21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series)

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  Even while these thoughts passed through her brain, he turned to talk to her, and she felt at once that little glow of pleasure which the sound of his voice nearly always evoked.

  “I am looking forward so much,” he said, “to my stay at Devenham. You know, it will not be very much longer that I shall have the opportunity of accepting such invitations.”

  “You mean that the time is really coming when we shall lose you?” she asked suddenly.

  “When my work is finished, I return home,” he answered. “I fancy that it will not be very long now.”

  “When you do leave England,” she asked after a moment’s pause, “do you go straight to Japan?”

  He bowed.

  “With the Continent I have finished,” he said. “The cruiser which His Majesty has sent to fetch me waits even now at Southampton.”

  “You speak of your work,” she remarked, “as though you had been collecting material for a book.”

  He smiled.

  “I have been busy collecting information in many ways,” he said,—“trying to live your life and feel as you feel, trying to understand those things in your country, and in other countries too, which seem at first so strange to us who come from the other side of the East.”

  “And the end of it all?” she asked.

  His eyes gleamed for a moment with a light which she did not understand. His smile was tolerant, even genial, but his face remained like the face of a sphinx.

  “It is for the good of Japan I came,” he said, “for her good that I have stayed here so long. At the same time it has been very pleasant. I have met with great kindness.”

  She leaned a little forward so as to look into his face. The impassivity of his features was like a wall before her.

  “After all,” she said, “I suppose it is a period of probation. You are like a schoolboy already who is looking forward to his holidays. You will be very happy when you return.”

  “I shall be very happy indeed,” he admitted simply. “Why not? I am a true son of Japan, and, for every true son of his country, absence from her is as hard a thing to be borne as absence from one’s own family.”

  Somerfield, who was sitting on her other side, insisted at last upon diverting her attention.

  “Penelope,” he declared, lowering his voice a little, “it isn’t fair. You never have a word to say to me when the Prince is here.”

  She smiled.

  “You must remember that he is going away very soon, Charlie,” she reminded him.

  “Good job, too!” Somerfield muttered, sotto voce.

  “And then,” Penelope continued, with the air of not having heard her companion’s last remark, “he possesses also a very great attraction. He is absolutely unlike any other human being I ever met or heard of.”

  Somerfield glanced across at his rival with lowering brows.

  “I’ve nothing to say against the fellow,” he remarked, “except that it seems queer nowadays to run up against a man of his birth who is not a sportsman,—in the sense of being fond of sport, I mean,” he corrected himself quickly.

  “Sometimes I wonder,” Penelope said thoughtfully, “whether such speeches as the one which you have just made do not indicate something totally wrong in our modern life. You, for instance, have no profession, Charlie, and you devote your life to a systematic course of what is nothing more or less than pleasure-seeking. You hunt or you shoot, you play polo or golf, you come to town or you live in the country, entirely according to the seasons. If any one asked you why you had not chosen a profession, you would as good as tell them that it was because you were a rich man and had no need to work for your living. That is practically what it comes to. You Englishmen work only if you need money. If you do not need money, you play. The Prince is wealthy, but his profession was ordained for him from the moment when he left the cradle. The end and aim of his life is to serve his country, and I believe that he would consider it sacrilege if he allowed any slighter things to divert at any time his mind from its main purpose. He would feel like a priest who has broken his ordination vows.”

  “That’s all very well,” Somerfield said coolly, “but there’s nothing in life nowadays to make us quite so strenuous as that.”

  “Isn’t there?” Penelope answered. “You are an Englishman, and you should know. Are you convinced, then, that your country today is at the height of her prosperity, safe and sound, bound to go on triumphant, prosperous, without the constant care of her men?”

  Somerfield looked up at her in growing amazement.

  “What on earth’s got hold of you, Penelope?” he asked. “Have you been reading the sensational papers, or stuffing yourself up with jingoism, or what?”

  She laughed.

  “None of those things, I can assure you,” she said. “A man like the Prince makes one think, because, you see, every standard of life we have is a standard of comparison. When one sees the sort of man he is, one wonders. When one sees how far apart he is from you Englishmen in his ideals and the way he spends his life, one wonders again.”

  Somerfield shrugged his shoulders.

  “We do well enough,” he said. “Japan is the youngest of the nations. She has a long way to go to catch us up.”

  “We do well enough!” she repeated under her breath. “There was a great city once which adopted that as her motto,—people dig up mementoes of her sometimes from under the sands.”

  Somerfield looked at her in an aggrieved fashion.

  “Well,” he said, “I thought that this was to be an amusing luncheon party.”

  “You should have talked more to Lady Grace,” she answered. “I am sure that she is quite ready to believe that you are perfection, and the English army the one invincible institution in the world. You mustn’t take me too seriously today, Charlie. I have a headache, and I think that it has made me dull.”…

  They trooped out into the foyer in irregular fashion to take their coffee. The Prince and Penelope were side by side.

