A Prince of Swindlers

by Guy Boothby

  “So much for the Most Noble the Marquis of Laverstock,” he said, “and the Canary Island Relief Fund. Now, let us be off to town. To-morrow I must be Simon Carne once more.”

  Next morning Simon Carne rose from his couch, in his luxurious bedroom, a little later than usual. He knew he should be tired, and had instructed Belton not to come in until he rang his bell. When the latter appeared he bade him bring in the morning papers. He found what he wanted in the first he opened, on the middle page, headed with three lines of large type:

  GIGANTIC SWINDLE.

  THE MARQUIS OF LAVERSTOCK ABDUCTED.

  THE CANARY ISLAND RELIEF FUND STOLEN.

  “This looks quite interesting,” said Carne, as he folded the paper in order to be able the better to read the account. “As I know something of the case I shall be interested to see what they have to say about it. Let me see.”

  The newspaper version ran as follows:

  Of all the series of extraordinary crimes which it has been our unfortunate duty to chronicle during this year of great rejoicing, it is doubtful whether a more impudent robbery has been perpetrated than that which we have to place before our readers this morning. As every one is well aware, a large fund has been collected from all classes for the relief of the sufferers by the recent Canary Island earthquake. On the day before the robbery took place this fund amounted to no less a sum than one hundred thousand pounds, and to-morrow it was the intention of the committee, under the presidency of the Most Noble the Marquis of Laverstock, to proceed to the seat of the disaster, taking with them the entire amount of the sum raised in English gold. Unfortunately for the success of this scheme, his lordship was the recipient, two days ago, of a letter from a person purporting to reside in Great Chesterton Street, South Kensington. She signed herself Janet O’Halloran, and offered to add a sum of ten thousand pounds to the amount already collected, provided the Marquis would call and collect her cheque personally. The excuse given for this extraordinary stipulation was that she wished to convey to him her thanks for the trouble he had taken.

  Accordingly, feeling that he had no right to allow such a chance to slip, his lordship visited the house. He was received in the drawing-room by a man dressed in the garb of a clergyman, who, assisted by a military-looking individual, presently clapped a revolver to his head and demanded, under the threat of all sorts of penalties, that he should give up to him the cheque drawn upon the Bank, and which it was the Marquis’s intention to have cashed the following morning. Not satisfied with this assurance, he was also made to write an order to the banking authorities authorising them to pay over the money to the bearer, who was a trusted agent, while at the same time he was to supply them with his signet ring, which, as had already been arranged, would prove that the messengers were genuine and what they pretended to be. Next he was ordered to drink a powerful opiate, and after that his lordship remembers nothing more until he woke to find himself on board a small yacht in mid-channel. Despite the agony he was suffering, he was detained on board this piratical craft until late last night, when he was set ashore at a small village within a few miles of Plymouth. Such is his lordship’s story. The sequel to the picture is as follows.

  Soon after the Bank was opened yesterday, a respectable-looking individual, accompanied by three others, who were introduced to the manager as private detectives, put in an appearance and presented the Relief Fund’s cheque at the counter. In reply to inquiries the letter written by the Marquis was produced, and the signet ring shown. Never for a moment doubting that these were the messengers the Bank had all along been told to expect, the money was handed over and placed in a handsome private omnibus which was waiting outside. It was not until late last night, when a telegram was received from the Marquis of Laverstock from Plymouth, that the nature of the gigantic fraud which had been perpetrated was discovered. The police authorities were immediately communicated with and the matter placed in their hands. Unfortunately, however, so many hours had been allowed to elapse that it was extremely difficult to obtain any clue that might ultimately lead to the identification of the parties concerned in the fraud. So far the case bids fair to rank with those other mysterious robberies which, during the last few months, have shocked and puzzled all England.

  “I regard that as a remarkably able exposition of the case,” said Carne to himself with a smile as he laid the paper down, “but what an account the man would be able to write if only he could know what is in my safe upstairs!”

