“You will no doubt be surprised at this manner of address, but
various things have led me to conclude that the above relationship
exists between us.
“My uncle was Gilbert Kildair, the well-known artist, who, I find
according to the records of the Municipality of Menton, was duly
married to Lucia Fontana on the nineteenth of October, 1898.
“After his death she went to England to see if his family would not
do something for her and her son; but they had quarrelled with him
and refused to recognize her as his wife.
“My mother was a Kildair, and struck by the curious resemblance
between us, I made inquiries with this result.
“I know that up to now your feelings towards me have been hostile,
but I hope that in view of our newly discovered relationship, you
will let byegones be byegones. After all, blood is thicker than
water, and already I feel an interest in you that exceeds the warmth
of ordinary friendship.
“I would like you to visit me at my Villa. If it suits you, my car
will await you at ten this evening at the Church of St. Devoté. Do
run you up. Please do not fail me.
“Your cousin,
“PAUL VULNING.”
Hugh had to read this extraordinary letter over three times before he
understood the significance of it. To his amazement succeeded disgust.
He had no desire to be related to Vulning. His dislike for the man was
invincible. There was also his resentment towards his father’s family.
He did not want to have anything to do with them. They had refused to
recognize his mother, and had never shown the slightest interest in
himself. Vulning was typical of them, arrogant, selfish, supercilious.
Why then this sudden interest on his part? Why did Vulning recognize
him now, want to take him up? Hugh was puzzled.
He decided to go to Vulning’s villa; there could be no harm in that. He
might gain some information about his parents. He did not like Vulning
any the better now that he knew he was a cousin. Still there was no
reason they should not be decently civil to one another.
He was glad to learn that his father had been a well-known artist.
That accounted for his own modest talent and his joy in playing with
colours. His mother ... his poor mother ... perhaps she was one of the
Fontanas of Monaco, the famous Fontanas. He must go over to Menton and
look up the register. The letter suggested to him new and engrossing
lines of thought. He awaited the evening with impatience.
At ten o’clock the carmine car was waiting, breathing softly, with
great glowing eyes. The chauffeur touched his hat and Hugh leapt into
the seat beside him. How he loved a car! This was a Hispana Suiza
and the one-eyed chauffeur drove like a demon. He climbed the steep
serpentine hill, nursing his motor with infinite delicacy. The engine
roared triumphantly; the lights of the town fell away; the world
widened gloriously. They rose with a steady, panting urge, toward the
mountains and the stars.
Soon they were well in the belt of orange groves and the road became
more difficult to follow. The chauffeur was driving at a slow pace, the
way twisting and turning. Hugh could hardly believe that any one lived
in such a remote place until he remembered that Vulning’s villa was the
highest on the hillside. It was ideal for any one who loved seclusion;
the view must be superb. Presently lights swooped towards them, and the
wheels of the car ground in the gravel. They had arrived.
There is always something mysterious about the approach to a lonely
house at night. The sense of mystery at Vulning’s villa was heightened
by the great garden that encircled it. The vast velvety blackness, with
its suggestions of pines and cyprus, and its rich sullen silence was
almost aggressive. Against the mountain the tall house loomed faintly.
It was terraced on three sides, with a flight of steps leading up to
the front entrance.
As he mounted them the door opened and a man awaited him. Hugh was
surprised to see it was Bob Bender. Bob smiled in his sly, deprecating
way.
“How are you, sir? Mr. Vulning’s expecting you. He’s in the library.
Come this way.”
He led Hugh down a long unlighted hall and halted before a door. The
air was stale and heavy.
Then the door was opened and Hugh found himself in a large sombre room,
panelled in dark wood; over what appeared to be a bay window hung
heavy crimson curtains. The window was evidently open, as the curtains
trembled slightly. By an oak table in the middle of the room stood
Vulning with a curious smile on his face.
As the two men faced one another the resemblance between them was more
striking than ever. Both were tall and slim and straight. Both had the
severely regular features of the type that used to be known as the
English governing class. Their hair was of the same light chestnut
and brushed smoothly back. But while Hugh’s eyes were black, those of
Vulning were blue; while Hugh’s face was frank and boyish, that of
Vulning was cynical and blasé. There appeared to be a dozen years of
difference in their ages.
For a moment there was an awkward pause, then Vulning held out his hand
with a rather exaggerated cordiality.
