Introductory material (continued 2)

“Gloria has made me very happy,” he said simply, by way of announcing the tremendous fact.

Mrs. Barnard first kissed her niece, and then bestowed an affectionate salute upon Leonard. Stormont literally hugged Gloria and wrung the young man’s hand heartily. “We must celebrate this at once,” he cried in his loud, ringing voice. “Come along. There is only one wine worthy of the occasion. I have still left in the cellar a few bottles of a matchless Krug. We will open one.”

And, as they went along to the dining-room, Stormont and his sister leading the way, the young couple following them, Gloria laid her slender hand on her lover’s arm and whispered, “You have made me very happy too, dear.”

CHAPTER SIX

The week-end was a very quiet one, Lydon being the only guest. The young man thought this might be due to Stormont’s delicacy, that he felt it was only kind to allow the lovers to pursue their courtship in comparative seclusion. But in the following week the phenomenon was repeated. Nobody came down from London; none of the neighbours were asked to luncheon or dinner.

Stormont occupied his time in pottering about the grounds and taking long walks. But there was a certain restlessness about him, an air of boredom which showed that this somewhat unusual isolation was not agreeing with him. Leonard commented on it to his sweetheart.

Gloria shrugged her shoulders. “He’s always like that when he leads a quiet life; he is never really happy unless he is surrounded by plenty of people. He loves crowds.”

“Perhaps he is sacrificing himself for our sakes,” suggested Leonard.

The girl’s smile was good-humoured but sceptical. “Uncle Howard has a heap of good qualities, but I don’t think self-sacrifice is conspicuous amongst them. To tell you the truth, I think he is going a bit slow because he is compelled to.”

They were walking in the beautifully-kept gardens which required a small army of gardeners to keep in order, and must have cost a pretty penny to maintain in such perfection.

Only one interpretation could be put upon her words. “You mean to infer that he is a bit hard up,” said Lydon bluntly.

She nodded her pretty head. “Yes, from what auntie told me, he has been spending a lot more than he ought, and has got to pull up for a time. These sorts of crises occur now and again. We have had about a dozen of them at least since we came here, and at such times entertaining has to be cut down with a ruthless hand. In Curzon Street I don’t suppose the outgoings were a quarter what they are here. Auntie says he ought never to have bought the place, considering the expense it entails. He gets a lot of enjoyment out of it, of course, but he also gets a lot of worry.”

“And yet I suppose he is a shrewd business man?”

“He must be, or he could not make the money he does. But you see he has got the spendthrift temperament. If he takes a fancy to a thing, he will have it, whether he can afford it or not. And the fatal thing about him, and it is that which worries my aunt more, he has no hesitation about going into debt, if he hasn’t got ready money to pay for his whims.”

“Your aunt does not share his extravagant ideas, then?”

“Oh, dear no. She has a nice little income of her own which she lives up to, but I am sure she never exceeds it. And she has a most wholesome horror of debt. I know she is awfully worried now because some of the tradespeople’s accounts are overdue; they are getting a bit pressing.”

Delightful as Effington was, and perfectly satisfying to the lover of natural beauty, Lydon thought residence there was dearly purchased by these crises to which she had alluded. So Mr. Stormont was behindhand with the local tradespeople! What a horrible situation! They would begin to gossip presently, and then the bubble would be burst amongst the neighbours.

“There was a perfect orgy of spending for a couple of months just before you paid us your first visit,” said Gloria after a short pause during which her lover was ruminating on the hollowness of the position at this splendid country residence. “A big dinner party nearly every day in the week, on the usual lavish scale, and all this time he was giving liberally, not to say ostentatiously, to all the local charities. I suppose it was then he overran the constable. You came in at the fag end of it. Since then the motto seems to have been retrenchment all round, with a disastrous effect on my uncle’s spirits.”

“These crises worry you a good bit, don’t they?” queried her lover.

“To tell the truth, they do. Much as I love the place—and nobody could live at Effington without loving it—I often wish that we could have a place that entailed smaller outgoings. And, of course, one is always haunted by the fear that one day he will get himself into a terrible mess from which he cannot extricate himself.”

Lydon thought this very possible. It was very likely the spendthrift himself had some premonition of such a catastrophe, and that was the reason he had almost thrown his niece at the young man’s head. In spite of her fondness for Effington, perhaps Gloria herself would not be sorry to exchange all this for a position of less magnificence and greater security.

Had he not been convinced of her frank, open nature he might have thought that the girl had been in league with her uncle to secure him. But he was sure of her good faith and honesty of purpose. He remembered her agitation when he had proposed to her in the avenue, the love-light that had shone in her beautiful eyes. No woman, not even the most practised coquette, can summon that light at will.

He did not see his sweetheart at all the following week. The stern exigencies of his profession called him abroad. At Ryder Street, on his return, he found a letter from Stormont awaiting him, asking him to lunch the following day at the Piccadilly, as he wished to consult him on a matter of some urgency.

Very curious as to what this matter of some urgency could be, Lydon presented himself at the Piccadilly at the hour appointed. He noticed a decided change in Stormont in the short time he had parted from him at his splendid country house. The man’s manner was restless and jerky, and he looked anxious and worried.

He ordered a very sumptuous lunch, the most expensive food and wine on the list. Lydon found it far too sumptuous; he was not accustomed to a heavy meal in the middle of the day, in fact, was not very keen on the pleasures of the table at any time. Stormont drank by far the greater portion of the champagne, and finished up with a couple of liqueurs of the finest brandy. During the progress of the meal he talked fitfully, and it was easy to see he had something weighing on his mind; but he made no allusion to the subject on which he wanted the young man’s advice. It rather looked as if he were justifying himself before he could approach it.

When they had finished, he led the way into the smoking-room, where he selected a quiet corner suitable for private conversation, and ordered refreshment. Lydon would take nothing but a cup of coffee. For himself he ordered a large whisky and soda. When he had taken a deep draught, he unburdened himself, not without a considerable tinge of embarrassment in his manner.

“I am afraid you will think I am taking an infernal liberty, Leonard, so early in our acquaintance. But the fact is, at the moment I am in a bit of a hole, and hardly know where to turn.”

Lydon had an idea of what was coming, by the man’s fidgetiness and embarrassment, which had been patent from the moment they met. He murmured some conventional words of condolence, and waited for further details.

“I’m expecting a sum of five thousand pounds in a week at the latest, in fact I may receive it any day between now and then. In the meantime there are some pressing things I ought to pay. Would it be possible for you to lend me a thousand pounds for a week, at a fair interest, of course?”

It was rather a cool request, even to a man who was about to enter his family. Leonard was by no means a parsimonious man, but he rather resented it. Why the deuce did he not manage his finances properly, curb his extravagance, instead of sponging upon somebody apparently much poorer than himself?

He spoke rather coldly; he thought that if he made it too easy, Mr. Stormont would be encouraged to fall back upon him at any time he thought fit. “It’s a bit inconvenient, but if you can’t get it anywhere else, I must do it. Won’t your bank do it?”

Stormont shook his head. “The manager is a very cross-grained chap, puts every obstacle in the way of doing you a favour. And, to tell you the truth, I am just a trifle overdrawn. It is not the most propitious time to ask for even a short loan.”

This admission revealed a terrible state of things, thought Lydon. Just a trifle overdrawn! He had probably drawn his last cheque to pay for the unnecessarily expensive lunch, unless he had borrowed the money from his sister. The solid fact emerged that Howard Stormont, who had driven up to the Piccadilly in his Rolls-Royce, the supposed man of wealth, the owner of that lordly pleasure-house, Effington Hall, was at the present moment as hard up as anybody could be. And he appeared to have no credit, no husbanded resources. He was awaiting that five thousand which was to come not later than a week, which might come earlier, which, for all the young man knew, might never come at all. That request for a thousand pounds might be the last throw of a desperate gambler.

Still, if he was going to run the risk, he might as well do the thing gracefully. “Can you deposit anything in the way of security, in case of unforeseen accidents?” he inquired casually. He was fairly certain of what the answer would be, but he wanted to make quite sure as to whether or not Stormont had any resources.

Again the financier shook his head. “Nothing that you could call absolute security,” he replied, his rubicund face growing a shade redder as he made the damaging admission. “I could, of course, show you papers proving there is a lot of money coming to me. But as the accommodation is for so short a time, I should suggest my note of hand for the amount, plus interest.”

“I don’t want any interest,” said the young man hastily. “I am not a money-lender. I am doing this in a friendly way. Well, I’ve a busy afternoon before me, so, if you don’t mind, we’ll settle this affair as soon as possible. Drive me round to my rooms in Ryder Street and I will give you my cheque; I have as much lying at the bank which I was intending to invest. We can get a bill at the nearest post-office as we go along.”

But there was no necessity for this; Stormont had a bill of the required amount in his case. He explained that he always carried bill stamps with him, as they were so frequently used in his business dealings. Lydon did not quite believe this. He thought the man had taken his acquiescence for granted, and had come prepared.