  “What I like about your restaurant life,” the Prince said, “is the strange mixture of classes which it everywhere reveals.”

  “Those two, for instance,” Penelope said, and then stopped short.

  The Prince followed her slight gesture. Inspector Jacks and Dr. Spencer Whiles were certainly just a little out of accord with their surroundings. The detective’s clothes were too new and his companion’s too old. The doctor’s clothes indeed were as shabby as his waiting room, and he sat where the sunlight was merciless.

  “How singular,” the Prince remarked with a smile, “that you should have pointed those two men out! One of them I know, and, if you will excuse me for a moment, I should like to speak to him.”

  Penelope was not capable of any immediate answer. The Prince, with a kindly and yet gracious smile, walked over to Inspector Jacks, who rose at once to his feet.

  “I hope you have quite recovered, Mr. Inspector,” the Prince said, holding out his hand in friendly fashion. “I have felt very guilty over your indisposition. I am sure that I keep my rooms too close for English people.”

  “Thank you, Prince,” the Inspector answered, “I am perfectly well again. In fact, I have not felt anything of my little attack since.”

  The Prince smiled.

  “I am glad,” he said. “Next time you are good enough to pay me a visit, I will see that you do not suffer in the same way.”

  He nodded kindly and rejoined his friends. The Inspector resumed his seat and busied himself with relighting his cigar. He purposely did not even glance at his companion.

  “Who was that?” the doctor asked curiously. “Did you call him Prince?”

  Inspector Jacks sighed. This was a disappointment to him!

  “His name is Prince Maiyo,” he said slowly. “He is a Japanese.”

  The doctor looked across the restaurant with puzzled face.

  “It’s queer,” he said, “how all these Japanese seem to one to look so much alike, and yet—”

  He brok
e off in the middle of his sentence.

  “You are thinking of your friend of the other night?” the Inspector remarked.

  “I was,” the doctor admitted. “For a moment it seemed to me like the same man with a different manner.”

  Inspector Jacks was silent. He puffed steadily at his cigar.

  “You don’t suppose,” he asked quietly, “that it could have been the same man?”

  The doctor was still looking across the room.

  “I could not tell,” he said. “I should like to see him again. I wasn’t prepared, and there was something so altered in his tone and the way he carried himself. And yet—”

  The pause was expressive. Inspector Jacks’ eyes brightened. He hated to feel that his day had been altogether wasted.

  XXIV. PRINCE MAIYO BIDS HIGH

  Table of Contents

  Inspector Jacks was in luck at last. Eleven times he had called at St. Thomas’s Hospital and received the same reply. Today he was asked to wait. The patient was better—would be able to see him. Soon a nurse in neat uniform came quietly down the corridor and took charge of him.

  “Ten minutes, no more,” she insisted good-humoredly.

  The Inspector nodded.

  “One question, if you please, nurse,” he asked. “Is the man going to live?”

  “Not a doubt about it,” she declared. “Why?”

  “A matter of depositions,” the Inspector exclaimed. “I’d rather let it go, though, if he’s sure to recover.”

  “It’s a simple case,” she answered, “and his constitution is excellent. There isn’t the least need for your to think about depositions. Here he is. Don’t talk too long.”

  The Inspector sat down by the bedside. The patient, a young man, welcomed him a little shyly.

  “You have come to ask me about what I saw in Pall Mall and opposite the Hyde Park Hotel?” he said, speaking slowly and in a voice scarcely raised above a whisper. “I told them all before the operation, but they couldn’t send for you then. There wasn’t time.”

  The Inspector nodded.

  “Tell me your own way,” he said. “Don’t hurry. We can get the particulars later on. Glad you’re going to be mended.”

  “It was touch and go,” the young man declared with a note of awe in his tone. “If the omnibus wheel had turned a foot more, I should have lost both my legs. It was all through watching that chap hop out of the taxicab, too.”

  The Inspector inclined his head gravely.

  “You saw him get in, didn’t you?” he asked.

  “That’s so,” the patient admitted. “I was on my way—Charing Cross to the Kensington Palace Hotel, on a bicycle. There was a block—corner of Pall Mall and Haymarket. I caught hold—taxi in front—to steady me.”

  The nurse bent over him with a glass in her hand. She raised him a little with the other arm.

  “Not too much of this, you know, young man,” she said with a pleasant smile. “Here’s something to make you strong.”

  “Right you are!”

  He drained the contents of the glass and smacked his lips.

  “Jolly good stuff,” he declared. “Where was I, Mr. Inspector?”

  “Holding the back of a taxicab, corner of Regent Street and Haymarket,” Inspector Jacks reminded him.

  The patient nodded.

  “There was an electric brougham,” he continued, “drawn up alongside the taxi. While we were there, waiting, I saw a chap get out, speak to some one through the window of the taxi, open the door, and step in. When we moved on, he stayed in the taxi. Dark, slim chap he was,” the patient continued, “a regular howling swell,—silk hat, white muffler, white kid gloves,—all the rest of it.”

