Presently the sombre man moved closer to Lady Kathleen's side, and, putting out a gloved hand, touched her lightly, and with the air of one offering silent sympathy, on the shoulder.
Westerham heard him murmuring what must have been words of comfort, and before long Kathleen lifted her face and resolutely wiped away her tears. Then she rose and went forward to the altar, on the steps of which she knelt and prayed.
Finally she came back to the black-bearded man and held out her hand, and Westerham saw with still growing wonder that the man bent over it as though with great respect and brushed Kathleen's fingers with his lips. Without any further word Kathleen walked quickly and quietly away, making for the door through which she had entered the cathedral. The man, with a little sigh, picked up his hat and followed her, Westerham hard upon his heels.
Outside in the sunshine, Westerham watched Kathleen make across the square by the way which she had come. Her companion turned abruptly to the right and walked rapidly away.
Westerham followed Kathleen back till she came to the Hôtel de la République, when she disappeared through the doorway.
Once again Westerham took his seat at a table underneath the awning of thecaféthat he might watch developments.
And if on the night before he had been completely unable to understand the reasons which had taken Lady Kathleen to Rouen, he was infinitely more out of his mental depths now. This sombrely-attired, black-bearded man could not possibly beany tool of Melun's. Melun did not employ gentlemen, and that this man was one Westerham did not doubt. For two hours he sat and watched the doorway and the street; but no one either came or went whom Westerham could even distantly connect with Lady Kathleen.
All the while he sat there he suffered great agony of mind. It was torture to him to think that not a score of yards away Kathleen sat alone and in great distress, and that he was powerless to comfort her.
Yet was he powerless? He could at least make one more attempt to help her. With this resolve he crossed the road and asked to see the English lady staying there.
He sent up no name, deeming it wiser not to do so. He recognised that Kathleen was of that type of woman who, if danger threatens, must know the worst at once. She would be curious to discover the identity of the stranger who sought an audience with her, and would ask him to go up.
In this opinion he was justified, for the fat landlady came down and said that the English mademoiselle would be pleased to see him. He went quietly up the stairs, and without so much as knocking at the door walked into the little sitting-room which Kathleen had engaged.
As she beheld him she started back with a quick cry of terror. “Even here!” she exclaimed. “Must you follow me even here?”
Westerham bowed his head. Now that he found himself in her presence explanation became difficult. For a few minutes he could say nothing but stood watching Kathleen, who had sunk down into a chair as if utterly worn out in body and in spirit.
Westerham gathered himself together and came to the conclusion that the time had now come when he at any rate should no longer continue to make mysteries.
“Lady Kathleen,” he said, “I owe you a deep apology for following you here. I learnt of your visit to Rouen quite by accident from my friend, Lord Dunton.”
“Your friend, Lord Dunton!” exclaimed Kathleen with wide-open eyes. “Your friend, Lord Dunton! What do you mean?”
“I mean,” said Westerham, simply, “that Lord Dunton is my friend. You know me as James Robinson, a man who, in order to secure acquaintance with yourself, had to indulge in the very questionable privilege of a friendship with Melun.
“It was, believe me, quite by accident I discovered that Melun in some way held your father in his grasp. I was sorry for Lord Penshurst, but infinitely more sorry for you. I offered you my help, but you refused it. It was, perhaps, impertinent on my part, and I cannot blame you for doubting the genuineness of my offer. I was not then in a position to explain either my motives or my identity.
“‘James Robinson’ is not my name. I am, as a matter of fact, the Sir Paul Westerham who was reported to have disappeared from theGigantic.”
Lady Kathleen was staring at him in greater astonishment than before.
“It was my whim—possibly a foolish whim—to vanish as I did. I cannot possibly regret it, because I think it has really placed me in a position to help you out of your difficulties. I want you to treat me with that confidence which, I assure you, I really deserve. I stand in no fear of Melun, nor, indeed, of any man. Melun is simply in my pay. I bought his services for my own ends, and I can equally buy his services for yours.”
He paused and watched Lady Kathleen closely. She appeared utterly unstrung, and clasped her head tightly with both hands.
“I can hardly understand what it all means,” she said at last in a dull voice.
