Before the excitement had properly subsided, I was in the little room at the back of the court with Gordon and Inspector Neil. The latter closed the door, shutting out the confused murmur which we had left behind us.
"It's not my place to congratulate you, sir," he observed apologetically, "but I should like to do so if you will allow me."
"Why, of course, Inspector," I said, with a smile. "I don't wonder you suspected me on the evidence you had. It looked like a certainty."
He shook his head. "It's an amazing case, sir; but to tell you the truth, I thought we'd made—a mistake in the charge the minute I'd arrested you." He crossed the room to the door on the other side. "This room will be at your disposal, if you wish to talk things over. I must see what further steps our people propose to take."
"Let me add my congratulations," said Gordon, as soon as we found ourselves alone.
I gripped the hand he offered me. "Thanks," I said. "I'm very much obliged to you for all the trouble you've taken."
He smiled in his curious languid manner. "There is no reason to be grateful to me," he replied. "It was your amazing butler who took over the defence. I have never had a case in which I've been quite so superfluous."
As he spoke, my fears about Billy and Mercia, which had momentarily lapsed in the excitement of my acquittal, rushed back on me with redoubled force.
"Mr. Gordon," I said, "I may want your help more than ever now. Something has happened to Miss Solano. Billy was to have called for her and brought her to the court, and neither of them have turned up."
"I know," he answered quickly. "But don't be too alarmed about it. I've had a very good man watching the house since yesterday morning; and unless Preston's quite wrong, Guarez and the others are lying up somewhere in the East End. They'd hardly dare—"
"It's not Guarez I'm afraid of," I interrupted: "it's Sangatte."
"Lord Sangatte!" he echoed in surprise.
"Yes," I said. Then I remembered that in telling him my story, I had been rather sparing with my account of the interview in Sangatte's study.
"He's in love with her," I added, "in his own way, and I've good reasons for knowing that it's a pretty poisonous one."
The words had hardly left my lips when there came a sharp knock at the door, and a police serjeant entered the room.
"There are two gentlemen, sir, who wish to see you and Mr. Gordon immediately. Shall I show them in here?"
"Yes, yes," I said. Then, turning to Gordon, I added eagerly: "It's Billy and your man. It must be."
The serjeant stepped forward and held out a small twisted note. "Very good, sir," he said. "And there's this letter. I was asked to hand it to you by a lady who was in court."
I took the note. A glance showed me that it was addressed in Lady Baradell's writing, and I thrust it into my pocket without further consideration. I had no thoughts now for anyone but Mercia.
My first sight of Billy as he entered told me that there were grounds for my anxiety. His face was pale and his mouth set in that peculiar steel-trap fashion which in his case always heralds something in the nature of a tight corner. He was followed by a small, dark, sharp-featured man in a blue suit.
"Much wrong, Billy?" I asked quietly.
"Sangatte's got hold of Mercia," he said, speaking a little hoarsely. "We're after them in a motor now. I think we shall be in time."
Before I could get out a word, Gordon's voice broke in harsh and cold.
"What does this mean, Wilton?"
The dark man was just going to answer when Billy stepped forward and cut him short.
"Mr. Gordon," he said, "we've no time to explain now. You must let me take Wilton. Miss Solano has been carried off to Lord Sangatte's yacht at Burnham. I'm following them in a car which I've got outside, and I want a man with me who won't stick at trifles."
"And by God you shall have it!" I cried, with a savage laugh. Then, seeing his look of astonishment, I added quickly: "I'm free, Billy—the case is over. Milford turned up at the last minute with proofs that it was Da Costa."
With a low exclamation of surprise and satisfaction he gripped me by the arm.
"Is that right, Jack? Lord! but it's good news. Get your hat, man, and come at once. I'll explain it all in the car."
"Damn the hat!" I cried, snatching up a dusty-looking cap from the table. "I'm ready, Billy."
"Go with them, Wilton," broke in Gordon sharply. Then turning to me he added in an encouraging tone: "If it's a case of forcible abduction, you're justified in anything short of murder."
"I'm glad to hear it," I said grimly.
"And don't worry about all this business," he went on, jerking his head towards the court. "I'll look after your interests here. Just send a wire to the house if you're coming back to town to-night."
I nodded—I think my face showed my thanks—and in another moment we had hurried down the corridor and were outside the building.
In the roadway stood a powerful Rolls-Royce with an embarrassed-looking chauffeur at the wheel. It was already surrounded by a crowd of spectators, while the stream of people coming out from the main entrance was adding momentarily to the congestion.
Billy elbowed his way through with scant ceremony and opened the door of the car.
"You come in with me, Jack," he said. "Wilton will go in front."
The next minute we had glided down the street and twisted noiselessly round the corner into the roar and traffic of the Strand.
Billy didn't wait for me to question him. "It was this way, Jack," he said quietly. "I went round this morning to fetch Mercia at half-past ten as I'd arranged yesterday. When I rang the bell and asked for her, the servant said she'd gone out directly after breakfast. Well, I didn't worry much: I thought that perhaps she'd had some shopping or something to do first, and that she'd be coming back in a minute or two, so I said I'd call again in a quarter of an hour. I was just turning away when a taxi ran up alongside of me, and who should jump out but our friend Wilton here. I knew who he was—I'd met him at Gordon's yesterday—and I could see at once from his face that something was devilish wrong. The first thing he asked me was whether Mercia had come back. When I said no, he looked more worried than ever, and in about two minutes I'd made him choke up the whole story.
"It seems Mercia had come out of the house about half-past nine. Wilton, who'd been told by Gordon not to lose track of her on any account, followed her as far as Sangatte's house in Belgrave Square. She reached there at a quarter to ten, and he'd hung about outside for the best part of half an hour. Then suddenly Sangatte's motor rolled up to the door, and Sangatte himself came out with Mercia and got inside. Of course there wasn't a taxi handy, and before Wilton could find one the car was out of sight. It struck him as just possible that Sangatte might merely be seeing Mercia home, so he'd come along back to find out."
