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<h1>THE GOLDEN FACE</h1>

<h2><i>A GREAT &#8220;CROOK&#8221; ROMANCE</i></h2>

<p class="gap">&nbsp;</p>

<h3>BY</h3>

<h2>WILLIAM LE QUEUX</h2>

<p class="center">AUTHOR OF &#8220;MADEMOISELLE OF MONTE CARLO,&#8221;<br />
&#8220;THE STRETTON STREET AFFAIR&#8221;</p>

<p class="biggap">&nbsp;</p>

<h4>NEW YORK</h4>

<h3>THE MACAULAY COMPANY</h3></div>

<hr class="large" />
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1922, by</span></p>

<p class="center">THE MACAULAY COMPANY</p>

<p class="gap">&nbsp;</p>

<p class="center"><i>Printed in the United States of America</i></p>


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{{ the-golden-face-i003.jpg |Lady Lydbrook}}

<html>
<span class="caption">I slipped the pendant into Lady Lydbrook&#8217;s soft hand as
she stood in <i>d&eacute;shabille</i> at the half-opened door of her bedroom.</span>
<hr class="large" />
<h2>CONTENTS</h2>

<div class="centered">
<table border="0" width="70%" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="1" summary="CONTENTS">

<tr>
<td align="right">CHAPTER</td>
<td align="left">&nbsp;</td>
<td align="right">PAGE</td></tr>

<tr>
<td align="right">I</td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Private and Personal</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="#THE_GOLDEN_FACE">1</a></td></tr>

<tr>
<td align="right">II</td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Room Number</span> 88</td>
<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">16</a></td></tr>

<tr>
<td align="right">III</td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Man with the Hump</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">30</a></td></tr>

<tr>
<td align="right">IV</td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Four False Fingers</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">43</a></td></tr>

<tr>
<td align="right">V</td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Concerns Mr. Blumenfeld</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">59</a></td></tr>

<tr>
<td align="right">VI</td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">At Three-Eighteen a.m.</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">73</a></td></tr>

<tr>
<td align="right">VII</td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Little Lady Lydbrook</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">87</a></td></tr>

<tr>
<td align="right">VIII</td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Cat&#8217;s Tooth</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">99</a></td></tr>

<tr>
<td align="right">IX</td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Lola is Again Suspicious</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">113</a></td></tr>

<tr>
<td align="right">X</td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Painted Envelope</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">127</a></td></tr>

<tr>
<td align="right">XI</td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Gentleman from Rome</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">140</a></td></tr>

<tr>
<td align="right">XII</td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Silver Spider</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">151</a></td></tr>

<tr>
<td align="right">XIII</td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Abdul Hamid&#8217;s Jewels</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">170</a></td></tr>

<tr>
<td align="right">XIV</td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Vengeance of Tai-K&#8217;an</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">186</a></td></tr>

<tr>
<td align="right">XV</td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Other People&#8217;s Money</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">201</a></td></tr>

<tr>
<td align="right">XVI</td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Man who was Shy</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">215</a></td></tr>

<tr>
<td align="right">XVII</td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Sign of Ninety-nine</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">232</a></td></tr>

</table></div>

<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="THE_GOLDEN_FACE" id="THE_GOLDEN_FACE"></a>THE GOLDEN FACE</h2>

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2>

<h3>PRIVATE AND PERSONAL</h3>

<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:50px;line-height:32px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">I</span><span style="margin-left:0%;">n</span> order to ease my conscience and, further, to disclose certain facts
which for the past year or two have, I know, greatly puzzled readers
of our daily newspapers, I have decided to here reveal some very
curious and, perhaps, sensational circumstances.</p>

<p>In fact, after much perplexity and long consideration, I have
resolved, without seeking grace or favor, to make a clean breast of
all that happened to me, and to leave the reader to judge of my
actions, and either to condemn or to condone my offenses.</p>

<p>I will begin at the beginning.</p>

<p>It has been said that service in the Army has upset the average man&#8217;s
chances of prosperity in civil life. That, I regret, is quite true.</p>

<p>When I, George Hargreave, came out of the Army after the Armistice, I
found myself, like many hundreds of other ex-officers, completely at a
loose end, without a shilling in the world over and above the gratuity
of between two and three hundred pounds to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>which my period of
commissioned service entitled me.</p>

<p>Grown accustomed during the war, however, to fending for myself and
overcoming difficulties and problems of one sort and another, I at
once set to work to look about for any kind of employment for which I
fancied I might be fitted. After answering many advertisements to no
purpose, I one day happened upon one in <i>The Times</i> which rather
stirred my curiosity.</p>

<p>It stated that a gentleman of good position, who had occasion to
travel in many parts of the world, would like to hear from a young man
with considerable experience in motor driving. The applicant should
not be over thirty, and it was essential that he should be a gentleman
and well educated, with a knowledge of foreign languages if possible;
also that he should be thoroughly trustworthy and possessed of
initiative. The salary would be a very liberal one.</p>

<p>Application was to be made by letter only to a certain box at the
office of <i>The Times</i>.</p>

<p>I wrote at once, and received some days later a reply signed &#8220;<i>per
pro</i> Rudolph Rayne,&#8221; asking me to call to see the advertiser, who said
he would be awaiting me at a certain small h&ocirc;tel-de-luxe in the West
End at three o&#8217;clock on the following afternoon.</p>

<p>I arrived at the highly aristocratic hotel at five minutes to three,
and was conducted to a private sitting-room by a page who, on ushering
me in, indicated <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span>a good-looking, middle-aged man seated near the
window, reading a newspaper and smoking a cigar.</p>

<p>The gentleman looked up as I approached, then put down his paper,
rose, and extended his hand.</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. George Hargreave?&#8221; he inquired in a pleasant voice.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes. Mr. Rudolph Rayne, I presume?&#8221;</p>

<p>He bowed, and pointed to a chair close to his own. Then he sat down
again, and I followed his example.</p>

<p>&#8220;I have received hundreds of replies to my advertisement,&#8221; was his
first remark, &#8220;and the reason why your application is one of the few I
have answered is that I liked the frank way in which you expressed
yourself. Can you sing?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Sing?&#8221; I exclaimed, startled at the unexpected question.</p>

<p>&#8220;Sing,&#8221; he repeated.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well, yes, I do sing occasionally,&#8221; I said. &#8220;That is to say, I used
to at the sing-songs in France at sergeants&#8217; messes, and so on. But
perhaps you mightn&#8217;t consider it singing if you heard me,&#8221; I ended
lightly.</p>

<p>&#8220;Very good, very good,&#8221; he observed absent-mindedly. &#8220;And you can
drive a Rolls?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I can drive a Rolls and several other cars as well,&#8221; I answered. &#8220;I
was a driver in the R. A. S. C. early in the war.&#8221;</p>

<p>Suddenly he focused his gaze upon me, and his keen, penetrating gray
eyes seemed to pierce into my <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>soul and read my inmost thoughts. For
perhaps half a minute he remained looking at me like that, then
suddenly he said shortly:</p>

<p>&#8220;You are engaged, Mr. Hargreave. Your salary will be six hundred
pounds a year, paid monthly in advance, in addition to your living and
incidental expenses. I leave for Yorkshire by the midday train from
King&#8217;s Cross to-morrow, and you will come with me. Good afternoon, Mr.
Hargreave. By the way, you might take this suit-case with you, and
bring it to the station to-morrow,&#8221; and he pointed to a small
suit-case of brown leather on the floor beside his chair.</p>

<p>The whole interview had not lasted three minutes and I went away
obsessed by a feeling of astonishment. Mr. Rayne had not
cross-questioned me, as I naturally had expected him to do, nor had he
asked for my credentials. In addition he had fixed my salary at six
hundred pounds, without even inquiring what wages I wanted.</p>

<p>Obviously a character, an oddity, I said to myself as I passed out of
the hotel.</p>

<p>Had I suspected then that Mr. Rudolph Rayne was the sort of &#8220;oddity&#8221; I
later found him to be, I should have refused to accept the situation
even had he offered me two thousand a year.</p>

<p>Though, during the interview, my attention had been more or less
concentrated on Mr. Rayne, I had not been so deeply engrossed as to
fail to notice an exceptionally beautiful, dark-eyed girl, who had
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>entered while we had been speaking and who was seated on a settee a
little way off. She, too, had stared very hard at me.</p>

<p>Mr. Rayne was accompanied on that journey to Yorkshire by the pretty
dark-eyed girl who was his daughter Lola, and by his valet, a very
silent, stiff-necked, morose individual, whose personality did not
attract me. He seemed, however, to be an exceptionally efficient
person, so far as his duties were concerned, and on our arrival at the
little wayside station about twelve miles beyond Thirsk, where we had
changed trains, he proceeded to take charge of the luggage, all but
the suit-case which I still carried.</p>

<p>Outside the little station a magnificent Rolls limousine, colored a
dull gray, awaited us, and when the luggage had all been put on it,
Mr. Rayne surprised me by asking me to take the wheel then and there.</p>

<p>&#8220;My chauffeur left last week, but Paul will show you the road,&#8221; he
said, as the valet seated himself beside me. &#8220;Overstow is about ten
miles off.&#8221;</p>

<p>I don&#8217;t know why it was, but that girl&#8217;s dark eyes seemed to haunt me.
She was just behind me with her father, and twice when I had occasion
to look round to ask Mr. Rayne some question or other, I found her
gaze fixed on mine, which, foolishly I will admit, disconcerted me.</p>

<p>Mr. Rayne himself addressed me only once of his own accord during the
drive, and that was to ask me again if I sang.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Why the dickens does he want to know if I sing?&#8221; was my mental
comment when I had replied that I sang a little, without reminding him
that he had put the same question to me on the previous day. For an
instant the thought flashed across me that perhaps my new employer had
some kink in his brain to do with singing; and yet, I reflected, that
seemed hardly likely to be the case with a man who in all other
respects appeared to be so exceptionally sane.</p>

<p>I was still cogitating this, when the car sped round a wide curve in
the road and beyond big lodge gates a large imposing mansion of modern
architecture came suddenly into view about half a mile away, partly
concealed by beautiful woods sloping down to it from both sides of the
valley. Slackening speed as we came near the lodge, I was about to
stop to let Paul alight to open the gates, beyond which stretched the
long winding avenue of tall trees, when a man came running out of the
lodge and made haste to throw the gates open.</p>

<p>My first surprise on our arrival at Overstow Hall&mdash;and I was to have
many more surprises before I had been long in Mr. Rayne&#8217;s service&mdash;was
at finding that though my employer had quite a large staff of
servants, there was not a woman amongst them! Several guests were
staying in the house, including a middle-aged lady, called Madame,
whose position I could not exactly place, though she appeared to be in
charge of the establishment, in charge also of Lola.</p>

<p>Towards ten o&#8217;clock next morning the footman <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>came to tell me that Mr.
Rayne wanted to see me at once in the library.</p>

<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s in one of his queer moods this morning,&#8221; the young man said, &#8220;so
you had better be careful. His letters have upset him, I think.&#8221;</p>

<p>I thanked the lad for his hint, but on my way to the library, a room I
had not yet been in, I missed my bearings, entered a room under the
impression that it might be the library, and had hardly done so when
the sound of men&#8217;s voices in a room adjoining came to me&mdash;the door
between the rooms stood partly open.</p>

<p>&#8220;Are you certain, Rudolph,&#8221; one of the men was saying, &#8220;that this new
chauffeur of yours is the man for the job?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Have I ever made a mistake in summing up a man?&#8221; I heard Rayne
answer. &#8220;I always trust my judgment when choosing a new hand.&#8221;</p>

<p>Where, before, had I heard the first speaker&#8217;s voice? I knew that
voice quite well, yet, try as I would, I could not for the life of me
place it.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; the first speaker replied; &#8220;but, remember, in this case we are
running an enormous risk. If the least hitch should occur&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>

<p>They lowered their voices until their talk became inaudible, and
presently I heard one of them go out of the room. After waiting a
minute longer I left the room and went along the short passage, which
I now knew must lead to the room where I had heard them talking.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p><p>Rayne was alone, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the big,
open firegrate.</p>

<p>&#8220;Did you send for me, sir?&#8221; I inquired.</p>

<p>&#8220;I did, Hargreave,&#8221; he replied in a friendly tone. &#8220;I sent for you
because I want you to go to Paris to-night. You will take with you the
suit-case you still have in your possession, and as you will go by a
trading steamer from Newcastle, the voyage will take you some days.
The suit-case contains valuable documents, so you must on no account
let it out of your sight, even for a minute, from the time you leave
here until you hand it over personally to the gentleman I am sending
you to&mdash;Monsieur Duperr&eacute;. He is staying at the H&ocirc;tel Ombrone, that
very smart and exclusive place in the Rue de Rivoli. He will give you
a receipt, which you will bring back to me here at once, coming then
by the ordinary route. You won&#8217;t go by train to-day to Newcastle; you
will drive yourself there in the Fiat. Paul will go with you and drive
the car back.&#8221;</p>

<p>He went on to give me one or two minor instructions, and then ended:
&#8220;That&#8217;s all, Hargreave.&#8221;</p>

<p>I was walking back along the passage when Rayne&#8217;s pretty daughter Lola
came out of the room I had first entered. She must have come out
expressly to meet me, because when close to me she stopped abruptly,
glanced to right and left, and then asked me quickly in an undertone:</p>

<p>&#8220;Is my father sending you on any journey, Mr. Hargreave?&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>Again her wonderful dark eyes became fixed upon mine, as they had done
on the previous day during the drive from the railway station.</p>

<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t try to deceive me,&#8221; she said earnestly. &#8220;You will find it far
better to confide in me.&#8221;</p>

<p>The words so astonished me that for the moment I could not reply.
Then, all at once, a strange feeling of curiosity came over me. Why
all this secrecy about the suit-case? I mentally asked myself. And
what an odd idea to send me to Paris by that long roundabout sea
route! What could be the reason?</p>

<p>&#8220;I am not deceiving you, Miss Rayne,&#8221; I said.</p>

<p>She only smiled and turned abruptly away.</p>

<p>Then, for the first time, I found myself wondering what could be these
precious documents Rayne had told me the suit-case contained? That the
suit-case was locked, I knew! He had not unlocked it since he had
placed it in my charge in London two days before.</p>

<p>My employer gave me some money, and I started two hours later in the
Fiat. As I sped along the broad road from Thirsk south towards York,
with Paul beside me silent as ever, I could not get thoughts of Lola
out of my mind.</p>

<p>Once more I saw her gazing up at me with that peculiar, anxious
expression I had noticed when we had met in the passage, and I
regretted that I had not prolonged our conversation then, and tried to
find out what distressed her.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p><p>Several times I spoke to Paul, but he answered only in monosyllables.</p>

<p>We reached Newcastle in plenty of time, for the boat was not due to
sail before early next morning, and I felt relieved at being at last
rid of my uncongenial companion.</p>

<p>I had an evening paper in my pocket, and, to while away the time, I
lay in my narrow berth and began to read. Presently my glance rested
upon a paragraph which stated that two days before a dressing-case
belonging to Lady Norah Kendrew disappeared in the most extraordinary
manner from the hotel in London where she was staying. Exactly what
happened had been related to the enterprising reporter by Lady Norah
herself.</p>

<p>&#8220;My dressing-case containing all my jewelry was locked and on a table
near my bed,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I went out of the room soon after half-past
ten this morning, my maid, who has been with me eight years, remaining
in the room adjoining to put some of my things away&mdash;the door between
the rooms remained ajar, she says. Whether or not the jewel-case was
still there when she herself went out to lunch at about one o&#8217;clock
she cannot say, as she did not go into my bedroom again. She shut the
door behind her when she went out of the sitting-room into the
corridor, and locked it. I first missed the jewel-case when I returned
to my room at about a quarter past three in the afternoon. The
contents are worth twenty thousand pounds. It seems hardly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>possible
that anybody could have entered the bedroom unheard while my maid was
in the sitting-room with the door between the two rooms ajar, so my
belief is that it must have been stolen between the time she went to
lunch and the time I returned. I am offering a big reward for the
return of the jewel-case with its contents intact.&#8221;</p>

<p>The paragraph interested me because of the hotel where the robbery&mdash;if
robbery it was&mdash;had taken place, and the fact that I had happened to
be in that hotel on the very day of the robbery!</p>

<p>&#8220;Ah, well,&#8221; I remember saying to myself, &#8220;if women will be so careless
as to leave valuable property like that unguarded they must expect to
take the consequences.&#8221;</p>

<p>Then my thoughts wandered from the newspaper, and I found myself
wondering what Lady Norah Kendrew might be like&mdash;if she were young or
old, plain or pretty, married or unmarried. And I suppose naturally
that train of thought brought Lola once more into my imagination. I
had, remember, to all intents, hardly seen her, and she had spoken to
me only twice. Yet her personality literally obsessed me. That I was
foolish to let it I fully realized. But how many of us can completely
master our moods, our impulses and our emotions on all occasions?</p>

<p>The weather at sea remained fine, yet I found that long, slow voyage
most tedious. I had nothing to do but read, for I could not disregard
Mr. Rayne&#8217;s strict instructions that I must on no account let the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>suit-case out of my sight, and in consequence I could not leave my
cabin.</p>

<p>I remember looking down at the suit-case protruding from under the
berth and thinking it curious that documents should weigh so heavy.
There must be a great many of them, I reflected, but even so....</p>

<p>I bent down and pulled the suit-case right out and lifted it.</p>

<p>Indeed it was heavy&mdash;very heavy!</p>

<p>Then I began to think of something else.</p>

<p>I had the cabin to myself, which was pleasant, and I spent most of the
day stretched out in my bunk. Oh, how I longed every hour for the
terribly boring voyage to come to an end!</p>

<p>It was a lovely morning when at last we steamed into the estuary of
the Seine, and I shall never forget how beautiful the river and its
banks looked as I peered out through my port-hole and we crept up
towards Rouen. My meals had all been served in my cabin during the
voyage, as I could not well have taken the suit-case with me into the
saloon.</p>

<p>Now I felt like a prisoner about to be released.</p>

<p>Mr. Rayne had told me to stop at the post-office in Rouen on my way
from the boat to Paris, as I might, he said, find a letter or a
telegram awaiting me. I had managed to pass the suit-case through the
Customs, and now my heart beat faster as a letter was handed to me,
for I recognized Lola&#8217;s handwriting; I had seen it only once
before&mdash;that was on a letter she had asked me to post for her.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p><p>I hurriedly tore open the envelope, and this was what I read:</p>

<p>&#8220;Private. I have suspicion that the suit-case you have you should get
rid of at once. Destroy this!&#8221;</p>

<p>Undated and unsigned, the letter bore no address. At once thoughts and
conjectures of all sorts came crowding into my mind. Could it be that
the suit-case contained stolen jewelry and not documents?</p>

<p>Instantly I guessed why Rayne had sent me to Paris with it by that
roundabout route. He must either himself be the thief, I concluded, or
an accomplice in the theft, and by placing the stolen property in my
charge and smuggling it out of England by a circuitous route....</p>

<p>One reflection led quickly to another. Paul, the valet, no doubt knew
about his master&#8217;s private life&mdash;possibly was in his confidence. And
if Rayne had committed the robbery he must be a professional crook. In
which case, should the whereabouts of the stolen property be
discovered, I should be arrested as an accessory to the crime! Clearly
I had no time to lose if I wanted to safeguard myself. Even now the
police, with their wonderful acumen, might be on my track!</p>

<p>I reached Paris at last, and as my taxi swung round from the Place
Jeanne d&#8217;Arc into the Rue de Rivoli I began to feel extremely nervous.</p>

<p>In reply to my inquiry at the bureau of the smart H&ocirc;tel Ombrone I was
told that I could be given a bed. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>Monsieur Duperr&eacute;? Ah, monsieur had
just gone out, but would be back soon, most likely.</p>

<p>I had been given the key of my room, and was about to enter the lift,
when I noticed seated on a settee in the vestibule a well-dressed
woman whose face seemed familiar. And then in a flash I recognized the
lady who had been at Overstow Hall on the day I had arrived there!</p>

<p>She did not recognize me, or I concluded she did not, and naturally it
was no business of mine to make any sign of recognition.</p>

<p>I had been in my room, I suppose, about two hours when the telephone
bell rang.</p>

<p>&#8220;That Mr. Hargreave? The bureau speaking. Monsieur Duperr&eacute; has come in
and is coming up to you now.&#8221;</p>

<p>A minute later somebody knocked, and I called &#8220;Come in!&#8221; Then, to my
amazement, who should enter but my old company commander in France in
the early days of the war&mdash;Captain Vincent Deinhard, who later in the
war had been court-martialed for misappropriating canteen funds and
been subsequently cashiered! Altogether his Army record had been an
exceedingly bad one.</p>

<p>Instantly I remembered the voice. It was Deinhard I had heard in
conversation with Rayne at Overstow Hall!</p>

<p>He stood stock-still, staring at me.</p>

<p>&#8220;Why, Hargreave!&#8221; he exclaimed at last. &#8220;What in the world are you
doing here?&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I am Mr. Rayne&#8217;s chauffeur and general servant now, captain,&#8221; I
replied. &#8220;Mr. Rayne told me to inquire on my arrival here for Monsieur
Duperr&eacute; and hand him that suit-case,&#8221; and I pointed to it.</p>

<p>He glanced quickly at the door, to make sure that it was shut, then,
looking at me oddly, he said in a low voice:</p>

<p>&#8220;I am Duperr&eacute;, Hargreave. You must forget that my name was ever
anything else&mdash;I got myself into trouble in the Army, you
remember&mdash;and you must forget that too&mdash;and that we have ever met
before. So you are his new chauffeur, eh?&#8221; he went on, now talking
naturally. &#8220;It never occurred to me that &#8216;Hargreave,&#8217; the new
chauffeur, would turn out to be the Hargreave who served under me for
two years!&#8221; and he laughed dryly.</p>

<p>Then, without a word, he went over to the suit-case and picked it up.</p>

<p>&#8220;Come along to my room,&#8221; he said.</p>

<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2>

<h3>ROOM NUMBER 88</h3>

<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:50px;line-height:32px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">I</span> accompanied him along the corridor to a private sitting-room at the
end, numbered 88, and adjoining which was a bedroom. There he placed
the suit-case upon the table, and taking a piece of paper scribbled a
receipt.</p>

<p>&#8220;Better post that on to Rayne at once,&#8221; he suggested. &#8220;My wife will be
here in a moment. We&#8217;ll have lunch later on.&#8221;</p>

<p>All that had already happened had so astonished me that I was only
slightly surprised at finding a few moments later that the lady I had
seen at Overstow Hall, and again a couple of hours before in the
vestibule of the hotel, was Duperr&eacute;&#8217;s wife. He must, I think, have
told her that we had met before, for she seemed in no way astonished
at Mr. Rayne&#8217;s chauffeur being presented to her.</p>

<p>I found her a pleasant woman, well-read, well-educated and widely
travelled. She was, too, an excellent conversationalist. And yet, all
the time we were talking, I could not help thinking of Lola, and
wondering why Duperr&eacute;&#8217;s wife should be in such evidence at Overstow
Hall, indeed, apparently in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>authority there, also why Lola seemed to
be so afraid of her.</p>

<p>Half an hour later I posted the receipt to Rayne, and later we all
three lunched together in the restaurant. We took our coffee upstairs
in the private room, when Duperr&eacute; said, <i>&agrave; propos</i> of nothing,
suddenly looking across at his wife:</p>

<p>&#8220;Hargreave may be of great use to us, Hylda.&#8221; Then, addressing me
again, he said, lowering his voice and glancing at the door:</p>

<p>&#8220;In becoming associated with &#8216;The Golden Face,&#8217; Hargreave, you are more
fortunate than you may think. He&#8217;s a man who can, and who will, if he
likes, help you enormously in all sorts of ways&mdash;you will find that
you are more to him than a mere chauffeur. In fact, we can both help
you, that is, if you fall in with our plans. Our only stipulation will
be that you do what we tell you&mdash;<i>without asking any questions</i>. You
understand&mdash;eh?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I suppose,&#8221; I said, smiling, &#8220;that by &#8216;The Golden Face&#8217; you mean Mr.
Rayne?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes. He&#8217;s called &#8216;Golden Face&#8217; by his intimates. I forgot you didn&#8217;t
know. He got the nick-name through going to the Bal des Quatre Arts,
here in Paris, wearing a half-mask made of beaten gold.&#8221;</p>

<p>By that time I had become convinced that both Rayne and Duperr&eacute; were
men with whom I should have to deal with the utmost circumspection.</p>

<p>The only person I had met since I had engaged <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>myself to Rayne in whom
I could, I felt, place implicit confidence, was Lola.</p>

<p>When we had finished our coffee, Duperr&eacute; excused himself, saying that
he had some letters to write, and suggested that his wife should
accompany me for a taxi drive in the Bois. This struck us both as a
pleasant manner in which to spend the afternoon, therefore Madame
retired to her room, reappearing a few moments later wearing a smart
cloak and a wonderful black hat adorned with three large handsome
feathers.</p>

<p>She proved herself a very amusing companion as we drove out to
Armenonville, where we sat out upon the lawn, she sipping her <i>sirop</i>
while I smoked a cigarette. She knew Paris well, it seemed, and was
communicative over everything&mdash;except concerning Rudolph Rayne.</p>

<p>When I put some questions to her regarding my new employer, she simply
replied:</p>

<p>&#8220;We never discuss him, Mr. Hargreave. It is one of his rules that
those who are his friends, as we are, preserve the strictest silence.
What we discover from time to time we keep entirely to ourselves, and
we even go to the length of disclaiming acquaintanceship with him when
it becomes necessary. So it is best not to be inquisitive. If he
discovers that you have been making inquiries he will be greatly
annoyed.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I quite understand, Madame,&#8221; I replied with a meaning smile. That she
was closely connected with <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>the deep-laid schemes of Rudolph Rayne was
more than ever apparent. But why, I wondered, was Lola so palpably
beneath her influence?</p>

<p>My companion was about thirty-eight, though she looked younger, with
handsome, well-cut features, and possessing the <i>chic</i> of a woman who
had traveled much and who knew how to wear her clothes. There was,
however, nothing of the adventuress about her. On the contrary, she
had the appearance of moving in a very select set. She was English
without a doubt, but she spoke perfect French.</p>

<p>I mentioned Lola, but she said:</p>

<p>&#8220;Remember what I have just told you about undue inquisitiveness, Mr.
Hargreave! You will find out all you want to know in due course. So
possess yourself in patience and act always with foresight as well as
with discretion.&#8221;</p>

<p>I chanced to raise my eyes at that moment, when I noticed that a
well-dressed, black-mustached Frenchman, who wore white spats, while
passing along the terrace of the fine <i>al fresco</i> restaurant had
halted a second to peer into Madame&#8217;s face, no doubt struck by her
handsome features. She noticed it also but turned her head, and spoke
to me of something else. A woman knows instinctively when she is being
admired.</p>

<p>The position in which I now found myself, employed by a man who was
undoubtedly a crook of no mean order, caused me considerable
trepidation. When I had assumed the responsibility of that
innocent-looking <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>suit-case I never dreamt that it contained Lady
Norah Kendrew&#8217;s stolen jewels, as it did, otherwise I would certainly
never have attempted to pass it through the Customs at Rouen. But why
and how, I wondered, had Lola&#8217;s suspicions been aroused? Why had she
warned me?</p>

<p>Rayne had probably sent messengers with stolen property to France by
that route before, knowing that, contrary to the shrewd examination at
Calais, the officers of certain trading ships and the <i>douaniers</i> were
on friendly terms.</p>

<p>When again I raised my eyes furtively to the Frenchman in the white
spats I was relieved to find that he had disappeared. My fears that he
might be an agent of the S&ucirc;ret&eacute; were groundless. The afternoon was
delightful as we sat beneath the trees, but Madame suddenly
recollected an engagement she had with her dressmaker at five o&#8217;clock,
so we re&euml;ntered our taxi and drove back to the Porte Maillot and
thence direct to the hotel.</p>

<p>We found the door of the sitting-room locked, but as Madame turned the
handle Duperr&eacute;&#8217;s voice was heard inquiring who was there.</p>

<p>&#8220;Open the door, Vincent,&#8221; urged his wife.</p>

<p>&#8220;All right! Wait a moment,&#8221; was the reply.</p>

<p>We heard the quick rustling of paper, and after a lapse of perhaps a
minute he unlocked the door for us to enter.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well? Had a nice time&mdash;eh?&#8221; he asked, turning <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>to me as he reclosed
the door and again locked it.</p>

<p>I replied in the affirmative, noticing that on the table was something
covered with a newspaper.</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve been busy,&#8221; he said with a grin, and lifting the paper disclosed
a quantity of bracelets, rings, pendants and other ornaments from
which the gems had been removed. During our absence he had been
occupied in removing the stolen jewels from their settings.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; I laughed. &#8220;You seem to have been very busy, Vincent!&#8221;</p>

<p>Beside the bent and broken articles of gold lay a little pile of
glittering gems, none of them very large, but all of first quality.</p>

<p>&#8220;Lady Norah wouldn&#8217;t like to see her treasures in such a condition,
would she?&#8221; laughed Duperr&eacute;. &#8220;We shall get rid of them to old
Heydenryck, who is arriving presently.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Who is he?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;A Dutch dealer who lives here in Paris. He&#8217;s always open to buy good
stuff, but he won&#8217;t look at any stones that are set. Rayne&#8217;s idea was
to sell them, just as they were, to a dealer named Steffensen, who
buys stuff here and smuggles it over to New York and San Francisco,
where it is not likely to be traced. But I find that Steffensen is
away in America at the moment, so I&#8217;ve approached the Dutchman.
Heydenryck is a sly old dog. Unlike Steffensen, he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>buys unset stones
because they are difficult to identify.&#8221;</p>

<p>I bent and examined the glittering little pile of diamonds, rubies,
emeralds and sapphires which had been stolen from the hotel in London.</p>

<p>&#8220;Look here, Hargreave,&#8221; said Duperr&eacute;. &#8220;I want you to help us to get
rid of this,&#8221; and he pointed to the broken jewelry.</p>

<p>&#8220;How?&#8221; I asked dismayed, for I confess that I feared the discovery. To
be thus intimately associated with a band of expert crooks was a new
experience.</p>

<p>&#8220;Quite easily,&#8221; he replied. &#8220;I&#8217;ll show you.&#8221; Then turning to his wife,
he said: &#8220;Just bring Lu Chang in, will you, Hylda?&#8221;</p>

<p>Madame passed into the next room and returned with a small Pekinese in
her arms.</p>

<p>&#8220;Lu Chang is quite quiet and harmless,&#8221; laughed Duperr&eacute; as his wife
handed the dog to me.</p>

<p>As my hands came in contact with the animal&#8217;s fur I realized that it
was dead&mdash;and stuffed!</p>

<p>Duperr&eacute; laughed heartily as he watched my face. I confess that I was
mystified.</p>

<p>He took the dog, which had probably been purchased from a naturalist
only that day, and ripping open the pelt behind the forelegs he
quickly drew out the stuffing. Then into the cavity he hurriedly
thrust the broken rings and pendants.</p>

<p>I watched him with curiosity. It seemed such an unusual proceeding.
But I recollected that I was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>dealing with strange associates&mdash;people
whom I afterwards found to be perhaps the most ingenious crooks in
Europe.</p>

<p>&#8220;Poor Lu Chang,&#8221; exclaimed my old company commander with a laugh. &#8220;If
you drown him he won&#8217;t feel it!&#8221;</p>

<p>Duperr&eacute; watched the expression of surprise upon my face as he packed
the whole of the broken jewelry into the dog.</p>

<p>&#8220;Now what I want you to do, Hargreave,&#8221; he said, &#8220;is to drown Lu Chang
in the Seine. Lots of people in Paris, who are not lovers of dogs, are
flinging them into the river because of the new excessive tax upon
domestic pets. You will just toss Lu Chang over the Pont Neuf. The
police can&#8217;t interfere, even though they see you. You will only have
put the dog out of the world rather than pay the double tax.&#8221;</p>

<p>He watched my natural hesitation.</p>

<p>&#8220;Isn&#8217;t he a little dear!&#8221; exclaimed Madame, stroking the dog&#8217;s fur.
&#8220;Poor Lu Chang! He won&#8217;t float with the gold inside him!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; laughed Duperr&eacute;. &#8220;He&#8217;ll go plumb to the bottom!&#8221;</p>

<p>It was on the tip of my tongue to excuse myself, but I remembered that
I was in the service of Rudolph Rayne, the country squire of Overstow,
and paid handsomely. And, after all, it was no great risk to fling the
stuffed dog into the river.</p>

<p>I am a lover of dogs, and had the animal been <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>alive nothing would
have induced me to carry out his suggestion.</p>

<p>But as it had been dead long ago, for I saw some signs of moth in the
fur, and as I was in Paris at the bidding of my employer, I consented,
and carrying the little Peke beneath my arm I walked along the Quai du
Louvre to the old bridge which, in two parts, spans the river. Just
before I gained the Rue Dauphine, on the other side, I paused and
looked down into the water. An agent of police was regulating the
traffic on my left, and he being in controversy with the driver of a
motor-lorry, I took my opportunity and dropped the dog with its secret
into the water.</p>

<p>Two boys had watched me, so I waited a moment, then turning upon my
heel, I retraced my steps back to the H&ocirc;tel Ombrone, having been
absent about twenty minutes.</p>

<p>As I entered Room 88, three Frenchmen, who had ascended in the lift,
followed me in.</p>

<p>Madame was writing a letter, while Duperr&eacute; was in the act of lighting
a cigarette. We started in surprise, for next instant we all three
found ourselves under arrest; the well-dressed strangers being
officers of the S&ucirc;ret&eacute;. One of them was the man in the white spats who
had been attracted by Madame in the Bois.</p>

<p>&#8220;Arrest!&#8221; gasped Duperr&eacute;.</p>

<p>As he did so, an undersized, rather shabbily-dressed man of sixty or
so put his head into the door <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>inquisitively, and realizing that
something unpleasant was occurring, quickly withdrew and disappeared.
I saw that he exchanged with Duperr&eacute; a glance of recognition combined
with apprehension, and concluded that it was the man Heydenryck, the
dealer in stolen gems.</p>

<p>Meanwhile the elder of the three detectives told us that they had
reason to believe that jewelry stolen from a London hotel was in our
possession, and that the place would be searched.</p>

<p>&#8220;Messieurs, you are quite at liberty to search,&#8221; laughed Duperr&eacute;,
treating the affair as a joke. &#8220;Here are my keys!&#8221;</p>

<p>At once they began to rummage every hole and corner in the room as
well as the luggage of both Duperr&eacute; and his wife. The brown suit-case
which was in the wardrobe in the bedroom attracted their attention,
but when unlocked was found to contain only a few modern novels.</p>

<p>At this they drew back in chagrin and disappointment. I knew that the
broken gold was safely at the bottom of the Seine, but where were the
gems?</p>

<p>It was all very well for Duperr&eacute; to bluff, but they would, I felt
convinced, eventually be found. The police, not content with searching
the personal belongings of my friend, took up the floor-boards, and
even stripped some paper from the wall and carefully examined every
article of furniture. Afterwards they went to my room at the end of
the corridor and thoroughly searched it.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p><p>At last the inspector, still mystified, ordered two taxis to be
called, as it was his intention to take us at once before the
examining magistrate.</p>

<p>&#8220;Madame had better put on her hat at once,&#8221; he added, bristling with
authority.</p>

<p>Thus ordered, she reluctantly obeyed and put on her big feathered hat
before the glass. Then a few moments later we were conducted
downstairs and away to the Prefecture of Police.</p>

<p>After all being thoroughly searched, Madame being examined by a prison
wardress, we were ushered into the dull official room of Monsieur
Rodin, the well-known examining magistrate, who for a full hour plied
us with questions. Duperr&eacute; and his wife preserved an outward dignity
that amazed me. They complained bitterly of being accused without
foundation, while on my part I answered the police official that I had
quite accidentally come across my old superior officer.</p>

<p>Time after time Monsieur Rodin referred to the papers before him,
evidently much puzzled. It seemed that Madame had been recognized in
the Bois by the impressionable Frenchman who I had believed, had been
attracted by her handsome face.</p>

<p>That information had been sent by Scotland Yard to Paris regarding the
stolen jewels was apparent. Yet the fact that the locked suit-case
only contained books and that nothing had been found in our
possession&mdash;thanks to the forethought of Duperr&eacute;&mdash;the police now found
themselves in a quandary. The man <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>in the white spats whom we had seen
in the Bois identified Madame as Marie Richaud, a Frenchwoman who had
lived in Philadelphia for several years, and who had been implicated
two years before in the great frauds on the Bordeaux branch of the
Soci&eacute;t&eacute; G&eacute;n&eacute;rale.</p>

<p>Madame airily denied any knowledge of it. She had only arrived in
Paris with her husband from Rome a few days before, she declared. And
surely enough the visas upon their passports showed that was so, even
though I had seen her at Overstow!</p>

<p>How I withstood that hour I know not. In the end, however, Monsieur
Rodin ceased his questions and we were put into the cells till the
next morning.</p>

<p>Imagine the sleepless night I spent! I hated myself for falling into
the trap which Rayne, the crafty organizer of the gang, had so
cleverly laid for me. Yet was I not in the hands of the police?</p>

<p>But the main question in my mind was the whereabouts of that little
pile of gems.</p>

<p>Next day we were taken publicly before another magistrate and defended
by a clever lawyer whom Duperr&eacute; had engaged. It was found that not a
tittle of evidence could be brought against us, and, even though the
magistrate expressed his strong suspicions, we were at last released.</p>

<p>As we walked out into the sunlight of the boulevard, Duperr&eacute; glanced
at his watch, and exclaimed:</p>

<p>&#8220;I wonder if we shall be in time to catch the train? I must telephone
to Heydenryck at once.&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p><p>Five minutes later he was in a public telephone-box speaking to the
receiver of stolen goods.</p>

<p>Then, without returning to the H&ocirc;tel Ombrone, we took a taxi direct to
the Gare de Lyon.</p>

<p>As Duperr&eacute; took three first-class tickets to Fontainebleau, the
undersized, grave-faced old man whom I had seen at the moment of our
arrest followed him, and also took a ticket to the same destination.
We entered an empty compartment where, just before the train moved
off, the old man joined us.</p>

<p>He posed as a perfect stranger, but as soon as the train had left the
platform my companion introduced him to me.</p>

<p>&#8220;I called last night and saw what had happened. Surely you have all
three had a narrow escape!&#8221; he exclaimed.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said Duperr&eacute;. &#8220;It was fortunate that Hylda recognized the
<i>sous-inspecteur</i> Bossant in the Bois. She put me on my guard. I knew
we should be arrested, so I took precautions to get rid of the gold
and conceal the stones.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;But where are they?&#8221; I asked eagerly, as the train ran through the
first station out of Paris. &#8220;They are still hidden in the hotel, I
suppose. We&#8217;ve all been searched!&#8221;</p>

<p>Madame laughed merrily, and removing her hat, unceremoniously tore out
the three great feathers, the large quills of which she held up to the
light before my eyes.</p>

<p>I then saw to my amazement that, though hardly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>distinguishable, all
three of the hollow quills were filled with gems, the smaller being
put in first.</p>

<p>At the detective&#8217;s own suggestion she had put on her hat when
arrested, and she had worn it during the time she had been searched,
during the examination by the magistrate, and during her trial!</p>

<p>Duperr&eacute; was certainly nothing if not ingenious and his <i>sang-froid</i>
had saved us all from terms of imprisonment.</p>

<p>Madame replaced the valuable feathers in her hat, and when we arrived
at Fontainebleau we drove at once to the H&ocirc;tel de France, opposite the
palace, where we took an excellent <i>d&eacute;jeuner</i> in a private room.</p>

<p>And before we left, Duperr&eacute; had disposed of Lady Norah&#8217;s jewels at a
very respectable figure, which the sly old receiver paid over in
thousand-franc notes.</p>