“It simply means this,” urged Westerham, quietly, “that I am an honest man and a gentleman; and if you could only tell me what it is of which you and your father are so much afraid, I feel perfectly certain that with the hold I have over Melun I could free you from your trouble.”
Kathleen searched his face with her eyes eagerly and yet fearfully.
“You must forgive me,” she said, “but I have no reason to believe any man. I am sorry, but it is impossible for me to believe you even now.”
She paused and then cried out again: “No, no! it is quite impossible! Besides, surely if you have been with Melun so much, and seen so much, you must know what this dreadful thing is all about.”
“I give you my word,” said Westerham, “that I do not know.”
Again Kathleen answered: “I am sorry, but I cannot believe you.”
Suddenly her face was flooded with colour. “You followed me here,” she cried, “and saw the man who spoke to me, and yet you still tell me that you do not know! Do not know that while I can save my father I am lost!
“Don't you know,” she cried again hysterically,“that in the cathedral I received my sentence of death? For it means death to me! I cannot face dishonour!”
Wild and uncontrolled as the girl's words were, there was a convincing ring of truth in them, and Westerham for the first time in his life knew what fear meant.
“But who,” he asked with dry lips, “who in this world could possibly have the power to order you such a fate?”
“You know!” cried Kathleen, fiercely, her eyes starting from their sockets in terror, “you must know that it is by order of the Czar!”
“By order of the Czar!”
Westerham repeated the words, and his face was blank in its amazement. Lady Kathleen caught his expression and her own face changed. She saw that Westerham's surprise was entirely genuine. She saw that he did not know!
“By order of the Czar!”
Westerham repeated the words again, groping for some explanation of this extraordinary statement. He could find none. This, indeed, was the greatest mystery of all.
When he had slightly collected himself he drew a chair to the table and sat down heavily, facing Lady Kathleen.
“Don't you think,” he asked, “that we had better be plain with each other?”
Lady Kathleen's face was now a blank, as his own had been two minutes ago.
Almost roughly she brushed away the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand, and set her mouth and squared her shoulders as though about to do battle.
“I cannot understand it,” she said.“I cannot understand it at all. I had to distrust you, and so, though you declared you knew nothing, I did not believe you. But even if you know nothing it does not help us in the least. I am not able to disclose anything at all. It's my father's secret—not mine.”
Gently and persuasively Westerham urged her to tell him how the matter affected herself. But she declined, and remained obdurate to the close of the interview.
Before he ceased his pleading, however, Westerham counselled her to tell her father all that had passed, and begged her to urge Lord Penshurst to send for him the moment she arrived back in London.
This Kathleen consented to do, although she pointed out that her father would in all probability decline to believe in Westerham'sbona fides.
He countered that argument by asserting that Lord Dunton would of a certainty establish his identity beyond all doubt. But still Lady Kathleen demurred.
“In any case,” she said, “it would be exceedingly difficult to arrange a meeting. Frankly, I don't see how you can help us, and there is only a week left.”
As she said this her eyes again filled with tears, and she clasped her hands with a despairing gesture.
“That there is only a week left,” persisted Westerham, “is all the more reason why I should be made acquainted with the facts at once.”
Kathleen, however, only shook her head and moaned a little to herself.
Westerham did his best to console her, and she then told him that she proposed to return to London by the afternoon's mail. Immediately on arriving in town, however, she would have to set outfor Trant Hall, as the Premier was giving a dance there on the following night.
“I trust,” said Westerham, “that you will at least permit me to see you safely home. It is not at all advisable that you should travel without an escort. I have every reason to be fearful on your account.”
Kathleen thanked him, but declined his offer of help.
“There is nothing,” she said, “to prevent your travelling in the same train or the same boat; and if you think it advisable, I shall be grateful to you for doing so. But I must implore you not to speak to me or to make any sign that you know me between here and London.
“Matters have grown doubly bad since this morning. I have not only to fear the spies of Melun, but the agents of the Russian Government. Between the two I am afraid I shall have but little peace.”
Having said this, she rose and held out her hand to bid Westerham good-bye.
“I can no longer refuse to believe in you,” she said, “though I fear I shall have a harder task to convince my father than you had to convince me. Good-bye, and thank you. I really feel that you would be a powerful ally, and if I can possibly persuade him to take you into his confidence I will.”
