SIXTEENTH CHAPTER
THE ESCROCS OF LONDON
For ten weary days Hugh Henfrey had lived in the close, frowsy-smellinghouse in Abingdon Road, Kensington, a small, old-fashioned place, once aresidence of well-to-do persons, but now sadly out of repair.
Its occupier was a worthy, and somewhat wizened, widow named Mason, whowas supposed to be the relict of an army surgeon who had been killed atthe Battle of the Marne. She was about sixty, and suffered badly fromasthma. Her house was too large for one maid, a stout, matronly personcalled Emily, hence the place was not kept as clean as it ought to havebeen, and the cuisine left much to be desired.
Still, it appeared to be a safe harbour of refuge for certain strangepersons who came there, men who looked more or less decent members ofsociety, but whose talk and whose slang was certainly that of crooks.That house in the back street of old-world Kensington, a place builtbefore Victoria ascended the throne, was undoubtedly on a par with theflat of the Reveccas in Genoa, and the thieves' sanctuary in the shadowof the cathedral at Malines.
Adversity brings with it queer company, and Hugh had found himselfamong a mixed society of men who had been gentlemen and had taken up thecriminal life as an up-to-date profession. They all spoke of The Sparrowwith awe; and they all wondered what his next great coup would be.
Hugh became more than ever satisfied that Il Passero was one of thegreatest and most astute criminals who have graced the annals of ourtime.
Everyone sang his praise. The queer visitors who lodged there for aday, a couple of days, or more; the guests who came suddenly, and whodisappeared just as quickly, were one and all loud in their admirationof Il Passero, though Hugh could discover nobody who had actually seenthe arch-thief in the flesh.
On the Tuesday night Hugh had had a frugal and badly-cooked meal withthree mysterious men who had arrived as Mrs. Mason's guests during theday. After supper the widow rose and left the room, whereupon the trio,all well-dressed men-about-town, began to chatter openly about a little"deal" in diamonds in which they had been interested. The "deal" inquestion had been reported in the newspapers on the previous morning,namely, how a Dutch diamond dealer's office in Hatton Garden had beenbroken into, the safe cut open by the most scientific means, and a veryvaluable parcel of stones extracted.
"Harry Austen has gone down to Surrey to stay with Molly."
"Molly? Why, I thought she was in Paris!"
"She was--but she went to America for a trip and she finds it morepleasant to live down in Surrey just now," replied the other with agrin. "She has Charlie's girl living with her."
"H'm!" grunted the third man. "Not quite the sort of companion Charliemight choose for his daughter--eh?"
Hugh took but little notice of the conversation. It was drawing near thetime when he would go forth to meet Dorise at their trysting place. Inanxiety he went into the adjoining room, and there smoked alone untiljust past eleven o'clock, when he put on his hat and went forth into thedark, deserted street.
Opposite High Street Kensington Station he jumped upon a bus, and atfive minutes to midnight alighted at the Marble Arch. On entering thepark he quickly found the seat he had indicated as their meeting place,and sat down to wait.
The home-going theatre traffic behind him in the Bayswater Road hadnearly ceased as the church clocks chimed the midnight hour. In thesemi-darkness of the park dark figures were moving, lovers with midnighttrysts like his own. In the long, well-lit road behind him motors fullof gaily-dressed women flashed homeward from suppers or theatres, whilefrom the open windows of a ballroom in a great mansion, the house of aniron magnate, came the distant strains of waltz music.
Time dragged along. He strained his eyes down the dark pathway, butcould see no approaching figure. Had she at the last moment beenprevented from coming? He knew how difficult it was for her to slipaway at night, for Lady Ranscomb was always so full of engagements, andDorise was compelled to go everywhere with her.
At last he saw a female figure in the distance, as she turned into thepark from the Marble Arch, and springing to his feet, he went forwardto meet her. At first he was not certain that it was Dorise, but as heapproached nearer he recognized her gait.
A few seconds later he confronted her and grasped her warmly by thehand. The black cloak she was wearing revealed a handsome jade-colouredevening gown, while her shoes were not those one would wear forpromenading in the park.
"Welcome at last, darling!" he cried. "I was wondering if you could getaway, after all!"
"I had a little difficulty," she laughed. "I'm at a dance at theGordons' in Grosvenor Gardens, but I managed to slip out, find a taxi,and run along here. I fear I can't stay long, or they will miss me."
"Even five minutes with you is bliss to me, darling," he said, graspingher ungloved hand and raising it to his lips.
"Ah! Hugh. If you could only return to us, instead of living under thisawful cloud of suspicion!" the girl cried. "Every day, and every night,I think of you, dear, and wonder how you are dragging out your days inobscurity down in Kensington. Twice this week I drove along the Earl'sCourt Road, quite close to you."
"Oh! life is a bit dull, certainly," he replied cheerfully. "But I havepapers and books--and I can look out of the window on to the housesopposite."
