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LORD STRANLEIGH ABROAD
by
ROBERT BARR
Author of "Young Lord Stranleigh," "Lord Stranleigh,
Philanthropist," "The Mutable Many," etc.
Ward, Locke & Co., Limited
London, Melbourne, and Toronto
1913
[Illustration: "'Why did you wish to murder me?'" (Page 189.)
_Frontispiece_]
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I.--LORD STRANLEIGH ALL AT SEA 7
II.--AN AUTOMOBILE RIDE 49
III.--THE GOD IN THE CAR 87
IV.--THE MAD MISS MATURIN 125
V.--IN SEARCH OF GAME 164
VI.--THE BUNK HOUSE PRISONER 209
VII.--THE END OF THE CONTEST 259
LORD STRANLEIGH ABROAD.
I.--LORD STRANLEIGH ALL AT SEA.
A few minutes before noon on a hot summer day, Edmund Trevelyan
walked up the gang-plank of the steamship, at that moment the largest
Atlantic liner afloat. Exactly at the stroke of twelve she would leave
Southampton for Cherbourg, then proceed across to Queenstown, and
finally would make a bee-line west for New York. Trevelyan was costumed
in rough tweed of subdued hue, set off by a cut so well-fitting and
distinguished that it seemed likely the young man would be looked upon
by connoisseurs of tailoring as the best-dressed passenger aboard. He
was followed by Ponderby, his valet, whose usually expressionless face
bore a look of dissatisfaction with his lot, as though he had been
accustomed to wait upon the nobility, and was now doomed to service with
a mere commoner. His lack of content, however, was caused by a dislike
to ocean travel in the first place, and his general disapproval of
America in the second. A country where all men are free and equal
possessed no charms for Ponderby, who knew he had no equal, and was not
going to demean himself by acknowledging the possibility of such.
Once on deck, his master turned to him and said--
"You will go, Ponderby, to my suite of rooms, and see that my luggage is
placed where it should be, and also kindly satisfy yourself that none of
it is missing."
Ponderby bowed in a dignified manner, and obeyed without a word, while
Trevelyan mounted the grand staircase, moving with an easy nonchalance
suited to a day so inordinately hot. The prospect of an ocean voyage in
such weather was in itself refreshing, and so prone is mankind to live
in the present, and take no thought of the morrow, that Trevelyan
had quite forgotten the cablegrams he read in the papers on his way
down from London, to the effect that New York was on the grill, its
inhabitants sweltering--sleeping on the house-tops, in the parks, on
the beach at Coney Island, or wherever a breath of air could be had.
On the upper deck his slow steps were arrested by an exclamation--
"Isn't this Mr. Trevelyan?"
The man who made the enquiry wore the uniform of the ship's company.
"Ah, doctor, I was thinking of you at this moment. I read in the papers
that you had been promoted, and I said to myself: 'After all, this is
not an ungrateful world, when the most skilful and most popular medical
officer on the Atlantic is thus appreciated.'"
"Ah, you put it delightfully, Trevelyan, but I confess I hesitated about
adding, at my time of life, to the burden I carry."
"Your time of life, doctor! Why you always make me feel an old man by
comparison with yourself; yet you'll find me skipping about the decks
like a boy."
"If you'll take the right-hand seat at my table, I'll keep an eye on
you, and prevent you from skipping overboard," laughed the doctor.
"Indeed, that was the boon I intended to crave."
"Then the seat is yours, Trevelyan. By the way, I read in the newspapers
that Evelyn Trevelyan is none other than Lord Stranleigh; but then, of
course, you can never believe what you see in the press, can you?"
"Personally, I make no effort to do so. I get my news of the day from
Ponderby, who is an inveterate reader of the principal journals favoured
by what he calls the 'upper classes.' But I assure you that Evelyn
Trevelyan is a name that belongs to me, and I wear it occasionally like
an old, comfortable-fitting coat."
"Ah, well, I'll not give you away. I'll see you at lunch between here
and Cherbourg." And the doctor hurried away to his duties.
The young man continued his stroll, smiling as he remembered some of the
doctor's excellent stories. He regarded his meeting with that friendly
officer as a good omen, but hoped he would encounter no one else who
knew him.
The next interruption of his walk proved to be not so pleasant. There
came up the deck with nervous tread a shabbily-dressed man, who appeared
from ten to fifteen years older than Stranleigh, although in reality
there was no great disparity in their ages. His face was haggard and
lined with anxiety, and his eyes had that furtive, penetrating glance
which distinguishes the inveterate gambler. Stranleigh watched his
oncoming with amazement.
The Hon. John Hazel had been a member of some of the most exclusive
clubs in London; but whether or not Nature had endowed him with a useful
talent, he had become notorious as a reckless cardsharper, quite
unscrupulous when it came to obtaining money. No one knew this better
than Lord Stranleigh, who had been so often his victim, yet had regarded
his losses lightly, and forgiven the Hon. John time and again. But
recently this younger son of an ancient and honourable house had
committed the unpardonable sin--he had been found out, and had been
permitted to resign from all his clubs but one, and from which he was
expelled by a committee not so lenient. After that he disappeared. He
was done for, so far as England was concerned, and he knew it.