<p>I marveled at my companion&#8217;s ingenuity, whereupon he laughed airily,
replying:</p>

<p>&#8220;When &#8216;The Golden Face&#8217; arranges a <i>coup</i> it never fails to come off&mdash;I
assure you. The police have to be up very early to get the better of
him. His one injunction to all of us is that we shall be ready at all
times to show clean hands&mdash;as we have to-day! But let&#8217;s get away,
Hargreave&mdash;back to London, I think, don&#8217;t you?&#8221;</p>

<p>The whole adventure mystified and bewildered me. It was a mystery
which, however, before long, was to be increased a hundredfold. Alas!
that I should sit here and put down my guilt upon paper!</p>

<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2>

<h3>THE MAN WITH THE HUMP</h3>

<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:50px;line-height:32px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">O</span><span style="margin-left:0%;">ne</span> morning I called at Rayne&#8217;s luxurious chambers in Half Moon
Street, when he expressed himself most delighted at the result of our
visit to Paris.</p>

<p>&#8220;I want you to-morrow morning to drive Lola and Madame up to
Overstow,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Better start early. Call for them at the hotel at
nine o&#8217;clock. The roads are good, so you&#8217;ll have a pleasant journey.
I&#8217;ll get home by train at the end of the week.&#8221;</p>

<p>At this I was very pleased, for Lola with her great dark eyes always
sat beside me. She could drive quite well, and was full of good humor
and a charming little gossip. Hence I looked forward to a very
pleasant run. The more I saw of the master-crook&#8217;s daughter the more
attracted I became by her. Indeed, though she seemed to regard me with
some suspicion&mdash;why, I don&#8217;t know&mdash;we had already become excellent
friends.</p>

<p>The month of September passed.</p>

<p>We had all spent a delightful time at Overstow. Rayne had given two
big shoots at which several well-known Yorkshire landowners had been
present, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>while I had taken a gun, and Lola, Madame and several other
ladies had walked with us. Lola and I were frequently together, and I
often accompanied her on long walks through the autumn-tinted woods.</p>

<p>Madame&#8217;s husband had only spent a week with us, for he had, I
understood, been called to Switzerland on &#8220;business&#8221;&mdash;the nature of
which I could easily guess.</p>

<p>At the end of the month we were back in London again.</p>

<p>One evening I had dined at the Carlton with Lola, her father and
Madame, and the two ladies having gone off to the theater, he took me
round to the set of luxurious chambers he occupied in Half Moon
Street.</p>

<p>When we were alone together with our cigars, he suddenly said:</p>

<p>&#8220;I want you to go out for a run to-night&mdash;to Bristol.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;To Bristol! To-night?&#8221; I echoed.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes. I want you to take the new &#8216;A. C.&#8217; and get to the Clifton
Suspension Bridge by two o&#8217;clock to-morrow morning. There, in the
center of the bridge, you will await a stranger&mdash;an elderly hunchback
whose name is Morley Tarrant. He&#8217;ll give you, as <i>bon&acirc; fides</i>, the
word &#8216;Mask.&#8217; When you meet him act upon his instructions. He is to be
trusted.&#8221;</p>

<p>The tryst seemed full of suspicion, and I certainly did not like it.
The evening was bright and clear, and the run in the fast two-seater
would be enjoyable. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>But to meet a man who would give a password
savored too much of crookdom.</p>

<p>He quickly saw my hesitation, and added:</p>

<p>&#8220;Now, Hargreave, I ought not to conceal from you the fact that there
may be a trap. If so, you must evade it and escape at all costs. I
have enemies, you know&mdash;pretty fierce ones.&#8221;</p>

<p>Again, for the hundredth time, I debated within myself whether I dare
cast myself adrift from the round-faced, prosperous-looking
cosmopolitan who sat before me so full of good humor and so fearless.</p>

<p>I had been cleverly inveigled into accepting the situation he had
offered me, but I had never dreamed that by accepting, I was throwing
in my lot with the most marvelously organized gang of evil-doers that
that world had ever known.</p>

<p>Other similar gangs blundered at one time or another and left
loopholes through which the police were able to attack them and break
them up. But Rudolph Rayne had flung his octopus-like tentacles so far
afield that he had actually attached to him&mdash;by fear of blackmail&mdash;an
eminent Counsel who appeared for the defense of any member of the
circle who happened to make a slip. That well-known member of the Bar
I will call Mr. Henry Moyser, a lawyer whose fame was of world-wide
repute, and who was employed for the defense in most of the really
great criminal trials.</p>

<p>I sat astounded when, by a side-wind, I was told that Mr. Moyser would
defend me if I were unlucky <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>enough to be arrested. Certainly his very
name was sufficient to secure an acquittal.</p>

<p>The journey from Pall Mall to Clifton had been a long and rather
tiring one, and as I sat in the swift two-seater half-way across the
high suspension bridge, I smoked reflectively as I gazed away along
the river where deep below shone a few twinkling lights. Across at
Clifton I could see the row of street lamps, while above the stars
were shining in the sharp frosty air, and in the distance I could hear
the roar of an express train.</p>

<p>The bell of Clifton parish church struck the half-hour, but nobody was
in sight, and there were no sounds of footsteps in the frosty air.
Though so near the busy city of Bristol, yet high up on that long
bridge, that triumph of engineering of our yesterday, all was quiet
with scarce a sound save the shrill cry of a night-bird.</p>

<p>If it were not that I loved Lola I would gladly have resigned the
position which had already become hateful to me. Somehow I felt
vaguely that perhaps I might one day render her a service. I might
even extricate her from the dangerous circumstances in which she was
living in all innocence of the actual conspiracies in which her father
was engaged. Who could know?</p>

<p>As far as I could gather, Lola was much puzzled at certain secret
meetings held at Overstow. Her father&#8217;s friends of both sexes were
shrouded in mystery, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>and she was, I knew, seeking to penetrate it and
learn the truth.</p>

<p>I had already satisfied myself that the gang was a most dangerous and
unscrupulous one, and that Rayne and his friends would hesitate at
nothing so long as they carried out the plans which they laid with
such innate cunning in order to effect great and astounding
<i>coups</i>&mdash;the clever thefts and swindles that from time to time had
held the world aghast.</p>

<p>I suppose I must have waited nearly half an hour when suddenly there
fell upon my ear uneven footsteps hurrying along towards the car, and
in the light of the street lamp I distinguished, hurrying towards me,
a short, elderly man, somewhat deformed, with a distinct hump on his
back.</p>

<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re Mr. Hargreave, aren&#8217;t you?&#8221; he inquired breathlessly, with a
distinct Scottish accent. &#8220;I&#8217;m Tarrant! I&#8217;m so sorry I&#8217;m late, but
Rudolph will understand. I&#8217;ll explain it to him.&#8221;</p>

<p>And he was about to mount into the seat beside me.</p>

<p>I put out my arm, and peering into the man&#8217;s face, asked:</p>

<p>&#8220;Is there nothing else, eh?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Nothing,&#8221; he replied. &#8220;Why? You are here to meet me. Rudolph sent you
down from London.&#8221;</p>

<p>I was awaiting the prearranged word that would show the hunchback&#8217;s
<i>bon&acirc; fides</i>.</p>

<p>I gave him another opportunity of giving the password, but he seemed
ignorant of it.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p><p>Next second, my suspicions being aroused, I sprang down, and crying:</p>

<p>&#8220;Look here, old fellow! I fancy you&#8217;ve made a mistake!&#8221; I struck him
familiarly upon the back.</p>

<p>His hump was <i>soft</i>! In that instant I detected him as an impostor&mdash;a
Scotland Yard detective&mdash;without a doubt!</p>

<p>Fortunately for me my brain acts quickly. But it was not so quick as
his. He gave a shrill whistle, and in a flash from nowhere three of
his colleagues appeared. They ran around the car to hold it up.</p>

<p>For a few seconds I found myself in serious jeopardy.</p>

<p>I sprang into the driver&#8217;s seat, switched on the self-starter, and
just as one of the detectives tried to mount beside me, I threw down
among my assailants a little dark brown bomb the shape of an egg, with
which Rayne had provided me in case of emergency.</p>

<p>It exploded with a low fizz and its fumes took them aback, allowing me
to shoot away over the bridge and down into Bristol, much wiser than
when I had arrived.</p>

<p>The arrangement of that password in itself showed how cleverly Rudolph
Rayne was foresighted in all his plans. He always left a loophole for
escape. Surely he was a past-master in the art of criminality, for his
fertile brain evolved schemes and exit channels which nobody ever
dreamed of.</p>

<p>The squire of Overstow, who was regarded by the wealthy county people
of Yorkshire as perfectly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>honest in all his dealings, and unduly rich
withal, attracted to his table some of the most exclusive hunting set,
people with titles, as well as the <i>parvenus</i> &#8220;impossibles&#8221; who had
bought huge places with the money made out of the war. The &#8220;County&#8221;
never dreamed of the mysterious source of Rudolph Rayne&#8217;s unlimited
income.</p>

<p>After traveling through a number of deserted streets in Bristol, I at
last found myself upon a high road with a signpost which told me that
I was on my way to Wells, that picturesque little city at the foot of
the Mendip Hills. So, fearing lest I might be followed, I went &#8220;all
out&#8221; through Axbridge and Cheddar, until at last I came to the fine
old cathedral at Wells, which I knew quite familiarly. Near it was the
Swan Hotel, at which, after some difficulty, I aroused the &#8220;boots,&#8221;
secured a room, and placed the car in the garage.</p>

<p>It was then nearly half-past three in the morning, and my only object
in taking a room was to inform Rayne by telephone of my narrow escape.
Rayne was remaining the night at Half Moon Street, while Lola and
Madame Duperr&eacute; were at the Carlton. We had all come up from Overstow a
couple of days before, and two secret meetings had been held at Half
Moon Street.</p>

<p>Of the nature of the plot in progress I was in entire ignorance. They
never let me completely into their plans; indeed, I only knew their
true import when they were actually accomplished.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p><p>The half-awake &#8220;boots&#8221; at the Swan indicated the telephone, and a
quarter of an hour later I was speaking to Rayne in his bedroom in
London. Very guardedly I explained how nearly I had been trapped,
whereupon I heard him chuckle.</p>

<p>&#8220;A very good lesson for you, Hargreave!&#8221; he replied. &#8220;Our friends are
apparently on the watch, so get back to London as soon as you can.
You&#8217;ll be here at breakfast-time. Leave the car at Lloyd&#8217;s and come
along to me. Good luck to you!&#8221; he added, and then switched off.</p>

<p>The Lloyd&#8217;s garage he mentioned was in Bloomsbury, a place kept for
the accommodation of motor-thieves. Many a car which disappeared
quickly found its way there, and in a few hours the engine numbers
were removed and fresh ones substituted, while the bodies were
repainted and false number-plates attached.</p>

<p>As I put down the telephone receiver, it suddenly occurred to me that
already the Bristol police might have telephoned a description of the
car along the various roads leading out of the city. Therefore it
would be too risky to remain there. Hence, as though in sudden
decision, I paid the &#8220;boots&#8221; for my bed, and five minutes later was
again on the road speeding towards London.</p>

<p>I chose the road to Salisbury, and after &#8220;blinding&#8221; for half an hour,
I stopped and put on the false number-plates and license with which
Rayne always provided me.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p><p>It was as well that I did so, for in the gray morning as I went
through Salisbury a police-sergeant and a constable hailed me just as
I turned into St. John Street, near the White Hart, calling upon me to
stop. I could see by their attitude that they were awaiting me,
therefore pretending not to hear I quickened my pace and, knowing the
road, soon left the place behind me.</p>

<p>Again, in a village some ten miles farther on, a constable shouted to
me as I continued my wild flight, hence it seemed apparent that a
cordon had been formed around me, and I now feared that to enter
Winchester would be to run right into the arms of the police.</p>

<p>The only way to save myself was to abandon the car and get back to
London by rail. As I contemplated this I was already passing beside
the high embankment of the South Western Railway, where half a mile
farther on I found a little wayside station. Therefore I turned the
car into a small wood, and destroying my genuine license and hiding
the genuine number-plate, I took the next train to Winchester, and
thence by express to Waterloo after a very wild and adventurous night.
That I had been within an ace of capture was palpable. But why?</p>

<p>I was in the service of the man who controlled that vast criminal
organization which the police of Europe were ever trying to break up.
But why should I be sent to meet the mysterious hunchback Tarrant on
Clifton Bridge?</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;There seemed to have been a little flaw in our plans, Hargreave,&#8221;
said the alert, good-looking man as I sat with him in his cosy
chambers in Half Moon Street that morning. &#8220;The police evidently got
wind of the fact that old Morley was meeting you, and Benton tried to
impersonate him. I know Benton. He&#8217;s always up against me. He might
have succeeded had he made the hump on his back a hard one, eh?&#8221; he
laughed, as though rather amused than otherwise.</p>

<p>&#8220;But he didn&#8217;t know the password,&#8221; I remarked in triumph.</p>

<p>&#8220;No! It was fortunate for you that I had arranged it with old Morley,&#8221;
said the man with the master-mind. &#8220;One must be ever wary when one
treads crooked paths, you know. The slightest slip&mdash;and the end comes!
But, at any rate, last night&#8217;s adventure has sharpened your wits.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;And it has cost us the &#8216;A. C.&#8217;!&#8221; I remarked.</p>

<p>&#8220;Bah! What&#8217;s a motor-car more or less when one is working a big
thing!&#8221; he exclaimed. &#8220;Never let ideas of economy stand in your way,
or you&#8217;ll never make a fortune. In order to make money you must always
spend money.&#8221;</p>

<p>I often recollected that adage of his in later days, when the pace
grew even hotter.</p>

<p>Rayne paused for a few minutes. Then he said:</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve already heard from old Morley on the telephone half an hour ago.
He was on the bridge and watched the fun. Then he discreetly withdrew
and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>went back to his hotel in Clifton. He declares that you acted
splendidly.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m much gratified by his testimonial,&#8221; I said.</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve arranged that he shall meet you to-night here in London&mdash;outside
the Three Nuns Hotel at Aldgate. Go to Lloyd&#8217;s and get a car. At
half-past seven it will be dark. Drive up, go into the bar and have a
drink. You&#8217;ll find him there and recognize him by his deformity.
Outside he will mention the password and you will drive him where he
directs. That&#8217;s all!&#8221;</p>

<p>And the man who had, on engaging me, so particularly wanted to know if
I could sing, and had never asked me to do so, dismissed me quite
abruptly, as was his habit. His quick alertness, keen shrewdness and
sharp suspicion caused him to speak abruptly&mdash;almost churlishly&mdash;to
those about him. I, however, now understood him. Yet I wondered what
evil work was in progress.</p>

<p>He had often pitted his wits against the most famous detective
inspector, the great Benton, who had achieved so much notoriety in the
Enfield poisoning case, the Sunbury mystery in which the body of a
young girl shop-assistant had been found headless in the Thames, the
great Maresfield drug drama of Limehouse and Mayfair, and the
disappearance of the Honorable Edna Newcomen from her mother&#8217;s house
in Grosvenor Gardens. Superintendent Arthur Benton was perhaps the
most wideawake hunter of criminals in the United Kingdom. As chief of
his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>own particular branch at Scotland Yard he performed wonderful
services, and his record was unique. Yet, hampered as he was by
official red-tape and those regulations which prevented his men from
taking a third-class railway ticket when following a thief, unless
they waited for weeks for the return of the expenditure from official
sources, he was no match for the squire of Overstow, who had a big
bank balance, who moved in society, official, political and otherwise,
and who actually entertained certain high officials at his table.</p>

<p>From a man in the Department of the Public Prosecutor at Whitehall,
Rayne often learnt much of the inner workings of Scotland Yard and of
secret inquiries, for a civil servant at a well-laid sumptuous table
is frequently prone to indiscretion.</p>

<p>Arthur Benton was a well-meaning and very straight-dealing public
servant with a splendid record as a detector of crime, but against
money and such influence he could not cope. Indeed, more than once
Rayne declared to me that he intended evil against Benton.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yet I rather like him,&#8221; he had said when we were discussing him one
day. &#8220;After all, he&#8217;s a real good sportsman!&#8221;</p>

<p>So according to Rayne&#8217;s orders I met the hunchback Tarrant at the
Three Nuns Hotel at Aldgate. I had taken another car from Lloyd&#8217;s
garage&mdash;a Fiat landaulette, stolen, no doubt&mdash;and in it, at the old
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>man&#8217;s directions, I drove out to Maldon, in Essex, where at a small
house outside the town I found, to my surprise, Rayne already awaiting
us.</p>

<p>What, I wondered, was in progress?</p>

<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2>

<h3>THE FOUR FALSE FINGERS</h3>

<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:50px;line-height:32px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span><span style="margin-left:0%;">he</span> house outside Maldon proved to be a newly built, detached,
eight-roomed villa in a lonely spot on the high road to Witham. As I
idled about it, I smelt a curious odor of melting rubber. Apparently
the place had been taken furnished, but with what object I could not
guess. Tarrant was a queer, rather insignificant-looking old fellow
with a shock of white hair and a scraggy white beard.</p>

<p>Both he and Rayne were closeted together in the little dining-room for
nearly two hours, while I sat in the adjoining room. I could hear them
conversing in low tones, and the smell of rubber warmed by heat became
more pungent. What game was being carried on? Something very secret
without a doubt. I thought I heard the sound of a third man&#8217;s voice.
Indeed, there might be a third person present, for I had not been
admitted to the room.</p>

<p>At last, leaving Rayne there, I drove the old man on to Witham, where
I left him at his own request at a point near the wireless telegraph
station, and turning, went back to the thieves&#8217; garage and there left
the car.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p><p>I did not see Rudolph Rayne again for several days, but according to
instructions I received from Madame Duperr&eacute;, I went by train up to
Yorkshire and awaited their arrival.</p>

<p>From Duperr&eacute;, who arrived three days after I had got to Overstow, I
gathered that Rayne had suddenly been called away to the Continent on
one of his swift visits, &#8220;on a little matter of business,&#8221; added
Vincent with a meaning grin.</p>

<p>We were smoking together in the great old library, when I told him of
my narrow escape on Clifton Bridge.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Benton is always trying to get at us. It was sly of
him to impersonate old Morley. I wonder how he got to know that you
were meeting him? Someone must have betrayed Rayne. I have a suspicion
who it may be. If he has, then woe betide him! Rudolph never forgives
an enemy or a blunderer.&#8221;</p>

<p>I tried to get from Duperr&eacute; the reason why the hunchback had met Rayne
in such secrecy, but he would divulge nothing.</p>

<p>Next day his wife and Lola returned, and that same evening as I sat
with the latter in the chintz-covered drawing-room&mdash;for though I had
been engaged as chauffeur I was now treated as one of the family&mdash;I
had a delightful chat with her.</p>

<p>That she was sorely puzzled at her father&#8217;s rapid journeys to and fro
across Europe without any apparent reason, of the strange assortment
of his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>friends and the secrecy in which he so often met them, I had
long ago observed.</p>

<p>The truth was that I had fallen deeply in love with the sweet dainty
girl whose father was the most audacious and cunning crook the modern
world had produced. I believed, on account of the small confidence we
had exchanged, that Lola, on her part, did not regard me with actual
disfavor.</p>

<p>&#8220;When will your father be back, do you think?&#8221; I asked her as she
lounged upon a settee with a big orange silk cushion behind her. She
looked very sweet. She wore a pretty but very simple dance-frock of
flame-colored ninon, in which I had seen her at the Carlton on the
night when I set out to meet the man Tarrant and was so nearly caught.</p>

<p>I had given her a cigarette, and we were smoking together
cosily&mdash;Duperr&eacute; and his wife being somewhere in the great old house. I
think Duperr&eacute; was, after all, a sportsman, even though he was a
practiced crook, for on that night he and his wife allowed me to be
alone with Lola.</p>

<p>&#8220;Do you know a friend of your father, an old man named Tarrant?&#8221; I
asked her suddenly.</p>

<p>&#8220;Tarrant&mdash;Morley Tarrant?&#8221; she asked. &#8220;Oh! yes. He&#8217;s such a funny old
fellow. Three years ago he often used to visit us when we lived in
Biarritz, but I haven&#8217;t seen him since.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Who is he?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;He was the manager of the branch of the Cr&eacute;dit <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>Foncier. He is
French, though he bears an English name.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;French! But he speaks English!&#8221; I remarked.</p>

<p>&#8220;Of course. His mother was English. He was once employed by Morgan&#8217;s
in Paris, I believe, but I haven&#8217;t seen him lately. Father said one
day at table that the old fellow had overstepped the mark and owing to
some defalcations had gone to prison. I was sorry. What do you know of
him?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Nothing,&#8221; I replied. &#8220;I&#8217;ve heard of him.&#8221;</p>

<p>She looked me very straight in the face from beneath her long dark
lashes.</p>

<p>&#8220;Ah! you won&#8217;t tell me what you know,&#8221; she said mysteriously.</p>

<p>&#8220;Neither will you, Lola!&#8221; Then, after a pause, I added: &#8220;I want to
know whether he is your father&#8217;s friend&mdash;or his enemy.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;His friend, no doubt.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Why should your father have as friend a man who robs a bank, eh?&#8221; I
asked very earnestly.</p>

<p>&#8220;Ah! That I don&#8217;t know!&#8221; replied the girl as she bent towards me
earnestly. &#8220;I&mdash;I&#8217;m always so puzzled. Ever since my dear mother died,
just after I came back from Roedene, I have wondered&mdash;and always
wondered. I can discover nothing&mdash;absolutely nothing! Father is so
secret, and neither Madame nor he will tell me anything. They only say
that their business is no affair of mine. My father has business, no
doubt, Mr. Hargreave. From his business he derives his income. But I
cannot see <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>why he should so constantly meet men and women in all
sorts of social positions and give them orders, as it were. I am not
blind, neither am I deaf.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;You have listened in secret, eh?&#8221; I asked.</p>

<p>&#8220;I confess that I have.&#8221; Then, after a slight pause, she went on: &#8220;And
I have overheard some very strange conversations. My father seems to
direct the good fortunes of certain of his friends, while at the same
time he plots against his enemies. But I suppose, after all, it is
business.&#8221;</p>

<p>Business! Little did the girl dream of the real occupation of her
unscrupulous father, or the desperate characters of his friends, both
male and female.</p>

<p>Truly, she was very sweet and charming, and I hated to think that in
her innocence she existed in that fevered world of plotting and
desperate crime.</p>

<p>We walked along the broad terrace in the twilight. Beyond spread the
wide park to a dark belt of trees, Sherman&#8217;s Copse, it was called, a
delightfully shady place in summer where we had often strolled
together.</p>

<p>As we chatted, I reflected. So old Morley Tarrant was a gaol-bird!
Hence it was but natural that Rudolph Rayne, who preserved such a high
degree of respectability, would hesitate to meet him providing he knew
that the police were watching. He certainly knew that, hence the
secrecy of their appointment.</p>

<p>As we walked Madame suddenly emerged from the French windows of the
drawing-room and joined us.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve just had a wire from Rudolph,&#8221; she said. &#8220;He&#8217;s leaving
Copenhagen to-night and will be back to-morrow night. I&#8217;d no idea that
he had been over in Denmark. But there! he is such a bird of passage
that one never knows where he may be to-morrow.&#8221; And she laughed.</p>

<p>Later we all four sat down to dinner, a decorous meal, well-cooked and
well-served. But the character of the household was shown by the fact
that none of the servants&mdash;discreetly chosen, of course, and in
themselves members of the criminal organization&mdash;betrayed the least
surprise that I, who acted as chauffeur, should be admitted to that
curious family circle.</p>

<p>Rayne returned next night, tired and travel-worn, and I met him at
Thirsk station.</p>

<p>&#8220;We go up to Edinburgh to-morrow. I shall want you to drive me,&#8221; he
said as he sat at my side in the Rolls. &#8220;Lola will go also.&#8221;</p>

<p>His last words delighted me, and next day at noon we all three set
forth on our journey north. It rained all day and the run was the
reverse of pleasant, nevertheless, we arrived at the Caledonian Hotel
quite safely, and were soon installed in one of the cosy private
suites.</p>

<p>Father and daughter breakfasted in their sitting-room, while I had my
meal alone in the coffee-room.</p>

<p>When later I went up for orders Rayne dismissed me abruptly, saying
that he would not require me till after lunch.</p>

<p>Half an hour afterwards, while idling along <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>Princes Street, I came
across Lola, who was looking in one of the shop windows.</p>

<p>&#8220;Father has sent me out as he wants to talk business with Mr. Hugh
Martyn, a rich American we met at the Grand, in Rome, last year.
Father has come up here specially to meet him.&#8221;</p>

<p>What fresh crooked business could there be in progress? That Rayne had
paid flying visits to Copenhagen and Edinburgh in such a short space
of time was in itself highly suspicious.</p>

<p>After luncheon, on entering Rayne&#8217;s sitting-room, I found him busily
fashioning from a sheet of thin cardboard a small square box which he
was fitting over a large glass paper-weight, a cube about four inches
square which was wrapped in tissue-paper, the corner of which happened
to be torn and so revealed the glass.</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m sending this away as a present,&#8221; he explained. &#8220;I bought it over
in Princes Street this morning.&#8221; And he continued with his scissors to
make the box to fit it. &#8220;I shall not want you any more to-day
Hargreave,&#8221; he went on. &#8220;We&#8217;ll get back home to-morrow, starting at
ten.&#8221;</p>

<p>And, as was his habit, he dismissed me abruptly.</p>

<p>Four days later I was summoned to the library, where in breeches and
gaiters he was standing astride upon the hearthrug.</p>

<p>&#8220;Look here, Hargreave,&#8221; he said, &#8220;I want you to take the next train up
to London and carry that little leather bag with you,&#8221; and he
indicated a small bag <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>standing upon the writing-table. &#8220;On arrival go
at once down to Maldon and call at half-past nine o&#8217;clock to-morrow
night at that house to which you took old Mr. Tarrant. You recollect
it&mdash;The Limes, on the Witham road. Morley will be expecting you.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Very well,&#8221; I replied. &#8220;Is there any message?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;None. Just deliver it to him. But to nobody else, remember,&#8221; he
ordered.</p>

<p>So according to his instructions I duly arrived at the remote house at
the hour arranged, and delivered the bag to the old man, who welcomed
me and gave me a whisky-and-soda, which I found very acceptable after
my long tramp from Maldon station. Tarrant was not alone, for I
distinctly heard a man&#8217;s voice calling him just before he opened the
door to me.</p>

<p>Recollecting that the old fellow had been in gaol, I was full of
curiosity as to what was intended. I certainly never believed it to be
so highly ingenious and dastardly as it eventually proved to be.</p>

<p>About a month passed uneventfully, save that I spent many delightful
hours in Lola&#8217;s company. Her father had purchased another two-seater
car&mdash;a &#8220;sports model&#8221; Vauxhall&mdash;and on several occasions I took him
for runs in it about Yorkshire. Naturally he knew little about cars
himself, but relied upon my knowledge and judgment. In addition to the
Rolls and the Vauxhall I also had an &#8220;Indian&#8221; motor-cycle for my own
personal use, and found it very useful in going on certain rapid
missions to York and elsewhere. But the abandonment of the
&#8220;A.C.&#8221;&mdash;which <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>had, by the way, been regarded as a mystery by the
Press&mdash;hurt me considerably.</p>

<p>Duperr&eacute; had been absent from Overstow ever since the day we had left
for Edinburgh, but as the bright autumn days passed I found myself
more and more in love with the dainty girl whose father was a
master-criminal.</p>

<p>Nevertheless, I felt that Duperr&eacute;&#8217;s wife kept eager watch upon both of
us. Perhaps she feared that I might tell Lola some of my adventures.
As for Rayne, he was often out shooting over neighboring estates, for
he was a good shot and highly popular in the neighborhood, while at
Overstow itself there was some excellent sport to which now and then
he would invite his local friends.</p>

<p>Rayne possessed a marvelous personality. When at home he was the
typical country gentleman, a good judge of a horse and in his &#8220;pink&#8221; a
straight rider to hounds. None who met him would have ever dreamed
that he was the shrewd, crafty cosmopolitan whose evil machinations
and devilish ingenuity made themselves felt in all the capitals of
Europe, and whose word was law to certain dangerous characters who
would not hesitate to take human life if it were really necessary to
evade arrest.</p>

<p>His outstanding cleverness, however, was that he never revealed his
own identity to those who actually carried out his devilish schemes.
The circle of cosmopolitan malefactors who were his cat&#8217;s-paws only
knew Monsieur and Madame Duperr&eacute;&mdash;under other <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>names&mdash;but of Rudolph
Rayne&#8217;s very existence they were nearly all ignorant. Money was, I
learnt, freely paid for various &#8220;jobs&#8221; by agents engaged by the man I
had once known as Captain Deinhard, or else by certain receivers of
stolen goods in London and on the Continent, who were forewarned that
jewels, bonds or stolen bank-notes would reach them in secret, and
that payment must be made and no questions asked.</p>

<p>Late one evening Duperr&eacute; returned unexpectedly in a hired car from
Thirsk. We had finished dinner, and I chanced to be with Rayne in the
library, yet longing to get to the old-fashioned drawing-room with its
sweet odor of potpourri, where Lola was, I knew, sitting immersed in
the latest novel.</p>

<p>&#8220;Hallo, Vincent! Why, I thought you were still in Aix-les-Bains!&#8221;
cried Rayne, much surprised, and yet a trifle excited, which was quite
unusual for him.</p>

<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s a nasty little hitch!&#8221; replied the other, still in his heavy
traveling coat. Then, turning to me, he said: &#8220;Hargreave, old chap,
will you leave for a moment or two? I want to speak to Rudolph.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Of course,&#8221; I said. I was by that time used to those confidential
conversations, and I walked along the corridor and joined Lola.</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m very troubled, Mr. Hargreave,&#8221; the girl suddenly exclaimed in a
low, timid voice after we had been chatting a short time. &#8220;I overheard
father whispering something to Madame Duperr&eacute; to-day.&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Whispering something!&#8221; I echoed. &#8220;What was that?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Something about Mr. Martyn, that American gentleman he met in
Edinburgh,&#8221; she replied. &#8220;Father was chuckling to himself, saying that
he had taken good precautions to prevent him proving an alibi. Father
seemed filled with the fiercest anger against him. I&#8217;m sure he&#8217;s an
awfully nice man, though we hardly know him. What can it mean?&#8221;</p>

<p>An alibi? I reflected. I replied that it was as mysterious to me as to
her. Like herself I lived in a clouded atmosphere of rapidly changing
circumstances, mysterious plots and unknown evil deeds&mdash;truly a world
of fear and bewilderment.</p>

<p>Some days later I had driven up to London in the Rolls with Duperr&eacute;,
leaving Rayne and Lola at home, Duperr&eacute;&#8217;s wife being away somewhere on
a visit. We took up our quarters at Rayne&#8217;s chambers, and next day
idled about London together. Just before we went out to dinner Martyn
called, and after taking a drink Duperr&eacute; went out with him, remarking
to me that he would be in soon after eleven. Hence I went to the
theater, and on returning at midnight awaited him.</p>

<p>I sat reading by the fire and dozed till just past two o&#8217;clock, when
he returned dressed in unfamiliar clothes: a rough suit of tweeds in
which he presented the appearance of a respectable artisan. His left
hand was bound roughly with a colored handkerchief, and he appeared
very exhausted. Before speaking he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>poured himself out a liqueur glass
of neat brandy which he swallowed at a single gulp.</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve had a rather nasty accident, George,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I&#8217;ve cut my hand
pretty badly. Only not a soul must know about it&mdash;you understand?&#8221;</p>

<p>I nodded, and then at his request I assisted him to wash the wound and
rebandage it.</p>

<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s been the matter?&#8221; I asked with curiosity.</p>

<p>&#8220;Nothing very much,&#8221; was his hard reply. &#8220;You&#8217;ll probably know all
about it to-morrow. The papers will be full of it. But mind and keep
your mouth shut very tightly.&#8221;</p>

<p>And with that he drew from his pockets a pair of thin surgical rubber
gloves, both of which were blood-stained, and hurriedly threw them
into the fire.</p>

<p>On the following evening about six o&#8217;clock I was alone in Rayne&#8217;s
chambers when the evening newspaper was, as usual, pushed through the
letter-box. I rose, and taking it up glanced casually at the front
page, when I was confronted by a startling report.</p>

<p>It appeared that just after midnight on the previous night the
watchman on duty at the Chartered Bank of Liberia, in Lombard Street,
had been murderously attacked by some unknown person who apparently
battered his head with an iron bar, and left him unconscious and so
seriously injured that he was now in Guy&#8217;s Hospital without hope of
recovery. The bank robbers had apparently used a most up-to-date
oxyacetylene plant for cutting steel, and from the strong-room in the
basement&mdash;believed to be impregnable <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>and which could only be opened
by a time-clock, and, moreover, could be flooded at will&mdash;they had cut
out the door as butter could be cut with a hot knife. From the safe
they had abstracted negotiable bonds with English, French and Italian
notes to the value of over eighty thousand pounds, with which the
thieves had got clear away.</p>

<p>The bank robbery was the greatest sensation of the moment. The thieves
had cleverly effected an entrance by one of them having secreted
himself in a safe in the bank when it had closed. In the morning at
nine o&#8217;clock when the first clerk, a lady accountant, had arrived, she
could get no entrance, so she waited till one of her male colleagues
arrived. Then they called a constable, and after half an hour the
sensational fact of the unconscious watchman and the rifled
strong-room became revealed.</p>

<p>The newspaper report concluded with the following sentences:</p>

<p>&#8220;It is evident that one of the thieves cut his hand badly, for we
understand that the detectives of the City police have found
blood-stained finger-prints of four distinct fingers upon the door and
in other parts of the strong-room. These, of course, have already been
photographed, and in due course will be investigated by that
department of Scotland Yard which deals with the finger-prints of
known criminals.&#8221;</p>

<p>With the knowledge of the injury to Duperr&eacute;&#8217;s hand I felt confident
that the great <i>coup</i> was due to him. And I was not mistaken.</p>

<p>The bank thieves had got clear away, it was true, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>but they had left
those tell-tale finger-prints behind! As everyone knows, the ridges
and whorls upon the hands of no two men are alike, therefore it seemed
clear that Scotland Yard, now aroused, would very quickly&mdash;owing to
its marvelous classification of the finger-prints of every criminal
who has passed through the hands of the police during the past quarter
of a century&mdash;fix upon the person who had laid his hands upon the
steel safe door.</p>

<p>An hour after I had read the report in the paper, Duperr&eacute; rang me up.</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m going to Overstow by the nine-thirty from King&#8217;s Cross to-night,&#8221;
he said. &#8220;If you can join me, do. The air is better in Yorkshire than
in London, don&#8217;t you think so, old chap?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Right-oh!&#8221; I replied. &#8220;I&#8217;ll travel up with you.&#8221;</p>

<p>We met, and early next morning we were back at Overstow. Yet I managed
to suppress any untoward curiosity.</p>

<p>It was only when about a week later I read in the paper of the result
of the discovery of Scotland Yard finger-print department and of a
consequent arrest that I sat aghast.</p>

<p>A notorious jewel-thief named Hersleton, alias Hugh Martyn, an
American, had been arrested at a hotel at Brighton, and had been
charged at Bow Street with the murderous attack upon the night
watchman at the Chartered Bank of Liberia, his finger-prints, taken
some years before, coinciding exactly with those left at the bank. He
had violently <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>protested his innocence, but had been committed for
trial.</p>

<p>At the Old Bailey six weeks later, the night watchman having
fortunately recovered from his injuries, Hugh Martyn was brought
before Mr. Justice Harland, and though very ably defended by his
counsel, he was quite unable to account for his movements on the night
in question.</p>

<p>&#8220;I was never there!&#8221; the prisoner shrieked across the court to the
judge as I sat in the public gallery watching the scene. &#8220;I know
nothing of the affair&mdash;nothing whatever. I am innocent.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;It is undeniable that the prisoner&#8217;s finger-prints were left there,&#8221;
remarked the eminent counsel for the Treasury, rising very calmly. &#8220;We
have them here before us&mdash;enlarged photographs which the jury have
just seen. Gentlemen of the jury, I put it to you that the prisoner is
the man who assisted in this dastardly crime!&#8221;</p>

<p>The jury, after a short retirement, found Hugh Martyn guilty, and the
judge, after hearing his previous convictions, sentenced him to
fifteen years&#8217; penal servitude.</p>

<p>But Mr. Justice Harland has never known, until perhaps he may read
these lines, that by the ingenious machinations of the super-criminal
Rudolph Rayne, Hugh Martyn, who was one of his associates who had
quarrelled with him over his share of a bank robbery in Madrid, and
had tried to betray me to Benton on Clifton Bridge, had been the
victim of a most dastardly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>treachery, though he was quite unaware of
it and believed Rayne to be his friend.</p>

<p>Only many months later I learned, by piecing together certain facts,
that old Morley Tarrant was an expert photographer and maker of
printer&#8217;s &#8220;blocks.&#8221; Slowly it became plain that Rayne, having been
betrayed by the astute American crook, had met him in Edinburgh and
with devilish malice aforethought, had contrived to get him to handle
the glass cube which served as a paper-weight, and which I had quite
innocently conveyed to the old hunchback, who had succeeded in taking
the finger-prints and by photography transferring them upon the
surgical rubber glove, thin as paper&mdash;really a false skin&mdash;which
Duperr&eacute; had worn over his hands when he and his associates made an
attack upon the bank.</p>

<p>By that means Martyn&#8217;s finger-prints were left upon the safe door.</p>

<p>Duperr&eacute; had previously taken out Martyn, whom one of his friends, a
woman, had drugged, so that he lay in that furnished house near Maldon
for two days unconscious. Hence he was unable to give any accurate
account of his movements on the night in question, or prove an alibi,
and was, in consequence, convicted.</p>

<p>Rayne, the man with the abnormal criminal brain, had, by that
ingenious <i>coup</i>, not only contrived to spirit away to the Continent a
sum of eighty thousand pounds in negotiable securities, but had also
sent to a long term of penal servitude the man who had attempted to
betray him.</p>

<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2>

<h3>CONCERNS MR. BLUMENFELD</h3>

<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:50px;line-height:32px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span><span style="margin-left:0%;">he</span> pleasant high road between Leamington and Coventry runs straight
over the hills to Kenilworth, but a few miles farther on there are
cross-roads, the right leading into Stoneleigh and the left to Kirby
Corner and over Westwood Heath into a crooked maze of by-roads by
which one can reach Berkswell or Barston.</p>

<p>It was over that left-hand road that I was driving Rayne and Lola in
the Rolls in the grey twilight of a wintry evening. We had driven from
London, and both Rayne and the girl I so admired were cramped and
tired.</p>

<p>&#8220;Look!&#8221; shouted Lola suddenly as we took a turn in the road. &#8220;There&#8217;s
the lodge! On the left there. That&#8217;s Bradbourne Hall!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes, that&#8217;s it, Hargreave!&#8221; said Rudolph, and a few moments later I
turned the car through the high wrought-iron gates which stood open
for us, and we sped up the long avenue of leafless trees which led to
the fine country mansion at which we were to be guests.</p>

<p>Bradbourne Hall was a great old-world Georgian <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>house, half covered
with ivy, and the appearance of the grave, white-haired butler who
opened the door showed it to be the residence of a man of wealth and
discernment.</p>

<p>That Edward Blumenfeld, its owner, was fabulously wealthy everyone in
the City of London knew, for his name was one to conjure with in high
finance, and though the dingy offices of Blumenfeld and Hannan in Old
Broad Street were the reverse of imposing, yet the financial influence
of the great house often made itself felt upon the Bourses of Paris,
Brussels and Rome.</p>

