Jessie's prevailing feeling was not one of fear; rather was she moved by an intense, overpowering curiosity. She lingered behind the palm wondering what was going to happen next. She could see between the graceful hanging leaves the puzzled expression on Lady Merehaven's face.
"But, my dear doctor, what you say is absurd," she was saying. "I saw Vera pass not five minutes ago. And if she had met with an accident and been conveyed to Charing Cross Hospital, why—— But the thing is out of the question."
"And yet I feel perfectly certain of my facts," Dr. Varney persisted. "It is true that I was in a hurry, and that the young lady I allude to was fast asleep—at any rate, nearly asleep. My dear lady, seeing that I was present at Vera's birth, and that all these years I have known her so intimately——"
Jessie came leisurely into sight. It was impossible to let this matter go any further. By chance the doctor had learnt something, and his mouth must be closed if possible. She came along with a smile and a hand outstretched.
"You are very late, doctor," she said. "I have been looking forward to a chat with you."
For once in his life Dr. Varney was genuinely astonished. He looked at Jessie in a vague, dreamy kind of way, though fortunately Lady Merehaven did not glance up and notice his face.
"There, you unbelieving man!" she cried. "Vera does not look as if she had met with anything serious in the way of an accident."
Dr. Varney pulled himself together promptly and took Jessie's outstretched hand. There was a twinkle in his shrewd eyes as he held the girl's fingers.
"Extraordinary mistake of mine, wasn't it?" he said. "Could have sworn that I saw you lying half asleep in one of the wards of Charing Cross Hospital. Case of shock and injured ankle. People said the patient called herself Harcourt, but could not recollect her address. Young girls have such queer escapades nowadays that——"
"But surely you know me better than that?" Jessie forced herself to say.
"I'm not quite so sure that I do," Varney chuckled. "However, the girl was very like you. Come and give me a sandwich and a glass of claret, and we'll talk of old times."
Jessie expressed herself as delighted, but inwardly she was praying for some diversion. She was quite convinced that the doctor was by no means satisfied; she could see that he was a shrewd, clever man of the world, and that he meant to question her adroitly. If once the conversation drifted to old times, she felt that she must be discovered.
But Varney ate his sandwich and sipped his claret and water with no reference to the past. He looked at Jessie once or twice in an abstracted kind of way. She felt that she must talk, that she must say something to start a safe conversation.
"What are you thinking about, doctor?" she asked.
"I am thinking," was the startling reply, "thatyou are one of the finest actresses I have ever seen. The stage is the poorer for your absence."
Jessie's heart sank within her; there was no mistaking the dry significance of the speech. This man was sure of his ground; he had found her out. And yet there was a kindly look on his face, not as if he were dealing with an impostor at all.
"What do you mean?" Jessie asked. "I do not in the least understand you."
"Oh yes, you do; you understand me perfectly well. I don't know who you are, but I most assuredly know who you arenot, and that is Vera Galloway. Mind, I am not accusing you of being a type of the mere vulgar impostor. I would trust you against the world."
"It is very good of you to say so," Jessie gasped. "You are not going to assume that—that——"
"That you are here for any evil purpose? With a face like yours the idea is impossible. As I was passing through the wards of the hospital just now, to my surprise I saw Vera Galloway there. I knew her not only by her face and figure, but by the dimples round her wrists. Now your wrists are very long and slender, and you have no dimples at all. Many men would have let out the whole thing, but not so me. I find that the patient has given the name of Harcourt, and that she has forgotten her address. Forgive me if I scented a scandal. That is why I led up so carefully to Lady Merehaven. But when you came on the scene I guessed exactly what had happened. You were engaged to play Vera's part when she was up to something elsewhere. I confess I am not altogether without sorrow that so charming a girl——"
"Indeed, I am quite sure that there was nothingreally wrong," Jessie cried. "From what I have seen of Miss Galloway I am quite sure that she is not that class of girl. But for this unfortunate accident.... Dr. Varney, you will not betray me?"
"Well, I won't," Varney cried, "though I am no doubt an old fool for my pains. It's very lucky that a clear head like mine has been imported into the business. Now, in the first place, tell me who you are and what you are doing here. I know you will be candid."
"I will tell you everything," Jessie said. She was utterly thankful that the case was no worse. "My name is Jessie Harcourt, and up to a few hours ago I was a shop-girl in Bond Street."
"That sounds quite romantic. A shop-girl in Bond Street and a lady by birth and breeding, too. Which branch of the family do you belong to?"
"The Kent Harcourts. My father was Colonel Harcourt, of the Royal Galways."
"Really now!" Varney exclaimed. "I knew your father quite well years ago. I was an army doctor myself for a long time. Your father was an extravagant man, my dear—always was. And he left you poor?"
"He left my sister and myself penniless. We were fit for nothing either. And that is why I found my way into a Bond Street shop. I was discharged because I was supposed to have flirted with the son of a customer. My indignant protest that the cowardly cad tried to kiss me counted for nothing. As the complaining customer was the Princess Mazaroff——"
"And her son the culprit," Varney said, with a queer gleam in his eyes. "My dear child, you havedone well to confide in me. But go on, tell me everything."
Jessie proceeded to relate her story at length, from the time that she met Vera Galloway down to the existing moment. And the romantic side of the royal story was not suppressed. Nor could Jessie feel that she had not an interested listener.
"This is one of the most remarkable stories that I have ever heard," Varney said. "And as a doctor in a large way of practice, I have heard some singular ones. I fancy that I can see my way clear now. And I know what you don't know—that Vera is taking a desperate step for the sake of a man she loves. It is quite plain to me why you are here. Well, well! I am doing quite wrong, but I am going to keep your secret."
"That is indeed good of you," Jessie said gratefully. "But there is more to be done. My dear doctor, I can see my way to important information without which it is impossible for me to sustain my present rôle until Miss Galloway comes home again. It is imperative that I should have a few words with her. You can give me a permit for the hospital authorities. After that the rest is easy."
"I quite see your point," Varney said thoughtfully. "You are as clever as you are courageous. But how are you going to manage this without being missed?"
"I am going to make use of another," Jessie laughed. All her courage had come back to her now. "I am going to make use of a gentleman known as Pongo. He is supposed to be very fond of me as Vera Galloway. He does not seem to be a very harmful individual."
