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diff --git a/78372-h/78372-h.htm b/78372-h/78372-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..13ccb3c --- /dev/null +++ b/78372-h/78372-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13844 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + The crime code | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +/* Headers and Divisions */ + h1, h2, h3, h4 {margin:4em 0em 1em 0em; page-break-before:always; text-align:center;} + +/* General */ + + body {margin:0% 5% 0% 5%;} + + 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;} + + .toc_l {font-variant:small-caps; margin:0em 0em 0em 2em; text-indent:-2em;} + + .rt1 {margin:0em 1em 0em 0em; text-align:right; text-indent:0em;} + + .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;} + + figure {margin:1em auto 1em auto; text-align:center;} + figcaption {font-size:80%; margin:1em 2em 1em 2em;} + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78372 ***</div> + +<h1> +THE CRIME CODE +</h1> + +<p class="center"> +<span class="font80">BY</span><br> +WILLIAM LE QUEUX<br> +<span class="font80">AUTHOR OF “POISON SHADOWS”</span> +</p> + +<p class="center mt4"> +<span class="font80">NEW YORK</span><br> +THE MACAULAY COMPANY +</p> + + +<h2> +[COPYRIGHT] +</h2> + +<p class="center"> +Published in England under the title<br> +“DOUBLE NOUGHT” +</p> + +<p class="center mt2"> +<span class="sc">Copyright, 1928, by<br> +THE MACAULAY COMPANY</span> +</p> + + +<h2> +CONTENTS +</h2> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch01">I. TO BEG PARDON OF THE READER</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch02">II. THREADS OF IRON</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch03">III. WHAT THE PAPERS SAID</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch04">IV. DEADLY PERIL</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch05">V. HELD BY THE ENEMY</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch06">VI. ILLONA!</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch07">VII. THE AWAKENING</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch08">VIII. THE DOUBLE NOUGHT</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch09">IX. AN ODD MISSION</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch10">X. THE WIND OF CIRCUMSTANCE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch11">XI. MY FATHER’S STORY</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch12">XII. MISSING</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch13">XIII. AN AFFAIR IN FULHAM</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch14">XIV. SOME CURIOUS FACTS</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch15">XV. A SCRAP OF MUSIC</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch16">XVI. TRICKED</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch17">XVII. ACROSS EUROPE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch18">XVIII. “A LADY TO SEE YOU, SIR!”</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch19">XIX. ANGELA IS FRANK</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch20">XX. TO-MORROW!</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch21">XXI. I MEET ILLONA</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch22">XXII. “REMEMBER THE NAME!”</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch23">XXIII. THE SIX CIRCLES</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch24">XXIV. SOME PLAIN FACTS</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch25">XXV. I MEET HIS EXCELLENCY</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch26">XXVI. WITHOUT PREJUDICE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch27">XXVII. THE SHOP-WINDOW CLUE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch28">XXVIII. THE DARK HOUSE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch29">XXIX. CONCLUSION</a> +</p> + + +<h2> +THE CRIME CODE +</h2> + + +<h3 id="ch01"> +CHAPTER ONE.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">TO BEG PARDON OF THE READER</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">At</span> the outset I wish to impress on those who read this +straightforward and unembellished narrative of my amazing and often +exciting adventures, that I seek not to hide my own shortcomings, for +they are alas! many; nor do I in the least desire to pose as a +vainglorious hero. At least, I am not one who slops about in the oozy +slime of the sex problem. +</p> + +<p> +From leading the normal life of an ordinary young man about London, I +was, by a strange freak of ill-fortune, and in the space of a single +minute, plunged into a veritable vortex of doubt and misery, compelled +to lead the life of a hunted criminal, and to resort to all sorts of +ruses in order to retain my liberty. And yet, the events which led up +to the sudden change in my life are such as might occur to any man, on +any night, in any big city in the world. +</p> + +<p> +I suppose, in order that I shall be understood right from the outset, +I may as well explain that I am Lionel Hipwell. My old governor is the +Honorable George Hipwell, of Hipwell Hall, near Bulwick, +Northamptonshire, Deputy-Lieutenant for the County, and Member of +Parliament for South-East Rutland. After Eton, I graduated at Oxford, +and then read for the Bar, to which I was called; but I have never +practised. For twenty-one years my father had sat for the same +constituency in the Conservative interest, and it was my ambition also +to sit in the House. With that object, I studied politics keenly, +especially in reference to our relations with foreign countries; and I +often addressed political meetings. I had the satisfaction of being +hailed as sound in argument, with a clear and lucid delivery. +Therefore, the decision of the Conservative party to adopt me as a +candidate at the next election had recently placed me in the seventh +heaven of delight. And, when I told Joan, to whom I was engaged, she +regarded me as a prospective occupant of a seat on the Front Bench. +</p> + +<p> +I have mentioned that I was engaged to Joan Gell, but it was only +informally and secretly. +</p> + +<p> +Joan was the only daughter of the famous King’s Counsel, Mr. John +Gell, the stoutest man who had taken silk. But, unfortunately, he and +my father were bitter enemies, arising out of a political quarrel of a +couple of years before. Hence, both Joan and I thought it discreet to +wait before announcing our engagement, until such time as the quarrel +was patched up. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, we met often—more often than her parents ever guessed. +Indeed, she not infrequently overstepped the bounds of strict +propriety, sometimes coming to my rooms in Sackville Street and taking +a cozy tea, with her feet upon my fender. I adored her, and she, on +her part, reciprocated my affection. We understood each other +perfectly, and though she was highly popular in a smart set, and much +sought after as a dancing-partner, yet I had never any cause for undue +jealousy. The society in which I moved in London—a fairly good one as +judged in these hectic days of night-club dancing—had rather sickened +me. I loved Hipwell, with its hunting with the Cottesmore, its +one-day-a-week beagling, the fishing over our own stream, the walks in +the park in spring, and the interviewing of our tenant-farmers. I had +no use for the night life of London, with the marks that glow red on +the pasty foreheads of callow youths and erotic widows, who rave about +affinities and make the south of Sicily their winter home. +</p> + +<p> +Though having quarreled with my father, the stout old King’s Counsel +was always friendly towards me. Hence, I was frequently invited to his +house at Queen’s Gate, a place noteworthy for the collection of +antique furniture and an unrivaled assortment of ancient snuff-boxes. +Mr. Gell was a connoisseur, and, making a very large income at the +Bar, expended money lavishly on his hobby. His wife, a handsome, +well-preserved, and much-traveled woman, who doted on Joan, gave +frequent parties, and for each I always received a card. In the Temple +it was an open secret that elevation to the Bench had been offered to +“Jelly” Gell—a sobriquet bestowed on him by one of his adversaries on +account of the shaking of his protruding stomach when he grew unduly +excited while addressing a jury. But the famous K.C. had preferred to +remain at the Bar, rather than forego his income and accept the high +responsibility and the rather meagre stipend with which the Government +rewards its judges. +</p> + +<p> +As for myself, I held quite an important position in the Treaty +Department of the Foreign Office, a post which, I confess, carried +with it short hours and little work; for the Government does not make +treaties with foreign powers every day—hence my office was almost a +sinecure. I suppose family influence, that of my uncle, the old Earl +of Whitchurch and ex-Minister of the Crown, whose favorite I was, had +been responsible for my appointment, because from a clerk I had risen +rapidly, being “pushed on” by some unknown hand, a fact, I know, which +had aroused considerable jealousy in the Department. +</p> + +<p> +I said I had no use for the circle in which I was compelled to move. +My <i>penchant</i> for gambling, alas, led to my being hurled into the +maelstrom of mystery. I loved a little “flutter,” and had been at +Deauville, Cannes, Monte Carlo, and other places; and I had played for +modest stakes with the usual varying success. +</p> + +<p> +The night of November the twelfth was one of gloom and rain in London. +It had rained incessantly the whole day, and still poured all the +evening. Joan was down at Cannes with her mother; and, having nothing +better to do, I took a taxi from the club, where I had dined at a +house in Woburn Square, where they played “chemmy” nightly. As a +frequent visitor there, I often had good luck. There were about fifty +players present, most of them known to me by sight, and for a long +time I risked nothing. But the temptation to play soon overcame me and +I won over a hundred pounds. +</p> + +<p> +Afterwards I had a drink, and foolishly returned to the table; for, +not only did I lose all my winnings, but two hundred pounds into the +bargain. Sick at my ill-fortune, I gave a check for my losses, and +left the house in deep despondency, vowing never to return there +again. I felt that gambling was getting the better of me, that I must +give it up. This resolve I made as, heedless of the rain and darkness, +I walked around Bloomsbury Square. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly I heard shouts. A moment later I came across a man and a +woman having a violent altercation. The man was a burly fellow, and he +was ill-treating a flashily-dressed young woman of the night-hawk +class. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here!” I cried, rushing up to him. “Stop that—quick! You +low-down cur, to strike a woman!” +</p> + +<p> +“And who the ’ell are you, mister?” the fellow asked defiantly. “You +just keep your bloomin’ beak out of what don’t concern you! And take +that for yer pains!” he added, aiming a heavy blow at my face, which I +managed to avoid. +</p> + +<p> +Next moment, however, he struck me full in the chest. In return, +having done a good deal of boxing at Oxford, I landed him one full on +the nose, in self-defence. +</p> + +<p> +I saw his hand go swiftly to his hip-pocket, and next second there was +a glint of steel. In an instant I closed with him, gripped his wrist, +twisted it, and knocked his hand upwards just as he was about to fire. +</p> + +<p> +We both fell. There was an explosion and the bullet went upwards +through his jaw. +</p> + +<p> +In a moment I shook myself free and sprang to my feet; but the man lay +there motionless; the automatic pistol had fallen from his nerveless +fingers and lay in the gutter. +</p> + +<p> +“God! What have you done? You’ve killed my poor Dick!” the dark-eyed +young woman shrieked resentfully, glaring at me. +</p> + +<p> +In a moment I bent and breathlessly made a swift examination. He was +certainly dead! I stood staggered, my senses for the moment being +numbed. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve killed him!” yelled the woman, frantic in her anger and +distress. “Police! <i>Police!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Only for a second I hesitated. In that instant I realized all that I +had at stake—the ruin of my love for Joan, the extinction of my +political ambitions, and a charge of manslaughter under such +conditions which might easily lead to my social obliteration. +</p> + +<p> +I fled. What would you have done in such circumstances? +</p> + +<p> +I had acted only to protect a defenceless woman, and had closed with +her adversary in self-defence. I hurried away, turned the corner, and +walked quickly to the Russell Square Tube Station, where I took a +ticket to Piccadilly Circus, composing myself as I descended in the +elevator. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, I knew that the unknown woman, who had been so resentful of +my defence, was calling the police and, as the event occurred beneath +a street-lamp, she, no doubt, was giving a minute description of me! +I was in a dinner-jacket and wore a black overcoat. In my soft +shirt-front were two studs of bright green chrysoprases, and these +might have attracted her attention, and so serve to identify me! +</p> + +<p> +In the train were a number of people, therefore I buttoned my coat +tightly to conceal those studs. My brain was in a whirl. Half an hour +before, I was carefree and as full of the joy of living as a man under +thirty should be. The money left me by my Aunt Mary gave me a +comfortable income, and I was not a single penny in debt. Yet, at that +moment, I was fleeing from justice, my description, no doubt, being +circulated by telephone to every police-station in the metropolitan +area. +</p> + +<p> +While in the Tube, I realized that, in order to escape, I must leave +London at once. No time was to be lost if I was to get away that +night. But how? I dare not return to my rooms in Sackville Street, +though I was sorely tempted to. If I dared, I could easily go home, +change my clothes, and reappear differently dressed. But I hesitated, +remembering that Bolland, my man, would greet me, and afterwards might +be questioned. No. It would be best to completely disappear. +</p> + +<p> +When I emerged at Piccadilly Circus, I came face to face with a police +constable. It gave me a great shock, for I fancied he eyed me with +distinct suspicion. Yet, surely, news of the tragedy could not have +traveled so swiftly. Nevertheless, there are always thousands of keen +eyes on the look-out for a wanted man in London. +</p> + +<p> +I recollect that in those moments of terror I dubbed myself a snob. I +like people who know how to behave. To me, the dull, public-school man +or the ruined gentleman is preferable to the declaiming Communist or +the demented lover. To those, life is a dreary business. But, as for +me, I thank my Maker, each day, that I am alive to accept what He, in +His munificence, has given me; though I would beg of you not to think +that I am more pious than any other man. Yet I am strong in my belief. +</p> + +<p> +Haunted by dread and the knowledge that the young woman would most +certainly allege that I deliberately had shot the man because he had +insulted me, I remained on the pavement at the corner of Coventry +Street for some minutes, heedless of the home-going crowd of +theatre-goers, heedless of being frequently jostled by them. +</p> + +<p> +The risk of going to any railway terminus in order to leave London was +too great; for, I knew that the police always keep watch on the +railway-stations on receipt of such warning as had been given. A man +had been shot dead in Bloomsbury Square, and the supposed +murderer—I—was being actively sought for! +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly an idea crashed through my brain, and, turning back, I joined +the throng, entered the Tube station again, and requested a ticket to +Golder’s Green. +</p> + +<p> +In due course, I arrived there, walked out, turned to the left, and +continued along the high-road leading northward. +</p> + +<p> +It was still raining heavily and my coat was soon very wet. I had upon +me, very fortunately, a blank check—for it is my habit always to keep +one with my cigarettes, in case of emergency—as well as about twenty +pounds in Treasury notes, which I had received at the gaming-house as +balance of the check I had given there. +</p> + +<p> +I suppose I had gone about half a mile when I came across a small +public-house, before which stood a heavy lorry marked “Osborne, +Nottingham.” The driver, no doubt, was inside, having a final drink +before starting out on his night drive. +</p> + +<p> +I loitered about until, at last, he emerged, a thin-faced young man, +clad heavily in an old leather motor-coat, evidently a relic of war +days, smoking a cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +“Good evening,” I exclaimed, “May I speak to you a moment?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” he replied politely. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I want you to do me a favor,” I hastened to say, “You’re going +north, aren’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. To Wolverhampton,” he returned. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you let me come with you? I’ll make it worth your while to take +me,” I suggested. +</p> + +<p> +He regarded me suspiciously beneath the light of the street-lamp. I +was in a soaked condition. No doubt he was surprised at being accosted +by a man in rain-sodden evening-clothes, who begged a lift on his +night drive to the Midlands. +</p> + +<p> +I noticed his hesitation and added: +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you the reason on the way. I’ve made a fool of myself and I +want to get away from London. The fact is that I’ve run foul of the +racing crowd—and they’re after me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! I’ve read in the papers how a set of race-course roughs are going +about, trying to ‘do in’ people who object to their ways,” he said. +“Yes, sir, I’ll give you a lift. But you’re a bit wet, ain’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“A little bit,” I laughed. Whereupon he climbed into the covered lorry +and produced an old overcoat, which he bade me exchange for my wet +one, and a spare cap which I put on in place of my crush hat. In that +moment I was already disguised as a lorry-driver, and a few minutes +later we moved away, along the broad, wet high-road, in the direction +of Barnet. +</p> + +<p> +In the first hour that I sat at his side gossiping, I was ignorant +that we were not alone, until he casually mentioned: +</p> + +<p> +“My mate, Dick, is having a good snooze inside. He drove to London +to-day, and I’m driving back. We do this trip three days a week.” +</p> + +<p> +Then I realized that inside the lorry, which was half-filled with +wooden cases, apparently from the docks, there was lying, upon a heap +of tarpaulin, the figure of a young man, deep in sleep. This was +somewhat disconcerting. I had to reckon with two men keeping their +mouths shut next day when the papers would give an account of the +tragedy in Bloomsbury. On the other hand, I had further design than +that of travel—that of disguise. +</p> + +<p> +As we went along to St. Albans, I related to the driver a fantastic +story of how I had denounced a small bookmaker, and thereby, quite +unconsciously had brought upon myself what I feared was a vendetta. I +had had secret warning that something serious was to happen to me, and +I had thought flight the most discreet course to adopt. +</p> + +<p> +My story was, of course, a very lame one, but the young man, being +fond of racing, listened to me intently, because, fortunately for me, +three members of a racing gang, only a few days before had been given +heavy sentences at the Old Bailey. +</p> + +<p> +We had traveled perhaps forty odd miles when the sleeping Dick +awakened and seemed greatly surprised to find that they had a +passenger. After he had slipped in between us, his friend explained +the reason of my presence, hinting that I had promised a reward for +their assistance. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I said. “For certain reasons I don’t want my friends to know +anything. You may think I’m a crook, but I assure you I’m not. In +these evening-clothes I might be even a cat-burglar.” +</p> + +<p> +Both men laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m not!” I said. “But if you fellows will keep a still tongue, +I’ll give you five pounds each at the end of the run, and if one of +you will sell your clothes to me, I’ll give you money to buy a new +suit—what shall we say—seven pounds?” +</p> + +<p> +A brief silence fell. +</p> + +<p> +“Make it a tenner, guv’nor, and you can have mine,” Dick said. “You’re +about my build.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” I replied. “Let’s both get into the back and change.” +</p> + +<p> +My companion, the driver, laughed heartily as we both crept into the +back among the cases, and there, while we were traveling, we exchanged +clothes. +</p> + +<p> +“What’ll your wife say when you arrive home in the morning dressed as +a gentleman—eh, Dick?” shouted the driver, turning his head back a +moment. +</p> + +<p> +“She’ll think I’ve come into a fortune when I give her a couple o’ +quid,” laughed his pal, as he drew off his trousers and handed them to +me in return for mine. +</p> + +<p> +“You fellows won’t utter a word. Promise me!” I shouted. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course we won’t, sir,” both assured me, setting me considerably at +my ease. +</p> + +<p> +Up to that moment I had been full of fear lest the driver, suspecting +me, and desirous of being in the good graces of the police, might pull +up before a constable and express his suspicions. In that case, my +only chance of escape would have gone, with only ruin before me. +</p> + +<p> +While traveling over that interminable wet road in that lumbering +lorry, I had realized the scandal which must ensue if I were hauled +before a magistrate, and the scene with the flashy daughter of the +night described by her! Her enmity, turning upon me as she had done, +would result in a charge of wilful murder! +</p> + +<p> +I thought of dear Joan. What would she think? How would she judge me? +</p> + +<p> +At last I had changed my evening-clothes for the garb of a +lorry-driver, a decent, gray tweed suit of cheap material, fairly good +boots, a thick, well-worn overcoat, and a rather greasy, brown +golf-cap, while, in the uncertain light of the candle-end he had lit, +he presented a grotesque figure in my crumpled shirt, with its two +attractive studs, his black tie awry, and his collar limp with the +rain. +</p> + +<p> +“Pull up and look at me, Teddy!” he shouted to my acquaintance, the +driver. +</p> + +<p> +Teddy slowed down, put on the brakes, and came to a standstill on the +brow of a hill. Then, turning to look in, exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“By gum! You look a real treat! Going to the theatre—aw!” +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, Dick produced from beneath the tarpaulin upon which he had +been sleeping, two bottles of beer, one of which he handed to me. +Then, after taking a swift draught from the other bottle, he handed it +to his mate. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder if old boss-eye has left one out for us as usual,” remarked +Teddy, wiping the mouth of the bottle and handing it back to his +fellow-driver. Then, turning to me, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Old boss-eye keeps the Hen and Chickens, five miles before we gets to +Coventry, and on the nights he knows we’re passing he leaves out a +bottle for us underneath a bush. We’ll take a look and see if it’s +there as we pass.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick and I crawled over the cases and resumed our seats, while Teddy +put in the clutch, and we moved off again. +</p> + +<p> +At the Hen and Chickens the men found the beer and drank it between +them. Day was breaking when at last we rumbled through Coventry, and I +confess I had then had sufficient jolting; for, being accustomed to a +well-sprung car, my limbs ached and I felt very tired. +</p> + +<p> +My companions, however, were a humorous pair. During the night Dick +had assumed my crush hat which he wore jauntily as he took the wheel +for a spell. The effect was humorous. But no policeman on the road +noticed it. For several hours I had been planning the best way to +avoid detection. At length I decided to leave the lorry at Birmingham, +have breakfast, and then make further plans. +</p> + +<p> +Therefore, when we arrived just outside the city, I redeemed my +promise of payment. At the end of New Street they drew up for me to +dismount. Swearing secrecy, they bade me farewell, and drove on to +their destination. +</p> + +<p> +And now relating what actually occurred to me, without concealing +anything, I here lay bare the solemn truth—facts which, I venture to +believe, the readers of this strange chronicle will find +astounding—even amazing. +</p> + +<p> +In any case, they shed light on the calamities that can befall any man +who roams the London streets after nightfall, alone. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch02"> +CHAPTER TWO.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THREADS OF IRON</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Bewildered</span>, nerve-wrecked, full of apprehension, I looked around me +that dull, gray morning. The recent events stood out like a horrible +nightmare. At first I wondered if I had not been dreaming. But, alas! +it was only too real. +</p> + +<p> +The truth is, that there was nothing to boast about in the way I had +behaved. I had been an abject, despicable fool, who deserved all the +disastrous consequences of a craven act. And now I was a lorry-driver! +If it were not so tragic it might even be amusing. I was impelled to +laugh at the ludicrousness of the situation. But instead, as I +approached the first policeman, I held my breath. Was he on the +lookout for me? +</p> + +<p> +My first visit was to New Street Station. The London newspapers were +already in, so I bought two and quickly scanned them. There was no +mention of the affair in Bloomsbury. Evidently information regarding +the tragedy had not reached the newspaper offices before they had gone +to press. +</p> + +<p> +At a small coffee-shop behind the station, much used by taxi-drivers, +I ate my humble breakfast, and re-examined the newspapers. Absence of +any hue-and-cry heartened me. Yet was I acting right? Would it not +have been safer to have returned to Sackville Street, changed my +clothes, and obtained a couple of suit-cases? I wondered. I had +changed my identity to that of a working-man, so in future I would be +compelled to keep to that disguise. +</p> + +<p> +When the shops opened I went to several cheap ones and made purchases, +including a ready-made gray suit for Sundays and a new felt hat. These +I had packed together, and, leaving the parcel in the cloak-room at +the station, again sallied forth and bought the cheapest suit-case I +could find. Into it I eventually placed my purchases, together with my +lapis lazuli ring and my gold watch. Such adornments were unsuitable +for a man of the class I had now assumed. +</p> + +<p> +Afterwards I went to the telegraph-office and, in order to allay any +undue suspicion, I wired to Bolland that I had been called to +Birmingham suddenly, that I should be away several days. Another +message I sent to Joan at Cannes, explaining that I was away in the +Midlands. I was often absent on political business, speaking at +meetings on questions arising out of the decisions of the League of +Nations. I thought it a perfectly good explanation of the reason that +I might not be able to write to her. +</p> + +<p> +Just after eleven o’clock I left Birmingham for Euston, where I +arrived at half-past two. My first action was to buy the early edition +of the <i>Evening News</i>. And, setting down my suit-case outside the +station, I eagerly looked over its columns. +</p> + +<p> +Yes! It was there! +</p> + +<p> +“Man Murdered in Bloomsbury Square. Escape of the Alleged Assassin,” +greeted my eyes in bold type. +</p> + +<p> +Breathlessly, I read the brief report, which was as follows: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“Just before midnight, a young woman, Hilda Bennett, living in Castle +Street, Pimlico, was found, by a constable on duty, half collapsed, in +Bloomsbury Square, beside the body of a man. She said he was a friend +of hers named Warwick May, a corn merchant, carrying on business at +Highbury. Examination showed that the dead man had been shot in the +jaw, and that the bullet had penetrated the brain. +</p> + +<p> +“The woman’s story is that she was walking alone, when she was +accosted by a youngish, dark-haired man in evening-dress, who claimed +having met her on the previous evening at a night-club. She had no +knowledge of him and told him so, whereupon he became abusive, and her +friend—who had been making a call, and was following to catch her +up—came on the scene. She complained to her man friend and asked his +protection, when, without a word, the unknown young fellow drew a +revolver, and, after knocking him down, knelt upon him, banged his +head several times upon the curb and then deliberately shot him. +</p> + +<p> +“The woman’s story is apparently corroborated by the fact that a +constable on duty in the vicinity noticed a young man, in black +overcoat and opera-hat, running as for the train; but, not having +heard the shot, and being in ignorance of what had occurred, he did +not stop him. The police have the fugitive’s description, which has +been widely circulated.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Then followed a somewhat minute description of me, even to the +chrysoprase studs, which were, happily, now in the possession of the +cheery Dick at Wolverhampton. +</p> + +<p> +Would my friends of the previous night see that description and read +of the two distinctive studs? If so, what could be more likely than, +in the circumstance of what they would regard as deliberate murder, +that they should impart their experience to the police? The thought of +it was most disconcerting. +</p> + +<p> +As I put the paper into the pocket of my driving-coat, and took up my +cheap suit-case, I encountered the policeman on patrol in the yard of +the Euston Hotel. At once I felt convinced that he regarded me with +suspicious glances. +</p> + +<p> +I had become timid, scenting danger at every turn. Would you not have +done so? My sudden flight after the tragic occurrence, without doubt +had been a fatal mistake. Had I remained and told the truth, that the +man’s death had been in consequence of his own desperate action, I +would most surely have had British justice meted out to me. Even then, +if the woman had told the same tale that she had already done, it was +a most unsavory story, and one that I, surely, had no means of +contradicting. +</p> + +<p> +I felt that I must hide. And I deemed the safest place of concealment +to be in one of the crowded working-class suburbs. Hence, I turned +back into Euston Station and took train over to Waterloo. I had always +understood that Camberwell was a good working-class neighborhood. +Therefore, at Waterloo, I walked along to the London Road where I +bought, at a cheap outfitter’s, a dark-gray overcoat; then I boarded a +motor-bus going to Camberwell Green. +</p> + +<p> +As we were passing along the Camberwell Road, I noticed, on the right, +a drab, depressing street of uniform, unkempt houses, each with its +area and flight of steps to the front door. It was the kind of spot I +was in search of; therefore, I alighted and turned up the +thoroughfare, examining the houses as I went. They were all Victorian, +built after the same plan, none differing from its neighbor save in +its degree of dirt or dinginess. The steps of some were neglected, +others well hearth-stoned by hard-working hands, while on many of the +windows rested the London grime of weeks, with curtains limp and +yellow with fog and damp. It was, I noticed, called Avenue Road, and +it was certainly a very complete specimen of the early jerry-builder’s +art. +</p> + +<p> +In the downstairs front room, on the street level of one of the houses +on the left-hand side of the gloomy, uninviting thoroughfare, a dingy +card announced that “apartments” were to be had. I rang the bell and +waited, even though it went against the grain. +</p> + +<p> +Presently a slatternly slip of a girl about fifteen appeared and, on +inquiry, a stout, full-faced, rather swarthy woman, presumably her +mother, came up behind her. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I’ve got a room to let,” she said in a deep bass voice, scanning +me closely, perhaps not without suspicion. “Like to come in and see +it?” +</p> + +<p> +My reply was in the affirmative. And so, depositing my suit-case in +the hall, I followed her up the linoleum-covered stairs to a small, +back room on the first-floor, meagrely-furnished, yet quite clean. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m a journalist,” I said,” and I’ve just come up from Colchester. +Can I also have a room in which to write? I’m usually glued to my +table all day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, you can have the front sitting-room if you like to take +it. We never use it.” +</p> + +<p> +In consequence, I inspected the apartment indicated and after some +conversation, rented the quarters. Depositing my bag in the bedroom, +and, much to the satisfaction of my landlady, Mrs. Bowyer, I paid a +fortnight’s rent in advance, by which I at once earned the distinction +of being “a gentleman.” The name I gave was Edward Paige. +</p> + +<p> +Those dingy, shabby rooms in Camberwell were, indeed, a contrast to my +own cozy chambers in Sackville Street, off Piccadilly, and I remember +how dull and dispirited I felt in the first hours I spent there. +</p> + +<p> +I was asked if I would have a pair of kippers with my tea, and, in +order to keep up the role I had assumed, I accepted, and, indeed, ate +them with a relish. Afterwards, at seven o’clock, I went out in the +darkness into the busy Camberwell Road, where I bought the late +edition of a newspaper, and, taking it back, eagerly read what was +further reported concerning my flight. +</p> + +<p> +Before the fire, I stood beneath the hissing gas-jet reading. And +while I read I held my breath. What I saw was intensely alarming. The +police net was closing about me. It said: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“A motor-driver named Horbin, living in Wolverhampton, this afternoon +made a statement to the police to the effect that while he and a +fellow-driver were on their way with a lorry from London late last +night, they were accosted by a man in evening-dress, closely +resembling the man wanted. He begged them to give him a lift, and they +did so. On the way the stranger bought the clothes and overcoat of his +companion, so that when he left at Birmingham, he was disguised as a +motor-driver. Most diligent inquiries are being made. The police are +of the opinion that the fugitive took train back to London during the +morning.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +I stood dumb. Surely it was fortunate that I had discarded the old +motor-coat for that ordinary overcoat I had bought in the London Road. +Nevertheless, I realized that I should never be able to go forth in +the daylight, lest I might be recognized. +</p> + +<p> +Therefore, I prepared myself to settle down to a dull, uneventful +life, hourly fearing that my somewhat inquisitive landlady might read +in her newspaper the description of me which had been circulated, and +thus identify me with the man of whom the police were in such active +search. What then? +</p> + +<p> +Next morning I received a surprise; for, on being ushered into the +back room for breakfast, I found that I had as fellow-lodger a slim, +good-looking girl, with soft brown eyes and wavy auburn hair. She was +already at table reading the newspaper when Mrs. Bowyer introduced her +as Miss Lisely Hatten. +</p> + +<p> +I look back upon it all now. Was she to be an instrument of Fate? +</p> + +<p> +When I sat down with her and we began to chat, I learned that she was +a typist, employed in a great insurance office in Cornhill. She was +quietly but smartly dressed, with neat stockings and shoes, and I +confess I rather liked her from the first. +</p> + +<p> +I explained that I was a journalist and worked at home most part of +the day, when suddenly she caused me to start by glancing at the paper +and remarking: +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a very mysterious affair, the murder in the street in +Bloomsbury Square! Have you seen it? What do you think of it?” +</p> + +<p> +I inhaled a deep breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I suppose it was a crime of jealousy. Don’t you think so? One +sees such scenes in the pictures.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” she replied very seriously. “I’d like to see the +murderer arrested. Poor girl! If I were in her place, I’d hunt the +devil down to the bitter end. Why should he shoot her lover in cold +blood—go up and kill him without warning? The poor man had no chance +of self-defence. It was done by some young bounder about town—some +lounge-lizard or good-looking dancing-partner, perhaps.” +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly,” I agreed, thankful that the suspicions of the good-looking +young business girl had not been aroused by the description of myself +which was being everywhere circulated. +</p> + +<p> +“See you this evening,” she said gaily when she rose. “I’ll be in at +about a quarter-past six, and we’ll feed together—if you’re +agreeable. It’ll break the monotony of eating alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be delighted,” I replied, rising and bowing. +</p> + +<p> +A moment later she had gone. +</p> + +<p> +She struck me as a frank, outspoken girl of the usual City type, who +carried her luncheon sandwiches in her little leather dispatch-case, +together with her purse, lip-stick, and puff, and who, no doubt, could +hop on or off a bus with that quick agility in which the London girl +excels. I was glad to have her as companion, and yet, as the hours +dragged on, I constantly feared that my description might yet cause +her suspicion. In her speech there was just a slight trace of a +foreign accent, and I wondered if she were English, for Lisely was +certainly not an English name. Not daring to venture forth by daylight +I got Mrs. Bowyer to bring me in a <i>Times</i> when she went out to “do +her errands,” and, after my lonely chop, I made pretence of writing +all the afternoon. As a matter of fact, I copied out one of the +leading articles in the paper, and left it about to convince her, when +I went out, that I really was a journalist. +</p> + +<p> +I had been in hiding for twenty-four hours, and already it seemed an +eternity. +</p> + +<p> +Would my continued absence arouse the anxiety of friends? If so, they +must certainly identify me with the fugitive. What would Joan think in +such a case? What would my own family think? I now realized that, +because of my sudden fear of scandal, I had acted most foolishly in +escaping. Was not my action practically tantamount to an admission of +guilt? +</p> + +<p> +I scented danger—great danger! +</p> + +<p> +Soon after six o’clock Lisely Hatten returned, greeting me merrily +before going upstairs to take off her hat and coat. Later we sat over +the fire in the little back room awaiting our evening meal. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve had a horribly busy day to-day, and everything went wrong. My +boss has been out of temper because he couldn’t get his golf, and I +made two mistakes in letters for which I got cursed!” she told me. +“One girl has got the sack because she cheeked the old bean. Oh, it’s +been a perfectly wonderful day!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“So it appears,” I laughed, yet knowing that in my rather ill-fitting, +cheap gray suit I presented a sorry figure. Like most men-about-town, +I rather prided myself on the cut of my clothes, and the neatness of +my tie, socks, and shoes. But, when I looked at my present reflection +in the mirror, I stood horrified. +</p> + +<p> +She took the cigarette I offered her and consumed it, her mind seeming +lazy, with all the gusto of an ardent smoker, and then suddenly she +remarked: +</p> + +<p> +“I see by to-night’s paper that they haven’t found the Bloomsbury +murderer yet. Scotland Yard is sparing no effort to find him. They +were discussing it in the office to-day. The police seem to think that +he’s the man to whom a lorry-driver sold his clothes the night before +last.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I hope they’ll find him,” I remarked, bending to take a fresh +cigarette, and thereby to hide my countenance. +</p> + +<p> +Just at that moment I became aware that she had fixed her big, dark +eyes on me with a very curious stare—a bewildered, puzzled, tell-tale +glance. Then, a moment later, she exclaimed in an unusual tone: +</p> + +<p> +“You may think it strange, Mr. Paige, but—but somehow you yourself +are very much like the description of the man they want.” +</p> + +<p> +Surely Fate spins threads of iron. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch03"> +CHAPTER THREE.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">WHAT THE PAPERS SAID</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Silent</span>, tense, our minds grappled. I succeeded in laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“Do I really resemble the assassin?” I asked, with, I fear, humor, +ill-assumed. +</p> + +<p> +“You are very like the description given in the papers,” she declared. +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly, but, as far as I read, the woman only saw the fellow by the +light of the street-lamp, and the description she gave was, after all, +a vague one.” Then I added, “I hope they won’t arrest me, for I wasn’t +in London. I only came up from Colchester yesterday.” +</p> + +<p> +“So Mrs. Bowyer has told me,” she said. Her words instantly aroused my +suspicion that the pair had already been discussing me in secret. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as far as I’m concerned, I haven’t any motive to kill anybody. +I’m engaged to one of the best girls in the world. She lives here, in +London, and that is why I’m up here—to be near her.” +</p> + +<p> +“And yet it is so funny, Mr. Paige,” she remarked, after a brief +pause, looking me in full in the face. “When I read the description of +the man the police want, and look at you, it seems that it really must +be you!” +</p> + +<p> +“It would be most interesting and sensational if you discovered a +murderer—wouldn’t it?” I remarked. “But I’m afraid I can’t give the +poor, distressed girl the satisfaction of identifying me as her +lover’s murderer.” +</p> + +<p> +“I love mysteries,” declared Miss Hatten. “I read all the detective +stories I can get hold of. I hate those sloppy love romances written +for domestic servants. Women writers are the worst offenders.” +</p> + +<p> +“All of your sex love to become amateur detectives,” I remarked +good-humoredly. “But it requires a good deal of training.” +</p> + +<p> +How I wished, in the light of after-events, I had left that final +sentence unuttered. +</p> + +<p> +She paused for a moment, evidently puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Perhaps it is for that reason my suspicions have been aroused +that you are here in hiding.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really, I hope you don’t think so, Miss Hatten,” I said very +seriously. “If so, let us go around to Carter Street Police Station +together, and, if you wish, I’ll give myself up for the crime. I can’t +say more, can I?” And I laughed heartily. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be so silly, Mr. Paige. You really wouldn’t like to go to +Carter Street, would you?” the girl said, disarmed at the open +frankness which had caused me so much trepidation. “Of course, it’s +only my fancy. I could not think that you would actually kill a man.” +</p> + +<p> +“There must always be a motive if one kills one’s +fellow-creature—jealousy, gain, hatred, or personal advancement,” I +declared, smiling as I stood before her. “But, if that is lacking, +then it is seldom that a life is taken. According to the newspapers, +the man was shot in cold blood. Hence, there must have been some very +distinct motive. It is that which the police must discover before they +find the assassin.” +</p> + +<p> +We chatted on, and I was intensely relieved to discover that I had +allayed her suspicions. No doubt, my worthy landlady had been +discussing the point with her; and, surely, no person is more +dangerous to a fugitive from justice than a suspicious landlady. +</p> + +<p> +Ah! What an idiot I had been not to remain beside the man’s body, and +brave the consequences! My actions, in themselves, had convicted me. +</p> + +<p> +As I sat opposite her, as we ate our modest meal together, the whole +situation was appalling. Over that thin ice which I was treading, I +knew not to what destination it would lead me. At any moment might +come discovery, exposure, arrest. Women when suspicious, as when they +love, are the most dangerous enemies of mankind. But the smart, +good-looking girl, seated laughing before me in that unpretentious +room in one of London’s crowded suburbs, was a complex problem that I +could not solve. +</p> + +<p> +Was she my friend—or my enemy? I could not decide which. On her +silence my whole future depended. +</p> + +<p> +Hence, was it any wonder that I sat there apprehensive, watchful, +helpless? +</p> + +<p> +Those dark winter days of dread dragged by with terrible monotony in +that stuffy little house. That long street of stucco, uniform +residences, with their flights of steps to the front door, the deep +areas, and the bow-windows, each dingier than its neighbor, was the +most depressing place of residence. And, as day followed day, my only +recreation was to go out after dark, and tread the worst lit +by-streets in the hope of not being recognized. +</p> + +<p> +There was daily a great degree of uncertainty as to whether I really +had allayed the girl Lisely’s suspicions, or whether she was watching +my movements. I strongly suspected the latter. In some confused, +indescribable way, all truth, I felt, was being distorted, probably +because of my own miserable obsession. +</p> + +<p> +Each day the papers reported how active search still was being made, +and how all the ports were being watched. At Dover, a man was arrested +and brought to Bow Street. But, when put up for identification the +girl, Hilda Bennett, failed to recognize him as her lover’s assailant. +</p> + +<p> +The worst feature of the situation was that the papers had taken up +the case strongly, and were daily criticizing the apparent +incompetency of the police, urging them to greater activity. +</p> + +<p> +One journal, after referring to the audacious murder of Mr. Warwick +May and the peril of the streets, made the following comments: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“During the past few days, a special squad of detectives has been +searching a number of small hotels and boarding-houses in London, +where it is believed the man may be in hiding. +</p> + +<p> +“Scotland Yard believe that the alleged assassin may be receiving +assistance from a clever woman associate. +</p> + +<p> +“He is described as about thirty years of age, 5 ft. 9 in. in height, +fresh complexion, dark-brown hair, hazel eyes with a peculiarity in +them which suggests a squint. He may be growing a moustache. He is +well built. He talks in a quiet tone. +</p> + +<p> +“There are, including the wanted man, seven men at large somewhere in +the British Isles, for whom Scotland Yard, and the police throughout +the country, are keeping a day and night vigil. +</p> + +<p> +“These men are all known to the police—their descriptions, haunts, +and habits are all recorded in the official records at Scotland Yard. +</p> + +<p> +“Still, for the time, the mysterious seven are eluding their pursuers. +</p> + +<p> +“The man most wanted by the authorities is John Hayes, the +well-spoken, handsome young fellow who is believed to be the brains +behind the theft of the mail-bags between Southampton and London, last +July. +</p> + +<p> +“Hayes, who is in his twenties, was engaged as driver of a royal mail +van, and was known among his associates as ‘The Gent.’ He always +dressed well and his speech indicated gentle birth and a good +education. +</p> + +<p> +“He is known to have served a term of imprisonment in the United +States. His photograph has been circulated to every police-station in +the kingdom. Yet he still evades arrest. +</p> + +<p> +“ ‘Good-looking, well-spoken, and young,’ are the main characteristics +of another suspect. He is the clever, evening-dress burglar who calmly +let himself into the Curzon Street house of Mr. William Bingham, and +got away with jewelry valued at £40,000. +</p> + +<p> +“The police have a very shrewd idea of the man they want. At the +moment, however, a detailed description of him is not considered +advisable. +</p> + +<p> +“The fourth of the elusive seven is the scoundrel who, a fortnight +ago, shot and wounded a girl named Carlland, outside her house in +Maresfield Gardens, Hampstead. +</p> + +<p> +“Detectives engaged on the case are anxious to interview a certain man +in connection with this outrage. But he remains in hiding, and is +successfully dodging all efforts to run him to earth. +</p> + +<p> +“There is a distinct clue here, for the man, who is 6 ft. tall, stoops +and is splay-footed. He is about 40 years of age, of sallow +complexion. Like the other missing suspects, he is well-dressed, +usually wearing a well-cut suit, hard felt hat, and brown gloves. +</p> + +<p> +“ ‘There is no place like London for hiding,’ said a Scotland Yard +detective yesterday, ‘and I would wager that all these “wanteds” are +within a five-mile radius of Charing Cross.’ And yet the police are +baffled!” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Naturally all this increased my alarm, for the police were being +goaded into activity by adverse public opinion. +</p> + +<p> +Each time I went out at night I did so in fear and trepidation. I used +to purchase my evening paper regularly of a man who stood at the +corner of Beresford Street, and more than once I fancied he eyed me +with suspicion. +</p> + +<p> +One evening I rang up Bolland, my man, pretending to speak from +Reading, saying that I was still detained in the country, and asking +him to send my letters to the Grand Hotel at Eastbourne. Next day I +wrote to the hotel, engaging a room. Two days later, I sent a polite +letter of apology, saying that I was detained, and asking that if any +letters should come for me they might be sent, re-addressed, to the +poste restante at Charing Cross, to which, one dark, wet evening at +half-past five, I ventured to take a taxi, and obtained them. +</p> + +<p> +There were about half a dozen, including two from Joan. In reply to +them I sent her a long wire to Cannes. The others were of no account. +Concerning one matter, I grew greatly troubled—that of finance. +Though I had a fair balance at my bankers, yet I had no check-book, +nor had I anybody whom I could trust to go to the bank and cash a +check. The one check I carried with me on my flight I would be +compelled to send to Bolland for his wages and outgoings. On my long, +lonely walks at night, I tried to devise some plan. I knew that my +father, not hearing from me, would ring up Bolland, who would tell him +that I was away. Yet, looming ahead were a number of political +engagements I had made, and, if I were missing, people might wonder, +and set up inquiries. +</p> + +<p> +This fact caused me to resolve to brave the dangers and see my father +in secret. As the House was sitting, he was, I knew, living at his +flat in Albany. Therefore, I sent him word by registered letter that I +was in hiding in Camberwell, and gave him my address and name as +Paige. I told him that a great misfortune had befallen me, and that it +was imperative that I should see him in secret. I asked him to say no +word to anyone, but to meet me at midnight at the quietest and most +unfrequented spot I had explored, namely, outside Denmark Hill +Station. I asked him to name the night. +</p> + +<p> +To my joy, next evening the post brought me a letter from him, +expressing greatest anxiety concerning me, and appointing the +following night for our rendezvous. He assured me that he was +impatient to see me. +</p> + +<p> +Though I could hardly contain myself at the thought of being able to +confide in the dear old governor, I knew how furious he would be at +the mere thought of besmirching the family honor. In the eyes of both +police and public I was an alleged assassin, and if caught would be +tried as such. A clever counsel in all probability would obtain my +release. But the scandal, in any case, must fall on my honorable +family. +</p> + +<p> +Soon after receipt of that letter, the girl Hatten returned from her +office, and, as we sat together at dinner, she remarked: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you often go to the pictures?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not very often,” I replied, for in her query I surmised that she +wanted me to take her out one evening, to the pictures or a +dance-hall. More than once, indeed, she had insinuated such a course. +But how dare I show my face in a public place when the whole world had +eyes searching for me? +</p> + +<p> +“Whatever do you do when you go out at night?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Usually I take what I have written in the day over to Fleet Street,” +I replied glibly. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought journalists worked all night and slept all day. A friend of +mine who is on a daily paper never gets home before five in the +morning. Yet you are always back by twelve or so. You must have a soft +job. I wish I had one like yours,” she said, adding: “To be cooped up +in an office all day is getting on my nerves. The fogs in the City are +terrible just now. We had the lights on all day to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“It has been pretty dark here,” I remarked. “We had to light up about +two o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +Then the subject dropped, and she began to relate how her boss had +fallen in love with one of her fellow-typists, and that he was taking +her to the theatre that evening. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s a silly flapper, and I told her so,” my sprightly companion +said. “He’s got a fearful old hag for a wife. She comes to the office +sometimes, and eyes me up and down, as though I were some new species +of animal. I don’t blame him for wanting to escape from her for an +evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose he flirts with you—eh?” I laughed tantalizingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Flirt? I’d like to see him try it,” she replied promptly. “He +wouldn’t do it a second time, you bet. He knows I’m not one of that +sort—especially when I have a nice boy of my own.” +</p> + +<p> +“I congratulate you,” I laughed. “Many boys are not exactly nice!” +</p> + +<p> +I always tried to ingratiate myself with her. +</p> + +<p> +Even though she was always so bright and agreeable towards me, I felt, +by intuition, that she had penetrated my disguise, and that, sooner or +later, she would constitute my gravest danger. Therefore, I resolved +to see my father in secret, and, after obtaining funds, change my +quarters. +</p> + +<p> +Yet would not such an action confirm her suspicions and those of the +police? In my frantic fear I was undecided how to act. +</p> + +<p> +Next day it was still rather foggy, but towards evening it grew +thicker, a condition which I welcomed when I went forth to my +rendezvous. I left the house at ten o’clock, and walked slowly in the +murky gloom along the Camberwell Road, where the street-lamps, usually +brilliant, were half hidden in the mantle of one of those “pea +soupers” which the Londoner knows so well. Traffic was nearly at a +standstill, and a strange silence had fallen on the usually busy +thoroughfare. Ascending Denmark Hill, I discovered, not without +difficulty, Champion Park, a turning on the left which led to the +station. It was a quiet thoroughfare of large houses. The fog was not +quite so intense on the hill as in Camberwell below, and, in a few +minutes, I saw my gray-bearded father standing in the booking-office +awaiting me. +</p> + +<p> +He recognized me at the door and came out to meet me. +</p> + +<p> +I saw surprise on his countenance when he realized my disguise. +</p> + +<p> +“My boy!” he whispered, as he gripped my hand affectionately. “This is +terrible! To think that you—that you should be wanted for murder!” +</p> + +<p> +“It is terrible,” I replied, leading the way along the dark, deserted +road towards Grove Lane. I had dreaded lest he should express anger at +my misfortune. He had always been forgiving, and seldom angry with me +at the various peccadilloes and follies of youth. And now most of all, +how welcome was his attitude. +</p> + +<p> +My present position was, that I must sooner or later bring dishonor on +my family, whose good name and esteem my father so carefully guarded. +The Hipwells held a long and honorable record in Northamptonshire ever +since Sir Thomas Hipwell, the treasurer to Henry VIII, built Hipwell, +where the family, several members of which were from time to time +employed in the service of their sovereign, always had lived. +</p> + +<p> +The old governor was a man of few words. He always spoke bluntly and +to the point, in Parliament and out of it. +</p> + +<p> +“You swear that it was an accident?” he asked in a hard, unusual +voice, which betrayed emotion. It was so dark that, beyond the zone of +light from the station entrance, I was unable to see his face. +</p> + +<p> +“I swear it was,” I replied, and then I related exactly what had +occurred on the night of the tragedy, just as I have already +chronicled it in these pages. +</p> + +<p> +He heard me without comment. +</p> + +<p> +“And what do you intend doing now?” he asked, when I had concluded my +story. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” was my reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Neither do I,” he said in that same strained voice. “You are in a +very precarious position, my boy. And how to help you out of it I am +at my wits’ ends to suggest.