Holt replied, with a fierce frown. "I know I've linkedmyself with you. I'm your cat's-paw, however detestable your shadytransactions are."
"You always receive money for your services."
"Yes," he muttered between his teeth. "Gold with a curse upon it."
Berard shrugged his shoulders unconcernedly and said--
"I suppose we shall each owe an ornamental wax taper to St. Jean leBaptiste for to-night's manoeuvre." Turning away he went to a drawer,from which he took a card-case and some letters, placing them in hispocket.
"Now, Sky Pilot," he continued resolutely, as he walked up to where Holtstood, "are you ready?" The curate held his breath.
"Very well," he replied, after a brief pause, "I suppose I must do thebidding of my masters."
"It would be best--that is, if you respect your position as a holy man,"the Frenchman replied, with a mocking laugh.
"Come, gentlemen," he exclaimed aloud, turning to the pair seated at thetable. "It's time we started, or we shall not keep our appointment."
"There is no immediate hurry, is there?" asked Chavoix in a husky voice.
"Yes," Berard replied, "we must be at West Brompton at eight."
"In that case I'm ready," said he, rising, at the same time casting alonging look at the unfinished bottle of cognac before him. Withunsteady gait he stumbled across the room, and, with the assistance ofPierre, arrayed himself in his overcoat and hat--not, however, withoutsome difficulty and much good-humoured banter.
The other men sought their outdoor garments, and descended the stairstogether, Berard remaining behind a moment to blow out the lamp and lockthe door.
A few minutes later they were strolling across Soho Square, which, atthat hour, was dismal and deserted. A four-wheeled cab stood on theopposite side of the square, and they hailed it. When they had enteredthe conveyance, Holt gave the coachman orders to drive to theunderground station at Charing Cross with all possible speed.
While passing along the more unfrequented thoroughfares the interior ofthe vehicle was dark, and of this Pierre and Victor took advantage. Asfor Chavoix, he had arrived at the drowsy state of intoxication, andquickly sank into a corner, where the rocking of the rickety old vehiclesoon lulled him into a heavy slumber.
Pierre, who was seated at his side, turned and grasped his hand. Firstsatisfying himself of the man's unconsciousness, he slowly, and withdeliberate caution, unbuttoned his overcoat. As he accomplished thiswithout rousing him, Berard withdrew from his pocket a card-case, afolded paper, and several other articles.
Not a word was uttered. With much dexterity Pierre also unbuttoned theblack frock-coat Chavoix wore, and, diving his hand into thebreast-pocket, abstracted an old morocco letter-case, with some loosecards and about half a dozen letters. Hastily glancing at these, hetransferred them to his own pocket, while, at the same time, Berard bentover and carefully substituted them for those he had just produced.
After feeling in both pockets of the sleeping man's vest, as if toreassure himself that nothing remained, Pierre commenced to rebutton theovercoat. While so engaged Chavoix stirred uneasily and uttered agrunt, but a moment afterwards he subsided again into the dull, heavyslumber of intoxication, thus allowing the expert pickpocket toaccomplish his task.
As the cab rumbled down Villiers Street, Berard grasped him roughly bythe shoulder, exclaiming in French--
"Wake up, old fellow. Come; pull yourself together."
Starting, rubbing his eyes, and with a muttered and husky, "Pardon,messieurs," he commenced a profuse apology for sleeping in theircompany. This, however, was suddenly interrupted by the vehicle comingto a standstill before the station.
The four men alighted, and Holt, after a brief consultation with Berard,took first-class tickets for West Brompton.
Pierre's arm afforded Chavoix a friendly aid as they descended to theplatform; for, although the latter was not sufficiently inebriated toattract attention, yet his equilibrium was slightly disarranged.
When the train drew up they entered an empty first-class compartment,and continued their journey westward, a decidedly jovial quartette.
