A CORNER IN MILLIONAIRES
At the moment that Julius Rohscheimer's car turned into the Square, a
girl, enveloped in a dark opera wrap, but whose fair hair gleamed as she
passed the open door, came alone, out of Lord Evershed's house, and
entering a waiting taxi-cab, was driven away.
"Stop!" ordered Haredale hoarsely through the tube.
The big car pulled up as the cab passed around on the other side.
"Follow that cab."
With which the pursuit commenced. And Haredale found himself trembling,
so violent was the war of emotions that waged within him. His deductions
were proving painfully correct. Through Mayfair and St. John's Wood the
cab led the way; finally into Finchley Road. Fifty yards behind,
Haredale stopped the car as the cab drew up before a gate set in a high
wall.
Lady Mary stepped out, opened the gate, and disappeared within. Heedless
of the taxi-driver's curious stare, Haredale, a conspicuous figure in
evening dress, with no overcoat and no hat, entered almost immediately
afterwards.
Striding up to the porch, he was searching for bell or knocker when the
door opened silently, and an Arab in spotless white robes saluted him
with dignified courtesy.
"Take my card to your master," snapped Haredale, striving to exhibit no
surprise, and stepped inside rapidly.
The Arab waved him to a small reception room, furnished with a wealth of
curios for which the visitor had no eyes, and retired. As the man
withdrew Haredale moved to the door and listened. He admitted to himself
that this was the part of a common spy; but his consuming jealousy would
brook no restraint.
From somewhere farther along the hall he heard, though indistinctly, a
familiar voice.
Without stopping to reflect he made for a draped door, knocked
peremptorily, and entered.
He found himself in a small apartment, whose form and appointments, even
to his perturbed mind, conveyed a vague surprise. It was, to all intents
and purposes, a cell, with stone-paved floor and plaster walls. An
antique lamp, wherein rested what appeared to be a small ball of light,
unlike any illuminant he had seen, stood upon a massive table, which was
littered with papers. Excepting a chair of peculiar design and a
magnificently worked Oriental curtain which veiled either a second door
or a recess in the wall, the place otherwise was unfurnished.
Before this curtain, and facing him, pale but composed, stood Lady Mary
Evershed, a sweet picture in a bizarre setting.
"Has your friend run away, then?" said Haredale roughly.
The girl did not reply, but looked fully at him with something of scorn
and much of reproach in her eyes.
"I know whose house this is," continued Haredale violently, "and why you
have come. What is he to you? Why do you know him--visit him--shield
him? Oh! my God! it only wanted this to complete my misery. I have, now,
not one single happy memory to take away with me."
His voice shook upon those last words.
"Mary," he said sadly, and all his rage was turned to pleading--"what
does it mean? Tell me. I _know_ there is some simple explanation----"
"You shall hear it, Sir Richard," interrupted a softly musical voice.
He turned as though an adder had bitten him; the blasé composure which
is the pride of every British officer had melted in the rays of those
blue eyes that for years had been the stars of his worship. It was a
very human young man, badly shaken and badly conscious of his display of
weakness, who faced the tall figure in the tightly buttoned frock-coat
that now stood in the open doorway.
The man who had interrupted him was one to arrest attention anywhere and
in any company. With figure and face cast in a severely classic mould,
his intense, concentrated gaze conveyed to Haredale a throbbing sense of
_force_, in an uncanny degree.
"Séverac Bablon!" flashed through his mind.
"Himself, Sir Richard."
Haredale, who had not spoken, met the weird, fixed look, but with a
consciousness of physical loss--an indefinable sensation, probably
mental, of being drawn out of himself. No words came to help him.
"You have acted to-night," continued Séverac Bablon, and Haredale,
knowing himself in the presence of the most notorious criminal in
Europe, yet listened passively, as a schoolboy to the admonition of his
Head, "you have acted to-night unworthily. I had noted you, Sir Richard,
as a man whose friendship I had hoped to gain. Knowing your trials,
and"--glancing at the girl's pale face--"with what object you suffered
them, I had respected you, whilst desiring an opportunity to point out
to you the falsity of your position. I had thought that a man who could
win such a prize as has fallen to your lot must, essentially, be above
all that was petty--all that was mean."
