The Four Faces: A Mystery

by William Le Queux

  CHAPTER XVI

  SECRETS OF DUSKY FOWL

  To this day that drive to Paddington recalls to mind a nightmare. Theentire confidence I had placed in Dulcie was shattered. Had anybody toldme it was possible she could deceive me as she had done I should, Iknow, have insulted him--so infuriated should I have felt at the barethought. And yet she clearly had deceived me, deceived me most horribly,inasmuch as she had done it in such cold blood and obviously withpremeditation. Her eyes, which had always looked at me, as I thought, sotruthfully, had gazed into mine that morning with the utmost coolnessand self-possession while she deliberately lied to me. Dulcie a liar!The words kept stamping themselves into my brain until my head throbbedand seemed on the point of bursting. As the car sped along through thebusy streets I saw nothing, heard nothing. The remarks she made to meseemed to reach my brain against my will. I answered them mechanically,in, for the most part, monosyllables.

  What did it all mean? How could she continue to address me as thoughnothing in the least unusual had occurred? Did she notice nothing in mymanner that appeared to be unusual? True, she addressed to me no term ofendearment, which was singular; but so engrossed was I in myintrospection and in my own misery that I scarcely noticed this.Indeed, had she spoken to me fondly, her doing so just then would buthave increased the feeling of bitterness which obsessed me.

  Several times during that drive I had been on the point of telling herall I knew, all I had seen and heard: the suspicions I entertainedregarding her friend Connie--her abominable friend as she now seemed tome to be; the grave suspicions I entertained also regarding Gastrell,with whom she seemed to be on good terms, to say the least--these,indeed, were more than suspicions. But at the crucial moment my couragehad failed me. How could I say all this, or even hint at it, in the faceof all I now knew concerning Dulcie herself, Dulcie who had been so muchto me, who was so much to me still though I tried hard to persuademyself that everything between us must now be considered at an end?

  I saw her off at Paddington. Mechanically I kissed her; why I did Icannot say, for I felt no desire to. It was, I suppose, thatinstinctively I realized that if I failed to greet her then in the wayshe would expect me to she would suspect that I knew something. She hadasked me during our drive through the streets of London who had told mewhere to find her; but what I answered I cannot recollect. I made, Ibelieve, some random reply which apparently satisfied her.

  For two hours I lay upon my bed in my flat in South Molton Street,tossing restlessly, my mind distraught, my brain on fire. Never beforehad I been in love, and perhaps for that reason I felt this cruelblow--my disillusionment--the more severely. Once or twice my man,Simon, knocked, then tried the door and found it locked, then called outto ask if anything were amiss with me. I scarcely heard him, and didnot answer. I wanted to be left alone, left in complete solitude tosuffer my deep misery unseen and unheard.

  I suppose I must have slept at last--in bed at three and up at eight, mynight had been a short one--for when presently I opened my eyes I sawthat the time was half-past two. Then the thought flashed in upon methat in my telegram I had promised to go to Eton to see Dick by thetrain leaving Paddington at three. I had barely time to catch it. Athorough wash restored me to some extent to my normal senses, and atPaddington I bought a sandwich which served that day instead of lunch.

  Once or twice before I had been down to Eton to see Dick, though onthose occasions I had been accompanied by Sir Roland. I had littledifficulty now in obtaining leave to take him out to tea. He wanted tospeak to me "quite privately," he said as we walked arm in arm up themain street, so I decided to take him to the "White Hart," and there Iordered tea in a private room.

  "Now, Mike," he said in a confidential tone, when at last we were alone,"this is what I want to draw your attention to," and, as he spoke, heproduced a rather dirty envelope from his trousers pocket, opened it andcarefully shook out on to the table several newspaper cuttings, eachthree or four lines in length.

  "What on earth are those about, old boy?" I asked, surprised. "Newspaperadvertisements, aren't they?"

  "Yes, out of the _Morning Post_, all on the front page. If you will waita minute I will put them all in order--the date of each is written onthe back--and then _you_ will see if things strike _you_ in the waythey have struck me."

  These were the cuttings:

  "R.P, bjptnbblx. wamii. xvzzjv. okk. zxxp.--DUSKY FOWL."

  "Rlxt. ex. lnvrb. 4. zcokk. zbpl. qc. Ptfrd. Avnsp. Hvfbl. Ucaqkoggwx.--DUSKY FOWL."

