The Hunchback of Westminster

by William Le Queux

and not to Mexico or to Spain or to theJesuits--he would make himself that great, popular hero he is everstriving to become. How? you ask. In the most simple fashion. Hewould merely use all those millions that are to be recovered from itsdepths as baits for the electors, baits for payers of income-tax, menwho drink spirits, enthusiasts about old-age pensions, better houses forthe poor. Indeed, there is no end to the crazy ambition of thispinchbeck Napoleon. He lives simply to become the idol of the mob insuch a way as England's history with all her Gladstones, herBeaconsfields, and other political leaders of real note, has neverknown--never. Even the popularity of the throne is not safe with soterrible a pride as his! He cares nothing for any personage or anyinstitution. His one colossal lust is to lift himself so high that noman shall be his equal, but that his word shall travel through theEmpire with a power which Bismarck never aimed at and even the GermanEmperor has never felt competent to aspire to.

  "I know the man like nobody else does in the House. Once we werefriends--before appeared the inevitable woman. I was his one confidant.We occupied the same house; we sat side by side, night after night,over the dinner-table, building the same castles in the air; but, as welaid our plans, and he waxed strong, the power to will and to achieve inthis muddy, political life of England came also to me. Hence, while wequarrelled and hated like only one-time bosom companions can, we haveever carried on a terrific underground fight which has been all the moredeadly because it was hidden. Few expected it; and none of the foolsaround me ever realised that a humble, insignificant member like myselfwas hugging the idea of the eventual overthrow of this wonderful strongman, who had risen up, phoenix-like, from the ashes of a dismembered anddistrusted party in the State and had brought back to Parliament themisty legend of a leader who directed the attack by the sheer magic ofhis own inherent will.

  "But there!" added Mr Cooper-Nassington, suddenly changing his tone as,away in the distance, he caught the sound of rapidly approachingfootsteps. "I am sure I don't know why I ramble on like this--to you.After all, those manuscripts are the real object of our expedition,aren't they? and in regard to them I suppose we have done the best thatcould be done in such a bewildering set of circumstances. You hadbetter return now to the man who sent you and report to him all that hastranspired since you fetched me out of the House. He will understand,particularly if you add two words to your narrative."

  "Yes," said I eagerly; "and what must those be?"

  "`In reparation,'" he returned, "`in reparation.'" And, signalling to abelated hansom, he held out his hand to me.

  "Good-night, Mr Glynn," he said; "I have trusted you to-night more thananybody else in my life. I can't tell you why, but I have, and I amsure you will not make use of anything I have said to my disadvantage.Doubtless, we shall meet again over this strange, wild quest. If wedo--nay, whatever happens--remember I am your friend; but for youractual employer I repeat I have only one message, `in reparation!'"And, squeezing my hand, he sprang into the cab, crying to the driver:"Ashley Gardens." The next instant the cab had gone and I had startedto find my way home on foot.

  Unfortunately, that was not destined to be the last of my adventuresthat night, although I was tired and worn by the stirring scenes I hadpassed through. I don't think Mr Cooper-Nassington had left me aminute before I was conscious of that ugly sensation of being followed.At first I tried to believe it was a mere phantom of my imagination--that my nerves had got a trifle upset by the things which the hunchbackhad shown to us in the way of tricks that had been played upon him sincehe had obtained those manuscripts.

  Thus I didn't attempt to look behind me, but went on my way whistlingmerrily, making the pavements re-echo with my noisy steps, for by thattime the streets were practically empty. All the same, I couldn't ridmyself of my suspicion that I was being shadowed, and, finally, feelingthat the chase was getting intolerable, I decided on a rather curiousruse. I had reached Westminster Bridge, and, walk to near the centre,suddenly stopped and turned my face towards the swirling waters thatwere eddying past the buttresses beneath.

  Next instant I staggered back in the fickle light of the lamp, and,throwing my coat off my shoulders, cried in a muffled, stifled kind ofvoice: "Ah! I can bear it no longer. I must do it. Good-bye,good-bye." And with a frantic bound I leaped on to the parapet by theaid of a lamp-post and threw my arms upward with a wild, convulsivemovement, as though the next second must be my last, and that I had butto take one downward glance to hurl myself into the turgid torrentbeneath.

