Kitabı oku: «The House of Whispers», sayfa 12

CHAPTER XXIII
WHICH SHOWS A SHABBY FOREIGNER

Felix Krail, his cigarette held half-way to his lips, stood watching the effect of his insinuation. He saw a faint smile playing about Flockart's lips, and knew that it appealed to him. Old Sir Henry Heyburn had laid a clever trap for him, a trap into which he himself believed that his daughter had fallen. Why should not Flockart retaliate?

The shabby stranger, whose own ingenuity and double-dealing were little short of marvellous, and under whose watchful vigilance the Heyburn household had been ever since her ladyship and her friend Flockart had gone south, stood silent, but in complete satisfaction.

The well-dressed Riviera-lounger—the man so well known at all the various gay resorts from Ventimiglia along to Cannes, and who was a member of the Fêtes Committee at San Remo and at Nice—merely exchanged glances with his friend and smiled. Quickly, however, he changed the topic of conversation. "And what's occurring in Paris?"

"Ah, there we have the puzzle!" replied the man Krail, his accent being an unfamiliar one—so unfamiliar, indeed, that those unacquainted with the truth were always placed in doubt regarding his true nationality.

"But you've made inquiry?" asked his friend quickly.

"Of course; but the business is kept far too close. Every precaution is taken to prevent anything leaking out," Krail responded.

"The clerks will speak, won't they?" the other said.

"Mon cher ami, they know no more of the business of the mysterious firm of which the blind Baronet is the head than we do ourselves," said Krail.

"They make enormous financial deals, that's very certain."

"Not deals—but coups for themselves," he laughed, correcting Flockart. "Recollect what I discovered in Athens, and the extraordinary connection you found in Brussels."

"Ah, yes. You mean that clever crowd—four men and two women who were working the gambling concession from the Dutch Government!" exclaimed Flockart. "Yes, that was a complete mystery. They sent wires in cipher to Sir Henry at Glencardine. I managed to get a glance at one of them, and it was signed 'Metaforos.'"

"That's their Paris cable address," said his companion.

"Surely you, with your network of sources of information, and your own genius for discovering secrets, ought to be able to reveal the true nature of Sir Henry's business. Is it an honest one?" asked Flockart.

"I think not."

"Think! Why, my dear Felix, this isn't like you only to think; you always know. You're so certain of your facts that I've always banked upon them."

The other gave his shoulders a shrug of indecision. "It was not a judicious move on your part to get rid of the girl from Glencardine," he said slowly. "While she was there we had a chance of getting at some clue. But now old Goslin has taken her place we may just as well abandon investigation at that end."

"You've failed, Krail, and attribute your failure to me," protested his companion. "How could I risk being ignominiously kicked out of Glencardine as a spy?"

"Whatever attitude you might have taken would have had the same result. We used the information, and found ourselves fooled—tricked by a very crafty old man, who actually prepared those documents in case he was betrayed."

"Admitted," said Flockart. "But even though we made fools of ourselves in Athens, and caused the Greek Government to look upon us as rogues and liars, the girl is suspected; and I for one don't mean to give in before we've secured a nice, snug little sum."

"How are we to do it?"

"By obtaining knowledge of the game being played in Paris, and working in an opposite direction," Flockart replied. "We are agreed upon one point: that for the past few years, ever since Goslin came on the scene, Sir Henry's business—a big one, there is no doubt—has been of a mysterious and therefore shady character. By his confidence in Gabrielle, his care that nobody ever got a chance inside that safe, his regular consultations with Goslin (who travelled from Paris specially to see him), his constant telegrams in cipher, and his refusal to allow even his wife to obtain the slightest inkling into his private affairs, it is shown that he fears exposure. Do you agree?"

"Most certainly I do."

"Well, any man who is in dread of the truth becoming known must be carrying on some negotiations the reverse of creditable. He is the moving spirit of that shady house, without a doubt," declared Flockart, who had so often grasped the blind man's hand in friendship. "In such fear that his transactions should become known, and that exposure might result, he actually had prepared documents on purpose to mislead those who pried into his affairs. Therefore, the instant we discover the truth, fortune will be at our hand. We all want money, you, I, and Lady Heyburn—and money we'll have."

