THE SHADOW OF SÉVERAC BABLON
The mystery of personality is one which eludes research along the most
scientific lines. It is a species of animal magnetism as yet
unclassified. Personality is not confined to the individual: it clings
to his picture, his garments, his writing; it has the persistency of a
civet perfume.
From this slip of cardboard lying upon Rohscheimer's famous oval table
emanated rays--unseen, but cogent. The magnetic words "Séverac Bablon"
seemed to glow upon the walls, as of old those other words had glowed
upon a Babylonian wall.
There were those present to whom the line "Who steals my purse steals
trash" appealed, as the silliest ever written. And it was at the purses
of these that the blow would be struck--_id est_, at the most vital and
fonder part of their beings.
"That card"--Julius Rohscheimer moistened his lips--"can't have dropped
from the ceiling!"
But he looked upward as he spoke; and it was evident that he credited
Séverac Bablon with the powers of an Indian fakir.
"It would appear," said Antony Elschild, "that a phantom hand appeared
in our midst!"
The incident was eerie; a thousand times more so in that it was
associated with Séverac Bablon. Rohscheimer gave orders that the outer
door was on no account to be opened, until the house had been thoroughly
searched. He himself headed the search party--whilst Mrs. Rohscheimer
remained with the guests.
All search proving futile, Rohscheimer returned and learnt that a new
discovery had been made. He was met outside the dining-room door by
Baron Hague.
"Rohscheimer!" cried the latter, "my name on that card, it is underlined
in red ink!"
Rohscheimer's rejoinder was dramatic.
"The diamonds!" he whispered.
Indeed, this latest discovery was significant. Baron Hague had brought
with him, for Rohscheimer's examination, a packet of rough diamonds.
Rohscheimer had established his fortunes in South Africa; and, be it
whispered, there were points of contact between his own early history
and the history of the packet of diamonds which Hague carried to-night.
In both records there were I.D.B. chapters.
The two men stared at each other--and sometimes glanced into the shadows
of the corridor.
"He must be in league with the devil," continued Rohscheimer, "if he has
got to know about those stones! But it certainly looks as though----"
"Where can I hide them from _him_--from this man who I hear cannot be
kept out of anywhere?"
"Hague," said Rohscheimer, shakily, "you'd be safer at your hotel than
here. He's held people up in my house once before!"
As may be divined, Rohscheimer's chiefest fear was that _his_ name,
_his_ house, should be associated with another mysterious outrage. He
knew Baron Hague to have about his person stones worth a small fortune,
and he was all anxiety--first, to save them from Séverac Bablon, the
common enemy; second, if Baron Hague _must_ be robbed, to arrange that
he be robbed somewhere else!
"I have not ordered my gar until twelve o'clock," said the Baron.
"Mine can be got ready in----"
"I won't wait! Gall me a gab!"
That proposal fell into line with Rohscheimer's personal views, and he
wasted not a moment in making the necessary arrangements.
The library door opening, and Adeler, his private secretary, appearing,
with a book under his arm, Mr. Rohscheimer called to him:
"Adeler!"
Adeler approached, deferentially. His pale, intellectual face was quite
expressionless.
"If you're goin' downstairs, Adeler, tell someone to call a cab for the
Baron: Heard nothing suspicious while you've been in the library, have
you?"
"Nothing," said Adeler--bowed, and departed.
The two plutocrats rejoined the guests. Sir Leopold Jesson was standing
in a corner engaged in an evidently interesting conversation with Salome
Hohsmann.
"You positively saw the hand?"
"Positively!" the girl assured him. "It just slipped the card into mine
as Mr. Sheard leaned over and asked me if my diamond aigrette had been
traced--the one that was stolen from me here, in this house, by Séverac
Bablon."
Sheard was standing near.
"I saw you take the card, Miss Hohsmann!" he said; "though I was unable
to see from whose hand you took it. Sir Leopold sat on your left,
however, and there was no one else near at the time."
Sir Leopold Jesson stared hard at Sheard. Sheard stared back
aggressively. There was that between them that cried out for open
conflict. Yet open conflict was impossible!
"Now then, you two!" Rohscheimer's coarse voice broke in, "what's the
good o' fightin' about it?"
But the atmosphere of uneasiness prevailed throughout the gilded salon.
Mrs. Rohscheimer, clever hostess though admittedly she was, found
herself hard put to it to keep up the spirits of her guests--or those of
her guests whose names had appeared upon the mysterious "second notice."
Lady Mary Evershed and Sir Richard Haredale sat under a drooping palm
behind a charming statuette representing Pandora in the familiar
attitude with the casket.
"It was through that door, yonder," said Haredale, pointing, "that the
masked man came."
"Yes," assented the girl. "I was over there--by the double doors."
"You were," replied Haredale; "I saw you first of all, when I looked
up!"
A short silence fell, then:
"Do you know," said Lady Mary, "I cannot sympathise with any of the
people who lost their property. They were all of them people who never
gave a penny away in their lives! In fact, Mr. Rohscheimer's particular
set are all dreadfully mean! When you come to think of it, isn't it
funny how everybody visits here?"