"Honourable George Lascelles," Varney muttered."There is a good deal of good in Pongo, though he assumes the rôle of an ass in society. Once he marries and settles down he will be quite different. But how do you propose to enlist him in the service?"
Jessie proceeded to explain the silly business of the motor-car in the lane behind the house.
"I shall get him to take me to Charing Cross Hospital," she said. "You may be quite certain that Vera Galloway is not asleep. A few minutes with her will be quite enough for my purpose. And I shall be back again before I am missed. Do you approve?"
"I have to whether I like it or not," Varney grumbled, "though this is a nice predicament for a man in my position and my time of life. I'll go as far as the library and scribble out that permit, though what the College of Physicians would say if they only knew——"
And Varney strode off muttering as he went. But the twinkle was in his eyes still.
Jessie slipped out into the garden and along to the back of the terrace. The absurd nonsense of the motor-car was still going on in the lane. It was late now, and no chance of a crowd gathering there. The Honourable George clamoured for Jessie's company, and asked where she had been. But she smilingly shook her head, and declared that she was not ready; and, besides, there were many before her.
"I shall be back again practically in a quarter of an hour," she said. "I can't stir till then."
So far everything promised well. Jessie hurried back to the place where she had left Varney. He was waiting there with half a sheet of note paper in his hand.
"There is the permit," he said. "You have only to show it to anybody in authority and there will be no more difficulty. Hullo! what is all this about?"
There was a disturbance in the hall—the figure of a French maid talking volubly in two languages at once; behind her a footman, accompanied by a man who was unmistakably a plain-clothes detective, and behind him the figure of a policeman, his helmet towering above the heads of the guests.
"Somebody asking for the Countess Saens," a guest replied to a question of Varney's. "As far as I can gather, there has been a burglary at thehouse of the countess, and her maid seems to know something about it. But we shall know presently. Here comes the countess."
The Countess Saens came smilingly into the hall, a strikingly handsome figure in yellow satin. Jessie did not fail to notice her dark, piercing eyes.
"Who is she?" she asked Varney in a whisper. "Did you ever see such black eyes?"
"Don't know," the doctor replied. "Sort of comet of a season. Mysterious antecedents, and all that, but possesses plenty of money, gives the most splendid entertainments, and goes everywhere. I understand that she is the morganatic wife of one of the Russian grand dukes."
At any rate, the woman looked a lady to her finger tips, as Jessie was bound to admit. She came with an easy smile into the little group, and immediately her magnetic presence seemed to rivet all attention. The frightened maid ceased to scold in her polyglot way and grew coherent.
"Now let us get to the bottom of this business," the countess said gaily. "There has been a burglary at my house. Where did it take place, and what has been removed from the premises?"
"It was in your room, madame," the maid said—"in your dressing-room. I was going up to put everything right for the night and I saw the thief there."
"Would you recognize him again, Annette?" the countess asked.
"Pardon me, but it was not a man; it was a woman. And she had opened the drawers of your dressing table—she had papers in her hands. I came upon her suddenly, and she heard me. Then she caught me by the throat and half strangled me. Before I could recover my senses she had fled downthe stairs and out of the house. The hall porter took her for a friend of yours, and did not stop her. Then I suppose that my feelings overcame me, and——"
"And you went off in hysterics," the countess said with a contemptuous smile. "So long as you did not lose the papers——"
"But, madame, the papers are gone! The second drawer on the left-hand side is empty."
Jessie saw the dark eyes blaze and the stern face of the countess stiffen with fury. It was only for a moment, and then the face smiled once more. But that flashing insight was a revelation to Jessie.
"I hope you will be able to recognize the woman again," the countess said. "Shall you? Speak, you idiot!"
For the maid's gaze had suddenly become riveted on Jessie. The sight of her face seemed to fascinate the little Frenchwoman. It was some minutes before she found words to express her thoughts.
"But behind," she said, pointing a forefinger at Jessie as if she had been some striking picture. "Behind, she is there. Not dressed like that, but in plain black; but she stole those papers. I can feel the touch of her fingers on my throat at this moment. There is the culprit,voilà!"
"Oh, this is ridiculous!" the countess cried. "How long since this has happened?"
"It is but twenty minutes ago," Annette said. "Not more than half an hour, and behold the thief——"
"Behold the congenital idiot," the countess laughed. "Miss Galloway has not been out of my sight save for a few minutes for the last hour. Let the police find out what they can, and take that poor creature home and put ice on her head....Perhaps I had better go along. It is a perfect nuisance, but those papers were important. Will one of you call my carriage?"
The countess departed presently, smiling gaily. But Jessie had not forgotten that flashing eye and the expression on her features. She turned eagerly to Varney.
"Very strange, is it not?" she asked. "Can you see what it all means?"
"I can see perfectly well," Varney said coldly. "And I more or less hold the key to the situation. Let us assume for the moment that the countess is a spy and an intriguer. She has certain documents that somebody else badly wants. Somebody else succeeds in getting those papers by force."
"But why did the maid, Annette, pitch upon me?" Jessie asked.
"Because you were the image of the thief," Varney whispered. "Only she was dressed in black. The maid was not dreaming; she had more wits about her than we imagine. Unless I am greatly mistaken, the thief who stole those papers was no one else than Vera Galloway."
The logic was so forcible and striking that Jessie could only stand silent before it. The French maid had given Varney an important clue, though the others had been blind to it. And Vera had not disguised at the beginning of the adventure that she was engaged upon a desperate errand for the sake of the man she loved, or, at any rate, for one who was very dear to her. It had been a bold and daring thing to do, and Jessie's admiration was moved. She hoped from the bottom of her heart that Vera had the papers.
"You will know before very long," Varney said, asif reading her thoughts, "whether Vera Galloway has been successful or not. There is no question whatever in my mind that Vera was the culprit. I will give you a hint as to why she has acted in this way presently. Get a thick black wrap of some kind and conceal it as closely as possible. When you are going through the streets of London you must have something over your head."
"If I only knew where to put my hand on a wrap of that description!" Jessie said helplessly.
"Time is short, and bold measures are necessary," Varney said coolly. "There are heaps of wraps in the vestibule, and I should take the first that came to hand. If the owner wants it in the meantime it will be assumed that it has been taken by mistake."
