"Make excuse and induce your father to leave Conflans-Jarny at once for Metz, travelling by Belgium for London. Accompany him. A seriouscontretempshas occurred which will affect you both if you do not leave immediately on receipt of this. Heed this, I beg of you. And remember, I am still your friend."Walter."
"Make excuse and induce your father to leave Conflans-Jarny at once for Metz, travelling by Belgium for London. Accompany him. A seriouscontretempshas occurred which will affect you both if you do not leave immediately on receipt of this. Heed this, I beg of you. And remember, I am still your friend.
"Walter."
For a moment she stood puzzled. "Did the Englishman say there was no reply?" she asked.
"Yes, mademoiselle. He left the Lion d'Or just before eight, and drove into Conflans with his luggage. The innkeeper told me that he is returning suddenly to England. He received several telegrams in the night, it appears."
"You know him, then?"
"Oh yes, mademoiselle. He came there to fish in the Longeau, and I have been with him on several occasions."
Enid took a piece of "cent sous" from her purse and gave it to the old man, then she returned to her room and, sending Louise belowfor something, burned Walter's letter in the grate.
Afterwards she went to her stepfather and suggested that perhaps they might leave Conflans earlier than he had resolved.
"I hear there is a train at three-five. If we went by that," she said, "we could cross from Ostend instead of by Antwerp, and thus be in London a day earlier."
"Are you so anxious to get away from here, Enid?" he asked, looking straight into her face.
"Well, yes. Mother, in her letter yesterday, urged me to come home, as she does not wish me to travel out alone to join Mrs. Caldwell. She's afraid she will leave London without me if I don't get home at once. Besides, I've got a lot of shopping to do before I can start. Do let us get away by the earlier train. It will be so much better," she urged.
As Sir Hugh never denied Enid anything, he acquiesced. Packing was speedily concluded, and, much to the regret of Blanche, the pair left in a fly for which they had telephoned to Conflans-Jarny.
The train by which they travelled ran through the beautiful valley of Manvaux, past the great forts of Plappeville and St. Quentin,and across the Moselle to Metz, and so into German territory.
Whatever might happen, Sir Hugh reflected, at least he was now safe from arrest. While Enid, on her part, sat back in the corner of the first-class compartment gazing out of the window, still mystified by that strange warning from the man who only a few days previously had so curiously turned and abandoned her.
Atthe same hour when Enid and Sir Hugh were passing Amanvilliers, once the scene of terrible atrocities by the Huns, Paul Le Pontois, between two agents of police, was ushered into the private cabinet where, at the great writing-table near the window, sat a short man with bristling hair and snow-white moustache, Monsieur Henri Bézard, chief of the Sûreté Générale.
A keen-faced, black-eyed man of dapper appearance, wearing the coveted button of the Légion d'Honneur in his black frock-coat, he looked up sharply at the man brought into his presence, wished him a curt "bon jour," and motioned him to a seat at the opposite side of the big table, in such a position that the grey light from the long window fell directly upon his countenance.
With him, standing about the big, handsome room with its green-baize doors and huge oil paintings on the walls, were four elderly men, strangers to Paul.
The severe atmosphere of that sombre apartment, wherein sat the chief of the police of the Republic, was depressing. Those present moved noiselessly over the thick Turkey carpet, while the double windows excluded every sound from the busy boulevard below.
"Your name," exclaimed the great Bézard sharply, at last raising his eyes from a file of papers before him—"your name is Paul Robert Le Pontois, son of Paul Le Pontois, rentier of Severac, Department of Aveyron. During the war you were captain in the 114th Regiment of Artillery, and you now reside with your wife and daughter at the Château of Lérouville. Are those details correct?"
"Perfectly, m'sieur," replied the man seated with the two police agents standing behind him. He wore his black evening trousers and a brown tweed jacket which one of the detectives had lent him.
"You have been placed under arrest by order of the Ministry," replied Bézard, speaking in his quick, impetuous way.
"I am aware of that, m'sieur," was Paul's reply, "but I am in ignorance of the charge against me."
"Well," exclaimed Bézard very gravely, again referring to the formidabledossierbeforehim, "the charge brought against you is most serious. It is astounding and disgraceful. Listen, and I will read it. Afterwards we will hear what explanation you have to offer. We are assembled for that purpose."
The four other men had taken chairs near by, while Pierrepont was standing at some distance away, with his back to the wood fire.
For a second Bézard paused, then, rubbing his gold pince-nez and adjusting them, he read in a cold, hard voice the following:
"The charge alleged against you, Paul Robert Le Pontois, is that upon four separate occasions you have placed in circulation forged Bank of England and Treasury notes of England to the extent of nearly a million francs."
"It's a lie!" cried Paul, jumping to his feet, his face aflame. "Before God, I swear it is a lie!"
"Calm yourself and listen," commanded the great chief of the Sûreté Générale sharply. "Be seated."
The prisoner sank back into his chair again. His head was reeling. Who could possibly have made such unfounded charges against him? He could scarcely believe his ears.
Then the hard-faced, white-headed old director, who held supreme command of the policeof the Republic, glanced at him shrewdly, and, continuing, said: "It is alleged that you, Paul Le Pontois, on the fourteenth day of January, and again on the sixteenth of May, met in Commercy a certain Englishman, and handed to him a bundle of English notes since proved to be forgeries."
"I am not acquainted with any English forger," protested Paul.
