“So!” the man remarked, rising from his seat. “To-morrow morning I will do that. They will tell me, these fellows. I know many of them.”
“Good night, Fritz, then!” I said. “Good luck!”
XXVII. WAR
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Early on the following morning I moved back to my rooms in the Milan Court. Curiously enough I entered the building with a sense of depression for which I could not account. I went first to my own rooms and glanced at my letters. There was nothing there of importance. In other words, there was nothing from Felicia. I descended to the fifth floor and knocked at the door of her room. As I stood there waiting I was absolutely certain that somehow or other a change had occurred in the situation, that the freeness of my intercourse with Felicia was about to be interfered with. I was not in the least surprised when the door was at last cautiously opened, and a woman who was a perfect stranger to me stood on the threshold, with the handle of the door still in her hand.
“I should like to see Miss Delora,” I said. “My name is Captain Rotherby.”
The woman shook her head. She was apparently French, and of the middle-class. She was dressed in black, her eyes and eyebrows were black, she had even the shadow of a moustache upon her upper lip. To me her appearance was singularly forbidding.
“Miss Delora cannot see you,” she answered, with a strong foreign accent.
“Will you be so good as to inquire if that is so?” I answered. “I have an appointment with Miss Delora for this morning, and a motor-car waiting to take her out.”
“Miss Delora cannot receive you,” answered the woman, almost as though she had not heard, and closed the door in my face.
There was nothing left for me but to go down and interview my friend the hall-porter. I commenced my inquiries with the usual question.
“Any news of Mr. Delora, Ashley?” I asked.
“None at all, sir,” the man replied. “A companion has arrived for Miss Delora.”
“So I have discovered for myself,” I answered. “Do you know anything about her, Ashley?”
The man shook his head.
“She arrived here yesterday afternoon,” he said, “with a trunk. She went straight up to Miss Delora’s room, and I have not seen them apart since.”
“Do they come down to the café?” I asked.
“So far, sir,” the man answered, “they have had everything served in their sitting-room.”
I went back to my room and rang up number 157. The voice which answered me was the voice of the woman who had denied me admission to the room.
“I wish to speak to Miss Delora,” I said.
“Miss Delora is engaged,” was the abrupt answer.
“Nonsense!” I answered. “I insist upon speaking to her. Tell her that it is Captain Rotherby, and she will come to the telephone.”
There was a little whirr, but no answer. The person at the other end had rung off. By this time I was getting angry. In five minutes time I rang up again. The same voice answered me.
“Look here,” I said, “if you do not let me speak to Miss Delora, I shall ring up every five minutes during the day!”
“Monsieur can do as he pleases,” was the answer. “I shall lay the receiver upon the table. It will not be possible to get connected.”
“Do, if you like,” I answered, “but how about when Mr. Delora rings you up?”
The woman muttered something which I did not catch. A moment afterwards, however, her voice grew clear.
“That is not your business,” she said sharply.
I tried to continue the conversation, but in vain. Nothing came from the other end but silence. I busied myself for a time glancing at a few unimportant letters, and afterwards descended to lunch in the café. I fancied, for a moment, that Louis’ self-possession was less perfect than usual. He certainly showed some surprise when he saw me, and he came to my table with a little less alacrity.
“Louis,” I said, “I shall order my lunch from some one else, not from you.”
“Monsieur has lost confidence?” he asked.
“Not in your judgment, Louis,” I answered.
Louis looked me straight in the eyes. It was not a practice which he often indulged in.
“Captain Rotherby,” he said, “you should be on our side. It would not be necessary then to interfere with any of your plans.”
He looked at me meaningly, and I understood.
“It is you, Louis, I presume, whom I have to thank for the lady upstairs?” I remarked.
Louis shrugged his shoulders.
“Why do you seek the man Delora?” he asked. “What concern is it of yours? If you persist, the consequences are inevitable.”
“If you will take the trouble to convince me, Louis,—” I said.
Louis interrupted me; it was unlike him. His little gesture showed that he was very nearly angry.
“Monsieur,” he said, “sometimes you fail to realize that at a word from us the hand of the gendarme is upon your shoulder. We would make use of your aid gladly, but it must be on our terms—not yours.”
“State them, Louis,” I said.
“We will tell you the truth,” Louis answered slowly. “You shall understand the whole business. You shall understand why Delora is forced to lie hidden here in London, what it is that he is aiming at. When you know everything, you can be an ally if you will. On the other hand, if you disapprove, you swear upon your honor as a gentleman—an English gentleman—that no word of the knowledge which you have gained shall pass your lips!”
“Louis,” I said, “I will have my lunch and think about this.”
Louis departed with his customary smile and bow. I ordered something cold from the sideboard within sight, and a bottle of wine which was opened before me. There scarcely remained any doubt in my mind now but that some part of Delora’s business, at any rate, in this country, was criminal. Louis’ manner, his emphatic stipulation, made it a matter of certainty. Again I found myself confronted by the torturing thought that if this were so Felicia could scarcely be altogether innocent. Once when Louis passed me I stopped him.
