That paste-board gave me a shock; it sent a chill, creepy feeling down my spine. It smelt dangerous. I read the name again: "Mr. Sefton Dagmar!" So, while my master was away journeying down to Newhaven to keep the appointment, I had fabricated, with his nephew; by a snarl of chance, his nephew had called at his house in London. Perhaps they had passed each other on the road.
I turned over the card and received a second shock. Across it was scrawled in pencil:—"Will call to-morrow morning at 10. Urgent."
"Curse the luck!" I muttered. "Uncle and nephew will meet and my master will learn that, in spite of his injunction not to leave the house, I disobeyed him. Subsequent discoveries will infallibly re-excite his first and easily smothered distrust of myself!" It seemed to be more than ever important that the secret of the identity of my master's impersonator should be preserved and that not the remotest breath of suspicion should attach to me. Otherwise it would be impossible to improve my fortunes without assuming the naked and hideous character of a blackmailer, the very idea of which was bitterly repugnant to my disposition. I hurried into Sir William Dagmar's library, lit the gas and caught up a time-table. It informed me that the first passenger train from Newhaven would arrive in London on the following morning at 10.15. I made a hasty calculation. It would take Sir William fifteen minutes to drive from the station, and the train might be a little late, trains often are. If Mr. Sefton Dagmar therefore might be relied on to be punctual, I should have at least half an hour wherein to smoothe out the snarl of fate arranged for my undoing. Much might be done in half an hour! Relieved by the reflection, I put out the light and went upstairs to bed. I was very tired, but I cannot truthfully declare that I slept. Whenever my eyes closed I saw horrid visions. Mr. Cavanagh lying on the floor with his skull shattered and blood oozing from the hole in his head; or a white faced man stretched upon a marble slab with a dreadful bloody cavity in his chest; sometimes a hairy chested ape similarly situated! God defend me from such another night! At dawn I arose from my bed of torture and lay for an hour in a plunge bath filled with hot water. A subsequent ice cold shower and a careful toilet restored to my appearance its pristine freshness, but there were many grey hairs about my temples which I had never seen before. I am not a lover of wine, but I dared not face the day without support, and I derived the stimulus I needed from a bottle of my master's champagne. Afterwards I felt better, but I also felt that I should never be able to smile light-heartedly again. The hours that followed I devoted to thoughts of Marion Le Mar. I admitted to myself that I loved her, and deep down in my heart I knew that for her sake and at her bidding I would sacrifice, if need arose, anything, even my life. It was a strange conviction that, to be entertained by a man like me—a man whose motto had ever been—"First person paramount." And yet I speedily recognized that it was as much a part of me as my hand, and might only as easily be combated or parted with. I had no hope of winning her, however, no hope at all, hardly even a wish. She seemed set as far beyond my reach as the stars, and her contemplation inspired me with a realization of my unworthiness and her divinity which was neither humiliating nor discomforting. "For," thought I, "the stars shine upon us all, the noble and the base alike, and who shall say that they discriminate between the ardent looks of worshippers?"
The bell rang and I opened the door for Mr. Sefton Dagmar. In one second I comprehended why Sir William disliked his nephew. My master, for all his faults, was a deep-natured man of large mental mould. Before me stood his absolute antithesis. I saw a small, shallow, smiling, cunning face, that betrayed to the keen observer every emotion of the mind. The features were regular, even handsome, yet puny, and the soul that looked out of his eyes was facile, treacherous and sycophantic. He wore a slight yellow moustache, and his eyebrows were white. He looked too young. I judged him to be twenty-five. He was tall and very slight; he wore a pale brown overcoat and a suit beneath of tasteless checked tweed.
"Mr. Sefton Dagmar?" I asked with deference.
He nodded, looking me swiftly up and down. "Uncle in?" he airily demanded.
"No, sir; but I expect him shortly. Will you step inside?"
"Might as well," he drawled, but he entered with alacrity, and I led the way to the ante-chamber.
"Where is my uncle?" he enquired, as I removed his overcoat.
"I do not know, sir?"
"He got my card, I suppose?"
"Not yet, sir. He has been away."
"All night?"
"Yes sir."
He whistled then faced me with a cunning smile. "You are new," he began. "Where is Butts?"
"He left a month ago."
"What is your name?"
"Brown, sir?"
He nodded, eyeing me as a cat might a mouse. "You look a good sort," he declared presently. "How do you get on with my uncle, Brown?"
I affected to hesitate. "Fairly well, thank you, sir," I replied stammering a little.
"That means damned poorly," he retorted, nodding his head again. "Oh! I know him, Brown; I know him, you need'nt tell me. Why Brown, I'm his only living relative, his sole heir, and how do you think he treats me?"
"I'm sure I don't know, sir?"
"He allows me a paltry three hundred a year, on the condition that I live in Newhaven with a beastly solicitor fellow to whom he made me sign articles!"
"That seems very hard, sir."
"Hard, Brown," he cried, his eyes agleam, "Hard! you call it hard! Why the old monster is a millionaire, and as I told you before I am his only living relative!"
I put on an expression of shocked sympathy. "It is almost incredible!" I gasped.
He gave me a grateful look. "It is true, though!" he declared, "true as gospel. And the only excuse he could rake up for doing it was that I outran the constable a bit at Oxford. He's the meanest old skin-flint in the United Kingdom!"
"I wish I could help you, sir," I murmured in my most reverential manner. "It seems very hard and really wrong, sir, that a nice handsome young gentleman like you, if you'll pardon me for speaking so, sir, to your face, should be tied up in a little village like Newhaven when you might be enjoying yourself and seeing life in London and Paris, sir!"
"As I ought to be," he cried hotly, evidently stirred to anger at my picture of his misfortune. "It's a cursed shame, Brown, a cursed shame!"
"It is indeed, sir. I only wish I could help you, sir."
He gave me a thoughtful look. "You never know," he muttered, "the mouse helped the lion!"
I nearly laughed in his face, but controlling the impulse I said instead—"And with the best of good will, sir!"
"You're a damned good fellow, Brown!" he cried with energy. "And when I am Sir Sefton Dagmar I shall not forget you." His voice sank into a low confidential key. "By the way, Brown, there is a small service you might render me."
"Anything," I answered eagerly, "I'd do anything foryou, sir!"
He grinned with pleasure, the callow youth. "It's nothing much," he muttered. "Only I want you to tell me exactly how your master is—the state of his health, I mean. I can never get any satisfaction out of him, and I have a lot of friends who want to know." He sighed and frowned.
Post obitbond-holders—was my reflection.
"I don't think he will live very long, sir," I whispered, looking nervously about me. "At night he coughs something dreadful, sir, and he just lives on medicines."
Mr. Sefton Dagmar's face looked for a moment like that of a happy cherub.
"Do you really think so, Brown?" he cried excitedly.
"I'm sure of it, sir."
"Well, see here, Brown, when he dies, I'll make you my man, if you like!"
"Will you really, sir?" I tried to look extravagantly delighted.
"Yes—and I'll give you twice as much screw as you get now, whatever he gives you. But for that I'll expect you to do some things for me in the meanwhile." He looked me keenly in the eyes.
"Anything at all, sir," I protested.
