The Sins of Séverac Bablon

by Sax Rohmer

  CHAPTER XXV

  AN OFFICIAL CALL

  The Home Secretary sat before the red-leathern expanse of hiswriting-table. Papers of unique political importance were strewncarelessly about that diplomatic battlefield, for at this famous tablethe Right Honourable Walter Belford played political chess. To the righthonourable gentleman the game of politics was a pursuit only second inits fascinations to the culture of rare orchids. It ranked in that fine,if eccentric, mind about equal with the accumulating of rare editions,early printed works, illuminated missals, palimpsests, and other MSS.,or with the delights of the higher photography--a hobby to which Mr.Belford devoted much attention.

  Visitors to a well-known Sussex coast resort will need no introductionto Womsley Old Place, the charming seat of that charming man, the RightHon. Walter Belford. With a frowning glance at a number of letterspinned neatly together, Mr. Belford leant back in his heavily paddedchair, and, through his gold-rimmed pince-nez, allowed himself themomentary luxury of surveying the loaded shelves of the noted CircularStudy wherein he now was seated. The great writing-table, with itspriceless bronze head of Cicero and its luxurious appointments; themorocco, parchment, the vellum backs of the rare works about; the bustsabove the belles-lettres, afforded him visible, if aesthetic enjoyment.In a gap between two tall bookcases a Persian curtain partiallyconcealed the glass doors of a huge conservatory. Mr. Belford liked hisorchids near him when at work and not, as lesser men, when at play.

  Sighing gently, he took up the bundle of letters, laid it down again,and pressed a button.

  "I will see Inspector Sheffield," he said to the footman who came.

  Almost immediately entered a big man, fresh complexioned and of modestbearing--a man, Mr. Belford determined after one shrewd glance, who,once he saw his duty clearly, would pursue it through fire and flood,but who frequently experienced some difficulty in this initialparticular.

  "Sit down, inspector," said the politician genially, and with theappearance of wishing to hasten a distasteful business. "You would liketo see the three communications which I have received from this manBablon?"

  Sheffield, seated on the extreme edge of a big morocco-coveredlounge-chair, nodded deferentially. Mr. Belford took up the bundle ofletters.

  "This," he said, passing one to the man from Scotland Yard, "is thatwhich I received upon the 28th ultimo."

  Chief-Inspector Sheffield bent forward to the shaded light and ran hiseyes over the following, written in a neat hand upon a plaincorrespondence card:

  "Severac Bablon begs to present his compliments to His Majesty's Principal Secretary of State for the Home Department and to request the honour of a private interview, which, he begs to assure the right honourable gentleman, would be mutually advantageous. The words, 'Safe conduct.--W. B.,' together with time and place proposed, in the agony column of _The Times_, he will accept as a sufficient guarantee of the right honourable gentleman's intentions."

  "And this," continued Mr. Belford, selecting a second, "reached me uponthe 7th instant":

  "Severac Bablon begs to present his compliments to His Majesty's Principal Secretary of State for the Home Department and to urge upon him the absolute necessity of an immediate interview. He would respectfully assure the right honourable gentleman that high issues are at stake."

  "Finally," continued the politician, as Sheffield laid the second cardupon the table, "I received this upon the 13th instant--yesterday":

  "Severac Bablon begs to present his compliments to His Majesty's Principal Secretary of State for the Home Department and to inform the right honourable gentleman that he having failed to appoint a time of meeting, Severac Bablon is forced by circumstances to make his own appointment, and will venture to present himself at Womsley Old Place on the evening of the 14th instant, between the hours of 8 and 9."

  Mr. Belford leant back in his chair, turning it slightly that he mightface the detective.

  "My information is," he said, in his finely modulated voice, "that youare personally familiar with the appearance of this SeveracBablon"--Sheffield nodded--"but that no one else, or--ah--no one whom wemay call upon--is in a position to identify him. Now, apart from thefact that I have reason to fear his taking some improper measures to seeme here, this singular case is rapidly assuming a politicalsignificance!" He made the impressive pause of the culturedelocutionist. "Unofficially, I am advised that there is some wave ofafflated opinion passing through the Semitic races of the Near East--if,indeed, it has not touched the Moslems. The Secretary for ForeignAffairs anticipates--I speak as a member of the public--anticipates aletter from a certain quarter respecting the advisablity of seizing theperson of this man without delay. Had such a letter actually reached myfriend, I had had no alternative but to place the matter in the hands ofthe Secret Service."

