LITTLE LADY LYDBROOK
From the very first I felt that, owing to my passionate love for Lola,
I was treading upon very thin ice.
As the cat's-paw of her father I was being drawn into such subtle
devilish schemes that I felt to draw back must only bring upon my head
the vengeance, through fear, of a man who was so entirely unscrupulous
and so elusive that the police could never trace him.
Why a few weeks later I had been sent to Biarritz with Vincent was an
enigma I failed to solve. At any rate, at Rayne's suggestion, we had
gone there and had stayed under assumed names at the Hotel du Palais,
that handsome place standing high upon the rocks with such charming
views of the rocky headland of St. Martin and the dozen grey-green
islets.
We both lived expensively and enjoyed ourselves at the Casino and
elsewhere, but the object of our visit was quite obscure. I knew,
however, that Duperre was prospecting new ground, but in what
direction I failed to discover. One day we returned to London quite
suddenly, but he refused to disclose anything concerning the object
of our visit, which, after all, had been for me quite an enjoyable
holiday.
About a week after our return Rayne called me into the morning-room.
The keen grey-eyed middle-aged man was smoking a cigar and with him
was Madame, whose cleverness as a crook was only equalled by that of
her husband.
"Well, Hargreave!" exclaimed Rayne. "I hope you had a nice time at
Biarritz, eh? Well, I want you to go on a further little holiday down
to Eastbourne. Drive the Rolls down to the Grand Hotel there and stay
as a gentleman of leisure."
"I'm always that nowadays," I laughed.
"Stay there under the name of George Cottingham," he went on, "and
spend rather freely, so as to give yourself a good appearance. You
understand?"
"No, I don't understand," I said. "At least, I don't understand what
game is to be played."
"You needn't, George," was his short reply. "You are paid not to
understand, and to keep your mouth shut. So please recollect that. Now
at the hotel," he went on, "there is staying Lady Lydbrook, wife of
the great Sheffield ironmaster. I want you to scrape up acquaintance
with her."
"Why?" I asked.
"For reasons best known to myself," he snapped. "It's nice weather
just now, and you ought to enjoy yourself at Eastbourne. It's a smart
place for an English resort, and there's lots going on there. They
will think you such a nice sociable young man. Besides, you will
spend money and make pretense of being rich. And let me give you a
valuable tip. On the first evening you arrive at the hotel call the
valet, give him a pound note and tell him to go out and buy a pound
bottle of eau-de-Cologne to put in your bath. There's nothing that
gets round an hotel so quickly as wanton extravagance like that. The
guests hear of it through the servants, and everyone is impressed by
your wealth."
I laughed. Only a man with such a brain as Rudolph Rayne could have
thought of such a ruse to inspire confidence.
Two days later I arrived at the smart south coast hotel. Though not
the season, Eastbourne was filled by quite a fashionable crowd. The
Grand, situated at the far end of the town towards Beachy Head, is the
resort of wealthy Londoners. I arrived alone in the showy Rolls just
before luncheon, when many of the visitors were seated in the cane
chairs outside or on the glass-covered veranda.
I noticed, too, that the Rolls was well scrutinized, as well as
myself. Under my assumed name, I took one of the most expensive rooms,
and later, in the big dining-room, the waiter pointed out to me Lady
Lydbrook, a young, blue-eyed, fluffy-haired little lady who,
exquisitely dressed, was seated in a corner with another young woman
about her own age.
They were chatting merrily, quite unconscious of the fact that I was
watching them.
Her companion was dark and exceedingly well dressed. I learnt from the
waiter that Sir Owen Lydbrook was not with his wife, and that the name
of her companion was Miss Elsie Wallis.
"I fancy she's on the stage, sir," the man added confidently. "Only I
don't know her stage name. They've been 'ere nearly a month. Sir Owen
is in Paris, I think. They say 'e's a lot older than 'er."
I realized in the cockney waiter a man who might be useful, hence I
gave him a substantial tip when I signed the bill for my meal.
Why Rayne had ordered me to contrive to make the acquaintance of the
fluffy-haired little woman was a problem that was beyond me, save that
I knew full well the motive was, without doubt, an evil one.
It goaded me to frenzy to think that Lola should eventually be called
upon in all her innocence to become, like myself, an unwilling agent
in the carrying out of Rayne's subtle and insidious plots.
I was his paid servant, hence against my will I was forced to obey. My
ever-present hope was to be able one day to extricate Lola from that
atmosphere of criminality and mystery in which she lived, that
environment of stealthy plotting and malice aforethought.
