MELODRAMA AT TRANT HALL
When Lady Kathleen bade good-bye to Westerham she drove first to
Downing Street, where she met her father.
Together they travelled down to Trant Hall, and on the way Kathleen
gave Lord Penshurst a full account of all that had passed since she had
been summoned so suddenly to Rouen.
The Premier sat with bowed head, holding his daughter's hand as he
listened to her narrative. For the moment it seemed to crush him
utterly, and when Kathleen had finished speaking he lifted up his head
and said, in a stricken way:
“So this is the end of it?” He added, after a few moments: “Are you
sure that a week is the full limit of time we can obtain?”
“I am only too certain,” answered Kathleen. “If we fail within the next
week, then——” she broke off and looked apprehensively about her as
though even the cushions of the carriage might have ears. Finally she
bent her head and whispered into her father's ear.
At this Lord Penshurst grew paler than before, while great drops of
sweat broke out on his forehead.
“That,” he cried, “must never be! Kathleen, great though the sacrifice
is, you must make it—make it for our country's sake. Oh! to think that
I should have wished to serve her so well and should have served her so
evilly.”
For a long time after this Lord Penshurst and his daughter sat in
silence as the train ran on through the night. It was not, indeed,
until they had reached Trant Hall and had a little supper, for it was
now very late, that Kathleen ventured again to broach the subject of
Westerham.
She was almost ghastly in her paleness, but was entirely calm and
self-possessed.
“Father,” she said, patting the old man's hand as he sat staring before
him as though fascinated by some mental vision of pain and horror, “let
us try and see what we can do in this matter on a business-like basis.”
The aged Premier nodded his head, but he still gazed steadily before
him.
“Don't you think,” urged Kathleen, “that you owe it to me to leave no
stone unturned to defeat Melun before the week is out? Melun we cannot
catch. You tried to do so, and Claude has tried to do so during the
last few days, but the man is as elusive as an eel. Why not take this
man Westerham to a certain extent on trust? Of course, you will laugh
at me, and say that I am merely guided by a feminine habit of jumping
to conclusions. Nevertheless, I am perfectly convinced that Mr. James
Robinson is Sir Paul Westerham, and that if we were only to take him
into our confidence he could do much to help us.”
“My child,” said the old man, looking at his daughter in a piteous
way, “it is, as you know, simply impossible. We have neither of
us been released from our oath of silence, and it would be most
disgraceful of us to break our word. Indeed, it would be absolutely
indefensible, unless by breaking it we were absolutely certain we could
save the situation.”
“Why not ask Sir Paul Westerham to help us without telling him
anything?” suggested Kathleen.
“Do you think any man would be such a fool as to serve us on those
terms?” asked the Premier.
“But he has promised to do so,” cried Kathleen.
Lord Penshurst, however, remained obstinate.
“No! no! my dear!” he said. “It's quite out of the question. It
would arouse considerable comment if we were to postpone this dance
to-morrow—there is no legitimate excuse for doing so. Let us get it
over and then we will together see what can be done.
“We cannot even take Claude into our confidence, but I can at least
give him _carte blanche_ to take any steps that he deems necessary. And
Claude is not a fellow, thank goodness, to stick at much if we have
anything at stake.”
He rose from his chair, and coming over to his daughter's side stroked
her hair gently.
He did not tell Lady Kathleen so, but on one point the old man had
made up his mind. Outwardly he was encouraging Lady Kathleen to brace
herself for the sacrifice which appeared inevitable, but he had in
reality resolved upon another course, even though it meant for him
suicide or the gallows.
All through the following day Kathleen moved through the great house
silently superintending the arrangements for the ball.
During the afternoon the majority of the house-party arrived, and at
dinner-time both Lord Penshurst and Lady Kathleen had to throw off
their gloom as best they could and devote all their minds and energies
to the entertainment of their guests.
Two or three great singers had come down from London, and there was
music in the grand saloon. It was then that young Hilden sought out
Lady Kathleen and drew her apart from the guests.
“Kathleen,” he said to his cousin, “I want to have a very serious talk
with you. During the past three weeks your father has asked me to do
a great many extraordinary things, and I have not scrupled to carry
out any of his instructions, though they have involved a considerable
amount of law-breaking.
“I don't know what all this business is about. I assure you I have not
the slightest idea, nor have I the least wish to pry into my uncle's
secrets; but at the same time, I am growing very uneasy. This mystery,
whatever it may be, is weighing on him greatly. He has completely
changed in the last month; he is becoming an old and almost broken man.
I do not wish to alarm you, but I feel that I ought to open your eyes
to this in case it may have escaped you.”
“It is very kind of you,” said Kathleen, wearily, “but I have noticed
it myself, and am very much distressed.”
“Then why not be more explicit?” urged Hilden. “Why not tell me what
this matter is about? Surely I could take some of the burden off your
shoulders. It is a most amazing thing—and I think, with all due
respect to your father—a very wrong thing that a trouble of this
sort—and I can see it is a great trouble—should be foisted on to the
shoulders of a mere girl.”