Billy paused for a moment as the Rolls-Royce, dexterously steered by its driver, wormed its way across the crowded Mansion House Corner. With my heart full of anxiety and torn with a murderous anger, I waited for him to continue.
"I guessed something of what had happened," he went on as the car turned off down Aldgate. "I knew Mercia had heard Sangatte mentioned in court as being one of the principal witnesses for the police, and it struck me at once that he'd probably used this fact to get her to come and see him. Nothing but the idea of helping you would have taken her to his house—I felt sure of that. The thing to find out, of course, was what particular dirty game he was trying to play. I chewed it over for a minute, and then it seemed to me that the best thing to do was to go to his house and see when he was expected back. Wilton agreed with me, so we jumped into the cab and ran down to Belgrave Square. His butler answered the door,—a white-faced, cunning-looking sort of skunk,—and when I asked for Sangatte, he said he was out of town. He wouldn't tell me any more at first—declared that he 'didn't know where his lordship was or which day he intended to return'; and when I pressed him a bit, he was half inclined to be cheeky. I saw the only way was to bribe him. He looked like the sort of man who'd sell his mother, so I told him straight out it would be worth a tenner to him if I could find Sangatte before the evening. With that he started to bargain. I suppose he guessed that it was Mercia I was after, and that I couldn't afford to break his neck—anyway, he stuck out for a pony, and of course I had to give it him. Then I got the truth—at least, I think so. Sangatte, he said, had gone off yachting for three or four days, and my only possible chance of catching him was at Burnham-on-Crouch, where his boat was lying."
"Billy!" I interrupted, rather desperately. "Do you mean that Mercia is alone on board with that brute?"
Billy laid his hand on my arm. "They're only two hours ahead of us, Jack," he said, "and it takes some time to get a boat of any size under way."
"But what does it all mean?" I broke out. "What devil's trick can he have played to get Mercia to Burnham? She knows—"
"It's my belief," interrupted Billy, "that she had no idea the car was going there. Suppose he got her round to the house on the pretence of giving evidence about you, and then offered to drive her down to the court. It's only an idea, of course, but it's in keeping with what one knows about Sangatte, and it fits in with the facts. Once in the car, it would be impossible for her to escape until they got to Burnham; and what could a girl do then against two or three men? No doubt Sangatte's certain of his own crew."
With a bitter oath, I brought down my clenched fist on the side of the car.
"If you're right, Billy," I said slowly, "I'll make Sangatte sorry he was born."
There was a short silence, as the car swung on through the dreary purlieus of Stratford at a pace which brought belated shouts and curses from the carmen and hawkers that we left behind.
"Go on, Billy," I said, staring out in front of us. "Talk to me, for God's sake, or I shall go mad. Tell me how you got hold of the car."
"Hired it," said Billy. "I saw at once that if this butler skunk was speaking the truth, the only thing to do was to make a run for Burnham. I thought of your car at first; then it struck me there might be a bit of a bother getting hold of it, so I drove straight down to Garrett's in Bond Street and ordered a Rolls-Royce. They took about ten minutes getting it ready, and while they were messing about I sent Wilton round in the taxi to make certain Mercia hadn't gone home. Then we came right along to Bow Street to let you know how things stood before we started for Burnham."
He paused and, bending down, lighted a cigarette.
"I never dreamed, of course, of the case being over," he added. "Tell me something about it, old son: it's better than sitting there thinking. We're doing all we can, you know, Jack."
I was glad of the chance he gave me. Anything was preferable to brooding over the thought of Mercia in the hands of Sangatte; so without waiting I plunged into the story of Milford's dramatic appearance in court and its amazing developments.
Through Romford and Brentwood the car sped on: the driver, who knew something of the extreme urgency of our journey, letting out the powerful engine to the full extent he dared. Outside the latter town, we turned off due east, and, free of the traffic, hurried on still faster through the miles of flat Essex corn-land that separated us from our goal.
I repeated to Billy the whole of Milford's story, as nearly as I could remember it. With his numerous questions and interruptions it took a long time—indeed, before I had finished we had already reached the straggling estuary of the Crouch, and the grey tower of Burnham Church was plainly visible in the distance. I shall never forget the fever of anger and impatience that seemed to scorch my heart as the driver turned to point it out.
Every minute of that last three miles the torture of suspense became worse. I could see Billy felt the strain almost as much as I did. His mouth set more grimly than ever, and we sat there side by side staring out silently towards our approaching goal.
At last we were in the village. Scarcely slackening our pace, we hurried up the long main street with its small, untidy-looking grey houses, and turning off sharp to the right swung round on to the quay. Regardless of his tyres, the driver pulled up with a jerk, and in a moment Billy and I were out of the car.
An old longshoreman in a blue jersey, who had been leaning over the railings staring down at the tossing collection of boats and yachts below, looked round with slow surprise at our abrupt appearance.
I walked towards him, followed by Billy.
"Can you tell me," I asked quietly, "whether theSeagullhas sailed?"
He took out a small section of black clay pipe which he had been holding upside down in his mouth, and spat thoughtfully on the ground.
"TheSeagull?" he repeated. "That'd be the schooner as came in last Tooseday—name o' Sangatte?"
I nodded.
He turned towards the broad estuary, and shading his eyes with his hand stared out to sea.
"There she be," he said at last, pointing down the river.
With a horrible sinking sensation at my heart, I followed the line of his finger. About a mile out a smart-looking vessel of perhaps a hundred and fifty tons was running swiftly seawards before the fresh westerly breeze.
"That's 'er right enough," said the old man. "Put out 'bout one o'clock, she did. The owner come down in a moty-car—same as you gentlemen."
"Was he alone?" I asked, still hoping faintly that we might be mistaken.
The old man shook his head. "'E 'ad a young lady with 'im—bit ill she seemed, too. I see'd 'im 'elping 'er to the boat."
I think I knew then what natives mean when they talk about "seeing red." Before I could crush back my fury sufficiently to speak, Billy broke in.
"Is there any faster boat in the harbour?" he cried. "We've got an important letter for the owner, and money's no object if we can catch her before she gets to sea."
