“On the floor at Melun's feet there slowly grew a glittering pile of jewels”“On the floor at Melun's feet there slowly grew a glittering pile of jewels”
“On the floor at Melun's feet there slowly grew a glittering pile of jewels”
“My friends,” he cried, “I greatly regret this outrage. Any loss which you may suffer at the hands of these thieves I will, of course, make good, but let me implore you to do everything in your power to prevent any bloodshed.”
“Be silent!” thundered Melun. “You were not asked to speak. Lady Kathleen, will you be kind enough to leave your father and join the other ladies?”
Lady Kathleen faced him with flaming eyes. “No!” she cried. “My place is by my father's side.”
She took her father's arm and stood the very picture of defiance, looking scornfully at Melun and his men.
“Very well,” said Melun, quietly; “have your own way.”
“Now we will proceed to business,” he continued, “and I will ask you ladies and gentlemen to be quick; my time is short, and if we are to leave free of interference there is not much time to spare.
“You, gentlemen,” he said, addressing the men, “collect all the jewellery that the ladies hand you, pass it on, and throw it here.” He pointed to the floor at his feet.
The men hesitated, looking one to another; and one boy, more bold than the rest, jumped forward and cried, “Never! you dirty scoundrel!” And he dashed across the floor towards Melun.
Melun let him come on, and it said something for the coolness of the man that he did not even fire, but waited till the lad was upon him. Then he swung round, and catching him on the back of the ear with the butt of his pistol, sent him sprawling senseless to the floor.
After that there was no demonstration of any kind. With almost feverish haste the women began plucking the jewels from their hair and from their bosoms, from their wrists and from their necks. Trembling, they handed them to the men standing in a row before them.
One by one bracelets and necklets and tiaras were tossed on to the floor at Melun's feet until there slowly grew a glittering pile of jewels.
And then it became obvious that Melun had provided against every contingency and had counted on complete success.
For at a word from him one of the masked men came forward with a rough sack, into which he threw the jewels with as much care as he might have bestowed upon a heap of coals.
When the fellow had gathered them all up Melun made a little bow of mockery.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I have to thank you for your hospitality and for your generosity. With your kind permission I will now withdraw.”
Suddenly a bold, clear, full voice spoke from the little gallery in which the musicians sat cowering.
“Unfortunately,” said the voice, “I fear that you have not my permission.”
All the guests started and turned involuntarily to see whence came the challenge. Melun looked up quickly and stood staring with amazement.
For stepping down the staircase which led from the little gallery came Westerham, smiling serenely.
The better to show his contempt for the people whom he was robbing, Melun had put away his revolver. This little piece of play-acting cost him dear.
As he saw Westerham coming down the stairs his hand went to his hip-pocket. But Westerham was first, and covered him in an instant.
“Put up your hands!” he ordered.
Melun obediently threw up his hands.
The other masked men now covered Westerham, but Melun cried out sharply: “Stop that! No firing!”
For he knew who was the best shot, and who was likely to be quickest; and he had no desire to risk his own skin.
“Tell the men to lower their hands,” said Westerham, “and you can put your own hands down.”
Melun gave the order in a surly voice.
“Thank you!” said Westerham.
All this had passed in complete silence on the part of Lord Penshurst's guests. Lord Penshurst also was far too astonished to speak.
“You must forgive my intrusion,” Westerham said, now addressing the Prime Minister, “but I must ask you to allow me to have a word with this man.” He pointed to Melun.
Without more ado he came down the staircase from the musicians' gallery and walked over to Melun's side.
“You are an impudent scoundrel, Captain Melun,” he whispered in the captain's ear, “but I will put a stop to this. You will have to call your men off and restore all that property.”
“I shall do nothing of the kind!” snarled Melun.
“You won't, eh?” said Westerham. “Well, we will see.
“You know,” he added, still whispering, “that Lord Penshurst is perfectly acquainted with your identity. The guests are in ignorance, and therein lies your safety. But how many would recognise you if they could see your face?”
Melun shot a vindictive look through his mask at Westerham.
“And so,” continued Westerham, quietly, “I will give you five seconds to make up your mind. You either order all these jewels to be restored to their proper owners or I will tear the mask from your face.”
“For Heaven's sake don't do that,” cried Melun in a low voice. “But it will cost you your life, for I shall not be able to hold the men.”
“I shall not bother you to do so,” said Westerham; “I can manage them quite well myself.”
Still keeping Captain Melun under observation, he turned about, while his revolver covered the man who had collected the jewels. “Come here!” he ordered.
The man came forward.
“Give me your gun!”
The man handed over his six-shooter without a word, and Westerham placed it carefully on the floor.
“Now right-about!” he ordered, “and get the other men's weapons.”
The ruffian in the mask hesitated. “They will shoot me and you, governor,” he said thickly.
“You had better be shot at by them than by me,” said Westerham. “My aim rarely fails. Do as you're told.”
Westerham then turned to the other men. “All of you,” he said, “will have to give up your guns. If necessary, Captain Melun and I will see that you do it. However, I should recommend you to be quick. I warned Scotland Yard before I left London of what was about to happen here, and within a few minutes this place will be swarming with police.”
The men fidgeted uneasily and looked helplessly at Melun.
Melun wisely decided to assist Westerham.
“It's true,” he said, “and you'd better be quick.”
At this there was a good deal of grumbling, and one of the men cried out that they had been betrayed.
Westerham turned on him sharply. “I am compounding a felony,” he cried; “but still, if you are quick, you will get away. I won't detain you.”
By this time two or three men had come in from the hall to inquire the meaning of the delay. They surveyed the scene uneasily.
“How many of you are there?” demanded Westerham, glancing towards the door.“I suppose it is a case of twenty to one; but never mind. On this occasion it is my move. Bring your guns over here one by one. You on the left there start first.”
Lord Penshurst and Kathleen were staring in amazement at Westerham, as indeed were all the guests. It was a simple exhibition of the domination of one will over many. One by one the men came forward and deposited their weapons at Westerham's feet.
When they had all laid down their arms he turned again to Melun. “You can call your men off now,” he said.
