_THE BEGINNING OF THE SEARCH_
"You?" cried Private Smith. "Ye Gods! And I haven't even a match left so
I can see you before we go. I die in better company than I know." Trent
could hear that he raised himself slowly and painfully to his feet. Then
he heard the soldier's heels click smartly together. "Ave Cæsar--" he
began. But the immortal speech of those gladiators being about to die
was not finished.
There broke on Trent's astonished gaze a flash of sunlight that made him
blink painfully. And the terrifying noise of high explosive hurt his
ears and that swift dreadful sucking of the air that followed such
explosions was about him again in its intensity. He had been dug out of
his tomb for what?
The doctors thought him a very bad case. Of course he was delirious. He
stuck to a ridiculous story that he was imprisoned in a tomb with one
William Smith, a private in the 78th Battalion of the City of London
Regiment and that H. E. had mysteriously disinterred him. H. E. did
perform marvels that were seemingly against known natural laws but
Private Trent was obviously suffering from shell shock.
When he was better and had been removed to a hospital far from the area
of fighting he still kept to his story. One of the doctors who liked him
explained that the delusion must be banished. He spoke very
convincingly. He explained by latest methods that the unreal becomes
real unless the patient gets a grip on himself. He said that Trent was
likely to go through life trying to find a non-existent friend and
ruining his prospects in the doing of it. "I'll admit," he said at the
end of his harangue, "that you choose your friend's name well."
"Why do you say that?" Trent asked.
"Because the muster roll of the 78th shows no fewer than twenty-seven
William Smiths and they're all of 'em dead. That battalion got into the
thick of every scrap that started."
Trent said no more but made investigations on his own behalf.
Unfortunately there was none to help him. The ambulance that picked him
up was shelled and he had been taken from its bloody interior the only
living soul of the crew and passengers. None lived who could tell him
what became of his companion, the man to whom he had revealed his
identity, the man who possessed his secret to the full.
When he was discharged from the service and was convalescing in
Bournemouth he satisfied himself that the unknown Smith had died. Again
luck was with Anthony Trent. The one man--with the exception of Sutton
whose lips he was sure were sealed--who could make a clear hundred
thousand dollars reward for his capture was removed from the chance of
doing it even as the knowledge was offered him. The words that he would
have spoken, "Hail Cæsar, I, being about to die, salute thee!" had come
true in that blinding flash that had brought Anthony Trent back to the
world.
But even with this last narrow escape to sober him Trent was not certain
whether the old excitement would call and send him out to pit himself
against society. He had no grievance against wealthy men as such. What
he had wanted of theirs he had taken. He was now well enough off to
indulge in the life, as a writer, he had wanted. He had taken his part
in the great war as a patriot should and was returning to his native
land decorated by two governments. Again and again as he sat at the
balcony of his room at the Royal Bath Hotel and looked over the bay to
the cliffs of Swanage he asked himself this question--was he through
with the old life or not? He could not answer. But he noticed that when
he boarded the giant Cunarder he looked about him with the old keenness,
the professional scrutiny, the eagerness of other days.
He tipped the head steward heavily and then consulted the passenger list
and elected to sit next to a Mrs. Colliver wife of a Troy millionaire.
She was a dull lady and one who lived to eat, but he had heard her
boasting to a friend on the boat train that her husband had purchased a
diamond tiara in Bond Street which would eclipse anything Troy had to
offer. Mrs. Colliver dreaded to think of the duty that would have to be
paid especially as during the war less collars were used than in normal
times.
It was with a feeling of content that Anthony Trent paced the deck as
the liner began her voyage home. Two years was a long time to be away
and he felt that a long lazy month in his Maine camp would be the
nearest thing to the perfect state that he could dream of when he heard,
distinctly, without a chance of being mistaken, the voice of Private
William Smith shouting a goodbye from the pier.
Trent had a curiously sensitive ear. He had never, for example, failed
to recognize a voice even distorted over telephone wires. William Smith
had one of those distinctive voices of the same timbre and inflection of
those of his caste but with a certain quality, that Trent could not now
stop to analyze, which stamped it as different.
All Trent's old caution returned to him. It was possible that the man
whom he had supposed dead had come to see the Cunarder off without
knowing Anthony Trent was aboard. But the passenger lists could be
inspected and even now the law might have been set in motion that would
take him handcuffed from the vessel at quarantine to be locked up in a
prison. He was worth a hundred thousand dollars to any informant and he
could not doubt that the so-called Smith had gone wrong because of the
lust for money to pay his extravagances. It was inevitably the reason in
men of the class of Smith and Despard.
He was obsessed with the determination to find out. He would track the
man he had known as Smith and find out without letting him be any the
wiser. A hundred ideas of disguise flashed across the quick-working
brain. He tried to tell himself that it was likely that the voice might
have proceeded from an utter stranger. But this was false comfort he
knew. It was Smith of the 78th City of London regiment who was on the
pier already growing inch by inch farther away.
The second officer tried to stop him and a passenger grasped him by the
arm as he climbed the rails but they tried vainly. He dropped as lightly
as he could and picked himself up a little dazed and looked around. He
could see a hundred faces peering down at him from the moving decks
overhead. He could see a crowd of people streaming down the pier to the
city. And among them was the man he sought.
"One moment, sir," said a policeman restraining him, "what's the meaning
of this?"
"Just come ashore," Trent smiled. The policeman loomed over him huge,
stolid, ominous. The man looked from Trent in evening dress and without
hat or overcoat, to the shadowy ship now on her thousand league voyage
and he shook his head. It was an irregular procedure, he told himself
and as such open to grave suspicion. But he was courteous. Trent was a
gentleman and no look of fear came to his face when the officer spoke.
