The Four Faces: A Mystery

by William Le Queux

  CHAPTER XXIV

  IN STRANGE COMPANY

  A load report rang out just behind me. The light before my eyesvanished. Something lurched up against my chest, knocking the breath outof me, then collapsed in a heap on to the ground at my feet.

  There was an instant's stillness. Now footsteps could be heard cracklingforward through the undergrowth. There came the sound of a heavy blow, astifled cry, a dull thud as though a body had fallen heavily. What hadhappened? And what was happening? Helplessly I stared about me, strivingin vain to pierce the blackness of the forest. I heard people movingclose beside me, but no word was spoken.

  Then suddenly someone touched me. The ropes which bound my wrists werebeing severed with a blunt instrument. Now my legs were being released.Some fragments of rope dropped to the ground. _I was free!_

  Nowhere was there any light, and still nobody spoke. Taking me by thearm, the man who had set me free led me forward through the darkness.Now we were close to the car. Men were beside it, apparently very busy,though what they were engaged in doing I could not ascertain. And then,all at once, the road became flooded with light--the headlights of thecar had been switched on simultaneously.

  Almost immediately I saw what was happening. Several large bags hadbeen placed inside the car, and others were being pushed in after them.What did they contain? For the moment I was puzzled. Then suddenly theobvious truth flashed across me. The group of men--I could see themindistinctly in the darkness--must be poachers, and poaching out ofseason I knew to be an offence punishable in France with a very heavysentence. There seemed to be five men engaged in handling the sacks,while a sixth stood looking on.

  "_Entrez_" a voice beside me said suddenly. At the same instant I wasgripped by the arm and pushed forward towards the car.

  "Who fired that shot?" I exclaimed quickly, in French.

  "I did--and saved your life," the man who held me answered. "Why?"

  "And you killed him?"

  "Yes."

  "The report sounded like a rifle shot."

  "It was a pistol shot. But what matters, so long as he is dead?"

  "Have you his revolver? Did you pick it up?" I asked anxiously.

  "Yes."

  "Show me both pistols."

  My thoughts were travelling with extraordinary rapidity. Rather to mysurprise he handed the pistols to me without a word. Quickly I held themin the light cast by the car's lamps and hurriedly examined them. Yes,both were weapons of the same calibre, both took the same cartridges.Below the barrel of Gastrell's revolver was the small electric lamp fromwhich the light had shone on to my face. I gripped the pistol tightlyand the light shone out again.

  "I will return here in a moment," I said in French, as I moved away, forthe man had released my arm.

  With the help of the pistol glow-light I made my way back to the treewhere a few minutes before I had been propped up, helpless. On theground, close to the trunk, Gastrell's body lay huddled in a heap, a redspot in the middle of his forehead showing that death must indeed havebeen instantaneous. I had, however, no time for reflection. Quickly Ithrust my hand into the dead man's pockets, one after another. All wereempty--someone must already have gone through them. Glancing about me tomake sure I was not observed, I hastily transferred to the dead man'spocket, from the inside pocket of my own coat, the letter which hehimself had placed there not ten minutes before. Then I rebuttoned hiscoat, picked up the bits of severed rope lying about--the ropes thatpreviously had bound me--threw the pistol on to the ground close to thedead man's hand, and turned to retrace my steps. Suddenly I stopped. Ihad forgotten something. Picking up the pistol again I fired a shot intothe air, then once more threw it down. My ruse would have proved trulyfutile had Gastrell's body been discovered, shot through the head, aletter in his pocket pointing directly to suicide, and a revolver on theground--still loaded in every chamber!

  A minute later I was hustled into the car, squeezed tightly betweenseveral men. On the floor of the car were a number of large sacks,exhaling an odour none too savoury. The door was slammed, I saw a figurestep on to the driving seat, and once more the powerful car shot outinto the night, its search-lamps lighting up the road as far as wecould see.

  For a while nobody spoke.

  "I don't know who you are," I said at last in French, breaking thesilence, "but I am most grateful to you for saving my life."

  Still nobody uttered.

  "On my return to England," I continued, "I shall prove my gratitude in away you may not expect. Meanwhile, I should like to know if you heardwhat happened, what was said, after the car pulled up and I was liftedout of it."

