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The Great Secret

by E. Phillips Oppenheim · English · Gutenberg #9872 · 423,363 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Great Secret

Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim


        
Release date: February 1, 2006 [eBook #9872]
                Most recently updated: December 27, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/9872

Credits: Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT SECRET ***




Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team












THE GREAT SECRET

BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM







CONTENTS


CHAPTER

      I. ROOM No. 317

     II. A MIDNIGHT RAID

    III. MISS VAN HOYT

     IV. A MATCH AT LORD'S

      V. ON THE TERRACE

     VI. "MR. GUEST"

    VII. A "TÊTE-À-TÊTE" DINNER

   VIII. IN THE TOILS

     IX. AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR

      X. "WORTLEY FOOTE--THE SPY"

     XI. A LEGACY OF DANGER

    XII. OLD FRIENDS

   XIII. THE SHADOW DEEPENS

    XIV. GATHERING JACKALS

     XV. A DYING MAN

    XVI. I TAKE UP MY LEGACY

   XVII. NAGASKI'S INSTINCT

  XVIII. IN THE DEATH CHAMBER

    XIX. AN AFFAIR OF STATE

     XX. TRAVELLING COMPANIONS

    XXI. "FOR YOU!"

   XXII. "LOVED I NOT HONOR MORE"

  XXIII. THE PRETENDER

   XXIV. A PRACTICAL WOMAN

    XXV. A CABLE FROM EUROPE

   XXVI. FOR VALUE RECEIVED

  XXVII. INTERNATIONAL POLITICS

 XXVIII. DOUBLE DEALING

   XXIX. I CHANGE MY NATIONALITY

    XXX. THE "WAITERS' UNION"

   XXXI. IN THE ENEMY'S CAMP

  XXXII. SIR GILBERT HAS A SURPRISE

 XXXIII. A REUNION OF HEARTS

  XXXIV. RIFLE PRACTICE

   XXXV. "HIRSCH'S WIFE"

  XXXVI. AN URGENT WARNING

 XXXVII. THE BLACK BAG

XXXVIII. A LAST RESOURCE

  XXXIX. WORKING _The Oracle_

     XL. _The Oracle_ SPEAKS




CHAPTER I

ROOM NO. 317


I laid my papers down upon the broad mahogany counter, and exchanged
greetings with the tall frock-coated reception clerk who came smiling
towards me.

"I should like a single room on the third floor east, about the middle
corridor," I said. "Can you manage that for me? 317 I had last time."

He shook his head at once. "I am very sorry, Mr. Courage," he said, "but
all the rooms in that corridor are engaged. We will give you one on the
second floor at the same price."

I was about to close with his offer, when, with a word of excuse, he
hurried away to intercept some one who was passing through the hall. A
junior clerk took his place, and consulted the plan for a moment
doubtfully.

"There are several rooms exactly in the locality you asked for," he
remarked, "which are simply being held over. If you would prefer 317, you
can have it, and I will give 217 to our other client."

"Thank you," I answered, "I should prefer 317 if you can manage it."

He scribbled the number upon a ticket and handed it to the porter, who
stood behind with my dressing-case. A page caught up the key, and I
followed them to the lift. In the light of things which happened
afterwards, I have sometimes wondered what became of the unfortunate
junior clerk who gave me room number 317.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was six o'clock when I arrived at the Hotel Universal. I washed,
changed my clothes, and was shaved in the barber's shop. Afterwards, I
spent, I think, the ordinary countryman's evening about town--having some
regard always to the purpose of my visit. I dined at my club, went on to
the Empire with a couple of friends, supped at the Savoy, and, after a
brief return visit to the club, a single game of billiards and a final
whisky and soda, returned to my hotel contented and sleepy, and quite
prepared to tumble into bed. By some chance--the history of nations, as
my own did, will sometimes turn upon such slight events--I left my door
ajar whilst I sat upon the edge of the bed finishing a cigarette and
treeing my boots, preparatory to depositing them outside. Suddenly my
attention was arrested by a somewhat curious sound. I distinctly heard
the swift, stealthy footsteps of a man running at full speed along the
corridor. I leaned forward to listen. Then, without a moment's warning,
they paused outside my door. It was hastily pushed open and as hastily
closed. A man, half clothed and panting, was standing facing me--a
strange, pitiable object. The boots slipped from my fingers. I stared at
him in blank bewilderment.

"What the devil--" I began.

He made an anguished appeal to me for silence. Then I heard other
footsteps in the corridor pausing outside my closed door. There was a
moment's silence, then a soft muffled knocking. I moved towards it, only
to be met by the intruder's frenzied whisper--

"For God's sake keep quiet!"

The man's hot breath scorched my cheek, his hands gripped my arm with
nervous force, his hysterical whisper was barely audible, although his
lips were within a few inches of my ear.

"Keep quiet," he muttered, "and don't open the door!"

"Why not?" I asked.

"They will kill me," he answered simply.

I resumed my seat on the side of the bed. My sensations were a little
confused. Under ordinary circumstances, I should probably have been
angry. It was impossible, however, to persevere in such a sentiment
towards the abject creature who cowered by my side.

Yet, after all, was he abject? I looked away from the door, and, for the
second time, studied carefully the features of the man who had sought my
protection in so extraordinary a manner. He was clean shaven, his
features were good; his face, under ordinary circumstances, might have
been described as almost prepossessing. Just now it was whitened and
distorted by fear to such an extent that it gave to his expression a
perfectly repulsive cast. It was as though he looked beyond death and saw
things, however dimly, more terrible than human understanding can fitly
grapple with. There were subtleties of horror in his glassy eyes, in his
drawn and haggard features.

Nothing, perhaps, could more completely illustrate the effect his words
and appearance had upon me than the fact that I accepted his
extraordinary statement without any instinct of disbelief! Here was I,
an Englishman of sound nerves, of average courage, and certainly
untroubled with any superabundance of imagination, domiciled in a
perfectly well-known, if somewhat cosmopolitan, London hotel, and yet
willing to believe, on the statement of a person whom I had never seen
before in my life, that, within a few yards of me, were unseen men bent
upon murder.

From outside I heard a warning chink of metal, and, acting upon impulse,
I stepped forward and slipped the bolt of my door. Immediately afterwards
a key was softly inserted in the lock and turned. The door strained
against the bolt from some invisible pressure. Then there came the sound
of retreating footsteps. We heard the door of the next room opened and
closed. A moment later the handle of the communicating door was tried. I
had, however, bolted it before I commenced to undress.

"What the mischief are you about?" I cried angrily. "Can't you leave my
room alone?"

No answer; but the panels of the communicating door were bent inwards
until it seemed as though they must burst. I crossed the room to where my
portmanteau stood upon a luggage-rack, and took from it a small revolver.
When I stood up with it in my hand, the effect upon my visitor was almost
magical. He caught at my wrist and wrested it from my fingers. He grasped
it almost lovingly.

"I can at least die now like a man," he muttered. "Thank Heaven for
this!"

I sat down again upon the bed. I looked at the pillow and the unturned
coverlet doubtfully. They had obviously not been disturbed. I glanced at
my watch! it was barely two o'clock. I had not even been to bed. I could
not possibly be dreaming! The door was straining now almost to bursting.
I began to be annoyed.

"What the devil are you doing there?" I called out.

Again there was no answer, but a long crack had appeared on the panel. My
companion was standing up watching it. He grasped the revolver as one
accustomed to the use of such things. Once more I took note of him.

I saw now that he was younger than I had imagined, and a trifle taller.
The ghastly pallor, which extended even to his lips, was unabated, but
his first paroxysm of fear seemed, at any rate, to have become lessened.
He looked now like a man at bay indeed, but prepared to fight for his
life. He had evidently been dressed for the evening, for his white tie
was still hanging about his neck. Coat and waistcoat he had left behind
in his flight, but his black trousers were well and fashionably cut, and
his socks were of silk, with small colored clocks. The fingers were white
and delicate, and his nails well cared for. There was one thing more, the
most noticeable of all perhaps. Although his face was the face of a young
man, his hair was as white as snow.

"Look here," I said to him, "can't you give me some explanation as to
what all this means? You haven't been getting yourself into trouble, have
you?"

"Trouble!" he repeated vaguely, with his eyes fixed upon the door.

"With the police!" I explained.

"No, these are not the police," he answered.

"I don't mind a row particularly," I continued, "but I like to know
something about it. What do these people want with you?"

"My life!" he answered grimly.

"Why?"

"I cannot tell you!"

A sudden and ridiculously obvious idea struck me for the first time. A
small electric bell and telephone instrument were by the side of the bed.
I leaned over and pressed the knob with my finger. My companion half
glanced towards me, and back again instantly towards the door.

"No use," he muttered, "they will not come!"

Whereupon a thoroughly British sentiment was aroused in me. Of the
liberties which had been taken with my room, both by this man and by his
pursuers, I scarcely thought, but that any one should presume to
interfere with my rights as an hotel guest angered me! I kept my finger
on the knob of the bell; I summoned chambermaid, waiter, valet and boots.
It was all to no effect. No one came. The telephone remained silent. The
door was on the point of yielding.

I abandoned my useless efforts, and turned towards the man whom I was
sheltering.

"How many are there in the next room?" I asked.

"Two!"

"If I stand by you, will you obey me?"

He hesitated for a moment. Then he nodded.

"Yes!"

"Get behind the bed then, and give me the revolver."

He parted with it reluctantly. I took it into my hand, only just in
time. The door at last had burst away from its hinges. With perfect
self-possession I saw one of the two men who had been engaged in its
demolition calmly lean it up against the wall. The other stared at me as
though I had been a ghost.




CHAPTER II

A MIDNIGHT RAID


I could see at once that neither of the two men who confronted me had
really believed that the room into which their victim had escaped was
already occupied by any other person than the one of whom they were in
pursuit. Their expression of surprise was altogether genuine. I myself
was, perhaps, equally taken aback. Nothing in their appearance suggested
in the least the midnight assassin! I turned towards the one who had
leaned the door up against the wall, and addressed him.

"May I ask to what I am indebted for the pleasure of this unexpected
visit?" I inquired.

The man took out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead. He was short and
stout, with a bushy brown beard, and eyes which blinked at me in
amazement from behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. He wore a grey tweed
travelling suit, and brown boots. He had exactly the air of a prosperous
middle-class tradesman from the provinces.

"I am afraid, sir," he said, "that we have made a mistake--in which case
we shall owe you a thousand apologies. We are in search of a friend whom
we certainly believed that we had seen enter your room."

Now all the time he was talking his eyes were never still. Every inch of
my room that was visible they ransacked. His companion, too, was engaged
in the same task. There were no traces of my visitor to be seen.

"You can make your apologies and explanations to the management in the
morning," I answered grimly "Pardon me!"

I held out my arm across the threshold, and for the first time looked at
the other man who had been on the point of entering. He was slight and
somewhat sallow, with very high forehead and small deep-set eyes. He was
dressed in ordinary evening clothes, the details of which, however,
betrayed his status. He wore a heavy gold chain, a dinner coat, and a
made-up white tie, with the ends tucked in under a roll collar. He
appeared to be objectionable, but far from dangerous.

"You are still a trifle over-anxious respecting the interior of my room!"
I remarked, pushing him gently back.

He spoke to me for the first time. He spoke slowly and formally, and his
accent struck me as being a little foreign.

"Sir," he said, "you may not be aware that the person of whom we are in
search is a dangerous, an exceedingly dangerous character. If he should
be concealed in your room the consequences to yourself might be most
serious."

"Thank you," I said, "I am quite capable of taking care of myself."

Both men were standing as close to me as I was disposed to permit. I
fancied that they were looking me over, as though to make an estimate of
the possible amount of resistance I might be able to offer should they be
disposed to make a rush. The odds, if any, must have seemed to them
somewhat in my favor, for I was taller by head and shoulders than either
of them, and a life-long devotion to athletics had broadened my
shoulders, and given me strength beyond the average. Besides, there was
the revolver in my right hand, which I took occasion now to display. The
shorter of the two men again addressed me.

"My dear sir," he said softly, "it is necessary that you should not
misapprehend the situation. The person of whom we are in search is one
whom we are pledged to find. We have no quarrel with you! Why embroil
yourself in an affair with which you have no concern?"

"I am not seeking to do so," I answered. "It is you and your friend who
are the aggressors. You have forced an entrance into my room in a most
unwarrantable fashion. Your missing friend is nothing to me. I desire to
be left in peace."

Even as I spoke the words, I knew that there was to be no peace for me
that night, for, stealthy though their movements were, I saw something
glisten in the right hands of both of them. The odds now assumed a
somewhat different appearance. I drew back a pace, and stood prepared for
what might happen. My _vis-à-vis_ in the gold-rimmed spectacles addressed
me again.

"Sir," he said, "we will not bandy words any longer. It is better that we
understand one another. There is a man hidden in your room whom we mean
to have. You will understand that we are serious, when I tell you that we
have engaged every room in this corridor, and the wires of your telephone
are cut. If you will permit us to come in and find him, I promise that
nothing shall happen in your room, that you shall not be compromised in
any way. If you refuse, I must warn you that you will become involved in
a matter more serious than you have any idea of."

For answer, I discharged my revolver twice at the ceiling, hoping to
arouse some one, either guests or servants, and fired again at the
shoulder of the man whose leap towards me was like the spring of a
wild-cat. Both rooms were suddenly plunged into darkness, the elder of
the two men, stepping back for a moment, had turned out the electric
lights. For a short space of time everything was chaos. My immediate
assailant I flung away from me with ease; his companion, who tried to
rush past me in the darkness, I struck with a random blow on the side of
the head, so that he staggered back with a groan. I knew very well that
neither of them had passed me, and yet I fancied, as I paused to take
breath for a moment, that I heard stealthy footsteps behind, in the room
which I had been defending. I called again for help, and groped about on
the wall for the electric light switches. The footsteps ceased, a sudden
cry rang out from somewhere behind the bed-curtains, a cry so full of
horror, that I felt the blood run cold in my veins, and the sweat break
out upon my forehead. I sought desperately for the little brass knobs of
the switches, listening all the while for those footsteps. I heard
nothing save a low, sickening groan, which followed upon the cry, but I
felt, a moment later, the hot breath of a human being upon my neck. I
sprang aside, barely in time to escape a blow obviously aimed at me with
some weapon or other, which cut through the air with the soft, nervous
swish of an elastic life-preserver. I knew that some one who sought my
life was within a few feet of me, striving to make sure before the second
blow was aimed. In my stockinged feet I crept along by the wall. I could
hear no sound of movement anywhere near me, and yet I knew quite well
that my hidden assailant was close at hand. Just then, I heard at last
what I had been listening for so long and so eagerly, footsteps and a
voice in the corridor outside. Somebody sprang past me in the darkness,
and, for a second, amazement kept me motionless. The thing was
impossible, or I could have sworn that my feet were brushed by the skirts
of a woman's gown, and that a whiff of perfume--it was like the scent of
dying violets--floated past me. Then the door of my room, from which I
had withdrawn the bolt, was flung suddenly open, and almost
simultaneously my fingers touched the knob of the electric light
fittings. The whole place was flooded with light. I looked around, half
dazed, but eager to see what had become of my assailants. Both rooms were
empty, or apparently so. There was no sign or evidence of any other
person there save myself. On the threshold of my own apartment was
standing the night porter.

"Have you let them go by?" I called out. "Did you see them in the
corridor?"

"Who, sir?" the porter asked stolidly.

"Two men who forced their way into my room--look at the door. One was
short and stout and wore glasses, the other was taller and thin. They
were here a few seconds ago. Unless they passed you, they are in one of
the rooms now."

The man came inside, and looked around him.

"I can't see any one, sir! There wasn't a soul about outside."

"Then we had better look for them!" I exclaimed. "Be careful, for they
are armed."

There was no one in the adjoining room. We had searched it thoroughly
before I suddenly remembered the visitor who had been the innocent cause
of these exciting moments.

"By Jove!" I exclaimed, "there's a wounded man by the side of my bed! I
quite forgot him, I was so anxious to catch these blackguards."

The porter looked at me with distinct suspicion.

"A wounded man, sir?" he remarked. "Where?"

"On the other side of the bed," I answered. "It's the man all this row
was about."

I hurried round to where I had left my terrified visitor hiding behind
the bed-curtain. There was no one there. We looked under the bed, even in
the wardrobes. It was obvious, when we had finished our search, that not
a soul was in either of the rooms except our two selves. The porter
looked at me, and I looked at the porter.

"It's a marvellous thing!" I declared.

"It is," the porter agreed.

"You can see for yourself that that door has been battered in," I
remarked, pointing to it.

The fellow smiled in such a manner, that I should have liked to have
kicked him.

"I can see that it has been battered in," he said. "Oh! yes! I can see
that!"

"You perhaps don't believe my story?" I asked calmly.

"It isn't my place to believe or disbelieve it," he answered. "I
certainly didn't meet any one outside--much less three people. I shall
make my report to the manager in the morning, sir! Good night."

So I was left alone, and, extraordinary as it may seem, I was asleep in
less than half an hour.




CHAPTER III

MISS VAN HOYT


I was awakened at about nine o'clock the next morning by a loud and
persistent knocking at the door of my room. I sat up in bed and shouted,

"Come in!"

A waiter entered bearing a note, which he handed to me on a salver. I
looked at him, around the room, which was still in some confusion, and
down at the note, which was clearly addressed to me, J. Hardross Courage,
Esq. Suddenly my eyes fell upon the smashed door, and I remembered at
once the events of the previous night. I tore open the note. It was
typewritten and brief:--

"The manager presents his compliments to Mr. Hardross Courage, and would
be obliged if he will arrange to vacate his room by midday. The manager
further regrets that he is unable to offer Mr. Courage any other
accommodation."

"Tell the valet to let me have a bath in five minutes," I ordered,
springing out of bed, "and bring me some tea. Look sharp!"

I was in a furious temper. The events of the night before, strange though
they had been, left me comparatively unmoved. I was filled, however, with
a thoroughly British indignation at the nature of this note. My room had
been broken into in the middle of the night; I had narrowly escaped being
myself the victim of a serious and murderous assault; and now I was
calmly told to leave the hotel! I hastened downstairs and into the
office.

"I wish to see the manager as soon as possible," I said to one of the
reception clerks behind the counter.

"Certainly, sir, what name?" he asked; drawing a slip of paper towards
him.

"Courage--" I told him, "Mr. Hardross Courage!"

The man's manner underwent a distinct change.

"I am sorry, sir," he said, "but Mr. Blumentein is engaged. Is there
anything I can do?"

"No!" I answered him bluntly. "I want the manager, and no one else will
do. If he cannot see me now I will wait. If he does not appear in a
reasonable time, I shall go direct to Scotland Yard and lay certain
information before the authorities there."

The clerk stared at me, and then smiled in a tolerant manner. He was
short and dark, and wore glasses. His manner was pleasant enough, but he
had the air of endeavoring to soothe a fractious child--which annoyed me.

"I will send a message down to Mr. Blumentein, sir," he said, "but he is
very busy this morning."

He called a boy, but, after a moment's hesitation, he left the office
himself. I lit a cigarette, and waited with as much patience as I could
command. The people who passed in and out interested me very little.
Suddenly, however, I gave a start and looked up quickly.

A woman had entered the reception-room, passing so close to me that her
skirts almost brushed my feet. She was tall, quietly and elegantly
dressed, and she was followed by a most correct looking maid, who carried
a tiny Japanese spaniel. I did not see her face, although I knew by her
carriage and figure that she must be young. That she was a person of
importance it was easy to see by the attention which was at once paid
her. Her interest for me, however, lay in none of these things. I had
been conscious, as she had passed, of a whiff of faint, very delicate
perfume--and with it, of a sudden, sharp recollection. It was a perfume
which I had distinguished but once before in my life, and that only a few
hours ago.

She gave her key in at the desk, received some letters, and turning round
passed within a few feet of me. Perhaps she realized that I was watching
her with more than ordinary attention, and her eyes fell for a moment
carelessly upon mine. They were withdrawn at once, and she passed on with
the slightest of frowns--just sufficient rebuke to the person who had
forgotten himself so far as to stare at a woman in a public place. The
maid, too, glanced towards me with a slight flash in her large black
eyes, as though she, also, resented my impertinence, and the little
Japanese spaniel yawned as he was carried past, and showed me a set of
dazzling white teeth. I was in disgrace all round, because I had looked
for a second too long into his mistress' deep blue eyes and pale, proud
face. Nevertheless, I presumed even further. I changed my position, so
that I could see her where she stood in the hall, talking to her maid.

Like a man who looks half unwillingly into the land of hidden things,
knowing very well that his own doom or joy is there, if he has the wit to
see and the strength to grasp it, so did I deliberately falsify the
tenets and obligations of my order, and, standing half in the hall, half
in the office, I stared at the lady and the maid and the spaniel. She was
younger even than I had thought her, and I felt that there was something
foreign in her appearance, although of what nationality she might be I
could not determine. Her hair was of a shade between brown and golden,
and, as she stood now, with her back to me, I could see that it was so
thick and abundant that her maid's art had been barely sufficient to keep
it within bounds. In the front it was parted in the middle, and came
rather low down over her forehead. Now I could see her profile--the
rather long neck, which the lace scarf about her shoulders seemed to
leave a little more than usually bare; the soft and yet firm outline of
features, delicate enough and yet full of character. Just then her maid
said something which seemed to call her attention to me. She half turned
her head and looked me full in the face. Her eyes seemed to narrow a
little, as though she were short-sighted. Then she very slowly and very
deliberately turned her back upon me, and continued talking to her maid.
My cheeks were tanned enough, but I felt the color burn as I prepared to
move away. At that moment the lift stopped just opposite to her, and Mr.
Blumentein stepped out, followed by his dapper little clerk.

