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

by Frank Howell Evans

  “Five days ago,” he began, “I was put on to Claire Innerleithen. She wakes up at ten and drinks. Then she goes to a little restaurant she knows and has her breakfast and plays cards with anyone that will play with her. At six in the evening she goes to Soho to a restaurant, where you can eat, drink, dance or sing, just as you like.”

  Old Man Davidson took down the address of the restaurant then addressing Menlowe with the utmost severity, said, “Do you think that this report is worth a hundred shilling?”

  Menlowe made a grimace.

  “I have found out where the coin comes from.”

  The dim light in the office enabled Old Man Davidson to hide his surprise on hearing these words.

  “She went to a real swell house in a bang up part of London, Lombard Lane. She knocked on the door and in she went, while I waited outside.”

  “Do you know who lives there?”

  “Of course I do. The grocer around the corner told me that it was inhabited by the Count of Sissinghurst.”

  “You’re rather slow, my lad,” said Old Man Davidson, with an air of indifference. “I don’t have all day.”

  Menlowe was surprised, because he had expected that his information would have created much more impact.

  “Give a gentleman time to breathe in. Well, in half an hour out comes my Claire as lively as a flea. She went to the grocer and changed two banknotes of two hundred shilling each.”

  “You know your banknotes, then.” Old Man Davidson smiled kindly. “Is that all?” he demanded.

  “No, I have kept the best bit for a finish. There are others on the lookout for Claire.”

  The old man sprang to his feet so fast that his hat fell off.

  “What are you saying?” he said.

  “Simply that for the last three days a lady of the night has been keeping an eye on her. She too saw her go into the swell crib of that count.”

  Old Man Davidson thought for a while.

  “Now, Menlowe, listen to me. Forget Claire and stick like glue to the lady of the night. Now be off with you, because you’ve earned your money well.”

  As Menlowe left hastily, the old man shook his head.

  “That boy won’t have a long lease of life. That’s for sure.”

  Dr. Willoughby was the second to arrive. It was a terrible thing for him to get up so early, but for Berrick’s sake he consented even to this inconvenience. When he passed through the office Haven said, “Mr. Berrick is inside and Mr. Davidson is with him.”

  When he entered the inner sanctum, he found Berrick occupied in sorting his pieces of cardboard.

  “Well, what news?” he asked.

  “I’m preoccupied right now and that is excusable on the eve of the battle we are about to fight,” answered Berrick.

  Menlowe’s revolt worried him. A single flaw in a tree and one day it would snap in half and Berrick wanted to eliminate the flaw.

  The doctor said, playing with his locket, “We will succeed. What have we to fear?”

  “Opposition,” answered Berrick. “It will come from Eydon. I may be able to force him into co-operation with us, but his heart will not be in the enterprise.”

  He broke off, listened for a moment and then said, “Hush! I can hear his footsteps.”

  A dry cough was heard outside and in another moment Eydon entered the room.

  Nature had gifted Mr. Eydon Esq. with an exterior which made everyone, when first introduced to him, say, “This is an honest and trustworthy man.” Eydon always looked his clients boldly in the face. His voice was pleasant and had a certain ring of joviality in it and his manner was one of those easy ones, which ensured popularity. He was looked at as a shrewd lawyer. A sensational lawsuit was begun and the public eagerly awaited the result, suddenly the whole thing collapsed, because Eydon acted as mediator. Of course this was the most lucrative of businesses. His clients hid nothing from him and soon found themselves beholden to him.

  “Well, my dear Leonard,” he said, “here I am, obedient to your call.”

  “Sit down,” replied Berrick gravely.

  “Thanks, my friend, many thanks, a thousand thanks, but I’m in a hurry. Indeed I don’t have a moment to spare. I have matters on my hands of life and death.”

  “Of course,” said Willoughby, “but you can still sit down for a moment. Leonard has something to say to you.”

  “The facts are very simple. Willoughby and I have decided to put our plan into execution. We have Sir Alfred Yelvertoft on our side.”