  "We heard everything," one of the men answered in English, out of thedarkness. "The man who shot your enemy is driving this car now."

  "And may I ask where we are going?" I said, as the car still tore alongthe white, undulating road, scattering the darkness on either side andfar ahead, for we were still deep in the forest.

  "Yes. We shall stop first at Chalons-sur-Marne, to deposit these," andhe indicated the sacks, which I had by now discovered contained deadpheasants, tightly packed.

  "And then?"

  "You will see."

  Later I gathered from them that the police, as well as gamekeepers, weretheir deadliest enemies. That night, it seemed, they had been almostcaptured by some of the forest keepers, who had succeeded in securingtheir car. The car we were in, they told me quite frankly, they intendedto get rid of at once, in a far distant town. That town we were now onour way to--after leaving Chalons we should not stop until we got there.The car, they added, had happened to pull up close to where they layhidden. Upon discovering that it contained only four men, including thedriver, they had intended to overpower all of us and seize the car.Then, overhearing some of the conversation, they had decided to pauseand await developments. Owing to that decision it was that my life hadso fortunately been saved.

  "And how do you poach the birds?" I asked a little later; as they becamegradually more talkative we began to grow quite friendly.

  They laughed.

  "It is easily done," one of them answered, and went on to explain thatthe method they adopted consisted in burning brimstone under the treeswhere the pheasants roosted, the fumes causing the birds to tumble offtheir perches and down to the ground.

  They further told me that different parts of the forest teemed withdifferent kinds of game, and that most of it was preserved. In thesection we had just been in, pheasants were most abundant. Poached outof season they were additionally valuable, being placed in cold storagedirectly they were sold, and eventually exported. Equally ingenious werethe methods they employed for poaching other sorts of game--some ofthese methods they described to me in detail--and certain dealers in thetown of Chalons, they ended, were always ready to receive it.

  At last we passed out of the forest, which I felt glad to leave behind.Now the road twisted a good deal, also it grew more hilly. The darkness,however, became gradually less intense. In Chalons we pulled up in acurious little street. The driver, having clambered down, knocked threetimes at a small door. Instantly it was opened; the sacks, one afteranother, were handed in, the door shut noiselessly, and once more westarted off.

  "Have you any idea," I asked suddenly, "what became of the companions ofthe man who meant to kill me?"

  "Yes," came the immediate reply. "One of them attacked us, and wasknocked senseless."

  "And the other?"

  "I can't say. He suddenly disappeared. We emptied the dead man's pocketsto prevent, if possible, his identity being established. You might tellus who he was, and all about him."

  I had already told them a good deal, but now I told them more,explaining, eventually, how I had come to be with Hugesson Gastrell andhis companion, and the wastrel, Robert Challoner; why they had wished tomurder me; how they had already murdered Churchill and George Preston,and the reason they had done so. Miscreants of sorts themselves, as Inow knew, they became immensely interested. As we proceeded I told themof the letter
that Gastrell had pushed into my pocket, and how, on thefollowing day, it would be found in his own pocket.

  "So that until I reveal myself," I added, "I shall, after the discoveryof that letter, be dead to my friends and relatives. That, according toa plan I have now thought out, should facilitate my getting the gangarrested, if not in France, at any rate in England."

  On and on the car sped at the same regular speed. Village after villagewas left behind. Now and again we skirted large towns, keeping, however,well without their boundaries. What departments we travelled through Ihad not the least idea. The driver's knowledge of the country wasremarkable. Upon my expressing surprise at the geographical knowledge hepossessed, they told me that at one time he had been chauffeur to anobleman who moved about a great deal.

  When I pulled out my watch I found it was half-past two.

  "I wish you would tell me how much further you are going," I said atlast, yawning. "How many more hours are we going on like this?"

  "We are now on our way to Lyons," the man who had last spoken answeredquickly--the cigar that he was lighting cast a red glow in his face. "Tosell the car nearer Paris wouldn't be safe; besides, in Lyons we have apurchaser awaiting it. We have passed Troyes, Chatillon, and Dijon. Weare now in the Department of Saone-et-Loire."

  Again we sank into silence. The soft purring of the car seemed toincrease our drowsiness. Colder and colder the night air grew--in myevening clothes and thin overcoat I felt it very keenly.