The man remained close to Trent when he approached the few groups of
people still on the pier. To every man in the groups the stranger
contrived to ask a question. Of one he asked the time, of another the
best hotel in Liverpool.
"It may seem very strange," said Trent pleasantly to the perplexed
policeman, "but I did an unaccountable thing. I thought I saw a man who
was in the trenches with me in France during the war and saved my life
and I sprang over the side to find him and now he's gone."
The policeman waved a white gloved hand to the people who had already
left the landing stage.
"Your friend may be there, sir," he said.
"You don't want to detain me, then?" Trent cried.
"It's dark, sir," said the policeman, "and I could hardly be expected to
remember which way you went."
At the end of the short pier was a taxicab stand and a space where
private machines might park. Anthony Trent arrived in time to see a huge
limousine driven by a liveried chauffeur with a footman by his side
begin to climb the step grade to the street. As it passed him he could
swear he heard Smith's voice from within, saying, "It's the most rotten
luck that I should be a younger son and not get the chances Geoffrey
does."
Trent could not see the number plate of the big machine. He could note
only a coat of arms on the door surmounted by a coronet. He had no time
to ask if any of the dock laborers knew the occupants. He sprang into
the sole taxi that occupied the stand and commanded the driver to
overtake the larger car. So eager was the man to earn the double fare
that he was halted by a policeman outside the Atlantic Riverside
Station. The time taken up by explanations permitted the coronetted
limousine to escape.
In so big a city as Liverpool a car could be lost easily but the
sanguine taxi driver, certain at least of getting his fare, persisted in
driving all over the city and its suburbs until he landed his passenger
tired and disappointed at the Midland Hotel.
On the whole Anthony Trent had rarely spent such unprofitable hours. He
had paid a premium for his state room on a fast boat and was now
stranded in a strange city without baggage. And of course he was
worried. He had believed himself alone to have been rescued when the
high explosive had taken the roof from his tomb. Now it seemed probable
that the British soldier, Smith, had also made his escape.
Although it was quite possible Trent was following a stranger whose
voice was like that of Private Smith, he had yet to find that stranger
and make sure of it. Trent was not one to run away from danger.
As he sat in the easy chair before the window he told himself again and
again that it was probable the voice he identified with the unknown
Smith was like that of a thousand other men of his class. He had acted
stupidly in jumping from a ship's rails and risking his limbs. And how
much more unwisely had he acted in that black silence when he was led to
cast aside his habitual silence and talk freely to a stranger. In effect
he had put himself in the keeping of another man without receiving any
confidence in return. He blamed the wound, the shock and a thousand
physical causes for it but the fact was not to be banished by that.
Smith knew Anthony Trent as a master criminal while Anthony Trent only
knew that Smith has enlisted under another name because he had disgraced
his own. It might easily be that this unknown Smith was like a hundred
other "gentlemen rankers" who could only be accused of idleness and
instability. But Anthony Trent stirred uneasily when he recalled the
eagerness with which Smith spoke of some of those crimes Anthony Trent
had committed. Smith knew about them, admired the man who planned them.
Trent on thinking it over for the hundredth time believed Smith was
indeed a crook and as such dangerous to him.
Few men believe in intuition, guess work or "hunches" as do those who
work outside the law. Again and again Anthony Trent had found his
"hunches" were correct. Once or twice he had saved himself by implicitly
acting on them in apparent defiance of reason. At the end of many hours
during which he tried to tell himself he was mistaken and this voice
owned by someone else, he gave it up. He knew it was Smith.
To find out by what name the Smith of the dug-out went by in his own
country must be the first step. The second would be to shadow him,
observe his way of life and go through his papers. So far all he had to
go upon was a quick glance at an automobile of unknown make upon whose
panels a coat of arms was emblazoned surmounted by a crown. Had he
possessed a knowledge of heraldry he could have told at a glance whether
the coronet was that of a baron, viscount, earl, marquis or duke and so
narrowed down the search. And had he observed the coat of arms and motto
he could have made certain, for all armorial bearings are taxable and
registered.
To try to comb the counties of Lancashire and Cheshire for the occupants
of an unknown car would take time and might lead to police interest in
his activities.
Before he retired to his bed a courteous agent of the Cunard Company had
called upon him to inquire at what he was dissatisfied that he left the
ship so suddenly. To this agent he told the same story--the true
one--that he had told the policeman.
The purser was able to inform the group in the smoking room ere it
retired.
"I don't believe that for a moment," Colliver declared.
"Why not?" asked the Harvard professor, "don't you know that truth in
the mouth of an habitual liar is often a potent and confounding weapon?"
"Maybe," Colliver said dryly, "but I'm an honest man and I'd like to
know why you think that man Trent was an habitual liar."
"I don't know," the professor answered amiably. "I always think in terms
of crime on board ship."
"There's no need to on this ship," the purser said testily.
"I hope not," said the professor, "but coming back from the far East
last year on another line I made friends with a man much of the build of
Mr. Colliver here. I did not like him very much. He had only prejudices
and no opinions. A typical successful man of business I presume."
"Thank you," said Mr. Colliver finding one of his own neck adornments
growing tight.
"He was murdered," the theologian went on, "because he carried some
diamonds for his wife in a pocket. Some thieves found it out."
"What thieves?" Colliver demanded.
"It is one of the undiscovered murders on the high seas," the professor
said placidly.
