21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series)

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  “But what the devil has my extraordinary behavior got to do with you?” Delora demanded, with the first note of anger in his tone which he had shown.

  “My interest was for your niece, sir,” I answered.

  “My niece does not require your protection or your interest,” Delora answered. “It seems to me that you have chosen a queer way to return the hospitality which it was our pleasure to extend to your brother in Brazil. I have still a busy morning, sir, and I have seen you for this one reason only: to have you clearly understand that we—my niece and I—do not find your further acquaintance desirable.”

  She made another little movement towards me, and by doing so came into the light. I saw that her eyes were red with weeping, and notwithstanding an angry exclamation from Delora she held out her hands to me.

  “Capitaine Rotherby,” she said, “I believe, I do, indeed, that you have acted out of kindness to me. My uncle, as you see, is very angry. What he has said has not been from my heart, but from his. Yet, as you know, I must obey!”

  I raised her fingers to my lips, and I smiled into her face.

  “Felicia,” I said, “do not be afraid. This is not the end!”

  Delora turned to the servant whom he had summoned.

  “Show this gentleman out, Francois,” he said coldly.

  * * * * *

  Lamartine was a few minutes late. He drove up in a large motor-car with an elderly gentleman, who remained inside, and with whom he talked for a few minutes earnestly before he joined me.

  “You forgive me?” he asked, as he handed his hat and stick to an attendant. “The chief kept me talking. He brought me down here himself.”

  I nodded.

  “It is of no consequence,” I said. “I have some news for you.”

  “Nothing,” Lamartine declared, passing his arm through mine, “will surprise me.”

  “Delora is here,” I said, “with his niece!”

  Lamartine stopped short.

  “Under his own name?” he asked. “Do you mean that he has thrown off all disguise? That he is here as Maurice Delora?”

  “I never knew his Christian name,” I answered, “but he is here as Delora, right enough. He has taken the largest suite in the Court, and for the last quarter of an hour he has been dressing me down in great shape.”

  “He is magnificent!” Lamartine said softly, “If he can keep it up for twenty-four hours longer, he who has been a beggar practically for ten years will be worth a great fortune!”

  “So that,” I remarked, “was the stake!”

  “A worthy one, is it not so, my friend?” Lamartine declared.

  “Does he win?” I asked.

  “Heaven knows!” Lamartine answered. “Even now I cannot tell you. Unless something turns up, I should say that it was very likely.”

  We entered the café. When Louis saw us arrive together he stood for a moment motionless upon the floor. His eyes seemed to question us with swift and fierce curiosity. Had we arrived together? Was this a chance meeting? How much was either in the other’s confidence? These things and many others he seemed to ask. Then he came slowly towards us. A ray of sunshine, streaming through the glass roof of the courtyard and reflected through the window, lay across the floor of the café. As Louis passed over it I saw a change in the man. Always colorless, his white cheeks were graven now with deep, cob-webbed lines. His eyes seemed to have receded into his head. His manner lacked that touch of graceful and not unbecoming confidence which one had grown to admire.

  “What can I do for you, messieurs?” he asked, with a little bow. “A table for two—yes? This way.”

  We followed him to a small table in the best part of the room.

  “Monsieur had good sport in the country?” he asked me.

  “Excellent, Louis!” I answered. “How are things in town?”

  Louis shrugged his shoulders and glanced around.

  “As one sees,” he answered, “here we are fortunate. Here we are always, always busy. We turn people away all the time, because we prefer to serve well our old customers.”

  “Louis,” I said, “you are wonderful!”

  “What will the gentlemen eat?” Louis asked.

  I looked at Lamartine, and Lamartine looked at me. The same thought was in the minds of both of us. Curiously enough we felt a certain delicacy in letting Louis perceive our dilemma!

  “Those cold grouse look excellent,” Lamartine said to me, pointing to the sideboard.

  “Cold grouse are very good,” Louis assented. “I will have one specially prepared and sent up.”

  Lamartine shook his head.

