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(University of Wisconsin--Madison)
THE SCARLET BAT
A Detective Story
By
FERGUS HUME
AUTHOR OF "THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB," "THE GOLDEN IDOL,"
"THE WHEELING LIGHT," "MADAM MIDAS," "THE INDIAN BANGLE," ETC.
LONDON
F. V. WHITE & CO. LTD.
14 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1905
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I. Sowing The Wind
II. Reaping The Whirlwind
III. A Friend In Need
IV. Two Hundred Pounds Reward
V. The Inquest
VI. A Scrap Of Paper
VII. Cupid's Bargain
VIII. A Pleasant Surprise
IX. The Old Romance
X. A Queer Mark
XI. Frank's Story
XII. The Unexpected Happens
XIII. A Quaker Lady
XIV. A Public Clue
XV. A Strange Disappearance
XVI. What Mildred Knew
XVII. The Sealed Letter
XVIII. A Queer Visitor
XIX. A Story Of The Past
XX. A Strange Will
XXI. An Unexpected Meeting
XXII. Miss Cork Explains
XXIII. Balkis
XXIV. Tamaroo Speaks
XXV. Nemesis
XXVI. A Wedding Present
THE SCARLET BAT
CHAPTER I
SOWING THE WIND
"I say you're a bad lot!"
"And I reply that you're a liar!"
"Take that!"
"Here's the repayment!"
The man who had spoken first went down like a log. He was a red-headed
creature, with a rasping voice and an aggressive manner, evidently one
of those who bullied his way through the world, for want of a bold
spirit to stand up to him. In this instance he found his match, for
the handsome face of the young fellow he insulted was sternly set and
considerably flushed. After the war of words came the blow from the
bully. His fist passed harmlessly by the head of this antagonist, and
a well-delivered return blow caught him fairly on the jaw. Then
red-head lay down to consider the lesson he had been taught.
"You confounded scoundrel!" said the other, standing over him. "You
may be thankful that I don't wring your neck. You're no good in the
world that I can see, and would be better out of it."
"Guess you'd like to send him on the journey into Kingdom Come?"
suggested a weather-beaten little man near at hand, who looked like a
sailor.
"I just would," said the young man, panting. "What does the ruffian
mean by making me a target for his brutal wit? He'd leave the world
fast enough if I had my way. Lie still!"
This to red-head, who was rising. But the prostrate man did not obey
the injunction, having some fight left in him yet. He scrambled to his
feet, and rushed with a lowered head at his enemy like a bull. But the
other was ready. He skipped aside, and the red-head met the wood of
the counter with a sickening thud. This time he dropped insensible.
The sailor man knelt beside the defeated. "I guess you'd better skip,
Lancaster," said he. "You've done it this time. An' the police are
coming."
It was not the police, but the attendants, who forced their way
through the crowd in the bar. Seeing this, Lancaster's friend, by name
Dicky Baird, and by profession an idler of the West End, seized his
chum's arm and dragged him out of the bar by main force.
"No use waiting for a summons," said Dicky, when the two were in the
vestibule. "I think you'd better get home, Frank."
The other stared at a poster which announced that a new musical comedy
would be produced that night at the Piccadilly Theatre, with Miss
Fanny Tait in the chief part.
"I'm not going till I see her," he said, pointing to this name.
"What, Fairy Fan? Why, all the row was about her."
"Because he abused the woman. She's a good sort, and I like her very
much. You know I do, but there's no love."
"Not on your part, perhaps, but Starth loves her, and you knocked him
down."
"I wish I'd killed him," said Lancaster, between his teeth.
"Don't talk rashly, Frank," said the other, with uneasiness. "If
anything goes wrong with Starth you'll get into trouble."
"Malice aforethought," said Lancaster, carelessly. "Pshaw The man
isn't hurt. He'll be up and swearing before the play begins."
It seemed that he was right, for a tall, bulky dark man approached
with a smile. "Starth's all right," said he, with a nod. "You've
swelled his eye a bit, Frank, but that's all. Berry's going to put him
into a hansom. And now we'd better get to our seats."
