THE REAPPEARANCE OF HANDYSIDE
Consternation reigned for a while at the entrance to the Royal
Devonshire. Men craned their necks and women uttered nervous little
shrieks. But Evelyn Forbes was endowed with a vigorous frame and a
splendidly vital spirit, and she recovered her senses before she could
be carried into the vestibule.
The fact that she had fainted, too, brought to the aid of her waking
senses the innate horror of her race and class for anything approaching
a "scene," and she was almost unnaturally collected in speech and
demeanor within a few seconds after her eyes had reopened.
"Did I give way like that?" she said, with a valiant smile, first at
Theydon, and then at the ring of faces, each with its varying expression
of curiosity or concern. "How stupid of me! How excessively stupid! That
sort of behavior doesn't help at all--does it?... Thank you, I can walk
quite well.... I'll just go to mother's room and telephone home....
There has been some silly mistake. By this time it will be rectified,
I'm sure.... Come, Mr. Theydon. Where is Mr. Winter?"
"Here," said the detective. "I'll follow in a minute or so. Please don't
communicate with London till I arrive."
His quietly insistent tone was meant rather for Theydon than for the
half-demented girl, who was stumbling anywhere but in the right
direction until Theydon caught her arm and led her to the lift. She
contrived to remain outwardly calm until she reached the seclusion of
the sitting room, when she broke into a flood of tears, while in
disjointed and hysterical words she blamed her own rashness for the fate
which had overtaken her mother.
If only she had used better judgment when the telegram came--if only she
had hired an automobile and driven straight to Beachy Head--if only she
had done a dozen other things which no one would possibly have dreamed
of doing--she might have safeguarded her darling mother!
Theydon, meanwhile, was nearly frantic with the indecision of ignorance.
Never had he felt so helpless, so utterly childish and unhinged in the
face of disaster. He had heard that it was good for a woman to be
allowed to cry when overwhelmed with misery. Again, he remembered
reading somewhere that the feminine temperament should not be allowed to
yield to a too-tempestuous grief, or the delicate and finely-balanced
female organism might suffer irreparable injury. Should she be given
water or a stimulant? Should one leave her alone or endeavor to soothe
her?
Heaven only knew--he didn't--so he did exactly what any devout and
despairing lover might be expected to do--put an arm around her
shoulders, and murmured a frenzied assurance of his willingness to die
several times, and vanquish a horde of Young Manchus in the process, ere
she could be allowed to endure one needless hour of distress on her
mother's account.
Somehow, this sort of nonsense was helpful. The girl raised her swimming
eyes to his. She placed two appealing hands on his shoulders, and said
brokenly:
"Mr. Theydon--I am ready to trust you--next to--my own father.... Where
shall we go? What can we do? I'll come with you--anywhere--only--my dear
one must be rescued."
He believed afterwards that he answered her by a kiss! He was not
certain. The delirium of the moment was such that he could never recall
its words or acts with that precision which a well-regulated mind should
display even under the stress of intense emotion. In any event, the
crisis was interrupted by the clamor of the telephone bell.
Withdrawing from what was perilously near an embrace--so colorable an
imitation of the real thing that Winter, entering at that instant, could
make no distinction, and was secretly amazed at these strenuous methods
of consoling the lady--Theydon lifted the receiver, and heard as one in
a trance the telephone operator's conventional announcement:
"Trunk call from Croydon; you're through."
"Who is it?" demanded the chief inspector gruffly.
Even he, veteran fighter in the unceasing battle between the law and the
malefactor, was feeling the strain of the Homeric struggle ushered in by
the death of Edith Lester.
"I don't know yet," Theydon managed to say collectedly. "Some one from
Croydon. Bend close. You'll hear."
A quiet, drawling voice reached them, the vibrating wire lending its
measured accents a metallic accuracy.
"That you, Mr. Theydon?"
"Why, it's Mr. Handyside! Yes, I'm here. Where are you speaking from?
Croydon?"
"That's so."
"Well, I don't understand, but I'm sure you'll pardon me. We are in a
deuce of a fix at this end, so, if you'll arrange to call tomorrow--"
"You've lost Mrs. Forbes, I guess. Is that the lady's name? If it is,
I've kept track of her. I--"
Theydon was so astounded that he looked at Winter in blank amazement,
the pressure of his fingers on the circuit key relaxed, and the
American's voice trailed abruptly away into silence. He put matters
right at once and heard the continuation of a new sentence, whereupon he
broke in excitedly:
"One second, Mr. Handyside. Miss Forbes is here. I must tell her your
news!"
