Devil's Dice

by William Le Queux

action?" he demanded eagerly. "Tell me."

  "Oh, it was really of no interest," I replied quite flippantly. "I mayhave been mistaken after all."

  "In other words, you refuse to tell me--eh?" he observed with a sicklysmile.

  "I cannot explain any matter of which I have no knowledge," I retorted,well knowing that he was endeavouring to worm from me facts to use asweapons against his enemy, and at the same time feeling convinced thatin order to discover the secret hinted at by his wife, I must actwarily, and with the most careful discretion. This strange encounterwith the Earl, his curious actions in his own house, and his eagernessto learn something detrimental to the mysterious Markwick, formed abewildering problem. Nevertheless by some intuition I felt that bysilence and watchfulness I should at last succeed in finding some clueto this ever-deepening mystery.

  While we listened we heard the Countess emerge from the drawing-room andcall to her pug as, with a rustle of silk, she mounted the stairs. ThenFyneshade's conversation drifted into other channels. But he made nofurther mention of his disagreement with Mabel, and never once referredto the strange disappearance of Gilbert Sternroyd. Though I exerted allmy ingenuity to lead up to both subjects, he studiously avoided them,and having waited until all seemed quiet and none of the servants weremoving, we both crept out, the Earl closing the front door silently bymeans of his key.

  In the street he glanced swiftly around in order to see if he had beenobserved, then suddenly gripping my hand, he wished me a hurried adieu,and walked quickly away, leaving me standing on the curb. His usualcourteous manner seemed to have forsaken him, for he offered no excusefor leaving me so abruptly, nor did he apparently desire my company anylonger. Therefore I turned and pursued my way engrossed in thoughtTruly the Earl and Countess of Fyneshade were an ill-assorted pair, andtheir actions utterly incomprehensible.

  CHAPTER TWENTY.

  AN EVENING'S AMUSEMENT.

  Saunders met me on entering my chambers with the surprising announcementthat a lady had called during my absence, and had desired to see me onpressing business.

  "Did she leave a card?"

  "No, sir. She hadn't a card, but she left her name. Miss Ashcombe,sir."

  "Ashcombe?" I repeated. "I don't know anyone of that name," and for afew moments I tried to recollect whether I had heard of her before, whenit suddenly burst upon me that on a previous occasion I had been puzzledby a letter bearing the signature "Annie Ashcombe." The note I hadfound in Jack's room on the night of the tragedy and which requestedBethune to meet "her ladyship" at Feltham, had been written by someonenamed Ashcombe!

  "What kind of lady was she, Saunders?" I inquired eagerly. "Ancient?"

  "About thirty-five, I think, sir. She was very excited, dark, plainlydressed in black, and wore spectacles. She seemed very disappointedwhen I said you had only just returned from Wadenhoe, and had gone outagain. She wanted to write a note, so I asked her in and she wrote one,but afterward tore it up and told me to mention that she had called tosee you on a matter of the most vital importance, and regretted you werenot in."

  "Did she promise to call again?"

  "She said she was compelled to leave London immediately, but would tryand see you on her return. When I asked if she could make anappointment for to-morrow, she replied, `I may be absent only threedays, or I may be three months.'"

  "Then she gave no intimation whatever of the nature of her business?"

  "Not the slightest, sir. I think she's Irish, for she spoke with aslight accent."

  "You say she tore up her note. Where are the pieces?" He went to thewaste-paper basket, turned over its contents, and produced a handful offragments of a sheet of my own notepaper. These I spread upon thetable, and when he had left the room I eagerly set to work placing themtogether. But the paper had been torn into tiny pieces and it was onlyafter long and tedious effort that I was enabled to read the words,hastily written in pencil, which as far as I could gather, were to thefollowing effect:--

  "Dear Sir.--The matter about which I have called to see you is one ofthe highest importance both to yourself and one of your friends. It isnot policy, I think, to commit it to paper; therefore, as I am compelledto leave London at once I must, unfortunately, postpone my interviewwith you.