  Inspector Sheffield fidgeted.

  "Excuse me, sir," he said; "but the S.S. could do no more than we aredoing."

  "That I grant you," replied the Home Secretary, with his genial smile;"but, in the event referred to, no choice would remain to me. Far fromdesiring the intervention of another agent, I should regret it,for--family reasons."

  "Ah!" said the inspector; "I was about to--to--approach that side of thematter, sir."

  Mr. Belford's emotions were under perfect control, but at those words heregarded the detective with a new interest.

  "You have my respectful attention," he said.

  "Well, sir,"--Sheffield was palpably embarrassed--"there's nothing to begained by beating about the bush! Excuse me, sir! But I know, and youknow, that Lady Mary Evershed--your niece, sir--and her American friend,Miss Zoe Oppner, are----"

  "Yes, inspector?"

  "Are acquainted with Severac Bablon!"

  Mr. Belford scrutinised Sheffield closely. There was more in the manthan appeared at first sight.

  "Is this regrettable fact so generally known?" he asked rather coldly.

  "No, sir," replied the other; "but if the case went on the SecretService Fund it might be compromising!"

  "Do I understand you to mean, inspector, that the discretion of ourpolitical agents is not to be relied upon?"

  "No, sir. But your--private information could hardly be withheld fromthem--as it has been withheld from us!"

  Even the politician's studied reserve was not proof against that thrust.He started. Chief-Inspector Sheffield, after all, was a man to becounted with. A silence fell between them--to be broken by the HomeSecretary.

  "Your frankness pleases me, Inspector Sheffield."

  The other bowed awkwardly.

  "I perceive that you would make a bargain. I am to take you into myconfidence, and you, in turn, hope to render any employment of the Fundunnecessary?"

  "Whatever you tell me, sir, will go no farther--not to one other living.Better confide in me than in a political agent. Then, you can't haveanything more incriminating than this."

  He took a card from his pocket and placed it before Mr. Belford.

  "TO LADY MARY EVERSHED.

  "I shall always be indebted to you and to Miss Oppner, but I can assure you of Sir Richard's safety.

  "SEVERAC BABLON."

  "No one has seen that but myself," continued the detective. "I knowbetter! But anything further you can let me have, sir, will help me toget them out of the tangle: that's what I'm aiming at!"

  Mr. Belford's expression had changed when the damning card was placedbefore him; but his decision was quickly come to. He opened a drawer ofthe writing table.

  "Here," he said, passing a sheet of foolscap to the inspector, "is theplan of international co-operation which--I will return candour forcandour--the increasing importance of the case renders expedient. It wasdrawn up by my friend the Foreign Secretary. It ensures secrecy,dispatch, and affords no loophole by which Bablon can escape us."

  His manner had grown brisk. The dilettante was lost in the man ofaction.

  Inspector
Sheffield read carefully through the long document andreturned it to Belford, frowning thoughtfully.

  "Thank you, sir," he said; "and what else?"

  Mr. Belford smiled thoughtfully.

  "You are aware that, owing to the family complications referred to, Ihave been employing Mr. Paul Harley, the private detective?"

  Sheffield nodded.

  "He has secured other letters, incriminating a Mr. Sheard, of the staffof the _Gleaner_; Sir Richard Haredale, of the ---- Guards; Miss ZoeOppner; and ... well--you know the worst--my niece, again!" Theinspector drew a long, deep breath.

  "Next to Victor Lemage, who's also an accomplice," he said admiringly,"I don't mind admitting that Harley is the smartest man in the business.But in justice to us, sir, you must remember that our hands are tied. AC.I.D. man isn't allowed to do what Harley can do."

  "I grant it, inspector. Now, having given you my confidence, I rely uponyou to work with me--not against me."

  "I am with you entirely, sir. May I have those letters?"

