CHAPTER FIFTEEN

About a fortnight later, Lydon had the news confirmed from another quarter. Gloria received a letter from her uncle, in which was the following paragraph: “I have got some news for you. Zillah Mayhew is married to a very charming young man, named Edwards. She has been a very sly little puss about it all. It appears from a somewhat belated confession to her uncle, my dear old friend John Whitehouse, they have known each other for some four or five years. They met again during her recent visit to Paris and were married there. Edwards is a man possessed of considerable means and moves in good society. They kept the marriage secret for a little time on account of family reasons connected with the husband. I am very glad that Zillah has done so well.”

The letter then proceeded to state other things, some of which Lydon, to whom his sweetheart read the epistle, had already heard from Grewgus. The married couple had taken and furnished a house in Curzon Street, where Zillah proposed to entertain. Zillah had led a retired life when in England, did not know many people. But her husband had heaps of friends and acquaintances, and would soon fill the house. They proposed to give a big reception shortly. Stormont and his sister would attend it. And Zillah insisted that Gloria, her father and mother, and her fiancé should be her guests on such a special occasion.

Innocent Gloria read out all this to her fiancé, and the young man made certain inward comments as she went along. It was very unlikely the couple had been married on Zillah’s last visit to Paris. Grewgus had been watching the woman, Simmons the man till the eve of their disappearance. If there had been any marriage ceremony, they would have known of it. If they were husband and wife, they had been married long ere now, and had lived apart, the better to pursue their nefarious ends.

Gloria, woman-like, was interested in what appeared to be a real romance. “I am so glad,” she said enthusiastically. “Zillah is such a delightful, charming girl, she deserves a good husband. I am surprised that she has not been married long before this. Uncle Howard speaks well of him, doesn’t he? And I think he is a very shrewd judge of character. We must certainly go to that party to see for ourselves. You agree, I am sure.”

Yes, Lydon certainly agreed. Of course, he could not as yet give a hint to the unsuspecting girl of his reasons. He would dearly like to observe the adventuress and Edwards at close quarters.

In London the next day, he found time to run round to Grewgus and inform him of what Howard Stormont had written.

“Well, you will keep your eyes open when you are there,” said the detective. “I wish you could take me with you, but that, I suppose, is impossible. I’m a master of disguise, you know; I could go as something quite different from Grewgus. I might spot something that would escape you. I am very curious as to the game they have got on; it must be something big, or else they wouldn’t go to this considerable expense. Of course, that account of the recent marriage in Paris is all bunkum.”

Lydon would dearly have liked to take the detective with him as an old friend, to obtain a card for him through Stormont. But he saw it was too risky. Stormont was a man of diabolical ingenuity and cunning. He would smell a rat at once. Later on, he might be able to work him into the Curzon Street ménage.

“By the way, I have never shown you the snapshot of Edwards that Simmons took in Paris, have I?” asked the detective presently.

He opened a drawer in his writing-table, extracted a photograph and handed it to his client. Lydon gave a cry of astonishment as he looked at it. “Well, of all the strange things that have ever happened! This man is a member of my own club, the Excelsior.”

“What do you know about him?” asked Grewgus in an excited voice.

“Well, almost next to nothing. The Excelsior is a big club, as you know, and there are dozens of different sets. He mixes rather amongst the fast lot. I have heard that he is a man of good family, a public school and Cambridge man, and has considerable private means.”

“Do you know him to speak to?” asked Grewgus eagerly.

“I may have exchanged a dozen words with him since I have belonged to the club. We both joined it about the same time, three years ago. I should rather say I knew him to nod to.”

“I think we might classify him as a typical specimen of the aristocratic crook,” remarked Grewgus. “Well-born, well-educated, gifted with brains of the wrong sort, who has taken to evil courses either from natural inclination, or because he dislikes honest work. Well, Mr. Lydon, this is very interesting and I may say very fortunate. To think we have been scouring London for him, and not hit upon the Excelsior Club. You must certainly go to that party, take diligent notes, and report to me what you have observed.”

