The Man of Dangerous Secrets

by Maxwell March

  “Miss Fern has been called ‘the tragic heiress.’ Her engagement to Mr. Richard Grey in 1929 was ended by the latter’s death later on in the same year, when his fishing boat was accidentally capsized by a steam yacht three days before his wedding should have taken place. In 1931 it was announced that a marriage would take place between Miss Fern and Mr. Philip Crawford, but by a tragic coincidence this romance was also ended by death. Mr. Crawford lost his life motoring in the Alpes Maritimes in the autumn of the same year, when his body was discovered by the side of his car in a ravine not far from the famous Col de Breuil.

  “When our correspondent called on Miss Fern at her hotel this morning she denied that there was ever any likelihood of an engagement between herself and Mr. Bellew.”

  It was an extraordinary story. The more he thought of it the more extraordinary it became.

  He was still pondering over it when the miracle happened. Mrs. Phipps, his housekeeper, came trotting into the room in a palpable flutter, her prim coiffure disarranged and two bright spots of colour in her faded cheeks.

  “A lady to see you, Mr. Robin.”

  Had Mrs. Phipps announced that a boa constrictor awaited him she could not have sounded more concerned, and somehow or other he knew whom to expect, so that he was standing by his desk conscious of an odd breathlessness which no other visitor had ever aroused in him when she came in.

  It was the girl of Waterloo Station. He knew her at once, although she was now revealed as a tall, slender beauty with honey-coloured hair showing under a little French hat that covered only one side of her head. A sleek fur coat hugged her figure and displayed a touch of coloured silk at her throat.

  She met his eyes again, and he read in their depths the same haunting fear which he had observed on the night before, the same glance of terrified appeal which had touched him so poignantly.

  Her first questioning glance gave place to one of surprise.

  “You!” she said. “Why, you were there last night ... I didn’t know. I got your name from a friend, and——”

  Robin stepped forward. “Look here,” he said, “won’t you sit down? We can sort out everything then, can’t we?”

  She granted him a faint, shy smile and sank down gratefully into the armchair he wheeled up for her.

  “Now,” he said as he seated himself at his desk, “my name is Robin Grey. Can I do anything to help you?”

  “But you have,” she said involuntarily. “You have already. You saved Tony’s life last night. This is wonderful. But I suppose I’d better begin at the beginning. I was sent here by Lady Dorothy Fenton. You—you helped her and her husband some time last year, didn’t you? When little Jack was kidnapped?”

  Robin nodded. He disliked being reminded of his past exploits as a rule, but this extraordinary creature had the odd effect upon him of making him forget himself entirely in his wonder and delight in her.

  “Well,” she said, “I am in trouble—in curious, terrifying trouble—and I don’t know what to do. So——”

  She broke off awkwardly.

  “You’ve come to me,” he said helpfully. “Well, that’s fine.”

  She shot him a grateful glance under her long lashes and began to speak slowly in her clear, soft voice.

  “My name is Jennifer Fern,” she began.

  Acting on a sudden impulse, he picked up the paper and handed it to her.

  “You’ve come to see me about this, haven’t you?” he said.

  She glanced from it to him in frank astonishment.

  “Do you know everything?” she said. “Dorothy Fenton told me you were wonderful, but this is a miracle.”

  “It is, rather,” he said involuntarily and added hastily, to cover his confusion, “It’s very simple really. You see, naturally after witnessing the incident on the platform last night I connected it with this story which I read in this morning’s paper. Then, when you walked into the room I recognized you, and there you are.”

  She looked relieved. “Oh, I see. Of course. I was a little frightened for a moment. There has been too much of the—well—uncanny, lately, in my life. You scared me.”

  There had been a curious inflection in her tone, and he found himself longing to comfort her, to tell her that, whatever the matter, everything would eventually be well.

  “Suppose you tell me all about it?” he said.

  Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, and then she regarded him gravely.

  “Well,” she said, “everything in this paragraph is true, except for one thing. I know you won’t believe me, I know you’ll probably think I’m quite mad even to suggest such a thing, but I tell you I know that someone tried to murder Tony last night.”