<p>I met the millionaire at dinner two hours later, a tall, loose-built,
sallow-faced man of rather brusque manners and decidedly cosmopolitan,
both in gesture and in speech. With him was his wife, a pleasant woman
of about fifty-five who seemed extremely affable to Lola. Mr.
Blumenfeld&#8217;s sister, a Mrs. Perceval, was also present.</p>

<p>It appeared that a year before Rayne had met old Mr. Blumenfeld and
his wife in an hotel at Varenna, on the Lake of Como, and a casual
acquaintance had ripened into friendship and culminated in the
invitation to spend a few days at Bradbourne. Hence our journey.</p>

<p>As we sat gossiping over our port after the ladies had left the table,
I began to wonder why the grey-eyed master-crook, whom not a soul
suspected, was so eager to ingratiate himself with Edward Blumenfeld.
The motive was, however, not far to seek. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>Most men who are personal
friends of millionaires manage to extract some little point of
knowledge which, if used in the right way and with discretion, will
often result in considerable financial gain. Indeed, I have often
thought that around a millionaire there is spread a halo of prosperity
which invests all those who enter it and brings to them good fortune.</p>

<p>It was evident that the great financier regarded Rudolph Rayne as his
friend, for he promised to pay us a visit at Overstow in return.</p>

<p>&#8220;Remember what Mr. Blumenfeld has promised us, George!&#8221; said Rayne as
he turned to me merrily. &#8220;Make a note of it!&#8221; And the breezy,
easy-going man who at the moment was directing all sorts of crooked
business in many cities on the Continent sipped his glass of port with
the air of a connoisseur, as indeed he was.</p>

<p>That night, after I had gone to my room, Rayne suddenly entered and
began to speak to me in a loud tone concerning some letters he wished
to write early in the morning. Then, lowering his voice suddenly to a
whisper, he added: &#8220;I want you to be very nice to Mrs. Blumenfeld,
Hargreave. Unfortunately Lola seems to have taken a violent dislike to
her. Why, I don&#8217;t know. So do your best to remedy what may result in a
<i>contretemps</i>.&#8221;</p>

<p>Then again he spoke in his usual voice, and wishing me good night left
the room.</p>

<p>After he had gone I, full of wonder and apprehension, paced up and
down the fine old paneled <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>chamber&mdash;for I had been placed in a wing in
the older part of the house which was evidently Jacobean. As an
unwilling assistant of that super-crook whose agents were at work in
the various cities of Europe carrying out the amazingly ingenious
plans which, with Vincent Duperr&eacute;, he so carefully formulated in that
great old-world library of his at Overstow, I was constantly in peril,
for I felt by some inexplicable intuition that the police must, one
day or other, obtain sufficient evidence to arrest all of us, Lola
included.</p>

<p>I recollect that Superintendent Arthur Benton of Scotland Yard was
ever active in his inquiries concerning the great gang which Rayne
controlled.</p>

<p>Had it not been that I was now passionately in love with Lola&mdash;though
I dared not declare it openly&mdash;I should have left my queer appointment
long ago. As a matter of fact, I remained because I believed, vainly
perhaps, that I might one day be able to shield Lola from becoming
their accomplice&mdash;and thus culpable.</p>

<p>According to Rayne&#8217;s instructions I next day made myself as affable as
possible to Mrs. Blumenfeld, but later in the afternoon I had an
opportunity of chatting with Lola alone. She wanted to go to a shop in
Warwick, and asked me to take her there in the car, which I did. The
driver&#8217;s seat was inside the car, hence, when alone, she always sat
beside me.</p>

<p>&#8220;What do you think of Mrs. Blumenfeld?&#8221; I asked her as we sped along
through the rain.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Oh! Well, I don&#8217;t like her&mdash;that&#8217;s all,&#8221; was her reply, as she
smiled.</p>

<p>&#8220;I think she&#8217;s quite nice,&#8221; I said. &#8220;She was most charming to me this
morning.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;And she is also charming to me. But she seems so horribly
inquisitive, and asks me so many questions about my father&mdash;questions
I can&#8217;t answer.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221; I asked, turning to her and for a second taking my eyes off
the road.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;you know, Mr. Hargreave&mdash;you surely know,&#8221; the girl hesitated.
&#8220;Why are we on this visit? My father has some sinister plans&mdash;without
a doubt.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;How sinister plans?&#8221; I asked, in pretence of ignorance.</p>

<p>&#8220;You well know,&#8221; she answered. &#8220;I am not blind, even if Duperr&eacute; and
his wife think I am. They forget that there is such a thing as
illustrated papers.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t follow,&#8221; I said.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well, in the <i>Daily Graphic</i> three days ago I saw the portrait of a
man named Lawrence, well-known as a jewel thief, who was sentenced to
ten years&#8217; penal servitude at the Old Bailey. I recognized him as Mr.
Moody, one of my father&#8217;s friends who often came to see us at
Overstow&mdash;a man you also know. Why has my father thieves for his
friends, unless he is in some way connected with them?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Moody sentenced!&#8221; I gasped. &#8220;Why, he was one of Duperr&eacute;&#8217;s most
intimate friends. I&#8217;ve met them together often,&#8221; I remarked, and then
the conversation <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>dropped, and we sat silent for a full quarter of an
hour.</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m longing to get back to Overstow, Mr. Hargreave,&#8221; the girl went on
presently. &#8220;I feel that ere long Mrs. Blumenfeld, who is a very clever
and astute woman, will discover something about us, and then&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;And if she does, it will upset your father&#8217;s plans&mdash;whatever they
are!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;But Mr. Blumenfeld, as a great financier, has agents in all the
capitals, and they might inquire and discover more about us than would
be pleasant,&#8221; she said apprehensively. &#8220;I wonder why we are visiting
these people?&#8221; she added.</p>

<p>I did not reply. I was constantly puzzled and bewildered by the
actions and movements of Rayne and his questionable friends.</p>

<p>That evening after dinner, while old Blumenfeld played billiards with
his guest, I marked. They played three closely contested games, for
both were good players; until at eleven o&#8217;clock we all three went to
the great drawing-room to bid the ladies good night. With our host I
returned to the billiard-room, leaving Rayne to follow. Mr. Blumenfeld
poured me out a whisky-and-soda and took a glass of port himself. Then
a few minutes later he suggested, that as Rayne had not returned, he
and I should have a final game before retiring.</p>

<p>He had made about twenty-five when of a sudden <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>he leaned heavily
against the table, his face blanched, and placing his hand to his
heart, exclaimed:</p>

<p>&#8220;Oh! I have such a pain here! I&mdash;I&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>

<p>And before I could run round to his assistance he had collapsed
heavily upon the floor.</p>

<p>In an instant I was at his side, but saw that he was already
unconscious.</p>

<p>I flew to the door and down the corridor, when luckily I encountered
Rayne, who was at that moment returning to us.</p>

<p>In breathless haste I told him what had occurred.</p>

<p>&#8220;Good heavens!&#8221; he gasped. &#8220;Don&#8217;t alarm the ladies. Find the butler
and get him to telephone for the doctor in secret. I&#8217;ll run in and
look after him in the meantime,&#8221; he said, and hurried to the
billiard-room.</p>

<p>I was not long in finding the butler, and quickly we went to the
library and spoke to the doctor, who lived about five miles away. He
was already in bed, but would, he said, motor over immediately.</p>

<p>On our return to the billiard-room we found, to our relief, that Mr.
Blumenfeld had recovered consciousness. He was still lying upon the
floor, Rayne having forced some brandy between his lips.</p>

<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s getting right again!&#8221; Rayne exclaimed to the white-haired old
servant, and together we lifted our host on to the sofa.</p>

<p>He recovered quite rapidly, and presently he whispered weakly:</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I suppose it&#8217;s my heart! A doctor in Rome three years ago said it was
rather weak.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m glad you&#8217;re better, my dear fellow,&#8221; said Rayne. &#8220;I was much
worried about you. You were playing with Hargreave, and he alarmed
me.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m cold,&#8221; our host said. &#8220;Will you shut that window.&#8221;</p>

<p>For the first time I noticed the window, which had certainly been
closed when we were playing, was open about a foot. Besides, Mr.
Blumenfeld&#8217;s glass of port, of which he had drunk only half, was now
empty, two facts which, however, at the time conveyed nothing to me.</p>

<p>In due course the doctor, an elderly country practitioner, arrived in
hot haste, and grave concern, but as soon as he saw his patient he
realized that it had been only a fainting fit and was nothing serious.
Indeed, within an hour Blumenfeld was laughing with us as though
nothing had occurred.</p>

<p>But what had really occurred, I wondered? That window had been opened,
apparently to admit fresh air to revive an unconscious man. But surely
our host had not drained his port glass after his sudden seizure!</p>

<p>The incident was, at Blumenfeld&#8217;s request, hidden from the ladies, and
next day he was quite his old self again.</p>

<p>About noon I strolled with Rayne out along the wide terrace which ran
in front of the house overlooking the great park, whereupon he said:</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;We&#8217;ll leave here to-morrow, Hargreave. Duperr&eacute; is at Overstow. Write
to him this afternoon and tell him to send me a wire recalling me
immediately upon urgent business.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;We&#8217;ve finished here, eh?&#8221; I asked meaningly.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; he grinned, &#8220;and the sooner we&#8217;re out of this place the
better.&#8221;</p>

<p>So I sent Vincent a note, telling him to wire Rayne at once on receipt
of it.</p>

<p>The urgent message recalling Rudolph Rayne to Yorkshire arrived about
half-past ten next morning, just as we were going out shooting.
Blumenfeld was much disappointed, but his guest pleaded that he had
some very important business to transact with his agent who was over
from New York and desired to meet him at once. Therefore to Lola&#8217;s
complete satisfaction the trunks were packed and put into the car, and
immediately after luncheon we set forth to Overstow.</p>

<p>On our way back I racked my brain to discern the nature of the latest
plot, but could see nothing tangible. Mr. Blumenfeld had been taken
suddenly ill while playing billiards with me, and Rayne, when
summoned, had done his best to resuscitate him. Yet Rayne&#8217;s manner was
triumphant and he was in most excellent spirits.</p>

<p>We arrived back at Overstow Hall just before midnight, and he and
Duperr&eacute; held a long conversation before retiring. Of its nature I
could gather nothing. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>As for Lola, she retired at once very cramped
and tired.</p>

<p>The whole of the following morning Duperr&eacute; and Rayne were closeted
together, while afterwards I drove Duperr&eacute; into York, where from the
telegraph office in the railway station he sent several cryptic
messages abroad, of course posing to the telegraph clerk as a passing
railway passenger. Rayne never sent important telegrams from the
village post-office at Overstow, or even from Thirsk. They were all
dispatched from places where, even if inquiry were made, the sender
could not be traced.</p>

<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s in the wind?&#8221; I asked Duperr&eacute; as he sat by my side on our
drive back to Overstow.</p>

<p>&#8220;Something, my dear George,&#8221; he answered, smiling mysteriously. &#8220;At
present I can&#8217;t tell you. In due course you&#8217;ll know&mdash;something big.
Whenever Rudolph superintends in person it is always big. He never
touches minor matters. He devises and arranges them as a general plans
a battle, but he never superintends himself&mdash;only in the real big
things. Even then he never acts himself.&#8221;</p>

<p>With that I was compelled to be satisfied. That night we all had quite
a pleasant evening over bridge in the drawing-room, until just about
ten o&#8217;clock Rayne was called to the telephone. When he rejoined us I
noticed that his countenance was a trifle pale. He looked worried and
ill at ease. He sat down beside Madame Duperr&eacute;, and after pensively
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>lighting one of his expensive cigars, he bent and whispered something
to her.</p>

<p>By what he said the woman became greatly agitated, and a few moments
later rose and left the room.</p>

<p>The household at Overstow was certainly a strange and incongruous one,
consisting as it did of persons who seemed all in league with each
other, the master-criminal whose shrewd, steel-grey eyes were so
uncanny, and his accomplices and underlings who all profited and grew
fat upon the great <i>coups</i> planned by Rayne&#8217;s amazing mind. The squire
of Overstow mesmerized his fellows and fascinated his victims of both
sexes. His personality was clear-cut and outstanding. Men and women
who met him for the first time felt that in conversation he held them
by some curious, indescribable influence&mdash;held them as long as he
cared, until by his will they were released from a strange thraldom
that was both weird and astounding.</p>

<p>Whatever message Rayne had received it was evidently of paramount
importance, for when Madame Duperr&eacute; had left the room and Lola had
retired, he turned to me and with a queer look in his eyes, exclaimed:</p>

<p>&#8220;I expect you&#8217;ll have to be making some rather rapid journeys soon,
George. Better be up early to-morrow. Good night.&#8221; And then dismissing
me, he asked Duperr&eacute; to go with him to the smoking-room.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve heard from Tracy,&#8221; I overheard him say as I followed them along
the softly carpeted corridor. &#8220;We&#8217;re up against that infernal Benton
again because of old Moody&#8217;s blunder. I never expected he&#8217;d be caught,
of all men. Benton is now looking for Moody&#8217;s guiding hand.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Well, I hope he won&#8217;t get very far,&#8221; Duperr&eacute; replied.</p>

<p>&#8220;We must make certain that he doesn&#8217;t, Vincent, or it will go
badly&mdash;very badly&mdash;with us! That&#8217;s what I want to discuss with you.&#8221;</p>

<p>Of the result of the consultation I, of course, remained in ignorance,
but next morning Rayne sent for me and said he had decided to meet his
friend Tracy at the Unicorn Hotel at Ripon.</p>

<p>&#8220;I telephoned him to the Station Hotel at York during the night,&#8221; he
added. &#8220;He&#8217;ll have a lady with him. I want you to drive me over to
Ripon and drive the lady back here.&#8221;</p>

<p>So an hour later we set out across country and arrived in Ripon in
time for lunch.</p>

<p>Gerald Tracy I had met before, a big, stout, round-faced man of
prosperous appearance, bald-headed and loud of speech. That he was a
crook I had no doubt, but what his actual <i>m&eacute;tier</i> was I could not
discover. He met us on the threshold of the old-fashioned hotel in
that old-fashioned Yorkshire town, and with him was a well-dressed
young woman, Italian or Spanish, I saw at a glance.</p>

<p>When Tracy introduced her to Rayne she was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>apparently much impressed,
replying in very fair English. Her name, I learnt, was Signorina
Lacava, and she was Italian.</p>

<p>We all lunched together but no business was discussed. Rayne expressed
a hope that the signorina&#8217;s journey from Milan had been a pleasant
one.</p>

<p>&#8220;Quite,&#8221; the handsome black-eyed girl replied. &#8220;I stayed one day in
Paris.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;The signorina has made a conquest in Milan,&#8221; laughed Tracy. &#8220;Farini,
the commissario of police, has fallen in love with her!&#8221;</p>

<p>Rayne smiled, and turning to her, said:</p>

<p>&#8220;I congratulate you, signorina. Your friendship may one day stand you
in very good stead.&#8221;</p>

<p>That the young woman was someone of great importance in the criminal
combine was apparent from the fact that she had been actually
introduced to its secret head.</p>

<p>It struck me as curious when, after leaving Tracy and Rayne together,
I was driving the signorina across the moors to Overstow, that while
he hesitated to allow Tracy to go there, yet it was safe for the young
Italian woman.</p>

<p>I knew that Benton was still making eager inquiries, and I also knew
that Rayne was full of gravest apprehensions. Rudolph Rayne was
playing a double game!</p>

<p>On arrival back home, Duperr&eacute;&#8217;s wife received our visitor. Lola had
gone to Newcastle to visit an old <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>schoolfellow, and Duperr&eacute; was away
in York so his wife informed me.</p>

<p>Three uneventful days passed, but neither Rayne nor Lola returned. On
the third evening I was called to the telephone, and Rayne spoke to me
from his rooms in London.</p>

<p>&#8220;I can&#8217;t get back just yet, George,&#8221; he said. &#8220;You&#8217;ll receive a
registered letter from me to-morrow. Act upon it and use your own
discretion.&#8221;</p>

<p>I promised him I would and then he rang off.</p>

<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2>

<h3>AT THREE-EIGHTEEN A.M.</h3>

<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:50px;line-height:32px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span><span style="margin-left:0%;">he</span> letter brought to my bedside next morning contained some curious
instructions, namely, to take the car on the following Saturday to
Flamborough Head, arriving at a spot he named about a quarter of a
mile from the lighthouse, where I would be accosted by a Dutch sailor,
who would ask me if I were Mr. Skelton. I was not to fear treachery,
but to reply in the affirmative and drive him through the night to an
address he gave me in Providence Court, a turning off Dean Street,
Soho.</p>

<p>That address was sufficient for me! I had once before, at Rayne&#8217;s
orders, driven a stranger to Dean Street and conducted him to that
house. It was no doubt a harbor of refuge for foreign criminals in
London, but was kept by an apparently respectable Italian who carried
on a small grocery shop in Old Compton Street.</p>

<p>As I was ordered, I duly arrived on that wild spot on the Yorkshire
coast. It blew half a gale, the wind howling about the car as I sat
with only the red rearlight on, waiting in patience.</p>

<p>Very soon a short, thick-set man with decidedly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>evil face and
seafaring aspect, emerged from the shadows and asked in broken English
whether I was Mr. Skelton. I replied that I was and bade him jump in,
and then, switching on the big headlights, turned the car in the
direction of London.</p>

<p>From what I had seen of the stranger I certainly was not prepossessed.
His clothes were rough and half soaked by the rain that had been
falling, while it became apparent as we talked that he had landed
surreptitiously from a Dutch fishing-boat early that morning and had
not dared to show himself. Hence he was half famished. I happened to
have a vacuum flask and some sandwiches, and these I divided with him.</p>

<p>A long silence fell between us as with difficulty in keeping myself
awake I drove over the two hundred odd miles of wet roads which
separated us from London, and just before nine o&#8217;clock next morning I
left the car in Wardour Street and walked with the stranger to the
frowsy house in Providence Court, where to my great surprise Gerald
Tracy opened the door. He laughed at my astonishment, but with a
gesture indicative of silence, he merely said:</p>

<p>&#8220;Hallo, Hargreave! Back all right, eh?&#8221;</p>

<p>Then he admitted the Dutchman and closed the door.</p>

<p>Tracy was evidently there to hold consultation with the stranger whose
entrance into England was unknown. He would certainly never risk a
long stay in that house, for the stout, bald-headed man had, I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>knew,
no wish to come face to face with Benton or any other officer of the
C.I.D.</p>

<p>Certainly something sinister and important was intended.</p>

<p>On calling at Half Moon Street, after having breakfasted, I found
Duperr&eacute; there.</p>

<p>&#8220;Rayne wants you to go down to the Pavilion Hotel at Folkestone and
garage the car there,&#8221; he said. &#8220;He and I are running a risk in a
couple of night&#8217;s time&mdash;the risk whether Benton identifies us. We both
have tickets for the annual dinner of the staff of the Criminal
Investigation Department, which is to be held in the Elgin Rooms.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;And are you actually going?&#8221; I asked, much surprised.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes. And our places are close to Benton&#8217;s! He&#8217;ll never dream that the
men he is hunting for everywhere are sitting exactly opposite him as
guests of one of his superiors.&#8221;</p>

<p>Boldness was one of Rudolph Rayne&#8217;s characteristics. He was fearless
in all his clever and ingenious conspiracies, though his cunning was
unequaled.</p>

<p>As I drove down to Folkestone I ruminated, as I so often did. No doubt
some devilish plot was underlying the acceptance of the high police
official&#8217;s invitation to the staff dinner.</p>

<p>Its nature became revealed a few days later when, on opening my
newspaper one morning, being still at Folkestone waiting in patience,
I read a paragraph which aroused within me considerable interest.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p><p>It was to the effect that Superintendent Arthur Benton, the well-known
Scotland Yard officer, had, after the annual dinner a few nights
before, been suddenly taken ill on his way home to Hampstead, and was
at the moment lying in a very critical condition suffering from some
mysterious form of ptomaine poisoning, his life being despaired of.</p>

<p>I was quite unaware until long afterwards of the deeply laid attempt
upon Benton&#8217;s life, how the mysterious Dutchman was really a waiter
much wanted by the French police for a poisoning affair in Marseilles,
and that he had been able, by means best known to Rayne, to obtain
temporary employment at the Elgin Rooms on the night of the banquet.
It was he who had served the table at which had sat the unsuspicious
detective superintendent.</p>

<p>The latter fortunately did not succumb, but he was incapacitated from
duty for over twelve months, during which period the inquiries
regarding the unknown head of the criminal band were dropped, much to
the relief of Rayne and Duperr&eacute;.</p>

<p>All this, however, was, I saw, preliminary and in preparation for some
great <i>coup</i>.</p>

<p>I suppose I had been kicking my heels about Folkestone for perhaps ten
days when, without warning, Rayne and Lola arrived with Tracy and a
quantity of luggage. No doubt the mysterious Dutchman had returned to
the Continent by the fishing-boat in which he had come over to act at
Rayne&#8217;s orders.</p>

<p>&#8220;We are going to the Continent by the morning <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>service the day after
to-morrow, George,&#8221; Rayne told me. &#8220;Tracy leaves to-night. Lola will
go with us as far as Paris, where Duperr&eacute; will meet us, and we go
south together.&#8221;</p>

<p>And he produced a batch of tickets, among which I saw coupons for
reserved compartments in the <i>wagon-lit</i>.</p>

<p>Afterwards he gave some peculiar instructions to Tracy.</p>

<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ll recollect the map I showed you,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Cr&egrave;ches is two
miles south of M&acirc;con. At about two kilom&egrave;tres towards Lyons there is a
short bridge over a ravine. That&#8217;s the spot. The train passes there at
three-eighteen in the morning.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I follow you exactly,&#8221; replied his stout, bald-headed accomplice. And
I was left wondering what was intended.</p>

<p>That evening Tracy left us and crossed to Boulogne, while two days
later we went on board the morning cross-Channel steamer, where, to my
surprise, we met Mr. and Mrs. Blumenfeld.</p>

<p>The encounter was a most unexpected and pleasant one. The great
financier and his wife were on their way to the Riviera, and we were
going as far as Cannes.</p>

<p>&#8220;I had no idea that you were going south!&#8221; laughed Rayne happily as
Lola, warmly dressed in furs, stood on deck chatting with Mrs.
Blumenfeld and watching the boat casting off from the quay. &#8220;It will
be most delightful to travel together,&#8221; he went on. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>&#8220;Lola stays in
Paris and we go on to the Riviera. I suppose you&#8217;ve got your sleeping
berths from Paris to-night?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; replied the financier, and then on comparing the numbers on the
coupons the old man discovered that by a coincidence his berth
adjoined the one which had been taken for myself.</p>

<p>We travelled merrily across to Boulogne, the weather being unusually
fine, and took our <i>d&eacute;jeuner</i> together in the <i>wagon-restaurant</i> on
the way to Paris. With old Blumenfeld was his faithful valet who
looked especially after two battered old leather kitbags, a fact
which, I noticed, did not escape Rudolph&#8217;s watchful eye.</p>

<p>Arrived at the Gare du Nord, Lola was met by an elderly Englishwoman
whom I recollected as having been a guest at Overstow, and after
hurried farewells drove away in a car, while we took taxis across to
the big hotel at the Gare de Lyon. There we dined, and at half-past
eight joined the Marseilles express upon which was a single
<i>wagon-lit</i>.</p>

<p>Just as I was about to enter it, Rayne took me by the arm, and walking
along the platform out of hearing, whispered:</p>

<p>&#8220;Vincent is here. Don&#8217;t recognize him. Be alert at three o&#8217;clock. I
may want you!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;For what?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Wait! We&#8217;ve something big in progress, George. Don&#8217;t ask any
questions,&#8221; he said in that blustering <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>impelling manner which he
assumed when he was really serious.</p>

<p>Several times in the corridor I met the financier and his wife with
their bony-faced valet, and, of course, I made myself polite and
engaging to Mrs. Blumenfeld.</p>

<p>While the express roared through its first stage to Moret, I chatted
with Rudolph and Blumenfeld after the latter&#8217;s wife had retired, and
as we sat in the dim light of the corridor of the sleeping-car smoking
cigarettes, all seemed absolutely normal.</p>

<p>Suddenly from the end compartment of the car Duperr&eacute; came forth. As a
perfect stranger he apologized in French as he passed us and walked to
the little compartment at the end of the car where he ordered a drink
from the conductor.</p>

<p>Hence old Mr. Blumenfeld was in ignorance that Vincent had any
knowledge of us, or that Signorina Lacava, who was another of the
passengers, was our friend. Yet the thin-faced valet who had brought
up my early cup of tea when we had stayed at Bradbourne continually
hovered about his master.</p>

<p>Later, as the express was tearing on at increased speed, Mr.
Blumenfeld retired to his compartment, with his wife sleeping in the
adjoining one, and within half an hour Rayne beckoned me into his
compartment at the farther end, where we were joined by Duperr&eacute;.</p>

<p>&#8220;I want you to be out in the corridor at three o&#8217;clock,&#8221; Rayne said to
me. &#8220;Open the window and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>sit by it as though you want fresh air. The
conductor won&#8217;t trouble you as he&#8217;ll be put to sleep. After the train
leaves M&acirc;con, Vincent will pass you something. You will watch for
three white lights set in a row beside the railway line. Tracy will be
down there in waiting. When you see the three lights throw out what
Vincent gives to you. Understand?&#8221;</p>

<p>I now saw the plot. They had knowledge that old Blumenfeld was
travelling with a quantity of negotiable securities which he intended
to hand to his agent at Marseilles on his way to Cannes, and they
meant to relieve him of them!</p>

<p>&#8220;I shall be fast asleep,&#8221; Rayne went on, and turning to Duperr&eacute;, he
said: &#8220;Here&#8217;s the old fellow&#8217;s master-key. It opens everything.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;By Jove!&#8221; whispered Vincent. &#8220;That was a clever ruse of yours to
contrive the old man to faint and then take an impression of the key
upon his chain.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;It was the only way to get possession of it,&#8221; Rayne declared with an
evil grin. &#8220;But both of you know how to act, so I&#8217;ll soon retire.&#8221;</p>

<p>And a few moments later I went out leaving both men together. The
train roared into a long tunnel and then out again across many high
embankments and over bridges. Rain was falling in torrents and lashed
the windows as we sped due south on our way to Dijon. At last I knew
the cause and motive of the old financier&#8217;s fainting fit. The reason
of our visit to Bradbourne had been in order to obtain an <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>impression
of the old fellow&#8217;s little master-key which opened all his luggage,
his dispatch-boxes, and even the great safes at the office in Old
Broad Street.</p>

<p>I hated the part I was forced to play, yet there certainly was an
element of danger in it, and in that I delighted. Therefore I
partially undressed, turned in, and read the newspaper, anxiously
waiting for the hour of three and wondering in what manner Duperr&eacute;
intended to rob the victim. I hoped that no violence would be used.</p>

<p>The minutes crept on slowly as, time after time, I glanced at my
watch. In the compartment next to mine the millionaire was sleeping,
all unconscious of the insidious plot. The brown-uniformed conductor
was asleep&mdash;no doubt he had taken a drink with Duperr&eacute;. Besides, the
corridor at each end of the sleeping-saloon was closed and locked.</p>

<p>At last, at five minutes to three, I very cautiously opened my door
and stepped into the empty corridor. The train was again in a tunnel,
the noise deafening and the atmosphere stifling. As soon as we were
out in the open I noiselessly lowered the window and found that we
were passing through a mountainous country, for every moment we passed
over some rushing torrent or through some narrow ravine.</p>

<p>It was already three o&#8217;clock when my nostrils were greeted with a
pungent sickly odor of attar of roses, which seemed to be wafted along
the corridor. It emanated, I imagined, from one of the compartments
occupied by lady travellers.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p><p>Of a sudden we ran into the big station at M&acirc;con, where there was a
wait of about five minutes&mdash;for the wheels to be tested. Nobody left
or entered. All was quite still after the roaring and rocking of the
express.</p>

<p>As we waited the odor of roses became much more pronounced, yet I sat
at my post by the open window as though wanting fresh air, for the big
sleeping-car was very stuffy, the heating apparatus being on. At last
we moved out again, and I breathlessly waited for Duperr&eacute; to hand me
something to toss out to Tracy who was ready with the three signal
lights beside the line.</p>

<p>The train gathered speed quickly. We had travelled two hundred and
seventy miles and now had only a little farther to go. With my eye
upon the side of the track, I sat scarce daring to breathe.</p>

<p>The ravine! We were crossing it! I glanced along the corridor. Nobody
came in sight.</p>

<p>Next instant I saw three white lights arranged in a row. But we
flashed past them!</p>

<p>For some reason, why, I knew not, the plot had failed!</p>

<p>I dared not go to the compartment of either of my companions, so after
sitting up a further half-hour I crept back to my sleeping-berth
feeling very drowsy, and turning in, slept heavily.</p>

<p>I was awakened by a loud hammering upon my door, and an excited voice
outside calling:</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. Hargreave! Mr. Hargreave!&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p><p>I opened it in astonishment to find the gray-headed old millionaire in
his pajamas.</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve been robbed!&#8221; he gasped. &#8220;I can&#8217;t wake the conductor. He&#8217;s been
drugged, I believe! What number is Mr. Rayne&#8217;s compartment?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Number four,&#8221; I answered. &#8220;But what has been taken?&#8221; I asked.</p>

<p>&#8220;Bonds that I was taking to my agent in Marseilles&mdash;over sixty
thousand pounds&#8217; worth! My kitbag has been opened and the dispatch-box
has been opened also while I&#8217;ve been asleep. The thief has evidently
had the conductor&#8217;s key or he couldn&#8217;t have got into my compartment!
The bonds must be still in the possession of one of the passengers,&#8221;
he added. &#8220;Our last stop was at M&acirc;con and I was awake then.&#8221;</p>

<p>Together we woke up Rayne, who at once busied himself in great alarm.</p>

<p>&#8220;Possibly the bonds have been thrown from the train to an accomplice,&#8221;
he suggested, exchanging glances with me.</p>

<p>&#8220;No. I&#8217;m sure they are still here&mdash;in the car. When next we stop I
will prevent anyone leaving, and have all the passengers searched. The
one thing that puzzles me is how the thief got to work without waking
me, as I always place a little electric alarm on my bag when
travelling with securities&mdash;and secondly, how did he manage to open
both the bag and the dispatch-box it contained?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said Rayne. &#8220;Don&#8217;t let us raise any alarm, but just wait till
we get to Lyons. Then we&#8217;ll <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>see that nobody alights before we call
the police.&#8221; Then, turning to me, he said: &#8220;You&#8217;ll keep one door,
Hargreave, and I&#8217;ll keep the other, while Mr. Blumenfeld gives
information.&#8221;</p>

<p>Thus we waited. But I was sorely puzzled as to the whereabouts of the
stolen bonds. If Duperr&eacute; had taken them, how had he got rid of them?
That he had done so was quite plain by Rayne&#8217;s open attitude.</p>

<p>Presently, in the dawn, we ran slowly into Lyons, whereupon, with
Rayne, I mounted guard, allowing no one to leave. Two men wanted to
descend to obtain some <i>caf&eacute; au lait</i>, as is customary, and were
surprised when prevented.</p>

<p>The commissary of police, with several plain-clothes officers, were
quickly upon the spot, and to them Mr. Blumenfeld related his
story&mdash;declaring that while lying awake he smelt a very strong odor of
roses which caused him to become drowsy, and he slept. On awakening he
saw that his dispatch-box had been rifled.</p>

<p>When the millionaire explained who he was and the extent of his loss,
the commissary was at once upon the alert, and ordered every passenger
to be closely searched. In consequence, everyone was turned out and
searched, a woman searching the female passengers, Signorina Lacava
waxing highly indignant. Rayne, Duperr&eacute; and myself were also very
closely searched, while every nook and cranny of the compartments and
baggage were rummaged during the transit of the train from Lyons down
to Marseilles. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>The missing bonds could not be discovered, nor did any
suspicion attach to anyone.</p>

<p>I confess myself entirely puzzled as to what had actually occurred.
The well-arranged plan to drop them from the train beyond Dijon had
failed, I knew, because old Mr. Blumenfeld was still awake; but what
alternative plan had been put into action?</p>

<p>It was only when we arrived in Marseilles that the bewildered
conductor, a most reliable servant of the <i>wagon-lit</i> company,
recovered from his lethargy and could not in the least account for his
long heavy sleep. He had, it appeared, smelt the same pleasant perfume
of roses as Mr. Blumenfeld. At Marseilles there was still more
excitement and inquiry, but at last we moved off to Toulon and along
the beautiful C&ocirc;te d&#8217;Azur, with its grey-green olives and glimpses of
sapphire sea.</p>

<p>We were passing along by the seashore, when I ventured to slip into
Duperr&eacute;&#8217;s compartment, old Blumenfeld and his wife being then in the
luncheon-car adjoining.</p>

<p>I inquired in a whisper what had happened.</p>

<p>For answer he crossed to one of the windows and drew down the brown
cloth blind used at night, when upon the inside I saw, to my
astonishment, some bonds spread out and pinned to the fabric!</p>

<p>He touched the spring, the blind rolled up and they disappeared
within.</p>

<p>Each of the four blinds in his compartment contained their valuable
documents which, in due course, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>he removed and placed in his pockets
before he stepped out upon the platform at Hy&egrave;res. He was, of course,
an entire stranger to Rudolph and me, and we continued our journey
with the victimized millionaire to Cannes, where we were compelled to
remain for a week lest our abrupt return should excite anybody&#8217;s
suspicion. Meanwhile, of course, Duperr&eacute; was already back in London
with the spoils.</p>

<p>In the whole affair Rayne, whose master-brain was responsible for the
ingenious <i>coup</i>, remained with clean hands and ready at any moment to
prove his own innocence.</p>

<p>The original plan of tossing out the sixty thousand pounds&#8217; worth of
bonds to Tracy, who was waiting with his three warning lights, failed
because of old Blumenfeld&#8217;s sleeplessness, but it was substituted by a
far more secretive yet simple plan&mdash;one never even dreamed of by the
astute police attached to the Paris, Lyons and Mediterranean Railway.
It being daylight at Lyons, the blinds were up!</p>

<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2>

<h3>LITTLE LADY LYDBROOK</h3>

<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:50px;line-height:32px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">F</span><span style="margin-left:0%;">rom</span> the very first I felt that, owing to my passionate love for Lola,
I was treading upon very thin ice.</p>

<p>As the cat&#8217;s-paw of her father I was being drawn into such subtle
devilish schemes that I felt to draw back must only bring upon my head
the vengeance, through fear, of a man who was so entirely unscrupulous
and so elusive that the police could never trace him.</p>

<p>Why a few weeks later I had been sent to Biarritz with Vincent was an
enigma I failed to solve. At any rate, at Rayne&#8217;s suggestion, we had
gone there and had stayed under assumed names at the H&ocirc;tel du Palais,
that handsome place standing high upon the rocks with such charming
views of the rocky headland of St. Martin and the dozen grey-green
islets.</p>

<p>We both lived expensively and enjoyed ourselves at the Casino and
elsewhere, but the object of our visit was quite obscure. I knew,
however, that Duperr&eacute; was prospecting new ground, but in what
direction I failed to discover. One day we returned to London quite
suddenly, but he refused to disclose <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>anything concerning the object
of our visit, which, after all, had been for me quite an enjoyable
holiday.</p>

<p>About a week after our return Rayne called me into the morning-room.
The keen grey-eyed middle-aged man was smoking a cigar and with him
was Madame, whose cleverness as a crook was only equalled by that of
her husband.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well, Hargreave!&#8221; exclaimed Rayne. &#8220;I hope you had a nice time at
Biarritz, eh? Well, I want you to go on a further little holiday down
to Eastbourne. Drive the Rolls down to the Grand Hotel there and stay
as a gentleman of leisure.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m always that nowadays,&#8221; I laughed.</p>

<p>&#8220;Stay there under the name of George Cottingham,&#8221; he went on, &#8220;and
spend rather freely, so as to give yourself a good appearance. You
understand?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;No, I don&#8217;t understand,&#8221; I said. &#8220;At least, I don&#8217;t understand what
game is to be played.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;You needn&#8217;t, George,&#8221; was his short reply. &#8220;You are paid not to
understand, and to keep your mouth shut. So please recollect that. Now
at the hotel,&#8221; he went on, &#8220;there is staying Lady Lydbrook, wife of
the great Sheffield ironmaster. I want you to scrape up acquaintance
with her.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Why?&#8221; I asked.</p>

<p>&#8220;For reasons best known to myself,&#8221; he snapped. &#8220;It&#8217;s nice weather
just now, and you ought to enjoy yourself at Eastbourne. It&#8217;s a smart
place for an English resort, and there&#8217;s lots going on there. They
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>will think you such a nice sociable young man. Besides, you will
spend money and make pretense of being rich. And let me give you a
valuable tip. On the first evening you arrive at the hotel call the
valet, give him a pound note and tell him to go out and buy a pound
bottle of eau-de-Cologne to put in your bath. There&#8217;s nothing that
gets round an hotel so quickly as wanton extravagance like that. The
guests hear of it through the servants, and everyone is impressed by
your wealth.&#8221;</p>

<p>I laughed. Only a man with such a brain as Rudolph Rayne could have
thought of such a ruse to inspire confidence.</p>

<p>Two days later I arrived at the smart south coast hotel. Though not
the season, Eastbourne was filled by quite a fashionable crowd. The
Grand, situated at the far end of the town towards Beachy Head, is the
resort of wealthy Londoners. I arrived alone in the showy Rolls just
before luncheon, when many of the visitors were seated in the cane
chairs outside or on the glass-covered veranda.</p>

<p>I noticed, too, that the Rolls was well scrutinized, as well as
myself. Under my assumed name, I took one of the most expensive rooms,
and later, in the big dining-room, the waiter pointed out to me Lady
Lydbrook, a young, blue-eyed, fluffy-haired little lady who,
exquisitely dressed, was seated in a corner with another young woman
about her own age.</p>

<p>They were chatting merrily, quite unconscious of the fact that I was
watching them.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p><p>Her companion was dark and exceedingly well dressed. I learnt from the
waiter that Sir Owen Lydbrook was not with his wife, and that the name
of her companion was Miss Elsie Wallis.</p>

<p>&#8220;I fancy she&#8217;s on the stage, sir,&#8221; the man added confidently. &#8220;Only I
don&#8217;t know her stage name. They&#8217;ve been &#8217;ere nearly a month. Sir Owen
is in Paris, I think. They say &#8217;e&#8217;s a lot older than &#8217;er.&#8221;</p>

<p>I realized in the cockney waiter a man who might be useful, hence I
gave him a substantial tip when I signed the bill for my meal.</p>

<p>Why Rayne had ordered me to contrive to make the acquaintance of the
fluffy-haired little woman was a problem that was beyond me, save that
I knew full well the motive was, without doubt, an evil one.</p>

<p>It goaded me to frenzy to think that Lola should eventually be called
upon in all her innocence to become, like myself, an unwilling agent
in the carrying out of Rayne&#8217;s subtle and insidious plots.</p>

<p>I was his paid servant, hence against my will I was forced to obey. My
ever-present hope was to be able one day to extricate Lola from that
atmosphere of criminality and mystery in which she lived, that
environment of stealthy plotting and malice aforethought.</p>

<p>On the evening of my arrival there happened to be a dance in the
hotel, and watching, I saw Lady Lydbrook enter the ballroom. She
looked very charming in a dance frock of bright orange, with a wreath
of silver leaves in her hair. Her gown was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>certainly the most <i>chic</i>
of any in the room, and she wore a beautiful rope of pearls.</p>

<p>Presently I summoned courage, and bowing, invited her to dance with
me. She smiled with dignity and accepted. Hence we were soon
acquaintances, for she danced beautifully, and I am told that I dance
fairly well. After the fox-trot we sat down and chatted. I told her
that I had only arrived that day.</p>

