Quite unconscious that his most dangerous enemies were so near, Anstruther carefully selected a cigarette and lighted it. He proceeded then to make a careful examination of the pile of posters at his feet, and smiled his approval. "Very good, very good indeed; those hands stand out beautifully. Within a week's time from now the message will have been carried from London to St. Petersburg and from Paris to Constantinople. The men I am after cannot get away from me. Whatever great capital they are in, that poster confronts their eyes like an avenging conscience. Then they realize their helplessness and bow to the inevitable. You may doubt me if you like; but I tell you that this scheme is absolutely sure and safe."
"Provided that we have the money to carry it out," the man behind the lantern grunted. "Don't forget that. Clever as you are, you can't make money by merely holding up your little finger. You promised us a thousand pounds when we had finished our part of the bargain, and that was completed a month ago. Of course, you have got the cash in your pocket?"
A frown of annoyance crossed Anstruther's face. There was a clenching of his hands not unlike that depicted by the poster of the mysterious Nostalgo; he made a half step forward; then he seemed to get himself in hand again, and smiled carelessly. "As a matter of fact, I have not the money in my pocket. Things are not going quite as well lately as I could have wished, but it is only a matter of a day or two anyway; nay, it is only a matter of hours. Is the woman here?"
The man behind the lantern sulkily declared that he knew nothing about the woman, and cared less. He asked pointedly whether they were to expect Mr. Carrington that evening, and, if so, whether his visit was likely to be attended with substantial results.
"I tell you I don't know," Anstruther said angrily. "I told him to be here at eleven o'clock, but I suppose he has funked it. But the woman is a very different matter. Jacob, go into the back room and bring her in here."
"Not I," the man addressed as Jacob replied. "I don't forget the last time we met. She may be milk and honey to you, but she is prussic acid as far as I am concerned."
Anstruther stepped to the doorway and whistled softly. It might have been a call given to a well-broken dog, so careless and contemptuous was it. Indeed, Anstruther did not wait to see the result of his summons, but returned to the room with the easy assurance of a man who knows that his lightest call will be obeyed.
Almost immediately the two watchers standing on the landing were conscious of a shadowy form passing close to them. They had no time to shrink back, they had not even time for surprise, when a light hand was laid on the arm of each and an eager voice began to whisper in their ears.
"Rash to the verge of madness," the melancholy voice said sadly. "I warned you not to come--I implored you not to take a hand in this business. I could have settled it all for you if you had left it all to me; but youth ever will be served. Won't you go away even now and leave it all to me?"
There was something so pitifully imploring in the speech that the listeners thrilled in sympathy. From the first word they had no difficulty in guessing the identity of the speaker. It was none other than Serena who was addressing them in those despairing accents.
"I am afraid you are too late, Serena," Jack said. "Besides, we have some one else to consider in the business. It is possible that your efforts may be successful as far as we are concerned; but we have discovered to-night that Anstruther is plotting against the happiness of many people who are as innocent as ourselves. I tell you, we must see this thing through now. But why stay here, why linger, when your tardiness is likely to increase our trouble?"
At this point Anstruther advanced towards the door and whistled again, this time more sharply. With a sigh of deep regret Serena walked forward and entered the room. In the bright light of the apartment her face looked paler and more dejected than usual. Though Jack had seen for himself the volcano of passion and emotion of which Serena was capable when not under the influence of her employer, he could not fail to notice how tame and frightened she appeared to be now. It was as if Anstruther possessed something like a power over her. Her dark eyes seemed mechanically to follow his every movement; he had only to raise his hand and her look followed it.
"So you have come at last," Anstruther said. "How long have you been in the house?"
"I came as soon as you told me, master," Serena murmured, like one who talks in her sleep. All will power seemed to have gone out of her for the moment. "What would you have of me to-night?"
Anstruther replied harshly that Serena must know perfectly well what was required of her. Nevertheless he proceeded to detail his instructions, which were still unfinished when another footstep was heard upon the stairs and a newcomer entered. The two watchers outside were not in the least surprised at the pale, somewhat conceited features of the violinist Padini; indeed, they were past all surprises now. Padini had bowed with an air of exaggerated politeness to Serena.
"Ha, ha, my coy fascinator," he cried, "so I am not to be deprived of the pleasure of your company. I am not likely to soon forget the enchanting evening we spent togetherchezCarrington. I am sorry to be late, Anstruther, but the fact is, your English audiences are not so cold as I had first imagined. Positively they would not let me off with less than four encores.Ma foi,you must have had the full value of your money in your chamber music to-night. A rare treat for Miss Helmsley; doubtless she has noticed the marvelous improvement made by her guardian in his playing of late."
The violinist chuckled as if in the enjoyment of an exquisite joke. Serena flashed him a glance of bitter hatred and contempt.
"I should like to know the meaning of this," Rigby whispered. "I suppose it refers in some way to the mysterious music which you told me about last night. Do you think it possible that Serena could enlighten us on this point as she appears to know all about it? If not, why does she look at Padini in that scornful way?"
Any further signs of enjoyment on the part of Padini were cut short by an impatient oath from Anstruther.