Kathleen looked at him sadly and wistfully.
“I wish I could tell you, Claude,” she said, “but unfortunately I am
pledged to secrecy. I think it is more likely that my father will speak
to you about the matter to-morrow, though I fear that he will tell you
nothing more than you know at present.
“He may, however, ask you to do several more strange things. You have
offered to help us, and so let me implore you to help us by doing
everything that you are asked, no matter what it may involve.”
“Kathleen,” cried Hilden, taking her hands and looking into her eyes,
“you know very well that there is nothing that I would not do for your
sake.”
She thanked him, and drawing away her hands left him, weighed down
with a terrible oppression. Her own thoughts frightened her. She was
conscious of a dreadful desire for a man's death. She prayed to be
delivered from the sin of hoping that she might escape disgrace at the
cost of a man's life.
The ball began at about half-past ten, and for an hour before that
motor-cars and carriages had been rolling up the long sweep of drive,
and the reception-rooms had been filling with the power, the wealth,
and the beauty of the country.
By her father's side Kathleen stood at the head of the grand staircase
to receive the guests. And one after the other, with misdirected
kindness, they murmured their regret to see Kathleen looking so
far from well. Her father glanced round impatiently at every such
expression, till from the pallor born of the despair which was settling
down upon her heart Kathleen's face assumed a vivid flush, due to
agitation and annoyance; so that from looking wan and ill her beauty
became feverish and radiant.
Hilden, hovering near, felt his heart aching.
By eleven o'clock all the guests had arrived, and the grand staircase
and reception saloon were alike deserted, while the ball-room was
thronged with dancers and those who watched the dancing.
Lord Penshurst had long been famous as a host, and Lady Kathleen, in
spite of her youth, was already numbered among the great hostesses of
the country.
The scene, indeed, was full of splendour, and, as Melun's greedy mind
had anticipated, the jewels of the women must have been worth upwards
of half a million.
The slow, low music of a waltz was stealing down from the gallery,
where the musicians were placed, when Lord Penshurst, who had just
entered from the grand staircase, was conscious of some disturbance in
the hall. For a moment he did not inquire what the cause of the upset
might be; and it was, perhaps, just as well for him that he did not.
Up the drive had swept three great motor-cars, which had drawn up in a
curious formation before the great entrance. Their concentrated head
and side lights faced the door, so that the servants who stood about
the hall were almost blinded by the glare.
From the cars descended a score of men in evening dress. But as they
came into the more subdued light of the hall the keen eyes of the
servants stationed there were quick to see that, in spite of their
shirt-fronts and their opera-hats, these men were not gentlemen.
The arrival of so many men at once took the groom of the chambers
aback, but he hurried forward to meet the guests, thinking that
possibly this might be some surprise party.
His hospitable intention, however, met with a rude check, for he had
scarcely taken half a dozen steps forward when he found himself looking
down the barrel of a revolver.
A pleasant, easy voice called on him to stop, and the man stood
stockstill, staring stupidly straight in front of him, half-fearfully
and half-fascinated by the glint of the six-shooter.
The other men poured in quietly and quickly and formed a semi-circle
about the door.
Three of their number remained outside, covering with their revolvers
the two country constables who had been on special duty for the purpose
of controlling the traffic.
All the men were masked, not only their foreheads, but their faces
right down to their chins being hidden in black crape.
The man who led them stepped forward and ordered the groom of the
chambers back; and the man and his fellow-servants retreated before the
advance of the strange intruders.
A couple of armed and masked men sufficed to keep the handful of
men-servants penned in the corner. Two others were stationed on the
stairs to check any advances in that direction, while two others kept
the passages closed against all comers.
At the head of about twelve men the leader walked swiftly towards the
door of the ball-room, where he met Lord Penshurst face to face. For
the Prime Minister, growing uneasy at the continued movement in the
hall, had come out himself to see what might be on foot.
“Get back, Lord Penshurst,” said the leader, still in a pleasant and
easy voice; “get back or I will not answer for your life.”
The Prime Minister checked himself, but craned his head forward.
“By heaven!” he said in a low voice, “I believe that is you, Melun.”
“Never mind who I may be, but keep your tongue still. Unless you wish
to be quieted, kindly refrain from mentioning names in my presence.
“Now turn about, if you please, and get back to the ball-room.”
At this sudden confrontation by danger the Prime Minister's troubles
were for the moment forgotten, and he was again the strong, courageous
man that he had once been. He looked straight and steadily at the
veiled eyes of the intruder, and declined to turn about. Instead, he
retreated backwards step by step.
The music in the ball-room had effectually drowned any noise of the
disturbance except to those who stood nearer to the door.
Among these was Hilden. He had followed hard upon the Prime Minister's
footsteps, and had, at a glance, taken in the position of affairs.