The others assented, and the trio moved into the theatre. As they
passed down the steps leading to the stalls, they caught a glimpse of
Captain Berry conducting a swaying figure to the door.
"How did the row begin?" asked Dicky, when they were seated.
"Starth said I didn't know who my father was," said Frank.
"Well, you don't, do you?"
"That's neither here nor there. Starth has nothing to do with my
domestic business."
"H'm!" said Baird to himself, thoughtfully.
Frank Lancaster was a dark horse, and although Dicky had known him for
some years, he was not aware of his private history. Lancaster kept
that to himself, and seemed unnecessarily annoyed by the question of
Baird. Dicky could see nothing in Starth's remark which should lead to
a free fight, though to be sure Fairy Fan's name had likewise been
mentioned. However, Frank seemed indisposed to speak, and like a wise
man Baird held his usually too-free tongue.
Miss Tait, commonly known as Fairy Fan, was a popular music-hall star,
who danced gracefully and sang sweetly. For a salary largely in excess
of her merits, she had deserted the halls for the theatre, and
to-night was her first appearance in "The Seaside Girl." Hence the
large audience and the subdued excitement. At the present moment she
was dancing like a fay and singing like a lark, but the three men
nevertheless talked all the time.
"Jolly little thing, ain't she?" said Dicky. "She comes from the
Californian Slopes."
"Did she pick up those diamonds there?" asked the dark man, who was a
Rhodesian called Darrel, and acquainted with stones of price.
"No. Banjo Berry, who is her uncle, gave them to her. He's a rich man,
and lavishes his money on his niece."
"Why does he let her appear on the boards, then?" asked Darrel,
heavily.
"Ask Frank, here. He's a friend of Berry's."
"I'm not," growled Lancaster, still ruffled by his late encounter. "I
can't bear the creature. His niece is worth a dozen of him."
"Is she his niece?" questioned the Rhodesian millionaire.
"Yes. There's no doubt about that. I respect Miss Berry immensely."
"I thought her name was Tait."
"On the bills. In private she's Miss Fanny Berry. Her uncle is rich,
but, in spite of that, she's so vain that she likes to appear on the
stage. I like her, and--"
"You're in love with her," contradicted Baird.
"A trifle. Anyone would love such a pretty woman. But I wouldn't ask
her to marry me."
"No, Starth will do that."
"She won't have him," said Frank, snappishly. "He's a bad lot."
"A very sore lot at present," put in Baird, smiling.
"It's his own fault," replied Lancaster. "Why can't he leave me alone.
It's not the first time he's quarrelled with me."
"Because he knows you are a rival in the affections of Fairy Fan."
"Rubbish, Dicky! Don't get that bee in your bonnet. Starth can marry
her for all I care. I merely admire her, and only came into contact
with her when Berry wrote asking if I could write her a couple of
songs. I came and saw, and--"
"And she conquered," said Darrel. "Who is Berry? I fancy I've met him
before. If he's the same man, he hasn't any morals."
"We'll say principles," remarked Baird. "Berry's a fiery-tempered Tom
Thumb, who talks 'American' slang through his nose concerning an
interesting past of a superlatively shady description. 'Been a South
Sea blackbirding skipper from the looks of him, and I expect he made
his money in that way. Ever met him?"
"Los Angeles, now I come to think of it," said Darrel.
Frank looked up uneasily. "Who is he, anyhow?"
"Don't know," responded the millionaire, imperturbably. "He was
running an apple orchard when I dropped across him. Clean shot, too."
Baird laughed. "Sounds like a retired pirate of sorts. But he's on the
square now. He and Miss Berry have rooms in Bloomsbury, and go to
church and have the entry of some decent houses. Frank knows all about
them."
"Only that she's a nice woman and a good woman, and that Berry is a
ruffian. He won't let Starth marry her."
"I hope not," said Darrel, darkly. "I've known Starth a long time, and
he's a bounder. But he's got an uncommonly pretty sister, as beautiful
and sweet-tempered as he is the reverse. Hush! Let's stick to the
play; we're talking too much."
