THE PAINTED ENVELOPE
On my return I told Rayne of the old man's invitation, whereat he
rubbed his hands in warm approval.
"Excellent!" he cried. "You must travel with him and keep an eye upon
him--just to see that nobody--well, that nobody molests the poor old
fellow," he laughed grimly.
I saw his meaning, but I was in no way anxious to become the traveling
companion of a man who had, without doubt, been marked down as the
next victim.
A fact that aroused my curiosity was that all the time Mr. Lloyd had
been with us Duperre had been absent--in Brussels, I believe. His
identity was evidently being concealed with some distinctly malicious
purpose.
I waited with curiosity. Next day Lola, who with her woman's intuition
had scented that something sinister was intended, expressed surprise
to me that Mr. Lloyd was going to Spain.
We were walking together across the park beyond the lower gardens on
our way to the village.
"Mr. Lloyd told me that he was going to Spain at father's suggestion,"
she said. "It seems to me rather strange that I should have been the
means of bringing father and him together. I can't understand the
reason of it all," she added, evidently much puzzled.
"Perhaps your father has some idea of transacting some lucrative
business with him. Remember, he has a lot of financial interests in
Spain."
"Ah! yes," replied the girl. "Of course. I never thought of that!
Father has been to Madrid several times of late."
I feared to tell her what I suspected of the secret visit of that
handsome Spanish woman, or of how we had been observed at the Unicorn
at Ripon.
On that same day Duperre returned. He had been abroad, for when I met
him at the station I noticed that his luggage bore fresh labels of the
Palace Hotel, at Brussels, and some railway destinations. At ten
o'clock that night, after Lola had retired to bed, I was called to
consult with Rayne and Duperre, who were smoking together in the
billiard-room. Duperre had evidently related to him the result of his
mysterious journeyings, and Rayne seemed in an unusually good humor.
"Sit down, George, and listen," he said. "We have a little piece of
important business to transact--something that will bring in big
money. Duperre will explain."
Vincent turned, and looking at me through the haze of his
cigarette-smoke, said:
"There's not much to explain, George. You have only to act on Rayne's
instructions. The matter does not concern you as, after all, you're
only a pawn in this merry little game which will do no harm to
anyone----"
"Only to old Lloyd," I interrupted.
"To his pocket, perhaps," Duperre laughed.
"Frankly, you mean to rob him, as you have so many others."
Duperre frowned darkly, and exchanged angry glances with Rayne.
"I think that remark is entirely uncalled for," Rayne said
resentfully. "You have thrown in your lot with us, as I have told you
before, and with your eyes wide open have become one of my trusted
assistants. As such you will receive my instructions--and act upon
them without question. That is your position. And now," he added,
turning to Duperre, "please explain."
Duperre laid down his cigarette-end in the tray, and said:
"Well, look here, George. What you must do is this. You will write to
old Lloyd at the Reform Club to-morrow and tell him that you are
leaving for Madrid on Tuesday week upon important business for our
friend Rayne. You will suggest that he goes to the Ritz while you go
to the Hotel de la Paix in the Puerta del Sol, as being less
expensive. You, as Rayne's secretary, cannot afford to stay at the
Ritz, you understand?"
"Then there is a specific reason why we should not stay at the same
hotel, eh?" I asked.
Duperre hesitated, and then nodded.
"I may come out to Spain and join you in a few days after your
arrival. At present I don't exactly know."
So, though full of resentment, I was compelled to the inevitable. Next
day I wrote to the Reform Club, and in reply received a letter
appointing to meet me at Charing Cross Station on the following
Tuesday week.
Lola became even more inquisitive next day. Whether her father had
inadvertently dropped a word in her presence I know not, but she had
somehow become aware that I had received orders to travel with Mr.
Lloyd to Spain.
What was intended? The "business" upon which I was being sent to Spain
was some _coup_ which Rayne's ever-active brain had carefully
conceived. He had used his daughter's bright and winning manners in
order to become friendly with the wealthy and somewhat mysterious old
man whom I was to conduct to Spain.
Naturally I was evasive as usually. I loved her, it was true. She was
all the world to me. And my love was, I believed, reciprocated, but
how could I admit my shameful compact with her father? I was now a
thief, having been drawn into that insidious plot which I described
in the previous chapter of my reminiscences as a servant to the King
of Crookdom.
So we walked pleasantly along to the white-headed old village
clockmaker, who was grandson of a well-known man who had fashioned the
little grandmother clocks which to-day are so rare--the pet
timekeepers of our bewigged ancestors. The name of the old fellow's
grandfather was on the list of famous makers of clocks in the days of
George the Third, which you can find in any book upon old clocks.
On our walk back to the Hall we chatted merrily.
"I rather envy you your run out to Madrid," Lola laughed. "I wish I
could go to Spain."