"But you go out for a ramble at night?"
"Oh! yes," he replied. "Last night I set out at one o'clock and walkedup to Hampstead Heath, as far as Jack Straw's Castle and back. The nightwas perfect. Really, Londoners who sleep heavily all night lose the bestpart of their lives. London is only beautiful in the night hours andat early dawn. I often watch the sun rise from the Thames Embankment.I have a favourite seat--just beyond Scotland Yard. I've become quite anight-bird these days. I sleep when the sun shines, and with a sandwichbox and a flask I go long tramps at night, just as others do who, likemyself, are concealing their identity."
"But when will all this end?" queried the girl, as together theystrolled in the direction of Bayswater, passing many whispering couplessitting on seats. London lovers enjoy the park at all hours of thetwenty-four.
"It will only end when I am able to discover the truth," he saidvaguely. "Meanwhile I am not disheartened, darling, because--because Iknow that you believe in me--that you still trust me."
"That man whom I saw in Nice dressed as a cavalier, and who again cameto me in Scotland, is a mystery," she said. "Do you really believe he isthe person you suspect?"
"I do. I still believe he is the notorious and defiant criminal 'IlPassero'--the most daring and ingenious thief of the present century."
"But he is evidently your friend."
"Yes. That is the great mystery of it all. I cannot discern his motive."
"Is it a sinister one, do you think?"
"No. I do not believe so. I have heard of The Sparrow's fame from thelips of many criminals, but none has uttered a single word against him.He is, I hear, fierce, bitter, and relentless towards those who are hisenemies. To his friends, however, he is staunchly loyal. That is what issaid of him."
"But, Hugh, I wish you would be more frank with me," the girl said."There are several things you are hiding from me."
"I admit it, darling," he blurted forth, holding her hand in thedarkness as they walked. The ecstasy and the bliss of that momentheld him almost without words. She was as life to him. He pursued thatsoul-deadening evasion, and lived that grey, sordid life among men andwomen escaping from justice solely for her sake. If he married LouiseLambert and then cast off the matrimonial shackles he would recover hispatrimony and be well-off.
To many men the temptation would have proved too great. The inheritanceof his father's fortune was so very easy. Louise was a pretty girl, welleducated, bright, vivacious, and thoroughly up to date. Yet somehow,he always mistrusted Benton, though his father, perhaps blinded in hisyears, had reckoned him his best and most sincere friend. There are manyunscrupulous men who pose as dear, devoted friends of those who theyknow are doomed by disease to die--men who hope to be lef
t executorswith attaching emoluments, and men who have some deep game to playeither by swindling the orphans, or by advancing one of their own kithand kin in the social scale.
Old Mr. Henfrey, a genuine country landowner of the good old school, aman who lived in tweeds and leggings, and who rode regularly to houndsand enjoyed his days across the stubble, was one of the unsuspicious.Charles Benton he had first met long ago in the Hotel de Russie inRome while he was wintering there. Benton was merry, and, apparently, agentleman. He talked of his days at Harrow, and afterwards at Cambridge,of being sent down because of a big "rag" in the Gladstonian days, andof his life since as a fairly well-off bachelor with rooms in London.
Thus a close intimacy had sprung up between them, and Hugh had naturallyregarded his father's friend with entire confidence.
"You admit that you are not telling me the whole truth, Hugh," remarkedthe girl after a long pause. "It is hardly fair of you, is it?"
"Ah! darling, you do not know my position," he hastened to explain ashe gripped her little hand more tightly in his own. "I only wish Icould learn the truth myself so as to make complete explanation. But atpresent all is doubt and uncertainty. Won't you trust me, Dorise?"
"Trust you!" she echoed. "Why, of course I will! You surely know that,Hugh."
The young man was again silent for some moments. Then he exclaimed:
"Yet, after all, I can see no ray of hope."
"Why?"
"Hope of our marriage, Dorise," he said hoarsely. "How can I, withoutmoney, ever hope to make you my wife?"
"But you will have your father's estate in due course, won't you?" sheasked quite innocently. "You always plead poverty. You are so like aman."
"Ah! Dorise, I am really poor. You don't understand--_you can't_!"
"But I do," she said. "You may have debts. Every man has them--tailor'sbills, restaurant bills, betting debts, jewellery debts. Oh! I know.I've heard all about these things from another. Well, if you have them,you'll be able to settle them out of your father's estate all in duecourse."
"And if he has left me nothing?"
"Nothing!" exclaimed the handsome girl at his side. "What do you mean?"
"Well----" he said very slowly. "At present I have nothing--that's all.That is why at Monte Carlo I suggested that--that----"
He did not conclude the sentence.
"I remember. You said that I had better marry George Sherrard--thatthick-lipped ass. You said that because you are hard-up?"