They drove to Ryder Street, and in five minutes the transaction was completed. The rubicund Stormont put the cheque in his pocket, it being too late in the afternoon to pay it in, and drove back to Effington in his opulent-looking car, leaving Lydon wondering whether he should ever see his money back, whether that five thousand pounds was a myth invented for the occasion.

It was on the Tuesday that this affair took place, and it was understood that Lydon would go down to Effington on the following Friday. His confidence in Stormont was now so rudely shaken that he was prepared for anything unexpected to happen in the meantime. He would not have been surprised to receive a frantic letter from him to the effect that he was flying the country, that Mrs. Barnard and Gloria were seeking refuge in some suburb round London, and that Effington Hall was up for sale.

Lydon rather wondered what was his position with regard to this splendid mansion. Originally he must have been able to put his hands on a considerable sum of money for its purchase. In all probability it was now mortgaged up to the hilt.

Happily, nothing of such a disturbing nature happened. On his arrival at Guildford Station, Gloria met him in the car. She was, of course, delighted to see him again after his brief absence; but her lover fancied there was just a shade of embarrassment in her manner, the reason of which he presently learned as they drove along.

“There is a renewal of festivities which are such an abiding joy to my uncle’s soul,” she said, speaking in a hard voice. “To-night we’ve a dinner-party of a dozen people, all neighbours; nobody is staying in the house but you.”

So the rubicund Stormont had resumed his extravagant habits the moment he found himself in possession of a bit of money. He had no doubt paid off some pressing old debts, and was feverishly incurring new ones. The young man had no desire to face a lot of strangers, but perhaps this dinner-party was, in a way, a healthy sign. Even Stormont would not have been so rash as to fritter away his last shilling if he were not sure that salvation was close at hand. Lydon was relieved to think that this five thousand pounds was not a myth, but a solid fact.

Gloria went on in low and embarrassed tones: “I cannot say how ashamed and humiliated I am that he should have come to you. I only heard it this morning from my aunt, who thought I ought to be told. When he mentioned to her that he was going to apply to you, she did all in her power to dissuade him from making such a request, but all to no purpose. The fact of it is, he is not a man who feels any shame in borrowing.”

He could see plainly that she was very much distressed, and he hastened to console her. “My darling, there is really nothing for you to worry about. I am sorry your uncle was put about, but he made it clear to me it was quite a temporary embarrassment, and I was very pleased to be of service to him. Such a thing might happen to anybody—might have happened to myself.”

The girl spoke with some heat. “It is very sweet of you to try and restore my self-respect, but it would never have happened to you. You are the last man in the world to spend your money on riotous living and then go with a pitiful tale to a friend. Why did he not go to one of his business friends, if he was forced to borrow, or, better still, sell some of the valuable things he has got at Effington?”

She was evidently stung to the quick that her happy-go-lucky uncle had exploited the young man’s affection for herself in order to replenish his exhausted exchequer. Lydon himself could not help thinking it was a mean thing to do, in spite of his making light of it to her.

The dinner-party was a great success. Stormont beamed on his guests as genially as ever, and was in the highest spirits. As he sat at the table he gave the impression of a man who had not a care in the world. Lydon could hardly understand such a swift alteration of mood, of the change from the haggard, harassed man of a few days ago to this jovial creature who laughed and joked with the greatest ease. But then he did not comprehend the mercurial temperament of the incurable spendthrift.

The Saturday was to be a comparatively quiet day, Gloria told him, there being only two guests expected. The taciturn Mr. Whitehouse was bringing down his niece, Zillah Mayhew, to lunch. But their visit would not be a very long one. They were returning to London by an afternoon train.

The words that he had overheard that night when he had passed the door of Stormont’s study recurred to him at the mention of Miss Mayhew’s name. Was this the woman whose co-operation was essential to some business there was on hand? “What sort of a girl is she?” asked the young man. “Not as gloomy as her uncle, I trust?”

Gloria smiled. “She is the exact opposite, most bright and vivacious, really quite charming. I haven’t seen her more than half a dozen times in my life, but I took a great fancy to her.”

“Does she live with the solemn Whitehouse?”

“Not permanently. Uncle has never told me much about her history, but I know that her parents are dead, that she has a little income of her own, and lives now with one relative, now with another. She passes a great deal of her time abroad, where she has several friends and connections.”

Lydon began to feel rather interested in the young woman. When the time came for them to be met at the station, he noticed a rather peculiar thing. Stormont dispensed with the services of the chauffeur and drove the car to Guildford himself, a most unusual proceeding on his part. The young man was convinced by this circumstance that his suspicions were correct. Stormont wanted to be alone to have a quiet chat with Whitehouse and his niece.

The lovers went for a walk, and on their return a few minutes before luncheon the visitors had arrived. Lydon shook hands with Whitehouse, and was introduced to Miss Mayhew, a tall, dark, handsome girl, with splendid eyes, and the complexion of the brunette. She spoke English without the faintest trace of accent, but there was a foreign air about her.

He looked at her very attentively, and his scrutiny revealed two very strange things. On the back of her neck was a blemish partially concealed by powder, and she wore as a pendant a magnificent sapphire carved in the shape of a closed lotus flower.

His memory flew back to that day when he had stood in the drawing-room of the Villa des Cyclamens, and called the attention of Madame Makris to a similar jewel which was lying unheeded on the table.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Like a man in a dream, he heard the pleasant, contralto voice of Miss Mayhew asking him if he did not think Mr. Stormont looked wonderfully well, and then, without awaiting his answer, go on to remark that country life evidently agreed with him.

Having broken the ice with Lydon in the easy manner that showed she was endowed with plenty of self-confidence, she turned to the rubicund gentleman himself, whom she addressed familiarly as Uncle Howard. “I’m afraid since you took possession of this lovely place, you don’t work half as hard as you used to do.”

Whatever her relations with the other two members of the family, she was apparently on very close terms with the head of it, as was apparent from the way she addressed him. Gloria had said that they had seen very little of each other, Stormont then must have had additional opportunities of intimacy. Unless she knew him very well, she would not have called him uncle in the presence of his real niece.

He wondered whether Gloria quite relished the familiarity. In spite of her obvious recognition of Stormont’s failings, and her resentment of what had just taken place between himself and her fiancé, he was sure that she had a very soft spot in her heart for her uncle, whom she always declared to be one of the kindest and most generous of men.

But Gloria did not seem piqued in any way, and she had told him that Miss Mayhew was not only very bright and vivacious, but especially charming also. One of his sweetheart’s best traits was that she was not a jealous or an envious girl.

Whitehouse was always taciturn; he ate heartily and drank a fair amount, but neither of these processes ever seemed to exhilarate him. Mrs. Barnard was naturally a quiet woman, of a disposition rather reserved than otherwise. The conversation at lunch was carried on mainly between the host and the dark, handsome girl. Miss Mayhew appeared to have travelled a great deal abroad, for she was constantly making references to places where apparently she and “Uncle Howard” had been in each other’s company. It was no doubt owing to these meetings that they seemed so intimate with each other.

The visitors did not stay very long after lunch, although Stormont, in his hospitable way, pressed them to reconsider their decision, and postpone their departure till at least the following day. But Whitehouse shook his head and replied briefly it was impossible, as he and his niece had an engagement on Sunday.

Stormont drove them alone from the house, as he had driven them alone to it. There must be some reason, for Lydon knew he was not fond of acting as chauffeur. Probably he wanted a few last words with the girl who was necessary to the prosecution of some business scheme hatched between the two men.

After they had left, Mrs. Barnard retired to her usual task of writing letters, and the engaged couple went into the billiard-room.

“Well, what do you think of the handsome Zillah?” asked Gloria as they chose their cues. “Uncle says she breaks hearts wherever she goes. Did you find her very fascinating?”

Lydon had certainly been greatly fascinated by her, but not for the reasons Gloria had in her mind when she put the question. What had fascinated him was that brilliant sapphire pendant and the blemish on her neck, only partially concealed by the liberal use of powder.

He answered her question lightly: “I expect most men would find her more than ordinarily attractive. But you know, darling, I have never had any great admiration for dark women.”

Gloria no doubt was quite satisfied with the answer, for she did not pursue the subject. She had been rather eclipsed at lunch by the vivacious and brilliant Miss Mayhew, but now she was alone with her lover she chatted away merrily enough as they played their game.

And, as she talked, Lydon found himself speculating on the recent visitor and the strange position of affairs at Effington. There was plenty of unreality about the whole thing. Was there also perhaps more than a mere suspicion of mystery? Why did Stormont maintain that persistent reticence about his business, a man usually of a most garrulous disposition? Even now Lydon did not know precisely where his offices were situated. On the bill of exchange it was necessary for him to put an address, but he had simply described himself as of Effington Hall, Surrey.

Whitehouse, seemingly his most intimate friend, seemed more than a little mysterious too. He always gave Leonard the impression of a man who was constantly keeping close watch upon himself lest he should drop something that he did not wish known.

And who was this independent, self-assured young woman, Zillah Mayhew, with the blemish on her neck and that striking pendant, who seemed to spend her life in rushing hither and thither, and was on such intimate terms with Uncle Howard?

