He saw that it was empty. The girl was not there! He switched the light full on. The compartment was empty. Suddenly he sniffed. Just a whiff but he recognized it - the sweet, sickly odor of chloroform!
He stepped from the compartment (unlocked now, he noted) out into the corridor and looked up and down. Empty! His eyes fastened on the door next to the girl's.
She had said that Vassilievitch was in the next compartment.
Gingerly Roberts tried the handle. The door was bolted on the inside.
What should he do? Demand admittance? But the man would refuse - and after all, the girl might not be there! And if she were, would she thank him for making a public business of the matter? He had gathered that secrecy was essential in the game they were playing.
A perturbed little man wandered slowly along the corridor. He paused at the end compartment. The door was open, and the conductor lay there sleeping. And above him, on a hook, hung his brown uniform coat and a peaked cap.
In a flash Roberts had decided on his course of action. In another minute he had donned the coat and cap and was hurrying back along the corridor. He stopped at the door next to that of the girl, summoned all his resolution and knocked peremptorily.
When the summons was not answered, he knocked again.
"Monsieur," he said, in his best accent.
The door opened a little way and a head peered out - the head of a foreigner, clean-shaven except for a black mustache. It was an angry, malevolent face.
"Qu'est-ce qu'il y a?" he snapped.
"Votre passeport, monsieur." Roberts stepped back and beckoned.
The other hesitated, then stepped out into the corridor. Roberts had counted on his doing that. If he had the girl inside, he naturally would not want the conductor to come in. Like a flash, Roberts acted. With all his force he shoved the foreigner aside - the man was unprepared and the swaying of the train helped - bolted into the carriage himself, shut the door and locked it.
Lying across the end of the berth was the girl, a gag across her mouth and her wrists tied together. He freed her quickly, and she fell against him with a sigh.
"I feel so weak and ill," she murmured. "It was chloroform, I think.
Did he - did he get them?"
"No." Roberts tapped his pocket. "What are we to do now?" he asked.
The girl sat up. Her wits were returning. She took in his costume.
"How clever of you. Fancy thinking of that! He said he would kill me if I did not tell him where the jewels were. I have been so afraid and then you came." Suddenly she laughed. "But we have outwitted him! He will not dare do anything. He cannot even try to get back into his own compartment.
"We must stay here till morning. Probably he will leave the train at Dijon; we are due to stop there in about half an hour. He will telegraph to Paris and they will pick up our trail there. In the meantime, you had better throw that coat and cap out of the window. They might get you into trouble."
Roberts obeyed.
"We must not sleep," the girl decided. "We must stay on guard till morning."
It was a strange, exciting vigil. At six o'clock in the morning, Roberts opened the door carefully and looked out. No one was about. The girl slipped quickly into her own compartment. Roberts followed her in. The place had clearly been ransacked. He regained his own carriage through the wash-room. His fellow traveler was still snoring.
They reached Paris at seven o'clock. The conductor was declaiming at the loss of his coat and cap. He had not yet discovered the loss of a passenger.
Then began a most entertaining chase. The girl and Roberts took taxi after taxi across Paris. They entered hotels and restaurants by one door and left them by another. At last the girl gave a sigh.
"I feel sure we are not followed now," she said. "We have shaken them off."
They breakfasted and drove to Le Bourget. Three hours later they were at Croydon. Roberts had never flown before.
At Croydon a tall old gentleman with a far-off resemblance to Mr Roberts' mentor at Geneva was waiting for them. He greeted the girl with especial respect.
"The car is here, madam," he said.
"This gentleman will accompany us, Paul," said the girl. And to Roberts: "Count Paul Stepanyi."
The car was a vast limousine. They drove for about an hour, then they entered the grounds of a country house and pulled up at the door of an imposing mansion. Mr Roberts was taken to a room furnished as study. There he handed over the precious pair of stockings.
He was left alone for a while. Presently Count Stepanyi returned.
"Mr Roberts," he said, "our thanks and gratitude are due to you.
You have proved yourself a brave and resourceful man." He held out a red morocco case.