  "Yours truly,--

  "Annie Ashcombe."

  I unlocked the little cabinet and taking therefrom the strangely-wordedletter I had found in Jack's room I compared minutely the handwritingand found peculiarities identical. The "Annie Ashcombe" who had calledto see me was also the writer of the message from the unknown lady whohad taken the precaution of journeying to Feltham in order to secure aprivate interview with Jack Bethune. Annoyed that I had been absent,and feeling that I had been actually within an ace of obtaining a mostimportant clue, I cast the fragments into the grate with a sigh andreplaced the letter in the cabinet. The situation was most tantalising;the mystery inexplicable. From her I might have learnt the identity ofJack's lady friend, and she could have very possibly thrown some lightupon the causes that had led to the tragedy, for somehow I could nothelp strongly suspecting that "her ladyship" referred to in the note wasnone other than Mabel. But my visitor had gone, and I should now becompelled to await her return during that vague period which includedany time from three days to three months.

  A fatality seemed always to encompass me, for my efforts in search oftruth were constantly overshadowed by the jade Misfortune. I wasbaffled at every turn. To discover the identity of "her ladyship" was,I had long recognised, a most important fact in clearing or convictingJack, but, at least for the present, I could hope for no furtherexplanation.

  Having dressed, I went to the Club, dined with several men I knew, andafterward descended to one of the smoking-rooms, where I accidentallypicked up an evening paper. The first heading that confronted me was inbold capitals the words, "Sternroyd Mystery: Supposed Clue. The MissingMan's Will."

  Breathless with eagerness I devoured the lines of faint print. Theyseemed to dance before my excited vision as I learnt from them that areporter who was investigating the strange affair, had ascertained thata clue had been obtained by the detectives.

  "The mystery," continued the journal, "is likely to develop into one ofthe most sensational in the annals of modern crime. We use the wordcrime because from information our representative has obtained, it isabsolutely certain that the young millionaire Sternroyd met with foulplay. How, or where, cannot yet be ascertained. At Scotland Yard,however, they are in possession of reliable information that MrSternroyd had for some time actually anticipated assassination, and hadconfided this fact to a person who has now come forward and is activelyassisting the police. Another extraordinary feature in the case is,that although Mr Sternroyd has a mother and a number of relativesliving, he made a will, only a few weeks before his disappearance,bequeathing the whole of his enormous fortune to a lady well known inLondon society. The police are most actively engaged in solving themystery, and now that it has been ascertained that the missing mananticipated his end at the hand of another, it is confidently believedthat in the course of a few hours the police will arrest a personsuspected."

  The secret was out! Mabel had evidently placed her theory before thepolice and explained what Gilbert had told her regarding his fears. Shewas Jack's enemy, and had placed the detectives on the scent. This,then, was the reason she had endeavoured to silence me regarding herinterview with Markwick at Blatherwycke. When she had striven to induceme to swear secrecy, she had without doubt already informed the policeof her suspicions, and well knew that ere long I should be called as awitness to speak as to Bethune's movements. Our friendship had beenbroken. Fortunately I had promised nothing, and was free to speak.

  The pink news-sheet I cast from me, congratulating myself that I had notfallen into the trap the Countess had so cunningly baited.

  Even at that moment some men opposite me were discussing the mysteriousaffair, and as I smoked, my ears were on the alert to catch everysy
llable of their conversation. It was only now that I fully realisedwhat widespread sensation Sternroyd's disappearance had caused. Havingbeen absent in the country, I was quite unaware of the intense publicinterest now centred in the whereabouts or fate of the young millionairewhose little peccadilloes and extravagances had from time to timeafforded food for gossip and material for paragraphists in societyjournals.

  "There is a woman in the case," one of the men was saying betweenvigorous pulls at his cigar. "I knew Gilbert well. He wasn't a fellowto disappear and bury himself in the country or abroad. Whatever hedid, he did openly, and no better-hearted young chap ever breathed. Hewas awfully good to his relations. Why, dozens of them actually livedon his generosity."