"John, is this possible?" cried Lord Stranleigh, as the other
approached.
Hazel stopped, his eyes veiling over, as though he held a hand at poker
that was unbeatable.
"I haven't the pleasure of knowing you, sir," he said haughtily.
"I'm glad of that, because I'm Edmund Trevelyan at the moment, and was
just hoping I should meet no one on board who would recognise me."
"I don't know Edmund Trevelyan, and have no wish to make his
acquaintance," returned the other coldly.
"That's quite all right, and your wish does you credit. Trevelyan has no
desire to force his friendship on any man. Nevertheless, Jack, time was
when I helped you out of a hole, and, if occasion arose, I should be
glad to do it again."
"You could have prevented my expulsion from the Camperdown Club, had you
but cared to raise a finger," said the other hotly.
"Hazel, you are mistaken. I did all I could for you, as in other crises
of the same nature. The committee proved to be adamant, and rather
prided themselves on their independence, as if they were a group of
blooming Radicals. The House of Lords isn't what it was, Jack, as, alas,
you may learn, should you ever come into the title of your family,
although many people stand between you and it at the present moment.
Indeed, Jack, it has been on my conscience that my urgent advocacy
prejudiced your case instead of helping it."
"Ah, well, that's all past; it doesn't matter now," said the other, with
a sigh. "I have shaken the dust of England for ever from my feet."
"The mud, you mean."
"Oh, I admit I wallowed in the mud, but it was dust when I left London
this morning. Ah, we're off! I must be going." And he moved away from
the rail of the ship, where he had been gazing over the side.
"Going? Where?"
"Where I belong. I'm travelling third-class. The moment the steamer gets
under way, I have no right on the cabin deck. Before she left, I took
the liberty of a sightseer to wander over the steamship."
"My dear Jack," said his former friend, in a grave voice, "this will
never do; you cannot cross the Atlantic in the steerage."
"I have visited my quarters, and find them very comfortable. I have been
in much worse places recently. Steerage is like everything else
maritime--like this bewilderingly immense steamer, for example--vastly
improved since Robert Louis Stevenson took his trip third-class to New
York."
"Well, it is a change for a luxury-loving person like my friend the Hon.
John Hazel."
"It is very condescending of you to call me your friend. Nobody else
would do it," replied the Hon. John bitterly.
"Condescension be hanged! I'm rather bewildered, that's all, and wish
for further particulars. Are you turning over a new leaf, then?"
"A new leaf? A thousand of them! I have thrown away the old book, with
its blotches and ink-stains. I'm starting a blank volume that I hope
will bear inspection and not shock even the rectitude of the Camperdown
Committee."
"What's the programme?"
"I don't quite know yet; it will depend on circumstances. I think it's
the West for me--sort of back-to-the-land business. I yearn to become a
kind of moral cowboy. It seems the only thing I'm at all equipped for. I
can ride well and shoot reasonably straight."
"I thought," said Stranleigh, "that phase of life had disappeared with
Bret Harte. Is there any money in your inside pocket?"
"How could there be?"
"Then why not let me grub-stake you, which I believe is the correct
Western term."
"As how, for instance?"
"I'll secure for you a comfortable cabin, and you will pay the damage
when you strike oil out West, so, you see, there's no humiliating
condescension about the offer."
"I'm sure there isn't, and it's very good of you, Stranleigh, but I
can't dress the part."
"That's easily arranged. Ponderby always over-dresses me. His idea of
this world is that there is London, and the rest of the planet is a
wilderness. You could no more persuade him that a decent suit might be
made in New York than that I am the worst-dressed man in London. You and
I are about the same height and build. Ponderby will have in my
mountainous luggage anywhere from twenty-five to forty suits never yet
worn by me. I don't know on what principle he goes, but as the last time
we went to America he took twenty-five new suits, and we crossed in a
twenty-five thousand ton boat, he is likely to have at least forty-five
suits for this forty-five thousand ton steamship, and he will feel as
much pleasure in rigging you out as he took in the crowning of the new
King."
"Very good of you, Stranleigh, but I cannot accept."
"I am pleading for Ponderby's sake. Besides, there's one practical
point you have overlooked. If you attempt to land from the
steerage--travelling under an assumed name, I suppose----"
"Like yourself, Stranleigh."
"No, I own the name 'Trevelyan.' But, as I was saying, if you attempt to
land rather shabbily dressed and almost penniless, you will find
yourself turned back as an undesirable alien, whereas you can go ashore
from the first cabin unquestioned, save for those amazing queries the
U.S.A. Government puts to one, the answers to which Ponderby will be
charmed to write out for you."
Hazel without reply walked back to the rail, leaned his arms on it, and
fell into deep thought. Stranleigh followed him.
"Give me your ticket," he said.
Hazel took it from his pocket and handed it over.
"Have you any luggage?"
"Only a portmanteau, which I placed in my bunk. It contains a certain
amount of necessary linen."
"Wait here until I find out what there is to be had in the first cabin."
Stranleigh went down to the purser, and that overworked official threw
him a friendly glance, which nevertheless indicated that his time was
valuable.
"My name is Trevelyan," said the young man.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Trevelyan. You have our premier suite. How do you like
your accommodation?"
