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A
TRAITOR'S WOOING
By
HEADON HILL
_Author of "Her Splendid Sin," "The Hidden Victim,"
"A Race with Ruin," etc. etc._
ILLUSTRATED
LONDON
WARD LOCK & CO. LTD
1909
[Illustration: "'Is that all you have to say to me?' asked Violet quietly."
(Page 168)
_A Traitor's Wooing_] [_Frontispiece_]
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
THE AVENGERS.
THE TRIBUNE.--Mr. Headon Hill's new book, "The Avengers," has not a dull
line, and one's pulse is kept on the jig all the time. He deserves the
highest admiration for the consistent way in which he has avoided the
slightest suspicion of probability.
THE LIVERPOOL COURIER.--We can strongly recommend the story. It is one
of the best things Mr. Hill has done.
THE DUNDEE ADVERTISER.--"The Avengers" maintains the highest reputation
of Mr. Headon Hill as a novelist. The story is crowded with incident,
and, unlike many novels of its class, commands the closest interest of
the reader from start to finish.
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF.
THE GLOBE.--Ingenuity could no further go; and besides its ingenuity the
story can boast of some clever and effective writing.
THE STAGE.--Not even the late Guy Boothby imagined anything more
magnificently preposterous than the motive of Mr. Headon Hill's
"Millions of Mischief."
MORNING LEADER.--Mr. Hill has woven a clever and dramatic plot. He has
seldom put greater finish into his work, and the result is a striking
and vigorous book.
HER SPLENDID SIN.
THE PERTHSHIRE COURIER.--Headon Hill is a master hand at devising and
unravelling mysteries. He always gives us good reading with plenty of
thrilling incident. He has never told an intensely absorbing story with
more dramatic directness than this one. The story is admirably written,
the interest never flagging.
THE NORTHERN WHIG.--Her Splendid Sin stands for sensationalism of a
decidedly striking sort. The novel is written with vigour and is based
on ideas which go to the making of a rattling good story.
THE DUNDEE COURIER.--The reader is hurried breathless from one exciting
situation to another, till in the end the nefarious schemes of a
syndicate of villains are checkmated, and virtue is rewarded. The book
is written in the author's best style.
UNMASKED AT LAST.
THE MORNING LEADER.--Mr. Headon Hill is a past master of thrills and,
like Mr. Holmes, causes us almost to believe that the most innocent
professions are really dangerous.
THE CHRISTIAN WORLD.--The various sensations are very cleverly devised
and Mr. Headon Hill knows how to hold one's attention. The motor car
race, which is the closing episode of a well conceived plot, is full of
sport, from start to finish.
THE LIVERPOOL COURIER.--The Author has never told an intensely absorbing
story with more dramatic directness, and none who once dip into its
pages can lay it down willingly until the last chapter has been read.
A RACE WITH RUIN.
THE MORNING ADVERTISER.--A book by Headon Hill may always be relied on
to provide good reading with plenty of incident. In "A Race with Ruin"
he fully maintains his reputation, and readers will not be disappointed
in their expectation of finding a good, stirring story with an admirable
and well-worked out plot.
THE LEICESTER POST.--It is an admirable sporting story, and should not
only enhance the reputation of its Author, but materially enlarge the
circle of his readers. The plot is deftly planned, and not only soon
arouses interest, but broadens and deepens it until the close.
THE HIDDEN VICTIM.
THE MORNING LEADER.--A fine story of blackmail and plotting. "The Hidden
Victim" abounds in unusual and surprising situations.
THE NORTHERN WHIG.--Mr. Headon Hill handles his chosen topics with great
facility and a commendable degree of craftsmanship. In this novel there
is an amazing series of entanglements.
THE LIVERPOOL COURIER.--It is quite equal to anything the writer has
done. The plot is skilfully devised to carry a weighty load of exciting
episode. The narrative goes forward breathlessly and holds the
attention.
RADFORD SHONE.
THE LEICESTER POST.--Radford Shone is another very welcome volume from
an accomplished pen. The exploits at once rivet attention and hold it
spellbound to the end. Once begun it will be eagerly read right through
to the end.