  Robin sat looking at her, and there was no expression at all upon his round face.

  “Of course you don’t believe me,” the girl went on passionately. “I know it sounds ridiculous. But if you’re going to help me you’ve got to believe it, and you’ve got to believe as I do that Richard and poor Philip were both murdered. They were murdered because of me.” She rose to her feet and took a few uncertain steps towards him. There was no colour at all in her beautiful face, and her eyes were appealing and afraid.

  “It’s always happened,” she said, “just before I was to be married. I’ve thought it was coincidence, one of those dreadful tragic coincidences that happen sometimes. But after last night I’m sure it can’t be that. There’s something else, something terrible, something sinister. I was going to marry Tony this afternoon. Now I’ve told him I’ll never even speak to him again. We were going to be married secretly. I didn’t think anyone knew except our closest friends, and yet you see it got to know.”

  “It?” he inquired gently.

  She nodded. “The thing that’s haunting me. The thing that’s walking behind me. The thing that brings death to any man who wants to marry me.”

  Robin looked at the girl sharply. He saw signs of nervous exhaustion in her face, saw her hands twitching.

  “Sit down,” he said sharply. “Sit down. Pull yourself together. I’ll do all I can to help you.”

  She sank down again, and he went over to the door and shouted to Mrs. Phipps to bring tea. He steadfastly refused to speak seriously again until the girl was sitting up sipping the strong fragrant stuff and he noticed the colour returning to her cheeks.

  “Now,” he said, “I believe you. Get that well into your head. I believe you implicitly. What do you want me to do?”

  She put down her cup and saucer on the table by her side and leant forward, her slim brown hands folded tightly in front of her.

  “There’s one thing I haven’t told you, Mr. Grey,” she said. “A thing that explains why I’ve come here, really. I like Tony very, very much.”

  “I see,” he said. “You want me to protect Mr. Bellew.”

  “Well, yes, of course. But not only that. I want you to find out what is the meaning of this terrible scourge which follows me. It’s like a curse, the sort of thing that happened hundreds of years ago. I’ve never done anyone any harm. Why should anyone want to ruin my happiness?—anyone or any thing?”

  Robin nodded, and the frown returned to his forehead. “It’s a difficult problem,” he said slowly. “You see, Mr. Philip Crawford and Mr. Richard Grey died some time ago. It will be hard to collect sufficient detail concerning their deaths to form any real comparison between the two and the attack on Mr. Bellew last night. That seems the most obvious approach to the problem, doesn’t it?”

  The girl nodded absently. A sombre expression had come into her eyes, and for some moments she was silent. Then she spoke without looking at him.

  “There is one other way,” she said. “But I don’t think I could ask you to take that. And yet it would make it so much more simple and——” She broke off and looked up to find his brown eyes looking solemnly into hers.

  “I had thought of that,” he said. “But naturally I didn’t like to suggest it. If your engagement to me was publicly announced it would be
rather challenging the enemy, wouldn’t it?”

  The dusky colour rose slowly up her throat and suffused her face.

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that,” she said.

  “My dear young lady, you could ask me to do anything,” he said involuntarily and added hastily, “This is a most extraordinary problem you bring me. I’m tremendously anxious to get to the bottom of it. Yes, if our engagement is announced in every London paper tomorrow morning, with the prospect of a speedy marriage clearly indicated, we should at least force your malignant fate to show its hand. After all, you know,” he added with an attempt at lightness, “there may be nothing in it after all. It may be just coincidence.”

  “Oh, but it isn’t,” she said earnestly. “You mustn’t dream of doing this if you don’t believe in it. And somehow I don’t think you ought to do it anyhow. Don’t you see what it means? Think of the danger.”

  Robin smiled. “That,” he said truthfully, “is the one thing I never permit myself the luxury of thinking about. Very well then, that’s agreed, is it? A notice of our engagement shall appear in every important London paper tomorrow morning.”