"Do not interrupt, m'sieur!" snapped the director. "You will, later on, be afforded full opportunity to make any statement or explanation you may wish. First listen to these grave charges against you." After a further pause, he added: "The third occasion, it is alleged, was on April the eighth last, when it seems you drove at early morning over to Thillot-sous-les-Côtes and there met a stranger who was afterwards identified as an American who is wanted for banknote forgeries."
"And the fourth?" asked Paul hoarsely. This string of allegations utterly staggered him.
"The fourth occasion was quite recently," Bézard said, still speaking in that same cold tone. "On that occasion you made certain calculations to ascertain how much were your profits by dealing with these forgers whom Scotland Yard are so anxious to arrest. You wroteall the sums down, knowing your expenditure and profits. The latter were very considerable."
"And by whom is it alleged that I am a dealer in base money, pray?"
"It is not necessary for us to disclose the name of our informant," was the stiff rejoinder.
"But surely I am not to be thus denounced by an anonymous enemy?" he cried. "This is not the justice which every Frenchman claims as his birthright!"
"You have demanded to know the charges laid against you, and I have detailed them," replied the chief of the Sûreté, regarding the prisoner closely through his gold pince-nez.
"They are false—every word of them," promptly returned Le Pontois. "I have no acquaintance with any banknote forger. If I had, he would quickly find himself under arrest."
The four men seated in his vicinity smiled grimly. They had expected the prisoner to declare his innocence.
"I may tell you that the information here"—and Bézard tapped thedossierbefore him—"is from a source in which we have the most complete and implicit confidence. For the past few months there have been suspicions that forged English notes have been put into circulation in France. Therefore I ordered a vigilantwatch to be maintained. Monsieur Pierrepont, here, has been in command of a squadron of confidential agents."
"And they have watched me, and, I suppose, have manufactured evidence against me! It is only what may be expected of men paid to spy upon us. If I am a forger or a friend of forgers, as you allege me to be, then I am unworthy to have served in the uniform of France. But I tell you that the allegations you have just read are lies—lies, every word of them." And Le Pontois' pale cheeks flushed crimson with anger.
"Le Pontois," remarked a tall, thin, elderly commissaire who was present, "it is for you to prove your innocence. The information laid before us is derived from those who have daily watched your movements and reported them. If you can prove to us that it is false, then your innocence may be established."
"But Iaminnocent!" he protested, "therefore I have no fear what charges may be laid against me. They cannot be substantiated. The whole string of allegations is utterly ridiculous!"
"Eh bien! Then let us commence with the first," exclaimed Bézard, again referring to the file of secret reports before him. "On Wednesday, the fourteenth day of January, you went to Commercy, where, at the Café de la Cloche, you met a certain Belgian who passed under the name of Laloux."
"I recollect!" cried Le Pontois quickly. "I sold him a horse. He was a dealer."
"A dealer in forged notes," remarked one of the officials, with a faint smile.
"Was he a forger, then?" asked Le Pontois in entire surprise.
"Yes. He has entered France several times in the guise of a horsedealer," Pierrepont interrupted.
"But I only bought a horse of him," declared the prisoner vehemently.
"And you paid for it in English notes, apologising that you had no other money. He took them, for he passed them in Belgium into an English bank in Brussels. They were forged!"
"Again, on the sixteenth of May, you met the man Laloux at the same place," said Bézard.
"He had a mare to sell—I tried to buy it for my wife to drive, but he wanted too much."
"You remained the night at the Hôtel de Paris, and saw him again at nine o'clock next morning."
"True. I hoped to strike a bargain withhim in the morning, but we could not come to terms."
"Regarding the forged English notes you were prepared to sell, eh?" snapped Bézard, with a look of disbelief.
"I had nothing to sell!" protested Le Pontois, drawing himself up. "Those who have spied upon me have told untruths."
"But the individual, Laloux, was watched. One of our agents followed him to Brussels, where he went next day to the English bank in the Montagne de la Cour."
"Not with forged notes from me. My dealings with him were in every way honest business transactions."
"You mean that you received money from him, eh?"
"I do not deny that. I sold him a horse on the first occasion. He paid me seven hundred francs for it, and I afterwards purchased one from him."
"So you do not deny that you received money from that man?"
"Why should I? I sold him a horse, and he paid me for it."
"Very well," said Bézard, with some hesitation. "Let us pass to the eighth of April. At six o'clock that morning you drove to Thillot-sous-les-Côtes, where you met a stranger at the entrance to the village, and walked with him, and held a long and earnest conversation."
Paul was silent for a moment. The incident recalled was one that he would fain have forgotten, one the truth of which he intended at all hazards to conceal.
"I admit that I went to Thillot in secret," he answered in a changed voice.
"Ah! Then you do not deny that you were attracted by the promises of substantial payment for certain forged English notes which you could furnish, eh?" grunted Bézard in satisfaction.
"I admit going to Thillot, but I deny your allegation," cried Paul in quick protest.
"Then perhaps you will tell us the reason you took that early drive?" asked a commissaire, with a short, hard laugh of disbelief.
The prisoner hesitated. It was a purely personal matter, one which concerned himself alone.
"I regret, messieurs," was his slow reply, "I regret that I am unable—indeed, I am not permitted to answer that question."
"Pray why?" inquired Bézard.
"Well—because it concerns a woman's honour," was the low, hoarse reply, "the honour of the wife of a certain officer."
At those words of his the men interrogating him laughed in derision, declaring it to be a very elegant excuse.
"It is no excuse!" he cried fiercely, again rising from his chair. "When I have obtained permission to speak, messieurs, I will tell you the truth. Until then I shall remain silent."
