Devil's Dice

by William Le Queux

and we know a crime has beencommitted. Therefore, we can obtain a warrant against any person uponwhom suspicion may rest."

  I pursued the subject no further, but sat back in the cab, fullyconvinced by these words of his intention to arrest Jack on a charge ofmurder.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

  THE FUGITIVE.

  In my own room I sat for a long time silent in deep reverie. Saundersglided in and out, brought me a brandy-and-soda that went flat,untasted, and placed at my elbow my letters, with a deferentialsuggestion that some of them might be important. Glancing at theirsuperscriptions, I tossed them aside, in no mood to be bothered withcards of invitation or tradesmen's circulars.

  Two hours passed, and the ever-watchful Saunders retired for the night.Then, after pacing the room for a long time in hesitation, I at lastdetermined to write to Jack, who had returned home, warning him of hisperil. I knew that by shielding a murderer from justice I accepted agreat moral responsibility; nevertheless, I had formed a plan which Imeant at any hazard to pursue. It was, I felt certain, my last chanceof obtaining the knowledge I had so long and vainly sought, therefore Isat down, wrote a hurried note to him, in which I urged him to fly andhide himself for a time; but, after obtaining a hiding-place, totelegraph to me, using the name of a mutual friend, as I desired to seehim at the earliest possible moment. This note I took across to theClub, and gave it to the commissionaire, with strict injunctions todeliver it personally.

  Three-quarters of an hour later the old pensioner returned, saying thathe had placed the letter in Captain Bethune's hand, and as I strolledagain homeward I pondered over the serious responsibility of my action.In my heart I felt convinced that my friend had killed Sternroyd.Indeed, every fact was plain. I knew that he was a murderer, and myprevious esteem had now been transformed into a deep-rooted repugnance.If he were innocent he could never have been so suspicious of me as hehad been since that memorable night when he found me in his chambers.Within myself I admitted that I had no right in his rooms; neverthelessthe old adage, "Murder will out," forcibly occurred to me. If there wasone witness who could bring Captain Bethune to the gallows it wasmyself.

  Ah, how quickly things had changed! A few brief weeks ago Jack was thepopular soldier and brilliant writer hailed by the Press as one of thegreatest living novelists; while Dora, charming and radiant, wascourted, flattered, and admired at home, in the Park, in the ball-room--everywhere. Now the one was a murderer, hounded by the police; and theother, alas! demented.

  Patience and discretion. It was Grindlay's motto, and I would take itas mine. Already, as I walked through the silent, deserted streets,Bethune was, I knew, preparing for hurried flight somewhere out ofreach. I alone had frustrated Grindlay's plans, but only as a means toattain my own end.

  Next day passed, and in the evening Saunders brought in the Inspector'scard. When Grindlay entered his first words were:

  "Your friend Bethune has returned and again bolted."

  I feigned surprise, but in the course of the conversation that ensued hesought my advice on the most likely places to find him. I suggestedHounslow, but the detective had already made inquiries there, and couldglean nothing.

  "The curious part of the affair is that he should, after his recentextraordinary show of bravado in returning to England, suddenly becomesuspicious just at the moment when we meant to take him," he said, afterwe had been discussing the matter. "I suppose you have no furthersuggestions to offer as to any likelihood of his whereabouts?"

  "None. I should not expect him to try and escape abroad again after hislast futile attempt to elude you."

  "No. The ports are watched, and he might as well walk into the Yard atonce as to attempt to cross the Channel," remarked the detective,smiling. "But I must be going. If you hear anything let me know at theYard at once."

  I promised, and the inspector, taking one of my cigars, lit it and left.

  A week went by, but no word of the discovery of the ghastly evidence ofthe crime found its way into the papers. For reasons of their own thepolice obtained the postponement of the inquest, although the body hadbeen removed to the mortuary, and the house still remained in thepossession of a plain-clothes' man. The theory of the CriminalInvestigation Department was that the house would be visited by someonewho, unaware of the discoveries that had been made, would walk straightinto the arms of an officer of the law.

