Menlowe was talking loudly.
“Don’t you call me a swell,” he said. “In my line of business, a man must pay attention to dress.”
At this his companions roared with laughter.
“Wonders will never cease,” answered one of the men. “When you go on your trip for action in the park among the toffs, will you take me with you?”
“Anyone can go to the park, who has money. Let me tell you who makes money. Why, those, who have courage. I’ve learned my business from some real downy cads, who made it pay well. Why would I not do the same?”
A sickening feeling of terror overwhelmed Old Man Davidson. The young man was drunk. What would he say next? How much did he know? Menlowe’s friends could also see that he had drunk too much. He seemed ready to let them in on the secret source of his money. They exchanged knowing glances. To induce him to talk they passed the bottle rapidly and flattered him up. One of the men shook his head with a smile.
“I don’t believe there is a business at all,” he said.
“It is not some low handicraft. It’s mind work, my boy and that’s what I do.”
“I don’t doubt that a bit,” answered another friend coaxingly.
“Come on! Tell us what it is,” interjected the other. “You don’t expect us to take your word for it, do you?”
Menlowe replied, “Listen a bit and you’ll have the whole bag of tricks.” He turned to one of his friends. “Suppose I saw Alby steal a couple of pairs of boots from a warehouse late at night…”
Alby interrupted the narrator, protesting so strongly that he would not commit such an act, that Old Man Davidson understood immediately that Menlowe was talking about something that had happened.
“You needn’t kick up such a row,” said Menlowe. “I’m only saying it as an example. We will say you had done the trick and that I had twigged you. Do you know what I would do? Well, I would look up dear Alby and say quietly, “Halves, old boy, or I will sing.”
“And I would give you a crack in the jaw,” answered Alby angrily.
Forgetting his fine dress, Menlowe playfully put his thumb to his nose and extended his fingers.
“You would not be such an idiot,” he said. “You would say to yourself, “If I punch this lad, he will kick up a storm and I will be arrested and perhaps sent to the mill for a few.” No, dear boy, you would do just as I wanted.”
“And this is what you call your business, is it? It’s only blackmail.”
“I never said it wasn’t. It’s blackmail perfected into a system on a grand scale.”
As Menlowe said this he hammered on the table, calling for more brandy.
“But,” said Alby, disappointed, “you can’t always be seeing lads prigging boots.”
“Listen,” answered Menlowe. “If you want to make money in this business, you must keep your eyes about you. Customers don’t come to you, you hunt until you find them.”
“And where do you hunt?”
A long silence ensued, during which Old Man Davidson was half tempted to come forward. By doing so he would nip all explanations in the bud, but he wanted to hear all the young rascal had to say. He therefore only moved a little closer and listened more intently.
Forgetting his curls, Menlowe was abstractedly combing his fingers through his hair and thinking with all the wisdom of a muddled mind. Finally, he came to the conclusion that he could speak freely and leaning forward he whispered, “This must remain amongst us, agreed?”
His companions assured him that they could be trusted.
“All right! I make my money in Hyde Park and sometimes get a harvest twice a day.”
“But there are no shoemakers’ shops there.”
“You’re a fool,” answered Menlowe contemptuously. “Do you think I blackmail shoplifters? Honest people are my game. Those are the ones, who can be made to pay up.”
Old Man Davidson shuddered. He remembered that Berrick had made use of the same expression and at once surmised that Menlowe must have had an occasional ear to the keyhole.
“But,” objected Alby, “honest people have no reason to pay up.”
Menlowe struck his glass so heavily on the table that half the contents spilled out.
“Will you let me speak?” he said.
“Go on, go on,” answered his friend.
“Well, when I’m hard up for cash, I go into Hyde Park and take a seat on one of the benches. From there I keep an eye on the cabs and see who gets out of them. If a respectable woman does so, I’m sure of my bird.”
“Do you think you know a respectable woman when you see her?”
“I would think that I did. But let me continue. When a respectable woman gets out of a cab when she ought not to have, she looks around, first to the right and then to the left to see if anyone she knows is around. As soon as she is sure that no one is watching her, she sets off as if Old Nick was behind her.”
“Well, what do you do then?”
“Why, I follow the lady and see if she is joined by a man. If so, I take a picture of them and then wait until she goes back home and note down the address.”
“What do you do next?”
“Next morning I go there and hang around until I see the husband go out. If it’s not the man she met in the park, I go upstairs and ask for the wife. It is ticklish work then, my boys, but I say, “Yesterday, I was unlucky enough to leave my wallet in a cab. But I saw you hail the vehicle just after I left it. I have come to ask you if you saw my wallet.” The lady flies into a rage, denies all knowledge of the wallet and threatens to have me thrown out. Then, with the utmost politeness I show her the photo and I say, “I see that there is nothing to be done, but to talk to your husband.” Then she gets scared and she pays up.”
“Brilliant!”
