The Crime Club

by W. Holt-White

  CHAPTER XV

  BY ORDER OF THE CZAR

  Swift as the cab was, Westerham only caught the boat-train by a minute,and at that without a ticket.

  He had then two hours for calm reflection, and to some extentself-reproach. Never in his life before had he been so unnerved, andthe expressions of irritation which he had made at the BuckinghamPalace Hotel before Dunton did not seem to him good.

  He saw that his was not a fit state of mind to be in if he intended tosteer safely through the troubled waters ahead of him.

  Some things were growing clearer to his mind. More and more he wascoming to realise the clever, if circuitous, means by which Melun wasseeking to break down Lady Kathleen's resistance and render his owntask harder.

  But this new move disturbed him more than any which had yet been made.He could find no reason for the scene of the conflict being suddenlytransferred from England to France, unless, indeed, Melun had at lastcome to the conclusion that Westerham was too dangerous a man to playwith.

  Soon he saw, however, that speculation was utterly useless. All hisefforts must be concentrated upon his finding Lady Kathleen, and ifnecessary compelling her by sheer force to capitulate and take him intoher confidence.

  He set his heart upon this so strongly that he persuaded himself thatthere were no difficulties in his way. It would be strange indeed if,when the moment came, he would not be able to induce Lady Kathleento reveal those things which up to then she had so obstinately andpersistently hid.

  The night was calm, and the passage to Dieppe a smooth one, but on thequay Westerham received a sharp demonstration that the difficultieswhich he had mentally brushed aside nevertheless remained to begrappled with in actual fact.

  To begin with, he had no luggage. He did not even possess an overcoat,and as it had come on to rain, and for the sake of greater freedom ofthought he had remained on deck, his appearance was already travel-wornand bedraggled.

  Small wonder, therefore, that as he presented the ticket with which hehad been provided at Newhaven the officials of the _douane_ regardedhim with keen suspicion.

  "Monsieur has nothing to declare?" they asked.

  He could only shrug his shoulders and say:

  "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

  To avoid further questionings he added: "I have not even an overcoat."

  They looked him up and down, and his appearance inspired a certainamount of respect. None the less, they took counsel together, and withan ever-watchful eye Westerham saw them approach a portly person of anintensely British aspect.

  Presently this individual came up to him and asked in most unmistakablyEnglish terms what Westerham's destination might be.

  Westerham told the man shortly that his destination was Rouen.

  "You must excuse me, sir," said the man, whom Westerham guessed to be aScotland Yard representative at the port of Dieppe, "but it is ratherunusual for gentlemen to travel without luggage and without even somuch as an overcoat. It is even more curious," he added, "when theystart on a journey without first taking a ticket."

  Westerham surveyed the man coolly with a faintly insolent air. He wascoming to realise that whereas in ordinary times the consciousnessof his own good faith enabled him to pass every barrier with thesuperiority born of an easy conscience, it required some brazenness toface obstructions of this sort when he had a desire for secrecy.

  And the fat man was evidently shrewd. He might take life easily on thequay, and watch with thoughtful and even drowsy eyes the coming andgoing of innumerable English voyagers, but for all that his alertnessonly slept, and though he had an instinctive trust of Westerham's faceand manner, still he could not deny that appearances were against theEnglishman who travelled so unprovided for a journey and with suchevident haste.

  "Of course," he said apologetically, "you will excuse my beingpersistent in making inquiries, for, after all, that is only my duty."

  "Quite so," said Westerham, with a genial smile, "and how can I helpyou to do it?"

  With some pomposity of manner the English detective produced a fatnote-book.

  "I'm afraid," he said, "that I must ask you to give me your name."

  Westerham smiled a little to himself to think how futile was such aprecaution on the man's part. He was at liberty to give him what namehe chose; he could give him the first name that came into his head.

  "I think," he laughed, "that for safety's sake you had better call meCharles Grey, though how on earth you are to ascertain whether that ismy real name or not I confess I cannot see."

  The fat detective sucked in his lips and wrote the name laboriously inhis book.

  "After all," he said, with some asperity, "people who give wrong namesand addresses seldom come to any good."

  "I suppose not," said Westerham, and walked a little moodily towardsthe train. He paid the guard handsomely enough to warrant the man's notforgetting to call him at Rouen. But still Westerham felt that he hadso much at stake that he could leave nothing to chance, and so he satupright, wakeful and watchful, while the train rushed through the appletrees of Normandy to the old cathedral city.

