Down To The Abbey (A Jules Poiret Mystery Book 12)

by Frank Howell Evans

  Berrick was not laughing at him. He put a banknote on the desk and pointed at it. “Were I not certain of your abilities, I would not offer it to you,” he replied. “I’m in a hurry now. Please come at the same hour as you did today, tomorrow.”

  Even in his state of stupefaction Will knew this was a signal for him to leave. He stood up.

  “A moment more,” said Berrick. “You understand that you can no longer stay at the boarding house on Pollard Street. Try and find a room in this neighborhood and when you’ve done so, leave the address with Captain Haven.”

  For a few minutes Berrick stood at the door of the office watching Will, who left almost staggering beneath the burden of the banknote and so many conflicting emotions. When he saw him disappear around the corner, he went to a glazed door which led to his private rooms and said, “Come in, Willoughby. He has gone.”

  A man obeyed the summons at once and hurriedly sat down on a chair near the fireplace. “My feet are almost frozen,” he screamed. “I would not know it if anyone was to chop them off. Your room, my dear fellow, is a perfect refrigerator. Another time, please, have a fire lit in it.”

  This speech didn’t disturb Berrick’s line of thought. “Did you hear it?” he asked.

  “I think Old Man Davidson is a man of powerful will and that he will mold this young man between his fingers like wax.”

  Dr. Willoughby, who had addressed Berrick so familiarly, was about fifty-six years of age, but he carried his years so well, that he always passed for forty-nine. He had hair, which was untainted by grey. He moved in high society. Elegant in dress and a brilliant conversationalist, he hid under the veil of good-humored sarcasm an utmost cynical mind. He was very popular and much sought after.

  “When I asked you to come here today,” Berrick said, “and when I begged you to hide yourself in my room…”

  “Where I was half frozen,” interjected Willoughby.

  “It was,” Berrick went on, “because I needed your advice. We’ve started on a serious undertaking full of danger both to you and to myself.”

  “Oh! I have perfect confidence in you. Whatever you do is done well and you’re not the man to throw away your best cards.”

  “True, but I may lose the game after all and then…”

  The doctor shook a large gold locket, which hung from his watch chain.

  This movement seemed to annoy Berrick a great deal. “Why do you flash that trinket at me?” he asked. “We’ve known each other for twenty-five years. What do you mean to imply? Do you mean that the locket contains the likeness of someone, who you intend to make use of later on?”

  Willoughby threw himself back in his chair with an expression of resignation. “If you need advice,” he said, “why not ask our worthy friend Eydon? He’s the lawyer.”

  The name of Eydon seemed to irritate Berrick.

  “Are you speaking seriously?” he said angrily.

  “Why would I not be in earnest?”

  Berrick removed his glasses as though without them he could more easily peer into the depths of the soul of the man before him.

  “Because,” he replied slowly, “both you and I distrust Eydon. Though he pretends to be poor, he’s a man of great wealth.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Were he here, I would force him to acknowledge that he’s worth a million, at least.”

  “A million!” screamed the doctor, with sudden animation.

  “You and I, Willoughby, we’ve indulged our every whim and spent money like water, while our friend stored his harvest away. Poor Eydon has no expensive tastes, nor does he care for women or the pleasures of the gambling tables. While we indulged in every pleasure, he saved his money.”

  Willoughby nodded, uncertain as to what his friend was suggesting.

  “Our interests are no longer identical,” Berrick continued. “He comes here every month, but it is only to claim his share of the profits. He shirks any risks. I don’t trust him anymore. He always declines to join in any scheme that we propose and sees danger in everything.”

  “He would not betray us, however.”

  Berrick took a few moments to think. “I think,” he said, “that Eydon is afraid of us. He knows that the destruction of me would entail the ruin of the two of you. But if he dare not hurt us openly, he is capable of working against us in secret. Do you remember what he said the last time he was here? That we ought to close our business and retire! How would we live? He’s rich and we’re poor.”

