elschild is——"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Antony Elschild is a member of one of the greatest Jewish families +in Europe, you would say? And his interests are wholly British? He has +recognised that, Baron. I have his cheque for fifty thousand pounds!"</p> + +<p>"For <i>how much</i>?"</p> + +<p>"For fifty thousand pounds! Should you care to see it? I am forwarding +it immediately to the <i>Gleaner</i>. Mr. Elschild is my friend. He it was +who proposed that this fund be started by the great capitalists so as to +stimulate smaller subscribers. His name is never absent from such lists, +Baron."</p> + +<p>The Baron gulped.</p> + +<p>"In Berlin—they would say I was mad!"</p> + +<p>"And what will they say in Berlin if I call up De Beers in the morning? +Which reputation is preferable, Baron?"</p> + +<p>Hague sat staring, fascinated, at the man in the long robe, who smoked +yellow cigarettes and filled the air with their peculiar fumes. It +seemed to him, suddenly, that he had taken leave of his senses, and that +this cell—this pungent perfume—this man with the soul-searching eyes, +the incisive voice—all were tricks of his senses.</p> + +<p>What had he preserved the secret of his connection with the Hatton +Garden firm for all these long years—each year determining to quit +whilst safe, but each year lured on by the prospect of vaster gain—only +to lay it at the feet of this Séverac Bablon, who would ruin him?</p> + +<p>Faintly, sounds of occasional traffic penetrated. From a place of +half-shadows beyond the table, Séverac Bablon's luminous eyes watched. +Save for those distant sounds which told of a thoroughfare near by, +silence lay like a fog upon the place, and upon the mind of Baron Hague.</p> + +<p>It grew intolerable, this stillness; it bred fear. Who was Séverac +Bablon? What was the secret of his power?</p> + +<p>Hague looked up.</p> + +<p>"Gott im Himmel!" he said hoarsely. "Who are you? Why do you persecute +those who are Jewish?"</p> + +<p>Séverac Bablon stretched his hand over the great carved table, holding +it, motionless, beneath the lamp. From the bezel of the solitary ring +which he wore gleamed iridescent lights, venomous as those within the +eye of a serpent.</p> + +<p>A device, which seemed to be formed of lines of fire within the stone, +glowed, redly, through the greenness. The ring was old—incalculably +old—as anyone could see at a glance. And, in some occult fashion, it +<i>spoke</i> to Baron Hague; spoke to that which was within him—stirred up +the Jewish blood and set it leaping madly through his veins.</p> + +<p>Back to his mind came certain words of a rabbi, long since gone to his +fathers; before his eyes glittered words which he had had impressed upon +his mind more recently than in those half-forgotten childish days.</p> + +<p>And now, he feared. Slowly, he rose from the big cushioned chair. He +feared the man whom all the world knew as Séverac Bablon, and his fear, +for once, was something that did not arise from his purse. It was +something which arose from the green stone—and from the one who +possessed it—who dared to wear it. Hague backed yet farther from the +table, squarely, whereupon, beneath the globular lamp, lay the long +white hand.</p> + +<p>"<i>Gott!</i>" he muttered. "I am going mad! You cannot be—you——"</p> + +<p>"I am <i>he</i>!"</p> + +<p>Baron Hague's knees began to tremble.</p> + +<p>"It is impossible!"</p> + +<p>"Israel Hagar," continued the other sternly. "Those before you changed +your ancient name to Hague; but to me you are Israel Hagar! You doubt, +because you dare not believe. But there is that within your soul—that +which you inherit from forefathers who obeyed the great King, from +forefathers who toiled for Pharaoh—there is that within your soul which +tells you <i>who I am</i>!"</p> + +<p>The Baron could scarcely stand.</p> + +<p>"Ach, no!" he groaned. "What do you want? I will do anything—anything; +but let me go!"</p> + +<p>"I want you," continued Séverac Bablon, "since you deny the ring, to +draw aside yonder curtain and look upon what it conceals!"</p> + +<p>But Hague drew back yet further.</p> + +<p>"Ach, no!" he said, huskily. "I deny nothing! I dare not!"</p> + +<p>"By which I know that you have recognised in whose presence you stand, +Israel Hagar! Knowing yourself at heart to be a robber, a liar, a +hypocrite, you dare not, being also a Jew, raise that veil!"</p> + +<p>Baron Hague offered no defence; made no reply.</p> + +<p>"You are found guilty, Israel Hagar," resumed the merciless voice, "of +dragging through the mire of greed—through the sloughs of lust of +gold—a name once honoured among nations. It is such as you that have +earned for the Jewish people a repute it ill deserves. Save for such as +Mr. Antony Elschild, you and your like must have blotted out for ever +all that is glorious in the Jewish name. Despite all, you have succeeded +in staining it—and darkly. I have a mission. It is to erase that stain. +Therefore, when the list appears of those who wish to preserve intact +the British Empire, your name shall figure amongst the rest!"</p> + +<p>Hague groaned.</p> + +<p>"It will be explained, for the benefit of the curious, and to the glory +of the Jews, that in some measure of recognition of those vast profits +reaped from British ventures, you are desirous of showing your interest +in British welfare!"</p> + +<p>"It will be my ruin in Berlin!"</p> + +<p>"I should regret to think so. Had you, in the whole of your career, +during the entire period that you have been swelling your money-bags +with British money, devoted one guinea—one paltry guinea—to any +charitable purpose here, I had spared you the risk. As matters stand, I +shall require your cheque for an amount equal to that subscribed by Mr. +Elschild."</p> + +<p>"<i>Fifty thousand pounds!</i>" gasped Hague.</p> + +<p>"Exactly! Pen and ink are on the table. Your cheque book I have left in +your pocket!"</p> + +<p>"I won't——"</p> + +<p>Hague met the eyes of the incomprehensible man who watched him from +beyond the table; he saw the gleam of the ring, as Séverac Bablon placed +a pen within reach.</p> + +<p>"You—must be—mad!"</p> + +<p>"You will decidedly be mad, Baron, if you refuse, for I assure you, upon +my word of honour, I shall lay those papers before those whom they will +interest in the morning!"</p> + +<p>"And—if—I give you such a——"</p> + +<p>"Immediately your cheque is cleared I will return the papers."</p> + +<p>"And—the diamonds?"</p> + +<p>"I shall consider my course in regard to the diamonds."</p> + +<p>"This—is robbery!"</p> + +<p>"And your mode of obtaining the diamonds, Baron—what should you term +that?"</p> + +<p>"You mean to ruin me!"</p> + +<p>"Be good enough either to draw the cheque, payable to the editor of the +<i>Gleaner</i>—who will act in this matter, since I cannot appear—or to +decline definitely to do so."</p> + +<p>"It will ruin me."</p> + +<p>"To decline? I admit that!"</p> + +<p>Very shakily, having taken his cheque book from his pocket, Baron Hague +drew and signed a cheque for the fabulous, the atrocious sum of £50,000.</p> + +<p>A heavy smell—overpowering—crept to his nostrils as he bent forward +over the table. He mentally ascribed it to the yellow cigarettes.</p> + +<p>He laid down the pen with trembling fingers. That same sense of +increasing distances which had heralded the stupor in the cab was coming +upon him again. The cell-like room seemed to be receding. Séverac +Bablon's voice reached him from a remote distance:</p> + +<p>"In future, Israel Hagar, seek to make—better use of +your—opportunities."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Wake up, sir! Hadn't you better be getting home?"</p> + +<p>Baron Hague strove to stand. What had happened? Where was he?</p> + +<p>"Hold up, sir! Here's a cab waiting! What address, sir?"</p> + +<p>The Baron rubbed his eyes and looked dazedly about him. He was half +supported by a police constable.</p> + +<p>"Officer! Where am I, eh?"</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> found you sitting on the step of the Burlington Arcade, sir! Where +you'd been before that isn't for me to say! Come on, jump in!"</p> + +<p>Hague found himself bundled into the cab.</p> + +<p>"Hotel—Astoria!" he mumbled, and his head fell forward on his breast +again.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>IN THE DRESSING-ROOM</h3> + + +<p>The house was very quiet.</p> + +<p>Julius Rohscheimer stood quite motionless in his dressing-room listening +for a sound which he expected to hear, but which he also feared to hear. +The household in Park Lane slept now. Park Lane is never quite still at +any hour of the night, and now as Rohscheimer listened, all but holding +his breath, a hundred sounds conflicted in the highway below. But none +of these interested him.</p> + +<p>He had been in his room for more than half an hour; had long since +dismissed his man; and had sat down, arrayed in brilliant pyjamas (quite +a new line from Paris, recommended by Haredale, a sartorial expert with +a keen sense of humour), for a cigarette and a mental review of the +situation.</p> + +<p>Having shown himself active in other directions, Séverac Bablon had +evidently turned his eyes once more toward Park Lane. Julius Rohscheimer +mentally likened himself and his set to those early martyrs who, +defenceless, were subjected to the attacks of armed gladiators. No +precautions, it seemed, prevailed against this enemy of Capital. Police +protection was utterly useless. Thus far, not a solitary arrest had been +made. So, now, in his own palatial house, but with a strip of cardboard +lying before him bearing his name, underlined in red, Rohscheimer +anticipated mysterious outrage at any moment—and knew, instinctively, +that he would be unable to defend himself against it.</p> + +<p>Again came that vague stirring; and it seemed to come, not from beyond +the walls, but from somewhere close at hand—from——</p> + +<p>Rohscheimer turned, stealthily, in his chair. The cigarette dropped from +between his nerveless fingers, and lay smouldering upon the Persian +carpet.</p> + +<p>His bulging eyes grew more and more prominent, and his adipose jaw +dropped. And he sat, quivering fatly, his gaze upon the doors of the big +wardrobe which occupied the space between the windows. Distinctly he +remembered that these doors had been closed. But now they were open.</p> + +<p>Palsied with fear of what might be within, he sat, watched, and grew +pale.</p> + +<p>The doors were opening slowly!</p> + +<p>No move he made toward defence. He was a man inert from panic.</p> + +<p>Something gleamed out of the dark gap—a revolver barrel. Two fingers +pushed a card into view. Upon it, in red letters, were the words:</p> + +<p><i>"Do not move!"</i></p> + +<p>The warning was, at once, needless and disregarded. Rohscheimer shook +the chair with his tremblings.</p> + +<p>A smaller card was tossed across on to the table.</p> + +<p>The fat hand which the financier extended toward the card shook +grotesquely; the diamonds which adorned it sparkled and twinkled +starrily. Before his eyes a red mist seemed to dance; but, through it, +Rohscheimer made out the following:</p> + +<p>"There is a cheque-book in your coat pocket, and your coat hangs beside +me in the wardrobe. I will throw the book across to you. You will make +out a cheque for £100,000, payable to the editor of the <i>Gleaner</i>, and +also write a note explaining that this is your contribution towards the +fund for the founding, by patriotic Britons, of a suitable air fleet."</p> + +<p>Rohscheimer, out of the corner of his eye, was watching the gleaming +barrel, which pointed straightly at his head. From the dark gap between +the wardrobe doors sped a second projectile, and fell before him on the +table.</p> + +<p>It was his cheque-book. Mechanically he opened it. Within was stuck +another card. Upon it, in the same evidently disguised handwriting, +appeared:</p> + +<p>"A fountain pen lies on the table before you. Do not hesitate to follow +instructions—or I shall shoot you. All arrangements are made for my +escape. Throw the cheque and the note behind you and do not dare to look +around again until you have my permission. If you do so once, I may only +warn you; if you do so twice, I shall kill you."</p> + +<p>Perfect silence ruled. Even the traffic in Park Lane outside seemed +momentarily to have ceased. From the wardrobe behind Julius Rohscheimer +came no sound. He took up the pen; made out and signed the preposterous +cheque.</p> + +<p>To the ruling but silent intelligence concealed behind those double +doors he had no thought of appeal. He dared not even address himself to +that invisible being. Such idea was as far from his mind as it must have +been of old from the mind of him who listened to a Sybilline oracle +delivered from the mystic tripod.</p> + +<p>Sufficiently he controlled his twitching fingers to write a note, as +follows—(what awful irony!):</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"To the Editor of the <i>Gleaner</i>,</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—I enclose a cheque for £100,000" (as he wrote these dreadful +words, Rohscheimer almost contemplated rebellion; but the +silence—the fearful silence—and the thought of the one who +watched him proved too potent for his elusive courage. He wrote +on). "I desire you to place it at the disposal of the Government +for purposes of ariel" (Rohscheimer was no scholar) "defence. I +hope others will follow suit." (He <i>did</i>. It was horrible to be +immolated thus, a solitary but giant sacrifice, upon the altar of +this priest of iconoclasm)—"I am, sir, yours, etc.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Julius Rohscheimer.</span>"</p></div> + +<p>Cheque and note he folded together, and stretching his hand behind him, +threw them in the direction of the haunted wardrobe. His fear that, even +now, he might be assassinated, grew to such dimensions that he came near +to swooning. But upon no rearward glance did he venture.</p> + +<p>Several heavy vehicles passed along the Lane. Rohscheimer listened +intently, but gathered no sound from amid those others that gave clue to +the enemy's movements.</p> + +<p>Clutching at the table-edge he sat, and tasted of violent death, by +anticipation.</p> + +<p>The traffic sounds subsided again. A new stillness was born. Within the +great house nothing moved. But still Julius Rohscheimer shook and +quivered. Only his mind was clearing; and already he was at work upon a +scheme to save his money.</p> + +<p>One hundred thousand pounds. Heavens above! It was ruination!</p> + +<p>A faint creak.</p> + +<p>"Do not dare to look around again until you have my permission," read +the card before his eyes. "If you do so once I <i>may</i> only warn you; if +you do so twice, I shall kill you."</p> + +<p>One hundred thousand pounds! He could have cried. But, after all, he was +a rich man—a very rich man; not so rich as Oppner, nor even so rich as +Hague; but a comfortably wealthy man. Life was very good in his eyes. +There were those little convivial evenings—those week-end motoring +trips. He would take no chances. Life was worth more than one hundred +thousand pounds.</p> + +<p>He did not glance around.</p> + +<p>So, the minutes passed. They passed, for the most part, in ghostly +silence, sometimes broken by the hum of the traffic below, by the horn +of a cab or car. Nothing from within the house broke that nerve-racking +stillness.</p> + +<p>If only there had been a mirror, so placed that by moving his eyes only +he could have obtained a glimpse of the wardrobe. But there was no +mirror so placed.</p> + +<p>Faintly to his ears came the striking of a clock. He listened intently, +but could not determine if it struck the quarter, half, three-quarters, +or hour. Certainly, from the decrease of traffic in Park Lane, it must +be getting very late, he knew.</p> + +<p>His limbs began to ache. Cautiously he changed the position of his +slippered feet. The clock in the hall began to strike. And Rohscheimer's +heart seemed to stand still.</p> + +<p>It struck the half-hour. So it was half-past one! He had been sitting +there for an hour—an agonised hour!</p> + +<p>What could the Unseen be waiting for?</p> + +<p>Gradually his heart-beats grew normal again, and his keen mind got to +work once more upon the scheme for frustrating the audacious plan of +this robber who robbed from incredible motives.</p> + +<p>An air fleet! What rot! What did he care about air fleets? One hundred +thousand pounds! But if he presented himself at the <i>Gleaner</i> office as +soon as it opened that morning, and explained, before the editor (curse +him!) had had time to deal with his correspondence, that by an oversight +(late night; the editor, as a man of the world, would understand) he had +been thinking of a hundred and had written a hundred thousand, and also +had written too many noughts after the amount of his subscription to the +<i>Gleaner</i> fund, what then? The editor could not possibly object to +returning him his cheque and accepting one for a thousand. A thousand +was bad enough; but a hundred thousand!</p> + +<p>He was growing stiff again.</p> + +<p>Two o'clock!</p> + +<p>Beneath his eyes lay the card which read:</p> + +<p>"If you do so once, I <i>may</i> only warn you——"</p> + +<p>A sudden burst of courage came to Julius Rohscheimer. Anything, he now +determined, was preferable to this suspense.</p> + +<p>He began to turn his head.</p> + +<p>It was a ruse, he saw it all; a ruse to keep him there, silent, +prisoned, whilst his cheque, his precious cheque, was placed in the +hands of the <i>Gleaner</i> people.</p> + +<p>Around he turned—and around. The corner of the wardrobe came within his +field of vision. Still farther he moved. The doors, now, were visible.</p> + +<p>And the gleaming barrel pointed truly at his head!</p> + +<p>"No; no!" he whispered tremulously, huskily. "Ah, God! no! Spare me! I +swear—I swear—I will not look again. I won't move. I'll make no +sound."</p> + +<p>He dropped his head into his hands—quaking; the lamp, the table, were +swimming about him; he had never passed through ten such seconds of +dread as those which followed his spell of temerity.</p> + +<p>Yet he lived—and knew himself spared. Not for <i>five</i> hundred thousand +pounds would he have looked again.</p> + +<p>The minutes wore on—became hours. It seemed to Julius Rohscheimer that +all London slept now; all London save one unhappy man in Park Lane.</p> + +<p>Three o'clock, four o'clock, five o'clock struck. His head fell forward. +He aroused himself with a jerk. Again his head fell forward. And this +time he did not arouse himself; he slept.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Mr. Rohscheimer! Mr. Rohscheimer!"</p> + +<p>There were voices about him. He could distinguish that of his wife. +Adeler was shaking him. Was that Haredale at the door?</p> + +<p>Shakily, he got upon his feet.</p> + +<p>"Why, Mr. Rohscheimer!" exclaimed Adeler, in blank wonderment, "have you +not been to bed?"</p> + +<p>"What time?" muttered Rohscheimer, "what time——"</p> + +<p>Sir Richard Haredale, who evidently thought that the financier had had +one of his "heavy nights," smiled discreetly.</p> + +<p>"Pull yourself together, Rohscheimer!" he said. "Just put your head +under the tap and jump into a dressing-gown. The green one with golden +dragons is the most unique. You'll have to hold an informal reception +here in your dressing-room. We can't keep the Marquess waiting."</p> + +<p>"The Marquess?" groaned Rohscheimer, clutching at his head. "The +Marquess?"</p> + +<p>It had been his social dream for years to behold a real live Marquess +beneath that roof. He had gone so far as to offer Haredale five hundred +pounds down if he could bring one to dinner. But Haredale's best +achievement to date had been Lord Vignoles.</p> + +<p>Rohscheimer's mind was a furious chaos. Had the horrors of the night +been no more than a dream, after all?</p> + +<p>Sheard, of the <i>Gleaner</i>, pressed forward and grasped both his hands. +Rohscheimer became ghastly pale.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rohscheimer," said the pressman, "England is proud of you! On such +occasions as this, all formality—<i>all</i> formality—is swept away. A +great man is great anywhere—at any time, any place, in any garb! I have +Mrs. Rohscheimer's permission, and therefore am honoured to introduce to +this apartment the Premier, the Most Honourable the Marquess of +Evershed!"</p> + +<p>Trembling wildly, fighting down a desire to laugh, to scream, +Rohscheimer stood and looked toward the door.</p> + +<p>The Marquess entered.</p> + +<p>He wore the familiar grey frock-coat, with the red rose in his +buttonhole, as made famous by <i>Punch</i>. His massive head he carried very +high, looking downward through the pebbles of the gold-rimmed pince-nez.</p> + +<p>"No apologies, Mr. Rohscheimer!" he began, hand raised forensically. +"Positively I will listen to no apologies! This entire absence of +formality—showing that you had not anticipated my visit—delights me, +confirms me in my estimation of your character. For it reveals you as a +man actuated by the purest motive which can stir the human heart. I +refer to love of country—patriotism."</p> + +<p>He paused, characteristically thrusting two fingers into his +watch-pocket. Sheard wrote furiously. Julius Rohscheimer fought for air.</p> + +<p>"The implied compliment, Mr. Rohscheimer," continued the Premier, "to +myself, is deeply appreciated. I am, of course, aware that the idea of +this fund was suggested to its promoters by my speech at Portsmouth +regarding England's danger. The promptitude of the <i>Gleaner</i> newspaper +in opening a subscription list is only less admirable than your own in +making so munificent a donation.</p> + +<p>"My policy during my present term of office, as you are aware, Mr. +Rohscheimer, has been different, wholly different, from that of my +immediate predecessor. I have placed the necessity of Britain's ruling, +not only the seas, but the air, in the forefront of my programme——"</p> + +<p>"Hear, hear!" murmured Sheard.</p> + +<p>"And this substantial support from such men as yourself is very +gratifying to me. I cannot recall any incident in recent years which has +afforded me such keen pleasure. It is such confirmation of one's hopes +that he acts for the welfare of his fellow-countrymen which purifies and +exalts political life. And in another particular where my policy has +differed from that of my friends opposite—I refer to my <i>encouragement</i> +of foreign immigration—I have been nobly confirmed.</p> + +<p>"Baron Hague, in recognition of the commercial support and protection +which our British hospitality has accorded to him, contributes fifty +thousand pounds to the further safeguarding of our national, though most +catholic, interests. At an early hour this morning, Mr. Rohscheimer, I +was aroused by a special messenger from the <i>Gleaner</i> newspaper, who +brought me this glorious news of your noble, your magnificent, response +to my—to our—appeal. Casting ceremony to the winds, I hastened hither. +Mr. Rohscheimer—your hand!"</p> + +<p>At that, Rohscheimer was surrounded.</p> + +<p>"Socially," Haredale murmured in his ear, "you are made!"</p> + +<p>"Financially," groaned Rohscheimer, "I'm broke!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rohscheimer, in elegant <i>décolletée</i>, appeared among the excited +throng. She was anxious for a sight of her husband, whom she was +convinced had gone mad. Sheard thrust his way to the financier's side.</p> + +<p>"Is there anything you would care to say for our next edition?" he +enquired, a notebook in his hand. "We're having a full-page photograph, +and——"</p> + +<p>Crash! Crackle! Crackle! Crackle! A blinding light leapt up.</p> + +<p>"My God! What's that?"</p> + +<p>"All right," said Sheard. "Only our photographer doing a flash. If +there's anything you'd like to say, hurry up, because I'm off to +interview Baron Hague."</p> + +<p>"Say that I believe I've gone mad!" groaned the financier, clutching his +hair, "and that I'm damn sure Hague has!"</p> + +<p>Sheard laughed, treating the words as a witticism, and hurried away. +Mrs. Rohscheimer approached and bent over her husband.</p> + +<p>"Have you pains in your head, dear?" she inquired anxiously.</p> + +<p>"No!" snapped Rohscheimer. "I've got a pain in my pocket! I'm a ruined +man! I'll be the laughing-stock of the whole money market!"</p> + +<p>Adeler reappeared.</p> + +<p>"Adeler," said Rohscheimer, "get the rest of the people out of the +house! And, Adeler"—he glanced about him—"what did you do with those +cards that were on the table, here?"</p> + +<p>Adeler stared.</p> + +<p>"Cards, Mr. Rohscheimer? I saw none."</p> + +<p>"Who came in here first this morning? Who woke me up?"</p> + +<p>"I."</p> + +<p>Rohscheimer studied the pale, intellectual face of his secretary with +uneasy curiosity.</p> + +<p>"And there were no cards on the table—no cheque-book?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Sure you were first in?"</p> + +<p>"I am not sure, but I think so. I found you fast asleep, at any rate."</p> + +<p>"Why do you ask, dear?" said Mrs. Rohscheimer in growing anxiety.</p> + +<p>"Just for a lark!" snapped her husband sourly. "I want to make Adeler +laugh!"</p> + +<p>Haredale, who, failing Rohscheimer or Mrs. Rohscheimer, did the honours +of the house in Park Lane, returned from having conducted the Marquess +to his car. He carried a first edition copy of the <i>Gleaner</i>.</p> + +<p>"They've managed to get it in, even in this one," he said. "When did you +send the cheque—early last evening?"</p> + +<p>"Don't talk about it!" implored Rohscheimer.</p> + +<p>"Why?" inquired Haredale curiously. "You must have seen your way to +something big before you spent so much money. It was a great idea! +You're certain of a knighthood, if not something bigger. But I wonder +you kept it dark from me."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Rohscheimer. "Do you?"</p> + +<p>"Very much. It's a situation that calls for very delicate handling. +Hitherto, because of certain mortgages, the Marquess has not prohibited +his daughter visiting here, with the Oppners or Vignoles; but you've +forced him, now, to recognise you <i>in propria persona</i>. He cannot very +well withhold a title; but you'll have to release the mortgage +gracefully."</p> + +<p>"I'll do it gracefully," was the reply. "I'm gettin' plenty of practice +at chuckin' fortunes away, and smilin'!"</p> + +<p>His attitude puzzled Haredale, who glanced interrogatively at Mrs. +Rohscheimer. She shook her head in worried perplexity.</p> + +<p>"Go and get dressed, dear," said Rohscheimer, with much irritation. "I'm +not ill; I've only turned patriotic."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rohscheimer departing, Haredale lingered.</p> + +<p>"Leave me alone a bit, Haredale," begged the financier. "I want to get +used to bein' a bloomin' hero! Send Lawson up in half an hour—and you +come too, if you wouldn't mind."</p> + +<p>Haredale left the room.</p> + +<p>As the door closed, Rohscheimer turned and looked fully at the wardrobe.</p> + +<p>From the gap pointed a gleaming tube!</p> + +<p><i>"Ah!"</i></p> + +<p>He dropped back in his chair. Nothing moved. The activity of the +household stirred reassuringly about him. He stood up, crossed to the +wardrobe, and threw wide its doors.</p> + +<p>In the pocket of a hanging coat was thrust a nickelled rod from a patent +trousers-stretcher, so that it pointed out into the room.</p> + +<p>Rohscheimer stared—and stared—and stared.</p> + +<p>"My God!" he whispered. "He slipped out directly he got the cheque, and +I sat here all night——"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>ES-SINDIBAD OF CADOGAN GARDENS</h3> + + +<p>Upon the night following the ill-omened banquet in Park Lane was held a +second dinner party, in Cadogan Gardens. Like veritable gourmets, we +must be present.</p> + +<p>It is close upon the dining hour.</p> + +<p>"Zoe is late!" said Lady Vignoles.</p> + +<p>"I think not, dear," her husband corrected her, consulting his +celebrated chronometer. "They have one minute in which to demonstrate +the efficiency of American methods!"</p> + +<p>"Thank you—Greenwich!" smiled her vivacious ladyship, whose husband's +love of punctuality was the only trace of character which six months of +marital intimacy had enabled her to discover in him.</p> + +<p>"You know," said Lord Vignoles to Zimmermann, the famous <i>littérateur</i> +of the Ghetto, "she is proud of Yankee smartness. Only natural." And his +light blue eyes followed his wife's pretty figure as she flitted +hospitably amongst her guests. Admiration beamed through his monocle.</p> + +<p>"Lady Vignoles is a staunch American," agreed the novelist. "I gather +that your opinion of that nation differs from hers?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you know," explained his host, "I don't seriously contend—that +is, when Sheila is about—I don't contend that their methods aren't +smart. But it seems to me that their smartness is all—just—well, d'you +see what I mean? Look at these Pinkerton fellows!"</p> + +<p>"Those who you were telling me called upon you this morning?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. They came over with Oppner to look for this Séverac Bablon."</p> + +<p>"What is your contention?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Vignoles, rather flustered at being thus pinned to the +point, "I mean to say—they haven't caught him!"</p> + +<p>"Neither has Scotland Yard!"</p> + +<p>"No, by Jove, you're right! Scotland Yard hasn't!"</p> + +<p>"Do you think it likely that Scotland Yard will?" asked the other.</p> + +<p>But Lord Vignoles, having caught his wife's eye, was performing a +humorous grimace, and, watch in hand, delivering a pantomimic indictment +of American unpunctuality. At which moment Miss Oppner was announced, +and Lady Vignoles made a pretty <i>moue</i> of triumph.</p> + +<p>Zoe Oppner entered the room, regally carrying her small head crowned +with the slightly frizzy mop of chestnut hair, conscious of her fine +eyes, her perfect features, and her pretty shoulders, happy in her slim +young beauty, and withal wholly unaffected. Therein lay her greatest +charm. A beautiful woman, fully aware of her loveliness, she was too +sensible to be vain of a gift of the gods—to pride herself upon a +heavenly accident.</p> + +<p>"Why, Zoe!" said Lady Vignoles, "what's become of uncle?"</p> + +<p>"Pa couldn't get," announced Zoe composedly; "so I came along without +him. Told me to apologise, but didn't explain. I've promised to rejoin +him early, so I shall have to quit directly after dinner. The car is +coming for me."</p> + +<p>Lord Vignoles looked amused.</p> + +<p>"<i>Les affaires!</i>" he said resignedly. "These Americans!"</p> + +<p>Dinner was announced.</p> + +<p>The usual air of slightly annoyed surprise crept over the faces of the +company at the announcement, so that to the uninitiate it would have +seemed that no one was hungry. However, they accepted the inevitable.</p> + +<p>Then Vignoles made a discovery.</p> + +<p>"I say, Sheila," he exclaimed, "where is your American efficiency? We're +thirteen!"</p> + +<p>His wife made a rapid mental calculation and flushed slightly.</p> + +<p>"Anybody might do it!" she pouted; "and it's uncle's fault, anyway!"</p> + +<p>"Why!" exclaimed Zoe Oppner, "you're surely not going to make a fuss +over a silly thing like that!"</p> + +<p>"A lot of people don't like it," declared Lady Vignoles hurriedly. "I +shouldn't mind, of course, if it happened at somebody else's house."</p> + +<p>Zimmermann strolled up to the group.</p> + +<p>"I gather that we number thirteen?" he said.</p> + +<p>"That is so," replied Vignoles; "but," dropping his voice, "I don't +think anyone else has noticed it yet."</p> + +<p>"A romantic idea occurs to me!" smiled the novelist. "I submit it in all +deference——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, go on, Mr. Zimmermann!" cried Zoe, with sparkling eyes.</p> + +<p>"Why not, upon the precedent of our ancient Arabian friend, Es-Sindibad +of the Sea, summon to the feast some chance wayfarer?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say!" protested the host mildly. "Do you mean to go outside in +Cadogan Gardens and stop anybody that comes along?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Zimmermann, "it should, strictly, be some pious person who +tarries there to extol Allah! But if we waited for such a traveller I +fear the soup would be spoiled! You are a gentleman short, I think? So +make it, simply, the first gentleman."</p> + +<p>"But he might be a tramp or a taxi-driver, or worse!" protested +Vignoles.</p> + +<p>"That is true," agreed the other. "So let us determine upon a criterion +of respectability. Shall we say the first man, provided he be agreeable, +who wears a dress-suit?"</p> + +<p>"That's just grand!" cried Zoe Oppner enthusiastically. "It's too cute +for anything! Oh, Jerry, let's! Make him do it, Sheila!"</p> + +<p>Jerry, otherwise Lord Vignoles, clearly regarded the projected Oriental +experiment with no friendly eye.</p> + +<p>"I mean to say——"</p> + +<p>"That's settled, Zoe!" said the pretty hostess calmly. "Never mind him! +Alexander!"</p> + +<p>The footman addressed came forward.</p> + +<p>"You will step out on the front porch, Alexander, and say to the first +gentleman who passes, if he's in evening dress: 'Lady Vignoles requests +the pleasure of your company at dinner.' If he says he doesn't know me, +reply that I am quite aware of that! Do you understand?"</p> + +<p>Alexander was shocked.</p> + +<p>"I mean to say, Sheila——" began his lordship.</p> + +<p>"Did you hear me, Alexander?"</p> + +<p>"I've got to stand out in Cadogan Gardens, my lady——"</p> + +<p>"Shall I repeat it again, slowly?"</p> + +<p>"I heard you, my lady."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Show the gentleman into the library. You have only five +minutes."</p> + +<p>With an appealing look towards Lord Vignoles, who, having ostentatiously +removed and burnished his eyeglass, seemed to experience some difficulty +in replacing it, Alexander departed.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> claim him!" cried Zoe, as the footman disappeared. "Whoever he is +or whatever he's like, he shall take me in to dinner!"</p> + +<p>"What I mean to say is," blurted Vignoles, "that it would be all right +at a country-house party at Christmas, say——"</p> + +<p>"It's going to be all right here, dear!" interrupted his wife, +affectionately squeezing his arm. "Why, think of the possibilities! New +York would just go crazy on the idea!"</p> + +<p>A silence fell between them as, with Zoe Oppner and the Zimmermanns, +they made their way to the library. Only a few minutes elapsed, to their +surprise, ere Alexander reappeared. Martyr-like, he had performed his +painful duty, and a beatific consciousness of his martyrdom was writ +large upon him. In an absolutely toneless voice he announced:</p> + +<p>"Detective-Inspector Pepys!"</p> + +<p>"Here! I mean to say—we can't have a policeman——" began Vignoles, but +his wife's little hand was laid upon his lips.</p> + +<p>Zoe Oppner, with brimming eyes, made a brave attempt, and then fled to a +distant settee, striving with her handkerchief to stifle her laughter.</p> + +<p>The guest entered.</p> + +<p>From her remote corner Zoe Oppner peeped at him, and her laughter +ceased. Lady Vignoles looked pleased; her husband seemed surprised. +Zimmermann watched the stranger with a curious expression in his eyes.</p> + +<p>Detective-Inspector Pepys was a tall man of military bearing, bronzed, +and wearing a slight beard, trimmed to a point. He was perfectly +composed, and came forward with an easy smile upon his handsome face. +His clothes fitted him faultlessly. Even Lord Vignoles (a sartorial +connoisseur) had to concede that his dress-suit was a success. He looked +a wealthy Colonial gentleman.</p> + +<p>"This pleasure is the greater in being unexpected, Lady Vignoles!" he +said. "I gather I am thus favoured that I may take the place of an +absentee. Shall I hazard a guess? Your party numbered thirteen?"</p> + +<p>His infectious smile, easy acceptance of a bizarre situation, and +evident good breeding, bridged a rather difficult interval. Lord +Vignoles had had an idea that detective-inspectors were just ordinary +plain-clothes policemen, and had determined, a second before, to assert +himself, give the man half-a-sovereign, and put an end to this +ridiculous extravaganza. Now he changed his mind. Detective-Inspector +Pepys was a revelation.</p> + +<p>Vignoles (to his own surprise) offered his hand.</p> + +<p>"It is very good of you," he said, rather awkwardly. "You are sure you +have no other dinner engagement, Inspector?"</p> + +<p>"None," replied the latter. "I am, strictly speaking, engaged upon +official duty; but bodily nutriment is allowed—even by Scotland Yard!"</p> + +<p>"You don't mind my presenting you to—the other guests—in +your—ah—unofficial capacity—as plain Mr. Pepys? They might—think +there was something wrong!"</p> + +<p>He felt vaguely confused, as though he were insulting the visitor by his +request, and with the detective's disconcerting eyes fixed upon his face +was more than half ashamed of himself.</p> + +<p>"Not in the least, Lord Vignoles. I should have suggested it had you not +done so."</p> + +<p>The host was resentfully conscious of a subtle sense of inward gratitude +for this concession. Of the easy assumption of equality by the detective +he experienced no resentment whatever. The circumstances possibly +warranted it, and, in any event, it was assumed so quietly and naturally +that he accepted it as a matter of course.</p> + +<p>Since Lord Vignoles' marriage with an American heiress the atmosphere of +his establishments had grown very transatlantic; so much so, indeed, +that someone had dubbed the house in Cadogan Gardens "The Millionaires' +Meeting House," and another wit (unknown) had referred to his place in +Norfolk as "The Week-end Synagogue." Furthermore, Lady Vignoles had a +weakness for "odd people," for which reason the presence of a guest +hitherto socially unknown occasioned no comment.</p> + +<p>Mr. Pepys having brought in Zoe Oppner, everyone assumed the late +arrival to be one of Lady Vignoles' odd people, and everyone was +pleasantly surprised to find him such a charming companion.</p> + +<p>Zoe Oppner, for her part, became so utterly absorbed in his conversation +that her cousin grew seriously alarmed. Zoe was notoriously eccentric, +and, her cousin did not doubt, even capable of forming an attachment for +a policeman.</p> + +<p>In fact, Lady Vignoles, who was wearing the historic Lyrpa Diamond—her +father's wedding-present—was so concerned that she had entirely lost +track of the general conversation, which, from the great gem, had +drifted automatically into criminology.</p> + +<p>Zimmermann was citing the famous case of the Kimberley mail robbery in +'83.</p> + +<p>"That was a big haul," he said. "Twelve thousand pounds' worth of rough +diamonds!"</p> + +<p>"Fifteen!" corrected Bernard Megger, director of a world-famed mining +syndicate.</p> + +<p>"Oh, was it fifteen?" continued Zimmermann. "No doubt you are correct. +Were you in Africa in '83?"</p> + +<p>"No," replied Megger; "I was in 'Frisco till the autumn of '85, but I +remember the affair. Three men were captured—one dead. The +fourth—Isaac Jacobsen—got away, and with the booty!"</p> + +<p>"Never traced, I believe!" asked the novelist.</p> + +<p>"Never," confirmed Megger; "neither the man nor the diamonds."</p> + +<p>"It was a big thing, certainly," came Vignoles' voice; "but this Séverac +Bablon has beaten all records in that line!"</p> + +<p>The remark afforded his wife an opportunity, for which she had sought, +to break off the too confidential <i>tête-à-tête</i> between Zoe and the +detective.</p> + +<p>"Zoe," she said, "surely Mr. Pepys can tell us something about this +mysterious Séverac Bablon?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!" replied Zoe. "He has been telling me! He knows quite a lot +about him!"</p> + +<p>Now, the dinner-table topic all over London was the mystery of Séverac +Bablon, and Lady Vignoles' party was not exceptional in this respect. It +had already been several times referred to, and at Miss Oppner's words +all eyes were directed towards the handsome stranger, who bore this +scrutiny with such smiling composure.</p> + +<p>"I cannot go into particulars, Lady Vignoles," he said; "but, as you are +aware, I have a kind of official connection with the matter!"</p> + +<p>This was beautifully mysterious, and everyone became intensely +interested.</p> + +<p>"Of such facts as have come to light you all know as much as I, but +there is a certain theory which seems to have occurred to no one." He +paused impressively, throwing a glance around the table. "What is the +notable point in regard to the victims of Séverac Bablon?"</p> + +<p>"They are Jews—or of Jewish extraction," said Zoe Oppner promptly. "Pa +has noticed that! He's taken considerable interest since his mills were +burned in Ontario!"</p> + +<p>"And what is the conclusion?"</p> + +<p>"That he hates Jews!" snapped Bernard Megger hotly. "That he has a +deadly hatred of all the race!"</p> + +<p>"You think so?" said Pepys softly, and turned his eyes upon the gross, +empurpled face of the speaker. "It has not occurred to you that he might +himself be a Jew?"</p> + +<p>That theory was so new to them that it was received in silent +astonishment. Lady Vignoles, though her mother was Irish, had a marked +leaning towards her father's people, and, as was usually the case, that +ancient race was fairly represented at her dinner-table. Lord Vignoles, +on the contrary, was not fond of his wife's Semitic friends—in fact, +was ashamed of them; and he accordingly felt the present conversation to +be drifting in an unpleasant direction.</p> + +<p>"Consider," resumed Pepys, before the host could think of any suitable +remark, "that this man wields an enormous and far-reaching influence. No +door is locked to him! From out of nowhere he can summon up numbers of +willing servants, who obey him blindly, and return—whence they came!</p> + +<p>"He would seem, then, to be served by high and low, and—a notable +point—no one of his servants has yet betrayed him! His wealth clearly +is enormous. He invites the rich to give—as <i>he</i> gives—and if they +decline he takes! For what purpose? That he may relieve the poor! No +friend of the needy yet has suffered at the hands of Séverac Bablon."</p> + +<p>"I believe that's a fact!" agreed Zoe Oppner. "He's my own parent, but +Pa's real mean, I'll allow!"</p> + +<p>Her words were greeted with laughter; but everyone was anxious to hear +more from this man who spoke so confidently upon the topic of the hour.</p> + +<p>"You may say," he continued, "that he is no more than a glorified Claude +Duval, but might he not be one who sought to purge the Jewish name of +the taint of greed—who forced those responsible for fostering that +taint to disburse—who hated those mean of soul and loved those worthy +of their ancient line? It is thus he would war! And the price of defeat +would be—a felon's cell! Whom would he be—this man at enmity with all +who have brought shame upon the Jewish race? Whom could he be, save a +monarch with eight millions of subjects—a royal Jew? I say that such a +man exists, and that Séverac Bablon, if not that man himself, is his +chosen emissary!"</p> + +<p>More and more rapidly he had spoken, in tones growing momentarily louder +and more masterful. He burned with the enthusiasm of the specialist. +Now, as he ceased, a long sigh arose from his listeners, who had hung +breathless upon his words, and one lady whispered to her neighbour, "Is +he something to do with the Secret Service?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Bernard Megger is wanted on the telephone!"</p> + +<p>"How annoying!" ejaculated Lady Vignoles at this sudden interruption.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I have said my say," laughed Pepys. "It is a pet theory of mine, +that's all! I am alone in my belief, however, save for a writer in the +<i>Gleaner</i>, who seems to share it."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>KIMBERLEY</h3> + + +<p>Dessert was being placed upon the table when Bernard Megger went out to +the telephone, and a fairly general conversation upon the all-absorbing +topic had sprung up when he returned—pale, flabby—a stricken man!</p> + +<p>"Vignoles!" he said hoarsely. "A word with you."</p> + +<p>The host, who did not care for the society of Mr. Megger, rose in some +surprise and stepped aside with his wife's guest.</p> + +<p>"I am a ruined man!" said Megger. "My chambers have been entered and my +safe rifled!"</p> + +<p>"But——" began Vignoles, in bewilderment.</p> + +<p>"You do not understand!" snapped the other, "and I cannot explain. It is +Séverac Bablon who has robbed me!"</p> + +<p>"Séverac Bablon?"</p> + +<p>"Yes! I must be off at once and learn exactly what has happened. I shall +call at Scotland Yard——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Ssh!</i>" whispered Vignoles. "There is no need for that! The man +speaking to Miss Oppner there is Detective-Inspector Pepys!"</p> + +<p>"Detective-Inspector Pepys! But what——"</p> + +<p>"Never mind now, Megger; he is—that's the point. I'll bring him into +the billiard-room. No doubt he can arrange to accompany you."</p> + +<p>Too perturbed in mind to wonder greatly at the presence of a police +officer at Lord Vignoles' dinner-table, Bernard Megger strode hurriedly +into the billiard-room, his obese body quivering with his suppressed +emotions, and was almost immediately joined by his host, accompanied by +Pepys. The latter began at once:</p> + +<p>"I understand that your chambers have been burgled by Séverac Bablon? By +a curious instance of what literary critics term the long arm of +coincidence I am in charge of the Séverac Bablon case—I and Inspector +Sheffield."