"With these sentiments, my dear friend, I entirely and absolutely agree," remarked the shabby man, lighting a fresh cigarette. "But one fact you seem to have entirely overlooked."

"What?"

"The girl. She stands between you, and she might come back into the old man's favour, you know."

"And even though she did, that makes no difference," Flockart answered defiantly.

"Why?"

"Because she dare not say a single word against me."

Krail looked him straight in the face with considerable surprise, but made no comment.

"She knows better," Flockart added.

"Never believe too much in your own power with a woman, mon cher ami," remarked the other dubiously. "She's young, therefore of a romantic turn of mind. She's in love, remember, which makes matters much worse for us."

"Why?"

"Because, being in love, she may become seized with a sentimental fit. This ends generally in a determination of self-sacrifice; and in such case she would tell the truth in defiance of you, and would be heedless of her own danger."

Flockart drew a long breath. What this man said was, he knew within his own heart, only too true of the girl towards whom they had been so cruel and so unscrupulous. His had been a lifelong scheme, and as part of his scheme in conjunction with the woman who was Sir Henry's wife, it had been unfortunately compulsory to sacrifice the girl who was the blind man's right hand.

Yes, Gabrielle was deeply in love with Walter Murie—the man upon whom Sir Henry now looked as his enemy, and who would have exposed him to the Greek Government if the blind man had not been too clever. The Baronet, after his daughter's confession, naturally attributed her curiosity to Walter's initiative, the more especially that Walter had been in Paris, and, it was believed, in Athens also.

The pair were, however, now separated. Krail, in pursuit of his diligent inquiries, had actually been in Woodnewton, and seen the lonely little figure, sad and dejected, taking long rambles accompanied only by a farmer's sheep-dog. Young Murie had not been there; nor did the pair now correspond. This much Krail had himself discovered.

The problem placed before Flockart by his shabby friend was a somewhat disconcerting one. On the one hand, Lady Heyburn had urged him to leave the Riviera, without giving him any reason, and on the other, he had the ever-present danger of Gabrielle, in a sudden fit of sentimental self-sacrifice, "giving him away." If she did, what then? The mere suggestion caused him to bite his nether lip.

Krail knew a good deal, but he did not know all. Perhaps it was as well that he did not. There is a code of honour among adventurers all the world over; but few of them can resist the practice of blackmail when they chance to fall upon evil days.

"Yes," Flockart said reflectively, as at Krail's suggestion they turned and began to descend the steep hill towards Ospedaletti, "perhaps it's a pity, after all, that the girl left Glencardine. Yet surely she's safer with her aunt?"

"She was driven from Glencardine!"

"By her father."

"You sacrificed her in order to save yourself. That was but natural.

It's a pity, however, you didn't take my advice."

"I suggested it to Lady Heyburn. But she would have nothing to do with it. She declared that such a course was far too dangerous."

"Dangerous!" echoed the shabby man. "Surely it could not have placed either of you in any greater danger than you are in already?"

"She didn't like it."

"Few people do," laughed the other. "But, depend upon it, it's the only way. She wouldn't, at any rate, have had an opportunity of telling the truth."

Flockart pulled a wry face, and after a silence of a few moments said, "Don't let us discuss that. We fully considered all the pros and cons, at the time."

"Her ladyship is growing scrupulously honest of late," sneered his companion. "She'll try to get rid of you very soon, I expect."

The latter sentence was more full of meaning than the speaker dreamed. The words, falling upon Flockart's ears, caused him to wince. Was her ladyship really trying to rid herself of his influence? He laughed within himself at the thought of her endeavouring to release herself from the bond. For her he had never, at any moment, entertained either admiration or affection. Their association had always been purely one of business—business, be it said, in which he made the profits and she the losses.

"It would hardly be an easy matter for her," replied the easy-going, audacious adventurer.

"She seems to be very popular up at Glencardine," remarked the foreigner, "because she's extravagant and spends money in the neighbourhood, I suppose. But the people in Auchterarder village criticise her treatment of Gabrielle. They hear gossip from the servants, I expect."

