SIR PAUL IN PERIL
It was all very well for Melun to tell Westerham that he was a strong
man armed. But was he?
Westerham pondered over this problem with a puzzled frown. In spite of
the checks he had met with, he still felt himself to be, as Melun had
said, a strong man. And when he came to a tight corner he was armed for
the struggle, and had less fear of things than had Melun.
At times also it seemed as if his ingenuity was greater than the
captain's. But, for all that, did he really hold the upper hand? As he
impartially summed the matter up for himself it seemed to him that he
did not.
On the _Gigantic_ he had laughed that Melun should hope to find in his
possession anything to make him an easy prey to blackmail. Yet here
he was, a prey to the worst blackmail of all—a species of blackmail
of the heart. On every hand, and at every turn, no matter in what
direction he might strike out, he was more than met and baffled by
the one dominant fact that the faintest breath of publicity would
inevitably lose him Lady Kathleen.
So great, however, and so entirely unselfish was his love for the
Premier's daughter, that he would have faced even that loss bravely
could it have brought any peace to the hunted girl's mind. But he
realised that to relinquish his claims would be immediately to throw
her into the arms of Melun. Westerham shuddered when he thought of that.
No, crippled and cramped though he was, he must certainly go on—go on
in the blind hope that he could find something which would enable him
to deal Melun a blow from which he could not recover.
This, however, on further thought, seemed a rather _laissez faire_
policy to follow. It was ridiculous to think that, in spite of his
handicap, he should be beaten and bested at every turn by such a man as
Melun.
For fully an hour, therefore, after the captain had left him, Westerham
sat, pencil in hand, mapping out plan after plan of campaign. But all
of them, as he pored over their possibilities, seemed to avail him
nothing, and at last, when well nigh in despair, he tore up into minute
fragments the various propositions he had formulated.
Then it suddenly dawned on him that if he could only prove, as he
strongly suspected, that Melun was by no means dealing honestly with
his fellow criminals, he would be able by a little astute management to
turn all the organisation which Melun had at his disposal against the
captain himself.
Westerham's bright gaze brightened and his smile broadened. With an
almost boyish delight he immediately set to work to devise a scheme
whereby he could turn the tables on his enemy.
There was very little time to be lost, and to his joy Westerham
remembered that the day was Thursday, the day on the evening of which
Melun's various friends met at the pseudo working-man's club at
Limehouse.
Immediately he resolved that he would go there that very night.
Rough men had no terrors for him; during his life in the West he had
dealt with rougher men than Melun had ever been called on to handle.
He laughed as he thought of the possibilities of dominating such a
collection of scoundrels as he had seen on his first visit to “The
Club.”
Then he bethought him of Mr. Rookley, and he reflected that if the
mills of Scotland Yard, like the mills of God, ground exceedingly
slowly, they ground uncommonly fine.
It may be an easy thing to detect that one is shadowed by a large man
with large boots. But, none the less, it is sufficiently disconcerting
to find that the large boots follow one's footsteps persistently and
doggedly. Scotland Yard wears down a man by sheer weight.
Westerham knew, too, that he had so aroused the interest of the
authorities that they would do their best to watch his every movement.
Nor was he wrong.
He realised, therefore, that it would be folly for him to proceed
straight from Bruton Street to the East End. Never in his life had
he feared any man, nor had he ever before been compelled to face
the contingency of throwing off pursuers—and those pursuers the
representatives of law and order.
However, the prospect of for once being the pursued rather than the
pursuer to some extent tickled his fancy; he resolved to try his
'prentice hand at evasion by secretly making his way from Bruton Street
to Walter's Hotel.
Walter's, he imagined, would be probably safe from observation for that
night at least. Rookley had practically told Sir Paul that he did not
know where he went when he was not in Bruton Street.
First Westerham called in Blyth and questioned him pretty closely; he
satisfied himself, however, that whatever the man might think of his
master's methods of life he was at least faithful.