Melun was in no mind to remain. Without a word he walked out of the ball-room, calling on the men to accompany him; they followed him like sheep.
“Just a minute, Lord Penshurst,” said Westerham, easily, “while I see these visitors off the premises.”
He went out into the hall and watched the departure of the three cars.
Melun was shaking with rage. So angry was he, indeed, that his passion overcame his fear, and as he was about to enter his car he stepped back into the hall again and addressed Westerham.
“You shall pay for this, my gentleman,” he said in a shaking voice.
Westerham made no answer except to say, “You're wasting time, and if you take my advice you will not return to town along the same route by which you came.”
Then he turned on his heel and went back into the ball-room. There the men were busy sortingout the jewels on the floor and restoring them to their proper owners.
As Westerham came in there was a simultaneous movement towards him. A half-score of hands were outstretched and a hundred voices clamoured admiration and congratulation.
But Westerham held up his hand for silence.
“Be kind enough not to approach any nearer,” he said; “my business is with Lord Penshurst. If I have been of any service to you I am glad; but please let the matter rest at that.”
Westerham walked over to Lord Penshurst and looked reassuringly into his face.
“Lord Penshurst,” he said, “I shall be grateful if you can spare me a few minutes.”
“Certainly,” said the Prime Minister; “let us go to my own room.”
The Premier led the way across the hall and down a long corridor until he came to the library. He bowed Westerham in before him and afterwards closed the door.
There was open admiration in the Premier's eyes, but at the same time he was distressed and ill at ease. Like the diplomat he was, he waited for Westerham to speak the first word. Westerham spoke it.
“I think,” he said, “that the time has come for mutual explanations.”
“I have to thank you,” answered Lord Penshurst, “for having rid me of these ruffians to-night, but as I imagine that you have only done so to suit your own private ends,” he added coldly,“I think that it is you, rather than myself, who should make the explanations.”
“Practically all the explanations that I can make,” said Westerham, “I have already given to Lady Kathleen.”
“And a very pretty tale, too,” remarked the Premier, drily.
“None the less a true tale. I can furnish ample proof that I am the Sir Paul Westerham who disappeared at Liverpool. I knew Lord Dunton before I left England ten years ago, and he has twice visited me in the States. I should hardly imagine you would doubt his word, and he can certainly establish my identity. If that does not satisfy you, you can apply to my solicitor, Mr. Hantell.”
Still the Premier looked thoroughly unconvinced, but in spite of this Westerham plunged once more into the details of his meeting with Melun and the bargain he had made with him.
“You will see from all that I have told you,” he concluded, “how good a grip I have on that scoundrel. But for the influence that I can bring to bear on him he would never have surrendered so quietly to-night.
“Of course this escapade of his, mad though it seems, was not without a motive, and I judge that motive to be the further terrorising of Lady Kathleen and yourself. Once more let me appeal to you to tell me frankly and fully what it is that so distresses you.”
The Premier almost laughed. “You must think me a very credulous person indeed,” he said,“if you expect me to believe such a tale as yours. I have several reasons for thinking that you are no better than Melun, I am not sure that you are not worse. If, for some reason, you have served Lady Kathleen and myself, I presume it is merely a question of thieves quarrelling among themselves.”
Westerham flushed hotly. But the Prime Minister, though he noticed Westerham's annoyance, continued to speak quietly and coldly.
“Why should I go in search of Lord Dunton? If you are not a liar, send Lord Dunton to me. Not that it would help matters, for if you were fifty times Sir Paul Westerham you could not assist me, nor, indeed, would I ask your assistance. But as I fully expect that you know as much about my troubles as I do myself, it would in any case be waste of breath to mention them; and certainly I am not going to mention anything that will give you and Melun a stronger hold of me than you have already.”
“But I tell you,” cried Westerham, “that I have nothing to do with Melun's schemes. Nothing at all!”
“That, of course,” said Lord Penshurst, drily, “will presently be proved by your friend Lord Dunton. In the meantime I warn you and your accomplice Melun that you are rapidly driving me to desperation. I admit that. I tell it to you to impress on you the necessity of not going too far. It is rather unfortunate that the Prime Minister of England should have to liken himself to a worm, but nevertheless I may mention that even a worm will turn.”
This was exasperating, and Westerham found it hard to keep cool.
“Very well,” he said with a sigh,“I am sorry you think so badly of me, and I will do my best to open your eyes as to the real truth of matters. As, however, I cannot do that to-night, I will ask you to allow me to withdraw.”
“I have no objection,” said the Premier, “but before you go perhaps I may offer you some hospitality. I do not wish to be so ungrateful and ungracious as to deny that I owe you some thanks for to-night's work.”
“I am much obliged,” answered Westerham, “but I would rather be excused the humiliation of having to accept hospitality from the hands of a man who does me so much injustice. Good-night.”
He passed out of the room, and the Premier let him go without a word.
In the hall the hosts of departing guests eyed him with curiosity and some anxiety.
Lady Kathleen was standing at the foot of the staircase, and, to their surprise, she stepped forward and held out her hand.
Westerham bowed over it but said nothing. He would indeed have choked over any words which he might have sought to utter. He was, perhaps, in as trying a position as he could well be in.
It might have been that Lady Kathleen expected him to say something, for she gazed after his retreating figure a little sadly and wistfully. The guests in their evening wraps drew aside to let this tall man in a blue serge suit pass them.
A few of them held out their hands, and some of them called “Good-night”; but Westerham passed on unheeding.
The taxicab in which he had come down from town was waiting at the door, and stepping into it he ordered the man to return to London. It was nearly three o'clock when he reached his hotel.
There, to his extreme annoyance, he was informed by the porter, who now regarded him with open suspicion, that a gentleman was waiting to see him.
“What is his name?” demanded Westerham, sharply.
“He didn't give any, sir,” said the man, “but he is in the smoking-room.”
Westerham entered that vast and dimly-lighted apartment, to be greeted on the threshold by Inspector Rookley.
“Good heavens! sir,” cried Westerham; “am I never to be rid of this constant persecution?
“Surely,” he continued, “you received fairly explicit instructions through the Commissioner from Lord Penshurst to let me alone?”