  I suppose I must have dozed, for when, presently, I opened my eyes, thestreaks of dawn were visible. My neck and limbs were stiff, and, as Ilooked about me dully, I saw that my companions one and all werefast asleep.

  I turned, rubbed the frosted glass in front of me, and peered out at thedriver. There he sat, motionless, almost rigid, his hands still grippingthe wheel, his gaze set straight ahead. That the cold outside must beintense, I knew, yet he seemed not to notice it.

  At a village beyond Louhans we stopped for breakfast, and to cool theengine; but in less than half an hour we were on the road again. As thecar swiftly passed over one of the bridges in Lyons a church clock wasstriking eight. Gradually slackening speed, we turned abruptly to theright, then began a maze of narrow streets. At last, at a quiet-lookinghotel out on the road to Vienne, we stopped, and I knew that our journeyof three hundred miles or so was at last at an end.

  _Cafe-au-lait_ was served for us in a private room on the first floor,and I was able, for the first time, to scrutinize my companions closely.Six in all, they certainly looked a dare-devil, reckless lot. To guessfrom their appearance what their trade or calling had originally beenseemed impossible. Two of them might certainly have belonged to thefarmer class had the expression in their eyes been less cunning, lessintelligent. The man who had saved my life, and whom I judged to betheir leader, was tall, dark, thick-set, with a heavy beard andmoustache, and dark, deep-set eyes. His voice, full and resonant, wasnot unpleasant. Seldom have I seen a man who looked so absolutelyfearless.

  It was, I suppose, the confidence they felt that I should not betraythem after what had happened that made them speak so freely before me.That very morning, I gathered, they would rid themselves of the car to abig receiver of stolen goods, whose headquarters were in Lyons, thelargest receiver of stolen goods in the whole of Europe, so they said.With the money thus obtained they would buy a car to replace the oneseized on the previous night; it was interesting to find that theselordly thieves and poachers found a car essential to enable them tocarry on their business.

  The time for parting soon arrived, and once more I thanked my rescuerand his accomplices for the great service they had rendered me. That ahuman life should have been sacrificed was terrible to think of,and yet--

  The reflection that, but for the sacrifice of Gastrell's life, I shouldmyself have been lying dead, set my mind at ease; and after all, I saidmentally, the death of a man like Gastrell must do more good than harm.

  The first thing I did after leaving them was to buy some clothes andother necessaries, and a valise to pack them in. After that I set outfor a quiet stroll through the quaint old town, which I had never beforevisited. Reviewing the situation, as I walked slowly along, and debatingin my mind whether to return to Paris or go straight back to England bythe next boat, various possibilities presented themselves in turn.Virtually I was dead to all my friends in England, or I should be in aday or two, when the letter which would be found in Gastrell's pockethad been printed in the newspapers. That belief, I felt, would help meto carry out the plan I had formed for discovering at first hand theactual movements of the gang, some members of which would, I felt sure,be present at Eldon Hall for the coming-of-age festivities of LordCranmere's eldest son.

  Yet what about Dulcie? I felt that I must see her, and see her as soonas possible. That thought it was which now entirely obsessed me. To seeher meant, of course, that I must at once return to Paris, for almostfor certain she would still be there. True, her last words, uttered inthe corridor of the "Continental," had convinced me that she nowstrongly suspected Connie, that she wished to get away from her. Butwould she succeed in getting away? Already I had proofs of the woman'sextraordinary will power, and Dulcie, I knew, had been hypnotized by hermore than once. I had doubts of Dulcie's ability to resist the woman'sspell. Obviously, then, my duty lay before me. I must at once return toParis. I must see Dulcie again--if possible, see her in private. I mustget her away from that woman and take her back to England, no matter howgreat the risk I might have to run. And what, I wondered suddenly, wasAlbeury doing all this time?

  Still pondering all this, I sauntered into a restaurant I happened to bepassing, ordered a bottle of wine, and asked for a copy of the latestrailway time-table.

  The _rapide_ for Paris was due, I saw, to leave Lyons Perrache at eightthat night. That would suit me well, and I at once decided to go by it.Then, having nothing to do until the time of starting, I once morestrolled out into the town.