Westerham, indeed, resolved to trust him a great deal more than he
had done up to then, and told him, without any disguise, that he
strongly suspected that Bruton Street was at that moment being watched.
Casually, and without the slightest demonstration of surprise, the
valet thereupon suggested that it would be just as well for Westerham
to change his dress before he left the flat.
This he did, and afterwards sent the porter for a taxicab. Into this he
jumped as soon as it arrived, telling the man to drive to Turnham Green.
And long before they reached that distant part of London, Westerham
convinced himself that even had he been pursued at all he had certainly
outdistanced the pursuers.
From Turnham Green he took the District Railway to Earl's Court.
Alighting there, he walked to South Kensington, where he again took the
train, on this occasion booking straight through to Whitechapel.
From St. Mary's, Whitechapel, he turned south, and plunging through a
maze of little streets came on foot to Limehouse at about nine o'clock.
He had little difficulty in finding the “Cut,” and walking briskly down
it, came to the little space where the tall, four-storeyed building
was set back from the roadway.
Always quick to observe detail, he had not only noticed but he
recollected Melun's peculiar rap. So three times he knocked slowly, and
again three times slowly, and then three times in quick succession.
As on the former occasion, the door swung open at once, and the hideous
face of the negro he had treated so cavalierly before peered at him
from the darkness.
The nigger peered eagerly about as though seeking for Melun, and when
he saw that Westerham stood there alone, made as though to slam the
door on him.
But Westerham was too quick for him, and thrust his heavy-booted foot
into the opening and laughed in the negro's face.
The negro cursed him roundly and demanded what he wanted.
“Let me in,” said Westerham, quietly, “and I will explain.”
Most unwillingly the negro opened the door, and Westerham, entering the
passage, looked the black squarely in the eyes.
“I fancy that it is none of your business to inquire what I want?” he
said. “I was brought here by Captain Melun and properly introduced, if
such is the term you use. And my affairs at the present moment are with
the gentlemen of the club. I will thank you to take me there at once.”
The negro gave him an ugly look.
“Did Captain Melun send you?” he asked.
“Mind your own business,” retorted Westerham, sharply. “Lead the way. I
shall say what I have to say to my friends.
“Don't play the fool,” he added as the man still looked doubtful. “What
do you take me for? A ‘tec’? If I were, do you think I should be ass
enough to come here alone and ask to be shown into that crowd?”
The negro grinned as much as to say that he thought him an ass in any
case, but he led the way down the passage none the less.
They passed through the opium den as before, and then it seemed that
the negro purposely made no disturbance in order that Westerham's
entrance might have a proper dramatic effect.
He was right in his estimation of the confusion it would cause.
If one may so term it, the parliament of scoundrels was in full
session. The long trestle table was in the centre of the room, and at
one end of it sat the bullet-headed man, while at the other was the
young ruffian whom Westerham knew by the name of Crow.
It was evidently Crow, too, who was in supreme command.
The bullet-headed man rose up and stared at Westerham with starting
eyes. The other men followed his gaze and leapt to their feet with
cries and oaths.
Crow, of the vicious eyes and the hawk-like nose and the large, brutal
hands, alone seemed undismayed.
The negro, having waited just sufficiently long to watch the sensation
caused by Westerham's entrance, had slipped out of the club-room on
silent feet.
Crow, in a quick, hard voice, cried, “The door!”
Instantly, as though their stations had by previous arrangements been
allotted them—as was indeed the case—two men jumped from their seats
and put their backs against the door. As they stood there they drew
their knives, and on taking a step forward Westerham found himself cut
off from retreat and facing the angry eyes of quite a score of men.
Two of them had pulled out revolvers, but Crow caught their action with
quick and angry eyes.
“Don't be fools,” he said; “put those barkers away. We want no noise
down here.”
Sullenly the men obeyed.