"Eh, bien!" snapped Bézard. "And so we will pass to the next and final charge—that you prepared a statement in order to satisfy yourself regarding the profits of your dealings in these spurious notes."
"I have no knowledge of such a thing!" Paul replied instantly.
"And yet for several weeks past a mysterious friend of yours has been seen in the neighbourhood of your château. He has been staying in Commercy and in Longuyon. I gave orders for his arrest, but, with his usual cleverness, he escaped from Commercy."
"I prepared no statement."
"H'm!" grunted Bézard, looking straight into his flushed face. "You are quite certain of that?"
"I swear I did not."
"Then perhaps you will deny that this is inyour hand?" the director asked slowly, with a grin, as he fixed his eyes upon Paul and handed him a sheet of his own note-paper bearing the address of the château embossed in green.
Paul took it in his trembling fingers, and as he did so his countenance fell.
It was the rough account of his investments and profits he remembered making for his father-in-law. He had cast it unheeded into the waste-paper basket, whence it had, no doubt, been recovered by those who had spied upon him and placed with the reports as evidence against him.
"You admit making that calculation?" asked Bézard severely. "Those figures are, I believe, in your handwriting?"
"Yes; but I have had nothing to do with any forgers of banknotes," declared the unhappy man, reseating himself.
"Ah! Then you admit making the calculation? That in itself is sufficient for the present. However, cannot you give us some explanation of that secret visit of yours to Thillot? Remember, you have to prove your innocence!"
"I—I cannot—not, at least, at present," faltered the prisoner.
"You refuse?"
"Yes, m'sieur, I flatly refuse," was thehoarse reply. "As I have told you, that visit concerned the honour of a woman."
The men again exchanged glances of disbelief, while the victim of those dastardly allegations sat breathless, amazed at the astounding manner in which his most innocent actions had been misconstrued into incriminating evidence.
He was under arrest as one who had placed forged English banknotes in circulation in France!
WhenWalter Fetherston entered the tasteful drawing-room at Hill Street four days later he found Enid alone, seated by the fire.
The dull London light of the autumn afternoon was scarcely sufficient for him to distinguish every object in the apartment, but as he advanced she rose and stood silhouetted against the firelight, a slight, graceful figure, with hand outstretched.
"Both mother and Sir Hugh are out—gone to a matinée at the Garrick," she exclaimed. "I'm so glad you've come in," and she placed a chair for him.
"I have heard that you are leaving for Egypt to-morrow," he said, "and I wished to have a chat with you."
"We go to Italy first, and to Egypt after Christmas," she replied. "Mother has promised to join us in Luxor at the end of January."
"If I were you, Enid," he replied gravely,bending towards her, "I would make some excuse and remain in England."
"Why?" she asked, her eyes opening widely. "I don't understand!"
"I regret that I am unable to speak more plainly," he said. "I warned you to leave France, and I was glad that you and Sir Hugh heeded my warning. Otherwise—well, perhaps an unpleasant incident would have resulted."
"You always speak in enigmas nowadays," said the girl, again standing near the fireplace, dainty in her dark skirt and cream silk jumper. "Why did you send me that extraordinary note?"
"In your own interests," was his vague reply. "I became aware that your further presence in the house of Monsieur Le Pontois was—well—undesirable—that's all."
"I really think you entertain some antagonism against Paul," she declared, "yet he's such a good fellow."
The novelist's eyes sparkled through his pince-nez as he replied: "He's very good-looking, I admit, and, no doubt, a perfect cavalier."
"You suspect me of flirtations with him, of course," she pouted. "Well, you're not the first man who has chaffed me about that."
"No, no," he laughed. "I'm in no wayjealous, I assure you. I merely told you that your departure from the château would be for the best."
He did not tell her that within an hour of their leaving French territory an official telegram had been received from Paris by the local commissaire of police with orders to detain them both, nor that just before dark an insignificant-looking man in black had called at the château and been informed by Jean that the English general and his stepdaughter had already departed.
The whole of that night the wires between the sous-prefecture at Briey and Paris had been at work, and many curious official messages had been exchanged. Truly, the pair had had a providential escape.
Sir Hugh was, of course, in entire ignorance of the dastardly action taken by the Pimlico doctor.
Without duly counting the cost, he had declared at his last interview with Weirmarsh that their criminal partnership was now at an end. And the doctor had taken him at his word.
Had not the doctor in London told his assistant, Heureux, that Sir Hugh's sphere of usefulness was at an end, and that, in all probability, acontretempswould occur—one whichwould in future save to "the syndicate" the sum of five thousand pounds per annum?
Truth to tell, Bézard, director of the Sûreté, had telegraphed orders for the arrest of Sir Hugh and his daughter. But, thanks to the shrewdness of Fetherston, who had lingered in the vicinity to afford them protection if necessary, they had succeeded in escaping only a single hour before the message reached its destination.
Neither of them knew of this, and the novelist intended that they should remain in ignorance—just as they were still in ignorance of the reason of Paul's visit to Paris and of his detention there.
If they were aware of the reason of his warning, then they would most certainly question him as to the manner in which he was able to gain knowledge of the betrayal by Weirmarsh. He had no desire to be questioned upon such matters. The motives of his action—always swift, full of shrewd foresight, and often in disregard of his own personal safety—were known alone to himself and to Scotland Yard.
