Part 12

“All the same, Mr. Cade, you can’t always go by that. Women especially can do a lot with make up. I’ve seen quite a pretty girl with the color of her hair altered, a sallow complexion stain, slightly reddened eyelids and, most efficacious of all, dowdy clothes, who would fail to be identified by nine people out of ten who had seen her in her former character. Men haven’t got quite the same pull. You can do something with the eyebrows, and of course different sets of false teeth alter the whole expression. But there are always the ears—there’s an extraordinary lot of character in ears, Mr. Cade.”

“Don’t look so hard at mine, Battle,” complained Anthony. “You make me quite nervous.”

“I’m not talking of false beard and grease paint,” continued the superintendent. “That’s only for books. No, there are very few men who can escape identification and put it over on you. In fact there’s only one man I know who has a positive genius for impersonation. King Victor. Ever heard of King Victor, Mr. Cade?”

There was something so sharp and sudden about the way the detective put the question that Anthony half checked the words that were rising to his lips.

“King Victor?” he said reflectively instead. “Somehow, I seem to have heard the name.”

“One of the most celebrated jewel thieves in the world. Irish father, French mother. Can speak five languages at least. He’s been serving a sentence, but his time was up a few months ago.”

“Really? And where is he supposed to be now?”

“Well, Mr. Cade, that’s what we’d rather like to know.”

“The plot thickens,” said Anthony lightly. “No chance of his turning up here, is there? But I suppose he wouldn’t be interested in political Memoirs—only in jewels.”

“There’s no saying,” said Superintendent Battle. “For all we know, he may be here already.”

“Disguised as the second footman? Splendid. You’ll recognize him by his ears and cover yourself with glory.”

“Quite fond of your little joke, aren’t you, Mr. Cade? By the way, what do you think of that curious business at Staines?”

“Staines?” said Anthony. “What’s been happening at Staines?”

“It was in Saturday’s papers. I thought you might have seen about it. Man found by the roadside shot. A foreigner. It was in the papers again to-day, of course.”

“I did see something about it,” said Anthony carelessly. “Not suicide, apparently.”

“No. There was no weapon. As yet the man hasn’t been identified.”

“You seem very interested,” said Anthony, smiling. “No connection with Prince Michael’s death, is there?”

His hand was quite steady. So were his eyes. Was it his fancy that Superintendent Battle was looking at him with peculiar intentness?

“Seems to be quite an epidemic of that sort of thing,” said Battle. “But, well, I dare say there’s nothing in it.”

He turned away, beckoning to a porter as the London train came thundering in. Anthony drew a faint sigh of relief.

He strolled across the park in an unusually thoughtful mood. He purposely chose to approach the house from the same direction as that from which he had come on the fateful Thursday night, and as he drew near to it he looked up at the windows cudgelling his brains to make sure of the one where he had seen the light. Was he quite sure that it was the second from the end?

And, doing so, he made a discovery. There was an angle at the corner of the house in which was a window set farther back. Standing on one spot, you counted this window as the first, and the first one built out over the Council Chamber as the second, but move a few yards to the right and the part built out over the Council Chamber appeared to be the end of the house. The first window was invisible, and the two windows of the rooms over the Council Chamber would have appeared the first and second from the end. Where exactly had he been standing when he had seen the light flash up?

Anthony found the question very hard to determine. A matter of a yard or so made all the difference. But one point was made abundantly clear. It was quite possible that he had been mistaken in describing the light as occurring in the second room from the end. It might equally well have been the _third_.

Now who occupied the third room? Anthony was determined to find that out as soon as possible. Fortune favoured him. In the hall Tredwell had just set the massive silver urn in its place on the tea tray. Nobody else was there.

“Hullo, Tredwell,” said Anthony. “I wanted to ask you something. Who has the third room from the end on the West side? Over the Council Chamber, I mean.”

Tredwell reflected for a minute or two.

“That would be the American gentleman’s room, sir. Mr. Fish.”

“Oh, is it? Thank you.”

