a curious chance, but afterwards, when the Baroness had ascended in the
lift, the thing struck her as somewhat strange. Perhaps the Baroness
Zerlinski had stayed at the hotel before. For the sake of convenience an
index of visitors to the hotel was kept and the index extended back for
thirty years. Nella examined it, but it did not contain the name of
Zerlinski. Then it was that Nella began to imagine, what had swiftly
crossed her mind when first the Baroness presented herself at the
bureau, that the features of the Baroness were remotely familiar to her.
She thought, not that she had seen the old lady’s face before, but that
she had seen somewhere, some time, a face of a similar cast. It occurred
to Nella to look at the ‘Almanach de Gotha’--that record of all the
mazes of Continental blue blood; but the ‘Almanach de Gotha’ made no
reference to any barony of Zerlinski. Nella inquired where the Baroness
meant to take lunch, and was informed that a table had been reserved for
her in the dining-room, and she at once decided to lunch in the dining-
room herself. Seated in a corner, half-hidden by a pillar, she could
survey all the guests, and watch each group as it entered or left.
Presently the Baroness appeared, dressed in black, with a tiny lace
shawl, despite the June warmth; very stately, very quaint, and gently
smiling. Nella observed her intently. The lady ate heartily, working
without haste and without delay through the elaborate menu of the
luncheon. Nella noticed that she had beautiful white teeth. Then a
remarkable thing happened. A cream puff was served to the Baroness by
way of sweets, and Nella was astonished to see the little lady remove
the top, and with a spoon quietly take something from the interior which
looked like a piece of folded paper. No one who had not been watching
with the eye of a lynx would have noticed anything extraordinary in the
action; indeed, the chances were nine hundred and ninety-nine to one
that it would pass unheeded. But, unfortunately for the Baroness, it was
the thousandth chance that happened. Nella jumped up, and walking over
to the Baroness, said to her:
‘I’m afraid that the tart is not quite nice, your ladyship.’
‘Thanks, it is delightful,’ said the Baroness coldly; her smile had
vanished. ‘Who are you? I thought you were de bureau clerk.’
‘My father is the owner of this hotel. I thought there was something in
the tart which ought not to have been there.’
Nella looked the Baroness full in the face. The piece of folded paper,
to which a little cream had attached itself, lay under the edge of a
plate.
‘No, thanks.’ The Baroness smiled her simple smile.
Nella departed. She had noticed one trifling thing besides the paper--
namely, that the Baroness could pronounce the English ‘th’ sound if she
chose.
That afternoon, in her own room, Nella sat meditating at the window for
long time, and then she suddenly sprang up, her eyes brightening.
‘I know,’ she exclaimed, clapping her hands. ‘It’s Miss Spencer,
disguised!
Why didn’t I think of that before?’ Her thoughts ran instantly to Prince
Aribert. ‘Perhaps I can help him,’ she said to herself, and gave a
little sigh. She went down to the office and inquired whether the
Baroness had given any instructions about dinner. She felt that some
plan must be formulated. She wanted to get hold of Rocco, and put him in
the rack. She knew now that Rocco, the unequalled, was also concerned in
this mysterious affair.
‘The Baroness Zerlinski has left, about a quarter of an hour ago,’ said
the attendant.
‘But she only arrived this morning.’
‘The Baroness’s maid said that her mistress had received a telegram and
must leave at once. The Baroness paid the bill, and went away in a four-
wheeler.’
‘Where to?’
‘The trunks were labelled for Ostend.’
Perhaps it was instinct, perhaps it was the mere spirit of adventure;
but that evening Nella was to be seen of all men on the steamer for
Ostend which leaves Dover at 11 p.m. She told no one of her intentions--
not even her father, who was not in the hotel when she left. She had
scribbled a brief note to him to expect her back in a day or two, and
had posted this at Dover. The steamer was the Marie Henriette, a large
and luxurious boat, whose state-rooms on deck vie with the glories of
the Cunard and White Star liners. One of these state-rooms, the best,
was evidently occupied, for every curtain of its windows was carefully
drawn. Nella did not hope that the Baroness was on board; it was quite
possible for the Baroness to have caught the eight o’clock steamer, and
it was also possible for the Baroness not to have gone to Ostend at all,
but to some other place in an entirely different direction.