  “Bring over the dish there, and let us look at them, Louis,” he said.

  Louis obeyed him. There was no alternative. Lamartine, without hesitation, coolly took one of the birds on to his own plate.

  “Our luncheon is arranged for, Louis,” he said. “Let a waiter bring us a dish and carving-knife. I like to carve myself at the table.”

  “But certainly!” Louis assented, and, calling a waiter, he glided away. Lamartine and I exchanged glances.

  “I fancy we are pretty safe with this bird,” he remarked.

  “Absolutely,” I answered. “He never had the ghost of a chance to tamper with it. The question of drinks is a little difficult,” I continued.

  “And I am very thirsty,” Lamartine said. “An unopened bottle of hock, eh?”

  I shook my head.

  “No good,” I answered. “I am convinced that Louis has a cellar of his own. Did you notice the fellow, by the bye?” I went on. “He shows signs of the worry of this thing. Somehow or other I do not fancy that Louis will be in this place a week from to-day.”

  “That may be,” Lamartine answered, “but I must drink!”

  There was a bottle of whiskey upon the table next to us, from which its occupant had been helping himself. He rose now to go, and I seized the opportunity the moment he had left, and before the waiter could clear the table I had secured the bottle.

  “We won’t risk soda-water,” I said. “Whiskey and water is good enough.”

  The one waiter whom I disliked—a creature of Louis’, as I knew well—came hurrying forward and endeavored to possess himself of the bottle.

  “Let me get you another bottle of whiskey, sir,” he said.

  I shook my head.

  “This one will do, thank you,” I said.

  “Soda-water or Perrier, sir?” he asked.

  “Neither, thank you,” I answered.

  The man moved away, and I saw him in a corner talking to Louis. Lamartine served the grouse, and leaned across the table to me.

  “Captain Rotherby,” he said, “I think I will tell you now why, notwithstanding the risk of Monsieur Louis, I asked you to lunch with me here at this restaurant. But look! See who comes!”

  He laid his fingers upon my coat-sleeve. I turned my head. Felicia was sailing down the room,—Felicia exquisitely dressed as usual, walking with a soft rustle of lace,—delightful, alluring; and in her wake Delora himself, tall, well-groomed, aristocratic, looking around him with mild but slightly bored interest. Louis was piloting them to a table, the best in the place. We watched them seat themselves. Delora, through a horn-rimmed eyeglass, studied the menu. Felicia, drawing off her gloves, looked a little wearily out into the busy courtyard. So they were sitting when the thing happened which Lamartine, I believe, had expected, but which, for me, was the most wonderful thing that had yet come to pass amongst this tangle of strange circumstances!

  XXXVIII. AT BAY

  Table of Contents

  The entrance of these two persons into the room, apart from its astonishing significance to us, seemed to excite a certain amount of interest amongst the ordinary throng. My lady of the turquoises wore a dark-blue closely fitting gown, which only a Paris tailor could have cut, a large and striking hat, and a great bunch of red roses in the front of her dress. But, after all, it was upon her companion, not upon her, that our regard was riveted. He
was dressed with the neat exactitude of a Frenchman of fashion. He wore a red ribbon in his button-hole. His white hair and moustaches were perfectly arranged. He leaned heavily upon a stick, and he had the appearance of a man prematurely aged, as though by an illness or some great suffering. His tone, as he turned to his companion, was courteous enough but querulous.

  “My dear,” he said, “this place is full of draughts. We must find a table over there by the palm.”

  He pointed with his stick, and it was just at this moment that Louis, rounding the corner from a distant part of the room, came face to face with them. Once before during the last twenty-four hours I had been struck with the pallor of Louis’ expression. This time he stood quite still in the middle of the floor, as though he had seen a ghost! He was close to a pillar, and I saw his hand suddenly go out to it as though in search of support. His breath was coming quickly. From where I sat I could see the little beads of sweat breaking out upon his forehead.

  “Monsieur!” he exclaimed.