He led the conversation presently round to the same subject, for all the time he was making his strokes the dark, handsome Zillah, with her foreign look, was in his thoughts.

“What a lovely sapphire that is she wears! You noticed it, of course?”

“One could not very well avoid noticing it,” was the reply. “As I have told you, I haven’t seen her many times, but on every occasion she has had it on. Uncle says it is her mascot.”

“And did you also notice that peculiar blemish on her neck which, cleverly as she tries to hide it, peeps through the powder?”

“Yes, I did,” answered Gloria, “for the first time to-day. I am certain it was not there the last time I saw her.”

“And how long ago might that be?” was her lover’s next question.

The girl considered. “Let me see. I am not very good at remembering dates. But I do recollect this much. She came over here a few weeks before we went on that visit to Nice where we met you and your friend, Mr. Craig.”

Lydon was thinking rapidly: “You didn’t happen to meet her at Nice?”

Gloria looked at him in surprise at the question. “No, I am sure I did not. What makes you suggest it?”

The young man laughed a little awkwardly. It was too early to tell his sweetheart the strange suspicions which had formed in his mind. “Oh, no particular reason. But from what she said at luncheon, she seems to be always on the travel. It just struck me she might have been there at that particular time.”

He left on the Monday morning this time, having on a great pressure of work. He would not be able to ask Gloria to lunch in town during the week, as he was so uncertain of his engagements, but he would be sure to be down on the following Friday.

He went back to his business, very much obsessed with his thoughts of the dark, handsome girl known as Zillah Mayhew. Was it only a queer fancy of his that had led him to connect her with the woman who had been the cause of his friend’s death?

When he got back to his rooms in Ryder Street, he hunted up the portrait in the illustrated paper which he had brought with him from Nice. It was a blurred and wretched thing. One moment he fancied he could detect a resemblance between Elise Makris and Zillah Mayhew, the next he was bound to confess he could see not the slightest resemblance.

It happened that he did see his sweetheart during the week. On the Wednesday morning he had to carry out some tests of wireless telephony at one of his Company’s experimental stations at Esher. He was testing a newly-invented thermionic valve, and during the morning he got into communication with Aberdeen and Rotterdam and was gratified to learn they reported his speech and gramophone music as strong and clear.

He lunched at the Bear Hotel, and a happy thought struck him. He would pay a surprise visit to Effington. So he drove away down the Portsmouth Road, passing through Guildford and over the Hog’s Back, and early in the afternoon swung into the big lodge gates of Effington.

His unexpected visit was a most delightful surprise to Gloria. He would remain to tea, of course; and Mrs. Barnard, who was as hospitable as her brother, insisted upon his stopping to dinner. She regretted that Stormont would be absent, as he had motored to London to a directors’ meeting, and would not be back till late.

Mrs. Barnard served them tea from the old silver pot in the great oak-panelled hall where high stained-glass windows bore the rose-en-soleil badge of the dead and gone Sedgemeres.

Duncan, the white-haired, grave-faced butler who never permitted himself the luxury of a smile, except when some guest bestowed upon him a more than usually generous tip, officiated with his customary dignity, handing round the cake-basket of pierced Georgian silver. Duncan had served the greater part of his life in noble families. Stormont, on the look-out for a dignified major-domo, had tempted him from his last place by the offer of a salary about double what he was getting.

Duncan, in a way, had fallen from his high estate in accepting service under a man about whom nobody seemed to know very much. But, like the mercenaries of old, he was content to enlist under any banner where the pay was good.

In the waning light, the big, high-pitched hall looked ghostly and cavernous, with its floor of polished oak over which high-born dames of the days of Charles the Second had danced merrily. There was the great stone fireplace with the wrought-iron fire-back, bearing upon it the date of 1621. There were the Caroline day-bed with spindle legs and fragile canework, the high carved arm-chairs upholstered in faded crimson, and the big oak gate table, loaded with game books, and visitors’ books mixed with modern novels.

Around, upon the dark panelled walls, hung several portraits of women and men in wigs, one being a portrait by Kneller of Hugh, sixth Earl of Sedgemere, and another by Reynolds of Anne, wife of the great Lord Sedgemere who had fought in the Peninsular War.

While they gossiped and sipped their tea, the sun slanted across the oak flooring, tinted by the antique escutcheons in the long coloured glass windows of the lofty hall.

At dinner Lydon casually referred to Miss Mayhew. Had they heard anything of her since he had met her at luncheon?

Mrs. Barnard answered the question: “No, nothing. Isn’t she a splendid girl? I wish we saw more of her. She is so amusing and vivacious. No wonder men are always attracted by her!”

“Does she live in London?” Lydon asked.

“When she is in England, she stays with her uncle, Mr. Whitehouse. But I believe she is a great deal with her brother in Paris.”

So this cosmopolitan young lady had a brother in Paris. Lydon would very much have liked to ask something about the brother, and also in what part of London Whitehouse resided, but his delicacy kept him back. Somehow, personal details never seemed forthcoming in the Stormont family, with perhaps the exception of Gloria, who was frankness itself. You always had to dig for them.

After dinner they went as usual into the billiard-room. Mrs. Barnard, contrary to her usual habit, accompanied them and took upon herself the office of marker.

After the game was over she very considerately left them to themselves for a few moments. No doubt, she had a recollection of her own courting days. A little while before the young man was preparing to take his leave, she came in with a bundle of letters in her hand.

“Leonard, I found these on my brother’s table just now. He had intended to take them along with him, and forgot them in the hurry of leaving. Will you please post them at Guildford or somewhere as you drive along?”

Lydon promised that he would. He said good-bye to the amiable Mrs. Barnard. Gloria accompanied him to his car, and here the farewell was a somewhat protracted one, as is usual with newly-engaged couples.

He drove away over the Hog’s Back, and stopped before the Guildford Post Office. For the first time he looked at the letters as he dropped them into the box. He came to the last, and read the superscription in Stormont’s bold handwriting. It was addressed to Miss Mayhew, 18 Ashstead Mansions, Sloane Square.

A little time ago he had been longing to ask at dinner where Mr. Whitehouse lived, and had refrained from feelings of delicacy. By the merest accident, the forgetfulness of Stormont, he had found out what he wanted. This was a piece of luck.

His first natural impulse was to scribble the address upon his shirt-cuff and send the letter into the box with the others. He never quite knew why he changed his mind. Probably his strong conviction that there was a great element of mystery about Stormont himself, and, secondly, his equally strong obsession that Elise Makris and Zillah Mayhew were one and the same person.

Second thoughts gained the day. Instead of posting the letter, as he knew he ought to have done, he put it back in his wallet, jumped back into the car, and drove along the London Road through Ripley, Cobham, Esher and Kingston to the garage close to Ryder Street.

He was determined to pluck at the heart of the mystery. Two hours after it had been given to him by Mrs. Barnard, he stood in his rooms in Ryder Street, and the letter from Howard Stormont to Zillah Mayhew was lying open in his hand. This is what he read:

“My very clever Zillah.—I have seen Edwards and arranged everything. You will leave for Paris to-morrow and wait at the Hôtel Terminus for further instructions. Edwards will bring or write them. Show this to Whitehouse and then destroy.—Uncle.”

He read it through a dozen times, and then he carefully resealed the flap, for the gum was still wet from the steam he had applied. When it had dried under the weight of some heavy body, he went out and posted it in the nearest pillar-box. In all probability, Miss Mayhew would not glance at the postmark.

What did it all mean? Zillah Mayhew was intimately connected with Stormont’s business, whatever it might be. Of what nature was this peculiar business that required a female partner?

On the face of it, that brief epistle might refer to a perfectly legitimate transaction. A woman’s subtle influence might be necessary to secure some special concession, some particular contract.

But the more he thought it over, the more he rejected this explanation. The predominant thought in his mind about Howard Stormont, the country gentleman who played his rôle with such absolute enjoyment of it, was that he was a very different person from what he appeared to his neighbours at Effington.

And this suspicion would become a certainty if he could prove that Elise Makris, the decoy of swindlers and blackmailers, was none other than Zillah Mayhew, the niece, or pretended niece, of the taciturn Whitehouse.

But would it become a certainty without further corroborative evidence? Going into the question a little more deeply, he was bound to admit it would not. After all, he had nothing but undefined suspicions with regard to Stormont. He would be bound to give him the benefit of the doubt.

If the girl were found to be Elise Makris, it did not follow that Stormont was aware of her criminal activities. It was not an absolute certainty that even Whitehouse, if he were her uncle, knew of them. She was obviously a very clever, resourceful young woman; she would not go about proclaiming her nefarious profession from the housetops.

Stormont might have originally made her acquaintance in a quite simple and ordinary way, and found her talents useful to him in a peculiar line of business that entailed the exercise of a considerable amount of diplomacy.

In fair-mindedness he felt bound to reason on these lines. But, all the same, his instincts loudly confuted his reasoning. And those instincts told him that the rubicund financier was very different from what he appeared to be.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lydon might not be able to lay claim to any remarkable brilliance of intellect. At Harrow and Oxford his progress had been steady and respectable, but he had not distinguished himself like his friend Craig, for instance, to whom the acquisition of knowledge was an easy task, whose mental alertness was the delight of his masters and tutors.