  “I’ve heard enough,” Eydon said. “You’ve made a big mistake.”

  Old Man Davidson moved between him and the door, gazing at him with no friendly expression of face. Eydon was not a man to be easily scared, but the old man’s appearance was so threatening and the smile on Berrick’s lips was of so deadly a character, that he stood still, positively frightened into immobility.

  “What do you want?” he stammered.

  “First,” replied the doctor, speaking slowly and distinctly, “first, we want you to sit down and hear what Leonard has to say.”

  Eydon shrugged shrewdly. “Then let Leonard explain himself,” he said.

  “I ought to inform you,” Berrick said, “that we have every prospect of success and if we carry the matter through, we will have a million apiece.”

  Willoughby did not have the calm patience of his confederate and screamed, “Now say yes or no.”

  Eydon was indecisive and for a full minute he did not reply.

  “After due consideration and having carefully weighed the chances for and against, I answer you decidedly, No! Allow me to explain…”

  “Treachery!” said the doctor.

  “It is fully ten years ago since I spoke to you of the necessity of breaking up this association. Can you recall what I said? I said only our extreme poverty had justified our acts. They are now inexcusable.”

  “Those inner scruples never hindered you from taking your share of the profits.”

  “Quite true,” he said, “I always received my share, but I have done as much as you in putting the agency in its present prosperous condition and I, according to my rights, have received one-fourth.”

  “You’re really too good,” sneered Old Man Davidson, with a look of menace in his glance.

  Eydon continued, “I will not oppose you if you prefer to let matters stand as they are, but if you embark on a new scheme then I put down my foot and say very boldly “halt!”

  “Your words are charming,” said Willoughby sarcastically. “But then again you’re a rich man.”

  “I have enough to live on account of my profession. I have also saved two hundred thousand shilling and if you can be induced to renounce your schemes, I’m willing to divide this sum with you.”

  Berrick, who had taken no part in the dispute, now judged it time to interfere.

  “And so,” he said, turning to Eydon, “you have only two hundred thousand shilling and you offer to share this sum with us. Really we ought to be deeply grateful to you, but…”

  Berrick unlocked a drawer and taking a small notebook from it, turned over the pages and leaving it open, gave it to the lawyer.

  “There!” he said. “That is what you have.”

  Eydon sprang to his feet, all his calmness had now disappeared.

  “Yes,” he said at last, “and that is the very reason I refuse to have anything further to do with your schemes. You envy me my good fortune, but did we not all start penniless? I have taken care of my money, while you’ve squandered yours. Willoughby has lost his patients, while I have increased the number of my clients and now you want me to tread the dangerous road again. Not I! You can go your way and I will go mine.”

  Again he took up his hat, but a wave of the hand from Berrick detained him.

  “For the past twelve months I have given food and shelter to a young woman named Megan.”

  At the mention of this name, the lawyer looked up as if a deadly serpent came across his path.

  “
Megan?” he stammered.

  But the sarcastic sneer on the lips of his three confederates hurt his pride so deeply, that in an instant he recovered himself.

  “I’d be foolish,” he thought, “to ask these men how they learned my secret. Do they not always work by infamous and underhand means?”

  “You see I know all,” said Berrick. “It’s the same old story with you. A lawyer, who hides his vices beneath a mantle of benevolence, brings from the country a pretty, innocent young woman to act as maid in his house. This lawyer occupies his leisure time in leading the poor child astray and the moment at last comes, when the consequences of her weakness are too apparent. The lawyer is half beside himself at the approaching scandal. Well, to cut the story short, the lawyer talks the young woman into you know what and just after that the unhappy woman is thrown out into the streets. The police…”

  “Leonard, that is enough,” said Eydon, piteously. “I give in.”

  Berrick adjusted his glasses, as he always did during important moments.

  Eydon hid his face in his hands. He was absolutely stunned and had lost all power of defending himself. The few incoherent words that he said showed his state of despair.