"That is mere child's play," he exclaimed. "Very clever and all that kind of thing, but an intelligent schoolboy might have done as well."
Jack intimated in a whisper to Rigby that he himself stood in the position of the said intelligent schoolboy. He had a pretty shrewd idea how the thing had been managed, and to what purpose; but there would be time enough to explain all that presently. What they had to do now was to stay as long as possible, and gather all they could from a careful study of the proceedings taking place in the room. It was Anstruther who first broke the silence.
"Are we going to stand fooling here all night?" he exclaimed angrily. "Padini, get that exaggerated fur coat of yours off, and make yourself up to look like an English gentleman as far as possible. You will find everything necessary in the room at the back of the house. The same remark applies to you, Serena. My word! To think that a woman so pale, so haggard, as you are now can make up to look like eighteen and possess the beauty of Diana! What a pity it was you ever left the stage!"
The woman's face flushed angrily. There was a nervous tension about her to-night that Anstruther had never noticed before. Was she going to be defiant? he asked. Did she understand what she was doing when she proposed to measure her strength against his? But the flame still raged on Serena's hot cheeks, and her lips were still hard and mutinous.
"Take care you do not drive me too far," she whispered hoarsely. "A cat is a harmless creature enough, but I read once of a cat that turned upon a man and killed him. You dare to taunt me with my past. When I think of what that past might have been but for you, I declare that I could find it in my heart to kill you. I am so weak and timid, you are so strong and brave; and yet even you must sleep at times, and a man asleep is as harmless as a babe. A spot of gray powder, a drop of liquid no larger than a pin's point placed between your teeth, and the career of Spencer Anstruther is finished."
The words were uttered with such dramatic force and intensity that even Anstruther refrained from smiling. It seemed to the listeners outside that here was a great genius lost to the stage.
"I should not care to encounter that woman's hostility," Rigby murmured. "Look at the intense expression of her face. But, really, I hope she is not going to defy him to-night. If she does we are likely to have trouble for our pains."
But Serena's outbreak of passionate anger was over as swiftly as an April shower. She looked up in the face of her master as a dog might do that had been convicted of theft. Anstruther smiled with the air of a man who merely tolerates a passing anger of a fellow creature. It was as if he had caged this woman so that he could watch her passions and emotions as a naturalist studies the habits and ways of loathsome insects.
"I suppose you must give vent to your feelings sometimes," he said. "And now that you have had a little fling we had better get on with our business. You will go with Padini to-night to----"
"No, no!" Serena cried. "I implore you to spare me that humiliation again. What have I done that I should have to endure all this--what can be possibly gained by it?"
For the first time Anstruther displayed real signs of anger. "Now, listen to me," he said. "Once for all, I tell you not to speak to me like this again. Do you think I have studied you all these years for nothing? Do you suppose I do not know how disloyal you are in your heart towards me? There is one class of woman who has to be ruled by fear alone, and you are one of them. You will do to-night what I ask you, not merely to-night, but by months and years, in and out, it will be for me to order and you to obey. And, whilst we are on the subject you are to say nothing further than you have already said to Mr. Masefield. You understand what I mean?"
It was quite evident that Serena understood the full significance of Anstruther's speech. Pale as her face had been before, it turned now to a still more deathly pallor. She essayed to speak, but her lips refused the office.
"I don't quite follow you," she managed to stammer out at length. "If you accuse me of disloyalty----"
Anstruther intimated that that was exactly what he did mean. It was rather an uncomfortable moment for Jack, listening there. He was beginning to fully realize the marvelous cunning of the man with whom he had to deal. He wondered how it was possible for Anstruther to discover the gist of his conversation with Serena that afternoon. He was saying something of this in a whisper to Rigby when Padini returned to the room. The violinist was dressed now exactly as he had been attired two nights before when Jack had seen him at Carrington's chambers. His jaunty air for the moment had vanished; he looked suspicious and uneasy. Anstruther's keen eye noticed this as it noticed everything.
"Now, what's the matter?" he asked. "Have you seen a ghost or something equally terrible?"
"No, I haven't," Padini replied sulkily. "But lam pretty sure there is somebody in the house. I am ready to swear that I saw the shadow of a man moving on the landing outside."
With a contemptuous smile Anstruther walked towards the door. There was perhaps no immediate danger for the listeners, seeing that Anstruther evidently attached no importance to Padini's statement; but it was just as well to be on the safe side. Rigby slipped quietly into a doorway leading to a bedroom and dragged Jack in after him. Then he closed the door very gently and waited for further developments. He had not long to wait, for almost immediately there was a click of the latch, and Anstruther's receding footsteps melted into silence.
"Well, that sets your mind at ease," Anstruther was heard to say. "If there are any birds here, I have them safely caged."
With a feeling of apprehension, Rigby laid his hand on the door-knob. His worst fears were absolutely realized. He and Jack had been locked in the room.