"Very good. I want you to drop me a line every week to tell me how he is, and if he takes any sudden turn for the worse you may send me a telegram."
"Certainly, sir. Is that all?"
"No!" He glanced anxiously towards the door. "No one can hear us, can they?"
"There's no one in the house, sir, but you and me."
"That's famous; well, Brown, see here, I'm heavily in debt and some of the beggars are pressing me into a corner. That's why I came up to town."
"Yes, sir!"
"And—and—" his face changed colour, "there is a woman too!" he stammered, "an actress!"
"There's always a woman, I should think, where a handsome young gentleman like you, sir, is concerned," I murmured with a sympathetic smile.
His vanity was tickled, but the conceited grin my words had called to his lips quickly faded into a look of anxiety. The matter was manifestly serious.
"They are the devil, Brown," he solemnly assured me. "This one has got me into a dickens own mess, she's as pretty as a picture, Brown, but a perfect brute all the same!"
"Breach of promise, sir?"
He nodded, with a lugubrious frown. "I've been served with a writ," he muttered, "and there's nothing for it but to make a clean breast to the governor!"
"Can I help you in any way, sir?"
"I thought you might have something to suggest as to how I should broach it to him, Brown. When is he in the best humour—morning, afternoon or evening?"
"If you'd take my advice, sir," I replied, "you'll not tell your uncle at all, sir. He can't last long, and I should think that, as you are a lawyer, you ought to be able to stave off the proceedings for a month or so. If you were to confess, he'd be bound to be terribly annoyed, and the odds are he'd do you some injury in his will. He knows he is dying, sir."
Mr. Sefton Dagmar turned quite pale. "I never thought of that!" he cried. "By Jove, so he might. He might cut me off with a shilling. The entail is barred long enough ago."
I was dying to get him out of the house, if only for half an hour. I had hit upon the tail end of a plan.
"It would never do to run such a risk!" I assured him. "And if you'll allow me to guide you, sir, you'll run away at once. He will be here in a minute, and the odds are that he'll come in bad tempered."
"I'll go!" he replied. "But, Brown, I'd like to see him, just to be sure how he is looking."
"Then come back in an hour or two. But be sure, sir, and say nothing about your having been here before. He's a terribly suspicious man, and if he thought that you and I had been conferring, he would dismiss me straight off the reel!"
"Never fear, Brown. I wouldn't have you sacked for the world. You'll be too useful to me here."
"I really believe I shall, sir."
In another moment he had gone, and I watched him walking up the street, through a slit in the blind, until he had disappeared. It was exactly twenty minutes past ten. I hurried to my master's study and, quick as thought, turned the whole place topsy turvy. I ransacked his private drawers and scattered their contents broadcast, I even overturned his heap of reference books. I heard the latch turn in the front door as I descended the stairs.
"Oh, it is you at last, sir. Thank God!" I cried as Sir William Dagmar appeared.
He was looking like a ghost, white and utterly wearied out, and his chin was sunk upon his chest; but my words startled him, and he turned on me with compressed lips, in sudden energy.
"What is the matter, Brown?" he demanded.
"Oh, if you please, sir, I have had a terrible night!" (I poured out the words in a perfect stream.) "Just as I was going to bed, sir, it was about eight o'clock, sir, for I was uncommon tired, the bell rang. I went down to open the door and there you were standing, at least I thought it was you, sir. He looked exactly like you, and he spoke like you, sir, and he called me 'Brown,' sir——"
"Great God!" exclaimed my master, and he fell to trembling like a leaf. "What is that you say, but wait! wait!——"
He staggered into the dining room and clutched a decanter of spirit, which he held up with a shaking hand to his lips. He took a deep draught, and then broke into a frightful fit of coughing. I tended upon him as gently as a woman, and half led, half carried him to a sofa, where I forced him to lie down. But his anxiety was in flames, and as soon as he could he sat up and commanded me to proceed.
"What did this—this double of me say and do?" he gasped. "Tell me quickly!"
"He went straight up stairs, sir. He was there about half an hour, and then your study bell rang. He was standing by your desk with your time-table in his hand, sir. He said to me—'I suppose, Brown, you thought I had gone to Newhaven!'
"'Yes, sir,' said I, and he laughed like anything, just as though he was very much amused about something, and all the while I thought he was you, sir. The only thing was, sir, that he wore a different overcoat, and I kept wondering what you had done with your fur coat, sir. He was searching the time-table, and presently, sir, he looked over at me and he said—'Why, Brown, if I'd gone to Newhaven, I couldn't have got back until ten fifteen to-morrow morning.'
"'Indeed, sir!' says I. And at that he simply roared out laughing. 'Brown,' he cries, 'you'll be the death of me!' I was very much astonished, sir, and I thought that you'd taken leave of your senses, sir, but after you—that is to say—he—after he'd got over his laughing—he looks me in the face and says—says he—'Brown, you fool, 'can't you see I'm not your master! Here look at my thumbs!' And sure enough, sir, he had both his thumbs quite complete, sir, and then I knew he couldn't be you, sir! I was that dumbfounded for a bit, sir, that I was ready to sink through the floor, and all I could do was just gape at his hands. Then of a sudden he whips one of them into his pocket, sir, and he pulled out a pistol, which he clapped to my head. 'Listen to me, Brown!' says he, very quiet like, but in a terrible voice, sir, 'Listen to me, Brown!' says he. 'Your master is in Newhaven by now, and he can't get back till the morning. When he comes tell him from me, that his double will find out to-night all he wants to know, and that he'll hear from me within a week. Tell him, too, that he needn't bother suspecting young Sefton, I could have got the young ass to help me if I'd wanted, but he was too great a fool, and I scorn to have him blamed. Tell Sir William I'm playing a lone hand, and that it rests with him to keep it a lone hand. And now, Brown, you just stay here for the next half hour, while I go through the house, and don't you budge, or as sure as death I'll plug a bullet through your brains!'
"With that, sir, he dragged me into a corner, and put my face to the wall—and—and—I stayed there, sir!"
"What!" thundered my master. "How long?"
I began to whimper. "I—I—take shame to admit I played the coward, sir," I blubbed out.
"But if—if you'd heard him—speak, sir—and seen the look in his eyes—sir—you—you—may be——'"
"Enough!" he interjected very sharply. "I'm not blaming you, my man, I'm asking for information. How long did you stay in the corner where he put you?"
"A long while, sir."
"How soon did he leave the house?"
"I don't know, sir. I seemed to hear noises for hours and hours, sir—and—and—" here I broke down with a really artistic sob. "It's turned me quite grey, sir—all about the temples—and I was brown as brown—last evening, sir!"
Sir William got to his feet and placed a hand upon my shoulder.
"There, there, Brown, compose yourself!" he said in kinder tones. "I can see that you have had a great fright, and you were right to run no risks. But tell me did you send for the police after you discovered that the man had gone?"
"I—no, sir," I stammered. "You told me on no account to leave the house!"
"Brown!" he cried indignantly.
"Well, sir—I—I—I—simply daren't venture outside the house, sir!" I blurted out.
My master frowned and shook his head. "Just as well, perhaps!" he muttered to himself. He added in a louder key. "Well, my man, you have given me much to think over, and I have trouble enough upon my hands already."