Jessie hesitated no longer. She chose a thick black cloak and hood arrangement that folded into very little space, and then she squeezed it under her arm. Then she strolled out into the garden. It was very still and warm. London was growing quiet, so that theshrieksof the late newsboys with the evening scare could be distinctly heard there. Varney laid his hand on Jessie's arm. He had grown very grave and impressive. The yelling newsboys were growing gradually nearer.
"Listen, and tell me what they are saying," Varney whispered.
Impressed by the sudden gravity of her companion's manner, Jessie gave all her ears to the call.
"Late Special! Startling case at the War Office! Suicide of Captain Lancing, and flight of Mr. Charles Maxwell! Disappearance of official documents! Special!"
"I hear," Jessie said; "but I am afraid that I don't understand quite."
"Well, there has been a scandal at the War Office. One or two officials there have been accused of selling information to foreign Governments. I heard rumours especially with regard to Asturian affairs. Late to-night Captain Lancing shot himself in the smoking-room of his club. They took him to Charing Cross, and as I happened to look into the club a little later I followed on to the hospital to see what I could do. But I was too late, for the poor fellow was dead. Now do you see how it was that I came to see Vera Galloway?"
Jessie nodded; she did not quite understand the problem yet. What had this War Office business to do with Vera Galloway and her dangerous and desperate enterprise? She looked inquiringly at her companion.
"We had better get along," he said. "I see Pongo is waiting for you. Tuck that wrap a little closer under your arm so that it may not be seen. And as soon as you get back come to me and let me know exactly what has happened. I ought to be ashamed of myself. I ought to lay all the facts of this case before my charming hostess; but there are events here beyond the usual society tenets. My dear child, don't you know who the Charles Maxwell is whose name those boys are yelling? Does not the name seem familiar to you? Come, you are quick as a rule."
"Oh, yes," Jessie gasped. "That was the name that Prince Mazaroff mentioned. Dr. Varney, it is the man to whom Vera Galloway is engaged, or practically engaged. What a dreadful business altogether."
"Yes," Varney said curtly, "the plot is thickening. Now for the motor-car."
Loth as he might have been inclined to admit it, Dr. Varney was by no means ill-pleased with his share of the adventure. He felt that a man like himself, who knew everything, would be decidedly useful. And how much he really did know Jessie would have been startled to know. For here was a man who had a great practice amongst politicians, and statesmen especially. He walked quietly back to the house now and entered the salon as if looking for somebody. His shrewd face was grave and thoughtful. He found his man at last—a tall, grizzled man, who bore some kind of likeness to a greyhound. He was in a measure a greyhound, for he had been a queen's messenger for many years.
"I thought I should find you about somewhere," the doctor said. "I want a few words with you, Lechmere. Let us go into the garden and smoke a cigarette."
"Always delighted to chat with you, Varney," Lechmere said. "Come along. Now, what is it?"
"Rethe Countess Saens," Varney said. "You know the woman I mean?"
"Certainly I do. Lives in a big house in Connaught Crescent. Not her own house, by the way. Dresses magnificently, gives wonderful parties, and always has the last new thing. Handsome woman, too, and goes everywhere. But nobody knows anything about her."
"I came to you for a little information on the point, Lechmere."
"Well, as a matter of fact I can give it to you, Varney. There are very few of the foreign colony in London whose history I haven't ready for docketing. Many a useful hint have I given the Foreign Office and Scotland Yard. Ever hear of Saul Marx, the famous cosmopolitan spy—I mean the man who saved that war between France and Germany?"
"Of course I have heard of Marx. Who hasn't? But what has that to do with the business?"
"Well, he told me all about the charming countess. She began life in Warsaw in a company of strolling players. Afterwards she married one of the most noted scamps in Paris, who wanted a pretty wife as a pawn in some game of his. The fellow ill-treated her horribly, but he taught her everything in the way of the predatory life that was to be learnt. Finally, the husband died under very strange circumstances, and between ourselves, Marx says that the woman murdered him. After that she narrowly escaped a long term of imprisonment over the Malcolm-Sin diamond business, and then for a long time nothing was heard of her till she turned up as Vera Olpheut, the famous anarchist speaker. She was expelled from Russia, which was all a blind, seeing that she is one of the cleverest spies that the Russian police ever employed. Her ladyship is after a very big game now, or she would not be spending all that money. An adventuress like that never pays her tradesmen as a rule, but I know for a fact that the household bills are discharged regularly every week."
"You are quite sure of those facts?" Varney asked.
"My dear fellow, you can take them as gospel. Marx never makes a mistake. Why do you ask?"
"I am merely a seeker after information. I may be in the way of putting a spoke in the lady's wheel a little later on, perhaps. Have you heard of that business at the Foreign Office?"
"I heard of it just now; in fact, I looked in here to see if Merehaven could tell me anything about it. How those newspapers get hold of these things puzzles me. But I don't suppose it is true that poor old Dick Lancing committed suicide at his club, and——"
"It's perfectly true, Lechmere. I was in the club directly after, and I followed on to Charing Cross Hospital, only to find that I was too late. What you say about the newspapers is absolutely correct. But, unless I am greatly mistaken, the newspaper containing the startling report in question will help me over this matter. I am going to make a proposal to Lord Merehaven."
"I've been trying to get at him. But the Austrian Ambassador has held him fast for the last hour."
"Well, there is plenty of time," Varney went on. "From what I can understand papers of the utmost importance have been stolen from the Foreign Office, or they have been sold by some official to the foe. On the face of it, the charge points to poor Lancing; but one never can tell. Those papers relate to a kind of understanding with Asturia, and if Russia gets to know all about it then we are done. Now, let me tell you a little thing that happened to-night. There was a burglary at Countess Saens' house, and the thief took nothing but papers. The thief was a woman, who obviouslywent to the countess' for the very purpose of obtaining possession of those papers. Now, it is only a theory of mine, but I feel pretty sure that the papers have to do with the Foreign Office scandal. If we get to the bottom of it, we shall find that the countess inspired the paragraph that theEvening Mercuryhad to-night. Do you happen to know anything about the editor of that sheet?"
"Fellow named Hunt, an American," Lechmere replied. "As a matter of fact, theMercuryis an American paper, the first start of an attempt to capture the English Press. You know how those fellows boast. I've met Hunt several times in society."
"Did you ever happen to meet him at Countess Saens' house?" Varney asked.
Lechmere turned over the question before he replied. On consideration he had seen Hunt twice at the house in question. Not that that was very material, because all sorts and conditions of men flocked to the countess' evening parties. But Varney thought otherwise.