In due course, formal cards arrived for the big reception, an afternoon one from four to seven, to the Jasper Stormonts, Gloria and Lydon. The banker and his wife sent their excuses. They were a stay-at-home couple and had no desire to rub shoulders with a lot of strangers who knew nothing about them and about whom they knew nothing.

“Except Gloria and yourself, and my brother and sister, there would not be a soul we knew,” said Gloria’s father. “The hostess is a most delightful young woman, my daughter tells me; but she will be much too busy to pay any attention to a couple of old fogies like ourselves. Of course, Howard will be in his element amongst a crowd; in a lesser degree, it is possible my sister will also be happy. I and my wife will remain here while you young people are disporting yourselves in society.”

Howard Stormont had written to say that Gloria had better spend the rest of the day with them, driving down to Effington after the reception was over. If Lydon wished, he could drive down with them, have dinner and stay the night. But the young man got out of this. He would meet Gloria in London and take her back to Brighton the day after instead. He wished to be in Howard Stormont’s company as little as possible.

The day after he had received the card, he strolled into the club of which both he and Edwards were members. It was a big establishment, situated in Piccadilly, and had a large clientèle--stockbrokers, barristers, a few actors, artists and authors, and several wealthy business men. Almost the first person he saw was an elderly barrister named Joyce, a member of the committee, who had recently retired from practice. This gentleman was a very gregarious person, a great gossip, and supposed to know more about the private history of his fellow-members than anybody else in the club. To Mr. Joyce he at once addressed himself:

“I’ve had a card for a big reception from Mrs. Edwards, the wife of our member. Although a common name, he is the only Edwards in the club. I don’t think I owe it to him, for we are hardly on more than nodding terms, but his wife is a great friend of a man I know, Stormont, to whose niece I am engaged. Of course, they were bound to ask my fiancée, and they have very kindly included me.”

The elderly barrister rose to the bait at once. He was quite ready to talk about Edwards; he was always ready to talk about anybody with whom he was acquainted. “I have had a card too; going to be a rather big thing, I am told. About half a dozen of us here have been asked. Edwards doesn’t mix very freely with the members, rather keeps himself to himself. As a matter of fact, he doesn’t come here very often, travels abroad a lot.”

“No, I haven’t often met him,” said Lydon in a careless tone. “Who is he, and what is he? I suppose you know?”

Mr. Joyce smiled; he was very proud of his general knowledge, which he acquired by his assiduous attendance at the club.

“I know as much as anybody else, I think, but there doesn’t seem very much to know about him. He talks very little about himself. He is a Cambridge man, comes, I believe, of a good old Sussex family, follows no profession or occupation, has private means.”

The information was decidedly meagre; but it was certain that if this was all Mr. Joyce knew, nobody knew any more.

“Rather a surprise this marriage, isn’t it?” asked Lydon after a pause. “I learn from Stormont that they were married a very short time ago abroad, I think he said in Paris.”

“Quite right,” confirmed the barrister. “We knew nothing about it here till quite lately. But you see that is not to be wondered at. Nobody of the half-dozen who have received invitations is more than just a club acquaintance. I suppose they really want to fill the rooms. He rushed in here about a week ago, told me what you know, that he was recently married, had taken a house in Curzon Street, and they were going to hold a reception, sort of house warming. He was going to send cards to a few of the members. Would I pass on to them what he had told me, as he might not be in the club again before the party came off?”

After lunch, Lydon took a taxi down to Craven Street, and imparted to Grewgus the result of his interview with Joyce, both men agreeing that what he had learned from that gentleman was practically no more than what they knew already.

The party was a week hence. Grewgus was still very bent upon going, but he recognized the impossibility of getting there.

“If I could get a chance, I would go as a waiter,” he said. “Well, it’s no use thinking about it. You say that you will be leaving about seven. I’ll be hanging about outside from half-past six--there’s sure to be the usual staring crowds outside. If you’ve nothing better to do, look out for me and follow me. When we are well out of view, we can go into some place and you can tell me anything that you think may be useful to us.”

On the day appointed, Leonard went to Curzon Street. His afternoon had been a pretty busy one, and he did not arrive there till close upon six. The rooms were quite full and it was a little time before he met his hostess, who had abandoned her position at the door some time ago. She greeted him cordially, and after a few words with her he passed on.