"They should know of the girl's treatment of her stepmother," exclaimed Flockart. "But there, villagers are always prone to listen to and embroider any stories concerning the private life of the gentry. It's just the same in Scotland as in any other country in the world."

"Ah!" continued Flockart, "in Scotland the old families are gradually decaying, and their estates are falling into the hands of blatant parvenus. Counter-jumpers stalk deer nowadays, and city clerks on their holidays shoot over peers' preserves. The humble Scot sees it all with regret, because he has no real liking for this latter-day invasion by the newly-rich English. Cotton-spinners from Lancashire buy deer-forests, and soap-boilers from Limehouse purchase castles with family portraits and ghosts complete."

"Ah! speaking of the supernatural," exclaimed Krail suddenly, "do you know I had a most extraordinary and weird experience when at Glencardine about three weeks ago. I actually heard the Whispers!"

Flockart stared hard at the man at his side, and, laughing outright, said, "Well, that's the best joke I've heard to-day. You, of all men, to be taken in by a mere superstition."

"But, my dear friend, I heard them," said Krail. "I swear I actually heard them! And I—well, I admit to you, even though you may laugh at me for being a superstitious fool—I somehow anticipate that something uncanny is about to happen to me."

"You're going to die, like all the rest of them, I suppose," laughed his friend, as they descended the dusty, winding road that led to the palm-lined promenade of the quiet little Mediterranean watering-place.

CHAPTER XXIV
"WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK"

On their left were several white villas, before which pink and scarlet geraniums ran riot, with spreading mimosas golden with their feathery blossom, for Ospedaletti makes a frantic, if vain, bid for popularity as a winter-resort. Its deadly dullness, however, is too well known to the habitué of the Riviera; and its casino, which never obtained a licence, imparts to it the air of painful effort at gaiety.

"Well," remarked the shabby man as they passed along and out upon the sea-road in the direction of Bordighera, "I always looked upon what the people at Auchterarder said regarding the Whispers as a mere myth. But now, having heard them with my own ears, how can I have further doubt?"

"I've listened in the Castle ruins a good many times, my dear Krail," replied the other, "but I've never heard anything more exciting than an owl. Indeed, Lady Heyburn and I, when there was so much gossip about the strange noises some two years ago, set to work to investigate. We went there at least a dozen times, but without result; only both of us caught bad colds."

"Well," exclaimed Krail, "I used to ridicule the weird stories I heard in the village about the Devil's Whisper, and all that. But by mere chance I happened to be at the spot one bright night, and I heard distinct whisperings, just as had been described to me. They gave me a very creepy feeling, I can assure you."

"Bosh! Now, do you believe in ghosts, you man-of-the-world that you are, my dear Felix?"

"No. Most decidedly I don't."

"Then what you've heard is only in imagination, depend upon it. The supernatural doesn't exist in Glencardine, that's quite certain," declared Flockart. "The fact is that there's so much tradition and legendary lore connected with the old place, and its early owners were such a set of bold and defiant robbers, that for generations the peasantry have held it in awe. Hence all sorts of weird and terrible stories have been invented and handed down, until the present age believes them to be based upon fact."

"But, my dear friend, I actually heard the Whispers—heard them with my own ears," Krail asserted. "I happened to be about the place that night, trying to get a peep into the library, where Goslin and the old man were, I believe, busy at work. But the blinds fitted too closely, so that I couldn't see inside. The keeper and his men were, I knew, down in the village; therefore I took a stroll towards the ruins, and, as it was a beautiful night, I sat down in the courtyard to have a smoke. Then, of a sudden, I heard low voices quite distinctly. They startled me, for not until they fell upon my ears did I recall the stories told to me weeks before."

"If Stewart or any of the under-keepers had found you prowling about the Castle grounds at that hour they might have asked you awkward questions," remarked Flockart.

"Oh," laughed the other, "they all know me as a visitor to the village fond of walking exercise. I took very good care that they should all know me, so that as few explanations as possible would be necessary. As you well know, the secret of all my successes is that I never leave anything to chance."