Frank certainly couldn't be accused of chattering, as he was rather
silent. Even the rattling chorus and the jokes of the low comedian
could not banish the frown from his brow. And he became aware that a
man was looking at him--a fair-faced, effeminate little man, with
light eyes and a deprecating manner. Lancaster, in no very good
temper, scowled at the man, who immediately turned away his head. As
he did so the first act ended amidst loud applause.
"An eighteen months' run if the other act is as silly," pronounced
Baird; "but the management won't keep Fan all that time. She's as
freakish as a cat, and her uncle is rich enough to allow her to snap
her fingers at the Treasury."
"She _is_ a cat from the looks of her," said Darrel, grimly. "Come
out, boys, I'll put up the drinks."
Dicky assented affably, as the night was warm. But Frank remained
behind. "I don't want to run the risk of meeting Starth again. He
might come back."
"To fetch his sister," said the big Rhodesian. "Yonder she is in a box
with an old lady."
"What a pretty girl," said the frivolous Dicky, and departed.
Lancaster raised his glasses, rather curious to see what Miss Starth
was like. He beheld a slender, dark girl, as unlike her brother as
possible. Plainly dressed in some gauzy stuff, with a string of seed
pearls round her neck, she looked about twenty years of age, but might
have been even younger. Apparently she had all the unappeasable
curiosity of youth, for her dark eyes roved round the theatre with
great eagerness. Finally they rested on Frank, and she flushed when
she found he was looking directly at her. First she looked away after
the manner of girls, then she stole a stealthy glance at the rude
young man, and finally became engrossed in conversation with the
elderly lady who was her companion. Frank still looked. He was
most polite to the sex, but this face interested him so much that
he stared almost rudely. Twice their eyes met, in spite of Miss
Starth's ostentatious indifference. She coloured, and he--to his
astonishment--likewise blushed. There was something about her which
took his heart by storm. To be sure he was susceptible where a woman
was concerned, but it seemed absurd to be fascinated by a girl after a
few league-long glances. Still, she was distinctly agreeable to him.
Fairy Fan he admired after the manner of youth, but she was a
pink-and-white doll beside this glorious creature who looked like a
queen. Where could his eyes have been to admire the fragile charms of
Miss Berry, when true beauty was to be found alone in a stately
brunette with coils of shining hair, and eyes like fathomless lakes in
the starshine? Fan had been Frank's Rosaline; this vision of
loveliness was his Juliet, which means in plain English that he had
fallen in love at first sight. But, as he assured himself calmly, such
a passion was at once ridiculous and impossible. All the same he
continued to "behold vanity," until his divinity grew really angry,
and concealed herself behind an envious curtain, which shielded her
beauty. At once Lancaster became aware of his bad manners.
"Hang it! I should like to apologise," he thought as his friends
returned, and then considered dismally that he had quarrelled past all
reconciliation with the brother of his angel, and that there was no
chance of a meeting.
Starth hated Frank virulently, because Miss Berry openly approved of
the young man's good looks and genuine talents. But even before Fairy
Fan appeared to enchant a London public, Starth and Lancaster had
never been able to meet without snarling at one another like dogs.
Frank was not to blame, being good-natured and much too indolent to
fight. But Starth snapped at everyone. That he should have so charming
a sister was extraordinary. Even Dicky, the most critical of men,
thought so. "Ripping girl, Miss Starth," said he.
"I didn't notice," grunted Lancaster, not wishing to have Baird know
too much on account of that gentleman's long, long tongue. He might
repeat things to Starth, who could find offence everywhere.
The second act requires no description. It was like the first, but
slightly more incoherent. Fairy Fan had it all her own way, as the low
comedian had not yet had time to invent his part. When the curtain
fell on a pronounced success, with Fan standing in the midst of
flowers, Baird bustled out to the bar again with Darrel and his chum.
It was to discuss the prospects of the play that they went.
Frank did not notice that the neat man with the light eyes was
following them. He was taken up with the weather-beaten Berry, who
rejoiced over the triumph of his niece. He was a small man, and had a
hard face that might have been hewn out of iron-wood. His lips were
tightly closed, his eyes were grey and close-set, and he carried
himself in a bouncing, aggressive way, which must have cost him
many a fight in the Naked Lands where bounce is not approved of.
