"And I am tall," I answered. "One of your men will give me a leg up."
In another moment I was letting myself cautiously down on a dark, dewy
garden fragrant with the scent of orange blossoms. There was broken
glass on the top of the wall, and my hands were cut: but that was a
detail.
Noiselessly I slid back the big bolt which fastened the gate. The men
filed in like a troop of ghosts, and followed me as I tiptoed along,
crouching under trees as I walked.
The voices, speaking together in low, hushed tones, became more
audible, though, even when we came near, we could catch no words. A
singularly broad-shouldered man in European dress, with a fez on his
rather small head, stood with his back to us, giving orders to four
negroes. They were out in the open, where the moon touched their
faces, and we in the shadow could see them distinctly. They had a
long, narrow box somewhat resembling a coffin, which, by their master's
directions, they were about to lower by means of ropes into a
grave-like hole they had dug in the soft earth.
My heart gave a bound, and then missed a beat, as if my life had come
to an end. I sprang on the man from behind, and the beggar king with
his band followed my lead. Just what happened next I could hardly
tell: I was too busy fighting. Down on the ground we two went
together. Essain--whom I knew as Rameses--fought like a lion.
Surprised as he was, he flashed out a knife somehow, and I felt its
point bite between my ribs, before I got a chance to shoot. Even then,
I shot at random, and it was only the sudden start and collapse of the
body writhing under mine which told me that my bullet had found its
billet. The man lay still. I jumped up, released from his hold. His
face I could not see, but when I shook him he was limp as a marionette.
"Dead!" I said to myself. "Well, it's all to the good!" and wasted no
more time on him.
The four negroes were down: they had shown no fight; and already Haroun
had begun with a great knife to prise open the coffin-shaped box. It
lay on the ground in the moonlight and I saw that it was the mummy-case
I had seen last in Maida's shrine in New York. There was no doubt--no
hope, then! I had come too late!
Like a madman I snatched the knife from Haroun, and finished the work
he had begun. There she lay--my darling--where the mummy had lain so
long. But I was not too late after all. As the air touched her she
gasped and opened her eyes.
There, you would say, with the girl I loved coming to life in my arms,
the story of my fight against her enemies might end. But it was not to
be so. There was still the one supreme struggle to come. For Essain,
alias Rameses, was not dead. He had feigned death to save himself, and
while we forgot him he crept away.
EPISODE IX
THE BELL BUOY
A white yacht steamed slowly through calm water silvered by the moon.
Maida and I were the only passengers. We had been married that day,
and the yacht _Lily Maid_ was ours for the honeymoon, lent by Maida's
newly found cousins, Sir Robert and Lady Annesley.
"Look," I said, as passing through the Downs I caught sight of two dark
towers showing above a cloud of trees on the Kentish coast. "Those
towers are my brother's house. To-morrow I shall be there making him
eat humble pie--and my sister-in-law too."
"I don't want you to make them eat humble pie!" laughed Maida.
"Well, they shall eat whatever you like. But would you care to anchor
now? It's nearly midnight."
"Let's go on a little further," she decided. "It's so heavenly."
It was. I felt that I had come almost as near heaven as I could hope
to get. Maida was my wife at last, and she was happy. I believed that
she was safe.
We went on, and the throb of the yacht's heart was like the throbbing
of my own. Close together we stood, she and I, my arm clasping her.
So we kept silence for a few moments, and my thoughts trailed back as
the moonlit water trailed behind us. I remembered many things: but
above all I remembered that other night of moonlight far away in Egypt,
in a secret orange garden where men had dug a grave.
Why, yes, of course Maida was safe! One of her two enemies had died
that night--the woman. Exactly how she died we did not know, but I and
the "king of the beggars" had found her lying, face downward, in the
marble basin of a great fountain, dead in water not a foot deep. The
fountain was in a room whence, from one latticed window, the orange
garden and the fight there could have been seen. That window was open.
Doubtless Essain's sister had believed her twin brother captured or
dead. She had thought that, for herself, the end of all things had
come with his downfall: punishment, failure and humiliation worse than
death. So she had chosen death. But the man had escaped and
disappeared. The treasure hidden for thousands of years in the
mummy--treasure which the Head Sister boasted to Maida had been found
by Doctor Rameses--had disappeared with him.
