The Lost Million

by William Le Queux

nowadays astonishes thismatter-of-fact world of ours. We have become used to the demonstrationsof wonders, from the use of steam to the development of aviation, thetelephonic discovery and the application of wireless telegraphy.

  How I longed to call in a blacksmith, cut through the metal, andascertain what was therein contained. But I did not dare. I held thething in trust for some unknown person who, on Thursday, the third dayof November, would come to me and demand its possession.

  All that I had been told of the misfortunes which had fallen upon itspossessor, and the mysterious fate which would overtake any whoattempted to tamper with it, flashed through my brain. Indeed, in suchtrain did my thoughts run that I began to wonder if possession of thething had any connection with the appearance of that mysterious hand.

  Presently, however, I put the cylinder back into its place and relockedthe safe, for the police from Newport Pagnell had arrived, and I badethem enter.

  They made a minute examination of the room and took possession of theobjects left behind by the intruders, but upon them no finger-printscould be found. My visitors were evidently expert thieves, for they hadworn gloves. And they had, no doubt, been in the house a full hourbefore they had tried the safe handle and unconsciously set off thealarm.

  Had they applied the powerful jet to the steel door, and fused a holethrough it, then they might have accomplished their object withoutdisarranging the alarm at all.

  Next day, however, packing the cylinder, the old newspaper, and theletters in the bag, I took them up to London, where I placed them in abox in the Safe Deposit Company's vaults in Chancery Lane. Afterwards Ilunched at my club and returned again to Upton End the same evening.

  Suddenly it occurred to me while I sat alone eating my dinner that nightthat if Harvey Shaw and Mrs Olliffe were actually friends then thelatter would probably be aware of his whereabouts.

  The suggestion aroused me to activity, and it being a fine brightevening with the prospect of a full moon later, I got out my thickmotor-coat, packed a small bag, and after tuning up the car set out onthe long run towards Bath.

  My way lay through Fenny Stratford and Bicester, through Oxford, anddown to Newbury. When I passed the Jubilee clock in the latter town itwas a quarter-past two, while in the broad street of Marlborough,eighteen miles farther on, I stopped to examine the near tyre. It had,as I expected, a puncture. Therefore I leisurely put on my Stepney, andwith thirty odd miles before me drove out upon the old highway over thehill through Calne, and up Black Dog Hill, to Chippenham, where in themarket-place stood a constable, with whom I exchanged greetings.

  There is a certain weird charm in motoring at night, when every town andvillage is dark and in slumber. Yet it is surprising how many peopleare out at an early hour. Even ere the first flush of dawn one findssturdy men going to work with their day's food in the bag upon theirbacks and teams of horses being driven to the fields.

  It was nearly half-past five when I sped down the steep incline of BoxHill, and, slipping through Box Village and Batheaston, found myselfwinding round that leafy road with the city of Bath lying picturesquelybelow.

  At six I was once again at the York House Hotel, and after a wash wentfor an early-morning stroll in the town. Then, after breakfast, I tookmy hat and stick and strolled out for nearly three miles along the roadto the inn at Kelston, where I called for a glass of ale, and sat downto chat with the white-bearded landlord, who at once recognised me ashaving been a customer on a previous occasion.

  For a long time, as I sat in the cosy little parlour, the table of whichwas dark and polished with the ale of generations spilt upon it, wechatted about the weather, the prospects of harvest, and the latestiniquity of taxation, until in a careless way I remarked--

  "I suppose in summer you have lots of visitors down from London.--I meanthe people who have big houses about here entertain a lot?"

  "Oh, I dunno!" replied the old fellow, sipping his glass which he wastaking with me. "The Joiceys do have a lot o' visitors, and so do theStrongs, but Mrs Olliffe's been away, an' has only just come back."

  "And Mr King?"

  "He's been away too. Ridgehill's been shut up and half the servantsaway on 'oliday."

  "And they are back now?"

  "Yes; Mrs Olliffe's been abroad--so the butler told me yesterday. Butthere--" and his lips closed suddenly, as though he had something tosay, but feared to utter it.