Mr. Blumentein was a man of less than medium height, with grey hair and
beard, powerfully built and with a sleek, well-groomed appearance. Hat in
hand, and with many bows and smiles, he addressed a few remarks to the
lady, who answered him courteously, but with obvious condescension. Then
he came on to me, and his manner was very different indeed. The dapper
little clerk, who had pointed me out, slipped away.

"Mr. Courage?" he inquired; "you wished to speak to me."

I handed him the typewritten communication which I had received.

"I wish for some explanation of this," I said.

He glanced at it, and shrugged his shoulders. "I cannot permit such
proceedings as took place last night in this hotel," he said. "I can find
no trace of the two persons whom you described as having broken into your
room, and I am not at all satisfied with the explanations which have been
given."

"Indeed," I answered. "I can assure you that I find the situation equally
unsatisfactory. I come here in the ordinary way as a casual guest. My
room is broken into in the middle of the night. I myself am assaulted,
and another man, a stranger to me, is nearly murdered. If any
explanations or apologies are due at all, I consider that they are due to
me."

Mr. Blumentein edged a little away.

"You should consider yourself exceedingly fortunate," he declared, "to be
spared the inconvenience of a police inquiry. My directors dislike very
much any publicity given to brawls of this sort in the hotel, or you
might find yourself in a somewhat awkward position. I have nothing more
to say about it."

He would have moved away, but I stood directly in front of him.

"It happens that I have," I said. "I am not a thief or an adventurer, and
my bona-fides are easily established. I am a magistrate in two counties;
Sir Gilbert Hardross, who is a patron of your restaurant, is my cousin,
and I expect him here to call for me within half an hour. I am up in town
to play for my County against the M.C.C. at Lord's; I am a person who is
perfectly well known, and my word as to what happened last night will be
readily accepted. If you do not alter your tone at once, I shall take a
cab to Scotland Yard, and insist upon a complete investigation into the
affairs of last night."

There was no doubt as to the effect of my words upon Mr. Blumentein. He
was seriously perturbed, and wholly unable to conceal it.

"You can prove what you say, Mr. Courage, I suppose?" he remarked
hesitatingly.

"Absolutely!" I answered; "look in this week's _Graphic_. You will see a
photograph of me in the Medchestershire Cricket Team. Come into my room,
and I will show you as many letters and papers as you please. Do you know
that gentleman?"

"Certainly!" Mr. Blumentein answered, bowing low. "Good morning, Sir
Charles!"

A young man in a flannel suit and straw hat sauntered up to us. He nodded
condescendingly to the hotel manager, and shook hands with me.

"How are you, Courage?" he said. "I'm coming down to Lord's this
afternoon to see the match."

He passed on. Mr. Blumentein was distinctly nervous.

"Will you do me the favor to come down to my room for a moment, Mr.
Courage?" he begged. "I should like to speak to you in private."

I followed him down into his office. He closed the door, and set his hat
down upon the desk.

"I have caused the strictest inquiries to be made, and I have been unable
to obtain the slightest trace either of the man whom you say took shelter
in your room, or the two others you spoke of. Under those circumstances,
you will understand that your story did not sound very probable."

"Perhaps not," I admitted; "but I don't know what your night-porter could
have been about, if he really saw nothing of them. I can give you a
detailed description of all three if you like."

"One moment," Mr. Blumentein said, taking up pen and paper. "Now, if you
please!"

I described the three men to the best of my ability, and Mr. Blumentein
took down carefully all that I said.

"I will have the fullest inquiries made," he promised, "and let you know
the result. In the meantime, I trust that you will consider the letter I
wrote you this morning unwritten. You will doubtless prefer to leave the
hotel after what has happened, but another time, I trust that we may be
honored by your patronage."

I hesitated for a moment. It was clear that the man wanted to get rid of
me. For the first time, the idea of remaining in the hotel occurred to
me.

"I will consider the matter," I answered. "In the meantime, I hope you
will have inquiries made at once. The man who took refuge in my room was
in a terrible state of fright, and from what I saw of the other two,
I am afraid you may find this a more serious affair than you have any
idea of. By the bye, one of the two told me that they had engaged every
room in that corridor. You may be able to trace him by that."

Mr. Blumentein shrugged his shoulders.

"That statement, at any rate, was a false one," he said. "All the rooms
in the vicinity of yours were occupied by regular customers."

Now, in all probability, if Mr. Blumentein had looked  me in the face
when he made this last statement, I should have left the hotel within
half an hour or so for good, and the whole episode, so far as I was
concerned, would have been ended. But I could not help noticing a
somewhat unaccountable nervousness in the man's manner, and it flashed
into my mind suddenly that he knew a good deal more than he meant to tell
me. He was keeping something back. The more I watched him, the more I
felt certain of it. I determined not to leave the hotel.

"Well," I said, "we will look upon the whole affair last night as a
misunderstanding. I will keep on my room for to-night, at any rate. I
shall be having some friends to dine in the restaurant."

The man's face expressed anything but pleasure.

"Just as you like, Mr. Courage," he said. "Of course, if, under the
circumstances, you preferred to leave us, we should quite understand it!"

"I shall stay for to-night, at any rate," I answered. "I am only up for a
day or two."

He walked with me to the door. I hesitated for a moment, and then asked
him the question which had been in my mind for some time.

"By the bye, Mr. Blumentein," I said, "if it is a permissible question,
may I ask the name of the young lady with whom you were talking in the
hall just now--a young lady with a French maid and a Japanese spaniel?"

Mr. Blumentein was perceptibly paler. His eyes were full of suspicion,
almost fear.

"Why do you ask me that?" he inquired sharply.

"Out of curiosity, I am afraid," I answered readily. "I am sorry if I
have been indiscreet!"

The man made an effort to recover his composure. I could see, though,
that, for some reason, my question had disquieted him.

"The lady's name is Miss Van Hoyt," he said slowly. "I believe that she
is of a very well-known American family. She came here with excellent
recommendations; but, beyond her name, I really know very little about
her. Nothing more I can do for you, Mr. Courage?"

"Nothing at all, thank you," I answered, moving towards the door.

"They have just telephoned down to say that a gentleman has called for
you--Sir Gilbert Hardross, I believe."

I nodded and glanced at the clock.

"Thanks!" I said, "I must hurry."

"I will reserve a table for you in the restaurant to-night, sir," Mr.
Blumentein said, bowing me out.

"For three, at eight o'clock," I answered.




CHAPTER IV

A MATCH AT LORD'S


My cousin, Gilbert Hardross, was eight years older than I, and of
intensely serious proclivities. He was, I believe, a very useful member
of the House, and absolutely conscientious in the discharge of what he
termed his duty to his constituents. We drove down together to Lord's,
and knowing him to be a person almost entirely devoid of imagination, I
forbore to make any mention of the events of the previous night. One
question, however, I did ask him.

"What sort of an hotel is the Universal supposed to be, Gilbert? Rather a
queer lot of people staying there, I thought."

My cousin implied by a gesture that he was not surprised.

"Very cosmopolitan indeed," he declared. "It is patronized chiefly, I
believe, by a certain class of Americans and gentlemen of the sporting
persuasion. The restaurant, of course, is good, and a few notabilities
stay there now and then. I should have thought the Carlton would have
suited you better."

I changed the subject.

"How are politics?" I asked.

He looked at me as though in reproach at the levity of my question.

"You read the papers, I suppose?" he remarked. "You know for yourself
that we are passing through a very critical time. Never," he added,
"since I have been in the House, have I known such a period of anxiety."

Considering that Gilbert represented a rural constituency, and that his
party was not even in office, I felt inclined to smile. However, I took
him seriously.

"Same old war scare, I suppose?" I remarked.

"It has been a 'scare' for a good many years," he replied seriously.
"People seem inclined to forget that behind the shadow all the time there
is the substance. I happen to know that there is a great deal of tension
just now at the Foreign Office!"

"Things seem pretty much as they were six months ago," I remarked. "There
is no definite cause for alarm, is there?"

"No definite cause, perhaps, that we know of," my cousin answered; "but
there is no denying the fact that an extraordinary amount of apprehension
exists in the best informed circles. As Lord Kestelen said to me
yesterday, one seems to feel the thunder in the air."

I was thoughtful for a moment. Perhaps, after all, I was inclined to envy
my cousin. My own life was a simple and wholesome one enough, but it was
far removed indeed from the world of great happenings. Just then, I felt
the first premonitions of dissatisfaction.

"I believe I'm sorry after all, that I didn't go in for a career of some
sort," I remarked.

My cousin looked gratified. He accepted my regret as a tribute to his own
larger place in the world.

"In some respects," he admitted, "it is regrettable. Yet you must
remember that you are practically the head of the family. I have the
title, but you have the estates and the money. You should find plenty to
do!"

I nodded.

"Naturally! That isn't exactly what I meant, though. Here we are, and by
Jove, I'm late!"

My cousin cared for cricket no more than for any other sports, but
because he represented Medchestershire, he made a point of coming to see
his County play. He took up a prominent position in the pavilion
enclosure, and requested me to inform the local reporters, who had come
up from Medchester, of his presence. I changed into my flannels quickly,
and was just in time to go out into the field with the rest of the team.

The morning's cricket was not particularly exciting, and I had hard work
to keep my thoughts fixed upon the game. Our bowling was knocked about
rather severely, but wickets fell with reasonable frequency. It was just
before luncheon time that the most surprising event of the day happened
to me. The captain of the M.C.C., who had just made his fifty, drove a
full pitch hard towards the boundary on the edge of which I was fielding.
By fast sprinting, and a lot of luck, I brought off the catch, and,
amidst the applause from the pavilion within a few feet of me, I heard my
cousin's somewhat patronizing congratulations:--

"Fine catch, Jim! Very fine catch indeed!"

I glanced round, and stood for a moment upon the cinder-path as though
turned to stone. My cousin, who had changed his seat, was smiling kindly
upon me a few yards away, and by his side, talking to him, was a young
lady with golden-brown hair, a French maid dressed in black, and a
Japanese spaniel. Her eyes met mine without any shadow of recognition.
She looked upon me from her raised seat, as though I were a performer in
some comedy being played for her amusement, in which she found it hard,
however, to take any real interest. I went back to my place in the field,
without any clear idea of whether I was upon my head or my heels, and my
fielding for the rest of the time was purely mechanical.

In about half an hour the luncheon bell rang. I made straight for my
cousin's seat, and, to my intense relief, saw that neither of them had as
yet quitted their places. Gilbert seemed somewhat surprised to see me!

"Well," he remarked, "you haven't done so badly after all. Five wickets
for 120 isn't it? You ought to get them out by four o'clock."

He hesitated. I glanced towards his companion, and he had no alternative.

"Miss Van Hoyt," he said, "will you allow me to introduce my cousin, Mr.
Hardross Courage?"

She bowed a little absently.

"Are you interested in cricket, Miss Van Hoyt?" I asked inanely.

"Not in the least," she answered. "I have a list somewhere--in my purse,
I think--of English institutions which must be studied before one can
understand your country-people. Cricket, I believe, is second on the
list. Your cousin was kind enough to tell me about this match, and how to
get here."

"We are staying at the same hotel, I think," I remarked.

"Very likely," she answered, "I am only in London for a short time. Is
the cricket over for the day now?"

I hastened to explain the luncheon arrangements. She rose at once.

"Then we will go," she said, turning to her maid and addressing her in
French. "Janette, we depart!"

The maid rose with suspicious alacrity. The spaniel yawned and looked at
me out of the corner of his black eye. I believe that he recognized me.

"Dare I ask you to honor us by lunching with my cousin and myself here,
Miss Van Hoyt?" I asked eagerly.

She smiled very slightly, but the curve of her lips was delightful.

"And see more cricket?" she asked. "No! I think not--many thanks all the
same!"

"I will put you in a hansom," my cousin said, turning towards her and
ignoring me.

She looked over her shoulder and nodded. The maid looked at me out of her
great black eyes, as though daring me to follow them, and, was it my
fancy, or did that little morsel of canine absurdity really show me its
white teeth on purpose? Anyhow, they strolled away, and left me there. I
waited for Gilbert.

He reappeared in about five minutes, with a hateful smirk upon his
well-cut but somewhat pasty features. I laid my hand upon his arm.

"Where did you meet her, Gilbert?" I asked. "Who is she? Where does she
come from? How long have you known her?"

"Gently, my dear fellow!" he answered calmly. "I met her at Lady
Tredwell's about a fortnight ago. I really know very little about her,
except that she seems a charming young lady."

"Where does she come from?" I asked--"what country, I mean? She speaks
like a foreigner!"

"Oh! she's American, of course," he told me--"a young American lady of
fortune, I believe."

"American," I repeated vaguely, "are you sure?"

"Perfectly!" he answered.

"Any relatives here?" I asked.

"None that I know of," he admitted.

"Any connection with the stage?"

"Certainly not! I told you that I met her at Lady Tredwell's."

We walked into the luncheon room in silence. Presently my cousin showed
signs of irritation.

"What the mischief are you so glum about?" he asked.

I looked up.

"I am not glum," I answered. "I was just thinking that the Hotel
Universal seemed rather a queer place for a young lady with a French
maid, a Japanese spaniel, and--no chaperon."

"You are an ass!" my cousin declared.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was not until the evening that Gilbert unbent. When, however, he
studied the menu of the dinner which I had ordered for his delectation,
and learned that I had invited his particular friend, Lord Kestelen, to
meet him, he invited me to descend below to the American bar and take a
cocktail while we waited for our guest.

"By the bye, Jim," he remarked, slipping his arm through mine, "I thought
that Miss Van Hoyt was particularly inquisitive about you this morning."

"In what way?" I asked, at once interested.

"She wanted to know what you did--how you spent your time. When I told
her that you had no profession, that you did nothing except play cricket
and polo, and hunt and shoot, she seemed most unaccountably surprised.
She appeared almost incredulous when I told her that you seldom came to
London, and still more seldom went abroad. I wonder what she had in her
head?"

"I have no idea," I answered thoughtfully. "I suppose it was only
ordinary curiosity. In America all the men do something."

"That must be so, no doubt," my cousin admitted, "but it didn't sound
like it. I wonder whether we shall see her this evening?"

I did not wonder at all! It seemed to me that I knew!




CHAPTER V

ON THE TERRACE


It was not until after my guests had departed, and I had almost given up
hope, that I caught sight of her. She was seated at a table in the
writing-room, and was in the act of sealing a letter. She looked up as I
entered, and, after a second's hesitation, bowed coldly. I summoned up
all my pluck, however, and approached her.

"Good evening, Miss Van Hoyt!" I said.

"Good evening, Mr. Courage!" she answered, proceeding to stamp her
envelope.

"Have you been to the theatre?" I asked.

"Not this evening," she replied; "I have been to a meeting."

"A meeting!" I repeated; "that sounds interesting!"

"I doubt whether you would have found it so," she answered dryly.

Her manner, without being absolutely repellent, was far from encouraging.
I found myself in the embarrassing position of having nothing left to
say. I gave up all attempt at conversational philandering.

"May I talk to you for a few minutes, Miss Van Hoyt?" I asked.

She raised her head and looked at me meditatively. Her eyes were the
color of early violets, but they were also very serious and very steady.
She appeared to be deliberately taking stock of me, but I could not
flatter myself that there was anything of personal interest in her
regard.

"Yes!" she answered at last, "for a few minutes. Not here though. Go
through the drawing-room on to the terrace, and wait for me there. Don't
go at once. Go downstairs and have a drink or something first."

I could see her looking through the glass doors, and divining her wishes,
I turned away at once. Mr. Blumentein was standing there, looking upon
us. His smile was almost ghastly in its attempted cordiality. He took off
his hat as I passed, and we exchanged some commonplace remark. I went
downstairs and strolled up and down. The minutes passed ridiculously
slowly. I looked at my watch a dozen times. At last I decided that I had
waited long enough. I ascended the stairs, and made my way through the
drawing-room on to the terrace. The place was deserted, but I had
scarcely walked to the farther end, before I heard the soft trailing of a
woman's skirt close at hand. I looked up eagerly, and she stepped out
from the drawing-room. For a moment she hesitated. I remained motionless.
I could do nothing but look at her. She wore a black evening dress--net I
think it was, with deep flounces of lace. Her neck and arms were
dazzlingly white in the half light; her lips were a little parted as she
stood and listened. Her whole expression was natural, almost childlike.
Suddenly she dropped the curtain and came swiftly towards me.

"Well," she said softly, "now that I am here, what have you to say to
me?"

I was horribly tempted to say things which must have sounded unutterably
foolish. With an effort I restrained myself. I addressed her almost
coldly.

"Miss Van Hoyt," I said, "I want to know whether you are the only woman
in this hotel who uses--that perfume."

She took out her handkerchief. A little whiff of faint fragrance came
floating out from its crumpled lace.

"You recognize it?"

"Yes!"

"So much the better!" she declared. "Let me tell you this at once. I have
not come here to answer questions. I have come to ask them. Are you
content?"

"I am content--so long as you are here," I murmured.

"The man whom you protected last night--whose life you probably saved--on
your honor, was he a stranger to you?"

"On my honor he was," I answered gravely.

"You have never seen him before?"

"To my knowledge--no!"

"You have never spoken to him before?"

"Never!"

She drew a little sigh.

"Your defence of him then," she said, "was simply accidental?"

"Entirely!" I answered.

"Has he communicated with you since?"

"Not in any way," I assured her.

She drew a little away from me. Her eyes were still fixed eagerly upon my
face.

"Are you inclined to believe in me--to believe what I say?" she asked.

"Absolutely," I answered.

"Then listen to me now," she said. "That man, never mind his name, is one
of nature's criminals. He is a traitor, a renegade, a malefactor. He has
sinned against every law, he has written his own death-warrant. He
deserves to die, he will die! That is a certain thing. He would have been
dead before now, but for me! Do you know why I have made them spare his
life?"

"No!" I answered. "Who are they? and who is to be his executioner?
Surely, if he is all that you say there are laws under whose ban he must
have come. It is not safe to talk like this of life and death here. All
those things are arranged nowadays in the courts."

She smiled at me scornfully.

"Never mind that," she said. "You speak now of things which you do not
understand. I want to tell you why I would not let them kill him."

"Well?"

"It is because if he is killed the secret goes with him. Never mind how
he came by it, or who he is. It is sufficient for you to know that he has
it. Up to now, he has resisted even torture. You remember the color of
his hair? It went like that in a night, but he held out. Now he knows
that he is going to die, and he is seeking for some one to whom he may
pass it on."

"What is this secret then?" I asked, perplexed.

"Don't be absurd," she answered. "If I knew it, should I be likely to
tell it to you? I have an idea of the nature of it, of course. But that
is not enough."

"But--who is he then?" I asked. "How came he to obtain possession of it?"

"Now you are asking questions," she reminded me. "Believe me, you are
safer, very much safer knowing nothing. If I were your friend--"

She hesitated. All the time her eyes were fixed upon me. She seemed to be
trying to read the thoughts which were passing through my brain.

"If you were my friend," I repeated--"well?"

"I would give you some excellent advice," she said slowly.

"I am ready to take it!" I declared.

"On trust?"

"I believe so," I answered. "At least, you might give me the chance." She
sank down upon the settee at the extreme end of the terrace. There was
little chance here of being overheard, as we had a clear view of the only
approach.

"After all," she said, "I do not think that it would be worth while. You
belong to a class which I do not understand--which I do not pretend to
understand. The things which seemed reasonable to me would probably seem
banal to you. I am sure that it would be useless!"

"But why?" I persisted. "You have said so much, you must say more. I
insist!"

A little wearily she pushed back the masses of hair from her forehead.
Her head rested for a moment upon her fingers. Her eyes deliberately
sought mine.

"Let me warn you," she said; "I am not the sort of woman whom you know
anything about. The usual things do not attract me; I have never been in
love with a man. I hope that I never shall be. And yet I think that I
find my way a little further into life than most of my sex."

"You have other interests," I murmured.

"I have! What they are it is not for you to know. I am only interested in
your sex so far as they are useful to me. You, if you were a different
sort of man, might be very useful to me."

"At least give me the chance," I begged.

She shook her head.

"This morning," she said, "it seemed to me that I saw in one moment an
epitome of your life. I saw every nerve of your body strained, I saw you
wound up to a great effort. It was to catch a ball! You succeeded, I
believe."

I laughed a little awkwardly.

"Yes! I caught it!" I remarked. "Success is something after all, isn't
it?"

"I suppose so," she admitted. "Afterwards I spoke to your cousin about
you. He told me that you lived on your estates, that you played games
well, that you shot birds and rabbits, and sent to prison drunken men
and poachers. 'But about his life?' I asked. 'This is his life,' your
cousin answered. 'He has never gone in for a career!'"