But he was a shrewd young fellow, and endowed with a considerable fund of common-sense. He also possessed a dogged spirit of determination. When he once took a thing up he persevered with it, and was not easily daunted by obstacles. There were, at the present moment, two things he was resolved to find out by some means or other—the precise nature of Stormont’s business and the life history of the dark, handsome girl known as Zillah Mayhew.

He thought the best thing he would do as a start was to go and consult Shelford, the solicitor in Lincoln’s Inn. As he was pretty well master of his own time, he paid him an early morning visit before he went to his business in Victoria Street. That genial gentleman was disengaged and saw him at once.

To him the young man related his accidental meeting with Miss Mayhew at the house of a mutual friend, and the two remarkable facts that she had a blemish on the neck, and was wearing a rather original piece of jewellery, similar in design to one he had seen in the drawing-room of the Villa des Cyclamens when he had called there to condole with Madame Makris on the tragedy.

Mr. Shelford was very much impressed, as Lydon was sure he would be: “One or other of the facts, taken singly, would not lead one very far,” he observed. “There are no doubt heaps of girls who may have a mark of this kind, and I suppose there is no piece of jewellery which is absolutely unique, which has not several replicas. But taken in conjunction, the evidence is very remarkable. Well, I suppose you want to go further into it. What you have learned about this young lady in the ordinary course does not satisfy you?”

Lydon answered that it certainly did not, that he wanted to have his suspicions disproved or confirmed. What did Shelford advise?

The solicitor was quite ready with an answer. “If you or I were to undertake the task of tracing the history of Miss Mayhew, I expect we should find out next to nothing. Such a business is not the least in our line. But there is, fortunately, a class of men who are experts in this kind of thing, and perform wonders if you give them something to go on. You have heard of course of private inquiry agents, perhaps may have employed one in your time?”

“I have heard of them, naturally. Some of them advertise their skill in tracking faithless wives and erring husbands. But I have never had occasion to avail myself of their services.”

“Then, if you want to get at the bottom of this, you had better go to one at once, while the scent is hot,” advised Mr. Shelford, speaking in a brisk tone. “Like every other profession, there are all sorts in it, some very smart, some the reverse. I can recommend you to a particularly good man, as keen as mustard. Whenever we have any of this sort of work, we give it to him, and he has always served us well. His name is Grewgus, and his office is in Craven Street, Strand. I will give you a note of introduction to him, and as he is a busy man, you had better ring him up for an appointment. Stay, as it is pretty early, he’ll be at his office. I’ll ring him up now and make an appointment for you.”

In a few minutes the affair was settled. Mr. Grewgus would be engaged practically the whole of the day, but he could see Mr. Lydon at six o’clock that evening, if convenient. If not, at ten o’clock the following morning. As the young man was anxious to get on with the matter as quickly as possible, he chose the evening.

“By the way, I have a little bit of news for you,” said Shelford as they shook hands at parting. “Poor Hugh Craig’s private fortune is sadly depleted. As far as we are able to make out, he has either parted voluntarily or been forced to part with something like twelve thousand pounds in the last eighteen months. You remember, of course, there were some vague allusions to blackmail in that letter he sent to you from Nice, under cover to us?”

“Yes, there was certainly reference to blackmail. But how could he have laid himself open to it? I knew Hugh the best part of my life—he was the soul of honour and probity. He could never have done anything that he would have been ashamed to come to light.”

The experienced man of the world shook his head. “The lives of a great many of us are a sealed book, Mr. Lydon. The poor fellow was no doubt distraught when he wrote that letter, and may have used the word without strict regard to its meaning. This harpy may have inveigled it out of him on some plausible pretext or another. All the cheques were drawn to himself, and paid in cash, so we have no means of knowing to whom the money actually went. But, as you can see, he was bled to a pretty good amount.”

Later on, about twelve o’clock, Lydon was rung up in his business room where he was hard at work. Stormont’s well-known voice came through the instrument. He was speaking from the Cecil, he said. Would Leonard lunch with him at one?

He wanted to settle up that little matter with him.

But for the concluding words, the young man might have declined the invitation, making some polite excuse. At the present moment he was too much disturbed in his mind about Mr. Stormont to hold any unnecessary intercourse with him. Repayment of the thousand pounds loan was evidently meant. The expected remittance was not a myth, as he had fancied more than once, but had actually arrived.

He, therefore, accepted. He did not consider Stormont was a safe enough man to have money left in his possession for too long. If he waited, he might only get a part of the debt, some more pressing creditor might be beforehand with him.

Besides, after all, he need not be so squeamish about meeting him. He had no intention of breaking with Gloria just because he had some strong suspicions of her uncle. He would be going to Effington on Friday for his usual weekly visit, and must perforce be the rubicund financier’s guest as before.

Stormont seemed more hearty and genial than ever when they met in the entrance hall. As on the previous occasion, he ordered a most lavish lunch and the most expensive wine. Before going into the restaurant, he slipped into his guest’s hand a rather bulky envelope. “I have brought it in cash,” he whispered, “ten one hundred notes. I should have liked to add something substantial for the accommodation, but you were so emphatic on that point that I didn’t dare.”

Well, Stormont, so far, had kept faith with him; that should certainly be accounted to him for righteousness. But Lydon could not help thinking how strangely the financier managed his affairs for a man of business. Why did he not give him a cheque instead of these bulky notes which he might not have time to pay in to-day? He hated carrying big money about with him.

Then his suspicions, which had become chronic since he had read that letter, leading him to put an unfavourable construction upon every action, recurred to him. Perhaps he owed his bank, not a trifling sum as he had pretended, but a very considerable amount, and had only partially settled with them. Hence his reason for not drawing a cheque.

Lydon was not in a very talkative mood; he was thinking of his forthcoming interview with the private inquiry agent. The host, however, was in the best possible spirits and conversed enough for the pair.

Towards the close of the meal, the young man roused himself from his reveries, and inquired casually whether he was likely to meet Miss Mayhew on his next visit to Effington.

Stormont answered in the negative, adding: “I understood she was going away almost directly on a visit to her brother in Paris.”

After a pause he added: “Splendid girl that, so clever, so accomplished. She’s a first-class linguist too. Gloria often says she wishes she could speak foreign languages like her. A capital woman of business too. She has been of some use to me and her uncle in that way on more than one occasion.”

“She has helped you in your business,” cried Lydon, rather surprised at such a frank admission from a man so reserved on the subject.

Mr. Stormont winked knowingly. In addition to the greater portion of the champagne, he had imbibed two glasses of very fine liqueur brandy. They had perhaps made him unusually communicative.

“In my line of business we often have to deal with persons in high places, some of whom are very susceptible, not to say inflammable. When you come across a person of this description—and there are plenty of them abroad—it is astonishing what influence a pretty and clever woman can wield. And her worst enemy must admit that Zillah is both.”

It seemed quite a straightforward sort of statement. Lydon, in spite of his suspicions, was bound to admit as much. He tried to lead the financier to talk further on the topic, but obviously he did not wish to pursue it. Perhaps he felt he had said enough.

At half-past two they separated. There was just time enough to walk briskly to Coutts, and pay in the thousand pounds. Leonard was busy at the office till it was time for him to keep his appointment in Craven Street with Mr. Grewgus.

He reached the offices of the private inquiry agent a few minutes past the hour. Mr. Grewgus himself was standing in the outer room apparently used by his staff. But there was nobody there except himself, a fact which he explained to his new client.

“I am alone, Mr. Lydon; I never keep my staff after the stroke of six. Of course I don’t restrict myself to the time-table. I am at the disposal of a client at almost any hour.”

Lydon rather liked the look of him. He was a tall, thin-faced man with rather hatchet features, clean-shaven. His manners were suave and courteous, his eyes keen, his expression was indicative of alert mentality.

He led the way into his own apartment, and, after placing a chair for the young man, invited him to state his business. Leonard told him the story as the reader already knows it. Grewgus listened without making any comment or interruption, but it was easy to see his trained intelligence grasped every detail. When Lydon was finished, he spoke:

“I understand that you wish me to find out all I can about this man, Howard Stormont, the nature of his business, etcetera, etcetera. Secondly, you want me to do the same thing with regard to the young woman, Zillah Mayhew, and this will necessarily involve her uncle, John Whitehouse, whom you say lives at 18 Ashstead Mansions, Sloane Square.”

Leonard intimated that the detective had accurately comprehended his requirements.

“You do not know the address of Stormont’s offices, only that they are somewhere in London. You have looked him up in the directory, as a matter of course? You have, and can’t locate him. Trading no doubt under another name. Nothing actually suspicious in that by itself, of course, but it is a little peculiar he should be so exceedingly reticent on the subject.”

He paused a minute or two to digest things before resuming: “Well, Mr. Lydon, I can leave Stormont to one of my lieutenants; I have no doubt he can soon be run to earth. The young lady will, I am sure, prove the more difficult job of the two. You say she is starting or has started for Paris?”

