TWELFTH CHAPTER
THE STRANGER IN BOND STREET
As Dorise walked up Bond Street, smartly dressed, next afternoon, on herway to her dressmaker's, she was followed by a well-dressed young girlin black, dark-eyed, with well-cut, refined features, and apparently alady.
From Piccadilly the stranger had followed Dorise unseen, until at thecorner of Maddox Street she overtook her, and smiling, uttered her name.
"Yes," responded Doris in surprise. "But I regret--you have theadvantage of me?"
"Probably," replied the stranger. "Do you recollect the _bal blanc_ atNice and a certain white cavalier? I have a message from him to give youin secret."
"Why in secret?" Dorise asked rather defiantly.
"Well--for certain reasons which I think you can guess," answered thegirl in black, as she strolled at Dorise's side.
"Why did not you call on me at home?"
"Because of your mother. She would probably have been a littleinquisitive. Let us go into some place--a tea-room--where we can talk,"she suggested. "I have come to see you concerning Mr. Henfrey."
"Where is he?" asked Dorise, in an instant anxious.
"Quite safe. He arrived in Malines yesterday--and is with friends."
"Has he had my letters?"
"Unfortunately, no. But do not let us talk here. Let's go in yonder,"and she indicated the Laurel Tea Rooms, which, the hour being early,they found, to their satisfaction, practically deserted.
At a table in the far corner they resumed their conversation.
"Why has he not received my letters?" asked Dorise. "It is nearly amonth ago since I first wrote."
"By some mysterious means the police got to know of your friend'sintended visit to Brussels to obtain his letters. Therefore, it was toodangerous for him to go to the Poste Restante, or even to send anyonethere. The Brussels police were watching constantly. How they havegained their knowledge is a complete mystery."
"Who sent you to me?"
"A friend of Mr. Henfrey. My instructions are to see you, and toconvey any message you may wish to send to Mr. Henfrey to him direct inMalines."
"I'm sure it's awfully good of you," Dorise replied. "Does he know youare here?"
"Yes. But I have not met him. I am simply a messenger. In fact, I travelfar and wide for those who employ me."
"And who are they?"
"I regret, but they must remain nameless," said the girl, with a smile.
Dorise was puzzled as to how the French police could have gained anyknowledge of Hugh's intentions. Then suddenly, she became horrified asa forgotten fact flashed across her mind. She recollected how, earlyin the grey morning, after her return from the ball at Nice, she hadwritten and addressed a letter to Hugh. On reflection, she had realizedthat it was not sufficiently reassuring, so she had torn it up andthrown it into the waste-paper basket instead of burning it.
She had, she remembered, addressed the envelope to Mr. Godfrey Brown, atthe Poste Restante in Brussels.
Was it possible that the torn fragments had fallen into the hands of thepolice? She knew that they had been watching her closely. Her surmisewas, as a matter of fact, the correct one. Ogier had employed the headchambermaid to give him the contents of Dorise's waste-paper basket fromtime to time, hence the knowledge he had gained.
"Are you actually going to Malines?" asked Dorise of the girl.
"Yes. As your messenger," the other replied with a smile. "I am leavingto-night. If you care to write him a letter, I will deliver it."
"Will you come with me over to the Empress Club, and I will write theletter there?" Dorise suggested, still entirely mystified.
To this the stranger agreed, and they left the tea-shop and walkedtogether to the well-known ladies' club, where, while the mysteriousmessenger sipped tea, Dorise sat down and wrote a long and affectionateletter to her lover, urging him to exercise the greatest caution and toget back to London as soon as he could.
When she had finished it, she placed it in an envelope.
"I would not address it," remarked the other girl. "It will be saferblank, for I shall give it into his hand."
And ten minute later the mysterious girl departed, leaving Dorise toreflect over the curious encounter.
So Hugh was in Malines. She went to the telephone, rang up Walter Brock,and told him the reassuring news.
"In Malines?" he cried over the wire. "I wonder if I dare go there tosee him? What a dead-alive hole!"
Not until then did Dorise recollect that the girl had not given herHugh's address. She had, perhaps, purposely withheld it.