“Come on, now, be cousinly. I know you are prejudiced against me; but,
hang it all, I’ve suffered more at your hands than you have at mine.
Let’s forget it, bury the hatchet, shake hands. Come, be a good sport.”
Hugh complied reluctantly. Cousin or not he could not overcome his
repugnance to this man.
“You were doubtless surprised,” Vulning went on pleasantly. “I was,
too, when I made the discovery. It was our mutual friend, Mrs. Belmire,
who put me on the track. It is really a very curious coincidence.
However, we won’t dwell on that. I asked you up here to speak about
quite another matter. Won’t you sit down? You’ll find that arm-chair
quite decent.”
Hugh took it, but Vulning remained standing.
“Now,” he continued, “I am afraid I am going to surprise you a second
time. To make a long story short, a few days ago there came into my
hands, in a round-about-way, certain documents with which you are
doubtless familiar. It was with regard to these I wanted to see you.
Look....”
With that Vulning extracted from the inside pocket of his coat a rolled
mass of manuscript, and laid it on the table, keeping his hand on it.
“You know this, eh?”
Hugh was speechless. He sat staring at the document. The cover had been
torn away, but he recognized it at once.
“The system of Professor Durand,” he gasped.
“Precisely. It’s all here. It was taken from his safe, and has come
into my possession; how--I cannot for the moment explain. Now what I
want of you is this....”
Vulning bent forward eagerly, his eyes gleaming.
“You and I alone know of this. I have all the documents that refer to
the system, but I am forced to confess I can do nothing with it. You,
I believe, are the one man who can decipher it. Now I want to propose
a partnership between us. You will translate this manuscript. We will
work the thing together. We will get a hundred million francs out of
the bank. We will share fifty-fifty. That is generous,--too generous.
But then we are cousins. Well, are you on?”
Hugh sat as if transfixed, staring at the folio. The sudden sight of
it, combined with the impudence of the proposal, quite took away his
breath. Vulning watched him keenly.
“Takes you some time to realize it. I told you I would surprise you.”
Hugh started up. “But,” he cried, “these documents do not belong to
you. They were stolen. The professor intended to leave them to me after
his death. I was to publish them. It’s a sacred trust. Here, give them
to me....”
He made a grab for the documents; but Vulning withdrew them quickly,
and at the same time jerked a small revolver from his pocket.
“No, you don’t,” he sneered. “Stand back. I’ve got you covered.”
“You’ve no right to these papers,” Hugh protested hotly. “I’ll go and
tell the police.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort. Don’t be a fool. It’s a fair offer I’m
making you. You translate this and we’ll work together. Come!”
“I refuse.”
“You refuse. You surprise me. An easy chance to make fifty million
francs. Think of all it means, man,--wealth, luxury, beauty. We are
getting it all legitimately from an institution that deserves no better
treatment. Consider again. You’ll translate this?”
“I tell you; no!”
“May I ask why?”
“Because.... Look here, how did those documents come into your hands?”
“Never mind. I told you we would not go into that.”
“You have some connection with this theft. You....”
Then a light burst on Hugh. The man for whom he had been arrested--
“It was you who stole them.... And--Oh, my God! ... you damned villain!
It was you, you who murdered Professor Durand.”
Vulning’s face went white; he seemed about to collapse.
“No, I didn’t,” he stammered. “Not that. I swear I didn’t do that. Look
here, I’ll be quite honest. I confess I took the papers. The professor
admitted me in the dusk, thinking it was you. He was working, and the
safe was open. I asked to refer to the system, and he brought it to
me. Then he saw who it was. We struggled, and I gave him a touch of
chloroform, a mere touch, not enough to harm him. When I came away he
was sleeping like a baby. I took the papers, closed the safe and left
very quietly. That’s all I know. He was found later, stabbed to the
heart. I did not do it. I swear to that.”
Aghast, incapable of action, Hugh stood staring at him. Then as quickly
as he had weakened Vulning recovered himself, and started forward,
tense, tigerish.
“I’ve told you too much,” he snarled. He covered Hugh with his revolver.
“You dog! I hate you. You refuse to give up what you know,--well then,
there’s only one thing left,--to make you. Ho! there.”
At his shout the door was thrown open. Bob Bender and the one-eyed
chauffeur rushed in.
“Quick. That rope in the corner! Tie him up. Steady there, you young
hound; or I’ll shoot.”
