The Four Faces: A Mystery

by William Le Queux

  CHAPTER V

  HUGESSON GASTRELL AT HOME

  A week had passed since Dulcie had promised to become my wife, and sincethe amazing robbery in broad daylight at Holt Manor.

  I had been five days back in town, where I had some estate business toattend to. It was the evening of Hugesson Gastrell's house--warmingreception in his newly furnished mansion in Cumberland Place, and themuster of well-known people was extraordinary.

  Peers and peeresses, prosperous City financiers, celebrities of thedrama and of the operatic stage, luminaries of the law, diplomats, andrich retired traders who had shed the "tradesman" and blossomed into"gentleman," jostled one another in the rooms and on the stairs. It issurprising how people will rush to the house of a wealthy man. At leastone Duke was present, a Cabinet Minister too, also a distinguished Judgeand two Archbishops, for I noticed them as I fought my way up into theroom where music was being performed, music the quality of which themajority of the listeners gauged by the fees known to be paid to theartists engaged, and by the amount of newspaper publicity those artists'Press agents had succeeded in securing for them.

  Nor were journalists lacking at this "interesting social function," assome of them afterwards termed it in their papers. In London I move agood deal in many kinds of society, and now I noticed, mingling in thecrowd, several men and women I was in the habit of meeting frequently,though I did not know them to speak to--Press representatives whoseexclusive duty I knew it to be to attend social gatherings of thisdescription. As I edged my way through the dense throng I could hear myfavourite composition, Dvorak's "Humoresque," being played on the violinby Beatrice Langley, who I had been told was to appear, and for a fewbrief minutes the crowd was hushed. To my chagrin the music ended almostas I succeeded in forcing my way into the room, so that I was in timeonly for the applause.

  Now the hall and the large rooms where the guests were, were filled withthe buzz of conversation. In two of these rooms supper was in progress,a supper in keeping with the sumptuousness, the luxury and the generalextravagance noticeable everywhere.

  For this house in Cumberland Place which he had rented from LordEasterton lent itself admirably to Hugesson Gastrell's distorted ideasas to plenishing, at which some people laughed, calling them almostOriental in their splendour and their lavishness. Upon entering, theidea conveyed was that here was a man who had suddenly found himselfpossessed of a great deal more money than he had ever expected to comeby, and who, not being accustomed to wide means, had at once set to workto fling his fortune broadcast, purchasing, wherever he went, everythingcostly that took his fancy.

  For after mounting some steps and entering under a wide portico, onefound oneself in a spacious, lofty vestibule where two flights of warmlytinted marble steps, shallow and heavily carpeted, ran up to right andleft to a wide gallery on three sides of the hall. The marble was sobeautiful, the steps were so impressive to look upon, that one wasforcibly reminded of the staircase in the Opera House in Paris, ofcourse in miniature. On the lowest step on either side were carvedmarble pillars supporting nude figures of great size and bearing each anelectric lamp gold-shaded to set off the yellow-tinted marble and theTurkey carpets of gold and of richest blue. In one corner stood aMongolian monster, a green and gold dragon of porcelain resting on avaluable faience pedestal--a bit of ancient Cathay set down in the heartof London.

  In their magnificence the reception rooms excelled even this hall,boasting, as they did, a heterogeneous collection of rare antiques, ofvaluable relics, and of _articles de virtu_ from practically the worldover. Everywhere they lay in strange confusion--on the mantelpieces,tops of cupboards, on shelves, angle brackets, and on almost everytable. Here was a delicate lute of jade, used by Chinese lovers of athousand years ago. There stood silver lamps, carved most marvellouslyand once trimmed by vestal virgins, lamps from the temples ofHerculaneum, of Rome and of Pompeii. Shadowy gods and goddesses,dragons, fetishes of more or less hideous mien, glared everywhere at oneanother in a manner most unpleasant. Porcelains; wonderfulblue-patterned plates from Pekin; willow-patterned dishes from Japan;ancient hammered beer tankards from Bavaria and the Rhine; long-stemmedVenetian glasses of iridescent hues, were scattered everywhere inbewildering profusion. In an ante-room was a priceless crucifix in threedifferent woods, from Ober-Ammergau; on the mantelpieces of three of thereception rooms were old French gilt clocks--the kind found nowadaysonly in secluded and old inns of the Bohemian Quartier Latin, innswhich the tourist never sees, and where "collectors" are to all intentsunknown. Set upon this landing of polished oak upon the first floor wasa very ancient sundial, taken from some French chateau, a trulybeautiful _objet d'art_ in azure and faded gold, with foliated crestabove, borne long ago, no doubt, by some highly pompous dignitary. Hereand there, too, were suits of armour of beaten steel--glitteringfigures, rigid and erect and marvellously inlaid with several differentmetals. Two rooms of the building, I was told by a guest with whom I hadentered into conversation, were set aside entirely as an armoury.