He turned to Evelyn.
"Hooray!" he almost yelled. "Your mother is all right. She is with Mr.
Handyside. Some sort of miracle has happened. Come and listen."
Aroused from a stupor of grief as though she had received a galvanic
shock, Evelyn sprang up. Naturally, she had to place an arm on Theydon's
back to permit of her head approaching near enough to the telephone.
Thus, the three heads were almost touching each other; if an artist had
been present he would have obtained a study in facial expressions worthy
of Phil May or Guerrido.
Handyside, of course, had heard Theydon's gleeful exclamation. He
chuckled pleasantly:
"Your digest goes a little too far, Mr. Theydon," he said, "but compared
with the newspaper placard facts in your possession, my story is a
full-sized novel. Anyhow, I'll condense it, so here goes. I was back of
the crowd when the circus started outside the Eastbourne depot. As I
ante'd up your ticket and collected your deposit of a sovereign, I saw
what took place, and sized up the result pretty accurately. The
kidnaping proposition had failed, but the guy in the silk hat had got
clear away in a bully good car--how good I know now. It seemed to me
that, next to rescuing that charming young lady, it was important
something should be known about the thug who wanted to carry her off,
and, when my eyes lit on a workmanlike motor bicycle with a side-car rig
standing close to the curb, and well clear of the arena, said I to
myself: 'George T. Handyside, this is where you take a flier, and maybe
Illinois will score one.' The man who owned the outfit was watching the
commotion when I dug him in the ribs. 'Take me after that car,' I said,
'and I'll pay you a shilling a mile with five pounds on account if it's
only a 100 yards.' I pressed a note into his hand--and, say, you
Britishers wake up all right when you see real money! We were doing
thirty per in less than ten seconds. No car on four wheels can lose any
decent motorcycle on a switchback track, and Jackson, the owner of this
one, says it's good enough for sixty on a fair stretch of road. Anyhow,
we held the thug dead easy, but didn't press him any, as I had no call
to butt in, had I?"
"Mr. Handyside," said Theydon. "I won't waste time now by telling you
how grateful we all are. Get on with the knitting!"
"Sir, I've had the time of my life--a rip-snorting movie, with George T.
on the film from A to Z ... No! Go away, exchange. I'm renting this line
for the next quarter of an hour. Well, we made a bee-line for Beachy
Head--so Jackson told me--and, when the automobile pulled up, we got
under a hedge and I did a bit of scout work on my feet. I saw Silk Hat
pick out a lady from a bunch of people, who seemed to be taking the view
with sandwiches, and it was simple as falling off a log to follow the
position of affairs--Silk Hat urging lady to come with him, lady
astonished, not able to size up exact bearings of the yarn, but finally
yielding. Now, if Miss Forbes hadn't told us that her mother had written
saying she was going to Beachy Head with a picnic party this afternoon I
would have gotten off at the wrong address, because I could hardly have
failed to believe that Silk Hat was picking up a female accomplice. But,
as things stood, I suspicioned that, failing the daughter, he was
putting up a bunco tale for the mother--a situation new, I believe, in
the realm of romantic fiction. I thought it was up to me to play a
strong hand, so I threw a few facts on the screen for Jackson's benefit,
and he straightway hit the pike in pursuit. Where the country was open
we kept well in the rear, but crept closer in villages and towns. We had
to stop at Tunbridge Wells for petrol, but that didn't cut any ice,
because Jackson knew the country like a book, and we sighted the
automobile within five minutes, though the milestones were pretty
numerous during that run. After that, nothing particularly happened,
except to a hen and a dog, until we came near Croydon--that is, I knew
it was Croydon because Jackson said so, and I have considerable faith in
him. In between whiles, where there was nothing doing, he and I fixed up
an automobile tour. Well, outside Croydon, there's a new road, with a
half-built villa at the near end and a way-back farmhouse at the other
end. That villa was the one thing needed when the thug made a bee-line
for the farm. I jumped out, told Jackson to find something to do to his
machine at the corner of the next block, and hurried into the Alpine
chalet. From a top back room I watched Silk Hat carrying a lady into the
farm. Eh, what's that? Yes, he was carrying her. I guess he'd given her
a dope so as to stop any cry for help. It made me feel pretty mean to be
standing there without taking a hand in the deal, but I forced myself to
believe that another hour or two couldn't make such a heap of difference
to the lady, while it would be better to leave things to the police. I
waited just twenty minutes--I have all the times scheduled--until the
car came back. By hurrying downstairs I was able to look inside as it
passed, and Silk Hat was alone. He took the London road. I strolled
out--didn't dare to hurry, you know, in case any one might be watching
from the farm--and put in some hard thinking while walking to Jackson's
stand. There were two courses open, either to send Jackson after the
auto and try myself to get in touch with you and the police, or put
Jackson on guard near the farm. Whether I decided rightly or not I
haven't a notion, but I let the car go, and for this reason: We know
where the lady is, and so does the thug; if the police put up a hard
game they can rescue her without his knowledge and spread a web for the
fly to walk into later. But they must get a move on. This phone is
nearly a mile from the farm, and Jackson is tightening nuts outside the
villa I spoke of. Now, what's the next item on the program?"