  For the first time during this conversation a cloud spread over the doctor’s face.

  “Great heavens!” he said. “I was depending on you for three thousand shilling, which I require urgently.”

  Berrick smiled slyly at the doctor’s uneasiness. “Don’t worry,” he answered. “You can have that. There ought to be some six or eight thousand shilling in the safe. But that is the last of our common capital.”

  “That’s all?” asked the doctor, with a slight shudder.

  “That’s it! We must venture on a bold stroke. For years I have woven a web of gigantic proportions. Do you now understand why at this last moment I appeal to you and not to Eydon for assistance? If only one out of two operations, which I’m working on succeeds, our fortune is made.”

  “I follow you exactly.”

  Berrick explained in minute detail the plans he had been working on for so many years.

  “The question now is,” he concluded, “whether the chance of success is sufficiently great to warrant the risk. Think it over and let me have your opinion.”

  Compelled to choose between ruin and the continuance of a life of luxury the doctor began to reflect deeply. Leaning back in his chair, with his feet resting on the fender, he carefully studied every combination in the undertaking, like a general inspecting the position taken up by the enemy.

  “We must begin the attack at once,” he said, “but make no mistake, the schemes you propose are very dangerous and a single error on our side will bring destruction, but we must take some risk. The odds are against us, but still we may win.” As he said this, he stood up and extending his hand toward his friend, said, “I’m entirely at your disposal.”

  Berrick seemed relieved by the doctor’s decision.

  “Have you considered every point carefully?” he asked.

  “I know that.”

  “In regards to the matter of the Count and Countess of Sissinghurst, I still have to gather together certain things necessary for the ultimate success of the scheme. How do you like Will?”

  Willoughby walked up and down the room two or three times and finally stopped in front of his friend.

  “I think,” he said, “that Will Platts has many of the qualities we want and we might find it hard to find one better suited for our purpose. Besides, he knows nothing of his father and it can’t be too difficult to make a young man as vain as he is question whether his mother was a mere fish and chips shop attendant. He has no family or anyone to look after him, which assures us that whatever may happen, there is no one to call us to account. He is not too clever for his own good, but…”

  “Ah, there is a “but” then?”

  “More than one,” answered the doctor. “First there is Selma Bugbrooke, whose beauty has so captivated our friend Old Man Davidson. She appears to be a danger in the future.”

  “Be easy!” answered Berrick. “We will quickly remove this young woman from our way.”

  “Don’t be too confident,” answered Willoughby, in his usual mocking tone. “You think Will loves her. You’re wrong. He’s egotistical. Selma on the other hand, she might go to Rhiannon to claim him.”

  The doctor looked at his friend and wasn’t disappointed by his reaction.

  “She had better not,” answered Berrick in a threatening tone.

  “How could you prevent it? She has known Will since childhood. Look out, I say, because there is danger there.”

  It was sufficient for Berrick to be made aware of a danger for him
to find means of warding it off.

  “My second “but,” continued Willoughby, “is the idea of the mysterious benefactor of whom the young man spoke. What has become of the person, who paid Mrs. Platts her allowance?”

  “You’re right. These are the crevices in our armor, but I keep my eyes open and nothing escapes me.”

  The doctor was growing rather weary, but he still went on courageously. “My third “but,” he said, “is perhaps the strongest. Suppose he’s honest! Imagine if he answered a firm negative to all your dazzling offers!”

  Berrick sprang to his feet. “I don’t think that there is any chance of that,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because when Davidson brought him to me, he had studied him carefully. He is as weak and as vain as a woman. I have no doubt that I can mold him into any shape I like.”

  “Are you sure,” asked Willoughby, “that Rhiannon will have nothing to say in this matter?”

  Berrick suddenly turned his head and listened eagerly. “There is someone listening,” he said.

