Chapter VIII: Part 8

"And I have no fault to find with them," I answered quickly, "except that Sampson May, Vanderwill, and most of my other associates also deal with them. You understand?"

"Ah!" he cried, "I see! You'll be wanting me to bear stocks, eh, Mr. Steele?"

I smiled in commendation of his shrewdness. "Well, Mr. Sims," I muttered, "may I depend on you?"

"Most certainly. I am deeply----"

I waved my hand. "Money talks," I interrupted drily. "I require no assurances. Serve me well, and I'll make your fortune. Fail me, and by the God above us, I'll break you, Mr. Sims. Those are my terms."

"Agreed!" he cried, his eyes shining like stars. "Now, sir, your instructions. What am I to bear?"

"Anglo-American Hotels," I murmured softly.

He started upright, and gazed at me like one confounded. "Anglo-Americans," he gasped.

"Listen," said I. "To-morrow morning you will sell one hundred thousand shares--cash-on-delivery--to be handed over on Saturday. The market is at present steady at forty shillings. Your first operation will not affect it one iota. In the afternoon you will sell another hundred thousand--same terms. You'll get the same figure, for, although my associates will be nervous, they are too deeply involved to dare let the price fall, till they are sure, and they'll buy at evens, never dreaming that they are bucking-up against a stone wall. Next morning sell two hundred thousand. That will turn the balance. The price will probably drop a bit. In the afternoon sell three hundred thousand. You'll find by then the market in a panic, for my pals will have smelt a big rat, and they'll no longer show fight. Indeed, I expect they will follow my lead, and to save themselves, start selling too. However, keep on selling a hundred thousand each half-day, till the absolute slump. That will arrive on Friday morning at latest. I reckon the shares should by then reach bottom, say from three to seven shillings. You will then buy scrip against deliveries on your former sales and report to me here at 11 a.m. on Saturday morning, with the transfers for signature. By the way, Agar Hume is a good name, and will look fine on the transfers. Stick to it! That is all I need say, I think, except that I advise you to follow my lead as far as your means allow. The transaction will enrich you. Your commission will, of course, be at the ordinary rate."

Mr. Sims had fallen back in his chair. His eyes were as round as marbles, and his mouth gaped ajar.

"You looked surprised!" I observed, with an indulgent smile.

He passed his hand nervously across his brow, and gave himself a little shake.

"It's colossal--but immoral!" he gasped. "Colossally immoral! Your associates----" he stopped short, lacking words.

"My associates are men of business," I said, coldly. "And they would be the first to tell you that there is no morality involved in business transactions. I propose to treat them as they would treat me, if they were clever enough to perceive a way. But we waste time, sir. The question is, are you the man to handle the affair?"

"Yes," he cried. "Indeed, yes."

I nodded and stood up. "Then adieu till Saturday. My secretary, Brown, in the meanwhile, will wait upon you every afternoon. Good-day, Mr. Sims!"

He bowed, and, stammering some form of farewell, took his departure. A moment later I locked the door behind him, and, retiring into my inner room, threw myself down upon the bed--to think. I had succeeded beyond my dreams. The stockbroker had swallowed both bait and hook like the greediest of gudgeons. He had not asked me one difficult question, and, whether from diffidence or obsequiousness, he had neglected to demand the slightest proof of my _bona fides_. Concerning the latter point, however, I thought it possible that he might, after reflection, return and try to repair his folly. I therefore postponed changing my disguise for several hours, so that I might not be caught unawares. But Mr. Sims did not venture to come back, and when night fell, I felt safe. I had only ten pounds left in the world at that juncture, but I considered my future so brilliantly assured, and I felt so satisfied with myself, that, as Agar Hume, _in propria persona_, I treated myself to dinner at the Trocadero, and afterwards to a music-hall.

I passed the next day reading a French novel, until three o'clock in the afternoon, when I assumed the form of Brown, Mr. Stelfox Steele's fictitious lackey. At a little after four o'clock I entered Mr. Sims' office, and was immediately ushered into the stockbroker's private sanctum.

Mr. Sims began to greet me with great effusiveness, but I cut him short, and even refused to sit down.

"Excuse me," I said, quickly, "a certain gentleman is very anxiously expecting my return to Lambert Road, and I simply dare not keep him waiting an unnecessary second. Did you sell the shares, sir?"

"Yes--two hundred thousand!"

"And the figure, Mr. Sims?"

"Forty shillings, Mr. Brown; just as he predicted!"

"Is the market at all upset?"

"Excited rather, I should say. Mr. Sampson Y. May, the Manager of the Trust, came to see me, and tried to pump me, but naturally, I kept a close mouth."

"Good," said I, "my master will be pleased."

"Has he any further orders for me, Mr. Brown?"

"Only to carry on. Good-afternoon, sir! I must hurry back."

"Good-afternoon, Mr. Brown; pray give Mr.--er--Hume--my kind regards."

I nodded and withdrew, happy as a king. But until the same hour on the following day I suffered the most poignant anxiety. It was relieved, however, on the way to the stockbrokers' office. As I drove over the bridge, the newsboys were crying at the top of their voices: "Great fall in Anglo-American Hotels. Panic on the Stock Exchange!"

I bought a paper and, trembling with delight, was speedily convinced of the truth of their assertions. The shares in the great trust, which yesterday had stood firm at forty shillings, had already fallen to twenty, and the market was in a state of collapse. The journal had devoted its leading article to the affair and, voicing the popular attitude, was mildly jubilant at so severe a check having been given to American enterprise. I found Mr. Sims in a state of rapturous excitement. As soon as I had entered the room, he locked the door, and, seizing both my hands, he wrung them as warmly as though I had been his dearest friend, new met after years of separation.