If the truth were told, he had not been alone in Eastern France. At the little old-world Croix-Blanche at Briey a stout, middle-aged, ruddy-faced English tourist had had his headquarters; while, again, at the unpretendingCloche d'Or in the Place St. Paul at Verdun another Englishman, a young, active, clean-shaven man, had been moving about the country in constant communication with "Mr. Maltwood." Wherever the doctor from Pimlico and his assistant, Heureux, had gone, there also went one or other of those two sharp-eyed but unobtrusive Englishmen. Every action of the doctor had been noted, and information of it conveyed to the quiet-mannered man in pince-nez.
"Really, Walter, you are quite as mysterious as your books," Enid was declaring, with a laugh. "I do wish you would satisfy my curiosity and tell me why you urged me to leave France so suddenly."
"I had reasons—strong reasons which you may, perhaps, some day know," was his response. "I am only glad that you thought fit to take the advice I offered. This afternoon I have called to give you further advice—namely, to remain in England, at least for the present."
"But I can't. My friend Jane Caldwell has been waiting a whole fortnight for me, suffering from asthma in these abominable fogs."
"You can make some excuse. I assure you that to remain in London will be for the best," he said, while she switched on the shaded electric lights, which shed a soft glow over the handsomeroom—that apartment, the costly furniture of which had been purchased out of the money secretly supplied by Weirmarsh.
"But I can't see why I should remain," she protested, facing him again. He noted how strikingly handsome she was, her dimpled cheeks delicately moulded and her pretty chin slightly protruding, which gave a delightful piquancy to her features.
"I wish I could explain further. I can't at present!"
"You are, as I have already said, so amazingly mysterious—so full of secrets always!"
The man sighed, his brows knit slightly.
"Yes," he said, "I am full of secrets—strange, astounding secrets they are—secrets which some time, if divulged, would mean terrible complications, ruin to those who are believed to be honest and upright."
The girl stood for a few seconds in silence.
She had heard strange rumours regarding the man seated there before her. Some had hinted that he, on more than one occasion, acting in an unofficial capacity, had arranged important treaties between Great Britain and a foreign Power, leaving to ambassadors the arrangements of detail and the final ratification. There were whispers abroad that he was atrusted and tried agent of the British Government, but in exactly what capacity was unknown. His name frequently appeared among the invited guests of Cabinet Ministers, and he received cards for many official functions, but the actual manner in which he rendered assistance to the Government was always kept a most profound secret.
More than once Sir Hugh had mentioned the matter over the dining-table, expressing wonder as to Fetherston's real position.
"You know him well, Enid," he had exclaimed once, laughing over to her. "What is your opinion?"
"I really haven't any," she declared. "His movements are certainly rapid, and often most mysterious."
"He's a most excellent fellow," declared the old general. "Cartwright told me so the other day in the club. Cartwright was ambassador in Petrograd before the war."
Enid remembered this as she stood there, her hands behind her back.
"Before I left I heard that Paul had been called unexpectedly to Paris," he said a few moments later. "Has he returned?"
"Not yet, I believe. I had a letter from Blanche this morning. When it was written,two days ago, he was still absent." Then she added: "There is some mystery regarding his visit to the capital. Blanche left for Paris yesterday, I believe, for she had telegraphed to him, but received no reply."
"She has gone to Paris!" he echoed. "Why did she go? It was silly!"
"Well—because she is puzzled, I think. It was very strange that Paul, even though at the very gate, did not leave those two men and wish her adieu."
"Two men—what two men?" he asked in affected ignorance.
"The two men who stopped the car and demanded to speak with him," she said; and, continuing, described to him that remarkable midnight incident close to the château.
"No doubt he went to Paris upon some important business," Fetherston said, reassuring her. "It was, I think, foolish of his wife to follow. At least, that's my opinion."
He knew that when madame arrived in Paris the ghastly truth must, sooner or later, be revealed.
AsFetherston sat there, still chatting with his well-beloved, he felt a hatred of himself for being thus compelled to deceive her—to withhold from her the hideous truth of Paul's arrest.
After all, silence was best. If Walter spoke to the girl before him, then he must of necessity reveal his own connection with the affair. He knew she had been puzzled by his presence in France, but his explanation, he hoped, had been sufficient. He had assured her that theonlymotive of his journey had been to be near her, which was, indeed, no untruth.
He saw that Enid was not altogether at her ease in his presence. Perhaps it was because of those questions and his plain outspokenness when last they met, on that forest road, where they had discussed the strange death of Harry Bellairs.
On that evening, full of suspicion and apprehension, he had decided to tear himself away from her. But, alas! he had found himself powerless to do so. Pity and sympathy filledhis heart; therefore, how could he turn from her and abandon her at this moment of her peril? It was on the next day that he had discerned Weirmarsh's sinister intentions. Therefore, he had risen to watch and to combat them.
Some of his suspicions had been confirmed, nevertheless his chief object had not yet been attained—the elucidation of the mystery surrounding the remarkable death of Bellairs.
He was about to refer again to that tragic incident when Enid said suddenly: "Doctor Weirmarsh called and saw Sir Hugh this morning. You told me to tell you when next he called."
"Weirmarsh!" exclaimed the novelist in surprise. "I was not aware that he was in London!"
"He's been abroad—in Copenhagen, I think. He has a brother living there."
"He had a private talk with your stepfather, of course?"
"Yes, as usual, they were in the study for quite a long time—nearly two hours. And," added the girl, "I believe that at last they quarrelled. If they have, I'm awfully glad, for I hate that man!"