There was no help for it; they could only wait to see what circumstances had in store for them. It would have been just as well, however, to have known what was in Anstruther's mind when he locked the door. So far as the prisoners could judge, Anstruther had spoken with a kind of jocular contempt, and had apparently acted more to soothe Padini's nervous fears than as if he had moved on the spur of his own suspicions. Rigby had not failed to notice this, and Jack was inclined to agree with him as they discussed the matter in whispers. At any rate, a quarter of an hour passed without any signs without.
"Well, my friend," Rigby muttered, "you always were fond of adventures, even as a boy, and now you seem likely to get your fill of them."
"I don't call this an adventure at all," Jack replied; "not much chance of action here. The prospect of being locked up all night in this cell of a place is not at all alluring. Just try that door again."
But the attempt proved abortive. It was pitch dark there, a darkness like that of Egypt, which could be felt. The mere fact of the sense of sight being suspended seemed to increase the hearing of the prisoners, for they did not fail to note every word that was passing in that room across the corridor. It was plainly evident that the business arrangements which had brought those people here to-night were practically finished, for presently Anstruther could be heard walking down the stairs, shouting his final instructions as he went. A moment later the fine slit of light which gleamed like a thread under the door of the vacant house died away swiftly, therefore proving to Jack and Rigby that the house had been plunged into darkness. It was a proof also that the conspirators had left the premises.
"I think this is where we come in," Jack muttered; "we'll give them another five minutes or so, and then we will run the risk of striking a light. I suppose you have got some matches in your pocket?"
Rigby had purchased an extra-sized box of vestas as he came along, so that there was no trouble on that score. The liberal five minutes had expired before the scratching of a match, and a spurt of blue flame illuminated the room. It was by no means an inviting apartment, being absolutely devoid of furniture save for a tattered carpet on the floor. The carpet had obviously been a good one in its day, in spite of the dust which lay so thickly upon it; the decorations of the walls had evidently been an expensive business. At the same time, it was quite patent that the room had been used for the storage of valuables, seeing that the door fitted close and was lined on the inside with steel. The window, too, was barred heavily, though it was far enough from the ground.
"Well, we are in a nice mess," Jack muttered. "So far as I can see, we shall have to wait here till morning and then summon assistance by means of the window. In the meantime we can devote our energies to making up some ingenious story with a view to deceiving the police. So long as it is daylight, I don't think we have much to fear from Anstruther and Co. Do you think the light shows through the window?"
There appeared to be no fear of that, seeing that the curtain was a comparatively thick one. Over the mantelpiece were the pipe and bracket of a solitary gas-jet. In a fit of idle curiosity Rigby turned on the tap and applied a match to the burner. Much to his surprise, a blue fishtail flame spurted out bright and clear.
"Well, these people don't seem to have half done it," he exclaimed; "they've evidently tapped the gas much in the same way that they tap the electric light, but why they want both beats me."
"Doubtless for something like business purposes," Jack suggested. "It is pretty evident that these people have a lot of mechanical contrivances here, therefore something in the way of heaters would be necessary. My word, how close this room is!"
Rigby was emphatically of the same opinion. He turned off the roaring flame of gas and pulled back the curtain from the window. He successfully fumbled for the catch, and at length managed to raise the sash. The cool, sweet night breeze was grateful to a degree after the stifling atmosphere of the room.
There were no lights to be seen, for the simple reason that they were at the back of the house, and looking down into a dreary sort of forecourt formed by the houses on either side and a big building beyond. As their eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, it was possible to note the fact that the forecourt had at one time been carefully cultivated, for a broken fountain could be made out, and what appeared at one time to have been a well-tended rose garden.
"There's somebody down there," Rigby whispered. "Unless I am greatly mistaken the said somebody is smoking a most excellent cigar. Can't you smell it?"
"Of course I can," Jack responded. "These seem to be rather an aristocratic type of rascal. If you look across to the far corner, beyond that fountain place, you will see the tip of a cigar glowing like a star."
It was exactly as Jack had said. They could see the cigar glowing and fading as the smoker inhaled or exhaled the fragrant tobacco, and a moment later they saw something more. Out of the gloom there approached the figure of a woman, tall, slender, and bareheaded, her dress hidden by a long black cloak that reached to the ground. She spoke quickly and hurriedly, so quickly indeed that the two men at the window found it impossible to follow what she said. They could see pretty plainly, however, and did not fail to notice the fact that the strange woman appeared to be pleading for some favor. She stretched out her long, bare arms to her companion in an attitude of supplication; her long-cloak fell away from her shoulders, disclosing an evening dress of some pale, transparent material. There were diamonds, too, in her fair hair.
"What is the use of wasting my time like this?" the man with the cigar demanded. "You ought to have been at your destination long ago."
"But I couldn't go, I really couldn't, until I had seen you again. Besides, there is no place like this, and no better spot for an interview that one wants to keep a profound secret. For instance, it is hardly possible that any prying eyes are overlooking us. I can't imagine anybody being hidden in this old house. When Anstruther locked that bedroom door just now, do you really suppose he imagined there was anybody on the premises?"
The smoker responded with a contemptuous grunt; it was evident that he entertained no suspicions on that score.
"Perhaps I am unduly nervous and excited to-night," the woman went on. "But I could have almost imagined that there were spies following Anstruther to-night. If I were alone and had no more pressing thing to do, I would go back into the house and unlock that door. Imagine my feelings if I really did find two spies there."