Presently he found the Stormont party. The portly Howard was looking very happy and radiant. “A thorough success,” he whispered to the young man. “Zillah’s a born hostess and seems immensely admired. Most of the people here are the husband’s friends; she has been so seldom in London that she doesn’t know many people yet. But it won’t be long before she does. I’m delighted it is going off so well. I’m very fond of Zillah; she’s such a sweet girl.”

Lydon thought grimly that the unfortunate Calliard had said the same thing. He inquired if Mr. Whitehouse was there.

“No,” was the answer. “He was awfully disappointed he could not be here to witness her triumph. But he was prevented by important business. I believe he is dining with them after the show.”

The mother was not there. Well, her parents were supposed to be dead and the uncle was absent. No doubt, Mrs. Edwards had her own good reasons for not having her own family round her. Casually he said to Stormont: “I’ve just caught a glimpse of Edwards; he hasn’t seen me yet. Do you know he’s a member of my club, the Excelsior?”

Was it fancy, or did he detect a rather shifty look in Stormont’s eyes as he replied to him? “Yes, he told me when I first mentioned your name. What a small place the world is, eh?”

“It came as a surprise to you all, Gloria told me. Did you or her uncle know anything of Edwards before she married him?”

“Never set eyes on him,” came the prompt answer. “Zillah has been a very sly little puss over it; they seem to have met abroad first. But he’s a delightful fellow with lots of money. There’s no doubt she has done wonderfully well for herself. And he knows heaps of good people. As you know, I don’t go about in London, but this seems to me decidedly a smart party.”

Lydon was intensely disgusted with the hypocrisy of the man, his effrontery in denying any previous knowledge of the man whom he had sent to Paris with his instructions to his “clever Zillah.” But he quite agreed with his last remarks, it certainly was a smart gathering, with so many beautifully gowned women and immaculately dressed men. The Excelsior Club, he noticed, had sent up its contingent to a man. Mr. Joyce was ubiquitous, and seemed to know a great many of the guests. Leonard was sure that the host had a footing in one world. He seemed to have an equally sure position in a more reputable one.

“He knows people in every walk of life--artists, authors, fashionables,” went on the garrulous Stormont, who seemed in the very highest of spirits. “He belongs to half a dozen clubs, from the quite exclusive to the frankly Bohemian.”

Gloria had been annexed by a very dandified young man. Mrs. Barnard was engaged with an elderly person of the well-preserved type. There came a sudden hush, a well-known professional was going to sing. Lydon left his companion and made a tour of the rooms.

When he stopped, he found himself standing next to Edwards, who gave him a cordial nod and a whispered: “Will speak to you presently.”

The song was finished and his host turned to Lydon. “Very pleased to see you here. I little thought when we used to meet occasionally at the club that we should become so closely connected, as it were. Stormont has known Zillah from a child; he is a sort of adopted uncle. Delightful fellow, Stormont, so genial, so unaffected.”

“Quite,” said Lydon, in a tone the reverse of enthusiastic. Not greatly relishing the prospect of a prolonged conversation with Edwards, he was about to move when his host stopped him.

“Do you see that young man talking to my wife, over there by the door? You know who he is, don’t you?”

Lydon looked in the direction indicated. Zillah Edwards was conversing with a handsome, elegant young fellow of about twenty-five. There was something distinguished and aristocratic about his appearance, and Leonard fancied that the face was familiar to him, but he could not recall where or under what circumstances he had seen it.

“That is Lord Wraysbury, the eldest son of the Earl of Feltham, one of the oldest families in England,” whispered Edwards in an impressive voice; and guided by this information, the young man knew why the face was familiar to him. He had seen the portrait of the young fellow in some of the society papers.

“He often comes here,” went on the host. “You know all about his history, I suppose?”

“Very little,” was the cold answer. “My acquaintance with the great world is negligible, I am sorry to say.”

