The Four Faces: A Mystery

by William Le Queux

  CHAPTER XVII

  IS SUSPICIOUS

  They walked leisurely along the platform, Dick still carrying hissuit-case, and at the end of it passed down the sloping sub-way whichleads to the Metropolitan Railway. For a moment they were out of sight,but directly I turned the corner I saw them again; they walked slowernow, Dick evidently finding his burden rather heavy. At the pigeon-holeof the booking-office a queue of a dozen or so were waiting to buytickets. The woman and Dick did not stop, however. I saw them pass bythe queue, and then I saw the woman hold out tickets to the collector tobe clipped, and as I took my place at the back end of the queue she andDick passed on to the Praed Street platform.

  To what station should I book? I had no idea where they were going, sodecided to go to High Street, Kensington, and pay the difference if Ihad to follow them further. There were still six people in front of me,when I heard the train coming in.

  "Hurry up in front!" I called out in a fever of excitement, dreadingthat I might not get a ticket in time.

  "All right, my man--don't shove!" the man immediately before meexclaimed angrily, pushing back against me. "This ain't the only train,you know; if you miss this you can catch the next!"

  I believe he deliberately took a long time getting out his money.Anyway, before I had bought my ticket the train had started. A momentlater I stood upon the platform, watching, in a frenzy of despair, thered tail-light of the train containing Dick and the strange womandisappearing into the tunnel.

  I felt literally beside myself. What in the world had I done! I haddeliberately let the strange woman take Dick away with her, withouthaving the remotest idea where she was going or why she had, to allintents, abducted the boy. It was awful to think of--and I alone wasentirely to blame! Then the thought came back to me that I had told Dickto have no fear, assuring him that I would be near him all the time.What would the headmaster say who had confided him to my care? Worse,what would Sir Roland say when I confessed to him what I had done?

  These and other maddening thoughts were crowding into my brain as Istood upon the platform, dazed, and completely at a loss what to do,when somebody nudged me. Turning, I recognized at once the man in thesnuff-coloured suit who had told me so rudely "not to shove," and hadthen dawdled so while buying his railway ticket. I was about to saysomething not very complimentary to him, when he spoke.

  "I trust you will forgive my apparent rudeness a moment ago at thebooking-office," he said in a voice I knew quite well, "but there's amethod in my madness. I am Preston--George Preston."

  "Good heavens!" I exclaimed, the sudden revulsion of feeling almostoverpowering me. "But do you know what has happened--do you know thatSir Roland Challoner's son I had charge of has--"

  "Don't distress yourself, Mr. Berrington," he interrupted reassuringly,"I know everything, and more than you know, but I rather feared thatyou might see through this disguise. I have been loafing aboutPaddington station for nearly an hour. The lady I expected to seearrived just after seven, and took up her position under the clock. ThenI saw you and the lad arrive; I saw you recognize the woman; I saw youput yourself out of sight behind the pile of trunks, and talk earnestlyto the lad for a few moments, and I guessed what you were saying to him.I walked right past you in the sub-way, and intentionally made you missthis train, because it is inexpedient that you should follow those two.I know where they are going, and Mr. Osborne knows too; I needn'ttrouble to explain to you here how I come to know all this. The thingyou have to do now is to come with me to my house off Regent Street,where Mr. Osborne awaits us."

  Never in my life, I suppose, have I felt so relieved as I did then, forthe mental pain I had endured during these few minutes had been torture.Indeed, I felt almost indignant with Preston for his having made mesuffer so; but he explained that he had revealed himself to me themoment he felt justified in doing so. Suddenly a thought occurred to me.

  "Do you know," I asked him quickly, "anything of a telegram sent to Etonthis morning, apparently by Sir Roland, saying that Miss Challoner hadbeen taken suddenly ill, and requesting that his son might be sent hometo Holt at once?"

  "Yes, I know, because--I sent it."

  "_You_ sent it!"

  "Yes--though I didn't write it. Mrs. Stapleton wrote it. She gave it toher chauffeur, who was in the hall at the Rook Hotel, and when she wasgone he asked me if I would mind handing it in, as I had intentionallytold him I was going to the post office. I was a chauffeur, too, at thetime, chauffeur to 'Baron Poppenheimer,' whom I drove down this morningin his car ostensibly to see the beautiful widow. 'Baron Poppenheimer'was, of course, Mr. Osborne. The widow was not at 'The Book' when wearrived--we knew she wouldn't be, and, of course, you know where shewas, she was at the house in Hampstead where you found Miss Challonerwhen you called there this morning; she arrived home about two o'clock,however, and while 'Baron Poppenheimer' was making himself agreeable toher--your friend Mr. Osborne is a most splendid actor, and ought to havebeen in the detective force--I was making headway with her chauffeur outin the garage. Yes, Mr. Berrington, you can set your mind at rest--MissChalloner is perfectly well. I wonder if by chance you telephoned toHolt this afternoon."

