effeminate elegants in English-made suits of blue serge, and brown
boots, and they sigh to think that such specimens of humanity are the
representatives of a noble race. Disguise it as you may, poor Italy is
sadly decadent. Her glory has passed, her _nobile_ are ruined and her
labour enemies are, alas! bent upon putting her into the melting-pot.
The gallant Italian army fought valiantly against the Tedesci. It
saved Venice from the heel of the invader and it protected Dalmatia,
where the population are Italians. But Italy to-day is not Italy of
pre-war days, thanks to its paid agitators and its political scandals.
With the bright moon shining across the huge oleander beneath which I
had again taken cover, I listened intently. But De Gex speaking with
his guest was too far off for me to distinguish anything he said.
That he treated her with the greatest courtesy was apparent. And that
he spoke to her with the most entire confidence I realized by my own
observation.
At once I stole noiselessly forward from one bush to another until I
was close to where the pair stood. I trod softly upon the grass, my
ears strained to catch any word.
The words I at last caught were few and uncertain, for De Gex was
speaking in a low and highly confidential tone.
At last, however, on approaching a little nearer, I heard him exclaim:
"Jack, your husband, is a young fool! He has no discretion. He gambles
on the Stock Exchange without any expert knowledge. He came up here to
me yesterday afternoon and told me that he must have ten thousand
pounds to tide him over, and prevent him being hammered. I sent him
away, but I shall see that he has the money."
"How really good of you, Mr. De Gex!" exclaimed the girl--for as far
as I could see she was hardly a woman. "I don't know how to thank you
sufficiently. I know Jack is a born gambler. His father was on the
Stock Exchange before him, and I suppose games of chance are in the
breed of the Cullertons."
"Not in you, I hope, Dorothy," replied the millionaire. "You have had
the misfortune to marry a gambler, and--well, my dear girl--I pity
you. Gambling is worse than drink. The drunkard can be sickened and
put off, but the gambler never. Now I want you to promise me one
thing."
"What is that?" she asked.
"I shall see that he has the money. But it will come through a second
party, not through me. I do not wish to appear to lend him money,
otherwise he will still continue his speculations, feeling that he has
me behind him. Now you know the truth, Dorothy. But you must promise
me to say nothing. Nobody must know--not even my wife."
"Oh! how very good of you to help Jack out of a hole!" she exclaimed.
"Of course I'll remain silent. But it really is awfully kind of you. I
don't know how to thank you."
"I will do it for your sake, Dorothy," said De Gex, bending to her in
confidence. "I am indebted to _you_--remember!"
"Ah! no!" cried the young woman, whose name apparently was Cullerton.
"No! Please don't refer to that terrible affair!"
Her voice betrayed emotion and apprehension, while at that moment, as
she turned her face to the light of the moon, I was able to get a full
view of it. It was that of a very beautiful young woman of about
twenty-three, rather _petite_, with fair bobbed hair, regular
features, and sweet lips. But the expression upon her countenance was
one of fear and apprehension.
"I have no desire to remember it," said her host. "We agreed at the
time that it should be silence for silence. It was a bargain which we
have kept ever since. You have married Jack Cullerton, and you are
happy except that your husband is a born gambler. And of that he must
be cured."
"I know. I know!" she said hastily. "But earlier this evening you
promised to tell me about Gabrielle. I must see her. She seems to have
disappeared. Where is she?"
"In London, I believe."
"In London! Yet the last time you spoke of her you said she was in
Turin, on her way here, to Florence."
Oswald De Gex laughed lightly.
"Yes. She came to Florence for a few days, but she has returned to
London. Why are you so anxious to see her?"
"I want to see her about a matter which concerns Jack and
myself--that's all," replied young Mrs. Cullerton.
"May I not know?" asked her host.
"It is a purely private matter," was her reply.
Then from the conversation that followed, it seemed as though the
millionaire was apprehensive lest she should meet the mysterious
Gabrielle, and I wondered whether it was in order to prevent them
meeting that he entertained designs upon her life.
I recollected that little glass tube which he was carrying in secret
in his pocket, and which the scoundrelly Italian had urged him to
refrain from using because he might place his own life in jeopardy.
I listened to every word. De Gex was evidently most anxious to know
why she sought Gabrielle so eagerly. And Gabrielle, I could only
surmise, was the girl I had seen stark and dead in that handsome room
in Stretton Street.
