THE RED-HAIRED WOMAN
Westerham stood still gazing stupidly at the girl and holding out the
jewels towards her.
When he had recovered from his great surprise he moved a step nearer to
her.
“Madam,” he said, “permit me to insist that you shall take these things
back.”
Without a word the girl stretched out her hand and took the jewels from
him. She hid them quickly in the folds of her cloak, and all the while
the expression of amaze and fear on her face did not abate.
At last she pointed to the man lying beneath the tree.
“You have not killed him?” she asked, in a low voice.
For answer, Westerham turned again and knelt at the fat man's side. He
inserted his hand skilfully over the unconscious man's heart, and then
rose to his feet again.
“No,” he said, almost with a laugh. “Just knocked him out; that is all.
He will be all right directly, and I fancy he will be glad to walk away
without assistance. I imagine he is not a character who would care for
much fuss and attention at this time of the night.”
Again Westerham drew near to the girl and peered gravely and keenly,
but at the same time with all deference, into her face.
“I think,” he said quietly, “that it will be better for you to walk
away while we are still undisturbed. If you will allow me, I will
accompany you to the gates of the park. If I may be permitted to say
so, it is hardly fitting that a lady in your position, carrying so much
property about with her, should be strolling around here unattended.”
His tones were so kind and so cheering, and suggested such a delicate
sense of humour at the whole situation, that Lady Kathleen smiled back
at him.
“At least,” she said, and now she almost laughed herself, “you are a
very sturdy escort.”
Westerham said not another word except, “This is the way,” and then,
guiding the girl through the trees, he reached the main path and helped
Lady Kathleen to step over the low iron railing; thence he piloted her
through a throng of quite incurious people to Hyde Park Corner.
She walked beside him without saying anything at all, apparently
satisfied to be in his charge; and she made no demur when, on reaching
the street, Westerham hailed a passing taxicab.
The man drew up at the kerb, and opening the door, Westerham assisted
the girl to enter.
Then he leant forward into the darkness of the cab and said earnestly:
“I trust you will permit me to see you safely on your road. Apparently
one never knows what may happen in London, and, believe me, I have no
wish you should suffer a second adventure such as the one through which
you have just passed.”
“Thank you,” said Lady Kathleen in a scarcely audible voice. “If you
will see me as far as Trafalgar Square I shall be glad.”
Giving the order “Trafalgar Square!” Westerham entered the cab.
They drove in complete silence along Piccadilly, down St. James's
Street, and through Pall-Mall, and rapidly approached the Nelson
monument. As the lights of the Grand Hotel came into view, Westerham
leaned towards the girl and said very gravely:
“Do you think Trafalgar Square is near enough to your home? Had I not
better tell the man to put you down at the corner of Downing Street?”
The girl gave a quick gasp, and then a stifled cry.
Westerham could see her eyes shining in the dimly-lit little vehicle.
“What do you know?” she cried.
“If you mean,” answered Westerham, “what do I know of the fat man and
the jewels and your mission in Hyde Park—nothing. I give you my word
I know nothing at all. But I do know you are Lady Kathleen Carfax, and
that your father is Prime Minister of England, and that, without any
high-flown sentiments, it is at least my duty to see you reach home in
safety.”
Obedient to Westerham's instructions, the cabman had pulled up at the
kerb beneath the monument.
“If you are sure,” said Westerham, “that you would rather alight here,
of course I must defer to your wishes. But at least permit me to follow
you at a respectful distance down Whitehall. I cannot tell why, but I
feel uneasy about the last stages of your journey.”
Turning towards him, the girl held out her hand impulsively.
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you. I cannot tell you how much I thank
you. You are evidently a gentleman. I ask you as a gentleman not to
mention to anyone in the world what you have seen or heard to-night.
Believe me,” she added with a catch in her voice, “that to-night's
doings concern the honour of the best, and, as I think, the greatest,
man in this country. I mean my father.”
Westerham bowed.
“You may trust me absolutely,” he said. “I give you my word of honour
that not one single word of this shall pass my lips. But may I say
something else? May I be allowed to make an offer of help? I have
money, I have many resources at my command. I would willingly pledge
myself to serve you in any way. I should be only too proud, too glad,
to help.”
