The roar of London’s traffic has died away, for a few brief hours, peace
has spread her mystic wings o’er the city of wealth and poverty,
pleasure and suffering, joy and pain, virtue and crime. In the sumptuous
dwellings of the wealthy, the gentry stretch their pampered bodies on
the soft couch of ease and warmth, imitated to a nicety by their
dependents. In the dwellings of the middle class, comfort if not
absolute sumptuousness is displayed and enjoyed. In the dwellings of the
working class, overcrowding and limited space is the chief
characteristic, while in the dwellings of the helpless, homeless, and
foodless, the vault of heaven is their canopy, the cold flag-stones
their couch of rest.
Yet above these scenes, so diversified and strange, peace for a few
brief hours has spread her wings. The tramp of the tired horse is
silent, the patter of millions of feet is still. Even the wandering,
homeless, hungry cur is curled up in some byway fast asleep, dreaming,
no doubt, of the rich steaks of meat upon which his poor famished eyes
had been fixed this afternoon, when the cruel butcher drove him so
mercilessly away.
But there is a faint glimmer of light stealing through the fast-closed
shutters of Mr. Trackem’s private room, in Verdegrease Crescent, and if,
like the fairy of old, we obtain ingress therein in some mysterious
manner, we shall find that worthy seated in a comfortable armchair, with
his head thrown back against a soft cushion, his legs crossed, his
elbows firmly planted on the chair’s arms, and his hands lightly joined
together. A warm fire glows in front of him, and the smile on his face
betokens a thorough satisfaction with things in general, and especially
with himself.
On the opposite side of the hearthrug is another armchair, likewise
occupied, but by a man apparently in by no means so placid and contented
a frame of mind as Mr. Trackem. He wears a rough coat and waistcoat of
Cheviot wool, and his cord riding breeches and black top-boots are
covered with mud and mire. There is blood on his spurs too, which
betokens a hard usage of the poor beast that has lately carried him. On
the floor lies a brown slouch hat and riding-whip, while by their side
is a soft satin cushion, similar to the one against which Mr. Trackem’s
head is reclining, and which his visitor has disdainfully tossed on one
side.
The manner of this man is excited, and he is leaning forward, and
speaking fast and rapidly. He is a handsome man, but has not a nice
face, and grey hairs are beginning to mingle in his thick beard,
whiskers, and moustache, as well as amidst the once raven locks of his
hair. He has thick sensual lips, two rows of fine white teeth, and a
restless, roving expression in his dark eyes.
“I tell you, Trackem, I have seen them all three, and I greatly fear
that Mrs. de Lara recognised me. Maybe she did not, for the moment she
looked round I made off as hard as I could, and have ridden straight
from the spot to this place. But if she did, there will be great danger
of our plot being discovered, and the idea to me is simply maddening
after all I have done, and risked, and put up with to carry it
successfully to an issue.”
Mr. Trackem refuses, however, to get excited.
“Pray listen, my lord,” he says suavely. “I think it is extremely
unlikely that Mrs. de Lara recognised you. But even if she did, of what
avail? She cannot prove it, and her statement would only be regarded in
the light of falsehood, invented to screen Gloria de Lara, or else in
the light of hallucination. We managed that point very well at the
trial. No, no; have no fear on that score. The only point to be looked
at is this. If Mrs. de Lara recognised you, or even took alarm at seeing
a stranger in her child’s place of refuge, she, and those with her, have
in all probability sought a fresh hiding-place. If this be so, their
arrest will have to be postponed, until we can lay hands on the spot of
their new asylum. It is a pity, for my efforts appeared to be on the
verge of crowning success. However, cheer up, my lord. Trackem has never
yet failed in any of his jobs, and will not in this one.”
“I was a fool to act as I did!” exclaims Lord Westray, for it is no
other than he; “but I could not resist the impulse, Trackem. How do you
propose to act if to-morrow we find the birds have flown?”
“I propose this, my lord,” answers Mr. Trackem in a decided voice. “I
intend to send round information to Scotland Yard of their whereabouts.
Should this information prove too late, I propose to proceed in this
wise. I have in my employ a young woman of extremely prepossessing
appearance, and without doubt the cutest of all my staff. She has never
failed me yet, and I am not apprehensive that she will on this occasion.
