Chapter VII: Part 7

Marion spoke for the first time. "Sir Charles," she began, in low vibrating tones, "this man looks very ill. What have you done with him, and what is the matter with his hand?"

"He will tell you," said the surgeon curtly.

I looked up at her for the first time. Her eyes were dilated, and full of passionate questioning.

"You pretty actress!" I sneered, "you know nothing, oh, of course, you know nothing!"

"Miss Le Mar knows nothing, Hume," said Sir Charles, in tones of ice. "But it is time she knew. You will tell her, or shall I?"

"You," I muttered. I was a little dazed. Marion had not thought to have me tortured then. I had to readjust my mind, concerning her.

Sir Charles nodded, and the girl and he gazed into each other's eyes.

"Tell me!" she cried.

"His fingers have been pierced with frozen probes between the nail and quick!"

It seemed to me that an hour passed before their glances parted. But at last Marion uttered a little gasping sigh and slowly turned to me. Her face was very pale. "How you must loathe me!" she muttered.

"Yes!" I answered simply. "But you will better understand how much, if you will trouble to explore the room I lately occupied!"

"Come!" said Sir Charles, at once, and he strode across the cellar.

They were not absent long, yet when they returned Marion had some colour in her face. It seemed they had been talking, but I heard the end of their discourse.

"You should have known it, child," Sir Charles was saying. "I did not use bald words, because I trusted your intelligence. 'A long voyage' was the term I used. It bore one application only in my mind. You must perceive how utterly impossible it is that he should live. Why, if we kept him prisoner, he might escape--ten, twenty years hence even, and yet he still could ruin us!"

"But you spoke also of an island?"

"An island of dreams, Marion!" he replied impatiently. "Come, come, we waste time. You must be sensible!"

She bowed her head before him and appeared to think.

"Come, come," he said again, still more impatiently.

"Wait!" she replied. "I begin to understand."

"Well!"

"Mr. Hume spoke truly, monsieur, you doubted my word, and that is why you brought me here. You think it possible that I have the jewels. Is it not so?"

"Yes to all your questions!"

"And unless M. Hume confesses that he lied about the packet, I must behold his torture and listen to his screams!"

"Unhappily, my child!"

"Why should you doubt my word, monsieur? Have I ever in my life deceived you?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "How can I tell!" he sneered.

"Perhaps, perhaps, m'sieur--if he withstands the torture and persists to lie, you will then torture me? You do not see, though I see. He has planned that you should bring me here for his revenge. Therefore, he will not tell the truth! Will you torture me, m'sieur?"

"My child, you are a fool. It is the truth that I am seeking. I would give you the jewels, if you needed them. But this I shall not do--permit that man to triumph over me, in one iota! Why, Marion"--his voice broke--"he once obliged me to shake hands with him!"

I thrilled to hear him, for I saw he spoke the truth, and I understood at last how bitterly he had brooked the way that I had used him. I could write a sermon here on pride and vanity, if I had a mind. Good heavens! to what heights will they not drive, to what depths will they not drag their victims! But let another pen than mine essay the task. It is Homeric and beyond my powers to do it justice.

Marion left the surgeon's side, and came very close to me. "Agar Hume," she murmured, "I have used you ill, but how ill I did not dream till now. As God hears me I would never have betrayed you, if I had known it could have meant, what it has meant, and means!"

"Go on!" said I, "your voice is very sweet."

"You loved me once," she whispered.

"I did indeed."

"By the memory of that love I implore you now to speak the truth and forfeit your revenge. I am only a woman, monsieur, surely my punishment is great enough in knowing that I have brought you to your death!"

"I'm not dead yet, mademoiselle. You reproach yourself too soon."

"But you will die!" she cried.

"When it is written."

She clasped her hands and gazed at me beseechingly. "I want you to look back into a night, one night," she muttered very low, "I asked what would you give me for my love, and you replied, 'all that I can!'"

"Too true. I was sincere as well in what I said."

"Then give to me the memory of a man!"

"And you will keep the bargain, how? By worshipping that memory?"

She gave a little moan. "For God's sake," she pleaded, "For God's sake, M. Hume."

"For man's sake," I retorted, "I shall speak the truth," and looked beyond her.

"Sir Charles," said I, "I thought myself a liar till I met this woman--and selfish too beyond comparison. Did you ever hear the maxim I invented for the ruling of my life? It was this:--'_First person paramount!_' But look at her! She dwarfs and shadows me so much, without a maxim but her womanhood, that I can only keep my dignity by noising my defeat. Here am I, bound, helpless, ill, and threatened with a painful death, because of her. But she has jewels which she sets before my agony, and she would spare herself the shame of witnessing that agony. Wherefore she tries to fool me to the end, not caring what I suffer, so that her eyes and ears are not offended."

Sir Charles nodded his head, and it is very likely he believed me, for his eyes gleamed scorn at Marion.

"It is your turn," he said coldly.

"My turn, monsieur," she shuddered and turned crimson, it seemed to me with passion.

"Your turn," he repeated.

"Very well!" she cried in a voice grown hoarse and desperate. "Torture him! Torture him! That is all I have to say!"

Sir Charles glanced from her to the negroes. "Light the stove," he said.

The wretches disappeared behind my chair, and I heard one strike a lucifer.

"What is the bill of fare?" I jauntily inquired.