“No, no!” cried the girl, sharply, and with a note almost of agony in
her voice.
The distress in the girl's tones was so real that Westerham made no
further effort to persuade her.
He opened the door of the taxicab and assisted Lady Kathleen to step
out.
Then, having paid the cabman, he turned to her side again.
“If you will allow me,” he said, “I will at least see you across the
road,” and he made this suggestion with some justification, for the
late after-theatre traffic was now streaming westwards.
At the top of Whitehall he turned, and lifting his hat, stood waiting
for Lady Kathleen to take leave of him. Once more she stretched out her
hand impulsively, and he took it in his own.
“Thank you,” she said, in the same low, earnest voice, “thank you again
and again.”
“So far as I am concerned,” said Westerham, “You may rely on my
absolute silence—if only,” he added with a little smile, “because
there is really no one in London with whom I'm on speaking terms.”
Lady Kathleen nodded her head and searched his face with her serious
eyes. Then she turned and walked quickly away.
As for Westerham, he ran quickly across to the further side of the
roadway that he might watch Lady Kathleen's progress to Downing Street,
for he was still fearful that she might meet with further molestation.
He saw, however, that she reached the corner of the famous little
_cul-de-sac_ in safety, and, moreover, that she was saluted by an
apparently surprised and startled policeman.
As Westerham walked back to Walter's Hotel he was in a most perplexed
state of mind. Was it possible that he had stepped suddenly into the
midst of some tragic mystery? Was it possible that it was real and
actual sorrow and horror that had made the eyes of the girl in the
picture—the eyes of the girl who had drawn him back to England—so
wistful and so beckoning?
That a girl in Lady Kathleen Carfax's position might be suffering some
profound grief, or might be the centre of some bit of distressing
family history, might well be conceived. But what should take the
daughter of the Prime Minister of England to Hyde Park after dark, and
what extraordinary combination of inappropriate events could possibly
cause her to seek the silence of such a man as he had left insensible?
Melun? It was possible that he was connected with the mystery.
Westerham now remembered the man's cynical and confident smile when he
had so unwisely boasted to him that he proposed to marry Lady Kathleen.
If Melun were really implicated in this business, then the methods
of his villainy must be far more complicated than Westerham had
anticipated. Only a very extraordinary conspiracy indeed could possibly
have taken the Prime Minister's daughter into the park at such an hour.
From Westerham's own personal experience Melun was a very prince of
blackmailers. Indeed, he had not troubled to deny the accusation when
Westerham had made it. But even the nimble imagination of Westerham
had not foreseen the possibility of blackmailing the Prime Minister,
at whose back were all the forces of the law, including a discreet and
silent and swiftly-acting Scotland Yard.
Westerham sat far into the night, turning all these things over in his
mind; and the more he pondered over them the more convinced he became
that Melun must be in some way implicated, if indeed he were not the
originator of the whole business.
It was, however, upon what matter Melun could possibly blackmail Lord
Penshurst that caused Westerham the most perplexity.
Obviously it was not some minor question of personal honour which
involved the necessity of maintaining some sordid and disgraceful
secret, or obviously Lord Penshurst's daughter would not be risking her
personal safety, and to a great extent her reputation, by making such a
visit to the park.
No; evidently the matter involved some great State secret, concerning
which the Prime Minister had sought the confidence and assistance of
his daughter. Yet Westerham could not altogether understand how this
might be, because he could not conceive any matter of State which it
would not be better to trust to the Secret Service than to a young girl.
Whatever it might be, the mystery embraced Lady Kathleen; and with the
single-hearted desire to assist her, Westerham determined, whether it
pleased her or not, that he would range himself on her side.
To do this, however, it would be necessary to discover what the mystery
was, and he was still far from the solution when he fell asleep.
On the morrow he rose early, and sat till lunch-time in the
reading-room holding a paper before him, but in reality setting up
and then demolishing a thousand and one theories to account for Lady
Kathleen's plight.