<p>&#8220;I saw you,&#8221; she said. &#8220;What a topping car you have! Ours is a Rolls
but an old pattern. I&#8217;m always pressing my husband to get rid of it
and buy a new model. But he won&#8217;t. Business men are all the same. They
tot up figures and weigh the cost of everything,&#8221; and she laughed
lightly, showing a set of pearly teeth. &#8220;They weigh up everything one
eats and wears. I hope you&#8217;re not a business man?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;No. I&#8217;m not,&#8221; I replied with a smile. &#8220;If I were I might be a bit
richer than I am.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Money! Bah!&#8221; she exclaimed as she waved the big ostrich feather that
served her as fan. &#8220;It&#8217;s all very well in its way, but some men get
stifled with their money-bags, just as Owen is. Their wealth is so
great that its very heaviness presses out all their good qualities and
only leaves avarice behind.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;But to have great wealth at one&#8217;s command must be a source of great
joy. Look how much good one could do!&#8221; I said philosophically.</p>

<p>&#8220;Good! Yes,&#8221; she laughed. &#8220;The rich man can be philanthropic&mdash;if he is
not a business man, Mr. Cottingham. The latter&mdash;if he tries to do good
to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>his fellow-creatures&mdash;is dubbed a fool in his business circles and
invariably comes to grief. At least that is what Owen tells me. He&#8217;s
double my age, and he ought to know,&#8221; added the charming little woman.</p>

<p>I admitted that there was much truth in what she had said. Indeed, we
had already grown to be such good friends that, at her invitation, the
night being clear and moonlit, we strolled out of the hotel and along
the promenade, half-way to the pier, and back.</p>

<p>Her companion, Miss Wallis, I had seen in the ballroom dancing with an
elderly man who had &#8220;the City&#8221; stamped all over him. We chatted upon
many subjects as we strolled in the balmy moonlit night.</p>

<p>&#8220;I expect my husband back in a day or two. He has been to Warsaw upon
some financial business for the Government. When we leave here we go
to Trouville for a week or so, and in the autumn I believe we go to
America. My husband goes over each year.&#8221;</p>

<p>Then I learned from her that they had a town house in Curzon Street, a
country place in Berkshire, and a villa at Cannes. They had, it
appeared, only recently been married.</p>

<p>&#8220;We generally manage to get to Cannes each winter for a month or two.
I love the Riviera,&#8221; she said. &#8220;Do you know it?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; I replied. &#8220;I&#8217;ve been there once or twice.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;The Villa Jaumont is out on the road to Nice, on the left. Perhaps if
you happen to be there this <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>winter you will call. I shall be most
delighted to see you.&#8221;</p>

<p>When presently we were back in the hotel and I had gone to my room, I
realized that I had made rather good progress. I had ingratiated
myself with her, and she had grown very confidential, inasmuch as I
was already able to judge that she rather despised her elderly and
parsimonious husband, and that she preferred to lead her own
untrammelled life.</p>

<p>But what was the real object of my mission?</p>

<p>A few days later I received a scribbled note signed &#8220;Rudolph&#8221; to say
that a friend of his, an Italian named Giulio Ansaldi, was arriving at
the hotel and would meet me in strictest secrecy. I was to leave my
bedroom door unlocked at midnight, when he would enter unannounced.
Enclosed was half one of Duperr&eacute;&#8217;s visiting-cards torn across in a
jagged manner.</p>

<p>&#8220;Your visitor will present to you the missing half of the enclosed
card as credential,&#8221; he wrote. &#8220;If the two pieces fit, then trust him
implicitly and act according to his instructions which he will convey
from me.&#8221;</p>

<p>I turned over the portion of the torn visiting-card, wondering what
fresh instructions I was to receive in such strict secrecy.</p>

<p>I thought of Lola and wondered whether she had returned home from a
visit she was paying in Devonshire, and whether, by her watchfulness,
she had gained any inkling of the nature of this latest plot.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p><p>Little Lady Lydbrook had now become my constant companion. Her friend,
Elsie Wallis, had apparently become on friendly terms with a tall,
slim, dark-haired young man who often took her out in his car, while
on several occasions Lady Lydbrook had accepted my invitation for an
afternoon run and tea somewhere. The one fact that I did not like was
that a quiet, middle-aged man seemed always to be watching our
movements, for whether we chatted together in the lounge, went out
motoring, walking on the promenade, or dancing, he always appeared
somewhere in the vicinity. But on the day I received Rayne&#8217;s note he
had paid his bill and left the hotel, a fact by which my mind was much
relieved.</p>

<p>That day I motored my pretty little friend over to Brighton, where we
lunched at the M&eacute;tropole and arrived back for tea. Her husband, she
said, had that morning telegraphed to her from Hamburg regretting that
he could not rejoin her at present as he was on his way to Italy.</p>

<p>&#8220;I suppose all our plans are upset again!&#8221; she remarked with a pretty
pout, as she sat at my side while we went carefully through the
old-world town of Lewes. She had become just a little inquisitive
about myself. It seemed that she enjoyed her dances with me. Indeed,
she admitted it, but I could discern that she was a good deal puzzled
as to my means of livelihood. I had to be very circumspect, yet for
the life of me I could not imagine why I had been <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>ordered to carry on
what was, after all, a mild flirtation with a very pretty young
married lady.</p>

<p>I could see that the other visitors at the hotel were whispering, and
more especially had I incurred the displeasure of a Mrs. Glenbury, an
elderly lady of distinctly out-of-date views, who with pathetic effort
tried to ape youth.</p>

<p>Late in the evening after our return from Brighton, I took a long
stroll alone along the lower promenade, close to the beach, which at
night is very ill-lit, being below the level of the well-illuminated
roadway. I suppose I had walked for quite a couple of miles when, on
my return, I discerned in front of me two figures, a man and a woman.
A ray of light from the roadway above shone on them as they passed,
and I noticed that while the woman wore an ordinary dark cloth coat,
the man was in tweeds and a golf cap.</p>

<p>An altercation had arisen between them.</p>

<p>&#8220;All right,&#8221; he cried. &#8220;You won&#8217;t live here very much longer&mdash;I&#8217;ll see
to that! You&#8217;ve tried to do me down, and very nearly succeeded. And
now you refuse to give me even a fiver!&#8221;</p>

<p>Those words aroused my curiosity. I held back; for my feet fell
noiselessly because of my rubber heels. I strained my ears to catch
their further conversation.</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve never refused you, Arthur!&#8221; replied the woman&#8217;s voice.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p><p>I held my breath. The voice was Lady Lydbrook&#8217;s. I could recognize it
anywhere!</p>

<p>I watched. The young man&#8217;s attitude was certainly threatening.</p>

<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t intend now that you&#8217;ll get off lightly. You&#8217;ll have to pay me
not a fiver but fifty pounds to-night. So go back to the hotel and
bring me out a cheque. I&#8217;ll wait at the Wish Tower. But mind it isn&#8217;t
a dud one. If it is, then, by gad! I&#8217;ll tell them right away. And
won&#8217;t the fur fly then, eh?&#8221;</p>

<p>He spoke in a refined voice, though his appearance was that of a
loafer.</p>

<p>His companion was evidently in fear. She tried to argue, to cajole,
and to appear defiant, but all was useless. He only laughed
triumphantly at her as they walked along the deserted promenade in the
direction of the hotel.</p>

<p>Suddenly they halted. I held back at once. They conversed in lower
tones&mdash;intense words that I could not catch. But it seemed to me that
the frail little woman who was so often my companion was cowed and
terrified. Why? What did she fear?</p>

<p>She left him, while he drew back into the shadow. I waited also in the
shadow for nearly ten minutes, then I passed on, ascended some steps
and re&euml;ntered the hotel. In the lounge I sank into a seat in a hidden
corner and lit a cigarette. Presently I heard the swish of a woman&#8217;s
skirt behind me, and rising, peered out. It was Lady Lydbrook on her
way out. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>She was carrying the cheque to the mysterious stranger!</p>

<p>Alone in my room that night I threw myself into a chair and pondered
deeply. I had learned that Lady Lydbrook was under the influence of
that ill-dressed man who spoke so well, and whom I at first took to be
an undergraduate or perhaps a hospital student.</p>

<p>It was a point to report to Rayne. Somehow I felt a rising antagonism
towards the young man who had successfully extracted fifty pounds from
my dainty little companion who was so passionately fond of jewels and
who frequently wore some exquisite rings and pendants. What hold could
the fellow have upon her?</p>

<p>Next morning she appeared bright and radiant at breakfast&mdash;which, of
course, she took with her rather retiring friend Elsie Wallis&mdash;and I
smiled across at her. She was, after all, a bright up-to-date little
married woman possessed of great wealth and influence, her whole life
being devoted to self-enjoyment at the expense of her elderly and
despised husband. She was a typical girl of society who had married an
old man for his money and afterwards sought younger male society. We
have them to-day in hundreds on every side.</p>

<p>After breakfast we went together along the sea-front where the band
was playing. The weather was glorious and Eastbourne looked at its
best.</p>

<p>I now regarded her as a mystery after what I had witnessed on the
previous night.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I&#8217;m horribly bored here!&#8221; she declared to me, as in her white summer
gown she strolled by my side towards the town. &#8220;Owen is not coming, so
I think I shall soon get away somewhere.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;What about your friend Elsie?&#8221; I asked, wondering whether her
decision had any connection with the unwelcome arrival of that
mysterious young man in tweeds.</p>

<p>&#8220;Oh, she&#8217;s going back to London to-day&mdash;so I shall be horribly
lonely,&#8221; she replied.</p>

<p>I recollected her nervousness and apprehension before she had paid the
man who had undoubtedly blackmailed her, and became more than ever
puzzled.</p>

<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2>

<h3>THE CAT&#8217;S TOOTH</h3>

<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:50px;line-height:32px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span><span style="margin-left:0%;">hat</span> night I went to my room at about ten minutes before midnight, and
waited for the appearance of my secret visitor.</p>

<p>Just as midnight struck the handle of the door slowly turned and a
well-dressed, dark-mustached man of about thirty-five entered silently
and bowed.</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. Hargreave?&#8221; he asked with a foreign accent. &#8220;Or is it
Cottingham?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Which you please,&#8221; I replied in a low voice, laughing.</p>

<p>&#8220;I have this to hand to you,&#8221; he said as he produced the portion of
the visiting-card which I found fitted exactly to that which I had
received from Rayne.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well?&#8221; I asked, inviting him to a chair and afterwards turning the
key in the door. &#8220;What message have you for me?&#8221; Then I noticed for
the first time that he bore in his hand a small brown leather
attach&eacute;-case.</p>

<p>&#8220;I know you well by name, Mr. Hargreave,&#8221; he said. &#8220;You are one of us,
I know. Therefore &#8216;The Golden Face&#8217; sends you a message.&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Have you seen him?&#8221; I asked.</p>

<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; was his reply. &#8220;Though we have been in association for several
years, I always receive messages through Vincent Duperr&eacute;.&#8221;</p>

<p>I knew that only too well. Rudolph Rayne took the most elaborate
precautions to preserve a clean pair of hands himself, no matter what
dirty work he planned to be carried out by others.</p>

<p>&#8220;Duperr&eacute; saw me in London yesterday, gave me that piece of card, and
told me to come here and explain matters,&#8221; the Italian went on in a
low voice. &#8220;You see this case. I am to hand it to you,&#8221; and as he took
it, he touched the bottom, which I saw was hinged and fell inwards in
two pieces, both of which sprang back again into their places by means
of strong springs. My small collar-box stood upon the dressing-table.</p>

<p>&#8220;You see how it works,&#8221; he said, and placing the attach&eacute;-case over the
collar-box, he snatched it up and the collar-box had disappeared
inside! It was an old invention of thieves and possessed no
originality. I wondered that Rayne&#8217;s friends employed such a
contrivance, which, of course, was useful when it became necessary
that valuable objects should disappear.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well, and what of it?&#8221; I asked, as, opening the case, he took out my
collar-box and replaced it upon the table.</p>

<p>&#8220;I am told that you are on very friendly terms with Lady Lydbrook. Our
friend old Hesketh has <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>been here and watched your progress&mdash;a
grey-mustached man with a slight limp. I dare say you may have noticed
him.&#8221;</p>

<p>I recollected the silent watcher who I had feared might be a
detective, and who had recently left the hotel. So Rayne had set
secret watch upon my movements&mdash;a fact which irritated me.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes. I know Sir Owen&#8217;s wife,&#8221; I said. &#8220;Why?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Possibly you don&#8217;t know that she has in a small dark-green morocco
case a rope of pearls worth twenty thousand, as well as some other
magnificent jewels. Haven&#8217;t you seen her wearing her pearls?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I have,&#8221; I said, &#8220;but I put them down as artificial ones.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;No&mdash;every one of them is real! They were a present to her from her
husband on her marriage,&#8221; said the foreigner, his dark eyes glowing as
he spoke. &#8220;We want them,&#8221; he whispered eagerly. &#8220;And as you know her,
you&#8217;ll have to get them.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I shall do no such thing!&#8221; I protested quickly. &#8220;I may be employed by
Mr. Rayne, but I&#8217;m not paid to commit a theft.&#8221;</p>

<p>My visitor looked me very straight in the face with his searching
eyes, and after a moment&#8217;s pause, asked:</p>

<p>&#8220;Is that really your decision? Am I to report that to Duperr&eacute;&mdash;that
you refuse?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;If you want to steal the woman&#8217;s pearls why don&#8217;t you do it
yourself?&#8221; I suggested.</p>

<p>&#8220;Because I am not her friend. You have called at <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>her room for her,
Hesketh has reported. You would not be suspected, being her friend,&#8221;
he added with sly persuasiveness.</p>

<p>&#8220;No. Tell them I refuse!&#8221; I cried, furious that such a proposition
should be put to me.</p>

<p>The foreigner, in whom I now recognized a polished international
crook, shrugged his shoulders and elevated his eyebrows. Then he
asked:</p>

<p>&#8220;Will you not reconsider your decision, Signor Hargreave? I fear this
refusal will mean a great deal to you. When &#8216;The Golden Face&#8217; becomes
hostile he always manages to put those who disobey him into the hands
of the police. And I have knowledge that he intends you to act in this
case as he directs, or&mdash;well, I fear that some unpleasantness will
arise for you!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;What do you threaten?&#8221; I demanded angrily. &#8220;I don&#8217;t know who you
are&mdash;and I don&#8217;t care! One fact is plain, that you, like myself, are
an agent of the man of abnormal brain known as &#8216;The Golden Face,&#8217; but I
tell you I refuse to become a jewel-thief.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Very well, if that is your irrevocable decision I will return
to-morrow and report,&#8221; he answered in very good English, though he was
typically Italian. &#8220;But I warn you that mischief is meant if you do
not obey. Duperr&eacute; told me so. Like myself you are paid to act as
directed and to keep a silent tongue. Only six months ago Jean Durand,
in Paris, refused to obey a demand, and to-day he is in the convict
prison in Toulon serving a sentence of seven years. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>He attempted to
reveal facts concerning &#8216;The Golden Face,&#8217; but the judge at the Seine
Assizes ridiculed the idea of our head director living respected and
unsuspected in England. You may believe yourself safe and able to
adopt a defiant attitude, but I, for one, can tell you that such a
policy can only bring upon you dire misfortune. Once one becomes a
servant of &#8216;The Golden Face&#8217; one remains so always, extremely well paid
and highly prosperous providing one is alert and shrewd, but ruined
and imprisoned if one either makes a slip or grows defiant. I hope you
will understand me, signor. I have been given a master-key to the
hotel. It will open Lady Lydbrook&#8217;s door. Here it is.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;But I really cannot accede to this!&#8221; I declared. &#8220;Though I have
fallen into a clever trap and have assisted in certain schemes, yet I
have never acted as the actual thief.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;The Golden Face,&#8217; whose marvelous activity and influence we must all
admire, has decided that you must do so in this case,&#8221; he said
inexorably.</p>

<p>I craved time to consider the matter, and after some further
conversation told him I would meet him near the bandstand on the
sea-front at noon next day, for we did not want to be associated in
the hotel.</p>

<p>That night I slept but little, for I realized that if I refused I must
assuredly be cast into the melting-pot as one who might, in return,
give Rayne away. I thought of Lola with whom I was so madly in love,
and whom I intended to eventually rescue from the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>criminal atmosphere
in which, though innocent, she was compelled to live.</p>

<p>I hated to take such a downward step, though the innocent-looking
little attach&eacute;-case with the steel grips and spring bottom was there
by my bedside ready for use. I was torn between the path of honesty
from which, alas! I had been slowly slipping ever since I had made
that accursed compact with Rudolph Rayne, and my love for Lola, who
had, I knew, every confidence in me, while at the same time she was
growing highly suspicious of her father.</p>

<p>The reader will readily realize my feelings that night. I had taken a
false step, and to withdraw would mean arrest, conviction and
imprisonment, notwithstanding any disclosures I might make. Rudolph
Rayne remained always with clean hands, the rich country gentleman and
personal friend of certain Justices of the Peace, officials, and
others, with whom he played golf and invited to his shooting parties
on the Yorkshire moors which he rented with money stolen in divers
ways and in various cities.</p>

<p>So, to cut a long story short, I met the mysterious Italian crook next
day&mdash;and I fell, for I took the master-key and agreed to attempt the
theft of Lady Lydbrook&#8217;s pearls!</p>

<p>I now saw through Rayne&#8217;s devilish plot. I was to be used still
further as his cat&#8217;s-paw, and he had planned that because of my
friendship with the pretty young woman, at his orders I was to steal
her property.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p><p>I felt myself alone and in a cleft stick. That afternoon, as I sat at
tea in the lounge with the woman whose jewels I was ordered to steal,
I was torn by a thousand emotions, yet I pretended to be my usual
self, and at my invitation she went out for a motor run between tea
and dinner.</p>

<p>Though I laughed at my foolishness, I somehow suspected that she now
viewed me with distinct misgiving. It now became necessary for me to
prospect for the little morocco case in which I knew she kept her
pearls. Therefore I at last summoned courage, and one evening, just
before half-past seven, while she was dressing for dinner, I knocked
and made excuse to ask her if she would go to the theater with me.</p>

<p>&#8220;Do come in,&#8221; she cried, for she was already dressed in a bright
sapphire-colored gown which greatly heightened her beauty. As she
admitted me, I saw the little jewel-case standing upon a tiny
side-table near the window. She was not wearing her beautiful rope of
pearls, therefore they were, without a doubt, safe in the case.</p>

<p>She thanked me and accepted, so I quickly went downstairs and told the
hall porter to telephone for two stalls.</p>

<p>That night, on arrival back at the hotel, it occurred to me that if
the little jewel-case had been left where it was my chance had now
arrived. I was being forced against my will to become a thief. Rayne,
the man who held me in his grip, had driven me to it and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>had placed
the means at my disposal. To refuse would mean arrest and the loss of
Lola.</p>

<p>We sat down in the lounge and I called for drinks&mdash;she was thirsty and
would like a lemon squash, she said. Before the waiter brought them, I
made leisurely excuse to go to the bureau to see if there were any
letters. Instead, I rushed up to my own room, obtained the &#8220;trick&#8221;
attach&eacute;-case, and carrying it along to Lady Lydbrook&#8217;s room,
stealthily opened the door with the master-key which Ansaldi had given
me.</p>

<p>All was dark within. I switched on the light, when, before me, upon
the little table, I saw the small green jewel-box.</p>

<p>In an instant I placed the attach&eacute;-case over it and next second it had
disappeared.</p>

<p>But as I did so, I heard a movement behind me, and, on turning, to my
breathless horror saw, standing before me, the pretty, fair-haired
young woman whom I had robbed!</p>

<p>&#8220;Well, Mr. Cottingham&mdash;or whatever your name is,&#8221; she exclaimed in a
hard, altered voice as, closing the door behind her, she advanced to
me with a fierce light in her eyes. &#8220;And what are you doing here,
pray?&#8221;</p>

<p>Then, glancing at the table and noticing her jewel-case missing, she
added:</p>

<p>&#8220;I see! You have scraped acquaintance with me in order to steal my
jewels. You have them in that case in your hand!&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p><p>I stammered something. What it was I have no recollection. I only know
that my words infuriated her, and she dashed out into the corridor to
raise the alarm, leaving me in possession of the trick bag with the
jewel-case inside.</p>

<p>I dashed after her, seizing her roughly by the waist as she ran down
the corridor.</p>

<p>&#8220;Listen!&#8221; I whispered fiercely into her ear. &#8220;Listen one moment. You
surely won&#8217;t give me away? Listen to what I have to tell you.
Do&mdash;I&mdash;implore you,&#8221; I said. &#8220;I am no thief! I will tell you
everything&mdash;and ask your advice. No harm has been done. Your pearls
are here.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; she said, turning back upon me. &#8220;But you&mdash;the man I liked and
trusted&mdash;are a common thief!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I admit it,&#8221; I said hoarsely as I dragged her back to her room, her
dress being torn in the struggle. &#8220;I have been forced against my will
into robbing you, as I will explain.&#8221;</p>

<p>Back in her bedroom she assumed a very serious attitude. She invited
me to sit down, after I had handed back her jewel-case, and then, also
seating herself in an arm-chair, she said in determination:</p>

<p>&#8220;Now look here, George Hargreave ... you see, I know your real name. I
know your game. By a word I can have you arrested, while, on the other
hand, my silence would give you your liberty.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;You will remain silent, Lady Lydbrook&mdash;I beg of you! I know that I
have committed an unpardonable <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>crime for which there is no excuse.&#8221; I
thought of that strange midnight scene I had witnessed and it was on
the tip of my tongue to mention it. But would it further infuriate
her? So I refrained from alluding to it.</p>

<p>Her attitude towards me had completely altered. She was hard-mouthed
and indignant, which, after all, was but natural.</p>

<p>&#8220;My whole future is in your hands,&#8221; I added.</p>

<p>She still hesitated. A word from her and not only would I be arrested,
but Rayne would probably be exposed and arrested also. She seemed, I
feared, to be aware of the whole organization, hence she was one of
the last persons who should have been marked down as a victim. Rayne
had evidently committed a fatal error.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; she said at last, &#8220;I am open to remain silent, and the matter
shall never be mentioned between us&mdash;but on one condition.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;And what is that?&#8221; I asked anxiously.</p>

<p>&#8220;I am in want of someone to help me. Will you do so?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I will do anything to serve you if you give me my liberty,&#8221; I said,
much ashamed.</p>

<p>&#8220;Very well, then. Listen,&#8221; she said in a hard, strained voice. &#8220;If you
resolve, in return for my silence, to assist me, you will be compelled
to act at my orders without seeking for any motive, but in blind
obedience.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I quite understand,&#8221; I replied. &#8220;I agree.&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p><p>No doubt she desired me to act against her enemy&mdash;the young fellow who
had extracted fifty pounds from her by threat.</p>

<p>&#8220;You must say nothing to a soul but meet me in secret in Paris. Stay
at the H&ocirc;tel Continental where I shall stay on the night of the
twenty-fourth. That is next Wednesday. At ten o&#8217;clock I shall be on
the terrace of the Caf&eacute; Vachette in the Boulevard St. Michel. Remember
the day and hour, and meet me there. Then I will tell you what service
I require of you. I shall leave here to-morrow, and I suppose you will
leave also.&#8221; And she opened her jewel-case to reassure herself that
her pearls and other ornaments were safe.</p>

<p>So she forgave me, shook my hand, and I went out of the room with the
cold perspiration still upon me.</p>

<p>I made no report of my failure to Rayne, but on the following
Wednesday night, after taking a room at the Continental, in Paris, an
hotel which I knew well, I crossed the Seine at about half-past nine,
and at ten o&#8217;clock sauntered up the boulevard to the popular, and
rather Bohemian, Caf&eacute; Vachette, where at a little table in the corner,
set well back from the pavement, I found her seated alone. She was
wearing the same dark cloth coat in which I had seen her when she met
the mysterious stranger at night at Eastbourne.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well? So you&#8217;ve kept the appointment, Mr. Cottingham!&#8221; she laughed
cheerily as I sank into a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>chair beside her. &#8220;You&#8217;ll order a drink and
pay for mine, eh?&#8221; she laughed.</p>

<p>Then when I had swallowed my liqueur, she suggested that we should
stroll down the boulevard and talk.</p>

<p>This we did. The proposition which she made without much preliminary
held me aghast.</p>

<p>&#8220;Though I like you very much, Mr. Cottingham,&#8221; she said as we
conversed in low voices, &#8220;I cannot conceal from myself that you are a
thief. Well, now to be perfectly frank, I want a thief&#8217;s help&mdash;and I
know that, as we are friends, you will assist me. You know my
inordinate love of jewels. Indeed, I wouldn&#8217;t have married Owen if he
had not given me my pearls. And you know the other ornaments I
have&mdash;which I might very well never have seen again, eh?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I know,&#8221; I said.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well, now, at the Continental there is at the present moment staying
a Madame Rodanet, the widow of the millionaire chocolate manufacturer.
She possesses among her jewels the famous Dent du Chat&mdash;the Cat&#8217;s
Tooth Ruby. It is called so because it is a perfect stone and
curiously pointed, the only one of its kind in the world. I want it,
and you must get it for me&mdash;as the price of my silence regarding the
affair at Eastbourne.&#8221;</p>

<p>I held my breath.</p>

<p>Her suggestion appalled me. I was to commit a second theft as the
price of the first! The pretty wife <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>of the great Sheffield ironmaster
was a thief herself at heart! Truly, the situation was a strange and
bewildering one.</p>

<p>I protested, and pointed out the risk and difficulties, but she met
all my arguments with remarkable cleverness.</p>

<p>&#8220;I know Madame,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I will make your path smooth for you, and
I myself will spirit the jewel out of France so that no possible
suspicion can attach to you,&#8221; was her reply. &#8220;Will you leave it all to
me?&#8221;</p>

<p>We walked on down the well-lit boulevard, my brain a-whirl, until at
last, pressed hard by her, I consented to act as she directed.</p>

<p>I found, in the course of the next three days, that Lady Lydbrook&#8217;s
whole life was centered upon the possession of jewels of great value,
and I was amazed to discover how very cleverly she plotted the coup
which I was to carry out.</p>

<p>One evening, after dinner, she introduced me casually to the rich
widow, an ugly overdressed old woman who was wearing as a pendant the
famous Dent du Chat. It was, to say the least, a wonderful gem. But I
passed as a person of no importance.</p>

<p>Next night with Lady Lydbrook&#8217;s help I was, however, able to get into
the old woman&#8217;s bedroom and carry out my contract for the preservation
of silence concerning the affair at Eastbourne.</p>

<p>I shall always recollect the moment when I slipped the pendant into
Lady Lydbrook&#8217;s soft hand as she <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>stood in <i>d&eacute;shabille</i> at the
half-opened door of her bedroom and her quick whispered words:</p>

<p>&#8220;I shall be away by the first train. Stay here to-morrow and cross to
London the next day. <i>Au revoir!</i> Let us meet again soon!&#8221; And she
gripped my hand warmly in hers and closed her door noiselessly.</p>

<p>Ah! A week later I learned how, by Rayne&#8217;s devilish cunning, I had
been tricked. When I knew the truth, I bit my lips to the blood.</p>

<p>The widow Rodanet had, it appeared, been staying at the Palais, in
Biarritz, when Duperr&eacute; and I had been there. She had been marked down
by Rayne as a victim, for the Dent du Chat was a stone of enormous
value.</p>

<p>The planned robbery had, however, gone wrong and we had been compelled
to return to London. Then Rayne had conceived the sinister idea of
sending me to Lady Lydbrook&mdash;who was not Sir Owen&#8217;s wife at all but
one of his agents like myself, and whose real name was Betty
Tressider&mdash;a girl-thief whose chief possession was a rope of imitation
pearls.</p>

<p>I, alas! dropped into the trap, whereupon she, on her part, compelled
me to steal old Madame Rodanet&#8217;s wonderful ruby; and thus, though I
confess it to my shame, I became an actual thief and one of Rudolph
Rayne&#8217;s active agents. What happened to me further I will now tell
you.</p>

<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2>

<h3>LOLA IS AGAIN SUSPICIOUS</h3>

<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:50px;line-height:32px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span><span style="margin-left:0%;">he</span> devilish cunning of Rudolph Rayne was indeed well illustrated by
the clever trap which he had set for me by the instrumentality of that
pretty woman-thief, Betty Tressider, who called herself Lady Lydbrook.</p>

<p>I now realized by Rayne&#8217;s overbearing attitude that he had, by a ruse,
succeeded in his object in compelling me to become an active
accomplice of the gang.</p>

<p>When back again once more in Yorkshire, I was delighted to find that
Lola had returned from her visit to Devonshire. She was just as sweet
and charming as ever, but just a trifle too inquisitive regarding my
visits to Eastbourne and Paris. I was much ashamed of the theft I had
been forced to commit in order to preserve secrecy regarding my first
downfall, hence rather awkwardly, I fear, I evaded all her questions.</p>

<p>Nevertheless, we were a great deal in each other&#8217;s company, and had
many confidential chats. I loved her, yet somehow I could not be frank
and open. How could I without revealing the secret of her father?</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p><p>One spring afternoon we had been playing tennis and were sitting
together in the pretty arbor at the end of the well-kept lawn, both
smoking cigarettes after a strenuous game, when suddenly she turned to
me, saying:</p>

<p>&#8220;Do you know, Mr. Hargreave, I don&#8217;t like the look of things at all!
Mr. Duperr&eacute; is not playing a straight game&mdash;of that I&#8217;m sure!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;why?&#8221; I asked with affected ignorance.</p>

<p>&#8220;I have again overheard something. Yesterday I was just going into the
morning-room, the door of which stood ajar, when I heard father
warning Duperr&eacute; of something&mdash;I couldn&#8217;t quite catch what it was. Only
he said that he didn&#8217;t approve of such drastic measures, and that &#8216;the
old man might lose his life.&#8217; To that Duperr&eacute; replied: &#8216;And if he did,
nobody would be any wiser.&#8217; What can it mean?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I fear I am just as ignorant as yourself,&#8221; I replied, looking the
arch-crook&#8217;s pretty daughter full in the face.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; she said, &#8220;I know I can trust you, Mr. Hargreave. I have only
you in whom I can confide.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; I assured her, bending across to her. &#8220;You can trust me
implicitly. I, too, am just as puzzled as yourself.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I know they have some business schemes together, Madame has often
told me so,&#8221; went on the girl. &#8220;But while I was away at Keswick I
purposely got into conversation with an old gentleman named Lloyd at
Madame&#8217;s suggestion, as she told me our <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>acquaintanceship would be
useful to some business scheme of Vincent&#8217;s. It appears that he wanted
to become acquainted with Mr. Lloyd.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;And you acted upon her suggestion?&#8221; I asked, horrified that she was
becoming the decoy of that circle of super-crooks.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes, though it was against my will,&#8221; was her reply. &#8220;I contrived to
allow him to have an opportunity to chat with me, and I afterwards
introduced Madame as my companion.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;And what followed?&#8221; I asked eagerly.</p>

<p>&#8220;Oh, he was very often with us, and took us for rides in his car all
through the Lakes. The hotel was full of smart people, and I think
they envied us.&#8221;</p>

<p>I was silent for a moment.</p>

<p>&#8220;Have you any idea who Mr. Lloyd may be?&#8221; I asked.</p>

<p>&#8220;No, except that Madame told me that he is immensely rich. A few days
later father came over to Keswick and stayed a few days and met him.
But the whole affair was most mysterious. I can&#8217;t make it out,&#8221;
declared the girl. &#8220;Mr. Duperr&eacute; never met him after all.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;We must remain patient and watch,&#8221; I urged.</p>

<p>This we did, and very soon there came a strange development of that
carefully planned introduction.</p>

<p>One day, on entering Rayne&#8217;s study, I found him in conversation with a
tall, dark, fashionably dressed foreign woman&mdash;Spanish, I believed her
to be. As I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>went in unexpectedly she seemed to have risen and assumed
a fierce defiant attitude, while he, seated at his writing-table, was
smoking one of his favorite expensive cigars and contemplating her
with amusement.</p>

<p>&#8220;My dear Madame,&#8221; he said, laughing, &#8220;pray sit down and let us discuss
the matter coolly. I do not wish you to act in any way to jeopardize
yourself. I have made certain plans; it is for you and your friends to
carry them out. And I know how clever is your friend Louis Larroca. So
there is no need for apprehension. Besides, if you trust me, as you
have done hitherto, you will find the whole affair works quite
easily&mdash;and without the least risk to yourselves.&#8221;</p>

<p>Next second he realized that I had entered, and turning to me, said
quite quietly:</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m engaged just now, Hargreave.&#8221;</p>

<p>So I was forced to withdraw, full of wonder as to the nature of the
latest conspiracy.</p>

<p>I found that a hired car from a garage at Thirsk was awaiting the
lady, who, I learned from the young footman, had given her name as
Madame Martoz.</p>

<p>A quarter of an hour later she drove away without, so far as I could
discern, having seen either Duperr&eacute; or his wife.</p>

<p>Next day Rayne, whom I drove into York in the new two-seater Vauxhall,
told me as we went along that he was having a small house-party on the
following Thursday.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Just a few personal friends,&#8221; he added.</p>

<p>I smiled within myself, for I knew the character of the personal
friends of &#8220;The Golden Face.&#8221;</p>

<p>Yet to my surprise, when Thursday came I found assembled half a dozen
perfectly honest and respectable men and their wives, and in some
cases their daughters. One was a London barrister, another a
well-known member of Parliament, a third a rich Leeds manufacturer,
while the others were more or less well known, and certainly all of
the highest respectability. When Rayne gave a house-party he always
did the thing well, and the days passed in a round of well-ordered
enjoyment, motoring, golf, tennis and visits to neighbors to the full
delight of everyone. In the evening there were dancing and billiards,
Duperr&eacute; being the life and soul of the smart party.</p>

<p>On the fourth day, about twelve o&#8217;clock, Lola, who had made friends
with Enid Claverton, the barrister&#8217;s daughter, who was about the same
age as herself, came to me in the garage, and said:</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. Lloyd, whom we met at Keswick, has just arrived. He&#8217;s come on a
visit. Father told me nothing about it. Did he tell you?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Not a word,&#8221; I replied, wondering why the person in question had been
enticed into the spider&#8217;s parlor. No doubt the highly respectable
house-party had been invited to form a suitable setting for some
secret villainy.</p>

<p>I met the new guest just before luncheon and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>found him a
white-bearded, bald-headed, fresh-complexioned and rather dapper
little man, whose merry eyes and easy-going manner marked him as a
<i>bon vivant</i> and something after Rayne&#8217;s own style.</p>

<p>He greeted me when in the big hall with its long armorial windows, its
old family portraits, and the many trophies of the chase that had been
secured by the noble family who were previous owners of the Hall.
Rayne introduced me as his secretary.</p>

<p>I looked into the smartly dressed old fellow&#8217;s blue eyes and wondered
what foul plot against him had emanated from the abnormal brain of the
arch-criminal who was his host. I smiled when I reflected on the
horror of those guests did they but know who Rudolph Rayne really was.
But in their ignorance they enjoyed his unbounded hospitality and
voted him a real good sort&mdash;as outwardly he was.</p>

<p>My time was occupied mostly in driving the Rolls, but when at home I
watched narrowly yet was utterly unable to discern why the friendship
of Mr. Gordon Lloyd, whose profession or status I failed to discover,
had been so cleverly secured and carefully cultivated until he had now
become a welcome guest under Rayne&#8217;s roof.</p>

<p>There was a sinister design somewhere, but in what direction? Rudolph
Rayne never lifted a finger or smiled upon a stranger without some
evil intent by which to enrich himself. Usurers in the City have
always been clever people backed by capital, but this super-crook had,
I learned, risen in a few years from <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>a small bookmaker in Balham to
control the biggest combine of Thiefdom ever known in the annals of
our time.</p>

<p>One day I drove Mr. Lloyd with Lola and a Mrs. Charlesworth, one of
the guests, into Ripon to see the cathedral. We had inspected the fine
transepts, the choir and the famous Saxon crypt&mdash;of which there is
only one other in England&mdash;and had gone to the old Unicorn to tea.</p>

<p>We had sat down when, chancing to glance around, I saw, to my
surprise, seated in a corner alone, the handsome Madame Martoz, who
had had that confidential interview with Lola&#8217;s father some days
before. Our recognition was mutual, I saw, for she lowered her dark
eyes and busied herself with the teapot before her. Yet I noticed that
with covert glances she was still regarding us with some curiosity.</p>

<p>Ten minutes later a tall, swarthy-faced man with well-trimmed black
mustache, a typical Spaniard, lounged in and sat at her table, while
she gave him tea. Mr. Lloyd, Lola and Mrs. Charlesworth were busily
chatting, but I noted that the Spanish woman whispered some words to
her companion which caused him to glance in our direction. Afterwards
they both rose and went out.</p>

<p>Later, when we had finished our tea, I went to the office in order to
pay&mdash;for on such excursions I always paid on Rayne&#8217;s behalf&mdash;and when
doing so, I asked casually:</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Have you a Spanish gentleman staying here&mdash;a Mr. Larroca?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;No, sir,&#8221; replied the rather stout, pleasant bookkeeper. &#8220;We have a
Mr. Bellido, a Spanish gentleman. He&#8217;s just gone out with Madame
Calleja, who is also Spanish, though they both speak English well.&#8221;</p>

<p>I thanked her and rejoined my party. At least I had ascertained the
names under which they were known, for Larroca was no doubt the real
name of Bellido.</p>

<p>What mischief was intended? It was evident that we had been purposely
sent by Rayne to that hotel in Ripon in order that Madame and her
accomplice should see us, so that we could be identified again.
Certainly it was unnecessary for them to see Lola, Mrs. Charlesworth
or myself. We had, I felt convinced, made that excursion in order that
old Mr. Lloyd should be seen and known to the mysterious pair.</p>

<p>Two days afterwards our guests dispersed, but Mr. Lloyd, pressed by
Madame Duperr&eacute;, remained behind.</p>

<p>To me he seemed one of those wealthy, rather faddy men whom one
encounters sometimes in the best hotels, men who move up and down the
country aimlessly during the spring and summer and in winter go abroad
for a few months; men with piles of well-battered and be-labelled
baggage whose home is always in hotels and whose chief object in life
is to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>dress in the fashion of the younger generation, to be seen
everywhere, to give cosy little luncheon and dinner-parties, and be
the &#8220;fairy&#8221; uncle of any pretty girl they may come across.</p>

<p>We have lots of such in England to-day. Ask the <i>chef-de-r&eacute;ception</i> of
any of our smartest hotels, and they will reel off the names of half a
dozen or so elderly bachelors, widowers or wife-quarrelers with huge
incomes who prefer to pass along the line of least resistance in
domesticity&mdash;the private suite in an up-to-date hotel.</p>

<p>Mr. Gordon Lloyd was one of such, and it seemed that Rudolph Rayne,
who now treated me with the greatest intimacy because he saw that he
had drawn me so completely into his net, had become his dearest
friend.</p>

<p>On the night when the last guest had departed I sat with the pair over
the port, after Lola and Madame had left the dinner-table.</p>

<p>&#8220;Really,&#8221; said the merry old gentleman with his glass of &#8217;74 poised in
his hand, &#8220;I don&#8217;t know whether I shall go back to Colwyn Bay again
this winter&mdash;or go abroad. I&#8217;ve no ties, and I&#8217;m getting fed up. I
haven&#8217;t been abroad since the war.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Go abroad, my dear fellow,&#8221; said Rayne. &#8220;The change would certainly
do you good&mdash;go somewhere in the south. The Riviera is played out. Why
not go to Sicily?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve been there,&#8221; replied old Mr. Lloyd as he sipped his glass of
fine wine.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Then why not try Italy? Glorious bright weather all through our foggy
season&mdash;Rome or Florence, for instance?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;No, I hate Italy.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Spain, then? Good hotels in Madrid and Barcelona. In Madrid there is
a small circle of English society, good opera, and lots of interesting
places to visit by motor,&#8221; Rayne suggested, for, as a rapid traveler
all over Europe, he knew every Continental city of importance.</p>