  "I quite agree," said another. "But I heard something in the Bachelors'last night that seems to put quite a different complexion on theaffair."

  "What is it?" inquired half-a-dozen eager voices in chorus.

  "Well, it is now rumoured that he admired the Countess of Fyneshade, andthat he was seen with her on several occasions just prior to hisdisappearance. Further, that the will about which to-night's papersgive mysterious hints, is actually in her favour. He's left everythingto her."

  The other men gave vent to exclamations of surprise, but this piece ofgossip was immediately seized upon as a text for many theories of theweird and wonderful order, and when I rose and left, the group werestill as far off solving the mystery to their own satisfaction as theyhad been half an hour before.

  Wandering aimlessly along to Piccadilly Circus, I turned into theCriterion expecting to find a man I knew, but he was not there, and as Istarted to leave, I suddenly confronted a tall, well-dressed man who hadbeen lounging beside me at the bar, and who now uttered my name andgreeted me with a breezy "Good-evening, Mr Ridgeway."

  Unnerved by the constant strain of excitement, this suddenness withwhich we met caused me to start, but in an instant I told myself that Imight learn something advantageous from this man, therefore called formore refreshment, and we began to chat.

  The man's name was Grindlay. He was a detective who owed his positionof inspector in the Criminal Investigation Department mainly to myfather's recommendation. About six years previous a great fraud,involving a loss of something like thirty thousand pounds, wasperpetrated upon my father's bank by means of forged notes, andGrindlay, at that time a plain-clothes constable of the City Police,stationed at Old Jewry, succeeded, after his superiors had failed, intracing the manufacturer of the notes to Hamburg and causing his arrest,extradition, and conviction. The ingenuity of the forger was onlyequalled by the cunning displayed by the detective, and in consequenceof a question my father addressed to the Home Secretary in the House,Grindlay was transferred to Scotland Yard and soon promoted to aninspectorship. Therefore it was scarcely surprising that he shouldalways show goodwill toward my family, and on each occasion we met, healways appeared unusually gentlemanly for one of his calling, and fullof genuine bonhomie.

  Immediately after the strange adventures of that memorable night onwhich I had been married to a lifeless bride, I had sought his counsel,but had been informed that he was absent in South America. It was nowwith satisfaction that I again met him, although I hesitated to speak tohim upon the subject. Truth to tell I felt I had been ingeniouslytricked, and that now after the lapse of months, even this astuteofficer could not assist me. No, as I stood beside him while he told mebriefly how he had had "a smart run through the States, then down to Rioand home" after a fugitive, I resolved that my secret should stillremain my own.

  "Yes," I said at length. "I heard you were away."

  "Ah! they told me at the Yard that you had called. Did you want to seeme particularly?" he asked, fixing his dark brown eyes on mine. He wasa handsome fellow of middle age, with clear-cut features, a carefullytwisted moustache and upon his cheeks that glow of health that seemspeculiar to investigators of crime. In his well-made evening clothesand crush hat, he would have passed well for an army officer.

  "No," I answered lightly: "I happened to be near you one day and thoughtI would give you a call. What are you doing to-night?"

  "Keeping observation upon a man who is going to the Empire," heanswered, glancing hurriedly at his watch. "Come with me?"

  For several reasons I accepted his invitation. First because I wantedsome distraction, and secondly because it had occurred to me that Imight ascertain from him something fresh regarding the murder of GilbertSternroyd.

  We lit fresh cigars, and, strolling to the Empire Theatre, entered thelounge at that hour not yet crowded. As we walked up and down, hissharp, eager eyes darting everywhere in search of the man whosemovements he was watching, I inquired the nature of the case upon whichhe was engaged.

  "Robbery and attempted murder," he answered under his breath so thatpassers-by should not hear. "You remember the robbery of diamonds inHatton Garden a year ago, when a diamond merchant was gagged and nearlykilled, while the thief got clear away with every stone in the safe.Well, it's that case. I traced the stones back to Amsterdam, but failedto find the thief until three weeks ago."

