HER arm through Jane’s, dragging her along, Tuppence reached the
station. Her quick ears caught the sound of the approaching train.
“Hurry up,” she panted, “or we’ll miss it.”
They arrived on the platform just as the train came to a standstill.
Tuppence opened the door of an empty first-class compartment, and the
two girls sank down breathless on the padded seats.
A man looked in, then passed on to the next carriage. Jane started
nervously. Her eyes dilated with terror. She looked questioningly at
Tuppence.
“Is he one of them, do you think?” she breathed.
Tuppence shook her head.
“No, no. It’s all right.” She took Jane’s hand in hers. “Tommy wouldn’t
have told us to do this unless he was sure we’d be all right.”
“But he doesn’t know them as I do!” The girl shivered. “You can’t
understand. Five years! Five long years! Sometimes I thought I should go
mad.”
“Never mind. It’s all over.”
“Is it?”
The train was moving now, speeding through the night at a gradually
increasing rate. Suddenly Jane Finn started up.
“What was that? I thought I saw a face--looking in through the window.”
“No, there’s nothing. See.” Tuppence went to the window, and lifting the
strap let the pane down.
“You’re sure?”
“Quite sure.”
The other seemed to feel some excuse was necessary:
“I guess I’m acting like a frightened rabbit, but I can’t help it. If
they caught me now they’d----” Her eyes opened wide and staring.
“_Don’t!_” implored Tuppence. “Lie back, and _don’t think_. You can be
quite sure that Tommy wouldn’t have said it was safe if it wasn’t.”
“My cousin didn’t think so. He didn’t want us to do this.”
“No,” said Tuppence, rather embarrassed.
“What are you thinking of?” said Jane sharply.
“Why?”
“Your voice was so--queer!”
“I _was_ thinking of something,” confessed Tuppence. “But I don’t want
to tell you--not now. I may be wrong, but I don’t think so. It’s just
an idea that came into my head a long time ago. Tommy’s got it too--I’m
almost sure he has. But don’t _you_ worry--there’ll be time enough for
that later. And it mayn’t be so at all! Do what I tell you--lie back and
don’t think of anything.”
“I’ll try.” The long lashes drooped over the hazel eyes.
Tuppence, for her part, sat bolt upright--much in the attitude of a
watchful terrier on guard. In spite of herself she was nervous. Her eyes
flashed continually from one window to the other. She noted the exact
position of the communication cord. What it was that she feared, she
would have been hard put to it to say. But in her own mind she was
far from feeling the confidence displayed in her words. Not that she
disbelieved in Tommy, but occasionally she was shaken with doubts as to
whether anyone so simple and honest as he was could ever be a match for
the fiendish subtlety of the arch-criminal.
If they once reached Sir James Peel Edgerton in safety, all would be
well. But would they reach him? Would not the silent forces of Mr. Brown
already be assembling against them? Even that last picture of Tommy,
revolver in hand, failed to comfort her. By now he might be overpowered,
borne down by sheer force of numbers.... Tuppence mapped out her plan of
campaign.
As the train at length drew slowly into Charing Cross, Jane Finn sat up
with a start.
“Have we arrived? I never thought we should!”
“Oh, I thought we’d get to London all right. If there’s going to be any
fun, now is when it will begin. Quick, get out. We’ll nip into a taxi.”
In another minute they were passing the barrier, had paid the necessary
fares, and were stepping into a taxi.
“King’s Cross,” directed Tuppence. Then she gave a jump. A man looked in
at the window, just as they started. She was almost certain it was the
same man who had got into the carriage next to them. She had a horrible
feeling of being slowly hemmed in on every side.
“You see,” she explained to Jane, “if they think we’re going to Sir
James, this will put them off the scent. Now they’ll imagine we’re going
to Mr. Carter. His country place is north of London somewhere.”
Crossing Holborn there was a block, and the taxi was held up. This was
what Tuppence had been waiting for.
“Quick,” she whispered. “Open the right-hand door!”