This fact she told Hugh's friend, who replied over the wire:
"Well, it is highly satisfactory news, in any case. We can only wait,Miss Ranscomb. But this must relieve your mind, I feel sure."
"Yes, it does," admitted Dorise, and a few moments later she rang off.
That evening Il Passero's _chic_ messenger crossed from Dover to Ostend,and next morning she called at Madame Maupoil's, in Malines, where shedelivered Dorise's note into Hugh's own hand. She was an expert andhardened traveller.
Hugh eagerly devoured its contents, for it was the first communicationhe had had from her since that fateful night at Monte Carlo. Then,having thanked the girl again, and again, the latter said:
"If you wish to write back to Miss Ranscomb do so. I will address theenvelope, and as I am going to Cologne to-night I will post it on myarrival."
Hugh thanked her cordially, and while she sat chatting with MadameMaupoil, sipping her _cafe au lait_, he sat down and wrote a long letterto the girl he loved so deeply--a letter which reached its destinationfour days later.
One morning about ten days afterwards, when the sun shone brightly uponthe fresh green of the Surrey hills, Mrs. Bond was sitting before a firein the pretty morning room at Shapley Manor, a room filled with antiquefurniture and old blue china, reading an illustrated paper. At the long,leaded window stood a tall, fair-faced girl in a smart navy-suit. Shewas decidedly pretty, with large, soft grey eyes, dimpled cheeks, and asmall, well-formed mouth. She gazed abstractedly out of the windowover the beautiful panorama to where Hindhead rose abruptly in the bluedistance. The view from the moss-grown terrace at Shapley, high uponthe Hog's back, was surely one of the finest within a couple of hundredmiles of London.
Since Mrs. Bond's arrival there she had had many callers among the_nouveau riche_, those persons who, having made money at the expense ofour gallant British soldiers, have now ousted half the county familiesfrom their solid and responsible homes. Mrs. Bond, being wealthy, haddisplayed her riches ostentatiously. She had subscribed lavishly tocharities both in Guildford and in Farnham, and hence, among her callersthere had been at least three magistrates and their flat-footed wives,as well as a plethoric alderman, and half a dozen insignificant personspossessing minor titles.
The display of wealth had always been one of Molly Maxwell's games. Italways paid. She knew that to succeed one must spend, and now, with herrecently acquired "fortune," she spent to a very considerable tune.
"I do wish you'd go in the car to Guildford and exchange those librarybooks, Louise," exclaimed the handsome woman, suddenly looking up fromher paper. "We've got those horrid Brailsfords coming to lunch. I wasbound to ask them back."
"Can't you come, too?" asked the girl.
"No. I expect Mr. Benton this morning."
"I didn't know he was back from Paris. I'm so glad he's coming," repliedthe girl. "He'll stay all the afternoon, of course?"
"I hope so. Go at once and get back as soon as you can, dear. Choose mesome nice new books, won't you?"
Louise Lambert, Benton's adopted daughter, turned from the leadedwindow. In the strong morning light she looked extremely charming, butupon her countenance there was a deep, thoughtful expression, as thoughshe were entirely preoccupied.
"I've been thinking of Hugh Henfrey," the woman remarked suddenly. "Iwonder why he never writes to you?" she added, watching the girl's face.
Louise's cheeks redd
ened slightly, as she replied with affectedcarelessness:
"If he doesn't care to write, I shall trouble no longer."
"He's still abroad, is he not? The last I heard of him was that he wasat Monte Carlo with that Ranscomb girl."
Mention of Dorise Ranscomb caused the girl's cheeks to colour moredeeply.
"Yes," she said, "I heard that also."
"You don't seem to care very much, Louise," remarked the woman. "Andyet, he's such an awfully nice young fellow."
"You've said that dozens of times before," was Louise's abrupt reply.
"And I mean it. You could do a lot worse than to marry him, remember,though he is a bit hard-up nowadays. But things with him will rightthemselves before long."
"Why do you suggest that?" asked the girl resentfully.
"Well--because, my dear, I know that you are very fond of him," thewoman laughed. "Now, you can't deny it--can you?"
The girl, who had travelled so widely ever since she had left school,drew a deep breath and, turning her head, gazed blankly out of thewindow again.