THE STANDARD.--This novelist has a real genius for the constructional
stories. He knows to a hair's-breadth the best theme to select, and
almost unerringly what details to omit. His power of invention is
remarkable.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I TWO VILLAINS AND THE HEROINE 9
II "A SCREW LOOSE SOMEWHERE" 18
III PRESAGE OF STORM 31
IV NUGENT MOVES A PAWN 42
V UNDER THE SEARCHLIGHT 50
VI THE CRY FROM THE TRAIN 60
VII THE FACE IN THE POOL 71
VIII INTERCEPTED 80
IX THE INQUISITIVE FOREMAN 90
X THE LURE OF LOVE 102
XI THE PEERING EYES 109
XII THE _Cobra's_ SAILING ORDERS 120
XIII FOOL'S PARADISE LOST 128
XIV THE CREAKING STAIR 139
XV A COUNCIL OF THREE 147
XVI BARBED SHAFTS 156
XVII "THE BOOTLACE MAN" 169
XVIII THE TRAP IS SET 178
XIX THE SLEEPING SNAKE 185
XX BLUE LIGHT AND GREEN 195
XXI THE TRAP CLOSES 204
XXII THE SHADOW OF HORROR 213
XXIII IN THE STONE GROTTO 223
XXIV IN THE TOILS 234
XXV THE LAST CHANCE FAILS 243
XXVI ENID IS "MIXED UP" 254
XXVII PURSUIT 263
XXVIII TRAVERS NUGENT PAYS 274
XXIX THE STING OF THE NETTLE 287
XXX AFTERMATH OF STORM 296
A TRAITOR'S WOOING
CHAPTER I
TWO VILLAINS AND THE HEROINE
"Your Highness will find your opportunity now; Miss Maynard is for the
moment alone," Mr. Travers Nugent whispered to his companion.
A guttural "Ah!" was the only answer as the individual addressed left
the speaker's side and made his way through the crush towards a tall
girl who had just dismissed her partner in the last dance. The ball-room
at Brabazon House was almost inconveniently crowded on the occasion of
this, the first great function of the London season, and progress was a
little difficult. A gleam of satisfaction crept into Mr. Nugent's
steadily following eyes when at length the Maharajah stood bowing before
the fair young Englishwoman.
The Indian Prince, a notable figure by reason of the jewelled turban
that crowned his otherwise orthodox European evening dress, gave his arm
to the girl, who greeted him with a pleasant smile of recognition, and
together the pair strolled out through one of the French windows into
the vast tropical winter-garden for which Brabazon House is celebrated.
The dusky face of the Maharajah as it disappeared from view wore an
expression of ecstatic rapture that caused Mr. Nugent's thin lips to
curl in the ghost of a sneer.
"His Highness won't look like that when he comes back," the watcher
muttered under his breath, as he leaned against a pillar and composed
himself to wait. Mr. Travers Nugent spent much of his life in
waiting--with the consolation of knowing that there was generally a big
stake to wait for. He was a well-built man of middle age and height,
wearing a long, fair moustache that at first sight gave him rather a
distinguished air--an impression that was, however, negatived for any
student of character by a hint of shiftiness in the close-set blue eyes.
A bachelor of good family, and of no visible occupation, Travers Nugent
moved easily in the orbit of West End society. He occupied a luxurious
flat in Jermyn Street, and rented besides a pretty cottage in
Devonshire, to which he retired after the fatigues of the season. He had
a host of acquaintances, but very few intimates, and even to these
latter the source of his income was a mystery. He was vaguely supposed
to have inherited a small patrimony from an adventurous uncle who had
died in America, and to whom he sometimes jocularly referred as his
"avuncular oof-bird." As a matter of fact, there was a substratum of
truth in this, to the extent of about a hundred a year, but as Mr.
Nugent usually spent L2,000 in that period some other explanation was
needed.
He could have furnished one readily, had he been so minded. He lived,
and lived well, upon the best asset with which kindly Nature can endow
a man not otherwise provided for--a clever, subtle brain, prompt to
seize every chance that may come to it, and, failing such fortuitous
aid, equally prompt to manufacture the chances for itself. To put it
plainly, Travers Nugent lived upon his wits. A soldier of fortune, he
belonged to the commissioned ranks of the great predatory army which
sacrifices nothing to scruple, to compassion, or to honour. As cruel and
as secret as the grave, he made a very good thing of it, and on its
profits fed several unholy vices which no one knew that he possessed.