"To think that I almost drove you away from my door the other day!" he cried in a whirl. "Mr. Brown, what don't I owe you. What don't I owe you?"

"You owe me nothing," I replied. "Your gratitude is entirely due to Mr. Agar Hume, sir; I was merely his messenger."

"Messenger or not," he retorted warmly, "you brought me a message which has made my fortune, and when this business is over I shall insist upon making you a handsome present, Mr. Brown."

I waved my hand and shrugged my shoulders. "My master does not allow me to accept presents," I said, with dignity. "But that reminds me, I am keeping him in suspense. How many shares did you sell to-day?"

"Five hundred thousand!"

"And the figure?"

"Forty shillings for the first hundred; thirty-five for the second; thirty for the third, and twenty for the last two. The price dropped like a rocket in the last half-hour, and now the whole exchange is full of bears; there is scarcely a single buyer offering. I have no doubt but that to-morrow there will be a further heavy fall."

"Hum!" said I. "Let me see, you have now in credit for my master one million one hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds. That is to say, of course, on settlement. Am I right?"

"Perfectly, Mr. Brown. And for that sum I have disposed of seven hundred thousand shares. I hope that Mr.--er--ah--Hume--will be satisfied."

"I am sure he will be." I put on my hat. "Keep on selling till they reach five shillings, please, then buy scrip through another broker, or more, as fast as possible, until we stand even. Those are my master's latest orders, Mr. Sims."

"Very good, Mr. Brown. Anything else?"

"Not at present, sir. Good-evening!"

Next day "Anglo-American Hotels" fell as low as four shillings, and continued at that price until the following afternoon, when they began to rise, owing to the heavy purchases made on my account by the brokers employed in that behalf by Mr. Sims. On this point I need only remark that my agents, during that period, bought shares to replace the fictitious ones which had been sold at my behest for a little over L450,000.

On Saturday morning, promptly at the appointed hour, Mr. Sims came to me, at the Golden Grove Hotel. As may be readily imagined, I received him in the guise of Mr. Stelfox Steele, and I took every conceivable care that he should still persist in his delusion. He brought with him a large bundle of transfer forms, which it took me an hour to sign, writing at the top of my speed, for not many of the shares were in larger parcels than a thousand. I subscribed them all with my own name--Agar Hume. Mr. Sims meanwhile watching my flying pen in respectful silence. When I had finished, I pushed aside the papers towards him, and heaved a deep sigh.

"Never mind details, Mr. Sims," I said, wearily, "Brown has bored me with them through the week. He tells me that when your commission is deducted I am to receive L650,000?"

"Yes, sir. A splendid week's work, Mr. Steele."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Not too bad, since I was pressed for time, but a bagatelle, Mr. Sims, to the business we shall yet do together. By the way, I leave London to-night, but Brown will stay behind me to receive the money. When can you be ready to settle?"

"On Monday, at noon, if that will suit you, Mr. Steele?"

I nodded. "It will do. Make out an open bank-cheque and hand it to Brown, who will give you a receipt signed by Agar Hume. You will understand that I cannot discharge you in my own name?"

"Certainly, sir."

"Well, Sims, I hope that you have profited by my example and advice?"

He gave me a look of deep gratitude. "Thanks to you, sir," he cried. "I am a rich man to-day, that is to say, from my point of view--not yours, sir."

"How much have you made?"

"Seventy thousand, commission included. I cannot sufficiently express my obligation to you, Mr. Steele. There are not many operators who will allow their brokers to follow their lead. But you, sir, were more than generous!"

I smiled. "I can afford such a pastime occasionally, Sims. Besides, I liked your face. Ah! well. I shall not detain you now, for I am very busy myself. Good-bye!"

He stood up, and we shook hands.

"We'll meet again, sir, I hope," he cried. "You were good enough to hint a moment since----"

"Yes," I interrupted, "We'll meet again. But our acquaintanceship must necessarily be preserved a secret from the world. Therefore be good enough not to feel offended should we by any chance encounter in public, and you receive no recognition at my hands. When I want you, my secretary, Brown, will let you know. Until then, farewell!"

He bowed deeply, and respectfully retired.

As for me, I removed my disguise as quickly as I could, and changed my clothes. I then paid my reckoning at the hotel, and set off for Bruton Street, with exactly three pounds in my pocket. There I remained until Monday afternoon, sunk in a veritable debauch of dreams. The time passed on the wings of brilliant fancies, and not an hour appeared too long, despite my natural anxiety to finger the money which my audacious dexterity had won. My extraordinary success had, in fact, turned my head a little, and had swelled my vanity to proportions so magnificent that I fell into a stupor of self-reverence, and often even forgot to eat. I awakened at length, however, to thoughts of revenge. Somewhere hiding from me in the world was a certain great surgeon--named, Sir Charles Venner--who had inflicted on my body inhuman tortures. He had driven needles into my fingers, and he had seared my feet with branding-irons. I had been obliged by poverty temporarily to relinquish all idea of vengeance. But now I was rich! rich! I sprang to my feet with a sudden cry of rage and exultation, savagely resolved to repay my enemy with interest for every pang that I had suffered at his hands. After that I dreamed no more.