“That, of course, would be the better way,” said Westerham.“I assure you that I must have a great deal of knowledge of Melun which would be invaluable to your father. Still, if he declines to tell me anything, remember that I am quite prepared to serve him blindly and in all good faith. I shall be quite content to wait for an explanation.”
On this he took his departure, and presently made his way to the station, where he waited for the afternoon mail. Long before the train was due he saw Kathleen enter the railway station carrying a black bag. He gave no sign, and she, for her part, steadily ignored his presence.
At Dieppe he watched her go on board the mail-boat, and then followed her to the saloon deck. There he kept her under surveillance, but made no attempt to communicate with her in any way.
Thus quietly watchful, he guarded her progress to London, where, at Victoria, he saw her enter a hansom and drive rapidly away. His thoughts had been so busy with the things of the immediate present that until he found himself alone at the London terminus he took no thought of what he should next do.
He then decided that he would go to his greatly-neglected rooms in Bruton Street in order to obtain some additions to his all-too-scanty wardrobe, for, with the exception of a few things he had purchased when he left Walter's Hotel, he practically had nothing but the clothes he stood up in; and these were the clothes with which he had been so mysteriously furnished while he lay chloroformed at Mme. Estelle's.
On arriving at Bruton Street the doorkeeper surveyed him with astonishment.
“Why, sir! I was told that you had gone abroad.”
“Gone abroad!” exclaimed Westerham.“Gone abroad! Nothing of the kind.”
He denied the suggestion flatly, and, indeed, was so taken aback by the man's manner that for the moment he quite forgot he had in reality not only been abroad but had returned again from abroad in the space of twenty-four hours.
The man stared at him steadily, and for all his self-possession, Westerham felt himself colour a little. But he reflected that it was no business of the man's whether he went abroad or not. He requested him to take him up to his rooms in the lift.
The man stared at him in greater astonishment than ever.
“But they are empty, sir,” he said.
“Empty!” cried Westerham. “What on earth do you mean?”
“I mean, sir,” said the man, in an excited voice, “that your furniture has been taken away. I understood that it was warehoused. A gentleman called here this afternoon, paid your valet and dismissed him, and this afternoon a pantechnicon came and took away your things. The gentleman gave his card to the manager of the flat and told him that he was a solicitor. It all seemed fair and square, and as we knew—begging your pardon, sir—that you were an eccentric gentleman, we were not surprised to hear that you were not coming back. As a matter of fact, sir,” the man concluded lamely, “we thought that you had been a little put out by the affair here a few days ago.”
“Do you really mean to tell me,” said Westerham, slowly, as though he could not believe his ears,“that everything has been taken away, even my clothes?”
“Even your clothes, sir. Your valet packed them himself.”
“Good gracious!” said Westerham, more to himself than to the man, “and I have nothing but what I stand up in?”
Then it struck him that he must take immediate action in the matter. He suspected Melun was at the bottom of this too, but could not conceive what motive the captain could possibly have for this last extraordinary move.
“Have you any idea,” he asked, “where my valet went?”
The man shook his head.
“Nor where my things have been stored?”
Again the man shook his head.
“It was a big pantechnicon, sir,” he said, “but to the best of my knowledge there was no name on it. I believe it did strike me as being rather funny at the time, but I was busy and didn't take much account of it. It is a most unaccountable thing, sir—most unaccountable. I cannot understand it at all. Have you any idea, sir, who your friend might be?”
Westerham shook his head, though in his own mind he had little doubt.
“Well,” he said briskly, “I must inform the police at once. This is a very serious matter. It is not so much the loss of the things that annoys me, but the inconvenience to which I am put.”
He looked at the man sharply, and endeavoured to ascertain whether he could trust him. He decided that the man looked honest, and slipped a half-sovereign into his hand.
“In the meantime,” he said to him,“say nothing to anyone. I will deal with this matter in my own way.”
Deciding to take the bull by the horns at once, Westerham hailed a passing hansom and drove to Melun's rooms, only, however, to be informed that the captain was out of town. He tried threats, cajolery and even bribery to extort information as to the captain's whereabouts; but the housekeeper was proof against all his efforts.
It seemed as if she really did not know where the captain was.
As he turned away, wondering in which direction he could next inquire, it suddenly occurred to him that he should ascertain if anything had happened to his motor car. He therefore took a second cab and drove to Rupert Street, in which the garage was situated.