For the last three months he had been acting as self-appointed
bear-leader to the arrogant Indian prince who had gone out into the
winter garden with the loveliest of all the budding debutantes of the
year upon his arm. There are many ways in which a not too scrupulous man
of the world can be of use to an Oriental potentate whose civilization
is only skin deep, and Travers Nugent had already established many
claims upon the exalted visitor's gratitude.
His prophecy was quickly verified. Black thunder lowering on his swarthy
brows, the Maharajah of Sindkhote came back through the window into the
ball-room, and he came alone. Another dance was in progress now, but the
Eastern barbarian, under the veneer of Western polish, had broken loose.
Like one demented, yet with some remnants of savage dignity clinging to
him, he strode straight across the floor to where Nugent still leaned
against the pillar. The amused dancers who had to steer clear of his
imperious path forgave much for the priceless jewels in his turban.
"Come away before I kill some one, Nugent," he said in a furious
undertone. "Come round to my rooms at once. I must consult you on a
matter of the utmost importance, in which I need your help."
Travers Nugent's help was always at the disposal of those who were
willing, or could be forced, to pay for it. With the adroit tact for
which he was noted he contrived to get the excited prince out of
Brabazon House without a scene, forbearing to question him till a motor
car had borne them swiftly to the great hotel where the Maharajah was
staying. But as soon as they were alone in the dining-room of the suite
which his patron for the time being rented there escaped him the two
words--
"She refused?"
Bhagwan Singh, Maharajah of Sindkhote, walked unsteadily to the
sideboard and poured out half a tumbler of neat brandy. He drank it at a
gulp, and then turned to his European mentor, restored to the outward
semblance of his customary Oriental calm. A good-looking man with a pale
olive complexion, jet black moustache and features of the full-faced
Eastern type, he was by no means ill-favoured, though in his lazy eyes
there were infinite possibilities of malevolent cruelty.
"Sit down, my dear Nugent, and talk," he said, tossing a gold
cigarette-case across the table. "Yes, she not only refused my offer of
marriage, but laughed at me--treated me, the descendant of a hundred
kings, as a joke. By God! I could have killed her twenty minutes ago,
as she stood smiling disdainfully at me among the palms. But that brandy
has steadied me for a better way. She shall be mine yet, though not as
Maharanee now. I will have my way with her, and then she shall sweep out
the harem."
"That is rather a tall order, Prince," rejoined Nugent, watching the
other narrowly. "You will never accomplish that unless you kidnap her,
and to convey an unwilling maiden from England to India presents, to my
prosaic mind, a good many initial difficulties."
"Difficulties? Yes, but I will give you twenty thousand pounds to help
me to surmount them. And I do not even ask you to devise the scheme for
humbling this proud Englishwoman to the dust. When you told me that
Violet Maynard would laugh me to scorn I did not believe you, but all
the same I, Bhagwan Singh, prepared a plan for meeting the contingency.
It depends, however, on one point. Has the girl a lover already?"
"No; I can reassure you as to that. She has admirers, of course--with
her attractions that goes without saying. But she is perfectly
heart-whole--so far," was Nugent's reply.
"Then success is certain, for I will provide her with a lover," the
Maharajah rejoined, evidently expecting an outburst of surprise at the
apparent paradox.
But his cunning eyes searched Travers Nugent's face in vain for signs of
any such emotions. It was not that astute gentleman's way to show his
inmost feelings, which at the moment were an intense curiosity to learn
what was expected of him in return for the enormous bribe. It was
characteristic of him that it was in his most indifferent manner that he
said:--
"You are altogether too subtle for me, Maharajah, and I cannot think
that you are quite serious. If you have finished poking fun at a jaded
man about town, I think I'll go home to bed."
He half rose, as if to suit the action to the word, and that was the
precise moment when the Hindoo once for all assumed the lead in the
infamous partnership that was to bind them. And Bhagwan Singh gained and
kept that mastery by the simple but efficacious expedient of throwing
off all semblance of the equality on which they had muck-raked London
together. In a blaze of haughty contempt he let his jackal see that he
was understood and appreciated at his proper value.