Nor did he hesitate for a moment. Breaking into a run, he dashed across
the hall towards the little alcove in which he knew were placed the
telephone and the police call.
As he approached the alcove, however, he was brought to a standstill by
a man with a revolver.
Melun noted his progress, and turned about and cried, “Keep that
gentleman away. If he moves another yard—shoot!”
Young Hilden threw one contemptuous glance at Melun and walked on. The
man hesitated to fire.
“Fire! you fool,” shouted Melun, but the man still held his hand and
hesitated so long that Hilden had gripped the barrel of his revolver in
his left hand before the fellow quite realised what was happening.
If the man had scruples, Melun had none. His revolver spoke quickly,
and Hilden, with a little cough, fell forward on his face.
Turning from his butcher's work, Melun whipped round to meet the
terror-stricken eyes of Lady Kathleen.
“Will you take your daughter away, Lord Penshurst?” he said in a low
voice. “It is not my fault that she has been compelled to look on this.”
The Prime Minister grasped Kathleen by the arm and drew her into the
ball-room. Melun closed in on him and the other men followed.
As they entered the room they spread themselves out fanwise in an
obviously prearranged plan.
Coolly and deliberately Melun discharged his revolver at the painted
ceiling overhead, bringing down a little cloud of plaster.
The orchestra stopped in the middle of a bar, the dancers came to a
halt, and all those guests who had been sitting round the ball-room
leapt with cries to their feet.
“Silence!”
Melun's voice rung out clear and hard.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he cried, “I have no desire to create a
disturbance. If you will listen to me all will be well.”
Turning for a second to Lord Penshurst, he said, “Get back to the
middle of the ball-room.”
The Prime Minister had no other course but to obey.
Melun next proceeded to deal with those guests who were nearest to the
door.
“All of you,” he said in a tone of easy command, “all of you get back
beyond the chandelier.”
He pointed to the great cut-glass candelabra which hung from the
ceiling.
Here and there a woman gave a little scream, but for the most part the
people who had been so rudely disturbed were very quiet.
Melun watched the retreat through his mask, and when all the guests had
crowded together at the end of the room he gave them further orders.
“All the men step to the front!”
The men looked angrily and defiantly at Melun and his companions, but
they had no option in the matter, for a dozen revolvers were pointed in
their direction with unwavering nozzles.
Sullenly, angrily, the men came forward, and formed a long chain
before the women, who clung together in terror or sat huddled on
chairs, holding their faces in their hands. There was a pause, and Lord
Penshurst turned towards his guests.
[Illustration: “_On the floor at Melun's feet there slowly grew a
glittering pile of jewels_”]
“My friends,” he cried, “I greatly regret this outrage. Any loss which
you may suffer at the hands of these thieves I will, of course, make
good, but let me implore you to do everything in your power to prevent
any bloodshed.”
“Be silent!” thundered Melun. “You were not asked to speak. Lady
Kathleen, will you be kind enough to leave your father and join the
other ladies?”
Lady Kathleen faced him with flaming eyes. “No!” she cried. “My place
is by my father's side.”
She took her father's arm and stood the very picture of defiance,
looking scornfully at Melun and his men.
“Very well,” said Melun, quietly; “have your own way.”
“Now we will proceed to business,” he continued, “and I will ask you
ladies and gentlemen to be quick; my time is short, and if we are to
leave free of interference there is not much time to spare.
“You, gentlemen,” he said, addressing the men, “collect all the
jewellery that the ladies hand you, pass it on, and throw it here.” He
pointed to the floor at his feet.
The men hesitated, looking one to another; and one boy, more bold than
the rest, jumped forward and cried, “Never! you dirty scoundrel!” And
he dashed across the floor towards Melun.
Melun let him come on, and it said something for the coolness of the
man that he did not even fire, but waited till the lad was upon him.
Then he swung round, and catching him on the back of the ear with the
butt of his pistol, sent him sprawling senseless to the floor.
After that there was no demonstration of any kind. With almost feverish
haste the women began plucking the jewels from their hair and from
their bosoms, from their wrists and from their necks. Trembling, they
handed them to the men standing in a row before them.
One by one bracelets and necklets and tiaras were tossed on to the
floor at Melun's feet until there slowly grew a glittering pile of
jewels.
And then it became obvious that Melun had provided against every
contingency and had counted on complete success.
For at a word from him one of the masked men came forward with a rough
sack, into which he threw the jewels with as much care as he might have
bestowed upon a heap of coals.
When the fellow had gathered them all up Melun made a little bow of
mockery.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I have to thank you for your
hospitality and for your generosity. With your kind permission I will
now withdraw.”
Suddenly a bold, clear, full voice spoke from the little gallery in
which the musicians sat cowering.
“Unfortunately,” said the voice, “I fear that you have not my
permission.”
All the guests started and turned involuntarily to see whence came the
challenge. Melun looked up quickly and stood staring with amazement.
For stepping down the staircase which led from the little gallery came
Westerham, smiling serenely.