The surgeon smiled evilly. "I am too good a host to keep you in suspense!" he said. "For hors d'oeuvre, Jussieu will stroke your soles with red hot needles. Potage--we'll fill you palms with boiling oil. The entree----"

"Hold, monsieur!" I cried. "You go too fast. You'll spoil my appetite!"

"Your nerve is excellent!" he grudgingly admitted. "But how long will it last? Beudant, be good enough to bare our patient's feet."

Beudant obeyed. I have well-shaped feet, with not a blemish upon either. I was not ashamed to have them publicly exhibited. I could not see them myself because of my position, but Marion looked at them, and her glance was quickly riveted. Her lips were moving, and she seemed to be muttering to herself, although I heard no sound. God in Heaven! how beautiful she was, and how I hated her!

Within a few minutes, Jussieu re-appeared, bearing an iron plate, upon which was arrayed a brace of steel awls, set in wooden handles. The points glimmered blue and red. At a nod from Sir Charles Venner, my chair was tipped back in order to raise the soles of my feet. My ankles were strapped securely to the legs of the chair.

Jussieu set his plate upon the floor, and taking one of the awls in his hand, glanced up at his master.

"One moment!" cried Marion. She darted to the rack and seized the half-emptied champagne bottle which Beudant had opened for my benefit. Disdaining the cup, whose rim my lips had touched, she raised the bottle to her mouth and bending back her head drank deeply.

Sir Charles and I exchanged glances of amusement. A little later Marion recovered her position, but she continued to hold the bottle. The wine had produced an instantaneous and curious effect. She was snow white, and her eyes were dull and turgid. "I am ready!" she declared.

The surgeon stepped to the side of my chair, and presenting his back to Marion put his fingers on my right wrist.

Jussieu kneeled upon the floor, and passed his accursed awl across my instep. The pain was so exquisite that, although I fought like a tiger for control, I writhed and groaned.

The torture seared again, and then I shrieked.

But Marion glided forward, and raising the heavy bottle that she held on high, she brought it down with a crashing blow upon Sir Charles Venner's undefended head. The glass shivered into fragments, and the surgeon fell without groan or cry, unconscious at my feet.

My chair was unexpectedly released. I swung forward, seated erect again, helpless and suffering intensely, but uplifted to a mental contempt of pain in a sudden rapture of astonishment. Marion, who had stepped back almost to the farthest wall, faced the negroes with a little cocked pistol, which did not waver in her grasp. Her face was still ashen coloured, but her eyes were simply on fire.

"M. Jussieu!" said she, her voice was like a silver bell, "take up your master, if you want to live, and carry him into the other cellar!"

The negro did not move. He glared at her from where he kneeled, like a frozen image.

"In five seconds I shall kill you!" said the girl. "One--two--"

Jussieu uttered a raucous cry, and scrambled to his feet. Stooping quickly he seized the body of Sir Charles and staggered off.

"Beudant," said Marion, "lock that door quick!"

Beudant sprang to obey. I heard him slam the door and shoot home the bolts.

"Now," said the girl, "release M. Hume and take care not to hurt him."

In a moment I was free. But I could not move so much as a muscle. I had been four days in the chair, and I was not only cramped, but ill, frightfully ill. There was not an organ in my body that did not begin to give me agony immediately the supporting straps relaxed. Even as I swayed forward, I shrieked with pain and swooned. When I awoke I was stretched out at length upon the floor, and Beudant was kneading my half-naked limbs and body with all the strength and science of a skilled masseur. Marion, seated at a little distance on the chair, kept the muzzle of her pistol pointed at the negro's head. From the adjoining chamber a curious babel of sounds proceeded. Sir Charles Venner's voice, raised in passionate entreaties and commands, mingled with the noise of continual digging. Was Jussieu trying to dig a way out? For a moment I wondered why he did not attack the door with his pick, but then I remembered it was thick and stout and heavily bound with iron.

For another hour Beudant continued his massage, and Marion uttered no word nor made one move. I could not speak, because the pain I suffered obliged me to lock my teeth to keep from shrieking, and even as it was I often groaned. Beudant paused at last in sheer fatigue, and Marion permitted him to rest. Afterwards the negro dressed me, and bound up my wounded foot. He also gave me more champagne and assisted me to rise. I found that I could stand, but my muscles were flaccid and unstrung, while every nerve was raw and quivering. I could not move without assistance. At Marion's command Beudant took me in his arms. He was very strong, that negro, and he bore me as easily as I might have done a child. She opened the door, and we passed out before her, and mounted a flight of brick steps into a kitchen above. Marion bolted the door and followed us like a shadow. I was carried thence out into the night, across a long flagged yard into a stable, Marion always close behind us, with a lanthorn in her hand. I was deposited upon a truss of straw, from which vantage post I watched Beudant, under the guidance of the pistol, harness a quiet-looking horse, and attach it to the shafts of a small basket phaeton. The negro then lifted me into the body of the vehicle, and mounting to the box took up the reins. Marion climbed in and sat beside me. "Drive to London, Beudant," she said quietly, "and if you value your life keep your eyes before you!"

Heaven preserve me from the horrors of such another drive. At every jolt and rumble of the phaeton I felt as though I were being torn apart upon a rack. My moans made such hideous music for the road, that often we were stopped by travellers with courteous questions of my state. Marion addressed me several times with the same request: "For God's sake, monsieur, let me give you an injection of morphia. It will ease your pain!"

But I loathed her, and distrusted her.