She was wearing a canary-colored jersey, stout boots, and carried a
hefty ash stick, for she was essentially an out-of-door girl, though
at night she could put on a short and flimsy dance frock and look the
perfection of charm.
I took no notice of her remark, but purposely turned the conversation,
and as we strolled back together we discussed a dance which was to be
given two nights later by her friends the Fishers at Atherton Towers,
about five miles distant.
On the morning appointed I met old Mr. Lloyd, who, to my surprise, had
with him his niece, Miss Sylvia Andrews, a smart and pretty
dark-haired girl of about twenty-five.
"At the last moment Sylvia wanted to come with me to see Spain," the
old gentleman explained as we sat in the boat-train speeding towards
Dover. "I managed yesterday to get an extra sleeping-berth in the Sud
Express."
"I hope you will like Madrid, Miss Andrews," I said gallantly. "You
will find life there very bright and gay--quite an experience."
"I'm greatly looking forward to it," she said. "I've read all about
it, and though I've been in France and in Italy quite a lot, I've
never been in Spain, though I've always longed to see it."
"I propose we break our journey at San Sebastian," said Mr. Lloyd. "I
want to see the place, and the Casino which is making such a bid
against the counter-attraction of Monte Carlo. What do you say?"
"I'm quite agreeable," I replied. "A couple of days' delay makes no
difference to me. As long as I am in Madrid on the sixteenth it will
be all right. I have to attend a directors' meeting on behalf of Mr.
Rayne on that day."
"Good! uncle," cried the girl. "Then we'll break our journey at San
Sebastian, eh?"
And so it was arranged.
Two days later we stepped from the dusty sleeping-car in which we had
traveled from Paris, and soon found ourselves driving around a wide
bay with calm sapphire sea and golden sands--the far-famed La Concha.
We remained for two days at that luxurious hotel the Continental, on
the Paseo, and visited all the sights, including the Casino, where we
thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. Old Mr. Lloyd was an amusing companion,
as I well knew, a man who seemed never tired notwithstanding his
advanced age, while his niece was a particularly jolly girl who
enjoyed every moment of her life.
Then we proceeded by the night express to Madrid.
Mr. Lloyd insisted that I should stay with them at the Ritz, but,
compelled to obey Rayne's instructions, I was forced to excuse myself
on the plea that two of Rayne's co-directors were to stay at the Hotel
de la Paix, and Rayne had wished me to stay with them for certain
business reasons.
With this explanation the old gentleman was satisfied, so when at last
we arrived in the Spanish capital I saw them safely to the Ritz, then
went on alone to the Puerta del Sol.
That night we dined together, and afterwards we went to the opera at
the Teatro Real. Next day we met again, and on several days that
followed. I took them to see the sights of the capital, the sights
which everyone visits, the Armeria, the Academy, the Naval Museum, the
street life of the Plaza Mayor and the Calle de Toledo, the afternoon
promenades in the Retiro Park and the Paseo de Fernan Nunez.
In all they evinced the greatest interest. To both uncle and niece it
presented fresh scenes such as neither had before seen, and I realized
that old Mr. Lloyd had become brighter and far more cheerful than
when with us at Overstow.
I had been at the Hotel de la Paix for about ten days, when on
returning late one night from visiting with Miss Andrews the
celebrated Verbena de la Paloma--the famous fair held in the Calle de
la Paloma--I found, to my surprise, Duperre awaiting me.
I explained the situation, but when I mentioned the presence of old
Lloyd's niece his countenance instantly fell.
"Why in the name of Fate did the old fool bring her here?" he
exclaimed. "I thought he would come alone!"
"She's quite a nice girl," I remarked. "Full of high spirits and
vitality."
But Duperre only grunted, and I saw by the expression of his face that
he was far from pleased that the old man was not alone.
"I don't want to be introduced yet," he said. "At present, though we
can meet here in the hotel, we must be strangers outside."
"And what is the game?" I demanded boldly, for we were together in my
bedroom overlooking the great square and the door was locked.
"Nothing that concerns you, Hargreave," was his hard reply. "I know
you're foolishly squeamish about some things. Well, in this affair
just act as Rudolph orders and don't trouble about the consequences."
I realized that some evil was intended. Yet it was prevented by the
presence there of Sylvia Andrews. What could it be?
Next day I met uncle and niece as usual, and we went for a motor ride
together out to Aranjuez, where we saw the Palacio Real, and then on
to Toledo where we visited the wonderful cathedral and the great
Elcazar. I did not get back to the hotel till past ten o'clock that
night, but I found Duperre anxious and perturbed. Why, I failed to
understand, except that he seemed filled with annoyance that his plans
had somehow gone awry.
Two days later when I called at the Ritz with the intention of
accompanying Mr. Lloyd and his niece over the mountains to Valladolid,
I found them both greatly excited.
