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

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  The music changed its note. Even as we sat there its languorous, passionate rhythm passed away, to be succeeded by the quicker, cleaner notes of some old martial music. It came to me like a cold douche. I remembered that I had been—was still—a soldier. I remembered that my word was pledged to certain undertakings, and that after all I was fighting on her side. The momentary depression passed away. I found myself able to talk more lightly, until something of the old gayety came back to her also.

  “Tell me,” she said, as at last we rose to vacate our places,—“you spoke the other day of going down into the country.”

  “I am not leaving London just yet,” I said decidedly.

  If I had indeed made some great sacrifice, I should have been rewarded by the brilliant look which she flashed up at me. Her eyes for a moment were absolutely the color of violets. I heard people whisper as we passed by. We said very little more to one another. I left her at the lift, and she gave me both her hands with a little impulsive gesture which I had already learned to look for. Then one of those inexplicable moods seemed to take possession of her. As the lift shot away from me I saw that her eyes were full of tears.

  I made my way back to the café. It was now almost deserted. All but one or two very late diners had gone, and the tables were being prepared for supper. Louis, however, was still there, sitting at the desk by the side of the cashier, and apparently making calculations. He came forward when he saw me enter, and we met by chance just as one of the under-managers of the hotel passed by.

  “What can I do for you this evening, Captain Rotherby?” he asked, with his usual bow. “A table for supper, perhaps?”

  “I want some coffee,” I asked. “I want you to see that it is strong, and well made.”

  Louis turned and gave an order to a waiter. I sat down, and he stood by my side.

  “Mademoiselle has gone to her room?” he asked.

  “Five minutes ago,” I answered.

  “In an hour,” he said, “it will be safe for monsieur to go to Mr. Delora’s room. You need not pass through the sitting-room at all. There is a door into the bedroom connecting with the corridor. If mademoiselle hears anything, she will think that it is the doctor.”

  “I shall be quite ready,” I answered. “There are only one or two things I want to ask you. One is this, what explanation is to be given of my occupying that room, if there is a row?”

  “There will not be a row,” Louis answered coolly. “If monsieur is hurt, I shall see to it that he is conveyed to his own apartment. If any one who attacks him, or tries to search the apartment, should be hurt by monsieur, I shall see, too, that they are removed quietly. These things are easy enough. The service through the night is almost abandoned. Monsieur may not know it, but on the floor on which he sleeps there is not a single servant.”

  “Supposing I ring my bell?” I asked.

  “If it were answered at all,” Louis said, “it would be by the lift man.”

  “On the whole,” I remarked, “it seems to me that the residential side of the hotel is admirably suited to the nocturnal adjustment of small differences!”

  Louis smiled.

  “There has never been any trouble, sir,” he said. “You see,” he added, pointing to the clock, “it is now ten o’clock. In one hour monsieur should be there. I have ordered whiskey and soda to be put in the room.”

  “Shall I see anything of you, Louis?” I asked.

  “It is not possible, monsieur,” he answered. “I must be here until half-past twelve or one o’clock to attend to my supper guests.”

  I leaned back in my chair and laughed silently. It seemed to me a strange thing to speak so calmly of the service of the restaurant, while upstairs I was to lie quiet, my senses strained all the time, and the chances of life and death dependent, perhaps, on the quickness of my right arm, or some chance inspiration. I saw the usual throng come strolling in—I myself had often been one of them—actresses who had not time to make a toilette for the restaurant proper, actors, managers, agents, performers from all the hundreds of pleasure houses which London boasts, Americans who had not troubled to dress, Frenchwomen who objected to the order prohibiting their appearance in hats elsewhere,—a heterogeneous, light-hearted crowd, not afraid to laugh, to make jokes, certain to outstay their time, supping frugally or au prince, according to the caprice of the moment. And upstairs I saw myself waiting in a darkened room for what? I felt a thrill of something which I had felt just before the final assault upon Ladysmith, when we had drunk our last whiskey and soda, thrown away our cigarettes, and it had been possible to wonder, for a moment, whether ever again our lips would hold another. Only this was a very different matter. I might be ending my days, for all I knew, on behalf of a gang of swindlers!

  “Louis,” I said, “it would make me much more comfortable if you could be a little more candid. You might tell me in plain words what these men want from Delora. How am I to know that he is not the thief, and these others are seeking only their own?”

  Louis was silent for a moment. He glanced carelessly around the room to assure himself that there were no listeners.

  “I can tell you no more, sir,” he said, “for if I told you more, I should tell you lies. I will only remind you that you owe us a debt which I am asking you to pay, and that it is the uncle of mademoiselle whose place you are taking.”

  “I am not in the least convinced,” I said, “that I am aiding the uncle of mademoiselle in allowing myself to be attacked in his place.”

  “As for that,” Louis answered, “you shall be assured to-morrow, and, if you will, there is another adventure still to be undertaken. You shall go to see Mr. Delora, and be thanked with his own lips.”

  “There is some sense in that, Louis,” I allowed, lighting another cigarette, “but I warn you I shall make him tell me the truth.”

  Louis smiled inscrutably.

  “Why not, monsieur?” he said.