"I haven't seen it yet. I have just discovered a friend, a rather
eccentric man, who had made up his mind to cross the Atlantic in the
steerage. One of those silly bets, you know, which silly young men make
in our silly London clubs, and I have persuaded him out of it."
"Our steerage is supposed to be rather comfortable, Mr. Trevelyan."
"So he says, but I want his company on deck, and not on the steerage
deck at that. Have you got anything vacant along my avenue?"
The purser consulted his written list.
"Nobody with him?"
"He's quite alone."
"All the larger cabins are taken, but I can give him No. 4390."
"I suppose, like your steerage, it is comfortable?" said Stranleigh,
with a smile.
"It is, yet it's not a private hotel like your quarters."
"Oh, he'll not grumble. Will you send a steward to carry his portmanteau
from the number indicated on this steerage ticket to his new room?
Meanwhile, I'll have transferred to him his luggage that I brought from
London."
The purser rapidly wrote out a new ticket, and took the difference in
five-pound notes.
"Are you going to your quarters now?" the purser asked.
"Yes, I must give some instructions to my man."
"Then it will give me great pleasure to show you the way there," said
the purser, rising and locking the door; and in spite of Stranleigh's
protest against his taking the trouble, he led him to a series of rooms
that would have satisfied a much more exacting person than his young
lordship. When the purser had returned to his duties, Stranleigh said to
Ponderby--
"The Hon. John Hazel is aboard, and his cabin is No. 4390. He had to
leave London in a great hurry and without the necessary luggage."
Ponderby's eyes lit up with an expression which said--"I knew that would
happen sooner or later." But he uttered no word, and cast down his eyes
when he saw his master had noticed the glance. Stranleigh spoke coldly
and clearly.
"How many new suits have you provided for me?"
"Thirty-seven, my lord."
"Very well. Clear out one or two boxes, and pack a dress-suit and two
or three ordinary suits; in fact, costume the Hon. John Hazel just as
you would costume me. Call a steward, and order the box to be taken to
his room. Lay out for him an everyday garb, and get all this done as
quickly as possible."
His lordship proceeded leisurely to the upper deck once more, and found
Hazel just as he had left him, except that he was now gazing at the
fleeting shore, green and village-studded, of the Isle of Wight.
"Here you are," said Stranleigh breezily, handing the Hon. John the
cabin ticket.
There was a weak strain in Hazel's character, otherwise he would never
had come to the position in which he found himself, and he now exhibited
the stubbornness which has in it the infallible signs of giving way.
"I really cannot accept it," he said, his lower lip trembling
perceptibly.
"Tut, tut! It's all settled and done with. Your room is No. 4390. You
will find your bag there, and also a box from my habitation. Come
along--I'll be your valet. Luncheon will be on shortly, and I want your
company."
Stranleigh turned away, and Hazel followed him.
Cabin 4390 could not be compared with the luxurious suite that
Stranleigh was to occupy, yet, despite the purser's hesitation to
overpraise it, the cabin was of a size and promise of comfort that would
have been found in few liners a decade ago. Ponderby was on hand, and
saved his master the fag of valeting, and when finally the Hon. John
emerged, he was quite his old jaunty self again--a well-dressed man who
would not have done discredit even to the Camperdown Club.
"I have secured a place for you," said Stranleigh, "next to myself at
the doctor's table. I flatter myself on having made this transfer with
more tact than I usually display, for I am somewhat stupid in the main,
trusting others to carry out my ideas rather than endeavouring to shine
as a diplomatist myself. The purser--the only official aware of the
change--thinks you made a bet to go over steerage, and will probably
forget all about the matter. The question is, under what name shall I
introduce you to the doctor?"
"What would you advise?" asked Hazel. "The name on my steerage ticket is
William Jones."
"Oh, that's no good as a _nom de guerre_--too palpably a name chosen by
an unimaginative man. I should sail under your own colours if I were
you."
"Good! Then John Hazel I am, and so will remain. As a guarantee of good
faith, I promise you not to touch a card all the way across."
"A good resolution; see that you keep it." And thus they enjoyed an
appetising lunch together, and were regaled with one of the doctor's
best salads.
They got away from Cherbourg before the dinner hour, and after that meal
Stranleigh and Hazel walked together on the main deck, until the latter,
admitting he was rather fagged after the exciting events of the day,
went off to his cabin, and Stranleigh was left alone to smoke a final
cigar. He leaned on the rail and gazed meditatively at the smooth sea.
It was an ideal evening, and Stranleigh felt at peace with all the
world. There exists a popular belief that the rich are overburdened with
care. This may be true while they are in the money-making struggle, but
it is not a usual fault when the cash is in the bank or safely invested.
Stranleigh occasionally lost money, but an immense amount had been
bequeathed him, and he made many millions more than he had parted with,
although he claimed this was merely because of a series of flukes,
maintaining that, whenever he set to work that part of him known as his
brains, he invariably came a cropper.
"You are Mr. Trevelyan, are you not?" said a very musical feminine voice
at his elbow. Stranleigh turned in surprise, and seeing there a most
charming young woman, he flung his partially consumed cigar into the
sea.
"Yes," he replied, "my name is Trevelyan. How did you know?"