“Come to the table, Mr. Robinson,” said Crow, in a manner which
suggested he had no doubt that his instructions would be followed, “and
explain what this intrusion means.”
Westerham laughed and drew away from the men with the knives. He walked
easily down to the table to the place which had been vacated by the
bullet-headed man, and without so much as a word of apology took that
plump and furious person's seat.
He looked easily and almost lazily along the lines of vicious faces
until his gaze finally rested on Crow.
“I understood,” he said, in a pleasant voice, “that after my
introduction the other night I was at liberty to come here when I
pleased.”
“Unfortunately,” said Crow, “you have made a mistake. We had no desire
to see you then, much less had we any wish to set eyes on you again.”
“I should think not!” blared the bullet-headed man.
From the rest of the men came murmurs and angry words.
“My visit,” said Westerham, “should be of considerable interest to you
all. It is also of considerable interest to myself, as it proves that
you act independently of Melun. I understood from him that you held no
council unless he was with you.”
“Are you his cursed spy?” cried the man on his right, rising from his
seat and bringing his fist down with a bang on the table.
“No,” said Westerham, looking the man straight in the face, “I am not.”
“Sit down, Smith!” shouted Crow.
The man sat down.
“Now, my pretty gentleman,” Crow went on, “we have had enough of you,
just as we have had enough of Melun, who has brought you into this
business for no good so far as we are concerned, and we do not propose
that matters should go any further; in fact, it is rather handy that
you thought of coming down East to us, as otherwise we should have come
up West to you.”
“Indeed,” said Westerham, who was still smiling at Crow.
“Yes,” Crow went on, “you have saved us a great deal of trouble. You
are a cool hand, Mr. Robinson, but we are just as cool. This spot was
not chosen for its beauty; it was chosen for its advantages.”
At this some of the men laughed coarsely, while several of them swore.
“Melun's kid-glove business is all very well in its way. It has made a
bit of money in its time, but it seems to us—we were just discussing
the matter to-night—that we can do pretty well without the captain and
his swells up West.
“It is a long time since his nice West End pals brought any grist to
our mill, and we don't propose to go on like this for ever.
“What brought matters to a head was your arrival. We can stand a good
deal, and we can wait a good deal. We are financed now and again by
men whom we never set eyes on, and, according to Melun, we pay them a
pretty rate of interest for our share of the work, but that is neither
here nor there. What we do object to—and what you will find we object
to to the extent of putting an end to it—is the importation of Yankee
swankers from the States.”
Westerham raised a protesting hand, but Crow did not heed him.
“Oh, it is no use your objecting,” he said; “we can read you like
a book. Things have been worse ever since your arrival. Melun has
practically never been near us so that we have been left to our own
resources. Well, we don't mind that; but we will see that the resources
are such as we like.”
He laughed a jarring laugh.
“Now you may be as bad as the worst of us, and it may be you won't
stick at much; and it may be that you have in that clever head a
thousand ways of keeping us in funds. I should say by the look of you,
you had.
“But I should say, too, that you were one of the mean breed, who keeps
things to himself. You are too much class for us. We don't suit your
book, and so we can rot while you and Melun spend the dibs up West.
Now, that's not good enough.”
Crow looked round the table, the men nodded, and he continued:—
“We are going to end it here and now. Mark you, Mr. High-and-Mighty,
we owe you one grudge already. We did not go looking after you to
interfere with your pleasures, which probably are a deal worse than
ours. In the same way, we do not allow any interference with what we do
down here.
“It's a thing which Melun himself never dares to do, and why should
you? It's more than we can stand. I am talking about those girls the
other night.”
Westerham was still smiling with his eyes hard and bright. “Perhaps,”
he said, “you had better let me inform you that if I found the same
state of things going on to-night I should interfere again.”
Some of the men stared in astonishment at his audacity. Crow's face
went white with passion.
“Would you, my beauty? I don't think you would.”