“I know, sir,” said the detective, soothingly, “but you have an unfortunate habit of stirring us up afresh. I have called now about this business at Trant Hall.”
“Oh!” said Westerham, starting, “what about it?”
“I understand,” said Rookley, “that you were there?”
“If it's any satisfaction for you to know it,” said Westerham, “I was. But I don't quite remember seeing any members of the police force there, and I should be glad to ascertain how it is that my presence at the Hall was notified to you.”
“It came first of all by telephone from the local police,” said Rookley,“and I then had a message 'phoned through from Lord Penshurst. It seems that he sent word on your behalf, and he was at great pains to tell us of the service you had rendered him. He said he was telephoning because we might imagine that you were in mischief, whereas you happened to be the man who had saved them all from theft and possibly from violence.
“Of course, sir,” the detective continued, “that clears you more or less. I cannot argue with the Prime Minister, or I would have pointed out to him that you must have been in the business yourself or you could never have got wind of the affair and turned up at all. So, as this is a very serious matter indeed, I waited here to ask you what you know about it.”
“Look here,” cried Westerham, annoyed past all endurance, “I don't know half as much about this matter as Lord Penshurst does himself. If you want to know what I had to do with it, go and ask the Prime Minister. Personally, I decline to say anything at all.”
“You do?” Rookley was staring at him uneasily while he scratched his head. He was as certain as he could be in his official mind that he was constantly running up against the most astute of master criminals that he had ever met. It perplexed him, too, beyond measure that, whenever he felt his grip fastening on the man, the Prime Minister should step in to save him.
He would truly have loved to arrest Westerham there and then upon suspicion; but the telephonic message from Trant Hall made that desirable object impossible.
“Well?” he began again.
“Good-night,” said Westerham; and turning on his heel he walked contemptuously away, leaving the baffled detective to make what excuses he couldto the night porter, who, ignorant of the detective's identity, was beginning to suspect him of being no more honest than he should be.
Westerham slept badly, and awoke, after a succession of uneasy dreams, at about nine o'clock in response to a knock at his door.
To his surprise it was neither the boots nor the chambermaid who entered at his bidding; instead there stood before him a tall, cadaverous man, wearing a long black frock-coat, whom he instantly recognised as the manager.
The manager closed the door and walked over to Westerham's bedside. His manner was at once offensive and deferential.
“You will have to excuse me, sir,” he said, “but I thought it better to speak to you in your own room than to rouse any remark by sending a message requesting you to speak to me in mine.
“I am aware that Lord Dunton called to visit you here, and I know sufficient about his lordship to feel no uneasiness about his friends as a rule. But really—you must pardon my saying so—you make things a little awkward in this hotel.”
Westerham sat up in bed and looked at the man quizzically.
“Your appearances and disappearances,” continued the manager, avoiding Westerham's eyes, “have already led to considerable comment. Besides, after inquiry this morning, I discovered that Mr. Rookley from Scotland Yard was here waiting for you till the small hours. Fortunately the night porter did not know who he was, or things would have been still more awkward.”
“On the other hand,” suggested Westerham,“it might have been that Rookley called on me for the purpose of consulting me rather than of holding an investigation as to my movements.”
The manager eyed him coldly.
“That's hardly what I have been given to understand,” he said.
Westerham reddened with anger. It seemed to him that Rookley, being baffled, was seeking to make himself disagreeable. Westerham was beginning to feel indeed something like an outcast, moved on from place to place without time for rest.
“You want me to leave?” he asked shortly.
The manager made a queer sort of bow.
“Very well,” Westerham returned; “for my part I have no objection.”
To himself he reflected that within a few days the man would bitterly regret his mistake.
So Westerham packed his little bag and went out. First he went on foot to Victoria, where he left his bag in charge of the cloak-room.
Then he breakfasted at a restaurant, and after he had consumed a moderate quantity of doubtful ham and still more doubtful eggs he smoked cigarette after cigarette while he thought over the situation.
At last he hit upon a solution—as he thought—to the whole difficulty; a solution which was so extraordinarily daring that he laughed to himself as he conceived it.
The idea tickled his fancy immensely, but he did not embrace it without all his customary caution.
Carefully and methodically he weighed the pros and cons of success, only to be ultimately convinced that the arguments against the scheme were of practically no account.
To secure the success of his enterprise, however, he needed at least one assistant, and his mind turned without hesitation in the direction of Dunton.
But before he saw Dunton it was expedient to ascertain the whereabouts of Melun. Then it occurred to him that he had been more than foolish to allow Melun to escape from Trant without having secured any information as to where he now lay in hiding.
Had he returned to his rooms? That was doubtful; and the doubt was confirmed when Westerham called at Rider Street to ascertain. Captain Melun had not returned to town.
Grateful to Mme. Estelle for the timely news she had given him of Melun's journey to Trant Hall, Westerham was by no means unmindful of his promise to tell her of all that had happened.
He had simply delayed his visit because he had been in hopes that if he could only find Melun he would be able to go to her with some definite proposition.
For it was now entirely obvious that Melun, unable to be true to any man or any woman, had merely been using Mme. Estelle as an agent, and had not the faintest notion of fulfilling his promise to her.
It was inconceivable that unless Melun wished to push his advantage to the utmost—that is to say, to the extreme limit of forcing Lord Penshurst to agree to his marriage with Lady Kathleen—that he could possibly have had the hardihood, not to say the foolhardiness, of conducting the raid of the night before.
Two days previously Lady Kathleen had declaredto Westerham that only a week remained. Two days of that week had already slipped away, so that now only five days were left in which to find Melun and bring his works to naught.
Westerham wondered whether he would find Mme. Estelle tractable. That also was open to doubt. And while he thought on the matter he was tempted to go just a little back on his word and refuse her the information she had asked for until she told him in what way he could lay his hands on the truant captain.
But this, he reflected, in spite of all that was at stake, would be, to say the least of it, dishonourable; and it was with every intention of proving to Madame that the captain was playing her false that Westerham took a cab and drove to St. John's Wood. He found Mme. Estelle alone and anxious.
She gave him no greeting, though she almost ran towards him as he entered the little drawing-room.