He had sent for Melun, and while he waited for him he debated with
himself as to whether or not he should tax the captain with complicity
in the matter. Finally he decided against such a course, seeing that an
affair of such a magnitude as that in which Lady Kathleen was entangled
must of a certainty outweigh in value even the great financial
inducements with which he had sought to attach Melun to himself.
Finally Sir Paul resolved to cease his exploration of London and
begin his exploration of the devious paths of Captain Melun, with the
turnings and twistings of which he was still unacquainted.
It was quite possible that for the better conduct of his campaign
against the Prime Minister Melun might require a certain amount of
ready money, and in return for that ready money the captain might be
led into showing Westerham sufficient of his life to enable the baronet
to grasp and understand the mystery of Lady Kathleen.
When at last Captain Melun came up after lunch Westerham greeted him
coldly—so coldly that the captain raised his eyebrows.
“It seems,” he said, “that you are not in a very good humour. Is London
beginning to bore you?”
Sir Paul looked at him sharply. “No,” he said, thoughtfully, “not in
the least, though I confess that I have to some extent exhausted its
ordinary attractions. Now I propose to plunge a little deeper into its
secrets and its mysteries. In this direction I am, of course, looking
to you to help me.”
The captain nodded. “Quite so,” he agreed, “but I hope you realise that
up to the present I have had nothing but your promises of favours to
come—and times are hard.”
For answer, the baronet took out his pocket-book and counted out ten
one-hundred-pound notes upon the table.
“This,” he said, “should be a sufficient guarantee of my good faith
for the present. Mark you, I have had some experience of your kind
before, and I do not propose to pay down a lump sum for services which
you may subsequently find it inconvenient to render.
“Now I will come to the point at once. I don't propose to spend a
thousand pounds for nothing—and when I say nothing, I mean for
the privilege of knowing you alone. I am desirous of making the
acquaintance of your friends and colleagues at once.”
Melun laughed, showing his fine teeth. “I have not the slightest
objection,” he said, “and, as a matter of fact, you have chosen a
particularly convenient day, for it is on Wednesdays that the heads of
my business meet to discuss a few personal matters.
“To-day I will not disguise from you the fact that the discussion will
be yourself. I have made known some details of your offer—but not
all of them, because my friends are not so gifted with imagination
as myself, and I must confess that your proposal is regarded with
considerable suspicion.”
The captain moved aside and looked thoughtfully out of the window for a
few moments; then he turned round on his heel sharply.
“I will be perfectly frank with you,” he said with an amazingly good
attempt at breezy honesty. “All of my friends are not particularly nice
people, and if they had any idea that you were likely to play them
false, not even the consideration of tapping your vast wealth would
restrain them from putting you out of the way.”
“There is such a thing,” said Westerham, lightly, “as killing the
goose which lays the golden eggs.”
“Yes,” said the captain, gravely, “but even a supply of golden eggs may
be retained at too dear a price.
“However,” he went on with an air of gaiety, “this is rather too
serious a matter to consider to-day. I simply intended to throw out a
kindly hint.”
“I'm sure you are very good,” said Westerham with a fine sarcasm. “I
had not looked for you to be so completely considerate.”
“I am sorry,” said the captain, “to ask you to a meal which goes ill
with your present position, but, truth to tell, as the evening is
always a busy time with us, we find it more convenient to discuss our
plans over high tea.”
He took out his watch and looked at it thoughtfully. “If we start now
we shall be at Herne Hill at about five o'clock—that will suit us
admirably.” “Very well,” said the baronet, picking up his hat, “I am
ready to go when you are.”
At the hall door Sir Paul stopped and looked out into the street, and
was in the act of hailing a passing cab when the captain stayed his
hand.
“Oh, no,” he said, with a quiet laugh; “we take no cabs to Herne Hill
from here. You will find it far more convenient to take a tram when
there is a possibility that your movements are being followed with
attention.”
Without another word he led the way down the Embankment, and on to
Westminster Bridge, where the two men took a car to the Elephant and
Castle.
From this point the captain took an omnibus, and twenty minutes later
they were in the pretty and innocent and homely suburb of Herne Hill.