As he entered the yard the manager stepped forward; and the astonishment on his face was even greater than that exhibited by the doorkeeper at Westerham's flat.
“I am afraid, sir,” he said before Westerham had time to speak, “that we have made some terrible blunder. A gentleman called here this afternoon and said that he had been asked to see me on your behalf. He said that he had received a telegram from Holyhead asking him to see that your car was sent up to Chester, as you would be staying there for some days. Your man was to wait for you at the Blossoms Hotel.”
Westerham could scarcely disguise his anger.
“What was this—gentleman like?” he demanded.
“Well, sir,” said the manager of the garage, eyeinghim anxiously, “I didn't take much account of him, though he appeared a very pleasant gentleman indeed. He was, I should say, tall and dark.”
“Hook nose and black eyes?” suggested Westerham, helpfully.
“Just so, sir, just so.”
Westerham ground his teeth with rage. “Of course,” he said to the man, “I do not blame you—I cannot—but you've been hoaxed. I sent no orders about my car. I intended it to remain here until I sent for it. I may want it at any moment now, and the inconvenience and the loss of it may be great. You'd better wire to Chester for the man to return at once.”
The manager of the garage was by this time greatly alarmed. His own suspicions led in the direction of theft, and the prospect of a considerable loss in reputation, if not a considerable loss in pocket, scared him very much.
“Certainly, sir, certainly. And if in the meantime I can place any other car at your service I shall be pleased to do so.”
“I'll let you know,” said Westerham, and he walked abruptly away.
He went rapidly westward and reached the park. There he sat down in the darkness and made a further effort to understand the drastic and impudent measures which Melun was taking.
If he could have come across that person at that particular moment there is little doubt but that he would have shaken the life out of him. Westerham's anger was seldom roused, but when it mastered him it was terrible, and the effects were apt to be disastrous to the object of his wrath.
Now, turn things over in his mind as he might he could see little chance of coming to any conclusion until he could obtain the truth from Melun himself. But where was Melun? It would be ridiculous to make any further inquiries at his house. Crow, too, would certainly know little, and Bagley less.
True, there was Mme. Estelle. He would see her.
Leaping to his feet, he almost ran to the cab-rank at Hyde Park corner, and, hiring a taxicab, ordered the man to make the best speed possible to Laburnum Road.
The man did his best, and in some twenty minutes' time the taxicab entered the littlecul-de-sac, the features of which Westerham was now beginning to know too well.
He rang the bell impatiently, but the door in the wall failed to open. He rang again and again, but there was no response.
The driver of the taxicab surveyed his fare with some distrust.
“It seems to me, sir,” he said, “that your friends are not at home.”
Westerham's answer sounded very much like an oath.
He gave one final pull to the bell, and finding even that last rough summons ineffectual, turned to the man.
“Look here,” he said,“this may seem a rather curious business to you, but if you will help me I will pay you well. I am not at all sure that this house is as empty as it seems. Put your cab alongside the wall so that I can climb over the top. I want to go investigating.”
The man grumbled something to the effect that it was not his business, but the sight of the magnificent inducement which Westerham immediately offered him silenced his objections.
Westerham climbed to the top of the cab and dropped over the wall into the garden. He walked round the house and found it shuttered, dark and silent.
He whistled a long whistle to himself. “I wonder,” he thought, “if the birds have flown. I wonder if they have chucked up the sponge. I wonder——”
A second thought, however, which occurred to him, as he proceeded to climb over the garden wall again, was that it was much more likely that the house had been closed that evening in order that he might be cut off from all sources of information.
On further reflection, indeed, he came to the conclusion that this was certainly the case. “But perhaps you imagine,” he thought, mentally addressing Melun, “perhaps you imagine that I shall not come back. We will see.”
It was then nearly eleven o'clock, and Westerham had no course but to return to the Buckingham Palace Hotel, out of which he had rushed without bag or baggage on the night before.
There he was greeted civilly, but by no means with effusion. Lord Dunton's visit on the previous afternoon had set a certain cachet on his respectability, but at the same time his erratic movements did not meet with the managerial approval.
On the following morning he sought out Dunton, who told him that for the moment Lord Cuckfield and Mendip would be silent.