Nevertheless, Nella had a faint hope that the lady who called herself
Zerlinski might be in that curtained stateroom, and throughout the
smooth moonlit voyage she never once relaxed her observation of its
doors and its windows.
The Maria Henriette arrived in Ostend Harbour punctually at 2 a.m. in
the morning. There was the usual heterogeneous, gesticulating crowd on
the quay.
Nella kept her post near the door of the state-room, and at length she
was rewarded by seeing it open. Four middle-aged Englishmen issued from
it. From a glimpse of the interior Nella saw that they had spent the
voyage in card-playing.
It would not be too much to say that she was distinctly annoyed. She
pretended to be annoyed with circumstances, but really she was annoyed
with Nella Racksole. At two in the morning, without luggage, without any
companionship, and without a plan of campaign, she found herself in a
strange foreign port--a port of evil repute, possessing some of the
worst-managed hotels in Europe. She strolled on the quay for a few
minutes, and then she saw the smoke of another steamer in the offing.
She inquired from an official what that steamer might be, and was told
that it was the eight o’clock from Dover, which had broken down, put
into Calais for some slight necessary repairs, and was arriving at its
destination nearly four hours late. Her mercurial spirits rose again. A
minute ago she was regarding herself as no better than a ninny engaged
in a wild-goose chase. Now she felt that after all she had been very
sagacious and cunning. She was morally sure that she would find the
Zerlinski woman on this second steamer, and she took all the credit to
herself in advance. Such is human nature.
The steamer seemed interminably slow in coming into harbour. Nella
walked on the Digue for a few minutes to watch it the better. The town
was silent and almost deserted. It had a false and sinister aspect. She
remembered tales which she had heard of this glittering resort, which in
the season holds more scoundrels than any place in Europe, save only
Monte Carlo. She remembered that the gilded adventurers of every nation
under the sun forgathered there either for business or pleasure, and
that some of the most wonderful crimes of the latter half of the century
had been schemed and matured in that haunt of cosmopolitan iniquity.
When the second steamer arrived Nella stood at the end of the gangway,
close to the ticket-collector. The first person to step on shore was--
not the Baroness Zerlinski, but Miss Spencer herself! Nella turned aside
instantly, hiding her face, and Miss Spencer, carrying a small bag,
hurried with assured footsteps to the Custom House. It seemed as if she
knew the port of Ostend fairly well. The moon shone like day, and Nella
had full opportunity to observe her quarry. She could see now quite
plainly that the Baroness Zerlinski had been only Miss Spencer in
disguise. There was the same gait, the same movement of the head and of
the hips; the white hair was easily to be accounted for by a wig, and
the wrinkles by a paint brush and some grease paints. Miss Spencer,
whose hair was now its old accustomed yellow, got through the Custom
House without difficulty, and Nella saw her call a closed carriage and
say something to the driver. The vehicle drove off. Nella jumped into
the next carriage--an open one--that came up.
‘Follow that carriage,’ she said succinctly to the driver in French.
‘Bien, madame!’ The driver whipped up his horse, and the animal shot
forward with a terrific clatter over the cobbles. It appeared that this
driver was quite accustomed to following other carriages.
‘Now I am fairly in for it!’ said Nella to herself. She laughed
unsteadily, but her heart was beating with an extraordinary thump.