"I suppose," I said slowly, "that this seems to you a very unambitious
sort of existence!"

"Existence!" she answered scornfully, "it does not seem like existence at
all! Your joys are the joys of a highly trained animal; your sorrows and
your passions and your disappointments--they are at best those of the
yokel. What has life to do with games and sports? These things may have
their place and their use, but to make them all in all! The men whom I
have met are not like that!"

"I am sorry," I said. "You see the other things have not come my way!"

"You mean that you have not been out to seek them," she declared. "The
pulse of the world beats only for those who care to feel it."

"Let us take it for granted, for a moment, that you are right," I said,
"and that I am a convert. I am willing to abjure my sports and my quiet
days for a plunge into the greater world. Who will be my guide? Which
path shall I follow?"

"You are not in earnest," she murmured.

"Perhaps I am, perhaps not," I answered. "At any rate, there have been
times when I have found life a tame thing. Such a feeling came to me two
years ago, and I went to Africa to shoot lions."

She leaned towards me.

"You should hunt men, not lions," she whispered. "It is only the animal
courage in you which keeps you cool when you face wild beasts. It is a
different thing when you measure wits and strength with one of your own
race!"

"Count me a willing listener and go on," I said. "If you can show me the
way, I am willing to take it."

"Why not?" she said, half to herself. "You have strength, you have
courage! Why shouldn't you come a little way into life?"

"If it is by your side," I began passionately.

She stopped me with a look.

"Please go away," she said firmly. "You only weary me! If it is to gain
an opportunity of saying this sort of rubbish that you have induced me to
take you seriously, I can only say that I am sorry I have wasted a second
of my time upon you!"

"The two things are apart," I answered. "I will not allude to the one
again. My interest in what you have said is genuine. I am waiting for
your advice."

She rose slowly to her feet. She looked me in the eyes, but there was no
shadow of kindness in their expression.

"If I were a man," she said--"if I were you, I would seek out the person
whom you befriended--he goes by the name of Guest--and I would learn from
him--the secret!"

"Where can I find him?" I asked eagerly. "He seems to have disappeared
entirely."

Her voice sank to a whisper. Her breath fanned my cheek, so that I felt
half mad with the desire to hold her in my arms, if only for a moment. I
think that she must have seen the light flash in my eyes, but she ignored
it altogether.

"Go to your room," she said, "and wait till a messenger comes to you."




CHAPTER VI

"MR. GUEST"


I had been alone for nearly an hour before there came a cautious tapping
at my door, I opened it at once, and stared at my visitor in surprise. It
was the man in the grey tweed suit, who had broken into my room the night
before.

"You!" I exclaimed; "what the mischief are you doing here?"

"If you will permit me to enter," he said, "I shall be glad to explain."

He stepped past me into the room. I closed the door behind him.

"What do you want with me?" I asked.

My visitor regarded me thoughtfully through his gold-rimmed spectacles.
I, too, was taking careful note of him. Any one more commonplace--with
less of the bearing of a conspirator--it would be impossible to imagine.
His features, his clothes, his bearing, were all ordinary. His face had
not even the shrewdness of the successful business man. His brown beard
was carefully trimmed, his figure was a little podgy, his manner
undistinguished. I found it hard to associate him in my mind with such
things as the woman whom I had left a few moments ago had spoken of.

"I understand," he said, "that you wish for an interview with your
friend, Mr. Leslie Guest. His room happens to be close to mine. I shall
be pleased to conduct you there!"

"You have seen Miss Van Hoyt then?" I exclaimed.

"I have just left her!" he answered.

I stared at him incredulously.

"Do you mean to tell me," I said, "that, after last night, you have dared
to remain in the hotel--that you have a room here?"

My visitor smiled.

"But certainly," he said, "you are under some curious apprehension as to
the events of last night. My friend and I are most harmless individuals.
We only wanted a little business conversation with Mr. Guest, which he
was foolish enough to try and avoid. That is all arranged, now, however!"

"Is it?" I answered curtly. "Then I am sorry for Mr. Guest!"

Again my visitor smiled--quite a harmless smile it was, as of pity for
some unaccountably foolish person.

"You do not seem," he remarked, "if I may be pardoned for saying so, a
very imaginative person, Mr. Courage, but you certainly have some strange
ideas as to my friend and myself. Possibly Mr. Guest himself is
responsible for them! A very excitable person at times!"

"You had better take me to him, if that is your errand," I said shortly.
"This sort of conversation between you and me is rather a waste of time."

"Certainly!" he answered. "Will you follow me?"

We took the lift to the sixth floor, traversed an entire corridor, and
then, mounting a short and narrow flight of stairs, we arrived at a
passage with three or four doors on either side, and no exit at the
further end. We seemed to be entirely cut off from the main portion of
the hotel, and I noticed that there were no numbers on the doors of the
rooms. A very tall and powerful-looking man came to the head of the
stairs, on hearing our footsteps, and regarded us suspiciously. Directly
he recognized my companion, however, he allowed us to pass.

"A nice quiet part of the hotel this," my guide remarked,
glancing towards me.

"Very!" I answered dryly.

"A man might be hidden here very securely," he added.

"I can well believe it," I assented.

He knocked softly at the third door on the left. A woman's voice answered
him. A moment later, the door was opened by a nurse in plain hospital
dress.

"Good evening, nurse!" my companion said cheerfully. "This gentleman
would like to see Mr. Guest! Is he awake?"

The nurse opened the door a little wider, which I took for an invitation
to enter. She closed it softly behind me. My guide remained outside.

The room was a very small one, and furnished after the usual hotel
fashion. The only light burning was a heavily-shaded electric lamp,
placed by the bedside. The nurse raised it a little, and looked down upon
the man who lay there motionless.

"He is asleep," she remarked. "It is time he took his medicine. I must
wake him!"

She spoke with a pronounced foreign accent. Her fair hair and stolid
features left me little doubt as to her nationality. I was conscious of a
strong and instinctive dislike to her from the moment I heard her speak
and watched her bending over the bed. I think that her face was one of
the most unsympathetic which I had ever seen.

She poured some medicine into a glass, and turned on another electric
light. Her patient woke at once. Directly he opened his eyes, he
recognized me with a little start.

"You!" he exclaimed. "You!"

I sat down on the edge of the bed.

"You haven't forgotten me then?" I remarked. "I'm sorry you're queer!
Nothing serious, I hope?"

He ignored my words. He was looking at me all the time, as though
inclined to doubt the evidence of his senses.

"Who let you come--up here?" he asked in a whisper.

"I made inquiries about you, and got permission to come up," I answered.
"How are you feeling this evening?"

"I don't understand why they let you come," he said uneasily. "Stoop
down!"

The nurse came forward with a wineglass.

"Will you take your medicine, please?" she said.

"Presently," he answered, "put it down."

She glanced at the clock and held the glass out once more.

"It is past the time," she said.

"I have had two doses to-day," he answered. "Quite enough, I think. Set
it down and go away, please. I want to talk with this gentleman."

"Talking is not good for you," she said, without moving. "Better take
your medicine and go to sleep!"

He took the glass from her hand, and, with a glance at its contents which
puzzled me, drank it off.

"Now will you go?" he asked, handing back the glass to her.

She dragged her chair to the bedside.

"If you will talk," she said stolidly, "I must watch that you do not
excite yourself too much!"

He glanced meaningly at me.

"I have private matters to discuss!" he said.

"You are not well enough to talk of private matters, or anything else
important," she declared. "You will excite yourself. You will bring on
the fever. I remain here to watch. It is by the doctor's orders."

She sat down heavily within a few feet of us.

"You speak French?" Guest asked me.

I nodded.

"Fairly well!"

"Watch her! See whether she seems to understand. I want to speak of what
she must not hear."

She half rose from her chair. So far as her features could express
anything, they expressed disquietude.

"She does not understand," I said. "Go on!"

She bent over the bedside.

"You must not talk any more," she said. "It excites you! Your temperature
is rising."

He ignored her altogether.

"Listen," he said to me, "why they have let you come here I cannot tell!
You know that I am in prison--that I am not likely to leave here alive!"

"I don't think that it is so bad as that," I assured him.

"It is worse! I am likely to die without the chance of finishing--my
work. Great things will die with me. God knows what will happen."

"You have a doctor and a hospital nurse," I remarked. "That doesn't look
as though they meant you to die!"

"You don't know who I am, and you don't know who they are," he answered,
dropping his voice almost to a whisper.

"I want a month, one more month, and I might cheat them yet!"

"I don't think that they mean you to die," I said. "They have an idea
that you are in possession of some marvellous secret. They want to get
possession of that first."

"They persevere," he murmured. "In Paris--but never mind. They know very
well that that secret, if I die before I can finish my work, dies with
me, or--"

The nurse, who had left us a few moments before, re-entered the room. She
went straight to a chair at the further end of the apartment, and took up
a book. Guest looked at me with a puzzled expression.

"Stranger still!" he said, "we are allowed to talk."

"It may be only for a moment," I reminded him.

"Or pass it on to a successor who will complete my work," he said slowly.
"I fear that I shall not find him. The time is too short now."

"Have you no friends I could send for?" I asked.

"Not one!" he answered.

I looked at him curiously. A man does not often confess himself entirely
friendless.

"I need a strong, brave man," he said slowly--"one who is not afraid of
Death, one who has the courage to dare everything in a great cause!"

"A great cause!" I repeated. "They are few and far between nowadays."

He looked at me steadily.

"You are an Englishman!"

I laughed.

"Saxon to the backbone," I admitted.

"You would consider it a great cause to save your country from ruin, from
absolute and complete ruin!"

"My imagination," I declared, "cannot conceive such a situation."

"A flock of geese once saved an empire," he said, "a child's little
finger in the crack of the dam kept a whole city from destruction. One
man may yet save this pig-headed country of ours from utter disaster. It
may be you--it may be I!"

"You are also an Englishman!" I exclaimed.

"Perhaps!" he answered shortly. "Never mind what I am. Think! Think hard!
By to-morrow you must decide! Are you content with your life? Does it
satisfy you? You have everything else; have you ambition?"

"I am not sure," I answered slowly. "Remember that this is all new to me.
I must think!"

He raised himself a little in the bed. At no time on this occasion had he
presented to me the abject appearance of the previous night. His cheeks
were perfectly colorless, and this pallor, together with his white hair,
and the spotless bed-linen, gave to his face a somewhat ghastly cast, but
his dark eyes were bright and piercing, his features composed and
natural.

"Listen," he said, "they may try to kill me, but I have a will, too, and
I say that I will not die till I have found a successor to carry on--to
the end--what I have begun. Mind, it is no coward's game! It is a walk
with death, hand in hand, all the way."

He raised suddenly a warning finger. There was a knock at the door. The
nurse who answered it came to the bedside.

"The gentleman has stayed long enough," she announced. "He must go now!"

I rose and held out my hand. He held it between his for a moment, and his
eyes sought mine.

"You will come--to-morrow?"

"I will come," I promised. "To-morrow evening."




CHAPTER VII

A TÊTE-À-TÊTE DINNER


At about nine o'clock the following morning a note was brought to my room
addressed to me in a lady's handwriting. I tore it open at once. It was,
as I bad expected, from Miss Van Hoyt.

"DEAR MR. COURAGE,--

"I should like to see you for a few minutes at twelve o'clock in the
reading-room.

"Yours sincerely,

"ADÈLE VAN HOYT."

I wrote a reply immediately:--

"DEAR MISS VAN HOYT,--

"I regret that I am engaged for the day, and have to leave the hotel in
an hour. I shall return about seven o'clock. Could you not dine with me
this evening, either in the hotel or elsewhere?

"Yours sincerely,

"J. HARDROSS COURAGE."

Over my breakfast I studied the handwriting of her note. It might indeed
have served for an index to so much of her character as had become
apparent to me. The crisp, clear formation of the letters, the bold
curves and angular terminations, seemed to denote a personality free from
all feminine weaknesses. I was reminded at once of the unfaltering gaze
of her deep blue eyes, of the chill precision of her words and manner. I
asked myself, then, why a character so free, apparently, from all the
lovable traits of her sex, should have proved so attractive to me. I had
known other beautiful women, I was not untravelled, and I had met women
in Paris and Vienna who also possessed the more subtle charms of perfect
toilet and manners, and were free from the somewhat hopeless obviousness
of most of the women of our country. There was something beneath all
that. At the moment, I could not tell what it was. I simply realized
that, for the first time, a woman stood easily first in my life, that my
whole outlook upon the world was undermined.

Just as I was leaving the hotel, I saw her maid coming down the hall with
a note in her hand. I waited, and she accosted me.

"Monsieur Courage!"

"Yes!" I answered.

She gave me the note.

"There is no reply at present," she said, dropping her voice almost to a
whisper. "Monsieur might open it in his cab."

She gave me a glance of warning, and I saw that the hall porter and one
of his subordinates were somewhat unnecessarily near me. Then she glided
away, and I drove off in my cab. Directly we had started, I tore open the
envelope and read these few lines.

"DEAR MR. COURAGE,--

"I will dine with you to-night at the Café Français at eight o'clock.
Please take a table upstairs. Do not ask for me again or send me any
further message until we meet there.

"Yours sincerely,

"ADÈLE VAN HOYT."

At Lord's I was compelled to spend half the day hanging about the
pavilion, smoking a good many more cigarettes than I was accustomed to,
and finding the cricket much less interesting than usual. My own innings
fortunately kept me distracted for a little more than two hours, and the
effort of it soothed my nerves and did me good all round. On my way back
to the hotel, I determined to forget everything except that I was going
to dine alone with the one companion I would have chosen first out of the
whole world. In that frame of mind I bathed, changed my clothes, and made
my way a little before the appointed time to the Café Français.

I found out my table, sent for some more flowers, and ordered the wine.
Then I descended to the hall just in time to meet my guest.

She wore nothing over her evening dress save a lace scarf, which she
untwisted as we ascended the stairs. For some reason I fancied that she
was not very well pleased with me. Her greeting was certainly cool.

"Is this your favorite restaurant?" I asked, as the head-waiter ushered
us to our table.

"I have no favorite restaurant," she answered; "only to-night I felt in
the humor for French cooking--and French service."

I fancied that there was some meaning in the latter part of her sentence;
but at that time I did not understand. I had ordered the dinner
carefully; and I was glad to see that, although she ate sparingly, she
showed appreciation. Wine she scarcely touched.

"So you have been particularly engaged to-day," was almost her first
remark.

"I was forced to go to Lord's," I reminded her. "A cricket match lasts
three days."

"Three whole days!" she exclaimed, raising her eyebrows.

"Certainly! unless it is over before," I replied.

"And you mean to say that you are a prisoner there all that time--that
you could not leave if you chose to?"

"I am afraid not," I answered. "Cricket is a serious thing in this
country, you know. If you are chosen to play and commence in the match,
you must go through with it. Surely you have met with something of the
same sort of thing in the football matches in America!"

"I have never been interested in such things," she said. "I suppose
that is why I have never realized their importance. I am afraid, Mr.
Courage--"

"Well?"

She lifted her eyes to mine. What a color!--and what a depth. Then I
knew, as though by inspiration, how it was that I found myself passing
into bondage. Cold she might seem, and self-engrossed! It was because
the right chord had never been struck. Some day another light should
shine in those wonderful eyes. I saw her before me transformed, saw color
in her still, marble cheeks, saw her lips drift into a softer curve,
heard the tremor of passion in her quiet, languid tone.

"Do you know that you are staring at me?" she remarked, calmly.

I apologized profusely.

"It is a bad habit of mine," I assured her. "I was looking--beyond."

There was real interest then in her face. She leaned a little forward.
Perhaps it was my fancy, but I thought that she seemed to regard me
differently.

"How interesting!" she said. "Do you know I had not given you credit for
much imagination. You must tell me what you saw!"

"Impossible!" I declared.

"Rubbish!" she answered, "nothing is impossible. Besides, I ask it,"

"I do not know you well enough," I declared, helping myself to an
artichoke, "to be personal."

"The liberties you take in your thoughts," she answered, "I permit you to
render into speech. It is the same thing."

"One's thoughts," I answered, "are too phantasmagorial. One cannot
collect them into speech."

"You must try," she declared, "or I shall never, never dine with you
again. Nothing is so interesting as to see yourself from another's point
of view!"

"Is it understood," I asked, "that I am not held personally responsible
for my thoughts--that if I try to clothe them with words, I am held free
from offence?"

She considered for a moment.

"I suppose so," she said. "Yes! Go on."

I drank off my glass of wine, and waited until the waiter, who had been
carving a Rouen duckling on a stand by the side of the table, had stepped
back into the background.

"Very well!" I said. "I am thirty-three years old and a bachelor, well
off, and I have never been a stay-at-home. I know something of society in
Paris, in Vienna, in Rome, as well as London. I have always found women
agreeable companions, and I have never avoided them. The sex, as a whole,
has attracted me. From individual members of it I have happened to remain
absolutely heart-whole."

"Marvellous," she murmured in gentle derision. "Please pass the toast.
Thank you!"

"I have been compelled," I said, "to be egotistical. I must now become
personal. I saw you for the first time in the hall at the Universal, the
morning before yesterday. I encountered you the night before under
extremely dubious circumstances. I spoke to you for the first time
yesterday. I have met other women as beautiful, I have met many others
who have been more gracious to me. These things do not seem to count. You
have asked for truth, mind, and you are going to have it. As surely as we
are sitting here together, I know that, from henceforth, for me there
will be--there could be--no other woman in the world!"

She moved in her chair a little restlessly. Her eyes avoided mine. Her
eyebrows had contracted a little, but I could not see that she was angry.

"What am I to think of such a declaration as that?" she asked quietly.
"You are not a wizard. You have seen of me what I chose, and you have
seen nothing which a man should find lovable, except my looks."

I smiled as I leaned a little forward.

"Don't do me an injustice," I begged. "You have brought me now to the
very moment when I forgot myself, and prompted your question. Remember
that one has always one's fancy. I looked at you to-night, and I thought
that I saw another woman--or rather I thought that I saw the woman that
you might be, that I would pray to make you. The other woman is there,
I think. I only hope that it may be my good fortune to call her into
life."

Her head was bent over her plate. She seemed to be listening to the
music--or was there something there which she did not wish me to see? I
could not tell. The waiter intervened with another course. When she spoke
to me again, her tone was almost cold, but it troubled me very little.
There was a softness in her eyes which she could not hide.

"It seems to me," she said, "that we have been very frivolous. I agreed
to dine with you that we might speak together of this unfortunate person,
Leslie Guest. You saw him last night?"

"Yes," I answered, "I saw him."

My tone had become grave, and my face overcast. She was watching me
curiously.

"Well!"

"I am bothered," I admitted. "I don't quite know what I ought to do!"

"Explain!"

"It seemed to me," I said, "that the man was neither more nor less than a
prisoner there in the hands of those who, for some reason or other, are
his enemies."

"That," she admitted, "is fairly obvious; what of it?"

"Well," I said, "the most straightforward thing for me to do, I believe,
would be to go to the nearest police-station and tell them all I know."

She laughed softly.

"What an Englishman you are!" she exclaimed. "The law, or a letter to the
_Times_. These are your final resources, are they not? Well, in this
case, let me assure you that neither would help you in the least."

"I am not so sure," I answered. "At any rate, I do not see the fun of
letting him remain there, to be done to death by those mysterious enemies
of his."

"Then why not take him away?" she asked quietly.

"Where to?" I asked.

"Your own home, if you are sufficiently interested in him!"

"Do you mean that?" I asked.

"I do! Listen! I have no pity for the man who calls himself Leslie Guest!
Death he has deserved, and his fate, whomever might intervene, is
absolutely inevitable. But I do not wish him to die--at present!"

"Why not?"

"You can imagine, I think. He has the secret."

"He does not seem to me," I remarked, "the sort of man likely to part
with it."

"Not to me," she answered quickly, "not to those others. From us he would
guard it with his life! With you it is different."

"I am not sure," I said slowly, "that I wish to become a sharer of such
dangerous knowledge."

"You are afraid?" she asked coldly.

"I do not see what I have to gain by it," I admitted. "I am not curious,
and the possession of it certainly seems to entail some inconvenience, if
not danger."

Her lip curled a little. She nodded as though she quite understood my
point of view.

"You have said enough," she declared; "I perceive that I was not
mistaken! You are exactly the sort of man I thought you were from the
first. It is better for you to return to your cricket and your sports.
You are at home with them; in the great world you would soon be weary and
lost. Call for your bill, please, and put me in a cab. I have a call to
make before I return to the hotel"

"One moment more," I begged. "You have not altogether understood me! I
have spoken from my own point of view only. I have no interest in the
salvation of Leslie Guest, beyond an Englishman's natural desire to see
fair play. I have no wish to be burdened with a secret which seems to
spell life or death in capital letters. But show me where your interest
lies, and I promise you that I will be zealous enough! Tell me what to do
and I will do it. My time and my life are yours. Do what you will with
them! Can I say more than that?"

She flashed a wonderful look at me across the table--such a look that my
heart beat, and my pulses flowed to a strange, new music. Her tone was
soft, almost caressing.

"You mean this?"

"Upon my honor I do!" I answered.