“What have you to tell me?” she cried.
“Nothing,” answered Westerham, “that is absolutely definite; but at the same time I am convinced that Melun is not treating you justly and honourably. After last night's affair was over—you may not have heard that I defeated Melun's raid—I spoke for some time with Lord Penshurst. He would tell me nothing; but, none the less, I am convinced that Melun is insisting that his marriage with Lady Kathleen shall take place at once.”
For some minutes Madame sat in complete silence, with her hands tightly clasped together. Then she looked up and said, “Can you prevent that without completely ruining Melun?”
“Yes,” said Westerham, thoughtfully.“I think I can contrive it; but I must first know where I can see the captain.”
Madame rose and looked at him long and earnestly.
“Though I trust your word,” she said, “I can see that it would be very difficult for you to meet him without some dreadful trouble arising. If you can only see him in public it would not matter so much. You are a gentleman and would not create a scene.
“Yes,” she went on, more to herself than to Westerham, “I think that is the better way. To-night—just, I think, to prove that he cares for nobody—Melun has taken a box at the Empire. I am going there with him. It is possible that you could join us.”
Westerham laughed with some bitterness.
“I am obliged to you for your suggestion,” he said, “but you do not seem to appreciate that I have been robbed by Melun of all the appurtenances of a decent existence. It is to his efforts—and to some extent yours—that I am at the present moment, in spite of all my millions, homeless. I have not even a dress-suit to my name. If, therefore, my appearance in your box this evening is a little incongruous, you will have to excuse me.”
“Quite so; quite so,” said Mme. Estelle with a queer smile, the meaning of which was not at the moment obvious to Westerham.
After this he took his departure; nor did he for the moment fulfill his intention of visiting Dunton. It was useless to go to that young man until after he had met Melun. After that meeting his plans might have to be remodelled.
To distract his thoughts he went to a matinee,and afterwards dined alone, lingering over his cigarette till the restaurant clock showed him it was half-past nine.
He then made his way to the Empire and entered the lounge. From there he was able to discern quite easily the box in which Melun was seated. He made his way to it, and without even the formality of knocking turned the handle of the door and went in.
As he did so Melun rose angrily to his feet, and, as though he had never known Westerham in his life before, demanded what he meant by the intrusion.
Westerham bowed to Mme. Estelle, and then turned his attention to the captain.
“Don't be a fool,” he said shortly; “I have not the slightest intention of being treated in this way. I think you had better sit down.”
For his own part, Westerham drew up a chair and seated himself in front of the box so that his face and figure could be seen by all observers. It was indeed the prospect of this which had so alarmed Melun and had resulted in his taking up so tactless an attitude towards Westerham. Melun was fearful lest some of those present in the theatre should have been numbered among Lord Penshurst's guests of the night before, in which case the freedom which Westerham made of his box might lead to a suspicion that the captain himself was implicated in the raid.
Westerham smiled at the discomfited Melun as though he hugely enjoyed the joke.
“You may well be alarmed,” he said,“and you had better be civil, or I certainly shall not relieve you of my presence, which is apparently obnoxious, and which I fancy you imagine to be a source of danger to you.”
“Mark you, Melun,” he went on, turning his head away from Mme. Estelle so that the woman could not catch his words. “Mark you, there are a great many things about which I want an explanation. When I made my bargain with you I had no idea that I should come to be regarded as a partner in crime with a murderer. Things have gone too far.
“However, for Mme. Estelle's sake, I will not cross-examine you here. I insist, however, that you shall tell me where and when I can find you.”
“And if I decline to say?”
Westerham had foreseen the possibility of this answer, and had made up his mind as to how he should meet it if it came. He saw that he could not extort a statement from Melun there, and was resolved on a different method.
Without a word—and he knew that his silence would cause Melun the deepest anxiety—he rose and left the box.
He waited patiently till the end of the performance and then succeeded in following Melun into the street.
As he had counted on his doing, Melun took a hansom and drove away with Mme. Estelle. Westerham followed.
The hansom in front of him bowled quickly along Piccadilly, turned up Berkeley Street, and then made at a good pace for Davies Street. Here Melun alighted, and having said “Good-night!” to Mme.Estelle, let himself into a small private hotel with a latch-key.
Westerham, who had passed Melun's cab, stopped his own further up the street and marked the house from the little window at the back of the hansom. He was satisfied.
He immediately ordered the man to turn about and drive to Dunton's room. Dunton was sitting before a fire, enjoying a pipe before he turned in.
Westerham immediately plunged into every detail of his story which he dared disclose and still keep faith with Lady Kathleen. Dunton heard him out with open-mouthed wonder.
Next Westerham proceeded to explain to Dunton the counter-move against Melun which he intended to put into execution on the morrow.
When he had finished speaking, Dunton rocked on his chair with laughter, as though delighted beyond measure with the proposal.
And certainly Dunton had some justification for his merriment, for what Westerham proposed, gravely and of fixed purpose, was the kidnapping of the Prime Minister.
It was for very excellent reasons that Melun had not driven up to St. John's Wood to fetch Mme. Estelle to the Empire; and his caution in other matters thus saved him from an unpleasant cross-examination concerning Kathleen.
It is true that when Westerham had left the box Madame made several efforts to broach the subject, but Melun succeeded in steering clear of the matter until after they had left the theatre. As, however, the cab proceeded to Davies Street she made a further attempt to pin him down to the subject. But again Melun evaded it.
Few men knew better than Melun the damage that could be done one by a jealous woman, and as he sat alone that night over his whisky-and-soda, the obvious signs of jealousy which Marie had shown him caused him great disquiet.
From Madame, however, he turned to the more important business of deciding what he should do to bring the Premier to his knees without further delay. And it was a strange coincidence that just as Westerham was explaining to Lord Dunton his scheme for kidnapping the Prime Minister, Melun hit upon the plan of abducting Lady Kathleen as the surest means of inducing Lord Penshurst to surrender.
So each man in different parts of London worked out two similar schemes, which on the morrow were to clash and to produce an extraordinary sequence of events.
