Terror struck her again when the rear door of the stable opened and a half-dozen Chinese of various ages and sizes came in, jabbering as they leered at her with almond eyes. She shuddered and turned her back to them, trying to shut their weird talk and chuckles from her mind.
Her head pressed against the wooden planks of the stable’s wall, she found herself truly praying for release. So desperate was her state that at first she did not hear the shouting from outside. The Chinese gathered in the stable were evidently aware of its meaning earlier than she, for they began to jabber louder and all scramble toward the rear door and then vanished through it. Heartened, she turned to hear more shouts and then the door sprang open.
Two of the river patrolmen led the way and following them was a man in plain clothes and Henry Clarkson still in the evening dress in which she’d last seen him at the party. The police ran on out after the fleeing Chinese while the man in plain clothes advanced to her, followed by Henry.
The detective draped the blanket over her and cut the heavy cords which had cut into her wrists. Seeing that the blanket served for modesty, he said, “We’ll get you to a hospital. Those wrists are in bad shape!”
Henry offered a sincere, “Thank God, you’re alive!”
She stared at the detective and then at him, and in a small voice asked, “How did you know?” Meaning how did they know where to look for her. But she did not hear the explanation if any came, because at that moment she became unconscious once again and remained so until she was in a hospital bed.
The broad, purple face of Dr. Walters, the family physician, loomed over her as she opened her eyes. He said, “Well, it is about time, Miss Standish.”
Weakly, she said, “Doctor.”
He took her hand and held it in his. “You must not worry. I knew you have been through a grim ordeal. But I’m convinced no permanent harm has been done!”
She noted that her ankles and wrists both pained, and saw that her wrists were bandaged. Her head ached wickedly and she had fits of trembling as she recalled her ordeal.
“Did they get him?” she asked.
“Who?” Dr. Walters wanted to know.
“The swarthy man! The one who kidnapped me!”
“No. He escaped,” the doctor said. “Inspector Hogan will tell you about it.”
“He attacked me,” she moaned. “Treated me worse than an animal!”
“I agree,” the bluff old doctor said. “But you are young and healthy. You will recover more quickly than you imagine. And I much doubt there will be any serious aftereffects.”
She closed her eyes. It was easy enough for this doctor, who saw little, if any, of the sort of violence she had just experienced, to be bland about it all. But she would never forget it. And she could only pray that her rape would not result in her giving birth to a child of the swarthy monster who’d attacked her.
When she opened her eyes again the doctor had vanished and a nervous, middle-aged man was standing by her bedside. She recognized him as the plainclothesman who had come to her rescue with Henry Clarkson.
“I’m Inspector Hogan, miss,” he identified himself.
“Thank you for saving me!”
He shrugged. “No more than my duty, miss. Though I was glad to do it. You can save some special thanks for the young man who was with me. That Mr. Clarkson.”
“How did he come into it?”
“He was the one who broke the case,” the inspector said. “Your aunt called Sir Roger Drexel and he sent Henry Clarkson to help.”
“I see,” she said, though she was still bewildered about it.
“Mr. Clarkson was questioning all the help when I arrived,” the inspector went on. “And it was a smart move, miss. For one of the scullery maids up and confessed to seeing the man who abducted you. He had been leading her on with promises to marry her and the rest. And he got her to let him in the house, hide in your room until he captured you, and see him safely out at the end.”
She said, “I knew there had to be someone on the inside to help him.”
“And you were right, miss,” the inspector said. “But when the girl realized she was caught and in trouble she told all she knew. She said the fellow was an Italian lately come to London. And a couple of times he’d taken her down to a boat at the Farrowgate Docks for lovemaking!”
“There was a small craft,” she said. “That is what he took me to Limehouse in!”
“Yes, miss,” the inspector said. “The girl also knew this Italian had friends in Limehouse. When we knew that, it was only a matter of going there and making a check of the buildings close by where the boat was docked. The girl had given us its description and name.”
“He got away?”
“The Italian?”
“Yes,” the inspector said with a sigh. “And we can’t seem to find him. The Chinese are no help and he doesn’t seem to have dealt with anyone else.”
“He must have had confederates,” she said.
“We can find none except the Chinese,” the inspector said. “The fellow had to be mad. What was the point of it all?”
“I can tell you that, Inspector,” she said bitterly. “He was looking for some kind of a jeweled Madonna which he claimed had been sent to me from Rome.”
“From Rome?” the inspector said, mystified.
“It’s a long story,” she said wearily. “I’m sure some error was made. Nothing was sent me. Though I have had an urgent message from Rome concerning a twin sister who was abducted years ago.”
Inspector Hogan’s thin face showed interest. “Would you be so good as to tell me all about this.”
She told him as much as she knew and all the while he made notes. She finished with, “It is possible Sir Roger Drexel can give you more information concerning this. He has the original letters sent us.”
“Thank you,” the inspector said, putting his notebook away. With a wry smile he suggested, “This is the sort of eerie case which I’m sure would be just right for Sherlock Holmes. But we have no Baker Street wizards at the Yard.”