"Better the pain," was my invariable response. "Better the pain!"

"How you hate me," she would cry. "How you hate me!"

Sometimes I felt her shiver, but not often, for I kept as closely to my corner as I could, and if by chance she touched me, curses trembled to my lips which I had work to stifle.

We drove so slowly that morning had already dawned before we reached the outskirts of the city. We stopped then at an inn, where Beudant's shouts procured a flask of spirits, which I drank to drug my suffering. Afterwards I did not groan, for though the brandy scarcely eased my pain, it gave me strength to smother its expression.

Marion put away her pistol soon, for the road was full of vehicles, and Beudant was no longer to be feared. The girl's face in the early morning light was pitifully lined and haggard. I watched her, but she kept her gaze set straight before, as though conscious of my stern regard. Every now and then too, she caught her breath, and shuddered as though she were remembering. Our silence lasted until we came to Notting Hill, when I became aware of a certain chilling curiosity concerning her.

"Now that you have broken with your friends," I muttered suddenly, "what will you do?"

She did not move, yet she answered at once in tones of deep humility. "Whatever you wish, monsieur!"

"Whatever I wish," I sneered. "What has my wish to do with you?"

She turned her head and looked into my eyes. "I have used you very ill, monsieur! I would make atonement, though, if you will let me!"

"How?"

"In any way you please."

"Would you marry me, mademoiselle?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"You conceive then that you owe me extraordinary reparation?"

"The greatest possible," she answered very softly.

I knew then that I loved her still, in spite of better cause for hate than love; but so deep was my bitterness and sense of injury against her, that I felt perfectly incapable of magnanimity.

"Your penitence is of sudden growth," I sneered.

"It is none the less sincere, monsieur!"

"And your humility?"

"That too, monsieur."

"I need a wife less than a servant who will nurse me!" I said coldly.

"I will serve you, monsieur."

I looked away and reflected deeply on her words. But though I tried, I could not understand her, and ignorance intensified distrust. Yet I foresaw that a period of sickness lay before me, and I could not believe that she had saved me to again betray me. Some one I must lean upon--it was imperative. She watched me in most evident anxiety, scarcely breathing the while.

I turned at last, and said:

"Have you money?"

"None, monsieur."

I felt my lip curl. It was, then, poverty which had inspired her abject self-surrender--and perhaps, too, fear. No doubt she relied upon my aid to escape Sir Charles Venner's vengeance.

She read my thought, and murmured very low: "As God hears me, you are unjust, monsieur!"

"We shall see!" I sneered. "Stop the phaeton!" We had come upon a cab-stand. Beudant transferred me into a fourwheeler, and Marion thereupon commanded him to return to Staines. When he had departed, I gave her my Bruton Street address, and thither, in perfect silence, we proceeded. My gaolers had disdained to rob me, but my pockets contained less than four pounds, and it was necessary to provide immediately against the illness I anticipated.

When we had arrived, I explained to her the situation of my room, and bade her bring me down my cash-box, in which reposed my cheque-book and all my bank receipts. The box I knew was locked, but, in order to ensure its privacy, I obliged her to detach my latch-key from the others and give me back the bunch. She obeyed me with a sigh, and in five minutes she placed the cash-box in my hands.

"Where to now, monsieur?" she asked humbly, with downcast eyes.

"To the Colonnade Hotel."

She spoke to the driver and resumed her seat. Upon arriving at our destination, two porters carried me within, and I engaged two adjoining rooms on the third floor, to the larger of which I was carefully transported. To all seeming, I was a wounded man in charge of a nurse, for Marion wore her uniform, and I explained to the clerk that our luggage would presently follow us from the station, where we had left it. We were thus able to circumvent Mother Grundy's spirit of conventionality without the necessity of answering a single question.

With Marion's assistance I got to bed, where I lay for some time convulsed with agony. As soon as I could, however, I wrote a cheque for L100, which I gave to her for our joint use. My last recollection is of enjoining upon her a course of conduct designed to secure us from the persecution of our enemies, and directing her to purchase certain trunks and clothes so that our want of luggage might not be evilly construed. Before I had finished, however, I had to spur my wits with brandy, and within an hour I was tossing in a high fever, to all intents and purposes a helpless raving lunatic.

IX

"THE ANGLO-AMERICAN HOTELS LIMITED"

I was dying, so they said: two physicians and my nurse--Marion Le Mar. They informed me, very gravely and gently, and the explicit motive of their confidence was that I might have time to make my peace with heaven, and settle my affairs with men. It was easy to believe them. I was so feeble. When the men of medicine had gone, Marion surprised me by throwing herself down upon her knees beside my bed and bursting into the most passionate fit of weeping I have ever witnessed. As I could not calm her, I occupied the time of her abandonment in considering how I might provide best for her future. I thought of a will, but dismissed the idea, because of its publicity. Marion could not afford to advertise her whereabouts to our enemies. I decided at last to withdraw all my money and the jewels from the bank and give them to her while I lived. When, therefore, she grew tranquil, I made her write a letter and a cheque, both of which, with exhausting effort, I contrived to sign. But she resolutely declined to leave me for a moment, so I was compelled to send a waiter on the errand. He was, by good chance, an honest man, and an hour later my bed was strewn with bank-notes and with flashing gems.