The girl Hateb who had cared for Maida through her illness cared for
her again that night, while Haroun and I guarded the shut door of their
room. The next day Maida was able to start for Cairo, and Hateb (both
veiled, and in Egyptian dress) acted as her maid. Had it not been for
Haroun's testimony and the respect felt by the authorities for the rich
beggar, the happenings of that night and the woman's death might have
detained me at Hathor Set; but thanks to Haroun I was able to get Maida
away. Thanks again partly to him and what he could tell (with what
Maida had been told by the Head Sister) the girl's past was no longer a
mystery. We knew the name of her people: and luckily it was a name to
conjure with just then in Cairo. Colonel Sir Robert Annesley was
stationed there. He was popular and important; and I blessed all my
stars because I had met him in England.
I wanted Maida to marry me in Cairo, with her cousin Sir Robert to give
her away: but the blow my brother had struck long ago had hurt her
sensitive soul to the quick. She said that she could not be my wife
until Lord Haslemere and Lady Haslemere were willing to welcome her.
She wanted no revenge, but she did want satisfaction.
I had to yield, since a man can't marry a girl by force nowadays, even
when she admits that she's in love. Sir Robert found her a chaperon,
going to England, and I was allowed to sail on the same ship. Maida
was invited to stay with Lady Annesley until the wedding could be
arranged on the bride's own "terms"; but Fate was more eloquent than I:
she induced Maida to change her mind.
Lady Annesley was as brave (for herself and her husband) as a soldier's
wife must be; but she had three children. For them, she was a coward.
Maida had not been two days at the Annesley's Devonshire place, and I
hadn't yet been able to tackle Haslemere, when an anonymous letter
arrived for the girl's hostess. It said that, if Lady Annesley wished
her three little boys to see their father come home, she would turn out
of her house the enemy of a noble family whose vendetta was not
complete. At first, the recipient of the letter was at a loss what to
make of it. Frightened and puzzled, she handed the document to Maida
(this was at breakfast) and Maida was only too well able to explain.
The letter had a London postmark: and the girl knew then, with a shock
of fear, that "Dr. Rameses" was in England--had perhaps reached there
before her. An hour later I knew also--having motored from the hotel
where I was stopping in Exeter. The question was, why did the enemy
want to get the girl out of her cousin's house?--for that desire alone
could have inspired the anonymous warning. Without it, he might have
attempted a surprise stroke: but of his own accord, he had for some
reason eliminated the element of surprise.
As for me, I was thankful. Not because Essain, alias Rameses, had come
to England, but because he was throwing Maida into my arms. This
result might be intended by him; but naturally I felt confident that
she would be safe under my protection. I argued that she couldn't
expose Lady Annesley and the children to danger; the Annesleys had
suffered enough for a sin of generations ago: and if she gave up the
shelter of her cousin's house she must come to me. What mattered it,
in such circumstances, whether the family welcome came before or after
the wedding? I guaranteed that it would come. And so--owing to the
anonymous letter, and its visible effect upon Lady Annesley, Maida
abandoned the dream she had cherished. We were married by special
licence: and now, on the Annesley's yacht--too small to be needed for
war-service by the Admiralty--we stood on our wedding night.
"Nothing can ever separate us again, my darling!" I broke out suddenly,
speaking my thought aloud.
"No, not even death," Maida said, softly, almost in a whisper.
"Don't think of death, my dearest!" I cut her short.
"I'll try not," she said. "But it seems so wonderful to dare be
happy--after all. And the memory of that man--the thought of him--I
won't call it fear, or let it be fear--is like a black spot in the
brightness. It's like that big floating black shape, moving just
enough to show it is there, in the silver water. Do you see?" and she
pointed. "Does that sound we hear, come from it--like a bell--a
funeral bell tolling?"
"That's a bell buoy," I explained. "I remember it well. You know,
when I was a boy I spent holidays with my brother at Hasletowers; and I
loved this old buoy. I've imagined a hundred stories about it; and--by
Jove--I wonder what that chap can be up to!"