The two girls stepped out into the traffic. Two minutes later they were
seated in another taxi and were retracing their steps, this time direct
to Carlton House Terrace.
“There,” said Tuppence, with great satisfaction, “this ought to do them.
I can’t help thinking that I’m really rather clever! How that other taxi
man will swear! But I took his number, and I’ll send him a postal order
to-morrow, so that he won’t lose by it if he happens to be genuine.
What’s this thing swerving----Oh!”
There was a grinding noise and a bump. Another taxi had collided with
them.
In a flash Tuppence was out on the pavement. A policeman was
approaching. Before he arrived Tuppence had handed the driver five
shillings, and she and Jane had merged themselves in the crowd.
“It’s only a step or two now,” said Tuppence breathlessly. The accident
had taken place in Trafalgar Square.
“Do you think the collision was an accident, or done deliberately?”
“I don’t know. It might have been either.”
Hand-in-hand, the two girls hurried along.
“It may be my fancy,” said Tuppence suddenly, “but I feel as though
there was some one behind us.”
“Hurry!” murmured the other. “Oh, hurry!”
They were now at the corner of Carlton House Terrace, and their spirits
lightened. Suddenly a large and apparently intoxicated man barred their
way.
“Good evening, ladies,” he hiccupped. “Whither away so fast?”
“Let us pass, please,” said Tuppence imperiously.
“Just a word with your pretty friend here.” He stretched out an unsteady
hand, and clutched Jane by the shoulder. Tuppence heard other footsteps
behind. She did not pause to ascertain whether they were friends or
foes. Lowering her head, she repeated a manœuvre of childish days,
and butted their aggressor full in the capacious middle. The success of
these unsportsmanlike tactics was immediate. The man sat down abruptly
on the pavement. Tuppence and Jane took to their heels. The house they
sought was some way down. Other footsteps echoed behind them. Their
breath was coming in choking gasps as they reached Sir James’s door.
Tuppence seized the bell and Jane the knocker.
The man who had stopped them reached the foot of the steps. For a moment
he hesitated, and as he did so the door opened. They fell into the hall
together. Sir James came forward from the library door.
“Hullo! What’s this?”
He stepped forward, and put his arm round Jane as she swayed
uncertainly. He half carried her into the library, and laid her on the
leather couch. From a tantalus on the table he poured out a few drops of
brandy, and forced her to drink them. With a sigh she sat up, her eyes
still wild and frightened.
“It’s all right. Don’t be afraid, my child. You’re quite safe.”
Her breath came more normally, and the colour was returning to her
cheeks. Sir James looked at Tuppence quizzically.
“So you’re not dead, Miss Tuppence, any more than that Tommy boy of
yours was!”
“The Young Adventurers take a lot of killing,” boasted Tuppence.
“So it seems,” said Sir James dryly. “Am I right in thinking that the
joint venture has ended in success, and that this”--he turned to the
girl on the couch--“is Miss Jane Finn?”
Jane sat up.
“Yes,” she said quietly, “I am Jane Finn. I have a lot to tell you.”
“When you are stronger----”
“No--now!” Her voice rose a little. “I shall feel safer when I have told
everything.”
“As you please,” said the lawyer.
He sat down in one of the big arm-chairs facing the couch. In a low
voice Jane began her story.
“I came over on the _Lusitania_ to take up a post in Paris. I was
fearfully keen about the war, and just dying to help somehow or other. I
had been studying French, and my teacher said they were wanting help in
a hospital in Paris, so I wrote and offered my services, and they were
accepted. I hadn’t got any folk of my own, so it made it easy to arrange
things.
“When the _Lusitania_ was torpedoed, a man came up to me. I’d noticed
him more than once--and I’d figured it out in my own mind that he
was afraid of somebody or something. He asked me if I was a patriotic
American, and told me he was carrying papers which were just life or
death to the Allies. He asked me to take charge of them. I was to watch
for an advertisement in the _Times_. If it didn’t appear, I was to take
them to the American Ambassador.