  Hardly had I finished observing all this, and a great deal more besides,when a voice at my elbow exclaimed:

  "Good evening, Mr. Berrington. I wonder, now, if you'll rememberme--eh?"

  As I turned, I instantly recognized the speaker.

  "Of course I recollect you--Mrs. Stapleton," I exclaimed, looking intoher eyes with, I am afraid, rather unconcealed admiration, for I don'tpretend that I am not of a very susceptible nature. "I have met manypeople I know, this evening," I continued, "but this is an unlooked-forpleasure. I was told in Berkshire that you never came to town."

  "Were you really?" she exclaimed with a ripple of merry laughter. "Theyseem, down there, to know more about one's movements than oneknows oneself."

  For an instant she paused.

  "And how is your lovely and delightful friend--Dulcie Challoner?" sheinquired presently. "Is she here to-night?"

  "No," I said, wondering for the moment if she knew or suspected mysecret, for our engagement had not yet been announced. "The Challonersdon't know our host, though, judging by the people here to-night, heseems to know nearly everybody."

  "Do you know him well? Have you known him long?" she inquiredcarelessly, letting her gaze rest on mine.

  I told her that our acquaintanceship was very slight, that I had madehis acquaintance in Geneva, and met him once afterwards in London.

  "I don't know him well, either," she observed, then added with someemphasis, "He strikes me as being a most charming young man."

  Naturally I agreed with her, though I had been unable to make up my mindwhether, upon the whole, I liked him or not. I thought that upon thewhole I didn't, seeing what strange things had happened.

  "By the by," I said suddenly, "have you had supper?"

  She answered that she had not, and added that she was "starving."Several people were emerging from one of the supper rooms, and thus itcame that I presently found myself seated _tete-a-tete_ with thebeautiful widow, and at last beginning to enjoy an evening which untilnow I had found rather dull.

  It was natural that we should presently speak of Berkshire and of HoltManor, and soon we were discussing at length the subject of the robbery.

  "And have the police as yet no clues?" Mrs. Stapleton suddenly asked.

  "None, apparently. I suppose you have heard all about what happened, andthe statements made by Sir Roland's little son, Dick Challoner."

  "I know nothing beyond what I read in the newspapers," she replied. "Thepapers mentioned that Sir Roland's boy had been chloroformed by thethief or thieves--that was all so far as I remember."

  "Yes," I answered, "he was chloroformed, but he need not have beenaccording to his own account--and as he is extremely truthful and neverboasts, I think we may believe his story. He had his head and shouldersin a big oak chest in his father's bedroom, where his father had senthim to find a hunting apron to lend to somebody, and when he stoodupright again he heard two men talking, upon the opposite side of thescreen which hid the oak chest.


  "The voices were those of strangers, and the boy naturally supposed thatthe speakers were some friends of Sir Roland's. He was about to showhimself, when he heard one of the men say:

  "'She says this drawer has money in it: give me your key.'

  "He heard a key being pushed into a drawer lock, the drawer pulled out,the chink of coin and the crackle of bank-notes. Then he heard the otherman suddenly say:

  "'Hurry up. They'll have got the plate by this time and be waiting forus.'

  "The boy was awfully frightened, of course, but he didn't lose his head.Knowing that his presence must be discovered in a moment, he sprang outfrom behind the screen, intending to dash past the men and downstairsand give the alarm. Unfortunately he rushed right up against one ofthem, who instantly gripped him and clapped his hand over his mouthwhile the other man pressed his hand over his eyes--presumably toprevent Dick's being afterwards able to identify them. Dick says thatone of the men twisted his arm until he couldn't stir without extremepain, then told him that he must show them where the key of SirRoland's safe was--a little safe in the wall in his bedroom. Dick knewwhere the key was--Sir Roland keeps it, it seems, in a drawer of hisdressing-table--but he refused to tell, though the man screwed his armuntil he nearly broke it--he strained it badly, and the poor little chaphas it still in a sling. Then, finding that they could do nothing withhim, and that nothing would make him 'peach,' as he says--though he saysthey threatened to hit him on the head--one of them pressed somethingover his mouth and nose, which seemed to suffocate him. What happenedafter that he doesn't know, as he lost consciousness."

  "What a brave little boy," my beautiful companion exclaimed in a tone ofadmiration. "Did he say at all what the men were like?"

  "He didn't catch even a glimpse of their faces, they pounced on him soquickly. But he says that both wore hunting kit, and he thinks both weretall. One wore pink."

