About a fortnight later, Lydon had the news confirmed from another
quarter. Gloria received a letter from her uncle, in which was the
following paragraph: “I have got some news for you. Zillah Mayhew is
married to a very charming young man, named Edwards. She has been a
very sly little puss about it all. It appears from a somewhat belated
confession to her uncle, my dear old friend John Whitehouse, they have
known each other for some four or five years. They met again during
her recent visit to Paris and were married there. Edwards is a man
possessed of considerable means and moves in good society. They kept
the marriage secret for a little time on account of family reasons
connected with the husband. I am very glad that Zillah has done so
well.”
The letter then proceeded to state other things, some of which Lydon,
to whom his sweetheart read the epistle, had already heard from
Grewgus. The married couple had taken and furnished a house in Curzon
Street, where Zillah proposed to entertain. Zillah had led a retired
life when in England, did not know many people. But her husband had
heaps of friends and acquaintances, and would soon fill the house.
They proposed to give a big reception shortly. Stormont and his sister
would attend it. And Zillah insisted that Gloria, her father and
mother, and her fiancé should be her guests on such a special
occasion.
Innocent Gloria read out all this to her fiancé, and the young man
made certain inward comments as she went along. It was very unlikely
the couple had been married on Zillah’s last visit to Paris. Grewgus
had been watching the woman, Simmons the man till the eve of their
disappearance. If there had been any marriage ceremony, they would
have known of it. If they were husband and wife, they had been married
long ere now, and had lived apart, the better to pursue their
nefarious ends.
Gloria, woman-like, was interested in what appeared to be a real
romance. “I am so glad,” she said enthusiastically. “Zillah is such a
delightful, charming girl, she deserves a good husband. I am surprised
that she has not been married long before this. Uncle Howard speaks
well of him, doesn’t he? And I think he is a very shrewd judge of
character. We must certainly go to that party to see for ourselves.
You agree, I am sure.”
Yes, Lydon certainly agreed. Of course, he could not as yet give a
hint to the unsuspecting girl of his reasons. He would dearly like to
observe the adventuress and Edwards at close quarters.
In London the next day, he found time to run round to Grewgus and
inform him of what Howard Stormont had written.
“Well, you will keep your eyes open when you are there,” said the
detective. “I wish you could take me with you, but that, I suppose, is
impossible. I’m a master of disguise, you know; I could go as
something quite different from Grewgus. I might spot something that
would escape you. I am very curious as to the game they have got on;
it must be something big, or else they wouldn’t go to this
considerable expense. Of course, that account of the recent marriage
in Paris is all bunkum.”
Lydon would dearly have liked to take the detective with him as an old
friend, to obtain a card for him through Stormont. But he saw it was
too risky. Stormont was a man of diabolical ingenuity and cunning. He
would smell a rat at once. Later on, he might be able to work him into
the Curzon Street ménage.
“By the way, I have never shown you the snapshot of Edwards that
Simmons took in Paris, have I?” asked the detective presently.
He opened a drawer in his writing-table, extracted a photograph and
handed it to his client. Lydon gave a cry of astonishment as he looked
at it. “Well, of all the strange things that have ever happened! This
man is a member of my own club, the Excelsior.”
“What do you know about him?” asked Grewgus in an excited voice.
“Well, almost next to nothing. The Excelsior is a big club, as you
know, and there are dozens of different sets. He mixes rather amongst
the fast lot. I have heard that he is a man of good family, a public
school and Cambridge man, and has considerable private means.”
“Do you know him to speak to?” asked Grewgus eagerly.
“I may have exchanged a dozen words with him since I have belonged to
the club. We both joined it about the same time, three years ago. I
should rather say I knew him to nod to.”
“I think we might classify him as a typical specimen of the
aristocratic crook,” remarked Grewgus. “Well-born, well-educated,
gifted with brains of the wrong sort, who has taken to evil courses
either from natural inclination, or because he dislikes honest work.
Well, Mr. Lydon, this is very interesting and I may say very
fortunate. To think we have been scouring London for him, and not hit
upon the Excelsior Club. You must certainly go to that party, take
diligent notes, and report to me what you have observed.”