For some time the pursued vehicle kept well in front. It crossed the
town nearly from end to end, and plunged into a maze of small streets
far on the south side of the Kursaal. Then gradually Nella’s equipage
began to overtake it. The first carriage stopped with a jerk before a
tall dark house, and Miss Spencer emerged. Nella called to her driver to
stop, but he, determined to be in at the death, was engaged in whipping
his horse, and he completely ignored her commands. He drew up
triumphantly at the tall dark house just at the moment when Miss Spencer
disappeared into it. The other carriage drove away. Nella, uncertain
what to do, stepped down from her carriage and gave the driver some
money. At the same moment a man reopened the door of the house, which
had closed on Miss Spencer.
‘I want to see Miss Spencer,’ said Nella impulsively. She couldn’t think
of anything else to say.
‘Miss Spencer?’
‘Yes; she’s just arrived.’
‘It’s O.K., I suppose,’ said the man.
‘I guess so,’ said Nella, and she walked past him into the house. She
was astonished at her own audacity.
Miss Spencer was just going into a room off the narrow hall. Nella
followed her into the apartment, which was shabbily furnished in the
Belgian lodging-house style.
‘Well, Miss Spencer,’ she greeted the former Baroness Zerlinski, ‘I
guess you didn’t expect to see me. You left our hotel very suddenly this
afternoon, and you left it very suddenly a few days ago; and so I’ve
just called to make a few inquiries.’
To do the lady justice, Miss Spencer bore the surprising ordeal very
well.
She did not flinch; she betrayed no emotion. The sole sign of
perturbation was in her hurried breathing.
‘You have ceased to be the Baroness Zerlinski,’ Nella continued. ‘May I
sit down?’
‘Certainly, sit down,’ said Miss Spencer, copying the girl’s tone. ‘You
are a fairly smart young woman, that I will say. What do you want?
Weren’t my books all straight?’
‘Your books were all straight. I haven’t come about your books. I have
come about the murder of Reginald Dimmock, the disappearance of his
corpse, and the disappearance of Prince Eugen of Posen. I thought you
might be able to help me in some investigations which I am making.’
Miss Spencer’s eyes gleamed, and she stood up and moved swiftly to the
mantelpiece.
‘You may be a Yankee, but you’re a fool,’ she said.
She took hold of the bell-rope.
‘Don’t ring that bell if you value your life,’ said Nella.
‘If what?’ Miss Spencer remarked.
‘If you value your life,’ said Nella calmly, and with the words she
pulled from her pocket a very neat and dainty little revolver.
Chapter Nine TWO WOMEN AND THE REVOLVER
‘YOU--you’re only doing that to frighten me,’ stammered Miss Spencer, in
a low, quavering voice.
‘Am I?’ Nella replied, as firmly as she could, though her hand shook
violently with excitement, could Miss Spencer but have observed it. ‘Am
I? You said just now that I might be a Yankee girl, but I was a fool.
Well, I am a Yankee girl, as you call it; and in my country, if they
don’t teach revolver-shooting in boarding-schools, there are at least a
lot of girls who can handle a revolver. I happen to be one of them. I
tell you that if you ring that bell you will suffer.’
Most of this was simple bluff on Nella’s part, and she trembled lest
Miss Spencer should perceive that it was simple bluff. Happily for her,
Miss Spencer belonged to that order of women who have every sort of
courage except physical courage. Miss Spencer could have withstood
successfully any moral trial, but persuade her that her skin was in
danger, and she would succumb. Nella at once divined this useful fact,
and proceeded accordingly, hiding the strangeness of her own sensations
as well as she could.
‘You had better sit down now,’ said Nella, ‘and I will ask you a few
questions.’
And Miss Spencer obediently sat down, rather white, and trying to screw
her lips into a formal smile.
‘Why did you leave the Grand Babylon that night?’ Nella began her
examination, putting on a stern, barrister-like expression.
‘I had orders to, Miss Racksole.’
‘Whose orders?’
‘Well, I’m--I’m--the fact is, I’m a married woman, and it was my
husband’s orders.’
‘Who is your husband?’
‘Tom Jackson--Jules, you know, head waiter at the Grand Babylon.’