But Marion would not take them. She implored me, for my soul's sake and her satisfaction, to make full restoration to the man I had blackmailed, and so vehemently and persistently did she entreat me that, in very weakness, I at length gave way, only stipulating that she should retain sufficient money to pay the debts my illness had incurred, and to keep her for a little while till she should find employment. While she was packing up the jewels to send to Sir Charles Venner, I fell asleep, and when I awoke I was once more a pauper.

It was very curious. From that instant I grew better, and hour by hour my strength increased. On the evening of the fourth day, thereafter, I arrived, after much reflection, at the conclusion that Marion had prevailed upon the physicians to pretend that I was dying in order to rob me of the jewels. I also believed her story that she had restored them to Sir Charles to be a falsehood, and I entertained no doubt whatever but that she would presently desert and leave me to my fate. Naturally, I kept these opinions to myself. It was useless to discuss them, and I told myself that such a course would only hasten her departure. I thought her something like a fiend in human form, but she was very beautiful, and I loved her so madly that all I wished for in the world was to retain her by my side as long as possible. With that end in view, I played the hypocrite, and let her think me every simple kind of fool she wished. I derived a bitter-sweet satisfaction from the game, for on her part she pretended to be ardently attached to me. We spent the hours building castles in the air, weaving pretty fancies of love in a cottage, and a long life shared together. She said she had a friend, an old kind-hearted gentleman, whom she could depend upon to find me some employment, as soon as I was perfectly restored to health. I was then to turn over a new leaf, and live an honest, hard-working life, and she would be my wife, my comforter, my devoted helpmate, to the end. It was a very pretty dream, but the strange and bitter feature of it was that I sighed for it to come true. I was tired of my rascality. My long illness had made a changed man of me, and if I could have believed in Marion's avowals, I would have been as happy as a king to mend my ways for her sweet sake, and never do a shady thing again. Once or twice I tried my best to induce her to explain to me the mysteries connected with Sir Charles Venner's secret society of consumptives which I had been unable to fathom. On that subject, however, she maintained an adamantine reticence, and when I ventured to press her in love's name, she entreated me in tears to forbear, saying that she was bound by an oath which she could not break. Her art was perfect, for she used to add: "How, dear Agar, could you trust me, if you proved me capable of breaking a solemn oath, sworn to God?"

I could only have effectually answered her by voicing my convictions of her baseness, and that would have driven her away. On the contrary, I praised her constancy, and received my reward from the exquisitely assumed love-light in her glorious brown eyes. The drama took another week to play out. By that time I was quite out of danger, and, although still painfully feeble, my physician assured me that I should soon be able to leave my bed. Marion's joy at that knew no bounds. She covered me with kisses, and insisted that she should write forthwith to her old friend, to inform him of her whereabouts, and the hopes she reposed in him for our happiness and welfare.

"What is his name, sweetheart?" I asked. I had not troubled to inquire before.

She gave me a bright smile. "I'll tell you on our wedding-day," she replied. "It is a little surprise that I am keeping for you, dear."

My thought was: "She is, after all, a poor hand at invention!" I felt convinced that she was simply paving the way with her letter for her escape, and when she went out to post it, I cried aloud in my bitterness of spirit--"To-morrow morning there will come a telegram, and she will leave me!"

So it happened! She was seated by my bed, reading me the morning journals, when, of a sudden, a knock sounded on the door, and a waiter entered with a wire upon a salver. "For Nurse Hampton!" he announced. Such was the name she had assumed when first we came to the hotel.

Marion started up with a little cry of delight that echoed itself in anguish in my heart. I knew what that envelope contained as well as she. Holding my breath, I watched her with critical intentness. But I had no fault to find. To the very last she maintained her part, playing it like the unimaginably perfect actress that she was. Tearing it open, she read its contents with an expression of happy expectation, which quickly changed before my eyes to fear and passionate concern.

"Mon Dieu!" she gasped, and crushing up the paper in her hand, she turned to me. "Agar!" she cried, "he is very ill, dying they say, and he needs me. I must go to him at once!"

I had expected it, expected it for days, and yet, none the less, the blow was stunning when it fell. Indeed, in my experience, it is always the long-prevised calamity which causes most dismay. For a while I could not speak, and turning my head I weakly closed my eyes in an effort to conceal the tears which sprang unbidden there.

But when she stooped and tried to kiss me, her falseness roused a sudden madness in my breast. Flinging her aside, I started upright in the bed, and all my pent-up scorn found vent. Passion lent me strength to strip her baseness bare, and no whit did I spare her. "Go, you Jade!" I muttered at the last, for I was failing. "Go! and take with you my curse! It is years since I have breathed a prayer--but now I pray to God that never may I see your traitoress face again!"

She stood before me, pale as death, her great eyes blazing in her head. But not one word did she reply, and when I fell exhausted on the pillows, she turned with one long glance, and slowly glided from the room.

Five minutes later, she returned, gowned for the street, but I merely glanced at her, then closed my eyes in icy scorn. In perfect silence she approached the bed and placed some parcel lightly on the cover-lid. I heard her steps retreat, and presently the door was very softly closed.

Sure that she was gone, I started up in order to investigate her latest act. The parcel contained an account sheet covered with her writing, which showed me that my debts to date approached one hundred pounds. Within the cover were banknotes for two hundred.

It seemed that my vituperations had stung to life in her some lingering spark of shame. Drearily I congratulated myself, and tried to find comfort in the thought that, at all events, I should not be obliged to recommence my battle with the world entirely penniless. But I was sick at heart, sick and absolutely hopeless.