That rare smile came to his lips--a smile, people said, which made you
feel instinctively you could trust him; and many ladies who were quite
willing to bestow their trust, called it fascinating.
"I am afraid," said the girl, whose beautiful face was very serious, and
whose large dark eyes seemed troubled--"I am afraid that I enacted the
part of unintentional eavesdropper. I had some business with the
purser--business that I rather shrank from executing. You came to his
window just before I did, for I was hesitating."
"I am sorry," said Stranleigh, "if I obtruded myself between you and
that official. Being rather limited in intelligence, my mind can attend
to only one thing at a time, and I must confess I did not see you."
"I know you did not," retorted the girl. "There was no obtrusion. You
were first comer, and therefore should have been first served, as was
the case."
"I would willingly have given up my place and whatever rights I
possessed in the matter, had I known a lady was waiting."
"I am sure of it. However, your conversation with the purser gave me a
welcome respite, and, thinking over the crisis, I determined to consult
you before I spoke to him; thus I have taken the unusual step of
bringing myself to your notice."
"In what way can I assist you, madam?" asked Stranleigh, a return of his
usual caution showing itself in the instant stiffening of manner and
coldness of words.
"I learned you were exchanging, on behalf of a friend, a third-class
ticket for a place in the cabin. I judged from this that you are a
good-hearted man, and my attention was attracted when you introduced
yourself to the purser as Trevelyan, because Trevelyan is my own name."
"Really?" ejaculated his lordship. "Have you relatives near Wychwood?
You are English, are you not?"
"I am English, and a distant connection with the family of Trevelyan,
near Wychwood, none of whom, however, I have yet met, unless you happen
to belong to that branch."
"I do," said Stranleigh. "And now tell me, if you please, what is your
difficulty?"
"I wish to ask you if the steerage ticket you gave the purser was taken
in part payment for the cabin ticket, or did you forfeit it altogether?"
"That I can't tell you," said Stranleigh, with a laugh. "I am not
accustomed to the transaction of business, and this little arrangement
had to be made quickly."
Although his lordship spoke lightly and pleasantly the girl appeared to
have some difficulty in proceeding with her story. The large eyes were
quite evidently filling with tears, and of all things in the world
Stranleigh loathed an emotional scene. The girl was obviously deeply
depressed, whatever the cause.
"Well," he said jauntily and indeed encouragingly, "we were talking of
first and third-class tickets. What have you to say about them?"
"I speak of the steerage ticket only. If you haven't forfeited it, you
have the right to demand its return."
"I suppose so. Still, it is of no particular use to me."
"No, but it would be vital to me. Coming down in the train from London,
my purse was stolen, or perhaps I lost it when giving up my railway
ticket. So I am now without either money or transportation voucher."
"Was it for cabin passage?"
"Yes."
"In that case you will have no difficulty; your name will be on the
purser's list. Do you know the number of your state-room?"
"No, I do not, and, so far as my name goes, I can expect no help from
that quarter, because the name I travel under is not Miss Trevelyan."
"Good gracious," cried Stranleigh, "there are three of us! This ship
should be called _Incognita_. Was your money also in that purse?"
"Yes, all my gold and bank-notes, and I am left with merely some silver
and coppers."
"Then the third-class ticket would not be of the slightest use to you.
As I had to point out to another person on a similar occasion, you would
not be allowed to land, so we will let that third-class ticket drop into
oblivion. If you are even distantly related to the Trevelyan family, I
could not think of allowing you to travel steerage. Are you alone?"
"Yes," she murmured almost inaudibly.
"Well, then, it is better that you should make all arrangements with the
purser yourself. As I told you, I am not particularly good at business
affairs. You give to him the name under which you purchased your ticket.
You bought it in London, I suppose?"
"Yes," she murmured again.
"Mention to him the name you used then. He will look up his list, and
allot you the state-room you paid for. It is probable he may have the
power to do this without exacting any excess fare; but if such is not
the case, settle with him for your passage, and take his receipt. The
money will doubtless be refunded at New York. Here is a fifty-pound
note, and you can carry out the transaction much better than I. But
stop a moment. Do you remember how much you paid for the room?"
"Twenty-five pounds."
"That will leave you only the remaining twenty-five for New York, which
is an expensive place, so we must make the loan a hundred pounds. Leave
me your address, and if you do not hear from your people before that
loan is expended, you may have whatever more you need. You will, of
course, repay me at your convenience. I will give you the name of my New
York agents."
The eyes had by this time brimmed over, and the girl could not speak.
Stranleigh took from his pocket-book several Bank of England notes.
Selecting two for fifty pounds each, he handed them to her.
"Good-night!" he said hurriedly.
"Good-night!" she whispered.
After dinner on the day the liner left Queenstown, Lord Stranleigh sat
in a comfortable chair in the daintily furnished drawing-room of his
suite. A shaded electric light stood on the table at his elbow, and he
was absorbed in a book he had bought before leaving London. Stranleigh
was at peace with all the world, and his reading soothed a mind which he
never allowed to become perturbed if he could help it. He now thanked
his stars that he was sure of a week undisturbed by callers and free
from written requests. Just at this moment he was amazed to see the door
open, and a man enter without knock or other announcement. His first
thought was to wonder what had become of Ponderby--how had the stranger
eluded him? It was a ruddy-faced, burly individual who came in, and, as
he turned round to shut the door softly, Stranleigh saw that his thick
neck showed rolls of flesh beneath the hair. His lordship placed the
open book face downwards on the table, but otherwise made no motion.