"Sylvia had a telegram an hour ago recalling her to London as her
mother is ill, and I am going with her. I cannot allow her to travel
alone. We leave by the express at six o'clock this evening," Mr. Lloyd
said. "I am so very sorry to depart so suddenly, Mr. Hargreave. We
were both enjoying our visit so much," he added apologetically.
This surprised me until I returned to my hotel to luncheon, when
Duperre, meeting me eagerly in the hall, asked:
"Well, is the girl going?"
"Yes," I said. "How do you know?"
He smiled meaningly, and I felt that in all probability the telegram
recalling the girl had been sent at his instigation, as indeed I
afterwards knew it had been. So cleverly had matters been arranged by
the crooks that Mrs. Andrews was actually very unwell.
"Yes, she's off to-night--and the old man also," I said, glad that he
was to get out of the mysterious danger that undoubtedly threatened
him.
"What!" cried my companion, staggered. "Is the old fellow actually
leaving also? At what time?"
"By the six o'clock train--the express to Irun," I replied.
He was thoughtful for a moment. Then he said abruptly in a thick
voice:
"I don't want any lunch. I want to think. Come up to my room when
you've had your meal," and then, turning on his heel, he ascended in
the lift.
On going to his room after luncheon I found him standing by the
window, with his hands in his pockets, looking blankly out upon the
great square below.
Close by, upon the writing-table, was a small medicine phial and a
camel-hair brush, together with several pieces of paper. It struck me
that he had painted one of the pieces with some of the colorless
liquid, for, having dried, it was now crinkled in the center.
"Look here, Hargreave," he said. "I want you to telephone to the girl
Andrews and ask her to meet you this afternoon at four, say in the
ladies' cafe in the Cafe Suzio, so that you can have tea together.
When you've done that come back here."
I obeyed, in wonder at what was intended. Then when I returned, he
said:
"Sit down and write a note to the old man, asking him to let you have
his address so that you can collect any letters from the Ritz for him
and forward them. He'll think it awfully kind of you. And enclose an
envelope addressed to yourself; it will save him trouble."
This I did, taking paper and envelope from the rack in front of me. I
was about to address the envelope to myself, when he said:
"That's too large, have this one! It will fit in the other envelope,"
and he took from the rack one of a smaller size which I used according
to his suggestion.
"Now," he said, "you go and take the girl out and I'll see that this
letter is delivered--and that you get an answer."
I met Sylvia, and we had quite a jolly tea together. Then, at five
o'clock, I left her at the door of the Ritz, saying that I had sent a
letter to her uncle asking for his address, and that knowing he would
be very busy preparing to leave I would not come in.
On entering the Hotel de la Paix the concierge handed me two letters,
one from old Mr. Lloyd in reply to my note and the other that had been
left for me by Duperre.
"I have already left Madrid," he wrote briefly. "Whatever you hear,
you know nothing, remember. Wait another week and then come home."
I was not long in hearing something, for within a quarter of an hour
Sylvia rang me up asking me to come round at once to the Ritz.
In trepidation I took a taxi there and found old Mr. Lloyd in a state
of unconsciousness, with a doctor at his side, Sylvia having found him
lying on the floor of the sitting-room. The doctor told her that the
old gentleman had apparently been seized by a stroke, but that he was
very slowly recovering.
Sylvia, however, pointed out that his dispatch-box had been broken
open and rifled. What had been taken she had no idea.
Inquiries made of the hotel staff proved that just after his niece had
gone out a boy had arrived with a note requiring an answer, and had
been shown up to Mr. Lloyd's room. The old gentleman wrote the answer,
and the boy left with it. To whom the answer was addressed was not
known.
The only person seen in the corridor afterwards was a guest who
occupied a room close by, a Spaniard named Larroca.
I recollected the name. It was the man I had seen at the Unicorn at
Ripon!
I made discreet inquiries, and discovered that Madame Martoz was
living in the hotel.
The truth was plain. I longed to denounce them, but in fear I held my
secret.
Old Mr. Lloyd hovered between life and death for a week, when at last
he recovered, but to this day he cannot account for the mysterious
seizure. I, however, know that it was due to a certain secret
colorless liquid with which the gum upon the envelope I had addressed
to myself had been painted over by Duperre. The old gentleman had
licked it, and within five minutes he had fallen unconscious.
When he was sufficiently well to be shown his dispatch-box he grew
frantic.
In it had been his cheque-book containing four signed cheques, as it
was his habit to send weekly cheques to the woman who acted as
housekeeper at his flat at Hove, which, by the way, he very seldom
visited.
By some means Rayne had got to know of this, and by that clever ruse
his accomplice got possession of the cheques, and ere the old man
could wire to London to stop payment, all four had been cashed for
large amounts without question.
Rayne and his friends netted nearly ten thousand pounds, but to this
day old Mr. Lloyd entertains no suspicion.