"What confounded nonsense you are always talking!" the smoker burst out. "I suppose this comes of writing poetry. Who on earth do you suppose is in the house?"
"How can I possibly tell? The police, perhaps, or perhaps somebody who is interested in Anstruther's beautiful ward, Claire Helmsley. I am fond of Claire, and would suffer much so that she should escape injury. Really, I could make a story out of this, Richard. I would find Mr. Jack Masefield in that room, together with his friend Dick Rigby. I would whisper to them that it would be safer for them to stay where they were for the present, and that later on I would come back and release them. Oh, what nonsense I am talking, to be sure!"
The smoker affirmed this in a manner none too complimentary.
"You are without exception the wildest sentimentalist I ever came across. You are trying my patience a bit too high. Why don't you go about your business and leave me to mine?"
The woman laughed softly to herself as if she was half amused by her own secret thoughts. She did not seem to notice, or perhaps she wanted to ignore, the brutal outspokenness of her companion. For some reason or other it occurred to the listeners that she was trying to gain time. At any rate, there was no longer room for doubt that she was doing her best to warn the listeners.
"Can you make nothing of her features?" Jack asked eagerly. "My eyes are pretty keen, as a rule, but I can discern no more than the shimmering outline of her dress. If fortune is on our side presently, we must follow her and ascertain where she lives."
"That wouldn't be at all a bad move," Rigby said. "She may be a sentimentalist, and a poet into the bargain, but that does not prevent her from being an 'exceedingly clever woman. She is deceiving that bullying fellow in a way that is worthy of the best diplomatist."
"She is going to speak again," Jack whispered. "What did she say? I quite failed to get that last sentence."
Rigby replied that he had failed to catch it, too, for the words were spoken in low tones which did not carry to the window above. The man laughed in the same brutal fashion, and begged the woman begone, as she was only a hindrance there.
"I am going," she said . "Take care of yourself, Richard, and don't imagine that Anstruther is likely to be of much use to you when the time of danger comes. He has ever been the blighting curse that hangs over us, and something tells me that he will be your curse as well as ours."
The man laughed scornfully. He did not seem to be afraid.
"Evidently that woman is a very great deal cleverer than my friend gives her credit for," said Rigby. "Don't you see that she was talking to us? Her speech was merely a kind of parable. I don't know who she is or whence she derived an inspiration, but one thing I am absolutely certain about--she knows perfectly well that the pair of us are locked in this room, and she is equally aware of the fact of our identity. All we have got to do now is to smoke a cigarette each and quietly wait till our fair friend comes and effects our release."
"Haven't you any idea who she is?" Jack asked. "At any rate, there is nothing common about her. She speaks like a lady, and is most assuredly dressed like one."
"I should think you are more likely to know that than I," said Rigby. "Whoever that woman is, or whatever gang of scoundrels she is mixed up with, it is quite evident that she knows Miss Helmsley well, and that she is a great friend of hers. You must know surely pretty well the full extent of Claire Helmsley's acquaintances. Can't you recognize the voice? Does not the outline of her figure give you something to go on?"
"I am afraid you have me there," Jack said. "You see, Anstruther is an exceedingly popular man, he goes a great deal into society, and naturally Claire generally accompanies him. She could not have less than a hundred acquaintances she has made in this way."
"Then you can't help me out in this way?" Rigby asked.
Jack was emphatically of the opinion that he could not. He ran his mind over a score or two of Claire's most cherished acquaintances. But not one of them tallied in the least degree with the lady down below. Besides, the darkness rendered an actual recognition almost impossible.
All the friends had to do now was to possess their souls in patience and await the time when their mysterious friend should come to their assistance. That she would come they felt absolutely certain. She might have been the wild, sentimental creature which the man with the cigar had called her; but, at the same time, she had both coolness and courage, or she would not have hit upon the ingenious method of speaking indirectly to them as she had done.
"Unless I am greatly mistaken," Rigby said thoughtfully, "we are going to make a real useful friend here. What is that I see down below? Surely there is something like a carriage driven into the yard."
Surely enough, it was a vehicle of some kind, painted black, and with not too much glittering varnish about it. So far as could be seen in the gloom, the conveyance in question was a brougham of some kind. It came into the yard with a strange suggestion of ghostliness about it, for the tires were thickly coated with rubber; the horse itself appeared to be similarly shod.
"I fancy we have seen something like that before," Jack suggested drily.
"Right you are," Rigby responded. "Of course, one can't be quite absolutely sure, but that looks very like the vehicle used by those people the other night. You know what I mean--the brougham I saw used by the deaf mute and her companions the night we ran against one another at Carrington's."
"Right beyond the shadow of a doubt," Jack said. "Who is this mystic conveyance for, I wonder--the man or the woman?"
Evidently it was for the woman, for she stood with her long wrap fastened closely about her whilst the man with the cigar opened the door. The horse was turned round, and vanished as it had come, without the slightest noise; indeed, the whole thing might have been a figment of the imagination.