  “And afterwards?” the Inspector asked.

  “I kept behind the taxi,” the youth continued. “We got blocked again at Hyde Park Corner. I saw him step out of the taxi and disappear amongst the vehicles. A moment or two later, I passed the taxi and looked in—saw something had happened—the fellow was lying side-ways. It gave me a bit of a start. I skidded, and over I went. Sort of had an idea that every one in the world had started shouting to me, and felt that I was half underneath an omnibus. Woke up to find myself here.”

  “Should you know the man again?” the Inspector asked. “I mean the man whom you saw enter and leave the taxi?”

  “I think so—pretty sure!”

  The nurse came up, shaking her head. Inspector Jacks rose from his seat.

  “Right, nurse,” he said. “I’m off. Take care of our young friend. He is going to be very useful to us as soon as he can use his feet and get about. I’ll come and sit with you for half an hour next visiting day, if I may?” he added, turning to the patient.

  “Glad to see you,” the youth answered. “My people live down in the country, and I haven’t many pals.”

  Inspector Jacks left the hospital thoughtfully. The smell of anaesthetics somehow reminded him of the library in the house at the corner of St. James’ Square. It was not altogether by chance, perhaps, that he found himself walking in that direction. He was in Pall Mall, in fact, before he realized where he was, and at the corner of St. James’ Square and Pall Mall he came face to face with Prince Maiyo, walking slowly westwards.

  The meeting between the two men was a characteristic one. The Inspector suffered no signs of surprise or even interest to creep into his expressionless face. The Prince, on the other hand, did not attempt to conceal his pleasure at this unexpected encounter. His lips parted in a delightful smile. He ignored the Inspector’s somewhat stiff salute, and insisted upon shaking him cordially by the hand.

  “Mr. Inspector Jacks,” he said, “you are the one person whom I desired to see. You are not busy, I hope? You can talk with me for five minutes?”

  The Inspector hesitated for a moment. He was versed in every form of duplicity, and yet he felt that in the presence of this young aristocrat, who was smiling upon him so delightfully, he was little more than a babe in wisdom, an amateur pure and simple. He was conscious, too, of a sentiment which rarely intruded itself into his affairs. He was conscious of a strong liking for this debonair, pleasant-faced young man, who treated him not only as an equal, but as an equal in whose society he found an especial pleasure.

  “I have the time to spare, sir, certainly,” he admitted.

  The Prince smiled gayly.

  “Inspector Jacks,” he said, “you are a wonderful man. Even now you are asking yourself, ‘What does he want to say to me—Prince Maiyo? Is he going to ask me questions, or will he tell me things which I should like to hear?’ You know, Mr. Inspector Jacks, between ourselves, you are just a little interested in me, is it not so?”

  The detective was dumb. He stood there patiently waiting. He had the air of a man who declines to commit himself.

  “Just a little interested in me, I think,” the Prince murmured, smiling at his companion. “Ah, well, many of the things I do over here, perhaps, must seem very strange. And that reminds me. Only a short time ago you were asking questions about the man who travelled from Liverpool to London and reached his destination with a dagger through his heart. Tell me, Mr. Inspector Jacks, have you discovered the murderer yet?”

  “Not yet,” the detective answered.

  “I have heard you speak of this affair,” the Prince continued, “and before now I expected to read in the papers that you had put your hand upon the guilty one. If you have not done so, I am very sure that there is some explanation.”

  “It is better sometimes to wait,” the detective said quietly.

  The Prince bowed as one who understands.

  “I think so,” he assented, “I think I follow you. On the very next day there was another tragedy which seemed to me even more terrible. I mean the murder of that young fellow Vanderpole, of the American Embassy. Mr. Inspector Jacks, has it ever occurred to you, I wonder, that it might be as well to let the solution of one await the solution of the other?”

  Inspector Jacks shrugged his shoulders.

/>   “Occasionally,” he admitted reluctantly, “when one is following up a clue, one discovers things.”

  “You are wonderful!” the Prince declared. “You are, indeed! I know what is in your mind. You have said to yourself, ‘Between these two murders there is some connection. They were both done by the hand of a master criminal. The victims in both cases were Americans.’ You said to yourself, ‘First of all, I will discover the motive; then, perhaps, a clue which seems to belong to the one will lead me to the other, or both?’ You are not sure which way to turn. There is nothing there upon which you can lay your hand. You say to yourself, ‘I will make a bluff.’ That is the word, is it not? You come to me. You tell me gravely that you have reason to suspect some one in my household. That is because you believe that the crimes were perpetrated by some one of my country. You do not ask for information. You think, perhaps, that I would not give it. You confront me with a statement. It was very clever of you, Mr. Inspector Jacks.”