On leaving the next station, Westminster, Pierre remarked that he haddeveloped a great thirst, and, curiously enough, Holt immediatelyproduced a nickel travelling flask filled with brandy, which he held uptriumphantly. Amid the laughter which followed an assertion ofChavoix's, to the effect that priests always appreciated good liquor,Pierre took the flask, and, unscrewing the top, placed the mouth to hislips.
Then he handed it to Adolphe.
"I'm so thirsty that I feel as if I could drink all that's in theflask," remarked the latter.
"You couldn't do it in your present state," argued Berard incredulously.
"It's very strong," commented Pierre. "I doubt whether you could drainit at one draught. In fact, I'm open to bet you half a sovereign thatyou won't."
"Bah! it's just as easy as winking," replied the intoxicated man,regarding the flask with a complacent smile. "With m'sieur's permissionI'll drink his health."
"By all means," replied Holt, with a laugh. "I'm really afraid,however, that we shall be compelled to see you home afterwards."
"Never fear; I'm safe enough in your hands," he answered, with a grin."If there's one thing I'm more fond of than another, it's good cognac.See!"
He lifted the flask to his lips, and drained it at one pull.
Scarcely had he done so when he uttered a loud cry of pain, clutchingconvulsively at his throat.
"_Diable_! it's--it's stronger than I bargained for!" he gasped, with aneffort to laugh. "I feel as if everything--why, it's all going round._Mon dieu_! You have--"
He struggled to his feet, but reeled back upon the cushions, and in afew moments was unconscious.
By this time the train had left St. James's Park, and was travelling ata fair speed midway between that station and Victoria.
When it arrived at the latter place three men only were in thecompartment, and they alighted. They did not speak, but hurried alongthe platform as if unknown to one another. Victor and the curate of St.Barnabas gained the street. The former jumped into a hansom, gave thedriver an address, and drove rapidly away, while the latter man walkedswiftly across the station yard towards the terminus of the Brighton andSouth Coast Railway.
Pierre Rouillier, however, acted in a manner that was even more strange.Without emerging into the street, he passed quickly along the subwayleading to the Chatham and Dover station. Gaining the platform, heglanced up at the great clock. It was twenty-six minutes past eight.Without hesitation he went to the cloakroom, and, producing a ticket,was handed a large valise, a rug, and a thick long ulster of dark tweed.Divesting himself of the light coat he wore, he donned the garment,then, beckoning a porter to carry his bag, went to the booking-officeand purchased a ticket for Brussels.
"Just in time for the Continental train, am I not?" he asked of the man.
"Yes, sir; she leaves at eight-thirty, sharp. This way, please."
They hurried together to where the train stood, and the man, afterdepositing the valise under the seat of an empty first-classcompartment, received his tip and withdrew.
Pierre then entered, but before he had time to arrange his belongingsand comfortably ensconce himself the guard slammed the door, and thetrain glided away on its journey to the sea.
Another had been added to the long list of London mysteries.
CHAPTER TWELVE.
"A CROOKED BIT OF BUSINESS."
Mr. Bernard Graham was sitting in his gloomy office in Devereux Courtone afternoon a few days later.
His elbows rested upon his littered writing-table, his pince-nez poisedupon his thin nose, and he was absorbed in the technicalities of adocument when his lad entered with a card.
"I'll see him in one moment," he exclaimed, glancing at the card, andthe youth withdrew.
Leaning back in his chair his face assumed a heavy, thoughtfulexpression.
"It's a crooked bit of business at b
est," he said, aloud to himself,"but the money is bequeathed in legal form, duly signed and witnessed;therefore, as far as I can see, nobody can prove to the contrary. I wasrather apprehensive of the results, but, there--I suppose it was merelyan absurd fancy."
He touched the gong beside him, and almost immediately Victor Berard,his face wreathed in smiles and wearing a gardenia in his coat, wasushered in.
"So the preliminaries have been carried out satisfactorily," exclaimedthe solicitor, as he motioned his client to a seat opposite him.
"Yes--so far," he answered in excellent English.