"Mighty awkward for you," Colliver said, still angry.
"Fortunately I had an alibi," said the other, "I was violently ill of
_mal de mer_."
"Mighty convenient," Colliver commented.
Later he asked the purser's private opinion of the professor. Myers
Irving joined with Colliver in resenting the professor's attack on
business men.
"Ordinarily," Colliver said, "I don't like advertising men, but you're
different. They're like vultures after my account as a rule."
"You'd have to force your account on me," said Myers Irving seriously.
"I'm not an ordinary business or advertising man. Primarily I'm a
business builder. I leave nothing to underlings. I direct everything
personally. I take few accounts. If my clients don't make good on their
end of it I give them up. I make money for my clients. I have no other
ambition. I believe in advertising. It might be that fellow Trent jumped
ashore for some publicity stunt. Supposing he said he did it because he
forgot to order some special dish at the Adelphi or Midland? Such a dish
would get more publicity than you could shake a stick at. But I'm not
here to talk shop."
Colliver watched the trim advertising man saunter off.
"A bright boy," commented the Troy magnate, "maybe he'll be surprised
before this trip is over. Maybe he'll have to talk shop."
Captain Sutton listened to the purser's explanation as though they were
entirely reasonable. But all the time he said to himself, "why need he
have been afraid of me?"
* * * * *
Anthony Trent bought himself a suit of clothes in the city and set out
for London on the ten o'clock train. An Army List showed him the names
of the officers of the City of London Regiment. He decided to call upon
the adjutant, a Captain Edgell. It took him little time to find out that
Edgell had resumed his former occupation of stock broker and was living
with his family at Banstead in Surrey.
Edgell was a golfer of distinction and before the war had been a scratch
man at the club on the Downs. Five years absence had sent his handicap
up a bit but he was engaged in pulling it down when a golfing stranger
from the United States giving the name of Trent who had the club's
privileges for the day asked him if he could introduce him to a member
for a round of golf. It so happened that most of the men waiting to play
were ruddy faced gentlemen with handicaps of from twelve up to
twenty-four. They did not excite Edgell.
"Glad to," he said heartily. He had been brigaded with Americans and
liked them. "Do you play a strong game?"
"I have a two handicap at Wykasol," Trent said.
"Good business," cried Edgell, "we'll play together."
They played. They became intimate during the game and Edgell learned
with regret that Trent was not one of the many American business men
engaged in their work in London. Trent beat the stockbroker on the
twenty-third hole.
"If I could only putt like that," said Edgell, "I'd have a chance for
the open championship."
"I wish I could drive a ball the length you do," Trent said not to be
outdone.
"Of course you'll have dinner with us," the stockbroker said. "We don't
dress for it any more since the war so you've no excuse. I learned to
make cocktails from some of your fellows in France so you ought to feel
at home."
"As home used to be," Trent corrected. "I'd love to come if I'm not
putting you out."
Edgell's home was a half-timbered house standing in an acre of lawn and
flower garden. It was thoroughly comfortable. There seemed to be a
number of children but they did not obtrude. Trent could see them
playing in different parts of the garden, the little ones with their
nurse and the elder playing clock golf on a perfect green in front of
the house. Always the quiet secure atmosphere of a home such as this
brought to Anthony Trent a vision of what he had lost or rather of what
he could never obtain.
Little six-year old Marjorie Edgell liked Trent on sight and liking him
announced it openly. She told him what a great man her father was and
how he had medals and things. Finally she asked the visitor whether he
would not like to have medals. It was the opportunity for which Trent
had been looking. Ordinarily averse to talking of himself, he wanted to
get on to the subject of the war with the late adjutant of the
seventy-eighth.
"I have," he told little Marjorie.
"Daddy," she shrieked in excitement, "Mr. Trent has medals too."
"So you were in the big thing?" Edgell asked. "Honestly wouldn't you
rather play golf? I can get all the excitement I want on the Stock
Exchange to last me the rest of my life. I enlisted in a city regiment
as a private and I left it as adjutant after four years and I'm all for
the piping ways of peace. My battalion was the 78th and we always had
the luck with us. Whenever we got anywhere something started."
"The seventy-eighth battalion," Trent commented, "I had a pal in your
battalion, a pal who saved my life. I'm going to look him up next week.
Curious that I should be talking to his adjutant. William Smith was his
name. I wonder if you knew him?"
"I wonder if you know how many William Smiths and John Smiths are lying
in France and Flanders with little wooden crosses over them?"
"This one came through all right," Trent said.
"At least ten William Smiths came through," Edgell asserted. "I think I
remember them all. Which was your man? Describe him."
Trent lighted his cigarette very deliberately. To be asked to describe a
man he had claimed as a pal and yet had never seen face to face was not
easy.
"I think you would recognize my William Smith," Trent answered, "if I
told you he was not really William Smith at all but a man who had
assumed that name as a disguise."
"I understand," Edgell exclaimed, "a slight blond man very erect and
rather supercilious with what the other men called a lah-de-dah voice. I
remember him well. I had him up before me for punishment many times.
Little infractions of discipline which he constantly committed. Used to
rile me by his superior airs. Quite a mysterious person. Saved your life
did he? Well, he had all the pluck a man need have."
"I want to thank him for it," Trent said, "but I've only known him as
William Smith. The War Office people tell me he was demobilized three
months back and they have no address. If you'll tell me, in confidence,
his real name I can find him out."