“That man is dangerous,” she said earnestly. “I shall not feel safe until you find him.”
“We shall do our best,” the inspector said. “This story of a jeweled Madonna is puzzling. Apparently he was of the opinion you had this valuable item in your possession.”
“He seemed sure of it. I don’t know why.”
“Could it have anything to do with this Prince Sanzio who sent you the word about your sister?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It is most perplexing. I think some mistake was made. Wrong information given to the man who abducted me.”
“That often happens in the underworld.”
“But this man would not believe I knew nothing of such a Madonna. In addition he was sadistic and lustful.” She turned her head on her pillow and sighed.
“You must try to put what happened out of your mind,” the inspector urged her.
She gave him a grim look. “That is what my doctor told me. It will not be easy.”
“I’m fully aware of that,” the inspector said with a frown. “And depend on it we are following every lead in an attempt to locate the scoundrel.”
“Perhaps the maid—the girl he seduced—knows more than she told you.”
“We’ve questioned her thoroughly and have not been able to come up with anything new,” the inspector worried. “But I expect we can try again. She became hysterical and it was useless to prod her further.”
“I see.”
“In any event we have an idea that the fellow only let her know so much. He was cunning enough. It may be that she really doesn’t know anything beyond what she’s told us.”
Della realized this was all too likely to be true. “You may be right,” she said.
The inspector left her and she rested. When she awoke the nurse brought her some broth and she felt a good deal better though her wrists and ankles were still hurting.
Then Sir Roger arrived with her Aunt
Isobel. The old woman came to her and embraced her, tears streaming down her withered cheeks.
“I thought I had lost you!” her aunt lamented.
“It was a close thing,” she said with a rueful smile.
Sir Roger glanced about the tiny, white-walled room and inquired, “Are they giving you good care?”
“I cannot complain at all,” she told him.
Aunt Isobel now became indignant. “None of this would have happened if that wretched girl hadn’t lost her head and let that villain get control of her. I hope she serves a jail term for what she did.”
“I can see no benefit in that,” Della said. “Discharge her without references but do not prosecute.”
“Not prosecute?” Her aunt sounded surprised.
Sir Roger nodded. “I’m inclined to agree with Della. It could be a mistake to make charges against the girl and send her to prison. Better to give her a chance to rehabilitate herself.”
“But think how Della has suffered because of her?” Aunt Isobel said.
“Sir Roger is right,” Della said. “There will be no prosecution of the girl and let that be the end of it.”
“And that dreadful Italian man is still at large. You might have gone to Italy if this hadn’t happened. Perhaps it is a blessing in disguise!” her aunt went on.
“Extremely well disguised,” she said wanly. “But it will make no difference. I intend to go to Rome just as I planned.”
“You can’t!” Aunt Isobel protested.
Sir Roger looked down at her earnestly. “After all this do you think it wise?”
“Do I have any choice?” she asked. “I must find out about my sister.”
Aunt Isobel was upset. “Surely you cannot deny this Italian must have something to do with the other business of your sister being found!”
“It may be nothing but a coincidence,” Della said.
“Or it could be much more,” Sir Roger Drexel shook his head. “I tell you, I do not like it. Perhaps old Prince Sanzio has been mixed up in some sort of theft. And these others believe the loot was sent to you in London.”
Della said, “There may have been a theft but I’m sure Prince Sanzio had nothing to do with it. Though he may be able to explain the mystery when I meet him.”
“We shall be killed if we go,” Aunt Isobel said dismally.
“You don’t have to accompany me,” Della said.
The old woman gave her an angry glance. “You know I won’t let you go alone!”
“There is plenty of time to discuss that,” Sir Roger said placatingly. “The main thing now is that Della recover. And our remaining here arguing with her is not likely to help.”
Aunt Isobel calmed a little but said, “I’m only trying to take care of her.”
“I’m sure you are,” Sir Roger said. “And it will all work out. Just now we should leave and allow her to get more rest.”
Della kissed them both and they went on their way. She was grateful for the quiet which followed. She had gone through a great deal and was not yet fully recovered. As she lay there she thought about it all and it seemed to her that whoever had stolen the jeweled Madonna in Rome must have learned about her from old Prince Sanzio. They might well have sent the Madonna to her in London, expecting to pick it up on some pretense.
But somewhere along the line the plot had gone wrong. Whoever had been sent with stolen treasure had either vanished with it to keep it for themselves, or the whole thing had been a hoax on someone’s part: the Madonna had not been shipped out of Italy at all! She was sure she would get to the bottom of it when she reached Rome.
Her sleep that night was tormented by frightening dreams in which she was pursued by the man in the cape. His lean, cruel face was etched on her memory. She would not feel safe in London as long as he remained at large. And it worried her that he might still pursue her to Italy.