"Lord Stranleigh, I presume?" said the stranger.
Stranleigh made no reply, but continued gazing at the intruder.
"I wish to have a few words with you, and considered it better to come
to your rooms than to accost you on deck. What I have to say is serious,
and outside we might have got into an altercation, which you would
regret."
"You need have no fear of any altercation with me," said Stranleigh.
"Well, at least you desire to avoid publicity, otherwise you would not
be travelling under an assumed name."
"I am not travelling under an assumed name."
The stout man waved his hand in deprecation of unnecessary talk.
"I will come to the point at once," he said, seating himself without any
invitation.
"I shall be obliged if you do so."
The new-comer's eyes narrowed, and a threatening expression overspread
his rather vicious face.
"I want to know, Lord Stranleigh, and I have a right to ask, why you
gave a hundred pounds to my wife."
"To your wife?" echoed Stranleigh in amazement.
"Yes. I have made a memorandum of the numbers, and here they are--two
fifty-pound notes. Bank of England. Do you deny having given them to
her?"
"I gave two fifty-pound notes to a young lady, whose name, I understood,
was Trevelyan--a name which I also bear. She informed me, and somehow I
believed her, that her purse containing steamship ticket and money, had
been lost or stolen."
A wry smile twisted the lips of the alleged husband.
"Oh, that's the story is it? Would you be surprised if the young lady in
question denied that _in toto_?"
"I should not be astonished at anything," replied his lordship, "if you
are in possession of the actual bank-notes I gave to her."
"She describes your having taken these flimsies from a number of others
you carry in your pocket. Would you mind reading me the number of others
you carry in your pocket. Would you mind reading me the number of the
next note in your collection?"
"Would you mind reading me the numbers on the notes you hold?" asked
Stranleigh, in cool, even tones, making no sign of producing his own
assets.
"Not at all," replied the other; whereupon he read them. The notes were
evidently two of a series, and the numbers differed only by a single
unit. Stranleigh nonchalantly took out his pocket-book, and the
intruder's eyes glistened as he observed its bulk. Stranleigh glanced at
the number on the top bank-note, and replaced his pocket-book, leaning
back in his easy chair.
"You are quite right," he said. "Those are the notes I gave to Miss
Trevelyan."
"I asked why."
"I told you why."
"That cock-and-bull story won't go down," said the other. "Even the
richest men do not fling money about in such reckless fashion. They do
it only for a favour given or a favour expected."
"I dare say you are right. But come to the point, as you said you
would."
"Is that necessary?"
"I don't know that it is. You want money--as large an amount as can be
squeezed from a man supposedly wealthy. You use your good-looking wife
as a decoy----"
"You are casting aspersion on a lady quite unknown to you!" cried his
visitor, with well-assumed indignation.
"Pardon me, you seem to be casting aspersion on her whom you say is your
wife. I don't know how these notes got into your hands, but I'd be
willing to stake double the amount that the lady is quite innocent in
the matter. She certainly is so far as I am concerned. If the lady is
your wife, what is her name? She told me she was travelling under a
different title from that written on the lost ticket."
"I am not ashamed of my name, if you are of yours. My name is Branksome
Poole."
"Ah, then she is Mrs. Branksome Poole?"
"Naturally."
Stranleigh reached out and drew towards him a passenger list. Running
his eye down the column of cabin passengers, he saw there the names:
"Mr. and Mrs. Branksome Poole."
"Well, Mr. Poole, we come to what is the final question--how much?"
"If you give me the roll of Bank of England notes which you exhibited
a moment ago, I shall say nothing further about the matter, and,
understand me, there is no coercion about my request. You may accept or
decline, just as you like. I admit that my wife and I do not get along
well together, and although I consider I have a grievance against you,
I am not assuming the injured husband _role_ at all. If you decline, I
shall make no scandal aboard ship, but will wait and take action against
you the moment we arrive in New York."
"Very considerate of you, Mr. Poole. I understand that in New York the
fountains of justice are perfectly pure, and that the wronged are
absolutely certain of obtaining redress. I congratulate you on your
choice of a battle-ground. Of course, you haven't the slightest thought
of levying blackmail, but I prefer to spend my money on the best legal
talent in America rather than trust any of it to you. It's a mere
case of obstinacy on my part. And now, if you will kindly take your
departure, I will get on with my book; I am at a most interesting
point."
"I shall not take my departure," said Poole doggedly, "until we have
settled this matter."
"The matter is settled." Stranleigh touched an electric button. An
inside door opened, and Ponderby entered, looking in amazement at his
master's visitor.
"Ponderby," said Lord Stranleigh, "in future I desire you to keep this
outer door locked, so that whoever wishes to see me may come through
your room. Take a good look at this gentleman, and remember he is not to
be allowed within my suite again on any pretext. Meanwhile, show him
into the corridor. Take him through your room, and afterwards return and
lock this other door."
Then occurred an extraordinary thing. Ponderby, for the first time in
his life, disobeyed his master's instructions. Approaching the seated
Poole, he said--
"Will you go quietly?"