My final interview with Mr. Sims was brief, but eminently satisfactory. In exchange for a receipt which I had written out beforehand, he handed to me, as he thought to Mr. Brown, an open cheque, drawn in favour of Mr. Agar Hume on the Bank of England, for L650,000--which was marked "good." He then shook me warmly by the hand and begged me to allow him to make me a present. That, however, I refused, and half-an-hour later I was again in my room at Bruton Street, stripping off for the last time my disguise as "Brown," the Secretary.

I then repaired to my bank, and, much to the old manager's astonishment, re-opened my account there with the cheque that represented my princely and strangely-gotten fortune. The manager did not ask me for a reference on that occasion. Indeed, he nearly fell over himself in his anxiety to be polite, and he personally conducted me when I departed to the outer door. Truly, money makes the man.

Two days afterwards, I set out for Paris on my way to Cairo, my pockets full of foreign gold, and armed besides with letters of credit for large amounts. My intention was to find, first of all, my false love, Marion Le Mar, now Lady Dagmar. And through her, if possible, my enemy--Sir Charles Venner.

X

THE HOUSE AMONG THE PINES

Clever rascals are of necessity friendless and incomparably lonely men. Prudence prevents them from confiding their affairs to any other, even their nearest and dearest; therefore they are obliged to lead self-centred and segregated lives in the truest sense of the term, and are absolutely prohibited from tasting that greatest of luxuries, human sympathy. Since my last embarkation upon a career of villainy, I had so far escaped the pangs of ennui, because my mind had been always occupied with my ambition, and action had followed mercifully fast upon design. The mere fact, however, of having succeeded in making myself a rich man, robbed me of that precious concern for the future which had hitherto been my refuge from reflection. It is true that considerations of vengeance partially supplied its place, but as I had yet to find my enemy before I could exchange purpose for practice, I began to realize the utter isolation of my state. I arrived at Paris in a desolate and listless mood, and so wearied with my own companionship that I was ready to make friends with a dog.

For that reason, while sipping coffee after dinner in the saloon of the Hotel de Louvre, where I had put up, I by no means disdained the overtures of an old and weazened little Frenchman, who appeared to be as lonely as myself.

He was a curious looking creature: grey, grizzled, and stooped of shoulder. His face was seamed with a thousand wrinkles, that even overspread his long melancholy nose. But his eyes, although small, were very bright, and his mouth was that of a humourist.

He sidled up to me by degrees, evidently wishful to make my acquaintance, and yet a little nervous of the first step. But I met him half way with an observation on the weather, and presently we were seated before the same table in close and animated conversation.

"Life is for the most part a dull and dreary affair, monsieur," said he.

"The remark of an intelligent and experienced man, monsieur," said I.

He bowed and smiled. "That is true, monsieur," he returned, "but your discernment proves that you also possess the qualities which you have mentioned."

"Yet in an inferior degree, for I take it that I am your junior, and you have the air of a man who has improved his opportunities to the utmost."

The compliment delighted him. "Monsieur," he cried, "I am fortunate to have encountered you. I desire to know you better. Permit me! I call myself--Bertrand Du Gazet. I am a native of Paris, but I have spent half my life in America, where I acquired a certain fortune. I have but just returned to France, to find my relatives and old friends dead and widely scattered, and myself utterly forgotten. It is a sad home-coming."

"Truly," I said politely. "My name, monsieur, is Henri Belloc, and, strange to say, I too have long been a stranger to my country. This very day I have come back to Paris after an absence of many years. And, like you, I have none to welcome me."

"We are then comrades in misfortune," he declared, beaming upon me the while. "I drink, monsieur, to our better acquaintance."

"And I," said I, raising my _petit verre_ to my lips. "I drink to its speedy ripening into friendship."

He put one hand upon his heart and extended to me the other, which I warmly pressed.

"I am a bachelor," he observed.

"I, too, monsieur."

"Of all the things in this world, I like the gaming table," said he.

"The dice are fine thought killers, monsieur."

"I loved once a beautiful woman, and she betrayed me."

"It is a habit of the accursed sex, from which I also have suffered."

"Monsieur!" he cried, "I perceive well that we are destined to be friends. We have not only a similarity of thought and sentiment, but also of experience."

"Garcon," I shouted, "a bottle of champagne and two glasses."

The wine was brought and we pledged each other with effusion.

"I made my fortune out of oil," said Du Gazet.

"I made mine upon the Stock Exchange," said I.

"Mine is so great that I could not spend it in ten years, though I lost a thousand francs a night."

"Mine is even more considerable, M. Du Gazet."

He nodded and gave me a beaming smile. "Have you any plans for the evening, M. Belloc?"

"None," I replied.

"Then allow me to be your mentor. I know a place not far from here where one may woo the goddess Fortune to be kind. It is true that last night I lost five thousand francs by hazard of the wheel, but I would like well to recoup myself, and shall do so, as you shall see--if you will be so good as to come with me."

"With pleasure," I cried, and sprang to my feet.

I suspected by then that my new friend was nothing more or less than the tout of some gaming house. But I was reckless, and the companionship of any rascal seemed preferable to being left alone. A moment later we were strolling arm in arm down the Rue St. Germain L'Auxerrois. Chatting amiably together, we came, at the end of some few minutes, to the Rue St. Denis, up which we turned. Shortly after passing the Rue Mauconseil, we entered a narrow unnamed side-street, which was nevertheless flanked with respectable-looking houses of antique but substantial architecture. Before the door of one of these M. Du Gazet stopped, and giving me a meaning glance, he proceeded to scratch upon the panels with his ring. The signal was immediately responded to. The door opened a few inches, and a voice from the interior darkness demanded our business.

