CONCERNS MR. BLUMENFELD
The pleasant high road between Leamington and Coventry runs straight
over the hills to Kenilworth, but a few miles farther on there are
cross-roads, the right leading into Stoneleigh and the left to Kirby
Corner and over Westwood Heath into a crooked maze of by-roads by
which one can reach Berkswell or Barston.
It was over that left-hand road that I was driving Rayne and Lola in
the Rolls in the grey twilight of a wintry evening. We had driven from
London, and both Rayne and the girl I so admired were cramped and
tired.
"Look!" shouted Lola suddenly as we took a turn in the road. "There's
the lodge! On the left there. That's Bradbourne Hall!"
"Yes, that's it, Hargreave!" said Rudolph, and a few moments later I
turned the car through the high wrought-iron gates which stood open
for us, and we sped up the long avenue of leafless trees which led to
the fine country mansion at which we were to be guests.
Bradbourne Hall was a great old-world Georgian house, half covered
with ivy, and the appearance of the grave, white-haired butler who
opened the door showed it to be the residence of a man of wealth and
discernment.
That Edward Blumenfeld, its owner, was fabulously wealthy everyone in
the City of London knew, for his name was one to conjure with in high
finance, and though the dingy offices of Blumenfeld and Hannan in Old
Broad Street were the reverse of imposing, yet the financial influence
of the great house often made itself felt upon the Bourses of Paris,
Brussels and Rome.
I met the millionaire at dinner two hours later, a tall, loose-built,
sallow-faced man of rather brusque manners and decidedly cosmopolitan,
both in gesture and in speech. With him was his wife, a pleasant woman
of about fifty-five who seemed extremely affable to Lola. Mr.
Blumenfeld's sister, a Mrs. Perceval, was also present.
It appeared that a year before Rayne had met old Mr. Blumenfeld and
his wife in an hotel at Varenna, on the Lake of Como, and a casual
acquaintance had ripened into friendship and culminated in the
invitation to spend a few days at Bradbourne. Hence our journey.
As we sat gossiping over our port after the ladies had left the table,
I began to wonder why the grey-eyed master-crook, whom not a soul
suspected, was so eager to ingratiate himself with Edward Blumenfeld.
The motive was, however, not far to seek. Most men who are personal
friends of millionaires manage to extract some little point of
knowledge which, if used in the right way and with discretion, will
often result in considerable financial gain. Indeed, I have often
thought that around a millionaire there is spread a halo of prosperity
which invests all those who enter it and brings to them good fortune.
It was evident that the great financier regarded Rudolph Rayne as his
friend, for he promised to pay us a visit at Overstow in return.
"Remember what Mr. Blumenfeld has promised us, George!" said Rayne as
he turned to me merrily. "Make a note of it!" And the breezy,
easy-going man who at the moment was directing all sorts of crooked
business in many cities on the Continent sipped his glass of port with
the air of a connoisseur, as indeed he was.
That night, after I had gone to my room, Rayne suddenly entered and
began to speak to me in a loud tone concerning some letters he wished
to write early in the morning. Then, lowering his voice suddenly to a
whisper, he added: "I want you to be very nice to Mrs. Blumenfeld,
Hargreave. Unfortunately Lola seems to have taken a violent dislike to
her. Why, I don't know. So do your best to remedy what may result in a
_contretemps_."
Then again he spoke in his usual voice, and wishing me good night left
the room.
After he had gone I, full of wonder and apprehension, paced up and
down the fine old paneled chamber--for I had been placed in a wing in
the older part of the house which was evidently Jacobean. As an
unwilling assistant of that super-crook whose agents were at work in
the various cities of Europe carrying out the amazingly ingenious
plans which, with Vincent Duperre, he so carefully formulated in that
great old-world library of his at Overstow, I was constantly in peril,
for I felt by some inexplicable intuition that the police must, one
day or other, obtain sufficient evidence to arrest all of us, Lola
included.
I recollect that Superintendent Arthur Benton of Scotland Yard was
ever active in his inquiries concerning the great gang which Rayne
controlled.
Had it not been that I was now passionately in love with Lola--though
I dared not declare it openly--I should have left my queer appointment
long ago. As a matter of fact, I remained because I believed, vainly
perhaps, that I might one day be able to shield Lola from becoming
their accomplice--and thus culpable.
According to Rayne's instructions I next day made myself as affable as
possible to Mrs. Blumenfeld, but later in the afternoon I had an
opportunity of chatting with Lola alone. She wanted to go to a shop in
Warwick, and asked me to take her there in the car, which I did. The
driver's seat was inside the car, hence, when alone, she always sat
beside me.
"What do you think of Mrs. Blumenfeld?" I asked her as we sped along
through the rain.
"Oh! Well, I don't like her--that's all," was her reply, as she
smiled.
"I think she's quite nice," I said. "She was most charming to me this
morning."
"And she is also charming to me. But she seems so horribly
inquisitive, and asks me so many questions about my father--questions
I can't answer."
"Why not?" I asked, turning to her and for a second taking my eyes off
the road.
"Well--you know, Mr. Hargreave--you surely know," the girl hesitated.