What Mrs. Bond had said was her secret. She was very fond of Hugh. Theyhad not met very often, but he had attracted her--a fact of which bothBenton and his female accomplice were well aware.
"You don't reply," laughed the woman for whom the Paris Surete wassearching everywhere; "but your face betrays the truth, my dear. Don'tworry," she added in a tone of sympathy. "No doubt he'll write as soonas he is back in England. Personally, I don't believe he really cares arap for the Ranscomb girl. It's only a matter of money--and Dorise hasplenty."
"I don't wish to hear anything about Mr. Henfrey's love affairs!" criedthe girl petulantly. "I tell you that they do not interest me."
"Because you are piqued that he does not write, child. Ah, dear, Iknow!" she laughed, as the girl left the room.
A quarter of an hour later Louise was seated in the car, while Meaddrove her along the broad highway over the Hog's Back into Guildford.The morning was delightful, the trees wore their spring green, and allalong in the fields, as they went over the high ridge, the larks weresinging gaily the music of a glad morning of the English spring, and theview spread wide on either side.
Life in Surrey was, she found, much preferable to that on the Continent.True, in the Rue Racine they had entertained a great deal, and shehad, during the war, met many very pleasant young English and Americanofficers; but the sudden journey to Switzerland, then on into Italy,and across to New York, had been a whirl of excitement. Mrs. Maxwell hadchanged her name several times, because she said that she did not wanther divorced husband, a ne'er-do-well, to know of her whereabouts. Hewas for ever molesting her, she had told Louise, and for that reason shehad passed in different names.
The girl was in complete ignorance of the truth. She never dreamed thatthe source of the woman's wealth was highly suspicious, or that theconstant travelling was in order to evade the police.
As she was driven along, she sat back reflecting. Truth to tell, she wasmuch in love with Hugh. Benton had first introduced him one night atthe Spa in Scarborough, and after that they had met several times on theEsplanade, then again in London, and once in Paris. Yet while she,on her part, became filled with admiration, he was, apparently, quiteunconscious of it.
At last she had heard of Hugh's infatuation for Dorise Ranscomb, thedaughter of the great engineer who had recently died, and indeed she hadmet her once and been introduced to her.
Of the conditions of old Mr. Henfrey's will she was, of course, inignorance. The girl had no idea of the great plot which had been formedby her foster father and his clever female friend.
The world is a strange one beneath the surface of things. Those whopassed the imposing gates of the beautiful old English manor-house neverdreamed that it sheltered one of the most notorious female criminals inEurope. And the worshipful magistrates and their wives who visited herwould have received a rude shock had they but known. But many modernadventuresses have been able to bamboozle the mighty. Madame Humbertof Paris, in whose imagination were "The Humbert Millions," used toentertain Ministers of State, aristocrats, financiers, and others oflower degree, and show them the sealed-up safe in which she declaredreposed millions' worth of negotiable securities which might not see thelight of day until a certain date. The avaricious, even shrewd, bankersadvanced loans upon things they had never seen, and the Humberts werethe most sought-after family in Paris until the bubble burst and theyfled and were afterwards arrested in Spain.
Molly Maxwell was a marvel of ingenuity, of criminal foresight, and ofamazing elusiveness. Louise, young and unsuspicious, looked upon her asa mother. Benton she called "Uncle," and was always grateful to himfor all he did for her. She understood that they were cousins, and thatBenton advised Mrs. Maxwell in her disastrous matrimonial affairs.
Yet the life she had led ever since leaving school had been a trulyadventurous one. She had been in half the watering places of Europe, andin most of its capitals, leading, with the woman who now called herselfMrs. Bond, a most extravagant life at hotels of the first order.
The car at last ran into the station yard at Guildford, and at thebookstall Louise exchanged her books with the courteous manager.
She was passing through the booking-office back to the car, when a voicebehind her called:
"Hallo, Louise!"
Turning, she found her "uncle," Charles Benton, who, wearing a lightovercoat and grey velour hat, grasped her hand.
"Well, dear," he exclaimed. "This is fortunate. Mead is here, Isuppose?"
"Yes, uncle," replied the girl, much gratified at meeting him.
"I was about to engage a taxi to take me up to the Manor, but now youcan take me there," said the rather handsome man. "How is Mrs. Bond?" heasked, calling her by her new name.