Winter grabbed the receiver unceremoniously.
"I am a representative of Scotland Yard, Mr. Handyside," he said. "If
ever you want work come to me, J. L. Winter, and I'll find you some.
Miss Forbes is vexed with me because I have stopped her from thanking
you, but compliments must wait. Will you go as quickly as possible to
the chief police station at Croydon? By the time you get there I'll be
in touch with the inspector in charge, and he will do the rest. You
understand? Goodby!"
Winter rang off. He smiled blandly at Evelyn.
"There's no opportunity now for sentiment," he explained. "Our American
friend will appreciate quick action far more than talk."
Then he tackled the telephone again and asked to be put through to the
Croydon police station.
"There must be no delay," he added. "This is an official call."
He was in touch with Croydon in a remarkably short space of time, and
soon was in communication with a police inspector.
"What's your name?" he demanded.
"Inspector Wilkins," came the surprised answer.
"Were you a sergeant at the time of the Surrey Bank robbery?"
"Yes; but what the--"
"I am Winter of Scotland Yard. Do you recognize my voice?"
"Well--er--"
"Do you remember that nip of old brandy I gave you while we were
freezing in a drafty warehouse at three o'clock in the morning waiting
for the Smasher to come for his plant?"
"Yes. You're Mr. Winter right enough, sir."
"Good! I want you to believe what I'm going to tell you, as there is a
big job ahead. A gang of Chinese cutthroats have kidnaped a lady, wife
of the London banker, Mr. James Creighton Forbes. In a few minutes an
American, a Mr. Handyside, will be with you. He will point out the house
near Croydon to which the lady has been taken in a motor car. Collect
half a dozen plain-clothes men and two in uniform and go with Mr.
Handyside--without attracting attention, of course. Surround the house
and arrest any one, especially any Chinaman, who attempts to leave.
Release the lady, and ask Mr. Handyside to escort her to her home, 11
Fortescue Square, Belgravia. If she is very ill, which is improbable,
she should be taken to a hospital. In that event Mr. Handyside should
telephone Mr. Forbes. Occupy the farm and arrest any one who comes
there, no matter what the pretext, until Mr. Furneaux or I arrive. I'll
be with you in two hours. Tell Mrs. Forbes that her daughter will set
out from Eastbourne by the next train leaving after 6:30. Got all that?"
"Yes, sir! Are these Chinamen likely to show fight?"
"Better be prepared. But, after posting your sentries, I advise you and
the uniformed constables to rush the place. By the way, it will save me
some trouble if you phone the Yard and tell them exactly what I have
told you. Ask for Furneaux. If he is not in, instruct them to leave a
written record for him."
"I'll see to it, sir. Is that all?"
"Yes. Goodby! Meet you in two hours."
He whirled round on Theydon.
"Tell the manager to supply at once the best car to be had in Eastbourne
for love or money," he said. "I want something that is sure to go and go
fast."
The chief inspector, with full steam up, was energy personified. His
bulging eyes, his firm chin, his round fists, one clenching the
telephone instrument, the other resting on the table, were eloquent of
the man of action.
His pride had been sore stricken by the escape of Wong Li Fu when that
master scoundrel was actually in his grasp. But those powerful hands of
his were far-reaching, and it would go hard with the jiu jitsu expert
when next they gripped his lithe frame.
