He raised the long brass tube, which he had painted black, and focussed it on the turret window, which stood open.
Faintly he could make out a telescope pointing in his direction.
Sinclair rose from his cramped position and stretched himself.
“Good,” he said to himself. “Now for London.”
CHAPTER NINE
A TENNIS PARTY
Old Sir Francis Gorringe was a genial host — full of good stories, a born gambler, and an old rip behind his wife’s back; but a patient sheep in her overpowering presence.
A cloudless summer day had brought the party to the tennis courts, in the lovely grounds of The Towers at Roehampton, where Sir Francis still kept the bum bailiffs at a distance by his wife’s energies in social advancement.
The Shepherds were there — as part of the arrangements, and Carstairs who had the entrée everywhere. Ronald with Diana as his partner was making havoc of their opponents on the tennis lawn.
Under the elm trees Lady Gorringe was rousing herself to her duty. “I want you to get to know the Shepherds,” she cooed to Lady Abrams, a lady whose ample proportions, to her secret sorrow, could by no means be reduced to modern requirements. “You heard about the death of their father — sad thing — still, it’s brought them to London, and they are both such dears and quite unspoilt. The girl’s a beauty, and has just been presented. When Mr. Shepherd gets his baronetcy — which a little bird whispers will not be long now — well, we must look round, you know . . . Mr. Shepherd has no other relations, and he is very well off,” she added musingly.
She turned to a withered man with glasses. “We shall have to find a constituency for the boy, eh, Sir James.”
The man addressed, started. “Oh yes — quite so, m’dear.”
Sir James Costers was well “in” with the powers who arrange these things, and knew the Shepherd hoard would be well depleted in the process, to their mutual benefit.
Lady Gorringe played tennis to appear youthful — she hated the exercise, which made her hot and necessitated a visit to her room for the attentions of her maid. She wisely chose a partner who could do all the work.
Ronald was enlisted for the purpose, and Doris partnered her father, thus ensuring an easy victory to her mother.
Diana threw herself into a basket-chair — she always put all she knew into the game and cared not a jot for her appearance.
“You play a rattling good game, Miss Shepherd.” She turned to see Carstairs leaning over her chair.
“Sit down — and don’t call me Miss Shepherd — Diana is my name.”
“I hardly like to — ”
“Nonsense — everyone calls me Diana.”
“Diana — it’s a wonderful name,” he muttered.
The girl laughed. “Fancy calling me after a goddess.”
“About the only one who never got married,” he smiled at her.
“I shall never marry.”
“They all say that,” he replied.
“I mean it, Teddy — you are Teddy, aren’t you, to friends — shall I tell you why?”
A shade crossed his face. “Yes, please,” he said in a changed tone.
“Because I shall never find anyone to touch Ronald. He’s my ideal man. Strong and so kind, and clever, and not an ounce of side or the foppishness of the modern youth — look at Ralph Gorringe.”
Ronald, bolting from Lady Gorringe, came up and Carstairs left them alone together.
“What frightful people,” he burst out. “They think of nothing but marrying people off, and money — I suppose Uncle pays for it all. The old woman was hinting at my getting away with her daughter — I’m not a fool, and she’s got her eye on you, too.”
Diana laughed heartily. “I think it’s rather fun. Ralph has been making clumsy love to me all the afternoon, and that awful Henry Abrams has been wavering between me and Doris, who thinks he is a scream. Then Teddy’s been hinting at things.”
“You seem to have been having a lively time. What a collection. Let’s get out of it.”
It was some days after the tennis party that Ralph, all dolled-up for the occasion, called at the sombre house in Cromwell Road, and asked for Ronald.
To his relief, the butler told him that he was out, but that Diana was at home.
Once in her presence, his courage evaporated and he sat talking of nothing, till Diana to put him at his ease, ordered tea.
He wistfully sighed for a stiff gin, but dared not ask. The tea-cup was tilting at an acute angle, threatening disaster.