The man removed his cap and scratched his head with maddening deliberation.
"There ain't no sailing boat in Burnham as'll overtake her now," he observed slowly. "That's the only craft as could do it—that there petrol launch what come in this morning."
He pointed down to a rakish-looking little decked-in vessel which was bobbing about on the tide just below where we were standing.
"Who does it belong to?" I demanded sharply.
"Well, I don't know—not in a manner of speaking," drawled the old man. "A stout, youngish gen'l'man 'e be. I did 'ear tell that 'e come from Woodford. If you're wanting to see him, as like as not you'll pick 'im up at the hotel." He turned to point to the building in question, and then gave a sudden exclamation. "Why, there be the gen'leman 'isself, sir, over by the lamp-post there."
I looked up, and my heart gave a sudden jump. In the square-shouldered, pleasant-faced man strolling slowly along the quay I recognised an old acquaintance. It was my friend Cumming the story-writer, the man whom I had met in the Bull Hotel when I was staying at Ashton.
Without stopping to explain to Billy, I strode quickly across the road to meet him. He recognised me at once, and raised his hand in greeting.
"How do you do?" he said, with a smile. "I hope you found Barham Bridge all right?"
I pulled up in front of him and looked him squarely in the eyes.
"Mr. Cumming," I said, "you did me a good turn that day. Will you do me another—a much more important one now?"
He paused for a moment, looking back at me as though to make certain I was serious. My expression must have shown him there could be no doubt about that.
"What is it?" he asked quietly.
I turned and pointed to theSeagull. "The woman I love is on board that boat," I said hoarsely. "She has been drugged and carried off by Lord Sangatte. There's just one chance of catching them—your petrol launch. If you could get us up alongside, we'd do the rest. I don't know how many men he has on board, but there are three of us, and—"
"I say," he broke in, with shining eyes, "are you pulling my leg?"
I shook my head with a rather wan smile.
"Oh, but this is delightful!" he said. Then, seeing my face, he added politely: "I didn't mean that, of course; but I've been spending years writing about abductions and murders and things of that sort, and this is the first real adventure I've ever been mixed up in."
"And you'll take us?" I cried.
"Take you!" he echoed. "Good Lord—rather! I wouldn't miss such a chance for the world."
Billy, who had come up in time to catch the last remark, clapped him unceremoniously on the shoulder.
"I don't know who you are, my son," he said, "but you're a man, and the breed's rare. Shake."
Cumming, who seemed to understand Billy at once, smilingly gripped hands, and the next minute we were all three hurrying towards the steps which led down to the water. Leaving the car, Wilton and the chauffeur came running along the quay to join us.
"Got room for me, guv'nor?" inquired the latter anxiously.
"What about the car?" I asked, as Cumming, jumping into a dinghy, hastily pulled out the sculls from under the seat.
He grinned cheerfully. "Car's all right, sir. I've given the old boy five bob to look after her."
"Come on, then," I said; "the more the better." And without wasting any more time, we all five scrambled into the boat.
A few strokes brought us alongside the launch, to which we rapidly transferred ourselves. Cumming at once squatted down in front of the motor and began to play with the levers and switches, while the rest of us distributed our weight about the little craft in the most even fashion possible.
"Shall I steer her out for you, sir?" asked the chauffeur. "I've done a bit of this work over in France."
Cumming nodded his consent, and as the man gripped the tiller he started up the engine. The next moment we were swiftly threshing our way through the crowd of anchored vessels towards the centre of the estuary.
Directly we were fairly under way, and the engine was running with proper smoothness, Cumming scrambled to his feet and took over the charge of the boat.
"She can do twenty easy," he observed, with a satisfied chuckle; "we shall be up to them before they're past the sands." Then he paused. "What's the programme?" he added. "Hail them, or run up alongside and jump?"
"Can you take her in as close as that?" I asked.
"I could take her to hell," he replied cheerfully, "if there was enough water. The only thing is, can you chaps get on board?"
Billy laughed grimly. "Some of us will," he said, "and the others can swim."
With a white curve of water foaming away from either bow, the little vessel ran on down the centre of the river. Far ahead of us, a beautiful picture in the cloudless afternoon sunshine, theSeagullswept forward on her way towards the sea. Crouched in the bows, I stared silently out over the long grey stretch of intervening water, which every minute was perceptibly lessening in distance.
Billy, who had been rummaging in the tool-chest, which Cumming had pointed out to him, crept forward and held out a heavy steel bar.
"Here you are, Jack," he said. "You freeze on to this. I've got a gun."
I took the short but deadly little weapon and thrust it into my side pocket. I felt somehow that my fists would be all that I should want.
"Billy," I said, "if we both get on board together, leave Sangatte to me."
He nodded. "That'll be all right," he replied. "There'll be quite enough fun for me with the rest of the crew; you shall have his lordship all to yourself." Then he paused and looked out at the stern of theSeagull, now no more than half a mile distant. "Don't you think, Jack," he added, "that you'd better go down into the cabin, just in case Sangatte's on the watch? If he spotted you, he'd guess we meant mischief at once, and we might find it a bit of a job to get on board. You can pop out as we run alongside."
Billy's suggestion was so obviously a sensible one that although I was loth to quit the deck, I immediately adopted it. It would never do for Sangatte to see me in the boat, for theSeagullstood so much higher out of the water than our own little craft that our only chance of boarding her was to take the crew by surprise. So into the cabin I went, where I found the impassive Wilton, who seemed to consider the whole business as part of his ordinary day's work, stretched out peacefully on the bunk.
He sat up as I crawled in; but beyond exchanging a couple of remarks as to the quickness with which we were overtaking our quarry, we neither of us made any attempt at conversation. I was in too keen a state of suspense to talk; while Wilton, I should think, was a naturally taciturn person even for a detective. Anyhow, we sat there in silence, listening to the throbbing of the engine and the ceaseless swish of the water as it raced past the side of the boat.
How long our vigil lasted I can't say. It was broken at last by the appearance of Billy, who dropped down into the little well outside the cabin and thrust his head in through the door.