“Most of what followed seems like a nightmare still. I see it in my
dreams sometimes.... I’ll hurry over that part. Mr. Danvers had told me
to watch out. He might have been shadowed from New York, but he didn’t
think so. At first I had no suspicions, but on the boat to Holyhead I
began to get uneasy. There was one woman who had been very keen to look
after me, and chum up with me generally--a Mrs. Vandemeyer. At first I’d
been only grateful to her for being so kind to me; but all the time I
felt there was something about her I didn’t like, and on the Irish
boat I saw her talking to some queer-looking men, and from the way they
looked I saw that they were talking about me. I remembered that she’d
been quite near me on the _Lusitania_ when Mr. Danvers gave me the
packet, and before that she’d tried to talk to him once or twice. I
began to get scared, but I didn’t quite see what to do.
“I had a wild idea of stopping at Holyhead, and not going on to London
that day, but I soon saw that that would be plumb foolishness. The only
thing was to act as though I’d noticed nothing, and hope for the best.
I couldn’t see how they could get me if I was on my guard. One thing
I’d done already as a precaution--ripped open the oilskin packet and
substituted blank paper, and then sewn it up again. So, if anyone did
manage to rob me of it, it wouldn’t matter.
“What to do with the real thing worried me no end. Finally I opened it
out flat--there were only two sheets--and laid it between two of the
advertisement pages of a magazine. I stuck the two pages together
round the edge with some gum off an envelope. I carried the magazine
carelessly stuffed into the pocket of my ulster.
“At Holyhead I tried to get into a carriage with people that looked all
right, but in a queer way there seemed always to be a crowd round me
shoving and pushing me just the way I didn’t want to go. There was
something uncanny and frightening about it. In the end I found myself in
a carriage with Mrs. Vandemeyer after all. I went out into the corridor,
but all the other carriages were full, so I had to go back and sit down.
I consoled myself with the thought that there were other people in the
carriage--there was quite a nice-looking man and his wife sitting just
opposite. So I felt almost happy about it until just outside London. I
had leaned back and closed my eyes. I guess they thought I was asleep,
but my eyes weren’t quite shut, and suddenly I saw the nice-looking man
get something out of his bag and hand it to Mrs. Vandemeyer, and as he
did so he _winked_....
“I can’t tell you how that wink sort of froze me through and through. My
only thought was to get out in the corridor as quick as ever I could. I
got up, trying to look natural and easy. Perhaps they saw something--I
don’t know--but suddenly Mrs. Vandemeyer said ‘Now,’ and flung something
over my nose and mouth as I tried to scream. At the same moment I felt a
terrific blow on the back of my head....”
She shuddered. Sir James murmured something sympathetically. In a minute
she resumed:
“I don’t know how long it was before I came back to consciousness. I
felt very ill and sick. I was lying on a dirty bed. There was a
screen round it, but I could hear two people talking in the room. Mrs.
Vandemeyer was one of them. I tried to listen, but at first I couldn’t
take much in. When at last I did begin to grasp what was going on--I was
just terrified! I wonder I didn’t scream right out there and then.
“They hadn’t found the papers. They’d got the oilskin packet with the
blanks, and they were just mad! They didn’t know whether _I_‘d changed
the papers, or whether Danvers had been carrying a dummy message,
while the real one was sent another way. They spoke of”--she closed her
eyes--“torturing me to find out!
“I’d never known what fear--really sickening fear--was before! Once
they came to look at me. I shut my eyes and pretended to be still
unconscious, but I was afraid they’d hear the beating of my heart.
However, they went away again. I began thinking madly. What could I do?
I knew I wouldn’t be able to stand up against torture very long.
“Suddenly something put the thought of loss of memory into my head. The
subject had always interested me, and I’d read an awful lot about it.
I had the whole thing at my finger-tips. If only I could succeed in
carrying the bluff through, it might save me. I said a prayer, and drew
a long breath. Then I opened my eyes and started babbling in _French!_
“Mrs. Vandemeyer came round the screen at once. Her face was so wicked I
nearly died, but I smiled up at her doubtfully, and asked her in French
where I was.