The chauffeur and Bob Bender threw themselves on Hugh. In spite of
Vulning’s threat, he struggled fiercely. It was not until the chauffeur
had pinioned and tripped him that he fell heavily. The three men held
him down, and trussed him so that he could not move. He lay helpless,
gazing up at them and panting painfully.
“Ah,” said Vulning, “that was hard. Let me get my breath....”
He regarded Hugh malevolently. As he lit a cigarette, his eyes were
sinister in their cruelty.
“He refuses to do what we want, boys. There’s only one thing left,
regrettable though it is; we’ve got to make him. Prop him up against
the wall.”
They did so. Hugh glared at them.
“Go on,” he gasped. “You murdered the professor. Murder me too.”
“I think we’ll get what we want out of you without that,” said Vulning.
“Close that window, Bob. He’ll probably scream. Charlot, you know your
job.”
What were they going to do? Hugh’s eyes followed them fearfully. He
watched Bob Bender go to the window and remain some moments fumbling
at the latch. He saw the villainous-faced chauffeur leave the room and
return with a pair of powerful pincers in his hand. Meanwhile Paul
Vulning sat down on the edge of the table and inhaled his cigarette. He
was evidently enjoying the scene and proposed to play with his victim
as a cat does with a mouse. Well, Hugh resolved, he would not cry out
whatever happened. At least Vulning should not get that satisfaction
from him.
The chauffeur caught Hugh’s hand, and, gripping the end of his thumb
with the pincers, began to squeeze. Hugh felt the nail crack. The pain
was excruciating. His breath came quick; his eyes started from his
head. He choked back his groan of agony. Vulning was grinning now, the
grin of a devil. It was that grin that nerved Hugh; not a sound passed
his lips.
“Harder yet,” hissed Vulning. “Make him scream. Begin on another
finger. Get a good grip. Squeeze! Remember, there are ten of them.”
He was carried away by a passion of cruelty and trembled with a strange
joy as he watched Hugh’s face. The pain was so atrocious that Hugh
almost fainted. Never mind! They should not make him give in. They
should kill him first.
“Here, let me do it,” said Vulning. “You’re too easy.”
Hugh felt his nail bursting under the continued pressure. He closed his
eyes. His breath came in long gasps....
Then suddenly in that tense and thrilling silence he heard a voice
ringing out, high, harsh, metallic:
“_Hands up, all of you._”
CHAPTER SIX
THE ESCAPE
1.
The three swung round and jerked their hands above their heads. A
very tall man stood in the doorway. He had a spade-shaped beard and a
coppery complexion. His hair of a glossy black was brushed smoothly
back from a long, retreating forehead. His large nose was like the beak
of a bird, and his black eyes glittered. In his outstretched hands he
held two large automatic pistols. Hugh recognized to his amazement the
supposed Brazilian diplomat, Doctor Bergius.
“Keep your hands up, gentlemen,” said Doctor Bergius warningly; and
with a careless air he lowered his pistols and entered the room.
At his heels trooped three others. The first, no other than the dashing
Italian Castelli, was in evening dress, but handling his revolver as if
accustomed to its use. The other two were the most blood-thirsty pair
of ruffians Hugh had ever seen. One was huge and hulking, hairy like a
bear. A short beard almost covered his face, and his hair, bristly as
that of a worn scrubbing-brush, came down to meet his bushy eyebrows.
His companion was a very small man, spare, active and hairy as a
monkey, with a lean and withered face and slit eyes that twinkled with
malice.
“Come on, Golaz,” said Doctor Bergius to the tall ruffian. “You can
look after the old fellow. Golaz, gentlemen, is my knife-man. In fact
he used to be a pig-sticker. He is rather an enthusiastic specialist.
He’d as lief cut your throat as look at you. Wouldn’t you, Golaz?”
The ursine man grunted in a pleased way. He took out a
murderous-looking knife and going up to Bob Bender, who was standing
very straight, with his arms in the air, made a playful pass with the
knife across Bob’s scraggy throat. A little spot of blood appeared. Bob
shuddered. Then Golaz gave him a little dig in the ribs with the needle
point of the knife. Bob shivered.
“Golaz is really an artist,” said the doctor. “I have the greatest
difficulty in restraining him. Now let me introduce another of my pets.
Advance, Gamba.”
The simian man came forward grinning.
“Gamba’s specialty is strangling,” explained Doctor Bergius. “His work
is slower but not less sure. Once let him get those hairy hands of his
around your throat, and you’ll have to kill him to make him let go. You
love to get your fingers round a windpipe, don’t you, Gamba?”