  Mr. Belford hesitated.

  "It is surely inconsistent with your duty to keep them private?"

  "What about the one in my pocket, sir? That alone is sufficient, if Iwanted to make a scandal. No; I give you my word that no other eye shallsee them."

  The Home Secretary shrugged his shoulders, and taking up the bundle fromwhich already he had selected Severac Bablon's three communications, heplaced it in the detective's hands.

  "I rely upon you to keep certain names out of the affair."

  "I give you my word that they shall never be mentioned in connectionwith it. You have taken the only course which could ensure that, sir.May I see the photographs?"

  If the Right Hon. Walter Belford had already revised his first estimateof Inspector Sheffield, this last request upset it altogether. Hestared.

  "I am glad to enjoy your co-operation, inspector," he said. "I prefer toknow that a man of your calibre is of my camp! You are evidently awarethat Harley has secured an elaborate series of snapshots of personsknown to Miss Oppner and to my niece. Of the several hundreds of personsphotographed, only one negative proved to be interesting. I haveenlarged the photograph myself. Here it is!"

  He took a photograph from the drawer.

  "This gentleman," he continued, "was taken in the act of bowing to LadyMary and Miss Oppner at the corner of Bond Street."

  Sheffield glanced at the photograph. It represented a strikinglyhandsome man, with dark, curling hair and singularly flashing eyes, whowas in the act of raising his hat.

  "It's Severac Bablon!" said the inspector simply.

  "Ah!" cried Belford. "So I thought! So I thought!"

  "May I take it with me?"

  "I think not, inspector. You know the man; it is scarcely necessary."And with a certain displeasure he laid the enlargement upon the table.

  The detective accepted his refusal with one of the awkward bows.

  "Regarding your protection to-night, sir," he said, standing up andbuttoning his coat, "there are six men on special duty round the house,and no one can possibly get in unseen."

  The Home Secretary, smiling, glanced at his watch. "A quarter to nine!"he said. "He has fifteen minutes in which to make good his bluff. But Ido not fear interruption."

  Sheffield awkwardly returned the statesman's bow of dismissal, andwithdrew under the patronage of a splendid footman. As the door closed,Mr. Belford, with a long sigh of relief, stepped to a bookcase andselected Petronius Arbiter's "_Satyricon_."

  Book in hand, he slid back the noiseless glass doors of theconservatory. A close smell of tropical plant life crept into the room,but this was as frankincense and myrrh to his nostrils. He passedthrough and seated himself in a cushioned cane chair amid the rareflora. Switching on a shaded lamp conveniently hung in this retreat, hesettled down to read.

  For it was a favourite relaxation of the right honourable gentleman's tobury himself amid exotic blooms, and in such congenial company as thatof the Patrician aesthete, rekindle the torches of voluptuous Rome.

  A few minutes later:

  "Am I nowhere immune from interruption?" muttered Mr. Belford, with thenearest approach to irritability of which his equable temper was deemedcapable.

  But the next moment his genial smile dawned, as the charming face of hisniece, Lady Mary Evershed, peeped through the foliage.

  "Truman was afraid to interrupt you, uncle, as you were in your cell!But Inspector Sheffield is asking for you, and seems very excited."

  "Dear me!" said her uncle, glancing at his watch; "but I saw him fifteenminutes ago! It has just gone nine." Then, recalling Severac Bablon'sboastful message: "He has not dared to attempt it! Unless--can it bethat he is arrested? Tell Truman to send the inspector here, Mary."

  The girl, with a little puzzled frown on her forehead, withdrew, andalmost immediately a heavy step sounded in the library, andChief-Inspector Sheffield, pushing past the footman, burstunceremoniously into the conservatory. His face was flushed, and hiseyes were angrily bright.

  "We've been hoaxed, sir!" he cried. "We've been hoaxed!"

  Mr. Belford raised a white hand.

  "My dear inspector," he said, "be calm, I beg of you! Will you not takea seat and explain this matter to me?"

  Sheffield dropped into a chair, but the flow of excited words would notbe stayed nor dammed.