"At any rate, the fact fits in well with my theory," he said. "I shall be greatly surprised if we fail to find a connection between the countess and that sensational story in to-night'sMercury. I shall make it my business to meet this man Hunt. Well, what is the matter?" A breathless footman stood before Varney, and stammered out something to the effect that Lord Merehaven had sent him here hot-foot in search of the doctor. A gentleman had been taken suddenly ill. The rest of the guests did not know anything about it, and the gentleman in question lay in a state of collapse in his lordship's study. Would Dr. Varney comeat once. Varney was on his way to the house before the footman had finished his halting explanation.
The study door was locked, but it was opened immediately on Varney whispering his name. In a big armchair a white-haired man in evening dress was lying back in a state of collapse. By his side stood Lord Merehaven, looking anxious and bewildered, whilstRonald Hope was trying to force a little brandy between the lipsof the unconscious figure in the chair.
"Ronald Hope was trying to force a little brandy between the lips.""Ronald Hope was trying to force a little brandy between the lips."
"Thank goodness you have come, Varney!" Lord Merehaven said shakily. "It's poor old Reggie Lancing. He simply walked into here dragging on Hope's arm, and collapsed. He said something to the effect that his boy had committed suicide, and some rubbish about missing papers. What does it mean?"
Varney was too busy to answer the question. He removed Sir Reginald's collar and turned down the neckband. Meanwhile the patient was breathing heavily.
"Put him flat on the floor," Varney said. "It's not quite so bad as it looks. A seizure from over-excitement, or something of that kind. Give me a pen and ink and paper."
Varney hastily scribbled some formula on a sheet of note paper, and directed that it should be taken to a chemist and be made up at once. Till he could administer the drug he could do nothing. There was a wait of half an hour before the footman returned. Then the drug was coaxed between the stricken man's teeth, and presently he opened his eyes once more. He was terribly white and shaky, and he seemed to have some difficulty in getting out his words.
"It's the disgrace, Merehaven," he said—"the dreadful disgrace. To think that a son of mine could have been guilty of such a thing! I would not have believed it; it came to me quite as a shock—that paragraph in the lateMercury. I went to look for my son at once, but he had paid the penalty already. He had shot himself, Merehaven—shot himself—shot himself."
The old man repeated the last words again and again in a feeble kind of way. Lord Merehaven was sympathetic enough, but utterly puzzled. He looked at the other and shrugged his shoulders.
"Is this a mere delusion?" he asked. "You don't mean to say that Asturia business——"
The speaker paused, conscious that he was perhaps saying too much. Varney hastened to explain, to Merehaven's horror and astonishment. Positively, this was the first that he had heard of it. And if Captain Lancing had shot himself that was proof positive.
"Good heavens! what a terrible business altogether!" Lord Merehaven cried. "And the mischief that may have been done here! I must see the King of Asturia at once, late as it is, though goodness knows where I am to look, seeing that the king is——"
The speaker paused, and Ronald Hope took up the thread of the conversation.
"It may be possible, my lord," he said, "that his majesty is nearer at hand than you suppose."
The old diplomatist looked coldly and suspiciously at the speaker. It was hardly the way for a young man to address a Cabinet Minister, and one who, moreover, was Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. Varney saw what was passing through Lord Merehaven's mind and promptly interfered.
"For heaven's sake, don't stand on ceremony!" he said. "This is an exceedingly serious matter. Certain important papers are missing from the Foreign Office. It is alleged that confidence has been betrayed by Captain Lancing and Mr. Charles Maxwell. The boys are shouting it in the streets, probably most of your guests know all about it by this time. Those papers have been sold, or given to somebody who has made use of them. This is no canard to sell a few miserable papers."
"The documents you refer to were in my hands at seven o'clock," Lord Merehaven said. "I read them and made notes on the margin of them in my office not long before dinner——"
"And did you lock them up in your safe afterwards?" Varney asked.
"No, I didn't. There is no safe in my office. I gave the papers to Captain Lancing and Mr. Maxwell, and asked them to see that they were securely placed away. Then I came home. Do you mean to say that this thing has been over London for the past hour and I never knew it?"
"So it seems," Varney said coolly. "How should you know it when you have not been out of the house all the evening? And none of your guests could get at you to ask questions, seeing that you have been closeted with one ambassador or another ever since dinner."
"That's quite true," Lord Merehaven admitted moodily. "But what is to be done? You don't suggest that the contents of those papers is made public?"
"I fancy not," Varney replied. "My dear Sir Reginald, you have read that paragraph. What does it say?"
The stricken man in the armchair looked up with dulled eyes. It was some little time before he could be made to understand the drift of the question.
"I am trying to remember," he said, passing his hand over his forehead. "As far as I can recollect, there were no details given. The paragraph said that certain important papers had been stolen from the Foreign Office, and handed over to the enemies of this country. The editor of theMercurywas supposed to be in a position to vouch for this, and he hinted very freely at the identity of the culprits. A résumé of the missing papers was promised for the morning issue of theMercuryto-morrow. Then there was a break in the report, and down below a short history of my son's suicide. This was pointed to as an absolute confirmation of the news, the suggestion being that my son had shot himself after reading the nine o'clock edition of theMercury, which contained the first part of the report."
"There is some foul and mysterious businesshere," Ronald Hope said sternly. "It is only twenty minutes ago that I heard what the boys were calling out. I immediately took a hansom to Maxwell's rooms, to find that he had gone to Paris in a great hurry. He had left no message behind him. He had not even taken his man, whom he never travels without."
"He has fled," Merehaven said promptly. "This thing is absolutely true. What beats me is the prompt way in which theseMercurypeople collected the news."
"That is where I come in," Varney remarked. "We'll get Lechmere into this, if you don't mind? Sir Reginald had better stay here for the present. Lechmere shall go and interview Hunt of theMercury. And if he does not bring back some very startling news, I shall be greatly mistaken."
Lechmere came into the study cool, collected, and imperturbable as ever. He had quite relinquished his old pursuits and occupations now, but he was delighted to do anything to be of service to Lord Merehaven and the Government; in point of fact, he would rather enjoy this adventure. What was he to do?
"Find Hunt of theMercury," Varney said. "Run him down in a corner, and let him know that you are not the man to be trifled with. And when you have done that, make him tell you the exact time that he got his information over those missing papers."