  A newsboy was shouting the news, and I bought a paper from him. Almostthe first headline upon which my glance rested stirred a recollection inmy mind. Where, before, had I heard that name--"the Duchesse deMontparnasse"? Ah, now I remembered. When Jack Osborne, confined somysteriously in the house in Grafton Street, in London, had beencross-questioned in the dark, he had been asked various questionsconcerning the Duchesse de Montparnasse. And now, right before me, wasan account of a strange robbery, a robbery committed the day before atthe Duchesse's great chateau on the Meuse!

  At once I guessed that this robbery must be yet another of the gang'soutrages. My suspicion became conviction when, on reading further, Ilearned that it had taken place on the occasion of a great reception,when the servants at the chateau had been busily engaged. The goodsstolen, the report ended, were valued at many thousands of pounds.

  Finding little else of interest in the paper, I continued my ramble.Glancing at my watch I found it was past six. At that moment it wasthat, turning aimlessly into a side street, I came suddenly face to facewith Francois, my rescuer.

  "We seem fated to meet!" he exclaimed in his patois French, and helaughed.

  He looked hard at me for some moments; then, as though his mind weresuddenly made up, he said abruptly:

  "I wonder, Mr. Berrington--I fancy that by nature you areinquisitive--if you would like to see something you have never seenbefore. I don't believe you fully realize how implicitly I now trustyou. I should like to prove it to you."

  "I should like to see it, immensely," I answered, wondering what onearth, in the nature of a novelty, such a man could have to show me.

  "Come," he said in the same tone, linking his arm in mine. "I will showit to you now. As I say, I have no fear at all that you will betray me,yet there isn't another living person, excepting my own accomplices, Iwould take where I am going to take you now."

  Down the side street he had just come up I followed him. We turned tothe right again, then to the left. A little further on he stopped at agreengrocer's shop, a small, insig
nificant shop with one window only.

  "Wait here," he said as he entered.

  A minute later he reappeared and beckoned to me.

  "My friend," he said, presenting me to a cadaverous man of middle age,with a thin, prominent, rather hooked nose, high cheek-bones, andcurious eyes of a steely grey, which bushy eye-brows partly concealed.

  The man looked at me keenly, but he neither smiled nor spoke, nor did heoffer to shake hands.

  We were now inside the shop. Quickly we passed into an inner room, andthence to a room beyond it. This room was lined apparently withbookshelves. Advancing to a corner of it, after carefully locking thedoor, the cadaverous man, standing on tiptoe, pressed what appeared tobe a book in the topmost shelf. At once a door in the bookshelvesopened. In silence we followed him through it, and the door shutnoiselessly behind us.

  I suppose we had walked ten or twelve yards along the narrow,low-ceilinged, uncarpeted passage, lit only by the candle lantern thatour guide had unhooked from a nail in the wall, when he suddenly stoppedand bent down. Now I saw that he was lifting the boards, one afteranother. A few moments later the upper rungs of a ladder became visible.Francois descended, I followed carefully--I counted fifteen rungs beforeI reached the ground--and the gaunt man came after me, shifting theboards back into position above his head when he was half-way downthe ladder.

  The darkness here was denser than it had been in the passage above, butthe lantern served its purpose. We were in a much narrower passage now,so low that we had to stoop to make our way along it. The ceiling wasroughly hewn, so was the ground we walked upon. Half a dozen steps alongthe rough ground and we stopped again. Facing us was a low, extremelynarrow door, apparently an iron door--it resembled the door of a safe.Fitting a key into it, the gaunt man pushed it open, and one by onewe entered.

  At once I became aware of a singular change in the atmosphere. In thenarrow, cavernous, obviously subterraneous little passage we had justleft the air had been humid, chill, and dank, with an unpleasant earthyodour. Here it was dry and stuffy, as if heated artificially. So intensewas the blackness that I seemed almost to feel it. There was a dullthump. Turning, I saw that the cadaverous man had shut this door too.Just as I was wondering why he took such precautions something clickedbeside me, and the chamber was flooded with light.

  For an instant the glare blinded me. Then, as I looked about me, thesight that met my gaze made me catch my breath. Was this an Aladdin'sPalace I had suddenly entered? Had my brain become deranged, causing astrange, an amazing hallucination? Or was I asleep and dreaming?