The Avenger

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  CHAPTER XX

  STABBED THROUGH THE HEART

  The Baroness recognized Wrayson with a little shrug of the shoulders.

  "Ah! my dear Mr. Wrayson," she exclaimed, "this is very kind of you. Youhave been keeping Louise company, I hope. And see what droll thingshappen! It is your friend, Mr. Barnes, who has brought me home thisevening, and who will take a whisky and soda before he goes. Is it notso, my friend?"

  She turned around, but there was no immediate response. The Baronesslooked over the banisters and beheld her escort in the act of ascending.

  "Coming right along," he called out cheerfully. "It was the cabman whotried to stop me. He wanted more than his fare. Found he'd tackled thewrong Johnny this time."

  Mr. Sydney Barnes came slowly into view. He was wearing an evening suit,obviously too large for him, a made-up white tie had slipped roundunderneath his ear, a considerable fragment of red silk handkerchief wasvisible between his waistcoat and much crumpled white shirt. An operahat, also too large for him, he was wearing very much on the back of hishead, and he was smoking a very black cigar, from which he had failed toremove the band. He frowned when he saw Wrayson, but followed theBaroness into the room with a pronounced swagger.

  "You two need no introduction, of course," the Baroness remarked. "I amnot going to tell you where I found Mr. Barnes. I do not expect to bevery much longer in England, so perhaps I am not so careful as I ought tobe. Louise, if she knew, would be shocked. Now, Mr. Wrayson, do not hurryaway. You will take some whisky and soda? I am afraid that my youngfriend has not been very hospitable."

  "You are very kind," Wrayson said. "To tell you the truth, I was ratherhoping to see Miss Fitzmaurice again. She disappeared rather abruptly."

  The Baroness shook her finger at him in mock reproach.

  "You have been misbehaving," she declared. "Never mind. I will go and seewhat I can do for you."

  She stood for a moment before a looking-glass arranging her hair, andthen left the room humming a light tune. Sydney Barnes, with his hands inhis pockets, flung himself into an easy-chair.

  "I say," he began, "I don't quite see what you're doing here."

  Wrayson looked at him for a moment in supercilious surprise.

  "I scarcely see," he answered, "how my movements concern you."

  Mr. Barnes was unabashed.

  "Oh! chuck it," he declared. "You know very well what I'm thinking of. Totell you the truth, I've come to the conclusion that there's someconnection between this household and my brothers affairs. That's why I'mpalling on to the Baroness. She's a fine woman--class, you know, and allthat sort of thing, but what I want is the shino! You tumble?"

  Wrayson shrugged his shoulders slightly.

  "I wish you every success," he said. "Personally, I think that you arewasting your time here."

  "Perhaps so," Barnes answered. "I'm taking my own risks."

  Wrayson turned away, and at that moment the Baroness re-entered the room.

  "My friend," she said, addressing Wrayson, "I can do nothing for you.Whether you have offended Louise or made her too happy, I cannot say. Butshe will not come down. You will not see her again to-night."

  "I am sorry," Wrayson answered. "She is going away to-morrow, Iunderstand?"

  The Baroness sighed.

  "Alas!" she declared, "I must not answer any questions. Louise hasforbidden it."

  Wrayson took up his hat.

  "In that case," he remarked, "there remains nothing for me but to wishyou good night!"

  There was a cab on the rank opposite, and Wrayson, after a moment'shesitation, entered it and was driven to the club. He scarcely expectedto find any one there, but he was in no mood for sleep, and the thoughtof his own empty rooms chilled him. Somewhat to his surprise, however, hefound the smoking-room full. The central figure of the most importantgroup was the Colonel, his face beaming with good-nature, and his cheeksjust a little flushed. He welcomed Wrayson almost boisterously.

  "Come along, Herbert," he cried. "Plenty of room. What'll you have todrink, and have you heard the news?"

  "Whisky and soda," Wrayson answered, sinking into an easy-chair, "and Ihaven't heard any news."

  The Colonel took his cigar from his mouth, and leaned forward in hischair. He had the appearance of a man who was striving to appear moregrave than he felt.

  "You remember the old chap we saw dining at Luigi's to-night--Bentham, Ithink you said his name was?"

  Wrayson nodded.

  "Of course! What about him?"

  "He's dead!" the Colonel declared.

  Wrayson jumped out of his chair.

  "Nonsense!" he exclaimed. "You don't mean it, Colonel!"