"Ah! I read the account in the papers, and saw at once you had had ahand in the matter."
"Your shrewdness scarcely astonishes me, _mon copain_," replied Victor,with a laugh, "especially when you knew that our exchequer was almost atvanishing point, and that we had decided on repeating the little rusethat has proved so remunerative formerly. We have worked _a coupperdu_, and, of course, all in the interest of the grand scheme."
"On this occasion there was no hitch, I suppose?"
"None. There is not even a shadow of suspicion," he replied, droppinginto a whisper. "The body, when discovered upon the rails half an hourafter we had left the train, was scarcely recognisable. The post-mortemrevealed that the dead man had been drinking heavily, and theintelligent jury have this morning returned a verdict of accidentaldeath. Here's the _Globe_--just out. Read for yourself."
He spoke between the whiffs of a cigarette, which he held daintilybetween his fingers.
"Most satisfactory. His death is believed to have been due to a fallfrom the carriage. But the identification? You have not told me,"asked Graham anxiously.
"He was identified by the papers upon him; therefore now the verdict hasbeen given, you will wait, say, a week, so as not to appear in too greata hurry, then proceed to act as before."
The other nodded, and removed his eyeglasses. His face preserved itskeen craftiness.
"Nothing will transpire later? I mean nothing to our detriment."
"Nothing can. It is absolutely impossible for the truth to be knownunless you or I divulge it ourselves, and I think that is not probable,"he replied, with a mysterious smile.
"Scarcely. It would be an ugly matter for both of us."
The Frenchman affected not to hear the reply. He twirled hiscarefully-waxed moustaches, and took a long, steady glance at hiswell-dressed figure in the dingy mirror over the mantelshelf.
"Well, Graham," he said, "you know how to carry the business through.Holt and myself are at your disposal any time you require us, but don'tdelay a day longer than necessary, for I tell you candidly we must havethe money."
"I assure you, my dear Berard, I shall get the matter completed as soonas possible, for despatch will be the best course for all partiesconcerned, eh? Besides, as a matter of fact--"
The sentence was interrupted by the entry of the clerk with a secondcard.
Mr. Graham pushed the vestige of grey hair from his forehead. He lookedpuzzled and perplexed when he read the name of the person who desired aninterview; but, quickly regaining his habitual coolness, he intimated tothe lad that the request should be granted in a few minutes.
"Have you--er--anything more to say to me?" he asked, turning to Berard."I can do nothing in the matter for at least a week," he continued,"but if Mr. Holt and yourself will attend here at noon the day afterto-morrow we can transact the necessary formalities, and take the firststep towards realising."
"That will suit admirably," Berard replied, with satisfaction. "I willnot detain you longer, for I know you are busy;" and, shaking hands withhis legal adviser, he made his exit by the door communicating directwith the passage.
"My most fervent hope is that our usual good luck will not desert us,"the old solicitor reflected, when the Frenchman had departed.
Having again touched the gong, the door opening into the clerk's officeadmitted another client--Hugh Trethowen.
"Well, Graham, how are you?" he exclaimed, gayly tossing his hat andstick upon the table, and flinging himself into the chair just vacatedby Victor.
"Thanks, I'm very well, Mr. Hugh. Full of business, you know--full ofbusiness. Now, what is it you wish to consult me upon?"
"A rather delicate matter."
The old man's face grew grave, and much of the hectic flush vanishedfrom his cheek. Readjusting the inevitable pince-nez, he leaned backand looked sharply at his visitor.
"A delicate matter," the solicitor repeated slowly. "Any financialdifficulty--eh?"
"No, not at all," he laughed. "It's with regard to a lady."
"Ah," ejaculated the solicitor, heaving an unmistakable sigh of relief.
"What I want to know, Graham, is whether you, as my late brother'sadviser, were aware that he was acquainted with a French lady namedDedieu?"
So suddenly was the question put that it caused him to start slightly.Although it was a poser, Bernard Graham was not nonplussed.