"I'll not go, quietly or otherwise," answered the man stubbornly.
Ponderby opened the door by which Poole had entered, then, seizing him
by the collar, lifted him, led him to the door, and pitched him out of
the room across the corridor. Returning, he closed, locked, and bolted
the door.
"I beg your pardon, my lord," said the panting Ponderby to his amazed
master, "but I dare not take him through my room. His wife is there. She
appears to have followed him. Anyhow, she recognised his voice, and told
me hurriedly why she came. I locked the door to the passage, for, as I
heard her story, I felt it might be serious, and at least you ought to
hear what she has to say before you acted. I hope you will excuse the
liberty I have taken, my lord."
"Ponderby, as I have often told you, you are a gem! I will go into your
room, but you must remain there while I talk to this lady. No more
_tete-a-tete_ conversations with the unprotected for me."
"I think she is honest, my lord, but in deep trouble."
[Illustration: "Reeling off what she had to say as if it were a task
learned by rote."]
"I am glad to have my opinion corroborated by so good a judge of
character as yourself, Ponderby."
They went together to the valet's sitting-room, and there sat the woman,
with her dark head bowed upon arms outstretched along the table, her
shoulders shaking. She was plainly on the verge of hysterics, if,
indeed, she had not already crossed the boundary line.
"Here is Mr. Trevelyan, madam," said Ponderby. "You wanted to speak with
him."
She raised her head, dabbed her wet eyes nervously with her
handkerchief, and made an effort to pull herself together. When she
spoke, it was with rapid utterance, reeling off what she had to say as
if it were a task learned by rote.
"I have at last come to the end of my tether, and to-night, if there is
no prospect of freedom, I shall destroy myself. Before this I have often
thought of suicide, but I am a cowardly person, and cling to life. Five
years ago my father went out to America bent on a motor tour; he took me
with him. Among other servants he engaged Charles Branksome, who had
proved himself an expert chauffeur. He was English, and came to us well
recommended. He intimated that he was of good family, but had his living
to earn. He was handsome then, and had a most ingratiating manner. The
person who called on you to-night bears little resemblance to the
Branksome of five years ago. I had often gone motoring with him while
in America, and I was young, and rather flighty: a foolish person
altogether. Perhaps you read about it in the papers. I cannot dwell on
the appalling mistake I made.
"We became very well acquainted, and at last he professed to have fallen
in love with me, and I believed him. We were secretly married before a
justice of the peace in America, and I was not long left in doubt as to
the disaster that had befallen me. His sole desire was money. My father
being wealthy, he hoped to get all he cared to demand. My father,
however, is a very stubborn man, and, after his first shock on finding
the episode made much of by the American papers, he refused to pay
Branksome a penny, and returned forthwith to England. I never saw him
again, nor could I get into communication with him. Two years after my
mad act he died, and never even mentioned me in his will.
"My husband is a liar, a thief, a forger, a gambler, and a brute. He has
maltreated me so that I have been left once or twice for dead, but
finally he broke me to his will. He is known as a cheat in every
gambling resort in Europe, and on the Atlantic liners. Lately I have
been used as a decoy in the way of which you have had experience.
Somehow he learned--indeed, that is his business--who were the rich
travellers on this boat. He thought, as this was the newest and largest
steamship on the ocean, its staff would not at first be thoroughly
organised, and that he might escape detection. He pointed you out to me
as you came on board, and said you were Lord Stranleigh, travelling as
Mr. Trevelyan. The rest you know. He forced me to hand to him the money
you had given, and told me it might be necessary for me to go on the
witness-stand when we reached New York, but, as you were very wealthy,
it is not likely you would allow it to go so far as that. His plan
was to demand a very moderate sum at first, which was to be a mere
beginning, and each exaction would be but a prelude for the next. He is
old at the game, and is wanted now by the authorities in New York for
blackmailing a very well-known millionaire."
"Do you know the name of the millionaire?"
She gave him the information.
"Very well, madam. In the first place, you must do nothing reckless or
foolish. I shall see that this man is detained at New York on some
pretext or other--in fact, I shall arrange for this by wireless. You
should journey to one of the states where divorces are easily obtained.
If you will permit me, I shall be your banker. Even if Branksome
got free in New York, it will cost him dear, and his supplies are
precarious. You should experience no difficulty in evading him with
money in your possession. Do you agree?"
"Oh, yes!"
"That's settled, then. Ponderby, look into the corridor, and see that
the way of escape is clear."
"I am sorry, my lord," she said, rising, "to cause you such trouble and
inconvenience."
"No inconvenience at all," said Stranleigh, with his usual nonchalance,
"and I never allow myself to be troubled."
Ponderby reported the way open, and the lady disappeared silently along
the passage. Stranleigh betook himself to Room 4390, and had a long talk
with the Hon. John Hazel, who, for the first time during the voyage,
seemed to be enjoying himself.
Next morning the Hon. John paced up and down one deck after another, as
if in search of someone. On an almost deserted lower deck he met the
person whom he sought.
"I beg your pardon," said Hazel in his suavest manner, "but I am trying
to find three men as tired of this journey as I am. I have never been on
a voyage before, and I confess I miss London and the convenience of its
clubs. A quiet little game of poker in the smoking-room might help to
while away the time."