"We're just coming up alongside of 'em," he said, in a tone of quiet satisfaction. "There are three men on deck, but they don't seem to suspect anything."
"Sangatte?" I asked eagerly.
He shook his head. "No sign of him or Mercia; they must be down below."
I rose to my feet, followed by Wilton.
"We three are to make the first shot," went on Billy. "Cumming's going to run her alongside suddenly, and we must jump for the rails. One ought to be just able to do it from the cabin top."
"And then?" I asked; for I knew Billy would have planned the whole thing out.
He tapped his pistol pocket with a contented smile. "Then it will be up to me to keep order on deck while you and Wilton go below and rout out Mercia. The chauffeur's staying in the boat. He wanted to stick to us, but we must have someone to help Cumming."
He swung himself out of the well on to the narrow deck, and Wilton and I followed suit. We were running level with theSeagullat a distance of about thirty yards. The three men on her deck were not paying much attention to us. One of them was steering—the other two busy attending to the coiling of some loose rope. At the tiller of our own boat sat Cumming—a cigarette in his mouth, and his eyes fixed innocently on the water ahead.
Suddenly, and without shifting his gaze, he gave a quick, faint little whistle. Billy and I and Wilton leaped on to the cabin top, and at the same instant the launch swerved inwards towards theSeagulllike a weasel darting on a rabbit. I heard a cry of dismay and surprise from the man who was steering as he shoved down his helm in a frantic effort to avoid a collision. At the very last moment, just when the crash seemed inevitable, Cumming again swerved, and as he did so we all three made one frantic jump for theSeagull'srails.
I missed with my left hand, and my other arm seemed to be almost wrenched from its socket with the shock. I clung on, though, and the next moment soaked and half blinded with spray, I was scrambling on to the deck. A swift glance round showed me that both Billy and Wilton had been equally successful.
Paralysed, apparently, at the suddenness of our onslaught, the two men who had been coiling the rope made no attempt to stop us until we were fairly on board. Then, as I leaped for the companion-way, they both dashed forward with a volley of questions and oaths. Only one of them reached me in time, and he got a smack in the jaw for his pains that sent him spinning against the rails. At the same moment Billy's voice, backed doubtless by his revolver, rang out in a harsh command, and the other stopped short and flung up his hands.
Without waiting for any further developments, I dropped down the companion, clearing the short ladder with one jump. There was a door in front of me—a white cabin door with brass fittings. I seized the handle and flung it savagely open, just as Wilton's figure appeared in the opening above.
Do you remember that hideous picture of "The Startled Robber" in Hogarth's "Two Apprentices"? It flashed into my mind then as, pale with amazement, terror, and rage, Sangatte started up at my entrance. He had evidently been sitting at the table, smoking and drinking, for there was a bottle of brandy and a half-empty siphon in front of him, and the air was thick with the fumes of his cigar.
The same glance that revealed his glaring, terrified eyes also showed me Mercia. She was on the sofa at the farther end of the cabin, crouching against the wall like some beautiful, desperate animal at bay. At the sight of me her face lit up with a joy too wonderful for words, and she too sprang to her feet, crying out my name.
Then, silent as a wolf, I flung myself on Sangatte.
He seized the bottle of brandy by the neck, and struck at me wildly as I came in. I dashed it aside with my left arm, and the broken glass and liquor showered over us both. The next moment, locked in each other's arms, we swayed clear of the table and crashed heavily against the opposite wall of the cabin.
He was a powerful man, nearly as big as myself, and fighting with the fury of absolute terror; but his strength was as nothing against my own mad rage. Freeing my right arm with a desperate wrench, I drove my fist full in his face, and I felt the bone and cartilage yield under my knuckles as if they had been made of crisp wafer. He clutched me by the throat, but at that smashing blow his grip relaxed, and a horrible stifled cry burst from his lips. With a supreme effort, I lifted him clear off his feet and flung him full length on the cabin floor.
There came a long-drawn, gasping sigh from Mercia.
"A—ah!"
I looked up—my chest heaving, my face and clothes soaked in blood and brandy.
"Shall I kill him?" I asked quietly.
Mercia came forward—her dear face as white as death, but her eyes shining proudly and serenely.
"There is no need to kill him," she said softly. "You are always in time."
With a low, happy cry I caught her to my heart, and all blood-stained as I was, she put her arms round me and pressed her lips to mine.
It was the sudden stamping of feet and the sound of blows outside that abruptly terminated our embrace. Releasing Mercia, and snatching up the siphon from the table, I darted to the door, where I found the faithful Wilton, armed with heavy boat-spanner, vigorously opposing the attempted advance of two of Sangatte's crew.
At the sight of me—I must have been a horrible-looking object—their courage seemed to falter.
"Come on, Wilton," I yelled, and, swinging back my siphon, I leaped forward to the attack.
It was too much for the enemy. However strong their affection for Sangatte may have been, they evidently had no stomach for further fighting, and with a simultaneous motion, they turned and bolted. As they disappeared down the corridor from which they had apparently emerged, I heard Billy's voice shouting my name from the deck.
I stepped back into the cabin.
"Time to go, Mercia," I said, holding out my hand.
She slipped her soft little fingers into mine, and as she did so, Sangatte, who had not moved since he had fallen, suddenly raised himself with an effort on to his elbow.
"Damn you!" he whispered thickly. "I'll be even with you for this—damn you both!" Then, with a groan, he sank back again on to the floor.
If it gave him any small pleasure to swear at us, I did not grudge it him—under the circumstances.
Our departure from theSeagullwas distinctly more ceremonious than our arrival. By aid of his persuasive revolver, Billy had apparently induced the crew of the vessel to strike sail; for when we reached the deck, it was to find ourselves rocking idly on the bosom of the tide, with Cumming's smart little motor bobbing alongside. The three defeated hands, one of whom was the skipper, were clustered in the bows, watching Billy with anything but an affectionate expression.
"Not hurried you, Jack, I hope?" he called out, as we emerged from the companion, with Wilton guarding the rear.
"No, thank you, Billy," I said. "I'd quite finished."