The "chap" whose manoeuvres had caused me to break off and forget my
next sentence, was too far away to be made out distinctly. But he was
in a boat which I took to be a motor-boat, as it had skimmed along the
bright water like a bird. He had stopped close to the bell buoy, and
was fitting a large round object over his head. Apparently it was a
diver's helmet. In the boat I could see another figure, slimmer and
smaller, which might be that of a boy; and this companion gave
assistance when the helmeted one descended into the water over the side
of the boat. For an instant I saw--or fancied that I saw--that he had
something queer in his hand--something resembling a big bird-cage.
Then he plunged under the surface, and was gone.
We were steaming slowly enough, however, for me to observe in
retrospect, that the huge round head bobbed up a minute later, and that
the black figure climbed back into the boat. But the cage-like object
was no longer visible.
"Some repairs to the buoy, perhaps," I said, as the yacht took us on.
But it seemed odd, I couldn't put the episode out of my mind. By and
by I asked the yacht's captain to turn, and let us anchor not too far
from the landing at Hasletowers, for me to go ashore comfortably when I
wished to do so next day. The boat with the two figures had vanished.
The bell buoy swayed back and forth, sending out its tolling notes; and
the _Lily Maid_ was the only other thing to be seen on the water's
silver.
* * * * *
At three o'clock the following afternoon I rowed myself ashore, and
from the private landing walked up to my brother's house. I hadn't
seen him or my sister-in-law since the day when I ran--or rather
limped--away from Violet's London nursing home with its crowding
flowers and sentimental ladies. But I had written. I had told them
that I intended to marry Miss Madeleine Odell, the girl whom they had
driven from England, shamed and humiliated. I had told them who she
really was, and something of her romantic history. I had added that
they should learn more when they were ready to apologise and welcome
her. Later, I had wired that we were being married unexpectedly soon,
and that we should be pleased to have them at the wedding if they
wished. Haslemere had wired back that they would be prevented by
business of importance from leaving home, but their absence was not to
be misunderstood. He invited me to call at Hasletowers and talk
matters over. On this, I telegraphed, making an appointment for the
day after my marriage; because to "talk things over" was what I wanted
to do--though perhaps not in precisely the way meant by Haslemere.
If I'd expected my arrival to be considered an event of importance, I
should have been disappointed. Haslemere and Violet had the air of
forgetting that months had passed since we met, that I'd been through
adventures, and that this was the day after my wedding. If we had
parted half an hour before, they could hardly have been more casual!
I was shown into the library, where Haslemere (a big, gaunt fellow of
thirty-eight, looking ten years older, and with the red hair of our
Scottish ancestors) and Violet (of no particular age and much conscious
charm) were passionately occupied in reading a telegram. I thought it
might have been mine (delayed), but in this I was soon undeceived.
"Hello, Jack!" said Haslemere. "How are you, dear boy?" said Violet:
and then both began to pour out what was in their hearts. It had not
the remotest connection with Maida or me. It concerned themselves and
the great charity sale of historic jewels which, it seemed, Violet was
organising. What? I hadn't heard of it? They were astounded.
England was talking of nothing else. Well, there was the war, of
course! But this subject and the war were practically one. The sale
was for the benefit of mutilated officers. Nobody else had ever
thought of doing anything practical for _them_, only for the soldiers.
Violet had started by giving the Douglas-heart ring which had come down
to her from an ancestress made even more famous than she would have
been otherwise, by Sir Walter Scott. This splendid example of
generosity had set the ball rolling. Violet had only to ask and to
have. All her friends had answered her call, and lots of outsiders who
hoped thereby to become her friends. Any number of _nouveaux riches_
creatures had actually _bought_ gorgeous antique jewels in order to lay
them at Violet's shrine--and, incidentally, that of the Mutilated
Officers.
"Nearly a hundred thousand pounds' worth of jewels is here, in this
room, at this moment," my sister-in-law went on impressively, "but it
won't be here many moments longer, I'm thankful to say! The
responsibility has been too great for us both, this last week, while
the collection grew, and we had to look after it. Now the whole lot is
being sent to Christie's this afternoon, and the sale by auction will
begin to-morrow. It's the event of the season, bar nothing! We hope
to clear a quarter of a million if the bidding goes as we think. You
_must_ bring your bride, and make her buy something. If she's one of
the _right_ Annesleys, she must be aw'fly rich!"