In due course, formal cards arrived for the big reception, an
afternoon one from four to seven, to the Jasper Stormonts, Gloria and
Lydon. The banker and his wife sent their excuses. They were a
stay-at-home couple and had no desire to rub shoulders with a lot of
strangers who knew nothing about them and about whom they knew
nothing.
“Except Gloria and yourself, and my brother and sister, there would
not be a soul we knew,” said Gloria’s father. “The hostess is a most
delightful young woman, my daughter tells me; but she will be much too
busy to pay any attention to a couple of old fogies like ourselves. Of
course, Howard will be in his element amongst a crowd; in a lesser
degree, it is possible my sister will also be happy. I and my wife
will remain here while you young people are disporting yourselves in
society.”
Howard Stormont had written to say that Gloria had better spend the
rest of the day with them, driving down to Effington after the
reception was over. If Lydon wished, he could drive down with them,
have dinner and stay the night. But the young man got out of this. He
would meet Gloria in London and take her back to Brighton the day
after instead. He wished to be in Howard Stormont’s company as little
as possible.
The day after he had received the card, he strolled into the club of
which both he and Edwards were members. It was a big establishment,
situated in Piccadilly, and had a large clientèle--stockbrokers,
barristers, a few actors, artists and authors, and several wealthy
business men. Almost the first person he saw was an elderly barrister
named Joyce, a member of the committee, who had recently retired from
practice. This gentleman was a very gregarious person, a great gossip,
and supposed to know more about the private history of his
fellow-members than anybody else in the club. To Mr. Joyce he at once
addressed himself:
“I’ve had a card for a big reception from Mrs. Edwards, the wife of
our member. Although a common name, he is the only Edwards in the
club. I don’t think I owe it to him, for we are hardly on more than
nodding terms, but his wife is a great friend of a man I know,
Stormont, to whose niece I am engaged. Of course, they were bound to
ask my fiancée, and they have very kindly included me.”
The elderly barrister rose to the bait at once. He was quite ready to
talk about Edwards; he was always ready to talk about anybody with
whom he was acquainted. “I have had a card too; going to be a rather
big thing, I am told. About half a dozen of us here have been asked.
Edwards doesn’t mix very freely with the members, rather keeps himself
to himself. As a matter of fact, he doesn’t come here very often,
travels abroad a lot.”
“No, I haven’t often met him,” said Lydon in a careless tone. “Who is
he, and what is he? I suppose you know?”
Mr. Joyce smiled; he was very proud of his general knowledge, which he
acquired by his assiduous attendance at the club.
“I know as much as anybody else, I think, but there doesn’t seem very
much to know about him. He talks very little about himself. He is a
Cambridge man, comes, I believe, of a good old Sussex family, follows
no profession or occupation, has private means.”
The information was decidedly meagre; but it was certain that if this
was all Mr. Joyce knew, nobody knew any more.
“Rather a surprise this marriage, isn’t it?” asked Lydon after a
pause. “I learn from Stormont that they were married a very short time
ago abroad, I think he said in Paris.”
“Quite right,” confirmed the barrister. “We knew nothing about it here
till quite lately. But you see that is not to be wondered at. Nobody
of the half-dozen who have received invitations is more than just a
club acquaintance. I suppose they really want to fill the rooms. He
rushed in here about a week ago, told me what you know, that he was
recently married, had taken a house in Curzon Street, and they were
going to hold a reception, sort of house warming. He was going to send
cards to a few of the members. Would I pass on to them what he had
told me, as he might not be in the club again before the party came
off?”
After lunch, Lydon took a taxi down to Craven Street, and imparted to
Grewgus the result of his interview with Joyce, both men agreeing that
what he had learned from that gentleman was practically no more than
what they knew already.
The party was a week hence. Grewgus was still very bent upon going,
but he recognized the impossibility of getting there.
“If I could get a chance, I would go as a waiter,” he said. “Well,
it’s no use thinking about it. You say that you will be leaving about
seven. I’ll be hanging about outside from half-past six--there’s sure
to be the usual staring crowds outside. If you’ve nothing better to
do, look out for me and follow me. When we are well out of view, we
can go into some place and you can tell me anything that you think may
be useful to us.”
On the day appointed, Leonard went to Curzon Street. His afternoon had
been a pretty busy one, and he did not arrive there till close upon
six. The rooms were quite full and it was a little time before he met
his hostess, who had abandoned her position at the door some time ago.