"Why are we on this visit? My father has some sinister plans--without
a doubt."
"How sinister plans?" I asked, in pretence of ignorance.
"You well know," she answered. "I am not blind, even if Duperre and
his wife think I am. They forget that there is such a thing as
illustrated papers."
"I don't follow," I said.
"Well, in the _Daily Graphic_ three days ago I saw the portrait of a
man named Lawrence, well-known as a jewel thief, who was sentenced to
ten years' penal servitude at the Old Bailey. I recognized him as Mr.
Moody, one of my father's friends who often came to see us at
Overstow--a man you also know. Why has my father thieves for his
friends, unless he is in some way connected with them?"
"Moody sentenced!" I gasped. "Why, he was one of Duperre's most
intimate friends. I've met them together often," I remarked, and then
the conversation dropped, and we sat silent for a full quarter of an
hour.
"I'm longing to get back to Overstow, Mr. Hargreave," the girl went on
presently. "I feel that ere long Mrs. Blumenfeld, who is a very clever
and astute woman, will discover something about us, and then----"
"And if she does, it will upset your father's plans--whatever they
are!"
"But Mr. Blumenfeld, as a great financier, has agents in all the
capitals, and they might inquire and discover more about us than would
be pleasant," she said apprehensively. "I wonder why we are visiting
these people?" she added.
I did not reply. I was constantly puzzled and bewildered by the
actions and movements of Rayne and his questionable friends.
That evening after dinner, while old Blumenfeld played billiards with
his guest, I marked. They played three closely contested games, for
both were good players; until at eleven o'clock we all three went to
the great drawing-room to bid the ladies good night. With our host I
returned to the billiard-room, leaving Rayne to follow. Mr. Blumenfeld
poured me out a whisky-and-soda and took a glass of port himself. Then
a few minutes later he suggested, that as Rayne had not returned, he
and I should have a final game before retiring.
He had made about twenty-five when of a sudden he leaned heavily
against the table, his face blanched, and placing his hand to his
heart, exclaimed:
"Oh! I have such a pain here! I--I----"
And before I could run round to his assistance he had collapsed
heavily upon the floor.
In an instant I was at his side, but saw that he was already
unconscious.
I flew to the door and down the corridor, when luckily I encountered
Rayne, who was at that moment returning to us.
In breathless haste I told him what had occurred.
"Good heavens!" he gasped. "Don't alarm the ladies. Find the butler
and get him to telephone for the doctor in secret. I'll run in and
look after him in the meantime," he said, and hurried to the
billiard-room.
I was not long in finding the butler, and quickly we went to the
library and spoke to the doctor, who lived about five miles away. He
was already in bed, but would, he said, motor over immediately.
On our return to the billiard-room we found, to our relief, that Mr.
Blumenfeld had recovered consciousness. He was still lying upon the
floor, Rayne having forced some brandy between his lips.
"He's getting right again!" Rayne exclaimed to the white-haired old
servant, and together we lifted our host on to the sofa.
He recovered quite rapidly, and presently he whispered weakly:
"I suppose it's my heart! A doctor in Rome three years ago said it was
rather weak."
"I'm glad you're better, my dear fellow," said Rayne. "I was much
worried about you. You were playing with Hargreave, and he alarmed
me."
"I'm cold," our host said. "Will you shut that window."
For the first time I noticed the window, which had certainly been
closed when we were playing, was open about a foot. Besides, Mr.
Blumenfeld's glass of port, of which he had drunk only half, was now
empty, two facts which, however, at the time conveyed nothing to me.
In due course the doctor, an elderly country practitioner, arrived in
hot haste, and grave concern, but as soon as he saw his patient he
realized that it had been only a fainting fit and was nothing serious.
Indeed, within an hour Blumenfeld was laughing with us as though
nothing had occurred.
But what had really occurred, I wondered? That window had been opened,
apparently to admit fresh air to revive an unconscious man. But surely
our host had not drained his port glass after his sudden seizure!
The incident was, at Blumenfeld's request, hidden from the ladies, and
next day he was quite his old self again.
About noon I strolled with Rayne out along the wide terrace which ran
in front of the house overlooking the great park, whereupon he said:
"We'll leave here to-morrow, Hargreave. Duperre is at Overstow. Write
to him this afternoon and tell him to send me a wire recalling me
immediately upon urgent business."
"We've finished here, eh?" I asked meaningly.
"Yes," he grinned, "and the sooner we're out of this place the
better."
So I sent Vincent a note, telling him to wire Rayne at once on receipt
of it.
The urgent message recalling Rudolph Rayne to Yorkshire arrived about
half-past ten next morning, just as we were going out shooting.
Blumenfeld was much disappointed, but his guest pleaded that he had
some very important business to transact with his agent who was over
from New York and desired to meet him at once. Therefore to Lola's
complete satisfaction the trunks were packed and put into the car, and
immediately after luncheon we set forth to Overstow.
On our way back I racked my brain to discern the nature of the latest
plot, but could see nothing tangible. Mr. Blumenfeld had been taken
suddenly ill while playing billiards with me, and Rayne, when
summoned, had done his best to resuscitate him. Yet Rayne's manner was
triumphant and he was in most excellent spirits.