  That afternoon he attended a committee meeting of the fund at Weltershall House. The unfortunate nobleman whose unpleasant experience has founded the subject of this story was present. Carne was among the first to offer him an expression of sympathy.

  “I don’t know that I ever heard of a more outrageous case,” he said. “I only hope that the scoundrels may be soon brought to justice.”

  “In the meantime what about the poor people we intended to help?” asked Lady Weltershall.

  “They shall not lose,” replied Lord Laverstock. “I shall refund the entire amount myself.”

  “No, no, my lord; that would be manifestly unfair,” said Simon Carne. “We are all trustees of the fund, and what happened is as much our fault as yours. If nine other people will do the same I am prepared to contribute a sum of ten thousand pounds towards the fund.”

  “I will follow your example,” said the Marquis.

  “I also,” continued Lord Amberley.

  By nightfall seven other gentlemen had done the same, and, as Simon Carne said as he totalled the amounts: “By this means the Canary Islanders will not be losers after all.”

  CHAPTER 6

  AN IMPERIAL FINALE

  Of all the functions that ornament the calendar of the English social and sporting year, surely the Cowes week may claim to rank as one of the greatest, or at least the most enjoyable. So thought Simon Carne as he sat on the deck of Lord Tremorden’s yacht, anchored off the mouth of the Medina River, smoking his cigarette and whispering soft nothings into the little shell-like ear of Lady Mabel Madderley, the lady of all others who had won the right to be considered the beauty of the past season. It was a perfect afternoon, and, as if to fill his flagon of enjoyment to the very brim, he had won the Queen’s Cup with his yacht, The Unknown Quantity, only half an hour before. Small wonder, therefore, that he was contented with his lot in life, and his good fortune of that afternoon in particular.

  The tiny harbour was crowded with shipping of all sorts, shapes, and sizes, including the guardship, his Imperial Majesty the Emperor of Westphalia’s yacht the Hohenszrallas, the English Royal yachts, steam yachts, schooners, cutters, and all the various craft taking part in England’s greatest water carnival. Steam launches darted hither and thither, smartly equipped gigs conveyed gaily-dressed parties from vessel to vessel, while, ashore, the little town itself was alive with bunting, and echoed to the strains of almost continuous music.

  “Surely you ought to consider yourself a very happy man, Mr. Carne,” said Lady Mabel Madderley, with a smile, in reply to a speech of the other’s. “You won the Derby in June, and to-day you have appropriated the Queen’s Cup.”

  “If such things constitute happiness, I suppose I must be in the seventh heaven of delight,” answered Carne, as he took another cigarette from his case and lit it. “All the same, I am insatiable enough to desire still greater fortune. When one has set one’s heart upon winning something, beside which the Derby and the Queen’s Cup are items scarcely worth considering, one is rather apt to feel that fortune has still much to give.”

  “I am afraid I do not quite grasp your meaning,” she said. But there was a look in her face that told him that, if she did not understand, she could at least make a very good guess. According to the world’s reckoning, he was quite the best fish then swimming in the matrimonial pond, and some people, for the past few weeks, had even gone so far as to say that she had hooked him. It could not be d
enied that he had been paying her unmistakable attention of late.

  What answer he would have vouchsafed to her speech it is impossible to say, for at that moment their host came along the deck towards them. He carried a note in his hand.

  “I have just received a message to say that his Imperial Majesty is going to honour us with a visit,” he said, when he reached them. “If I mistake not, that is his launch coming towards us now.”

  Lady Mabel and Simon Carne rose and accompanied him to the starboard bulwarks. A smart white launch, with the Westphalian flag flying at her stern, had left the Royal yacht and was steaming quickly towards them. A few minutes later it had reached the companion ladder, and Lord Tremorden had descended to welcome his Royal guest. When they reached the deck together, his Majesty shook hands with Lady Tremorden, and afterwards with Lady Mabel and Simon Carne.