"To go peeping about outside the house and trying to took in at lighted windows sounds a rather injudicious proceeding," his companion declared.

"Not if proper precautions are taken, as I took them. I was weeks in that terribly dull Scotch village, but nobody suspected my real mission. I made quite a large circle of friends at the 'Star,' who all believed me to be a foreign ornithologist writing a book upon the birds of Scotland. Trust me to tell people a good story."

"Well," exclaimed Flockart, after a long silence, "those Whispers are certainly a mystery, more especially if you've actually heard them. On two or three occasions I've spoken to Sir Henry about them. He ridicules the idea, yet he admitted to me one evening that the voices had really been heard. I declared that the most remarkable fact was the sudden death of each person who had listened and heard them. It is a curious phenomenon, which certainly should be investigated."

"The inference is that I, having listened to the ghostly voices, am doomed to a sudden and violent end," remarked the shabby stranger quite gloomily.

Flockart laughed. "Really, Felix, this is too funny!" he said. "Fancy your taking notice of such old wives' fables! Why, my dear fellow, you've got many years of constant activity before you yet. You must return to Paris in the morning, and watch in patience."

"I have watched, but discovered nothing."

"Perhaps I'll come and assist you; most probably I shall."

"No, don't! As soon as you leave San Remo Sir Henry will know, and he might suspect."

"Suspect what?"

"That you are in search of the truth, and of fortune in consequence."

"He believes in me. Only the other day I had a letter from him written in Goslin's hand, repeating the confidence he reposes in me."

"Exactly. You must remain down here for the present."

Flockart recollected the puzzling decision of Lady Heyburn, and remained silent.

"Our chief peril is still the one which has faced us all along," went on the man in the grey hat—"the peril that the girl may tell about that awkward affair at Chantilly."

"She dare not," Flockart assured him quickly.

Krail shook his head dubiously. "She's leading a lonely life. Her heart is broken, and she believes herself, as every other young girl does, to be without a future. Therefore, she's brooding over it. One never knows in such cases when a girl may fling all prudence to the winds," he said. "If she did, then nothing could save us."

"That's just what her ladyship said the other day," answered Flockart, tossing away his cigarette. "But you don't know that I hold her irrevocably. She dare not say a single word. If she dare, why did she not tell the truth about the safe?"

"Probably because it was all too sudden. She now finds life in that dismal little village intolerable. She's a girl of spirit, you know, and has always been used to luxury and freedom. To live with an old woman in a country cottage away from all her friends must be maddening. No, my dear James, in this you've acted most injudiciously. You were devoid of your usual foresight. Depend upon it, a very serious danger threatens. She will speak."

"I tell you she dare not. Rest your mind assured."

"She will."

"She shall not!"

"How, pray, can you close her mouth?" asked the foreigner.

Flockart's eyes met his. In them was a curious expression, almost a glitter.

Krail understood. He shrugged his shoulders, but uttered no word. His gesture was, however, that of one unconvinced. Adventurer as he was, ingenious and unscrupulous, he lived from hand to mouth. Sometimes he made a big coup and placed himself in funds. But following such an event he was open-handed and generous to his friends, extravagant in his expenditure; and very soon found himself under the necessity to exercise his wits in order to obtain the next louis. He had known Flockart for years as one of his own class. They had first met long ago on board a Castle liner homeward bound from Capetown, where both found themselves playing a crooked game. A friendship begotten of dishonesty had sprung up between them, and in consequence they had thrown in their lot together more than once with considerable financial advantage.

The present affair was, however, not much to Krail's liking, and this he had more than once told his friend. It was quite possible that if they could discover the mysterious source of this blind man's wealth they might, by judiciously levying blackmail through a third party, secure a very handsome income which he was to share with Flockart and her ladyship.

The last-named Krail had always admitted to be one of the cleverest women he had ever met. His only surprise had been that she, as Sir Henry's wife, was unable to get at the facts which were so cleverly withheld. It only showed, however, that the Baronet, though deprived of eyesight, was even more clever than the unscrupulous woman he had so foolishly married.