  “Tell me this, at any rate, Louis,” I asked. “What is it that you hope for from this evening? You believe that some one will break in with the idea of robbing or else murdering Mr. Delora. They will find me there instead. What is it you hope,—that they will kill me, or that I shall kill them, or what?”

  “That is a very reasonable question,” Louis admitted. “I will answer it. In the first place, I would have them know that they have not all the wits on their side, and if they plot, we, too, can counterplot. In the second place, I wish you to see the man or the men face to face who make this attempt, and be prepared, if necessary, to recognize them hereafter. And in the third place, there is one man to whom, if he should himself make the attempt, I should be very glad indeed if harm came of it.”

  “Thank you, Louis,” I said, “I am not proposing to do murder if I can help it.”

  “One must defend one’s self,” Louis said.

  “Naturally,” I answered, “up to a certain point. You have nothing more to tell me, then?”

  “Nothing, sir,” Louis answered calmly. “I wish you once more bonne fortune!”

  I nodded, and left the café. Of the hall-porter I made an inquiry as to the man who had had a fit in the café earlier in the evening.

  “The doctor has been to see him twice, sir,” the man told me. “It was a sort of apoplectic stroke, brought on by something which he had eaten.”

  “Will he recover?” I asked.

  “The doctor says it is serious,” the man answered, “but that with careful nursing he will pull round. We have just sent a telegram to a lady in Paris to come over.”

  I smiled as I rang the bell for the lift. So I might see my lady of the turquoises again.

  XIX. WHEELS WITHIN WHEELS

  Table of Contents

  Arrived in my room, I changed my dress-coat for a smoking- jacket, and my patent shoes for loose slippers. Then I suddenly discovered that I had no cigarettes. I glanced at the clock. It was only half-past ten. I had still half an hour to spare.

  I locked up my room and descen
ded by the lift to the entrance hall. My friend the hall-porter was standing behind his counter, doing nothing.

  “I wish you would send a boy into the café,” I said, “and ask Louis to send me a box of my cigarettes.”

  “With pleasure, sir,” the man answered. “By the bye,” he added, “Louis is not there himself, but I suppose any of the others would know the sort you smoke, sir?”

  “Not there?” I answered, glancing at the clock. “Ah! I suppose it is a little early for him.”

  “He will not be there at all this evening,” the porter answered. “The second maître d’hôtel was here a few minutes ago, and told me so himself.”

  “Not there at all!” I repeated. “Do you mean to say that Louis has a night off?”

  “Certainly, sir,” the man answered. “He has just gone out in his morning clothes.”

  For a moment I was so surprised that I said nothing. Only a few minutes ago Louis had gone out of his way to tell me that he would be on duty that night in the café. All the time it was obviously a lie! He would not have deceived me without a reason. What was it? I walked to the door and back again. The hall-porter watched me a little curiously.

  “Did you wish for Monsieur Louis particularly,” he said, “or shall I send to Antoine for the cigarettes?”

  I pulled myself together.

  “Send to Antoine, by all means,” I answered. “He knows what I want.”

  I took up an evening paper and glanced at the news. Somehow or other I was conscious, although I had had no exercise, of feeling unusually sleepy. When the boy returned with the cigarettes I thrust the box into my pocket, unopened. Then I went to the smoking-room on my way upstairs and drank a stiff brandy and soda. Of one of the junior waiters whom I met I asked a question.

  “Do you know if Monsieur Louis will be here to-night?” I asked.

  “No, sir!” he answered. “He has just left.”

  “Very well,” I answered. “You need not mention my inquiry.”

  I gave the boy half-a-crown, and ascended once more to my room. I was feeling a little more awake, but, incomprehensible though it might seem, I began to have a curious idea concerning the coffee with which Louis had served me. I even remembered—or thought that I remembered—some curious taste about it. Yet what object could Louis have in drugging me just as I was on the point of entering into an enterprise on his behalf?

  I had a spirit-lamp in my room, and I made myself rapidly a cup of strong tea. Even after I had drunk it, I still felt the remains of the drowsy feeling hanging around me. It was now ten minutes to eleven, and I opened my wardrobe to find the only weapon with which I proposed to arm myself,—a heavily loaded Malacca cane, which had more than once done me good service. To my surprise it was not in its accustomed corner. I was perfectly certain that I had seen it since my return from Paris, and I proceeded to make a thoroughly methodical search. I left scarcely an inch of space in my rooms undisturbed. At last I was forced to come to the conclusion that the stick had gone. Either the valet or some one else must have borrowed it.