Berry--Captain by courtesy--looked quite out of place amidst civilised
surroundings. A pea-jacket, a tarpaulin hat, a streaming bridge and a
rocking, plunging tramp ship would have been more in keeping with his
piratical appearance. Why such a Captain Kidd should accompany his
niece to London and play the part of a sober citizen puzzled a great
many people, Baird amongst the number. But Banjo Berry--such was his
odd name--always explained profusely, having no call to do so. Whereby
the more astute assumed, and not unreasonably, that he had something
to hide.
"Well," said this mariner, gaily, "I guess the play's a go."
"A great success," said Frank, so indifferently that the little man
looked at him sharply. Lancaster was wont to be more enthusiastic
where Fairy Fan was concerned.
"She sang your chanty well," he remarked, following them to the bar.
"First rate," assented Lancaster. "How's Starth?"
"Sent him home in a cab of sorts," replied Berry, still puzzled. "I
guess he'll wake up and apologise to-morrow morning."
"Not to me," said Frank, aggressive at once, in spite of the charming
sister. "I don't want to have anything to do with him."
"Ah, pistols and coffee for two is your idea of a meeting," was the
Captain's reply. "You'd like to see him buzz into the everlasting
darkness, I guess?"
Before Frank could reply, his arm was plucked. In the crowd he did not
see who it was for the moment. There was a rush of thirsty souls to
the bar, and Berry disappeared in the mob. Still the unknown kept his
hand on Lancaster's arm, and drew him towards the door with a gentle
pressure. Rather surprised, Frank allowed himself to be so drawn,
thinking it was one of his friends. But when the crowd grew thin he
found himself face to face with the small, neat man.
"Well?" said Frank, interrogatively.
"I'm glad you didn't answer," said the man with the light eyes. "It is
dangerous to answer that man."
"Captain Berry. Why?"
The stranger opened the swing door and stepped into the street. He did
not even wait for Frank, but walked along the pavement, dexterously
avoiding the people as he walked. Taken by surprise by this odd
demeanour, Lancaster followed, and managed to catch up with the man as
he was turning into a side street which was deserted. "What do you
mean?" asked Lancaster, catching the man by his coat. "Who are you?"
The other stopped under a lamp-post, and laughed in an elfish way. "No
matter who I am," he said in a precise voice, "but what I am is
another and more important matter."
"Well, what are you?" asked Lancaster, more and more puzzled.
"A man who can read faces and hands and tell the secrets of the
future," said the other, gravely.
"Bah!" was Frank's disgusted exclamation. "A charlatan."
"Just so. A charlatan. Yet I am sufficiently interested in you to warn
you against coming danger."
"Do you know me?"
"No. I don't know your name or your face, nor anything about you. I
happened to be in the bar when you hit that red-headed man, and I saw
that the little fellow--"
"Captain Berry?"
"Is that his name? Well, he was trying to foment the quarrel. He is
your enemy."
"Nonsense! He has no cause to be my enemy."
"That is the worst kind of enemy to have--one who pretends friendship
and strikes in the dark. I read your face, sir, and the face of the
red-headed man. If you two meet again--" He hesitated.
"Well?" asked Frank, sharply. "If we meet?"
"One of you will die."
In spite of his scepticism Lancaster felt a chill run through his
veins at this speech. "Rubbish!" he said, roughly. "Which one?"
"I sha'n't tell you that," replied the unknown. "You may consider my
reply rubbish also. But there is that in your face, sir, which hints
at coming trouble. Your fate and the fate of the red-headed man are
bound up together. Also, there is a woman."
"How do you know that?" asked Frank, thinking of Fan.
"She is a relative of the red-headed man," said the unknown, "and it
is probably--" Here he broke off abruptly. "I sha'n't tell you any
more. I may be wrong, I may be right, but the signs are there."
"What signs?"
"Good-night, sir," said the man, and passed swiftly away before Frank
could retain him. Lancaster walked to his rooms without returning to
the theatre. He laughed at the warning, so vague and absurd did it
seem. All the same it haunted him, and he had cause to remember the
man afterwards. He never saw the seer again, but, as after events
proved, undoubtedly the man was no charlatan.