“Not at all, sir.”

Tredwell prepared to depart, then paused. The desire to be the first to impart news makes even pontifical butlers human.

“Perhaps you have heard, sir, of what occurred last night?”

“Not a word,” said Anthony. “What did occur last night?”

“An attempt at robbery, sir!”

“Not really? Was anything taken?”

“No, sir. The thieves were dismantling the suits of armour in the Council Chamber when they were surprised and forced to flee. Unfortunately they got clear away.”

“That’s very extraordinary,” said Anthony. “The Council Chamber again. Did they break in that way?”

“It is supposed, sir, that they forced the window.”

Satisfied with the interest his information had aroused Tredwell resumed his retreat, but brought up short with a dignified apology.

“I beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t hear you come in, and I didn’t know you were standing just behind me.”

Mr. Isaacstein who had been the victim of the impact waved his hand in a friendly fashion.

“No harm done, my good fellow. I assure you no harm done.”

Tredwell retired looking contemptuous, and Isaacstein came forward and dropped into an easy-chair.

“Hullo, Cade, so you’re back again. Been hearing all about last night’s little show?”

“Yes,” said Anthony. “Rather an exciting week-end, isn’t it?”

“I should imagine that last night was the work of local men,” said Isaacstein. “It seems a clumsy, amateurish affair.”

“Is there anyone about here who collects armour?” asked Anthony. “It seems a curious thing to select.”

“Very curious,” agreed Mr. Isaacstein. He paused a minute, and then said slowly: “The whole position here is very unfortunate.”

There was something almost menacing in his tone.

“I don’t quite understand,” said Anthony.

“Why are we all being kept here in this way? The inquest was over yesterday. The Prince’s body will be removed to London where it is being given out that he died of heart failure. And still nobody is allowed to leave the house. Mr. Lomax knows no more than I do. He refers me to Superintendent Battle.”

“Superintendent Battle has something up his sleeve,” said Anthony thoughtfully. “And it seems the essence of his plan that nobody should leave.”

“But, excuse me, Mr. Cade, you have been away.”

“With a string tied to my leg. I’ve no doubt that I was shadowed the whole time. I shouldn’t have been given a chance of disposing of the revolver or anything of that kind.”

“Ah, the revolver,” said Isaacstein thoughtfully. “That has not yet been found, I think?”

“Not yet.”

“Possibly thrown into the lake in passing.”

“Very possibly.”

“Where is Superintendent Battle? I have not seen him this afternoon.”

“He’s gone to London. I met him at the station.”

“Gone to London? Really? Did he say when he would be back?”

“Early to-morrow, so I understood.”

Virginia came in with Lord Caterham and Mr. Fish. She smiled a welcome at Anthony.

“So you’re back, Mr. Cade. Have you heard all about our adventures last night?”

“Why, trooly, Mr. Cade,” said Hiram Fish. “It was a night of strenuous excitement. Did you hear that I mistook Mrs. Revel for one of the thugs?”

“And in the meantime,” said Anthony, “the thug——?”

“Got clear away,” said Mr. Fish mournfully.

“Do pour out,” said Lord Caterham to Virginia. “I don’t know where Bundle is.”

Virginia officiated. Then she came and sat down near Anthony.

“Come to the boat-house after tea,” she said in a low voice. “Bill and I have got a lot to tell you.”

Then she joined lightly in the general conversation.

The meeting at the boat-house was duly held.

Virginia and Bill were bubbling over with their news. They agreed that a boat in the middle of the lake was the only safe place for confidential conversation. Having paddled out a sufficient distance, the full story of last night’s adventure was related to Anthony. Bill looked a little sulky. He wished Virginia would not insist on bringing this Colonial fellow into it.

“It’s very odd,” said Anthony, when the story was finished. “What do you make of it?” he asked Virginia.

“I think they were looking for something,” she returned promptly. “The burglar idea is absurd.”