The next week passed and left me more pronouncedly improved in health, but desperate in mind; so desperate that I was fit for any villainy. For still another week I nursed myself, hating to see my little stock of money dwindle, but not daring to begin the struggle without a stock-in-trade of strength.

With that at length acquired, I quitted the hotel and went to Bruton Street, where I resolved to take up my abode until, by dint of luck or craft, I might repair my scattered fortunes.

My first act was to disguise myself as a professional and somewhat portly gentleman. For a model I took the physician who had recently attended me, and as I had closely and frequently remarked his ways, I was able to reproduce him with nice enough fidelity. Having armed myself with a revolver, I employed a cab and drove straightway to Sir Charles Venner's residence in Harley Street, fiercely determined to settle my account with him at once, for good and all. To my astonishment, however, I found the place in the hands of another surgeon, who curtly informed me that Sir Charles Venner, several weeks ago, had sold his practice, and gone abroad to parts unknown. I drove thence to Dr. Fulton's house, and a similar story was related there. Thoroughly enraged, I went to my old master's place in Curzon Street. The lackey, who opened the door, seemed much astonished at my question.

"Why, sir," said he, "Lady Farmborough lives here now. Sir William Dagmar sold his lease to her before he went abroad, more than a month ago!"

I turned away in growing despair, beginning at last to perceive that the whole of the secret society must have fled from England as soon as they had heard of my escape from Venner's hands. But I determined to leave no point of hope untried, and my next visit was to the Kingsmere Hospital for Consumptives. It was shut up, and the walls were plastered over with placards--"To Let." I then successively attacked the houses of the remaining members still unaccounted for, and ere the day was done, I discovered that Mr. Humphreys had set out upon a tour of Asia, and that Mr. Nevil Pardoe had died suddenly upon the morning after my escape from Staines.

My occupation was gone--reft from my hand! As a blackmailer, I might as well incontinently close my shutters, for there was not a soul left in Great Britain upon whom I could levy for either money or revenge, and I had no funds to pursue them on a wild-goose chase abroad.

I felt that the world was going very badly with me when I reached the end of my discoveries, but my cup was not yet full. While waiting for my dinner, at a restaurant in Jermyn Street, I picked up, by chance, the _Daily Chronicle_, to while away the time and rid my mind of its unwelcome thoughts. It was neatly folded in a small square compass, and as I smoothed it out to turn the page, a poignantly familiar name that was planted in the marriage column caught my eye. A second later, trembling with passion, I read the following announcement:--

"Dagmar--Le Mar. On the -- instant, at the bridegroom's residence, Cairo, by the Rev. Francois Long, S.J., William Dagmar, of Flag Hill Park, Newhaven, fourth baronet, to Marion, only daughter of the late Colonel Comte Hypolite Le Mar, Huitieme Regiment, Chasseurs d'Afrique."

I tore the paper into shreds, and in the act I fatuously thought that I had torn the image of that false fair woman from my heart. At all events, I contrived to eat a very hearty dinner, and before I came to coffee, I had already formed a plan to make myself a millionaire.

I should explain that at the time of which I now write, the historical American financial invasion of Great Britain was in full blast. The billionaire Yankee magnate, J. Stelfox Steele, at the head of his omnivorous trust, had already succeeded in enfolding within his octopus-like tentacles an alarming number of England's richest commercial industries. Not content with having secured our railways, tramways and shipping, his latest achievement had been to form a "combine" of hotel and brewery proprietaries, with the result that two-thirds of the breweries, and almost every important and fashionable hotel within the confines of the kingdom were conducted under his direction, while the entire liquor traffic was absolutely in his grip. This prodigious organization Mr. Stelfox Steele had named--"The Anglo-American Hotels Limited," probably in a spirit of derision, for although all the property was English, the major portion of the profits were designed to travel into Yankee pockets. It had scarcely been registered a company before the British public began to regard it with both fear and loathing, for its first and immediate work of consequence had been slightly to raise the price of beer, and at the same time largely to increase the cost of living in hotels. In palace, public-house and thoroughfares, it constituted the topic of the hour. The fact is, it affected everyone, the highest and the lowest in the land alike, and very seldom could two men foregather for longer than five minutes without the exciting subject being introduced. As the "combine" had, to some extent, victimised me during my residence at the Colonnade Hotel, I shared in the popular indignation, and during my convalescence I had taken pains to make myself thoroughly acquainted with its construction, policy and aims, and I had carefully digested everything that had been published concerning its promoters. Mr. Stelfox Steele's sudden and brilliant appearance in the financial firmament, and his consequent magnificent and uninterruptedly successful career, had, moreover, completely captivated my romantic fancy, and I was quite anxious to hear as much about him as I could. For that reason I became speedily interested in the conversation of two gentlemen who sat at the adjoining table while I dined.

They were of interesting appearance, certainly; portly, conventional, bald-headed souls, both; typical men of business, in a large way--perhaps stockbrokers; but the matter of their talk was decidedly exciting and suggestive to a person like myself.

"What is this Stelfox Steele like to look at, Gregson? You know him, don't you?" were the first words that attracted my attention, and thereafter I did not lose a syllable.

"Well!" replied the other, "I know him in a way. That is to say, I have met him once or twice in business, though I don't suppose he would recognise me if we passed each other in the street ..."

"Oh! he is that sort, is he?"