  "Plt. ecii. pv. oa. t1vp. uysaa. djt. xru. przvf. 4.--DUSKY FOWL."

  "Nvnntltmms. Pvvvdnzzpn. ycyswsa. Bpix. uyyuqecgsqa. X. W. ljfh. sc. jvtzfhdvb.--DUSKY FOWL."

  "I can't make head or tail of them," I said when I had looked carefullyat each, and endeavoured to unravel its secret, for obviously it mustpossess some secret meaning. "What do you make of them, Dick--anything?"

  "Yes. Look, and I will show you," he answered, going to thewriting-table and bringing over pen, ink and paper. "I have always beenfond of discovering, or trying to discover, the meanings of these queercypher messages you see sometimes in some newspapers, and I have becomerather good at it--I have a book that explains the way cyphers areusually constructed. I have found out a good many at one time andanother, but this one took me rather a long time to disentangle. I cantell you, Mike, that when I found it concerned you I feltfrightfully excited."

  "Concerned me!" I exclaimed. "Oh, nonsense. What is it all about?"

  "Follow me carefully, and I'll show you. I guessed from the first thatit must be one of those cyphers that start their alphabet with someletter other than A, but this one has turned out to be what my bookcalls a 'complex alphabet' cypher. I tried and tried, all sorts ofways--I began the alphabet by calling 'b' 'a'; then by calling 'c' 'a';then by calling 'd' 'a,' and so on all the way through, but that was nogood. Then I tried the alphabet backwards, calling 'z' 'a'; then 'y''a'; right back to 'a,' but that wasn't it either. Then I tried one ortwo other ways, and at last I started skipping the letters firstbackwards, and then forwards. Doing it forwards, when I got to 'l' Ifound I had got something. I called 'l' 'a'; 'n' 'b'; 'p' 'c'; and soon, and made out _bjptnbblx_, the first word in the first cypher, to bethe word 'improving,' and the two letters before it in capitals 'R.P.'to be really 'D.C.' The next cypher word, _wamii_, stumped me, as thecode didn't make it sense; then it occurred to me to start the alphabetwith 'm' instead of 'l,' skipping every alternate letter as before, andI made out _wamii_ to mean 'shall.' The next cypher word, _xvzzjv_, Icouldn't get sense out of by starting the alphabet with either 'l' or'm,' so I tried the next letter, 'n,' skipping alternate letters oncemore, and that gave me the word 'settle.' I knew then that I had got thekey, and I soon had the whole sentence. It ran as follows:

  "_D.C. improving shall settle all soon.--Dusky Fowl._"

  "Still, I wasn't much the wiser, and it never for a moment occurred tome that D.C. stood for Dulcie Challoner--"

  "Good heavens, Dick!" I cried, "you don't mean to tell me thatDulcie--"

  "Do be patient, brother-in-law, and let me go through the whole thingbefore you interrupt with your ejaculations," Dick said calmly. "Well,four days went by, and then in the _Morning Post_ of February 7th thesecond advertisement appeared:

  "Rlxt. ex. sroehnel. 28. Zcokk. zbpl. qc. Ptfrd. Avnsp. Hvfbl. Ucaqkoggwx.--DUSKY FOWL."

  "The code was the same as the first, and I deciphered it quite easily.Here it is," and he read from a bit of paper he held in his hand:

  "_Date is February 28. Shall stay at Mount Royal Hotel,Bedlington.--Dusky Fowl_."

  There was nothing more after that until February 12th, when the thirdadvertisement appeared, same code,--here it is deciphered:

  "_Car will be at Clun Cross two day February 28.--Dusky Fowl_."

  "That 'Dusky Fowl' bothered me a lot. I couldn't think what it meant.Several times I had gone through the names of all the 'dusky birds'I could think of--blackbi
rd, rook, crow, raven, and so on, butnothing struck me, nothing seemed to make sense. Then the nextday--yesterday--an advertisement in the same code appeared whichstartled me a lot because your name and Mr. Osborne's were in it, and itdidn't take me long then to get at the meaning of 'Dusky Fowl.' Here isthe advertisement from yesterday's _Morning Post_, and directly I hadread it I wrote that letter asking you to come to see me at once, or tolet me come to you."

  He read out:

  "_Osborne and Berrington suspect. Take precautions. D.C. with meHampstead.--Dusky Fowl_"

  "'Dusky Fowl' evidently stands for 'rook,' and 'rook' for 'Rook Hotel,'and 'Rook Hotel' for 'Mrs. Stapleton.' And that being the case, who elsecan 'D.C.' stand for but 'Dulcie Challoner'? It's as plain as apike-staff."