Stepping ahead with quick and unhesitating strides, Melun led the way
up a long avenue, and turned into the gate of a pleasant garden, in
which there stood a substantial red-brick house.
On his ringing the bell the door was opened by a German man-servant,
and a moment later they were shown into a prettily-furnished
drawing-room of the suburban type.
From a seat by the fire there arose an elderly lady dressed in decorous
black silk. This was the hostess, Mrs. Bagley. Her face was broad and
flat, and she had a pair of little black eyes that danced and glinted.
Her grey hair was neatly parted beneath a black lace cap. Altogether
she looked a particularly respectable middle-aged British matron. Her
aspect, indeed, was so completely precise and prim, that when he turned
from shaking hands with her, Sir Paul was almost taken aback at the
utter contrast which the other woman in the room presented to Mrs.
Bagley.
The other woman must in her time have been out of the common beautiful.
She was beautiful even now, though her eyes were very tired and her
face when in repose was hard and set. Her hair would have at once
aroused suspicion that it was dyed, for it was lustrous and brilliant
as burnished copper. But the suspicion would have been without
justification, in the same way as would have been the notion that the
very pronounced colour on the woman's cheeks was artificial too.
“Madame Estelle,” said Melun, by way of introduction, and his
heavy-lidded eyes glanced quickly from the red-haired woman to Sir
Paul. He noted with considerable satisfaction that the baronet was
evidently much struck by the beauty of Estelle.
The third occupant of the room was a tall young man of the most
unpleasant appearance.
He had very light blue eyes, closely set together, and a large, red,
hawk-like nose. His hands were large and red, with immense knuckles and
brutal, short, stubbed nails. Westerham took one of the huge red hands
with a little shudder. It was cold and clammy and strong as a vice.
“If ever,” thought the baronet to himself, “I have touched the hand of
a murderer, I have touched one now.”
The tall young man sat down by the window and carefully watched the
baronet with his narrow, light blue eyes. The quick gaze of the elderly
matron glinted and flashed all over Westerham's face. The captain
looked at him sidelong. The red-haired woman alone gazed at him openly
and frankly with eyes that were almost honestly blue.
There was a little pause while conversation hung fire. There was
nothing for this curious collection of human beings to talk about
except the baronet himself, and on this subject their tongues had to be
silent as long as he remained.
Suddenly the door opened, and a portly man with a sallow, greasy face
came quickly in. He stood still, with his hand on the panel of the
door, and gave a short, quick gasp which caused the captain to look at
him sharply.
And schooled as he was against the betrayal of any feeling, Westerham
himself nearly uttered an exclamation, for the man who had entered the
room so suddenly was the fat man out of whom he had knocked the sense
the night before.
The fat man closed the door behind him gently, and came into the centre
of the room.
“Sir Paul,” said Captain Melun, “allow me to present Mr. Bagley. Mr.
Bagley is the manager of a branch of a great bank, and acts as our
financier.”
Mr. Bagley's sallow and greasy countenance broke into a hideously
affable smile. Westerham found himself shaking hands with the man who
held Lady Kathleen's secret.
The pause which followed this introduction became so embarrassing
that Mrs. Bagley suggested that they should go in to tea; and in a
cheerful dining-room Westerham found himself looking curiously at the
collection of tea and coffee pots, whisky decanters, bacon and eggs,
and muffins and cakes, which were spread promiscuously on the clean
white tablecloth.
The conversation turned on many things, but for the most part upon
the weather. When the little party had eaten and drunk their fill the
captain rapped sharply on the table.
There was complete silence, in which Melun rose, and having first
closed the window he afterwards opened the door to satisfy himself that
no one listened without.
He then returned to his seat at the table and spoke quickly and in a
low voice.
“I have told you,” he said rapidly, “how I met Sir Paul.”
The baronet could not resist the luxury of a sardonic little smile.
Melun saw it and winced, but went boldly on with his subject.
“It is quite excusable,” he said, “for the richest man on the earth to
desire to indulge his whims, and if we can assist Sir Paul to humour
his, to his own advantage and ours, then so much the better for us all.