"Now, Scott, you go too fast. I did not mean you to infer he is a snob. But he must meet a lot of people, don't you know, and they say his memory for faces is not excellent."

"Is he like his photographs?"

"He is their living image."

"Then he is no Adonis, Greg."

"N--no," said Gregson, rather doubtfully. "But I'd not call him an ugly man, Scott. There is an air of quiet force about the fellow that marks him from the crowd. And he has some quaint mannerisms, too, that are not unpleasing."

"For instance?"

"Well, he grips your hand very hard and looks very straight into your eyes, when he meets you. It quite startles one at first, but, for my part, I don't dislike it. It seems honest, if it isn't. Then again, when he talks, he invariably drops his voice and half closes his eyes, no matter what the subject is, just as though he were making you an important confidence. In my opinion he owes a good deal of his success to those two apparent trifles. There's a lot in manner, Scott; more than most people imagine, and his manner simply provokes trust."

"Good Lord, Gregson, you don't mean to say you like the beast!"

"Like him!" echoed the other, raising his glass. "Why, here's to his confusion. We'll soon be all his bond-slaves, if he has his way! You've heard about his latest scheme, to corner wolfram, haven't you?"

"Please the pigs," muttered Scott, "something will break him before he brings that off. Fancy the villain daring to even dream of interfering with the working of our arsenals. It's bounce, of course, but what tremendous bounce!"

"If he succeeds," said Gregson, gloomily, "the whole world might as well become American citizens at once. Without wolfram we'll not be able to provide our ships with armour-plate, nor manufacture a single big gun, except by the gracious favour of J. Stelfox Steele."

"Is it as bad as that?"

"Very nearly. It is impossible to harden steel properly without wolfram. Professor Bryant told me so to-day!"

"The fellow is a public danger--by Jove!"

"Say, rather a national menace, and you will not overstate the case. I tell you what, Scott, whoever tripped him up would deserve well of his country."

"I'd subscribe to a monument for such an one--by gad!"

I felt inclined to cry out at this juncture: "Sirs, look at me, the man is found!" But I restrained the impulse, despite the fact that I was thoroughly elated, and perfectly persuaded too that I had a mission to fulfil in life to save my country.

An hour later, I returned to Bruton Street, burdened with a large bundle of photographs, which I had purchased on the road. They represented J. Stelfox Steele, and in every conceivable posture and attitude which a human being can assume. I set them about my room and began earnest study. The head was large, and yet rather brainy than intellectual, and the face argued a mind rather active than reflective. The eyes were well-shaped and neither prominent nor deep-set. The nose was straight and shapely, like my own. Several photographs smiled. These evidenced him to possess a long, white set of teeth. The upper lip was long and hairless, ergo a tenacious disposition. The lower was thin and compressed--it helped his square, clean-shaven chin to express a powerful determination. For the rest he wore a short, thick, grizzled crop of hair.

A strong, well-balanced countenance upon the whole, and eminently easy to impersonate. Indeed, fortune favoured me more than her wont, for my ears and shape of face resembled his in an extraordinary degree. I spent two hours, however, in careful thought and anxious contemplation before I allowed my wish to have its way. I even tried to catch his bent of mind from his counterfeit presentments, so that nothing might be lacking in my intended effort. At last I arose, and opening a drawer, examined my collection of false teeth. I soon found the set I wanted, and in a trice made change with those I wore. I wanted to surprise myself, so I rigidly refrained from glancing at a mirror. My next act was to explore my wig-box, and presently my head was clothed. Closing my eyes, I spurred my will, and twisted suddenly the features that required such exercise. Finally, I stepped before the glass. J. Stelfox Steele looked back at me--and that result I had obtained without having employed either paint, grease-pot, or other artifice than those I have described. I almost wept with joy, I felt so gratified, for already, in my dreams, I saw myself a millionaire.

My next week was a very busy one. I procured two suits of clothes, such as it was notorious that the great magnate always wore. I practised half-a-dozen hours each day before my mirror, until I had his face by heart and could imitate it swimmingly. And last, but not least, I purchased several piles of newspapers that had recorded J. Stelfox Steele's doings and sayings, manners and habits of life, over which accounts I pored like an ardent student in my leisure hours.

At the end of that period I was perfectly self-confident and anxious to commence my task. I was compelled, however, by force of circumstance, to postpone the battle for awhile, because Mr. Stelfox Steele had unexpectedly arrived in London. He came, according to the papers--which were full of him--to instal one of his co-adjutor millionaires, named Sampson Y. May, as supreme head of the Anglo-American Hotels Limited, during his temporary absence in South America, whither he proposed to proceed immediately, in order to purchase some large tracts of wolfram-bearing territory, whose control he needed for the perfection of the trust he was then engaged in forming.

I was at first disgusted at the delay, but not for long. Something caught me by the throat and said to me: "You fool, here is the opportunity of your life. Contrive to see the man, and then you will be better able to secure your chances of impersonating him successfully."

To think was to act. It was then early morning. By ten o'clock I would have passed muster anywhere as a good-looking, languid, idle, elderly clubman. I wore a grey moustache, and side levers; a slightly darker wig and a monocle. I was, in fact, Lord Algernon Darnley. A "while you wait" printer inscribed the name upon some pasteboards, armed with which, I drove to the office of the Anglo-American Hotels Limited.

My card was deferentially received, but a polite secretary informed me that it would be impossible for the magnate to see me without a prearranged appointment.