  "Unfortunately, I do," the Colonel answered. "He was found dead on thestairs leading to his office, about ten o'clock to-night. A mostinteresting case. The murder, presuming it was a murder, appears to havebeen committed--"

  Wrayson was suddenly pale.

  "Murder!" he repeated. "Colonel, do you mean this?"

  The Colonel, who hated being interrupted, answered a little testily.

  "My dear Wrayson," he expostulated, "is this the sort of thing a maninvents for fun? Do listen for a moment, if you can, in patience. It is adeeply interesting case. If you remember, it was about nine o'clock whenwe left Luigi's; Bentham must have gone almost straight to his office,for he was found there dead a very few minutes after ten."

  "Who killed him, and why?" Wrayson asked breathlessly.

  "That, I suppose, we shall know later," the Colonel answered. "Thepolice will be on their mettle this time, but it isn't a particularlyeasy case. He was found lying on his face, stabbed through the heart.That is all anybody knows."

  The thoughts went rushing through Wrayson's brain. He remembered the manas he had seemed only a few hours ago, cold, stonily indifferent toyoung Barnes' passionate questions, inflexibly silent, a man who mighteasily kindle hatreds, to all appearance without a soft spot or anyhuman feeling. He remembered the close of their interview, and SydneyBarnes' rash threat. The suggested idea clothed itself almostunconsciously with words.

  "I have just seen young Barnes," he said. "He has been at the Empire allthe evening."

  The Colonel lit another cigar.

  "It takes a man of nerve and deliberation," he remarked, "to commit amurder. From what I have heard of him, I should not imagine your youngfriend to be possessed of either. The lady whom he was entertaining, orrather failing to entertain, at dinner--"

  "I have seen her since," Wrayson interrupted shortly. "She went straightto the Alhambra."

  The Colonel nodded.

  "I would have insured her against even suspicion," he remarked. "She wasa large, placid woman, of the flabby order of nerves. She will probablyfaint when she hears what has happened. She might box a man's ears, buther arm would never drive a dagger home into his heart, especially withsuch beautiful, almost mathematical accuracy. We must look elsewhere, Ifancy, for the person who has paid Bentham's debt to society. Heneage,here, has an interesting theory."

  Wrayson looked across and found that his eyes met Heneage's. He wassitting a little in the background, with a newspaper in his hand, whichhe was, however, only affecting to read. He was taking note of every wordof the conversation. He was obviously annoyed at the Colonel's referenceto him, but he did his best to conceal it.

  "Scarcely a theory," he remarked, laying down his paper for a moment. "Ican hardly call it that. I only remarked that I happened to know a littleabout Bentham, and that his clients, if he had any, were mostlyforeigners, and their business of a shady nature. As a matter of fact, hewas struck off the rolls here some years ago. I forget the case now, butI know that it was a pretty bad one."

  "So you see," the Colonel resumed, "he was probably in touch with a looselot, though what benefit his death could have been to any one it is, ofcourse, a little hard to imagine. Makes one think, somehow, of thisMorris Barnes affair, doesn't it? I wonder if there is any connectionbetween the two."

  Heneage lai
d down his paper now, and abandoned his attitude ofindifferent listener. He was obviously listening for what Wraysonhad to say.

  "Connection of some sort between the two men there certainly was,"Wrayson admitted. "We know that."

  "Exactly," Heneage remarked. "I speak without knowing very much aboutthe matter, but I am thoroughly convinced of one thing. If you can findthe murderer of Morris Barnes, you will solve, at the same time, themystery of Bentham's death. It is the same affair; part and parcel ofthe same tangle."

  The Colonel was silent for a few moments. He seemed to be reflecting onHeneage's words.

  "I believe you are right," he said at last. "I should be curious to know,though, how you arrived at this decision."

  Heneage looked past him at Wrayson.

  "You should ask Wrayson," he said.

  But Wrayson had risen, and was sauntering towards the door.

  "I'm off," he remarked, looking backwards and nodding his farewells. "IfI stay here any longer, I shall have nightmare. Time you fellows were inbed, too. How's the Malleni fund, Colonel?"

  The Colonel's face relaxed. A smile of genuine pleasure lit up hisfeatures.

  "Going strong," he declared triumphantly. "We shall ship him off forItaly next week with a very tidy little cheque in his pocket. Dear oldDobson gave us ten pounds, and the concert fund is turning out well."

  Wrayson lit a cigarette and looked back from the open door.

  "You're more at home with philanthropy than horrors, Colonel," heremarked. "Good night, everybody!"