“Mind — you’ll spill your tea,” Diana said cheerfully.
He carefully put the cup on a small table and cleared his throat ominously.
“Miss Shepherd,” he said in a solemn voice. “The mater sent me round — ” then stopped — it had been a bad start.
“Yes?” Diana said innocently.
“The fact is, she’s awfully keen — I mean I’m awfully keen on you — you know — I want you” — he swallowed violently, “to marry me — don’t yer know, what?”
Diana looked at him in sheer astonishment, then the corners of her mouth curved downwards and she laughed heartily.
“Oh, but really,” he said, warming to his work, “I’m no good at this sort of thing — honest, I’m awfully fond of you.”
“You want some practice,” she said.
He clutched at this straw. “Yes, that’s just it — I do. Just give me a chance. We’ve only known each other a short time, and I don’t want an answer at once — ”
She shook her finger at him. “That’s your mother — you ought to have started that way. You must have forgotten your cue.”
He stared at her open-mouthed, looking so funny that she rocked with laughter.
“All right,” he said, with a different note in his voice. “I told the mater it was no good. You think me a rotter and your brother despises me. I don’t wonder,” there was an expression of pain in his face, and Diana ceased to laugh.
“I’m sorry,” she said in quick sympathy. “I wouldn’t have laughed — but it was so funny — I knew your mother was working up for this — she nearly told me so,” she stopped.
“The mater made me come — I wanted to wait till I knew you better, and — when perhaps you might have a better opinion of me. Please don’t think I only came — you know what I mean. I’m really genuinely fond of you. I wanted to do something — to make you — respect me.”
There was no laughing now. She came to him and took his hand.
“I’m awfully sorry — I wouldn’t have laughed, but I thought . . .”
His courage revived. “Then there is some hope — I mean in the future.”
She shook her head sadly. “There’s only one man in the world I love — and I can’t marry him.”
“What — has he got a wife?” he rushed to the obvious conclusion.
Diana turned scarlet. “No, don’t say any more — let’s be friends. I believe we can, and help each other. You’re only bored and lazy — you’ve got heaps of grit, really.”
“Oh, if I could only show you.”
They were still holding each other’s hands, when the door opened and Ronald came suddenly into the room, and stopped.
Diana dropped Ralph’s hand in confusion.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Ronald said coldly. “I didn’t know anyone was here.”
“Mr. Gorringe called to see you — I’ve been giving him tea. Come and have some.”
“No thanks,” he said shortly.
“Aren’t you going to say how-do-you-do to Mr. Gorringe?” There was an ominous glint in her eye. She had plenty of spirit, this girl.
Ralph saved the situation. “I called to see you — but you were out. I am afraid I have been distressing your sister by making her an offer of marriage — which she rightly rejected. I was just going when you came.”
There was a dignity about Ralph which Ronald had never seen before. It caused him alarm.
Ralph bowed to
Diana, and made for the door.
“I say — I’m sorry you know if I was rude,” Ronald held out his hand, and went with Ralph to the front door.
Then he returned to Diana.
“So this is what it’s coming to — I knew it would — I suppose the whole crew will follow suit. The Gorringes are sponging on Uncle and send that miserable brute round here — not for you, but for his money.”
She flashed back at him, “I suppose you think me so unattractive that no one would look at me without his money?”
“You know perfectly well I don’t mean that. I hate the whole business. I wish to God we could get out of it all. Still, I suppose, it’s nice to be admired and proposed to — ”
“Ronald, you’re a cad.” Even at that moment he realised that she had never called him “Ronald” before.
“I suppose that fellow Abrams or whatever his name is will be the next — and then Teddy — you’re mighty fond of him.”
She rose in fury. “That’s enough — there’s no need to insult me. No,” as he made to stop her, “I don’t want to speak to you.”
She turned at the door and he saw that she was nearly crying — with temper he thought. “As a matter of fact, I’m very fond of Teddy.”