  “I must congratulate you most heartily, Mr. Carne,” he said, “on your victory to-day. You gave us an excellent race, and though I had the misfortune to be beaten by thirty seconds, still I have the satisfaction of knowing that the winner was a better boat in every way than my own.”

  “Your Majesty adds to the sweets of victory by your generous acceptance of defeat,” Carne replied. “But I must confess that I owe my success in no way to my own ability. The boat was chosen for me by another, and I have not even the satisfaction of saying that I sailed her myself.”

  “Nevertheless she is your property, and you will go down to posterity famous in yachting annals as the winner of the Queen’s Cup in this justly celebrated year.”

  With this compliment his Majesty turned to his hostess and entered into conversation with her, leaving his aide-de-camp free to discuss the events of the day with Lady Mabel. When he took his departure half an hour later, Carne also bade his friends good-bye, and, descending to his boat, was rowed away to his own beautiful steam yacht, which was anchored a few cables’ length away from the Imperial craft. He was to dine on board the latter vessel that evening.

  On gaining the deck he was met by Belton, his valet, who carried a telegram in his hand. As soon as he received it, Carne opened it and glanced at the contents, without, however, betraying very much interest.

  An instant later the expression upon his face changed like magic. Still holding the message in his hand, he turned to Belton.

  “Come below,” he said quickly. “There is news enough here to give us something to think of for hours to come.”

  Reaching the saloon, which was decorated with all the daintiness of the upholsterer’s art, he led the way to the cabin he had arranged as a study. Having entered it, he shut and locked the door.

  “It’s all up, Belton,” he said. “The comedy has lasted long enough, and now it only remains for us to speak the tag, and after that to ring the curtain down as speedily as may be.”

  “I am afraid, sir, I do not quite take your meaning,” said Belton. “Would you mind telling me what has happened?”

  “I can do that in a very few words,” the other answered. “This cablegram is from Trincomalee Liz, and was dispatched from Bombay yesterday. Read it for yourself.”

  He handed the paper to his servant, who read it carefully, aloud:

  TO CARNE, Porchester House, Park Lane, London.—Bradfield left fortnight since. Have ascertained that you are the object.

  TRINCOMALEE.

  “This is very serious, sir,” said the other, when he had finished.

  “As you say, it is very serious indeed,” Carne replied. “Bradfield thinks he has caught me at last, I suppose; but he seems to forget that it is possible for me to be as clever as himself. Let me look at the message again. Left a fortnight ago, did he? Then I’ve still a little respite. By Jove, if that’s the case, I’ll see that I make the most of it.”

  “But surely, sir, you will leave at once,” said Belton quickly. “If this man, who has been after us so long, is now more than half way to England, coming with the deliberate intention of running you to earth, surely, sir, you’ll see the advisability of making your escape while you have time.”

  Carne smiled indulgently.

  “Of course I shall escape, my good Belton,” he said. “You have never known me neglect to take proper precautions yet; but before I go I must do one more piece of business. It must be something by the light of which all I have hitherto accomplished will look like nothing. Something really great, that will make England open its eyes as it has not done yet.”

  Belton stared at him, this time in undisguised amazement.

  “Do you mean to tell me, sir,” he said with the freedom of a privileged servant, “that you intend to run another risk, when the only man who knows sufficient of your career to bring you to book is certain to be in England in less than a fortnight? I cannot believe that you would be so foolish, sir. I beg of you to think what you are doing.”

  Carne, however, paid but small attention to his servant’s intreaties.

  “The difficulty,” he said to himself, speaking his thoughts aloud, “is to understand quite what to do. I seem to have used up all my big chances. However, I’ll think it over, and it will be strange if I don’t hit upon something. In the meantime, Belton, you had better see that preparations are made for leaving England on Friday next. Tell the skipper to have everything ready. We shall have done our work by that time; then hey for the open sea and freedom from the trammels of a society life once more. You might drop a hint or two to certain people that I am going, but be more than careful what you say. Write to the agents about Porchester House, and attend to all the other necessary details. You may leave me now.”