"Permit me to confer upon you the Order of St. Stanislaus - tenth class with laurels."
As in a dream Roberts opened the case and looked at the jeweled order. The old gentleman was still speaking.
"The Grand Duchess Olga would like to thank you herself before you depart."
He was led to a big drawing-room. There, very beautiful in a flowing robe, stood his traveling companion.
She made an imperious gesture of the hand, and the other man left them.
"I owe you my life, Mr Roberts," said the grand duchess.
She held out her hand. Roberts kissed it. She leaned suddenly towards him.
"You are a brave man," she said.
His lips met hers; a waft of rich Oriental perfume surrounded him.
For a moment he held that slender, beautiful form in his arms...
He was still in a dream when somebody said to him:
"The car will take you anywhere you wish."
An hour later, the car came back for the Grand Duchess Olga. She got into it and so did the white-haired man. He had removed his beard for coolness.
The car set down the Grand Duchess Olga at a house in Streatham.
She entered it and an elderly woman looked up from a tea table.
"Ah, Maggie dear, so there you are."
In the Geneva-Paris express this girl was the Grand Duchess Olga; in Mr Parker Pyne's office she was Madeleine de Sara, and in the house at Streatham she was Maggie Sayers, fourth daughter of an honest, hard-working family.
How are the mighty fallen!
Mr Parker Pyne was lunching with his friend.
"Congratulations," said the latter, "your man carried the thing through without a hitch. The Tormali gang must be wild to think the plans of that gun have gone to the League. Did you tell your man what it was he was carrying?"
"No. I thought it better to - er - embroider."
"Very discreet of you."
"It wasn't exactly discretion. I wanted him to enjoy himself. I fancied he might find a gun a little tame. I wanted him to have some adventures."
"Tame?" said Mr Bonnington, staring at him. "Why, that lot would murder him as soon as look at him."
"Yes," said Mr Parker Pyne mildly. "But I didn't want him to be murdered."
"Do you make a lot of money in your business, Parker?" asked Mr Bonnington.
"Sometimes I lose it," said Mr Parker Pyne. "That is, if it is a deserving case."
Three angry gentlemen were abusing one another in Paris.
"That confounded Hooper!" said one. "He let us down."
"The plans were not taken by anyone from the office," said the second. "But they went Wednesday, I am assured of that. And so I say you bungled it."
"I didn't," said the third sulkily; "there was no Englishman on the train except a little clerk. He'd never heard of Peterfield or of the gun. I know. I tested him. Peterfield and the gun meant nothing to him." He laughed. "He had a Bolshevist complex of some kind."
Mr Roberts was sitting in front of a gas fire. On his knee was a letter from Mr Parker Pyne. It enclosed a check for fifty pounds "from certain people who are delighted with the way a certain commission was executed."
On the arm of his chair was a library book. Mr Roberts opened it at rand
om. "She crouched against the door like a beautiful hunted creature at bay."
Well, he knew all about that.
He read another sentence: "He sniffed the air. The faint, sickly odor of chloroform came to his nostrils."
That he knew about, too.
"He caught her in his arms and felt the responsive quiver of her scarlet lips."
Mr Roberts gave a sigh. It wasn't a dream. It had all happened. The journey out had been dull enough, but the journey home! He had enjoyed it. But he was glad to be home again. He felt vaguely that life could not be lived indefinitely at such a pace. Even the Grand Duchess Olga - even that last kiss - partook already of the unreal quality of a dream.
Mary and the children would be home tomorrow. Mr Roberts smiled happily.
She would say: "We've had such a nice holiday. I hated thinking of you all alone here, poor old boy."
And he'd say: "That's all right, old girl. I had to go to Geneva for the firm on business - delicate bit of negotiation - and look what they've sent me." And he'd show her the check for fifty pounds.
He thought of the Order of St. Stanislaus, tenth class with laurels.
He'd hidden it, but supposing Mary found it! It would take a bit of explaining...
Ah, that was it - he'd tell her he'd picked it up abroad. A curio.