"Trouble, sir!" I repeated.
"A dear friend of mine is dead. You know him, Brown, Mr. George Cavanagh. He shot himself last night in his studio!"
It was on the tip of my tongue to scream out—"in his studio!" I was so surprised, but I restrained myself just in time and cried instead:—
"Good heavens! sir, how awful! Why did he do it, sir?"
Sir William shrugged his shoulders. "They say that it was in a fit of despair, because the great picture he was painting was accidentally destroyed by fire. But you may read for yourself, Brown, the morning papers are full of it!"
The papers! I had never even thought to look at one. I had been so preoccupied. My master went on speaking. "I'll go upstairs, Brown, and have a bath," he said, "after which I shall attend the inquest!"
"But your double, sir!" I cried. "Ought not we to tell the police at once about him, sir?"
He shook his head. "No, no, Brown. Better not, better not. He is probably some friend of mine who has been playing a practical joke at my expense. Keep what has happened to yourself, Brown. I do not wish to be laughed at!"
"Very good, sir," I muttered dubiously. "But all the same I don't think he was joking, sir. I'll be bound you'll find he has robbed you. The study is just upside down! I have not tried to put it in order, sir, so that you might see it as he left it!"
Sir William gave me a wan smile. "I keep no valuables in the house, Brown," he replied, "except my manuscripts, and they are worthless to anyone but myself."
Without another word he left the room, and I also hurried out in order to prepare his bath. I did not venture to converse with him again, for he had fallen into one of his impenetrable silent moods which inevitably stirred him to wrath against any interrupter. As soon as I had dressed him he left the house, still steeped in speechless thought. He looked ten years older than he had the previous day, and I felt really sorry to remember the additional cup of fear and horror he would be called upon to drink when he and the others had ascertained the full extent and import of my most recent impersonation.
After he had gone, I snatched open the first paper that came to my hand. It was theMorning Mail. I discovered the black scare headline in a second. Yes, sure enough it related how Mr. Cavanagh's valet had found his master lying on the studio floor a little after midnight, stone dead, with a revolver clutched in his right hand. The man had not heard the shot, but he had been awakened by some noise, and he had thought his master had called out to him. He admitted that he was a heavy sleeper, and he did not remember hearing Mr. Cavanagh enter the house. The artist's great picture upon which he had been working for a year, and which was almost finished, was half destroyed by fire, and it looked as though by accident, for a naked gas jet burned perilously close to the easel. The bullet which had killed Mr. Cavanagh had been found by the police embedded in the plaster of a distant wall, near the ceiling. The writer of the article had ingeniously concluded that the artist on entering his studio and observing the fruit of his ardent labours destroyed beyond repair, had, in the first sharp flush of his despair, committed suicide!
As for me, when I scanned the page and considered one by one the circumstantial dove-tailing details of that ghastly history—I confess that for a moment I doubted my senses' evidence. A little reflection, however, brought me to a realization of the truth, and a greater respect than ever for a certain eminent surgeon—to wit—Sir Charles Venner. I saw in everything I read, his calm, cold-blooded scheming. On my last glimpse he had been languidly smoking a cigarette, which he must have lighted before the breath had quite departed from poor Cavanagh's mutilated corpse. Perhaps nay, undoubtedly, he had even then been planning how to act, and so arrange matters that no scandal might be associated with the name of his accursed hospital.
As clearly as though I had been present I saw him ordering that dreadful funeral; saw him take Cavanagh's latch-key from his chain; saw him direct one of the negroes to prepare a conveyance; saw him lead the negroes carrying the body to a waiting vehicle—and that silent cortége move across the Heath to St. John's Wood. I saw him then open Mr. Cavanagh's door and noiselessly motion the negroes to bear the corpse within. I watched him dispose the body on the floor with scientific calculation as to the proper direction of the bullet, and then climbing upon a chair or perhaps on the negroes' shoulders force the bullet through the curtain into the plaster. Perhaps that noise had awakened Cavanagh's drowsy headed servant! I saw him approach the easel and set fire to the great picture, so as to supply the world with a motive for the suicide—and finally I saw him steal away with his ebony attendants from the house—three dark malignant spirits, veritable caterers of death!
Somehow I shuddered to think of Sir Charles Venner. I felt him to be a foeman more worthy of my steel than all his fellows, and I half wished, half feared to cross swords with him. It is true that already I had twice managed to out-wit him, and he had not dreamed in either case of doubting my assumed identity. But I could not claim much credit in the latter bout, nor feel much satisfaction, since throughout that awful evening Sir Charles had been too occupied to do more than throw a hasty glance in my direction. What would happen, I wondered, in a real fair battle of wits, each of us forewarned of the encounter? I had profound faith in my powers and resources, but I dared not forecast that issue! Twice we had met, and twice I had succeeded. Would we strive again, and who would win on the third and fatal meeting?
Such were the questions I asked myself unceasingly; but I could answer none of them.
It was not until almost four o'clock in the afternoon that my master returned home, and he was accompanied by Sir Charles Venner and Dr. Fulton. I was at once called into the study and put through a rigid cross-examination, by all three, regarding my pretended visitor of the previous evening. But I had expected such an ordeal, and I came through with colours flying. I was much concerned, however, to perceive that Sir William Dagmar looked very ill. He coughed incessantly and so haggard and careworn was his visage that I believed he would presently collapse. My prognostications were justified by the event. Soon after I had been dismissed the bell rang violently, and I hurried upstairs to see the two surgeons carrying my master's unconscious body to the bedroom. I undressed him there and put him to bed; whereupon they carefully examined him, and held a long and anxious consultation over his condition. An hour passed before he recovered from his swoon, but even when he awoke it was not to his proper senses, for he immediately began to babble a stream of meaningless nonsense. The surgeons looking very grave agreed to administer an opiate, and they injected some fluid hypodermically into his arm.
Sir Charles then informed me that they feared a serious attack of meningitis, and he promised to send a trained nurse within an hour to look after the sick man. He left at once, but Dr. Fulton remained until my master went to sleep. The nurse arrived half an hour later, and I prepared one of the spare bed-rooms for her use. She was an angular hard-featured woman named Hargreaves, but she had a soft voice and pleasing manners, and she seemed to know her business. Mr. Sefton Dagmar arrived at about seven o'clock. As soon as he heard that his uncle was ill and likely to die, he went half crazy with joy and insisted upon staying in the house. I did not wish him to at all, but there was nothing for me to do except put up with the infliction, and prepare another bed-room. However, he sent me out soon after dinner to despatch a telegram to Newhaven for his baggage, and for that little involuntary service that he did me, I became reconciled to his presence. The fact was, I needed an excuse to quit the house upon business of my own. Ever since my master had swooned I had been thinking very hard, and it seemed to me that if I wished to improve my fortunes, I must strike at once before all the geese, whom I expected to lay me golden eggs, should die. Having sent Mr. Sefton Dagmar's wire, I took a cab to Cheapside and sought out a cheap stationer's shop. I bought some common note paper and envelopes, and begging the loan of a pen, I scratched in straggling print the following epistle to Sir Charles Venner:—
"Sir—If you will inquire at the Colonnade Hotel for Mr. Seth Halford to-morrow evening at nine o'clock, you will be shown to a room, where you will find Dagmar the second. Kindly bring money and come alone!"