Lechmere nodded without asking further questions. He knew that he would be told everything in time. He would do what he could, and return and report progress as soon as possible. His first move was to take a hansom and go down to theoffice of theMercuryand there ask for Mr. Hunt. But Hunt was not in; he had gone away about half-past seven and had not returned yet. Usually he looked in a little after midnight to see that the evening edition of the paper was progressing all right. So far as the chief sub-editor could say, Mr. Hunt had gone to the Carlton to supper.
"Something gained," Lechmere muttered, as he drove to the Carlton. "If that chap left the office at half-past seven, that sensational paragraph had already been passed for the Press. No assistant editor would dare to shove that into a paper on his own responsibility. Very smart of them to get Lancing's suicide. But I expect some American reporter shadowed the poor chap."
Mr. Hunt had been to the Carlton; in fact, he had just arrived there, but he was in a private room with a lady, and had asked not to be disturbed. Intimating that he would wait, Lechmere took his seat at a little table in one of the public rooms and asked for something. He had a sovereign on the table by the side of his glass, and looked significantly at the waiter.
"That is for you to earn," he said, "if you are smart and do your work properly. In the first place, do you happen to know Mr. Hunt, the editor of theMercury?"
The man replied that he knew Mr. Hunt quite well. In fact, he was pretty intimately acquainted with all the American colony in London. Mr. Hunt supped at the Carlton frequently; he was supping now with a lady in a room upstairs. Lechmere began to see his way.
"Did you happen to see the lady?" he asked. "If so, what was she like?"
"I saw them come not many minutes ago. In fact, they looked in here, and the lady wanted to take the table by the door, but Mr. Hunt said 'No.' They appeared to be in a great hurry, seeing that it is getting late; and it seemed to me that Mr. Hunt was not so amiable as usual. The lady was tall and dark; she had a black wrap, and under it was a dress of yellow satin."
"Good man!" Lechmere said with genial warmth. "You have earned your money. All you have to do now is to let me know the moment that Mr. Hunt is leaving the hotel. In any case it can't be long, because it is nearly twenty minutes past twelve now."
The waiter came back presently and pocketed his sovereign. Mr. Hunt and the lady were just leaving the hotel. Lechmere sauntered into the hall and stood watching the other two. He smiled to himself as he noted the face and features of Hunt's companion. A hansom stood at the door, and into it the American handed his companion and raised his hat.
"It will come out all right," Lechmere heard the lady say. "Don't look so annoyed. Your paper is not going to be allowed to suffer. Good-night!"
The hansom drove away, and Hunt raised his hat. As he stopped to light a cigarette, Lechmere crept up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. The American turned in a startled way.
"Mr. Lechmere!" he stammered. "Really, you gave me a start. If there is anything that I can do for you——?"
"There is," Lechmere said in a sharp, stern way. "I want to know the exact time that your officereceived the unfortunate news of the Foreign Office business."
The directness of the attack took the American quite off his balance. The truth broke from him.
"About ten minutes to seven," he stammered. "That is to say—— But, confound it all, what business is that of yours?"
Lechmere smiled; he could afford to let the other bluster now that he had learnt everything. He turned the matter aside as a joke. He made some remark about the beauty of the night, and a minute later he was bowling back in a hansom to Merehaven House.
"Yes, I have done pretty well," he said in reply to Varney's questioning gaze. "I have seen Hunt, whom I traced to the Carlton, where he was supping hastily in company with Countess Saens. I sort of fool-mated him over that paragraph, and he told me that the information reached theMercuryat about ten minutes to seven. He tried to bluster afterwards, but it was too late. At ten minutes to seven Hunt knew all about that scandal at the Foreign Office."
Lord Merehaven threw up his hands with a gesture of astonishment. Varney smiled.
"I knew that you would come back with some amazing information," the latter said. "See how the mystery gets thicker. Lord Merehaven is going to say something."
"I am going to say this," Merehaven remarked sternly. "TheMercuryknew of those missing papers before seven o'clock.Atseven o'clock those papers were in my hands, and the scandal had not begun then. And yet theMercuryparagraph, written before the robbery, is absolutely true! What does it mean?"
Meanwhile, the Countess Saens had departed from Merehaven House with a smiling assurance to the effect that she did not anticipate any serious loss in consequence of the very mysterious robbery. She looked easy enough as she stepped into her brougham, drawn by the splendid bays that London knew so well by sight, and kissed her fingers gaily to her cavalier. But the brightness left her eyes when once she was alone. There was a keen, eager expression on her face then, a look of mingled anxiety and anger in her dark eyes. The most fascinating woman in London would have surprised her many admirers had they chanced to see her at that moment. She looked old and haggard; the smiling mouth had grown hard as a steel trap. She did not wait for the footman to open the door; she ran up the steps with a curt command that the carriage must wait, as she was presently going out again.
The trembling maid was upstairs awaiting the coming of her mistress. She had very little to add to what she had already said. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed. There was no sign of a robbery anywhere, save that one of the drawers in a dressing table had been turned out and the contents scattered on the floor.
"Now listen to me," the countess said. "Who paid for you to take those papers?"
"I know nothing of any papers,non, non!" the maid replied. "I take nothing. If madame wishes to suggest that I am a thief, I go. I leave to-night."
The girl paced up and down the room, her pale face held high. She was not used to being called a thief. If madame was not satisfied she would depart at once. The countess changed her tone.
"Now listen to me," she said more gently. "Just before dinner to-night I am in receipt of certain papers. Nobody knows that I possess them. For safe keeping I place them in that drawer and lock it up. Some time later you come to me with this story of the burglary. If jewels had been stolen, or money, I would have perhaps understood it, though your tale is so extraordinary that——"
"Not at all, madame," the maid cried hotly. "No more strange than the stories one reads every day in the newspapers. And there are no jewels missing."
"No, and that makes the affair all the more suspicious in my eyes. Nobody could have known about those papers, and yet the thief takes nothing else. A woman walks into the house as if it belonged to her, she goes direct to that drawer, and there you are! You say you saw the woman?"
The maid nodded sulkily; she did not look in the least guilty.
"I have already told madame so," she said. "I saw the woman twice to-night. The first time was when she was here, the second time at the residence of my Lord Merehaven. It was the lady in the satin dress who stood in the hall." The girl spoke in tones of perfect confidence. No ridicule on the part of the countess could shake her belief in the statement.