  "It was a carefully planned affair, anyway," Mrs. Stapleton saidthoughtfully, as I refilled her glass with Pol Roger. "What was theactual value of the things stolen?"

  "Sir Roland puts it at twelve or fourteen thousand pounds, roughly. Yousee, he had a lot of jewellery that had belonged to Lady Challoner andthat would have been Miss Challoner's; most of that was stolen. Itshould have been in the safe, of course, but Sir Roland had taken it outthe week before, intending to send it all to London to be thoroughlyoverhauled and cleaned--he was going to give it to Dulcie--to MissChalloner on her twenty-first birthday; she comes of age next month, youknow. It was in one of the drawers that the thieves unlocked, and theytook most of it. They would have taken the lot, only some of it was ina back partition of the drawer, and they apparently overlooked it."

  "But how did they manage to steal the plate? I read in some paper that alot of plate was stolen."

  "Heaven knows--but they got it somehow. The police think that other men,disguised probably as gentlemen's servants, must have made their wayinto the pantry during the hunt breakfast, while Sir Roland's servantswere up to their eyes in work, attending to everybody, and have slippedit into bags and taken it out to a waiting motor. Strangers could easilyhave gone into the back premises like that, unnoticed, in the middle ofthe bustle and confusion. If Dick had told the men who bullied him whatthey wanted to know, Sir Roland's safe would have been ransacked too,and several thousands of pounds more worth of stuff stolen, most likely.He is a little brick, that boy."

  "He is, indeed. How long did he remain unconscious?"

  "Until Sir Roland himself found him, just before lunch. The ruffians hadpushed him under the bed, and if Sir Roland had not happened to catchsight of his foot, which protruded a little, the boy might have beenleft there until night, or even until next day, and the whole householdhave been hunting for him."

  Mrs. Stapleton sipped some champagne, then asked:

  "Is anybody suspected?"

  "That's difficult to say," I answered. "Naturally the police think thatone or other of the servants at Holt must know something of the affair,even have been an actual accomplice--but which? None of the servants hasbeen there less than four years, it seems, and several have been in SirRoland's service ten and fifteen years--the old butler was born on theestate. Sir Roland scouts the idea that any of his servants had a handin the affair, and he told the police so at once. Even the fact that oneof the thieves had, according to Dick, referred to some woman--he hadsaid, '_She_ says this drawer has money in it'--wouldn't make Sir Rolandsuspect any of the maids.

  "The police then asked him in a roundabout way if he thought any of hisguests could have had anything to say to it. Phew! How furious SirRoland became with them! You should have seen him--I was with him at thetime. Then suddenly he grew quite calm, realizing that they were, afterall, only trying to do their duty and to help him to trace the thieves.

  "'Up to the present I have not, so far as I am aware,' he said in thatcold, dignified way of his, 'entertained criminals at Holt Manor orelsewhere. No, my man,' he ended, turning to the sergeant, or theinspector, or whatever he was, 'the men who have stolen my property werenot any of my guests. You may set your minds at rest on that point.'"

  Conversation drifted to other topics. Several times during supper Iendeavoured to lead my beautiful companion on to talk about herself, buton each occasion she cleverly diverted conversation to some othersubject. I confess that when she casually questioned me concerning myown affairs I was less successful in evading her inquiries; or it mayhave been that I, in common with most of my sex, like to talk freelyabout "self" and "self's" affairs, especially when the listener is abeautiful woman who appears to be sympathetic and deeply interested inall one has to say about oneself.

  During that brief half-hour our intimacy grew apace. There are peoplewith whom one seems to have been on terms of friendship, almost asthough one had known them for years, within ten minutes after beingintroduced to them; others who, when one has known them quite a longtime, seem still to remain comparatively strangers. Mrs. Stapletonbelonged to the first group, although she spoke so little about herself.Yet I was not in the least attracted by her in the way Dulcie Challonerattracted me. I found her capital company; I could imagine our becominggreat friends; I could think of her in the light of a _bonne camarade_.But that was all. As for feeling tempted to fall in love with her--butthe bare thought was grotesque.

  "What a charming, delightful girl that is--I mean Miss Challoner," Mrs.Stapleton exclaimed suddenly, when, after talking a great deal, we hadbeen silent for a few moments. "And how exquisitely pretty," she addedafter an instant's pause.

  I hardly knew what to say. I know enough of women to be aware that nowoman is particularly anxious, save in exceptional cases, to listen to apanegyric on the charms and the physical attractions of some otherwoman. Therefore, after a moment's reflection, I answered with affectedindifference:

  "I think I agree with you. I have known her a number of years. Herfather was a great friend of my father's."

  "Indeed?" she replied, raising her eyebrows a little, then letting hergaze rest full on mine. "That is interesting. I am a believer inplatonic friendships. I wonder if you are."