"Montereau," replied my guide.

"Enter!" cried the voice, and the door swung wide.

M. Du Gazet took my arm and conducted me in silence down a dark, thickly carpeted hall. We had barely half traversed it, however, when the door keeper suddenly turned on an electric lamp, and I perceived before us a wide staircase, supported on double rows of marble columns, that led to the floor above.

"Good!" exclaimed my mentor. "I detest gloom. Come, my friend."

Nothing loth, I followed him up the stairs, and a moment later we reached a landing-stage that was filled with huge palms growing in tubs of earthenware. A liveried attendant guarded a closed door that was half screened with fronds.

He looked at us inquiringly, but M. du Gazet muttered some pass-word in his ear, and he ushered us forthwith into an immense brilliantly illuminated apartment, which was sparsely thronged with well-dressed men and women, and furnished in imitation of the Casino at Monaco.

One table was devoted to roulette, a second to rouge et noir, and a third to baccarat. All were occupied, but, because perhaps of the earliness of the hour, there were not many onlookers. M. du Gazet led me to the second named, and after watching the game for about a quarter hour, we were both able to secure chairs at the board, owing to the evil fortune of the individuals we displaced. Like most other votaries of chance, I had and have a method. It is simple if unscientific, and it consists in backing each colour alternately seven times in succession. I at first contented myself with small stakes, being anxious to watch my mentor. M. du Gazet, however, much to my surprise, for I still believed him to be a tout, began to gamble in earnest from the moment he sat down, and each time he staked five hundred francs.

"Truly," thought I, "if he is a tout, he must have an interest in the bank, or he would not be trusted with so much money."

After I had seen him lose four thousand francs, I ceased to doubt his honesty, for his appearance was transformed. The born gambler's spirit gleamed out of his eyes. His face had assumed a warm fixed flush, and he was absorbed in his game to the absolute oblivion of every other circumstance. I spoke to him in order to make sure, but he cursed me in an undertone without turning his head. He had in fact forgotten my existence.

Feeling more at ease, I immediately increased my stakes, betting on the red. Luck favoured me, and I won steadily; on the red five times out of seven, on the black almost without a break. At the end of an hour, so large a heap of gold and notes had accumulated on the table before me, that it interfered with my elbow room, and I was obliged to stand up in order to make my game. The room had by then become filled with people, and an interested crowd had assembled to watch me play. Success had made me excited, and given me a measure of the gambling fever. I increased my stakes to the limit and won again and again. The exclamations of the onlookers became each moment more loud and unrestrained, so that the croupier's directions could only be heard at intervals: "Faites vos jeux, Messieurs et Mesdames. Faites vos jeux! Rouge perd. Noir gagne! Faites vos jeux!"

I was in the act of stretching out my hand to place a large sum upon the black for the seventh time in succession, when some inexplicable instinctive feeling compelled me to look up from the board and into the face of a new-comer who stood watching the game from behind the chair of my immediate _vis-a-vis_. The man was a negro. With a queer thrill of apprehension I looked at him more closely, and then for a second I was almost stunned with surprise. He was Jussieu, the infernal canting negro surgeon, who at the instance of his master, Sir Charles Venner, had inflicted upon my bound and defenceless body tortures which made me shudder to remember, and who on his own account had dared to lecture and insult me. Before I could collect my scattered wits our eyes met, and the recognition became mutual. The villain started back a pace and glared at me, his eyes rolling in his head. He was attired in a fashionably cut evening suit, in which he tried to ape the gentleman, but his immaculate linen threw out his broad black face and hands into bold and hideous relief, and he looked like nothing but a monster. For a moment I shook with rage, and a murderous impulse almost overwhelmed me. Then came a wiser thought, and I grew calm. I said to myself: "Since the jackal is here, the lion cannot be far away. I shall make this scoundrel lead me to his master's lair!"

Holding him with my eyes, I fumbled with my hands upon the table, and began to stuff my winnings into my pockets. The crowd exclaimed in astonishment, but I paid them no heed. Before, however, I was half through with my business, Jussieu tore his eyes from mine and hurried towards the door. I sent my chair crashing behind me with a backward kick and seized Du Gazet by the shoulder.

"Look after my money!" I cried. "I shall see you later at the hotel."

Without awaiting a response, I broke through the crowd and darted after Jussieu. He had already passed the door, but I caught up with him half way down the stairs, and, seizing him by the shoulder, obliged him to pause.

"What, Monsieur Jussieu!" I snarled, "would you run away from an old friend? That is not kind in you."

"You mistake, m'sieur!" he cried. "That is not my name."

"Perhaps not," I muttered. "It will, however, serve my turn. Come, monsieur!" I slipped my arm through his and urged him down the stairs.

Although a larger man than me, he yielded like a coward to my imperious demand, protesting volubly the while, however, that I had made a great mistake, that his name was Grenier, and that he had never set eyes on me.

He was still protesting when we reached the street. But as soon as the door of the gambling house had closed behind us I cut him short.

"Look you, Jussieu!" I growled, "I have in my pocket a revolver that is loaded in every chamber. Take me at once to your master, Sir Charles Venner, or, by the Lord, I shall put a bullet through your head!"

"Monsieur," he began, "I assure you----"

"Silence!" I interrupted. "Another word and you are a dead man!"