Haredale clenched his hands angrily. Never since his Eton days had such
words been addressed to him. He glared at the over-presumptuous
mountebank--for so he appraised him; he told himself that, save for a
woman's presence, he would have knocked him down. He met the calm but
imperious gaze--and did nothing, said nothing.
"A woman may be judged," continued the fascinating voice, "not by her
capacity for love, but by her capacity for that rarer thing, friendship.
A woman who, at her great personal peril, can befriend another woman is
a pearl beyond price. Knowing me, you have ceased to fear me as a rival,
Sir Richard." (To his mental amazement something that was not of his
mind, it seemed, told Haredale that this was so.) "It remains only for
you to hear that simple explanation. Here it is."
He handed a note to him. It was as follows:
"You have confided to me the secret of your residence, where I
might see or communicate with you, and I was coming to see you
to-night, but I have met with a slight accident--enough to prevent
me. Lady Mary has volunteered to go alone. I will not betray your
confidence, but our friendly acquaintance cannot continue unless
you _instantly_ release my father--for I know that you have done
this outrageous thing. He is ill and it is very, very cruel. I beg
of you to let him return at once. If you admire true friendship and
unselfishness, as you profess, do this to repay Mary Evershed, who
risks irretrievably compromising herself to take this note--
"ZOE OPPNER."
"Miss Oppner, descending the stairs at Lord Evershed's in too great
haste," explained Séverac Bablon, and a new note, faint but perceptible,
had crept into his voice, "had the misfortune to sustain a slight
accident--I am happy to know, no more than slight. Lady Mary brought me
her message. I commit no breach of trust in showing it to you. There is
a telephone in the room at Lord Evershed's in which Miss Oppner remains
at present, and, as you entered, I obtained her spoken consent to do
what I have done."
"Mary," Haredale burst out, "I know it is taking a mean advantage to
plead that if I had not been so unutterably wretched and depressed I
never could have doubted, but--will you forgive me?"
Whatever its ethical merits or demerits, it was the right, the one
appeal. And it served.
Séverac Bablon watched the reconciliation with a smile upon his handsome
face. Though clearly but a young man, he could at will invest himself
with the aloof but benevolent dignity of a father-confessor.
"The cloud has passed," he said. "I have a word for you, Sir Richard.
You have learnt to-night some of my secrets--my appearance, my
residence, and the identities of two of my friends. I do not regret
this, although I am a 'wanted man.' Only to-night I have committed a
gross outrage which, with the circulation of to-morrow's papers, will
cry out for redress to the civilised world. You are at liberty to act as
you see fit. I would wish, as a favour, that you grant me thirty-six
hours' grace--as Miss Oppner already has done. On my word--if you care
to accept it--I shall not run away. At the end of that time I will again
offer you the choice of detaining me or of condoning what I have done
and shall do. Which is it to be?"
Haredale did not feel sure of himself. In fact, the episodes of that
night seemed, now, like happenings in a dream--a dream from which he yet
was not fully awakened. He glanced from Mary to the incomprehensible man
who was so completely different from anything he had pictured, from
anything he ever had known. He looked about the bare, cell-like
apartment, illuminated by the soft light of the globe upon the massive
table. He thought of the Arab who had admitted him--of the entire
absence of subterfuge where subterfuge was to be expected.
"I will wait," he said.
But in less than thirty-six hours the world had news of Séverac Bablon.
At a time roughly corresponding with that when Mr. Aloys. X. Alden was
standing, temporarily petrified with astonishment, in a certain room of
the Hotel Astoria, two gentlemen in evening attire burst into a
Wandsworth police station. One was a very angry Irishman, the other a
profane Scot, whose language, which struck respectful awe to the hearts
of two constables, a sergeant, and an inspector--would have done credit
to the most eloquent mate in the mercantile marine.