In this frame of mind her dreams were not surprising. Several times in the night she woke screaming. Her cries always brought a nurse running and each time she was given more sedative. All it did for her was make her sleep soundly for a short time and then the nightmares returned and she found herself trying to escape from the cruel attacker.
In the morning she felt better. Her doctor came by and pronounced himself satisfied with her condition. And later in the morning the nervous Inspector Hogan returned. He had little additional news, only more questions to ask her.
He stood by her bedside apologetically. “I have an idea that rogue has left London. He may even have skipped out of the country.”
“You’ve not been able to trace him?”
“No,” the inspector said. “We found the company who rented him the boat, but it was a cash deal and they could only offer the same description of him that you had already given us.”
“So you gained nothing?”
“Nothing beyond the fact he appeared to be well supplied with money.”
“I had dreadful nightmares of his chasing me last night,” she told him.
“I’m sorry, miss. I only hope this was all some sort of strange mix-up and you’ll not be bothered by this criminal or any of his cohorts again,” the inspector said.
“I hope not,” Della replied. But she knew it was all too likely that more would follow. Without knowing anything about it, she had somehow become involved in the theft of a treasure. “Have you heard anything about a jeweled Madonna?” she asked.
“No.”
“No reports of a piece like it being stolen from some museum?”
“Not as yet, miss,” the inspector said. “Though we no doubt will get notice if there has been such a robbery.”
“The museum might not even be aware of their loss,” she surmised.
“True, miss,” he agreed. “In some cases these fellows have been clever enough to substitute fake pieces for the ones stolen. In which case a long while elapses before such a loss is known.”
“He kept asking about a jeweled Madonna. Demanding that I tell him where it was hidden. Perhaps you might make some inquiries as to whether there are any well-known art items of that sort and where they might be located. Then you could pursue it further to see if one was missing.”
Inspector Hogan seemed impressed. “A very good idea, Miss Standish. I shall at once launch an investigation along those lines.”
“Possibly it may lead you to the theft and the criminals involved.”
“I sincerely hope so, miss,” the inspector said.
After he left she thought about it some more and was convinced she was on the right track. The jeweled Madonna had quite likely been filched from some museum, probably in Italy, though not necessarily. Whoever was involved had heard about her, likely through Prince Sanzio, and had decided to use her. An agent had been dispatched to bring a package to her for safekeeping. But the agent had never arrived! What had happened to him? And who had sent him?
She was still debating this when something she’d been wishing for happened. During his noonday break Henry Clarkson came to visit her. The serious young lawyer was the picture of sympathy as he came into the room.
Advancing to her bedside, he said, “Della, I trust you will forgive this visit.”
“I do,” she said.
“I’m glad to know you’re recovering and I want to offer my sympathy for all you’ve gone through.”
“That is good of you,” she said, her eyes fixed on him.
“It was a terrible ordeal,” he said.
She nodded. “But at least I learned something from it.”
“You did?”
“Yes,” she said, reaching out a hand to him. “I learned what a good friend you are and how unimportant the quarrel between us was.”
The handsome young man’s face brightened. “You really mean that, Della?”
“I’m offering you my hand as a token of our renewed friendship,” she said sincerely.
He took her hand in his. “Della!” he said with some emotion. And he bent and kissed her.
&nb
sp; She returned his kiss and then studied him with a sad smile. “It is too bad I had to go through such suffering to find out how wrong I’d been!”
“It doesn’t matter now!” he said, happy with the situation as it was.
“I was wrong not to believe you!”
“My story did seem thin, but I promise you I told you the truth. She was merely my sister’s friend. I had not been cheating on you!”
“I believe that now.”
“I thought I had lost you to Davy Miller!”
“Not likely,” she said. “Davy and all the others were just substitutes for you. I felt I had lost you and I was unhappy from that moment.”
Henry squeezed her hand. “No need to concern yourself about that.”
“Had it not been for your quick thinking last night that maid would never have confessed,” she said. “I heard about it from the inspector.”
The young lawyer looked embarrassed. “That was merely good luck. I felt someone on the inside had to be involved. I kept hammering at them and finally this young maid broke into tears and began to talk.”
“The police might not have managed it as well.”
“I have had training in court questioning.”
“And you used it to advantage,” she said. “My aunt and Sir Roger have been by to see me. And as you might expect, they both seem to think I should abandon going to Italy.”
He frowned. “They’re likely right. If your sister has been found why not have her come here? It seems likely that this attack on you stems from the business. Within a short while of getting the news you are abducted and nearly murdered by an Italian!”
Della sat up in bed and said in a confidential tone, “I do think there is some link between the two circumstances, but I don’t wish to admit it to my aunt or Sir Roger.”
“They are intelligent people,” Henry protested. “They probably have come to the same conclusion on their own.”
“They have and they are going to be difficult,” she agreed. “But I must go to Rome as I planned. The fact that some Italian criminals tried to make use of me does not mean that Prince Sanzio or my sister is involved. Someone might have heard about me through them and used the information wrongly without their being aware of it.”
Vintage Love Page 66