“It puzzled her, I could see. She called the man she had been talking
to. He stood by the screen with his face in shadow. He spoke to me in
French. His voice was very ordinary and quiet, but somehow, I don’t know
why, he scared me worse than the woman. I felt he’d seen right through
me, but I went on playing my part. I asked again where I was, and
then went on that there was something I _must_ remember--_must_
remember--only for the moment it was all gone. I worked myself up to
be more and more distressed. He asked me my name. I said I didn’t
know--that I couldn’t remember anything at all.
“Suddenly he caught my wrist, and began twisting it. The pain was awful.
I screamed. He went on. I screamed and screamed, but I managed to shriek
out things in French. I don’t know how long I could have gone on, but
luckily I fainted. The last thing I heard was his voice saying: ‘That’s
not bluff! Anyway, a kid of her age wouldn’t know enough.’ I guess he
forgot American girls are older for their age than English ones, and
take more interest in scientific subjects.
“When I came to, Mrs. Vandemeyer was sweet as honey to me. She’d had her
orders, I guess. She spoke to me in French--told me I’d had a shock
and been very ill. I should be better soon. I pretended to be rather
dazed--murmured something about the ‘doctor’ having hurt my wrist. She
looked relieved when I said that.
“By and by she went out of the room altogether. I was suspicious still,
and lay quite quiet for some time. In the end, however, I got up and
walked round the room, examining it. I thought that even if anyone
_was_ watching me from somewhere, it would seem natural enough under
the circumstances. It was a squalid, dirty place. There were no windows,
which seemed queer. I guessed the door would be locked, but I didn’t
try it. There were some battered old pictures on the walls, representing
scenes from _Faust_.”
Jane’s two listeners gave a simultaneous “Ah!” The girl nodded.
“Yes--it was the place in Soho where Mr. Beresford was imprisoned. Of
course, at the time I didn’t even know if I was in London. One thing was
worrying me dreadfully, but my heart gave a great throb of relief when
I saw my ulster lying carelessly over the back of a chair. _And the
magazine was still rolled up in the pocket!_
“If only I could be certain that I was not being overlooked! I looked
carefully round the walls. There didn’t seem to be a peep-hole of any
kind--nevertheless I felt kind of sure there must be. All of a sudden I
sat down on the edge of the table, and put my face in my hands, sobbing
out a ‘Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!’ I’ve got very sharp ears. I distinctly heard
the rustle of a dress, and slight creak. That was enough for me. I was
being watched!
“I lay down on the bed again, and by and by Mrs. Vandemeyer brought me
some supper. She was still sweet as they make them. I guess she’d been
told to win my confidence. Presently she produced the oilskin packet,
and asked me if I recognized it, watching me like a lynx all the time.
“I took it and turned it over in a puzzled sort of way. Then I shook my
head. I said that I felt I _ought_ to remember something about it, that
it was just as though it was all coming back, and then, before I could
get hold of it, it went again. Then she told me that I was her niece,
and that I was to call her ‘Aunt Rita.’ I did obediently, and she told
me not to worry--my memory would soon come back.
“That was an awful night. I’d made my plan whilst I was waiting for her.
The papers were safe so far, but I couldn’t take the risk of leaving
them there any longer. They might throw that magazine away any minute.
I lay awake waiting until I judged it must be about two o’clock in the
morning. Then I got up as softly as I could, and felt in the dark along
the left-hand wall. Very gently, I unhooked one of the pictures from its
nail--Marguerite with her casket of jewels. I crept over to my coat and
took out the magazine, and an odd envelope or two that I had shoved in.
Then I went to the washstand, and damped the brown paper at the back
of the picture all round. Presently I was able to pull it away. I had
already torn out the two stuck-together pages from the magazine, and now
I slipped them with their precious enclosure between the picture and its
brown paper backing. A little gum from the envelopes helped me to
stick the latter up again. No one would dream the picture had ever been
tampered with. I rehung it on the wall, put the magazine back in my
coat pocket, and crept back to bed. I was pleased with my hiding-place.