  When he arrived there it was raining hard, and he was conscious thathe was again an object of suspicion as he stood on the steps of thestation looking about him in search of a _fiacre_.

  No vehicle was in sight, and Westerham set himself to tramp up thehill to the Hotel de la Cloche, at which he had stayed long yearsbefore, and of which he still entertained a lively recollection of itscleanness and its quaintness.

  The hotel slept, and Westerham heard the bell pealing through thesilent house as he stood shivering and waiting on the doorstep.

  Presently he heard the sound of bolts being withdrawn and ashock-headed night porter thrust his face out into the damp morning air.

  The sight of Westerham's tall figure drew his immediate attention.

  "What does Monsieur require?" he asked in accents which were at oncecivil and surprised.

  "Let me in," said Westerham, "and I will do my best to explain."

  The man switched on the electric light, and Westerham, treading warilyon the polished parquet floor, made his way to a seat. He was feelingfatigued and not a little miserable.

  First he took the precaution of drawing a couple of half-crowns fromhis pocket and slipping them into the man's hand.

  "You need not be alarmed at my appearance," he said. "I am not afugitive from justice. I am merely an English gentleman who has losthis friends and who is in search of them.

  "Tell me if you have staying in this hotel a very tall young Englishlady with dark hair and dark eyes? It is possible that she istravelling _incognito_, but if she has given her right name it will bethe Lady Kathleen Carfax."

  The man scratched his head and looked worried.

  "I would help Monsieur if I could," he said, "but I can only assure himthat there is no English lady staying in this hotel at all. Alas! theseason is very bad, and we have few English visitors."

  That Lady Kathleen was not at the Hotel de la Cloche did not disconcertWesterham very much. He had foreseen that she was hardly likely tostay in the most prominent hotel in the town. He had merely calledthere because he knew that if one wishes to make one's path smooth ina foreign city it is just as well first to win the confidence of somehotel porter.

  "It is many years," he said to the man, "since I stayed here. In fact,I have practically no recollection of Rouen except of this hotel andthe cathedral. I should therefore be very much obliged if you couldfurnish me with a complete list of all the hotels where English peopleare likely to be found."

  "Why now," said the man, "that is an exceedingly simple affair." And herattled off a list of hotels.

  Westerham repeated them after him, but found he could not remember somany. Therefore he wrote them down.

  "And you think," he asked, "that this is a complete list?"

  "Quite complete, I should say," said the man, "for Monsieur's purpose."

  With a weary air Westerham rose from the cane-
backed chair on which hewas seated.

  "I am sorry to have disturbed you," he said to the porter, "but I mustgo in search of this lady at once."

  The man spread out his hands with a deprecating gesture. "It is stillvery dark," he said, "and Monsieur will find the hotels closed.Moreover, I do not wish to be rude to Monsieur, all the night portersmay not be so accommodating as myself.

  "Permit me to help Monsieur," he went on. "Monsieur will pardon me, butpossibly this may be some romance."

  He shrugged his shoulders again, but with such an air of civility andrespect that Westerham could not quarrel with him.

  "At any rate, it is not my business to inquire. For the time it ismerely my end to serve Monsieur well. Be seated for a little whileI make coffee and bring rolls and butter. It will fortify Monsieuragainst the damp air."

  Laughing a little, Westerham sat down again, and suffered the man tobustle about. The fellow was deft indeed, and soon Westerham was gladthat he had listened to his counsel.

  The dawn came up, and the porter turned the lights out, and Westerhamsat in the twilight of the early morning smoking more or lesscontentedly cigarettes of the Caporal brand.

  Shortly after six the man, who had been busy cleaning boots, returnedand made a gesture towards the sunlight, which was streaming into theroom.

  "If Monsieur is in haste," he said, "I will not seek to detain him.By this time the other hotels will be open. If Monsieur's mission isurgent he should continue his search."

  His air was so friendly and so charming that Westerham resorted to theonly expression of appreciation of which he could conceive. He gavethe man another five shillings, and pledged him to silence. None theless, he had little faith that the man would keep his tongue still. TheFrenchman must talk.

  Thereafter Westerham went out into the fresh morning air and beganhis search. In turn he visited the Hotel de la Poste, the Grand, theEurope, and the rest of them.