  "And he'll be here to-night?"

  "Yes, I expect him. But don't let's talk of it," he said under hisbreath. "Somebody may spot me. If you chance to meet any of yourfriends here, and am compelled to introduce me, remember I am CaptainHayden, of the East Surrey Regiment."

  "Very well," I answered smiling, for this was not our first eveningtogether, and I had already been initiated into some of the wiles ofmembers of the Criminal Investigation Department.

  For fully an hour we lounged at the bars, watched the varietyperformance, and strolled about, but my friend failed to discover hisman. While standing at one of the bars, however, several men I knewpassed and repassed, among them being the Earl of Fyneshade accompaniedby Markwick and another man whom I had never before seen. The latter,well-dressed, was apparently a gentleman.

  "Do you know that tall man?" I asked Grindlay as they went by, and wehappened to be looking in their direction.

  "No," he answered. "Who is he?"

  "The Earl of Fyneshade."

  "Fyneshade? Fyneshade?" he repeated. "Husband of the Countess, Isuppose. She's reckoned very beautiful, isn't she? Do you know them?"

  "Yes," I replied. "They are friends of my family."

  "Oh," he said, indifferently. "Who are the other men?"

  I told my companion that the name of one was Markwick, and ourconversation then quickly drifted to other topics. Presently, however,when the Earl repassed along the lounge, he said--

  "Have you met his lordship recently? He doesn't appear to have noticedyou."

  "I saw both the Earl and the Countess this afternoon," I said. "Icalled at Eaton Square."

  Almost before the words had left my lips, Fyneshade and his friendsentered the bar, the trio speaking loudly in jovial tones, and in amoment he recognised me. Markwick and I exchanged glances, but neitherof us acknowledged the other. It was strange, to say the least, that heof all men should be spending the evening with Mabel's husband.

  "Hulloa, Ridgeway!" cried the Earl, coming forward. "Didn't expect tosee you here. Where did you dine?"

  "At the club," I answered, and turning, introduced Grindlay as CaptainHayden.

  "Good show here, isn't it," Fyneshade exclaimed enthusiastically to thedetective. "Juniori is excellent tonight. Her last song, `Trois Rue duPan,' is immense. It's the best thing she has ever sung, don't youthink so?" Grindlay agreed, criticised the vivacious dark-eyedchanteuse with the air of a blase man-about-town, and chatted with hisnew acquaintance with well-bred ease and confidence. In a few minutes,however, Fyneshade returned to rejoin his friends at the other end ofthe small bar, while Grindlay and myself strolled out again on ourwatchful vigil.

  At last, after a diligent search, my friend suddenly gripped my arm,whispering--

  "See that man with the rose in his coat. You would hardly suspect himof a diamond robbery, would you?"

 
"No, by Jove!" I said. "I never should." As we passed I looked towardhim and saw he was aged about fifty, with hair slightly tinged withgrey; he wore evening clothes, with a fine pearl and emerald solitairein his shirt, and upon his hands were lavender gloves. In earnestconversation with him was a short, stout, elderly man, with grey scraggybeard and moustache, about whose personality there was somethingstriking, yet indefinable.

  "Oh!" exclaimed Grindlay, when we were out of hearing. "I had notsuspected this!"

  "Suspected what?" I asked, eagerly; for tracking criminals was to me anew experience.

  "I did not know that our friend there was acquainted with the littleman. I've seen his face somewhere before, and if I'm not very muchmistaken, we hold a warrant for him with the offer of a reward from theBelgian Government." Then placing his cigar in his mouth and puffingthoughtfully at it for a moment, he added, "Let's saunter back. I mustget another look at him."

  We turned, strolling slowly along, and as we passed, Grindlay left meand went close to him to take a match from the little marble table nearwhich the pair was standing. Leisurely he lit his cigar, then returningto me, said briefly:

  "I'm not yet certain, but I could almost swear he's the man. If he is,then I've fallen on him quite unexpectedly, and shall arrest him beforehe leaves this place.