</p> + +<p>"Before we go any further," said Megger rudely, "I don't share your +tomfool ideas about the rogue!"</p> + +<p>"No?" replied Pepys blandly. "Well, never mind. You must not suppose +that, because of them, I am any less anxious to apprehend my man. Tell +me, when was the burglary committed?"</p> + +<p>"While Simons, my servant, was out on an errand. He returned to find the +safe open—and empty. He immediately rang me up here."</p> + +<p>"I believe you have already communicated with Scotland Yard in regard to +Séverac Bablon?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have. He has threatened me."</p> + +<p>"In what form?"</p> + +<p>"He endeavoured to extort money."</p> + +<p>"By what means?"</p> + +<p>Bernard Megger frowned, angrily. His flabby cheeks were twitching +significantly.</p> + +<p>"The point is," he said sharply, "that he has rifled my safe."</p> + +<p>"Did it contain valuables?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>"Diamonds?"</p> + +<p>"It contained valuable papers."</p> + +<p>"Where is the safe situated?"</p> + +<p>"It is concealed, I thought securely, at the back of a bookcase. No one +else holds a key. No one—not even my man—knows of its location. +<i>Curse</i> Séverac Bablon! How, in Heaven's name, has he discovered it? I +thought it secure from the fiend himself!"</p> + +<p>Detective-Inspector Pepys scratched his chin thoughtfully, and Bernard +Megger seemed to experience some difficulty in meeting the disconcerting +gaze of his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Possibly," said the inspector slowly, "an examination of your chambers +may afford a clue. With your permission, Lord Vignoles, we will start at +once."</p> + +<p>"Certainly," said Vignoles. "I fear I have no car in readiness, so +someone shall call a cab."</p> + +<p>He moved to the bell.</p> + +<p>"What's that, Jerry?" came a musical American voice. "Someone want a +lift?"</p> + +<p>The three men looked towards the door and saw there Zoe Oppner, a +bewitching picture in her motor-furs.</p> + +<p>"I was coming to say good-night," she explained. "I'm off to pick up Pa. +But I've got time to run as far as Brighton and back, say. Nearly half +an hour anyway!"</p> + +<p>"You will not be called upon to create that amazing record, Zoe," +responded Lord Vignoles. "Inspector Pepys and Mr. Megger are merely +proceeding to Victoria Street."</p> + +<p>"Is it something exciting?" asked Zoe, her bright eyes glancing from one +to another of the three.</p> + +<p>"Very!" replied the inspector. "A robbery at Mr. Megger's chambers!"</p> + +<p>"Come right along!" said Zoe. "I'm glad I didn't miss this!" And the odd +trio departed forthwith.</p> + +<p>"Can I come in?" she asked, with characteristic disregard of the +conventional, as her luxuriously appointed car pulled up in Victoria +Street.</p> + +<p>"I should greatly prefer that you did not, Miss Oppner!" said Pepys +quietly.</p> + +<p>"That's unkind! Why mayn't I?"</p> + +<p>"I have a reason, believe me. If you will carry out your original plan +and go on to join Mr. Oppner, it will be better."</p> + +<p>She met the gaze of his earnest eyes frankly.</p> + +<p>"All right!" she agreed. "But will you come to the hotel to-morrow, +Inspector, and tell me all about it?"</p> + +<p>"If you will inform no one of the appointment and arrange to be +alone—yes, at eleven o'clock!"</p> + +<p>Zoe's big eyes opened widely.</p> + +<p>"You are mysterious!" she said; "but I shall expect you at eleven +o'clock!"</p> + +<p>"I shall be punctual!"</p> + +<p>With that he turned and passed quickly through the door behind Bernard +Megger. Up the stairs he ran and reached the first floor in time to see +the other entering his chambers.</p> + +<p>"Simons!" cried Megger, loudly.</p> + +<p>But there was no reply.</p> + +<p>"He must have gone at once to Scotland Yard," said Pepys. "Where is the +safe?"</p> + +<p>Megger switched on the light and unlocked a door on his immediate left. +It gave access to a study. In the dim glow of the green shaded lamps the +place looked quiet and reposeful. Everything was neatly arranged, as +befits the sanctum of a business man. Nothing seemed out of place.</p> + +<p>"There are no signs of burglars here!" said Pepys, in a surprised +manner.</p> + +<p>"Simons may have reclosed the safe door," replied Megger.</p> + +<p>His voice trembled slightly.</p> + +<p>Wheeling a chair across the thick carpet, he placed it by a tall, +unglazed bookcase and mounted upon the seat.</p> + +<p>"The safe is not open," he muttered excitedly.</p> + +<p>And the man watching him saw that his puffy hand shook like a leaf in +the breeze.</p> + +<p>Removing a small oil-painting from the wall adjoining, he tore at his +collar and produced a key attached to a thin chain about his neck. This +he inserted in the cunning lock which the picture served to conceal. The +next moment a hoarse cry escaped him.</p> + +<p>"It hasn't been opened at all!" he shouted.</p> + +<p>Snatching at the cord of a hanging lamp, he wildly hurled books about +the floor and directed the light into a cavity that now had revealed +itself. The other observed him keenly.</p> + +<p>"Are you certain <i>nothing</i> is gone?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Megger plunged his hand inside and threw out several boxes and some +bundles of legal-looking documents. Leaning yet farther forward, he +touched a hidden spring that operated with a sharp <i>click</i>.</p> + +<p>"<i>That</i> hasn't gone, Inspector!" he cried triumphantly, and held out a +large envelope, sealed in several places.</p> + +<p>His eyes were feverish. His features worked.</p> + +<p>"You are wrong, Isaac Jacobsen!" rapped Pepys, and snatched the packet +in a flash. "It has!"</p> + +<p>The man on the chair lurched. Every speck of colour fled from his +naturally florid face, leaving it a dull, neutral grey. He threw out one +hand to steady himself, and with the other plunged to his hip.</p> + +<p>"Both up!" ordered Pepys crisply.</p> + +<p>And Mr. Bernard Megger found himself looking down a revolver barrel that +pointed accurately between his twitching eyebrows, nor wavered one +hair's breadth!</p> + +<p>Unsteadily he raised his arms—staring, with dilated pupils, at this +master of consummate craft.</p> + +<p>"It is by such acts of fatuity as your careful preservation of these +proofs of identity," came in ironic tones, "that all rogues are bowled +out, Jacobsen! I will admit that you had them well hidden. It was good +of you to find them. I had despaired of doing so myself!" With that the +speaker backed towards the open door.</p> + +<p>"Inspector Pepys!" gasped Bernard Megger, swallowing between the words, +"I shall remember you!"</p> + +<p>"You will be wasting grey matter!" replied the man addressed, and was +gone.</p> + +<p>Megger, dropping heavily into the chair, saw that the departing visitor +had thrown a slip of pasteboard upon the carpet.</p> + +<p>As the key turned in the lock, and the dim footsteps sounded upon the +stair, he lurched unsteadily to his feet, and, stooping, picked up the +card.</p> + +<p>Simons, his man, returned half an hour later, having been detained in +his favourite saloon by a chance acquaintance who had conceived a +delirious passion for his society. He found his master locked in the +study—with the key on the wrong side—and, furthermore, in the grip of +apoplexy, with a crumpled visiting-card crushed in his clenched right +hand.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>MR. SANRACK VISITS THE HOTEL ASTORIA</h3> + + +<p>Mr. J. J. Oppner and his daughter sat at breakfast the next morning at +the Astoria. Oppner was deeply interested in the <i>Gleaner</i>.</p> + +<p>"Zoe," he said suddenly. "This is junk—joss—ponk!"</p> + +<p>His voice had a tone quality which suggested that it had passed through +hot sand.</p> + +<p>Zoe looked up. Zoe Oppner was said to be the prettiest girl in the +United States. Allowing that discount necessary in the case of John +Jacob Oppner's daughter, Zoe still was undeniably very pretty indeed. +She looked charming this morning in a loose wrap from Paris, which had +cost rather more than an ordinary, fairly well-to-do young lady, +residing, say, at Hampstead, expends upon her entire toilette in twelve +months.</p> + +<p>"What's that, Pa?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>"What but this Séverac Bablon business!"</p> + +<p>Assisted by her father, she had diligently searched that morning through +stacks of daily papers for news of the robbery in Victoria Street. But +in vain.</p> + +<p>"Guess it's a false alarm, Zoe!" Mr. Oppner had drawled, in his dusty +fashion. "Some humorist got a big hustle on him last night. Like enough +Mr. Megger was guyed by the same comic that sent <i>me</i> on a pie-chase!"</p> + +<p>Zoe thought otherwise, preferring to believe that Inspector Pepys had +suppressed the news; now she wondered if, after all, they had overlooked +it.</p> + +<p>"Is there something about Séverac Bablon in the paper?" she asked +interestedly. "<i>I</i> can't find anything."</p> + +<p>"Nope?" drawled Oppner. "Nope? H'm! Then what about all this front page, +with Julius Rohscheimer sitting in his <i>pie</i>-jams and the Marquess of +Evershed talking at him? Ain't that Séverac Bablon? Sure! Did you think +that Julius found it good for his health to part up a cool hundred +thou.? And look at Hague up in the corner—and Elschild in the other +corner! There's only one way to open the cheque-books of either of them +guys; with a gun!"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" cried Zoe—"how exciting!"</p> + +<p>"I'm with you," drawled her father. "It's as thrilling as having all +your front teeth out."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean, Pa, that this is something to do with the card——"</p> + +<p>"There's me and Jesson to shell out yet. That's what I mean! He's raised +two hundred thousand. I'm richer'n any of 'em and he'll mulct me on my +Canadian investments for the balance of half a million! Or maybe he'll +split it between me and Jesson and Hohsmann!"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Zoe, "what a pity! And I was going to ask you to buy me two +new hats!"</p> + +<p>Her father looked at her long and earnestly.</p> + +<p>"You haven't got any proper kind of balance where money is concerned, +Zoe," he drawled. "Your brain pod ain't burstin' with financial genius. +You don't seem to care worth a baked bean that I'm bein' fleeced of +thousands! That hog Bablon cleaned me out a level million dollars when +he burned the Runek Mills, and now I know, plain as if I saw him, he's +got me booked for another pile! Where d'you suppose money comes from? +D'you think I can grab out like a coin manipulator, and my hand comes +back full of dollars?"</p> + +<p>Zoe made no reply. She was staring, absently, over her father's head, +into a dream-world. Had Mr. Oppner been endowed with the power to read +from another's eyes, he would have found a startling story written in +the beautiful book fringed by Zoe's dark lashes. She was thinking of +Séverac Bablon; thinking of him, not as a felon, but as he had been +depicted to her by the strange man whom she had met at Lord +Vignoles'—the man who pursued him, yet condoned his sins.</p> + +<p>Her father's sandy voice broke in upon her reverie:</p> + +<p>"Where I'm tied up—same with Rohscheimer and the rest—I don't know +this thief Bablon when I see him."</p> + +<p>"No," said Zoe. "Of course."</p> + +<p>Mr. Oppner stared. His daughter's attitude was oddly unemotional, wholly +detached and impersonal.</p> + +<p>"H'm!" he grunted dryly. "I've got to see Alden, the Agency boy, +upstairs. I'll be pushing off."</p> + +<p>He "pushed off."</p> + +<p>Almost immediately afterwards, Zoe's maid entered. There was a gentleman +to see her. He would not give his card.</p> + +<p>"Show him into the next room," said Zoe, full of excitement, "and if Mr. +Oppner comes back, tell him I am engaged."</p> + +<p>She entered the cosy reception-room, feeling that she was about to be +admitted behind the scenes, and, woman-like, delightfully curious. A +moment later, her visitor arrived.</p> + +<p>"I have kept my promise, Miss Oppner!"</p> + +<p>She turned, to greet him—and a little, quick cry escaped her.</p> + +<p>For this was not Detective-Inspector Pepys who stood, smiling, in the +doorway!</p> + +<p>It was a man who was, or who seemed to be, taller than he; a slim man, +having but one thing in common with the detective: his black +morning-coat fitted him as perfectly as the dress-coat had fitted the +inspector. An irreproachably attired man is a greater rarity than most +people realise; and Zoe Oppner wondered why, even in that moment of +amazement, she noted this fact.</p> + +<p>Her visitor was singularly handsome. She knew, instantly, that she had +never seen one so handsome before. He was of a puzzling type, wholly +unlike any European she had met, though no darker of complexion than +many Americans. With his waving black hair, extraordinarily perfect +features, and the light of conscious power in his large eyes, he awoke +something within her that was half memory—yet not wholly so.</p> + +<p>She was vaguely afraid, but strongly attracted towards this mysterious +stranger.</p> + +<p>"But," she said, staring the while as one fascinated, "you—are not +Inspector Pepys!"</p> + +<p>"True!" he answered smilingly. "I am not Inspector Pepys; nor is there +any such person!"</p> + +<p>The voice was different, yet somehow reminiscent. Only now, a faint, +indefinable accent had crept into it.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>Zoe, at the idea that she had been imposed upon, grew regally indignant. +She was a lovely woman, and accustomed to the homage which mankind pays +to beauty. Her naturally frank, laughter-loving nature made her a +charming companion; but she could be distant, scornful—could crush the +most presumptuous with a glance of her eyes.</p> + +<p>Now she looked at her strange visitor with frigid dignity, and he merely +smiled amusedly, as one smiles at a pretty child.</p> + +<p>"Be good enough to explain yourself. If you dared to impose upon Lady +Vignoles last night—if you are not really a detective—what are you?"</p> + +<p>"That question would take too long to answer, Miss Oppner!"</p> + +<p>"I demand an answer! Who are you?"</p> + +<p>"That is another question," replied the stranger, in his soft, musical +voice, "and I will try to answer it. At dinner last night I told you of +a man whose fathers saw the Great Pyramid built, whose race was old when +that pyramid was new. I told you of an unbroken line of kings—of kings +who wore no crowns, whose throne was lost in the long ago."</p> + +<p>She closed and re-opened her right hand nervously, and a new light came +into her eyes. His words had touched again, as the night before, the +hidden deeps of her nature, quickening into life the mysticism that lay +there. She would have spoken, but he quietly motioned her to +silence—and she was silent.</p> + +<p>"I said that the time approached when that ancient line again should +claim place among the monarchies of the world. I said that millions of +men and women, in every habitable quarter of the globe, owed allegiance +to that man who was, by divine right, their king!"</p> + +<p>His face lighted up with a wild enthusiasm. To the beautiful girl who +listened, spell-bound, he seemed as one inspired.</p> + +<p>"Upon his people lay a cloud—a tainting shadow grown black through the +centuries. He must disperse it, proclaiming to the world that his was a +noble people, a nation with a mighty soul! The evil came not from +without but from within. The worst enemies of the Jews are the Jews. In +attacking those enemies of his people, inevitably he would come into +collision with many governments. But he would do them no wrong, save in +showing them powerless to protect the traitors from his righteous +wrath!"</p> + +<p>For a long moment she watched him, and no words came to her. That this +splendid man was mad flashed through her mind as a possible thing; but +that thought she dismissed, and remained bewildered.</p> + +<p>"Is it true?" she asked, in a pleading voice; "or are you jesting with +me?"</p> + +<p>He smiled, having resumed his habitual calm.</p> + +<p>"It is true!" he answered. "Upon the word of a rogue—a thief—upon the +honour of Séverac Bablon!"</p> + +<p>Zoe started, yet she was not afraid; for something had told her almost +from his entrance that this was he—the man whose name at that very hour +glared from countless placards, upon a great part of the civilised +world; whose deeds at that moment were being babbled of in every tongue +from Chinese to Italian.</p> + +<p>"But, if you are that man, and——" She hesitated. "You are wrong, I am +sure! Oh! indeed, truly, I think you are wrong! Not in your aims, but in +making so many new enemies! You have placed yourself outside all laws! +You may be arrested at any hour!"</p> + +<p>"That phase of my campaign will pass. I shall meet the Ministers of all +the Powers upon equality—as the plenipotentiary of eight million +people! All that I have done will be forgotten in the light of what I +<i>shall</i> do!"</p> + +<p>"I cannot understand about last night. Your presence was an +accident——"</p> + +<p>He laughed softly.</p> + +<p>"I knew that Lady Vignoles' party numbered fourteen. I caused your +father to be detained. One of my friends—I will not name him—suggested +a novel mode of seeking a guest: I caused Megger's man to be absent +whilst another of my friends, imitating his speech, sent the telephone +message! Is that accident?"</p> + +<p>"It is——"</p> + +<p>"Unworthy, you would say? The work of a common cracksman? But, by those +lowly means I secured proof that Bernard Megger, director of the Uitland +Rands Consolidated Mines Syndicate, and Isaac Jacobsen, the Kimberley +mail robber, were one and the same! He has escaped the laws of England, +but he cannot escape me!"</p> + +<p>She shrank involuntarily, her now frightened eyes fixed upon the face of +this man, whose patriotism, whose zeal, whose incredibly lofty purpose +she did not, could not, doubt, but whose methods she could, not +condone—by whose will her own father had suffered. Then, in a quickly +imperious yet kindly manner, he placed both his hands upon her +shoulders, looking, with earnest, searching eyes, deep into her own.</p> + +<p>"What would you desire me to do that half a million pounds can compass?" +he asked.</p> + +<p>"Return it to those it belongs to, if you can, and, with any that you +cannot return, endow homes by the shore for sick slum children!"</p> + +<p>He moved his left hand, and she saw dully gleaming upon his finger, a +great green stone, bearing a strange device. In some weird fashion it +seemed to convey a message to her—intimate, convincing. Within those +green depths there dwelt a mystery. She felt that the ring was +incalculably old, and that its wearer must wield almost limitless power. +It was an uncanny idea, but she lived to know that her instincts had not +wholly misled her.</p> + +<p>"It shall be done!" said Séverac Bablon. "And you will be my friend?"</p> + +<p>"I will try!" whispered Zoe, "if you wish. But, oh, believe me! You are +wrong! You are wrong! There is, there <i>must</i> be some better way!"</p> + +<p>As he removed his hands from her shoulders she turned aside and glanced +through the open window, seeing nothing of the panorama of London below, +but seeing only a great throne, and upon it a regal figure, his head +crowned with the ancient crown of the Jewish kings. When she turned +again her father stood behind her. But Séverac Bablon was gone!</p> + +<p>"Thought you had a visitor, Zoe?" said Mr. Oppner. "There's a gentleman +here would like to have a look at him!"</p> + +<p>He turned to a big, burly man, dressed in neat serge, who bowed +awkwardly and immediately took a sharp look around the room. Mr. Oppner +eyed his daughter with grim suspicion.</p> + +<p>"Inspector Sheffield would like to ask you something!"</p> + +<p>"Sorry to trouble you, miss," said the inspector, misinterpreting the +sudden, strained look that had come into her eyes, and smiling in kindly +fashion. "But I've been following a man all the morning, and I rather +think he came into this hotel! Also—please excuse me if I'm wrong—I +rather fancy he came up here!"</p> + +<p>"What is he like—this—man?" she asked mechanically, looking away from +the detective.</p> + +<p>"This morning he was like the handsomest gentleman in Europe, miss! But +he may have altered since I saw him last! He's the latest thing in +quick-change artists I've met to date!"</p> + +<p>"What do you want him for?"</p> + +<p>Sheffield raised his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"He's Séverac Bablon!" he said simply. "Does your late visitor answer to +the description?"</p> + +<p>"My visitor was a gentleman who wanted funds for building a home for +invalid children!"</p> + +<p>"You're sure it wasn't our man, miss?"</p> + +<p>("And you will be my friend" he had asked. "I will try," had been her +promise.)</p> + +<p>"I am quite sure my visitor was not a criminal of any kind!" she +answered. "You have made a strange mistake!"</p> + +<p>The inspector bowed and quitted the room immediately. Mr. Oppner stood +for some moments watching his daughter—and then followed the officer. +Zoe went to her room, and allowed her maid to dress her, without +proposing a solitary alteration in the scheme. She was very preoccupied. +In the lounge she found her father deep in conversation with a +clean-shaven man who had the features and complexion of a Sioux, and +wore a tweed suit which to British eyes must have appeared several sizes +too large for him. His Stetson was tilted well to the rear of his skull, +and he lay back smoking a black cheroot. This was Aloys X. Alden of +Pinkerton's. Zoe hesitated. The conversation clearly was a business one.</p> + +<p>And, at that moment, a tall figure appeared beside her.</p> + +<p>Zoe drew a sharp breath—almost a breath of pain. She glanced toward the +group of two in the distant corner. They were discussing, as she knew +quite well, various plans for the apprehension of the man who had become +a nightmare to certain capitalists. They were devising, or seeking to +devise, schemes for penetrating the secret of his real identity—for +peering beneath the mask of the real man.</p> + +<p>And here, by her side, stood Séverac Bablon!</p> + +<p>"Pray, pray go!" she whispered tremulously. "I thought you had left the +hotel. For your own sake, if not for mine, you should have done so."</p> + +<p>"But if it happens that I am staying here?"</p> + +<p>"Please go! There—with my father—is a detective——"</p> + +<p>"I know him well!" was the reply. Séverac Bablon's melodious voice was +calm. He smiled serenely. "But, fortunately, he does not know me! My +name, then, for the present, is Mr. Sanrack; and I have taken this +risk—though believe me it is not so great as you deem it—because I +have something more to say. I was interrupted by the arrival of +Inspector Sheffield."</p> + +<p>"He may come in at any moment!"</p> + +<p>"Then, <i>I</i> shall go out! But first I wish to tell you that I consider it +my duty to force your father's hand in regard to a large sum of money!"</p> + +<p>Zoe's little foot tapped the floor nervously.</p> + +<p>"How do you dare?" she said. "How do you dare to tell <i>me</i> such a +thing?"</p> + +<p>"I dare, because what I do is right and just," he resumed; "and because, +although I know that its justice will be apparent to you, I am anxious +to have your personal assurance upon that point."</p> + +<p>"My assurance that I think you are right in robbing my father!"</p> + +<p>"I could scarcely expect that; I certainly should not ask for it. But +you know that despite enormous benefactions, the Jews as a race bear the +stigma of cupidity and meanness. It is wholly undeserved. The sums +annually devoted to charitable purposes, by such a family as the +Elschilds—my very good friends—are truly stupendous. But the Elschilds +do not seek the limelight. Mr. Rohscheimer, Baron Hague, Sir Leopold +Jesson, Mr. Hohsmann—and your father, are celebrated only for their +unscrupulous commercial methods in the formation of combines. They do +not distribute their wealth. Is it not true?"</p> + +<p>Zoe nodded. Vaguely, she felt indignant, but Séverac Bablon was entirely +unanswerable. Then:</p> + +<p>"Heavens!" she whispered—"here comes my father!"</p> + +<p>It was true. Mr. Oppner and the detective were approaching.</p> + +<p>"I wish to meet your father," whispered Séverac Bablon. "Remember, I am +Mr. Sanrack!"</p> + +<p>As he spoke, he watched her keenly. It was a crucial test, and both knew +it. Zoe was slightly pale. She fully realised that to conform now to +Séverac Bablon's wishes was tantamount to becoming a member of his +organisation (which operated against her father!)—was to take a +possibly irrevocable step in the dark.</p> + +<p>Whilst in many respects she disagreed with Séverac Bablon's wildly +unlawful methods, yet, knowing something of his exalted aims she could +not—despite all—withhold her sympathy. In some strange fashion, the +wishes of this fugitive from the law partook of the nature of commands. +But she could have wished to be spared this trial.</p> + +<p>Oppner came up.</p> + +<p>"Oh, father," began Zoe, striving to veil her confusion, "I don't think +you have met Mr. Sanrack before? This is my father, Mr. Sanrack—Mr. +Alden."</p> + +<p>The millionaire stared, ere nodding shortly. The detective showed no +emotion whatever.</p> + +<p>"There is something which I am particularly anxious to explain to you, +Mr. Oppner," began Sanrack, having acknowledged the introductions with +easy courtesy. "It has reference to Séverac Bablon!"</p> + +<p>Zoe held her breath. Alden moved his cheroot from the left corner of his +mouth to the right. Mr. Oppner wrinkled up his eyes and scrutinised the +speaker with a blank astonishment.</p> + +<p>"I hold no brief for Séverac Bablon," continued the fascinating voice.</p> + +<p>"Nope?" drawled Oppner.</p> + +<p>"His deeds must speak for themselves. But on behalf of an important +financial group I have a proposition to make."</p> + +<p>Mr. Oppner took a step forward.</p> + +<p>"What group's that?"</p> + +<p>"Shall I say, simply, the most influential in Europe?"</p> + +<p>"The Elschilds?"</p> + +<p>"If you consider them to be so, you may construe my words in that way."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Antony Elschild has been pulling my leg with some fool proposition +about whitewashing the millionaire, or something to that effect. It's +always seemed to me he's got more money than sense. He's passed out a +cheque to this <i>Gleaner</i> fund big enough to build a soap factory!"</p> + +<p>"So has Mr. Rohscheimer, and so has Baron Hague!"</p> + +<p>"I'm not laughin'! They were held up! Why they don't say so, straight +out, is their business. Jesson and Hohsmann will part out next, I +suppose, if it ain't me. But if I subscribe it will be because I had a +gun screwed in my ear while I wrote the cheque!"</p> + +<p>"That is what my friends so deeply lament!"</p> + +<p>"It is, eh? Yep? They'd like to see me paperin' all the workhouses with +ten-dollar bills, I reckon? Mr. Ransack, I've got better uses for my +money. It ain't my line of business buyin' caviare for loafers, and I +don't consider it's up to me to buy airships for Great Britain! When you +see me start in buyin' airships it's time to smother me! It means I'm +too old and silly to be trusted with money!"</p> + +<p>"My friends and myself—for I take a keen interest in everything +appertaining to the Jewish nation—are anxious to save you from the +ignominy of being compelled to subscribe!"</p> + +<p>"That's thoughtful! Can your friends and yourself find any reason why a +United States citizen should buy airships for England? If I got a rush +of dollars to the head and was anxious to be bled of half a million, I +might as well buy submarines for China, for all the good it'd do me!"</p> + +<p>"On the contrary! So far as my knowledge goes you derive no part of your +income from China, whereas your interests throughout Greater Britain are +extensive. Thus, by becoming a subscriber, you would be indirectly +protecting yourself, in addition to establishing a reputation which, +speaking sordidly, would be of inestimable value to you throughout the +British dominions."</p> + +<p>Mr. Oppner nodded.</p> + +<p>"It's good of you to drop in and deputise for my Dutch uncle!" he said. +"Though no more than I might expect from a friend of my daughter's. But +your arguments strike me as the foolishest I ever heard out of any man's +mouth. As an old advertiser, I reckon your proposition ain't worth a +rat's whiskers!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Sanrack smiled. Alden was closely observing him.</p> + +<p>"You are quite entitled to your opinion. My friends are anxious to learn +if there be any purely philanthropic cause you would prefer to support. +The mere interest on your capital, Mr. Oppner, is more than you can ever +hope to spend, however lavish your mode of living."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," drawled Oppner. "For a brand-new acquaintance you're nice and +chatty and confidential. Your friends are such experts at spending their +own money that it's not surprisin' they'd like to teach me a thing or +two. But during the last forty years I haven't found any cause better +worthy of support than my own. Give my love to Mr. Elschild. Good +morning!"</p> + +<p>He moved off, with the stoical Alden.</p> + +<p>"You see," said Séverac Bablon to Zoe, who lingered, "your father is +impervious to the demands of Charity!"</p> + +<p>"Is that why you did this? Were you anxious to bring out Pa's meanness +as a sort of excuse for what you contemplate?"</p> + +<p>"Partly, that was my motive. A demand upon an American citizen to found +a British air fleet is extravagant—in a sense, absurd. But I was +anxious to offer Mr. Oppner one more opportunity of distributing some of +the vast sum which he has locked up for his own amusement—financial +chess."</p> + +<p>"You have placed me in an impossible situation."</p> + +<p>"Why? If you consider me to be what I have been accused of being—a +thief—an incendiary—an iconoclast—denounce me—to whom you will! At +any time I will see you, and any friend you may care to bring, be it +Inspector Sheffield of New Scotland Yard, at Laurel Cottage, Dulwich +Village. I impose no yoke upon you that you cannot shake off!"</p> + +<p>But as Zoe Oppner looked into the great luminous eyes she knew that he +had imposed upon her the yoke of a mysterious sovereignty.</p> + +<p>From the foyer came a sound, unfamiliar enough in the Astoria—the sound +of someone whistling. Even as Zoe started, wondering if she could trust +her ears, Séverac Bablon took both her hands, in the impulsive and +strangely imperious way she knew.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," he said. "Perhaps I am wrong and you are right. Time will +reveal that. If you ever wish to see me, you know where I may be found. +Good-bye!"</p> + +<p>He turned abruptly and ascended the stairs. He had but just disappeared +when Inspector Sheffield entered!</p> + +<p>Zoe felt that her face turned pale; but she bravely smiled as the +Scotland Yard man approached her.</p> + +<p>"You see, I am back again, Miss Oppner! Do you know if Mr. Oppner has +gone out?"</p> + +<p>"I am not sure. But I think he went out with Mr. Alden."</p> + +<p>Sheffield's face clouded. This employment of a private detective was a +sore point with the Inspector. It seemed strangely like a slight upon +the official service. Not that Sheffield was on bad terms with Alden. He +was too keen a diplomat for that. But he went in hourly dread that the +Pinkerton man would forestall Scotland Yard.</p> + +<p>To Sheffield it appeared impossible that Séverac Bablon could much +longer evade arrest. In fact, it was incomprehensible to him how this +elusive character had thus far remained at large. Slowly, and by painful +degrees, Sheffield was learning that Séverac Bablon's organisation was +more elaborate and far-reaching, and embraced more highly placed +persons, than at one time he could have credited.</p> + +<p>It would appear that there were Government officials in the group which +surrounded this man, pointing to ramifications which sometimes the +detective despaired of following. News from Paris, received only that +morning, would seem to indicate that a similar state of affairs +prevailed in the French capital. With whom, Sheffield asked himself, had +he to deal? Who <i>was</i> Séverac Bablon? That he was in some way associated +with Jewish people and Jewish interests the Yard man was convinced. But +he could not determine, to his own satisfaction, if Séverac Bablon's +activities were inimical to Juda or otherwise. It was a bewildering +case.</p> + +<p>"I hope Mr. Oppner hasn't gone out," he said, after a pause. "I +particularly wanted to see him again."</p> + +<p>"Is there some new clue?" asked Zoe eagerly.</p> + +<p>Inspector Sheffield was nonplussed. Here was the daughter of J. J. +Oppner, the last girl in the world whom any sane man would suspect of +complicity in the Séverac Bablon outrages; yet, for reasons of his own, +Sheffield wondered if she were as wholly ignorant of Bablon's identity +as the rest of the world. He distrusted everyone. He had said to +Detective-Sergeant Harborne, who was associated with him in the case, +"Where Séverac Bablon is concerned, I wouldn't trust the Lord Mayor of +London—no, nor the Archbishop of Canterbury."</p> + +<p>Accordingly, he replied, "I think not, Miss Oppner. I'll just run +upstairs and see if there's anybody about."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>LOVE, LUCRE AND MR. ALDEN</h3> + + +<p>Zoe was waiting for Lady Mary Evershed. Lady Mary was late—an +unremarkable circumstance, since Lady Mary was a woman, and less +remarkable than ordinarily for the reason that Lady Mary had met Sir +Richard Haredale on the way. At the time she should have been at the +Astoria she was pacing slowly through St. James's Park, beside Haredale.</p> + +<p>"My position is becoming impossible, Mary," he said, with painful +distinctness. "Every day seems to see the time more distant, instead of +nearer, when I can say good-bye to Mr. Julius Rohscheimer. My situation +is little better than that of his secretary. By hard work, and it <i>is</i> +hard work to act as Rohscheimer's social Virgil!—and by harder +self-repression, I have struggled to earn enough to enable me to cry +quits with the other rogues who preyed upon me, when—before I knew you. +I've scarcely a shred of self-respect left, Mary!"</p> + +<p>She looked down at the gravelled path and made no answer to his +self-accusation.</p> + +<p>"It is only my sense of humour that has saved me. But one day I shall +break out! It is inevitable. I cannot pander for ever to Rohscheimer's +social ambitions. Yet, if I show fight, he will break me! Saving the +prospect—with a hale and hearty uncle intervening, and one of the best; +may he live to be a hundred!—of the title, and all that goes with it, +what have I to offer you, Mary? I am a man sailing under false colours. +Practically, I am a salaried servant of Rohscheimer's. I don't actually +draw my salary; but in recognition of my services in popularising his +wife's entertainments, he keeps the vultures at bay! Bah! I despise +myself!"</p> + +<p>Mary looked up to him, tenderly reproachful.</p> + +<p>"You silly boy!" she said. "There is nothing dishonourable in what you +do!"</p> + +<p>"Possibly not. But how would your father like to know of my position."</p> + +<p>She lowered her eyes again.</p> + +<p>"Is my father indebted to Julius Rohscheimer in any way, Dick?" she +asked suddenly.</p> + +<p>Haredale laughed nervously.</p> + +<p>"Rohscheimer does not honour me with the whole of his confidence in +financial matters," he replied. "It is a question Adeler would be better +able to answer."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Adeler, yes. What a singular man! Do you know, Dick, in spite of +father's ideas respecting our old English aristocracy, I have sometimes +felt, in Mr. Adeler's presence, that he, though a Jew, was a thousand +times more of an aristocrat than I?"</p> + +<p>Haredale glanced at her oddly.</p> + +<p>"I have at times been conscious of a similar feeling!" he said. "No +doubt one's instincts are true enough. Adeler's pedigree conceivably may +go back to Jewish nobles who entertained monarchs in their marble +palaces when the Eversheds and Haredales considered several streaks of +red ochre an adequate costume for the most important functions."</p> + +<p>He laughed boyishly at his own words.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dick!" said Mary. "How absurd of you. It is impossible to imagine +an Evershed in such a condition. But yet, you are right. How singular +that most people should overlook so obvious a fact; that there is a +Jewish aristocracy, possibly one of the most ancient in the world."</p> + +<p>"The Jews are an Eastern people," replied Haredale. "That is the fact +which is generally overlooked. They are, excepting one, the most +remarkable people in the modern world."</p> + +<p>"Do you know," said the girl, unconsciously lowering her voice, "I have +sometimes thought that Séverac Bablon was in some way connected——"</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"With the ancient history of the Jews!"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean exactly?"</p> + +<p>"I can hardly explain. But at the Rohscheimers, on the night of the +ball, Séverac Bablon was masked, of course; yet it seemed to me——"</p> + +<p>"Mary," interrupted Haredale, "don't tell me that you believe the +romantic stories circulating about the man!"</p> + +<p>"What stories, Dick?"</p> + +<p>"Why, about his holding the Seal of Suleyman, whatever that may be——"</p> + +<p>"But Mrs. Elschild says he <i>does</i>!"</p> + +<p>Haredale started.</p> + +<p>"How can she possibly know?"</p> + +<p>A flush tinged Lady Mary's clear complexion for a moment, and left it +paler than it was wont to be. She despised a woman who could not +preserve a secret (and therefore must have had a poor opinion of her +sex), yet she had nearly allowed her own tongue to betray her. Whatever +Mrs. Elschild had told her had been told in confidence, and under the +seal of friendship.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps she does not know. Someone may have told her."</p> + +<p>"It's all over London," said Haredale; "in the clubs, everywhere! I +wonder you have not heard it before. There seems to be an organised +attempt to glorify this man, who, after all, is no more than an +up-to-date highwayman. Someone has spread the absurd story that he is of +Jewish royal blood; whereas the royal line of the Jews must have been +extinct for untold generations!"</p> + +<p>"Why must it? You have just said that the Jews are an Eastern people. +And all Eastern peoples are subtle and secretive. I invariably lose half +of my self-importance in Egypt, for instance. There is something in the +eye of the meanest <i>fellah</i> which is painfully like patronage!"</p> + +<p>Haredale shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"What a thing it is," he said humorously, "to be born with black hair, +flashing eyes and an olive skin! One can then be any kind of mountebank +or robber, and yet rest assured of the ladies' homage."</p> + +<p>They walked on in silence for awhile. Then—</p> + +<p>"Heaven knows what happened to Rohscheimer," said Haredale abruptly, "to +have frightened him into writing such a stupendous cheque! I may hear, +later, but thus far he is too sore to touch upon the matter!"</p> + +<p>"My father has visited him."</p> + +<p>"At last—yes! Do you remember when Rohscheimer offered me five hundred +pounds if I could induce the Marquess to come to dinner? Gad! He came +perilously near to a just retribution that day! I think if I had been in +uniform I should have run him through!"</p> + +<p>"These extraordinary donations of course are the sequel to the +mysterious business of the card and the unseen hand?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Séverac Bablon is at the bottom of the whole business. I +described the device, introducing two triangles, do you remember, which +appeared on the cards, to a chap at the club who is rather a learned +Orientalist, and he assured me that, so far as he could judge from my +description, it corresponded with that of the supposed seal of Solomon. +I was unable to remember part of the design, of course. But, at any +rate, this merely goes to prove that Bablon is an accomplished showman."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid I must be going, Dick. I have to meet Zoe Oppner."</p> + +<p>"Let's go and find a cab, then. But it was so delightful to have you all +to myself, Mary, if only for a very little while."</p> + +<p>The boyishness had gone out of his voice again, and Lady Mary knew all +too well of what he was thinking. She took his arm and pressed it hard.</p> + +<p>"I don't think anyone was ever in such a dreadful position in the world +before, Dick!" she declared. "To tolerate it seems impossible, seems +wrong. But to defy Rohscheimer, with your affairs as they are, +means—what does it mean, Dick?"</p> + +<p>"I dare not think what it means, Mary," he replied. "Not when <i>you</i> are +with me. But one day—soon, I am afraid—it will all be taken out of my +hands. I shall tell Mr. Julius Rohscheimer exactly what I think of him, +and there will be an end of the whole arrangement."</p> + +<p>They said no more until the girl was entering the cab. Then:</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> understand, Dick," she whispered, "and nobody else knows, so try to +be diplomatic for a little longer."</p> + +<p>Holding her hand, he looked into her eyes. Then, without another word +between them, the cab moved off, and Haredale stood looking after it +until it was lost amid the traffic. He started to walk across to Park +Lane.</p> + +<p>At the Astoria Zoe was waiting patiently. But when, at last, Mary found +herself in her friend's room, the gloomy companionship of the thoughts +with which she had been alone since leaving Haredale, proved too +grievous to be borne alone. She threw herself on to a cushioned settee, +and her troubles found vent in tears.</p> + +<p>"Mary, dear!" cried Zoe, all that was maternal protective in her nature, +asserting itself. "Tell me all about it."</p> + +<p>The unruly mop of her brown hair mingled with the gold of her friend's, +and presently, between sobs, the story was told—an old, old story +enough.</p> + +<p>"He will have to resign his commission," she sobbed. "And then he will +have to go abroad! Oh, Zoe! I know it must come soon. Even <i>I</i> cannot +expect him, nor wish him to dance attendance on that odious Julius +Rohscheimer for ever! And he makes so little headway."</p> + +<p>Zoe's little foot beat a soft tatoo upon the carpet.</p> + +<p>"I wonder—will there always be a Julius Rohscheimer for him to dance +attendance upon!" she said softly.</p> + +<p>Mary raised her tearful eyes.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, Zoe?"</p> + +<p>"Has it never occurred to you that—Séverac Bablon will ultimately make +a poor man of Rohscheimer?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! I should not like to think that, because——"</p> + +<p>"If he went that far, he might do the same for Pa. I can't believe that, +Mary. Pa's awful mean, but after all his money is cleaner than +Rohscheimer's."</p> + +<p>Mary dried her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I hardly know whether to regard that strange man, Séverac Bablon, as a +friend or a foe," she said. "He certainly seems to confine his outrages +to those who have plenty but object to spending it."</p> + +<p>"Except on themselves! He's a friend right enough, Mary. I believe he is +anxious to reveal all these rich people in a new light, to whitewash +them. If only they would change their ideas and do some good with their +money, I don't think they would be troubled any more by Séverac Bablon. +You never hear of Mr. Elschild being robbed by him—nor any of the +family suffering in any way."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Elschild received one of the mysterious cards, and he has sent a +big cheque to the <i>Gleaner</i> fund."</p> + +<p>"He has to keep up appearances, Mary, don't you see? But it is certain +that he sent the money quite voluntarily. He did not wait to be +squeezed. I wish Pa would come to his senses. If, instead of spending a +small fortune on private detectives, he would start to use his money for +good, he would have no further need for the Pinkerton men. Certainly he +would not be made to buy airships for England!"</p> + +<p>A smile dawned upon Lady Mary's face.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it preposterous!" she said. "The idea of raising money for such a +purpose from people like Baron Hague!"</p> + +<p>"Baron Hague left for Berlin this morning. We shall probably never know +under what circumstances he issued his cheque for fifty thousand pounds! +Doesn't it seem just awful, with all this money floating about, that +poor Sir Richard is nearly stranded for quite a trifle!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is dreadful! And I can see no way out."</p> + +<p>"No," murmured Zoe. "Yet there must be a way."</p> + +<p>She walked to the window, and stood looking out thoughtfully upon the +Embankment far below.</p> + +<p>What a strange, complex drama moved about her! It was impossible even to +determine for what parts some of the players were cast. Where, she +wondered, was Inspector Sheffield now? And where was Séverac Bablon? So +far as she was aware, both were actually in the Astoria. There was +something almost uncanny in the elusiveness of Séverac Bablon. His +disdain of all attempts to compass his downfall betokened something more +than bravado. He must <i>know</i> himself immune.