  "By Jove, Dick," I said after a few moments' pause, "I believe you areright!"

  "I am sure I am," he answered with complete self-assurance.

  This clearly was a most important discovery. I decided to take thecuttings and their solutions to Osborne the moment I got back to town,and I intended to go back directly after delivering Dick safely back athis school.

  "Really," I exclaimed, feeling now almost as excited as the boy, "youare pretty clever, old chap, to have found out all that. I wonder,though, why Mrs. Stapleton doesn't telegraph or write to the man orpeople these messages are intended for. It would be much simpler."

  "It wouldn't be safe, Mike. I read in a book once that people of thatsort, the kind of people Mr. Osborne always speaks of as 'scoundrels,'nearly always communicate in some sort of cypher, and generally byadvertising, because letters are so dangerous--they may miscarry, or bestopped, or traced, and then they might get used as evidence against thepeople who wrote them. By communicating in cypher and through anewspaper of course no risk of any sort is run."

  "Except when the cyphers get deciphered," I said, "as you havedeciphered these."

  "Oh, but then people seldom waste time the way I do, trying to findthese things out; when they do it's generally a fluke if they comeacross the key. It took me hours to disentangle the first of thoseadvertisements--the rest came easy enough."

  All this conversation had distracted my mind a good deal, and I began tofeel better. For several minutes I was silent, wrapped in thought, andDick had tact enough not to interrupt me. I was mentally debating ifDick might not, in more ways than one, prove a useful associate withOsborne, Preston and myself in our task of unveiling the gang of cleverrogues and getting them convicted. One thing, which had struck me atonce, but that I had not told Dick, for fear of exciting him too much,was that Bedlington was the large town nearest to Eldon Hall, the Earlof Cranmere's seat, the place the mysterious, unseen man in the house inGrafton Street had asked Jack Osborne about while he lay bound upon thebed; also that February 28th was the date when Cranmere's eldest sonwould come of age, on which day a week's festivities at Eldon wouldbegin--and festivities at Eldon were events to be remembered, I had beentold. What most occupied my thoughts, however, was the question I hadasked myself--should I make a confidant of little Dick and tell him howthings now stood between Dulcie and myself?

  "Dick, old boy," I said, at last, "I wonder if I can treat you as Iwould a grown man--as I would treat some grown men, I should say."

  "I dare say you could, brother-in-law," he answered. "Why don't youtry?"

  "Supposing that you were not to become my brother-in-law, as you seem sofond of calling me, would you be sorry?"

  "I jolly well think I should!" he replied, looking up sharply. "But whatmakes you say a thing like that? It's all rot, isn't it?"

  He seemed, as he looked at me with his big brown eyes which were so likeDulcie's, to be trying to discover if I spoke in jest or partlyin earnest.

  "You are going to marry Dulcie, aren't you? You're not going to break itoff? You haven't had a row or anything of that kind"

  "No, not exactly a row," I said, staring into his nice frank face.

  "Then why do you talk about not becoming my brother-in-law? If you don'tmarry Dulcie you'll jolly nearly kill her. You don't know how fearfullyfond of you she is. You can't know, or you wouldn't talk about notmarrying her."

  "I haven't talked about not marrying her," I answered hurriedly. "Tellme, Dick, is that true--what you say about her being so awfully fondof me?"

  "I shouldn't say it if it wasn't true," he said with a touch of pride."But what did you mean when you said you wondered if you could treat meas if I were a man?"

  I put my arm round the lad, as he stood at the table, and drew him closeto me.

  "Dick, old boy," I said with a catch in my voice, "I am very unhappy,and I believe Dulcie is too, and I believe it is possible you may beable to put things right if you set about it in the right way. Butfirst, tell me--you have talked to Mrs. Stapleton; do you like her?"

  "I have never liked her from the first time she talked to me," heanswered without an instant's hesitation. "And I don't like her any thebetter since I have heard you and Mr. Osborne talking about her, andsince I spotted her in that advertisement yesterday."

  "Well, Dick," I went on, "Mrs. Stapleton and Dulcie are now tremendousfriends, and I believe that Mrs. Stapleton is trying to make Dulciedislike me; I believe she says things about me to Dulcie that areuntrue, and I think that Dulcie believes some of the things sheis told."