"But it is impossible," the latter said. "You are speaking of Miss Galloway. I saw Miss Galloway several times during the evening. If you are correct, she must have slipped away and changed her dress, committed the robbery, and be back here and changed her dress again—all in a quarter of an hour."
"Nevertheless, it was the same woman," the maid said with a stubborn air.
With a gesture of contempt the countess dismissed the girl. It was impossible to believe that she had had a hand in the disappearance of those precious papers. Perhaps the hall porter might have something to say in the matter. In the opinion of Countess Saens, the thief was non-existent. At any rate, the hall porter would be able to say.
The hall porter had not much to tell, but that little was to the point. Certainly, about the time mentioned by the maid a woman had come into the house. She had opened the hall door and had walked in herself as if she were quite at home there. She was plainly dressed in black and wore a veil. Then she proceeded to walk upstairs.
"You mean to say that you did nothing to interfere?" the countess asked.
"Well, no, madame," the hall porter admitted. "The young woman appeared to be quite at home; evidently she had been here many times before, and I thought she was a friend of Annette's. Friends of hers do come here sometimes after you have gone out, and one or two of them walk in. So I took no notice whatever. A little time after, the young woman came back as if she were in a hurry, and hastened out of the house. Just as she was gone I heard Annette call out. Thinking that something was the matter, I rushed up the stairs. When I knewwhat was wrong it was too late to go after the thief."
So Annette had been telling the truth, the countess thought. She was furiously angry at her loss, but it was impossible to blame anybody. It was a stroke of the sword after the countess's own heart. But there were disquieting circumstances behind it that frightened her.
"You had better send again to the nearest police-station," she said. "Let them know that I have gone out and shall not be back for some little time."
With a frown between her delicate brows the countess drove away. In all her bold, dashing, adventurous life she had never been confronted by a more difficult problem than this. She was playing for tremendously high stakes, and her share of the victory was the price of a throne. Once this thing was accomplished, she had no need ever to plot or scheme or trick again. A fortune would be hers, and she would sit secure as a leader of fashion for the rest of her days.
An hour ago and the game was as good as won. Everything had been done so secretly; nobody guessed anything. Another day, and nothing could save the crown in question. And yet in a moment the whole dream had been shattered. Somebody knew exactly what was going on, somebody was at work to checkmate the dark design. And that somebody was bold and daring to a degree. If the countess only knew who the other woman was! It was maddening to work in the dark against so clever a foe. If your enemy knows you and you don't know your enemy, he has a tremendous advantage. The countess clenched her teeth together viciously as she thought of it.
The carriage stopped at length outside the CarltonHotel, and almost immediately Hunt, the editor of theEvening Mercury, appeared. He looked uneasy and anxious.
"Your message came all right," he said. "I came here at once and ordered supper, though we shall not have much time to talk."
"Then let us go into the room at once," the countess said; "though as to appetite, why——"
"But I ordered the supper in a private room," Hunt protested. "One never knows what people may hear. What is the use of arguing? The supper is all ready for us."
They were in the private room at length. They made some pretence of eating and drinking till the two waiters had for the time being departed. Then Hunt turned to his companion.
"What has happened?" he asked. There was nothing of deference in his manner. It was quite evident that the smart little American editor was no squire of dames. "Your manner was so mysterious. And it is time you did something for your money. Two thousand pounds is a deal to pay for——"
"Such information as I have already given you?" the countess interrupted. "I don't think so, seeing what a tremendous sensation you secured to-night."
"But those other papers," Hunt protested. "You promised me the full details of that private understanding between England and Asturia. I have told my readers boldly that they shall have it in the morning issue of my paper to-morrow morning. If you want the extra money——"
"Man, I want it as an old man wants youth. It is vitally necessary to me. And can't you seethat it is to my interest that those papers should be published to the world? It will be a staggering blow to England, and a corresponding advantage to Russia. I should have seen that those papers saw the light whether I was paid for them or not. But they are worth a great deal to you, and that is why I approached you in the matter."
"Yes, yes," Hunt said impatiently. "Please get on. I came here to receive those papers—in fact, theMercuryis waiting for them at this moment. If you will hand them over to me you shall have the other cheque for five thousand posted to you to-night. Where are they?"
The countess laughed derisively. There was a gleam of wild fury in her dark eyes.
"It is impossible," she said. "Out of the question. Strange as it may seem, those papers were stolen from my house to-night by some woman whom I would give five years of my life to know."
Hunt's expression was not polite, nor was it intended for ears feminine. His almost eager face fell; he was evidently thinking of nothing else but his paper. He would have ruined every kingdom in the universe, including the State that gave him birth, to get a scoop on his rivals. Just for a moment it flashed across his mind that he had been betrayed for higher money.
But that was hardly possible. No English paper would have dared to give that information to the world. It would have aroused the indignation of every patriotic Briton, and the circulation of even the yellowest in the world would have suffered. And the expression of the countess's face was no acting.
"It seems almost incredible," Hunt said. "Please tell me all about it."
The countess proceeded to relate the story. It seemed to him that the case was not quite hopeless after all. True, he would not be able to enjoy the prospective triumph of his paper over the others, but as an able and adroit journalist he would know how to get out of the difficulty.
"Well, you have a clue anyway," he said. "Miss Galloway is a strikingly beautiful girl, with a very marked type of loveliness, and if the thief was so like her as to make your maid certain that Miss Galloway was the real thief, the culprit is not far to seek. You don't think yourself——"
"That Vera Galloway is the thief? Of course not. The thing is physically impossible. Besides, Vera Galloway does not take the slightest interest in politics. She is quite a butterfly. And yet the whole thing is very strange. What puzzles me most is the infinite acquaintance the thief appears to have with my house. She could not have walked in like that to my bedroom unless she had a fine knowledge of the geography of the place."
"I'll make a stirring half column of it," Hunt said—"showing no connection between your loss and that Asturian business, of course. We'll hint that the papers were stolen by somebody who fancied that she had a claim on your vast Russian estates. See what I mean. And we'll make fun of the fact that your maid recognized Miss Galloway as the culprit. That will set people talking. We'll offer a reward of £100 for a person who first finds the prototype of Miss Galloway. See? Unless I'm greatly mistaken, we shall precious soon get to the bottom of this business."