</p> + +<p>Why?</p> + +<p>If what he had rather hinted than declared were true—and never for a +moment did she doubt his sincerity—then his accomplices, his friends, +his subjects (she knew not how to name them), must be numberless. Was +she, herself, not of their ranks?</p> + +<p>Of the thousands who moved beneath her, upon trams, in cabs, in cars, on +foot, how many were servants of that mysterious master? It was +fascinating, yet terrifying, this inside knowledge of a giant +conspiracy, of which, at that moment, the civilised world was talking. +Mary Evershed's voice broke in upon her musing:</p> + +<p>"Come along, Zoe. We shall never be back in time for lunch if we don't +hurry."</p> + +<p>They descended in the lift and walked out to where Mr. Oppner's big car +awaited them. A moment later, as the man turned out into the Strand, +Sheard passed close by upon the pavement. He raised his hat to the two +pretty travellers. Clearly, he was bound for the Astoria.</p> + +<p>And a few yards further on, unobtrusively walking behind a very large +German tourist, appeared the person of Mr. A. X. Alden.</p> + +<p>"Why!" whispered Zoe. "I believe he is following Mr. Sheard."</p> + +<p>Her surmise was correct. The astute Mr. Alden had found himself at a +loss to account for some of the exclusive items respecting the doings of +Séverac Bablon which latterly had been appearing in the <i>Gleaner</i>. By +dint of judiciously oiling the tongue of a chatty compositor, he had +learned that the unique copy was contributed by Mr. H. T. Sheard. Mr. +Oppner had advised him to keep a close watch upon the movements of Mr. +Antony Elschild. Although Alden found it hard to credit the idea that +the great Elschild family should be in any way associated with the +campaign of brigandage, Mr. Oppner was more open-minded.</p> + +<p>Now Alden, too, was beginning to wonder. There seemed to be a friendship +between Elschild and the pressman; and Sheard, from some source +evidently unopen to his fellow copy-hunters, obtained much curious +information anent Séverac Bablon. One of Alden's American colleagues +accordingly was devoting some unobtrusive attention to whomsoever came +and went at the Elschild establishment in Lombard Street, whilst Alden +addressed himself to the task of shadowing Sheard.</p> + +<p>When the latter walked into the lobby of the Astoria, Mr. Alden was not +far away.</p> + +<p>"Has Mr. Gale of New York arrived yet?" was the pressman's inquiry.</p> + +<p>Yes. Mr. Gale of New York had arrived.</p> + +<p>Upon learning which, Sheard seemed to hesitate, glancing about him as if +suspicious of espionage. Mr. Alden, deeply engaged, or so it appeared, +in selecting a cigar at the stall, was all ears—and through a mirror +before which he had intentionally placed himself, he could watch +Sheard's movements whilst standing with his back towards him.</p> + +<p>At last Sheard took out his notebook and hastily scribbled something +therein. Tearing out the leaf, he asked for an envelope, which the boy +procured for him. With the closed book as a writing-pad, he addressed +the envelope. Then, enclosing the note, carefully sealed up the message, +and handed it to the boy, glancing about him the while with a palpable +apprehension.</p> + +<p>Finally, lighting a cigarette with an air of nonchalance but ill +assumed, Sheard strolled out of the hotel.</p> + +<p>He had not passed the door ere Alden was clamouring for an hotel +envelope. The boy was just about to enter a lift as the detective darted +across the lobby and entered with him. Short as the time at his disposal +had been, Mr. Alden had scrawled some illegible initial followed by +"Gale, Esq.," upon the envelope, and had stuck down the flap.</p> + +<p>The boy quitted the lift on the fourth floor. So did Alden. One or two +passengers joined at that landing, but the unsuspecting boy went on his +way along the corridor, turned to the right and rapped on a door +numbered 63.</p> + +<p>"Come in," he was instructed.</p> + +<p>He entered, tray in hand. A tanned and bearded gentleman who was busily +engaged unpacking a large steamer trunk, looked up inquiringly.</p> + +<p>"Gentleman couldn't wait, sir," said the boy, and proffered the message.</p> + +<p>The bearded man took the envelope, drew his brows together in an +endeavour to recognise the scrawly handwriting; failed, and tore the +envelope open.</p> + +<p>It was empty!</p> + +<p>"See here, boy! What's the game?"</p> + +<p>He threw the envelope on the floor beside him and stared hard at the +page.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, sir"—the boy was frightened—"excuse me, sir; but I saw the +gentleman put a note in!"</p> + +<p>"Did you!" laughed the American, readily perceiving that whoever the +joker might be the boy was innocent of complicity. "You mean, you +thought you did! See here, what was he like?"</p> + +<p>The boy described Sheard, and described him so aptly that he was +recognised.</p> + +<p>"That's Sheard," muttered the recipient of the empty envelope. "It's +Sheard, sure! Right oh! I'll ring him up at the office in a minute and +see what sort of game he's playing. Here boy, stick that in your pocket; +you might make a descriptive writer, but you'll never shine at sleight +of hand! You didn't watch that envelope half close enough!"</p> + +<p>Thus, the man to whom the note was addressed. Let us glance at Mr. Alden +again.</p> + +<p>Having effected the substitution with the ease of a David Devant, he +hastened to a quiet corner to inspect his haul. He was not unduly +elated. He had been prompt and clever, but in justice to him, it must be +admitted that he was a clever man. Therefore he regarded the incident +merely as part of the day's work. His success wrought no quickening of +the pulse.</p> + +<p>In a little palmy balcony which overlooked the lobby he took the +envelope from his pocket. It bore the inscription:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Radley Gale, Esq.</span></p></div> + +<p>Quietly, his cheroot stuck in a corner of his mouth, he opened +it—tearing the end off as all Americans do. He pulled out the scribbled +note, and read as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">My Dear Gale</span>,—Don't forget that we're expecting your wife and +yourself along about 7. I will say no more as I rather think an +impudent American detective (?) is going to purloin this note.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Sheard</span>."</p></div> + +<p>Mr. Alden carefully replaced the torn leaf in the envelope, and the +envelope in his case. He rolled his smoke from the left corner of his +mouth to the right, and, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, walked +slowly downstairs. He was not offended. Mr. Aloys. X. Alden was a Stoic +who had known for many years that he was not the only clever man in the +world.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>THE LISTENER</h3> + + +<p>Sheard sat with both elbows resting upon his writing-table. A suburban +quietude reigned about him, for the hour was long past midnight. Before +him was spread out the final edition of the <i>Gleaner</i> and prominent upon +the front page appeared:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">SIR LEOPOLD JESSON AND MR. HOHSMANN<br /></span> +<span class="i0">FALL INTO LINE<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>With a tact which was inspired by private information from a certain +source, the <i>Gleaner</i> had pooh-poohed the story of the mysterious cards +received by the guests at Julius Rohscheimer's. The story had leaked +out, of course, but Sheard was in no way responsible for the leakage.</p> + +<p>Frantically, representatives of the <i>Gleaner's</i> rivals had sought for +confirmation from the lips of the victims; but, as had been foreseen by +the astute Sheard, no confirmation was forthcoming. There had been an +informal council held at the urgent request of Rohscheimer, whereat it +had been decided that for the latter to appear, now, in the light of a +victim of Séverac Bablon, would be for him to throw away such advantages +as might accrue—to throw a potential peerage after his lost £100,000!</p> + +<p>Baron Hague had been coerced into silence, and had left for Berlin +without seeing a single newspaper man. Mr. Elschild had persisted that +his donation was entirely a voluntary one. Jesson had been most urgent +for placing the true facts before Scotland Yard, but had finally fallen +in with Rohscheimer's wishes.</p> + +<p>"You see, Jesson," the latter had argued, "I'll never get my money back. +It's gone as completely as if I'd burnt it! All I've got to hope for is +a peerage; and I'd lose that if I started crying."</p> + +<p>"I agree," Antony Elschild had contributed, "Rohscheimer had suddenly +become a popular hero! So that a title is all the return he is ever +likely to get for his money. It is popularly expected that Hohsmann and +yourself will also subscribe. You must remember that owing to the +attitude of a section of the Press it is not generally believed that +Séverac Bablon has anything to do with this burst of generosity!"</p> + +<p>Jesson had muttered something about "the <i>Gleaner</i>," and a decision had +been arrived at to organise a private campaign against Séverac Bablon +whilst professing, publicly, that he was in no way concerned in the +swelling of the <i>Gleaner</i> fund.</p> + +<p>Now, Jesson and Hohsmann had both sent huge cheques to the paper, and +interviews with the philanthropic and patriotic capitalists appeared +upon the front page. Sheard had not done either interview.</p> + +<p>Encouraged by their amazing donations, the general public was responding +in an unheard-of manner to the <i>Gleaner's</i> appeal. The Marquess of +Evershed had contributed a long personal letter, which was reproduced in +the centre of the first page of every issue. The Imperialistic spirit +ran rampant throughout Great Britain.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Mr. Oppner's detectives were everywhere. Inspector Sheffield, +C.I.D., was not idle. And Sheard found his position at times a dangerous +one.</p> + +<p>He stood up, walked to the grate, and knocked out his pipe. Having +refilled and lighted it, he tiptoed upstairs, and from a convenient +window surveyed the empty road. So far as he could judge, its emptiness +was real enough. Yet on looking out a quarter of an hour earlier, he had +detected, or thought he had detected, a lurking form under the trees +some hundred yards beyond his gate.</p> + +<p>His visit to the Astoria, the morning before, had been in response to an +invitation from Séverac Bablon, but divining that he was closely +watched, he had sent the message to Gale—an American friend whom he +knew to have just arrived—which had fallen into the hands of Mr. Aloys. +X. Alden. Sheard had actually had an appointment with Gale, and had rung +him up later in the morning—gaining confirmation of his suspicions, in +the form of Gale's story of the empty envelope.</p> + +<p>Then, at night, his American friend had been followed to the house and +followed back again to the hotel. This had been merely humorous; but +to-night there existed more real cause of apprehension. Sheard had +received a plain correspondence card, bearing the following, in a small +neat hand:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Do not bolt your front door. Expect me at about one o'clock A.M."</p></div> + +<p>For a time it had been exciting, absorbingly interesting, to know +himself behind the scenes of this mystery play which had all the world +for an audience. But it was a situation of quite unique danger. Séverac +Bablon was opposed to tremendous interests. Apart from the activity of +the ordinary authorities, there were those in the field against this man +of mystery to whom money, in furtherance of their end, was no object.</p> + +<p>Sheard realised, at times—and these were uncomfortable times—that his +strange acquaintance with Séverac Bablon quite conceivably might end in +Brixton Prison.</p> + +<p>Yet there are some respects wherein the copy-hunter and the scalp-hunter +tally. The thrill of the New Journalism has enlisted in the ranks of the +Fleet Street army some who, in a former age, must have sought their +fortune with the less mighty weapon. A love of adventure was some part +of the complement of Sheard; and now, suspecting that a Pinkerton man +lurked in the neighbourhood, and uncertain if his wife slept, he awaited +his visitor, with nerves tensely strung. But there was an exquisite +delight tingling through his veins—an appreciation of his peril wholly +pleasurable.</p> + +<p>Faintly, he heard a key grate in the lock of the front door. The door +was opened, and gently closed.</p> + +<p>Sheard stood up.</p> + +<p>Into the study walked Séverac Bablon.</p> + +<p>He was perfectly attired, as usual; wore evening-dress, and a heavy +fur-lined coat. His silk hat he held in his hand. As he stood within the +doorway, where the rays from the shaded lamp failed to touch his +features, he seemed, in the semi-light, a man more than humanly +handsome.</p> + +<p>"The house is watched," began Sheard—and broke off.</p> + +<p>A shadow had showed, momentarily, upon the cream of the drawn +casement-curtains. Someone was crouching on the lawn, under the study +window.</p> + +<p>"Did you see that?" jerked the pressman. "Somebody looked in! The +curtain isn't quite drawn to at that corner."</p> + +<p>"My dear Sheard"—Séverac Bablon's musical voice was untroubled by any +trace of apprehension—"there is no occasion to worry! Mr. Aloys. X. +Alden looked in!"</p> + +<p>"But——"</p> + +<p>"Had it been Inspector Sheffield there had been some cause for +excitement. Inspector Sheffield, if I am rightly informed, holds a +warrant for my arrest. Mr. Alden is an unofficial investigator."</p> + +<p>"But he can call a constable!"</p> + +<p>"Reflect, Sheard. If he calls a constable, what happens?"</p> + +<p>"You are arrested!"</p> + +<p>"Not so; but I will grant you that much for the sake of argument. To +whom would the credit fall?"</p> + +<p>"Patently, Mr. Alden."</p> + +<p>"Wrong! You know that it is wrong! The official service would reap every +gain! Believe me, Sheard, Mr. Alden will not reveal my presence here to +a living soul! He may try to trap me when I leave, but there will be no +clamouring on the door by members of the Metropolitan Police force, as +you seemingly apprehend!"</p> + +<p>Séverac Bablon threw himself into the big arm-chair, and lighted a +cigarette—a yellow cigarette.</p> + +<p>"The trick you played upon Alden yesterday was such as no man with a +sense of humour could well have resisted," he said. "But it was +indiscreet."</p> + +<p>"I know."</p> + +<p>"Suspicion pointed to you as the perpetrator of the card trick at +Rohscheimer's. You must not run unnecessary risks."</p> + +<p>"It was a thrilling moment for me, when I leant over to Miss Hohsmann, +my right hand extended for the salt or something of the kind, and my +left stretched behind her chair!"</p> + +<p>"Jesson, of course, was looking in the opposite direction?"</p> + +<p>"I selected a moment when he was talking to Lady Vignoles, and those +shaded table lights helped me very much. I could just reach the table, +and I intentionally touched Salome's hand with mine, in laying down the +card."</p> + +<p>"She actually saw your hand!"</p> + +<p>"I fancy not. She felt my fingers touch hers, I think. She turned so +quickly that Jesson turned, too, and just as she was taking the card +up."</p> + +<p>"Critical moment."</p> + +<p>"Not in the least. My object would have been as well served if the card +had gone no further. But my infernal sense of humour prompted me to make +a bid for complicating the mystery. I dropped my arm, of course, as +Jesson turned to her, and it never occurred to Salome that the hand +which had placed the card beside her was any other than that of her +neighbour on the left, Jesson. Before she could address him, or he +address her, I inquired if I might examine the card. Jesson continued +his conversation with Lady Vignoles, and the 'second notice' passed all +around the table."</p> + +<p>"Excellent! Do you know, Sheard, these childish little conjuring tricks +help me immensely! Can you picture Julius Rohscheimer cowering +throughout a whole night before the rod of a trousers-stretcher +projecting from a wardrobe door!"</p> + +<p>"Was that the solution of the 'patriotic' mystery?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Adeler, who was concealed in the wardrobe, armed with the +necessary written threats, made his escape directly Rohscheimer's cheque +was in his hand—leaving the rod to mount guard whilst you got the +announcement into print and induced the Marquess to pay an early morning +visit."</p> + +<p>Séverac Bablon's handsome face looked almost boyish as he related how +the financier had been forced to play the part of a patriot. Sheard, +watching him, found new matter for wonderment.</p> + +<p>This was the man who claimed to command the destinies of eight million +people—the man who claimed to wield the power of a Solomon. This was +Séverac Bablon, the most inscrutably mysterious being who had ever sown +wonderment throughout the continents, the man who juggled with vast +fortunes as Cinquevalli juggles with billiard-balls! This was the man +whose great velvety eyes could gleam with uncanny force, whose will +could enthrall hypnotically, for whom the police of the world searched, +for whose apprehension huge rewards were offered, whose abode was +unknown, whose accomplices were unnumbered, to whom no door was locked, +from whose all-seeing gaze no secret was secret!</p> + +<p>It was difficult, all but impossible, to realise.</p> + +<p>"Yet I am he," said the melodious voice.</p> + +<p>Sheard started as though a viper had touched him. He stared at his +visitor in wide-eyed amazement.</p> + +<p>"Heavens! Was I thinking aloud?"</p> + +<p>"Practically. Your mind was so intensely concentrated upon certain +incidents in my career—see, your pipe is out—that, in a broad sense, I +could hear you thinking!"</p> + +<p>Sheard laughed dryly, and relighted his pipe. Séverac Bablon's trick of +replying to unspoken questions was too singular to be forgotten lightly.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Hohsmann is now of my friends," continued the strange visitor. "You +received the paragraph? Ah! I see it appears in your later edition."</p> + +<p>"But Jesson?"</p> + +<p>"Sir Leopold can never be my friend, nor do I desire it. There is an +incident in his career——You understand? I do not reproach him with it. +It should never have been recalled to him had he held his purse-strings +less tightly. But it served as a lever. It was a poor one, for, though +he does not know it, I would cast stones at no man. But it served. He +has made his contribution. I begin to achieve something, Sheard. The +<i>Times</i> has a leader in the press showing how the Jews are the backbone +of British prosperity, and truer patriots than any whose fathers crossed +with Norman William."</p> + +<p>He ceased speaking, abruptly, and with his eyes, drew Sheard's attention +again to the window. Since Séverac Bablon's arrival, indeed, the +journalist had glanced thither often enough. But, now, he perceived +something which made him wonder.</p> + +<p>There was a street lamp at the corner of the road, and, his own +table-lamp leaving the further window in shade, it was possible to +detect the presence of anything immediately outside by its faint shadow.</p> + +<p>Something round was pressed upon a corner of the lower pane.</p> + +<p>Séverac Bablon stepped to the table and scribbled upon a sheet of +paper:—</p> + +<p>"He has some kind of portable telephonic arrangement designed for the +purpose, attached to the glass. No doubt he can follow our conversation. +He may attempt to hold me up as I leave the house. He cannot enter, of +course, or we could arrest him on a charge of housebreaking! You have a +back gate. If you will permit me to pass through your domestic offices +and your garden, I will leave by that exit. Continue to talk for some +minutes after I am gone. Do not fear that there is any evidence of my +having been here. Alden can prove nothing."</p> + +<p>Replacing the pencil on the tray:</p> + +<p>"I want you to join me at a little supper on Wednesday evening," said +Séverac Bablon. "Practically all our influential friends will be +present——"</p> + +<p>He ignored Sheard's head-shakes and expressive nods directed towards the +window.</p> + +<p>"There is an old house which I have rented for a time at Richmond. It is +known as 'The Cedars,' and overlooks the Thames. The grounds are fairly +extensive, and bordered by two very quiet roads. In fact, it is an ideal +spot for my purpose. I will send you further particulars"—he glanced +towards the window—"in writing. We meet there on Wednesday at +nine-thirty. Can I rely upon you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Sheard, wondering at the other's indiscretion, "unless I +wire you to the contrary. I might be unable to turn up at the last +moment, of course."</p> + +<p>"You are nervous!" Séverac Bablon smiled, and slipped from the room.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary," said Sheard, addressing the window. "There is nothing +I enjoy better than an evening in a haunted house!"</p> + +<p>(Perhaps, he argued, Alden was not absolutely certain of his visitor's +identity. He did not know at what point in the conversation the +telephone device had come into action. It was a pity to waste words; he +might as well endeavour to throw the eavesdropper off the scent, in +addition to covering Séverac Bablon's retreat.)</p> + +<p>"Let us hope, Professor," he resumed, with this laudable intention, +"that the Society for Psychical Research will be the richer in knowledge +for our experiment on Wednesday evening!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Aloys. X. Alden, with his ear to the ingenious little "electric +eavesdropper," experienced an unpleasant chill upon hearing the visitor +within addressed as "Professor."</p> + +<p>He had conceived the idea that Sheard—whom he strongly suspected, might +hold interviews with the mysterious and elusive Séverac Bablon in the +small hours of the morning, at his own house, when the rest of the +household were retired.</p> + +<p>Mr. Alden had watched for five nights when he knew the pressman to be at +home. On four of them Sheard's light had been extinguished before +midnight. To-night, the fifth, it had remained burning, and long +vigilance had been rewarded.</p> + +<p>A car had drawn up at some distance from the house, and its occupant had +proceeded forward on foot. He had been admitted so rapidly that Alden +had been unable to ascertain by whom. The car, too, had been driven off +immediately. He had had no chance of taking the number; but was astute +enough to know that in any event it would have availed him little, +since, if the car were Bablon's the number would almost certainly be a +false one.</p> + +<p>For once in a way, Mr. Alden became excited. Whom could so late a +visitor be, save one who wished to keep secret his visit? In attaching +his eavesdropper he had clumsily raised his head above the level of the +window-ledge, but he had hoped that this gross error of strategy had +passed unnoticed. For a time he had failed to pick up the conversation +until his ear became attuned to the subdued tone in which it was +conducted. Thus, he had lost the key to its purport and had had to +improvise one.</p> + +<p>But, even so, words had passed which had amply confirmed his suspicions; +so much so that, whilst he listened, all but breathlessly, he was +devising a scheme for capturing Sheard's visitor, single-handed, as he +left the house. Furthermore, he was devising a way out of the difficulty +in the event of the captive proving to be another than Séverac Bablon.</p> + +<p>The latter part of the duologue had puzzled him badly. The visitor +seemed to have ceased talking altogether, and Sheard's remarks had in +some inexplicable way drifted into quite a different channel. They +appeared to appertain to what had preceded them but remotely. The +relation seemed forced.</p> + +<p>Still the visitor said nothing. Sheard continued to talk, and in upon +the mind of the detective shone a light of inspiration.</p> + +<p>He detached the cunning little instrument, crawled across the lawn and +slunk out at the gate. Then he <i>ran</i> around to the rear of the house. A +narrow lane there was, and into its black mouth he plunged without +hesitation.</p> + +<p>The gate of the tradesmen's entrance was unbolted.</p> + +<p>Alden was perfectly familiar with the nightly customs of the Sheard +establishment, and knew this to be irregular. He tilted his hat back and +scratched his head reflectively.</p> + +<p>Then, from somewhere down the road, on the other side of the house, came +the sound of a curious whistle, an eerie minor whistle.</p> + +<p>Like an Indian, Alden set off running. He rounded the corner as a car +whirled into view five hundred yards further along, and from the next +turning on the right. It stopped. One of its doors slammed.</p> + +<p>It was off again. It had vanished.</p> + +<p>Mr. Alden carefully extracted a cheroot from his case and lighted it +with loving care.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>ZOE DREAMS</h3> + + +<p>If you know the Astoria, you will remember that all around the +north-west side of the arcade-like structure, which opens on the Old +Supper Room, the Rajah Suite, the Louis Ballroom, the Edwardian +Banqueting Hall, and the Persian Lounge, are tiny cosy-corners. In one +of these you may smoke your secluded cigar, cigarette or pipe, wholly +aloof from the bustle, with its marked New Yorkist note, which +characterises the more public apartments of the giant <i>caravanserai</i>.</p> + +<p>There is a nicely shaded light, if you wish to read, or to write, at +night. But you control this by a switch, conveniently placed, so that +the darkness which aids reflection is also at your command. Then there +is the window, opening right down to the floor, from which, if it please +you, you may study the activity of the roofless ant-hill beneath, the +restless febrility of West End London.</p> + +<p>To such a nook Zoe Oppner retired, after a dinner but little enjoyed in +solitary splendour amid the gaiety of one of the public dining-rooms. +Her father had been called away by some mysterious business, too late in +the evening for her to make other arrangements. So she had descended and +dined, a charming, but lonely figure, at the little corner table.</p> + +<p>In some strange way, she had more than half anticipated that Séverac +Bablon would be there. But, although there were a number of people +present whom she knew, the audacious Mr. Sanrack was not one of them.</p> + +<p>Zoe had nodded to a number of acquaintances, but had not encouraged any +of them to disturb her solitude. The long and tiresome meal dealt with, +she had fled to the nook I have mentioned, and, with an Egyptian +cigarette between her lips, lay back watching, from the perfumed +darkness, the lights of London below.</p> + +<p>The idea of calling upon Mary Evershed had occurred to her. Then she had +remembered that Mary was at some semi-official function of her uncle's, +Mr. Belford's. Sheila Vignoles would be at home, but Zoe began to feel +too deliciously lazy to think seriously of driving even so short a +distance.</p> + +<p>In a big, cane lounge-chair packed with cushions she curled up +luxuriously and began to reflect.</p> + +<p>Her reflections, it is needless to say, centred around Séverac Bablon. +Why, she asked herself, despite his deeds, did she admire and respect +him? Her mind refused to face the problem, but she felt a hot blush rise +to her cheeks. She was a traitor to her father; she could not deny it. +But at any rate she was a frank traitor, if such a state be possible. +Only that morning she had explained her position to him.</p> + +<p>"Séverac Bablon," she had maintained, "only makes you rich men do what +you ought to do with some of your money! Even if the object weren't a +good one, even were it a ridiculous one, like making Dutchmen and +Americans buy British airships, it does make you <i>spend</i> something. And +that's a change!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Oppner was used to these outspoken critcisms from his daughter. He +had smiled grimly, wryly.</p> + +<p>"I guess," had been his comment, "you'd stand up for the Bablon man, +then, if he ever came your way?"</p> + +<p>"Sure!" Zoe had cried. "You spend too much on me, and on Pinkertons, and +not enough on people who really want it."</p> + +<p>"You ought to join the staff of the <i>Gleaner</i>, Zoe! They specialise in +that brand of junk, and they're in the popular market at the moment, +too. They'll win the next election hands down, I'm told."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you start a fund for Canadian emigrants?" Zoe had proceeded. +"You've made a heap of money out of Canada. Then you wouldn't have to +buy any airships, maybe!"</p> + +<p>"I don't have to! No Roman Emperor was watched closer'n me! If that guy +gets me held up he's earnin' his money! Zoe, you're a durned unnatural +daughter!"</p> + +<p>The thought of that conversation made her smile. To her it seemed so +ridiculous that her father should guard his expenditure like one who has +but a few dollars between himself and starvation. The gold fever was an +incomprehensible disease to the daughter of the man who was more +savagely bitten with it than almost any other living plutocrat.</p> + +<p>Musing upon these matters, Zoe slept, and dreamed.</p> + +<p>She dreamed that she stood in the gateway of an ancient city, amid a +throng of people attired in the picturesque garb of the East. About her, +the city was <i>en fête</i>. Before her stretched the desert, an undulating +ocean of greyness, a dry ocean parched by a merciless sun.</p> + +<p>Barbaric music sounded; the clashing of cymbals and quiver of strange +instruments rendering it unlike any music she had ever heard. A +procession was issuing from the gateway with much pomp. There were +venerable, white-bearded priests, and there were girls, too, arrayed in +festive garb, their hair bedecked with flowers. Their gay ranks, amid +which the slow-pacing patriarchs struck a sombre note, passed out across +the sands.</p> + +<p>They were met by what seemed to be the advance guard of a great army. A +man whose golden armour glittered hotly in the blazing sun descended +from a chariot to receive them.</p> + +<p>Then, amid music and shouting and the beating of drums, the procession +returned, surrounding the chariot in which the golden one rode. It was +filled to the brim with flowers.</p> + +<p>As it passed in at the gate, the occupant stooped, took up a huge lily +and threw it to Zoe. His eyes met hers. And, amid that panoply of +long-ago, she recognised Séverac Bablon.</p> + +<p>She dreamed on.</p> + +<p>She lay in a huge temple, prone upon its marble floor, in the shadow of +a pillar curiously carven. The lily lay beside her. Two men stood upon +the other side of the pillar. She was invisible from where they were, +and in low voices they spoke together, and Zoe listened.</p> + +<p>"It overlooks the river," said one. "Two sides of the garden are on +streets as lonely as the middle of the Atlantic. A narrow lane joins and +runs right down the back. We want six or eight men, as well as you and +I."</p> + +<p>"What," inquired the other (his voice seemed strangely familiar), "is +the matter with Scotland Yard?"</p> + +<p>A moment's silence followed. Then:</p> + +<p>"I didn't want to call them in. Largely, I'm out for reputation."</p> + +<p>"Mostly," came a drawling reply, "I'm out for business!"</p> + +<p>A veil seemed to have taken the place of the carven pillar, a thin, +dream-veil. Although, in her curious mental state, Zoe could not know +it, this was the veil which separated dreamland from reality.</p> + +<p>"Martin can come with us. The other two boys will have to hang on to the +tails of Mr. Elschild and Sheard. We mustn't neglect the rest of the +programme because this item looks like a top-liner. I asked Sullivan if +he could draft me half-a-dozen smart boys for Wednesday evening, and he +said yep."</p> + +<p>"More expense! What do you want to go and get men from a private +detective agency for, when there's official police whose business it is +to do it for nothing?"</p> + +<p>"I thought there'd be people there, maybe, with big names. If we're in +charge we can hush up what we like. If Scotland Yard had the job in hand +there'd be a big scandal."</p> + +<p>"You weren't thinkin' of that so much as huggin' all the credit! This +blame man'll ruin me anyway. I can see it. What have you found out about +this house?"</p> + +<p>"It's called 'The Cedars' and it fronts on J—— Road. It's just been +leased to a Dr. Ignatius Phillips, who's supposed to be a brain +specialist. I've weighed up every inch of ground and my plan's this: Two +boys come along directly after dusk, and take up their posts behind the +hedge of the back lane; ten minutes after, two more make themselves +scarce on the west side and two more on the towing-path. There's a thick +clump of trees with some railings around, right opposite the door. You +and I will hide there with Martin. We'll see who goes in. There's just a +short, crescent-shaped drive, and only a low hedge. When everybody has +arrived, <i>we</i> march up to the front door. As soon as it's opened, in we +go, a whole crush of us! The house will be surrounded——"</p> + +<p>"It sounds a bit on the dangerous side!"</p> + +<p>"There'll be plenty of us—four or five."</p> + +<p>"Make it six. He's got such a crowd of accomplices!"</p> + +<p>"Six of us, then——"</p> + +<p>"I wish you'd let Scotland Yard take it in hand."</p> + +<p>"As you please. It's for you to say. But they have made so many +blunders——"</p> + +<p>"You're right! Hang the expense! I'll see to this business myself!"</p> + +<p>"Then we shall want rather more men than I'd arranged for. Suppose we go +and ring up Sullivan's?"</p> + +<p>Zoe was wide awake now. A door shut. She sat up with a start. The +darkness was redolent of strong tobacco-smoke, the smoke of a cheroot. +She realised, instantly, what had happened—</p> + +<p>Her father and Alden had entered the little room for an undisturbed chat +and had not troubled to switch the light on. Many people like to talk in +the dark; J.J. Oppner was one of them. Hidden amid the cushions of the +big chair, she had not been seen. Since they had found the room in +darkness, her presence had not been suspected. And what had she thus +overheard?</p> + +<p>A plot to capture Séverac Bablon!</p> + +<p>Now, indeed, she was face to face with the hard facts of her situation. +What should she do? What <i>could</i> she do?</p> + +<p>He must be warned. It was impossible to think of seeing him a +prisoner—seeing him in the dock like a common felon. It was impossible +to think of meeting his eyes, his grave, luminous eyes, and reading +reproach there!</p> + +<p>But how should she act? This was Tuesday, and they had spoken of +Wednesday as the day when the attempt was to be made. If only she had a +confidant! It was so hard to come, unaided, to a decision respecting the +right course to follow.</p> + +<p>Laurel Cottage, Dulwich Village, that was the address which he had +confided to her. But how should she get there? To go in the car was +tantamount to taking the chauffeur into her confidence. She must go, +then, in a cab.</p> + +<p>Zoe was a member of that branch of American society which laughs at the +theory of chaperons. There was nothing to prevent her going where she +pleased, when she pleased, and how she pleased. Her mind, then, was made +up very quickly.</p> + +<p>She ran to her room, and without troubling her maid, quickly changed +into a dark tweed costume and put on one of those simple, apparently +untrimmed hats which the masculine mind values at about three-and-nine, +but which actually cost as much as a masculine dress suit.</p> + +<p>Fearful of meeting her father in the lifts, she went down by the stair, +and slipped out of the hotel unnoticed.</p> + +<p>"A cab, madam?"</p> + +<p>She nodded. Then, just as the man raised his whistle, she shook her +head.</p> + +<p>"No thanks," she said. "I think I'll walk."</p> + +<p>She passed out across the courtyard and mingled with the stream of +pedestrians. Right at the beginning of her adventure she had nearly +blundered. She laughed, with a certain glee. It was novel and +exhilarating, this conspiracy against the powers that be. There was +something that appealed to the adventurous within her in thus being +under the necessity of covering her tracks.</p> + +<p>Certainly, she was a novice. It would never have done to lay a trail +right from the hotel door to Laurel Cottage.</p> + +<p>She walked into Charing Cross Station and approached the driver of the +first vacant taxi that offered.</p> + +<p>"I want to go to Dulwich Village."</p> + +<p>The man pulled a wry face. If he undertook that journey it would mean +that he would in all probability have to run back empty, and then he +would miss the theatre people.</p> + +<p>"Sorry, miss. But I don't think I've got enough petrol!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, how tiresome."</p> + +<p>The American accent, now suddenly pronounced, induced him to change his +mind.</p> + +<p>"Should you want me to bring you back, miss?"</p> + +<p>"Sure! I don't want to be left there!"</p> + +<p>"All right, miss. Jump in."</p> + +<p>"But I thought you hadn't enough petrol?"</p> + +<p>The man grinned.</p> + +<p>"I didn't want to be stranded right out there with no chance of a fare, +miss!" he confessed.</p> + +<p>Zoe laughed, good-naturedly, and entered the cab.</p> + +<p>The man set off, and soon Zoe found herself upon unfamiliar ground. +Through slummish localities they passed, and through popular suburbs, +where all the activity of the West End prevailed without its +fascinating, cosmopolitan glitter.</p> + +<p>Dulwich Village was reached at last, and the cab was drawn up on a +corner bearing a signpost.</p> + +<p>"Which house did you want, miss?"</p> + +<p>"I want Laurel Cottage."</p> + +<p>The taxi-man scratched his head.</p> + +<p>"You see, some of the houses in the village aren't numbered," he said; +"and I don't know this part very well. I never heard of Laurel Cottage. +Any idea which way it lies?"</p> + +<p>"Not the slightest. Do you think you could find out for me?"</p> + +<p>A policeman was standing on the opposite corner, and, crossing, the +taxi-man held some conversation with him. He returned very shortly.</p> + +<p>"It's round at the back of the College buildings, miss," he reported.</p> + +<p>Again the cab proceeded onward. This was a curiously lonely spot, more +lonely than Zoe could have believed to exist within so short a distance +from the ever-throbbing heart of London. She began to wish that she had +shared her secret with another; that she had a companion. After all, how +little, how very little, she knew of Séverac Bablon. With all her +romantic and mystic qualities Zoe was at heart a shrewd American girl, +and not one to be readily beguiled by any man, however fascinating. She +was not afraid, but she admitted to herself that the expedition was +compromising, if not dangerous. If she ever had occasion to come again, +she would confide in Mary and come in her company.</p> + +<p>"This road isn't paved, miss. I don't think I can get any further."</p> + +<p>The cab, after jolting horribly, had come to a stand-still. Zoe got out.</p> + +<p>"Is Laurel Cottage much farther on?"</p> + +<p>"It stands all alone, on the left, about a hundred yards along."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. Please wait here."</p> + +<p>Zoe walked ahead. It was a very lonely spot. The cab had stopped before +some partially-constructed houses. Beyond that lay vacant lots, on +either side. In front, showed a clump of trees, and, at the back of them +on a slight acclivity, a big house.</p> + +<p>The night was fine but moonless. Save for the taxi-man and herself, it +would seem that nothing moved anywhere about. She came up level with the +trees. There was a kind of very small lodge among them, closely invested +with ragged shrubs and overshadowed by heavier foliage.</p> + +<p>Beyond, farther along the road, showed nothing but uninviting darkness, +solitude and vacancy. This then must be the place.</p> + +<p>Zoe peered between the bars of the gate. No light was anywhere to be +seen. The house appeared to be deserted. Could the cabman have made a +mistake or have been misinformed?</p> + +<p>Zoe carried a little case, containing, amongst a number of other things, +a tiny matchbox. She extracted and lighted a match. There was no breeze, +or she must certainly have failed to accomplish the operation.</p> + +<p>Shading the light with her gloved hands, she bent and examined some +half-defaced white characters which adorned the top bar of the gate; by +which means she made out the words:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>LAUREL COTTAGE</p></div> + +<p>There had been no mistake, then. She opened the gate, and by a narrow, +moss-grown path through the bushes, came to the door. All was still. It +was impossible to suppose the place inhabited.</p> + +<p>No bell was to be found, but an iron knocker hung upon the low door.</p> + +<p>Zoe knocked.</p> + +<p>The way in which the sound echoed through the little cottage almost +frightened her. It seemed to point to emptiness. Surely Laurel Cottage +must be unfurnished.</p> + +<p>There was no reply, no sign of life.</p> + +<p>She knocked again. She knocked a third time.</p> + +<p>Then the stillness of the place, and the darkness of the long avenue +away up where the trees met in a verdant arch, became intolerable. She +turned and walked quickly out on to the road again.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>AT "THE CEDARS"</h3> + + +<p>Zoe was nonplussed. She was unable to believe that this deserted place +was the spot referred to by Séverac Bablon. She still clung to the idea +that there must be some mistake, though she had the evidence of her own +eyes that the cottage was called Laurel Cottage.</p> + +<p>The notion of writing a note and slipping it through the letter-box came +to her. But she remembered that there was no letter-box. Then, such a +course might be dangerous.</p> + +<p>She looked gratefully towards the beam of light from the cab lamps. The +solitude was getting on her nerves. Yes, she determined, she <i>would</i> +write a note, and put it under the door. She need not sign it.</p> + +<p>With that determination, she returned to where the taxi-man waited.</p> + +<p>"Find it all right, miss?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but there's no one at home. I want to write a note and I should +like you to go and slip it under the door for me. It is so lonely there, +it has made me feel quite nervous. I can mind the cab!"</p> + +<p>The man smiled and touched his cap. Taxi-men are possessed of +intuitions; and this one knew perfectly well that he had a good fare and +one that would pay him well enough for his trouble.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, miss, with pleasure."</p> + +<p>"Have you a piece of paper and a pencil?"</p> + +<p>The man tore a leaf from a notebook and handed Zoe a pencil. Using the +book as a pad, she, by the light of the near-side lamp, wrote:</p> + +<p>"Your meeting at The Cedars known to Mr. Alden. Don't go."</p> + +<p>"It is such a tiny piece of paper," she said. "He—they may not see it."</p> + +<p>"I believe I've got an envelope somewhere, miss. It's got the company's +name and address printed on it, and it won't be extra clean, but——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you! If you could find it——"</p> + +<p>It was found, and proved to be even more dirty than the man's words had +indicated. Zoe enclosed the note, wetted a finger of her glove, and +stuck down the lapel.</p> + +<p>"Will you please put it under the door?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, miss. Shan't be a minute."</p> + +<p>He was absent but a few moments.</p> + +<p>"Back to Charing Cross Station," directed Zoe, and got into the cab +again.</p> + +<p>She had done her best. But, throughout the whole of the journey to the +Strand, her mind was occupied with dire possibilities. It almost alarmed +her, this too keen interest which she found herself taking in the +fortunes of Séverac Bablon.</p> + +<p>At Charing Cross the taxi-man received a sovereign. It was more than +double his fare. He knew, then, that his professional instincts had not +misled him, but that he had been driving an American millionairess.</p> + +<p>In the foyer of the Astoria, Mary Evershed was waiting, with Mrs. +Wellington Lacey in stately attendance. Mary was simply radiant. She +sprang forward to meet Zoe, both hands outsretched.</p> + +<p>"Wherever have you been?" she cried.</p> + +<p>"Picture show!" said Zoe, with composed mendacity, glancing at the +aristocratic chaperon.</p> + +<p>"I could not possibly wait until the morning," Mary ran on, her eyes +sparkling with excitement. "I had to run along here straight from +horrid, stuffy Downing Street to tell you. Dick has inherited a +fortune."</p> + +<p>"What!" said Zoe, and grasped both her friend's hands. "Inherited a +fortune!"</p> + +<p>"Well—not quite a fortune, perhaps—five thousand pounds."</p> + +<p>And John Jacob Oppner's daughter, a real chum to the core, never even +smiled. For she knew what five thousand pounds meant to these two, knew +that it meant more than five <i>hundred</i> thousands meant to her; since it +meant the difference between union and parting, between love and loss, +meant that Sir Richard Haredale could now shake off the fetters that +bound him, and look the world in the face.