<p>The old man was rather struck by the latter suggestion.</p>

<p>&#8220;I certainly am rather tired of Bournemouth and Colwyn Bay and Hove in
winter,&#8221; he admitted. &#8220;I&#8217;ve never been to Madrid.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Then go, my dear fellow. Go by all means. The journey is quite easy.
Just the train by day to Paris, and then by sleeping-car on the Sud
Express right through to Madrid.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes. But it&#8217;s an awful trouble,&#8221; replied the rich old man.</p>

<p>&#8220;No trouble at all!&#8221; laughed Rayne as he pulled at his cigar. &#8220;I don&#8217;t
like to see you in this rut of hotels. It&#8217;s bad for you! It only leads
to drinks in the bar till late and bad headaches in the morning. You
must buck up and get out of it.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Well, I&#8217;ll see,&#8221; replied the old fellow, and then we all three rose
and rejoined the ladies.</p>

<p>Oh, what a farce the whole thing was! I longed&mdash;I yearned to yell my
disclosures against the man <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>who like an octopus had now placed his
tentacles around me. But I saw that it was futile to kick against the
pricks. I had only to wait and to watch.</p>

<p>For a whole week things proceeded in good, well-ordered regularity.
Mr. Lloyd was our guest and everyone made themselves pleasant towards
him. Lola, with whom I had frequent chats in secret, had somehow
become disarmed. She no longer suspected her father of any sinister
intent, the reason being that he had taken the old man as his dearest
and most intimate confidant.</p>

<p>One night after I had beaten old Mr. Lloyd at billiards and he had
gone to bed, I passed by the door of the library and saw a streak of
light beneath the door.</p>

<p>Therefore, believing that the electric light had been inadvertently
left on, I opened the door, when I had a great surprise.</p>

<p>Rayne was seated in an arm-chair chatting with Madame Martoz, while on
a settee near the window sat Madame Duperr&eacute;.</p>

<p>All three started up as I entered, but a word of apology instantly
rose to my lips, and Rayne said: &#8220;That&#8217;s all right, Hargreave. Indeed,
I wanted to talk to you. Look here,&#8221; he went on, &#8220;I want you to go to
Madrid after old Mr. Lloyd goes there, as no doubt he will. You&#8217;ll
stay at the Ritz in the Plaza de Canovas, and ask no questions. I&#8217;ll
send you instructions&mdash;or perhaps Duperr&eacute; may be with you.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;When?&#8221; I asked in surprise, as it appeared that <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>the rich old
gentleman had, after all, arranged to go to Spain.</p>

<p>&#8220;In ten days or so. When I tell you. Till then, don&#8217;t worry, my dear
boy. When I make plans you know that you have only to act.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;To the detriment of our unsuspecting guest, eh?&#8221; I remarked in a low
bitter voice.</p>

<p>&#8220;That is not polite, George,&#8221; he said sharply. &#8220;You are our paid
servant, and such a remark does not befit you.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Whether it does or not, Mr. Rayne, I repeat it,&#8221; I said defiantly. &#8220;I
am not blind to your subtle machinations by which I have become your
accomplice.&#8221;</p>

<p>He laughed triumphantly in my face.</p>

<p>&#8220;You are paid&mdash;and well paid for it all. Why should you resent? Are
you an idiot?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I certainly refuse to be your tool!&#8221; I cried furiously.</p>

<p>&#8220;You have thrown in your lot with me as one who ventures constantly in
big things just as any man who operates on the Stock Exchange. It is
good sport. You, George, are a sportsman, as I am. And from one sport
we both derive a good deal of fun.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;And the victim of our fun, as you term it, is to be old Mr. Lloyd!&#8221; I
remarked, looking him straight in his face.</p>

<p>But he only laughed, and said:</p>

<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t be a fool. You are a most excellent fellow, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>Hargreave, except
when you get these little fits of squeamishness.&#8221;</p>

<p>It was on the tip of my tongue to roundly refuse to have anything
further to do with him and leave the house, but I knew, alas! that now
I had stolen the famous ruby in Paris he would have no compunction in
giving me over to the police.</p>

<p>And if I, in turn, gave information against him, what could I really
prove? Practically nothing! Rayne was always clever enough to preserve
himself from any possibility of suspicion. It was that fact which
marked him as the most amazing and ingenious crook.</p>

<p>So I was forced to remain silent, and a few minutes later left the
room.</p>

<p>On the following Friday Mr. Lloyd left us. Rayne bade him a regretful
farewell, after making him promise to return to us for a fortnight
when he got back from Spain.</p>

<p>&#8220;Probably my secretary, Hargreave, will have to go to Madrid upon
business for me. I have some interest in a tramway company at
Salamanca. So you may possibly meet.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I hope we do, Mr. Hargreave,&#8221; said the old gentleman, turning to me
warmly. &#8220;I shall certainly take your advice and try Madrid for a few
weeks.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes, do. You&#8217;ll like it, I&#8217;m sure,&#8221; his host assured him, and then we
drove away.</p>

<p>&#8220;When are you going to Spain?&#8221; Mr. Lloyd asked me as he sat at my side
on our way to Thirsk station.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I really don&#8217;t know,&#8221; was my evasive reply. &#8220;Mr. Rayne has not yet
fixed the date.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Well, here&#8217;s my address,&#8221; he said, handing me a card with his name
and &#8220;Reform Club&#8221; on it. &#8220;I wish you&#8217;d write me when your journey is
fixed and perhaps we might travel together. I&#8217;d be most delighted to
have you as my companion on the journey.&#8221;</p>

<p>I took the card, thanked him, and promised that I would let him know
the date of my departure.</p>

<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2>

<h3>THE PAINTED ENVELOPE</h3>

<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:50px;line-height:32px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">O</span><span style="margin-left:0%;">n</span> my return I told Rayne of the old man&#8217;s invitation, whereat he
rubbed his hands in warm approval.</p>

<p>&#8220;Excellent!&#8221; he cried. &#8220;You must travel with him and keep an eye upon
him&mdash;just to see that nobody&mdash;well, that nobody molests the poor old
fellow,&#8221; he laughed grimly.</p>

<p>I saw his meaning, but I was in no way anxious to become the traveling
companion of a man who had, without doubt, been marked down as the
next victim.</p>

<p>A fact that aroused my curiosity was that all the time Mr. Lloyd had
been with us Duperr&eacute; had been absent&mdash;in Brussels, I believe. His
identity was evidently being concealed with some distinctly malicious
purpose.</p>

<p>I waited with curiosity. Next day Lola, who with her woman&#8217;s intuition
had scented that something sinister was intended, expressed surprise
to me that Mr. Lloyd was going to Spain.</p>

<p>We were walking together across the park beyond the lower gardens on
our way to the village.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Mr. Lloyd told me that he was going to Spain at father&#8217;s suggestion,&#8221;
she said. &#8220;It seems to me rather strange that I should have been the
means of bringing father and him together. I can&#8217;t understand the
reason of it all,&#8221; she added, evidently much puzzled.</p>

<p>&#8220;Perhaps your father has some idea of transacting some lucrative
business with him. Remember, he has a lot of financial interests in
Spain.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Ah! yes,&#8221; replied the girl. &#8220;Of course. I never thought of that!
Father has been to Madrid several times of late.&#8221;</p>

<p>I feared to tell her what I suspected of the secret visit of that
handsome Spanish woman, or of how we had been observed at the Unicorn
at Ripon.</p>

<p>On that same day Duperr&eacute; returned. He had been abroad, for when I met
him at the station I noticed that his luggage bore fresh labels of the
Palace Hotel, at Brussels, and some railway destinations. At ten
o&#8217;clock that night, after Lola had retired to bed, I was called to
consult with Rayne and Duperr&eacute;, who were smoking together in the
billiard-room. Duperr&eacute; had evidently related to him the result of his
mysterious journeyings, and Rayne seemed in an unusually good humor.</p>

<p>&#8220;Sit down, George, and listen,&#8221; he said. &#8220;We have a little piece of
important business to transact&mdash;something that will bring in big
money. Duperr&eacute; will explain.&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p><p>Vincent turned, and looking at me through the haze of his
cigarette-smoke, said:</p>

<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s not much to explain, George. You have only to act on Rayne&#8217;s
instructions. The matter does not concern you as, after all, you&#8217;re
only a pawn in this merry little game which will do no harm to
anyone&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Only to old Lloyd,&#8221; I interrupted.</p>

<p>&#8220;To his pocket, perhaps,&#8221; Duperr&eacute; laughed.</p>

<p>&#8220;Frankly, you mean to rob him, as you have so many others.&#8221;</p>

<p>Duperr&eacute; frowned darkly, and exchanged angry glances with Rayne.</p>

<p>&#8220;I think that remark is entirely uncalled for,&#8221; Rayne said
resentfully. &#8220;You have thrown in your lot with us, as I have told you
before, and with your eyes wide open have become one of my trusted
assistants. As such you will receive my instructions&mdash;and act upon
them without question. That is your position. And now,&#8221; he added,
turning to Duperr&eacute;, &#8220;please explain.&#8221;</p>

<p>Duperr&eacute; laid down his cigarette-end in the tray, and said:</p>

<p>&#8220;Well, look here, George. What you must do is this. You will write to
old Lloyd at the Reform Club to-morrow and tell him that you are
leaving for Madrid on Tuesday week upon important business for our
friend Rayne. You will suggest that he goes to the Ritz while you go
to the H&ocirc;tel de la Paix in the Puerta del Sol, as being less
expensive. You, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>as Rayne&#8217;s secretary, cannot afford to stay at the
Ritz, you understand?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Then there is a specific reason why we should not stay at the same
hotel, eh?&#8221; I asked.</p>

<p>Duperr&eacute; hesitated, and then nodded.</p>

<p>&#8220;I may come out to Spain and join you in a few days after your
arrival. At present I don&#8217;t exactly know.&#8221;</p>

<p>So, though full of resentment, I was compelled to the inevitable. Next
day I wrote to the Reform Club, and in reply received a letter
appointing to meet me at Charing Cross Station on the following
Tuesday week.</p>

<p>Lola became even more inquisitive next day. Whether her father had
inadvertently dropped a word in her presence I know not, but she had
somehow become aware that I had received orders to travel with Mr.
Lloyd to Spain.</p>

<p>What was intended? The &#8220;business&#8221; upon which I was being sent to Spain
was some <i>coup</i> which Rayne&#8217;s ever-active brain had carefully
conceived. He had used his daughter&#8217;s bright and winning manners in
order to become friendly with the wealthy and somewhat mysterious old
man whom I was to conduct to Spain.</p>

<p>Naturally I was evasive as usually. I loved her, it was true. She was
all the world to me. And my love was, I believed, reciprocated, but
how could I admit my shameful compact with her father? I was now a
thief, having been drawn into that insidious <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>plot which I described
in the previous chapter of my reminiscences as a servant to the King
of Crookdom.</p>

<p>So we walked pleasantly along to the white-headed old village
clockmaker, who was grandson of a well-known man who had fashioned the
little grandmother clocks which to-day are so rare&mdash;the pet
timekeepers of our bewigged ancestors. The name of the old fellow&#8217;s
grandfather was on the list of famous makers of clocks in the days of
George the Third, which you can find in any book upon old clocks.</p>

<p>On our walk back to the Hall we chatted merrily.</p>

<p>&#8220;I rather envy you your run out to Madrid,&#8221; Lola laughed. &#8220;I wish I
could go to Spain.&#8221;</p>

<p>She was wearing a canary-colored jersey, stout boots, and carried a
hefty ash stick, for she was essentially an out-of-door girl, though
at night she could put on a short and flimsy dance frock and look the
perfection of charm.</p>

<p>I took no notice of her remark, but purposely turned the conversation,
and as we strolled back together we discussed a dance which was to be
given two nights later by her friends the Fishers at Atherton Towers,
about five miles distant.</p>

<p>On the morning appointed I met old Mr. Lloyd, who, to my surprise, had
with him his niece, Miss Sylvia Andrews, a smart and pretty
dark-haired girl of about twenty-five.</p>

<p>&#8220;At the last moment Sylvia wanted to come with me to see Spain,&#8221; the
old gentleman explained as we <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>sat in the boat-train speeding towards
Dover. &#8220;I managed yesterday to get an extra sleeping-berth in the Sud
Express.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I hope you will like Madrid, Miss Andrews,&#8221; I said gallantly. &#8220;You
will find life there very bright and gay&mdash;quite an experience.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m greatly looking forward to it,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I&#8217;ve read all about
it, and though I&#8217;ve been in France and in Italy quite a lot, I&#8217;ve
never been in Spain, though I&#8217;ve always longed to see it.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I propose we break our journey at San Sebastian,&#8221; said Mr. Lloyd. &#8220;I
want to see the place, and the Casino which is making such a bid
against the counter-attraction of Monte Carlo. What do you say?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m quite agreeable,&#8221; I replied. &#8220;A couple of days&#8217; delay makes no
difference to me. As long as I am in Madrid on the sixteenth it will
be all right. I have to attend a directors&#8217; meeting on behalf of Mr.
Rayne on that day.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Good! uncle,&#8221; cried the girl. &#8220;Then we&#8217;ll break our journey at San
Sebastian, eh?&#8221;</p>

<p>And so it was arranged.</p>

<p>Two days later we stepped from the dusty sleeping-car in which we had
traveled from Paris, and soon found ourselves driving around a wide
bay with calm sapphire sea and golden sands&mdash;the far-famed La Concha.</p>

<p>We remained for two days at that luxurious hotel the Continental, on
the Paseo, and visited all the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>sights, including the Casino, where we
thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. Old Mr. Lloyd was an amusing companion,
as I well knew, a man who seemed never tired notwithstanding his
advanced age, while his niece was a particularly jolly girl who
enjoyed every moment of her life.</p>

<p>Then we proceeded by the night express to Madrid.</p>

<p>Mr. Lloyd insisted that I should stay with them at the Ritz, but,
compelled to obey Rayne&#8217;s instructions, I was forced to excuse myself
on the plea that two of Rayne&#8217;s co-directors were to stay at the H&ocirc;tel
de la Paix, and Rayne had wished me to stay with them for certain
business reasons.</p>

<p>With this explanation the old gentleman was satisfied, so when at last
we arrived in the Spanish capital I saw them safely to the Ritz, then
went on alone to the Puerta del Sol.</p>

<p>That night we dined together, and afterwards we went to the opera at
the Teatro Real. Next day we met again, and on several days that
followed. I took them to see the sights of the capital, the sights
which everyone visits, the Armeria, the Academy, the Naval Museum, the
street life of the Plaza Mayor and the Calle de Toledo, the afternoon
promenades in the Retiro Park and the Paseo de Fernan Nu&ntilde;ez.</p>

<p>In all they evinced the greatest interest. To both uncle and niece it
presented fresh scenes such as neither had before seen, and I realized
that old Mr. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>Lloyd had become brighter and far more cheerful than
when with us at Overstow.</p>

<p>I had been at the H&ocirc;tel de la Paix for about ten days, when on
returning late one night from visiting with Miss Andrews the
celebrated Verbena de la Paloma&mdash;the famous fair held in the Calle de
la Paloma&mdash;I found, to my surprise, Duperr&eacute; awaiting me.</p>

<p>I explained the situation, but when I mentioned the presence of old
Lloyd&#8217;s niece his countenance instantly fell.</p>

<p>&#8220;Why in the name of Fate did the old fool bring her here?&#8221; he
exclaimed. &#8220;I thought he would come alone!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;She&#8217;s quite a nice girl,&#8221; I remarked. &#8220;Full of high spirits and
vitality.&#8221;</p>

<p>But Duperr&eacute; only grunted, and I saw by the expression of his face that
he was far from pleased that the old man was not alone.</p>

<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want to be introduced yet,&#8221; he said. &#8220;At present, though we
can meet here in the hotel, we must be strangers outside.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;And what is the game?&#8221; I demanded boldly, for we were together in my
bedroom overlooking the great square and the door was locked.</p>

<p>&#8220;Nothing that concerns you, Hargreave,&#8221; was his hard reply. &#8220;I know
you&#8217;re foolishly squeamish about some things. Well, in this affair
just act as Rudolph orders and don&#8217;t trouble about the consequences.&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p><p>I realized that some evil was intended. Yet it was prevented by the
presence there of Sylvia Andrews. What could it be?</p>

<p>Next day I met uncle and niece as usual, and we went for a motor ride
together out to Aranjuez, where we saw the Palacio Real, and then on
to Toledo where we visited the wonderful cathedral and the great
Elcazar. I did not get back to the hotel till past ten o&#8217;clock that
night, but I found Duperr&eacute; anxious and perturbed. Why, I failed to
understand, except that he seemed filled with annoyance that his plans
had somehow gone awry.</p>

<p>Two days later when I called at the Ritz with the intention of
accompanying Mr. Lloyd and his niece over the mountains to Valladolid,
I found them both greatly excited.</p>

<p>&#8220;Sylvia had a telegram an hour ago recalling her to London as her
mother is ill, and I am going with her. I cannot allow her to travel
alone. We leave by the express at six o&#8217;clock this evening,&#8221; Mr. Lloyd
said. &#8220;I am so very sorry to depart so suddenly, Mr. Hargreave. We
were both enjoying our visit so much,&#8221; he added apologetically.</p>

<p>This surprised me until I returned to my hotel to luncheon, when
Duperr&eacute;, meeting me eagerly in the hall, asked:</p>

<p>&#8220;Well, is the girl going?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; I said. &#8220;How do you know?&#8221;</p>

<p>He smiled meaningly, and I felt that in all probability the telegram
recalling the girl had been sent <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>at his instigation, as indeed I
afterwards knew it had been. So cleverly had matters been arranged by
the crooks that Mrs. Andrews was actually very unwell.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes, she&#8217;s off to-night&mdash;and the old man also,&#8221; I said, glad that he
was to get out of the mysterious danger that undoubtedly threatened
him.</p>

<p>&#8220;What!&#8221; cried my companion, staggered. &#8220;Is the old fellow actually
leaving also? At what time?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;By the six o&#8217;clock train&mdash;the express to Irun,&#8221; I replied.</p>

<p>He was thoughtful for a moment. Then he said abruptly in a thick
voice:</p>

<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want any lunch. I want to think. Come up to my room when
you&#8217;ve had your meal,&#8221; and then, turning on his heel, he ascended in
the lift.</p>

<p>On going to his room after luncheon I found him standing by the
window, with his hands in his pockets, looking blankly out upon the
great square below.</p>

<p>Close by, upon the writing-table, was a small medicine phial and a
camel-hair brush, together with several pieces of paper. It struck me
that he had painted one of the pieces with some of the colorless
liquid, for, having dried, it was now crinkled in the center.</p>

<p>&#8220;Look here, Hargreave,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I want you to telephone to the girl
Andrews and ask her to meet you this afternoon at four, say in the
ladies&#8217; caf&eacute; in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>the Caf&eacute; Suzio, so that you can have tea together.
When you&#8217;ve done that come back here.&#8221;</p>

<p>I obeyed, in wonder at what was intended. Then when I returned, he
said:</p>

<p>&#8220;Sit down and write a note to the old man, asking him to let you have
his address so that you can collect any letters from the Ritz for him
and forward them. He&#8217;ll think it awfully kind of you. And enclose an
envelope addressed to yourself; it will save him trouble.&#8221;</p>

<p>This I did, taking paper and envelope from the rack in front of me. I
was about to address the envelope to myself, when he said:</p>

<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s too large, have this one! It will fit in the other envelope,&#8221;
and he took from the rack one of a smaller size which I used according
to his suggestion.</p>

<p>&#8220;Now,&#8221; he said, &#8220;you go and take the girl out and I&#8217;ll see that this
letter is delivered&mdash;and that you get an answer.&#8221;</p>

<p>I met Sylvia, and we had quite a jolly tea together. Then, at five
o&#8217;clock, I left her at the door of the Ritz, saying that I had sent a
letter to her uncle asking for his address, and that knowing he would
be very busy preparing to leave I would not come in.</p>

<p>On entering the H&ocirc;tel de la Paix the concierge handed me two letters,
one from old Mr. Lloyd in reply to my note and the other that had been
left for me by Duperr&eacute;.</p>

<p>&#8220;I have already left Madrid,&#8221; he wrote briefly. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>&#8220;Whatever you hear,
you know nothing, remember. Wait another week and then come home.&#8221;</p>

<p>I was not long in hearing something, for within a quarter of an hour
Sylvia rang me up asking me to come round at once to the Ritz.</p>

<p>In trepidation I took a taxi there and found old Mr. Lloyd in a state
of unconsciousness, with a doctor at his side, Sylvia having found him
lying on the floor of the sitting-room. The doctor told her that the
old gentleman had apparently been seized by a stroke, but that he was
very slowly recovering.</p>

<p>Sylvia, however, pointed out that his dispatch-box had been broken
open and rifled. What had been taken she had no idea.</p>

<p>Inquiries made of the hotel staff proved that just after his niece had
gone out a boy had arrived with a note requiring an answer, and had
been shown up to Mr. Lloyd&#8217;s room. The old gentleman wrote the answer,
and the boy left with it. To whom the answer was addressed was not
known.</p>

<p>The only person seen in the corridor afterwards was a guest who
occupied a room close by, a Spaniard named Larroca.</p>

<p>I recollected the name. It was the man I had seen at the Unicorn at
Ripon!</p>

<p>I made discreet inquiries, and discovered that Madame Martoz was
living in the hotel.</p>

<p>The truth was plain. I longed to denounce them, but in fear I held my
secret.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p><p>Old Mr. Lloyd hovered between life and death for a week, when at last
he recovered, but to this day he cannot account for the mysterious
seizure. I, however, know that it was due to a certain secret
colorless liquid with which the gum upon the envelope I had addressed
to myself had been painted over by Duperr&eacute;. The old gentleman had
licked it, and within five minutes he had fallen unconscious.</p>

<p>When he was sufficiently well to be shown his dispatch-box he grew
frantic.</p>

<p>In it had been his cheque-book containing four signed cheques, as it
was his habit to send weekly cheques to the woman who acted as
housekeeper at his flat at Hove, which, by the way, he very seldom
visited.</p>

<p>By some means Rayne had got to know of this, and by that clever ruse
his accomplice got possession of the cheques, and ere the old man
could wire to London to stop payment, all four had been cashed for
large amounts without question.</p>

<p>Rayne and his friends netted nearly ten thousand pounds, but to this
day old Mr. Lloyd entertains no suspicion.</p>

<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2>

<h3>THE GENTLEMAN FROM ROME</h3>

<p><span style="float:left;font-size:50px;line-height:32px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">I</span> knew that my love for Lola was increasing, yet I did not know
whether my affection was really reciprocated.</p>

<p>We were close friends, but that was all. I was seated with her in the
pretty morning-room one day about a fortnight after my return from
Madrid, when the footman entered with a card.</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. Rayne is not in, sir. Will you see the gentleman?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;<i>Cav. Enrico Graniani&mdash;Roma</i>,&#8221; was the name upon the card.</p>

<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s a stranger, sir. I&#8217;ve never seen him before,&#8221; the servant added.</p>

<p>&#8220;I wonder who he is?&#8221; asked Lola, looking over my shoulder at the
card. &#8220;Father doesn&#8217;t somehow like strangers, does he?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; I said. &#8220;But I&#8217;ll see him. Show him into the library.&#8221;</p>

<p>When a few moments later I entered the room I found a tall, elegant,
well-dressed Italian who, addressing me in very fair English, said:</p>

<p>&#8220;I understand, signore, that Mr. Rayne is not in. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>I have come from
Italy to see him, and I bring an introduction from a mutual friend.
You are his secretary, I believe?&#8221;</p>

<p>I replied in the affirmative, and took the note which he handed me.</p>

<p>&#8220;I will give it to Mr. Rayne when he returns to-morrow,&#8221; I promised
him. &#8220;Where shall he write to in order to make an appointment?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I am at the Majestic Hotel at Harrogate,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;I will await
a letter&mdash;I thank you very much,&#8221; and he departed.</p>

<p>Next afternoon when I gave Rayne the letter of introduction he became
at once eager and somewhat excited.</p>

<p>&#8220;Ring up the Majestic,&#8221; he said. &#8220;See if you can get hold of the
Cavaliere, and tell him I will see him at any hour he likes
to-morrow.&#8221;</p>

<p>I could see that after reading the letter brought by the Italian, he
was most eager to learn something further.</p>

<p>After two attempts I succeeded in speaking with the Cavaliere
Graniani, and fixed an appointment for him to call on the following
morning at half-past eleven.</p>

<p>What actually occurred during the interview I do not know.</p>

<p>Across the table at luncheon, Rayne suddenly asked me:</p>

<p>&#8220;You know Italy well&mdash;don&#8217;t you, Hargreave?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I lived in the Val d&#8217;Arno for several years before <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>the war,&#8221; I
replied. &#8220;My people rented a villa there.&#8221;</p>

<p>Then, turning to Lola, he asked:</p>

<p>&#8220;Would you like to go for a trip to Italy with Madame and Hargreave?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Oh! It would be delightful, dad!&#8221; she cried. &#8220;Can we go? When?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Quite soon,&#8221; he replied. &#8220;I want Hargreave to go on a mission for
me&mdash;and you can both go with him. It would be a change for you all.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Delightful!&#8221; exclaimed the well-preserved Madame Duperr&eacute;. &#8220;Won&#8217;t it
be fun, Lola?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Ripping!&#8221; agreed the girl, turning her sparkling eyes to mine, while
I myself expressed the greatest satisfaction at returning to the
country I had learned to love so well.</p>

<p>That afternoon, as I sat with Rayne in the smoking-room, he explained
to me the reason he wished me to go to Italy&mdash;to make certain secret
inquiries, it seemed. But the motive he did not reveal.</p>

<p>At his orders I took a piece of paper upon which I made certain notes
of names and places, of suspicions and facts which he wished me to
ascertain and prove&mdash;curious and apparently mysterious facts.</p>

<p>&#8220;Lola and Madame will go with you in order to allay any suspicions,&#8221;
he added. &#8220;I place this matter entirely in your hands to act as you
think fit.&#8221;</p>

<p>A week later, with Lola and Madame, I left Charing Cross and duly
arrived in the old marble-built city of Pisa, with its Leaning Tower
and its <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>magnificent cathedral, and while my companions stayed at the
H&ocirc;tel Victoria I went up the picturesque Valley of the Arno on the
first stage of my quest.</p>

<p>At last, having climbed the steep hill among the olives and vines
which leads from the station of Signa&mdash;that ancient little town of the
long-ago Guelfs&mdash;I came to the old Convent of San Domenico, a row of
big sun-blanched buildings with a church and crumbling tower set upon
the conical hill which overlooked the red roofs of Florence deep
below.</p>

<p>The ancient bell of the monastery clanged out the hour of evening
prayer, as it had done for centuries, sounding loud and far through
the dry, clear evening atmosphere.</p>

<p>Five minutes after ringing the clanging bell at the monastery door and
being inspected by a brother through the small iron grill, I found
myself with Fra Pacifico in his scrupulously clean narrow cell, with
its truckle bed and its praying stool set before the crucifix, but on
hearing hurried footsteps in the stone corridor outside I rose, and my
strange friend exclaimed in Italian:</p>

<p>&#8220;No, Signor Hargreave! Remain seated. I am excused from attendance in
the chapel. I had to meet you.&#8221;</p>

<p>The narrow little cubicle was bare and whitewashed. Fra Pacifico, of
the Capuchin Order, with his shaven head, his brown habit tied around
the waist with a hempen rope, and his well-worn sandals, had <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>long
been my friend. Of his past I could never ascertain anything. He had
called humbly upon my father when we first went to live at old-world
Signa, years before, and he had asked his charity for the poor down in
the Val d&#8217;Arno.</p>

<p>&#8220;You will always have beggars around you, signore,&#8221; I remembered he
said. &#8220;We up at the monastery keep open house for the needy&mdash;soup,
bread, and other things&mdash;to all who come from eight to ten o&#8217;clock in
the morning. If you grant us alms we will see that those who beg of
you never go empty away. Send them to us.&#8221;</p>

<p>My father saw instantly an easy way out of the great beggar problem,
hence he promised him a fixed subscription each month, which Fra
Pacifico regularly collected.</p>

<p>So though I had returned to live in London and afterwards played my
part in the war, we had still been friends.</p>

<p>On my arrival at Pisa I had made an appointment to see him, and as we
now sat together in his narrow cell, I questioned him whether, by mere
chance, he had ever heard of a certain lady named Yolanda Romanelli.
It was quite a chance shot of mine, but I knew that he came from the
same district as the lady.</p>

<p>He was evasive. He had heard of her, he admitted, but would go no
further.</p>

<p>His attitude concerning the lady I had mentioned filled me with
curiosity.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p><p>In his coarse brown habit and hood he had always been a mystery to me.
He was about forty-five years of age. He knew English, and spoke it as
well as he did French, for, though a monk, he was a classical scholar
and a keen student of modern science.</p>

<p>&#8220;Now, Fra Pacifico,&#8221; I said, as I reseated myself. &#8220;I know you are
cognizant of something concerning this lady, Yolanda Romanelli. What
is it? Tell me.&#8221;</p>

<p>Thus pressed, he rather reluctantly told me a strange story.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well!&#8221; I exclaimed at last when he had finished. &#8220;It is all really
incredible. Are you quite certain of it?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Signor Hargreave, what I have told you is what I really believe to be
true. That woman is in a high position, I know. She married the
Marchese, but I am convinced that she is an adventuress&mdash;and more. She
is a wicked woman! God forgive me for telling you this.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;But are you quite certain?&#8221; I repeated.</p>

<p>&#8220;Signore, I have told you what I know,&#8221; he answered gravely, tapping
his great horn snuff-box and taking a pinch, tobacco being forbidden
him by the rules of his Order. &#8220;I have told you what I know&mdash;and also
what I suspect. You can make whatever use of the knowledge you like.
Yolanda Romanelli is a handsome woman&mdash;as you will see for yourself if
you meet her,&#8221; he added in a strange reflective voice.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;That means going down to Naples,&#8221; I remarked.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes, go there. Be watchful, and you will discover something in
progress which will interest you. But be careful. As an enemy she is
dangerous.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;But her husband, the Marquis? Does he know nothing?&#8221;</p>

<p>Fra Pacifico hitched up the rope around his waist and made an
impetuous gesture.</p>

<p>&#8220;Poor fellow! He suspects nothing!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Well, Pacifico,&#8221; I said, &#8220;do be frank with me. How do you know all
this?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; he replied. &#8220;There are certain things I cannot tell you&mdash;things
which occurred in the past&mdash;before I took my vow and entered this
place. I was once of your own world, Signor Hargreave. Now I am not.
It is all of the past,&#8221; he added in a hard, determined voice.</p>

<p>&#8220;You have been in London. I feel sure of it, Pacifico,&#8221; I said, for by
his conversation he had often betrayed knowledge of England, and more
especially of London.</p>

<p>&#8220;Ah! I do not deny it,&#8221; laughed the broad-faced, easy-going man, now
again seated in his rush-bottomed chair. &#8220;I know your hotels in
London&mdash;the Savoy, the Carlton, the Ritz, and the Berkeley. I&#8217;ve
lunched and dined and supped at them all. I&#8217;ve shopped in Bond Street,
and I&#8217;ve lost money at Ascot. Oh, yes!&#8221; he laughed. &#8220;I know your
wonderful London! And now I have nothing in the world&mdash;not a soldo of
my own. I am simply a Brother&mdash;and I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>am content,&#8221; he said, with a
strange look of peace and resignation.</p>

<p>We who live outside the high monastery walls can never understand the
delightful, old-world peace that reigns within&mdash;that big family of
whom the father is the fat Priore, always indulgent and kind to his
grown-up children, yet so very severe upon any broken rule.</p>

<p>Fra Pacifico had that evening told me something which had placed me
very much upon the alert. I had not been mistaken when I suspected
that he might know something of the woman Yolanda Romanelli&mdash;the woman
whom Rayne had sent me to inquire about&mdash;and I felt that I had done
well to first inquire of my old friend. He had hinted certain things
concerning the Marchesa, the gay leader of society in Rome, whose name
was in the <i>Tribuna</i> almost daily, and whose husband possessed a fine
old palazzo in the Corso, as well as an official residence in Naples,
where, in addition to being one of the most popular men in Italy, he
was Admiral of the Port.</p>

<p>&#8220;May I be forgiven for uttering those ill-words,&#8221; exclaimed the monk,
as though speaking to himself. &#8220;We are taught to forgive our enemies.
But I cannot forgive her!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Why?&#8221; I asked.</p>

<p>&#8220;She has desecrated the house of God,&#8221; he replied in a low tense
voice.</p>

<p>Two hours later I was back with Lola and Madame Duperr&eacute; at the H&ocirc;tel
Victoria at Pisa.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p><p>Coming from the lips of any other than those of Fra Pacifico I should
have suspected that the Marchesa Romanelli had once done him some evil
turn. Yet when a man renounces the world and enters the cloisters, he
puts aside all jealousies and thought of injury, and lives a life of
devotion and of strictest piety. Fra Pacifico was a man I much
admired, and whose word I accepted without query.</p>

<p>Next day Lola was inquisitive as to my visit to the monastery, but I
was compelled to keep my own counsel, and that evening we all three
took the night express to Rome, arriving at the Grand at nine o&#8217;clock
after a dusty and sleepless journey, for the <i>wagons-lit</i> which run
over the Maremma marshes roll and rock until sleep becomes quite
impossible.</p>

<p>With the Eternal City Lola was delighted, though it was out of the
season and the deserted streets were like furnaces. Still, I was able
to drive her out to see some of the antiquities which I had myself
visited half a dozen times before.</p>

<p>My notes included the name of a man named Enrico Prati, who lived
humbly in the Via d&#8217;Aranico, and one evening, two days after our
arrival, I called upon him. Lola had been anxious that I should stay
for a small dance in the hotel, but I had been compelled to plead
business, for, as a matter of fact, I had become filled with curiosity
regarding the mission of inquiry upon which I had been sent.</p>

<p>Prati kept a wine-shop, an obscure place which did not inspire
confidence. He was a beetle-browed <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>fellow, short, with deep-set
furtive eyes, and he struck me as being a thief&mdash;or perhaps a receiver
of stolen property. The atmosphere of the place seemed mysterious and
forbidding.</p>

<p>I told him that I had come from &#8220;The Golden Face.&#8221; At mention of the
name he started and instantly became obsequious. By that I knew that
he had some connection with the gang.</p>

<p>Then I demanded of him what he knew of the mysterious Marchesa
Romanelli, adding that I had come from England to obtain the
information which &#8220;The Golden Face&#8221; knew he could furnish.</p>

<p>I saw that I was dealing with a clever thief who carried on his
criminal activities under the guise of a dealer of wines.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes, signore,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I know the Marchesa. She is a leader of
smart society, both here and in Naples. During the war she spent a
large sum of money in establishing her fine hospital out at Porta
Milvio. She was foremost in arranging charity concerts, bazaars, and
other things in aid of those blinded at the war. Could such a wealthy
patriotic woman, whose husband is one of Italy&#8217;s most famous admirals,
possibly be anything other than honest and upright?&#8221;</p>

<p>His reply took me aback, until his sinister face broadened into a
smile. Then I said:</p>

<p>&#8220;I admit that. But you know more than you have told me, Signor Prati,&#8221;
and then added: &#8220;Because the woman has risen to such high favor and
her actions have always shown her to be intensely <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>charitable, there
is no reason why she should not be wearing a mask&mdash;eh?&#8221;</p>

<p>He only laughed, and, shrugging his shoulders, replied:</p>

<p>&#8220;Go to Naples and seek for yourself. The suspicions of &#8216;The Golden
Face&#8217; are well-grounded, I assure you.&#8221;</p>

<p>So, unconvinced, I returned to the Grand Hotel full of wonder. I was
not satisfied, so I determined to take Prati&#8217;s advice and see for
myself what manner of woman was this Marchesa. Fortunately, although
it was out of the season, she was in Naples. Having two old friends
there I went south with my companions two days later, and we installed
ourselves at the Palace Hotel with its wonderful views across the bay.
I had little difficulty in obtaining an introduction to the woman whom
I sought. It took place one evening at the house of one of my friends,
who was now a Deputy.</p>

<p>When she heard my name, I noticed that she started slightly, but I
bowed over her hand in pretense of ignorance.</p>

<p>She expressed gratification at meeting me, and soon we were chatting
pleasantly. She was a handsome woman of about forty-five, dark-haired
and beautifully gowned. With her was her daughter Flavia, a pretty,
dark-eyed girl of twenty or so, bright, vivacious, and very <i>chic</i>.
The latter spoke English excellently, and told me that she had been at
school for years at Cheltenham.</p>

<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2>

<h3>THE SILVER SPIDER</h3>

<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:50px;line-height:32px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span><span style="margin-left:0%;">hat</span> night, after a chat with Lola, I sat in my room at the palace and
could not help recollecting how strangely the Marchesa had started
when my name had been uttered.</p>

<p>Did she know of my connection with &#8220;The Golden Face&#8221;? If she did, then
she might naturally suspect me and hold me at arm&#8217;s length. Yet if she
feared me, why should she have asked me, as well as Lola and Madame,
to call at the Palazzo Romanelli?</p>

<p>I had thanked her, and accepted.</p>

<p>Therefore on Tuesday night, with Lola and Madame both smartly dressed,
I went to the huge, old fifteenth-century palace, grim and prison-like
because of its heavily barred windows of the days when every palazzo
was a fortress, and within found it the acme of luxury and refinement,
its great salons filled with priceless pictures and ancient statuary,
and magnificent furniture of the Renaissance.</p>

<p>About thirty people were present, most of them the &eacute;lite of Naples
society, all the ladies being exquisitely dressed. My hostess
expressed delight as I bowed and raised her hand to my lips, in
Italian fashion, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>then I introduced my two companions. A few
moments after I found myself chatting with the pretty Flavia, who, to
my annoyance, seemed to be very inquisitive concerning my movements.</p>

<p>As I stood gossiping with her, my eyes fell upon a little Florentine
table of polished black marble inlaid with colored stones forming a
basket of fruit, a marvel of Renaissance art, and upon it there stood
a silver model of a gigantic tarantula, or spider, the body being
about seven inches long by five broad, with eight long curved legs,
most perfectly copied from nature.</p>

<p>Flavia noticed that I had seen it.</p>

<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s our Silver Spider!&#8221; she laughed. &#8220;It&#8217;s the ancient mascot of
the Romanelli.&#8221;</p>

<p>I walked over and examined it, but without, of course, taking it in my
hand. Then I remarked upon its beautiful workmanship, and we turned
away.</p>

<p>It was a gay informal assembly. Among the men there were several naval
and military attach&eacute;s from the Embassies, as well as one or two
Deputies with their wives. Once or twice I had brief chats with the
Marchesa, who, of course, was the center of her guests. One man, tall,
with deep-set eyes and a well-trimmed black beard, seemed to pay her
particular attention, and on discreet inquiry as to who he was, I
discovered him to be the well-known banker, Pietro Zuccari, who
represented Orvieto in the Chamber.</p>

<p>Now the reason of our visit to the Marchesa&#8217;s was to see what manner
of company she kept, but I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>detected nothing suspicious in any person
in that chattering assembly. Yet I could not put away from myself what
Fra Pacifico had told me in the silence of the cloisters of San
Domenico.</p>

<p>Again I looked upon the handsome face of that gay society woman and
wondered what secret could be hidden behind that happy, laughing
countenance.</p>

<p>After leaving the Palazzo Romanelli that night I resolved to &#8220;fade
out&#8221; and watch.</p>