  "I tried to."

  "And you couldn't get through? The line was out of order?"

  "Yes."

  "Good!" Preston exclaimed, his small, intelligent eyes twinkling oddly."That is as I thought. One of Gastrell's accomplices set the line out oforder between three and five this afternoon. When the line comes to beexamined the electrician will, unless I am greatly mistaken, find theflaw at some point between Holt Stacey and Holt Manor--if you shouldhappen to hear, you might tell me the exact point where they find thatthe trouble exists. My theories and my chain of circumstances areworking out splendidly--I haven't as yet made a single false conjecture.And now come along to my house, and I'll tell you more on the way."

  Osborne sat in Preston's sitting-room, smoking a long cigar. He nolonger wore the disguise of "Baron Poppenheimer," or any disguise, andupon our entry he uttered an exclamation.

  "By Jove, Mike," he said, "you are the very man we've been wanting allday. Where did you disappear to last night?" And turning to Preston headded, "Were you right? Did he follow the widow and Miss Challoner homelast night?"

  "Yes," I answered for him, "I did. Did you see Dulcie at Gastrell's lastnight?"

  "I should say so--and we saw you gazing at her. You nearly gave yourselfaway, Mike; you did, indeed. You ought to be more careful. When we sawyou follow them out of the room, we knew, just as though you had toldus, that you meant to follow them home. And what about the boy?" hesaid, addressing Preston. "Did he turn up? And was he met?"

  "Yes, just as I expected; but he wasn't met by Sir Roland's butler, ofcourse. He was met by Doris Lorrimer--you have probably noticed her,that dark, demure, quietly dressed girl who was at Connie Stapleton'sdinner party at 'The Rook,' and at Gastrell's last night."

  "You don't mean to say that she, too, is one of Gastrell's accomplices!"Jack exclaimed. "It seems impossible--looking like that!"

  "I have suspected it for some time. Now I am sure. She has taken DickChalloner to Connie Stapleton's house in Hampstead. It's one of theheadquarters of the set, though, of course, the principal headquartersare at 300 Cumberland Place. How furious Lord Easterton would be if heknew! He suspects nothing as yet, I think."

  "But how do you know that Doris Lorrimer has taken the boy to thatHampstead house?" Osborne asked quickly; "and why has she taken him?"

  "The gang have kidnapped him--it was Connie Stapleton's idea--in orderto get the reward they feel sure Sir Roland will offer for his recovery.How I know where Doris Lorrimer has taken him is that Connie Stapleton'schauffeur, with whom I fraternized this afternoon in Newbury, happenedto mention that his mistress had told Miss Lorrimer to be under theclock at Paddington at seven-fifteen this evening to meet the man withthe parcel,' as she said, and then to take the 'parcel' to her house inHampstead! I won't tell you until later how I come to know thekidnapping was Mrs.
Stapleton's idea; I have a reason for not tellingyou--yet."

  "You certainly are a marvel, George," Jack said, as he blew a cloudtowards the ceiling. "We seem to be well on the way now to runningthese scoundrels to ground. I shall be glad to see themconvicted--right glad."

  "We are 'on the way'--yes," Preston answered, "but you'll find it alonger 'way' than you expect, if you are already thinking ofconvictions. You don't know--you can't have any idea of--the slimness ofthese rogues if you suppose we are as yet anywhere near running them toground. Just look how clever they have already been: first there is thefire in Maresfield Gardens and the discovery of the stabbed and charredbody, for you may depend upon it that fire was meant to conceal somecrime, probably murder, by destroying all traces, including that bodywhich ought by rights to have been entirely consumed; then there is therobbery at Holt Manor; then the affair in Grafton Street, with yourselfas the victim; then the murder of Sir Roland's gardener, Churchill--allthese constitute mysteries, undiscovered crimes, and now comes thisbusiness of kidnapping Sir Roland's young son."

  We talked at considerable length, discussing past and presenthappenings, and arranging our future line of action. Preston wasimmensely interested in the cypher messages unravelled by Dick--I hadbrought the cuttings with me to show to him and Jack. The reference tothe date of the coming of age of Cranmere's son, considered inconnection with the questions about Cranmere's seat, Eldon Hall, put toOsborne during his mysterious confinement in Grafton Street, made thedetective almost excited. The unravelling of those cyphers was, he said,perhaps the most important discovery as yet made. Indeed, he believedthat our knowledge of these messages might simplify matters Sufficientlyto lead directly to the arrest of at any rate some members of the gangat a much earlier date than he had previously anticipated.