He opened his book again and read happily. No longer was there a wistful expression on his face.
He too, was of that glorious company to whom Things Happened.
THE CASE OF THE RICH WOMAN
The name of Mrs Abner Rymer was brought to Mr Parker Pyne. He knew the name and he raised his eyebrows. Presently his client was shown into the room.
Mrs Rymer was a tall woman, big-boned. Her figure was ungainly and the velvet dress and the heavy fur coat she wore did not disguise the fact. The knuckles of her large hands were pronounced. Her face was big and broad and highly colored. Her black hair was fashionably dressed, and there were many tips of curled ostrich in her hat.
She plumped herself down on a chair with a nod.
"Good morning," she said. Her voice had a rough accent. "If you're any good at all you'll tell me how to spend my money!"
"Most original," murmured Mr Parker Pyne. "Few ask that in these days. So you really find it difficult Mrs Rymer?"
"Yes, I do," said the lady bluntly. "I've got three fur coats, a lot of Paris dresses and such like. I've got a car and a house in Park Lane. I've had a yacht but I don't like the sea. I've got a lot of those high-class servants that look down their nose at you. I've traveled a bit and seen foreign parts. And I'm blessed if I can think of anything more to buy or do." She looked hopefully at Mr Pyne.
"There are hospitals," he said.
"What? Give it away, you mean? No, that I won't do! That money was worked for, let me tell you, worked for hard. If you think I'm going to hand it out like so much dirt - well, you're mistaken. I want to spend it; spend it and get some good out of it. Now, if you've got any ideas that are worth while in that line, you can depend on a good fee."
"Your proposition interests me," said Mr Pyne. "You do not mention a country house."
"I forgot it, but I've got one. Bores me to death."
"You must tell me more about yourself. Your problem is not easy to solve."
"I'll tell you and willing. I'm not ashamed of what I've come from.
Worked in a farmhouse, I did, when I was a girl. Hard work it was, too. Then I took up with Abner - he was a workman in the mills near by. He courted me for eight years, and then we got married."
"And you were happy?" asked Mr Pyne.
"I was. He was a good man to me, Abner. We had a hard struggle of it, though; he was out of a job twice, and children coming along.
Four we had, three boys and a girl. And none of them lived to grow up. I dare say it would have been different if they had." Her face softened; looked suddenly younger.
"His chest was weak - Abner's was. They wouldn't take him for the war. He did well at home. He was made foreman. He was a clever fellow, Abner. He worked out a process. They treated him fair, I will say; gave him a good sum for it. He used that money for another idea of his. That brought in money hand over fist. He was a master now, employing his own workmen. He bought two concerns that were bankrupt and made them pay. The rest was easy. Money came in hand over fist. It's still coming in.
"Mind you, it was rare fun at first. Having a house and a tiptop bathroom and servants of one's own. No more cooking and scrubbing and washing to do. Just sit back on your silk cushions in the drawing-room and ring the bell for tea - like any countess might!
Grand fun it was, and we enjoyed it. And then we came up to London. I went to swell dressmakers for my clothes. We went to Paris and the Riviera. Rare fun it was."
"And then?" said Mr' Parker Pyne.
"We got used to it, I suppose," said Mrs Rymer. "After a bit it didn't seem so much fun. Why, there were days when we didn't even fancy our meals properly - us, with any dish we fancied to choose from!
As for baths - well, in the end, one bath a day's enough for anyone.
And Abner's health began to worry him. Paid good money to doctors, we did, but they couldn't do anything. They tried this and they tried that. But it was no use. He died." She paused. "He was a young man, only forty-three."
Mr Pyne nodded sympathetically.
"That was five years ago. Money's still rolling in. It seems wasteful not to be able to do anything with it. But as I tell you, I can't think of anything else to buy that I haven't got already."
"In other words," said Mr Pyne, "your life is dull. You are not enjoying it."
"I'm sick of it," said Mrs Rymer gloomily. "I've no friends. The new lot only want subscriptions, and they laugh at me behind my back.