The keen eyes of Mr. Branksome Poole narrowed, as was a custom of
theirs, and he took in the points of the man who addressed him.
"I am not much of a hand at poker," he said hesitatingly and
untruthfully.
The Hon. John laughed.
"Don't mind that in the least," he said. "The requirement for this game
is cash. I have approached several men, and they object to playing for
money; but I confess I don't give a rap for sitting at a card-table
unless there's something substantial on."
"I'm with you there," agreed the stout man, his eyes glistening at the
thought of handling a pack of cards once more. His momentary hesitation
had been because he feared someone might recognise him, for he felt
himself quite able to cope with anyone when it came to the shuffle and
the deal. They were a strangely contrasted pair as they stood there,
the pleb and the patrician--the pleb grim and serious, the patrician
carrying off the situation with a light laugh--yet it was hard to say
which was the more expert scoundrel when it came to cards.
A little later four men sat down to a table. Hazel ordered a new pack of
cards from the smoke-room steward, broke the seal, and pulled off the
wrapper.
It is not worth while to describe the series of games: only the one
matters. At first Poole played very cautiously, watching out of the
tail of his eye for any officer who might spot him as one who had
been ordered off the green, and so expose him for what he was. The
consequence of this divided attention was soon apparent. He lost
heavily, and finally he drew a couple of fifty-pound notes from his
pocket-book. He fingered them for a moment as if loath to part with
paper so valuable.
"Where's that steward?" he asked.
"What do you want?" demanded Hazel, as though impatient for the game to
go on.
"Change for a fifty."
"I'll change it for you." And the Hon. John drew from his pocket a
handful of gold and five-pound bank-notes, counted out fifty pounds, and
shoved them across the table to Poole, who, still hesitating, was forced
reluctantly to give up the big bank-note. Now Poole began to play in
earnest, but still luck was against him, and soon the second fifty-pound
note was changed, for they were playing reasonably high. Hazel, after
glancing at the number on the note, thrust it carelessly into his
waistcoat pocket alongside its brother, as if it were of no more
account than a cigarette paper. Little did the pleb dream that he was up
against a man of brains. Hazel now possessed the two bank-notes that
could have been used in evidence against Lord Stranleigh, and he drew a
sigh of satisfaction. Poole only saw that here was a man, evidently
careless of money, possessing plenty of it, and extremely good-natured.
He had already recognised him as an aristocrat, and expected that,
whatever happened, he would treat it with a laugh, and perhaps leave the
table, so the pleb now began some fine work. Two games were played in
silence, and in the third it was the deal of Branksome Poole. Hazel
watched him like a beast of prey, conscious of every crooked move, yet
he did not seem in the least to be looking. He gazed at the cards dealt
him, rose to his feet, and spread the hand face upward on the table.
"Sir, you are cheating," he said crisply.
"You lie!" roared Branksome Poole, turning, nevertheless, a greenish
yellow, and moistening his parched lips. At the sound of the loud voice,
a steward came hurrying in.
"Show your hand, if you dare!" challenged Hazel. "You have dealt
yourself----" And here he named the concealed cards one after another.
Poole made an effort to fling his hand into the rest of the pack, but
Hazel stopped him.
"Show your hand! Show your hand!" he demanded. "These two gentlemen will
witness whether I have named the cards correctly or not. Steward, ask
the chief officer to come here, or, if he is not on duty, speak to the
captain."
The steward disappeared, and shortly returned with the chief officer, to
whom Hazel briefly and graphically related what had happened.
"Will you come with me to the captain's room?" requested the chief
officer.
Branksome Poole had been through the mill before, and he offered no
resistance.
When the wireless came in touch with the American shore, a dispatch
reached police headquarters in New York, informing them that Charles
Branksome, wanted for blackmailing Erasmus Blank, the millionaire, was
detained by the ship's authority for cheating at cards.
When the great vessel arrived at her berth, Mrs. Branksome Poole was
quite unmolested as she took her ticket for the West. She was amply
supplied with money, and among her newly-acquired funds were two
fifty-pound notes which had been previously in her possession.
II.--AN AUTOMOBILE RIDE.
When Lord Stranleigh of Wychwood came to New York under his family name
of Trevelyan, he had intended to spend several weeks in that interesting
metropolis, but newspaper men speedily scattered his incognito to the
winds, and, what with interviewers, photographers, funny paragraphists
and the like, the young lord's life was made a burden to him. Despite
his innate desire to be polite to everyone, he soon found it impossible
to receive even a tenth part of those who desired speech with him. This
caused no diminution of interviews or special articles regarding his
plans, and his object in revisiting America. The sensational papers
alleged that he had untold millions to invest; that he had placed cash
on all the available projects in Europe, and now proposed to exploit
the United States in his insatiable desire to accumulate more wealth.
Stranleigh changed his quarters three times, and with each move adopted
a new name. He endured it all with imperturbable good-nature, despite
the intense heat, but Ponderby was disgusted with the state of affairs,
and wished himself and his master back once more in that quiet village
known as London.