Melun sat till late perfecting his plan of abducting Lady Kathleen, but, turn and twist the matter though he might, he saw no means of carrying it through unless he sought Mme. Estelle's assistance.
Therefore he rose early in the morning, and was ringing at the bell of the villa in St. John's Wood before the neighbouring clocks were striking nine. He knew that the most favourable opportunity for his project would come shortly after noon, and even though Mme. Estelle consented to lend her aid there was still much to be done.
He entered the morning-room without ceremony, and, scarcely pausing to say “Good-morning,” drew a chair to the table at which Madame sat at breakfast.
“Marie,” he said, “the crisis in our fortunes has arrived to-day. I want all the help you can give me, and you will want all your nerve.”
Mme. Estelle eyed him calmly.
“Indeed,” she said. “But even though the crisis in our fortunes arrived within the next ten minutes there are certain questions which I must ask you first.”
Melun fidgeted impatiently. He realised that he could no longer baulk the question of Lady Kathleen, and the sooner he got himself out of the difficulty the better for his day's work.
“George,” said Madame, stretching out her right hand and brushing Melun's lightly with her fingers,“George, are you playing me false?”
“Playing you false?” he cried, with a fine show of indignation. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that either you have told me too much or too little. If I am to believe you, the Premier's secret which we hold is worth at least half a million of pounds. You say you are certain of the money, and that the moment it is yours we are to be married and leave this miserable mode of life. If this is so I am content. But now I hear other news. I hear that this is not the only price which you are asking for the return of the Premier's papers. I am told that as part of the bargain you are to be permitted to marry Lady Kathleen.”
Melun jumped out of his chair.
“It's a lie!” he shouted, “and I'll take my oath that that rattle-brained fool Westerham is responsible for your stupid fancies.”
“But are they fancies?” urged Madame.
“Fancies! Of course they are fancies. What good do you think it would do me to be tied to a girl like that? Surely half a million should content any man. I wish to be free to pursue my life with you. The sooner indeed I am free from all this business the better.
“Bagley and the rest of them can say what they please and shout as they please. They know nothing that can possibly betray me, and certainly nothing that can harm me. When he has paid the price you may be sure that Lord Penshurst will look to that.”
Madame Estelle looked greatly troubled.
“Are you sure, George,” she asked again,“that this is absolutely true? Oh! be sure that I dislike to distress you in this way, but I cannot help it. Up to the present I have found Sir Paul Westerham a most truthful man, and I don't see why he should be telling me falsehoods now.”
“You don't see why?” echoed Melun, with splendidly simulated scorn; “you don't see why? Of course you don't, because you are blind! Blind! You are blind with suspicion and distrust, and he, for his own ends, is simply playing on your fears. He wants to upset you, to put me out of court with you.
“If he can break our friendship, if he can sever the ties which bind us, then his task is the easier. Has it not occurred to you that he has been trying to turn your mind against me simply that he may, for his own ends, call you to his aid? Is it not so?”
For several minutes Mme. Estelle pulled her roll to pieces and made little pellets of the dough with her nervous fingers.
“Yes,” she said at last; “perhaps that is so. I have not looked at it in that light.”
“My dear Marie,” cried Melun, with a greater show of tenderness than he had yet exhibited, “surely I have been true enough and faithful enough all these years for you to believe me now. Indeed, you must believe in me, because if you don't believe in me and give me your support the cup of happiness which is so near our lips may be dashed away from them.
“Listen!” he went on,“and see whether I am speaking the truth or not.
“It is impossible for this business to drag on in this way any longer. I must bring matters to a head at once, and I see only one way to do it—I shall kidnap Lady Kathleen.”
Mme. Estelle started and looked at him, half in terror, half in admiration.
“It is a bold plan,” she said.
“A bold plan,” Melun agreed, “and a plan which must succeed if you will help me. The difficulty is to get the girl away, and I shall have to leave that entirely to you. What is more, there is very little time to be lost. The Cabinet meets at noon, and for a couple of hours after that Lord Penshurst will be busy with his colleagues. Consequently during that time Lady Kathleen will be alone.
“Fortunately I managed to put young Hilden out of the way, at least for a time, so that we shall be free of his prying and peeping and officiousness when you call to-day.”
“When I call to-day!” repeated Madame in tones of wonderment.
“Yes, yes,” continued Melun;“it is you who will have to call. As things are at present it is naturally impossible for me to show my face near Downing Street. With you, however, the matter is quite different. No one there knows you.
“Now I have left nothing to chance. Westerham, if you please, must go nosing around the garage in Rupert Street to find out where his car is. It had gone, of course, to Holyhead as the result of my instructions. The manager wired to the chauffeur at Chester to return to town at once. But I wired to Birmingham to stop it there. Crow went down and dismissed the chauffeur, saying that he came from Westerham. The car is now in Chelsea, and we shall have the pleasure of using it to-day. It is just the car we want, because for some reason or other Westerham had it fitted with blind shutters.”
Madame nodded her head.
“We will telephone to Westminster and get the car to meet us at Oxford Circus. You can go down to Downing Street, and I will take a taxicab to the Star and Garter, Richmond. When you get to No. 10 simply ask for the Lady Kathleen, but give no name and refuse your business. That will merely arouse her curiosity, and the fact that you come in such a car will certainly obtain you an audience.”
Melun then went on to give Madame various instructions, enjoining her not to talk to Lady Kathleen on the way down to Richmond.
They then took a cab to Oxford Circus together and telephoned from the District Messengers' office to the garage at Chelsea for the car to come on to them at once at Pagani's.
It was shortly after twelve o'clock when Westerham's car reached the famous restaurant in Great Portland Street.
Melun, as he took leave of Mme. Estelle, again enjoined her to silence; and though Madame promised that she would not discuss his affairs with Lady Kathleen, she was, if the truth were told, not quite decided whether she would keep her word.
Her arrival in Downing Street occasioned a little surprise and not a little curiosity on the part of the doorkeeper when she refused to give her name. Without much delay, however, she was shown into the long, old-fashioned drawing-room, and it wasnot many minutes before Lady Kathleen appeared.