‘So Jules’s real name is Tom Jackson? Why did he want you to leave
without giving notice?’
‘I’m sure I don’t know, Miss Racksole. I swear I don’t know. He’s my
husband, and, of course, I do what he tells me, as you will some day do
what your husband tells you. Please heaven you’ll get a better husband
than mine!’
Miss Spencer showed a sign of tears.
Nella fingered the revolver, and put it at full cock. ‘Well,’ she
repeated, ‘why did he want you to leave?’ She was tremendously surprised
at her own coolness, and somewhat pleased with it, too.
‘I can’t tell you, I can’t tell you.’
‘You’ve just got to,’ Nella said, in a terrible, remorseless tone.
‘He--he wished me to come over here to Ostend. Something had gone wrong.
Oh! he’s a fearful man, is Tom. If I told you, he’d--’
‘Had something gone wrong in the hotel, or over here?’
‘Both.’
‘Was it about Prince Eugen of Posen?’
‘I don’t know--that is, yes, I think so.’
‘What has your husband to do with Prince Eugen?’
‘I believe he has some--some sort of business with him, some money
business.’
‘And was Mr Dimmock in this business?’
‘I fancy so, Miss Racksole. I’m telling you all I know, that I swear.’
‘Did your husband and Mr Dimmock have a quarrel that night in Room 111?’
‘They had some difficulty.’
‘And the result of that was that you came to Ostend instantly?’
‘Yes; I suppose so.’
‘And what were you to do in Ostend? What were your instructions from
this husband of yours?’
Miss Spencer’s head dropped on her arms on the table which separated her
from Nella, and she appeared to sob violently.
‘Have pity on me,’ she murmured, ‘I can’t tell you any more.’
‘Why?’
‘He’d kill me if he knew.’
‘You’re wandering from the subject,’ observed Nella coldly. ‘This is the
last time I shall warn you. Let me tell you plainly I’ve got the best
reasons for being desperate, and if anything happens to you I shall say
I did it in self-defence. Now, what were you to do in Ostend?’
‘I shall die for this anyhow,’ whined Miss Spencer, and then, with a
sort of fierce despair, ‘I had to keep watch on Prince Eugen.’
‘Where? In this house?’
Miss Spencer nodded, and, looking up, Nella could see the traces of
tears in her face.
‘Then Prince Eugen was a prisoner? Some one had captured him at the
instigation of Jules?’
‘Yes, if you must have it.’
‘Why was it necessary for you specially to come to Ostend?’
‘Oh! Tom trusts me. You see, I know Ostend. Before I took that place at
the Grand Babylon I had travelled over Europe, and Tom knew that I knew
a thing or two.’
‘Why did you take the place at the Grand Babylon?’
‘Because Tom told me to. He said I should be useful to him there.’
‘Is your husband an Anarchist, or something of that kind, Miss Spencer?’
‘I don’t know. I’d tell you in a minute if I knew. But he’s one of those
that keep themselves to themselves.’
‘Do you know if he has ever committed a murder?’
‘Never!’ said Miss Spencer, with righteous repudiation of the mere idea.
‘But Mr Dimmock was murdered. He was poisoned. If he had not been
poisoned why was his body stolen? It must have been stolen to prevent
inquiry, to hide traces. Tell me about that.’
‘I take my dying oath,’ said Miss Spencer, standing up a little way from
the table, ‘I take my dying oath I didn’t know Mr Dimmock was dead till
I saw it in the newspaper.’
‘You swear you had no suspicion of it?’
‘I swear I hadn’t.’
Nella was inclined to believe the statement. The woman and the girl
looked at each other in the tawdry, frowsy, lamp-lit room. Miss Spencer
nervously patted her yellow hair into shape, as if gradually recovering
her composure and equanimity. The whole affair seemed like a dream to
Nella, a disturbing, sinister nightmare. She was a little uncertain what
to say. She felt that she had not yet got hold of any very definite
information. ‘Where is Prince Eugen now?’ she asked at length.