"But my dear chap," said Captain Edgell, "I don't know it. None of us
knew it. My sergeant-major swore he'd been a regular and an officer but
that's mere conjecture. He _was_ a regular now I come to think of it and
sent to us when his own regiment was wiped out in the Autumn of 1914."
"Who would be able to tell me?" Trent asked eagerly.
"The colonel knew," Edgell declared, "I sent him up to the old man for
punishment once. The colonel looked at him as if he could not believe
his eyes. 'You are down here as William Smith,' he said."
"'That is my name, sir,' said Smith."
"Then the colonel knew him?" Trent asked.
"Undoubtedly. I was told to leave them alone. I should like to have
asked Colonel Langley but he is one of those men it's hard to approach.
Doesn't mean to be standoffish but gives that impression. One of those
very tall men who seem to be looking through you and taking no interest
whatsoever in the proceeding."
"I want to find out," Trent said, "could you give me a letter of
introduction?"
"Glad to," Edgell replied, "but he's like that native song bird of
yours, the clam. He is a silent fighter. The men respected him and went
to their deaths for him but they would have felt it disrespectful to
love him. He lives at a place called Dereham Old Hall in Norfolk. A
great county swell with magnificent shooting. One of those places
royalty stays every year for a week at the partridges. Always thought
it a funny thing he was given the command of a lot of cockneys
considering he was Sandhurst and Tenth Hussars till he married and
chucked the service, but he made good as you fellows say."
While Captain Edgell was writing the letter Trent had leisure to reflect
that the identity of Private William Smith might remain permanently
veiled in obscurity if Colonel Langley refused to talk. If the colonel
was not to be lured to disclose what Trent needed to know, the American
would be left in a very unpleasant position. Until he knew whether his
"hunch" was right or wrong he could never again sleep in peace with the
name Anthony Trent as his own. He was in danger every minute. Smith
might have tracked him to the liner to have him arrested in America.
That he had left the boat might easily be known. Therefore in order to
win twenty thousand sovereigns English money, or a half million francs
in the coinage of the country where the two had spent weary months,
Smith had only to start the hue and cry in England. The ports would be
watched. In the end they would get him.
There was no escape over the borders to Mexico or dash to safety over
the Canadian frontier as he had planned to do under similar conditions
of peril in his own country. Here on an island they had got him. He was
weaving evidence that could be used against him by making this display
of interest in Private Smith. Captain Edgell could give testimony that
would not help his case.
"Here you are," said Edgell genially, "I've taken the liberty of calling
you an old golfing pal. I've done all I could but Colonel Langley is not
easy of approach. I'm not at all hopeful."
"It isn't really serious," Trent explained after thanking him, "but I'd
like to see him again. He did undoubtedly save my life and carried me
into safety. Quite a physical feat for one of his weight. What do you
suppose he weighs?"
"About ten stone seven," the other answered.
That was one hundred and forty-seven pounds. Trent was gradually
building up a portrait of the man he feared.
"And about five feet seven in height?" he hinted.
"That's the man," Edgell asserted. "Quite a good looking chap, too, if
you care for the type. Rather too effeminate for me although, God knows,
he is a man."
It was not easy to see Colonel Langley, D.S.O. Trent knew that county
magnates such as he was did not see everyone who desired an interview.
He stayed at a good hotel in Norwich and enclosed Captain Edgell's
letter in one of his own.
The answer came back in the third person. It was favorable and
punctiliously polite. Colonel Langley would be happy to see Mr. Anthony
Trent at eleven o'clock on a certain morning. Dereham Old Hall was a
dozen miles from Norwich, city of gardens, city of Norman cathedrals and
many quaintly named parish churches. Trent hired a motor car and drove
through the leafy Norfolk lanes.
Colonel Langley's residence was the work of Inigo Jones and a perfect
example of the Renaissance style. It stood at least a mile from the high
road. The lodge keeper telephoned to the house and Trent's driver was
permitted to drive through the deer park and pull up before the great
front doors.
The room in which Anthony Trent waited for the colonel was evidently a
sort of smoking room. Trophies of the chase adorned the walls. It was
evident Langley was a hunter of great game and had shot in all parts of
the globe from Alaska to Africa.
He was a man of six feet four in height, grizzled and wore a small
clipped military moustache. It was not a hard face, Trent noted, but
that of a man who had always been removed from pursuits or people who
wearied him. There was a sense of power in the face and that inevitable
keenness of eye which a man who commanded a regiment could not fail to
have acquired.
He bowed his visitor to a seat. He did not offer to shake hands.
"You have come," he said politely, "from my former adjutant to ask a
question concerning the regiment which he writes he could not tell you.
I can think of nothing to which this would apply. He had every thread of
the business in his hands."
"Captain Edgell could not tell me the real name of one of his men who
enlisted under the name of William Smith."
There was no change of expression on the rather cold face of the lord of
broad acres.
"And what made Captain Edgell assume I could help you, sir?"
"I don't know all the particulars but he was certain you knew his real
identity."
"If I do," Colonel Langley returned, "I shall keep that knowledge to
myself. I regret that you have had this trouble for nothing."
"William Smith," Trent told the other, "saved my life. I want to thank
him for it. Is there anything odd in that? You alone can help me so I
come to you. I want to help William Smith. I have money which I should
not have been able to enjoy but for him."
"You imagine, then, that William Smith is penniless, is that it?"
"He told me he was," Trent answered promptly. "I can offer him an
opportunity to make good money in New York."
He looked at Colonel Langley as he said it. If Smith was indeed of a
great family the idea of being offered money and a job must amuse the
one who knew his real name and estate. Sure enough a flicker of a smile
passed over the landowner's face.
