The second victorian mys.., p.8
The Second Victorian Mystery Megapack, page 8
“And so,” he went on, “I would have you understand clearly and without any mistake that I will have no women fetched into that den of iniquity on any pretext whatsoever. You understand me?”
Melun nodded feebly. He was completely crushed and beaten.
“Henceforward, too,” Westerham continued, “I am going to adopt a different attitude towards you. Once, I confess, I had a few uneasy feelings that, with what you are pleased to call your ‘endless resources,’ you might do me some injury. A good many people disappear in London, and I fancied for a little while I might become one of the lost ones, but, heavens! it is amazing to think that I should ever have felt the least disquiet. You and your precious friends are cowards, every one of you.
“However, we will leave that subject now and proceed to another which is of more importance and interest to me.”
Draining his whisky-and-soda, Westerham leaned back in his chair and smoked thoughtfully for a few minutes, keeping his gaze on the pale and cowering Melun.
Then he reached out for the newspaper, in which during the afternoon he had read that the Prime Minister was to give a reception on the morrow. Folding it carefully so as to mark the place, Westerham laid the paper down beside Melun and tapped the all-important paragraph with a quick, incisive finger.
“I would recall to your mind,” he said to the captain, “that I explained to you on the Gigantic that my sole object in returning to London was to make the acquaintance of the girl in the picture—the girl you informed me was the Lady Kathleen Carfax. Now I find you, even on this short acquaintance, such a braggart that I am inclined to doubt everything you say. So I am going to test your boast that you know Lady Kathleen, and that you have the entrée to Lord Penshurst’s house. Did you lie to me on that matter or did you not?”
“I did not,” said Melun, with some signs of returning spirit.
In his excitement he would indeed have leapt from his chair, but Westerham gave him a little push in the chest which sat him down again.
“Not so fast,” he said, “you are here to listen to what I have to say.
“You tell me,” he continued, after a slight pause, “that what you said was true. In that case I demand as part of our bargain that you should take me to Lord Penshurst’s to-morrow night.”
Melun became livid. “I will never do it,” he cried.
“You will not?” inquired Westerham with a little laugh. “Surely it was part of our agreement that you should introduce me to all your friends. If you fail to keep that agreement, then I shall fail to keep mine; and I fancy that some of the authorities will be extremely interested in what I shall be able to tell them.”
Melun looked helplessly and almost pleadingly at Westerham. “But what you ask now,” he complained, “is quite impossible.”
“Why?”
Melun mumbled, and Westerham’s quick mind instinctively found the right reason for the captain’s distress. He debated whether he should mention the Hyde Park affair of the night before. Had Bagley told him? He was doubtful. And if Bagley had not told then the revelation might be awkward. He had no wish to drive Melun so hard that he would turn and become obstinately intractable.
Moreover, if he said anything then he would certainly never discover from Melun what hold he had upon Lady Kathleen and her father. It would be better, he reflected, to smooth matters over and let events take their own course. In following his method, he felt assured the opportunity of fathoming the mystery must inevitably come to him.
So when he spoke next to Melun it was a little less curtly. “You will hardly deny,” he said, “that your presence in Lord Penshurst’s house must be unwelcome. Do you hesitate to take me there because you think that in so doing I might possibly be tarred with the same brush as yourself?”
“What do you mean?” asked Melun, savagely, and there crept into his eyes an embarrassed, even a hunted look.
“I meant nothing at all except that, in spite of everything, you must make it convenient to have me included among the guests.”
Melun appeared to think deeply for a few moments and then nodded acquiescence. “Very well,” he said grumpily, and closed the matter for that night.
On the following evening Melun arrived at the Walter’s Hotel sleek and smiling. His face was as smooth as his shirt-front, and his manner as pleasant as the cut of his coat.
Westerham met him in the hall and nodded to him with an almost friendly smile. Presently they drove down to Downing Street.
When Lady Kathleen had entered into possession of No. 10 as hostess she had turned the rather dowdy old house upside down, and decorators and upholsterers had done all they could to make the old-fashioned building pleasant and graceful.
It was now about half-past ten, and the crush was very great. The Prime Minister, handsome and white-bearded, stood apart with Lady Kathleen to receive the guests.
As Melun pressed forward his gaze darted in all directions as though in the endeavour to find the eyes of friends or at least acquaintances. And many men nodded to him and many women smiled on him.
Though he had been away from England so long, all Westerham’s knowledge of great social events came back to him, and he followed Melun easily and unembarrassed by the scores of eyes which looked at him with questioning and admiration.
For his immense height alone attracted attention, while wherever his strange, bright, sea-green glance fell there was left behind a little recollection which would never be quite effaced.
As he skilfully edged his way nearer to the Prime Minister, Westerham suffered a little pang of remorse. It occurred to him that he was taking Lady Kathleen at a somewhat unfair advantage. He had even half a mind to draw back, fearing lest his unlooked-for appearance might cause her an embarrassment which might become obvious to all beholders, but he reflected that a girl who had displayed such courage and such coolness was more than likely to be equal to the occasion. None the less, he endeavoured, so far as he could, to soften the shock of their meeting, and to this end he looked over the heads and shoulders of the tightly-packed people before him, seeking Lady Kathleen’s eyes.