Unfortunately, Westerham's promise to Lady Kathleen prevented his telling Dunton over much. But fortunately Dunton, in spite of his apparent vacuity, had both the good sense and the good manners never to be over curious.
Twice during the afternoon Westerham took a cab to Laburnum Road, and on the second occasion his peal at the bell was answered by the maid he had seen on his previous visit.
In reply to his queries the girl stated that Mme. Estelle, having occasion to go out of town the day before, had closed up the house because she did not like to leave the maids by themselves. Madame however, she told him, was expected back in the course of the evening; she thought about nine o'clock.
The sense of coming action prompted Westerham to dine well. Unlike other men, his senses and capacities were always at their best after dinner.
At nine o'clock he went back to Laburnum Road and was told that Madame was at home. As he entered the pretty drawing-room Mme. Estelle came forward to greet him with outstretched hand. But he kept his own behind him.
“Pardon me,” he said coldly, “but before I meet you on terms of friendship there are certain things which I want to know.”
Madame raised her eyebrows at him and smiled.
“Indeed,” she said, “what are they?”
“In the first place, who stole my furniture and my belongings from my flat?” demanded Westerham.
“Why should you ask me?” answered Madame, evasively.
“Because,” said Westerham, “I have not the slightest doubt in the world that Melun was the man who ordered their removal, and if Melun is responsible then you are probably acquainted with the fact.”
“Very well,” said Madame, quietly, “and I expect that it will do no harm for me to confirm your suspicions. Melun did order your things to be removed.”
“But why?”
Madame smiled again. “It was at my suggestion. It is impossible for me to give the reason; but I must ask you to believe that such a step was necessary for the greater security of your life.”
Westerham stared at her; the matter was entirely beyond his comprehension.
“And the car,” he demanded, “what of that? Was it you also who suggested it should be sent on a bogus mission to Holyhead?”
“It was. That step was also necessary in the interests of your safety.”
Utterly regardless of Madame's presence, Westerham paced angrily up and down the room for some minutes before he spoke again. Finally he turned upon the woman and asked almost roughly where Melun was to be found.
Madame shrugged her shoulders.
“Do you decline to tell me?” asked Westerham.
Madame shrugged her shoulders again.
By this time Westerham had made up his mindas to how he should deal with this woman. There had been ample time since he had left Lady Kathleen to reason out what she meant by the words that, as she preferred death to dishonour, her death-warrant had been sealed. For some strange reason, still to be unearthed, the Czar's emissary had ordered that Kathleen must marry Melun and thereby ensure silence.
How did Mme. Estelle stand in this matter? Westerham determined to ascertain for himself at once.
“Listen,” he said almost gently. “Let us for a few moments try to talk as friends. It is imperative that I should see Melun at once. You are the only person who can tell me where I can find him. And if you will come to a bargain with me it may be to our mutual advantage.
“If I tell you something which I think it is to your interest to know, and if you think the knowledge, when I have given it you, is worth it, will you in return tell me where Melun is?”
“I will see,” answered Mme. Estelle.
“Are you acquainted with the fact,” he asked suddenly, “that in a week's time Melun will have arranged to marry the Lady Kathleen?”
Madame went pale to the lips.
“It's a lie!” she almost screamed. “It's a lie! It's impossible! He has promised himself to me!”
Westerham nodded thoughtfully. It was precisely as he had thought.
“What I tell you,” he said, “I believe to be absolutely true.”
Watching her closely, Westerham saw that Mme. Estelle was greatly agitated.
“To-night,” she murmured, more to herself than to him, “to-night it could be proved, if only I had a witness here whom I could trust.”
“Surely,” suggested Westerham, “though we are on opposite sides in this struggle, you can take my word on a matter of this sort.”
“Yes, yes!” cried Mme. Estelle, eagerly, “you are a gentleman. I can trust you. Oh, how I wish I could trust Melun!”
Her voice trailed away and she lapsed into thought.
Presently she roused herself as though with an effort and looked Westerham in the face.
“I will tell you how you can meet Melun if you will give me your word of honour on two points. First, that you will return and tell me all that passes, and, secondly, that you will not, whatever happens, do any harm to Melun.”
“You have my word,” said Westerham.
Mme. Estelle sighed as though with relief, and after a few seconds spoke again.