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear arrest because of our honor,” I answered. “Because of that, I +fled.” +</p> + +<p> +“An injudicious course—very injudicious. You have, unfortunately, +prejudiced yourself,” he declared. +</p> + +<p> +“The public are, of course, certain that murder was committed, +especially in face of the lies that woman has told,” I admitted. +</p> + +<p> +“I have read all about it in the papers, but I never dreamed that it +was for you, my boy, the police were so actively searching,” my father +said brokenly. +</p> + +<p> +“I must still remain hidden,” I remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“For how long? You must, sooner or later, be identified and arrested. +In to-night’s paper I see it stated that the police have a clue. +But—of course—they seem to find a fresh clue every day.” +</p> + +<p> +I told him of the suggestions of my handsome fellow lodger, at which +he expressed increased apprehension. +</p> + +<p> +“You never know what such a girl may do,” he said. “Perhaps she’ll +tell the police her suspicions, just in order to come into the +limelight. Most girls of her type love a little publicity. Have you +seen to-night’s paper?” +</p> + +<p> +I replied in the negative. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the police have made some interesting discoveries. The +automatic pistol, with which the murder was committed, has been found +to have been stolen with a quantity of goods and jewelry from a house +in Cromwell Road, about a month ago, and, further, the man whose name +was given as Warwick May has been identified by his finger-prints to +be a well-known burglar, named Rodwell, who is wanted for a number of +thefts, his speciality being safe-breaking.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s very interesting,” I remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it is now supposed to be a crime of revenge,” my father went on, +“possibly on the part of one of his friends of the same fraternity, +whom he has betrayed to the police. At least, that is the latest +theory.” +</p> + +<p> +“It does not help me very much—does it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only that they will be looking for a burglar, and not for my son,” he +said quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“I fear they will be looking for the burglar in just the kind of place +of concealment that I have chosen. You see, I dare not move my +quarters now, or that girl’s suspicions, and those of my landlady, +would certainly be confirmed,” I remarked despondently. +</p> + +<p> +When I spoke of the necessity of having money, he at once produced ten +bank of England notes, each for ten pounds, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“I have brought you this to go on with. But I do wish you would return +to Sackville Street, and allow Bolland to think you have got back from +the country.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would, father, only I dare not leave Avenue Road, for reasons I +have just given. Nor dare I risk the channel crossing, for all the +ports are watched.” +</p> + +<p> +“True. That girl is, unfortunately, your chief danger. Your disguise +is excellent, but your life must be terribly monotonous.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not without its interesting side, though. I am now studying life amid +the working-classes.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear boy! You were always optimistic and cheerful. I, however, +confess I do not share your optimism at the present moment. These are +dark days for both of us. To-morrow, I’ll see Jesmond, the Home +Secretary, and get out of him what the police are doing in the case.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I have your forgiveness, father?” I asked him, as we were +retracing our steps toward the station. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, my boy. Such a tragic adventure as yours might happen to +anybody,” said the dear old fellow. “But your initial mistake was that +you did not remain and face the consequences.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought of you, dad—of the family,” I replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we must hope for the best,” he said. “We had better hold no +communication with each other. I will go to Sackville Street, see +Bolland, explain your absence, and pay him regularly. You had better +not bother about letters or money. I’ll send you cash from time to +time. When I came to meet you, I intended to urge you to go back to +Sackville Street as though nothing had happened. But I now fully +realize the danger of that girl Hatten. You must do all you can to +dispel her doubts; and continue to live there at least for a time, +until your strange adventures are at an end.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he gripped my hand warmly, and with a final: +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, my dear boy! I shall be thinking hourly of you,” the dear +old governor entered the station, leaving me alone. +</p> + +<p> +“Until my strange adventures are at an end!” I repeated aloud, as I +walked back to the main road. +</p> + +<p> +I never dreamed that I was only at the very beginning of a series of +the most remarkable happenings, such as, perhaps, no other man in all +the world, except my own unimportant self, Lionel Hipwell, has lived +to relate! +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch04"> +CHAPTER FOUR.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">DEADLY PERIL</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Down</span> Denmark Hill I went, consoled and gratified that, at least, I +still had one big-hearted and affectionate friend in the world, my +dear old father, who believed my story. But did the world—or would +the jury at the Old Bailey—believe it? +</p> + +<p> +Surely it was, in face of the allegation of that poor woman of the +night, a very thin defence. +</p> + +<p> +I argued within myself as a man who had been called to the Bar and +understood the pros and cons of a criminal case. I saw that, with the +bitter enmity of the woman Bennett who, out of revenge, would swear +that I had attacked her burglar-lover, I should have a great +difficulty to assure any jury of my innocence. +</p> + +<p> +The career of the dead man, his profession as a burglar, the automatic +pistol, and his criminal record would all go in my favor. But, I knew +only too well that counsel instructed by the Public Prosecutor could +make out a deadly case against me, not only of manslaughter, but of +murder. +</p> + +<p> +One detail which I examined, placing myself in the case as counsel for +the prosecution, was that of the pistol. A burglar, having taken such +a weapon from a house in Cromwell Road, would hardly keep it on his +person to provide a hall-mark that he was a thief. On the contrary, +the prosecution, of a certainty, would argue that the particular +weapon—licenses for which go to and fro in every police-station in +Britain, after the abortive General Strike, the most careful record +being taken—could be traced, and suddenly the clue would be at an +end. I might have bought it from somebody—someone unknown—who wanted +to rid himself of the responsibility and the tax for carrying +firearms. +</p> + +<p> +I walked through the fog, now and then narrowly escaping bumping +against half-suffocated people who, on their way home to bed, were +treading through the impenetrable veil. My eyes were watering, my +breath became affected, and I longed to be back again in my shabby +little sitting-room; for, the night was the worst that had been +experienced in London for many years. +</p> + +<p> +My father had heartened me. Jesmond, who was Home Secretary and his +intimate friend, might reveal to him what Scotland Yard was doing, and +that knowledge might allow me a loophole for escape. +</p> + +<p> +In the Camberwell Road the fog, at the lower height, had settled down +to a dense blackness, such as South London experiences now and then in +the course of every few years. Trains, buses, and taxis had ceased +running several hours ago, and the usual busy thoroughfares of the +arterial roads to London, Blackfriars, Waterloo, and Westminister +Bridges were silent, save for the voices of the unseen, or of those +whose passing shadows were weirdly distorted. Only those who have +battled with a thick night fog in London can conceive such atmospheric +traffic, and ocular conditions. +</p> + +<p> +I had trodden the pavement of the Camberwell Road on so many nights, +at all hours, that I was able, after a number of efforts, to find the +turning which took me into Avenue Road. All was dark and mysterious in +that drab, monotonous thoroughfare; the light of the street-lamps had +been blotted out by the fog. There was nothing for me to do but to +creep along, feeling the rows of iron railings beside the deep areas. +</p> + +<p> +Each house was uniform in construction, and, in normal conditions, +easily distinguishable by daylight, or even by the light of the +street-lamps. But that night I became utterly lost. At last, however, +I found the house, as I imagined. But, ascending the steps, I felt a +brass-plate on the lintel of the door; hence the house was not the one +in which I lived. +</p> + +<p> +I tried a second one, but my key did not fit the key-hole. I knew, +then that that, too, was not Mrs. Bowyer’s. So thick was the fog that +only by feeling the railings could I guide myself. Here and there a +red blur in the darkness was visible, but to recognize where I lived +seemed impossible. I tried a dozen different doors, but my key refused +to open any of them. +</p> + +<p> +Then I wondered whether Mrs. Bowyer, believing I had gone to bed, had +let down the catch in the latch, and, therefore, the key refused to +turn! The prospect of spending such a night out of doors was certainly +not a pleasant one, and, though I had a hundred pounds in my pocket, I +dare not seek lodgings in any hotel, even provided I found one. +</p> + +<p> +The night was black and suffocating; many street accidents occurred in +consequence. Except the tubes, all traffic was suspended, save +perhaps, the mail trains, which crawled slowly out of London where, +beyond the greater metropolis, the fog was not quite so thick. +</p> + +<p> +For fully half an hour I endeavored to discover Mrs. Bowyer’s, but +without success, when suddenly it occurred to me that I might have +mistaken the turning, and that I was in the wrong street! I groped my +way back to the main road, and then, to my amazement, established the +fact that I was not in Avenue Road at all. So I went on to the next +turning and, at last, found the familiar grocer’s shop at the corner. +Creeping along by the railings again I counted the flights of steps +until I discovered those leading to Mrs. Bowyer’s. +</p> + +<p> +With a sigh of relief, I turned the key and entered. The light in the +hall had been extinguished as sign to me that Mrs. Bowyer, her +daughter, and her lady lodger had retired. So, having secured the +door, as I always did, I crept noiselessly up to my rooms. +</p> + +<p> +As I did so, a rather unusual perfume greeted my nostrils. Every house +has its own peculiar smell, but one of the women must have been using +some subtle Eastern perfume, sweet and much resembling sandalwood. +</p> + +<p> +Having gained the landing on the first floor, I suddenly heard the +gruff voice of a man, followed by a low, exultant laugh; and then I +saw that from beneath the door came a streak of light. There came a +woman’s high-pitched and rather musical voice, too, followed by that +of a second man. Evidently, Mrs. Bowyer had visitors. Why, however, +had the hall light been extinguished? I stood listening. Several +people were conversing in such low tones that I could not distinguish +what they were saying. Suddenly I heard one word quite distinctly. It +was “police.” +</p> + +<p> +My heart stood still. +</p> + +<p> +The detectives were there waiting for my return to arrest me! +</p> + +<p> +Again I listened, but they were only discussing something in low +whispers. I had walked into the trap set for me. +</p> + +<p> +Having turned, I was about to descend the stairs and creep forth into +the fog again when, of a sudden, I became aware of a strong, heavy +hand clutching my throat. And somebody whom I could not see, blocked +my passage on the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +They had at last discovered me. +</p> + +<p> +What happened during the next exciting moments I can hardly tell. +</p> + +<p> +The man shouted, whereupon the door was flung open, and seven or eight +persons emerged excitedly from the room, while I, in the grasp of two +rough-looking individuals, was hauled unceremoniously into the light. +</p> + +<p> +In a second I realized that the room was furnished quite differently +from that of Mrs. Bowyer. Then it suddenly dawned on me that I had +inadvertently entered the wrong house! Yet I saw standing there, +statuesque and amazed, the handsome figure of my fellow-lodger, Lisely +Hatten. With her was an over-dressed foreign woman, a tall, +fair-haired young Englishman, of the type of a naval officer, and four +beetle-browed, swarthy foreigners, all in a great state of anger and +alarm. +</p> + +<p> +“I found this fellow listening!” cried the very tall, muscular man of +Negroid type, with thick lips and bloodshot eyes, who had seized me on +the stairs. He spoke with a strange accent. “The spy has overheard!” +Whereat the strange nocturnal party stood aghast. +</p> + +<p> +“I heard nothing! I am no spy,” I protested instantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps not,” exclaimed one of the other men, who was apparently in +authority. “But you have seen!” +</p> + +<p> +Then, next second I became aware that upon the table was a quantity of +old-fashioned jewelry lying in a heap, gems which flashed and +glittered beneath the light, but all in antique settings. +</p> + +<p> +“I have seen nothing,” I assured my captors. +</p> + +<p> +Were they jewel-thieves in the act of dividing their spoils? +</p> + +<p> +“You are a police-spy!” shouted the dark-bearded, undersized foreigner +who had just spoken. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” cried the girl who was my fellow-lodger. “I suspected him from +the first. He told me he was a journalist, but nobody knows him in +Fleet Street. He goes out on night duty from Scotland Yard.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is certainly untrue,” I said resentfully. “I am no police-spy, +and your affairs, whatever they may be, are surely no business of +mine.” +</p> + +<p> +The big, dark-faced man, who had made me his prisoner, laughed +mockingly and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Unfortunately for you, we happen to know you. You are Lionel Hipwell. +Why do you come to live here in disguise as Mr. Paige if you are not +acting for the police?” +</p> + +<p> +I was silent. What could I say? +</p> + +<p> +It was plain that the pretty, half-foreign typist had suspected me, +but to my amazement, not as the assassin of Bloomsbury. It was as an +agent of the Criminal Investigation Department I had been suspected. +In that second my whole outlook on life changed. +</p> + +<p> +I saw myself faced with a greater peril than I ever could have +dreamed. By mere mischance, bad fortune following on bad fortune, I +had fallen upon the secret of what was evidently a most desperate gang +of jewel thieves. +</p> + +<p> +In that narrow, shuttered room, with its cheap table piled with gems +of untold value, precious stones that my eyes had never before beheld, +I stood bewildered, and at the mercy of my accusers. +</p> + +<p> +Surely I was innocent of everything concerning them. They knew my +name! They knew, perhaps, that, being interested in criminology, I had +once been able to place the police on the track of one of the greatest +forgers of the present century. They evidently knew me, and, what was +worse—they feared me. +</p> + +<p> +They did not know that I feared them equally. And yet, dared I reveal +why I was in hiding? +</p> + +<p> +I drew a long breath. In a few seconds I passed in review all my +hopes, my life, my fears. At last, however, I blurted out: +</p> + +<p> +“The reason I am here is because the police are hunting me for the +Bloomsbury murder, of which, I swear to you all, I am innocent.” +</p> + +<p> +An ominous silence of a few seconds fell. Then the under-sized little +foreigner, with the black gimlet eyes, laughed derisively and said in +a bad English: +</p> + +<p> +“My friends, we have to deal with a very clever fellow in this Mr. +Hipwell. Certainly he is not the man for whom his police department is +in search. A devilish clever excuse, but when one is faced with +extinction, as he is—for the only way to deal with spies is to close +their blurting lips by death—then any of us would naturally take upon +ourselves any accusation such as he does.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m innocent! I swear I am!” I shouted, facing the assembly boldly. +“I fled from the police, and only by misadventure have I entered here. +I have heard nothing, neither have I seen anything. I am innocent!” I +cried vehemently. +</p> + +<p> +I could see that they were a desperate gang who, fearing lest I should +betray them, intended to put an end to my existence. Their manner and +their murderous, evil looks showed only too plainly that the threat of +death would be put in execution. Indeed, they were all conversing +excitedly in some language entirely foreign to me. +</p> + +<p> +I implored the girl Hatten, who spoke the tongue as fluently as the +others, to explain to them that I had not been spying, and to assure +them that I would preserve their secret whatever it might be. +</p> + +<p> +But she only turned on me with anger flashing in her eyes, and +replied: +</p> + +<p> +“You are an agent of the police! I suspected it from the first. What +you say about the murder in Bloomsbury is a lie. I only suggested that +you answered to the description which Scotland Yard had circulated in +order to watch your face. The way you answered confirmed my suspicions +that you are a detective! And as you are a spy, we have decided that +you shall pay the penalty.” +</p> + +<p> +I saw that, like her friends, she was fiercely antagonistic and +inexorable. Her face, her manner, her kindly attitude towards me,—all +had entirely changed. From being my friend, she had suddenly become my +worst enemy; and I knew that nothing could save me from the fury of +that desperate gang of foreigners, whose nationality I could not +determine. +</p> + +<p> +I stood there in deadly peril, scarce daring to breathe, watching my +enemies in excited consultation while they decided my fate. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly the door before me opened and a woman entered. +</p> + +<p> +Our eyes met for an instant. An exclamation froze on my lips. +</p> + +<p> +The newcomer was the woman of the night, Hilda Bennett! +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch05"> +CHAPTER FIVE.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">HELD BY THE ENEMY</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">In</span> an instant I saw that the woman Hilda Bennett had not recognized +me. For that I was thankful. +</p> + +<p> +The pale-faced young Englishman, however, was beside her in a moment, +exclaiming: +</p> + +<p> +“This man has spied upon us! We are deciding what shall be done with +him!” +</p> + +<p> +It was plain that the woman was a member of the criminal gang, and, in +all probability, the man who had lost his life while grappling with me +was also one of its members. In any case, the police had identified +him by his finger-prints, taken after death. +</p> + +<p> +“How has he spied? How did he get in here?” inquired the woman in +surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“He evidently has a false key. He is a detective!” said the girl +Hatten. “He lives in the same house with me, and calls himself Paige. +He pretended to come up from the country, but I’ve been watching him. +He only goes out at night—never in the day.” +</p> + +<p> +“And he tells us a ridiculous story that the reason he is in hiding is +because it was he who shot Monkey Dick!” explained the pale-faced +young man. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” cried Lisely, turning to Hilda Bennett. “You know who did that! +Is this the man?” she demanded fiercely, pointing at me. +</p> + +<p> +The woman who in her fury had lied to the police against me, regarded +me steadily, and I feared that my faltering gaze might betray me. She +looked straight into my face for some moments, and then she spoke. +</p> + +<p> +Again I held my breath. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she said decisively. “He’s a liar! This is not the man who +killed Monkey Dick!” +</p> + +<p> +My heart leapt within me at that declaration, which cleared me of +suspicion, but next second the undersized foreigner, who seemed to be +the chief, remarked in his broken English: +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! Then he must be a police-spy from Scotland Yard! So we are +right!” +</p> + +<p> +“I swear I have no connection with Scotland Yard!” I cried in dismay. +</p> + +<p> +All laughed me to derision, hurling at me epithets in their +inexplicable language, which not till long afterwards did I know to be +Roumanian. +</p> + +<p> +“What shall we do with him?” asked the woman Bennett, whose face was +rouged and powdered, and whose lips were almost vermilion. The shabby, +long, old tweed coat she wore had fallen back, revealing her to be +dressed in a gorgeous evening-gown of shell-pink net, covered with +pearly sequins, a Parisian creation that would have attracted +attention in any West End ballroom. +</p> + +<p> +I had escaped the real charge against me, only to face a greater and +more perilous one. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s put out the spy’s eyes, so that he’ll never be able to identify +us!” suggested the girl who was my fellow-lodger. +</p> + +<p> +“A good idea!” cried the woman Bennett. “He’s a spy in any case. +Monkey Dick always said that it was far safer to prick a spy’s eyes +than to take on his body for disposal. In the latter, a trace is +always left. Let’s serve him as we did that spy Turner. He never spied +again. I saw him last year, tapping with his stick on the curb in +Waterloo Road.” +</p> + +<p> +I stood helpless and horrified. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I remember!” declared the stunted little foreigner in his bad +English. “We did well not to kill him—very well! It was far better +so. No police magistrate would accept the evidence of the blind!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then let us prick out his eyes!” cried Lisely, exultant at the +success of her suggestion. “He will then be sufficiently punished for +spying upon us.” +</p> + +<p> +I confess that, defenceless in the hands of that desperate gang, I +became petrified by terror. What use was it to exhibit the boldness +inbred by a brave and ancient family? +</p> + +<p> +I contemplated making a dash for the door. But such action was +forestalled by the two men who had first seized me clapping a pair of +handcuffs upon me ere I could divine their intention. Thus was I +rendered utterly powerless. +</p> + +<p> +The thought that they meant to blind me held me speechless in horror. +I stood there with fettered hands, helpless to raise a finger in +self-defence, utterly paralyzed. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me have the extreme satisfaction of pricking the spy’s eyes!” +cried the girl Lisely who, for some mysterious reason, had turned +entirely against me, and was now my bitterest enemy. +</p> + +<p> +“For God’s sake, don’t!” I shouted in appeal. +</p> + +<p> +“Has anybody got a long pin, or needle?” the girl asked, turning to +her companions, whereat the flashily-dressed woman produced a large, +thick safety-pin which she straightened out and handed to her. The +girl who posed so cleverly as a typist in the City, and yet who was +one of a desperate association of criminals, as proved by the pile of +stolen gems upon the table, seemed to have been suddenly transformed +into a diabolical virago. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Bertram. You’re at Guy’s. Help me. We’ll perform the operation +together in the other room!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, here!” demanded the woman Bennett. “Let us all witness the +punishment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let Lisely do as she wishes. It is her affair,” decided the little +man, whose word as leader was law. “She it is who has tracked him down +as a spy!” +</p> + +<p> +I held my shackled hands in front of my face to ward off her attack. +In my ears resounded excited voices speaking that unintelligible +tongue, punctuated by ribald laughter, while the young Englishman +addressed as Bertram, with my fellow-lodger at Mrs. Bowyer’s, and +aided by one of the men, bundled me into the adjoining room, a small, +cheaply-furnished bedroom, lit by a flaring gas-jet, stuffy and full +of the faint, not unpleasant, odor that seemed to fill the house and +mingle with the fog. +</p> + +<p> +“Go back!” ordered the girl. “We will do this alone!” And the man who +had helped to force me into the room against my will, despite my +strenuous struggles—for I assure you I did not give in as a craven +coward—retired, closing the door after him. I stared at Lisely Hatten +in bewildered helplessness. +</p> + +<p> +The instant the door was closed the girl’s attitude changed. She +seemed to half relent, for she said: +</p> + +<p> +“I will spare you as much pain as I can, Mr. Paige—or Mr. +Hipwell—eh?” And she produced from a little case a hypodermic +syringe. “The shock would be too severe without this, but—a few +moments’ sleep, and then all will be darkness.” +</p> + +<p> +“God!” I cried. “Spare me. Are you mad? I’ve done nothing—the story +I’ve told you is true—every word of it. I swear it is!” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear fellow,” said the good-looking young criminal, who was +evidently a medical student. “Don’t let’s argue. You’ve, unfortunately +for yourself, seen us; you know us, and you would be a constant danger +to us. When we discover danger we always remove it as far as possible. +You can congratulate yourself that your body is not in a furnace +to-night. You will live, to think over to-night, and to repent your +intrusion here.” +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, the girl had filled the little syringe with some pale-blue +liquid which she held to the light. Then, in a caressing voice, she +said: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t worry. This will save you much pain in the present, and, Mr. +Paige,” she added in a strange voice full of meaning, “much disability +in the future.” +</p> + +<p> +“Damn you!” I shouted in fury. “What do you hell-fiends intend to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” the woman whispered. “Trust us both and don’t worry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Worry? When you are going to blind me?” I yelled, heedless of her +warning. +</p> + +<p> +“You fool!” she cried. And as I raised my fettered hands against my +eyes I felt the sharp prick of the hypodermic needle in my left wrist. +A moment later I felt her finger pressed hard upon the puncture. +</p> + +<p> +What happened immediately afterwards I have no idea. Probably I shall +never know. +</p> + +<p> +I somehow felt myself carried as though in air, lightly, buoyantly, +through space, over a wide, unruffled sapphire sea. I recollect a +feeling that I had discovered the secret of flight; for, I was alone, +skimming the water like a swallow, without fatigue, ever forward in +boundless space. Before me I saw in the far blue distance a range of +snow-capped mountains, raising their glacier-clad peaks into the +clouds, peaks higher than the giant Jungfrau which I had seen in +Switzerland—higher indeed than I had even seen. They rose as a dark, +insurmountable barrier before me, and I was approaching them at what +seemed hundreds of miles an hour. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, I came to a great, gray, granite, treeless precipice, and +knew that I must be dashed against it to my death. But, instead, I +again rose in short, rapid spirals, higher and higher and yet still +higher, over a region of eternal snows and ice. And, once more I was +out into the illimitable sunshine, soaring in space, as a bird with +tireless wings, flying in the limitless space, heedless and +intoxicated with the pleasure of a newly-awakened interest in life. +</p> + +<p> +A panorama of busy cities and of great stretches of picturesque +country passed before my vision. Dark forests, placid lakes, green +swards, mighty rivers, babbling brooks, wildly excited crowds of men +on ’Change in cities, the homely comfort of the great country houses +of the rich, all of these passed in rapid review before my distorted +vision. +</p> + +<p> +I beheld scenes which I had never before gazed on. I smelt the perfume +of flowers hitherto unknown to me, strange, wonderful tropical +flowers. Then all those other scenes faded to give place to a great +arid desert, brown, inhospitable, without any sign of vegetable life +as far as my eyes could see. +</p> + +<p> +It was astounding, bewildering. I tried to collect my thoughts; but +they were addled. My brain was not normal. It seemed wrapped in +cotton-wool. Sometimes, over everything was the clear azure light of +evening; at others, the sun shone fiercely, revealing far-distant +objects with great distinctness. Yet, at others, they were half +obscured by an uncertain, blood-red mist. +</p> + +<p> +On I sailed; on through space, reviewing the whole world as I went. +Strange tongues sounded in my ears and stranger scenes greeted me at +every moment. Now upon land, now upon the boundless ocean, and +sometimes in express trains, I sped through a new and unknown world, +bright and brilliant, that knew not darkness or night; for day was +unending. +</p> + +<p> +Distinctly, to-day I remember wondering if I were dead. Had I passed +into the Beyond, into which the modern world is striving so +strenuously to penetrate? Those devils into whose privacy I had so +accidentally stumbled had murdered me, without doubt. They had closed +my lips to prevent my betraying their super-criminal methods. +</p> + +<p> +The face of that innocent, good-looking girl, Lisely Hatten, rose +before me, together with that of the pallid young Englishman whom I +had at first taken for a naval officer, but who was a medical student. +And—why, I know not—I actually welcomed the recollection! No hatred +did I experience of that fiery-tempered girl with the soft brown eyes +and wavy hair, who had begged her companions to allow her to put out +my eyes with that large safety-pin. +</p> + +<p> +My last remembrance was of the prick of the hypodermic needle. At any +rate, the girl had treated me humanely! Perhaps that was the reason I +felt no malice against her. +</p> + +<p> +When, however, I recalled the face of the woman Bennett, I experienced +a fierce revulsion of feeling against her. She was my bitterest enemy, +even in the fact that she had failed to identify me and to +substantiate the story of my meeting with Monkey Dick when he was in +Bloomsbury. That very denial had corroborated the girl Lisely’s +declaration that I was a police-spy. Hence the vengeance which the +gang had taken on my unfortunate self! +</p> + +<p> +Still I sped on in mid air, light as down, now rising, now falling, +tireless as ever, whirling through space, traveling without count of +time, witnessing fresh scenes, meeting fresh people, seeing fresh +faces, yet unable to find tongue to communicate with them. +</p> + +<p> +The whole experience coincided with something I had read about dealing +with life after death. +</p> + +<p> +Was I dead, I wondered? +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch06"> +CHAPTER SIX.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">ILLONA!</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">A loud</span>, ringing peal of laughter sounded in my ears, and at that +moment my aerial journey ended. In a flash all became transformed. It +concluded with a sudden shock. +</p> + +<p> +I was conscious of lying upon a polished floor. Around me, apparently, +was a brilliant dinner-party. At the table about thirty persons were +seated and I seemed to have created great consternation; for, two +flunkeys in plush breeches and stockings were helping me to my feet. +</p> + +<p> +I held my breath, aghast. +</p> + +<p> +An elderly man, in evening-dress and wearing decorations, dashed up to +me saying: +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Hipwell! I hope you haven’t hurt yourself! You tilted your +chair and it slipped from under you! By Jove! you gave your head a +nasty bump on the floor! Are you quite all right?” he asked, placing +his hand upon my shoulder with great anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite all right!” I laughed faintly. “Please forgive me.” And a few +moments later, one of the servants having replaced my chair, I resumed +my seat amid the laughter and congratulations of the others. +</p> + +<p> +“You might have hurt your head very badly!” remarked an elderly, +well-preserved woman who sat on my left. She was very handsomely +dressed and extremely refined. +</p> + +<p> +“It was entirely my own fault,” I said apologetically. “I, of course, +did not know that the floor was so highly polished.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know. I had the same accident last summer in the Danieli Hotel, in +Venice and hurt myself rather badly. Highly-polished floors are always +extremely dangerous. But, if one lives in an Embassy one has to have +such a floor in the State dining-room, as well as in the ballroom.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is this an Embassy?” I inquired, gazing blankly around the handsome +apartment, with its high, gilded ceiling and fine old portraits upon +the paneled walls. +</p> + +<p> +My companion regarded me strangely and said: +</p> + +<p> +“I really hope, Mr. Hipwell, that you haven’t hurt your head!” +</p> + +<p> +Instantly I saw that by betraying ignorance of my surroundings I would +bring on myself suspicion of being slightly deranged. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” I laughed. “I was only joking, really.” +</p> + +<p> +“You quite alarmed me!” exclaimed my companion, and, bending over me, +she addressed the pretty, auburn-haired young girl on my other hand, +saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Contessina! Did you hear that? Mr. Hipwell has just asked me whether +this is an Embassy—as though he had never been in the British Embassy +in Rome before! It’s too funny. He gave me quite a fright. I thought +that his fall had injured his brain!” +</p> + +<p> +“Signor Hipwell is always joking,” laughed the Little Countess, +speaking in Italian, a language which I happened to know. “One can +never take him seriously. He said all sorts of stupid things to my +father a couple of months ago—pretending that he did not know +him—and all that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Forgive me, Contessina,” I said, bowing, not knowing her name or who +she might be. To my knowledge I had never seen her before that moment. +“But I was joking with your father.” +</p> + +<p> +“As you did with His Excellency the Ambassador when you arrived from +London this morning,” laughed the older woman. “His wife, Lady +Kingscliffe, told me about it.” Then, turning to me, she asked, “Are +you really suffering from loss of memory, as His Excellency has been +fearing?” +</p> + +<p> +“His Excellency need have no cause for apprehension,” I reassured the +elderly lady on my left. Then I turned to my other companion, who was +evidently the unmarried daughter of an Italian Count, and we laughed +together. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile my bewildered eyes were taking in every detail of that +unfamiliar and unexpected scene. +</p> + +<p> +The last actual recollection I had had was of being helpless and +terrified in the hands of that desperate gang of criminals at +Camberwell. Yet at that moment the whole scene had been suddenly +transformed, and I was guest at an official dinner given by the +British Ambassador in Rome. +</p> + +<p> +At the head of the table sat His Excellency, a rather spare, +grey-haired man in his diplomatic uniform, with a jeweled cross at his +throat and a ribbon across his shirt-front. Nearly all the other men +were also in the uniform of the various countries they represented, +and wearing stars, ribbons, and neat rows of decorations. To my +surprise, I found myself also wearing diplomatic uniform, with a +foreign order. +</p> + +<p> +The women were all smartly dressed, and many wore wonderful jewels, +which glittered and flashed beneath the electric rays. At the opposite +end of the flower-decked table sat Lady Kingscliffe, a distant +relative of ours, whom I had known nearly all my life. +</p> + +<p> +I was guest at the Embassy in Rome. But why? +</p> + +<p> +All was bewildering. Why had I been invited to that stately dinner, at +which I had made such a confounded fool of myself by unbalancing my +chair, and afterwards asking where I was? +</p> + +<p> +To keep my mouth shut and to observe closely was the best course. All +was so strange, so unreal. True, I held a post at the Foreign Office, +but my duties did not take me abroad. Why, therefore, was I a guest at +the same table where, sitting on His Excellency’s right hand, was the +Duce, the Dictator of Italy, the greatest post-war figure in Europe, +Mussolini? +</p> + +<p> +Bull-headed, with his strong, commanding countenance, and wearing +plain evening-dress, he was chatting with a young girl in pale-yellow, +and laughing the while. I recognized him from the many photographs in +the Press, and I remember wondering whether beneath his dress-shirt he +wore his famous coat of mail. +</p> + +<p> +The many attempts to assassinate him had left him so cold that he had +openly defied Fate, declaring that he led such a charmed life, that no +plot could ever cause his undoing or his death. There sat the demigod +of the Fascists at his ease, in the intimacy of the dinner-table! +</p> + +<p> +Was it any wonder that such a scene held me entranced? Was I really +dreaming? +</p> + +<p> +My table companions spoke to me—on one side in English and, on the +other, in Italian. I had not the slightest knowledge of who either of +them was, and what I replied I know not until this day. +</p> + +<p> +At last the State dinner ended, and we passed into a great ballroom +with gilded ceiling and magnificent crystal electroliers. Already a +number of people had assembled, and the entrance of His Brittanic +Majesty’s representative, accompanied by the Duce, was the signal for +much bowing and hand shaking. It was a brilliant, cosmopolitan crowd, +such as, in these post-war days, could only assemble in the Eternal +City. +</p> + +<p> +The long windows of the great salon stood open to a glorious, shady +garden and let in the balmy, flower-scented air, delightfully +refreshing after the rather close atmosphere of the dining-room. +</p> + +<p> +Alone I stood, agape. How came I there? Had I been wafted to Rome upon +the fairy carpet of the Arabian story? Or was it actual reality? +</p> + +<p> +The orchestra struck up a lively fox-trot quite unfamiliar to me. I am +rather fond of dancing, and with Joan as partner, knew most of the +popular tunes. Yet, the one in question was entirely unfamiliar. I +went back to the wall, and, standing near the door, watched the +brilliant spectacle of uniformed and decorated men and bejeweled +women. Diplomatic representatives of nearly every country in the world +were there; and, as always, the reception of the British +representative to the Quirinale was a spectacle perhaps unequaled in +Europe. +</p> + +<p> +I stood astounded amid the brilliant throng, the dance-inspiring +rhythm in my ears, my senses bewildered, watching the cosmopolitan +dancers, yet not knowing a soul except old Dickie Kingscliffe and his +wife. +</p> + +<p> +As members of many of the best dance-clubs in London, Joan and I had +made our peregrinations and knew the qualities of the various floors +from the Florida to the Cosmo. But where was she? The dance orchestra +brought her back vividly to my mind, causing me to reflect on our +meeting the last time I had seen her. As I stood there watching, her +sweet face slowly rose, distinct and lovable, in a pale-grey mist, her +adored countenance with that sweet smile on it. Yet a few seconds +later, before I could realize it, the faint vision faded and the mist +grew darkened into night. +</p> + +<p> +My brain was in a whirl, in an abnormal condition. +</p> + +<p> +A sense of absolute boredom at once overcame me. +</p> + +<p> +The pretty little Contessina, with the brown eyes and shingled +hair—just a trifle too light for an Italian, I thought—was dancing +with the tall French military attaché; while my other table +companion, the elderly Englishwoman, had as partner a somewhat obese +Italian, perhaps a deputy, because of his cross of Cavaliere of the +Order of the Crown of Italy. +</p> + +<p> +My attention was centred on the Little Countess. She presented a smart +figure of perfect line and graceful movement, charming in +pale-fuchsia, with a necklet of pearls and a magnificent bracelet of +rubies and diamonds. Once, as she passed, she caught my eye and smiled +over the shoulder of her elegant and lavishly decorated partner. +</p> + +<p> +While standing there, Her Excellency Lady Kingscliffe approached me +and we stood to gossip. After her husband’s return from the Legation +at Brussels, before my strange adventure in Camberwell, I had known +her ladyship well in London. Dickie Kingscliffe had had a long and +distinguished career at the Foreign Office. He was the kind of man who +had secured rapid promotion by being dumped into any vacancy abroad +that occurred. Before the Sovereign had conferred on him the Knight +Commandership of St. Michael and George, Kingscliffe had spent many +weary years in the Do-nothing Department at Downing Street. Later, he +had been sent out—because he dressed well, entertained well, and was +able to see without seeing, and speak without saying anything, +according to true Foreign Office traditions—first to Constantinople +as second secretary, then to Paris as first secretary, and after the +war he had drifted along as Minister at Lisbon. Later on, again, he +had been sent to Copenhagen and to Brussels, until apparently now he +had fallen into one of the best-paid posts as full-fledged Envoy +Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary to the gay Court of the +Quirinale. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my dear Lionel,” exclaimed Her Excellency, “I hope you don’t +feel too fatigued after your journey from London? It was awfully kind +of you to bring me those things from Bronley’s in the bag. My maid +gave them to me just as I was dressing.” +</p> + +<p> +I bowed, expressing delight at being able to do any little service for +her, yet entirely in ignorance of having brought anything from London, +or of ever traveling to Rome. +</p> + +<p> +“By the way,” she went on, “how is your father? I haven’t seen him for +ages. I see that he often speaks in the House.” +</p> + +<p> +I replied that, as I traveled a great deal, I saw very little of him, +but, as far as I knew, he was quite well. At that instant there +flashed through my brain the memory of that last dramatic midnight +interview in the fog at Denmark Hill station. +</p> + +<p> +What had occurred since then? All was a perfect blank. +</p> + +<p> +Twice the Contessina re-passed me as I stood with Her Excellency, and +each time she gave me a sunny smile of recognition. The pretty girl +intrigued me. There was some curious feature about her; one that I +could no more fathom than the depths of mystery into which I had been +plunged. +</p> + +<p> +Somehow I felt confident that we had met before; but where, I could +not recall. The smile that played about her lips seemed familiar. In a +hazy sort of way I felt that she was my intimate friend and that she +was enjoying my failure to recognize her. +</p> + +<p> +Presently I asked Her Excellency: +</p> + +<p> +“Who is the little lady who sat next to me at dinner? Look! She’s over +there with the French military attaché.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the Contessina! We met her a few weeks ago at the +Spaniard’s”—meaning the Spanish Embassy. “She was with a Baroness +Boin, her chaperon. She seems to be well known and popular, for she +goes everywhere in Rome. Her name is Angela Ugostini, daughter of +Count Ugostini of Ravenna.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is very charming. Don’t you think so, Excellenza?” I said, as my +eyes wandered around the great ballroom after her. +</p> + +<p> +“What!” cried the Ambassador’s wife in feigned protest. “Don’t you +remember once in London you told me that you thought no man who +carried dispatches should ever marry? And yet you are admiring a +pretty girl. Well, my dear Lionel, I’m really surprised! I admit that +you held that opinion before you knew Joan.” +</p> + +<p> +Joan! The name stirred highly strung chords within my memory. Joan! My +beloved! Though torn by emotion, I strove frantically to remain +unconcerned. +</p> + +<p> +“Two years ago I first met her—at your house, Lady Kingscliffe,” I +remarked. “My declaration was made before that.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Lionel, your idea of time is most erratic! Why, what are you +thinking of? Are you dreaming? We’ve been here in Rome nearly two +years. It must have been over four years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +I remained silent. If what Her Excellency said was correct, then I had +lost all knowledge of about two years of my life—of where I had been, +of what acts I had committed, or of what friendships or enmities I had +made. I had a blank in my life of two whole years to fill. +</p> + +<p> +“You know nowadays, my dear boy, you are always a little vague on some +points. Joan has told me so. I wonder why it is? Perhaps so much +traveling is affecting you,” she remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“What has Joan said?” I asked, wondering what had happened to me +during those lost two years. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, she’s such a sweet girl, Lionel, I really wonder that you treat +her as you do,” said Lady Kingscliffe reproachfully. “But there, I +suppose it is no affair of mine, so let’s talk of something else.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you dance?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d rather not,” she declared gracefully. “I’m a trifle tired. +To-morrow night there is the State ball at the Quirinale. You were at +the last one two months ago. I see the Minister of the Household, the +Marquis Visconti, over there! I’ll ask him to send you a command to +the Excelsior.” +</p> + +<p> +I thanked her profusely. She was quite unaware that she had +unconsciously given me information of which I had been sorely in +need—namely, the name of the hotel in which I was staying. +</p> + +<p> +“You recollect that dainty little Marchesa Pozzoli—you had supper +with her at the last State ball—she’s just died very mysteriously in +Palermo—poor little woman! All Rome is talking of it. Foul play is +hinted at. Her husband soon afterwards went off to Paris with La +Fafala the dancer,” she added significantly. +</p> + +<p> +“How very tragic!” I replied. Then, as the name slowly brought forth +memories, I remembered her, for I had known Italy and Switzerland +fairly well. A black-eyed, dark-haired, merry little woman of +twenty-five, she had been a most graceful dancer and a cheery +companion. Before her marriage she had been one of the Strozzis of +Florence; since her union with Pozzoli she had been a particularly +bright personage in Rome society, and her receptions at the Palace +Pozzoli, in the Via Babuno, had been among the most brilliant in the +winter season. +</p> + +<p> +“Do they think Enrico murdered her?” I whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“H’sh!” she whispered in turn, warningly. “One must not dare suggest +such a thing, but I happen to know that Ghelardi, chief of the +Pubblica Sicurézza, is making searching inquiries. The Duce told +Richard so two days ago. Of course, that is strictly <i>entre nous</i>,” +she added, bending and speaking in a low tone. +</p> + +<p> +Mussolini strode past, and suddenly halted, laughing, to speak with +the Ambassadress; hence I left her side, and a moment later found the +Little Countess, who had just been conducted back to her seat by a +young attaché who had been her partner. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you dance, Contessina?” I asked her in French. With that sweet +smile I seemed to recognize in the misty vista of the past, she +replied gaily in the affirmative. +</p> + +<p> +Conversation was rendered difficult for me because each moment in my +bewilderment I feared making some <i>faux pas</i>. Now that I was at her +side, the sweeter and more charming she appeared. To Lady Kingscliffe +I suppose I had unconsciously betrayed an infatuation; for, I +recollected her reproachful words concerning Joan. +</p> + +<p> +Joan! She was only a shadow in the mist, a half-effaced memory of +long-forgotten days. That night, amid the brilliant scene of +jewel-bedecked women and uniformed men, I had awakened to a new +existence and had begun life afresh. +</p> + +<p> +I was infatuated with the Contessina Angela. I confess to it. Her +beauty, her grace, her charm, her soft speech, overwhelmed me. +</p> + +<p> +While we were dancing I complimented her on her steps, which were +indeed new to me, though I found I could dance them. But, among +several things which struck me as curious concerning her was that, +though she spoke Italian, it was with a decided foreign accent. +Neither was the softness of her features that of an Italian; yet +perhaps that might be accounted for if her mother had been a +foreigner. Besides, there are, I argued, many people, brought up +abroad in childhood and youth, who cannot speak their own language +properly. +</p> + +<p> +As I held her while we danced, she greatly intrigued me, especially +after what Lady Kingscliffe had told me. She and her companion, the +Baroness Boin, it seemed, had suddenly appeared in Roman society and, +so charming was the little Contessina, and so cleverly had she +“climbed,” that the exclusive society in the Eternal City had quickly +accepted her. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you are going to the Quirinale to-morrow night?” she asked +me just before the fox-trot ended. +</p> + +<p> +I replied in the affirmative and expressed a profound hope that we +should meet there. +</p> + +<p> +“I sincerely trust that we shall,” she replied in a voice which struck +me as extremely curious. “Perhaps before. Who knows?” And she laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Contessina, I don’t quite understand you!” I said, much +puzzled, as I bowed her to her seat. +</p> + +<p> +“Nowadays you don’t understand many things it appears, Signor +Hipwell,” was her reply as she smiled, turning to greet a newcomer who +came to invite her for the next dance. +</p> + +<p> +Ten minutes later I got my hat and coat. A flunkey had called a taxi, +and I drove to the great <i>hôtel-de-luxe</i> the Excelsior, in which, by +mere chance, I had ascertained I had my temporary abode. +</p> + +<p> +After I had ascended the broad, blue-carpeted marble stairs, not +knowing the number of my room I went to the <i>concierge</i> and asked for +my key. +</p> + +<p> +I was given it, and on it was the number of a second-floor apartment, +large luxurious quarters with all the appointments of a modern hotel +of the first class. +</p> + +<p> +I saw the dark-grey clothes I had unconsciously worn that day, neatly +folded, upon a chair. Upon a stand was a battered suit-case completely +covered with labels of Continental hotels, a small hand-bag was upon a +chair, and upon the writing-table was a letter addressed to me. +Apparently it had been delivered that evening. The stamp was a Swiss +one. +</p> + +<p> +I tore it open. Written in an educated hand, there was a brief letter +dated from an address in Lausanne, Switzerland, as follows: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“<span class="sc">My Adored Lionel</span>,—I have waited hourly for two whole weeks for a +reply to the urgent message I sent you to London. I can bear the awful +suspense no longer. I am in grave peril, with enemies surrounding me, +and am alone and defenseless. Be extremely careful of your dear self +on your journeys. They will not hesitate to kill you, as I have +already proved to you. I am leaving for London to-morrow, if I +consider it safe, and will call on you. Meanwhile, wire me your +decision to my club in London and also here. I shall then know how to +act. All my fondest love, dear heart, from your devoted wife, +</p> + +<p class="rt1"> +“<span class="sc">Illona</span>.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +<i>My wife Illona!!</i> Who was she? +</p> + +<p> +In the two years of my unconsciousness I had evidently married! +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch07"> +CHAPTER SEVEN.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE AWAKENING</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">What</span> could it all mean? +</p> + +<p> +I had suddenly awakened to a new world, one familiar enough to me +before my sudden unconsciousness, but in which two whole years had +been blotted out. Of my life or actions during that lost period I had +absolutely no recollection. My mind was a perfect blank. +</p> + +<p> +As I stood there I tried to recall; but my last remembrance was that +horror when the girl Hatten had taken me, fettered and powerless, into +that shabby little room in order to render me blind. +</p> + +<p> +Happily I could still see. I gazed around the luxurious bedroom, with +its rose-pink carpet, curtains, and handsome toilet fittings. I walked +to the long mirror. But when I saw my reflection, I experienced a +shock. I was certainly myself, but looked fully ten years older than +on that night of my sinister adventure in Bloomsbury when the criminal +known as Monkey Dick—so called because of his agility in climbing to +upper windows—had attacked me and been accidentally shot in our +struggle. I walked to the window and stood upon the balcony. The pale, +pearly dawn was rising over Rome. The great piazza, with its palms, +its ilexes, and flowers, was deserted, and no sound broke the quiet, +save the plashing of the fountain. +</p> + +<p> +Yes, the Eternal City was just the same as I had known it in my youth, +when, with the dear old governor, I had spent nearly a year at the +Russie, afterwards paying several visits to the capital again. I took +a deep breath of the flower-scented air, refreshing after the crowded +ballroom I had left; and then, returning into my room, I made a tour +of it, and with curiosity examined my possessions. They were not many, +scarcely anything I recognized. +</p> + +<p> +On the little finger of my left hand was a fine signet-ring of +lapis-lazuli. Upon it was the crest of the Hipwells—a dragon’s head. +I removed it for examination, and inside found an inscription in +facsimile of the same handwriting as the letter, which read: “From +Illona. 3.8.24.” +</p> + +<p> +The third of August, 1924! What could it commemorate? My marriage to +my unknown wife? Was that possible?—for the date was within my lost +years. +</p> + +<p> +I replaced it upon my finger in utter bewilderment. Then I turned to +the contents of my suit-case, which I emptied upon the bed. +</p> + +<p> +Amid the miscellaneous collection which always accumulates in the kit +of every man who is a constant traveler, almost the first thing that +met my eye was a small leather case. On opening it, I found to my +amazement that it was a drug-taker’s outfit! Surely I was not in the +habit of taking morphine! I closed the little case and tossed it into +the waste-paper basket, hoping that in my newly awakened state I +should never handle it again. A case containing tie-pins and +cuff-links—several sets with diamonds—was the next I opened. Among +the pins was one of two square-cut diamonds with an emerald between, +which I knew Joan had given me for my birthday, and a pair of +red-enameled links with diamond centres were the ones I had long +possessed. But my clothes were all unfamiliar, though they were smart +enough, and, from the tabs, had been made by my usual tailor in +Conduit Street. +</p> + +<p> +In the pocket in the lid of the suit-case were some letters. These I +took out, and, sitting at the writing table, I proceeded to examine +them. There were hotel bills from Madrid, Brussels, and Athens, cities +which I supposed I had visited in the course of my journeying as a +King’s Foreign Service Messenger. That was, no doubt, my position; +for, I had already found my <i>laisser-passer</i> which claimed +international courtesy, so that my luggage was exempt from Customs +examination on all the frontiers of Europe. There was, too, my +official badge, the little silver greyhound. +</p> + +<p> +As, one after the other, I opened the letters, I became the more +puzzled. Three were in French, couched in cryptic language, and dated +from an address in Toulouse, demanding that I should disclose the +identity of “the person to whose name it is needless to refer,” and +apparently containing veiled threats. +</p> + +<p> +Had the threats any connection with the urgent warning contained in +the letter from Illona, my mysterious wife? +</p> + +<p> +I realized that I was powerless to acknowledge receipt of her letter +as I had no knowledge of her address in Lausanne, or of the name of +her club in London. Yet she demanded an urgent response telegraphed to +both addresses. She awaited my decision. On what point? +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly I saw Joan’s familiar handwriting on an envelope addressed to +“Lionel Hipwell, Esq., care of His Britannic Majesty’s Embassy, +Madrid,” and, taking out the letter, I observed that it had been +written from Queen’s Gate on the fifteenth of March. +</p> + +<p> +When I had obtained my key from the <i>concierge</i> I had seen by the big +calendar hanging in his bureau that the date was the twenty-third of +April. Hence a little more than a month ago I must have been in +Madrid, and there received the letter from my adored one. +</p> + +<p> +It was sad and full of reproaches. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“You were in London two whole days after your return from Athens,” she +wrote. “Yet you had no time to come and see me, or to ring me up. You +seem so taken up with your new friends, and especially with another +woman, that you have no time for me nowadays. I saw you with my own +eyes dining with her at the Berkeley. I watched you both, but you did +not see me. Next morning I called at Sackville Street, but your new +man told me you had left again for Madrid half an hour before. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this treatment fair to me, Lionel? I do not upbraid you if you +have transferred your love to this Woman from Nowhere and find her +more attractive than myself. Probably she is. Anyhow, she appeared to +be very amusing and witty. But at least tell me the truth. Do not +continue to mislead me into the belief that you are still mine, I beg +of you. A woman’s heart may suffer much, but there is a breaking +strain—and mine is very near it! +</p> + +<p> +“You wired from Vienna promising to come and see me instantly on your +arrival, yet, instead, you prefer the society of your newly-found +charmer. I know that while you are absent we cannot meet and discuss +the future. If you wish to break our engagement, please tell me so. Do +not be afraid. I can stand the shock, for I am now inured to your +neglect and indifference. I shall know when you return from Madrid, +and if you do not come to see me then I shall regard your silence as +breaking our engagement, and that I myself shall be free, with only +the bitter memory of one whom I have loved and still devotedly love. +</p> + +<p class="rt1"> +“Your broken-hearted<br> +“<span class="sc">Joan</span>.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Twice I re-read the letter, and divined in it the poignant suffering +of a woman’s soul. +</p> + +<p> +What foolish act had I committed? Was I actually wedded to the +mysterious Illona, the husband of a woman I could not remember? In my +lost existence I had evidently enacted certain follies of which I held +no recollection. What were they? One—the inexcusable vice of +drug-taking—I had established beyond doubt. How many other +ill-advised and irresponsible acts had I performed? Of how many +foolish indiscretions had I been culpable? +</p> + +<p> +In my perplexity I stood confused, perhaps half deranged. +</p> + +<p> +Vainly I sought to disentangle the astounding situation, but the more +I strove to remember, the darker and more inscrutable the past became. +The mystery of it all was incomprehensible. For over two years I had +evidently been leading a normal life, with few suspecting that my +brain had become unbalanced or that my memory of the past was a blank. +I had resolved on mental reservation from the first moment when the +shock of my fall in the Embassy dining-room had aroused me to a sense +of consciousness of things about me. I dared not make inquiry +concerning anything lest my friends should believe me to be mad. +</p> + +<p> +Without doubt the fearful horror of that never-to-be-forgotten night +at Camberwell was responsible for the inconceivable state of my mind. +</p> + +<p> +Already some unfortunate facts were only too clear. I had not replied +to Joan’s appeal. Hence by my silence our engagement, I supposed, had +been broken. But in what circumstances had I married the mysterious +Illona, of whose address I was in ignorance and whom I had never seen? +I must have married in secret, for Joan had not mentioned it, though +she had watched me dining with someone at the Berkeley. Could the +woman have been my wife? +</p> + +<p> +What excuse could I make to Joan, tender memories of whom had arisen +within me, and whom I loved with all my soul? How could I explain my +marriage and my cruel betrayal? The complications were so many that I +was frantic with uncertainty and bewilderment. +</p> + +<p> +I renewed the search among my papers. There was a letter dated from +Sackville Street signed “Edward Bruce.” Its servile tone showed it to +be from my “new man,” as Joan called him. What was he like, I +wondered? I pictured a tall, thin, grey-haired servant in morning-coat +and grey trousers, very obsequious and discreet. What had become of +the faithful Bolland? +</p> + +<p> +Another paper was an account in my own handwriting of some expenses or +other amounting to about ninety pounds, while my check-book showed +that I had been spending a considerable sum of money, of late, with +some furnishing firm in Paris. +</p> + +<p> +Was it possible that I had set up an apartment for my unknown wife, +Illona? +</p> + +<p> +I subjected every object I possessed to the most careful scrutiny. +Most things puzzled me. Even my clothes I had never set eyes on +before. Yet the memoranda I had were written in a firm handwriting, +evidently my own. +</p> + +<p> +My brain was, indeed, in a whirl. I felt myself going mad. Therefore, +I put on my clothes again, with a light coat over them, and, +descending, went out into the silent, deserted street, past the great +fountain, the waters of which awakened the echoes, until I found +myself at last in that long, straight street, one of the greatest +thoroughfares in the world, the famous Corso. +</p> + +<p> +I detected it in the pale-grey light of the morning. The big electric +lights were still flaring, and as I passed a silent policeman he +politely wished me <i>buon giorno</i>. +</p> + +<p> +I wandered past the Hôtel Russie, and higher up the hill till Rome +lay at my feet. It was growing lighter every moment—a pearly-grey +light tinged with rose-pink. At last, after my wanderings, I stood—as +one day in my long-past youth—upon the site of the ancient Torris +Maecentis in the beautiful garden of the Palazzo Colonna and looked +around on the extensive view of the towers and cupolas, the palaces +and monuments, which, on the seven hills, are modern Rome. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly I recollected that my father had taken me to that spot when I +was about eighteen, to see Rome at dawn. +</p> + +<p> +Again I stood there, to wonder and to think. Below me, bathed in the +pale-gold of the rising sun, lay the red roofs of the Eternal City, +picturesque, mysterious, the capital of a kingdom. It was a city +which, from half effacement consequent on war, led by an +ex-revolutionary, had risen to grandeur and prosperity, to a powerful +place in Europe. I gazed on the wonderful dome of St. Peter’s, and +beside it the colossal tower of Sant’ Angelo, with the winding Tiber +and its bridges—Rome—the changeless city since the Christian era. +</p> + +<p> +I knew Rome, but not with the superficiality that the tourist knows +it. The modern traveler, swept from his home upon a <i>voyage à +forfait</i> by a tourist agency, enjoys the best views, experience, and +comfort in the six days allotted to him—often four, alas!—and yet to +see Rome even superficially it takes a month. Some, of course, care +nothing for ancient monuments, the Coliseum, the Forum, the catacombs, +or the haunts of Nero or Tiberius. They like, rather, to take their +<i>apéritif</i> at the Aregno, their lunch out at Tivoli, and dine and +dance a their hotel, for too often sightseeing is a bore, and one does +not believe in the throwing of coppers into the fountain. +</p> + +<p> +Rome is Rome, after all, always the most impressionable capital of +Europe. And, it will continue to be that, through all the ages. +</p> + +<p> +In my state of mind these thoughts ran through my bewildered brain. +Why, I know not. +</p> + +<p> +If I had forsaken Joan Gell, what had occurred? I realized that, with +my father’s fierce hatred of her father, it had been impossible to +openly declare my love. We had both agreed on this, and our actions, +until that fatal night in Camberwell, had been the acme of discretion. +Yet I had indisputable evidence that I had married somebody named +Illona; and further, my check-books showed heavy payments to form a +home for the latter. +</p> + +<p> +The one part, however, which gripped my brain and dulled my senses, +was my admiration for the girl Angela. I knew that we had met before, +and, further, I was conscious that she held me as clay in her hands. +Her beauty was in my eyes diabolical, her laugh that of a Bacchante, +and yet she was entirely irresistible. She was drawing me towards her +as surely as a magnet draws a needle. +</p> + +<p> +And I had promised to meet her at the State ball, at the Quirinale, +that night. +</p> + +<p> +I tried to resist; but, poor fool that I was, it was useless. Perhaps +I may be forgiven on account of the unstable condition of my +disordered brain. My mind, I think, had awakened, as I stood there +leaning over that lichen-covered stone parapet, gazing across the +Eternal City, over which was rising the pale rose and gold of morning. +But my soul was still asleep. I was as yet as a man half drugged by a +long sleep, in which two years of consciousness had been entirely +blotted out. +</p> + +<p> +It was seven o’clock in the morning before I returned to my bedroom at +the Excelsior. Without taking off my evening-clothes, I sank upon the +bed to sleep, tired and worn, with my brain wrapped still in +cotton-wool. +</p> + +<p> +At eleven I was awakened by the telephone ringing; and I answered it. +</p> + +<p> +I heard Lord Kingscliffe’s voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that you, Hipwell?” he asked. And when I had replied in the +affirmative, he said: “I thought I’d let you know that you’ll have to +leave for London to-morrow night. Sorry, Lionel. But you know in the +service we are not our own masters.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite all right,” I replied, wondering why his voice seemed so +sympathetic and apologetic. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall see you at the Quirinale to-night. <i>Addio</i>,” His Excellency +said. +</p> + +<p> +And I hung up the receiver. +</p> + +<p> +So my visit to Rome was to be cut short. Perhaps, after all, it was +better so. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch08"> +CHAPTER EIGHT.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE DOUBLE NOUGHT</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">I</span> spent the day wandering about the broad, handsome streets of +Rome—Rome under Mussolini. I noted where cobbled piazzas had been +bare and dusty there were now bright flower-beds, shady trees, and +often refreshing fountains. Around me on every side arose great +palatial buildings worthy of the proudest city in the world. +</p> + +<p> +I watched the tourists feeding the pigeons, and took several +<i>apéritifs</i> at the popular cafés. +</p> + +<p> +The idea of the State ball, for which I had already received a card +from the Minister of the Royal Household, nauseated me. I was in no +mood for brilliant throngs, Court etiquette, or dance-music. Yet the +Little Countess attracted me. I felt absolutely certain that we had +once been friends, but to what extent, or in what circumstances, I was +in entire ignorance. My memory concerning her was also a complete +blank. +</p> + +<p> +At ten o’clock that night I put on my uniform, and taking my cocked +hat and gloves, drove to the Palace, where I passed across the red +carpet, and along the great, brilliantly-lit corridor lined by the +Royal servants, and the Guards in their brilliant uniforms. With me +entered several foreign diplomats with their ladies, including Grant, +the secretary of the United States Embassy, whom I recognized as an +old friend I had known in Paris. +</p> + +<p> +Assembled in the great salon with five hundred others, we awaited the +coming of their Majesties. I gazed eagerly around to discover the +Contessina, but was sorely disappointed. She was not present! And yet +she herself had pressed me to come and dance with her. +</p> + +<p> +Of a sudden there came the three resounding bangs upon the great gilt +double doors. The Marshal of the Court, an aged Duke with snow-white +hair and heavy moustache, threw them open, and the King in the +full-dress uniform of a General, walking with the Queen, whose +diamonds flashed with a thousand fires, entered, smiling at the bowing +and curtsying assembly. +</p> + +<p> +Their Majesties, accompanied by the Prince of Savoy and other members +of the Italian Royal Family, made a slow tour of the great gilt +chamber, with its hundred crystal electroliers; and then, after they +had ascended their dais, the dance commenced. +</p> + +<p> +It was not until that moment that, amid the crowd of Roman nobility +and the diplomatic circle, I caught sight of the charming girl I +sought. +</p> + +<p> +She was dressed in a cloth of silver, the skirt embellished with a +broad band of diamanté and pearl embroidery, which reflected the +light from a thousand angles—one of the most striking costumes at the +Court. I saw her accept a tall, slim attaché of the French Embassy as +her partner. Her face, slightly flushed, was as beautiful as the angel +of Lanfranco upon the wall of Sant’ Andrea. Afterwards, as I watched, +I saw her elegant cavalier, in his gold-braided uniform, hand her over +to a well-dressed and rather stiff-looking lady of middle-age; and +presently I noticed her chatting merrily with the Princess +Pallavicini, the Queen’s principal lady-in-waiting. +</p> + +<p> +Later on, as though quite accidentally, I met her, and bowed low over +her hand. +</p> + +<p> +She smiled at me, and expressed satisfaction that we should meet +again. Her attitude was much more cordial than on the previous night. +</p> + +<p> +“Lady Kingscliffe told me that you are always traveling,” she said in +French, as we stood against the wall together watching the dancers. “I +love traveling, but——” And she raised her shoulders expressive of +disappointment. +</p> + +<p> +“You do not travel very much?” I asked in the same language. +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! no,” she replied, with a smile. “I want to see London and New +York—and Athens.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if you traveled as constantly as I do, you would, I fear, grow +very tired of trains, Contessina,” I said, noting the exquisite taste +of her gown. +</p> + +<p> +“You have been in Rome before, I suppose?” I remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Once before. I go out daily with the tourists to see the +monuments. It is such great fun—I assure you! But, oh! I do so want +to see your London.” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke with an air of greatest refinement, and her eyes, as she +looked at me, seemed so childlike and innocent. +</p> + +<p> +“Yet when one is not one’s own mistress, what can one do?” she added. +</p> + +<p> +“Some young ladies become defiant of parents and chaperons,” I +laughed. “But I would not advise such a course. Will you honor me with +a dance, Contessina, and let us forget all our troubles, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +She accepted my invitation, and a few moments later, we were waltzing +together, while Lady Kingscliffe, who, I knew, had been watching, +turned away with an amused smile. +</p> + +<p> +Angela charlestoned beautifully. As a dancer myself I had been to many +balls, and had had some splendid partners. But this brown-eyed girl of +mystery eclipsed them all. +</p> + +<p> +The Baron de Carbonnel, Ambassador of France, who was dancing with the +young Princess di Forano, daughter of the Duchess di San Donato, +passed us, and I noticed that he smiled at my partner in recognition. +</p> + +<p> +Later, after an enjoyable hour, during which I endeavored, by all the +means in my power, to discover more concerning the mysterious girl, I +took her in to supper, where we sat down to a <i>tête-à-tête</i> repast. +</p> + +<p> +Around us were many people I recognized, for very slowly my memory was +returning. Rospigliosi, with his wife, the Minister Sonnino, Caetani +and his daughter, the pretty Donna Stella, and the ever-popular +Princess Odescalchi with her wonderful emeralds. +</p> + +<p> +From the chatter of the Little Countess it was apparent that she moved +in high circles and was acquainted with many officials. +</p> + +<p> +Later, I led her back to the ballroom. +</p> + +<p> +“M’sieur Hipwell,” whispered the Little Countess just as we were about +to dance, “I wonder if you—well, if I dare ask you to do a very great +favor for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Most certainly I will,” was my eager reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I cannot tell you here. Could you meet me—to-morrow? I will be +alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +She reflected a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“In the Church of Sant’ Agnese, in the Piazza Navona,” she replied in +a low voice. “Would eleven o’clock suit you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly. I will be there.” +</p> + +<p> +And thus it was arranged. +</p> + +<p> +Punctually at the hour she had named I entered the great, domed +church, with its huge columns of Cottanello, built upon the spot where +Saint Agnes suffered martyrdom. The silent interior was quite dark +after the glare of the sun in the piazza outside; but in a few moments +I saw a slim figure in a neat navy-blue street-suit, which I instantly +recognized as the Contessina’s, standing before the antique statue of +San Sebastian. A whispered, timorous greeting and a warm handshake, +whereupon she suggested in a low voice: +</p> + +<p> +“Let us talk here. If we go outside somebody who knows you may see +us.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Bien!</i>” I replied. “There are chairs yonder.” And we crossed to +several rush-bottomed chairs near one of the side-altars, before which +the light was burning in its red-glass shade. It was evident that she +meant to preserve the strictest secrecy, and this very fact increased +my interest in her. +</p> + +<p> +“Last night you told me that I could trust you, M’sieur Hipwell,” she +said in a low voice, though we were alone in the great church. “I am a +mystery to you, I know that.” +</p> + +<p> +“But we have met before. Have we not?” I asked, fixing my eyes on her. +She gave vent to a little hysterical laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“You know. But perhaps you have forgotten. You forget many things.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I could never forget you, Contessina!” I declared. “Will you not +enlighten my darkness of mind? You tell me that I forget many things.” +</p> + +<p> +“In life there are many things that are surely best forgotten,” she +remarked, with a slight sigh. +</p> + +<p> +I paused, not being able to follow her meaning. +</p> + +<p> +She was aware that she puzzled me, and, next instant, with a sweet +smile, she went on: “I told you, M’sieur Hipwell, that I trust you. +Will you not also take me on trust and do me a little favor +which—which will be of the greatest assistance to me—relieve me +perhaps of a great peril which threatens to overwhelm me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Peril!” I echoed, staring at her. “In what peril are you? Please be +more explicit. I know that we were friends in the past, just as we are +friends now. Cannot you give me a single hint which may form a +connecting link in my mind between the past and the present?” +</p> + +<p> +“The past is of the past, and matters not,” replied the girl in a +serious, philosophic mood. “It is the present and the future which +concern both of us—yourself more perhaps than you ever dream.” +</p> + +<p> +She saw perplexity on my face. +</p> + +<p> +“I know that in your present half-consciousness of the past I must be +a complete enigma to-day,” she added. “For the present it must be so.” +Then her hand slowly stole into mine, and she asked: “Are you willing +to do me this one little favor?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will, Contessina, most certainly,” I said at once. “What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a very difficult mission,” she replied in French, her manner +instantly changing. “Now we thoroughly understand each other, eh? You +are going to London. Would you take a verbal message for me—to +someone——” And she paused. “Ah!” she went on, “I see you wonder why +I do not write. But there are times when writing is an indiscretion. +Well, this is an instance. True, I could write, but I should most +probably seriously jeopardize myself if I did so. I am in a great +difficulty—and that is why I venture to ask you to help me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will assist you willingly,” I repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, then. When you get to London will you write and make an +appointment to meet Mr. Roddy Owen, who lives at Harrington Court, +Park Lane?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just a moment,” I interrupted. “I’ll write down the address.” And in +the dim light I scribbled it upon my shirt-cuff. I knew Harrington +Court as a great block of new and expensive bachelor chambers. “Yes; +and when I see him what shall I say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Give him this. It will be your credential, and by it he will know you +come from me.” And she pressed something hard and flat into my hand. +</p> + +<p> +I looked at it, and saw that it was a piece of exquisitely carved +stone, about two inches long, and with a gold ring in it—a pendant of +clear blue aquamarine. It was square, perforated, and carved in +antique design, with two circles, the figures double nought—an unique +ornament of crystalline beauty. +</p> + +<p> +“Give it to him,” she whispered to me in a strange, hard voice, “and +tell him—tell him that—that it is all impossible, and that he must +forget. That——” +</p> + +<p> +And she hesitated, trembling, drawing a long breath. +</p> + +<p> +“That it is all impossible—and that he must forget,” I repeated +slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Impress upon him that he must not write again to me, because it +would place me in very grave danger.” +</p> + +<p> +I looked into her beautiful face, much puzzled. In the faint light I +saw that my companion’s countenance was now pale and hard, as though +what she had said was against her will, and that she was much +perturbed. +</p> + +<p> +“That he must not write again,” I repeated. “Yes, I understand. You +wish him to break off all communication with you—I take it?” +</p> + +<p> +Again she drew a long breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Alas! It must be so,” she answered hoarsely. “But tell him that +it is not my fault—not my fault. I am acting under compulsion. He—he +will understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing else?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” she answered in a low, despondent whisper. +</p> + +<p> +Then, after a pause, she added: +</p> + +<p> +“I know, M’sieur Hipwell, that all this must seem very mysterious to +you. But when one day you know the truth, you will also know what a +great and invaluable service you have rendered one who—well, one who +is very, very unhappy!” +</p> + +<p> +“I can see that, Contessina,” was my reply. “Can I do nothing further +to assist you? Of course, I do not desire to pry into your private +affairs,” I added. +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head sorrowfully, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“No. It is really extremely kind of you to do me this service—one +which I value very highly. And after all the—the unpleasantness that +has passed. If we ever meet again, which I doubt——” +</p> + +<p> +“But we shall!” I interrupted. “I shall see you and report the result +of my interview with Mr. Owen.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” was her dubious reply. “I am not staying much longer +in Rome.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where will you go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just where my fancy leads me. Probably to the Italian lakes—possibly +to Garda—I love it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And where may I write to you?” I asked eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +For some time she reflected. At last she said: +</p> + +<p> +“Address me: ‘Ferma in Posta, Gardone—Lake of Garda.’ ” +</p> + +<p> +“Gardone!” I exclaimed. “I was once there! How beautiful it is! The +big white hotel, the palms and the flowers, the tiny village, and the +blue lake stretching away to the mountains.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. It is very charming. I shall probably go there.” +</p> + +<p> +“And your home?” I ventured to ask. +</p> + +<p> +“No, M’sieur Hipwell. You said you did not desire to inquire into my +private affairs, so the whereabouts of my home is a secret. Treat me +still as a mystery—just a mystery, that is all!” +</p> + +<p> +I was sorely disappointed. It had been within my experience that +certain girls loved to assume an air of mystery in order to further +interest men; but in Angela’s case it was different. There was some +deep, underlying motive for it all. Her intense seriousness impressed +me with an air of romantic tragedy, while her admission of +unpleasantness between us in the past drove me to desperation. +</p> + +<p> +I tried again to learn her true nationality and where she lived. I +felt certain that Lady Kingscliffe knew, but that for some reason she +was preserving the secret. Adventuresses are not received at table in +any British Embassy abroad, though some, who could be named, have +dined with Cabinet Ministers at home. +</p> + +<p> +My suggestion that we should take a taxi and go for a run in the +sunshine out to Tivoli she would not accept. +</p> + +<p> +“I am very sorry. But for certain reasons I am compelled to be +discreet. I have an appointment for luncheon at twelve,” she said. +“No. We must say adieu here. It is really most generous of you to +convey my message.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will write to you, Contessina,” I promised, “and when I am next in +Italy—perhaps in a month’s time—I will make a point of seeing you, +and telling you the result of my interview.” +</p> + +<p> +“There can be no result,” she exclaimed blankly. Just then a noisy +party of British tourists entered the church with their guide. +</p> + +<p> +“But I shall see you, nevertheless,” I declared. Whereat she smiled. +</p> + +<p> +Then at the door I took her gloved hand, and watched her +neatly-dressed figure cross the sun-blanched piazza. Afterwards I +sauntered out myself, strolling back to the Excelsior, more puzzled +than ever. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch09"> +CHAPTER NINE.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">AN ODD MISSION</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">On</span> the following Monday afternoon I alighted at Calais Maritime from +the dusty <i>wagon-lit</i> of the Rome express, glad to stretch my legs +after the long journey. On board the Dover boat the wind blew fresh +and the crossing, to me, was pleasant; but to many others I fear, it +was the reverse. +</p> + +<p> +In due course, after tea in the Pullman, I arrived at Victoria, and in +consequence of my official <i>laisser-passer</i> I was soon in a taxi and +away to Downing Street, to deliver my dispatches from Sir Richard +Kingscliffe. Then, re-entering the cab, I drove to Sackville Street. +To my knowledge I had not set foot in my rooms for two whole years. +</p> + +<p> +A complete stranger, who I supposed was Edward Bruce, my new man, +Bolland’s successor, threw open the door, bowing me a rather stiff +welcome. And then, taking my bags from the taxi-man, he followed me +into my small but rather cosy sitting-room. Bruce was quite unlike +what I had pictured him, rather tall, young, and slim, with immaculate +clothes that fitted him well—evidently a well-trained servant. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Gell has rung up three times to-day, sir, to inquire if you have +returned. She wishes you to speak to her as soon as you possibly can,” +he said, handing me about a dozen letters. +</p> + +<p> +I paused for a second. What could I say to Joan? +</p> + +<p> +“Anything else?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Your father called yesterday, sir. He thought you were back. I think +he has written to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Any other callers?” I asked, as he helped me off with my coat. +</p> + +<p> +“Only the blind young gentleman, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Blind young gentleman!” I exclaimed, surprised. “Who is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know his name, sir. But he continually calls to know when you +will be back. He says he knows you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“What kind of a man is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, he’s a young gentleman who wears black glasses. But, poor fellow, +he’s stone blind. He finds his way up all right, but I always have to +lead him down the stairs and out into the street, till he finds the +curb, and taps along it with his stick.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder who he is,” I remarked aloud to myself. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know, sir. I thought you knew him. He gave me that +impression,” Bruce replied. “Will you be at home to him the next time +he calls?” +</p> + +<p> +I pondered. The fact that the caller was sightless reminded me of my +mysterious and inexplicable escape from the sentence of blindness +passed on me by that girl criminal, Lisely Hatten, in Camberwell. +</p> + +<p> +“I will see him if he comes again,” I replied. And then, seating +myself at my old bureau which I well remembered—for, indeed, all my +belongings now became as familiar to me as though I had never been +absent or lost an hour of my life—I turned my attention to the +accumulation of letters. Many of them were tradesmen’s bills. +</p> + +<p> +One was a rather heavy account for wine supplied a year before, and as +I seldom drink wine, it surprised me. Possibly my friends had drunk +the three dozen of champagne. I certainly had not. With it was an +account for expensive cigars, and, as I had never smoked anything but +cigarettes in my life, I knew that I had not been the consumer of such +luxuries. +</p> + +<p> +“Bruce!” I called to my man. “How long have you been with me now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nine months next Thursday, sir. By the way, sir, I hear that Bolland +hasn’t got anything to do since you discharged him for dishonesty.” +</p> + +<p> +Dishonesty! So I had found out Bolland as a thief, and surely here was +good testimony that he had ordered things on my account, and had +probably disposed of them in secret. +</p> + +<p> +“If a man is dishonest he must be punished,” I said abruptly. Bruce +then asked whether I intended to dine at home. I answered negatively +and he returned to his pantry. +</p> + +<p> +The first private letter I opened was in a handwriting now familiar to +me, and signed, “Your ever affectionate wife, Illona.” +</p> + +<p> +Illona! My wife. The woman on whom I had never set eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Dated from Lausanne a fortnight before, it had been addressed to +“Lionel Hipwell, Esq., King’s Foreign Service Messenger, care of His +Britannic Majesty’s Embassy, Madrid,” and then it had been sent back +to Sackville Street. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“<span class="sc">My Adored Husband</span>,” wrote the mysterious Illona. “Do, I beg of you, +take the greatest care of yourself. Every hour I fear for your safety. +You know their secret, and there is a desperate plot against you, I +know. Always go armed and never relax vigilance when you travel. +Beware of a trap, and if you meet a blind man, be careful to avoid +him. Come back to me at the earliest moment you can. I await you, +darling. Do not delay. Every hour that passes increases my anxiety +regarding your dear self.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +I re-read the strange warning. “Beware of a trap, and if you meet a +blind man, be careful to avoid him.” +</p> + +<p> +Was he the blind stranger who so persistently called? And the trap? +Was my strange mission at the request of the Little Countess the trap +of which my unknown wife warned me? +</p> + +<p> +I pursed my lips and pondered deeply. +</p> + +<p> +An instant later the telephone, upon my table, rang. Involuntarily, I +took up the receiver and answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Hulloa, Lionel!” cried Joan, whose merry voice I recognized +instantly. “I got your excuse for not writing and I forgive you. So +you’re back at last! You were due from Rome two days ago. Are you +seeing me to-night, or are you too tired?” +</p> + +<p> +“Tired! I am never too tired to see you, dearest,” I cried, in as +gallant a manner as my poor, perturbed brain would allow. “Where shall +we meet?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mother and father are going to the Lord Chancellor’s reception at ten +o’clock. Come here at half-past, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” I replied. “I’ll dine at the club, and come on after ten +o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you have a good journey?” she asked. “I hope you won’t be in one +of your moods, you know. The last time you came to see me you were +horrible. But I know, dear, you won’t be to-night, will you—for my +sake?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was really unconscious of being horrible,” I laughed, “so do +forgive me. I’ll try and behave better to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Righto! And don’t forget your promise—eh?” laughed the girl I so +dearly loved. Then she rang off. +</p> + +<p> +Another mystery! What quarrel had ensued between us? Of what bad +behavior had I been unconsciously guilty—and when? +</p> + +<p> +After two years I was to see Joan again! And yet, I was already +married—married to a woman I had never consciously seen. +</p> + +<p> +Imagine my feelings as I sat that evening eating my dinner alone in +the St. James’s Club, torn by a thousand apprehensions of having +betrayed my best friends by making undesirable acquaintances, and, +furthermore, by contracting a hazardous and incomprehensible marriage. +</p> + +<p> +What was I to say to Joan? +</p> + +<p> +A little soup, and I could eat nothing more. It was half-past eight, +and, in order to carry out my promise to the Contessina, I went into +the hall and rang up Mr. Roddy Owen, at Harrington Court. +</p> + +<p> +A man who spoke with a foreign accent and who was evidently a servant +answered, and asked who I was. My reply was that I desired to speak +with Mr. Owen himself. +</p> + +<p> +In a few moments a man’s gruff voice said, “Owen speaking. What do you +want?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to see you this evening,” I replied. “You do not know me, but +I am bearer of a verbal message to you—from a friend of yours in +Rome.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rome?” he echoed. “Oh, yes, thanks. I’ll be delighted to meet +you—what name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hipwell,” I replied. “May I call—say in half an hour?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” he replied. “I’ll wait in for you, Mr. Hipwell. Thanks +for taking the trouble to find me. About nine o’clock, eh? Good-bye.” +</p> + +<p> +And I hung up the receiver. +</p> + +<p> +With memory of my unknown wife’s warning, I had put my Browning into +my pocket, and resolved always to keep it there. Yet surely there +could be no plot in my rather quixotic promise to help a young girl in +distress. +</p> + +<p> +I felt in my waistcoat-pocket. My passport, the beautiful little +pendant of carved and pierced aquamarine, was there. So I took my +coffee and cigarette, and just after nine a taxi set me down before +Harrington Court, that great block of flats in Park Lane. +</p> + +<p> +The elevator took me to the fourth-floor. When the elevator-man +pressed the bell at one of the doors, an elderly servant bowed me in. +</p> + +<p> +Next moment, a tall, rather fair-haired man of about thirty, in +dinner-jacket, advanced to meet me with a welcoming smile. He was a +clean-limbed young man of athletic build, and somewhat hatchet-faced, +without much color, but with an eye like a gimlet. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Hipwell, I presume,” he said. “Come along in.” And he conducted +me to a fine and beautifully furnished sitting-room, with soft lounge +chairs and several precious works of art. “You have come from Rome,” +he said, offering me a cigarette from a large silver box. “And you are +good enough to call on me. At the outset I thank you very sincerely.” +He spoke with great refinement, his speech being reminiscent of +Oxford, where I myself had been. +</p> + +<p> +“I am carrying out a promise which I made to a lady who is our mutual +friend,” I explained. +</p> + +<p> +I looked around the handsome apartment, but could see no evidence of +the plot of which I had been so mysteriously forewarned. +</p> + +<p> +“From Angela, I suppose,” he said, in a low, intense voice, his manner +altering instantly. “You have seen her, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have,” I replied, and taking out the little pendant of clear, blue +stone, I handed it to him. “She told me to give you this.” +</p> + +<p> +He took it in his trembling fingers and gazed intently at it. So +strange was the look in his eyes that it almost seemed as though sight +of the innocent looking little pendant with its two figure noughts +entwined, horrified, or even terrified him! +</p> + +<p> +At that moment, something happened in my confused brain. What it was I +know not. A great weight seemed lifted from it. In a flash an +astounding truth dawned on me, and my lost consciousness became +suddenly restored. +</p> + +<p> +Angela’s face had been familiar to me from the first moment I had +found myself seated at her side in Rome. Now, in a second, I realized +that the girl I knew as Angela Ugostini, “the Little Countess,” was +the same auburn-haired girl who had been so eager to put out my eyes +with a pin on that fateful night in Camberwell! +</p> + +<p> +The discovery held me dumb. I had actually, in my ignorance, been +attracted by my worst enemy, Lisely Hatten, the criminal who worked as +a City typist. She had put me to the test in Rome. And finding that I +had not recognized her, she had sent me on that strange mission with +the piece of carved blue aquamarine. +</p> + +<p> +I tried to remain calm, wondering whether the man I was visiting knew +the truth concerning me. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a message to you from the Contessina,” I said. “She tells you +that she cannot write. The message is that it is all impossible, and +that you must forget.” +</p> + +<p> +What was the nature of the romance, I wondered? +</p> + +<p> +The face of the man addressed, standing in the centre of the room with +the little piece of blue shining stone in his hand, went pale as +death. +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible!” he echoed breathlessly. “What—what in heaven’s name +does she mean? Why has she not written? Forget? How—how can I ever +forget?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is the message. Of its meaning I am in ignorance,” I declared. +“The lady wishes to impress on you the serious peril in which she will +be placed if you write to her again. You must not write.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not write!” he gasped despairingly. “Then she has ended it +all—<i>ended it</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not of her own free will,” I assured him. “She told me so. Of course, +I know nothing whatever of the circumstances, but she impressed on me +that it is necessary, in both your interests, to break off all +communication with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Lisely desires it so?” he asked, in a low strained voice, his +lips trembling. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. She desires it so,” was my reply. “You call her Lisely. I know +her as Angela!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +A long silence fell between us. At last Owen spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Her real name does not matter,” he said slowly, in a voice full of +emotion. “You will guess—and you will understand. A blow—a great +blow, the greatest of all my life—has fallen upon me!” Then, after a +a pause, he added: “I was a fool—all men are fools where women are +concerned. But—but I ought to have known. My own common sense ought +to have prevented me from—from——” +</p> + +<p> +He swallowed, with an effort, a lump that had arisen in his throat, +and put out his hand to me, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, for bringing this message to me. But—but it is a blow +from which I can never recover—never! Instinctively I know that you +are my friend. All cosmopolitans, like you and myself, are friends. +You will know and will understand. I cannot explain the facts, because +exposure would place our mutual lady friend in serious jeopardy. I can +only thank you—yet—yet what you have told me has in a moment swept +away all my future.” +</p> + +<p> +“You, no doubt, know more than I can gather from the bald, rather +cryptic message that I have brought you. I mean that it conveys to you +much more,” I said, bewildered at the discovery that Angela, the +Little Countess, and the girl criminal were one and the same. But I +kept my own counsel and allowed him to know nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, much. I know exactly what she means.” Then he eagerly inquired +about her and the circumstances in which we had met. To all his +questions I replied quite frankly. So dejected and despairing was the +young fellow that I felt sorry for him. Surely he could not be acting! +</p> + +<p> +I knew that I was Cupid’s messenger, yet the whole circumstances were +so romantic and mysterious that I felt an intense interest in them +all. The one thing that really puzzled me most was the reason Lady +Kingscliffe had preserved the secret of the girl’s identity. +</p> + +<p> +The young man Owen had sunk into a chair, and was sitting with his +eyes fixed across the room, seeing nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“I am absolutely forbidden to write to her, eh?” he asked, utterly +crushed. +</p> + +<p> +“That was the message I was to deliver to you. She dare not write—and +she will be in peril if you send her a letter. She said that you would +quite understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Understand?” he cried suddenly, his eyes gleaming. “Understand? Yes, +I understand. I—I understand—only—too—well,” he added, with the +bitterness of despair in his voice. “Forgive me, Mr. Hipwell,” he +craved next second. “I—I’m much obliged to you for troubling to come +here. If you knew—knew what all this means to both of us—if you knew +the truth, you would understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“But can’t you tell me? I’m so completely in the dark,” I said, +absolutely mystified and full of eagerness to obtain a clue to the +mystery. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he replied in a low voice. “I have to respect the wishes of +Lisely.” Then after a pause, he muttered to himself: +</p> + +<p> +“So she is in Italy! Why, in heaven’s name, did she venture there? It +was foolish—very foolish and dangerous! But I suppose there is some +motive for it. There is always a motive in a woman’s fancies.” +</p> + +<p> +“Remember,” I said, “that in sending you that message she is acting +against her will.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know. I pity her. Poor Lisely! She is acting under compulsion. Some +people are born to despair. We are of those. And she is in Rome! I +wonder why? I was there with her a year ago when—when I thought—I +believed—I dreamed——” +</p> + +<p> +He clenched his fists fiercely and, springing from his chair, crossed +to the window. +</p> + +<p> +“Forgive me, Mr. Hipwell,” he said again. +</p> + +<p> +And soon afterwards I left. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch10"> +CHAPTER TEN.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE WIND OF CIRCUMSTANCE</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Reader</span>, I beg of you to put yourself for a moment in my place. My +unfortunate position, as a straw blown upon the adverse wind of +circumstance, had become intolerable. +</p> + +<p> +As I sat back in the taxi which took me down Knightsbridge towards +Queen’s Gate, I felt myself bordering on madness, aroused by the sea +of perplexity and doubt into which I found myself plunged. +</p> + +<p> +What could I say in explanation to Joan? She was my fiancée. And yet +I had a mysterious “wife” who, from her letters, “adored” me, and was +living in Lausanne! +</p> + +<p> +She had warned me against a man who was blind. +</p> + +<p> +And a sightless man had been a constant caller at Sackville Street. +Was his presence part of a plot against me? +</p> + +<p> +On reflection, I could discern no reason or motive why I should be +followed and done to death by the obscure plotters of whom the unknown +Illona had warned me. Her letters were missives full of affection, and +apparently she loved me. At least, she showed herself keenly +solicitous of my welfare. Yet, as the taxi sped along amid the lights +of London, I found myself smiling that there was a woman who, against +my knowledge and inclination, was able to pose before the world as +Mrs. Lionel Hipwell! +</p> + +<p> +What an interesting tangle for the President of the Admiralty and +Divorce Division! +</p> + +<p> +I alighted at the big, deep portico at Queen’s Gate, and, on ringing +the bell, old Forbes, the faithful servant of the eminent King’s +Counsel, admitted me, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Glad to see you back, sir. I hope you’ve had a nice journey.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks, Forbes, yes. Is Miss Joan upstairs?” +</p> + +<p> +“In the drawing-room, sir,” replied the white-headed old man, taking +my hat and coat, and leaving me to ascend the broad flight of thickly +carpeted stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“My darling Lionel!” cried my fiancée, rushing up to meet me as I +opened the door of the long, handsome room. “Oh! I’m so glad you are +back again safely!” and placing her soft, bare arms around my neck, +she drew down my head, and kissed me fondly upon the lips, as I +reciprocated. She was in a sleeveless dress of plain black which +enhanced the whiteness of her chest and arms. +</p> + +<p> +“Come and sit in our usual corner,” she said, inviting me to a cozy +nook near one of the windows. “Poor dear! You must be horribly tired +after your long journey. I telephoned to the inquiry office at +Victoria, and they told me that the boat train was late because of +heavy weather in the Channel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bad weather very fortunately does not affect me,” I laughed. “I only +suffer from delay, not from <i>mal-de-mer</i>, or I’d not be doing +messenger work for the Foreign Office, I suppose!” +</p> + +<p> +“Darling, you ought to have taken that post of attaché at Madrid +which was offered you. I can’t understand why you refused it.” +</p> + +<p> +I remained silent. Never to my knowledge had such a post been offered +to me. What could I, in my ignorance, reply? +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose the governor was furious—eh?” I laughed nervously. +</p> + +<p> +“Your father was extremely angry. He had arranged everything, and you +would have started on a very fine diplomatic career; yet, to his great +disappointment, you blankly refused.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would have ended all my ambitions to sit in Parliament,” I said, +for want of any other explanation to offer. +</p> + +<p> +“But has not your present position as King’s Foreign Service +Messenger—highly responsible as it certainly is—ended your chance of +putting up for election?” she asked, her white soft arm still clinging +around me. +</p> + +<p> +As I looked into her wonderful, fathomless eyes, all my lost passion +for her instantly returned. Yes, I was still as deeply in love with +her as I had been before that night of my lost consciousness. Yet what +had occurred between us while I had been in that vague and incompetent +state of mind? +</p> + +<p> +I wondered. Because of my bewilderment I spoke little, leaving my +beloved to talk, and hoping to glean from her words the secret of the +past void in my life. What else could I do? +</p> + +<p> +She gave me a cigarette from her pretty mother-of-pearl case, lit one +herself, and then, leaning back upon the crimson silk couch, looked up +into my eyes and chattered on. At first she told me how she had spent +the last fortnight at a country house down in Devonshire, and +afterwards with the Mellors, who had, as usual, a gay house-party. She +spoke of many people whose names I vaguely remembered, and told me +how, in the long vacation, her father had promised to take her to +Norway. +</p> + +<p> +“We go first to Copenhagen, then to Stockholm, then by train to Oslo, +and up to Bergen, where we catch the steamer right up the fiords to +Tromsö, and back to Hull. Won’t it be delightful? I do wish you could +come with us.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I could, darling, but I fear that while others are by the sea +this summer, I shall be upon the railways of Europe, half stifled in +those trains of luxury, as they are termed. I agree that they are +luxury for one night only, but when one is doomed to spend half one’s +days in them, life becomes horribly tedious, with the same faces of +the brown-uniformed attendants, the same fleeting landscape that you +have seen a hundred times, and the never-changing restaurant menu, +gobbled down by a rambling host of summer tourists. Certainly there is +the <i>cabane diplomatique</i>—the two-berth compartment reserved on every +<i>train-de-luxe</i> across the Continent—but days and nights alone in it +are very tedious and monotonous, I assure you,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“I know what it must be,” my darling responded with sympathy, “but you +must remember that you chose your life yourself after your unfortunate +accident.” +</p> + +<p> +Accident? I knew of no accident! What, I wondered, could have happened +to me? +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I faltered. “I know. But I’m not quite clear, even now, as to +what actually happened.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you very nearly lost your life. That is quite evident,” Joan +said. “And ever since, Lionel, permit me to say so, you have not been +the same, either to your father, to me, or to any of your friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“I really didn’t know that,” I laughed faintly. +</p> + +<p> +“I know you don’t. You’ve told me so a dozen times. But the fact +remains. You don’t even remember what happened,” she said. “All we +know is, that one very foggy night two years ago you were seen +stumbling along the Old Kent Road, and suddenly you left the pavement, +evidently in an attempt to cross the road. Your gait was very uneven, +according to a woman who saw you, and she believed you to be drunk. +Next moment a taxi, creeping along through the fog, caught you. The +wing hit you and flung you some distance, and when you were picked up, +you were unconscious. You were seriously injured, and the police took +you to Guy’s Hospital, where I saw you, as soon as we got back from +the Riviera a month later. You were there six weeks, and when you were +discharged, darling, you seemed to me to be a changed man.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose I really am changed,” I said in all sincerity. What she had +revealed to me was entirely new. I had certainly no knowledge of any +such occurrence on that night of horror. +</p> + +<p> +“You puzzled all the doctors as well as us. How came you dressed as a +working-man, and what could possibly have taken you to such a poor +quarter of London? Do tell me, Lionel. I’ve asked you dozens of times, +and you have never told me the truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I myself am unaware of what really happened,” I assured her. +“I know no more how I came to be in the Old Kent Road that night than +you do.” +</p> + +<p> +I paused in the manner of one groping for something more convincing to +add. +</p> + +<p> +“Really, darling, that sounds most absurd. You surely know what caused +you to assume the clothes of a working-man, and the motive of your +visit to South London.” +</p> + +<p> +I paused before replying. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose I must have had some motive,” I said vaguely. “But I really +forget.” +</p> + +<p> +“There you are—evading my questions, just as you always do!” +</p> + +<p> +I placed my hand upon her bare shoulder, and looking earnestly into +her beautiful eyes, asked: +</p> + +<p> +“Joan, will you believe me when I tell you frankly and honestly, that +I have no knowledge of what happened to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps not after you were knocked down. But, darling, you surely +know why you went to South London that foggy night?” +</p> + +<p> +I paused. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I admitted. “I had a motive. It concerned a secret.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of what?” she asked, instantly interested. +</p> + +<p> +“A diplomatic secret,” I replied, hoping to extricate myself from an +<i>impasse</i>. +</p> + +<p> +She smiled disbelievingly. I saw it in her face. No man can deceive +the woman who loves him. Only fools try it, fools of any age and in +any sphere of life. Woman’s brain is far more acute than man’s, as +every man knows. She has an amazing sense of intuition of the truth +which a man always lacks, a somehow keener sense of actual happenings, +and is never misled as a man can be. +</p> + +<p> +Man, in his superiority over the gentler sex, always believes himself +invulnerable in matters of wits or subterfuge. But woman, with her +quiet, finer, and more developed instincts, always wins in such +struggles. +</p> + +<p> +And I knew that my beloved Joan held the advantage. +</p> + +<p> +“You Foreign Office people have strange secrets, it seems. During the +war I could have believed that there might be spies in South London. +But now that there is peace, what plotting can there possibly be?” +</p> + +<p> +“We always have internal plots in England, formed by the dissatisfied +party—whatever it may be from time to time—according to the +criticisms of the Press,” I laughed, in an endeavor to lead her away +from her actual point. But it was useless. Yet how could I confess to +her my craven cowardice on that night when the well-known criminal met +his death in Bloomsbury? +</p> + +<p> +No one had connected me with the tragedy—not even the woman who loved +him. She had declared, that night when I had come upon that criminal +gang, that I was not the man her lover had attacked on the curb. That +had certainly saved me from arrest as an alleged murderer. But, it had +brought the awful consequences of that foggy night. +</p> + +<p> +I loved Joan with all my heart and with all my soul. She was my +affinity, without her presence and her sweet affection I could not +live; and yet, behind it all was that demoniacal shadow on me—that +frightful nightmare of my newly awakened existence—Illona, my wife. +</p> + +<p> +In the darkness of the past night, as the great express had roared and +rocked across the P.L.M. from Rome to Calais, I had lain in my narrow +sleeping-berth, confused and wondering, dreading to meet my beloved, +because I knew not what explanation to give. +</p> + +<p> +What would you have done, my reader of this strange adventure, had you +been an ordinary man like myself? Put yourself in my place. I loved +<i>sub rosa</i> and in secret—because of the anger of my father—one of +the most popular and charming girls in all London, and yet, after two +years, I had found myself still as a straw drifting on the wind, still +in fear lest she should learn the truth. +</p> + +<p> +I could well see that she doubted me. Was it any wonder? All my +explanations were terribly lame, I knew. And, worse still, on it all +lay that heavy fact that I had betrayed her love, that I was already +married. +</p> + +<p> +It was on my tongue to make a clean confession of the whole affair, as +I suppose I really ought to have done. However, I hesitated, because I +felt that before I could reveal the whole story, I must seek the truth +concerning my union with a woman of whom I knew nothing—Illona. +</p> + +<p> +She questioned me, but I fear I was too engrossed in my own thoughts +to respond intelligibly. +</p> + +<p> +“You see, you never tell me the real truth, Lionel,” she exclaimed at +last. “You are always so very reticent, so strange as compared with +your old self. I never can understand you nowadays.” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t been well,” I replied in excuse. +</p> + +<p> +“Yet you do your service for the Foreign Office, constantly traveling +to the capitals. You are robust, and hearty, and never ail for a +moment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Since my—my accident, I fear I have not been the same, dearest,” I +said, taking her soft hand and caressing it. “Do forgive me. It is not +all my fault. You must trust me, Joan dear.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned her sweet face towards me, and our lips met. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, my darling. I know I’m hard on you sometimes, but when I +sit at home here, and think, during the days you are abroad, I—well, +I can’t describe my feelings, except that it seems to me that you are +never frank with me—that you are concealing something very important +from me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I certainly am not,” I responded, with a vain attempt to be bold +beneath my love’s searching gaze. +</p> + +<p> +“But, Lionel, you are—and you know quite well you are,” she replied. +“You have something on your mind that I ought to know, and yet you +will never reveal it. All you Foreign Office people are the most +secretive persons on earth. Sir George, Jack Denham, and Tommie +Tennant are all the same. I was in love with Jack once, as you know, +and he was just the same as you are—spoke in enigmas and smiled +mysteriously if I asked him to explain.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Joan,” I said, “one of the first lessons one learns at +Downing Street is never to allow one’s left hand to know what one’s +right hand does.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you’ve evidently learnt that lesson well, my dear Lionel,” said +the girl, with that quiet philosophy that became the daughter of the +eminent King’s Counsel. +</p> + +<p> +“My darling,” I said, placing my arm about her waist and kissing her +upon the lips, “we are here alone to-night after my journey to Rome. +Why not let us enjoy this evening rather than allow ourselves to be at +cross-purposes? I love you, Joan!” I cried passionately, kissing her +again and again. “To me, you are my world, my all. Can I say more?” +</p> + +<p> +She drew herself slowly but deliberately from my embrace, and in a +low, changed voice said: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, darling. You can tell me the truth if you like.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of what?” I cried, with affected concern. +</p> + +<p> +My feigned bewilderment did not impress her. With her woman’s clever +intuition she saw instantly that my assumed ignorance was mere +pretence. +</p> + +<p> +“What has arisen to be a bar against our happiness?” she asked in a +low, hard voice. “You know what it is. If you are an honest man, +Lionel, you will tell me the truth!” +</p> + +<p> +The truth! How could I tell my dearest, when I knew not the truth +myself? +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch11"> +CHAPTER ELEVEN.