“The letter was written yesterday; I posted it last night. Therefore, if she obeys the instructions, she will leave to-day.”

“Quite so,” assented Mr. Grewgus. “I will, as I said, leave Stormont and the man Whitehouse to a deputy; we shall learn something about them in a very short time. I shall take Miss Mayhew in hand myself, and I ought to follow her to-morrow at the latest. But there is a little difficulty. I don’t know her by sight, although I dare say you can give me a pretty accurate description of her. Still, if she registers at the Hôtel Terminus under another name, which is quite likely, time may be lost. Would it be possible for you to accompany me?”

“But wouldn’t our objects be defeated if I did? Remember, we have met at Effington Hall, and if she is the woman I believe her to be, she would be naturally interested in me as the friend of Hugh Craig. She would recognize me the moment she saw me.”

Mr. Grewgus smiled genially. “Quite right, Mr. Lydon, but I shouldn’t manage things as clumsily as that. If you will come round to the office an hour before we start, I will disguise you so effectually that your nearest and dearest will never suspect your real identity. You will enter it Leonard Lydon, you will leave it anything you decide upon. We are used to make-up here, I can assure you.”

There was something that appealed to him in the suggestion; it would be a decidedly novel experience to spy upon Miss Mayhew under an impenetrable disguise. He could easily spare a few days; there was some business in Paris he could attend to at the same time.

The weekly visit to Gloria was the only drawback. But for the moment the prospect of tracking Miss Mayhew outweighed the disappointment of not seeing his sweetheart. He would write her to-night, explaining that he had suddenly been summoned to Glasgow on important business which could not be delayed.

It was arranged, therefore, that Lydon should be round at the office early the next morning, and after he had assumed his disguise, the two men should proceed at once to Paris.

But Mr. Grewgus, who certainly did not spare himself in the interests of his clients, had something more to propose. A bright idea had suddenly occurred to him. He asked his client if he had any important engagements for that evening, and on receiving an answer in the negative, unfolded his plan.

“Well, as you can spare the time, I suggest that we take a peep at Ashstead Mansions and see if we can get anything useful out of the porter at the flats. Most of these fellows will talk if they can see money is about.”

“But, the same objection,” began the young man, and Mr. Grewgus interrupted him with uplifted hand and a quizzical smile.

“Of course, I foresee that. You might meet the Mayhew girl or Whitehouse, or both coming down the staircase, and they would at once smell a rat. What about having a rehearsal of that excellent disguise which you are going to assume to-morrow? I can rig you out comfortably in a quarter of an hour.”

Lydon agreed. There was an element of sport in the whole thing which the hatchet-faced detective seemed to enjoy as much as his client. Disguised in a heavy beard and moustache, the young man walked out of the detective’s office. They took a taxi and dismounted within a few yards of Ashstead Mansions.

The porter, a young military-looking man, was standing outside the particular block they entered. Grewgus whispered in his companion’s ear. “I’ve reckoned him up in a single glance. I know the type. He will talk till doomsday after the first ten-shilling note is slipped in his hand. Of course, you won’t mind a bit of expense over the job?”

Lydon whispered back that, under the circumstances, expense was no object. He was prepared to spend a considerable amount of money to confirm or disprove his suspicions of Zillah Mayhew.

They went into the hall, and scrutinized the board containing the names of the particular block in which Number 18 was situated. The name of Whitehouse did not figure on it.

The detective rubbed his thin face. “This is 18 Ashstead Mansions, right enough, but nobody of the name of Whitehouse resides here. You are quite sure of the number?”

The young man smiled. Detectives perhaps resembled solicitors; they did not credit the average person with ordinary intelligence.

“Impossible for me to make a mistake,” he answered. “I was far too interested not to make sure. I only learned it last night.”

Seeing they were obviously perplexed, the porter strolled up to them. “Are you looking for somebody, sir?” he asked, addressing Grewgus, whom he evidently regarded as the more dominant personality of the two. “Perhaps I can assist you.”

Grewgus spoke in his rather precise, formal way. “Am I correct in saying that a Mr. Whitehouse occupies one of these flats?”

The military-looking man shook his head. “Nobody of that name in this block, sir, or any of the others.”

Grewgus turned to his companion with a finely simulated air of surprise. “Either we have been misinformed as to the precise locality or the name itself,” he said.

Lydon, not used to the subtle processes of the detective mind, thought it best to say as little as possible. He just muttered the safe words, “It certainly looks like it, doesn’t it?” playing up to the lead given him by the astute Grewgus.

That gentleman extracted with a great air of deliberation a ten-shilling note from his waistcoat pocket and pressed it into the receptive hand of the porter.

“I may as well tell you we are here to make a few inquiries about a certain party,” he said. “You say there is no Mr. Whitehouse here. Does a young lady named Mayhew reside in this or any of the other blocks?”

The porter, stimulated by the douceur so promptly and adroitly administered, became voluble at once, thus justifying the detective’s hasty diagnosis of his temperament.

“Miss Mayhew, sir, lives with her uncle and aunt, Mr. and Mrs. Glenthorne, in this block, Number 18. I believe she is their niece; I have heard her call him uncle.”

Grewgus turned to the disguised young man and addressed him with the utmost coolness and suavity. “Of course, we were given the wrong name. I suspected it after I searched that board.”

He turned to the porter, who, by the knowing smile that showed itself upon his good-looking face, appeared to be awaiting developments of an interesting character.

“Now can you tell us something about this Mr. Glenthorne? Do you know his profession, his business, his occupation?”

The smile on the porter’s face deepened, as he saw Grewgus’ hand steal ostentatiously to his pocket, and withdraw another note. It had evidently dawned on his mind by now that they were detectives, and were prepared to pay liberally for information.

“I could tell you about almost anybody in this block, sir, but not Mr. Glenthorne. When he is in London, he seems to go out every day, and returns at all sorts of hours, sometimes to lunch, sometimes to dinner, sometimes not till close upon midnight.”

“A gentleman apparently of quite irregular habits?” interjected the detective.

“Quite so, sir. Whatever his business is, it takes him away a good deal. He spends more than half the year abroad.”

“And what about Miss Mayhew? Is she as erratic?”

“Never stays here very long, sir. She was off to-day. From something I heard, I think she was bound for Paris.”

A second note found its way into the porter’s ready palm, and Grewgus was prepared to admit that he had earned it.

The two men were turning away, when the porter said in a low voice: “Here is Mr. Glenthorne, sir. Do you know him?”

Grewgus motioned him to silence. A well-remembered figure entered the hall and ascended the staircase. He cast a sharp glance at the two men, but it was evident he did not penetrate Lydon’s disguise.

When he was safely out of earshot, Leonard whispered to his companion: “It is the man whom I know as John Whitehouse.”

They went out into the street, and then the detective spoke. “Glenthorne in Ashstead Mansions, and Whitehouse when he visits his friends at Effington. The beginning of a very pretty mystery, Mr. Lydon. Perhaps our trip to Paris will help us to solve it.”

CHAPTER NINE

When they had left Ashstead Mansions safely behind, the detective turned down a side street, and, leading the young man under a convenient archway, dexterously whipped off the disguising beard and moustache and put them in a small bag he had brought with him.

“Now Richard is himself again, and can face the world in his own proper person,” he observed in a jocular tone. “I suppose we will separate here. I am going on to Hammersmith to see one of my smartest men and put him at once on the job of finding out what he can about Stormont and the man whom you originally knew as Whitehouse. Better be at my office about eight o’clock to-morrow. As soon as I have made you up, we will start.”

As they parted, Grewgus observed that he had better pay out all the outgoings, and Lydon could give him a cheque from time to time. “I expect it will run you into a pretty penny,” he said, “but from what you have said, I gather you don’t mind that. The thing certainly seems worth investigating. The fact of this fellow having two names is very suspicious. And whatever is going on, I have little doubt we shall be able to connect Stormont with it. It is impossible he can be ignorant of the fact that Whitehouse calls himself Glenthorne when he is away from Effington.”

Lydon went back to his rooms, and in the evening dined at the Berkeley with a friend. The more he thought over the matter the more he congratulated himself on having gone to the solicitor, and through him to Grewgus, who impressed him as a man of remarkable capacity. What they had learned at Ashstead Mansions was enough to prove that there was some deep mystery about the occupants of Number 18, a mystery in which the owner of Effington Hall was obviously involved.

Whatever that mystery was, did Gloria and Mrs. Barnard know anything about it, or were they as ignorant as he was when he had first set foot in the fine old Tudor mansion where the rubicund profiteer posed as a man of business who had lately taken up the rôle of country gentleman?

Of Mrs. Barnard, he could not, of course, be sure. She was a singularly quiet, self-contained woman, not much given to general conversation. Considering the hours he had spent down at Effington, he had really seen very little of her. She seemed to play a very subordinate part in the life led there, her brother taking the lead in everything, impressing himself upon his guests, in his bluff, genial way, while she remained in the background.