  "He's tricked us again!" he burst out. "I suspect what he wanted, sir,and I rely on you to give me all the help you can! I know Paul Harleyhas got hold of evidence that we couldn't get; but a C.I.D. man can'tspend a week making love to Lady Mary Evershed's maid----"

  "But others are better able to devote that amount of time to my maid, Isuppose?"

  The interruption startled Mr. Belford out of his habitual calm, andstartled the detective into sudden silence.

  Lady Mary stood at the door of the conservatory.

  "I am sorry to appear as an eavesdropper," she continued; "but, as amatter of fact, I had never left the study!"

  "Er--Mary," began the Home Secretary, but for once in a way he was at aloss for words. He knew from experience that the most obstreperousfriend "opposite" was easier to deal with than a pretty niece.

  "Zoe is here with me, too," said Mary, and the frizzy head of Zoe Oppnerappeared over her friend's shoulder. "We are sorry to have overheard Mr.Sheffield's words, but I think we have heard too much not to ask to hearmore. Do I understand, inspector, that someone has been spying on mymaid?"

  Inspector Sheffield glanced at the Right Hon. Walter Belford, and readan appeal in the eyes behind the pince-nez. He squared his shoulders ina manner that had something admirably manly about it--and told astraightforward lie.

  "One of the Pinkerton men engaged by Mr. Oppner tried to get someletters from your maid, I believe; but there's not a scrap of evidenceon the market, so he must have failed!"

  "Evidence of what?" asked Zoe Oppner sharply.

  Mr. Belford nervously tapped his fingers upon the chair-arm.

  "Of your friendship, and Lady Mary's with Severac Bablon!" replied theinspector boldly.

  Lady Mary was pale, and her eyes grew wide; but the American girllaughed with undisguised glee.

  "Severac Bablon has never done a dirty thing yet," she said. "If we knewhim we should be proud of it! Come on, Mary! Mr. Belford, I'm almostashamed of you! You're nearly as bad as pa!"

  They withdrew, and Mr. Belford heaved a great sigh of relief.

  "Thank you, inspector," he said. "Lady Mary would never understand thatI sought only to save her from compromising herself. I am glad that theletters are in such safe hands as yours."

  "But they're not!" cried Sheffield, leaping excitedly to his feet.

  Gruffness had come into his voice, which the other ascribed toexcitement.

  "How so?"

  An expression of blank wonderment was upon the politician's face.

  "Because I never had them! Because I've never had a scrap of anything inblack and white! Because I've been tied up in an old tool-
shed in aturnip field for the past half-hour! And because the man who marchedthrough my silly troop a while ago and came in here and got back I don'tknow what important evidence--_was Severac Bablon_!"

  It was a verbal thunderbolt. Mr. Belford sat with his eyes upon thedetective's face--speechless. And now he perceived minor differences.The difference in voice he already had noted: now he saw that the eyesof the real Inspector Sheffield were many shades lighter than those ofthe spurious; that the red face was heavier and more rounded. It wasalmost incredible, but not quite. He had seen Tree play Falstaff, andthe art of Severac Bablon was only a shade greater.

  "He's had months to study me!" explained the detective tersely. Then:"I'm stopping at the 'Golden Tiger,' in the village. I'd been over theground in daylight, and I sent the men along first. They were round thehouse by half-past seven. Just as I turned the corner out of the HighStreet a big grey car overtook me; out jumped two fellows and had ajiu-jitsu hold on in a second! They gagged me and tied me up inside, allthe time apologising and hoping they weren't hurting me! They drove meto this shed and left me there. It was five minutes to nine when one ofthem came back and untied my hands, giving himself a start while I undidthe rest of the knots. Here I am! Where's Severac Bablon?"

  The Right Hon. Walter Belford became the man of action again. He pulledout his watch.

  "Twenty-five minutes since he left the house," he said. "But he may nothave taken the road at once."

  He rang.

  "Truman," he cried to the footman, "the limousine ready--immediately!This way, inspector!"

  Off he went through the Circular Study, Sheffield following. At the doorMr. Belford paused--and turned back.

  He bent over his writing-table, searching for his own carefulenlargement of Severac Bablon's photograph.