“Louis,” I said, “let me ask you this. Presuming things remain as they are, and I act independently, do you intend to prevent my seeing Miss Delora?”
“It is nothing to do with me,” Louis lied. “It is the wish of her uncle.”
“Thank you!” I answered. “I wanted to know.”
I finished my luncheon. Louis saw me preparing to depart and came up to me. My table was set in a somewhat obscure corner, and we were practically alone.
“I will ask you a question, Louis,” I said. “There is no reason why you should not answer it. There are laws from a legal point of view, and laws from a moral point. From the former, I realize that I am, at this moment, a criminal—possibly, as you say, in your power. Let that pass. What I want you to tell me is this,—the undertaking in which Mr. Delora is now engaged, is it from a legal point of view a criminal one, or is it merely a matter needing secrecy from other reasons?”
Louis stood thoughtfully silent for some few moments.
“Monsieur,” he said at last, “I will not hide the truth from you. According to the law in this country Mr. Delora is engaged in a conspiracy.”
“Political?” I asked.
“No!” Louis answered. “A conspiracy which is to make him and all others who are concerned in it wealthy for life.”
“But the Deloras are already rich,” I remarked.
“Our friend,” Louis said, “has speculated. He has lost large sums. Besides, he loves adventures. What shall you answer, Captain Rotherby?”
“It is war, Louis,” I said. “You should know that. If I have to pay the penalty for taking the law into my hands over the man Tapilow, I am ready to answer at any time. As for you and Delora, and the others of you, whoever they may be, it will be war with you also, if you will. I intend, for the sake of the little girl upstairs, to solve all this mystery, to take her away from it if I can.�
��
Louis’ eyes had narrowed. The look in his face was almost enough to make one afraid.
“It is a pity,” he said. “Even if you had chosen to remain neutral—”
“I should not do that unless I could see as much of Miss Delora as I chose,” I interrupted.
“If that were arranged,” Louis said slowly,—“mind, I make no promises,—but I say if that were arranged, would it be understood between us that you stopped your search for Mr. Delora, and abandoned all your inquiries?”
“No, Louis,” I answered, “unless I were convinced that Miss Delora herself was implicated in these things. Then you could all go to the devil for anything I cared!”
“Your interest,” Louis murmured, “is in the young lady, then?”
“Absolutely and entirely,” I answered. “Notwithstanding what you have told me, and what I have surmised, the fact that you stood by me in Paris would be sufficient to make me shrug my shoulders and pass on. I am no policeman, and I would leave the work of exposing Delora to those whose business it is. But you see I have an idea of my own, Louis. I believe that Miss Delora is innocent of any knowledge of wrong-doing. That I remain here is for her sake. If I try to discover what is going on, it is also for her sake!”
“Monsieur has sentiment,” Louis remarked, showing his teeth.
“Too much by far, Louis,” I answered. “Never mind, we all have our weak spots. Some day or other somebody may even put their finger upon yours, Louis.”
He smiled.
“Why not, monsieur?” he said.
XXVIII. CHECK
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In my rooms a surprise awaited me. Felicia was there, walking nervously up and down my little sitting-room She stopped short as I entered and came swiftly towards me. In the joy of seeing her so unexpectedly I would have taken her into my arms, but she shrank back.
“Felicia!” I exclaimed. “How did you come here?”
“Madame Muller went down for lunch,” Felicia answered. “I said that I had a headache, and stole up here on the chance of seeing you.”
“They are making a prisoner of you!” I exclaimed.
“It is your fault,” she answered.
I looked at her in surprise. Her face was stained with tears. Her voice shook with nervousness.
“You have been making secret inquiries about my uncle,” she said. “You have been seen talking to those who wish him ill.”
“How do you know this, Felicia?” I asked calmly.
“Oh, I know!” she answered. “They have told me.”
“Who?” I asked. “Who has told you?”
“Never mind,” she answered, wringing her hands. “I know. It is enough. Capitaine Rotherby, I have come to ask you something.”
“Please go on,” I said.
“I want you to go away. I do not wish you to interest yourself any more in me or in any of us.”
“Do you mean that, Felicia?” I asked.
“I mean it,” she answered. “My uncle has a great mission to carry out here. You are making it more difficult for him.”
“Felicia,” I said, “I do not trust your uncle. I do not believe in his great mission. I think that you yourself are deceived.”
She held her head up. Her eyes flashed angrily.
“As to that,” she said, “I am the best judge. If my uncle is an adventurer, I am his niece. I am one with him. Please understand that. It seems to me that you are working against him, thinking that you are helping me. That is a mistake.”
“Felicia,” I said, “give me a little more of your confidence, and the rest will be easy.”
“What is it that you wish to know?” she asked.
“For one thing,” I answered, “tell me when your uncle left South America and when he arrived in Paris?”
“He had been in Paris ten days when you saw us first,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation.
“And are you sure that he came to you from South America?” I demanded.
“Certainly!” she answered.