She seemed, so far as he could judge, to be interested in two things—clothes and the local charities. And no doubt Stormont had put her on to the latter, in order to make a good impression in the neighbourhood, and disarm the critical attitude which is so often assumed against a new-comer.

Gloria he was convinced knew nothing and suspected nothing. He loved the girl with his whole heart and soul, with every pulse of his being, but even his great love would not have blinded him if he had observed anything suspicious or evasive about her. In all their intercourse together, she had been so perfectly frank, even with regard to the uncle whose kindness she so greatly appreciated. When she told him that Stormont was a financier, it was evident she was telling what she believed to be the truth. And about her early life with her parents in China she had been as open as a book. Whatever mystery there might be about Stormont himself, there was none about the brother who held a high position in one of the biggest banks in that far-off country.

She had shown him more than one letter from her parents, who kept up a constant correspondence with her, and he could see from what he read there was nothing suspicious about them. In the last one he read, there was an intimation that at any moment they might make up their minds to come to England for a brief holiday. Yes, there was no doubt everything was open and above-board with Jasper Stormont, her father.

The young man found himself wishing that visit would be paid soon. He could question a man more closely than he could a woman.

He was at Grewgus’ office at the appointed hour next morning. As before, there was nobody there but the detective himself. The staff did not put in an appearance till nine. In a very few minutes the disguise was effected, with a few additional touches which made it more complete.

When he had finished, Grewgus drew back and surveyed his handiwork with an air of pardonable pride. “If Miss Mayhew meets you face to face, she will never suspect you are the young man she met at Effington Hall. There was no recognition in Whitehouse’s glance last night, although I have no doubt he was suspicious of what we were doing there. I bet you he will have asked the porter a question or two by now. But that chap is no fool; he will know how to put him off.”

When Leonard looked in the glass which Grewgus handed him, he was bound to confess that a complete metamorphosis had been effected. There was no resemblance between this heavy-bearded creature and the good-looking lover of Gloria Stormont.

“Now I think we will be off,” observed Grewgus. “I have written a letter to my head clerk telling him I’m off to Paris, and giving him the address of the hotel we shall stay at. Of course it will not be the Terminus, that would hamper us too much. I shall only take you there for the purpose of identifying her; I shall watch her from elsewhere. To stay there would be fatal to our plans. If she is the person you believe her to be, she is naturally as sharp as a needle, and she would soon tumble to the fact that we were taking a suspicious interest in her.”

A short time later they had left London behind them and were on their way to Paris and Zillah Mayhew. It was a fairly empty train and they had a first-class compartment to themselves.

Grewgus proved himself a most entertaining companion, and told Lydon many interesting things in connection with himself and his profession, in the pursuit of which he took the keenest delight.

He was about fifty-five, he told the young man, who was surprised at the statement, for, with his clean-shaven face and keen, alert expression, he looked a good ten years younger. He had been fifteen years at Scotland Yard, and ten years on his own.

While at the Yard he had acquired a considerable experience of the underworld. He told him some wonderful stories of the wide ramifications of crookdom of all classes from the lowest to the most aristocratic, of high-class gangs directed by men who presented a most respectable appearance to the outside world, mixing in decent society, and adopting some well-known business or profession as a blind. He regaled him with some thrilling tales of how diamond had cut diamond, of the marvellous ingenuity with which certain professional detectives had got the better of their natural enemies, the criminals.

Since he had been in private practice, his experiences had been less thrilling. He did a good deal in divorce business, and he was applied to in many cases of blackmail.

“If this young woman turns out to be Elise Makris, as you suspect, we are likely to be up against a blackmailing gang here,” he observed. “And I should gather they pursue their activities chiefly abroad. You will remember the porter dropped the fact that Glenthorne was frequently out of England.”

They snatched a light meal at Boulogne and they got out at Amiens for a very welcome whisky and soda. The Paris train was pretty full, and there was no opportunity for further disclosures of a confidential nature. Just before they rolled into the station, Grewgus whispered in his companion’s ear:

“As you said I was to spare no expense, I sent a wire to an old ally of mine to meet the train. We have worked together very often, and he is a most useful fellow, being a splendid linguist. He can speak French like a native, even to its slang. It may be I shall have to watch more than one person, and he will come in handy for the other.”

Evidently Mr. Grewgus was going to do the thing thoroughly, and the young man was pleased that he had got hold of such a painstaking fellow. The man with whom he had made the appointment was waiting on the platform, a clean-shaven, smart-looking individual rather like Grewgus himself. He was introduced to Lydon by the name of Simmons.

“I think you and I, Mr. Lydon, will stay at the Palace Hotel; it is pretty handy to the other one. We will go there first and book our rooms, and then proceed to the Terminus. If we wait a bit in the great hall there, we shall be pretty certain to spot our quarry. We’ll take Simmons with us, as he will want to know her as well, in case he has to be put on the job later.”

They secured their rooms and then went on to the Terminus. The hall was very full, but they found room in a corner, an admirable situation where they could survey everybody at their leisure without attracting too much attention themselves.

They sat there a long time, and Lydon was beginning to fear that Miss Mayhew had changed her plans, gone to some other hotel than the one given in Stormont’s letter of instructions. But presently a familiar figure, dressed in the height of fashion, passed through the hall, and when near the exit, lingered as if she was waiting for some one. Lydon spoke to the detective in a low voice: “That is she, waiting at the end.”

The two men took stock of her. “Singularly handsome young woman,” commented Grewgus in the same cautious tones. “I suppose she is waiting for the man Edwards.”

But she was not. To Lydon’s surprise and relief, another familiar figure crossed the hall, joined her, and the two went out together. It was that of the woman he had known as Madame Makris, the tenant of the Villa des Cyclamens.

There was no mistaking her. He remembered too well that stout form, the still handsome face with its traces of youthful good looks, the Jewish cast of countenance. He imparted the information to Grewgus.

A satisfied smile stole over the detective’s countenance. “Well, this is a bit of the most splendid luck at the very start,” he said. “The mother, the blemish which I could not see from here, the pendant which I could see, I think we have found one of the most important things we wanted, at once. There can be no doubt, in face of those three things, that she is Elise Makris, or at any rate that that is one of possibly numerous aliases. Anyway, she is the woman who drove your friend to frenzy. I expect mother and daughter are devoted to each other, and hunt in couples wherever they can. The next thing is to find out what game they are after here.”

He whispered a few words to his colleague, Simmons, who rose and left the hall. “I have sent him to make an inquiry,” Grewgus explained. “He knows a few of the servants here, and, as I told you, he speaks French like a Frenchman.”

Simmons returned presently and related the result of his visit. “They give out they are Englishwomen, and are known as Mrs. and Miss Glenthorne. No man of the name of Edwards is staying here.”

“Ah, I thought she wouldn’t register as Miss Mayhew,” was the detective’s comment. “I suppose a different name for each job. Well, gentlemen, we’ve got as much here as we can for the present. I don’t think we’ll stay any longer. I propose we adjourn to a café, have a drink and discuss our future plan of action.”

They agreed with his suggestion. In their walk to a café close at hand, Grewgus did not speak much. His mind was no doubt busily working on the situation, and the best way of tackling it.

When they were half-way through their drinks, he spoke. “We can’t hope to do very much this evening. Now what I propose is this, Mr. Lydon. I know Paris rather thoroughly, although I daresay my friend Simmons knows it better. This isn’t exactly a pleasure trip you’ve come on, and you won’t want to spend more money than is absolutely necessary. We must have something to eat, for that light meal at Boulogne wasn’t very satisfactory.”

Lydon laughed. “I am in hearty agreement with you. The long journey has made me feel frightfully hungry.”

“Well, if we go to one of the swagger places, you’ll be charged through the nose. This is the city par excellence of good cooking, and I can take you to a capital little restaurant close by where everything is excellent, and you’ll pay about a third of the price. Their wines are good and reasonable too.”

“I’m in your hands,” said the young man. “I should like you to take me along as soon as possible.” He noticed that Simmons did not appear to be included in the suggestion. The reason was explained when Grewgus turned to his colleague.

“It’s not likely we shall be fortunate enough to do much to-night, as I said just now. We have had one big bit of luck to start with which has saved us a lot of time and trouble. All the same we won’t let our vigilance sleep. I want you to start on the watch at once, Simmons, if this woman and her mother come back. We shall be at the Restaurant Grice for at least a couple of hours. If in the meantime there is anything to report, come to us there. If we have gone, come to the hotel.”

The obedient Simmons finished his drink, rose up and went forth at once to obey his leader’s commands. After a final apéritif, Grewgus led his companion to the Restaurant Grice.

Here they had a most excellent meal, consisting of a good soup, a sole worthy of the Café Royal, followed by some tender veal. They drank with it a white wine recommended by Grewgus.

While they were eating, the detective dwelt regretfully on the vast difference between now and before the war. “If you knew the ropes, it was one of the cheapest places in the world to live in, and whatever you paid, you got splendid value for your money. Of course, very few of the English who came here did know the ropes. I shouldn’t have known them but for a young fellow I met, a student in the Latin Quarter. Gad! What he didn’t know about Paris wasn’t worth knowing.”