  "It is clear," he said, as he put the cuttings into the envelope againand handed them back to me, "that Gastrell and company contemplate acoup of some sort either on the day Lord Cranmere's son comes of age, oron one day during the week of festivities that will follow. 'ClunCross.' We must find out where Clun Cross is; probably it's somewhere inNorthumberland, and most likely it's near Eldon Hall. I suppose,Osborne, that you are invited to the coming of age, as you knowCranmere so well?"

  "Yes, and I mean to go. But Berrington isn't invited; he doesn't knowCranmere."

  "He probably knows what he looks like, though," Preston answered,laughing--he was thinking of his impersonation of the Earl, and hiswonderful make-up. "I am not invited either, professionally orotherwise, so that Mr. Berrington and I had better go to Bedlington andput our heads together there, for something is going to happen at EldonHall, Osborne, you may take my word for that. We mustn't, however,forget that last cypher message: 'Osborne and Berrington suspect; takeprecautions.' 'Precautions' with such people may mean anything. I amfirmly of opinion that poor Churchill's assassination was a'precautionary' measure. It was on the afternoon before that murder,remember, that Churchill found the paste buckle at the spot where a greycar had been seen, left deserted, on the morning of the robbery at Holt.It was on the afternoon before that murder that he brought the buckle toMiss Challoner, told her about the grey car he had seen, which, he said,led him to suspect something, and asked to have the afternoon off. Itwas on that same afternoon that Mrs. Stapleton happened to motor over toHolt, and while there was told by Miss Challoner all about the findingof the buckle, also all about Churchill's secret suspicion about thecar, and his asking to have the afternoon off, presumably to pursue hisinquiries. And what happened after that? Don't you remember? Mrs.Stapleton telephoned from Holt to the Book Hotel in Newbury and talkedto someone there--her maid, so she said--for five minutes or more,talked to her in Polish. Now, does anything suggest itself to either ofyou? Don't you think it quite likely that Mrs. Stapleton, hearing fromMiss Challoner all about what had happened, telephoned in Polish certaininstructions to somebody in Newbury, most likely one of her accomplices,and that those instructions led, directly or indirectly, to Churchill'sbeing murdered the same night, lest he should discover anything and giveinformation? One thing I am sure of, though--Mrs. Stapleton'schauffeur is an honest man who does not in the least suspect what isgoing on; who, on the contrary, believes his mistress to be a mostestimable woman, kind, considerate, open-handed. I found that out whileassociating with him to-day as a fellow-chauffeur."

  It was nearly nine o'clock before we went out into Soho to dine. Prestontold us that he had arranged to call at Willow Road for Dick between tenand half-past. The three of us were to go to Hampstead and representourselves as being instructed by Sir Roland to take the boy away.Preston himself would, he said, represent himself as being an Etonmaster, and Doris Lorrimer was to be closely cross-questioned as to whohad authorized her to meet the boy and take him to Hampstead and--

  Well, Preston had thoroughly thought out his plan of action down to thesmallest detail, and during dinner in the little restaurant in GerrardStreet, to which he had taken us, he explained it to us fully. Briefly,his intention was to frighten Doris Lorrimer half out of her senses bythreatening instant prosecution if she did not, then and there, makecertain disclosures which would help on our endeavour to bring tojustice the whole gang with which she was evidently associated.

  "But supposing," I hazarded, "we don't see Doris Lorrimer. Supposing wesee only a servant, who assures us that we are mistaken, and that Dickisn't there. Supposing that Mrs. Stapleton, or even Gastrell, shouldconfront us. What then?"

  "I have carefully considered all those possibilities," Preston answeredlightly as he refilled my glass, then Jack's, and then his own. "Ifanything of that kind should happen I shall simply--but there, leave itto me and I think you will be satisfied with the outcome. You mustremember, Mr. Berrington, that I have been at this sort of thing overtwenty years. Well, here's luck to our enterprise," and, raising hisglass, he clinked it against our glasses in turn, then emptied it ata draught.

  "And now," he said, preparing to rise, "we must be moving. We haverather a ticklish task before us, though I have no fear whatever as toits sequel, provided you leave most of the talking to me. In any casethere must be no violence, remember. The only thing I regret is that thelad will most likely be asleep, so that we shall have to awaken him."

  Punctually at half-past ten our taxi drew up outside the house numbered460 Willow Road, Hampstead.