"Then take Leslie Guest with you back to your home in the country," she
said. "Keep him with you, keep every one else away from him. In less than
a week he will tell you his secret!"

"I will do it," I answered.




CHAPTER VIII

IN THE TOILS


"This," the nurse said, after a moment's somewhat awkward pause, "is the
doctor--Dr. Kretznow!"

A tall, awkwardly built man, wearing heavy glasses, turned away from the
bedside, and looked at me inquiringly.

"My name is Courage, doctor," I said; "I am an acquaintance of your
patient's."

The doctor frowned on me as he picked up his hat.

"I have given no permission," he said, "for my patient to receive
visitors."

"I trust that you don't consider him too ill," I answered. "I was hoping
to hear that he was better!"

"He is doing well enough," the doctor declared, "if he is left alone.
But," he added, in a lower tone, "he is a sick man--a very sick man."

I glanced towards the bedside, and was shocked at the deathly pallor of
his face. His eyes were half closed. He had not the air of hearing
anything that we said. I walked towards the door with the doctor.

"What is the matter with him, doctor?" I asked.

He glanced towards me suspiciously.

"I was told," he said, "that my patient was without friends here, or any
one for whom he could send."

"I have only known him a very short time," I answered, "but I am
interested in him. If I may be allowed to say so, I am perfectly willing
to defray any charges--"

He stopped me impatiently.

"I am physician to the hotel," he said, "Mr. Blumentein arranges all that
with me!"

"Then perhaps as I have told you I am interested in him, I can trespass
so far upon your courtesy as to inquire into the nature of his ailment,"
I said.

"I am afraid," he said, "that as you are not a medical man, I could
scarcely make you understand."

"There was--an accident, I think," I began.

"A trifle! Nothing at all," the doctor declared hastily. "The trouble is
with his heart. You will excuse me! I have many calls to make this
evening."

"Perhaps you would kindly give me your address," I said. "Dr. Mumford,
the heart specialist, is an acquaintance of mine. You would not object to
meet him in consultation?"

He looked at me for a moment fixedly.

"It is not at all necessary!" he declared. "If Mr. Blumentein is not
satisfied with my conduct of the case, I will withdraw from it at once!
Otherwise, I shall not tolerate any interference!"

He left me without another word. I returned to the bedside. As I
approached, Guest deliberately opened one eye and then closed it again. I
addressed him in French:

"How are you?"

"About as I am meant to be," he answered.

The nurse came over to the bedside.

"It is not well for the gentleman to talk to-night," she said. "The
doctor has said that he must be quite quiet."

"I shall only stay a few minutes," I answered; "and I will be careful not
to disturb him."

She stood quite still for a moment, looking sullenly at us. Then she
turned away and left the room. Guest raised himself a little in the bed.

"She has gone to fetch one of my--guardians," he remarked grimly.

"I am going to take you away from here--down to my home in the country,"
I said. "Do you think you can stand the journey?"

"Whether I can or not makes no difference," he answered. "I shall never
be allowed to leave this room alive."

The Britisher in me was touched.

"Rubbish," I answered, "if you talk like that, I shall go to Scotland
Yard at once. I tell you frankly, I don't like your nurse. I don't like
your doctor, I don't like their shutting you up in this lonely part of
the hotel, and I can't understand the attitude of Mr. Blumentein at all.
He must know what he is risking in attempting this sort of thing, in
London of all places in the world."

He interrupted me impatiently.

"Don't talk about Scotland Yard," he said. "These people are not fools.
They would have a perfect answer to any charge you might bring."

"You don't mean that you intend to lie here and be done to death?" I
protested.

"Death for me is a certain thing," he answered. "I have been a doomed man
for months. There was never a chance for me after I entered the portals
of this hotel. I knew that; but I backed my luck. I thought that I might
have had time to finish my work--to lay the match to the gunpowder."

"Listen," I said, "there is a lady--a young lady staying here, a Miss Van
Hoyt."

"Well?"

"It was her suggestion that I should take you away with me!"

His eyes seemed to dilate as he stared at me.

"Say that again," he murmured.

I repeated my words. He raised himself a little in the bed.

"What do you know of her?" he asked.

"Not much," I answered. "She came to Lord's cricket ground. My cousin was
with her. We have spoken about you."

"You know--"

"I know that she is or appears to be one of your--what shall I
say--enemies."

"She is willing," he repeated, "for me to go away with you! Ah!"

A sudden understanding came into his face.

"Yes!" he declared hoarsely, "I think that I understand. Go back to her!
Say that I consent. She--she is different to those others. She plays--the
great game! Hush! I go to sleep!"

He closed his eyes. The door opened, and the nurse entered, followed by a
man who bowed gravely to me. He was still wearing a grey tweed suit and a
red tie; his eyes beamed upon me from behind his gold-rimmed spectacles.

"Ah!" he exclaimed softly, "so you have come to see your friend. It is
very kind of you! I trust that you find him better."

I pointed to the nurse.

"Send her away," I said. "I want to talk to you!"

"We will talk with pleasure," the newcomer answered, "but why here? We
shall disturb our friend. Come into my room, and we will drink a whisky
and soda together."

"Thank you, no!" I answered dryly. "I will drink with you at the bar, or
in the smoking-room if you like--not in your room."

He bowed.

"An admirable precaution, sir," he declared. "We will go to the
smoking-room."

I glanced towards the bed. Guest was sleeping, or feigning sleep. My
companion's eyes followed mine sympathetically.

"Poor fellow!" he exclaimed. "I am afraid that he is very ill!"

I opened the door and pushed him gently outside.

"We will go downstairs and have that talk," I said.

We found a quiet corner in the smoking-room, where there was a little
recess partitioned off from the rest of the room. My companion drew a
small card-case from his pocket.

"Permit me, Mr. Courage," he said, "to introduce myself. My name is
Stanley, James Stanley, and I come from Liverpool. Waiter, two best
Scotch whiskies, and a large Schweppe's soda."

"Mr. Stanley," I said, "I am glad to know a name by which I can call you,
but this is going to be a straight talk between you and me; and I may as
well tell you that I do not believe that your name is Stanley, or that
you come from Liverpool!"

"Ah! It is immaterial," he declared softly.

"I want to speak to you," I said, "about the man Guest upstairs. It seems
to me that there is a conspiracy going on against him in this hotel. I
want you to understand that I am not prepared to stand quietly aside and
see him done to death!"

My companion laughed softly. He took off his spectacles, and wiped them
with a silk handkerchief.

"A conspiracy," he repeated, "in the Hotel Universal. My dear sir, you
are letting your indignation run away with you! Consider for a moment
what you are saying. The hotel is full of visitors from all parts of
England. It is one of the largest and best known in London. Its
reputation--"

"Oh! spare me all this rot," I interrupted rudely. "Let me remind you of
what happened two nights ago, when you broke into my room in search of
Guest."

"Ah!" he remarked, "that, no doubt, must have seemed an odd proceeding to
you. But, in the first place, you must remember we had no idea that the
room was occupied. We were very anxious to have an explanation with our
friend, purely a business matter, and he had irritated us both by his
persistent avoidance of it. We have had our little talk now, and the
matter is over. My partner has already left, and I am returning to
Liverpool myself to-morrow or the next day. I fear that you were misled
by my language and manner on that unfortunate evening. I am sorry; but
I must admit that I was over-excited."

"Very good," I said. "Then, perhaps, as you are so fluent with your
explanations, you will tell me why Mr. Guest has been removed to a part
of the hotel which I am quite sure that no one knows anything about, is
being attended by a doctor of most unprepossessing appearance, and a
nurse who treats him as a jailer would!"

Mr. Stanley's face beamed with good-humored mirth.

"You young men," he declared, "are so imaginative. Mr. Guest has simply
been removed to the part of the hotel which is reserved for sick people.
No one likes to know that they have anybody next door to them who is
seriously ill. As for the doctor, he is a highly qualified practitioner,
and visits the hotel every day by arrangement with the manager; and the
nurse was sent from the nearest nurses' home."

"You think, then," I continued, "that if I were to go to Scotland Yard,
and tell them all that I know, that I should be making a fool of myself."

Mr. Stanley's eyes twinkled.

"Why not try it?" he suggested. "There is a detective always in
attendance on the premises. Send for him now, and let us hear what he
says."

"Very well, Mr. Stanley," I said, "your explanations all sound very
reasonable. I am to take it, then, that if Mr. Guest desired to--say
leave the hotel to-morrow, no one would make any objection!"

Mr. Stanley was almost distressed.

"Objection! My dear sir! Mr. Guest is his own master, is he not? He pays
his own bill, and he leaves when he likes. At present, of course, he is
not able to, but that is simply a matter of health."

"I am proposing," I said, "to take Mr. Guest away with me into the
country to-morrow."

Mr. Stanley looked at me steadily. There was a subtle change in his face.
I was watching him closely, and I saw the glint of his eyes behind his
spectacles. I began to think I had been rash to lay my cards upon the
table.

"I am afraid," he said gently, "that you are proposing what would
be--certain death to Mr. Guest--in his present state of health."

"I am afraid," I replied, "that if I leave him here, it will also be--to
certain death!"

Mr. Stanley called to the waiter.

"One small drink more, and I must go to bed," he said. "Up to a certain
point, I agree with you. I believe that Leslie Guest is a dying man.
Whether he stays here or goes makes little difference--very little
difference indeed to me. Your health, Mr. Courage! A farewell drink this,
I am afraid!"

I raised my tumbler to my lips, and nodded to him. Then I rose to my
feet, but almost as I did so, I realized what had happened. The floor
heaved up beneath my feet, my knees trembled, I felt the perspiration
break out upon my forehead. Through the mist which was gathering in front
of my eyes, I could see the half-curious, half-derisive glances of the
other occupants of the room; and opposite, Mr. Stanley, his eyes blinking
at me from behind his spectacles, his expression one of grieved concern.
I leaned over toward him.

"You d----d scoundrel!" I exclaimed.

After that, my head fell forward upon my folded arms, and I remembered no
more!




CHAPTER IX

AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR


I sat up in bed, heavy, unrefreshed, and with a splitting headache. The
clock on the mantelpiece was striking three o'clock; from below I could
hear the clatter of vehicles in the courtyard, and the distant roar of
traffic from the streets beyond. Slowly I realized that it was three
o'clock in the afternoon; the events of the night before re-formed
themselves in my mind. I rang the bell for the valet and sprang out of
bed.

"Why didn't you call me this morning?" I asked angrily.

"You gave no orders, sir," the man answered. "I have been in the room
once or twice, but you were sleeping so soundly that I didn't like to
disturb you."

I began tearing on my clothes.

"What sort of weather has it been?" I asked.

"Pouring rain since seven o'clock, sir!" the man answered. "No chance of
play at Lord's, sir!"

"Thank Heaven!" I exclaimed fervently. "Order me a cup of tea, will you,
and--stop a minute--take this note round to Miss Van Hoyt--367."

He returned in a few minutes with the tea; but he brought my note back
again.

"Miss Van Hoyt left the hotel this morning, sir," he announced.

I turned round quickly.

"She is coming back, of course!" I exclaimed.

"The chambermaid thought not, sir," the man declared. "She has given up
her room, at any rate. They would know for certain down in the office."

I finished the rest of my toilet in a hurry, and went straight to the
reception bureau. I fancied that the clerk to whom I addressed myself
eyed me queerly.

"Can you tell me if Miss Van Hoyt has left the hotel?" I asked.

"She left this morning, sir," he replied.

"Is there any message for me--Mr. Courage?" I asked.

He disappeared for a moment, but I fancied that his search was only
perfunctory.

"Nothing at all for you, sir," he announced.

I concealed my surprise as well as I could.

"Will you send my card up and ascertain if I can see Mr. Leslie Guest?" I
asked. "He is staying somewhere in the south wing."

"Mr. Leslie Guest left just before one o'clock, sir," the clerk answered.

"Left the hotel!" I repeated. "Why! He was in bed yesterday, and scarcely
able to move."

The clerk shrugged his shoulders. He had the air of being a little tired
of me.

"He was probably better to-day," he answered. "At any rate, he was well
enough to travel."

"Is Mr. James Stanley, of Liverpool, in?" I asked.

"Mr. Stanley paid his bill and went away at eight o'clock this morning,"
the man answered, going back to his ledger.

"I must see the manager at once," I declared firmly.

The clerk called a page-boy.

"Take this gentleman's name down to Mr. Blumentein," he ordered shortly.

I waited for several minutes. Then the boy returned, and beckoned me to
follow him.

"Mr. Blumentein will see you in his office, sir," he announced. "Will you
come this way?"

It was a very different Mr. Blumentein who looked up now, as I was shown
into his private room. He regarded me with a frown, and his manner was
indubitably hostile.

"You wish to speak to me, sir?" he asked curtly.

"I do!" I answered. "There is a good deal going on in your hotel which I
do not understand; and I may as well tell you that I am determined to get
to the bottom of it. I was drugged in the public smoking-room last night
by a man who called himself Stanley, acting in collusion with one of the
waiters."

Mr. Blumentein looked at me superciliously.

"Mr. Courage," he said, "the events of last night preclude my taking you
seriously any more; but I should like you to understand that you have
proved yourself an extremely troublesome guest here."

"What do you mean by the events of last night?" I asked.

"You were drunk in the smoking-room," Mr. Blumentein replied curtly, "and
had to be assisted to your room. Don't trouble to deny it. There are a
dozen witnesses, if necessary. I shall require you to leave the hotel
within the next few hours."

"You know very well that I was nothing of the sort," I answered hotly.

"It is easily proved," Mr. Blumentein asserted. "Please understand that I
am not prepared to discuss the matter with you."

"Very well," I answered. "Let it go at that. Whilst I was safely put out
of the way, several of your guests seem to have left. Will you give me
Miss Van Hoyt's address?"

"I will not," the manager answered.

"Mr. Leslie Guest's then?"

"I do not know it," he declared.

I turned towards the door.

"Very well, Mr. Blumentein," I said; "but if you imagine that this matter
is going to rest where it is, you are very much mistaken. I am going
straight to a private detective's, who is also a friend of mine!"

"Then for Heaven's sake go to him!" Mr. Blumentein declared irritably.
"We have nothing to conceal here! All that we desire is to be left alone
by guests whose conduct about the place is discreditable. Good afternoon,
Mr. Courage!"

I returned to my room and had my bag packed. Then I sat down to think. I
reviewed the course of events carefully since the night before last. Try
how I could, I found it absolutely impossible to arrive at any clear
conclusion with regard to them. The whole thing was a phantasmagoria. The
one person in whom I had believed, and at whose bidding I was willing to
take a hand in this mysterious game, had disappeared without a word of
explanation or farewell. There could be only one reasonable course of
action for me to pursue, and that was to shrug my shoulders and go my
way. I had my own life to live, and although its limitations might be a
little obvious, it was yet a reasonable and sane sort of life. Of Adèle I
refused resolutely to think. I knew very well that I should not be able
to forget her. On the other hand, I was convinced now that she was simply
making use of me. I would go back home and forget these two days. I would
reckon them as belonging to some one else's life, not mine.

I paid my bill, left the hotel, and caught the five o'clock train from
St. Pancras to Medchester. From there I had a ten-mile drive, and it
was almost dusk when we turned off the main road into the private
approach to Saxby Hall--my old home. Every yard of the land around, half
meadow-land, half park, I knew almost by heart; every corner and chimney
of the long irregular house was familiar to me. It all looked very
peaceful as we drove up to the front; the blue smoke from the chimneys
going straight up in a long, thin line; not a rustle of breeze or
movement anywhere. Perkins, my butler, came out to the steps to meet me,
and successfully concealed his surprise at my return two days before I
was expected.

"Any news, Perkins?" I inquired, as he helped me off with my coat.

"Nothing in any way special, sir," Perkins replied. "The cricket team
from Romney Court were over here yesterday, sir, for the day."

"Gave 'em a licking, I hope?" I remarked.

"We won by thirty runs, sir," Perkins informed me. "Johnson was bowling
remarkably well, sir. He took seven wickets for fifteen!"

I nodded, and was passing on to my study. Perkins followed me.

"We got your first telegram early this morning, sir!" he remarked.

I stopped short.

"What telegram?" I asked.

"The one telling us to prepare for the gentleman, sir," Perkins
explained. "We had to guess at the train; but we sent the brougham in for
the twelve o'clock, and Johnson waited. We've given him the south room,
sir, and I think that he's quite comfortable."

"What the devil are you talking about?" I asked.

It was Perkins' turn to stare, which he did for a moment blankly.

"The gentleman whose arrival you wired about, sir," he answered. "Mr.
Guest, I believe his name is."

"Mr. Guest is here now?" I asked.

"Certainly, sir! In the south room, sir! He asked to be told directly you
arrived, sir!"

I turned abruptly towards the staircase. I said not another word to
Perkins, but made my way to the room which he had spoken of. I knocked at
the door, and it was Guest's voice which bade me enter. It was Guest
himself, who in a grey travelling suit, which made him look smaller and
frailer than ever, lay stretched upon the sofa over by the great south
windows!




CHAPTER X

"WORTLEY FOOTE--THE SPY"


He sat up at once, but he did not attempt to rise. His eyes watched me
anxiously. My surprise seemed to trouble him.

"I am afraid--" he began hesitatingly.

"You need be afraid of nothing," I interrupted, going over and taking his
hand. "Only how on earth did you get here?"

He looked around before replying. The old habits had not deserted him.

"Your friend, Miss Van Hoyt, arranged it," he said. "The others had
another plan; but they were no match for her."

"But how did you come?" I asked. "You were not well enough to travel
alone."

"She left me at Medchester station," he answered. "Your carriage brought
me over here, and your servants have been most kind. But--but before I go
to bed to-night, there are things which I must say to you. We must not
sleep under the same roof until we have arrived at an understanding."

I looked at him with compassion. He had shaved recently, and his face,
besides being altogether colorless, seemed very wan and pinched. His
clothes seemed too big for him, his eyes were unnaturally clear and
luminous.

"We will talk later on," I said, "if it is really necessary. Shall you
feel well enough to come down and have dinner with me, or would you like
something served up here?"

"I should like to come down," he answered, "if you will lend me your man
to help me dress."

"Come as you are," I said. "We shall be alone!"

He smiled a little curiously.

"I should like to change," he declared. "A few hours of civilization,
after all I have been through, will be rather a welcome experience."

"Very well," I told him, "I will send my man at once. There is just
another thing which I should like to ask you. Have you any objection to
seeing my doctor?"

"None whatever," he answered. "I think perhaps," he added, "that it would
be advisable, in case anything should happen while I am here."

I laughed cheerfully.

"Come," I declared, "nothing of that sort is going to happen now. You are
perfectly safe here, and this country air is going to do wonders for
you."

He made no answer in words. His expression, however, plainly showed me
what he thought. I did not pursue the subject.

"I will send a man round at once," I said, turning away. "We dine at
eight."

My guest at dinner-time revealed traces of breeding and distinction which
I had not previously observed in him. He was obviously a man of birth,
and one who had mixed in the very best society of other capitals, save
London alone. He ate very little, but he drank two glasses of my
"Regents" Chambertin, with the air of a critic. He declined cigars, but
he carried my cigarette box off with him into the study; and he accepted
without hesitation some '47 brandy with his coffee. All the time,
however, he had the air of a man with something on his mind, and we had
scarcely been alone for a minute, before he brushed aside the slighter
conversation which I was somewhat inclined to foster, and plunged into
the great subject.

"Mr. Courage," he said, "I want to speak to you seriously." I nodded.

"Why don't you wait for a few days, until you have pulled up a little?" I
suggested. "There is no hurry. You are perfectly safe down here."

He looked at me as one might look at a child.

"There is very urgent need for hurry," he asserted, "and apart from
that, death waits for no man, and my feet are very near indeed to the
borderland. There must be an understanding between us."

"As you will," I answered, "although I won't admit that you are as ill as
you think you are!"

He smiled faintly.

"That," he said, "is because you do not know. Now listen. You have to
make, within the next few minutes, a great decision. Very likely, after
you have chosen, you will curse me all your days. It was a freak of fate
which brought us together. But I must say this. You are the sort of man
whom I would have chosen, if any measure of choice had fallen to my lot.
And yet," he looked around, "I am almost afraid to speak now that I have
seen you in your home, now that I have realized something of what your
life must be."

All the time, underneath the flow of his level words, there trembled the
sub-note of a barely controlled emotion. The man's eyes were like fire.
His cigarette had gone out. He lit another with restless, twitching
fingers.

"Words, at any rate, can do me no harm," I said encouragingly. "Go on! I
should like to hear what you have to say."

"Words," he exclaimed, "bring knowledge, and with knowledge comes all the
majesty or the despair of life. One does not need to be a student of
character to know that you are a contented man. You are well off. You
have a beautiful home, you are a sportsman, your days are well-ordered,
life itself slips easily by for you. You have none of the wanderer's
discontent, none of the passionate heart longings of the man who has
lifted even the corner of the veil to see what lies beyond. If I speak,
all this may be changed to you. Why should I do it?"

His words stirred me. The eloquence of real conviction trembled in his
tone. I felt some answering spark of excitement creep into my own blood.