After their dinner was over, they sat and smoked to the accompaniment of another bottle of white wine. Grewgus was not keen on spirits. They had promised to wait a couple of hours there in case Simmons had anything to report, and they were as comfortable here as they would have been in their hotel, more so perhaps.

During this period of waiting, Grewgus entertained his host with some more thrilling stories of crooks and crookdom. Lydon found himself much interested. Before he met this reminiscent person he had no idea that there was so much rascality in the world. According to Grewgus, every big city was teeming with it. On the whole, for what he called aristocratic crookdom he was inclined to give the palm to Nice, “where our friend Miss Mayhew appears to hail from,” he observed with a sardonic chuckle.

“She’s a member of some foreign gang, I suppose?” suggested Lydon. “She has a foreign look about her, although I heard her mother was an Englishwoman, apparently an English Jewess.”

Grewgus shook his head. “I should rather fancy an international one. Whitehouse is mixed up with her; we can’t assume him to be ignorant of his niece’s activities, if she is really his niece. Then there is the man Edwards, and of course Stormont, upon whose business she is here, according to that letter. Three Englishmen, you see. Decidedly an international gang by that.”

“What is your reading of it so far, Mr. Grewgus?”

“Well, we can’t say positively till I’ve found out what her game is here. But I should say she is one of the working members of the gang, and Edwards is another. Whitehouse and his friend are probably the controlling spirits who plan and engineer but never come into the open, never execute the dirty work.”

A few minutes before the two hours had expired, Simmons bustled in with an air of importance that told he had something of interest to communicate.

It was briefly this. Mother and daughter had returned to the hotel alone, an hour after they left it. The mother had gone upstairs; Miss Glenthorne had sat in the hall, evidently waiting for somebody. That somebody presently turned up in the shape of an opulent-looking Frenchman, thickly bearded and of middle age. The couple left together and drove to one of the most expensive restaurants in Paris.

Simmons followed them into the expensive restaurant, and had his dinner there, conceiving it to be his duty to spend money in order to watch them. From the waiter who attended on him, he learned that the Frenchman was an old customer, and a wealthy man. He was a partner in the big firm of jewellers, Dubost Frères, located in Marseilles. Every three months he made a trip to Paris to have dealings with firms in the same line of business. On these occasions, the waiter had been told, he brought with him several samples worth thousands of pounds. His name was Monsieur Léon Calliard.

With regard to the young woman, the waiter knew nothing about her. He fancied he recognized her as having been in the restaurant before during his period of service, but he could not say with whom. This was certainly the first time he had seen Monsieur Calliard in her company.

From the restaurant, where they quickly got through their dinner, Simmons followed them to a music-hall, where he had left them when he came to make his report.

“Nobody joined them in the music-hall, no Englishman who might be the man Edwards?” queried Grewgus when his colleague had finished his recital.

“No, so far, Edwards has not appeared upon the scene,” was the answer.

The detective looked at his client. “Looks like a case of blackmail, or perhaps robbery and blackmail,” was his comment. “Anyway the old game.”

“I didn’t know whether you would like to go and have a look at them yourself?” hazarded Simmons.

But Grewgus thought not. He would wait till to-morrow to get on the track of the man Edwards, that is, if he were taking an active part in the affair and still in Paris.

CHAPTER TEN

After breakfast the next morning, Grewgus inquired if Lydon had any intention of making a long stay in Paris.

The young man replied in the negative. His business claimed him, his sweetheart claimed him, although he did not communicate the latter item to the detective. He had, up to the present, said nothing about her, or her relationship to Stormont. Naturally, he shrank from doing so.

“I take it, if I stayed, I could be of little use to you in your proceedings, Mr. Grewgus?” he queried.

The reply was polite, but quite emphatic. “Well, Mr. Lydon, I think not. If I detailed you off on the watching business, you might find it a very difficult job. Shadowing people is an art—of course Simmons and I are quite used to it.”

“I am sure I understand. If I attempted to follow Miss Mayhew about, she would soon spot it. You do it in some mysterious way, so that while observing, you contrive to escape observation.”

Grewgus was pleased to find his client took such a sensible view of the situation. He bestowed on him a cordial smile.

“Everybody to his job, Mr. Lydon. I may say to you that, speaking from a professional point of view, this promises to be an exceedingly interesting case, more especially when we succeed in getting on to the track of the man Edwards who is no doubt about. I don’t fancy the young woman is doing it all off her own bat.”

There was a certain air of satisfaction about Grewgus as he spoke which convinced his client he was engaged in a business after his own heart. There had been aroused in him those sleuth-like instincts, lacking which no man makes a good hunter of criminals.

Grewgus was away all the morning, and Lydon took advantage of his absence to stroll about and renew his rather slight acquaintance with the beautiful city. They met for déjeuner at the same place where they had dined the previous evening.

There was news of some importance to communicate. Simmons had seen Miss Mayhew with a tall, elegant-looking young man in the Bois de Boulogne. They had separated very soon, and, surmising the man to be Edwards, he had followed him to his quarters in an hotel in a different part of the city, close to the Gare du Nord. Discreet inquiries elicited that the young man was registered under his proper name; he had not thought it necessary to change it like Miss Mayhew.

“It looks as he if were in charge of the job, and that the girl is playing her usual rôle of decoy,” remarked Grewgus, when he had imparted this information. “The two meet while this silly old Calliard is doing his business in Paris. No doubt Miss Mayhew and her elderly admirer will spend this evening and other evenings together till it is time to pluck him. The waiter told Simmons he is a married man. If he were not, we might give the young woman the benefit of the doubt, and credit her with the intention of pulling off an advantageous marriage.”

“In that case, the man Edwards wouldn’t be wanted,” observed Lydon, who was quite shrewd in his way. “He will probably appear upon the scene presently as the injured husband, or outraged brother, or something equally terrifying to this poor enamoured old man.”

Later on, Grewgus saw his client off at the station and wished him bon voyage. “I instructed my man in London to send a report of his discoveries with regard to Stormont and Whitehouse, not only to me here, but to you at your private address, as it will save time. I shall keep you posted at this end. Of course, for a day or two I may have nothing to communicate, as so far we have found out a good bit in the short time. We have located Edwards, we have proved beyond the smallest possibility of doubt that Zillah Mayhew and Elise Makris are one, by the presence of the mother. And, of course, our friend at Effington Hall stands revealed by his letter as the prime mover in the affair.”

Lydon arrived in London the same night, and early on the following morning sent a wire to Gloria asking her to meet him at the Savoy for luncheon. On his breakfast table had lain an envelope addressed in an unfamiliar handwriting. It contained a long memorandum headed—“Copy of a report forwarded to Mr. Grewgus in Paris.” Obviously the detective’s agent had lost no time, he must have worked at top speed, as he could only have devoted two days to the inquiries.

The report read as follows: “I could not start as soon as I should have liked, as I had no personal knowledge of Stormont and had to travel down to Effington and hang about there till I had spotted the man, and learned something of his habits. On the next morning I shadowed him at Waterloo, and followed him to Hornby Square in the City. He went into a small suite of offices, on the entrance door of which were marked the names of Robinson & Company, financiers. Further inquiries elicited that his firm kept no staff, that only two men were there, sometimes together, sometimes alone, Stormont and a taciturn, rather unpleasant-looking man whom the porter knew by the name of Whitehouse.

“I shadowed Whitehouse when he left in the afternoon about four o’clock and found he occupies a flat Number 18 in Ashstead Mansions, off Sloane Square. The family consists of himself, his wife and a niece, Miss Mayhew. Both uncle and niece frequently take journeys abroad. He is known there as Glenthorne.”

Leonard smiled as he read this part. It was evident that the hall-porter at Ashstead Mansions had again been a source of information.

“There seems little or no business doing at Hornby Square, so far as I could gather. There are a very few occasional callers, and a fair amount of correspondence. Taking the aspect of things in a general conjunction, and remembering the suspicious circumstance that the man Whitehouse calls himself Glenthorne in private life, I should say the office in Hornby Square is used as a blind, and that no legitimate business is carried on there.”

There was a letter to Lydon accompanying the report signed John Ross, in which the writer stated that he was forwarding it in compliance with the instructions of his principal, Mr. Grewgus.

Lydon laid the report down, thinking that it fully confirmed his suspicions, and marvelling what an immense amount had come to light in consequence of his sudden determination to open the letter to Zillah Mayhew. If Stormont only knew, how he would curse his sister’s officiousness in getting those letters posted.

As he expected might be the case, he found Gloria very hurt that her sweetheart had not written to her during his brief absence. It was very unkind, she told him: if the positions had been reversed, she would have sent him a long letter every day.

He hated lying to the charming girl, she was always so frank and open herself. But what was he to do under the circumstances? He could not admit that the journey to Glasgow was a myth, that he had really gone to Paris to get evidence against her uncle.

The day might come when he would have to open her eyes as to Stormont’s real character, but it had not arrived yet. He must have stronger evidence than he possessed at the moment.