She greeted him cordially, and after a few words with her he passed
on.
Presently he found the Stormont party. The portly Howard was looking
very happy and radiant. “A thorough success,” he whispered to the
young man. “Zillah’s a born hostess and seems immensely admired. Most
of the people here are the husband’s friends; she has been so seldom
in London that she doesn’t know many people yet. But it won’t be long
before she does. I’m delighted it is going off so well. I’m very fond
of Zillah; she’s such a sweet girl.”
Lydon thought grimly that the unfortunate Calliard had said the same
thing. He inquired if Mr. Whitehouse was there.
“No,” was the answer. “He was awfully disappointed he could not be
here to witness her triumph. But he was prevented by important
business. I believe he is dining with them after the show.”
The mother was not there. Well, her parents were supposed to be dead
and the uncle was absent. No doubt, Mrs. Edwards had her own good
reasons for not having her own family round her. Casually he said to
Stormont: “I’ve just caught a glimpse of Edwards; he hasn’t seen me
yet. Do you know he’s a member of my club, the Excelsior?”
Was it fancy, or did he detect a rather shifty look in Stormont’s eyes
as he replied to him? “Yes, he told me when I first mentioned your
name. What a small place the world is, eh?”
“It came as a surprise to you all, Gloria told me. Did you or her
uncle know anything of Edwards before she married him?”
“Never set eyes on him,” came the prompt answer. “Zillah has been a
very sly little puss over it; they seem to have met abroad first. But
he’s a delightful fellow with lots of money. There’s no doubt she has
done wonderfully well for herself. And he knows heaps of good people.
As you know, I don’t go about in London, but this seems to me
decidedly a smart party.”
Lydon was intensely disgusted with the hypocrisy of the man, his
effrontery in denying any previous knowledge of the man whom he had
sent to Paris with his instructions to his “clever Zillah.” But he
quite agreed with his last remarks, it certainly was a smart
gathering, with so many beautifully gowned women and immaculately
dressed men. The Excelsior Club, he noticed, had sent up its
contingent to a man. Mr. Joyce was ubiquitous, and seemed to know a
great many of the guests. Leonard was sure that the host had a footing
in one world. He seemed to have an equally sure position in a more
reputable one.
“He knows people in every walk of life--artists, authors,
fashionables,” went on the garrulous Stormont, who seemed in the very
highest of spirits. “He belongs to half a dozen clubs, from the quite
exclusive to the frankly Bohemian.”
Gloria had been annexed by a very dandified young man. Mrs. Barnard
was engaged with an elderly person of the well-preserved type. There
came a sudden hush, a well-known professional was going to sing. Lydon
left his companion and made a tour of the rooms.
When he stopped, he found himself standing next to Edwards, who gave
him a cordial nod and a whispered: “Will speak to you presently.”
The song was finished and his host turned to Lydon. “Very pleased to
see you here. I little thought when we used to meet occasionally at
the club that we should become so closely connected, as it were.
Stormont has known Zillah from a child; he is a sort of adopted uncle.
Delightful fellow, Stormont, so genial, so unaffected.”
“Quite,” said Lydon, in a tone the reverse of enthusiastic. Not
greatly relishing the prospect of a prolonged conversation with
Edwards, he was about to move when his host stopped him.
“Do you see that young man talking to my wife, over there by the door?
You know who he is, don’t you?”
Lydon looked in the direction indicated. Zillah Edwards was conversing
with a handsome, elegant young fellow of about twenty-five. There was
something distinguished and aristocratic about his appearance, and
Leonard fancied that the face was familiar to him, but he could not
recall where or under what circumstances he had seen it.
“That is Lord Wraysbury, the eldest son of the Earl of Feltham, one of
the oldest families in England,” whispered Edwards in an impressive
voice; and guided by this information, the young man knew why the face
was familiar to him. He had seen the portrait of the young fellow in
some of the society papers.
“He often comes here,” went on the host. “You know all about his
history, I suppose?”
“Very little,” was the cold answer. “My acquaintance with the great
world is negligible, I am sorry to say.”
