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| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-03-24 08:21:05 -0700 |
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| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-03-24 08:21:05 -0700 |
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| -rw-r--r-- | 75702-0.txt | 6663 | ||||
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/75702-0.txt b/75702-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..189f306 --- /dev/null +++ b/75702-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6663 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75702 *** + + + + + + THE MELODY OF + DEATH + + BY + EDGAR WALLACE + + + _Author of + “Angel Esquire,” “The Four Just Men,” “The + Green Archer,” etc., etc._ + + + + + LINCOLN MAC VEAGH + THE DIAL PRESS + NEW YORK - MCMXXVII + + + + + CONTENTS + + CHAPTER I. THE AMATEUR SAFE SMASHER + CHAPTER II. SUNSTAR’S DERBY + CHAPTER III. GILBERT LEAVES HURRIEDLY + CHAPTER IV. THE “MELODY IN F” + CHAPTER V. THE MAN WHO DESIRED WEALTH + CHAPTER VI. THE SAFE AGENCY + CHAPTER VII. THE BANK SMASHER + CHAPTER VIII. THE WIFE WHO DID NOT LOVE + CHAPTER IX. EDITH MEETS THE PLAYER + CHAPTER X. THE NECKLACE + CHAPTER XI. THE FOURTH MAN + CHAPTER XII. THE PLACE WHERE THE LOOT WAS STORED + CHAPTER XIII. THE MAKER OF WILLS + CHAPTER XIV. THE STANDERTON DIAMONDS + CHAPTER XV. THE TALE THE DOCTOR TOLD + CHAPTER XVI. BRADSHAW + + + + + The Melody of Death + + CHAPTER I. + THE AMATEUR SAFE SMASHER + +On the night of May 27th, 1925, the office of Gilderheim, Pascoe and +Company, diamond merchants, of Little Hatton Garden, presented no +unusual appearance to the patrolling constable who examined the lock +and tried the door in the ordinary course of his duty. Until nine +o’clock in the evening the office had been occupied by Mr. Gilderheim +and his head clerk, and a plain clothes officer, whose duty it was to +inquire into unusual happenings had deemed that the light in the +window on the first floor fell within his scope, and had gone up to +discover the reason for its appearance. The 27th was a Saturday, and +it is usual for the offices in Hatton Garden to be clear of clerks and +their principals by three at the latest. + +Mr. Gilderheim, a pleasant gentleman, had been relieved to discover +that the knock which brought him to the door, gripping a revolver in +his pocket in case of accidents, produced no more startling adventure +than a chat with a police officer who was known to him. He explained +that he had to-day received a parcel of diamonds from an Amsterdam +house, and was classifying the stones before leaving for the night, +and with a few jocular remarks on the temptation which sixty thousand +pounds’ worth of diamonds offered to the unscrupulous “night of +darkness,” the officer left. + +At nine-forty Mr. Gilderheim locked up the jewels in his big safe, +before which an electric light burnt day and night, and accompanied by +his clerk, left No. 93 Little Hatton Garden and walked in the +direction of Holborn. + +The constable on point duty bade them good-night, and the plain +clothes officer, who was then at the Holborn end of the thoroughfare, +exchanged a word or two. + +“You will be on duty all night?” asked Mr. Gilderheim as his clerk +hailed a cab. + +“Yes, sir,” said the officer. + +“Good!” said the merchant. “I’d like you to keep a special eye upon my +place. I am rather nervous about leaving so large a sum in the safe.” + +The officer smiled. + +“I don’t think you need worry, sir,” he said, and after the cab +containing Mr. Gilderheim had driven off he walked back to No. 93. + +But in that brief space of time between the diamond merchant leaving +and the return of the detective many things had happened. Scarcely had +Gilderheim reached the detective than two men walked briskly along the +thoroughfare from the other end. Without hesitation the first turned +into No. 93, opened the door with a key, and passed in. The second man +followed. There was no hesitation, nothing furtive in their movements. +They might have been lifelong tenants of the house, so confident were +they in every action. + +Not half a minute after the second man had entered a third came from +the same direction, turned into the building, unlocked the door with +that calm confidence which had distinguished the action of the first +comer, and went in. + +Three minutes later two of the three were upstairs. + +With extraordinary expedition one had produced two small iron bottles +from his pockets and had deftly fixed the rubber tubes and adjusted +the little blow-pipe of his lamp, and the second had spread out on the +floor a small kit of tools of delicate temper and beautiful finish. + +Neither man spoke. They lay flat on the ground, making no attempt to +extinguish the light which shone before the safe. They worked in +silence for some little while, then the stouter of the two remarked, +looking up at the reflector fixed at an angle to the ceiling and +affording a view of the upper part of the safe to the passer-by in the +street below-- + +“Even the mirrors do not give us away, I suppose?” + +The second burglar was a slight, young-looking man with a shock of +hair that suggested the musician. + +He shook his head. + +“Unless all the rules of optics have been specially reversed for the +occasion,” he said with just a trace of a foreign accent, “we cannot +possibly be seen.” + +“I am relieved,” said the first. + +He half whistled, half hummed a little tune to himself as he plied the +hissing flame to the steel door. + +He was carefully burning out the lock, and had no doubt in his mind +that he would succeed, for the safe was an old-fashioned one. + +No further word was exchanged for half an hour. The man with the +blow-pipe continued in his work, the other watching with silent +interest, ready to play his part when the operation was sufficiently +advanced. + +At the end of half an hour the elder of the two wiped his streaming +forehead with the back of his hand, for the heat which the flame gave +back from the steel door was fairly trying. + +“Why did you make such a row closing the door?” he asked. “You are not +usually so careless, Calli.” + +The other looked down at him in mild astonishment. + +“I made no noise whatever, my dear George,” he said. “If you had been +standing in the passage you could not have heard it; in fact, I closed +the door as noiselessly as I opened it.” + +The perspiring man on the ground smiled. + +“That would be fairly noiseless,” he said. + +“Why?” asked the other. + +“Because I did not close it. You walked in after me.” + +Something in the silence which greeted his words made him look up. +There was a puzzled look upon his companion’s face. + +“I opened the door with my own key,” said the younger man slowly. + +“You opened----” The man called George frowned. “I do not understand +you, Callidino. I left the door open, and you walked in after me; I +went straight up the stairs, and you followed.” + +Callidino looked at the other and shook his head. + +“I opened the door myself with the key,” he said quietly. “If anybody +came in after you--why, it is up to us, George, to see who it is.” + +“You mean----?” + +“I mean,” said the little Italian, “that it would be extremely awkward +if there is a third gentleman present on this inconvenient occasion.” + +“It would, indeed,” said the other. + +“Why?” + +Both men turned with a start, for the voice that asked the question +without any trace of emotion was the voice of a third man, and he +stood in the doorway screened from all possibility of observation from +the window by the angle of the room. + +He was dressed in an evening suit, and he carried a light overcoat +across his arm. + +What manner of man he was, and how he looked, they had no means of +judging, for from his chin to his forehead his face was covered by a +black mask. + +“Please do not move,” he said, “and do not regard the revolver I am +holding in the light of a menace. I merely carry it for self-defence, +and you will admit that under the circumstances, and knowing the +extreme delicacy of my position, I am fairly well justified in taking +this precaution.” + +George Wallis laughed a little under his breath. + +“Sir,” he said, without shifting his position, “you may be a man after +my own heart, but I shall know better when you have told me exactly +what you want.” + +“I want to learn,” said the stranger. + +He stood there regarding the pair with obvious interest. The eyes +which shone through the holes of the mask were alive and keen. + +“Go on with your work, please,” he said. “I should hate to interrupt +you.” + +George Wallis picked up the blow-pipe and addressed himself again to +the safe door. He was a most adaptable man, and the situation in which +he found himself nonplussed had yet to occur. + +“Since,” he said, “it makes absolutely no difference as to whether I +leave off or whether I go on, if you are a representative of law and +order, I may as well go on, because if you are not a representative of +those two admirable, excellent and necessary qualities I might at +least save half the swag with you.” + +“You may save the lot,” said the man sharply. “I do not wish to share +the proceeds of your robbery, but I want to know how you do it--that +is all.” + +“You shall learn,” said George Wallis, that most notorious of +burglars, “and at the hands of an expert, I beg you to believe.” + +“That I know,” said the other calmly. + +Wallis went on with his task apparently undisturbed by this +extraordinary interruption. The little Italian’s hands had twitched +nervously, and here might have been trouble, but the strength of the +other man, who was evidently the leader of the two, and his +self-possession had heartened his companion to accept whatever +consequences the presence of this man might threaten. It was the +masked stranger who broke the silence. + +“Isn’t it an extraordinary thing,” he said, “that whilst technical +schools exist for teaching every kind of trade, art and craft, there +is none which engage in teaching the art of destruction. Believe me, I +am very grateful that I have had this opportunity of sitting at the +feet of a master.” + +His voice was not unpleasant, but there was a certain hardness which +was not in harmony with the flippant tone he adopted. + +The man on the floor went on with his work for a little while, then he +said without turning his head-- + +“I am anxious to know exactly how you got in.” + +“I followed close behind you,” said the masked man. “I knew there +would be a reasonable interval between the two of you. You see,” he +went on, “you have been watching this office for the greater part of a +week; one of you has been on duty practically every night. You rented +a small office higher up this street which offered a view of these +premises. I gathered that you had chosen to-night because you brought +your gas with you this morning. You were waiting in the dark hall-way +of the building in which your office is situated, one of you watching +for the light to go out and Mr. Gilderheim depart. When he had gone, +you, sir”--he addressed the man on the floor--“came out immediately, +your companion did not follow so soon. Moreover, he stopped to pick up +a small bundle of letters which had apparently been dropped by some +careless person, and since these letters included two sealed packets +such as the merchants of Hatton Garden send to their clients, I was +able to escape the observation of the second man and keep reasonably +close to you.” + +Callidino laughed softly. + +“That is true,” he said, with a nod to the man on the floor. “It was +very clever. I suppose you dropped the packet?” + +The masked man inclined his head. + +“Please go on,” he said, “do not let me interrupt you.” + +“What is going to happen when I have finished?” asked George, still +keeping his face to the safe. + +“As far as I am concerned, nothing. Just as soon as you have got +through your work, and have extracted whatever booty there is to be +extracted, I shall retire.” + +“You want your share, I suppose?” + +“Not at all,” said the other calmly. “I do not want my share by any +means. I am not entitled to it. My position in society prevents me +from going farther down the slippery path than to connive at your +larceny.” + +“Felony,” corrected the man on the floor. + +“Felony,” agreed the other. + +He waited until without a sound the heavy door of the safe swung open +and George had put his hand inside to extract the contents, and then, +without a word, he passed through the door, closing it behind him. + +The two men sat up tensely and listened. They heard nothing more until +the soft thud of the outer door told them that their remarkable +visitor had departed. + +They exchanged glances--interest on the one face, amusement on the +other. + +“That is a remarkable man,” said Callidino. + +The other nodded. + +“Most remarkable,” he said, “and more remarkable will it be if we get +out of Hatton Garden to-night with the loot.” + +It would seem that the “more than most” remarkable happening of all +actually occurred, for none saw the jewel thieves go, and the smashing +of Gilderheim’s jewel safe provided an excellent alternative topic for +conversation to the prospect of Sunstar for the Derby. + + + + + CHAPTER II. + SUNSTAR’S DERBY + +There it was again! + +Above the babel of sound, the low roar of voices, soft and sorrowful, +now heard, now lost, a vagrant thread of gold caught in the drab woof +of shoddy life gleaming and vanishing.… Gilbert Standerton sat tensely +straining to locate the sound. + +It was the “Melody in F” that the unseen musician played. + +“There’s going to be a storm.” + +Gilbert did not hear the voice. He sat on the box-seat of the coach, +clasping his knees, the perspiration streaming from his face. + +There was something tragic, something a little terrifying in his pose. +The profile turned to his exasperated friend was a perfect +one--forehead high and well-shaped, the nose a little long, perhaps, +the chin strong and resolute. + +Leslie Frankfort, looking up at the unconscious dreamer, was reminded +of the Dante of convention, though Dante never wore a top-hat or found +a Derby Day crowd so entirely absorbing. + +“There’s going to be a storm.” + +Leslie climbed up the short step-ladder, and swung himself into the +seat by Gilbert’s side. + +The other awoke from his reverie with a start. + +“Is there?” he asked, and wiped his forehead. + +Yet as he looked around it was not the murky clouds banking up over +Banstead that held his eye; it was this packed mass of men and women, +these gay placards extolling loudly the honesty and the establishment +of “the old firm,” the booths on the hill, the long succession of +canvas screens which had been erected to advertise somebody’s whisky, +the flimsy-looking stands on the far side of the course, the bustle, +the pandemonium and the vitality of that vast, uncountable throng made +such things as June thunderstorms of little importance. + +“If you only knew how the low brows are pitying you,” said Leslie +Frankfort, with good-natured annoyance, “you would not be posing for a +picture of ‘The Ruined Gambler.’ My dear chap, you look for all the +world, sitting up here with your long, ugly mug adroop, like a model +for the coloured plate to be issued with the Christmas Number of the +_Anti-Gambling Gazette_. I suppose they have a gazette.” + +Gilbert laughed a little. + +“These people interest me,” he said, rousing himself to speak. “Don’t +you realise what they all mean? Every one of them with a separate and +distinct individuality, every one with a hope or a fear hugged tight +in his bosom, every one with the capacity for love, or hate, or +sorrow. Look at that man!” he said, and pointed with his long, nervous +finger. + +The man he indicated stood in a little oasis of green. Hereabouts the +people on the course had so directed their movements as to leave an +open space, and in the centre stood a man of medium height, a black +bowler on the back of his head, a long, thin cigar between his white, +even teeth. He was too far away for Leslie to distinguish these +particulars, but Gilbert Standerton’s imagination filled in the +deficiencies of vision, for he had seen this man before. + +As if conscious of the scrutiny, the man turned and came slowly +towards the rails where the coach stood. He took the cigar from his +mouth and smiled as he recognised the occupant of the box-seat. + +“How do you do, sir?” + +His voice sounded shrill and faint, as if an immeasurable distance +separated them, but he was evidently shouting to raise his voice above +the growling voices of the crowd. Gilbert waved his hand with a smile, +and the man turned with a raise of his hat, and was swallowed up in a +detachment of the crowd which came eddying about him. + +“A thief,” said Gilbert, “on a fairly large scale--his name is Wallis; +there are many Wallises here. A crowd is a terrible spectacle to the +man who thinks,” he said half to himself. + +The other glanced at him keenly. + +“They’re terrible things to get through in a thunderstorm,” he said, +practically. “I vote we go along and claim the car.” + +Gilbert nodded. + +He rose stiffly, like a man with cramp, and stepped slowly down the +little ladder to the ground. They passed through the barrier and +crossed the course, penetrated the little unsaddling enclosure, +through the long passages where press-men, jockeys and stewards +jostled one another every moment of race days, to the roadway without. + +In the roped garage they found their car, and, more remarkable, their +chauffeur. + +The first flicker of blue lightning had stabbed twice to the Downs, +and the heralding crash of thunder had reverberated through the +charged air, when the car began to thread the traffic toward London. +The storm, which had been brewing all the afternoon, broke with +terrific fury over Epsom. The lightning was incessant, the rain +streamed down in an almost solid wall of water, crash after crash of +thunder deafened them. + +The great throng upon the hill was dissolving as though it was +something soluble; its edges frayed into long black streamers of +hurrying people moving toward the three railway stations. It required +more than ordinary agility to extricate the car from the chaos of +charabancs and motor-cabs in which it found itself. + +Standerton had taken his seat by the driver’s side, though the car was +a closed one. He was a man quick to observe, and on the second flash +he had seen the chauffeur’s face grow white and his lips twitching. A +darkness almost as of night covered the heavens. The horizon about was +rimmed with a dull, angry orange haze; so terrifying a storm had not +been witnessed in England for many years. + +The rain was coming down in sheets, but the young man by the +chauffeur’s side paid no heed. He was watching the nervous hands of +the man twist this way and that as the car made detour after detour to +avoid the congested road. + +Suddenly a jagged streak of light flicked before the car, and +Standerton was deafened by an explosion more terrifying than any of +the previous peals. + +The chauffeur instinctively shrank back, his face white and drawn; his +trembling hands left the wheel, and his foot released the pedal. The +car would have come to a standstill, but for the fact that they were +at the top of a declivity. + +“My God!” he whimpered, “it’s awful. I can’t go on, sir.” + +Gilbert Standerton’s hand was on the wheel, his neatly-booted foot had +closed on the brake pedal. + +“Get out of it!” he muttered. “Get over here, quick!” + +The man obeyed. He moved shivering to his master’s place, his hands +before his face, and Standerton slipped into the driver’s seat and +threw in the clutch. + +It was fortunate that he was a driver of extraordinary ability, but he +needed every scrap of knowledge as he put the car to the slope which +led to the lumpy Downs. As they jolted forward the downpour increased, +the ground was running with water as though it had been recently +flooded. The wheels of the car slipped and skidded over the greasy +surface, but the man at the steering-wheel kept his head, and by and +by he brought the big car slithering down a little slope on to the +main way again. The road was sprinkled with hurrying, tramping people. +He moved forward slowly, his horn sounding all the time, and then of a +sudden the car stopped with a jerk. + +“What is it?” + +Leslie Frankfort had opened the window which separated the driver’s +seat from the occupants of the car. + +“There’s an old chap there,” said Gilbert, speaking over his shoulder, +“would you mind taking him into the car? I’ll tell you why after.” + +He pointed to two woe-begone figures that stood on the side of the +road. They were of an old man and a girl; Leslie could not see their +faces distinctly. They stood with their backs to the storm, one thin +coat spread about them both. + +Gilbert shouted something, and at his voice the old man turned. He had +a beautiful face, thin, refined, intellectual; it was the face of an +artist. His grey hair straggled over his collar, and under the cloak +he clutched something, the care of which seemed to concern him more +than his protection from the merciless downpour. + +The girl at his side might have been seventeen, a solemn child, with +great fearless eyes that surveyed the occupants of the car gravely. +The old man hesitated at Gilbert’s invitation, but as he beckoned +impatiently he brought the girl down to the road and Leslie opened the +door. + +“Jump in quickly,” he said. “My word, you’re wet!” + +He slammed the door behind them, and they seated themselves facing +him. + +They were in a pitiable condition; the girl’s dress was soaked, her +face was wet as though she had come straight from a bath. + +“Take that cloak off,” said Leslie brusquely. “I’ve a couple of dry +handkerchiefs, though I’m afraid you’ll want a bath towel.” + +She smiled. + +“It’s very kind of you,” she said. “We shall ruin your car.” + +“Oh, that’s all right,” said Leslie cheerfully. “It’s not my car. +Anyway,” he added, “when Mr. Standerton comes in he will make it much +worse.” + +He was wondering in his mind by what freakish inclination Standerton +had called these two people to the refuge of his Limousine. + +The old man smiled as he spoke, and his first words were an +explanation. + +“Mr. Standerton has always been very good to me,” he said gently, +almost humbly. + +He had a soft, well-modulated voice. Leslie Frankfort recognised that +it was the voice of an educated man. He smiled. He was too used to +meeting Standerton’s friends to be surprised at this storm-soddened +street musician, for such he judged him to be by the neck of the +violin which protruded from the soaked coat. + +“You know him, do you?” + +The old man nodded. + +“I know him very well,” he said. + +He took from under his coat the thing he had been carrying, and Leslie +Frankfort saw that it was an old violin. The old man examined it +anxiously, then with a sigh of relief he laid it across his knees. + +“It’s not damaged, I hope?” asked Leslie. + +“No, sir,” said the other; “I was greatly afraid that it was going to +be an unfortunate ending to what has been a prosperous day.” + +They had been playing on the Downs, and had reaped a profitable +harvest. + +“My grand-daughter also plays,” said the old man. “We do not as a rule +care for these great crowds, but it invariably means money”--he +smiled--“and we are not in a position to reject any opportunity which +offers.” + +They were now drawing clear of the storm. They had passed through +Sutton, and had reached a place where the roads were as yet dry, when +Gilbert stopped the car and handed the wheel to the shame-faced +chauffeur. + +“I’m very sorry, sir,” the man began. + +“Oh, don’t bother,” smiled his employer, “one is never to be blamed +for funking a storm. I used to be as bad until I got over it… there +are worse things,” he added, half to himself. + +The man thanked him with a muttered word, and Gilbert opened the door +of the car and entered. He nodded to the old man and gave a quick +smile to the girl. + +“I thought I recognised you,” he said. “This is Mr. Springs,” he said, +turning to Leslie. “He’s quite an old friend of mine. I’m sure when +you have dined at St. John’s Wood you must have heard Springs’ violin +under the dining-room window. It used to be a standing order, didn’t +it, Mr. Springs?” he said. “By the way,” he asked suddenly, “were you +playing----” + +He stopped, and the old man, misunderstanding the purport of the +question, nodded. + +“After all,” said Gilbert, with a sudden change of manner, “it +wouldn’t be humane to leave my private band to drown on Epsom Downs, +to say nothing of the chance of his being struck by lightning.” + +“Was there any danger?” asked Leslie in surprise. + +Gilbert nodded. + +“I saw one poor chap struck as I cleared the Downs,” he said; “there +were a lot of people near him, so I didn’t trouble to stop. It was a +terrifying experience.” + +He looked back out of the little oval window behind. + +“We shall have it again in London to-night,” he said, “but storms do +not feel so dangerous in town as they do in the country. They’re not +so alarming. Housetops are very merciful to the nervous.” + +They took farewell of the old man and his grand-daughter at Balham, +and then, as the car continued, Leslie turned with a puzzled look to +his companion. + +“You’re a wonderful man, Gilbert,” he said; “I can’t understand you. +You described yourself only this morning as being a nervous wreck----” + +“Did I say that?” asked the other dryly. + +“Well, you didn’t admit it,” said Leslie, with an aggrieved air, “but +it was a description which most obviously fitted you. And yet in the +face of this storm, which I confess curled me up pretty considerably, +you take the seat of your chauffeur and you push the car through it. +Moreover, you are sufficiently collected to pick up an old man, when +you had every excuse to leave him to his dismal fate.” + +For a moment Gilbert made no reply; then he laughed a little bitterly. + +“There are a dozen ways of being nervous,” he said, “and that doesn’t +happen to be one of mine. The old man is an important factor in my +life, though he does not know it--the very instrument of fate.” + +He dropped his voice almost solemnly. Then he seemed to remember that +the curious gaze of the other was upon him. + +“I don’t know where you got the impression that I was a nervous +wreck,” he said briefly. “It’s hardly the ideal condition for a man +who is to be married this week.” + +“That may be the cause, my dear chap,” said the other reflectively. “I +know a lot of people who are monstrously upset at the prospect. There +was Tuppy Jones who absolutely ran away--lost his memory, or some such +newspaper trick.” + +Gilbert smiled. + +“I did the next worst thing to running away,” he said a little +moodily. “I wanted the wedding postponed.” + +“But why?” demanded the other. “I was going to ask you that this +morning coming down, only it slipped my memory. Mrs. Cathcart told me +she wouldn’t hear of it.” + +Gilbert gave him no encouragement to continue the subject, but the +voluble young man went on-- + +“Take what the gods give you, my son,” he said. “Here you are with a +Foreign Office appointment, an Under-Secretaryship looming in the near +future, a most charming and beautiful bride in prospect, rich----” + +“I wish you wouldn’t say that,” said Gilbert sharply. “The idea is +abroad all over London. Beyond my pay I have no money whatever. This +car,” he said, as he saw the other’s questioning face, “is certainly +mine--at least, it was a present from my uncle, and I don’t suppose +he’ll want it returned before I sell it. Thank God it makes no +difference to you,” he went on with that note of hardness still in his +voice, “but I am half inclined to think that two-thirds of the +friendships I have, and all the kindness which is from time to time +shown to me, is based upon that delusion of riches. People think that +I am my uncle’s heir.” + +“But aren’t you?” gasped the other. + +Gilbert shook his head. + +“My uncle has recently expressed his intention of leaving the whole of +his fortune to that admirable institution which is rendering such +excellent service to the canine world--the Battersea Dogs’ Home.” + +Leslie Frankfort’s jovial face bore an expression of tragic +bewilderment. + +“Have you told Mrs. Cathcart this?” he asked. + +“Mrs. Cathcart!” replied the other in surprise. “No, I haven’t told +her. I don’t think it’s necessary. After all,” he said with a smile, +“Edith isn’t marrying me for money, she is pretty rich herself, isn’t +she? Not that it matters,” he said hastily, “whether she’s rich or +whether she’s poor.” + +Neither of the two men spoke again for the rest of the journey, and at +the corner of St. James’s Street Gilbert put his friend down. + +He continued his way to the little house which he had taken furnished +a year before, when marriage had only seemed the remotest of +possibilities, when his worldly prospects had seemed much brighter +than they were at present. + +Gilbert Standerton was a member of one of those peculiar families +which seem to be made up entirely of nephews. His uncle, the eccentric +old Anglo-Indian, had charged himself with the boy’s future, and he +had been mainly responsible for securing the post which Gilbert now +held. More than this, he had made him his heir, and since he was a man +who did nothing in secret, and was rather inclined to garrulity, the +news of Gilbert’s good fortune was spread from one end of England to +the other. + +Then, a month before this story opens, had come like a bombshell a +curt notification from his relative that he had deemed it advisable to +alter the terms of his will, and that Gilbert might look for no more +than the thousand pounds to which, in common with innumerable other +nephews, he was entitled. + +It was not a shock to Gilbert except that he was a little grieved with +the fear that in some manner he had offended his fiery uncle. He had a +too lively appreciation of the old man’s goodness to him to resent the +eccentricity which would make him a comparatively poor man. + +It would have considerably altered the course of his life if he had +notified at least one person of the change in his prospects. + + + + + CHAPTER III. + GILBERT LEAVES HURRIEDLY + +Gilbert was dressing for dinner when the storm came up over London. +It had lost none of its intensity or strength. For an hour the street +had glared fitfully in the blue lightning of the electrical +discharges, and the house rocked with crash after crash of thunder. + +He himself was in tune with the element, for there raged in his heart +such a storm as shook the very foundations of his life. Outwardly +there was no sign of distress. The face he saw in the shaving-glass +was a mask, immobile and expressionless. + +He sent his man to call a taxi-cab. The storm had passed over London, +and only the low grumble of thunder could be heard when he came out on +to the rain-washed streets. A few wind-torn wisps of cloud were +hurrying at a great rate across the sky, stragglers endeavouring in +frantic haste to catch up the main body. + +He descended from his cab at the door of No. 274 Portland Square +slowly and reluctantly. He had an unpleasant task to perform, as +unpleasant to him, more unpleasant, indeed, than it could be to his +future mother-in-law. + +He did not doubt that the suspicion implanted in his mind by Leslie +was unfair and unworthy. + +He was ushered into the drawing-room, and found himself the solitary +occupant. He looked at his watch. + +“Am I very early, Cole?” he asked the butler. + +“You are rather, sir,” said the man, “but I will tell Miss Cathcart +you are here.” + +Gilbert nodded. He strolled across to the window, and stood, his hands +clasped behind him, looking out upon the wet street. He stood thus for +five minutes, his head sunk forward on his breast, absorbed in +thought. The opening of the door aroused him, and he turned to meet +the girl who had entered. + +Edith Cathcart was one of the most beautiful women in London, though +“woman” might be too serious a word to apply to this slender girl who +had barely emerged from her school-days. + +In some grey eyes of a peculiar softness a furtive apprehension always +seems to wait--a fear and an appeal at one and the same time. So it +was with Edith Cathcart. Those eyes of hers were for ever on guard, +and even as they attracted they held the overeager seeker of +friendship at arm’s length. The nose was just a little _retroussè_; +the sensitive lips played supporter to the apprehensive eyes. She wore +her hair low over her forehead; it was dark almost to a point of +blackness. She was dressed in a plain gown of sea-green satin, with +scarcely any jewel or ornamentation. + +He walked to meet her with quick steps and took both her hands in his; +his hungry eyes searched her face eagerly. + +“You look lovely to-night, Edith,” he said, in a voice scarcely above +a whisper. + +She released her hands gently with the ghost of a smile that subtly +atoned for her action. + +“Did you enjoy your Derby Day?” she asked. + +“It was enormously interesting,” he said; “it is extraordinary that I +have never been before.” + +“You could not have chosen a worse day. Did you get caught in the +storm? We have had a terrible one here.” + +She spoke quickly, with a little note of query at the end of each +sentence. She gave you the impression that she desired to stand well +with her lover, that she was in some awe of him. She was like a child, +anxious to acquit herself well of a lesson; and now and then she +conveyed a sense of relief, as one who had surmounted yet another +obstacle. + +Gilbert was always conscious of the strain which marked their +relationship. A dozen times a day he told himself that it was +incredible that such a strain should exist. But he found a ready +excuse for her diffidence and the furtive fear which came and went in +her eyes like shadows over the sea. She was young, much younger than +her years. This beautiful bud had not opened yet, and his engagement +had been cursed by over-much formality. + +He had met her conventionally at a ball. He had been introduced by her +mother, again conventionally, he had danced with her and sat out with +her, punted her on the river, motored her and her mother to Ascot. It +was all very ordinary and commonplace. It lacked something. Gilbert +never had any doubt as to that. + +He took the blame upon himself for all deficiencies, though he was +something of a romancist, despite the chilly formalism of the +engagement. She had kept him in his place with the rest of the world, +one arm’s length, with those beseeching eyes of hers. He was at arm’s +length when he proposed, in a speech the fluency of which was eloquent +of the absence of anything which touched emotionalism. And she had +accepted in a murmured word, and turned a cold cheek for his kiss, and +then had fluttered out of his arms like an imprisoned bird seeking its +liberty, and had escaped from that conventional conservatory with its +horrible palms and its spurious Tanagra statuettes. + +Gilbert in love was something of a boy; an idealist, a dreamer. Other +grown men have shared his weakness, there are unsuspected wells of +romance in the most practical of men. So he was content with his +dreams, weaving this and that story of sweet surrender in his inmost +heart. He loved her, completely, absorbingly. To him she was a divine +and a fragrant thing. + +He had taken her hand again in his, and realised with pain, which was +tinctured with amusement that made it bearable, that she was seeking +to disengage herself, when Mrs. Cathcart came into the room. + +She was a tall woman, still beautiful, though age had given her a +certain angularity. The ravages of time had made it necessary for her +to seek artificial aid for the strengthening of her attractions. Her +mouth was thin and straight and uncompromising, her chin too bony to +be beautiful. She smiled as she rustled across the room and offered +her gloved hand to the young man. + +“You’re early, Gilbert,” she said. + +“Yes,” he replied awkwardly. Here was the opportunity which he sought, +yet he experienced some reluctance in availing himself of the chance. + +He had released the girl as the door opened, and she had instinctively +taken a step backward, and stood with her hands behind her, regarding +him gravely and intently. + +“Really,” he said, “I wanted to see you.” + +“To see me?” asked Mrs. Cathcart archly. “No, surely not me!” + +Her smile comprehended the girl and the young man. For some reason +which he could not appreciate at the moment Gilbert felt +uncomfortable. + +“Yes, it was to see you,” he said, “but it isn’t remarkable at this +particular period of time.” + +He smiled again. + +She held up a warning finger. + +“You must not bother about any of the arrangements. I want you to +leave that entirely to me. You will find you have no cause to +complain.” + +“Oh, it wasn’t that,” he said hastily, “it was something more--more--” + +He hesitated. He wanted to convey to her the gravity of the business +he had in hand. And even as he approached the question of an +interview, a dim realisation came to him of the difficulty of his +position. How could he suggest to this woman, who had been all +kindness and all sweetness to him, that he suspected her of motives +which did credit neither to her head nor her heart? How could he +broach the subject of his poverty to one who had not once but a +hundred times confided to him that his expectations and the question +of his future wealth were the only drawbacks to what she had described +as an ideal love marriage? + +“I almost wish you were poor, Gilbert,” she had said. “I think riches +are an awful handicap to young people circumstanced as you and Edith +will be.” + +She had conveyed this suspicion of his wealth more than once. And yet, +at a chance word from Leslie, he had doubted the purity of her +motives! He remembered with a growing irritation that it had been Mrs. +Cathcart who had made the marriage possible; the vulgar-minded might +even have gone further, and suggested that she had thrown Edith at his +head. There was plenty of groundwork for Leslie’s suspicion, he +thought, as he looked at the tall, stylish woman before him. Only he +felt ashamed that he had listened to the insidious suggestion. + +“Could you give me a quarter of an hour----” He stopped. He was going +to say “before dinner,” but thought that possibly an interview after +the meal would be less liable to interruption. + +“--after dinner?” + +“With pleasure,” she smiled. “What are you going to do? Confess some +of the irregularities of your youth?” + +He shook his head with a little grimace. + +“You may be sure I shall never tell you those,” he said. + +“Then I will see you after dinner,” she assented. “There are a lot of +people coming to-night, and I am simply up to my eyes in work. You +bridegrooms,” she patted his shoulder with her fan reproachfully, +“have no idea what chaos you bring into the domestic life of your +unfortunate relatives of the future.” + +Edith stood aloof, in the attitude she had adopted when he had +released her, watchful, curious, in the scene, but not of it. It was +an effect which the presence of Mrs. Cathcart invariably produced upon +her daughter. It was not an obliteration, not exactly an eclipse, as +the puzzled Gilbert had often observed. It was as though the entrance +of one character of a drama were followed by the immediate exit of her +who had previously occupied the scene. He pictured Edith waiting at +the wings for a cue which would bring her into active existence again, +and that cue was invariably the retirement of her mother. + +“There are quite a number of nice people coming to-night, Gilbert,” +said Mrs. Cathcart, glancing at a slip of paper in her hand. “There +are some you don’t know, and some I want you very much to meet. I am +sure you will like dear Dr. Cassylis----” + +A smothered exclamation caught her ear, and she looked up sharply. +Gilbert’s face was set: it was void of all expression. The girl saw +the mask and wondered. + +“What is it?” asked Mrs. Cathcart. + +“Nothing,” said Gilbert steadily, “you were talking about your +guests.” + +“I was saying that you must meet Dr. Barclay-Seymour--he is a most +charming man. I don’t think you know him?” + +Gilbert shook his head. + +“Well, you ought to,” she said. “He’s a dear friend of mine, and why +on earth he practises in Leeds instead of maintaining an establishment +in Harley Street I haven’t the slightest idea. The ways of men are +beyond finding out. Then there is.…” + +She reeled off a list of names, some of which Gilbert knew. + +“What is the time?” she asked suddenly. Gilbert looked at his watch. + +“A quarter to eight? I must go,” she said. “I will see you immediately +after dinner.” + +She turned back as she reached the door irresolutely. + +“I suppose you aren’t going to change that absurd plan of yours,” she +asked hopefully. + +Gilbert had recovered his equanimity. + +“I do not know to which absurd plan you are referring,” he said. + +“Spending your honeymoon in town,” she replied. + +“I don’t think Gilbert should be bothered about that.” + +It was the girl who spoke, her first intrusion into the conversation. +Her mother glanced at her sharply. + +“In this case, my dear,” she said freezingly, “it is a matter in which +I am more concerned than yourself.” + +Gilbert hastened to relieve the girl of the brunt of the storm. Mrs. +Cathcart was not slow to anger, and although Gilbert himself had never +felt the lash of her bitter tongue, he had a shrewd suspicion that his +future wife had been a victim more than once. + +“It is absolutely necessary that I should be in town on the days I +referred to,” he said. “I have asked you----” + +“To postpone the wedding?” said Mrs. Cathcart. “My dear boy, I +couldn’t do that. It wasn’t a reasonable request, now was it?” + +She smiled at him as sweetly as her inward annoyance allowed her. + +“I suppose it wasn’t,” he said dubiously. + +He said no more, but waited until the door had closed behind her, then +he turned quickly to the girl. + +“Edith,” he said, speaking rapidly, “I want you to do something for +me.” + +“You want me to do something?” she asked in surprise. + +“Yes, dearest. I must go away now. I want you to find some excuse to +make to your mother. I’ve remembered a most important matter which I +have not seen to----” + +He spoke hesitatingly, for he was no ready liar. + +“Going away!” + +It was surprise rather than disappointment, he noticed, and was +pardonably irritated. + +“You can’t go now,” she said, and that look of fear came into her +eyes. “Mother would be so angry. The people are arriving.” + +From where he stood he had seen three motor broughams draw up almost +simultaneously in front of the house. + +“I must go,” he said desperately. “Can’t you get me out in any way? I +don’t want to meet these people, I’ve very good reasons.” + +She hesitated a moment. + +“Where are your hat and coat?” she asked. + +“In the hall--you will just have time,” he said. + +She was in the hall and back again with his coat, led him to the +farther end of the drawing-room, through a door which communicated +with the small library beyond. There was a way here to the garage and +to the mews at the back of the house. + +She watched the tall, striding figure with a troubled gaze, then as he +disappeared from view she fastened the library door and came back to +the drawing-room in time to meet her mother. + +“Where is Gilbert?” asked Mrs. Cathcart. + +“Gone,” said the girl. + +“Gone!” + +Edith nodded slowly. + +“He remembered something very important and had to go back to his +house.” + +“But of course he is returning?” + +“I don’t think so, mother,” she said quietly. “I fancy that the +‘something’ is immensely pressing.” + +“But this is nonsense!” Mrs. Cathcart stamped her foot. “Here are all +the people whom I have specially invited to meet him. It’s +disgraceful!” + +“But, mother----” + +“Don’t ‘but mother’ me, for God’s sake!” said Mrs. Cathcart. + +They were alone, the guests were assembling in the larger +drawing-room, and there was no need for the elder woman to disguise +her feelings. + +“You sent him away, I suppose?” she said. “I don’t blame him. How can +you expect to keep a man at your side if you treat him as though he +were a grocer calling for orders?” + +The girl listened wearily, and did not raise her eyes from the carpet. + +“I do my best,” she said in a low voice. + +“Your worst must be pretty bad if that is your best. After I’ve +strained my every effort to bring to you one of the richest young men +in London, you might at least pretend that his presence is welcome; +but if he were the devil himself you couldn’t show greater reluctance +at meeting him or greater relief at his departure.” + +“Mother!” said the girl, and her eyes were filled with tears. + +“Don’t ‘mother’ me, please!” said Mrs. Cathcart deliberately. “I am +sick to death of your faddiness and your prejudices. What on earth do +you want? What am I to get you?” + +She threw out her arms in exasperated despair. + +“I don’t want to marry at all,” said the girl in a low voice. “My +father would never have forced me to marry.” + +It was a daring thing to say, an exhibition of greater boldness than +she had ever shown before in her encounters with her mother. But +lately there had come to her a new courage. That despair which had +made her dumb glowed now to rage, the fires of rebellion smouldered in +her heart; and, albeit the demonstrations of her growing resentment +were few and far between, her courage grew upon her venturing. + +“Your father!” breathed Mrs. Cathcart, white with rage, “am I to have +your father thrown at my head? Your father was a fool! A fool!” She +almost hissed the word. “He ruined me as he ruined you because he +hadn’t sufficient sense to keep the money he had inherited. I thought +he was a clever man. I looked up to him for twenty years as the +embodiment of all that was wise and kind and genial, and all those +twenty years he was frittering away his competence on every +hair-brained scheme which the needy adventurers of finance brought to +him. He would not have forced you! I swear he wouldn’t!” She laughed +bitterly. “He would have married you to the chauffeur if your heart +was that way inclined. He was all amiability and incompetence, all +good-nature and inefficiency. I hate your father!” + +Her blue eyes were opened to their widest extent and the cold glare of +hate was indeed apparent to the shrinking girl. “I hate him every time +I have to entertain a shady stockbroker for the advantage I may +receive from his knowledge of the market; I hate him for every economy +I have to practise; I hate him every time I see my meagre dividends +come in and as I watch them swallowed up by the results of his folly. +Don’t make me hate you,” she said, pointing a warning finger at the +girl. + +Edith had cowered before the torrent of words, but this slander of her +dead father roused something within her, put aside all fear of +consequence, even though that consequence might be a further +demonstration of that anger which she so dreaded. + +Now she stood erect, facing the woman she called mother, her face +pale, but her chin tilted a little defiantly. + +“You may say what you like about me, mother,” she said quietly, “but I +will not have you defame my father. I have done all you requested: I +am going to marry a man who, though I know he is a kindly and charming +man, is no more to me than the first individual I might meet in the +street to-night. I am making this sacrifice for your sake: do not ask +me to forego my faith in the man who is the one lovable memory in my +life.” + +Her voice broke a little, her eyes were bright with tears. + +Whatever Mrs. Cathcart might have said, and there were many things she +could have said, was checked by the entry of a servant. + +For a moment or two they stood facing one another, mother and +daughter, in silence. Then without another word Mrs. Cathcart turned +on her heel and walked out of the room. + +The girl waited for a moment, then went back to the library through +which Gilbert had passed. She closed the door behind her and turned on +one of the lights, for it was growing dark. She was shaking from head +to foot with the play of these pent emotions of hers. She could have +wept, but with anger and shame. For the first time in her life her +mother had shown her heart. The concentrated bitterness of years had +poured forth, unchecked by pity or policy. She had revealed the hate +which for all these years had been gnawing at her soul; revealed in a +flash the relationship between her father and her mother which the +girl had never suspected. + +That they had not been on the most affectionate terms Edith knew, but +her short association with the world in which they moved had +reconciled her mind to the coolness which characterised the attitudes +of husband and wife. She had seen a score of such houses where man and +wife were on little more than friendly terms, and had accepted such +conditions as normal. It aroused in her a wild irritation that such +relationships should exist: child as she was, she had felt that +something was missing. But it had also reconciled her to her marriage +with Gilbert Standerton. Her life with him would be no worse, and +probably might be a little better, than the married lives of those +people with whom she was brought into daily contact. + +But in her mother’s vehemence she caught a glimpse of the missing +quality of marriage. She knew now why her gentle father had changed +suddenly from a genial, kindly man, with his quick laugh and his too +willing ear for the plausible, into a silent shadow of a man, the sad, +broken figure she so vividly retained in her memory. + +Here was a quick turn in the road of life for her an unexpected vista +flashing into view suddenly before her eyes. It calmed her, steadied +her. In those few minutes of reflection, standing there in the +commonplace, gloomy little library, watching through the latticed +panes the dismal mews which offered itself for inspection through a +parallelogram of bricked courtyard, she experienced one of those great +and subtle changes which come to humanity. + +There was a new outlook, a new standard by which to measure her +fellows, a new philosophy evolved in the space of a second. It was a +tremendous upheaval of settled conviction which this tiny apartment +witnessed. + +She was surprised herself at the calmness with which she returned to +the drawing-room and joined the party now beginning to assemble. It +came as a shock to discover that she was examining her mother with the +calm, impartial scrutiny of one who was not in any way associated with +her. Mrs. Cathcart observed the girl’s self-possession and felt a +twinge of uneasiness. + +She addressed her unexpectedly, hoping to surprise her to +embarrassment, and was a little staggered by the readiness with which +the girl met her gaze and the coolness with which she disagreed to +some proposition which the elder woman had made. + +It was a new experience to the masterful Mrs. Cathcart. The girl might +be sulking, but this was a new variety of sulks, foreign to Mrs. +Cathcart’s experience. + +She might be angry, yet there was no sign of anger; hurt--she should +have been in tears. Mrs. Cathcart’s experienced eye could detect no +sign of weeping. She was puzzled, a little alarmed. She had gone too +far, she thought, and must conciliate, rather than carry on the feud +until the other sued for forgiveness. + +It irritated her to find herself in this position, but she was a +tactician first and foremost, and it would be bad tactics on her part +to pursue a disadvantage. Rather she sought the _status quo ante +bellum_, and was annoyed to discover that it had gone for ever. + +She hoped the talk that evening would confuse the girl to the point of +seeking her protection; but to her astonishment Edith spoke of her +marriage as she had never spoken of it before, without embarrassment, +without hesitation, coolly, reasonably, intelligently. + +The end of the evening found Edith commanding her field and her mother +in the position of a suitor. + +Mrs. Cathcart waited till the last guest had gone, then she came into +the smaller drawing-room to find Edith standing in the fireplace, +looking thoughtfully at a paper which lay upon the mantleshelf. + +“What is it interests you so much, dear?” + +The girl looked round, picked up the paper and folded it slowly. + +“Nothing particularly,” she said. “Your Dr. Cassylis is an amusing +man.” + +“He is a very clever man,” said her mother tartly. + +She had infinite faith in doctors, and offered them the tribute which +is usually reserved for the supernatural. + +“Is he?” said the girl coolly. “I suppose he is. Why does he live in +Leeds?” + +“Really, Edith, you are coming out of your shell,” said her mother +with a forced smile of admiration. “I have never known you take so +much interest in the people of the world before.” + +“I am going to take a great deal of interest in people,” said the girl +steadily. “I have been missing so much all my life.” + +“I think you are being a little horrid,” said her mother, repressing +her anger with an effort; “you’re certainly being very unkind. I +suppose all this nonsense has arisen out of my mistaken confidence.” + +The girl made no reply. + +“I think I’ll go to bed, mother,” she said. + +“And whilst you’re engaged in settling your estimate of people,” said +Mrs. Cathcart with ominous calm, “perhaps you will interpret your +fiancé’s behaviour to me. Dr. Cassylis particularly wanted to meet +him.” + +“I am not going to interpret anything,” said the girl. + +“Don’t employ that tone with me,” replied her mother sharply. + +The girl stopped, she was half-way to the door. She hardly turned, but +spoke to her mother over her shoulder. + +“Mother,” she said, quietly but decidedly, “I want you to understand +this: if there is any more bother, or if I am again made the victim of +your crossness, I shall write to Gilbert and break off my engagement.” + +“Are you mad?” gasped the woman. + +Edith shook her head. + +“No, I am tired,” she said, “tired of many things.” + +There was much that Mrs. Cathcart could have said, but with a belated +wisdom she held her tongue till the door had closed behind her +daughter. Then, late as the hour was, she sent for the cook and +settled herself grimly for a pleasing half hour, for the _vol-au-vent_ +had been atrocious. + + + + + CHAPTER IV. + THE “MELODY IN F” + +Gilbert Standerton was dressing slowly before his glass when Leslie +was announced. That individual was radiant and beautiful to behold as +became the best man at the wedding of an old friend. + +Leslie Frankfort was one of those fortunate individuals who combine +congenial work with the enjoyment of a private income. He was the +junior partner of a firm of big stockbrokers in the City, a firm which +dealt only with the gilt-edged markets of finance. He enjoyed in +common with Gilbert a taste for classical music, and this was the bond +which had first drawn the two men together. + +He came into the room, deposited his silk hat carefully upon a chair, +and sat on the edge of the bed, offering critical suggestions to the +prospective bridegroom. + +“By the way,” he said suddenly, “I saw that old man of yours +yesterday.” + +Gilbert looked round. + +“You mean Springs, the musician?” + +The other nodded. + +“He was playing for the amusement of a theatre queue--a fine old +chap.” + +“Very,” said Gilbert absently. + +He paused in his dressing, took up a letter from the table, and handed +it to the other. + +“Am I to read it?” asked Leslie. + +Gilbert nodded. + +“There’s nothing to read, as a matter of fact,” he said; “it’s my +uncle’s wedding present.” + +The young man opened the envelope and extracted the pink slip. He +looked at the amount and whistled. + +“One hundred pounds,” he said. “Good Lord! that won’t pay the up-keep +of your car for a quarter. I suppose you told Mrs. Cathcart?” + +Gilbert shook his head. + +“No,” he said shortly, “I intended telling her but I haven’t. I am +perfectly satisfied in my own mind, Leslie, that we are doing her an +injustice. She has been so emphatic about money. And after all, I’m +not a pauper,” he said with a smile. + +“You’re worse than a pauper,” said Leslie earnestly; “a man with six +hundred a year is the worst kind of pauper I know.” + +“Why?” + +“You’ll never bring your tastes below a couple of thousand, you’ll +never raise your income above six hundred--plus your Foreign Office +job, that’s only another six hundred.” + +“Work,” said the other. + +“Work!” said the other scornfully, “you don’t earn money by work. You +earn money by scheming, by getting the better of the other fellow. +You’re too soft-hearted to make money, my son.” + +“You seem to make money,” said Gilbert with a little smile. + +Leslie shook his head vigorously. + +“I’ve never made a penny in my life,” he confessed with some +enjoyment. “No, I have got some very stout, unimaginative senior +partners who do all the money-making. I merely take dividends at +various periods of the year. But then I was in luck. What is your +money, by the way?” + +Gilbert was in the act of tying his cravat. He looked up with a little +frown. + +“What do you mean?” he asked. + +“I mean, is it in securities--does it continue after your death?” + +The little frown still knit the brows of the other. + +“No,” he said shortly, “after my death there is scarcely enough to +bring in a hundred and fifty a year. I am only enjoying a life +interest on this particular property.” + +Leslie whistled. + +“Well, I hope, old son, that you’re well insured.” + +The other man made no attempt to interrupt as Leslie, arguing with +great fluency and skill on the duties and responsibilities of heads of +families, delivered himself of his views on insurance and upon the +uninsured. + +“Some Johnnies are so improvident,” he said. “I knew a man----” + +He stopped suddenly. He had caught a reflection of Gilbert’s face in +the glass. It was haggard and drawn, it seemed the face of a man in +mortal agony. Leslie sprang up. + +“What on earth is the matter, my dear chap?” he cried. He came to the +other’s side and laid his hand on his shoulder. + +“Oh, it’s nothing--nothing, Leslie,” said Gilbert. + +He passed his hand before his eyes as though to wipe away some ugly +vision. + +“I’m afraid I’ve been rather a careless devil. You see, I depended too +much upon uncle’s money. I ought to be insured.” + +“That isn’t worrying you surely?” asked the other in astonishment. + +“It worries me a bit,” said Gilbert moodily. “One never knows, you +know----” + +He stood looking thoughtfully at the other, his hands thrust into his +pockets. + +“I wish to heaven this wedding had been postponed!” + +Leslie laughed. + +“It’s about time you were married,” he said. “What a jumpy ass you +are.” + +He looked at his watch. + +“You’d better hurry up, or you’ll be losing this bride of yours. After +all, this isn’t a day for gloom, it’s the day of days, my friend.” + +He saw the soft look that came into Gilbert’s eyes, and felt satisfied +with his work. + +“Yes, there is that,” said Gilbert Standerton softly. “I forgot all my +blessings. God bless her!” he said under his breath. + +As they were leaving the house, Gilbert asked-- + +“I suppose you have a list of the guests who are to be present?” + +“Yes,” said the other, “Mrs. Cathcart was most duteous.” + +“Will Dr. Barclay-Seymour be there?” asked the other carelessly. + +“Barclay-Seymour--no, he won’t be there,” replied Leslie, “he’s the +Leeds Johnnie, isn’t he? He went up from London last night. What’s +this talk of your having run away the other night?” + +“It was an important engagement,” said Gilbert hurriedly, “I had a man +to see; I couldn’t very well put him off----” + +Leslie realised that he had asked an embarrassing question and changed +the subject. + +“By the way,” he said, “I shouldn’t mention this matter of the money +to Mrs. Cathcart till after you’ve both settled down.” + +“I won’t,” said Gilbert grimly. + +On the way to the church he reviewed all the troubles that were +besetting him and faced them squarely. Perhaps it would not be as bad +as he thought. He was ever prone to take an exaggerated and a worrying +view of troubles. He had anticipated dangers, and time and time again +his fears had been groundless. He had lived too long alone. A man +ought to be married before he was thirty-two. That was his age. He had +become cranky. He found consolation in uncomplimentary analysis till +the church was reached. + +It was a dream, that ceremony: the crowded pews, the organ, the +white-robed choir, the rector and his assistants; the coming of Edith, +so beautiful, so ethereal in her bridal robes; the responses, the +kneeling and the rising--it was all unreal. + +He had thought that the music would have made a lasting impression on +him; he had been at some pains to choose it, and had had several +consultations with the organist. But at the end of the service when he +began to walk, still in his dream, towards the vestry, he could not +recall one single bar. He had a dim recollection of the fact that +above the altar was a stained glass window, one tiny pane of which had +been removed, evidently on account of a breakage. + +He was back in the house, sitting at the be-flowered table, listening +in some confusion to the speeches and the bursts of laughter which +assailed each speaker as he made his point: now he was on his feet, +talking easily, without effort, but what words he used, or why people +applauded, or why they smiled he could not say. + +Once in its course he had looked down at the delicate face by his +side, and had met those solemn eyes of hers, less fearful to-day, it +seemed, than ever he had seen them. He had felt for her hand and had +held it, cold and unresponsive, in his.… + +“An excellent speech,” said Leslie. + +They were in the drawing-room after the breakfast. + +“You’re quite an orator.” + +“Am I?” said Gilbert. + +He was beginning to wake again. The drawing-room was real, these +people were real, the jokes, the badinage, and the wit which flew from +tongue to tongue--all these things were of a life he knew. + +“Whew!” He wiped his forehead and breathed a deep sigh. He felt like a +man who had regained consciousness after an anæsthetic that did not +quite take effect. A painless and a beautiful experience, but of +another world, and it was not he, so he told himself, who had knelt at +the altar rail. + + * * * * + +Officially the honeymoon was to be spent at Harrogate, actually it was +to be spent in London. They preserved the pretence of catching a +train, and drove to King’s Cross. + +No word was spoken throughout that journey. Gilbert felt the +restriction, and did not challenge it or seek to overcome it. The girl +was naturally silent. She had so much to say in the proper place and +at the proper time. He saw the old fear come back to her eyes, was +hurt by the unconscious and involuntary shrinking when his hand +touched hers. + +The carriage was dismissed at King’s Cross. A taxi-cab was engaged, +and they drove to the house in St. John’s Wood. It was empty, the +servants had been sent away on a holiday, but it was a perfectly +fitted little mansion. There were electric cookers, and every +labour-saving appliance the mind of man could devise, or a young man +with great expectations and no particular idea of the value of money +could acquire. + +This was to be one of the joys of the honeymoon, so Gilbert had told +himself. She had willingly dispensed with her maid; he was ready to be +man-of-all-work, to cook and to serve, leaving the rough work for the +two new day servants he had employed to come in in the morning. + +Yet it was with no sense of joyfulness that he led her from room to +room, showed her the treasures of his household. A sense of +apprehension of some coming trouble laid its hand upon his tongue, +damped his spirit, and held him in temporary bondage. + +The girl was self-possessed. She admired, criticised kindly, and +rallied him gently upon his domesticity. But the strain was there all +the time; there was a shadow which lay between them. + +She went to her room to change. They had arranged to go out to dinner, +and this programme they followed. Leslie Frankfort saw them in the +dining hall of Princes, and pretended he didn’t know them. It was ten +o’clock when they went back to their little house. + +Gilbert went to his study; his wife had gone up to her room and had +promised to come down for coffee. He went to work with all the skill +which a pupil of Rahbat might be expected to display, and brewed two +tiny little cups of Mocha. This he served on the table near the settee +where she would sit… Then she came in. + +He had been fast awakening from the dream of the morning. He was alive +now. The dazement of that momentous ceremony had worn away. He rose +and went a little way towards her. He would have taken her in his arms +then and there, but this time the arm’s length was a reality. Her hand +touched his breast, and the arm stiffened. He felt the rebuff in the +act, and it seemed to him that his heart went cold, and that all the +vague terrors of the previous days crystallised into one concrete and +terrible truth. He knew all that she had to say before she spoke. + +It was some time before she found the words she wanted, the opening +was so difficult. + +“Gilbert,” she said at last, “I am going to do a cowardly thing. It is +only cowardly because I have not told you before.” + +He motioned her to the settee. + +He had woven a little romance for this moment, a dream scene which was +never to be enacted. Here was the shattering. + +“I won’t sit down,” she said, “I want all my strength to tell you what +I have to tell you. If I hadn’t been an arrant coward I should have +told you last night. I meant to tell you,” she said, “but you did not +come.” + +He nodded. + +“I know,” he said, almost impatiently. “I could not come. I did not +wish--I could not come,” he repeated. + +“You know what I have to tell you?” Her eyes were steadily fixed on +his. “Gilbert, I do not love you.” + +He nodded again. + +“I know now,” he said. + +“I never have loved you,” she said in tones of despair; “there never +was any time when I regarded you as more than a dear friend. But----” + +She wanted to tell him why, but a sense of loyalty to her mother kept +her silent. She would take all the blame, for was she not blameworthy? +For she, at least, was mistress of her own soul: had she wished, she +could have taken a line of greater resistance than that which she had +followed. + +“I married you,” she went on slowly, “because--because you +are--rich--because you will be rich.” + +Her voice dropped at the last word until it was husky. There was a +hard fight going on within her. She wanted to tell the truth, and yet +she did not want him to think so badly of her as that. + +“For my money!” he repeated wonderingly. + +“Yes, I--I wanted to marry a man with money. We have had--a very hard +time.” + +The confession came in little gasps; she had to frame every sentence +before she spoke. + +“You mustn’t blame mother, I was equally guilty; and I ought to have +told you--I wanted to tell you.” + +“I see,” he said calmly. + +It is wonderful what reserves of strength come at a man’s bidding. In +this terrible crisis, in this moment when the whole of his life’s +happiness was shattered, when the fabric of his dream was crumbling +like a house of paper, he could be judicial, almost phlegmatic. + +He saw her sway, and springing to her side caught her. + +“Sit down,” he said quietly. + +She obeyed without protest. He settled her in the corner of the +settee, pushed a cushion almost viciously behind her, and walked back +to the fireplace. + +“So you married me for my money,” he said, and laughed. + +It was not without its amusing side, this situation. + +“By Heaven, what a comedy--what a comedy!” He laughed again. “My poor +child,” he said, with unaccustomed irony, “I am sorry for you, for you +have secured neither husband nor money!” + +She looked up at him quickly. + +“Nor money,” she repeated. + +There was only interest that he saw in her eyes. There was no hint of +disappointment. He knew the truth, more than she had told him: it was +not she who desired a fortune, it was this mother of hers, this +domineering, worldly woman. + +“No husband and no money,” he repeated savagely, in spite of the +almost yearning desire which was in him to spare her. + +“And worse than that”--with two rapid strides he was at the desk which +separated them, and bent across it, leaning heavily--“not only have +you no husband, and not only is there no money, but----” + +He stopped as if he had been shot. + +The girl, looking at him, saw his face go drawn and grey, saw the eyes +staring wildly past her, the mouth open in tragic dismay. She got up +quickly. + +“What is it? What is it?” she whispered in alarm. + +“My God!” + +His voice was cracked; it was the voice of a man in terror. She half +bent her head, listening. From somewhere beneath the window arose the +soft, melancholy strains of a violin. The music rose and fell, sobbing +and pulsating with passion beneath the magic of the player’s fingers. +She stepped to a window and looked out. On the edge of the pavement a +girl was playing, a girl whose poverty of dress did not hide her +singular beauty. + +The light from the street lamp fell upon her pale face, her eyes were +fixed on the window where Gilbert was standing. + +Edith looked at her husband. He was shaking like a man with fever. + +“The ‘Melody in F,’” he whispered. “My God! The ‘Melody in F’--and on +my wedding day!” + + + + + CHAPTER V. + THE MAN WHO DESIRED WEALTH + +Leslie Frankfort was one of a group of three who stood in the inner +office of Messrs. Warrell & Bird before a huge safe. There was plenty +to attract and hold their attention, for the floor was littered with +tools of every shape and description. + +The safe itself bore evidence of a determined assault. A semi-circle +of holes had been burnt in its solid iron door about the lock. + +“They did that with an oxyhydrogen blow-pipe,” said one of the men. + +He indicated a number of iron tubes which lay upon the ground with the +rest of the paraphernalia. “They made a thorough job of it. I wonder +what disturbed them.” + +The eldest of the men shook his head. + +“I expect the night watchman may have alarmed them,” he said. “What do +you think, Frankfort?” + +“I haven’t got over my admiration for their thoroughness yet,” said +Leslie. “Why, the beggars must have used about a couple of hundred +pounds’ worth of tools.” + +He pointed to the kit on the ground. The detective’s gaze followed his +extended finger. He smiled. + +“Yes,” he said quietly, “these people are pretty thorough. You say +you’ve lost nothing?” + +Mr. Warrell shook his head. + +“Yes and no,” he said carefully. “There was a diamond necklace which +was deposited there last week by a client of ours--that has gone. I am +anxious for the moment that this loss should not be reported.” + +The detective looked at him wonderingly. + +“That is rather a curious request,” he said, with a smile; “and you +don’t usually have diamond necklaces in a stockbroker’s office--if I +may be allowed to make that critical remark.” + +Mr. Warrell smiled. + +“It isn’t usual,” he said, “but a client of ours who went abroad last +week came in just twenty minutes before the train left, and asked us +to take care of the jewel cases.” + +Mr. Warrell said this carelessly. He did not explain to the detective +that they were held as security against the very large difference +which the client had incurred; nor did he think it necessary to +explain that he had kept the jewels in the office in the hope that the +embarrassed lady might be able to redeem them. + +“Did anybody know they were there except yourself and your partners?” + +Warrell shook his head. + +“I don’t think so. I have never mentioned it to anybody. Have you, +Leslie?” + +Leslie hesitated. + +“Well, I’m bound to admit that I did,” he confessed, “though it was to +somebody who would not repeat it.” + +“Who was it?” asked Warrell. + +“To Gilbert Standerton. I certainly mentioned the matter when we were +discussing safe robberies.” + +The elder man nodded. + +“I hardly think he is the sort of person who is likely to burgle a +safe.” + +He smiled. + +“It is a very curious coincidence,” said Leslie reflectively, “that he +and I were talking about this very gang only a couple of days ago +before he was married. I suppose,” he asked the detective suddenly, +“there is no doubt that this is the work of your international +friend?” + +Chief Inspector Goldberg nodded his head. + +“No doubt whatever, sir,” he said. “There is only one gang in England +which could do this, and I could lay my hands on them to-day, but it +would be a million pounds to one against my being able to secure at +the same time evidence to convict them.” + +Leslie nodded brightly. + +“That is what I was telling Gilbert,” he said, turning to his partner. +“Isn’t it extraordinary that these things can be in the twentieth +century? Here we have three or four men who are known--you told me +their names, Inspector, after the last attempt--and yet the police are +powerless to bring home their guilt to them. It does seem curious, +doesn’t it?” + +Inspector Goldberg was not amused, but he permitted himself to smile +politely. + +“But then you’ve got to remember how difficult it is to collect +evidence against men who work on such a huge scale as do these bank +smashers. What I can’t understand,” he said, “is what attraction your +safe has for them. This second attempt is a much more formidable one +than the last.” + +“Yes, this is really a burglary,” said Mr. Warrell. “In the last case +there was nothing so elaborate in their preparations, though they were +much more successful, in so far as they were able to open the safe.” + +“I suppose you don’t want more of this to get in the papers than you +can help,” said the Inspector. + +Mr. Warrell shook his head. + +“I don’t want any of it to get in till I have seen my client,” he +said; “but I am entirely in your hands, and you must make such +arrangements as you deem necessary.” + +“Very good,” said the detective. “For the moment I do not think it is +necessary to make any statement at all. If the reporters get hold of +it, you had better tell them as much of the truth as you want to tell +them, but the chances are that they won’t even get to hear of it as +you communicated directly to the Yard.” + +The police officer spent half an hour collecting and making notes of +such data as he was able to secure. At the end of that time the old +Jewry sent a contingent of plain clothes policemen to remove the +tools. + +The burglars had evidently entered the office after closing hours on +the previous night, and had worked through the greater part of the +evening, and possibly far into the night, in their successful attempt +to cut out the lock of the safe. That they had been disturbed in their +work was evident from the presence of the tools. This was not their +first burglary in the City of London. During the previous six months +the City had been startled by a succession of daring robberies, the +majority of which had been successful. + +The men had shown extraordinary knowledge of the safe’s contents, and +it was this fact which had induced the police to narrow their circle +of inquiry to three apparently innocent members of an outside broker’s +firm. But try as they might, no evidence could be secured which might +even remotely associate them with the crime. + +Leslie remembered now that he had laughingly challenged Gilbert +Standerton to qualify for the big reward which two firms at least had +offered for the recovery of their stolen goods. + +“After all,” he said, “with your taste and genius, you would make an +ideal thief-catcher.” + +“Or a thief,” Gilbert had answered moodily. It had been one of his bad +days, a day on which his altered prospects had preyed upon him. + +A telegram was waiting for Leslie when he entered the narrow portals +of the City Proscenium Club. He took it down and opened it leisurely, +and read its contents. A puzzled frown gathered on his forehead. It +ran:-- + + + “I must see you this afternoon. Meet me at Charing Cross Station four + o’clock.