  "What a beastly shame! But, oh no, Mike, Dulcie wouldn't believeanything about you that was nasty--my word, I'd like to see anyone saynasty things to her about you!"

  "I am glad you think that, but still--anyway, certain things havehappened which I can't explain to you, and I am pretty sure Dulcie likesme less than she did. I want you to try to find that out, and to tellme. Will you try to if I can manage to get you a week-end at Holt?"

  "Will I? You try me, Mike. And I won't only try to find out--I shallfind out."

  It was six o'clock when I arrived back at Eton with Dick. Word was sentto me that the headmaster would like to speak to me before I left. Hecame into the room a few minutes afterwards, told Dick to go away andreturn in ten minutes, then shut the door and came over to me. He lookedextremely grave.

  "Half an hour ago I received this telegram," he said, pulling one out ofhis pocket and handing it to me. "As I know you to be an intimate friendof Sir Roland's, you may like to read it before I say anything to Dick."

  I unfolded the telegram. It had been handed in at Newbury at fiveo'clock, and ran:

  "My daughter suddenly taken seriously ill. Dick must return at once. Mybutler will await him under the clock on Paddington departure platformat 7:15, and bring him down here. Please see that Dick is under clock at7:15 this evening without fail.--CHALLONER."

  I read the telegram twice, and even then I seemed unable to grasp itsfull significance. Dulcie seriously ill! Good God, what had happened toher--when we had parted on Paddington platform only a few hours beforeshe had appeared to be in perfect health. Had this sudden attack,whatever it might be, any connection with Mrs. Stapleton, or with thathateful affair that I had witnessed the night before--my darling Dulciegambling recklessly and losing, and then borrowing--from a woman I nowfully believed to be an adventuress--money to go on gambling with? Wasit even possible that, beside herself with dismay at the large amount ofmoney she now owed Mrs. Stapleton, she had in a sudden moment of madnessattempted to take--

  I almost cried out as I banished from my brain the hideous thought. Oh,God, anything rather than that! I must get further news, and without amoment's loss of time. I must telegraph or telephone to Holt.

  The headmaster's calm voice recalled me to my senses.

  "It is indeed terrible news," he said sympathetically, struck, no doubt,at the grief which the news had stamped upon my face. "But it may, afterall, be less serious than Sir Roland thinks. I was about to suggest, Mr.Berrington," he went on, pulling out his watch, "that as you are, I takeit, returning to London by the 6:25, you might take Dick up with you andplace him in charge of Sir Roland's butler who will be awaiting him at aquarter past seven under the clock on
Paddington platform. If you can beso very kind as to do this it will obviate the necessity of my sendingsomeone to London with him. I have given an order for such things as heway require to be packed, and they should be ready by now. We mustbreak the news very gently to the boy, for I know that he is devoted tohis sister, so for the boy's sake, Mr. Berrington, try to bear up. Iknow, of course, the reason of your deep grief, for Dick has told methat you are engaged to be married to his sister."

  Hardly knowing what I said, I agreed to do as he suggested, and see Dicksafely to Paddington. How we broke the news to him, and how he receivedit when we did break it, I hardly recollect. All I remember distinctlyis standing in a telephone call office in Eton town, and endeavouring toget through to Holt Manor. Not until it was nearly time for the Londontrain from Windsor to start, did the telephone exchange inform me theyhad just ascertained that the line to Holt Manor was out of order, andthat they could not get through.

  Anathematizing the telephone and all that had to do with it, I hurriedout to the taxi in which Dick sat awaiting me.

  All the way from Windsor to London we exchanged hardly a word. Dick, Iknew, was terribly upset at the news, for his devotion to his sister wasas well known to me as it was to his father and to Aunt Hannah. But hewas a plucky little chap, and tried hard not to show how deeply the newshad affected him. For my part my brain was in a tumult. To think that Ishould have parted from her that morning with feelings of resentment inmy heart, and that now she lay possibly at death's door. Again and againI cursed myself for my irritability, my suspicions. Were they, afterall, unjust suspicions? Might Dulcie not have excellent reasons to givefor all that had occurred the night before? Might she not have beenduped, and taken to that house under wholly false pretences? An uncle ofhers believed to be dead, a brother of Sir Roland's, had, I knew, beena confirmed gambler. There was much in heredity, I reflected, in spiteof modern theories to the contrary. Was it not within the bounds ofpossibility that Dulcie, taken to that gambling den by her infamouscompanion, and encouraged by her to play, might suddenly have feltwithin her the irresistible craving that no man or woman born a gamblerhas yet been able to overcome? And in any case, what right had I hadmetaphorically to sit in judgment upon her and jump to conclusions whichmight be wholly erroneous?