"I am happy to inform you," he said, "that Mr. Smith is living at home
with his family financially secure enough not to need your aid."
"That," said Trent deliberately, "is more than you can say."
"I am not in the habit of hearing my word doubted," the older man said
acidly.
"I am not doubting it," Trent said suavely, "I mean merely to remind
you that he may need my aid although it may not be monetary aid. You
will remember that there have been passages in Mr. Smith's life which
have not been entirely creditable."
"Are you claiming to be friend or accomplice?" Langley snapped.
"Let us say friend and confidant," Trent smiled. "Perhaps he made
certain confessions to me--"
"To you also?" Langley cried.
In that moment he had said too much. During that hour when Edgell left
the private alone with his commanding officer the officer had obtained
his confidence and very likely a confession. He saw the soldier throw a
quick glance at one of those old safes which disguised themselves as
necessary articles of furniture. Trent's eyes dwelt on it no longer than
the owner's did, but he saw enough. Colonel Langley had told him plainly
that the confession was locked in the safe which looked like a black oak
sideboard on which decanters and a humidor were arranged.
"To me also," Trent repeated, "and it is because of it that I knew he
did what he did for the reason he needed more money than a younger son
could expect. Colonel Langley, I only want his real name. I want to help
him. That's why I spoke of offering him money."
"You will be glad to know," the colonel answered, "that Mr. Smith is at
present in no need of money."
"You mean," Trent said sharply, "that you will not give me his real name
and address?"
"I cannot tell you," Colonel Langley answered. "If you like I will write
and say you have called and give him the opportunity to do as he
pleases."
Trent reflected for a moment. If Smith were not already aware of his
presence in England it would be very unwise to advertise it. He was
beginning to see he had been less than cautious in calling upon Edgell
and Colonel Langley under his own name.
"I need not trouble you to do that," he said, "if you wish to conceal
his name it is no doubt your privilege and he will do well enough
without my thanks."
* * * * *
He made his chauffeur drive home at a temperate speed. The man knew all
about the Langleys and was glad to tell the affable stranger. As they
passed through the gates several carriages laden with men and some
station carts filled with baggage passed into the gravelled drive.
"Gentlemen come for the shooting," the chauffeur volunteered. "Tomorrow
is September the first when partridge shooting commences. The colonel is
a great shot and the King comes here often and the German Emperor has
shot over those turnips in the old days. This is supposed to be the best
partridge shoot in the kingdom and the birds are fine and strong this
year--not too much rain in the Spring."
"I suppose there'll be a regular banquet tonight," said Trent.
"Tomorrow night's the night," said the chauffeur grinning, "tonight
they all go to bed early so as to be up to an early breakfast and have
their shooting eyes. The colonel's terrible man if any of the guns only
wound their birds. They've got to shoot well tomorrow if they want to
come here again. I know because my uncle is one of the keepers."
The man was surprised at the tip his American passenger handed him when
they reached the Maids' Head Hotel, and charmed with his affability. He
told his fellows that Trent was a real gentleman. He did not know that
his unsolicited confidence had given the American a hint upon which he
would be quick to act.
As Trent had been driven along the Dereham Road approach to Norwich he
had seen a little cycle shop where gasoline was sold and repairs made.
The war had sent English people of moderate circumstances back to the
bicycle again and only the wealthy could keep cars or buy petrol at
seventy-five cents a gallon. In his drive he had seen several people of
seemingly good position pedalling cheerfully through the lanes. The
chauffeur had touched his hat to one and spoken of him as rector of a
nearby parish. Cycles were to be hired everywhere and the prevailing
rate seemed to be sixpence an hour or three and six for the day.
After dinner Anthony Trent found his way back to the little shop in the
Dereham Road. "The Wensum Garage" it proudly called itself. Here he said
he wished to hire a bicycle for a day. As dusk fell he was pedalling
along to Dereham Old Hall. Few people were about and those he passed
evinced no curiosity. Avoiding the main road which passed in front of
the lodge and gates by which he had entered, he hid his wheel between
two hay stacks which almost touched. Then he made his way through the
kitchen gardens to the rear of the house. It was now ten o'clock and the
servants' part of the big house seemed deserted. Already the lights in
the upper stories were evidence that some guests were retiring to rest
well before the "glorious first."
From the shelter of the rose garden he could see a half score of men and
women on the great terrace in front of the splendid house. He could see
that they were all in evening dress. In a mosquitoless country this
habit of walking up and down the long stone terraces was a common
practice after dinner. Trent came so near to the guests that he could
hear them talking. The conversation was mainly about to-morrow's
prospects. He learned there was little disease among the birds, that
they were phenomenally strong on the wing and hadn't been shot over to
any extent since 1914. Some guests deplored the fact that dancing was
taboo on this night of nights but it was the Langley tradition and they
must bend to it.
"Think of it," he heard a woman say, laughing, "lights out at twelve!
How primitive and delightful." She yawned a little. "I'm looking forward
to it; we all stay up too late."
"Good night, Duchess," he heard the man say. "Sleep well and pray I may
be in form."
"Duchess!" In the old days Anthony Trent would have thrilled at the
title for it meant invariably jewels of price and the gathering of the
very rich. But he was waiting outside the masterpiece of Inigo Jones not
for any of those precious glittering stones for which he had sacrificed
all his prospects of fame and honor but for the documents which he
believed were hidden in the iron box, that ridiculous "pete" covered
with black English oak. It was another of the "hunches" which had come
to him. He had never been more excited about any of the many jobs he had
undertaken.