He fired off a volley of redundant but gorgeously florid adjectives,
what time he peeled factitious whiskers from his face and shook their
stickiness from his fingers. His Irish friend, with brilliant but less
elaborate comments, struggled to depilate a Kaiser-like moustache from
his upper lip.
"What are ye sittin' still for-r?" shouted the Scotsman, and banged a
card on the desk. "I'm Hector Murray, and this is John Macready of
Melbourne. We've been held up by the highwaym'n Bablon. Turrn out the
forrce. Turrn out the dom'd diveesion. Get a move on ye, mon!"
The accumulated power of the three names--Hector Murray, John Macready,
and Séverac Bablon--galvanised the station into sudden activity, and an
extraordinary story, a fabulous story, was gleaned from the excited
gentlemen. It appeared in every paper on the following morning, so it
cannot better be presented here than in the comparatively simple form
wherein it met the eyes of readers of the _Gleaner's_ next issue. Cuts
have been made where the reporter's account overlaps the preceding, or
where he has become purely rhetorical.
SIX FAMOUS CAPITALISTS KIDNAPPED
SÉVERAC BABLON ACTIVE AGAIN
AMAZING OUTRAGE AT THE ASTORIA
Under these heads appeared a full and finely descriptive account of the
happenings already noticed.
DRAMATIC ESCAPE OF MR. MACREADY AND MR. HECTOR MURRAY
SPECIAL INTERVIEW WITH MR. MURRAY
WHERE ARE THE MISSING MAGNATES?
IS SCOTLAND YARD EFFETE?
From Mr. Hector Murray ... our special representative obtained a
full account of the outrage, which threw much light upon a mystery
that otherwise appeared insoluble. After ... they entered the room
at the Astoria, where they had agreed to discuss a plan of mutual
action against the common enemy of Capital, Mr. Murray informed our
representative that nothing unusual took place for some twenty
minutes or half an hour. Baron Hague had just risen to make a
proposal, when the lights were extinguished.
As it was a very black night, the room was plunged into complete
darkness. Before anyone had time to ascertain the meaning of the
occurrence, a voice, which our representative was informed seemed
to proceed from the floor, uttered the following words:
"Let no one speak or move. Mr. Macready place your revolver upon
the table." (Mr. Macready was the only member of the company who
was armed, and, curiously enough, as the voice commenced he had
drawn his revolver.) "Otherwise, your son's yacht, the _Savannah_,
will be posted missing. Hear me out, every one of you, lest great
misfortune befall those dear to you. Mr. Murray, your sister and
niece will disappear from the Villa Marina, Monte Carlo, within
four hours of any movement made by you without my express
permission. Mr. Oppner, you have a daughter. Believe me, she and
you are quite safe--at present. Baron Hague, Sir Leopold Jesson,
and Mr. Rohscheimer, my agents have orders, which only I can recall
to bring you to Carey Street. I threaten no more than I can carry
out. Give the alarm if it please you ... but I have warned."
During this most extraordinary speech shadowy shapes seemed to be
flitting about the room. The nature of the threats uttered had, for
the time, quite unmanned the six gentlemen, which is no matter for
surprise. Then, at a muttered command in what Mr. Murray informed
our representative to have been Arabic, four lamps--or, rather,
balls of fire--appeared at the four corners of the apartment. This
bizarre scene, suggestive of nothing so much as an Eastern romance,
was due to the presence of several Arabs in heavy robes, who had in
some way entered in the darkness, and who now stood around the
walls, four of their number holding in their brown hands these
peculiar globular lights, which were of a kind quite new to those
present. (An article by Mr. Pearce Baldry, of Messrs. Armiston,
Baldry & Co., dealing with the possible construction of these
lamps, appears on page 6.)
Immediately inside the open window stood a tall man in a closely
buttoned frock-coat. He carried no arms, but wore a black silk
half-mask. Mr. Rohscheimer at this juncture rendered the episode
even more dramatic by exclaiming:
"Good heavens! It's Séverac Bablon!"