  Severac Bablon had not taken it with him, nor had he returned to theroom.

  But it was gone!

  "Rome divided! Treason in the camp!" he said, _sotto voce_. Then, aloud:"This way, inspector!"

  The tower of Womsley Old Place is a conspicuous landmark, to be seenfrom distant points in the surrounding country, and visible for somemiles out to sea.

  Mr. Belford raced up the many stairs at a speed which belied the storyof his silver-grey hair, and which left Inspector Sheffield hopelesslyin the rear. When at last the Scotland Yard man dragged weary feet intothe little square chamber at the summit, he saw the Home Secretary withhis eyes to the lens of a huge telescope, sweeping the country-side forsigns of the daring fugitive.

  An unclouded moon bathed the landscape in solemn light. To north, east,and west rolled the billows of the Downs, a verdant ocean. On the souththe country was wooded, whilst in the south-east might be seen thegleaming expanse of the English Channel, a molten silver floor, itsdistant edge seemingly upholding the pure blue sky dome. Roads inlandshowed as white chalk lines, meadows as squares on a chess-board, housesand farmsteads as chess-men.

  "If he has made for Eastbourne we have lost him!" muttered Mr. Belford."If for Newhaven or Lewes we may not be too late. But there is apossibility----ah! Yes; it is! They are making for TunbridgeWells--perhaps for London! Quick, inspector! Don't move the telescope.On the straight road leading to the Norman church tower! Is that thecar?"

  Sheffield lowered his eye to the glass, and after some little delay gota sight of a long-bodied, waspish, shape, creeping, insect-wise, along awhite chalk mark. His eye growing more accustomed to the glass, he madeit out for a grey car.

  "There's a chance, sir. It looks about the right cut."

  "This way, inspector! We will take the risk."

  Down the tower stairs they sped, Sheffield stumbling and delaying in thedark and making better going where the light from a window showed thestairs clearly.

  "If that is he," panted the Home Secretary, "the motor is not a powerfulone. It is probably one hired for the occasion."

  They came out from the tower into the hall and passed Lady Mary--whoglanced away with an odd expression--and Zoe Oppner. Zoe's pretty facewas flushed, and her breast rose and fell quickly. Her eyes weresparkling, but she lowered them as the excited pair ran by.

  The chauffeur was ready to start, when Mr. Belford, hatless, leapt on toa footboard of the throbbing car with the agility of a sailor, Sheffieldmore slowly following suit, for he would have preferred an inside berth.

  A man in a blue serge suit touched the inspector's arm.

  "What shall we do, sir?"

  "Wait here."

  The limousine was off.

  "Left! left!" directed Mr. Belford, and the man swung sharply round thecurve and into the lane bordering the gardens of Womsley Old Place.

  "Right!"

  They leapt about again, and were humming along a chalky white road.

  "Left! Straight ahead! Make for the church! Open her out!"

  The pursuit had commenced!

  Some dormant trait in the blood of His Majesty's Principal Secretary ofState for the Home Department had risen above the surface of suave,polished courtesy which ordinarily passed for the character of the RightHon. Walter Belford. The veneer was off, and this was a primitiveBelford, kin of the Roger de Belfourd who had established the fortunesof the house. The eyes behind the pince-nez were hard and bright; thefine nostrils quivered with the joy of the chase; and the long, leanneck, protruding from the characteristically low collar, was strung upto whipcord tension.

  "Let her go!" he shouted, his silvern hair streaming out grotesquely."Cut through Church Lane!"

  "It's an awful road, sir!" The chauffeur's voice was blown back in histeeth.

  "Damn the road!" said the Right Hon. Walter Belford.

  So, suddenly the powerful machine, spurning the solid earth like somehuge, infuriated brute, leapt sideways, two tyres thrashing empty air,and went howling through an arch of verdure, between hedges which seemedto shrink to right and left from its devastating course.

  The man was understood to say something about "Overweighted on herhead."

  "Scissors!" muttered Inspector Sheffield, wedging his bulk firmlyagainst the front window and clutching at anything that offered. "I hopethere are no police traps on this road!"