"Did you overhear them?" asked Fetherston anxiously, apprehensive lest an open quarrel had actually taken place. He knew well that Josef Blot, alias Weirmarsh, was not a man to be trifled with. If Sir Hugh had served his purpose, as he no doubt had, then he would be betrayed to the police without compunction, just as others had been.
Walter Fetherston grew much perturbed at the knowledge of this quarrel between the pair. His sole aim was to protect Sir Hugh, yet how to act he knew not.
"You did not actually hear any of the words spoken, I suppose?" he inquired of Enid.
"Not exactly, except that I heard my stepfather denounce the doctor as an infernal cur and blackguard."
"Well, and what did Weirmarsh reply?"
"He threatened Sir Hugh, saying, 'You shall suffer for those words—you, who owe everything to me!' I wonder," added the girl, "what he meant by that?"
"Who knows!" exclaimed Walter. "Some secret exists between them. You told me that you suspected it long ago."
"And I do," she said, lowering her voice. "That man holds Sir Hugh in the hollow of his hand—of that I'm sure. I have noticed after each of the doctor's visits how pale and thoughtful he always is."
"Have you tried to learn the reason of it all?" inquired the novelist quietly, his gaze fixed upon her.
"I have," she replied, with slight hesitation.
Walter Fetherston contemplated in silence the fine cat's-eye and diamond ring upon his finger—a ring sent him long ago by an anonymous admirer of his books, which he had ever since worn as a mascot.
At one moment he held this girl in distinct suspicion; at the next, however, he realised her peril, and resolved to stand by her as her champion.
Did he really and honestly love her? He put that question to himself a thousand times. And for the thousandth time was he compelled to answer in the affirmative.
"By which route do you intend travelling to Italy to-morrow?" he asked.
"By Paris and Modane. We go first for a week to Nervi, on the coast beyond Genoa," was her reply.
Fetherston paused. If she put foot in France she would, he knew, be at once placed under arrest as an accomplice of Paul Le Pontois. When Weirmarsh took revenge he always did his work well. No doubt the French police were already at Calais awaiting her arrival.
"I would change the route," he suggested. "Go by Ostend, Strasburg and Milan."
"Mrs. Caldwell has already taken our tickets," she said. "Besides, it is a terribly long way round by that route."
"I know," he murmured. "But it will be best. I have a reason—a strong reason, Enid, for urging you to go by Ostend."
"It is not in my power to do so. Jane always makes our travelling arrangements. Besides, we have sleeping berths secured on the nightrapidefrom the Gare de Lyon to Turin."
"I will see Mrs. Caldwell, and get her tickets changed," he said. "Do you understand, Enid? There are reasons—very strong reasons—why you should not travel across France!"
"No, I don't," declared the girl. "You are mysterious again. Why don't you be open with me and give me your reasons for this suggestion?"
"I would most willingly—if I could," he answered. "Unfortunately, I cannot."
"I don't think Mrs. Caldwell will travel by the roundabout route which you suggest merely because you have a whim that we should not cross France," she remarked, looking straight at him.
"If you enter France a disaster will happen—depend upon it," he said, speaking very slowly, his eyes fixed upon her.
"Are you a prophet?" the girl asked. "Can you prophesy dreadful things to happen to us?"
"I do in this case," he said firmly. "Therefore, take my advice and do not court disaster."
"Can't you be more explicit?" she asked, much puzzled by his strange words.
"No," he answered, shaking his head, "I cannot. I only forewarn you of what must happen. Therefore, I beg of you to take my advice and travel by the alternative route—if you really must go to Italy."
She turned towards the fire and, fixing her gaze upon the flames, remained for a few moments in thought, one neat foot upon the marble kerb.
"You really alarm me with all these serious utterances," she said at last, with a faint, nervous laugh.
He rose and stood by her side.
"Look here, Enid," he said, "can't you see that I am in dead earnest? Have I not already declared that I am your friend, to assist you against that man Weirmarsh?"
"Yes," she replied, "you have."
"Then will you not heed my warning?There is distinct danger in your visit to France—a danger of which you have no suspicion, but real and serious nevertheless. Don't think about spying; it is not that, I assure you."
"How can I avoid it?"
"By pretending to be unwell," he suggested quickly. "You cannot leave with Mrs. Caldwell. Let her go, and you can join her a few days later, travelling by Ostend. The thing is quite simple."
"But——"
"No, you must not hesitate," he declared. "There are no buts. It is the only way."
"Yes; but tell me what terrible thing is to happen to me if I enter France?" she asked, with an uneasy laugh.
The man hesitated. To speak the truth would be to explain all. Therefore he only shook his head and said, "Please do not ask me to explain a matter of which I am not permitted to speak. If you believe me, Enid," he said in a low, pleading voice, "do heed my warning, I beg of you!"
As he uttered these words the handle of the door turned, and Lady Elcombe, warmly clad in furs, came forward to greet the novelist.
"I'm so glad that I returned before you left, Mr. Fetherston," she exclaimed. "We've beento a most dreary play; and I'm simply dying for some tea. Enid, ring the bell, dear, will you?" Then continuing, she added in warm enthusiasm: "Really, Mr. Fetherston, you are quite a stranger! We hoped to see more of you, but my husband and daughter have been away in France—as perhaps you know."
"So Enid has been telling me," replied Walter. "They've been in a most interesting district."
"Enid is leaving us again to-morrow morning," remarked her mother. "They are going to Nervi. You know it, of course, for I've heard you called the living Baedeker, Mr. Fetherston," she laughed.