"Let me hear what you have to say, at all events!" I exclaimed. "Don't
take too much for granted. Mine has been a simple life, but there have
been seasons when I would have changed it. I come of an adventurous race,
though the times have curbed our spirits. It was my grandfather, Sir
Hardross Courage, who was ambassador at Paris when Napoleon--"

"I know! I know!" he exclaimed. "Your grandfather! Good! And Nicholas
Courage--what of him?"

"My uncle!" I answered. "You have heard of him in Teheran."

A spot of color burned in his pallid cheeks.

"I hesitate no longer," he cried. "These were great men; but I will show
you the way to deeds which shall leave their memory pale. Listen! Did you
ever hear of Wortley Foote?"

"The spy," I answered, "of course!"

He started as though he were stung even to death. His cheeks were
flushed, and then as suddenly livid. He seemed to have grown smaller in
his chair, to be shrinking away as though I had threatened him with a
blow.

"I forgot," he muttered. "I forgot. Never mind. I am Wortley Foote. At
least it has been my name for a time."

It was my turn to be astonished. I looked at him for a moment petrified.
Was this indeed the man who had brought all Europe to the verge of war,
who was held responsible for the greatest international complication of
the century? Years had passed, but I remembered well that week of fierce
excitement when the clash of arms rang through Europe, when three great
fleets were mobilized, and the very earth seemed to reverberate with the
footsteps of the gathering millions, moving always towards one spot.
Disaster was averted by what seemed then to be a miracle; but no one ever
doubted but that one man, and one man alone, was responsible for what
might have been the most awful catastrophe of civilized times. And it was
that man who sat in my study and watched me now, with ghastly face and
passionately inquiring eyes. When he spoke, his voice sounded thin and
cracked.

"I had forgotten," he said, "that I was speaking to one of the million.
To you, mine must seem a name to shudder at. Yet listen to me. My life is
finished. I have lied before now in great causes. No man in my position
could have avoided it. To-day, I speak the truth. You must believe me! Do
you hear?"

"Yes!" I answered, "I hear!"

"Death is my bedfellow," he continued. "Death is by my side like my own
shadow. In straits like mine, the uses of chicanery are past. I come of a
family of English gentlemen, even as you, Hardross Courage. We are of the
same order, and I speak to you man to man, with the dew of death upon my
lips. You will listen?"

"Yes!" I answered, "I will listen!"

"You will believe?"

"Yes!" I answered, "I will believe!"

He drew a breath of relief. A wonderful change lightened his face.

"Diplomacy demanded a victim," he said, "and I never flinched. Two men
knew the truth, and they are dead. My scheme was a bold one. If it had
succeeded, it would have meant an alliance with Germany, an absolute
incontrovertible alliance and an imperishable peace. France and Russia
would have been powerless--the balance of strength, of accessible
strength, must always have been with us. Every German statesman of note
was with me. The falsehood, the vilely egotistic ambition of one man,
chock-full to the lips with personal jealousy, a madman posing as a
genius, wrecked all my plans. My life's work went for nothing. We escaped
disaster by a miracle and my name is written in the pages of history as a
scheming spy--I who narrowly escaped the greatest diplomatic triumph of
all ages. That is the epitome of my career. You believe me?"

"I must," I answered.

"I was reported to have committed suicide," he continued. "Nothing was
ever farther from my thoughts."

I followed an ancient maxim. I sought safety in the shadow of the enemy.
I went to Berlin."

"The man who foiled you--" I said slowly.

"You know who it was," he interrupted. "The man who believes that he
hears voices from heaven, that by the side of his Divine wisdom his
ministers are fools and children, crying for they know not what! I may
not see it, but you most surely will see the pricking of the bubble of
his reputation. His name may stand for little more than mine, when the
book of fate is finally closed."

He was silent for a moment, and glanced towards the sideboard. I could
see the perspiration standing out in little white beads upon his
forehead; he had the air of a man utterly exhausted. I poured him out a
glass of wine, and brought it over. He drank it slowly, and reached out
his hand for a cigarette.

"Never mind these things," he said more quietly. "A man in my condition
should avoid talking of his enemies. I lived for two years quietly in
Berlin. I changed as much of my appearance as illness had left
recognizable; and during all that time I lived the ordinary life of a
German citizen of moderate means, without my identity being once
suspected. I frequented the cafés, I made friends with people in official
positions. At the end of that time, I commenced to shape my plans. You
can imagine of what nature they were. You can imagine what it was that I
desired. I wanted to catch my enemy tripping."

I looked across at him a little incredulously. This was a strange story
which he was telling me, and I knew very well, from the growing
excitement of his manner, that its culmination was to come.

"But how could you in Berlin, alone, hope to accomplish this?" I asked.

"I knew the ropes," he answered simply, "and I lived for nothing else. I
saw him drive amongst his people every day, and I bowed with the rest, I
who could have spat in his face, I who carried with me the secret of his
miserable perfidy, who knew alone why his ministers regarded him as a
spoilt and fretful child. But I waited. Gradually I wormed my way a
little into the fringe of the German Secret Service. I took them scraps
of information; but such scraps that they were always hungry for more. I
posed as a Dutch South African. They even chaffed me about my hatred for
England. All the time I progressed, until, by chance, I stumbled across
one of the threads which led--to the great Secret!"

There was a discreet knocking at the door. We both turned impatiently
around. A servant was just ushering in our village doctor.

"Dr. Rust, sir," he announced.




CHAPTER XI

A LEGACY OF DANGER


I was scarcely aware myself to what an extent my attention had been
riveted upon this strange story of my guest's, until the interruption
came. The entry of the cheerful little village doctor seemed to dissolve
an atmosphere thick with sensation. I drew a long breath as I rose to my
feet. There was a certain measure of relief in the escape from such high
tension.

"Glad to see you, doctor," I said mechanically. "My friend here, Mr.
Guest, Dr. Rust," I added, completing the introduction, "is a little run
down. I thought that I would like you to have a look at him."

The doctor sniffed the air disparagingly as he shook hands.

"Those beastly cigarettes," he remarked. "If you young men would only
take to pipes!"

"Our insides aren't strong enough for your sort of tobacco, doctor," I
answered. "I will leave you with Mr. Guest for a few minutes. You may
like to overhaul him a little."

I made my way into the gardens, and stood for a few minutes looking out
across the park. It was a still, hot evening; the scene was perhaps as
peaceful a one as a man could conceive. The tall elms stood out like
painted trees upon a painted sky, the only movement in the quiet pastoral
landscape was where a little string of farm laborers were trudging
homeward across the park, with their baskets over their shoulders.
Beyond, the land sloped into a pleasant tree-encompassed hollow, and I
could see the red-tiled roofs of the cottages, and the worn, grey spire
of the village church. There was scarcely a breath of wind. Everything
around me seemed to stand for peace. Many a night before I had stood
here, smoking my pipe and drinking it all in--absolutely content with
myself, my surroundings, and my life. And to-night I felt, with a certain
measure of sadness, that it could never be the same again. A few yards
behind me, in the room which I had just quitted, a man was looking death
in the face; a man, the passionate, half-told fragments of whose life had
kindled in me a whole world of new desires. These two, the man and the
girl, enemies perhaps, speaking from the opposite poles of life, had made
sad havoc with my well-ordered days. The excitement of his appeal was
perhaps more directly potent; yet there was something far more subtle,
far stranger, in my thoughts of her. She and her maid and her queer,
black-eyed poodle were creatures of flesh and blood without a doubt; yet
they had come into my life so strangely, and passed into so wonderful a
place there, that I thought of them with something of the awe which
belongs to things having in themselves some element of the mystic, if not
of the supernatural. The blue of her eyes was not more wonderful than the
flawless grace of her person and her environment. I could compare her
only with visions one has read and dreamed about in the unreal worlds of
poetry and romance. Her actual existence as a woman of the moment, a
possible adventuress, certainly a very material and actual person, was
hard indeed to realize.

I moved a little farther away into the gardens. The still air was full of
the perfume of sweet-smelling flowers, of honeysuckle and roses, climbing
about the maze of arches which sheltered the lower walks. To-night their
sweetness seemed to mean new things to me. The twilight was falling
rapidly; the shadows were blotting out the landscape. Out beyond there,
beyond the boundaries of my walled garden, I seemed to be looking into a
new and untravelled world. I knew very well that the old days were over.
Already the change had come.

I turned my head at the sound of a footstep upon the gravel path. The
doctor was standing beside me.

"Well," I asked, "what do you think of him?"

He answered me a little evasively. The cheerful optimism which had made
him a very popular practitioner seemed for the moment to have deserted
him.

"Your friend is in rather a curious state of health," he said slowly. "To
tell you the truth, I scarcely know how to account for certain of his
symptoms."

I smiled.

"He seems in a very weak state," I remarked supinely.

"Is he a very old friend?" the doctor asked.

"Why do you ask that?" I inquired curiously.

"Simply because I thought that you might know something of his
disposition," the doctor answered. "Whether, for instance, he is the sort
of man who would be likely to indulge in drugs."

I shook my head.

"I cannot tell," I said.

"There is something a little peculiar about his indifference," the doctor
continued. "He answers my questions and submits to my examination, and
all the time he has the air of a man who would say, 'I could tell you
more about myself, if I would, than you could ever discover.' He has had
a magnificent constitution in his time."

"Is he likely to die?" I asked.

"Not from any symptoms that I can discover," the doctor answered. "Yet,
as I told you before, there are certain things about his condition which
I do not understand. I should like to see him again in the morning!
I am giving him a tonic, more as a matter of form. I scarcely think his
system will respond to it!"

"It has not occurred to you, I suppose," I remarked, "that he might be
suffering from poisoning?"

The doctor shook his head.

"There are no traces of anything of the sort," he declared. "My own
impression is that he has been taking some sort of drug."

"Will you come in and have something?" I asked, as we neared the house.

The doctor shook his head.

"Not to-night," he answered; "I have another call to pay."

So I went back into the house alone, and found my guest waiting for me in
some impatience. He was lying upon a sofa, piled up with cushions, and
the extreme pallor of his face alarmed me.

"Give me some brandy and soda," he demanded. "Your village Aesculapius
has been prodding me about, till I scarcely know where I am."

I hastened to the sideboard and attended to his wants.

"Well, did he invent a new disease for me?" he asked.

"No!" I answered. "On the contrary, he admitted that he was puzzled."

"Honest man! What did he suggest?"

"He asked whether you were in the habit of taking drugs," I answered.

"Never touched such a thing in my life," he declared.

"Neither did I," I remarked grimly, "until last night." And then I told
him what had happened to me. He listened eagerly to my story.

"So there is a division in the camp," he murmured softly. "I imagined as
much. As usual, it is the woman who plays the whole game."

"I wonder," I said, "whether you would mind telling me what you know of
Miss Van Hoyt?"

He moved on the couch a little uneasily. The request, for some reason or
other, seemed to disquiet him. Nevertheless, he answered me.

"Miss Van Hoyt," he said, "is an American young lady of excellent family
and great fortune. She has lived for the last few years in Berlin and
other European capitals. She has intimate friends, I believe, attached to
the court at Berlin. She is a young person of an adventurous turn of
mind, and she has, I believe, no particular love for England and English
institutions."

"You number her," I remarked, "amongst your enemies?"

"And amongst yours," he answered dryly.

"Yet it was through her that I was able to bring you away," I remarked.

He turned his head towards me.

"You are not supposing, for one moment," he said, "that any measure of
kindness was included in her motive."

"I suppose not," I answered doubtfully.

"Listen!" he said, "I fell into a trap at the Universal. I have been in
danger too often not to recognize a hopeless position when I see one. I
knew that escape for me was impossible. It was not as though my task were
finished. I had months of work before me, and I was tracked down, so that
I could not have moved except on sufferance. Our genial friend, whom you
will remember in the grey tweed suit and glasses, and who has the knack
of sticking to any one in whom he is interested like a leech, thought
that my death, with as much dispatch as was wise, would be the simplest
and pleasantest way out of the difficulty. The young lady, however, plays
for the great stakes, She wanted to succeed where others have failed."

He paused for a moment, and drank from his tumbler. There were dark lines
under his eyes, and I felt that I ought to stop him talking.

"Tell me the rest in the morning," I suggested. "I am sure that you ought
to go to bed."

"You forget," he remarked grimly, "that for me there may be no morning. I
am drawing very near the end, or even she would not have dared to let me
come. Besides, you must understand, for it must be through you that she
hopes--to succeed. She expects that I shall tell you, that you will be
the legatee of this knowledge, which she would give so much to gain. And
I suppose--don't be offended--that she counts you amongst the fools whom
a woman's lips can tempt to any dishonor. You needn't glare at me like
that. Miss Van Hoyt is very young and very beautiful. She has not yet
learnt all the lessons of life--amongst which are her limitations. You
see I do not ask you for any pledge--for any promise. But I do ask you,
as an Englishman--and a man of honor--to take my burden from my back, and
carry it on--to the end!"

I came over to his side.

"What does it mean?" I asked quietly.

"Death, very likely," he answered. "Danger always. No more sport, no more
living in the easy places. But in the end glory--and afterwards peace. A
man can die but once, Courage!"

"I am not afraid," I answered slowly. "But am I the man, do you think,
for a task like this?"

"None better," he answered. "Listen, where do you sleep?"

"In the next room to yours," I answered.

"Good! Will you leave your door open, so that if I call in the night you
may hear?"

"Certainly! You can have a servant sleep on the couch in your room, if
you like."

He shook his head.

"I would rather not," he answered. "Just now I cannot talk any more. If
my time comes in the night, I shall wake you. If not--to-morrow!"




CHAPTER XII

OLD FRIENDS


A flavor of unreality hung about the events of the last few days. I felt
myself slowly waking as though from a nightmare. The dazzling sunshine
was everywhere around us; the whir of reaping machines, the slighter
humming of bees, and the song of birds, were in our ears; the perfume
of all manner of flowers, and of the new-mown hay, made the air
wonderfully sweet. My guest, in a cool grey flannel suit and a Panama
hat, was by my side, looking like a man who has taken a new lease of
life. He had patted my shire horses, and admired those of my hunters
which were on view. He had walked three times round my walled garden, and
amazed my head-gardener by his intimate acquaintance with the science of
pruning. We had talked country talk and nothing else. From the moment
when, somewhat to my surprise, he had appeared upon the terrace just as I
was finishing my after-breakfast pipe, no word of any more serious
subject had passed our lips. We had talked and passed the time very much
as any other host and guest the first morning in a quiet country house.
We were standing now upon a little knoll in the park, and I was pointing
out my deer. He looked beyond to where the turrets and chimneys of a
large, grey, stone house were half visible through the trees.

"Who is your neighbor?" he asked.

"Lord Dennisford," I answered. "A very decent fellow, too, although I
don't see much of him. He spends most of his time abroad."

"Lord Dennisford!"

I turned to look at my companion. He had repeated the name very softly,
yet with a peculiar intonation, which made me at once aware that the name
was of interest to him.

"Yes! Do you know him?" I asked inanely.

"Is his wife here?" he asked.

"Lady Dennisford is seldom away," I answered. "She entertains a good deal
down here. A very popular woman in the county."

He seemed to be measuring the distance across the park with his eyes.

"Let us go across and see her," he said.

I looked at him doubtfully.

"Can you walk as far?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Yes! I have my stick, and, if necessary, you can help me!"

So we set out across the park. I asked him no questions. He told me
nothing. But when we had crossed the road, and were on our way up the
avenue to Dennisford House, he clutched at my arm.

"I want to see her--alone," he muttered.

"I will see what I can do," I answered. "Lady Dennisford and I are old
friends."

We reached the great sweep in front of the house. I pointed to the
terrace, on which were several wicker chairs.

"The windows from the drawing-room, where I shall probably see Lady
Dennisford, open out there," I remarked. "If you could give me any
message which would interest her, perhaps--"

"Tell her," he muttered, "that you have a guest who walked with her once
under the orange trees at Seville, and who--in a few days--will walk no
more anywhere! She will come!"

He made his way along the terrace, leaning heavily upon his stick, and
sank with a little sigh of relief into one of the cushion-laden wicker
chairs. I watched him lean back with half-closed eyes; and I realized
then what an effort this walk must have been to him. Before me the great
front doors stood open, and with the familiarity of close neighborship, I
passed into the cool shaded hall, with its palms and flowers, its
billiard-table invitingly uncovered, its tiny fountain playing in its
marble basin. There was no one in sight; but, stretched upon a bright
crimson cushion, set back in the heart of a great easy-chair, was a small
Japanese spaniel.

Our recognition was mutual. The dog rose slowly to his haunches, and sat
there looking at me. His apple-green bow had wandered to the side of his
neck, and one ear was turned back. Yet notwithstanding the fact that his
appearance was so far grotesque, I felt no inclinations whatever towards
mirth. His coal-black eyes were fixed upon me steadfastly, his tiny
wrinkled face seemed like the shrivelled and age-worn caricature of some
Eastern magician. He showed no signs of pleasure or of welcome at my
coming, nor did he share any of the bewilderment with which I gazed at
him. But for the absurdity of the thing, I should have said that he had
been sitting there waiting for me.

While I stood there dumfounded, not so much in wonder at this meeting
with the dog, but amazed beyond measure at the things which his presence
there seemed to indicate, he descended carefully from his chair, and
crossing the smooth oak-laid floor, he made his way to the foot of the
great staircase, and after a premonitory yawn, he indulged in one sharp
penetrating bark. Almost immediately, the French maid came gliding down
the stairs, still gowned in the sombrest black, still as pale as a woman
could be. The dog looked at her and looked at me. Then, apparently
conceiving that his duty was finished, he returned to his chair and
curled himself up. I spoke to the maid.

"Is your mistress staying here?" I asked.

"But yes, monsieur!" she answered. "We arrived yesterday."

"Is she in now?" I asked. "Could I see her?"

"I will inquire," the maid answered. "Mademoiselle is in her room."

She turned and left me, and almost immediately the butler entered the
hall. He was one of the local cricket eleven, and had been in service in
the neighborhood all his life, so he knew me well, and greeted me at once
with respectful interest.

"Is her Ladyship in, Murray?" I asked.

"I believe so, sir," he answered. "Will you come into the drawing-room?"

I followed him into Lady Dennisford's presence. She was writing letters
in a small sanctum leading out of the drawing-room, and she looked round
and nodded a cheery greeting to me.

"In one moment, Hardross," she exclaimed. "I've just finished."

I had known Lady Dennisford all my life; but I found myself studying her
now with altogether a new interest. She was a slim, elegant woman, pale
and perhaps a little insipid looking at ordinary times, but a famous and
reckless rider to hounds, and an enthusiastic sportswoman. She was one of
the few women concerning whom I never heard a single breath of scandal,
notwithstanding her husband's long and frequent absences. She gave me
little time, however, to revise my impressions of her; for, with a little
spluttering of her pen, she finished her letter and came towards me.

"I hope you've come to lunch," she remarked; "I have the most delightful
young person staying with me. You'll be charmed with her."

"A young lady?" I remarked.

"Yes! An American girl who talks English--and doesn't enthuse. Seems to
know something about horses too!"

"Where did you discover this paragon?" I asked.

"My cousin sent her down. She knows everybody," Lady Dennisford answered.
"I met her at lunch last week, and she spoke of hunting with the Pytchley
next season. She's going to have a look at the country. Sorry the rain
spoilt your match."

I hesitated a moment.

"Lady Dennisford," I said, "I had a particular reason for coming to see
you this morning."

She raised her eyebrows.

"My dear Jim!"

"I, too, have a visitor," I told her; "rather a more mysterious person
than yours seems to be. He is very ill indeed; and he is almost a
stranger to me. But he was once, I believe, a friend of yours."

"A friend of mine!" she repeated. "How interesting! Do tell me his name!"

"I cannot do that," I answered, "because I do not know it--not his real
name. But in the park this morning, I happened to tell him who lived
here, and although he is very weak, he insisted upon paying you an
immediate visit."

She looked around the room.

"But where is he?" she asked.

"He is outside on the terrace," I answered.

"My dear Jim!" she exclaimed, "really, all this mystery isn't like you.
Aren't you overdoing it a little? Do call your friend in, and let me see
who he is!"

"Lady Dennisford," I said, "of course, my guest may have misled me; but
he seemed to think that an abrupt meeting might be undesirable. He wished
me to tell you that he used once to walk with you under the orange trees
of Seville, and to ask you to go out to him alone!"

Lady Dennisford sat quite still for several seconds. Her eyes were fixed
upon me; but I am quite certain that I had passed from within the orbit
of her vision. The things which she saw were of another world--somehow
it seemed sacrilege on my part to dream of peering even into the dimmest
corner of it. So I looked away, and I could never tell altogether what
effect my words had had upon her. For when I looked up, she was gone! ...




CHAPTER XIII

THE SHADOW DEEPENS


"Mr. Courage!"

I looked up quickly. She was within a few feet of me, although I had not
heard even the rustling of her gown. The dog, with his apple-green bow
now put to rights, was sitting upon her shoulder. By the side of his
uncanny features, it seemed to me that I had never sufficiently
appreciated the fresh girlishness, the almost ingenuous beauty of her own
face. She wore a plain, white, linen gown, and a magnificent blossom of
scarlet geraniums in her bosom.

"Miss Van Hoyt!" I exclaimed.

She nodded, but glanced warningly at the window.