I posted this letter at the G.P.O., and returned to Curzon Street. In the morning Sir William Dagmar was in a high fever and raving deliriously. As I had a houseful to provide for, and am not a lover of trouble, I went early abroad and arranged with a restaurateur to supply all our meals. I then drove in a cab to a post office in the Old Kent Road and sent myself a telegram from my dying mother, which arrived at noon. Sir Charles Venner visited his patient at one, and after he had gone I showed my telegram to Mr. Sefton Dagmar and Nurse Hargreaves, both of whom urged me to attend the summons, assuring me that I was not needed at the house. I tearfully allowed their protestations to prevail, and betook myself to my little stronghold in Bruton Street. There arrived, I spent the rest of that day making myself up to represent the old actor whom I had impersonated on the occasion when I had shadowed my master to the Kingsmere Hospital for Consumptives. For a purpose, to be afterwards explained, I furnished my pockets with a small assortment of wigs, beards and moustaches. When darkness fell I issued forth and rode in a cab to the Colonnade Hotel. The clerk stared at me rather haughtily when I asked for a room in so swell a place, but I satisfied his scruples with half a sovereign, which tip no doubt induced him to believe me an eccentric millionaire. I told him that I expected a visitor, my friend, Sir Charles Venner, the great surgeon, at nine o'clock, and desired him to be shown up at once to my bedroom. After that he was all obsequiousness. I dined at the hotel, and to fortify myself for the fray I drank a small bottle of sparkling burgundy. At a quarter to nine I repaired to my room, which was situated near the first angle of the building on turning from the staircase, on the second floor. It was furnished in the ordinary style very plainly and simply. I quickly stripped the dressing-table of its contents and placed it in the middle floor. I set a chair on either side of the table, and I sat down upon the one that faced the door—which I had left unlatched—I then put on a pair of goggles and waited.
Sir Charles Venner was praiseworthily punctual. Big Ben was still chiming the hour when I heard his tap on the panel.
"Come in!" I cried.
The handle turned and he entered, just pausing on the threshold to tip the waiter who had brought him up.
"My dear old chap!" I exclaimed for the waiter's benefit, "this is good of you, as ever, punctual to the tick!"
He closed the door carefully behind him, and advanced towards the table, pulling off his gloves as he did so. I, on the contrary, had been careful to keep my hands thickly gloved, for I wanted those keen eyes of his to have as few recognizing details as possible to remember, and hands are tell tale things, as I had proved sufficiently already.
"I suppose I may be seated!" he began in steady tones.
I nodded, eating him with my gaze. His countenance was perfectly impassive, but his eyes returned my stare with penetrating interest.
He sat down and calmly crossed his knees. "My time is limited," he declared. "Kindly proceed to business. You sent for me and I am here!"
I bowed my head. "True, Sir Charles," I replied in an assumed voice. "I do not propose to detain you long. The Kingsmere Hospital for Consumptives doubtless claims your care, so I shall be as brief as possible!"
I watched him sharply, but he did not turn a hair nor move a muscle. "Go on!" was all he said.
"Shall we avoid details?" I enquired.
"Unnecessary details, sir. But tell me all you know!"
"Not very much!" I said gently. "Unlawful secret society! We'll call that number one, and bracket with it George Cavanagh's death by suicide." A look of relief crossed his face at the word suicide. I smiled and proceeded. "Number two: Vivisection is unlawful—I fancy—and you might be convicted of murder on my showing. It would be for a jury to determine, for all the great surgeon that you are. I think that is enough Sir Charles!"
"Bah!" said he, and a curious gleam came into his eyes. "You can scandalize and perhaps destroy my practice, that is all. I admit you have me in a chain, but take care not to strain the bond too far. I do not depend upon my practice for a living, and in the cause of science I shall dare to face scandal, if you press me!"
"I am glad to hear that you have a private fortune," I answered quietly. "I have the less compunction in asking you to contribute to another man's support. The world's wealth is distributed very unevenly, Sir Charles. Do you not agree with me?"
For the first time a shade of annoyance crossed his face. "I must decline to discuss abstractions with a blackmailer," he replied in irritated tones. "What is your name, and what is your price?"
"My name for the present is Seth Halford, Sir Charles. I shall not deny that it is liable to frequent change—" I smiled—"but I defy you to detect its transmutations, sir, or follow its vicarious possessor to his lair. As for my price, I have no object in withholding that—It is ten thousand pounds!"
"And is it not subject, like your name, to change?"
"Not by so much as one farthing, Sir Charles."
He nodded and got languidly to his feet. "I came here prepared to sacrifice five hundred," he said quietly. "Two in cash, the balance to-morrow. I am not sure that I am not pleased to save the money."
"Will you save it?" I asked.
"Unless you hedge immediately in your outrageously extravagant demand."
"Unhappily, Sir Charles, that is utterly impossible."
"Then I shall save it!"
"How?"
"By calling in the police and arresting you for attempted blackmail."
I broke into a soft rippling laugh. "So—" I muttered, "you only value your neck at five hundred pounds! Such fine and delicate vertebrae they are too!"
The irony brought some colour to his cheek. "My neck is in no danger," he retorted angrily. "What can you prove against us you fool, except that I performed a wonderful operation in the cause of science, in the ardent hope of saving a man's life, and in the sure trust of benefitting the whole human race?"
"But the man died, doctor, and he was one of nineteen! The coroner will shortly have a harvest, nineteen autopsies, Sir Charles! Think of them! Nineteen autopsies!"
"You fool," he repeated in tones of repressed passion, "if there were even ninety—what of it? But enough of this! choose between five hundred pounds and the lock-up. Choose quickly!"
He turned as he spoke and strode to the door. His hand was already on the latch. In another second the door would have been thrown wide. Perhaps there was a policeman in the passage, I thought it unlikely but still—possible! At all events it was time for me to cease trifling with my adversary.
"You appear, Sir Charles Venner, to have forgotten the matter of Cavanagh's death!" I hissed out. "He killed himself at the hospital, and his body was discovered at the studio!"
"That can be explained!" he retorted; but his hand fell softly from the latch. "We have plenty of witnesses who saw his suicide."
"Suicide!" I sneered. "Whatof rule three, you one of seven murderers!"
Sir Charles Venner re-crossed the room and quietly resumed his chair. His face was still as expressionless as a mask, but all the lustre had departed from his eyes.
"What do you know of rule three?" he asked in lifeless tones after a long intense pause.
I knew so little that it seemed necessary to lie. "Enough to hang you," I murmured, smiling pleasantly. "I should tell you perhaps, my dear Sir Charles, that I have impersonated Sir William Dagmar more often than I have fingers and toes—during the past twelve months. Ha! you start!" I laughed wickedly. "Did you really permit yourself to dream that you have guessed the full extent of my depredations on your order—from your one or two chance and predestined discoveries. Oh! oh! Ha! ha! This is really too good!"
He bit his lips and eyed me sternly. "I shall need better proof than your word," he said.
I nodded, got to my feet and strode to the door. I threw it open and with an elaborate bow pointed to the passage.