“When the funds are low, I go back again. And so the game goes on. A dozen such clients give a gentleman a very fair income. Now, perhaps, you understand why I’m always so well dressed and always have money in my pocket. When I was shabbily dressed they offered me a couple of shillings, but now they bring out the banknotes.”
Old Man Davidson knew the young man spoke the truth, because many women, who in a moment of passion may have forgotten themselves and had fallen in the clutches of some prowling blackmailer, had seen their lives become an endless journey of agony. Every knock at the door made them start and every footstep on the staircase caused fear.
“Where did you learn this?” asked Alby.
At another time Menlowe would have lied, but the fumes of drink added to his natural arrogance deprived him of all judgment.
“Well,” he said, “I’ve seen others do it often enough. I mean I’m working for others, like the dog that catches the hare and never has a bit of it to eat. No, all I get is dry bread, with a kick for dessert. I’m through with them, though. I’ve made up my mind. I’m going into business for myself.”
“And who are you working for?”
“I work for people, who have no equal in London,” he said proudly. “I can tell you they have more money than you could count in six months. There is not a thing they cannot do if they so desire and if I were to tell you…”
He stopped. His mouth opened wide and his eyes filled with terror, because before him stood the Deuce himself.
Old Man Davidson’s face had a most benign expression on it and in a most paternal voice he said, “So here you are at last, my boy. I hardly recognize you. You look like a real swell.”
The fumes of liquor, which had clouded Menlowe’s mind dissipated. He remembered what he had said. He became conscious of his mistake. Menlowe was a smart young man. He was by no means deceived by Old Man Davidson’s outward semblance of friendliness. He knew he was about to pay the price for this mistake. He knew his life depended on what he said next. The question was, however, had the old man heard the conversation? It was therefore with a simulated air of calmness that he answered, “I was waiting for you, sir and it was out of respect to you that I put on my very best cl
othes.”
His courage was coming back to him rapidly.
“Will you take a glass of beer or brandy, sir?” he said.
Old Man Davidson excused himself.
Menlowe continued, “My friends and I have drunk the contents of all these bottles since dinner.”
Old Man Davidson raised his shabby hat at this semi-introduction and the others bowed smoothly. They were not happy with the appearance of the new-comer and thought that this was a good moment for them to leave. They said their goodbyes and quickly disappeared into the crowd.
“Good gentlemen!” said Menlowe, trying to keep them in sight in case he needed help.
Old Man Davidson gave a low, derisive whistle. “My boy,” he said, “you keep strange company and one day you will regret it.”
“I can look after myself, sir.”
“Do as you like, my boy. It’s no business of mine. But take my word for it, you will come to grief someday. I’ve told you that often enough.”
“If the old man suspected anything,” thought Menlowe, “he would not talk in this way.”
Old Man Davidson was thinking to himself, “This young man is too clever by half. If we were going on with the business, how useful he would be to us! Now, however, on the eve of our biggest coup, followed by our retirement, it would be too dangerous to allow him to stay around and talk.”
Menlowe called a waiter and flinging a banknote on the table said haughtily, “Take your bill out of that.” But Old Man Davidson pushed the money back toward the young man and taking a bigger banknote from his pocket, gave it to the waiter.
This unexpected act of generosity put the young man’s mind at ease.
“Claire Innerleithen, is she here? I could not find her,” said Old Man Davidson.
“Because you didn’t know where to look for her,” answered Menlowe, breathing a sigh of relief. “She is playing cards in the corner over there. Come along, sir.”
But Old Man Davidson put his hand on the young man’s arm.
“One moment,” he said. “Did you tell the woman what I told you to say?”
“I didn’t forget a word, sir.”
“Tell me what you said, then.”
“For five days,” began the young man, “I’ve been Claire’s shadow. We’ve played cards until deep into the night and I took care that she would always win. I told her that I had a jolly old uncle, not without means, a widower, who had seen her, had fallen in love with her and wanted to marry her.”
“Good boy! And what did she say?”
“Why, she grinned like a dozen cats! She is smart, though. At first she thought I was after her poker money, but the mention of my uncle’s name soon chucked her off that idea.”
“Did you give her my name?”
“Yes, at the end, I did. As soon as I mentioned it she looked rather confused and said, “Oh, that must be the guy, who’s been clinging to me like a shadow, lately.”
Menlowe was right. The former domestic of the Count of Sissinghurst was playing cards, but as soon as she caught sight of Menlowe and his “uncle,” in spite of her holding an excellent hand, she threw her cards away and received them with the utmost civility. Menlowe looked on with delight as he had never seen the old man so pleasant and talkative. It was easy to see that Claire Innerleithen was yielding to his charm, because she had never had such extravagant compliments whispered in her ear in so persuasive a tone. Old Man Davidson ordered a bottle of champagne. All the old man’s lost youth seemed to come back to him. He sang, he drank and he danced. Menlowe watched them in surprise as the old man whirled the clumsy, heavy body of the woman around the dance floor.