As he sat among the roses waiting for time to pass he reflected that the
few failures that had been his had not been attended by any danger. He
had lost the pearls that were wont to encircle the throat of a great
opera singer because her maid had chosen an awkward hour to prosecute
her amour with a chauffeur. The diamonds of the Mexican millionaire's
lady were lost to him because the house took fire while he was examining
the combination of the safe. But they would wait. He would yet have them
both. The booty for which he had come tonight was more precious than
anything he had ever tried for. It was probably the key to safety that
he sought. Trent did not doubt that there was a document in the safe
which would enable him to hold something over the head of Private
William Smith.
He waited until twelve had struck from the stable clock and the terrace
had been deserted a half-hour. To open the doors leading from the
terrace was simple. Anthony Trent always carried with him on business
bent two strips of tool steel with a key-blade at each end. With these
two "T" and "V" patterns he could open the world's locks. A nine inch
jimmy was easy to secrete. This was of the highest quality of steel and
looked to the uninitiated very much like a chisel. But it differed from
a chisel by having at its other end two brass plates set at right angles
to one another. These could be adjusted to what angles were needed by
turning countersunk screw bolts. It was the ideal tool for yale spring
locks.
He did not need it here. The doors opened at will with the "V" pattern
skeleton key. Great oriental rugs deadened sound and the boards of the
house were old, seasoned and silent. He found his way to the room in
which the colonel had received him with little difficulty. First of all
he opened the window and saw that he could spring clear out of it at a
bound and land in a bed of flowers only three feet below. Then he came
to the antiquated safe. The combinations were ridiculously easy. His
trained ear caught the faint sounds as he turned the lever easily. These
told him exactly the secret of the combination. It was not two minutes
work to open the doors. An inner sheeting of steel confronted him but
was opened by his jimmy. It was not safe to turn on the electric lights.
In so big an establishment with so many outdoor servants there might be
many to remark an unexpected illumination. His little torch showed him
all he wanted to know.
Colonel Langley had the soldiers' neatness. There were few valuables in
the safe. They would be presumably in his banker's strong boxes. There
were packets of letters tied up and one long envelope. On it was
inscribed, "Not to be Opened. In case of my death this must be destroyed
by my heir, Reginald Langley." On the envelope was the date, July 27,
1918, and the single word, "Ladigny."
Ladigny was a little village in France forever memorable by the heroic
stand of the City of London regiment when it lost so terribly and
refused to retreat. Trent opened the envelope in such a way that no
trace of the operation was seen. Then for ten minutes he read steadily.
Almost a half hour was expended in copying part of it in a note book.
Then the envelope was resealed and the safe closed. As he had worn
gloves there was no fear of incriminating finger prints. He did not
think anyone would notice that a jimmy had been used. Then he closed the
safe and its outer doors of black oak.
He permitted himself the luxury of a cigarette. He had done a good
night's work. If Private William Smith had sufficient evidence to place
Anthony Trent behind the bars the master criminal had sufficient certain
knowledge now to shut the mouth of the man he was tracking. Who would
have thought a man reared in such a family would have fallen so low! It
is a human failure to make comparisons whereby others invariably shine
with a very weak light, but Anthony Trent was saying no more than the
truth when he told himself that with Smith's opportunities he would
never have taken to his present calling.
With Smith's opportunities he would be sitting in a big room like this
and sitting in it without fear of interruption. The strain of the last
few days had not been agreeable and this strain must grow in intensity
as he grew older. It was always in such peaceful surroundings as these
that Trent felt the bitterness of crime even when successful.
He stopped suddenly short in his musing and crushed the bright tip of
his cigarette into blackness beneath his foot. Someone was fumbling with
the doorhandle, very quietly as though anxious not to disturb him. He
cursed the carelessness that had allowed him to leave it unlocked. He
had not behaved in a professional way at all. Very cautiously he rose to
his feet, meaning to leave by the open window when the door opened.
Trent sank back into the shadow of the big chair. To make a dash for the
window would mean certain detection. To stay motionless might mean he
could escape later. Similar immobility had saved him ere this.
The intruder closed the door and his sharp ears told him it was locked.
Then a soft-treading form moved slowly through the dim light and closed
the window, shut off his avenue of escape, and pulled across it two
curtains which shut out all light. There were two other high windows in
the room and across each one was pulled the light-excluding curtains.
Then there was a click and the room sprang into brilliance.
Anthony Trent saw the intruder at the same moment the intruder stared
into his face.
It was a girl in evening dress, a beautiful girl with chestnut hair and
a delicious profile. She wore an elaborate evening gown of a delicate
blue and carried in her hand a fan made of a single long ostrich plume.
Her hair was elaborately coiffured. She was, in fine, a woman of the
_beau monde_, a fitting guest in such a house as this. But what was she
doing in this room at one o'clock at night when the rest of the
household had long been abed?
The girl saw a slender but strongly built man of something over thirty
with a pale, clean-shaven face, shrewd almost hard eyes and a masterful
nose. He looked like a rising English barrister certain at some time to
be a judge or at the least a King's Counsel. He was dressed in a well
cut suit of dark blue with a pin stripe. He wore brown shoes and silk
socks. She noted he had long slender hands perfectly kept.
He rose to his feet and smiled at her a little quizzically.
"Really," he said, "you almost frightened me. I was sitting in the dark
making plans for the glorious 'first,' which has been here almost an
hour, when I heard you trying to open the door."