"Yes," he replied, "I know it—a rather dull little place, with one or two villas. I prefer Santa Margherita, a little farther along the coast—or Rapallo. But," he added, "your daughter tells me she's not well. I hope she will not be compelled to postpone her departure."
"Of course not," said Lady Elcombe decisively. "She must go to-morrow if she goes at all. I will not allow her to travel by herself."
The girl and the man exchanged meaning glances, and just then Sir Hugh himself entered, greeting his visitor cheerily.
The butler brought in the tea-tray, and as they sat together the two men chatted.
In pretence that he had not been abroad, Walter was making inquiry regarding the district around Haudiomont, which he declared must be full of interest, and asking the general's opinion of the French new fortresses in anticipation of the new war against Germany.
"Since I have been away," said the general, "I have been forced to arrive at the conclusion that another danger may arrive in the very near future. Germany will try and attack France again—without a doubt. The French are labouring under a dangerous delusion if they suppose that Germany would be satisfied with her obscurity."
"Is that really your opinion, Sir Hugh?" asked Fetherston, somewhat surprised.
"Certainly," was the general's reply. "There will be another war in the near future. My opinions have changed of late, my dear Fetherston," Sir Hugh assured him, as he sipped his tea, "and more especially since I went to visit my daughter. I have recently had opportunities of seeing and learning a good deal."
Fetherston reflected. Those words, coming from Sir Hugh, were certainly strange ones.
Walter was handing Enid the cake when thebutler entered, bearing a telegram upon a silver salver, which he handed to Sir Hugh.
Tearing it open, he glanced at the message eagerly, and a second later, with blanched face, stood rigid, statuesque, as though turned into stone.
"Why, what's the matter?" asked his wife. "Whom is it from?"
"Only from Blanche," he answered in a low, strained voice. "She is in Paris—and is leaving to-night for London."
"Is Paul coming?" inquired Enid eagerly.
"No," he answered, with a strenuous effort to remain calm. "He—he cannot leave Paris."
The butler, being told there was no answer, bowed and withdrew, but a few seconds later the door reopened, and he announced:
"Dr. Weirmarsh, Sir Hugh!"
WhenSir Hugh entered his cosy study he found the doctor seated at his ease in the big chair by the fire.
"I thought that, being in the vicinity, I would call and see if you've recovered from your—well, your silly fit of irritability," he said, with a grim smile on his grey face as he looked towards the general.
"I have just received bad news—news which I have all along dreaded," replied the unhappy man, the telegram still in his hand. "Paul Le Pontois has been arrested on some mysterious charge—false, without a doubt!"
"Yes," replied Weirmarsh; "it is most unfortunate. I heard it an hour ago, and the real reason of my visit was to tell you of thecontretemps."
"Someone must have made a false charge against him," cried the general excitedly. "The poor fellow is innocent—entirely innocent! I only have a brief telegram from his wife. She is in despair, and leaves for London to-night."
"My dear Sir Hugh, France is in a very hysterical mood just now. Of course, there must be some mistake. Some private enemy of his has made the charge without a doubt—someone jealous of his position, perhaps. Allegations are easily made, though not so easily substantiated."
"Except by manufactured evidence and forged documents," snapped Sir Hugh. "If Paul is the victim of some political party and is to be made a scapegoat, then Heaven help him, poor fellow. They will never allow him to prove his innocence, unless——"
"Unless what?"
"Unless I come forward," he said very slowly, staring straight before him. "Unless I come forward and tell the truth of my dealings with you. The charges against Paul are false. I know it now. What have you to say?" he added in a low, hard voice.
"A great deal of good that would do!" laughed Weirmarsh, selecting a cigarette from his gold case and lighting it, regarding his host with those narrow-set, sinister eyes of his. "It would only implicate Le Pontois further. They would say, and with truth, that you knew of the whole conspiracy and had profited by it."
"I should tell them what I know concerningyou. Indeed, I wrote out a full statement while I was staying with Paul. And I have it ready to hand for the authorities."
"You can do so, of course, if you choose," was the careless reply. "It really doesn't matter to me what statement you make. You have always preserved silence up to the present, therefore I should believe that in this case silence was still golden."
"And you suggest that I stand calmly by and see Le Pontois sentenced to a long term of imprisonment for a crime which he has not committed, eh?"
"I don't suggest anything, my dear Sir Hugh," was the man's reply; "I leave it all to your good judgment."
Since they had met in secret Weirmarsh had made a flying visit to Brussels, where he had conferred with two friends of his. Upon their suggestion he was now acting.
If Paul Le Pontois were secretly denounced and afterwards found innocent, then it would only mystify the French police; the policy pursued towards the Sûreté, as well as towards Sir Hugh, was a clever move on Weirmarsh's part.
"What am I to say to my poor girl when she arrives here in tears to-morrow?" demanded the fine old British officer hoarsely.
"You know that best yourself," was Weirmarsh's brusque reply.
"To you I owe all my recent troubles," the elder man declared. "Because—because," he added bitterly, "you bought me up body and soul."
"A mere business arrangement, wasn't it, Sir Hugh?" remarked his visitor. "Of course, I'm very sorry if any great trouble has fallen upon you on my account. I hope, for instance, you do not suspect me of conspiring to denounce your son-in-law," he added.
"Well, I don't know," was the other's reply; "yet I feel that, in view of thiscontretemps, I must in future break off all connection with you."
"And lose the annual grant which you find so extremely useful?"
"I shall be compelled to do without it. And, at least, I shall have peace of mind."