"You shall have it," I cried, "but only in the police court!"
"Bluff!" he sneered. "Bluff!" He did not move from his chair.
"Oh!" said I, "you choose to pay yourself a compliment! So you think I would follow your example of a moment since? But you are wrong!" I walked to the electric bell and pressed the button.
Sir Charles Venner's impassivity disappeared like magic. His face turned scarlet and he sprang instantly afoot.
"Curse you!" he grated out, "what would you do?"
"Sir, our interview is at an end. My servant will show you to the street!"
"The sum you ask is utterly beyond our means!"
I shrugged my shoulders.
"Five thousand!" he hissed.
I yawned.
"Seven then, though it will ruin us!" he cried distractedly.
I took out a cigarette and struck a light. He watched me expel five puffs of vapour from my mouth, but I did not so much as glance at him. Then a servant appeared in the doorway.
"You rang, sir?" he enquired.
"Yes!" I looked at the fellow approvingly. He was a much stouter man and perhaps an inch taller than I, and he had large feet. He was attired in the hotel uniform. He wore a dragoon's moustache, and he looked like an old soldier. "I wish you to be good enough to show my dear friend, Sir Charles Venner, to the street." I turned to Sir Charles and immediately perceived that my adversary had become my victim.
"When and where shall we meet again?" he muttered hoarsely.
"Ten?" said I. He was grey, grey to his lips. His eyes shone like stars.
"Yes, ten!" he replied.
"I'll drop you a line!" I said with a smile. "But how careless of me, I almost forget my hospital subscription list. How much may I put you down for? You know the cause is a deserving one. Shall we say two hundred pounds?"
"Oh, I suppose so," he said.
"Cash, old chap? Or will you send me a cheque?" I frowned as our eyes met, and he read my meaning.
"I brought the money with me," he replied. "I may as well hand it over to you now. I shall thereby save a postage stamp!" He threw a bundle of notes upon the table.
I smiled again and looking steadily into his eyes held out one hand. "Well, good night to you, old boy—sleep well—and be good till we meet again!"
I fancy Sir Charles Venner had never been submitted to a more intolerable piece of degradation. To be commanded to shake hands with one's blackmailer! His eyes were simply murderous, but he obeyed. It was only a form of course, for our fingers barely touched, but his involuntary shiver of repulsion was communicated to my frame even in that swift contact, and I had enough fine feeling in me to appreciate his passionate disgust. To be candid, I liked him all the better because of it, for although there is not a spark of pride in my composition, a constitutional weakness obliges me to respect pride in other people.
Five minutes after he had gone, I left my room and strolled to the head of the stairs. As I had expected, a gentleman was seated upon the lounge that faced the door of the elevator, I could not see his face for it was concealed behind a newspaper. But I marked one incongruous circumstance in his apparel. He wore evening dress, and ordinary street boots of black leather. I am afraid I was so vulgar as to permit myself the indulgence of a wink. I passed him and leisurely descended the first flight of stairs. Of a sudden I stopped, and turning about ran upstairs again at the top of my speed, taking three steps at a time. My gentleman had already begun to descend the stairs. I passed him without a glance, swearing in a low but audible key at my forgetfulness. In another moment I was back in my room pressing the electric button. "So!" thought I, "they have employed a detective to shadow me. Well, we shall see!"
Presently a knock sounded on the door, and the waiter entered, who had shown Sir Charles out.
"Shut it," I said. He obeyed.
"What is your name?" I demanded.
"Martin, sir."
"Well, look here, Martin," said I, "my old friend Sir Charles Venner has just bet me a hundred pounds that I cannot succeed in getting out of this hotel in some disguise, without his suspecting me, during the next half hour. Now he is waiting in the vestibule, is he not?"
The waiter grinned. "No, sir, just inside the coffee room door; I was wondering what he wanted. He gave me half a crown, sir."
"Half a crown!" I sneered. "Look here Martin——" I took Sir Charles' own roll from my pocket and selected two brand new five pound notes. "Now Sir Charles thinks himself very smart, and he fancies he can see through a disguise in a second. But I reckon a bit on my smartness too, for when I was a young man before I made a fortune out of mining I was on the stage. With your help, my man, I'll do Sir Charles up, do him brown—and these notes will be yours for helping me!"
Martin's eyes almost burst out of their sockets. "All right, sir!" he cried excitedly. "What do you want me to do?"
"Exchange clothes with me for ten minutes. Here are the notes, my man—I'll pay you beforehand. All I'll have to do to win my bet is to slip out of the house and return. Hurry up, Martin!"
But Martin had already begun to slip off his coat. The bank notes were tightly clutched between his teeth, so he could not reply, but I was rather glad of that. I induced him to remove even his boots, and in five minutes I was to all appearances a hotel waiter. A false moustache gave me a general look of Martin, but a glance in the mirror showed me a bad fault, the long hair of my previous character, the old Shakesperean actor, fell upon my collar, while Martin's hair was cropped closely to his head. But I dared not exchange the wig I was wearing for another in Martin's presence, for fear of exciting his distrust, neither dared I remove my false bushy grey eyebrows.
Difficulties, however, are made to be surmounted. Whispering a word of warning in Martin's ear, I opened the door, and in a loud voice commanded him to procure me a cab. Martin cried out—"Very good, sir!" and I slipped into the passage, banging the door behind me. My trick was successful, the corridor was deserted. In two seconds I had pulled off my wig and substituted another, also I tore off my false eyebrows and stuffed them into my pocket, that is to say, into Martin's pocket. I then strode down the corridor and turned the corner with the brisk step and manner of a waiter going on an urgent message. My gentleman spy was again seated on the lounge that faced the elevator, and once more intrenched behind a newspaper.
He threw at me one quick glance over the edge of the journal, and his face vanished. I had just time to photograph his features on my mind—no more. Running down the stairs I reached the vestibule, which to my delight was thronged with guests. A moment later, having given the coffee room a wide berth, I passed through the open hall door and gained the street. A gentleman was standing on the footpath paying off a cab from which he had just alighted. I sprang into the vehicle and drove to Piccadilly Circus. A second took me to Marble Arch, and a third to Bruton Street. Feeling assured that I had not been followed, I slipped upstairs and into my room.
An hour later, Brown, Sir William Dagmar's discreet valet, stepped out of an omnibus before the General Post Office, letter in hand addressed to Sir Charles Venner. The letter, which was subscribed in printed characters, contained these words:—"To-morrow afternoon, at 4.30, inquire at Bolingbroke Hotel, Piccadilly, for Dr. Rudolf Garschagen. Bank of England notes alone acceptable. Dagmar II."
I slept that night at Bruton Street.
At ten o'clock on the next morning, as I approached my master's house in Curzon Street, I saw Sir Charles Venner's brougham waiting before the door. I thought it highly probable that Sir Charles would require me to give an account of my absence from duty, whether he suspected me or not, for he was in the position of a man obliged by circumstances to suspect everyone, even his nearest and dearest friend. Nerving myself for the encounter, I assumed a dejected and lugubrious expression, and slowly mounting the steps, I inserted my latch-key in the lock. The hall was deserted, but I heard a mutter of voices in the ante-room, and thither I betook myself at once. "Best get it over quickly," was my thought.