  She hesitated. “It’s awfully kind of you, but I mean to say, won’t you—well, won’t there be personal complications for you?”

  He smiled. “I’m not married, if that’s what you mean, and I haven’t a fiancée.” He too hesitated. This was delicate ground. “How about Mr. Bellew?” he inquired awkwardly.

  She smiled. “That’s all right. No need to worry about Tony. There’s one person you’ll have to pretend with, however, and that’s my father. I’m afraid he’ll have to think that we’re—well, properly engaged.”

  He looked at her curiously. Sir Henry Fern was a well-known shipping owner, and in spite of his retiring disposition, which made him avoid interviews and photographs, he was often to be seen in the better-known London restaurants. Robin knew him quite well by sight.

  She went on timidly. “I’ve thought it all out,” she said. “I suppose it was an awfully impudent thing to do, but this did seem the obvious way if it could be arranged. I thought we might go along and see my father. Although sometimes I feel he doesn’t want me to get married, ever, he won’t object. It’ll only mean you’ll have to go to dinner with him, probably. And yet—oh, this is a ridiculous situation! I can’t ask you to go through with it.”

  “Why not?” he said gently. “Don’t worry. I’ve had many commissions, some of them quite as extraordinary as this. Look here, since we’re engaged, let’s go out and have a cocktail somewhere to celebrate, shall we?”

  She looked at him timidly. There was more colour in her cheeks, but the terrified expression still lurked in her eyes.

  “I should like to,” she said. “Besides, we shall probably find my father in the little cocktail bar at the Savoy. But there’s one matter we haven’t touched on, and it’s very awkward, so I’d like to get it over. I’m an heiress, you know, in my own right. My mother left me all her money. So whatever—er—your fees are, Mr. Grey, well, you won’t find me parsimonious.”

  The words were blurted out awkwardly, and he realized that she was embarrassed.

  He bent forward. “Suppose we leave that until I succeed?” he said. “Meanwhile, I have a whole hour to spare. Shall we go down to the Savoy and interview your father?”

  As Robin Grey walked into the Savoy and turned to the left towards the small cocktail bar overlooking the embankment, he glanced at the girl at his side and marvelled at the extraordinary situation which had developed in the last twenty-four hours. At one o’clock in the morning he had set eyes upon the first woman who had ever struck him as being flawlessly beautiful, in peculiar circumstances, to say the least, and at four o’clock in the afternoon of the same day he found himself engaged to her, to shield from unquestionable danger the man she had practically admitted loving. And here he was, sober and in his right mind, going to interview her father.

  It was an experience in itself, he found, to escort Jennifer Fern. Her air of quiet elegance, her carriage, and her flawlessly lovely face commanded attention wherever she went, and as they paused for a moment in the entrance of the little green-and-gold bar everyone in the room turned to look at her.

  “There he is,” she said, and Robin, looking round, became aware of the ship owner coming towards them.

  He was a big clumsy man whom no amount of tailoring could render smart. His grey hair was short and finely cropped. He had a square, good-natured face, very blue eyes, and a sleepy, lazy smile which bespoke at once his shyness and his friendliness.

  Jennifer effected the introduction with an ease which Robin appreciated. The old man shook the boy’s hand vigorously.

  “How d’you do!” he said. “Come over to my table. I’ve been having a business talk with an old friend, but that’s over now.”

  “Wait a minute, Daddy.” Jennifer laid a restraining hand on her father’s arm. “I’ve got something to break to you. I’m afraid you’re going to get a surprise, and I can’t very well tell you in front of strangers. You see, it’s like this. Er—Robin and I are very old friends, though you haven’t met him before. This afternoon he asked me to marry him, and I’ve accepted. In fact, congratulate us; we’re engaged.”

  “Engaged?” Robin found the blue eyes fixed on his face again, and although there was nothing in the man’s expression to indicate it in any way, he received the unshakable impression that the news had been received not so much unfavourably as with absolute panic. In an instant, however, the lazy good nature had reasserted itself, and Robin felt his hand seized again.