“My darling, you can’t imagine how busy I was,” he pleaded in excuse of his neglect. “I was rushing about from place to place; when I had a spare second I was ’phoning somebody or writing telegrams.”

Being a very sweet-tempered girl, she was soon placated, and made no further allusion to the distasteful subject. Nothing of any moment had happened at Effington; there had been one dinner party during his absence, and there was to be another one on his next weekly visit, on the Saturday.

“I think uncle is drawing in his horns a bit,” she observed. “He seems to be cutting it down to one dinner party a week instead of two or three. He has been up to London a good deal more lately; he says he has a great deal of business on. So that I daresay consoles him for the comparative lack of gaiety. But, of course, he’s never really happy unless he is entertaining.”

“And I suppose he doesn’t really care twopence for the people on whom he lavishes so much of his money?” queried Lydon.

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” was the answer. “It’s just a form of excitement. That’s the pity of it. I am fond enough of company in a reasonable sort of way, but then I would choose people I really liked for themselves, for their qualities, not because they lived in a big house and were important people in the neighbourhood.”

He rather looked forward with distaste to his next visit to Effington. It would be so difficult to avoid showing a change of manner to Stormont. He knew that a dozen times in the day an almost irresistible impulse would overtake him, prompting him to tell the rubicund hypocrite that he knew him for what he was, the friend and abettor of Elise Makris, the decoy of a gang of blackmailers. The day would come when he must tell him, but for the present he must practise patience.

He must wait till his case was strengthened, so as to leave Stormont no loophole for plausible explanation. If confronted now, how easy for him to say that he knew nothing of the girl’s criminal activities, that he could not be supposed to be aware she was leading a double life. He could hear him rolling out in an unctuous voice some such words as these:

“My dear Leonard, do be reasonable. I made her acquaintance through Whitehouse, a most respectable man with whom I have been associated in business for years. I found she had great aptitude. She is useful to me, with her charm of manner, in many delicate and difficult financial negotiations with important people. The man Edwards is one of my trusted agents. I often send him when I cannot go myself, confident that he will look after my interests faithfully. Your suspicions are the merest moonshine.”

He might even be able to wriggle his way out, with regard to the man John Whitehouse. He would say that he carried on two businesses under two different names for the sake of distinguishing them. That at Hornby Court he was Whitehouse, at his other offices Glenthorne.

No, he must not yet show in his manner that he was on his track. But he would avoid him as much as possible, see as little of him as he could, take long walks and drives with Gloria. To do him justice, the so-called financier did leave the lovers pretty much to themselves; so did Mrs. Barnard, who might or might not be in the secret of her brother’s double life.

Still, he would have to sit through a good many meals with his host, and he would find it trying. He was not very fond of those lavish dinner parties which gave Stormont such keen pleasure, but he felt rather grateful for this particular one which would keep them very much apart for that evening.

On that same Saturday afternoon, a very strange thing occurred. Mrs. Barnard had gone out to luncheon that day, and the three sat chatting together for some little time after the meal was concluded, Lydon being the most silent member of the party.

Presently they went out into the hall together, the young man having suggested to his sweetheart that they should take a stroll in the grounds. A peculiar spectacle met their view.

A bronzed-looking, elderly man, with a shaggy beard and moustache, rather shabbily dressed, was standing inside close by the door. A smart-looking young footman stood near to him, with rather the air of mounting guard. Duncan, the butler, was advancing in the direction of the dining-room, but halted when he saw the party approaching.

He spoke in his grave, respectful voice, in which there seemed just a tinge of surprise. “A—a—person wishes to see you, sir. He declines to give his name, says he wants to surprise you.”

Stormont started for a second, then advanced towards the new-comer whom he could not see very distinctly, as he was afflicted with short-sight. Then, when he got close to him, his face went pale under its tan, and the words dropped from his lips slowly, as if they were forced from him. “Tom Newcombe, by all that’s wonderful.”

The shabby-looking man burst into a loud laugh and extended a hand. Lydon noticed it was not over-clean, and the other took it with evident embarrassment.

“Tom Newcombe it is, your old pal. Glad to see you again, Howard, and to find things are so well with you. That gentleman is quite right, I wouldn’t give my name, I wanted to give you a surprise.” He glanced at the footman. “I think this young fellow has got an idea I’m a burglar or something of the sort; he’s been looking at me suspiciously ever since I came in.”

There was an awkward pause. Stormont’s agitated countenance showed that he was very much upset by this unexpected arrival of his “old pal.” The footman disappeared rapidly. Duncan retreated with his slow, majestic step, his grave face looking graver than ever. Before he came to Effington, he had lived all his life in refined and aristocratic families. Never had he known, in his respectable experience, such an occurrence as this—a shabby-looking stranger entering the house and greeting the owner as “your old pal.” There is no doubt the dignified butler was thoroughly shaken.

Lydon was very generous-hearted, and in spite of the altered feelings with which he now regarded Stormont, he could not but feel a wave of pity for the man, subjected to such a rude shock in the very midst of his splendour, before the eyes of his astonished servants. Thinking the most tactful course was to withdraw, he touched Gloria lightly on the arm.

“Let us go for our stroll,” he said, and she, understanding his object, nodded her head. They went out and left the agitated Stormont to deal with Mr. Tom Newcombe.

When they were in the grounds, she turned to him, a look of surprise, Lydon fancied a faint hint of trouble, in her clear, candid blue eyes. “What can it mean, Leonard? Such a common fellow too, his way of talking! Not a broken-down gentleman. You heard him speak of uncle as his ‘old pal.’ Where in the name of wonder could he have known him?”

“Do you know anything of your uncle’s past, of his life as a young man?” As her sweetheart put the question, his thought was that she probably knew as little of the past as she did of the present.

The girl answered him with her usual frankness. “Nothing. From some little things father dropped, I gathered that he was rather wild in his youth. I don’t fancy they had ever been very good friends as young men. I am sure you have noticed how little Uncle Howard ever talks about himself, about his business or his past. I know nothing about these things. Auntie may know more about them than I do, but I don’t fancy very much. He is so strangely reticent. He certainly told her he was going to borrow money from you, but I expect he did so because he thought you might let it out to one of us. If he had been sure of your silence, she would never have heard a word about it, I am convinced.”

After a short pause, she resumed the subject. “I cannot understand it, the man is obviously of such a common class. The Stormonts come from very homely stock, I know, but they are miles above this. I don’t think I have ever told you much about the family history, which I learned from my father, not my uncle. I don’t think I have ever heard him allude to his family. He is as reticent about them as he is about himself.”

She proceeded to tell him about the past Stormonts. Her grandfather was a small tradesman in a Midland town, his family consisted of two sons, Howard and Jasper. Although not ambitious for himself, he was for his children, and he stinted and screwed to give them a good education to enable them to do better in the world than their father.

That education had stood them in good stead and developed their native brains. Jasper, the elder of the two, was a very clever fellow, although he had made nothing like the money his brother had done. This, in Gloria’s opinion, was simply due to lack of opportunity, to that absence of luck which plays such a large part in human affairs. And what money Jasper did make he took good care of.

“But although he has never tried to make any show, father’s career has been one of steady success,” she concluded with an air of pardonable pride. “And he is one of the most upright men, with high ideals of duty. He has not got Uncle Howard’s robust geniality, but he has most lovable qualities. I should be so pleased for you to meet him.”

They strolled about for a long time before they returned to the house. Before they went in, Gloria had confided to her lover her perplexity as to what Stormont would do with his unwelcome guest. Mr. Newcombe certainly could not join the ultra-respectable dinner party that would assemble in the evening.

This problem was presently solved by Stormont himself, who later on came into the billiard-room to find them.

He had recovered a good deal from the shock, but it was easy to see by his nervous, jerky manner, that he was still very ill at ease over this disconcerting experience, and the necessity of furnishing some explanation of it.

He tried to carry it off in his usual hearty bluff way, but Lydon knew that he would have given a big sum of money for it not to have happened.

“Strange after all these years, very strange! Poor old Tom Newcombe to have come down so; he was fairly prosperous at one time. A rough diamond, but one of the best, one of the very best.” It was obvious to both there was no real heartiness in his voice as he pronounced these warm eulogies on the shabby-looking man.

He went on in the same jerky, unconvincing manner, addressing himself rather more directly to his niece. “I suppose you are wondering how I came to know him?”

“I think we are,” said Gloria, speaking with her usual directness. “He spoke as if you had been on very intimate terms.”

“So we were, so we were,” was the reply. “I must reveal a little bit of my life that I have said nothing to you about before. Even your aunt and father know very little of it. When I was quite a youngster, I was a bit inclined to kick over the traces. And, in one of my wild moods, I went out to Australia in the hope of making my fortune quickly. It was there I met Tom Newcombe, who had been lucky and made quite a respectable pile. In that land of democratic equality we chummed up together. After a few years I left, having made no headway. But during that trying time Newcombe was a splendid pal to me, let me share with him when I was wanting a meal. I have never set eyes on him since. And now poor old Tom has turned up, broke to the world. One of the saddest things I know.”