by Robert Reed
they have found me, my Society . And they tell me I must do horrible
things—horrible—horrible .”
He covered his face with his hands and groaned . Frank was puz-
zled . He knew of these secret societies, had indeed seen their milder
THE 4TH PLAGUE, by Edgar Wallace (Part 1) | 313
manifestations . He had endured an exasperating strike on more oc-
casions than one as a result of some offence given to an official of
a society . But never had he glimpsed the tragedy, the underlying
horror of these mysterious associations .
He laid his hand gently on the other’s arm .
“My friend,” he said, soothingly, “you need not worry—this is
England . These things do not happen here . If you are threatened, go
to the police .”
“No, no, no!” protested the man, frantic with terror; “you do not
understand . My only hope is to get away…if I could reach the Ar-
gentine—come—come!”
He dragged the other with him to the nearest street-lamp, fum-
bling in his pocket the while .
“They want me for many reasons,” he said, “and for this most of
all .”His coat was one of those heavy cloth coats which Italian labour-
ers wear, the corners of the pockets ornamented with tiny triangles
of rusty black velvet . From the depths of a pocket the man produced
a little case . It looked like a jewel case, and the Englishman ob-
served that it was very new . Romano’s trembling hand sought for the
catch. He found it after a while, and the satin-lined lid flew open. On
a bed of dark blue velvet lay a little medallion .
“San Antonio,” said the Italian, in a hushed, eager voice .
It was a beautiful piece of work . The back ground was made up
of small diamonds, the Saint with the Babe was in gold relief . This
was no stamped and minted impression, but a piece of rare and deli-
cate carving .
“Signor,” said Miguelo, “a month ago a man who was a friend
of mine brought this to me—how it came to him I do not know .
He asked me to take care of it, and in time—these were his words,
Signor—to restore it—”
A motor-car came swiftly down the street, and the Italian looked
round apprehensively .
“Take it!”
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He thrust the case into Gallinford’s hands, clicking it close as he
did it .
“But—”
“Take it—ah!”
The car drew up abreast of them and, as the lacquered door swung
open, Romano shrank back against the railings .
Two men alighted, and they were followed by a woman .
She was tall, slim, graceful . Frank could not see her face, for it
was thickly veiled, but her voice was low and sweet .
“This is the man,” she said, and pointed to the cowering Italian .
The two men sprang at Romano and caught him by the arms .
There was the click of handcuffs .
“What is the meaning of this?” asked Gallinford, though, with a
sinking heart, he anticipated the answer .
“This man has taken a jewel of mine,” the lady replied .
“What does she say—what does she say?” asked the Italian . The
conversation had been in English; Frank translated .
“It is a lie—a lie!——” screamed Romano, struggling desper-
ately as they dragged him toward the car; “save me, for God’s sake,
Signor!”
The Englishman hesitated . He had all the national repugnance
of a “scene .” He knew that the Italian would at any rate be safe at
the police station—and if he were guilty, as it seemed probable, he
needed no protection . The whole story was a cock-and-bull inven-
tion .“Where are you taking him?” he asked .
“To Marlborough Street,” said one of the men gruffly.
“Go quietly, Miguelo,” said Frank, turning to the struggling man,
“I will follow you .”
But the prisoner had gone limp, he had fainted .
They lifted him into the car and the men jumped in after . The
woman waited expectantly . Then Frank saw a second car behind .
As the first car manoeuvred to turn, he heard voices in altercation.
Miguelo had recovered from his swoon; there was a scuffle, and the
Italian’s head appeared at the window .
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“Signor!” there was agony in his voice, “tell Signor Tillizini—”
A hand was placed over his mouth, and he was dragged back as
the car rolled up the hill and into the slow-moving traffic.
Frank waited . He half expected the woman to speak . Then it oc-
curred to him that she would regard him, if not as an accomplice, at
least as a friend of the arrested man, and he went red .
She stepped lightly into the second car . This did not turn, but
made its way downhill .
It was on the point of moving off when he remembered with a
shock that, if he was not the thief, he was all unwillingly a receiver .
The jewel was still in his pocket .
The car was on the move when he realized this and sprang to the
door of the carriage .
“Madame,” he said, “a word—I have something to say—I
have—”
Through the open window of the car he saw the woman draw
back .
“I want you——” he began, and jumped back as he saw the flash
of descending steel .
He was just in time .
The thin stiletto aimed at him struck the edge of the window,
and Frank, temporarily dazed, stumbled to his knees in the muddy
road as the car jerked ahead and vanished round the corner of Adam
Street .
