CHAPTER ONE.
TO BEG PARDON OF THE READER
At the outset I wish to impress on those who read this
straightforward and unembellished narrative of my amazing and often
exciting adventures, that I seek not to hide my own shortcomings, for
they are alas! many; nor do I in the least desire to pose as a
vainglorious hero. At least, I am not one who slops about in the oozy
slime of the sex problem.
From leading the normal life of an ordinary young man about London, I
was, by a strange freak of ill-fortune, and in the space of a single
minute, plunged into a veritable vortex of doubt and misery, compelled
to lead the life of a hunted criminal, and to resort to all sorts of
ruses in order to retain my liberty. And yet, the events which led up
to the sudden change in my life are such as might occur to any man, on
any night, in any big city in the world.
I suppose, in order that I shall be understood right from the outset,
I may as well explain that I am Lionel Hipwell. My old governor is the
Honorable George Hipwell, of Hipwell Hall, near Bulwick,
Northamptonshire, Deputy-Lieutenant for the County, and Member of
Parliament for South-East Rutland. After Eton, I graduated at Oxford,
and then read for the Bar, to which I was called; but I have never
practised. For twenty-one years my father had sat for the same
constituency in the Conservative interest, and it was my ambition also
to sit in the House. With that object, I studied politics keenly,
especially in reference to our relations with foreign countries; and I
often addressed political meetings. I had the satisfaction of being
hailed as sound in argument, with a clear and lucid delivery.
Therefore, the decision of the Conservative party to adopt me as a
candidate at the next election had recently placed me in the seventh
heaven of delight. And, when I told Joan, to whom I was engaged, she
regarded me as a prospective occupant of a seat on the Front Bench.
I have mentioned that I was engaged to Joan Gell, but it was only
informally and secretly.
Joan was the only daughter of the famous King’s Counsel, Mr. John
Gell, the stoutest man who had taken silk. But, unfortunately, he and
my father were bitter enemies, arising out of a political quarrel of a
couple of years before. Hence, both Joan and I thought it discreet to
wait before announcing our engagement, until such time as the quarrel
was patched up.
Nevertheless, we met often--more often than her parents ever guessed.
Indeed, she not infrequently overstepped the bounds of strict
propriety, sometimes coming to my rooms in Sackville Street and taking
a cozy tea, with her feet upon my fender. I adored her, and she, on
her part, reciprocated my affection. We understood each other
perfectly, and though she was highly popular in a smart set, and much
sought after as a dancing-partner, yet I had never any cause for undue
jealousy. The society in which I moved in London--a fairly good one as
judged in these hectic days of night-club dancing--had rather sickened
me. I loved Hipwell, with its hunting with the Cottesmore, its
one-day-a-week beagling, the fishing over our own stream, the walks in
the park in spring, and the interviewing of our tenant-farmers. I had
no use for the night life of London, with the marks that glow red on
the pasty foreheads of callow youths and erotic widows, who rave about
affinities and make the south of Sicily their winter home.
Though having quarreled with my father, the stout old King’s Counsel
was always friendly towards me. Hence, I was frequently invited to his
house at Queen’s Gate, a place noteworthy for the collection of
antique furniture and an unrivaled assortment of ancient snuff-boxes.
Mr. Gell was a connoisseur, and, making a very large income at the
Bar, expended money lavishly on his hobby. His wife, a handsome,
well-preserved, and much-traveled woman, who doted on Joan, gave
frequent parties, and for each I always received a card. In the Temple
it was an open secret that elevation to the Bench had been offered to
“Jelly” Gell--a sobriquet bestowed on him by one of his adversaries on
account of the shaking of his protruding stomach when he grew unduly
excited while addressing a jury. But the famous K.C. had preferred to
remain at the Bar, rather than forego his income and accept the high
responsibility and the rather meagre stipend with which the Government
rewards its judges.
As for myself, I held quite an important position in the Treaty
Department of the Foreign Office, a post which, I confess, carried
with it short hours and little work; for the Government does not make
treaties with foreign powers every day--hence my office was almost a
sinecure. I suppose family influence, that of my uncle, the old Earl
of Whitchurch and ex-Minister of the Crown, whose favorite I was, had
been responsible for my appointment, because from a clerk I had risen
rapidly, being “pushed on” by some unknown hand, a fact, I know, which
had aroused considerable jealousy in the Department.
I said I had no use for the circle in which I was compelled to move.
My _penchant_ for gambling, alas, led to my being hurled into the
maelstrom of mystery. I loved a little “flutter,” and had been at
Deauville, Cannes, Monte Carlo, and other places; and I had played for
modest stakes with the usual varying success.
The night of November the twelfth was one of gloom and rain in London.
It had rained incessantly the whole day, and still poured all the
evening. Joan was down at Cannes with her mother; and, having nothing
better to do, I took a taxi from the club, where I had dined at a
house in Woburn Square, where they played “chemmy” nightly. As a
frequent visitor there, I often had good luck. There were about fifty
players present, most of them known to me by sight, and for a long
time I risked nothing. But the temptation to play soon overcame me and
I won over a hundred pounds.
Afterwards I had a drink, and foolishly returned to the table; for,
not only did I lose all my winnings, but two hundred pounds into the
bargain. Sick at my ill-fortune, I gave a check for my losses, and
left the house in deep despondency, vowing never to return there
again. I felt that gambling was getting the better of me, that I must
give it up. This resolve I made as, heedless of the rain and darkness,
I walked around Bloomsbury Square.
Suddenly I heard shouts. A moment later I came across a man and a
woman having a violent altercation. The man was a burly fellow, and he
was ill-treating a flashily-dressed young woman of the night-hawk
class.
“Look here!” I cried, rushing up to him. “Stop that--quick! You
low-down cur, to strike a woman!”
“And who the ’ell are you, mister?” the fellow asked defiantly. “You
just keep your bloomin’ beak out of what don’t concern you! And take
that for yer pains!” he added, aiming a heavy blow at my face, which I
managed to avoid.
Next moment, however, he struck me full in the chest. In return,
having done a good deal of boxing at Oxford, I landed him one full on
the nose, in self-defence.
I saw his hand go swiftly to his hip-pocket, and next second there was
a glint of steel. In an instant I closed with him, gripped his wrist,
twisted it, and knocked his hand upwards just as he was about to fire.
We both fell. There was an explosion and the bullet went upwards
through his jaw.
In a moment I shook myself free and sprang to my feet; but the man lay
there motionless; the automatic pistol had fallen from his nerveless
fingers and lay in the gutter.
“God! What have you done? You’ve killed my poor Dick!” the dark-eyed
young woman shrieked resentfully, glaring at me.
In a moment I bent and breathlessly made a swift examination. He was
certainly dead! I stood staggered, my senses for the moment being
numbed.
“You’ve killed him!” yelled the woman, frantic in her anger and
distress. “Police! _Police!_”
Only for a second I hesitated. In that instant I realized all that I
had at stake--the ruin of my love for Joan, the extinction of my
political ambitions, and a charge of manslaughter under such
conditions which might easily lead to my social obliteration.