“They thought the something, whatever it was, might be concealed in the suits of armour, that’s clear enough. But why tap the panelling? That looks more as though they were looking for a secret staircase, or something of that kind.”

“There’s a Priest’s Hole at Chimneys, I know,” said Virginia. “And I believe there’s a secret staircase as well. Lord Caterham would tell us all about it. What I want to know is, what can they have been looking for?”

“It can’t be the Memoirs,” said Anthony. “They’re a great bulky package. It must have been something small.”

“George knows, I expect,” said Virginia. “I wonder whether I could get it out of him. All along I’ve felt there was something behind all this.”

“You say there was only one man,” pursued Anthony, “but that there might possibly be another, as you thought you heard some one going towards the door as you sprang to the window.”

“The sound was very slight,” said Virginia. “It might have been just my imagination.”

“That’s quite possible, but in case it wasn’t your imagination the second person must have been an inmate of the house. I wonder now——”

“What are you wondering at?” asked Virginia.

“The thoroughness of Mr. Hiram Fish who dresses himself completely when he hears screams for help downstairs.”

“There’s something in that,” agreed Virginia. “And then there’s Isaacstein who sleeps through it all. That’s suspicious too. Surely he couldn’t?”

“There’s that fellow Boris,” suggested Bill. “He looks an unmitigated ruffian. Michael’s servant, I mean.”

“Chimneys is full of suspicious characters,” said Virginia. “I dare say the others are just as suspicious of us. I wish Superintendent Battle hadn’t gone to London. I think it’s rather stupid of him. By the way, Mr. Cade, I’ve seen that peculiar-looking Frenchman about once or twice, spying round the park.”

“It’s a mix up,” confessed Anthony. “I’ve been away on a wild-goose chase. Made a thorough ass of myself. Look here, to me the whole question seems to resolve itself into this: Did the men find what they were looking for last night?”

“Supposing they didn’t?” said Virginia. “I’m pretty sure they didn’t, as a matter of fact.”

“Just this, I believe they’ll come again. They know, or they soon will know, that Battle’s in London. They’ll take the risk and come again to-night.”

“Do you really think so?”

“It’s a chance. Now we three will form a little syndicate. Eversleigh and I will conceal ourselves with due precautions in the Council Chamber——”

“What about me?” interrupted Virginia. “Don’t think you’re going to leave me out of it.”

“Listen to me, Virginia,” said Bill. “This is man’s work——”

“Don’t be an idiot, Bill. I’m in on this. Don’t you make any mistake about it. The syndicate will keep watch to-night.”

It was settled thus, and the details of the plan were laid. After the party had retired to bed, first one and then another of the syndicate crept down. They were all armed with powerful electric torches, and in the pocket of Anthony’s coat lay a revolver.

Anthony had said that he believed another attempt to resume the search would be made. Nevertheless, he did not expect that the attempt would be made from outside. He believed that Virginia had been correct in her guess that some one had passed her in the dark the night before, and as he stood in the shadow of an old oak dresser it was towards the door and not the window that his eyes were directed. Virginia was crouching behind a figure in armour on the opposite wall, and Bill was by the window.

The minutes passed, at interminable length. One o’clock chimed, then the half-hour, then two, then another half-hour. Anthony felt stiff and cramped. He was coming slowly to the conclusion that he had been wrong. No attempt would be made to-night.

And then he stiffened suddenly, all his senses on the alert. He had heard a footstep on the terrace outside. Silence again, then a low scratching noise at the window. Suddenly it ceased, and the window swung open. A man stepped across the sill into the room.

He stood quite still for a moment, peering round as though listening. After a minute or two, seemingly satisfied, he switched on a torch he carried, and turned it rapidly round the room. Apparently he saw nothing unusual. The three watchers held their breath.

He went over to the same bit of panelled wall he had been examining the night before.

And then a terrible knowledge smote Bill. He was going to sneeze! The wild race through the dew-laden park the night before had given him a chill. All day he had sneezed intermittently. A sneeze was due now, and nothing on earth would stop it.