"They must not hear," she said softly. "Remember your cousin introduced
you to me at Lord's--our only meeting."

My heart sank. I hated all this incomprehensible secrecy; a moment before
she had seemed so different.

"Come out into the other room," she said. "They cannot hear us from
there." We passed into the drawing-room. An uncomfortable thought struck
me.

"You were here all the time!" I exclaimed.

"Certainly! I wanted to hear you and Lady Dennisford converse!"

"Eavesdropping, in fact," I remarked savagely.

"Precisely!" she agreed.

We were silent for a moment. Her eyes were full of mild amusement.

"I thought," she said demurely, "that you would be glad to see me."

"Glad! of course I am glad," I answered. "I'm such a poor fool that I
can't help it. Why did you leave me in London without a word?"

"Why on earth not!" she exclaimed, smiling. "Besides, I knew that I
should see you here very soon. I had to act quickly too! They did not
want"--she glanced towards the terrace--"him to leave London."

"It was you, then," I remarked, "who had him sent down to my place?"

She nodded.

"It was not easy," she said. "If they had known that you were going to
have a doctor to visit him, it would have been impossible."

"He has been poisoned, I suppose?" I said calmly.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"He will die, and die very soon," she answered. "That is certain. But I
think you will find no doctor here who will have anything to say about
poison."

She moved a little nearer to me. The overhanging bunch of scarlet
geraniums from her waistband brushed against my coat; the beady black
eyes of the dog upon her shoulder were fixed steadily upon me.

"Has he said anything?" she murmured.

"Not yet," I answered.

"He will do so," she declared confidently, "and before long. That is why
I am here. You must come to me the moment--the very moment you know! You
understand that?"

"Yes!" I answered, a little discontentedly, "I understand!"

Her expression suddenly changed. A frown darkened her face.

"Perhaps," she said, "you have already repented."

"Repented of what?" I asked quickly.

"That you have moved a little out of the rut, that you have taken a hand,
even if it is a dummy's hand, in the game of life! Do you wish to draw
back?"

"No!" I answered.

"Do you wish to be relieved of Leslie Guest? I could arrange it; it would
be a matter of a few hours only."

"No!" I answered again. "I wish for one thing only!"

"And that?"

"You know!" I declared.

She turned a little way from me.

"I am not a magician," she declared.

"And yet you know," I answered. "A woman always does! I have no idea
what these ties are, which seem to bind you to a life of mystery and
double-dealing, but I should like to cut them loose. You have talked to
me of ambition, of a larger life, where excitement and tragedy walk hand
in hand! I should like to sweep all that away. I should like to convert
you to my point of view."

She looked at me curiously. Never in my experience of her sex had I seen
any one who varied so quickly in appearance, who seemed to pass with such
effortless facility from the girl with the Madonna-like face and dreamy
eyes, to the thoughtful and scheming woman of the world. Her rapid
changes were a torture to me! I felt the elusiveness of her attitude.

"You would like me," she said scornfully, "to lead your village life, to
watch the seasons pass from behind your windows. I was not born for that
sort of thing! The thirst for life was in my veins from the nursery. You
and I are as far apart as the North Star and the unknown land over which
it watches! Sin itself would be less terrible to me than the indolence of
such a life!"

"You have never tried it," I remarked.

"Nor shall I ever," she answered, "unless--"

"Unless what?"

She raised her eyebrows and flashed a sudden strange look upon me. There
was mockery in it, subtlety, and a certain uneasiness which pleased me
most. After all, she was like a beautiful wild young creature. The ways
of her life were not yet wholly decreed.

"Unless the great magician comes and waves his wand," she declared. "The
magic may fall upon my eyes, you know, and I may see new things."

I touched her hand for a moment. The dog's face was wrinkled like a
monkey's, he growled, and his narrow red tongue shot out threateningly.

"It is that," I murmured, "which I shall pray for!"

She raised her head suddenly. We heard Lady Dennisford moving upon the
terrace. She leaned over towards me.

"Leslie Guest," she whispered, "will not live for more than forty-eight
hours. Make him tell you--to-night! To-morrow may be too late. Do you
hear?--to-night!"

I was absolutely tongue-tied. Wherever else she failed, she was certainly
a superb actress. A moment ago, she had been keeping my earnestness at
bay with bantering words; then, at the sound of Lady Dennisford's
approach, had come those few dramatic words; and now, at her entrance, I
felt at once that I was the casual guest, being entertained as a matter
of duty during my hostess' absence.

"I told you, didn't I, that I had met Mr. Courage in town?" she remarked,
looking up. "After all, it is such a small world, isn't it?"

Lady Dennisford was scarcely in a condition to be observant. I believe
that if we had been sitting hand in hand, she would scarcely have noticed
the fact. She was very pale, and her eyes were exceedingly bright. She
passed half-way through the room without even seeming to realize our
presence. Then she stopped suddenly and addressed me.

"I am ordering a pony-cart," she said, "to take Mr. Guest back. He seems
over-fatigued."

"Very thoughtful of you, Lady Dennisford," I answered. "We certainly did
not mean to walk so far when we came out into the park."

A servant entered the room. She gave him some orders, and then, with a
word of excuse to Adèle, she came over to my side.

"Hardross," she said softly, "what is the matter with him?"

"General breakdown," I answered; "I do not know of anything else."

"What does the doctor say?"

"The London doctor," I admitted, "gave little hope. Rust cannot discover
that anything much is the matter with him."

"You yourself--what do you think?"

I hesitated. Her fingers gripped my arm.

"I think that he is very ill," I answered.

"Dying?"

"I should not be surprised."

She looked back towards the terrace. Her eyes were full of tears.

"Do what you can for him," she said softly. "He was once a great friend
of mine. He was different then! Will you go out to him now? I promised to
send you."

Guest was sitting upon the terrace, exactly as I had left him. His eyes
were fixed upon vacancy, his lips were slightly curled in a meditative
smile. There was a distinct change in his appearance. His expression was
more peaceful, the slight restlessness had disappeared from his manner.
But he had never looked to me more like a dying man.

"Lady Dennisford sent me out," I remarked, "She has ordered a pony-cart
to take us home."

He nodded.

"I am quite ready," he said.

He tried to rise, but the effort seemed too much for him. I hastened to
his aid, or I think that he would have fallen. He leaned on my arm
heavily as we passed on our way to the avenue, where a carriage was
already awaiting us.

"I was once," he remarked, in an ordinary conversational tone, "engaged
to be married to Lady Dennisford."

"There was no--disagreement between you?" I asked.

"None that has not been healed," he answered softly.

"You would consider her to-day as a friend--not a likely enemy?" I asked.

He looked at me curiously.

"She is my friend," he answered softly. "Of that there is no doubt at
all. Why do you ask?"

"Because," I answered, "for your friend, she has a strange guest."

"Whom do you mean?" he asked.

"Mademoiselle, and her maid--and poodle," I answered. "They are all
here!"

I felt him shiver, for he was leaning heavily upon me. Nevertheless, he
answered me with confidence.

"It is the gathering of the jackals," he muttered--"the jackals who are
going to be disappointed. But you may be sure of one thing, my friend.
The young lady is here as an ordinary guest! That was a matter very easy
to arrange. There is a great social backing behind her. She can come and
go where she pleases. But Lady Dennisford's knowledge of her is wholly
innocent."

We drove back almost in silence. Rust was waiting for us when we arrived,
and he eyed his patient curiously, and hurried him off to the house. They
were alone together for some time, and when he came out his face was very
grave. He came out into the garden in search of me!

"Courage," he said, "I wish to heavens I had never seen your guest!"

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Have you been quarrelling?"

"Quarrelling, no! One doesn't quarrel with a dying man," he answered.

"A dying man!" I repeated.

He nodded.

"He was on the verge of a collapse just now," he said. "I honestly fear
that he will not live many more hours. Yet, though I could fill in his
death certificate plausibly enough, if you were to ask me honestly to-day
what was the matter with him, I could not tell you. Do you mind if I wire
for a friend of mine to come down and see him?"

"By all means," I answered; "you mean a specialist, I suppose?"

"Yes!"

"On the heart?" I asked.

"No! a toxicologist!" Rust remarked dryly.

I glanced into his face. He was in deadly earnest.

"You believe--"

"What the devil is one to believe?" the doctor exclaimed irritably. "The
man is sound, but he is dying. If I told you that I understood his
symptoms, I should be a liar. I can think only of one thing. You yourself
gave me the idea."

"Wire by all means," I said.

"I shall go to the village," Rust said, "and return immediately. Don't
let him be left alone. He has a draught to take in case of necessity."

I turned back to the house with a sigh. I am afraid that I had as little
faith in medicine as Guest himself.




CHAPTER XIV

GATHERING JACKALS


Guest for the remainder of the morning seemed to have fallen into a sort
of stupor. He declined to sit in the garden or come down to lunch.
When I went up to his room, he was lying upon a couch, half undressed,
and with a dressing-gown wrapped around him. He opened his eyes when I
came in, but waved me away.

"I am thinking," he said. "Don't interrupt me; I want to be alone for an
hour or so."

"But you must have something to eat," I insisted. "You will lose your
strength if you don't."

"Quite right," he admitted. "Send me up some soup, and let me have pencil
and paper."

He was supplied with both. When I went up an hour later, he was smoking a
cigarette and writing.

"I do not wish," he said, "to be worried with any more doctors. It is
only a farce, and I have little time to spare."

"Nonsense!" I answered. "Rust declares that there is very little the
matter with you. He has sent for a friend to come and have a look at
you."

A little gesture of impatience escaped him.

"My dear Courage," he said, "I am obliged to you for all this care; but I
am quite sure that, in your inner consciousness, you realize as I do that
it is sheer waste of time."

He drew his dressing-gown a little closer around him. The hollows under
his eyes seemed to have grown deeper since the morning.

"I am fairly run to earth," he continued. "Even these few hours of life I
owe to my enemies. They hope to profit by them, of course. If you are the
man I think you are, they will be mistaken. But don't waste my time with
doctors."

He began to write again. I made some perfunctory remark which he entirely
ignored. Just then I was called away. He watched my departure with
obvious relief.

I was told that a stranger was waiting to see me in the library. My first
thought was of the doctor. When I arrived there, I found a young man
whose face was familiar, but whom I could not at once place. Then, like a
flash, I remembered. It was the younger of the two men who had forced
their way into my room at the Hotel Universal.

Now I was in no very good humor for dealing with these gentry. I had a
distinct inclination to take him by the collar of the coat and throw him
out. I fancy that he divined from my face how I was feeling, for he began
hastily to explain his presence.

"I am very sorry to be an intruder, Mr. Courage," he said in his slow,
precise English. "I had no wish to come at all. We were willing to leave
you undisturbed. But we do not understand why you have sent for a doctor
from London--and especially Professor Kauppmann!"

I looked at him deliberately. He was wearing English clothes--a dark
tweed suit, ill-cut, and apparently ready-made; but the foreigner was
written large all over him, from the tie of his bow to his narrow patent
boots. His eyes were fixed anxiously upon me--large black eyes with long,
feminine eyelashes. I think that if he had not been under the shelter of
my own roof, I must have laid violent hands upon him.

"Why the devil should you understand?" I exclaimed. "Mr. Guest is my
visitor, and if I choose to send for a doctor to see him, it is my
business and nobody else's. If you have come here with any idea of
bullying me, I am afraid you have wasted your time."

"You have evidently," he answered, "not troubled yourself to understand
the situation! Mr. Guest is our prisoner!"

"Your what?" I exclaimed.

"Our prisoner," the young man answered. "Let me ask you this! Has Mr.
Guest himself encouraged you in your attempt to interfere between him and
his inevitable fate? No! I am sure that he has not! He accepts what he
knows must happen! A few days more or less of life--what do they matter?"

"You make me feel inclined," I said grimly, "to test your theory."

The young man stepped back. My fingers were itching to take him by the
throat, and I think that he read the desire in my face.

"Will you allow me to see Mr. Guest?" he asked.

"No! I'm d----d if I will," I answered. "I shall give you," I added, with
my hand upon the bell, "exactly two minutes to leave this house."

The young man smiled superciliously, but he picked up his hat.

"I suppose, Mr. Courage, I must not blame you," he remarked, "You have
all the characteristics of your country-people. You meet a delicate
situation with the tactics of a bull!"

I laid my hand gently, but firmly upon his shoulder. We were half-way
down the hall now, and the front door was wide open. I longed to throw
him out, but I restrained myself. He was perfectly conscious, I am sure,
of my inclination, but he showed no signs of uneasiness.

"I admit," I said calmly, "that you seem, all of you, to be engaged in
proceedings of an extraordinary nature, which I do not in the least
understand. But under my own roof, at any rate, I am master. I will not
tolerate any interference with my guests; and as for Mr. Stanley from
Liverpool and you, whatever you may call yourself, I will not have you
near the place! You see my lodge gates," I added, pointing down the
avenue, "I shall stand here until you have passed through them. If you
come again, you will meet with a different reception!"

The young man laughed unpleasantly.

"Never fear, Mr. Courage," he answered. "Always we try first the simple
means. If they should fail, we have many surer ways of gaining our ends.
Au revoir!"

He left me and walked briskly off down the avenue. I fetched a pair of
field-glasses, and watched him until he reached the lodge gates. A few
moments later I saw him climb into a motor car, and vanish in a cloud
of dust....

Later in the afternoon a victoria drew up before my front door just as I
was starting for the village. Lady Dennisford leaned forward as I
approached. She was closely veiled, but her voice shook with anxiety.

"How is he?" she asked.

"It is hard to say," I answered. "He has been writing for the last three
hours. I was just going down to see if Rust has heard from the London man
he wired for."

"Do you know why," she whispered, "he is so sure that he is going to
die?"

I hesitated for a moment.

"He seems to imagine," I said, "that he has some enemies."

She sighed.

"I am afraid," she said, "that it is no imagination."

I looked at her in surprise.

"He has told me, perhaps," she said, a little hastily, "more than he has
told you, and perhaps I am in a better position to understand. Mr.
Courage, I wonder whether it would be possible for me to have an
interview with any one of these men who are watching him."

"If you had been here a few hours ago," I said, "it would have been very
possible indeed. One of them was here."

"What did he want?" she asked sharply.

"To see Mr. Guest, for one thing!"

"Did you allow it?"

"No! Guest is writing secrets with a loaded revolver by his side. He
certainly does not want to see any of that crew."

"Oh! he is mad," she murmured. "Why should he not buy his life? What else
is there that counts?"

"There are two to a bargain," I answered. "I do not think that he has
value to give."

"Oh! he has," she answered, "if only he would be reasonable."

We were silent for a moment. In the distance, coming up the avenue, was
the figure of a man. I watched him with curiosity. Finally I pointed him
out to Lady Dennisford.

"Do you see this man coming up to the house?" I said--"a sleek,
middle-aged man smoking a cigar?"

"I see him," she answered.

"What do you think he looks like?" I asked.

"A prosperous tradesman," she answered. "A friend of your bailiff's,
perhaps."

"He calls himself Mr. Stanley from Liverpool," I answered, "and you can
bargain with him for Guest's life."

"He is one of them!" she exclaimed.

"He is," I answered grimly, for I had good reason to know it.

She got out of the carriage at once.

"I am going to meet him," she said. "No! please let me go alone," she
added, as I prepared to accompany her. "Afterwards we may need you."

I sent her carriage round to the stables, and I stood upon my steps
watching her. Slim and elegant, she walked with swift level footsteps
towards the approaching figure. I saw him shade his eyes with his hand as
she approached; when she was within a few yards of him he took his cigar
from his mouth and raised his hat. They stood for a moment or two
talking; then Lady Dennisford turned, and they both came slowly towards
the house. As they drew near me, she came on rapidly ahead.

"He is willing," she declared. "He will make terms. Where can we talk
alone, we three?"

I led the way to my study. Mr. Stanley greeted me affably and with a
commendable assumption of bluff respect.

"Fine place of yours, Mr. Courage," he declared. "Very fine place indeed.
No wonder you prefer a country life. Finest thing in the world."

I made a pretence of answering him. But when we were in the study and the
door was closed behind us, I felt that there was no longer any need to
mince words.

"Mr. Stanley," I said, "Lady Dennisford says that you are willing to
abandon your persecution of my guest for a consideration."

He smiled upon us slowly.

"Persecution," he remarked thoughtfully, "well, it is a harmless word.
Mind, I admit nothing. But I am willing to hear what you have to say."

"This first, then," I declared. "Will you tell me why, as a magistrate of
this county, I should not be justified in signing a warrant for your
apprehension?"

"On what charge?" he asked.

"Conspiracy to murder," I answered.

He seemed to consider the suggestion with perfect seriousness.

"Yes!" he admitted, "it could be done. Putting myself in your place I
should even imagine that it might be the most obvious course. But have
you considered what the probable result would be?"

"It would keep you out of mischief for a time, at any rate."

"Not for a day," he answered softly. "In the first place, the slenderness
of your evidence, which, by the by, when the affair came to trial would
disappear altogether, would necessitate bail; and, in the second, were I
to be swept off the face of the earth, there are thousands ready to take
my place. Besides, no man likes to make himself the laughing stock of his
friends and the press; and, forgive me, Mr. Courage, if I remind you that
that is precisely what would happen in your case."

"Suppose, for a moment, then," said, "that I abandon that possibility.
Make your own proposals. I do not know who you are or what you stand for.
I do not know whether this is an affair of private vengeance, or whether
you stand for others. That poor fellow upstairs cannot have a long life
before him in any case. What is there we can offer you to leave him in
peace?"

"You two--nothing," Mr. Stanley said gravely. "He himself can buy his
life from us, if he wills."

"Then can I--or Lady Dennisford here," I asked, "be your ambassador? Can
we tell him your terms?"

Mr. Stanley shook his head.

"It is impossible," he said. "Matters would have to be discussed between
us which may not even be mentioned before any other person."

"You mean that you would have to see him alone?"

"Precisely!"

I turned to Lady Dennisford.

"He would never consent!" I declared.

"You must make him," she answered. "Mr. Courage!"

"Lady Dennisford!"

"Let me speak to you alone for a moment," she begged, laying her hand
upon my arm. "Mr. Stanley will excuse us, I am sure."

"By all means," he declared, selecting an easy-chair.

"You will await us here?" I asked.

"Certainly!"

"On parole?"

"On parole, if you will give me a cigar."

I rang the bell for refreshments. Then Lady Dennisford and I left the
room together.




CHAPTER XV

A DYING MAN


I had known Lady Dennisford for a good many years in a neighborly sort
of way; but the woman who stood before me in the small sitting-room to
which I had led her was a stranger to me. She had raised her veil; she
was as pale as a woman may be, and her mouth, usually so firm and
uncompromising, was now relaxed and tremulous. Before she spoke, I knew
that tragedy was in the room with me. She tried to speak twice before the
words came.

"Mr. Courage," she said, "may I speak to you as a friend?"

"Most certainly you can, Lady Dennisford," I answered.

I said and I meant it, for I was exceedingly sorry for her.

"Once I was to have married him," she said, "and I have cared for no one
else all my life. There was a great scandal--a political scandal--and it
was he upon whom the burden fell. His lips were sealed. I did not
understand then, but I understand now. I sent him away! I joined with the
others who persecuted him. And all the time--all the time he was
innocent!"

Her last words were almost a wail. I was relieved to see that the tears
were in her eyes at last.

"It was very hard fortune," I said awkwardly.

"His life has been one long exile," she said. "He has never married; he
has been dead to the world for many years. His name, of course, is not
Leslie Guest! If I dared tell you, you would understand I want him--oh! I
want him so much to have a few years of happiness."

"What can we do, Lady Dennisford?" I asked earnestly.

"Take me up to him. Leave me with him alone."

I opened the door.

"At once!" I said.

He was still writing. The air of the room was thick with cigarette smoke.
I opened the door gently, and Lady Dennisford glided past me. I myself
hastened downstairs.

Mr. Stanley was apparently very comfortable. He was smoking one of my
best cigars, and a whisky and soda stood at his elbow. He looked up from
behind the _Times_ as I entered.

"Lady Dennisford is with him," I said. "She will endeavor to persuade him
to see you."

"Excellent!" he remarked. "Pray do not trouble to stay with me, if you
have other matters to attend to. I have both time and patience to spare."

I went out into the garden. I began to feel the need of being alone.
Events had marched rapidly with me during the last few hours and I was
not used to such eruptions in my quiet life. I gave a few orders to my
bailiff and gamekeeper, who were waiting to see me. I little guessed then
how unimportant to me would be the prospects of the coming sport. It must
have been nearly an hour before a servant found me, and announced that my
guest desired to see me in his room. I hastened there at once.

Lady Dennisford was sitting at the table by Guest's side. She looked up
as I entered, and I saw that the shadows lay deeper still upon her face.

"He chooses death!" she said simply.

He leaned over and touched her hand. His tone and manner had softened
wonderfully.

"Eleanor," he said earnestly, "it is not I who choose. There is no
choice! Your friend downstairs would say, 'Tell me all that you know of a
certain matter, and the sentence which has been passed upon you shall be
held over.' But when I had told him, when he knew everything, no
agreement, no promise, could possibly be binding. I could not myself
expect it. In his place I should make very sure that in a matter of hours
I was a dead man. I say that myself, whose whole life has been sacrificed
to a matter in which honor was largely concerned."