He stepped forward to shake hands with Mercia. "And how's our host?" he inquired.
"Our host," I replied, "when he's patched up, will probably be mistaken for Señor Guarez."
Billy nodded his head. "You were always a good hand at scattering keepsakes," he observed contentedly.
It was at this point that Cumming's face, appearing over the side of the yacht, inquired with some pathos what time we should want the cab.
"I suppose we must tear ourselves away," said Billy reluctantly. "It's a pity, though. I was just beginning to enjoy myself. Devilish smart crew Sangatte's got—when they're properly handled."
Despite this handsome compliment, the crew betrayed no particular signs of regret at our departure. They watched with sullen hostility while I lowered Mercia into the hands of Cumming and then jumped down myself after her. Then, pushing away the launch with the boat-hook, we backed slowly astern, until there was sufficient room to swing her round towards the shore. A moment later we were racing back against the wind and tide, while behind us theSeagullstill drifted idly down the centre of the stream.
A few hastily-exchanged explanations showed us that Billy had been quite right in his surmises as to Mercia's adventure. By a cleverly-worded letter, hinting that he was prepared to give evidence on my behalf, Sangatte had induced her to come and visit him at his house. Here, after expressing himself as being convinced of my innocence, he had offered to drive her down to the court; and Mercia, suspecting nothing of his purpose, had readily assented. Once inside the big, swiftly-moving limousine, it had been hopeless to try and escape until Burnham was reached, and then, just before the car drew up, Sangatte had thrust a handkerchief soaked in chloroform over her face, which had rendered her practically unconscious until she was safely in the ship's boat.
That was the only actual violence she had suffered from. Once on board, Sangatte, who possessed an abnormal opinion as to his own fascinations, had adopted the role of the impassioned, half-repentant lover, whose emotions had run away with him. I suppose he had thought that his own charms, combined with the hopelessly compromising position in which Mercia was placed, would be a sufficiently strong combination to effect his purpose. Anyhow, he had been giving this ingenious system a fair trial when Fate and my right fist had so unexpectedly intervened.
Such was Mercia's story, whispered out hurriedly as we throbbed our way back up the grey waters of the Crouch.
In return, Billy and I told her as briefly as possible of the amazing sequence of events which had led up to our arrival on board. The astonished Cumming, who now for the first time realised our identity, listened with such spellbound attention that on two occasions he as nearly as possible ran us on to the shallows.
"Well, I'm blessed!" he gasped when I'd finished. "Do you mean to say you're Burton—theBurton! Why, I was only reading your case while I was at lunch, and thinking how much I'd like to meet you."
"Well, you've done it all right," laughed Billy; "and devilish lucky for us, too."
"But, good Lord, what a yarn!" went on Cumming, looking with a kind of curious admiration first at me, and then back at Billy and Mercia. "It knocks spots off my woolliest efforts, and that's saying something. And to think of my being in at the death, too! It's enough to make Oppenheim blue with envy."
"Come up to town with us and see it through," I suggested. "They've turned me down as a murderer, it's true, but there are all sorts of pleasant possibilities still kicking about. I shall probably be arrested for stealing Northcote's ten thousand as soon as I get back."
"Anyhow," said Billy, smiling at Mercia, "he can at least promise you a wedding."
"And probably a funeral as well," I added, "if I happen to run across Maurice."
"I'd love to," said Cumming, steering us deftly in towards the quay through the crowd of anchored boats. "All the same, I think I'll run this little jigger round to Maldon first. It would be just as well to get her out of Burnham in case your pal, Lord Sangatte, puts back here for plaster. I ought to go up to town to-morrow in any case, so if you'll give me your address, I'll roll round and 'pay my respects.'"
"Do!" I said heartily. "If I'm not in Bow Street, you'll find me at Lammersfield House, Park Lane."
"You forget, my son," interrupted Billy. "It doesn't belong to you now."
"Yes, it does," I said firmly. "I gave my promise to Northcote, and I'm not going to shift out of it until the three weeks are up."
"Good," said Billy. "We ought to have some fun with the heir, whoever he is."
Cumming tied up his boat to the steps, and climbing up on to the quay saw us safely into the car. I don't know whether any of our operations on board theSeagullhad been visible from Burnham, but, at all events, our old longshore friend did not seem particularly interested in us. He just pocketed the five shillings I gave him for looking after the car, and then promptly shuffled off for the hotel tap without waiting to watch us depart.
"So long, then," said Cumming, as soon as we had packed ourselves in and the driver was ready to start. "I'll give your love to Sangatte as I pass him."
"Thanks," I said; "and don't worry if he makes any fuss. George Gordon says we were legally justified in anything short of manslaughter."
"Skunk slaughter," said Cumming, "is what you want an indemnity against."
We turned off round the corner of the quay, stopping at the Post Office to send a wire to Gordon.
"Expedition successful," I wrote, "Will you meet us Westminster Palace Hotel five-thirty."
"It's just opposite to the House of Commons," I pointed out to Billy, "so he'll be able to run across even if he's busy. I'm dying to know what happened after we left."
"What I'm dying for is some food," remarked Billy, as we came out again to the car. "I expect Miss Solano agrees with me."
Mercia shook her head. "I am not very hungry," she said. "Let us wait till we get back to London."
"Just as you like," said Billy sadly. "I could do a chop, though—by Jove, I could!"
"Jump in, William," I said. "We'll all have the best dinner in London to-night—unless we're in gaol."
Mile after mile, the big car carried us back swiftly through the flat lanes and roads which we had so lately traversed. I was too happy to talk: most of the time I just lay back in my seat holding Mercia's hand; while Billy, in the intervals of bemoaning his hunger, filled up the gaps which we had necessarily left in our somewhat hurried explanations in the boat. Any doubt that he may have originally felt about Mercia had plainly vanished. She was part of the firm now—"one of us," so to speak; and Billy's manner clearly signified that he approved of the change.
It was just a quarter-past five by Big Ben as we swung round the corner of Parliament Square and drew up outside the Westminster Palace Hotel.
