The Four Faces: A Mystery

by William Le Queux

  CHAPTER XXIII

  RELATES A QUEER ADVENTURE

  Up the great stairway, slowly, very carefully, came four men carrying astretcher. The form extended upon it was completely covered by a whitesheet, all but the feet--a man's feet. Behind and on each side were men,apparently gentlemen, all strangers to me. So deeply occupied were theirthoughts, seemingly, that they appeared not to notice Albeury, Dulcieand myself as we stepped aside to let them pass. For the moment myattention was distracted. What had happened? Had there been an accident?If so, who was the victim, and who were these men with him?

  "Can you show me the way to room eight eight?" one of the leadingbearers asked as he came up to me. He stopped, waiting for me to answer,and as he did so the men beside the stretcher gathered about me, so thatfor the instant I lost sight of Dulcie, who had instinctively steppedback a pace or two.

  I indicated the whereabouts of the room.

  "And can you tell me which is Mr. Berrington's room?" he then asked.

  "Yes. But I am Mr. Berrington. What is it you want?"

  "You are? Are you Mr. Michael Berrington?"

  "Yes."

  "Oh, then you had better come with us now."

  "Whom are you carrying? What has happened?"

  Without answering he moved onward down the corridor, with the stretcher.

  I walked a little way ahead, and at the room numbered eighty-eight, Mrs.Stapleton's room, I knocked.

  Again I was face to face with the woman. Seated in an arm-chair, acigarette between her lips, she appeared to be reading a newspaper. Uponseeing me she rose abruptly; then, as the covered stretcher was borneslowly in, I saw the cigarette fall from her lips on to the floor, andwith surprised, frightened eyes, she gazed inquiringly at the bearers,then down at the outline of the figure beneath the sheet.

  "Who is it?" she gasped. "Tell me who it is, and why he has been broughthere!"

  Nobody answered, though now the bearers, also the men who accompaniedthem, had all crowded into the room.

  Suddenly I noticed that the door of the room had been shut, andinstantly the thought came to me--

  Where was Dulcie? What had become of her? Also where had Albeury gone?

  Hardly had the thought flashed into my mind when I was pounced upon frombehind, a hand covered my mouth, my wrists were tied tightly behind me,and my feet bound with a cord. Now I saw the figure that had lainbeneath the sheet upon the stretcher rise up of its own accord. Thecovering fell away, and Gastrell stood before me. I saw him make a sign.At once a gag was crammed into my mouth with great force, so that Icould neither cry out nor speak. In a few moments I had been lifted bytwo men, extended on my back upon the stretcher, and the white cloth hadbeen thrown over me, covering me completely.

  Now, the stretcher being raised, I knew that I was being conveyed alongthe corridor. I was being carried down the stairs, slowly, carefully. Inthe hall I heard a confused murmur of voices; somebody was tellingsomeone that "the poor fellow" was more seriously hurt than had at firstbeen supposed, and that they were taking him to the hospital. Suddenly Irecognized a voice. It was Albeury's, and he spoke in French. PresentlyI knew that I was being carried out of the hotel, and down the hotelsteps. I was being lifted into a car. The ends of the stretcher restedupon the seats. There were expressions of sympathy; questions were beingasked and answered in French; the door of the car was shut quietly, andthe car swept away.

  For twenty minutes or more we passed through the streets of Paris,slowing down at frequent intervals, turning often to right or left.Gradually the sound of the traffic passing grew less, our speedincreased, and I judged that we must be out in the environs. Now we weregoing slowly up a steep hill. We reached the top of it, and our speedincreased considerably.

  On and on we sped. We must, I gathered, have travelled well over anhour, and now be far out in the country. There was no light inside thecar, and though still covered by the sheet, I somehow seemed to feelthat the night was very dark. In what direction had we come?Whereabouts, outside Paris, was that long hill up which we had travelledso slowly?

  Suddenly someone inside the car moved. An instant later the sheet overmy face was pulled back. In the darkness I could still see nothing, butI felt that someone was staring down at me. How many occupants the carcontained, of course I could not tell. Still no one spoke, and for fiveminutes or more the car tore faster and faster along the straightcountry road.

  Then, all at once, a light flashed in my eyes--the light of an electrictorch.

  "You have but a few minutes to live," a man's voice exclaimed in a lowtone. "If you want to say your prayers, you had better do so now."