Lady Dennisford began to weep softly. He laid his hand upon hers.

"Are you sure, Mr. Guest," I said, "that you are not exaggerating the
importance of this secret knowledge of yours? I dare say that Mr.
Stanley, like every other man, has his price. If money--"

He interrupted me with a slight gesture of impatience.

"My young friend," he said, "I am not a poor man. Mr. Stanley is not to
be dealt with as a single individual. He represents a system. I do not
blame you for not being able to grasp these things. There is scarcely one
Englishman in a thousand who would. I think that you have shown a great
amount of trust as it is. Believe me now when I tell you that there are
only two things in the world which can be done for me. The first is that
you leave me a few minutes to say good-bye to Lady Dennisford; and the
second that you keep every one away from me for one hour, while I
Finish--these documents."

I left them alone! There was nothing else which I could do, and I waited
in the hall below for Lady Dennisford.

When she came, she walked like a woman in a dream. Her veil was close
drawn, and I could not see her face; but I was very sure that she had
been weeping. I had already ordered her carriage round, and she took her
place in it without a word.

I went back to the man whom I had left in the library.

He had lighted a fresh cigar, and was showing no signs of impatience.

"Our friend," I said, "has asked for one hour for consideration. If you
will allow me, I should be pleased to show you the gardens and stables."

He accepted my offer at once, and proved himself an intelligent
sightseer. He seemed to know a little about everything, including horses.
I took him on to the orchid-houses, and it was quite an hour and a half
before we returned to the house. I left him once more in the library, and
I was on my way upstairs, when I came face to face with Rust and another
man on their way down. For a moment I was speechless.

"Professor Kauppmann was unfortunately indisposed," Rust explained; "but
he has sent this gentleman down--Dr. Kretznow, Mr. Courage. Curiously
enough, Dr. Kretznow has already been called in to attend our friend
upstairs."

"Mr. Courage no doubt remembers me," the newcomer remarked. "I am sorry
to find our patient no better."

I looked him steadily in the face.

"You think that he will die?" I asked.

"I must admit," the doctor answered, "that I think he has very little
chance of recovery. His constitution has gone. He has no recuperative
powers."

Rust drew me a little on one side.

"You will be relieved to hear," he said, "that Dr. Kretznow considers
his state quite a natural one. He does not encourage in any way the
suspicions which, I must admit, I had formed."

"Indeed!" I answered.

"We are going to try an altogether new treatment," Rust continued, as we
stood together upon the landing. "I think perhaps you ought to know,
however, that our friend here gives very little hope."

I nodded.

"I shall leave you to entertain Dr. Kretznow," I said, "for a few
minutes. I want to see Mr. Guest!"

I found him anxiously awaiting me. He had ceased writing but he held a
roll of papers in his hand, and there was an ominous bulge in the pocket
of his dressing-gown. He had more color than I had yet seen him with, and
his eyes were unusually bright.

"For Heaven's sake come in, Courage, and close the door," he said
irritably. "You see the result of your little doctor meddling with things
he does not understand. I could have told you that no one would be
allowed to enter these doors who might possibly give them away."

"We sent for Kauppmann," I explained.

"Of course! You will not realize what you are up against. You might as
well have sent for the Angel Gabriel. Now will you do exactly as I ask
you?"

"Go on," I said.

"Ring for your man and let him sit in the room with me. Go downstairs and
get rid of those doctors. Then come up yourself, and be prepared to spend
at least three hours here."

I obeyed him. I kept silent as to the fact that Stanley was in the house.
I thought that he was already sufficiently excited. Downstairs I found
that Dr. Kretznow was on the eve of departure. I did not seek to detain
him for a moment. Rust, I think, wondered a little at my apparent lack of
courtesy; but I almost bundled them out of the house.

He offered me his hand as he climbed up into the dog-cart, which I
pretended, however, not to see.

"Mind, I give you very little hope, Mr. Courage," he said. "I studied the
case very seriously in London, and I perceived symptoms which our friend
here has not yet had the opportunity of observing. My own opinion is that
his time is short."

"I am sorry to hear you say so, doctor," I answered; "for I quite believe
that you are in a position to know."

He blinked at me for a moment from behind his thick spectacles, and I
fancied that he was going to say something more. Apparently, however, he
changed his mind, and the carriage drove off. I made my way at once into
the library. Mr. Stanley was still awaiting me.

"My mission," I announced, "has been a failure. He declines even to
discuss the matter."

Mr. Stanley knocked the ash off his cigar and rose to his feet. His face
showed neither disappointment nor surprise.

"The lady, I am afraid," he remarked, "will be sorry."

"It will be a great blow to her," I answered, "if he should die!"

Mr. Stanley shrugged his shoulders.

"He will die, and very soon," he declared. "You and I know that very
well. You are a young man, Mr. Courage," he added very slowly, and with
his eyes fixed intently upon me. "You have a beautiful home and a simple,
useful life--a long one, I trust--before you! Mr. Guest is not by any
means old, but he made enemies! It is never wise to make enemies."

"Is this a warning?" I asked.

"Accept it as one, if a warning is necessary," he answered. "Take my
advice. If Leslie Guest, or the man who is dying upstairs, has a legacy
to leave, let him choose another legatee! There is death in that legacy
for you!"

"Death comes to all of us," I answered. "We must take our risks."

He picked up his hat.

"Number 317, was it not?" he repeated thoughtfully, "an unlucky number
for you, I fear! ... By the bye, Mademoiselle is in the neighborhood."

"What of it?" I asked.

He looked at me long and curiously. Then he sighed and lit still another
of my finest Havanas as he prepared to depart.

"You will be better off," he said, "without that legacy!"




CHAPTER XVI

I TAKE UP MY LEGACY


Towards dawn I lit another lamp in my study and chanced to catch a
glimpse of my face in a small mirror which stood upon my writing-table.
Almost involuntarily I glanced over my shoulder, expecting to find
another man there. It was a moment's madness, but as a matter of fact I
did not recognize myself. It seemed to me that the change in the man
upstairs, who had passed from the world of living things with breath in
his body and life in his brain to the cold negation of death, was a
change no greater than had come to me. For I was passing, as I knew very
well, from behind the fences of my somewhat narrow but well-contained
life into the great world of tragical happenings, where life and death
are but small things, and one's self but a pawn in the great game. This,
because I believed, because I had accepted the trust of the man who, a
few hours ago, had closed his eyes with his hand in mine, and the faint
welcoming smile upon his lips of a brave but weary man, who finds nothing
terrible in death.

There was something almost fearful in a change so absolute and vital as
that which had come over my life. I realized this as I allowed myself a
few moments' rest, and threw myself upon the sofa. The old outlook, the
old ideas had been torn up by the root. The things which had seemed to be
of life itself only a few hours ago seemed now to have lapsed into the
insignificance of trifles. I thought of myself and my old life with the
tolerance of one who watches a child at play. Sport and all its kindred
delights--the whole glorification of the physical life--I viewed as a
Stock Exchange man might view the gambling for marbles of his youth. It
was incredible that I had ever even fancied myself content. My brain was
still in a whirl, but it seemed to me that I was already conscious of new
powers. My thoughts travelled more quickly, I felt a greater alertness of
brain, a swifter rush of ideas. But it seemed to me, also, that something
had gone, that never again would I find my way lie through the rose
gardens of life.

I must have dozed for a time upon the sofa, and was awakened by a soft
tapping upon the low, old-fashioned windows, which opened upon the
terrace. I sprang up, and, for a moment, it seemed to me that I must be
dreaming. It was Adèle who stood there, all in white, with sunlight
around her.... I gasped for a moment, and then recovered myself. It was
Adèle sure enough, in a white linen riding habit, and morning had come
while I slept. But I knew then that one link at least remained with the
old life.

She tapped upon the window-pane a little imperiously, and I threw open
the sash. Her eyes were fixed upon my face. I think that she, too, saw
the change. With the opening of the window came a rush of sweet fresh
air. She stepped into the room.

"Don't look at me as though I were something unreal!" she exclaimed. "I
told them that I was fond of early morning rides, and I saw your light
burning here from the park. Tell me--is he worse?"

I was suddenly calm. I realized that this was the beginning.

"He is dead," I answered. "He died about midnight."

There was a momentary horror in her face, for which I was grateful--I
scarcely knew why.

"Dead," she repeated softly, "so soon!"

She looked around the room and back at me.

"Turn out the lamps," she said. "This light is ghastly."

There was little more color in her face than mine. Even the sunlight
seemed cold and cheerless. She came a little nearer to me.

"He was conscious--at the end?"

"Yes!" I answered.

Her breath seemed to be coming a little faster. Her eyes were full of
eager questioning.

"You were with him?"

"Yes!"

Again there was a pause. I was steadfastly silent.

"Don't keep me in suspense," she muttered. "He told you?"

"Yes!" I answered, "he told me--certain things."

She drew a long breath of relief. I could see that she was trembling all
over. She sank into a chair.

"I felt that he would," she declared. "I knew that he could not carry his
secret to the grave. Is the door locked?"

"Yes!" I answered. "The door is locked."

She was still pale, but her eyes were burning.

"Go on!" she said; "don't lose a moment. I am waiting."

"For what?" I asked calmly.

"To hear everything," she answered quickly.

"I have nothing to tell you," I said.

She stamped her foot with the petulance of a spoilt child.

"Oh! how dense you are!" she exclaimed. "Repeat to me exactly what he
said to you--now, before you forget a single word!"

"I cannot do that," I said.

She leaned a little forward in her chair. Even then she did not
understand.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean that the things which he told me with his last breath were for my
own ear and my own knowledge alone," I answered. "I cannot share that
knowledge even with you."

It seemed to me that there was something unreal, almost hideous, about
the silence which followed. Through the open window there drifted into
the room the early morning sounds of an awakening world--the whistling of
birds in the shrubberies and upon the lawn, the more distant whir of a
reaping machine at work in the cornfields. But between us--silence. I
could not move my eyes from her face. There was no anger there, only a
slowly dawning horror. She seemed to be looking upon me as a man doomed.
I lit a match, and, taking some papers from my pocket, I slowly destroyed
them.

"There go the last records," I said, blowing the ashes away, "I have
learnt them by heart."

"I never thought of this," she murmured. "I never thought that you might
be--oh! you cannot understand," she broke off. "You cannot know what you
are doing."

"I have an idea," I answered grimly. "He warned me."

"Yet you cannot understand," she persisted. "Do you know that, even in
saying this much to me, you are signing your death-warrant--that from
this moment your life will not be safe for a single moment?"

"I know that there is danger," I answered; "but I am not an easy person
to kill. I have had narrow escapes before, and escaped without a
scratch."

She rose to her feet.

"If only I could make you understand," she muttered.

"Leslie Guest did his best," I answered. "He told me what the last few
years of his life had been. I know that I have to face great odds. I can
but do my best. We only die once."

Then she came swiftly over to me and laid her hands upon my shoulders.
There was now something more human in her face. Her eyes seemed to plead
with mine, and the joy of her near presence was a very real and subtle
thing. I felt my eyes kindle and my heart beat fast. There was no other
danger to be compared with this.

"I did not dream that this might happen," she said softly. "I meant to
use you as a tool, I even thought that you had consented. Oh! I am sorry.
I shall be sorry all my life that I asked you to bring him here. Will you
listen to me for a moment?"

"I am listening all the time," I answered, taking one of her hands in
mine.

"Have you realized what all this means?" she continued. "Are you prepared
to give up your life here, your sports, your beautiful home, to feel
that you have spies and enemies on every side, working always in the
dark against you? The man who lies dead upstairs knew every move of the
game--yet you see what has happened to him. How can you hope to succeed
when he failed? Forget last night, my friend! I Believe that it was a
nightmare, and I, too, will forget what you have told me. Come, it is not
too late. We will say that he died suddenly in a stupor, and that,
whatever his secrets were, he carried them with him. Is it agreed?"

I shook my head.

"One cannot break faith with the dead," I answered. "That is amongst the
impossible things. Let us speak no more of it."

She leaned towards me. Her breath was upon my cheek, and her eyes shone
into mine.

"Men have done more than this," she murmured, "when a woman has
pleaded--and--it is for your own sake. Think! Must I count you amongst
my enemies?"

"God only knows why you should," I answered. "I am no judge of others;
but if I betrayed the trust of a dead man, even for the sake of the woman
I loved, I should put a bullet in my brain sooner or later. What I cannot
understand, dear, is why you are not on my side. You are practically an
Englishwoman. What have you to do with Leslie Guest's enemies?"

She turned away sadly.

"There are some things," she said, "which cannot be altered. You and I
are on opposite sides. We may as well say good-bye. We shall never meet
again like this."

"I cannot believe it," I answered. "There are many things which seem dark
enough in the future to me, but I shall never believe that this is our
good-bye."

It seemed to me strange afterwards, that of the immediate future neither
of us spoke. I did not even ask her how long she was going to stay with
Lady Dennisford; she did not speak to me of my plans. As she had come, so
she went, silently and unexpectedly. She would not even let me follow her
out onto the terrace; from the window I watched her mount her horse and
ride away. Only just before she went she had looked back.

"I must see you again," she said. "You, too, must have time to think. I
am going to forget this morning, I am going to forget that I have seen
you. You, too, must do the same!"

Forget! She asked a hard thing.




CHAPTER XVII

NAGASKI'S INSTINCT


I was busy all the morning sending and receiving telegrams, and making
certain plans on my own account. Rust was with me a good deal of the
time; but the visitor whose coming I was expecting every minute did not
arrive till early in the afternoon. I sent out word to Mr. Stanley that I
was exceedingly busy, and should be glad to be excused; but, as I had
confidently expected, he was insistent. In about a quarter of an hour I
received him in the library.

He sank softly into the chair towards which I had pointed. For a moment
he sat and blinked at me behind his gold-rimmed spectacles.

"So our friend," he murmured, "has passed away! It is very sad--very sad
indeed."

I leaned back in my chair and regarded him steadfastly.

"Mr. Stanley," I said, "you did not come here to express your sympathy
with the man whom you have done your best, if not to kill, at least to
frighten to death. Ask me all the questions you want to--say anything you
think necessary. Only finish it up. When you leave this room, let me feel
that circumstances will not require any further meeting between us."

My words seemed to afford Mr. Stanley matter for thought. His brows were
slightly puckered. I knew that from behind his glasses I was being
subjected to a very keen examination.

"I only trust, Mr. Courage,"' he said softly, "that the wish you have
expressed may become a possibility. I myself have always regretted your
intervention in this affair. You are, if you will forgive my saying so,
in strange waters."

"I don't know about that," I answered curtly. "I don't see now how I
could have done other than I have done. But anyhow, I'm sick of it. I
don't want to seem discourteous, but if you could manage to say to me, in
the course of a quarter of an hour, all that you have to say, and ask all
the questions you want to, I should be glad to have done with the whole
business, once and for all!"

My visitor nodded thoughtfully.

"Very good, Mr. Courage," he said. "I will endeavor to imitate your
frankness. Is there to be a post-mortem?"

"There is not," I answered. "Dr. Rust does not consider it necessary, and
I am forced to confess that I cannot see anything to be gained by it. You
and your friends may have been responsible for his death. I cannot say!
At any rate, I am sure that we should never be able to fix the guilt in
the proper quarter."

Mr. Stanley shrugged his shoulders slightly.

"I must congratulate you upon your common sense, Mr. Courage," he said.
"I pass on now to a more important question. Did our friend, before he
died, impart to you any of the hallucinations under which he suffered?
Are you his legatee?"

"I am not," I answered. "I believe that he meant me to be; but his death,
when it came, was quite sudden. All the secret information I had from him
was his name, and the address of his lawyers."

There was a short silence. I was able to bear with perfect calmness the
keen scrutiny to which my visitor was subjecting me.

"I congratulate you heartily, Mr. Courage," he said at last. "Mr. Guest's
story, if he had told it to you, would have been a mixture of stolen
facts and hallucinations, which might have influenced your life very
forcibly for evil. I wished for his death! I admit it freely. But I
wished it for this reason: because in all Europe yesterday, there did not
breathe a more dangerous man than the man who called himself Leslie
Guest."

"Well, he has gone," I said, "and his life, so far as I know of it, has
been a very sad one. I have already explained to you my wishes in the
matter. I want to forget as speedily as possible the events of the last
eight days."

"I should like," Mr. Stanley said, "to see him."

"I am sorry," I answered, "but that is impossible. The nurses are busy in
the room now, and apart from that, the dead, at least, should have peace
from their enemies. Of one thing I can assure you. Every scrap of paper
he had with him is burnt. There is nothing about him or the room which
could be of interest to you. I have sent for his lawyer, and am making
arrangements for the funeral. There is nothing more to be said or done,
except to say good afternoon to you, Mr. Stanley,"

He rose slowly up from his chair.

"You are a little precipitate, Mr. Courage," he said, "but I do not know
that I can blame you. Do you object to telling me when the funeral will
be?"

"I am not myself informed, at present," I answered. "I am waiting for the
arrival of the lawyer."

I had risen to my feet, and was standing with the handle of the door in
my hand. Mr. Stanley took the hint, yet I fancied that he departed
unwillingly.

"I should like," he admitted, "to have seen--him, and also the lawyer."

"Then you can find another opportunity," I answered stiffly. "Mr. Guest's
friends would receive every consideration from me. His enemies, I must
admit, I cannot, under the circumstances, see the back of too quickly."

Mr. Stanley had no alternative but to depart, which he did with as good a
grace as possible. I was glad to be alone for a few minutes. My ordinary
share of the vices of life, both great and small, I was, without a doubt,
possessed of. But I had never been a liar. I had never looked a man in
the face and made statements which I had known at the time were
absolutely and entirely false. This was my first essay in a new role.

My next visitor was a very different sort of person, a fair, florid
little man, with easy, courteous manners, and dressed in deep mourning.
He introduced himself as Mr. Raynes, of Raynes and Bishop, Solicitors,
Lincoln's Inn, and alluded to the telegram which I had sent him earlier
in the morning.

"May I inquire," he asked, after we had exchanged a few commonplaces, "if
you are aware that Mr. Leslie Guest was an assumed name of the deceased?"

"I was in his confidence towards the last," I answered. "He told me a
good deal of his history."

The lawyer nodded sympathetically.

"A very sad one, I fear you found it," he remarked.

"Very sad indeed," I assented.

"I have here," he continued, "Lord Leslie's will, and instructions as to
his burial. I presume you would like me to take entire charge of all the
arrangements?"

"Certainly," I answered.

"His Lordship wished to be buried very quietly in the nearest churchyard
to the place where he died," the lawyer continued. "I presume that can be
arranged."

"Quite easily," I answered. "The clergyman is waiting to see you now; if
you like I will take you to him."

In the hall we met Lady Dennisford. She was plainly dressed in black, and
she carried a great bunch of white roses. I introduced Mr. Raynes to the
vicar, and hurried back to her.

"You would like to see him?" I asked.

She nodded, and I led the way upstairs. I opened the door and closed it
again softly, leaving them alone....

I descended into the hall, and there upon the steps, looking at me with
black, beady eyes, deep set in his wrinkled face, was my friend, or
rather my enemy, Nagaski. He eyed my approach with gloomy disfavor.
He opened his mouth in a seeming yawn, a little, red tongue shot out from
between his ivory teeth. Then I heard him called by a familiar voice, and
passing out, I found his mistress leaning back in the corner of Lady
Dennisford's victoria.

She welcomed me with a slow, curious smile.

"I will get out," she said. "There is something I should like to say to
you."

I handed her down. She led the way on to the terrace. A few paces behind,
Nagaski, with drooping head and depressed mien, followed us. When we
halted, he sat upon his haunches and watched me.

"Nagaski," I remarked, "does not seem to be quite himself to-day."

"It is your presence," she answered, "which affects him. He dislikes
you."

I looked at him thoughtfully. If Nagaski disliked me, I was very sure
that I returned the sentiment to a most unreasonable extent.

"I wonder why," I said. "I have always been decent to him."

"Nagaski has antipathies," she said quietly. "It is a good thing that we
are not in his own country. There his breed are supposed to have some of
the qualities of seers, and his dislike would be a very ominous thing."

"Are you superstitious?" I asked.

"I am not sure," she answered gravely. "If I were, I should certainly
avoid you. His attitude is a distinct warning."

I drew a little nearer to her. It seemed to me that she was very pale,
and there was trouble in her face.

"Do you think it possible?" I asked, "that I could bring sorrow upon
you?"

"Very possible indeed," she murmured, avoiding my eyes, and looking
steadily across the park.

"Since when have you discovered this?" I asked.

"Within the last hour," she answered.

I laid my hand upon hers. She withdrew it at once. There was a distinct
change in her manner towards me.

"I suppose," she remarked, "that I ought to congratulate you. You are
certainly cleverer than I gave you credit for. You have deceived Mr.
Stanley, and he is not at all an easy person for a beginner to deceive."

I kept silence. I began to see the trouble into which I was drifting.

"But," she continued, "you did not attempt to deceive me. And in this
matter, Mr. Stanley and I are one!"

"You have told him!" I exclaimed.

"Not yet," she answered, "but I am forced to do so, unless--"

"Unless what?"