  But it proved a waiting game. Another week passed. Several times Icalled at Lady Stretton's, only to learn, alas! that Dora had notimproved in the slightest degree. She recognised no one--not even hermother. Her ladyship was prostrate, while Mabel, whom I met one morningwhen I called, seemed haggard and particularly anxious regarding hersister.

  The thought did not escape me that Mabel herself had, at least on oneoccasion, most probably visited that strange house that had its entrancein Radnor Place, and I was on the point of mentioning it to her, butdecided to wait and see whether she alluded to it. She, however, didnot. When I asked her for news of Fyneshade she replied, snappishly,that she neither knew nor cared where he was. In fact, she treated mewith a frigid reserve quite unusual to her.

  About noon one day Saunders brought me a telegram. Opening it, I foundthe words:

  "Tell Boyd to sell Tintos.--Roland. Post, Alf, Moselle."

  It was from Bethune. Roland was the name we had arranged. So he had,notwithstanding all the precautions taken by the police, succeeded inagain escaping to the Continent, and was now in hiding at the post-houseof the little riparian village of Alf. I knew the place. It was far inthe heart of the beautiful Moselle country on the bank of the broadriver that wound through its vine-clad ruin-crested hills, altogether aquaint Arcadian place, quiet, restful, and unknown to the felt-hattedhorde of tourists who swarm over the sunny Rhineland like clouds oflocusts.

  Three days after receiving the telegram I alighted from a dusty,lumbering fly at the door of the building, half post-house, half inn,and was greeted heartily by my friend, who spoke in French and wore as adisguise the loose blue blouse so much affected by all classes ofBelgians. Alone in the little dining-room he whispered briefly that hewas going under the name of Roland, representing himself to be aland-owner from Chaudfontaine, near Liege. None of the people in theinn knew French; therefore, his faulty accent passed unnoticed. Whenthere were listeners we spoke in French to preserve the deception, and Iam fain to admit that his disguise and manner were alike excellent.

  Together we ate our evening meal with the post-house keeper and hisbuxom, fair-haired wife; then, while the crimson sunset still reflectedupon the broad river, we strolled out along the bank to talk.

  All the land around on this south side is orchard--great pear and cherrytrees linked together by low-growing vines, and in the spring monthsthey make a sea of blossom stretching to the river's edge. The noise ofthe weir is loud, but the song of the myriad birds can be heard aboveit. Away eastward, down the widening, curving stream, above the vinesthere arise, two miles off, the blackened, crumbling towers of mediaevalstrongholds. To the north lies the Eifel, that mysterious volcanicdistrict penetrated by few; to the south the Marienburg and theever-busy Rhine. The vale of the Moselle on that brilliant evening wasa serene and sylvan scene, glorious in the blaze of blood-red sunset,and when we had walked beyond the village, cigar in mouth, with affectedindifference, Bethune turned to me abruptly, saying:

  "Well, now, after all this infernal secrecy, what in the name of Heavendo you want with me?"

  "You apparently reproach me for acting in your interests rather than inmy own," I answered brusquely.

  "I acted upon your so-called warning and left England--"

  "Without seeing Dora?" I inquired.

  "She's away in the country somewhere," he snapped. It was evident thathe was entirely ignorant of the dire misfortune that had befallen her.

  "My warning was justified," I said quietly. "That a warrant is out foryour arrest I am in a position to affirm, and--"

  "A warrant issu
ed on your own information, I presume," he interruptedwith a sneer.

  "I have given no information," I replied. "I obtained the truth fromthe detective who held the warrant, and sent word to you immediately."

  "Extremely kind, I'm sure. You've done all you can to prejudice me, andnow it seems that for some unaccountable reason you have altered yourtactics and are looking after my interests. I place no faith in suchfriends."

  "My tactics, as you are pleased to term them, are at least legitimate,"I answered, annoyed. "I deny, however, that I have ever acted inopposition to your interests. During these past weeks of anxiety andsuspicion I have always defended you, and show my readiness to still doso by contriving your escape thus far."

  "Bah! What have I to fear?" he exclaimed, turning on me defiantly.

  I looked straight into his