"She is one of the right Annesleys," I managed to break in. "But, as I
wrote you and Haslemere, she has always been known as Madeleine Odell.
You and he----"
"Oh, never mind that!" Haslemere cut me short. "You have married her
without consulting us. If you'd asked my advice, I should
certainly--but we won't stir up the past! Let sleeping dogs lie, and
bygones be bygones, and so on."
"Yes, we'll try and do our best for your wife," Violet added hastily,
with an absent-minded eye. "When the sale is over, and we have time to
breathe, you must bring her here, and----"
"You both seem to misunderstand the situation, although I thought I'd
made things clear in my letter," I said. "You cruelly misjudged Maida.
You believed lies about her, and put a public shame upon the innocent
child. Do you think I'd ever bring her into my brother's house until
he and his wife had begged her forgiveness, and atoned as far as in
their power?"
"Good heavens, Jack, you must be mad!" Haslemere exclaimed. "I'd
forgotten the affair until you revived it in my mind by announcing that
you intended to marry a girl whose presentation I'd caused to be
cancelled. Then I remembered. I acted at the time only as it was my
duty to act, according to information received. An American
acquaintance of Violet's--a widow of good birth whose word could not be
doubted, told us a tragic story in which Miss Odell had played--well,
to put it mildly, in consideration for you--had played an unfortunate
part."
"The name of this American widow was Granville," I cut in, "and the
tragedy was that of her son."
"It was. I see you know."
"I know the true version of the story. And I expect you and Violet to
listen to it."
"We can't listen to anything further now, dear boy. We've more
important--I beg your pardon--we've more _pressing_ things to attend
to," said Violet. "You've a right to your point of view, and we don't
want to hurt your feelings. But I don't think you ought to want _us_
to go against our convictions, unless to be civil, for your sake, and
avoid scandal. We'll do our best, I told you; you must be satisfied
with that. And really, we _can't_ talk about this any longer, because
just before you came we'd a telegram from Drivenny to say he and Combes
and Blackburn will be here an hour earlier than the appointment. That
will land them on us at any instant; and I don't care to be agitated,
please!"
"Drivenny is the great jewel expert," Haslemere condescended to
enlighten my amateurish intelligence. "Combes is the Scotland Yard
man, as you know: and Blackburn is the famous detective from New York
who's in London now. We don't understand why they come before their
time, but no doubt they've an excellent reason and we shall hear it
soon. You shall see them, if you like. You're interested in
detectives."
"It sounds like a plot," I remarked, so angry with my brother and his
wife that I found a mean pleasure in trying to upset them. "You'd
better make jolly well sure that the right men come. As you are
responsible for the jewels----"
Haslemere laughed. "You talk as if you were a detective in a boy's
story paper! Not likely I should be such a fool as to hand the boodle
over to men I didn't know by sight! They have been here before, in a
bunch, Drivenny judging the jewels, the detectives----"
"My lord, the three gentlemen from London have arrived in a motor-car,"
announced a footman. "They wished to send their cards to your
lordship." He presented a silver tray with three crude but
business-like cards lying on it.
"Show them in at once," said Haslemere. He stood in front of a
bookcase containing the works of George Eliot, Charles Dickens and Sir
Walter Scott. I knew that bookcase well, and the secret which it so
respectably hid. Behind, was the safe in which our family had for
several generations placed such valuables as happened to be in the
house. Haslemere slid back with a touch a little bronze ornament
decorating a hinge on the glass door. In a tiny recess underneath was
the head of a spring, which he pressed. The whole bookcase slipped
along the wall and revealed the safe. Haslemere opened this, and took
out a despatch box. While Violet received the box from his hands and
laid it on a table near by, my brother closed the safe, and replaced
the bookcase. A moment later, the three important visitors were
ushered into the room, their names pronounced with respect by the
servant: "Mr. Drivenny: Mr. Blackburn: Mr. Combes."
Haslemere met his guests with civility and honoured them consciously by
presenting the trio to Violet. "This is my brother, back from a
military mission to America," he indicated me casually, without
troubling to mention my name.