"Dedieu?--Dedieu?" he repeated thoughtfully, at the same time nervouslytwirling a quill between his fingers. "The name is uncommon, and not atall familiar to me. I--I'm sure I don't remember ever hearing itbefore."
"You don't believe, then, that my brother ever knew such a person?"asked Hugh.
"Well, really, how is it possible that I should know?" asked Graham,with suavity. "It was scarcely likely he would make me acquainted withmatters of that description."
Hugh plied him with several well-directed questions, but the old man'smemory was peculiarly vacant at that moment. He shook his head,reiterating his statement that his mind was perfectly blank upon thesubject, declaring emphatically that he never heard of such a youngperson as Mademoiselle Valerie, whoever she was.
Such an element of truth did this statement possess, and so blandly wasit delivered, that Hugh felt perfectly satisfied. For some time past hehad been very much perturbed by the curious discovery of the photographand letters, but his misgivings were now set at rest by thisreassurance.
"Well, if you really don't know her, I need not take up any more of yourtime," he remarked, rising.
"I assure you, Mr. Hugh, as the trusted adviser of your family, it wouldgive me the utmost pleasure to assist you if I could, but her existenceis quite unknown to me," protested the old man. "Was she a friend ofyours, may I ask?" he added, with a mischievous twinkle in his dim eye.
"Well, yes, Graham. I have the pleasure of the lady's acquaintance."
"Ah, I thought so. Young men are not so eager about a woman'santecedents unless they love her."
"Form your own conclusions, Graham. I've an appointment, so good-day."
Laughing gayly, he departed, the old man bowing him out obsequiously.
After he had gone, the occupant of the dingy chamber stood for a longtime before the fire cleaning his pince-nez upon his silk handkerchief,thinking over the errands of his two clients--so strangely dissimilar,yet so closely allied.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
STUDIO SECRETS.
"If you please, sir, a lady wants to see you very particularly."
"A lady, Jacob," exclaimed Hugh Trethowen, who was in the lazy enjoymentof a cigar and a novel in his sitting-room, at the close of a dull, wetJanuary day. "Who is she?"
"I don't know, sir. She wouldn't give her card."
"Young?"
"Yes, sir."
"Pretty?"
"Well, I suppose I'm not much of a judge at my time of life, MasterHugh," protested the old servant.
"Get along with you," laughed his master. "You can yet distinguish apretty girl from a fossilised hag, I'll be bound. Show her in, andlet's have a look at her." Rising, he glanced at himself in the mirror,settled his tie, and smoothed his hair; for the appearance of a lady wasan unusual phenomenon at his rooms.
When the door opened he walked towards it to welcome his visitor, buthalted halfway in amazement.
"Why, Dolly, is it you?" he exclaimed, gripping her gloved hand.
"Yes, Mr
. Trethowen; I--I don't think I ought to have come here--to yourchambers," she replied, glancing round the room rather timidly; "but Iwanted to tell you something."
"Surely there's no harm in interviewing the lion in his den, is there?"he asked, laughing. "Come, let me help you off with your cloak."
At first she hesitated, declaring that she could only remain a fewminutes, but eventually he persuaded her to allow him to remove thefur-lined garment--an Operation in which he displayed a rather excessiveamount of care.
Then he drew up a cosy armchair to the fire, and as she seated herselfin it she commenced a desultory conversation, evidently loth to touchupon the matter of importance that had brought her thither.
Men at Hugh Trethowen's age are impressionable. They love, hate, andforget all in one day. For a brief period one fair daughter of Eve isthought enchanting and divine, but in the majority of cases another,fairer still, whose charms are increasingly bewitching, steps in andusurps her place, and she, though tender and fair--she may go anywhereto hide her emotion from an unsympathetic world, and heal her brokenheart.
If the truth were told, as she fixed her sweet, affectionate eyes uponhim, he was reflecting whether he really loved her in preference toValerie.
"Why do you desire so particularly to see me?" he asked,
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