"I have one," I drawled, unabashed by the rebuff, "Mr. Steele particularly requested me, through a common acquaintance, to call."

The secretary departed and returned. "Mr. Steele is exceedingly busy," he declared. "He will be glad if you will state your business to me."

"It's private," I said calmly. "I won't keep him long. I have a document to give him, that's all, but it's got to be placed in his hands."

I was requested to wait five minutes. I waited an hour, and was at last ushered to the great man's presence.

My first thought was: "How like his photographs!" But he was a taller man than I by a good two inches. Gregson was quite right. He looked me in the eyes very straight and keenly, and he gave my hand an energetic squeeze.

"Are we acquainted?" he demanded, in sharp, incisive tones, and he immediately sat down, pointing briskly to a chair. "Now, what's your business?"

His voice was almost free from twang, but peculiar, all the same. I had to pinch my leg to keep from mimicking it to his face.

"I fibbed," I began coolly, drawling my words to suit my character. "I could have got an introduction easily, but what's the use when a fib would do the trick as well, and quicker, probably. I wanted to see you, don't you know!"

He gave a quick smile, and a quicker, though slighter frown. "Well," he said, "you are here, what can I do for you? I can only spare you sixty seconds!" He took out his watch.

"I've a hundred thousand lying idle," I drawled.

"Pounds or dollars?" He half-closed his eyes, and his tones, though rapid, dropped to a murmur.

"Pounds."

"Well, sir, that is, Lord Darnley?"

"I thought of Anglo-American Hotels?" said I.

"You could not do better," he declared.

"Thanks!" I stood up. "I'm much obliged to you. Good-day!"

A bell tinkled, we shook hands, and I marched off thoroughly delighted. I had his voice now, and I knew his height;--my two weak points were remedied.

On the following Sunday evening, at midnight, he set out for New York, and I was one of the crowd that watched him catch his train at Euston Station. Next morning I searched the papers through and through, but all they had to say of Mr. Steele was that he had sailed. After breakfast I packed my trunk and drove to a little unfrequented hotel in Lambert Road, where, _in propria persona_, I engaged a bedroom and a sitting-room upon the first floor, in my own name--Agar Hume. About an hour later a well-dressed elderly gentleman slipped out of my bedroom, and, descending the stairs, stepped into the street. This person ordered a hansom to take him to the City, giving the driver the address of a substantial firm of stockbrokers--named Ducker and Sims. I had previously taken care to ascertain that the firm in question had never been in any way connected with J. Stelfox-Steele.

Upon arrival I begged to be allowed an immediate private interview with one of the partners, pretending that my business was of the utmost urgency. My prayer was granted, and I was conducted into a massively furnished office, where a hawk-faced man, of about forty years of age, was seated at a desk dictating letters to an ancient shorthand writer.

"Mr. Ducker?" I asked, as he glanced up.

"Mr. Ducker is at present in Chicago. My name is Sims." he replied. "Kindly take that chair. By the way, have I the honour of your acquaintance?"

"No, Mr. Sims; my name is Brown."

"Ah! And you wished to see me----"

"On private business, extremely important business, Mr. Sims." I glanced suggestively at the ancient shorthand writer, who appeared to be dozing.

"My confidential clerk, Mr. Brown," explained Mr. Sims. "You may speak before him."

"Excuse me," said I, "I am merely a messenger, and my directions are particular."

Mr. Sims raised his eyebrows, and curtly commanded his satellite to leave the room. The ancient awoke with a start, and nervously departed.

"May I lock the door?" I asked.

"Your business must be mighty curious, Mr. Brown," he replied, looking utterly astonished.

"It is," I answered simply, looking straight into his eyes.

He sprang to his feet, crossed the room, and locked the door.

"Now?" said he, returning.

"Thank you, Mr. Sims."

"Well?"

"It is my province to convince you, sir, that by momentarily disregarding the ordinary rules of courtesy which hold in your profession, you may secure a client whose business will yield you greater profit than that of any dozen others whom you have. Nay, sir, I speak on hearsay, but advisedly, for my master is well aware of the substantial undertakings of your firm."

"Your master must be a large operator," he muttered with a gasp.

I smiled. "He is, indeed."

"And his name?"

"I am forbidden to relate it, sir."

He frowned and gazed at me, the most puzzled and astonished man in London.

"What do you want, then," he demanded.

"My master wishes you to call upon him, Mr. Sims. He is unable to visit you, for reasons which he will personally explain if you will comply with his request!"

"This is most unusual!" he replied. "Where is he to be found?"

"I can only tell you, sir, if you consent to give me your word, as a man of honour, that you will go to see him at three o'clock this afternoon. I should tell you, Mr. Sims, that if you refuse, your own will be the only disadvantage."

"I--I--I never heard of such a thing in my life!" he stammered. "But--but--in any case, I cannot go--at three o'clock. I have a pressing business engagement."

I got to my feet, smiling contemptuously. "Then I have only to thank you for your patience, Mr. Sims," I said, with an expressive shoulder shrug. "Good-morning, sir!"

"I could go at four!" he cried, of a sudden.

I glanced at him, and perceived that the day was mine. Curiosity was simply eating the man. I smiled and, shook my head. "My master said Three!"

"With a great effort, I could make it half-past. What do you say, Mr. Brown; shall we split the difference?"

"I cannot, Mr. Sims. I would be dismissed at once."

"Then, three."

"And your word of honour, sir?"