Suddenly her wandering glance met his fixed one, and for a second Westerham’s heart softened within him as he saw her pupils momentarily shrink and then dilate as though with terror. But the contraction and dilation of her pupils were so swift that no one but an expectant observer would have noted the change. Her face paled a little and then flushed, and Westerham, from the long-continued habit of studying people’s emotions, realised with distress that it was the flush of fear rather than the flush of confusion.
By this time Melun had won his way to the Prime Minister’s hand, and Westerham followed him closely. Lord Penshurst lifted his shrewd old eyes to Westerham’s face with a long, searching gaze. And over his face there swept a sudden change of expression. As Melun had whispered his name the old man’s face had taken a hard and almost dogged look, but instantly it softened, and he looked at Westerham long with something akin to wondering pity in his eyes.
Westerham smiled back frankly, laughing a little to himself at the change in the Prime Minister’s expression. He was quick to see that Lord Penshurst had evidently regarded him at first as an enemy, as a man to be avoided, as a man introduced by Melun for some sinister motive. Then suddenly, from the very honesty and openness of Westerham’s face, the Premier had changed about to the opinion that he was Melun’s dupe—that he was a new pigeon fit for the captain’s plucking. For Westerham by this time had not a shadow of a doubt that Lord Penshurst was only too intimately acquainted with the extent of Melun’s evil doings.
With Lady Kathleen, however, things were otherwise. Westerham had noted that to the other man she had merely bowed, but to him she held out her hand, and for a second grasped his warmly.
The all-observant Prime Minister glanced sidewise at his daughter, and his mobile face changed again in its expression to one of astonishment. Westerham saw the dry old lips tighten in the white beard, and was somewhat taken aback. He guessed, and guessed rightly enough, that Lady Kathleen had not told him of her effort to save her father’s honour.
So great was the crush that Westerham had no time to say any word to Lady Kathleen—at least not then. But as he moved away he was conscious that the dark, shining eyes followed him with a little look of appeal.
He was so certain of this that he turned his head about and found his instinct true; so he nodded back with a little friendly smile as though he had known her for many years. It was a smile which seemed to say, “Very well, I will see you by-and-by.”
Melun intercepted the smile and scowled, and almost immediately moved back in a further endeavour to gain Lady Kathleen’s side.
Westerham wandered aimlessly to a doorway, and there, following the immemorial privilege of bored young men at a dance or a crush, leant against the lintel and surveyed the scene before him with slightly tolerant amusement.
In half an hour or so the people had thinned a little; all the guests had made their bows, and some of them had even taken their departure.
It was then that Westerham noticed Lady Kathleen and the Prime Minister standing a little apart conversing earnestly in whispers, and at the same time doing their best not to attract attention.
From the corner of his eye Westerham saw Lady Kathleen flush once or twice and was conscious that the Prime Minister stabbed him two or three times with his shrewd old eyes.
Then Melun sauntered up to them, and succeeded in detaching Lady Kathleen from her father. They moved away together, and Westerham wondered what ill-begotten scheme Melun was furthering now. For another ten minutes, therefore, he hung idly in the doorway till he saw Melun come back alone and take the Prime Minister on one side. They were conversing rapidly, and Westerham could plainly see that Lord Penshurst was by no means pleased. There was, indeed, on his face an expression of cold rage such as Westerham had never seen on any man’s face before. Melun, too, appeared a trifle disconcerted, and this was a joy to Westerham, for he was right in supposing that Melun had hoped to see fear rather than anger in Lord Penshurst’s face.
Westerham was, however, not so interested in this conversation as he was in the finding of Lady Kathleen, so he moved across the room and through the doorway in search of the Premier’s daughter.
The room beyond was crowded, and Westerham passed on to a third room in which there were fewer people. Still he could discern no signs of Lady Kathleen.
But just ahead of him he saw the dark entrance to what apparently was a landing. He moved towards this, and found himself suddenly face to face with her. She was sitting almost huddled up in a little chair at the foot of the staircase.
As she saw him approach she lifted up both her hands as though to thrust him away, and her face from deadly white flushed to a bright crimson.
“No, no!” she cried in a low tone, “let matters rest as they are. I shook hands with you just now, but I did not know that you had come—with that man.”
“You think he is my friend?” asked Westerham, gently.
“How can I doubt it?” asked Lady Kathleen.
“Well,” said Westerham, with a quiet little laugh, “I admit that he appears to be, but that is to suit my purpose and to gain my own ends.”
“I thought so,” she murmured.
“Yes, yes,” replied Westerham, quickly, “but don’t misunderstand me—my ends may be selfish, but they are not criminal.”
Lady Kathleen started violently.
Westerham glanced about him to see that they were unobserved; he found that they were quite alone.
“I must speak quickly,” he said, “as I know it is impossible for you to stay here long, but please hear me out.