"By Jove! Ponderby," said Stranleigh, "they say three moves are as bad
as a fire, and the temperature to-day seems to corroborate this, for we
are making our third move. Have you anything to suggest?"
"I should suggest, my lord," said Ponderby, with as much dignity as the
sweltering day would allow, "that we return to London."
"A brilliant and original idea, Ponderby. Many thanks. Go down at once
to the steamship office, and book the best accommodation you can get on
the first big liner leaving New York."
Ponderby departed instantly, with a deep sigh of relief.
Stranleigh's life had been made more of a burden to him than was
necessary through the indefatigable exertions of a fellow countryman,
whose name was Wentworth Parkes. This individual brought with him a
letter of introduction from the Duke of Rattleborough. Rattleborough
was an acquaintance, but not a particular friend of Stranleigh's;
nevertheless, a Duke overtops a mere Earl in social eminence, much as
the Singer building overtops the structure next to it.
Wentworth Parkes told Stranleigh he had been in America for something
more than a year. He had been very successful, making plenty of money,
but expending it with equal celerity. Now he determined to get hold of
something that contained princely possibilities for the future. This he
had secured by means of an option on the Sterling Motor Company at
Detroit, and the plant alone, he alleged, was worth more than the
capital needed to bring the factory up to its full output. J. E.
Sterling, he went on to explain, knew more about automobile designing
than anyone else in the world, notwithstanding the fact that he was
still a young man. He would undoubtedly prove to be the true successor
of Edison, and everyone knew what fortunes had come to those who
interested themselves in the products of the great Thomas Alva, who up
to date had proved to be the most successful money-making inventor the
world had ever seen, to which Lord Stranleigh calmly agreed. Well, J. E.
Sterling was just such another, and all a man required to enter the
combination, was the small sum of one hundred thousand dollars. This
would purchase a share in the business which might be sold within a year
or two for millions. Detroit was the centre of automobile manufacturing
in America; a delightful city to live in; the finest river in the world
running past its doors, with a greater tonnage of shipping than passed
through the Suez Canal.
Mr. Parkes was a glib and efficient talker, who might have convinced
anyone with money to spare, but he felt vaguely that his fluency was not
producing the intended effect on Lord Stranleigh. His difficulty
heretofore had been to obtain access to men of means, and now that he
had got alongside the most important of them all, he was nonplussed to
notice that his eloquence somehow missed its mark. Stranleigh remained
scrupulously courteous, but was quite evidently not in the least
interested. So shrewd a man as Parkes might have known that it is not
easy to arouse enthusiasm in a London clubman under the most favourable
auspices, and this difficulty is enormously increased when the person
attacked is already so rich that any further access of wealth offers no
temptation to him.
Parkes had come to believe that the accumulation of gold was the only
thing the average man really cared about, so he failed, by moving
against the dead wall of Stranleigh's indifference towards money,
whereas he might have succeeded had he approached the sentimental side
of the young man. Indeed, Mr. Wentworth Parkes seemed to catch a
glimmering of this idea as his fairy visions of the future fell flat, so
he reversed his automobile talk, and backed slowly out.
Conversation lagging, his lordship asked a few casual questions about
the Duke of Rattleborough and other persons he knew in London, but
if any of these queries were intended to embarrass his visitor,
Stranleigh's failure was equal to that of Parkes himself. The latter
answered all enquiries so promptly and correctly that Stranleigh
inwardly chided himself for his latent distrust of the man who now,
quick to see how the land lay, got his motor car in position once
more, but took another direction. He mopped his forehead with his
handkerchief, and drew a slight sigh.
"You see," he said, in a discouraged tone, "a person brought up as I
have been, to do nothing in particular that is of any use to the world,
finds himself at a great disadvantage in a hustling land like the United
States, where the fellows are all so clever, and have been trained from
their very boyhood to be alert business men. I have a good thing in this
option, and if once I got upon my feet, I could soon build up a great
and profitable business. My chief trouble is to convince any capitalist
of this, and if he asks me whether or not the scheme will produce a
fortune within six months or a year, I am forced to admit there is
little chance of it. An American wishes to turn over his money quickly;
a long look into futurity is not for him. He wishes to buy one railway
on Monday, another on Tuesday, amalgamate them on Wednesday, and sell
out the stock to the public at several millions profit on Thursday, then
rake in the boodle on Friday, which proves an unlucky day for the
investors. When I truthfully confess it will be a year before I get
fairly under way, I am immediately at a discount. Capitalists won't
listen any further."
Parkes saw that for the first time during the interview Lord Stranleigh
began to show interest, reserved though it was.
"Do you know anything about cars?" asked his lordship.
"I can take apart any motor in the market, and put it together again,
always leaving it a little better than when I found it."
"And this machine--invented by the Detroit man--does it fill the bill?"
"It's the best motor in the world to-day," asserted Parkes, with a
return of his old confidence.
Stranleigh smiled slightly.
"I think," he said, "you have been very successful in catching the
enthusiasm of America. You deal glibly with superlatives. Mr. Sterling
is the most remarkable man on earth, Detroit the most beautiful city on
the globe, and your motor-car beats the universe."
"Well, my lord, I don't disclaim the superlatives, but I insist on their
truth. As I said, I deal in truth, and have suffered somewhat in pocket
by doing so."