  It cost him a pretty sum to purchase the confidence of half-suspiciousand still sleepy porters, but by the time he had worked through thelist of hotels with which the man at the Hotel de la Cloche hadprovided him he had come to the conclusion that Lady Kathleen was of acertainty not in one of these hostelries.

  Was she still in Rouen? The doubt troubled Westerham greatly, but hereflected that she might have elected to put up at a more humble hotelthan any of those at which he had called. So with the assistance of afairly friendly policeman he secured a second and much longer list ofminor inns.

  The search, too, was successful. In a small and narrow street hediscovered a small hotel which went by the name of the Republique.Here his question put to the plump Madame who opened the door at oncekindled interest.

  "Yes, there was most decidedly an English lady staying there--a youngEnglish lady of most distinguished appearance. She had arrived aboutnoon on the day before, and said she intended to stay there for acouple of days, as she expected friends."

  "Had the friends arrived?"

  "No, not as yet. Perhaps Monsieur was the friend for whom she waited?"

  Westerham doubted that, and found the situation a trifle awkward toexplain.

  "No," he said to the fat Madame, he was not the friend whomMademoiselle had come to meet. He was, however, an acquaintance, andwould call later in the day.

  Contenting himself with this, he lifted his hat and strolled down thestreet, followed by the shrewd eyes of the landlady.

  He walked on until he felt sure he was no longer observed; then hewalked back again.

  On the opposite side of the street to the Republique, a few doors up,he discovered a _cafe_ of humble aspect, provided with tables beneathan awning at which the thirsty could sit and refresh themselves.

  At one of these tables Westerham took a chair, and at the risk ofviolent indigestion called for more coffee. He sat and sipped the sweetand chicory-flavoured liquid and turned about in his mind the bestmeans of discovering the reason of Lady Kathleen's visit to Rouen.

  He debated with himself whether it would not be better to go boldlyover to the hotel and make his presence known; but he reflected thatsuch a course might be unwise, more especially as Kathleen might stillelect to remain silent on the mystery which still so much perplexedhim. Indeed, his presence might result in her abandoning the businesswhich had called her so suddenly from London.

  As time went on he glanced up and down the street, watching everyone'sapproach with interest. Westerham half expected to see the face ofMelun. Instead, however, towards half-past eight his attention wasaroused by the appearance of a man whose aspect was out of keeping withthe little street.

  The stranger was above middle height, and bore himself with a certainair of quiet dignity. He was dressed in black, his clothes being wellcut, though of obviously foreign tailoring.

  It was the man's face, however, which riveted Westerham's attention.It was very dark, and the nose was somewhat flat. Yet it was a face ofgreat refinement and a distinction accentuated in a strange way by along, black, and well-trimmed beard.

  The man was not a Frenchman, nor, Westerham decided, was he a German;certainly he was not an Italian nor an Austrian. A subtle somethingabout the man's whole appearance, indeed, brought Westerham to theconclusion that he was a Russian.

  Yet why he fixed his nationality this way he could not tell, and thenthat intuition which was Westerham's great aid in times of troubletold him that this dignified and daintily-walking stranger was in somemanner connected with Lady Kathleen's presence at the Hotel de laRepublique.

  So certain of this did he become that he took the precaution of drawingfurther back into the _cafe_, where he could sit in the shadows andwatch the passage of the stranger without arousing any interest himself.

  Twice the black-bearded man walked up the street, glancing sharply atthe Republique, and twice he walked back with the same meditative anddilatory air. Then he turned the corner and disappeared.

  The patron of the inn busied himself about the _cafe_, and, seeminglycurious about the visitor's long sojourn, Westerham ordered a furthersupply of the chicory-like coffee.

  As the morning wore on so the sunshine became stronger, till thecobbles in the little streets shone hard and bright in the glare.

  At ten Westerham's glance was attracted by some bustle about the doorof the inn, and he saw the fat landlady bowing and scraping on thewhite doorstep, and then out of the shadows into the sunshine came thegirl he had come to find.

  Dressed all in black and thickly veiled, Lady Kathleen came quickly outof the doorway and walked down the street.

  Westerham, who had taken the precaution to previously settle his score,immediately rose and walked after her.

  The street was so narrow and there were so many people about that hehad to follow Kathleen pretty closely in order to avoid losing her. Henoted with some surprise that she walked straight ahead, as though ofprearranged purpose, never faltering and never so much as glancing tothe right or to the left.