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">MY FATHER’S STORY</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">While</span> I was still sitting in argument with Joan, her father—stout, +hale, and hearty—returned. +</p> + +<p> +“Hulloa, Lionel!” he exclaimed, greeting me in his usual cheery +manner. “Back again, eh? Joan said you’ve been to Rome. How are things +there? We were there at the Grand two years ago. I had to appear in a +bank case, and I went over to get some information.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Rome is always Rome, you know,” I laughed. “Sir Richard +Kingscliffe and Lady Betty are well. We spoke of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“He wrote me a month ago, saying they were coming over on leave in a +few weeks. My wife has invited them to stay with us, instead of going +to a hotel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lady Kingscliffe told me so.” +</p> + +<p> +“I expect Sir Richard finds his post pretty difficult under the +Mussolini régime, eh?” remarked the great King’s Counsel, whose name +was so well known throughout the land. A stout, clean-shaven, +bald-headed man, with a somewhat arrogant manner when in Court, he was +a terror as a cross-examiner. From the Recordership of Reading, he had +been invited twice by the Lord Chancellor to accept a judgeship, but +had refused on both occasions. He had told me that a judicial seat did +not appeal to him after his constant work at the Bar, for his briefs +were among the most highly marked of any man in the Temple. +</p> + +<p> +To become a judge meant a loss of quite fifteen to twenty thousand a +year. Hence, the reason was not far to seek. One often regrets that +English judges are so poorly paid, and that when they attain the plums +of the legal profession they are given a rather worthless knighthood, +and receive only a living wage, considering the dignity they are +compelled to support So, often the greatest legal men prefer to remain +at the Bar, while others of fewer mental attainments wear judicial +robes. +</p> + +<p> +Everyone knew John Gell. He dined out a great deal, his ponderous +personality being a most lovable one. He had the habit of smoking +unusually large cigars, and when he laughed his stomach rose and fell, +until his hilarity became contagious. In all London no after-dinner +speaker was more witty. The reporters were ever on the alert for some +<i>bon mot</i> from his lips. +</p> + +<p> +He took me from Joan’s side into the dining-room and compelled me to +have a night-cap with him—a gin and soda with half a lemon squeezed +into it, and a chunk of ice. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly he turned to me, and asked: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you feel better than you did, my boy? Before you left you +complained of bad pains in the head. Joan has been very anxious about +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I feel better,” I replied. “But I suppose it is the result of my +accident.” +</p> + +<p> +“You certainly had a very narrow squeak,” replied the great lawyer. +“When I heard you were at Guy’s I went down at once to see you. +Bellamy, the surgeon, had very little hope of your recovery. Still, +that’s all over, and you seem fit enough, or you wouldn’t be able to +do the long journeys to the capitals.” +</p> + +<p> +How I wished I dared confide in him all that had happened to me, and +my strange awakening in Rome. I thought it best, however, to confide +in no one except my own father. +</p> + +<p> +I had rung him up before dinner and learnt that he had gone down to +Bulwick on the previous day. +</p> + +<p> +Therefore, early on the following morning I left King’s Cross, and at +noon the car met me and took me up through the park to my old home. +</p> + +<p> +The spacious old Tudor mansion, with its tall, twisted chimneys and +castellated turret, was unchanged, though for over two years, to my +knowledge, I had not seen it. The dear old governor, in his gardening +suit and faded straw hat, came out to greet me. +</p> + +<p> +In town he was always well dressed, even dandified, a well-known +figure in the Park on Sundays, and often declared to be one of the +smartest of the elderly brigade in the House. But at home he always +enjoyed the ease of old clothes, with the comfort of old slippers in +the evening. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my boy!” he cried. “I’m so glad to get you home again. You +seldom come down here nowadays. But there! You surely have sufficient +traveling.” +</p> + +<p> +We walked through the open French windows of the old-fashioned +morning-room, with its cool chintz covers—the room which my poor +mother had so dearly loved. In the centre of the polished table stood +a great bowl of yellow, sweet-scented roses, while upon a side-table +stood a blue china bowl of pot-pourri. +</p> + +<p> +We threw ourselves into deep arm-chairs opposite each other, and then +I exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“The reason I’ve come home is because I want to speak seriously with +you, dad.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear boy. Just say what you like. If you wish to confide anything +to me, you know that I am always discreet in your interests.” +</p> + +<p> +I paused, hardly knowing how to begin. +</p> + +<p> +“You were good enough to obtain for me a post abroad, were you not?” +</p> + +<p> +“I managed to get you a good opening in the diplomatic service, my +boy, and I confess I was sorely hurt and disappointed when you refused +to accept it. I can’t make out your motive even now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Neither can I,” was my reply. “For the first time last night had I +any knowledge of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” cried my father. “What are you saying? For the first time last +night you knew about it? Why, my dear boy, you must be dreaming.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have been dreaming for over two years,” I admitted. “And only now +do I find myself fully awake.” +</p> + +<p> +My father arose and stood erect in front of me. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Lionel,” he remarked very seriously, “are you joking? If +so, it is misplaced humor.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not joking, dad,” I said. “I’m terribly in earnest. And it is +to—to tell you what I know that I am here to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of what happened to me on that night you met me at Denmark Hill.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were run down in the Old Kent Road, and narrowly escaped being +killed,” my father replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Has there been any suspicion that I am the man the police wanted for +the affair in Bloomsbury?” I asked eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“No. You have never been identified. Therefore dismiss the whole +miserable affair from your mind for ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! That’s just it! I cannot dismiss it because—well, something +happened to me after I left you that night—something very serious, a +mystery even to this moment; something which has connection with the +tragedy in Bloomsbury. For some unknown reason I exist to-day in +deadly peril.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me all about it!” my father said anxiously. “In what peril are +you?” +</p> + +<p> +For the next half hour I sat revealing to him the whole truth, just as +I have already written it down in these pages, while he sat staring at +me in surprise, scarcely uttering a word. +</p> + +<p> +Except the facts that I loved Joan Gell and that I had received +letters from the mysterious Illona, who declared herself my wife, I +concealed nothing. I described all that had happened—my strange +awakening in Rome, my meeting with the Little Countess, and the sudden +realization that she was none other than the humble typist, Lisely +Hatten, one of a desperate gang of shop-window jewel-thieves, who had +made that cruel and inhuman suggestion to put out my eyes, so that I +could never identify her or her criminal associates. +</p> + +<p> +“But she must be exposed, my boy,” my father declared. “Now that you +have recognized her, Kingscliffe should be informed at once. Why is +she masquerading in Italy as the daughter of an Italian Count?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that is yet another mystery!” was my reply. “I confess that I am +utterly and completely bewildered.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear boy, and so am I! If I were you I would see the Foreign +Secretary. Shall I see him for you? He is a great friend of mine, as +you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, father. Let me solve the mystery. I will remain alert, and try to +discover what plot is afoot. There must be some great and well +organized conspiracy which takes a girl member of a criminal gang to +become a guest at the Quirinale.” +</p> + +<p> +“Through Sir Richard, you can always have private audience with His +Excellency the Duce,” my father remarked. “But all you tell me +bewilders me, my boy. I can’t make head or tail of it. What can have +happened to you after the girl Lisely gave you that injection?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that I don’t know! From that very moment until I fell beneath the +dining-table at the Embassy, I was entirely unconscious and oblivious +of everything. Yet the girl who gave me the injection—that wild girl +who suggested that I be blinded—was, on my return to my normal +senses, most charming to me. No doubt she had realized that I did not +know her; hence she felt herself safe and sent me upon that +sentimental mission to her lover.” +</p> + +<p> +“The strangest story I have ever heard!” declared my father, who, +after all, was a hard-headed man, a figure in post-war politics. As an +English country gentleman, he was, too, a whole-hearted hater of the +Russian Soviets and all their ways. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I said. “It is all strange, all inconceivable, that I should by +no fault of mine have earned the deadly enmity of those who now pose +as my friends.” +</p> + +<p> +I wondered whether to tell him of the strange communications from +Illona. Surely it were better for the present to keep the matter to +myself! +</p> + +<p> +We had lunch in the big old dining-room, where, around the dark, +paneled walls, were portraits of my ancestors. My father spoke little, +apparently absorbed in the strange story of my misfortune, and my +consequent unconsciousness. +</p> + +<p> +Both of us ate little, being too full of our own perplexed thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +Afterwards, when we smoked over our coffee on the front veranda—which +overlooked the lawn, with its border of lilacs and roses, and the +delightful woods beyond—my father suddenly asked: +</p> + +<p> +“And what do you now propose to do, my boy?” +</p> + +<p> +“I really don’t know, dad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, your first effort to discover the truth is to approach this +strange woman, the Little Countess,” he said. “It was she who injected +into your body some drug which caused you that long period of loss of +memory. Still pretend that you do not recognize her, and no doubt you +will discover some clue to the amazing situation in which you find +yourself to-day. At the bottom of it all, you will find that the +friends of the man who accidentally shot himself in Bloomsbury instead +of murdering you, and who was afterwards identified by his +finger-prints as a notorious criminal, have some great interest in +hounding you to your peril.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why?” I asked, puzzled as ever. “I did nothing. I raised no hand +except in self-defense.” +</p> + +<p> +“You saw him—you saw the others associated in that house on that +foggy night. For that reason they fear you; hence their hands are +raised against you. No, my dear boy, you must exercise the greatest +discretion and precaution, or you may still fall their victim.” +</p> + +<p> +I recollected that strange letter penned by my anxious wife, the +mysterious Illona. She held the same opinion as did my dear old +governor, that I was in some deadly and mysterious peril. +</p> + +<p> +Quite late into the afternoon we both sat in the long cane +lounge-chairs drowsily thinking. +</p> + +<p> +“What you have told me to-day explains much, my boy,” my father said +reflectively at last. “Often I have watched you, and wondered in +anxiety at your strangeness of manner and your apparent obliviousness +of the past. Sometimes I grew impatient because I could not follow the +trend of your thoughts. You seemed ridiculously regardless of the +past, and more often than not you made statements which, on the face +of them, were absurd. Look here, my boy,” he said, laying his hand +upon my shoulder with paternal affection, “I confess now to you that I +often wondered if you had really taken leave of your senses. Now, I +know too well that you have not been yourself. Hence I apologize to +you for my shortness of temper.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no need for apology, dad,” I declared. “I’ve never been in a +fit state of mind to appreciate even your love for me, or your +suspicions of my demented state—for, after all, I must have been half +mad all these many months.” +</p> + +<p> +“My poor boy, I really think you must have been,” he said, gripping my +shoulder with his tender hand. He and I had always been the firmest +friends ever since the death of my dear, sainted mother, whose pet I +had always been since my Eton days. +</p> + +<p> +I, however, told him nothing of that dark shadow on me—the discovery +that I was married to a woman whom I did not know. +</p> + +<p> +We discussed the curious warning I had had concerning the evil +intended by a blind man, and the sightless individual who had called +on me during my absence. +</p> + +<p> +“You should not meet him, but keep alert and watchful,” he advised. +“When he comes, follow him, and see where he lives and with whom he +associates,” the governor suggested. +</p> + +<p> +That was my idea, for I resolved to leave no stone unturned to solve +the inexplicable mystery. +</p> + +<p> +All was bewildering. The more we discussed it, the deeper seemed the +plot against me. But with what motive? What had I done, save to +stumble on that foggy night into a meeting of crooks who were no doubt +in the act of dividing their spoils prior to distributing them to the +“fences?” Of course they took me to be a “squealer” or a police +informer. For that reason Lisely, whom I had believed to be my friend, +had made that diabolical suggestion of destroying my sight. Yet, in my +powerless position, she had surely administered to me some strange +insidious injection, and allowed my sight to remain normal. +</p> + +<p> +Why? +</p> + +<p> +The effect of that injection had been to make me unconscious of what I +did, of what I said, or even of my life and surroundings, for two +whole years. Had other persons been served the same? I had read in the +newspapers of many cases of complete loss of memory, which had greatly +puzzled medical men, sometimes restored by sudden shock, and I +wondered whether my own case was on a par with others. Had others +fallen into the hands of that desperate gang, and been subjected to +the fatal hypodermic needle as I had been? +</p> + +<p> +Late that afternoon I wandered through the gardens of my old home +accompanied by the governor, who took great interest in his exquisite +cherries grown under glass. Politics and committees occupied his whole +life, but his recreation was a delight in horticulture, and especially +in the rearing of flowers. +</p> + +<p> +Every day in the year old Blake, our head gardener, sent him a basket +of flowers for his rooms in London, and, more often than not, he +appeared in the House wearing a rare orchid grown at Hipwell. +</p> + +<p> +In the fading afterglow we dined together and, in my honor, he opened +a bottle of one of his choicest vintages. +</p> + +<p> +Then, when he had wished me every luck, and had given me many words of +advice which I highly valued, I took my leave, and just before eleven +o’clock alighted again at King’s Cross and drove back to Sackville +Street. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch12"> +CHAPTER TWELVE.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">MISSING</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Through</span> two years my enemies had successfully fooled me. I had no +doubt been as clay in their hands, even to the extent that some +adventuress had actually married me! +</p> + +<p> +Was the marriage legal? How could I escape from the hateful bondage? +</p> + +<p> +Had I not been warned by the mysterious Illona? Mysterious truly, for +not even her address was known to me; hence I could not communicate +with her. +</p> + +<p> +The mystery of it all was driving me out of my mind. That accursed +drug that Lisely injected into my veins had changed me entirely, +sweeping from me all recollection of the present, but allowing me all +the horror of the past. +</p> + +<p> +I had awakened to a new sense of life, but after all, when I quietly +considered everything while I smoked interminable cigarettes alone, I +realized that I was not entirely myself. Moreover, I was appalled at +the great responsibility resting on me as the official courier of His +Majesty’s Principal Secretary for Foreign Affairs. Why I had accepted +such a position was amazing. I was fond of travel, for I had been up +and down Europe with my father in every vacation from the ’Varsity. +During each recess, the governor always went abroad in search of +information to use in the House, which he often did with much damning +effect. +</p> + +<p> +Illona! Who was she? Where was she? I was frantic to see her, and +obtain from her further facts concerning the serious plot against me. +But how? +</p> + +<p> +Next day I took Joan out to lunch at Ciro’s and afterwards we went to +a matinée. Tea at the Carlton followed. Therefore, it was not before +half-past six that I arrived back at Sackville Street. +</p> + +<p> +“The blind man called again this afternoon, sir,” my man Bruce +informed me as I passed into the sitting-room. +</p> + +<p> +“The blind man!” I echoed. “What did you tell him?” +</p> + +<p> +“That you were still away, sir. But he seemed to know that you had +returned.” +</p> + +<p> +“He knows, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, he seemed to know. For he only grinned and said, ‘Your +master will be in to meet me next time I call. Please tell him that +from me.’ His manner was quite insulting, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You showed him out, of course?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, I sent him down in the elevator and allowed him to tap +himself out. I told him frankly that if he could find his way up here, +he could just as easily find his way out again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Excellent, Bruce,” I said approvingly. “But when he calls next time, +say I’m out and let me know instantly. I’ll follow him, and see if +he’s blind, or not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m sure he’s as blind as a bat,” my man declared. +</p> + +<p> +“He may be only pretending,” I suggested. “But describe him to me as +minutely as you can.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, he’s a youngish man, dressed always in a shabby grey suit, +a soft collar, and an old, frayed black tie. He has a rather +sharp-pointed nose and thickish lips.” +</p> + +<p> +The description was rather vague, but was it possible that the man who +had posed to me as a romantic lover was the blind man against whom my +unknown wife had so seriously warned me? +</p> + +<p> +The thought gripped me, for I saw myself surrounded by secret enemies +who—perhaps realizing that, as I had returned to my senses, I was a +peril to them—were determined to close my lips. +</p> + +<p> +I concealed my agitation from Bruce and went to my room to dress for +the evening. I had promised to go out with Teddy Day, an old college +chum who now held a dry-as-dust post in the Treasury—an inspector or +something or other. He wore horn-rimmed glasses and had a room of his +own—a sure sign of a do-nothing job. Our great Government offices are +full of civil servants who are, alas! too often uncivil if you ask +about their particular job. They are all the deep growths of +officialdom which even inter-departmental committees cannot uproot. In +one case, for example, an old friend of mine was an inspector of the +purchase department of the Admiralty for naval wireless installations. +He knew no more of radio than the merest schoolboy, cared less, and +was passing accounts amounting to hundreds of thousands of pounds +yearly. Such are some of the drones which Whitehall still hives even +in these days of the post-war “axe.” +</p> + +<p> +Teddy Day was a cheery, round-faced man-about-town, essentially a +ladies’ man, and a confirmed bachelor. With his hostesses he was a +favorite, for he was an excellent dancer, and always fell into a +vacancy, as some men appear born to do. We dined at the Piccadilly, +and, after coffee at the Travellers’, went on to a dance-club, where +we glided over the floor with partners hardly known to us. +</p> + +<p> +Not until half past one in the morning did I get back home, and then I +was so tired that I undressed hastily, and soon fell asleep. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly I heard my telephone bell ring, and I sprang up to find it +was already morning. +</p> + +<p> +“Hulloa?” I asked in response to the call. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that you, Lionel?” asked a voice which I instantly recognized as +that of Joan’s father. “Is Joan with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Joan! No. I haven’t seen her since last evening,” I replied. +</p> + +<p> +“But she went out to meet you at eight o’clock for dinner,” said the +deep-voiced King’s Counsel. +</p> + +<p> +“She never met me. I had no appointment with her.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you sent a messenger with an appointment. I was here when it +came!” +</p> + +<p> +“I sent no messenger, Mr. Gell,” I declared. “I went out with a +college friend, and got back about half past one.” +</p> + +<p> +“What! Do you mean to say that you’ve not seen Joan?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I swear that I have not seen her, or sent her any message since I +left her at six o’clock last night,” was my astonished reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Then what the devil can have happened to her?” asked her father. +</p> + +<p> +I dressed hastily, and took a taxi to Queen’s Gate, to find both Mrs. +Gell and her husband in a state of frantic anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +The statement of Hughes, the lady’s maid, was to the effect that, at +about half past seven on the previous evening a telegraph-boy arrived +with a note for Miss Joan. +</p> + +<p> +On receiving it she dressed hurriedly, remarking to the maid that she +had to meet me, and later went off in a taxi, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Tell mother I’m out with Lionel.” +</p> + +<p> +From that moment she had not been seen. Her father came in from a +dinner of the Fishmongers’ Company in the City, at a quarter to two in +the morning. But she had not returned. +</p> + +<p> +Thinking she was at a night club with me, he went to bed, leaving the +door on the latch. But, finding at early morning she had not returned, +he had made the inquiry over the ’phone, and surely not without +reason. It was perplexing, mystifying. What could it mean? +</p> + +<p> +The knowledge that some desperate plot had been formed against me by +certain unknown enemies, made it quite apparent that the conspiracy +extended to my well-beloved. I said but little to Mr. Gell, but I +became all the more convinced that she had fallen innocently into +hostile hands, as the message to her, of course, was a false one. The +express messenger had delivered to Joan a written note. She knew my +handwriting. Who, therefore, had forged my message? +</p> + +<p> +The unknown Illona had warned me not without reason. What could she +possibly know? +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll wait till noon, and if we hear nothing, we’ll go down and see +Cunningham Lee, the Assistant Commissioner at Scotland Yard,” said the +King’s Counsel, whose work at the Old Bailey brought him into intimate +touch with the head of the police. +</p> + +<p> +Three anxious hours passed, but the telephone did not ring, nor was +there any explanatory message from the girl I so dearly loved. She was +lost to me as to her friends. There had been some devil’s work +somewhere! When I recalled my own experience in the hands of that +desperate gang, I trembled for her. And yet, her only offense, +apparently, had been her great love for me. +</p> + +<p> +I longed to find Illona and demand the truth from her. What could she +know? Could she tell me something to give a clue to Joan’s sudden +disappearance? Or was it due to the fierce jealousy of the woman I had +unconsciously wedded? +</p> + +<p> +Very probably it was due to the latter! If so, then my efforts to +learn the truth, and to rescue Joan, must be unavailing. +</p> + +<p> +Joan’s mother, naturally, was in tears. +</p> + +<p> +“My girl would never of her own will remain away all night!” she +cried. “An accident may have happened, John,” she said to her husband. +“Inquiry must be made at all the hospitals.” +</p> + +<p> +The maid was called, and described the dress, coat, and hat which Joan +had put on before going out. +</p> + +<p> +“She had two one-pound Treasury notes in her bag as well as some +silver, madam,” the girl said. “Miss Joan always carries them in her +little purse in case of emergency.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did she seem surprised when you gave her the letter?” asked Mr. Gell, +assuming his habitual manner of cross-examination. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, just a trifle, I think, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“What causes you to say a trifle? Explain it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” replied the neatly-dressed maid, rather confused at her +master’s hard, legal glance, “when she opened and read the letter, she +exclaimed, ‘Oh, how strange—how very interesting! I must go at once. +Mr. Hipwell is waiting for me.’ ” +</p> + +<p> +“She did not say where?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir. She bustled me about to get out her dress and shoes, and +while she put on her hat I went out to call a taxi.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were at the door when she went out?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. I heard her tell the man to drive to Wardour Street, but I +could not catch the number.” +</p> + +<p> +“She might have gone to the Cosmo Club. That is in Wardour Street. We +are both members,” I remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Then the rendezvous might have been at the club,” remarked Mr. Gell, +who, turning to the maid, asked: +</p> + +<p> +“What, as far as you can tell, was the exact time she left the house?” +</p> + +<p> +“About eight o’clock, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why did she not come to me and tell me she was going out?” asked her +mother. “Always when she goes out late she tells me. Girls to-day are, +alas! not like they were when I was a girl, John. They run such risks, +and yet they are so self-reliant that one can’t help liking the modern +girl, after all.” +</p> + +<p> +“But where is our girl?” asked Mr. Gell, bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +The ’phone rang from his chambers in the Temple. He was due to appear +at the London Sessions, to prosecute in a case of stolen motor-cars, +but in a few brief sentences he told his clerk that he was indisposed, +he regretted, and asked his junior associate to carry on the case in +his absence. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Fortescue knows the whole story,” he went on. “The case is quite +simple, Matthews. Both prisoners have been previously convicted. Tell +Mr. Fortescue to apologize for my enforced absence, and let me know +the result over the ’phone. I expect they will get three years each, +unless Bowden puts up an alibi. He may—who knows?” +</p> + +<p> +And he rang off. +</p> + +<p> +Till noon we remained at Queen’s Gate. I rang up Bruce, but he had +heard nothing. Half a dozen of Joan’s friends were rung up by her +mother, but nobody had seen or heard of her. From the moment the taxi +had left the curb outside she had disappeared into space. +</p> + +<p> +“We must advertise for the taxi-driver,” I suggested. “He may tell us +where he left her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But the notice cannot appear till to-morrow morning,” replied +her father excitedly. Mr. Gell, usually such a calm, composed man, +whom no circumstance, however untoward, could ruffle, was now beside +himself at Joan’s disappearance. +</p> + +<p> +“Who could possibly have imitated your handwriting?” he asked blankly. +</p> + +<p> +We both went to her empty bedroom and searched her waste-paper basket +for evidence of the plot. But, she had apparently taken the note with +her. There had been no fire in the room, therefore she could not have +burned it, as she might have done in winter. +</p> + +<p> +At noon the car took us down to Scotland Yard, where, without delay, +we were ushered into the bare, official room of the Assistant +Commissioner of Metropolitan Police, Mr. Cunningham Lee. +</p> + +<p> +The tall, thin-faced official rose to greet the famous K.C., and then, +reseating himself, listened to the story which the bereaved father +related. +</p> + +<p> +“This is Mr. Lionel Hipwell of the Foreign Office,” he said, +indicating me. “The letter my daughter received purported to come from +him, but he never sent any message, either written or verbal.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then your daughter was decoyed away last night, Mr. Gell, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt. Or—or perhaps an accident has occurred to her, and she may +be in one of the hospitals.” +</p> + +<p> +“The receipt of the note rather points to her being decoyed, does it +not?” said the Assistant Commissioner very seriously, as he touched an +electric button. +</p> + +<p> +“Send Mr. Nicholas to me,” he said to the clerk who answered his +summons. “And—and send Mr. Hayes also.” +</p> + +<p> +In a few minutes the two officers of the Criminal Investigation +Department entered. To them the eminent lawyer, who was so well known, +gave a detailed description of Joan, together with the clothing she +had worn, and described the curious circumstances under which she had +left home in a taxi for Wardour Street, about eight o’clock. +</p> + +<p> +Both detectives made some scribbled notes, when Hayes, a round-faced, +middle-aged man, who had to his credit the arrest of the +bungalow-murderer Collins, hanged only a couple of months before, +asked: +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me, Mr. Gell, but do you think the motive might be vengeance, +because you have successfully prosecuted one or other of the recent +gangs? You remember the Pittard crowd—the ‘cat’ burglars whom you +prosecuted for the Treasury. Don’t you recollect that after they were +sentenced by the Recorder they vowed vengeance against you?” +</p> + +<p> +John Gell laughed, his usual hearty laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Mr. Hayes, every advocate who prosecutes for the Treasury has +hundreds of threats and anonymous letters of abuse and warning! I’m +not alone. I received two yesterday morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is so, Mr. Gell,” admitted the Assistant Commissioner, “but Mr. +Hayes is perfectly within his right to suggest a motive.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course! of course!” said the stout lawyer. “But I leave the matter +entirely in your hands to do your best to restore my daughter to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Every effort shall be made, I assure you,” said Mr. Cunningham Lee. +“We will send to all the hospitals and ambulance stations, and we will +get hold of the taxi-man without delay.” Then after a pause the high +official of Scotland Yard turned to me, and in a strange, +half-suspicious manner, asked: +</p> + +<p> +“You are quite certain that you sent no note to Miss Gell last night?” +</p> + +<p> +“I certainly did not,” I replied. “But I have reason to believe that +Miss Gell has fallen the victim to some deeply laid and desperate +plot. Some clever forger has been at work who sent her a message of +greatest urgency, for I had been with her only an hour and a half +before she received the mysterious message which caused her to change +hurriedly and rush out to Wardour Street.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” remarked the Assistant Commissioner, “I agree entirely. The +young lady, I fear, has fallen victim to some plot, the motive of +which is at present entirely obscure.” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch13"> +CHAPTER THIRTEEN.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">AN AFFAIR IN FULHAM</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">What</span> could we do save to leave the matter in the hands of the +police? +</p> + +<p> +In a couple of hours every police-constable in greater London would +hear the description read over before going on duty, while search +would be made of every hospital and every ambulance post. +</p> + +<p> +We afterwards drove along to the offices of <i>The Times</i> and <i>Morning +Post</i> in which we placed advertisements, begging the taxi-driver, who +took a young lady from Queen’s Gate at eight o’clock on the evening in +question to communicate at once with the nearest police-station. +</p> + +<p> +There was no more to be done save to wait in patience. +</p> + +<p> +How that day passed, or what I did, I cannot tell. My wife Illona +might be in London as she said she intended. I re-read the letter I +had found in Rome, in which she told me that if she dared she would +call on me. If she dared? What could that mean? +</p> + +<p> +She asked me to write to her at her club in London. But what club? In +neither of her letters had she given me any address save that vague +one “Lausanne.” +</p> + +<p> +I knew the tree-lined city on the hill above the blue Lake of Geneva. +But it was a large place in which to search for anyone. Yet if she +were a traveler, as it seemed, she would no doubt be at one of the +fifty or more hotels. And if she had assumed my name I might be able +to discover her in the visitors’ list. +</p> + +<p> +My first impulse was to go to Lausanne, but I remembered that she had +stated her intention of coming to me in London. Hence I decided to +wait. +</p> + +<p> +Four days went by, but we could gather nothing concerning Joan. She +had completely disappeared, and, like myself, her parents were beside +themselves with grief. +</p> + +<p> +In my excited state of mind I called on my friend Teddy Day and told +him of Joan’s disappearance, though I withheld from him the secret of +Illona’s existence. I told him of my romantic mission from the Little +Countess to Roddy Owen, though I gave him no inkling of who the +charming lady really was. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s an adventuress, no doubt, old boy,” he declared, as he +stretched his long legs out upon the hearthrug, and smoked his +cigarette. “If she is received at the Embassy in Rome and elsewhere, +she ought to be exposed. You ought not to allow her and her chaperon +to go further.” +</p> + +<p> +I discussed the situation from every angle. It was difficult to write +to Sir Richard Kingscliffe. I could only wait until my duties took me +again into Italy. Meanwhile, I knew that something very serious must +have happened to Joan, and that I myself remained in some mysterious +but deadly peril. +</p> + +<p> +I was, I think, no coward; yet I had enemies on every hand. Since that +never-to-be-forgotten night in Bloomsbury, when, because I tried to +rescue a defenseless woman from the hands of a brute, I brought upon +myself dire disaster, I seemed to have been hounded out of life. +</p> + +<p> +When I reflected, I saw visions of the face of Lisely Hatten distorted +horribly by hate, when she had made that brutal proposal to put out my +eyes. And yet I was perfectly innocent, and, moreover, I was her +friend. +</p> + +<p> +Was it because of my friendship that she had spared me? Did she +continue, by some subtle means, to evade doing what she and that man +friend of hers had suggested? Had she relented, and allowed me to go +with my eyesight unimpaired? Still, the effect on me of that unknown +drug had remained, blotting out my consciousness for two whole years. +Nevertheless, I had led another life, energetic, manly, tireless, as I +sped hither to and fro between Downing Street and the capitals of +Europe. I had once or twice contemplated consulting a doctor about it. +But, like most young men, I had a silly terror of the medical +profession, refusing medical aid, unless, perhaps, I had a touch of +fever that sent me to bed. +</p> + +<p> +Teddy was sympathetic and full of suggestions. Meanwhile, Mr. Gell, +with all his influence in police circles, was daily active in +searching for Joan. +</p> + +<p> +Happily we had managed to keep the affair out of the papers save for +the advertisement addressed to the taxi driver. But that told the +public nothing. +</p> + +<p> +On the fourth day after her disappearance a taxi driver named Cowley, +living at Streatham Common, called at the Brixton Police Station and +made a statement. +</p> + +<p> +He had been passing along Queen’s Gate when a young lady had come out +of a house and ordered him to drive to Wardour Street. At the door of +the Cosmo Club a fair-haired young man, in evening dress, was waiting +to meet her. They had had a short and very excited discussion, +whereupon the young man had entered the taxi and told the man to drive +to the Florida Club. There he set them down. And he knew nothing more. +</p> + +<p> +This story was told to me by Mr. Gell, who ’phoned me to come over to +Queen’s Gate at once. Together we went to Bruton Street, where we saw +the commissionaire on duty, who apparently had no recollection of the +incident. In the book was Joan’s signature as a member. +</p> + +<p> +In the broad light of day the popular night haunt of society looked +horribly tawdry and bizarre. Princes and nobles danced upon the glass +floor, drank their wines, and ate rich foods at night beneath the +glamor of shaded lights, while listening to the soft, seductive music +of the highest paid orchestra in London. Yet the club looked strange +and unreal as we interviewed the manager, while several foreign +baize-aproned waiters were arranging choice flowers upon the tables +for the coming night. +</p> + +<p> +We failed to discover anything further than the signature of Joan as +she had entered. The Florida was most exclusive. There was no +subterfuge of membership, as there is in so many London +dance-clubs—no joining by immediate payment of a subscription. Each +member was an approved person, passed by the committee at its monthly +meeting, just as at any other West End club. There were, indeed, men +and women on the waiting list; hence it was a club almost as exclusive +as the Carlton, White’s, the Travelers’, or the Devonshire. +</p> + +<p> +We drew blank—a disappointing blank. We could discover nothing +further than her rather faintly written signature—“Joan Gell”—in the +big membership book, held by the old, white-moustached military +commissionaire. Underneath her signature was that of a world-famous +explorer, and above it was the scribble of a rather reckless young +peer. +</p> + +<p> +I wondered whether the explorer had known or had ever seen her. He was +a member of the Junior United Service Club, so I called on him. +</p> + +<p> +Alert, erect, and full of genuine bonhomie, the elderly traveler told +me that he knew Joan by sight, that he had but a faint recollection of +seeing her that evening. +</p> + +<p> +“I have an idea I saw her dancing with a young, fair-haired man,” he +told me as we sat together in the club. “He struck me as a young, +empty-headed fool, but he was a very good dancer. They charlestoned +well. That’s all I know. I left the Florida about half past one and +went to the Travelers’ with Janning Chase, the stockbroker, for a +final drink.” +</p> + +<p> +That was all we could gather. +</p> + +<p> +A dozen times I consulted with Teddy, but our conversation carried us +no further. +</p> + +<p> +Who, we wondered, was her fair-haired dancing-partner? Was it my enemy +who pretended blindness? +</p> + +<p> +Scotland Yard could obtain no clue. The most diligent inquiries were +made of the staff of the Florida as regards the fair young man who was +such an excellent dancer. But his identity could not be fixed. All the +signatures of both members and their visitors on that night were +carefully verified, but there was no fair-haired young man among those +registered. +</p> + +<p> +Yet Anthony Marsh, the explorer, whom I saw on two different occasions +afterwards, remained certain that he had seen her with the young +fellow whom he described. +</p> + +<p> +The description struck me as very like that of Roddy Owen! If the +latter was acquainted with my enemy, the woman Lisely Hatten, then +might he not be one of the conspirators against me? Since I had +realized my foolish failure to recognize the Little Countess, I held +the romantic young bachelor in great distrust. +</p> + +<p> +My first impulse was to call on him and demand an explanation of the +events of that night when Joan was decoyed by the message purporting +to come from me. But Teddy suggested remaining watchful, and I agreed +with him. +</p> + +<p> +“He doesn’t know me. Therefore I’ll follow him and see where he goes +and what company he keeps,” he said. “I’ll watch to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +And he did. +</p> + +<p> +I went down to Queen’s Gate to hear if any news had been received, but +there was nothing. A week had gone by, and my love was either held in +some hateful bondage or was dead. The number of women and girls who +disappear weekly in London is incredible; drugs and the white-slave +traffic, alas! being responsible for many deserted homes. +</p> + +<p> +We all entertained the worst fears, and yet we were powerless. +</p> + +<p> +I got back to Sackville Street just after midnight, and, after smoking +an hour over the evening paper, as was my habit, I was about to retire +when Teddy entered. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s some mystery about that fellow Owen,” he said, throwing +himself into a chair wearily. “I don’t exactly know what has happened, +but we ought to know something in the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” I gasped. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I waited for an hour and a half outside Harrington Court until +I saw him come out. He was in evening clothes, with a crush hat, and +walked leisurely along down Grosvenor Place, where he made a call. But +evidently the person he wanted was out. +</p> + +<p> +“He then came back along Piccadilly to Scott’s, where he met a man +accidentally, and they both had a meal down below. I sat in the next +compartment to them. But their conversation was so low that I could +not distinguish what they said. His friend was a big, round-faced, +overdressed fellow, and they were evidently discussing something of an +extremely confidential nature. After that they had coffee, then both +strolled along Shaftesbury Avenue to Ham Yard, where they entered a +little obscure club, which I know to be the resort of West End thieves +and undesirables. It was pointed out to me once as one of the plague +spots of London. Both of them went upstairs and remained there for +over an hour. Then Owen came out accompanied by an ill-dressed, thin +young fellow in dark clothes and a cap, who might have been a +pickpocket—evidently a fellow of evil repute. Both got into a taxi in +Shaftesbury Avenue, and I followed them in another taxi down to +Rutland Gate. The young man left the taxi, and while it went on +farther down the road, he sauntered along alone, his attention being +fixed on an upper window of one of the largest houses. +</p> + +<p> +“I stood back under a portico, so that he did not see me,” Teddy went +on. “At last, after quite ten minutes, loitering near the house, he +moved on, and rejoined Owen at the end of the road. Afterwards, they +drove down to Fulham where, in a dark street, they descended. I dared +not go near them. But my taxi driver, who was a discreet young fellow, +and had entered into the spirit of the adventure, drew up so that they +did not know they were being followed. I had just got to the corner of +the street when I saw the flash of a pistol fired from a doorway at a +figure that was ascending the steps. The shot rang out, and the figure +reeled. But, not wishing to be mixed up with the affair, I stepped +back into the taxi and drove with all speed to Sloane Square, where I +left the vehicle. ‘There’s been murder done, I think, sir,’ said the +taxi driver as I alighted, ‘and we’re far better out of it!’ ” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” I remarked, when he had finished his strange story, “there +will surely be something in the papers about it to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think it is proved beyond all doubt that your friend Owen is an +associate of undesirables. That club in Ham Yard has been several +times raided by the police when in search of criminals,” Teddy said. +“From what happened in Fulham they seem to be a pretty desperate lot!” +</p> + +<p> +It was two o’clock before my watchful friend left, and I turned in. +</p> + +<p> +Next morning I scanned the paper eagerly, but found nothing regarding +the affair at Fulham. +</p> + +<p> +The <i>Evening News</i> that night, however, contained the following: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“Shortly before midnight a constable, on passing the Fulham +Almshouses, heard the sound of a shot coming from Finlay Street, which +runs down to the Fulham Football Ground. He hastened to the spot, but +at first found nothing, though he heard the sound of a taxi being +driven rapidly away, apparently in Bishop’s Park Avenue, which borders +on the grounds of Fulham Palace. +</p> + +<p> +“After a rapid search, in which he was joined by several passers-by, +and by one or two alarmed residents in Finlay Street, the body of a +young man was discovered at the foot of the steps leading up to the +front door of the house number 246. A rapid examination by the light +of the constable’s torch showed that he had received a bullet in the +heart and was quite dead. +</p> + +<p> +“The identity of the person who had fired the shot cannot, at present, +be ascertained. The constable naturally at once made demand at the +house as to its occupants; but the place proved to be empty and to +let. As far as can be gathered, the man was shot by some unknown hand, +and the affair is one of London’s mysteries of the night. +</p> + +<p> +“The body was taken to the Fulham mortuary, and as result of police +inquiries, and the taking of the dead man’s finger-prints, it has been +definitely affirmed that he was in active association with the +desperate gang of cat-burglars who have for a considerable time +terrorized the West End of London, and constituted a great trouble to +the police. +</p> + +<p> +“It has been proved that the dead man’s name is Henry Wilson, alias +‘Tuggy,’ an ex-naval seaman, whose cat-like climbing had first earned +him recognition with his mates. He returned from the Navy, and +utilized his powers of climbing, by entering bedrooms in West End +houses while their occupants were below at dinner or out for the +evening, securing, in that way, enormous quantities of jewelry and +other valuables. According to the finger-prints he left two months ago +in a bedroom in one of the biggest houses in Park Lane, he +appropriated thirty thousand pounds’ worth of jewelry, as well as +fifty thousand pounds’ worth of negotiable securities, which he found +in the unlocked safe of the wife of one of the most notable of British +financiers. +</p> + +<p> +“So clever was he in association with a great and most desperate +criminal gang which had long troubled Scotland Yard, that only once +was he convicted. He was sentenced at the Gloucester Assizes to three +years’ imprisonment for a cat-burglary, with violence, at a big +mansion at Leckhampton. Since his discharge the police are aware that +he has been the catspaw of others, and responsible for many clever +thefts which were amazing in their audacity. +</p> + +<p> +“The identity of his assailant is being actively searched for, and the +police are satisfied that, through certain channels already known, the +murderer will be discovered.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + + +<h3 id="ch14"> +CHAPTER FOURTEEN.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">SOME CURIOUS FACTS</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">I read</span> the <i>Evening News</i> at eight o’clock and at once Bruce called +up Teddy to come and see me. +</p> + +<p> +In half an hour he stood in my room. He, too, had read it. +</p> + +<p> +“Now our only course is to go to Queen’s Gate, see Joan’s father, and +tell him of our knowledge of the gentleman with such a pretty name, +Mr. Roddy Owen—a name well known in sporting circles twenty years +ago. He will see the Assistant Commissioner at Scotland Yard and put +matters in trim. Evidently the police are pleased that the young +scoundrel Tuggy Wilson is dead, but they are groping about for the +truth. And on this we certainly can enlighten them.” +</p> + +<p> +I concurred with him that we could. +</p> + +<p> +Together we drove down to Queen’s Gate, and, seated in Mr. Gell’s cozy +library, Teddy told him of his night’s adventure and showed him the +report in the <i>Evening News</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“This fellow Owen imposed on you, Lionel,” the stout old K.C. said, +turning to me. “You know him. We must go down to the Yard at once and +see Cunningham Lee.” +</p> + +<p> +He took up the telephone on his table, and a few moments later was +speaking with the Assistant Commissioner at his house. +</p> + +<p> +“Right! We’ll come along now. I must see you to-night, Lee. We can +tell you something.” +</p> + +<p> +Twenty minutes later we were all three ushered into a back +sitting-room, luxuriously furnished, in Onslow Square, and instantly +Mr. Cunningham Lee entered, greeting us warmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, Mr. Gell, I’m only too delighted to see you at any hour. +You’ve heard nothing regarding your daughter, or you would have told +me. Well now, what is it you know about this murder of a cat-burglar +at Fulham? Very interesting case. We’ve been months trying to get at +the truth. Some masterhand is at work controlling the whole +organization. Duprez, the chief inspector of the Sûreté in Paris, +was over here last week, and we had a long conference on it. The +organizer, whoever he is, no doubt must be a genius!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Joan’s father, “we know something which will be +undoubtedly of interest to you. Hipwell’s friend here—Mr. Edward +Day—had a most interesting experience last night. He will tell you +about it.” +</p> + +<p> +As the Assistant Commissioner listened, Teddy told him of the secret +observation which he had kept of the wealthy young bachelor of +Harrington Court, his movements, and his association with the young +fellow whose finger-prints had revealed him to be London’s most alert +and expert cat-burglar. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us go down together to the Yard,” Mr. Lee suggested at last. “We +can look up the record, and probably we may be able to see further +into the matter than we can at the moment.” +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour later we were in the police official’s private room, with +one of the famous inspectors of the finger-print department exhibiting +to us the prints taken at Gloucester, in comparison with those taken +from the dead man’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +To the folio with the finger-prints upon it was attached the +criminal’s name, his past record as far as was known, his date of +conviction, with the date of discharge. I noticed that following the +latter record were the words “Conduct good.” +</p> + +<p> +If he were the star criminal of an expert organization, who was it +that had killed him in cold blood as he had ascended to the unoccupied +house? +</p> + +<p> +I pointed out the fact that, even if the house were empty, there must +have been some motive for both men to visit it. Why? And, if so, then +the assassin must have concealed himself behind the front door ready +to greet the visitor with a fatal bullet. +</p> + +<p> +That the young man Owen and Tuggy Wilson were accomplices appeared +proved up to the hilt. But in what manner? That remained to be seen. +</p> + +<p> +In our presence the Assistant Commissioner ordered full inquiry to be +made into Owen’s antecedents, how he derived his income, and that +surveillance be kept on him. He was not to be approached, and no +question asked of him concerning his friendship with the dead +ex-convict. +</p> + +<p> +“The affair is probably a matter of revenge,” said Mr. Cunningham Lee. +“Possibly they believed him to have turned informer, a circumstance +which, in criminal circles, accounts for many mysterious deaths.” +</p> + +<p> +The revelation regarding the bona fides of the rich young bachelor of +Harrington Court was gratifying to me, but it carried us no nearer the +solution of the mystery of Joan’s whereabouts. Nevertheless, I somehow +experienced a vague belief that, in view of Owen’s alliance with my +secret enemy, it was really he who had last been seen with Joan. +</p> + +<p> +I hoped against hope that we should eventually discover her, and I +remained on the alert, with the assistance of my good friend Teddy. +</p> + +<p> +The result of the police investigations concerning the unoccupied +house in Fulham, in front of which young Wilson had been shot dead by +an unknown hand, was forthcoming two days later, and was full of +interest. +</p> + +<p> +It appeared that a man named Dufour and his wife had rented it about +ten months before, that they sometimes took in lodgers. Dufour was +understood to be a waiter at a restaurant in the West End. He came +home very late always, and sometimes parties of men of his own class +were held there until early morning. The two lodgers were waiters like +himself; but, according to the neighbors, they sometimes had +mysterious callers, men and women, well dressed and obviously not of +their own class. +</p> + +<p> +The many parties, at which a gramophone was played and the guests +drank and danced throughout the night, caused the neighbors to watch +the place with unusual keenness. And, according to a statement by a +Mrs. Richmond, wife of a draper’s assistant, who lived next door, she +heard, on several occasions, a woman’s shrill scream for help. She put +it down to the fact that Dufour was knocking his English wife about, +until one day she saw the woman go out, and almost immediately +afterwards she heard the same frantic screams for help. +</p> + +<p> +This puzzled her. But, it being no affair of hers, she merely told her +husband, and they resolved to take no notice. +</p> + +<p> +Three nights before the tragedy in the street, Mr. and Mrs. Richmond +were awakened at about one o’clock by noises outside, and Richmond, on +looking between the blinds, saw that the furniture was being hurriedly +removed. He saw Dufour in conversation with a police constable on +duty, and then returned to bed. +</p> + +<p> +When they awoke again the house next door was empty and closed. +</p> + +<p> +It is the duty of the police to note removals of furniture, especially +at night, and, the records having been looked up, it was found that +Police Constable Shayler, on duty near the spot, saw the removal van +and went to inquire. A foreigner, who gave the name of Dufour, +informed him that that afternoon his wife had eloped with one of his +lodgers, and that he had resolved to clear out the furniture, which +was his property, and sell it at an auction room in Goldhawk Road, +Shepherd’s Bush. The statement was confirmed by the auctioneer next +day, but the whereabouts of the foreign waiter could not be traced. +</p> + +<p> +The mention of the presence of a mysterious, unseen woman in the house +aroused my interest. If Owen had been with Joan at the Florida, then +it might have been my beloved who was held in hateful bondage in that +house! +</p> + +<p> +Had I not been warned of the intended machinations of my enemies, by +my mysterious wife, Illona? +</p> + +<p> +Fortunately, I had received no orders to go abroad on my official +duties. But orders sometimes came unexpectedly, notwithstanding the +rota, according to which I was not due to go on another journey for +nearly a month. More than once I had been rung up in the night with +orders to leave Victoria with some important dispatch at nine o’clock +next morning. I waited in vain for some sign from Illona, who I knew, +would explain much that was an entire enigma. But I was always in +suspense, fearing that at any moment I might be called away. +</p> + +<p> +As the days went by, the vigilance of the police, as far as Owen was +concerned, was unrewarded. The young fellow who was reported to be +living the idle life of a man-about-town, was a member of a good club, +and had a very substantial bank balance at the Midland. His money +appeared to come through the Crédit Lyonnais in Paris, probably from +investments in France. I learnt that one evening both he and his man +were seen to go out, when the police entered his rooms in secret and +thoroughly searched them, but found nothing. Yet it remained quite +certain that he was an associate of expert thieves. +</p> + +<p> +Had it not been that the girl I loved so fondly and devotedly was +missing, I should have left London and gone in search of that woman +who had shown herself my bitterest enemy on that night in +Camberwell—the girl criminal who was posing as the daughter of an +Italian count. +</p> + +<p> +At all costs her activity must be stopped. With what motive was she +moving in diplomatic circles in Italy? I felt that—knowing what I +did, and having awakened to the truth, while she still believed my +memory to be destroyed, as a result of the drug she had given me—it +was my duty to warn those whom she was so cleverly deceiving. +</p> + +<p> +It occurred to me that the reason she was moving in that smart circle +of Italian society, where so many women wore their magnificent jewels, +was some ingenious plot afoot on the part of her confederates to make +a big coup. A panic might be created at one or other of the diplomatic +receptions, the ballroom placed in darkness, and the well-dressed +bandits, tearing off the jewels from the women, might escape. +</p> + +<p> +This feeling obsessed me. Lisely Hatten was, like her associates, as +desperate a criminal as her friend Hilda Bennett, who had on that +night in Bloomsbury Square so glibly accused me of murdering her +lover, but had later declared I was not the man. Was Tuggy Wilson, +too, a member of the wide-spread criminal association? +</p> + +<p> +One morning I received an urgent telephone message from Mr. Gell which +took me down to his dingy chambers in Fig Tree Court, in the Temple. +He was at his brief-piled table in an ancient brown room, paneled and +filled with musty law books, anxiously awaiting me. +</p> + +<p> +“They have at last found that fellow Dufour!” he exclaimed. “He has +been taken to Bow Street, and I’ve been there. It seems that, after +leaving Fulham, he went to Southampton and took a passage for Cape +Town. The boat sailed yesterday, but when he presented himself on +board, a detective, who had traced him down there, detained him and +brought him up to London this morning. He will be charged this +afternoon with being concerned in the murder of John Wilson, alias +Dale.