Krail held Lady Heyburn in distinct distrust. He had once had dealings with her which had turned out the reverse of satisfactory. Instinctively he knew that, in order to save herself, if exposure ever came, she would "give him away" without the least compunction.

What had puzzled him for several years, and what, indeed, had puzzled other people, was the reason of the close friendship between Flockart and the Baronet's wife. It was certainly not affection. He knew Flockart intimately, and had knowledge of his private affairs; therefore he was well aware of the existence of an unknown and rather insignificant woman to whom he was in secret devoted.

No; the bond between the pair was an entirely mysterious one. He knew that on more than one occasion, when Flockart's demands for money had been a little too frequent, she had resisted and attempted to withdraw from further association with him. Yet by a single word, or even a look, he could compel her to disgorge the funds he needed, for she had even handed him some of her trinkets to pawn until she could obtain further funds from Sir Henry to redeem them.

As they walked together along the white Corniche Road, their faces set towards the gorgeous southern afterglow, while the waves lapped lazily on the grey rocks, all these puzzling thoughts recurred to Krail.

"Lady Heyburn seems still to remain your very devoted friend," he remarked at last with a meaning smile. "I see from the New York Herald what pleasant parties she gives, and how she is the heart and soul of social merriment in San Remo. By Jove, James! you're a lucky man to possess such a popular hostess as friend."

"Yes," laughed Flockart, "Winnie is a regular pal. Without her I should have been broken long ago. But she's always ready to help me along."

"People have already remarked upon your remarkable friendship," said his friend, "and many ill-natured allegations have been made."

"Oh, yes, I'm quite well aware of that, my dear fellow. It has pained me more than enough. You yourself know that, as far as affection goes, I've never in my life entertained a spark of it for Winnie. We were children together, and have been friends always."

"Quite so!" exclaimed Krail, smiling. "That's a pretty good story to tell the world. But there's a point where mere friendship must break, you know."

"What do you mean?" asked the other, glancing at him in surprise.

"Well, the story you tell other people may be picturesque and romantic, but with me it's just a trifle weak. Lady Heyburn doesn't give her pearls to be pawned, out of mere friendship, you know."

Flockart was silent. He knew too well that the man walking at his side was as clever an intriguer and as bold an adventurer as had ever moved up and down Europe "working the game" in search of pigeons to pluck. His shabbiness was assumed. He had alighted at Bordighera station from the rapide from Paris, spent the night at a third-rate hotel in order not to be recognised at the Angst or any of the smarter houses, and had met him by appointment to explain the present situation. His remarks, however, were the reverse of reassuring. What did he suspect?

"I don't quite follow you, Krail," Flockart said.

"I meant to imply that if friendship only links you with Lady Heyburn, the chain may quite easily snap," he remarked.

He looked at his friend, much puzzled. He could see no point in that observation.

Krail read what was passing in the other's mind, and added, "I know, mon cher ami, that affection from her ladyship is entirely out of the question. The gossips are liars. And–"

"Sir Henry himself is quite aware of that. I have already spoken quite plainly and openly to him, and suggested my departure from Glencardine on account of ill-natured remarks by her ladyship's enemies. But he would not hear of my leaving, and pressed me to remain."

Krail looked at him in blank surprise. "Well," he said, "if you've been bold enough to do this in face of the gossip, then you're a much cleverer man than ever I took you to be."

For answer, Flockart took some letters from his breast-pocket, selected one written in a foreign hand, and gave it to Krail to read. It was from the hermit of Glencardine, written at his dictation by Monsieur Goslin, and was couched in the warmest and most confidential terms.

"Look here, James," exclaimed the shabby man, handing back the letter, "I'm going to be perfectly frank with you. Tell me if I speak the truth or if I lie. It is neither affection nor friendship which links your life with that woman's. Am I right?"

Flockart did not answer for some moments. His eyes were cast upon the ground. "Yes, Krail," he admitted at last when the question had been put to him a second time—"yes, Krail. You speak the truth. It is neither affection nor friendship."