A hasty glance had shown me that the street was deserted. I produced my pistol, therefore, as I spoke and presented it to his breast.

The negro started back, rolling his eyes like a maniac, but he spoke no word. He was shivering with fear. I smiled and returned the weapon to my pocket. Thereupon I gripped his arm and muttered in his ear: "Proceed!"

Uttering a sort of groan, he set off slowly for the Rue Saint Denis. "Quicker!" I commanded. He increased his pace. We turned the corner, and a smart walk brought us quickly to the Rue D'Enghien. Turning into that street the negro stopped presently before the door of a large three-storied house, whose every window was closely shuttered.

"We have arrived, monsieur," he muttered in a hollow voice.

"You have a latch-key, perhaps?" I asked.

"Yes."

I looked steadily at the house for a moment or two, then curtly ordered my companion to proceed, still, however, retaining a firm hold of his arm. Five minutes later we came to the Faubourg Poissonniere. Hailing a _fiacre_, I invited Jussieu to enter, and quickly took a seat beside him. "The Hotel de Louvre!" I shouted to the driver, and we were off.

The negro was so still and docile that I began to suspect him of meditating some plan of escape. Producing my pistol, I thrust the muzzle into his side and cocked it with a loud click. "Death is very near to you, Jussieu!" I said.

"For God's sake, monsieur!" he groaned.

"Sit very still, Jussieu. It has a hair trigger, and my hand is trembling. I am remembering that it was you who pierced my fingers with needles and seared my foot with branding irons!"

"Mercy, mercy! Forgive!" he wailed.

His terror was so sharp and evident that I could not withstand the temptation to play upon it.

"Why should I pardon you?" I demanded. "What mercy did you show to me--you infamous wretch?"

"M'sieur, I was but the tool of others. Do not kill me. For Christ's sake put up your pistol."

"On the contrary, Jussieu," I said in a terrible voice. "Unless you consent to obey me implicitly, you shall die this instant, like the dog you are!"

"Mercy, mercy!" he cried. "I shall do anything you require--anything."

"Will you betray your master?"

"Yes, yes; only, for God's sake, put up your pistol!"

For answer I thrust the muzzle even harder into his side. "Now," said I, "tell me!" But he uttered a strangled cry.

"M'sieur--I--I--I faint, I die," he gasped, and to my astonishment he lurched forward and fell in a limp heap at my feet. I thought at first it was a trick, and held myself in readiness for a desperate struggle, for in good truth I dared not use my pistol. But the passing lamps showed me Jussieu's black face turned almost grey, and his staring eyes hideously upturned. The craven had swooned. I fell back chuckling with delight, for I had been until that moment wondering how on earth I could possibly contrive to force the brute into my hotel in case he should turn rusty and decline to accompany me.

As it eventuated, Jussieu was carried, still unconscious, to my room by two burly porters, whose garrulous surprise, occasioned by so strange a service, I reduced to speechlessness with gold. It was five minutes to eleven when I got rid of them. I locked my door and approached the couch on which the negro lay. He was beginning to wake up. Hastily tearing a linen sheet into strips I succeeded in securely binding his hands and feet before he had properly regained his consciousness. I then fastened him to the couch and stood over him with my pistol cocked.

He opened his eyes and blinked up at me.

"In what pocket is the key of your master's door?" I demanded.

"In the right hand side trouser pocket," he answered with a shudder.

"Where is Sir Charles Venner at this moment?"

"At home, monsieur, in bed, I think."

"Does he know that you are out?"

"Yes, m'sieur."

"Where does he sleep?"

"Upstairs, m'sieur, on the second floor, the second room on the left from the head of the staircase."

"Thanks. And who else is there in the house?"

"No--one, m'sieur." He closed his eyes.

"Think, Jussieu!" I growled. "Where is Beudant, your brother negro?"

He did not reply.

"My hand is getting tired," I said coldly. "Let me remind you, Jussieu, that the pistol is furnished with a hair trigger."

The threats galvanised him.

"Beudant sleeps downstairs, on the ground floor," he cried.

"And the others?"

"There are no others, m'sieur."

"You do badly to lie to me, Jussieu. Say your prayers, my man; you have just a minute to live."

His face went grey, and his eyes almost started from his head. "Mercy, mercy!" he groaned. "I shall tell you the whole truth."

"Quickly, then!"

"A lady occupies the third floor with her servants--while my master, Beudant, and I dwell on the second floor----" He paused.

"And the ground floor, Jussieu?" I cried impatiently.

"It contains only living rooms, m'sieur. No one sleeps there."

I nodded, for I saw that he had told me the truth. Uncocking the revolver I seized it by the barrel and, bending forward, before he could guess of my intention, I struck him a violent blow over the temple with the butt. A white man's skull would have been shivered into fragments. Jussieu merely sighed, but a second blow, more powerfully delivered still, rendered him insensible. Forcing his jaws agape, I gagged him with a towel, and afterwards ransacked his pockets. They contained a bunch of keys, a few gold pieces, and a handful of silver. I had scarcely bestowed his possessions about my person when a knock sounded on the door.

"Who is there?" I demanded, striding forward.

"It is I, monsieur, Bertrand du Gazet," answered a muffled voice.

Cautiously opening the door I peered out, and saw standing in the passage without the little old man who had taken me to the gambling house. His hands were full of notes and gold.

"It is your money I have brought you as you requested," he observed, smiling genially. "You were foolish to leave so soon, monsieur. Fortune does not often so bountifully confer her favours. See, here are more than seven thousand francs. Indeed, you were wrong to run away, monsieur."