The door shut behind her and Ronald sat heavily in a chair.
“I’ll go away,” he muttered between clenched teeth, and then the thought of that last time he had had a tiff with her — it was little more, and of the happenings of the same night. He walked restlessly to the window, and gazed at the darkening streets.
A heavy rain was falling, and the clouds were black overhead, bringing on darkness before its time. Ronald gazed idly into the street, his thoughts far removed from the cheerless Cromwell Road.
A man suddenly lit a match on the opposite side of the street, and there strayed subconsciously into Ronald’s mind the stupidity of anyone waiting in the rain. Something caused him to look at the man. The first match had gone out, and a second was necessary. In the tiny flare, his face was visible — the face of Ganzani, proprietor of the Athens Hotel in Frith Street.
CHAPTER TEN
THE MYSTERIOUS VISIT
Mr. Shepherd sat deeply embedded in an armchair, smoking a cigar.
He was closely studying a list of investments, with a worried anxious look on his face. The question of raising the necessary fifty thousand pounds for Party funds had been the subject of much discussion with his lawyer that afternoon, a question which Dighton had met with evasive replies.
The present investigations seemed unsatisfactory from the frown which had settled on his face. He bit furiously at his cigar, and dived afresh into Mexican Oils and Batavian Railways.
Ronald sat opposite to him moody and silent, already ashamed of his outburst of the afternoon. He was strangely disturbed by the sinister figure of the Italian watching and waiting in the rain.
His mind went back to the man who had climbed into Diana’s room. He could not reconcile the idea of Ganzani with a desperate venture, or one requiring physical courage. Rather he would play the part of a sneaking spy, but for whom?
Diana had sent word that she had a bad headache and could not come down to dinner. Ronald was thoroughly miserable, and only pride prevented him from going to her.
The ticking of the clock alone broke the stillness. He would have walked about the room, but for his uncle who would not stand it.
The handle of the door turned noiselessly and a man entered.
Ronald was sitting with his back to the intruder, but his uncle looked up at the slight noise and saw him.
“Who’s that?” he asked in a sharp angry voice.
The man advanced to the middle of the room and in the glare of the electric light showed the sallow face of Ganzani.
“What the devil are you doing here?” Mr. Shepherd exclaimed. Ganzani held up his hand.
“Do not call, please,” he said, “and do not try to ring the bell.”
Ronald sprang to his feet, and the Italian whipped out an automatic pistol.
“Sit down,” he snarled. “I am no burglar or murderer.”
Ronald resumed his seat. He saw the man was shaking with fright, and beads of perspiration stood on his forehead. As like as not he would loose off his pistol from sheer terror.
“Say what you want to say and go,” Shepherd said, facing round in his chair.
“Mr. Ronald Shepherd and I are already acquainted: he came to my poor hotel.” He was evidently trying to gain time.
“That’s right — I once had lunch at his wretched place — with — some friends of mine.”
“What do you want, money?” Shepherd asked scornfully.
“Not to get money — no — perhaps to give,” the man spoke in the insinuating tone of a shopwalker.
“Go on and be quick with it.”
“I come as a — what you call it — ambassador — negotiator. I come to make a little request — you must not be angry. You will hear me, yes?”
Shepherd nodded.
“I come to purchase your niece — Miss Diana — ”
“Purchase? The man’s mad,” Ronald spoke, but on his uncle’s face was growing a look of alarm, which brought all Ronald’s latent fears to a sudden focus.
“What do you mean — purchase?” Reginald said slowly. “We do not sell girls in this country.”
Ronald was astonished — the words he was about to utter died on his lips as he saw the look on his uncle’s face. It had gone ghastly white, and his hand trembled. Why was he not angry — indignant, tell the man to go to blazes?
“To purchase — yes! she does not belong to you — but the purchase price is necessary — it must be given before she can be taken.”
“Never,” Mr. Shepherd said. “Never — I’ll see you in hell first.”