<p>Now Admiral the Marquis Romanelli, who was in charge of the important
port of Naples, had, during the late war, returned to his position as
a high naval officer, and with all his patriotism as the head of a
noble Roman house, had done his level best against the enemy until the
proclamation of peace.</p>

<p>Wherever one went one heard loud praises of &#8220;Torquato,&#8221; as he was
affectionately called by his Christian name by the populace.</p>

<p>After due consideration I decided that we should move from Naples to
the pretty little town of Salerno at the other end of the blue bay,
and there at the H&ocirc;tel d&#8217;Angleterre, facing the sapphire sea, I spent
several delightful days with the girl I so passionately loved.</p>

<p>&#8220;I cannot see the reason for all this inquiry, Mr. Hargreave,&#8221; she
said one evening, as we were walking by the moonlit sea after we had
dined and Madame had retired. &#8220;Why should father wish you to watch the
Marchesa so narrowly? How can she concern him? They are strangers.&#8221;</p>

<p>I was silent for a few seconds.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Your father&#8217;s business is a confidential one, no doubt. He has his
own views, and I am, after all, his secretary and servant.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I&mdash;I often wish you were not,&#8221; the girl blurted forth.</p>

<p>&#8220;Why?&#8221; I asked in surprise.</p>

<p>&#8220;Oh! I don&#8217;t really know. Sometimes I feel so horribly apprehensive.
Madame is always so discreet and so mysterious. She will never tell me
anything; and you&mdash;you, Mr. Hargreave, you are the same,&#8221; she declared
petulantly.</p>

<p>&#8220;I cannot, I regret, disclose to you facts of which I am ignorant,&#8221; I
protested. &#8220;I am just as much in the dark concerning the actual object
of our mission here as you are.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Do you think Madame knows anything of your mission here?&#8221; asked the
girl.</p>

<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t expect so. Your father is a very close and secretive man
concerning his own business.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Ah! a mysterious business!&#8221; she exclaimed in a strange meaning voice.
&#8220;Sometimes, Mr. Hargreave&mdash;sometimes I feel that it is not altogether
an honest business.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Many brilliant pieces of business savor of dishonesty,&#8221; I remarked.
&#8220;The successful business man cannot always, in these days of
double-dealing chicanery and cut prices, act squarely, otherwise he is
quickly left behind by his more shrewd competitors.&#8221;</p>

<p>And then I thought it wise to turn the subject of our conversation.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p><p>Salerno is only thirty miles from Naples, therefore I often traveled
to the latter place&mdash;indeed, almost daily.</p>

<p>In Italian they have an old saying, &#8220;<i>A chi veglia tutto si rivela</i>&#8221;
(&#8220;To him who remains watchful everything becomes revealed&#8221;). That had
long been my motto. With Lola and Madame Duperr&eacute; I was in Italy in
order to learn what I could concerning the woman whom Fra Pacifico had
so bitterly denounced.</p>

<p>One warm afternoon when, without being seen, I was watching the
Marchesa&#8217;s pretty daughter Flavia who had strolled into the town, I
saw her meet, close to the Caf&eacute; Ferrari, that tall, black-bearded,
middle-aged banker Pietro Zuccari, whom I had seen at their palazzo.
They walked as far as the Piazza San Ferdinando and entered the
Gambrinus, where they sat at a little table eating ices, while he
talked to her very confidentially. As I idled outside in a shabby suit
and battered straw hat which I had bought, I saw this great Italian
banker gesticulating and whispering into her ear.</p>

<p>The girl&#8217;s attitude was that of a person absorbing all his arguments
in order to repeat them, for she nodded slowly from time to time,
though she uttered but few words; indeed, only now and then did she
ask any question.</p>

<p>I could, of course, hear nothing. But what I was able to observe
aroused my curiosity, for the meeting between the girl and the
middle-aged banker was palpably a clandestine one.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p><p>On emerging, they parted, he walking in the direction of the railway
station, while the girl strolled homeward. Was she carrying a message
to her mother from the famous financier?</p>

<p>The excitement he had betrayed interested me. I noticed that he had
once clenched his fist and brought it down heavily before her as they
sat together.</p>

<p>For a whole month we remained at Salerno, and a delightful month it
proved, for I had long chats and walks with Lola, and we became even
greater and more intimate friends. Madame Duperr&eacute; noticed it but said
nothing.</p>

<p>I went each day to slouch and idle in Naples, to sit before caf&eacute;s and
eat my frugal meal at one or other of the osterie which abound in the
city, or to take my <i>ap&eacute;ratif</i> at the <i>liquoristi</i>, Canevera&#8217;s,
Attila&#8217;s, or the others&#8217;.</p>

<p>I confess that I was mystified why I should have been sent to watch
that woman.</p>

<p>So clever, so well-thought-out and so insidious were all Rayne&#8217;s
methods to obtain information of the intentions and movements of
certain people of wealth, that I knew from experience that there was
some cleverly concealed scheme afoot which could only be carried out
after certain accurate details had been obtained.</p>

<p>I was torn between two intentions, either to reappear suddenly as a
passing traveler and call at the Palazzo Romanelli, or still to lie
low.</p>

<p>Many times I discussed it with Lola and Madame.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Zuccari is always with the Marchesa,&#8221; I said one morning as we sat
together at <i>d&eacute;jeuner</i> at Salerno. &#8220;I can&#8217;t quite make things out. I
have been watching intently, yet I can discover nothing. He sent a
message to her by Flavia the other day&mdash;an urgent and defiant message,
I believe. I hear also that the Admiral goes to Rome to-night,&#8221; I
added. &#8220;He has been suddenly called to the Ministry of Marine.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Then you will follow, of course? We will remain here to keep an eye
upon the Marchesa,&#8221; said Madame.</p>

<p>&#8220;You do not suspect the Admiral?&#8221; I asked.</p>

<p>&#8220;Not at all,&#8221; she said. &#8220;It is the woman we have to watch.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;And also the pretty daughter?&#8221; I suggested.</p>

<p>With that she agreed. We were, however, faced by a strangely complex
problem. Here was a woman&mdash;one of the most popular in all
Italy&mdash;denounced by the humble monk of San Domenico as a dangerous
adventuress. And yet she was the strongest supporter of the popular
Pietro Zuccari&mdash;the wealthy man by whose efforts the finances of Italy
had been re&euml;stablished after the war.</p>

<p>After a long conference it was arranged that Madame and Lola should go
to Rome and there watch the Admiral&#8217;s movements, while I remained in
Naples ever on the alert.</p>

<p>Sometimes I became obsessed by the feeling that I was off the track.
Once or twice I had received &#8220;<i>ferma in posta</i>&#8221;&mdash;confidential letters
from Rudolph <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>Rayne and also from Duperr&eacute;. To these I replied to an
unsuspicious address&mdash;a library in Knightsbridge.</p>

<p>By reason, however, of keeping observation upon the Palazzo Romanelli
I gained considerable knowledge concerning those who came and went. I
knew, for instance, that the pretty Flavia was in the habit of meeting
in strictest secrecy a good-looking young lieutenant of artillery
named Rinaldo Ricci. Indeed, they met almost daily. It struck me as
more than curious that on the day after the Admiral had left hurriedly
for Rome Zuccari should arrive from Bari, and having taken a room at
the Excelsior Hotel, dine at the palazzo.</p>

<p>My vigil that night was a long one. I managed to creep up through the
grounds and peer through the wooden shutters into the fine,
well-furnished <i>salon</i> of the palazzo. It was unoccupied, but upon a
table on the opposite side of the room stood the Silver Spider, the
strange but exquisite mascot of the Romanelli. No doubt some legend
was attached to it, just as there are legends to many family
heirlooms.</p>

<p>That night I made a further discovery, namely, that when Zuccari left
he returned to his hotel, where Flavia&#8217;s secret lover had a long chat
with him.</p>

<p>Next day a strange thing happened. While watching the Marchesa I saw
her, about eleven o&#8217;clock in the morning, walking alone in the Corso
Vittorio when she accidentally encountered the banker Zuccari. They
passed each other as total strangers!</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p><p>Why? There was some deep motive in that pretended ignorance of each
other&#8217;s identity. Could it be because they feared they were being
watched? And yet was not Zuccari a frequent visitor at the Palazzo
Romanelli, for it was there I had first met him? In any case, it was
curious that Zuccari and young Rinaldo Ricci should be friends
apparently unknown to either the Marchesa or to Flavia.</p>

<p>In order to probe the mystery I decided that it would be necessary to
learn more of Zuccari&#8217;s movements. Therefore, having watched him call
at the Palazzo Romanelli, I waited for him to leave, and at ten
o&#8217;clock that same night he suddenly departed from Naples for the
north. I traveled by the same train. Arrived at Rome, the banker
remained at the buffet about half an hour, when he joined the express
train for Milan, and all through the day and the night I traveled,
wondering what might be his destination.</p>

<p>On arrival at Milan, I kept observation upon him. From the chief
telegraph office he dispatched a telegram and then drove to the H&ocirc;tel
Cavour, where he engaged a room. At once I telegraphed to Madame to
bring Lola and join me at the H&ocirc;tel de Milan. They arrived next day
and I told them of my movements.</p>

<p>Three days later Zuccari left the Cavour and traveled to the frontier,
little dreaming that he was being so closely followed. Madame and Lola
went by the same train, but having discovered that he had <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>bought a
ticket for Zurich, I left by the train that followed.</p>

<p>On arrival at Zurich, I was not long in rejoining my companions, for
we had a rendezvous at the Savoy, when I learnt that Zuccari was
staying at the Dolder Hotel, up on the Zurichberg above the Lake.</p>

<p>&#8220;A man named Hauser is calling upon him this evening,&#8221; Madame told me.
&#8220;We must watch.&#8221;</p>

<p>This we did. More respectably dressed than when in Naples, I was
smoking my after-dinner cigar in the handsome hall of the Dolder Hotel
when a tall, well-set-up man, whose fair hair and square jaw stamped
him as German-Swiss, inquired of the hall porter for Signor Zuccari,
and was at once shown up to the banker&#8217;s private sitting-room, where
they remained together for nearly an hour.</p>

<p>As I sat waiting impatiently below, I wondered what was happening.</p>

<p>I had already reported our movements to Rayne, who had, in a telegram,
expressed great surprise that the Deputy should have left Italy and
gone to Zurich&mdash;of all places.</p>

<p>Zuccari, on descending the stairs with his friend Hauser, confronted
me face to face, but it was apparent that he did not recognize me.
Hence I took courage and, later on, engaging a room, moved to the same
hotel. Next morning I saw the banker meet the man Hauser a second
time, and together they took a long walk on the outskirts of the town
above the Lake.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>From the concierge I extracted certain valuable information in
exchange for the hundred-franc note I slipped into his hands. It
seemed that the banker Zuccari frequently visited that hotel, and on
every occasion the man Hauser came to Zurich to see him.</p>

<p>&#8220;They are conducting some crooked business&mdash;that is my belief,
m&#8217;sieur!&#8221; the uniformed man told me in confidence.</p>

<p>&#8220;Why do you suspect that?&#8221; I asked quickly.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; he said confidentially, &#8220;Isler, the commissary of police, who
is now at Berne, once pointed him out to me and said he was a friend,
and believed to be one of the accomplices, of Ferdinando Morosini, the
notorious jewel-thief who was caught in Milan six months ago and sent
to fifteen years&#8217; at Gorgona.&#8221;</p>

<p>At the mention of jewel theft I at once pricked up my ears.</p>

<p>&#8220;Then Hauser may be a receiver of stolen jewels, eh?&#8221; I whispered.</p>

<p>&#8220;I would not like to say that, m&#8217;sieur, but depend upon it he is a
person to be gravely suspected. What business he has with the banker I
cannot imagine.&#8221;</p>

<p>I knew Morosini by repute. I had heard Rayne mention him, and no doubt
he was a member of the gang who had blundered and fallen into the
hands of the police. Was it in connection with this incident that I
had been sent to Italy to make inquiries?</p>

<p>I told Madame when alone what I had discovered, whereat she smiled.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I expect you have discovered the truth,&#8221; she said. &#8220;We must let
Rudolph know at once.&#8221;</p>

<p>To telegraph was impossible, therefore I sat down and wrote a long
letter, and then I waited inactive but anxious for a reply.</p>

<p>It came at last. He expressed himself fully satisfied, but urged me to
continue my investigations regarding the handsome wife of the
Marchese.</p>

<p>&#8220;Be careful how you act,&#8221; he added. &#8220;If they suspected you of prying
something disagreeable might happen to you.&#8221;</p>

<p>I was not surprised at his warning, for I knew the character of some
of the international crooks who were Rayne&#8217;s &#8220;friends.&#8221;</p>

<p>But surely the banker Zuccari could not be a crook? If he were, then
he was a master-criminal like Rayne himself. If so, what was the
motive of his close association with the Marchesa Romanelli? I had
noticed when at the palazzo that he seemed infatuated with her, yet
she no doubt little dreamed of his active association with such a
person as Hauser.</p>

<p>It seemed quite plain that whatever the truth the Admiral had no
suspicion of his wife.</p>

<p>Zuccari and Hauser still remained in Zurich, so, though I had arranged
with Madame and Lola to return with them to Naples, I sent them back
alone and remained to watch.</p>

<p>On the night of their departure I was tired and must have slept
soundly after a heavy day, when I was suddenly awakened by a strong
light flashed into <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>my face, and at the same instant I saw a hand
holding a silken cord which had been slowly slipped beneath my ear as
I lay upon the pillow.</p>

<p>For a second I held my breath, but next moment I realized that I was
being attacked, and that the cord being already round my neck with a
slip-knot, those sinewy hands I had seen in the flash of light
intended to strangle me.</p>

<p>My only chance was to keep cool. So I grunted in pretense of being
only half-awake, and turning very slightly to my side, my hand slowly
reached against my pillow. At any second the cord might be drawn tight
when all chance of giving the alarm would be swept away from me. Yet
my assailant was deliberate, apparently in order to make quite certain
that the cord around my neck should effect its fatal purpose.</p>

<p>Of a sudden I grasped what I had against my pillow&mdash;a small rubber
ball&mdash;and suddenly shooting out my hand in his direction, squeezed it.</p>

<p>A yell of excruciating pain rang through the hotel, and he sprang
back, releasing his hold upon the cord.</p>

<p>Then next moment, when I switched on the light, I found the man Hauser
dancing about my room, his face covered with his hands&mdash;blinded, and
his countenance burnt by the dose of sulphuric acid I had, in
self-defense, squirted full into it.</p>

<p>For defense against secret attack the rubber ball filled with acid
Rayne always compelled me to carry, as being far preferable to
revolver, knife or sword-cane.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> It is easily carried, easily concealed
in the palm of the hand, makes no noise, and if used suddenly is
entirely efficacious.</p>

<p>My assailant, blinded, shrieking with pain, and his face forever
scarred, quickly disappeared to make what excuse he might. Later I
found that he had previously tampered with the brass bolt of my door
by removing the screws of the socket, enlarging the holes and
embedding the screws in soft putty so that on turning the handle and
pressing the door the socket gave way and fell noiselessly upon the
carpet!</p>

<p>This attempt upon me at once proved that I was on the right scent, and
according to Rayne&#8217;s instructions I that day followed Madame and Lola
back to Salerno.</p>

<p>On changing trains at the Central Station at Rome I bought a
newspaper, and the first heading that met my eyes was one which told
of a mysterious robbery of the wonderful pearls of the Princess di
Acquanero.</p>

<p>With avidity I read that the young Princess, as noted for her beauty
as for her jewels, the only daughter of the millionaire Italian
shipowner Andrea Ottone, of Genoa, who had married the Prince a year
ago, had been robbed of her famous string of pearls under most
mysterious circumstances.</p>

<p>Two days before she had been staying at the great Castello di
Antigniano, near Bari, where her uncle, the Baron Bertolini, had been
entertaining a party of friends. On dressing for dinner she found that
her jewel-case had been rifled and the pearls, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>worth twenty thousand
pounds sterling, were missing!</p>

<p>&#8220;The police have a theory that the guilty person was introduced into
the castello by one of the many servants,&#8221; the report went on. &#8220;The
thief, whoever it was, must, however, have had great difficulty in
reaching the Princess&#8217; room, as the Baron, knowing that his lady
guests bring valuable jewelry, always sets a watch upon the only
staircase by which the ladies&#8217; rooms can be approached.&#8221;</p>

<p>With the paper in my hand the train slowly drew out of Rome on its way
south. My mind was filled with suspicion. I was wondering vaguely
whether the Marchesa Romanelli had been among the guests, for I
recollected those words of Fra Pacifico that &#8220;the woman had committed
sacrilege in the House of God.&#8221;</p>

<p>Could it be possible that he knew the Marchesa to be a thief who had
stolen some valuable church plate from one or other of the ancient
churches in Italy? If so, then, though the wife of the Admiral, she
was also a thief.</p>

<p>On arrival at Salerno I took Madame aside, and telling her of my
adventure with the man Hauser, I showed her the newspaper and declared
my suspicions.</p>

<p>&#8220;It may be so,&#8221; she said. &#8220;If she is so friendly with this banker
whose past is quite obscure, it may be her hand which takes the stuff
and passes it on to Zuccari, who in turn sells it to Hauser.&#8221;</p>

<p>With that theory I agreed.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p><p>On the following day I took train into Naples, and that afternoon I
called upon the Marchesa.</p>

<p>Fortunately I found her alone, and when I was shown into her <i>salon</i> I
thought she looked rather wan and pale, but she greeted me affably and
expressed delight that I should call before returning to England.</p>

<p>As we chatted she let drop, as I expected she would, the fact that she
had been staying at the Castello di Antigniano.</p>

<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ve seen in the papers, I suppose, all about the pearls of the
Princess di Acquanero?&#8221; she went on. &#8220;A most mysterious affair!&#8221;</p>

<p>I looked the pretty woman straight in the face, and replied:</p>

<p>&#8220;Not so very mysterious, Marchesa.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221; she asked, opening her big, black eyes widely.</p>

<p>&#8220;Not so mysterious if I may be permitted to look inside that ornament
over there&mdash;the heirloom of the Romanelli&mdash;the Silver Spider,&#8221; I said
calmly.</p>

<p>&#8220;What do you mean?&#8221; she cried resentfully. &#8220;I don&#8217;t understand you.&#8221;</p>

<p>I smiled.</p>

<p>&#8220;Then let me be a little more explicit,&#8221; I said. &#8220;Have you heard of a
man named Hauser? Well, he made an attempt upon my life. Hence I am
here this afternoon to see you. May I lift the body of the Silver
Spider and look inside?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Certainly not!&#8221; she cried, facing me boldly.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Then you fear me&mdash;eh?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I do not fear you. I don&#8217;t know you!&#8221; she cried.</p>

<p>I laughed, and said:</p>

<p>&#8220;Then if not, why may I not be permitted to look inside your husband&#8217;s
family heirloom?&#8221;</p>

<p>She was silent for a moment. My question nonplussed her. I was, I
confess, bitter because of the deliberate attempt to kill me.</p>

<p>&#8220;I will not allow any stranger to tamper with our Silver Spider!&#8221; she
cried resentfully.</p>

<p>&#8220;Very well. Then I shall take my own course, and I shall inform your
husband that you stole the Princess&#8217;s pearls, that your banker friend
acts as intermediary in your clever thefts, and that Hauser disposes
of the jewels in Amsterdam.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I&mdash;I&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; she gasped.</p>

<p>&#8220;I know everything,&#8221; I said, while she looked around bewildered. &#8220;I
know that you are playing a crooked game even with those who played
straight with you before your marriage to the Marchese. He is in
ignorance of your past. But I know it. Listen!&#8221; and I paused and
looked straight into her eyes.</p>

<p>&#8220;You were a widow with a young daughter before you married the
Marchese. That was nine years ago. To him you passed yourself off as
the widow of an Italian advocate named Terroni, of Perugia; but you
were not. You are Austrian. Your name is Frieda Hoheisel, and you were
an adventuress and a thief! <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>You married a certain man who is to-day
in a monastery at Signa in the Val d&#8217;Arno, and though you pose as the
loving wife of one of Italy&#8217;s premier admirals, you are a noted
jewel-thief, and commit these robberies in order to supply your bogus
banker friend Zuccari with funds. Now,&#8221; I added, &#8220;I will take the
Princess&#8217;s necklace from the Silver Spider and you will, in my
presence, pack it up and address it to her. I will post it.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Never! I risked too much to get it!&#8221; she cried, her face aflame.</p>

<p>&#8220;Very well. Then within an hour your husband and the police will know
the truth. Remember, I have been suspected of making inquiries by your
friends and have very nearly lost my life in consequence.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;But&mdash;oh! I can&#8217;t&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;You shall, woman!&#8221; I thundered. &#8220;You shall give back those stolen
pearls!&#8221;</p>

<p>And crossing to the table whereon stood the Silver Spider, I opened
it, and there within reposed the pearls in a place that nobody would
suspect.</p>

<p>I stood over her while she packed them into a common cardboard box and
addressed them to the Princess in Rome. At first she demurred about
her handwriting, but I insisted. I intended her to take the risk&mdash;just
as I had taken a risk.</p>

<p>And, further, I compelled her to order her car, and we drove to the
General Post Office in Naples, where I saw that she registered the
valuable packet.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p><p>The anonymous return of the pearls was a nine days&#8217; wonder throughout
Italy; but the Marchesa never knew how I had obtained my information,
and never dreamed that I had come to her upon a mission of inquiry
from the one person in all the world whom she feared, the man in whose
clutches she had been for years&mdash;the mysterious &#8220;Golden Face.&#8221;</p>

<p>When, with Lola and Madame, I returned home a week later and explained
the whole of my adventures, Rayne sat for a few moments silent. Then,
as I looked, I saw vengeance written upon his face.</p>

<p>&#8220;I suspected that she was playing me false, and selling stuff in
secret through that fellow Zuccari! She is carrying on the business by
herself. I now have proof of it&mdash;and I shall take my own steps! You
will see!&#8221;</p>

<p>He did&mdash;and a month later the Marchesa Romanelli was arrested and sent
to prison for the theft of a pair of diamond earrings belonging to a
fellow-guest staying at one of the great palaces of Florence.</p>

<p>It was a scandal that Italy is not likely to easily forget.</p>

<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2>

<h3>ABDUL HAMID&#8217;S JEWELS</h3>

<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:50px;line-height:32px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">R</span><span style="margin-left:0%;">udolph</span> Rayne, though the ruler of aristocratic Crookdom, was
sometimes most sympathetic and generous towards lovers.</p>

<p>The following well illustrates his strange abnormal personality and
complex nature:</p>

<p>One night I chanced to enter his bedroom at Half Moon Street, when I
found him looking critically through a quantity of the most
magnificent sparkling gems my eyes had ever seen. Some were set as
pendants, brooches, and earrings, while others&mdash;great rubies and
emeralds of immense value&mdash;were uncut.</p>

<p>As I entered he put his hands over them in distinct annoyance. Then, a
few seconds later, removed them, saying with a queer laugh:</p>

<p>&#8220;A nice little lot this, eh? One of the very finest collections I&#8217;ve
seen.&#8221;</p>

<p>On the table lay a pair of jewelers&#8217; tweezers and a magnifying glass,
therefore it was apparent that, as a connoisseur of gems, he had been
estimating their value.</p>

<p>&#8220;By Jove!&#8221; I exclaimed. &#8220;They certainly are magnificent! Whose are
they?&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;They once belonged to the dead Sultan Abdul Hamid of Turkey,&#8221; he
replied; &#8220;but at present they belong to me!&#8221; He laughed grimly.</p>

<p>Inwardly I wondered by what means the priceless gems had fallen into
his hands. He read my thoughts at once, for he said:</p>

<p>&#8220;You are curious, of course, as to how I became possessed of them.
Naturally. Well, Hargreave, it&#8217;s a very funny story and concerns a
real good fellow and, incidentally, a very pretty girl. Take a cigar,
sit down, and I&#8217;ll tell you frankly all about it&mdash;only, of course, not
a word of the facts will ever pass your lips&mdash;not to Lola, or to
anybody else. Your lips are sealed.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I promise,&#8221; I said, selecting one of his choice cigars and lighting
it, my curiosity aroused.</p>

<p>&#8220;Then listen,&#8221; he said, &#8220;and I&#8217;ll tell you the whole facts, as far as
I&#8217;ve been able to gather them.&#8221;</p>

<p>What he recounted was certainly romantic, though a little involved,
for he was not a very good <i>raconteur</i>. However, in setting down this
curious story&mdash;a story which shows that he was not altogether bad, and
was a sportsman after all&mdash;I have rearranged his words in narrative
form, so that readers of these curious adventures may fully
understand.</p>

<hr class="medium" />

<p>&#8220;How horribly glum you are to-night, dear! What&#8217;s the matter? Are you
sad that we should meet here&mdash;in Paris?&#8221; asked a pretty girl.</p>

<p>&#8220;Glum!&#8221; echoed the smooth-haired young man in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>the perfectly fitting
dinner-jacket and black tie. &#8220;I really didn&#8217;t know that I looked
glum,&#8221; and then, straightening himself, he looked across the <i>table &agrave;
deux</i> in the gay Restaurant Volnay at the handsome, dark-haired,
exquisitely dressed girl who sat before him with her elbows on the
table.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes, you really are jolly glum, my dear Old Thing. You looked a
moment ago as serious as though you were going to a funeral,&#8221; declared
the girl. &#8220;The war is over, you are prospering immensely&mdash;so what on
earth causes you to worry?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not worrying, dearest, I assure you,&#8221; he replied with a forced
smile, but her keen woman&#8217;s intuition told her that her lover was not
himself, and that his mind was full of some very keen anxiety.</p>

<p>Charles Otley had taken her to a most amusing play at the
Palais-Royal, a comedy which had kept the house in roars of laughter
all the evening, and now, as they sat at supper, she saw that his
spirits had fallen to a very low ebb. This puzzled her greatly.</p>

<p>Peggy Urquhart, daughter of Sir Polworth Urquhart, of the Colonial
Service, who until the Armistice had held a high official appointment
at Hong Kong, was one of the smartest and prettiest young women in
London Society. She was twenty-two, a thorough-going out-of-door girl
who looked slightly older than she really was. Her father had retired
as soon as war was over, and they had come to England. By reason of
her mother being the daughter of the Earl <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>of Carringford, she had
soon found herself a popular figure in a mad, go-ahead post-war set.</p>

<p>She had known Charlie Otley soon after she had left Roedene&mdash;long
before they had gone out to Hong Kong&mdash;and now they were back they
were lovers in secret.</p>

<p>Charlie, who had been a motor engineer before he &#8220;joined up&#8221; in the
war and got his D.S.O. and his rank as captain, had done splendidly.
On being demobilized he had returned to his old profession, taking the
managership of a very well-known Bond Street firm.</p>

<p>The directors, finding in Otley a man who knew his business, whose
persuasive powers induced many persons to purchase cars, and whose
fearless tests at Brooklands were paragraphed in the daily newspapers,
treated him most generously and left everything, even many of their
financial affairs, in his hands.</p>

<p>Lady Urquhart was, however, an ambitious woman. She inherited all the
exclusiveness of the Carringfords, and she was actively scheming to
marry Peggy to Cis Eastwood, the heir to the estates of old Lord
Drumone. It was the old story of the ambitious mother. Peggy knew
this, and, smiling within herself, had pledged her love to Charlie.
Hence, with the latitude allowed to a girl nowadays, she went about a
good deal with him in London&mdash;to the Embassy, the Grafton, the
Diplomats, and several of the smartest dance-clubs, of which both were
members.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p><p>Though Otley was often at her house in Mount Street, and frequently
met Lord Drumone&#8217;s fair-haired and rather effeminate son there,
Peggy&#8217;s mother never dreamed they were in love. Both were extremely
careful to conceal it, and in their efforts they had been successful.</p>

<p>The orchestra was at the moment playing that plaintive Hungarian gypsy
air, Bela&#8217;s <i>Valse Banffy</i>, that sweet, weird song of the Tziganes
which one hears everywhere along the Danube from Vienna to Belgrade.</p>

<p>&#8220;Look here, Charlie,&#8221; said the girl, much perturbed at what she had
recognized in his handsome countenance. &#8220;Tell me, Old Thing, what&#8217;s
the matter?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Matter&mdash;why, nothing!&#8221; he replied, laughing. &#8220;I was only thinking.&#8221;
And he looked around upon the smart crowd of Parisians who were
laughing and chatting.</p>

<p>&#8220;Of what?&#8221;</p>

<p>He hesitated for a second. In that hesitation the girl who loved him
so fondly, and who preferred him to old Drumone&#8217;s son and a title,
realized that he had some heavy weight upon his mind, and quickly she
resolved to learn it, and try to bear the burden with him.</p>

<p>Since her return from China, with all its Asiatic mysteries, its
amusements, and its quaint Eastern life, she had had what she declared
to be a &#8220;topping&#8221; time in London. Her beauty was remarked everywhere
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>and her sweet charm of manner appealed to all. Her mother, who had
returned from her exile in the Far East, went everywhere, while her
father, a hard, austere Colonial official who had browsed upon
reports, and regarded all natives of any nationality or culture as
mere &#8220;blacks,&#8221; was one of those men who had never been able to
assimilate his own views with those of the nation to which he had been
sent as British representative. He was a hide-bound official, a man
who despised any colored race, and treated all natives with stern and
unrelenting hand. Indeed, the Colonial Office had discovered him to be
a square peg in a round hole, and at Whitehall they were relieved when
he went into honorable retirement.</p>

<p>&#8220;Do tell me what&#8217;s the matter, dear,&#8221; whispered the girl across the
table, hoping that the pair seated near them did not know English.</p>

<p>&#8220;The matter! Why, nothing,&#8221; again laughed the handsome young man.
&#8220;Have a liqueur,&#8221; and he ordered two from the waiter. &#8220;I can&#8217;t think
what you&#8217;ve got into your head to-night regarding me, Peggy. I was
only reflecting for a few seconds&mdash;on some business.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Grave business&mdash;it seems.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Not at all. But we men who have to earn our living by business have
to think overnight what we are to do on the morrow,&#8221; he said airily,
as he handed his cigarette-case to her and then lit the one she took.</p>

<p>&#8220;But Charlie&mdash;I&#8217;m certain there&#8217;s something&mdash;something you are
concealing from me.&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I conceal nothing from you, dearest,&#8221; he answered, looking across the
little table straight into her fine dark eyes. Then again he bent
towards her and whispered very seriously: &#8220;Do you really love me,
Peggy?&#8221;</p>

<p>In his glance was a tense eager expression, yet upon his face was
written a mystery she could not fathom.</p>

<p>&#8220;Why do you ask, dear?&#8221; she said. &#8220;Have I not told you so a hundred
times. What I have said, I mean.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;You really mean&mdash;you really mean that you love me&mdash;eh?&#8221; he whispered
in deep earnestness as he still bent to her over the table, his eyes
fixed on hers. And he drew a long breath.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; she answered. &#8220;But why do you ask the question in that tone?
How tragic you seem!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Because,&#8221; and he sighed, &#8220;because your answer lifts a great weight
from my mind.&#8221; Then, after a pause, he added: &#8220;Yet&mdash;yet, I wonder&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Wonder what?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Nothing,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;I was only wondering.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;But you really are tantalizing to-night, my dear boy,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I
don&#8217;t understand you at all.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Ah! you will before long. Let&#8217;s go out into the lounge,&#8221; he
suggested. &#8220;It&#8217;s growing late.&#8221;</p>

<p>So, having drained their two glasses of triple sec, they passed out
into the big palm-lounge, which is so popular with the Parisians after
the play.</p>

<p>Peggy and her parents had come to Paris in mid-December <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>to do some
shopping. Before she had been exiled to China, Lady Urquhart&#8217;s habit
was to go to Paris twice each year to buy her hats and gowns, for she
was always elegantly dressed, and she took care that her daughter
should dress equally well.</p>

<p>Indeed, the gown worn by Peggy that night was one of Worth&#8217;s latest
creations, and her cloak was an expensive one of the newest <i>mode</i>.
They were staying at the Continental when Charlie, who had some
business in Paris on behalf of his firm, had run over for three days
really to meet in secret the girl he loved. That night Peggy had
excused herself to her mother, saying that she was going out to
Neuilly to dine with an old schoolfellow&mdash;a little matter she had
arranged with the latter&mdash;but instead, she had met Charlie at
Voisin&#8217;s, and they had been to the theater together.</p>

<p>Peggy, amid the exuberant atmosphere of Paris with its lights,
movement and gaiety&mdash;the old Paris just as it was before the
war&mdash;naturally expected her lover to be gay and irresponsible as she
herself felt. Instead, he seemed gloomy and apprehensive. Therefore
the girl was disappointed. She thought a good deal, but said little.</p>

<p>Though the distance between the Volnay and the Rue de Rivoli was not
great, Charlie ordered a taxi, and on the way she sat locked in his
strong arms, her lips smothered with his hot, passionate kisses, until
they parted.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p><p>Little did she dream, however, the bitterness in her lover&#8217;s heart.</p>

<p>Next morning at eleven o&#8217;clock, as Peggy was coming up the Avenue de
l&#8217;Op&eacute;ra, she passed the Brasserie de la Paix, that popular caf&eacute; on the
left-hand side of the broad thoroughfare, the place where the Parisian
gets such exquisite dishes at fair prices. Charlie was seated in the
window, as they had arranged, and on seeing her, he dashed out and
joined her.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well?&#8221; she asked. &#8220;How are you to-day? Not so awfully gloomy, I
hope.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Not at all, dearest,&#8221; he laughed, for his old nonchalance had
returned to him. &#8220;I&#8217;ve been full of business since nine o&#8217;clock. I
have an appointment out at La Muette at two, and I&#8217;ll have to get back
to London to-night.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;To-night!&#8221; she echoed disappointedly. &#8220;We don&#8217;t return till next
Tuesday.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I have to be back to see my people about some cars that can&#8217;t be
delivered for another six weeks. There&#8217;s a beastly hitch about
delivery.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said the girl, as they walked side by side in the cold, bright
morning. The winter mornings are always bright and clearer in Paris
than in London. &#8220;Well, I have some news for you, dear.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;What news?&#8221; he asked.</p>

<p>&#8220;Lady Teesdale has asked us up to Hawstead, her place in Yorkshire. In
her letter to mother this morning she mentions that she is also asking
you.&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Me?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes. And, of course, you&#8217;ll accept. Won&#8217;t it be ripping? The
Teesdales have a lovely old place&mdash;oak-paneled, ghost-haunted, and all
that sort of thing. We&#8217;ve been there twice. The Teesdales&#8217;
shooting-parties are famed for their fun and merriment.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I know Lady Teesdale,&#8221; Otley said. &#8220;But I wonder why she has asked
me?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t wonder, dear boy&mdash;but accept and come. We&#8217;ll have a real jolly
time.&#8221;</p>

<p>And then they turned into the Boulevard des Italiens and idled before
some of the shops.</p>

<p>At noon she was compelled to leave him and return to her mother. He
put her into a taxi outside the Grand Hotel, and then they parted.</p>

<p>Before doing so, the girl said:</p>

<p>&#8220;What about next Wednesday? Shall we meet?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; he replied.</p>

<p>&#8220;Very well,&#8221; she exclaimed. &#8220;Wednesday at six&mdash;eh? I&#8217;ll come up to
your rooms. We can talk there. I don&#8217;t like to see you so worried,
dear. There&#8217;s something you&#8217;re concealing from me, I&#8217;m sure of it.&#8221;</p>

<p>Then he bent over her hand in a fashion more courtly than the
&#8220;Cheerio!&#8221; of to-day, and standing on the curb watched the taxi speed
down the Rue de la Paix.</p>

<p>&#8220;Ah!&#8221; he murmured aloud, drawing a deep sigh. &#8220;Ah! If she only
knew!&mdash;<i>if she only knew!</i>&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p><p>He strode along the boulevard caring nothing where his footsteps led
him. The gay, elegant, careless crowd of Paris passed, but he had no
eyes for it all.</p>

<p>&#8220;Shall I tell her?&#8221; he went on aloud to himself. &#8220;Or shall I fade out,
and let her learn the worst after I&#8217;m gone? Yet would not that be a
coward&#8217;s action? And I&#8217;m no coward. I went through the war&mdash;that hell
at Vimy, and I did my best for King and Country. Now, when love
happens and all that life means to a man is just within my grasp, I
have to retire to ignominy or death. I prefer the latter.&#8221;</p>

<p>Next morning he stepped from the train at Victoria and drove to his
rooms in Bennett Street, St. James&#8217;s. He was still obsessed by those
same thoughts which had prevented him from sleeping for the past week.
His man, Sanford, who had been his batman in France, met him with a
cheery smile, and after a bath and a shave he went round to his
business in Bond Street.</p>

<p>He was of good birth and had graduated at Brasenose. His father had
been a well-known official at the Foreign Office in the days of King
Edward and had died after a short retirement. In his life Charlie had
done his best, and had distinguished himself not only in his Army
career, but in that of the world of motoring, where his name was as
well known as any of the fearless drivers at Brooklands.</p>

<p>Otley was, indeed, a real good fellow, whose personality dominated
those with whom he did business, and the many cars, from Fords to
Rolls, which he sold for the profit of his directors paid tribute to
his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>easy-going merriment and his slim, well-set-up appearance. Those
who met him in that showroom in Bond Street never dreamed of the alert
leather-coated and helmeted figure who tore round the rough track at
Brooklands testing cars, and so often rising up that steep cemented
slope, the test of great speed.</p>

<p>At six o&#8217;clock on the Wednesday evening he stood in his cosy room in
Bennett Street awaiting Peggy. At last there was a ring at the outer
door, and Sanford showed her in.</p>

<p>She entered merrily, bringing with her a whiff of the latest Paris
perfume, and grasping his hand, cried:</p>

<p>&#8220;Well, are you feeling any happier?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Happier!&#8221; he echoed. &#8220;Why, of course!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;And have you had Lady Teesdale&#8217;s letter?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes. And I&#8217;ve accepted.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Good. We&#8217;ll have a real good time. But the worst of it is Cis has
been asked too!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I suppose your mother engineered that?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t think so. You see, he&#8217;s Lady Teesdale&#8217;s nephew. And it&#8217;s a
big family party. Old Mr. Bainbridge, the steel king of Sheffield, and
his wife are to be there. She is a fat, rather coarse woman who has
wonderful jewels. They say that old Bainbridge gave eighty thousand
pounds for a unique string of stones, emeralds, diamonds, rubies and
sapphires which belonged to the old Sultan of Turkey, Abdul Hamid, and
which were sold in Paris six months ago.&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Yes. I&#8217;ve always heard that the old fellow has money to burn. Wish I
had!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;So do I, Charlie. But, after all, money isn&#8217;t everything. What shall
we do to-night?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Let&#8217;s dance later on&mdash;shall we?&#8221; he suggested, and she consented
readily.</p>

<p>They sat by the fire together for half an hour chatting, while she
told him of her doings in Paris after he had left. Then she rose and
made an inspection of his bachelor room, examining his photographs, as
was her habit. Ten years ago a girl would hesitate to go to a
bachelor&#8217;s room, but not so to-day when women can venture wherever men
can go.</p>

<p>On that same afternoon Sir Polworth Urquhart, returning home to Mount
Street at six o&#8217;clock, found among his letters on the study table a
thin one which bore a Hong Kong stamp. The superscription was, he saw,
in a native hand. He hated the sly Chinese and all their ways.</p>

<p>On tearing it open he found within a slip of rice-paper on which some
Chinese characters had been traced. He looked at them for a few
seconds and then translated them aloud to himself:</p>

<p>&#8220;Tai-K&#8217;an has not forgotten the great English mandarin!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Curse Tai-K&#8217;an!&#8221; growled Sir Polworth under his breath. &#8220;After ten
years I thought he had forgotten. But those Orientals are slim folk. I
hope his memory is a pleasant one,&#8221; he added grimly as he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>rose and
placed the envelope and the paper in the fire.</p>