“That night,” he nodded in the direction of the Park, “I knew nothing. I do not know very much now, except that I have discovered a connecting link between Bagley and Melun. Why they persecute you and your father I do not know; I wish I did, for I would then, perhaps, be able to help you. These men are knaves and cowards, and they are also fools. I do not want to boast, but one good man could easily defeat them. Why not tell me what troubles you?”
Lady Kathleen looked at him appealingly and doubtfully, then she rose to her feet.
“I must not. I do not know who you are, or even what your name is, and although you seem to be Melun’s friend, I feel that I might trust you; but, oh! if you were persecuted as we are persecuted you would trust no man.”
Westerham was about to persuade her further, but at this moment her father came quickly through the doorway.
“Kathleen!” he cried.
The girl started up and caught her father’s arm. The old man turned quickly towards Westerham; his face was ablaze with passion.
“As for you, sir,” he cried in a low voice, “leave my house, leave my house at once.”
Westerham threw out a deprecating hand.
“If you will only hear me, Lord Penshurst.”
“I have told that scoundrel Melun that I will have no further dealing with him or any of his crew.”
“But I—” urged Westerham.
“Be silent,” cried the Prime Minister in a voice of suppressed fury. “Do you think that you have not heaped sufficient dishonour on my head already? But there is a point beyond which you shall not go. I will not have my house and my daughter degraded in this way.”
It took all Westerham’s self-control to master himself now. It cut him like a whip to feel himself regarded as of the same breed as Melun. But he saw it would be utterly useless and would only provoke a scene to argue with the bitter old man. So, making a formal little bow to Lady Kathleen, he left them.
CHAPTER VII
LADY KATHLEEN’S DOUBTS
In the outer room he found Melun; he took him by the arm and said very quickly, “Come along, I want to speak to you.”
Melun gave him one almost quizzical look and accompanied him without speaking.
As a matter of fact, he found it rather awkward to say anything at all, and did not attempt to break the silence in which Westerham drove back to the hotel.
Westerham himself was baffled, and yet he had ascertained one thing which was likely to be of infinite use to him. He had discovered that there was, without doubt, a definite connection between the game which Melun was playing and Bagley’s attempt to steal Lady Kathleen’s diamonds.
That was sufficient for the night.
Still his impatience, or perhaps one had better say his desire, to get at the actual facts prompted him to take Melun into Walter’s Hotel and subject him to a close cross-examination.
Melun, however, had recovered from his perturbation of the night before, and, moreover, was apparently intoxicated by the effect of rubbing shoulders with the great ones of the earth at the Prime Minister’s reception. Therefore he was in a far less tractable frame of mind than was pleasant to Westerham. The captain, indeed, had got back that self-possession and cool audacity of which he had made such good use on the Gigantic. Westerham realised this at once, and at the outset dealt very gently with Melun.
“Don’t you think,” he began softly, “that you had better make a clean breast of it?”
“Not at all,” answered Melun. “I have no desire to shock you, and a man who is disturbed by the yelling of a couple of girls is not likely to take what I might tell him in a particularly cool manner.”
Westerham’s bright, sea-green eyes hardened.
“I have told you,” he said in a more menacing tone, “that if you want to indulge in villainy you have got to keep women out of it. Now, whatever your scheme may be, it cannot be of very particular magnitude unless it has to do with the Premier. I fail to see where Lady Kathleen comes into the matter at all.”
“Perhaps you do,” Melun answered, “but then you are unacquainted with the details, and I don’t propose to enlighten you. I agreed to betray the secrets of the prison house, or rather to let you see how my friends work, but I did not agree to tell you of every piece of business in which I was engaged.”
“On this occasion, I fancy,” said Westerham, “you will find it convenient to unburden your mind.”
But Captain Melun only laughed. “Not so,” he said.
Westerham was as near to exasperation as he ever allowed himself to get.
“I don’t want to coerce you,” he remarked grimly.
“You had better not try,” Melun answered. “There is one thing which apparently you have not taken into your calculations. You forget that Lord Penshurst—I admit that your suspicions of a tie between us are correct—is quite as much interested in keeping me silent as I am in keeping silent myself.”
Westerham had foreseen this point, and was prepared with an answer.
“You forget,” he said, “that it might suit my convenience to become Lord Penshurst’s friend.”
“Have a care,” cried Melun, angrily; “you don’t know what you say.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Westerham.
“I mean,” said Melun, softly, “that I can strike back where it will hit you most.”
Instinctively Westerham clenched his hands.
“Possibly,” he said, “but you cannot blackmail me, and though since I met you first I knew you were a blackmailer, I did not know you aimed so high as to blackmail the Prime Minister.”
He paused for a few moments before he spoke again; when he did his voice was even and low; but Melun did not like the ring in it.
“In fact,” Westerham resumed, “I have seen enough to convince me that what you are after must be very big game indeed. What it is, of course, I do not know, and it would simply be idle on my part to pretend that I did. But I have the capacity of being infinitely patient, and sooner or later I shall find out. I will not press you because I think that I should simply land myself into difficulties, which would make matters harder than they are.”