And he was rewarded handsomely for his tremendous exertion. By ten o’clock Claire agreed to have supper with him and she happily left the restaurant on the arm of her fiancé.
Next morning the body of a woman was found lying on her face on the pavement. Passersby took a closer look. She was not dead as they had at first supposed. The unhappy creature came to her senses. A policeman was called, who called his sergeant, who called for a police car, which took her to the police station. It was Claire Innerleithen. She remembered that she had been to supper at a restaurant with her fiancé. That was all she could remember. The smell of alcohol gave away the reason.
For three days Berrick had not shown himself at the office. Captain Haven was terribly harassed trying to keep the establishment running without the firm hand of Attila of his employer. When Berrick came to the office, he demanded to be left alone. He ensconced himself in his private room.
Suddenly the door opened and Dr. Willoughby entered the room.
“Well?” said Berrick. “Have you seen the Burgh le Marsh’s, as I told you?”
“Certainly,” answered Willoughby briskly. “I saw the countess and told her how impatient the holders of her letters were growing and urged her to act immediately. She told me that both she and her husband had determined to yield and that Felicia, though obviously broken-hearted, would not oppose the marriage.”
“Good!” said Berrick. “If Yelvertoft follows the orders, which I have given him, the marriage will take place without the knowledge of either Ingoldmells or Crawley. Soon we need not fear them any longer. The prospectus of our new company is ready.”
A timid knock on the door announced the arrival of Will. He came in hesitatingly, doubtful of what sort of a reception he would receive. Berrick gave him the warmest possible welcome.
“Allow me,” he said, “to offer you my congratulations. A friend of mine has informed me of the very flattering terms in which Mr. Pitstone spoke of you. If our friend Dr. Willoughby were to go to the banker with an offer of marriage on your part, you have no cause to dread a refusal.”
Will blushed with pleasure and as he was stammering out a few words, the door opened for the third time and Eydon made his appearance. His face was all smiles and he advanced with outstretched hand toward his confederates, but Berrick’s look was so menacing, that he recoiled a few steps.
“What’s the meaning of this reception?” he asked.
“What do you think?” answered Berrick. His behavior became more and more threatening. “There are no depths to your infamy.”
“On my honor…”
“It is useless. You swore the other day that you were on our side, but one word from Grain set us on the right track.”
“What track?” asked Eydon, increasingly alarmed at hearing the name of the detective.
“Were you or were you not ignorant of the fact that the Count of Sissinghurst could recognize his son by a certain scar?”
“It had escaped my memory. That’s all.”
The words faded from his lips, because even his great self-control failed him under Berrick’s glance.
“Let me tell you what I think of you,” said the latter. “I knew that you were a traitor, but even convicts keep faith with each other.”
“Then why have you forced me to act this way?”
This reply exasperated Berrick. He grabbed Eydon by the throat and shook him violently.
“I made you, you snake,” he screamed. “You will serve me or I will take everything from you, your name, your money, your life.”
Berrick let go of Eydon. Eydon stood with his head bent on his breast, rooted to the floor with terror. A threatening silence followed. Will grew faint with apprehension. “Suppose, Eydon, that I were to tell you that now I know far more of the Sissinghurst matter than you do. Your knowledge is only derived from what the count told you.”
He took from his desk a piece of paper. It was ragged, dirty and creased. He handed it to Willoughby and said, “Read!”
Willoughby read it then gave it to Will. The paper contained the following words, “Please, I’m innocent. Give me back our son.” Underneath was written in another hand the word, “Never.”
Willoughby said, giving the paper back to Berrick, “What does it mean?”
Berrick stretched out his arm in the air. “The Countess of Sissinghurst, i
n the anguish of her soul, sent this letter through a trusted maid to her husband and he, overcome by rage, hurriedly scrawled his response underneath it and said, “Take this back to your mistress.”
“Ah!” said the doctor. “Claire Innerleithen has finally spoken.”
“Yes, sir!”
As Berrick said these words he waved the paper over his head with an air of triumph.
“Shake for me, England, because I’m not yet finished with you,” he said.
The doctor put on his best clothes when he went to visit Mr. Pitstone. He wished to inform the banker that his young friend, Mr. Will Platts demanded the hand of his daughter in marriage. Mr. Pitstone asked him to wait for the answer. He went into an adjoining room. Willoughby heard a female voice utter a delighted scream. When Mr. Pitstone came back into the room, he sat down and said simply, “The answer is yes.”
Two weeks before the wedding it dawned on Will that he had never met his father-in-law. He knew that Rhiannon’s mother had died a long time ago, but her father lived in the house and still he had never met him or even seen as much as a photograph of him. One evening, when Will and Rhiannon were sitting at the piano closely watched by the good doctor, the door flew open and in came Berrick. Will stood up, surprised at seeing him there. He looked at the doctor, who smiled. Rhiannon’s reaction was the most surprising of all. She ran to Berrick and embraced him tightly.
Down To The Abbey (A Jules Poiret Mystery Book 12) Page 18