<p>&#8220;A very curious message,&#8221; he reflected as he passed back to his
writing-table. &#8220;It&#8217;s a threat&mdash;because of that last sign. I remember
seeing that sign before and being told that it was the sign of
vengeance of the Tchan-Yan, the secret society of the Yellow Riband.
But, bah! what need I care? I&#8217;m not in China now&mdash;thank Heaven!&#8221;</p>

<p>As he seated himself to answer his correspondence, however, a curious
drama rose before his eyes. One day, ten years ago, while acting as
Deputy-Governor, he had had before him a criminal case in which a
young Chinese girl was alleged to have caused her lover&#8217;s death by
poison. The girl was the daughter of a small merchant named Tai-K&#8217;an,
who sold all his possessions in order to pay for the girl&#8217;s defense.</p>

<p>The case was a flimsy one from the start, but in the native court
where it was heard there was much bribery by the friends of the dead
lover. Notwithstanding the fact that Tai-K&#8217;an devoted the whole of his
possessions to his daughter&#8217;s defense, and that strong proof of guilt
fell upon a young Chinaman who was jealous of the dead man, the poor
girl was convicted of murder.</p>

<p>Sir Polworth remembered all the circumstances well. At the time he did
not believe in the girl&#8217;s guilt, but the court had decided it so,
therefore why should he worry his official mind over the affairs of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>mere natives? The day came&mdash;he recollected it well&mdash;when the sentence
of death was put before him for confirmation. Tai-K&#8217;an himself, a
youngish man, came to his house to beg the clemency of the great
British mandarin. With him was his wife and the brother of the
murdered man. All three begged upon their knees that the girl should
be released because she was innocent. But he only shook his head, and
with callous heartlessness signed the death-sentence and ordered them
to be shown out.</p>

<p>The girl&#8217;s father then drew himself up and, with the fire of hatred in
his slant black eyes, exclaimed in very good English:</p>

<p>&#8220;You have sent my daughter to her death though she is innocent! You
have a daughter, Sir Polworth Urquhart. The vengeance of Tai-K&#8217;an will
fall upon her. Remember my words! May the Great M&ecirc;ng place his curse
upon you and yours for ever!&#8221; And the trio left the Deputy-Governor&#8217;s
room.</p>

<p>That was nearly ten years ago.</p>

<p>He paced the room, for his reflections even now were uneasy ones. He
remembered how the facts were placed before the Colonial Office and
how the sentence of death was commuted to one of imprisonment. For
five years she remained in jail, until the real assassin committed
suicide after writing a confession.</p>

<p>Yet like all Chinese, Tai-K&#8217;an evidently nursed his grievance, and
time had not dulled the bitterness of his hatred.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p><p>But the offensive Chinaman was in Hong Kong&mdash;therefore what mattered,
Sir Polworth thought. So he seated himself and wrote his letters.</p>

<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2>

<h3>THE VENGEANCE OF TAI-K&#8217;AN</h3>

<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:50px;line-height:32px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">A</span><span style="margin-left:0%;">t</span> that moment Lola, who was shopping in London, entered and her
father cut off quickly.</p>

<p>The girl glanced at me and smiled. Then she asked some question
regarding the purchase of some cutlery, and on her father replying she
left the flat.</p>

<p>After she had gone, he resumed the narrative, which was certainly of
deep interest, as you will see.</p>

<p>He went on:</p>

<p>In the first week in January, a gay house-party assembled at Hawstead
Park, Lord Teesdale&#8217;s fine old Elizabethan seat a few miles from
Malton, not very far from Overstow. The shooting-parties at Hawstead
were well known for their happy enjoyment. They were talked about in
the drawing-rooms of Yorkshire and clubs in town each year, for Lady
Teesdale was one of the most popular of hostesses and delighted in
surrounding herself with young people.</p>

<p>So it was that Charlie Otley, on his arrival, met Peggy in the big
paneled hall, and by her side stood young Eastwood, the fair-haired
effeminate son of Lord Drumone. The party assembled at tea consisted
of some twenty guests, most of them young. After <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>dinner that night
there was, of course, dancing upon the fine polished floor.</p>

<p>Before Lady Urquhart, Otley was compelled to exercise a good deal of
caution, allowing young Eastwood to dance attendance upon Peggy while
he, in turn, spent a good deal of time with Maud Bainbridge, the
rather angular daughter of the steel magnate. Towards Mrs. Bainbridge
and his hostess Charlie was most attentive, but all the time he was
watching Peggy with the elegant young idler to whom Lady Urquhart
hoped to marry her.</p>

<p>Now and then Peggy would glance across the room meaningly, but he
never once asked her to dance, so determined was he that her mother
should not suspect the true state of affairs. His position, however,
was not a very pleasant one, therefore part of the time he spent in
the great old smoking-room with his host, Sir Polworth, and several
other guests, some of them being women, for nowadays the ladies of a
country house-party invariably invade the room which formerly was
sacred to the men.</p>

<p>When the dance had ended and the guests were about to retire, Otley
managed to whisper a word to the girl he loved. He made an appointment
to meet her at a secluded spot in the park near the lodge on the
following morning at eleven.</p>

<p>She kept the appointment, and when they met she stood for a few
moments clasped in her lover&#8217;s arms.</p>

<p>&#8220;I had such awful difficulty to get away from <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>Cecil,&#8221; she said,
laughing. She looked a sweet attractive figure in her short tweed
skirt, strong country shoes and furs. &#8220;He wanted to go for a walk with
me. So I slipped out and left him guessing.&#8221;</p>

<p>Her companion remained silent.</p>

<p>A few moments later they turned along a path which led to a stile, and
thence through a thick wood of leafless oaks and beeches. Along the
winding path carpeted with dead leaves they strolled hand-in-hand,
until suddenly Otley halted, and in a thick hoarse voice quite unusual
to him, said:</p>

<p>&#8220;Peggy. I&mdash;I have something to say to you. I&mdash;I have to go back to
London.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;To London&mdash;why?&#8221; gasped the girl in dismay.</p>

<p>&#8220;Because&mdash;well, because I can&#8217;t bear to be here with the glaring truth
ever before me&mdash;that I&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;What do you mean?&#8221; she asked, laying her hand upon his arm.</p>

<p>&#8220;I mean, dearest,&#8221; he said in a low, hard voice, &#8220;I mean that we can
never marry. There is a barrier between us&mdash;a barrier of disgrace!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Of disgrace!&#8221; she gasped. &#8220;Oh! do explain, dear.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;The explanation is quite simple,&#8221; he replied in a tone of despair.
&#8220;You asked me in Paris what worried me. Well, Peggy, I&#8217;ll confess to
you,&#8221; he went on, lowering his voice, his eyes downcast. &#8220;I am not
worthy your love, and I here renounce it, for&mdash;for I am a thief!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;A thief!&#8221; she echoed. &#8220;How?&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve been hard up of late, and at the motor show I sold three cars,
for which I have not accounted to the firm. The books will be audited
next week and my defalcations discovered. I have no means of repaying
the four thousand five hundred pounds, and therefore I shall be
arrested and sent to prison as a common thief. That&#8217;s briefly the
position!&#8221;</p>

<p>The girl was speechless at such staggering revelations. Charlie&mdash;a
thief! It seemed incredible.</p>

<p>&#8220;But have you no means whatever of raising the money?&#8221; she asked at
last, her face pale, while the gloved hand that lay upon his arm
trembled.</p>

<p>&#8220;None. I&#8217;ve tried all my friends, but money is so difficult to raise
nowadays. No, Peggy,&#8221; he added with suppressed emotion, &#8220;let me go my
own way&mdash;and try to forget me. Now that I am in disgrace it is only
right that I should make a clean breast of it to you, and then you
alone will understand why I have made excuse to Lady Teesdale and
left.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Oh, you mustn&#8217;t do that, dear,&#8221; she urged. &#8220;Stay over the week-end!
Something will turn up. Do please me by staying.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I feel that I really can&#8217;t,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;I&#8217;m an outsider to have
thus brought unhappiness on you, but it is my fault. I am alone to
blame. You must have your freedom and forget me. I took the money to
pay a debt of honor, thinking that I could repay it by borrowing
elsewhere. But I find I can&#8217;t, therefore I must face the music next
week. Even if I ran away I should soon be found and arrested.&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Poor boy!&#8221; sighed the girl, stroking his cheek tenderly, while in her
eyes showed the light of unshed tears. &#8220;Don&#8217;t worry. Stay here with
me&mdash;at least till Monday.&#8221;</p>

<p>But he shook his head sadly.</p>

<p>&#8220;I couldn&#8217;t bear it, my darling,&#8221; he answered in a low voice. &#8220;How can
I possibly enjoy dancing and fun when I know that in a few days I
shall go to prison in disgrace. My firm are not the kind of people to
let me off.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Four thousand five hundred!&#8221; the girl repeated as though to herself.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes. And I haven&#8217;t the slightest prospect of getting it anywhere. If
I could only borrow it I could sail along into smooth waters again.
But that is quite out of the question.&#8221;</p>

<p>Peggy remained silent for a few moments. Then, of a sudden, she looked
straight into her lover&#8217;s eyes, and taking his hand in hers said:</p>

<p>&#8220;Poor dear! What can I do to help you?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Nothing,&#8221; was his low reply. &#8220;Only&mdash;only forget me. That&#8217;s all. You
can&#8217;t marry a man who&#8217;s been to prison.&#8221;</p>

<p>Again a silence fell between them, while the dead leaves whirled along
the path.</p>

<p>&#8220;But you will stay here over the week-end, won&#8217;t you, dear?&#8221; she
urged. &#8220;I ask you to do so. Do not refuse me&mdash;will you?&#8221;</p>

<p>He tried to excuse himself. But she clung to him and kissed him,
declaring that at least they might <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>spend the week-end together before
he left to face the worst.</p>

<p>Her lover endeavored to point out the impossibility of their marriage,
but she remained inexorable.</p>

<p>&#8220;I still love you, Charlie&mdash;even though you are in such dire straits.
And I do not intend that you shall go back to London to brood over
your misfortune. Keep a stout heart, dear, and something may turn up
after all,&#8221; she added, as they turned and went slowly back over the
rustling leaves towards the park.</p>

<p>He now realized that she loved him with a strong and fervent
affection, even though he had confessed to her his offense. And that
knowledge caused his burden of apprehension the harder to bear.</p>

<p>That night there were, after the day&#8217;s shooting, merry junketings at
Hawstead, and Charles Otley bore himself bravely though his heart was
heavy. Ever and anon when Peggy had opportunity she whispered cheering
words to him, words that encouraged him, though none of the gay party
dreamed that they were chatting and dancing with a man who would in a
few days stand in a criminal dock.</p>

<p>Next day was Sunday. The whole house-party attended the village church
in the morning, and in the afternoon the guests split up and went for
walks.</p>

<p>Soon after dinner Otley, whose seat had been between the steel
magnate&#8217;s wife and her daughter, went outside on the veranda alone. He
was in no mood for bridge and preferred a breath of air outside. As
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>he let himself out by one of the French windows of the small
drawing-room in the farther wing of the house, a dark figure brushed
past him swiftly, and next second had vaulted over the ironwork of the
veranda and was lost in the dark bushes beyond.</p>

<p>As the stranger had paused to leap from the veranda, a ray of light
from the window had caught his countenance. It was only for one brief
second, yet Charlie had felt convinced that the countenance was that
of a Chinaman. Besides the stealthy cat-like movement of the man was
that of an Oriental. Yet what could a Chinaman be doing about that
house?</p>

<p>He was half inclined to tell his host, yet on reflecting, he thought
the probability was that it was some stranger who, attracted by the
music and laughter within, had been trying to get a glimpse of the gay
party.</p>

<p>That night, as the auction bridge proceeded, Otley withdrew from it
and went to his room, where he sat down and wrote two notes&mdash;one to
Peggy and the other to his hostess. In the latter he apologized that
he had been suddenly recalled to London on some very urgent business,
and that he would leave Malton by the first train in the morning.</p>

<p>The note to Peggy he placed in his pocket, and returning to the room
where they were now dancing, found her in a flimsy cream gown,
sleeveless and cut low&mdash;a dress that suited her to perfection&mdash;dancing
with apparent merriment with young Eastwood, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>though he knew that her
heart was sad. But her face was flushed by excitement, and she was
entering thoroughly into the country-house gayety. Presently, however,
he was able to slip the note into her hand and whisper a good-by.</p>

<p>&#8220;I shall be in London on Tuesday and will call at Bennett Street in
the evening. We will then talk it all over, dear. Don&#8217;t despair&mdash;for
my sake&mdash;don&#8217;t despair!&#8221; she said.</p>

<p>And compelled to slip back to the ballroom, she crushed the note into
her corsage.</p>

<p>Early next morning a car took Charlie to the station, and soon after
luncheon he re&euml;ntered his rooms. The day was Monday, wet and dreary.
All hope had left him, for his defalcations must be discovered and the
directors would, without a doubt, prosecute him. Hence he went about
London interested in nothing and obsessed by the terrible disgrace
which must inevitably befall him.</p>

<p>On the evening of his sudden departure from Hawstead, at about
half-past six, the house-party was thrown into a state of great
concern by the amazing announcement that Mrs. Bainbridge had lost her
jewels&mdash;the unique string of precious stones which had once belonged
to the late Sultan Abdul Hamid! Mrs. Bainbridge&#8217;s maid discovered the
loss when her mistress went to dress for dinner.</p>

<p>She declared that on the previous evening she had placed them out upon
a little polished table set against the heavy red-plush curtains and
close to the dressing-table. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>She believed that her mistress had worn
them upon her corsage on the Sunday night, and that on retiring she
had locked them in her jewel-box. On the contrary, Mrs. Bainbridge did
not wear them, a fact to which everyone testified. The millionaire&#8217;s
wife had left the Sultan&#8217;s famous jewels upon the little polished
table when she descended for dinner on Sunday night, and naturally
concluded that her maid&mdash;who had been with her over twelve
years&mdash;would see them and place them in safety.</p>

<p>Suspicion instantly fell upon Charles Otley. Old Mr. Bainbridge was,
of course, furious, whereupon Lord Teesdale took it upon himself to go
at once to London to see Otley.</p>

<p>This he did, and when that afternoon Sanford showed his lordship
unexpectedly into the room, the young man stood aghast at the news.</p>

<p>&#8220;Tell me, Otley&mdash;if you know nothing of this affair&mdash;why, then, did
you leave Hawstead so suddenly?&#8221; he demanded.</p>

<p>&#8220;Because I had business here in town,&#8221; was his reply. Instantly across
his mind flashed the recollection of the incident of the fleeting
figure which he believed to be that of an Oriental. He related to his
late host the exact facts. But Lord Teesdale listened quite
unimpressed. As a matter of fact, he felt, in his own mind, that the
young fellow was the thief.</p>

<p>The story of the Chinaman was far too fantastic for his old-fashioned
mind. He had heard of the Chinese, the opium traffic and suchlike
things, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>he saw in Otley&#8217;s statement a distinct attempt to mislead
him.</p>

<p>The police were not called in because Mr. Bainbridge did not desire to
bring the Teesdales&#8217; house-party into the newspapers, and, moreover,
both he and his wife were confident that young Otley was the thief.</p>

<p>Peggy hearing her lover denounced so openly, was naturally full of
indignation, though she hardly dared show it.</p>

<p>Sir Polworth and his wife and daughter returned to London as early as
possible, for the spirits of all the guests had fallen in consequence
of Mrs. Bainbridge&#8217;s loss.</p>

<p>And now a curious thing happened.</p>

<p>That evening Charlie, knowing himself under suspicion of stealing the
jewels, had an intuition that it would be better if Peggy did not
visit him at Bennett Street. Therefore at about half-past five, when
darkness had fallen, he went along to Mount Street, and there watched
outside Sir Polworth&#8217;s house.</p>

<p>After a little while an empty taxi which had evidently been summoned
by telephone, stopped at the door, and Peggy, very plainly dressed,
got into it and drove away. Another taxi happened to be near,
therefore her lover, unable to shout and stop her, got into it and
followed her.</p>

<p>They went along Piccadilly, and passing Arlington Street, which led
into Bennett Street, continued away to the Strand and across the City
eastward, until <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>Otley was seized with curiosity as to the girl&#8217;s
destination.</p>

<p>Past Aldgate went the taxi and down Commercial Road East, that broad
long thoroughfare that leads to the East India Docks. At Limehouse
Church the taxi stopped, and Peggy alighted and paid the man.</p>

<p>Almost immediately a young man, the cut of whose overcoat and the
angle of whose hat at once marked him as a Spaniard, approached her.
Otley, full of wonder, had alighted from his taxi at some distance
away and was eagerly watching.</p>

<p>Peggy and the stranger exchanged a few words, whereupon he started off
along a narrow and rather ill-lit road called Three Colt Street, past
Limehouse Causeway. Suddenly it occurred to the young man that they
were in the center of London&#8217;s Chinatown! He recollected the escaping
Chinaman from Lord Teesdale&#8217;s house! But why was Peggy there? Surely
she was not a drug-taker! The very thought caused him to shudder.</p>

<p>Silently he followed the pair before him, and saw them turn into a
narrow by-street and halt at a small house. Her conductor knocked on
the door four times. And then repeated the summons.</p>

<p>The door opened slowly and they entered. Then, when the door was
closed again, Peggy&#8217;s lover crept along and listened at the shutter
outside.</p>

<p>Why was she there? He stood bewildered. She had promised to call upon
him at his rooms, and yet <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>she was there in that low-class house&mdash;a
veritable den it seemed!</p>

<p>The window was closely shuttered, as were all in that mysterious
silent thoroughfare&mdash;one into which the police would hardly venture to
penetrate alone.</p>

<p>The young man listened, his ears strained to catch any sound.</p>

<p>Suddenly he heard Peggy shriek. He listened breathlessly. Yes, it was
her voice raised distinctly.</p>

<p>&#8220;You!&#8221; he heard her cry. &#8220;You! You are Tai-K&#8217;an! My father has told me
of you!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Ye-es, my lil ladee&mdash;you are lil ladee of the Engleesh mandarin!&#8221; he
heard the reply&mdash;the reply of a Chinaman. &#8220;I now take my vengeance for
my own child as I have each year promised. Give me the pretty jewels.
You wanted to sell them, eh? But you will give them to me! I watched
you take them from the table while they were all at the party. Your
father never thought that Tai-K&#8217;an followed you on your country
journey, eh?&#8221;</p>

<p>Otley heard the words faintly through the shutters and stood rooted to
the spot.</p>

<p>Peggy was the thief? She had wanted to sell them and had been
entrapped. In an instant he realized her position.</p>

<p>He heard her voice raised first in faint protest, and then she
implored the Chinaman to release her.</p>

<p>&#8220;Ah, no!&#8221; cried the cruel triumphant Oriental. &#8220;Tai-K&#8217;an warned your
father that he would have his revenge. His daughter was to him as much
as you <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>are to your own father the mandarin,&#8221; and he laughed that
short, grating laugh of the Chinaman, which caused Otley to clench his
fists.</p>

<p>For a few seconds he hesitated as to how he should act. Then, quick as
his feet could carry him, he dashed back into the Commercial Road,
where he enlisted the aid of a constable.</p>

<p>Together they hurried back to the house after the young man had made a
brief statement that a white girl had been entrapped.</p>

<p>At first they were denied admittance, but when the constable demanded
that the door should be opened, the bars were drawn and they entered
the wretched den.</p>

<p>Peggy was naturally terrified until she heard her lover&#8217;s voice, and a
few seconds later the pair were locked once more in each other&#8217;s arms,
but the gems of Abdul Hamid were nowhere to be found. Indeed, neither
Peggy nor Charlie dared mention the stolen jewels, so the Chinaman
kept them.</p>

<p>&#8220;Do you wish to charge this Chink?&#8221; asked the constable of the girl.
&#8220;If so, I&#8217;ll take him along to the station at once.&#8221;</p>

<p>But at Charlie&#8217;s suggestion she would prefer no charge, and after
profuse thanks to the policeman, they found a taxi and drove back at
once to Bennett Street.</p>

<p>On the way Peggy sobbed as she confessed to the theft; how, in
desperation, she had stolen those wonderful <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>jewels from Mrs.
Bainbridge&#8217;s room in the hope of raising sufficient money to pay
Charlie&#8217;s defalcations, and how she had two days later received a
mysterious letter asking her if she happened to have any discarded
jewelry that she wished to dispose of secretly. If she had, an
appointment could be made at Limehouse Church. It was, she thought, an
opportunity. So she took the jewels to sell to them. But to her
amazement and horror she had found herself in the hands of the
revengeful Chinaman who had a, possibly just, grievance against her
father.</p>

<hr class="medium" />

<p>Rayne, taking the magnificent jewels and running them through his
hands, said:</p>

<p>&#8220;The Chink is a friend of ours, and we&#8217;ve had our eye upon these
stones for a very long time, but rather than the young fellow and the
girl shall be ruined I am sending them back to Mrs. Bainbridge&#8217;s
anonymously by to-night&#8217;s post. Sir Polworth Urquhart will think they
have come from Tai-K&#8217;an. See, Hargreave? I&#8217;ve typed out a letter. Just
pack them up and address them to her. I can&#8217;t bear to take them now I
know the truth&mdash;poor girl!&#8221;</p>

<p>And he handed the gems over to me, together with a small wooden box.</p>

<p>That evening I registered the box from the post office at Darlington,
and three days later Charles Otley, who had managed to clear himself
of all suspicion, received an anonymous gift of four thousand <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>five
hundred pounds which had been placed to his credit at the bank.</p>

<p>And none of the actors in that strange drama suspect the hand of the
clever, unscrupulous, but sometimes generous, Squire of Overstow.</p>

<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2>

<h3>OTHER PEOPLE&#8217;S MONEY</h3>

<p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">&#8220;</p><p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:50px;line-height:32px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>r. Hargreave, father is sending you upon a very strange mission,&#8221;
Lola told me in confidence one dull morning, after we had had
breakfast at the Midland Hotel, in Manchester, where we three were
staying about a fortnight after Rayne&#8217;s generosity in returning the
famous jewels of the dead Sultan.</p>

<p>&#8220;What kind of mission?&#8221; I inquired with curiosity, as we sat together
in the lounge prior to going out to idle at the shop windows.</p>

<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know its object at all,&#8221; was her reply. &#8220;But from what I&#8217;ve
gathered it is something most important. I&mdash;I do hope you will take
care of yourself&mdash;won&#8217;t you?&#8221; she asked appealingly.</p>

<p>&#8220;Why, of course,&#8221; I laughed. &#8220;I generally manage to take care of
myself. I&#8217;d do better, however, if&mdash;well, if I were not associated
with Duperr&eacute; and the rest,&#8221; I added bitterly.</p>

<p>The pretty girl was silent for a few moments. Then she said:</p>

<p>&#8220;Of course you won&#8217;t breathe a word of what I&#8217;ve said, will you?&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Certainly not, Lola,&#8221; was my reply. &#8220;Whatever you tell me never
passes my lips.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I know&mdash;I know I can trust you, Mr. Hargreave,&#8221; she exclaimed. &#8220;Well,
in this matter there are several mysterious circumstances. I believe
it is something political my father wants to work&mdash;some business which
concerns something in the Near East. That&#8217;s all I know. You will, in
due course, hear all about it. And now let&#8217;s go along to Deansgate. I
want to buy something.&#8221;</p>

<p>In consequence we strolled along together, Rayne having gone out an
hour before to keep an appointment&mdash;with whom he carefully concealed
from me.</p>

<p>That same night Rayne disclosed to me the mission which he desired me
to carry out. He was a man of a hundred moods and as many schemes.</p>

<p>One fact which delighted me was that in the present suggestion there
seemed no criminal intent. And for that reason I quite willingly left
London for the Near East three days later.</p>

<p>My destination was Sofia, the Bulgarian capital, and the journey by
the Orient Express across Europe was a long and tedious one.</p>

<p>I was much occupied with the piece of scheming which I had undertaken
to carry out in Sofia. My patriotism had led me to attempt a very
difficult task&mdash;one which would require delicate tact and a good deal
of courage and resource, but which would, if successful, Rayne had
said, mean that a loan of three millions would be raised in London,
and that British <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>influence would become paramount in that go-ahead
country, which ere long must be the power of the Balkans.</p>

<p>The tentacles of the great criminal octopus which Rayne controlled
were indeed far-spread. In this he was making a bid for fortune,
without a doubt.</p>

<p>To the majority of people, the Balkan States are, even to-day, <i>terra
incognita</i>. The popular idea is that they are wild, inaccessible
countries, inhabited by brigands. That is not so. True, there are
brigands, even now after the war, in the Balkans, but Belgrade, the
Serbian capital, is as civilized as Berlin, and the main boulevard of
Sofia, whither I was bound, is at night almost a replica of the
Boulevard des Italiens.</p>

<p>I knew, however, that there were others in Sofia upon the same errand
as myself, emissaries of other Governments and other financial houses.
Therefore in those three long, never-ending days and nights which the
journey occupied, my mind was constantly filled with the thoughts of
the best and most judicious course to pursue in order to attain my
object.</p>

<p>The run East was uneventful, save for one fact&mdash;at the Staatsbahnhof,
at Vienna, just before our train left for Budapest, a queer, fussy
little old man in brown entered and was given the compartment next to
mine.</p>

<p>His nationality I could not determine. He spoke in a deep guttural
voice with the fair-bearded conductor of the train, but by his
clothes&mdash;which were <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>rather dandified for so old a man&mdash;I did not
believe him to be a native of the Fatherland.</p>

<p>I heard him rumbling about with his bags in the next compartment,
apparently settling himself, when of a sudden, my quick ear caught an
imprecation which he uttered to himself in English.</p>

<p>A few hours later, at dinner in the <i>wagon-restaurant</i>, I found him
placed at the same little table opposite me, and naturally we began to
chat. He spoke in French, perfect French it was, but refused to speak
English, though, of course, he could had he wished.</p>

<p>&#8220;Ah! <i>non</i>,&#8221; he laughed. &#8220;I cannot. Excuse me. My pronunciation is so
faulty. Your English is so ve-ry deefecult!&#8221;</p>

<p>And so we talked in French, and I found the queer old fellow was on
his way to Sofia. He seemed slightly deformed, his face was distinctly
ugly, broad, clean-shaven, with a pair of black, piercing eyes that
gave him a most striking appearance. His grey hair was long, his nose
aquiline, his teeth protruding and yellow; and he was a grumbler of
the most pronounced type. He growled at the food, at the service, at
the draughts, at the light in the restaurant, at the staleness of the
bread we had brought with us from Paris, and at the butter, which he
declared to be only Danish margarine.</p>

<p>His complaints were amusing. At first the <i>ma&icirc;tre d&#8217;h&ocirc;tel</i> bustled
about to do the bidding of the newcomer, but very quickly summed him
up, and only <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>grinned knowingly when called to listen to his biting
sarcasm of the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lit and all its
works.</p>

<p>Next day, at Semlin, where our passports were examined, the passport
officer took off his hat to him, bowed low and <i>vis&eacute;d</i> his passport
without question, saying, as he handed back the document to its owner:</p>

<p>&#8220;Bon voyage, Highness.&#8221;</p>

<p>I stared at the pair. My fussy friend with the big head must therefore
be either a prince or a grand duke!</p>

<p>As I sat opposite him at dinner that night, he was discussing with me
the harmful writings of some newly discovered Swiss author who was
posing as a cheap philosopher, and denouncing them as dangerous to the
community. He leaned his elbow upon the narrow table and supported his
clean-shaven chin upon his fingers, displaying to me&mdash;most certainly
by accident&mdash;the palm of his thin right hand.</p>

<p>What I discovered there caused me a great deal of surprise. In its
center was a dark, livid mark, as though it had been branded there by
a hot iron, the plain and distinct imprint of a pet dog&#8217;s pad!</p>

<p>It fascinated me. There was some hidden meaning in that mark, I felt
convinced. It was just as though a small dog had stepped in blood with
one of its forepaws and trodden upon his hand.</p>

<p>Whether he noticed that I had detected it or not, I cannot say, but he
moved his hand quickly, and ever after kept it closed.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p><p>His name, he told me, was Konstantinos Vassos, and he lived in Athens.
But I took that information <i>cum grano</i>, for I instinctively knew him
to be a prince traveling incognito. Before the passport officer at
Semlin, every one must pass before entering Serbia.</p>

<p>But if actually a prince, why did he carry a passport?</p>

<p>There is no good hotel at Sofia. The best is called the Grand H&ocirc;tel de
Bulgarie, kept by a pleasant old lady, and in this we found ourselves
next night installed. He, of course, gave his name as Vassos, and to
all intents and purposes was more of a stranger in the Bulgarian
capital than I myself was, for I had been there previously once just
before the war.</p>

<p>Now Rayne had given me a letter of introduction to a certain Nicolas
Titeroff, who contrived rather mysteriously to get me elected to the
smart diplomats&#8217; club&mdash;the Union&mdash;during my stay.</p>

<p>The days passed. From the first morning of my arrival I found myself
at once in the vortex of gayety; invitations poured in upon me&mdash;thanks
to the black-bearded Titeroff&mdash;cards for dances here and there and
receptions and dinners, while I spent each afternoon with Titeroff and
a wandering Englishman named Mayhew, who told me he was an ex-colonel
in the British Army.</p>

<p>All the while, I must confess, I was working my cards carefully.
Thanks to the mysterious Titeroff I had received an introduction to
Nicholas Petkoff, the grave, grey-haired Minister of Finance, who had
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>early in life lost his right arm at the battle of the Shipka
Pass&mdash;and he was inclined to admit my proposals. A French syndicate
had approached him, but Petkoff would have none of them.</p>

<p>The mission entrusted to me by Rayne was one which, if I could obtain
the Government Concession which I asked, would mean the formation of a
great company and a matter of millions. And it seemed to me that my
black-bearded friend Titeroff, and Mayhew, were both pulling the
strings cleverly for me in the right direction. Often I considered
whether they were both crooks and members of the gang organized by
Rayne. I could not determine.</p>

<p>One night at the weekly dance at the Military Club&mdash;a function at
which the smart set of Sofia always attend, and at which the Ministers
of State themselves with their women-folk put in an appearance&mdash;I had
been waltzing with the Minister Petkoff&#8217;s daughter, a pretty,
dark-haired girl in blue, whom I had met at Titeroff&#8217;s house&mdash;when
presently the Turkish attach&eacute;, a pale-faced young man in a fez,
introduced me to a tall, very handsome, sweet-faced girl in a black
evening gown.</p>

<p>Mademoiselle Balesco was her name, and I found her inexpressibly
charming. She spoke French perfectly, and English quite well. She had
been at school in England, she said&mdash;at Scarborough. Her home was at
Galatz, in Roumania.</p>

<p>We had several dances, and afterwards I took her down to supper. Then
we had a couple of fox-trots, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>and I conducted her out to the car that
was awaiting her and bowing, watched her drive off, alone.</p>

<p>But while doing so, there came along the pavement, out of the shadow,
the short, ugly figure of the old Greek, Vassos, with his coat collar
turned up, evidently passing without noticing me.</p>

<p>A few days later when in the evening I was chatting with Mayhew at the
hotel, he said:</p>

<p>&#8220;What have you been up to, Hargreave? Look here! This letter was left
upon me, with a note, asking me to give it to you in secret. Looks
like a woman&#8217;s hand! Mind what you&#8217;re about in this place, old chap.
There are some nasty pitfalls, you know!&#8221;</p>

<p>With a bachelor&#8217;s curiosity he was eager to know who was my fair
correspondent. But I refused to satisfy him.</p>

<p>Suffice it to say that that same night I went alone to a house on the
outskirts of Sofia, and there met, at her urgent request, Marie
Balesco. After apologizing for thus approaching me and throwing all
the <i>convenances</i> to the wind, she seemed to be highly interested in
my welfare, and very inquisitive concerning the reasons that had
brought me to Bulgaria.</p>

<p>Like most women of to-day, she smoked, and offered me her
cigarette-case. I took one&mdash;a delicious one it was, but rather
strong&mdash;so strong, indeed, that a strange drowsiness suddenly overcame
me. Before I could fight against it, the small, well-furnished room
seemed to whirl about me, and I must have fallen unconscious. Indeed,
I knew no more until, on awakening, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>I found myself back in my bed at
the H&ocirc;tel de Bulgarie.</p>

<p>I gazed at the morning sunshine upon the wall, and tried to recollect
what had occurred.</p>

<p>My hand seemed strangely painful. Raising it from the sheets, I looked
at it.</p>

<p>Upon my right palm, branded as by a hot iron, was the sign of the
dog&#8217;s pad!</p>

<p>Horrified, I stared at it! It was the same mark I had seen upon the
hand of old Vassos! What could be its significance?</p>

<p>In a few days the burn healed, leaving a dark red scar, the distinct
imprint of a dog&#8217;s foot. From Mayhew I tried, by cautious questions,
to obtain some information concerning the fair-faced girl who had
played such a trick upon me. But he only knew her slightly. He amazed
me by saying that she had been staying with a certain Madame Sovoff,
who was something of a mystery, but had left Sofia.</p>

<p>Vassos, who was still at the hotel, annoyed me on account of his
extreme politeness, and the manner in which he appeared to spy upon my
movements.</p>

<p>I came across him everywhere. Inquiries concerning the reason of the
ugly Greek&#8217;s presence in Bulgaria met with a negative result. One
thing seemed certain, he was not, as I believed, a prince incognito.</p>

<p>How I longed to go to him, show him the mark upon my hand, and demand
an explanation. But my curiosity was aroused, therefore I patiently
awaited <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>developments, my revolver always ready in my pocket in case
of foul play.</p>

<p>The mysterious action of the pretty girl from Galatz also puzzled me.</p>

<p>At last the Cabinet, after much political jugglery, being deposed, the
Council were in complete accord with Petkoff regarding my proposals.
All had been done in secret from the party in opposition, and one day
I had lunched with His Excellency the Minister of Finance at his house
in the suburbs of the city.</p>

<p>Nevertheless, I was obsessed by the strange mark which had been so
mysteriously placed upon my hand&mdash;the same mark as that borne by the
mysterious Vassos.</p>

<p>&#8220;You may send a cipher dispatch to London if you like, Mr. Hargreave,&#8221;
said the Minister Petkoff, as we sat over our cigars. &#8220;The documents
will be all signed at the Cabinet meeting at noon to-morrow. In
exchange for this loan raised in London, all the contracts for the new
quick-firing guns and ammunition go to your group of London
financiers.&#8221;</p>

<p>Such was the welcome news His Excellency imparted to me, and you may
imagine that I lost no time in writing out a well-concealed message to
Rayne, and sending it by the manservant to the telegraph office.</p>

<p>For a long time I sat with His Excellency, and then he rose, inviting
me to walk with him in the Boris Gardens, as was his habit every
afternoon, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>before going down to the sitting of the Sobranje, or
Parliament.</p>

<p>On our way we passed Vassos, who raised his hat politely to me.</p>

<p>&#8220;Who&#8217;s that man?&#8221; inquired the Minister quickly, and I told him all I
knew concerning the old fellow.</p>

<p>He grunted.</p>

<p>In the pretty public garden we were strolling together in the sundown,
chatting upon the European unrest after the war, the new loan, and
other matters, when, of a sudden, a black-mustached man in a dark grey
overcoat and a round fur cap sprang from the bushes at a lonely spot,
and, raising a big service revolver, fired point-blank at His
Excellency.</p>

<p>I felt for my own weapon. Alas! it was not there! <i>I had forgotten
it!</i></p>

<p>The assassin, seeing the Minister reel and fall, turned his weapon
upon me. Thereupon in an instant I threw up my hands, crying that I
was unarmed, and an Englishman.</p>

<p>As I did so, he started back as though terrified, and with a spring he
disappeared again into the bushes.</p>

<p>All had happened in a few brief instants, for ere I could realize that
a tragedy had actually occurred, I found the unfortunate Minister
lying lifeless at my feet. My friend had been shot through the heart!
It was a repetition of the assassination of the Minister Stambuloff.</p>

<p>Readers of the newspapers will recollect the tragic <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>affair which is,
no doubt, still fresh in their minds.</p>

<p>I told the Chief of Police of Sofia of my strange experience, and
showed him the mark upon my palm. Though detectives searched high and
low for the Greek, for Madame Sovoff, and for the fascinating
mademoiselle, none of them was ever found.</p>

<p>The assassin was, nevertheless, arrested a week later, while trying to
cross the frontier into Serbia. I, of course, lost by an ace Rayne&#8217;s
great financial <i>coup</i>, but before execution the prisoner made a
confession which revealed the existence of a terrible and widespread
conspiracy, fostered by Turkey, to remove certain members of the
Cabinet who were in favor of British protection and assistance.</p>

<p>Quite unconsciously I had, it seemed, become an especial favorite of
the silent, watchful old Konstantinos Vassos. Fearing lest I, in my
innocence, should fall a victim with His Excellency&mdash;being so often
his companion&mdash;he had, with the assistance of the pretty Marie
Balesco, contrived to impress upon my palm the secret sign of the
conspirators.</p>

<p>To this fact I certainly owe my life, for the assassin&mdash;a stranger to
Sofia, who had been drawn by lot&mdash;would, no doubt, have shot me dead,
had he not seen the secret sign upon my raised hand.</p>

<p>When I returned to Overstow and related my strange adventure, Rayne
was furious that just at the very moment when the deal by which he was
to reap such a huge profit was complete, our friend the Minister
should have been assassinated.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p><p>Lola was in the room when I described all that had occurred, listening
breathlessly to my narrative.</p>

<p>I showed them both the strange mark upon my palm, a brand which I
suppose I shall bear to my dying day.</p>

<p>&#8220;Then you really owe your life to that girl Balesco, Mr. Hargreave?&#8221;
she said, raising her fine dark eyes to mine.</p>

<p>&#8220;I certainly do,&#8221; I replied.</p>

<p>Her father grunted, and after congratulating me upon my escape, said:</p>

<p>&#8220;You had nothing to complain about regarding Titeroff, and the
assistance he and Mayhew gave you&mdash;eh?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Nothing. Without them I could never have acted. Indeed, I could never
have approached the Minister Petkoff.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; he remarked reflectively. &#8220;They&#8217;re both wily birds. Titeroff
feathered his nest well when he was in Constantinople, and Mayhew is
there because of a little bit of serious trouble in Genoa a couple of
years ago. Of course you never mentioned my name&mdash;eh?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I only mentioned you as Mr. Goodwin&mdash;as you told me,&#8221; I replied.</p>

<p>He smiled.</p>

<p>&#8220;They remembered me, of course?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes, when I delivered your note of introduction to Titeroff, he at
once made me welcome, and seemed <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>much surprised that I was acquainted
with his friend, Mr. Goodwin.&#8221;</p>

<p>It was now evident, as I had suspected, that the two men who were so
eager to serve me were international crooks, and members of the great
gang which Rayne controlled.</p>

<p>&#8220;Just describe the man Vassos as fully as you can,&#8221; urged Rayne.</p>

<p>In consequence I went into a minute description of the fussy old
Greek, to which Rayne listened most interestedly.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; he said at last. &#8220;But tell me one thing. Did you notice if he
had any deformity?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;he walked with a distinct limp.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;And his hand?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;The little finger on his left hand was deformed,&#8221; I replied. &#8220;I now
remember it.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Ah!&#8221; he cried in instant anger. &#8220;As I thought! It was old
Boukaris&mdash;the sly old devil. How, I wonder, did he know that I had
sent you to Sofia? He, no doubt, saved you by putting that mark on
your hand, Hargreave; but the brutes have been one too many for me,
and have done me down!&#8221;</p>