"You are never jaded when there is plunder in view, and you have no
intention of going from here till you have heard the proposal to which
you will sit still and listen," said Bhagwan Singh, waving him with a
commanding gesture back to his chair. "It comes natural to those of
Royal blood, Mr. Nugent, to estimate truly those who serve them, and I
know that you are a useful but expensive tool, as willing to be bought
as I am to buy you. You have taught me some of your slang. I will act on
the square with you if you will act on the square with me. If I pay you
L20,000, and show you how to do it, will you, without any personal risk
to yourself, aid me in achieving the desire of my heart?"
In a matter of business, and when there were no witnesses, there was
not much pride about Travers Nugent. He tacitly waived his position as
friend of the prince, and became his subordinate by replying:
"I should like to hear your plan before I commit myself, your Highness."
Now the project which the Maharajah of Sindkhote, after further recourse
to the brandy decanter, proceeded to unfold, if put forward by any
ordinary man, would have seemed on the face of it too wildly
preposterous to be entertained for a moment. But Travers Nugent was
aware that his patron's wealth was almost boundless, and that the lavish
expenditure he was prepared to incur would discount most of the
obstacles to the amazing abduction contemplated.
Bhagwan Singh, it transpired, had in his service as commander of his
native body-guard a young Englishman who had been compelled by his
extravagant follies to leave the British regiment in which he had
formerly held a commission. He had incurred such debts in India that he
would have been unable to leave that country even if he had possessed
the price of a passage home, and, being thus stranded and penniless, he
had accepted a mere pittance to drill the semi-barbarous matchlockmen of
Sindkhote.
"He is mine body and soul, and the wretch is nearly desperate with
home-sickness and misery," the Maharajah went on, warming as he saw that
he had gripped Nugent's attention. "There are no Europeans for him to
associate with in Sindkhote, and before his fall he was the most popular
young officer at Simla and Calcutta--a good dancer, a crack shot and a
grand polo player. He is as strong and as handsome as one of the ancient
gods, and all the ladies adored him. I propose to return to India by the
next mail boat, and I shall send him home to England, so that Violet
Maynard may fall in love with him."
"What good is that going to do you?" asked Nugent, though his agile mind
was already grasping the germ of the idea.
"It will be the task of this Leslie Chermside to induce Miss Maynard to
elope with him on a fast steamer, ostensibly his own yacht, which I will
furnish you with the funds to charter," the Maharajah continued. "It
will be for you to select the crew and make all the arrangements, as
well as secretly supervising Chermside's courtship and diplomatically
working old Maynard so as to drive his daughter to consent to elope.
Once on board, the rest will be easy, provided the embarkation is
skilfully managed. She will make all speed round the Cape for Sindkhote,
which is a maritime state, and the thing is done."
"And my twenty thousand will be paid--when?"
"It will be placed to your credit the day Violet Maynard sets foot in my
dominions. In any case, you will at once be supplied with the necessary
money for preliminary expenses."
Nugent rapidly reflected. Win or lose the main stake, there should be
some pretty pickings out of those preliminary expenses, and it ought not
to be difficult in the event of failure so to cover up his own
connection with the dastardly project as to escape unpleasant
consequences for himself. It was a tempting prospect, but there was a
flaw in the scheme from the point of view of one who would have sold his
best friend for a song.
"You are sure of this fellow Chermside?" he said. "He won't play fast
and loose with you, and chuck the whole job as soon as he gets quit of
India and his embarrassments there?"
Bhagwan Singh's sensual lips creased in a cruel smile. "My dear Nugent,"
he said, "Mr. Leslie Chermside will not really be quit of his Indian
debts till he has served my purpose. I shall buy them up, and hold them
over him as a bond of good faith. If he shows signs of kicking over the
traces it will be for you to put on the screw--in your own way. Not that
I anticipate anything of the sort from one who has sunk as low as he
has, and I shall further secure his loyalty by the promise of a small
pension contingent on his success."
Travers Nugent hesitated no longer. "Here is my hand on it," he
exclaimed with an admiration that was not wholly feigned. "It would be
flying in the face of Providence to stand out of a campaign planned on
such masterly lines. Your Highness has supplied the strategy; I will
devise the tactics."