"Perhaps," remarked the other meaningly.
Sir Hugh realised that this man intended still to hold him in the hollow of his hand. From that one false step he had taken years ago he had never been able to draw back.
Hour by hour, and day by day, had his conscience pricked him. Those chats with the doctor in that grimy little consulting-room in Pimlico remained ever in his memory.
The doctor was the representative of those who held him in their power—persons who were being continually hunted by the police, yet who always evaded them—criminals all! To insult him would be to insult those who had paid him so well for his confidential services.
Yet, filled with contempt for himself, he asked whether he did not deserve to be degraded publicly, and drummed out of the army.
Were it not for Lady Elcombe and Enid he would long ago have gone to East Africa and effaced himself. But he could not bring himself to desert them.
He had satisfied himself that not a soul in England suspected the truth, for, by the Press, he had long ago been declared to be a patriotic Briton, because in his stirring public speeches, when he had put up for Parliament after the armistice, there was always a genuine "John Bull" ring.
The truth was that he remained unsuspected by all—save by one man who had scented the truth. That man was Walter Fetherston!
Walter alone knew the ghastly circumstances, and it was he who had been working to save the old soldier from himself. He did so fortwo reasons—first, because he was fond of the bluff, fearless old fellow, and, secondly, because he had been attracted by Enid, and intended to rescue her from the evil thraldom of Weirmarsh.
"Why have you returned here to taunt and irritate me again?" snapped Sir Hugh after a pause.
"I came to tell you news which, apparently, you have already received."
"You could well have kept it. You knew that I should be informed in due course."
"Yes—but I—well, I thought you might grow apprehensive perhaps."
"In what direction?"
"That your connection with the little affair might be discovered by the French police. Bézard, the new chief of the Sûreté, is a pretty shrewd person, remember!"
"But, surely, that is not possible, is it?" gasped the elder man in quick alarm.
"No; you can reassure yourself on that point. Le Pontois knows nothing, therefore he can make no statement—unless, of course, your own actions were suspicious."
"They were not—I am convinced of that."
"Then you have no need to fear. Your son-in-law will certainly not endeavour to implicate you. And if he did, he would not be believed,"declared the doctor, although he well knew that Bézard was in possession of full knowledge of the whole truth, and that, only by the timely warning he had so mysteriously received, had this man before him and his stepdaughter escaped arrest.
His dastardly plot to secure their ruin and imprisonment had failed. How the girl had obtained wind of it utterly mystified him. It was really in order to discover the reason of their sudden flight that he had made those two visits.
"Look here, Weirmarsh," exclaimed Sir Hugh with sudden resolution, "I wish you to understand that from to-day, once and for all, I desire to have no further dealings with you. It was, as you have said, a purely business transaction. Well, I have done the dirty, disgraceful work for which you have paid me, and now my task is at an end."
"I hardly think it is, my dear Sir Hugh," replied the doctor calmly. "As I have said before, I am only the mouthpiece—I am not the employer. But I believe that certain further assistance is required—information which you promised long ago, but failed to procure."
"What was that?"
"You recollect that you promised to obtainsomething—a little tittle-tattle—concerning a lady."
"Yes," snapped the old officer, "oh, Lady Wansford. Let us talk of something else!"
Weirmarsh, who had been narrowly watching the countenance of his victim, saw that he had mentioned a disagreeable subject. He noted how pale were the general's cheeks, and how his thin hands twitched with suppressed excitement.
"I am quite ready to talk of other matters," he answered, "though I deem it but right to refer to my instructions."
"And what are they?"
"To request you to supply the promised information."
"But I can't—I really can't!"
"You made a promise, remember. And upon that promise I made you a loan of five hundred pounds."
"I know!" cried the unhappy man, who had sunk so deeply into the mire that extrication seemed impossible. "I know! But it is a promise that I can't fulfil. I won't be your tool any longer. Gad! I won't. Don't you hear me?"
"You must!" declared Weirmarsh, bending forward and looking straight into his eyes.
"I will not!" shouted Sir Hugh, his eyes flashing with quick anger. "Anything but that."
"Why?"
"My efforts in that direction had tragic results on the last occasion."
"Ah!" laughed Weirmarsh. "I see you are superstitious—or something. I did not expect that of you."
"I am not superstitious, Weirmarsh. I only refuse to do what you want. If I gave it to you, it would mean—no I won't—I tell you I won't!"
"Bah! You are growing sentimental!"
"No—I am growing wise. My eyes are at last opened to the dastardly methods of you and your infernal friends. Hear me, once and for all; I refuse to assist you further; and, moreover, I defy you!"
The doctor was silent for a moment, contemplating the ruby on his finger. Then, rising slowly from his chair, he said: "Ah! you do not fully realise what your refusal may cost you."
"Cost what it may, Weirmarsh, I ask you to leave my house at once," said the general, scarlet with anger and beside himself with remorse. "And I shall give orders that you are not again to be admitted here."
"Very good!" laughed the other, with a sinister grin. "You will very soon be seeking me in my surgery."
"We shall see," replied Sir Hugh, with a shrug of his shoulders, as the other strode out of his room.
WhatWalter Fetherston had feared had happened. The two men had quarrelled! Throughout the whole of that evening he watched the doctor's movements.
In any other country but our dear old hood-winked England, Fetherston, in the ordinary course, would have been the recipient of high honours from the Sovereign. But he was a writer, and not a financier. He could not afford to subscribe to the party funds, a course suggested by the flat-footed old Lady G——, who was the tout of Government Whips.