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mary," she said, and her pretty eyes were quite tearful. "How very, +very glad I am! Isn't it just great! It sounds almost too good to be +true! Come right upstairs and tell me all about it!"</p> + +<p>In Zoe's cosy room the story was told, not a romantic one in its +essentials, but romantic enough in its potential sequel. A remote aunt +was the benefactress; and her death, news of which had been communicated +to Sir Richard that evening, had enriched him by five thousand pounds +and served to acquaint him, at its termination, with the existence of a +relation whom he had never met and rarely heard of.</p> + +<p>Mr. Oppner came in towards the close of the story, and offered dry +congratulations in that singular voice which seemed to have been +preserved, for generations, in sand.</p> + +<p>"He ought to invest it," he said. "Runeks are a good thing."</p> + +<p>"You see," explained Mary. "He hasn't actually got it yet, only the +solicitor's letter. And he says he will be unable to believe in his good +luck until the money is actually in the bank!"</p> + +<p>"Never let money lie idle," preached Oppner. "Banks fatten on such +foolishness. Look at Hague. Ain't <i>he</i> fat?"</p> + +<p>Though it must have been imperceptible to another, Zoe detected, in her +father's manner, a suppressed excitement; and augured from it a belief +that the capture of Séverac Bablon was imminent.</p> + +<p>However, when Mary was gone, Mr. Oppner said nothing of the matter +which, doubtless, occupied his mind, and Zoe felt too guilty to broach +the subject. They retired at last, without having mentioned the name of +Séverac Bablon.</p> + +<p>Zoe found sleep to be impossible, and lay reading until long past one +o'clock. But when the book dropped from her hands, she slept soundly and +dreamlessly.</p> + +<p>In the morning she scanned her mail anxiously. But there was nothing to +show that her warning had been received. Could it be that Séverac Bablon +had suddenly deserted the cottage for some reason, and that he would +to-night walk, blindly, into the trap prepared for him?</p> + +<p>She was anxious to see her father. And his manner, at breakfast, but +dimly veiled an evident exultation. He ate very little, leaving her at +the table, with one of his dry though not unkindly apologies, to go off +with the stoical Mr. Alden.</p> + +<p>If only she had a friend in whom she might confide, whose advice she +might seek. Zoe laughed a little to think how excited she was on behalf +of Séverac Bablon and how placidly she surveyed the possibility of her +father's being relieved of a huge sum of money.</p> + +<p>"That's the worst of knowing Pa's so rich!" she mused philosophically.</p> + +<p>The morning dragged wearily on. Noon came. Nothing and nobody interested +Zoe. She went to be measured for a gown and could not support the tedium +of the operation.</p> + +<p>"Send someone to the Astoria to-morrow," she said. "I just can't stand +here any longer."</p> + +<p>In the afternoon she called upon Sheila Vignoles, but everyone, from +Lord Vignoles to the butler, irritated her. She came away with a +headache. With the falling of dusk, her condition grew all but +insupportable. Her father had been absent all day. She had met no one +who would be likely to know anything about the night's expedition.</p> + +<p>She sat looking out from her window at the Embankment, where lights were +now glowing, point after point, through the deepening gloom.</p> + +<p>It was as she stood there, vainly wondering what was going forward, that +her father, his spare figure enveloped in a big motor coat, his cap +pulled down upon his brow, walked along Richmond High Street beside Mr. +Alden.</p> + +<p>"By the time we get there," said the latter, rolling the inevitable +cheroot from one corner of his mouth to the other, "it will be dark +enough for our purpose. It's a warm night, and dry, which is fortunate, +and I've marked a place right opposite the gate where we can lie all +snug until we're wanted."</p> + +<p>"Can you rely on Sullivan's men?"</p> + +<p>"He's sending eight of the best. At his office, this afternoon I went +over a plan of the place with them. It's impossible to march a troop up +to the house to reconnoitre. They know exactly what they've got to do. +It will be covered all around. A cat won't be able to come out of The +Cedars, sir, without being noted!"</p> + +<p>"Yep. And when we march up to the door?"</p> + +<p>"Directly it's opened," explained Alden patiently, "I'll <i>hold</i> it open! +Then, in go five Sullivan men, Martin and you. But there'll still be a +man covering every egress from the house. If anybody tries to get out +there'll be someone to hold him up and to whistle for more help if it's +needed."</p> + +<p>"Seems all right," said Oppner; "if we don't get loaded up with lead. Is +this place much further? We seem to have been walkin' up this blame hill +for hours."</p> + +<p>"See that white milestone? Well, the first gate is fifty yards beyond, +on the right."</p> + +<p>"Have the crowd arrived yet?"</p> + +<p>"Some of them. They're drafting up singly and in couples. There ought to +be four on the river side of the place by now, and Martin waiting +somewhere around the front."</p> + +<p>"Four to come, yet?"</p> + +<p>"Yep. Two for the other gate of the drive, and two for the lane that +leads down to the river."</p> + +<p>They plodded on in silence. Abreast of the milestone, but without +stopping, Alden whistled softly.</p> + +<p>He was answered from somewhere among the trees bordering the left of the +road.</p> + +<p>"That's Martin!" he said. "Come on, Mr. Oppner, through this gap in the +fence."</p> + +<p>Mr. Oppner crawled, in undignified silence, through the gap indicated.</p> + +<p>"You see," explained Alden's voice out of the gloom, "farther along are +open rails and dense bushes. That's where we're going to watch from. +We'll see every soul that comes up."</p> + +<p>"You're stone sure it's to-night they arranged?"</p> + +<p>Patiently, Alden replied: "Stone sure."</p> + +<p>"Because," drawled Oppner, stumbling along in the darkness, "this is not +in my line."</p> + +<p>"<i>Sss!</i>" came from close at hand.</p> + +<p>Mr. Oppner started.</p> + +<p>"That you, Martin?" from Alden.</p> + +<p>"Yes; no one has gone in yet. But a ground floor room is lighted up, and +also the conservatory."</p> + +<p>"Right."</p> + +<p>There was a momentary faint gleam of light. Mr. Alden was consulting his +electrically-lighted watch.</p> + +<p>"Time they were all posted," he said. "Martin, do the rounds. Hustle!"</p> + +<p>Martin was heard slipping away through the bushes. Then came silence. +Oppner and Alden were now at a point directly opposite a gate, and in +full view of the house. Many of the windows were illuminated.</p> + +<p>"Does the lawn slope down to the towpath?" came Oppner's voice.</p> + +<p>"Sure. There are men on the towpath."</p> + +<p>Silence fell once more. From somewhere down the road, in the direction +of Richmond, was wafted a faint tinkling sound. Oppner heard Alden +moving.</p> + +<p>"I'll have to leave you for a minute," said the detective. "Don't be +scared if Martin comes back."</p> + +<p>Without waiting for a reply, Alden departed. Mr. Oppner heard him +brushing against the bushes in passing. Crouching there uncomfortably, +and looking out across the road to the gateway of The Cedars, Oppner saw +a singular thing, a thing that made him wonder.</p> + +<p>He saw Alden run swiftly across from the gap in the fence by which they +had entered their hiding-place, to the gate opposite. He saw him run in. +Then he disappeared. Whilst Oppner was thrashing his brains for a +solution to this man[oe]uvre, a faint rattling sound drew his gaze down +the hill.</p> + +<p>Someone was approaching on a bicycle!</p> + +<p>Almost holding his breath, he watched. Nearer came the rider, and +nearer. Immediately before the gate of The Cedars he dismounted. He was +a telegraph messenger.</p> + +<p>At that moment Alden came strolling out, smoking his cigar and pulling +on a pair of gloves.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, boy!" he said; his voice was clearly audible to the listening +Oppner. "Got a wire for me? I've been expecting it all the evening."</p> + +<p>The boy opened his wallet, but with some hesitation.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Phillips," continued Alden, "that right?"</p> + +<p>The boy hesitated no longer.</p> + +<p>"Phillips, yes, sir," he said, and handed the telegram to Alden.</p> + +<p>With a nonchalant air which excited Mr. Oppner's admiration, Alden +walked to a lamp some little distance away, tore open the yellow +envelope, and read the message.</p> + +<p>"All right, boy," he said. "No reply. Here, catch!"</p> + +<p>He tossed the boy a coin, and with a touch of genius which showed him to +be a really great detective, halted a moment, scratched his chin, and as +the boy again mounted his bicycle, re-entered the gate of The Cedars.</p> + +<p>"That's real cute!" murmured Oppner.</p> + +<p>The boy having ridden off, Alden slipped warily out on to the road, ran +across, and was lost to view. Presently a rustling in the bushes told of +his return to Oppner's side.</p> + +<p>"It's from Sheard," whispered the detective. "Our man must have written +him further particulars, same as he said he'd do. It just reads: +'Detained. S.' But it was handed in at Fleet Street, and I haven't any +doubt who sent it."</p> + +<p>"He's smart, is Sheard," said Mr. Oppner. "He smelled trouble, or maybe +he got wise to us——"</p> + +<p><i>"Sss!"</i></p> + +<p>"That you, Martin?"—from Alden.</p> + +<p>"All right. Everybody seems to be posted. They're all finely out of +sight, too."</p> + +<p>"Good. The newspaper man isn't coming. See me get the wire?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I wonder if the rest will come."</p> + +<p>"Hope so. I don't want to have to open the ball, because until some +visitors have gone in we haven't got any real evidence that Séverac +Bablon is there himself."</p> + +<p>"Quiet," said Martin.</p> + +<p>A measured tread proclaimed itself, drew nearer, and a policeman passed +their hiding-place. When the regular footsteps had died away again:</p> + +<p>"If <i>he</i> knew who's leased The Cedars," murmured Alden, "he'd be a +sergeant sooner than he expects."</p> + +<p>Which remark was the last contributed by any of the party for some +considerable time. Alden's description of the road before The Cedars as +a lonely one was fully justified. From the time of Martin's return until +that when the big car drove up and turned into the drive, not a solitary +pedestrian passed their hiding-place.</p> + +<p>A laggard moon sailed out from a cloud-bank and painted the road white +as far as the eye could follow it. Then came a breeze from the river, to +sing drearily through the trees. In the intervals, when the breeze was +still, its absence seemed in some way, to stimulate the watchers' power +of hearing, so that they could detect vague sounds which proceeded from +the river. The creak of oars told of a late rower on the stream—a voice +was wafted up to them, to be drowned in the sighing of the leaves set +swaying by the new breeze.</p> + +<p>Then came the car.</p> + +<p>The whirr of the motor announced its coming from afar off; but, so +swiftly did it travel, that it was upon them a moment later. As it swung +around and on to the drive of The Cedars its number showed clearly.</p> + +<p>"3509," said Martin. "That's Mr. Antony Elschild!"</p> + +<p>"Gee!" said Oppner, and his sandy voice shook somewhat, perhaps owing to +the chill of the breeze. "This is getting real exciting!"</p> + +<p>The car was delayed some little time before the door of the house, then +driven around, and out at the further gate of the drive. It returned by +the way it had come, racing down the hill at something considerably +exceeding the legal speed. The <i>thud-thud-thud</i> of the motor died away, +and became inaudible.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad the police aren't with us, and yet sorry," said Oppner. "This +is a whole-hog conspiracy properly. No wonder he was so hard to catch; +look at the class of people he's got in with him! Think of Elschild! +Gee! There's goin' to be a scene in a minute."</p> + +<p>"For the present," said Alden, "we'll make no move; we'll just sit +tight. There's maybe a lot to arrive yet."</p> + +<p>Just before the breeze came creeping up from the river again, +<i>thud-thud-thud</i> was borne to their ears. Another car was approaching.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>THE LAMP AND THE MASK</h3> + + +<p>"10761," said Alden. "I wonder whose car that is."</p> + +<p>None of the watchful trio had any idea. But whomever was within it, the +second car performed exactly the same man[oe]uvres as the first, and, a +few moments after its appearance, was lost to sight and hearing once +more.</p> + +<p>But a matter of seconds later, came the familiar <i>thud-thud-thud</i>; and a +third car plunged up the hill and went swinging around the drive. Again, +no one of the three was able to recognise the number. Out by the further +gate of the drive it passed, turned, and flashed by them in the +darkness, to go leaping down the slope.</p> + +<p>"Three," said Alden. "I wonder if there's any more."</p> + +<p>His tone was thoughtful.</p> + +<p>"Say," began Mr. Oppner, "we'd better get on with it now, because——"</p> + +<p>"I know," Alden interrupted, "there may be only one more to come? You're +thinking that, after all those expected have arrived, there'll be +trouble in getting the door to open?"</p> + +<p>"I was thinking that, too," said Martin. "Maybe they're all arrived as +it is; but we stand a still worse chance if we wait."</p> + +<p>"Come on," said Mr. Oppner, with a rising excitement evident in his +voice. "We know there's one big fish in the net, anyway!"</p> + +<p><i>Thud-thud-thud!</i></p> + +<p>"There's another car coming," cried Alden. "Hurry up, Mr. Oppner! This +way. Mind your head through this broken part. We'll be on the steps as +the car comes around the drive!"</p> + +<p>They crept through the gap below and ran across the road, Oppner as +actively as either of his companions. Already, the white beam of the +headlight was cutting-the gloom, below, where the road was heavily +bordered with trees.</p> + +<p>"Just in time!"</p> + +<p>Past the gate they ran, and pattered on to the drive. Behind them, a big +car was just spinning past the gate. As it came leaping along the drive +Alden ran up the four stone steps to the door and jammed his thumb hard +against the bell button.</p> + +<p>At the same moment, Martin whistled shrilly, three times.</p> + +<p>Whereupon affairs began to move in meteoric fashion.</p> + +<p>Several people came bundling out of the car. From the gloom all about it +there sounded the scamper of hurrying feet.</p> + +<p>The door was thrown open, and a blaze of light swept the steps.</p> + +<p>Alden leapt over the threshold, pistol in hand, yelling at the same +time:</p> + +<p>"Follow me, boys!"</p> + +<p>Like the swoop of heated play to a goal burst a human wave upon the +steps. Oppner and Martin were swept irresistibly upward and inward. They +were surrounded, penned in. Then:</p> + +<p>"Break away, you goldarned idiot!" rose Alden's angry voice ahead.</p> + +<p>The lights went out. The door slammed.</p> + +<p>"Alden!" cried Mr. Oppner. "Alden!"</p> + +<p>Someone pinioned him from behind.</p> + +<p>"There's a mistake, you blamed ass!" he screamed. "I ain't one of 'em! +Alden! Martin!"</p> + +<p>A hand was pressed firmly over his mouth, and with veins swelling up and +eyes starting from his head in impotent fury, Mr. Oppner was hustled +forward through the darkness.</p> + +<p>Around him a number of people seemed to be moving, and when he found his +feet upon stairs, several unseen hands were outstretched to thrust him +upward. The darkness was impenetrable.</p> + +<p>Apparently the stair was uncarpeted, as likewise was the corridor along +which he presently found himself proceeding. The echo of many footsteps +rang through the house. It sounded shell-like, empty. Then it seemed to +him that not so many were about him. He felt his revolver slide from his +hip-pocket. He was pushed gently forward, and a door closed behind him. +The sound of footsteps died away with that of whispering voices.</p> + +<p>Came a sudden angry roar, muffled, distant, he thought in the voice of +Alden. It was stifled, cut off ere it had come to full crescendo, in a +very significant manner. Silence, then, fell about him, the chill +silence of an empty house.</p> + +<p>Cautiously he turned and felt for the door, which he knew to be close +behind him. He was obsessed by a childish, though not unnatural, fear of +falling through some trap.</p> + +<p>He touched the door-knob, turned it. As he had anticipated, the door was +locked. He wondered if there were any windows to this strangely dark +apartment. With his fingers touching the wall, he crept slowly forward, +halting at every other step to listen; but the night gave up no sound.</p> + +<p>The tenth pace brought him to a corner. He turned off at right angles, +still pursuing the wall, and came upon shutters, closely barred. He +pressed on, came to another corner; proceeded, another; and finally +touched the door-knob again.</p> + +<p>This was a square room, apparently, and unfurnished. But what might not +yawn for him in the middle of the floor? He remembered that the river +ran at the end of the garden.</p> + +<p>Pressing his ear to the door, he listened intently.</p> + +<p>Without, absolutely nothing stirred. He drew a quick, sibilant breath, +and turned, planting his back against the door and clenching his fists.</p> + +<p>Suddenly it had been borne in upon his mind that something, someone, was +in the room with him!</p> + +<p>Vainly he sought to peer through the darkness. His throat was parched.</p> + +<p>A dim glow was born in the heart of the gloom. Scarce able to draw +breath, fearing what he might see, yet more greatly fearing to look +away, even for an instant, Mr. Oppner stared and stared. His eyes ached.</p> + +<p>Brighter became the glow, and proclaimed itself a ball of light. It +illuminated the face that was but a few inches removed from it. In the +midst of that absolute darkness the effect was indescribably weird. +Nothing for some moments was visible but just that ball of light and the +dark face with the piercing eyes gleaming out from slits in a silk mask.</p> + +<p>Then the ball became fully illuminated, and Oppner saw that it was some +unfamiliar kind of lamp, and that it rested in a sort of metal tripod +upon a plain deal table, otherwise absolutely bare.</p> + +<p>Save for this table, the lamp, and a chair, the room was entirely +innocent of furniture. Upon the chair, with his elbows resting on the +table, sat a man in evening dress. He was very dark, very well groomed, +and seemingly very handsome; but the black silk half-mask effectually +disguised him. His eyes were arresting. Mr. Oppner did not move, and he +could not look away.</p> + +<p>For he knew that he stood in the presence of Séverac Bablon.</p> + +<p>The latter pushed something across the table in Oppner's direction.</p> + +<p>"Your cheque-book," he said, "and a fountain pen."</p> + +<p>Mr. Oppner gulped; did not stir, did not speak. Séverac Bablon's voice +was vaguely familiar to him.</p> + +<p>"You are the second richest man in the United States," he continued, +"and the first in parsimony. I shall mulct you in one hundred thousand +pounds!"</p> + +<p>"You'll never get it!" rasped Oppner.</p> + +<p>"No? Well let us weigh the possibilities, one against the other. There +have been protests, from rival journals, against the <i>Gleaner's</i> +acceptance of foreign money for British national purposes. This I had +anticipated, but such donations have had the effect of stimulating the +British public. If the cheques already received, and your own, which you +are about to draw, are not directly devoted to the purpose for which +they are intended, I can guarantee that you shall not be humiliated by +their return!"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" sighed Oppner.</p> + +<p>"The <i>Gleaner</i> newspaper has made all arrangements with an important +English firm to construct several air vessels. The materials and the +workmanship will be British throughout, and the vessels will be placed +at the disposal of the authorities. The source of the <i>Gleaner's</i> fund +thus becomes immaterial. But, in recognition of the subscribers, the +vessels will be named 'Oppner I.,' 'Oppner II.,' 'Hague I.,' etc."</p> + +<p>"Yep?"</p> + +<p>"At some future time we may understand one another better, Mr. Oppner. +For the present I shall make no overtures. I have no desire unduly to +mystify you, however. The men whom Mr. Martin of Pinkerton's, found +surrounding this house were not the men from Sullivan's Agency, but +friends of my own. Sullivans were informed at the last moment that the +raid had been abandoned. The car, again, which you observed, is my own. +I caused it to be driven to and fro between here and Richmond Bridge for +your especial amusement, altering the number on each occasion. Finally, +any outcry you may care to raise will pass unnoticed, as The Cedars has +been leased for the purpose of a private establishment for the care of +mental cases."</p> + +<p>"You're holding me to ransom?"</p> + +<p>"In a sense. But you would not remain here. I should remove you to a +safer place. My car is waiting."</p> + +<p>"You can't hold me for ever." Mr. Oppner was gathering courage. This +interview was so very businesslike, so dissimilar from the methods of +American brigandage, that his keen, commercial instincts were coming to +the surface. "Any time I get out I can tell the truth and demand my +money back."</p> + +<p>"It is so. But on the day that you act in that manner, within an hour +from the time, your New York mansion will be burned to a shell, without +loss of life, but with destruction of property considerably exceeding in +value the amount of your donation to the <i>Gleaner</i> fund. I may add that +I shall continue to force your expenditures in this way, Mr. Oppner, +until such time as I bring you to see the falsity of your views. On that +day we shall become friends."</p> + +<p>"Ah!"</p> + +<p>"You may wonder why I have gone to the trouble to make a captive of you, +here, when by means of such a menace alone I might have achieved my +object; I reply that you possess that stubborn type of disposition which +only succumbs to <i>force majeure</i>. Your letter to the <i>Gleaner</i> +explaining your views respecting the Dominion, and proposing that an +air-vessel be christened 'The Canada,' is here, typed; you have only to +sign it. The future, immediate, and distant is entirely in your own +hands, Mr. Oppner. You will remain my guest until I have your cheque and +your signature to this letter. You will always be open to sudden demands +upon your capital, from me, so long as you continue, by your wrongful +employment of the power of wealth, to blacken the Jewish name. For it is +because you are a Jew that I require these things of you."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>THE DAMASCUS CURTAIN</h3> + + +<p>The British public poured contributions into the air-fleet fund with a +lavishness that has never been equalled in history. For, after the +stupendous sums, each one a big fortune in itself, which the Jewish +financiers had subscribed, every man who called himself a Britisher (and +who thought that Britain really needed airships) came forward with his +dole.</p> + +<p>There was a special service held at the Great Synagogue in Aldgate, and +Juda was exalted in public estimation to a dizzy pinnacle.</p> + +<p>One morning, whilst the enthusiasm was at its height, Mr. Oppner rose +from the breakfast table upon hearing the 'phone bell ring.</p> + +<p>"Zoe," he said, "if that's a reporter, tell him I'm ill in bed."</p> + +<p>He shuffled from the room. Since the night of the abortive raid upon The +Cedars he had showed a marked aversion from the society of newspaper +men. Regarding the facts of his donation to the fund he had vouchsafed +no word to Zoe. Closely had the story of his doings at Richmond been +hushed up; as closely as a bottomless purse can achieve such silencing, +but, nevertheless, Zoe knew the truth.</p> + +<p>Sheard was shown in.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," he said hastily, "but I wanted to ask Mr. Oppner if there +is anything in this article"—he held out a proof slip—"that he would +like altered. It's for the <i>Magazine of Empire</i>. They're having +full-page photographs of all the Aero Millionaires, that's what they +call them now!"</p> + +<p>"Can you leave it?" asked Zoe. "He is dressing—and not in a very good +temper."</p> + +<p>"Right!" said Sheard promptly, and laid the slip on the table. "'Phone me +if there is anything to come out. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>Zoe was reading the proof when her father came in again.</p> + +<p>"Newspaper men been here?" he drawled. "Thought so. What a poor old +addle-pated martyr I am."</p> + +<p>"Listen," began Zoe, "this is an article all about you! It quotes Dr. +Herman Hertz, that is to say, it represents you as quoting him! It +says:—</p> + +<p>"'The true Jew is an integral part of the life and spiritual endeavour +of every nation where Providence has allotted his home. And as for the +Jews of this Empire, which is earth's nearest realisation hitherto of +justice coupled with humanity, finely has a noble Anglo-Jewish soldier, +Colonel Goldschmidt, expressed it: "Loyalty to the flag for which the +sun once stood still can only deepen our devotion to the flag on which +the sun never sets."' Is that all right?"</p> + +<p>"H'm!" said Oppner. "Have Rohscheimer and Jesson seen this article?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know!" answered Zoe.</p> + +<p>"Because," explained Oppner, "they've showed their blame devotion to the +flag on which the sun don't set, same as me, and if <i>they</i> can stand it, +my hide's as tough as theirs, I reckon."</p> + +<p>It was whilst Mr. Oppner was thus expressing himself that Sheard, who, +having left the proof at the Astoria, had raced back to the club to keep +an appointment, quitted the club again (his man had disappointed him), +and walked down the court to Fleet Street.</p> + +<p>Mr. Aloys. X. Alden, arrayed in his capacious tweed suit, a Stetson felt +hat, and a pair of brogues with eloquent Broadway welts, liquidated the +business that had detained him in the "Cheshire Cheese" and drifted idly +in the same direction.</p> + +<p>A taxi-driver questioned Sheard with his eyebrows, but the pressman, +after a moment's hesitancy, shook his head, and, suddenly running out +into the stream of traffic, swung himself on a westward bound bus. +Pausing in the act of lighting a Havana cigarette, Alden hailed the +disappointed taxi-driver and gave him rapid instructions. The +broad-brimmed Stetson disappeared within the cab, and the cab darted off +in the wake of the westward bound bus.</p> + +<p>Such was the price that Mr. Thomas Sheard must pay for the reputation +won by his inspired articles upon Séverac Bablon. For what he had learnt +of him during their brief association had enabled that clever journalist +to invest his copy with an atmosphere of "exclusiveness" which had +attracted universal attention.</p> + +<p>As a less pleasant result, the staff of the <i>Gleaner</i>—and Sheard in +particular—were being kept under strict surveillance.</p> + +<p>Sheard occupied an outside seat, and as the bus travelled rapidly +westward, Fleet Street and the Strand offered to his gratified gaze one +long vista of placards:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"M. DUQUESNE IN LONDON."</p></div> + +<p>That item was exclusive to the <i>Gleaner</i>, and had been communicated to +Sheard upon a plain correspondence card, such as he had learnt to +associate with Séverac Bablon. The <i>Gleaner</i>, amongst all London's +news-sheets, alone could inform a public, strung to a tense pitch of +excitement, that M. Duquesne, of the Paris police, was staying at the +Hotel Astoria, in connection with the Séverac Bablon case.</p> + +<p>As the bus stopped outside Charing Cross Station, Sheard took a quick +and anxious look back down the Strand. A taxi standing near the gates +attracted his attention, for, although he could not see the Stetson +inside, he noted that the cab was engaged, and, therefore, possibly +occupied. It was sufficient, in these days of constant surveillance, to +arouse his suspicion; it was more than sufficient to-day to set his +brain working upon a plan to elude the hypothetical pursuer. He had +become, latterly, an expert in detecting detectives, and now his wits +must be taxed to the utmost.</p> + +<p>For he had a correspondence card in his pocket which differed from those +he was used to, in that it bore the address, 70A Finchley Road, and +invited him to lunch with Séverac Bablon that day!</p> + +<p>With the detectives of New York and London busy, and, now, with the +famous Duquesne in town, Sheard well might survey the Strand behind, +carefully, anxiously, distrustfully.</p> + +<p>Séverac Bablon, so far as he was aware, no longer had any actual hold +upon him. There was no substantial reason why he should not hand the +invitation—bearing that address which one man, alone, in London at that +hour cheerfully would have given a thousand pounds to know—to the +proper authorities. But Séverac Bablon had appealed strongly, +irresistibly, to something within Sheard that had responded with warmth +and friendship. Despite his reckless, lawless deeds, the pressman no +more would have thought of betraying him than of betraying the most +sacred charge. In fact, as has appeared, he did not hesitate to aid and +abet him in his most outrageous projects. But yet he wondered at the +great, the incredible audacity of this super-audacious man who now had +entrusted to him the secret of his residence.</p> + +<p>Hastily descending from the bus, he walked quickly forward to the +nearest tobacconist's and turned in the entrance to note if the man who +might be in the taxi would betray his presence.</p> + +<p>He did.</p> + +<p>The Stetson appeared from the window, and a pair of keen grey eyes fixed +themselves upon the door wherein Sheard was lurking.</p> + +<p>A rapid calculation showed the pressman where lay his best chance. +Darting across the road, he dived, rabbit-like, into the burrow of the +Tube, got his ticket smartly, and ran to the stairway. With his head on +a level with the floor of the booking-offices he paused.</p> + +<p>An instant later the canoe-shaped brogues came clattering down from +above. The American took in the people in the hall with one +comprehensive glance, got a ticket without a moment's delay, and jumped +into a lift that was about to descend.</p> + +<p>Two minutes afterwards Sheard was in a cab bound for the house of +Séverac Bablon. The New Journalism is an exciting vocation.</p> + +<p>He discharged the cabman at the corner of Finchley Road, and walked +along to No. 70A.</p> + +<p>Opening the monastic looking gate, he passed around a trim lawn and +stood in the porch of one of those small and picturesque houses which +survive in some parts of red-brick London.</p> + +<p>A man who wore conventional black, but who looked like an Ababdeh Arab, +opened the door before he had time to ring. He confirmed Sheard's guess +at his Eastern nationality by the manner of his silent salutation. +Without a word of inquiry he conducted the visitor to a small room on +the left of the hall and retired in the same noiseless fashion.</p> + +<p>The journalist had anticipated a curious taste in decoration, and he was +not disappointed. For this apartment could not well be termed a room; it +was a mere cell.</p> + +<p>The floor was composed of blocks—or perhaps only faced with layers of +red granite; the walls showed a surface of smooth plaster. An unglazed +window which opened on a garden afforded ample light, and, presumably +for illumination at night, an odd-looking antique lamp stood in a niche. +A littered table, black with great age and heavily carved, and a chair +to match, stood upon a rough fibre mat. There was no fireplace. The only +luxurious touch in the strange place was afforded by a richly Damascened +curtain, draped before a recess at the farther end.</p> + +<p>From the table arose Séverac Bablon, wearing a novel garment strangely +like a bernouse.</p> + +<p>"My dear Sheard," he said warmly and familiarly, "I am really delighted +to see you again."</p> + +<p>Sheard shook his hand heartily. Séverac Bablon was as irresistible as +ever.</p> + +<p>"Take the arm-chair," he continued, "and try to overlook the +peculiarities of my study. Believe me, they are not intended for mere +effect. Every item of my arrangements has its peculiar note of +inspiration, I assure you."</p> + +<p>Sheard turned, and found that a deep-seated, heavily-cushioned chair, +also antique, and which he had overlooked, stood close behind him. An +odd perfume hung in the air.</p> + +<p>"Ah," said Séverac Bablon, in his softly musical voice, "you have +detected my vice."</p> + +<p>He passed an ebony box to his visitor, containing cigarettes of a dark +yellow colour. Sheard lighted one, and discovered it possessed a +peculiar aromatic flavour, which he found very fascinating. Séverac +Bablon watched him with a quizzical smile upon his wonderfully handsome +face.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid there is opium in them," he said.</p> + +<p>Sheard started.</p> + +<p>"Do not fear," laughed the other. "You cannot develop the vice, for +these cigarettes are unobtainable in London. Their history serves to +disprove the popular theory that the use of tobacco was introduced from +Mexico in the sixteenth century. These were known in the East +generations earlier."</p> + +<p>And so, with the mere melody of his voice, he re-established his +sovereignty over Sheard's mind. His extraordinary knowledge of +extraordinary matters occasioned the pressman's constant amazement. From +the preparations made for the reception of the Queen of Sheba at +Solomon's court in 980 <span class="smcap">B.C.</span> he passed to the internal organisation of +the Criminal Investigation Department.</p> + +<p>"I should mention," said Sheard at this point, "that an attempt was made +to follow me here."</p> + +<p>Séverac Bablon waved a long white hand carelessly.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," he replied soothingly. "It is annoying for you, but I give +you my word that you shall not be compromised by <i>me</i>—come, luncheon is +waiting. I will show you the only three men in Europe and America who +might associate the bandit, the incendiary, with him who calls himself +Séverac Bablon."</p> + +<p>He stood up and gazed abstractedly in the direction of the garden. In +silence he stood looking, not at the garden, but beyond it, into some +vaster garden of his fancy. Sheard studied him with earnest curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Will you never tell me," he began abruptly, "who you are really, what +is the source of your influence, and what is your aim in all this wild +business?"</p> + +<p>Séverac Bablon turned and regarded him fixedly.</p> + +<p>"I will," he said, "when the day comes—if ever it does come." A shadow +crept over his mobile features.</p> + +<p>"I am a dreamer, Sheard," he continued, "and perhaps a trifle mad. I am +trying to wield a weapon that my fathers were content to let rust in its +scabbard. For the source of the influence you speak of—its emblem lies +there."</p> + +<p>He pointed a long, thin finger to the recess veiled with its heavy +Damascus curtain.</p> + +<p>"May I see it?"</p> + +<p>The quizzical smile returned to the fine face.</p> + +<p>"Oh, thou of the copy-hunting soul," exclaimed Séverac Bablon. "A day +may come. But it is not to-day."</p> + +<p>He seized Sheard by the arm and led him out into the hall.</p> + +<p>"Look at these three portraits," he directed. "The three great practical +investigators of the world. Mr. Brinsley Monro, of Dearborn Street, +Chicago; Mr. Paul Harley, of Chancery Lane; and last, but greatest, M. +Victor Lemage, of Paris."</p> + +<p>"Is Duquesne acting under his instructions?"</p> + +<p>"M. Lemage took charge of the case this morning."</p> + +<p>Sheard looked hard at Séverac Bablon. Victor Lemage, inventor of the +anthroposcopic system of identification, the greatest living authority +upon criminology, was a man to be feared.</p> + +<p>Séverac Bablon smiled, clapped both hands upon his shoulders, and looked +into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"It is the lighter side of my strange warfare," he said. "I revel in it, +Sheard. It refreshes me for more serious things. This evening you must +arrange to meet me for a few moments. I shall have a 'scoop' to offer +you for the <i>Gleaner</i>. Do not fail me. It will leave you ample time to +get on to Downing Street afterwards. You see, I knew you were going to +Downing Street to-night! Am I not a magician? I shall wire you. If, when +you ring at the door of the house to which you will be directed, no one +replies, go away at once. I will then communicate the news later. And +now—lunch."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>A WHITE ORCHID</h3> + + +<p>Whoever could have taken a peep into a certain bare-looking room at +Scotland Yard some three hours after Sheard had left Finchley Road must +have been drawn to the conclusion that the net was closing more tightly +about Séverac Bablon than he supposed.</p> + +<p>Behind a large, bare table, upon which were some sheets of foolscap, a +metal inkpot, and pens, sat Chief Inspector Sheffield. On three +uncomfortable-looking chairs were disposed Detective Sergeant Harborne, +he of the Stetson and brogues, and M. Duquesne, of Paris. Stetson and +brogues, as became a non-official, observed much outward deference +towards the Chief Inspector in whose room he found himself.</p> + +<p>"We may take it, then," said Sheffield, with a keen glance of his +shrewd, kindly eyes towards the American and the celebrated little +Frenchman, "that Bablon, when he isn't made up, is a man so extremely +handsome and of such marked personality that he'd be spotted anywhere. +We have some reason to believe that he's a Jew. The head of the greatest +Jewish house in Europe has declined to deny, according to M. Duquesne, +that he knows who he is, and"—consulting a sheet of foolscap—"Mr. +Alden, here, from New York, volunteers the information that H. T. +Sheard, of the <i>Gleaner</i>, went to see Bablon this morning. We are aware, +from information by Sir Leopold Jesson, that this newspaper man is +acquainted with B. But we can't act on it. We understand that Bablon has +a house in or near to London. None of us"—looking hard at Alden—"have +any idea of the locality. There are two rewards privately offered, +totalling £3,000—which is of more interest to Mr. Alden than to the +rest of us—and M. Duquesne is advised this morning that his Chief is +coming over at once. Now, we're all as wise as one another"—with a +second hard look at his French confrère and Alden—"so we can all set +about the job again in our own ways."</p> + +<p>After this interesting conference, whereof each member had but sought to +pump the others, M. Duquesne, entering Whitehall, almost ran into a tall +man, wearing a most unusual and conspicuous caped overcoat, silk lined; +whose haughty, downward glance revealed his possession of very large, +dark eyes; whose face was so handsome that the little Frenchman caught +his breath; whose carriage was that of a monarch or of one of the +musketeers of Louis XIII.</p> + +<p>With the ease of long practice, M. Duquesne formed an unseen escort for +this distinguished stranger.</p> + +<p>Arriving at Charing Cross, the latter, without hesitation, entered the +telegraph office. M. Duquesne also recollected an important matter that +called for a telegram. In quest of a better pen he leaned over to the +compartment occupied by the handsome man, but was unable to get so much +as a glimpse of what he was writing. Having handed in his message in +such a manner that the ingenious Frenchman was foiled again, he strode +out, the observed of everyone in the place, but particularly of M. +Duquesne.</p> + +<p>To the latter's unbounded astonishment, at the door he turned and raised +his hat to him ironically.</p> + +<p>Familiar with the characteristic bravado of French criminals, that +decided the detective's next move. He stepped quickly back to the +counter as the polite stranger disappeared.</p> + +<p>"I am Duquesne of Paris," he said in his fluent English to the clerk who +had taken the message, and showed his card. "On official business I wish +to inspect the last telegram which you received."</p> + +<p>The clerk shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Can't be done. Only for Scotland Yard."</p> + +<p>Duquesne was a man of action. He wasted not a precious moment in +feckless argument. It was hard that he should have to share this +treasure with another. But in seven minutes he was at New Scotland Yard, +and in fifteen he was back again to his great good fortune, with +Inspector Sheffield.</p> + +<p>The matter was adjusted. In the notebooks of Messrs Duquesne and +Sheffield the following was written:</p> + +<p>"Sheard, <i>Gleaner</i>, Tudor Street. Laurel Cottage, Dulwich Village, eight +to-night."</p> + +<p>Returning to the Astoria to make arrangements for the evening's +expedition, Duquesne upon entering his room, found there a large-boned +man, with a great, sparsely-covered skull, and a thin, untidy beard. He +sat writing by the window, and, at the other's entrance, cast a slow +glance from heavy-lidded eyes across his shoulder.</p> + +<p>M. Duquesne bowed profoundly, hat in hand.</p> + +<p>It was the great Lemage.</p> + +<p>There were overwhelming forces about to take the field. France, England +and the United States were combining against Séverac Bablon. It seemed +that at Laurel Cottage he was like to meet his Waterloo.</p> + +<p>At twenty-five minutes to seven that evening a smart plain-clothes +constable reported in Chief Inspector Sheffield's room.</p> + +<p>"Well, Dawson?" said the inspector, looking up from his writing.</p> + +<p>"Laurel Cottage, Dulwich, was let by the Old College authorities, sir, +to a Mr. Sanrack a month ago."</p> + +<p>"What is he like, this Mr. Sanrack?"</p> + +<p>"A tall, dark gentleman. Very handsome. Looks like an actor."</p> + +<p>"Sanrack—Séverac," mused Sheffield. "Daring! All right, Dawson, you can +go. You know where to wait."</p> + +<p>Fifteen minutes later arrived M. Duquesne. He had been carpeted by his +chief for invoking the aid of the London police in the matter of the +telegram.</p> + +<p>"Five methods occur to me instantly, stupid pig," the great Lemage had +said, "whereby you might have learnt its contents alone!"</p> + +<p>Heavy with a sense of his own dull powers of invention—for he found +himself unable to conceive one, much less five such schemes—M. Duquesne +came into the inspector's room.</p> + +<p>"Does your chief join us to-night?" inquired Sheffield, on learning that +the famous investigator was in London.</p> + +<p>"He may do so, m'sieur; but his plans are uncertain."</p> + +<p>Almost immediately afterwards they were joined by Harborne, and all +three, entering one of the taxi-cabs that always are in waiting in the +Yard, set out for Dulwich Village.</p> + +<p>The night was very dark, with ample promise of early rain, and as the +cab ran past Westminster Abbey a car ahead swung sharply around +Sanctuary Corner. Harborne, whose business it was to know all about +smart society, reported:</p> + +<p>"Old Oppner's big Panhard in front. Going our way—Embankment is 'up.' I +wonder what his Agency men are driving at? Alden's got something up his +sleeve, I'll swear."</p> + +<p>"I'd like a peep inside that car," said Sheffield.</p> + +<p>Harborne took up the speaking-tube as the cab, in turn, rounded into +Great Smith Street.</p> + +<p>"Switch off this inside light," he called to the driver, "and get up as +close alongside that Panhard ahead as you dare. She's not moving fast. +Stick there till I tell you to drop back."</p> + +<p>The man nodded, and immediately the gear snatched the cab ahead with a +violent jerk. At a high speed they leapt forward upon the narrow road, +swung out to the off-side to avoid a bus, and closed up to the +brilliantly-lighted car.</p> + +<p>It was occupied by two women in picturesque evening toilettes. One of +them was a frizzy haired soubrette and the other a blonde. Both were +conspicuously pretty. The fair girl wore a snow white orchid, splashed +with deepest crimson, pinned at her breast. Her companion, who lounged +in the near corner, her cloak negligently cast about her and one rounded +shoulder against the window, was reading a letter; and Harborne, who +found himself not a foot removed from her, was trying vainly to focus +his gaze upon the writing when the fair girl looked up and started to +find the cab so close. The light of a sudden suspicion leapt into her +eyes as, obedient to the detective's order, the taxi-driver slowed down +and permitted the car to pass. Almost immediately the big Panhard leapt +to renewed speed, and quickly disappeared ahead.</p> + +<p>Harborne turned to Inspector Sheffield.</p> + +<p>"That was Miss Zoe Oppner, the old man's daughter."</p> + +<p>"I know," said Sheffield sharply. "Read any of the letter?"</p> + +<p>"No," admitted Harborne; "we were bumping too much. But there's a +political affair on to-night in Downing Street. I should guess she's +going to be there."</p> + +<p>"Why? Who was the fair girl?"