Kathleen came into the room very quietly. The sudden alarms and excursions amid which she had lately lived were accustoming her to strange and unexpected events, and she instinctively guessed that the woman who awaited her in the drawing-room was in some way connected with her father's secret.
As she entered the room Mme. Estelle rose from her seat and bowed. She did not attempt to shake hands, nor, indeed, did Lady Kathleen make any demonstration of friendship.
During the short drive from Oxford Street Madame had rehearsed her little part to herself. Now she played it perfectly.
“Russia needs you,” she said.
Kathleen's face paled, and she drew back a step.
“I don't quite understand,” she said.
Madame smiled in quite a charming way. “Lady Kathleen,” she said, “I cannot explain very much, for I know very little. I was simply requested by the Russian Embassy to inform you that a special emissary from St. Petersburg asks to see you at once. Who he is,” Madame continued, shrugging her shoulders, “I really cannot say. Sometimes, you know, the Russian officials are mysterious, and I have only my work to do. I ask no questions; it is not my business.
“But this gentleman, whoever he may be, is seemingly fearful of being seen in London, and he has asked you to meet me at Richmond in an hour's time.”
“Whereabouts in Richmond?” asked Kathleen.
“At the Star and Garter Hotel. I was asked to assure you that in all probability he would not detain you long.”
Kathleen's heart now beat faster with hope and now slowly with fear. When she had left the Czar's cousin at Rouen that great personage had given no indication that there was anything further to be discussed. He had simply delivered his ultimatum and taken his way back to St. Petersburg.
Kathleen looked at the clock.
“I suppose,” she asked, “you do not know whether this gentleman would be likely to wait?”
“I am instructed,” replied Mme. Estelle, “that he cannot possibly wait. He is catching the three-o'clock mail back to France.”
It was certainly an exceedingly awkward position for a girl to be in. Hitherto she had undertaken no negotiations with the Czar's agents except on the advice of her father, and it seemed a remarkable thing that she should be sent for in this way in person.
That she could disturb her father was, of course, out of the question, and with some misgivings she decided that it would be best to accompany her mysterious visitor without further delay.
“I will be with you in a few moments,” she said, and passed out of the room to put on her outdoor things.
When she returned she found Madame already on her feet, as though anxious to depart—and anxious to depart she was.
From the beginning Mme. Estelle had cherished no liking for her mission, and the sight of Kathleen's pale and troubled beauty had unnerved her not a little. The place oppressed her.
She admitted to herself that her notions were entirely fanciful, but still the whole atmosphere of the rather sombre and old-fashioned drawing-room seemed charged with tragedy.
Kathleen preceded her visitor down the stairs, and then they entered the car. It was the Premier's official attendant who opened and shut the door of the motor for them. The chauffeur was apparently busy with the machinery, his head inside the bonnet.
Whatever small trouble the man was encountering with the engines was of short duration, for Kathleen had scarcely settled herself in her seat before the car began to move.
As the big motor car swung round into Whitehall a second car entered Downing Street and had to draw up short in order to avoid a collision. Kathleen, thinking that an accident was unavoidable, leant forward and looked out of the window, and, to her astonishment, she discerned the face of Westerham in the other car.
She drew back again with an exclamation, and though she set it down as imagination at the time, she had no doubt afterwards that as a matter of fact Mme. Estelle had become deathly pale.
The car proceeded at a rapid rate up Whitehall and turning along Pall Mall made its way into Piccadilly.
The run to Richmond was a smooth one, unmarked by any incident, and for the most part, both the women were profoundly silent.
Each, indeed, was occupied with her own thoughts. Mme. Estelle, as she cast furtive and sidelong glances at Lady Kathleen, became morejealous and a little more disinclined to believe Melun's protestations at every mile.
She would have given much to be able to ask Lady Kathleen point-blank whether or not Melun had made a marriage with her one of the conditions which he was seeking to foist on the Prime Minister. But she had the good sense to see that even a tentative question of this sort would instantly arouse Lady Kathleen's suspicions. Even as the pseudo agent of the Russian Government her knowledge of affairs could not be supposed to include a matter such as this.
Kathleen, for her part, had spent the time in trying to account for Westerham's presence in Downing Street. Presumably he was about to make some further effort to persuade her father of hisbona fides. And she grew more unhappy as she thought what her father's answer would again inevitably be, and could only pray that Westerham might have sufficient forbearance to persevere in spite of the Premier's certain rudeness.
Presently Kathleen, watching from the window, saw the familiar shape of the Star and Garter come into view. Slightly to her surprise the motor-car did not slacken its speed, but went on through the gates of Richmond Park. Then, almost for the first time, she spoke to her companion.
“The man must have made a mistake,” she said; “he has passed the hotel.”
“Has he?” asked Madame, with an air of astonishment. “That is rather strange. He must know the way. Perhaps there is something wrong with the machinery.”
But Lady Kathleen shook her head, for sheknew enough of motoring to appreciate the steady purr of an engine which is running well.
Suddenly the brakes were applied with considerable force and the car came to a rapid standstill.
Then the door swung open and a man leaped in.
Almost instantly he pulled up the blind shutters which covered the glass and shut out all the light, so that the interior of the car was in complete darkness.
Kathleen gave a little cry and shrank back against the cushions. For in the darkness she felt the car give a great bound onwards and rush down the hill.
She heard a low laugh, and then the scraping of a hand as it fumbled for the electric button.
The hand groping in the darkness found the switch and flooded the car with light.
Kathleen sat bolt upright and uttered a second cry as she saw grinning at her from the opposite side of the car the evil face of Melun.
For a while Kathleen was too bewildered to say anything, but soon one ugly fact stood out hard and convincing. She had been betrayed.
Slowly she gathered all her mental resources together and slowly she looked from Melun to Marie Estelle and back to Melun.
During the past few weeks she had learned to expect infamy and even treachery, but she had not looked for any action so villainous as this.
As the car went bounding down the hill at an ever-increasing rate of speed Kathleen saw Melun give an appreciative nod to the woman at her side, and she watched a little smile of triumph flit across the woman's mouth.
Kathleen could only dimly wonder what this new move meant. That she had been kidnapped she could not doubt, but for precisely what purpose she could not understand, though she judged that she had been taken prisoner with the idea of hurrying Lord Penshurst to a decision.