Then in a flash he had drawn a six-shooter from his pocket and yelled
“Hands up!”
Westerham laughed outright. Unless he should so lose control over
himself as to act foolishly he knew that Crow would not fire. He had
already told two men that they wanted no firing that night.
So, instead of putting his hands up, he folded them placidly on the
table.
“Put that thing away,” he said quietly, “until you explain precisely
what you intend to do.”
Crow lowered his weapon but kept it on the table. He even laughed a
hard, short laugh.
“Well, you are a good plucked 'un at any rate,” he said, “and as your
number's up, and dead men tell no tales, I don't see why I shouldn't
oblige you.
“You think,” he continued, making an attempt to imitate Westerham's
cool, off-hand way of speech, “that this is a working-man's club.
“Well, it is not exactly that. It is a club, sure enough, with pretty
fixed rules—rules which, if broken, may result in a man's light being
put out.
“The same may be said of anyone who offends us. You have offended us.
“Now, though Melun comes in through ‘The Cut,’ we come in the other
way. No one in London except the members of this club know that there
are two entrances. We come in by the main door, and that gives on to a
path which runs by a handy canal.
“Shooting is noisy, and knives mean messy work. Strangling is just
as simple and just as easy, and, with the clothes off you, and with
a good lead weight on your feet, there'd not be much chance of your
disappearance ever being traced to this place.”
He stared at Westerham with a fixed beast-like glare.
Westerham, however, with his hands still folded placidly on the table,
was smiling blandly.
“Allow me,” he said, seeing that Crow had made an end of speaking, “to
congratulate you on a very pretty little programme—but a programme
which, I fear, is hardly likely to be carried out to-night.”
“Str'wth,” cried a man, craning across the table towards Westerham,
“are you a copper's nark? Have you put the police on us?”
Half a dozen men rose from their seats and looked with scared faces at
Crow.
Crow, somewhat to Westerham's admiration, kept his head.
“See to the door,” he said.
Two other men rose, and going to Westerham's side of the long room,
opened the door leading into a little porch; through this they went out
on to the footpath by the canal and peered cautiously up and down.
Presently they came back shaking their heads.
“Have another look,” said Crow. “Search a little further.”
The two men went out again, and in the complete silence which now
prevailed their footsteps could be heard through the open door pacing
up and down the path.
Returning, they reported that everything was quiet.
“Very well,” said Crow, “but, all the same, you had better get to your
posts.”
The two men went out once more and closed the door after them.
“Bluff!” said Crow, insolently, to Westerham, “just bluff. But you
cannot come bluff on us, for all your Yankee smartness.”
“No,” said Westerham; and his face was still the face of a man who is
immensely amused and interested.
“What are you grinning at?” snarled Crow.
“I was grinning because, whatever you may contrive to do to me, it
struck me as being rather funny that one man in a place like this
should manage to scare so many.”
Crow's hand gripped the handle of his revolver.
“That will do,” said Westerham, growing suddenly serious, for he
realised that while the men were posted at either end of the canal-path
there was just a chance that Crow might risk the noise of firearms.
“Now, Mr. Crow,” Westerham continued, “I have allowed you to say a good
deal and insult me very considerably. As a matter of fact, I do not
happen to be an American—not that that makes very much difference. Who
I am and where I come from is no concern of yours. And I don't propose
to tell you.
“I propose to tell you something else, though, and I regret to say that
it is a tale of breach of faith—of a breach of faith committed by a
member of what you are pleased to call ‘the club.’”
The men looked at each other.
“The name of the offending member,” said Westerham, slowly and
deliberately, “is Melun.”
At the mention of this name most of the men broke out into volleys of
cursing; but Westerham held up his hand for silence.
“I entered into a certain agreement with Melun on certain terms,” he
said. “Is it news to you that the price I offered for his services and
for the services of yourselves was a hundred thousand pounds?”
“Good Heavens!” Crow exclaimed, and then sat muttering to himself.