I was in a quandary. I could not admit my unwelcome visitor, and I did not like to drive him away, since he had come to do me a kindness. Putting on a fine air of frankness, I said to him in low tones: "My dear Du Gazet, I cannot thank you as I ought just now--because I have a visitor, you understand."

An expression of disgust crossed his face. He thought, it seemed, that my visitor was of the fair sex.

"I would not disturb you for the world," he muttered with sarcasm, "but what of your money?"

"Oblige me by keeping it until to-morrow."

"As you will; good-night, monsieur." He shrugged his shoulders and departed, his whole bearing expressive of contempt. No doubt he considered me a liar, since I had railed against womankind quite as bitterly as he had done not many hours before.

I could not, however, afford to waste thought on him, for I had much to do. Stripping off my evening clothes, I speedily changed into a suit of dark brown tweed, and drew on my feet a pair of felt-soled shoes. Having armed myself with a large sum of money and a loaded revolver, I stole softly out of the room. While locking the door behind me I heard a distant sigh. Swinging round I peered in the direction of the sound, and for a fleeting fragment of a second saw a face at the far end of the corridor. It vanished so swiftly, however, that I had no time to register its impression on my mind, and a moment later I doubted that I had seen anything. The corridor was deserted absolutely save for myself. I waited for a few silent minutes, then, reassured, made my way to the street. A _fiacre_ drove me to the Boulevard Poissoniere, where, having alighted, I walked to the Rue D'Enghien, and as the clocks were chiming the hour after midnight, I arrived before my place of destination, the house that contained my enemy. Without pausing an instant, I climbed the steps and noiselessly inserted Jussieu's latch-key into the lock of the front door. It yielded, the door opened with a slight creak, and I crossed the threshold. I found myself in a wide but dimly lighted hall. It was carpeted with cocoanut matting. Doors crowded its sides, all closed. Before me was a staircase, whose steps were composed of slate, which had been worn away in the middle, as if by centuries of footfalls. I was about to mount when of a sudden a strange wonder caught me and I paused. Until that moment blind hate had controlled my actions and carried me where I stood. But now I asked myself the question: "Agar Hume, what will you do? Is it murder that you contemplate?"

It was a fearful thought, and I shuddered as it came. But I could not answer it. I had never known so little of myself. In mind and body I was alert, expectant, calm. But there was that in me which I could not understand, a malignant remorseless spirit which had possession of my faculties, and which declined to be questioned or displaced. At its command I ceased to speculate, and began instead to listen. The house was as silent as a tomb. Some power beyond my cognizance presently plucked at my feet, and I found myself mounting the stairs. I remember passing one door and turning the handle of a second. Then I was in a room, dark as Erebus, creeping towards a bed, upon which lay an unseen sleeper, whose long, deep respirations guided my stealthy movements. What ensued appeared even then like nothing so much as the happenings of some wild and fevered dream. I paused beside the bed and my hands, drawn by an irresistible power, glided light as feathers across the coverlid, across a man's sleeping form, unto his throat. There they settled and took hold. I heard a strangled groan. A sudden bright light filled the room, and Sir Charles Venner's livid outstarting eyes glared into mine. His arms encircled me. With an almost super-human strength he writhed beneath me from the bed, and we fell together with a full but heavy crash upon the floor. With a fierce and terrible satisfaction I watched his face blacken and swell, his tongue thicken and protrude from his ghastly open mouth. Before, however, I could kill him, a warning step and a loud cry sounded from the door. Quick as lightning I sprang erect and turned. The negro surgeon, Beudant, Jussieu's companion, was rushing towards me, an uplifted bar of iron in his hand to strike. I eluded him, and, springing to the fireplace, seized a poker. I had quite forgotten my revolver. For a moment we fenced like swordsmen with our curious weapons, speaking no word, but striking heavily and warding, filling the place with the loud clang of steel. He played so well that I could not reach his skull. But soon I remembered having read in some old book of travel that a negro's vulnerable point is his shin. Clenching my teeth I made a ferocious feint at his head. He riposted, as with a rapier, at my shoulder, but I disregarded utterly so poor a thrust, since his bar was blunt, and I brought my weapon down with a sweeping swish across his outstretched knee. He uttered a wild shriek and, dropping his bar, sank to the floor, howling dismally. Only then I remembered my pistol. Snatching it forth I held it to his head. "Stop that noise, or die!" I muttered savagely. He obeyed, but not for longer than a second was I permitted to remain master of the situation.

"Drop that pistol, villain," cried a voice from the doorway.

Two men had entered the room before I was aware of it, Dr. Vernet and Dr. Fulton. Dr. Vernet wore a shortish nightgown, from beneath which his lean, attenuated shanks humorously twinkled. He seemed extremely excited, and he moved the weight of his body from one foot to the other constantly and very quickly. Dr. Fulton was attired in a suit of pyjamas, and he too was excited, though he showed it less reservelessly. Both men were armed with revolvers, which they pointed at my breast. Glancing down the muzzles of their weapons, I allowed my own to drop to the floor. It would have been madness to do otherwise. Strange to relate, at that instant, I became once more my own master. The malignant spirit of unreasoning hate, which had so far governed my conduct, of a sudden left me, and I was able to realize to the full the mad folly into which it had driven me. My captors had only to hand me over to the police as an apprehended housebreaker--an attempted assassin, and nothing that I might do could save me from a long term of imprisonment. My very spine went cold at the idea. I looked hard at Dr. Fulton, and saw that he was on the point of recognizing me.