  He followed her down the hill, and so into the space about thecathedral, where busy women were setting out their wares--poultry,pottery, vegetables and the like.

  More than one head was turned to note the quick, silent passage of LadyKathleen. Hers, indeed, was a physique which could not have escapednotice, no matter what its surroundings.

  On the market-square, having a clearer view before him, Westerhamslackened his pace and allowed Lady Kathleen to increase the distancebetween them.

  Still she walked straight ahead, as one who follows an oft-trodden pathand knows full well whither that path leads.

  She moved up the cathedral steps, and as she did so Westerham sawapproaching the sombre figure of the black-bearded man whose presencein the little street by the Hotel de la Republique had aroused hisinterest earlier in the morning.

  But though their steps were evidently leading them to the same spot,neither the black-bearded man nor Lady Kathleen made the least sign.The girl passed into the cathedral, the man following closely on herheels.

 
In fear of losing sight of them Westerham almost ran across the squareand darted up the cathedral steps. But for all his speed his feet fellsilently, so that neither the girl nor the man, who now walked by herside, heard his quick pursuit.

  Once in the cathedral, Westerham paused to accustom his eyes to thedimness of the light.

  Far up the nave he could see the man and the girl walking side by side.

  Then they turned from the nave into the north aisle and made their waythence into one of the dark recesses of a side chapel.

  As he watched them vanish into the shadows Westerham paused.

  He felt that he was spying, and the task was an uncongenial one, but hecomforted himself with the reflection that, after all, he played thespy out of a desire to serve Lady Kathleen, and he walked on.

  He saw that it would be impossible for him to approach the side chapelby the same way as Lady Kathleen had if he wished to remain unobserved.So he turned aside and drew near to the chapel by another way,sheltering himself behind the pillars, which cast black shadows on thefloor.

  Westerham was following his old stalking habit, which he had acquiredwhen in pursuit of big game among the giant pines of the Rockies. Yetwith all his care he almost blundered into his quarry. For, as he movedsilently round a pillar, he became conscious that he was so near toLady Kathleen that he could have stretched out his hand and touched her.

  In an instant he drew back and stood still behind a massive column. Hecould see nothing, but he could hear the voices of the girl and hercompanion in low and earnest conversation.

  At first it was the man who did most of the talking, and from whatscraps of his words he could catch Westerham judged him to be speakingin French. He droned on for some minutes, and then his voice died away.

  Lady Kathleen now asked several questions in quiet, low tones. The mananswered sharply and incisively, and it seemed to Westerham that therewas command in his voice.

  For a while there was a complete silence, which at last was broken bylong, choking sobs. Edging a little nearer round the pillar, Westerhamsaw Kathleen kneeling upon a _prie-dieu_ as though in an abandonment ofgrief. She was crying as though her heart would break, her face buriedin her hands.

  The sombre man stood by like some tall shadow, silent and unmoving.

  A quick and great desire to go to Kathleen's aid, to gather her intohis arms and comfort her, took possession of Westerham. But great ashis desire was, he forced it down, recognising that the moment had notcome for him to intervene.

  Presently the sombre man moved closer to Lady Kathleen's side, and,putting out a gloved hand, touched her lightly, and with the air of oneoffering silent sympathy, on the shoulder.

  Westerham heard him murmuring what must have been words of comfort,and before long Kathleen lifted her face and resolutely wiped away hertears. Then she rose and went forward to the altar, on the steps ofwhich she knelt and prayed.

  Finally she came back to the black-bearded man and held out her hand,and Westerham saw with still growing wonder that the man bent over itas though with great respect and brushed Kathleen's fingers with hislips. Without any further word Kathleen walked quickly and quietlyaway, making for the door through which she had entered the cathedral.The man, with a little sigh, picked up his hat and followed her,Westerham hard upon his heels.

  Outside in the sunshine, Westerham watched Kathleen make across thesquare by the way which she had come. Her companion turned abruptly tothe right and walked rapidly away.

  Westerham followed Kathleen back till she came to the Hotel de laRepublique, when she disappeared through the doorway.

  Once again Westerham took his seat at a table underneath the awning ofthe _cafe_ that he might watch developments.

  And if on the night before he had been completely unable to understandthe reasons which had taken Lady Kathleen to Rouen, he was infinitelymore out of his mental depths now. This sombrely-attired, black-beardedman could not possibly be any tool of Melun's. Melun did not employgentlemen, and that this man was one Westerham did not doubt. For twohours he sat and watched the doorway and the street; but no one eithercame or went whom Westerham could even distantly connect with LadyKathleen.