  It was eleven o’clock by the time I had concluded my search, and there was no time for me to make any further inquiries. I locked up my rooms and descended to the fifth floor. The corridor was empty, and with the key which Louis had given me I opened the door of Mr. Delora’s bedroom without difficulty. The room was in darkness, but the electric-light knob was against the wall. I turned it on quickly. There was neither any one in the room, nor any evidence of it having been recently occupied t satisfied with my first inspection, I looked into the wardrobe and lifted the curtains of the bed. Very soon I was assured that there was no one in hiding. I sat down on the edge of the bed and began to consider how to pass the time for the next hour or so. The whiskey and soda set out upon the table attracted my attention. I went over to it, struck by a sudden thought! First I poured out a little of the whiskey. It smelt harmless enough. I tried it upon my tongue. There was no distinctive flavor. Then I looked at the soda-water syphon. The top was screwed up tightly enough, and it easily came undone with the application of a little force. I examined the screw. I felt certain at once, for some reason or other, that it had been tampered with recently. I poured a little of the soda-water into a glass. It was quite flat, and when I tasted it it had a peculiar flavor. Something seemed to have been added to it which destroyed altogether its buoyancy. I screwed on the top again and whistled softly to myself. The whiskey and soda had been placed there by Louis. He had even gone so far as to call my particular attention to it. The coffee which I had drunk a little before had also been prepared by Louis. He was evidently taking no chances! It was his intention that I should be asleep when the intruder, whoever he might be, should enter the room. After all, it seemed that I was in for something a little more complicated in the way of adventures than I had imagined. I examined the lock of the door by which I had entered. It worked easily, and there was also a bolt on the inside. The door was by its side which led into the sitting-room. I also examined it, and I saw with satisfaction that there was at the top a narrow glass transept, which I carefully opened. The sitting-room was in darkness, so Felicia had evidently retired for the night. I sat down to wait!

  The time dragged on slowly enough, as it might well have done under the circumstances. I was waiting for something,—I had not the least idea what, or in what form it would arrive. I heard the quarters chime one after the other until one o’clock. Then at last I heard the sound of a key in the outer door of the suite. I had already poured half the syphon of soda and a fair quantity of the whiskey out of the window. I now threw myself upon the bed, closed my eyes, and did my best to simulate a heavy sleep. The person who entered the apartments came up the little outer passage until he reached the door leading into my room. I heard that softly opened. Then there was a pause, broken only by my heavy breathing. Some one was in the room, and it was some one who had learned the art of absolute noiselessness. I heard no footsteps,—not even a man’s breathing. Suddenly there was the click of the electric light, and although I still heard nothing, I felt that some one had approached a little way towards the bed. I dared not open my eyes, but in a restless movement, which I felt I might safely make, I raised my hand to shield me, and caught a momentary glimpse of the person who was standing between me and the door. As I expected, it was Louis! He held the soda-water syphon in his hand, as though measuring its contents. I believe that he afterwards came and stood over me. I dared not open my eyes again, for I was none too good an actor, and I feared that he might not be deceived. The quantity of whiskey and soda, however, which I had apparently drunk, must have satisfied him, for he only stayed altogether about a minute in the room. Then he passed out into the sitting-room, closing the door behind him, and without noticing the open transept. I lay quite still, expecting that before long he would return. There were no signs of his coming, however, though through the transept I could see that the light in the sitting-room had been turned on. I rose softly from the bed and bolted both doors. If Louis were to make up his mind to return, it was better, after all, for him to discover that I had been deceiving him than to have him come upon me unawares!

  From the top of a chair I was easily able to see through the transept into the sitting-room. At my first glance I thought that it was empty. Then, however, I saw Louis come in from the outer hall, as though from the door of Felicia’s room. He came into the centre of the sitting-room and stood there waiting. He was in dark morning clothes, and there was no sign of that charming expression which his patrons found so attractive. His brows were contracted. His mouth seemed screwed together. His peculiar-colored eyes shone like gimlets. He seemed to be waiting impatiently—waiting for what? Once he moved a little, and glanced expectantly toward the open door of the sitting-room. For the first time a horrible fear gripped me. I could scarcely stand in my place. With both hands I held the cornice. My heart began to thump against my ribs. If it should be true! Then all of a sudden a little cry came to my lips, which Heaven knows how
I stifled! My eyes were suddenly hot. There was a mist before them. I could see nothing, nothing save Felicia, who had entered the room in a dressing-jacket, with her hair still down her back. It was nothing to me, at that moment, that her eyes were round with fear, that she came as one comes who obeys the call of her master. I was so furious with anger that I had hard work to battle with the impulse which prompted me to throw open the door and confront them both.

  “Louis, is this wise?” she murmured.

  “There are times,” he answered softly, “when one has to dare everything! Listen, Felicia.”

  “Yes?” she murmured.

  “In a short time you will hear a soft knocking on the outside door. Take no notice. I shall open it. It will be some one to see your uncle. We shall talk in this sitting-room. I hope that nothing will happen, but if you hear the sound of blows or voices take no notice. Remain in your room till everything is quiet. Presently, if all is well, I shall knock three times on your door. I may need your help.”

  “Very well,” she answered. “And if you do not knock?”

  He handed her a slip of paper.

  “You have a telephone in your room,” he said. “Ring up the number you will find there, and simply repeat the words which I have written.”

  “Is that all?” she asked.

  “That is all.”

  “Louis,” she said,—then she pointed in my direction,—“may I not go in just for one minute?”

  “No!” he answered. “It is not wise.”

  “It seems unkind,” she said, “to keep away from him all this time if he is ill.”

  “I did not know that you had so much affection for him!” Louis remarked.

  “Why not?” she answered. “He was always kind to me, in his way.”