Gamba grinned broadly, clutching and gripping with his hands in a
suggestive manner.
“All right, Gamba, you can account for the chauffeur. As for you,
Castelli, I leave you the Englishman. Now that these preliminaries are
all settled I can take a smoke.”
With a sigh of satisfaction Doctor Bergius sank down in the big
arm-chair and lit a cigarette.
“Ah,” he sighed again, “what would life be without the soothing weed?
You can have women and wine, Castelli; I would not exchange them both
for nicotine. This is a comfortable den, Vulning; I feel quite at home
already. Ha! I see you have the papers there. Castelli, hand them to
me.”
The Italian took the system from Vulning’s hand and gave it to the
doctor.
“Thank you. I imagine it’s all here. Also ...” he turned to Hugh, “it’s
translator. Excellent. You know, Vulning, you’ve given me a lot of
trouble. We were both on the same errand, only you went out by the door
just as I came in by the window. What a pity you closed that safe. How
was I to know it was empty? There I was struggling to open it, when the
old man woke up. Golaz had to take his case in hand. The methods of
Golaz are not refined but they are effective. Well, now to business.”
Doctor Bergius turned over the leaves of the system. “Here it is in my
hands at last, the key that opens the golden gates of wealth. I say,
Vulning, I’m sorry for you. You worked hard for this. I’m not such a
bad chap after all. I’m going to take you in with us. You and Castelli
can be on the same footing. The others can rank with Golaz and Gamba.
Do you accept?”
Vulning nodded sullenly; the other two with alacrity.
“Good. You may lower your hands. And now let us come to this young man
you have so beautifully bound, and I fear, so sadly maltreated. Your
methods are primitive. I think I can show you a better way to make him
listen to reason. Golaz, bring in the girl.”
Hugh started. He had fallen forward; but, by turning his head
painfully, he could follow the movements of Golaz. He saw the big
cut-throat disappear into the hallway. He heard a low moan and it
seemed his heart forgot to beat. With straining eyes he watched the
doorway. Yes, his worst fears were realized. Golaz entered with Margot
in his arms. Her hands and feet were tied; her eyes closed, her
hair streaming to the floor. She did not seem conscious of what was
happening.
“Put her down,” said Doctor Bergius. “And now suppose we begin by
trying this instrument of torture on those rosy little nails. It may be
more effective with our obstinate friend here. Golaz and Gamba, hold
her. Castelli, you can wield the pincers.”
But Castelli hung back. “No, Master,” he said with a shrug, “I have no
stomach for that. A man, yes! A woman, well....”
“All right, Castelli. I know your softness of heart where the weaker
sex is concerned. Vulning, to you will fall the honour.”
Again Paul Vulning took up the big pincers, and the points closed over
the girl’s thumb-nail. With a piercing scream she opened her eyes.
“Hear that?” said Doctor Bergius to Hugh. “That’s only a beginning. If
necessary we’ll crack her ten little nails like hazel nuts. Then if you
don’t do what we want, I’ll hand her over to Golaz and Gamba to work
their will on her. You know what that means. On the other hand if you
consent, if you tell us the meaning of all this, you will both be well
treated. You will perhaps be kept in close confinement for a few weeks,
but after that you will be released. By then I hope we shall be ready
to depart with the spoil. Shall we begin again on the girl?”
Hugh shook his head. His face was stamped with horror. “No, no,” he
cried hoarsely. “I’ll do anything you want.”
“That’s a sensible lad. Seat him at the table and release his right
arm. Vulning, have the goodness to fetch me pen, ink and paper.”
Vulning brought them from a little card table that stood in front of
the bay window. Doctor Bergius rose and bent over Hugh.
“Now,” he said in his harsh metallic voice, “what we want you to do
is quite simple. You will put on that paper all the symbols in those
documents with their meanings. After that we will shut you up while
I make the translation. If you forget anything and give me needless
trouble, I shall have to deal severely with you. Also I will hold you
responsible for the subsequent working of the system. So you see I want
you to take your task very seriously. Now, go ahead.”
Hugh was placed facing the curtained window. He took up the pen and
began to write. Doctor Bergius paced up and down. Every now and then he
would look at the document in his hand and then at the symbols Hugh was
writing. The page was soon covered with them. Hugh strained his memory.
Had he forgotten anything? Were they complete?