They’d never think of pulling to pieces one of their own pictures. I
hoped that they’d come to the conclusion that Danvers had been carrying
a dummy all along, and that, in the end, they’d let me go.
“As a matter of fact, I guess that’s what they did think at first, and,
in a way, it was dangerous for me. I learnt afterwards that they nearly
did away with me then and there--there was never much chance of their
‘letting me go’--but the first man, who was the boss, preferred to keep
me alive on the chance of my having hidden them, and being able to tell
where if I recovered my memory. They watched me constantly for weeks.
Sometimes they’d ask me questions by the hour--I guess there was nothing
they didn’t know about the third degree!--but somehow I managed to hold
my own. The strain of it was awful, though....
“They took me back to Ireland, and over every step of the journey again,
in case I’d hidden it somewhere _en route_. Mrs. Vandemeyer and another
woman never left me for a moment. They spoke of me as a young relative
of Mrs. Vandemeyer’s whose mind was affected by the shock of the
_Lusitania_. There was no one I could appeal to for help without
giving myself away to _them_, and if I risked it and failed--and Mrs.
Vandemeyer looked so rich, and so beautifully dressed, that I felt
convinced they’d take her word against mine, and think it was part of my
mental trouble to think myself ‘persecuted’--I felt that the horrors in
store for me would be too awful once they knew I’d been only shamming.”
Sir James nodded comprehendingly.
“Mrs. Vandemeyer was a woman of great personality. With that and her
social position she would have had little difficulty in imposing her
point of view in preference to yours. Your sensational accusations
against her would not easily have found credence.”
“That’s what I thought. It ended in my being sent to a sanatorium at
Bournemouth. I couldn’t make up my mind at first whether it was a sham
affair or genuine. A hospital nurse had charge of me. I was a special
patient. She seemed so nice and normal that at last I determined to
confide in her. A merciful providence just saved me in time from falling
into the trap. My door happened to be ajar, and I heard her talking to
some one in the passage. _She was one of them!_ They still fancied it
might be a bluff on my part, and she was put in charge of me to make
sure! After that, my nerve went completely. I dared trust nobody.
“I think I almost hypnotized myself. After a while, I almost forgot
that I was really Jane Finn. I was so bent on playing the part of Janet
Vandemeyer that my nerves began to play me tricks. I became really
ill--for months I sank into a sort of stupor. I felt sure I should
die soon, and that nothing really mattered. A sane person shut up in a
lunatic asylum often ends by becoming insane, they say. I guess I was
like that. Playing my part had become second nature to me. I wasn’t even
unhappy in the end--just apathetic. Nothing seemed to matter. And the
years went on.
“And then suddenly things seemed to change. Mrs. Vandemeyer came down
from London. She and the doctor asked me questions, experimented with
various treatments. There was some talk of sending me to a specialist in
Paris. In the end, they did not dare risk it. I overheard something that
seemed to show that other people--friends--were looking for me. I
learnt later that the nurse who had looked after me went to Paris,
and consulted a specialist, representing herself to be me. He put her
through some searching tests, and exposed her loss of memory to be
fraudulent; but she had taken a note of his methods and reproduced
them on me. I dare say I couldn’t have deceived the specialist for a
minute--a man who has made a lifelong study of a thing is unique--but
I managed once again to hold my own with them. The fact that I’d not
thought of myself as Jane Finn for so long made it easier.
“One night I was whisked off to London at a moment’s notice. They took
me back to the house in Soho. Once I got away from the sanatorium I felt
different--as though something in me that had been buried for a long
time was waking up again.
“They sent me in to wait on Mr. Beresford. (Of course I didn’t know
his name then.) I was suspicious--I thought it was another trap. But he
looked so honest, I could hardly believe it. However, I was careful in
all I said, for I knew we could be overheard. There’s a small hole, high
up in the wall.