Almost before Theydon had quitted the room Winter snapped--there is no
other word for it--literally snapped a question at Evelyn.
"What's your telephone number?"
She told him, and again the Eastbourne exchange was bidden exert itself.
"That you, Mr. Forbes?" said the chief inspector, after a short wait.
"Yes."
"I am Winter, of Scotland Yard. I want to assure you that your wife and
daughter will be under your roof within the next three hours. Mrs.
Forbes will probably be escorted by a gentleman named Handyside, an
American. You owe him all possible thanks, because it is due to his
action alone that Mrs. Forbes will soon be rescued from captivity. Yes,
she was carried off from Beachy Head this afternoon by Wong Li Fu, but,
by the rarest good fortune, this Mr. Handyside, a friend of Mr.
Theydon's, was able to follow on the trail, and steps are now being
taken to free her. Your daughter will speak to you. I intervened merely
to vouch for it that an almost incredible story is true. By the way, let
no one know that Mrs. Forbes is in London. Warn your servants not to
speak of her return. One more word--have you heard anything of
Furneaux?"
"I have not heard from or seen him since we parted outside Bow Street
police station. But, for Heaven's sake, what is this you tell me about
my wife?"
"Miss Forbes will give you all the particulars we possess. Be calm and
remain at home. You can best assist us by stopping within call. Mrs.
Forbes and the American should arrive first, possibly before 7:30. If
there is any hitch, which is unlikely, Mr. Handyside will telephone you.
Your daughter will tell you the hour she and Mr. Theydon should reach
Victoria. She will speak to you now. Excuse my abruptness. A lot of
things may happen before I retire for the night, and I have no time to
pick and choose my words."
Evelyn, able at last to pour out her soul in thanksgiving, nearly broke
down when she heard her father's voice.
"Oh, Dad," she wailed, "I've passed through a dreadful time since I
spoke to you shortly after five o'clock. I dropped as if I had been shot
when Mrs. Montagu, who was one of the picnic party, told me that a man
of foreign appearance, with a scar on the left side of his face, and who
said he was a doctor, came to Beachy Head and told poor mother that I
had sent for her."
She went on to relate such facts as were known to her, and was in the
midst of a sensational narrative when Theydon announced that a
high-powered touring car was in readiness.
"Won't you take us with you?" he said to Winter. "There is no train from
here till 7:30, and in a motor we should be well on the way to London by
that time."
Winter had anticipated some such request, and a prompt refusal was on
the tip of his tongue, when he recalled that he would pass through
Tunbridge Wells, whence an earlier train might be available. A glance at
the time table showed that a train left Tunbridge Wells at 7:15.
"Yes," he said. "I'll take you part of the way. Tell your father, Miss
Forbes, that you will arrive at London Bridge at 8:40. If you two reach
London by a different route I think you should be tolerably safe."
"If any Chinaman shows up between here and Fortescue Square I'll shoot
him at sight," Theydon said, producing an automatic pistol.
"I wouldn't do that," smiled Winter. "You might bore a hole in some
perfectly innocent Celestial. But you won't be troubled. Wong Li Fu
carries out his own plans, and at present he is congratulating himself
on the possession of a valuable hostage. But, come along! How about a
wrap for you, Miss Forbes? We'll create a breeze, you know."
She ran into her mother's bedroom and came out with a fur coat and motor
veil, articles which, she had guessed correctly, her mother would not be
wearing for the short run to Beachy Head. The hotel manager lent coats
to the men, and they started, not without hearty congratulations from
several people in the porch, whose fears on Mrs. Forbes's account
Theydon had dissipated when he went out to order the car.
Winter gave their thoughts a new direction when Theydon inquired what
means the authorities would adopt to rid the country of the pestiferous
gang which carried on its vendetta with such scant respect for the law
and order of Great Britain.
"Once we have Mr. and Mrs. Forbes and this young lady safely housed in
Fortescue Square, and protected, not only by their own servants but by
the Metropolitan Police, we will devote ourselves to routing out the
whole crew," he announced. "My idea is that when we lay hands on the
ringleader, the rest will be easy. Furneaux's prisoner, Len Shi, may be
got to talk when a Chinese interpreter tackles him. Again, there is
every prospect of an important capture being made in the Croydon house.
Most important of all is the prolonged absence from the yard of
Furneaux. He is busy, or he would have put in an appearance there hours
ago, if only to get to know my whereabouts. That means something.