‘I don’t know, miss.’
‘He isn’t in this house?’
‘No, miss.’
‘Ah! We will see presently.’
‘They took him away, Miss Racksole.’
‘Who took him away? Some of your husband’s friends?’
‘Some of his--acquaintances.’
‘Then there is a gang of you?’
‘A gang of us--a gang! I don’t know what you mean,’ Miss Spencer
quavered.
‘Oh, but you must know,’ smiled Nella calmly. ‘You can’t possibly be so
innocent as all that, Mrs Tom Jackson. You can’t play games with me.
You’ve just got to remember that I’m what you call a Yankee girl.
There’s one thing that I mean to find out, within the next five minutes,
and that is--how your charming husband kidnapped Prince Eugen, and why
he kidnapped him. Let us begin with the second question. You have evaded
it once.’
Miss Spencer looked into Nella’s face, and then her eyes dropped, and
her fingers worked nervously with the tablecloth.
‘How can I tell you,’ she said, ‘when I don’t know? You’ve got the whip-
hand of me, and you’re tormenting me for your own pleasure.’ She wore an
expression of persecuted innocence.
‘Did Mr Tom Jackson want to get some money out of Prince Eugen?’
‘Money! Not he! Tom’s never short of money.’
‘But I mean a lot of money--tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands?’
‘Tom never wanted money from anyone,’ said Miss Spencer doggedly.
‘Then had he some reason for wishing to prevent Prince Eugen from coming
to London?’
‘Perhaps he had. I don’t know. If you kill me, I don’t know.’ Nella
stopped to reflect. Then she raised the revolver. It was a mechanical,
unintentional sort of action, and certainly she had no intention of
using the weapon, but, strange to say, Miss Spencer again cowered before
it. Even at that moment Nella wondered that a woman like Miss Spencer
could be so simple as to think the revolver would actually be used.
Having absolutely no physical cowardice herself, Nella had the greatest
difficulty in imagining that other people could be at the mercy of a
bodily fear. Still, she saw her advantage, and used it relentlessly, and
with as much theatrical gesture as she could command. She raised the
revolver till it was level with Miss Spencer’s face, and suddenly a new,
queer feeling took hold of her. She knew that she would indeed use that
revolver now, if the miserable woman before her drove her too far. She
felt afraid--afraid of herself; she was in the grasp of a savage,
primeval instinct. In a flash she saw Miss Spencer dead at her feet--the
police--a court of justice--the scaffold. It was horrible.
‘Speak,’ she said hoarsely, and Miss Spencer’s face went whiter.
‘Tom did say,’ the woman whispered rapidly, awesomely, ‘that if Prince
Eugen got to London it would upset his scheme.’
‘What scheme? What scheme? Answer me.’
‘Heaven help me, I don’t know.’ Miss Spencer sank into a chair. ‘He said
Mr Dimmock had turned tail, and he should have to settle him and then
Rocco--’
‘Rocco! What about Rocco?’ Nella could scarcely hear herself. Her grip
of the revolver tightened.
Miss Spencer’s eyes opened wider; she gazed at Nella with a glassy
stare.
‘Don’t ask me. It’s death!’ Her eyes were fixed as if in horror.
‘It is,’ said Nella, and the sound of her voice seemed to her to issue
from the lips of some third person.
‘It’s death,’ repeated Miss Spencer, and gradually her head and
shoulders sank back, and hung loosely over the chair. Nella was
conscious of a sudden revulsion. The woman had surely fainted. Dropping
the revolver she ran round the table. She was herself again--feminine,
sympathetic, the old Nella. She felt immensely relieved that this had
happened. But at the same instant Miss Spencer sprang up from the chair
like a cat, seized the revolver, and with a wild movement of the arm
flung it against the window. It crashed through the glass, exploding as
it went, and there was a tense silence.
‘I told you that you were a fool,’ remarked Miss Spencer slowly, ‘coming
here like a sort of female Jack Sheppard, and trying to get the best of
me.