As he paused for a moment, his brows pursed in thought, the eyes of all
were fixed on him. The doctor stood with his back to the bay window,
and as he struck a match to light a fresh cigarette, he laid the
precious documents down on the little card table. Then in the tense
silence the striking of the match startled Hugh, and he glanced up....
What was it he was seeing?... _Behind the doctor a long sinewy hand was
passing between the crimson curtains. It reached towards the little
card table; it clutched the bundle of papers; it disappeared. But in
that swift moment Hugh saw that the little finger of the hand was
missing._
2.
The silence was almost painful. Hugh wondered how long it would last.
Suddenly Paul Vulning pointed to the empty table with a cry.
“The system! It has vanished.”
Swift as a flash Doctor Bergius looked down. Then he rushed to the
window.
“Quick,” he shouted, “I saw some one leap from the terrace. All of you
in pursuit. We must recover it at all cost.”
He dashed out, Vulning, Castelli and the three others following him.
From the darkness Hugh heard shots and much shouting.
“Scatter. Search the garden. Fire only if you’re sure.”
They had all gone. He was alone with Margot. He tried to see her, to go
to her. He twisted around and tumbled from his chair.
Could he believe his ears? As he lay face down he heard a voice address
him.
“Quick, sir. I’m goin’ to cut the ropes.”
It was old Bob Bender. He cut and slashed to such good purpose that in
a moment Hugh and Margot were both free.
“There’s not a moment to lose,” whispered Bob. “They’re hunting out
in front but they may return any minute. You must escape by the back.
Come, I’ll show you the way. Buck up, missy, you’ve got to make an
effort.”
Hugh supported the girl, and Bob piloted them along the dark hallway.
At the foot of a flight of stairs Bob opened a door. The pure air of
the mountain caressed their faces.
“Take to the woods,” whispered Bob. “Climb high, make a wide circle.
I’ll slip back and get that paper you wrote. Then I’ll join them in the
hunt. Good luck to you. Krantz is a wonder. The Casino is saved.”
3.
Taking the girl’s hand Hugh led her through the darkness, down a narrow
flight of stone steps, and along a steep pathway amid the shrubbery. He
heard sounds of the pursuit from the other side of the house and once
the sharp crack of a revolver. Once too, some one came panting along
the pathway towards them. He had scarcely time to pull Margot into the
deep shadow of the bushes before a burly form pounded past. Trembling
and terrified the girl clung to him until the footsteps were drowned in
silence.
Once more he dragged her on. At the end of the pathway, they came to
a small door set in the high wall, secured by a rusted bolt that at
first resisted all his efforts. Suddenly it shot back, and they found
themselves on the mountain side.
From the door a steep trail led to higher altitudes, and up this he
hurried her. Rocks tripped them, and thorny bushes clutched at them,
but spurred by fear they stumbled on. Even when the tiny donkey-path
faded out and they found themselves on the raw and ragged flanks of the
mountain, they continued to climb and climb.
Several times he thought Margot was going to give out, but a few words
from him inspired her with a new courage. In the last of these pauses
he listened acutely. The silence was absolute. They must be safe by
now. They had been climbing for nearly an hour. He urged her to make
one more effort, but she was unequal to it and entirely collapsed.
Lifting her in his arms he carried her to where a huge overhanging
boulder formed a shallow shelter and laid her down. Resting her head on
his knee, he covered her with his coat. Then with his back to the rock
he waited for the daylight.
With the first brightening of the dove-grey sky he saw that they had
climbed further than he had reckoned. They were on the slope beneath
the Tete-du-Chien; above them towered the great bluff, its beetling
front steel grey, stained with cinnamon, and around them, as if the
greater gods had pelted it in sport, huge boulders heaped in fantastic
confusion. Below them the olive groves were saturnine; the roofs of the
Condamine a sullen crimson, and the sea’s immense tranquillity painted
with a pale fire.
He looked down at the white face, pillowed on shining hair. Poor girl!
How desperately exhausted she must be. Her sleep had been troubled by
fits of trembling; and dry nervous sobs had awakened her half a dozen
times. He had soothed her with assurances of safety. He aroused her
gently and pointed to the brightening sky.
“Look!”
“But you are chilled through,” she said. “You are shivering. You should
not have given me your coat.”
They rose stiffly, their faces haggard in the dawn. Slowly and
painfully they descended the mountain.
“What happened,” he asked, “that night?...”