“But on the Sunday afternoon a message was brought to the house. They
were all very disturbed. Without their knowing, I listened. Word had
come that he was to be killed. I needn’t tell the next part, because
you know it. I thought I’d have time to rush up and get the papers from
their hiding-place, but I was caught. So I screamed out that he was
escaping, and I said I wanted to go back to Marguerite. I shouted the
name three times very loud. I knew the others would think I meant
Mrs. Vandemeyer, but I hoped it might make Mr. Beresford think of the
picture. He’d unhooked one the first day--that’s what made me hesitate
to trust him.”
She paused.
“Then the papers,” said Sir James slowly, “are still at the back of the
picture in that room.”
“Yes.” The girl had sunk back on the sofa exhausted with the strain of
the long story.
Sir James rose to his feet. He looked at his watch.
“Come,” he said, “we must go at once.”
“To-night?” queried Tuppence, surprised.
“To-morrow may be too late,” said Sir James gravely. “Besides, by
going to-night we have the chance of capturing that great man and
super-criminal--Mr. Brown!”
There was dead silence, and Sir James continued:
“You have been followed here--not a doubt of it. When we leave the house
we shall be followed again, but not molested, _for it is Mr. Brown’s
plan that we are to lead him_. But the Soho house is under police
supervision night and day. There are several men watching it. When we
enter that house, Mr. Brown will not draw back--he will risk all, on the
chance of obtaining the spark to fire his mine. And he fancies the risk
not great--since he will enter in the guise of a friend!”
Tuppence flushed, then opened her mouth impulsively.
“But there’s something you don’t know--that we haven’t told you.” Her
eyes dwelt on Jane in perplexity.
“What is that?” asked the other sharply. “No hesitations, Miss Tuppence.
We need to be sure of our going.”
But Tuppence, for once, seemed tongue-tied.
“It’s so difficult--you see, if I’m wrong--oh, it would be dreadful.”
She made a grimace at the unconscious Jane. “Never forgive me,” she
observed cryptically.
“You want me to help you out, eh?”
“Yes, please. _You_ know who Mr. Brown is, don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Sir James gravely. “At last I do.”
“At last?” queried Tuppence doubtfully. “Oh, but I thought----” She
paused.
“You thought correctly, Miss Tuppence. I have been morally certain of
his identity for some time--ever since the night of Mrs. Vandemeyer’s
mysterious death.”
“Ah!” breathed Tuppence.
“For there we are up against the logic of facts. There are only two
solutions. Either the chloral was administered by her own hand, which
theory I reject utterly, or else----”
“Yes?”
“Or else it was administered in the brandy you gave her. Only three
people touched that brandy--you, Miss Tuppence, I myself, and one
other--Mr. Julius Hersheimmer!”
Jane Finn stirred and sat up, regarding the speaker with wide astonished
eyes.
“At first, the thing seemed utterly impossible. Mr. Hersheimmer, as the
son of a prominent millionaire, was a well-known figure in America. It
seemed utterly impossible that he and Mr. Brown could be one and the
same. But you cannot escape from the logic of facts. Since the thing
was so--it must be accepted. Remember Mrs. Vandemeyer’s sudden and
inexplicable agitation. Another proof, if proof was needed.
“I took an early opportunity of giving you a hint. From some words of
Mr. Hersheimmer’s at Manchester, I gathered that you had understood and
acted on that hint. Then I set to work to prove the impossible possible.
Mr. Beresford rang me up and told me, what I had already suspected,
that the photograph of Miss Jane Finn had never really been out of Mr.
Hersheimmer’s possession----”
But the girl interrupted. Springing to her feet, she cried out angrily:
“What do you mean? What are you trying to suggest? That Mr. Brown is
_Julius?_ Julius--my own cousin!”
“No, Miss Finn,” said Sir James unexpectedly. “Not your cousin. The man
who calls himself Julius Hersheimmer is no relation to you whatsoever.”