“It is quite a romance,” continued the other, who did not seem to have
noticed the coldness of his companion’s manner. “His father, as I
said, can boast of representing one of the oldest families in England,
but he is not rich. The estates are in Suffolk, and I am told don’t
produce much more than twenty thousand a year; that is not much for a
nobleman in his position, you know, and he has a large family.”
“I suppose not,” assented Lydon, who was not particularly interested
in this good-looking young aristocrat.
“Well, thanks to an extraordinary bit of luck, Wraysbury is very rich,
one of the richest young men in London. He owes it to his aunt, a very
beautiful woman. She married twice. The first match was a fairly good
one, but nothing out of the common. She was left a widow when she was
just nearing thirty. Her second husband was an enormously rich
American who had settled in England, a multi-millionaire. He died soon
too, five years after their marriage. The bulk of his fortune was left
to his children by a first wife; but his widow, Wraysbury’s aunt, got
a comfortable two million left to her to dispose of as she liked.
“She was devoted to Wraysbury. Never having had a child by either of
her husbands, she looked upon him as a son. She died two years ago and
left him every penny, with the exception of a few insignificant
legacies.”
“A very fortunate young man,” commented Lydon, interested in spite of
himself by the romantic story. “And what sort of a chap is he? Is he
taking care of his money, or making ducks and drakes of it?”
“He is a most delightful fellow in himself. With regard to your
question, he spends a lot, of course. He has the handling of a very
big income, but I should say he has a fairly good head upon his
shoulders and knows how to manage his affairs.”
“Is he your friend, or your wife’s?” asked Lydon bluntly, hastening to
add, “I mean of course in the first instance.”
“Oh, Zillah’s,” was the answer. “They knew each other abroad before he
came into his aunt’s money. The acquaintance dropped till quite
lately. We were dining one night at the _Ritz_ and met him in the
lounge as we were going in. She introduced me and of course gave him
an invitation to Curzon Street. He has dined with us twice and called
several times. I like him immensely; he is a dear chap.”
Lydon stayed for another half-hour and noticed that Lord Wraysbury was
never for long away from the side of his hostess. He did not appear to
know more than a couple of people in the room and Leonard had a
suspicion that they had been introduced by Zillah. It was a smart
party certainly; but although he knew little of fashionable or
semi-fashionable society, he did not think it was quite up to the
standard of a young man of such aristocratic lineage.
He managed to obtain a few words with Gloria. “Are you enjoying
yourself, my sweetheart?” he whispered.
“Oh, in a way, it is rather novel,” she replied. “But I don’t think I
should care for too much of this sort of thing. Zillah has been quite
kind, introduced me and aunt to a lot of people. Uncle Howard is
enjoying himself immensely. I have not seen him look more beaming at
one of his own dinner-parties. But I’m afraid I haven’t his
temperament. I’m not fond of strange crowds.”
Soon the party began to break up; only a few determined stayers were
left behind. Stormont collected his women-folk and they bade adieu to
their host and hostess. Lydon took his departure with them. As he
shook hands with Zillah, he observed that the good-looking Wraysbury
was still in close attendance.
Stormont’s car was waiting. As they went out, Lydon saw Grewgus
standing amidst the small crowd that had gathered to watch the
departing guests, and made a hasty signal to which the detective
answered with a slight movement of his head.
What was the young man’s astonishment to see amongst the waiting crowd
the weather-beaten face of Tom Newcombe, and a hasty glance at him
revealed the fact that, if not actually drunk, he was certainly not
strictly sober. As soon as he caught sight of his “old pal” he rushed
forward and shouted out what he intended to be a welcome, in a husky
voice.
Howard Stormont’s face went white when he saw him. “Get out of the
way, you drunken dog,” he said in a low voice, full of fury. “Never
dare to accost me again when you are in this state.”
The Colonial, no longer shabby-looking, but dressed in very loud
attire which he doubtless considered to be the height of fashion,
slunk away, his face working, and muttering, “Drunken dog! Drunken
dog!”
Stormont pushed the women into the car and it drove off, the occupants
waving a farewell to Leonard as he stood on the kerb.
When he turned round to look for Grewgus, that gentleman had gone. He
saw him a few yards off, stealthily tracking the Colonial.
He knew by this action that the ever-vigilant man had overheard what
had passed and was on a fresh scent. It was no use waiting for him.