The first shock of Melun's entry over, Kathleen steeled herself against all fear, and calling her pride to her assistance disdained to ask any questions.
The silence in the electric-lighted car became, indeed, so oppressive that Melun, who had been waiting for some passionate outburst on Kathleen's part, could bear it no longer.
“I suppose,” he said, looking at her with an insolent sneer, “that I owe you an apology for being compelled to treat you in this way?”
But Kathleen made no answer; she only looked at him with scorn.
“As a matter of fact, I consider it was well and neatly done,” continued Melun. “Excellently planned and excellently carried out. My congratulation to you,” and again he gave Mme. Estelle a little nod.
Once more there was silence, but it was Kathleen who broke it now. She was determined to carry the war into the enemy's camp. If she could achieve nothing else, she could at least, by showing a mingled boldness and resignation, cause Melun considerable uneasiness.
“I suppose you have put up these things”—and she tapped lightly with her fingers against the blind shutters—“because you were afraid that I might scream or struggle?”
“That is precisely the case,” said Melun.
“You need have no fear of that,” returned Kathleen. “I give you my word that I will neither call out nor attempt to escape. The women of my family are in the habit of acting bravely and openly.”
She intended this as a covert hit at Mme. Estelle, and apparently the shot went home, for she saw the woman redden a little and slightly turn away her head.
Melun gave Kathleen one quick, shrewd glance and then lowered the shutters; and Kathleen, looking almost lazily out of the window, saw that they were now almost clear of the park, and, so far asshe could judge by the position of the sun, were running towards the southwest.
The drive continued in complete silence. Mme. Estelle remained red and awkward, Melun was morose and ill at ease. Kathleen alone was self-possessed, though pale. She even forbore to ask whither they were bound, for though sadly tempted to do so, she checked herself with the rather sad reflection that she would know sooner or later.
By-and-by they drew near to a considerable town, and Melun, in spite of Kathleen's promise, drew the blind shutters up once more.
He had, however, the grace to be moderately apologetic.
“It is not because I distrust your word, Lady Kathleen,” he said, “but because I have to take precautions. One does not know who might happen to look into the car.”
It was not long before Melun lowered the shutters again, and Kathleen's heart gave a little thump, for looking out on the country she realised that she was on a familiar road. She recognised the high hedges between which they were running as those which border the long lane running between Croydon and Hayes Common.
The car began to shoot up-hill, and they went over a breezy heath, subsequently running down into the valley, as Kathleen judged, of Farnborough.
For a little while they kept to the main road and then turned off to the left again. Half an hour's run brought them to Westerham—from which place Sir Paul took his title.
As the car turned to the left once more Kathleenhad little doubt that they were bound for Sevenoaks; nor was she wrong.
But the car did not stop here; it swept past the Royal Crown Hotel, past the old Grammar School, past the wooded stretch of Knole Park, down the steep and tortuous River Hill.
At Hildenborough the car turned up to the right and raced through the Weald of Kent. This was all familiar ground to Kathleen, and she realised that to some extent they were doubling on their tracks, making a zigzag course along the valley at the base of Ide and Toys Hill.
Suddenly the car stopped, and Kathleen, looking through the open window, saw the chauffeur get down from the seat and open a gate which apparently led to a more private path.
Through this the car passed and was swallowed up in a wood. But the jolting and rattling over ruts soon ceased, the road widened and became smooth, and they began to climb in curves up the face of a steep hill.
By-and-by they came to a small plateau on the edge of which was an old farmhouse. The ground dropped almost sheer away from it at the southern end, while almost the whole of the front of it was washed by a muddy and apparently deep pool.
As they drew up before the little low doorway Kathleen heard several great dogs baying at different points.
The chauffeur got down from his seat again and drew near to open the door. Then for the first time Kathleen, with a sinking of her heart, recognised the man as Crow.
The short winter's day had now drawn to aclose, and as he entered the house Melun ordered the lamps to be lit.
Mme. Estelle led the way into a not ill-furnished dining-room, the window of which projected over the vast cliff.
To reach this room they had traversed a long passage, and Kathleen appreciated the fact that the house was very curiously built. It consisted, indeed, of two portions, which were linked together by a long stone-flagged corridor.
Melun helped himself liberally to neat brandy. Mme. Estelle sent for Crow and told him to order tea.
Kathleen had been filled with an intense foreboding as she entered the house, a foreboding which increased as she slowly recognised that she and Mme. Estelle were apparently the only women in the place.
For the tea was brought in by a man, not a farmhand or an honest countryman, but a villainous-looking individual with a pock-marked face and little gold earrings in the lobes of his frost-bitten ears. He walked with his feet wide apart, and with a slightly rolling gait. He had an immense bull neck, and the hands with which he grasped the tray were large, grimy and hairy. Kathleen set him down as a sailor; nor was she wrong.
When tea was over Melun lit a cigarette, and drawing Mme. Estelle on one side conversed with her for some time in whispers.
At the end of the whispered conference between Melun and Mme. Estelle the woman left the room without so much as a word to Kathleen or even a glance in her direction.
Melun turned round with a baleful light in his eyes.
“Now, my lady,” he said, “we can have this matter out.”
Kathleen's afflictions had only increased her old habit of command and her natural dignity. Though in reality she was the prisoner, she might have been the captor.
“Before you speak, Captain Melun,” she said, “I also have something to say. How long do you intend to keep me here? I ask this, not for my own sake, but for my father's.”
“That,” said Melun, with a malicious grin, “depends entirely on your father.”
“By this time, of course,” Kathleen continued, “a great hue-and-cry will have been raised after me in London. Do you intend to return there to-night? Again I ask this question for my father's sake. He should be informed of my whereabouts at once; for you must remember that he is an old man and will probably take this very much to heart.”
“He will not be informed of this to-night,” said Melun, shortly. “Because,” he continued, with a villainous leer, “I am only cruel to be kind. I want to have all the details of your ransom and our marriage settled as soon as possible. A night of waiting will soften your dear old father's heart, and he will probably listen to reason in the morning.”