"I hope that does not mean that our last chance has gone," Rigby suggested. "But we must have faith in our fair friend. One thing is pretty certain--if she means to come to our assistance she is not going very far away."
There was silence for some time between the friends. They had speculated as far as possible on the chances of the future, and now there was no more to be said. At the same time, the situation was not devoid of elements of interest, seeing that the man with the cigar had not as yet departed. Evidently he was waiting for somebody, for he lighted a fresh cigar from the stump of his old one, and sat down on the edge of the fountain with the air of a man who knows how to possess his soul in patience. He sat thus for some time; then he stood up at length with an air of strained attention and gave a grunt of relief. Out of the shadows there emerged another man, muffled to the eyes and wearing a big slouch hat upon his head.
"So you have come at last," the man with the cigar muttered. "I thought you were going to keep me here all night."
"It is all very well for you," the newcomer said. "You can walk about the world with your head held up; you have no occasion to hide yourself from the light of day. If only this business was done and over, you would never find me in one of Anstruther's schemes again."
There was something exceedingly striking in the voice of the speaker; it was by no means an unmusical voice; the enunciation was clear and defined. But there was a peculiar rasping ring in it, a jarring, metallic discord as if some one had struck two plates of steel together. It was a commanding voice, too, and the man with the cigar seemed to feel it.
"I suppose you know your own business best," he muttered in a tone which was plainly intended to be that of an apology. "Funny thing, isn't it, that you and I should be conspiring here, within a pistol shot of Shannon Street police station? Those chaps yonder are still scratching their heads over the disappearance of the man they call Nostalgo."
The other man laughed; his voice rang as an echo rings in a cave. He laughed again a little more gently.
"Yes," he said, "we could throw a very blinding light on that mystery. Have they offered any reward for the discovery of the body?"
"Oh, dear, yes," the other man chuckled. "Two hundred pounds and a free pardon to any accomplice not actually connected with the outrage. Wouldn't it be a fine thing to earn that reward?"
"I'll think it over and see if we can't manage it," said the newcomer. "Fancy hoodwinking the police in that way! All the same, I don't quite like this reward business; it's just the thing to appeal to that scoundrel Redgrave. Anstruther never made a greater mistake than when he took Redgrave into his confidence. That fellow would do anything for a few hundred pounds."
"Well, you will have an opportunity of sounding him presently. He is coming to see you about those West African bonds. As for myself, I have business of greatest importance in the East-End. I only stayed here till you came because Anstruther said that it was absolutely imperative for you to have these papers to-night."
So saying, the speaker took a small packet from his pocket and handed it over to his companion. He turned away, and a moment later had vanished into the night. The sole remaining man appeared to be restless and ill at ease. As he paced up and down the ragged and deserted forecourt, the two friends, cautiously peeping through the up-stairs window, could see that he was lame and that one shoulder was higher than the other. He was muttering to himself, too, in some foreign language that conveyed nothing to the listeners.
He came to a pause presently, and, fumbling in his long coat, produced a cigarette case and a box of matches.
"I wonder if I really dare," he muttered, this time speaking in English slightly flavored with a foreign accent. "Surely no one can see me; surely I shall be safe in this well of a place. If only I could manage without matches."
But there has been no way yet invented of lighting tobacco without matches. As the match flared out the stranger's face was picked out clean and clear against the velvet background of the night. As if in full enjoyment of his tobacco, the man threw his head back and filled his lungs with the fragrant smoke. He had not yet dropped the match, so that its rays caught full the upturned face. So clearly did the face stand out that the whole action might have been conceived with the idea of giving the watchers a perfect view of it.
"What do you make of that?" Jack whispered excitedly. "Don't ask me to say, because I know the man as well as I know my own father. The point is, do you know him?"
"I should say that everybody in London does," Rigby responded, "seeing that the face has been glaring down on London for the past two months. Yonder man is Nostalgo and none other."
"No mistake about that," Jack said. "In that strange, weird light, what an awful face it is! And yet there is something about it, too, some half-pathetic suggestion that almost removes one's feelings of repulsion."
"I have noticed that, too," Rigby said. "But why did you not tell me that our mysterious friend was practically a hunchback?"
"But he wasn't," Jack protested. "I am absolutely certain that the man I found apparently dead close to Panton Square three nights ago was as straight and well set up as you or I. Why, I helped to put him in the ambulance; I saw his body laid out in the mortuary at Shannon Street police station. I am prepared to swear that that man was without a physical blemish, and I am quite sure that Inspector Bates will bear me out in this. And yet that man down there smoking his cigarette is as misshapen as Richard III."
As to this point there was no question. The man below was pacing quietly up and down the forecourt in the full enjoyment of his cigarette, and little heeding the curious watchers overhead. It was easy to see that, so far as physical development was concerned, he had been but ill-favored by fortune. One leg was considerably longer than the other, causing the fellow to shuffle along with a sideways motion not unlike that of a crab.
"Unless that fellow is a bold contortionist, we have evidently two Nostalgos to deal with," Rigby said thoughtfully. "And yet it seems impossible there can be two faces like that in the world. One thing is pretty certain--the supposed dead body you conveyed to Shannon Street police station the other night must have been very much alive. If we could only get away from here to follow him."