One glimpse he got of a white hand still clasping the hilt of the
quivering poignard—a white hand on a finger of which glowed a
square black opal .
He rose slowly to his feet, dumbfounded . He was furiously angry .
She had evidently mistaken him for a robber .
He brushed the mud from his knees with a handkerchief, and
collected his thoughts, swearing softly .
Here was he, a prosaic young engineer on his way to meet his
fiancee in prosaic Burboro’, engaged in an adventure which was
three parts melodrama and one part comedy .
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“This comes from listening to plausible Italians?” he said, sav-
agely . He made his way to the Strand and hailed a taxicab .
“Marlborough Street Police Station,” he directed .
He would rid himself of this infernal jewel and clear himself, at
any rate .
The sergeant returned his greeting curtly, taking in the mud-
stained figure with professional suspicion.
“Romano,” he said . “No, we haven’t a Romano here .”
“He has just been arrested by two of your men,” said Frank .
“No warrant has been executed for a man of that name,” said
the sergeant, shaking his head . “Just wait a minute and I’ll ask Bow
Street .”
He went into an adjoining room, and Frank heard the tinkle of a
telephone .
By and by the officer returned.
“Neither Bow St
reet nor Vine Street know anything about it,” he
said .
Briefly the young man told the story of the arrest, omitting only
the fact that the jewel reposed in his pocket . He had no desire to
find himself detained. With Miguelo to confirm his story and with
the prosecutrix present to identify the jewel, it would be different .
And he had, too, an overpowering desire to explain to the murderous
lady, in person, his honourable intentions .
“No sir,” the sergeant went on, “we’ve no Italians—we’ve had
enough of them since the ‘Red Hand’ started operations in Eng-
land . But since Mr . Tillizini began working for Scotland Yard, they
haven’t been so busy .”
“Tillizini?” cried Frank, with a start .
The sergeant nodded .
“That’s the gentleman,” he said, complacently; “if you want to
know anything about Italian criminals, you’d better see him—108,
Adelphi Terrace; anyway, you’d best come back again—the C .I .D .
men may be working independently .”
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Frank walked in the neighbourhood of the station until ten o’clock
that night . He sent a wire to his host and dined at a Piccadilly res-
taurant .
The clock was striking the hour when he again mounted the steps
of Marlborough Street Station .
The sergeant was not alone . Three over-coated men were talking
together in one cormer of the room .
“Here he is,” said the sergeant, and the three turned and surveyed
the young engineer gravely .
“What was the name of that Italian you were inquiring about?”
asked the sergeant .
“Miguelo della Romano,” replied Frank . “Have you found him?”
The officer nodded grimly.
“Picked him up in the Embankment Gardens—an hour ago,” he
said .
“Where is he?” asked Frank .
“In the mortuary,” said the sergeant, “with twenty-five knife-
wounds in his body .”
CHAPTER VIII
THE RARE COLLECTION
Marjorie Meagh sat at breakfast with her uncle .
Sir Ralph was in an unusually irritable mood . Breakfast was
never a pleasant meal for him, but his fault-finding was generally
concentrated upon the domestic shortcomings of his wife and the
quality of the food .
Now they took a wider range . He put down his paper suddenly
and savagely .
“I wish to Heaven Vera wouldn’t go dashing off to town,” he said .
Although he was a domestic tyrant of a common type, he stood in
some little awe of his young wife . On three occasions in their lives
she had startled him by the vehemence of her rebellion, and with
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every explosion he had grown less self-confident and less satisfied
with his own capacity for commanding the situation .
Marjorie looked up from her letters .
“Vera is making a serious study of the drama,” she said . “You
must remember, uncle, that if by any chance she does succeed as a
playwright it will mean an immense income to her .”
She was very tactful . She knew that monetary considerations in-
fluenced her uncle. It was Vera’s career, which she had discovered
two years before, when a little play, written for a charitable enter-
tainment, had met with recognition at the hands of the critics .
Though it had pleasantly surprised her husband to the possibility
of his having discovered a self-supporting wife, it had been also a
source of constant irritation to him . It meant expense, constant visits
to the Metropolis, the cost of seats at a theatre, though this latter
expense had happily been spared him of late by the discovery of a
relation engaged in newspaper work, who had provided complimen-
tary tickets .
But it meant opening the flat in town; it meant the detachment
of a servant from a household where the domestic arrangements,
as planned by Sir Ralph, were so devised as to fully occupy every
moment of the time of every person engaged .