When he came to think of it, Haredale did not find it amusing in the
slightest degree. Julius Rohscheimer was an octopus whose tentacles were
fastened upon the heart of society. Haredale was so closely in the coils
that, short of handing in his papers, he had no alternative but to
appear as Rohscheimer's social _alter ego_. Lord and Lady Vignoles were
regular visitors to the house in Park Lane; and although the Marquess of
Evershed did not actually visit there, he countenanced the appearance of
his daughter, chaperoned by Mrs. Wellington Lacey, at the millionaire's
palace. Moreover, Haredale knew why!
What a wondrous power is gold!
Haredale was watching the fleeting expressions which crossed Lady Mary's
beautiful face as, with a little puzzled frown, she glanced about the
room.
Baron Hague came to make his _adieux_. He was a man badly frightened.
When finally he departed, Julius Rohscheimer conducted him downstairs.
"Take care of yourself, Hague," he said with anxiety. "First thing in
the morning I should put the parcel in safe deposit till it's wanted."
The Baron assured him that he should follow his advice.
Outside, in Park Lane, a taxi-cab was waiting, and Adeler held the door
open. Baron Hague made no acknowledgment of the attention, ignoring the
secretary as completely as he would have ignored a loafer who had opened
the door for him.
Adeler seemed to expect no thanks, but turned and walked up the steps to
the house again.
"Good-bye, Hague!" called Rohscheimer. "Don't forget what I told you
about the one with the brown stain!"
The cab drove off.
A cloud of apprehension had settled upon the house, it seemed. Several
others of the party determined, upon one pretence or another, to return
home earlier than they had anticipated doing. From this Julius
Rohscheimer did nothing to discourage them.
A family party was the next to leave, then, consisting of Lord and Lady
Vignoles, Mr. J. J. Oppner and Zoe. Mrs. Hohsmann and the Misses
Hohsmann followed very shortly. Mrs. Wellington Lacey, with Lady Mary
Evershed, departed next, Sir Richard Haredale escorting them.
"Half a minute, though, Haredale!" called the host.
Haredale, in the hall-way, turned.
"I suppose," continued Rohscheimer, half closing his eyes from the
bottom upward--"you haven't got any sort of idea how the card trick was
done, Haredale? Do you think I ought to let the police know?"
"I haven't the slightest idea," was the reply. "In regard to the police,
I should most certainly ring them up at once. Good night."
Haredale escaped, well aware that Rohscheimer was seeking some excuse to
detain him. Even at the risk of offending that weighty financier he was
not going to be deprived of the drive, short though it was, with Mary
Evershed, with the possibility of a delightful little intimate chat at
the end of it.
"I endorse what Haredale says," came Sheard's voice.
Rohscheimer turned. A footman was assisting the popular Fleet Street man
into his overcoat. Mr. Antony Elschild, already equipped, was lighting a
cigarette and evidently waiting for Sheard.
"What's the name of the man who has the Séverac Bablon case in hand?"
asked the host.
"Chief Inspector Sheffield."
"Right-oh!" said Rohscheimer. "I'll give him a ring."
Upstairs Sir Leopold Jesson was waiting for a quiet talk with
Rohscheimer.
"Come into the library," said the latter. "Adeler's finished, so there's
no one to interrupt us."
The pair entered the luxuriously appointed library, with its rows of
morocco-bound, unopened works. Jesson stood before the fire looking down
at Rohscheimer, who had spread himself inelegantly in a deep arm-chair,
and lay back puffing at the stump of a cigar.
"I distrust Sheard!" snapped Jesson suddenly.
"Eh," grunted the other. "Pull yourself together! It ain't likely that a
man who gets his livin', you might say, by keepin' in with the right
people" (he glanced down at his diamond studs) "is goin' to be mixed up
with a brigand like Bablon!"
"I'm not so sure!" persisted Jesson. "My position is a peculiar one; but
I'll go so far as to say that I don't trust him, and I won't go a step
farther. I don't expect you," he added, "to quote my opinion to
anybody."
"I shan't," said Rohscheimer. "It's too damn silly! What would he have
to gain? He ain't one of us."
"I'll say no more!" declared Jesson. "But keep your eyes open!"
"I'll do that!" Rohscheimer assured him. "I suppose you haven't any idea
who worked the card trick?"
"As to that--yes! I _have_ an idea--but I can only repeat that I'll say
no more."
"I hope Hague is all right," growled Rohscheimer. "He's got some good
rough stuff on him to-night. Brought it over to show me. I didn't like
that red line under his name. Looked as if he was sort of number one on
the list!"
"That's how it struck me. By the way, what became of the card?"
"Don't know," was the reply. "Push that bell. I want a whisky and soda."
Jesson pressed the bell, and Rohscheimer, tossing the stump into the
grate, dipped two fat fingers into his waistcoat pocket in quest of a
new cigar. It was his custom to carry two or three stuck therein.
"Hallo!"
Jesson turned to him--and saw that he held a card in his hand.
"Have you got the card?"
"Yes," said Rohscheimer, and turned it over.
Whereupon his face changed colour, and became an unclean grey.
"What's the matter?" cried Jesson.
His hand shaking slightly, Rohscheimer passed him the card. Jesson
peered at it anxiously.
The message which it bore was the same as that borne by the mysterious
card which had caused such a panic at the dinner table, but, upon the
other side, only one name appeared.
It was that of Julius Rohscheimer, and it was heavily underlined in red!