  The sound was repeated. The doctor was about to seek refuge in another room, when Berrick grabbed his arm.

  “Stay,” he said. “It’s only Haven.” As he spoke, he struck a gilded bell that stood on his desk. Haven appeared and with an air in which familiarity was mingled with respect, he greeted them.

  “Say,” said the doctor pleasantly, “do you take your nips of brandy regularly?”

  “Only occasionally, sir,” stammered the man, not understanding the question.

  “Too often, my dear fellow. Do you think the redness of your face is not a telltale?”

  “But I’ve been running, sir.”

  Berrick interjected on this conversation, which he considered frivolous. “If he is out of breath,” he said, “it’s because he had to repair a great act of carelessness, which he committed. Well, Haven, how did you get on?”

  “All right, sir,” Haven answered, with a look of triumph.

  “What are you talking about?” asked the doctor.

  Berrick gave his friend a meaning glance and then, in a careless manner, replied, “Claire Innerleithen, a former servant of the Sissinghurst family. How did you find her, Haven?”

  “As I left the office with Menlowe, I said to myself, the woman would certainly drop in at some pub before she reached the boulevard.”

  “A sound argument,” said the doctor.

  “Therefore Menlowe and I looked inside everyone we passed and before we walked too far we saw her in one, sure enough.”

  “And Menlowe is after her now?”

  “Yes, sir. He will follow her like her shadow and will bring in a report every day. That is what you wish, sir?”

  “I’m very pleased with you, Haven,” said Berrick, rubbing his hands.

  Haven seemed highly flattered, but continued, “This is not all.”

  “What else is there to tell?”

  “I met Dolin on his way from Five Square and he has just seen that young woman driving off in a car. He followed it, of course. She has been installed in a gorgeous apartment in Wardour Street. Dolin raved about her and says that she has the most magnificent eyes in the world.”

  “Ah,” said Willoughby, “then Old Man Davidson was right in his description of her.”

  Berrick answered, with a slight frown, “A young woman possessed of such dazzling beauty may influence the young fool to become dangerous.”

  He took off his glasses, wiped them and looking at the doctor intently, he said, “Suppose we take biology as our ally. If only the young woman had an illness.”

  Cynical and hardened as the doctor was, he was horrified by this proposal. “Remember,” he said, “it’s her affection for him that we have to check and not his for her.”

  Berrick said, “Have you finished that report on Skegness, Haven? What is his position?”

  “Head over ears in debt, sir, but not harassed by his creditors because of his future prospects.”

  “Surely among these creditors there are some that we could influence?” said Berrick, dismissing him with a nod.

  Alone again, the two confederates remained silent for some time. The decisive moment had arrived. As yet they were not compromised, but if they intended to carry out their plans, they could no longer stay inactive and both of them had sufficient experience to know that they had to look at their position boldly and make up their minds at once. The doctor’s fingers played nervously with his locket. Berrick was the first to break the silence.

  “Let us no longer hesitate,” he said. “Let us shut our eyes to the danger and advance. You heard the promises made by Sir Alfred Yelvertoft. He will do as we wish, but only under certain conditions. Miss Burgh le Marsh must be his bride.”

  “Impossible!”

  “Not so, if we desire it. The proof of this is that before two o’clock the engagement between Miss Felicia Burgh le Marsh and Mr. Ingoldmells will be broken off.”

  The doctor sighed. “I understand Eydon’s scruples. If only I too had a million!”

  In the city of London it was impossible to find a more fashionable location than Kensington. In this favored spot millionaires seemed to bloom like flowers in Kent. There were the magnificent palaces which they had erected for their accommodation, where the turf was ever verdant and where the flowers bloomed perennially, but the most gorgeous of all these mansions was the one belonging to the Burgh le Marsh family. With a spacious courtyard in front and a magnificent garden in the rear, the mansion was as elegant as it was spacious. White marble steps with a light and elegant railing at the sides, gave way to the wide doors which opened into the hall. The busy hum of the servants at work at an early hour in the yard was enough evidence that an ample shop was kept up. There were the luxurious cars, which the countess used when she went out to the shops. There was also the sports car, the favorite of Miss Felicia.