“It is quite a romance,” continued the other, who did not seem to have noticed the coldness of his companion’s manner. “His father, as I said, can boast of representing one of the oldest families in England, but he is not rich. The estates are in Suffolk, and I am told don’t produce much more than twenty thousand a year; that is not much for a nobleman in his position, you know, and he has a large family.”

“I suppose not,” assented Lydon, who was not particularly interested in this good-looking young aristocrat.

“Well, thanks to an extraordinary bit of luck, Wraysbury is very rich, one of the richest young men in London. He owes it to his aunt, a very beautiful woman. She married twice. The first match was a fairly good one, but nothing out of the common. She was left a widow when she was just nearing thirty. Her second husband was an enormously rich American who had settled in England, a multi-millionaire. He died soon too, five years after their marriage. The bulk of his fortune was left to his children by a first wife; but his widow, Wraysbury’s aunt, got a comfortable two million left to her to dispose of as she liked.

“She was devoted to Wraysbury. Never having had a child by either of her husbands, she looked upon him as a son. She died two years ago and left him every penny, with the exception of a few insignificant legacies.”

“A very fortunate young man,” commented Lydon, interested in spite of himself by the romantic story. “And what sort of a chap is he? Is he taking care of his money, or making ducks and drakes of it?”

“He is a most delightful fellow in himself. With regard to your question, he spends a lot, of course. He has the handling of a very big income, but I should say he has a fairly good head upon his shoulders and knows how to manage his affairs.”

“Is he your friend, or your wife’s?” asked Lydon bluntly, hastening to add, “I mean of course in the first instance.”

“Oh, Zillah’s,” was the answer. “They knew each other abroad before he came into his aunt’s money. The acquaintance dropped till quite lately. We were dining one night at the _Ritz_ and met him in the lounge as we were going in. She introduced me and of course gave him an invitation to Curzon Street. He has dined with us twice and called several times. I like him immensely; he is a dear chap.”

Lydon stayed for another half-hour and noticed that Lord Wraysbury was never for long away from the side of his hostess. He did not appear to know more than a couple of people in the room and Leonard had a suspicion that they had been introduced by Zillah. It was a smart party certainly; but although he knew little of fashionable or semi-fashionable society, he did not think it was quite up to the standard of a young man of such aristocratic lineage.

He managed to obtain a few words with Gloria. “Are you enjoying yourself, my sweetheart?” he whispered.

“Oh, in a way, it is rather novel,” she replied. “But I don’t think I should care for too much of this sort of thing. Zillah has been quite kind, introduced me and aunt to a lot of people. Uncle Howard is enjoying himself immensely. I have not seen him look more beaming at one of his own dinner-parties. But I’m afraid I haven’t his temperament. I’m not fond of strange crowds.”

Soon the party began to break up; only a few determined stayers were left behind. Stormont collected his women-folk and they bade adieu to their host and hostess. Lydon took his departure with them. As he shook hands with Zillah, he observed that the good-looking Wraysbury was still in close attendance.

Stormont’s car was waiting. As they went out, Lydon saw Grewgus standing amidst the small crowd that had gathered to watch the departing guests, and made a hasty signal to which the detective answered with a slight movement of his head.

What was the young man’s astonishment to see amongst the waiting crowd the weather-beaten face of Tom Newcombe, and a hasty glance at him revealed the fact that, if not actually drunk, he was certainly not strictly sober. As soon as he caught sight of his “old pal” he rushed forward and shouted out what he intended to be a welcome, in a husky voice.

Howard Stormont’s face went white when he saw him. “Get out of the way, you drunken dog,” he said in a low voice, full of fury. “Never dare to accost me again when you are in this state.”

The Colonial, no longer shabby-looking, but dressed in very loud attire which he doubtless considered to be the height of fashion, slunk away, his face working, and muttering, “Drunken dog! Drunken dog!”

Stormont pushed the women into the car and it drove off, the occupants waving a farewell to Leonard as he stood on the kerb.

When he turned round to look for Grewgus, that gentleman had gone. He saw him a few yards off, stealthily tracking the Colonial.

He knew by this action that the ever-vigilant man had overheard what had passed and was on a fresh scent. It was no use waiting for him.