We were all of us badly in need of a little tidying-up, so the extra fifteen minutes before our appointment with Gordon was a welcome interval. I know in my own case that, what with the dust from the road, and the still surviving traces of my argument with Sangatte, I found such a rare-looking ruffian gazing back at me from the bedroom mirror that I felt surprised the hotel people had consented to receive us.
However, a bath, a comb, and other toilet accessories soon restored me to respectability, and sitting on the bed I waited for Billy, who was taking his turn at the looking-glass. It was then that, putting my hand in my pocket, I came across Lady Baradell's note. Although, to tell the truth, I had forgotten all about it in my somewhat strenuous employment since its arrival, I opened it now not without a certain pleasant curiosity as to what it might contain.
"I suppose I ought to be grateful to you, but I don't think I am. Now and always you have my good wishes. A. B."
I read it through slowly, and the picture of a beautiful woman, her bronze hair streaming loose over her shoulders, her wonderful amber eyes fixed on mine, rose with extraordinary clearness before my mind. With a little sigh over Nature's well-intentioned, if ill-adjusted, efforts, I took out a match, and striking it on the end of the bed, set fire to the bottom corner of the note.
"What are you burning?" asked Billy, looking up from the depths of his towel.
"Only a little bit of the past," I said sadly.
He threw down the towel with his old mischievous chuckle. "If you're going to start that game, Jack," he said, "you'd better spend your honeymoon at Vesuvius. It'll save you ruining yourself in matches."
We went downstairs to the sitting-room I had engaged, where tea was already laid. A minute later Mercia joined us. Despite all she had been through, she looked radiantly lovely as she came half shyly into the room. Indeed, Billy was so overcome that he jumped from his chair with a little gasp of open admiration.
"By Jove, Mercia!" he said. "You ought to be abducted twice a day. It makes you better-looking than ever."
She laughed sweetly, and came across to where I was standing. "I am afraid I shall never be more beautiful, then," she said, "unless there are some very reckless men in the world."
I drew her arm tenderly through mine. "I don't want you to be any more beautiful, Mercia," I said; "it would frighten me if you were."
There was a knock at the door, and a waiter entering announced "Mistaire Gordon."
Sleek and debonair as ever, my gallant defender followed hard upon his heels.
"Don't trouble to explain anything," he said, shaking hands all round. "I've got only ten minutes, and I've already heard full details about the piracy, of which, by the way, I thoroughly approve. I met Wilton in the hall."
"I wondered what had happened to him," I remarked. "We were expecting him up here to tea."
Gordon shook his head. "You won't get him," he said. "Wilton has some intelligence as a private detective, but outside his business he's a miracle of shyness and stupidity." Then he smiled in his quiet fatigued way. "He asked me to congratulate you, however."
"Congratulate me!" I echoed. "What about?"
Gordon accepted the cup of tea which Mercia offered him. "About fifty thousand, I believe," he drawled. "No doubt there's a good deal more somewhere, if we can find it."
We all stared at him in frank astonishment.
He looked round at us, smiling again from under his curious, heavily-lidded eyes.
"You remember the excellent advice given to us in the Gospels, Mr. Burton—to 'make friends out of the mammon of unrighteousness'? Well, you appear to have been doing it unawares—that's all. Those papers which the amazing Mr. Milford sprang on us in court—the ones addressed to Horsfall, I mean—were Northcote's confession, and incidentally his will. He has left you everything."
I jumped up from my chair. "Good Lord!" I cried. "Are you joking?"
Gordon shook his head. "I never joke outside the House of Commons."
"But why on earth—?" I began.
"As far as I can make out," he interrupted, "our deceased friend's mind worked in this way. It was rather more than possible, of course, that you would be killed before the three weeks were up, in which case all Prado's land property, which he had been unable to sell would have gone to Maurice Furnivall, as the next of kin. This he was determined to prevent, for by then he seems to have quite made up his mind that it was Furnivall who'd given him away. He wrote out a full statement of how affairs really stood, and sent it to Horsfall with a note that it was only to be opened in the event of his death. As this statement claimed that he was still alive, and afforded pretty good proof of the fact, it would have been quite sufficient to hang up the settlement until he found it safe to reappear, or, at all events, to communicate with the court."
"But the will," I broke in, "the will?"
"Ah!" said Gordon. "Like many robust scoundrels, I think that Mr. Prado was a bit of a fatalist. Although apparently he'd got off so neatly, I believe he had some sort of feeling that his days were numbered. He practically hints as much in his will, which he tells Horsfall he had drawn up in case 'all his excellent precautions should prove useless.' It's quite a simple document. He leaves you everything, 'in the improbable event,' as he puts it, 'of your surviving him,' Failing that, the property goes to charity."
"And Maurice gets nothing?"
"Not a bean," answered Gordon cheerfully. "If he finds himself hard up, the testator advises him to communicate with San Luca. I should think it was the only joke Prado ever made."
"But will it hold good in law?" I asked.
Gordon shrugged his shoulders. "I think so," he said. "It's a little irregular, of course, but there's no one to fight it except Furnivall, and unless he's a fool, he'll lie devilish quiet. I've quite enough evidence to ask for his arrest for conspiring to murder you at Woodford. That reminds me, by the way. You're not likely to be troubled with your South American friends again for a little while—they got away on theNew York Citythis morning. I can have them collared the other side, if we want them, of course; but, on the whole, I thought it best to let them go."
I nodded my approval. "We shall miss them," I said, "shan't we, Billy? Still, the best of friends must part."
"They must," agreed Gordon, pulling out his watch. "I'm due to speak in the House at five forty-five, and it's ten to six now."
He hastily picked up his hat and gloves. "Good-bye," he added, shaking hands all round. "Come and see me at my chambers at ten-thirty to-morrow, and we'll straighten things out a little. Till then,"—his eyes twinkled,—"well, try and keep out of mischief as much as possible."
"Fifty thousand pounds!" exclaimed Billy, as the door closed behind him. "Good Lord! Give me some more tea; I feel quite giddy."
Mercia poured him out another cup, which he gulped down in silence.