The door was ajar, and peering through I perceived Mr. Sefton Dagmar and Sir Charles Venner in earnest converse. Mr. Dagmar's hat was lying upon the table. Sir Charles carried his in his hand. I rapped softly upon the panel and entered.
"Ah, Brown!" exclaimed the younger man. "Back, I see."
"Good morning, sir," I muttered, and turning to Sir Charles I anxiously enquired after my master.
"Your master is much worse!" he replied, looking at me very keenly. "I expect the crisis to-night!"
"He will recover, sir, I hope. You will surely save him, Sir Charles!"
"I don't know!"
Mr. Sefton Dagmar took up his hat and left the room, throwing me a wink as he passed. "I think it's up to me to take a constitutional," he observed, by way of excusing his departure. "Au revoir, Sir Charles!"
"Au revoir!" returned the surgeon. His eyes had never left my face. He waited until we heard the street door close, then he said quietly: "And how is your mother, Brown?"
"She is dead, sir!" I spoke the words in a low, dull tone, but without attempting any exhibition of emotion. I knew better than to play such a game with the man before me.
"I'm sorry to hear that," he observed. "You'll want to attend her funeral, I suppose. When is she to be buried?"
"This afternoon, sir," I answered looking at the floor.
He drew in a long, sharp inspiration, which said plainer than words: "I thought so!"
I understood that he suspected me. I raised my eyes to his, however, with a worried melancholy expression, and I said in a hesitating way. "It's very good of you, sir, to sympathize with me—I'm sure—I—I—I—feel almost emboldened to take a liberty. I'm, I'm in great trouble, sir?"
"Well, Brown?" His eyes were gleaming like drawn swords.
"It's this way, sir," I muttered. "My mother's illness has run away—with my little bit of savings, sir—and—and—the undertaker wants spot cash for the coffin, sir. He won't trust me, and I don't know what to do, seeing master is so ill. It'd be all right, if he was well, for I haven't drawn my last month's wages, sir."
"I see, you wish me to lend you some money."
I hung my head in real artistic shame. "I'd never dare—ask—you, sir!" I muttered brokenly, "but since you've said it yourself, sir, I—I—" I paused as if unable to proceed.
"How much do you need?"
"Five pounds would do, sir. Master owes me eight, and I could make it over to you, if you'd only be so good. You see, sir, I'd hate"—I choked—"a—a—pauper funeral, sir."
"Naturally, my man," his voice was much kinder. "But there will be no need for that. I shall lend you the money with pleasure. Let me see, it's ten now, I shall return to see your master again at twelve and bring the money with me. I have only a few shillings about me at this moment!"
"Thank you, sir," I stammered. "I'll never forget it of you, sir!" At that juncture I allowed a tear to roll down my cheek, as I raised my face to look at him, but I brushed it hastily away, as though ashamed.
He did not appear to notice anything, however, and without another word he left the house. I considered that I had allayed his suspicions, but I dared not make too sure, for that man possessed a more admirable control of feature than any other I had ever known. I determined, therefore, to be careful and remit no precaution, however small or troublesome, in order to secure myself. To that end I took an early opportunity of confiding my trouble to Nurse Hargreaves, and I almost made her weep by the touching manner in which I described my mother's death.
Sir Charles returned punctually at twelve o'clock and he put five sovereigns into my hand as I admitted him. He was also kind enough to tell me that I might leave the house at once, in order to conduct my mother's funeral arrangements. I took him at his word. My first thought as I stepped into the street was this:—"Am I to be shadowed? And if so, how shall I discover the spy?" The pavement was dotted with pedestrians who all appeared to be minding their own business. I walked briskly towards Piccadilly. Before long I knew that I was followed, I cannot explain how I knew, for although I seized every opportunity I could to look back, I could not locate my shadower; but I felt that I was shadowed, felt it in my bones. I was thrilled, exhilarated! Difficulties and dangers always delight me, and always call, as with a trumpet blast, my best faculties to action. I considered what to do. I might easily have shaken off my pursuer had I wished, but to even display such a desire would inevitably convert Sir Charles Venner's suspicions into convictions. It was my ambition, on the other hand, to destroy his suspicions altogether. An inspiration came to me at Piccadilly Circus. I smothered a cry of delight, and entered an Oxford Street omnibus. The end seat was vacant. I took it, and gazed watchfully behind me. To even a trained observer like myself, it was no easy task to pick out of the great moving throng that followed my conveyance the man whose business was wrapped up in my own. But I did not despair, and set steadily to work. At Oxford Circus I was sure that he had not entered my 'bus. There I alighted and took another to London Bridge. In which of the omnibuses and cabs trailing behind me was he then seated? Nearest of all was a Bank 'bus; I did not believe it contained him. Beyond that an empty hansom rolled along, then a fourwheeler, then a greengrocer's cart, with a smart looking pony between the shafts. I thought he might be in the fourwheeler, but no, it turned down Museum Street. This brought the greengrocer's cart nearer to the empty hansom, and gave me a chance to examine some of the passengers on a Chancery Lane 'bus beyond. At Red Lion Street we pulled up, and the Bank 'bus passed us with a good start, also the empty hansom. I had now a good view of the Chancery Lane 'bus over the greengrocer's cart, and of another 'bus behind that, bound for Gray's Inn Road. We soon passed Chancery Lane, and so lost one more 'bus. The pony drawing the greengrocer's cart was now almost touching our steps with his nose. Not a soul of those who alighted from the Chancery Lane 'bus came our way. I examined the Gray's Inn Road 'bus, but it contained only three women and a boy. Two hansoms now joined the procession, but the first carried an eye-glassed snob, and the other an officer in uniform. I was beginning to feel very puzzled when it suddenly occurred to me to prospect the greengrocer's cart, which hitherto I had scarcely more than glanced at. Two costers occupied the seat, but otherwise the cart was empty. The driver was a real unmistakable hall-marked coster, but his companion gave me a doubt. For one thing, he was smoking a cigar; for another, he held on to his seat in order to support himself; for a third, although he wore no collar, he had a remarkably white neck—for a coster.
"There," said I, "is my man."
I did not look at him again. There was no need. To kill time I bought a paper at the next corner, and diligently studied its contents, until we came to London Bridge, where I alighted, and transferred myself to a New Cross 'bus. I mounted to the top and began to scan the houses that we passed with the closest possible attention. It was not, however, until we left Tabard Street behind and had half traversed the Old Kent Road, that I discovered what I was looking for. This was a "double event"—so to speak. An apartment house and an undertaker's establishment, situated within easy walking distance of each other. Many a coffin shop did I see, and many an apartment house, but they were unhappily too separated for my purpose. The fortunate combination occurred between Astley Street and Ossary Road. First came the undertaker's shop, and then the apartment house. Nothing could have been more suitable. Opposite the latter I swung myself from the 'bus, and stepped upon the footpath. The greengrocer's cart passed me by some twenty yards at a smart trot, then slowed down to a walk. I strode up to the door of the apartment house, and rapped sharply on the knocker. It was a low, grimy, building, with many grimy windows, whose shuttered blinds had once been green, but now were grey with grease and dust. A card in either lower windows signified its calling: "Apartments to let!"