  "Oh, of course," I said quickly. "It is ridiculous to suppose that a manand woman can't be friends without--without--"

  "Yes?" she said encouragingly.

  "Oh, well--I suppose I mean without falling in love with each other."

  She smiled in a way that puzzled me a little, but said nothing.

  "Do you mean in all cases?" she suddenly inquired.

  "In most cases, anyway."

  "And when would you make an exception?"

  This was a problem I felt I could not solve. However, I made a dash atit.

  "In the case of people of abnormally susceptible temperament," I said,"I suppose such people couldn't be friends without soonbecoming--well, lovers."

  "Ah, I see," she observed thoughtfully.

  She was toying with a strawberry ice, and her lowered eyelids displayedthe extraordinary length of their lashes. Certainly I was talking
to aninteresting and very lovely woman--though again here, as before in thehunting field in Berkshire, I found myself wondering in what her beautyconsisted. Not a feature was regular; the freckles on nose and foreheadseemed to show more plainly under the glare of the electric lights; theeyes were red-brown. But how large they were, and how they seemed tosparkle with intelligence!

  She looked up suddenly. Her expression was serious now. Up to thepresent her eyes, while she talked, had been singularly animated, oftenfull of laughter.

  "Mr. Berrington, have you ever been in love?"

  I was so surprised at this question, from a woman to whom I waspractically a stranger, that I thought it best to treat it as a jest.

  "Yes, a dozen times," I answered. "I am in love at this moment," I addedlightly, as if joking.

  "You need not have told me that," she said, serious still. "I knew itthe moment I saw you both together. I asked--but only to hear what youwould say."

  "But--but--" I stammered, "I--you--that is I don't quite catch yourmeaning. When did you see 'us' both together--and who is the otherperson you are thinking of?"

  She had finished her ice.

  "Please give me some more champagne," she said.

  I picked up the half-empty bottle, refilled her glass, then my own. Sheheld out her glass until it clinked against mine.

  "Here is health and long life to your friend on the chestnut," sheexclaimed, smiling again, "and to you too. I only hope that your marriedlife will be happier than--"

  She checked herself. Her tongue had run away with her, and, as our lipstouched our glasses, I mentally finished her sentence.

  But who, I wondered, had her husband been?

  People were still flocking into the room. Others were moving out. From adistance there came to us above the noise and the buzz of conversationthe words of a song I love:

  "Mon coeur s'ouvre a ta voix Comme s'ouvre les fleurs Aux baisers de l'aurore, Mais O! Mon bien aime Pour mieux secher mes pleurs Que ta voix parle encore, Dis moi qu'a Dalila Tu reviens pour jamais. Redis a ma tendresse Les serments d'autrefois Les serments que j'aimais. Ah, reponds a ma tendresse, Ah, verse-moi l'ivresse!"

  "How gorgeous!" I exclaimed, straining my ears in a vain attempt to hearbetter. "Who is it?"

  "Kirkby-Lunn," my companion answered quickly. "Are you fond--"

  She stopped. Her face was partly turned. I saw a glance of recognitionflash into her eyes and vanish instantly. Following the direction of herglance, my gaze rested upon the strange, striking woman I had seen butonce but could not possibly forget. Mrs. Gastrell had just entered, andwith her, to my astonishment, Jack Osborne. It was Jasmine Gastrell withwhom my companion had exchanged that momentary glance of recognition.

  "Are you fond of music?" Mrs. Stapleton asked, looking at me again.

  "Very," I answered absently, "of music that is music."

  For my attention had become suddenly distracted. How came this woman tobe here, this woman who called herself Gastrell's wife? Lord Eastertonwas somewhere about, for I had seen him in the crowd. Such a strikingwoman would be sure to attract his attention, he would inquire who shewas, he might even ask Gastrell, and then what would happen? What wouldGastrell say? Was the woman actually his wife, or was she--

  Mechanically I conversed with my companion for a minute or two longer,then suddenly she suggested that we should go.

  "And let some of these starving people take our table," she added, asshe prepared to rise.

  Osborne and his singularly lovely companion were now seated at a tableonly a few yards off. His back was turned to us, and I had not caughtMrs. Gastrell's glance.

  "D'you know who that is, that woman who has just come in?" I inquiredcarelessly, indicating her as I rose.

  "That?" Mrs. Stapleton answered, looking full at her, and this timetheir eyes met in a cold stare. "No, I have no idea."

  I confess that this flat untruth, spoken with such absolute_sang-froid,_ somewhat disconcerted me. For I could not be in the leastdoubt that I had distinctly seen the two women greet each other withthat brief glance of mutual recognition.