  The voice was clearly Gastrell's. Now I realized that two men besidesmyself were in the closed car. The light from the electric torch stillshone down upon my face. My eyes grew gradually accustomed to the brightlight, which had at first dazzled them.

  "This is to be your fate," Gastrell continued a minute later. "At a spotthat we shall presently come to, far out in the country, fifty milesfrom Paris, you will be taken out, bound as you are, and shot throughthe head. The revolver has your initials on it--look."

  He held something before my eyes, in such a way that I could see itclearly in the disc of light. It was a pistol's grip. On it shone alittle metal plate on which I could distinctly see the engravedinitials--"M.B."

  "When you are dead, your wrists and legs will be released, and you willbe left by the roadside in the forest we are now in, the revolver, withits one discharged chamber, on the ground beside you. Look, whosehandwriting is this?"

  A letter was passed into the ring of light. I started, for the writingwas apparently my own, though certainly I had not written the letter. Itwas written on notepaper with the Continental Hotel heading, and myhandwriting and signature had been forged--a wonderful facsimile ofboth. On the envelope, which was stamped, were written, also apparentlyby me, the name and address:

  "Miss DULCIE CHALLONER, Holt Manor, Holt Stacey, Berkshire, England."

  "My dear Dulcie," the letter ran, "I hope you will forgive the dreadfulact I am about to commit, and forget me as quickly as possible. I am notinsane, though at the inquest the coroner will probably return a verdictof 'Suicide during temporary insanity.' But my life for years past hasbeen one continuous lie, and from the first I have deceived you mostshamefully. I asked you to become my wife, yet I am already married, andhave been for some years. Though I am very fond of you, I do not loveyou, nor have I ever loved you. The things I have said and hinted aboutyour friend Mrs. Stapleton were all utterly false; they emanatedentirely from my imagination and were wholly without foundation. This isall I have to say, except again--forgive me.

  "Your sincere and miserable friend,MICHAEL BERRINGTON."

  The letter was undated.

  What my feelings were when I had read that letter, I find it impossibleto describe. The fury of indignation that surged up within me as the carcontinued to glide smoothly along with unabated speed seemed to drivefrom my thoughts the sensation of terror which had at first possessedme. Death would be awful enough, especially such a death, but thatDulcie should think I had intentionally and consistently deceived her;that she should be made to believe I had never loved her and that I hadwantonly taken my life like a common coward, were too fearful to thinkabout. In an access of mad passion I wildly jerked my wrists again andagain in vain attempts to get free. My mouth was still gagged, or Ishould have called loudly in the desperate hope that even in thedeserted spot we were in the cry might be heard and bring assistance.Oh, those moments of frantic mental torture! To this day I can hardlybear to think of them.

  Gradually I grew calmer. The electric torch had been extinguished and westill swept on through the darkness. If only the engine would give out,I kept thinking; if only the car would for some reason break down; ifonly an accident of any sort would happen, I might yet escape theterrible fate awaiting me. To think that a crime such as this could becommitted with impunity; worse still, that my name should be handed downto
posterity dishonoured and disgraced. To be shot like a dog, with armsand legs bound like a felon's! The more I strove to distract my thoughtsthe more my mind dwelt upon the immediate future. What would Sir Rolandthink, and Jack Osborne, and all my friends--even old Aunt Hannah? Whilepretending to feel pity, how they would inwardly despise me for myapparent cowardice--that cruel letter, too, it would be printed in thenewspapers. Yet even that I could have borne with fortitude, I thought,if by some means Dulcie could be made to know that the letter which in aday or two would be found upon my dead body had not been written by me,and that I had not taken my life.

  The car was slowing down. Presently it stopped. Once more the disc oflight shone down upon my face. Quickly my disguise as Sir AubreyBelston, which I still wore--wig, moustache and eyebrows, whiskers andbeard--was removed. Hurriedly my face and neck were rubbed all over witha sponge soaked in some greasy liquid smelling strongly of turpentine,then rapidly dried with a cloth. Next, two men raised me off thestretcher, lifted me out of the car and set me on my feet, propping meagainst the car to prevent my falling over, for my legs were stilltightly bound.

  Instinctively I glanced about me. We seemed to be in the depths of someforest. The road we were on was rather narrow. On both sides of it darkpine trees towered into the sky, which itself was inky, neither moon norstars being visible.