  Berrick and his confederate descended from their cab at the corner of the street. Berrick, in his dark suit with his spotless white cravat and glittering glasses, looked like a highly respectable Whitehall functionary. Willoughby wore his usual smile, though his cheeks were pale.

  “The countess,” Berrick said, “will not refuse to receive you. I will deal with the count.”

  “Take care of him,” said Willoughby thoughtfully. “He has a reputation for being a man of uncontrollable temper and will throw you out of the window as soon as look at you.”

  Berrick shrugged his shoulders. “I will insist on the count’s breaking off his daughter’s engagement with Mr. Ingoldmells, but will not say a word about Sir Alfred Yelvertoft, while you will take the opportunity of putting his plans before the countess and will not say a word of Mr. Ingoldmells.”

  There was something so amusing about it all, that the doctor burst into a loud laugh.

  Berrick said, ignoring his friend, “I will see the count and twenty minutes later you go to the house and ask for the countess.”

  The clock struck four as the worthy confederates parted and Berrick continued his way along the street. He stopped in front of a pub. He entered. The landlord, Joe Kippax, was so well known in the neighborhood that he had not thought it worthwhile to have his name painted over the door. He didn’t profess to serve his best beer to casual customers, but for regular punters of his house, mainly the servants of noble families, he kept a better brand of beer. Berrick’s respectable appearance inclined the landlord to step forward. Among the English, who are always aware of class, a prosperous exterior is ever an excellent introduction.

  “What can I do for you, sir?” he asked with great politeness.

  “Can I see Carlton?”

  “In Count Burgh le Marsh’s service, I believe?”

  “I have an appointment with him here.”

  “He is downstairs in the band-room,” replied the landlord. “I will send for him.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself. I will go down,” and without waiting for permission, Berrick descended some steps that a
pparently led to a cellar.

  “It appears to me,” murmured Joe Kippax, “that I’ve seen this gentleman’s face before.”

  Berrick pushed open a door at the bottom of the flight of stairs. Music came from within. He entered the room. It was filled with customers. In a corner, three men in their shirt sleeves, with red faces, were playing music, while an old man, wearing boots, was whistling along with the tune. As Berrick politely took off his hat, the performers stopped and the old man discontinued his whistling. A well-built young man wearing a fashionable mustache, screamed, “It is that good old Berrick. I was expecting you. Will you drink with me?”

  The musicians resumed their song.

  “Did Kippax tell you that I was here?” asked the young man, who was the Carlton Berrick had been asking for.

  “That old gentleman there is a huntsman in the service of the Count of Sissinghurst and is the finest sharpshooter in England. I have only had twenty lessons from him and I’m already getting on wonderfully.”

  Carlton and Berrick seated themselves at a small table, on which Kippax placed a bottle of brandy and two glasses.

  “I asked you to meet me here, Carlton,” began Berrick, “because you can do me a little favor.”

  “Anything that is in my power I will do,” said the young man.

  “How do you get on with Count Burgh le Marsh?”

  Berrick had adopted an air of familiarity which he knew would please his companion.

  “I don’t care about the position,” replied Carlton, “and I’m going to ask Haven to look for another one for me.”

  “I’m surprised at that. All your predecessors said that the count was a perfect gentleman.”

  “Just try him yourself,” interjected the valet. “He’s awfully suspicious. He never leaves anything about, no letters, no cigars and no money. He spends half his time in locking things up and goes to bed with his keys under his pillow.”

  “I say! Such suspicion on his part is most unpleasant.”

  “It is indeed and besides he’s awfully violent. He gets in a rage about nothing and half a dozen times in the day he looks ready to murder you. On my word, I’m really frightened.”