  The newcomer turned to look at him. For a moment he seemed puzzled. It was as though some old memory were striving to reassert itself.

  “My man,” he said to Louis, “surely I know your face? You have been here a long time, haven’t you?”

  “Ten years, sir,” Louis answered. “Permit me!”

  He gave them a table not far away from mine. The memory of his face as he preceded them down the room never left me. I glanced instinctively towards Delora. His back was turned towards the entrance of the restaurant, and he had apparently seen nothing. Felicia, on the contrary, sat as though she were turned to stone. I saw her lean over and whisper to her companion. A little murmur of excitement broke from my companion’s lips.

  “This,” he murmured, “is amazing! The girl is a fool to bring him here. She must know that Louis is in it!”

  “Who is the man?” I asked.

  Lamartine looked at me with a curious expression in his dark eyes.

  “Do you mean to say that you cannot guess?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Only that he must be some relation to Delora,” I declared. “There has been no time, though, for his brother to get across from South America.”

  Lamartine smiled.

  “You are dull,” he said. “But watch! What is going to happen now, I wonder?”

  Delora had risen to his feet. He had the look of a man who has received a shock. He brushed past some people who were taking their places at a table without remark or apology. He passed my companion and myself without even, I believe, being conscious of our presence. He walked straight to the table where the two newcomers sat. I saw his hand fall upon the shoulder of the other man.

  “Ferdinand!” he said.

  The lady of the turquoises was leaning forward in her place as though to push Delora away. A few feet in the background Louis was hovering.

  “Ferdinand,” I heard Delora repeat, “what are you doing here? Who is this person? You know that you are not well enough to travel.”

  The older man looked at him with a slightly puzzled air. There was a certain vacuity in his expression, for which one found it hard to account.

  “You!” he murmured, as though perplexed. “Why, this is not Paris, Maurice!”

  Louis had glided a little nearer to the table. My lady of the turquoises half rose to her feet. Her blue eyes were fierce with anger. She looked as though she would have struck Delora.

  “You shall not take him away!” she cried. “Don’t have anything to say to them!” she added, bending downwards to her companion. “You are not safe with any one else except me!”

  Delora turned towards her with an angry exclamation.

  “Madame,” he said, “this gentleman is my relation, and he is ill. He is certainly not in a condition to be travelling about the country with—with you!”

  Her self-control was beginning to evaporate. She addressed him shrilly. People at the surrounding tables were beginning to observe this unusual conversation.

  “What, then?” she cried. “Is he not safer with me than you? How about Henri—Henri who came over here because we had been deceived, he and I,—poor Henri who died?”

  “This,” Delora muttered, “is your revenge, then!”

  “It is my revenge, and I mean to have it,” she answered, “This afternoon you will see.”

  Louis advanced and bowed to the man who still sat at the table, looking a little puzzled, and with his eyes still fixed upon Delora.

  “Monsieur,” he said, “shall I serve luncheon?”

  There was an instant’s pause. I fancied that I saw something pass between Louis and Delora. The latter turned away with a little shrug of the shoulders.

  “Presently will be time,” he said. “We will speak together, all three of us, before you leave.”

  The woman struck the table with the palm of her hand.

  “There is nothing which you need say!” she exclaimed. “It is finished, this fine scheme of yours! See, he is here himself. This afternoon we go to warn those whom you would rob!”

  Once more that look flashed between Louis and Delora, and this time there was borne in upon me the swift consciousness of what it might mean. Delora returned to his place opposite Felicia. I bent across the table to Lamartine.

  “Lamartine,” I said, “there was a man who came here once—a companion of that woman—Bartot. He came to make trouble with Louis, and he dined here once. He dined nowhere else on earth!”

  Lamartine was suddenly grave.

  “Would Louis dare!” he muttered.

  “Why not?” I answered. “See, Louis is watching us even now!”

  Lamartine half rose from his seat. I pushed him back.

  “No!” I said. “It is not for you! It is I who will arrange this thing.”