The rest of the men were too astonished to speak.
“You are a liar!” shouted Crow.
“Pardon me,” said Westerham, “I am no liar, as I am quite prepared to
prove to you. Now I have every intention, provided that Melun holds
good to his promise, of handing him over that sum. I simply tell you
this in order that you may see to it that you get your proper shares.”
“You liar!” exclaimed Crow again.
“Pardon me,” said Westerham, “but you really are mistaken.”
He put his hand into his breast and pulled out a pocket-book.
“Here,” he said, “I have the sum of ten thousand pounds in notes.”
Drawing them out, he flung them carelessly on the table.
So utterly were the men lost in amazement that they could do nothing
but stare in silence at the notes.
“Now, I may as well be quite frank,” Westerham went on, “and tell you
that I have not the slightest intention of handing those notes over to
you. Nor, for that matter, do I intend having them stolen.
“You might take them from me, but you would merely have to destroy
them, for I have taken the precaution of informing the bank that all
these notes have been lost. I can well afford to let such a sum as this
lie idle for a time, and the numbers were posted this afternoon.”
“Good Heavens!” said Crow once more.
“Now,” Westerham continued as evenly as ever, “I hope that this, to
some extent, proves that what I say is true.”
Some of the men nodded assent.
“Well,” said Westerham, looking about him, “I will take it for granted
that you are prepared to believe me. So far so good.”
“I have now to tell you that Captain Melun is at the present moment
engaged in a deal of the most stupendous proportions. He has mentioned
to me that the sum he hopes to net is over a quarter of a million.”
He paused and looked round at the men again. They continued to stare
at him open-mouthed, remaining entirely silent. They were beyond all
speech.
Glancing at Crow, Westerham saw with satisfaction that he was evidently
much amazed and beginning to look uneasy.
“Well, gentlemen,” Westerham continued, “it is unnecessary for me
to mention the names of the people who are assisting Captain Melun
in this enterprise. I really believe that they don't even know what
the enterprise is. But there is an exception. One of them does know,
because the business may involve dirtier work than Melun may care to do
with his own hands.”
Westerham paused, and saw that Crow's face was as pale as ashes.
Again his intuition proved to be correct.
“Gentlemen,” he cried, rising, and pointing an accusing finger at
Crow, “that is the man who knows!”
“It's a lie!” shrieked Crow; “it's a lie! It is only a matter of ten
thousand pounds. Melun swore it to me.”
In the silence that followed Westerham laughed loud and long.
“Gentlemen,” he said at last, “I ask you if ever a man more completely
condemned himself out of his own mouth?”
Now the tide of anger turned and swept towards Crow.
There was a great clamour, while the men, with curses, shouted at him
for an explanation.
Then above the hubbub there came a loud knocking, and turning in the
direction of the sound they saw Melun, smiling and pleasant-looking
as ever, pounding on the floor with his stick, while the negro stood
behind him, grinning over his shoulder.
Instantly silence fell again.
“Now, then,” called Melun, coolly, “be quiet, all of you. Be quiet at
once. We have been betrayed, and the man who has betrayed us is there!”
For some seconds the men looked from Westerham to Melun, and then
from Melun to Westerham. But the power of their old allegiance held
good, and before he could utter a sound Westerham was seized and borne
savagely to the floor.
When he found himself pinned to the ground Westerham made not the
slightest attempt to struggle. He had been in similar predicaments
before, and knew that a policy of passive resistance was best.
And, just as he had expected, when he made no effort to release himself
the men partially relaxed their hold of him. Two of them, indeed,
dragged him into a sitting posture.
By this time Melun had taken his place at the head of the long table,
and was rapping on the bare boards for order and for silence.
“Two of you are enough there,” he said. “The rest of you get back to
your seats.”
The men followed his instructions hastily and almost sheepishly.
When they were all seated again, Melun looked down their ranks sharply
and a little furtively.