Walter preferred to preserve his independence. He had seen and known much during the war, and, disgusted, he preferred to adopt the Canadian Government's decree and remain without "honours."
His pet phrase was: "The extent of a Party's dishonours is known by the honours it bestows. Scraps of ribbon, 'X.Y.Z.' or O.B.E. behind one's name can neither make the gentleman nor create the lady."
His secret connection with Scotland Yard, which was purely patriotic and conducted as a student of underground crime, had taught him many strange things, and he had learnt many remarkable secrets. Some of them were, indeed, his secrets before they became secrets of the Cabinet.
Many of those secrets he kept to himself, one being the remarkable truth that General Sir Hugh Elcombe was implicated in a very strange jumble of affairs—a matter that was indeed incredible.
To the tall, well-groomed, military-looking man with whom he stood at eleven o'clock on the following morning—in a private room at New Scotland Yard—he had never confided that discovery of his. To have done so would have been to betray a man who had a brilliant record as a soldier, and who still held high position at the War Office.
By such denunciation he knew he might earn from "the eyes of the Government" very high commendation, in addition to what he had already earned, yet he had resolved, if possible, to save the old officer, who was really more sinned against than sinning.
"You seem to keep pretty close at the heels of your friend, the doctor of Vauxhall BridgeRoad!" laughed Trendall, the director of the department, as they stood together in the big, airy, official-looking room, the two long windows of which looked out over Westminster Bridge.
"You've been in France, Montgomery says. What was your friend doing there?"
"He's been there against his will—very much against his will!"
"And you've found out something—eh?"
"Yes," replied Fetherston. "One or two things."
"Something interesting, of course," remarked the shrewd, active, dark-haired man of fifty, under whose control was one of the most important departments of Scotland Yard. "But tell me, in what direction is this versatile doctor of yours working just at the present?"
"I hardly know," was the novelist's reply, as in a navy serge suit he leaned near the window which overlooked the Thames. "I believe some deep scheme is afoot, but at present I cannot see very far. For that reason I am remaining watchful."
"He does not suspect you, of course? If he does, I'd give you Harris, or Charlesworth, or another of the men—in fact, whoever you like—to assist you."
"Perhaps I may require someone beforelong. If so, I will write or wire to the usual private box at the General Post Office, and shall then be glad if you will send a man to meet me."
"Certainly. It was you, Fetherston, who first discovered the existence of this interesting doctor, who had already lived in Vauxhall Bridge Road for eighteen months without arousing suspicion. You have, indeed, a fine nose for mysteries."
At that moment the telephone, standing upon the big writing-table, rang loudly, and the man of secrets crossed to it and listened.
"It's Heywood—at Victoria Station. He's asking for you," he exclaimed.
Walter went to the instrument, and through it heard the words: "The boat train has just gone, sir. Mrs. Caldwell waited for the young lady until the train went off, but she did not arrive. She seemed annoyed and disappointed. Dr. Weirmarsh has been on the platform, evidently watching also."
"Thanks, Heywood," replied Fetherston sharply; "that was all I wanted to know. Good day."
He replaced the receiver, and, walking back to his friend against the window, explained: "A simple little inquiry I was making regarding adeparture by the boat train for Paris—that was all."
But he reflected that if Weirmarsh had been watching it must have been to warn the French police over at Calais of the coming of Enid. No action was too dastardly for that unscrupulous scoundrel.
Yet, for the present at least, the girl remained safe. The chief peril was that in which Sir Hugh was placed, now that he had openly defied the doctor.
On the previous evening he had been in the drawing-room at Hill Street when Sir Hugh had returned from interviewing the caller. By his countenance and manner he at once realised that the breach had been widened.
The one thought by which he was obsessed was how he should save Sir Hugh from disgrace. His connection with the Criminal Investigation Department placed at his disposal a marvellous network of sources of information, amazing as they were unsuspected. He was secretly glad that at last the old fellow had resolved to face bankruptcy rather than go farther in that strange career of crime, yet, at the same time, there was serious danger—for Weirmarsh was a man so unscrupulous and so vindictive that thepenalty of his defiance must assuredly be a severe one.
The very presence of the doctor on the platform of the South Eastern station at Victoria that morning showed that he did not intend to allow the grass to grow beneath his feet.
The novelist was still standing near the long window, looking aimlessly down upon the Embankment, with its hurrying foot-passengers and whirling taxis.
"You seem unusually thoughtful, Fetherston," remarked Trendall with some curiosity, as he seated himself at the table and resumed the opening of his letters which his friend's visit had interrupted. "What's the matter?"
"The fact is, I'm very much puzzled."
"About what? You're generally very successful in obtaining solutions where other men have failed."
"To the problem which is greatly exercising my mind just now I can obtain no solution," he said in a low, intense voice.
"What is it? Can I help you?"
"Well," he exclaimed, with some hesitation, "I am still trying to discover why Harry Bellairs died and who killed him."
"That mystery has long ago been placed by us among those which admit of no solution,my dear fellow," declared his friend. "We did our best to throw some light upon it, but all to no purpose. I set the whole of our machinery at work at the time—days before you suspected anything wrong—but not a trace of the truth could we find."
"But what could have been the motive, do you imagine? From all accounts he was a most popular young officer, without a single enemy in the world."
"Jealousy," was the dark man's slow reply. "My own idea is that a woman killed him."
"Why?" cried Walter quickly. "What causes you to make such a suggestion?"
"Well—listen, and when I've finished you can draw your own conclusions."