Furneaux never wastes time. Usually we hunt in couples. Today, by the
fortune of war, we are separated, and perhaps fortunately so. It is all
your fault, Mr. Theydon."
"Mine?" was the astonished cry.
"Yes. We had to try all sorts of tricks on you before you would speak.
Just imagine Scotland Yard being compelled to tap the telephone of a
respectable and well-known author before he would own up to such
knowledge as he possessed of the murder in No. 17!"
So that was how Furneaux had played the necromancer, and was able to
mystify Theydon that morning.
The chief inspector, by raising the question, was touching on dangerous
ground, as he was well aware, but he was determined now that all
barriers should be thrown down. Evelyn Forbes was no bread-and-butter
miss from whose cognizance the evil things of life must be sedulously
averted. A, woman of spirit and intelligence, who had already run the
dreadful risk of sharing Mrs. Lester's fate, should be made to
understand every phase of the difficulty with which the Criminal
Investigation Department had yet to deal.
British law and Chinese anarchy would soon grapple in a life and death
conflict, and it was idle folly to suppose that, no matter how reticent
her friends might be, this sharp-witted girl would not find out for
herself the exact nature of the link which bound the fortunes of her own
family with those of the dead woman.
Theydon tried to pass off the detective's retort with a careless laugh,
but Evelyn reverted to the topic when they were seated in the
London-bound train after Winter had dropped them at Tunbridge Wells
Station.
"What did the chief inspector mean when he said you refused to help him
at first?" she inquired. "There are gaps in my history of this affair.
How did you come to know that my father was acquainted with Mrs. Lester?
Why did you seem, at one time, to be taking sides with my father against
a public inquiry by the police?"
Then, seeing there was no help for it, Theydon began at the beginning
and told the girl the full, true and unexpurgated story of events on the
Monday night. Once or twice, when he hinted at the cause of his
otherwise inexplicable actions--which, quite obviously, lay in his
interest in the girl herself, she blushed a little and averted her eyes.
But she listened in silence, and did not speak during many seconds after
he had ceased.
Then she simply murmured:
"Poor, dear Dad! How worried he must have been! And how well he
concealed it from me!"
After another pause, she added:
"We are deeply in your debt, Mr. Theydon. When this ordeal is ended, and
those horrid men have been put in prison or driven out of the country,
our next difficulty will be to--to thank you adequately for what you
have done."
_Surgit amari aliquid!_ Even in life's pleasantest hours something
bitter arises. Theydon was in the company of the woman he loved, yet no
word of love could rise to his lips. In the first place he dared not woo
the daughter of a millionaire; in the second were his suit even
possible, he was far too honorable minded to take immediate advantage of
her disturbed state and the services he had undoubtedly rendered, and
give the slightest hint of his passion.
So he sighed and looked out of the window at a fast-flying vista of a
Kentish hillside, and contented himself by saying:
"For what little I have done, or attempted to do, I am already rewarded
far beyond my wildest dreams."
Even that was more than he meant to say. Glancing timidly at Evelyn to
see whether or not she resented his words, he was astounded to find that
she had blushed scarlet, and, in her turn, was absorbed in the
landscape.
Then he remembered that in the frenzy of the moment following the report
of her mother's capture by Wong Li Fu, he had kissed her. Had he, or had
he not? If not, why not now? But that way lay madness. And, wretched
doubt, was she already the promised bride of another man? It was a
relief when the train stopped at Sevenoaks.
When it moved on again, they were normal young people once more, and
discussed various features of the Young Manchus' raid on society as
though the extermination of political adversaries were a commonplace
occurrence in modern England.
At last, after a journey which lived long in their minds, since even a
prosaic train may follow the path to Wonderland, they arrived at London
Bridge, and hummed in a taxi through streets of gaunt warehouses until
the light of Westminster flashed on a Thames veiled in the blue mystery
of a Summer gloaming.
The cab had hardly halted outside the Fortescue Square mansion when the
door was thrown wide, and Tomlinson appeared, flanked by two stalwart
footmen. The butler's face was aglow with pleasure.
"It's all right now you've come, Miss Evelyn," he said joyfully. "Mrs.
Forbes arrived more than an hour ago."
But Tomlinson was in error. He did not know what tribulations loomed
already through the haze of the future, or he would have laid to heart
the time-honored advice to venturesome travelers:
"Never hallo till you're out of the wood!"