On the evening of my arrival there happened to be a dance in the
hotel, and watching, I saw Lady Lydbrook enter the ballroom. She
looked very charming in a dance frock of bright orange, with a wreath
of silver leaves in her hair. Her gown was certainly the most _chic_
of any in the room, and she wore a beautiful rope of pearls.
Presently I summoned courage, and bowing, invited her to dance with
me. She smiled with dignity and accepted. Hence we were soon
acquaintances, for she danced beautifully, and I am told that I dance
fairly well. After the fox-trot we sat down and chatted. I told her
that I had only arrived that day.
"I saw you," she said. "What a topping car you have! Ours is a Rolls
but an old pattern. I'm always pressing my husband to get rid of it
and buy a new model. But he won't. Business men are all the same. They
tot up figures and weigh the cost of everything," and she laughed
lightly, showing a set of pearly teeth. "They weigh up everything one
eats and wears. I hope you're not a business man?"
"No. I'm not," I replied with a smile. "If I were I might be a bit
richer than I am."
"Money! Bah!" she exclaimed as she waved the big ostrich feather that
served her as fan. "It's all very well in its way, but some men get
stifled with their money-bags, just as Owen is. Their wealth is so
great that its very heaviness presses out all their good qualities and
only leaves avarice behind."
"But to have great wealth at one's command must be a source of great
joy. Look how much good one could do!" I said philosophically.
"Good! Yes," she laughed. "The rich man can be philanthropic--if he is
not a business man, Mr. Cottingham. The latter--if he tries to do good
to his fellow-creatures--is dubbed a fool in his business circles and
invariably comes to grief. At least that is what Owen tells me. He's
double my age, and he ought to know," added the charming little woman.
I admitted that there was much truth in what she had said. Indeed, we
had already grown to be such good friends that, at her invitation, the
night being clear and moonlit, we strolled out of the hotel and along
the promenade, half-way to the pier, and back.
Her companion, Miss Wallis, I had seen in the ballroom dancing with an
elderly man who had "the City" stamped all over him. We chatted upon
many subjects as we strolled in the balmy moonlit night.
"I expect my husband back in a day or two. He has been to Warsaw upon
some financial business for the Government. When we leave here we go
to Trouville for a week or so, and in the autumn I believe we go to
America. My husband goes over each year."
Then I learned from her that they had a town house in Curzon Street, a
country place in Berkshire, and a villa at Cannes. They had, it
appeared, only recently been married.
"We generally manage to get to Cannes each winter for a month or two.
I love the Riviera," she said. "Do you know it?"
"Yes," I replied. "I've been there once or twice."
"The Villa Jaumont is out on the road to Nice, on the left. Perhaps if
you happen to be there this winter you will call. I shall be most
delighted to see you."
When presently we were back in the hotel and I had gone to my room, I
realized that I had made rather good progress. I had ingratiated
myself with her, and she had grown very confidential, inasmuch as I
was already able to judge that she rather despised her elderly and
parsimonious husband, and that she preferred to lead her own
untrammelled life.
But what was the real object of my mission?
A few days later I received a scribbled note signed "Rudolph" to say
that a friend of his, an Italian named Giulio Ansaldi, was arriving at
the hotel and would meet me in strictest secrecy. I was to leave my
bedroom door unlocked at midnight, when he would enter unannounced.
Enclosed was half one of Duperre's visiting-cards torn across in a
jagged manner.
"Your visitor will present to you the missing half of the enclosed
card as credential," he wrote. "If the two pieces fit, then trust him
implicitly and act according to his instructions which he will convey
from me."
I turned over the portion of the torn visiting-card, wondering what
fresh instructions I was to receive in such strict secrecy.
I thought of Lola and wondered whether she had returned home from a
visit she was paying in Devonshire, and whether, by her watchfulness,
she had gained any inkling of the nature of this latest plot.
Little Lady Lydbrook had now become my constant companion. Her friend,
Elsie Wallis, had apparently become on friendly terms with a tall,
slim, dark-haired young man who often took her out in his car, while
on several occasions Lady Lydbrook had accepted my invitation for an
afternoon run and tea somewhere. The one fact that I did not like was
that a quiet, middle-aged man seemed always to be watching our
movements, for whether we chatted together in the lounge, went out
motoring, walking on the promenade, or dancing, he always appeared
somewhere in the vicinity. But on the day I received Rayne's note he
had paid his bill and left the hotel, a fact by which my mind was much
relieved.