"Fifty thousand pounds," I repeated. "It's a sobering sum, isn't it?"
"Sobering!" gasped Billy. "It's—it's—" Words failed him completely.
"Well, come along," I said, jumping up from my chair. "Let's get back to Park Lane and see what's happening there. We've all sorts of things to do before dinner."
"All sorts of things to do?" echoed Billy reprovingly. "My dear Jack, you forget yourself: you are now one of the idle rich."
"Not quite, Billy," I said; "there's a lot of dust to sweep up yet. We'll start by paying for tea."
I rang the bell and settled my bill, giving the waiter a tip that made his hair curl. It pleased me to be able to pass on something of my own emotions.
We then went down into the hall, where a porter hurried off to inform our faithful driver, who by my instructions was refreshing himself somewhere in the hotel. A minute later, the Rolls-Royce drew up outside the door.
"Lammersfield House, Park Lane," I said.
Billy settled himself back luxuriously, facing me. "And to think," he murmured, "that ten days ago we were dining at Parelli's."
"To-night," I said, "we'll all three dine at Park Lane. What do you say, Mercia?"
Mercia nodded her head gravely. Ever since Gordon's revelations she had been curiously silent.
"That's to say, if there's anyone in the house," I went on, "It's more than likely that both the women have cleared out by now, and Heaven knows what's happened to Milford."
"Well, we shall soon see," remarked Billy consolingly. "In any case, you can ring up Harrod's and tell them to send some food along. That's the best of being a millionaire."
Mercia laid her hand on my sleeve. "I must let the Tregattocks know I am safe," she said. "They will be anxious about me. You see, I have been away ever since breakfast."
"Better send them a wire," I suggested, "saying that you'll be back by ten. We could ring them up, of course, only it's rather an impossible situation to explain over the telephone."
Gliding round the corner of Piccadilly and Park Lane, the big car swept forward for a hundred yards, and then drew up noiselessly outside Lammersfield House. By now, the fact that I was for the moment the most notorious person in England had gone clean out of my head. This lapse of memory nearly led to a regrettable incident, for as I jumped out to hold the door open for Mercia, a young man in a blue suit, who was standing on the pavement, made a sudden dash towards us. With a warning cry to Billy, I whipped back my fist ready to strike, and the stranger checked himself abruptly just out of distance.
"I say, I'm—I'm awfully sorry," he stammered. "I bey your pardon, Mr. Burton. The fact is"—here he began to feel in his pocket—"I am representing theDaily Wire. 'Fraid I gave you a bit of a surprise."
"It was nothing," I said, "to the surprise I nearly gave you."
"If you could spare me a few minutes—" he began eagerly.
"Look here," I said, "I'm busy now—I've got some friends with me. Come back in half an hour, and we'll have a chat."
He looked at me sharply as though to see whether I were telling him the truth, and then, apparently satisfied with the truthfulness of my countenance, began to express his thanks.
"It's no business of mine," he added tentatively, "but I suppose you know Mr. Furnivall is in the house?"
"What!" I almost shouted.
"Yes," he said. "I was really sent to interview him, but he declines to see any pressmen."
"Does he!" I said. "Well, if you wait here a minute or so, perhaps I might persuade him to change his mind."
"This," broke in Billy, softly rubbing his hands together, "just completes our day."
I turned to Mercia. "Don't be afraid, dear," I said. "There's not going to be any more bloodshed."
She smiled faintly. "I am not afraid," she answered. "One does not fight with men of his sort. He is a coward and a traitor. He sold Prado to the League, and he would have killed you when you were at Ashton."
I nodded my head. "I know, Mercia," I said sadly. "It's on these very points we are going to remonstrate with him."
I led the way up the steps, and then with my hands on the bell I paused.
"By Jove, Billy!" I said. "I suppose Maurice still thinks he's come into all Prado's money."
"You bet he does," chuckled Billy.
I gave a joyous peal at the bell, and in a few moments the door opened, and I found myself face to face with the pretty housemaid.
She uttered a low exclamation of surprise and delight. "Oh, sir!" she cried, "you've come back, you've come back!"
"Of course I have," I said. "I told you I should, and I often speak the truth."
She stepped back to make room for us, and we passed through into the farther hall.
"Where's Mr. Furnivall?" I asked.
She opened the inner door. "Mr. Furnivall—" she began, and then she stopped short; for there, at the foot of the staircase, stood Maurice himself, staring at me with an expression in which amazement, hatred, and fear were very evenly blended.
Some idea of bolting must have passed through his mind, for I saw him make a quick half-turn towards the banisters. Then I suppose the futility of the proceeding struck him, for with a big effort he regained his self-control, and advanced towards us with an ill-assumed air of dignity.
"I should have imagined," he said, "that this was the last place you would have had the impertinence to come to!"
I looked at him for a minute, with a slightly thoughtful smile.
"My dear Maurice," I said at last, "if you only had a little more courage, you'd be a really remarkable rascal. As it is—" I shrugged my shoulders and began to walk towards him.
He turned pale and stepped back.
"If you attempt to make any disturbance here—" he began.
"Oh, shut up!" I said good-humouredly, and reaching forward I caught him by the collar.
He squirmed furiously. "Send for the police," he bellowed, "send for the police!"
"You can send for the whole British Army, if you like," I observed, shaking him into something like silence. "Now listen to me, Maurice. Your cousin may have been a scoundrel, but, at all events, he trusted you, and you sold him—sold him like the dirty little Judas Iscariot you are. Besides that, you did your best to get me murdered."
"It's not true," he gurgled.
"Yes, it is," I replied. "Don't contradict me, or I shall get annoyed. Not only did you try to have me murdered at Ashton, but you told the most unblushing lies about me to the police." Here I lifted him up and shook him again till his teeth rattled. "Now, Maurice," I added, "people who behave to me like that are asking for trouble. Guarez has got it, Rojas has got it, and I've just been squaring matters with our mutual friend Sangatte."
"Look here," he gasped, "you're mistaken; on my honour you are. It's no good being violent. If you want money—"
He paused.
