In Friendship's Guise

by William Murray Graydon

  CHAPTER XIII.

  THE TEMPTER.

  "Just as I suspected!" Jack exclaimed. "I knew I couldn't be mistaken.I have spotted the thief. The queer chap who bought my water-colorsketches is the same who carried off the Rembrandt. How cleverly heworked his little game! But there my information stops, and I doubtif the police could make much out of it."

  The letter, which he had crumpled excitedly in his hand after readingit, was written in French; freely translated it ran as follows:

  "No. 15, BOULEVARD DE COURCELLES, PARIS.

  "My Dear Jack--I was rejoiced to hear from you, after so long a silence,and it gave me sincere pleasure to look into the matter of which youspoke. But I fear that my answers must be in the negative. It is certainthat no such individual as M. Felix Marchand lives in or near the PareMonceaux, where I have numerous acquaintances; nor do I find the name inthe directory of Paris. Moreover, he is unknown to the dealer, Cambon, onthe Quai Voltaire, of whom I made inquiries. So the matter rests. I ampleased to learn of your prosperity. When shall I see you once more inLutetia?

  "With amiable sentiments I inscribe myself,

  "Your old friend,

  "CHARLES JACQUIN."

  "I'll take the earliest opportunity of seeing Lamb and Drummond," Jackresolved. "The affair will interest them, and it may lead to something.But I shan't bother about it--I didn't value the picture very highly,and the thief almost deserves to keep it for his cleverness."

  During the next three days, however, Jack was too busy to carry out hisplan--at least in the mornings. Not for any consideration would he havesacrificed his afternoons, for then he met Madge in Regent's Park, andspent an hour or more with her, reckless of extortionate cab fares fromRavenscourt Park to the neighborhood of Portland Terrace. On the secondnight, dining in town, he met Victor Nevill, and had a long chat withhim, the two going to a music-hall afterward. Jack was discreetly silentabout his love affair, nor did he or Nevill refer to the little incidentnear Richmond Hill.

  At the end of the week Jack's opportunity came. He had finished somework on which he had been employed for several days, and soon afterbreakfast, putting on a frock coat and a top hat he went off to town. Hepresented a card at Lamb and Drummond's, and the senior partner of thefirm, who knew him well by reputation, invited him into his privateoffice. On learning his visitor's errand, Mr. Lamb evinced a keeninterest in the subject. He listened attentively to the story, and askedvarious questions.

  "Here is the letter from my friend in Paris," Jack concluded. "You willunderstand its import. It shows conclusively that M. Marchand came to mystudio under a false name, and leaves no room for doubt that it was hewho stole my duplicate Rembrandt."

  "I agree with you, Mr. Vernon. It is a puzzling affair, and I confess Idon't know what to make of it. But it is exceedingly interesting, and Iam very glad that you have confided in me. I think it will be best ifwe keep our knowledge strictly to ourselves for the present."

  "By all means."

  "I except the detectives who are working on the case."

  "Yes, of course. They are the proper persons to utilize theinformation," assented Jack. "It should not be made public."

  "I never knew that a copy of Von Whele's picture was in existence," saidMr. Lamb. "I need hardly ask if it is a faithful one."

  "I am afraid it is," Jack replied, smiling. "I worked slowly andcarefully, and though I was a bit of an amateur in those days, I wasmore than satisfied with the result. The pictures were of the same size;and I really don't think many persons could have distinguished the onefrom the other."

  "Could _you_ do that now, supposing that both were before you, framedalike, and that the duplicate was cunningly toned to look as old as theoriginal?"

  "I should not hesitate an instant," Jack replied, "because it happensthat I took the precaution of making a slight mark in one corner of mycanvas."

  "Ah, that was a clever idea--very shrewd of you! It may be of thegreatest importance in the future."

  "You have not yet given me your opinion of the mysterious Frenchman,"Jack went on. "Do you believe that he was concerned in both robberies?"

  "Circumstances seem to point that way, Mr. Vernon, do they not? Yourpicture was certainly taken before mine?"

  "It was, without doubt."

  "Then, what object could the Frenchman have had in stealing thecomparatively worthless duplicate, unless he counted on subsequentlygetting possession of the original?"