The door was opened by a greasy-faced woman, whose coal black oily locks were crimped in curl-papers. I pushed past her into the hall, without so much as "by your leave," and shut the door behind me. I acted so, lest my shadower should suspect that I visited the house for the first time. The woman at once began to protest at the top of her voice, against my cavalier behaviour. But I cut her short with a sovereign, which she bit, in the fashion of her class, eyeing me the while as though she expected me to snatch it back again.
Silence thus secured, I addressed her in this fashion: "Madam, I am a woodcarver by trade, and a rich old gentleman has just commissioned me to carve a wonderful design upon a coffin in which he wishes to bury his wife who is lately dead. My master, however, jealous at my good fortune, has dismissed me from his employ, and as it is necessary for me to get immediately to work, I must hire a room in the neighbourhood without delay. If you have a front room on the ground floor which you can let to me, I shall be glad to pay you for it at the rate of one pound for every day I use it in advance, and give you the pound you are biting, into the bargain!"
"Lawks!" she cried, then uttered a croaking laugh. "You must be getting well paid for the job!"
"A hundred pounds!" I replied.
"No wonder you are in a hurry."
"Have you such a room as I require?" I demanded impatiently.
She opened a door at her right hand, and showed me a musty guest chamber, which still smelt of its former occupant, who must have been a tanner, I should say.
"It will do," I declared.
"Yes, but will you bring the coffin here?"
"Assuredly."
"Not for a pound a day, though, mister!" she retorted with a cunning smile. "Why, all my boarders would clear out!"
"How much do you want, then?"
"Two quid, not a penny less."
I paid the money into her hand. Her eyes glinted with rage and self-contempt, because she had not demanded three, but I did not choose to heed.
"I shall return in ten minutes with the coffin!" I said quickly. "In the meanwhile that room is mine. Please see that no one goes into it, and do not on any account open the window!"
In another moment I was out of the house, and walking back briskly towards the city, followed at a distance by the greengrocer's cart.
The undertaker's shop was half a mile away. I reached it in less than four minutes, and entered with the air of a busy bourgeois.
"How much that box?" I asked of the proprietor, pointing to an imitation oak coffin that was half hidden behind several more showy constructions.
"Four pounds," said he.
"Could you deliver it at once?"
"No, sir, my carts are all out."
"You have attendants?"
He scratched his head, "How fur?" he questioned.
"Only a few hundred yards down the street! I'm willing to pay an extra five shillings for promptitude." He stepped to an open glass door and shouted—"Jim! Frank!"
Two young men, evidently apprentices, answered his call. I put down four sovereigns and five shillings on the counter.
The undertaker picked up the money, and pointed to my purchase. "Pick out the plain oak and take it to this gentleman's house!" he commanded. "He'll show you the way! Do you want a receipt, sir?"
"I'll call back for it," I replied, and strode from the shop.
The small procession that I headed occasioned a good deal of comment, and excited not a few grisly jests as we proceeded. But I paid no heed to any, and marched along with the expression of a lover lately bereaved of his sweetheart.
One pitiful "poor chap, he looks down in the mug, Bill, don't he?" more than rewarded me for all the honest effort I was putting forth, and compensated for the jokes besides. I looked neither to right nor left, and not once back; but I knew that the greengrocer's cart still steadily dogged my wanderings.
My new landlady admitted us without a protest. I made my attendants place the coffin upon the bed, and dismissed them with a shilling apiece. I then locked the door and crept to the window. I was just in time to see, through a slit in the shutter, the greengrocer's cart set off at a swift trot towards London. Cautiously raising the sash I pushed aside the blind and craned out my head. No, I had not been misled. The road ran straight, and although I watched the cart until it was swallowed up in a maze of other vehicles, near a thousand yards away, neither of the costers seemed to find it worth while to look back.
I closed the window, and sitting down beside the coffin, laughed until my sides ached. Once again I had crossed swords with Sir Charles Venner, and once again the victory was mine. I did not respect him the less, but I admit that I glorified myself the more. I could not, however, afford much time for self-gratulation. I had a great deal to do, and it was already two o'clock. Stepping into the passage, I shouted for the landlady, and made that astonished woman a present of my coffin. It is evident that she thought me a lunatic, but what cared I for that? In another moment I was hasting down the road, looking on all sides for a cab. An empty fourwheeler overtook me at last, and I drove like mad to London Bridge, where I took a hansom to Bruton Street. I was very hungry by then, but I could not spare a minute for a meal, and I comforted myself with the reflection that, granted a little luck, I might dine that evening in absolute security on the fat of the land, a rich man in veritable deed.
I had once known rather intimately a Polish Jew named Kutnewsky, who had been my fellow lodger in a boarding-house at Leeds. Him I resolved to personate. He was a fat, podgy person, with a hook nose, and a long, thick black beard, and his voice was oily, his foreign accent hideous. All the while I dressed, I practised his voice and accent. I had it at last to a T. The wonderful development of my facial muscles enabled me to raise or depress the tip of my nose at will, so as to lend it either a pug, or a Judaic cast, as I preferred. A false wig and beard with clothes in keeping completed my disguise. I was very soon a Jew—in fact, the double of Kutnewsky. I then packed a small valise with a complete suit of fashionable clothes, which had been originally made for a man of my size, by a Bond Street tailor, and which were still almost brand new, although I had bought them at a rag shop for a song. I included also in my bag, a travelling cap, a white shirt, a doubled linen collar, a smart tie, and a pair of light patent leather boots. The boots I wore were heavy hand-sewn bluchers, two sizes too large for me. I slipped into my pocket a black moustache and a pair of large black eyebrows. Finally, I exchanged my ordinary set of false teeth for a plate planted with hideous yellow fangs, some of which protruded from my lip. At a quarter to four, I was ready to face the world. A glance at the window showed me that a fine rain was falling; I therefore put on a mackintosh, and cramming a glossy silk hat upon my head, I set out armed with my valise and an umbrella. A fourwheeler took me to Oxford Circus, whence a hansom brought me back to Piccadilly and the Bolingbroke Hotel. I presented myself to the clerk, whom I informed in execrable broken English, that I was the famous German Court Surgeon, Herr Dr. Garschagen, just arrived from Berlin, to confer with my equally eminent colleague, Sir Charles Venner, upon a case of great moment, in which my advice had been urgently demanded. I declared that I had telegraphed from Berlin to secure apartments on the first floor, and I became very angry when the clerk protested that my message had not been received, and that there was not a single vacant apartment on the first floor. He, however, very deferentially led me himself to a room on the third floor, which I reluctantly engaged. I told him to send Sir Charles up immediately he arrived, and with a foreign boorishness I slammed the door in his face. My first act was to empty my valise and conceal its contents in a wardrobe. That effected, I arranged the dressing-table just as I had done on the previous day in my room at the Colonnade Hotel, and I set my empty valise thereon. I then removed my waterproof, and putting on a pair of goggles, I sat down to await my victim. As before he was prompt to the fraction of a minute. A small thin-featured waiter ushered him in. As before Sir Charles gave his attendant a shilling and entered the room; I, grinding out the while, a string of guttural, yet oily greetings in broken English. Sir Charles Venner's face was pale, but icily composed. He eyed me for a full minute with a look of piercing hate, then, taking off his hat, he quietly sat down upon the chair I had provided. I followed his example.