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, then we shall now get at some facts,” I said. “He must be made to +explain who was the woman who lived in the house in Finlay Street. We +must ascertain whether it was really Joan!” +</p> + +<p> +“My boy, I hardly suspect it is she,” was the famous lawyer’s reply. +“We’ve not yet actually established whether that fellow Owen was with +Joan at the Florida. If she went out to meet you, it is hardly +understandable why she went to the dance-club without you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Except that she might have gone there expecting to meet me!” I +argued. “The false message might have said that I was awaiting her +there.” +</p> + +<p> +“True, but I don’t think so,” exclaimed Mr. Gell, shaking his head +dubiously. “This foreign waiter, no doubt, will make some statement in +order to save himself. The prosecution may allege that it was he who +fired the shot from his front door, and then left the empty house by +the back premises; for the landlord says that he still retains the +key.” +</p> + +<p> +We ate a frugal lunch together at The Cock in Fleet Street, and at two +o’clock were at Bow Street Police Court, Mr. Gell sitting without his +robe and wig at the table set aside for the bar, while I sat in a +public seat. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Humbert Perry, the white-haired chief magistrate, was on the bench +when a short, ferret-eyed, little, black-haired foreigner, shabbily +dressed, was put into the dock and the formal charge read over to him. +After a first glance round, he appeared quite unconcerned. +</p> + +<p> +Speaking with a strong accent, he declared that he was not guilty. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Dieu!</i> I know nothing! I was not there!” he cried, as though +suddenly realizing his serious position. +</p> + +<p> +Formal evidence of arrest was given, when the magistrate, scarcely +looking up, scribbled something, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Remanded in custody for a week.” And the prisoner was hurried away. +</p> + +<p> +I walked back to the Temple with Joan’s father, who expressed +satisfaction at the man’s arrest. +</p> + +<p> +“He knows something,” he said, for his keen eyes had scanned the +accused’s face from the first moment he had entered the dock. “If he +did not fire the shot, he knows who did. We shall learn more before +long.” +</p> + +<p> +We did, within half an hour; for, suddenly Mr. Gell’s clerk entered +the room saying that his master was wanted urgently on the telephone. +</p> + +<p> +“Scotland Yard wishes to speak to you, sir,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +The ponderous man rose and rushed into the adjoining room. +</p> + +<p> +A few minutes later he rejoined me in a state of great excitement. +</p> + +<p> +“That fellow Owen has slipped through the fingers of the police! He +apparently knew that he was being watched, and was also aware of +Dufour’s arrest. He’s in fear, and managed to get away early this +morning. His man says he gave his bag to a man who called for it last +night, and when he went to his master’s room he found that he had +left.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the police!” I cried in dismay. +</p> + +<p> +“They knew he was in bed, and did not resume their surveillance until +seven o’clock this morning. At noon, as he did not emerge and walk to +the Ritz for a cocktail, as was his habit, they made discreet inquiry, +only to find that he had eluded them and gone!” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch15"> +CHAPTER FIFTEEN.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">A SCRAP OF MUSIC</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">The</span> mystery increased hourly. Though Scotland Yard had to its credit +the arrest of the fugitive foreign waiter, there was practically no +evidence to show that he was even acquainted with the dead young +criminal, Tuggy Wilson. +</p> + +<p> +That the latter had dealings with Owen was known by Teddy, who had +watched them go in company to Fulham. Further, the fact that Owen had +fled was sufficient proof of his guilty connection with the affair. +</p> + +<p> +The enigma was rendered the more insoluble by a circumstance which +happened on the following day. I had been out to lunch and spent the +afternoon at my club, when on my return Bruce said: +</p> + +<p> +“The blind man called on you an hour ago! He says he must see you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were friendly towards him this time, I hope,” I said, annoyed +that I should have been absent. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. I watched him go out, slipped on another coat, put on my +glasses, and went down after him,” replied my man. “He tapped his way +into Piccadilly and right along to the Circus, where he was met by +another man, an elderly, rather well-dressed, person with a grey +beard. They spoke together for about five minutes, and then the old +man hailed a taxi, and they drove away. I dared not follow them, sir, +as I didn’t know if you had your latch-key.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you had watched them,” I said. “Next time don’t worry about +me, as long as you run the blind man to his home. You are sure he was +blind? I mean, he used his stick all the time?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. And he kept on his glasses. I noticed how his friend led +him to the taxi.” +</p> + +<p> +I was wondering whether it was not Owen who had appeared in the guise +of the blind man against whom I had been warned. +</p> + +<p> +It was a day of irritating surprises, for not the least occurred just +after ten o’clock that night. I was sitting reading, Bruce being out +for the evening, when my telephone rang, and, on answering it, I heard +a man’s voice, with which I was not familiar, asking if I were +speaking. +</p> + +<p> +I replied in the affirmative, when the stranger said in rather refined +tones: +</p> + +<p> +“I have to apologize to you, Mr. Hipwell. I am unknown to you, but I +have just arrived at Victoria from the Continent, and have an urgent +message to you from a lady—your wife. I am sorry that I cannot +deliver it personally, as I am only passing through London to +Liverpool to catch a steamer.” +</p> + +<p> +“From my wife!” I gasped. “Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“There were reasons, she says, that she has neither written nor +telegraphed to you; but she did not know whether you were in London. +She asks you to meet her next Friday afternoon at four o’clock in +Kensington Gardens, at the third seat on the right up the Broad Walk +from Palace Gate.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you very much,” I replied, my heart giving a great bound. Then +I repeated the appointment: “At the third seat on the right up the +Broad Walk in Kensington Gardens, on Friday at four o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. That is the message. I am glad I have been able to deliver it +safely, Mr. Hipwell. You are, please, to remember that your meeting is +a secret one. <i>Au revoir.</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“But would you do me one great favor?” I asked. “Will you tell me my +wife’s address?” +</p> + +<p> +I listened for a reply. But there was none! He had rung off hurriedly, +in all probability to catch his train. +</p> + +<p> +In frantic appeal I spoke to the clerk at the exchange, who instantly +set to work to discover the source of the call. At last I heard her +say: +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid I can’t get them for you. The call was from the public +booth on Victoria Station.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus again were my efforts, to discover the whereabouts of Illona, +thwarted. +</p> + +<p> +The day was Wednesday. Hence I must wait till Friday. If Illona was +still in Lausanne, she was evidently following closely on the +footsteps of the mysterious bearer of that message to me. +</p> + +<p> +I told no one. I could not confide in either Mr. Gell or Teddy; for I +had revealed nothing about my mysterious wife. I could only wait until +Friday. +</p> + +<p> +Ah, how those interminable hours dragged by! I thought much of Joan, +wondering where she was and into what pitfall she had fallen, for I +loved her with my whole soul, and I was distracted with anxiety and +grief. Yet, when I met Illona, no doubt, she would explain to me the +deep conspiracy against me, and put me on my guard against my enemies. +</p> + +<p> +That she feared lest her meeting with me should result in some fatal +reprisal seemed palpable, because of the precautions she was taking to +meet me in secret. She evidently dared not call at Sackville Street, +but preferred to meet me as though casually, by an appointment made +verbally, so that none should know. +</p> + +<p> +All was romantic, all so strange, that I sometimes felt myself +doubting whether I was not still in that state of mental unreality in +which I had existed for two whole years. +</p> + +<p> +All the amazing circumstances were, alas! solid facts. Joan, my Joan, +whom I loved with every fibre of my soul, had been decoyed away, and +was in the hands of my enemies. +</p> + +<p> +Yet why had unknown persons formed a plot against me? To my knowledge +I had neither harmed nor wronged anyone, neither man nor woman. That +misadventure in Camberwell, surely, was not of my own seeking, if, +indeed, that criminal gang were still bent on reprisals because I had +inadvertently entered into their midst. +</p> + +<p> +How can I adequately describe the long, weary, never-ending night +before Friday dawned? Sleep would not come to my eyes. I tossed upon +my bed, hot and weary, my brain muddled by the thousand and one +inexplicable facts that had arisen since my sudden awakening in Rome. +</p> + +<p> +At last I arose and dressed but found it to be a grey, sunless day, +with threatening rain. Indeed, the atmosphere was heavy and there was +every indication of a coming storm. +</p> + +<p> +I lunched at the club with Teddy, spent an hour in the smoking-room +chatting with several friends, whiling away the intervening time +until, soon after half-past three, I hailed a taxi in St. James’s +Street—after getting rid of Teddy by the way—and drove to Palace +Gate. A slight shower had just fallen sufficiently to freshen up the +pretty gardens, and had sent in the usual crowds of nursemaids with +children. Hardly a soul was astir in the Broad Walk, but I found the +seat, dried it well with my raincoat, and, sitting down, lit a +cigarette, waiting on tenterhooks for the arrival of my unknown wife. +</p> + +<p> +Those moments, I think, were the most tense in my whole life. Imagine +yourself waiting for the woman you had unconsciously married and had +never seen! +</p> + +<p> +I pictured her in all sorts of guises, from a young and beautiful +foreign woman, with all the <i>chic</i>, charm, and daintiness of the true +Parisienne, to the flat-footed, thick-ankled, and ponderous <i>frau</i> of +Teutonic breed, a type I particularly detested. Of her age I knew +nothing, of her voice or features I knew as little, and as I waited +there in patience, the grim humor of the situation struck me as +ridiculous. +</p> + +<p> +The hour of four chimed solemnly from the tower of St. Mary Abbot, +followed almost instantly by the low booming of Big Ben. But, glancing +each way up the broad, graveled promenade, I saw only two elderly men +approaching. +</p> + +<p> +Five more minutes passed, and I grew restless. Was I being fooled? +</p> + +<p> +I was always suspicious of telephone messages. And that had been a +swift and anonymous one. Was there still another trap set for me? +</p> + +<p> +Surrounded as I seemed to be with enemies, I viewed every circumstance +with suspicion, and perhaps scented danger where none existed. +</p> + +<p> +Here I venture to beg pardon of the reader. This narrative is only a +plain and straightforward one of what actually occurred to +me—adventures which might easily happen to any man of my age and +temperament in London, New York, Paris, or in any other great city, +for that matter. I seek to repress no ill deed of my own. I am no +better than other men. Yet, unlike others, I discovered myself, in +astounding circumstances, married—or alleged to be married—to +somebody whose name was Illona, and on whom my eyes had never +consciously gazed. If you can realize this, you can well imagine my +feelings as I sat there upon a public seat, in a public park, +expecting my wife to claim me. +</p> + +<p> +But what if her allegations were untrue? Suppose she were only my +self-styled wife? If I had been legally married to her under British +law, wherever the ceremony had been performed, a record of it would be +found at Somerset House. +</p> + +<p> +I had once or twice intended to go there in order to make search. But +it was quite possible that my marriage might be in a false name; so I +decided to wait. The whole affair was utterly amazing. +</p> + +<p> +For some reason I was full of suspicion; and, whatever Illona might be +like, I had formed the firm intention of challenging her right to call +me husband. Surely such an attitude would be only natural. +</p> + +<p> +On the other hand, why was she so solicitous of my welfare if I were +nothing more to her than a friend? +</p> + +<p> +Several persons passed and repassed, now that the shower was over; +but, though I could scan the wide pathway for some distance, I could +discern no one who might possibly be the mysterious Illona. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly a rather pretty, fair-haired girl of about sixteen, wearing a +small, black felt hat and a serviceable dark blue raincoat, came and +seated herself near me, a fact which greatly annoyed me, as I wanted +to be there alone for my romantic meeting with my wife. +</p> + +<p> +She glanced once or twice into my face, and then exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, but are you Mr. Lionel Hipwell?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” I replied in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been sent by madame to tell you that she is unfortunately +prevented from meeting you to-day. She——” +</p> + +<p> +“Not coming!” I gasped in despair. +</p> + +<p> +“No. There are reasons, she says, why she is obliged to remain away,” +she added in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“You know her!” I cried. “Where is she? Where can I find her?” +</p> + +<p> +“I really don’t know,” was her tantalizing response. +</p> + +<p> +“But you must tell me. Much depends on my finding her—perhaps the +life of one I hold dearest. Do tell me something, miss. Every hour’s +delay is dangerous now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am aware that there is danger—danger to yourself, Mr. Hipwell,” +the girl said in a strange voice. “But perhaps this will explain.” And +she took a large, thin envelope from her handbag and handed it to me. +</p> + +<p> +In eagerness I tore it open, and found within nothing but a sheet of +manuscript music, boldly written and folded in four; but without a +single message, without a single word. +</p> + +<p> +“What does this mean?” I asked, staring at the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“I really don’t know,” she said, looking at the music. “I am just as +much in ignorance as you are.” +</p> + +<p> +I looked at the notes; but, knowing nothing of music, and unable to +read a bar, I felt that some ill-considered trick was being played on +me. +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you see madame?” I demanded of the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“At the Adelphi Hotel in Liverpool last night,” she replied. “I am a +manicurist there and she sent me with this message and envelope.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is she staying in the hotel?” I demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“I think so.” +</p> + +<p> +Liverpool! The mysterious man who had rung me up from Victoria had +been on his way to Liverpool. I would go there by the next train, and +by making my name known in the hotel, if still there, she might +venture to approach me. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you tell me nothing else, miss?” I asked persuasively. +</p> + +<p> +“Unfortunately I cannot. The lady simply asked me to come to London +and deliver the message to you. My parents live at Wandsworth. +Therefore, I was glad of an opportunity to see them.” +</p> + +<p> +“What kind of lady gave you the message? Describe her to me.” +</p> + +<p> +She reflected a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“She was under thirty, rather pretty, with auburn hair, and extremely +well dressed. She spoke with an accent, and no doubt, was a foreigner. +She said that I was to mention the word Illona to you. I remember she +wore on her finger one of the finest diamond rings I have ever seen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Had she anyone with her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not when she spoke to me. Previously I had seen her sitting in the +lounge talking to a rather tall, fair young man, whom I had seen about +the hotel for several days. But,” the girl added, “the lady asked me +particularly to give you no information whence I had come. I ought not +to have told you, only you—well, you seem so distressed.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have only to thank you, miss,” I said. “And if I decide to follow +you back to Liverpool it is no affair of yours, and you cannot help +it, can you?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl smiled, and, noticing her friendliness towards me, I ventured +to slip three one-pound Treasury notes into her gloved hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I am in great trouble,” I told her, “and I want you, if you can, to +assist me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see how I can, sir,” was her reply. “I have only acted as +messenger for a woman who is a perfect stranger.” +</p> + +<p> +“When are you returning to Liverpool?” +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I shall go up to-night and remain at the Adelphi. You see, I do +not know this lady Illona, and I want you to point her out to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly I will, if she is still there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Under what name has she registered?” I asked eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that I do not know!” she replied. “She simply came into our +manicure room, and while I attended her she asked me to go to London, +and, after having obtained leave from my boss, I consented. That is as +much as I know about her,” she concluded. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t the pleasure of your name.” +</p> + +<p> +“Moss—Ruby Moss,” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, Miss Moss,” I said, rising, “I shall see you at the +Adelphi to-morrow evening, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she agreed as we walked together to Palace Gate. “About +half-past six I’ll be back. As you say, if you like to follow me to +Liverpool, I can’t prevent it.” And she laughed as she boarded a +passing bus, leaving me to continue my walk alone. +</p> + +<p> +How tantalizing it all was. Instead of meeting the elusive Illona, I +had only received from her a verbal message of regret and a sheet of +music. +</p> + +<p> +As I, unfortunately, knew nothing of music, I hailed a passing taxi, +and took the manuscript to Teddy Day, whom I found at home. +</p> + +<p> +He was a fairly good pianist, so I showed it to him without telling +him how it came into my possession. +</p> + +<p> +I reproduce part of it here: +</p> + +<figure> +<a href="images/img_174.jpg"><img alt="img_174.jpg" id="img_174" src="images/img_174_th.jpg"></a> +</figure> + +<p> +He opened it, glanced at it for a few moments, and then, looking up to +me, said: +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s playing the fool with you, Lionel? This is only rubbish! There +isn’t any music in it!” +</p> + +<p> +“It looks like music,” I said in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But if you knew anything about music you would see that there is +neither time nor rhythm in it.” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch16"> +CHAPTER SIXTEEN.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">TRICKED</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">That</span> piece of manuscript music was certainly as puzzling as the +manner in which it had been placed in my hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you get it?” asked Teddy, much interested. “It’s been +written by a woman evidently—somebody with a very firm handwriting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s been given to me,” I said evasively. “A fellow knowing my +ignorance of music has played a joke on me. I’ll play him one back +before long.” +</p> + +<p> +And, though I was much perplexed, I managed to laugh it off. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going up to Liverpool by the next train,” I said. “I’ll be at the +Adelphi if anything turns up regarding Joan. I’ve got a bit of urgent +business to attend to. Bruce will keep in touch with me and I’ll be +back in about a couple of days.” +</p> + +<p> +“Righto,” laughed my old chum. And he offered me a drink; but, because +of my haste, I declined. +</p> + +<p> +An hour later I was in the dining-car express on my way to Liverpool. +I knew the Adelphi, and had no difficulty in getting a room. I arrived +for late dinner, dressed hurriedly, descended to the restaurant, and +read the evening paper over my lonely meal. +</p> + +<p> +In the big, well-lit room there were no women save a girl with her +father and an old, decrepit woman with a young man. The <i>table +d’hôte</i> was over long ago. +</p> + +<p> +Later, I hastened to the big lounge, where many people were taking +coffee, and, finding a corner table, looked around at my +fellow-guests. +</p> + +<p> +In a far corner I discerned a fair young man, of a Scandinavian type, +with a mop of yellow hair, taking coffee with a little, dark-haired, +vivacious woman who was all nerves and gestures. But it became +impressed on me that the woman in question was not Illona, the woman +who sent me false music. +</p> + +<p> +Teddy’s declaration that the music was a fake puzzled and mystified me +more than ever. +</p> + +<p> +What could those false bars, so firmly written, denote? What in the +world could they convey to me? Surely, in all conscience, and through +no fault of mine, I had had enough of mystery without that folded +piece of music being handed to me to still further mislead and mystify +me. +</p> + +<p> +“All silly rot!” Teddy had declared frankly, on reading over the +carefully written notes of music. “Perfect rubbish! Some fool has had +you here, my dear Lionel!” +</p> + +<p> +Through the next hour I wandered about the hotel, trying to fix on +some woman that might be my wife. But I could not discover one who +answered to the description given by the pretty manicurist. +</p> + +<p> +Yet she might be out at the theatre, I thought. Already it was ten +o’clock, so I took up my position at a small table, whence I could +command a view of all who entered the hotel by the big door of the +main entrance. And I kept careful watch on those going to and fro. +</p> + +<p> +One woman, auburn-haired, of middle height, and rather good-looking, +entered about eleven o’clock. She wore a purple, brocaded velvet +evening-coat trimmed with fur, while the man with her was slightly +older, with fair hair, a trifle bald on the crown. They laughed +together as they entered, and I had a faint suspicion that she spoke +with a foreign accent. +</p> + +<p> +She passed me without noticing me and from the <i>concierge</i> they +obtained their keys. Next moment they disappeared into the elevator. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is that lady?” I asked anxiously of the night porter when they +had gone. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment he consulted his register, and then replied: +</p> + +<p> +“That lady, sir, is Madame Stefen.” +</p> + +<p> +Madame Stefen! Could she be Illona? +</p> + +<p> +She was the only woman who in any way answered to the description +given by Ruby Moss. +</p> + +<p> +For yet another hour I waited at my post of vantage, but without +avail. Then, tired out by my adventure in Kensington Gardens, my +journey, and my long vigilance, I ascended to bed. +</p> + +<p> +Next day, though I wandered through the great hotel, I saw nothing of +Madame Stefen; she evidently kept to her room. I spent hours idling +about the Landing Stage, which is always full of interest, and after +tea in the hotel lounge, where again I sat with alert eyes, I awaited +the coming of my little friend, the manicurist. +</p> + +<p> +I entered the toilet saloon of the hotel at a quarter to seven, and +there saw her alone, wearing her long white cotton robe. +</p> + +<p> +She greeted me merrily. Then I suggested to her that, after her duties +had ended, she should join me, and, if possible, point out the lady +who had called herself Illona. +</p> + +<p> +She raised a difficult point, saying that the management would not +allow her to sit with the guests. Such a thing was strictly forbidden. +I realized her argument instantly. But, after some discussion, she +arranged to look into the <i>table d’hôte</i> room and restaurant during +dinner and see if she could recognize the lady in question. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d know her instantly,” she said. “If I can find her I’ll ascertain +her name and the number of her room from the reception clerk. It will +be better for me to carry out my search alone.” +</p> + +<p> +She was insistent on this; hence I allowed her to have her way. +</p> + +<p> +A dozen times during the evening I saw her flit across the lounge, the +waiting-rooms, and the other public apartments, and, though I waited +till about half past ten, she did not approach me. +</p> + +<p> +Where, I wondered, was the elusive woman who, after arranging to meet +me, only fooled me by sending me a sheet of faked music? +</p> + +<p> +The girl met me at last in a quiet corner of the lounge, where I was +seated, waiting expectantly for her. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very much afraid that the lady must have left, sir,” she said +disappointedly. My spirits instantly dropped. +</p> + +<p> +That Madame Stefen was not the lady in question was proved, because +only five minutes before, she had entered the lounge and passed her on +her way upstairs. +</p> + +<p> +“She may be out,” I said, clinging to the last hope. +</p> + +<p> +“She may. But I fear not. I’ve asked at the bureau, and of the chief +hall-porter. They both think the lady left yesterday afternoon. I’ve +described her, and especially the ring which attracted me so much. Do +you know the name of Ugostini?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ugostini!” I gasped, staring at her blankly. “How do you know that +name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, in the reception office they think that was the lady’s +name—Countess Ugostini. I described her to Mr. Fraser, the chief +clerk, and he thinks so.” +</p> + +<p> +I held my breath. +</p> + +<p> +Angela! If that were the truth, then she had posed as Illona, my wife! +Lisely Hatten—or the Contessina as she was known—was my worst enemy. +And yet she had fooled me into that strange meeting with the young +manicurist. +</p> + +<p> +With what motive? Only in order to send me a piece of pretended music! +</p> + +<p> +My brain reeled. Could the thief-girl of Camberwell and Illona be one +and the same? +</p> + +<p> +That was the chief point before me. I went to the reception office and +saw the dapper, clean-shaven chief clerk, in his morning-coat and grey +trousers, who interviewed all newcomers and allotted rooms to them. +</p> + +<p> +“The lady Countess Ugostini arrived three days ago, alone. She has +signed the register as coming from Piacenza, in Italy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was she alone?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I received her. She had but little luggage, and mentioned that +she was only passing through Liverpool,” said Mr. Fraser. “That +evening, however, I saw her talking to a fair-haired man who had +arrived early in the morning—an Englishman named Detmold.” +</p> + +<p> +“When did the Countess leave?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +He turned over the leaves of a book upon the mahogany counter, and +replied: +</p> + +<p> +“At three-eighteen yesterday. She took a taxi to the Landing Stage.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t find out which boat she boarded.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he replied politely. “I fear I cannot. After she paid her bill +and left, we have no further trace of her. Is she, by chance, a friend +of yours, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I faltered. “A very great friend. I’ve come down from London to +meet her, but I’m just too late.” +</p> + +<p> +I bade good night to Miss Moss, and thanked her for assisting me. I +went to my room. +</p> + +<p> +I took from my pocket that inexplicable sheet of manuscript music and +cast my eye over it. The notes were Chinese to me. To Teddy Day they +had conveyed nothing. And, hence, to me they were utterly +unintelligible. +</p> + +<p> +I flung myself into a chair to think. +</p> + +<p> +Was Illona, my wife, identical with the Little Countess, my enemy? It +certainly seemed so. I reviewed the facts in their true sequence. That +the little Italian pseudo-aristocrat was an intimate friend of the +fugitive Owen had been proved by me, myself. In Rome she had wilfully +misled me, knowing that in my condition of aberration I did not +recognize her; and, she still believed in her power to impose on me. +So far all was clear. But had she further imposed on me during my two +years of unconsciousness so that I had married her under the +euphonious name of Illona? +</p> + +<p> +Could that be possible? +</p> + +<p> +I rose and paced my narrow room in my fierce agitation of mind. +</p> + +<p> +There were some facts which, when I clearly considered them, gave +color to this idea. First, for some unknown and inconceivable reason, +she had spared me the blindness which in her fury she had suggested. +Why? Was it because she had relented, or because her young man friend +had prevented her? Finding my brain in such a hopeless state owing to +loss of memory caused by the drug she had injected into my veins, +could she have married me pretending herself to be another person +called Illona? +</p> + +<p> +If so, why had she sent me that strange warning concerning the blind +man? If she were my enemy, as she certainly had been, why, then, +should she pose as my friend? +</p> + +<p> +And again, why had she sent me that curious folio of tuneless music? +</p> + +<p> +And now, the thought of Joan’s disappearance, and the utter inability +of the whole police system of England to find the slightest trace of +her, drove me to distraction. I felt myself going mad. +</p> + +<p> +My sole desire was to return to London. I did not undress, for I knew +I could not sleep. Instead, I went down to the night porter, and, +finding that a train left at three o’clock in the morning for London, +I flung my things into my bag, and left by it. +</p> + +<p> +Just before eight o’clock I entered my rooms with my latch-key. Bruce +was about and got me a cup of tea, while I undressed and threw myself +upon my bed. +</p> + +<p> +After drinking the tea I must have fallen asleep, for it was not till +nearly noon, by my little traveling clock at my bedside, that I woke +up in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +Beside my bed were my letters, one of which, by the embossed stamp on +the back, I knew, was from the governor at the House of Commons. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“I am much worried about you, my dear boy,” he wrote. “Come down and +see me! Dine with me at the House to-morrow at eight.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Dear old pater! I knew that his sole thoughts were of me, and of my +future. No man had ever had a better father than mine. My only regret +was the fierce enmity which existed between Joan’s father and him. +</p> + +<p> +Two other letters I opened contained bills, but a third was in a +square envelope, the address written in a bold hand. +</p> + +<p> +It was Illona’s. I opened it instantly in great expectation. +</p> + +<p> +There was neither address nor date, but on a plain card was written: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“<span class="sc">My Adored Husband</span>,—Why did you not keep our appointment in +Kensington Gardens? I was, alas! half an hour late owing to the +motor-car breaking down. I thought you would await me. But I fear you +grew tired, as the rain came on. +</p> + +<p> +“I have much to tell you. Be very careful of your dear self. You have +many enemies, just as I have. Ring me up at the club and let us meet +at the earliest possible instant. +</p> + +<p class="rt1"> +“Your own <span class="sc">Illona</span>.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + + +<h3 id="ch17"> +CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">ACROSS EUROPE</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Then</span> the message from Illona, delivered to me in Kensington Gardens, +had been a false one, sent by the Little Countess in order to mislead +me! Why? With what motive? +</p> + +<p> +Angela, or whatever her true name was, evidently had been aware of +Illona’s appointment with me, and had sent the girl with that +cock-and-bull story so that we should be prevented from meeting. +Possibly the delay in Illona’s arrival was purposely brought about by +the woman who had been my enemy on that night in Camberwell. +</p> + +<p> +Whither had she gone with her man friend who called himself Detmold? +</p> + +<p> +She had driven to the Landing Stage at Liverpool, it was true; but, +she might easily have taken the train to London, instead of embarking +upon a boat. +</p> + +<p> +I was to ring up Illona at her club. Again she had failed to give her +address. However, there seemed to be some object in withholding it. +And she evidently believed me to be well aware of it. +</p> + +<p> +This constant strain had brought me well nigh to craziness. Everywhere +I turned some obstacle arose which prevented my learning the truth. My +memory had returned, but at what cost! Would that I had remained in +the state of mental unbalance in which I had existed until that +evening in Rome; for, now that I had lost Joan, my anxiety and grief +bordered on frenzy. +</p> + +<p> +I spent that morning ringing up the many ladies’ clubs. I had never +believed they were so numerous. What name could I ask for save my +own—Hipwell? +</p> + +<p> +From every one of the various feminine social centres came the same +regretful reply that they had no member of that name. When all that +failed, I rang up a number of bridge-clubs in the West End. But, from +several there came no reply as they were closed at that hour of the +day, and from the rest came the usual negative response. +</p> + +<p> +Five minutes later, Bruce brought in a note that had just been +delivered by hand, the envelope of which bore the familiar words, “On +His Britannic Majesty’s Service.” With eager fingers I tore it open, +to find my orders to leave Victoria at two o’clock with dispatches for +Brussels, Berne, and Vienna. +</p> + +<p> +How could I go, when at any moment Illona might ring me up, or call on +me? +</p> + +<p> +I spoke over the telephone to my friend Gordon at the Foreign Office, +begging him to send somebody else. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m really awfully sorry, old boy,” he replied. “But the whole staff +are traveling. Morton will be the first back, but he can’t be in till +Saturday night. He’s on his way home from Constantinople, by +Bucharest. So there’s nobody else to take your place. I’m so awfully +sorry, old chap. I’d do anything to arrange it for you, as you well +know. I’m afraid you really must do this trip. You’ll be back in five +days,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +Five days! What might not happen in that period? Besides, the man +Dufour would be brought up again at Bow Street. +</p> + +<p> +There was no alternative. Already it was past twelve o’clock; so, I +told Bruce to get out my small suit-case, which he always kept packed +with everything I required for a fortnight. Then, I sat down and wrote +a letter of explanation to Illona regarding the appointment in +Kensington Gardens, and what had occurred there. I asked for her +address, and, enclosing the piece of impossible music, I sealed the +envelope with my lapis-lazuli ring and addressed it: “To Illona.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bruce,” I said very seriously. “While I am away, a lady may call—or +she may ring up. Tell her that I shall be back next Wednesday, and ask +her to kindly give you her Christian name. If the name is Illona, give +this letter to her. It is most urgent and important. Perhaps you may +have difficulty in inducing her to give her name, but use tact, and +tell her exactly what I’ve said to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. I quite understand,” my man replied in his well-trained +manner. “But what kind of lady will she be—old or young, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +That question completely floored me. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as a matter of fact, Bruce”—I hesitated lamely—“I’ve never +seen the lady. I only know of her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, sir. I will exercise discretion,” he said. And I dashed +out to the Piccadilly, where I swallowed a hasty lunch in the +grill-room. And, just before two o’clock, I entered a <i>coupé</i> of one +of the Pullmans of the first portion of the Continental train, which +had been reserved for me, and into which a porter placed six little +white canvas bags of dispatches. The Foreign Office bags carried by +King’s Messengers always intrigue the traveling public. They imagine +them to be full of State secrets, whereas their contents are mostly +dull, uninteresting Consular reports, Treasury accounts, memoranda, +and perhaps some private letters for Ambassadors to Downing Street, +marked “Per favour of Foreign Office bag.” If all were stolen they +would not amount to much. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, there is a tradition in the Foreign Office that before the war +a certain Captain Gordon Smith—that was not his real name—one of the +most cheery and most cosmopolitan of the corps of King’s Messengers, +one day discovered, in a locked cupboard in his rooms, a bag of +dispatches that had been there for four years! His man, who had long +since left his service, had found them among his kit on his return one +night from Madrid and had locked them up for safety! Now every bag is +minutely numbered and signed for, both by the messenger on receiving +it and by the secretary at the Embassy abroad, or the official in +charge of incoming dispatches at Downing Street. Hence it is +impossible for a bag to go astray. Yet in this instance somebody +carelessly signed a receipt for so many incoming bags, with the result +that Gordon Smith had one over. The story goes that rather than get +anybody hauled over the coals for negligence, he cut it open, and made +a bonfire in his sitting-room of the whole of the contents, including +the bag itself. +</p> + +<p> +The “crossed dispatch,” as it is known—the secret instructions +intended only for the eye of the representative of His Majesty the +King abroad—is carried on the person of the messenger, who, like +myself, usually has a very serviceable Browning to defend it from any +possible pilferer. +</p> + +<p> +As I settled myself with a magazine, Crawford, the conductor of the +car, looked in, and, wishing me good afternoon, asked if I were +comfortable, while several travelers glanced in with interest at +seeing my little white bags piled in front of me. I have been taken by +tourists to be of many professions. Some have whispered to each other +that I am a bank clerk taking bags of banknotes to Paris. Others think +I am employed by some bookmaker. Still others have thought me to be a +dress-designer, or the runner of an illegal lottery. Then there have +been those who have seen me piled with thirty or forty bags on the big +round which includes Vienna, the Balkan capitals, Athens, +Constantinople, Bucharest, and back. Those people have thought I was +traveling for some great advertising agency to boom American +corn-flakes, or perhaps a traveling circus! +</p> + +<p> +At Dover Maritime, that ever-genial official of the Southern Railway, +Mr. Harvey Beresford—whom every King’s Messenger and most +distinguished travelers know—that energetic, untiring inspector who +is alert to see every outgoing or incoming boat from Calais, Boulogne, +or Ostend—catching sight of me, rushed up and gripped my hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Hulloa, Beresford,” I exclaimed, greeting the smart, nautical-looking +man, who always wore his peaked cap at an angle. +</p> + +<p> +“A long journey this time?” he asked, as we went through the little +side door and strode down to the boat, where a strong wind was +blowing. +</p> + +<p> +My dispatch bags were locked in a deck cabin. And, I stood outside, +chatting with the cheery friend of King’s Messengers and distinguished +travelers. For, the popular Harvey Beresford is the friend of kings, +princes, diplomats, ministers, and the great ones who visit England. +It is his unique job to receive them or wish them God-speed. +</p> + +<p> +The average traveler to and fro the Continent knows him not. He will +see a pleasant, round-faced naval-looking man, who is chatting with a +railway official, an obtrusive man. But he is perhaps the best-known +person to the great ones of our century. +</p> + +<p> +The siren sounded that the mails were on board and had been duly +counted and checked. Electric cranes were still dumping luggage into +the nets. An invitation for a cocktail had been firmly refused by my +old friend, because he was on duty. The captain came along over the +gangway and passed the time of day with us both. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, so long, Mr. Hipwell,” laughed Beresford. “I’m forever on this +quay, but I’m going over at the end of August on a little run round +Belgium; taking the wife. Just a little quiet trip to take me out of +the five-times-a-day cross-Channel traffic. Oh, the tourist rush which +we’re going to have this season! They tell me that Cook’s have over a +hundred guides with parties going to Switzerland alone this season! +But, my dear Mr. Hipwell, when you travel with that firm, you travel +under a master. People may jeer at tourist agencies; but neither of us +does. A ‘Cookite’ of the stage of the ’nineties with the saying, +‘Follow the man from Cook’s’ was humorous. But ‘Cookites’ who go over +by each boat for their holidays are properly fathered from the moment +they leave London till they’re back at Victoria. We can’t say that for +all the travel agencies, can we—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“I agree, Beresford—I entirely agree,” I said, laughing. He was +always bluff and outspoken, even though so tactful and courteous. +</p> + +<p> +The warning siren blew again. All the baggage had been stowed, and the +steamer was ready to cast off. Only the one gangway remained down, and +crowded around it stood the usual mixed assortment of travelers, from +<i>chic</i> French actresses in rich furs to the usual thin, be-spectacled +Indian civil servants on their return East, accompanied by their +wives. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, good-bye, my dear Beresford,” I said, gripping his hand. Next +moment he nipped nimbly across the gangway just as it was drawn up, +and the vessel moved away. +</p> + +<p> +It was near midnight when, on alighting at Brussels, I gave over two +of the bags and a special dispatch to Carew, the second secretary of +the Embassy, who had come down to the station in the car to meet me. +</p> + +<p> +Until the Ostend-Bâle night express roared in, I stood on the +platform with him. Then, I entered the single berth that had been +reserved for me in the <i>wagon-lit</i>, which was to bear me south to +Bâle. There, again, I would be compelled to change for Berne, the +capital of the peaceful little Swiss confederation. +</p> + +<p> +In that narrow little bed, as the train rocked and rolled throughout +the night, along the valleys of the Ardennes and down to Strasburg, +sleep refused to come to my eyes. My thoughts were ever of Joan, and +of my mysterious wife, who begged me to meet her, yet whose +whereabouts I had no means whatever of ascertaining. +</p> + +<p> +My life had become so perplexing, so full of apprehension, with hourly +dread and a terror of dire disaster pending, that, sleeping or waking, +the mystery of Illona was my one concern. +</p> + +<p> +I took my morning coffee in the big frescoed restaurant at Bâle +station, and presently took train with my bags to Berne. There I +delivered one of them at the Legation. Then, driving back to the +station, I went on to Zürich; and thence, that night, caught the +express to Vienna. +</p> + +<p> +My only object was to fulfil my duties and get back to London with all +haste. On arrival at the big, echoing West Bahnhof at Vienna, I took a +taxi to our fine Embassy in the Metternichgasse, and there delivered +my bags and dispatches over to Charlie Denby, the first secretary. +</p> + +<p> +He invited me to remain to dinner, but I declined, and, as a bag was +ready to go back, I flung it into the taxi. I found that I had time to +spare to catch the Orient Express for Paris, so I drove around the +Ring, that wonderful succession of the finest boulevards in all the +world. +</p> + +<p> +I knew Vienna well. At other times I would have been glad of a couple +of days’ enjoyment and rest there after the dusty journey from London. +But that night I merely took a <i>capuziner</i> outside the Prückel Café +in the Stuben-Ring, and then went along to the Stephans-Keller to have +my evening meal, an exquisitely-cooked <i>goulasch</i> with <i>paprika</i>, +followed by deliciously thin <i>palatschinken</i>. Usually a King’s +Messenger is well versed in foreign dishes, and I fear I was no +exception. +</p> + +<p> +Just after ten o’clock the great Orient Express thundered into the +station on its way from Constantinople to Calais, a dining-car and +four dusty sleeping-cars. The brown-uniformed conductor, who stepped +out, knew me. He saluted, and soon had me comfortably installed. +</p> + +<p> +But hardly had he done so than Charlie Denby breathlessly entered the +car, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Glad I’ve caught you, Lionel. We’ve just had a wire from the Foreign +Office altering your route. You are to go by the Paris portion from +Wels instead of by Brussels and Ostend. There are dispatches waiting +for you in Paris.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gosh!” I laughed. “What a life one leads on these gridirons of +railways!” +</p> + +<p> +The express waited twenty minutes, therefore my kit and I were quickly +transferred into the <i>wagon-lit</i> for Paris, and Charlie and I had +cocktails in the <i>wagon-restaurant</i>. +</p> + +<p> +I looked around at my fellow-travelers. They were mostly commercial +and financial people from the near East, together with one or two +really nice American families, the sort that we Englishmen love to +meet—smart, well-behaved people, with the neatest luggage in the +world. +</p> + +<p> +American travelers can be picked out of millions by reason of their +pleasant looks and the tidiness of their belongings. +</p> + +<p> +As a constant traveler, wherever I go, I meet Americans fathered by +Cook’s, Raymond & Whitcomb, the American Express, and other tourist +firms, who always look after their clients well. +</p> + +<p> +Only King’s Messengers can be true judges of tourist agencies, the +amazing wonders of their organization, and their few failures. +</p> + +<p> +Modern travel is a most complicated affair. No one knows or sees more +of it than the unobtrusive man in a serviceable traveling-coat. It is +the man who invariably eats a modest sandwich in the smoking-room of a +cross-Channel steamer; the most trusted servant of the State; the +messenger who is directly in the service of his Sovereign. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch18"> +CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">“A LADY TO SEE YOU, SIR!”</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Fagged</span> and weary, I slept until the conductor brought me my coffee +and biscuits. +</p> + +<p> +“Laroche, m’sieur!” he said. And I knew we were fast approaching +Paris. I pulled aside the blind, and saw the familiar long lines of +poplars and the flat, uninteresting landscape. +</p> + +<p> +I shaved and dressed leisurely, for I had no reason to go to the +Embassy. The dispatches would be brought to me; for the Orient Express +ended its long journey at Calais. +</p> + +<p> +As we ran into Paris, I saw Pallant, one of the attachés, a tall, +well-set-up figure, waiting with his driver, carrying two little white +bags. Through the open window of my sleeping-berth I waved, perhaps +rather wearily. And, in a few moments he joined me, followed by the +chauffeur. +</p> + +<p> +“Glad we got you, Hipwell,” he said. “There’s been a lot of trouble. +All you fellows seem to be traveling just now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t Farmer go over to London?” I asked. “He’s always ready for +a couple of days in town.” +</p> + +<p> +“Got the ’flu, my dear fellow. If not, you bet Gerry would be the +first to run over. They told us over the ’phone from Downing Street +that you were in Vienna, so I wired to divert your journey here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks for nothing, my dear Pallant,” I laughed. “Anything special?” +I asked, looking at the two ordinary little white canvas bags. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! yes,” he said. “I quite forgot,” and from his pocket he took one +of the familiar narrow, blue envelopes with a cross printed on it. And +he presented an official form for my signature, which I scribbled off, +hurriedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Nearly forgot what you came for!” I laughed. +</p> + +<p> +The moment I entered my rooms that evening, Bruce met me on the +threshold, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Gell has just rung up. He wants you to go to Queen’s Gate the +moment you arrive.” +</p> + +<p> +“And has the lady Illona called?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” was his reply, and I saw the note still lying upon my +table. +</p> + +<p> +After a hasty wash, I jumped into a taxi in Piccadilly and drove to +Joan’s father. Had he news of her, I wondered? +</p> + +<p> +The moment we met, I saw that the whereabouts of my beloved was still +a mystery. +</p> + +<p> +“That fellow Dufour has been brought up at Bow Street again this +afternoon,” he said. “The police know that he is an associate of +criminals, but he refused to disclose where his wife was, declaring +that she had left him and he did not know her whereabouts. The proper +course would be to commit him for trial, but I hear the police think +they can learn more if he were discharged. They could then watch his +movements.” +</p> + +<p> +“And allow him to slip through their hands as the fellow Owen has +done?” I laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just it! They hope to catch both in the end,” said the well +known barrister. “My own idea is, that Dufour shot the young scoundrel +Wilson out of revenge.” +</p> + +<p> +“He surely didn’t run away with Dufour’s wife, eh?” I hazarded. +</p> + +<p> +“By jove! I never thought of that,” he cried. “That might certainly +have been the motive.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet, in any case, it brings us no nearer the solution of the problem +of poor Joan,” I remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said, in a low, despondent tone. “Oh, if we could only find +some clue as to where she really is! The police seem to regard the +matter as hopeless.” +</p> + +<p> +I remained silent. Was she dead, or did she still live? Of one thing I +felt more than ever convinced, that the decoying of her away had been +directed against me. My enemies, of whom Illona had warned me, had +executed a vile and subtle plot in which I felt confident the man Owen +was implicated. If he were the honest man he pretended to be, he would +not have been an associate of the young thief, Tuggy Wilson; nor, +finding himself watched, would he have so cleverly slipped away into +obscurity. +</p> + +<p> +Again, what was his true connection with Lisely Hatten who, with such +amazing success, had imposed on me? And what could be the mysterious +significance of that beautiful piece of clear, blue aquamarine with +the double nought on it? Its receipt, no doubt, was some pre-arranged +signal. In any case, my beloved Joan had fallen helpless and +defenseless into the hands of my enemies. +</p> + +<p> +Next day I heard from Mr. Gell that Dufour had been discharged from +custody, owing to the lack of sufficient evidence. I knew that +Scotland Yard would keep a very wary eye on him in the hope that he +might meet the fugitive Owen. +</p> + +<p> +Two days later, at about three o’clock in the afternoon, I was seated +in my room with Teddy Day discussing the situation, when I heard a +ring, and Bruce entered, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a lady to see you, sir. She objects to giving her name.” +</p> + +<p> +I rose in quick surprise, whereat Teddy took up his hat, and, making +an excuse, left. +</p> + +<p> +“Show her in,” I said, the instant my friend had gone. +</p> + +<p> +Next moment I could scarce believe my eyes. Upon the threshold stood +Angela—the Little Countess! +</p> + +<p> +In an instant I recovered myself, determined not to allow her to know +that my brain had returned to its normal balance. What could her visit +to me portend? +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Contessina!” I cried, rushing forward to greet her +enthusiastically. “This is a surprise, indeed! Do come in and sit +down.” +</p> + +<p> +She laughed merrily, a dainty figure, in a cool summer gown of +pearl-grey <i>crêpe-de-chine</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought I should surprise you, Signor Hipwell,” said the woman who +had successfully prevented me from meeting Illona, and whom I knew to +be my enemy. +</p> + +<p> +It was strange, I could not help thinking, that from the first moment +of the recovery of my senses in Rome, I felt certain that I had met +her somewhere previously. It was strange, too, I contemplated, that +not until I had stood with Owen, had I actually awakened to the fact +that she and the City typist, whose associates were such desperate +criminals, were identical. +</p> + +<p> +“I have first to thank you for carrying out your promise to me,” said +the slim, pretty girl who had so attracted me in Rome, and whose +movements were so suspicious. As she sat in my arm-chair she certainly +did not look like a criminal. +</p> + +<p> +“I found Mr. Owen and delivered to him that pretty cut aquamarine. +What a delightful pendant it was!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she said carelessly. “Rather pretty. But the reason I’ve dared +to call on you is because my friend Mr. Owen is missing. He +disappeared early one morning, his man tells me, and has not +returned.” +</p> + +<p> +I pretended surprise, at the same time feeling that she was misleading +me with some purpose of her own. I did not forget that she was my +worst enemy. Nevertheless, it still seemed that, from the fact that I +had discovered her at that assembly in Camberwell, she feared lest I +should inform the police. +</p> + +<p> +I remembered that it was she who had suggested that horrible +punishment of putting out my eyes, and yet she had not carried out her +brutal suggestion. Why? And why, instead, had she given me a drug that +had paralyzed certain cells of my brain? +</p> + +<p> +“Is there any reason why Mr. Owen should have disappeared?” I asked, +with feigned ignorance. +</p> + +<p> +“Not in the least, as far as I know,” she replied, unaware that I knew +of her visit to Liverpool, and how she had tricked me by sending the +young manicurist to Kensington Gardens. “Of course, he may have gone +to Turin, expecting to find me there.” +</p> + +<p> +“He knew you were in Turin?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I let him know that. He had begged to see me,” she replied, with +her slight foreign accent. +</p> + +<p> +Then, in order to change the subject, and to allow her to reveal the +true reason of her visit to me, I asked: +</p> + +<p> +“And how are all our mutual friends in Rome? How did you leave them?” +</p> + +<p> +She shifted uneasily. Did she suspect that I had recognized her? I +hoped not, for I strove to pretend ignorance; to pretend to know her +only as the Contessina Angela Ugostini. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Most of them have left Rome—all who can. It is getting hot +there. But the staffs of the Embassies have to remain. Some of them +have gone to the Tuscan mountains, the French Ambassador and his wife +are at Vallombrosa, and the Spanish is at Montecatini for the cure, +while the Ruspolis are at the sea at Livorno, and my aunt is at Santa +Margherita.