  The train travelled at express speed through Slough, Didcot, and othersmall stations. It was within a mile of London, when my thoughtssuddenly drifted. Why had Sir Roland not sent James direct to Windsor tomeet Dick, instead of wasting time by sending him all the way to London?But perhaps James had been in town that day--he came up sometimes--andSir Roland had wired to him there. Again, why had he not sent the car toEton to fetch Dick away? That would have been the quicker plan; ah, ofcourse he would have done that had it been possible, but probably thecar had been sent into Newbury to fetch the doctor. That, indeed, wasprobably what had happened, for the telegram had been handed it atNewbury instead of at Holt Stacey. I knew that Sir Roland's chauffeurhad a poor memory--it was well known to be his chief fault; probably hehad shot through Holt Stacey, forgetting all about the telegram he hadbeen told to send off there, and, upon his arrival in Newbury,remembered it and at once despatched it. Sir Roland had, I knew, arooted dislike to telephoning telegraphic messages direct to the postoffice, and I had never yet known him dictate a telegram through histelephone. Oh, how provoking, I said again, mentally, as I thought ofthe telephone, that the instrument should have got out of order on thisday of all days--the one day when I had wanted so urgently to use it!

  Now the train was slowing down. It was rattling over the points as itpassed into the station. Looking out of the window I could see the clockon the departure platform. A few people were strolling near it, butnobody was under it--at least no man. I could see a woman standing underit, apparently a young woman.

  Dick's luggage consisted of a suit-case which we had taken into thecarriage with us, and this I now carried for him as we descended intothe sub-way. The clock on the departure platform is only a few yardsfrom the exit of the sub-way, and, as we came out, the woman under theclock was not looking in our direction. Somehow her profile seemedfamiliar, and--

  I stopped abruptly, and, catching Dick by the arm, pulled him quicklybehind a pile of luggage on a truck. An amazing thought had flashed intomy brain. As quickly as I could I gathered my scattered wits:

  "Dick," I said after a few moments' reflection, trying to keep my braincool, "I believe--I have an idea all isn't right. There is no sign ofJames, though our train was some minutes late and it is now twenty pastseven--James was to be here at a quarter past, according to thattelegram. But that woman waiting there--I know her by sight though Ihave never spoken to her. She might remember me by sight, so I don'twant her to see me. Now look here, I want you to do this. Take hold ofyour suit-case, and, as soon as that woman's back is turned, walk up andstand under the clock, near her, as though you were awaiting someone.Don't look at her or speak to her. I believe this is some trick. I don'tbelieve that telegram was sent by your father at all. I don't believeDulcie is ill. I think that woman is waiting for you, and that when youhave been there a few moments she will speak to you--probably ask you ifyou are Master Challoner, and then tell you that she has been sentinstead of James to meet you, and ask you to go with her. If she doesthat, don't look in the least surprised, answer her quite naturally--youcan inquire, if you like, how Dulcie is, though I shall not be a bitsurprised if we find her at home perfectly well--and if she asks you togo with her, go. Don't be at all frightened, old chap; I shall follow,and be near you all the time, whatever happens. And look here, if I haveguessed aright, and she does say that she has been asked to meet you andtells you to come along with her, just put your hand behind you for aninstant, as you are walking away, and then I shall know."

  "Oh, Mike, if Dulcie isn't ill, if after all nothing has happened toher--"

  His feelings overcame him, and he could not say more.

  I moved a little to one side of the pile of trunks, and peered out.

  "Now, Dick--now!" I exclaimed, as I saw the woman turn her back to us.

  Dick marched up to her, carrying his suit-case, and waited under theclock, just as I had told him to. He had not been there ten seconds whenI saw the woman step up to him and speak to him.

  They exchanged one or two remarks, then, turning, walked away together.And, as they walked, Dick's hand went up his back and he scratched animaginary flea.

  Instantly I began to walk slowly after them. Dick was being taken awayby the dark, demure, quietly-dressed little woman I had seen at ConnieStapleton's dinner party, and, only the night before, standing among theonlookers in Gastrell's house in Cumberland Place.