</p> + +<p>"Lady Mary Evershed," answered Harborne. "It's her father's 'do' +to-night. We want to keep an eye on Miss Oppner, after the Astoria Hotel +business. Wish we had a list of guests."</p> + +<p>"If Séverac Bablon is down," replied Sheffield; grimly, "I don't think +she'll have the pleasure of seeing him this evening. But where on earth +is she off to now?"</p> + +<p>"Give it up," said Harborne, philosophically.</p> + +<p>"Oh, she of the golden hair and the white <i>odontoglossum</i>," sighed the +little Frenchman, rolling up his eyes. "What a perfection!"</p> + +<p>They became silent as the cab rapidly bore them across Vauxhall Bridge +and through south-west to south-east London, finally to Dulwich Village, +that tiny and dwindling oasis in the stucco desert of Suburbia.</p> + +<p>Talking to an officer on point duty at a corner, distinguished by the +presence of a pillar-box, was P.C. Dawson in mufti. He and the other +constable saluted as the three detectives left the cab and joined them.</p> + +<p>"Been here long, Dawson?" asked Sheffield.</p> + +<p>"No, sir. Just arrived."</p> + +<p>"You and I will walk along on the far side from this Laurel Cottage," +arranged the inspector, "and M. Duquesne might like a glass of wine, +Harborne, until I've looked over the ground. Then we can distribute +ourselves. We've got a full quarter of an hour."</p> + +<p>It was arranged so, and Sheffield, guided by Dawson, proceeded to the +end of the Village, turned to the left, past the College buildings, and +found himself in a long, newly-cut road, with only a few unfinished +houses. Towards the farther end a gloomy little cottage frowned upon the +road. It looked deserted and lonely in its isolation amid marshy fields. +In the background, upon a slight acclivity, a larger building might +dimly be discerned. A clump of dismal poplars overhung the cottage on +the west.</p> + +<p>"It's been a gate lodge at some time, sir," explained Dawson. "You can +see the old carriage sweep on the right. But the big house is to be +pulled down, and they've let the lodge, temporarily, as a separate +residence. There's no upstairs, only one door and very few windows. We +can absolutely surround it!"</p> + +<p>"H'm! Unpleasant looking place," muttered Sheffield, as the two walked +by on the opposite side. "No lights. When we've passed this next tree, +slip along and tuck yourself away under that fence on the left. Don't +attempt any arrest until our man's well inside. Then, when you hear the +whistle, close in on the door. I'll get back now."</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later, though Laurel Cottage presented its usual sad and +lonely aspect, it was efficiently surrounded by three detectives and a +constable.</p> + +<p>Sheffield's scientific dispositions were but just completed when a +cursing taxi-man deposited Sheard half way up the road, having declined +resolutely to bump over the ruts any further. Dismissing the man, the +keenest copy-hunter in Fleet Street walked alone to the Cottage, all +unaware that he did so under the scrutiny of four pairs of eyes. Finding +a rusty bell-pull he rang three times. But none answered.</p> + +<p>It was at the moment when he turned away that Mr. Alden and an Agency +colleague, who—on this occasion successfully—had tracked him since he +left the <i>Gleaner</i> office, turned the corner by the Village. Seeing him +retracing his steps, they both darted up a plank into an unfinished +house with the agility of true ferrets, and let him pass. As he +re-entered the Village street one was at his heels. Mr. Alden strolled +along to Laurel Cottage.</p> + +<p>With but a moment's consideration, he, taking a rapid glance up and down +the road, vaulted the low fence and disposed himself amongst the unkempt +laurel bushes flanking the cottage on the west. The investing forces +thus acquired a fifth member.</p> + +<p>Then came the threatened rain.</p> + +<p>Falling in a steady downpour, it sang its mournful song through poplar +and shrub. Soon the grey tiled roof of the cottage poured its libation +into spouting gutters, and every rut of the road became a miniature +ditch. But, with dogged persistency, the five watchers stuck to their +posts.</p> + +<p>When Sheard had gone away again, Inspector Sheffield had found himself, +temporarily, in a dilemma. It was something he had not foreseen. But, +weighing the chances, he had come to the conclusion to give the others +no signal, but to wait.</p> + +<p>At seven minutes past eight, by Mr. Alden's electrically lighted +timepiece, a car or a cab—it was impossible, at that distance, to +determine which—dropped a passenger at the Village end of the road. A +tall figure, completely enveloped in a huge, caped coat, and wearing a +dripping silk hat, walked with a swinging stride towards the ambush—and +entered the gate of the cottage.</p> + +<p>M. Duquesne, who, from his damp post in a clump of rhododendrons on the +left of the door had watched him approach, rubbed his wet hands +delightedly. Without the peculiar coat that majestic walk was +sufficient.</p> + +<p>"It is he!" he muttered. "The Séverac!"</p> + +<p>With a key which he must have held ready in his hand, the new-comer +opened the door and entered the cottage. Acting upon a pre-arranged +plan, the watchers closed in upon the four sides of the building, and +Sheffield told himself triumphantly that he had shown sound generalship. +With a grim nod of recognition to Alden, who appeared from the laurel +thicket, he walked up to the door and rang smartly.</p> + +<p>This had one notable result. A door banged inside.</p> + +<p>Again he rang—and again.</p> + +<p>Nothing stirred within. Only the steady drone of the falling rain broke +the chilling silence.</p> + +<p>Sheffield whistled shrilly.</p> + +<p>At that signal M. Duquesne immediately broke the window which he was +guarding, and stripping off his coat, he laid it over the jagged points +of glass along the sashes and through the thickness of the cloth forced +back the catch. Throwing up the glassless frame, he stepped into the +dark room beyond.</p> + +<p>To the crash which he had made, an answering crash had told him that +Detective-sergeant Harborne had effected an entrance by the east window.</p> + +<p>Cautiously he stepped forward in the darkness, a revolver in one hand; +with the other he fumbled for the electric lamp in his breast pocket.</p> + +<p>As his fingers closed upon it a slight noise behind him brought him +right-about in a flash.</p> + +<p>The figure of a man who was climbing in over the low ledge was +silhouetted vaguely in the frame of the broken window.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ah!</i>" hissed Duquesne. "Quick! speak! Who is that?"</p> + +<p>"Ssh! my Duquesne!" came a thick voice. "Do you think, then, I can leave +so beautiful a case to anyone?"</p> + +<p>Duquesne turned the beam of the lantern on the speaker.</p> + +<p>It was Victor Lemage.</p> + +<p>Duquesne bowed, lantern in hand.</p> + +<p>"Waste no moment," snapped Lemage. "Try that door!" pointing to the only +one in the room.</p> + +<p>As the other stepped forward to obey, the famous investigator made a +comprehensive survey of the little kitchen, for such it was. Save for +its few and simple appointments, it was quite empty.</p> + +<p>"The door is locked."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes. I thought so."</p> + +<p>"Hullo!" came Sheffield's voice through the window, "who's there, +Duquesne?"</p> + +<p>"It is M. Lemage. M'sieur, allow me to make known the great Scotland +Yard Inspector Sheffield."</p> + +<p>With a queer parody of politeness, Duquesne turned the light of his +lantern alternately upon the face of each, as he mentioned his name.</p> + +<p>Sheffield bowed awkwardly. For he knew that he stood in the presence of +the undisputed head of his profession—the first detective in Europe.</p> + +<p>"You have not left the front door unguarded, M'sieur the Inspector?" +inquired Lemage sharply.</p> + +<p>"No, Mr. Lemage," snapped Sheffield, "I have not. My man Dawson is +there, with an Agency man, too."</p> + +<p>"Then we surround completely the room in which he is," declared Lemage.</p> + +<p>Such was the case, as a glance at the following plan will show.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/sins159.jpg"><img src="images/sins159.jpg" alt=""/></a> +</div> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + + +<p>"There are, then, three ways," said Lemage. "We may break into the front +room from here, or from the room where is m'sieur your colleague. There +is, no doubt, a door corresponding to this one. The other way is to go +in by the window of that front room, for I have made the observation +that its other window, that opens on the old drive to the east, is +barred most heavily. Do I accord with the views of m'sieur?"</p> + +<p>"Quite," said Sheffield crisply. "We'll work through the front window. +Hullo, Harborne!"</p> + +<p>"Hullo!" came the latter's voice from the next room.</p> + +<p>"Nobody in there?"</p> + +<p>"No. Empty room. Door's locked. What's up on your side?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. Mr. Lemage has joined us. Stand by for squalls. I'm going +round to get in at the front-room window."</p> + +<p>He paused and listened. They all listened.</p> + +<p>The rain droned monotonously on the roof, but there was no other sound.</p> + +<p>Sheffield climbed out and passed around by the poplars and through the +laurel bushes to the front. Dawson and Alden stood by the door. With a +pair of handcuffs the inspector broke the glass, and, adopting the same +method as the Frenchman, used his coat to protect his hands from the +splintered pieces in forcing the catch. The rain came down in torrents. +He was drenched to the skin.</p> + +<p>Seizing the yellow blind, he tore it from the roller, and also pulled +down the curtains. By the light of the bull's-eye lantern which Dawson +carried he surveyed the little sitting-room. Next, with a muttered +exclamation, he leapt through and searched the one hiding-place—beneath +a large sofa—which the room afforded.</p> + +<p>On the common oval walnut table lay a caped overcoat and a rain-soaked +silk hat.</p> + +<p>The two doors—other than that guarded by Dawson and Alden—gave (1) on +the room occupied by Harborne; (2) on the room occupied by Duquesne and +Lemage. The keys were missing. The one window, other than that by which +he had entered, was heavily barred, and in any case, visible from the +front door of the cottage.</p> + +<p>All five had seen their man enter; all had heard the banging door when +Sheffield knocked. No possible exit had been unwatched for a single +instant.</p> + +<p>But the place was empty.</p> + +<p>When the others, having searched painfully every inch of ground, joined +the inspector in the front room, Harborne, taking up the silk-lined +caped overcoat, observed something lying on the polished walnut beneath.</p> + +<p>He uttered a hasty exclamation.</p> + +<p>"Damn!" cried Duquesne at his elbow, characteristically saying the right +thing at the wrong time. "A white <i>odontoglossum crispum</i>, with crimson +spots!"</p> + +<p>Across the table all exchanged glances.</p> + +<p>"He is very handsome," sighed the little Frenchman.</p> + +<p>"That is an extreme privilege," said his chief, shrugging composedly and +lighting a cigarette. "It is so interesting to the women, and they are +so useful. It was the women who restored your English Charles II.—but +they were his ruin in the end. It is a clue, this white orchid, that +inspires in me two solutions immediately."</p> + +<p>M. Duquesne suffered, temporarily, from a slight catarrh, occasioned, no +doubt, by his wetting. But he lacked the courage to meet the drooping +eye of his chief.</p> + +<p>They were some distance from Laurel Cottage when Harborne, who carried +the caped coat on his arm, exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"By the way, who <i>has</i> the orchid?"</p> + +<p>No one had it.</p> + +<p>"M. Duquesne," said Lemage calmly, "of all the stupid pigs you are the +more complete."</p> + +<p>Sheffield ran back. Dawson had been left on duty outside the cottage. +The inspector passed him and climbed back through the broken window. He +looked on the table and searched, on hands and knees, about the floor.</p> + +<p>"Dawson!"</p> + +<p>"Sir?"</p> + +<p>"You have heard or seen nothing suspicious since we left?"</p> + +<p>Dawson, through the window, stared uncomprehendingly.</p> + +<p>"Nothing, sir."</p> + +<p>The white orchid was missing.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>THREE LETTERS</h3> + + +<p>Sheard did not remain many minutes in Downing Street that night. The +rooms were uncomfortably crowded and insupportably stuffy. A vague idea +which his common sense was impotent to combat successfully, that he +would see or hear from Séverac Bablon amidst that political crush proved +to be fallacious—as common sense had argued. He wondered why his +extraordinary friend—for as a friend he had come to regard him—had +been unable to keep his appointment. He wondered when the promised news +would be communicated.</p> + +<p>That one of the Americans, or two, to whose presence he was becoming +painfully familiar, had followed him since he had left the office he was +well aware. But, as he had thrown off the man who had tried to follow +him to Finchley Road, he was untroubled now. They had probably secured +the Dulwich address; but that was due to no fault of his own, and, in +any case, Bablon seemed to regard all their efforts with complete +indifference. So, presumably, it did not matter.</p> + +<p>On his way out he met two hot and burly gentlemen, rather ill-dressed, +who were hastening in. Instinctively he knew them for detective +officers. Hailing a cab at the corner, he sank restfully into the seat +and felt in his pocket for his cigarette-case. There was a letter there +also, which he did not recollect to have been there before he entered +Downing Street.</p> + +<p>In some excitement he took it out and opened the plain envelope.</p> + +<p>It contained a correspondence-card and a letter. Both of these, and a +third letter which reached its destination on the following morning, +whilst all England and all France were discussing the amazing +circumstances set forth in No. 2, are appended in full.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>No. 1</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">My dear Sheard</span>,—I enclose the promised 'exclusive to the +<i>Gleaner</i>.' It will appear in no other paper of London, but in two +of Paris, to-morrow. Forgive me for sending you to Dulwich. I did +so for a private purpose of my own, and rely upon your generous +friendship to excuse the liberty. I write this prior to visiting +Downing Street, where it will be quite impossible, amongst so many +people, to speak to you. Do not fear that there exists any evidence +of complicity between us. I assure you that you are safe."</p></div> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>No. 2</p> + +<p>"To the Editor of the <i>Gleaner</i>.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—I desire to show myself, as always, a man of honour, and +presume to request the freedom of your most valuable columns for +that purpose. I address myself to the British public through the +medium of the <i>Gleaner</i> as the most liberal journal in London, and +that most opposed to government by plutocracy.</p> + +<p>As the inventor of the digital system of identification, of the +anthroposcopic method, and of the <i>Code</i> which bears my name, I am +known to your readers, as well as for my years of labour against +criminals of all classes and of all nations. I have been called the +head of my profession, and shall I be accused of vanity if, with my +hand upon my heart, I acknowledge that tribute and say, 'It is well +deserved'?</p> + +<p>"Under date as above, I am resigning my office as Chief of that +department which I have so long directed, being no more in a +position to perform my duties as a man of honour, since I have been +instructed to take charge of what is called 'the Séverac Bablon +case.'</p> + +<p>"It is the first time that my duty to France has run contrary to my +duty to the great, the marvellous man whom you know by that name, +and to whom I owe all that I have, all that I am; whose orders I +may not and would not disregard.</p> + +<p>"By his instructions I performed to-day a little deception upon the +representatives of English law and upon one of my esteemed +colleagues—a most capable and honourable man, for whom I cherish +extreme regard, and whom I would wish to see in the office I now +resign. He is not one of Us, and in every respect is a suitable +candidate for that high post.</p> + +<p>"I was honoured, then, by instructions to impersonate my Leader. No +reference here to my powers of disguise is necessary. I took the +place of him you call Séverac Bablon at a certain Laurel Cottage in +Dulwich. I entered with the key he had entrusted to me, too quickly +to be arrested, if any had tried, and none made the attempt, which +was an error of strategy (see <i>Code</i>, pp. 336-43). All in the dark +I placed his coat and hat upon the table. I overlooked something in +the gloom, but no matter. I correct my errors; it is the Secret. I +was not otherwise disguised. It was not necessary. I waited until +one of those watching broke into the little room at the back. I +stood beside the window. Noiseless as the leopard I stepped behind +him as he entered. I could have slain him with ease. I did not do +so. I proclaimed myself. <i>I</i> was entering, too!</p> + +<p>"Why should I name the man to whom I thus offered the one great +chance of a lifetime? No, I am so old at this game. He overlooked +no more than another must have done—any more than I.</p> + +<p>"But, although outside it poured with rain, my clothes were scarce +wet. How had I watched and kept dry?</p> + +<p>"He did not ask himself. No matter. I gave him his chance. We +French, to-day, are sportsmen!</p> + +<p>"I understand that my Leader brought about this <i>contretemps</i> with +deliberation, in order to terminate my false position, and make +prominent this statement, and I am instructed to remind my +authorities that State secrets of international importance are in +my possession and thus in his. But, lastly, I would assure France +and the world that no blot of dishonour is upon my name because I +have served two masters. My great Leader never did and never will +employ this knowledge to any improper end. But he would have my +Government know something—so very little—of his influence and of +his power. He would have them recall those warrants for his +apprehension that place him on a level with the Apache, the +ruffian; that are an <i>insult</i> to a man who has never done wrong to +a living soul, but who only has exercised the fundamental, the +Divine, the Mosaic Law of <i>Justice</i>.</p> + +<p>"I loved my work and I love France. But I grieve not. Other work +will be given to me. I make my bow; I disappear. Adieu!</p> + +<p>"I am, sir,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Your obedient servant,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"<span class="smcap">Victor Lemage</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">"(late <i>Service de Sûreté</i>)."<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>No. 3</p> + +<p>(Received by Lady Mary Evershed)</p> + +<p>"When, in your brave generosity, you accompanied your friend and +mine on her perilous journey to warn me that Mr. Oppner's +detectives had a plan for my capture, I knew, on the instant when +you stepped into Laurel Cottage, that Miss Oppner had made a wise +selection in the companion who should share her secret. I did not +regret having confided that address to her discretion. The warning +was unnecessary, but I valued it none the less. By an oversight, +for which I reproach myself, a clue to your presence was left +behind, when, but a few minutes before the police arrived, we left +the cottage—which had served its purpose. But another of my good +friends secured it, and I have it now. It is a white orchid. I have +ventured to keep it, that it may remind me of the gratitude I owe +to you both."</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>CLOSED DOORS</h3> + + +<p>"Why can't they open the doors? I can see there are people inside!"</p> + +<p>A muffled roar, like that of a nearing storm at sea, drowned the +querulous voice.</p> + +<p>"Move along here, please! Move on! Move on!"</p> + +<p>The monotonous orders of the police rose above the loud drone of the +angry crowd.</p> + +<p>Motor-buses made perilous navigation through the narrow street. The +hooting of horns on taxi-cabs played a brisk accompaniment to the +mournful chant. Almost from the Courts to the trebly guarded entrance of +the Chancery Legal Incorporated Credit Society Bank stretched that deep +rank of victims. For, at the corner of Chancery Lane, the contents-bill +of a daily paper thus displayed, in suitable order of precedence, the +vital topics of the moment:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>MISS PAULETTE DELOTUS <i>NOT</i> MARRIED</p> + +<p>Australians' Plucky Fight</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">IS SÉVERAC BABLON IN VIENNA</span>?</p> + +<p>BIG CITY BANK SMASH</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">SLUMP IN NICARAGUAN RAILS</span></p></div> + +<p>To some, those closed doors meant the sacrifice of jewellery, of some +part of the luxury of life; to others, they meant—the drop-curtain that +blacked out the future, the end of the act, the end of the play.</p> + +<p>"Move along here, please! Move on! Move on!"</p> + +<p>"All right, constable," said Sir Richard Haredale, smiling unmirthfully; +"I'll move on—and move out!"</p> + +<p>He extricated himself from the swaying, groaning, cursing multitude, and +stepped across to the opposite side of the street. Lost in unpleasant +meditation, he stood, a spruce, military figure, bearing upon his +exterior nothing indicative of the ruined man. He was quite unaware of +the approach of a graceful, fair girl, whose fresh English beauty +already had enslaved the imaginations of some fifty lawyers' clerks +returning from lunch. As ignorant of her train of conquests as Haredale +was ignorant of her presence, she came up to him—and tears gleamed upon +her lashes. She stood beside him, and he did not see her.</p> + +<p>"Dick!"</p> + +<p>The voice aroused him, and a flush came upon his tanned, healthy-looking +face. A beam of gladness and admiration lost itself in a cloud, as +mechanically he raised his hat, and, holding the girl's hand, glanced +uneasily aside, fearing to meet the anxious tenderness in the blue eyes +which, now, were deepened to something nearer violet.</p> + +<p>"It is true, then?" she asked softly.</p> + +<p>He nodded, his lips grimly compressed.</p> + +<p>"Who told you," he questioned in turn, "that I had my poor scrapings in +it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," she said wearily. "And it doesn't matter much, does +it?"</p> + +<p>"Come away somewhere," Haredale suggested. "We can't stand here."</p> + +<p>In silence they walked away from the clamouring crowd of depositors.</p> + +<p>"Move along here, please! Move on! Move on!"</p> + +<p>"Where can we go?" asked the girl.</p> + +<p>"Anywhere," said Haredale, "where we can sit down. This will do."</p> + +<p>They turned into a cheap café, and, finding a secluded table, took their +seats there, Haredale drearily ordering tea, without asking his +companion whether she wanted it or not. It was improbable that Lady Mary +Evershed had patronised such a tea-shop before, but the novelty of the +thing did not interest her in the least. It was only her pride, the +priceless legacy of British womanhood, which enabled her to preserve her +composure—which checked the hot tears that burned in her eyes. For the +mute misery in Haredale's face was more than he could hide. With all his +sang-froid, and all his training to back it, he was hard put to it to +keep up even an appearance of unconcern.</p> + +<p>Presently she managed to speak again, biting her lips between every few +words.</p> + +<p>"Had you—everything—there, Dick?"</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>"I was a fool, of course," he said. "I never did have the faintest idea +of business. There are dozens of sound investments—but what's the good +of whining? I have acted as unofficial secretary to Mr. Julius +Rohscheimer for two years, and eaten my pride at every meal. But—I +<i>cannot</i> begin all over again, Mary. I shall have to let him break +me—and clear out."</p> + +<p>He dropped his clenched fists upon his knees, and under the little table +a hand crept to his. He grasped it hard and released it.</p> + +<p>Mary, with a strained look in her eyes, was drumming gloved fingers on +the table.</p> + +<p>"I detest Julius Rohscheimer!" she flashed. "He is a perfect octopus. +Even father fears him—I don't know why."</p> + +<p>Haredale smiled grimly.</p> + +<p>"But there is <i>someone</i> who could prevent him from ruining your life, +Dick," she continued, glancing down at the table.</p> + +<p>She did not look up for a few moments. Then, as Haredale kept silent, +she was forced to do so. His grey eyes were fixed upon her face.</p> + +<p>"Séverac Bablon? What do you know of him, Mary?"</p> + +<p>She grew suddenly pale.</p> + +<p>"I only know"—hesitating—"that is, I <i>think</i>, he is a man who, however +misguided, has a love of justice."</p> + +<p>Haredale watched her.</p> + +<p>"He is an up-to-date Claude Duval," he said harshly. "It hurts me, +rather, Mary, to hear you approve of him. Why do you do so? I have +noticed something of this before. Do you forget that this man, for all +the romance and mystery that surround him, still is no more than a +common thief—a criminal?"</p> + +<p>Mary's lips tightened.</p> + +<p>"He is not," she said, meeting his eyes bravely. "That is a very narrow +view, Dick-"</p> + +<p>Then, seeing the pain in the grey eyes, and remembering that this man +with whom she disputed had just lost his hopes in life—his hopes of +<i>her</i>—she reached out impulsively and grasped his arm.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dick!" she said; "forgive me! But I am so utterly miserable, dear, +that any poor little straw seems worth grasping at."</p> + +<p>So we must leave them; it was a situation full of poor human pathos. The +emotions surging within these two hearts would have afforded an +interesting study for the magical pen of Charles Dickens.</p> + +<p>But we cannot pause to essay it; the tide of our narrative bears us +elsewhere.</p> + +<p>Mr. J. J. Oppner, the pride of Wall Street, when, his fascinating +daughter, Zoe, beside him, he rose to address his guests at the Hotel +Astoria that evening, would have provided a study equally interesting to +Charles Dickens or to the late Professor Darwin. It would have puzzled +even the distinguished biologist to reconcile the two species, +represented by Mr. Oppner and Zoe, with any common origin. The +millionaire's seamed and yellow face looked like nothing so much as a +magnified section of a walnut. Whilst the girl, with her cloud of +copper-dusted brown hair trapped within an Oriental head-dress, her +piquant beauty enhanced, if that were possible, by the softly shaded +lights, and the bewitching curves revealed by her evening gown borrowing +a more subtle witchery from their sombre environment of black-coated +plutocrats, justified the most inspired panegyric that ever had poured +from the fountain-pen of a New York reporter. Mr. Oppner said:</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen,—We have met this evening for <i>a</i> special purpose. With +everyone's <i>per</i>mission, we will <i>ad</i>journ to another room and see how +we can fix things up for Mr. Séverac Bablon."</p> + +<p>He led the way without loss of time, his small, dried figure lost +between that of John Macready ("the King of Coolgardie"), a stalwart, +iron-grey Irishman, and the unshapely bulk of Baron Hague, once more +perilously adventured upon English soil.</p> + +<p>Sir Leopold Jesson, trim, perfectly groomed, his high, bald cranium +gleaming like the dome of Solomon's temple, followed, deep in +conversation with a red, raw-boned Scotsman, whose features seemed badly +out of drawing, and whose eyebrows suggested shrimps. This was Hector +Murray, the millionaire who had built and endowed more public baths and +institutions than any man since the Emperor Vespasian. Last of all, went +Julius Rohscheimer, that gross figurehead of British finance, saying, +with a satirish smile, to Haredale, who had made an eighth at dinner:</p> + +<p>"You won't mind amusing Miss Oppner, Haredale, till we're through with +this little job? It's out of your line; you'll be more at home here, I'm +sure."</p> + +<p>The room chosen for this important conference was a small one, having +but a single door, which opened on a tiny antechamber; this, in turn, +gave upon the corridor. When the six millionaires had entered, and Mr. +Oppner had satisfied himself that suitable refreshments were placed in +readiness, he returned to the corridor. Immediately outside the door +stood Mr. Aloys. X. Alden.</p> + +<p>"You'll sit right there," instructed Oppner. "The man's bringing a chair +and smokes and liquor, and you'll let nobody in—<i>nobody</i>. We can't be +heard out here, with the anteroom between and both doors shut; there's +only one window, and this is the sixth storey. So I guess our Bablon +palaver will be private, some."</p> + +<p>Alden nodded, bit off the end of a cheroot, and settled himself against +the wall. Mr. Oppner returned to his guests. In another room Zoe and Sir +Richard Haredale struggled with a conversation upon sundry matters +wherein neither was interested in the least. Suddenly Zoe said, in her +impulsive, earnest way:</p> + +<p>"Sir Richard, I know you won't be angry, but Mary is my very dearest +friend; we were at school together, too; and—she told me all about it +this afternoon. I understand what this loss means to you, and that it's +quite impossible for you to remain with Mr. Rohscheimer any longer; that +you mean to resign your commission and go abroad. It isn't necessary for +me to say I am sorry."</p> + +<p>He thanked her mutely, but it was with a certain expectancy that he +awaited her next words. Rumour had linked Zoe Oppner's name with that of +Séverac Bablon, extravagantly, as it seemed to Haredale; but everything +connected with that extraordinary man <i>was</i> extravagant. He recalled how +Mary, on more than one occasion, had exhibited traces of embarrassment +when the topic was mooted, and how she had hinted that Séverac Bablon +might be induced to interest himself in his, Haredale's, financial loss. +Could it be that Mary—perhaps through her notoriously eccentric +American friend—had met the elusive wonder-worker? Haredale, be it +remembered, was hard hit, and completely down. This insane suspicion had +found no harbourage in his mind at any other time; but now, he hugged it +dejectedly, watching Zoe Oppner's pretty, expressive face for +confirmatory evidence.</p> + +<p>"Of course, the bank has failed for more than three millions," said the +girl earnestly; "but, in your own case, can nothing be done?"</p> + +<p>Haredale lighted a cigarette, slightly shaking his head.</p> + +<p>"I shall have to clear out. That's all"</p> + +<p>"Oh!—but—it's real hard to say what I want to say. But—my father has +business relations with Mr. Rohscheimer. May I try to do something?"</p> + +<p>Haredale's true, generous instincts got the upper hand at that. He told +himself that he was behaving, mentally, like a cad.</p> + +<p>"Miss Oppner," he said warmly, "you are all that Mary has assured me. +You are a real chum. I can say no more. But it is quite impossible, +believe me."</p> + +<p>There was such finality in the words that she was silenced. Haredale +abruptly changed the subject.</p> + +<p>An hour passed.</p> + +<p>Two hours passed.</p> + +<p>Zoe began to grow concerned on her father's behalf. He was in poor +health, and his physician's orders were imperative upon the point of +avoiding business.</p> + +<p>Half-way through the third hour she made up her mind.</p> + +<p>"He has wasted his time long enough," she pronounced firmly—and the +expression struck Haredale as oddly chosen. "I am going to inform him +that his 'conference' is closed."</p> + +<p>She passed out into the corridor to where Mr. Alden, his chair tilted at +a comfortable angle, and his brogue-shod feet upon a coffee-table which +bore also a decanter, a siphon, and a box of cigars, contentedly was +pursuing his instructions. He stood up as she appeared.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Alden," she said, "I wish to speak to Mr. Oppner."</p> + +<p>The detective spread his hands significantly.</p> + +<p>"I respect your scruples, Mr. Alden," Zoe continued, "but my father's +orders did not apply to me. Will you please go in and request him to see +me for a moment?"</p> + +<p>Perceiving no alternative, Alden opened the door, crossed the little +anteroom, and knocked softly at the inner door.</p> + +<p>He received no reply to his knocking, and knocked again. He knocked a +third, a fourth time. With a puzzled glance at Miss Oppner he opened the +door and entered.</p> + +<p>An unemotional man, he usually was guilty of nothing demonstrative. But +the appearance of the room wrenched a hoarse exclamation from his stoic +lips.</p> + +<p>In the first place, it was in darkness; in the second, when, with the +aid of the electric lantern which he was never without, he had dispersed +this darkness—he saw that <i>it was empty</i>!</p> + +<p>The scene of confusion that ensued upon this incredible discovery defies +description.</p> + +<p>All the telephones in the Astoria could not accommodate the frantic +people who sought them. Messenger boys in troops appeared. Hundreds of +guests ran upstairs and hundreds of guests ran downstairs. Every +groaning lift, ere long, was bearing its freight of police and pressmen +to the scene of the most astounding mystery that ever had set London +agape.</p> + +<p>Soon it was ascertained that the current had been disconnected in some +way from the room where the six magnates had met. But how, otherwise +than through the door, they had been spirited away from a sixth floor +apartment, was a problem that no one appeared competent to tackle; that +they had not made their exit via the door was sufficiently proven by the +expression of stark perplexity which dwelt upon the face of Mr. Aloys. +X. Alden.</p> + +<p>Whilst others came and went, scribbling hasty notes in dog-eared +notebooks, he, a human statue of Amaze, gazed at the open window, +continuously and vacantly. Jostled by the crowds of curious and +interested visitors, he stood, the most surprised man in the two +hemispheres.</p> + +<p>Short of an airship, he could conceive no device whereby the missing six +could have made their silent departure. He was shaken out of his stupor +by Haredale.</p> + +<p>"Pull yourself together, Mr. Alden," cried the latter. "Can't we <i>do</i> +something? Here's half Scotland Yard in the place and nobody with an +intelligent proposal to offer."</p> + +<p>Mr. Alden shook himself, like a heavy sleeper awakened.</p> + +<p>"Where's Miss Oppner?" he jerked.</p> + +<p>Haredale started.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," was his reply; "but I can go and see."</p> + +<p>He forced his way past the knot of people at the door, ignoring +Inspector Sheffield, who sought to detain him. Rapidly he ran through +the rooms composing the suite. In one he met Zoe's maid, wringing her +hands with extravagant emotion.</p> + +<p>"Where is your mistress?"</p> + +<p>"She has gone out, m'sieur. I cannot tell where. I do not know."</p> + +<p>Haredale's heart gave a leap—and seemed to pause.</p> + +<p>He ran to the stairs, not waiting for the overworked lift, and down into +the hall.</p> + +<p>"Has Miss Oppner gone out?" he demanded of the porter.</p> + +<p>"Two minutes ago, sir."</p> + +<p>"In her car?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir. It was not ready. In a cab."</p> + +<p>"Did you hear her directions?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir. But the boy will know."</p> + +<p>The boy was found.</p> + +<p>"Where was Miss Oppner going, boy?" rapped Haredale.</p> + +<p>"Eccleston Square, sir," was the prompt reply.</p> + +<p>The Marquess of Evershed's. Then his suspicions had not been unfounded. +He saw, in a flash of inspiration, the truth. Zoe Oppner had seen in +this disappearance the hand of Séverac Bablon—if, indeed, if she did +not <i>know</i> it for his work. She was anxious about her father. She wished +to appeal to Séverac Bablon upon his behalf. And she had gone—not +direct to the man—but to Eccleston Square. Why? Clearly because it was +Lady Mary, and not herself, who had influence with him.</p> + +<p>Hatless, Haredale ran out into the courtyard. Rohscheimer's car was +waiting, and he leapt in, his grey eyes feverish. "Lord Evershed's," he +called to the man; "Eccleston Square."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3>A CORNER IN MILLIONAIRES</h3> + + +<p>At the moment that Julius Rohscheimer's car turned into the Square, a +girl, enveloped in a dark opera wrap, but whose fair hair gleamed as she +passed the open door, came alone, out of Lord Evershed's house, and +entering a waiting taxi-cab, was driven away.</p> + +<p>"Stop!" ordered Haredale hoarsely through the tube.</p> + +<p>The big car pulled up as the cab passed around on the other side.</p> + +<p>"Follow that cab."</p> + +<p>With which the pursuit commenced. And Haredale found himself trembling, +so violent was the war of emotions that waged within him. His deductions +were proving painfully correct. Through Mayfair and St. John's Wood the +cab led the way; finally into Finchley Road. Fifty yards behind, +Haredale stopped the car as the cab drew up before a gate set in a high +wall.</p> + +<p>Lady Mary stepped out, opened the gate, and disappeared within. Heedless +of the taxi-driver's curious stare, Haredale, a conspicuous figure in +evening dress, with no overcoat and no hat, entered almost immediately +afterwards.</p> + +<p>Striding up to the porch, he was searching for bell or knocker when the +door opened silently, and an Arab in spotless white robes saluted him +with dignified courtesy.</p> + +<p>"Take my card to your master," snapped Haredale, striving to exhibit no +surprise, and stepped inside rapidly.</p> + +<p>The Arab waved him to a small reception room, furnished with a wealth of +curios for which the visitor had no eyes, and retired. As the man +withdrew Haredale moved to the door and listened. He admitted to himself +that this was the part of a common spy; but his consuming jealousy would +brook no restraint.</p> + +<p>From somewhere farther along the hall he heard, though indistinctly, a +familiar voice.</p> + +<p>Without stopping to reflect he made for a draped door, knocked +peremptorily, and entered.</p> + +<p>He found himself in a small apartment, whose form and appointments, even +to his perturbed mind, conveyed a vague surprise. It was, to all intents +and purposes, a cell, with stone-paved floor and plaster walls. An +antique lamp, wherein rested what appeared to be a small ball of light, +unlike any illuminant he had seen, stood upon a massive table, which was +littered with papers. Excepting a chair of peculiar design and a +magnificently worked Oriental curtain which veiled either a second door +or a recess in the wall, the place otherwise was unfurnished.</p> + +<p>Before this curtain, and facing him, pale but composed, stood Lady Mary +Evershed, a sweet picture in a bizarre setting.</p> + +<p>"Has your friend run away, then?" said Haredale roughly.</p> + +<p>The girl did not reply, but looked fully at him with something of scorn +and much of reproach in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I know whose house this is," continued Haredale violently, "and why you +have come. What is he to you? Why do you know him—visit him—shield +him? Oh! my God! it only wanted this to complete my misery. I have, now, +not one single happy memory to take away with me."</p> + +<p>His voice shook upon those last words.</p> + +<p>"Mary," he said sadly, and all his rage was turned to pleading—"what +does it mean? Tell me. I <i>know</i> there is some simple explanation——"</p> + +<p>"You shall hear it, Sir Richard," interrupted a softly musical voice.</p> + +<p>He turned as though an adder had bitten him; the blasé composure which +is the pride of every British officer had melted in the rays of those +blue eyes that for years had been the stars of his worship. It was a +very human young man, badly shaken and badly conscious of his display of +weakness, who faced the tall figure in the tightly buttoned frock-coat +that now stood in the open doorway.</p> + +<p>The man who had interrupted him was one to arrest attention anywhere and +in any company. With figure and face cast in a severely classic mould, +his intense, concentrated gaze conveyed to Haredale a throbbing sense of +<i>force</i>, in an uncanny degree.</p> + +<p>"Séverac Bablon!" flashed through his mind.</p> + +<p>"Himself, Sir Richard."</p> + +<p>Haredale, who had not spoken, met the weird, fixed look, but with a +consciousness of physical loss—an indefinable sensation, probably +mental, of being drawn out of himself. No words came to help him.</p> + +<p>"You have acted to-night," continued Séverac Bablon, and Haredale, +knowing himself in the presence of the most notorious criminal in +Europe, yet listened passively, as a schoolboy to the admonition of his +Head, "you have acted to-night unworthily. I had noted you, Sir Richard, +as a man whose friendship I had hoped to gain. Knowing your trials, +and"—glancing at the girl's pale face—"with what object you suffered +them, I had respected you, whilst desiring an opportunity to point out +to you the falsity of your position. I had thought that a man who could +win such a prize as has fallen to your lot must, essentially, be above +all that was petty—all that was mean."</p> + +<p>Haredale clenched his hands angrily. Never since his Eton days had such +words been addressed to him. He glared at the over-presumptuous +mountebank—for so he appraised him; he told himself that, save for a +woman's presence, he would have knocked him down. He met the calm but +imperious gaze—and did nothing, said nothing.</p> + +<p>"A woman may be judged," continued the fascinating voice, "not by her +capacity for love, but by her capacity for that rarer thing, friendship. +A woman who, at her great personal peril, can befriend another woman is +a pearl beyond price. Knowing me, you have ceased to fear me as a rival, +Sir Richard." (To his mental amazement something that was not of his +mind, it seemed, told Haredale that this was so.) "It remains only for +you to hear that simple explanation. Here it is."</p> + +<p>He handed a note to him. It was as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"You have confided to me the secret of your residence, where I +might see or communicate with you, and I was coming to see you +to-night, but I have met with a slight accident—enough to prevent +me. Lady Mary has volunteered to go alone. I will not betray your +confidence, but our friendly acquaintance cannot continue unless +you <i>instantly</i> release my father—for I know that you have done +this outrageous thing. He is ill and it is very, very cruel. I beg +of you to let him return at once. If you admire true friendship and +unselfishness, as you profess, do this to repay Mary Evershed, who +risks irretrievably compromising herself to take this note—</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Zoe Oppner</span>."</p></div> + +<p>"Miss Oppner, descending the stairs at Lord Evershed's in too great +haste," explained Séverac Bablon, and a new note, faint but perceptible, +had crept into his voice, "had the misfortune to sustain a slight +accident—I am happy to know, no more than slight. Lady Mary brought me +her message. I commit no breach of trust in showing it to you. There is +a telephone in the room at Lord Evershed's in which Miss Oppner remains +at present, and, as you entered, I obtained her spoken consent to do +what I have done."</p> + +<p>"Mary," Haredale burst out, "I know it is taking a mean advantage to +plead that if I had not been so unutterably wretched and depressed I +never could have doubted, but—will you forgive me?"</p> + +<p>Whatever its ethical merits or demerits, it was the right, the one +appeal. And it served.</p> + +<p>Séverac Bablon watched the reconciliation with a smile upon his handsome +face. Though clearly but a young man, he could at will invest himself +with the aloof but benevolent dignity of a father-confessor.</p> + +<p>"The cloud has passed," he said. "I have a word for you, Sir Richard. +You have learnt to-night some of my secrets—my appearance, my +residence, and the identities of two of my friends. I do not regret +this, although I am a 'wanted man.' Only to-night I have committed a +gross outrage which, with the circulation of to-morrow's papers, will +cry out for redress to the civilised world. You are at liberty to act as +you see fit. I would wish, as a favour, that you grant me thirty-six +hours' grace—as Miss Oppner already has done. On my word—if you care +to accept it—I shall not run away. At the end of that time I will again +offer you the choice of detaining me or of condoning what I have done +and shall do. Which is it to be?"</p> + +<p>Haredale did not feel sure of himself. In fact, the episodes of that +night seemed, now, like happenings in a dream—a dream from which he yet +was not fully awakened. He glanced from Mary to the incomprehensible man +who was so completely different from anything he had pictured, from +anything he ever had known. He looked about the bare, cell-like +apartment, illuminated by the soft light of the globe upon the massive +table. He thought of the Arab who had admitted him—of the entire +absence of subterfuge where subterfuge was to be expected.