"Why, it's Brown, Dagmar's valet!"

I had an inspiration. "Better any fate," thought I, "than a French prison."

"Detective Hume of Scotland Yard!" I cried. "Dr. Fulton, I arrest you in the King's name! Better put down that pistol, sir, your game is up. The street is full of my men. And if I do not go out to them in the next few minutes they will come for me."

"Liar!" gasped a choking voice. Sir Charles Venner had spoken. He had recovered consciousness, and as he uttered the word he struggled to his feet.

"Liar yourself!" I retorted desperately. "If you don't believe me, look out of the window."

I had a wild hope that the noise of my struggle with Beudant might have attracted the attention of some chance wayfarers, whom my enemies might perhaps mistake for police. Sir Charles caught up my revolver, cocked it leisurely, and pointed it to my head.

"Look out of the window, Fulton," he said quietly.

Dr. Fulton crossed the room and, drawing aside a corner of the curtain, peered through the shutter into the street below.

While I waited for Dr. Fulton's pronouncement, I had a moment of grace in which to think and pull myself together. The latter I effected fairly well, but the knowledge of my recent madness obsessed my mind to the exclusion of every other thought and filled my soul with bitter self-contempt. I felt that I did not deserve to escape.

Dr. Fulton presently let the curtain fall and turned to Sir Charles. "There are four men standing on the pavement looking up at the top windows," he announced.

Sir Charles Venner nodded, and for a few seconds stood blinking his eyes in earnest thought.

"Beudant!" he cried at last.

"Monsieu!" replied the negro.

"Where is Jussieu?"

"He has not yet returned, monsieur."

"Ah, ha! I see! He has either betrayed us or been victimised. Beudant--a rope."

Beudant bowed and hurried from the room.

"What would you do?" demanded Dr. Vernet.

Sir Charles shrugged his shoulders and cocked his revolver. "We must quit Paris, or die in the attempt," he replied. "Mr. Hume, if you wish to live, you will be silent. Fulton, look out of the windows again."

Dr. Fulton obeyed. "I can no longer see any one," he reported.

Sir Charles suppressed a curse. "They must be on the steps, perhaps entering," he muttered. "Ah, Beudant! Thank heaven! Bind him, Beudant. Wait, my friends."

Even while speaking he left the room. The negro passed a rope around my arms and in a trice I was secured. I was wondering keenly what next would happen, when of a sudden I heard a loud swishing, creaking sound, as though a crane were at work in the corridor without. The groaning of wheels and chains was succeeded swiftly with a dull, muffled crash, and a second later Sir Charles returned.

"Dress quickly!" he cried to his friends. "We have not a minute to lose. I have settled some of them by springing the staircase trap, but the street door is open, and there may be others."

He set the example himself by pulling on his clothes with extraordinary rapidity. Vernet and Fulton darted off, and I was left in the care of Beudant, the only one who was completely attired. If my arms had been free, I would have tried conclusions with the negro. As it was, I helplessly waited, gnawing my lip and silently cursing at my folly. At the end of a few minutes a bell began to tinkle in a distant portion of the house. Sir Charles Venner started at the sound, and paused for a moment, intently listening. The bell rang again. Sir Charles threw a cloak across his shoulders and tip-toed to the door.

"Hola! within there," cried a raucous voice in French.

"All right!" shouted Sir Charles. "We'll be with you in a moment; wait!"

I smiled grimly. For I understood, while my enemy did not. Some passing policeman, observing the street door open, had rung the bell in order to inform the household of its carelessness. Sir Charles Vernier, however, believed that one of my agents had called out to his _confreres_, who had already entered. A moment later Vernet and Fulton reappeared, dressed as though for a journey. Sir Charles then stepped behind me and put his pistol to my ear. "Allons!" he muttered, "and tread softly, if you wish to live."

Obeying the guidance of a heavy hand that gripped my shoulder, I marched from the room and began to climb the staircase towards the third storey. The whole house was now wrapped in impenetrable darkness. My captors, however, appeared to know the way very well, and I was forced without a pause along a maze of corridors, until we were brought up by a wall. A match was cautiously struck, and we entered a small unfurnished room, the door of which was locked behind us. In the middle of this apartment was a ladder that communicated with the roof. Beudant climbed it with the agility of a monkey and raised a trap in the skylight, through which we all passed in quick succession. As I emerged and stood erect, I saw a sight I shall not easily forget--the magnificent panorama of sleeping Paris. And yet Paris did not seem to sleep. True, the night was dark, but in whatever direction I glanced, I was confronted with myriads of twinkling lamps that gleamed at me like so many intelligent and baneful little eyes. I was given but little time to digest the picture. Before the muzzle of Sir Charles Venner's revolver I crossed a slightly sloping roof of lead, and stepped over a knee-high parapet of stone. Thence we traversed the tops of three other houses and came at length to a slightly lower edifice, which required some care to reach. Beudant slipped over first, and I was bodily lifted up by Fulton and Venner and dropped into his arms. The roof perilously sloped, and the journey filled me with tremors, for a mis-step meant such a destruction as is entailed by a fall of sixty feet upon a line of iron-spiked railings. But death faced me on every side, so I set my lips and strode forward. By great good hap I negotiated the pass in safety, and came to a small, square ledge that was faced with an attic door, covered with a tiny gabled roof. A moment later we were all standing in a long low ceiled chamber, into which we had been admitted by a hideous old beldame. This creature received us with chuckles of sardonic satisfaction, and at once began to haggle with Sir Charles Venner for a large sum of money which she claimed to be her due. He tried to silence her by offering half the amount demanded, but she indignantly declined and threatened to scream. He therefore yielded and gave her his purse. But while she counted the money he turned his back, and taking a phial from his pocket poured its contents on his handkerchief. At a sign Beudant took the handkerchief, and, throwing himself upon the old hag, pressed it tightly to her nostrils. She struggled like a fury, but the negro mastered her, and very soon afterwards she was lying insensible upon the floor. I was watching Sir Charles wrest from her clenched hand his purse, when a terrible blow on my skull deprived me of consciousness.