"Is Dr. Rudolf Garschagen identical with Mr. Seth Halford?" he asked quietly.
"Undoubtedly, Sir Charles."
"I stood in need of your assurance!" he muttered frowning. "But I confess I should like you to explain the meaning of your present mummery. You were excellently well disguised before!"
I bowed profoundly. "Thank you for the compliment, Sir Charles. I shall explain with pleasure. It is my custom to change my appearance as often as my clothes. The wisdom of this course will be apparent to you, when you consider that you have already confessed to a confused impression of me in your mind!"
His frown grew more black. "You appear to be a confoundedly clever fellow!" he exclaimed in irritated tones.
"I entertain such a lively respect for my opponent that I have tried to show you my best!" I replied, laying a gloved hand on my heart.
"I did not come here to exchange compliments with you," he retorted coldly. "Kindly get to business."
"Have you the money?" I demanded.
"Yes. But I shall not give you a solitary farthing until I am furnished with a substantial guarantee that this will be your last impertinence. My—er—friends and I do not propose to let you hold our souls in pawn."
"What guarantee do you require?"
He took a paper from his packet and tossed it carelessly upon the table. "Read!" said he.
The paper contained a confession that I—a blank was left for my name—on a certain night, stole from Sir Charles Venner, by means of impersonation and fraud, the sum of three hundred pounds.
"I suppose you wish me to sign this?" I asked.
"Certainly, and to disclose your identity besides!"
I smiled grimly and tore the paper into shreds.
"You must be satisfied with my oath, which I give you freely, that you will never hear from me again, Sir Charles. Now, please, the money."
"I am sorry," he said softly. "But we cannot do business on those terms!"
I bowed and got at once to my feet. "Then our interview is at an end!" I moved towards the bell, but I had not advanced two paces when he cried out, "Stop!"
I turned to look into the muzzle of a revolver. Sir Charles Venner's right eye gleamed behind the sights, and his expression was diabolically wicked. I hate fire-arms. They make me nervous, especially when pointed in the direction of my vital organs, by a presumably desperate man. A cold shivering thrill quivered up my spine, and I felt my knee joints loosen. My eyes, however, did not cease to serve me, and with a gasp of reviving hope I noted that the pistol was not cocked. It, however, takes more than a second to recover from such a shock as I had received, and Sir Charles had only perceived my first sharp gush of fear.
"Remove your glasses and your wig!" he commanded in a low but terrible voice.
My impulse was to obey unhesitatingly, but with an iron effort I subdued it.
"Be quick!" he cried.
I smiled. It was a miserable grimace, I dare admit, nevertheless I smiled.
"By the God above us you will die in your tracks, unless you are unmasked before I count six!"
I said to myself—"Oh, no, I shall not. Sir Charles Venner is a consumptive, with at most a year of life before him. Men cling to life most dearly when their days are numbered. Moreover, well he knows, this surgeon, that if he kills me he must hang! and speedily."
"One!" said he.
I smiled again.
"Two!"
"You are a great mathematician!" I sneered, and bowed to him.
"Three!"
"Murder me some other time, Sir Charles!" I muttered, "when you may do so with some hope of giving the penalty leg bail!"
"Four!" he cried, in a voice that froze my blood. And with his thumb he raised the hammer of the pistol.
"You will hang!" I gasped. "You will hang, and we shall meet in Hell!"
"Five!" he hissed.
"Fire!" I cried. It was the most courageous act of my life!
Sir Charles Venner let his hand fall, and his eyes. I heard a click, and I watched him restore the pistol to his pocket. In one second he had aged ten years. He was now an old man, haggard faced and trembling.
I strode to the bell and pressed the button. I had won the battle well—woe to the vanquished! I stalked over to the door and threw it wide. "Get out of this!" I grated. "Get out of this and go—hang yourself if you want to cheat the hangman. You've had your fun, and now by heaven! I'll have my pound of flesh!"
He raised to me the face of a panic-stricken craven. "For Christ's sake!" he cried, and even pleaded with his hands. He was beaten indeed. Not only his courage, but his pride was shattered into fragments. I surveyed the wreck I had occasioned, and relented.
"Well, then!" I said, "the money!"
With feverish hands he tore from his coat a small bundle of notes and forced them upon me.
"Count them, count them!" he mumbled.
"Go!" I ordered sternly.
"But, but—your oath!"
"I'll keep it—go!"
He uttered a hollow groan, and rushed out of the room.
I looked at the notes. They were brand new, and ten in number. Each represented one thousand pounds. Hearing footfalls I concealed them, and a second later, there came to me the small thin-faced waiter who had conducted Sir Charles to my apartment.
I gave him a florin, and said. "I want a man, big—my own size—just like me—to carry a box. You are too small. Send me a man like I want at once, but he must belong to your hotel, I can trust no strangers!"
The fellow bowed and promised, and hurried off. I put on my hat, and as soon as he had disappeared, I followed him. A gentleman stood by the elevator door, as though waiting for it to ascend. I passed him, and began to descend the stairs. He immediately rang the bell three times. Was that a signal, I wondered. I returned very quickly, but he still stood there, and he did not seem to be aware of my existence. But he rang the bellonce. I again began to descend the stairs. Again the bell rang three times. I came to the lower floor, and there another gentleman was standing before the elevator door. I passed him and he rang the bell twice. "How curious!" thought I, "my room is on the third floor of the hotel. There the bell was thrice rung; but on the second floor only twice, and most remarkable coincidence of all, the elevator does not trouble to appear!" I had left the second floor—I returned to it! The waiting gentleman rang once! I was satisfied. "Sir Charles Venner," said I, "has put at least three detectives on my trail!"
I marched straight up to the elevator door and rang the bell myself—one long continued ring. It appeared at once. "Ze third floor!" I muttered to the attendant. "Ich haf forgotten zomding!" I gave the man a shilling, and a moment later I was back in my room with the door shut. I began to undress, and when the knock that I expected sounded, I stood in my socks and underclothes alone.
"Come in," I cried.
A burly red face waiter entered. He wore a short black beard at the sight of which I rejoiced. "Shut the door!" said I. He obeyed.
"Mein friendt!" said I, looking at him very keenly, "do you vish to earn a sovereign?"
"Rather!" he cried.
"Then vill you go a message for me!"
"Yes, sir—"
"You see dose boots." I pointed to the pair I had removed.
"Yes, sir."
"Take off your own and put on dose. You are going to valk through some mud, and as it rains I do not vish you to catch cold. They will fit you!" I added, for he seemed to hesitate. He looked extremely astonished, but he sat down and did my bidding. I smiled upon him very genially. "If you do well, I shall double your reward!" I said. "What is your name, my man!"
"Clint, sir."
"Very good, Clint. Now I vant you to leaf zis hotel without any von knowing dat you go! I tell you vy ven you come back. Here, take zis zovereign."
He took it, but he frowned. "I'd get into a row, sir, if it was known," he muttered doubtfully.
I gave him another sovereign. "Don't you vorry apout dot row," said I. "I fix you wit your boss. I not vant you to do nozzing wrong, my boy, hein?"