"Not much occasion to trouble about that, I am thinking," Jack said. "This man is evidently a tool or accomplice of Anstruther's. I am certain we shall see him in Panton Square sooner or later. As to the man Redgrave they were speaking about just now, I happen to know all about him. He used to be in Anstruther's employ as a kind of secretary--a clever, well-educated fellow, whose weakness was drink. Ha, here comes another one."
Surely enough, another figure crept into the forecourt. Nostalgo, if he it was, paid no heed to the stranger for a moment or two. In a half-timid fashion the man who had just entered the forecourt bowed to his misshapen companion and intimated that he awaited his pleasure. Nostalgo turned upon him with a snarl.
"So they have sent you, after all," he said. His clear, ringing voice vibrated with contempt. "Is this the best thing Anstruther can do at a critical moment like this? I want a man, not a miserable coward like you. Besides, I don't trust you; I never shall trust you again. And, unless I am greatly mistaken, you have been drinking."
"We are in luck again," Jack whispered. "This is the very man I spoke about, Redgrave in the flesh. Are we going to learn anything, I wonder?"
The newcomer protested whiningly that not one drop of ardent liquor had passed his lips that day.
"You miserable, prevaricating hound!" Nostalgo cried. "Go back to Anstruther, and say that I will have none of you. Tell your master that my time is short, and that an hour from now will make all the difference. He knows that I dare not stay; he knows what hideous disaster even the slightest delay may produce, and yet he sends you of all men to help me in this crisis."
"But Anstruther cannot possibly do anything else," Redgrave whined. "It is absolutely imperative that he should be at Carrington's by midnight. Carrington is not to be trusted; he wants watching as carefully as a cat watches a mouse. You will have to put up with me, sir."
Nostalgo paced up and down the dreary forecourt with the air of a man who is deep in thought. His limp and straggling gait was by no means lost upon the watchers overhead. He came to a halt at length and sat on the edge of the broken fountain, his head upon his hands, deeply immersed in thought. He might have been a graven statue, so rigid and still was his figure.
The effect of this upon the cowering, watching Redgrave was peculiar. There was something of the cat in his own movements as he came inch by inch nearer to Nostalgo. It was as if a child was timidly making overtures to a dog of uncertain temper. Near and nearer Redgrave came, till he was standing directly over the bent figure of his companion. He might have been miles away for all the heed that Nostalgo gave him.
Then quick as thought, and with a snarling, savage cry that echoed strangely between the four walls of the forecourt, Redgrave fell furiously and with headlong impetuosity upon the doubled-up figure of his prey.
"I have got you now, you misshapen devil!" he screamed. "You are going to be worth at least two hundred pounds to me to-night."
Utterly taken by surprise, Nostalgo collapsed under the sudden and furious assault. Something gleamed and flashed in the uncertain light, and the horrified onlookers from the window above saw that Redgrave had a knife in his hand.
"You poisonous scoundrel!" Rigby yelled. "Drop it, I say--drop it, or it will be the worse for you."
But Rigby might have been speaking to the wind. He yelled again and again, yet the two men below, locked in a deadly embrace, did not appear to heed; indeed, it was more than probable that they could hear nothing at all. More by great good fortune than anything else, Nostalgo had managed to grip the hand that held the knife and was holding it in a tenacious clutch. Over and over the pair rolled, like two hungry dogs fighting for a bone, their clothes torn and mud-stained, their features grimed almost beyond recognition. It was a grim and gruesome sight to the two eager watchers. A sense of helplessness, a wild desire to do something was upon them; but they might just as well have been fettered prisoners for all the use they were.
"If only we could open this door," Rigby sighed passionately. "If only that mysterious lady could come to our assistance."
It was like a prayer that was answered. There was a click, a sudden wide swinging open of the door, and the lady in evening dress came headlong into the room.
"Quickly, quickly!" she panted. "Oh, it does not matter who I am or where I came from! If you would not have the destruction of a man's soul on your conscience, come with me at once."
Quick as the whole thing had been, the action on the part of the fair stranger had not taken Rigby by surprise. He had half expected some development of this kind; he was ready for the dramatic moment, and took full advantage of it. Almost before the lady was in the room he had applied a match to the gas burner, and turned it full on. There was a quick, flashing vision of some one magnificently attired, for the white diaphanous drapery and the gleaming diamonds showed from where her wrap had parted at the neck. Perhaps she dimly comprehended the significance of Rigby's manœuvre, for she turned somewhat scornfully from the hissing gas jet.
"Oh, there is no time for that!" she cried. "It can matter little or nothing who I am, at any rate for the present. Did you follow me just now? I hope you understood that I was speaking to you?"
"We gathered that, madam," Rigby said politely; "but really we are wasting time in idle compliments."
The stranger's face fairly beamed with gratitude. She turned and pointed in the direction of the door. There was no need whatever for further words; the friends knew exactly what she wanted.