That night of watchfulness had borne fruit. I had learnt from De Gex's
own lips that another deep and subtle trap was to be laid for me--a
trap baited with the tragic-faced girl herself. Further, I had
established that he intended that, sooner or later, an accident should
befall the dainty little woman in that rich ermine cloak, the woman
with whom he was chatting so affably. Also I had learned her identity,
and it now remained for me to forewarn her of what was intended.
The rich Englishman had talked for about a quarter of an hour with
Dorothy Cullerton, when at last they returned to the house, while I
made my way in the darkness back to the gate. When I arrived, however,
I found that Moroni had locked it after him. I was therefore compelled
to climb the wrought ironwork, and after several unsuccessful attempts
succeeded in regaining the road.
It was long past midnight ere I found myself back in Fiesole, but I
discovered a belated cab, and in it I drove back to Florence, full of
grave reflections.
On the following day I bought in the Via Tornabuoni an English
newspaper which publishes weekly a list of visitors to Florence, and
from it discovered that Mr. and Mrs. Cullerton were living at the
Villa Tassi, out at Montaguto, about three miles from the Porta
Romana, on the opposite side of Florence. That same morning I took the
steam tram from the Piazza della Signorina, and after three miles of
dusty road, alighted at a spot beyond the little village of Galluzzo
in the Val d'Ema. Crossing the brook I soon began to ascend the hill
of Montaguto--a pretty eminence clothed with cypresses and olives--and
was not long in discovering the neat, newly-built little villa, one of
a number which are let furnished each season to wealthy foreigners. I
noted as I passed that it was well-kept, that the garden was bright
with flowers, even though it was winter, and that in the garage was a
small light car which at the moment was being washed by an English
chauffeur.
I longed to have some excuse to call upon Mrs. Cullerton, but could
think of none. Therefore I returned to Florence and pursued fresh
tactics. The afternoon I spent making inquiries regarding the
Cullertons, and soon discovered that they were intimate friends of
Monsieur Rameil, the French Consul, and his wife.
With this knowledge I lost no time in obtaining an introduction to the
French Consul, and three days later received a card for one of
Madame's Friday afternoons. Naturally I went, and to my delight Mrs.
Cullerton was there also. She was a strikingly pretty young woman, and
apparently extremely popular, judging by the manner in which two or
three young Italian elegants danced attendance upon her. Shortly
before I left my hostess introduced me to her, and naturally I
endeavoured to make myself extremely agreeable. But was not the
situation a strange one? And this pretty woman had been marked down
for destruction by the mysterious millionaire, just as I had been!
Yet had I told anyone of the knowledge I had gained I would not have
been believed, any more than would credence have been given to the
story of my strange adventure in Stretton Street.
We chatted for perhaps ten minutes. She asked me where I was staying
and how long I should be in Florence, and then, expressing a hope that
we should meet again, I bowed and left her.
I had accomplished one step towards ascertaining the identity of the
girl I had seen dead in London.
Several days passed, during which I kept a good look out in the
streets for sight of Doctor Moroni's fair companion. But I was not
successful. Perhaps she had gone to London, as my host of Stretton
Street had asserted!
One afternoon, while haunting the streets, I suddenly encountered Mrs.
Cullerton walking in the Via Tornabuoni, and, raising my hat, stopped
to speak.
After a few seconds she recognized me, and I walked at her side
chatting. Her car was waiting in the Piazza Santa Trinita, but before
she entered it she had promised to send me a card for a little "at
home" she was giving on the following Thursday.
Now, not until we had parted did it occur to me that De Gex might be
also going there. In that case he certainly should not meet me. So I
sought Robertson's aid concerning his master's engagements, and
discovered that on Thursday morning the millionaire was going to
Leghorn to join his yacht for a week's cruise across to Algiers.
Therefore I accepted Mrs. Cullerton's invitation, and found at the
villa a number of pleasant, cosmopolitan people, whom I had already
met at the French Consul's. I was introduced by my hostess to her
husband, Jack, a smartly-dressed man, and a typical young member of
the Stock Exchange. Afterwards I succeeded in having quite a long
conversation with his wife.
Quite casually I mentioned the Villa Clementini, and its owner.
"Do you know him?" she asked with interest. "He is such a dear,
generous old thing."
"I have met him once," I replied with affected unconcern. "They say
he's a little eccentric--don't they?"
"His enemies say that," she replied, "but his friends are full of
praise of him. He's the most charming and generous of men, and his
great wealth allows him to perform all sorts of kind actions. They
say that he can't refuse anybody who asks for his influence or help."