“To me,” I said slowly, “he seems to have the manners of a Parisian. Two months ago I lunched at Henry’s with some old friends. Can you tell me, Felicia, that he was not in Paris then?”
“Of course not!” she answered, shivering a little.
“Then he has a wonderful double,” I declared.
“What is this that is in your mind about him?” she asked.
“I believe,” I answered, “that he is personating some one, or rather I have believed it. I believe that he is personating some one else, and is afraid of being recognized by those who know.”
“Will it satisfy you,” she said slowly, “if I tell you, upon my honor, Capitaine Rotherby, that he is indeed my uncle?”
“I should believe you, Felicia,” I answered. “I should then feel disposed to give the whole affair up as insoluble.”
“That is just what I want you to do,” she said. “Now, listen. I tell you this upon my honor. He is my uncle, and his name is truly Delora!”
“Then why does he leave you here alone and skulk about from hiding-place to hiding-place like a criminal?” I asked.
“It is not your business to ask those questions,” she answered. “I have told you the truth. Will you do as I ask or not?”
I hesitated for a moment. She was driving me back into a corner!
“Felicia,” I said, “I must do as you ask me. If you tell me to go away, I will go away; but do you think it is quite kind to leave me so mystified? For instance,” I added slowly, “on the night when that beast Louis planned to knock that young Brazilian on the head, and leave me to bear the brunt of it; he was up here talking to you, alone, as though you were equals.”
“It is my uncle who makes use of Louis,” she said.
“I’m hanged if I can see how he can make use of a fellow like that if his business is an honest one,” I answered.
“It is not for you to understand,” she answered. “You are not a policeman. You are not concerned in these things.”
“I am concerned in you!” I answered passionately. “Felicia, you drive me almost wild when you talk like this. You know very well that it is not curiosity which has made me set my teeth, and swear that I will discover the truth of these things. It is because I see you implicated in them, because I believe in you, Felicia, because I love you!”
She was in my arms for one long, delicious moment. Then she tore herself away.
“You mean it, Austen?” she whispered.
“I mean it!” I answered solemnly. “Felicia, I think you know that I mean it!”
“Then you must be patient,” she said, “for just a little time. You must wait until my uncle has finished his business. It will take a very short time now. Then you may come and call again, and remind us of your brother. You will understand everything then, and I believe that you will be still willing to ask us down to your country home.”
“And if I am, Felicia?” I asked.
“We shall come,” she murmured. “You know that. Good-bye, Austen! I must fly. If Madame Muller finds that I have left the room I shall be a prisoner for a week.”
I opened the door. Even then I would have kept her, if only for a moment; but just as I bent down we heard the sound of footsteps outside, and she hurried away. I sat down and lit a cigarette. So it was over, then, my little attempt at espionage! My word was pledged. I could do no more.
I walked round to Claridge’s later in the evening and saw my brother.
“Ralph,” I said, “if your offer of the shooting is still good, I think I will take a few men down to Feltham.”
“Do, Austen,” he answered. “Old Heggs will be ever so pleased. It seems a shame not to have a gun upon the place. I shall come down myself later on. What about those people, the Deloras?”
“The uncle is away,” I answered, “and the girl cannot very well come by herself. Perhaps we may see something of them later on.”
Ralph looked at me a little curiously, but he ma
de no remark.
“You won’t be lonely up here alone?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“I have plenty to do,” he answered. “I shall probably be down myself before the end of the month. Whom shall you ask?”
I made a list of a few of the men whom I knew, and who I believed were still in town, but when I sat down to write to them I felt curiously reluctant to commit myself to staying at Feltham. Even if I were not to interfere, even if I were to stand aside while the game was being played, I could not believe that the scheming of Louis and the acquiescence of Felicia went for the same thing, and I had an uncomfortable but a very persistent conviction to the effect that she was being deceived. Everything from her point of view seemed reasonable enough. What she had told me, even, seemed almost to preclude the fear of any wrong-doing. Yet I could not escape from the conviction of it. Some way or other there was trouble brewing, either between Delora and Louis, or Delora and the arbiters of right and wrong. In the end I wrote to no one. I determined to go down alone, to shoot zealously from early in the morning till late at night, but to have no house-party at Feltham,—to invite a few of the neighbors, and to be free myself to depart for London any time, at a moment’s notice. It would come! somehow or other I felt sure of it. I should receive a summons from her, and I must be prepared at any moment to come to her aid.
I went into the club after I had left Claridge’s, and stayed playing bridge till unusually late. It was early in the morning when I reached the Milan, and the hotel had that dimly lit, somewhat sepulchral appearance which seems to possess a large building at that hour in the morning. As I stood for a moment inside the main doors, four men stepped out of the lift on my right, carrying a long wooden chest. They slunk away into the shadows on tiptoe. I watched them curiously.
“What is that?” I asked the reception clerk who was on duty.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“It was a man who died here the day before yesterday,” he whispered in my ear.
“Died here?” I repeated. “Why are they taking his coffin down at such an hour?”
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