"It is, indeed, Mr. Rohscheimer," said that menace to civilised
society; "so that no doubt you will respect my orders. Mr.
Macready, I do not see your revolver upon the table. I have warned
you twice."
Mr. Macready, who is not easily intimidated, evidently concluding
that no good could come of resistance at that time, threw the
revolver on to the table and folded his arms.
"I give you my word," concluded Séverac Bablon, "that no bodily
harm shall come to any one of you so long as you attempt no
resistance. What will now be done is done only by way of
precaution. Any sound would be fatal."
At a signal to the Arabs the four lights were hidden, and each of
the six gentlemen were seized in the darkness in such a manner that
resistance was impossible. Each had a hand clapped over his mouth,
whilst he was securely gagged and bound by men who evidently had
the arts of the Thug at their fingers' ends. Mr. Murray informed
our representative that so certain were they of Séverac Bablon's
power to perform all that he had threatened that, in his opinion,
no one struggled, with the exception of Mr. Macready, who, however,
was promptly overpowered.
It was then that they learnt how the Arabs and their master had
entered. For each of the distinguished company, commencing with
Baron Hague, was lowered by a rope to a window on the fifth floor
and drawn in by men who waited there.
There is no doubt that access had been gained by means of a short
ladder from this lower window; indeed, Mr. Murray saw such a ladder
in use when, all having descended through the darkness, the last to
leave--an Arab--returned by that means. Such was the dispatch and
perfect efficiency of this audacious man's Eastern gang, that Mr.
Murray and his friends were all removed from the upper apartment to
the lower in less than seven minutes. It will be remembered that
the south wing of the Astoria has lately been faced with dark grey
granite, that it was a moonless night, and that the daring
operation could only have been visible, if visible at all, from the
distant Embankment. No hitch occurred whatever; Séverac Bablon's
Arabs exhibited all the agility and quickness of monkeys. It is
illustrative of his brazen methods that he then removed the gags,
and invited his victims to partake of some refreshments, "as they
had a long drive before them."
Needless to say, they were all severely shaken by their perilous
adventure; and this led to an angry outburst from Mr. Macready, who
demanded a full explanation of the outrage.
"Sir," was the reply, "it is not for you to ask. As a final warning
to you and to your friends--for the provisions I have made in your
case are no more complete than those which I have made in the
others--permit me to tell you that eight of the twelve men manning
your son's boat including two officers--are under my orders. If any
obstacle be placed in my way by you a wireless message will carry
instructions, though I myself lie in detention, or dead, that the
_Savannah_ be laid upon a certain course. That course, Mr.
Macready, will not bring her into any port known to the Board of
Trade. Shall I nominate the crew? Or are your doubts dispersed?"
The insight thus afforded them to the far-reaching influence, the
all-pervading power, of this arch-brigand whose presence in our
midst is a disgrace to the police of the world, was sufficient to
determine them upon a passive attitude. A gentleman who seemed very
nervous then appeared, and skilfully disguised all six. Mr.
Rohscheimer mentioned later to Mr. Murray that in this man he had
recognised, beyond any shadow of doubt, a perruquier whose name is
a household word. But this doubtless was but another clever trick
of the master trickster.
In three parties of two, each accompanied by an Arab dressed in
European clothes, but wearing a tarboosh, they left the hotel.
Disguised beyond recognition, they were conducted to a roomy car of
the "family" pattern, which was in waiting; the blinds were drawn
down, and they were driven away.
At the end of a rapid drive of about an hour's duration, Messrs.
Murray and Macready were requested by one of the three accompanying
Arabs to alight, and were informed that Séverac Bablon desired to
tender his sincere apologies for the inconvenience to which,
unavoidably, he had put them, and for the evils with which--though
only in the "most sacred interests"--he had been compelled to
threaten them. They were absolved from all obligations and at
liberty now to take what steps they thought fit. With which they
were set down in a lonely spot, and the car was driven away. As our
readers are already well aware, this lonely spot was upon
Wandsworth Common.