"Quite well. She's expecting you to lunch. But she has some impossiblepeople there to-day--the Brailsfords, father, mother, and son. He madehis money in motor-cars during the war. They live over at Dorking ina house with forty-nine bedrooms, and only fifteen years ago Mrs.Brailsford used to do the housework herself. Now they're rolling inmoney, but can't keep servants."
"Ah, my dear, it's the same everywhere," said Benton as he entered thecar after her. "I've just got back from Madrid. It is the same there.The world is changing. Crooks prosper while white men starve. Honestyspells ruin in these days."
They drove over the railway bridge and up the steep hill out ofGuildford seated side by side. Benton had been her "uncle" ever sinceher childhood days, and a most kind and considerate one he had alwaysproved.
Sometimes when at school she did not see him for periods of a year ormore and she had no home to go to for holidays. Her foster-father wasabroad. Yet her school fees were paid regularly, her allowance had beenample, and her clothes were always slightly better than those of theother girls. Therefore, though she called him "uncle," she looked uponBenton as her father and obeyed all his commands.
Just about noon the car swung into the gates of Shapley, and soon theywere indoors. Benton threw off his coat, and in an abrupt manner said tothe servant:
"I want to see Mrs. Bond at once."
Then, turning to Louise, he exclaimed:
"I want to see Molly privately. I have some urgent business to discusswith her before your profiteer friends arrive."
"All right," replied the girl cheerily. "I'll leave you alone," and sheascended the broad oak staircase, the steps of which were worn thin bythe tramp of many generations.
A few moments later Charles Benton stood in the morning-room, where Mrs.Bond still sat before the welcome log fire.
"Back again, Charles!" she exclaimed, rising to greet him. "Well, howgoes it?"
"Not too well," was his reply as he closed the door. "I only got backlast night. Five days ago I saw The Sparrow at the Palace Hotel inMadrid. He's doing all he can in young Henfrey's interests, but he isnot too hopeful."
"Why?"
"I can't make out," said the man, apparently much perturbed. "He wiredme to g
o to Madrid, and I went. But it seems that I've been on a fool'serrand."
"That's very unsatisfactory," said the woman.
"It is, my dear Molly! From his attitude it seemed to me that he isprotecting Henfrey from some secret motive of his own--one that is notat all in accordance with our plans."
"But he is surely acting in our interests!"
"Ah! I'm not so sure about that."
"You surprise me. He knows our intentions and approved of them!"
"His approval has, I think, been upset by the murderous attack uponYvonne."
"But he surely will not act against us! If he does----"
"If he does--then we may as well throw up the sponge, Molly."
"We could give it all away to the police," remarked the woman.
"And by so doing give ourselves away!" answered Benton. "The Sparrow hasmany friends in the police, recollect. Abroad, he distributes a quantityof annual _douceurs_, and hence he is practically immune from arrest."
"I wish we were," laughed the handsome adventuress.
"Yes. We have only to dance to his tune," said he. "And the tune justnow is not one which is pleasing to us--eh?"
"You seem strangely apprehensive."
"I am. I believe that The Sparrow, while making pretence of supportingour little affair, is in favour of Hugh's marriage with DoriseRanscomb."
The woman looked him straight in the face.
"He could never go back on his word!" she declared.
"The Sparrow is a curious combination of the crook--chivalrous andphilanthropic--as you already know."
"But surely, he wouldn't let us down?"
Benton paused. He was thinking deeply. A certain fact had suddenlyoccurred to him.
"If he does, then we must, I suppose, do our best to expose him.I happen to know that he has quarrelled with Henri Michaux, theunder-secretary of the Surete in Paris, who has declared that hispayment is not sufficient. Michaux is anxious to get even with him. Aword from us would result in The Sparrow's arrest."
"Excellent!" exclaimed Molly. "If we fail we can, after all, have ourrevenge. But," she added, "would not he suspect us both, and, in turn,give us away?"
"No. He will never suspect, my dear Molly. Leave it to me. Are we nothis dearest and most trusted friends?" and the man, who was as keenlysought by the police of Europe, grinned sardonically and took acigarette from the big silver box on the little table at his elbow.
Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo Page 12