My instructions to her will be to ascertain Gloria de Lara’s
whereabouts, to join her in this rebellion—to be, in fact, one of her
most devoted adherents, until such time as I shall require her to be
otherwise. When she has been thoroughly entrusted with the rebel
secrets, nothing will be easier than to transmit them to us; in fact, I
think you know what I mean, my lord.”
“I understand,” mutters the other moodily. “You mean to set her to the
informer’s trade. A female Judas, in fact.”
“You have it, my lord, extremely well expressed. Ha, ha!” laughs Mr.
Trackem quietly, as he rubs his hands together, and nods approvingly.
“And what does your lordship think of my little plan?” he continues
inquiringly.
“Damned clever and diabolical, Trackem, if you want to know the truth,”
answers Lord Westray a shade bitterly. He has fallen pretty low, but
this seems indeed the lowest depth of the abyss into which he is invited
to plunge, for the being who is an accessory before the fact is every
whit as villainous as the being performing the deed. Of course he knows
this.
“Clever, I grant you, my lord. It is my business to be so. Diabolical I
demur to. All is fair in love and war. But pardon me, excuse a moment’s
absence,” and Mr. Trackem, as if struck by a sudden idea, rises and
leaves the room.
Lord Westray rises, too, and begins pacing up and down it. There is a
dark, angry look in his eyes, and a cruel smile on his thick lips.
“All fair in love and war,” he exclaims savagely; “that is a true
saying. I loved her—yes, I did love Speranza once, but she scorned and
flouted me, and I could not forget that. Even after I married her I
loved her, I believe, though she complained that I treated her cruelly.
And what if I did? She was only a woman, and my wife. What business had
she to complain? What business had she to take the law into her own
hands, and go off with that fellow? Ah! I think she counted without her
host there, but I was revenged,—yes, yes, I took ample revenge. And
then, when she might have made it up, when I offered to re-marry her,
she flung me from her path, and that girl of hers, whom I thought then
was a man, ordered me out of the house. Ah! but I think there again I
have come off the victor. I think it is I who have scored. The world
believes me dead; Hector D’Estrange, now Gloria de Lara, is my murderer.
If we lay hands on her, the Government is bound to make her pay the full
penalty of the law. It will break Speranza’s heart, and I, I shall
triumph and be revenged. None shall flout or scorn _me_ without rueing
it. By God! no one ever shall.”
The laugh is a horrid one with which these last words are accompanied.
It is hard to believe the man a human being. Character of this
description is false to Nature, surely? Yes, but the education which
produced it was false and unnatural too. Human character depends greatly
on early teaching. The parent has a heavy responsibility in the moulding
of youth’s first impressions. Lady Westray, if from the grave you could
arise and look upon your handiwork, perhaps even you, shallow, vain,
heartless as you were in life, might shudder and repent!
At this stage the door opens, readmitting Mr. Trackem. He walks over to
his seat by the fire and reoccupies it.
“I have sent for her, my lord,” he informs Lord Westray in a
business-like voice. “It has struck me that it will be best to employ my
female Judas without any delay. Second thoughts convince me that it
would be mere waste of time to communicate with Scotland Yard. I have
not the smallest doubt that, as Mrs. de Lara caught sight of you, ‘The
Hut’ is vacated ere this. At any rate, we will put Léonie on the track,
and start her from there. I have no fear that she will disappoint us.
She has a marvellous genius for the discovery of the hidden.”
“A human bloodhound and Judas combined in one,” laughs Lord Westray. “I
am curious, Trackem, to behold this monstrosity.”
“A curiosity which is about to be gratified,” remarks the other coolly,
as a low tap is heard on the door of the room in which these two men are
hatching their diabolical plans. “Come in, Léonie.”
The door opens softly, and a woman glides in. She is small and of slight
build, with a bright, fair complexion, even, firm mouth, dark grey eyes
fringed round with a wealth of lashes, which at once attract the
onlooker by their extraordinary thickness. Her hair, which is cut short,
is soft, glossy, and wavy, and is parted on one side, clustering upon
her forehead and around her face. On this face play the lights and
shades of a constantly changing expression, and if ever genius told its
tale in eyes, it is indelibly stamped in these.
Mr. Trackem smiles covertly as he glances at Lord Westray, and notices
the expression of surprise in this latter’s face. Léonie has walked
straight over to Mr. Trackem’s chair, and is standing beside him.