  A light breeze moaned mournfully up the forest. As I stood there,unconsciously listening, the sound seemed to chill me. In vain Istrained my ears again in the mad hope that even at this last momenthelp of some sort might arrive. To right and left I looked along theroad, but the blackness was as dense as the blackness of the sky above.

  The lamps of the car had been extinguished. Now the only light visiblewas the glow of the electric torch. For a moment it flashed upon a face,and on the instant I recognized Gastrell, also a man I knew by sightthough not by name.

  So these were my persecutors, two men moving in the best society, andwholly unsuspected of anything approaching crime. They were to be mymurderers! Even in that moment of crisis I found myself unconsciouslywondering who the driver of the car could be, for obviously he too mustbe implicated in this plot, and a member of the gang. Another thoughtflashed through my mind. Which of all these criminals had done poorChurchill to death? Which had assassinated Preston on board the boat,leaving the impression that he had intentionally hanged himself? WasGastrell the assassin? Was--

  "Here is a place--beside this tree."

  The remark, uttered by the stranger, cut my train of thought. NowGastrell stood beside me. In one hand he held the torch. The fingers ofhis other hand were unfastening my coat. Soon I felt him push his hand,with a letter in it, into my inside pocket.

  The letter intended for Dulcie! The letter which would besmirch my name,dishonour and disgrace it for ever!

  In a fit of mad frenzy I tugged wildly at my bonds again in franticattempts to free myself. As well might I have tried to free myself fromhandcuffs. Calmly Gastrell rebuttoned my coat, heedless of my struggles.

  "And when you are dead," he said quietly, "Holt Manor and estates, andthe Challoner fortune, will come eventually to my companions and myself,for Connie, in spite of what she said, is going to marry RolandChalloner, and I intend to marry Dulcie--if she likes it or if shedoesn't. So now you realize, I hope, when it is too late, howill-advised you and your folk were to attempt to overthrow our plans.Several before you have tried, and all have failed; the majority aredead. Very likely more will try, and they too will fail. You know thefate of Churchill and of Preston. You know your own fate. Osborne hassaved himself by becoming one of us, for when he marries Jasmine he willjoin us or else--"

  He stopped abruptly. A moment later he added:

  "Two of your friends we still have to reckon with, though neither countsfor much: Challoner's sister, and his son."

  A cold sweat broke out upon me as the ruffian mentioned Dick. God! Wasit possible these fiends would wreak their vengeance on a mere boy? Andyet if they meant to, how could he escape them? How simple for such mento get him in their power. Ah, if only I could have spoken I should, Itruly believe, have humiliated myself by beseeching the monsters tospare poor little Dick.

  "Come, hurry along," the stranger, who was standing by, exclaimedimpatiently.

  "Bob," Gastrell called, without heeding the interruption.

  At once the driver of the car approached. He spoke no word. The disc oflight shone upon his face and--"Pull your cap off," Gastrellsaid sharply.

  The fellow did so. As I stared hard at him, something in his face seemedfamiliar to me. Fat and bloated though the face was, and though the eyessagged, in the man's expression there was something--

  Gastrell turned to me.

  "Don't you see the likeness?" he asked quickly.

  Gagged as I was, of course I couldn't speak.

  "Bob is Sir Roland's brother--Robert Challoner," he said. "At Holt hisname is never spoken, but you have heard of him. Bob Challoner waskicked out of his home, first by his father, Sir Nelson Challoner, andafterwards by his own brother, Sir Roland. I will now tell you it wasBob who suggested the robbery at Holt, and who, with Connie, helped usthrough with it. He is going now to see to it that Dulcie becomesmy wife."

  "Stop your talk, for God's sake!" the stranger interrupted again, hispatience at an end. "Time is slipping by. Bring him here andfinish him."

  They carried me a little way into the forest, then set me on my feetagain, propped against a tree. That I did not feel utterly terrified atthe thought of my approaching death astonished me. After the mentaltorture I had endured, however, I felt comparatively calm.

  Gastrell approached to within about a yard. Again the wind moaned upthrough the forest. No other sound whatever broke the night's stillness.Once more a disc of light shone straight into my eyes, though now from adistance of a few inches only. I saw the muzzle of a pistol glitterabove the light--I knew now that the electric torch was connected withthe weapon.

  There came a sharp, metallic "click," as Gastrell cocked the hammer.