Sir Ralph took up the paper only to put it down again a moment
later .
“That scoundrel, Mansingham, has appealed,” he said . “It is
monstrous .”
The institution of the Court of Criminal Appeal was a sore point
with Sir Ralph . He felt that its creation had been expressly designed
for the purpose of annoying him . He had written letters to Times
about it, and had expressed himself, at such public functions as gave
him opportunity, in no gentle terms . It was remarkable, under the
circumstances, that the Court of Appeal continued to sit .
“It is monstrous,” he said again . “It is a slight upon the men who
are engaged in carrying out the work of administering criminal law .”
His anger came in little spasms . He had a fresh grievance every
few moments . Again his paper came down after an interval .
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“That young man, Gallinford, did not arrive last night, Marjorie,”
he said, severely . “The young men of to-day seem to be lamentably
deficient in good manners.”
“He wired, uncle,” protested the girl . “He said that he was de-
tained in town .”
“Bah!” snapped her uncle, “that isn’t good enough . I am a man
of the world, Marjorie. These flimsy excuses do not suffice for me,
and I advise you, if you desire to be happy—and the only way to be
happy,” he said parenthetically, “is to be without illusions—to view
these unsupported excuses with suspicion . He is a young man,” he
went on, elaborating his grievance, “newly arrived in England after
a long absence in a barbarous country—”
“In Italy, uncle,” she murmured, “it isn’t exactly barbarous, is
it?”“Barbarous?” he said explosively . “Why, here are two Italian
murders in one day!” He flourished the paper in support of his con-
tention .
“Of course it is barbarous! And he comes back to civilization
after a long absence, to a beautiful girl, and I admit that you are that,
Marjorie,” he said comfortably, with an air of one who was partly
responsible for her beauty, “and instead of rushing, as he should, and
as young men did in my day, to his fiancee, he breaks his journey in
town! It is perfectly inexcusable!”
She did not defend her lover . She knew how valueless such argu-
ments were with her uncle . He was entirely without inclination to
reason—at breakfast-time, at any rate .
For the rest of the meal he grumbled spasmodically behind the
paper . He reminded her irresistibly of a dog with a bone . From time
to time he fired little sentences at her—sentences which had neither
beginning nor end, and were generally associated with the Govern-
ment’s shortcomings .
Suddenly she heard the grind of carriage wheels coming up the
carriage drive, and jumped from the table . She gave one glance
through the window and, without a word to her uncle, flew from the
room .
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He glared after her in astonishment . In a few minutes she came
back, with a delicate flush on her face and laughter in her eyes, lead-
ing a tall, broad-shouldered young man, brown of face and smiling a
little uneasily, for he did not contemplate the coming interview with
any great sense of joy .
“This is Mr . Gallinford, uncle,” said the girl . “You have met him
before, haven’t you?”
Sir Ralph not only had met him before, but did not wish to meet
him then . He was in no mood for introductions to strange people .
He had, moreover, a grievance against this young man who had so
slighted his hospitality . He greeted Frank Gallinford with a grunt in
which he expressed in his bluff, hearty English way, as he imagined
it, at once his welcome and a foretaste of the reprimand which was
coming .
“I am glad to meet you, sir,” said Frank .
He held out a big, hearty hand and shook Sir Ralph’s .
“I owe you an apology for not having come last night .”
Sir Ralph inclined his head . There was no doubt whatever about
the apology being due .
“I had a little adventure,” Frank went on, and proceeded to relate
the chief events of the previous evening .
In spite of the fact that he had made up his mind to accept no
explanation as being adequate, Sir Ralph found himself listening
with keen interest . The girl’s face showed her concern .
“Oh, Frank,” she said, in a shocked voice, “how terrible! Was he
killed?”
Frank nodded .
“I had an interview with the famous detective—what is his
name?”
“Tillizini?” said Sir Ralph .
“Yes,” said Frank, “that was his name . A remarkable chap . Of
course I handed the locket over to the police, and Tillizini has it
now .”
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“It’s very extraordinary,” said Sir Ralph, with a puzzled frown .
“Your description of the locket sounds very much like one I have in
my collection .”
A sudden panic of fear passed over him . What if this was the fa-
mous locket? What if it had been abstracted without his noticing it?
“Excuse me,” he said .
Half-way to the door he turned . “Will you come along with
me?—perhaps your description of the medallion may be useful . I
have got a fear—”
He shook his head .