  All the while he sat there he suffered great agony of mind. It wastorture to him to think that not a score of yards away Kathleen satalone and in great distress, and that he was powerless to comfort her.

  Yet was he powerless? He could at least make one more attempt to helpher. With this resolve he crossed the road and asked to see the Englishlady staying there.

  He sent up no name, deeming it wiser not to do so. He recognised thatKathleen was of that type of woman who, if danger threatens, must knowthe worst at once. She would be curious to discover the identity of thestranger who sought an audience with her, and would ask him to go up.

  In this opinion he was justified, for the fat landlady came down andsaid that the English mademoiselle would be pleased to see him. He wentquietly up the stairs, and without so much as knocking at the doorwalked into the little sitting-room which Kathleen had engaged.

  As she beheld him she started back with a quick cry of terror. "Evenhere!" she exclaimed. "Must you follow me even here?"

  Westerham bowed his head. Now that he found himself in her presenceexplanation became difficult. For a few minutes he could say nothingbut stood watching Kathleen, who had sunk down into a chair as ifutterly worn out in body and in spirit.

  Westerham gathered himself together and came to the conclusion that thetime had now come when he at any rate should no longer continue to makemysteries.

  "Lady Kathleen," he said, "I owe you a deep apology for following youhere. I learnt of your visit to Rouen quite by accident from my friend,Lord Dunton."

  "Your friend, Lord Dunton!" exclaimed Kathleen with wide-open eyes."Your friend, Lord Dunton! What do you mean?"

  "I mean," said Westerham, simply, "that Lord Dunton is my friend. Youknow me as James Robinson, a man who, in order to secure acquaintancewith yourself, had to indulge in the very questionable privilege of afriendship with Melun.

  "It was, believe me, quite by accident I discovered that Melun in someway held your father in his grasp. I was sorry for Lord Penshurst, butinfinitely more sorry for you. I offered you my help, but you refusedit. It was, perhaps, impertinent on my part, and I cannot blame you fordoubting the genuineness of my offer. I was not then in a position toexplain either my motives or my identity.

  "'James Robinson' is not my name. I am, as a matter of fact, theSir Paul Westerham who was reported to have disappeared from the_Gigantic_."

  Lady Kathleen was staring at him in greater astonishment than before.

  "It was my whim--possibly a foolish whim--to vanish as I did. I cannotpossibly regret it, because I think it has really placed me in aposition to help you out of your difficulties. I want you to treat mewith that confidence which, I assure you, I really deserve. I stand inno fear of Melun, nor, indeed, of any man. Melun is simply in my pay. Ibought his services for my own ends, and I can equally buy his servicesfor yours."

  He paused and watched Lady Kathleen closely. She appeared utterlyunstrung, and clasped her head tightly with both hands.

  "I can hardly understand what it all means," she said at last in a dullvoice.

  "It simply means this," urged Westerham, quietly, "that I am an honestman and a gentleman; and if you could only tell me what it is of whichyou and your father are so much afraid, I feel perfectly certain thatwith the hold I have over Melun I could free you from your trouble."

  Kathleen searched his face with her eyes eagerly and yet fearfully.

  "You must forgive me," she said, "but I have no reason to believe anyman. I am sorry, but it is impossible for me to believe you even now."

  She paused and then cried out again: "No, no! it is quite impossible!Besides, surely if you have been with Melun so much, and seen so much,you must know what this dreadful thing is all about."

  "I give you my word," said Westerham, "that I do not know."

&n
bsp; Again Kathleen answered: "I am sorry, but I cannot believe you."

  Suddenly her face was flooded with colour. "You followed me here," shecried, "and saw the man who spoke to me, and yet you still tell me thatyou do not know! Do not know that while I can save my father I am lost!

  "Don't you know," she cried again hysterically, "that in the cathedralI received my sentence of death? For it means death to me! I cannotface dishonour!"

  Wild and uncontrolled as the girl's words were, there was a convincingring of truth in them, and Westerham for the first time in his lifeknew what fear meant.

  "But who," he asked with dry lips, "who in this world could possiblyhave the power to order you such a fate?"

  "You know!" cried Kathleen, fiercely, her eyes starting from theirsockets in terror, "you must know that it is by order of the Czar!"