I reflected that his influence was certainly a baneful one.
"Ah! I see you are one of his friends, Mrs. Cullerton!" I said,
laughing.
"Yes--I confess I am."
"Then would you be surprised if I told you in strictest confidence
that he is not your friend, but one of your bitterest enemies!" I
said, lowering my voice, and looking straight into her wide-open blue
eyes.
"I don't understand you, Mr. Garfield!" she said, also lowering her
voice.
"I will explain one day, Mrs. Cullerton--one day when we are alone."
"When?" she whispered, for Madame Rameil was approaching at the
moment.
"Whenever you like to make an appointment," I replied. "Only I must
first hold you to absolute secrecy."
"That's agreed," whispered the pretty young woman. "To-morrow. I will
be here alone at three o'clock," and then she held out her hand, and
aloud said:
"Good-bye, Mr. Garfield. So sorry you have to run away so early.
Good-bye!"
CHAPTER THE NINTH
SOME PLAIN SPEAKING
Punctually at three o'clock next afternoon the buxom Italian maid in
dainty apron, ushered me into Mrs. Cullerton's charming _salone_. From
the long windows a magnificent view spread away across the green
valley of the Ema to the great monastery of the Certosa, a huge
mediæval pile which resembled a mediæval fortress standing boldly
against the background of the rolling Apennines.
Scarcely had I stood there a moment when my blue-eyed young hostess,
in a becoming black-and-cherry frock, entered, and greeting me, closed
the door.
"Well, Mr. Garfield? It's really awfully good of you to trouble to
come out to see me. I'm all excitement to know what you have to tell
me about Mr. De Gex. He's gone yachting--as you perhaps know. Do sit
down."
As I did so she passed me the cigarettes, and took one herself. Then,
when I had held the match for her and had lit my own, I said:
"Well, Mrs. Cullerton, I really don't know how to commence. Somehow, I
felt it my duty to come here to see you. I must admit that I have been
manoeuvring for several days in order to get an introduction to you,
and to obtain an opportunity of seeing you alone. And yet----"
"Yes. I quite see that. I thought by your attitude in the Via
Tornabuoni that you seemed very anxious to know me," and her lips
relaxed into a pretty smile.
"That is so. In order to--well, to warn you," I said very seriously.
"Warn me!--of what, pray?"
I hesitated. To be perfectly frank with her was, I saw, quite
impossible. She might hear all I said and then inform De Gex. She was
his friend. Or perhaps she would dismiss me and my story as pure
invention. Hence I resolved to preserve my own secret concerning the
Stretton Street Affair.
Looking straight into her face, I said:
"I'm here to warn you of a very grave personal danger."
"You are really most alarming, Mr. Garfield," she said in suspicion.
"In what danger am I?"
"You are either in possession of some ugly fact concerning Mr. De Gex
which he desires suppressed, or else you bar his way to some ambitious
achievement."
Her face changed, and she held her breath. Though it was only for a
second I saw that what I had suggested was the truth. Her slim white
hand twitched nervously upon her lap.
"Some fact concerning Mr. De Gex!" she gasped in feigned surprise.
"Who told you that!" she asked, her face blanching.
"I have not been told. But I know it, Mrs. Cullerton," was my reply.
"I know that, though De Gex is assisting your husband out of a
financial difficulty and pretends to be your good friend, he views you
as his bitter enemy--as a person whose lips must, at all hazards, be
closed."
"Really, Mr. Garfield, what you say is too extraordinary--too amazing!
I don't understand you!"
"I know it sounds most extraordinary," I said. "But first tell me if
you know a certain Doctor Moroni, who lives in the Via Cavezzo?"
"Certainly. The doctor attends Mr. De Gex and his family. I first met
him in London, about a year ago. Mr. De Gex holds him in very high
esteem."
"Ah! Then you know the doctor."
"Of course. When he was in London he several times came to our house
in Fitzjohn's Avenue."
"And your husband knows him?" I asked, looking her straight in the
face. "Please tell me the truth," I urged.
"No. Jack has never met him--not to my knowledge."
I was silent for a few seconds. I had established a fact which I had
all along suspected.
"Then he called in the daytime, when your husband was in the
City--eh?"
"Yes."
"Now tell me, did you ever have any strange illness after Doctor
Moroni had called?" I inquired very seriously.
"Illness? Why, no! Why do you ask such a curious question?"
"I have reasons for asking it, Mrs. Cullerton," was my reply. "I have
called here as your friend, remember."