He adopted all the remedies he could think of. He pressed his upper lip, swallowed hard, threw back his head and looked at the ceiling. As a last resort he held his nose, and pinched it violently. It was of no avail. He sneezed.

A stifled, checked, emasculated sneeze, but a startling sound in the deadly quiet of the room.

The stranger sprang round, and in the same minute Anthony acted. He flashed on his torch, and jumped full for the stranger. In another minute they were down on the floor together.

“Lights,” shouted Anthony.

Virginia was ready at the switch. The lights came on true and full to-night. Anthony was on top of his man, Bill leant down to give him a hand.

“And now,” said Anthony, “let’s see who you are, my fine fellow.”

He rolled his victim over. It was the neat, dark-bearded stranger from the _Cricketers_.

“Very nice indeed,” said an approving voice.

They all looked up startled. The bulky form of Superintendent Battle was standing in the open doorway.

“I thought you were in London, Superintendent Battle,” said Anthony.

Battle’s eyes twinkled.

“Did you, sir?” he said. “Well, I thought it would be a good thing if I was thought to be going.”

“And it has been,” agreed Anthony, looking down at his prostrate foe.

To his surprise there was a slight smile on the stranger’s face.

“May I get up, gentlemen?” he inquired. “You are three to one.”

Anthony kindly hauled him on to his legs. The stranger settled his coat, pulled up his collar, and directed a keen look at Battle.

“I demand pardon,” he said, “but do I understand that you are a representative from Scotland Yard?”

“That’s right,” said Battle.

“Then I will present to you my credentials.” He smiled rather ruefully. “I would have been wise to do so before.”

He took some papers from his pocket and handed them to the Scotland Yard detective. At the same time, he turned back the lapel of his coat and showed something pinned there.

Battle gave an exclamation of astonishment. He looked through the papers and handed them back with a little bow.

“I’m sorry you’ve been man-handled, monsieur,” he said, “but you brought it on yourself, you know.”

He smiled, noting the astonished expression on the faces of the other.

“This is a colleague we have been expecting for some time,” he said. “M. Lemoine, of the Sûreté in Paris.”

19

Secret History

They all stared at the French detective, who smiled back at them.

“But yes,” he said, “it is true.”

There was a pause for a general readjusting of ideas. Then Virginia turned to Battle.

“Do you know what I think, Superintendent Battle?”

“What do you think, Mrs. Revel?”

“I think the time has come to enlighten us a little.”

“To enlighten you? I don’t quite understand, Mrs. Revel.”

“Superintendent Battle, you understand perfectly. I dare say Mr. Lomax has hedged you about with recommendations of secrecy—George would, but surely it’s better to tell us than have us stumbling on the secret all by ourselves, and perhaps doing untold harm. M. Lemoine, don’t you agree with me?”

“Madame, I agree with you entirely.”

“You can’t go on keeping things dark for ever,” said Battle. “I’ve told Mr. Lomax so. Mr. Eversleigh is Mr. Lomax’s secretary, there’s no objection to his knowing what there is to know. As for Mr. Cade, he’s been brought into the thing willy-nilly, and I consider he’s a right to know where he stands. But——”

Battle paused.

“I know,” said Virginia. “Women are so indiscreet! I’ve often heard George say so.”

Lemoine had been studying Virginia attentively. Now he turned to the Scotland Yard man.

“Did I hear you just now address Madame by the name of Revel?”

“That is my name,” said Virginia.

“Your husband was in the Diplomatic Service, was he not? And you were with him in Herzoslovakia just before the assassination of the late King and Queen.”

“Yes.”

Lemoine turned again.

“I think Madame has a right to hear the story. She is indirectly concerned. Moreover”—his eyes twinkled a little—“Madame’s reputation for discretion stands very high in Diplomatic circles.”

“I’m glad they give me a good character,” said Virginia, laughing. “And I’m glad I’m not going to be left out of it.”

“What about refreshments?” said Anthony. “Where does the conference take place? Here?”