The old lot won't have anything to do with me. My rolling up in a car makes them shy. Can you do anything, or suggest anything?"
"It is possible that I can," said Mr Pyne slowly. "It will be difficult, but I believe there is a chance of success. I think it's possible I can give you back what you have lost - your interest in life."
"How?" demanded Mrs Rymer curtly.
"That," said Mr Parker Pyne, "is my professional secret. I never disclose my methods beforehand. The question is, will you take a chance? I do not guarantee success, but I do think there is a reasonable possibility of it."
"And how much will it cost?"
"I shall have to adopt unusual methods, and therefore it will be expensive. My charges will be one thousand pounds, payable in advance."
"You can open your mouth all right, can't you?" said Mrs Rymer appreciatively. "Well, I'll risk it. I'm used to paying top price. Only when I pay for a thing, I take good care that I get it."
"You shall get it," said Mr Parker Pyne. "Never fear."
"I'll send you the check this evening," said Mrs Rymer, rising. "I'm sure I don't know why I should trust you. Fools and their money are soon parted, they say. I dare say I'm a fool. You've got nerve, to advertise in all the papers that you can make people happy!"
"Those advertisements cost me money," said Mr Pyne. "If I could not make my words good, that money would be wasted. I know what causes unhappiness, and consequently I have a clear idea of how to produce an opposite condition."
Mrs Rymer shook her head doubtfully and departed, leaving a cloud of expensive mixed essences behind her.
The handsome Claude Luttrell strolled into the office.
"Something in my line?"
Mr Pyne shook his head. "Nothing so simple," he said. "No, this is a difficult case. We must, I fear, take a few risks. We must attempt the unusual."
"Mrs Oliver?"
Mr Pyne smiled at the mention of the world-famous novelist.
"Mrs Oliver," he said, "is really the most conventional of all of us. I have in mind a bold and audacious coup. By the way, you might ring up Doctor Antrobus."
"Antrobus?"
"Yes. His services will be needed."
A week later Mrs Rymer once
more entered Mr Parker Pyne's office. He rose to receive her.
"This delay, I assure you, has been necessary," he said. "Many things had to be arranged, and I had to secure the services of an unusual man who had to come half across Europe."
"Oh!" She said it suspiciously. It was constantly present in her mind that she had paid out a check for a thousand pounds and the check had been cashed.
Mr Parker Pyne touched a buzzer. A young girl, dark, Orientallooking, but dressed in white nurse's kit, answered it.
"Is everything ready, Nurse de Sara?"
"Yes. Doctor Constantine is waiting."
"What are you going to do?" asked Mrs Rymer, with a touch of uneasiness.
"Introduce you to some Eastern magic, dear lady," said Mr Parker Pyne.
Mrs Rymer followed the nurse up to the next floor.
Here she was ushered into a room that bore no relation to the rest of the house. Oriental embroideries covered the walls. There were divans with soft cushions and beautiful rugs on the floor. A man was bending over a coffeepot. He straightened as they entered.
"Doctor Constantine," said the nurse.
The doctor was dressed in European clothes, but his face was swarthy and his eyes were dark and oblique with a peculiarly piercing power in their glance.
"So this is my patient?" he said in a low, vibrant voice.
"I'm not a patient," said Mrs Rymer.
"Your body is not sick," said the doctor, "but your soul is weary. We of the East know how to cure that disease. Sit down and drink a cup of coffee."
Mrs Rymer sat down and accepted a tiny cup of the fragrant brew.
As she sipped it the doctor talked.
"Here in the West, they treat only the body. A mistake. The body is only the instrument. A tune is played upon it. It may be a sad, weary tune. It may be a gay tune full of delight. That last is what we shall give you. You have money. You shall spend it and enjoy. Life shall be worth living again. It is easy - easy - so easy..."
A feeling of languor crept over Mrs Rymer. The figures of the doctor and the nurse grew hazy. She felt blissfully happy and very sleepy.
The doctor's figure grew bigger. The whole world was growing bigger.
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