The three men looked at me, and I at them. It struck me that they
would not have been sorry to dispense with my presence. There was just
a flash of something like chagrin which passed across the faces: the
thin, aquiline face of Drivenny, spectacled, beetle-browed,
clean-shaven: the square, puffy-cheeked face of Combes: the red, round
face of the American, Blackburn. The flash vanished as quickly as it
came, leaving the three middle-aged countenances impassive; but it made
me wonder. Why should the jewel-expert and the two detectives object
to the presence of another beside Lord and Lady Haslemere, when that
other was a near relative of the family? Surely it was a trifling
detail that I should witness the ceremony of their taking over the
contents of the tin box?
Whatever their true feelings might have been, by tacit consent I was
made to realise that I counted for no more in the scene than a fly on
the wall, to Haslemere and Violet. No notice was taken of me while
Haslemere unlocked the despatch box, and Violet--as the organiser of
the scheme--took out the closely piled jewel-boxes it contained. This
done, she proceeded to arrange them on the long oak table, cleared for
the purpose. I stood in the background, as one by one the neatly
numbered velvet, satin or Russia-leather cases were opened, and the
description of the jewels within read aloud by Haslemere from a list.
Each of the three new-comers had a duplicate list, and there was
considerable talk before the cases were closed, and returned to the
despatch box. Most of this talk came from Violet and Haslemere, both
of whom were excited. As for Drivenny, Blackburn and Combes, it seemed
to me that, in their hearts, they would gladly have hastened
proceedings. They were polite but intensely business-like, and as soon
as they could manage it the box was stuffed into a commonplace brown
kitbag which the footman had brought in with the visitors. The three
had motored from London to Hasletowers; and they smiled drily when
Violet asked if they "thought there was danger of an attack on the way
back."
"None whatever," replied the square-faced Combes. "We've made sure of
that. There's too much at stake to run risks."
"Don't you remember I told you, Violet, what Mr. Combes said before?"
Haslemere reminded his wife: "that the road between here and Christie's
would swarm with plain clothes men in motors and on bicycles. If every
gang of jewel-thieves in England or Europe were on this job, they'd
have their trouble for their pains."
"I remember," Violet admitted, "but there's been such a lot about this
affair in the papers! Thieves are so clever----"
"Not so clever as our friends," Haslemere admonished her, with one of
his slightly patronising smiles for the jewel-expert and the
detectives. "That's why they've got the upper hand; that's why we've
asked their co-operation."
"Oh, of course!" exclaimed Violet. They all spent the next sixty
seconds in compliments: and at the end of that time Mr. Combes
announced that he and his companions had better be off. It would be
well to complete the business. Mr. Drivenny asked Haslemere if he
would care to go to Christie's in the car with them, as a matter of
form, and Haslemere replied that he considered it unnecessary. The
valuables, in such hands, were safe as in the Bank of England. The
three men were invited to have drinks, but refused: and Haslemere
himself accompanied them to their car. Violet and I stared at it from
the window. It was an ordinary-looking grey car, with an
ordinary-looking grey chauffeur.
When Haslemere came back to the library, I took up the subject which
the arrival of the men had made me drop.
What did my brother and sister-in-law intend to do, to atone to my
wife? Apparently they intended to do nothing: could not see why they
should do anything: resented my assertion that they had done wrong in
the past, and were not accustomed to being accused or called to account.
My heart had been set on obtaining poetic justice for Maida; but I knew
she wouldn't wish me to plead. That would be for us both a new
humiliation added to the old; an Ossa piled upon Pelion. Losing hope,
I indulged myself by losing also my temper.
"Very well," I said. "Maida will be a success without help from you.
As for me----"
"Mr. Drivenny, Mr. Blackburn and Mr. Combes," announced a footman--not
the same who had made the announcement before.
"What--they've come _back_!" Violet and Haslemere exclaimed together.
"Show them in."
Evidently something had gone wrong! Even I, in the midst of my rage,
was pricked to curiosity.
The three men came in: thin, aquiline Drivenny, square, puffy-faced
Combes, and red, round Blackburn. It was not more than half an hour
since they had gone, yet already they had changed their clothes. They
were all dressed differently, not excepting boots and hats: and Combes
had a black kitbag in place of the brown one. Even in their faces,
figures and bearings there was some subtle change.
"Good gracious! What's happened?" Violet gasped.
The men seemed surprised.