She looked me in the face.

"Unless you give me your word of honor that you make no attempt to carry
on the task which Leslie Guest had assigned himself, that you do not
regard yourself in any shape or form as his successor. Don't you see that
it must be so? You plead that you must keep faith with the dead. I, at
least, must keep faith with the living. I offer you a chance of safety,
and I beg you to take it. I can do no more."

There was a sharp, little yap from Nagaski. We looked around, Lady
Dennisford had come out. We turned towards her. Nagaski trotted on ahead.
His demeanor was generally more brisk, and his expression one of relief.
A cloud of anxiety seemed to have rolled away from his small brain. Adèle
pointed to him significantly.

"You see," she said, "his instinct is right. There are evil things
between you and me. If I speak, there is no hope for you, and if I keep
silent, there is danger for me, and I am a woman forsworn. If only I had
never gone to Lord's and seen you play cricket!"

"Would that have helped us?" I asked.

"Of course! I should never have counted upon you as a possible tool! I
saw you strain every nerve in your body to catch a ball, and I judged you
by your pursuits, and--all this has come of it. Nagaski was right. We go
ill together, you and I, and one of us must suffer."

"I can only pray then," I answered, as I handed her into the carriage,
"that it may be I."

Nagaski sprang upon his mistress' lap, and his was the only farewell I
received as the carriage drove away. His upper lip was drawn back over
his red gums; there was something fiendish and uncanny in his snarl, and
the hatred which shone from his tiny black eyes. I watched the carriage
until it disappeared. He had not moved. He was still looking back at me.




CHAPTER XVIII

IN THE DEATH CHAMBER


I sat up suddenly in bed and turned on the light. It was barely two
o'clock by my watch, but I felt sure that I had not been mistaken. Some
one had knocked at my door.

In the act of springing out of bed the sound was repeated. This time
there was certainly no mistake about it, and I heard my name called--

"Mr. Courage! Mr. Courage!"

I opened the door. The landing was dimly lit, and I could see little else
except the figure of the woman who stood there. With one hand she was
leaning against the wall, her face was as white as a sheet; she wore a
hastily thrown on dressing-gown of dingy red. Her whole appearance was
that of a person convulsed with fright.

"Who are you?" I asked. "What do you want?"

Her lips parted. She seemed to have the intention of speaking, but no
words came. Her teeth began to chatter.

"Come," I said brusquely, "you must--why you are the nurse whom Dr. Rust
sent, aren't you?" I asked, suddenly recognizing her. "What is the matter
with you? Are you ill?"

All the time, although she was silent, her eyes, distended and
terror-stricken, were fixed upon me. She nodded feebly.

"Something--is wrong!" she faltered at last. "Come!"

She turned away, still with one hand holding on to the wall. She
evidently wished me to follow her.

"One moment," I said. "Wait while I put something on."

I turned back into my room and wrapped my dressing-gown around me. Then I
followed her along the corridor. She led the way to the room which had
been occupied by Leslie Guest. Outside the door she hesitated. She turned
and faced me abruptly. She was white to the lips. Her appearance was
horrible.

"I dare not go in!" she moaned. "I have been a nurse for fifteen years,
and I have never known anything like this!"

"Like what?" I asked, bewildered. "What is it that has happened?"

She shivered, but she did not answer me. I was beginning to feel
impatient.

"Are you hysterical?" I asked. "I wish you would try and tell me what is
the matter."

"Go in," she answered; "go in, and see--if you can see anything."

I opened the door and entered. The room was dimly lit by a lamp, placed
on the table near the window. Upon the bed, covered by a sheet, his
waxen-like face alone visible, was the body of the man who had been my
guest. Beyond, with the connecting door wide open, was the anteroom where
the nurse had been sleeping. Except for the ticking of a clock, there was
no sound to be heard; there was no sign anywhere of any disturbance or
disorder. I looked back at the nurse for an explanation.

"What is it that has upset you so?" I asked. "I can see nothing wrong."

She pointed to the bed.

"His eyes!" she murmured. "Go and look!"

I walked over to the bedside, and leaned reverently over the still
figure. Suddenly I felt as though I were turned to stone. The blood in my
veins ran cold, I staggered back. My gaze had been met with an upturned
glassy stare from a pair of wide-opened, deep-set eyes!

"Good God!" I cried, "his eyes are open!"

The nurse, who had gained a little courage, came to my side.

"I closed them myself," she whispered. "I closed them carefully. I
thought that I heard a noise and I came in. I lit a lamp and I saw--what
you can see! Fifteen years I have been a nurse, and I have watched by the
dead more times than I can count. But I have never known that happen!"

Once more I approached the bedside. One arm was drawn up a little from
under the clothes. I noticed its somewhat unnatural position and pointed
it out to the nurse.

"Did you leave it like that?" I asked.

Her teeth chattered.

"No!" she answered, "The arms were quite straight. Some one has been in
the room--or--"

"Or what?" Tasked.

"He must have moved," she whispered in an unnatural tone.

Once more I bent over the still form. The pupils of the wide-open eyes
were slightly dilated; they seemed to meet mine with a horrible, unseeing
directness. There was no sign about his waxen face or still, cold mouth
that life had lingered for a moment beyond the stated period. And yet
something of the nurse's terror was slowly becoming communicated to me. I
felt that I was in close company with mysterious things.

I turned towards the nurse.

"Go to your room," I said, "and shut yourself in there. I am going to
send for Dr. Rust. Understand it is you that are ill. I do not want a
word of this to be spoken of amongst the servants."

She passed into her room and closed the door without a word. I had a
telephone from my room to the stables, and in a few moments I had
succeeded in awakening one of the grooms.

"The nurse is ill," I told him. "Take a dog-cart and go down and fetch
Dr. Rust. Ask him to come back with you at once."

I heard his answer, and a few minutes later the sound of wheels in the
avenue. Then I put on my clothes, and going downstairs, fetched some
brandy and took it up to the nurse. She, too, was dressed; and, although
she was still pale, she had recovered her self-possession.

"I am very sorry to have been so foolish, sir," she said, declining the
brandy. "I have never had an experience like this before, and it rather
upset me."

"You think," I asked, "that he has lived, since--"

"I am sure of it," she answered. "His was a very peculiar illness, and I
know that it puzzled the doctor very much. It was just the sort of
illness to have led to a case of suspended animation."

"You think it possible," I asked, "that he is alive now?"

"It is quite possible," she answered, "but not very likely. He probably
died with the slight effort he made in moving his arm. I am quite willing
to go in and examine him, if you like, or would you prefer to wait until
the doctor comes?"

"We will wait," I answered. "He cannot be more than a few minutes."

Almost as I spoke, I heard the dog-cart returning. I hurried downstairs
and admitted the doctor. It was almost daybreak and very cold. A thin,
grey mist hung over the park; a few stars were still visible. Eastwards,
there was a faint break in the clouds.

"What's wrong?" he asked, as I closed the door behind him.

"Something very extraordinary, doctor," I answered, hurrying him
upstairs. "Come and hear what the nurse has to say."

He looked at me in a puzzled manner, but I hurried him upstairs. The
nurse met him on the landing. She whispered something in his ear, and
they entered the bedchamber together. I remained outside.

In about ten minutes the door was thrown open, and the doctor appeared
upon the threshold. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and there was a look
upon his face which I had never seen there before. He had the appearance
of a man who has been in touch with strange things.

"Some hot water," said he--"boiling, if possible. Don't ask me any
questions, there's a good fellow!"

I had already aroused some of the servants, telling them that the nurse
had been taken ill, and I was able to bring what he had asked for in a
few minutes. But when I returned with it and tried the handle of the
door, I found it locked. Rust opened it after I had knocked twice, and
took the can from me.

"Go away, there's a good fellow," he begged. "I will come to you as soon
as I can--as soon as there is anything to tell."

I obeyed him without demur. I went into my study, ordered some tea, and
tried to read. It must have been an hour before the door was opened, and
Rust appeared.

"Courage," he said, "I have some extraordinary news for you."

"I am quite prepared for it," I answered calmly.

"He is alive!"

I nodded.

"I judged as much."

"More than that! I believe he will recover!"

There was a short silence. I had never seen Rust so agitated.

"You don't seem to grasp quite all that this means," he continued. "For
the first time in my life, I have signed a certificate of death for a
living person!"

"You have signed the certificate?" I asked.

He nodded.

"The undertaker has it."

The maid entered just then with the tea. I ordered another cup for Rust,
and when it had arrived, I made him sit down opposite to me.

"His was exactly the kind of illness," he remarked thoughtfully, "to lead
to something of this sort. I am quite sure now, whatever Kauppmann's
friend may say, that his disease was not a natural one. He has been
suffering from some strange form of poisoning. It is the most interesting
case I have ever come in contact with. There were certain symptoms--"

"Rust," I interrupted, "forgive me, but I don't want to hear about
symptoms. I want to talk to you as man to man. We are old friends! You
must listen carefully to what I have to say."

Rust's good-humored, weather-beaten, little face was almost pitiful.

"You're going to pitch into me, of course," he remarked. "Well, I
suppose I deserve it. You may not believe it, but I can assure you
that ninety-nine out of every hundred medical men would have signed
the certificate in my case."

"I have no doubt of it," I answered. "That is not the matter I want to
discuss with you at all. There is something more serious, terribly
serious, behind all this. Frankly, if I did not know you so well, Rust, I
should offer you the biggest fee you had ever received in your life, to
leave the place this morning and be called to--Timbuctoo. As it is," I
continued more slowly, "I am going to appeal to you as a sportsman! I am
going to take you into my confidence as far as I dare. I want, if I can,
to justify a very extraordinary request."

Rust took off his spectacles and laid them upon the table.

"The request being--" he asked.

"That you start for the holiday you were speaking of the other day," I
said, "within twelve hours."

He glanced at me curiously. I think that he was beginning to wonder
whether I might not be the next person to need medical advice.

"Go on," he said. "I am prepared to listen at any rate...."

He listened. And at 10.30 that morning, he left Saxby--for the South
Coast.




CHAPTER XIX

AN AFFAIR OF STATE


My cousin met me at St. Pancras. I saw him before my own carriage had
reached the platform, peering into the window of every compartment
in his short-sighted way. He recognized me at last with a little wave of
the hand.

"Glad to see you, Hardross! These your things? We'll have a hansom. Where
are you staying?"

"At the club, if I can get a room," I answered. "I shall try there before
I go to an hotel, at any rate."

"Come and have some lunch first," Sir Gilbert said firmly. "You can see
about your room afterwards. Remember your appointment is at three
o'clock."

I acquiesced, and got into a cab with my cousin. I was perfectly aware
that he was almost consumed with curiosity. He scarcely waited until we
were off before he began.

"Hardross!" he asked, "what's up?"

"Nothing particular," I answered lamely.

"Rubbish!" he declared, "you are the last man in the world I should have
expected to see in town the second week in September! You haven't come
for nothing, have you? And then this interview with Lord Polloch. What on
earth can you have to say to the Prime Minister?"

"I'm afraid, Gilbert," I answered, "that I can't tell you--just yet. You
see it isn't my own affair at all. It's--another man's secret."

My cousin was palpably disappointed.

"Well," he said, a little curtly, "whatever sort of a secret it is, it
hasn't agreed with you very well. I never saw you look so seedy--and
years older too! What on earth have you been doing with yourself?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"I've had a cold," I said. "Got wet through shooting one day last week."

My cousin regarded me incredulously.

"A cold! You!" he remarked. "I like that! I don't believe you ever had
such a thing in your life!"

I leaned forward in the cab to look at the placards of the afternoon
papers.

"Any news in town?" I asked.

"None at all," Gilbert answered. "There's scarcely any one about. I'm off
to Hamburg to-morrow myself."

"And Lord Polloch?" I asked.

"He's off to Scotland to-night for a fortnight's golf. Afterwards I
believe he's going abroad. You must confess that your appearance here is
a little extraordinary. If I hadn't been on particularly good terms with
Polloch, I could not possibly have got you an interview. He's up to his
eyes in work, and as keen as a schoolboy on getting away for his
holiday."

"It's very good of you," I answered.

My cousin regarded me critically.

"You'll forgive my suggesting it, I'm sure, Hardross," he said, "but you
have got something particular to say to him, I suppose? These fellows
don't like being bothered about trifles. The responsibility is on my
shoulders, you see."

"I have something quite important to say to him," I declared. "In all
probability, he will give you a seat in the Cabinet for having arranged
the meeting."

Gilbert abandoned the subject for the moment. A sense of humor was not
amongst his characteristics, and I do not think that he approved
altogether of my levity. But later on, as we sat at luncheon, he returned
to it.

"Have you ever thought of Parliament, Hardross?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"One in the family," I murmured, "is sufficient."

"The diplomatic service," he remarked, "you are, of course, too old for."

"Naturally," I agreed; "as a matter of fact, I have no hankerings for
what you would call a career."

"And yet--" he began.

"And yet," I interrupted, "I am anxious for an interview with the Prime
Minister. I am afraid I cannot tell you very much, Gilbert, but I will
tell you this. Some rather important information has come into my
possession in a very curious fashion. I conceive it to be my duty to pass
it on to the government of this country. Lord Polloch can decide whether
or not it is of any real value. It is for this purpose that I am seeking
this interview with him. I tell you this much in confidence. I cannot
tell you more."

My cousin smiled in a somewhat superior manner.

"You have got a cheek," he said. "As though any information you could
pick up would be worth bothering Polloch with!"

I glanced at the clock and leaned back in my chair.

"Well," I said, "in about a quarter of an hour his Lordship will have an
opportunity of judging for himself. By the bye, Gilbert, do you mind
keeping what I have told you entirely to yourself?"

"You haven't told me anything," he grunted.

"I have told you enough to get me into pretty considerable trouble," I
remarked grimly. "Shall I see you later?"

"I shall wait till you return," he answered firmly. "I am rather anxious
to hear how you get on with the chief."

"I am a little anxious about it myself," I admitted, as we went out into
the hall.

I walked the short distance to Downing Street. The afternoon was
brilliantly fine, and the pavements were thronged with foot-passengers. I
passed down the club steps into what seemed to me to be a new world. I
did not recognize myself or my kinship with my fellow-creatures. For the
first time in my life, I was affected with forebodings. I scanned the
faces of the passers-by. I had an uneasy suspicion all the time that I
was watched. As I turned in to Downing Street, the feeling grew stronger.
There were several loiterers in the roadway. I watched them suspiciously.
The idea grew stronger within me that I should not be allowed to reach my
destination. I found myself measuring the distance, almost counting the
yards which separated me from that quiet, grey stone house, almost the
last in the street. It was with a sense of immense relief that I pushed
open the gate and found myself behind the high iron palings. A butler in
sombre black opened the door, almost before my hand had left the bell. I
was myself again immediately. My vague fears melted away. I handed in my
card, and explained that I had an appointment with Lord Polloch. In less
than five minutes I was ushered into his presence.

"I am very glad to see you, Mr. Courage," he said. "I understand that
you have some information which you wish to give me. I have exactly
twenty-five minutes to give you. Take that easy-chair and go ahead...."

In less than three-quarters of an hour, I was back in the club. I
found my cousin almost alone in the smoking-room. He looked up with
ill-suppressed eagerness as I entered.

"Well?"

I lit a cigarette and threw myself into an easy-chair.

"Quiet afternoon here?" I remarked.

"You saw Lord Polloch?"

I nodded.

"I was with him exactly twenty-five minutes," I answered.

"Well?" he repeated.

I called a waiter and ordered something to drink. I felt that I needed
it.

"My dear Gilbert," I said, "I will not affect to misunderstand you! You
want to know how Lord Polloch received me, what the nature of my business
with him was, and its final result. That is so, isn't it?"

"To a certain extent, yes!" he admitted; "as I was responsible for the
interview, I naturally feel some interest in it," he added stiffly.

"Lord Polloch was most civil," I assured him. "He thanked me very much
for coming to see him. He hoped that I would call again immediately on
his return from Scotland, and--I have no doubt that by this time he has
forgotten all about me."

"Your information, after all, then," Gilbert exclaimed, "was not really
important!"

"He did not appear to find it so," I admitted.

"I wonder," Gilbert said, looking at me curiously "what sort of a mare's
nest you have got hold of. Rather out of your line, this sort of thing,
isn't it?"

The walls of the club smoking-room seemed suddenly to break away. I was
looking out into the great work where men and women faced the whirlwinds,
and were torn away, struggling and fighting always, into the Juggernaut
of destruction. I looked into the quiet corners where the cowards lurked,
and I seemed to see my own empty place there.

"Oh! I don't know," I answered calmly. "We are all the slaves of
opportunity. Lord Polloch very courteously, but with little apparent
effort, has made me feel like a fool. Perhaps I am one! Perhaps Lord
Polloch is too much of an Englishman. That remains to be discovered."

"What do you mean by 'too much of an Englishman'?" Gilbert asked.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Too much self-confidence, too little belief in the possibility of the
unusual," I answered.

"Suppose you appoint me arbitrator," Gilbert suggested.

I shook my head.

"I cannot, Gilbert," I answered. "As I have said, the issue is between
Lord Polloch and myself, and I hope to Heaven that Lord Polloch is in the
right, or there will be trouble."

"You are extraordinarily mysterious," Gilbert remarked.

"I must seem so," I answered, "I cannot help it. Have a drink, Gilbert,
and wish me God speed!"

"Are you off back to Medchestershire to-night?" Gilbert asked.

I shook my head.

"No! but I thought of running over to the States next week."

Gilbert laid down his cigar, and looked at me anxiously.

"Have you seen a doctor lately, Hardross?" he asked.

"Not necessary," I answered. "I'm as fit as I can be!"

"Then will you tell me," he asked, "why, with the shooting just on, and
the hunting in full view, you are talking of going to America?"

"I've had a good many years of hunting and shooting and cricket and sport
of all sorts, Gilbert," I answered. "Perhaps I'm not quite so keen as I
was."

"If you are not going to America for sport," my cousin asked, "what are
you going for?"

I rose to my feet.

"Gilbert," I said, "it's no use. Some day or other you will know all
about it--perhaps very soon. But, for the present, I can tell you
nothing. I've stumbled into a queer place, and I've got to get out of it
somehow. Wish me good luck, old chap!" I added, holding out my hand;
"and--if anything should happen to me abroad--look after the old
place--it'll be yours, you know, every stick and stone."

Then I got away as soon as I could. Gilbert was by way of becoming
incoherent, and, so far as I was concerned, there was nothing more to be
said.




CHAPTER XX

TRAVELLING COMPANIONS


I locked the door of my state-room, and seated myself upon the edge of
the lower bunk with a little sigh of relief. The slow pounding of the
engines had commenced, the pulse of the great liner was beating, and
through the port-hole I could see the docks, with their line of people,
gliding past us. We were well out in the Mersey already.

"We're off, Guest!" I exclaimed, "and off safely, too, I think. Chuck
that now, there's a good fellow."

Guest was engaged in emptying the contents of one of my bags. He turned
slowly round and faced me, with a pair of my trousers upon his arm.

"I shall do nothing of the sort," he answered calmly. "I am here as your
servant, Courage, and your servant I intend to remain. We can't hope to
keep the thing up on the other side, if we are all the time drifting back
to our old relations. I wish I could make you understand this."

I opened the port-hole as far as it would go, and lit a cigarette.

"That's all very well," I said; "but I don't see any need to keep the
farce up in private, and I'm sure I can unpack my own things a thundering
sight better than you can."

"Very likely," he answered, "but you certainly won't do it. Can't you
understand that, unless we grow into our parts, they will never come
naturally to us? Besides, we may be watched. You cannot tell."

"The door is locked," I remarked dryly.

"For the moment, no doubt, we're all right," Guest answered; "but you
won't be able to lock it often upon the voyage. Remember that we are up
against a system with a thousand eyes and a thousand ears. It's no good
running risks. I am Peters, your man, and Peters I mean to be."

"Do you propose," I asked, "to have your meals in the servants' saloon?"

"Most certainly I do," was the curt answer. "I expect to make
acquaintances there who will be most useful. Did you get the passengers'
list?"

I drew it from my pocket. Guest came and looked over my shoulder.
Half-way down the list he pointed to a name.

"Mr. de Valentin and valet!" he murmured. "That is our friend. I
recognize the name. He has used it before! Now let us see."

Again his forefinger travelled down the list--again it paused.

"Mrs. Van Reinberg, and the Misses Van Reinberg! Ah!" he said, "that is
the lady whose acquaintance you must contrive to make."

"One of the court?" I asked,

He nodded.

"There are others, of course, but I do not recognize their names. They
will sort themselves up naturally enough. Now unlock that door, and go up
on deck. The stewards will be in directly for orders."

I rose and stretched out my hand towards the door. Suddenly, from
outside, an unexpected sound almost paralyzed me--the sharp, shrill
yapping of a small dog!

I felt the color leave my cheeks. Guest looked at me in amazement.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked. "You're not frightened of a toy
terrier, are you?"

I opened the door. Of course, my sudden fear had been absurd. I peered
out into the passage, and a little exclamation broke from my lips.
Sitting on his haunches just outside, his mouth open, his little, red
tongue hanging out, was a small Japanese spaniel. There may have been
thousands of others in the world, but that one I was very sure, fr

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