The gesture was eloquent enough. The lady who had so strangely and unexpectedly come to the assistance of the friends intimated to them as plainly as words could speak that there was no time to be lost, and that the sooner they were off the premises the better. Jack did not wish to delay; he had no desire to be caught like a rat in a trap, nor for a moment did he forget the fact that this woman who spoke in parables had risked much to come to their assistance. On the other hand, Rigby, being cooler and more collected than his friend, and, like a journalist, more prone to go into details, was disposed to linger for explanations. His hesitation was by no means lost on the fair stranger. Once more she pointed to the door, this time with an imperious gesture.
"Oh! why do you hesitate?" she murmured. "Why do you stand like a schoolboy staring into a shop window? I know you are here for some desperate purpose; I can more than guess the reason for your visit. You are men of intellect and understanding, therefore you must clearly see the danger of even an instant's delay."
The lady turned away as if she had finished. Jack might have found it in his heart to be a little ashamed of Rigby, but, after all, the temptation to give way to curiosity was absolutely overwhelming. Jack pulled himself together at length, and dragged angrily at Rigby's arm. He felt just a little inclined to flush under the contemptuous gaze of their beautiful rescuer.
"Oh, do come along," he said. "My dear Dick, you are positively guilty of bad taste in this matter."
"Really, I beg your pardon," Rigby said humbly. "But you can quite understand my feelings. Good-night, madam."
Despite the wild hurry-scurry and the excitement of the moment, Jack had not failed to notice the exquisite beauty of the strange woman's face. She was quite young, about twenty-five or thereabouts, and yet her fair face, without a line or wrinkle in it had a suggestion of the Madonna, as of one who had suffered much. She flew down the stairs, heedless of the darkness, and into the forecourt beyond.
"Pray to heaven we are not too late," she said . "It seemed to me just now that I was barely in time, but surely----"
The woman stopped, and passed her hand across her face just as one does who wakes from an evil dream. And in sooth she had cause enough for her astonishment. Where two bodies had been locked in a death struggle a minute before, only one remained now. The other had vanished utterly. And it needed only a cursory glance to see that the form lying there was not the misshapen outline of Nostalgo.
"This is amazing," the fair stranger said, as she bent over the body of the unconscious man. She did not appear to be the least afraid now; all her coolness had come back to her; she suggested a trained nurse on the battlefield. "Surely my eyes did not deceive me, surely I saw two men in a death struggle there as I came into the courtyard?"
"There is not the slightest doubt about that," Jack murmured. "Why, we were actually watching the fight at the very moment you opened the door. Do you know who this fellow is?"
The lady shook her head, but Jack noticed that she did not repudiate all knowledge of the stricken man.
"I can tell you if you want to know," she said , "but we can discuss that point later on. What we want to know now is how far this man has suffered from his injuries."
Heedless of the dust and dirt, heedless of her resplendent attire, the lady had thrown herself on her knees beside the prostrate body. She laid her hand upon his heart, and bent her head down listening intently.
"At all events he is not dead," she said , "neither can I see any sign of a wound. He has evidently been stunned by some tremendous blow. Ah! see, he stirs."
The injured man opened his eyes in a feeble, spasmodic kind of way, and gazed languidly about him. Rigby, fully alive to the possibilities of the situation, grasped Jack by the arm.
"My dear fellow," he exclaimed, "you say you know that man, and naturally he knows you. Do you think it wise to remain in sight, and thus give him a chance to recognize you?"
Redgrave lay as if lost to all consciousness once more. Despite her dreamy, Madonna-like face, the strange lady was not blind to the danger of the situation.
"I think you are quite right," she whispered hurriedly. "It would never do for this man to recognize you. I feel sure that heaven has sent you both to be my friends in the hour of my deepest despair. Who and what I am can be explained presently. But that man is coming to very fast, and it were far better if he did not see you."
Rigby nodded his emphatic approval. Together with Jack he withdrew behind the shelter of a clump of bushes where it was possible to hear everything without being seen. Meanwhile Redgrave had raised himself to a sitting position, and, with his back to the fountain, was stupidly contemplating the fair figure before him.
"I suppose you can understand what is said to you?" the lady asked. "For instance, you can tell me what brings you here to-night?"
"I dare say I could if I liked," Redgrave groaned, "but I am not going to do anything of the kind. This comes of having women mixed up in a business like ours."
"Woman or not, that has nothing to do with your murderous assault on a harmless stranger just now. It is absurd for you to deny any knowledge of me. You have heard of Lady Barmouth before."
Behind the shelter of the bushes Jack nipped Rigby's arm significantly. He had learned something now.
"Did you hear that?" he whispered. "Of course you have heard of Lady Barmouth often enough. I have never met her myself, but I have often heard Claire speak about her. A beautiful South American girl, I believe, married to a sulky brute who never goes outside his house from one year's end to another. I don't know whether he drinks or what it is, but I fear that Lady Barmouth has a very bad time of it."
Jack would have probably volunteered more information on this point, only the cross-examination of Redgrave had begun again, and he did not wish to miss a word that he said.
"It is idle to prevaricate with me," Lady Barmouth was saying. "I will ask you nothing as to your late encounter, because it is evident that you had greatly the worst of it, and that your would-be victim has escaped. But what is more to the point, I want to know what has become of my brother?"