“What I am going to tell you now,” she said,“will sound so incredible that you may possibly not believe me. I can scarcely believe it myself, except that there is practically no piece of folly which Melun will not commit when he has one of his mad fits upon him. I sometimes think he is half-crazy.
“To-night Lord Penshurst gives a ball at Trant Hall. The place will be crowded, and the women will be wearing jewels worth a king's ransom.
“More, I think, out of bravado, and with a foolish notion of bringing matters to a head, Melun is taking down half a score of masked men. It will be what I think you call in America ‘a hold-up.’
“Melun says that there is no risk in the business, that he and the others are bound to get away, and even if he is caught he knows the Prime Minister will have to contrive his release. The hour planned for this business is midnight.”
Without a second's hesitation Westerham leapt up from his chair and took out his watch.
“I have just an hour and a half to get there,” he said.
When Lady Kathleen bade good-bye to Westerham she drove first to Downing Street, where she met her father.
Together they travelled down to Trant Hall, and on the way Kathleen gave Lord Penshurst a full account of all that had passed since she had been summoned so suddenly to Rouen.
The Premier sat with bowed head, holding his daughter's hand as he listened to her narrative. For the moment it seemed to crush him utterly, and when Kathleen had finished speaking he lifted up his head and said, in a stricken way:
“So this is the end of it?” He added, after a few moments: “Are you sure that a week is the full limit of time we can obtain?”
“I am only too certain,” answered Kathleen. “If we fail within the next week, then——” she broke off and looked apprehensively about her as though even the cushions of the carriage might have ears. Finally she bent her head and whispered into her father's ear.
At this Lord Penshurst grew paler than before, while great drops of sweat broke out on his forehead.
“That,” he cried,“must never be! Kathleen, great though the sacrifice is, you must make it—make it for our country's sake. Oh! to think that I should have wished to serve her so well and should have served her so evilly.”
For a long time after this Lord Penshurst and his daughter sat in silence as the train ran on through the night. It was not, indeed, until they had reached Trant Hall and had a little supper, for it was now very late, that Kathleen ventured again to broach the subject of Westerham.
She was almost ghastly in her paleness, but was entirely calm and self-possessed.
“Father,” she said, patting the old man's hand as he sat staring before him as though fascinated by some mental vision of pain and horror, “let us try and see what we can do in this matter on a business-like basis.”
The aged Premier nodded his head, but he still gazed steadily before him.
“Don't you think,” urged Kathleen, “that you owe it to me to leave no stone unturned to defeat Melun before the week is out? Melun we cannot catch. You tried to do so, and Claude has tried to do so during the last few days, but the man is as elusive as an eel. Why not take this man Westerham to a certain extent on trust? Of course, you will laugh at me, and say that I am merely guided by a feminine habit of jumping to conclusions. Nevertheless, I am perfectly convinced that Mr. James Robinson is Sir Paul Westerham, and that if we were only to take him into our confidence he could do much to help us.”
“My child,” said the old man, looking at his daughter in a piteous way,“it is, as you know, simply impossible. We have neither of us been released from our oath of silence, and it would be most disgraceful of us to break our word. Indeed, it would be absolutely indefensible, unless by breaking it we were absolutely certain we could save the situation.”
“Why not ask Sir Paul Westerham to help us without telling him anything?” suggested Kathleen.
“Do you think any man would be such a fool as to serve us on those terms?” asked the Premier.
“But he has promised to do so,” cried Kathleen.
Lord Penshurst, however, remained obstinate.
“No! no! my dear!” he said. “It's quite out of the question. It would arouse considerable comment if we were to postpone this dance to-morrow—there is no legitimate excuse for doing so. Let us get it over and then we will together see what can be done.
“We cannot even take Claude into our confidence, but I can at least give himcarte blancheto take any steps that he deems necessary. And Claude is not a fellow, thank goodness, to stick at much if we have anything at stake.”
He rose from his chair, and coming over to his daughter's side stroked her hair gently.
He did not tell Lady Kathleen so, but on one point the old man had made up his mind. Outwardly he was encouraging Lady Kathleen to brace herself for the sacrifice which appeared inevitable, but he had in reality resolved upon another course, even though it meant for him suicide or the gallows.