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the political situation?” I asked, handing her a cigarette and +lighting it. I felt that she was hesitating to reveal the true object +of coming to me. Perhaps by putting her at her ease, I might yet +disarm her. +</p> + +<p> +Through the rising tobacco smoke, she regarded me strangely, with +half-closed eyes. And, after a brief pause, she spoke: +</p> + +<p> +“You know, Signor Hipwell, quite as much as I do of the seriousness of +the situation—much more, no doubt.” +</p> + +<p> +Her manner had strangely changed, and it surprised me. +</p> + +<p> +“It is growing worse, eh?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“You have not been again to Italy since the morning we met in the +church?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No, Contessina,” I replied. “Had I been, I should surely have +endeavored to find you.” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled contentedly, for my polite words made it appear that I +still believed her to be the aristocratic character she had assumed, +and that, even now, my mind remained sufficiently disordered not to +associate her with the virago in Camberwell. +</p> + +<p> +“I should have been very delighted indeed to have met you again, +Signor Hipwell,” she said, looking at me lazily through the smoke of +her cigarette. “After Rome I went to the Lake of Garda, then back to +Florence and Venice. Then to Milan, and here.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the Contessina is as well known and popular in all those places +as in Rome,” I added smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“On the contrary,” she declared. “Only in Florence I went out once or +twice into society. But I found it not nearly such a nice, +cosmopolitan, and friendly circle as in the capital. I have an uncle +living up at Fiesole.” +</p> + +<p> +“A delightful quarter,” I remarked. “I had a relative living there a +few years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, yes!” she sighed, as though in regret. “Italy is very beautiful +and full of charm. It is only one’s bitter memories that sometimes +rise to mar its recollections.” +</p> + +<p> +“That can be said of all countries, Contessina,” I remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I suppose you, on your constant travels, meet with many amorous +adventures which cause you to ponder on your return, and sometimes +regret, eh?” she laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t plead guilty to amorous adventures,” I said, fencing with +her, and wondering still if the object of her call was to satisfy +herself that my memory was not yet restored. “My whole life was +wrapped up in political aspirations until I got dumped into my present +official position.” +</p> + +<p> +“A very responsible one—one of the most responsible surely,” said the +neat little lady who, in her Paris gown, looked so <i>chic</i> and unlike +the skirted and bloused City typist, as I had first known her. +</p> + +<p> +Two and a half years had wrought a marvelous change in her. The +chrysalis of a working-class world had evolved into a gay butterfly of +fashion. When I recalled our humble breakfasts together, and her rush +to the office, I could scarcely believe it possible that she was one +and the same. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, as you may well imagine, it exercised all my tact and will power +still to make pretense of ignorance of the past. +</p> + +<p> +The girl was my enemy—my bitterest enemy. Why then should she come +there to my rooms and pose as my friend? Why should she whine to me +over the disappearance of her lover of the euphonious name of Roddy +Owen—the name of a great and popular sportsman of the ’nineties? +</p> + +<p> +I handed her another cigarette; for, she had settled herself +comfortably in my big bachelor chair. Her neat, silk-encased legs, and +smart, well-fitting shoes which so perfectly matched her stockings, +were stretched out in perfect relaxation. +</p> + +<p> +I managed to keep my head, in the strained circumstances of knowing +full well that my pretty visitor was only posing as my friend. +</p> + +<p> +It was nearly four o’clock; so, finding that I could discover nothing +further, I suggested that we should stroll round to the Carlton lounge +for tea. Together we went along Piccadilly, down the Haymarket, into +the palm court where we sat at one of the little well-known tables. +And she poured out tea for me. +</p> + +<p> +The Carlton teas differ not at all from the teas served in other +<i>hôtels-de-luxe</i> in any part of the world with their orchestras—the +<i>bêtes noires</i> of every constant world-traveler. +</p> + +<p> +At last, with trepidation, I ventured to say: +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t we had enough of this, Angela?” +</p> + +<p> +“I agree. I hate these tea-dancings.” Then, after a few moments’ +pause, in which she looked straight into my eyes—the first time she +had ever been straightforward to me—she added: +</p> + +<p> +“Will you take me back to your rooms, Signor Hipwell? I—I—well, I +want to speak very confidentially and openly to you.” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch19"> +CHAPTER NINETEEN.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">ANGELA IS FRANK</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">When</span> we were back again at Sackville Street and she was reseated, I +stood upon the hearth-rug and gazed at her expectantly. +</p> + +<p> +I knew well she was testing me in order to reassure herself that +memory of the past had not returned to me, that I still failed to +recognize her. By dint of great effort I had kept up the fiction. Yet +it was difficult to pretend friendship when I knew her to be my most +dangerous enemy. +</p> + +<p> +I wanted to ask her why she had interfered with my meeting with +Illona, and why she had sent me that scrap of false music. Yet how +could I do so without disclosing what I knew? +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” I said at last. “What have you to say to me, Angela?” And I +waited for lies to fall from her lips. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to speak to you of something that closely concerns both of +us,” she said, in a quiet, changed voice. “You know that Roddy is +missing, and I am extremely anxious to find him. Have you the +slightest idea why he should be missing, or of the motive?” +</p> + +<p> +And she fixed her eyes straight upon mine. +</p> + +<p> +“How should I?” my surprise at her question was genuine, but at the +same time I realized her cleverness in trying to trick me into +admitting secret knowledge of her friend. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you were friendly with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Only in consequence of the interview I had with him on your behalf,” +was my reply. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought he knew a lady friend of yours—a Miss Gell,” she said, as +though speaking to herself. +</p> + +<p> +“Did he know her?” I cried, in quick anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard so,” she answered. “So I thought you might know +something concerning his mysterious disappearance. Has Miss Gell told +you nothing?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! That is curious,” my visitor said. +</p> + +<p> +“No, not curious in the least,” I blurted forth. “Miss Gell is also +missing and cannot be found.” +</p> + +<p> +The Little Countess started. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Gell also missing!” she gasped. “Then they might both have gone +away together, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think not, because Joan disappeared some time before Owen.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl masquerading as daughter of an Italian count paused for some +time, her eyes upon the empty grate. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Signor Hipwell,” she said at last. “Let us be frank with +each other.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am entirely frank,” I ventured. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean, let us act in each other’s interests. Each of us has a friend +who seems to have dissolved into space. Why cannot we help each other +and tell the truth as far as we know it?” Then, after another pause, +she looked at me strangely and added, “I can tell you something if you +tell me what you know concerning Roddy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know anything about Joan?” I asked eagerly. “Tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +“When you have told me what you know about Roddy,” was her firm reply. +“That is a bargain.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I know so little,” I declared with truth. “I only heard that +early one morning he left his flat and has not been seen since.” +</p> + +<p> +“That I know. But who informed you?” +</p> + +<p> +I hesitated a moment. There was an agreement between us that we should +each tell what we knew. +</p> + +<p> +“I was told by the police,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“The police!” she cried, starting up in genuine alarm. “Are they after +him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think so.” +</p> + +<p> +“For what reason?” she asked breathlessly. “Tell me all you know about +the affair. Remember our compact.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your friend Owen, I believe, was on terms of friendship with a young +man known in certain circles as Tuggy Wilson.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Owen and the latter were in Fulham one night when Wilson was +shot dead by somebody unknown.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tuggy dead!” she cried, staring at me in astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. It was in the papers.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was in Italy and saw nothing of it. Surely they didn’t suspect +Roddy of murdering him?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. A man named Dufour, a foreign waiter, was arrested; but, there +being no evidence, he was discharged.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dufour!” she echoed. “But of what did the police suspect Roddy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of being an accomplice of Wilson, whose finger-prints, taken after +death, proved him to be an expert thief, well known to the police.” +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible that Roddy should be an associate of such people!” +declared the girl, whom I knew herself to be a member of a most +desperate international gang. +</p> + +<p> +“Now Wilson was, to your knowledge, a thief?” I asked, whereupon she +replied: +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard so. Do they suspect the man Dufour?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. He tried to escape abroad from Southampton, but was arrested.” +</p> + +<p> +“And he has been discharged,” she said, in a tone of relief. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. There was no evidence,” I replied, but I did not tell her that +his every movement was being carefully watched. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot understand why the police should suspect Roddy,” said the +pretty woman, seated with her hands lying idly in her lap. +</p> + +<p> +“Because it was known that he was a friend of the dead man.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he would never have slipped away from the police. There could be +no motive.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not if he were innocent of any hand in the affair,” I ventured to +remark. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you think he had a hand in Tuggy’s murder?” she exclaimed, +regarding me resentfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” I assured her. “I only follow the police views that he +discovered they were watching, and grew frightened.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he might have fallen a victim of his enemies just as your girl +friend has done,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you know about Joan?” I asked quickly. “Tell me. I have told +all I know about Owen.” +</p> + +<p> +“What you have told me concerning him, Signor Hipwell, has made plain +to me many things that were mysterious. It has opened my eyes, and +given me a clue to much that was perplexing. I can only thank you for +it,” she said, in a quiet, strained voice. “I quite see what fear +would fall upon Roddy when young Wilson was killed by some unknown +person. The reason of his disappearance is now quite clear to me. I +only hope that the police will relax their vigilance in due course, +and that he will be able to escape abroad without further trouble. He +is, I am sure, quite innocent.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mentioned that he was a friend of Joan’s; this is entirely new to +me. How did you know that?” +</p> + +<p> +“He wrote me a long time ago, saying he had met her, and that she was +your fiancée.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long ago?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, quite a year now.” +</p> + +<p> +I reflected that I was at that time in my unconscious state. +</p> + +<p> +“There is a belief that, on the night of Joan’s disappearance, she was +at the Florida dance-club with a fair-haired young man closely +resembling Owen. Have you any knowledge of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not in the least,” she said. “I know nothing more than what he told +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is strange that Joan never mentioned him,” I remarked. But I +inwardly reflected that their acquaintance was during my period of +ignorance. +</p> + +<p> +I longed to reveal my knowledge to the clever criminal who sat there +before me, and to demand from her the meaning of that piece of music +she had sent me. +</p> + +<p> +I felt it wiser, however, not to show my hand. That she was playing +some very deep game was apparent. By pretending loss of memory, then, +and giving her the impression that I was still her cats-paw, I might +discover much more than by denouncing her. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Contessina,” I said, addressing her by the name which I was +confident misled her into a sense of security. “I have told you all I +know about your friend Mr. Owen. Now—explain your knowledge of Joan.” +</p> + +<p> +For a few moments she remained silent. Her eyes were fixed on mine +with a distinctly suspicious look. She was still uncertain, I think, +whether I had penetrated her true identity, though I had strained +every nerve in pretence of ignorance. I still treated her as the +Little Countess, beside whom I had had my ridiculous tumble under the +British Ambassador’s table in Rome. +</p> + +<p> +“I can tell you very little, Signor Hipwell,” she replied. “I fear +that you regard both Mr. Owen and me, as your enemies, rather than +your friends. Now tell me truthfully, is not that so?” and she crossed +her legs, leaned her chin upon her hand, and smiled up at me. +</p> + +<p> +“Now that you tell me what I never dreamt before—that Joan was +acquainted with Roddy Owen—I confess I begin to suspect that he has +some hand in her disappearance. And the more so, because certain +people have stated that she danced with him at the Florida on the +night she was lost.” +</p> + +<p> +“All rubbish,” she laughed. “Depend upon it that Roddy has had nothing +to do with Miss Gell’s disappearance. It is a case of revenge and +retaliation. That is my view.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” +</p> + +<p> +“Has it never occurred to you that her father, Mr. Gell, the famous +prosecutor for the Crown, has been instrumental in sending dozens of +crooks, of various sorts and ages, for long stretches on the Moor? And +what more natural than the crooks themselves have had their own back +on him?” +</p> + +<p> +I paused and looked at her. Though she spoke with the pretty foreign +accent that I cannot here attempt to reproduce—the same accent which +had charmed me when we used to breakfast in our unpretending lodgings +in Camberwell—yet was not that word “stretches” criminal slang for +terms of penal servitude, and “the Moor” for His Majesty’s Penal +Institution at Dartmoor? +</p> + +<p> +“Do you really think that Joan’s disappearance is due to revenge for +some conviction or other, which her father has secured at the Old +Bailey?” I asked, eager to learn her views. +</p> + +<p> +“Without a doubt,” was her reply. “That is why I came here in order to +tell you my candid opinion!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well—and what can I do?” I asked, in blank dismay. Her theory was +one which had suddenly gripped me. +</p> + +<p> +“Discover what serious conviction her father has of late obtained,” +she replied, in a low, intense voice. +</p> + +<p> +She was posing as my friend, yet I knew instinctively, and with no +better proof than the trickery in Kensington Gardens, that she was my +fierce, subtle enemy. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, how I longed to turn on her, and demand an explanation of her +masquerade as daughter of an Italian count, and why she had sent me +that sheet of puzzling manuscript music! +</p> + +<p> +But I managed to remain unperturbed. How I accomplished it I know not. +</p> + +<p> +“Then your theory is that Joan is the victim of enemies of her +father—criminals whom he, as prosecutor for the Crown, has sent to +penal servitude?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of that I am convinced,” she said. Then, after a moment’s pause, she +added frankly: “What you have told me about Tuggy Wilson has revealed +much to me, Signor Hipwell. I had never dreamt of that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Neither have I ever imagined that Joan’s disappearance is due to her +father’s success as a criminal lawyer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there you are,” said the woman, who had two years before +suggested I should be blinded, so that I could never identify her +accomplices. “We exchanged promises, and we have fulfilled them. What +more can be done?” +</p> + +<p> +“You will seek Owen, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I shall. I must find him. And you—you must discover your +fiancée, Joan Gell.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! If I only could!” I cried. “The weeks go on, yet Scotland Yard +are ever at fault. After being seen at the Florida she vanished +completely.” +</p> + +<p> +“A reprisal on the part of her father’s enemies,” she remarked. “By +revealing to me what you have, concerning Roddy’s friendship with +young Wilson, and the latter’s murder, you have done me a very good +service. If I can assist you in any way to find Joan Gell, I will. I +think I may have my own channel of inquiry.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you heartily, Contessina,” I replied quickly, suspicious at +once of her reference to her own channel of inquiry. She knew much +more than she would reveal to me. Of that I felt certain. +</p> + +<p> +The strong incentive within me at that moment was to seize the +guilty-faced crook by the throat and wring the truth from her lips. +But I hesitated again, still feeling that only by watchfulness could I +hope to cope with the plot against me, of which I had been warned by +the mysterious Illona. +</p> + +<p> +The Contessina knew her and feared her. Evidently she intended that we +should never meet. +</p> + +<p> +In the drawer in my writing-table lay the letter I had written to +Illona, enclosing the sheet of music which Lisely had sent me. How I +longed to present it to the woman who thought she was so cleverly +tricking me, and who, after all, had set up in my mind a new theory as +to the cause of Joan’s absence. +</p> + +<p> +She took up the little red morocco handbag and rose to leave, rather +reluctantly it seemed to me. +</p> + +<p> +“Is there anything else I can do to assist you, Contessina?” I asked, +with studied politeness. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing, I fear, Signor Hipwell. Except,” and she paused, “except, +when we next meet, I hope you will believe in my sincerity a little +more strongly than you do to-day,” she added with a strange, meaning +smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Sincerity!” I echoed. “Why, of course, we are friends, +Contessina—Hence, I certainly believe in your sympathy,” I said, in +an endeavor to assure her further of my continued ignorance of her +true identity. +</p> + +<p> +But she only gave way to a little hysterical laugh. As we shook hands +I asked her where I could write to her. +</p> + +<p> +“To Cook’s Office in Berkeley Street,” she replied. “Letters sent +there always find me sooner or later.” +</p> + +<p> +And then she went out, Bruce seeing her into the elevator. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch20"> +CHAPTER TWENTY.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">TO-MORROW!</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">As</span> soon as she had gone, I rang up Mr. Gell at his chambers. But he +was still at the Old Bailey, and would not return to the Temple. So I +rang up Queen’s Gate, and asked his man to let me know instantly that +he would return home. +</p> + +<p> +About seven o’clock the bell rang and I found myself talking to the +famous lawyer. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to see you at once,” I said. “I’m taking a taxi along to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, Lionel. But I have a dinner of the Silk and Stuff Club at +eight. Come along with me. You’ll be interested, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +I thanked him, slipped into a dinner-jacket, and made all haste +possible down to Queen’s Gate. +</p> + +<p> +The stout old gentleman, already dressed, was sitting in his den +poring over a brief of many folios when I entered. +</p> + +<p> +He greeted me cordially, as he usually did. But, noting my gravity of +manner, he asked what was the matter. +</p> + +<p> +Without disclosing the source of my inspiration as to the cause of +Joan’s fate, I asked: +</p> + +<p> +“Among all the criminals you have lately prosecuted do you think you +have many enemies?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s rather a strange question,” he replied, looking up at me +in some surprise. “I don’t fancy any prisoner against whom I secure a +conviction really likes me. The majority of habitual crooks, however, +are good sportsmen. If they are unfortunate enough to make a slip, and +fall into the hands of the police, they usually blame themselves for +not being smart enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ever had threats uttered against you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sometimes,” he laughed, in his hearty way. +</p> + +<p> +“But aren’t prisoners often incensed at what counsel says against +them?” I queried. +</p> + +<p> +“Counsel’s instructions are precise, and to the point. He has the +statement of the prosecutor, and uses it to the full. To the jury he +is impartial—unlike counsel for the defence, whose moving appeal may +soften the hearts of the men sitting, to decide on the prisoner’s +innocence or guilt. The work of counsel for the prosecution is a +cut-and-dried job into which he puts no acrimony or sentiment. He is +simply the mouthpiece of the Crown.” +</p> + +<p> +“And, as such, you think that he never incurs the malice of the +accused’s friends?” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t go so far as to say that,” Mr. Gell replied at once. “Of +course, in the case of one member of a gang being convicted, the +others, unknown and unidentified, might easily wreak private vengeance +on counsel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Gell,” I said, looking straight into his round, clean-shaven +face, “has it never occurred to you that Joan’s disappearance might be +due to such private spite?” +</p> + +<p> +“God, Lionel!” cried the man, springing from his chair. “I believe you +are right, after all! You’re right!” he shouted. “You’re right! I’m +sure you are! As you say, it is the devil’s work of some gang.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is more than suspicion that Joan was with that fellow Owen on +the night of her leaving home,” I pointed out. “We know that Owen was +at least on friendly terms with an expert thief. And, further we know +that he made himself scarce as soon as he suspected that he was under +the eye of the police!” +</p> + +<p> +“True!” cried the distressed man. “The brutes have my poor girl in +their clutches—if she is still alive.” +</p> + +<p> +“They know you are seeking her, and that Scotland Yard intends to find +her, dead or alive.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, she may be dead! Their vengeance is perhaps complete!” he said +brokenly. +</p> + +<p> +“But whose vengeance?” I queried. “Go over your recent cases, and +discover if, in any one of them, either Owen, Wilson, or Dufour was +implicated.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder,” he said reflectively. “I wonder!” +</p> + +<p> +He pointed out that, if a man were charged with a crime, the police +would perhaps know his associates, but their names would not be given +to him. His duty was simply to prosecute, and bring upon the culprit +the just and legal sentence of the law. +</p> + +<p> +In view of Lisely’s connection with that mysterious gang in +Camberwell—who were sharing out those priceless jewels when I +inadvertently entered the room—and her friendship with Owen, I asked: +</p> + +<p> +“Have you of late prosecuted, say, any gang of jewel-thieves?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not recently,” he replied, thinking deeply. “But about a year ago I +had a case at the Old Bailey—a rather curious case, I remember—and +one which caused me to suspect the existence of a gang, who had in +secret given a woman away to the police, and who afterwards made +themselves scarce. The woman made a statement—a wild allegation, it +seemed.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was the woman’s name?” I asked, much interested. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t remember. I’ll look it up.” And he took down a diary from a +shelf, and after turning over many pages, exclaimed: “Here it is! +Before the Recorder in April of last year. The prisoner’s name was +Hilda Bennett, alias May, and she was charged with complicity in a +jewel-robbery at Dover Marine Station.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hilda Bennett!” I repeated astounded. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. You probably read of the affair,” he went on. “She stole the +jewel-case of the wealthy Baroness d’Armenonville, wife of the Paris +banker, who was on her way to London. There was a rope of pearls worth +fifty thousand pounds, and a quantity of other jewels. The lady, no +doubt, was followed by the thieves in the Golden Arrow train from the +Gare du Nord in Paris. And, at Dover the prisoner, a big, well-built +woman, snatched the case from the Baroness’s hand after she had passed +the Customs. Then, with the connivance of her confederates, she +succeeded in getting away in a motor-car. The alarm was given, and the +Dover police, knowing that the thief would not attempt to go by train +to London, telephoned along the roads. A car had been seen going +swiftly towards Folkestone. Outside the latter town the car was +stopped, and the prisoner was arrested, with the jewels in a big false +pocket. The case had been thrown away into a hedge, where it was found +next day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hilda Bennett!” I repeated, for across my brain passed the horrible +recollection of that fatal night in Bloomsbury. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. The case was of more than usual interest, because of a statement +given by the police after the jury had pronounced a verdict of guilty. +It was given in evidence that the woman was present in Bloomsbury +about fourteen months previously, when her lover, a man named Rodwell, +was shot dead by a man unknown. The pistol was found to have been +stolen by burglars from a house in Cromwell Road, and his +finger-prints taken after death showed the man to be one of the most +expert jewel-thieves, who was wanted by the police of half Europe. +This man Rodwell, alias May, lived quite respectably in a nice house +in Fitz-John’s Avenue, Hampstead, and was ostensibly a corn merchant, +in a big way of business, at Highbury. His finger-prints, however, had +been identified as Monkey Dick’s, one of a desperate gang of motor +bandits who had operated in and around Riga, on the Russian border. +Indeed, I myself saw the report from the police of Riga asking for any +information concerning the English bandit. But he was dead, and a +report was sent to them to that effect.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the prisoner? What sort of woman was she? Interesting, no doubt?” +I asked, keeping my information to myself. +</p> + +<p> +“I recollect her as a smart, rather overdressed, attractive woman, +full of alertness, but with that sly expression beneath the eyes that +we legal men as prosecutors always look for. Few of us, at the +Criminal Bar, make mistakes. I have prosecuted persons whom I have +realized at once are innocent, and about whom I have agreed with my +learned friend for the defence. No innocent man or woman has guilt +written on the countenance. But the guilty have, and the sense of +crime is such in a practised advocate, that he can himself separate +the guilty from the innocent.” +</p> + +<p> +“And this woman Bennett was guilty?” I asked, staggered by his +statement. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. It seemed to me that she had been implicated with Rodwell, +the cosmopolitan motor bandit, who had a hand in certain amazing +thefts. Who killed her lover will probably never be known. In any +case, the jury found her guilty, and she left the dock shrieking when +the Recorder sentenced her to five years.” +</p> + +<p> +“Five years. So she is in prison now?” I remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But I think the jury were certain that the woman was more sinned +against than sinning. She declared most vehemently that one of her +enemies had deliberately murdered Rodwell, and that the same enemy had +betrayed her to the police.” +</p> + +<p> +I said nothing. My thoughts were full. I saw now what I had never seen +before—the reason of Joan’s disappearance. The friends of that woman +of the night, whose evil face was ever impressed on my memory, had +wrought vengeance on the man who had secured her conviction. +</p> + +<p> +I recalled that, at that crucial moment in Camberwell, she had failed +to recognize me as her lover’s antagonist. Perhaps it was because of +Lisely’s declaration that I was a police informer. Still, I owed my +life to her, just as I owed my eyesight to the woman who had so +cleverly mystified me. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” I exclaimed at last. “Doesn’t this case of the woman Bennett +throw some light on the present position, Mr. Gell? Don’t you think +that her friends, proved as they were by the police to be a desperate +cosmopolitan gang, might not have retaliated by decoying Joan?” +</p> + +<p> +“It certainly seems so,” he said. “I might admit that I have not +thought so until now. I have now to see Scotland Yard, and endeavor to +trace who were her friends, and if the gang now exists, as no doubt it +does.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, glancing at the old-fashioned marble clock upon the mantelshelf, +he remarked: +</p> + +<p> +“By jove! We must be off. We’re very late, Lionel. I only wish I could +escape to-night. I’m in no mood for a humorous speech. But that’s the +worst of popularity, my boy. You must always give the public what they +expect, or you go under in their estimation like a dead dog attached +to a stone.” He stretched his arms above his head, yawned wearily, and +then said, “Come along. Let’s go. The car is outside.” +</p> + +<p> +Through the busy London streets, where the lights were twinkling, we +drove, but he spoke little. His one obsession, like my own, was the +fate of poor Joan. Yet we both felt that we were on the eve of +discovery, and that the future held for us some amazing disclosures. +</p> + +<p> +What he had told me about that woman Hilda Bennett astounded me. I +never dreamt that, due to his cold, hard accusation in court, she was +now languishing in a female convict prison—that woman who had +declared to the police that I had deliberately killed her lover, yet +well knowing that it was he who had drawn the weapon on me. +</p> + +<p> +To her false allegations had been due my flight, my trouble, my +ill-fortune, and now the loss of the woman whom I loved so dearly. To +her had been due the loss of two of the best years of my life, thrown +as I had been within that time, into a maelstrom of uncertainty and +despair. +</p> + +<p> +To her was due my amazing marriage with the unknown and elusive +Illona, whoever she might be. That she was my friend was plain, but +who she was, her age, her beauty, or ugliness, I knew not. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes I pictured her as a smart, young, up-to-date girl with +well-chosen clothes and smart stockings and shoes—just those +differences which attract or repel a man. Nothing repels the modern +young man, used as he is to <i>chic</i> and dancing, so much as cheap, +ill-fitting stockings and shoes. The modern girl may be smart on her +feet, if dowdy above. But nobody forgives the laddered stocking, +however well darned, or the shoe which has the slightest turn-over at +the heel. +</p> + +<p> +We have all changed, not only the gentler sex to whom, guided by the +fashion pages of our daily journals, we all allow changes of mode. Yet +even the mere male who puts on his multi-colored abomination and plus +fours is still relegated to his funereal black at night. Men are still +replicas of undertakers and waiters, I daresay more than one of my +male readers, like myself, has been “asked the way” in a crush, being +taken for the man from the caterers. +</p> + +<p> +Life to-day is a succession of problems—terrible problems which few +care to face. +</p> + +<p> +Alas, that it is so! But the truth must be confronted. The divorce +courts are daily examples of man’s perfidy and woman’s weakness. They +are examples under which the judges writhe, and yet have their duty to +perform. They are examples, too, in which the King’s Proctor is daily +bamboozled, and the decree nisi, like a Rolls Royce, is open to +anybody who deals in daily commodities and “makes money” in any form +whatever. +</p> + +<p> +One famous divorce judge, in his memoirs, has said with truth: +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody in my court ever tells the truth. I listen to a hundred +perjuries a day!” +</p> + +<p> +And this is in our modern post-Soviet England! +</p> + +<p> +The dinner of the Silk and Stuff Club proved a long affair, its +principal speaker being its famous president, Mr. John Gell, K.C. Many +were the jokes and many the toasts, yet I knew that Joan’s father like +me, had a heavy heart amid all the hilarity. +</p> + +<p> +It was nearly two o’clock in the morning before I opened the door of +my chambers. Bruce, awakened by my entrance, rose from a chair in +which he had been waiting for me. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, sir,” he said sleepily. “I tried to get you at Mr. Gell’s and at +the club, but was unable. About ten o’clock the lady called.” +</p> + +<p> +“The lady. Who?” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +“The lady for whom you left a note some time ago—Madame Illona. She +waited half an hour to see if I could find you, but she had to go. And +she left word that she would call to-morrow!” +</p> + +<p> +To-morrow! +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch21"> +CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">I MEET ILLONA</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">The</span> enigma was increasingly bewildering. Ever since the moment when +that woman of the night, Hilda Bennett, had declared that I was not +her lover’s assailant, and in consequence of which I had been punished +as a police-spy, I had existed in an atmosphere of excitement, doubt, +and mystery. +</p> + +<p> +Daily, mystery piled upon mystery, as a natural sequence. And through +it all I experienced an intense agony of mind because of Joan’s +disappearance. +</p> + +<p> +The fact that Joan’s father had represented the Treasury at the +prosecution of the woman Bennett, whose accusation had led me into +that maelstrom of adversity, certainly pointed to a motive of +vindictiveness on the part of the woman’s criminal friends. But I felt +myself up against a blank wall. With all the energy and spirit I +possessed I had chased the phantom of hope. Each time, however, it had +eluded me. +</p> + +<p> +Illona was but a will o’ the wisp. Was she a fraud? Did she really +exist? Was she some unknown woman whom I had married during that long +period of my other self, when I lived in another world, created by +that baneful drug injected into my veins by the girl typist who had +been my fellow-lodger? +</p> + +<p> +The discovery that this same young and good-looking, soft-eyed +criminal, whom I had known as Lisely Hatten, was masquerading as the +Contessina Angela Ugostini, a popular figure in diplomatic circles in +Rome, had staggered me. And whenever I had searched for the truth, I +had only drawn blank. Yet, I remained patient with one fixed object; +to discover the whereabouts of my beloved Joan, and to punish those +who had harmed her. +</p> + +<p> +And if she were dead? Then I would have a life for a life. +</p> + +<p> +That night I suffered from insomnia, as I had done frequently, through +the most silent hours. From three to five in the morning I wandered +the streets of London. +</p> + +<p> +No one has really seen our wonderful metropolis who has not stood upon +Westminster Bridge by the long façade of the Houses of Parliament, +when Big Ben has boomed forth half-past three on a summer’s morning. +At that hour the dawn is pale, the great highway with its thundering +traffic is silent and deserted, save for an occasional constable who +looks askance at any loiterer upon the bridge. There is a solitary +taxi upon the stand, and the fine statue of Boadicea and her horses +stands out against the eastern sky by the faint flush of the rising +sun. That has long been my favorite spot when I cannot sleep. From my +point of vantage I can look down to the dome and steeples of the gray +mysterious City, and up stream along the Terrace to St. Stephen’s +Tower, and the bend of the Thames at Battersea, with its trees and +Park. A silent, sleeping, quaint London—our marvelous capital around +which civilization revolves—lies unconscious of the slowly awakening +world. The air is fresh; man and machine are resting from their +labors. For an hour one can enjoy rest, and reflect on many things, +the things which, united, we call life. In two hours more London will +awaken to its activity. Hordes of men and women will be scurrying to +business; cars, motor-buses and trams will be roaring increasingly +across the bridge which Boadicea is guarding. And Babylon will once +more be plunged into its greed for gain, its sins, and its incessant +iniquities. And, peer and politician, magnate and mechanic, lawyer and +laborer, patrician and prostitute, criminal and charlatan will vie +with each other to make money, which is the heart’s blood of London’s +life. +</p> + +<p> +Yet where was Joan? +</p> + +<p> +I returned to Sackville Street about seven, and Bruce served my +breakfast. Then, I washed and read the newspaper, each moment +impatient for the return of my elusive “wife” Illona. +</p> + +<p> +Just before eleven I was startled by the electric bell, and, a few +moments later, my man ushered in a strange, stunted female figure, who +rushed forward to welcome me with the breathless words: +</p> + +<p> +“Lionel dear! At last!” Then, turning to see if Bruce had closed the +door, she gripped my hand and in a low intense whisper asked, “Have +you heard anything further?” +</p> + +<p> +“About what?” I asked, looking into her narrow, drawn face, utterly +staggered. +</p> + +<p> +“About the Avignon affair?” +</p> + +<p> +“The Avignon affair? I don’t understand you,” I replied. +</p> + +<p> +“What?” she cried. “Come, Lionel, you are joking. You know the great +risk I have run in coming to you to-day. I called last night and you +were out.” +</p> + +<p> +She paused in the manner of expecting an explanation. +</p> + +<p> +“You had my note?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—and the evidence of treachery,” she said. “We will talk of that +later. But, Lionel,” she added, gazing into my face with a puzzled +expression, “you are not yourself, dear. Why? What has happened?” +</p> + +<p> +I stood before the queer, undersized little woman, utterly bewildered. +Not more than five feet in height, her head and hands seemed +abnormally large. She was well and fashionably dressed in a +beige-colored gown, with hat to match. And she carried in her hand an +expensive bag of pale-green lizard skin. Her features once had been +attractive, perhaps, but the bloom of youth had long passed, and vain +endeavors had been made to efface the havoc of time by the application +of toilet requisites, and especially of lip-stick. +</p> + +<p> +And this ugly, ill-formed woman with the rouged face was Illona—my +secret wife whom I imagined to be young, sweet, enticing! +</p> + +<p> +“No,” I managed to reply, “I am not myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t wonder, after your recent narrow escape.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” +</p> + +<p> +“In Kensington Gardens. They evidently knew that I intended to meet +you, and sent you that message so that you should not wait for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the piece of music,” I added. “What did that signify?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you know,” she said in an intensely earnest and refined voice. +</p> + +<p> +“But was there any motive in preventing our meeting?” I demanded +quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, they have done all in their power to prevent us coming +together again,” said Illona. “That is why I risk so much in coming +here to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Risk!” I echoed. “I don’t follow you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! don’t you think, knowing what I do, and the relentlessness of our +mutual enemies, I am not ready to take any risk to save you, +Lionel—you—my husband?” she said in a voice full of emotion. +</p> + +<p> +Words failed me. That she had a right to call me husband I certainly +would challenge. It required all my self-restraint to refrain from +doing so at that moment. Yet I saw that by my resentment I might +easily lose my chance of learning the truth. +</p> + +<p> +Truly, I was in an amazing predicament, for of what follies I had been +culpable during my period of unconsciousness I knew not. Hence I saw +that the best course was to hold my tongue, and allow my supposed wife +to explain. +</p> + +<p> +“I know that you have warned me against my enemies, and especially +against a blind man,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Has he been here?” she asked breathlessly. +</p> + +<p> +“On several occasions.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! Then they contemplate carrying out their threat!” she cried. +“Lionel, dear, you are in great danger! You must fly—anywhere.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why?” I asked, standing aghast. “I’ve done nothing!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not in our eyes. But in the eyes of the police,” she declared. “Ever +since you became one of us they have always suspected you. You surely +know that!” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” I asked. “How did I become ‘one of us,’ as you put +it? I don’t understand.” +</p> + +<p> +The middle-aged dwarf with the made-up countenance smiled and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! I see you are not yourself, poor dear!” And she placed her +well-gloved hand tenderly upon my shoulder. “So much traveling upsets +your nerves, no doubt. I expected you to come and see me at Lausanne, +for you often passed to and fro on the Simplon route to Italy and the +Balkans. Yet you never broke your journey. Again, I expected you to +meet me one night at Pretty’s Club in Wardour Street, where we are all +members.” +</p> + +<p> +“You told me to make an appointment, but as a matter of fact I’d +forgotten the name of your club,” I declared, very lamely, I fear. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, my dear! Your memory was always faulty. I’ve noticed it ever +since you married me at the Kensington Registry Office. Do you +remember that morning—the morning after poor Hilda was sentenced? +Poor girl! I wonder how she is.” +</p> + +<p> +Hilda! She meant Hilda Bennett, the woman who was the cause of all my +present troubles and incertitude, the woman who had been prosecuted by +Joan’s father. +</p> + +<p> +“Hilda was one of us, eh?” I hazarded. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. But she was game and fortunately gave nobody away.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Lisely Hatten?” I asked, for it seemed by her remarks that I was +in some way still allied with the gang who had captured me on that +foggy night in Camberwell. +</p> + +<p> +“She is my worst enemy, Lionel. She ascertained your family +connections, as you know, and intended to marry you. To her, you no +doubt owe your eyesight, for I know that she only pretended to blind +you, because you and she had been friends. His Excellency never +suspected it, or you would not be alive now.” +</p> + +<p> +“His Excellency?” I queried. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh dear, Lionel! How dense you are!” she said, throwing her bag upon +the table, and sinking into a chair beside the fireplace. “You +remember Felix Zuroff, the little black-haired Russian, who presided +at the meeting into which you so unfortunately tumbled. We call him +His Excellency, as he is the representative of others.” +</p> + +<p> +I remembered distinctly the beetle-browed foreigner, apparently head +of that criminal gang, who at the moment of my innocent intrusion were +dividing their spoils. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know,” I ejaculated. “But is His Excellency still in power?” +</p> + +<p> +“Most certainly. And his right hand is Lisely Hatten—or the +Contessina, as she is just now known. It is almost time the great coup +was brought off. Everything is arranged for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“The woman who prevented our meeting in Kensington Gardens.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! I suspected as much,” said my undersized visitor—the woman who +called me husband. +</p> + +<p> +According to her story, I had married her at the Kensington Registry +Office. I intended to confirm that, for it would not be in the least +difficult. +</p> + +<p> +“Tuggy Wilson, who was recently shot, was one of us—was he not?” I +asked her. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. Dufour killed him, we know. There was, however, a good +reason. It’s most fortunate that he has got clear.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was the reason?” I inquired eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, a quarrel over a woman, I hear.” +</p> + +<p> +“A woman? Who?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Some girl with whom young Owen fell in love.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was her name?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. You see, I’ve been out of England for months—ever +since I came to you after the Avignon affair and we made our compact. +The police have searched Europe for the packet, but they’ve never +found it. And they are not likely to, eh?” she asked, with a knowing +look. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not my affair,” I declared. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, who knows where it is if you don’t?” laughed the mysterious +Illona. +</p> + +<p> +“I really don’t follow you,” I answered her. +</p> + +<p> +She rose, and, standing determinedly before me, said: +</p> + +<p> +“Now look here, Lionel. I’ll be really angry with you in a minute, if +you pretend all this silly ignorance.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not pretence. I don’t know,” I protested. +</p> + +<p> +“What?” she cried angrily. “When I risk everything to come here to see +and talk to you, you mean to stand there and tell me you are in +ignorance of the great coup we effected on the road outside Avignon +just after midnight? We had two cars traveling towards +Aix-en-Provence. The first, in which you were, overtook the car with +two men, and deliberately ran into it, completely wrecking it. His +Excellency, Owen, Lisely, and myself were in the second car, and, on +coming up, offered assistance. It was accepted. But while the damage +was being examined Owen managed to get hold of two big cases filled +with fine jewels belonging to Bonnard Frères, of the Rue de la Paix, +in Paris—some of their most expensive stock—which were being taken +for the winter season to their branch shop at Monte Carlo. The firm’s +manager, Monsieur Perrin, realizing his loss, shouted, but was shot +dead for his pains by His Excellency; the chauffeur was drugged, while +the clerk accompanying Monsieur Perrin was attended by Lisely, who +used a hypodermic needle upon him. In five minutes all was finished. +The two cars locked together in the smash, with the dead man and the +other unconscious, we left blocking the road, while the chauffeur of +the first car, who was really Tuggy Wilson, joined us, and we turned +and were swiftly on our way to Geneva.” +</p> + +<p> +Without uttering a word, I listened to the description of their daring +exploit. She had alleged that I, as a member of that gang of motor-car +bandits, was party to that deliberate theft and murder. It was +impossible, and I told her so. The calm way in which she had related +the attack, and the part she herself had played in it, horrified me. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Lionel!” she laughed. “You are certainly not yourself to-day. +What utter rot you are talking.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am speaking the truth!” I protested. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean that you deny all knowledge of the fine haul we made that +night?” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear lady,” I said, “I certainly do. I have never even heard of +the affair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Lionel, I think you have taken leave of your senses,” she +exclaimed familiarly. “What is the use of trying to bamboozle me—of +all women?” And she stood staring at me for a few moments. Then she +said, “If you are really in such innocent ignorance as you declare, +how about the check you received from His Excellency last Thursday, +the first of the month, for over eight thousand pounds as your share +of a certain other little bit of crooked business? Examine your +pass-book now, and see if I tell the truth!” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch22"> +CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">“REMEMBER THE NAME!”</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">I acted</span> as she suggested. +</p> + +<p> +From my writing-table I took out my pass-book which had only been sent +by the bank the day before. And there, to my surprise, I saw that she +was correct. +</p> + +<p> +On the second of the month, two days before, my account had been +credited with eight thousand three hundred and forty pounds! On my +table there lay a letter from the bank which had only arrived on the +previous morning, and which I had not opened, so preoccupied had I +been. I tore it open, and found the usual formal notice that the check +in question had been received from a mysterious Mr. Charles Davis. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” laughed the stunted little woman, “am I not correct?” +</p> + +<p> +I nodded. What could I say? Evidently I was actually in association +with that desperate gang of bandits, and from them derived a +substantial income. The thought held me appalled. I, a trusted servant +of the Foreign Office, and son of one of the best known +parliamentarians in the kingdom, a member of a gang of jewel-thieves! +</p> + +<p> +I saw she was much puzzled at my attitude; for, of course, she had no +knowledge that I had been at last extricated from that long, +trance-like stupor in which I had existed ever since that terrible +night. How could she know that, at length, I had been rescued from +that precarious state of a period concerning which I had no +recollection of the foolish actions I might have committed, perchance. +Little could she imagine that I had been released from the obscurity +of memory of the two years that I had been within the grip of the low, +beetle-browed man whom I so well remembered—the man they called His +Excellency who, according to Illona’s statement, had shot dead the +jeweler’s manager. +</p> + +<p> +“You surely cannot now deny the truth, Lionel!” said the woman +somewhat severely. “It is really amusing that you should deny all +knowledge of association with us. You must remember your own little +escapade—how cleverly you pinched Lady Rathgormly’s famous +twenty-thousand-pound rope of pearls, as she came out of the Garrick +Theatre.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lady Rathgormly’s pearls!” I echoed. “What do you mean, Illona? Are +you mad?” I cried. “Whatever I may be, I’m no thief.” +</p> + +<p> +A queer, sarcastic laugh escaped the woman’s lips. It irritated me so +much that I could have forcibly ejected her from my room. +</p> + +<p> +“Most excellent acting, Lionel dear. But with me it really won’t +wash!” +</p> + +<p> +“I swear I have no knowledge of any woman’s pearls!” I cried. “I’m not +a thief.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then shall I give you proof of it?” she asked in a hard voice. “Since +you deny everything, you must be made to produce the evidence of your +guilt yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, crossing to the opposite wall, which was faced with books +arranged on shelves to the height of seven feet from the floor, she +ran her eye along the many volumes until she came upon an old brown +leather-backed and frayed one—an eighteenth-century copy of Voltaire +in French, as its faded gilding denoted. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you please take that out?” Illona commanded, placing her finger +upon it. +</p> + +<p> +I obeyed wonderingly. Of late I had read hardly anything, and of the +several hundred books I possessed—perhaps indeed a thousand +volumes—I had for years taken no heed of them. +</p> + +<p> +I took it out—a stout little volume in an old calf binding—and held +it in my hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Open it,” she ordered. And I did so. There were fifty or so old +pages, stained yellow by damp and age, but beyond was a cavity. The +remainder of the pages of the book had been securely stuck together +each to the next, hardened, and then the whole centre had been cut out +neatly. +</p> + +<p> +My eyes fell on a packet in white paper, secured by a piece of thin +blue string. +</p> + +<p> +“Open it!” she demanded. +</p> + +<p> +Utterly astounded, I moved to the table, pulled at the string hard, +and next moment a magnificent rope of pearls fell into my hands! +</p> + +<p> +“There!” she laughed. “You still have her ladyship’s pearls intact in +your possession, though the police of Europe have been hunting for +them. But His Excellency knows they are safe enough in your custody, +for you have never been and never will be suspected—unless you are +given away by your enemies,” she added meaningly. +</p> + +<p> +“My enemies? You mean Lisely?” I remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“And Owen,” she added. “Blind Roddy is not your friend, even if you +think he is. As I warned you, beware of him. He intends evil against +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he has fled,” I remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” she said. “He was with Tuggy when he was shot.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why does Owen hate me so intensely?” I asked her. +</p> + +<p> +“Because of Lisely. It was she who saved your eyesight—she who +defended you against them all. Again, she chose you as bearer of the +Double Nought to him in London—a beautiful piece of pierced +aquamarine, which in the fifteenth century adorned the neck of the +Queen of Matthias Corvinus, King of Hungary, and which His Excellency +annexed three years ago from the Art History Museum in Vienna.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then the Double Nought has some serious significance?” I remarked, +eager for information. +</p> + +<p> +“As you well know, it is of very great and serious meaning among us,” +she replied. “Into whose hands it is given, the command of His +Excellency must be obeyed without question. You, Owen’s rival in +Lisely’s affections, brought it to him from Rome. And since that he +has vowed vengeance upon you.” +</p> + +<p> +I again took up the stolen pearls. The rope was certainly a glorious +one, graduated to a splendid diamond, emerald, and platinum clasp, and +a delicate safety-chain, which was broken. Each pearl shone with a +brilliant lustre and iridescence in the daylight, so different from +the white, silvery-looking imitations so commonly worn. On each pearl +was that wonderful sheen which can be very closely imitated, but can +be detected even by the non-expert eye. +</p> + +<p> +I had never held such a magnificent string of pearls in my hands +before. I ran them through my fingers and examined them, afterwards +placing them upon the polished table. +</p> + +<p> +“I am no thief, Illona,” I said quietly. “I shall return them to their +owner anonymously.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better not,” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Why? It is surely the easiest way out of the difficulty.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what would His Excellency say? All our spoils belong to him. You +are only keeping them in safe custody, until they can be split up, and +distributed in New York, Paris, Brussels, and Buenos Aires,” she +remarked. “No pearls pass from us in the form of the string, as they +come to us. Fresh strings are often made by old Hartley, who lives out +at Streatham Common, out of pearls from a dozen other lots of various +sources. Fresh clasps are put on, and their owners could never +recognize them again. As you know, there are dozens of such strings +which have come through our hands, and are now displayed in the +windows of smart jewelers in Paris and New York.