Kathleen shuddered and drew a little further away from Melun. “You coward,” she said, and looked at him with infinite contempt.
Again a dangerous light leapt into Melun's eyes.
“Have a care,” he shouted, “what names you call me here. I do not wish to be compelled to make you feel your position. But if necessary I shall——”
Kathleen did not take her scornful eyes from his face, and Melun at last looked shiftily away.
As he apparently did not intend to speak again, Kathleen put to him another question:
“Who is the woman,” she asked, “you employed to get me here?”
“That is no business of yours,” snarled Melun, “though you can, if you wish to speak to or allude to her, call her Mme. Estelle.”
“I merely asked,” said Kathleen, “because I was curious to know how she came to make use of the name of Russia.”
“It was simple, perfectly simple. It was largely a matter of guesswork. It was only natural to suppose that you would be doing what you could to smooth matters over with the Czar.”
Kathleen nodded a little to herself. There were apparently few details of her father's secret with which Melun was not acquainted.
“Now,” said the captain, changing his tone and attempting to be brisk and businesslike, “let us for a moment consider the essential points of the case. Of the ransom, of course, there can be no question. I shall increase the sum because of the obstinate way in which your father has refused my overtures. That, however, will be all the better for us.”
He said this with an insinuating air for which Kathleen loathed him.
“The only remaining obstacle is yourself. But you, perhaps, will no longer refuse the hand which I so considerately offer you in marriage.”
“Captain Melun,” said Kathleen, coldly, “you are at liberty to discuss the business side of this matter as much as you please. But I decline altogether to allow you to insult me. After all, it is unnecessary, for I have nothing to say on the matter, and must refer you to my father.”
“I had hoped,” said Melun, “that I might be able to gladden his heart with the news of your consent.”
Kathleen turned her back on him, and Melun swore at her without disguise. But she paid no heed.
Presently he walked round the room so that he could come face to face with her.
“It is early,” he said, “but early hours will do you good. If you will be so kind as to accompany me I will show you to your room.”
He led the way up three flights of stairs till they came to a small landing. Out of this there opened only one door, and through this Melun passed.
Kathleen now found herself in a large, square room, simply and yet fairly well furnished, partly as a bedroom and partly as a sitting-room.
“It is here,” said Melun,“that I am unfortunately compelled to ask you to await your father's decision. However, I release you unconditionally from your promise neither to scream nor to attempt escape.
“You are at perfect liberty to scream to your heart's content. There is no one here who will mind in the least. You are also at perfect liberty to make what efforts at escape you choose. I fear that you will only find them futile.”
He went out quickly and closed the door after him. Kathleen, listening in the badly-lighted room, could hear a key grate in the lock and bolts shot in both at the top and the bottom of the door.
Quickly and methodically she made an examination of her prison. She looked into the cupboards and into the drawers and the massive bureau. But there was nothing about the room of the remotest interest to her which offered the faintest suggestion, sinister or otherwise.
It was, indeed, only when she looked out of the windows, of which there were three, that she discovered to the full how utterly helpless was her position.
The window on the south side was apparently over the window of the dining-room, and, as she peeped over the sill, looked sheer down the face of the precipice beneath her.
The west window, she found, looked down into a stone courtyard, while the window on the east overhung the pond. Apparently she was imprisoned in a tower.
When Melun had reached the ground floor he sought out Mme. Estelle.
“I have not had much opportunity of saying anything to you,” he remarked as he entered the room in which she was sitting, “but I should like to tell you now how splendidly you have done.”
Madame was restless and ill at ease.
“If I had seen that girl before to-day,” she said,“I should never have brought her here.”
“Then you would have been a fool,” said Melun, rudely.
“Possibly, but still, even at the risk of your displeasure, there are a few things which I do not care to do.”
Melun glanced at her sharply.
“Of course,” she continued, “it is too late now. I have made up my mind, and we will go through with it, but frankly, I don't like this business.”
“Never mind,” said Melun; “it will not last for ever. To-morrow ought to settle it. I shall go back to town the first thing, starting at about five o'clock, as I shall have to make adétour. I have changed the number of the car, but still it is hard to say what Westerham may be up to. If he finds that his precious motor has not come back to town he may take to advertising it as stolen—which would be awkward.”
Madame at this point bade Melun good-night, and the captain sent for Crow. To him he gave instructions to have the car ready at five o'clock, but told him that he should drive it back to town himself.
“You can serve a better purpose by remaining here,” he said.“For, mark you, I will have no hanky-panky games in this house in my absence. And, mark you, too, I have no desire to have Mme. Estelle and Lady Kathleen becoming too friendly. You never can rely on women. They are funny creatures, and Madame is far too sympathetic with the girl already. So I shall look to you to stop anything of that sort.
“For the rest, you will know what to do if certain contingencies should arise. I have not brought the dogs here for nothing.” He broke off and shuddered a little himself as at some short distance from the house he could hear the baying of the great hounds.
“They are loose, I suppose?” he asked.
Crow nodded.
“Then Heaven help the stranger,” he rejoined with a cruel laugh, and pulling a rug over himself he lay down to sleep on the sofa.
He was up betimes in the morning, and had, indeed, been gone four hours when Mme. Estelle came lazily down to breakfast.
Melun had left no instructions in regard to Kathleen's food, and as she did not consider it advisable to let the unfortunate girl starve, Madame, after she had herself breakfasted, set a tray with the intention of carrying it up to Kathleen's room.
Before she could do this, however, it was necessary to send for Crow in order to obtain the key.
When she asked for it, Crow shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.
“I have very strict orders,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Madame demanded sharply. “What do you mean?”
“Simply that the master said that you and the young lady were not to get talking too much. He said nothing about food, or of waiting on her ladyship, and it didn't occur to me until this morning that it was a bit of a rum job for a chap like myself to wait on her.
“However,” he added, with a smirk, “I don't so much mind.”
But Crow's clumsy utterances had again aroused all Madame's sleeping suspicions. There was,moreover, no reason why she should keep silence now. Her treachery was a different matter altogether. The way was smooth for asking Kathleen the question the answer to which meant so much to her.