"But all this is most bewildering," she exclaimed with a nervous
little laugh. "Why should I be in any personal peril?"
"Because you know something to the detriment of that wealthy and
somewhat eccentric man," I replied. "Pardon me if I put another
question to you. Are you acquainted with a girl named Gabrielle
Engledue?"
"Gabrielle Engledue?" she repeated. "No, I have never heard the name.
I know a Gabrielle--Gabrielle Tennison--an old schoolfellow of mine."
"A tall, dark-haired girl?"
"Yes, she is rather tall, and dark-haired."
"Isn't her real name Engledue?" I asked quickly.
"Not to my knowledge."
"Is she not Mr. De Gex's niece?"
"He has no niece, has he?--except, of course, Lady Shalford, whom I
know quite well."
"Where is Gabrielle Tennison?"
"In London--I believe."
"Are you certain she is not here, in Florence?"
"Mr. De Gex told me that she came to Florence for a few days----"
"To visit him--eh?"
"I suppose so. But she has returned to London."
"Do you know her address in London," I asked very anxiously. "I ask
you this in our mutual interests, Mrs. Cullerton," I added
confidentially.
"Yes. She lives with her mother in a maisonette in Longridge Road,
Earl's Court, I forget the number, but you could easily find out."
"And she is there now, I presume?"
"I expect so--if what Mr. De Gex has told me is the truth."
"But will he ever tell you the truth?" I queried. "Recollect that
although he poses as your husband's friend, he is nevertheless your
enemy--because he fears you! Why is that?"
The pretty wife of the young London stockbroker hesitated. I saw that
she was much perturbed by my question.
"I suppose he suspects that I know certain things," was her low, hard
reply. "But he has been very good to Jack on several occasions. He
has prevented him from being hammered on the Stock Exchange, therefore
I can only be grateful to him."
I looked the pretty woman straight in the face, and said:
"Grateful! Grateful to a man whose dastardly intention is, when the
whim takes him, to send you to your grave, Mrs. Cullerton?"
"I--I really don't know what you mean. Are you mad? Do be more
explicit," she cried. "Why do you make these terrible allegations
against Mr. De Gex?"
"Please recollect, Mrs. Cullerton, that I am here first in your
interests, and secondly in my own. You and I are now both marked down
as victims, because both of us are in possession of certain knowledge
which would, if exposed, bring obloquy and prosecution upon an
exceedingly wealthy man. Your husband, yourself, and myself, are
merely pawns in the clever game which this man is playing--a
mysterious game, I admit, and one in which he is actively assisted by
Doctor Moroni--but also one in which, if we are not both very wary, we
shall find ourselves the victims of fatal circumstances."
My words seemed to impress the stockbroker's wife, for she asked:
"Well--what shall I do?"
"Be perfectly frank with me," I replied promptly. "Both of us have all
to lose if we close our eyes to the conspiracy against us on the part
of your friend De Gex and his shrewd and unscrupulous accomplice, Tito
Moroni."
"Moroni is one of the most popular doctors in Florence," she remarked.
"I'm perfectly aware of that," was my reply. "But there is no more
dangerous criminal than the medical man who is beneath the thumb of a
millionaire. There have been several before the assizes in various
cities of Europe. Many, thanks alas! to the power of gold, have never
been unmasked. There have been cases in Hungary, in France, in Italy,
and in Russia--even one case in England which is recorded in a big
file at Scotland Yard. But in that case there was no prosecution
because money means influence, and influence means the breaking of
those in office who dare to oppose it."
"Then how do you suggest that I should act, Mr. Garfield?" asked young
Mrs. Cullerton. "It is distressing news to me that Mr. De Gex is my
enemy--and I confess that at present I can scarcely credit it."
I longed to unbosom myself to her--to tell her of all that had
occurred to me since that fateful November night when I had passed
through Stretton Street, but I was not yet fully confident concerning
her attitude towards me. It might be hostile. She might seek De Gex
when he returned from Algiers and tell him of our interview! If she
did, then all hope of elucidating the mystery of Gabrielle Engledue's
death would be at once swept away.
Yet I held before me the fact that the millionaire, hand-in-glove with
that scoundrelly Italian, intended to cast me into my grave. The
Italians have all through the centuries been experts in secret
assassination. The Doges of Venice, the Borgias, and the Medici have
all had secret poisoners in their pay. The gay, careless race which
laughs when the sun shines, are just the same to-day, after the war,
as they were in the days of His Holiness Rodrigo Borgia. To-day your
superstitious Italian criminal enters the church and prays to the
Madonna that his _coup_--whatever it may be, from profiteering,
picking pockets, or the secret assassination of an enemy--may be
successful.