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I can’t keep it there!” I cried, again handling the beautiful +rope. +</p> + +<p> +“You must. You surely don’t want to risk His Excellency’s +displeasure,” she said. “You have enough enemies already.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose they were traced to me?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose pigs could fly,” laughed Illona carelessly, “how long would a +porker take to cross the Atlantic? No, my dear Lionel,” she went on +affably, “you must keep them as they are till His Excellency wants to +sell them. Then you will get your share—a decent one, considering it +was you who pinched them. The good lady is a friend of yours and you +were one of the theatre party. Dotty Lewis taught you the delicate +trick how to touch pearls.” +</p> + +<p> +I stood staggered. +</p> + +<p> +“When will His Excellency relieve me of them?” I asked at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Any day now. They were mentioned at the meeting last Friday, and so +were the Edendon sparklets. They’re going over to Antwerp next week +packed in Turkish delight, to be re-cut. Balling’s kid is taking them +over. He loves Turkish delight on the journey, and the Custom House +noseys never dream that there’s anything wrong with the little round +box he holds in his chubby hand. And if they did examine the stuff, +they’d never believe that in each square of the sticky sweetmeat there +reposed a diamond or two.” +</p> + +<p> +“What game has Lisely been playing in Rome?” I asked suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, a little fifteen-thousand-pound deal,” laughed this queer little +woman. “The wife of the French Ambassador in Rome firmly believes her +rubies to be secure in their case in the safe in her room. But when +she comes to wear them next, she’ll find that they have been +transformed into bits of red glass! Ah, my dear Lionel, from us no +jewels are safe. We are too wide-spread, and are invincible, so long +as we do not quarrel among ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +That the spoils they gained were of enormous value I had seen, indeed, +with my own eyes. How I had received instruction from an expert thief, +and emulated his practices, was the most appalling of thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +From Illona—whoever she might be; my lawful wife or otherwise—I had +learned more in one half hour than I had in all the weeks of my +consciousness. What she had revealed to me gave a clue to many things. +</p> + +<p> +“You have said that in order to come here to me you have run serious +risks,” I remarked presently. “How?” +</p> + +<p> +“They wish to prevent us meeting because they are afraid I may tell +you certain things which may give you a whiphand over them. That is +why I have all along feared that some plot was afoot, led by the man +who so cleverly pretends blindness—the man to whom you carried the +Double Nought.” +</p> + +<p> +“I really don’t understand,” I declared, honestly puzzled. All was so +amazing, so dramatic, and so tragic, now that I found myself—the son +of an ancient and honorable family serving His Majesty’s Foreign +Office—tricked into acting as an expert jewel-thief. +</p> + +<p> +As I looked again into the woman’s painted face, I felt intense +repulsion. Surely she could not actually bear my name. What would the +dear old governor or my friends say? +</p> + +<p> +At that second Teddy, ever merry and buoyant, burst into the room, +saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, old chap, what about a spot of lunch?” +</p> + +<p> +Next second, realizing that I had a visitor, he exclaimed: “Awfully +sorry! Do forgive me.” And, turning, he left, closing the door after +him. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s that fellow?” asked Illona in quick suspicion. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, only a good pal of mine—Teddy Day. He’s a bit of an ass, +perhaps, but quite all right.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t appreciate such interruptions, Lionel,” she said very coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“Neither do I,” I agreed, suddenly aware that the stolen pearls were +lying openly upon the table. Bruce had no doubt let him in, and he had +rushed past him into my room, as was his habit. If he had noticed the +pearls, what then? +</p> + +<p> +From everybody I had withheld the existence of that mysterious, +deformed woman who called me her husband, and I had no great desire to +reveal the fact to even my most intimate friend. +</p> + +<p> +My greatest concern at the moment was how to rid myself of the stolen +pearls. I repeated my intention to return them anonymously to the +owner, but Illona instantly waxed furious, warning me of His +Excellency’s wrath if I dared to do so. +</p> + +<p> +“I will have nothing to do with the affair!” I cried angrily. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s really amusing!” she laughed. “Don’t forget that it was you +who pinched them—just as you did that woman Carslake’s emeralds at +Biarritz. My dear Lionel, you are getting very squeamish nowadays. +Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because, whatever I may have done in the past—according to your +statements—I’m leading an honest life in future.” +</p> + +<p> +“And accepting the checks of Mr. Charles Davis,” she said, with biting +sarcasm. +</p> + +<p> +“Not knowingly,” I declared. “I shall return the money,” I added, in +ignorance, however, of the person to whom I should send it. +</p> + +<p> +“And quarrel openly with His Excellency!” she cried. “My dear Lionel, +that would be utter madness. No! Do as I suggest. Lie low and remain +inactive. I have your interests at heart, as you surely know! Have I +not warned you of your enemies, and I will stick by you, as you stuck +by me in the Tyrell affair. In that we both narrowly escaped going for +a stretch.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Tyrell affair! What was that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lionel, you are getting on my nerves with all this affected +ignorance of yours. Surely you know how Tuggy climbed up to the window +of that old ivy-covered country house of the Tyrell’s, near +Worcester—an easy job. He passed me the contents of the woman’s +jewel-case, while the party were feeding below, and you and I escaped +in a motor car. A constable of the Bath police stopped us, but you +biffed him one in the face and laid him out. Then we went on to +Gloucester, where we abandoned the car and returned to Paddington by +train as two perfectly respectable citizens. But for your prompt +action we should now each be doing three years or so. By Jove! you hit +that copper a knock-out blow!” she added triumphantly. +</p> + +<p> +What she had disclosed was certainly staggering. Surely I could not be +the lawful husband of such an object as she was! +</p> + +<p> +At that moment the telephone bell rang and I was compelled to attend +to it. +</p> + +<p> +The message was from the Foreign Office. Lord Oxenwood, His Majesty’s +Foreign Minister, had left to take the cure at Evian-les-Bains, the +quiet little watering-place on the Lake of Geneva, and urgent +dispatches would have to be sent to him. Would I call for them on the +morning of the day after to-morrow, and leave London by the eleven +o’clock boat-train for Paris? +</p> + +<p> +The request was a command; so, with a sigh, I replied in the +affirmative. Then I rang up the Sleeping Car Company’s office in Pall +Mall, and reserved a compartment on the Orient Express from Calais to +Lausanne. +</p> + +<p> +“So you have to be off again, dear,” the woman remarked, overhearing +the conversation. “Strange that you are going to Lausanne. Of course, +you will cross the lake from there direct to Evian.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is the quickest way,” I remarked, for few men perhaps had a wider +knowledge of Continental travel than I had. +</p> + +<p> +“You will probably call upon His Excellency, eh?” she said. “He will +be extremely pleased if you do, and further, it will place you in his +good books. Though the police of Europe are ever in active search of +him, he lives just now in Lausanne—one of the most cosmopolitan and +most pleasant towns in Europe.” And she gave me an address in the +Avenue de la Gare, a handsome, tree-lined thoroughfare which I knew +quite well. +</p> + +<p> +“And under what name is he known there?” I asked with considerable +interest; for it seemed that the wide-spread gang of criminals was +controlled from Switzerland. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a secret to all but us. As one of us I can tell you, if you +really don’t know it already. Felix Zuroff is now Nicholas Sarasti. +Remember the name, and keep it strictly confidential. His Excellency +never forgives those who betray a secret.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall certainly not forget it,” I replied. “Nicholas Sarasti.” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch23"> +CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE SIX CIRCLES</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">The</span> woman Illona, by this time, had made herself thoroughly at home +in my rooms, for she had passed into my bedroom, where she had +powdered her face and settled her hat. And now, on her return, she +took one of my cigarettes, lit it, and again cast herself into the +arm-chair, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“What cozy quarters you have here, Lionel! I expect when on your long +journeys in those stuffy sleeping-cars you often wish you were in your +own rooms, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sometimes,” I said, with a laugh. “The conductors on the cars make +night traveling as comfortable as they can for me. Most of them know +me, and bring me a cup of coffee at the early morning stopping-place. +Frequently I am unable to sleep, especially on that ill-laid line +between Calais and Bâle, or between Paris and Irun, so I spend the +night reading a book, while long journeys from Calais to +Constantinople I usually spend in bed, except to get up for meals.” +</p> + +<p> +“It must be terribly monotonous for you, poor dear,” she said in a +tone of affection. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but it has its brighter side,” I declared. “A couple of days at +Evian just now, for instance, will not be amiss, except that I have so +much to attend to here at home.” +</p> + +<p> +I was about to replace Lady Rathgormly’s pearls in the hollowed volume +of Voltaire when I saw within a folded paper, which I drew forth with +interest. The paper was thick, and of good texture, and as I opened it +I saw six circles drawn one within the other, as three double +noughts—a circle of musical notes, outside of which were letters in +bold Roman capitals, each against a drawn section, and each +corresponding with a particular musical note. +</p> + +<p> +In order that the reader may follow my discovery I give here a +reproduction of the piece of cartridge paper which I found in the old +volume in which the pearls had been concealed. +</p> + +<figure> +<a href="images/img_245.jpg"><img alt="img_245.jpg" id="img_245" src="images/img_245_th.jpg"></a> +<figcaption> +THE DIAGRAM WITH THE PEARLS. +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p> +As will be noticed, the partitions were drawn at different angles, and +apparently the curious design had been made by a woman’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +“The key!” she cried, the second I opened it. “I could not read the +message Lisely sent you to Kensington Gardens because I foolishly left +my key in Lausanne. Let us read it if you have not already done so.” +</p> + +<p> +“I surely have not,” I alleged, astonished at the find. “Is this the +key to that imitation music?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, how foolish you are, Lionel! Of course it is.” And she snatched +the piece of paper from my hands. +</p> + +<p> +From her handbag she drew forth the piece of music which the girl +Lisely had sent me, by the hands of the manicurist, to Kensington +Gardens. She calculated for a few seconds. Then, with the pencil from +her bag, she quickly deciphered the secret message, placing a letter +beneath each musical note. +</p> + +<p> +As she wrote, I read the message as follows: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“<i>Illona will betray you to the police. She is coming to London with +that object. Beware of her! Trust in me.</i>—<span class="sc">Lisely</span>.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +“The infernal liar!” cried the woman in fierce resentment, her hands +clenched in fury. “What does she mean? Why has she sent you this, +except in order to deceive you, and draw you into still further +entanglements?” +</p> + +<p> +“What entanglements?” I demanded. “Surely there has been enough +mystery already. Through no fault of mine, save my fear of scandal, I +have been compelled to take part in the nefarious operations of an +accursed gang.” +</p> + +<p> +“To your own profit, Lionel dear,” she remarked, with a quiet smile. +“And, besides, His Excellency declares that you’re the most expert +dipper for stones he has ever known—you’ve got such a marvelously +light touch.” +</p> + +<p> +“I certainly didn’t know I have that,” I declared, staring at her. +</p> + +<p> +The discovery of the musical code used by the wide-spread gang +astounded me. It was certainly a marvel of ingenuity, and could be +varied in numberless ways. The “time” shown on the message was one of +the easiest. But any message might be marked with figures of addition, +or subtraction, which would render the message utterly unintelligible, +even though it might be suspected by others, into whose hands it might +fall. +</p> + +<p> +The use of secret inks, combinations of figures and letters, or other +means of confidential correspondence, surely faded into insignificance +as compared with this latest creation of a criminal’s brain. +</p> + +<p> +That distinct warning given me by Lisely made her furious. +</p> + +<p> +“She intends to betray me. That I know!” she declared. “She thinks +that, on account of a slip which Tuggy Wilson made in Paris, I have +been the means of drawing the attention of the police to her lover, +Owen. But,” she added, in a voice full of hatred, “Dufour is not +ignorant of what she has done, and he will see that she gets her just +deserts.” A silence fell between us. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Illona,” I said at last, “you have sworn to be my friend, +as well as my wife. Will you assist me? I beg of you to do so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Assist you? Have I not all along tried to warn you?” she asked. “What +do you require of me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want you to help me out of the strange predicament in which I now +find myself—a tool of that man known as His Excellency.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can I release you?” she asked in dismay. “You have for two years +or more accepted payment, and His Excellency is always inexorable. You +are +</p> + +<figure> +<a href="images/img_248.jpg"><img alt="img_248.jpg" id="img_248" src="images/img_248_th.jpg"></a> +</figure> + +<p class="noindent"> +one of us, my dear, and one of us you will remain,” said the woman, +regarding me with those strange, deep-set eyes. “Only His Excellency +himself can free you from your bond.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whatever promise I made was made while I was unconscious of the +truth,” I affirmed vehemently. “That drug given to me by Lisely Hatten +destroyed my self-will, and rendered me inert, helpless, ignorant of +my true existence.” +</p> + +<p> +The woman smiled grimly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know,” she replied. “You are not the only one. For over two +years I myself remained in a state of mental lethargy, and only six +months ago I recovered to a true sense of my position. Like yourself, +I have acted involuntarily as the tool of others who held me +irrevocably in their power. But Lisely was at least your friend on +that night when you were discovered eavesdropping. She saved your +eyesight at risk of punishment upon herself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then she is really my friend, notwithstanding what you say,” I +remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“She was then—not now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” I asked, remembering our romantic meeting in the deserted +church in Rome, and how in my ignorance I had admired her, and carried +that wonderful piece of aquamarine to Roddy Owen. +</p> + +<p> +She shrugged her shoulders. “Who knows?” she asked. “Women sometimes +contract strange hatreds.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can I rid myself of these pearls?” I begged of her. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you wish to do that? You are not suspected. Besides, His +Excellency may demand them at any moment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it not possible to return them to Lady Rathgormly?” I suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“You could do so. But it would be extremely risky to incur His +Excellency’s displeasure. Don’t you think so? To him alone they +represent eight or nine thousand pounds profit.” +</p> + +<p> +“And he used me as his cat’s paw. My hands stole them—for him, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“His Excellency never does a job himself. Like all leaders of men, he +pays others to do his dangerous work,” she laughed. “Both of us are +his agents.” +</p> + +<p> +“His slaves, you mean!” I cried angrily, flinging the pearls +heedlessly back into the hollow book. +</p> + +<p> +Then she rose quietly, and, taking the little calf-bound volume, +replaced it among the many others upon the shelf, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Let it remain there for the present—until wanted.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if any secret enemy of mine denounces me, the pearls will be +found in my possession!” I cried. “No, I shall return them to their +owner.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not before seeing His Excellency,” she urged. “Call upon him in +Lausanne, and explain your position. He may relent; who can tell? In +any case, he will have sufficient confidence in you, if you give your +word of honor to remain silent.” +</p> + +<p> +“He would not accept my word on that night in Camberwell,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Because you were a stranger, and you were denounced as a police-spy, +which he naturally believed you to be.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I can’t allow the pearls to remain here in my possession! My man +might discover them. Perhaps he already has!” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s not likely to read Voltaire,” she laughed. “But if you prefer +it, why don’t you deposit the string in your bank?” +</p> + +<p> +“An excellent idea!” I cried enthusiastically. “I’ll take them to-day. +But, Illona, I want you to help me in another matter,” I said, leaning +against the table, and lighting the fourth cigarette she had just +taken from my box. +</p> + +<p> +“Get me a drink before we go on, will you dear?” she asked +caressingly. +</p> + +<p> +Immediately I rang for Bruce, who at once mixed us a couple of +cocktails. +</p> + +<p> +“Really,” she remarked, sipping hers, “your man is truly an artist. +One gets such awful concoctions everywhere except at restaurants.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I laughed, when the man had left, “Bruce knows his business, I +think.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what is the other matter?” she asked, lazily watching her +cigarette smoke ascending to the ceiling. +</p> + +<p> +After a moment, I asked with suppressed eagerness: +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ever heard of a girl called Joan Gell, the daughter of old +Mr. Gell, the King’s Counsel?” I paused, looking straight into her +rouged and powdered face. +</p> + +<p> +“The girl whom you promised to marry before you married me?” she +sneered. “Of course. She found out that you were a crook and refused +to become your wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” I gasped, dumbfounded. “She found out that I was a thief?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course she did. You surely remember the quarrel between you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I remember no quarrel,” I declared. “But how did she find me out?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you related the incident to me with your own lips. You were +sitting together side by side in her father’s drawing-room when she +felt something in the pocket of your dinner-jacket, and, playfully +putting her hand in, brought out a very fine diamond and emerald +bracelet, which you had that evening pinched from the Countess of +Edendon. You had been dining at Berkeley Square, and, making an +excuse, had left the table, slipped upstairs, and taken it from her +dressing-table.” +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible!” I cried breathlessly. +</p> + +<p> +“Ask her! You yourself told me how, on discovery of it, she became +mystified, and how three days later she saw in the papers a sketch of +the stolen bracelet, with an offer of three hundred pounds reward for +its return.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then she knows I’m a thief,” I cried despairingly, for surely the +strain of it all was sending me mad. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course she does,” answered the woman, with a triumphant jeer. I +realized the reason, for apparently I had married her while still +remaining engaged to Joan. +</p> + +<p> +Was she lying to me? Did Joan—my Joan—actually know that I was a +crook? Had she accidentally found stolen jewelry in my possession? +Could it be possible? +</p> + +<p> +The woman’s mocking laugh ringing in my ears bewildered me. In any +case, Joan had been engaged to me until the moment she vanished, and +certainly she had never mentioned the matter since I had awakened from +my long period of involuntariness, that spell of fatality, with +actions over which I had had no control. If I had really been a thief, +as Illona alleged, then at least I had acted automatically and +blindly, led by a master-hand—the hand of the man Felix Zuroff, who +now called himself Nicholas Sarasti. +</p> + +<p> +Since that night at Camberwell I had been the shuttlecock of +circumstance, a creature of blind impulses, unwilling and unconscious. +If Joan had actually discovered the shameful truth, it certainly had +made no difference in her affection. What excuse had I given her? I +wondered. How had I explained the presence of the stolen bracelet in +my pocket? +</p> + +<p> +“You mentioned Hilda Bennett a short time ago,” I remarked suddenly. +“She’s in prison now, and her conviction was secured by Joan’s +father.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and some of them swore at the time that the fat old lawyer, who +is paid such big fees by the Treasury for prosecuting people, should +suffer. Hilda’s stretch was far too long. They say the Recorder +overdid it. You see, the police brought up the nasty fact that Hilda +was with Monkey Dick when he was shot in Bloomsbury. Dicky had a +pretty murky record, but I wonder who shot him? I’ve always suspected +Roddy Owen,” said the woman, her sunken eyes set on mine. +</p> + +<p> +Possibly I flinched; but apparently she did not notice it. +</p> + +<p> +“It was revenge, I suppose,” I ventured to remark. +</p> + +<p> +“But did not you admit that it was suspected that you shot him? Hilda +told me so.” +</p> + +<p> +I pretended to treat the matter as a joke, and hastened to assure her +that, as an accusation had been leveled against me that I was in the +employ of the police, I had endeavored to clear myself by declaring I +was suspected, and thus gain time. +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” she said. “Hilda did not recognize you as Dicky’s assailant. +She acted foolishly. When he was shot she ought to have bunked, and +they’d never have known that she was one of us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Illona,” I said, “I suppose you know that Joan has been missing +for weeks, and that her parents are frantic?” +</p> + +<p> +“I heard something about it the other day,” she replied in a rather +cold tone. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think that her disappearance is due to the threat made against +her father?” +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly,” she responded, in a manner which made me suspect that she +knew more about it than she pretended. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Illona,” I cried, “do be honest with me! Do you know +whether Joan is still alive?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think she most probably is,” was her brief reply, as her +thin lips closed almost with a snap. +</p> + +<p> +“You know something!” I exclaimed, advancing towards her determinedly. +“Tell me at once what it is!” +</p> + +<p> +She merely laughed sarcastically, and answered: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t upset yourself, my dear Lionel. Joan’s father did us a bad +turn. I suppose it is only tit for tat, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then she is actually in the hands of the—the gang——” +</p> + +<p> +“Of which you are one, remember!” she interrupted sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“But won’t you tell me what you know, Illona?” I begged of her, +grasping her hand and looking imploringly into her face. +</p> + +<p> +She, however, remained obdurate. Her manner instantly changed, as she +said in a hard, sarcastic tone: +</p> + +<p> +“I am your wife, Lionel. Is it at all likely that I should assist you +to find the girl with whom you are so desperately in love?” +</p> + +<p> +I appealed to her in the name of humanity to give me a clue, however +slight, to the girl’s whereabouts. But she flatly and blankly refused. +</p> + +<p> +Her attitude was so irritating that I could have struck her. I felt +that I could place my hands around her neck and wring from her the +truth, so goaded had I become in those weeks of uncertainty and +mystery. +</p> + +<p> +Her manner and her words told me that she was well aware of Joan’s +fate, but because of her jealousy she refused to utter a word, save to +say: +</p> + +<p> +“I never betray my friends!” +</p> + +<p> +For a further half hour we argued, and high words arose between us. I +fear I was very impolite towards her. But presently, when I saw that +she did not intend to reveal anything more, my agitation grew less, +and I resolved on a policy of silence and watchfulness. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” she exclaimed at last, dabbing her face with her powder-puff, +and gathering up her gloves and bag ready for departure, “I see you do +not intend to invite me out to lunch, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because you are the reverse of friendly, even though you may be my +wife!” was my cutting retort. +</p> + +<p> +“And when are we to be together again?” she asked, with a faint smile +on her made-up countenance. +</p> + +<p> +“Not until you have told me the truth concerning your knowledge of +Joan,” was my firm reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I assure you, my dear husband, that will never be!” she +answered, as she walked out, leaving me standing upon the hearthrug. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch24"> +CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">SOME PLAIN FACTS</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">I ate</span> a hasty sandwich, drank a glass of sherry at the club, and +then took a taxi to a small, rather shabby office in a narrow street +off High Street, Kensington, the registry of marriages for the +district. +</p> + +<p> +The affable clerk whom I saw was disappointing, however. +</p> + +<p> +“If you call at the registry at Somerset House, you can obtain a copy +of the entry made here, sir,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +As I went in, I had been followed by two couples about to be wedded, +attended by two witnesses. Both were of the working class, happy young +men with their smiling brides. I glanced around, but to me the +cheerless surroundings were entirely unfamiliar. I did not remember +ever having been there before. +</p> + +<p> +An hour later I was at Somerset House, amid a bustling throng of +solicitors’ clerks and curiosity-mongers, to whom every now and then a +blue slip of paper was handed out, a certified copy of a marriage, +birth, or death. Every such event occurring in Great Britain, on the +high seas, or abroad, in which a British-born subject is concerned, is +registered in those ponderous volumes preserved there. +</p> + +<p> +In accordance with the directions, I filled up a form, paid the +nominal fee, and awaited the result. +</p> + +<p> +Imagine the tension of those moments. It was to be decided once and +for all if Illona was actually my wife! +</p> + +<p> +Full of keen anxiety I could hardly contain myself, as I paced up and +down before the long window looking out on the great paved courtyard. +It was growing late, and the office was soon closing, hence a dozen or +so clerks, obviously from lawyers’ offices, being known to the +officials, asked favors familiarly. +</p> + +<p> +At last my name was called, and the dark blue slip handed to me—the +copy of the registry of my marriage. +</p> + +<p> +I scanned it breathlessly as I turned away from the counter. It was +certified to be a true copy of an entry made in the marriage register +of the Borough of Kensington on April the eighteenth, the year before, +in which I had apparently described myself as: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“<i>Lionel George Chetwynd Hipwell, bachelor, age 29</i>, of Sackville +Street, Piccadilly, son of Charles Augustus Chetwynd Hipwell, +gentleman.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p class="noindent"> +on the occasion of my marriage to +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“<i>Elizabeth Mary Illona Patrick, spinster, age 39</i>, of Stafford Road, +Notting Hill, daughter of William Henry Patrick, grocer, deceased.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +So my wife was the daughter of a tradesman, who followed the honorable +calling of grocer, and her age was now forty, just ten years older +than my own. Her abode, as given, was not altogether a salubrious +quarter, for Stafford Road, I knew, was on the border of a wretched +slum. Perhaps it was her hiding-place from the police! +</p> + +<p> +I read and re-read that confounding document many times. There was no +doubt. There it was in black and white to hold in any court of law. +</p> + +<p> +Illona was my legal wife! +</p> + +<p> +My hands were tied. In every quarter I looked, I could see no way out +of the <i>impasse</i>. All my efforts on Joan’s behalf were unavailing. And +further, how could I confess myself a thief to Mr. Gell, or even to my +father? +</p> + +<p> +Back at Sackville Street I took the piece of manuscript music from the +drawer into which I had thrown it. Lisely had sent me warning, it was +true. But which was my real friend, Lisely or my unpresentable wife? +</p> + +<p> +That point I had to decide. I sat in the chair where Illona had sat, +and pondered until darkness fell. Within my sight was the +unsuspicious-looking old leather-bound volume containing Lady +Rathgormly’s pearls. Again I took them out and re-examined them. They +were certainly magnificent. I looked at the key to that ingenious +musical cipher, and saw how cleverly it was arranged, so that each day +or each week it could be altered according to arrangement. And who +would suspect a roll of manuscript music passing through the post, +from hand to hand, to be a communication between members of a criminal +association? +</p> + +<p> +Teddy Day looked in just as I was dressing and eagerly inquired who +the “old bird” was that he found me entertaining. “A bit of a +has-been, wasn’t she?” he laughed in his good-humored way, as he sat +on the side of my bed and watched me manipulating my tie. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I said. “She’s a woman I met in Vienna some months ago. She’s +looking for a missing friend and called to ask my advice.” +</p> + +<p> +And with that explanation he was satisfied. Then he forced me to dine +at the Piccadilly with him, and we went to a revue afterwards, though +so little interested in the latter was I that I don’t remember the +name of the piece or the theatre where it was played. +</p> + +<p> +My own thoughts were of Joan. The hateful woman who called herself my +wife knew the truth; but for spite she had refused to reveal a single +fact. In that, she had not shown herself as my friend, hence could +Lisely’s secret warning be actually true? Was it for that reason that +she had succeeded in preventing my meeting Illona? +</p> + +<p> +This theory struck me as the correct one. Yet, when I reflected that I +had all unconsciously received training, and had become an expert +purloiner of women’s jewels, I was staggered. Suppose possession of +those pearls was traced to me, what explanation could I offer? +</p> + +<p> +Such a scandal would be appalling, more especially in regard to my +high official capacity as a servant of His Majesty’s Foreign Ministry. +</p> + +<p> +The more I pondered, the more dangerous the situation became. I had +foes without doubt, and how did I know from hour to hour that I might +not be anonymously denounced? I had not even the opportunity to pay my +enemies the price of their silence. +</p> + +<p> +That night when I returned, Bruce having retired, I again took out the +pearls, and found a small cardboard box without any mark upon it. I +placed them inside, and, having made a neat packet, sealed it with +plain black wax, and was about to address them to their owner, when an +idea suddenly struck me. Instead of doing so, and risking the +displeasure of the man of mystery they called His Excellency, I would +take them to Lausanne with me, and make them an excuse for calling on +him. +</p> + +<p> +My diplomatic valise being immune from Customs examination at Calais, +or at the Swiss frontier at Vallorbe, nobody would know that I had +taken them out of the country, and if I deposited them with Nicholas +Sarasti, as he called himself, my responsibility would then be at an +end. +</p> + +<p> +Next day I rang up Mr. Gell, as usual. He had heard nothing of Joan, +though he had another appointment at Scotland Yard at noon. I dined +with my father at the House that night, and afterwards spent an hour +in the Lobby with my friend Cecil Duncombe, Parliamentary Secretary to +the Foreign Office, retiring early; for I had to be up and on my +journey on the morrow. +</p> + +<p> +At eleven next morning I left Victoria Station by the Simplon-Orient +service, which runs daily by way of Calais, Paris, Lausanne, and up +the Rhône Valley to Brigue, and thence on to Italy—Milan, Venice, +Zagreb, Belgrade, Sofia, to Stamboul—that hot and dusty three day +journey which I knew so well. There were few passengers beyond Paris. +After eating my dinner in the <i>wagon-restaurant</i>, I retired to bed, to +be awakened by the conductor at the Swiss frontier, at half-past five +in the morning. +</p> + +<p> +Soon after six o’clock I alighted into the great new station of +Lausanne—one of the finest and cleanest in all Europe, to find that +the little steamer across the beautiful Lake of Geneva would not leave +for another hour. With its fringe of high mountains, whereon still +remained the snows of the past winter, the lake lay blue and sparkling +in the sunlight. I went into the big buffet, and took my morning +coffee. Afterwards I took a taxi and drove down to the little +landing-stage at Ouchy, surrounded as it is by shady trees and pretty +gardens, so well known to the summer tourist. +</p> + +<p> +Soon the small white steamer, which traverses the lake, to and fro, to +the French shore half a dozen times a day, set out. I found the +morning air gloriously fresh after the oppressive heat of the narrow, +rolling sleeping-car. +</p> + +<p> +As we left the Swiss shore, to cross the eight mile stretch of water, +coming down from the Rhône, I could just discern, far away in the +grey distance on the left, the grim walls and turret of the historic +Castle of Chillon, while the white clusters of houses on the lake-side +showed Vevey, and the popular English resort, Montreux. The morning +was beautiful, the sky was cloudless, and on every side, the Alps +stood forth in all their rugged grandeur—a panorama of lake and +mountain, perhaps one of the finest in all Europe. +</p> + +<p> +Shortly afterwards we reached the little landing-stage of +Evian-les-Bains, world-famed for its mineral springs, and for its fine +Casino which, under the same management as the Municipal Casino at +Nice, is devoted to baccarat. Unlike the garish, uproarious town of +Nice, Evian is a rural, select resort, where people go for repose and +for the cure. Upon the green hill-side, half hidden in the trees, the +great white façades of the <i>hôtels-de-luxe</i> could be seen, each +over-looking the quiet little town, and the wide expanse of placid +water beyond. +</p> + +<p> +Up to one of them, the Hôtel Royal, I took a taxi, and, after +inquiring of the <i>concierge</i>, I soon discovered Lord Oxenwood, a +grey-haired, aristocratic figure in a drab lounge suit, taking his +coffee <i>al fresco</i> beneath a tree, upon the wide flower-embowered +terrace. With him sat my friend Bob Ludlow, his private secretary. +</p> + +<p> +“Hulloa, Hipwell!” exclaimed the Foreign Secretary, with a laugh. He +was one of Britain’s leading statesmen, who had arisen since the war, +to uphold the nation’s prestige abroad. And he had done so, +notwithstanding all the insidious political intrigues of certain of +the Powers. +</p> + +<p> +Outwardly he was a most charming and unassuming man. But in politics +he was stern, unbending, and relentless, as the League of Nations well +knew. +</p> + +<p> +“Up early this morning, eh?” he laughed meaningly. And after I had +handed him the dispatch box, secured by a great black seal which bore +the bold arms of Great Britain, he invited me to join him at coffee. +</p> + +<p> +It was a delightful spot. In the trees the birds were loud in their +songs, while beyond the stone balustrade there stretched the broad, +placid lake, opalescent at that early hour, its waters unflecked, save +for the sail of a stone-barge, and a little streak of distant smoke +showing the steamer on its way up from Geneva to Montreux, and on to +Bouveret, at the head of the sixty-mile-long stretch of waters. +</p> + +<p> +As I chatted with Bob Ludlow I inhaled with delight the fresh air of +the French lake-side after the stuffiness of Piccadilly. Each time I +traveled, I enjoyed the change of air, whether the invigorating +atmosphere of Paris, the <i>dolce far niente</i> of Rome, the fun-impelling +air of Vienna, or the keen mountain air of Berne. +</p> + +<p> +While I chatted with Ludlow, the great statesman opened the dispatch +box with his key, adjusted his gold pince-nez, and slowly digested the +contents of the papers, one after another. +</p> + +<p> +The waiter had brought me my coffee, and as I smoked, Lord Oxenwood, +with the gold pencil attached to his watch chain, scribbled from time +to time remarks in the margin of the documents he was perusing. +</p> + +<p> +“We must write a dispatch to Paris presently, Ludlow,” he remarked +suddenly. “And you must take it by the mail to-night, Hipwell,” he +said, turning to me. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll come back from Lausanne at six, sir,” I said, “and I can catch +the Orient back to Paris.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, do. You’re a living time-table of Continental travel,” laughed +the grey-haired Foreign Secretary. “What a wonderful tourist conductor +you’d make!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Lionel,” said my friend Ludlow. “You’d make quite a success of a +round-the-world trip, I’m sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I only know my routes and times, as every one of my corps knows +them. It is part of our training to travel to a given point in the +quickest possible time, isn’t it?” And, turning to Lord Oxenwood, I +added, “If I had had the dispatch in Lausanne a couple of hours ago, I +could have been in Paris to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not quite so urgent,” was the great Englishman’s reply. “If you +leave to-night, you will be at the Paris Embassy in the morning. That +will be quite early enough for Lord Thornbury to receive my +instructions.” +</p> + +<p> +And he sipped his coffee, gazing thoughtfully across the lake to the +peaks of the distant Jura in the haze. The man whose shoulders bore +the heavy burden of Britain’s complications with the Powers in those +days of sedition and revolution, sighed wearily. And then, after a few +moments, he scribbled some further memoranda on the back of a +document. He was there for rest and recreation, but alas! his brain +was ever at work. Intricate questions of policy and evasion reached +him daily from the representatives of His Majesty at the various +capitals; hence he was practically as busy as when he was at the +Foreign Office, except for those daily conferences, and the approval +of the answers given to questions put in the House. +</p> + +<p> +On glancing at my watch I saw that in a quarter of an hour the boat +would leave on the return journey to Lausanne and, making my excuse, I +caught it. +</p> + +<p> +Just after eleven o’clock I walked up the hill from the railway +station along the Avenue de la Gare, in search of the house where, in +secret, lived the notorious criminal, Felix Zuroff, known in his +hiding-place as Nicholas Sarasti. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch25"> +CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">I MEET HIS EXCELLENCY</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">A steep</span>, tree-lined boulevard of hotels and private residences, upon +the hill-side overlooking Ouchy and the lake, the Avenue de la Gare is +one of the principal streets of the clean, cosmopolitan town of +Lausanne. +</p> + +<p> +The yellow trams pass by incessantly, and there is a never-ending +stream of motor traffic. With my precious little packet of pearls in +my pocket, I went up the thoroughfare of plane-trees in the morning +sunshine, past the Eden, the Jura, and the Mirabeau Hotels, in search +of the house of the notorious but mysterious criminal beneath whose +hateful thraldom I had fallen. +</p> + +<p> +The numbers of the houses became difficult, and the one I sought was +<i>bis</i>. I presently found myself in a small <i>cul-de-sac</i> on the right, +with high blocks of modern flats standing in spacious gardens full of +lilacs, magnolias, roses, and geraniums. Flowers grow profusely in +that mild climate, and in the remote, refined corner, I noticed the +brass-plates of many famous doctors. +</p> + +<p> +Entering a pretty garden, I came to the door of a handsome building, +from a window of which floated the strains of a piano, played by +someone with exquisite touch. Examining the row of letter-boxes in the +hall, I found one marked: “<span class="sc">Sarasti</span>, 2me <span class="sc">Étage</span>.” +</p> + +<p> +Full of excitement and curiosity I ascended to the second floor, and +at the door, which bore a neat bronze tablet, I rang the bell. A +smart, shrewd-eyed young foreigner answered. +</p> + +<p> +I noticed that before I spoke, he surveyed me swiftly. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to see Monsieur Sarasti,” I said in French. +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur Sarasti is not at home,” was the young man’s prompt, but +polite, reply. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to see him on very pressing business,” I urged. “I have +traveled from London to see him,” I went on, and handed him my card. +</p> + +<p> +He glanced at it, regarded me inquiringly for a second, and then, +excusing himself for closing the door in my face, said he would go and +consult his master’s secretary. +</p> + +<p> +In a few moments he returned, saying briefly, “Monsieur will see you,” +and conducted me down a long passage into a spacious, rather +barely-furnished room, which had the appearance of a doctor’s +waiting-room. There were a number of chairs and a quantity of +magazines upon the centre table. +</p> + +<p> +Then I was left alone. The big windows gave a picturesque view over +the gardens, the lake, and the Alps beyond. As I stood gazing out, I +heard someone behind me; and turning, I faced a tall, thin, +lantern-jawed man, immaculately dressed, and smiling benignly. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you please walk this way?” he said, and I followed his footsteps +into a large, luxuriously-furnished salon where, in a deep arm-chair +of crimson silk damask, sat the dark-faced little man whom I so well +remembered on that night in Camberwell. +</p> + +<p> +He nodded coldly and invited me to a chair opposite him. Upon the +tables were great bowls of yellow roses, the perfume of which was +overpowering. I loved roses. But, in that room their scent was, to me +at the moment, quite nauseous. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, and to what do I owe the honor of this visit, Monsieur +Hipwell?” he asked coldly, speaking with a strong foreign accent. His +appearance might have been that of an under-servant at an hotel. He +was uncouth and unwashed. His finger-nails were uncared for and dirty, +and his black beard ragged and untrimmed. And yet, this man, with his +active and ingenious brain, controlled one of the most daring and +successful gangs of motor-bandits in Europe. +</p> + +<p> +And I was one of the few who knew his true identity, a secret that the +police of Europe would give much to learn. I recollect that the drama +of the situation caused me to hesitate. +</p> + +<p> +“I have called to see you on several urgent matters,” I said. “I wish +to be quite frank and open with you, without any unfriendliness, but +rather as one of your friends and assistants.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Bien!</i> That is well,” he grunted approvingly, stirring quickly in +his great crimson chair, in which he sat as though he were a judge. +“We are friends—<i>bien! trés bien!</i> And now further. Continue.” +</p> + +<p> +“First, I wish to hand you these,” I said bluntly, drawing out the +string of fine pearls. +</p> + +<p> +He took them in his hands, ran them slowly through his fingers, and +again grunted approbation. +</p> + +<p> +“Afraid to keep them any longer, eh?” he laughed, with a sarcastic +curl of his lips. “Well, I’m really not surprised. In your position it +would be a bit awkward for your family, and for your Foreign Office at +Downing Street, wouldn’t it—<i>hein?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“That is just my point, monsieur,” I said quickly. “As you well know, +I quite inadvertently stumbled into your private affairs on that foggy +night, and you very naturally believed that girl Hatten’s allegation +that I was a police-spy. By now, however, you surely have established +my innocence—that just by a freak of circumstance I blundered in on +you. Have you yet forgiven me?” I asked very seriously. +</p> + +<p> +“Most certainly I have. I am always just, Monsieur Hipwell. None of +those who were under me have ever accused me of either parsimony or +injustice. We are united to make war upon society, and as comrades we +all share each other’s perils and profits,” he replied quite openly, +in very fair English which had just a trace of Russian accent in it. +</p> + +<p> +His countenance had altered but little since I had seen him in that +small stuffy room in Camberwell, with that great heap of wonderful +jewels piled upon the table before him. +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, he still held Lady Rathgormly’s graduated pearls +caressingly in his fingers, while now and then his expert eye fell on +the larger ones. To me it was amazing that Felix Zuroff, the notorious +criminal, whom his followers called “His Excellency,” was living in +genteel and luxurious surroundings, unsuspected in a foreign city. +Many stories have been afloat of master-criminals living at their +ease, while others in their pay took the risks consequent upon +malpractices. But in my case, I was the actual cat’s-paw of the most +daring and cunning motor-bandit in Europe. +</p> + +<p> +“I have come here, Monsieur Sarasti, to make an appeal to you, to +release me in return for my oath of silence,” I blurted forth at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Release you, monsieur!” he cried, raising himself, and staring +straight at me. “And pray, why should I? You are a very excellent +asset to us. And, besides, you are an expert where women’s necklaces +are concerned. You move in good society in England; hence you are a +very valuable indicator.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indicator!” I echoed, not knowing what he meant. +</p> + +<p> +“You can always indicate where fine jewels are to be found, and at the +same time you can pinch a little yourself off your lady friends you +take out to dances—as you have done so often. Why, I ask, in such +circumstances should I release you?” +</p> + +<p> +For some moments I remained silent. His reply nonplussed me. Then I +found tongue boldly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well—as a matter of fact, Monsieur Sarasti, the drug given to me by +that girl Hatten has lost its potency. I am my true self again!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! That is most unfortunate for you,” he remarked, with a light +laugh. “The influence of the injection usually lasts about four years. +Possibly she gave you an underdose. If so, it was unwise of her.” Then +after a second’s pause, he added: “At least the girl proved herself +your good friend. She did not blind you, as we all believed she had +done.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I have to thank her for leaving my sight unimpaired,” I said with +a sigh of relief. “But I confess to you that the mystery and +uncertainty of my present position is now driving me mad.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t see how there can be any mystery, except what you make of it +yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will tell the truth from the very beginning,” I declared. “On that +night Dicky Rodwell attacked me in Bloomsbury, and in the struggle he +shot himself. Yet that woman Hilda Bennett vowed that I was not the +man. She lied to you, for I swear that—I was! For that very reason I +was hiding from the police in Avenue Road, Camberwell, as I told you +that night, in the same house where Lisely Hatten lived. She believed +me to be a police-spy, never dreaming that I was fleeing from the +police.” +</p> + +<p> +The desperate motor-bandit looked into my eyes with his. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this really true, Monsieur Hipwell?” asked the man, rising from +his chair, evidently suddenly intrigued. +</p> + +<p> +“I declare on my oath that every word I have said is the absolute +truth!” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you shot Rodwell?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. He tried to kill me, and in doing so shot himself,” I asserted. +“I am no murderer! He was ill-treating the woman, and because I +interfered, as any man would, he attacked me. That’s all!” +</p> + +<p> +The low-browed man passed his big sallow hand down his dark beard, and +held it for a few seconds in thought. +</p> + +<p> +“Rodwell was a damned cur!” he blurted forth at last. “I have since +discovered that on the night in question he was on his way to Vine +Street Police Station to give me away. We had had, that afternoon, a +little difference about a set of fine stones we got from outside the +Ritz in Paris. He struck me in the face and I swore that I would never +forgive him. Hilda knew his intentions, and, as they walked together, +she was trying to dissuade him from defying me and giving me away to +the police. Then you suddenly appeared upon the scene, and through +you, he, fortunately for me, closed his own lips!” +</p> + +<p> +The bandit hesitated for a second, and then in sudden enthusiasm he +put out his hand, exclaiming warmly: +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur Hipwell, in that case it is to you I owe my narrowest +escape! Now let us talk further. Please explain exactly what occurred +on that night.” +</p> + +<p> +I did so, relating the whole tragic occurrence, just as I have already +related it in the opening of this narrative of fact. +</p> + +<p> +With his hairy chin upon his hand, he listened without uttering a +word. I recalled how that thin, claw-like hand would instantly draw an +automatic and shoot any adversary without compunction. Indeed, I knew +only too well what a desperate malefactor he was, and how, in the many +brushes he had had with the French police five years before, he had +always managed to escape after showing desperate fight. In one affair +near Tours, he had killed a <i>gendarme</i> and wounded two others, +afterwards getting safely away. So elusive was he, such an adept at +disguises, and so loyal were his accomplices, that he had always +escaped arrest. +</p> + +<p> +I spoke of the atmosphere of mystery in which I was compelled to live, +as I glanced round his pleasant, sunlit room. “I am sorely puzzled to +discriminate between my enemies and my friends. Can you help me?” I +asked him. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely it is not difficult, Monsieur Hipwell. I fear that your worst +enemy is your wife,” he said, calmly looking into my face. +</p> + +<p> +“Illona! Is she actually my enemy?” I gasped, astounded at his words. +</p> + +<p> +“I should safeguard myself against her if I were you,” was his quiet +reply. “I happen to know that she has evil intentions towards you. As +you have served me well, I tell you in strict confidence the plain +truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“But with what object?” I demanded. “As far as I know I have done +nothing against her. Indeed, it is only two days ago I realized that +she was actually my wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you are not careful she will give you away to the police,” said +the master-criminal. “It is therefore very fortunate for you that you +decided to bring the pearls here, or they might have been found in +your possession, or at your bank.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why is it that this woman hates me?” +</p> + +<p> +“She is jealous of a girl named Joan Gell, whom they say you promised +to marry before you married her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Joan has disappeared, so I take it that she has had a sinister hand +in it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know nothing of the details, but I certainly should suppose so,” +was the great crook’s reply. +</p> + +<p> +“I am here to beg for your assistance, Monsieur Sarasti. How can I +find her?” I implored of the low-browed, dark-faced scoundrel. +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head gravely. Though a criminal and an assassin, he was, +however, in no way antagonistic towards me. Perhaps it was on account +of Rodwell’s death. +</p> + +<p> +“I fear I can give you no help. The matter is private vengeance on +your wife’s part. In such circumstances I cannot interfere.” +</p> + +<p> +“Joan’s father, a barrister, prosecuted Hilda Bennett,” I remarked. +“Is it because of that the girl has been spirited away from her home?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think not, for I have knowledge that Illona uttered threats against +you both six months ago. She has apparently carried out her threat +against your girl friend, and now she intends to betray you.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I am helpless!” I cried in despair. “What reply can I make to the +charges she may bring against me?” +</p> + +<p> +Felix Zuroff was silent for a few moments. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps it is the woman’s intended revenge that your friend Mr. Gell +shall appear in court, and actually prosecute his daughter’s fiancé!” +he remarked at last. +</p> + +<p> +“But do give me advice,” I begged of him. “What can I do in order to +save myself?” +</p> + +<p> +The desperate bandit again reflected for a few moments. +</p> + +<p> +“If she carried her threat into execution, then your arrest would, in +all probability, place us all in peril,” he remarked slowly, as though +speaking to himself. “No, she must remain silent. Lisely Hatten is +your good friend, and has always been. You may trust her.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how can I defy Illona?” I demanded eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +The man’s dark face changed. I saw a hard, stern look on his +countenance. +</p> + +<p> +“I will see to it,” he muttered, and, crossing to the writing-table, +he unlocked a drawer, and took out a well-worn little wallet, +withdrawing from it a piece of folded cartridge paper upon which I saw +was drawn a circle of musical notes, the three double noughts similar +to my own. +</p> + +<p> +Taking out a scrap of music paper, he rapidly wrote several bars of +music, after referring carefully to the key. At the end, he drew a +peculiar sign, evidently a mark well known to his accomplices, and +then, folding it, told me to deliver it to her in London at the +earliest moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Alas, I have no knowledge of her address,” I said in dismay. +</p> + +<p> +He referred to the wallet into which he had replaced the circular +musical design, and a moment later said: +</p> + +<p> +“She stays with a man named Owen when in London. At present he is +lodging with Bob Whittaker at Beverley Villa, Sheen Lane, close to +Mortlake Station, and she is no doubt there also.” +</p> + +<p> +I scribbled the address upon my shirt-cuff, and taking the precious +piece of music, which I knew to be an order which the woman dare not +disobey, folded it and placed it securely in my pocket-book. +</p> + +<p> +“If the man Owen is Roddy Owen, then he was the last man seen with +Joan,” I remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. He is Roddy Owen and is lying low on account of an unfortunate +affair at Fulham, in which our comrade Tuggy Wilson was shot dead by +some unknown person, who had a secret grudge against him. Dufour was +suspected, but he was innocent, as he was a great friend of Tuggy’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can Owen have had any hand in Joan’s disappearance, do you think?