  "It sounds plausible," said Jack. "That's just my way of looking at it.The advantage would be--"

  "That the thieves would have two pictures, equally valuable to them, todispose of secretly," put in Mr. Lamb. "We may safely assume, then, thatour enterprising burglars are in possession of a brace of Rembrandts.What they will do with them it is difficult to say. They will likelymake no move at present, but it is possible that they will try todispose of them in the Continental market or in America, in which caseI have hopes that they will blunder into the hands of the police. Properprecautions have been taken both at home and abroad."

  "Is there any clew yet?"

  Mr. Lamb shook his head sadly.

  "Not a ray of light has been thrown on the mystery," he replied, "thoughthe best Scotland Yard men are at work. You may depend upon it that theinsurance people, who stand to lose ten thousand pounds, will leave nostone unturned. As for Raper, our watchman, he has been discharged. Mr.Drummond and I are convinced that his story was true, but it wasimpossible to overlook his gross carelessness. We never knew that hewas in the habit of going nightly to the public house in Crown Court."

  "It's a wonder you were not robbed before," said Jack. "You have myaddress--will you let me know if anything occurs?"

  "Certainly, Mr. Vernon. Must you be off? Good morning!"

  Jack sauntered along Pall Mall, and turned up Regent street. AtPiccadilly Circus he saw two men standing before the cigar shop on thecorner. One was young and boyish looking. The other, a few years older,was of medium height and stout beyond proportion; he wore a tweed suitof a rather big check pattern, and the coat was buttoned over a scarletwaistcoat; the straw hat, gaudily beribboned, shaded a fat, jolly,half-comical face, of the type that readily inspires confidence. He wastalking to his companion animatedly when he saw Jack approaching. With aboisterous exclamation of delight he rushed up to him and clapped him onthe shoulder.

  "Clare, old boy!" he cried.

  "Jimmie Drexell!" Jack gasped in amazement. "Dear old chap, how awfullyglad I am to see you!"

  With genuine and heartfelt emotion they shook hands and looked intoeach other's eyes--these two who had not met for long years, since therollicksome days of student life in Paris when they had been as intimateas brothers.

  "You're fit as a king, my boy--not much changed," spluttered Drexell,with a strong American accent to his kindly, mellow voice. "I was goingto look you up to-day--only landed at Southampton yesterday--got beastlytired of New York--yearned for London and Paris--shan't go back for sixmonths or a year, hanged if I do."

  "I'm jolly glad to hear it, Jimmie."

  "We'll see a lot of each other--eh, old man? So, you've stuck to thename of Vernon? I called you Clare, didn't I? Yes, I forgot. You told meyou had taken the other name when you wrote a couple of years ago. Ihaven't heard from you since, except through the papers. You've madea hit, I understand. Doing well?"

  "Rather! I've no cause to complain. And you, Jimmie? What's become ofthe art?"

  "Chucked it, Jack--it was no go. I painted like a blooming Turk--hired astudio--filled it with jimcrackery--got the best-looking models--wore avelvet coat and grew long hair. But it was all useless. I earnedtwenty-five dollars in three years. I had a picture in a dealer'sshop--his place burnt down--I made him fork over. Then a deceasedrelative left me $150,000--said I deserved it for working so hard inParis. A good one, eh? I leased the studio to the Salvation Army, andhere I am, a poor devil of an artist out of work."

  Jack laughed heartily.

  "Art never _was_ much in your
line," he said, "though I remember how youkept pegging away at it. And no one can be more pleased than myself tolearn that you've dropped into a fortune. Stick to it, Jimmie."

  "There will be another one some day, Jack--when this is gone. By theway, I met old Nevill last night--dined with him. And that reminds me--"

  He turned to his companion, the fresh-faced boy, and introduced him toJack as the Honorable Bertie Raven. The two shook hands cordially, andexchanged a few commonplace words.

  "Come on; we've held up this corner long enough," exclaimed Drexell."Let's go and lunch together somewhere. I'll leave it to you, Raven.Name your place."

  "Prince's, then," was the prompt rejoinder.

  As they walked along Piccadilly the Honorable Bertie was forced ahead bythe narrowness of the pavement and the jostling crowds, and Drexellwhispered at Jack's ear:

  "A good sort, that young chap. I met him in New York a year ago. Hisnext eldest brother, the Honorable George, is over there now. I believehe is going to marry a cousin of mine--a girl who will come into a potof money when her governor dies."