<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2>

<h3>THE MAN WHO WAS SHY</h3>

<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:50px;line-height:32px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">S</span><span style="margin-left:0%;">ome</span> two months after that curious experience in Sofia, we were guests
of some friends of Rayne&#8217;s called Baynes, who lived at Enderby Manor,
a few miles out of Winchester.</p>

<p>The reason of our visit was somewhat obscure, yet as far as I could
gather it had no connection with &#8220;business.&#8221; So Rayne, Lola, and
myself spent a very pleasant four days with one of the most charming
families I think I have ever met.</p>

<p>Enderby was a beautiful old place lying back in a great park and
surrounded by woods, half-way between Winchester and Romsey, and
George Baynes, who had made a fortune in South America, and whose wife
was a Brazilian lady, was a splendid host.</p>

<p>One bright afternoon Rayne had gone off somewhere with Mr. Baynes, so
I found Lola and we both went for a stroll in the beautiful woods.</p>

<p>For a long time we chatted merrily, when, of a sudden&mdash;I don&#8217;t exactly
know how it happened&mdash;but I took her hand, and, looking straight into
her eyes, I declared my passion for her.</p>

<p>I must have taken her unawares, for she drew <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>back with a strange,
half-frightened expression. Her breath came and went in quick gasps,
and when she found her tongue, she replied:</p>

<p>&#8220;No, George. It is impossible&mdash;quite impossible!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Why?&#8221; I demanded quickly. &#8220;I love you, Lola. Can you never
reciprocate my affection?&#8221;</p>

<p>She shook her head sadly, but still allowing me to hold her soft
little hand.</p>

<p>&#8220;You must not speak of love,&#8221; she whispered. &#8220;You are an honest man
who has been entrapped and compelled to act dishonestly as you do. I
know it all, alas! I&mdash;I know&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; and she burst into tears. &#8220;I have
discovered,&#8221; she sobbed, &#8220;that my father is a thief!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;We cannot help that, Lola,&#8221; I said, in deep sympathy at her distress.</p>

<p>&#8220;No. Unfortunately we can&#8217;t,&#8221; she replied faintly, in a voice full of
emotion. &#8220;But it would be fatal to us both if we loved each other.
Surely, George, you can see that!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t see it, dearest,&#8221; I exclaimed, bending and kissing her fondly
on the cheek for the first time. We had halted in the forest path, and
now I held her in my arms, though she resisted slightly. &#8220;I love you,
darling!&#8221; I cried. &#8220;<i>I love you!</i>&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;No! No!&#8221; she protested. &#8220;You must not&mdash;you cannot love me. I am only
the daughter of a man who, at any moment, might be arrested&mdash;a man for
whom the police are ever in search, but cannot find.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I know all that; but you, dearest, are not a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>thief!&#8221; I urged, for I
loved her with all the strength of my being&mdash;with all my soul.</p>

<p>She trembled and sobbed, but did not reply. Her tearful face was
hidden upon my shoulder.</p>

<p>&#8220;Do you care for me in the least?&#8221; I whispered to her. &#8220;Tell me, dear,
do.&#8221;</p>

<p>She was silent.</p>

<p>I repeated my question, until at last she raised her face to mine,
and, though she did not speak, I knew with joy that her answer was in
the affirmative. And then I poured out my secret to her, how ever
since I had first seen her I had loved her to distraction; and how the
knowledge that she reciprocated my affection had rendered me the
happiest man in the world.</p>

<p>For a long time we remained locked in each other&#8217;s arms. How long I
cannot tell.</p>

<p>Suddenly, when she had dried her tears, she seemed full of
apprehension concerning my welfare.</p>

<p>&#8220;Oh! do be careful of yourself, George!&#8221; she cried. &#8220;I am always so
anxious about you when you are away. Father sends you on those strange
and highly dangerous missions because he trusts you, and you, alas!
are compelled to do his bidding. But do take care. You know well what
the slightest blunder would mean&mdash;and you would never clear yourself,
you know!&#8221;</p>

<p>I promised I would take great care always, and again we moved along.
It was not, however, until dusk that we returned to the Manor.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p><p>I could not help wondering how Lola had discovered her father&#8217;s true
character and the nature of his secret &#8220;business,&#8221; but on the whole I
felt it was just as well that she knew, for she herself would exercise
great care. And then I thought in ecstasy, &#8220;She is mine&mdash;<i>mine</i>!&#8221;</p>

<p>Just before midnight, soon after I had retired, the door of my room
opened, and I found Rayne in his pajamas.</p>

<p>He placed his finger upon his lips with a gesture of silence. Then,
closing the door noiselessly, he drew me to the opposite side of the
room, and, showing me a photograph, said:</p>

<p>&#8220;Look at this well, George. You&#8217;d recognize him, wouldn&#8217;t you?&#8221;</p>

<p>It was a cabinet photograph of a good-looking gentlemanly,
clean-shaven man of about twenty-five.</p>

<p>&#8220;Note his tiepin&mdash;a single moonstone!&#8221; added Rayne.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; I said, as I gazed at the photograph.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well, to-day is Monday,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Next Thursday night I want you to
take Madame from London in the Rolls. Go out on the Portsmouth Road by
way of Kingston and Ditton, through Cobham, and on to Ripley. There,
about twenty miles from London, you will find on the left-hand side an
old-fashioned hotel called the Talbot. Stop there at half-past nine,
and, leaving Madame in the car, go in and have a drink. Edward Houston
will be awaiting <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>you. Madame is just now at the Carlton. You will
pick her up at half-past eight.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;And Lola?&#8221; I asked, wondering if his daughter was to play any part in
this new piece of trickery, whatever it might be.</p>

<p>&#8220;She is going to Scarborough on Thursday afternoon,&#8221; was her father&#8217;s
reply.</p>

<p>&#8220;And when I meet this Mr. Houston,&#8221; I asked, &#8220;what then?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;You will not meet openly. When you&#8217;ve had your drink and he has seen
you, you will drive a little way along the road and there await him.
He does not wish to be seen with you. He&#8217;s rather shy, you see!&#8221; and
the pleasant-faced man who controlled the most dangerous criminal gang
in Europe smiled sardonically. &#8220;He has his instructions, and you will
follow them. Take a suit-case with you, for you may be away a few
days, or longer.&#8221;</p>

<p>I wondered what devilry he had now planned. I tried to obtain from him
some further details, but his replies were sharp and firm.</p>

<p>&#8220;Act just as I&#8217;ve told you, Hargreave. And please don&#8217;t be so
infernally inquisitive.&#8221; Then, wishing me good night, he turned and
left my room.</p>

<p>I longed there and then to defy him and refuse to obey, yet I dared
not, knowing full well the fate that would await me if I resisted.
Moreover, I had Lola to consider, and if I defied her father he most
certainly would not allow his daughter to marry me.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p><p>Next morning we left Enderby by train and returned to Overstow in the
late afternoon.</p>

<p>Duperr&eacute; had gone up to Glasgow upon some mysterious business&mdash;crooked
without a doubt&mdash;so that night, after dining together, Rayne and I
played a game of billiards. While we were smoking in the library prior
to turning in, the footman tapped at the door and entered with a note.</p>

<p>Rayne tore it open, and as he read it, I noticed that his countenance
fell. A second later I saw that he was extremely annoyed.</p>

<p>He rose from his chair and for a few moments hesitated. Then, in a
rather thick voice, said:</p>

<p>&#8220;Show him in.&#8221; After the servant had gone he turned to me, and in a
changed voice said: &#8220;Remain here, George. But never breathe a word of
what you hear to a living soul! Remember that!&#8221;</p>

<p>In a few moment a well-dressed, narrow-faced, bald-headed, rather
cadaverous man was shown in. He clicked his heels together and bowed
with foreign politeness and with a smile upon his sinister
countenance.</p>

<p>&#8220;I have the honor to meet Signor Rayne?&#8221; he asked, with a distinctly
Italian accent.</p>

<p>&#8220;That is my name,&#8221; replied Rudolph inquiringly.</p>

<p>&#8220;Good! Then you will recognize me, and my name upon my letter in which
I have asked for this private interview.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;No. I certainly do not,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I have no knowledge of ever
meeting you before!&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Ah!&#8221; laughed the stranger. &#8220;The signore&#8217;s memory is evidently at
fault. I&mdash;I hesitate to refresh it&mdash;before this gentleman,&#8221; and he
glanced at me.</p>

<p>&#8220;Oh! you need not mind. Mr. Hargreave is my secretary, and knows all
my confidential affairs,&#8221; said Rayne, assuming an air of <i>bonhomie</i>,
though I knew he was greatly perturbed by his visitor.</p>

<p>&#8220;Then may I be permitted to remind you of our meeting at the Bristol
Caf&eacute;, in Copenhagen, on that July night two years ago, and what
happened to Henri G&eacute;rard, the Marseilles shipowner, later that same
night? True, we never spoke together, for you posed as a stranger to
my friends. But you were pointed out to me. You surely cannot ignore
it?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I have never been to Copenhagen in my life,&#8221; protested Rayne. &#8220;What
do you suggest?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;The truth; one that you know well, signore, notwithstanding your
denials. You are the man known as &#8216;The Golden Face,&#8217;&#8221; declared the
stranger bitterly, pointing his finger at him. &#8220;You neither forget me
nor my name, Luigi Gori, for you have much cause to remember it&mdash;you
and your friend Stevenson, otherwise Duperr&eacute;.&#8221;</p>

<p>Rayne turned furiously upon his visitor, and said:</p>

<p>&#8220;I am in no mood to discuss anything with you. So get out! You wished
to see me privately, and I have granted you this interview. I don&#8217;t
know your name or your business, nor do I want to know them! You seem
to be trying to claim acquaintance with me, and&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Pardon me, but I do so, Signor Rayne,&#8221; laughed the dark-eyed man. &#8220;It
has taken me two years to trace you, and at last I find you here! I
came at this hour because I thought I would find you apart from your
honorable family.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;What rubbish are you talking?&#8221; demanded Rayne.</p>

<p>&#8220;Rubbish!&#8221; echoed the stranger. &#8220;I am talking no rubbish. I am simply
reminding you of a very serious and secret matter, namely, the
mysterious end of Monsieur G&eacute;rard, of the Ch&acirc;teau du Sierroz in the
Jura, and of the Avenue des Champs Elys&eacute;es. The S&ucirc;ret&eacute;, in combination
with the Danish detective service, are still trying to clear up the
affair. You and I can do it,&#8221; he said; and, after a pause, he looked
Rayne straight in the face, and asked: &#8220;Shall we? It rests with you!&#8221;</p>

<p>Rayne frowned darkly. Never before had I witnessed such an evil look
upon the face of any man. I knew that his brain was working swiftly,
and I also saw that our visitor was most unwelcome&mdash;evidently an
accomplice who had managed by some unaccountable means to penetrate
the veil of secrecy in which the super-crook had always so
successfully enveloped his identity.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; he laughed. &#8220;You really are a most dramatic person, Signor
Gori, or whatever your name may be. I really don&#8217;t understand you,
unless you are attempting to blackmail me. And if you are, then I&#8217;ll
get my servant to show you the door.&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p><p>The stranger smiled meaningly, and asked quite quietly:</p>

<p>&#8220;Is it not to your advantage, Signor Rayne, to talk this little matter
over in a friendly spirit? I offer you the opportunity. If you refuse
it&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; And he shrugged his shoulders meaningly, without concluding
his sentence.</p>

<p>Rayne was silent for a few seconds. Then he said in quite a changed
and genial tone:</p>

<p>&#8220;I am much mystified at your visit, Signor Gori, for I certainly have
no knowledge of you. But the hour is late. If you are staying in the
neighborhood could you call again at noon to-morrow, when we will go
further into this tangled affair? We seem to be at cross-purposes
to-night.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;As you wish,&#8221; replied the visitor, bowing with exquisite politeness.
&#8220;I am staying at the Fleece Hotel, at Thirsk, and I have motored out
here. To-morrow at noon I will call upon you.&#8221; And then he added in a
hard, relentless tone: &#8220;And then I trust your memory will be
refreshed. Signori, I wish you both <i>buona sera</i>.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Stay! I quite forgot! I shall not be here to-morrow,&#8221; Rayne replied
quickly. &#8220;I have to be out some part of the day, and also I expect
visitors.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Then the day after?&#8221; suggested the visitor politely, to which Rayne
sullenly replied:</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes. The day after to-morrow, at six o&#8217;clock in the evening. I will
be here to see you, if you still <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>persist in pestering me. But I warn
you, Signor Gori, that it is quite useless.&#8221;</p>

<p>The Italian smiled, bowed, and again wishing us good night, crossed
the room as Rayne pressed the electric button for the servant.</p>

<p>I realized that a big cloud of trouble had unexpectedly descended upon
Overstow. When he had gone Rayne broke out into a furious series of
imprecations and vows of vengeance upon some person whom he did not
name, but whom he suspected of having made a <i>faux pas</i>.</p>

<p>Suddenly, however, he bade me good night in his usual manner, as
though nothing had occurred to disturb him. He was a man of abnormal
intellect, defiant, fearless, and with a brain which, had it been put
to proper usage, would undoubtedly have made him a world-famous
Englishman. After all, the brains of great criminals, properly
cultivated and directed, are the same brains as those possessed by our
great leaders, whether political, commercial, or social.</p>

<p>That night I scarcely closed my eyes in sleep. The Damoclean sword had
apparently fallen upon the Squire of Overstow. And I recollected his
daughter&#8217;s warning.</p>

<p>Next morning, directly after breakfast, which he ate with relish, and
seemed quite his normal self, I drove with him at his orders over to
Heathcote Hall, about five miles away, where lived Sir Johnson
Burnham, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>one of the old Yorkshire aristocracy, who was also chairman
of quarter sessions.</p>

<p>I waited at the wheel while he called. I knew that the baronet was not
at home, as a week before Lola had told me that he had gone to San
Remo. Nevertheless, Rayne went inside, and was there quite half an
hour. I was puzzled at his absence, but the reason seemed plain when
the butler, bowing him out, exclaimed:</p>

<p>&#8220;I am so sorry, Mr. Rayne, but the telephone people are, I fear, very
slack in these days. It takes so long to get a number.&#8221;</p>

<p>So Rayne had gone to Heathcote in order to telephone to somebody in
great urgency&mdash;somebody he dare not speak with from Overstow.</p>

<p>As we drove back again, Rayne said:</p>

<p>&#8220;Of course, George, you will never breathe a word of this&mdash;well, this
little <i>contretemps</i>&mdash;or of its result. When I&#8217;m up against the wall I
always hit hard. That&#8217;s the only way. I&#8217;m not going to be
blackmailed!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;The affair does not concern me,&#8221; I replied. &#8220;What I hear in your
presence I never repeat.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m glad you appreciate your position,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;I&#8217;m a good
employer to those who trust me, but an infernally bad one to those who
doubt, who blunder, or who betray me, as you have probably learned,&#8221;
he said in a hard voice, as we swung into the handsome lodge gates of
Overstow.</p>

<p>Just before luncheon Rayne was called to the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>telephone. I was in the
room at the time. He apparently recognized the voice, and scribbled
something upon the pad before him.</p>

<p>&#8220;Will you repeat that?&#8221; he asked. &#8220;I want to be quite clear.&#8221;</p>

<p>Then he listened again very intently.</p>

<p>&#8220;Right! I&#8217;ll be with you at ten to-night,&#8221; he replied, and then hung
up the receiver.</p>

<p>&#8220;I must go to London,&#8221; he said, turning to me. &#8220;You&#8217;ll drive me into
York, and I can catch the four-thirty up. You stay here and meet that
Italian chap to-morrow at six, and tell him that I&#8217;m up at Half Moon
Street. Give him my address, and ask him to see me there. After you&#8217;ve
seen him, start in the car for London and carry out the instructions I
gave you on Monday.&#8221;</p>

<p>Then he went to his room, changed his clothes, and came down to lunch
in very bright spirits. It seemed that by the Italian&#8217;s visit he was
now not in the least perturbed.</p>

<p>I drove him with Lola to York, where he went to London and Lola to
Scarborough. Afterwards I dined at the Station Hotel alone, and
returned to Overstow, which seemed chill and lonely. The local doctor
happily looked in during the evening, and I played him a game at
billiards.</p>

<p>In impatient curiosity I waited until next day, when, punctually at
six o&#8217;clock, Signor Gori was shown into a little room adjoining the
great hall, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>there I joined him in the capacity of a busy man&#8217;s
secretary.</p>

<p>&#8220;I much regret, Signor Gori,&#8221; I said, after we had bowed, &#8220;but Mr.
Rayne was called to London quite unexpectedly upon some very urgent
business. He presents his apologies and asks whether you can manage to
meet him in London when it is convenient to you. Will you telephone to
him?&#8221; And I gave him the address of Rayne&#8217;s rooms.</p>

<p>&#8220;His apologies!&#8221; echoed the Italian, with a very marked accent and a
gesture of ridicule. &#8220;The apologies of &#8216;The Golden Face&#8217;! Ah! my dear
friend, you are his secretary; you are not the principal in this very
serious affair.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Serious. How?&#8221; I asked in pretense of ignorance, and hoping thereby
to learn something.</p>

<p>&#8220;<i>Madonna Santa!</i> You do not know&mdash;you do not realize the depths of
that man&#8217;s villainy! I do! I am the one person who has penetrated the
veil of secrecy beneath which he has so long remained hidden. Qu&eacute;rot,
of the Paris S&ucirc;ret&eacute;, and Tetani, of the Public Security of Italy, are
my friends. I can now go to them, as I shall.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;My dear sir!&#8221; I exclaimed. &#8220;The matter is no affair of mine! I am
simply a paid secretary to do Mr. Rayne&#8217;s correspondence, and
sometimes to drive his car. There my engagement ends.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Then be very careful! Be warned by me!&#8221; the Italian cried, gazing at
me very seriously. &#8220;This man, your employer, is the leader of the most
won<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>derfully organized gang of criminals in Europe. I happen to know.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;How?&#8221; I asked.</p>

<p>He looked at me strangely, and his manner changed. His dark eyes
seemed to search mine, and then next instant he smiled mysteriously.</p>

<p>&#8220;I will tell you the truth,&#8221; he said. &#8220;The reason I know is because I
have unwittingly&mdash;owing to a little lapse from the path of
honesty&mdash;been made one of the tools of this man whose marvelous brain
controls the actions of dozens of the most unscrupulous and dangerous
thieves on the Continent. My suspicions were aroused by something a
woman told me in Paris, and for many months I have been unceasing in
my inquiries. I have at last discovered the well-concealed chief who
gives his orders like a general in the field, and those orders are
obeyed to the letter without question, and always to the profit of
those who execute them. And here,&#8221; he added, gazing around, &#8220;I am in
the fine house of the man of mystery for whom the police are ever
seeking&mdash;&#8216;The Golden Face&#8217;!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;What you have said certainly surprises me,&#8221; I replied. &#8220;Surely there
must be some mistake. Mr. Rayne is not the leader of a criminal gang.
He is simply a country landowner here.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Under that guise he poses unsuspected by the police,&#8221; laughed my
visitor. &#8220;You can rest assured that I have made every inquiry and that
now I know.&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;And what are your intentions?&#8221; I asked. &#8220;Surely you will go and see
him in London?&#8221;</p>

<p>The truth was out, and I saw that the Italian meant mischief.</p>

<p>&#8220;Perhaps I shall go to the police at once,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Perhaps I shall
go to London. I shall consider. He made an appointment and he has
broken his promise. He fears me! That is quite plain. But, signore, I
am here in England to bring him to justice, if only for one very
serious crime&mdash;a crime that a woman witness I have can prove!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;This is all very distressing to me, especially as Mr. Rayne has a
daughter, a young lady who is entirely ignorant of her father&#8217;s source
of income,&#8221; I said.</p>

<p>&#8220;Ignorant!&#8221; he echoed. &#8220;Ah! my dear signore, do not think the
Signorina Lola is ignorant! I have waited and watched. I know more
than you or Signor Rayne ever suspect. The girl may affect ignorance,
but she knows, and I can prove it!&#8221;</p>

<p>His words caused me to start. I certainly did not like the man&#8217;s
attitude, for whatever I said, or whatever pretense I made, he refused
to be appeased. All I could do in the circumstances was to express
regret that Mr. Rayne had been compelled to go to London, and to again
ask him to call at Half Moon Street.</p>

<p>His allegations against Lola incensed me. I tried to obtain from him
further details of his allegations, but he remained mysterious and
triumphant. So in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>that spirit he left me, and departed in the car he
had hired from Thirsk.</p>

<p>After a hurried dinner I got out the Rolls, filled up the tank, and
set out on the long journey to London. As hour after hour I swept
along the great North Road, my big headlights glaring before me, I
felt more than ever apprehensive.</p>

<p>Could it be that the bald-headed man had actually discovered the
leading spirit of the great gang of which I could only suppose he had
been an unimportant member? If so, then for my own safety I ought to
warn Rayne of his peril. Yet it was all hateful to me. I had been
inveigled into that untenable position which I held, and now escape
was impossible. I felt, however, in honor bound to protect Lola, even
though that Italian crook had made those airy allegations against her.</p>

<p>I drove on through the night against a pelting rain that fell between
Grantham and Stamford, but at the Wansford cross-roads it cleared up,
and gradually the gray dawn showed.</p>

<p>It was half-past eight when I drove into the garage off the Tottenham
Court Road, and I took a taxi to the Great Central Hotel, where I had
a wash and a sleep till noon.</p>

<p>Then I went round to Half Moon Street, but found that Rayne was at the
Automobile Club. I found him there just as he was going in to lunch
with two ladies whom I had never before seen.</p>

<p>My presence seemed to alarm him, for with ex<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>cuse he left the ladies
and took me out into the big hall.</p>

<p>There I told him of Gori&#8217;s visit and of his threats.</p>

<p>He laughed.</p>

<p>&#8220;I only hope he will come and see me, George,&#8221; he said. &#8220;But somehow,
I don&#8217;t think he will! You know now what to do. Madame is alone at the
Carlton and ready to accompany you. I&#8217;m sorry I can&#8217;t give you lunch,
George, but I have two guests. I shall be anxious to know how you get
on. Telephone to me in confidence after you&#8217;ve been to Ripley, won&#8217;t
you? Good-by.&#8221;</p>

<p>And he passed across the hall and rejoined his two smartly dressed
guests, crooks, like himself, I supposed.</p>

<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2>

<h3>THE SIGN OF NINETY-NINE</h3>

<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:50px;line-height:32px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">A</span><span style="margin-left:0%;">t</span> half-past eight I called for Duperr&eacute;&#8217;s wife at the hotel, and she
came down wearing a plain, dark-brown motor coat with a small,
close-fitting cap to match. She was, indeed, unusually dowdy in
appearance.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well, George,&#8221; she exclaimed, as she sat behind me in the car and I
drove down Pall Mall, &#8220;we&#8217;re going out on a little adventure, I
understand. Do you know where we&#8217;re going?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Down to Ripley, on the Portsmouth Road,&#8221; I replied. &#8220;I have to meet a
man named Houston at the Talbot Hotel. That&#8217;s all I know,&#8221; I answered.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I know Houston. We must be careful to-night&mdash;very
careful.&#8221;</p>

<p>We went through the crooked roads of Kingston and out through Surbiton
towards Ditton, when, after a long silence, she exclaimed as she bent
towards me:</p>

<p>&#8220;Tell me, George, have you ever heard the name of Gori, and if so, in
what connection? I ask this in confidence between ourselves, as the
outcome may mean much to both of us.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t quite understand you, Madame,&#8221; was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>my polite reply. &#8220;I only
wish your husband had asked that question.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Look here,&#8221; she said in a low, tense voice, &#8220;you love Lola! I know
you do. Then will you, for her sake, reply to me openly and frankly?
Have you in these past few days met a bald-headed Italian named Luigi
Gori? And in what circumstances?&#8221;</p>

<p>I remained silent for some minutes. Then I said:</p>

<p>&#8220;I have met a man named Gori. He called upon Rudolph.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;When?&#8221; she gasped.</p>

<p>&#8220;He called on Monday night.&#8221;</p>

<p>Madame Duperr&eacute; held her breath for a few moments. She seemed to be
calculating.</p>

<p>&#8220;I recognize certain grave probabilities in Gori&#8217;s visit,&#8221; she said,
and then lapsed again into silence.</p>

<p>Presently I pulled up before the big old seventeenth-century
posting-house in the long, quiet village of Ripley, once noted in the
late Victorian craze of the &#8220;push-bike&#8221; as being the Mecca of the
daring cyclist who ran out of London and back.</p>

<p>The great gateway through which the mail coaches for Portsmouth used
to rumble was dark and cavernous, but on the right I saw a small door,
and opening it found myself in a very low-ceiled but cosy bar, in
which burned a great log fire with shining pewters above it. The
Talbot is nothing if not a link with the days of the highwaymen of
Weybridge Heath. Few inns in England are so unspoiled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> by modern
improvements as the Talbot, at Ripley.</p>

<p>In the rather dim light of that low-pitched, well-warmed inn parlor,
with its wide, inviting chimney-corner, I saw four men. One of them,
facing the firelight, I recognized from the photographs Rayne had
shown me&mdash;the man with the moonstone in his tie.</p>

<p>I ordered my drink loudly, and looked him full in the face. Then, when
a few moments later I had drunk it, I wished the barman good night and
went out. Re&euml;ntering the car, I drove out of the village towards
Guildford, and there waited expectantly. In ten minutes he came out of
the darkness.</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. Hargreave?&#8221; he asked, and, after replying, I invited him inside
the car, whereupon he at once recognized Madame in the half-light. It
was plain that they were known to each other.</p>

<p>&#8220;I expected Vincent would be with you. Where is he?&#8221; asked the man
named Houston.</p>

<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s away. I don&#8217;t know exactly where he is,&#8221; Madame replied. &#8220;But
what game are we going to play to-night?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;A very merry one. It may be amusing, it may be tragic,&#8221; was the man&#8217;s
reply. &#8220;We&#8217;re picking up May Cranston at Horsley Station presently.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;May Cranston!&#8221; echoed Madame, astounded. &#8220;I thought she went to
America after that affair in Dinard!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;So she did, but she&#8217;s back again. May is a pretty shrewd girl, you
know.&#8221;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I&#8217;m well aware of that. But why are we meeting her?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;She&#8217;ll probably tell you,&#8221; was the fellow&#8217;s reply, and, at his
direction, I turned the car into a narrow side road which ran for
miles through woods and coppices until at last, after passing through
two small villages, we came to a wayside station dimly lit by oil
lamps.</p>

<p>There we waited for about a quarter of an hour, when the slow train
from Waterloo ran in, and from a first-class carriage there stepped a
tall, well-dressed girl wearing a rich fur coat and small hat. She was
evidently expecting the car to meet her, for she walked straight up to
it and entered, being greeted by Madame and Houston, who were inside.</p>

<p>I followed the newcomer and got into the driver&#8217;s seat, whereupon
Madame introduced me.</p>

<p>The moment she opened her lips I knew she was American, and also from
her speech and expressions I knew that she was a crook who moved in
good society.</p>

<p>&#8220;We&#8217;ll drive through Merrow and over to Hindhead,&#8221; Houston said. &#8220;We&#8217;d
better avoid the High Street of Guildford, for the police might
possibly spot the car. So we&#8217;ll go by the side roads. I was over there
three days ago on a motor-bike, so I&#8217;ll pilot you.&#8221;</p>

<p>And then he turned to gossip merrily with the good-looking American
girl, who seemed most enthusiastic concerning our mysterious
adventure.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;To-night ought to bring us a clear twenty thousand pounds,&#8221; he said.</p>

<p>&#8220;More, my dear Teddy,&#8221; the girl replied. &#8220;But since I saw you in
Chicago four months ago I&#8217;ve had a very narrow squeak. I was nearly
pinched by old Shenstone from New York. Dicky Diamond gave me the tip,
and I cleared out from my hotel just in time. Had to leave all my
trunks and eight thousand dollars&#8217; worth of jewelry behind me. And now
I dare not claim them, for the police have seized them. Somebody gave
me away, but I don&#8217;t know who. Wouldn&#8217;t I like to know&mdash;just! You bet
I&#8217;d get even on them!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;A good job you were warned,&#8221; said Madame. &#8220;Dicky was over here last
June. I spent the evening with him at Prince&#8217;s.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s over here now. Waiting for me in Liverpool. I&#8217;ve got my passage
booked back for to-morrow night, so if the hue and cry is raised I
shall have left. I&#8217;m in the passengers&#8217; list as Mrs. George C.
Meredith, wife of the well-known Chicago stock-broker. See my ring!&#8221;
she laughed, holding up her hand in the semi-darkness. &#8220;Ain&#8217;t it a
real fine one? And you are my mother, Madame! See?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;But where are we going?&#8221; asked Duperr&eacute;&#8217;s wife.</p>

<p>&#8220;Going to make an unexpected call upon old Bethmeyer,&#8221; she replied.</p>

<p>&#8220;Bethmeyer!&#8221; I exclaimed. &#8220;What, old Sir Joseph Bethmeyer, the
millionaire whom they call the mystery <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>man of Europe, the man who is
said to have a finger in every financial pie all over Europe?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes, I guess it&#8217;s the same man,&#8221; replied our sprightly companion. &#8220;He
lives at Frenbury Park, a splendid place between Hindhead and
Farnham.&#8221;</p>

<p>What, I wondered, could they possibly want with Sir Joseph Bethmeyer,
the man who had, it was said, been behind the ex-Emperor Carl in his
endeavor to regain the throne of the Hapsburgs, and who was declared
to be immensely wealthy, though the source of his great riches could
never be discovered. I knew him from the photographs so frequently in
the papers, a stout, full-bearded, Teutonic-looking man, who claimed
Swedish nationality, and who frequently gave large sums to charity,
apparently in order to propitiate the British Government, who were
more than suspicious of his oft-repeated good intentions.</p>

<p>At Houston&#8217;s suggestion we stopped at a small hotel in Godalming, and
there had supper, for it was yet early, and the American girl had
dropped a hint that we should not go near Frenbury till past midnight.
As we sat at table in a private room, I saw that she was exceedingly
handsome, with a pair of coal-black eyes and a shrewd, alert
expression, but her American accent was not always pronounced. Indeed,
when she liked, she could conceal it altogether.</p>

<p>She wore a fine diamond bracelet, her only ornament. Yet during our
meal Houston whispered something to her, whereupon she half drew from
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>beneath her fur coat something that glinted in the light, and I saw
it was a very serviceable-looking revolver.</p>

<p>A few moments later we heard a car pull up, and a heavy-booted man
entered the hall of the hotel. The door of our room opened, and a
thick-set, clean-shaven man of about forty glanced in inquisitively,
almost instantly shutting the door again.</p>

<p>Next second May Cranston sprang to her feet with blanched face and
terrified eyes.</p>

<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s Hedley!&mdash;old Bethmeyer&#8217;s secretary! If he&#8217;s recognized me,
then the game is up,&#8221; she whispered hoarsely.</p>

<p>&#8220;But did he?&#8221; queried Houston, who sat next to her. &#8220;I don&#8217;t think he
noticed anybody. He simply saw that this was a private party and
withdrew. He&#8217;s evidently gone to the bar.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s on his way to Frenbury from London, no doubt,&#8221; said the girl.</p>

<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t go farther if you think there&#8217;s any risk,&#8221; Madame urged.</p>

<p>&#8220;But it must be done, and to-night!&#8221; the girl said. &#8220;Remember I leave
Liverpool to-morrow evening if there&#8217;s trouble, and you&mdash;my
mother&mdash;have got to see me off!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll go into the bar and watch him,&#8221; I volunteered, and rising, I
went to a kind of pigeon-hole which gave access to the bar, and
through which I could see into the room beyond. The man whom Miss
Cranston had recognized as Hedley was smoking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> a cigarette and calmly
drinking a whisky-and-soda. Afterwards I walked to the door and saw
that the car was turned towards London, a reassuring fact which I
reported to my companions.</p>

<p>&#8220;Then he&#8217;s going away from Frenbury, and won&#8217;t be at home to-night!&#8221;
cried the American girl gleefully.</p>

<p>When he had gone we drove nearly to Petersfield, and it was
considerably past midnight when, on our return, we descended that long
hill which leads from Hindhead. Then, after turning off the main road
for some time, we came to a narrow lane which led into a dark wood,
where Houston suddenly stopped me and ordered me to switch out the
lights.</p>

<p>Scarcely had I done this when two men emerged mysteriously from the
shadow, and one of them, addressing Houston, said:</p>

<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re pretty punctual, Teddy! Sam isn&#8217;t here yet. He&#8217;s walking from
Haslemere.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;No! he&#8217;s here all right!&#8221; exclaimed a voice clearly in the darkness,
as a third man came forward.</p>

<p>&#8220;May is in the car,&#8221; Houston explained. &#8220;Is everything ready?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes; when you get along here fifty yards more you can see the house.
The old fellow sleeps in the first-floor room on the corner. The light
has just been switched off, so he&#8217;s gone to bed all right.&#8221;</p>

<p>Meanwhile the American girl had stepped from the car, and, greeting
them all as &#8220;boys,&#8221; listened to what was said.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Let&#8217;s hope the old boy will sleep comfortably, eh?&#8221; she laughed
gayly. &#8220;If he doesn&#8217;t it will be the worse for him! His wife is in
Paris, or she might prove a bit of trouble to us.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I know the ground exactly,&#8221; remarked one of the three men. &#8220;I wasn&#8217;t
in service here as footman for six weeks for nothing,&#8221; he added with a
laugh.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well, come on,&#8221; said Houston, who seemed to be the leader of the
adventures. &#8220;Let&#8217;s get to work,&#8221; and, picking up a bag which one of
the men had put down, he pressed into my hand a short, circular
electric torch, saying:</p>

<p>&#8220;Be careful not to press the button, because when the light is
switched on the shot is fired! Only you might require it. One never
knows! Come on.&#8221;</p>

<p>May Cranston walked noiselessly with us, while in front the three men
stalked quietly, speaking only in low whispers. Soon we came to a path
which led into a great park, which we skirted, keeping still in the
shadow of the trees, for the moon, though nearly gone, still shed some
unwelcome light. The silence was only broken by our footsteps on the
leaves. Silhouetted against the sky was the magnificent old
castle-like mansion with many turrets in which dwelt the world&#8217;s
mystery man of finance.</p>

<p>At last we approached quite close to the house, and, crossing the
broad terrace, we halted at the direction of our guide who had acted
as footman there.</p>

<p>Before us was a row of long French windows. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>One of these the man
known as Sam attacked in a methodical way with a short steel jimmy,
and in a few moments he had noiselessly opened it, and while somebody
showed a torch, we all entered what was, I found, a long and luxurious
drawing-room.</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. Hargreave! You remain here!&#8221; said the girl Cranston, who now
assumed the leadership. &#8220;If occasion arises don&#8217;t hesitate to use your
torch. All you have to do is to keep this way of retreat open. Leave
all the rest to us.&#8221;</p>

<p>Then, still guided by the ex-footman, she disappeared with the four
men.</p>

<p>What was intended I could not guess. We had broken into one of the
most magnificent houses in England, and no doubt an extensive burglary
had been planned.</p>

<p>I waited in the big, dark room for nearly twenty minutes, when
suddenly I heard heavy, stumbling footsteps returning, and became
conscious that the men, aided by the woman, were carrying with them a
heavy human form. It was enveloped in black cloth and trussed up
firmly with stout rope.</p>

<p>&#8220;Say, are you all right, Mr. Hargreave?&#8221; inquired the American
girl-crook.</p>

<p>I replied in the affirmative, whereupon she whispered: &#8220;Good! Come
right along. It&#8217;s worked beautifully. The old boy started up to see me
at his bedside, and put on his dressing-gown to talk to me. Oh! it was
real fun! He dared only speak in a whisper for fear the servants
overheard. I told <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>him I was thirsty, and he took me into his study.
We had drinks, and I put him quietly to sleep with a couple of drops
of the soothing syrup. When he comes to himself he&#8217;ll have the shock
of his life. Six months ago in Philadelphia&mdash;when I wanted some
money&mdash;he defied me. Now it will cost the old skinflint a very big sum
if he wants to see the light of day again! If he won&#8217;t pay up, well,
we are none the worse off, are we?&#8221;</p>

<p>A quarter of an hour later they had placed the unconscious form of Sir
Joseph in the car, and, bidding farewell to the three stalwart men,
who were, no doubt, professional thieves from London, we started back
swiftly through Farnham and Aldershot, thence by way of Reading and
along the Bath Road to a lonely house somewhere outside Hounslow,
where the American girl stopped me.</p>

<p>There the unconscious man was carried in, and while the others
remained in the house&mdash;which I think had been taken furnished and
specially for the purpose&mdash;I was ordered to return to London alone,
which I did, most thankful to end that exciting night&#8217;s adventure.</p>

<hr class="medium" />

<p>On my return to the garage off the Tottenham Court Road at half-past
three in the morning, the man on duty told me that a man&#8217;s voice had
inquired for me about nine o&#8217;clock.</p>

<p>&#8220;He seemed very anxious indeed to find you. But he told me to give you
a number&mdash;number ninety-nine! <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>Sounds like a doctor, eh, sir?&#8221;
remarked the man.</p>

<p>I stood aghast at the message.</p>

<p>&#8220;Are you sure that was the number?&#8221; I asked.</p>

<p>&#8220;Yes, sir. I wrote it down here. He gave a Mayfair telephone number,&#8221;
and he showed me the note he had made.</p>

<p>It was a message from Rayne! That number was the one agreed upon by
all of us as a signal that some extreme danger had occurred, and it
became necessary for us all to keep apart and disperse.</p>

<p>I got into the car and drove out of the garage again, not knowing how
to act. In Oxford Street, at that hour silent and deserted, I drew up,
and, taking a piece of paper from my notebook, I wrote down the
figures &#8220;99,&#8221; and, placing it in a small envelope which I fortunately
found in my wallet, I addressed it to Madame Duperr&eacute;, and left it with
the night porter at the Carlton, urging him to give it to her
immediately on her return.</p>

<p>Then I drove to the Strand telegraph office, and thence dispatched a
well-guarded message to Lola at Scarborough, telling her to meet me
without fail at the Station Hotel at Hull that afternoon and bring her
passport with her.</p>

<p>This she did, and when we met I told her of her father&#8217;s unwelcome
visitor, the man Gori, and that he feared the police. Both of us
decided to pose as runaway lovers and leave the country, which we
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>did, I having succeeded in obtaining two berths upon a Wilson steamer
crossing to Bergen.</p>

<p>It was not until a week later that we read in the English newspapers
the sensation caused by the arrest of Mr. Rudolph Rayne of Overstow
Hall, Yorkshire, upon an extradition warrant applied for by the Danish
Government. The prisoner had been brought up at Bow Street, and, after
certain mysterious evidence had been given, he had been remanded.</p>

<p>In due course Rayne was conveyed to Copenhagen, where he was tried for
complicity in a great bank fraud on the Danish National Bank, and sent
to twenty years&#8217; penal servitude. Hence to the British public Rayne&#8217;s
actual activities were never revealed.</p>

<p>I can only suppose that my warning to Madame had its effect, and that
she, her husband and all her friends took flight.</p>

<p>Whether they obtained the money they sought as ransom for old Sir
Joseph Bethmeyer I know not. Probably they did, for nothing appeared
in the papers concerning his disappearance.</p>

<p>Eventually I succeeded in getting Lola safely to her aunt in Paris,
where, though her father&#8217;s downfall is still a great blow to her, she
is living in peace under another name, while I have found honest
employment in the office of a French shipping company in Bordeaux.</p>

<p>Lola is my fianc&eacute;e, and we are to be married next June. One subject,
however, we have mutually <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>agreed never to mention, namely, the evil
machinations and ingenious activities of her father, the man who had,
for some mysterious reason of his own, ascertained that I could sing,
and who, in overconfidence at his own cunning, was at last
unmasked&mdash;&#8220;The Golden Face.&#8221;</p>

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