All through the following day Kathleen moved through the great house silently superintending the arrangements for the ball.
During the afternoon the majority of the house-partyarrived, and at dinner-time both Lord Penshurst and Lady Kathleen had to throw off their gloom as best they could and devote all their minds and energies to the entertainment of their guests.
Two or three great singers had come down from London, and there was music in the grand saloon. It was then that young Hilden sought out Lady Kathleen and drew her apart from the guests.
“Kathleen,” he said to his cousin, “I want to have a very serious talk with you. During the past three weeks your father has asked me to do a great many extraordinary things, and I have not scrupled to carry out any of his instructions, though they have involved a considerable amount of law-breaking.
“I don't know what all this business is about. I assure you I have not the slightest idea, nor have I the least wish to pry into my uncle's secrets; but at the same time, I am growing very uneasy. This mystery, whatever it may be, is weighing on him greatly. He has completely changed in the last month; he is becoming an old and almost broken man. I do not wish to alarm you, but I feel that I ought to open your eyes to this in case it may have escaped you.”
“It is very kind of you,” said Kathleen, wearily, “but I have noticed it myself, and am very much distressed.”
“Then why not be more explicit?” urged Hilden.“Why not tell me what this matter is about? Surely I could take some of the burden off your shoulders. It is a most amazing thing—and I think, with all due respect to your father—a very wrong thing that a trouble of this sort—and I can see it is a great trouble—should be foisted on to the shoulders of a mere girl.”
Kathleen looked at him sadly and wistfully.
“I wish I could tell you, Claude,” she said, “but unfortunately I am pledged to secrecy. I think it is more likely that my father will speak to you about the matter to-morrow, though I fear that he will tell you nothing more than you know at present.
“He may, however, ask you to do several more strange things. You have offered to help us, and so let me implore you to help us by doing everything that you are asked, no matter what it may involve.”
“Kathleen,” cried Hilden, taking her hands and looking into her eyes, “you know very well that there is nothing that I would not do for your sake.”
She thanked him, and drawing away her hands left him, weighed down with a terrible oppression. Her own thoughts frightened her. She was conscious of a dreadful desire for a man's death. She prayed to be delivered from the sin of hoping that she might escape disgrace at the cost of a man's life.
The ball began at about half-past ten, and for an hour before that motor-cars and carriages had been rolling up the long sweep of drive, and the reception-rooms had been filling with the power, the wealth, and the beauty of the country.
By her father's side Kathleen stood at the head of the grand staircase to receive the guests. And one after the other, with misdirected kindness, they murmured their regret to see Kathleen looking so far from well. Her father glanced round impatientlyat every such expression, till from the pallor born of the despair which was settling down upon her heart Kathleen's face assumed a vivid flush, due to agitation and annoyance; so that from looking wan and ill her beauty became feverish and radiant.
Hilden, hovering near, felt his heart aching.
By eleven o'clock all the guests had arrived, and the grand staircase and reception saloon were alike deserted, while the ball-room was thronged with dancers and those who watched the dancing.
Lord Penshurst had long been famous as a host, and Lady Kathleen, in spite of her youth, was already numbered among the great hostesses of the country.
The scene, indeed, was full of splendour, and, as Melun's greedy mind had anticipated, the jewels of the women must have been worth upwards of half a million.
The slow, low music of a waltz was stealing down from the gallery, where the musicians were placed, when Lord Penshurst, who had just entered from the grand staircase, was conscious of some disturbance in the hall. For a moment he did not inquire what the cause of the upset might be; and it was, perhaps, just as well for him that he did not.
Up the drive had swept three great motor-cars, which had drawn up in a curious formation before the great entrance. Their concentrated head and side lights faced the door, so that the servants who stood about the hall were almost blinded by the glare.
From the cars descended a score of men in evening dress. But as they came into the more subduedlight of the hall the keen eyes of the servants stationed there were quick to see that, in spite of their shirt-fronts and their opera-hats, these men were not gentlemen.
The arrival of so many men at once took the groom of the chambers aback, but he hurried forward to meet the guests, thinking that possibly this might be some surprise party.
His hospitable intention, however, met with a rude check, for he had scarcely taken half a dozen steps forward when he found himself looking down the barrel of a revolver.