  * * * * *

  Nine o'clock at night, and a room in Beak street, Regent street; a backapartment looking into a dingy court, furnished with a sort of tawdry,depressing luxury, and lighted by a pair of candles. A richly dressedwoman who had once been extremely handsome, and still retained more thana trace of her charms, half reclined on a couch; a fluffy mass ofcoppery-red hair had escaped from under her hat, and shaded her largeeyes; shame and confusion, mingled with angry defiance, deepened theartificial blush on her cheeks.

  Victor Nevill stood in the middle of the floor, confronting her with afaint, mocking smile at his lips. He had not taken the trouble to removehis hat. He wore evening dress, with a light cloak over it, and hetwirled a stick carelessly between his gloved fingers.

  "So it is really you!" he said.

  "If you came to sneer at me, go!" the woman answered spitefully. "Youhave your revenge. How did you find me?"

  "It was not easy, but I persevered--"

  "Why?"

  "For a purpose. I will tell you presently. And do not think that I cameto sneer. I am sorry for you--grieved to find you struggling in thevortex of London." He looked about the room, which, indeed, told a plainstory. "You were intended for better things," he added. "Where is CountNordhoff?"

  "He left me--three years ago."

  "I wouldn't mind betting that you cleaned him out, and then heartlesslyturned him adrift."

  "You are insolent!"

  "And I dare say you have had plenty of others since. What has become ofthe Jew?"

  The woman's eyes flashed like a tiger's.

  "I wish I had him here now!" she cried. "He deserted me--broke a hundredpromises. I have not seen him for a week."

  "You are suffering heavily for the past."

  "For the past!" the woman echoed dully. "Victor," she said with a suddenchange of voice, "_you_ loved me once--"

  "Yes, once. But you crushed that love--killed it forever. No stagesentiment, please. Understand that, plainly."

  The brief hope died out of the woman's eyes, and was replaced by a gleamof hatred. She looked at the man furiously.

  "There is no need to fly into a passion," said Nevill. "We can at leastbe friends. I cherish no ill-feeling--I pity you sincerely. And yet youare still beautiful enough to turn some men's heads. How are you off formoney?"

  The woman opened a purse and dashed a handful of silver to the floor.

  "That is my all!" she cried, hoarsely.

  "Then you must find a way out of your difficulties. I am going to havea serious talk with you."

  Nevill drew a chair up to the couch, and his first words roused thewoman's interest. He spoke for ten minutes or more, now in whispers, nowwith a rising inflection; now persuasively, now with well-feignedindignation and scorn. The effect which his argument had on hiscompanion was shown by the swift changes that passed over her face; sheinterrupted him frequently, asking questions and making comments. At theend the woman rustled her silken skirts disdainfully, and rose to herfeet.

  "Why do you suggest this, Victor?" she demanded. "Where do _you_ comein?"

  Nevill seemed slightly disconcerted.

  "I am foolish enough to feel an interest in a person I once cared for,"he replied. "I want to save you from ruin that is inevitable if youcontinue in your present course."

  "It is kind of you, Victor Nevill," the woman answered sneeringly. "Hehas a personal motive," she thought. "What can it be?"

  "The thing is so simple, so natural," said Nevill, "that I wonder youhesitate. Of course you will fall in with it."

  "Suppose I refuse?"

  "I can't credit you with such madness."

  "But what if--" She leaned toward him and whispered a short sentence inhis ear. His face turned the color of ashes, and he clutched her wristso tightly that she winced with pain.

  "It is a lie!" he cried, brutally. "By heavens, if I believed--"

  The woman laughed--a laugh that was not pleasant to hear.

  "Fool! do you think I would tell you if it was true?" she said. "I wasonly jesting."

  "It is not a subject to jest about," Nevill answered stiffly. "I camehere to do you a good turn, and--"

  "You had better have kept away. You are a fiend--you are a Satanhimself! Why do you tempt me? Do you think that I have no conscience,no shame left? I am bad enough, Victor Nevill, but by the memory of thepast--of what I threw away--I can't stoop so low as to--"

  "Your heroics are out of place," he interrupted. "Go to the devil yourown way, if you like."

  "You shall have an answer to-morrow--to-morrow! Give me time to thinkabout it."

  The woman sank down on the couch again; her over-wrought nerves gaveway, and burying her face in the cushions she sobbed hysterically.Nevill looked at her for a moment. Then he put a couple of sovereigns onthe table and quietly left the room.