"Yes. I am hard-up. Very hard-up. At present I am existing in an obscurelodging practically upon the charity of a man upon whom, so far as I canascertain, I have no claim whatsoever."
"The notorious thief?"
Hugh nodded, and said:
"That fact in itself mystifies me. I can see no motive. I am entirelyinnocent of the crime attributed to me, and if Mademoiselle were in herright mind she would instantly clear me of this terrible charge."
"But why did you go to her home that night, Hugh?"
"As I have already told you, I went to demand a reply to a singlequestion I put to her," he said. "But please do no let us discuss theaffair further. The whole circumstances are painful to me--more painfulthan you can possibly imagine. One day--and I hope it will be soon--youwill fully realize what all this has cost me."
The girl drew a long breath.
"I know, Hugh," she said. "I know, dear--and I do trust you."
They halted, and he bent and impressed upon her lips a fierce caress.
So entirely absorbed in each other were the pair that they failedto notice the slim figure of a man who had followed the girl at somedistance. Indeed, the individual in question had been lurking outsidethe house in Grosvenor Gardens, and had watched Dorise leave. At the endof the street a taxi was drawn up at the kerb awaiting him. Dorise hadhailed the man, but his reply was a surly "Engaged."
Then, walking about a couple of hundred yards, she had found another,and entering it, had driven to the Marble Arch. But the first taxihad followed the second one, and in it was the well-set-up man who wassilently watching her in the park as she walked with her lover towardsthe Victoria Gate.
"What can I say to you in reply to your words of hope, darling?"exclaimed Hugh as he walked beside her. "I know full well how much allthis must puzzle you. Have you seen Brock?"
"Oh! yes. I saw him two days ago. He called upon mother and had tea. Imanaged to get five minutes alone with him, and I asked if he had heardfrom you. He replied that he had not. He's much worried about you."
"Is he, dear old chap? I only wish I dared write to him, and give him myaddress."
"I told him that you were back in London. But I did not give him youraddress. You told me to disclose nothing."
"Quite right, Dorise," he said. "If, as I hope one day to do, I can everclear myself and combat my secret enemies, then there will be revealedto you a state of things of which you little dream. To-day I confess Iam under a cloud. In the to-morrow I hope and pray that I may be able toexpose the guilty and throw a new light upon those who have conspired tosecure my downfall."
They had halted in the dark path, and again their lips met in fondcaress. Behind them was the silent watcher, the tall man who hadfollowed Dorise when she had made her secret exit from the house whereinthe gay dance was till in progress.
An empty seat was near, and with one accord the lovers sank upon it,Hugh still holding the girl's soft hand.
"I must really go," she said. "Mother will miss me, no doubt."
"And George Sherrard, too?" asked her companion bitterly.
"He may, of course."
"Ah! Then he is with you to-night?"
"Yes. Unfortunately, he is. Ah! Hugh! How I hate his exquisite andsuperior manners. But he is such a close friend of mother's that I cannever escape him."
"And he still pesters you with his attentions, of course," remarked Hughin a hard voice.
"Oh! yes, he is always pretending to be in love with me."
"Love!" echoed Hugh. "Can such a man ever love a woman? Never, Dorise.He does not love you as I love you--with my whole heart and my wholesoul."
"Of course the fellow cannot," she replied. "But, for mother's sake, Ihave to suffer his presence."
"At least you are frank, darling," he laughed.
"I only tell you the truth, dear. Mother thinks she can induce me tomarry him because he is so rich, but I repeat that I have no intentionwhatever of doing so. I love you, Hugh--and only you."
Again he took her in his strong arms and pressed her to him, still beingwatched by the mysterious individual who had followed Dorise.
"Ah! my darling, these are, indeed, moments of supreme happiness," Hughexclaimed as he held her tightly in his arms. "I wonder when we daremeet again?"
"Soon, dear--very soon, I hope. Let us make another appointment," shesaid. "On Friday week mother is going to spend the night with Mrs. Deanedown at Ascot. I shall make excuse to stay at home."
"Right. Friday week at the same place and time," he said cheerily.
"I'll have to go now," she said regretfully. "I only wish I could staylonger, but I must get back at once. If mother misses me she'll have afit."
So he walked with her out of the Victoria Gate into the Bayswater Roadand put her into an empty taxi which was passing back to Oxford Street.
Then, when he had pressed her hand and wished her adieu, he continued,towards Notting Hill Gate, and thence returned to Kensington.
But, though he was ignorant of the fact, the rather lank figure whichhad been waiting outside the house in Grosvenor Gardens now followed himalmost as noiselessly as a shadow. Never once did the watcher losesight of him until he saw him enter the house in Abingdon Road with hislatchkey.
Then, when the door had closed, the mysterious watcher passed by andscrutinized the number, after which he hastened back to Kensington HighStreet, where he found a belated taxi in which he drove away.
Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo Page 16