The countess nodded and smiled approvingly. The cunning little scheme appealed to her. She pushed her plate and glass away with which she had been toying. At the same moment a waiter came and handed her a note, which she opened and read with a flushed face.
"It appears as if the police had actually succeeded in doing something for once," she said. "This is from one of the Scotland Yard men, saying that a woman in black dress and veil, answering to the description given by Annette, has been taken to Charing Cross Hospital after being knocked down by a passing cab. This may or may not mean anything, but it is distinctly encouraging. I amtold that I shall know more in the morning. But that is not good enough for me."
"Don't do anything impetuous," Hunt said anxiously.
"I am not in the habit of doing impulsive things," the countess replied. "At the same time, I am going to Charing Cross Hospital to-night to make sure. It is quite time we finished this discussion, as you have to alter your plans and write that paragraph. Let us be going."
A little later and the countess was proceeding in her brougham eastwards. Hunt had parted from Lechmere, too, after the latter had derived his useful piece of information from the startled editor. But the countess did not know anything of that. And as she was approaching the well-known hospital, Jessie Harcourt was reaching it in another direction in the motor-car of Lascelles, otherwise known as "Pongo." The nearer she approached to her destination the more nervous did the girl become.
"Awfully jolly ride," Lascelles grinned. "Glad you put that black thing over your head, though. It's a pity to cut the thing short, but I suppose the joke has gone far enough?"
"Not quite," Jessie said between her teeth. "I am going to confide in you, Mr. Lascelles——"
"Called me 'Pongo' just now," the other said in tones of deep reproach. "It seems to me——"
"Well, Pongo, then—dear Pongo, if you like," Jessie said desperately. "I am going to confide in you. I want you to put me down close to the hospital, and then you go back without me. You may infer that I did not care for the business, and that I returned home by the front door. Then at the end ofhalf an hour or so, you are to declare that the sport is over for the night and ride off as if seeking your chauffeur. After that you are to come here and fetch me back. You understand?"
It was quite plain, from the blank expression of Lascelles' face, that he did not understand. The familiar air had left him; he had grown stiff and almost stern.
"I don't quite follow," he said. "Of course, if I choose to play the ass—which, by the way, I am getting a little tired of—why, that hurts nobody. But when a lady who I respect and admire asks me to become a party, don't you know, to what looks like some—er—vulgar assignation——"
"You are wrong," Jessie cried. "You are a gentleman; you have more sense than I expected. I pledge you my word of honour that this is no assignation. It is a case of life and death, a desperate case. I am going into the hospital; it is important that nobody should know of my visit—none of my own friends, I mean. I could come back in a hansom, but danger lies that way. I have no money for one thing. Mr. Lascelles, please believe that I am telling the truth."
The girl's troubled eyes turned on the listener's face. Lascelles would have been less than a man had he not yielded, sorely against his judgment as it was.
"I'll do it," he said. "No woman ever yet appealed to me in vain. Because I play the ass people think that I don't notice things, but they are mistaken. I've never done anything yet to be ashamed of, anyway. And I'm not going to begin now. It seems to me that you are making a great sacrifice for somebody else. If I could feel quite sure that that somebody else was a——"
"Woman? Itisa woman! I felt quite sure that I could rely upon you. Now please go back and act exactly as I have suggested. When you come to know the truth—as assuredly you shall some day—I am quite certain that you will never repent what you are doing to-night."
Lascelles was equally certain of it. He was quite convinced now that he was no party to anything wrong. All the same, his face was very grave as he helped Jessie from the car, and placed her wrap more carefully around her. It was a long black wrap, covering her head and face and reaching to the ground, so that the girl's rich dress was quite hidden.
"Half an hour," Jessie whispered. "It may be a little longer. I can trust your discretion. At first I was a little afraid that perhaps you might—but in your new character you are quite reliable. Do not stay any longer or we shall attract attention."
Lascelles wheeled his car round and started westward once more. Jessie hesitated just a minute to make quite sure that she had her permit in her pocket, when a two-horse brougham dashed up. Evidently some fashionable doctor summoned in a hurry, Jessie thought. But when she looked again at the perfectly appointed equipage, with its fine horses and its silver harness, she knew better. The thing was too fashionable and glittering for a doctor; besides, no man in the profession would use such a turn-out at night. Then, as Jessie looked again, her heart beat more violently as she recognized the face of the occupant. It was the Countess Saens. What did she want at this hour of the night? No errand of mercy, Jessie felt quite sure, for the Countess Saens did not bear that reputation.
Then like a flash it came to the girl standing hesitatingly on the pavement. The countess had found some clue, possibly through the assertions of the maid Annette that the sham Miss Galloway was the thief who was responsible for the burglary. It was possible for such a train of thought to be started and worked out logically in that brilliant brain. But there was one other thing that Jessie would have given a great deal to know—How had the countess discovered that the real Miss Galloway was detained by an accident at Charing Cross Hospital?
Well, Jessie would know in a very few minutes. The countess stepped out of her carriage and made her way into the hall of the hospital. She could be seen talking to the porter, who shook his head. Evidently the countess was asking for something that was against the rules. Again the man shook his head. Jessie felt that a crisis was at hand. She stood on the pavement hesitatingly, so eager that her hand fell from her face; her features were distinct and lovely in the strong rays of light. A man walking past her in a great hurry stopped, and an exclamation broke from him.
"Vera!" he said hurriedly. "Vera, won't you speak to me? Great heavens! A chance like this——"
Instantly Jessie guessed what had happened. She was face to face with Vera's lover, Charles Maxwell!
Dr. Varney went slowly and thoughtfully back to the house after seeing Jessie start on her adventure. The brilliant old scientist had ample food for thought as he walked along. It was not as if he did not thoroughly grasp the situation. He had a reputation for something besides medicine; his practice largely lay amongst diplomatists and statesmen. Once, even, he had been summoned to a consultation on the illness of a king.
So that he knew most of the inner political game by heart. He could be bold and discreet at the same time. Very little of the scandal that hung over the Asturian throne like a blighting cloud was hidden from him. He could have placed his finger on the fatal blot at once.
In the library, Lord Merehaven with Ronald Hope and Lechmere were still talking over matters. Sir Reginald Lancing had disappeared, to Varney's relief. The stricken old man had avowed himself to be better. He was sorry that he had obtruded his grief on his friends; he would like to go home at once; he did not wish for anybody to accompany him.