  "Rather a funny lot--so I've heard, eh?" I remarked.

  "Yes. Nobody can quite make 'em out--to tell the truth. Only the nightbefore last, or, rather, about a quarter to five in the morning, MrsOlliffe, her brother and another gentleman went by 'ere in a car ontheir way 'ome. They'd been out all night, so the chauffeur told meyesterday. Mr King drove the car."

  "Out all night!" I echoed, in sudden wonder.

  "Yes. And they'd been a long way, judging from the appearance of thecar. I 'appened to get up to see the time, and looked out o' my windowjust as they came past. It isn't the first time either that they'vebeen out all night. The village knows it, and every one is asking wherethey go to, and what takes 'em out o' their beds like that."

  "Who was the gentleman with them?" I inquired eagerly.

  "Ah! I couldn't see 'im very well. He was in a big frieze coat, andwore a black-and-white check cap. I didn't catch his face, but, by hisclothes, he was a stranger to me."

  "You've only seen him on that occasion."

  "Only that once, sir. The chauffeur told me, however, that 'e isn'tstaying at Ridgehill, and that nobody saw him. So 'e must 'ave got outafter passing through the village. Perhaps it was somebody they weregivin' a lift to. I've seen Mrs Olliffe a-takin' notice of some queerpeople sometimes. And funnily enough, only yesterday a gentleman camein 'ere and was a-making a lot of inquiries after her. 'E was aforeigner--a Frenchman, I think."

  "A Frenchman!" I cried. "What was he like?"

  "Oh! Like most Frenchman. 'E 'ad finnikin' ways, was middle-aged, witha brown beard which he seemed always a-strokin'. 'E 'ad lunch 'ere, andstayed all the afternoon smokin' cigarettes and lookin' through thiswindow as though he hoped to see 'er pass. 'E was so inquisitive that Iwas glad when 'e'd gone. I suppose," the man added, "'e's somebodyshe's met abroad, eh?"

  But I knew the truth. His inquisitive visitor was Victor Tramu!

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

  A WOMAN'S WORD.

  A hot, dusty walk took me beside the telegraph wires back to Bath, andthe remainder of the day I spent in idleness in the hotel.

  If the great French detective were in the vicinity then I had no desireto be seen by him. Therefore I deemed it best to lie quite low untilnightfall.

  At four o'clock, after great delay I got on to Tucker on the telephone,and inquired if there had been any letters or messages for me.

  "The police have been here again, and there's a telephone message, sir,"replied the old man's voice. "It came about eleven o'clock, from alady, sir. I took it down."

  "Read it over," I said.

  Then, listening intently, I heard the old man's voice say--

  "The message, sir, is: `Please ask Mr Kemball to ring up, if possible,802 Bournemouth--the Royal Bath Hotel--at six o'clock this evening--fromMiss Seymour.'"

  My heart gave a bound of delight.

  "Nothing else, Tucker?"

  "No, sir. That's all the lady said. She seemed very anxious indeed tospeak to you."

  "All right, Tucker. I'll be back in a day or two. By the way, send onmy letters to the Grand Hotel, Bournemouth."

  "Very well, sir."

  "And tell the police not to worry any further over the burglary. Tellthem I will see the inspector in Newport Pagnell on my return."

  "All right, sir."

  And then I hung up the receiver and rang off.

  Asta was at Bournemouth! My first impulse was to start at once to seeher, but recollecting the reason I had come there to Bath, I managed tocurb my impatience, eat my dinner in the quiet, old-fashionedco
ffee-room, and afterwards wait until darkness fell.

  I had no fixed plans, except to approach the Manor-House unobserved. Ilonged to call boldly upon the woman whom I knew to be an adventuress,but I could not see what benefit would accrue from it. If anyconspiracy were in progress, she would, of course, deny all knowledge ofShaw's whereabouts.

  Therefore I bought some cigars, which I placed in my case, and when theautumn twilight had deepened into night I put on my motor-cap, andtaking my stick, set out again to cover the three miles or so which laybetween the hotel and the residence of the wealthy widow.

  I did not hurry, and as I approached the