</p> + +<p>"I will wait," he said.</p> + +<p>But in less than thirty-six hours the world had news of Séverac Bablon.</p> + +<p>At a time roughly corresponding with that when Mr. Aloys. X. Alden was +standing, temporarily petrified with astonishment, in a certain room of +the Hotel Astoria, two gentlemen in evening attire burst into a +Wandsworth police station. One was a very angry Irishman, the other a +profane Scot, whose language, which struck respectful awe to the hearts +of two constables, a sergeant, and an inspector—would have done credit +to the most eloquent mate in the mercantile marine.</p> + +<p>He fired off a volley of redundant but gorgeously florid adjectives, +what time he peeled factitious whiskers from his face and shook their +stickiness from his fingers. His Irish friend, with brilliant but less +elaborate comments, struggled to depilate a Kaiser-like moustache from +his upper lip.</p> + +<p>"What are ye sittin' still for-r?" shouted the Scotsman, and banged a +card on the desk. "I'm Hector Murray, and this is John Macready of +Melbourne. We've been held up by the highwaym'n Bablon. Turrn out the +forrce. Turrn out the dom'd diveesion. Get a move on ye, mon!"</p> + +<p>The accumulated power of the three names—Hector Murray, John Macready, +and Séverac Bablon—galvanised the station into sudden activity, and an +extraordinary story, a fabulous story, was gleaned from the excited +gentlemen. It appeared in every paper on the following morning, so it +cannot better be presented here than in the comparatively simple form +wherein it met the eyes of readers of the <i>Gleaner's</i> next issue. Cuts +have been made where the reporter's account overlaps the preceding, or +where he has become purely rhetorical.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>SIX FAMOUS CAPITALISTS KIDNAPPED</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Séverac Bablon Active Again</span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">AMAZING OUTRAGE AT THE ASTORIA</span></p></div> + +<p>Under these heads appeared a full and finely descriptive account of the +happenings already noticed.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>DRAMATIC ESCAPE OF MR. MACREADY AND MR. HECTOR MURRAY</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Special Interview with Mr. Murray</span></p> + +<p>WHERE ARE THE MISSING MAGNATES?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Is Scotland Yard Effete?</span></p> + +<p>From Mr. Hector Murray ... our special representative obtained a +full account of the outrage, which threw much light upon a mystery +that otherwise appeared insoluble. After ... they entered the room +at the Astoria, where they had agreed to discuss a plan of mutual +action against the common enemy of Capital, Mr. Murray informed our +representative that nothing unusual took place for some twenty +minutes or half an hour. Baron Hague had just risen to make a +proposal, when the lights were extinguished.</p> + +<p>As it was a very black night, the room was plunged into complete +darkness. Before anyone had time to ascertain the meaning of the +occurrence, a voice, which our representative was informed seemed +to proceed from the floor, uttered the following words:</p> + +<p>"Let no one speak or move. Mr. Macready place your revolver upon +the table." (Mr. Macready was the only member of the company who +was armed, and, curiously enough, as the voice commenced he had +drawn his revolver.) "Otherwise, your son's yacht, the <i>Savannah</i>, +will be posted missing. Hear me out, every one of you, lest great +misfortune befall those dear to you. Mr. Murray, your sister and +niece will disappear from the Villa Marina, Monte Carlo, within +four hours of any movement made by you without my express +permission. Mr. Oppner, you have a daughter. Believe me, she and +you are quite safe—at present. Baron Hague, Sir Leopold Jesson, +and Mr. Rohscheimer, my agents have orders, which only I can recall +to bring you to Carey Street. I threaten no more than I can carry +out. Give the alarm if it please you ... but I have warned."</p> + +<p>During this most extraordinary speech shadowy shapes seemed to be +flitting about the room. The nature of the threats uttered had, for +the time, quite unmanned the six gentlemen, which is no matter for +surprise. Then, at a muttered command in what Mr. Murray informed +our representative to have been Arabic, four lamps—or, rather, +balls of fire—appeared at the four corners of the apartment. This +bizarre scene, suggestive of nothing so much as an Eastern romance, +was due to the presence of several Arabs in heavy robes, who had in +some way entered in the darkness, and who now stood around the +walls, four of their number holding in their brown hands these +peculiar globular lights, which were of a kind quite new to those +present. (An article by Mr. Pearce Baldry, of Messrs. Armiston, +Baldry & Co., dealing with the possible construction of these +lamps, appears on page 6.)</p> + +<p>Immediately inside the open window stood a tall man in a closely +buttoned frock-coat. He carried no arms, but wore a black silk +half-mask. Mr. Rohscheimer at this juncture rendered the episode +even more dramatic by exclaiming:</p> + +<p>"Good heavens! It's Séverac Bablon!"</p> + +<p>"It is, indeed, Mr. Rohscheimer," said that menace to civilised +society; "so that no doubt you will respect my orders. Mr. +Macready, I do not see your revolver upon the table. I have warned +you twice."</p> + +<p>Mr. Macready, who is not easily intimidated, evidently concluding +that no good could come of resistance at that time, threw the +revolver on to the table and folded his arms.</p> + +<p>"I give you my word," concluded Séverac Bablon, "that no bodily +harm shall come to any one of you so long as you attempt no +resistance. What will now be done is done only by way of +precaution. Any sound would be fatal."</p> + +<p>At a signal to the Arabs the four lights were hidden, and each of +the six gentlemen were seized in the darkness in such a manner that +resistance was impossible. Each had a hand clapped over his mouth, +whilst he was securely gagged and bound by men who evidently had +the arts of the Thug at their fingers' ends. Mr. Murray informed +our representative that so certain were they of Séverac Bablon's +power to perform all that he had threatened that, in his opinion, +no one struggled, with the exception of Mr. Macready, who, however, +was promptly overpowered.</p> + +<p>It was then that they learnt how the Arabs and their master had +entered. For each of the distinguished company, commencing with +Baron Hague, was lowered by a rope to a window on the fifth floor +and drawn in by men who waited there.</p> + +<p>There is no doubt that access had been gained by means of a short +ladder from this lower window; indeed, Mr. Murray saw such a ladder +in use when, all having descended through the darkness, the last to +leave—an Arab—returned by that means. Such was the dispatch and +perfect efficiency of this audacious man's Eastern gang, that Mr. +Murray and his friends were all removed from the upper apartment to +the lower in less than seven minutes. It will be remembered that +the south wing of the Astoria has lately been faced with dark grey +granite, that it was a moonless night, and that the daring +operation could only have been visible, if visible at all, from the +distant Embankment. No hitch occurred whatever; Séverac Bablon's +Arabs exhibited all the agility and quickness of monkeys. It is +illustrative of his brazen methods that he then removed the gags, +and invited his victims to partake of some refreshments, "as they +had a long drive before them."</p> + +<p>Needless to say, they were all severely shaken by their perilous +adventure; and this led to an angry outburst from Mr. Macready, who +demanded a full explanation of the outrage.</p> + +<p>"Sir," was the reply, "it is not for you to ask. As a final warning +to you and to your friends—for the provisions I have made in your +case are no more complete than those which I have made in the +others—permit me to tell you that eight of the twelve men manning +your son's boat including two officers—are under my orders. If any +obstacle be placed in my way by you a wireless message will carry +instructions, though I myself lie in detention, or dead, that the +<i>Savannah</i> be laid upon a certain course. That course, Mr. +Macready, will not bring her into any port known to the Board of +Trade. Shall I nominate the crew? Or are your doubts dispersed?"</p> + +<p>The insight thus afforded them to the far-reaching influence, the +all-pervading power, of this arch-brigand whose presence in our +midst is a disgrace to the police of the world, was sufficient to +determine them upon a passive attitude. A gentleman who seemed very +nervous then appeared, and skilfully disguised all six. Mr. +Rohscheimer mentioned later to Mr. Murray that in this man he had +recognised, beyond any shadow of doubt, a perruquier whose name is +a household word. But this doubtless was but another clever trick +of the master trickster.</p> + +<p>In three parties of two, each accompanied by an Arab dressed in +European clothes, but wearing a tarboosh, they left the hotel. +Disguised beyond recognition, they were conducted to a roomy car of +the "family" pattern, which was in waiting; the blinds were drawn +down, and they were driven away.</p> + +<p>At the end of a rapid drive of about an hour's duration, Messrs. +Murray and Macready were requested by one of the three accompanying +Arabs to alight, and were informed that Séverac Bablon desired to +tender his sincere apologies for the inconvenience to which, +unavoidably, he had put them, and for the evils with which—though +only in the "most sacred interests"—he had been compelled to +threaten them. They were absolved from all obligations and at +liberty now to take what steps they thought fit. With which they +were set down in a lonely spot, and the car was driven away. As our +readers are already well aware, this lonely spot was upon +Wandsworth Common.</p> + +<p>It is almost impossible to credit the fact that six influential men +of world-wide reputation could thus, publicly, be kidnapped from a +London hotel. But in this connection two things must be remembered. +Firstly, for reasons readily to be understood and appreciated, they +offered no resistance; secondly, the presence of so many Orientals +in the hotel occasioned no surprise. A Prince Said Abu-el-Ahzab had +been residing for some time in the apartments below those occupied +by Mr. J. J. Oppner, and the members of his numerous suite are +familiar to all residents. He and his following have disappeared, +but a cash payment of all outstanding accounts has been left +behind. It has been discovered that the light was cut off from one +of the rooms occupied by the ci-devant prince, and the police are +at work upon several other important clues which point beyond doubt +to the fact that "Prince Said Abu-el-Ahzab" was none other than +Séverac Bablon.</p></div> + +<p>During the next twenty-four hours the entire habitable world touched by +cable service literally gasped at this latest stroke of the notorious +Séverac Bablon. Despite the frantic and unflagging labours of every man +that Scotland Yard could spare to the case nothing was accomplished. The +wife or nearest kin of each of the missing men had received a typed +card:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Fear nothing. No harm shall befall a guest of Séverac Bablon."</p></div> + +<p>These cards, which could be traced to no maker or stationer, all had +been posted at Charing Cross.</p> + +<p>Then, in the stop press of the <i>Gleaner's</i> final edition, appeared the +following:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Baron Hague, Sir L. Jesson, Messrs. Rohscheimer and Oppner have +returned to their homes."</p></div> + +<p>It is improbable that in the history of the newspaper business, even +during war-time, there has ever been such a rush made for the papers as +that which worked the trade to the point of general exhaustion on the +following morning.</p> + +<p>Without pausing here to consider the morning's news, let us return to +the Chancery Legal Incorporated Credit Society Bank.</p> + +<p>"Move along here, please. Move on. Move on."</p> + +<p>Again the street is packed with emotional humanity. But what a different +scene is this, although in its essentials so similar. For every face is +flushed with excitement—joyful excitement. As once before, they press +eagerly on toward the bank entrance; but this morning the doors are +<i>open</i>. Almost every member of that crushed and crushing assembly holds +a copy of the morning paper. Every man and every woman in the crowd +knows that the missing financiers have declined, firmly, to afford any +information whatever respecting their strange adventure—that they have +refused, all four of them, point blank either to substantiate or to deny +the sensational story of Messrs. Macready and Murray. "The incident is +closed," Baron Hague is reported as declaring. But what care the +depositors of the Chancery Legal Incorporated? For is it not announced, +also, that this quartet of public benefactors, with a fifth +philanthropist (who modestly remains anonymous) have put up between them +no less a sum than three and a half million pounds to salve the wrecked +bank?</p> + +<p>"By your leave. Make way here. Stand back, <i>if</i> you please."</p> + +<p>Someone starts a cheer, and it is feverishly taken up by the highly +wrought throng, as an escorted van pulls slowly through the crowd. It is +bullion from the Bank of England. Good red gold and crisp notes. It is +dead hopes raised from the dust; happiness reborn, like a ph[oe]nix from +the ashes of misery.</p> + +<p>"Hip, hip, hip, hooray!"</p> + +<p>Again and again, and yet again that joyous cheer awakes the echoes of +the ancient Inns.</p> + +<p>It was as a final cheer died away that Haredale, on the rim of the +throng, felt himself tapped upon the shoulder.</p> + +<p>He turned a flushed face and saw a tall man, irreproachably attired, +standing smiling at his elbow. The large eyes, with their compelling +light of command, held nothing now but a command to friendship.</p> + +<p>"Séverac Bablon!"</p> + +<p>"Well, Haredale!" The musical voice made itself audible above all the +din. "These good people would rejoice to know the name of that anonymous +friend who, with four other disinterested philanthropists, has sought to +bring a little gladness into a grey world. Here am I. And there, on the +bank steps, are police. Make your decision. Either give me in charge or +give me your hand."</p> + +<p>Haredale could not speak; but he took the outstretched hand of the most +surprising bandit the world ever has known, and wrung it hard.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h3>THE TURKISH YATAGHAN</h3> + + +<p>It was about a fortnight later that a City medical man, Dr. Simons, in +the dusk of a spring evening, might have been seen pressing his way +through the crowd of excited people who thronged the hall of Moorgate +Place, Moorgate Street.</p> + +<p>Addressing himself to a portly, florid gentleman who exhibited signs of +having suffered a recent nervous shock, he said crisply.</p> + +<p>"My name, sir, is Simons. You 'phoned me?"</p> + +<p>The florid gentleman, mopping his forehead with a Cambridge-blue silk +handkerchief, replied rather pompously, if thickly:</p> + +<p>"I'm Julius Rohscheimer. You'll have heard of me."</p> + +<p>Everyone had heard of that financial magnate, and Dr. Simons bowed +slightly.</p> + +<p>The two, followed by a murmuring chorus, ascended the stairs.</p> + +<p>"Stand back, please," rapped the physician tartly, turning upon their +following. "Will someone send for the police and ring up Scotland Yard? +This is not a peep-show."</p> + +<p>Abashed, the curious ones fell back, and Simons and Rohscheimer went +upstairs alone. Most of the people employed in those offices left sharp +at six, but a little group of belated workers from an upper floor were +nervously peeping in at an open door bearing the words:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Douglas Graham</span></p></div> + +<p>They stood aside for the doctor, who entered briskly, Rohscheimer at his +heels, and closed the door behind him. A chilly and indefinable +something pervaded the atmosphere of Moorgate Place a something that +floats, like a marsh mist, about the scene of a foul deed.</p> + +<p>The outer office was in darkness, as was that opening off it on the +left; but out from the inner sanctum poured a flood of light.</p> + +<p>Douglas Graham's private office was similar to the private offices of a +million other business men, but on this occasion it differed in one +dread particular.</p> + +<p>Stretched upon the fur rug before the American desk lay a heavily built +figure, face downward. It was that of a fashionably dressed man, one who +had been portly, no longer young, but who had received a murderous +thrust behind the left shoulder-blade, and whose life had ebbed in the +grim red stream that stained the fur beneath him.</p> + +<p>With a sharp glance about him, the doctor bent, turned the body and made +a rapid examination. He stood up almost immediately, shrugging slightly.</p> + +<p>"Dead!"</p> + +<p>Julius Rohscheimer wiped his forehead with the Cambridge silk.</p> + +<p>"Poor Graham! How long?" he said huskily.</p> + +<p>"Roughly, half an hour."</p> + +<p>"Look! look! On the desk!"</p> + +<p>The doctor turned sharply from the body and looked as directed.</p> + +<p>Stuck upright amid the litter of papers was a long, curved dagger, with +a richly ornamented hilt. Several documents were impaled by its crimson +point, and upon the topmost the following had roughly and shakily been +printed:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"VENGENCE IS MINE!</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Séverac Bablon</span>."</p></div> + +<p>Dr. Simons started perceptibly, and looked about the place with a sudden +apprehension. It seemed to Julius Rohscheimer that his face grew pale.</p> + +<p>In the eerie silence of the dead man's room they faced one another.</p> + +<p>The doctor, his straight brows drawn together, looked, again and again, +from the ominous writing to the poor, lifeless thing on the rug.</p> + +<p>"Then, indeed, his sins were great," he whispered.</p> + +<p>Rohscheimer, with his eyes fixed on the dagger, shuddered violently.</p> + +<p>"Let's get out, doctor," he quavered thickly. "My—my nerve's goin'."</p> + +<p>Dr. Simons, though visibly shaken by this later discovery, raised his +hand in protest. He was looking, for the twentieth time, at the words +printed upon the bloodstained paper.</p> + +<p>"One moment," he said, and opened his bag. "Here"—pouring out a draught +into a little glass—"drink this. And favour me with two minutes' +conversation before the police arrive."</p> + +<p>Rohscheimer drank it off and followed the movements of the doctor, who +stepped to the telephone and called up a Gerrard number.</p> + +<p>"Doctor John Simons speaking," he said presently. "Come <i>at once</i> to +Moorgate Place, Moorgate Street. Murder been committed by—Séverac +Bablon. Most peculiar weapon used. The police, no doubt, would value an +expert opinion. You <i>must</i> be here within ten minutes."</p> + +<p>The arrival of a couple of constables frustrated whatever object Dr. +Simons had had in detaining Mr. Rohscheimer, but the doctor lingered on, +evidently awaiting whoever he had spoken to on the telephone. The police +ascertained from Rohscheimer that he had held an interest in the +"Douglas Graham" business, that this business was of an usurious +character, that the dead man's real name was Paul Gottschalk, and that +he, Rohscheimer, found the outer door fastened when he arrived at about +seven o'clock, opened it with a key which he held, and saw Gottschalk as +they saw him now. The office was in darkness. Apparently, valuables had +been taken from the safe—which was open. The staff usually left at six.</p> + +<p>This was the point reached when Detective Harborne put in an appearance +and, with professional nonchalance, took over the investigation. Dr. +Simons glanced at his watch and impatiently strode up and down the +outside office.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later came a loud knocking on the door. Simons opened it +quickly, admitting a most strange old gentleman—tall and +ramshackle—who was buttoned up in a chess-board inverness; whose +trousers frayed out over his lustreless boots like much-defiled lace; +whose coat-sleeves, protruding from the cape of his inverness, sought to +make amends for the dullness of his footwear. He wore a turned-down +collar and a large, black French knot. His hirsute face was tanned to +the uniform hue of a coffee berry; his unkempt grey hair escaped in +tufts from beneath a huge slouched hat; and his keen old eyes peered +into the room through thickly pebbled spectacles.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Lepardo!" cried Simons. "I am glad to see you, sir."</p> + +<p>"Eh? Who's that?" said Harborne, looking out from the inner office, +notebook in hand. "You should not have let anybody in, doctor."</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, Mr. Harborne," replied Simons civilly, "but I have taken the +liberty of asking Doctor Emmanuel Lepardo, whom I chanced to know was in +London, to give an opinion upon the rather odd weapon with which this +crime was perpetrated. He is one of the first authorities in Europe, and +I thought you might welcome his assistance at this early stage of your +inquiry."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said the detective thoughtfully, "that's different. Thank you, +sir," nodding to the new-comer. "I'm afraid your name isn't known to me, +but if you can give us a tip or two I shall be grateful. I wish +Inspector Sheffield were here. These cases are fair nightmares to me. +And now it's got to murder, life won't be worth living at the Yard if we +don't make an arrest."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," said Dr. Lepardo, peering about him, speaking in a most +peculiar, rumbling tone, and with a strong accent. "I would not have +missed such a chance. Where is this dagger? I have just returned from +the Izamal temples of Yucatan. I have brought some fine specimens to +Europe. Obsidian knives. Sacrificial. Beautiful."</p> + +<p>He shuffled jerkily into the private office, seemed to grasp its every +detail in one comprehensive, peering glance, and pounced upon the dagger +with a hoarse exclamation. The Scotland Yard man watched him with +curiosity, and Julius Rohscheimer, in the open door, followed his +movements with a newly awakened interest.</p> + +<p>"True Damascus!" he muttered, running a long finger up the blade. "Hilt, +Persian—not Kultwork—Persian. Yes. Can I pull it out? Yes? Damascened +to within three inches. Very early."</p> + +<p>He turned to the detective, dagger in hand.</p> + +<p>"This is a Turkish yataghan."</p> + +<p>No one appeared to be greatly enlightened.</p> + +<p>"When I say a Turkish yataghan I mean that from a broken Damascus +sword-blade and a Persian dagger handle, a yataghan of the Turkish +pattern has been made. There are stones incrusted in the hilt but the +blade is worth more. Very rare. This was made in Persia for the Turkish +market."</p> + +<p>"One of Séverac Bablon's Arabs," burst in Rohscheimer hoarsely, "has +done this."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes. So? I read of him in Paris. He is in league with the chief of +the Paris detective. Him? So. I meet him once."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" cried Harborne, "Séverac Bablon?"</p> + +<p>Julius Rohscheimer's eyes grew more prominent than usual.</p> + +<p>"No, no. The great Lemage. Lemage of Paris—his accomplice. This dagger +is worth two thousand francs. Let me see if a Turk has been in these +rooms. I meet Victor Lemage on such another occasion with this. He say +to me, 'Dr. Lepardo, come to the Rue So-and-such. A young person is +stabbed with a new kind of knife.' I tell him, 'It is Afghan, M. +Lemage.' He find one who had been in that country, arrest—and it is the +assassin. There is no smell of a Turk here. Ah, yes. The Turk, he have a +smell of his own, as have the negro, the Chinese, the Malay."</p> + +<p>Pulling a magnifying-glass from one bulging pocket of his inverness, Dr. +Lepardo went peering over the writing desk, passing with a grunt from +the bloodstained paper bearing the name of Séverac Bablon to the other +documents and books lying there; to the pigeon-holes; to the chair; to +the rug; to the body. Crawling on all fours he went peering about the +floor, scratching at the carpet with his long nails like some monstrous, +restless cat.</p> + +<p>Harborne glanced at Dr. Simons and tapped his forehead significantly.</p> + +<p>"Humour my friend," whispered the physician. "He may appear mad, but he +is a man of most curious information. Believe me, if any Oriental has +been in these rooms within the last hour he will tell you so."</p> + +<p>Dr. Lepardo from beneath a table rumbled hoarsely:</p> + +<p>"There is a back stair. He went out that way as someone came in."</p> + +<p>Julius Rohscheimer started violently.</p> + +<p>"Good God! Then he was here when <i>I</i> came in!" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Who speaks?" rumbled Lepardo, crawling away into the outside office, +and apparently following a trail visible only to himself.</p> + +<p>"It is Mr. Julius Rohscheimer," explained Simons. "He was a partner, I +understand, of the late Mr. Graham's. He entered with a key about seven +o'clock and discovered the murder."</p> + +<p>"As he came in our friend the assassin go out," cried Lepardo.</p> + +<p>Harborne gave rapid orders to the two constables, both of whom +immediately departed.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure of that, sir?" he called.</p> + +<p>Against the promptings of his common sense, the eccentric methods of the +peculiar old traveller were beginning to impress him.</p> + +<p>"Certainly. But look!"</p> + +<p>Dr. Lepardo re-entered the inner office, carrying several files.</p> + +<p>"See! He begins to destroy these letters. He has certainly taken many +away. If you look you see that he has torn pages from the private +accounts on the desk. He is disturbed by Mr. Someheimer. Can you know +the address of his lady secretary-typist?"</p> + +<p>Harborne's eyes sparkled appreciatively.</p> + +<p>"You're pretty wide at this business, doctor," he confessed. "I'm +looking after her myself. But Mr. Rohscheimer doesn't know, and all the +staff have gone long ago."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" rumbled Dr. Lepardo, dropping his glass into the sack-like pocket. +"No Arab or such person has done this. He was one who wore gloves. So I +no longer am interested. Here"—placing a small object on the desk +beside the yataghan—"is new evidence I find for you. It is a +boot-button—foreign. Ah! if the great Lemage could be here. It is his +imagination that makes him supreme. In his imagination he would murder +again the poor Graham with the yataghan. He would lose his boot-button. +He would run away—as Mr. Heimar comes in—to some hiding-place, taking +with him the bills and the letters he had stolen, and the notes from the +safe. Once in his secret retreat, he would arrest himself—and behold, +in an hour—in ten minutes—his hand would be upon the shoulder of the +other assassin. Ah! such a case would be joy to him. He would revel. He +would gloat."</p> + +<p>Harborne nodded.</p> + +<p>"If Mr. Lemage would come and revel with me for half an hour I +wouldn't say no to learning from him," he said. "But it isn't +likely—particularly considering that this is a Séverac Bablon case."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" rumbled Dr. Lepardo, "you should travel, my friend. You would +learn much of the imagination in the desert of Sahara, in the forests of +Yucatan."</p> + +<p>"You know," continued Harborne, turning to Simons, "these Séverac Bablon +cases—I don't mind admitting it—are over my weight. They bristle with +clues. We get to know of addresses he uses—people he's acquainted +with—and what good does it do us? Not a ha'p'orth. Of course, it's a +fact that he's had influential friends up to now, but this job, unless +I'm mistaken, will alter the complexion of things. What d'you think +Victor Lemage will say to <i>this</i>, Dr. Lepardo?"</p> + +<p>But there was no one to answer, for the man from the forests of Yucatan +had vanished.</p> + +<p>The charwoman of Moorgate Place was the next person to encounter Dr. +Lepardo, and his kindly manner completely won her heart. She had seen +Miss Maitland—the dead man's secretary—regularly go to lunch and +sometimes to tea with a young lady from Messrs. Bowden and Ralph's. The +staff at this firm of stockbrokers was working late, and it was unlikely +that the young lady had left, even yet. Dr. Lepardo expressed his +anxiety to make her acquaintance, and was conducted by the garrulous old +charwoman to an office in Copthall Avenue. The required young lady was +found.</p> + +<p>"My dear," said Dr. Lepardo, paternally, "I have a private matter of +utmost importance to tell to Miss Maitland—to-night. Where shall I find +her?"</p> + +<p>She lived, he was informed, at No. —— Stockwell Road, S.W. He took his +departure, leaving an excellent impression behind him and half a +sovereign in the hand of the charwoman. A torpedo-like racing car was +waiting near Lothbury corner, and therein, Dr. Lepardo very shortly was +whirling southward. The chauffeur negotiated London Bridge in a manner +that filled the hearts of a score of taxi drivers with awe and +wonderment. Stockwell Road was reached in twelve and a half minutes.</p> + +<p>A dingy maid informed Dr. Lepardo that Miss Maitland had just finished +her dinner. Would he walk up?</p> + +<p>Dr. Lepardo walked up and made himself known to the pretty brown-haired +girl who rose to greet him. Miss Maitland clearly was surprised—and a +little frightened—by this unexpected visit. Her glance strayed from the +visitor to a silver-framed photograph on the mantelpiece and back again +to Dr. Lepardo in a curiously wistful way.</p> + +<p>"My dear," he said, and his kindly, paternal manner seemed to reassure +her somewhat, "I have come to ask your help in a——"</p> + +<p>He suddenly stepped to the mantelpiece and peered at the photograph. It +was that of a rather odd-looking young man, and bore the inscription: +"To Iris. Lawrence."</p> + +<p>"Why, yes," he burst out; "surely this is my old friend! Can it be my +old friend—Gardener—Gaston—ah! I have no memory for his name. The +good boy, Lawrence Greely?"</p> + +<p>The girl's eyes opened wildly.</p> + +<p>"Guthrie!" she said, blushing. "You mean Guthrie?"</p> + +<p>"Ah! Guthrie," cried the doctor, triumphantly. "You know my old friend, +Lawrence Guthrie? He is in England?"</p> + +<p>"He has never left it, to my knowledge," said the girl with sudden +doubt.</p> + +<p>"Foolish me," exclaimed Lepardo. "It was his father that lives abroad, +in the East—Bagdad—Cairo."</p> + +<p>"Constantinople," corrected Miss Maitland.</p> + +<p>"Still the old foolish," rumbled her odd visitor. "Always the old fool. +To be certain, it was Constantinople."</p> + +<p>A curious gleam had crept into the keen eyes that twinkled behind the +pebbles.</p> + +<p>"He used to say to me, the Guthrie père, 'I send that boy Turkish pipes +and ornaments and curiosities for his room. I wonder if that bad +fellow'"—Dr. Lepardo poked a jesting finger at the girl—"'I wonder if +he sell them.'"</p> + +<p>"I'm <i>sure</i> he wouldn't," flashed Miss Maitland. Then came a sudden +cloud upon the young face. "That is—I don't think he would—if he could +help it."</p> + +<p>"Ah, those money troubles," sighed the old doctor. "But I quite forgot +my business, thinking of Lawrence. There has been an—accident at your +office, my child. <i>He</i> is quite well. Do not be afraid. Tell me—when +did you leave to-night?"</p> + +<p>Iris Maitland retreated from him step by step, her eyes fixed +affrightedly upon his face. She sank into an arm-chair. The pretty blush +had fled now, and she was very pale.</p> + +<p>"Why," she said tensely, "why have you asked me those questions? You do +not know Lawrence. What has happened? Oh, what has happened?"</p> + +<p>She was trembling now.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she said, "I am afraid of you, Dr. Lepardo. I don't know what you +want. Who are you? But I see now that you have made me tell you all +about him. I will tell you no more."</p> + +<p>"My dear," said Dr. Lepardo, and the rumbling of his voice was kindly, +"a woman has that great gift, intuition. It is true. It is my rule, my +dear, never to neglect opportunity, however slight. When I arrive, +unexpected, you glance at his photograph. You associate him, then, with +the unexpected. I experiment. Forgive me. It is by such leaps in the +dark that great things are won. It is where a little intuition is worth +much wisdom. You are a brave girl, and so I tell you—it is for you to +save Lawrence. If the Scotland Yard Mr. Harborne knew so much as I, +nothing, I fear, could save him. I can do it—<i>I</i>. You shall help me. I +work, my child, as no man has worked before. For great things I work. I +work against time—against the police. I aspire to do the all but +impossible—the wonderful. Only what you call luck and what I call +intuition can make me win. A bargain—you answer me my questions and I +answer you yours?"</p> + +<p>The girl nodded. Her fingers were clutching and releasing the arms of +the chair. Through the odd mask of peering benevolence worn by the brown +old traveller another, inspired, being momentarily had peeped forth.</p> + +<p>"What time did you leave to-night?"</p> + +<p>"A quarter past six."</p> + +<p>"How many appointments had Mr. Graham afterwards? One with Lawrence. +What other?"</p> + +<p>"With Mr. Rohscheimer."</p> + +<p>"No other?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"What time Lawrence?"</p> + +<p>"Directly I left."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Graham did not know you two are acquainted, eh?"</p> + +<p>"He did not."</p> + +<p>"Had you access to his private accounts that he keep in his safe?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"You keep the files?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Who is the most important creditor filed under G? Lawrence?"</p> + +<p>The girl shook her head emphatically.</p> + +<p>"Why, he only owed about fifty pounds," she said. "There were none of +importance under G, except Garraway, the Hon. Claude Garraway and Count +de Guise."</p> + +<p>"Ah! Count de Guise. So quaint a name. He is rich, yes?"</p> + +<p>"Awfully rich. He is selling all the things in his flat and going abroad +for good. There is an advertisement in to-day's paper. His pictures and +things are valued at no less than thirty thousand pounds. I don't know +how his business stood with Mr. Graham; latterly, it had not passed +through my hands at all."</p> + +<p>"And his address?"</p> + +<p>"59b Bedford Court Mansions."</p> + +<p>"And I must see Lawrence too. Where shall I find him?"</p> + +<p>"At Bart's—St. Bartholomew's Hospital. He is studying there. You are +sure to find him there to-night. He is engaged there, I know, up to ten +o'clock."</p> + +<p>Dr. Lepardo took the girl's hand and pressed it soothingly.</p> + +<p>"Do not faint; be a brave girl," he said. "Your employer was killed +shortly after you left."</p> + +<p>Deathly pale, she sat watching him.</p> + +<p>"By—whom?"</p> + +<p>"By Séverac Bablon, so it is written on his desk. It is unfortunate that +Lawrence was there to-night; but I—I am your friend, my child. Are you +going to faint—no?"</p> + +<p>"No," said the girl, smiling bravely.</p> + +<p>"Then good-night."</p> + +<p>He pressed her hand again—and was gone.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h3>M. LEVI</h3> + + +<p>The art of detection, in common with every other art, produces from time +to time a genius; and a genius, whatever else he may be, emphatically is +<i>not</i> a person having "an infinite capacity for taking pains." Such +masters of criminology as Alphonse Bertillon or his famous compatriot, +Victor Lemage, whose resignation so recently had stirred the wide world +to wonder—achieve their results by painstaking labours, yes, but all +those labours would be more or less futile without that elusive element +of inspiration, intuition, luck—call it what you will—which +constitutes genius, which alone distinguishes such men from the other +capable plodders about them. A brief retrospective survey of the +surprising results achieved by Dr. Lepardo within the space of an hour +will show these to have been due to brilliant imagination, deep +knowledge of human nature, foresight, unusual mental activity, and—that +other capacity so hard to define.</p> + +<p>Dr. Lepardo was studying the following paragraph marked by Miss +Maitland:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">For Sale</span>.—Entire furniture, antique, of large flat, comprising +pieces by Sheraton, Chippendale, Boule, etc. Paintings by Greuze, +Murillo, Van Dyck, also modern masters. Pottery, Chinese, Sèvres, +old English, etc. A collection of 500 pieces of early pewter, etc., +etc., etc. The whole valued at over £30,000.</p></div> + +<p>The torpedo-like car had dropped him at Bedford Court Mansions, and, +shuffling up the steps into the hall, he addressed himself to the +porter.</p> + +<p>"Ah, my friend, has the Count de Guise gone out again?"</p> + +<p>"I have not seen him go out, sir."</p> + +<p>"Not since you saw him come in?"</p> + +<p>"Not since then, sir—no."</p> + +<p>"About half-past seven he came in, I think? Yes, about half-past."</p> + +<p>"Quite right, sir."</p> + +<p>Again the odd gleam came into the doctor's eyes, as it had come when, by +one of his amazing leading questions he had learnt that Lawrence +Guthrie's father resided in Constantinople. The doctor mounted to the +first floor. He was about to ring the bell of No. 59b, when another idea +struck him. He descended and again addressed the porter.</p> + +<p>"The Count must be resting. He does not reply. He has, of course, +discharged his servants?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. He leaves England next week."</p> + +<p>"Ah, he is alone."</p> + +<p>Upstairs once more.</p> + +<p>He rang three times before the door was opened to him by a tall, slight +man, arrayed in a blue silk dressing-gown. He had a most pleasant face, +and wore his moustache and beard according to the latest Parisian mode. +He looked about thirty years of age, was fair, blue-eyed, and handsome.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to trouble you so late, Count," said the old doctor, in +perfect French; "but I think I can make you an offer for some, if not +all, of your collection."</p> + +<p>He hunted, peering through a case which apparently contained some dozens +of cards, finally handing the Count the following:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Isidor Levi</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fine Art Expert<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>London and Paris.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Count de Guise hesitated, glanced at his caller, glanced at his watch, +cleared his throat—and still hesitated.</p> + +<p>"If I approve," continued 'Isidor Levi,' "I will hand you a cheque on +the Crédit Lyonnais."</p> + +<p>The Count bowed.</p> + +<p>"Enter, M. Levi. Your name, of course, is known to me."</p> + +<p>Indeed it was a name familiar enough in art circles.</p> + +<p>Dr. Lepardo entered.</p> + +<p>The room into which the Count ushered him was most magnificently +appointed. The visitor's feet sank into the carpet as into banked moss. +Beautiful furniture stood about. Pictures by eminent artists graced the +walls. Statuettes, vases, busts, choice antiques, were everywhere. It +was the room of a wealthy connoisseur, of an æsthete whose delicacy of +taste bordered upon the effeminate. The doctor stared hard at the Count +without permitting the latter to observe that he did so. With his hands +thrust deep in the sack-like pockets of his inverness he drifted from +treasure to treasure—uninvited, from room to room—like some rudderless +craft. The Count followed. In his handsome face it might be read that he +resented the attitude of M. Levi, who behaved as though he found himself +in the gallery of a dealer. Suddenly, before a Van Dyck portrait, the +visitor cried:</p> + +<p>"Ah, a forgery, m'sieur! Spurious."</p> + +<p>Count de Guise leapt round upon him with perfect fury blazing in his +blue eyes. The veins had sprung into prominence upon his forehead, and +one throbbed—a virile blue cord—upon his left temple.</p> + +<p>"M'sieur!"</p> + +<p>He seemed to choke. His sudden passion was volcanic—terrible.</p> + +<p>Dr. Lepardo, still peering, seemed not to heed him; then quickly:</p> + +<p>"Ah, I apologise, I most sincerely apologise. I was misled by the +unusual tone of the brown. But—no, it is undoubted. None other than Van +Dyck painted that ruff."</p> + +<p>The Count glared and quivered, his fine nostrils distended, a while +longer, but swallowed his rage and bowed in acknowledgment of the +apology. Dr. Lepardo was off again upon his voyage of discovery, +drifting from picture to vase, from statuette to buhl cabinet.</p> + +<p>"M'sieur," he rumbled, peering around at de Guise, who now stood by the +fireplace of the room to which the visitor's driftings had led him, his +hands locked behind him. "I think I can propose you for the entire +collection. Is it agreeable?"</p> + +<p>The Count bowed.</p> + +<p>"Ah!"</p> + +<p>M. Levi seated himself at the writing-table—for the room was a +beautifully appointed study—and produced a cheque-book.</p> + +<p>"Twenty thousand pounds, English?"</p> + +<p>The Count laughed contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"Twenty-two?"</p> + +<p>"Do not jest, m'sieur. Nothing but thirty."</p> + +<p>"Twenty-eight is final. It is the price I had determined upon."</p> + +<p>De Guise considered, bit his lip, glanced at the open +cheque-book—always a potent argument—and bowed in his grand fashion. +Lepardo changed his spectacles for a larger pair, reached for a pen, +peering, and overturned a massive inkstand. The ink poured in an oily +black stream across the leathern top of the table.</p> + +<p>"Ah, clumsy!" he cried. "Blotting-paper, quick."</p> + +<p>The other took some from a drawer and sopped up the ink. Lepardo rumbled +apologies, and, when the ink had been dried up, made out a cheque for +£28,000, payable to "The Count de Guise, in settlement for the entire +effects contained in his flat, No. 59b Bedford Court Mansions," signed +it "I. Levi," and handed it to de Guise, who was surveying his inky +hands, usually so spotless, with frowning disfavour.</p> + +<p>The Count took the cheque, and Lepardo stood up.</p> + +<p>"One moment, m'sieur."</p> + +<p>Lepardo sat down again.</p> + +<p>"You have dated this cheque 1928."</p> + +<p>"Ah," cried the other, "always so absent. I had in mind the price, +m'sieur. Believe me, I shall lose on this deal, but no matter. Give it +back to me; I will write out another."</p> + +<p>The second cheque made out, correctly, Lepardo shuffled to the door, +refusing de Guise's offer of refreshments. He was about to pass out on +to the landing when:</p> + +<p>"Heavens! I am truly an absent fool. I wear my writing glasses and have +left my street glasses on your table. One moment. No, I would not +trouble you."</p> + +<p>He shuffled quickly back to the study, to return almost immediately, +glasses in hand.</p> + +<p>"Will seven-thirty in the morning be too early for my men to commence an +inventory?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all."</p> + +<p>"Good night, m'sieur le Comte."</p> + +<p>"Good night, M. Levi."</p> + +<p>So concluded an act in this strange comedy.</p> + +<p>Let us glance for a moment at Thomas Sheard, of the <i>Gleaner</i>, who sat +in his study, his head resting upon his clenched hand, his pipe cold.</p> + +<p>Twelve o'clock, and the household sleeping. He had spent the early part +of the night at Moorgate Place, had written his account of the murder, +seen it consigned to the machines, and returned wearily home. Now, in +the stillness, he was listening; every belated cab whose passing broke +the silence of the night set his heart beating, for he was +listening—listening for Séverac Bablon.</p> + +<p>His faith was shaken.</p> + +<p>He had been content to know himself the confidant of the man who had +taken from Park Lane to give to the Embankment; of the man who had +kidnapped four great millionaires and compelled them each to bear an +equal share with himself, towards salving a wrecked bank; of the man, +who assisted by M. Lemage, the first detective in Europe, had hoodwinked +Scotland Yard. But the thought that he had called "friend" the man who +had murdered, or caused to be murdered, Douglas Graham—whatever had +been the dead man's character—was dreadful—terrifying.</p> + +<p>It meant? It meant that if Séverac Bablon did not come, and come that +night, to clear himself, then he, Sheard, must confess to his knowledge +of him—must, at whatever personal cost, give every assistance in his +power to those who sought to apprehend the murderer.</p> + +<p>A key turned in the lock of the front door.</p> + +<p>Sheard started to his feet. A soft step in the hall—and Séverac Bablon +entered.</p> + +<p>The journalist could find no words to greet him; but he stood watching +the fine masterful face. There was a new, eager look in the long, dark +eyes.