When I awoke I thought at first I must have died in my sleep and have been thrust into hell. Every fibre of my being was racked with pain. Darkness encompassed me. With every breath I drew I was sickened with noxious odours, and I could not move a muscle. I tried to cry out, but could not utter a sound. An iron wedge had been driven deep into my mouth. My limbs were bound, and I was tightly enclosed, in a doubled-up position, in a square box. I lay upon my back and my knees were trussed up across my chest so that my chin almost touched them. I discovered these details slowly, one by one, and gradually awoke to the fact that I was still alive. For a little while I was glad to know that, but with the passing hours I prayed for death to end my tortures. Sometimes I swooned. On awakening I invariably heard a monotonous rumbling sound that was occasionally relieved by long, shrill screams. It occurred to me at last that I was being borne along upon a cart, the axles of which badly needed oiling. I had at first mistaken their screaming for the lamentations of lost souls. Thirst was my greatest agony. It always increased, while my other pains with time grew numb. Each time I fainted I hailed the swoon as kindly coming death, and for a brief moment I was happy. My recoveries were accursed periods of anguish. But I think my trances of insensibility grew ever longer as my strength wore out. However that may be, I began at length to dream, and I ceased to be able to distinguish between sleeping and waking or even to feel much pain. Then all of a sudden I felt a rush of cool air on my brow, and I looked up into a sky full of stars. Water was dashed on my face. The gag was taken from my mouth and I was given to drink. Someone clutched my arm and I shrieked aloud. I was forced, still shrieking, to my feet, and dragged by those I could not see through a plantation of tall and stately pines. I swooned again. And once more I awoke to find myself lying fully dressed, but free, upon a bed of down in a cool and pleasant room. It was morning. Through an open window near my couch I could see a wilderness of distant tree tops, larches, pines, and firs, and more dimly between and above their branches a range of hills beyond. A slant bar of sunlight streamed into my chamber and, falling on the floor a dozen feet away, marked out a golden pattern on the carpet. Against the farther wall was a book-case filled with volumes and an escritoire. A comfortable lounge chair stood near the bed. I saw also a heavy mahogany clothes press that was furnished with mirror-backed doors. So totally unprepared was I to encounter so gentle an experience that I rubbed my eyes to make sure that I was not still dreaming. The exercise obliged me to discover that my limbs were frightfully stiff and cramped. I was not long content, however, to allow my curiosity to remain unsatisfied. By dint of a good deal of exertion, and at the expense of many a sharp thrill of pain, I climbed from the bed and essayed to rise. After a few thoughts I succeeded, and then feeling dizzy, I managed to totter to a chair. I had hardly sat down when the door opened and Sir Charles Venner stood before me.

"Good morning, Mr. Hume," said he, in quite a genial voice. "I am glad to find you so much better after your distressing journey here!"

"Are you?" I muttered stupidly. I was overcome with surprise at his curious change of manner.

"Indeed, yes," he replied, and he smiled. "Do you feel well enough for breakfast?"

I nodded.

"Then permit me to assist you. Ah, good! Now take my arm."

He helped me, dumb with astonishment, out of the room and along a passage into a fine old dining-hall, that might have been part and parcel of some medieval chateau, so quaintly and elegantly was it furnished.

I could afford it no more than a glance, however, for seated at table there were Dr. Fulton, Dr. Venner, and Marion Le Mar, now Lady Dagmar.

At the sight of the beautiful woman whom I had so passionately loved, I cried out loudly, and stood still. Her face was pale. She was attired in deep mourning, and her eyes were resolutely downcast.

Sir Charles Venner uttered a low, cynical little laugh. "Quite a meeting of the clans!" he remarked. "But come, Hume, I am certain you are hungry."

Leaning heavily on his arm, I staggered to the table and sank into a chair.

"Marion!" I gasped, looking at her straight and full.

Very slowly she raised her eyes, and returned my glance with a look of cold disdain.

I thought her a thief and a traitress, and yet my eyes fell before her gaze.

"Will you try some oatmeal, Hume?" asked Sir Charles Venner, who had taken the head of the table.

"No, thank you."

"Then, some ham and eggs?"

"Please."

Beudant entered the room. "The grave is dug, master," he announced.

I looked at Sir Charles. He was biting his under lip, and curiously regarding me.

"Whose?" I demanded.

"Yours and Lady Dagmar's!" he replied with a sneer.

I looked at Marion. She was calmly eating her breakfast.

"This is some ghastly joke!" I cried.

Marion glanced up and smiled. "Say cynical, monsieur," she murmured quietly. "My good friend, Sir Charles Venner, persists in believing that we love each other--you and I--in spite of the fact that scarcely a month ago I deserted you in order to marry Sir William Dagmar."