It is almost impossible to credit the fact that six influential men
of world-wide reputation could thus, publicly, be kidnapped from a
London hotel. But in this connection two things must be remembered.
Firstly, for reasons readily to be understood and appreciated, they
offered no resistance; secondly, the presence of so many Orientals
in the hotel occasioned no surprise. A Prince Said Abu-el-Ahzab had
been residing for some time in the apartments below those occupied
by Mr. J. J. Oppner, and the members of his numerous suite are
familiar to all residents. He and his following have disappeared,
but a cash payment of all outstanding accounts has been left
behind. It has been discovered that the light was cut off from one
of the rooms occupied by the ci-devant prince, and the police are
at work upon several other important clues which point beyond doubt
to the fact that "Prince Said Abu-el-Ahzab" was none other than
Séverac Bablon.
During the next twenty-four hours the entire habitable world touched by
cable service literally gasped at this latest stroke of the notorious
Séverac Bablon. Despite the frantic and unflagging labours of every man
that Scotland Yard could spare to the case nothing was accomplished. The
wife or nearest kin of each of the missing men had received a typed
card:
"Fear nothing. No harm shall befall a guest of Séverac Bablon."
These cards, which could be traced to no maker or stationer, all had
been posted at Charing Cross.
Then, in the stop press of the _Gleaner's_ final edition, appeared the
following:
"Baron Hague, Sir L. Jesson, Messrs. Rohscheimer and Oppner have
returned to their homes."
It is improbable that in the history of the newspaper business, even
during war-time, there has ever been such a rush made for the papers as
that which worked the trade to the point of general exhaustion on the
following morning.
Without pausing here to consider the morning's news, let us return to
the Chancery Legal Incorporated Credit Society Bank.
"Move along here, please. Move on. Move on."
Again the street is packed with emotional humanity. But what a different
scene is this, although in its essentials so similar. For every face is
flushed with excitement--joyful excitement. As once before, they press
eagerly on toward the bank entrance; but this morning the doors are
_open_. Almost every member of that crushed and crushing assembly holds
a copy of the morning paper. Every man and every woman in the crowd
knows that the missing financiers have declined, firmly, to afford any
information whatever respecting their strange adventure--that they have
refused, all four of them, point blank either to substantiate or to deny
the sensational story of Messrs. Macready and Murray. "The incident is
closed," Baron Hague is reported as declaring. But what care the
depositors of the Chancery Legal Incorporated? For is it not announced,
also, that this quartet of public benefactors, with a fifth
philanthropist (who modestly remains anonymous) have put up between them
no less a sum than three and a half million pounds to salve the wrecked
bank?
"By your leave. Make way here. Stand back, _if_ you please."
Someone starts a cheer, and it is feverishly taken up by the highly
wrought throng, as an escorted van pulls slowly through the crowd. It is
bullion from the Bank of England. Good red gold and crisp notes. It is
dead hopes raised from the dust; happiness reborn, like a ph[oe]nix from
the ashes of misery.
"Hip, hip, hip, hooray!"
Again and again, and yet again that joyous cheer awakes the echoes of
the ancient Inns.
It was as a final cheer died away that Haredale, on the rim of the
throng, felt himself tapped upon the shoulder.
He turned a flushed face and saw a tall man, irreproachably attired,
standing smiling at his elbow. The large eyes, with their compelling
light of command, held nothing now but a command to friendship.
"Séverac Bablon!"
"Well, Haredale!" The musical voice made itself audible above all the
din. "These good people would rejoice to know the name of that anonymous
friend who, with four other disinterested philanthropists, has sought to
bring a little gladness into a grey world. Here am I. And there, on the
bank steps, are police. Make your decision. Either give me in charge or
give me your hand."
Haredale could not speak; but he took the outstretched hand of the most
surprising bandit the world ever has known, and wrung it hard.