  Just as I expected, my pursuer rushed pell-mell into the trap that I hadbaited for him. No sooner did he catch a glimpse of what he thoughtwere my preparations for a sudden and effective suicide than heinstantly abandoned all pretence of concealing his presence, darted outof the shadows in which he had been lurking, and raced as swiftly as agreyhound towards me and caught me by the sleeve and dragged mebackward.

  "You fool," he cried, "what are you up to now?" And in a flash Irecognised who it was--Detective-Inspector Naylor.

  With a quick spring I reached the pavement again and turned a face fullof merriment towards the officer.

  "Ah," said I, picking up my coat, "so it was you who was stalking me,was it? I thought my little trick would fetch you much more rapidly andeffectively than if I had turned round and tried to pick you up. Now,what's your game dogging my footsteps, eh? You don't think I'm a youngmonk who has got spoiled in the making, do you? No; you've some deeper,deadlier design than that, so you might as well own up at once."

  "I can't," he returned, and his face, now he realised how I had dupedhim, was a study in rage and mortification. "I--I am out on businessjust as much as you are. You play your hand, I'll play mine. Only takecare what you are up to--that's all. When we at Scotland Yard take up acase we usually make some inquiries into the good faith and past historyof our clients. It's a pity you don't do the same. Good-night." Andwith a nod full of meaning he strolled off towards the embankment,leaving me to digest his enigmatic remark in silence and alone.

  With a good-humoured laugh I took my way homeward and tried to shake offthe effects of his ominous words, which, I own, caused me a certainamount of disquietude, for, after all, I hadn't a ghost of an idea thenas to the real identity or object of Don Jose Casteno. For a time, Iown, I felt rather fearful. But first one thing and then anotherengaged my attention. For instance, I had to find out whether I wasstill being followed. I decided I was not. I had also to dodge thehuman night-bird of London intent on rows or alms. Finally, by the timeI had reached Trafalgar Square the ill effects of the detective'swarning had quite disappeared. All I thought of was a good night'srest, to be followed by another ride on my motor car to Hampstead, andanother entrance to that mysterious home of the Order of St Bruno.

  When, however, I reached the street in which my offices were situate Iwas surprised to see the thoroughfare presented anything but its usualdrab and sombre appearance. Something extraordinary was certainly inprogress therein. Instead of the place being deserted and silent likethe neighbouring streets, no fewer than three carriages with flashinglamps and horses in glittering harness were drawn up by one side of thecurb, and near a door stood quite a group of footmen, and loafers andpolicemen drawn thither by the unusual assemblage.

  As I got nearer I was even more surprised to find that this strangegathering was centred round the door of my own offices, which I wasstupefied to see were brilliantly lit up. "What on earth can havehappened?" I gasped, and, quickening my steps, I half ran towards thetiny crowd gathered round the door, which seemed somehow to be expectingme, and gave way instinctively at my approach.

  Another moment and I had thrust open my office door. The place was halffilled by tobacco smoke, but through the mist I was astounded to seethree persons had calmly seated themselves in my room to await myreturn--Lord Fotheringay, Colonel Napier, and a stranger who, as heturned his determined but forbidding looking features upon me, Irecognised instantly as Lord Cyril Cuthbertson, His Majesty's Secreta
ryof State for Foreign Affairs.

  "You must excuse us, Glynn," Fotheringay began almost at once. "I own Ihad no right to come here at all at this hour and open your office.Most of all, I oughtn't to have put on your hearth two friends withoutyour consent. Only, as perhaps you guessed from the scene at theauction, we live in rather stirring times just now, and we had no marginleft in which we could observe the ordinary courtesies. With ColonelNapier you are, of course, well acquainted. Let me introduce to youanother distinguished man." And he made a movement in the direction ofLord Cyril Cuthbertson, who rose and bowed.

  "Pray be seated," I hastened to exclaim as I took the chair at my deskand faced the trio. "I mustn't say, of