“You want me?” she inquires in a matter-of-fact voice. Apparently the
break of dawn summons is not in the least strange to her.
“I do, Léonie,” answers her master quickly. “I have a little job on hand
that I think I can entrust to you, and I rely upon you to carry it out
successfully. There is, as you no doubt know, a large reward offered for
the apprehension of the adventuress Gloria de Lara, or for such
information as may lead to that apprehension. Now I see no reason why my
clever little Léonie should not be the person to win that reward, or at
any rate a part of it. My commission to you is this. First of all get
speech with this Gloria. This necessitates finding her out. Next, worm
yourself into her confidence by a display of zeal which I can perfectly
trust you to simulate. Keep me informed of her plans and movements as
soon as you are able to speak with certainty of them, and be ready to
act as I bid you on receipt of any communication or instruction which I
may desire to send you. Now, Léonie, remember I trust this job to you,
because there is none so fitted as you to undertake it. I have every
faith in your sagacity and prudence. I have heard a good deal of Gloria
de Lara’s wonderful cleverness; I am mistaken if my little Léonie is not
her match.”
There is a glitter in the girl’s dark grey eyes, a quiet smile on her
lips.
“You may trust me,” she remarks laconically.
“I know I can,” answers Mr. Trackem gravely; “I know that very well.
Now, Léonie, your work begins at once. Gloria de Lara, her mother
Speranza de Lara, and the Duke of Ravensdale were seen at a little place
called ‘The Hut,’ near Bracknell, belonging to the duke. I have reason
to think, however, that they have fled that place this very night. You
had better go straight there, and take up the scent from the spot. I
leave all to you. You can draw upon me, you know. Keep me advised of
your whereabouts, stick to the letter of my instructions, and send me
good news as quickly as possible. I have no more to say, unless it be
that you are to effect that which Scotland Yard cannot.”
“I will,” answers this strange laconic creature, as with a slight
inclination she turns and leaves the room.
“Well, I’m blowed, Trackem, if that is not the queerest elf I ever set
eyes upon in my life!” exclaims Lord Westray as the door closes. “Where
on earth did you raise her from?”
“A pretty elf, too, eh, my lord? Hardly a monstrosity,” observes Mr.
Trackem drily. “Where did I raise her from, you ask? Well, that’s just
the point. I don’t care to tell you who she is, but I’ll tell you this
much. She’s the daughter of a customer of past days. Her father was a
great man. At least the world said he was. She’s got plenty of blue
blood in her veins; she’s well bred enough. Her mother died here. The
great man forsook her, and the child was left in my hands. I found her
pretty, remarkably intelligent, and quick-witted. I determined to train
her to be useful, and I think I have succeeded. She has certainly proved
a most profitable speculation, and repaid the excellent education I have
given her. I have no reason to repent my philanthropic act,” and Mr.
Trackem laughs drily.
“Well, you are a clever fellow, and no mistake, Trackem. I gave you
credit for a good deal, but not for rearing detectives from childhood. I
thought I knew pretty nearly everything, but this is a new experience,”
remarks the earl, fairly surprised.
“Yes, my lord, you have seen a good deal and know a good deal. I admit
your experience is wide and varied. But not even you know half that goes
on in this wonderful city. There’s many a queer thing takes place about
which outsiders know nothing. It’s only natural. What else can you
expect in a place like this? And now I think I have no more to
communicate for the moment. It will be daylight soon, and I feel I want
a snatch of sleep. I will bid you good-night therefore; and I don’t
suppose you will be sorry to follow my example. You have had a pretty
long, tiring, and eventful day. Good-night, my lord.”
Saying which, Mr. Trackem rises from his armchair, takes hold of a small
hand-lamp standing on a table close by, and with an obsequious bow to
the patron, for the sake of whose gold he is serving, leaves the room.
For yet another hour that patron paces up and down it, absorbed in moody
thought. It is hard to draw the picture of this man, when one thinks how
otherwise it might have been had the passions of his youth been curbed,
his early life disciplined, and his powers for good fostered and
encouraged. If the dream of Gloria de Lara be realised, the time will
come when character such as this will know an existence no longer; but
this can only be when the standard of morality is placed on a higher
pedestal, and the laws of Nature are acknowledged and upheld.
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