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! How can we tell?” he replied, with a mysterious grin. “In my +position I can have no interest in the private quarrels of any of my +friends. I order, while they obey. That is all!” and in his dark eyes +shone a strange, evil glint. +</p> + +<p> +Before I took my leave I again begged of him to release me, but his +only reply was: +</p> + +<p> +“I have given you an order for your release from your most dangerous +enemy, Monsieur Hipwell. For the present that must suffice!” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch26"> +CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">WITHOUT PREJUDICE</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">That</span> afternoon I recrossed the lake to Evian-les-Bains amid a crowd +of English tourists, and after tea at the Royal, Lord Oxenwood gave me +back the well-filled dispatch box to take to Downing Street, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“I expect you’ll have to come out again next week. But I shall be at +Geneva, as I am attending the League of Nations next Friday.” +</p> + +<p> +He also gave me the dispatch for the Ambassador in Paris, and a box of +fresh flowers to take to Lady Oxenwood in Grosvenor Square. +</p> + +<p> +At seven o’clock I was back in Lausanne where I dined at the Café +Central up on the Place St. François. Afterwards I watched the +dancing until eleven o’clock. Leaving then on the homeward bound +Simplon-Orient express, I arrived in Paris next morning, and delivered +the dispatch to a secretary from the Embassy. It was seven o’clock the +next evening when I arrived in London. +</p> + +<p> +The curious fact frequently struck me how, during my period of +unconsciousness, I had been appointed to that highly responsible post +of King’s Foreign Service Messenger. For many months I had traveled +constantly hither and thither, at the same time leading a criminal +life of which I had not the slightest knowledge, except what from time +to time I had been able to gather from my undesirable associates. +</p> + +<p> +What would the world have said if it had been known that the secrets +of Great Britain’s diplomacy were being entrusted to an expert thief +of women’s jewels? +</p> + +<p> +As soon as Bruce opened my door I knew by his scared face that +something was wrong. +</p> + +<p> +“The police were here yesterday, sir,” he said, “and they came again +to-day. They were here at five o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +“The police!” I gasped, thoroughly taken aback. “Who?” +</p> + +<p> +“Two detectives, sir. They were very anxious to see you. They showed +me a search warrant, and then went over everything. They had all the +books down from the shelves, and opened everything.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what did they find?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing, sir. But it’s queer, isn’t it? Why did they get a search +warrant, I wonder? Do they think you are a thief?” +</p> + +<p> +“How can I tell, Bruce?” I laughed, remembering with satisfaction how, +after taking the pearls from the hollow book, I had destroyed the +latter, and had placed the key to the musical cipher in my +pocket-book. +</p> + +<p> +One serious fact was now quite plain. Illona had forestalled me, and +had already given information to the police, believing that Lady +Rathgormly’s pearls were still in their hiding-place. +</p> + +<p> +The bitter vindictiveness of the woman who called me husband I now +realized, and in fury I at once took the train down to Mortlake. +Without much difficulty I found Beverley Villa, a small detached +modern house, the hall of which was badly lit. My ring was answered by +a slatternly young girl, of whom I asked for Mr. Whittaker. At the end +of the narrow passage appeared a dark, curly-haired man in his +shirt-sleeves, who came forward rather pugnaciously, I thought. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Whittaker?” I inquired politely. “I have called to see Illona,” I +added in a low voice: “I have a message from—from His Excellency.” +</p> + +<p> +The man looked me up and down suspiciously. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” he asked, with a distinct Cockney twang. +</p> + +<p> +For answer I took out the paper with the double noughts and musical +notes on it. +</p> + +<p> +Instantly that satisfied him, for he conducted me to a small, +cheaply-furnished back sitting-room on the first floor, where I found +Illona wearing a soiled <i>négligé</i> gown of pale pink silk. +</p> + +<p> +“You!” she gasped, starting up, and staring at me astounded. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” I cried anxiously. “So you have already commenced your devil’s +work against me, have you? But two can play at this game. Read that!” +</p> + +<p> +And I pushed into her face the bars of music which His Excellency had +scribbled and signed. +</p> + +<p> +“Here is the key, if you want it,” I laughed gloatingly, placing my +own key into her hand. “Read it, you traitor, and take heed what you +do!” +</p> + +<p> +In a few minutes, by reference to the six circles, she realized what +order the master-criminal had issued; for, I watched her face go pale +as death. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I——” +</p> + +<p> +“I want no explanation,” I cried. “His Excellency has given me that to +convey to you. The future is now your own affair.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Lionel!” she cried. “I did not mean to——” +</p> + +<p> +“You meant to cause my arrest,” I shouted at her in anger. “But I defy +you! His Excellency will deal with you as he thinks fit, never fear. +Any one of us who betrays the other pays the penalty, and that is upon +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I swear that I did not mean any harm. I was forced to——” cried the +hideous, distorted woman, white to the lips, and staggering. +</p> + +<p> +“His Excellency, I know, is aware of more concerning you than you ever +dream,” I said, as laughing defiantly in her face, I turned and left +that dark, mysterious abode of thieves. +</p> + +<p> +She darted out after me, and taking my coat-sleeve, pulled me back +into the passage. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” she asked. “What has His Excellency told you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only that you are my bitterest enemy, and now you have proved it and +treated me as such,” was my harsh reply. “The police have searched my +rooms.” +</p> + +<p> +“And they have found nothing,” she said. “Therefore why worry +further?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t,” I said. “It is for you now to worry, I think. His +Excellency means what he says, remember.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it is too late,” she screamed. “I can’t draw back now. I was a +fool—an accursed fool.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I said. “I think you were. Good night,” and I left her standing +half fainting in the doorway. Whatever cryptic message Felix Zuroff +had written in that code of music, it had had a most startling and +crushing effect on her. Her face became haggard and drawn, with her +eyes starting wildly out of her head. She appeared to be absolutely +frozen with horror. +</p> + +<p> +Back in Sackville Street an hour later, it then being nearly midnight, +I wondered if I should receive another visit from the police. Nothing +had been found. And, in that case, I could see no reason why they +should arrest me. Nevertheless, the position had become full of +gravest peril. Probably the woman Illona had denounced me by means of +an anonymous letter. If so, Scotland Yard would probably act with both +hesitancy and discretion. +</p> + +<p> +If a statement had been made that Lady Rathgormly’s pearls were +concealed in my room, then naturally the search warrant granted by the +magistrate at Marlborough Street Police Court, allowed them to pry +into my belongings. Quite certain it was that Illona would never dare +to go to the police openly, and denounce me, as it would be far too +dangerous a procedure for her. No, as I sat far into the night +reflecting over the events of the last forty-eight hours, I arrived at +the conclusion that my official position would satisfy the police that +I was no thief. +</p> + +<p> +By my conversation with the most notorious motor-bandit Europe had +known, I had learned one very important fact, namely, the hiding-place +of Roddy Owen, who had so cleverly slipped through the hands of the +police from Harrington Court. At half-past nine next morning, I called +at Queen’s Gate, and told Mr. Gell of the fellow’s address, without, +however, explaining how I had become possessed of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Excellent, my dear Lionel!” he cried enthusiastically. “The +information is most important, for it will enable the C.I.D. to take +up the case again. Come down to Scotland Yard with me.” +</p> + +<p> +This I did. The Assistant Commissioner had not arrived, but we saw +Superintendent Nethersole—one of the “Big Four”—who was an intimate +friend of Mr. Gell’s, and who gave orders which resulted in two +detectives being told off to keep strict observation upon the house in +Sheen Lane, and its fair-haired male lodger. +</p> + +<p> +Superintendent Nethersole’s attitude towards me, however, struck me as +distinctly peculiar. I had never met him before, but he inquired if I +were Mr. Hipwell, the King’s Messenger, and if I lived in Sackville +Street. Was it possible that under his instructions my rooms had been +searched? I felt confident that it was so—hence the situation became +further extremely awkward. +</p> + +<p> +I walked out into Parliament Street with the extreme satisfaction of +knowing that wherever Owen went in the future he would be closely +watched. Mr. Gell continued in his car to the Law Courts, while I +strolled back home across St. James’s Park. +</p> + +<p> +I found a middle-aged, well-dressed man awaiting me in my room. He +introduced himself as Inspector Jerrold of the C.I.D., and he said +apologetically: +</p> + +<p> +“We think, sir, that it is only right to explain the reason we +searched your apartments during your absence the day before yesterday, +and why we also made inquiries at your bank, and examined what you +have there in safe custody. At Scotland Yard a letter posted in Paris +was received, alleging that the pearls, stolen from Lady Rathgormly +some time ago, were in your possession—concealed in a hollow book.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” I laughed, “I hope you found them!” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not, sir,” replied the police officer. “From the first it +was considered a wild and improbable story. But we were compelled to +do our duty and investigate. I have been sent by the Superintendent to +apologize to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Superintendent who?” +</p> + +<p> +“Superintendent Nethersole at the Yard, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I smiled. The reason was now plain, why he had evinced such an +interest in me. +</p> + +<p> +“I expect you have some secret enemy sir, eh? Oh, you’ve no idea how +many foolish and unfounded denunciations we receive against perfectly +innocent people,” the inspector said. “There are so many mad people +about nowadays. In every case of murder, we always get dozens of false +accusations against the supposed culprit. In the Bow Road affair last +month, for instance, no fewer than fifty-eight different people were +accused as the assassin—mostly by anonymous letter-writers.” +</p> + +<p> +“As long as I’m not proved to be a jewel-thief, Mr. Jerrold, I think +we may allow the matter to rest, eh?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“I think so, sir,” he laughed. Then, politely but firmly refusing a +whiskey-and-soda I offered him, he wished me good morning, and I admit +that I felt greatly gratified when the door closed behind him. +</p> + +<p> +Certainly I had had a most narrow escape from arrest. The whole affair +naturally caused a most intense hatred and loathing to arise within me +against my treacherous wife Illona, who, while declaring her extreme +solicitude for me, at the same time had acted as my most bitter and +dangerous enemy. Yet by the drastic action of His Excellency—whatever +it was—her game had now been spoiled. She feared me, I knew. Why? Was +it because she anticipated reprisals? +</p> + +<p> +The one vital point which annoyed me to desperation was, that I had in +my unconscious state actually married such a painted-up freak. I was +wondering whether my marriage could be annulled. I doubted it, for to +all intents and purposes I had been quite sane and of sound mind, when +I had stood before the Registrar. There would be a hundred people to +come forward and declare that I was quite sane and normal. In the +papers I had seen reports of many marriage contracts, which the court +after evidence had declared null and void. But in my own case, I knew +too well that I had been at the time existing in a dream, induced by +that baneful drug which had been injected into my veins, causing me to +become a criminal and a jewel-thief. +</p> + +<p> +If I told my story in the Divorce Court, people would only laugh at +me. And such a thought caused me a deep and most terrible depression. +</p> + +<p> +Even if I succeeded in finding poor Joan alive, I could never marry +her, tied as I was to that ugly, done-up traitor, that habitual +criminal who had proved herself my worst enemy. +</p> + +<p> +Three days went by. I had been out for an afternoon stroll, and had +called on a family named Fleming in Upper Brook Street, where I had +tea when, on returning, Bruce told me that Mr. Gell wished to see me +at the Temple as soon as possible. +</p> + +<p> +I took a taxi to Fleet Street and was soon shown into the dull, +time-dimmed chambers of the eminent King’s Counsel. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Lionel,” began the burly lawyer, who had just come across +from court, and still wore his silk gown. “Your information has +brought forth fruit. Nethersole found me in court this afternoon, and +tells me that through watching Owen they have found Dufour and his +wife. You remember they fled mysteriously from Finlay Street in +Fulham. They are now in hiding in a house in Windsor Terrace up at +Hoxton, a very low neighborhood, I believe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dufour is a thief, no doubt.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. He was, like Owen, an associate of Tuggy Wilson. The +police are greatly gratified, as they have come across quite a little +nest of men they have long wanted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, if we only could obtain news of poor Joan!” I cried. “To +rediscover Dufour is not of very great interest, is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. But to find Owen is. The police have been making a quantity of +diligent inquiries about him and a woman who is lodging at the same +house at Mortlake, and it is quite possible there may be some dramatic +arrests in the immediate future.” +</p> + +<p> +“Arrests?” I gasped, for if Illona were arrested she would attribute +it all to me, and would certainly incriminate me. +</p> + +<p> +In a flash I realized the extreme seriousness of the situation. +</p> + +<p> +“You seem surprised, Lionel,” said Mr. Gell. “But as a matter of fact +I believe arrests are to be made to-night. I have promised to go up to +Hoxton with Nethersole. You’d better come with me. I should be glad to +see Owen in the dock; for, we might then learn something of interest. +I’m meeting Nethersole at the Yard at half past nine. Dress rough, as +I shall, and come along,” he urged. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch27"> +CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE SHOP-WINDOW CLUE</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Dressed</span> in an old suit of Bruce’s, a pair of my oldest shoes, and +wearing a golf cap and a flannel shirt without a collar, I presented a +rough appearance as I entered the paved court before the big building +known as New Scotland Yard, where Mr. Gell, attired in a butcher’s +blue overall, and wearing a battered straw hat, which is the fashion +of vendors of meat, awaited me. +</p> + +<p> +“I think we’re in for some excitement to-night,” he said, in a low +voice. “Nethersole says that if Owen is there and is cornered, he will +probably show fight, so I’ve brought my pistol.” +</p> + +<p> +“So have I,” I replied, feeling my trusty automatic in my hip-pocket. +“I always carried it, too, on my journeys on the Continent.” +</p> + +<p> +“The inquiries the police have made during the past month have proved +that the little coterie in Hoxton are connected with a big gang of +Continental thieves. The woman Bennett was one of them, without a +doubt,” remarked my companion. +</p> + +<p> +“But what is the use of it all if we cannot find Joan?” I asked +despondently, for I must here confess that I trembled to think of the +consequences for me if Illona were arrested and disclosed the truth. +</p> + +<p> +A closed blue Buick stood in the courtyard close by, and a few seconds +later Superintendent Nethersole—whom I had difficulty in recognizing +as a pallid, consumptive-looking, ill-dressed man—together with three +common laborers, emerged. And together we entered the conveyance, +truly a rough looking party of hard-working denizens of the East End. +</p> + +<p> +“O’Gorman, who is on duty, has just telephoned to say that Owen and +Dufour are spending the evening together and that they have gone round +to the bar of the King’s Arms, in the City Road,” Nethersole explained +to Joan’s father as the car swung into Parliament Street. “We ought to +make a good haul to-night. But our chief concern is to clear up the +mystery as to who killed that young expert thief, Tuggy Wilson. Dufour +was discharged, but there are still suspicions. The court dismissed +him on account of insufficient evidence. But he can be arrested again, +if we so decide.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has anyone squealed?” asked Mr. Gell, using the thieves’ expression +for giving information. +</p> + +<p> +“Some woman has—but it was only a woman’s hatred,” he replied, +glancing at me. And I felt very uncomfortable, to say the least. +</p> + +<p> +“I feel certain that Owen knows the whereabouts of Joan Gell, dead or +alive,” I said quickly. “We have to wring the truth from him. Poor +girl! She must have suffered the tortures of the damned in these many +weeks.” +</p> + +<p> +“If Owen knows anything he shall be made to divulge it, I assure you, +Mr. Hipwell,” declared the Superintendent. “Leave that to us,” he +added confidently. +</p> + +<p> +Along Theobald’s Road, the Clerkenwell Road, and Old Street we went +until, at last gaining the busy City Road, we pulled up at the corner +of Shepherdess Walk, not far from the blue lamp denoting the +police-station. Nethersole alighted and, with one of his sergeants, +strolled farther along the City Road to the corner of a narrow +working-class thoroughfare, Windsor Terrace. Presently, from the +shadow emerged a loafer who spoke a few hurried words to the +Superintendent, and then ambled off. The man was Sergeant O’Gorman, +whose duty had been to keep observation upon the house. +</p> + +<p> +Turning back to us, Nethersole said: +</p> + +<p> +“Owen and Dufour are still over there in the public-house. We’ll wait +a bit and surround the house when they go back, as they are sure to do +at closing-time. I’ve got a warrant for Owen charging him with being +an accessory to the murder of Wilson. And we want Dufour because his +description resembles that of the man who broke a pane of glass in the +window of Appleyard’s, the jewelers in Old Bond Street, six months +ago, while another man seized a tray of rings and got away in a car. +They were no doubt working together. The man who took the tray was +noticed by two passers-by, and I have a shrewd suspicion when I put +Mr. Owen up for identification, he will be found to be the thief. They +are all a pretty expert lot.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, leaving us, he meandered away, while the sergeant with him +crossed to the King’s Arms to have a drink and watch the wanted men, +who were all unsuspicious that they had been traced to their humble +hiding-place. +</p> + +<p> +With Joan’s father I paced the streets unnoticed in the crowd of +hurrying passers-by. None of us dared to enter the police-station; +for, in the lower-class neighborhoods there are a hundred suspicious +eyes on the alert for officers of the law in plain clothes. +</p> + +<p> +Windsor Terrace did not bear the best of reputations. Many a thief or +pilferer had been arrested there. Too, it was the abode of more than +one pickpocket known to the police by previous convictions. +</p> + +<p> +An hour full of suppressed excitement went by. At last the burly +sergeant of the C.I.D. emerged from the public-house and went off in +the opposite direction, subsequently doubling back, and meeting us +outside the hospital in the City Road. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re still there, sir,” he reported to his chief. “Another man is +with them; but he is a stranger to me. They’ve just bought a bottle of +whisky, so they’ll be going home with it in a minute.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anything of any womenfolk?” asked Nethersole. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir. But I’ve overheard something they’ve been discussing. I +believe it’s quite right about Appleyard’s, and that if we search, +we’ll find the stuff at the house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Splendid, Rayner!” declared the Superintendent. “Fade out now, but be +in reach when we go to the house.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, sir,” replied the man, and he slunk away and quickly +disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Rayner is an excellent fellow—and has very long ears,” Nethersole +remarked to us, and as I looked around I saw two of the men whom we +had brought from the Yard waiting for a motor bus. A moment later they +boarded it and went off. +</p> + +<p> +I was surprised, but Nethersole remarked that the pair had evidently +been observed and had gone. Ten minutes later they returned +separately. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly from where we stood, we noticed another man come out of the +King’s Arms and stand in hesitancy on the curb. As he did so he wiped +his brow with a white handkerchief and then went off. +</p> + +<p> +Nethersole’s quick eyes saw the signal, which told him that the men +they wanted were about to come out. +</p> + +<p> +Two minutes later they did so. I recognized both Owen and Dufour in +the distance. With them was another man, tall and rather older, as far +as I could discern. +</p> + +<p> +At once they were followed at a respectful distance by one of the men +who had exercised the ruse of leaving on the motor bus. We turned and +walked away in the opposite direction. Presently we were overtaken in +the crowd by the man who had come out of the bar and wiped his +forehead. Addressing his chief, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“All O.K., sir! They’re inside, and Sergeant Rayner is on duty. The +third man they call Harry, and I overheard him tell Owen something +about a woman—evidently a friend of theirs—that she might ‘peg out’ +very soon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is the man known?” asked Nethersole quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir. None of us knows him. He’s got a motor-bike in front of the +house. So he doesn’t live here.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s evidently a friend of Owen’s. When he gets away on his bike, our +car will follow him. See to that. We may want him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is to go, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perry and Denham will go—with Rayner in charge.” +</p> + +<p> +“May I go also?” I asked, eager for a chase. I saw that Owen and +Dufour were to be arrested, and to follow the stranger would certainly +be exciting. +</p> + +<p> +“If you wish, Mr. Hipwell,” replied the pallid-looking man whom none +would recognize as one of the “Big Four” of Scotland Yard. +</p> + +<p> +“And I’ll go too,” said Mr. Gell. “You’ll no doubt deal with Dufour +and his friend.” +</p> + +<p> +Nethersole smiled, and then we turned and made our way back along the +short street of drab, dilapidated old homes known as Windsor Terrace. +As we approached, two other men came to meet us. Signals were given, +and with two other men they retired into the shadows of adjacent +doorways. +</p> + +<p> +Outside the house there stood a fast “Indian” motor-cycle with its +lamp lit, while at the end of the street, where we approached from the +City Road, stood our car with the chauffeur, who had already received +instructions. +</p> + +<p> +While we drew back Nethersole ascended the steps and knocked loudly at +the door, two of his own men standing close behind him. After several +repeated knocks the door was at last opened, and the three men from +Scotland Yard rushed into the dark passage. +</p> + +<p> +Next moment we heard rapid automatic shots and the loud scream of a +woman—probably Dufour’s wife. +</p> + +<p> +In a flash pandemonium was at its height. +</p> + +<p> +At once two other detectives ran into the house and from nowhere there +appeared a constable in uniform guarding the door. The raid had +certainly been well arranged, to the minutest detail. +</p> + +<p> +Already we were near the car when we saw a tall figure exit hurriedly +up the area steps from the basement, mount the motor-cycle, and speed +away. Seeing that our car was turned in the opposite direction, I +cried out that we should lose sight of him. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir. I don’t think we shall,” replied the well-trained police +chauffeur, who knew all the main roads of London like a map. “He’ll no +doubt get out on to the New North Road and into the country. We shall +overtake him very soon, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, as we all jumped in, the car quickly sped back along the City +Road to the New North Road and was soon traveling at high speed +towards the Holloway Road. We were quickly at Holloway Station, but +had seen no sign of the fugitive. Therefore our chauffeur slackened +speed, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“He won’t think he is being followed. He’ll pass us in a minute or +two, and then he’ll believe us to be an ordinary party on the road.” +</p> + +<p> +His prophecy proved true; for, within a few moments the fast “Indian” +passed us traveling at about thirty miles an hour, and upon it was the +escaping suspect. +</p> + +<p> +In a moment we were after him, allowing him to get well ahead of us. +He accelerated wherever he could. And, as there was but little traffic +on the road at that hour, we soon found ourselves going through St. +Albans and on our way to Dunstable, strangely enough on the same road +over which I had traveled with my two friends, the lorry-drivers, on +the night of my great misfortune. Up the long main street of Dunstable +we passed, and then out on the straight road leading to Fenny +Stratford. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder where the fellow is bound for,” asked Mr. Gell, as he sat +resignedly in the back of the car at my side. +</p> + +<p> +“And I’m wondering what dirty work has been done in Windsor Terrace,” +I remarked. “Nethersole had an inkling that they would show fight.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Both of them are safe in Shepherdess Walk Police Station by this +time,” he said with a laugh. “Trust Nethersole to take care of himself +and his men. Our chief interest just now is in this fleeing stranger. +Who can he be, and where is he bound for?” +</p> + +<p> +“He may turn off the road,” remarked Sergeant Rayner. “If so we can’t +follow in the car. It would arouse his suspicions and he wouldn’t go +to his destination. If he does that, we must descend and travel on +foot. We shall find his bike outside some house or other.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you orders to arrest him?” asked Mr. Gell. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly I have, sir. We only want to know who he is, and where he +lives. That’s why we’re here. My orders are to arrest him on suspicion +of being implicated in the theft at Appleyard’s.” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, on arrival at the dark little village of Hockliffe, where +the road from Bedford to Aylesbury crosses the main road from London +to Birmingham, the fugitive turned off to the right towards Woburn. +</p> + +<p> +Noticing this, our driver, an expert in following a car, slowed down. +“This road leads past Battlesden up to Woburn and Northampton,” he +said. “Shall we follow quietly?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Rayner, who had been placed in charge. “Put out your +lights and creep along after him.” +</p> + +<p> +This we did, and as we descended a hill, we heard the noise of his +engine. Without slackening, he went on. Indeed, across the brow of the +hill we saw his lights in the distance. Then our driver speeded up, +his eyes keen before him in the chase. +</p> + +<p> +We were afraid lest our turning off the main road after him might not +arouse his suspicions. In that case we should never trace him to his +home. +</p> + +<p> +Proceeding slowly, the driver suddenly exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“He’s stopped down in the hollow yonder. Or else he’s had a breakdown. +I think it best if you all got down and took a walk. If he goes on +I’ll follow and pick you up.” +</p> + +<p> +“I agree,” replied the expert detective Rayner. “He can’t get over the +brow of the next hill to Woburn without being heard or seen.” +</p> + +<p> +So, we all alighted and went along at a good pace in the half-light of +the crescent moon. The whole countryside was in silence, save now and +then the hoot of an owl in the oaks by the roadside. From far off came +the sound of heavily-laden lorries, going to and fro, on the main road +to the North. +</p> + +<p> +As we walked, there was a slight breeze. And above us the leaves rose +and fell with a noise as of lazily-lapping waves upon a sandy shore. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch28"> +CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE DARK HOUSE</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">From</span> somewhere a church clock struck midnight as we went together +along the silent country road, lit only by the pale light of the +waning moon. +</p> + +<p> +We conversed in whispers. In the still night air human voices carry +far. Our driver remained behind with the car, and with him Rayner +fixed a rendezvous. If he heard a pistol-shot he was to come instantly +in search of us. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m certain he has stopped somewhere near here,” Rayner said to Mr. +Gell. “We can only hope that he has left his bike outside.” +</p> + +<p> +We climbed the hill eagerly and gazed down the road, but there was, +alas! no light to indicate the presence of a motor-cycle. All was +quiet and deserted. In the far distance we heard the hum of a motor +car on another road. But nothing else disturbed the rural silence. +</p> + +<p> +Quietly we proceeded down the hill when, of a sudden, we came to a +good-sized, detached cottage standing in a small orchard, the only +habitation in the vicinity. +</p> + +<p> +Obeying Rayner, who quickly held up his hand, we halted while he crept +forward, stepping noiselessly over the grass at the roadside. +</p> + +<p> +Five minutes later he returned to us, exclaiming in a low voice: +</p> + +<p> +“He’s here! His bike is under the portico. I can hear voices, but the +place is in darkness. Now, I think the best trick is for you, Dick, to +go there and pretend you’ve lost your way,” he said, addressing his +colleague from the Yard. “You look like an honest working-man,” he +added, with a light laugh. “Get the door open, and we’ll rush it, +light or no light. I’ve got my torch.” +</p> + +<p> +“So have I,” declared the stalwart detective addressed as Dick. “We’ll +get him all right, never fear.” +</p> + +<p> +“There may be a bit of a scrap, sir,” Rayner said, addressing Mr. +Gell. “So you’d better keep out of it. But you, Mr. Hipwell, will give +us a helping hand, won’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather!” I cried. “I’m with you all right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good! Then let’s get on,” whispered Sergeant Rayner. “We’ve traced +the old bird to his nest,” he laughed. +</p> + +<p> +Together we trod in silence over the grass, and entered the golden +gate. Then, one by one, we crept noiselessly over the soil to behind +the creeper-covered portico in which stood the still hot motor-cycle. +When all was ready, Rayner’s colleague trod heavily up the +garden-path, stumbled purposely near the door, and rapped upon it. +</p> + +<p> +We could hear a movement within. But no reply was vouchsafed. +</p> + +<p> +Twice he knocked vigorously, until at last we heard a woman’s +querulous voice inquire who was there. +</p> + +<p> +“Only me,” was Dick Perry’s reply. “I’m on the road, and I’ve lost my +way. I’m very sorry to disturb you at this late hour, missus.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you going?” inquired the woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t quite know. I want to get to Wavendon,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +A few moments later we heard the bolts drawn, and an elderly woman +stood, an indistinct figure, in the doorway. Next instant she screamed +as, pushing her aside, Rayner and two detectives darted in, followed +by me, while Mr. Gell remained outside to see if anyone escaped by the +window. +</p> + +<p> +The dash was accomplished in a few moments. Rayner and his friends +were adepts at forcibly entering premises. +</p> + +<p> +I heard a man on the stairs give vent to a loud curse, when full into +my face there came a blood-red flash with a loud report, and a bullet +whistled by my head. Next second, however, the man was pinned down by +the two detectives. +</p> + +<p> +Exactly what occurred immediately afterwards I hardly know. +</p> + +<p> +The uncertain light of flash-lamps showed the face of a gray-haired +hag of a woman who, startled and screaming, was being held by a third +plain-clothes man from Shepherdess Walk, who had followed us on a +motor-cycle. Meanwhile the fugitive we had overtaken was struggling +and cursing, held firmly by Rayner and Perry. +</p> + +<p> +The sound of a pistol-shot brought up our car, and into it the two +prisoners were quickly bundled. The man—whose name we afterwards +discovered was “Old Tom” or Booth, and whose fingerprints revealed a +very interesting record as a thief—became very violent, so that +Rayner slipped a pair of handcuffs upon him. Then, leaving him in +charge of his assistant, Dick Perry, he and the other man, Denham, +re-entered the house to search it. +</p> + +<p> +In the downstairs living-room we found a cheap paraffin-lamp and lit +it. Then with Mr. Gell, the detectives ascended the stairs, leaving me +below, pistol in hand, ready to prevent anyone, who might still be in +the house, from leaving. +</p> + +<p> +After a few minutes I heard Joan’s father utter a loud cry, and shout +to me: +</p> + +<p> +“Lionel! Come up here at once!” +</p> + +<p> +Up the two flights of stairs I dashed, to where I saw a light, and +found myself in a low-ceilinged attic. In the centre of a bare, +miserable room was a bed, and upon it a female figure. +</p> + +<p> +Next second I recognized the pallid, wasted face as that of Joan—<i>my +Joan</i>! +</p> + +<p> +My love was inert and apparently unconscious. She opened her eyes for +a single second, then closed them again. She recognized neither her +father nor me. Mr. Gell suddenly was aged. A moan escaped him. +</p> + +<p> +“This must be the woman whom the fellow in the public-house said +couldn’t last much longer,” Rayner remarked. “Do you know her, sir?” +he asked of the famous King’s Counsel. +</p> + +<p> +“Know her? Why, she’s my daughter! We must get a doctor at once.” +</p> + +<p> +I stroked my dear one’s hot brow tenderly, and then, realizing that a +medical man must be obtained without delay, rushed downstairs to the +fugitive’s motor-cycle, and, mounting it, dashed at full speed along +the road. After a few miles I entered the dark main-street of a small +country town which proved to be Woburn and, of a sleepy man driving a +cart, I inquired the whereabouts of the doctor’s house. +</p> + +<p> +Ten minutes later I had explained briefly the discovery of the police, +and very shortly the doctor got his car out and followed me back to +where my loved one was lying. +</p> + +<p> +After two hours she was removed to the hospital at Leighton Buzzard. +But it was nearly three weeks before she was able to relate what had +happened to her after being decoyed away by that message purporting to +have been sent by me. +</p> + +<p> +While seated in the drawing-room at Queen’s Gate, still very pale and +weak from the ill-treatment and semi-starvation she had undergone, she +related to us fully her startling adventures. +</p> + +<p> +After going to the Florida Club she had received a second message +saying that I had been the victim of a street accident, that I had +been taken to St. George’s Hospital. The man who told her so was Owen. +And he, having a car outside, offered to take her to the hospital. +Naturally alarmed and eager to be at my side, she accepted, only to +fall into a well-prepared trap! +</p> + +<p> +In the car she had been seized with dizziness, doped, no doubt. But, +on coming to herself, she found to her horror that she was locked in +an upstairs room in a small and dirty house kept by a foreigner, named +Dufour, and his wife. +</p> + +<p> +She was constantly threatened with death if she shouted for help. But +once or twice in her half-demented state she did shout, and her cries +were no doubt those heard in Finlay Street by the neighbor, Mrs. +Richmond, wife of the draper’s assistant. +</p> + +<p> +Of her removal to the country she had no recollection, for she had +again been doped. At Fulham she had been seized with a sudden illness. +Then, later at the hospital, at Leighton Buzzard, the doctors had +found that from time to time drugs had been given her. All of which +had aggravated her condition until she was so ill at the time of her +discovery that she could not have lived another week under such +conditions. +</p> + +<p> +Happily, she was snatched from the grave just in time. After a +fortnight with her mother at Eastbourne she had almost regained her +normal health. +</p> + +<p> +Naturally, I spent all the time I could with her, and my blood boiled +when she related the ill-treatment and insults meted out to her by her +father’s vindictive enemies. +</p> + +<p> +Often, when alone, I held her fondly in my arms and kissed her +passionately upon the lips. Nevertheless, my senses were ever benumbed +by the terrible knowledge of that tell-tale entry at Somerset House. +</p> + +<p> +From her, as indeed from everyone, I preserved strictly the secret of +my marriage. But the appalling fact obsessed me day and night. I dare +not attempt to sue for a divorce for fear of the scandal it must +certainly entail. Illona was my enemy, and if I attempted to free +myself she would, I knew, rise against me and do her worst. +</p> + +<p> +Several weeks went by. +</p> + +<p> +I was compelled to make two journeys abroad—one to Lord Oxenwood at +the League of Nations at Geneva, the other by the Sud Express to +Madrid, returning on the day following my arrival. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, the Press had reported the dramatic arrest of Owen, Dufour, +and Booth. They had been charged at Bow Street with the smash-and-grab +robbery from the shop-window of Appleyard’s, the well-known jewelers +in Old Bond Street. And, after a remand, they had been committed for +trial at the London Sessions. To the intense chagrin of the prisoners, +Mr. Gell, K.C., had been instructed by the Director of Public +Prosecutions to conduct the case against them. Well they knew that +their bitter reprisals against the great lawyer would go against them. +Joan, they were well aware, had been discovered, and had related her +whole sensational story. +</p> + +<p> +As a matter of fact, her father was furious, even though he was +grateful that his daughter had been restored to them. Nevertheless, +his anger against Owen knew no bounds. +</p> + +<p> +As for me, I was in an overwhelming quandary. +</p> + +<p> +My own guilt held me speechless. +</p> + +<p> +Day followed day, yet I constantly feared lest one or another of the +prisoners might give information against me. For indeed, they must +have suspected that I had put the police on the track of the young +scoundrel Owen, with the disastrous results to them. +</p> + +<p> +The police, of course, had no idea that the gang of shop-window +thieves was affiliated with the cosmopolitan gang under the desperate +motor-bandit, Felix Zuroff. +</p> + +<p> +It was only long afterward that I discovered from Lisely Hatten, or +Hattenescu—the Roumanian girl who had always acted as my friend and +who, having cut herself adrift from the gang, married a respectable +banker’s clerk—the truth concerning that well-remembered night in +Camberwell. It seems that the Soviet Government had disposed of about +half the Imperial Russian Crown jewels, together with those filched +from the fashionable jewelers’ shops in Leningrad and Moscow. The +remaining half of the jewels of the Romanoffs was being sent in charge +of a special messenger and two armed guards, to be delivered in +Antwerp to a rich international syndicate which had arranged to +purchase them for two and a half millions sterling. +</p> + +<p> +In fear that the train might be wrecked by robbers, the jewels were +sent by fast motor car from Moscow to the town of Zdolbunow, on the +Polish frontier, whence they were to be conveyed by train across to +Belgium. Twenty miles before the frontier was reached there appeared +suddenly in the night three cars upon the road. In the first was +Zuroff and three men. They ran the Soviet car into a ditch, and, after +a fierce encounter, shot dead the courier, the driver, and the two +guards. Afterwards they made off to Zdolbunow with their booty. The +railway authorities, warned from Moscow of the official courier’s +arrival, and never dreaming of the raid, welcomed the bandits; and +three of them were soon in the train on their way to Warsaw and +Berlin. The others—including Illona, Dufour, and Owen—traveled as +ordinary passengers by the same train. But at Lublin, half way to +Warsaw, they all alighted. Two cars awaited them, and they +disappeared, subsequently arriving at Vienna, and getting to London +via Switzerland, by the Arlberg Express. +</p> + +<p> +On the foggy night in Camberwell they were examining their booty in +that small, stuffy room which was the London meeting-place of the +notorious and elusive gang, and into which I had so unfortunately +stumbled. +</p> + +<p> +At that hour the girl Hatten had taken compassion on me, and, since +her happy marriage, I, on more than one occasion, have thanked her for +allowing me possession of the most precious of the senses—my +eyesight. +</p> + +<p> +Still vividly I remember that old rickety table piled with jewels of +such magnitude that my eyes had been dazzled, and of the dark, +sinister face of the man who had emulated the infamous Bonnot, the +motor bandit, and whose daring crimes had become the terror of the +Continental police. +</p> + +<p> +I compared his imperious appearance in that squalid working-class +house in Camberwell with the luxury and ease in which he lived in +retirement in his flower-embowered flat in Lausanne—the man who in +his great criminal coup had taken the lion’s share of jewels worth two +and a half million pounds. +</p> + +<p> +But all this was of no assistance to me. Two hard facts obsessed me. +The defiant Felix Zuroff, the most notorious motor bandit of the +century and the inventor of the musical code, had not released me from +my unwilling bondage. Neither could I cast off the shackles which +bound me forever to that ugly, ill-formed adventuress who called +herself Illona. +</p> + +<p> +Though occupying one of the most trusted offices at Downing Street, I +was, nevertheless, an expert jewel-thief. Recollections of that +wonderful rope of stolen pearls which had reposed in a hollow book in +my room, held me bewildered. Sometimes with excuses and untruths +forced to my lips by Joan, and the ever-present fear of denunciation +to the police, I felt myself on the verge of madness. +</p> + +<p> +I put the situation plainly to you, my reader. Had you awakened, as +from a trance, to find yourself to be an expert jewel-thief, married +to a rouged and made-up old hag whose criminal record was known, and +yet you were engaged to a sweet, innocent girl whom you adored—how, I +ask, would you—how would you have acted? +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch29"> +CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">CONCLUSION</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">The</span> night was hot and stifling in London. +</p> + +<p> +Everyone who could manage it was away in the country, or at the sea. +The West End was like a deserted desert, and half the clubs, including +my own, were closed for cleaning. We had hospitality at the Royal +Automobile, which I, as a club man, liked only for its cock-and-hen +restaurant. +</p> + +<p> +I had been up at home—for the governor was at Hipwell during the +recess—and had arrived back at Sackville Street only at eight o’clock +that evening. At nine, while I ate my dinner alone at the Automobile, +a waiter called me to the telephone. +</p> + +<p> +It was Joan’s father, who asked me to meet him at the Carlton Club, +close by, in half an hour. +</p> + +<p> +“I must see you, my boy,” he said urgently. “Something has happened. I +can’t tell you over the ’phone. Don’t fail to come over to me.” +</p> + +<p> +Such a message I could not disobey. Punctually I met him in the great +hall of the well-known political club. Forthwith he took me up into +one of the private rooms. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Lionel,” he said very seriously. “You’ve never been frank +with me! Now, tell me the whole truth.” And his big dark eyes fixed +themselves on me—the eyes of the greatest legal cross-examiner of his +time. +</p> + +<p> +Under that keen, searching glance of his there had flinched murderers, +and criminals of more or less notoriety who had gone down in the +police annals of Great Britain as notorious cases. As a cross-examiner +no one had ever superseded him at the criminal Bar. The late Sir +Edward Marshall Hall had been acknowledged to be a great criminologist +and a marvelous advocate. But stout old John Gell, with his jelly-like +stomach when he laughed, was declared to be on a par with the dead +pleader who had been such a prominent member of the Crimes Club. +</p> + +<p> +John Gell, K.C., had taken Sir Edward’s place in the public +estimation, and perhaps deservedly so. He had been called to the Bar +on the same day as Sir Hawley Hayes, the Director of Public +Prosecutors, and they had been life-long friends, ever since both were +glad enough to have their briefs marked with two guineas to appear in +County Court cases. +</p> + +<p> +“Joan has gone with her mother to dine with Lady Tickencote,” he said, +glancing at the closed door. “I should have gone, but I wanted to see +you on a matter of extreme urgency.” I noticed on his broad, +clean-shaven face a look of mystery that I had never before seen +there. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, look here, Lionel!” he said again in a hard voice such as he +used towards a hostile witness in court. “Why haven’t you been quite +open with me?” +</p> + +<p> +I sat staring at him, unable to utter a word. +</p> + +<p> +What could he know? +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, I see you hesitate, my boy! And, after all, quite naturally,” he +said, with a faint smile. “Read that!” And he placed in my hands a +typed memorandum headed: “From the Assistant Commissioner, +Metropolitan Police, New Scotland Yard, S.W.” +</p> + +<p> +My eyes fell upon a statement which held me breathless. I sat +staggered, speechless, as one in a dream. The words I read were: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“The prisoner Dufour, on remand to the London Sessions yesterday, made +a statement to the Governor of Brixton Prison, that the criminal Tuggy +Wilson was shot by a jealous woman known as Illona Hipwell, a member +of the criminal gang. In consequence Superintendent Nethersole this +afternoon went to the house in Sheen Lane, where the woman was in +hiding, but before he could arrest her on suspicion she committed +suicide by swallowing prussic acid. A marriage certificate found in +the dead woman’s possession shows her to have been the wife of Mr. +Lionel Hipwell of Sackville Street, Piccadilly, who is well-known to +you.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Below was scribbled “C.L.,” the initials of Mr. Cunningham Lee. +</p> + +<p> +The typed words danced before my eyes. Death, the penalty of a crime, +had broken the fetters that bound me to the ill-shapen woman who had +so cleverly deceived and enmeshed me, and I was free—<i>free to marry +Joan!</i> +</p> + +<p> +After the first few moments in which I realized all that the tragic +occurrence meant to me, I turned to my love’s father, and in very +lame, halting sentences, I fear, told him of my many strange and +bitter experiences, of the two years’ blank in my life in which I had +become an expert jewel-thief. I told him, too, of my accident in Rome +which had reunited the threads of my lost memory, and brought me to +realize the ghastly truth of my own impossible position. +</p> + +<p> +Without seeking to conceal one single fact concerning either my +follies, my offences, or my undesirable friends, I poured out my soul +to the one man, save my father, in whom I trusted, and begged of him +his advice. +</p> + +<p> +He heard me through, making few comments. At last, after a brief +silence, in which his legal mind worked quickly, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Lionel, you certainly have been more sinned against than sinning. I +feel certain that the world would forgive you your offences which were +committed while your brain was in an abnormal condition on account of +that drug administered to you with malice aforethought. As regards the +criminal Felix Zuroff, guilty though he is, no doubt, we must +recollect that it was through his warning to you of the woman Illona’s +intentions that we discovered poor Joan, just at the crucial moment +when delay must certainly have resulted in my poor child’s death.” +</p> + +<p> +“But Zuroff has refused to release me!” I pointed out despairingly. +“Already Illona has cast suspicions upon me by denouncing me as being +in possession of Lady Rathgormly’s pearls.” +</p> + +<p> +“Happily the public knows nothing of your connection with these +people, my dear Lionel—neither are they likely to know. Nethersole is +in ignorance that it was the woman now dead who denounced you +anonymously, so why should we disclose anything further?” +</p> + +<p> +“I may be denounced by others,” I remarked despondently. +</p> + +<p> +“Not if you make your peace with Zuroff,” replied the eminent counsel. +“And surely that need not present any great difficulty. He is +apparently living in retirement on his ill-gotten gains. Therefore a +promise of silence on your part will effect a firm compact between +you. Appeal to him again—and I feel you will not do so in vain.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will follow your advice,” I declared promptly, full of heartfelt +thanks for his generous counsel. +</p> + +<p> +“As for myself, knowing all that I do, I shall at once make excuse and +withdraw from the prosecution of the prisoners,” said the well known +King’s Counsel. “I could not act in such circumstances.” +</p> + +<p> +He returned his brief next day. +</p> + +<p> +At the trial on the following Monday, Owen, Dufour, and Booth were all +three found guilty of the smash-and-grab jewel raid at Appleyard’s and +sentenced. The first got five years’ penal servitude. The others got +three years each. While Dufour’s wife and the woman who had held Joan +in bondage—though nothing came out in the trial concerning my love’s +sufferings—each received a sentence of eighteen months as +accomplices. +</p> + +<p> +A few days later I carried dispatches again to Lord Oxenwood at +Geneva. And, after delivering them, went on to Lausanne where, on the +same night, I had a long interview with the notorious bandit Zuroff. +</p> + +<p> +His first words were to congratulate me on my freedom from the woman +who had been my most bitter enemy. Then, after I had begged of him to +release me, pointing out that my further association with him must +inevitably prove a danger to us both, he at last reluctantly consented +to a firm agreement which secured absolute silence for silence. This +we exchanged in writing, but in a very guarded way, of course. +</p> + +<p> +When he handed me what was really my passport to peace and happiness, +I took it, I think, with perhaps the greatest satisfaction I have ever +experienced. Besides, when a few days later I handed it in confidence +to Joan’s father, he unhesitatingly gave his consent to our marriage. +</p> + +<p> +That same night of our public engagement Joan, when alone with me, put +two questions to me which I had much difficulty in answering. +Apparently she had received an anonymous letter telling her of my +marriage with Illona, and she asked me for the truth. The second +question concerned the stolen bracelet she had discovered in my +pocket. +</p> + +<p> +Both were, indeed, matters which I found considerable difficulty in +satisfactorily explaining. However, I called her father into the room, +and before him told her the truth, which he himself corroborated. +</p> + +<p> +Afterwards I held her in my arms and kissed her passionately—the +first kiss since she had received her parents’ consent to our union. +</p> + +<p class="spacer"> +* * * * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +With greatest pleasure I here record that on the day of our wedding at +St. Mary Abbot, Kensington, my father and my father-in-law became +reconciled, a fact which gave all of us the most supreme satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +Felix Zuroff, the most daring and desperate jewel-thief Europe has +ever known and whose ramifications ran through the whole Continent, +restored Lady Rathgormly’s pearls to her, at my suggestion. Shortly +after that he died suddenly of heart-failure. +</p> + +<p> +Visitors to the Black Museum at New Scotland Yard, where pieces of +evidence of great crimes are preserved, will find the actual piece of +sparkling aquamarine with the Double Nought upon it, which I carried +from Rome to the man Owen in London. They will find, as well, the +three double noughts of the key to one of the most ingenious of +criminal secret codes ever devised. +</p> + +<p class="center mt1"> +THE END +</p> + + +<h2> +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES +</h2> + +<p> +Minor spelling inconsistencies (e.g. cats-paw/catspaw/cat’s paw, +Jove/jove, motor-bandit/motor bandit, etc.) have been preserved. +</p> + +<p class="noindent mt1"> +<b>Alterations to the text</b>: +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter One] +</p> + +<p> +Change “of Hipwell Hall, near Bulwick, <i>Northamtonshire</i>” to +<i>Northamptonshire</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter Two] +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I suppose it was a crime of <i>jealously</i>” to <i>jealousy</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“They were discussing it in the office <i>today</i>” to <i>to-day</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter Four] +</p> + +<p> +“upon the table was a quantity of old-fashioned <i>jewelery</i>” to +<i>jewelry</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter Five] +</p> + +<p> +“held my shackled hands in front of my face to <i>word</i> off her attack” +to <i>ward</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter Seventeen] +</p> + +<p> +“with dispatches for <i>Brusssels</i>, Berne, and Vienna” to <i>Brussels</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter Eighteen] +</p> + +<p> +“my signature, which I <i>scribbed</i> off, hurriedly” to <i>scribbled</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter Twenty] +</p> + +<p> +“the thief would not <i>atempt</i> to go by train to London” to <i>attempt</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter Twenty-One] +</p> + +<p> +“And, peer and <i>politican</i>, magnate and mechanic, lawyer and laborer” +to <i>politician</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be really angry <i>wtih</i> you in a minute” to <i>with</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter Twenty-Four] +</p> + +<p> +“we reached the little landing-stage of Evian-les-<i>Baines</i> to <i>Bains</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter Twenty-Five] +</p> + +<p> +“I quite <i>inadvertantly</i> stumbled into your private affairs” to +<i>inadvertently</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter Twenty-Seven] +</p> + +<p> +“My orders are to arrest him on <i>supsicion</i> of being implicated” to +<i>suspicion</i>. +</p> + +<p class="center mt1"> +[End of text] +</p> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78372 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/78372-h/images/cover.jpg b/78372-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..971c147 --- /dev/null +++ b/78372-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/78372-h/images/img_174.jpg b/78372-h/images/img_174.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..05752f5 --- /dev/null +++ b/78372-h/images/img_174.jpg diff --git a/78372-h/images/img_174_th.jpg b/78372-h/images/img_174_th.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b7dc0e1 --- /dev/null +++ b/78372-h/images/img_174_th.jpg diff --git a/78372-h/images/img_245.jpg b/78372-h/images/img_245.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6fc09d4 --- /dev/null +++ b/78372-h/images/img_245.jpg diff --git a/78372-h/images/img_245_th.jpg b/78372-h/images/img_245_th.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..50f545c --- /dev/null +++ b/78372-h/images/img_245_th.jpg diff --git a/78372-h/images/img_248.jpg b/78372-h/images/img_248.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c4acb92 --- /dev/null +++ b/78372-h/images/img_248.jpg diff --git a/78372-h/images/img_248_th.jpg b/78372-h/images/img_248_th.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..573dd2c --- /dev/null +++ b/78372-h/images/img_248_th.jpg |