--Gilbert.” + + +Punctually to the minute Leslie reached the terminus. He found Gilbert +pacing to and fro beneath the clock, and was shocked at his +appearance. + +“What on earth is the matter with you?” he asked. + +“Matter with me?” demanded the other hardly, “what do you think is the +matter with me?” + +“Are you in trouble?” asked Leslie anxiously. + +He was genuinely fond of this friend of his. + +“Trouble?” Gilbert laughed bitterly. “My dear good chap, I am always +in trouble. Haven’t I been in trouble since the first day I met you? I +want you to do something for me,” he went on briskly. “You were +talking the other day about money. I have recognised the tragedy of my +own dependence. I have got to get money, and get it quick.” + +He spoke briskly, and in a matter-of-fact tone, but Leslie heard a +determination which had never formed part of his friend’s equipment. + +“I want to know something about shares and stocks and things of that +sort,” Gilbert went on. “You’ll have to instruct me. I don’t suppose +you know much about it yourself”--he smiled, with a return to the old +good-humour--“but what little you know you’ve got to impart to me.” + +“My dear chap,” protested the other, “why the devil are you worrying +about a thing like that for on your honeymoon? Where is your wife, by +the way?” + +“Oh, she’s at the house,” said the other shortly. He did not feel +inclined to discuss her, and Leslie, in his amazement, had sufficient +tact to pass over the subject. + +“I can tell you all I know now, if you want a tip,” he said. + +“I want something bigger than a tip--I want investments. I want you to +tell me something that will bring in about twelve thousand a year.” + +Leslie stopped and looked at the other. + +“Are you quite----?” he began. + +Gilbert smiled, a crooked little smile. + +“Am I right in my head?” he finished. “Oh, yes, I am quite sane.” + +“But don’t you see,” said the other, “you would want a little over a +quarter of a million to bring in that interest.” + +Gilbert nodded. + +“I had an idea that some such amount was required. I want you to get +me out between to-night and to-morrow a list of securities in which I +can invest and which must be gilt-edged, and must, as I say, secure +for me, or for my heirs, the sum I have mentioned.” + +“And did you,” asked the indignant Leslie, “bring me to this beastly +place on a hot afternoon in June to pull my leg about your dream +investments?” + +But something in Gilbert’s face checked his humour. + +“Seriously, do you mean this?” he asked. + +“Seriously, I mean it.” + +“Well, then, I’ll give you the list like a shot. What has +happened--has uncle relented?” + +Gilbert shook his head. + +“He is not likely to relent,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I had a +note to-day from his secretary to tell me that he is pretty ill. I’m +awfully sorry.” There was a genuine note of regret in his tone. “He is +a decent old chap.” + +“There’s no reason why he should hand over his wealth to the +‘demnition bow-wows,’” quoted Leslie indignantly. “But why did you +meet me here, my son? Your club is round the corner.” + +“I know,” said Gilbert; “but the club is--well, to tell you the +truth,” he said, “I am giving up the club.” + +“Giving up your club?” He stood squarely before the taller man. “Now +just tell me,” he asked deliberately, “what the Dickens all this +means? You’re giving up your club, you’ll be giving up your Foreign +Office job next, my Crœsus!” + +Gilbert nodded. + +“I have given up the Foreign Office work,” he said quietly. “I want +all the time I can get,” he went on, speaking rapidly. “I want every +moment of the day for my own plans and my own schemes. You don’t know +what it’s all about, my dear chap”--he laid his hand affectionately on +the other’s shoulder--“but just believe that I am in urgent need of +all the advice you can give me, and I only want the advice for which I +ask.” + +“Which means that I am not to poke my nose in your business unless I +have a special invitation card all printed and decorated. Very good,” +laughed Leslie. “Now come along to my club. I suppose as a result of +your brief married life you haven’t conceived a dislike to all clubs?” + +Gilbert made no answer, nor did they return again to the subject until +they were ensconced in the spacious smoking-room of the Junior +Terriers. + +For two hours the men sat there, Gilbert questioning eagerly, +pointedly, jotting down notes upon a sheet of paper. The other +answered, often with some difficulty, the running fire of questions +which his friend put. + +“I didn’t know how little I knew,” confessed the young man ruefully, +as Gilbert wrote down the last answer to the very last question. “What +an encyclopædic questioner you are; you’re a born examiner, Gilbert.” + +Gilbert smiled faintly as he slipped the sheet of paper into his +pocket. + +“By the way,” he said, as they were leaving the club, “I made my will +this morning and I want you to be my executor.” + +Leslie pushed his hat back with a groan. + +“You’re the most cheerless bird I’ve met for quite a long time,” he +said in exasperation. “You were married yesterday, you’re wandering +round to-day with a face as long as an undertaker’s tout--I understand +such interesting and picturesque individuals exist in the East End of +London--you’ve chucked up the billet that’s bringing you in quite a +lot of money, you’ve discussed investments, and you’ve made your will. +You’re a most depressing devil!” + +Again Gilbert smiled: he was grimly amused. He shook hands with the +young man before the club and called a taxi-cab to him. + +“I’m going to St. John’s Wood. I suppose you’re not going my way?” + +“I am relieved to hear that you are going to St. John’s Wood,” said +the other with mock politeness. “I feared you were going to the +nearest crematorium.” + +Gilbert found his wife in the study on his return. She was sitting on +the big settee reading. The stress of the previous night had left no +mark upon her beautiful face. She favoured him with a smile. +Instinctively they had both adopted the attitude which best met the +circumstances. Her respect for him had increased, even in that short +space of time; he had so well mastered himself in that moment of +terror--terror which in an indefinable way had communicated itself to +her. He had met her the next morning at breakfast cheerfully; but she +did not doubt that he had spent a sleepless night, for his eyes were +heavy and tired, and in spite of his geniality his voice was sharp, as +are the voices of men who have cheated Nature. + +He walked straight to his desk now. + +“Do you want to be alone?” she asked. + +He looked up with a start. + +“No, no,” he said hastily, “I’ve no wish to be alone. I’ve a little +work to do, but you won’t bother me. You ought to know,” he said with +an affectation of carelessness, “that I am resigning my post.” + +“Your post!” she repeated. + +“Yes; I find I have so much to do, and the Foreign Office takes up so +much of my time that I really can’t spare, that it came to a question +of giving up that or something else.” + +He did not enlighten her as to what that “something else” was, nor +could she guess. Already he was an enigma to her; she found, strange +though it seemed to her, a new interest in him. That there was some +tragedy in his life, a tragedy unsuspected by her, she did not doubt. +He had told her calmly and categorically the story of his +disinheritance; at his request, she had put the whole of that story +into a letter which she had addressed to her mother. She felt no +qualms, no inward quaking, at the prospect of the inevitable +encounter, though Mrs. Cathcart would be enraged beyond reason. + +Edith smiled a little to herself as she had stuck down the flap of the +envelope. This was poetic justice, though she herself might be a +life-long sufferer by reason of her worldly parent’s schemings. She +had hoped that as a result of that letter, posted early in the +morning, her mother would have called and the interview would have +been finished before her husband returned. But Gilbert had been in the +house half an hour when the blow fell. The tinkle of the hall bell +brought the girl to her feet: she had been waiting, her ears strained, +for that aggressive ring. + +She herself flew down the stairs to open the door. + +Mrs. Cathcart entered without a word, and as the girl closed the door +behind her she turned. + +“Where is that precious husband of yours?” she asked in a choked +voice. + +“My husband is in his study,” said the girl calmly. “Do you want him, +mother?” + +“Do I want him?” she repeated in a choked voice. + +Edith saw the glare in the woman’s eyes, saw, too, the pinched and +haggard cheek. For one brief moment she pitied this woman, who had +seen all her dreams shattered at a moment when she had hoped that +their realisation was inevitable. + +“Does he know I am coming?” + +“I think he rather expects you,” said the girl dryly. + +“I will see him by myself,” said Mrs. Cathcart, turning half-way up +the stairs. + +“You will see him with me, mother, or you will not see him at all,” +said the girl. + +“You will do as I tell you, Edith,” stormed the woman. + +The girl smiled. + +“Mother,” she said gently, “you have ceased to have any right to +direct me. You have handed me over to another guardian whose claims +are greater than yours.” + +It was not a good preparation for the interview that was to follow. +Edith recognised this even as she opened the door and ushered her +mother in. + +When Gilbert saw who his visitor was he rose with a little bow. He did +not offer his hand. He knew something of what this woman was feeling. + +“Won’t you sit down, Mrs. Cathcart?” he said. + +“I’ll stand for what I have to say,” she snapped. “Now, what is the +meaning of this?” She threw down the letter which the girl had +written, and which she had read and re-read until every word was +engraven on her mind. “Is it true,” she asked fiercely, “that you are +a poor man? That you have deceived us? That you have lied your way +into a marriage----” + +He held up his hand. + +“You seem to forget, Mrs. Cathcart,” he said with dignity, “that the +question of my position has already been discussed by you and me, and +you have been most emphatic in impressing upon me the fact that no +worldly considerations would weigh with you.” + +“Worldly!” she sneered. “What do you mean by worldly, Mr. Standerton? +Are you not in the world? Do you not live in a house and eat bread and +butter that costs money? Do you not use motor-cars that require money +for their upkeep? Whilst I am living in the world and you are living +in the world worldly considerations will always count. I thought you +were a rich man; you’re a beggar.” + +He smiled a little contemptuously. + +“A pretty mess you’ve made of it,” she said harshly. “You’ve got a +woman who doesn’t love you--I suppose you know that?” + +He bowed. + +“I know all that, Mrs. Cathcart,” he said. “I knew the worst when I +learnt that. The fact that you so obviously planned the marriage +because you thought that I was Sir John Standerton’s heir does not +hurt me, because I have met so many women like you, only”--he shrugged +his shoulders--“I must confess that I thought you were a little +different to the rest of worldly mothers--forgive me if I use that +word again. But you are not any better--you may be a little worse,” he +said, his thoughtful eyes upon her face. + +He was looking at her with a curious something which the woman could +not quite understand in his eyes. She had seen that look somewhere, +and in spite of herself she shivered. The anger died away in fear. + +“I wanted you to postpone this wedding,” he went on softly. “I had an +especial reason, a reason I will not give you, but which will interest +you in a few months’ time. But you were fearful of losing your rich +son-in-law. I didn’t realise then that that was your fear. I have +satisfied myself--it really doesn’t matter how,” he said steadily, +“that you are more responsible than I for this good match.” + +He was a changed man. Mrs. Cathcart in her gusty rage could recognise +this: there was a new soul, a new spirit, a new determination, +and--that was it!--a new and terrible ferocity which shone from his +eyes and for the moment hardened his face till it was almost terrible +to look upon. + +“Your daughter married me under a misapprehension. She told you all +that I had to tell--almost all,” he corrected himself, “and I +anticipated this visit. Had you not come I should have sent for you. +Your daughter is as free as the air as far as I am concerned. I +suppose your worldliness extends to a knowledge of the law? She can +sue for a divorce to-morrow, and attain it without any difficulty and +with little publicity.” + +A gleam of hope came to the woman’s face. + +“I never thought of that,” she said half to herself. She turned +quickly to her daughter, for she was a woman of action. “Get your +things and come with me.” + +Edith did not stir. She stood the other side of the table, half facing +her husband and wholly facing her mother. + +“You hear what Mr. Standerton says,” said Mrs. Cathcart irritably. “He +has opened a way of escape to you. What he says is true. A divorce can +be obtained with no difficulty. Come with me. I will send for your +clothes.” + +Edith still did not move. + +Mrs. Cathcart, watching her, saw her features soften one by one, saw +the lips part in a smile and the head fall back as peal after peal of +clear laughter rang through the room. + +“Oh, mother!” The infinite contempt of the voice struck the woman like +the lash of a whip. “You don’t know me! Go back with you? Divorce him? +You’re mad! If he had been a rich man indeed I might; but for the time +being, though I do not love him, and though I should not blame him and +do not blame him if he does not love me, my lot is cast with his, my +place is here.” + +“Melodrama!” said the elder woman angrily. + +“There’s a lot of truth and no end of decency in melodrama, Mrs. +Cathcart,” said Gilbert. + +His mother-in-law stood livid with rage, then turning, flung out of +the room, and they heard the front door slam behind her. + +They looked at each other, this strangely-married pair, for the space +of a few seconds, and then Gilbert held out his hand. + +“Thank you,” he said. + +The girl dropped her eyes. + +“You have nothing to thank me for,” she said listlessly. “I have done +you too much wrong for one little act to wipe out all the effects of +my selfishness.” + + + + + CHAPTER VI. + THE SAFE AGENCY + +The City of London is filled, as all the world knows, with +flourishing and well-established businesses. + +It abounds in concerns which proclaim, either with dignity or +flamboyantly, the fact that this shop stood where it did a hundred +years ago, and is still being carried on by the legitimate descendants +of its founders. + +There are companies and syndicates and trading associations, housed in +ornate and elaborate buildings, suites of offices, which come into +existence in the spring and fade away to nothingness in the winter, +leaving a residue of unpaid petty accounts, and a landlord who has +only this satisfaction--that he was paid his rent in advance. + +The tragedies of the City of London lay in a large sense round the +ugly and unpretentious buildings of the Stock Exchange, and may be +found in the seedy sprinkling of people who perambulate the streets +round and round that grimy building like so many disembodied spirits. + +But the tragic gambler is not peculiar to the metropolis, and the +fortunes made and lost in a day or in an hour has its counterpart in +every city in the world where stock transactions are conducted. + +The picturesque sorrows of the city are represented in the popular +mind with the human wreckage which strews the Embankment after dark, +or goes shuffling along the edges of the pavement with downcast eyes +seeking for discarded cigar ends. That is sorrowful enough, though the +unhappy objects of our pity are considerably more satisfied with their +lot than most people would imagine. + +The real tragedy and sorrow is to be found in the hundred and one +little businesses which come into existence joyfully, and swallow up +the savings of years of some two or three optimistic individuals. The +flourishing note heads which are issued from brand new offices +redolent of paint and fresh varnish, the virgin books imposingly +displayed upon new shelves, the mass of correspondence which goes +daily forth, the booklets and the leaflets, the explanatory tables and +all the paraphernalia of the inexperienced advertiser, and the trickle +of replies which come back--they are all part of the sad game. + +Some firms endeavour to establish themselves with violence, with a +flourish of their largest trumpets. Some drift into business +noiselessly, and in some mysterious way make good. Generally, one may +suppose, they came with the invaluable asset of a “connection,” +shifting up from the suburbs to a more impressive address. + +One of the businesses which came into existence in London in the year +1924 was a firm which was defined in the telephone book and in the +directory as “The St. Bride’s Safe Company.” It dealt in new and +second-hand safes, strong rooms and all the cunning machinery of +protection. + +In its one show-room were displayed safes of every make, new and old, +gratings, burglar alarms, cash boxes, big and small, and the examples +of all that iron and steel could do to resist the attention of the +professional burglar. + +The principal of the business was apparently a Midland gentleman, who +engaged a staff, including a manager and a salesman, by advertisement, +interviewed the newly-engaged employees in the Midlands, and placed at +the disposal of the manager, who came armed with unimpeachable +testimonials, a sum of money sufficient to stock the store and carry +on the business. + +He found more supplies from time to time in addition to the floating +stock-in-trade, and though orders came very infrequently, the +proprietor of the concern cheerfully continued to pay the large rent +and the fairly generous salaries of the staff. + +The proprietor would occasionally visit the store, generally late at +night, because, as he explained, his business in Birmingham required +his constant attention. + +The new stock would be inspected; there would be a stock-taking of +keys--these were usually kept in the private safe of the firm--and the +proprietor would invariably express his satisfaction with the progress +of the business. + +The manager himself never quite understood how his chief could make +this office pay, but he evidently did a big trade in the provinces, +because he was able to keep a large motor lorry and a driver, who from +time to time appeared at the Bride Street store, brought a safe which +would be unloaded, or carried away some purchased article to its new +owners. + +The manager, a Mr. Timmings, and a respectable member of Balham +society, could only imagine that the provincial branch of the business +was fairly extensive. Sometimes the motor lorry would come with every +evidence of having travelled for many miles, and it would seem that +the business flourished, at any rate, at the Birmingham end. + +It was the day following the remarkable occurrence which is chronicled +in the previous chapter that Gilbert Standerton decided amongst other +things to purchase a safe. + +He needed one for his home, and there were reasons which need not be +particularised why such an article of furniture was necessary. He had +never felt the need of a safe before. When he did, he wanted to get +one right away. It was unfortunate, or fortunate as the case may be, +that this resolve did not come to him until an hour when most dealers +in these unusual commodities were closed. It was after six when he +arrived in the City. + +Mr. Timmings had gone away early that night, but he had left a most +excellent deputy. + +The proprietor had come to London a little earlier that evening, and +through the glass street doors Gilbert saw him and stared. + +The door was locked when he tried it, and with a cheery smile the new +proprietor came forward himself and unbolted it. + +“We are closed,” he said, “and I am afraid my manager has gone home. +Can I do anything for you?” + +Gilbert looked at him. + +“Yes,” he said slowly, “I want to buy a safe.” + +“Then possibly I can help you,” said the gentleman good-naturedly. +“Won’t you come in?” + +Gilbert entered, and the door was bolted behind him. + +“What kind of safe do you want?” asked the man. + +“I want a small one,” said the other. “I would like a second-hand +Chubb if you have one.” + +“I think I have got the very thing. I suppose you want it for your +office?” + +Gilbert shook his head. + +“No, I want it for my house,” he said shortly, “and I would like it +delivered almost at once.” + +He made an inspection of the various receptacles for valuables, and +finally made a choice. + +He was on his way out, when he saw the great safe which stood at the +end of the store. + +It was rather out of the ordinary, being about eight feet in height +and about that width. It looked for all the world like a great steel +wardrobe. Three sets of locks guarded the interior, and there was in +addition a small combination lock. + +“That is a very handsome safe,” said Gilbert. + +“Isn’t it?” said the other carelessly. + +“What is the value of that?” + +“It is sold,” said the proprietor a little brusquely. + +“Sold? I should like to see the interior,” said Gilbert. + +The man smiled at him and stroked his upturned moustache thoughtfully. + +“I am sorry I can’t oblige you,” he said. “The fact is, the new +proprietor took the keys when he completed the purchase.” + +“That is very unfortunate,” said Gilbert, “for this is one of the most +interesting safes I have ever seen.” + +“It is quite usual,” said the other briefly. He tapped the sides with +his knuckles in a reflective mood. “It is rather an expensive piece of +property.” + +“It looks as if you had it here permanently.” + +“It does, doesn’t it?” said the other absently. “I had to make it +comfortable.” + +He smiled, then he led the way to another part of the store. + +Gilbert would have paid by cheque, but something prevented him. He +searched his pockets, and found the fifteen pounds which had been +asked for the safe. + +With a pleasant good-night he was ushered out of the shop, and the +door was closed behind him. + +“Where have I seen your face before?” said the proprietor to himself. + +Though he was a very clever man in more ways than one, it is a curious +fact that he never placed his customer until many months afterwards. + + + + + CHAPTER VII. + THE BANK SMASHER + +Three men sat in the inner room of a City office. The outer door was +locked, the door communicating between the outer office and the +sanctum was wide open. + +The men sat at a table, discussing a frugal lunch which had been +brought in from a restaurant near by, and talking together in low +tones. + +George Wallis, who spoke with such authority as to suggest that he +held a leading position above and before the others, was a man of +forty, inclined a little to stoutness, of middle height, and with no +distinguishing features save the short bristling moustache and the +jet-black eyebrows which gave his face a somewhat sinister appearance. +His eyes were tired and lazy, his square jaw bespoke immense +determination, and the hands which played idly with a pen were small +but strong; they were the hands of an artist, and indeed George +Wallis, under one name or another, was known as an artist in his +particular profession in every police bureau on the Continent. + +Callidino, the little Italian at his side, was neat and dapper. His +hair was rather long, he suggested rather the musical enthusiast than +the cool-headed man of business. And yet this dapper Italian was known +as the most practical of the remarkable trio which for many years had +been the terror of every bank president in France. + +The third was Persh, a stout man with a pleasant, florid face, and a +trim cavalry moustache, who, despite his bulk, was a man of +extraordinary agility, and his escape from Devil’s Island and his +subsequent voyage to Australia in an open boat will be fresh in the +minds of the average newspaper readers. + +They made no disguise as to their identities, they did not evade the +frank questioning which was their lot when the City Police smelt them +out and came in to investigate the affairs of this “outside brokers’” +establishment. The members of the City force were a little +disappointed to discover that quite a legitimate business was being +done. You cannot quarrel even with convicted bank robbers if they +choose to get their living by any way which, however much discredited, +is within the law; and beyond warning those of their clients with whom +they could get in touch that the heads of this remarkable business +were notorious criminals, the police must needs sit by and watch, +satisfied that sooner or later the men would make a slip that would +bring them within the scope of police action. + +“And they will have to wait a jolly long time,” said Wallis. + +He looked round his “Board” with an amused smile. + +“Have they been in to-day?” asked Callidino. + +“They have been in to-day,” said Wallis gravely. “They have searched +our books and our desks and our clothes, and even the legs of our +office stools.” + +“An indelicate proceeding,” said Persh cheerfully. + +“And what did they find, George?” + +George smiled. + +“They found all there was to be found,” he said. + +“I suppose it was the burglary at the Bond Guarantees that I have been +reading about that’s excited them,” said the Italian coolly. + +“I suppose so,” said Wallis, with grave indifference. “It is pretty +terrible to have names such as we possess. Seriously,” he went on, “I +am not very much afraid of the police, even suppose there was anything +to find. I haven’t met one of them who has the intelligence of that +cool devil we met at the Foreign Office, when I had to answer some +questions about Persh’s unique experiences on Devil’s Island.” + +“What was his name?” asked Persh, interested. + +“Something associated in my mind with South Africa--oh, yes, +Standerton. A cool beast--I met him at Epsom the other day,” said +Wallis. “He’s lost in a place like the Foreign Office. Do you remember +that quick run through he gave me, Persh?” + +The other nodded. + +“Before I knew where I was I admitted that I’d been in Huntingdonshire +the same week as Lady Perkinton’s jewels were taken. If he’d had +another five minutes I guess he’d have known”--he lowered his voice to +little more than a whisper--“all this hidden treasure which the +English police are seeking was cached.” + +The men laughed as at some great joke. + +“Talking of cool people,” said Wallis, “do you recall that weird devil +who held us up in Hatton Garden?” + +“Have you found him?” asked Callidino. + +George shook his head. + +“No,” he said slowly, “only I’m rather afraid of him.” + +Which was a remarkable confession for him to make. He changed the +subject abruptly. + +“I suppose you people know,” said Wallis, “that the police are +particularly active just now? I’ve reason to be aware of the fact, +because they have just concluded a most exhaustive search of my +private belongings.” + +He did not exaggerate. The police were, indeed, most eager for some +clue to associate these three known criminals with the acts of the +past month. + +Half an hour later Wallis left the building. He paused in the entrance +hall of the big block of offices, lighted a cigar with an air that +betokened his peace with the world and his approval of humanity. + +As his foot touched the pavement a tall man stepped to his side. +Wallis looked up quickly and gave a little nod. + +“I want you,” said the tall man coldly. + +“Do you indeed?” said Wallis with exaggerated interest. “And what may +you want with me?” + +“You come along with me, and not so much of your lip,” said the man. + +He called a cab, and the two men were rapidly driven to the nearest +City police station. Wallis continued smoking his cigar, without any +outward indication of apprehension. He would have chatted very gaily +with the officer who had effected his arrest, but the officer himself +was in no mood for light humour. + +He was hustled into the charge room and brought before the inspector’s +desk. + +That officer looked up with a nod. He was more genial than his captor. + +“Well, Wallis,” he said with a smile, “we want some information from +you.” + +“You always want information from somebody,” said the man with cold +insolence. “Have you had another burglary?” + +The inspector nodded. + +“Tut, tut!” said the prisoner with an affectation of distress, “how +very annoying for you Mr. Whitling. I suppose you have got the +culprit?” he asked blandly. + +“I’ve got you at present,” said the calm inspector. “I should not be +surprised if I had also got the culprit. Can you explain where you +were last night?” + +“With the greatest of pleasure,” said Wallis; “I was dining with a +friend.” + +“His name?” + +The other shrugged his shoulders. “His name is immaterial. I was +dining with a friend whose name does not matter. Put that down, +inspector.” + +“And where were you dining with this unknown friend?” asked the +imperturbable official. + +Wallis named a restaurant in Wardour Street. + +“At what hour were you dining?” asked the inspector patiently. + +“Between the hours of eight and eleven,” said the man, “as the +proprietor of the restaurant will testify.” + +The inspector smiled to himself. He knew the restaurant and knew the +proprietor. His testimony would not carry a great deal of weight with +a jury. + +“Have you anybody respectable,” he asked, “who will vouch for the fact +that you were there, other than your unknown friend and Signor +Villimicci?” + +Wallis nodded. + +“I might name, with due respect,” he said, “Sergeant Colebrook, of the +Central Investigation Department of Scotland Yard.” + +He was annoyingly bland. The inspector looked up sharply. + +“Is he going to vouch for you?” he asked. + +“He was watching me the whole of the time, disguised, I think, as a +gentleman. At least, he was in evening dress, and he was quite +different from the waiters. You see, he was sitting down.” + +“I see,” said the inspector. He put down his pen. + +“It was rather amusing to be watched by a real detective-sergeant, +from that most awe-inspiring wilderness of bricks,” the man continued. +“I quite liked it, though I am afraid the poor fellow was bored sooner +than I was.” + +“I understand,” said the inspector, “that you were being watched from +eight o’clock last night till----?” + +He paused inquiringly. + +“Till near midnight, I should imagine. Until our dress-suited +detective, looking tragically like a detective all the time, had +escorted me to the front door of my flat.” + +“I can verify that in a minute,” said the inspector. “Go into the +parade room.” + +Wallis strolled unconcernedly into the inner room whilst the inspector +manipulated the telephone. + +In five minutes the prisoner was sent for. + +“You’re all right,” said the inspector. “Clean bill for you, Wallis.” + +“I am glad to hear it,” said Wallis. “Very relieved indeed!” He sighed +heavily. “Now that I am embarked upon what I might term a legalised +form of thefts from the public, it is especially pleasing to me to +know that my actions are approved by the police.” + +“We don’t approve of everything you do,” said the inspector. + +He was an annoying man, Wallis thought; he would neither lose his +temper nor be rude. + +“You can go now--sorry to have bothered you.” + +“Don’t mention it,” said the polite man with a little bow. + +“By the way, before you go,” said the inspector, “just come into my +inner office, will you?” + +Wallis followed him. The inspector closed the door behind them. They +were alone. + +“Wallis, do you know there is a reward of some twelve thousand pounds +for the detection of the men engaged in these burglaries?” + +“You surprise me,” said Mr. Wallis, lifting his eyebrows. + +“I don’t surprise you,” said the inspector; “in fact, you know much +more about it than I do. And I tell you this, that we are prepared to +go to any lengths to track this gang, or, at any rate, to put an end +to its operations. Look here, George,” he tapped the other on the +chest with his strong, gnarled finger, “is it a scream?” + +“A scream?” Mr. Wallis was puzzled innocence itself. + +“Will you turn King’s evidence?” said the other shortly. + +“I should be most happy,” said Wallis, with a helpless shrug, “but how +can I turn King’s evidence about a matter on which I am absolutely +uninformed? The reward is monstrously tempting. If I had companions in +crime I should need very little persuading. My conscience is a matter +of constant adjustment. It is rather like the foot-rule which +shoemakers employ to measure their customers’ feet--terrifically +adjustable. It has a sliding scale which goes up and down.” + +“I don’t want to hear any more about your conscience,” said the +officer wearily. “Do you scream or don’t you?” + +“I don’t scream,” said Mr. Wallis emphatically. + +The inspector jerked his head sideways, and with the bow which the +invitation had interrupted, Mr. Wallis walked out into the street. + +He knew, no one better, how completely every action of his was +watched. He knew, even as he left the station, that the seemingly idle +loafer on the corner of the street had picked him up, would follow him +until he handed him over to yet another plain-clothes officer for +observation. From beat to beat, from one end of the City to another, +those vigilant eyes would never leave him; whilst he slept, the door, +back and front of his lodging would be watched. He could not move +without all London--all the London that mattered as far as he was +concerned--knowing everything about that move. + +His home was the upper part of a house over a tobacconist’s in a small +street off Charing Cross Road. And to his maisonette he made a +leisurely way, not hastening his steps any the more because he knew +that on one side of the street an innocent commercial traveller, and +on the other a sandwich man apparently trudging homeward with his +board, were keeping him under observation. He stopped to buy some +cigars in the Charing Cross Road, crossed near the Alhambra, and ten +minutes later was unlocking the door of the narrow passage which ran +by the side of the shop, and gave him private access to the suite +above. + +It was a room comfortably furnished and giving evidence of some taste. +Large divan chairs formed a feature of the furnishing, and the prints, +though few, were interesting by reason of their obvious rarity. + +He did not trouble to make an examination of the room, or of the +remainder of the maisonette he rented. If the police had been, they +had been. If they had not, it did not matter. They could find nothing. +He had a good conscience, so far as a man’s conscience may be good who +fears less for the consequence of his deeds than for the apparent, the +obvious and the discoverable consequences. + +He rang a bell, and after a little delay an old woman answered the +call. + +“Make me some tea, Mrs. Skard,” he said. “Has anybody called?” + +The old woman looked up to the ceiling for inspiration. + +“Only the man about the gas,” she said. + +“Only the man about the gas,” repeated George Wallis admiringly. +“Wasn’t he awfully surprised to find that we didn’t have gas at all?” + +The old lady looked at him in some amazement. + +“He did say he had come to see about the gas,” she said, “and then +when he found we had no gas he said ‘electricity’--a most +absent-minded young man.” + +“They are that way, Mrs. Skard,” said her master tolerantly; “they +fall in love, don’t you know, round about this season of the year, and +when their minds become occupied with other and more pleasant thoughts +than gas mantles and incandescent lights they become a little +confused. I suppose he did not bother you--he told you you need not +wait?” he suggested. + +“Quite right, sir,” said Mrs. Skard. “He said he would do all he had +to do without assistance.” + +“And I will bet you he did it,” said George Wallis with boisterous +good humour. + +Undisturbed by the knowledge that his rooms had been searched by an +industrious detective, he sat for an hour reading an American +magazine. At six o’clock a taxi-cab drove into the street and pulled +up before the entrance of his flat. The driver, a stoutish man with a +beard, looked helplessly up and down seeking a number, and one of the +two detectives who had been keeping observation on the house walked +across the road casually towards him. + +“Do you want to find a number, mate?” he asked. + +“I want No. 43,” said the cabman. + +“That’s it,” said the officer. + +He saw the cabman ring, and having observed that he entered the door, +which was closed behind him, he walked back to his co-worker. + +“George is going to take a little taxi drive,” he said; “we will see +where he goes.” + +The man who had waited on the other side of the road nodded. + +“I don’t suppose he will go anywhere worth following, but I have the +car waiting round the corner.” + +“I’ll car him,” said the second man bitterly. “Did you hear what he +told Inspector Whitling of the City Police about me last night?” + +The first detective was considerably interested. + +“No, I should like to hear.” + +“Well,” began the man, and then thought better of it. It was nothing +to his credit that he should keep a man under observation three hours, +and that the quarry should be aware all the time that he was being +watched. + +“Hullo!” he said as the door of No. 43 opened, “here is our man.” + +He threw a swift glance along the street, and saw that the hired +motor-car which had been provided for his use was waiting. + +“Here he comes,” he said, but it was not the man he expected. The +bearded chauffeur came out alone, waved a farewell to somebody in the +hall-way whom they could not see, and having started his engine with +great deliberation, got upon his seat, and the taxi-cab moved slowly +away. + +“George is not going,” said the detective. “That means that we shall +have to stay here for another two or three hours--there is his light.” + +For four long hours they kept their vigil, and never once was a pair +of eyes taken from the only door through which George Wallis could +make his exit. There was no other way by which he could leave, of that +they were assured. + +Behind the house was a high wall, and unless the man was working in +collusion with half the respectable householders, not only in that +street but of Charing Cross Road, he could not by any possible chance +leave his flat. + +At half-past ten the taxi-cab they had seen drove back to the door of +the flat, and the driver was admitted. He evidently did not expect to +stay long, for he did not switch off his engine; as a matter of fact, +he was not absent from his car longer than thirty seconds. He came +back almost immediately, climbed up on to his seat and drove away. + +“I wonder what the game is?” asked the detective, a little puzzled. + +“He has been to take a message somewhere,” said the other. “I think we +ought to have found out.” + +Ten minutes later Inspector Goldberg, of Scotland Yard, drove into the +street and sprang from his car opposite the men. + +“Has Wallis returned?” he asked quickly. + +“Returned!” repeated the puzzled detective, “he has not gone out yet.” + +“Has not gone out?” repeated the inspector with a gasp. “A man +answering to his description was seen leaving the City branch of the +Goldsmiths’ Guild half an hour ago. The safe has been forced and +twenty thousand pounds’ worth of jewelry has been taken.” + +There was a little silence. + +“Well, sir,” said the subordinate doggedly, “one thing I will swear, +and it is that George Wallis has not left this house to-night.” + +“That’s true, sir,” said the second man. “The sergeant and I have not +left this place since Wallis went in.” + +“But,” said the bewildered detective-inspector, “it must be Wallis, no +other man could have done the job as he did it.” + +“It could not have been, sir,” persisted the watcher. + +“Then who in the name of Heaven did the job?” snapped the inspector. + +His underlings wisely offered no solution. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII. + THE WIFE WHO DID NOT LOVE + +Mr. Warrell, of the firm of Warrell & Bird, prided himself upon +being a man of the world, and was wont to admit, in a mild spirit of +boastfulness, in which even middle-aged and respectable gentlemen +occasionally indulge, that he had been in some very awkward +situations. He had inferred that he had escaped from those situations +with some credit to himself. + +Every stockbroker doing a popular and extensive business is confronted +sooner or later with the delicate task of explaining to a rash and +hazardous speculator exactly how rashly and at what hazard he has +invested his money. + +Mr. Warrell had had occasion before to break, as gently as it was +possible to break, unpleasant news of Mrs. Cathcart’s unsuccess. But +never before had he been face to face with a situation so full of +possibilities for disagreeable consequences as this which now awaited +him. + +The impassive Cole admitted him, and the face of Cole fell, for he +knew the significance of these visits, having learnt in that +mysterious way which servants have of discovering the inward secrets +of their masters’ and mistresses’ bosoms, that the arrival of Mr. +Warrell was usually followed by a period of retrenchment economy and +reform. + +“Madam will see you at once,” was the message he returned with. + +A few minutes later Mrs. Cathcart sailed into the drawing-room, a +little harder of face than usual, thought Mr. Warrell, and wondered +why. + +“Well, Warrell,” she said briskly, “what machination of the devil has +brought you here? Sit down, won’t you?” + +He seated himself deliberately. He placed his hat upon the floor, and +peeling his gloves, deposited them with unnecessary care in the +satin-lined interior. + +“What is it?” asked Mrs. Cathcart impatiently. “Are those Canadian +Pacifics down again?” + +“They are slightly up,” said Mr. Warrell, with a smile which was +intended both to conciliate and to flatter. “I think your view on +Canadian Pacifics is a very sound one.” + +He knew that Mrs. Cathcart would ordinarily desire nothing better than +a tribute to her judgment, but now she dismissed the compliment, +realising that he had not come all the way from Throgmorton Street to +say kindly things about her perspicacity. + +“I will say all that is in my mind,” Mr. Warrell went on, choosing his +words and endeavouring by the adoption of a pained smile to express in +some tangible form his frankness. “You owe us some seven hundred +pounds, Mrs. Cathcart.” + +She nodded. + +“You have ample security,” she said. + +“That I realise,” he agreed, addressing the ceiling, “but the question +is whether you are prepared to make good in actual cash the +differences which are due to us.” + +“There is no question at all about it,” she said brusquely, “so far as +I am concerned, I cannot raise seven hundred shillings.” + +“Suppose,” suggested Mr. Warrell, with his eyes still upraised, +“suppose I could find somebody who would be willing to buy your +necklace--I think that was the article you deposited with us--for a +thousand pounds?” + +“It is worth considerably more than that,” said Mrs. Cathcart sharply. + +“Possibly,” said the other, “but I am anxious to keep things out of +the paper.” + +He had launched his bombshell. + +“Exactly what do you mean?” she demanded, rising to her feet. She +stood glowering down at him. + +“Do not misunderstand me,” he said hastily. “I will explain in a +sentence. Your diamond necklace has been stolen from my safe.” + +“Stolen!” + +She went white. + +“Stolen,” said Mr. Warrell, “by a gang of burglars which has been +engaged in its operations for the past twelve months in the City of +London. You see, my dear Mrs. Cathcart,” he went on, “that it is a +very embarrassing situation for both of us. I do not want my clients +to know that I accept jewels from ladies as collateral security +against differences, and you,” he was so rude as to point to emphasise +his words, “do not, I imagine, desire your friends to know that it was +necessary for you to deposit those jewels.” He shrugged his shoulders. +“Of course, I could have reported the matter to the police, sent out a +description of the necklace, and possibly recovered the loss from an +insurance company, but that I do not wish to do.” + +He might have added, this good business man, that his insurance policy +would not have covered such a loss, for when premiums are adjusted to +cover the risk of a stockbroker’s office, they do not as a rule +foreshadow the possibility of a jewel robbery. + +“I am willing to stand the loss myself,” he continued, “that is to +say, I am willing to make good a reasonable amount out of my own +pocket, as much for your sake as for mine. On the other hand, if you +do not agree to my suggestion, I have no other alternative than to +report the matter very, very fully, _very_ fully,” he repeated with +emphasis, “to the police and to the press. Now, what do you think?” + +Mrs. Cathcart might have said in truth that she did not know what to +think. + +The necklace was a valuable one, and there were other considerations. + +Mr. Warrell was evidently thinking of its sentimental value, for he +went on-- + +“But for the fact that jewels of this kind have associations I might +suggest that your new son-in-law would possibly replace your loss.” + +She turned upon him with a hard smile. + +“My new son-in-law!” she scoffed. “Good Lord!” + +Warrell knew Standerton, and regarded him as one of Fortune’s +favourites, and was in no doubt as to his financial stability. + +The contempt in the woman’s tone shocked him as only a City man can be +shocked by a whisper against the credit of gilt-edged stock. + +For the moment he forgot the object of his visit. + +He would have liked to have asked for an explanation, but he felt that +it did not lie within the province of Mrs. Cathcart’s broker to demand +information upon her domestic affairs. + +“It is a pretty rotten mess you have got me into, Warrell,” she said, +and got up. + +He rose with her, picked up his hat, and exhumed his buried gloves. + +“It is very awkward indeed,” he said, “tremendously awkward for you, +and tremendously awkward for me, my dear Mrs. Cathcart. I am sure you +will pity me in my embarrassment.” + +“I am too busy pitying myself,” she said shortly. + +She sat in the drawing-room alone after the broker’s departure. + +What should she do? For what Warrell did not know was that the +necklace was not hers. It had been one which the old Colonel had had +reset for his daughter, and which had been bequeathed to the girl in +her father’s will. + +A family circle which consists of a mother and a daughter exercises +communal rights over property which may appear curious to families +more extensive in point of number. Though Edith had known the jewel +was hers, she had not demurred when her mother had worn it, and had +never even hinted that she would prefer to include it amongst the +meagre stock of jewellery in her own case. + +Yet it had always been known as “Edith’s necklace.” + +Mrs. Cathcart had referred to it herself in these terms, and an +uncomfortable feature of their estrangement had been the question of +the necklace and its retention by the broker. + +Mrs. Cathcart shrugged her shoulders. There was nothing to be done; +she must trust to luck. She could not imagine that Edith would ever +feel the need of the jewel; yet if her husband was poor, and she was +obsessed with this absurd sense of loyalty to the man who had deceived +her, there might be a remote possibility that from a sheer quixotic +desire to help her husband, she would make inquiries as to the +whereabouts of the necklace. + +Edith was not like that, thought Mrs. Cathcart. It was a comforting +thought as she made her way up the stairs to her room. + +She stopped half-way up to allow the maid to overtake her with the +letters which had arrived at that moment. With a little start she +recognised upon the first of these the handwriting of her daughter, +and tore open the envelope. The letter was brief:-- + + + “Dear Mother,” it ran, + + “Would you please arrange for me to have the necklace which father + left to me. I feel now that I must make some sort of display if only + for my husband’s sake.” + + +The letter dropped from Mrs. Cathcart’s hand. She stood on the stairs +transfixed. + + * * * * + +Edith Standerton was superintending the arrangement of the lunch table +when her husband came in. Life had become curiously systematised in +the St. John’s Wood house. + +To neither of the young people had it seemed possible that they could +live together as now they did, in perfect harmony, in sympathy, yet +with apparently no sign of love or demonstration of affection on +either side. + +To liken them to brother and sister would be hardly descriptive of +their friendship. They lacked the mutual knowledge of things, and the +common interest which brother and sister would have. They wanted, too, +an appreciation of one another’s faults and virtues. + +They were strangers, and every day taught each something about the +other. Gilbert learnt that this quiet girl, whose sad grey eyes had +hinted at tragedy, had a sense of humour, could laugh on little +provocation, and was immensely shrewd in her appraisement of humanity. + +She, for her part, had found a force she had not reckoned on, a +vitality and a doggedness of purpose which she had never seen before +their marriage. He could be entertaining, too, in the rare intervals +when they were alone together. He was a traveller, had visited Persia, +Arabia, and the less known countries of Eastern Asia. + +She never referred again to the events of that terrible marriage +night. Here, perhaps, her judgment was at fault. She had seen a player +with a face of extraordinary beauty, and had given perhaps too much +attention to this minor circumstance. Somewhere in her husband’s heart +was a secret, what that secret was she could only guess. She guessed +that it was associated in some way with a woman--therein the woman in +her spoke. + +She had no feeling of resentment either towards her husband or to the +unknown who had sent a message through the trembling strings of her +violin upon that wedding night. + +Only, she told herself, it was “curious.” She wanted to know what it +was all about. She had the healthy curiosity of the young. The +revelation might shock her, might fill her with undying contempt for +the man whose name she bore, but she wanted to know. + +It piqued her too, after a while, that he should have any secrets from +her--a strange condition of mind, remembering the remarkable +relationship in which they stood, and yet one quite understandable. + +Though they had not achieved the friendly and peculiar relationship of +man and wife, there had grown up between them a friendship which the +girl told herself (and did her best to believe) was of a more enduring +character than that which marriage _qua_ marriage could produce. It +was a comradeship in which much was taken for granted; she took for +granted that he loved her, and entered into the marriage with no other +object. That was a comforting basis for friendship with any woman. + +For his part, he took it for granted that she had a soul above +deception, that she was frank even though in her frankness she wounded +him almost to death. He detected in that an unusual respect for +himself, though in his more logical mood he argued she would have +acted as honourably to any man. + +She herself wove into the friendship a peculiar sexless variety of +romance--sexless since she thought she saw in it an accomplished ideal +towards which the youth of all ages have aspired without any +conspicuous success. + +There is no man or woman in the world who does not think that the +chance in a million may be his or hers; there is no human creature so +diffident that it does not imagine in its favour is created exception +to evident and universal rules. + +Plato may have stopped dead in his conduct of other friendships, his +philosophies may have frizzled hopelessly and helplessly, and have +been evaporated to thin vapour before the fire of natural love. A +thousand witnesses may rise to testify to the futility of friendship +in two people of opposite sex, but there always is the “you” and the +“me” in the world, who defies experience, and comes with sublime faith +to show how different will be the result to that which has attended +all previous experiments. + +As she told herself, if there had been the slightest spark of love in +her bosom for this young man who had come into her life with some +suddenness, and had gone out in a sense so violently, only to return +in another guise, if there had been the veriest smouldering ember of +the thing called love in her heart, she would have been jealous, just +a little jealous, of the interests which drew him away from her every +night, and often brought him home when the grey dawn was staining the +blue of the East. + +She had watched him once from her window, and had wondered vaguely +what he found to do at night. + +Was he seeking relaxation from an intolerable position? He never gave +her the impression that it was intolerable. There was comfort in that +thought. + +Was there--somebody else? + +Here was a question to make her knit her brows, this loveless wife. + +Once she found herself, to her intense amazement, on the verge of +tears at the thought. She went through all the stages of doubt and +decision, of anger and contrition, which a young wife more happily +circumstanced might have experienced. + +Who was the violin player with the beautiful face? What part had she +taken in Gilbert’s life? + +One thing she did know, her husband was gambling on the Stock +Exchange. At first she did not realise that he could be so +commonplace. She had always regarded him as a man to whom vulgar +money-grabbing would be repugnant. He had surrendered his position at +the Foreign Office; he was now engaged in some business which neither +discussed. She thought many things, but until she discovered the +contract note of a broker upon his desk, she had never suspected +success on the Stock Exchange as the goal of his ambition. + +This transaction seemed an enormous one to her. + +There were tens of thousands of shares detailed upon the note. She +knew very little about the Stock Exchange, except that there had been +mornings when her mother had been unbearable as a result of her +losses. Then it occurred to her, if he were in business--a vague term +which meant anything--she might do something more than sit at home and +direct his servants. + +She might help him also in another way. Business men have expedient +dinners, give tactful theatre parties. And many men have succeeded +because they have wives who are wise in their generation. + +It was a good thought. She held a grand review of her wardrobe, and +posted the letter which so completely destroyed her mother’s peace of +mind. + +Gilbert had been out all the morning, and he came back from the City +looking rather tired. + +An exchange of smiles, a little strained and a little hard on one +side, a little wistful and a little sad on the other, had become the +conventional greeting between the two, so too had the inquiry, “Did +you sleep well?” which was the legitimate property of whosoever +thought first of this original question. + +They were in the midst of lunch when she asked suddenly-- + +“Would you like me to give a dinner party?” + +He looked up with a start. + +“A dinner party!” he said incredulously, then, seeing her face drop, +and realising something of the sacrifice which she might be making, he +added, “I think it is an excellent idea. Whom would you like to +invite?” + +“Any friends you have,” she said, “that rather nice man Mr. Frankfort, +and---- Who else?” she asked. + +He smiled a little grimly. + +“I think that rather nice man Mr. Frankfort about exhausts the sum of +my friends,” he said with a little laugh. “We might ask Warrell.” + +“Who is Warrell? Oh, I know,” she said quickly, “he is mother’s +broker.” + +He looked at her curiously. + +“Your mother’s broker,” he repeated slowly, “is he really?” + +“Why?” she asked. + +“Why what?” he evaded. + +“Why did you say that so queerly?” + +“I did not know that I did,” he said carelessly, “only somehow one +doesn’t associate your mother with a broker. Yet I suppose she finds +an agent necessary in these days. You see, he is my broker too.” + +“Who else?” she asked. + +“On my side of the family,” he said with mock solemnity, “I can think +of nobody. What about your mother?” + +“I could ask one or two nice people,” she went on, ignoring the +suggestion. + +“What about your mother?” he said again. + +She looked up, her eyes filled with tears. + +“Please do not be horrid,” she said. “You know that is impossible.” + +“Not at all,” he answered cheerfully. “I made the suggestion in all +good faith; I think it is a good one. After all, there is no reason +why this absurd quarrel should go on. I admit I felt very sore with +her; but then I even felt sore with you!” + +He looked at her not unkindly. + +“The soreness is gradually wearing away,” he said. + +He spoke half to himself, though he looked at the girl. It seemed to +her that he was trying to convince himself of something in which he +did not wholly believe. + +“It is extraordinary,” he said, “how little things, little worries, +and petty causes for unhappiness disappear in the face of a really +great trouble.” + +“What is your great trouble?” she asked, quick to seize the advantage +which he had given her in that unguarded moment. + +“None,” he said. His tone was a little louder than usual, it was +almost defiant. “I am speaking hypothetically. + +“I have no trouble save the very obvious troubles of life,” he went +on. “You were a trouble to me for quite a little time, but you are not +any more.” + +“I am glad you said that,” she said softly. “I want to be real good +friends with you, Gilbert--I want to be a real good friend to you. I +have made rather a hash of your life, I’m afraid.” + +She had risen from the table and stood looking down at him. + +He shook his head. + +“I do not think you have,” he said, “not the hash that you imagine. +Other circumstances have conspired to disfigure what was a pleasant +outlook. It is unfortunate that our marriage has not proved to be all +that I dreamt it would be, but then dreams are very unstable +foundations to the fabric of life. You would not think that I was a +dreamer, would you?” he said quickly with that ready smile of his, +those eyes that creased into little lines at the corners. “You would +not imagine me as a romancist, though I am afraid I was.” + +“You are, you mean,” she corrected. + +He made no reply to that. + +The question of the dinner came up later, when he was preparing to go +out. + +“You would not like to stay and talk it over, I suppose,” she +suggested a little timidly. + +He hesitated. + +“There is nothing I should like better,” he said, “but”--he looked at +his watch. + +She pressed her lips together, and for one moment felt a wave of +unreasoning anger sweeping over her. It was absurd, of course, he +always went out at this time, and there was really no reason why he +should stay in. + +“We can discuss it another time,” she said coldly, and left him +without a further word. + +He waited until he heard the door close in her room above, and then he +went out with a little smile in which there were tears almost, but in +which there was no merriment. + +He left the house at a propitious moment; had he waited another five +minutes he would have met his mother-in-law. + +Mrs. Cathcart had made up her mind to “own up” and had come in person +to make the confession. It was a merciful providence, so she told +herself, that had taken Gilbert out of the way; that he had gone out +she discovered before she had been in the house four minutes, and she +discovered it by the very simple process of demanding from Gilbert’s +servant whether his master was at home. + +Edith heard of her mother’s arrival without surprise. She supposed +that Mrs. Cathcart had come to hand the necklace to its lawful owner. +She felt some pricking of conscience as she came down the stairs to +meet her mother; had she not been unnecessarily brusque in her demand! +She was a tender soul, and had a proper and natural affection for the +elder woman. The fear that she might have hurt her feelings, and that +that hurt might be expressed at the interview gave her a little qualm +as she opened the drawing-room door. + +Mrs. Cathcart was coolness itself. You might have thought that never a +scene had occurred between these two women which could be remembered +with unkindliness. No reference was made to the past, and Edith was +glad. + +It was not her desire that she should live on bad terms with her +mother. She understood her too well, which was unfortunate for both, +and it would be all the happier for them if they could maintain some +pretence of friendship. + +Mrs. Cathcart came straight to the point. + +“I suppose you know why I have called,” she said, after the first +exchange. + +“I suppose you have brought the necklace,” said the girl with a smile. +“You do not think I am horrid to ask for it, but I feel I ought to do +something for Gilbert.” + +“I think you might have chosen another subject for your first letter,” +said the elder woman grimly, “but still----” + +Edith made no reply. It was useless to argue with her mother. Mrs. +Cathcart had a quality which is by no means rare in the total of human +possessions, the quality of putting other people in the wrong. + +“I am more sorry,” Mrs. Cathcart resumed, “because I am not in a +position to give you your necklace.” + +The girl stared at her mother in wonder. + +“Why! Whatever do you mean, mother?” she asked. + +Mrs. Cathcart carefully avoided her eyes. + +“I have had losses on the Stock Exchange,” she said. “I suppose you +know that your father left us just sufficient to starve on, and +whatever luxury and whatever comfort you have had has been due to my +own individual efforts? I have lost a lot of money over Canadian +Pacifics,” she said bluntly. + +“Well?” asked the girl, wondering what was coming next, and fearing +the worst. + +“I made a loss of seven hundred pounds with a firm of stockbrokers,” +Mrs. Cathcart continued, “and I deposited your necklace with the firm +as security.” The girl gasped. “I intended, of course, redeeming it, +but an unfortunate thing happened--the safe was burgled and the +necklace was stolen.” + +Edith Standerton stared at the other. + +The question of the necklace did not greatly worry her, yet she +realised now that she had depended rather more upon it than she had +thought. It was a little nest-egg against a bad time, which, if +Gilbert spoke the truth, might come at any moment. + +“It cannot be helped,” she said. + +She did not criticise her mother or offer any opinion upon the +impropriety of offering as security for debt articles which are the +property of somebody else. + +Such criticism would have been wasted, and the effort would have been +entirely superfluous. + +“Well,” asked Mrs. Cathcart, “what have you got to say?” + +The girl shrugged her shoulders. + +“What can I say, mother? The thing is lost, and there is an end to it. +Do the firm offer any compensation?” + +She asked the question innocently: it occurred to her as a wandering +thought that possibly something might be saved from the wreck. + +Mrs. Cathcart shot a swift glance at her. + +Had that infernal Warrell been communicating with her? She knew that +Warrell was a friend of Edith’s husband. It would be iniquitous of him +if he had. + +“Some compensation was offered,” she answered carelessly, “quite +inadequate; the matter is not settled yet, but I will let you know how +it develops.” + +“What compensation do they offer?” asked Edith. + +Mrs. Cathcart hesitated. + +“A thousand pounds,” she said reluctantly. + +“A thousand pounds!” + +The girl was startled, she had no idea the necklace was of that value. + +“That means, of course,” Mrs. Cathcart hastened to explain, “seven +hundred pounds out of my pocket and three hundred pounds from the +broker.” + +The girl smiled inwardly. “Seven hundred pounds from my pocket” meant, +“if you ask for the full value you will rob me.” + +“And there is three hundred pounds due. I think I had better have +that.” + +“Wait a little,” said Mrs. Cathcart, “they may recover the necklace, +anyway; they want me to give a description of it. What do you think?” + +The girl shook her head. + +“I do not think I should like that,” she said quietly. “Questions +might be asked, and I should not like people to know either that the +necklace was mine, or that my mother had deposited it as security +against her debts.” + +Here was the new Edith with a vengeance. Mrs. Cathcart stared at her. + +“Edith,” she said severely, “that sounds a little impertinent.” + +“I dare say it does, mother,” said the girl, “but what am I to do? +What am I to say? There are the facts fairly apparent to you and to +me; the necklace is stolen, and it may possibly never be recovered, +and I am not going to expose either my loss or your weakness on the +remote possibility of getting back an article of jewellery which +probably by this time is in the melting-pot and the stones dispersed.” + +“You know a great deal about jewels and jewel-robbers,” said her +mother with a little sneer. “Has Gilbert been enlarging your +education?” + +“Curiously enough, he has,” said her daughter calmly; “we discuss many +queer things.” + +“You must have very pleasant evenings,” said the elder woman dryly. +She rose to go, looking at her watch. “I am sorry I cannot stay,” she +said, “but I am dining with some people. I suppose you would not like +to come along? It is quite an informal affair; as a matter of fact, +the invitation included you.” + +“And Gilbert?” asked the girl. + +The woman smiled. + +“No, it did not exactly include Gilbert,” she said. “I have made it +pretty clear that invitations to me are acceptable only so long as the +party does not include your husband.” + +The girl drew herself up stiffly, and the elder woman saw a storm +gathering in her eyes. + +“I do not quite understand you. Do you mean that you have gone round +London talking unkindly about my husband?” + +“Of course I have,” said Mrs. Cathcart virtuously. “I do not know +about having gone round London, but I have told those people who are +intimate friends of mine, and who are naturally interested in my +affairs.” + +“You have no right to speak,” said the girl angrily, “it is +disgraceful of you. You have made your mistake, and you must abide by +the consequence. I also have made a mistake, and I cheerfully accept +my lot. If it hurts you that I am married to a man who despises me, +how much more do you think it hurts me?” + +Mrs. Cathcart laughed. + +“I assure you,” she smiled, “that though many thoughts disturb my +nights, the thought that your husband has no particular love for you +is not one of them; what does wake me up with a horrid feeling is the +knowledge that so far from being the rich man I thought he was, he is +practically penniless. What madness induced him to give up his work at +the Foreign Office?” + +“You had better ask him,” said the girl with malice, “he will be in in +a few moments.” + +It needed only this to hasten Mrs. Cathcart’s departure, and Edith was +left alone. + + * * * * + +Edith dined alone that night. + +At first she had welcomed with a sense of infinite relief these +solitary dinners. She was a woman of considerable intelligence, and +she had faced the future without illusion. + +She realised that there might come a time when she and Gilbert would +live together in perfect harmony, though without the essential +sympathies which husband and wife should mutually possess. She was +willing to undergo the years of probation, and it made it all the +easier for her if business or pleasure kept them apart during the +embarrassing hours between dinner and bed-time. + +But to-night, for the first time, she was lonely. + +She felt the need of him, the desire for his society, the cheer and +the vitality of him. + +There were moments when he was bright and happy and flippant, as she +had known him at his best. There were other moments too, terrible and +depressing moments, when she never saw him, when he shut himself in +his study and she only caught a glimpse of his face by accident. She +went through her dinner alternately reading and thinking. + +A book lay upon the table by her side, but she did not turn one page. +The maid was clearing the entrée when Edith Standerton looked up with +a start. + +“What is it?” she said. + +“What, madam?” asked the girl. + +Outside the window Edith could hear the sound of music, a gentle, soft +cadence of sound, a tiny wail of melodious tragedy. + +She rose from the table, walked across to the window and pulled aside +the blinds. Outside a girl was playing a violin. In the light which a +street lamp afforded Edith recognised the player of the “Melody in F.” + + + + + CHAPTER IX. + EDITH MEETS THE PLAYER + +Edith turned to her waiting maid. + +“Go out and bring the girl in at once,” she said quietly. + +“Which girl, madam?” asked the startled servant. + +“The girl who is playing,” said Edith. “Hurry please, before she +goes.” + +She was filled with sudden determination to unravel this mystery. She +might be acting disloyally to her husband, but she adjusted any fear +she may have had on the score with the thought that she might also be +helping him. The maid returned in a few minutes and ushered in a girl. + +Yes, it was the girl she had seen on her wedding night. She stood now, +framed in the doorway, watching her hostess with frank curiosity. + +“Won’t you come in?” said Edith. “Have you had any dinner?” + +“Thank you very much,” said the girl, “we do not take dinner, but I +had a very good tea.” + +“Will you sit down for a little while?” + +With a graceful inclination of her head the girl accepted the +invitation. + +Her voice was free from the foreign accent which Edith had expected. +She was indubitably English, and there was a refinement in her tone +which Edith had not expected to meet. + +“I suppose you wonder why I have sent for you?” asked Edith +Standerton. + +The girl showed two rows of white, even teeth in a smile. + +“When people send for me,” she said demurely, “it is either to pay me +for my music, or to bribe me to desist!” + +There was frank merriment in her eyes, her smile lit up the face and +changed its whole aspect. + +“I am doing both,” said Edith, “and I also want to ask you something. +Do you know my husband?” + +“Mr. Standerton,” said the girl, and nodded. “Yes, I have seen him, +and I have played to him.” + +“Do you remember a night in June,” asked Edith, her heart beating +faster at the memory, “when you came under this window and +played”--she hesitated--“a certain tune?” + +The girl nodded. + +“Why, yes,” she said in surprise, “of course I remember that night of +all nights.” + +“Why of all nights?” asked Edith quickly. + +“Well, you see as a rule my grandfather plays for Mr. Standerton, and +that night he was ill. He caught a bad chill on Derby Day,--we were +wet through by the storm, for we were playing at Epsom--and I had to +come here and deputise for him. I did not want to go out a bit that +night,” she confessed with a bitter laugh, “and I hate the tune; but +it was all so mysterious and so romantic.” + +“Just tell me what was ‘mysterious’ and what was ‘romantic,’” said +Edith. + +The coffee came in at that moment, and she poured a cup for her +visitor. + +“What is your name?” she asked. + +“May Wing,” said the girl. + +“Now tell me, May, all you know,” said Edith, as she passed the +coffee, “and please believe it is not out of curiosity that I ask +you.” + +“I will tell you everything,” said the girl, nodding. “I remember that +day particularly because I had been to the Academy of Music to take my +lesson--you would not think we could afford that, but granny +absolutely insists upon it. I got back home rather tired. Grandfather +was lying down on the couch. We live at Hoxton. He seemed a little +troubled. ‘May,’ he said, ‘I want you to do something for me +to-night.’ Of course, I was quite willing and happy to do it.” + +The girl stopped suddenly. + +“Why, how extraordinary,” she said, “I believe I have got proof in my +pocket of all that I say.” + +She had hanging from her waist a little bag of the same material as +her dress, and this she opened and searched inside. + +She brought out an envelope. + +“I will not show you this yet,” she said, “but I will tell you what +happened. Grandfather, as I was saying, was very troubled, and he +asked me if I would do something for him, knowing of course that I +would. + +“‘I have had a letter which I cannot make head or tail of,’ he said, +and he showed me this letter.” + +The girl held out the envelope. + +Edith took it and removed the card inside. + +“Why, this is my husband’s writing!” she cried. + +“Yes,” nodded the girl. + +It bore the postmark of Doncaster, and the letter was brief. It was +addressed to the old musician, and ran:-- + + + “Enclosed you will find a postal order for one pound. On receipt of + this go to the house of Mr. Standerton between the hours of half-past + seven and eight o’clock and play Rubenstein’s ‘Melody in F.’ Ascertain + if he is at home, and if he is not return the next night and play the + same tune at the same hour.” + + +That was all. + +“I cannot understand it,” said Edith, puzzled. “What does it mean?” + +The girl musician smiled. + +“I should like to know what it meant too. You see, I am as curious as +you, and think it is a failing which all women share.” + +“And you do not know why this was sent?” + +“No.” + +“Or what is its meaning?” + +Again the girl shook her head. + +Edith looked at the envelope and examined the postmark. + +It was dated May the twenty-fourth. + +“May the twenty-fourth,” she repeated to herself. “Just wait one +moment,” she said, and ran upstairs to her bedroom. + +Feverishly she unlocked her bureau and took out the red-covered diary +in which she had inscribed the little events of her life in Portland +Square. She turned to May the twenty-fourth. There were only two +entries. The first had to do with the arrival of a new dress but the +second was very emphatic:-- + + + “G. S. came at seven o’clock and stayed to dinner. Was very + absent-minded and worried apparently. He left at ten. Had a depressing + evening.” + + +She looked at the envelope again. + +“Doncaster, 7.30,” it said. + +So the letter had been posted a hundred and eighty miles away half an +hour after he had arrived in Portland Square. + +She went back to the dining-room bewildered, but she controlled her +agitation in the presence of the girl. + +“I must really patronise one of the arts,” she smiled. + +She took a half-sovereign from her purse and handed it to May. + +“Oh, really,” protested the little musician. + +“No, take it, please. You have given me a great deal to think about. +Has Mr. Standerton ever referred to this incident since?” + +“Never,” said the girl. “I have never seen him since except once when +I was on the top of an omnibus.” + +A few minutes later the girl left. + +Here was food for imagination, sufficient to occupy her mind, thought +Edith. + +“What did it mean?” she asked, “what mystery was behind all this?” + +Now that she recalled the circumstances, she remembered that Gilbert +had been terribly distrait that night; he was nervous, she had noticed +his hand shaking, and had remarked to her mother upon his +extraordinary absent-mindedness. + +And if he had expected the musician to call, and if he himself had +specified what tune should be played, why had its playing produced so +terrible an effect upon him? He was no _poseur_. + +There was nothing theatrical in his temperament. + +He was a musician, and loved music as he loved nothing else in the +world save her! + +She thought of that reservation with some tenderness. + +He had loved her then, whatever might be his feelings now, and the +love of a strong man does not easily evaporate, nor is it destroyed at +a word. + +Since their marriage his piano had not been opened. He had been a +subscriber to almost every musical event in London, yet he had not +attended a single concert, not once visited the opera. + +With the playing of the “Melody in F” it seemed to her there had ended +one precious period of his life. + +She had suggested once that they should go to a concert which all +musical London was attending. + +“Perhaps you would like to go,” he had suggested briefly. “I am afraid +I shall be rather busy that night.” This, after he had told her not +once, but a score of times that music expressed to him every message +and every emotion in language clearer than the printed word. + +What did it mean? She was seized with a sudden energy, a sudden desire +for knowledge--she wanted to share a greater portion of his life. What +connection had this melody with the sudden change that had come to +him? What association had it with the adoption of this strenuous life +of his lately? What had it to do with his resignation from the Foreign +Office and from his clubs? + +She was certain there must be some connection, and she was determined +to discover what. + +As she was in the dark she could not help him. She knew instinctively +that to ask him would be of little use. He was of the type who +preferred to play a lone hand. + +She was his wife, she owed him something. She had brought unhappiness +into his life, and she could do no less than strive to help him. She +would want money. + +She sat down and wrote a little note to her mother. She would take the +three hundred pounds which were due from the broker; she even went so +far as to hint that if this matter were not promptly settled by her +parent she herself would see Mr. Warrell and conclude negotiations. + +She had read in the morning paper the advertisement of a private +detective agency, and for a while she was inclined to engage a man. +But what special qualifications did private detectives have that she +herself did not possess? It required no special training to use one’s +brains and to exercise one’s logical faculties. + +She had found a mission in life--the solution of this mystery which +surrounded her husband like a cloud. She found herself feeling +cheerful at the prospect of the work to which she had set her hand. + +“You should find yourself an occupation,” Gilbert had said in his +hesitating fashion. + +She smiled, and wondered exactly what he would think if he knew the +occupation she had found. + + * * * * + +The little house in Hoxton which sheltered May and her grandfather was +in a respectable little street in the main inhabited by the members of +the artisan class. Small and humble as the dwelling was it was +furnished in perfect taste. The furniture was old in the more valuable +and more attractive sense of the word. + +Old man Wing propped up in his arm-chair sat by a small fire in the +room which served as kitchen and dining-room. May was busy with her +sewing. + +“My dear,” said the old man in his gentle voice. “I do not think you +had better go out again to-night.” + +“Why not, grandpa?” asked the girl without looking up from her work. + +“Well, it is probably selfishness on my part,” he said, “but somehow I +do not want to be left alone. I am expecting a visitor.” + +“A visitor!” + +Visitors were unusual at No. 9 Pexton Street, Hoxton. The only visitor +they knew was the rent man who called with monotonous regularity every +Monday morning. + +“Yes,” said her grandfather hesitatingly, “I think you remember the +gentleman; you saw him some time ago.” + +“Not Mr. Standerton?” + +The old man shook his head. + +“No, not Mr. Standerton,” he said, “but you will recall how at Epsom a +rather nice man helped you out of a crowd after a race?” + +“I remember,” she said. + +“His name is Wallis,” said the old man, “and I met him by accident +to-day when I was shopping.” + +“Wallis,” she repeated. + +Old Wing was silent for a while, then he asked-- + +“Do you think, my dear, we could take a lodger?” + +“Oh, no,” protested the girl. “Please not!” + +“I find the rent rather heavy,” said her grandfather, shaking his +head, “and this Mr. Wallis is a quiet sort of person and not likely to +give us any trouble.” + +Still the girl was not satisfied. + +“I would rather we didn’t,” she said. “I am quite sure we can earn +enough to keep the house going without that kind of assistance. +Lodgers are nuisances. I do not suppose Mrs. Gamage would like it.” + +Mrs. Gamage was the faded neighbour who came in every morning to help +straighten the house. + +The girl saw the old man’s face fall and went round to him, putting +her arm around his shoulder. + +“Do not bother, grandpa dear,” she said, “if you want a lodger you +shall have one. I think it would be rather nice to have somebody in +the house who could talk to you when I am out.” + +There was a knock at the door. + +“That must be our visitor,” she said, and went to open it. She +recognised the man who stood in the doorway. + +“May I come in?” he asked. “I wanted to see your grandfather on a +matter of business. I suppose you are Miss Wing.” + +She nodded. + +“Come in,” she said, and led the way to the kitchen. + +“I will not keep you very long,” said Mr. Wallis. “No, thank you, I +will stand while I am here. I want to find a quiet lodging for a +friend of mine. At least,” he went on, “he is a man in whom I am +rather interested, a very quiet sobersides individual who will be out +most of the day, and possibly out most of the night too.” He smiled. +“He is a----” He hesitated. “He is a taxi-cab driver, to be exact,” he +said, “though he does not want this fact to be well known because he +has seen--er--better days.” + +“We have only a very small room we can give your friend,” said May, +“perhaps you would like to see it.” + +She took him up to the spare bedroom which they had used on very rare +occasions for the accommodation of the few visitors who had been their +guests. The room was neat and clean, and George Wallis nodded +approvingly. + +“I should like nothing better than this for myself,” he said. + +He himself suggested a higher price than she asked, and insisted upon +paying a month in advance. + +“I have told the man to call, he ought to be here by now; if you do +not mind, I will wait for him.” + +It was not a long wait, for in a few minutes there arrived the new +lodger. He was a burly man with a heavy black beard, clipped short, +and the fact that he was somewhat taciturn and short of speech rather +enhanced his value as a lodger than otherwise. + +Wallis took farewell of the old man and his grand-daughter, and +accompanied by the man, whose name was given somewhat unpromisingly as +Smith, he walked to the end of the street. + +He had something to say, and that something was important. + +“I have got you this place, Smithy,” he said, as they walked slowly +towards Hoxton High Street, “because it is quiet and fairly safe. The +people are respected, and nobody will bother you.” + +“They are not likely to worry me in any way, are they?” said the man +addressed as Smith. + +“Not at present,” replied the other, “but I do not know exactly how +things are going to develop. I am worried.” + +“What are you worried about?” + +George Wallis laughed a little helplessly. + +“Why do you ask such stupid questions?” he said with good-natured +irritation. “Don’t you realise what has happened? Somebody knows our +game.” + +“Well, why not drop it?” asked the other quietly. + +“How can we drop it? My dear good chap, though in twelve months we +have accumulated a store of movable property sufficiently valuable to +enable us all to retire upon, there is not one of us who is willing at +this moment to cut out--it would take us twelve months to get rid of +the loot,” he said thoughtfully. + +“I do not exactly know where it is,” said Smith with a little smile. + +“Nobody knows that but me,” replied Wallis with a little frown, “that +is the worrying part of it. I feel the whole responsibility upon me. +Smithy, we are being really watched.” + +The other smiled. + +“That isn’t unusual,” he said. But Wallis was very serious. + +“Whom do you suspect?” he asked. + +The other did not answer for a moment. + +“I do not suspect, I know,” he said. “A few months ago, when Calli and +I were doing a job in Hatton Garden we were interrupted by the arrival +of a mysterious gentleman, who watched me open the safe and +disappeared immediately afterwards. At that time he did not seem to be +particularly hostile or have any ulterior motive in view. Now, for +some reason which is best known to himself, he is working against us. +That is the man we have got to find.” + +“But how?” + +“Put an advertisement in the paper,” said the other sarcastically: +“Will the gentleman who dogs Mr. Wallis kindly reveal his identity, +and no further action will be taken.” + +“But seriously!” said the other. + +“We have got to discover who he is, there must be some way of trapping +him; but the only thing to do, and I must do it for my own protection, +is to get you all together and share out. We had better meet.” + +Smith nodded. + +“When?” + +“To-night,” said Wallis. “Meet me at the.…” + +He mentioned the name of a restaurant near Regent Street. + +It was, curiously enough, the very restaurant where Gilbert Standerton +invariably dined alone. + + + + + CHAPTER X. + THE NECKLACE + +Mrs. Cathcart was considerably surprised to receive an invitation to +the dinner. She had that morning sent her daughter a cheque for three +hundred pounds which she had received from her broker, but as their +letters had crossed, one event had no connection with the other. + +She did not immediately decide to accept the invitation, she was not +sure as to the terms on which she desired to remain with her new +son-in-law. + +She was, however (whatever might be her faults), a good strategist, +and there was nothing to be gained by declining the invitation, and +there might be some advantage in accepting. + +She was surprised to meet Mr. Warrell, surprised and a little +embarrassed; but now that her daughter knew everything there was no +reason in the world why she should feel uncomfortable. + +She took him in charge, as was her wont, from the moment she met him +in the little drawing-room at the St. John’s Wood house. + +It was a pleasant dinner. Gilbert made a perfect host, he seemed to +have revived within himself something of the old gay spirit. Warrell, +remembering all that Mrs. Cathcart had told him, was on the _qui vive_ +to discover some evidence of dissension between husband and wife, the +more anxious, perhaps, since he was before everything a professional +man, to find justification for Mrs. Cathcart’s suggestion, that all +was not going well with Gilbert. + +Leslie Frankfort, a member of the party, had been questioned by his +partner without the elder man eliciting any information which might +help to dispel the doubt that was in Warrell’s mind. + +Leslie Frankfort, that cheerful youth, was as much in the dark as his +partner. It gave him some satisfaction to discover that at any rate +there was no immediate prospect of ruin in his friend’s _ménage_. + +The dinner was perfect, the food rare and chosen by an epicure, which +indeed it was, as Gilbert had assisted his wife to prepare the menu. + +The talk drifted idly, as talk does, at such a dinner party, around +the topics which men and women were discussing at a thousand other +dinner tables in England, and in the natural course of events it +turned upon the startling series of burglaries that had been committed +recently in London. That the talk should take this drift was more +natural, perhaps, because Mrs. Cathcart had very boldly introduced the +subject with reference to the burglary at Warrell’s. + +“No, indeed,” said Mr. Warrell, shaking his head, “I regret to say we +have no clue. The police have the matter in hand, but I’m afraid we +shall never find the man, or men, who perpetrated the crime.” + +“I don’t suppose they would be of much service to you if you found +them,” said Gilbert quietly. + +“I don’t know,” demurred the other. “We might possibly get the jewels +back.” + +Gilbert Standerton laughed, but stopped in the middle of it. + +“Jewels?” he said. + +“Don’t you remember, Gilbert?” Leslie broke in. “I told you that we +had a necklace in the safe, the property of a client, one of those +gambling ladies who patronise us.” + +A warning glance from his partner arrested him. The gambling lady +herself was rather red, and shot a malevolent glance at the indiscreet +young man. + +“The necklace was mine,” she said acidly. + +“Oh!” said Leslie, and found the conversation of no great interest to +him. + +Gilbert did not smile at his friend’s embarrassment. + +“A necklace,” he repeated, “how curious--yours?” + +“Mine,” repeated Mrs. Cathcart. “I placed it with Warrell’s for +security. Precious fine security it proved,” she added. + +Warrell was all apologies. He was embarrassed for more reasons than +one. He was very annoyed indeed with the indiscreet youth who owed his +preponderant interest in the firm the more by reason of his dead +father’s shares in the business than to any extent to his intelligence +or his usefulness. + +“Exactly what kind of necklace was it?” continued Gilbert. “I did not +see a description.” + +“No description was given,” said Mr. Warrell, coming to the relief of +his client, whom he knew from infallible signs was fast losing her +temper. + +“We wished to keep the matter quiet, so that it should not get into +the papers.” + +Edith tactfully turned the conversation, and in a few minutes they +were deep in the discussion of a question which has never failed to +excite great interest--the abstract problem of the church. + +Mrs. Cathcart, it may be remarked in passing, was a churchwoman of +some standing, a leader amongst a certain set, and an extreme +ritualist. Add to this element the broad Nonconformity of Mr. Warrell, +the frank scepticism of Leslie, and there were all the ingredients for +an argument, which in less refined circles might develop to a +sanguinary conclusion. + +Edith at least was relieved, however drastic the remedy might be, and +was quite prepared to disestablish the Church of Wales, or if +necessary the Church of England, rather than see the folly of her +mother exposed. + +Despite argument, dogmatism of Mrs. Cathcart, philippic of Leslie, and +the good-natured tolerance of Mr. Warrell, this latter a most trying +attitude to combat, the dinner ended pleasantly, and they adjourned to +the little drawing-room upstairs. + +“I’m afraid I shall have to leave you,” said Gilbert. + +It was nearly ten o’clock, and he had already warned his wife of an +engagement he had made for a later hour. + +“I believe old Gilbert is a journalist in these days,” said Leslie. “I +saw you the other night in Fleet Street, didn’t I?” + +“No,” replied Gilbert shortly. + +“Then it must have been your double,” said the other. + +Edith had not followed the party upstairs. Just before dinner Gilbert +had asked her, with some hesitation, to make him up a packet of +sandwiches. + +“I may be out the greater part of the night,” he said. “A man wants me +to motor down to Brighton to meet somebody.” + +“Will you be out all night?” she had asked, a little alarmed. + +He shook his head. + +“No, I shall be back by four,” he said. + +She might have thought it was an unusual hour to meet people, but she +made no comment. + +As her little party had gone upstairs she had remembered the +sandwiches, and went down into the kitchen to see if cook had cut and +laid them ready. + +She wrapped them up for him and packed them into a little flat +sandwich case she had, and then made her way back to the hall. + +His coat was hanging on a rack, and she had to slip them into the +pocket. There was a newspaper in the way; she pulled it out, and there +was something else, something loose and uneven. + +She smiled at his untidiness, and put in her hand to remove the +debris. + +Her face changed. + +What was it? + +Her fingers closed round the object in the bottom of the pocket, and +she drew it out. + +There in the palm of her hand, clearly revealed by the electric lamp +above her head, shone her diamond necklace! + +For a moment the little hall swayed, but she steadied herself with an +effort. + +Her necklace! + +There was no doubt--she turned it over with trembling fingers. + +How had he got it? Where did it come from? + +A thought had struck her, but it was too horrible for her to give it +expression. + +Gilbert a burglar! It was absurd. She tried to smile, but failed. +Almost every night he had been out, every night in the week in which +this burglary had been committed. + +She heard a footstep on the stairs, and thrust the necklace into the +bosom of her dress. + +It was Gilbert. He did not notice her face, then-- + +“Gilbert,” she said, and something in her voice warned him. + +He turned, peering down at her. + +“What is wrong?” he asked. + +“Will you come into the dining-room for a moment?” she said. + +Her voice sounded far away to her. + +She felt it was not she who was speaking, but some third person. + +He opened the door of the dining-room and walked in. The table was +spread with the debris of the dinner which had just been concluded. +The rosy glow of the overhead lamp fell upon a pretty chaos of flowers +and silver and glass. + +He closed the door behind him. + +“What is it?” he asked. + +“This,” she replied quietly, and drew the necklace from her dress. + +He looked at it. Not a muscle of his face moved. + +“That?” he said. “Well, what is that?” + +“My necklace!” + +“Your necklace,” he repeated dully. “Is that the necklace that your +mother lost?” + +She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. + +“How very curious.” + +He reached out his hand and took it from her and examined the diamond +pendant. + +“And that is your necklace,” he said. “Well, that is a remarkable +coincidence.” + +“Where did you get it?” she asked. + +He did not make any reply. He was looking at her with a stony stare in +which there was neither expression nor encouragement for speculation. + +“Where did I get it?” he repeated calmly. “Who told you that I’d got +it?” + +“I found it in your pocket,” she said breathlessly. “Oh, Gilbert, +there is no use denying that you had it there or you knew it was +there. Where did you get it?” + +Another pause, then came the answer-- + +“I found it.” + +It was lame and unconvincing, and he knew it. + +She repeated the question. + +“I am not prepared to tell you,” he said calmly. “You think I stole +it, I suppose? You probably imagine that I am a burglar?” + +He smiled, but the lips that curved in laughter were hard. + +“I can see that in your eyes,” he went on. “You explain my absence +from home, my retirement from the Foreign Office, by the fact that I +have taken up a more lucrative profession.” + +He laughed aloud. + +“Well, I have,” he said. “It is not exactly burglary. I assure you,” +he went on with mock solemnity, “that I have never burgled a safe in +my life. I give you my word of honour that I have never stolen a +single article of any----” He stopped himself--he might say too much. + +But Edith grasped at the straw he offered her. + +“Oh, you do mean that, don’t you?” she said eagerly, and laid her two +hands on his breast. “You really mean it? I know it is stupid of me, +foolish and horribly disloyal--common of me, anything you like, to +suspect you of so awful a thing, but it did seem--it did, didn’t it?” + +“It did,” he agreed gravely. + +“Won’t you tell me how it came into your possession?” she pleaded. + +“I tell you I found it--that is true. I had no intention----” He +stopped again. “It was--I picked it up in the road, in a country +lane.” + +“But weren’t you awfully surprised to find it, and didn’t you tell the +police?” + +He shook his head. + +“No,” he said, “I was not surprised, and I did not tell the police. I +intended restoring it, because, after all, jewels are of no value to +me, are they?” + +“I don’t understand you, Gilbert.” She shook her head, a little +bewildered. “Nothing is of any use except what belongs to you, is it?” + +“That depends,” he said calmly. “But in this particular case I assure +you that I brought this home to-night with the intention of putting it +into a small box and addressing it to the Chief Commissioner of +Police. You may believe that or not. That is why I thought it so +extraordinary when you were talking at dinner that your mother should +have lost a necklace, and that I should have found one.” + +They stood looking at one another, he weighing the necklace on the +palm of his hand, tossing it up and down mechanically. + +“What are we going to do with it now?” she asked. She was in a +quandary. “I hardly know how to advise.” She hesitated. “Suppose you +carry out your present intention and send it to the police. + +“Oh!” she remembered with a little move of dismay, “I have practically +stolen three hundred pounds.” + +“Three hundred pounds!” + +He looked at the jewel. + +“It’s worth more than three hundred pounds.” + +In a few words she explained how the jewel came to be lost, and how it +came to be deposited in the hands of Warrell’s. + +“I’m glad to hear that your mother is the culprit. I was afraid you’d +been gambling.” + +“Would that worry you?” she asked quickly. + +“A little,” he said; “it’s enough for one member of a family to +gamble.” + +“Do you gamble very much, Gilbert?” she asked seriously. + +“A little,” he said. + +“Not a little,” she corrected. “Stock Exchange business is gambling.” + +“I am trying to make money for you,” he said brusquely. + +It was the most brutal thing he had said to her in her short period of +married life, and he saw he had hurt her. + +“I am sorry,” he said gently. “I know I am a brute, but I did not mean +to hurt you. I was just protesting in my heart against the unfairness +of things. Will you take this, or shall I?” + +“I will take it,” she said. “But won’t you tell the police where you +found it? Possibly they might find the proceeds of other robberies +near by.” + +“I think not,” he replied with a little smile. “I have no desire to +incur the anger of this particular gang. I am satisfied in my mind +that it is one of the most powerful and one of the most unscrupulous +in existence. It is nearly half-past ten,” he said; “I must fly.” + +He held out his hand, and she took it. She held it for a moment longer +than was her wont. + +“Good-bye,” she said. “Good luck, whatever your business may be.” + +“Thank you,” he said. + +She went slowly back to her guests. It did not make the position any +easier to understand. She believed her husband, and yet there was a +certain reservation in what he had told her, a reservation which said +as plainly as his guarded words could tell that there was much more he +could have said had he been inclined. + +She did not doubt his word when he told her that he had never stolen +from--from whom was he going to say? She was more determined than ever +to solve this mystery, and after her guests had gone she was busily +engaged in writing letters. She was hardly in bed that night before +she heard his foot on the stairs and listened. + +He knocked at her door as he passed. + +“Good-night,” he said. + +“Good-night,” she replied. + +She heard his door close gently, and she waited for half an hour until +she heard the click of his electric switch which told her that he was +in bed, and that his light was extinguished. + +Then she stole softly out of bed, wrapped her dressing gown round her, +and went softly down the stairs. Perhaps his coat was hanging in the +hall. + +It was a wild, fantastic idea of hers that he might possibly have +brought some further evidence that would help her in her search for +the truth, but the pockets were empty. + +She felt something wet upon the sleeve, and gathered that it was +raining. She went back to her room, closed the door noiselessly, and +went to the window to look out into the street. It was a fine morning, +and the streets were dry. She saw her hands. They were smeared with +blood! + +She ran down the stairs again and turned on the light in the hall. + +Yes, there it was on his sleeve. There were little drops of blood on +the stair carpet. She could trace him all the way up the stairs by +this. She went straight to his room and knocked. + +He answered instantly. + +“Who is that?” + +“It is I. I want to see you.” + +“I am rather tired,” he said. + +“Please let me in. I want to see you.” + +She tried the door, but it was locked. Then she heard the bed creak as +he moved. An instant later the bolt was slipped, and the light shone +through the fanlight over the door. + +He was almost fully dressed, she observed. + +“What is the matter with your arm?” she asked. + +It was carefully bandaged. + +“I hurt it. It is nothing very much.” + +“How did you hurt it?” she asked impatiently. + +She was nearing the end of her resources. She wanted him to say that +it had happened in a taxi-cab smash or one of the street accidents to +which city dwellers are liable, but he did not explain. + +She asked to see the wound. He was unwilling, but she insisted. At +last he unwrapped the bandage, and showed an ugly little gash on the +forearm. It was too rough to be the clean-cut wound of a knife or of +broken glass. + +There was a second wound about the size of a sixpence near the elbow. + +“That looks like a bullet wound,” she said, and pointed. “It has +glanced along your arm, and has caught you again near the elbow.” + +He did not speak. + +She procured warm water from the bathroom and bathed it, found a cool +emollient in her room and dressed it as well as she could. + +She did not again refer to the circumstances under which the injury +had been sustained. This was not the time nor the place to discuss +that. + +“There is an excellent nurse spoilt in you,” he said when she had +finished. + +“I am afraid there is an excellent man spoilt in you,” she answered in +a low voice, “and I am rather inclined to think that I have done the +spoiling.” + +“Please get that out of your head altogether,” he said almost roughly. +“A man is what he makes himself: you know the tag--the evil you do by +two and two you answer for one by one; and even if you had any part in +the influencing of my life for evil, I am firstly and lastly +responsible.” + +“I am not so sure of that,” said she. + +She had made him a little sling in which to rest his arm. + +“You married me because you loved me, because you gave to me all that +a right-thinking woman would hold precious and sacred and because you +expected me to give something in return. I have given you nothing. I +humiliated you at the very outset by telling you why I had married +you. You have the dubious satisfaction of knowing that I bear your +name. You have, perhaps, half a suspicion that you live with one who +is everlastingly critical of your actions and your intentions. Have I +no responsibilities?” + +There was a long silence, then she said-- + +“Whatever you wish me to do I will always do.” + +“I wish you to be happy, that is all,” he replied. + +His voice was of the same hard, metallic tone which she had noted +before. + +She flushed a little. It had been an effort for her to say what she +had, and he had rebuffed her. He was within his rights, she thought. + +She left him, and did not see him till the morning, when they met at +breakfast. They exchanged a few words of greeting, and both turned +their attention to their newspapers. Edith read hers in silence, read +the one column which meant so much to her from end to end twice, then +she laid the paper down. + +“I see,” she said, “that our burglars rifled the Bank of the Northern +Provinces last night.” + +“So I read,” he said, without raising his eyes from his paper. + +“And that one of them was shot by the armed guard of the bank.” + +“I’ve also seen that,” said her husband. + +“Shot,” she repeated, and looked at his bandaged arm. + +He nodded. + +“I think my paper is a later edition than yours,” he said gently. “The +man that was shot was killed. They found his body in a taxi-cab. His +name is not given, but I happen to know that it was a very pleasant +florid gentleman named Persh. Poor fellow,” he mused, “it was poetic +justice.” + +“Why?” she asked. + +“He did this,” said Gilbert Standerton, and pointed to his arm with a +grim smile. + + + + + CHAPTER XI. + THE FOURTH MAN + +On the night of Gilbert Standerton’s little dinner party the +black-bearded taxi driver, who had called at the house off Charing +Cross Road for instructions, came to the door of No. 43, and was duly +observed by the detective on duty. He went into the house, was absent +five minutes, and came out again, driving off without a fare. + +Ten minutes later, at a signal from the detective, the house was +visited by three C.I.D. men from Scotland Yard, and the mystery of the +taxi-cab driver was cleared up for ever. + +For, instead of George Wallis, they discovered sitting at his ease in +the drawing-room upstairs, and reading a novel with evident relish, +that same black-bearded chauffeur. + +“It is very simple,” said Inspector Goldberg, “the driver comes up and +George Wallis is waiting inside made up exactly like him. The moment +he enters the door and closes it Wallis opens it, and steps out on to +the car and drives off. You people watching thought it was the same +driver returned.” + +He looked at his prisoner. + +“Well, what are you going to do?” asked the bearded man. + +“I am afraid there is nothing we can do with you,” said Goldberg +regretfully. “Have you got a licence?” + +“You bet your life I have,” said the driver cheerfully, and produced +it. + +“I can take you for consorting with criminals.” + +“A difficult charge to prove,” said the bearded one, “more difficult +to get a conviction on, and possibly it would absolutely spoil your +chance of bagging George in the end.” + +“That is true,” said Goldberg; “anyway, I’m going to look for your +taxi-cab. I can at least pull George in for driving without a +licence.” + +The man shook his head. + +“I am sorry to disappoint you,” he said with mock regret, “but George +has a licence too.” + +“The devil he has,” said the baffled inspector. + +“Funny, isn’t it,” said the bearded man. “George is awfully thorough.” + +“Come now, Smith,” said the detective genially, “what is the game? How +deep in this are you?” + +“In what?” asked the puzzled man. + +Goldberg gave him up for a bad job. He knew that Wallis had chosen his +associates with considerable care. + +“Anyway, I will go after George,” he said. “You are probably putting +up a little bluff on me about the licence. Once I get him inside the +jug there are lots of little things I might be able to discover.” + +“Do,” said the driver earnestly. “You will find him standing on the +Haymarket rank at about half-past ten to-night.” + +“Yes, I know,” said the detective sardonically. + +He had no charge and no warrant, save the search warrant which gave +him the right of entry. + +Smith, the driver, was sent about his business, and a detective put on +to shadow him. + +With what success this shadowing was done may be gathered from the +fact that at half-past ten that night Inspector Goldberg discovered +the cab he was seeking, and to his amazement found it in the very +place where Smith had told him to expect it. And there the bearded +driver was sitting with all the aplomb of one who was nearing the end +of a virtuous and well-rewarded day. + +“Now, George,” said the inspector jocularly, “come down off that perch +and let me have a look at your licence; if it is not made out in your +name I am going to pull you.” + +The man did not descend, but he put his hand in his pocket and +produced a little leather wallet. + +The inspector opened it and read. + +“Ah!” he said exultantly, “as I thought, this is made out in the name +of Smith.” + +“I am Smith,” said the driver calmly. + +“Get down,” said the inspector. + +The man obeyed. There was no question as to his identity. + +“You see,” he explained, “when you put your flat-footed splits on to +follow me I had no intention of bothering George. He is big enough to +look after himself, and, by the way, his licence is made out in his +own name, so you need not trouble about that. + +“But as soon as I saw you did not trust me,” he said reproachfully, +“why, I sort of got on my metal. I slipped your busy fellow in Oxford +Street, and came on and took my cab from the desperate criminal you +are chasing.” + +“Where is he now?” asked Goldberg. + +“In his flat, and in bed I trust at this hour,” said the bearded man +virtuously. + +With this the inspector had to be content. To make absolutely sure, he +went back to the house off Charing Cross Road, and found, as he +feared, Mr. George Wallis, if not in bed, at least in his +dressing-gown, and the end of his silk pyjamas flapped over his great +woollen slippers. + +“My dear good chap,” he expostulated wearily, “am I never to be left +in quiet? Must the unfortunate record which I bear still pursue me, +penitent as I am, and striving, as I may be, to lead that unoffending +life which the State demands of its citizens?” + +“Do not make a song about it, George,” grumbled Goldberg. “You have +kept me busy all the night looking after you. Where have you been?” + +“I have been to a picture palace,” said the calm man, “observing with +sympathetic interest the struggles of a poor but honest bank clerk to +secure the daughter of his rich and evil boss. I have been watching +cow-boys shooting off their revolvers and sheriffs galloping madly +across plains. I have, in fact, run through the whole gamut of +emotions which the healthy picture palace excites.” + +“You talk too much,” said the inspector. + +He did not waste any further time, and left Mr. Wallis stifling a +sleepy yawn; but the door had hardly closed behind the detective when +Wallis’s dressing-gown was thrown aside, his pyjamas and woollen +slippers discarded, and in a few seconds the man was fully dressed. +From the front window he saw the little knot of detectives discussing +the matter, and watched them as they moved slowly to the end of the +street. There would be a further discussion there, and then one of +them would come back to his vigil; but before they had reached the end +of the street he was out of the house and walking rapidly in the +opposite direction to that which they had taken. + +He had left a light burning to encourage the watcher. He must take his +chance about getting back again without being observed. He made his +way quickly in the direction of the tube station, and a quarter of an +hour later, by judicious transfers, he was in the vicinity of +Hampstead. He walked down the hill towards Belsize Park and picked up +a taxi-cab. He had stopped at the station to telephone, and had made +three distinct calls. + +Soon after eleven he was met at Chalk Farm Station by his two +confederates. Thereafter all trace was lost of them. So far, in a +vague and unsatisfactory way, Inspector Goldberg had kept a record of +Wallis’s movements that night. + +He had to guess much, and to take something on trust, for the quarry +had very cleverly covered his tracks. + +At midnight the guard in the Bank of the Northern Provinces was making +his round, and was ascending the stone steps which led from the vault +below, when three men sprang at him, gagged him and bound him with +incredible swiftness. They did not make any attempt to injure him, but +with scientific thoroughness they placed him in such a position that +he was quite incapable of offering resistance or of summoning +assistance to his aid. They locked him in a small room usually +occupied by the assistant bank manager, and proceeded to their work +downstairs. + +“This is going to be a stiff job,” said Wallis, and he put his +electric lamp over the steel grating which led to the entrance to the +strong room. + +Persh, the stout man who was with him, nodded. + +“The grating is nothing,” he said, “I can get this open.” + +“Look for the bells, Callidino,” said Wallis. + +The little Italian was an expert in the matter of alarms, and he +examined the door scientifically. + +“There is nothing here,” he said definitely. + +Persh, who was the best lock man in the world, set to work, and in a +quarter of an hour the gate swung open. Beyond this, at the end of the +passage, was a plain green door, offering no purchase whatever to any +of the instruments they had brought. Moreover, the lock was a +remarkable one, since it was not in the surface of the door itself, +but in a small steel cabinet in the room overhead. But the blow-pipe +was got to work expeditiously. Wallis had the plan of the door +carefully drawn to scale, and he knew exactly where the vital spot in +the massive steel covering was to be found. For an hour and a half +they worked, then Persh stopped suddenly. + +“What was that?” he said. + +Without another word the three men raced back along the passage, up +the stairs to the big office on the ground floor, Persh leading. + +As he made his appearance from the stairway a shot rang out, and he +staggered. He thought he saw a figure moving in the shadow of the +wall, and fired at it. + +“You fool!” said Wallis, “you will have the whole place surrounded.” + +Again a shot was fired, and this time there was no doubt as to who was +the assailant. Wallis threw the powerful gleam of his lamp in the +direction of the office. With one hand free and the other holding a +revolver, there crouched near the door the guard they had left secure. +Wallis doused his light as the man fired again. + +“Out of this, quick!” he cried. + +Through the back way they sped, up the little ladder then through the +skylight where they had entered, across the narrow ledge, and through +the hosier’s establishment which had been the means of entrance. Persh +was mortally wounded, though he made the supreme and final effort of +his life. They saw people running in the direction of the Bank, and +heard a police whistle blow; but they came out of the hosier’s shop +together, quietly and without fuss, three respectable gentlemen, one +apparently a little the worse for drink. + +Wallis hailed a taxi-cab, and gave elaborate directions. He made no +attempt to hurry whilst Callidino assisted the big man into the +vehicle, then they drove off leisurely. As the cab moved Persh +collapsed into one corner. + +“Were you hit?” asked Wallis anxiously. + +“I am done for, George, I think,” whispered the man. + +George made a careful examination with his lamp and gasped. He was +leaning his head out of the window. + +“What are you doing?” asked Persh weakly. + +“I am going to take you to the hospital,” said Wallis. + +“You will do nothing of the kind,” said the other hoarsely. “For God’s +sake do not jeopardise the whole crowd for me. I tell you I am +finished. I can----” + +He said no other word, every muscle in his frame seemed at that moment +to relax, and he slid in a loose heap to the floor. + +They lifted him up. + +“My God!” said Wallis, “he is dead.” + +And dead, indeed, was Persh, that amiable and florid man. + + * * * * + +“The burglary at the Northern Provinces Bank continues to excite a +great deal of comment in city circles,” wrote the representative of +the _Daily Monitor_. + +“The police have made a number of interesting discoveries. There can +be no doubt whatever that the miscreants escaped by way of” (here +followed a fairly accurate description of the method of departure). +“What interests the police, however, is the evidence they are able to +secure as to the presence of another man in the bank who is as yet +unaccounted for. The fourth man seems to have taken no part in the +robbery, and to have been present without the knowledge or without the +goodwill of the burglars. The bank guard who was interviewed this +morning by our representative, was naturally reticent in the interest +of his employers, but he confirmed the rumour that the fourth man, +whoever he was, was not antagonistic so far as he (the guard) was +concerned. It now transpires that the guard had been hastily bound and +gagged by the burglars, who probably, without any intention, had left +their victim in some serious danger, as the gag had been fixed in such +a manner that the unfortunate man nearly died. + +“Then when he was almost _in extremis_ there had appeared on the scene +the fourth individual, who had loosened the gag, and made him more +comfortable. It was obvious that he was not a member of the original +burglar gang. + +“The theory is offered that on the night in question two separate and +independent sets of burglars were operating against the bank. Whether +that is so or not, a tribute must be paid to the humanity of number +four.” + + * * * * + +“So that was it.” Wallis read the account in his paper that morning +without resentment. Though the evening had ended disastrously for him, +he had cause for satisfaction. “I should never have forgiven myself if +we had killed that guard,” he said to his companion. + +His eyes were tired, and his face was unusually pale. He had spent a +strenuous evening. He sat now in his bucket-shop office, and his sole +companion was Callidino. + +“I suppose poor old Persh will catch us,” he said. + +“Why Persh?” asked the other. + +“The taxi driver will be able to identify us as having been his +companions. I wonder they have not come before. There is no use in +running away. Do you know,” he asked suddenly, “that no man ever +escapes the English police if he is known. It saves a lot of trouble +to await developments.” + +“I thought you had been to the station,” said Callidino in surprise. + +“I have,” said Wallis, “I went there the first thing--in fact, the +moment I had an excuse--to identify Persh. There is no sense in +pretending we did not know him. The only thing to do is to prove the +necessary alibis. As for me, I was in bed and asleep.” + +“Did anybody see you get back?” asked Callidino. + +Wallis shook his head. + +“No,” he said, “they left one man to look after me, and he did a very +natural thing, he walked up and down the street. There was nothing +easier than to walk the way he was going behind his back and slip in +just when I wanted to.” + +Shadowing is a most tiring business, and what very few realise is the +physical strain of remaining in one position, having one object in +view. Even the trained police may be caught napping in the most simple +manner, and as Wallis said, he had found no difficulty in making his +way back to the house without observation. The only danger had been +that during his absence somebody had called. + +“What about you?” + +Callidino smiled. + +“My alibi is more complex,” he said, “and yet more simple. My +excellent compatriots will swear for me. They lie very readily these +Neapolitans.” + +“Aren’t you a Neapolitan?” + +“Sicilian,” smiled the other. “Neapolitan!” + +The contempt in his tone amused Wallis. + +“Who is the fourth man?” Callidino asked suddenly. + +“Our mysterious stranger, I am certain of that,” said George Wallis +moodily. “But who the devil is he? I have never killed a man in my +life so far, but I shall have to take unusual measures to settle my +curiosity in this respect. + +“There will have to be a division of the loot,” he said after a while, +“I will go into it to-day. Persh has relations somewhere in the world, +a daughter or a sister, she must have her share. There is a fake +solicitor in Southwark who will do the work for us. We shall have to +invent an uncle who died.” + +Callidino nodded. + +“As for me,” he said, rising and stretching himself, “already the +vineyards of the South are appealing to me. I shall build me a villa +in Montecatini and drink the wines, and another on Lake Maggiore and +bathe in the waters. I shall do nothing for the rest of my life save +eat and drink and bathe.” + +“A perfectly ghastly idea!” said Wallis. + +The question of the fourth man troubled him more than he confessed. It +was shaking his nerves. The police he understood, and was prepared +for, could even combat, but here was the fourth man as cunning as +they, who knew their plans, who followed them, who kept them under +observation. Why? What object had he? He did not doubt that the fourth +man was he who had watched them in Hatton Garden. + +If it was a hobby it was a most extraordinary hobby, and the man must +be mad. If he had an object in view, why did he not come out into the +daylight and admit it? + +“I wonder how I can get hold of him?” he said half aloud. + +“Advertise for him,” said Callidino. + +A sharp retort rose to the other’s lips, but he checked it. After all, +there was something in that. One could do many things through the +columns of the daily press. + + + + + CHAPTER XII. + THE PLACE WHERE THE LOOT WAS STORED + + + “Will the Hatton Garden intruder communicate with the man who lay on + the floor, and arrange a meeting. The man on the floor has a + proposition to make, and promises no harm to intruder.” + + +Gilbert Standerton read the advertisement when he was taking his +breakfast, and a little smile gathered at the corners of his lips. + +Edith saw the smile. + +“What is amusing you, Gilbert?” she asked. + +“A thought,” he said. “I think these advertisements are so funny.” + +She had seen the direction of his eyes, carefully noted the page of +the paper, and waited for an opportunity to examine for herself the +cause of his amusement. + +“By the way,” he said carelessly, “I am putting some money to your +credit at the bank to-day.” + +“Mine?” she asked. + +He nodded. + +“Yes, I have been rather fortunate on the Stock Exchange lately--I +made twelve thousand pounds out of American rails.” + +She looked at him steadily. + +“Do you mean that?” she asked. + +“What else could I mean?” he demanded. “You see, American rails have +been rather jumpy of late, and so have I.” He smiled again. “I jumped +in when they were low and jumped out when they were high. Here is the +broker’s statement.” He drew it from his pocket and passed it across +the table to her. + +“I feel,” he said, with a pretence of humour, “that you should know I +do not secure my entire income from my nefarious profession.” + +She made no response to this. She knew who the fourth man had been. +Why had he gone there? What had been his object? + +If he had been a detective, or if he had been in the employ of the +Government, he would have confessed it. Her heart had sunk when she +had read the interesting theory which had been put forward by the +journal. + +He was the second burglar. + +She thought all this with the paper he had passed to her on the table +before her. + +The broker’s statement was clear enough. Here were the amounts, all +columns ruled and carried forward. + +“You will observe that I have not put it all to your credit,” he +bantered, “some of it has gone to mine.” + +“Gilbert,” she asked, “why do you keep things from me?” + +“What do I keep from you?” he asked. + +“Why do you keep from me the fact that you were in the bank the night +before last when this horrible tragedy occurred?” + +He did not answer immediately. + +“I have not kept it from you,” he said. “I have practically admitted +it--in an unguarded moment, I confess, but I did admit it.” + +“What were you doing there?” she demanded. + +“Making my fortune,” he said solemnly. + +But she was not to be put off by his flippancy. + +“What were you doing there?” she asked again. + +“I was watching three interesting burglars at work,” he said, “as I +have watched them not once but many times. You see, I am specially +gifted in one respect. Nature intended me to be a burglar, but +education and breed and a certain lawfulness of character prohibited +that course. I am a dilettante: I do not commit crime, but I am +monstrously interested in it. I seek,” he said slowly, “to discover +what fascination crime has over the normal mind; also I have an +especial reason for checking the amount these men collect.” + +Her puzzled frown hurt him; he did not want to bother her, but she +knew so much now that he must tell her more. + +He had thought it would have been possible to have hidden everything +from her, but people cannot live together in the same house and be +interested in one another’s comings and goings without some of their +cherished secrets being revealed. + +“What I cannot understand----” she said slowly and was at a loss for +an introduction to this delicate subject. + +“What cannot you understand?” he asked. + +“I cannot understand why you suddenly dropped all your normal +pleasures, why you left the Foreign Office, why you gave up music, and +why, above all things, that this change in your life should have come +about immediately after the playing of the ‘Melody in F.’” + +He was silent for a moment, and when he spoke his voice was low and +troubled. + +“You are not exactly right,” he said. “I had begun my observations +into the ways of the criminal before that tune was played.” He paused. +“I admit that I had some fear in my mind that sooner or later the +‘Melody in F’ would be played under my window, and I was making a +half-hearted preparation against the evil day. That is all I can tell +you,” he said. + +“Tell me this,” she asked as he rose, “if I had loved you, and had +been all that you desired, would you have adopted this course?” + +He thought awhile. “I cannot tell you,” he said at length; “possibly I +should, perhaps I should not. Yes,” he said, nodding his head, “I +should have done what I am doing now, only it would have been harder +to do if you had loved me. As it is----” he shrugged his shoulders. + +He went out soon after, and she found the paper he had been reading, +and without difficulty discovered the advertisement. + +Then he was the Hatton Garden intruder, and what he had said was true. +He had observed these people, and they had known they were being +observed. + +With a whirling brain she sat down to piece together the threads of +mystery. She was no nearer a solution when she had finished, from +sheer exhaustion, than when she had begun. + + * * * * + +Gilbert had not intended spending the night away from his house. He +realised that his wife would worry, and that she would have a genuine +grievance; apart from which he was, in a sense, domesticated, and if +the life he was living was an unusual one, it had its charm and its +attraction. + +The knowledge that he would meet her every morning, speak to her +during the day, and that he had in her a growing friend was +particularly pleasing to him. + +He had gone to a little office that he rented over a shop in +Cheapside, an office which his work in the City had made necessary. + +He unlocked the door of the tiny room, which was situated on the third +floor, and entered, closing the door behind him. There were one or two +letters which had come to him in the capacity in which he appeared as +the tenant of the office. They were mainly business communications, +and required little or no attention. + +He sat down at his desk to write a note; he thought he might be late +that night, and wanted to explain his absence. His wife occupied a +definite place in his life, and though she exercised no rights over +his movements, yet could quite reasonably expect to be informed of his +immediate plans. + +He had scarcely put pen to paper when a knock came to the door. + +“Come in,” said Gilbert in some surprise. + +It was not customary for people to call upon him here. He expected to +see a wandering canvasser in search of an order, but the man that came +in was nothing so commonplace. Gilbert knew him as a Mr. Wallis, an +affable and a pleasant man. + +“Sit down, will you?” he said, without a muscle of his face wrong. + +“I want to see you, Mr. Standerton,” said Wallis, and made no attempt +to seat himself. “Would you care to come to my office?” + +“I can see you here, I think,” said Gilbert calmly. + +“I prefer to see you in my office,” said the man, “we are less liable +to interruption. You are not afraid to come, I suppose?” he said with +the hint of a smile. + +“I am not to be piqued into coming, at any rate,” smiled Gilbert; “but +since this is not a very expansive office, nor conducive to expansive +thought, I will go with you. I presume you intend taking me into your +confidence?” + +He looked at the other man strangely and Wallis nodded. + +The two men left the office together, and Gilbert wondered exactly +what proposition the other would put to him. + +Ten minutes later they were in the St. Bride Street store, that +excellent Safe Agency whose business apparently was increasing by +leaps and bounds. + +Gilbert Standerton looked round. The manager was there, a model of +respectability. He bowed politely to Wallis, and was somewhat +surprised to see him perhaps, for the proprietor of the St. Bride’s +Safe Agency was a rare visitor. + +“My office, I think?” suggested Wallis. + +He closed the door behind them. + +“Now exactly what do you want?” asked Gilbert. + +“Will you have a cigar?” Mr. Wallis pushed the box towards him. + +Gilbert smiled. + +“You need not be scared of them,” said Wallis with a twinkle in his +eye. “There is nothing dopey or wrong with these, they are my own +special brand.” + +“I do not smoke cigars,” said Gilbert. + +“Lie number one,” replied Wallis cheerfully. “This is a promising +beginning to an exchange of confidences. Now, Mr. Standerton, we are +going to be very frank with one another, at least I am going to be +very frank with you. I hope you will reciprocate, because I think I +deserve something. You know so much about me, and I know so little +about you, that it would be fair if we evened matters up.” + +“I take you,” said Gilbert, “and if I can see any advantage in doing +so you may be sure I shall act on your suggestion.” + +“A few months ago,” said Mr. Wallis, puffing slowly at his cigar, and +regarding the ceiling with an attentive eye, “I and one of my friends +were engaged in a scientific work.” + +Gilbert nodded. + +“In the midst of that work we were interrupted by a gentleman, who for +a reason best known to himself modestly hid his features behind a +mask.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I deplore the melodrama, but I +applaud the discretion. Since then,” he went on, “the efforts of my +friends in their scientific pursuit of wealth have been hampered and +hindered by that same gentleman. Sometimes we have seen him, and +sometimes we have only discovered his presence after we have retired +from the scene of our labour. Now, Mr. Standerton, this young man may +have excellent reasons for all he is doing, but he is considerably +jeopardising our safety.” + +“Who is the young man?” asked Gilbert Standerton. + +“The young man,” said Mr. Wallis, without taking his eyes from the +ceiling, “is yourself.” + +“How do you know?” asked Gilbert quietly. + +“I know,” said the other with a smile, “and there is an end to it. I +can prove it curiously enough without having actually spotted your +face.” He pulled an inkpad from the end of the desk. “Will you make a +little finger-mark upon that sheet of paper?” he asked, and offered a +sheet of paper. + +Gilbert shook his head with a smile. + +“I see no reason why I should,” he said coolly. + +“Exactly. If you did we should find a very interesting finger-mark to +compare with it. In the office here,” Mr. Wallis went on, “we have a +large safe which has been on our hands for some months.” + +Gilbert nodded. + +“Owned by a client who has the keys,” he said. + +“Exactly,” said Wallis. “You remember my lie about it. There are three +sets of keys to that safe and a combination word. I said three”--he +corrected himself carefully--“there are really four. By an act of +gross carelessness on my part, I left the keys of the safe in my +pocket in this very office three weeks ago. + +“I must confess,” he said with a smile, “that I did not suspect you of +having so complete a knowledge of my doings or of my many secrets. I +remembered my folly at eleven o’clock that night, and came back for +what I had left behind. I found them exactly where I had left them, +but somebody else had found them, too, and that somebody else had +taken a wax impression of them. Moreover,” he leant forward towards +Gilbert, lowering his voice, “that somebody else has since formed the +habit of coming to this place nightly for reasons of his own. Do you +know what those reasons are, Mr. Standerton?” + +“To choose a safe?” suggested Gilbert ironically. + +“He comes to rob us of the fruits of our labour,” said Wallis. + +He smiled as he said the words because he had a sense of humour. + +“Some individual who has a conscience or a sense of rectitude which +prevents him from becoming an official burglar is engaged in the +fascinating pursuit of robbing the robber. In other words, some twenty +thousand pounds in solid cash has been taken from my safe.” + +“Borrowed, I do not doubt,” said Gilbert Standerton, and leant back in +his chair, his hands stuffed into his pockets, and a hard look upon +his face. + +“What do you mean--borrowed?” asked Wallis in surprise. + +“Borrowed by somebody who is desperately in need of money; somebody +who understands the Stock Exchange much better than many of the men +who make a special study of it; somebody with such knowledge as would +enable him to gamble heavily with a minimum chance of loss, and yet, +despite this, fearing to injure some unfortunate broker by the +accident of failure.” + +He leant towards Wallis, his elbow upon the desk, his face half +averted from the other. He had heard the outer door close with a bang, +and knew they were alone now, and that Wallis had designed it so. + +“I wanted money badly,” he said. “I could have stolen it easily. I +intended stealing it. I watched you for a month. I have watched +criminals for years. I know as many tricks of the trade as you. +Remember that I was in the Foreign Office, in that department which +had to do mainly with foreign crooks, and that I was virtually a +police officer, though I had none of the authority.” + +“I know all about that,” said Wallis. + +He was curious, he desired information for his own immediate use, he +desired it, too, that his sum of knowledge concerning humanity should +be enlarged. + +“I am a thief--in effect. The reason does not concern you.” + +“Had the ‘Melody in F’ anything to do with it?” asked the other dryly. + +Gilbert Standerton sprang to his feet. + +“What do you mean?” he asked. + +“Just what I say,” said the other, watching him keenly. “I understand +that you had an eccentric desire to hear that melody played. Why? I +must confess I am curious.” + +“Reserve your curiosity for something which concerns you,” said the +other roughly. “Where did you learn?” he added the question, and +Wallis laughed. + +“We have sources of information----” he began magniloquently. + +“Oh, yes,” Gilbert nodded, “of course, your friend Smith lodges with +the Wings. I had forgotten that.” + +“My friend Smith--you refer to my chauffeur, I suppose?” + +“I refer to your confederate, the fourth member of your gang, the man +who never appears in any of your exploits, and who in various guises +is laying down the foundation for robberies of the future. Oh, I know +all about this place,” he said. He waved his hand around the shop. “I +know this scheme of a Safe Agency; it is ingenious, but it is not +original. I think it was done some years ago in Italy. You tout safes +round to country mansions, offer them at ridiculous prices, and the +rest is simple. You have the keys, and at any moment you can go into a +house into which such a safe has been sold with the certain knowledge +that all the valuables and all the portable property will be assembled +in the one spot and accessible to you.” + +Wallis nodded. + +“Quite right, friend,” he said. “I need no information concerning +myself. Will you kindly explain exactly what part you are taking? Are +you under the impression that you are numbered amongst the honest?” + +“I do not,” said the other shortly. “The morality of my actions has +nothing whatever to do with the matter. I have no illusion.” + +“You are a fortunate man,” said George Wallis approvingly. “But will +you please tell me what part you are playing, and how you justify your +action in removing from time to time large sums of money from our +possession to some secret depository of your own?” + +“I do not justify it,” said Gilbert. + +He got up and paced the little office, the other watching him +narrowly. + +“I tell you I know that I am in intent a thief, but I am working to a +plan.” + +He turned to the other. + +“Do you know that there is not a robbery you have committed of which I +do not know the absolute effect? There is not a piece of jewellery you +have taken of which I do not know the owner and the exact value? Yes,” +he nodded, “I am aware that you have not ‘fenced’--that is the term, +isn’t it?--a single article, and that in your safe place you have them +all stored. I hope by good fortune not only to compensate you for what +I have taken from you, but to return every penny that you have +stolen.” + +Wallis started. + +“What do you mean?” he asked. + +“To its rightful owner,” continued Gilbert calmly. “I have striven to +be in a position to say to you: ‘Here is a necklace belonging to Lady +Dynshird, it is worth four thousand pounds, I will give you a fair +price for it, let us say a thousand--it is rather more than you could +sell it for--and we will restore it to its owner.’ I want to say to +you: ‘I have taken ten thousand sovereigns in bullion and in French +banknotes from your store, here is that amount for yourself, here is +a similar amount which is to be restored to the people from whom it +was taken.’ I have kept a careful count of every penny you have taken +since I joined your gang as an unofficial member.” + +He smiled grimly. + +“My dear Quixote,” drawled George Wallis protestingly, “you are +setting yourself an impossible task.” + +Gilbert Standerton shook his head. + +“Indeed I am not,” he said. “I have made much more money on the Stock +Exchange than ever I thought I should possess in my life.” + +“Will you tell me this?” asked the other. “What is the explanation of +this sudden desire of yours for wealth--for sudden desire I gather it +was?” + +“That I cannot explain,” said Gilbert, and his tone was +uncompromising. + +There was a little pause, then George Wallis rose. + +“I think we had better understand one another now,” he said. “You have +taken from us nearly twenty thousand pounds--twenty thousand pounds of +our money swept out of existence.” + +Gilbert shook his head. + +“No, there is not a penny of it gone. I tell you I used it as a +reserve in case I should want it. As a matter of fact, I shall not +want it now,” he smiled, “I could restore it to you to-night.” + +“You will greatly oblige me if you do,” said the other. + +Gilbert looked at him. + +“I rather like you, Wallis,” he said, “there is something admirable +about you, rascal that you are.” + +“Rascals as we are,” corrected Wallis. “You who have no illusions do +not create one now.” + +“I suppose that is so,” said the other moodily. + +“How is this going to end?” asked Wallis. “Where do we share out, and +are you prepared to carry on this high-soul arrangement as long as my +firm is in existence?” + +Standerton shook his head. + +“No,” he said, “your business ends to-night.” + +“My business?” asked the startled Wallis. + +“Your business,” said the other. “You have made enough money to retire +on. Get out. I have made sufficient money to take over all your stock +at valuation”--he smiled again--“and to restore every penny that has +been stolen by you. I was coming to you in a few days with that +proposition.” + +“And so we end to-night, do we?” mused Wallis. “My dear good man,” he +said cheerfully, “to-night--why I am going out after the most +wonderful coup of all! You would laugh if you knew who was my intended +victim.” + +“I am not easily amused in these days,” said Gilbert. “Who is it?” + +“I will tell you another time,” said Wallis. + +He walked to the office door, his hands in his pockets. He stood for a +moment admiring a huge safe and whistling a little tune. + +“Don’t you think it an excellent idea of mine,” he asked with the +casual air of the suburban householder showing off a new cucumber +frame, “this safe?” + +“I think it is most excellent.” + +“Business is good,” said Wallis regretfully. “It is a pity to give it +up after we have taken so much trouble. You see, we may not sell half +a dozen safes a year to the right kind of people, but if we only sell +one--why we pay expenses! It is so simple,” he said. + +“By the way, have you missed a necklace of sorts which has been +restored to the police? Do not apologise!” + +He raised his hand. + +“I understand this is a family matter. I am sorry to have caused you +any inconvenience.” + +His ironical politeness amused the other. + +“It was not a question of family,” he said. “I had no idea as to its +ownership, only some person had been very careless--I found the +necklace outside the safe. Some property had evidently been hidden in +a hurry, and had fallen down.” + +“I am greatly obliged to you,” said Wallis. “You removed what might +possibly have been a great temptation for the honest Mr. Timmings.” + +He took a key from his pocket, switched round the combination lock, +and opened the safe. There was nothing in the first view to suggest +that it was the storehouse of the most notorious thief in London. +Every article therein had been most carefully wrapped and packed. He +closed the door again. + +“That is only half the treasure,” he said. + +“Only half--what do you mean?” + +Gilbert was genuinely surprised, and a little mocking smile played +about the mouth of the other. + +“I thought that would upset you,” he said. “That is only half. I will +show you something. Since you know so much, why shouldn’t you know +all?” + +He walked back into the office. A door led into another room. He +unlocked this, and opening it passed through, Gilbert following. +Inside was a small room lit by a skylight. The centre of the room was +occupied by what appeared to be a large cage. It was in reality a +steel grill, which is sometimes sold by French firms to surround a +safe. + +“A pretty cage,” said Mr. Wallis admiringly. + +He unlocked the tiny steel gate and stepped through, and Gilbert +stepped after him. + +“How did you get it in?” asked Gilbert curiously. + +“It was brought in in pieces, and has just been set up in order to +show a customer. It is very easily taken apart, and two or three +mechanics can clear it away in a day.” + +“Is this your other department?” asked Gilbert dryly. + +“In a sense it is,” said Wallis, “and I will show you why. If you go +to the corner and pull down the first bar you will see something which +perhaps you have never seen before.” + +Gilbert was half-way to the corner, when the transparency of the trick +struck him. He turned quickly, but a revolver was pointed straight at +his heart. + +“Put up your hands, Mr. Gilbert Standerton,” said George. “You may be +perfectly bona fide in your intentions to share out, but I was +thinking that I would rather finish to-night’s job before I relinquish +business. You see, it will be poetic justice. Your uncle----” + +“My uncle!” said Gilbert. + +“Your uncle,” bowed the other, “an admirable but testy old gentleman, +who in one of our best safes has deposited nearly a quarter of a +million pounds’ worth of jewellery, the famous Standerton diamonds, +which I suppose you will one day inherit.” + +“Is it not poetic justice,” he asked as he backed his way out, still +covering his prisoner with his revolver, “to rob _you_ just a little? +Possibly,” he went on, with grim humour, “I also may have a +conscience, and may attempt to restore to you the property which +to-night I shall steal.” + +He clanged the gate to, doubly locked it, and walked to the door which +led to the office. + +“You will stay here for forty-eight hours,” he said, “at the end of +which time you will be released--on my word. It may be inconvenient +for you, but there are many inconvenient happenings in this life which +we must endure. I commend you to Providence.” + +He went out, and was gone for a quarter of an hour. + +Gilbert thought he had left, but he returned carrying a large jug of +coffee, two brand new quart vacuum flasks, and two packages of what +proved to be sandwiches. + +“I cannot starve you,” he said. “You had better keep your coffee hot. +You will have a long wait, and as you may be cold I have brought +this.” + +He went back to the office and carried out two heavy overcoats and +thrust them through the bars. + +“That is very decent of you,” said Gilbert. + +“Not at all,” said the polite Mr. Wallis. + +Gilbert was unarmed, and had he possessed a weapon it would have been +of no service to him. + +The pistol had not left Wallis’s hand, and even as he handed the food +through the grill the butt of the automatic Colt was still gripped in +his palm. + +“I wish you a very good evening. If you would like to send a perfectly +non-committal note to your wife, saying that you were too busy to come +back, I should be delighted to see it delivered.” + +He passed through the bars a sheet of paper and a stylograph pen. It +was a thoughtful thing to do, and Gilbert appreciated it. + +This man, scoundrel as he was, had nicer instincts than many who had +never brought themselves within the pale of the law. + +He scribbled a note excusing himself, folded up the sheet and placed +it in the envelope, sealing it down before he realised that his captor +would want to read it. + +“I am very sorry,” he said, “but you can open it, the gum is still +wet.” + +Wallis shook his head. + +“If you will tell me that there is nothing more than I asked you to +write, or than I expected you to write, that is sufficient,” he said. + +So he left Gilbert alone and with much to think about. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII. + THE MAKER OF WILLS + +General Sir John Standerton was a man of hateful and irascible +temper. The excuse was urged for him that he had spent the greater +portion of his life in India, a country calculated to undermine the +sweetest disposition. He was a bachelor and lived alone, save for a +small army of servants. He had renamed the country mansion he had +purchased twenty years before: it was now known from one end of the +country to the other as The Residency, and here he maintained an +almost feudal state. + +His enemies said that he kept his battalion of servants at full +strength so that he might always have somebody handy to swear at, but +that was obviously spite. It was said, too, that every year a fresh +firm of solicitors acted for him, and it is certain that he changed +his banks with extraordinary rapidity. + +Leslie Frankfort was breakfasting with his brother one morning in his +little Mayfair house. Jack Frankfort was a rising young solicitor, and +a member of that firm which at the moment was acting for Sir John +Standerton. + +“By the way,” said Jack Frankfort, “I am going to see an old friend of +yours this afternoon.” + +“Who is my old friend?” + +“Old Standerton.” + +“Gilbert?” + +Jack Frankfort smiled. + +“No, Gilbert’s terrible uncle; we are acting for him just now.” + +“What is the object of the visit?” + +“A will, my boy; we are going to make a will.” + +“I wonder how many wills the old man has made?” mused Leslie. “Poor +Gilbert!” + +“Why poor Gilbert?” asked the other, helping himself to the marmalade. + +“Why, he was his uncle’s heir for about ten minutes.” + +Jack grinned. + +“Everybody is old Standerton’s heir for ten minutes,” he said. + +“I verily believe he has endowed every hospital, every dog’s home, +every cat’s home, every freakish institution that the world has ever +heard of, in the course of the last twenty years, and he is making +another will to-day.” + +“Put in a good word for Gilbert,” said Leslie with a smile. + +The other growled. + +“There is not a chance of putting in a good word for anybody. Old +Tomlins, who acted for him last, said that the greater difficulty in +making a will for the old beggar is to finish one before the old man +has thought out another. Anyway, he is keen on a will just now, and I +am going down to see him. Come along?” + +“You know the old gentleman?” + +“Not on your life,” said the other hastily. “I know him indeed, and he +knows me! He knows I am a pal of Gilbert’s. I stayed once with him for +about two days. For the Lord’s sake do not confess that you are my +brother, or he will find another firm of solicitors.” + +“I do not usually boast of my relationship with you,” said Jack. + +“You are an offensive devil,” said the other admiringly. “But I +suppose you have to be, being a solicitor.” + +Jack Frankfort journeyed down to Huntingdon that afternoon in the +company of a pleasant man, with whom he found himself in conversation +without any of that awkwardness of introductions which makes the +average English passenger so impossible. + +This gentleman had evidently been in all parts of the world, and knew +a great many people whom Jack knew. He chatted interestingly for an +hour on the strange places of the earth, and when the train drew up at +the little station at which Mr. Frankfort was alighting, the other +accompanied him. + +“What an extraordinary coincidence,” said the stranger heartily. “I am +getting out here too. This is a rum little town, isn’t it?” + +It might be described as “rum,” but it was very pleasant, and it +contained one of the most comfortable hostelries in England. + +The fellow-passengers found themselves placed in adjoining rooms. + +Jack Frankfort had hoped to conclude his business before the evening +and return to London by a late train, but he knew that it would be +unwise to depend upon the old man’s expedition. + +As a matter of fact, he had hardly been in the hotel a quarter of an +hour before he received an intimation from The Residency that Sir John +could not be seen until ten o’clock that evening. + +“That settles all idea of going back to London,” said Jack +despairingly. + +He met his fellow-passenger at dinner. + +Though he was not particularly well acquainted with the habits of Sir +John, he knew that one of his fads was to dine late, and since he had +no desire to spend a hungry evening, he advanced the normal dinner +hour of the little hotel by thirty minutes. + +He explained this apologetically to the comfortable man who sat +opposite him, as they discussed a perfectly roasted capon. + +“It suits me very well,” said the other, “I have a lot of work to do +in the neighbourhood. You see,” he explained, “I am the proprietor of +the Safe Agency.” + +“Safe Agency,” repeated the other wonderingly. + +The man nodded. + +“It seems a queer business, but it is a fairly extensive one,” he +said. “We deal principally in safes and strong rooms, second-hand or +new. We have a pretty large establishment in London; but I am not +going to overstep the bounds of politeness”--he smiled--“and try to +sell you some of my stock.” + +Frankfort was amused. + +“Safe Agency,” he said; “one never realises that there can be money in +that sort of thing.” + +“One cannot realise that there is money in any branch of commerce,” +said the other. “The money-making concerns which appeal are those +where one sees brains being turned into actual cash.” + +“Such as----?” + +“Such as a lawyer’s business,” smiled the other. “Oh, yes, I know you +are a lawyer, you are the type, and I should have known your trade if +I had not seen your dispatch case, and then your name.” + +Jack Frankfort laughed. + +“You are sharp enough to be a lawyer yourself,” he suggested. + +“You are paying yourself a compliment,” said the other. + +Later, in the High Street, when he was calling a fly to drive him to +The Residency, Jack noticed a big covered motor lorry, bearing only +the simple inscription on its side: “The St. Bride’s Safe Company.” + +He saw also his pleasant companion speaking earnestly with the +black-bearded chauffeur. + +A little later the lorry moved on through the narrow streets of the +town and took the London Road. + +Jack Frankfort had no time to speculate upon the opportunities for +safe selling which the little town offered, for five minutes later he +was in Sir John Standerton’s study. + +The old General was of the type which is frequently depicted in +humorous papers. He was stout and red of face, and wore a close-cut +strip of white whisker, which ended abruptly below his ear, and was +continued in a wild streak of white moustache across his face. He was +bald, save for a little fringe of white hair which ran from temple to +temple via the occiput, and his conversation might be described as a +succession of explosions. + +He stared up from under his ferocious eyebrow, as the young man +entered the study, and took stock of him. + +He was used to lawyers. He had had every variety, and had divided them +into two distinct classes--they were either rogues or fools. There was +no intermediate stage with this old man, and he had no doubt in his +mind that Jack Frankfort, a shrewd-looking young man, was to be +classed in the former category. He bullied him into a seat. + +“I want to see you about my will,” he said. “I have been seriously +thinking lately of rearranging the distribution of my property.” + +This was his invariable formula. It was intended to convey the +impression that he had arrived at this present state of mind after +very long and careful consideration, and that the making of wills was +a serious and an important business to be undertaken, perhaps, once or +twice in a man’s lifetime. + +Jack nodded. + +“Very good, General,” he said. “Have you a draft?” + +“I have no draft,” snapped the other. “I have a will which has already +been prepared, and here is a copy.” + +He threw it across to his solicitor. + +“I do not know whether you have seen this?” + +“I think I have one in my bag,” said Jack. + +“What the devil do you mean by carrying my will about in your bag?” +snarled the other. + +“That is the only place I could think of,” said the young man, calmly. +“You would not like me to carry it about in my trouser’s pocket, would +you?” + +The General stared. + +“Do not be impertinent, young man,” he said ominously. + +It was not a good beginning, but Jack knew that every method had been +tried, from the sycophantic to the pompous, but none had succeeded, +and the end of all endeavours, so far as the solicitors were +concerned, had been the closing of their association with the +General’s estate. + +He was rather a valuable client if he could only be retained. No human +solicitor had discovered a method of retaining him. + +“Very well,” said the General at last. “Now please jot down exactly +what my wishes are, and have the will drafted accordingly. In the +first place, I revoke all former wills.” + +Jack, with a sheet of paper and a pencil, nodded and noted the fact. + +“In the second place I want you to make absolutely certain that not a +penny of my money goes to Dr. Sundle’s Dogs’ Home. The man has been +insolent to me, and I hate dogs, anyhow. Not a penny of my money is to +go to any hospital or to any charitable institution whatever.” + +The old sinner declaimed this with relish. + +“I had intended leaving a very large sum of money to a hospital fund,” +he explained, “but after the behaviour of this infernal +Government----” + +Jack might have asked in what way the old man expected to get even +with the offending Government by denying support to all institutions +designed to help the poor, but wisely kept the question in the +background. + +“No charitable institution whatever.” + +The old man spoke slowly, emphatically, thumping the table with every +other word. + +“A hundred pounds to the Army Temperance Association, though I think +it is a jackass of an institution. A hundred pounds to the Soldiers’ +Home at Aldershot, and a thousand pounds if they make it +non-sectarian.” He grinned and added: “It will be Church of England to +everlasting doomsday, so that money’s safe! And,” he added, “no money +to the Cottage Hospital here--do not let that bequest creep in. That +stupid maniac of a doctor--I forget his beastly name--led the +agitation for opening a right-o’-way across my estate. I will +‘right-o’-way’ him!” he said viciously. + +He spent half an hour specifying the people who were not to benefit by +his will, and the total amount of his reluctant bequests during that +period did not exceed a thousand pounds. + +When he had finished he stared hopelessly at the young lawyer, and a +momentary glint of humour came in the hard old blue eyes. + +“I think we have disposed of everybody,” he said, “without disposing +of anything. Do you know my nephew?” he asked suddenly. + +“I know a friend of your nephew.” + +“Are you related to that grinning idiot Leslie Frankfort?” roared the +old man. + +“He is my brother,” said the other calmly. + +“Humph,” said the General, “I thought I recognised the face. Have you +met Gilbert Standerton?” he asked suddenly. + +“I have met him once or twice,” said Jack Frankfort carelessly, “as +you may have met people, just to say ‘how do you do?’ and that sort of +thing.” + +“I have never met people to say ‘how do you do?’ and that sort of +thing,” protested the old man with a snort. “What sort of fellow do +you think he is?” he asked after a pause. + +The injunction of Leslie to “say a good word for Gilbert” came to the +young man’s mind. + +“I think he is a very decent sort of fellow,” he said, “though +somewhat reserved and a little stand-offish.” + +The old man glowered at him. + +“My nephew stand-offish?” he snapped, “Of course he is stand-offish. +Do you think a Standerton is everybody’s money? There is nothing +Tommyish or Dickish or Harryish about our family, sir. We are all +stand-offish, thank God! I am the most stand-offish man you ever met +in your life.” + +“That I can well believe,” thought Jack, but did not give utterance to +his thought. + +Instead he pursued the subject in his own cunning way. + +“He is the sort of man,” he said innocently “whom I should think money +would be rather wasted on.” + +“Why?” asked the General with rising wrath. + +Jack shrugged his shoulders. + +“Well, he makes no great show, does not attempt to keep any particular +place in London Society. In fact, he treats Society as though he were +superior to it.” + +“And so he is,” growled the General, “we are all superior to Society. +Do you think, sir, that I care a damn about any of the people in this +county? Do you think I am impressed by my Lord of High Towers and my +Lady of the Grange, and the various upstart parvenu aristocrats that +swarm over this country like--like--field mice? No sir! And I trust my +nephew is in the same mind. Society as it is at present constituted is +not worth that!” He snapped his fingers in Jack’s impassive face. +“That settles it,” said the General with decision. He pointed his +finger at the notes which the other was taking. “The residue of my +property I leave to Gilbert Standerton. Make a note of that.” + +Twice had he uttered the same words in his lifetime, and twice had he +changed his mind. It might well be that he would change his mind +again. If the reputation he bore was justified, the morning would find +him in another frame of mind. + +“Stay over to-morrow,” he said at parting. “Bring me the draft at +breakfast time.” + +“At what hour?” asked Jack politely. + +“At breakfast time,” roared the old man. + +“What is your breakfast hour?” + +“The same hour as every other civilised human being,” snapped the +General “at twenty-five minutes to one. What time do you breakfast, +for Heaven’s sake?” + +“At twenty to one,” said Jack sweetly, and was pleased with himself +all the way back to the hotel. + +He did not see his train companion that night, but met him at +breakfast the next morning at the Christian hour of half-past eight. + +Something had happened in the meantime to change the equable and +cheery character of the other. He was sombre and silent, and he looked +worried, almost ill, Jack thought. Possibly there was a bad time for +safe selling, as there was a bad time for every other department of +trade. + +Thinking this, he kept off the subject of business, and scarcely half +a dozen sentences were exchanged between the two during the meal. + +Returning to The Residency, Jack Frankfort found with surprise that +the old man had not changed his mind over night. He was still of the +same opinion; seemed more emphatically so. Indeed, Jack had the +greatest difficulty in preventing him from striking off a miserable +hundred pounds bequest which he had made to a northern dispensary. + +“The whole of the money should be kept in the family,” said the +General shortly; “it is absurd to fritter away little hundreds like +this, it handicaps a man. I do not suppose he will have the handling +of the money for many years yet, but ‘forethought,’ sir, is the motto +of our family.” + +It was all to Gilbert’s advantage that the lawyer persisted in +demanding the restoration of the dispensary bequest. In the end the +General cut out every bequest in the will, and in the shortest +document which he had ever signed bequeathed the whole of his +property, movable and immovable, to “my dear nephew” absolutely. + +“He is married isn’t he?” he asked. + +“I believe he is,” said Jack Frankfort. + +“You believe! Now what is the good of your believing?” protested the +old man. “You are my lawyer, and your business is to know everything. +Find out if he is married, who his wife is, where she came from, and +ask them up to dinner.” + +“When?” demanded the startled lawyer. + +“To-night,” said the old man. “There is a man coming down from +Yorkshire to see me, my doctor, we will make a jolly party. Is she +pretty?” + +“I believe she is.” + +Jack hesitated, for he was honestly in doubt. He knew very little +about Gilbert Standerton or his affairs. + +“If she is pretty, and she is a lady,” said the old General slowly, “I +will also make provision for her separately.” + +Jack’s heart sank. Would this mean another will? For good or ill, the +wires were dispatched. + +Edith received hers and read it in wonder. + +Gilbert’s remained on the hall table, for he had not been home the +previous night nor during that day. + +The tear-reddened eyes of the girl offered eloquent testimony to the +interest she displayed in his movements. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV. + THE STANDERTON DIAMONDS + +Edith Standerton made a quick preparation for her journey. She would +take her maid into Huntingdon, and go without Gilbert. It was +embarrassing that she must go alone, but she had set herself a task, +and if she could help her husband by appearing at the dinner of his +irritable relative she would do so. + +She had her evening things packed, and caught the four o’clock train +for the town of Tinley. + +The old man did her the exceptional honour of meeting her at the +station. + +“Where is Gilbert?” he asked when they had mutually introduced +themselves. + +“He has been called out of town unexpectedly,” she said. “He will be +awfully upset when he knows.” + +“I think not,” said the old General grimly. “It takes a great deal to +upset Gilbert--certainly more than an opportunity of being reconciled +to a grouchy old man. As a matter of fact,” he went on, “there is no +reconciliation necessary; but I always look upon anybody whom I have +to cut out of my will as one who regards me as a mortal enemy.” + +“Please never put me in your will.” + +She smiled. + +“I’m not so sure about that,” said he, and added gallantly, “though I +think Nature has sufficiently endowed you to enable you to dispense +with such mundane gifts as money!” + +She made a little face at that. + +He was delighted with her, and found her a charming companion. Edith +Standerton exerted herself to please him. She had a style of treating +people older than herself in such a way as to suggest that she was as +young as they. I do not know any other phrase which would more exactly +convey my meaning than that. She had a charm which appealed to this +wayward old man. + +Edith did not know the cause of the change in her husband’s fortunes. +She knew very little, indeed, of his affairs; enough she knew that for +some reason or other he had been disinherited through no fault of his +own. She did not even know that it was the result of a caprice of this +old man. + +“You must come again and bring Gilbert,” said the General, before they +dispersed to dress for dinner. “I shall be delighted to put you both +up.” + +Fortunately she was saved the embarrassment of an answer, for the +General jumped up suddenly. + +“I know what you’d like to see,” he said, “you’d like to see the +Standerton diamonds, and so you shall!” + +She had no desire to see the Standerton diamonds, had, indeed, no +knowledge that such an heirloom existed; but he was delighted at the +prospect of showing her, and she, being a woman, was not averse to a +view of these precious jewels, even though she were not destined to +wear them. + +He led the way up to the library, and Jack Frankfort followed. + +“There they are,” said the old man proudly, and pointed to a big safe +in the corner, a large and ornate safe. + +“That is something new,” he said proudly. “I bought it from a man who +wanted sixty guineas for it--an infernal, swindling, travelling +rascal! I got it for thirty. What do you think of that for a safe?” + +“I think it’s very pretty,” said Jack. He could think of nothing more +fitting. + +The old man glared at him. + +“Pretty!” he growled. “What do you think I want with ‘pretty’ things +in my library?” + +He took a bunch of keys from his pocket and opened the door of the +safe, pulled open a drawer, and took out a large morocco case. + +“There they are!” he said with pride, and indeed he might well be +proud of such a beautiful collection. + +With all a girl’s love for pretty things Edith handled the gorgeous +jewels eagerly. The setting was old-fashioned, but it was the old +fashion which was at that moment being copied. The stones sparkled and +glittered as though every facet carried a tiny electric lamp to send +forth the green, blue and roseate gleam of its fire. + +Even Jack Frankfort, no great lover of jewellery, was fascinated by +the sight. + +“Why, sir,” he said, “there are nearly a hundred thousand pounds’ +worth of gems there.” + +“More,” said the old man. “I’ve a pearl necklace here,” and he pulled +out another drawer, “look at it. There is nearly two hundred thousand +pounds’ worth of jewellery in that safe.” + +“In a thirty-guinea safe,” said Jack unwisely. + +The old man turned on him. + +“In a sixty-guinea safe,” he corrected violently. “Didn’t I tell you I +beat the devil down? I beg your pardon, my dear.” He chuckled at the +thought, replaced the jewels, and locked the safe again. “Sixty +guineas he wanted. Came here with all his fine City of London manner, +frock-coat, top-hat, and patent boots, my dear. The way these people +get up is scandalous. He might have been a gentleman by the airs he +gave himself.” + +Jack looked at the safe. He had some ideas of commercial values. + +“I can’t understand how he sold it,” he said. “This safe is worth two +hundred pounds.” + +“What?” + +The old General turned on his lawyer in astonishment. + +Jack nodded. + +“I have one at my office, now that I come to think of it,” he said. +“It cost two hundred and twenty pounds, and it is the same make.” + +“He only asked me sixty guineas.” + +“That’s strange. Do you mind opening it again? I’d like to see the +bolts.” + +The General, nothing loath, turned the key and pulled open the huge +door. Jack looked at the square, steel bolts--they were absolutely +new. + +“I can’t understand how he offered it for sixty. You certainly had a +bargain for thirty, sir,” he said. + +“I think I have,” said the General complacently. “By the way, I am +expecting a man to dinner to-night,” he went on, as he led the way +back to the drawing-room, “a doctor man from +Yorkshire--Barclay-Seymour. Do you know him?” + +Jack did not know him, but the girl broke in-- + +“Oh, yes, he is quite an old friend of mine.” + +“He’s rather a fool,” said the General, adopting his simple method of +classification. + +Edith smiled. + +“You told me yesterday that there were only two classes of people, +General--rogues and fools. I am wondering,” she said demurely, “in +which class you place me.” + +The old man wrinkled his brows. He looked at the beautiful young face +in his high good humour. + +“I must make a new class for you,” he said. “No, you shall be in a +class by yourself. But since most women are fools----” + +“Oh, come!” she protested, laughingly. + +“They are,” he averred. “Look at me. If women weren’t fools shouldn’t +I have had a wife? If any brilliant, ingenious lady, possessed of the +necessary determination had pursued me and had cultivated me, I should +not be a bachelor, leaving my money to people who don’t care +two--pins,” he hastily substituted a milder phrase for the one he had +intended, “whether I’m alive or dead. Does your husband know the +Doctor, by the way?” + +The girl shook her head. + +“I don’t think so,” she said. “They nearly met one night at dinner, +but Gilbert had an engagement.” + +“But Gilbert knows him,” insisted the old man. “I’ve often talked to +him about Barclay-Seymour, who, by the way, is perhaps not such a fool +as most doctors. I used to be rather more enthusiastic about him than +I have been lately,” he admitted, “and I’m afraid I used to ram old +Barclay-Seymour down poor Gilbert’s throat more than his ability or +genius justified me doing. Has he never spoken about him?” + +The girl shook her head. + +“Ungrateful devil!” growled the old General inconsequently. + +One of his many footmen came into the drawing-room at that moment with +a telegram on a salver. + +“Hey hey?” demanded Sir John, fixing his glasses on the tip of his +nose and scowling up at his servant. “What’s this?” + +“A telegram, Sir John,” replied the footman. + +“I can see it’s a telegram, you ass! When did it come?” + +“A few minutes ago, sir.” + +“Who brought it?” + +“A telegraph boy, Sir John,” said the imperturbable servitor. + +“Why didn’t you say so at first?” snapped Sir John Standerton in a +tone of relief. And Edith had all she could do to prevent herself from +bursting into a fit of laughter at the little scene. + +The old man opened the telegram, spread it out, read it slowly and +frowned. He read it again. + +“Now, what on earth does that mean?” he asked, and handed the telegram +to the girl. + +She read-- + + + “Take the Standerton jewels out of your safe and deposit them without + fail in your bank to-night. If it is too late to send them to your + bank place them under an armed guard.” + + +It was signed “Gilbert Standerton.” + + + + + CHAPTER XV. + THE TALE THE DOCTOR TOLD + +The General read the telegram again. He was, despite his erratic +temperament, a shrewd and intelligent man. + +“What does that mean?” he asked quietly for him. “Where is Gilbert? +And where does he wire from?” + +He picked up the telegram and inspected it. It was handed in at the +General Post Office at London at 6.35 p.m. + +The General’s hour for dining was consonant with his breakfast hour, +and it was a quarter after nine when the dinner gong brought Edith +Standerton down from her room. + +She was worried; she could not understand the reference to the jewels. +What had made Gilbert send this message? Had she known more of the +circumstances of what had happened on the previous afternoon she would +have wondered rather how he was able to send the message. + +The General took the warning seriously, but not so seriously that he +was prepared to remove his jewellery to any other receptacle. Indeed, +the purchase of the safe had been made necessary by the fact that +beyond the butler’s strong room, which was strong only in an +etymological sense, there was no security for property of any value. + +He had made an inspection of the jewels in the safe and had relocked +the door, leaving a servant in the library, with strict instructions +not to come out until he was instructed to leave by his master. + +Edith came down to find that another guest had arrived, a guest who +greeted her with a cheery and familiar smile. + +“How do you do, Doctor?” she said. “It is not so long since I met you +at mother’s. You remember me?” + +“I remember you perfectly,” said Dr. Barclay-Seymour. + +He was a tall, thin man with a straggling iron-grey beard and a high +forehead. + +A little absent in his manner, he conveyed the impression, never a +very flattering one, that he had matters more weighty to think about +than the conversation which was being addressed to him. He was, +perhaps, the most noteworthy of the provincial doctors. He came out of +his shell sufficiently to recognise her and to remember her mother. +Mrs. Cathcart had been a great friend of Barclay’s. They had grown up +together. + +“Your mother is a very wonderful woman,” said Dr. Barclay-Seymour as +he took the girl in to dinner, “a remarkable woman.” + +Edith was seized with an almost overwhelming temptation to ask why. It +would have been unpardonable of her had she done so, but never did a +word so tremble upon a human being’s lips as that upon hers. + +They ate through dinner, which was made a little uncomfortable by the +fact that General Sir John Standerton was unquestionably nervous. +Twice during the course of the meal he sent out one of the three +footmen who waited at table to visit what he termed the outpost. +Nothing untoward had happened on either occasion. + +“I do not know what to do about this jewellery. I hope that Gilbert is +not playing the fool,” he said. + +He turned to Edith with a genial scowl. + +“Has he developed any kittenish ways of late?” + +She smiled. + +“There is no word which less describes Gilbert than kittenish,” she +said. + +“Is it not remarkable that he sent that message?” the General went on +testily. “I hardly know what to do. I could get a constable up, but +the police here are the most awful and appalling idiots. I have a +great mind to have my bed put in the library and sleep there myself.” + +He brightened up at the thought. + +He had reached the stage in life when sleeping in any other room than +that to which he was accustomed represented a form of heroism. After +the dinner was through they made their way to the drawing-room. + +The General was fidgety, and though Edith played and sang a little +French love song with no evidence of agitation, she was as nervous as +the General. + +“I tell you what we will do,” said Sir John suddenly, “we will all +adjourn to the library. It is a jolly nice room if you do not mind our +smoking.” + +It was an excellent suggestion, and one that she accepted with +pleasure. She was the only lady of the party, and remarked on the fact +as she went upstairs with Sir John. + +He glanced hurriedly round. + +“I always regard a doctor as a fit chaperone for any lady,” he said +with a chuckle--it amused him. + +Later he found the complement of the joke, and discoursed loudly upon +old women of all professions, a discourse which was arrested by the +arrival of the Doctor and Jack Frankfort. + +The library was a big room, and it was chiefly remarkable for the fact +that it contained no more evidence of Sir John’s literary taste than a +number of volumes of the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ and a shelf full +of _Ruff’s Guide to the Turf_. It was, however, a delightful room, +panelled in old oak with mullioned windows standing in deep recesses. +These, explained Sir John, opened out on to a terrace--an excellent +reason for his apprehension. + +“Pull the curtain, William,” said Sir John to the waiting footman, +“and then you can clear out. Have the coffee brought in here.” + +The man pulled the heavy velvet curtains across the big recesses, +placed a chair for the girl, and retired. + +“Excuse me,” said Sir John. + +He went across to the safe and opened it again. He inspected the case. +Nothing had been disturbed. + +“Ah,” he breathed--It was a sigh of infinite relief. + +“This wire of Gilbert’s is getting on my nerves,” he excused himself +irritably. “What the devil did he wire for? Is he the sort of man that +sends telegrams to save himself the bother of licking down an +envelope?” + +Edith shook her head. + +“I am as much in the dark as you,” she said, “but I assure you that +Gilbert is not an alarmist.” + +“How do you get on with him?” he asked her. + +The girl flushed a little. + +“I get on very well,” she said, and strove to turn the conversation. +But it was a known fact that no human soul had ever turned Sir John +from his set inquisitional course. + +“Happy, and that sort of thing?” he asked. + +Edith nodded, keeping her eyes on the wall behind the General’s head. + +“I suppose you love him--hey?” + +Edith was embarrassed, and no less so were the two men; but Sir John +was not alone in imagining that doctors have little sense of decency +and lawyers no idea of propriety. They were saved further discussion +by the arrival of the coffee, and the girl was thankful. + +“I am going to keep you here until Gilbert comes up for you,” said the +old man suddenly. “I suppose you know, but probably you do not, that +you are the first of your sex that I have ever tolerated in my house.” + +She laughed. + +“It is a fact,” he said seriously. “You know I do not get on with +women. They do not realise that though I am an irritable old chap +there is really no harm in me, and I _am_ an irritable old chap,” he +confessed. “It is not that they are impertinent or rude, but it is +their long-suffering meekness that I cannot stand. If a lady tells me +to go to the devil I know where I am. I want the plain, blunt truth +without gaff. I prefer my medicine without sugar.” + +The Doctor laughed. + +“You are different from most people, Sir John. I know men who are +rather sensitive about the brutal truth.” + +“More fools they,” said Sir John. + +“I do not know,” said the Doctor reflectively. “I sympathise with a +man who does not want the whole bitterness of fact hurled at his head +in the shape of an honest half a brick, although there is an advantage +in knowing the truth sometimes, it saves a lot of needless +unhappiness,” he added a little sadly. He seemed to have aroused some +unpleasant train of thought. “I will give you an extraordinary +instance,” he went on in his usual deliberate manner. + +“What’s that?” asked the General suddenly. + +“I think it was a noise in the hall,” said Edith. + +“I thought it was a window,” growled the General, rather ashamed that +he should have been detected in his jump. + +“Go on with your story, Doctor.” + +“A few months ago,” Dr. Seymour recalled, “a young man came to me. He +was a gentleman, and evidently not a townsman of Leeds, at any rate I +did not know him. I found afterwards that he had come from London to +consult me. He had some little tooth trouble, a jagged molar, a very +commonplace thing, and he had made a slight incision in the inside of +his mouth. Apparently it worried him, the more so when he discovered +that the tiny scratch would not heal. Like most of us, he had a +terrible dread of cancer.” He lowered his voice as a doctor often will +when he speaks of this most dreadful malady. “He did not want to go to +his own doctor; as a matter of fact, I do not think he had one. He +came to me, and I examined him. I had my doubt as to there being +anything wrong with him, but I cut a minute section of the membrane +for microscopic examination.” + +The girl shivered. + +“I am sorry,” said the Doctor hastily, “that is all there is in the +story which is gruesome unless you think---- However,” he went on, “I +promised to send him the result of my examination, and I wanted his +address to send it. This, however, he refused. He was very, very +nervous. ‘I know I am a moral coward,’ he said, ‘but somehow I do not +want to know just the bare truth in bald language; but if it is as I +fear, I would like the news broken to me in the manner which is the +least jarring to me.’” + +“And what was that?” asked Sir John, interested in spite of himself. + +The Doctor drew a long breath. + +“It seems,” he said, “that he was something of a musician”--Edith sat +upright, clasping her hands, her face set, her eyes fixed upon the +Doctor--“he was something of a musician, that is to say, he was very +keen on music, and the method he had of breaking the news to himself +was unique, I have never heard anything quite like it before in my +life. He gave me two cards and an addressed envelope, addressed to an +old musician in London whom he patronised.” + +Edith saw the room go swaying round and round, but held herself in +with an effort. Her face was white, her hands that held the chair were +clenched so tightly that the bones shone white through them. + +“They were addressed to an old friend of his, as I say, and they were +identically worded with this exception. One of them said in effect you +will go to such and such a place and you will play the ‘Melody in F,’ +and the other gave the same instructions but varied to this extent, +that he was to play the ‘Spring Song.’ Now here comes the tragedy.” He +raised his finger. “He gave me the ‘Melody in F’ to signal to him the +fact that he had cancer.” + +There was a long silence, which only the quick breathing of the girl +broke. + +“And, and--?” whispered Edith. + +“And”--the Doctor looked at her with his far-away eyes--“I sent the +wrong card,” he said. “I sent it and destroyed the other before I +remembered my error.” + +“Then he has not cancer?” whispered the girl. + +“No, and I do not know his address, and I cannot get at him,” said +Barclay-Seymour. “It was tragic in many ways. I think he was just +going to marry, for he said this much to me: ‘If this is true, and I +am married, I will leave my wife a pauper,’ and he asked me a curious +question,” added the Doctor. “He said, ‘Don’t you think that a man +condemned to die is justified in taking any action, committing any +crime, for the protection of the loved ones he leaves behind?’” + +“I see,” said Edith. + +Her voice was hollow and sounded remote to her. + +“What is that?” said the General, and jumped up. + +This time there was no doubt. Jack Frankfort sprang to the curtain +that covered the recess and pulled it aside. There stood Gilbert +Standerton, white as a ghost, his eyes staring into vacancy, the hand +at his mouth shaking. + +“The wrong card!” he said. “My God!” + + + + + CHAPTER XVI. + BRADSHAW + +A month later Gilbert Standerton came back from the Foreign Office +to his little house in St. John’s Wood. + +“There is a man to see you, Gilbert,” said his wife. + +“I think I know, it is my bank manager,” he said. + +He greeted the tall man who rose to meet him with a cheery smile. + +“Now, Mr. Brown,” he said, “I have to explain to you exactly what I +want done. There is a man in America, he has been there some week or +two, to whom I owe a large sum of money--eighty thousand pounds, to be +exact--and I want you to see that I have sufficient fluent capital to +pay it.” + +“You have quite sufficient, Mr. Standerton,” said the manager, “even +now, without selling any of your securities.” + +“That is good. You will have all the particulars here,” said Gilbert, +and took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. “It is really a +trust, in the sense that it is to be transferred to two men, Thomas +Black and George Smith. They may sub-divide it again, because I +believe,” he smiled, “they have other business associates who happen +to be entitled to share.” + +“I did not congratulate you, Mr. Standerton,” said the bank manager, +“upon the marvellous service you rendered the city. They say that +through you every penny which was stolen by the famous Wallis gang has +been recovered.” + +“I think that pretty well described the position,” said Gilbert +quietly. + +“I was reading an account of it in a paper the other day,” the bank +manager went on. “It was very providential that there was an alarm of +fire next door to their headquarters.” + +“It was providential that it was found before the fire reached the +Safe Company’s premises,” said Gilbert. “Fortunately the firemen saw +me through the skylight. That made things rather easy, but it was some +time before they got me out, as you probably know.” + +“Did you ever see this man Wallis?” asked the bank manager curiously. + +“Didn’t the papers tell you that?” bantered Gilbert with a dry smile. + +“They say you learnt in some way that there was to be a burglary at +your uncle’s, and that you went up to his place, and there you saw Mr. +Wallis under the very window of the library, on the parapet or +something.” + +“On the terrace it was,” said Gilbert quietly. + +“And that he flew at the sight of you?” + +“That is hardly true,” said Gilbert, “rather put it that I persuaded +him to go. I was not sure that he had not already secured the +necklace, and I went through the window into the room without +realising there was anybody there. You see, there were heavy curtains +which hid the light. Whilst I was there he escaped, that is all.” + +He made one or two suggestions regarding the transfer of the money and +showed the bank manager out, then he joined Edith in the drawing-room. + +She came to him with a little smile. + +“Does the Foreign Office seem very strange to you?” she asked. + +“It did seem rather strange after my other exploits.” + +He laughed. + +“I never thought Sir John had sufficient influence to get you back.” + +“I think he has greater influence than you imagine,” he said; “but +then there were other considerations. You see, I was able to render +the Foreign Office one or two little acts of service in the course of +my nefarious career, and they have been very good.” + +She looked at him wistfully. + +“And do we go back now to where we started?” she asked. + +“Where did we start?” he countered. + +“I do not know that we started anywhere,” she said thoughtfully. + +She had been looking at a time table when he came into the room, and +now she picked it up and turned the pages idly. + +“Are you interested in that Bradshaw?” + +“Very,” she said. “I am just deciding.” + +“Deciding what?” he asked. + +“Where--where we shall spend our honeymoon,” she faltered. + + THE END. + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + +The J. W. Arrowsmith Ltd. (1915) edition was consulted for many of +the changes listed below. + +Minor spelling inconsistencies (_e.g._ dressing gown/dressing-gown, +lifelong/life-long, upkeep/up-keep, etc.) have been preserved. + +Alterations to the text: + +Merge disjointed contractions. + +Punctuation: several missing commas and periods, and some quotation +mark pairings. + +[Chapter II] + +Change (“Have you told Mrs. _Carthcart_ this?” he asked.) to +_Cathcart_. + +“when his _wordly_ prospects had seemed much brighter than” to +_worldly_. + +[Chapter V] + +“had shown extraordinary knowledge of the _safes’_ contents” to +_safe’s_. + +[Chapter VI] + +“The _Manager_ himself never quite understood how his chief” to +_manager_. + +[Chapter VIII] + +“suggested Mr. Warrell, with his eyes _stil_ upraised” to _still_. + +“I will let you know how it _developes_” to _develops_. + +[Chapter IX] + +“Was very _absent minded_ and worried apparently.” to +_absent-minded_. + +(“Perhaps you would like to go,” he had suggested. briefly. “I am) +delete the first period. + +[Chapter X] + +“never failed to excite great, interest” delete the comma. + +“the abstract problem of the _chureh_” to _church_. + +[Chapter XI] + +“there are _lot_ of little things I might be able to discover.” to +_lots_. + + [End of text] + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75702 *** diff --git a/75702-h/75702-h.htm b/75702-h/75702-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9763a8d --- /dev/null +++ b/75702-h/75702-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10504 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + The melody of death | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +/* Headers and Divisions */ + h1, h2, h3, h4 {margin:2em 0em 1em 0em; page-break-before:always; text-align:center;} + +/* General */ + + body {margin:0% 5% 0% 5%;} + + .nobreak {page-break-before:avoid;} + + p {margin:0em 0em 0em 0em; text-align:justify; text-indent:1em;} + .center {margin:0em 0em 0em 0em; text-align:center; text-indent:0em;} + .noindent {text-indent:0em;} + .spacer {margin:0.5em 0em 0.5em 0em; text-align:center; text-indent:0em;} + + hr {margin:1em auto 1em auto; text-align:center; width:20%;} + + .toc_l {font-variant:small-caps; margin:0em 0em 0em 2em; text-indent:-2em;} + + .chap_sub {font-size:80%;} + .font80 {font-size:80%;} + .sc {font-variant:small-caps;} + +/* special formatting */ + + blockquote {margin:1em 2em 1em 2em;} + + .mt1 {margin-top:1em;} + .mt2 {margin-top:2em;} + .mt4 {margin-top:4em;} + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75702 ***</div> + +<h1> +THE MELODY OF<br> +DEATH +</h1> + +<p class="center"> +<span class="font80">BY</span><br> +EDGAR WALLACE +</p> + +<p class="center mt2"> +<span class="font80"><i>Author of<br> +“Angel Esquire,” “The Four Just Men,” “The<br> +Green Archer,” etc., etc.</i></span> +</p> + +<p class="center mt4"> +<span class="font80">LINCOLN MAC VEAGH</span><br> +THE DIAL PRESS<br> +<span class="font80">NEW YORK - MCMXXVII</span> +</p> + + +<h2> +CONTENTS +</h2> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch01">CHAPTER I. THE AMATEUR SAFE SMASHER</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch02">CHAPTER II. SUNSTAR’S DERBY</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch03">CHAPTER III. GILBERT LEAVES HURRIEDLY</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch04">CHAPTER IV. THE “MELODY IN F”</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch05">CHAPTER V. THE MAN WHO DESIRED WEALTH</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch06">CHAPTER VI. THE SAFE AGENCY</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch07">CHAPTER VII. THE BANK SMASHER</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch08">CHAPTER VIII. THE WIFE WHO DID NOT LOVE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch09">CHAPTER IX. EDITH MEETS THE PLAYER</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch10">CHAPTER X. THE NECKLACE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch11">CHAPTER XI. THE FOURTH MAN</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch12">CHAPTER XII. THE PLACE WHERE THE LOOT WAS STORED</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch13">CHAPTER XIII. THE MAKER OF WILLS</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch14">CHAPTER XIV. THE STANDERTON DIAMONDS</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch15">CHAPTER XV. THE TALE THE DOCTOR TOLD</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch16">CHAPTER XVI. BRADSHAW</a> +</p> + + +<h2> +The Melody of Death +</h2> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="ch01"> +CHAPTER I.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE AMATEUR SAFE SMASHER</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">On</span> the night of May 27th, 1925, the office of Gilderheim, Pascoe and +Company, diamond merchants, of Little Hatton Garden, presented no +unusual appearance to the patrolling constable who examined the lock +and tried the door in the ordinary course of his duty. Until nine +o’clock in the evening the office had been occupied by Mr. Gilderheim +and his head clerk, and a plain clothes officer, whose duty it was to +inquire into unusual happenings had deemed that the light in the +window on the first floor fell within his scope, and had gone up to +discover the reason for its appearance. The 27th was a Saturday, and +it is usual for the offices in Hatton Garden to be clear of clerks and +their principals by three at the latest. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gilderheim, a pleasant gentleman, had been relieved to discover +that the knock which brought him to the door, gripping a revolver in +his pocket in case of accidents, produced no more startling adventure +than a chat with a police officer who was known to him. He explained +that he had to-day received a parcel of diamonds from an Amsterdam +house, and was classifying the stones before leaving for the night, +and with a few jocular remarks on the temptation which sixty thousand +pounds’ worth of diamonds offered to the unscrupulous “night of +darkness,” the officer left. +</p> + +<p> +At nine-forty Mr. Gilderheim locked up the jewels in his big safe, +before which an electric light burnt day and night, and accompanied by +his clerk, left No. 93 Little Hatton Garden and walked in the +direction of Holborn. +</p> + +<p> +The constable on point duty bade them good-night, and the plain +clothes officer, who was then at the Holborn end of the thoroughfare, +exchanged a word or two. +</p> + +<p> +“You will be on duty all night?” asked Mr. Gilderheim as his clerk +hailed a cab. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said the officer. +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” said the merchant. “I’d like you to keep a special eye upon my +place. I am rather nervous about leaving so large a sum in the safe.” +</p> + +<p> +The officer smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think you need worry, sir,” he said, and after the cab +containing Mr. Gilderheim had driven off he walked back to No. 93. +</p> + +<p> +But in that brief space of time between the diamond merchant leaving +and the return of the detective many things had happened. Scarcely had +Gilderheim reached the detective than two men walked briskly along the +thoroughfare from the other end. Without hesitation the first turned +into No. 93, opened the door with a key, and passed in. The second man +followed. There was no hesitation, nothing furtive in their movements. +They might have been lifelong tenants of the house, so confident were +they in every action. +</p> + +<p> +Not half a minute after the second man had entered a third came from +the same direction, turned into the building, unlocked the door with +that calm confidence which had distinguished the action of the first +comer, and went in. +</p> + +<p> +Three minutes later two of the three were upstairs. +</p> + +<p> +With extraordinary expedition one had produced two small iron bottles +from his pockets and had deftly fixed the rubber tubes and adjusted +the little blow-pipe of his lamp, and the second had spread out on the +floor a small kit of tools of delicate temper and beautiful finish. +</p> + +<p> +Neither man spoke. They lay flat on the ground, making no attempt to +extinguish the light which shone before the safe. They worked in +silence for some little while, then the stouter of the two remarked, +looking up at the reflector fixed at an angle to the ceiling and +affording a view of the upper part of the safe to the passer-by in the +street below— +</p> + +<p> +“Even the mirrors do not give us away, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +The second burglar was a slight, young-looking man with a shock of +hair that suggested the musician. +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Unless all the rules of optics have been specially reversed for the +occasion,” he said with just a trace of a foreign accent, “we cannot +possibly be seen.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am relieved,” said the first. +</p> + +<p> +He half whistled, half hummed a little tune to himself as he plied the +hissing flame to the steel door. +</p> + +<p> +He was carefully burning out the lock, and had no doubt in his mind +that he would succeed, for the safe was an old-fashioned one. +</p> + +<p> +No further word was exchanged for half an hour. The man with the +blow-pipe continued in his work, the other watching with silent +interest, ready to play his part when the operation was sufficiently +advanced. +</p> + +<p> +At the end of half an hour the elder of the two wiped his streaming +forehead with the back of his hand, for the heat which the flame gave +back from the steel door was fairly trying. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you make such a row closing the door?” he asked. “You are not +usually so careless, Calli.” +</p> + +<p> +The other looked down at him in mild astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“I made no noise whatever, my dear George,” he said. “If you had been +standing in the passage you could not have heard it; in fact, I closed +the door as noiselessly as I opened it.” +</p> + +<p> +The perspiring man on the ground smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“That would be fairly noiseless,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” asked the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Because I did not close it. You walked in after me.” +</p> + +<p> +Something in the silence which greeted his words made him look up. +There was a puzzled look upon his companion’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“I opened the door with my own key,” said the younger man slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“You opened——” The man called George frowned. “I do not understand +you, Callidino. I left the door open, and you walked in after me; I +went straight up the stairs, and you followed.” +</p> + +<p> +Callidino looked at the other and shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I opened the door myself with the key,” he said quietly. “If anybody +came in after you—why, it is up to us, George, to see who it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean——?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean,” said the little Italian, “that it would be extremely awkward +if there is a third gentleman present on this inconvenient occasion.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would, indeed,” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +Both men turned with a start, for the voice that asked the question +without any trace of emotion was the voice of a third man, and he +stood in the doorway screened from all possibility of observation from +the window by the angle of the room. +</p> + +<p> +He was dressed in an evening suit, and he carried a light overcoat +across his arm. +</p> + +<p> +What manner of man he was, and how he looked, they had no means of +judging, for from his chin to his forehead his face was covered by a +black mask. +</p> + +<p> +“Please do not move,” he said, “and do not regard the revolver I am +holding in the light of a menace. I merely carry it for self-defence, +and you will admit that under the circumstances, and knowing the +extreme delicacy of my position, I am fairly well justified in taking +this precaution.” +</p> + +<p> +George Wallis laughed a little under his breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” he said, without shifting his position, “you may be a man after +my own heart, but I shall know better when you have told me exactly +what you want.” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to learn,” said the stranger. +</p> + +<p> +He stood there regarding the pair with obvious interest. The eyes +which shone through the holes of the mask were alive and keen. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on with your work, please,” he said. “I should hate to interrupt +you.” +</p> + +<p> +George Wallis picked up the blow-pipe and addressed himself again to +the safe door. He was a most adaptable man, and the situation in which +he found himself nonplussed had yet to occur. +</p> + +<p> +“Since,” he said, “it makes absolutely no difference as to whether I +leave off or whether I go on, if you are a representative of law and +order, I may as well go on, because if you are not a representative of +those two admirable, excellent and necessary qualities I might at +least save half the swag with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may save the lot,” said the man sharply. “I do not wish to share +the proceeds of your robbery, but I want to know how you do it—that +is all.” +</p> + +<p> +“You shall learn,” said George Wallis, that most notorious of +burglars, “and at the hands of an expert, I beg you to believe.” +</p> + +<p> +“That I know,” said the other calmly. +</p> + +<p> +Wallis went on with his task apparently undisturbed by this +extraordinary interruption. The little Italian’s hands had twitched +nervously, and here might have been trouble, but the strength of the +other man, who was evidently the leader of the two, and his +self-possession had heartened his companion to accept whatever +consequences the presence of this man might threaten. It was the +masked stranger who broke the silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it an extraordinary thing,” he said, “that whilst technical +schools exist for teaching every kind of trade, art and craft, there +is none which engage in teaching the art of destruction. Believe me, I +am very grateful that I have had this opportunity of sitting at the +feet of a master.” +</p> + +<p> +His voice was not unpleasant, but there was a certain hardness which +was not in harmony with the flippant tone he adopted. +</p> + +<p> +The man on the floor went on with his work for a little while, then he +said without turning his head— +</p> + +<p> +“I am anxious to know exactly how you got in.” +</p> + +<p> +“I followed close behind you,” said the masked man. “I knew there +would be a reasonable interval between the two of you. You see,” he +went on, “you have been watching this office for the greater part of a +week; one of you has been on duty practically every night. You rented +a small office higher up this street which offered a view of these +premises. I gathered that you had chosen to-night because you brought +your gas with you this morning. You were waiting in the dark hall-way +of the building in which your office is situated, one of you watching +for the light to go out and Mr. Gilderheim depart. When he had gone, +you, sir”—he addressed the man on the floor—“came out immediately, +your companion did not follow so soon. Moreover, he stopped to pick up +a small bundle of letters which had apparently been dropped by some +careless person, and since these letters included two sealed packets +such as the merchants of Hatton Garden send to their clients, I was +able to escape the observation of the second man and keep reasonably +close to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Callidino laughed softly. +</p> + +<p> +“That is true,” he said, with a nod to the man on the floor. “It was +very clever. I suppose you dropped the packet?” +</p> + +<p> +The masked man inclined his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Please go on,” he said, “do not let me interrupt you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is going to happen when I have finished?” asked George, still +keeping his face to the safe. +</p> + +<p> +“As far as I am concerned, nothing. Just as soon as you have got +through your work, and have extracted whatever booty there is to be +extracted, I shall retire.” +</p> + +<p> +“You want your share, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” said the other calmly. “I do not want my share by any +means. I am not entitled to it. My position in society prevents me +from going farther down the slippery path than to connive at your +larceny.” +</p> + +<p> +“Felony,” corrected the man on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“Felony,” agreed the other. +</p> + +<p> +He waited until without a sound the heavy door of the safe swung open +and George had put his hand inside to extract the contents, and then, +without a word, he passed through the door, closing it behind him. +</p> + +<p> +The two men sat up tensely and listened. They heard nothing more until +the soft thud of the outer door told them that their remarkable +visitor had departed. +</p> + +<p> +They exchanged glances—interest on the one face, amusement on the +other. +</p> + +<p> +“That is a remarkable man,” said Callidino. +</p> + +<p> +The other nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Most remarkable,” he said, “and more remarkable will it be if we get +out of Hatton Garden to-night with the loot.” +</p> + +<p> +It would seem that the “more than most” remarkable happening of all +actually occurred, for none saw the jewel thieves go, and the smashing +of Gilderheim’s jewel safe provided an excellent alternative topic for +conversation to the prospect of Sunstar for the Derby. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch02"> +CHAPTER II.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">SUNSTAR’S DERBY</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">There</span> it was again! +</p> + +<p> +Above the babel of sound, the low roar of voices, soft and sorrowful, +now heard, now lost, a vagrant thread of gold caught in the drab woof +of shoddy life gleaming and vanishing.… Gilbert Standerton sat tensely +straining to locate the sound. +</p> + +<p> +It was the “Melody in F” that the unseen musician played. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s going to be a storm.” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert did not hear the voice. He sat on the box-seat of the coach, +clasping his knees, the perspiration streaming from his face. +</p> + +<p> +There was something tragic, something a little terrifying in his pose. +The profile turned to his exasperated friend was a perfect +one—forehead high and well-shaped, the nose a little long, perhaps, +the chin strong and resolute. +</p> + +<p> +Leslie Frankfort, looking up at the unconscious dreamer, was reminded +of the Dante of convention, though Dante never wore a top-hat or found +a Derby Day crowd so entirely absorbing. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s going to be a storm.” +</p> + +<p> +Leslie climbed up the short step-ladder, and swung himself into the +seat by Gilbert’s side. +</p> + +<p> +The other awoke from his reverie with a start. +</p> + +<p> +“Is there?” he asked, and wiped his forehead. +</p> + +<p> +Yet as he looked around it was not the murky clouds banking up over +Banstead that held his eye; it was this packed mass of men and women, +these gay placards extolling loudly the honesty and the establishment +of “the old firm,” the booths on the hill, the long succession of +canvas screens which had been erected to advertise somebody’s whisky, +the flimsy-looking stands on the far side of the course, the bustle, +the pandemonium and the vitality of that vast, uncountable throng made +such things as June thunderstorms of little importance. +</p> + +<p> +“If you only knew how the low brows are pitying you,” said Leslie +Frankfort, with good-natured annoyance, “you would not be posing for a +picture of ‘The Ruined Gambler.’ My dear chap, you look for all the +world, sitting up here with your long, ugly mug adroop, like a model +for the coloured plate to be issued with the Christmas Number of the +<i>Anti-Gambling Gazette</i>. I suppose they have a gazette.” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert laughed a little. +</p> + +<p> +“These people interest me,” he said, rousing himself to speak. “Don’t +you realise what they all mean? Every one of them with a separate and +distinct individuality, every one with a hope or a fear hugged tight +in his bosom, every one with the capacity for love, or hate, or +sorrow. Look at that man!” he said, and pointed with his long, nervous +finger. +</p> + +<p> +The man he indicated stood in a little oasis of green. Hereabouts the +people on the course had so directed their movements as to leave an +open space, and in the centre stood a man of medium height, a black +bowler on the back of his head, a long, thin cigar between his white, +even teeth. He was too far away for Leslie to distinguish these +particulars, but Gilbert Standerton’s imagination filled in the +deficiencies of vision, for he had seen this man before. +</p> + +<p> +As if conscious of the scrutiny, the man turned and came slowly +towards the rails where the coach stood. He took the cigar from his +mouth and smiled as he recognised the occupant of the box-seat. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you do, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +His voice sounded shrill and faint, as if an immeasurable distance +separated them, but he was evidently shouting to raise his voice above +the growling voices of the crowd. Gilbert waved his hand with a smile, +and the man turned with a raise of his hat, and was swallowed up in a +detachment of the crowd which came eddying about him. +</p> + +<p> +“A thief,” said Gilbert, “on a fairly large scale—his name is Wallis; +there are many Wallises here. A crowd is a terrible spectacle to the +man who thinks,” he said half to himself. +</p> + +<p> +The other glanced at him keenly. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re terrible things to get through in a thunderstorm,” he said, +practically. “I vote we go along and claim the car.” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert nodded. +</p> + +<p> +He rose stiffly, like a man with cramp, and stepped slowly down the +little ladder to the ground. They passed through the barrier and +crossed the course, penetrated the little unsaddling enclosure, +through the long passages where press-men, jockeys and stewards +jostled one another every moment of race days, to the roadway without. +</p> + +<p> +In the roped garage they found their car, and, more remarkable, their +chauffeur. +</p> + +<p> +The first flicker of blue lightning had stabbed twice to the Downs, +and the heralding crash of thunder had reverberated through the +charged air, when the car began to thread the traffic toward London. +The storm, which had been brewing all the afternoon, broke with +terrific fury over Epsom. The lightning was incessant, the rain +streamed down in an almost solid wall of water, crash after crash of +thunder deafened them. +</p> + +<p> +The great throng upon the hill was dissolving as though it was +something soluble; its edges frayed into long black streamers of +hurrying people moving toward the three railway stations. It required +more than ordinary agility to extricate the car from the chaos of +charabancs and motor-cabs in which it found itself. +</p> + +<p> +Standerton had taken his seat by the driver’s side, though the car was +a closed one. He was a man quick to observe, and on the second flash +he had seen the chauffeur’s face grow white and his lips twitching. A +darkness almost as of night covered the heavens. The horizon about was +rimmed with a dull, angry orange haze; so terrifying a storm had not +been witnessed in England for many years. +</p> + +<p> +The rain was coming down in sheets, but the young man by the +chauffeur’s side paid no heed. He was watching the nervous hands of +the man twist this way and that as the car made detour after detour to +avoid the congested road. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly a jagged streak of light flicked before the car, and +Standerton was deafened by an explosion more terrifying than any of +the previous peals. +</p> + +<p> +The chauffeur instinctively shrank back, his face white and drawn; his +trembling hands left the wheel, and his foot released the pedal. The +car would have come to a standstill, but for the fact that they were +at the top of a declivity. +</p> + +<p> +“My God!” he whimpered, “it’s awful. I can’t go on, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert Standerton’s hand was on the wheel, his neatly-booted foot had +closed on the brake pedal. +</p> + +<p> +“Get out of it!” he muttered. “Get over here, quick!” +</p> + +<p> +The man obeyed. He moved shivering to his master’s place, his hands +before his face, and Standerton slipped into the driver’s seat and +threw in the clutch. +</p> + +<p> +It was fortunate that he was a driver of extraordinary ability, but he +needed every scrap of knowledge as he put the car to the slope which +led to the lumpy Downs. As they jolted forward the downpour increased, +the ground was running with water as though it had been recently +flooded. The wheels of the car slipped and skidded over the greasy +surface, but the man at the steering-wheel kept his head, and by and +by he brought the big car slithering down a little slope on to the +main way again. The road was sprinkled with hurrying, tramping people. +He moved forward slowly, his horn sounding all the time, and then of a +sudden the car stopped with a jerk. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +Leslie Frankfort had opened the window which separated the driver’s +seat from the occupants of the car. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s an old chap there,” said Gilbert, speaking over his shoulder, +“would you mind taking him into the car? I’ll tell you why after.” +</p> + +<p> +He pointed to two woe-begone figures that stood on the side of the +road. They were of an old man and a girl; Leslie could not see their +faces distinctly. They stood with their backs to the storm, one thin +coat spread about them both. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert shouted something, and at his voice the old man turned. He had +a beautiful face, thin, refined, intellectual; it was the face of an +artist. His grey hair straggled over his collar, and under the cloak +he clutched something, the care of which seemed to concern him more +than his protection from the merciless downpour. +</p> + +<p> +The girl at his side might have been seventeen, a solemn child, with +great fearless eyes that surveyed the occupants of the car gravely. +The old man hesitated at Gilbert’s invitation, but as he beckoned +impatiently he brought the girl down to the road and Leslie opened the +door. +</p> + +<p> +“Jump in quickly,” he said. “My word, you’re wet!” +</p> + +<p> +He slammed the door behind them, and they seated themselves facing +him. +</p> + +<p> +They were in a pitiable condition; the girl’s dress was soaked, her +face was wet as though she had come straight from a bath. +</p> + +<p> +“Take that cloak off,” said Leslie brusquely. “I’ve a couple of dry +handkerchiefs, though I’m afraid you’ll want a bath towel.” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very kind of you,” she said. “We shall ruin your car.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that’s all right,” said Leslie cheerfully. “It’s not my car. +Anyway,” he added, “when Mr. Standerton comes in he will make it much +worse.” +</p> + +<p> +He was wondering in his mind by what freakish inclination Standerton +had called these two people to the refuge of his Limousine. +</p> + +<p> +The old man smiled as he spoke, and his first words were an +explanation. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Standerton has always been very good to me,” he said gently, +almost humbly. +</p> + +<p> +He had a soft, well-modulated voice. Leslie Frankfort recognised that +it was the voice of an educated man. He smiled. He was too used to +meeting Standerton’s friends to be surprised at this storm-soddened +street musician, for such he judged him to be by the neck of the +violin which protruded from the soaked coat. +</p> + +<p> +“You know him, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +The old man nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“I know him very well,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +He took from under his coat the thing he had been carrying, and Leslie +Frankfort saw that it was an old violin. The old man examined it +anxiously, then with a sigh of relief he laid it across his knees. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not damaged, I hope?” asked Leslie. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” said the other; “I was greatly afraid that it was going to +be an unfortunate ending to what has been a prosperous day.” +</p> + +<p> +They had been playing on the Downs, and had reaped a profitable +harvest. +</p> + +<p> +“My grand-daughter also plays,” said the old man. “We do not as a rule +care for these great crowds, but it invariably means money”—he +smiled—“and we are not in a position to reject any opportunity which +offers.” +</p> + +<p> +They were now drawing clear of the storm. They had passed through +Sutton, and had reached a place where the roads were as yet dry, when +Gilbert stopped the car and handed the wheel to the shame-faced +chauffeur. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very sorry, sir,” the man began. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t bother,” smiled his employer, “one is never to be blamed +for funking a storm. I used to be as bad until I got over it… there +are worse things,” he added, half to himself. +</p> + +<p> +The man thanked him with a muttered word, and Gilbert opened the door +of the car and entered. He nodded to the old man and gave a quick +smile to the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought I recognised you,” he said. “This is Mr. Springs,” he said, +turning to Leslie. “He’s quite an old friend of mine. I’m sure when +you have dined at St. John’s Wood you must have heard Springs’ violin +under the dining-room window. It used to be a standing order, didn’t +it, Mr. Springs?” he said. “By the way,” he asked suddenly, “were you +playing——” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped, and the old man, misunderstanding the purport of the +question, nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“After all,” said Gilbert, with a sudden change of manner, “it +wouldn’t be humane to leave my private band to drown on Epsom Downs, +to say nothing of the chance of his being struck by lightning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was there any danger?” asked Leslie in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw one poor chap struck as I cleared the Downs,” he said; “there +were a lot of people near him, so I didn’t trouble to stop. It was a +terrifying experience.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked back out of the little oval window behind. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall have it again in London to-night,” he said, “but storms do +not feel so dangerous in town as they do in the country. They’re not +so alarming. Housetops are very merciful to the nervous.” +</p> + +<p> +They took farewell of the old man and his grand-daughter at Balham, +and then, as the car continued, Leslie turned with a puzzled look to +his companion. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a wonderful man, Gilbert,” he said; “I can’t understand you. +You described yourself only this morning as being a nervous wreck——” +</p> + +<p> +“Did I say that?” asked the other dryly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you didn’t admit it,” said Leslie, with an aggrieved air, “but +it was a description which most obviously fitted you. And yet in the +face of this storm, which I confess curled me up pretty considerably, +you take the seat of your chauffeur and you push the car through it. +Moreover, you are sufficiently collected to pick up an old man, when +you had every excuse to leave him to his dismal fate.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment Gilbert made no reply; then he laughed a little bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +“There are a dozen ways of being nervous,” he said, “and that doesn’t +happen to be one of mine. The old man is an important factor in my +life, though he does not know it—the very instrument of fate.” +</p> + +<p> +He dropped his voice almost solemnly. Then he seemed to remember that +the curious gaze of the other was upon him. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know where you got the impression that I was a nervous +wreck,” he said briefly. “It’s hardly the ideal condition for a man +who is to be married this week.” +</p> + +<p> +“That may be the cause, my dear chap,” said the other reflectively. “I +know a lot of people who are monstrously upset at the prospect. There +was Tuppy Jones who absolutely ran away—lost his memory, or some such +newspaper trick.” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“I did the next worst thing to running away,” he said a little +moodily. “I wanted the wedding postponed.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why?” demanded the other. “I was going to ask you that this +morning coming down, only it slipped my memory. Mrs. Cathcart told me +she wouldn’t hear of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert gave him no encouragement to continue the subject, but the +voluble young man went on— +</p> + +<p> +“Take what the gods give you, my son,” he said. “Here you are with a +Foreign Office appointment, an Under-Secretaryship looming in the near +future, a most charming and beautiful bride in prospect, rich——” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you wouldn’t say that,” said Gilbert sharply. “The idea is +abroad all over London. Beyond my pay I have no money whatever. This +car,” he said, as he saw the other’s questioning face, “is certainly +mine—at least, it was a present from my uncle, and I don’t suppose +he’ll want it returned before I sell it. Thank God it makes no +difference to you,” he went on with that note of hardness still in his +voice, “but I am half inclined to think that two-thirds of the +friendships I have, and all the kindness which is from time to time +shown to me, is based upon that delusion of riches. People think that +I am my uncle’s heir.” +</p> + +<p> +“But aren’t you?” gasped the other. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“My uncle has recently expressed his intention of leaving the whole of +his fortune to that admirable institution which is rendering such +excellent service to the canine world—the Battersea Dogs’ Home.” +</p> + +<p> +Leslie Frankfort’s jovial face bore an expression of tragic +bewilderment. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you told Mrs. Cathcart this?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Cathcart!” replied the other in surprise. “No, I haven’t told +her. I don’t think it’s necessary. After all,” he said with a smile, +“Edith isn’t marrying me for money, she is pretty rich herself, isn’t +she? Not that it matters,” he said hastily, “whether she’s rich or +whether she’s poor.” +</p> + +<p> +Neither of the two men spoke again for the rest of the journey, and at +the corner of St. James’s Street Gilbert put his friend down. +</p> + +<p> +He continued his way to the little house which he had taken furnished +a year before, when marriage had only seemed the remotest of +possibilities, when his worldly prospects had seemed much brighter +than they were at present. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert Standerton was a member of one of those peculiar families +which seem to be made up entirely of nephews. His uncle, the eccentric +old Anglo-Indian, had charged himself with the boy’s future, and he +had been mainly responsible for securing the post which Gilbert now +held. More than this, he had made him his heir, and since he was a man +who did nothing in secret, and was rather inclined to garrulity, the +news of Gilbert’s good fortune was spread from one end of England to +the other. +</p> + +<p> +Then, a month before this story opens, had come like a bombshell a +curt notification from his relative that he had deemed it advisable to +alter the terms of his will, and that Gilbert might look for no more +than the thousand pounds to which, in common with innumerable other +nephews, he was entitled. +</p> + +<p> +It was not a shock to Gilbert except that he was a little grieved with +the fear that in some manner he had offended his fiery uncle. He had a +too lively appreciation of the old man’s goodness to him to resent the +eccentricity which would make him a comparatively poor man. +</p> + +<p> +It would have considerably altered the course of his life if he had +notified at least one person of the change in his prospects. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch03"> +CHAPTER III.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">GILBERT LEAVES HURRIEDLY</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Gilbert</span> was dressing for dinner when the storm came up over London. +It had lost none of its intensity or strength. For an hour the street +had glared fitfully in the blue lightning of the electrical +discharges, and the house rocked with crash after crash of thunder. +</p> + +<p> +He himself was in tune with the element, for there raged in his heart +such a storm as shook the very foundations of his life. Outwardly +there was no sign of distress. The face he saw in the shaving-glass +was a mask, immobile and expressionless. +</p> + +<p> +He sent his man to call a taxi-cab. The storm had passed over London, +and only the low grumble of thunder could be heard when he came out on +to the rain-washed streets. A few wind-torn wisps of cloud were +hurrying at a great rate across the sky, stragglers endeavouring in +frantic haste to catch up the main body. +</p> + +<p> +He descended from his cab at the door of No. 274 Portland Square +slowly and reluctantly. He had an unpleasant task to perform, as +unpleasant to him, more unpleasant, indeed, than it could be to his +future mother-in-law. +</p> + +<p> +He did not doubt that the suspicion implanted in his mind by Leslie +was unfair and unworthy. +</p> + +<p> +He was ushered into the drawing-room, and found himself the solitary +occupant. He looked at his watch. +</p> + +<p> +“Am I very early, Cole?” he asked the butler. +</p> + +<p> +“You are rather, sir,” said the man, “but I will tell Miss Cathcart +you are here.” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert nodded. He strolled across to the window, and stood, his hands +clasped behind him, looking out upon the wet street. He stood thus for +five minutes, his head sunk forward on his breast, absorbed in +thought. The opening of the door aroused him, and he turned to meet +the girl who had entered. +</p> + +<p> +Edith Cathcart was one of the most beautiful women in London, though +“woman” might be too serious a word to apply to this slender girl who +had barely emerged from her school-days. +</p> + +<p> +In some grey eyes of a peculiar softness a furtive apprehension always +seems to wait—a fear and an appeal at one and the same time. So it +was with Edith Cathcart. Those eyes of hers were for ever on guard, +and even as they attracted they held the overeager seeker of +friendship at arm’s length. The nose was just a little <i>retroussè</i>; +the sensitive lips played supporter to the apprehensive eyes. She wore +her hair low over her forehead; it was dark almost to a point of +blackness. She was dressed in a plain gown of sea-green satin, with +scarcely any jewel or ornamentation. +</p> + +<p> +He walked to meet her with quick steps and took both her hands in his; +his hungry eyes searched her face eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“You look lovely to-night, Edith,” he said, in a voice scarcely above +a whisper. +</p> + +<p> +She released her hands gently with the ghost of a smile that subtly +atoned for her action. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you enjoy your Derby Day?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“It was enormously interesting,” he said; “it is extraordinary that I +have never been before.” +</p> + +<p> +“You could not have chosen a worse day. Did you get caught in the +storm? We have had a terrible one here.” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke quickly, with a little note of query at the end of each +sentence. She gave you the impression that she desired to stand well +with her lover, that she was in some awe of him. She was like a child, +anxious to acquit herself well of a lesson; and now and then she +conveyed a sense of relief, as one who had surmounted yet another +obstacle. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert was always conscious of the strain which marked their +relationship. A dozen times a day he told himself that it was +incredible that such a strain should exist. But he found a ready +excuse for her diffidence and the furtive fear which came and went in +her eyes like shadows over the sea. She was young, much younger than +her years. This beautiful bud had not opened yet, and his engagement +had been cursed by over-much formality. +</p> + +<p> +He had met her conventionally at a ball. He had been introduced by her +mother, again conventionally, he had danced with her and sat out with +her, punted her on the river, motored her and her mother to Ascot. It +was all very ordinary and commonplace. It lacked something. Gilbert +never had any doubt as to that. +</p> + +<p> +He took the blame upon himself for all deficiencies, though he was +something of a romancist, despite the chilly formalism of the +engagement. She had kept him in his place with the rest of the world, +one arm’s length, with those beseeching eyes of hers. He was at arm’s +length when he proposed, in a speech the fluency of which was eloquent +of the absence of anything which touched emotionalism. And she had +accepted in a murmured word, and turned a cold cheek for his kiss, and +then had fluttered out of his arms like an imprisoned bird seeking its +liberty, and had escaped from that conventional conservatory with its +horrible palms and its spurious Tanagra statuettes. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert in love was something of a boy; an idealist, a dreamer. Other +grown men have shared his weakness, there are unsuspected wells of +romance in the most practical of men. So he was content with his +dreams, weaving this and that story of sweet surrender in his inmost +heart. He loved her, completely, absorbingly. To him she was a divine +and a fragrant thing. +</p> + +<p> +He had taken her hand again in his, and realised with pain, which was +tinctured with amusement that made it bearable, that she was seeking +to disengage herself, when Mrs. Cathcart came into the room. +</p> + +<p> +She was a tall woman, still beautiful, though age had given her a +certain angularity. The ravages of time had made it necessary for her +to seek artificial aid for the strengthening of her attractions. Her +mouth was thin and straight and uncompromising, her chin too bony to +be beautiful. She smiled as she rustled across the room and offered +her gloved hand to the young man. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re early, Gilbert,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he replied awkwardly. Here was the opportunity which he sought, +yet he experienced some reluctance in availing himself of the chance. +</p> + +<p> +He had released the girl as the door opened, and she had instinctively +taken a step backward, and stood with her hands behind her, regarding +him gravely and intently. +</p> + +<p> +“Really,” he said, “I wanted to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +“To see me?” asked Mrs. Cathcart archly. “No, surely not me!” +</p> + +<p> +Her smile comprehended the girl and the young man. For some reason +which he could not appreciate at the moment Gilbert felt +uncomfortable. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it was to see you,” he said, “but it isn’t remarkable at this +particular period of time.” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled again. +</p> + +<p> +She held up a warning finger. +</p> + +<p> +“You must not bother about any of the arrangements. I want you to +leave that entirely to me. You will find you have no cause to +complain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it wasn’t that,” he said hastily, “it was something more—more—” +</p> + +<p> +He hesitated. He wanted to convey to her the gravity of the business +he had in hand. And even as he approached the question of an +interview, a dim realisation came to him of the difficulty of his +position. How could he suggest to this woman, who had been all +kindness and all sweetness to him, that he suspected her of motives +which did credit neither to her head nor her heart? How could he +broach the subject of his poverty to one who had not once but a +hundred times confided to him that his expectations and the question +of his future wealth were the only drawbacks to what she had described +as an ideal love marriage? +</p> + +<p> +“I almost wish you were poor, Gilbert,” she had said. “I think riches +are an awful handicap to young people circumstanced as you and Edith +will be.” +</p> + +<p> +She had conveyed this suspicion of his wealth more than once. And yet, +at a chance word from Leslie, he had doubted the purity of her +motives! He remembered with a growing irritation that it had been Mrs. +Cathcart who had made the marriage possible; the vulgar-minded might +even have gone further, and suggested that she had thrown Edith at his +head. There was plenty of groundwork for Leslie’s suspicion, he +thought, as he looked at the tall, stylish woman before him. Only he +felt ashamed that he had listened to the insidious suggestion. +</p> + +<p> +“Could you give me a quarter of an hour——” He stopped. He was going +to say “before dinner,” but thought that possibly an interview after +the meal would be less liable to interruption. +</p> + +<p> +“—after dinner?” +</p> + +<p> +“With pleasure,” she smiled. “What are you going to do? Confess some +of the irregularities of your youth?” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head with a little grimace. +</p> + +<p> +“You may be sure I shall never tell you those,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I will see you after dinner,” she assented. “There are a lot of +people coming to-night, and I am simply up to my eyes in work. You +bridegrooms,” she patted his shoulder with her fan reproachfully, +“have no idea what chaos you bring into the domestic life of your +unfortunate relatives of the future.” +</p> + +<p> +Edith stood aloof, in the attitude she had adopted when he had +released her, watchful, curious, in the scene, but not of it. It was +an effect which the presence of Mrs. Cathcart invariably produced upon +her daughter. It was not an obliteration, not exactly an eclipse, as +the puzzled Gilbert had often observed. It was as though the entrance +of one character of a drama were followed by the immediate exit of her +who had previously occupied the scene. He pictured Edith waiting at +the wings for a cue which would bring her into active existence again, +and that cue was invariably the retirement of her mother. +</p> + +<p> +“There are quite a number of nice people coming to-night, Gilbert,” +said Mrs. Cathcart, glancing at a slip of paper in her hand. “There +are some you don’t know, and some I want you very much to meet. I am +sure you will like dear Dr. Cassylis——” +</p> + +<p> +A smothered exclamation caught her ear, and she looked up sharply. +Gilbert’s face was set: it was void of all expression. The girl saw +the mask and wondered. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” asked Mrs. Cathcart. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” said Gilbert steadily, “you were talking about your +guests.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was saying that you must meet Dr. Barclay-Seymour—he is a most +charming man. I don’t think you know him?” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you ought to,” she said. “He’s a dear friend of mine, and why +on earth he practises in Leeds instead of maintaining an establishment +in Harley Street I haven’t the slightest idea. The ways of men are +beyond finding out. Then there is.…” +</p> + +<p> +She reeled off a list of names, some of which Gilbert knew. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the time?” she asked suddenly. Gilbert looked at his watch. +</p> + +<p> +“A quarter to eight? I must go,” she said. “I will see you immediately +after dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned back as she reached the door irresolutely. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you aren’t going to change that absurd plan of yours,” she +asked hopefully. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert had recovered his equanimity. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know to which absurd plan you are referring,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Spending your honeymoon in town,” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think Gilbert should be bothered about that.” +</p> + +<p> +It was the girl who spoke, her first intrusion into the conversation. +Her mother glanced at her sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“In this case, my dear,” she said freezingly, “it is a matter in which +I am more concerned than yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert hastened to relieve the girl of the brunt of the storm. Mrs. +Cathcart was not slow to anger, and although Gilbert himself had never +felt the lash of her bitter tongue, he had a shrewd suspicion that his +future wife had been a victim more than once. +</p> + +<p> +“It is absolutely necessary that I should be in town on the days I +referred to,” he said. “I have asked you——” +</p> + +<p> +“To postpone the wedding?” said Mrs. Cathcart. “My dear boy, I +couldn’t do that. It wasn’t a reasonable request, now was it?” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled at him as sweetly as her inward annoyance allowed her. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it wasn’t,” he said dubiously. +</p> + +<p> +He said no more, but waited until the door had closed behind her, then +he turned quickly to the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Edith,” he said, speaking rapidly, “I want you to do something for +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You want me to do something?” she asked in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, dearest. I must go away now. I want you to find some excuse to +make to your mother. I’ve remembered a most important matter which I +have not seen to——” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke hesitatingly, for he was no ready liar. +</p> + +<p> +“Going away!” +</p> + +<p> +It was surprise rather than disappointment, he noticed, and was +pardonably irritated. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t go now,” she said, and that look of fear came into her +eyes. “Mother would be so angry. The people are arriving.” +</p> + +<p> +From where he stood he had seen three motor broughams draw up almost +simultaneously in front of the house. +</p> + +<p> +“I must go,” he said desperately. “Can’t you get me out in any way? I +don’t want to meet these people, I’ve very good reasons.” +</p> + +<p> +She hesitated a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are your hat and coat?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“In the hall—you will just have time,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She was in the hall and back again with his coat, led him to the +farther end of the drawing-room, through a door which communicated +with the small library beyond. There was a way here to the garage and +to the mews at the back of the house. +</p> + +<p> +She watched the tall, striding figure with a troubled gaze, then as he +disappeared from view she fastened the library door and came back to +the drawing-room in time to meet her mother. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Gilbert?” asked Mrs. Cathcart. +</p> + +<p> +“Gone,” said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Gone!” +</p> + +<p> +Edith nodded slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“He remembered something very important and had to go back to his +house.” +</p> + +<p> +“But of course he is returning?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think so, mother,” she said quietly. “I fancy that the +‘something’ is immensely pressing.” +</p> + +<p> +“But this is nonsense!” Mrs. Cathcart stamped her foot. “Here are all +the people whom I have specially invited to meet him. It’s +disgraceful!” +</p> + +<p> +“But, mother——” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t ‘but mother’ me, for God’s sake!” said Mrs. Cathcart. +</p> + +<p> +They were alone, the guests were assembling in the larger +drawing-room, and there was no need for the elder woman to disguise +her feelings. +</p> + +<p> +“You sent him away, I suppose?” she said. “I don’t blame him. How can +you expect to keep a man at your side if you treat him as though he +were a grocer calling for orders?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl listened wearily, and did not raise her eyes from the carpet. +</p> + +<p> +“I do my best,” she said in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Your worst must be pretty bad if that is your best. After I’ve +strained my every effort to bring to you one of the richest young men +in London, you might at least pretend that his presence is welcome; +but if he were the devil himself you couldn’t show greater reluctance +at meeting him or greater relief at his departure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mother!” said the girl, and her eyes were filled with tears. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t ‘mother’ me, please!” said Mrs. Cathcart deliberately. “I am +sick to death of your faddiness and your prejudices. What on earth do +you want? What am I to get you?” +</p> + +<p> +She threw out her arms in exasperated despair. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to marry at all,” said the girl in a low voice. “My +father would never have forced me to marry.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a daring thing to say, an exhibition of greater boldness than +she had ever shown before in her encounters with her mother. But +lately there had come to her a new courage. That despair which had +made her dumb glowed now to rage, the fires of rebellion smouldered in +her heart; and, albeit the demonstrations of her growing resentment +were few and far between, her courage grew upon her venturing. +</p> + +<p> +“Your father!” breathed Mrs. Cathcart, white with rage, “am I to have +your father thrown at my head? Your father was a fool! A fool!” She +almost hissed the word. “He ruined me as he ruined you because he +hadn’t sufficient sense to keep the money he had inherited. I thought +he was a clever man. I looked up to him for twenty years as the +embodiment of all that was wise and kind and genial, and all those +twenty years he was frittering away his competence on every +hair-brained scheme which the needy adventurers of finance brought to +him. He would not have forced you! I swear he wouldn’t!” She laughed +bitterly. “He would have married you to the chauffeur if your heart +was that way inclined. He was all amiability and incompetence, all +good-nature and inefficiency. I hate your father!” +</p> + +<p> +Her blue eyes were opened to their widest extent and the cold glare of +hate was indeed apparent to the shrinking girl. “I hate him every time +I have to entertain a shady stockbroker for the advantage I may +receive from his knowledge of the market; I hate him for every economy +I have to practise; I hate him every time I see my meagre dividends +come in and as I watch them swallowed up by the results of his folly. +Don’t make me hate you,” she said, pointing a warning finger at the +girl. +</p> + +<p> +Edith had cowered before the torrent of words, but this slander of her +dead father roused something within her, put aside all fear of +consequence, even though that consequence might be a further +demonstration of that anger which she so dreaded. +</p> + +<p> +Now she stood erect, facing the woman she called mother, her face +pale, but her chin tilted a little defiantly. +</p> + +<p> +“You may say what you like about me, mother,” she said quietly, “but I +will not have you defame my father. I have done all you requested: I +am going to marry a man who, though I know he is a kindly and charming +man, is no more to me than the first individual I might meet in the +street to-night. I am making this sacrifice for your sake: do not ask +me to forego my faith in the man who is the one lovable memory in my +life.” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice broke a little, her eyes were bright with tears. +</p> + +<p> +Whatever Mrs. Cathcart might have said, and there were many things she +could have said, was checked by the entry of a servant. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment or two they stood facing one another, mother and +daughter, in silence. Then without another word Mrs. Cathcart turned +on her heel and walked out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +The girl waited for a moment, then went back to the library through +which Gilbert had passed. She closed the door behind her and turned on +one of the lights, for it was growing dark. She was shaking from head +to foot with the play of these pent emotions of hers. She could have +wept, but with anger and shame. For the first time in her life her +mother had shown her heart. The concentrated bitterness of years had +poured forth, unchecked by pity or policy. She had revealed the hate +which for all these years had been gnawing at her soul; revealed in a +flash the relationship between her father and her mother which the +girl had never suspected. +</p> + +<p> +That they had not been on the most affectionate terms Edith knew, but +her short association with the world in which they moved had +reconciled her mind to the coolness which characterised the attitudes +of husband and wife. She had seen a score of such houses where man and +wife were on little more than friendly terms, and had accepted such +conditions as normal. It aroused in her a wild irritation that such +relationships should exist: child as she was, she had felt that +something was missing. But it had also reconciled her to her marriage +with Gilbert Standerton. Her life with him would be no worse, and +probably might be a little better, than the married lives of those +people with whom she was brought into daily contact. +</p> + +<p> +But in her mother’s vehemence she caught a glimpse of the missing +quality of marriage. She knew now why her gentle father had changed +suddenly from a genial, kindly man, with his quick laugh and his too +willing ear for the plausible, into a silent shadow of a man, the sad, +broken figure she so vividly retained in her memory. +</p> + +<p> +Here was a quick turn in the road of life for her an unexpected vista +flashing into view suddenly before her eyes. It calmed her, steadied +her. In those few minutes of reflection, standing there in the +commonplace, gloomy little library, watching through the latticed +panes the dismal mews which offered itself for inspection through a +parallelogram of bricked courtyard, she experienced one of those great +and subtle changes which come to humanity. +</p> + +<p> +There was a new outlook, a new standard by which to measure her +fellows, a new philosophy evolved in the space of a second. It was a +tremendous upheaval of settled conviction which this tiny apartment +witnessed. +</p> + +<p> +She was surprised herself at the calmness with which she returned to +the drawing-room and joined the party now beginning to assemble. It +came as a shock to discover that she was examining her mother with the +calm, impartial scrutiny of one who was not in any way associated with +her. Mrs. Cathcart observed the girl’s self-possession and felt a +twinge of uneasiness. +</p> + +<p> +She addressed her unexpectedly, hoping to surprise her to +embarrassment, and was a little staggered by the readiness with which +the girl met her gaze and the coolness with which she disagreed to +some proposition which the elder woman had made. +</p> + +<p> +It was a new experience to the masterful Mrs. Cathcart. The girl might +be sulking, but this was a new variety of sulks, foreign to Mrs. +Cathcart’s experience. +</p> + +<p> +She might be angry, yet there was no sign of anger; hurt—she should +have been in tears. Mrs. Cathcart’s experienced eye could detect no +sign of weeping. She was puzzled, a little alarmed. She had gone too +far, she thought, and must conciliate, rather than carry on the feud +until the other sued for forgiveness. +</p> + +<p> +It irritated her to find herself in this position, but she was a +tactician first and foremost, and it would be bad tactics on her part +to pursue a disadvantage. Rather she sought the <i>status quo ante +bellum</i>, and was annoyed to discover that it had gone for ever. +</p> + +<p> +She hoped the talk that evening would confuse the girl to the point of +seeking her protection; but to her astonishment Edith spoke of her +marriage as she had never spoken of it before, without embarrassment, +without hesitation, coolly, reasonably, intelligently. +</p> + +<p> +The end of the evening found Edith commanding her field and her mother +in the position of a suitor. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Cathcart waited till the last guest had gone, then she came into +the smaller drawing-room to find Edith standing in the fireplace, +looking thoughtfully at a paper which lay upon the mantleshelf. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it interests you so much, dear?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl looked round, picked up the paper and folded it slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing particularly,” she said. “Your Dr. Cassylis is an amusing +man.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is a very clever man,” said her mother tartly. +</p> + +<p> +She had infinite faith in doctors, and offered them the tribute which +is usually reserved for the supernatural. +</p> + +<p> +“Is he?” said the girl coolly. “I suppose he is. Why does he live in +Leeds?” +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Edith, you are coming out of your shell,” said her mother +with a forced smile of admiration. “I have never known you take so +much interest in the people of the world before.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to take a great deal of interest in people,” said the girl +steadily. “I have been missing so much all my life.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you are being a little horrid,” said her mother, repressing +her anger with an effort; “you’re certainly being very unkind. I +suppose all this nonsense has arisen out of my mistaken confidence.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl made no reply. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I’ll go to bed, mother,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“And whilst you’re engaged in settling your estimate of people,” said +Mrs. Cathcart with ominous calm, “perhaps you will interpret your +fiancé’s behaviour to me. Dr. Cassylis particularly wanted to meet +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not going to interpret anything,” said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t employ that tone with me,” replied her mother sharply. +</p> + +<p> +The girl stopped, she was half-way to the door. She hardly turned, but +spoke to her mother over her shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother,” she said, quietly but decidedly, “I want you to understand +this: if there is any more bother, or if I am again made the victim of +your crossness, I shall write to Gilbert and break off my engagement.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you mad?” gasped the woman. +</p> + +<p> +Edith shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I am tired,” she said, “tired of many things.” +</p> + +<p> +There was much that Mrs. Cathcart could have said, but with a belated +wisdom she held her tongue till the door had closed behind her +daughter. Then, late as the hour was, she sent for the cook and +settled herself grimly for a pleasing half hour, for the <i>vol-au-vent</i> +had been atrocious. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch04"> +CHAPTER IV.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE “MELODY IN F”</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Gilbert Standerton</span> was dressing slowly before his glass when Leslie +was announced. That individual was radiant and beautiful to behold as +became the best man at the wedding of an old friend. +</p> + +<p> +Leslie Frankfort was one of those fortunate individuals who combine +congenial work with the enjoyment of a private income. He was the +junior partner of a firm of big stockbrokers in the City, a firm which +dealt only with the gilt-edged markets of finance. He enjoyed in +common with Gilbert a taste for classical music, and this was the bond +which had first drawn the two men together. +</p> + +<p> +He came into the room, deposited his silk hat carefully upon a chair, +and sat on the edge of the bed, offering critical suggestions to the +prospective bridegroom. +</p> + +<p> +“By the way,” he said suddenly, “I saw that old man of yours +yesterday.” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert looked round. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean Springs, the musician?” +</p> + +<p> +The other nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“He was playing for the amusement of a theatre queue—a fine old +chap.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very,” said Gilbert absently. +</p> + +<p> +He paused in his dressing, took up a letter from the table, and handed +it to the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Am I to read it?” asked Leslie. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s nothing to read, as a matter of fact,” he said; “it’s my +uncle’s wedding present.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man opened the envelope and extracted the pink slip. He +looked at the amount and whistled. +</p> + +<p> +“One hundred pounds,” he said. “Good Lord! that won’t pay the up-keep +of your car for a quarter. I suppose you told Mrs. Cathcart?” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said shortly, “I intended telling her but I haven’t. I am +perfectly satisfied in my own mind, Leslie, that we are doing her an +injustice. She has been so emphatic about money. And after all, I’m +not a pauper,” he said with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re worse than a pauper,” said Leslie earnestly; “a man with six +hundred a year is the worst kind of pauper I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll never bring your tastes below a couple of thousand, you’ll +never raise your income above six hundred—plus your Foreign Office +job, that’s only another six hundred.” +</p> + +<p> +“Work,” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Work!” said the other scornfully, “you don’t earn money by work. You +earn money by scheming, by getting the better of the other fellow. +You’re too soft-hearted to make money, my son.” +</p> + +<p> +“You seem to make money,” said Gilbert with a little smile. +</p> + +<p> +Leslie shook his head vigorously. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve never made a penny in my life,” he confessed with some +enjoyment. “No, I have got some very stout, unimaginative senior +partners who do all the money-making. I merely take dividends at +various periods of the year. But then I was in luck. What is your +money, by the way?” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert was in the act of tying his cravat. He looked up with a little +frown. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean, is it in securities—does it continue after your death?” +</p> + +<p> +The little frown still knit the brows of the other. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said shortly, “after my death there is scarcely enough to +bring in a hundred and fifty a year. I am only enjoying a life +interest on this particular property.” +</p> + +<p> +Leslie whistled. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I hope, old son, that you’re well insured.” +</p> + +<p> +The other man made no attempt to interrupt as Leslie, arguing with +great fluency and skill on the duties and responsibilities of heads of +families, delivered himself of his views on insurance and upon the +uninsured. +</p> + +<p> +“Some Johnnies are so improvident,” he said. “I knew a man——” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped suddenly. He had caught a reflection of Gilbert’s face in +the glass. It was haggard and drawn, it seemed the face of a man in +mortal agony. Leslie sprang up. +</p> + +<p> +“What on earth is the matter, my dear chap?” he cried. He came to the +other’s side and laid his hand on his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s nothing—nothing, Leslie,” said Gilbert. +</p> + +<p> +He passed his hand before his eyes as though to wipe away some ugly +vision. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid I’ve been rather a careless devil. You see, I depended too +much upon uncle’s money. I ought to be insured.” +</p> + +<p> +“That isn’t worrying you surely?” asked the other in astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“It worries me a bit,” said Gilbert moodily. “One never knows, you +know——” +</p> + +<p> +He stood looking thoughtfully at the other, his hands thrust into his +pockets. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to heaven this wedding had been postponed!” +</p> + +<p> +Leslie laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s about time you were married,” he said. “What a jumpy ass you +are.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at his watch. +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better hurry up, or you’ll be losing this bride of yours. After +all, this isn’t a day for gloom, it’s the day of days, my friend.” +</p> + +<p> +He saw the soft look that came into Gilbert’s eyes, and felt satisfied +with his work. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, there is that,” said Gilbert Standerton softly. “I forgot all my +blessings. God bless her!” he said under his breath. +</p> + +<p> +As they were leaving the house, Gilbert asked— +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you have a list of the guests who are to be present?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the other, “Mrs. Cathcart was most duteous.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will Dr. Barclay-Seymour be there?” asked the other carelessly. +</p> + +<p> +“Barclay-Seymour—no, he won’t be there,” replied Leslie, “he’s the +Leeds Johnnie, isn’t he? He went up from London last night. What’s +this talk of your having run away the other night?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was an important engagement,” said Gilbert hurriedly, “I had a man +to see; I couldn’t very well put him off——” +</p> + +<p> +Leslie realised that he had asked an embarrassing question and changed +the subject. +</p> + +<p> +“By the way,” he said, “I shouldn’t mention this matter of the money +to Mrs. Cathcart till after you’ve both settled down.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t,” said Gilbert grimly. +</p> + +<p> +On the way to the church he reviewed all the troubles that were +besetting him and faced them squarely. Perhaps it would not be as bad +as he thought. He was ever prone to take an exaggerated and a worrying +view of troubles. He had anticipated dangers, and time and time again +his fears had been groundless. He had lived too long alone. A man +ought to be married before he was thirty-two. That was his age. He had +become cranky. He found consolation in uncomplimentary analysis till +the church was reached. +</p> + +<p> +It was a dream, that ceremony: the crowded pews, the organ, the +white-robed choir, the rector and his assistants; the coming of Edith, +so beautiful, so ethereal in her bridal robes; the responses, the +kneeling and the rising—it was all unreal. +</p> + +<p> +He had thought that the music would have made a lasting impression on +him; he had been at some pains to choose it, and had had several +consultations with the organist. But at the end of the service when he +began to walk, still in his dream, towards the vestry, he could not +recall one single bar. He had a dim recollection of the fact that +above the altar was a stained glass window, one tiny pane of which had +been removed, evidently on account of a breakage. +</p> + +<p> +He was back in the house, sitting at the be-flowered table, listening +in some confusion to the speeches and the bursts of laughter which +assailed each speaker as he made his point: now he was on his feet, +talking easily, without effort, but what words he used, or why people +applauded, or why they smiled he could not say. +</p> + +<p> +Once in its course he had looked down at the delicate face by his +side, and had met those solemn eyes of hers, less fearful to-day, it +seemed, than ever he had seen them. He had felt for her hand and had +held it, cold and unresponsive, in his.… +</p> + +<p> +“An excellent speech,” said Leslie. +</p> + +<p> +They were in the drawing-room after the breakfast. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re quite an orator.” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I?” said Gilbert. +</p> + +<p> +He was beginning to wake again. The drawing-room was real, these +people were real, the jokes, the badinage, and the wit which flew from +tongue to tongue—all these things were of a life he knew. +</p> + +<p> +“Whew!” He wiped his forehead and breathed a deep sigh. He felt like a +man who had regained consciousness after an anæsthetic that did not +quite take effect. A painless and a beautiful experience, but of +another world, and it was not he, so he told himself, who had knelt at +the altar rail. +</p> + +<p class="spacer"> +* * * * +</p> + +<p> +Officially the honeymoon was to be spent at Harrogate, actually it was +to be spent in London. They preserved the pretence of catching a +train, and drove to King’s Cross. +</p> + +<p> +No word was spoken throughout that journey. Gilbert felt the +restriction, and did not challenge it or seek to overcome it. The girl +was naturally silent. She had so much to say in the proper place and +at the proper time. He saw the old fear come back to her eyes, was +hurt by the unconscious and involuntary shrinking when his hand +touched hers. +</p> + +<p> +The carriage was dismissed at King’s Cross. A taxi-cab was engaged, +and they drove to the house in St. John’s Wood. It was empty, the +servants had been sent away on a holiday, but it was a perfectly +fitted little mansion. There were electric cookers, and every +labour-saving appliance the mind of man could devise, or a young man +with great expectations and no particular idea of the value of money +could acquire. +</p> + +<p> +This was to be one of the joys of the honeymoon, so Gilbert had told +himself. She had willingly dispensed with her maid; he was ready to be +man-of-all-work, to cook and to serve, leaving the rough work for the +two new day servants he had employed to come in in the morning. +</p> + +<p> +Yet it was with no sense of joyfulness that he led her from room to +room, showed her the treasures of his household. A sense of +apprehension of some coming trouble laid its hand upon his tongue, +damped his spirit, and held him in temporary bondage. +</p> + +<p> +The girl was self-possessed. She admired, criticised kindly, and +rallied him gently upon his domesticity. But the strain was there all +the time; there was a shadow which lay between them. +</p> + +<p> +She went to her room to change. They had arranged to go out to dinner, +and this programme they followed. Leslie Frankfort saw them in the +dining hall of Princes, and pretended he didn’t know them. It was ten +o’clock when they went back to their little house. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert went to his study; his wife had gone up to her room and had +promised to come down for coffee. He went to work with all the skill +which a pupil of Rahbat might be expected to display, and brewed two +tiny little cups of Mocha. This he served on the table near the settee +where she would sit… Then she came in. +</p> + +<p> +He had been fast awakening from the dream of the morning. He was alive +now. The dazement of that momentous ceremony had worn away. He rose +and went a little way towards her. He would have taken her in his arms +then and there, but this time the arm’s length was a reality. Her hand +touched his breast, and the arm stiffened. He felt the rebuff in the +act, and it seemed to him that his heart went cold, and that all the +vague terrors of the previous days crystallised into one concrete and +terrible truth. He knew all that she had to say before she spoke. +</p> + +<p> +It was some time before she found the words she wanted, the opening +was so difficult. +</p> + +<p> +“Gilbert,” she said at last, “I am going to do a cowardly thing. It is +only cowardly because I have not told you before.” +</p> + +<p> +He motioned her to the settee. +</p> + +<p> +He had woven a little romance for this moment, a dream scene which was +never to be enacted. Here was the shattering. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t sit down,” she said, “I want all my strength to tell you what +I have to tell you. If I hadn’t been an arrant coward I should have +told you last night. I meant to tell you,” she said, “but you did not +come.” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” he said, almost impatiently. “I could not come. I did not +wish—I could not come,” he repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“You know what I have to tell you?” Her eyes were steadily fixed on +his. “Gilbert, I do not love you.” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded again. +</p> + +<p> +“I know now,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I never have loved you,” she said in tones of despair; “there never +was any time when I regarded you as more than a dear friend. But——” +</p> + +<p> +She wanted to tell him why, but a sense of loyalty to her mother kept +her silent. She would take all the blame, for was she not blameworthy? +For she, at least, was mistress of her own soul: had she wished, she +could have taken a line of greater resistance than that which she had +followed. +</p> + +<p> +“I married you,” she went on slowly, “because—because you +are—rich—because you will be rich.” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice dropped at the last word until it was husky. There was a +hard fight going on within her. She wanted to tell the truth, and yet +she did not want him to think so badly of her as that. +</p> + +<p> +“For my money!” he repeated wonderingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I—I wanted to marry a man with money. We have had—a very hard +time.” +</p> + +<p> +The confession came in little gasps; she had to frame every sentence +before she spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“You mustn’t blame mother, I was equally guilty; and I ought to have +told you—I wanted to tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” he said calmly. +</p> + +<p> +It is wonderful what reserves of strength come at a man’s bidding. In +this terrible crisis, in this moment when the whole of his life’s +happiness was shattered, when the fabric of his dream was crumbling +like a house of paper, he could be judicial, almost phlegmatic. +</p> + +<p> +He saw her sway, and springing to her side caught her. +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down,” he said quietly. +</p> + +<p> +She obeyed without protest. He settled her in the corner of the +settee, pushed a cushion almost viciously behind her, and walked back +to the fireplace. +</p> + +<p> +“So you married me for my money,” he said, and laughed. +</p> + +<p> +It was not without its amusing side, this situation. +</p> + +<p> +“By Heaven, what a comedy—what a comedy!” He laughed again. “My poor +child,” he said, with unaccustomed irony, “I am sorry for you, for you +have secured neither husband nor money!” +</p> + +<p> +She looked up at him quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor money,” she repeated. +</p> + +<p> +There was only interest that he saw in her eyes. There was no hint of +disappointment. He knew the truth, more than she had told him: it was +not she who desired a fortune, it was this mother of hers, this +domineering, worldly woman. +</p> + +<p> +“No husband and no money,” he repeated savagely, in spite of the +almost yearning desire which was in him to spare her. +</p> + +<p> +“And worse than that”—with two rapid strides he was at the desk which +separated them, and bent across it, leaning heavily—“not only have +you no husband, and not only is there no money, but——” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped as if he had been shot. +</p> + +<p> +The girl, looking at him, saw his face go drawn and grey, saw the eyes +staring wildly past her, the mouth open in tragic dismay. She got up +quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it? What is it?” she whispered in alarm. +</p> + +<p> +“My God!” +</p> + +<p> +His voice was cracked; it was the voice of a man in terror. She half +bent her head, listening. From somewhere beneath the window arose the +soft, melancholy strains of a violin. The music rose and fell, sobbing +and pulsating with passion beneath the magic of the player’s fingers. +She stepped to a window and looked out. On the edge of the pavement a +girl was playing, a girl whose poverty of dress did not hide her +singular beauty. +</p> + +<p> +The light from the street lamp fell upon her pale face, her eyes were +fixed on the window where Gilbert was standing. +</p> + +<p> +Edith looked at her husband. He was shaking like a man with fever. +</p> + +<p> +“The ‘Melody in F,’ ” he whispered. “My God! The ‘Melody in F’—and on +my wedding day!” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch05"> +CHAPTER V.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE MAN WHO DESIRED WEALTH</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Leslie Frankfort</span> was one of a group of three who stood in the inner +office of Messrs. Warrell & Bird before a huge safe. There was plenty +to attract and hold their attention, for the floor was littered with +tools of every shape and description. +</p> + +<p> +The safe itself bore evidence of a determined assault. A semi-circle +of holes had been burnt in its solid iron door about the lock. +</p> + +<p> +“They did that with an oxyhydrogen blow-pipe,” said one of the men. +</p> + +<p> +He indicated a number of iron tubes which lay upon the ground with the +rest of the paraphernalia. “They made a thorough job of it. I wonder +what disturbed them.” +</p> + +<p> +The eldest of the men shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I expect the night watchman may have alarmed them,” he said. “What do +you think, Frankfort?” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t got over my admiration for their thoroughness yet,” said +Leslie. “Why, the beggars must have used about a couple of hundred +pounds’ worth of tools.” +</p> + +<p> +He pointed to the kit on the ground. The detective’s gaze followed his +extended finger. He smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said quietly, “these people are pretty thorough. You say +you’ve lost nothing?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Warrell shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes and no,” he said carefully. “There was a diamond necklace which +was deposited there last week by a client of ours—that has gone. I am +anxious for the moment that this loss should not be reported.” +</p> + +<p> +The detective looked at him wonderingly. +</p> + +<p> +“That is rather a curious request,” he said, with a smile; “and you +don’t usually have diamond necklaces in a stockbroker’s office—if I +may be allowed to make that critical remark.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Warrell smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t usual,” he said, “but a client of ours who went abroad last +week came in just twenty minutes before the train left, and asked us +to take care of the jewel cases.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Warrell said this carelessly. He did not explain to the detective +that they were held as security against the very large difference +which the client had incurred; nor did he think it necessary to +explain that he had kept the jewels in the office in the hope that the +embarrassed lady might be able to redeem them. +</p> + +<p> +“Did anybody know they were there except yourself and your partners?” +</p> + +<p> +Warrell shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think so. I have never mentioned it to anybody. Have you, +Leslie?” +</p> + +<p> +Leslie hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m bound to admit that I did,” he confessed, “though it was to +somebody who would not repeat it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who was it?” asked Warrell. +</p> + +<p> +“To Gilbert Standerton. I certainly mentioned the matter when we were +discussing safe robberies.” +</p> + +<p> +The elder man nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“I hardly think he is the sort of person who is likely to burgle a +safe.” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a very curious coincidence,” said Leslie reflectively, “that he +and I were talking about this very gang only a couple of days ago +before he was married. I suppose,” he asked the detective suddenly, +“there is no doubt that this is the work of your international +friend?” +</p> + +<p> +Chief Inspector Goldberg nodded his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt whatever, sir,” he said. “There is only one gang in England +which could do this, and I could lay my hands on them to-day, but it +would be a million pounds to one against my being able to secure at +the same time evidence to convict them.” +</p> + +<p> +Leslie nodded brightly. +</p> + +<p> +“That is what I was telling Gilbert,” he said, turning to his partner. +“Isn’t it extraordinary that these things can be in the twentieth +century? Here we have three or four men who are known—you told me +their names, Inspector, after the last attempt—and yet the police are +powerless to bring home their guilt to them. It does seem curious, +doesn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +Inspector Goldberg was not amused, but he permitted himself to smile +politely. +</p> + +<p> +“But then you’ve got to remember how difficult it is to collect +evidence against men who work on such a huge scale as do these bank +smashers. What I can’t understand,” he said, “is what attraction your +safe has for them. This second attempt is a much more formidable one +than the last.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, this is really a burglary,” said Mr. Warrell. “In the last case +there was nothing so elaborate in their preparations, though they were +much more successful, in so far as they were able to open the safe.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you don’t want more of this to get in the papers than you +can help,” said the Inspector. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Warrell shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want any of it to get in till I have seen my client,” he +said; “but I am entirely in your hands, and you must make such +arrangements as you deem necessary.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” said the detective. “For the moment I do not think it is +necessary to make any statement at all. If the reporters get hold of +it, you had better tell them as much of the truth as you want to tell +them, but the chances are that they won’t even get to hear of it as +you communicated directly to the Yard.” +</p> + +<p> +The police officer spent half an hour collecting and making notes of +such data as he was able to secure. At the end of that time the old +Jewry sent a contingent of plain clothes policemen to remove the +tools. +</p> + +<p> +The burglars had evidently entered the office after closing hours on +the previous night, and had worked through the greater part of the +evening, and possibly far into the night, in their successful attempt +to cut out the lock of the safe. That they had been disturbed in their +work was evident from the presence of the tools. This was not their +first burglary in the City of London. During the previous six months +the City had been startled by a succession of daring robberies, the +majority of which had been successful. +</p> + +<p> +The men had shown extraordinary knowledge of the safe’s contents, and +it was this fact which had induced the police to narrow their circle +of inquiry to three apparently innocent members of an outside broker’s +firm. But try as they might, no evidence could be secured which might +even remotely associate them with the crime. +</p> + +<p> +Leslie remembered now that he had laughingly challenged Gilbert +Standerton to qualify for the big reward which two firms at least had +offered for the recovery of their stolen goods. +</p> + +<p> +“After all,” he said, “with your taste and genius, you would make an +ideal thief-catcher.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or a thief,” Gilbert had answered moodily. It had been one of his bad +days, a day on which his altered prospects had preyed upon him. +</p> + +<p> +A telegram was waiting for Leslie when he entered the narrow portals +of the City Proscenium Club. He took it down and opened it leisurely, +and read its contents. A puzzled frown gathered on his forehead. It +ran:— +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“I must see you this afternoon. Meet me at Charing Cross Station four +o’clock.—<span class="sc">Gilbert</span>.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Punctually to the minute Leslie reached the terminus. He found Gilbert +pacing to and fro beneath the clock, and was shocked at his +appearance. +</p> + +<p> +“What on earth is the matter with you?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Matter with me?” demanded the other hardly, “what do you think is the +matter with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you in trouble?” asked Leslie anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +He was genuinely fond of this friend of his. +</p> + +<p> +“Trouble?” Gilbert laughed bitterly. “My dear good chap, I am always +in trouble. Haven’t I been in trouble since the first day I met you? I +want you to do something for me,” he went on briskly. “You were +talking the other day about money. I have recognised the tragedy of my +own dependence. I have got to get money, and get it quick.” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke briskly, and in a matter-of-fact tone, but Leslie heard a +determination which had never formed part of his friend’s equipment. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to know something about shares and stocks and things of that +sort,” Gilbert went on. “You’ll have to instruct me. I don’t suppose +you know much about it yourself”—he smiled, with a return to the old +good-humour—“but what little you know you’ve got to impart to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear chap,” protested the other, “why the devil are you worrying +about a thing like that for on your honeymoon? Where is your wife, by +the way?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, she’s at the house,” said the other shortly. He did not feel +inclined to discuss her, and Leslie, in his amazement, had sufficient +tact to pass over the subject. +</p> + +<p> +“I can tell you all I know now, if you want a tip,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I want something bigger than a tip—I want investments. I want you to +tell me something that will bring in about twelve thousand a year.” +</p> + +<p> +Leslie stopped and looked at the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you quite——?” he began. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert smiled, a crooked little smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Am I right in my head?” he finished. “Oh, yes, I am quite sane.” +</p> + +<p> +“But don’t you see,” said the other, “you would want a little over a +quarter of a million to bring in that interest.” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“I had an idea that some such amount was required. I want you to get +me out between to-night and to-morrow a list of securities in which I +can invest and which must be gilt-edged, and must, as I say, secure +for me, or for my heirs, the sum I have mentioned.” +</p> + +<p> +“And did you,” asked the indignant Leslie, “bring me to this beastly +place on a hot afternoon in June to pull my leg about your dream +investments?” +</p> + +<p> +But something in Gilbert’s face checked his humour. +</p> + +<p> +“Seriously, do you mean this?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Seriously, I mean it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, I’ll give you the list like a shot. What has +happened—has uncle relented?” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“He is not likely to relent,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I had a +note to-day from his secretary to tell me that he is pretty ill. I’m +awfully sorry.” There was a genuine note of regret in his tone. “He is +a decent old chap.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no reason why he should hand over his wealth to the +‘demnition bow-wows,’ ” quoted Leslie indignantly. “But why did you +meet me here, my son? Your club is round the corner.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” said Gilbert; “but the club is—well, to tell you the +truth,” he said, “I am giving up the club.” +</p> + +<p> +“Giving up your club?” He stood squarely before the taller man. “Now +just tell me,” he asked deliberately, “what the Dickens all this +means? You’re giving up your club, you’ll be giving up your Foreign +Office job next, my Crœsus!” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“I have given up the Foreign Office work,” he said quietly. “I want +all the time I can get,” he went on, speaking rapidly. “I want every +moment of the day for my own plans and my own schemes. You don’t know +what it’s all about, my dear chap”—he laid his hand affectionately on +the other’s shoulder—“but just believe that I am in urgent need of +all the advice you can give me, and I only want the advice for which I +ask.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which means that I am not to poke my nose in your business unless I +have a special invitation card all printed and decorated. Very good,” +laughed Leslie. “Now come along to my club. I suppose as a result of +your brief married life you haven’t conceived a dislike to all clubs?” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert made no answer, nor did they return again to the subject until +they were ensconced in the spacious smoking-room of the Junior +Terriers. +</p> + +<p> +For two hours the men sat there, Gilbert questioning eagerly, +pointedly, jotting down notes upon a sheet of paper. The other +answered, often with some difficulty, the running fire of questions +which his friend put. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know how little I knew,” confessed the young man ruefully, +as Gilbert wrote down the last answer to the very last question. “What +an encyclopædic questioner you are; you’re a born examiner, Gilbert.” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert smiled faintly as he slipped the sheet of paper into his +pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“By the way,” he said, as they were leaving the club, “I made my will +this morning and I want you to be my executor.” +</p> + +<p> +Leslie pushed his hat back with a groan. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re the most cheerless bird I’ve met for quite a long time,” he +said in exasperation. “You were married yesterday, you’re wandering +round to-day with a face as long as an undertaker’s tout—I understand +such interesting and picturesque individuals exist in the East End of +London—you’ve chucked up the billet that’s bringing you in quite a +lot of money, you’ve discussed investments, and you’ve made your will. +You’re a most depressing devil!” +</p> + +<p> +Again Gilbert smiled: he was grimly amused. He shook hands with the +young man before the club and called a taxi-cab to him. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to St. John’s Wood. I suppose you’re not going my way?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am relieved to hear that you are going to St. John’s Wood,” said +the other with mock politeness. “I feared you were going to the +nearest crematorium.” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert found his wife in the study on his return. She was sitting on +the big settee reading. The stress of the previous night had left no +mark upon her beautiful face. She favoured him with a smile. +Instinctively they had both adopted the attitude which best met the +circumstances. Her respect for him had increased, even in that short +space of time; he had so well mastered himself in that moment of +terror—terror which in an indefinable way had communicated itself to +her. He had met her the next morning at breakfast cheerfully; but she +did not doubt that he had spent a sleepless night, for his eyes were +heavy and tired, and in spite of his geniality his voice was sharp, as +are the voices of men who have cheated Nature. +</p> + +<p> +He walked straight to his desk now. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want to be alone?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +He looked up with a start. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” he said hastily, “I’ve no wish to be alone. I’ve a little +work to do, but you won’t bother me. You ought to know,” he said with +an affectation of carelessness, “that I am resigning my post.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your post!” she repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; I find I have so much to do, and the Foreign Office takes up so +much of my time that I really can’t spare, that it came to a question +of giving up that or something else.” +</p> + +<p> +He did not enlighten her as to what that “something else” was, nor +could she guess. Already he was an enigma to her; she found, strange +though it seemed to her, a new interest in him. That there was some +tragedy in his life, a tragedy unsuspected by her, she did not doubt. +He had told her calmly and categorically the story of his +disinheritance; at his request, she had put the whole of that story +into a letter which she had addressed to her mother. She felt no +qualms, no inward quaking, at the prospect of the inevitable +encounter, though Mrs. Cathcart would be enraged beyond reason. +</p> + +<p> +Edith smiled a little to herself as she had stuck down the flap of the +envelope. This was poetic justice, though she herself might be a +life-long sufferer by reason of her worldly parent’s schemings. She +had hoped that as a result of that letter, posted early in the +morning, her mother would have called and the interview would have +been finished before her husband returned. But Gilbert had been in the +house half an hour when the blow fell. The tinkle of the hall bell +brought the girl to her feet: she had been waiting, her ears strained, +for that aggressive ring. +</p> + +<p> +She herself flew down the stairs to open the door. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Cathcart entered without a word, and as the girl closed the door +behind her she turned. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is that precious husband of yours?” she asked in a choked +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“My husband is in his study,” said the girl calmly. “Do you want him, +mother?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do I want him?” she repeated in a choked voice. +</p> + +<p> +Edith saw the glare in the woman’s eyes, saw, too, the pinched and +haggard cheek. For one brief moment she pitied this woman, who had +seen all her dreams shattered at a moment when she had hoped that +their realisation was inevitable. +</p> + +<p> +“Does he know I am coming?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think he rather expects you,” said the girl dryly. +</p> + +<p> +“I will see him by myself,” said Mrs. Cathcart, turning half-way up +the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“You will see him with me, mother, or you will not see him at all,” +said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“You will do as I tell you, Edith,” stormed the woman. +</p> + +<p> +The girl smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother,” she said gently, “you have ceased to have any right to +direct me. You have handed me over to another guardian whose claims +are greater than yours.” +</p> + +<p> +It was not a good preparation for the interview that was to follow. +Edith recognised this even as she opened the door and ushered her +mother in. +</p> + +<p> +When Gilbert saw who his visitor was he rose with a little bow. He did +not offer his hand. He knew something of what this woman was feeling. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you sit down, Mrs. Cathcart?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll stand for what I have to say,” she snapped. “Now, what is the +meaning of this?” She threw down the letter which the girl had +written, and which she had read and re-read until every word was +engraven on her mind. “Is it true,” she asked fiercely, “that you are +a poor man? That you have deceived us? That you have lied your way +into a marriage——” +</p> + +<p> +He held up his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“You seem to forget, Mrs. Cathcart,” he said with dignity, “that the +question of my position has already been discussed by you and me, and +you have been most emphatic in impressing upon me the fact that no +worldly considerations would weigh with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Worldly!” she sneered. “What do you mean by worldly, Mr. Standerton? +Are you not in the world? Do you not live in a house and eat bread and +butter that costs money? Do you not use motor-cars that require money +for their upkeep? Whilst I am living in the world and you are living +in the world worldly considerations will always count. I thought you +were a rich man; you’re a beggar.” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled a little contemptuously. +</p> + +<p> +“A pretty mess you’ve made of it,” she said harshly. “You’ve got a +woman who doesn’t love you—I suppose you know that?” +</p> + +<p> +He bowed. +</p> + +<p> +“I know all that, Mrs. Cathcart,” he said. “I knew the worst when I +learnt that. The fact that you so obviously planned the marriage +because you thought that I was Sir John Standerton’s heir does not +hurt me, because I have met so many women like you, only”—he shrugged +his shoulders—“I must confess that I thought you were a little +different to the rest of worldly mothers—forgive me if I use that +word again. But you are not any better—you may be a little worse,” he +said, his thoughtful eyes upon her face. +</p> + +<p> +He was looking at her with a curious something which the woman could +not quite understand in his eyes. She had seen that look somewhere, +and in spite of herself she shivered. The anger died away in fear. +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted you to postpone this wedding,” he went on softly. “I had an +especial reason, a reason I will not give you, but which will interest +you in a few months’ time. But you were fearful of losing your rich +son-in-law. I didn’t realise then that that was your fear. I have +satisfied myself—it really doesn’t matter how,” he said steadily, +“that you are more responsible than I for this good match.” +</p> + +<p> +He was a changed man. Mrs. Cathcart in her gusty rage could recognise +this: there was a new soul, a new spirit, a new determination, +and—that was it!—a new and terrible ferocity which shone from his +eyes and for the moment hardened his face till it was almost terrible +to look upon. +</p> + +<p> +“Your daughter married me under a misapprehension. She told you all +that I had to tell—almost all,” he corrected himself, “and I +anticipated this visit. Had you not come I should have sent for you. +Your daughter is as free as the air as far as I am concerned. I +suppose your worldliness extends to a knowledge of the law? She can +sue for a divorce to-morrow, and attain it without any difficulty and +with little publicity.” +</p> + +<p> +A gleam of hope came to the woman’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“I never thought of that,” she said half to herself. She turned +quickly to her daughter, for she was a woman of action. “Get your +things and come with me.” +</p> + +<p> +Edith did not stir. She stood the other side of the table, half facing +her husband and wholly facing her mother. +</p> + +<p> +“You hear what Mr. Standerton says,” said Mrs. Cathcart irritably. “He +has opened a way of escape to you. What he says is true. A divorce can +be obtained with no difficulty. Come with me. I will send for your +clothes.” +</p> + +<p> +Edith still did not move. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Cathcart, watching her, saw her features soften one by one, saw +the lips part in a smile and the head fall back as peal after peal of +clear laughter rang through the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, mother!” The infinite contempt of the voice struck the woman like +the lash of a whip. “You don’t know me! Go back with you? Divorce him? +You’re mad! If he had been a rich man indeed I might; but for the time +being, though I do not love him, and though I should not blame him and +do not blame him if he does not love me, my lot is cast with his, my +place is here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Melodrama!” said the elder woman angrily. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a lot of truth and no end of decency in melodrama, Mrs. +Cathcart,” said Gilbert. +</p> + +<p> +His mother-in-law stood livid with rage, then turning, flung out of +the room, and they heard the front door slam behind her. +</p> + +<p> +They looked at each other, this strangely-married pair, for the space +of a few seconds, and then Gilbert held out his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The girl dropped her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You have nothing to thank me for,” she said listlessly. “I have done +you too much wrong for one little act to wipe out all the effects of +my selfishness.” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch06"> +CHAPTER VI.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE SAFE AGENCY</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">The</span> City of London is filled, as all the world knows, with +flourishing and well-established businesses. +</p> + +<p> +It abounds in concerns which proclaim, either with dignity or +flamboyantly, the fact that this shop stood where it did a hundred +years ago, and is still being carried on by the legitimate descendants +of its founders. +</p> + +<p> +There are companies and syndicates and trading associations, housed in +ornate and elaborate buildings, suites of offices, which come into +existence in the spring and fade away to nothingness in the winter, +leaving a residue of unpaid petty accounts, and a landlord who has +only this satisfaction—that he was paid his rent in advance. +</p> + +<p> +The tragedies of the City of London lay in a large sense round the +ugly and unpretentious buildings of the Stock Exchange, and may be +found in the seedy sprinkling of people who perambulate the streets +round and round that grimy building like so many disembodied spirits. +</p> + +<p> +But the tragic gambler is not peculiar to the metropolis, and the +fortunes made and lost in a day or in an hour has its counterpart in +every city in the world where stock transactions are conducted. +</p> + +<p> +The picturesque sorrows of the city are represented in the popular +mind with the human wreckage which strews the Embankment after dark, +or goes shuffling along the edges of the pavement with downcast eyes +seeking for discarded cigar ends. That is sorrowful enough, though the +unhappy objects of our pity are considerably more satisfied with their +lot than most people would imagine. +</p> + +<p> +The real tragedy and sorrow is to be found in the hundred and one +little businesses which come into existence joyfully, and swallow up +the savings of years of some two or three optimistic individuals. The +flourishing note heads which are issued from brand new offices +redolent of paint and fresh varnish, the virgin books imposingly +displayed upon new shelves, the mass of correspondence which goes +daily forth, the booklets and the leaflets, the explanatory tables and +all the paraphernalia of the inexperienced advertiser, and the trickle +of replies which come back—they are all part of the sad game. +</p> + +<p> +Some firms endeavour to establish themselves with violence, with a +flourish of their largest trumpets. Some drift into business +noiselessly, and in some mysterious way make good. Generally, one may +suppose, they came with the invaluable asset of a “connection,” +shifting up from the suburbs to a more impressive address. +</p> + +<p> +One of the businesses which came into existence in London in the year +1924 was a firm which was defined in the telephone book and in the +directory as “The St. Bride’s Safe Company.” It dealt in new and +second-hand safes, strong rooms and all the cunning machinery of +protection. +</p> + +<p> +In its one show-room were displayed safes of every make, new and old, +gratings, burglar alarms, cash boxes, big and small, and the examples +of all that iron and steel could do to resist the attention of the +professional burglar. +</p> + +<p> +The principal of the business was apparently a Midland gentleman, who +engaged a staff, including a manager and a salesman, by advertisement, +interviewed the newly-engaged employees in the Midlands, and placed at +the disposal of the manager, who came armed with unimpeachable +testimonials, a sum of money sufficient to stock the store and carry +on the business. +</p> + +<p> +He found more supplies from time to time in addition to the floating +stock-in-trade, and though orders came very infrequently, the +proprietor of the concern cheerfully continued to pay the large rent +and the fairly generous salaries of the staff. +</p> + +<p> +The proprietor would occasionally visit the store, generally late at +night, because, as he explained, his business in Birmingham required +his constant attention. +</p> + +<p> +The new stock would be inspected; there would be a stock-taking of +keys—these were usually kept in the private safe of the firm—and the +proprietor would invariably express his satisfaction with the progress +of the business. +</p> + +<p> +The manager himself never quite understood how his chief could make +this office pay, but he evidently did a big trade in the provinces, +because he was able to keep a large motor lorry and a driver, who from +time to time appeared at the Bride Street store, brought a safe which +would be unloaded, or carried away some purchased article to its new +owners. +</p> + +<p> +The manager, a Mr. Timmings, and a respectable member of Balham +society, could only imagine that the provincial branch of the business +was fairly extensive. Sometimes the motor lorry would come with every +evidence of having travelled for many miles, and it would seem that +the business flourished, at any rate, at the Birmingham end. +</p> + +<p> +It was the day following the remarkable occurrence which is chronicled +in the previous chapter that Gilbert Standerton decided amongst other +things to purchase a safe. +</p> + +<p> +He needed one for his home, and there were reasons which need not be +particularised why such an article of furniture was necessary. He had +never felt the need of a safe before. When he did, he wanted to get +one right away. It was unfortunate, or fortunate as the case may be, +that this resolve did not come to him until an hour when most dealers +in these unusual commodities were closed. It was after six when he +arrived in the City. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Timmings had gone away early that night, but he had left a most +excellent deputy. +</p> + +<p> +The proprietor had come to London a little earlier that evening, and +through the glass street doors Gilbert saw him and stared. +</p> + +<p> +The door was locked when he tried it, and with a cheery smile the new +proprietor came forward himself and unbolted it. +</p> + +<p> +“We are closed,” he said, “and I am afraid my manager has gone home. +Can I do anything for you?” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert looked at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said slowly, “I want to buy a safe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then possibly I can help you,” said the gentleman good-naturedly. +“Won’t you come in?” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert entered, and the door was bolted behind him. +</p> + +<p> +“What kind of safe do you want?” asked the man. +</p> + +<p> +“I want a small one,” said the other. “I would like a second-hand +Chubb if you have one.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I have got the very thing. I suppose you want it for your +office?” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I want it for my house,” he said shortly, “and I would like it +delivered almost at once.” +</p> + +<p> +He made an inspection of the various receptacles for valuables, and +finally made a choice. +</p> + +<p> +He was on his way out, when he saw the great safe which stood at the +end of the store. +</p> + +<p> +It was rather out of the ordinary, being about eight feet in height +and about that width. It looked for all the world like a great steel +wardrobe. Three sets of locks guarded the interior, and there was in +addition a small combination lock. +</p> + +<p> +“That is a very handsome safe,” said Gilbert. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it?” said the other carelessly. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the value of that?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is sold,” said the proprietor a little brusquely. +</p> + +<p> +“Sold? I should like to see the interior,” said Gilbert. +</p> + +<p> +The man smiled at him and stroked his upturned moustache thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry I can’t oblige you,” he said. “The fact is, the new +proprietor took the keys when he completed the purchase.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is very unfortunate,” said Gilbert, “for this is one of the most +interesting safes I have ever seen.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is quite usual,” said the other briefly. He tapped the sides with +his knuckles in a reflective mood. “It is rather an expensive piece of +property.” +</p> + +<p> +“It looks as if you had it here permanently.” +</p> + +<p> +“It does, doesn’t it?” said the other absently. “I had to make it +comfortable.” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled, then he led the way to another part of the store. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert would have paid by cheque, but something prevented him. He +searched his pockets, and found the fifteen pounds which had been +asked for the safe. +</p> + +<p> +With a pleasant good-night he was ushered out of the shop, and the +door was closed behind him. +</p> + +<p> +“Where have I seen your face before?” said the proprietor to himself. +</p> + +<p> +Though he was a very clever man in more ways than one, it is a curious +fact that he never placed his customer until many months afterwards. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch07"> +CHAPTER VII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE BANK SMASHER</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Three</span> men sat in the inner room of a City office. The outer door was +locked, the door communicating between the outer office and the +sanctum was wide open. +</p> + +<p> +The men sat at a table, discussing a frugal lunch which had been +brought in from a restaurant near by, and talking together in low +tones. +</p> + +<p> +George Wallis, who spoke with such authority as to suggest that he +held a leading position above and before the others, was a man of +forty, inclined a little to stoutness, of middle height, and with no +distinguishing features save the short bristling moustache and the +jet-black eyebrows which gave his face a somewhat sinister appearance. +His eyes were tired and lazy, his square jaw bespoke immense +determination, and the hands which played idly with a pen were small +but strong; they were the hands of an artist, and indeed George +Wallis, under one name or another, was known as an artist in his +particular profession in every police bureau on the Continent. +</p> + +<p> +Callidino, the little Italian at his side, was neat and dapper. His +hair was rather long, he suggested rather the musical enthusiast than +the cool-headed man of business. And yet this dapper Italian was known +as the most practical of the remarkable trio which for many years had +been the terror of every bank president in France. +</p> + +<p> +The third was Persh, a stout man with a pleasant, florid face, and a +trim cavalry moustache, who, despite his bulk, was a man of +extraordinary agility, and his escape from Devil’s Island and his +subsequent voyage to Australia in an open boat will be fresh in the +minds of the average newspaper readers. +</p> + +<p> +They made no disguise as to their identities, they did not evade the +frank questioning which was their lot when the City Police smelt them +out and came in to investigate the affairs of this “outside brokers’ ” +establishment. The members of the City force were a little +disappointed to discover that quite a legitimate business was being +done. You cannot quarrel even with convicted bank robbers if they +choose to get their living by any way which, however much discredited, +is within the law; and beyond warning those of their clients with whom +they could get in touch that the heads of this remarkable business +were notorious criminals, the police must needs sit by and watch, +satisfied that sooner or later the men would make a slip that would +bring them within the scope of police action. +</p> + +<p> +“And they will have to wait a jolly long time,” said Wallis. +</p> + +<p> +He looked round his “Board” with an amused smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Have they been in to-day?” asked Callidino. +</p> + +<p> +“They have been in to-day,” said Wallis gravely. “They have searched +our books and our desks and our clothes, and even the legs of our +office stools.” +</p> + +<p> +“An indelicate proceeding,” said Persh cheerfully. +</p> + +<p> +“And what did they find, George?” +</p> + +<p> +George smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“They found all there was to be found,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it was the burglary at the Bond Guarantees that I have been +reading about that’s excited them,” said the Italian coolly. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose so,” said Wallis, with grave indifference. “It is pretty +terrible to have names such as we possess. Seriously,” he went on, “I +am not very much afraid of the police, even suppose there was anything +to find. I haven’t met one of them who has the intelligence of that +cool devil we met at the Foreign Office, when I had to answer some +questions about Persh’s unique experiences on Devil’s Island.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was his name?” asked Persh, interested. +</p> + +<p> +“Something associated in my mind with South Africa—oh, yes, +Standerton. A cool beast—I met him at Epsom the other day,” said +Wallis. “He’s lost in a place like the Foreign Office. Do you remember +that quick run through he gave me, Persh?” +</p> + +<p> +The other nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Before I knew where I was I admitted that I’d been in Huntingdonshire +the same week as Lady Perkinton’s jewels were taken. If he’d had +another five minutes I guess he’d have known”—he lowered his voice to +little more than a whisper—“all this hidden treasure which the +English police are seeking was cached.” +</p> + +<p> +The men laughed as at some great joke. +</p> + +<p> +“Talking of cool people,” said Wallis, “do you recall that weird devil +who held us up in Hatton Garden?” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you found him?” asked Callidino. +</p> + +<p> +George shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said slowly, “only I’m rather afraid of him.” +</p> + +<p> +Which was a remarkable confession for him to make. He changed the +subject abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you people know,” said Wallis, “that the police are +particularly active just now? I’ve reason to be aware of the fact, +because they have just concluded a most exhaustive search of my +private belongings.” +</p> + +<p> +He did not exaggerate. The police were, indeed, most eager for some +clue to associate these three known criminals with the acts of the +past month. +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour later Wallis left the building. He paused in the entrance +hall of the big block of offices, lighted a cigar with an air that +betokened his peace with the world and his approval of humanity. +</p> + +<p> +As his foot touched the pavement a tall man stepped to his side. +Wallis looked up quickly and gave a little nod. +</p> + +<p> +“I want you,” said the tall man coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you indeed?” said Wallis with exaggerated interest. “And what may +you want with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“You come along with me, and not so much of your lip,” said the man. +</p> + +<p> +He called a cab, and the two men were rapidly driven to the nearest +City police station. Wallis continued smoking his cigar, without any +outward indication of apprehension. He would have chatted very gaily +with the officer who had effected his arrest, but the officer himself +was in no mood for light humour. +</p> + +<p> +He was hustled into the charge room and brought before the inspector’s +desk. +</p> + +<p> +That officer looked up with a nod. He was more genial than his captor. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Wallis,” he said with a smile, “we want some information from +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You always want information from somebody,” said the man with cold +insolence. “Have you had another burglary?” +</p> + +<p> +The inspector nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Tut, tut!” said the prisoner with an affectation of distress, “how +very annoying for you Mr. Whitling. I suppose you have got the +culprit?” he asked blandly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got you at present,” said the calm inspector. “I should not be +surprised if I had also got the culprit. Can you explain where you +were last night?” +</p> + +<p> +“With the greatest of pleasure,” said Wallis; “I was dining with a +friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“His name?” +</p> + +<p> +The other shrugged his shoulders. “His name is immaterial. I was +dining with a friend whose name does not matter. Put that down, +inspector.” +</p> + +<p> +“And where were you dining with this unknown friend?” asked the +imperturbable official. +</p> + +<p> +Wallis named a restaurant in Wardour Street. +</p> + +<p> +“At what hour were you dining?” asked the inspector patiently. +</p> + +<p> +“Between the hours of eight and eleven,” said the man, “as the +proprietor of the restaurant will testify.” +</p> + +<p> +The inspector smiled to himself. He knew the restaurant and knew the +proprietor. His testimony would not carry a great deal of weight with +a jury. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you anybody respectable,” he asked, “who will vouch for the fact +that you were there, other than your unknown friend and Signor +Villimicci?” +</p> + +<p> +Wallis nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“I might name, with due respect,” he said, “Sergeant Colebrook, of the +Central Investigation Department of Scotland Yard.” +</p> + +<p> +He was annoyingly bland. The inspector looked up sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“Is he going to vouch for you?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“He was watching me the whole of the time, disguised, I think, as a +gentleman. At least, he was in evening dress, and he was quite +different from the waiters. You see, he was sitting down.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said the inspector. He put down his pen. +</p> + +<p> +“It was rather amusing to be watched by a real detective-sergeant, +from that most awe-inspiring wilderness of bricks,” the man continued. +“I quite liked it, though I am afraid the poor fellow was bored sooner +than I was.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand,” said the inspector, “that you were being watched from +eight o’clock last night till——?” +</p> + +<p> +He paused inquiringly. +</p> + +<p> +“Till near midnight, I should imagine. Until our dress-suited +detective, looking tragically like a detective all the time, had +escorted me to the front door of my flat.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can verify that in a minute,” said the inspector. “Go into the +parade room.” +</p> + +<p> +Wallis strolled unconcernedly into the inner room whilst the inspector +manipulated the telephone. +</p> + +<p> +In five minutes the prisoner was sent for. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re all right,” said the inspector. “Clean bill for you, Wallis.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad to hear it,” said Wallis. “Very relieved indeed!” He sighed +heavily. “Now that I am embarked upon what I might term a legalised +form of thefts from the public, it is especially pleasing to me to +know that my actions are approved by the police.” +</p> + +<p> +“We don’t approve of everything you do,” said the inspector. +</p> + +<p> +He was an annoying man, Wallis thought; he would neither lose his +temper nor be rude. +</p> + +<p> +“You can go now—sorry to have bothered you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t mention it,” said the polite man with a little bow. +</p> + +<p> +“By the way, before you go,” said the inspector, “just come into my +inner office, will you?” +</p> + +<p> +Wallis followed him. The inspector closed the door behind them. They +were alone. +</p> + +<p> +“Wallis, do you know there is a reward of some twelve thousand pounds +for the detection of the men engaged in these burglaries?” +</p> + +<p> +“You surprise me,” said Mr. Wallis, lifting his eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t surprise you,” said the inspector; “in fact, you know much +more about it than I do. And I tell you this, that we are prepared to +go to any lengths to track this gang, or, at any rate, to put an end +to its operations. Look here, George,” he tapped the other on the +chest with his strong, gnarled finger, “is it a scream?” +</p> + +<p> +“A scream?” Mr. Wallis was puzzled innocence itself. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you turn King’s evidence?” said the other shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“I should be most happy,” said Wallis, with a helpless shrug, “but how +can I turn King’s evidence about a matter on which I am absolutely +uninformed? The reward is monstrously tempting. If I had companions in +crime I should need very little persuading. My conscience is a matter +of constant adjustment. It is rather like the foot-rule which +shoemakers employ to measure their customers’ feet—terrifically +adjustable. It has a sliding scale which goes up and down.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to hear any more about your conscience,” said the +officer wearily. “Do you scream or don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t scream,” said Mr. Wallis emphatically. +</p> + +<p> +The inspector jerked his head sideways, and with the bow which the +invitation had interrupted, Mr. Wallis walked out into the street. +</p> + +<p> +He knew, no one better, how completely every action of his was +watched. He knew, even as he left the station, that the seemingly idle +loafer on the corner of the street had picked him up, would follow him +until he handed him over to yet another plain-clothes officer for +observation. From beat to beat, from one end of the City to another, +those vigilant eyes would never leave him; whilst he slept, the door, +back and front of his lodging would be watched. He could not move +without all London—all the London that mattered as far as he was +concerned—knowing everything about that move. +</p> + +<p> +His home was the upper part of a house over a tobacconist’s in a small +street off Charing Cross Road. And to his maisonette he made a +leisurely way, not hastening his steps any the more because he knew +that on one side of the street an innocent commercial traveller, and +on the other a sandwich man apparently trudging homeward with his +board, were keeping him under observation. He stopped to buy some +cigars in the Charing Cross Road, crossed near the Alhambra, and ten +minutes later was unlocking the door of the narrow passage which ran +by the side of the shop, and gave him private access to the suite +above. +</p> + +<p> +It was a room comfortably furnished and giving evidence of some taste. +Large divan chairs formed a feature of the furnishing, and the prints, +though few, were interesting by reason of their obvious rarity. +</p> + +<p> +He did not trouble to make an examination of the room, or of the +remainder of the maisonette he rented. If the police had been, they +had been. If they had not, it did not matter. They could find nothing. +He had a good conscience, so far as a man’s conscience may be good who +fears less for the consequence of his deeds than for the apparent, the +obvious and the discoverable consequences. +</p> + +<p> +He rang a bell, and after a little delay an old woman answered the +call. +</p> + +<p> +“Make me some tea, Mrs. Skard,” he said. “Has anybody called?” +</p> + +<p> +The old woman looked up to the ceiling for inspiration. +</p> + +<p> +“Only the man about the gas,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Only the man about the gas,” repeated George Wallis admiringly. +“Wasn’t he awfully surprised to find that we didn’t have gas at all?” +</p> + +<p> +The old lady looked at him in some amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“He did say he had come to see about the gas,” she said, “and then +when he found we had no gas he said ‘electricity’—a most +absent-minded young man.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are that way, Mrs. Skard,” said her master tolerantly; “they +fall in love, don’t you know, round about this season of the year, and +when their minds become occupied with other and more pleasant thoughts +than gas mantles and incandescent lights they become a little +confused. I suppose he did not bother you—he told you you need not +wait?” he suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite right, sir,” said Mrs. Skard. “He said he would do all he had +to do without assistance.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I will bet you he did it,” said George Wallis with boisterous +good humour. +</p> + +<p> +Undisturbed by the knowledge that his rooms had been searched by an +industrious detective, he sat for an hour reading an American +magazine. At six o’clock a taxi-cab drove into the street and pulled +up before the entrance of his flat. The driver, a stoutish man with a +beard, looked helplessly up and down seeking a number, and one of the +two detectives who had been keeping observation on the house walked +across the road casually towards him. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want to find a number, mate?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I want No. 43,” said the cabman. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it,” said the officer. +</p> + +<p> +He saw the cabman ring, and having observed that he entered the door, +which was closed behind him, he walked back to his co-worker. +</p> + +<p> +“George is going to take a little taxi drive,” he said; “we will see +where he goes.” +</p> + +<p> +The man who had waited on the other side of the road nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t suppose he will go anywhere worth following, but I have the +car waiting round the corner.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll car him,” said the second man bitterly. “Did you hear what he +told Inspector Whitling of the City Police about me last night?” +</p> + +<p> +The first detective was considerably interested. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I should like to hear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” began the man, and then thought better of it. It was nothing +to his credit that he should keep a man under observation three hours, +and that the quarry should be aware all the time that he was being +watched. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo!” he said as the door of No. 43 opened, “here is our man.” +</p> + +<p> +He threw a swift glance along the street, and saw that the hired +motor-car which had been provided for his use was waiting. +</p> + +<p> +“Here he comes,” he said, but it was not the man he expected. The +bearded chauffeur came out alone, waved a farewell to somebody in the +hall-way whom they could not see, and having started his engine with +great deliberation, got upon his seat, and the taxi-cab moved slowly +away. +</p> + +<p> +“George is not going,” said the detective. “That means that we shall +have to stay here for another two or three hours—there is his light.” +</p> + +<p> +For four long hours they kept their vigil, and never once was a pair +of eyes taken from the only door through which George Wallis could +make his exit. There was no other way by which he could leave, of that +they were assured. +</p> + +<p> +Behind the house was a high wall, and unless the man was working in +collusion with half the respectable householders, not only in that +street but of Charing Cross Road, he could not by any possible chance +leave his flat. +</p> + +<p> +At half-past ten the taxi-cab they had seen drove back to the door of +the flat, and the driver was admitted. He evidently did not expect to +stay long, for he did not switch off his engine; as a matter of fact, +he was not absent from his car longer than thirty seconds. He came +back almost immediately, climbed up on to his seat and drove away. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder what the game is?” asked the detective, a little puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +“He has been to take a message somewhere,” said the other. “I think we +ought to have found out.” +</p> + +<p> +Ten minutes later Inspector Goldberg, of Scotland Yard, drove into the +street and sprang from his car opposite the men. +</p> + +<p> +“Has Wallis returned?” he asked quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Returned!” repeated the puzzled detective, “he has not gone out yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has not gone out?” repeated the inspector with a gasp. “A man +answering to his description was seen leaving the City branch of the +Goldsmiths’ Guild half an hour ago. The safe has been forced and +twenty thousand pounds’ worth of jewelry has been taken.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a little silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir,” said the subordinate doggedly, “one thing I will swear, +and it is that George Wallis has not left this house to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s true, sir,” said the second man. “The sergeant and I have not +left this place since Wallis went in.” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” said the bewildered detective-inspector, “it must be Wallis, no +other man could have done the job as he did it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It could not have been, sir,” persisted the watcher. +</p> + +<p> +“Then who in the name of Heaven did the job?” snapped the inspector. +</p> + +<p> +His underlings wisely offered no solution. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch08"> +CHAPTER VIII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE WIFE WHO DID NOT LOVE</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Mr. Warrell</span>, of the firm of Warrell & Bird, prided himself upon +being a man of the world, and was wont to admit, in a mild spirit of +boastfulness, in which even middle-aged and respectable gentlemen +occasionally indulge, that he had been in some very awkward +situations. He had inferred that he had escaped from those situations +with some credit to himself. +</p> + +<p> +Every stockbroker doing a popular and extensive business is confronted +sooner or later with the delicate task of explaining to a rash and +hazardous speculator exactly how rashly and at what hazard he has +invested his money. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Warrell had had occasion before to break, as gently as it was +possible to break, unpleasant news of Mrs. Cathcart’s unsuccess. But +never before had he been face to face with a situation so full of +possibilities for disagreeable consequences as this which now awaited +him. +</p> + +<p> +The impassive Cole admitted him, and the face of Cole fell, for he +knew the significance of these visits, having learnt in that +mysterious way which servants have of discovering the inward secrets +of their masters’ and mistresses’ bosoms, that the arrival of Mr. +Warrell was usually followed by a period of retrenchment economy and +reform. +</p> + +<p> +“Madam will see you at once,” was the message he returned with. +</p> + +<p> +A few minutes later Mrs. Cathcart sailed into the drawing-room, a +little harder of face than usual, thought Mr. Warrell, and wondered +why. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Warrell,” she said briskly, “what machination of the devil has +brought you here? Sit down, won’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +He seated himself deliberately. He placed his hat upon the floor, and +peeling his gloves, deposited them with unnecessary care in the +satin-lined interior. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” asked Mrs. Cathcart impatiently. “Are those Canadian +Pacifics down again?” +</p> + +<p> +“They are slightly up,” said Mr. Warrell, with a smile which was +intended both to conciliate and to flatter. “I think your view on +Canadian Pacifics is a very sound one.” +</p> + +<p> +He knew that Mrs. Cathcart would ordinarily desire nothing better than +a tribute to her judgment, but now she dismissed the compliment, +realising that he had not come all the way from Throgmorton Street to +say kindly things about her perspicacity. +</p> + +<p> +“I will say all that is in my mind,” Mr. Warrell went on, choosing his +words and endeavouring by the adoption of a pained smile to express in +some tangible form his frankness. “You owe us some seven hundred +pounds, Mrs. Cathcart.” +</p> + +<p> +She nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“You have ample security,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“That I realise,” he agreed, addressing the ceiling, “but the question +is whether you are prepared to make good in actual cash the +differences which are due to us.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no question at all about it,” she said brusquely, “so far as +I am concerned, I cannot raise seven hundred shillings.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose,” suggested Mr. Warrell, with his eyes still upraised, +“suppose I could find somebody who would be willing to buy your +necklace—I think that was the article you deposited with us—for a +thousand pounds?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is worth considerably more than that,” said Mrs. Cathcart sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly,” said the other, “but I am anxious to keep things out of +the paper.” +</p> + +<p> +He had launched his bombshell. +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly what do you mean?” she demanded, rising to her feet. She +stood glowering down at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Do not misunderstand me,” he said hastily. “I will explain in a +sentence. Your diamond necklace has been stolen from my safe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stolen!” +</p> + +<p> +She went white. +</p> + +<p> +“Stolen,” said Mr. Warrell, “by a gang of burglars which has been +engaged in its operations for the past twelve months in the City of +London. You see, my dear Mrs. Cathcart,” he went on, “that it is a +very embarrassing situation for both of us. I do not want my clients +to know that I accept jewels from ladies as collateral security +against differences, and you,” he was so rude as to point to emphasise +his words, “do not, I imagine, desire your friends to know that it was +necessary for you to deposit those jewels.” He shrugged his shoulders. +“Of course, I could have reported the matter to the police, sent out a +description of the necklace, and possibly recovered the loss from an +insurance company, but that I do not wish to do.” +</p> + +<p> +He might have added, this good business man, that his insurance policy +would not have covered such a loss, for when premiums are adjusted to +cover the risk of a stockbroker’s office, they do not as a rule +foreshadow the possibility of a jewel robbery. +</p> + +<p> +“I am willing to stand the loss myself,” he continued, “that is to +say, I am willing to make good a reasonable amount out of my own +pocket, as much for your sake as for mine. On the other hand, if you +do not agree to my suggestion, I have no other alternative than to +report the matter very, very fully, <i>very</i> fully,” he repeated with +emphasis, “to the police and to the press. Now, what do you think?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Cathcart might have said in truth that she did not know what to +think. +</p> + +<p> +The necklace was a valuable one, and there were other considerations. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Warrell was evidently thinking of its sentimental value, for he +went on— +</p> + +<p> +“But for the fact that jewels of this kind have associations I might +suggest that your new son-in-law would possibly replace your loss.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned upon him with a hard smile. +</p> + +<p> +“My new son-in-law!” she scoffed. “Good Lord!” +</p> + +<p> +Warrell knew Standerton, and regarded him as one of Fortune’s +favourites, and was in no doubt as to his financial stability. +</p> + +<p> +The contempt in the woman’s tone shocked him as only a City man can be +shocked by a whisper against the credit of gilt-edged stock. +</p> + +<p> +For the moment he forgot the object of his visit. +</p> + +<p> +He would have liked to have asked for an explanation, but he felt that +it did not lie within the province of Mrs. Cathcart’s broker to demand +information upon her domestic affairs. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a pretty rotten mess you have got me into, Warrell,” she said, +and got up. +</p> + +<p> +He rose with her, picked up his hat, and exhumed his buried gloves. +</p> + +<p> +“It is very awkward indeed,” he said, “tremendously awkward for you, +and tremendously awkward for me, my dear Mrs. Cathcart. I am sure you +will pity me in my embarrassment.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am too busy pitying myself,” she said shortly. +</p> + +<p> +She sat in the drawing-room alone after the broker’s departure. +</p> + +<p> +What should she do? For what Warrell did not know was that the +necklace was not hers. It had been one which the old Colonel had had +reset for his daughter, and which had been bequeathed to the girl in +her father’s will. +</p> + +<p> +A family circle which consists of a mother and a daughter exercises +communal rights over property which may appear curious to families +more extensive in point of number. Though Edith had known the jewel +was hers, she had not demurred when her mother had worn it, and had +never even hinted that she would prefer to include it amongst the +meagre stock of jewellery in her own case. +</p> + +<p> +Yet it had always been known as “Edith’s necklace.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Cathcart had referred to it herself in these terms, and an +uncomfortable feature of their estrangement had been the question of +the necklace and its retention by the broker. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Cathcart shrugged her shoulders. There was nothing to be done; +she must trust to luck. She could not imagine that Edith would ever +feel the need of the jewel; yet if her husband was poor, and she was +obsessed with this absurd sense of loyalty to the man who had deceived +her, there might be a remote possibility that from a sheer quixotic +desire to help her husband, she would make inquiries as to the +whereabouts of the necklace. +</p> + +<p> +Edith was not like that, thought Mrs. Cathcart. It was a comforting +thought as she made her way up the stairs to her room. +</p> + +<p> +She stopped half-way up to allow the maid to overtake her with the +letters which had arrived at that moment. With a little start she +recognised upon the first of these the handwriting of her daughter, +and tore open the envelope. The letter was brief:— +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="noindent"> +“Dear Mother,” it ran, +</p> + +<p> +“Would you please arrange for me to have the necklace which father +left to me. I feel now that I must make some sort of display if only +for my husband’s sake.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +The letter dropped from Mrs. Cathcart’s hand. She stood on the stairs +transfixed. +</p> + +<p class="spacer"> +* * * * +</p> + +<p> +Edith Standerton was superintending the arrangement of the lunch table +when her husband came in. Life had become curiously systematised in +the St. John’s Wood house. +</p> + +<p> +To neither of the young people had it seemed possible that they could +live together as now they did, in perfect harmony, in sympathy, yet +with apparently no sign of love or demonstration of affection on +either side. +</p> + +<p> +To liken them to brother and sister would be hardly descriptive of +their friendship. They lacked the mutual knowledge of things, and the +common interest which brother and sister would have. They wanted, too, +an appreciation of one another’s faults and virtues. +</p> + +<p> +They were strangers, and every day taught each something about the +other. Gilbert learnt that this quiet girl, whose sad grey eyes had +hinted at tragedy, had a sense of humour, could laugh on little +provocation, and was immensely shrewd in her appraisement of humanity. +</p> + +<p> +She, for her part, had found a force she had not reckoned on, a +vitality and a doggedness of purpose which she had never seen before +their marriage. He could be entertaining, too, in the rare intervals +when they were alone together. He was a traveller, had visited Persia, +Arabia, and the less known countries of Eastern Asia. +</p> + +<p> +She never referred again to the events of that terrible marriage +night. Here, perhaps, her judgment was at fault. She had seen a player +with a face of extraordinary beauty, and had given perhaps too much +attention to this minor circumstance. Somewhere in her husband’s heart +was a secret, what that secret was she could only guess. She guessed +that it was associated in some way with a woman—therein the woman in +her spoke. +</p> + +<p> +She had no feeling of resentment either towards her husband or to the +unknown who had sent a message through the trembling strings of her +violin upon that wedding night. +</p> + +<p> +Only, she told herself, it was “curious.” She wanted to know what it +was all about. She had the healthy curiosity of the young. The +revelation might shock her, might fill her with undying contempt for +the man whose name she bore, but she wanted to know. +</p> + +<p> +It piqued her too, after a while, that he should have any secrets from +her—a strange condition of mind, remembering the remarkable +relationship in which they stood, and yet one quite understandable. +</p> + +<p> +Though they had not achieved the friendly and peculiar relationship of +man and wife, there had grown up between them a friendship which the +girl told herself (and did her best to believe) was of a more enduring +character than that which marriage <i>qua</i> marriage could produce. It +was a comradeship in which much was taken for granted; she took for +granted that he loved her, and entered into the marriage with no other +object. That was a comforting basis for friendship with any woman. +</p> + +<p> +For his part, he took it for granted that she had a soul above +deception, that she was frank even though in her frankness she wounded +him almost to death. He detected in that an unusual respect for +himself, though in his more logical mood he argued she would have +acted as honourably to any man. +</p> + +<p> +She herself wove into the friendship a peculiar sexless variety of +romance—sexless since she thought she saw in it an accomplished ideal +towards which the youth of all ages have aspired without any +conspicuous success. +</p> + +<p> +There is no man or woman in the world who does not think that the +chance in a million may be his or hers; there is no human creature so +diffident that it does not imagine in its favour is created exception +to evident and universal rules. +</p> + +<p> +Plato may have stopped dead in his conduct of other friendships, his +philosophies may have frizzled hopelessly and helplessly, and have +been evaporated to thin vapour before the fire of natural love. A +thousand witnesses may rise to testify to the futility of friendship +in two people of opposite sex, but there always is the “you” and the +“me” in the world, who defies experience, and comes with sublime faith +to show how different will be the result to that which has attended +all previous experiments. +</p> + +<p> +As she told herself, if there had been the slightest spark of love in +her bosom for this young man who had come into her life with some +suddenness, and had gone out in a sense so violently, only to return +in another guise, if there had been the veriest smouldering ember of +the thing called love in her heart, she would have been jealous, just +a little jealous, of the interests which drew him away from her every +night, and often brought him home when the grey dawn was staining the +blue of the East. +</p> + +<p> +She had watched him once from her window, and had wondered vaguely +what he found to do at night. +</p> + +<p> +Was he seeking relaxation from an intolerable position? He never gave +her the impression that it was intolerable. There was comfort in that +thought. +</p> + +<p> +Was there—somebody else? +</p> + +<p> +Here was a question to make her knit her brows, this loveless wife. +</p> + +<p> +Once she found herself, to her intense amazement, on the verge of +tears at the thought. She went through all the stages of doubt and +decision, of anger and contrition, which a young wife more happily +circumstanced might have experienced. +</p> + +<p> +Who was the violin player with the beautiful face? What part had she +taken in Gilbert’s life? +</p> + +<p> +One thing she did know, her husband was gambling on the Stock +Exchange. At first she did not realise that he could be so +commonplace. She had always regarded him as a man to whom vulgar +money-grabbing would be repugnant. He had surrendered his position at +the Foreign Office; he was now engaged in some business which neither +discussed. She thought many things, but until she discovered the +contract note of a broker upon his desk, she had never suspected +success on the Stock Exchange as the goal of his ambition. +</p> + +<p> +This transaction seemed an enormous one to her. +</p> + +<p> +There were tens of thousands of shares detailed upon the note. She +knew very little about the Stock Exchange, except that there had been +mornings when her mother had been unbearable as a result of her +losses. Then it occurred to her, if he were in business—a vague term +which meant anything—she might do something more than sit at home and +direct his servants. +</p> + +<p> +She might help him also in another way. Business men have expedient +dinners, give tactful theatre parties. And many men have succeeded +because they have wives who are wise in their generation. +</p> + +<p> +It was a good thought. She held a grand review of her wardrobe, and +posted the letter which so completely destroyed her mother’s peace of +mind. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert had been out all the morning, and he came back from the City +looking rather tired. +</p> + +<p> +An exchange of smiles, a little strained and a little hard on one +side, a little wistful and a little sad on the other, had become the +conventional greeting between the two, so too had the inquiry, “Did +you sleep well?” which was the legitimate property of whosoever +thought first of this original question. +</p> + +<p> +They were in the midst of lunch when she asked suddenly— +</p> + +<p> +“Would you like me to give a dinner party?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked up with a start. +</p> + +<p> +“A dinner party!” he said incredulously, then, seeing her face drop, +and realising something of the sacrifice which she might be making, he +added, “I think it is an excellent idea. Whom would you like to +invite?” +</p> + +<p> +“Any friends you have,” she said, “that rather nice man Mr. Frankfort, +and—— Who else?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +He smiled a little grimly. +</p> + +<p> +“I think that rather nice man Mr. Frankfort about exhausts the sum of +my friends,” he said with a little laugh. “We might ask Warrell.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is Warrell? Oh, I know,” she said quickly, “he is mother’s +broker.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Your mother’s broker,” he repeated slowly, “is he really?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Why what?” he evaded. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you say that so queerly?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not know that I did,” he said carelessly, “only somehow one +doesn’t associate your mother with a broker. Yet I suppose she finds +an agent necessary in these days. You see, he is my broker too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who else?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“On my side of the family,” he said with mock solemnity, “I can think +of nobody. What about your mother?” +</p> + +<p> +“I could ask one or two nice people,” she went on, ignoring the +suggestion. +</p> + +<p> +“What about your mother?” he said again. +</p> + +<p> +She looked up, her eyes filled with tears. +</p> + +<p> +“Please do not be horrid,” she said. “You know that is impossible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” he answered cheerfully. “I made the suggestion in all +good faith; I think it is a good one. After all, there is no reason +why this absurd quarrel should go on. I admit I felt very sore with +her; but then I even felt sore with you!” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her not unkindly. +</p> + +<p> +“The soreness is gradually wearing away,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +He spoke half to himself, though he looked at the girl. It seemed to +her that he was trying to convince himself of something in which he +did not wholly believe. +</p> + +<p> +“It is extraordinary,” he said, “how little things, little worries, +and petty causes for unhappiness disappear in the face of a really +great trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is your great trouble?” she asked, quick to seize the advantage +which he had given her in that unguarded moment. +</p> + +<p> +“None,” he said. His tone was a little louder than usual, it was +almost defiant. “I am speaking hypothetically. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no trouble save the very obvious troubles of life,” he went +on. “You were a trouble to me for quite a little time, but you are not +any more.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad you said that,” she said softly. “I want to be real good +friends with you, Gilbert—I want to be a real good friend to you. I +have made rather a hash of your life, I’m afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +She had risen from the table and stood looking down at him. +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not think you have,” he said, “not the hash that you imagine. +Other circumstances have conspired to disfigure what was a pleasant +outlook. It is unfortunate that our marriage has not proved to be all +that I dreamt it would be, but then dreams are very unstable +foundations to the fabric of life. You would not think that I was a +dreamer, would you?” he said quickly with that ready smile of his, +those eyes that creased into little lines at the corners. “You would +not imagine me as a romancist, though I am afraid I was.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are, you mean,” she corrected. +</p> + +<p> +He made no reply to that. +</p> + +<p> +The question of the dinner came up later, when he was preparing to go +out. +</p> + +<p> +“You would not like to stay and talk it over, I suppose,” she +suggested a little timidly. +</p> + +<p> +He hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“There is nothing I should like better,” he said, “but”—he looked at +his watch. +</p> + +<p> +She pressed her lips together, and for one moment felt a wave of +unreasoning anger sweeping over her. It was absurd, of course, he +always went out at this time, and there was really no reason why he +should stay in. +</p> + +<p> +“We can discuss it another time,” she said coldly, and left him +without a further word. +</p> + +<p> +He waited until he heard the door close in her room above, and then he +went out with a little smile in which there were tears almost, but in +which there was no merriment. +</p> + +<p> +He left the house at a propitious moment; had he waited another five +minutes he would have met his mother-in-law. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Cathcart had made up her mind to “own up” and had come in person +to make the confession. It was a merciful providence, so she told +herself, that had taken Gilbert out of the way; that he had gone out +she discovered before she had been in the house four minutes, and she +discovered it by the very simple process of demanding from Gilbert’s +servant whether his master was at home. +</p> + +<p> +Edith heard of her mother’s arrival without surprise. She supposed +that Mrs. Cathcart had come to hand the necklace to its lawful owner. +She felt some pricking of conscience as she came down the stairs to +meet her mother; had she not been unnecessarily brusque in her demand! +She was a tender soul, and had a proper and natural affection for the +elder woman. The fear that she might have hurt her feelings, and that +that hurt might be expressed at the interview gave her a little qualm +as she opened the drawing-room door. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Cathcart was coolness itself. You might have thought that never a +scene had occurred between these two women which could be remembered +with unkindliness. No reference was made to the past, and Edith was +glad. +</p> + +<p> +It was not her desire that she should live on bad terms with her +mother. She understood her too well, which was unfortunate for both, +and it would be all the happier for them if they could maintain some +pretence of friendship. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Cathcart came straight to the point. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you know why I have called,” she said, after the first +exchange. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you have brought the necklace,” said the girl with a smile. +“You do not think I am horrid to ask for it, but I feel I ought to do +something for Gilbert.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you might have chosen another subject for your first letter,” +said the elder woman grimly, “but still——” +</p> + +<p> +Edith made no reply. It was useless to argue with her mother. Mrs. +Cathcart had a quality which is by no means rare in the total of human +possessions, the quality of putting other people in the wrong. +</p> + +<p> +“I am more sorry,” Mrs. Cathcart resumed, “because I am not in a +position to give you your necklace.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl stared at her mother in wonder. +</p> + +<p> +“Why! Whatever do you mean, mother?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Cathcart carefully avoided her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I have had losses on the Stock Exchange,” she said. “I suppose you +know that your father left us just sufficient to starve on, and +whatever luxury and whatever comfort you have had has been due to my +own individual efforts? I have lost a lot of money over Canadian +Pacifics,” she said bluntly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” asked the girl, wondering what was coming next, and fearing +the worst. +</p> + +<p> +“I made a loss of seven hundred pounds with a firm of stockbrokers,” +Mrs. Cathcart continued, “and I deposited your necklace with the firm +as security.” The girl gasped. “I intended, of course, redeeming it, +but an unfortunate thing happened—the safe was burgled and the +necklace was stolen.” +</p> + +<p> +Edith Standerton stared at the other. +</p> + +<p> +The question of the necklace did not greatly worry her, yet she +realised now that she had depended rather more upon it than she had +thought. It was a little nest-egg against a bad time, which, if +Gilbert spoke the truth, might come at any moment. +</p> + +<p> +“It cannot be helped,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +She did not criticise her mother or offer any opinion upon the +impropriety of offering as security for debt articles which are the +property of somebody else. +</p> + +<p> +Such criticism would have been wasted, and the effort would have been +entirely superfluous. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” asked Mrs. Cathcart, “what have you got to say?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl shrugged her shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“What can I say, mother? The thing is lost, and there is an end to it. +Do the firm offer any compensation?” +</p> + +<p> +She asked the question innocently: it occurred to her as a wandering +thought that possibly something might be saved from the wreck. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Cathcart shot a swift glance at her. +</p> + +<p> +Had that infernal Warrell been communicating with her? She knew that +Warrell was a friend of Edith’s husband. It would be iniquitous of him +if he had. +</p> + +<p> +“Some compensation was offered,” she answered carelessly, “quite +inadequate; the matter is not settled yet, but I will let you know how +it develops.” +</p> + +<p> +“What compensation do they offer?” asked Edith. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Cathcart hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“A thousand pounds,” she said reluctantly. +</p> + +<p> +“A thousand pounds!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl was startled, she had no idea the necklace was of that value. +</p> + +<p> +“That means, of course,” Mrs. Cathcart hastened to explain, “seven +hundred pounds out of my pocket and three hundred pounds from the +broker.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl smiled inwardly. “Seven hundred pounds from my pocket” meant, +“if you ask for the full value you will rob me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And there is three hundred pounds due. I think I had better have +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a little,” said Mrs. Cathcart, “they may recover the necklace, +anyway; they want me to give a description of it. What do you think?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not think I should like that,” she said quietly. “Questions +might be asked, and I should not like people to know either that the +necklace was mine, or that my mother had deposited it as security +against her debts.” +</p> + +<p> +Here was the new Edith with a vengeance. Mrs. Cathcart stared at her. +</p> + +<p> +“Edith,” she said severely, “that sounds a little impertinent.” +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say it does, mother,” said the girl, “but what am I to do? +What am I to say? There are the facts fairly apparent to you and to +me; the necklace is stolen, and it may possibly never be recovered, +and I am not going to expose either my loss or your weakness on the +remote possibility of getting back an article of jewellery which +probably by this time is in the melting-pot and the stones dispersed.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know a great deal about jewels and jewel-robbers,” said her +mother with a little sneer. “Has Gilbert been enlarging your +education?” +</p> + +<p> +“Curiously enough, he has,” said her daughter calmly; “we discuss many +queer things.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must have very pleasant evenings,” said the elder woman dryly. +She rose to go, looking at her watch. “I am sorry I cannot stay,” she +said, “but I am dining with some people. I suppose you would not like +to come along? It is quite an informal affair; as a matter of fact, +the invitation included you.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Gilbert?” asked the girl. +</p> + +<p> +The woman smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“No, it did not exactly include Gilbert,” she said. “I have made it +pretty clear that invitations to me are acceptable only so long as the +party does not include your husband.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl drew herself up stiffly, and the elder woman saw a storm +gathering in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not quite understand you. Do you mean that you have gone round +London talking unkindly about my husband?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I have,” said Mrs. Cathcart virtuously. “I do not know +about having gone round London, but I have told those people who are +intimate friends of mine, and who are naturally interested in my +affairs.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have no right to speak,” said the girl angrily, “it is +disgraceful of you. You have made your mistake, and you must abide by +the consequence. I also have made a mistake, and I cheerfully accept +my lot. If it hurts you that I am married to a man who despises me, +how much more do you think it hurts me?