  "He delayed for something!" yelled Belford through trumpeted hands. "Weshall catch him by Grimsdyke Farm!"

  Sheffield wondered what that vastly daring man had delayed for. Belford,with the fact of the missing photograph fresh in his mind, thought heknew.

  The old Norman church tower came rushing now to meet them; looked downupon them, each venerable, lichened stone a mockery of this snorting,ephemeral thing of the Speed Age; and dropped behind to join the othervague memories which represented six miles of Sussex.

  "Straight ahead now! Grimsdyke!"

  Down swept the white road into a great bowl. Down shrieked the quiveringlimousine, and Inspector Sheffield crouched back with an uncomfortablesinking in the pit of the stomach, such as he had not known since he hadadventured his weighty person on a "joy-ride" at an exhibition.

  From the time they had left Womsley Old Place the speed had beenconsistently high, but now it rose to something enormous; increasingwith every ten yards of the slope, it became terrific. The bottom wasreached, and the climb began; but for some time little diminution wasperceptible in their headlong progress. Then it began to tell, andpresently they were mounting the long acclivity at what seemed atortoise pace after the breathless drop into the valley.

  The car rose to the brow, and Mr. Belford mounted recklessly beside thechauffeur, peering ahead under arched palms over the moon-bathedcountry-side.

  "There they are! There they are! We shall overtake them at the oldfarm!"

  His excitement was intensely contagious. Sheffield, who had been wedgedupon the footboard, rose unsteadily, and, supporting himself withdifficulty, looked along the gleaming ribbon of road.

  There they were! The grey car was clearly discernible now, and even atthat distance he could estimate something of her progress. He exulted tonote that capture was becoming merely a question of
minutes!

  Then came a doubt. Suppose it should prove to be the wrong car!

  Nearer they drew, and nearer.

  The fugitives topped a slope, and against the blue sky was silhouetted afigure which stood upright in the car--the figure of a big man withraised arms and out-turned elbows. He was peering back, just as Belfordwas peering forward.

  "Look at his bowler hat!" yelled Sheffield. "Why, it might be me!"

  "It might!" shouted Mr. Belford; "but it isn't! It's Severac Bablon!"

  A wood dipped down to the roadside, and its shadows ate up their quarry;a breathless, nervous interval, and its glooms enveloped Mr. Belford'sparty in turn. From out of the darkness the road ahead was clearlyvisible. Deserted farm buildings lay scattered in their path where thetrees ended.

  The trees slipped behind, and the old farm rose in front.

  At the gate of the yard stood the grey car--empty!

  "Pull up! Pull up!" cried Mr. Belford.

  But long before the car became stationary he had precipitated himselfinto the road.

  Sheffield dropped heavily behind him, and grasped him by the arm.

  "One moment, sir!" he said.

  His voice was calm again. He was quite in his element now. A criminalhad to be apprehended, and the circumstances, though difficult, were notunfamiliar. But strategy was called for; there must be no hot-headedblundering.

  "Yes? What is it?" demanded the Home Secretary excitedly.

  "It's this, sir: he'll give us the slip yet, if we don't go slow! Now,you take charge of the grey car. That's your post, sir. Here--have myrevolver. Step out into the lane there, and see nobody rushes the car!"

  "Good--I agree!" cried Mr. Belford, and took the revolver.

  "You, young fellow," continued the inspector, addressing the chauffeur,"may know something of the ins and outs of this place. Do you know ifthere's a back door to the main building?"

  "There is--yes--down behind that barn."

  "Then pull out a big spanner, or anything handy, and go round there.When you reach the door, whistle. Stop there unless you hear my whistleinside or till I come through and join you. If he's not in the mainbuilding we can start on the outhouses. But his escape is cut off allthe time by Mr. Belford--see?"

  "Quite right, inspector! Quite right!" cried Mr. Belford. "Go ahead! Iwill get to the car! Go ahead!"

  Off ran the agile politician to his appointed post; and the chauffeur,armed with a heavy spanner, disappeared in the shadow of the barn.Sheffield, taking from his breast-pocket an electric torch, strode up tothe doorless entrance of the abandoned farm, and waited.