"All this is very irregular," Lord Merehaven was saying as Varney joined the group again and carefully closed the door behind him. "According to all precedent I should not discuss this matter with you gentlemen at all."
"But think what we may accomplish," Ronald said eagerly. "The whole scandal may be averted. I fancy that you can trust everybody here, my lord."
"I have been the recipient of a few secrets in my time," Lechmere said drily. "Lord Merehaven will not forget what my audacity accomplished in the Moscow case."
"Officially, I know nothing about it," Lord Merehaven murmured. "Officially——"
"Officially you know nothing about this matter," Lechmere interrupted with some impatience. "A Minister cannot hold himself responsible for the statements made in an irresponsible paper which is notoriously controlled by Americans. TheMercurysuggests that certain papers have been stolen, and that one of the culprits has fled, whilst the other has committed suicide. Who shall say that Mr. Maxwell has fled? Certainly he has departed suddenly for Paris. Unfortunately, Captain Lancing has committed suicide. At the same time, it is a notorious fact that he has had heavy losses at cards and on the turf, which may account for everything. And as to those papers alleged to be stolen, why, Lord Merehaven had them in his own hands at seven o'clock to-night."
"An excellent piece of political logic," said Lord Merehaven. "I could not have given a better explanation from my place in the House. But I fear that if I were pressed to say that I had taken steps to discover if those papers were intact——. You see my position?"
"I must speak plainly," Lechmere went on. "It is any odds that the papers have gone. The thing has been arranged for some time; the house where the papers were to be handed over to the arch thiefwas actually fixed. The arch thief, taking the thing as a settled fact, gave a broad outline of what was going to happen to the editor of theEvening Mercury. He saw a chance of a 'scoop,' and decided to take the chance of the papers not being delivered. If there was a hitch at the last moment, Hunt could easily wriggle out of it. But the papers changed hands, and Hunt's bold plan was justified. Lancing saw the paragraph and shot himself."
"But why should he shoot himself?" Lord Merehaven asked.
"I fancy that is pretty obvious," Lechmere went on. "Lancing was betrayed. Don't you see that Hunt promised to-morrow to give aprécisof the stolen documents? If my deductions are correct, Lancing only borrowed the papers on the distinct understanding that they should be returned. Lancing had a large sum of money for that act of his. If we find that he had considerable cash about him I shall be certain. No sooner had he parted with the papers than he was coolly betrayed. The receiver of the papers simply laughed at him. Who was the receiver of the papers?"
"Some foe of England," Lord Merehaven said. "A Russian agent probably. If those papers are made public we shall have our trouble for our pains in Asturia, and Russia will buy the King of Asturia out. So far, I can see this thing quite plainly."
"You are right beyond a doubt, my lord," Lechmere went on. "With your permission I am going to locate exactly where those papers went. They went to a woman."
"I should doubt that," Lord Merehaven said. "I should doubt it very much indeed."
"Nevertheless, I am going to prove it to you," said Lechmere.
"Those papers must have been disposed of after seven o'clock to-night. By nine o'clock Lancing had read in print how he had been cruelly betrayed. Well, with all his faults, Lancing was a man of high courage. He had great physical strength as well. What did he do directly he read that paragraph and saw that he had been deluded. Did he go off and shoot himself at once? Not he! He got up from the dinner table of his club quite quietly and called a hansom. Obviously he was going to lose no time in seeing the person to whom he delivered the important State papers. Is that logic?"
The listeners standing round the fire-place admitted that it was. Interest was painted on every face.
"We know now that Lancing failed in his mission which was proved by the fact that he returned to his club and shot himself there. Now, I conclude that Lancing did not fail to find his deceiver. He would not have given up the search so easily as all that. It was not the man's character, nor could the deceiver have left London, because it was imperative that the same deceiver should be on the spot to watch the progress of events. My idea is that Lancing saw the deceiver and failed to get the papers back."
"Then where does his strength and courage come in?" Merehaven asked. "Remember that you began to draw a series of inferences from that same courage."
"I have not finished yet, my lord," Lechmere said quietly. "Lancing failed because his courage and personal strength was useless in this case.If he had been dealing with a man he would not have hesitated. But poor Lancing was seriously handicapped by the fact that he had a woman for his antagonist. You can't ill-treat a woman; you can't damage her features and knock her teeth out. And that is why Lancing failed. He saw the woman, and she laughed at him. She defied him to do his worst. He could not denounce her without proclaiming his own shame, and the clever woman traded on that. Therefore Lancing went and shot himself. What do you think of my argument?"
It was evident from the silence that followed that each of the little group was considerably impressed by the clear logic of the speaker's story. It was not often that Lechmere said so much, though his reputation was high, and more than one knotty trouble had been solved by him.
"Our friend is absolutely right," Varney said at length. "The more I think of it the more certain I am. Perhaps he can tell us the name of the woman?"
"That I am also in a position to do," Lechmere proceeded, without the slightest shade of triumph in his voice. "Accident helped me to that. In the hall some time ago there was a little scene between Countess Saens and her maid. The maid came to say that a strange robbery had taken place at the house of the countess. Nothing had been taken but papers from a certain drawer. Now I was close by and heard that, and I had a good opportunity of seeing that lady's face. Rage, anger, despair, murder almost, danced like so many devils in her dark eyes. The countess was quick to recover herself, but she had betrayed herself to me. I did not think so very much of this at the time, but when Isubsequently saw the countess leave the house and subsequently find that she had gone off to have supper with Hunt of theEvening Mercuryin a private room at the Carlton, I knew as well as if she had told me that she had met Hunt to tell him why she could not give him the chance of printing the crux of those stolen papers in the morning edition of theMercury—for the simple reason that the papers had in turn been stolen from her."
Ronald Hope turned as if to speak, then as suddenly changed his mind. It would be a mistake to still further complicate matters at this junction, he thought.
"It was to Countess Saens that Lancing delivered those papers," Lechmere said finally. "Lord Merehaven looks dubious; but his lordship does not know, and I do, that the brilliant society creature, Countess Saens, is really one of the cleverest adventuresses in Europe—a police spy, passing as a kind of socialist and the rest. If I could see the King of Asturia——"
"You shall," Varney snapped out. "You shall see him before half an hour has passed. Stay where you are and—— Stop! Hope, keep an eye on Prince Mazaroff, and see that he does not leave the house."