There was no doubt in her mind but that he was one of the guests who had
arrived from London on the late train and had not changed to evening
dress. There was a train due at Thorpe station at half past ten and the
motor trip would take forty minutes more.
"I had no idea anyone was here," she said truthfully, "or I shouldn't
have come. You see one can't sleep early even if one is sent to bed as
we all were tonight." She glanced at the clock. "I'm not shooting
tomorrow but if you are why don't you turn in? You know Colonel Langley
is a fearful martinet where the shooting is concerned and insists that
every bird is killed cleanly."
It was plain that she wished to get rid of him. Trent was frankly
puzzled. The girl had shown no fear or nervousness. Ordinarily the
conventions would have had their innings and she would have hesitated at
the possibility of being found alone with a good looking man at such an
hour. She would have excused herself and left him in the belief that he
was a guest she would meet tomorrow at dinner and dance with after it.
But she showed no such intention. He knew enough about women to see that
she had no intention of waiting for the pleasure of a friendly chat. She
had rather a haughty type of face and spoke with that quick imperious
manner which he had observed in British women of rank or social
importance.
"I have neuralgia," he said amiably, "and I prefer to sit here than go
to bed. Perhaps you left something here? Can I help you to find it?"
"I came for a book. Colonel Langley was talking about some African
hunting story your Mr. Roosevelt wrote."
So she knew him for an American. Well, she would find the American not
easily to be gulled. There came to him the memory of another night in
Fifth Avenue when a woman who seemed to be of fashion and position had
so completely fooled him and had been left in possession of a large sum
of currency.
He moved toward a bookcase in which were a collection of books on
fishing and shooting.
"'African Game Trails,'" he said, "here it is."
There was no doubt in his mind that the look she threw at him was not
one of complete amiability. She wanted him to go. He asked himself why.
It would have been easy for her to go and leave him, and the best way
out of the difficulty, unless she had come for one specific purpose. If
she had come for something concealed in the room and needed it badly
enough she would try and wait until he went. Trent was certain she had
no suspicion as to his own mission. In so big a house as Dereham Old
Hall fifty guests could be entertained easily and it was unlikely she
should know even half of them. He had observed that it was not the
fashion in England to introduce indiscriminately as in his own country.
Guests were introduced to their immediate neighbors; but that appalling
custom whereby one unfortunate is expected to memorize the names of all
present at a gulp was not popular. Because she did not know him would
not lead to suspicion. He was in no danger. Even a servant coming in
would see in him only a friend of his employer.
"Thank you," she said, taking the book with an appearance of interest.
"Do you know I never thought to see Americans at Dereham Old Hall with
the single exception of Reginald's old friend Conington Warren. Colonel
Langley is so conservative but the war has broadened everyone hasn't it
and stupid national prejudices are breaking down."
"Conington Warren here?" he asked.
"He lives in England now," she told him, "his physicians warned him that
prohibition would kill him so they simply prescribed a country where he
could still take this cocktail. You know him of course?"
"A little," he said; she wondered why he smiled so curiously. He
wondered what this beautiful girl would say if she knew it was at
Conington Warren's mansion in Fifth avenue that he had started his
career as a criminal. So that great sportsman, owner of thoroughbreds
and undeniable shot, was in this very house! After all it was not a
strange coincidence. The well known Americans who love horse and hound
with the passion of the true sportsman are to be seen in the great
houses of England more readily than the mushroom financier.
"What other people are there here you know?" she demanded.
"I can't tell you till tomorrow," he returned, "I only said a word or
two to the Duchess. She deplored having to go to bed so early and was
disappointed at not being able to dance."
"She is one of my dearest friends," the girl answered.
"Which means you see her every fault," he laughed.
"Isn't your neuralgia better?" she asked after a pause.
Anthony Trent shook his head.
"I shan't sleep all night," he said despondently. "Going to bed would
only make it worse."
She was obviously put out at this statement.
"Then you'll stop here all night?"
"At all events until it gets light. It's only two o'clock now. If you
are keen on big game hunting you won't sleep if you begin that book."
"You'll frighten the servants in the morning," she said later.
"I'll tip them into confidence," he assured her.
The girl was growing nervous. There were a hundred symptoms from the
tapping of her little feet on the rug to the fidgeting with the book and
the meaningless play with her fan. She started when a distant dog bayed
the moon and dropped her book. It rolled under a table and Trent picked
it up. But when he handed it back to her there was an air of excitement
about him, an atmosphere of triumph which puzzled her.
"You look as though you enjoyed hunting for books under tables."
"I enjoy any hunting when I get a reward for my trouble."
"And what did you find?" she asked "a little mouse under the chair?"
"I found a key," he said.
"Someone must have dropped it," she said idly.
"Not a door key," he returned, "but the key to a mystery. Being a woman
you are interested in mysteries that have a beautiful society girl as
their heroine of course?"
"I really must disappoint you," she said rather coldly, "and I don't
quite understand why you are not quick to take the many hints I have
dropped. Can't you see I want to sit here alone and think? Your own room
will be just as comfortably furnished. In a sense this is a sort of
second home to me. Mrs. Langley and I are related and this room is an
old and favorite haunt when I'm depressed. Is it asking very much that
you leave me here alone?"
"Under ordinary conditions no," he said suavely.
"These are ordinary conditions," she persisted.
"I'm not sure," he retorted. "Tell me this if you dare. Why have you the
combination to a safe written on a little piece of mauve paper and
concealed in the book on your lap?"
She turned very pale and the look she gave him turned his suspicion into
a desire to protect her. The woman of the world air dropped from her and
she looked a frightened pathetic and extraordinarily lovely child.