We are on equal terms now. You frightened me, but I knew I was a
cleverer woman than you, and that in the end, if I kept on long enough,
I should win.
Now it will be my turn.’
Dumbfounded, and overcome with a miserable sense of the truth of Miss
Spencer’s words, Nella stood still. The idea of her colossal foolishness
swept through her like a flood. She felt almost ashamed. But even at
this juncture she had no fear. She faced the woman bravely, her mind
leaping about in search of some plan. She could think of nothing but a
bribe--an enormous bribe.
‘I admit you’ve won,’ she said, ‘but I’ve not finished yet. Just
listen.’
Miss Spencer folded her arms, and glanced at the door, smiling bitterly.
‘You know my father is a millionaire; perhaps you know that he is one of
the richest men in the world. If I give you my word of honour not to
reveal anything that you’ve told me, what will you take to let me go
free?’
‘What sum do you suggest?’ asked Miss Spencer carelessly.
‘Twenty thousand pounds,’ said Nella promptly. She had begun to regard
the affair as a business operation.
Miss Spencer’s lip curled.
‘A hundred thousand.’
Again Miss Spencer’s lip curled.
‘Well, say a million. I can rely on my father, and so may you.’
‘You think you are worth a million to him?’
‘I do,’ said Nella.
‘And you think we could trust you to see that it was paid?’
‘Of course you could.’
‘And we should not suffer afterwards in any way?’
‘I would give you my word, and my father’s word.’
‘Bah!’ exclaimed Miss Spencer: ‘how do you know I wouldn’t let you go
free for nothing? You are only a rash, silly girl.’
‘I know you wouldn’t. I can read your face too well.’
‘You are right,’ Miss Spencer replied slowly. ‘I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t
let you go for all the dollars in America.’
Nella felt cold down the spine, and sat down again in her chair. A
draught of air from the broken window blew on her cheek. Steps sounded
in the passage; the door opened, but Nella did not turn round. She could
not move her eyes from Miss Spencer’s. There was a noise of rushing
water in her ears. She lost consciousness, and slipped limply to the
ground.
Chapter Ten AT SEA
IT seemed to Nella that she was being rocked gently in a vast cradle,
which swayed to and fro with a motion at once slow and incredibly
gentle. This sensation continued for some time, and there was added to
it the sound of a quick, quiet, muffled beat. Soft, exhilarating breezes
wafted her forward in spite of herself, and yet she remained in a
delicious calm. She wondered if her mother was kneeling by her side,
whispering some lullaby in her childish ears. Then strange colours swam
before her eyes, her eyelids wavered, and at last she awoke. For a few
moments her gaze travelled to and fro in a vain search for some clue to
her surroundings, was aware of nothing except sense of repose and a
feeling of relief that some mighty and fatal struggle was over; she
cared not whether she had conquered or suffered defeat in the struggle
of her soul with some other soul; it was finished, done with, and the
consciousness of its conclusion satisfied and contented her. Gradually
her brain, recovering from its obsession, began to grasp the phenomena
of her surroundings, and she saw that she was on a yacht, and that the
yacht was moving. The motion of the cradle was the smooth rolling of the
vessel; the beat was the beat of its screw; the strange colours were the
cloud tints thrown by the sun as it rose over a distant and receding
shore in the wake of the yacht; her mother’s lullaby was the crooned
song of the man at the wheel. Nella all through her life had had many
experiences of yachting. From the waters of the River Hudson to those
bluer tides of the Mediterranean Sea, she had yachted in all seasons and
all weathers. She loved the water, and now it seemed deliciously right
and proper that she should be on the water again. She raised her head to
look round, and then let it sink back: she was fatigued, enervated; she
desired only solitude and calm; she had no care, no anxiety, no
responsibility: a hundred years might have passed since her meeting with
Miss Spencer, and the memory of that meeting appeared to have faded into
the remotest background of her mind.