</p> + +<p>Séverac Bablon extended his hand. Sheard shook his head and resting his +elbow on the mantelpiece, looked down into the dying embers of the fire.</p> + +<p>"You, too, my friend?"</p> + +<p>Sheard turned impulsively.</p> + +<p>"Tell me you are in no way implicated in that ghastly crime!" he burst +out. "Only tell me, and I shall be satisfied."</p> + +<p>Séverac Bablon stepped quickly forward, grasped him by both shoulders +and looked hard into his eyes with that strange, penetrating gaze that +seemed to pierce through all pretence into the mind beyond.</p> + +<p>"Sheard, in the pursuit of what I—and my poor wisdom may be no better +than a wiser man's folly—of what I consider to be Nature's one +law—Justice, I have braved the laws of man, risked my honour and my +liberty. I have dared to hold the scales, to weigh in the balance some +of the affairs of men. But life, be it that of the lowliest insect, of +the vilest sinner against every code of mankind, is sacred. I—with all +my egotism, with all my poor human vanity—would not dare to rob a +fellow creature of that gift which only God can give, which only God may +take back."</p> + +<p>"Then——"</p> + +<p>"You, who knew me, doubted?"</p> + +<p>Sheard grasped the proffered hand.</p> + +<p>"Forgive my fears," he said warmly; "I should have known. But this +horrible thing has shaken me. I cannot survey murdered corpses with the +calmly professional eye of the Sheffields and Harbornes."</p> + +<p>"It was the work of an enemy, Sheard. There are men labouring, even now, +piecing a false chain together, link by link; searching, spying, toiling +in the dark to prove that the robber, the incendiary, the iconoclast, is +also a murderer. I have need of all my friends to-night."</p> + +<p>With a weary gesture, almost pathetic, he ran his fingers through his +black hair. The shaded light struck greenly venomous sparks from his +ring.</p> + +<p>"This is such a coward's blow as I never had foreseen," he continued; +"but, as I believe, my resources are equal even to this."</p> + +<p>"What! You know the murderer?"</p> + +<p>"If the wrong man is not arrested by some one of the agents of Scotland +Yard, of Mr. Oppner, of Julius Rohscheimer, of Heaven alone knows how +many others that seek, I have hopes that within a few hours, at most, of +the world's learning I am an assassin, the world will learn that I am +not. Can you be ready to accompany me at any hour after 5 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> that I +may come for you?"</p> + +<p>Sheard stared.</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>"Then—to bed, oh, doughty copy-hunter. You still are my friend. That is +all I wished to know. For that alone I came like a thief in the night. +Until I return, au revoir."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h3>"V-E-N-G-E-N-C-E"</h3> + + +<p>At half-past seven on the morning following M. Levi's visit the Count de +Guise opened the door of 59b Bedford Court Mansions to that eccentric +old art expert. M. Levi was accompanied by his partner, a tall, heavily +bearded man, who looked like a Russian, and by two other strangers, one +an alert-eyed, clean-shaven person in a tweed suit, the other a younger +man, evidently Scotch, who carried a little brown bag. These two would +commence an inventory, m'sieur being agreeable.</p> + +<p>Entering the dining-room, with its massive old oak furniture, de Guise, +who found something uncomfortably fascinating in the eye of the partner, +lighted a cigarette and took up a position on the rug before the fire, +hands characteristically locked behind him.</p> + +<p>"This is the Greuze," said Dr. Lepardo, pointing.</p> + +<p>The Count, with the others, turned to look at the picture.</p> + +<p><i>Click! Click!</i></p> + +<p>He was securely handcuffed.</p> + +<p>With an animal scream of rage the Count turned upon Lepardo, the vein +throbbing on his temple, his eyes glaring in maniacal fury. He sought to +speak, but only a slight froth rose to his lips; no word could he utter.</p> + +<p>"Sit down in that chair," said Dr Lepardo.</p> + +<p>With a gurgling scream de Guise's fury found utterance.</p> + +<p>"Release me immediately. What——"</p> + +<p><i>"Sit down!"</i></p> + +<p>De Guise ground his white teeth together. The pulsing vein on his brow +seemed like to burst. He dropped into a chair, trembling and quivering +with passionate anger.</p> + +<p>"You—shall—pay for—this!"</p> + +<p>"My friend," said Lepardo, turning to the man who had carried the bag, +"this gentleman"—nodding at his companion in the tweed suit—"would +like to hear who you are, and for what you visited Moorgate Place last +evening."</p> + +<p>"I am Lawrence Guthrie," explained the young man, "and yesterday, much +against my inclinations, but to prevent Graham's exposing the state of +my affairs to my father, I was forced to leave with him, as security for +fifty pounds, a Turkish yataghan worth considerably more."</p> + +<p>"Stop! When I came to your Bart's last night, what did I tell you?"</p> + +<p>"That Graham had been murdered with my yataghan."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"You said that the crime looked like the work of an old hand, for the +murderer had worn gloves. You told me that you had recognised, in one of +the victim's most important creditors, a notorious French criminal, +André Legun——"</p> + +<p>The Count, deathly pale, his throbbing forehead wet as if douched, drew +a long, hissing breath. His eyes stared glassily at Dr. Lepardo.</p> + +<p>"By what means?"</p> + +<p>"By certain facial peculiarities."</p> + +<p>"Rule 85."</p> + +<p>"And particularly by a vein in his left temple, only visible when he was +roused. You had secured, by a trick——"</p> + +<p>"Article Six."</p> + +<p>"An imprint of his thumb upon a cheque. This you had compared with +certain in your possession—and forwarded to Paris."</p> + +<p>"Unnecessary, but a usual form."</p> + +<p>"You had secured from the grate in his study a pocketful of ash, some +scraps of torn leather—bloodstained—and some few other fragments. +These you and I spent the night examining and arranging. Amongst the +ashes was a patent glove button, also bloodstained."</p> + +<p>"What have I yet to find?"</p> + +<p>"A pair of boots."</p> + +<p>"I depart to find them."</p> + +<p>Dr. Lepardo quitted the room. Count de Guise followed him with his eyes +until he had disappeared. No one spoke nor stirred until the brown old +doctor returned, carrying a pair of glacé kid boots.</p> + +<p>He placed them on the table beside the bag and pointed a long finger at +a gap in one row of buttons.</p> + +<p>"Scotland Yard can complete the set, André," he said with grim humour. +"In this bag are the results of our examination. In your grate are more +ashes and fragments for the English Home Office to check us by. In this +bag is a complete account of how you came to Moorgate Place, knocked at +Gottschalk's door and were admitted. I do not know how you had <i>meant</i> +to kill him, but the yataghan, left on his table by Mr. Guthrie, was +tempting, eh? You then commenced to collect certain letters and papers, +André. You tore from his private book the page containing your little +account. Then you tore out others, to blind us all. You had begun upon +the letter files when you were interrupted by one entering with a key. +That was fortunate. It was file G you had commenced upon, André. And one +of the torn pages was G. So I knew that you were a G, too, my friend. +With what you took from the safe and with the letters and other papers, +you slipped down the back stair you knew of into Copthall Avenue. By my +great good luck, and not by my skill, I get upon your trail. But by my +skill I trap you."</p> + +<p>The prisoner, whose handsome face now had assumed a leaden hue, whose +eyes were set in a fixed stare of horror and hatred, spoke slowly, +clearly.</p> + +<p>"You talk nonsense. You taunt me, to drive me mad. I ask you—who are +you? You are not Levi, you are some spy."</p> + +<p>Dr. Lepardo, or M. Isidor Levi, removed a grey wig and a pair of +spectacles and seemed by some relaxation of the facial muscles, to melt +out of existence, leaving in his place a heavy-eyed man, with stained +skin and thin, straggling hair.</p> + +<p>De Guise, as though an unseen hand pushed him, stepped back—and +back—and back—until a heavy oak chair prevented further retreat. +There—like a mined fortress, hitherto staunch, defiant—he seemed to +crumble up.</p> + +<p>"The good God!" he whispered. "It is <i>Victor Lemage</i>!"</p> + +<p>"André Legun—Chevalier d'Oysan—Comte de Guise," said the famous +criminologist, "Paris wants you, but London now has a better claim. So, +when I have stolen back my cheque from your pocket-book, I hand you over +to London."</p> + +<p>With the bravado of the true French criminal, Legun forced a smile to +his lips.</p> + +<p>"It is finished, Victor," he said, dropping his affected manner and +speaking with an exaggerated low Paris accent. "I am glad it was you, +and not some stupid policeman of England who took me. Well, who cares? I +have had a short life but a merry one. You know, Victor, that my +misfortune in being the son of an aristocrat has pursued me always. I +have such refined tastes, and such a skill with the cards. You recall +the little house near the fortifications? But the inevitable run of bad +luck came. One question. Why"—he glanced at the Russian-looking man +with something like fear creeping again into his bold eyes—"why do you +hunt me down?"</p> + +<p>The black beard and moustache were pulled off in a second by their +wearer, revealing a face of severely classic beauty. Lawrence Guthrie +stared hard.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Guthrie," said the whilom Russian, "behold me at your mercy. You +know me innocent of one, at least, of the sins ascribed to me. I am +Séverac Bablon."</p> + +<p>Guthrie hesitated for one tremendous moment; he looked from the handsome +face of the most notorious man in Europe to that of his companion who +wore the tweed suit, and whom he knew to be H. T. Sheard, the well-known +member of the <i>Gleaner</i> staff. His decision was made. He stretched out +his hand and took that of Séverac Bablon.</p> + +<p>"You ask," said the latter sternly to Legun, "why we have hunted you +down. I answer—first, in the sacred interest of Justice; second, +because you imputed your vile crime to <i>me</i>."</p> + +<p>"What! To <i>you</i>? No! never!"</p> + +<p>Victor Lemage's eyelids lifted quickly.</p> + +<p>"Spell vengeance."</p> + +<p>"V-e-n-g-e-a-n-c-e."</p> + +<p>"My friends," said Lemage, reaching for the wide-brimmed hat of Dr. +Lepardo, "I all but have spoiled this, my greatest case, by a stupid +blunder. I have an early call to make. Advance your packing in my +absence. I shall shortly return."</p> + +<p>And so it happened that Mr. Julius Rohscheimer, in Park Lane, was just +arising when his man brought him a card:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Detective-Inspector Sheffield</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>C.I.D.,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>New Scotland Yard.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Rohscheimer, who looked as though he had spent a poor night, ordered +that Inspector Sheffield be shown up without delay. Immediately +afterwards there came in a tall, black-bearded man, wearing blue +spectacles, an old rain-coat, and a dilapidated silk hat. The drive, +though short, had been long enough to enable Victor Lemage, secure from +observation behind the drawn blinds of Séverac Bablon's big car, to +merge his personality into that of another man, distinct from Dr. +Lepardo—unlike M. Levi.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" blustered Rohscheimer, changing colour, and drawing a +brilliant dressing-gown more closely about him. "Who the blazes are +you?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Ssh!</i> I am Inspector Sheffield—disguised. You will excuse me if, even +here, I continue to impersonate an eccentric French character. You place +yourself within the reach of the law, my friend. You lay yourself open +to the suspicion of murder."</p> + +<p>Julius Rohscheimer swallowed noisily. His flabby face assumed a dingy +hue; his eyes protruded to an unpleasant degree.</p> + +<p>"Here, upon this, my card, write the words, 'Vengeance is mine.'"</p> + +<p>Rohscheimer rose unsteadily; his puffy hands groped as if, feeling +himself slipping, he sought for something to lay hold upon.</p> + +<p>"I swear——"</p> + +<p>"Write!"</p> + +<p>Rohscheimer shakily wrote the words, "<i>Vengence is mine.</i>"</p> + +<p>"No 'a,'" cried Lemage triumphantly, "no 'a'! Of all the stupid pigs I +am he. But I had not given you the credit of such nerve, M. Rohscheimer. +I had forgotten how once you lived the rough life in South Africa. It is +so? I did not think you had the courage to write—though wobbly—those +lying words in presence of the dead Gottschalk. Why did you do it, you +bad, foolish fellow? The yataghan already was stuck in the desk, eh? +That Legun is a fury when the blood thirst is upon him, when the big +vein throb. And you saw the blank paper? Yes? Or you feared that +you—you—the mighty Julius might be suspect? Yes, a little? Principally +you hope that this will spur the police and that <i>he</i> will hang. You +prefer that the real one—who slays your partner—shall go free, if <i>he</i> +can be blackened. You throw sand in the eye of Justice, eh? Well—you +have influence; you shall use it to get yourself made Scotch-free. Very +good. You will now write in a few words how all this is. That or—I have +men outside. It is a public removal to—Good, you will write."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>At about that hour when, at thousands of breakfast tables, horrified +readers learned that Séverac Bablon's Arabs had committed a ghastly +crime in Moorgate Street, a cart drove up to New Scotland Yard, and two +green-aproned individuals both of whom would have been improved +artistically by a clean shave, dragged a heavy packing-case into the +office, said it contained curiosities from Bedford Court Mansions and +was for Inspector Sheffield.</p> + +<p>When, half an hour later, the unwieldy box had been opened, out glared a +bound and gagged man, upon whose left temple there pulsed and throbbed a +dark blue vein!</p> + +<p>Detailed evidence proving that this was the murderer of Gottschalk, his +record, his measurements, his thumb-prints, his boots, a number of tubes +containing scraps of stained leather, a number containing ashes, and all +neatly labelled together with a written confession, signed "Julius +Rohscheimer," to the authorship of the words "Vengeance is mine" were +also in this box. Finally, there was the following note:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Inspector Sheffield</span>,</p> + +<p>"I enclose herewith André Legun, the man who murdered Paul +Gottschalk, together with sufficient evidence to ensure a +conviction, and completely to exculpate myself. I claim no credit. +We both are indebted to M. Victor Lemage, who not only has +surpassed his own brilliant records in the conduct of this case, +but who kindly assisted me to carry the result of his labours into +the office at New Scotland Yard. We both regretted our inability to +see you personally.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Séverac Bablon.</span>"</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<h3>AN OFFICIAL CALL</h3> + + +<p>The Home Secretary sat before the red-leathern expanse of his +writing-table. Papers of unique political importance were strewn +carelessly about that diplomatic battlefield, for at this famous table +the Right Honourable Walter Belford played political chess. To the right +honourable gentleman the game of politics was a pursuit only second in +its fascinations to the culture of rare orchids. It ranked in that fine, +if eccentric, mind about equal with the accumulating of rare editions, +early printed works, illuminated missals, palimpsests, and other MSS., +or with the delights of the higher photography—a hobby to which Mr. +Belford devoted much attention.</p> + +<p>Visitors to a well-known Sussex coast resort will need no introduction +to Womsley Old Place, the charming seat of that charming man, the Right +Hon. Walter Belford. With a frowning glance at a number of letters +pinned neatly together, Mr. Belford leant back in his heavily padded +chair, and, through his gold-rimmed pince-nez, allowed himself the +momentary luxury of surveying the loaded shelves of the noted Circular +Study wherein he now was seated. The great writing-table, with its +priceless bronze head of Cicero and its luxurious appointments; the +morocco, parchment, the vellum backs of the rare works about; the busts +above the belles-lettres, afforded him visible, if æsthetic enjoyment. +In a gap between two tall bookcases a Persian curtain partially +concealed the glass doors of a huge conservatory. Mr. Belford liked his +orchids near him when at work and not, as lesser men, when at play.</p> + +<p>Sighing gently, he took up the bundle of letters, laid it down again, +and pressed a button.</p> + +<p>"I will see Inspector Sheffield," he said to the footman who came.</p> + +<p>Almost immediately entered a big man, fresh complexioned and of modest +bearing—a man, Mr. Belford determined after one shrewd glance, who, +once he saw his duty clearly, would pursue it through fire and flood, +but who frequently experienced some difficulty in this initial +particular.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, inspector," said the politician genially, and with the +appearance of wishing to hasten a distasteful business. "You would like +to see the three communications which I have received from this man +Bablon?"</p> + +<p>Sheffield, seated on the extreme edge of a big morocco-covered +lounge-chair, nodded deferentially. Mr. Belford took up the bundle of +letters.</p> + +<p>"This," he said, passing one to the man from Scotland Yard, "is that +which I received upon the 28th ultimo."</p> + +<p>Chief-Inspector Sheffield bent forward to the shaded light and ran his +eyes over the following, written in a neat hand upon a plain +correspondence card:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Séverac Bablon begs to present his compliments to His Majesty's +Principal Secretary of State for the Home Department and to request +the honour of a private interview, which, he begs to assure the +right honourable gentleman, would be mutually advantageous. The +words, 'Safe conduct.—W. B.,' together with time and place +proposed, in the agony column of <i>The Times</i>, he will accept as a +sufficient guarantee of the right honourable gentleman's +intentions."</p></div> + +<p>"And this," continued Mr. Belford, selecting a second, "reached me upon +the 7th instant":</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Séverac Bablon begs to present his compliments to His Majesty's +Principal Secretary of State for the Home Department and to urge +upon him the absolute necessity of an immediate interview. He would +respectfully assure the right honourable gentleman that high issues +are at stake."</p></div> + +<p>"Finally," continued the politician, as Sheffield laid the second card +upon the table, "I received this upon the 13th instant—yesterday":</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Séverac Bablon begs to present his compliments to His Majesty's +Principal Secretary of State for the Home Department and to inform +the right honourable gentleman that he having failed to appoint a +time of meeting, Séverac Bablon is forced by circumstances to make +his own appointment, and will venture to present himself at Womsley +Old Place on the evening of the 14th instant, between the hours of +8 and 9."</p></div> + +<p>Mr. Belford leant back in his chair, turning it slightly that he might +face the detective.</p> + +<p>"My information is," he said, in his finely modulated voice, "that you +are personally familiar with the appearance of this Séverac +Bablon"—Sheffield nodded—"but that no one else, or—ah—no one whom we +may call upon—is in a position to identify him. Now, apart from the +fact that I have reason to fear his taking some improper measures to see +me here, this singular case is rapidly assuming a political +significance!" He made the impressive pause of the cultured +elocutionist. "Unofficially, I am advised that there is some wave of +afflated opinion passing through the Semitic races of the Near East—if, +indeed, it has not touched the Moslems. The Secretary for Foreign +Affairs anticipates—I speak as a member of the public—anticipates a +letter from a certain quarter respecting the advisablity of seizing the +person of this man without delay. Had such a letter actually reached my +friend, I had had no alternative but to place the matter in the hands of +the Secret Service."</p> + +<p>Inspector Sheffield fidgeted.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, sir," he said; "but the S.S. could do no more than we are +doing."</p> + +<p>"That I grant you," replied the Home Secretary, with his genial smile; +"but, in the event referred to, no choice would remain to me. Far from +desiring the intervention of another agent, I should regret it, +for—family reasons."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said the inspector; "I was about to—to—approach that side of the +matter, sir."</p> + +<p>Mr. Belford's emotions were under perfect control, but at those words he +regarded the detective with a new interest.</p> + +<p>"You have my respectful attention," he said.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir,"—Sheffield was palpably embarrassed—"there's nothing to be +gained by beating about the bush! Excuse me, sir! But I know, and you +know, that Lady Mary Evershed—your niece, sir—and her American friend, +Miss Zoe Oppner, are——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, inspector?"</p> + +<p>"Are acquainted with Séverac Bablon!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Belford scrutinised Sheffield closely. There was more in the man +than appeared at first sight.</p> + +<p>"Is this regrettable fact so generally known?" he asked rather coldly.</p> + +<p>"No, sir," replied the other; "but if the case went on the Secret +Service Fund it might be compromising!"</p> + +<p>"Do I understand you to mean, inspector, that the discretion of our +political agents is not to be relied upon?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir. But your—private information could hardly be withheld from +them—as it has been withheld from us!"</p> + +<p>Even the politician's studied reserve was not proof against that thrust. +He started. Chief-Inspector Sheffield, after all, was a man to be +counted with. A silence fell between them—to be broken by the Home +Secretary.</p> + +<p>"Your frankness pleases me, Inspector Sheffield."</p> + +<p>The other bowed awkwardly.</p> + +<p>"I perceive that you would make a bargain. I am to take you into my +confidence, and you, in turn, hope to render any employment of the Fund +unnecessary?"</p> + +<p>"Whatever you tell me, sir, will go no farther—not to one other living. +Better confide in me than in a political agent. Then, you can't have +anything more incriminating than this."</p> + +<p>He took a card from his pocket and placed it before Mr. Belford.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"<span class="smcap">To Lady Mary Evershed</span>.</p> + +<p>"I shall always be indebted to you and to Miss Oppner, but I can +assure you of Sir Richard's safety.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Séverac Bablon</span>."</p></div> + +<p>"No one has seen that but myself," continued the detective. "I know +better! But anything further you can let me have, sir, will help me to +get them out of the tangle: that's what I'm aiming at!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Belford's expression had changed when the damning card was placed +before him; but his decision was quickly come to. He opened a drawer of +the writing table.</p> + +<p>"Here," he said, passing a sheet of foolscap to the inspector, "is the +plan of international co-operation which—I will return candour for +candour—the increasing importance of the case renders expedient. It was +drawn up by my friend the Foreign Secretary. It ensures secrecy, +dispatch, and affords no loophole by which Bablon can escape us."</p> + +<p>His manner had grown brisk. The dilettante was lost in the man of +action.</p> + +<p>Inspector Sheffield read carefully through the long document and +returned it to Belford, frowning thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir," he said; "and what else?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Belford smiled thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"You are aware that, owing to the family complications referred to, I +have been employing Mr. Paul Harley, the private detective?"</p> + +<p>Sheffield nodded.</p> + +<p>"He has secured other letters, incriminating a Mr. Sheard, of the staff +of the <i>Gleaner</i>; Sir Richard Haredale, of the —— Guards; Miss Zoe +Oppner; and ... well—you know the worst—my niece, again!" The +inspector drew a long, deep breath.</p> + +<p>"Next to Victor Lemage, who's also an accomplice," he said admiringly, +"I don't mind admitting that Harley is the smartest man in the business. +But in justice to us, sir, you must remember that our hands are tied. A +C.I.D. man isn't allowed to do what Harley can do."</p> + +<p>"I grant it, inspector. Now, having given you my confidence, I rely upon +you to work with me—not against me."</p> + +<p>"I am with you entirely, sir. May I have those letters?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Belford hesitated.</p> + +<p>"It is surely inconsistent with your duty to keep them private?"</p> + +<p>"What about the one in my pocket, sir? That alone is sufficient, if I +wanted to make a scandal. No; I give you my word that no other eye shall +see them."</p> + +<p>The Home Secretary shrugged his shoulders, and taking up the bundle from +which already he had selected Séverac Bablon's three communications, he +placed it in the detective's hands.</p> + +<p>"I rely upon you to keep certain names out of the affair."</p> + +<p>"I give you my word that they shall never be mentioned in connection +with it. You have taken the only course which could ensure that, sir. +May I see the photographs?"</p> + +<p>If the Right Hon. Walter Belford had already revised his first estimate +of Inspector Sheffield, this last request upset it altogether. He +stared.</p> + +<p>"I am glad to enjoy your co-operation, inspector," he said. "I prefer to +know that a man of your calibre is of my camp! You are evidently aware +that Harley has secured an elaborate series of snapshots of persons +known to Miss Oppner and to my niece. Of the several hundreds of persons +photographed, only one negative proved to be interesting. I have +enlarged the photograph myself. Here it is!"</p> + +<p>He took a photograph from the drawer.</p> + +<p>"This gentleman," he continued, "was taken in the act of bowing to Lady +Mary and Miss Oppner at the corner of Bond Street."</p> + +<p>Sheffield glanced at the photograph. It represented a strikingly +handsome man, with dark, curling hair and singularly flashing eyes, who +was in the act of raising his hat.</p> + +<p>"It's Séverac Bablon!" said the inspector simply.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" cried Belford. "So I thought! So I thought!"</p> + +<p>"May I take it with me?"</p> + +<p>"I think not, inspector. You know the man; it is scarcely necessary." +And with a certain displeasure he laid the enlargement upon the table.</p> + +<p>The detective accepted his refusal with one of the awkward bows.</p> + +<p>"Regarding your protection to-night, sir," he said, standing up and +buttoning his coat, "there are six men on special duty round the house, +and no one can possibly get in unseen."</p> + +<p>The Home Secretary, smiling, glanced at his watch. "A quarter to nine!" +he said. "He has fifteen minutes in which to make good his bluff. But I +do not fear interruption."</p> + +<p>Sheffield awkwardly returned the statesman's bow of dismissal, and +withdrew under the patronage of a splendid footman. As the door closed, +Mr. Belford, with a long sigh of relief, stepped to a bookcase and +selected Petronius Arbiter's "<i>Satyricon</i>."</p> + +<p>Book in hand, he slid back the noiseless glass doors of the +conservatory. A close smell of tropical plant life crept into the room, +but this was as frankincense and myrrh to his nostrils. He passed +through and seated himself in a cushioned cane chair amid the rare +flora. Switching on a shaded lamp conveniently hung in this retreat, he +settled down to read.</p> + +<p>For it was a favourite relaxation of the right honourable gentleman's to +bury himself amid exotic blooms, and in such congenial company as that +of the Patrician æsthete, rekindle the torches of voluptuous Rome.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later:</p> + +<p>"Am I nowhere immune from interruption?" muttered Mr. Belford, with the +nearest approach to irritability of which his equable temper was deemed +capable.</p> + +<p>But the next moment his genial smile dawned, as the charming face of his +niece, Lady Mary Evershed, peeped through the foliage.</p> + +<p>"Truman was afraid to interrupt you, uncle, as you were in your cell! +But Inspector Sheffield is asking for you, and seems very excited."</p> + +<p>"Dear me!" said her uncle, glancing at his watch; "but I saw him fifteen +minutes ago! It has just gone nine." Then, recalling Séverac Bablon's +boastful message: "He has not dared to attempt it! Unless—can it be +that he is arrested? Tell Truman to send the inspector here, Mary."</p> + +<p>The girl, with a little puzzled frown on her forehead, withdrew, and +almost immediately a heavy step sounded in the library, and +Chief-Inspector Sheffield, pushing past the footman, burst +unceremoniously into the conservatory. His face was flushed, and his +eyes were angrily bright.</p> + +<p>"We've been hoaxed, sir!" he cried. "We've been hoaxed!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Belford raised a white hand.</p> + +<p>"My dear inspector," he said, "be calm, I beg of you! Will you not take +a seat and explain this matter to me?"</p> + +<p>Sheffield dropped into a chair, but the flow of excited words would not +be stayed nor dammed.</p> + +<p>"He's tricked us again!" he burst out. "I suspect what he wanted, sir, +and I rely on you to give me all the help you can! I know Paul Harley +has got hold of evidence that we couldn't get; but a C.I.D. man can't +spend a week making love to Lady Mary Evershed's maid——"</p> + +<p>"But others are better able to devote that amount of time to my maid, I +suppose?"</p> + +<p>The interruption startled Mr. Belford out of his habitual calm, and +startled the detective into sudden silence.</p> + +<p>Lady Mary stood at the door of the conservatory.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to appear as an eavesdropper," she continued; "but, as a +matter of fact, I had never left the study!"</p> + +<p>"Er—Mary," began the Home Secretary, but for once in a way he was at a +loss for words. He knew from experience that the most obstreperous +friend "opposite" was easier to deal with than a pretty niece.</p> + +<p>"Zoe is here with me, too," said Mary, and the frizzy head of Zoe Oppner +appeared over her friend's shoulder. "We are sorry to have overheard Mr. +Sheffield's words, but I think we have heard too much not to ask to hear +more. Do I understand, inspector, that someone has been spying on my +maid?"</p> + +<p>Inspector Sheffield glanced at the Right Hon. Walter Belford, and read +an appeal in the eyes behind the pince-nez. He squared his shoulders in +a manner that had something admirably manly about it—and told a +straightforward lie.</p> + +<p>"One of the Pinkerton men engaged by Mr. Oppner tried to get some +letters from your maid, I believe; but there's not a scrap of evidence +on the market, so he must have failed!"</p> + +<p>"Evidence of what?" asked Zoe Oppner sharply.</p> + +<p>Mr. Belford nervously tapped his fingers upon the chair-arm.</p> + +<p>"Of your friendship, and Lady Mary's with Séverac Bablon!" replied the +inspector boldly.</p> + +<p>Lady Mary was pale, and her eyes grew wide; but the American girl +laughed with undisguised glee.</p> + +<p>"Séverac Bablon has never done a dirty thing yet," she said. "If we knew +him we should be proud of it! Come on, Mary! Mr. Belford, I'm almost +ashamed of you! You're nearly as bad as pa!"</p> + +<p>They withdrew, and Mr. Belford heaved a great sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, inspector," he said. "Lady Mary would never understand that +I sought only to save her from compromising herself. I am glad that the +letters are in such safe hands as yours."</p> + +<p>"But they're not!" cried Sheffield, leaping excitedly to his feet.</p> + +<p>Gruffness had come into his voice, which the other ascribed to +excitement.</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>An expression of blank wonderment was upon the politician's face.</p> + +<p>"Because I never had them! Because I've never had a scrap of anything in +black and white! Because I've been tied up in an old tool-shed in a +turnip field for the past half-hour! And because the man who marched +through my silly troop a while ago and came in here and got back I don't +know what important evidence—<i>was Séverac Bablon</i>!"</p> + +<p>It was a verbal thunderbolt. Mr. Belford sat with his eyes upon the +detective's face—speechless. And now he perceived minor differences. +The difference in voice he already had noted: now he saw that the eyes +of the real Inspector Sheffield were many shades lighter than those of +the spurious; that the red face was heavier and more rounded. It was +almost incredible, but not quite. He had seen Tree play Falstaff, and +the art of Séverac Bablon was only a shade greater.</p> + +<p>"He's had months to study me!" explained the detective tersely. Then: +"I'm stopping at the 'Golden Tiger,' in the village. I'd been over the +ground in daylight, and I sent the men along first. They were round the +house by half-past seven. Just as I turned the corner out of the High +Street a big grey car overtook me; out jumped two fellows and had a +jiu-jitsu hold on in a second! They gagged me and tied me up inside, all +the time apologising and hoping they weren't hurting me! They drove me +to this shed and left me there. It was five minutes to nine when one of +them came back and untied my hands, giving himself a start while I undid +the rest of the knots. Here I am! Where's Séverac Bablon?"</p> + +<p>The Right Hon. Walter Belford became the man of action again. He pulled +out his watch.</p> + +<p>"Twenty-five minutes since he left the house," he said. "But he may not +have taken the road at once."</p> + +<p>He rang.</p> + +<p>"Truman," he cried to the footman, "the limousine ready—immediately! +This way, inspector!"</p> + +<p>Off he went through the Circular Study, Sheffield following. At the door +Mr. Belford paused—and turned back.</p> + +<p>He bent over his writing-table, searching for his own careful +enlargement of Séverac Bablon's photograph.</p> + +<p>Séverac Bablon had not taken it with him, nor had he returned to the +room.</p> + +<p>But it was gone!</p> + +<p>"Rome divided! Treason in the camp!" he said, <i>sotto voce</i>. Then, aloud: +"This way, inspector!"</p> + +<p>The tower of Womsley Old Place is a conspicuous landmark, to be seen +from distant points in the surrounding country, and visible for some +miles out to sea.</p> + +<p>Mr. Belford raced up the many stairs at a speed which belied the story +of his silver-grey hair, and which left Inspector Sheffield hopelessly +in the rear. When at last the Scotland Yard man dragged weary feet into +the little square chamber at the summit, he saw the Home Secretary with +his eyes to the lens of a huge telescope, sweeping the country-side for +signs of the daring fugitive.</p> + +<p>An unclouded moon bathed the landscape in solemn light. To north, east, +and west rolled the billows of the Downs, a verdant ocean. On the south +the country was wooded, whilst in the south-east might be seen the +gleaming expanse of the English Channel, a molten silver floor, its +distant edge seemingly upholding the pure blue sky dome. Roads inland +showed as white chalk lines, meadows as squares on a chess-board, houses +and farmsteads as chess-men.</p> + +<p>"If he has made for Eastbourne we have lost him!" muttered Mr. Belford. +"If for Newhaven or Lewes we may not be too late. But there is a +possibility——ah! Yes; it is! They are making for Tunbridge +Wells—perhaps for London! Quick, inspector! Don't move the telescope. +On the straight road leading to the Norman church tower! Is that the +car?"</p> + +<p>Sheffield lowered his eye to the glass, and after some little delay got +a sight of a long-bodied, waspish, shape, creeping, insect-wise, along a +white chalk mark. His eye growing more accustomed to the glass, he made +it out for a grey car.</p> + +<p>"There's a chance, sir. It looks about the right cut."</p> + +<p>"This way, inspector! We will take the risk."</p> + +<p>Down the tower stairs they sped, Sheffield stumbling and delaying in the +dark and making better going where the light from a window showed the +stairs clearly.</p> + +<p>"If that is he," panted the Home Secretary, "the motor is not a powerful +one. It is probably one hired for the occasion."</p> + +<p>They came out from the tower into the hall and passed Lady Mary—who +glanced away with an odd expression—and Zoe Oppner. Zoe's pretty face +was flushed, and her breast rose and fell quickly. Her eyes were +sparkling, but she lowered them as the excited pair ran by.</p> + +<p>The chauffeur was ready to start, when Mr. Belford, hatless, leapt on to +a footboard of the throbbing car with the agility of a sailor, Sheffield +more slowly following suit, for he would have preferred an inside berth.</p> + +<p>A man in a blue serge suit touched the inspector's arm.</p> + +<p>"What shall we do, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Wait here."</p> + +<p>The limousine was off.</p> + +<p>"Left! left!" directed Mr. Belford, and the man swung sharply round the +curve and into the lane bordering the gardens of Womsley Old Place.</p> + +<p>"Right!"</p> + +<p>They leapt about again, and were humming along a chalky white road.</p> + +<p>"Left! Straight ahead! Make for the church! Open her out!"</p> + +<p>The pursuit had commenced!</p> + +<p>Some dormant trait in the blood of His Majesty's Principal Secretary of +State for the Home Department had risen above the surface of suave, +polished courtesy which ordinarily passed for the character of the Right +Hon. Walter Belford. The veneer was off, and this was a primitive +Belford, kin of the Roger de Belfourd who had established the fortunes +of the house. The eyes behind the pince-nez were hard and bright; the +fine nostrils quivered with the joy of the chase; and the long, lean +neck, protruding from the characteristically low collar, was strung up +to whipcord tension.</p> + +<p>"Let her go!" he shouted, his silvern hair streaming out grotesquely. +"Cut through Church Lane!"</p> + +<p>"It's an awful road, sir!" The chauffeur's voice was blown back in his +teeth.</p> + +<p>"Damn the road!" said the Right Hon. Walter Belford.</p> + +<p>So, suddenly the powerful machine, spurning the solid earth like some +huge, infuriated brute, leapt sideways, two tyres thrashing empty air, +and went howling through an arch of verdure, between hedges which seemed +to shrink to right and left from its devastating course.</p> + +<p>The man was understood to say something about "Overweighted on her +head."</p> + +<p>"Scissors!" muttered Inspector Sheffield, wedging his bulk firmly +against the front window and clutching at anything that offered. "I hope +there are no police traps on this road!"</p> + +<p>"He delayed for something!" yelled Belford through trumpeted hands. "We +shall catch him by Grimsdyke Farm!"</p> + +<p>Sheffield wondered what that vastly daring man had delayed for. Belford, +with the fact of the missing photograph fresh in his mind, thought he +knew.</p> + +<p>The old Norman church tower came rushing now to meet them; looked down +upon them, each venerable, lichened stone a mockery of this snorting, +ephemeral thing of the Speed Age; and dropped behind to join the other +vague memories which represented six miles of Sussex.</p> + +<p>"Straight ahead now! Grimsdyke!"</p> + +<p>Down swept the white road into a great bowl. Down shrieked the quivering +limousine, and Inspector Sheffield crouched back with an uncomfortable +sinking in the pit of the stomach, such as he had not known since he had +adventured his weighty person on a "joy-ride" at an exhibition.</p> + +<p>From the time they had left Womsley Old Place the speed had been +consistently high, but now it rose to something enormous; increasing +with every ten yards of the slope, it became terrific. The bottom was +reached, and the climb began; but for some time little diminution was +perceptible in their headlong progress. Then it began to tell, and +presently they were mounting the long acclivity at what seemed a +tortoise pace after the breathless drop into the valley.</p> + +<p>The car rose to the brow, and Mr. Belford mounted recklessly beside the +chauffeur, peering ahead under arched palms over the moon-bathed +country-side.</p> + +<p>"There they are! There they are! We shall overtake them at the old +farm!"</p> + +<p>His excitement was intensely contagious. Sheffield, who had been wedged +upon the footboard, rose unsteadily, and, supporting himself with +difficulty, looked along the gleaming ribbon of road.</p> + +<p>There they were! The grey car was clearly discernible now, and even at +that distance he could estimate something of her progress. He exulted to +note that capture was becoming merely a question of minutes!</p> + +<p>Then came a doubt. Suppose it should prove to be the wrong car!</p> + +<p>Nearer they drew, and nearer.</p> + +<p>The fugitives topped a slope, and against the blue sky was silhouetted a +figure which stood upright in the car—the figure of a big man with +raised arms and out-turned elbows. He was peering back, just as Belford +was peering forward.</p> + +<p>"Look at his bowler hat!" yelled Sheffield. "Why, it might be me!"</p> + +<p>"It might!" shouted Mr. Belford; "but it isn't! It's Séverac Bablon!"</p> + +<p>A wood dipped down to the roadside, and its shadows ate up their quarry; +a breathless, nervous interval, and its glooms enveloped Mr. Belford's +party in turn. From out of the darkness the road ahead was clearly +visible. Deserted farm buildings lay scattered in their path where the +trees ended.</p> + +<p>The trees slipped behind, and the old farm rose in front.</p> + +<p>At the gate of the yard stood the grey car—empty!</p> + +<p>"Pull up! Pull up!" cried Mr. Belford.</p> + +<p>But long before the car became stationary he had precipitated himself +into the road.</p> + +<p>Sheffield dropped heavily behind him, and grasped him by the arm.</p> + +<p>"One moment, sir!" he said.</p> + +<p>His voice was calm again. He was quite in his element now. A criminal +had to be apprehended, and the circumstances, though difficult, were not +unfamiliar. But strategy was called for; there must be no hot-headed +blundering.</p> + +<p>"Yes? What is it?" demanded the Home Secretary excitedly.</p> + +<p>"It's this, sir: he'll give us the slip yet, if we don't go slow! Now, +you take charge of the grey car. That's your post, sir. Here—have my +revolver. Step out into the lane there, and see nobody rushes the car!"</p> + +<p>"Good—I agree!" cried Mr. Belford, and took the revolver.</p> + +<p>"You, young fellow," continued the inspector, addressing the chauffeur, +"may know something of the ins and outs of this place. Do you know if +there's a back door to the main building?"</p> + +<p>"There is—yes—down behind that barn."</p> + +<p>"Then pull out a big spanner, or anything handy, and go round there. +When you reach the door, whistle. Stop there unless you hear my whistle +inside or till I come through and join you. If he's not in the main +building we can start on the outhouses. But his escape is cut off all +the time by Mr. Belford—see?"</p> + +<p>"Quite right, inspector! Quite right!" cried Mr. Belford. "Go ahead! I +will get to the car! Go ahead!"</p> + +<p>Off ran the agile politician to his appointed post; and the chauffeur, +armed with a heavy spanner, disappeared in the shadow of the barn. +Sheffield, taking from his breast-pocket an electric torch, strode up to +the doorless entrance of the abandoned farm, and waited.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<h3>GRIMSDYKE</h3> + + +<p>Not a sound disturbed the silence of the deserted place, save when the +slight breeze sighed through the trees of the adjoining coppice, and +swayed some invisible shutter which creaked upon its rusty hinges.</p> + +<p>An owl hooted, and the detective was on the alert in a moment. It was a +well-known signal. Was the owl a feathered one or a human mimic?</p> + +<p>No other sound followed, until the breeze came again, whispered in the +coppice, and shook the shutter.</p> + +<p>Then the chauffeur's whistle came, faintly, and with something tremulous +in its note; for the adventure, though it offered little novelty to the +experience of the Scotland Yard man, was dangerously unique from the +mechanic's point of view. But where the Right Hon. Walter Belford led it +was impolitic, if not impossible, to decline to follow. Yet, the whistle +spoke of a man not over-confident. "Séverac Bablon" was a disturbing +name!</p> + +<p>Sheffield pressed the knob of the torch and stepped into the bare and +dirty room beyond.