"Well?" I said grimly.
"I'll—I'll give you a cheque; and you can clear out and start fresh."
"Billy," I said, "just open that hall door, will you?"
Then I jerked my prisoner round, so that I could see his face.
"You appear to be under a slight misapprehension, Maurice," I said. "In the first place, you are not Prado's heir; and in the second, I don't happen to be in need of money."
Tightening my grip on his collar, I moved him slowly backwards across the hall towards the front door.
"What are you going to do?" he wailed.
"If I did my duty," I said pleasantly, "I should wring your neck. As I don't want to hurt your Aunt Mary's feelings, however, I'm merely going to throw you out of the house."
He writhed and twisted like a freshly landed eel, but step by step I shoved him inexorably backwards towards the door which Billy was holding open. In moments of great bodily stress the most carefully assumed refinement is apt to be dissipated, and I regret to say that Maurice's language would have disgraced a cow-puncher. I don't think Mercia minded in the least,—fortunately, she is not that sort,—but his confounded cheek at using it in front of her lent an additional stimulus to my efforts.
On the threshold we paused for a strenuous second or so, while I swung him round so that he could obtain a full view of his destination. Then with a mighty thrust, and one swift, accurately-planted kick, I sent him hurtling down the steps and out into the gutter.
"So perish all traitors," observed Billy's voice.
Maurice, who had fallen full length in the mud, slowly scrambled to his feet. The mixture of pain and fury in his face would have been funny if it had not been so repulsive. He was choking with emotion, but before he could recover himself sufficiently to get any of it out, he was suddenly accosted by the intensely interested representative of theDaily Wire, who had been watching his exit with a kind of paralysed fascination.
I suppose it is annoying to be asked for an interview under such circumstances; still, no irritation could excuse the stream of blasphemy with which Maurice turned upon his interrogator. For a moment, the latter was too astounded to reply; then, getting his chance, as Maurice paused for breath, he began to keep his end up with a vigour and resource that only the literary temperament can command.
Feeling that this dialogue was unsuitable both for Mercia and for my pretty housemaid, I was just stepping back to close the door when a voice that I had good reason for remembering suddenly cut into the uproar.
"If you don't stop using that language and clear out of here immediately, I shall call the police. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, gentlemen, brawling like this in Park Lane!"
It was Milford—the redoubtable Milford! Even if I had not recognised the tone, I should have guessed who it was speaking from the sentiments.
At the sound of his rebuke, the exchange of compliments stopped abruptly. Maurice, who apparently realised that he had been making an ass of himself, looked round wildly to find some way of escape from the rapidly increasing fringe of spectators. There was a taxi on the farther side of the road, the driver of which had drawn up to watch the fun. Walking across, Maurice gave the man some directions, and then, without so much as a glance back at the house, jumped inside and slammed the door. The next moment he was bowling off up the street.
I looked round for Milford, but he was already disappearing down the area steps. Closing the front door, I turned to the pretty housemaid, who had taken refuge behind the umbrella-stand.
"Ellen," I said, "Milford's coming in down below. You might send him straight up."
"Yes, sir," she gasped, and abandoning her hiding-place, she hurried off across the hall.
Billy took a deep breath. "I call this living," he remarked contentedly. "Fancy Milford turning up like that!"
"If ever a man had the dramatic instinct," I said, "Milford has."
The words had hardly passed when the door at the back of the hall opened and my incomparable retainer stood before us.
He looked all round, and then bowed gravely. "May I be permitted to welcome you back, sir? I regret I was not here to receive you."
I stepped forward, and held out my hand. "Milford," I said, "I'm not much good at thanking people, but"—then I paused—"well, I'm very grateful," I finished heartily.
He accepted my hand with a kind of apologetic movement. "Not at all, sir. Only too glad to have been of any assistance. May I say how pleased I am to learn that Mr. Northcote has made you his heir? I presume, sir, that explains Mr. Furnivall's—" He waved a significant hand towards the street.
"That," I said, "and a kick behind."
Milford nodded gravely.
"A bad lot, sir—a very bad lot. I always warned Mr. Northcote against him."
"Milford," I said, "I don't know how things are here, but do you think, if we rung up Harrod's or Gunter's or someone, that you could manage a little dinner for three at, say, eight o'clock? Miss Solano and Mr. Logan have been through the whole business with me, and we want to celebrate its success."
A smile of professional pride stole across Milford's face. "Certainly, sir," he replied, with a bow. "Everything shall be ready at eight o'clock; you may rely on that, sir."
"You're staying here, of course, Billy," I said, as Milford disappeared.
"Rather," said Billy. "You don't suppose I'm going to leave you now you've got fifty thousand? I'll just run down in a cab to my old digs, and fetch my traps before dinner."
"Right you are, Billy," I laughed. "And you might send the wire to Lady Tregattock at the same time."
* * * * * * * * *
We are standing in the very room where, ten days before, that midnight bullet had so nearly ended my adventures.
"Mercia," I said, "my own sweet Mercia," and taking her hands, I drew them up on to my shoulders, and gazed down into her dear, upturned face.
I think she guessed what was in my mind, for she looked round at the curtain with a little shudder.
"Ah!" she whispered, "if I had killed you—"
"At least," I said, with a twinkle in my eyes, "it would have saved Sangatte's good looks." Then I bent forward and gently kissed those soft, sorrowful lips that I loved so well.
"Mercia," I said, "I know what you are thinking about this money of Prado's. I know that it was wrung and tortured out of your father's friends and followers, and that you would starve rather than benefit in any way by their sufferings."
"Yes, yes," she whispered; "I knew you would understand."
"Dearest," I said gently, "we will take it as a trust—you and I and Billy. God knows how much misery and suffering Prado caused, but over in Bolivia there's gold enough to undo even his work. It was Manuel Solano who saved San Luca: it shall be Solano's daughter who will save her again."
With a little cry of joy, Mercia seized my hand, and before I could stop her, raised it to her lips.
It took me at least five minutes to satisfy myself that this incorrect procedure had been properly atoned for.
THE END