He nodded. I liked that nod.

"You will find my master at the Golden Grove Hotel, in Lambert Road," I said. "Kindly ask for Mr. Agar Hume."

His face fell, and he looked absurdly disappointed.

"Agar Hume! Lambert Road!" he muttered in amazed disgust.

"Believe me, sir, it is unwise to judge men by the sounds of names, which may or not belong to them. Stelfox Steele imparts a strangely furtive signification to the ear, and yet its owner is about the richest man and biggest operator on our little globe. I congratulate you upon your determination. A little later you will congratulate yourself. But in the meanwhile, let me recommend you to keep our interview a secret even from your partner. My master will be best pleased so. Good-morning, Mr. Sims!"

"One second!" he gasped. "Am I to understand--er--that--er--Mr. Stelfox Steele----"

"Is on his way to America," I interrupted sharply. "Good-morning, sir!" Whereupon, hastily unfastening the door, I made my escape before he had time to say another word.

After bolting an apology for a lunch, I drove back to Lambert Road in a fourwheeler. During the journey, I contrived to become Agar Hume again, for I did not wish the people in my little inn to see a dozen different persons using my room as if it belonged to them. The driver stared at me aghast when I alighted. He had taken up an old man, and he put down a young one. I detest sharp-eyed cab-drivers, they are a public nuisance.

It was striking two as I entered my bedroom. At half-past, I resembled J. Stelfox Steele as closely as I wished. In order to make up the difference in our heights, I was obliged to resort to a rather inconvenient trick. I took off my bed-clothes and spread them doubled on the floor of my sitting-room, at my own side of the table. These I covered with mats, and set my chair over all. I sprang thus two inches, in as many minutes, whether seated or erect, but I could not leave my pedestal, without losing those same inches; wherefore the inconvenience. I dislike tricks of that sort, but it is my rule never to neglect any detail that I am aware of, and as my pedestal was hidden by the table-cloth, and, moreover, I could not perceive any necessity to walk about during the forthcoming interview, I had really very little to grumble at. My last act was to don a huge brown beard, and a pair of goggles. These made me look like an old hayseed farmer, but J. Stelfox Steele was underneath the disguise waiting to disclose himself. When it wanted ten minutes to the hour, I left my bedroom, the door of which I locked, entered my sitting-room, and, mounting my pedestal, I sat down to wait. I had previously arranged a screen before the outer door, so that the servant who would show up Mr. Sims might not look in and remark my latest transformation.

I mention these details, not because they were of any urgent moment, but to evidence the amount of attention and forethought which I had bestowed upon the business in hand. The fact is, in my experience, it is always some absurdly finicking trifle, which, when neglected, brings disaster to the greatest undertakings. I was once hissed off the stage at Newcastle-on-Tyne, when attempting to impersonate Mr. Gladstone, because, forsooth, although my disguise was elsewise perfect, I had not remembered to change a pair of sharp-toed boots which I had worn a few minutes earlier while imitating Mr. Greatorex, a dandified celebrity of local fame. That failure had been a very bitter pill to swallow at the time, but it was of more real use to me than all my triumphs put together, and I never forgot the lesson that it inculcated.

Mr. Sims was only two minutes late. In answer to my brisk "come in, and shut the door behind you!" he entered silently, but as he turned the corner of the screen and caught sight of my bearded face, he uttered an unpremeditated little nervous laugh. "Just such a laugh any man might involuntarily utter, who had been wishing, but not expecting, the improbable to happen!" thought I. His laugh, translated into words, said this--"I never really believed you could be Stelfox Steele, Mr. Agar Hume, in spite of what your wily secretary tried to hint!"

I stood up, and glared at him through my goggles.

"Mr. Sims?" I demanded.

He bowed, measuring me with a sweeping hawk-sharp glance.

"Shake!" I said, of a sudden, after a full minute's silence, and briskly extended my hand.

He responded somewhat slowly and doubtfully to my invitation. But I tore off my goggles, and looking him straight and keenly in the eyes, seized his hand. I squeezed it with all my strength, then pointed to a chair.

He obeyed with a wince, wringing his hand the while.

"Really, Mr. Hume," he began, with a deprecating frown, "I am at a loss----"

"One second!" I interrupted, and deftly removed my beard.

He gave me one quick astonished look, then sprang to his feet, his eyes alight, his face flushing with excitement.

"Is it possible?" he cried.

"You know me," I demanded.

"Why sir, of course!"

"But we have never met!" I cried, frowning blackly.

"No, sir, no," he responded, hastily. "But Mr. Stelfox Steele's face is as familiar to the public as that of Mr. Chamberlain. I am glad to meet you, sir."

I nodded and sat down. "Pray resume your seat, Mr. Sims." He obeyed.

I leaned across the table and beckoned with my hand. Next moment our heads were almost touching.

"You are wondering," said I.

"Yes," he answered frankly.

"I am supposed to be on my way to New York," I went on, in very low tones. "I am being impersonated on the steamer by one of my clerks, who will keep his cabin all the way. Before he arrives at the other side--all will be over. I have taken every precaution against failure. I cannot, shall not fail, Mr. Sims, unless you fail me."

"Some big coup on exchange, I presume?" he muttered, "and a lone hand, too--eh?"

"Exactly! But you are still wondering--speak!"

He bit his lips. "It--is the honour you have paid me--me!" he stammered. "Messrs. Max and Humphreys are your brokers, I believe."