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Cathcart laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“I assure you,” she smiled, “that though many thoughts disturb my +nights, the thought that your husband has no particular love for you +is not one of them; what does wake me up with a horrid feeling is the +knowledge that so far from being the rich man I thought he was, he is +practically penniless. What madness induced him to give up his work at +the Foreign Office?” +</p> + +<p> +“You had better ask him,” said the girl with malice, “he will be in in +a few moments.” +</p> + +<p> +It needed only this to hasten Mrs. Cathcart’s departure, and Edith was +left alone. +</p> + +<p class="spacer"> +* * * * +</p> + +<p> +Edith dined alone that night. +</p> + +<p> +At first she had welcomed with a sense of infinite relief these +solitary dinners. She was a woman of considerable intelligence, and +she had faced the future without illusion. +</p> + +<p> +She realised that there might come a time when she and Gilbert would +live together in perfect harmony, though without the essential +sympathies which husband and wife should mutually possess. She was +willing to undergo the years of probation, and it made it all the +easier for her if business or pleasure kept them apart during the +embarrassing hours between dinner and bed-time. +</p> + +<p> +But to-night, for the first time, she was lonely. +</p> + +<p> +She felt the need of him, the desire for his society, the cheer and +the vitality of him. +</p> + +<p> +There were moments when he was bright and happy and flippant, as she +had known him at his best. There were other moments too, terrible and +depressing moments, when she never saw him, when he shut himself in +his study and she only caught a glimpse of his face by accident. She +went through her dinner alternately reading and thinking. +</p> + +<p> +A book lay upon the table by her side, but she did not turn one page. +The maid was clearing the entrée when Edith Standerton looked up with +a start. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“What, madam?” asked the girl. +</p> + +<p> +Outside the window Edith could hear the sound of music, a gentle, soft +cadence of sound, a tiny wail of melodious tragedy. +</p> + +<p> +She rose from the table, walked across to the window and pulled aside +the blinds. Outside a girl was playing a violin. In the light which a +street lamp afforded Edith recognised the player of the “Melody in F.” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch09"> +CHAPTER IX.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">EDITH MEETS THE PLAYER</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Edith</span> turned to her waiting maid. +</p> + +<p> +“Go out and bring the girl in at once,” she said quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“Which girl, madam?” asked the startled servant. +</p> + +<p> +“The girl who is playing,” said Edith. “Hurry please, before she +goes.” +</p> + +<p> +She was filled with sudden determination to unravel this mystery. She +might be acting disloyally to her husband, but she adjusted any fear +she may have had on the score with the thought that she might also be +helping him. The maid returned in a few minutes and ushered in a girl. +</p> + +<p> +Yes, it was the girl she had seen on her wedding night. She stood now, +framed in the doorway, watching her hostess with frank curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you come in?” said Edith. “Have you had any dinner?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you very much,” said the girl, “we do not take dinner, but I +had a very good tea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you sit down for a little while?” +</p> + +<p> +With a graceful inclination of her head the girl accepted the +invitation. +</p> + +<p> +Her voice was free from the foreign accent which Edith had expected. +She was indubitably English, and there was a refinement in her tone +which Edith had not expected to meet. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you wonder why I have sent for you?” asked Edith +Standerton. +</p> + +<p> +The girl showed two rows of white, even teeth in a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“When people send for me,” she said demurely, “it is either to pay me +for my music, or to bribe me to desist!” +</p> + +<p> +There was frank merriment in her eyes, her smile lit up the face and +changed its whole aspect. +</p> + +<p> +“I am doing both,” said Edith, “and I also want to ask you something. +Do you know my husband?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Standerton,” said the girl, and nodded. “Yes, I have seen him, +and I have played to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you remember a night in June,” asked Edith, her heart beating +faster at the memory, “when you came under this window and +played”—she hesitated—“a certain tune?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes,” she said in surprise, “of course I remember that night of +all nights.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why of all nights?” asked Edith quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you see as a rule my grandfather plays for Mr. Standerton, and +that night he was ill. He caught a bad chill on Derby Day,—we were +wet through by the storm, for we were playing at Epsom—and I had to +come here and deputise for him. I did not want to go out a bit that +night,” she confessed with a bitter laugh, “and I hate the tune; but +it was all so mysterious and so romantic.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just tell me what was ‘mysterious’ and what was ‘romantic,’ ” said +Edith. +</p> + +<p> +The coffee came in at that moment, and she poured a cup for her +visitor. +</p> + +<p> +“What is your name?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“May Wing,” said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Now tell me, May, all you know,” said Edith, as she passed the +coffee, “and please believe it is not out of curiosity that I ask +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will tell you everything,” said the girl, nodding. “I remember that +day particularly because I had been to the Academy of Music to take my +lesson—you would not think we could afford that, but granny +absolutely insists upon it. I got back home rather tired. Grandfather +was lying down on the couch. We live at Hoxton. He seemed a little +troubled. ‘May,’ he said, ‘I want you to do something for me +to-night.’ Of course, I was quite willing and happy to do it.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl stopped suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, how extraordinary,” she said, “I believe I have got proof in my +pocket of all that I say.” +</p> + +<p> +She had hanging from her waist a little bag of the same material as +her dress, and this she opened and searched inside. +</p> + +<p> +She brought out an envelope. +</p> + +<p> +“I will not show you this yet,” she said, “but I will tell you what +happened. Grandfather, as I was saying, was very troubled, and he +asked me if I would do something for him, knowing of course that I +would. +</p> + +<p> +“ ‘I have had a letter which I cannot make head or tail of,’ he said, +and he showed me this letter.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl held out the envelope. +</p> + +<p> +Edith took it and removed the card inside. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, this is my husband’s writing!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” nodded the girl. +</p> + +<p> +It bore the postmark of Doncaster, and the letter was brief. It was +addressed to the old musician, and ran:— +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“Enclosed you will find a postal order for one pound. On receipt of +this go to the house of Mr. Standerton between the hours of half-past +seven and eight o’clock and play Rubenstein’s ‘Melody in F.’ Ascertain +if he is at home, and if he is not return the next night and play the +same tune at the same hour.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +That was all. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot understand it,” said Edith, puzzled. “What does it mean?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl musician smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to know what it meant too. You see, I am as curious as +you, and think it is a failing which all women share.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you do not know why this was sent?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or what is its meaning?” +</p> + +<p> +Again the girl shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +Edith looked at the envelope and examined the postmark. +</p> + +<p> +It was dated May the twenty-fourth. +</p> + +<p> +“May the twenty-fourth,” she repeated to herself. “Just wait one +moment,” she said, and ran upstairs to her bedroom. +</p> + +<p> +Feverishly she unlocked her bureau and took out the red-covered diary +in which she had inscribed the little events of her life in Portland +Square. She turned to May the twenty-fourth. There were only two +entries. The first had to do with the arrival of a new dress but the +second was very emphatic:— +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“G. S. came at seven o’clock and stayed to dinner. Was very +absent-minded and worried apparently. He left at ten. Had a depressing +evening.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +She looked at the envelope again. +</p> + +<p> +“Doncaster, 7.30,” it said. +</p> + +<p> +So the letter had been posted a hundred and eighty miles away half an +hour after he had arrived in Portland Square. +</p> + +<p> +She went back to the dining-room bewildered, but she controlled her +agitation in the presence of the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“I must really patronise one of the arts,” she smiled. +</p> + +<p> +She took a half-sovereign from her purse and handed it to May. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, really,” protested the little musician. +</p> + +<p> +“No, take it, please. You have given me a great deal to think about. +Has Mr. Standerton ever referred to this incident since?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never,” said the girl. “I have never seen him since except once when +I was on the top of an omnibus.” +</p> + +<p> +A few minutes later the girl left. +</p> + +<p> +Here was food for imagination, sufficient to occupy her mind, thought +Edith. +</p> + +<p> +“What did it mean?” she asked, “what mystery was behind all this?” +</p> + +<p> +Now that she recalled the circumstances, she remembered that Gilbert +had been terribly distrait that night; he was nervous, she had noticed +his hand shaking, and had remarked to her mother upon his +extraordinary absent-mindedness. +</p> + +<p> +And if he had expected the musician to call, and if he himself had +specified what tune should be played, why had its playing produced so +terrible an effect upon him? He was no <i>poseur</i>. +</p> + +<p> +There was nothing theatrical in his temperament. +</p> + +<p> +He was a musician, and loved music as he loved nothing else in the +world save her! +</p> + +<p> +She thought of that reservation with some tenderness. +</p> + +<p> +He had loved her then, whatever might be his feelings now, and the +love of a strong man does not easily evaporate, nor is it destroyed at +a word. +</p> + +<p> +Since their marriage his piano had not been opened. He had been a +subscriber to almost every musical event in London, yet he had not +attended a single concert, not once visited the opera. +</p> + +<p> +With the playing of the “Melody in F” it seemed to her there had ended +one precious period of his life. +</p> + +<p> +She had suggested once that they should go to a concert which all +musical London was attending. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you would like to go,” he had suggested briefly. “I am afraid +I shall be rather busy that night.” This, after he had told her not +once, but a score of times that music expressed to him every message +and every emotion in language clearer than the printed word. +</p> + +<p> +What did it mean? She was seized with a sudden energy, a sudden desire +for knowledge—she wanted to share a greater portion of his life. What +connection had this melody with the sudden change that had come to +him? What association had it with the adoption of this strenuous life +of his lately? What had it to do with his resignation from the Foreign +Office and from his clubs? +</p> + +<p> +She was certain there must be some connection, and she was determined +to discover what. +</p> + +<p> +As she was in the dark she could not help him. She knew instinctively +that to ask him would be of little use. He was of the type who +preferred to play a lone hand. +</p> + +<p> +She was his wife, she owed him something. She had brought unhappiness +into his life, and she could do no less than strive to help him. She +would want money. +</p> + +<p> +She sat down and wrote a little note to her mother. She would take the +three hundred pounds which were due from the broker; she even went so +far as to hint that if this matter were not promptly settled by her +parent she herself would see Mr. Warrell and conclude negotiations. +</p> + +<p> +She had read in the morning paper the advertisement of a private +detective agency, and for a while she was inclined to engage a man. +But what special qualifications did private detectives have that she +herself did not possess? It required no special training to use one’s +brains and to exercise one’s logical faculties. +</p> + +<p> +She had found a mission in life—the solution of this mystery which +surrounded her husband like a cloud. She found herself feeling +cheerful at the prospect of the work to which she had set her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“You should find yourself an occupation,” Gilbert had said in his +hesitating fashion. +</p> + +<p> +She smiled, and wondered exactly what he would think if he knew the +occupation she had found. +</p> + +<p class="spacer"> +* * * * +</p> + +<p> +The little house in Hoxton which sheltered May and her grandfather was +in a respectable little street in the main inhabited by the members of +the artisan class. Small and humble as the dwelling was it was +furnished in perfect taste. The furniture was old in the more valuable +and more attractive sense of the word. +</p> + +<p> +Old man Wing propped up in his arm-chair sat by a small fire in the +room which served as kitchen and dining-room. May was busy with her +sewing. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” said the old man in his gentle voice. “I do not think you +had better go out again to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not, grandpa?” asked the girl without looking up from her work. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it is probably selfishness on my part,” he said, “but somehow I +do not want to be left alone. I am expecting a visitor.” +</p> + +<p> +“A visitor!” +</p> + +<p> +Visitors were unusual at No. 9 Pexton Street, Hoxton. The only visitor +they knew was the rent man who called with monotonous regularity every +Monday morning. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said her grandfather hesitatingly, “I think you remember the +gentleman; you saw him some time ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not Mr. Standerton?” +</p> + +<p> +The old man shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No, not Mr. Standerton,” he said, “but you will recall how at Epsom a +rather nice man helped you out of a crowd after a race?” +</p> + +<p> +“I remember,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“His name is Wallis,” said the old man, “and I met him by accident +to-day when I was shopping.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wallis,” she repeated. +</p> + +<p> +Old Wing was silent for a while, then he asked— +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think, my dear, we could take a lodger?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” protested the girl. “Please not!” +</p> + +<p> +“I find the rent rather heavy,” said her grandfather, shaking his +head, “and this Mr. Wallis is a quiet sort of person and not likely to +give us any trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +Still the girl was not satisfied. +</p> + +<p> +“I would rather we didn’t,” she said. “I am quite sure we can earn +enough to keep the house going without that kind of assistance. +Lodgers are nuisances. I do not suppose Mrs. Gamage would like it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Gamage was the faded neighbour who came in every morning to help +straighten the house. +</p> + +<p> +The girl saw the old man’s face fall and went round to him, putting +her arm around his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Do not bother, grandpa dear,” she said, “if you want a lodger you +shall have one. I think it would be rather nice to have somebody in +the house who could talk to you when I am out.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a knock at the door. +</p> + +<p> +“That must be our visitor,” she said, and went to open it. She +recognised the man who stood in the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +“May I come in?” he asked. “I wanted to see your grandfather on a +matter of business. I suppose you are Miss Wing.” +</p> + +<p> +She nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in,” she said, and led the way to the kitchen. +</p> + +<p> +“I will not keep you very long,” said Mr. Wallis. “No, thank you, I +will stand while I am here. I want to find a quiet lodging for a +friend of mine. At least,” he went on, “he is a man in whom I am +rather interested, a very quiet sobersides individual who will be out +most of the day, and possibly out most of the night too.” He smiled. +“He is a——” He hesitated. “He is a taxi-cab driver, to be exact,” he +said, “though he does not want this fact to be well known because he +has seen—er—better days.” +</p> + +<p> +“We have only a very small room we can give your friend,” said May, +“perhaps you would like to see it.” +</p> + +<p> +She took him up to the spare bedroom which they had used on very rare +occasions for the accommodation of the few visitors who had been their +guests. The room was neat and clean, and George Wallis nodded +approvingly. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like nothing better than this for myself,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +He himself suggested a higher price than she asked, and insisted upon +paying a month in advance. +</p> + +<p> +“I have told the man to call, he ought to be here by now; if you do +not mind, I will wait for him.” +</p> + +<p> +It was not a long wait, for in a few minutes there arrived the new +lodger. He was a burly man with a heavy black beard, clipped short, +and the fact that he was somewhat taciturn and short of speech rather +enhanced his value as a lodger than otherwise. +</p> + +<p> +Wallis took farewell of the old man and his grand-daughter, and +accompanied by the man, whose name was given somewhat unpromisingly as +Smith, he walked to the end of the street. +</p> + +<p> +He had something to say, and that something was important. +</p> + +<p> +“I have got you this place, Smithy,” he said, as they walked slowly +towards Hoxton High Street, “because it is quiet and fairly safe. The +people are respected, and nobody will bother you.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are not likely to worry me in any way, are they?” said the man +addressed as Smith. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at present,” replied the other, “but I do not know exactly how +things are going to develop. I am worried.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are you worried about?” +</p> + +<p> +George Wallis laughed a little helplessly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you ask such stupid questions?” he said with good-natured +irritation. “Don’t you realise what has happened? Somebody knows our +game.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, why not drop it?” asked the other quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“How can we drop it? My dear good chap, though in twelve months we +have accumulated a store of movable property sufficiently valuable to +enable us all to retire upon, there is not one of us who is willing at +this moment to cut out—it would take us twelve months to get rid of +the loot,” he said thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not exactly know where it is,” said Smith with a little smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody knows that but me,” replied Wallis with a little frown, “that +is the worrying part of it. I feel the whole responsibility upon me. +Smithy, we are being really watched.” +</p> + +<p> +The other smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“That isn’t unusual,” he said. But Wallis was very serious. +</p> + +<p> +“Whom do you suspect?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +The other did not answer for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not suspect, I know,” he said. “A few months ago, when Calli and +I were doing a job in Hatton Garden we were interrupted by the arrival +of a mysterious gentleman, who watched me open the safe and +disappeared immediately afterwards. At that time he did not seem to be +particularly hostile or have any ulterior motive in view. Now, for +some reason which is best known to himself, he is working against us. +That is the man we have got to find.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how?” +</p> + +<p> +“Put an advertisement in the paper,” said the other sarcastically: +“Will the gentleman who dogs Mr. Wallis kindly reveal his identity, +and no further action will be taken.” +</p> + +<p> +“But seriously!” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +“We have got to discover who he is, there must be some way of trapping +him; but the only thing to do, and I must do it for my own protection, +is to get you all together and share out. We had better meet.” +</p> + +<p> +Smith nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“When?” +</p> + +<p> +“To-night,” said Wallis. “Meet me at the.…” +</p> + +<p> +He mentioned the name of a restaurant near Regent Street. +</p> + +<p> +It was, curiously enough, the very restaurant where Gilbert Standerton +invariably dined alone. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch10"> +CHAPTER X.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE NECKLACE</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Mrs. Cathcart</span> was considerably surprised to receive an invitation to +the dinner. She had that morning sent her daughter a cheque for three +hundred pounds which she had received from her broker, but as their +letters had crossed, one event had no connection with the other. +</p> + +<p> +She did not immediately decide to accept the invitation, she was not +sure as to the terms on which she desired to remain with her new +son-in-law. +</p> + +<p> +She was, however (whatever might be her faults), a good strategist, +and there was nothing to be gained by declining the invitation, and +there might be some advantage in accepting. +</p> + +<p> +She was surprised to meet Mr. Warrell, surprised and a little +embarrassed; but now that her daughter knew everything there was no +reason in the world why she should feel uncomfortable. +</p> + +<p> +She took him in charge, as was her wont, from the moment she met him +in the little drawing-room at the St. John’s Wood house. +</p> + +<p> +It was a pleasant dinner. Gilbert made a perfect host, he seemed to +have revived within himself something of the old gay spirit. Warrell, +remembering all that Mrs. Cathcart had told him, was on the <i>qui vive</i> +to discover some evidence of dissension between husband and wife, the +more anxious, perhaps, since he was before everything a professional +man, to find justification for Mrs. Cathcart’s suggestion, that all +was not going well with Gilbert. +</p> + +<p> +Leslie Frankfort, a member of the party, had been questioned by his +partner without the elder man eliciting any information which might +help to dispel the doubt that was in Warrell’s mind. +</p> + +<p> +Leslie Frankfort, that cheerful youth, was as much in the dark as his +partner. It gave him some satisfaction to discover that at any rate +there was no immediate prospect of ruin in his friend’s <i>ménage</i>. +</p> + +<p> +The dinner was perfect, the food rare and chosen by an epicure, which +indeed it was, as Gilbert had assisted his wife to prepare the menu. +</p> + +<p> +The talk drifted idly, as talk does, at such a dinner party, around +the topics which men and women were discussing at a thousand other +dinner tables in England, and in the natural course of events it +turned upon the startling series of burglaries that had been committed +recently in London. That the talk should take this drift was more +natural, perhaps, because Mrs. Cathcart had very boldly introduced the +subject with reference to the burglary at Warrell’s. +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed,” said Mr. Warrell, shaking his head, “I regret to say we +have no clue. The police have the matter in hand, but I’m afraid we +shall never find the man, or men, who perpetrated the crime.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t suppose they would be of much service to you if you found +them,” said Gilbert quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” demurred the other. “We might possibly get the jewels +back.” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert Standerton laughed, but stopped in the middle of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Jewels?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you remember, Gilbert?” Leslie broke in. “I told you that we +had a necklace in the safe, the property of a client, one of those +gambling ladies who patronise us.” +</p> + +<p> +A warning glance from his partner arrested him. The gambling lady +herself was rather red, and shot a malevolent glance at the indiscreet +young man. +</p> + +<p> +“The necklace was mine,” she said acidly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Leslie, and found the conversation of no great interest to +him. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert did not smile at his friend’s embarrassment. +</p> + +<p> +“A necklace,” he repeated, “how curious—yours?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mine,” repeated Mrs. Cathcart. “I placed it with Warrell’s for +security. Precious fine security it proved,” she added. +</p> + +<p> +Warrell was all apologies. He was embarrassed for more reasons than +one. He was very annoyed indeed with the indiscreet youth who owed his +preponderant interest in the firm the more by reason of his dead +father’s shares in the business than to any extent to his intelligence +or his usefulness. +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly what kind of necklace was it?” continued Gilbert. “I did not +see a description.” +</p> + +<p> +“No description was given,” said Mr. Warrell, coming to the relief of +his client, whom he knew from infallible signs was fast losing her +temper. +</p> + +<p> +“We wished to keep the matter quiet, so that it should not get into +the papers.” +</p> + +<p> +Edith tactfully turned the conversation, and in a few minutes they +were deep in the discussion of a question which has never failed to +excite great interest—the abstract problem of the church. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Cathcart, it may be remarked in passing, was a churchwoman of +some standing, a leader amongst a certain set, and an extreme +ritualist. Add to this element the broad Nonconformity of Mr. Warrell, +the frank scepticism of Leslie, and there were all the ingredients for +an argument, which in less refined circles might develop to a +sanguinary conclusion. +</p> + +<p> +Edith at least was relieved, however drastic the remedy might be, and +was quite prepared to disestablish the Church of Wales, or if +necessary the Church of England, rather than see the folly of her +mother exposed. +</p> + +<p> +Despite argument, dogmatism of Mrs. Cathcart, philippic of Leslie, and +the good-natured tolerance of Mr. Warrell, this latter a most trying +attitude to combat, the dinner ended pleasantly, and they adjourned to +the little drawing-room upstairs. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid I shall have to leave you,” said Gilbert. +</p> + +<p> +It was nearly ten o’clock, and he had already warned his wife of an +engagement he had made for a later hour. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe old Gilbert is a journalist in these days,” said Leslie. “I +saw you the other night in Fleet Street, didn’t I?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Gilbert shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“Then it must have been your double,” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +Edith had not followed the party upstairs. Just before dinner Gilbert +had asked her, with some hesitation, to make him up a packet of +sandwiches. +</p> + +<p> +“I may be out the greater part of the night,” he said. “A man wants me +to motor down to Brighton to meet somebody.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you be out all night?” she had asked, a little alarmed. +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I shall be back by four,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She might have thought it was an unusual hour to meet people, but she +made no comment. +</p> + +<p> +As her little party had gone upstairs she had remembered the +sandwiches, and went down into the kitchen to see if cook had cut and +laid them ready. +</p> + +<p> +She wrapped them up for him and packed them into a little flat +sandwich case she had, and then made her way back to the hall. +</p> + +<p> +His coat was hanging on a rack, and she had to slip them into the +pocket. There was a newspaper in the way; she pulled it out, and there +was something else, something loose and uneven. +</p> + +<p> +She smiled at his untidiness, and put in her hand to remove the +debris. +</p> + +<p> +Her face changed. +</p> + +<p> +What was it? +</p> + +<p> +Her fingers closed round the object in the bottom of the pocket, and +she drew it out. +</p> + +<p> +There in the palm of her hand, clearly revealed by the electric lamp +above her head, shone her diamond necklace! +</p> + +<p> +For a moment the little hall swayed, but she steadied herself with an +effort. +</p> + +<p> +Her necklace! +</p> + +<p> +There was no doubt—she turned it over with trembling fingers. +</p> + +<p> +How had he got it? Where did it come from? +</p> + +<p> +A thought had struck her, but it was too horrible for her to give it +expression. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert a burglar! It was absurd. She tried to smile, but failed. +Almost every night he had been out, every night in the week in which +this burglary had been committed. +</p> + +<p> +She heard a footstep on the stairs, and thrust the necklace into the +bosom of her dress. +</p> + +<p> +It was Gilbert. He did not notice her face, then— +</p> + +<p> +“Gilbert,” she said, and something in her voice warned him. +</p> + +<p> +He turned, peering down at her. +</p> + +<p> +“What is wrong?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you come into the dining-room for a moment?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Her voice sounded far away to her. +</p> + +<p> +She felt it was not she who was speaking, but some third person. +</p> + +<p> +He opened the door of the dining-room and walked in. The table was +spread with the debris of the dinner which had just been concluded. +The rosy glow of the overhead lamp fell upon a pretty chaos of flowers +and silver and glass. +</p> + +<p> +He closed the door behind him. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“This,” she replied quietly, and drew the necklace from her dress. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at it. Not a muscle of his face moved. +</p> + +<p> +“That?” he said. “Well, what is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“My necklace!” +</p> + +<p> +“Your necklace,” he repeated dully. “Is that the necklace that your +mother lost?” +</p> + +<p> +She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“How very curious.” +</p> + +<p> +He reached out his hand and took it from her and examined the diamond +pendant. +</p> + +<p> +“And that is your necklace,” he said. “Well, that is a remarkable +coincidence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you get it?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +He did not make any reply. He was looking at her with a stony stare in +which there was neither expression nor encouragement for speculation. +</p> + +<p> +“Where did I get it?” he repeated calmly. “Who told you that I’d got +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I found it in your pocket,” she said breathlessly. “Oh, Gilbert, +there is no use denying that you had it there or you knew it was +there. Where did you get it?” +</p> + +<p> +Another pause, then came the answer— +</p> + +<p> +“I found it.” +</p> + +<p> +It was lame and unconvincing, and he knew it. +</p> + +<p> +She repeated the question. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not prepared to tell you,” he said calmly. “You think I stole +it, I suppose? You probably imagine that I am a burglar?” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled, but the lips that curved in laughter were hard. +</p> + +<p> +“I can see that in your eyes,” he went on. “You explain my absence +from home, my retirement from the Foreign Office, by the fact that I +have taken up a more lucrative profession.” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed aloud. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I have,” he said. “It is not exactly burglary. I assure you,” +he went on with mock solemnity, “that I have never burgled a safe in +my life. I give you my word of honour that I have never stolen a +single article of any——” He stopped himself—he might say too much. +</p> + +<p> +But Edith grasped at the straw he offered her. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you do mean that, don’t you?” she said eagerly, and laid her two +hands on his breast. “You really mean it? I know it is stupid of me, +foolish and horribly disloyal—common of me, anything you like, to +suspect you of so awful a thing, but it did seem—it did, didn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It did,” he agreed gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you tell me how it came into your possession?” she pleaded. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you I found it—that is true. I had no intention——” He +stopped again. “It was—I picked it up in the road, in a country +lane.” +</p> + +<p> +“But weren’t you awfully surprised to find it, and didn’t you tell the +police?” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said, “I was not surprised, and I did not tell the police. I +intended restoring it, because, after all, jewels are of no value to +me, are they?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand you, Gilbert.” She shook her head, a little +bewildered. “Nothing is of any use except what belongs to you, is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“That depends,” he said calmly. “But in this particular case I assure +you that I brought this home to-night with the intention of putting it +into a small box and addressing it to the Chief Commissioner of +Police. You may believe that or not. That is why I thought it so +extraordinary when you were talking at dinner that your mother should +have lost a necklace, and that I should have found one.” +</p> + +<p> +They stood looking at one another, he weighing the necklace on the +palm of his hand, tossing it up and down mechanically. +</p> + +<p> +“What are we going to do with it now?” she asked. She was in a +quandary. “I hardly know how to advise.” She hesitated. “Suppose you +carry out your present intention and send it to the police. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” she remembered with a little move of dismay, “I have practically +stolen three hundred pounds.” +</p> + +<p> +“Three hundred pounds!” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at the jewel. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s worth more than three hundred pounds.” +</p> + +<p> +In a few words she explained how the jewel came to be lost, and how it +came to be deposited in the hands of Warrell’s. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad to hear that your mother is the culprit. I was afraid you’d +been gambling.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would that worry you?” she asked quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“A little,” he said; “it’s enough for one member of a family to +gamble.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you gamble very much, Gilbert?” she asked seriously. +</p> + +<p> +“A little,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a little,” she corrected. “Stock Exchange business is gambling.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am trying to make money for you,” he said brusquely. +</p> + +<p> +It was the most brutal thing he had said to her in her short period of +married life, and he saw he had hurt her. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry,” he said gently. “I know I am a brute, but I did not mean +to hurt you. I was just protesting in my heart against the unfairness +of things. Will you take this, or shall I?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will take it,” she said. “But won’t you tell the police where you +found it? Possibly they might find the proceeds of other robberies +near by.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think not,” he replied with a little smile. “I have no desire to +incur the anger of this particular gang. I am satisfied in my mind +that it is one of the most powerful and one of the most unscrupulous +in existence. It is nearly half-past ten,” he said; “I must fly.” +</p> + +<p> +He held out his hand, and she took it. She held it for a moment longer +than was her wont. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye,” she said. “Good luck, whatever your business may be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She went slowly back to her guests. It did not make the position any +easier to understand. She believed her husband, and yet there was a +certain reservation in what he had told her, a reservation which said +as plainly as his guarded words could tell that there was much more he +could have said had he been inclined. +</p> + +<p> +She did not doubt his word when he told her that he had never stolen +from—from whom was he going to say? She was more determined than ever +to solve this mystery, and after her guests had gone she was busily +engaged in writing letters. She was hardly in bed that night before +she heard his foot on the stairs and listened. +</p> + +<p> +He knocked at her door as he passed. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night,” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +She heard his door close gently, and she waited for half an hour until +she heard the click of his electric switch which told her that he was +in bed, and that his light was extinguished. +</p> + +<p> +Then she stole softly out of bed, wrapped her dressing gown round her, +and went softly down the stairs. Perhaps his coat was hanging in the +hall. +</p> + +<p> +It was a wild, fantastic idea of hers that he might possibly have +brought some further evidence that would help her in her search for +the truth, but the pockets were empty. +</p> + +<p> +She felt something wet upon the sleeve, and gathered that it was +raining. She went back to her room, closed the door noiselessly, and +went to the window to look out into the street. It was a fine morning, +and the streets were dry. She saw her hands. They were smeared with +blood! +</p> + +<p> +She ran down the stairs again and turned on the light in the hall. +</p> + +<p> +Yes, there it was on his sleeve. There were little drops of blood on +the stair carpet. She could trace him all the way up the stairs by +this. She went straight to his room and knocked. +</p> + +<p> +He answered instantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is I. I want to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am rather tired,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Please let me in. I want to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +She tried the door, but it was locked. Then she heard the bed creak as +he moved. An instant later the bolt was slipped, and the light shone +through the fanlight over the door. +</p> + +<p> +He was almost fully dressed, she observed. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter with your arm?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +It was carefully bandaged. +</p> + +<p> +“I hurt it. It is nothing very much.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you hurt it?” she asked impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +She was nearing the end of her resources. She wanted him to say that +it had happened in a taxi-cab smash or one of the street accidents to +which city dwellers are liable, but he did not explain. +</p> + +<p> +She asked to see the wound. He was unwilling, but she insisted. At +last he unwrapped the bandage, and showed an ugly little gash on the +forearm. It was too rough to be the clean-cut wound of a knife or of +broken glass. +</p> + +<p> +There was a second wound about the size of a sixpence near the elbow. +</p> + +<p> +“That looks like a bullet wound,” she said, and pointed. “It has +glanced along your arm, and has caught you again near the elbow.” +</p> + +<p> +He did not speak. +</p> + +<p> +She procured warm water from the bathroom and bathed it, found a cool +emollient in her room and dressed it as well as she could. +</p> + +<p> +She did not again refer to the circumstances under which the injury +had been sustained. This was not the time nor the place to discuss +that. +</p> + +<p> +“There is an excellent nurse spoilt in you,” he said when she had +finished. +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid there is an excellent man spoilt in you,” she answered in +a low voice, “and I am rather inclined to think that I have done the +spoiling.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please get that out of your head altogether,” he said almost roughly. +“A man is what he makes himself: you know the tag—the evil you do by +two and two you answer for one by one; and even if you had any part in +the influencing of my life for evil, I am firstly and lastly +responsible.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not so sure of that,” said she. +</p> + +<p> +She had made him a little sling in which to rest his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“You married me because you loved me, because you gave to me all that +a right-thinking woman would hold precious and sacred and because you +expected me to give something in return. I have given you nothing. I +humiliated you at the very outset by telling you why I had married +you. You have the dubious satisfaction of knowing that I bear your +name. You have, perhaps, half a suspicion that you live with one who +is everlastingly critical of your actions and your intentions. Have I +no responsibilities?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a long silence, then she said— +</p> + +<p> +“Whatever you wish me to do I will always do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you to be happy, that is all,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +His voice was of the same hard, metallic tone which she had noted +before. +</p> + +<p> +She flushed a little. It had been an effort for her to say what she +had, and he had rebuffed her. He was within his rights, she thought. +</p> + +<p> +She left him, and did not see him till the morning, when they met at +breakfast. They exchanged a few words of greeting, and both turned +their attention to their newspapers. Edith read hers in silence, read +the one column which meant so much to her from end to end twice, then +she laid the paper down. +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” she said, “that our burglars rifled the Bank of the Northern +Provinces last night.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I read,” he said, without raising his eyes from his paper. +</p> + +<p> +“And that one of them was shot by the armed guard of the bank.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve also seen that,” said her husband. +</p> + +<p> +“Shot,” she repeated, and looked at his bandaged arm. +</p> + +<p> +He nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“I think my paper is a later edition than yours,” he said gently. “The +man that was shot was killed. They found his body in a taxi-cab. His +name is not given, but I happen to know that it was a very pleasant +florid gentleman named Persh. Poor fellow,” he mused, “it was poetic +justice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“He did this,” said Gilbert Standerton, and pointed to his arm with a +grim smile. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch11"> +CHAPTER XI.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE FOURTH MAN</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">On</span> the night of Gilbert Standerton’s little dinner party the +black-bearded taxi driver, who had called at the house off Charing +Cross Road for instructions, came to the door of No. 43, and was duly +observed by the detective on duty. He went into the house, was absent +five minutes, and came out again, driving off without a fare. +</p> + +<p> +Ten minutes later, at a signal from the detective, the house was +visited by three C.I.D. men from Scotland Yard, and the mystery of the +taxi-cab driver was cleared up for ever. +</p> + +<p> +For, instead of George Wallis, they discovered sitting at his ease in +the drawing-room upstairs, and reading a novel with evident relish, +that same black-bearded chauffeur. +</p> + +<p> +“It is very simple,” said Inspector Goldberg, “the driver comes up and +George Wallis is waiting inside made up exactly like him. The moment +he enters the door and closes it Wallis opens it, and steps out on to +the car and drives off. You people watching thought it was the same +driver returned.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at his prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what are you going to do?” asked the bearded man. +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid there is nothing we can do with you,” said Goldberg +regretfully. “Have you got a licence?” +</p> + +<p> +“You bet your life I have,” said the driver cheerfully, and produced +it. +</p> + +<p> +“I can take you for consorting with criminals.” +</p> + +<p> +“A difficult charge to prove,” said the bearded one, “more difficult +to get a conviction on, and possibly it would absolutely spoil your +chance of bagging George in the end.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is true,” said Goldberg; “anyway, I’m going to look for your +taxi-cab. I can at least pull George in for driving without a +licence.” +</p> + +<p> +The man shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry to disappoint you,” he said with mock regret, “but George +has a licence too.” +</p> + +<p> +“The devil he has,” said the baffled inspector. +</p> + +<p> +“Funny, isn’t it,” said the bearded man. “George is awfully thorough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come now, Smith,” said the detective genially, “what is the game? How +deep in this are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“In what?” asked the puzzled man. +</p> + +<p> +Goldberg gave him up for a bad job. He knew that Wallis had chosen his +associates with considerable care. +</p> + +<p> +“Anyway, I will go after George,” he said. “You are probably putting +up a little bluff on me about the licence. Once I get him inside the +jug there are lots of little things I might be able to discover.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do,” said the driver earnestly. “You will find him standing on the +Haymarket rank at about half-past ten to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know,” said the detective sardonically. +</p> + +<p> +He had no charge and no warrant, save the search warrant which gave +him the right of entry. +</p> + +<p> +Smith, the driver, was sent about his business, and a detective put on +to shadow him. +</p> + +<p> +With what success this shadowing was done may be gathered from the +fact that at half-past ten that night Inspector Goldberg discovered +the cab he was seeking, and to his amazement found it in the very +place where Smith had told him to expect it. And there the bearded +driver was sitting with all the aplomb of one who was nearing the end +of a virtuous and well-rewarded day. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, George,” said the inspector jocularly, “come down off that perch +and let me have a look at your licence; if it is not made out in your +name I am going to pull you.” +</p> + +<p> +The man did not descend, but he put his hand in his pocket and +produced a little leather wallet. +</p> + +<p> +The inspector opened it and read. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” he said exultantly, “as I thought, this is made out in the name +of Smith.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am Smith,” said the driver calmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Get down,” said the inspector. +</p> + +<p> +The man obeyed. There was no question as to his identity. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” he explained, “when you put your flat-footed splits on to +follow me I had no intention of bothering George. He is big enough to +look after himself, and, by the way, his licence is made out in his +own name, so you need not trouble about that. +</p> + +<p> +“But as soon as I saw you did not trust me,” he said reproachfully, +“why, I sort of got on my metal. I slipped your busy fellow in Oxford +Street, and came on and took my cab from the desperate criminal you +are chasing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is he now?” asked Goldberg. +</p> + +<p> +“In his flat, and in bed I trust at this hour,” said the bearded man +virtuously. +</p> + +<p> +With this the inspector had to be content. To make absolutely sure, he +went back to the house off Charing Cross Road, and found, as he +feared, Mr. George Wallis, if not in bed, at least in his +dressing-gown, and the end of his silk pyjamas flapped over his great +woollen slippers. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear good chap,” he expostulated wearily, “am I never to be left +in quiet? Must the unfortunate record which I bear still pursue me, +penitent as I am, and striving, as I may be, to lead that unoffending +life which the State demands of its citizens?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not make a song about it, George,” grumbled Goldberg. “You have +kept me busy all the night looking after you. Where have you been?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have been to a picture palace,” said the calm man, “observing with +sympathetic interest the struggles of a poor but honest bank clerk to +secure the daughter of his rich and evil boss. I have been watching +cow-boys shooting off their revolvers and sheriffs galloping madly +across plains. I have, in fact, run through the whole gamut of +emotions which the healthy picture palace excites.” +</p> + +<p> +“You talk too much,” said the inspector. +</p> + +<p> +He did not waste any further time, and left Mr. Wallis stifling a +sleepy yawn; but the door had hardly closed behind the detective when +Wallis’s dressing-gown was thrown aside, his pyjamas and woollen +slippers discarded, and in a few seconds the man was fully dressed. +From the front window he saw the little knot of detectives discussing +the matter, and watched them as they moved slowly to the end of the +street. There would be a further discussion there, and then one of +them would come back to his vigil; but before they had reached the end +of the street he was out of the house and walking rapidly in the +opposite direction to that which they had taken. +</p> + +<p> +He had left a light burning to encourage the watcher. He must take his +chance about getting back again without being observed. He made his +way quickly in the direction of the tube station, and a quarter of an +hour later, by judicious transfers, he was in the vicinity of +Hampstead. He walked down the hill towards Belsize Park and picked up +a taxi-cab. He had stopped at the station to telephone, and had made +three distinct calls. +</p> + +<p> +Soon after eleven he was met at Chalk Farm Station by his two +confederates. Thereafter all trace was lost of them. So far, in a +vague and unsatisfactory way, Inspector Goldberg had kept a record of +Wallis’s movements that night. +</p> + +<p> +He had to guess much, and to take something on trust, for the quarry +had very cleverly covered his tracks. +</p> + +<p> +At midnight the guard in the Bank of the Northern Provinces was making +his round, and was ascending the stone steps which led from the vault +below, when three men sprang at him, gagged him and bound him with +incredible swiftness. They did not make any attempt to injure him, but +with scientific thoroughness they placed him in such a position that +he was quite incapable of offering resistance or of summoning +assistance to his aid. They locked him in a small room usually +occupied by the assistant bank manager, and proceeded to their work +downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +“This is going to be a stiff job,” said Wallis, and he put his +electric lamp over the steel grating which led to the entrance to the +strong room. +</p> + +<p> +Persh, the stout man who was with him, nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“The grating is nothing,” he said, “I can get this open.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look for the bells, Callidino,” said Wallis. +</p> + +<p> +The little Italian was an expert in the matter of alarms, and he +examined the door scientifically. +</p> + +<p> +“There is nothing here,” he said definitely. +</p> + +<p> +Persh, who was the best lock man in the world, set to work, and in a +quarter of an hour the gate swung open. Beyond this, at the end of the +passage, was a plain green door, offering no purchase whatever to any +of the instruments they had brought. Moreover, the lock was a +remarkable one, since it was not in the surface of the door itself, +but in a small steel cabinet in the room overhead. But the blow-pipe +was got to work expeditiously. Wallis had the plan of the door +carefully drawn to scale, and he knew exactly where the vital spot in +the massive steel covering was to be found. For an hour and a half +they worked, then Persh stopped suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“What was that?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Without another word the three men raced back along the passage, up +the stairs to the big office on the ground floor, Persh leading. +</p> + +<p> +As he made his appearance from the stairway a shot rang out, and he +staggered. He thought he saw a figure moving in the shadow of the +wall, and fired at it. +</p> + +<p> +“You fool!” said Wallis, “you will have the whole place surrounded.” +</p> + +<p> +Again a shot was fired, and this time there was no doubt as to who was +the assailant. Wallis threw the powerful gleam of his lamp in the +direction of the office. With one hand free and the other holding a +revolver, there crouched near the door the guard they had left secure. +Wallis doused his light as the man fired again. +</p> + +<p> +“Out of this, quick!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +Through the back way they sped, up the little ladder then through the +skylight where they had entered, across the narrow ledge, and through +the hosier’s establishment which had been the means of entrance. Persh +was mortally wounded, though he made the supreme and final effort of +his life. They saw people running in the direction of the Bank, and +heard a police whistle blow; but they came out of the hosier’s shop +together, quietly and without fuss, three respectable gentlemen, one +apparently a little the worse for drink. +</p> + +<p> +Wallis hailed a taxi-cab, and gave elaborate directions. He made no +attempt to hurry whilst Callidino assisted the big man into the +vehicle, then they drove off leisurely. As the cab moved Persh +collapsed into one corner. +</p> + +<p> +“Were you hit?” asked Wallis anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“I am done for, George, I think,” whispered the man. +</p> + +<p> +George made a careful examination with his lamp and gasped. He was +leaning his head out of the window. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you doing?” asked Persh weakly. +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to take you to the hospital,” said Wallis. +</p> + +<p> +“You will do nothing of the kind,” said the other hoarsely. “For God’s +sake do not jeopardise the whole crowd for me. I tell you I am +finished. I can——” +</p> + +<p> +He said no other word, every muscle in his frame seemed at that moment +to relax, and he slid in a loose heap to the floor. +</p> + +<p> +They lifted him up. +</p> + +<p> +“My God!” said Wallis, “he is dead.” +</p> + +<p> +And dead, indeed, was Persh, that amiable and florid man. +</p> + +<p class="spacer"> +* * * * +</p> + +<p> +“The burglary at the Northern Provinces Bank continues to excite a +great deal of comment in city circles,” wrote the representative of +the <i>Daily Monitor</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“The police have made a number of interesting discoveries. There can +be no doubt whatever that the miscreants escaped by way of” (here +followed a fairly accurate description of the method of departure). +“What interests the police, however, is the evidence they are able to +secure as to the presence of another man in the bank who is as yet +unaccounted for. The fourth man seems to have taken no part in the +robbery, and to have been present without the knowledge or without the +goodwill of the burglars. The bank guard who was interviewed this +morning by our representative, was naturally reticent in the interest +of his employers, but he confirmed the rumour that the fourth man, +whoever he was, was not antagonistic so far as he (the guard) was +concerned. It now transpires that the guard had been hastily bound and +gagged by the burglars, who probably, without any intention, had left +their victim in some serious danger, as the gag had been fixed in such +a manner that the unfortunate man nearly died. +</p> + +<p> +“Then when he was almost <i>in extremis</i> there had appeared on the scene +the fourth individual, who had loosened the gag, and made him more +comfortable. It was obvious that he was not a member of the original +burglar gang. +</p> + +<p> +“The theory is offered that on the night in question two separate and +independent sets of burglars were operating against the bank. Whether +that is so or not, a tribute must be paid to the humanity of number +four.” +</p> + +<p class="spacer"> +* * * * +</p> + +<p> +“So that was it.” Wallis read the account in his paper that morning +without resentment. Though the evening had ended disastrously for him, +he had cause for satisfaction. “I should never have forgiven myself if +we had killed that guard,” he said to his companion. +</p> + +<p> +His eyes were tired, and his face was unusually pale. He had spent a +strenuous evening. He sat now in his bucket-shop office, and his sole +companion was Callidino. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose poor old Persh will catch us,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Why Persh?” asked the other. +</p> + +<p> +“The taxi driver will be able to identify us as having been his +companions. I wonder they have not come before. There is no use in +running away. Do you know,” he asked suddenly, “that no man ever +escapes the English police if he is known. It saves a lot of trouble +to await developments.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you had been to the station,” said Callidino in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“I have,” said Wallis, “I went there the first thing—in fact, the +moment I had an excuse—to identify Persh. There is no sense in +pretending we did not know him. The only thing to do is to prove the +necessary alibis. As for me, I was in bed and asleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did anybody see you get back?” asked Callidino. +</p> + +<p> +Wallis shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said, “they left one man to look after me, and he did a very +natural thing, he walked up and down the street. There was nothing +easier than to walk the way he was going behind his back and slip in +just when I wanted to.” +</p> + +<p> +Shadowing is a most tiring business, and what very few realise is the +physical strain of remaining in one position, having one object in +view. Even the trained police may be caught napping in the most simple +manner, and as Wallis said, he had found no difficulty in making his +way back to the house without observation. The only danger had been +that during his absence somebody had called. +</p> + +<p> +“What about you?” +</p> + +<p> +Callidino smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“My alibi is more complex,” he said, “and yet more simple. My +excellent compatriots will swear for me. They lie very readily these +Neapolitans.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t you a Neapolitan?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sicilian,” smiled the other. “Neapolitan!” +</p> + +<p> +The contempt in his tone amused Wallis. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is the fourth man?” Callidino asked suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“Our mysterious stranger, I am certain of that,” said George Wallis +moodily. “But who the devil is he? I have never killed a man in my +life so far, but I shall have to take unusual measures to settle my +curiosity in this respect. +</p> + +<p> +“There will have to be a division of the loot,” he said after a while, +“I will go into it to-day. Persh has relations somewhere in the world, +a daughter or a sister, she must have her share. There is a fake +solicitor in Southwark who will do the work for us. We shall have to +invent an uncle who died.” +</p> + +<p> +Callidino nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“As for me,” he said, rising and stretching himself, “already the +vineyards of the South are appealing to me. I shall build me a villa +in Montecatini and drink the wines, and another on Lake Maggiore and +bathe in the waters. I shall do nothing for the rest of my life save +eat and drink and bathe.” +</p> + +<p> +“A perfectly ghastly idea!” said Wallis. +</p> + +<p> +The question of the fourth man troubled him more than he confessed. It +was shaking his nerves. The police he understood, and was prepared +for, could even combat, but here was the fourth man as cunning as +they, who knew their plans, who followed them, who kept them under +observation. Why? What object had he? He did not doubt that the fourth +man was he who had watched them in Hatton Garden. +</p> + +<p> +If it was a hobby it was a most extraordinary hobby, and the man must +be mad. If he had an object in view, why did he not come out into the +daylight and admit it? +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder how I can get hold of him?” he said half aloud. +</p> + +<p> +“Advertise for him,” said Callidino. +</p> + +<p> +A sharp retort rose to the other’s lips, but he checked it. After all, +there was something in that. One could do many things through the +columns of the daily press. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch12"> +CHAPTER XII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE PLACE WHERE THE LOOT WAS STORED</span> +</h3> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="noindent"> +“<span class="sc">Will</span> the Hatton Garden intruder communicate with the man who lay on +the floor, and arrange a meeting. The man on the floor has a +proposition to make, and promises no harm to intruder.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Gilbert Standerton read the advertisement when he was taking his +breakfast, and a little smile gathered at the corners of his lips. +</p> + +<p> +Edith saw the smile. +</p> + +<p> +“What is amusing you, Gilbert?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“A thought,” he said. “I think these advertisements are so funny.” +</p> + +<p> +She had seen the direction of his eyes, carefully noted the page of +the paper, and waited for an opportunity to examine for herself the +cause of his amusement. +</p> + +<p> +“By the way,” he said carelessly, “I am putting some money to your +credit at the bank to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mine?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +He nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I have been rather fortunate on the Stock Exchange lately—I +made twelve thousand pounds out of American rails.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him steadily. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean that?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“What else could I mean?” he demanded. “You see, American rails have +been rather jumpy of late, and so have I.” He smiled again. “I jumped +in when they were low and jumped out when they were high. Here is the +broker’s statement.” He drew it from his pocket and passed it across +the table to her. +</p> + +<p> +“I feel,” he said, with a pretence of humour, “that you should know I +do not secure my entire income from my nefarious profession.” +</p> + +<p> +She made no response to this. She knew who the fourth man had been. +Why had he gone there? What had been his object? +</p> + +<p> +If he had been a detective, or if he had been in the employ of the +Government, he would have confessed it. Her heart had sunk when she +had read the interesting theory which had been put forward by the +journal. +</p> + +<p> +He was the second burglar. +</p> + +<p> +She thought all this with the paper he had passed to her on the table +before her. +</p> + +<p> +The broker’s statement was clear enough. Here were the amounts, all +columns ruled and carried forward. +</p> + +<p> +“You will observe that I have not put it all to your credit,” he +bantered, “some of it has gone to mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gilbert,” she asked, “why do you keep things from me?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do I keep from you?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you keep from me the fact that you were in the bank the night +before last when this horrible tragedy occurred?” +</p> + +<p> +He did not answer immediately. +</p> + +<p> +“I have not kept it from you,” he said. “I have practically admitted +it—in an unguarded moment, I confess, but I did admit it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What were you doing there?” she demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Making my fortune,” he said solemnly. +</p> + +<p> +But she was not to be put off by his flippancy. +</p> + +<p> +“What were you doing there?” she asked again. +</p> + +<p> +“I was watching three interesting burglars at work,” he said, “as I +have watched them not once but many times. You see, I am specially +gifted in one respect. Nature intended me to be a burglar, but +education and breed and a certain lawfulness of character prohibited +that course. I am a dilettante: I do not commit crime, but I am +monstrously interested in it. I seek,” he said slowly, “to discover +what fascination crime has over the normal mind; also I have an +especial reason for checking the amount these men collect.” +</p> + +<p> +Her puzzled frown hurt him; he did not want to bother her, but she +knew so much now that he must tell her more. +</p> + +<p> +He had thought it would have been possible to have hidden everything +from her, but people cannot live together in the same house and be +interested in one another’s comings and goings without some of their +cherished secrets being revealed. +</p> + +<p> +“What I cannot understand——” she said slowly and was at a loss for +an introduction to this delicate subject. +</p> + +<p> +“What cannot you understand?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot understand why you suddenly dropped all your normal +pleasures, why you left the Foreign Office, why you gave up music, and +why, above all things, that this change in your life should have come +about immediately after the playing of the ‘Melody in F.’ ” +</p> + +<p> +He was silent for a moment, and when he spoke his voice was low and +troubled. +</p> + +<p> +“You are not exactly right,” he said. “I had begun my observations +into the ways of the criminal before that tune was played.” He paused. +“I admit that I had some fear in my mind that sooner or later the +‘Melody in F’ would be played under my window, and I was making a +half-hearted preparation against the evil day. That is all I can tell +you,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me this,” she asked as he rose, “if I had loved you, and had +been all that you desired, would you have adopted this course?” +</p> + +<p> +He thought awhile. “I cannot tell you,” he said at length; “possibly I +should, perhaps I should not. Yes,” he said, nodding his head, “I +should have done what I am doing now, only it would have been harder +to do if you had loved me. As it is——” he shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +He went out soon after, and she found the paper he had been reading, +and without difficulty discovered the advertisement. +</p> + +<p> +Then he was the Hatton Garden intruder, and what he had said was true. +He had observed these people, and they had known they were being +observed. +</p> + +<p> +With a whirling brain she sat down to piece together the threads of +mystery. She was no nearer a solution when she had finished, from +sheer exhaustion, than when she had begun. +</p> + +<p class="spacer"> +* * * * +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert had not intended spending the night away from his house. He +realised that his wife would worry, and that she would have a genuine +grievance; apart from which he was, in a sense, domesticated, and if +the life he was living was an unusual one, it had its charm and its +attraction. +</p> + +<p> +The knowledge that he would meet her every morning, speak to her +during the day, and that he had in her a growing friend was +particularly pleasing to him. +</p> + +<p> +He had gone to a little office that he rented over a shop in +Cheapside, an office which his work in the City had made necessary. +</p> + +<p> +He unlocked the door of the tiny room, which was situated on the third +floor, and entered, closing the door behind him. There were one or two +letters which had come to him in the capacity in which he appeared as +the tenant of the office. They were mainly business communications, +and required little or no attention. +</p> + +<p> +He sat down at his desk to write a note; he thought he might be late +that night, and wanted to explain his absence. His wife occupied a +definite place in his life, and though she exercised no rights over +his movements, yet could quite reasonably expect to be informed of his +immediate plans. +</p> + +<p> +He had scarcely put pen to paper when a knock came to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in,” said Gilbert in some surprise. +</p> + +<p> +It was not customary for people to call upon him here. He expected to +see a wandering canvasser in search of an order, but the man that came +in was nothing so commonplace. Gilbert knew him as a Mr. Wallis, an +affable and a pleasant man. +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down, will you?” he said, without a muscle of his face wrong. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to see you, Mr. Standerton,” said Wallis, and made no attempt +to seat himself. “Would you care to come to my office?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can see you here, I think,” said Gilbert calmly. +</p> + +<p> +“I prefer to see you in my office,” said the man, “we are less liable +to interruption. You are not afraid to come, I suppose?” he said with +the hint of a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not to be piqued into coming, at any rate,” smiled Gilbert; “but +since this is not a very expansive office, nor conducive to expansive +thought, I will go with you. I presume you intend taking me into your +confidence?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at the other man strangely and Wallis nodded. +</p> + +<p> +The two men left the office together, and Gilbert wondered exactly +what proposition the other would put to him. +</p> + +<p> +Ten minutes later they were in the St. Bride Street store, that +excellent Safe Agency whose business apparently was increasing by +leaps and bounds. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert Standerton looked round. The manager was there, a model of +respectability. He bowed politely to Wallis, and was somewhat +surprised to see him perhaps, for the proprietor of the St. Bride’s +Safe Agency was a rare visitor. +</p> + +<p> +“My office, I think?” suggested Wallis. +</p> + +<p> +He closed the door behind them. +</p> + +<p> +“Now exactly what do you want?” asked Gilbert. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you have a cigar?” Mr. Wallis pushed the box towards him. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“You need not be scared of them,” said Wallis with a twinkle in his +eye. “There is nothing dopey or wrong with these, they are my own +special brand.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not smoke cigars,” said Gilbert. +</p> + +<p> +“Lie number one,” replied Wallis cheerfully. “This is a promising +beginning to an exchange of confidences. Now, Mr. Standerton, we are +going to be very frank with one another, at least I am going to be +very frank with you. I hope you will reciprocate, because I think I +deserve something. You know so much about me, and I know so little +about you, that it would be fair if we evened matters up.” +</p> + +<p> +“I take you,” said Gilbert, “and if I can see any advantage in doing +so you may be sure I shall act on your suggestion.” +</p> + +<p> +“A few months ago,” said Mr. Wallis, puffing slowly at his cigar, and +regarding the ceiling with an attentive eye, “I and one of my friends +were engaged in a scientific work.” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“In the midst of that work we were interrupted by a gentleman, who for +a reason best known to himself modestly hid his features behind a +mask.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I deplore the melodrama, but I +applaud the discretion. Since then,” he went on, “the efforts of my +friends in their scientific pursuit of wealth have been hampered and +hindered by that same gentleman. Sometimes we have seen him, and +sometimes we have only discovered his presence after we have retired +from the scene of our labour. Now, Mr. Standerton, this young man may +have excellent reasons for all he is doing, but he is considerably +jeopardising our safety.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is the young man?” asked Gilbert Standerton. +</p> + +<p> +“The young man,” said Mr. Wallis, without taking his eyes from the +ceiling, “is yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know?” asked Gilbert quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” said the other with a smile, “and there is an end to it. I +can prove it curiously enough without having actually spotted your +face.” He pulled an inkpad from the end of the desk. “Will you make a +little finger-mark upon that sheet of paper?” he asked, and offered a +sheet of paper. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert shook his head with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“I see no reason why I should,” he said coolly. +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly. If you did we should find a very interesting finger-mark to +compare with it. In the office here,” Mr. Wallis went on, “we have a +large safe which has been on our hands for some months.” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Owned by a client who has the keys,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” said Wallis. “You remember my lie about it. There are three +sets of keys to that safe and a combination word. I said three”—he +corrected himself carefully—“there are really four. By an act of +gross carelessness on my part, I left the keys of the safe in my +pocket in this very office three weeks ago. +</p> + +<p> +“I must confess,” he said with a smile, “that I did not suspect you of +having so complete a knowledge of my doings or of my many secrets. I +remembered my folly at eleven o’clock that night, and came back for +what I had left behind. I found them exactly where I had left them, +but somebody else had found them, too, and that somebody else had +taken a wax impression of them. Moreover,” he leant forward towards +Gilbert, lowering his voice, “that somebody else has since formed the +habit of coming to this place nightly for reasons of his own. Do you +know what those reasons are, Mr. Standerton?” +</p> + +<p> +“To choose a safe?” suggested Gilbert ironically. +</p> + +<p> +“He comes to rob us of the fruits of our labour,” said Wallis. +</p> + +<p> +He smiled as he said the words because he had a sense of humour. +</p> + +<p> +“Some individual who has a conscience or a sense of rectitude which +prevents him from becoming an official burglar is engaged in the +fascinating pursuit of robbing the robber. In other words, some twenty +thousand pounds in solid cash has been taken from my safe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Borrowed, I do not doubt,” said Gilbert Standerton, and leant back in +his chair, his hands stuffed into his pockets, and a hard look upon +his face. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean—borrowed?” asked Wallis in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Borrowed by somebody who is desperately in need of money; somebody +who understands the Stock Exchange much better than many of the men +who make a special study of it; somebody with such knowledge as would +enable him to gamble heavily with a minimum chance of loss, and yet, +despite this, fearing to injure some unfortunate broker by the +accident of failure.” +</p> + +<p> +He leant towards Wallis, his elbow upon the desk, his face half +averted from the other. He had heard the outer door close with a bang, +and knew they were alone now, and that Wallis had designed it so. +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted money badly,” he said. “I could have stolen it easily. I +intended stealing it. I watched you for a month. I have watched +criminals for years. I know as many tricks of the trade as you. +Remember that I was in the Foreign Office, in that department which +had to do mainly with foreign crooks, and that I was virtually a +police officer, though I had none of the authority.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know all about that,” said Wallis. +</p> + +<p> +He was curious, he desired information for his own immediate use, he +desired it, too, that his sum of knowledge concerning humanity should +be enlarged. +</p> + +<p> +“I am a thief—in effect. The reason does not concern you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Had the ‘Melody in F’ anything to do with it?” asked the other dryly. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert Standerton sprang to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Just what I say,” said the other, watching him keenly. “I understand +that you had an eccentric desire to hear that melody played. Why? I +must confess I am curious.” +</p> + +<p> +“Reserve your curiosity for something which concerns you,” said the +other roughly. “Where did you learn?” he added the question, and +Wallis laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“We have sources of information——” he began magniloquently. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” Gilbert nodded, “of course, your friend Smith lodges with +the Wings. I had forgotten that.” +</p> + +<p> +“My friend Smith—you refer to my chauffeur, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“I refer to your confederate, the fourth member of your gang, the man +who never appears in any of your exploits, and who in various guises +is laying down the foundation for robberies of the future. Oh, I know +all about this place,” he said. He waved his hand around the shop. “I +know this scheme of a Safe Agency; it is ingenious, but it is not +original. I think it was done some years ago in Italy. You tout safes +round to country mansions, offer them at ridiculous prices, and the +rest is simple. You have the keys, and at any moment you can go into a +house into which such a safe has been sold with the certain knowledge +that all the valuables and all the portable property will be assembled +in the one spot and accessible to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Wallis nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite right, friend,” he said. “I need no information concerning +myself. Will you kindly explain exactly what part you are taking? Are +you under the impression that you are numbered amongst the honest?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not,” said the other shortly. “The morality of my actions has +nothing whatever to do with the matter. I have no illusion.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are a fortunate man,” said George Wallis approvingly. “But will +you please tell me what part you are playing, and how you justify your +action in removing from time to time large sums of money from our +possession to some secret depository of your own?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not justify it,” said Gilbert. +</p> + +<p> +He got up and paced the little office, the other watching him +narrowly. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you I know that I am in intent a thief, but I am working to a +plan.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned to the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know that there is not a robbery you have committed of which I +do not know the absolute effect? There is not a piece of jewellery you +have taken of which I do not know the owner and the exact value? Yes,” +he nodded, “I am aware that you have not ‘fenced’—that is the term, +isn’t it?—a single article, and that in your safe place you have them +all stored. I hope by good fortune not only to compensate you for what +I have taken from you, but to return every penny that you have +stolen.” +</p> + +<p> +Wallis started. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“To its rightful owner,” continued Gilbert calmly. “I have striven to +be in a position to say to you: ‘Here is a necklace belonging to Lady +Dynshird, it is worth four thousand pounds, I will give you a fair +price for it, let us say a thousand—it is rather more than you could +sell it for—and we will restore it to its owner.’ I want to say to +you: ‘I have taken ten thousand sovereigns in bullion and in French +banknotes from your store, here is that amount for yourself, here is +a similar amount which is to be restored to the people from whom it +was taken.’ I have kept a careful count of every penny you have taken +since I joined your gang as an unofficial member.” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled grimly. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Quixote,” drawled George Wallis protestingly, “you are +setting yourself an impossible task.” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert Standerton shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed I am not,” he said. “I have made much more money on the Stock +Exchange than ever I thought I should possess in my life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you tell me this?” asked the other. “What is the explanation of +this sudden desire of yours for wealth—for sudden desire I gather it +was?” +</p> + +<p> +“That I cannot explain,” said Gilbert, and his tone was +uncompromising. +</p> + +<p> +There was a little pause, then George Wallis rose. +</p> + +<p> +“I think we had better understand one another now,” he said. “You have +taken from us nearly twenty thousand pounds—twenty thousand pounds of +our money swept out of existence.” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No, there is not a penny of it gone. I tell you I used it as a +reserve in case I should want it. As a matter of fact, I shall not +want it now,” he smiled, “I could restore it to you to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will greatly oblige me if you do,” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert looked at him. +</p> + +<p> +“I rather like you, Wallis,” he said, “there is something admirable +about you, rascal that you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rascals as we are,” corrected Wallis. “You who have no illusions do +not create one now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose that is so,” said the other moodily. +</p> + +<p> +“How is this going to end?” asked Wallis. “Where do we share out, and +are you prepared to carry on this high-soul arrangement as long as my +firm is in existence?” +</p> + +<p> +Standerton shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said, “your business ends to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“My business?” asked the startled Wallis. +</p> + +<p> +“Your business,” said the other. “You have made enough money to retire +on. Get out. I have made sufficient money to take over all your stock +at valuation”—he smiled again—“and to restore every penny that has +been stolen by you. I was coming to you in a few days with that +proposition.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so we end to-night, do we?” mused Wallis. “My dear good man,” he +said cheerfully, “to-night—why I am going out after the most +wonderful coup of all! You would laugh if you knew who was my intended +victim.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not easily amused in these days,” said Gilbert. “Who is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will tell you another time,” said Wallis. +</p> + +<p> +He walked to the office door, his hands in his pockets. He stood for a +moment admiring a huge safe and whistling a little tune. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think it an excellent idea of mine,” he asked with the +casual air of the suburban householder showing off a new cucumber +frame, “this safe?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think it is most excellent.” +</p> + +<p> +“Business is good,” said Wallis regretfully. “It is a pity to give it +up after we have taken so much trouble. You see, we may not sell half +a dozen safes a year to the right kind of people, but if we only sell +one—why we pay expenses! It is so simple,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“By the way, have you missed a necklace of sorts which has been +restored to the police? Do not apologise!” +</p> + +<p> +He raised his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I understand this is a family matter. I am sorry to have caused you +any inconvenience.” +</p> + +<p> +His ironical politeness amused the other. +</p> + +<p> +“It was not a question of family,” he said. “I had no idea as to its +ownership, only some person had been very careless—I found the +necklace outside the safe. Some property had evidently been hidden in +a hurry, and had fallen down.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am greatly obliged to you,” said Wallis. “You removed what might +possibly have been a great temptation for the honest Mr. Timmings.” +</p> + +<p> +He took a key from his pocket, switched round the combination lock, +and opened the safe. There was nothing in the first view to suggest +that it was the storehouse of the most notorious thief in London. +Every article therein had been most carefully wrapped and packed. He +closed the door again. +</p> + +<p> +“That is only half the treasure,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Only half—what do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert was genuinely surprised, and a little mocking smile played +about the mouth of the other. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought that would upset you,” he said. “That is only half. I will +show you something. Since you know so much, why shouldn’t you know +all?” +</p> + +<p> +He walked back into the office. A door led into another room. He +unlocked this, and opening it passed through, Gilbert following. +Inside was a small room lit by a skylight. The centre of the room was +occupied by what appeared to be a large cage. It was in reality a +steel grill, which is sometimes sold by French firms to surround a +safe. +</p> + +<p> +“A pretty cage,” said Mr. Wallis admiringly. +</p> + +<p> +He unlocked the tiny steel gate and stepped through, and Gilbert +stepped after him. +</p> + +<p> +“How did you get it in?” asked Gilbert curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“It was brought in in pieces, and has just been set up in order to +show a customer. It is very easily taken apart, and two or three +mechanics can clear it away in a day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is this your other department?” asked Gilbert dryly. +</p> + +<p> +“In a sense it is,” said Wallis, “and I will show you why. If you go +to the corner and pull down the first bar you will see something which +perhaps you have never seen before.” +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert was half-way to the corner, when the transparency of the trick +struck him. He turned quickly, but a revolver was pointed straight at +his heart. +</p> + +<p> +“Put up your hands, Mr. Gilbert Standerton,” said George. “You may be +perfectly bona fide in your intentions to share out, but I was +thinking that I would rather finish to-night’s job before I relinquish +business. You see, it will be poetic justice. Your uncle——” +</p> + +<p> +“My uncle!” said Gilbert. +</p> + +<p> +“Your uncle,” bowed the other, “an admirable but testy old gentleman, +who in one of our best safes has deposited nearly a quarter of a +million pounds’ worth of jewellery, the famous Standerton diamonds, +which I suppose you will one day inherit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it not poetic justice,” he asked as he backed his way out, still +covering his prisoner with his revolver, “to rob <i>you</i> just a little? +Possibly,” he went on, with grim humour, “I also may have a +conscience, and may attempt to restore to you the property which +to-night I shall steal.” +</p> + +<p> +He clanged the gate to, doubly locked it, and walked to the door which +led to the office. +</p> + +<p> +“You will stay here for forty-eight hours,” he said, “at the end of +which time you will be released—on my word. It may be inconvenient +for you, but there are many inconvenient happenings in this life which +we must endure. I commend you to Providence.” +</p> + +<p> +He went out, and was gone for a quarter of an hour. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert thought he had left, but he returned carrying a large jug of +coffee, two brand new quart vacuum flasks, and two packages of what +proved to be sandwiches. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot starve you,” he said. “You had better keep your coffee hot. +You will have a long wait, and as you may be cold I have brought +this.” +</p> + +<p> +He went back to the office and carried out two heavy overcoats and +thrust them through the bars. +</p> + +<p> +“That is very decent of you,” said Gilbert. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” said the polite Mr. Wallis. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert was unarmed, and had he possessed a weapon it would have been +of no service to him. +</p> + +<p> +The pistol had not left Wallis’s hand, and even as he handed the food +through the grill the butt of the automatic Colt was still gripped in +his palm. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you a very good evening. If you would like to send a perfectly +non-committal note to your wife, saying that you were too busy to come +back, I should be delighted to see it delivered.” +</p> + +<p> +He passed through the bars a sheet of paper and a stylograph pen. It +was a thoughtful thing to do, and Gilbert appreciated it. +</p> + +<p> +This man, scoundrel as he was, had nicer instincts than many who had +never brought themselves within the pale of the law. +</p> + +<p> +He scribbled a note excusing himself, folded up the sheet and placed +it in the envelope, sealing it down before he realised that his captor +would want to read it. +</p> + +<p> +“I am very sorry,” he said, “but you can open it, the gum is still +wet.” +</p> + +<p> +Wallis shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“If you will tell me that there is nothing more than I asked you to +write, or than I expected you to write, that is sufficient,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +So he left Gilbert alone and with much to think about. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch13"> +CHAPTER XIII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE MAKER OF WILLS</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">General Sir John Standerton</span> was a man of hateful and irascible +temper. The excuse was urged for him that he had spent the greater +portion of his life in India, a country calculated to undermine the +sweetest disposition. He was a bachelor and lived alone, save for a +small army of servants. He had renamed the country mansion he had +purchased twenty years before: it was now known from one end of the +country to the other as The Residency, and here he maintained an +almost feudal state. +</p> + +<p> +His enemies said that he kept his battalion of servants at full +strength so that he might always have somebody handy to swear at, but +that was obviously spite. It was said, too, that every year a fresh +firm of solicitors acted for him, and it is certain that he changed +his banks with extraordinary rapidity. +</p> + +<p> +Leslie Frankfort was breakfasting with his brother one morning in his +little Mayfair house. Jack Frankfort was a rising young solicitor, and +a member of that firm which at the moment was acting for Sir John +Standerton. +</p> + +<p> +“By the way,” said Jack Frankfort, “I am going to see an old friend of +yours this afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is my old friend?” +</p> + +<p> +“Old Standerton.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gilbert?” +</p> + +<p> +Jack Frankfort smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“No, Gilbert’s terrible uncle; we are acting for him just now.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is the object of the visit?” +</p> + +<p> +“A will, my boy; we are going to make a will.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder how many wills the old man has made?” mused Leslie. “Poor +Gilbert!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why poor Gilbert?” asked the other, helping himself to the marmalade. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, he was his uncle’s heir for about ten minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +Jack grinned. +</p> + +<p> +“Everybody is old Standerton’s heir for ten minutes,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I verily believe he has endowed every hospital, every dog’s home, +every cat’s home, every freakish institution that the world has ever +heard of, in the course of the last twenty years, and he is making +another will to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Put in a good word for Gilbert,” said Leslie with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +The other growled. +</p> + +<p> +“There is not a chance of putting in a good word for anybody. Old +Tomlins, who acted for him last, said that the greater difficulty in +making a will for the old beggar is to finish one before the old man +has thought out another. Anyway, he is keen on a will just now, and I +am going down to see him. Come along?” +</p> + +<p> +“You know the old gentleman?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not on your life,” said the other hastily. “I know him indeed, and he +knows me! He knows I am a pal of Gilbert’s. I stayed once with him for +about two days. For the Lord’s sake do not confess that you are my +brother, or he will find another firm of solicitors.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not usually boast of my relationship with you,” said Jack. +</p> + +<p> +“You are an offensive devil,” said the other admiringly. “But I +suppose you have to be, being a solicitor.” +</p> + +<p> +Jack Frankfort journeyed down to Huntingdon that afternoon in the +company of a pleasant man, with whom he found himself in conversation +without any of that awkwardness of introductions which makes the +average English passenger so impossible. +</p> + +<p> +This gentleman had evidently been in all parts of the world, and knew +a great many people whom Jack knew. He chatted interestingly for an +hour on the strange places of the earth, and when the train drew up at +the little station at which Mr. Frankfort was alighting, the other +accompanied him. +</p> + +<p> +“What an extraordinary coincidence,” said the stranger heartily. “I am +getting out here too. This is a rum little town, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +It might be described as “rum,” but it was very pleasant, and it +contained one of the most comfortable hostelries in England. +</p> + +<p> +The fellow-passengers found themselves placed in adjoining rooms. +</p> + +<p> +Jack Frankfort had hoped to conclude his business before the evening +and return to London by a late train, but he knew that it would be +unwise to depend upon the old man’s expedition. +</p> + +<p> +As a matter of fact, he had hardly been in the hotel a quarter of an +hour before he received an intimation from The Residency that Sir John +could not be seen until ten o’clock that evening. +</p> + +<p> +“That settles all idea of going back to London,” said Jack +despairingly. +</p> + +<p> +He met his fellow-passenger at dinner. +</p> + +<p> +Though he was not particularly well acquainted with the habits of Sir +John, he knew that one of his fads was to dine late, and since he had +no desire to spend a hungry evening, he advanced the normal dinner +hour of the little hotel by thirty minutes. +</p> + +<p> +He explained this apologetically to the comfortable man who sat +opposite him, as they discussed a perfectly roasted capon. +</p> + +<p> +“It suits me very well,” said the other, “I have a lot of work to do +in the neighbourhood. You see,” he explained, “I am the proprietor of +the Safe Agency.” +</p> + +<p> +“Safe Agency,” repeated the other wonderingly. +</p> + +<p> +The man nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems a queer business, but it is a fairly extensive one,” he +said. “We deal principally in safes and strong rooms, second-hand or +new. We have a pretty large establishment in London; but I am not +going to overstep the bounds of politeness”—he smiled—“and try to +sell you some of my stock.” +</p> + +<p> +Frankfort was amused. +</p> + +<p> +“Safe Agency,” he said; “one never realises that there can be money in +that sort of thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“One cannot realise that there is money in any branch of commerce,” +said the other. “The money-making concerns which appeal are those +where one sees brains being turned into actual cash.” +</p> + +<p> +“Such as——?” +</p> + +<p> +“Such as a lawyer’s business,” smiled the other. “Oh, yes, I know you +are a lawyer, you are the type, and I should have known your trade if +I had not seen your dispatch case, and then your name.” +</p> + +<p> +Jack Frankfort laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“You are sharp enough to be a lawyer yourself,” he suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“You are paying yourself a compliment,” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +Later, in the High Street, when he was calling a fly to drive him to +The Residency, Jack noticed a big covered motor lorry, bearing only +the simple inscription on its side: “The St. Bride’s Safe Company.” +</p> + +<p> +He saw also his pleasant companion speaking earnestly with the +black-bearded chauffeur. +</p> + +<p> +A little later the lorry moved on through the narrow streets of the +town and took the London Road. +</p> + +<p> +Jack Frankfort had no time to speculate upon the opportunities for +safe selling which the little town offered, for five minutes later he +was in Sir John Standerton’s study. +</p> + +<p> +The old General was of the type which is frequently depicted in +humorous papers. He was stout and red of face, and wore a close-cut +strip of white whisker, which ended abruptly below his ear, and was +continued in a wild streak of white moustache across his face. He was +bald, save for a little fringe of white hair which ran from temple to +temple via the occiput, and his conversation might be described as a +succession of explosions. +</p> + +<p> +He stared up from under his ferocious eyebrow, as the young man +entered the study, and took stock of him. +</p> + +<p> +He was used to lawyers. He had had every variety, and had divided them +into two distinct classes—they were either rogues or fools. There was +no intermediate stage with this old man, and he had no doubt in his +mind that Jack Frankfort, a shrewd-looking young man, was to be +classed in the former category. He bullied him into a seat. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to see you about my will,” he said. “I have been seriously +thinking lately of rearranging the distribution of my property.” +</p> + +<p> +This was his invariable formula. It was intended to convey the +impression that he had arrived at this present state of mind after +very long and careful consideration, and that the making of wills was +a serious and an important business to be undertaken, perhaps, once or +twice in a man’s lifetime. +</p> + +<p> +Jack nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, General,” he said. “Have you a draft?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no draft,” snapped the other. “I have a will which has already +been prepared, and here is a copy.” +</p> + +<p> +He threw it across to his solicitor. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know whether you have seen this?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I have one in my bag,” said Jack. +</p> + +<p> +“What the devil do you mean by carrying my will about in your bag?” +snarled the other. +</p> + +<p> +“That is the only place I could think of,” said the young man, calmly. +“You would not like me to carry it about in my trouser’s pocket, would +you?” +</p> + +<p> +The General stared. +</p> + +<p> +“Do not be impertinent, young man,” he said ominously. +</p> + +<p> +It was not a good beginning, but Jack knew that every method had been +tried, from the sycophantic to the pompous, but none had succeeded, +and the end of all endeavours, so far as the solicitors were +concerned, had been the closing of their association with the +General’s estate. +</p> + +<p> +He was rather a valuable client if he could only be retained. No human +solicitor had discovered a method of retaining him. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” said the General at last. “Now please jot down exactly +what my wishes are, and have the will drafted accordingly. In the +first place, I revoke all former wills.” +</p> + +<p> +Jack, with a sheet of paper and a pencil, nodded and noted the fact. +</p> + +<p> +“In the second place I want you to make absolutely certain that not a +penny of my money goes to Dr. Sundle’s Dogs’ Home. The man has been +insolent to me, and I hate dogs, anyhow. Not a penny of my money is to +go to any hospital or to any charitable institution whatever.” +</p> + +<p> +The old sinner declaimed this with relish. +</p> + +<p> +“I had intended leaving a very large sum of money to a hospital fund,” +he explained, “but after the behaviour of this infernal +Government——” +</p> + +<p> +Jack might have asked in what way the old man expected to get even +with the offending Government by denying support to all institutions +designed to help the poor, but wisely kept the question in the +background. +</p> + +<p> +“No charitable institution whatever.” +</p> + +<p> +The old man spoke slowly, emphatically, thumping the table with every +other word. +</p> + +<p> +“A hundred pounds to the Army Temperance Association, though I think +it is a jackass of an institution. A hundred pounds to the Soldiers’ +Home at Aldershot, and a thousand pounds if they make it +non-sectarian.” He grinned and added: “It will be Church of England to +everlasting doomsday, so that money’s safe! And,” he added, “no money +to the Cottage Hospital here—do not let that bequest creep in. That +stupid maniac of a doctor—I forget his beastly name—led the +agitation for opening a right-o’-way across my estate. I will +‘right-o’-way’ him!” he said viciously. +</p> + +<p> +He spent half an hour specifying the people who were not to benefit by +his will, and the total amount of his reluctant bequests during that +period did not exceed a thousand pounds. +</p> + +<p> +When he had finished he stared hopelessly at the young lawyer, and a +momentary glint of humour came in the hard old blue eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I think we have disposed of everybody,” he said, “without disposing +of anything. Do you know my nephew?” he asked suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“I know a friend of your nephew.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you related to that grinning idiot Leslie Frankfort?” roared the +old man. +</p> + +<p> +“He is my brother,” said the other calmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Humph,” said the General, “I thought I recognised the face. Have you +met Gilbert Standerton?” he asked suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“I have met him once or twice,” said Jack Frankfort carelessly, “as +you may have met people, just to say ‘how do you do?’ and that sort of +thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have never met people to say ‘how do you do?’ and that sort of +thing,” protested the old man with a snort. “What sort of fellow do +you think he is?” he asked after a pause. +</p> + +<p> +The injunction of Leslie to “say a good word for Gilbert” came to the +young man’s mind. +</p> + +<p> +“I think he is a very decent sort of fellow,” he said, “though +somewhat reserved and a little stand-offish.” +</p> + +<p> +The old man glowered at him. +</p> + +<p> +“My nephew stand-offish?” he snapped, “Of course he is stand-offish. +Do you think a Standerton is everybody’s money? There is nothing +Tommyish or Dickish or Harryish about our family, sir. We are all +stand-offish, thank God! I am the most stand-offish man you ever met +in your life.” +</p> + +<p> +“That I can well believe,” thought Jack, but did not give utterance to +his thought. +</p> + +<p> +Instead he pursued the subject in his own cunning way. +</p> + +<p> +“He is the sort of man,” he said innocently “whom I should think money +would be rather wasted on.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” asked the General with rising wrath. +</p> + +<p> +Jack shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he makes no great show, does not attempt to keep any particular +place in London Society. In fact, he treats Society as though he were +superior to it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so he is,” growled the General, “we are all superior to Society. +Do you think, sir, that I care a damn about any of the people in this +county? Do you think I am impressed by my Lord of High Towers and my +Lady of the Grange, and the various upstart parvenu aristocrats that +swarm over this country like—like—field mice? No sir! And I trust my +nephew is in the same mind. Society as it is at present constituted is +not worth that!” He snapped his fingers in Jack’s impassive face. +“That settles it,” said the General with decision. He pointed his +finger at the notes which the other was taking. “The residue of my +property I leave to Gilbert Standerton. Make a note of that.” +</p> + +<p> +Twice had he uttered the same words in his lifetime, and twice had he +changed his mind. It might well be that he would change his mind +again. If the reputation he bore was justified, the morning would find +him in another frame of mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Stay over to-morrow,” he said at parting. “Bring me the draft at +breakfast time.” +</p> + +<p> +“At what hour?” asked Jack politely. +</p> + +<p> +“At breakfast time,” roared the old man. +</p> + +<p> +“What is your breakfast hour?” +</p> + +<p> +“The same hour as every other civilised human being,” snapped the +General “at twenty-five minutes to one. What time do you breakfast, +for Heaven’s sake?” +</p> + +<p> +“At twenty to one,” said Jack sweetly, and was pleased with himself +all the way back to the hotel. +</p> + +<p> +He did not see his train companion that night, but met him at +breakfast the next morning at the Christian hour of half-past eight. +</p> + +<p> +Something had happened in the meantime to change the equable and +cheery character of the other. He was sombre and silent, and he looked +worried, almost ill, Jack thought. Possibly there was a bad time for +safe selling, as there was a bad time for every other department of +trade. +</p> + +<p> +Thinking this, he kept off the subject of business, and scarcely half +a dozen sentences were exchanged between the two during the meal. +</p> + +<p> +Returning to The Residency, Jack Frankfort found with surprise that +the old man had not changed his mind over night. He was still of the +same opinion; seemed more emphatically so. Indeed, Jack had the +greatest difficulty in preventing him from striking off a miserable +hundred pounds bequest which he had made to a northern dispensary. +</p> + +<p> +“The whole of the money should be kept in the family,” said the +General shortly; “it is absurd to fritter away little hundreds like +this, it handicaps a man. I do not suppose he will have the handling +of the money for many years yet, but ‘forethought,’ sir, is the motto +of our family.” +</p> + +<p> +It was all to Gilbert’s advantage that the lawyer persisted in +demanding the restoration of the dispensary bequest. In the end the +General cut out every bequest in the will, and in the shortest +document which he had ever signed bequeathed the whole of his +property, movable and immovable, to “my dear nephew” absolutely. +</p> + +<p> +“He is married isn’t he?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe he is,” said Jack Frankfort. +</p> + +<p> +“You believe! Now what is the good of your believing?” protested the +old man. “You are my lawyer, and your business is to know everything. +Find out if he is married, who his wife is, where she came from, and +ask them up to dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +“When?” demanded the startled lawyer. +</p> + +<p> +“To-night,” said the old man. “There is a man coming down from +Yorkshire to see me, my doctor, we will make a jolly party. Is she +pretty?” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe she is.” +</p> + +<p> +Jack hesitated, for he was honestly in doubt. He knew very little +about Gilbert Standerton or his affairs. +</p> + +<p> +“If she is pretty, and she is a lady,” said the old General slowly, “I +will also make provision for her separately.” +</p> + +<p> +Jack’s heart sank. Would this mean another will? For good or ill, the +wires were dispatched. +</p> + +<p> +Edith received hers and read it in wonder. +</p> + +<p> +Gilbert’s remained on the hall table, for he had not been home the +previous night nor during that day. +</p> + +<p> +The tear-reddened eyes of the girl offered eloquent testimony to the +interest she displayed in his movements. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch14"> +CHAPTER XIV.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE STANDERTON DIAMONDS</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Edith Standerton</span> made a quick preparation for her journey. She would +take her maid into Huntingdon, and go without Gilbert. It was +embarrassing that she must go alone, but she had set herself a task, +and if she could help her husband by appearing at the dinner of his +irritable relative she would do so. +</p> + +<p> +She had her evening things packed, and caught the four o’clock train +for the town of Tinley. +</p> + +<p> +The old man did her the exceptional honour of meeting her at the +station. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Gilbert?” he asked when they had mutually introduced +themselves. +</p> + +<p> +“He has been called out of town unexpectedly,” she said. “He will be +awfully upset when he knows.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think not,” said the old General grimly. “It takes a great deal to +upset Gilbert—certainly more than an opportunity of being reconciled +to a grouchy old man. As a matter of fact,” he went on, “there is no +reconciliation necessary; but I always look upon anybody whom I have +to cut out of my will as one who regards me as a mortal enemy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please never put me in your will.” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not so sure about that,” said he, and added gallantly, “though I +think Nature has sufficiently endowed you to enable you to dispense +with such mundane gifts as money!” +</p> + +<p> +She made a little face at that. +</p> + +<p> +He was delighted with her, and found her a charming companion. Edith +Standerton exerted herself to please him. She had a style of treating +people older than herself in such a way as to suggest that she was as +young as they. I do not know any other phrase which would more exactly +convey my meaning than that. She had a charm which appealed to this +wayward old man. +</p> + +<p> +Edith did not know the cause of the change in her husband’s fortunes. +She knew very little, indeed, of his affairs; enough she knew that for +some reason or other he had been disinherited through no fault of his +own. She did not even know that it was the result of a caprice of this +old man. +</p> + +<p> +“You must come again and bring Gilbert,” said the General, before they +dispersed to dress for dinner. “I shall be delighted to put you both +up.” +</p> + +<p> +Fortunately she was saved the embarrassment of an answer, for the +General jumped up suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“I know what you’d like to see,” he said, “you’d like to see the +Standerton diamonds, and so you shall!” +</p> + +<p> +She had no desire to see the Standerton diamonds, had, indeed, no +knowledge that such an heirloom existed; but he was delighted at the +prospect of showing her, and she, being a woman, was not averse to a +view of these precious jewels, even though she were not destined to +wear them. +</p> + +<p> +He led the way up to the library, and Jack Frankfort followed. +</p> + +<p> +“There they are,” said the old man proudly, and pointed to a big safe +in the corner, a large and ornate safe. +</p> + +<p> +“That is something new,” he said proudly. “I bought it from a man who +wanted sixty guineas for it—an infernal, swindling, travelling +rascal! I got it for thirty. What do you think of that for a safe?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think it’s very pretty,” said Jack. He could think of nothing more +fitting. +</p> + +<p> +The old man glared at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty!” he growled. “What do you think I want with ‘pretty’ things +in my library?” +</p> + +<p> +He took a bunch of keys from his pocket and opened the door of the +safe, pulled open a drawer, and took out a large morocco case. +</p> + +<p> +“There they are!” he said with pride, and indeed he might well be +proud of such a beautiful collection. +</p> + +<p> +With all a girl’s love for pretty things Edith handled the gorgeous +jewels eagerly. The setting was old-fashioned, but it was the old +fashion which was at that moment being copied. The stones sparkled and +glittered as though every facet carried a tiny electric lamp to send +forth the green, blue and roseate gleam of its fire. +</p> + +<p> +Even Jack Frankfort, no great lover of jewellery, was fascinated by +the sight. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, sir,” he said, “there are nearly a hundred thousand pounds’ +worth of gems there.” +</p> + +<p> +“More,” said the old man. “I’ve a pearl necklace here,” and he pulled +out another drawer, “look at it. There is nearly two hundred thousand +pounds’ worth of jewellery in that safe.” +</p> + +<p> +“In a thirty-guinea safe,” said Jack unwisely. +</p> + +<p> +The old man turned on him. +</p> + +<p> +“In a sixty-guinea safe,” he corrected violently. “Didn’t I tell you I +beat the devil down? I beg your pardon, my dear.” He chuckled at the +thought, replaced the jewels, and locked the safe again. “Sixty +guineas he wanted. Came here with all his fine City of London manner, +frock-coat, top-hat, and patent boots, my dear. The way these people +get up is scandalous. He might have been a gentleman by the airs he +gave himself.” +</p> + +<p> +Jack looked at the safe. He had some ideas of commercial values. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t understand how he sold it,” he said. “This safe is worth two +hundred pounds.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +The old General turned on his lawyer in astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +Jack nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“I have one at my office, now that I come to think of it,” he said. +“It cost two hundred and twenty pounds, and it is the same make.” +</p> + +<p> +“He only asked me sixty guineas.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s strange. Do you mind opening it again? I’d like to see the +bolts.” +</p> + +<p> +The General, nothing loath, turned the key and pulled open the huge +door. Jack looked at the square, steel bolts—they were absolutely +new. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t understand how he offered it for sixty. You certainly had a +bargain for thirty, sir,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I have,” said the General complacently. “By the way, I am +expecting a man to dinner to-night,” he went on, as he led the way +back to the drawing-room, “a doctor man from +Yorkshire—Barclay-Seymour. Do you know him?” +</p> + +<p> +Jack did not know him, but the girl broke in— +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, he is quite an old friend of mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s rather a fool,” said the General, adopting his simple method of +classification. +</p> + +<p> +Edith smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“You told me yesterday that there were only two classes of people, +General—rogues and fools. I am wondering,” she said demurely, “in +which class you place me.” +</p> + +<p> +The old man wrinkled his brows. He looked at the beautiful young face +in his high good humour. +</p> + +<p> +“I must make a new class for you,” he said. “No, you shall be in a +class by yourself. But since most women are fools——” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, come!” she protested, laughingly. +</p> + +<p> +“They are,” he averred. “Look at me. If women weren’t fools shouldn’t +I have had a wife? If any brilliant, ingenious lady, possessed of the +necessary determination had pursued me and had cultivated me, I should +not be a bachelor, leaving my money to people who don’t care +two—pins,” he hastily substituted a milder phrase for the one he had +intended, “whether I’m alive or dead. Does your husband know the +Doctor, by the way?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think so,” she said. “They nearly met one night at dinner, +but Gilbert had an engagement.” +</p> + +<p> +“But Gilbert knows him,” insisted the old man. “I’ve often talked to +him about Barclay-Seymour, who, by the way, is perhaps not such a fool +as most doctors. I used to be rather more enthusiastic about him than +I have been lately,” he admitted, “and I’m afraid I used to ram old +Barclay-Seymour down poor Gilbert’s throat more than his ability or +genius justified me doing. Has he never spoken about him?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Ungrateful devil!” growled the old General inconsequently. +</p> + +<p> +One of his many footmen came into the drawing-room at that moment with +a telegram on a salver. +</p> + +<p> +“Hey hey?” demanded Sir John, fixing his glasses on the tip of his +nose and scowling up at his servant. “What’s this?” +</p> + +<p> +“A telegram, Sir John,” replied the footman. +</p> + +<p> +“I can see it’s a telegram, you ass! When did it come?” +</p> + +<p> +“A few minutes ago, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who brought it?” +</p> + +<p> +“A telegraph boy, Sir John,” said the imperturbable servitor. +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t you say so at first?” snapped Sir John Standerton in a +tone of relief. And Edith had all she could do to prevent herself from +bursting into a fit of laughter at the little scene. +</p> + +<p> +The old man opened the telegram, spread it out, read it slowly and +frowned. He read it again. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, what on earth does that mean?” he asked, and handed the telegram +to the girl. +</p> + +<p> +She read— +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“Take the Standerton jewels out of your safe and deposit them without +fail in your bank to-night. If it is too late to send them to your +bank place them under an armed guard.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +It was signed “Gilbert Standerton.” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch15"> +CHAPTER XV.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE TALE THE DOCTOR TOLD</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">The</span> General read the telegram again. He was, despite his erratic +temperament, a shrewd and intelligent man. +</p> + +<p> +“What does that mean?” he asked quietly for him. “Where is Gilbert? +And where does he wire from?” +</p> + +<p> +He picked up the telegram and inspected it. It was handed in at the +General Post Office at London at 6.35 p.m. +</p> + +<p> +The General’s hour for dining was consonant with his breakfast hour, +and it was a quarter after nine when the dinner gong brought Edith +Standerton down from her room. +</p> + +<p> +She was worried; she could not understand the reference to the jewels. +What had made Gilbert send this message? Had she known more of the +circumstances of what had happened on the previous afternoon she would +have wondered rather how he was able to send the message. +</p> + +<p> +The General took the warning seriously, but not so seriously that he +was prepared to remove his jewellery to any other receptacle. Indeed, +the purchase of the safe had been made necessary by the fact that +beyond the butler’s strong room, which was strong only in an +etymological sense, there was no security for property of any value. +</p> + +<p> +He had made an inspection of the jewels in the safe and had relocked +the door, leaving a servant in the library, with strict instructions +not to come out until he was instructed to leave by his master. +</p> + +<p> +Edith came down to find that another guest had arrived, a guest who +greeted her with a cheery and familiar smile. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you do, Doctor?” she said. “It is not so long since I met you +at mother’s. You remember me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I remember you perfectly,” said Dr. Barclay-Seymour. +</p> + +<p> +He was a tall, thin man with a straggling iron-grey beard and a high +forehead. +</p> + +<p> +A little absent in his manner, he conveyed the impression, never a +very flattering one, that he had matters more weighty to think about +than the conversation which was being addressed to him. He was, +perhaps, the most noteworthy of the provincial doctors. He came out of +his shell sufficiently to recognise her and to remember her mother. +Mrs. Cathcart had been a great friend of Barclay’s. They had grown up +together. +</p> + +<p> +“Your mother is a very wonderful woman,” said Dr. Barclay-Seymour as +he took the girl in to dinner, “a remarkable woman.” +</p> + +<p> +Edith was seized with an almost overwhelming temptation to ask why. It +would have been unpardonable of her had she done so, but never did a +word so tremble upon a human being’s lips as that upon hers. +</p> + +<p> +They ate through dinner, which was made a little uncomfortable by the +fact that General Sir John Standerton was unquestionably nervous. +Twice during the course of the meal he sent out one of the three +footmen who waited at table to visit what he termed the outpost. +Nothing untoward had happened on either occasion. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know what to do about this jewellery. I hope that Gilbert is +not playing the fool,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +He turned to Edith with a genial scowl. +</p> + +<p> +“Has he developed any kittenish ways of late?” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“There is no word which less describes Gilbert than kittenish,” she +said. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it not remarkable that he sent that message?” the General went on +testily. “I hardly know what to do. I could get a constable up, but +the police here are the most awful and appalling idiots. I have a +great mind to have my bed put in the library and sleep there myself.” +</p> + +<p> +He brightened up at the thought. +</p> + +<p> +He had reached the stage in life when sleeping in any other room than +that to which he was accustomed represented a form of heroism. After +the dinner was through they made their way to the drawing-room. +</p> + +<p> +The General was fidgety, and though Edith played and sang a little +French love song with no evidence of agitation, she was as nervous as +the General. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you what we will do,” said Sir John suddenly, “we will all +adjourn to the library. It is a jolly nice room if you do not mind our +smoking.” +</p> + +<p> +It was an excellent suggestion, and one that she accepted with +pleasure. She was the only lady of the party, and remarked on the fact +as she went upstairs with Sir John. +</p> + +<p> +He glanced hurriedly round. +</p> + +<p> +“I always regard a doctor as a fit chaperone for any lady,” he said +with a chuckle—it amused him. +</p> + +<p> +Later he found the complement of the joke, and discoursed loudly upon +old women of all professions, a discourse which was arrested by the +arrival of the Doctor and Jack Frankfort. +</p> + +<p> +The library was a big room, and it was chiefly remarkable for the fact +that it contained no more evidence of Sir John’s literary taste than a +number of volumes of the <i>Encyclopædia Britannica</i> and a shelf full +of <i>Ruff’s Guide to the Turf</i>. It was, however, a delightful room, +panelled in old oak with mullioned windows standing in deep recesses. +These, explained Sir John, opened out on to a terrace—an excellent +reason for his apprehension. +</p> + +<p> +“Pull the curtain, William,” said Sir John to the waiting footman, +“and then you can clear out. Have the coffee brought in here.” +</p> + +<p> +The man pulled the heavy velvet curtains across the big recesses, +placed a chair for the girl, and retired. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me,” said Sir John. +</p> + +<p> +He went across to the safe and opened it again. He inspected the case. +Nothing had been disturbed. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” he breathed—It was a sigh of infinite relief. +</p> + +<p> +“This wire of Gilbert’s is getting on my nerves,” he excused himself +irritably. “What the devil did he wire for? Is he the sort of man that +sends telegrams to save himself the bother of licking down an +envelope?” +</p> + +<p> +Edith shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“I am as much in the dark as you,” she said, “but I assure you that +Gilbert is not an alarmist.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you get on with him?” he asked her. +</p> + +<p> +The girl flushed a little. +</p> + +<p> +“I get on very well,” she said, and strove to turn the conversation. +But it was a known fact that no human soul had ever turned Sir John +from his set inquisitional course. +</p> + +<p> +“Happy, and that sort of thing?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Edith nodded, keeping her eyes on the wall behind the General’s head. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you love him—hey?” +</p> + +<p> +Edith was embarrassed, and no less so were the two men; but Sir John +was not alone in imagining that doctors have little sense of decency +and lawyers no idea of propriety. They were saved further discussion +by the arrival of the coffee, and the girl was thankful. +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to keep you here until Gilbert comes up for you,” said the +old man suddenly. “I suppose you know, but probably you do not, that +you are the first of your sex that I have ever tolerated in my house.” +</p> + +<p> +She laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a fact,” he said seriously. “You know I do not get on with +women. They do not realise that though I am an irritable old chap +there is really no harm in me, and I <i>am</i> an irritable old chap,” he +confessed. “It is not that they are impertinent or rude, but it is +their long-suffering meekness that I cannot stand. If a lady tells me +to go to the devil I know where I am. I want the plain, blunt truth +without gaff. I prefer my medicine without sugar.” +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“You are different from most people, Sir John. I know men who are +rather sensitive about the brutal truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“More fools they,” said Sir John. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know,” said the Doctor reflectively. “I sympathise with a +man who does not want the whole bitterness of fact hurled at his head +in the shape of an honest half a brick, although there is an advantage +in knowing the truth sometimes, it saves a lot of needless +unhappiness,” he added a little sadly. He seemed to have aroused some +unpleasant train of thought. “I will give you an extraordinary +instance,” he went on in his usual deliberate manner. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” asked the General suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“I think it was a noise in the hall,” said Edith. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought it was a window,” growled the General, rather ashamed that +he should have been detected in his jump. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on with your story, Doctor.” +</p> + +<p> +“A few months ago,” Dr. Seymour recalled, “a young man came to me. He +was a gentleman, and evidently not a townsman of Leeds, at any rate I +did not know him. I found afterwards that he had come from London to +consult me. He had some little tooth trouble, a jagged molar, a very +commonplace thing, and he had made a slight incision in the inside of +his mouth. Apparently it worried him, the more so when he discovered +that the tiny scratch would not heal. Like most of us, he had a +terrible dread of cancer.” He lowered his voice as a doctor often will +when he speaks of this most dreadful malady. “He did not want to go to +his own doctor; as a matter of fact, I do not think he had one. He +came to me, and I examined him. I had my doubt as to there being +anything wrong with him, but I cut a minute section of the membrane +for microscopic examination.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl shivered. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry,” said the Doctor hastily, “that is all there is in the +story which is gruesome unless you think—— However,” he went on, “I +promised to send him the result of my examination, and I wanted his +address to send it. This, however, he refused. He was very, very +nervous. ‘I know I am a moral coward,’ he said, ‘but somehow I do not +want to know just the bare truth in bald language; but if it is as I +fear, I would like the news broken to me in the manner which is the +least jarring to me.’ ” +</p> + +<p> +“And what was that?” asked Sir John, interested in spite of himself. +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor drew a long breath. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems,” he said, “that he was something of a musician”—Edith sat +upright, clasping her hands, her face set, her eyes fixed upon the +Doctor—“he was something of a musician, that is to say, he was very +keen on music, and the method he had of breaking the news to himself +was unique, I have never heard anything quite like it before in my +life. He gave me two cards and an addressed envelope, addressed to an +old musician in London whom he patronised.” +</p> + +<p> +Edith saw the room go swaying round and round, but held herself in +with an effort. Her face was white, her hands that held the chair were +clenched so tightly that the bones shone white through them. +</p> + +<p> +“They were addressed to an old friend of his, as I say, and they were +identically worded with this exception. One of them said in effect you +will go to such and such a place and you will play the ‘Melody in F,’ +and the other gave the same instructions but varied to this extent, +that he was to play the ‘Spring Song.’ Now here comes the tragedy.” He +raised his finger. “He gave me the ‘Melody in F’ to signal to him the +fact that he had cancer.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a long silence, which only the quick breathing of the girl +broke. +</p> + +<p> +“And, and—?” whispered Edith. +</p> + +<p> +“And”—the Doctor looked at her with his far-away eyes—“I sent the +wrong card,” he said. “I sent it and destroyed the other before I +remembered my error.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then he has not cancer?” whispered the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“No, and I do not know his address, and I cannot get at him,” said +Barclay-Seymour. “It was tragic in many ways. I think he was just +going to marry, for he said this much to me: ‘If this is true, and I +am married, I will leave my wife a pauper,’ and he asked me a curious +question,” added the Doctor. “He said, ‘Don’t you think that a man +condemned to die is justified in taking any action, committing any +crime, for the protection of the loved ones he leaves behind?’ ” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said Edith. +</p> + +<p> +Her voice was hollow and sounded remote to her. +</p> + +<p> +“What is that?” said the General, and jumped up. +</p> + +<p> +This time there was no doubt. Jack Frankfort sprang to the curtain +that covered the recess and pulled it aside. There stood Gilbert +Standerton, white as a ghost, his eyes staring into vacancy, the hand +at his mouth shaking. +</p> + +<p> +“The wrong card!” he said. “My God!” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch16"> +CHAPTER XVI.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">BRADSHAW</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">A month</span> later Gilbert Standerton came back from the Foreign Office +to his little house in St. John’s Wood. +</p> + +<p> +“There is a man to see you, Gilbert,” said his wife. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I know, it is my bank manager,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +He greeted the tall man who rose to meet him with a cheery smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Mr. Brown,” he said, “I have to explain to you exactly what I +want done. There is a man in America, he has been there some week or +two, to whom I owe a large sum of money—eighty thousand pounds, to be +exact—and I want you to see that I have sufficient fluent capital to +pay it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have quite sufficient, Mr. Standerton,” said the manager, “even +now, without selling any of your securities.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is good. You will have all the particulars here,” said Gilbert, +and took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. “It is really a +trust, in the sense that it is to be transferred to two men, Thomas +Black and George Smith. They may sub-divide it again, because I +believe,” he smiled, “they have other business associates who happen +to be entitled to share.” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not congratulate you, Mr. Standerton,” said the bank manager, +“upon the marvellous service you rendered the city. They say that +through you every penny which was stolen by the famous Wallis gang has +been recovered.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think that pretty well described the position,” said Gilbert +quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“I was reading an account of it in a paper the other day,” the bank +manager went on. “It was very providential that there was an alarm of +fire next door to their headquarters.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was providential that it was found before the fire reached the +Safe Company’s premises,” said Gilbert. “Fortunately the firemen saw +me through the skylight. That made things rather easy, but it was some +time before they got me out, as you probably know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever see this man Wallis?” asked the bank manager curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t the papers tell you that?” bantered Gilbert with a dry smile. +</p> + +<p> +“They say you learnt in some way that there was to be a burglary at +your uncle’s, and that you went up to his place, and there you saw Mr. +Wallis under the very window of the library, on the parapet or +something.” +</p> + +<p> +“On the terrace it was,” said Gilbert quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“And that he flew at the sight of you?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is hardly true,” said Gilbert, “rather put it that I persuaded +him to go. I was not sure that he had not already secured the +necklace, and I went through the window into the room without +realising there was anybody there. You see, there were heavy curtains +which hid the light. Whilst I was there he escaped, that is all.” +</p> + +<p> +He made one or two suggestions regarding the transfer of the money and +showed the bank manager out, then he joined Edith in the drawing-room. +</p> + +<p> +She came to him with a little smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Does the Foreign Office seem very strange to you?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“It did seem rather strange after my other exploits.” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“I never thought Sir John had sufficient influence to get you back.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think he has greater influence than you imagine,” he said; “but +then there were other considerations. You see, I was able to render +the Foreign Office one or two little acts of service in the course of +my nefarious career, and they have been very good.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him wistfully. +</p> + +<p> +“And do we go back now to where we started?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Where did we start?” he countered. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know that we started anywhere,” she said thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +She had been looking at a time table when he came into the room, and +now she picked it up and turned the pages idly. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you interested in that Bradshaw?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very,” she said. “I am just deciding.” +</p> + +<p> +“Deciding what?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Where—where we shall spend our honeymoon,” she faltered. +</p> + +<p class="center mt1"> +THE END. +</p> + + +<h2> +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES +</h2> + +<p> +The J. W. Arrowsmith Ltd. (1915) edition was consulted for many of +the changes listed below. +</p> + +<p> +Minor spelling inconsistencies (<i>e.g.</i> dressing gown/dressing-gown, +lifelong/life-long, upkeep/up-keep, etc.) have been preserved. +</p> + +<p class="noindent mt1"> +<b>Alterations to the text</b>: +</p> + +<p> +Merge disjointed contractions. +</p> + +<p> +Punctuation: several missing commas and periods, and some quotation +mark pairings. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter II] +</p> + +<p> +Change (“Have you told Mrs. <i>Carthcart</i> this?” he asked.) to +<i>Cathcart</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“when his <i>wordly</i> prospects had seemed much brighter than” to +<i>worldly</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter V] +</p> + +<p> +“had shown extraordinary knowledge of the <i>safes’</i> contents” to +<i>safe’s</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter VI] +</p> + +<p> +“The <i>Manager</i> himself never quite understood how his chief” to +<i>manager</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter VIII] +</p> + +<p> +“suggested Mr. Warrell, with his eyes <i>stil</i> upraised” to <i>still</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“I will let you know how it <i>developes</i>” to <i>develops</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter IX] +</p> + +<p> +“Was very <i>absent minded</i> and worried apparently.” to +<i>absent-minded</i>. +</p> + +<p> +(“Perhaps you would like to go,” he had suggested. briefly. “I am) +delete the first period. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter X] +</p> + +<p> +“never failed to excite great, interest” delete the comma. +</p> + +<p> +“the abstract problem of the <i>chureh</i>” to <i>church</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter XI] +</p> + +<p> +“there are <i>lot</i> of little things I might be able to discover.” to +<i>lots</i>. +</p> + +<p class="center mt1"> +[End of text] +</p> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75702 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/75702-h/images/cover.jpg b/75702-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..132a6ce --- /dev/null +++ b/75702-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b5dba15 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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