  “You’ve killed me,” he gasped, “just as retirement, something I’ve been looking for, for twenty years, was in my grasp.”

  “Work does a man no harm,” said the doctor sanctimoniously.

  There was, however, little time to lose, Sir Alfred Yelvertoft and Will Platts were expected to arrive at any moment and Berrick hastened to restore a certain amount of calmness to his erstwhile trusted confederate.

  “You make as much noise as if we were going to hand you over to the executioner on the spot. Just hear us out.”

  “Go on,” said Eydon, forcing a smile, “I’m listening.”

  Berrick continued, “What we want of you will not compromise you in the slightest degree. I want you to draw up a document.”

  “All right.”

  “But there is more. The Count of Sissinghurst has placed a difficult task in your hands.”

  “You know that also?” asked Eydon incredulously. “Megan?”

  “I want you to come to me and report any news you may have and never give any information to the count without first consulting us.”

  “I agree.”

  The contending parties seemed to have arrived at an amicable agreement. Dr. Willoughby smiled.

  “Now,” he said, “you see? There was no reason to make such a fuss.”

  “I agree that I was in the wrong,” answered Eydon meekly. He extended his hands to his three associates and with an oily smile, he said, “Let us forget and forgive.”

  Berrick and the doctor exchanged glances of suspicion. A moment afterward a knock came to the door. At this Old Man Davidson waved his hand in the air and silently left through the other door. Will entered.

  “My dear boy,” said Berrick, “let me present you to one of my oldest and best friends.” Then, turning to Eydon, he added, “I want to ask you to help my young friend here. Will Platts is a good gentleman, who has neither mother nor father.”

  The lawyer caught the strange, meaning smile which accompanied these words. He at once understood Berrick’s scheme and understood the allusion to the Count of Sissinghurst, but that only explained half Berrick’s smile.

  Sir Alfred Yelvertoft was never punctual. He had received a letter asking him to call on Mr. Berrick at ten o’clock and twelve had struck some time before he made his appearance. He affected the airs and manners of a young man of twenty and so found many, who looked at his escapades with lenient eyes, ascribing them to the follies of youth. Under this youthful mask, however he hid an astute and cunning intellect and had more than once got the better of adversaries with whom he had dealings. His fortune was on shaky grounds though, because he insisted on living recklessly extravagant. When Berrick extended a helping hand to him, he clung to it with all the energy of a drowning man.

  Whatever Alfred Yelvertoft’s anxieties may have been on the day in question, he didn’t allow a symptom of them to appear and on his entrance he said, “I have kept you waiting, I fear, but really my time is not my own.” As he concluded his introduction, he placed his cigar back between his lips.

  His manner was very insolent, yet the amiable Berrick didn’t seem offended.

  “We had begun to despair of seeing you, Milord,” he answered politely. “I say so, because these gentlemen are here to meet you. Allow me to introduce to you, Dr. Willoughby, Mr. Eydon of the London bar and our secretary,” pointing as he spoke, to Will.

  As soon as Yelvertoft had taken his seat, Berrick went straight to the point, as a bullet to the target. “I don’t intend,” he began, “to leave you in doubt for a moment. Your marriage has been arranged by myself and my associates. All you have to do is to get the young lady’s consent, because that of the count and countess is in the pocket.”

  “There will be no difficulty in that,” lisped the lord, between clouds of smoke. “I assure you. Of course, I must be presented by someone, whom the count trusts.”

  “Would Mr. Jules Poiret suit you?”

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s a former police officer from Paris, who for some reason decided to retire here in London. The count trusts him explicitly.”

  “A former police officer?”

  “Yes, but do not worry. When you see the extravagant manner in which he lives you’ll understand why. When you want, Mr. Poiret will introduce you as a suitor for the young lady’s hand and praise you up to the skies.”

  The lord looked very jubilant at hearing this. “All right,” he cried, “then that decides the matter.”

  Will couldn’t believe his ears. He wondered whether he was awake or dreaming. He too had been promised a rich wife and here was another man, who was being provided for in the same manner.