Ganzani came a little nearer, his watchful beady eyes on the two men. “It is what you call in German the Morgangabe. You understand?”
“I tell you I will not listen,” Reginald shouted. “Get out.”
“Quietly, quietly, Mistaire Shepherd. Not so much noise, if you please. We must discuss this as friends, is it not so?”
Ronald watched dumbfounded — as one under a spell — he thought he had gone mad. The Italian stood over a small table on which was a reading lamp. Slowly he took from his pocket a wallet, still holding his pistol in his right hand. With a deft movement he emptied a pile of notes and some coins on the table. The eyes of uncle and nephew followed him spell-bound.
“Will you promise to let me go in peace if I put away my pistol. I will do no harm.” There was a whining tone in his voice.
“All right,” Shepherd said grudgingly. “But no tricks, mind.”
“There shall be no tricks. No, I will go peacefully.”
He laid the pistol down and counted the notes lowly.
“That is correct. Fifty thousand pounds and fifteen shillings. That is the price.” He patted the notes, and looked at Shepherd.
“Take your dirty notes away — and yourself too,” Reginald snapped.
“That would be a pity — a great pity. It has to be. You have no right to Miss Diana — she belongs not to you.”
Ronald could control himself no longer — he was about to spring at the man. Ganzani saw him and seized his pistol.
“Sit down, boy.” Ronald had never heard his uncle speak in such a voice — it was like the crack of a whip.
“Is that not so? Miss Diana was not the daughter of your brother — the priest — unfortunately deceased.” He crossed himself — this strange man.
Reginald sat dumb, gnawing his fingers — he would not look at Ronald.
“You knew, sir,” the voice was cringing now — “Mrs. Shepherd ran away — was it not so? — and Mr. Shepherd he forgave her and took her back. The child that was born — belonged to another.”
“Is this true?” Ronald asked, “or a foul lie?”
“Yes, the fool — it’s true. I never thought to tell you. I promised I wouldn’t �
� though how this scoundrel had guessed it I don’t know.”
“But I don’t understand.” Ronald’s mind was stunned. The whole room seemed to be going round and his world crumbling beneath him.
“I should have thought this dirty Italian was after blackmail instead of offering notes,” he interjected.
“I don’t understand that part — it’s something to do with Diana’s father, I suppose. He was a wretched foreigner.”
“Who was the father?” Ronald asked, an awful thought coming into his mind that Ganzani himself might be the man.
“I tell not,” Ganzani replied, “but he is dead,” and again he crossed himself.
“And is that all you are going to say?” Reginald queried.
“All — I was to bring the money and tell you — nothing more. You do not accept?”
It was Ronald who answered. “You dirty Dago, I’d sooner kill her myself than make such a Judas bargain. But, of course, it’s ridiculous — we’re in the twentieth century, and not in Turkey.”
Ganzani shrugged his shoulders.
He addressed the older man. “I was to show you this if you were obdurate.” He put his hand into his pocket, and produced a sprig of mistletoe the berries of which were a bright yellow, and held it out to Mr. Shepherd.
“What on earth is this?” Shepherd asked.
The Italian’s glittering eyes were on him. “Ah,” he said, as though in relief, and replaced the sprig in his pocket.
“I go,” he said. “I have your word, I go in peace — is that not so?”
“Ronald, take him out.” Reginald’s face was mottled and he breathed heavily. With a sudden jerk he tore off his collar.
Ronald cast an anxious glance at him, and made for the door. Without a word he conducted the Italian cross the hall, and opened the front door. Ganzani offered his hand with a smirk. All Ronald’s pent-up anger came to a head. He turned the Italian round with a vigorous twist and kicked him with all his strength. Ganzani gave one howl and fell headlong down the steps. Ronald watched him with a bitter mile. “You shall pay for this,” the Italian shouted — “pay worse than you think — it is not you will suffer — Diana.” He was shaking his fist in uncontrollable fury, the blood running down his face.
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