We arrived back at Overstow Hall just before midnight, and he and
Duperre held a long conversation before retiring. Of its nature I
could gather nothing. As for Lola, she retired at once very cramped
and tired.
The whole of the following morning Duperre and Rayne were closeted
together, while afterwards I drove Duperre into York, where from the
telegraph office in the railway station he sent several cryptic
messages abroad, of course posing to the telegraph clerk as a passing
railway passenger. Rayne never sent important telegrams from the
village post-office at Overstow, or even from Thirsk. They were all
dispatched from places where, even if inquiry were made, the sender
could not be traced.
"What's in the wind?" I asked Duperre as he sat by my side on our
drive back to Overstow.
"Something, my dear George," he answered, smiling mysteriously. "At
present I can't tell you. In due course you'll know--something big.
Whenever Rudolph superintends in person it is always big. He never
touches minor matters. He devises and arranges them as a general plans
a battle, but he never superintends himself--only in the real big
things. Even then he never acts himself."
With that I was compelled to be satisfied. That night we all had quite
a pleasant evening over bridge in the drawing-room, until just about
ten o'clock Rayne was called to the telephone. When he rejoined us I
noticed that his countenance was a trifle pale. He looked worried and
ill at ease. He sat down beside Madame Duperre, and after pensively
lighting one of his expensive cigars, he bent and whispered something
to her.
By what he said the woman became greatly agitated, and a few moments
later rose and left the room.
The household at Overstow was certainly a strange and incongruous one,
consisting as it did of persons who seemed all in league with each
other, the master-criminal whose shrewd, steel-grey eyes were so
uncanny, and his accomplices and underlings who all profited and grew
fat upon the great _coups_ planned by Rayne's amazing mind. The squire
of Overstow mesmerized his fellows and fascinated his victims of both
sexes. His personality was clear-cut and outstanding. Men and women
who met him for the first time felt that in conversation he held them
by some curious, indescribable influence--held them as long as he
cared, until by his will they were released from a strange thraldom
that was both weird and astounding.
Whatever message Rayne had received it was evidently of paramount
importance, for when Madame Duperre had left the room and Lola had
retired, he turned to me and with a queer look in his eyes, exclaimed:
"I expect you'll have to be making some rather rapid journeys soon,
George. Better be up early to-morrow. Good night." And then dismissing
me, he asked Duperre to go with him to the smoking-room.
"I've heard from Tracy," I overheard him say as I followed them along
the softly carpeted corridor. "We're up against that infernal Benton
again because of old Moody's blunder. I never expected he'd be caught,
of all men. Benton is now looking for Moody's guiding hand."
"Well, I hope he won't get very far," Duperre replied.
"We must make certain that he doesn't, Vincent, or it will go
badly--very badly--with us! That's what I want to discuss with you."
Of the result of the consultation I, of course, remained in ignorance,
but next morning Rayne sent for me and said he had decided to meet his
friend Tracy at the Unicorn Hotel at Ripon.
"I telephoned him to the Station Hotel at York during the night," he
added. "He'll have a lady with him. I want you to drive me over to
Ripon and drive the lady back here."
So an hour later we set out across country and arrived in Ripon in
time for lunch.
Gerald Tracy I had met before, a big, stout, round-faced man of
prosperous appearance, bald-headed and loud of speech. That he was a
crook I had no doubt, but what his actual _metier_ was I could not
discover. He met us on the threshold of the old-fashioned hotel in
that old-fashioned Yorkshire town, and with him was a well-dressed
young woman, Italian or Spanish, I saw at a glance.
When Tracy introduced her to Rayne she was apparently much impressed,
replying in very fair English. Her name, I learnt, was Signorina
Lacava, and she was Italian.
We all lunched together but no business was discussed. Rayne expressed
a hope that the signorina's journey from Milan had been a pleasant
one.
"Quite," the handsome black-eyed girl replied. "I stayed one day in
Paris."
"The signorina has made a conquest in Milan," laughed Tracy. "Farini,
the commissario of police, has fallen in love with her!"
Rayne smiled, and turning to her, said:
"I congratulate you, signorina. Your friendship may one day stand you
in very good stead."
That the young woman was someone of great importance in the criminal
combine was apparent from the fact that she had been actually
introduced to its secret head.
It struck me as curious when, after leaving Tracy and Rayne together,
I was driving the signorina across the moors to Overstow, that while
he hesitated to allow Tracy to go there, yet it was safe for the young
Italian woman.
I knew that Benton was still making eager inquiries, and I also knew
that Rayne was full of gravest apprehensions. Rudolph Rayne was
playing a double game!
On arrival back home, Duperre's wife received our visitor. Lola had
gone to Newcastle to visit an old schoolfellow, and Duperre was away
in York so his wife informed me.
Three uneventful days passed, but neither Rayne nor Lola returned. On
the third evening I was called to the telephone, and Rayne spoke to me
from his rooms in London.
"I can't get back just yet, George," he said. "You'll receive a
registered letter from me to-morrow. Act upon it and use your own
discretion."
I promised him I would and then he rang off.