That day I motored my pretty little friend over to Brighton, where we
lunched at the Metropole and arrived back for tea. Her husband, she
said, had that morning telegraphed to her from Hamburg regretting that
he could not rejoin her at present as he was on his way to Italy.
"I suppose all our plans are upset again!" she remarked with a pretty
pout, as she sat at my side while we went carefully through the
old-world town of Lewes. She had become just a little inquisitive
about myself. It seemed that she enjoyed her dances with me. Indeed,
she admitted it, but I could discern that she was a good deal puzzled
as to my means of livelihood. I had to be very circumspect, yet for
the life of me I could not imagine why I had been ordered to carry on
what was, after all, a mild flirtation with a very pretty young
married lady.
I could see that the other visitors at the hotel were whispering, and
more especially had I incurred the displeasure of a Mrs. Glenbury, an
elderly lady of distinctly out-of-date views, who with pathetic effort
tried to ape youth.
Late in the evening after our return from Brighton, I took a long
stroll alone along the lower promenade, close to the beach, which at
night is very ill-lit, being below the level of the well-illuminated
roadway. I suppose I had walked for quite a couple of miles when, on
my return, I discerned in front of me two figures, a man and a woman.
A ray of light from the roadway above shone on them as they passed,
and I noticed that while the woman wore an ordinary dark cloth coat,
the man was in tweeds and a golf cap.
An altercation had arisen between them.
"All right," he cried. "You won't live here very much longer--I'll see
to that! You've tried to do me down, and very nearly succeeded. And
now you refuse to give me even a fiver!"
Those words aroused my curiosity. I held back; for my feet fell
noiselessly because of my rubber heels. I strained my ears to catch
their further conversation.
"I've never refused you, Arthur!" replied the woman's voice.
I held my breath. The voice was Lady Lydbrook's. I could recognize it
anywhere!
I watched. The young man's attitude was certainly threatening.
"I don't intend now that you'll get off lightly. You'll have to pay me
not a fiver but fifty pounds to-night. So go back to the hotel and
bring me out a cheque. I'll wait at the Wish Tower. But mind it isn't
a dud one. If it is, then, by gad! I'll tell them right away. And
won't the fur fly then, eh?"
He spoke in a refined voice, though his appearance was that of a
loafer.
His companion was evidently in fear. She tried to argue, to cajole,
and to appear defiant, but all was useless. He only laughed
triumphantly at her as they walked along the deserted promenade in the
direction of the hotel.
Suddenly they halted. I held back at once. They conversed in lower
tones--intense words that I could not catch. But it seemed to me that
the frail little woman who was so often my companion was cowed and
terrified. Why? What did she fear?
She left him, while he drew back into the shadow. I waited also in the
shadow for nearly ten minutes, then I passed on, ascended some steps
and reentered the hotel. In the lounge I sank into a seat in a hidden
corner and lit a cigarette. Presently I heard the swish of a woman's
skirt behind me, and rising, peered out. It was Lady Lydbrook on her
way out. She was carrying the cheque to the mysterious stranger!
Alone in my room that night I threw myself into a chair and pondered
deeply. I had learned that Lady Lydbrook was under the influence of
that ill-dressed man who spoke so well, and whom I at first took to be
an undergraduate or perhaps a hospital student.
It was a point to report to Rayne. Somehow I felt a rising antagonism
towards the young man who had successfully extracted fifty pounds from
my dainty little companion who was so passionately fond of jewels and
who frequently wore some exquisite rings and pendants. What hold could
the fellow have upon her?
Next morning she appeared bright and radiant at breakfast--which, of
course, she took with her rather retiring friend Elsie Wallis--and I
smiled across at her. She was, after all, a bright up-to-date little
married woman possessed of great wealth and influence, her whole life
being devoted to self-enjoyment at the expense of her elderly and
despised husband. She was a typical girl of society who had married an
old man for his money and afterwards sought younger male society. We
have them to-day in hundreds on every side.
After breakfast we went together along the sea-front where the band
was playing. The weather was glorious and Eastbourne looked at its
best.
I now regarded her as a mystery after what I had witnessed on the
previous night.
"I'm horribly bored here!" she declared to me, as in her white summer
gown she strolled by my side towards the town. "Owen is not coming, so
I think I shall soon get away somewhere."
"What about your friend Elsie?" I asked, wondering whether her
decision had any connection with the unwelcome arrival of that
mysterious young man in tweeds.
"Oh, she's going back to London to-day--so I shall be horribly
lonely," she replied.
I recollected her nervousness and apprehension before she had paid the
man who had undoubtedly blackmailed her, and became more than ever
puzzled.