“If you please, sir,” said Battle, “I’ve a fancy for not leaving this room until morning. You’ll see why when you’ve heard the story.”

“Then I’ll go and forage,” said Anthony.

Bill went with him and they returned with a tray of glasses, siphons and other necessaries of life.

The augmented syndicate established itself comfortably in the corner by the window, being grouped round a long oak table.

“It’s understood, of course,” said Battle, “that anything that’s said here is said in strict confidence. There must be no leakage. I’ve always felt it would come out one of these days. Gentlemen like Mr. Lomax who want everything hushed up take bigger risks than they think. The start of this business was just over seven years ago. There was a lot of what they call Reconstruction going on—especially in the Near East. There was a good deal going on in England, strictly on the Q.T. with that old gentleman, Count Stylptitch, pulling the strings. All the Balkan States were interested parties, and there were a lot of Royal Personages in England just then. I’m not going into details, but Something disappeared—disappeared in a way that seemed incredible unless you admitted two things—that the thief was a Royal Personage and that at the same time it was the work of a high-class professional. M. Lemoine here will tell you how that well might be.”

The Frenchman bowed courteously and took up the tale.

“It is possible that you in England may not even have heard of our famous and fantastic King Victor. What his real name is, no one knows, but he is a man of singular courage and daring, one who speaks five languages and is unequalled in the art of disguise. Though his father is known to have been either English or Irish, he himself has worked chiefly in Paris. It was there, nearly eight years ago, that he was carrying out a daring series of robberies and living under the name of Captain O’Neill.”

A faint exclamation escaped Virginia. M. Lemoine darted a keen glance at her.

“I think I understand what agitates Madame. You will see in a minute. Now we of the Sûreté had our suspicions that this Captain O’Neill was none other than ‘King Victor,’ but we could not obtain the necessary proof. There was also in Paris at the time a clever young actress, Angèle Mory, of the Folies Bergères. For some time we had suspected that she was associated with the operations of King Victor. But again no proof was forthcoming.

“About that time, Paris was preparing for the visit of the young King Nicholas IV of Herzoslovakia. At the Sûreté we were given special instructions as to the course to be adopted to ensure the safety of His Majesty. In particular we were warned to superintend the activities of a certain Revolutionary organization which called itself the Comrades of the Red Hand. It is fairly certain now that the Comrades approached Angèle Mory and offered her a huge sum if she would aid them in their plans. Her part was to infatuate the young King, and decoy him to some spot agreed upon with them. Angèle Mory accepted the bribe and promised to perform her part.

“But the young lady was cleverer and more ambitious than her employers suspected. She succeeded in captivating the King who fell desperately in love with her and loaded her with jewels. It was then that she conceived the idea of being—not a King’s mistress, but a Queen! As every one knows, she realized her ambition. She was introduced into Herzoslovakia as the Countess Varaga Popoleffsky, an offshoot of the Romanoffs, and became eventually Queen Varaga of Herzoslovakia. Not bad for a little Parisian actress! I have always heard that she played the part extremely well. But her triumph was not to be long lived. The Comrades of the Red Hand, furious at her betrayal, twice attempted her life. Finally they worked up the country to such a pitch that a Revolution broke out in which both the King and Queen perished. Their bodies, horribly mutilated and hardly recognizable, were recovered, attesting to the fury of the populace against the low-born foreign Queen.

“Now, in all this, it seems certain that Queen Varaga still kept in with her confederate, King Victor. It is possible that the bold plan was his all along. What is known is that she continued to correspond with him, in a secret code, from the Court of Herzoslovakia. For safety the letters were written in English, and signed with the name of an English lady then at the Embassy. If any inquiry had been made, and the lady in question had denied her signature, it is possible that she would not have been believed, for the letters were those of a guilty woman to her lover. It was your name she used, Mrs. Revel.”

“I know,” said Virginia. Her colour was coming and going unevenly. “So that is the truth of the letters! I have wondered and wondered.”

“What a blackguardly trick,” cried Bill indignantly.