A pleasant, easy voice called on him to stop, and the man stood stockstill, staring stupidly straight in front of him, half-fearfully and half-fascinated by the glint of the six-shooter.
The other men poured in quietly and quickly and formed a semi-circle about the door.
Three of their number remained outside, covering with their revolvers the two country constables who had been on special duty for the purpose of controlling the traffic.
All the men were masked, not only their foreheads, but their faces right down to their chins being hidden in black crape.
The man who led them stepped forward and ordered the groom of the chambers back; and the man and his fellow-servants retreated before the advance of the strange intruders.
A couple of armed and masked men sufficed to keep the handful of men-servants penned in the corner. Two others were stationed on the stairs to check any advances in that direction, while two others kept the passages closed against all comers.
At the head of about twelve men the leader walked swiftly towards the door of the ball-room, where he met Lord Penshurst face to face. For the Prime Minister, growing uneasy at the continued movement in the hall, had come out himself to see what might be on foot.
“Get back, Lord Penshurst,” said the leader, still in a pleasant and easy voice; “get back or I will not answer for your life.”
The Prime Minister checked himself, but craned his head forward.
“By heaven!” he said in a low voice, “I believe that is you, Melun.”
“Never mind who I may be, but keep your tongue still. Unless you wish to be quieted, kindly refrain from mentioning names in my presence.
“Now turn about, if you please, and get back to the ball-room.”
At this sudden confrontation by danger the Prime Minister's troubles were for the moment forgotten, and he was again the strong, courageous man that he had once been. He looked straight and steadily at the veiled eyes of the intruder, and declined to turn about. Instead, he retreated backwards step by step.
The music in the ball-room had effectually drowned any noise of the disturbance except to those who stood nearer to the door.
Among these was Hilden. He had followed hard upon the Prime Minister's footsteps, and had, at a glance, taken in the position of affairs.
Nor did he hesitate for a moment. Breaking into a run, he dashed across the hall towards thelittle alcove in which he knew were placed the telephone and the police call.
As he approached the alcove, however, he was brought to a standstill by a man with a revolver.
Melun noted his progress, and turned about and cried, “Keep that gentleman away. If he moves another yard—shoot!”
Young Hilden threw one contemptuous glance at Melun and walked on. The man hesitated to fire.
“Fire! you fool,” shouted Melun, but the man still held his hand and hesitated so long that Hilden had gripped the barrel of his revolver in his left hand before the fellow quite realised what was happening.
If the man had scruples, Melun had none. His revolver spoke quickly, and Hilden, with a little cough, fell forward on his face.
Turning from his butcher's work, Melun whipped round to meet the terror-stricken eyes of Lady Kathleen.
“Will you take your daughter away, Lord Penshurst?” he said in a low voice. “It is not my fault that she has been compelled to look on this.”
The Prime Minister grasped Kathleen by the arm and drew her into the ball-room. Melun closed in on him and the other men followed.
As they entered the room they spread themselves out fanwise in an obviously prearranged plan.
Coolly and deliberately Melun discharged his revolver at the painted ceiling overhead, bringing down a little cloud of plaster.
The orchestra stopped in the middle of a bar, the dancers came to a halt, and all those guests whohad been sitting round the ball-room leapt with cries to their feet.
“Silence!”
Melun's voice rung out clear and hard.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he cried, “I have no desire to create a disturbance. If you will listen to me all will be well.”
Turning for a second to Lord Penshurst, he said, “Get back to the middle of the ball-room.”
The Prime Minister had no other course but to obey.
Melun next proceeded to deal with those guests who were nearest to the door.
“All of you,” he said in a tone of easy command, “all of you get back beyond the chandelier.”
He pointed to the great cut-glass candelabra which hung from the ceiling.
Here and there a woman gave a little scream, but for the most part the people who had been so rudely disturbed were very quiet.
Melun watched the retreat through his mask, and when all the guests had crowded together at the end of the room he gave them further orders.
“All the men step to the front!”
The men looked angrily and defiantly at Melun and his companions, but they had no option in the matter, for a dozen revolvers were pointed in their direction with unwavering nozzles.
Sullenly, angrily, the men came forward, and formed a long chain before the women, who clung together in terror or sat huddled on chairs, holding their faces in their hands. There was a pause, and Lord Penshurst turned towards his guests.