"Your brother!" Redgrave stammered, as if utterly taken aback by the suddenness of the question. "I--I don't know in the least what you mean."
"Oh, what is the use of wasting your time and mine like this?" Lady Barmouth cried. "My brother came here by special appointment to meet Mr. Spencer Anstruther, and I came on my own self-initiative to see what my brother was doing."
Here was fresh information for Jack and his companion. It mattered little for the present who Lady Barmouth's brother was, but evidently she had greatly mistrusted him; hence her appearance in the courtyard to-night. It was, therefore, by no means difficult for the friends to guess that the aforesaid brother had been the man who had so lately accused Lady Barmouth of being a sentimental fool. The night's work was being by no means wasted.
"I know nothing whatever about your brother," Redgrave said sulkily, "and I know nothing about Anstruther either. The man who was here just now--the man who made that murderous attack on me, I mean--was a perfect stranger. But this is no place for a lady like you; you had better go home, and keep out of this sort of scrape for the future.
"So saying, Redgrave scrambled painfully to his feet, and lurched off in the direction of the doorway leading to the lane beyond. It was only when they were satisfied that he had absolutely departed, that Rigby and Masefield emerged from their hiding place and joined Lady Barmouth. There was a sad, wistful expression on her face.
"You heard all that," she said . "Mind you, I am assuming that you are no parties to the vile conspiracy of which Anstruther is the head. I should like to have your assurance on that point before I proceed any further."
"If there is one man in the world whom we desire to expose and render harmless for the future, it is Spencer Anstruther," Jack said vehemently. "But how did you know we were here at all?"
"Because I happened to be in the house when you came," Lady Barmouth explained. "I caught sight of your faces as you moved in front of the light proceeding from that room up-stairs, and I divined by a sort of instinct that you did not belong to Anstruther's gang. Then it came to me that I had seen one of you gentlemen before in the company of Miss Helmsley. I think, sir, I may be pardoned if I assume that Miss Helmsley is something more than a friend of yours."
"To be perfectly candid with you, we are engaged to be married, only it is a profound secret at present," Jack explained. "After telling you so much, I think you might be equally candid with us."
"Indeed I will!" Lady Barmouth exclaimed. "Any one to whom Claire Helmsley has given her heart must be a good and true man. As I told you just now, I saw you on the stairs; I also heard what that strange man said about there being spies in the house; I saw you creep into the room, and I saw Anstruther lock the door upon you. The rest you know for yourselves."
"But that does not explain why you are here," Rigby ventured to suggest.
"Why I am here to-night I cannot even tell you," Lady Barmouth said, in low, nervous tones. "The secret is not mine; it concerns one I love more than anybody else in the world. One thing I can tell you: Claire Helmsley is in great danger so long as she remains where she is living now. You must get her away, Mr. Masefield; you must get her away at any cost."
Jack nodded gravely; he had not been blind to this danger for some time. What he wanted to know now was if Lady Barmouth had any idea of the identity of the man who had successfully got the better of Redgrave. But on that head Lady Barmouth could say nothing; she had returned for the express purpose of relieving Masefield and Rigby from their awkward situation, and in so doing she had come quite unexpectedly upon the combatants. Even in the dim light she had seen that a murderous struggle was taking place, and this being so, had hastened headlong up-stairs with a view to securing assistance. More than this she could not possibly say.
"What we want to do," Rigby suggested, "is to go away quietly somewhere, and discuss this matter thoroughly. I need not point out to your ladyship the manifest danger of staying here. Anstruther or any of his tribe may be back at any time, and then we shall be caught like rats in a trap."
"That matter is easily settled," Lady Barmouth replied. "Could you come home with me? It is by no means late yet, and you would not be long in getting rid of those disguises of yours. They are excellent disguises, but they did not prevent me recognizing you, Mr. Masefield."
"There is no deceiving a clever woman," Jack smiled. "I should like nothing better than a chance to discuss this matter at length--but Lord Barmouth? Would he not think it somewhat singular that two strangers like ourselves----"
"Nothing of the sort!" Lady Barmouth cried eagerly. "My husband never goes outside the house; he is suffering from a trouble so terrible that I try not to think of it if I can. I may, however, tell you that his trouble is intimately connected with the black business that brings us here to-night. It may seem to you that I am a mere frivolous society butterfly. Ah, if you only knew!"
The trio had worked their way into the street by this time. A private hansom stood a little way down the road. Lady Barmouth smiled a little as she contemplated her two companions.
"I am afraid we should be a suspicious-looking party in the eye of a passing policeman," she said . "No, I think it would be just as well if I walked to my hansom alone. Then you can go back to your rooms and attire yourselves as English gentlemen should be attired at this time of the evening. Then you can come to my house; I will tell the servants I am expecting two friends to supper. You know the address."
Jack intimated that he knew the address perfectly well. The suggestion was by no means a bad one; there could be no possible suspicion aroused by the fact that Lady Barmouth was having two friends to share her late meal. The clocks were striking twelve as Jack and his companion walked up the steps of the big house in Belgrave Square.