</p> + +<p>The beam of the torch swept the four walls, with faded paper peeling in +strips from the damp plaster; showed a grate full of rubbish, a battered +pail, and a bare floor littered with debris of all sorts, great cavities +gaping between many of the planks. A cupboard was searched, and proved +to contain a number of empty cans and bottles—nothing else.</p> + +<p>Into the next room went the investigator, to meet with no better +fortune. The third was a big kitchen, empty; the fourth a paved +scullery, also empty—with the chauffeur at the door, holding his +spanner in readiness for sudden assault.</p> + +<p>"Upstairs!" said Sheffield shortly.</p> + +<p>Up the creaking stairs they passed, their footsteps filling the place +with ghostly echoes.</p> + +<p>A square landing offered four doors, all closed, to their consideration.</p> + +<p>Sheffield paused, and listened.</p> + +<p>The owl had hooted again.</p> + +<p>He directed the ray of the torch upon the door on the immediate right of +the stairhead.</p> + +<p>"We're short-handed for this!" he muttered; "but it has to be risked +now. Stay where you are and be on the alert. Watch those other doors." +He tried the handle.</p> + +<p>The door was locked.</p> + +<p>To the next one he passed without hesitation. It yielded to his hand, +and he flashed the light about a bare room, with half of the ceiling +sloping down to the window. In the corner beyond this window a second +door was partly concealed by the recess. The inspector stepped across +the floor and threw the door open.</p> + +<p>Then events moved rapidly.</p> + +<p>Someone literally shot into the room behind him, falling with a crash +that shook the place like thunder. <i>Bang!</i> sounded through the house, +and a key turned in a lock!</p> + +<p>Sheffield spun round like an unwieldy top, and saw the chauffeur +struggling to his feet and rubbing his head vigorously.</p> + +<p>The detective made no outcry, nor did he waste energy by trying a door +he knew to be locked. He stood, keenly alert, and listened.</p> + +<p>Footsteps rapidly receded down the stairs.</p> + +<p>"Who did it? How did he get behind me?" muttered the dazed chauffeur.</p> + +<p>"Out of one of the other rooms! I told you to watch them!"</p> + +<p>Inspector Sheffield was angry, but he had not lost his presence of mind.</p> + +<p>"We must get out—quick! The window!"</p> + +<p>He leapt to the low window, throwing it open.</p> + +<p>"Too far to drop! We've got to smash the door! Perhaps they've left the +key in the lock! Set to on the panel with that bit of iron of yours!"</p> + +<p>The man began a vigorous assault upon the woodwork. It was old, but very +tough, and yielded tardily to the blows of the instrument. Then a big +crack appeared as the result of a stroke shrewdly planted.</p> + +<p>"Stand away!" directed Sheffield; and leaning back upon his left foot, +he dashed his right upon the broken panel, shattering it effectually.</p> + +<p>At the moment that the chauffeur thrust his hand through the jagged +aperture to seek for the key, <i>thud! thud! thud!</i> came from the lane +below.</p> + +<p>"That's the car!" cried the inspector. "My God! what have they done to +Mr. Belford?"</p> + +<p>The other paused and listened intently.</p> + +<p>"It's the grey car," he said. "Why didn't they take the guv'nor's?"</p> + +<p>"Open the door!" cried Sheffield impatiently. "Is the key there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," was the reply; "here we are!" And the door was opened.</p> + +<p>Sheffield started down the stairs with noisy clatter, and, the chauffeur +a good second, raced through the rooms below and out into the yard.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Belford! Mr. Belford!" he cried.</p> + +<p>But no answer came, only a whisper from the coppice, followed by the +squeak of the crazy shutter.</p> + +<p>They ran out to where they had left Belford on guard over the grey car; +but no sign of him remained, nor evidence of a struggle. The hum of the +retreating motor grew faint in the distance.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" cried Sheffield, and started running towards Mr. Belford's +limousine on the edge of the coppice. "Quick! don't you see? <i>He's +kidnapped!</i> In you go! This just about sees me out at Scotland Yard if +we don't overtake them!"</p> + +<p>"They've gone back the way we've just come!" said the chauffeur, hurling +himself on board. "I can't make out where they're going—and I can't +make out why they took the worst car! It's an old crock, hired from +Lewes. We can run it down inside five minutes!"</p> + +<p>"Thank God for that!" said Sheffield, as, for the second time that +night, he set out across moonlit Sussex on the front of the big car, in +pursuit of the most elusive man who ever had baffled the Criminal +Investigation Department.</p> + +<p>Visions of degradation to the ranks from which he so laboriously had +risen occupied his mind to the exclusion of all else; for to have +allowed the notorious Séverac Bablon to kidnap the Home Secretary under +his very eyes was a blunder which he knew full well could not be +condoned.</p> + +<p>Even the breathless drop into the great bowl on the Downs did not serve +to dispel his gloomy dreams. Then:</p> + +<p>"There they are! And, as I live, making straight for Womsley!" cried the +chauffeur.</p> + +<p>Sheffield stood up unsteadily on his insecure perch, and there was the +mysterious grey car, which now was become a veritable nightmare, +mounting the hill in front.</p> + +<p>One minute passed, and Sheffield was straining his eyes to catch a +glimpse of the occupants. But no one was visible. Two minutes passed, +and the inspector began to think that his eyesight was failing, or that +a worse thing portended. For, as far as he could make out, only one man +occupied the car—the man who drove her!</p> + +<p>"What does it mean?" muttered the detective, clutching at the shoulder +of the chauffeur to support himself. "It must be Séverac Bablon! +But—where's Mr. Belford?"</p> + +<p>Three minutes passed, and the brilliant moonlight set at rest all doubts +respecting the identity of the man who drove the car.</p> + +<p>His silvern hair flowed out, gleaming on his shoulders, as he bent +forward over the driving-wheel.</p> + +<p>It was the Right Hon. Walter Belford!</p> + +<p>"What in the name of murder does it mean?" cried Sheffield. "Has he gone +mad? Mr. Belford! Mr. Belford! Hoy! ... <i>Hoy! ... hoy! Mr. Belford!</i>"</p> + +<p>But although he must have heard the cry, Mr. Belford, immovable at the +wheel, drove madly ahead!</p> + +<p>"What shall I do?" asked the chauffeur in an awed voice.</p> + +<p>"Do?" rapped Sheffield savagely. "Pass him and block the road! He's +stark, raving mad!"</p> + +<p>So, along that white road, under the placid moon, was enacted the +strangest incident of this entirely bizarre adventure; for Mr. Belford, +in the hired motor, was pursued and overtaken by his own car, which +passed him, forged ahead, turned across the road, and blocked it.</p> + +<p>For one moment the Home Secretary, racing down upon them, seemed to +contemplate leaving the path for the grassland, and thus proceeding on +his way; but the chauffeur ran out to meet him, holding up his arms and +crying:</p> + +<p>"Stop, sir! <i>Stop!</i>"</p> + +<p>Mr. Belford stopped the car and fixed his eyes upon the man with a look +of real amazement.</p> + +<p>"You?" he said, and turned to Sheffield.</p> + +<p>"Who else?" rapped the inspector irritably. "What on earth are you +doing, sir? Where's the quarry—where's Séverac Bablon?"</p> + +<p>"What!" cried the Home Secretary, from the step of the car. "You have +lost him?"</p> + +<p>"Lost him!" repeated Sheffield ironically. "I never had him!"</p> + +<p>"But," said Mr. Belford distinctly, and in his question-answering voice, +"did you not return to where I was stationed and inform me that you had +them all locked in an upper room? Did I not, myself, hear their attempt +to break down the door? And did you not report that, their numbers being +considerable, you could not, single-handed, hope to arrest them?"</p> + +<p>"Go on!" said Sheffield, in a tired voice. "What else did I tell you?"</p> + +<p>"You see," resumed the politician triumphantly, "this <i>impasse</i> is due +to no irregularity in my own conduct! You told me that my limousine had +mysteriously been tampered with, and that the only course was for you +and Jenkins to remain and endeavour to prevent the prisoners from +escaping, whilst I, in their car, returned to Womsley Old Place for your +men! Hearing you behind me, I naturally assumed that the prisoners had +overpowered you and were in pursuit of me!"</p> + +<p>"I see!" said Sheffield, removing his hat and scratching his head +viciously.</p> + +<p>"Finally," said Mr. Belford, with dignity, "you gave me this note for +your principal assistant, Dawson"—and handed an envelope to the +inspector.</p> + +<p>The latter, with the resignation of despair, accepted it, tore it open, +and took out a card. Directing the ray of his pocket-torch upon it, +though in the brilliant moonlight no artificial aid really was +necessary, he read the following aloud:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Séverac Bablon begs to present his compliments to His Majesty's +Principal Secretary of State for the Home Department and to thank +him for according the privilege of a private interview. Whilst +deprecating the subterfuge rendered necessary by the right +honourable gentleman's attitude, he feels that it is justified by +results, and begs respectfully to repeat his assurance that no one +in whom the right honourable gentleman is interested shall be +compromised, now or at any future time."</p></div> + +<p>"You see," said the detective wearily, "that wasn't the real Inspector +Sheffield who spoke to you. I thought you might have known him by this +time, sir! That was Séverac Bablon!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + +<h3>YELLOW CIGARETTES</h3> + + +<p>In our pursuit of the fantastic being, about whom so many mysteries +gathered, we have somewhat neglected the affairs of Sir Richard +Haredale. Thanks to Mr. Belford's elusive visitor, these now ran +smoothly.</p> + +<p>In order to learn how smoothly we have only to present ourselves at a +certain important social function.</p> + +<p>"These military weddings are so romantic," gushed Mrs. Rohscheimer.</p> + +<p>"And so beastly stuffy," added her husband, mopping his damp brow with a +silk handkerchief bearing, in gold thread, the monogram "J. R."</p> + +<p>"Doesn't Dick look real sweet?" whispered Lady Vignoles, following with +admiring eyes the soldierly figure of the bridegroom, Sir Richard +Haredale.</p> + +<p>Lord Vignoles shouldered his way through the scrum about the door.</p> + +<p>"I say, Sheila," he called to his wife, "where's Zoe?"</p> + +<p>"She was here a minute ago," replied Julius Rohscheimer, rolling his +prominent eyes about in quest of the missing one.</p> + +<p>"I mean to say," explained Vignoles, "her father is asking——"</p> + +<p>"What! Has uncle turned up after all?" exclaimed Lady Vignoles, and +looked quickly towards the door.</p> + +<p>Through the crowd a big red-faced man was forging, and behind him a +glimpse might be had of the shrivelled shape of John Jacob Oppner.</p> + +<p>"Hallo," grunted Rohscheimer, "here's Inspector Sheffield, from Scotland +Yard!"—and apprehensively he fingered tie-pin and watch-chain, and +furtively counted the rings upon his fat fingers. "What's up?"</p> + +<p>The shrewd but not unkindly eyes of the C. I. D. man were scanning the +packed rooms, over the heads of the crowd—keenly, suspiciously. With a +brief nod he passed the group, and pressed on his way. Mr. Oppner +halted.</p> + +<p>"What's the trouble, Oppner?" inquired Rohscheimer thickly. "Is there a +thief here or something?"</p> + +<p>"Worse!" drawled the other. "Séverac Bablon's here!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lord!" groaned Rohscheimer, and surreptitiously slipped all his +rings off and into his trousers pocket. "Let's get out before we're all +held up!"</p> + +<p>"He don't figure on a hold-up," replied Oppner; "it ain't a strong line +at a matinee. A hop-parade is the time for the crystals. We don't know +what he's layin' for, but it's a cinch he's here."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?" asked a brother officer of Haredale's, who had joined +the group.</p> + +<p>Mr. Oppner took a cigarette-case from his tail-pocket and held up +between finger and thumb a cigarette stump of an unusual yellow colour.</p> + +<p>"We've got on his trail at last!" he said. "He sheds these cigs. like a +moulting chicken sheds feathers. This one was in the tray inside a +taxi—and the taxi dropped his fare right here!"</p> + +<p>He returned the cigarette stump to the case, the case to his pocket, and +pushed on after Sheffield. As his stooping form disappeared from view +Sheard entered the room. Immediately he was claimed by Mr. Rohscheimer.</p> + +<p>"Hallo, Sheard!" called the financier, and for the moment even the +imminence of the Séverac Bablon peril was forgotten—"what's the latest? +Is war declared?"</p> + +<p>"There was nothing official up to the time I left," replied the +pressman; "but we are expecting it every minute. Mr. Belford and Lord +Evershed have just been summoned to Buckingham Palace. I met them going +as I came in."</p> + +<p>Rohscheimer confidently seized the lapel of the journalist's coat.</p> + +<p>"What do you think that means, now?" he asked cunningly.</p> + +<p>"It means," replied Sheard, "that within the hour Europe may be in arms! +Haredale is on duty this evening—so there will be no honeymoon! +Everything is at sixes and sevens. I have a couple of cubs watching; and +if Baron Hecht, when he leaves the conference at the Palace, proceeds +home, there may be no war. If he starts for Victoria Station—war is +declared!"</p> + +<p>An excited young lady wearing pince-nez, through which she peered +anxiously in quest of someone, tapping her rather prominent front teeth +the while with an HB pencil, sighted Sheard.</p> + +<p>"Oh, there you are!" she cried, in evident relief. "Really, Mr. Sheard, +I was despairing of finding <i>anyone</i> to tell me—but you always know +everything."</p> + +<p>Sheard bowed ironically. The lady represented one of the oldest families +in Warwichshire and the Fashionable Intelligence of quite the smartest +morning journal in London.</p> + +<p>"Sir Richard's best man——" she began again.</p> + +<p>"Didn't you know?" burst in Lord Vignoles. "Bally nuisance—I mean to +say, inconsiderate of Roxborough; he could have sent some other +messenger, and need not have picked Anerly."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I know all about that!" snapped the lady impatiently; "but who was +the distinguished-looking man who took Maurice's place?"</p> + +<p>The Hon. Maurice Anerly, who should have officiated as best man, had +received instructions an hour before the ceremony to proceed to the +capital of the Power with whom Britain was on the verge of war. Sheard +would have given a hundred pounds for a glimpse of the dispatch he +carried.</p> + +<p>"No idea," said Vignoles; "most amazing thing! Friend of Haredale's, who +turned up at the last minute and vanished directly the ceremony was +over. Perfect record! Don't suppose it's ever happened before."</p> + +<p>"But he came to the house here; several people saw him here. You don't +want me to believe that Dick Haredale didn't tell anybody who his best +man was!"</p> + +<p>"I was not present," said Sheard; "so I cannot help you."</p> + +<p>"It's preposterous!" cried the lady. "I never heard of such a thing!"</p> + +<p>"What was the gentleman like, miss?" came a quiet voice.</p> + +<p>The eyes of all in the little group turned, together. Chief Inspector +Sheffield had joined them.</p> + +<p>The lady addressed eyed the big man apprehensively. He was outside the +experience of Fashionable Intelligence, but there was a quiet authority +in his voice and manner which seemed to call for a reply.</p> + +<p>"He was the most handsome man I have ever seen!" she answered briefly.</p> + +<p>"Thank you!" said Sheffield, with even greater brevity, and turned on +his heel.</p> + +<p>He went up to a footman, who looked more like a clean-shaven +policeman—possibly because he was one.</p> + +<p>"You are certain that Miss Oppner and the man I have described actually +entered this house?"</p> + +<p>"They were talking together in that room by the statue, sir."</p> + +<p>"And Miss Oppner came out?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"But not the man?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>Inspector Sheffield made his way to the little anteroom indicated. It +was quite a tiny apartment, with a divan, two lounge-chairs and a +Persian coffee-table. There was no one there.</p> + +<p>A faint but very peculiar perfume hung in the air. Turkish tobacco went +to the making of it, but something else too. Sheffield bent over the +table.</p> + +<p>In a little bronze ash-tray lay a cigarette end—yellow in colour.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>At about the same moment that Chief Inspector Sheffield was trying to +get used to the idea of the notorious Séverac Bablon's having actually +officiated as best man at the wedding of the only daughter of the +Marquess of Evershed, Mr. Thomas Sheard also had that astounding fact +brought home to him.</p> + +<p>For, in the wide publicity of Eccleston Square, the observed of many +curious observers, Zoe Oppner stood shaking hands with this master of +audacity.</p> + +<p>Sheard joined them hurriedly.</p> + +<p>"This is the height of indiscretion!" he exclaimed, glancing +apprehensively about him. "You compromise others——"</p> + +<p>Séverac Bablon checked him with a quiet smile.</p> + +<p>"Have I ever compromised another?"</p> + +<p>"But now you cannot avoid doing so. Sheffield is inside! What madness +brings you here?"</p> + +<p>"In the absence of the Hon. Maurice Anerly, I acted as Haredale's best +man."</p> + +<p>Sheard literally gasped.</p> + +<p>"But you are not——"</p> + +<p>"A Christian? My religious beliefs, Sheard, do not preclude my +attendance at a wedding ceremony. Some day I may explain this to you."</p> + +<p>"You must have been recognised!"</p> + +<p>"Who knows Séverac Bablon?"</p> + +<p>"At least four people now in that house!"</p> + +<p>"Possibly. But no one of those four has seen me. No one of them was +present at the ceremony; and, I assure you, I made myself scarce +afterwards."</p> + +<p>"You must hurry. You have been traced——"</p> + +<p>"Never fear; I shall hurry. But, before I go, Sheard, take this +envelope. It is the last 'scoop' that I have to offer to the <i>Gleaner</i>, +but it is the biggest of all! Good-bye."</p> + +<p>"Do I understand that you are leaving England?"</p> + +<p>So sincere was the emotion in the pressman's voice that Séverac Bablon's +own had changed when he replied:</p> + +<p>"We may never meet again; I cannot tell."</p> + +<p>He laid his hands upon the other's shoulders in a characteristic +gesture, and to Sheard, as he met the glance of those fine eyes, this +was no criminal flying from justice; rather, a ruler of peoples, an +enthusiast, a fanatic perhaps, but a royal man—and his friend.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye!" said Séverac Bablon, and clasped Sheard's hand in both his +own.</p> + +<p>He turned to Zoe Oppner, who, very pale, was glancing back at the house.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye again!"</p> + +<p>A cab waited, and Séverac Bablon, lighting a cigarette, leapt in and was +driven away. Sheard did not hear his directions to the man; and Zoe +Oppner left him abruptly and ran into the house again. Before he had +time to move, to collect his thoughts, a heavy hand was laid upon his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>He started. Inspector Sheffield stood beside him.</p> + +<p>"Who was in that cab?" he rapped.</p> + +<p>Sheard realised that the moment to which he had long looked forward with +dread was come. He had been caught red-handed. At last Séverac Bablon +had dared too greatly, and he, Sheard, must pay the price of that +indiscretion.</p> + +<p>"Why do you ask—and in that tone?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Sheard," said the detective grimly, "I've had my eye on you for a +long while, as you must be well aware. You may not be aware that but for +me you'd have been arrested long ago! I'm past the time when sensational +arrests appeal to me, though. I'm out to hide scandals, not to turn the +limelight on 'em. You're a well-known man, and it would break you, I +take it, if I hauled you up for complicity? But I've got my +responsibilities, too, remember; and I warn you—I warn you solemnly—if +you bandy words with me now, I'll have you in Marlborough Street inside +ten minutes!"</p> + +<p>The buttons were off, and Sheard felt the point at his throat. For there +was no mistaking the grim earnestness of the man from Scotland Yard. The +kindly blue eyes were grown hard as steel, and in them the pressman read +that upon his next words rested his whole career. A lie could avail his +friend nothing; it meant his own ruin.</p> + +<p>"Séverac Bablon!" he said.</p> + +<p>"I knew that!" replied Sheffield; "you did well to admit it! Where has +he gone?"</p> + +<p>"I have no idea."</p> + +<p>"Don't take any chances, sir! I'm tired of the responsibility of +shielding the fools who know him! If you give me your word on that, I'll +take it."</p> + +<p>"I give you my word. I was unable to hear his directions to the driver."</p> + +<p>"Very good. There are other things I might ask you—but I know you'd +refuse to answer, and then I'd have no alternative. So I won't. +Good-day."</p> + +<p>"Good-day, Inspector. And thank you." Sheffield nodded shortly and +walked up to the driver of the next waiting cab.</p> + +<p>"What number was the man who drove away last?"</p> + +<p>"LH-00896, sir."</p> + +<p>"Know where he went?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir; but not far. He told a pal o' mine—the chauffeur of Mr. +Rohscheimer's car, there, sir—that he'd be back in seven minutes."</p> + +<p>"Good!" said Sheffield.</p> + +<p>Matters were befalling as well as he could have hoped; for he had come +out too late to have followed the cab. He glanced at his watch. Provided +the man picked up no fare on his way back, he was due in three minutes. +The detective strolled off towards Belgrave Road. Inside the three +minutes a cab turned into the other end of the square.</p> + +<p>Inspector Sheffield retraced his steps hurriedly.</p> + +<p>Without a word to the man, he opened the cab door. A faint, familiar +perfume reached his nostrils. He glanced at the ash-trays, but neither +contained a cigarette end. He turned to the driver.</p> + +<p>"Where did you take the gentleman you picked up here, my man?"</p> + +<p>A newsboy came racing along the pavement, with an armful of sheets, wet +from the press. The journal was the <i>Gleaner's</i> most powerful opponent.</p> + +<p>"War de-clared, piper! War de-clared, speshul!"</p> + +<p>His shrill cries drowned the taximan's reply. As the boy ran on crying +his mendacious "news" (for the front-page article was not headed "War +declared," but "Is war declared?"), Sheffield repeated his question.</p> + +<p>"To Buckingham Palace, sir!" he was answered.</p> + +<p>The detective stared incredulously.</p> + +<p>"I mean a tall gentleman, clean shaven, and very dark, with quite black +hair——"</p> + +<p>"Smoked some sort of Russian smokes, sir—yellow?"</p> + +<p>"That one—yes!"</p> + +<p>"That's the one I mean, sir—Buckingham Palace!"</p> + +<p>Sheffield continued to stare.</p> + +<p>"Where did you actually drop him?"</p> + +<p>"At the gate."</p> + +<p>"Well? Where did he go?"</p> + +<p>"He went in, sir!"</p> + +<p>"Went in! He was admitted?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; I saw him pass the sentry!"</p> + +<p>Chief Inspector Sheffield leapt into the cab with a face grimly set.</p> + +<p>"Buckingham Palace!" he snapped.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Meanwhile, Detective-Sergeant Harborne, following back the clue of the +yellow cigarettes, in accordance with the instructions of his superior, +who had elected to follow it forward, made his way to a cab-rank at the +end of Finchley Road.</p> + +<p>To a cab-minder he showed a photograph. It was from that unique negative +which the Home Secretary had shown to the pseudo-Inspector Sheffield at +Womsley Old Place; moreover, it was the only copy which the right +honourable gentleman had authorised to be printed.</p> + +<p>"Does this person often take cabs from this rank, my lad?"</p> + +<p>The man surveyed it with beer-weakened eyes.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Sanrack it is, guv'nor! Yes, he's often here!"</p> + +<p>Harborne, who was a believer in the straightforward British methods, and +who scorned alike the unnecessary subtlety of the French school, as +represented by Lemage or Duquesne, and the Fenimore-Cooper-like tactics +dear to the men of the American agencies, showed his card.</p> + +<p>"What's his address?" he snapped.</p> + +<p>"It's farther down on this side; I can't think of the number, sir," +replied the other shakily. (The proximity of a police officer always +injuriously affected his heart.) "But I can show you the 'ouse."</p> + +<p>"Come on!" ordered Harborne. "Walk behind me; and when I pass it, +whistle."</p> + +<p>Off went the detective without delay, and walked briskly along the +Finchley Road. He had proceeded more than half-way, when, as he came +abreast of a gate set in a high wall, from his rear quavered a moist +whistle.</p> + +<p>"70A," he muttered. "Right-oh!"</p> + +<p>He thrilled with the joy of the chase, anticipating the triumph that +awaited him. Inspector Sheffield's pursuit was more than likely to prove +futile, but Séverac Bablon, he argued, was practically certain to return +to his head-quarters sooner or later.</p> + +<p>He thought of the weeks and months during which they had sought for this +very house in vain; of the useless tracking of divers persons known to +be acquainted with the man of mystery; of the simple means—the yellow +cigarettes—by which, at last, they had come to it.</p> + +<p>Mr. Aloys. X Alden had been very reticent of late—and Mr. Oppner knew +of the cigarette clue. At that reflection the roseate horizon grew +darkened by the figure of a triumphant American holding up Séverac +Bablon with a neat silver-plated model by Smith and Wesson. If Alden +should forestall him!</p> + +<p>Harborne, who had been pursuing these reflections whilst, within sight +of No. 70A, he stood slowly loading his pipe, paused, pouch in hand. On +one memorable occasion, the super-subtlety of Sheffield (who was tainted +with French heresies) had led to a fiasco which had made them the +laughing-stock of Scotland Yard. Harborne felt in his breast pocket, +where there reposed a copy of the warrant for the arrest of Séverac +Bablon. And before he withdrew his hand his mind was made up. He was a +man of indomitable pluck.</p> + +<p>Walking briskly to the gate in the high wall, he opened it, passed +around a very neat little lawn, and stood in the porch of 70A. As he +glanced about for bell or knocker, and failed to find either, the door +was opened quietly by a tall man in black—an Arab.</p> + +<p>"I have important business with Mr. Sanrack," said Harborne quietly, and +handed the Arab a card which simply bore the name: "Mr. Goodson."</p> + +<p>"He is not at home, but expected," replied the man, in guttural English. +"Will Mr. Goodson await?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Harborne, "if Mr. Sanrack won't be long."</p> + +<p>The Arab bowed, and conducted him to a small but cosy room, furnished +simply but with great good taste—and withdrew. Harborne congratulated +himself. The simple and direct, if old-fashioned, methods were, after +all, the best.</p> + +<p>It was a very silent house. That fact struck him at once. Listen +intently as he would, no sound from within could he detect. What should +be his next move?</p> + +<p>He stepped to the door and looked out into the hall. This was rather +narrow, and, owing to the presence of heavy Oriental drapings, very +dark. It would suit his purpose admirably. Directly "Mr. Sanrack" came +in he would spring upon him and get the handcuffs fast, then he could +throw open the front door, if there had been time for anyone to reclose +it, and summon assistance with his whistle.</p> + +<p>He himself must effect the actual arrest—single-handed. He cared +nothing who came upon the scene after that. He placed the handcuffs in a +more convenient pocket, and buttoned up his double-breasted blue serge +coat.</p> + +<p>Sheffield was certain to be Superintendent before long; and it only +required one other big case, such as this, to insure Harborne's +succession to an Inspectorship. From thence to the office vacated by +Sheffield was an easy step for a competent and ambitious man.</p> + +<p>How silent the house was!</p> + +<p>Harborne glanced at his watch. He had been waiting nearly five minutes. +Scarce another two had elapsed—when a brisk step sounded on the gravel. +The detective braced himself for a spring. Would he have the Arab to +contend with too?</p> + +<p>No. A key was slipped into the well-oiled lock. The door opened.</p> + +<p>With something of the irresistible force of a charging bull, +Detective-Sergeant Harborne hurled himself upon his man.</p> + +<p>Human strength had been useless to oppose that attack; but by subtlety +it was frustrated. The man stepped agilely aside—and Harborne reclosed +the door with his head! That his skull withstood that crashing blow was +miraculous; but he was of tough stock. Perhaps the ruling passion helped +him, for dazed and dizzy as he was, he did the right thing when his +cunning opponent leapt upon him from behind.</p> + +<p>He threw his hands above his shoulders and grasped the man round the +neck—then—slowly—shakily—his head swimming and the world a huge +teetotum—he rose upon his knees. Bent well forward, he rose to his +feet. The other choked, swore, struck useless blows, but hung limply, +helpless, in that bear-like, awful grip.</p> + +<p>At the exact moment—no second too soon, no second too late—down went +Harborne's right hand to the wriggling, kicking, right foot of the man +upon whom he had secured that dreadful hold. A bend forward—a turn of +the hip—and his man fell crashing to the floor.</p> + +<p>"That's called the Cornish grip!" panted the detective, dropping all his +heaviness upon the recumbent form.</p> + +<p><i>Click! Click!</i></p> + +<p>The handcuffed man wriggled into a sitting posture.</p> + +<p>"You goddarned son of a skunk!" he gurgled—and stopped short—sat, +white-faced, manacled, looking up at his captor.</p> + +<p>"Jumpin' Jenkins!" he whispered—"it's that plug-headed guy, Harborne!"</p> + +<p>"Alden!" cried Harborne. "Alden! What the——!"</p> + +<p>"Same to you!" snarled the Agency man. "Call yourself a detective! I +reckon you'd make a better show as a coal-heaver!"</p> + +<p>When conversation—if not civil conversation, at least conversation +which did not wholly consist in mutual insult—became possible, the two +in that silent hall compared notes.</p> + +<p>"Where in the name of wonder did you get the key?" demanded Harborne.</p> + +<p>"House agent!" snapped the other. "I work on the lines that I'm after a +clever man, not trying to round up a herd of bullocks!"</p> + +<p>Revolvers in readiness, they searched the house. No living thing was to +be found. Only one room was unfurnished. It opened off the hall, and was +on a lower level. The floor was paved and the walls plastered. An +unglazed window opened on a garden, and a deep recess opposite to the +door held only shadows and emptiness.</p> + +<p>"It's a darned pie-trap!" muttered Mr. Aloys. X. Alden. "And you and me +are the pies properly!"</p> + +<p>"But d'you mean to say he's going to leave all this furniture——!"</p> + +<p>"Hired!" snapped the American. "Hired! I knew that before I came!"</p> + +<p>Detective-Sergeant Harborne raised a hand to his throbbing head—and +sank dizzily into a cushioned hall-seat.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> + +<h3>AT THE PALACE—AND LATER</h3> + + +<p>How self-centred is man, and how darkly do his own petty interests +overshadow the giant things of life. Thrones may totter and fall, +monarchs pass to the limbo of memories, whilst we wrestle with an +intractable collar-stud. Had another than Inspector Sheffield been +driving to Buckingham Palace that day, he might have found his soul +attuned to the martial tone about him; for "War! War!" glared from +countless placards, and was cried aloud by countless newsboys. War was +in the air. Nothing else, it seemed, was thought of, spoken of, sung of.</p> + +<p>But Sheffield at that time was quite impervious to the subtle influences +which had inspired music-hall song writers to pour forth patriotic +lyrics; which had adorned the button-holes of sober citizens with +miniature Union Jacks. For him the question of the hour was: "Shall I +capture Séverac Bablon?"</p> + +<p>He reviewed, in the space of a few seconds, the whole bewildering case, +from the time when this incomprehensible man had robbed Park Lane to +scatter wealth broadcast upon the Embankment up to the present moment +when, it would appear, having acted as best man at a Society wedding, he +now was within the precincts of Buckingham Palace.</p> + +<p>It was the boast of Séverac Bablon, as Sheffield knew, that no door was +closed to him. Perhaps that boast was no idle one. Who was Séverac +Bablon? Inspector Sheffield, who had asked himself that question many +months before, when he stood in the British Museum before the empty +pedestal which once had held the world-famed head of Cæsar, asked it +again now. Alas! it was a question to which he had no answer.</p> + +<p>The cab stopped in front of Buckingham Palace.</p> + +<p>Sheffield paid the man and walked up to the gates. He was not unknown to +those who sat in high places, having been chosen to command the secret +bodyguard of Royalty during one protracted foreign tour. An unassuming +man, few of his acquaintances, perhaps, knew that he shared with the +Lord Mayor of London the privilege of demanding audience at any hour of +the day or night.</p> + +<p>It was a privilege which hitherto he had never exercised. He exercised +it now.</p> + +<p>Some five minutes later he found himself in an antechamber, and by the +murmur of voices which proceeded from that direction he knew a draped +curtain alone separated him from a hastily summoned conference. A smell +of cigar smoke pervaded the apartment.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, he became quite painfully nervous. Was it intended that he +should hear so much? Short of pressing his fingers to his ears, he had +no alternative.</p> + +<p>"We had all along desired that amicable relations be maintained in this +matter, Baron."</p> + +<p>That was the Marquess of Evershed. Sheffield knew his voice well.</p> + +<p>"It has not appeared so from your attitude, Marquess!"</p> + +<p>Whom could that be? Probably Baron Hecht.</p> + +<p>"Your intense patriotism, your admirable love of country, Baron, has led +you to misconstrue, as affronts, actions designed to promote our +friendly relations."</p> + +<p>Only one man in England possessed the suave, polished delivery of the +last speaker—the Right Honourable Walter Belford.</p> + +<p>"I have misconstrued nothing; my instructions have been explicit."</p> + +<p>"Fortunately, no further occasion exists for you to carry them out."</p> + +<p>Sheffield knew that voice too.</p> + +<p>"A Foreign Service Messenger, Mr. Maurice Anerly, left for my capital +this morning——"</p> + +<p>"Captain Searles has been instructed to intercept him. His dispatch will +not be delivered."</p> + +<p>Inspector Sheffield, who had been vainly endeavouring to become +temporarily deaf, started. Whose voice was that? Could he trust his +ears?</p> + +<p>There followed the sound as of the clapping of hands upon someone's +shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Baron Hecht, I hold a most sacred trust—the peace of nations. No one +shall rob me of it. Believe me, your great master already is drafting a +friendly letter——"</p> + +<p>The musical voice again, with that vibrant, forceful note.</p> + +<p>"In short, Baron" (Sheffield tried not to hear; for he knew this voice +too), "there is a power above the Eagle, a power above the Lion: the +power of wealth! Lacking her for ally, no nation can war with another! +The king of that power has spoken—and declared for peace! I am glad of +it, and so, I know, are you!"</p> + +<p>Following a short interval, a shaking of hands, as the unwilling +eavesdropper divined. Then, by some other door, a number of people +withdrew, amid a hum of seemingly friendly conversation.</p> + +<p>A gentleman pulled the curtain aside.</p> + +<p>"Come in, Sheffield!" he said genially.</p> + +<p>Chief Inspector Sheffield bowed very low and entered a large room, +which, save for the gentleman who had admitted him, now was occupied +only by the Right Hon. Walter Belford, Home Secretary.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Inspector?" asked Mr. Belford affably.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir," replied the detective with diffidence; "I am quite +well, and trust you are."</p> + +<p>"I think I know what has brought you here," continued the Home +Secretary. "You have been following——"</p> + +<p>"Séverac Bablon! Yes, sir!"</p> + +<p>"As I supposed. Well, it will be expedient, Inspector, religiously to +keep that name out of the Press in future! Furthermore—er—any warrant +that may be in existence must be cancelled! This is a matter of policy, +and I am sending the necessary instructions to the Criminal +Investigation Department. In short—drop the case!"</p> + +<p>Chief Inspector Sheffield looked rather dazed.</p> + +<p>"No doubt, this is a surprise to you," continued Mr. Belford; "but do +not allow it to be a disappointment. Your tactful conduct of the case, +and the delicate manner in which you have avoided compromising +anyone—in which you have handicapped yourself, that others might not be +implicated—has not been overlooked. Your future is assured, Inspector +Sheffield."</p> + +<p>The gentleman who had admitted Sheffield had left the apartment almost +immediately afterwards. Now he returned, and fastened a pin in the +detective's tie.</p> + +<p>"By way of apology for spoiling your case, Sheffield!" he said.</p> + +<p>What Sheffield said or did at that moment he could never afterwards +remember. A faint recollection he had of muttering something about +"Séverac Bablon——!"</p> + +<p>"Ssh!" Mr. Belford had replied. "There is no such person!"</p> + +<p>It was at the moment of his leave-taking that his eyes were drawn to an +ash-tray upon the big table. A long tongue of bluish-grey smoke licked +the air, coiling sinuously upward from amid cigar ends and ashes. It +seemingly possessed a peculiar and pungent perfume.</p> + +<p>And it proceeded from the smouldering fragment of a yellow cigarette.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>When Inspector Sheffield fully recovered his habitual composure and +presence of mind, he found himself proceeding along Piccadilly. War was +in the breeze; War was on all the placards. Would-be warriors looked out +from every club window. "Rule, Britannia" rang out from every street +organ.</p> + +<p>Then came running a hoarse newsboy, aproned with a purple contents-bill, +a bundle of <i>Gleaners</i> under his arm. His stock was becoming depleted at +record speed. He could scarce pass the sheets and grab the halfpence +rapidly enough.</p> + +<p>For where all else spoke of war, his bill read and his blatant voice +proclaimed:</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Peace!</span> <i>Official!</i>"</p> + +<p>Again the power of the Seal had been exercised in the interests of the +many, although popularly it was believed, and maintained, that Britain's +huge, efficient, and ever-growing air-fleet contributed not a little to +this peaceful conclusion.</p> + +<p>The <i>Gleaner</i> assured its many readers that such was indeed the case. To +what extent the <i>Gleaner</i> spoke truly, and to what extent its statements +were inspired, you are as well equipped to judge as I.</p> + +<p>And unless some future day shall free my pen, I have little more to tell +you of Séverac Bablon. Officially, as the Holder of the Seal, his work, +at any rate for the time, in England was done. Some day, Sheard may +carry his history farther, and he would probably begin where I leave +off.</p> + +<p>This, then, will be at a certain pier-head, on a summer's day, and at a +time when, far out near the sky-line, grey shapes crept +southward—battleships—the flying squadron which thirty-six hours +earlier had proceeded to a neighbour's water-gate to demonstrate that +the command of the seas had not changed hands since the days of Nelson. +The squadron was returning to home waters. It was a concrete message of +peace, expressed in terms of war.</p> + +<p>Nearer to the shore, indeed at no great distance from the pier-head, lay +a white yacht, under steam. A launch left her side, swung around her +stern, and headed for the pier.</p> + +<p>In a lower gallery, shut off from the public promenades, where thousands +of curious holiday-makers jostled one another for a sight of the great +yacht, or for a glimpse of those about to join her, a tall man leaned +upon the wooden rail and looked out to sea. A girl in while drill, whose +pretty face was so pale that fashionable New York might have failed to +recognise Zoe Oppner, the millionaire's daughter, stood beside him.</p> + +<p>"Though I have been wrong," he said slowly, "in much that I have done, +even you will agree that I have been right in this."</p> + +<p>He waved his hand towards the fast disappearing squadron.</p> + +<p>"Even I?" said Zoe sharply.</p> + +<p>"Even you. For only you have shown me my errors."</p> + +<p>"You admit, then, that your——!"</p> + +<p>"Robberies?"</p> + +<p>"Not that, of course! But your——"</p> + +<p>"Outrages?"</p> + +<p>"I did not mean that either. The means you have adopted have often been +violent, though the end always was good. But no really useful reform can +be brought about in such a way, I am sure."</p> + +<p>The man turned his face and fixed his luminous eyes upon hers.</p> + +<p>"It may be so," he said; "but even now I see no other way."</p> + +<p>Zoe pointed to the almost invisible battleships.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" continued Séverac Bablon, "that was a problem of a different kind. +In every civilised land there is a power above the throne. Do you think +that, unaided, Prussia ever could have conquered gallant France? The +people who owe allegiance to the German Emperor are a great people, but, +in such an undertaking as war, without the aid of that people who owe +allegiance to <i>me</i>, they are helpless as a group of children! Had I been +in 1870 what I am to-day, the Prussian arms had never been carried into +Paris!"</p> + +<p>"You mean that a nation, to carry on a war, requires an enormous sum of +money?"</p> + +<p>"Which can only be obtained from certain sources."</p> + +<p>"From the Jews?"</p> + +<p>"In part, at least. The finance of Europe is controlled by a group of +Jewish houses."</p> + +<p>"But they are not all——"</p> + +<p>"Amenable to my orders? True. But the outrages with which you reproach +me have served to show that when my orders are disobeyed I have power to +enforce them! Where I am not respected I am feared. I refused my consent +to the loan by aid of which Great Britain's enemies had designed to +prosecute a war against her. None of those theatrical displays with +which sometimes I have impressed the errant vulgar were necessary. The +greatest name in European finance was refused to the transaction—and +the Great War died in the hour of its birth!"</p> + +<p>His eyes gleamed with almost fanatic ardour.</p> + +<p>"For this will be forgotten all my errors, and forgiven all my sins!"</p> + +<p>"I am sure of that," said Zoe earnestly. "But—whatever you came to +do——"</p> + +<p>"I have not done—you would say? Only in part. Where I made my home in +London, you have seen a curtained recess. It held the Emblem of my +temporal power."</p> + +<p>He moved his hand, and the sunlight struck green beams from the bezel of +the strange ring upon his finger. Zoe glanced at it with something that +was almost like fear.</p> + +<p>"This," he said, replying, as was his uncanny custom to an unspoken +question, "is but the sign whereby I may be known for the holder of that +other Emblem. My house is empty now; the Emblem returns to the land +where it was fashioned."</p> + +<p>"You are abandoning your projects—your mission? Why?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps because the sword is too heavy for the wielder. Perhaps because +I am only a man—and lonely."</p> + +<p>The launch touched the pier, below them.</p> + +<p>"You are the most loyal friend I have made in England—in Europe—in the +world," said Séverac Bablon. "Good-bye."</p> + +<p>Zoe was very pale.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean—for—always?"</p> + +<p>"When you have said 'Good-bye' to me I have nothing else to stay for."</p> + +<p>Zoe glanced at him once and looked away. Her charming face suddenly +flushed rosily, and a breeze from the sea curtained the bright eyes with +intractable curls.</p> + +<p>"But if I <i>won't</i> say 'Good-bye'?" she whispered.</p> + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Sins of Séverac Bablon, by Sax Rohmer + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SINS OF SÉVERAC BABLON *** + +***** This file should be named 21879-h.htm or 21879-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/8/7/21879/ + +Produced by David Clarke, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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