  Belton bowed, and left the cabin without another word. He knew his master sufficiently well to feel certain that neither intreaties nor expostulations would make him abandon the course he had mapped out for himself. That being so, he bowed to the inevitable with a grace which had now become a habit to him.

  When he was alone, Carne once more sat for upwards of an hour in earnest thought. He then ordered his gig, and, when it was ready, set out for the shore. Making his way to the telegraph office, he dispatched a message which at any other, and less busy, time, would have caused the operator some astonishment. It was addressed to a Mahommedan dealer in precious stones in Bombay, and contained only two words in addition to the signature. They were:

  “Leaving—come.”

  He knew that they would reach the person for whom they were intended, and that she would understand their meaning and act accordingly.

  The dinner that night on board the Imperial yacht Hohenszrallas was a gorgeous affair in every sense of the word. All the principal yacht owners were present, and, at the conclusion of the banquet, Carne’s health, as winner of the great event of the regatta, was proposed by the Emperor himself, and drunk amid enthusiastic applause. It was a proud moment for the individual in question, but he bore his honours with that quiet dignity that had stood him in such good stead on so many similar occasions. In his speech he referred to his approaching departure from England, and this, the first inkling of such news, came upon his audience like a thunder-clap. When they had taken leave of his Majesty soon after midnight, and were standing on deck, waiting for their respective boats to draw up to the accommodation ladder, Lord Orpington made his way to where Simon Carne was standing.

  “Is it really true that you intend leaving us so soon?” he asked.

  “Quite true, unfortunately,” Carne replied. “I had hoped to have remained longer, but circumstances over which I have no control make it imperative that I should return to India without delay. Business that exercises a vital influence upon my fortunes compels me. I am therefore obliged to leave without fail on Friday next. I have given orders to that effect this afternoon.”

  “I am extremely sorry to hear it, that’s all I can say,” said Lord Amberley, who had just come up. “I assure you we shall all miss you very much indeed.”

  “Yo
u have all been extremely kind,” said Carne, “and I have to thank you for an exceedingly pleasant time. But, there, let us postpone consideration of the matter for as long as possible. I think this is my boat. Won’t you let me take you as far as your own yacht?”

  “Many thanks, but I don’t think we need trouble you,” said Lord Orpington. “I see my gig is just behind yours.”

  “In that case, good-night,” said Carne. “I shall see you as arranged, to-morrow morning, I suppose?”

  “At eleven,” said Lord Amberley. “We’ll call for you and go ashore together. Good-night.”

  By the time Carne had reached his yacht he had made up his mind. He had also hit upon a scheme, the daring of which almost frightened himself. If only he could bring it off, he told himself, it would be indeed a fitting climax to all he had accomplished since he had arrived in England. Retiring to his cabin, he allowed Belton to assist him in his preparations for the night almost without speaking. It was not until the other was about to leave the cabin that he broached the subject that was occupying his mind to the exclusion of all else.

  “Belton,” he said, “I have decided upon the greatest scheme that has come into my mind yet. If Simon Carne is going to say farewell to the English people on Friday next, and it succeeds, he will leave them a legacy to think about for some time after he has gone.”

  “You are surely not going to attempt anything further, sir,” said Belton in alarm. “I did hope, sir, that you would have listened to my intreaties this afternoon.”

  “It was impossible for me to do so,” said Carne. “I am afraid, Belton, you are a little lacking in ambition. I have noticed that on the last three occasions you have endeavoured to dissuade me from my endeavours to promote the healthy excitement of the English reading public. On this occasion fortunately I am able to withstand you. To-morrow morning you will commence preparations for the biggest piece of work to which I have yet put my hand.”

  “If you have set your mind upon doing it, sir, I am quite aware that it is hopeless for me to say anything,” said Belton resignedly. “May I know, however, what it is going to be?”