"What shall I do?" she cried helplessly. "You are a detective?"
"Not yet," he said smiling, "although later I intend to be. But I'm not
here even as a great amateur. Consider me merely a notoriously good shot
suffering equally from neuralgia and curiosity. You have the combination
of a safe concealed in this room and you want me to go to bed so that
you may take out wads of bank notes and pay your bridge debts. Is that
right so far?"
"You are absolutely wrong," she cried with spirit. "I need no money and
have no debts. There are no jewels in the safe."
"Letters of course," he said easily.
She did not speak for a moment. He could see she was wondering what she
dare tell him. She could not guess that he knew of the three packages of
letters each tied with green ribbon. It was, he supposed, the old story
of compromising letters. Innocent enough, but letters that would spell
evil tidings to the jealous fiancé. They might have been written to
Colonel Langley. Men of that heroic stamp often appealed to sentimental
school girls and the colonel was undeniably handsome in his cold
superior way. His heart ached for her. She was suffering. What had
seemed so easy was now become a task of the greatest difficulty.
"Yes," she said deliberately, "letters. Letters I must have."
"Do you suppose I can stand by and see my host robbed?"
"If you have any generosity about you you can in this instance. I only
want to destroy one letter because if it should ever be discovered it
will hurt the man I love most in the world."
Anthony Trent groaned. He had guessed aright. There was some man of her
own class and station who did not love her well enough to overlook some
little silly affectionate note sent to the _beau sabreur_ Langley
perhaps a half dozen years before. It was a rotten thing to keep such
letters. He looked at the girl again and cursed his luck that she was
already engaged. Then he sighed and remembered that even were she free
it could never be his lot to marry unless he confessed all. And he knew
that to a woman of the type he wanted to marry this confession would
mean the end of confidence the beginning of despair.
"I shall not stop you," he said.
She looked at him eagerly.
"And you'll never tell?"
"Not if they put me through the third degree."
"But ... oughtn't you to tell?" she asked.
"Of course," he admitted, "but I won't. I can see you are wondering why.
I'll tell you. I've been in just such a position--and I did what you are
going to do."
Without another word she went swiftly to the concealed safe and began to
manipulate the lock. For five minutes she tried and then turned to him
miserably.
"It won't open," she wailed.
"I'll have a shot at it," he said gaily, and went down on his knees by
her side. He soon found out why it remained immovable. It was an old
combination. She did not understand his moves as he went through the
same procedure which had opened it before. She only saw that the doors
swung back. She did not see him pry the iron sheathing back with the
jimmy. It was miraculously easy.
Then he crossed the room to his chair and lighted another cigarette.
"Help yourself," he cried and picked up the book which had held the
combination.
The girl's back was to him and he could not see what she was doing. He
heard the scratch of a match being lighted and saw her stooping over the
stone fireplace. She was burning her past. Then he heard her sigh with
relief.
"I shall never forget what you have done for me," she said holding out
her hand.
"It was little enough," he said earnestly.
"You don't know just how much it was," the girl returned, "or how
grateful I shall always be to you. If I hadn't got that letter! I
shouldn't have got it but for you. And to think that tomorrow we shall
be introduced as one stranger to another. I'm rather glad I don't know
your name or you mine. It will be rather fun won't it, being introduced
and pretending we've never met before. If you are not very careful the
Duchess will suspect we share some dreadful secret."
"The Duchess is rather that way inclined, isn't she?" he said.
He held the hand she offered him almost uncomfortably long a time. She
would look for him tomorrow in vain. He supposed she would begin by
asking if there were any other Americans there except Conington Warren.
After a time she would find he was not a guest of the Langleys. She
would come at last to know what he was. And with this knowledge there
would come contempt and a deliberate wiping his image from her mind.
Anthony Trent had no sentimental excuses to offer. He had chosen his own
line of country.
He looked at her again. It would be the last time. Perhaps there was a
dangerously magnetic quality about his glance for the girl dropped her
eyes.
"Faustus," he said abruptly, "sold his soul for a future. I think I'd be
willing to barter mine for a past."
"_Au revoir_," she said softly.
When she had closed the door he walked across the room to shut the safe.
What secrets of hers, he wondered, had been shut up there so long. He
found himself in a new and strange frame of mind. Why should he be
jealous of what she might have written in the letter that was now ashes?
She had probably thought hero-worship was love. She had a splendid face
he told himself. High courage, loyalty and breeding were mirrored in it.
He wondered what sort of a man it was who had won her.
He looked at the neatly-tied bundle of letters. It seemed as though they
had hardly been touched. Suddenly he turned to the compartment where the
long letter had lain, the letter from which he had made so many
extracts, the letter it was imperative Colonel Langley should believe to
be intact.
It was gone. In the hearth there were still some burned pages. He could
recognize the watermark.
Anthony Trent had amiably assisted an unknown girl to destroy a letter
whose safety meant a great deal to him. If Colonel Langley were to
discover the loss it would be easy enough to put the blame upon the
bicycle-riding American who had pretended to be a friend of Private
William Smith.
As he thought it over Anthony Trent saw that the girl in blue had not
lied to him, had not sought to entrap him by gaining his sympathy as the
"Countess" had succeeded in doing before another open safe in New York.
He had assumed one thing and she had meant another.
What was William Smith to this unknown beauty? Trent gritted his teeth.
He was going to find out. At all events he now knew the real name of the
private soldier who had shared the dug-out with him. The next thing was
to find out where he lived.