  I left my place and walked towards the table where the two were sitting. I saw Delora lay down his knife and fork and watch me with fixed, intent gaze. I saw Louis’ lips twist into a snarl. He glided to the table even as I did. I held out my hand to the woman.

  “You have not forgotten me, I hope?” I asked. “I am very glad indeed to see you in London.”

  She gave me her hand, and smiled her most bewitching smile. I turned and stared at Louis. He had no alternative but to fall back a pace or two.

  “Madame,” I said, bending towards her, “it was here that Bartot came and dined. I have heard it whispered that it is not safe to eat here if you are not a friend of Louis’!”

  For a moment she failed to grasp the significance of my words. Then the color died slowly out of her cheeks. Her face was like the face of an old woman. Fear had come suddenly, and she was haggard.

  “You mean that he would dare, monsieur?” she said—

  “It is easy,” I answered. “A dozen or more of these waiters are his creatures. From what I have heard I gather that your visit here with this gentleman is for a purpose inimical to some scheme in which Delora and Louis are interested. I warn you that if it is so, you had better change your mind about lunching.”

  “We will go at once!” she answered. “You are very kind. I came to confront Louis and that other with me,” she declared, nodding vigorously at her companion. “I came because I would have them understand who it was that had ruined their plans, because they made use of me—of Bartot and me—and threw us aside like gloves that were finished with. But it was a foolish thing to do, monsieur. I see that, and I thank you now for your warning.”

  She gathered her things together for her departure, and leaned across towards her companion. What she said to him I do not know, for I returned to my place.

  “They will not eat,” I whispered to Lamartine. “Tell me, who is the man?”

  “Hush!” Lamartine said. “Look there!”

  Apparently angry words had been passing between Felicia and Delora. She had risen to her feet, notwithstanding his efforts to detain her, swept past my table with scarcely a glance, and made her way towards where the two latest arrivals were si
tting. She stooped down towards the man, and talked to him earnestly for several moments. All the time he looked at her with the puzzled, half-vacant expression of a child who is confronted with something which it does not understand. Delora had risen to his feet, and stood nervously clutching the serviette in his hand. Louis hurried up to him, and they talked together for a moment.

  “At all costs,” I heard Louis say, “she must be fetched away. They will not remain here to eat. Rotherby has warned them. See how he is looking at her! It is not safe!”

  Something more passed between them in a low tone. Delora glanced at his watch, and then at the clock. Finally he crossed the room to where his niece was standing, and laid his hand upon the man’s shoulder.

  “Ferdinand,” he said, “I am glad to see that you are better. Come up to my rooms for a few minutes. We must have a talk.”

  At the sound of his voice something seemed to come back to the face of the older man. He rose slowly to his feet. I could see his white fingers trembling, but I could see his eyes suddenly fill with a new and stronger light.

  “You!” he exclaimed. “Yes, I am here to talk to you! It had better be at once! Lead the way!”

  I saw Delora look towards the lady of the turquoises. Apparently he made some remark which I failed to overhear.

  “This lady is my companion,” I heard the other say. “She has been very kind to me—kinder, I am afraid, as a stranger, than others have been on whom I should have relied. She will accompany us. She does not leave me.”

  Then the four of them turned towards the door. Lamartine jogged my shoulder and I too rose. Behind, Louis was hovering, watching their departure with a nervous anxiety which he could not conceal. Lamartine and I went out close upon their heels.

  “A new move, Louis?” I asked, as I passed.

  “The last, monsieur,” Louis answered, with a bow.

  XXXIX. THE UNEXPECTED

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  The entrance to the Milan Court was small and unimposing, compared with the entrance to the hotel proper. I reached it to find some confusion reigning. A tall, gray-bearded man was talking anxiously to the hall-porter, Felicia, standing a little apart, was looking around with an air of bewilderment. My lady of the turquoises was standing by the side of the lift, with her arm drawn through her companion’s. Lamartine no sooner saw the face of the man who was in conversation with the hall-porter than he sprang forward.