"I allege that Mr. De Gex is your enemy, Mrs. Cullerton," I said. "I
have first-hand knowledge of it. Indeed, on the night of the ball at
the Villa Clementini, he had in his pocket the wherewithal to bring
upon you an illness which must inevitably prove fatal. He had a little
glass tube which he had ordered Moroni to prepare, but which the
doctor himself urged him not to break for fear of infecting himself
and his family."
She sat staring at me open-mouthed.
"I--I really can't believe it!" she gasped. "Mr. De Gex would never
act in such a dastardly manner towards me. We are friends--old
friends."
"You may be, but I happen to know the truth," I declared. "He pretends
friendship towards you, but his intentions are that your lips shall be
closed. For some reason he fears you."
"Are you really quite serious?" she asked, looking me full in the
face.
"I certainly am," I replied. "The reason I am here is to warn you to
have a care of yourself. That some evil is intended, I know. Only I
rely upon you to keep the information I have given you to yourself.
Watch De Gex, but say nothing--_not a word_."
"I have already promised that I will remain silent," she remarked.
"You must also say no word to your husband. He is indebted to De Gex,
hence he might tell him what I have said. And further, my name must
never be mentioned to De Gex."
"Why not?"
"He would instantly guess the source of your information."
"But what is your motive for all this, Mr. Garfield?"
"My motive is a simple one. I am trying to find Gabrielle Engledue,
and I am now wondering whether the girl I am seeking is not the same
as the young lady you know as Gabrielle Tennison."
"Where did you meet this girl Engledue?" asked Mrs. Cullerton, with a
queer inquisitive look.
I paused for a second.
"In London--at the house of a mutual friend."
Her expression caused me to ponder, for I discerned that she was
inclined to doubt me.
"And why are you seeking her now?"
"I have a distinct object in view."
"You've--well, perhaps you've fallen in love with her--eh?" she
laughed lightly.
"Not at all," I assured her. "I have a private, but very strong,
motive in discovering her. I want to put to her certain questions."
"About what, Mr. Garfield? Come, it is now my turn to be a little
inquisitive," and she laughed again.
"About a certain little matter in which we are mutually interested,"
was my evasive answer. Then, after a pause, I looked straight into her
eyes, and added very earnestly: "I wonder whether if I should require
your help, Mrs. Cullerton, you would assist me?"
"In what way?"
"At present I cannot tell. To be frank, I am striving to solve a great
and inscrutable mystery. Just now I am amazed and bewildered. But I
feel that you are the only person who could help me--because you and I
are equally in peril."
"But, Mr. Garfield, I see no reason why I should be upon the brink of
this mysterious abyss!" she cried. "You don't explain the situation
sufficiently fully."
"Because at present I cannot do so. No one regrets it more than
myself. There is a grim mystery--a very great mystery--and I intend,
with your assistance, to escape my enemy and clear it up."
"Who is your enemy?"
"Oswald De Gex! He is my enemy as well as yours," I said very
seriously. "If you were in the possession of such facts as those I
have gathered during the past week or so, you would be startled
and--well, perhaps terrified. But I only again beg of you to have a
care of yourself. You have promised silence, and I, on my part, will
carry on my search for the truth."
"The truth of what?"
"The truth concerning Gabrielle Engledue."
The pretty little woman again looked at me very straight in the face
for some moments without speaking. Then, with a strange hardness about
her mouth, she said:
"Mr. Garfield, take it from me, you will never discover what you are
in search of. The truth is too well hidden."
"What? Then you know something--eh?" I cried quickly.
"Yes. It is true!" she answered in a low, hard voice. "I do know
something--something of a certain secret that can never pass my lips!"
CHAPTER THE TENTH
MONSIEUR SUZOR AGAIN
Mrs. Cullerton's words held me breathless.
At first I believed that I might wring the truth from her lips, but I
quickly saw that she intended to preserve her secret at all costs.
Whether she actually believed what I had told her concerning her own
peril was doubtful. In any case, she seemed in some strange manner
held powerless and fascinated by the rich man who had saved her
speculating husband from ruin.
I remained there for still another quarter of an hour until her maid
announced a visitor, when I was compelled to rise and take my leave.