  “All that is left, then,” said the lord haughtily, tapping the ash from his cigar, which landed on the carpeted floor, “is to arrange the commission.”

  Berrick, however said, “That is not what we want.”

  “No? Well, tell me what you do want.”

  “I will do so,” answered Berrick, adjusting his glasses carefully, “but before doing so, I feel that I must give you a short account of the rise and progress of this association.”

  At this statement Willoughby and Eydon sprang to their feet in surprise and terror. “Are you mad?” said they with one voice.

  “That is enough,” screamed Berrick angrily. “Am I not the head of this association? Do you think that we cannot speak openly before the lord?”

  Willoughby and the lawyer resignedly resumed their seats. Yelvertoft thought that a word from him might reassure them.

  “Be calm. We’re among honest men,” he began.

  “We’re not honest men,” interrupted Berrick. Yelvertoft was so surprised at hearing this that his cigar almost fell out of his mouth. Berrick continued, “Listen to me for we have no time to waste and you,” he added, turning to Will, “pay attention.”

  A moment of perfect silence ensued, broken only by the hum of voices in the outer office.

  “Milord,” said Berrick, whose face beamed with power, “twenty-seven years ago I and my associates were young and in a very different position. We were honest then and all the illusions of youth were still in us. We had faith and hope. Then, Milord, we were poor, miserably poor and yet we all had vague hopes of future greatness.”

  Yelvertoft tried to hide a sneer as the story was not a very interesting one.

  “We lived in the same boarding house. Willoughby had quarreled with his family. Eydon’s relatives were poor and I, well, I had no family. We were literally starving. Half mad, I ran from the house. Have you ever been hungry, Mr. Yelvertoft?”

  Young Yelvertoft started, he had never suffered from hunger, but how could he tell what the future might bring? His resources were nearly exhausted. Soon he would be compelled to discard his fictitious splendor and sink int
o the abyss of poverty.

  “When I reached the pub,” Berrick continued, “I could only afford two glasses of gin. I had sat there for some time, when suddenly a man entered the pub, whose face, were I to live for a century, I will never forget. His eyes were wild and full of anguish. He was obviously in intense agony. However, it was not poverty that was oppressing him, because as he sat down on a chair, all the waiters rushed forward to receive his orders. In a voice that was almost unintelligible, he asked for a bottle of brandy and pen, ink and paper. For some reason, the sight of his suffering brought balm to my aching heart. The order of the young man was soon followed and pouring out a tumbler of brandy, he took a deep draught. The effect was instantaneous. The stranger recovered himself and seizing a pen, scrawled a few lines on a sheet of paper. His letter seemed to satisfy him. As he put the letter down on the table, it was stained by drops of brandy. He recopied it with care. He closed it, added the address, then he tore the original into pieces and he flung them under the table. He called the waiter and said, “Here is twenty shilling. Take this letter to the address on the envelope. Bring the answer to my house. Here is my card.” The waiter ran out of the room and the aristocrat followed almost immediately. The morsels of white paper beneath the table had a strange fascination for me. A draught from a suddenly opened door caught one of these morsels of paper and blew it to my feet. I hunched down and picked it up and read on it the words, “blow out my brains!” I carefully moved to his table and obtained possession of the other scraps of paper. Piecing them together, I read this, “Sir Charles, I must have one hundred thousand shilling tonight and you’re the only one to whom I can apply. The shame and horror of my position are too much for me. Can you send it to me in two hours? I’m either saved or I will blow out my brains.”

  Yelvertoft moved uncomfortably in his chair. He looked at his pocket watch.

  “At the bottom of the letter was the signature of a well-known banker. I had to save him. Not with money as I had none, but with words of encouragement. I learned from one of the waiters the address of the banker. I went to the house and showing the butler the pieces of paper was led into a large room, magnificently furnished as a library and in the center of this room stood the banker. His face was deadly pale and his eyes blazed with fury.