  “Congratulations, my boy! Congratulations! I can’t say I’m surprised at your choice, but the news is a bit staggering, you know. Really, Jennifer, you shouldn’t spring things like this on your old father before dinner. Well, well, we must talk this over. Come along, both of you. We must have a drink and a chat.”

  Robin followed the father and daughter across the room to a small table in an alcove where a third man was seated. He heard the ship owner’s booming friendly voice: “F. S., I want you to meet Jennifer, my daughter. The young monkey’s just given me the shock of my life. She turns up here as cool as a cucumber and announces she’s engaged to be married. And here’s the lucky youngster too. Grey, my boy, let me present you. A very old friend of mine.”

  Robin bent forward and came face to face with a man whom he recognized instantly, and, moreover, a man who, he saw, had recognized him.

  Old Sir Henry’s voice went on cheerfully behind them:

  “Shawle, this is Robin Grey. Grey, my boy, Sir Ferdinand Shawle. Look, F. S., he wants to marry my daughter.”

  “How do you do, my boy! Congratulations!”

  A lean cold hand took Robin’s own for an instant. He eyed the man curiously, but after that first swift telltale glance of recognition Sir Ferdinand Shawle gave no other indication of the thoughts which must have been passing through his mind.

  Instead, he seemed to go out of his way to make himself as affable as possible, and Robin, playing his part carefully, decided to take his cue from the other.

  Of the quartette at the small table, these two, the lean elderly man with the cruel mouth and the blank expressionless eyes, and the boy, young, ingenuous-looking, and friendly, were perhaps most at ease.

  Jennifer was pale and uncommunicative, while there was frank consternation in Sir Henry’s eyes in spite of his frantic efforts to hide it.

  “When’s the ceremony to take place?”

  Sir Ferdinand spoke casually enough, but he glanced sharply at the boy and waited for an answer.

  Robin turned to Jennifer.

  “That entirely rests with you, my dear,” he said.

  He did not meet her eyes and did not see the colour which came into her face. She laughed nervously.

  “I haven’t thought about it yet,” she said. “After all, we only got engaged this afternoon.”

  “I hope you won’t do anything precipitate.” Sir Henry’s voice and
manner betrayed more anxiety than ordinary parental concern would dictate. “Marriage is a serious business,” he added lamely. “You don’t want to jump at it.”

  He stopped abruptly, and Robin, looking up, intercepted a glance which passed between Sir Ferdinand and his friend. It was swift, warning, and apparently effective, for Sir Henry dropped his eyes, and an uncomfortable pause might have ensued had the banker not taken charge of the conversation by introducing a new subject.

  “Since the engagement is so recent,” he said, “perhaps you would do me the honour of celebrating it at my house? It isn’t such an extraordinary request as you might think,” he went on, turning to Robin. “After all, Henry and I are very old friends, and I’ve taken an avuncular interest in Jennifer ever since she was a baby. I’m an old bachelor with more money than is good for me, a great lonely house in Grosvenor Square, and no children for whom to entertain.”

  He paused and, turning to the elder man, continued with an enthusiasm not wholly simulated.

  “I’ve set my heart on it, Henry. Let me give a dinner party tomorrow night for these young people. Madame Julie will be delighted to make all the necessary arrangements. Perhaps you would ring her up about the names of the guests? I won’t hear any denial.”

  Robin glanced at Sir Henry. Apart from the fact that the invitation was rather an extraordinary breach of etiquette, unless Sir Ferdinand was an even greater friend of the family than he appeared to be, the man really did seem motivated by kindness. Sir Henry’s red face betrayed nothing but embarrassment, and his bright blue eyes were troubled. He spoke affably enough, however.

  “That’s very nice of you, F. S. Of course we shall be pleased to accept. I’ll ring up Madame Julie this evening. It’s rather short notice, but I expect we shall get those people who really matter to come.”

  They sat for perhaps another five minutes, chatting with apparent idleness, although always there was the hint of something beneath the lightness of the conversation, something secret, something sinister.