The terms which Sir Paul has offered are generous to a degree, while
the risks we run are slight. Sir Paul has not pressed us in any way. He
desired in return for the money he was about to hand over to us to make
the acquaintance—of my friends. He has now met them, and I trust that
he is at least satisfied.”
Westerham bowed.
“For the present, therefore,” the captain continued, “there remains
nothing to be said and nothing to be done. We, of course, have several
things to discuss, and I am sure that Sir Paul will not take it amiss
if we ask him to excuse us. It is quite impossible for him to take part
in our counsels. There is no immediate hurry, but still we must talk
matters over before it is much later.”
Westerham rose to his feet. Truth to tell, he desired to shake off the
dust of Herne Hill, not so much to enable Captain Melun's extraordinary
friends to discuss their plans, but because he was sufficiently bored
to wish to leave them.
To Westerham's surprise, however, Mme. Estelle rose too.
“My carriage is, I think, waiting for me,” she said in an almost gentle
voice, “and if Sir Paul will allow me I will drive him back.”
Melun gave both the red-haired woman and the baronet a distinctly ugly
look. He was, indeed, about to raise some objection when Mme. Estelle
spoke again.
“I will see you to-morrow,” she said, turning quickly towards him.
Melun bit his lips, but said nothing, though he followed her and the
baronet out of the room and saw them to the carriage, which was a
well-appointed, quiet little brougham drawn by a well-bred bay.
Westerham was somewhat puzzled by all that had taken place, but he had,
at any rate, quickly divined that Mme. Estelle stood in no particular
fear of Melun, and both for reasons of vanity and policy he determined
to show her that he himself could, as a matter of fact, exercise some
authority over the evil-looking captain.
Westerham thrust his head out of the carriage as it was driving away
and said sharply to Melun, “I shall expect you to-morrow at noon.”
For quite a while they drove north in silence. It was not, indeed,
until they were passing through Regent Street that Mme. Estelle turned
to Westerham and spoke the first word.
“Forgive my being so blunt,” she said, “but I think you are playing an
exceedingly dangerous game.”
“What it is possible for a woman to do is possible for me to do,” said
Westerham.
The woman sighed. “Ah, yes, possible,” she said, “and yet with you
and with me things are quite different. You have nothing to gain and
everything to lose—I have nothing to lose at all.”
They drove on again in silence—a long silence, during which Westerham
turned many things over in his mind, and the conclusion he came to was
that it would be well to have this woman for his friend.
They were driving past the graveyard of the St. John's Wood Chapel when
he turned to her almost sharply and said, “Are you sure that I have
nothing to gain?”
Mme. Estelle turned and looked at him quickly, and her eyes were
startled; the brilliant colour had left her face.
“What do you mean?” she cried. “You are Sir Paul, aren't you?”
“Madam,” said Westerham, almost gently, “I'm sorry if I startled you.
Those who run great risks always imagine that the greatest object of
every other person is to accomplish their downfall. I assure you that
no such motive prompted me in making the bargain I have made with
Melun.”
“Then,” said the woman, “you can have no aim unless it be mere idle
curiosity?”
Westerham said nothing for the moment, but five minutes later, as
though he were resuming a conversation which had been abruptly broken
off, he said, “I am not so sure.”
The carriage had now passed out of the Finchley Road into a quiet
_cul-de-sac_, and had drawn up before a high wooden door let into a
garden wall.
Westerham assisted Mme. Estelle to alight. She asked him to ring the
bell, which he did, and a second later the garden door opened by some
unseen agency.
When she had stepped into the garden, Mme. Estelle beckoned to
Westerham to follow her, and he stepped into the garden and stood
beside her.
She closed the door to, glanced over her shoulder to see that she was
not observed, and then caught Westerham by the coat.
“Sir Paul,” she cried in a low voice, “you are a young man. Do not
destroy your life for a piece of folly. Cut yourself adrift from this
while there is still time.”
Westerham took her hand and looked at her kindly. “Thank you,” he
said; “thank you very much. But I am not only moved by folly to go on
with this business. Some day I may explain to you. I do not know that I
particularly care for going on, but there is no drawing back now.”