Produced by Darleen Dove, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
This file was produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.
THE DUKE DECIDES
By HEADON HILL
Author of _By a Hair's-Breadth_, etc.
_New York_
A. WESSELS COMPANY
1904
Copyright, 1903, by _A. Wessels Company_
Published, 1903
PRESS OF
BRAUNWORTH & CO.
BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS
BROOKLYN, N. Y.
[Illustration: _Leonie Sherman_]
----
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I--_The Man with the Mandate_
CHAPTER II--_On Board the_ St. Paul
CHAPTER III--_A Task-master in Goggles_
CHAPTER IV--_The Lady in the Landau_
CHAPTER V--_Ziegler Begins to Move_
CHAPTER VI--_The General is Curious_
CHAPTER VII--_The Men on the Stairs_
CHAPTER VIII--_The Cut Panel_
CHAPTER IX--_The Strategy of the General_
CHAPTER X--_A Duty Call_
CHAPTER XI--_On the Terrace_
CHAPTER XII--_The Man Under the Seat_
CHAPTER XIII--_At the Keeper's Cottage_
CHAPTER XIV--_Too Many Women_
CHAPTER XV--_A New Cure for Headache_
CHAPTER XVI--_A Delicate Mission_
CHAPTER XVII--_Where is the Duke?_
CHAPTER XVIII--_The Senator and the Securities_
CHAPTER XIX--_In the Crypt_
CHAPTER XX--_In the Muniment Room_
CHAPTER XXI--_The Honor of the House_
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Leonie Sherman
A countrywoman of yours. I wonder if you know her?
The procession of three led by the stranger.
I am very far from being indifferent to Mrs. Talmage Eglinton.
----
CHAPTER I--_The Man with the Mandate_
At six o'clock on a May evening, at an uptown corner of Broadway, in New
York City, the bowels of the earth opened and disgorged a crowd of
weary-faced men and women who scattered in all directions. They were the
employees of a huge "dry-goods store," leaving work for the day. It was
a stringent rule of the firm that everyone drawing wages, from the smart
managers of departments and well-dressed salesladies down to the
counting-house drudges and check-boys, should descend into the basement,
and there file past the timekeeper and a private detective before
passing up a narrow staircase, and so out by a sort of stage-door into
the side street.
The great plate-glass portals on the main thoroughfare were not for the
working bees of this hive of industry--only for the gay butterflies of
fashion by whom they lived.
The last to come out was a young man dressed in a threadbare suit of
tweeds, that somehow hardly seemed American, either in cut or fabric.
There might have been a far-away reminiscence of Perthshire moors
clinging to them, or earlier memories of a famous creator in Bond
Street; but suggestion of the reach-me-down shops from which New York
clerks clothe themselves there was none. A flush of anger was fading on
their owner's face as he came out into the sunlight, leaving a mild
annoyance that presently gave place to a grin.
The firm's detective, rendered suspicious by a bulging pocket, had just
searched him, and had failed to apologize on finding the protuberance to
be nothing but a bundle of un-eatable sandwiches that were being taken
home to confound the landlady of the young man's cheap boarding-house.
The indignity did not rankle long. It was only a detail in the
topsy-turvydom that in one short year had changed a subaltern in a crack
English cavalry regiment into an ill-paid drudge in a dry-goods store.
Twelve months before Charles Hanbury had been playing polo and riding
gymkhana races in Upper India, but extravagance beyond his means had
brought swift ruin in its train. Tired of helping him out of scrapes,
his connections had refused further assistance; and, leaving the Army,
he had come out to "the States" with the idea of roughing it on the
Western plains. Still misfortune had dogged his steps. A fall down a
hatchway on the voyage out had hopelessly lamed him, and he had been
compelled to ward off starvation by obtaining his present inglorious
berth.
His work--adding up columns of figures entered from the
sales-tickets--was quite irresponsible, and he was paid accordingly. He
drew eight dollars a week, of which five went to his boarding-house
keeper.
Limping up ---- Street, he turned into the Bowery, intending to take his
usual homeward route across the big bridge into Brooklyn. Unable to
afford a street-car, he walked to and from the store daily, and it was
one of his few amusements to study the cosmopolitan life of the teeming
and sordid thoroughfare through which his way led.
He was still chuckling over the discomfiture of the tame detective, when
his eye was caught by a label in a cheap boot-store. "Three dollars the
pair," ran the legend, which drew a rueful sigh from one who had
paid--and alas! still owed--as many guineas for a pair of dancing-pumps.
"I don't suppose they'd sell me half a pair, for that's all it runs to,"
he muttered, turning regretfully away from the vamped-up frauds, and in
so doing jerking the elbow of a passer-by. The victim of his sudden
move--a stout, fair man in a light frock-coat and a Panama straw
hat--stopped, and seemed inclined to resent the awkwardness.
"I really beg your pardon," the culprit said with easy politeness. "I
was so absorbed in my reflections that I forgot for the moment that the
Bowery requires cautious steering."
"You are an Englishman?" returned the other, with a milder countenance.
"So am I. No need to apologize. As a fellow-countryman in foreign parts,
permit me to offer you some liquid refreshment. In other words, come
into that dive next door and have a drink."
With an imperceptible shrug, Mr. Hanbury allowed himself to be
persuaded. He would lose his supper at his boarding-house by the
irregularity, but dissipation seldom came his way nowadays, and the
prospect of whisky at some one else's expense was tempting. Yes, he had
fallen low enough for that! The stout Englishman somehow conveyed the
impression that he would not expect to be treated in return by his new
acquaintance, who was prepared to take advantage of his liberality. To
do him justice, Hanbury's complacence was not entirely due to spirituous
longings, but to a homesick instinct aroused by the Cockney accent of
the vulgar stranger.
The garish underground saloon into which they descended was almost empty
at that early hour of the evening. Drinks having been set before them at
one of the circular tables, the host subjected his guest to a scrutiny
so searching that its object broke into a laugh.
"You are sizing me up pretty closely," he remarked, with a touch of
annoyance.
"Exactly; but not so as to give offence, I hope," was the reply. "I
should like to know your name, if you have no objection."
"Hanbury--Charles Hanbury. Perhaps you will make the introduction
mutual?" said the younger man, appeased by the other's conciliatory
manner.
"Call me Jevons," the stout man answered. "Now look here, Mr. Hanbury;
it's not my game to begin our acquaintance under false pretences. The
fact is, I contrived that you should jostle me just now, and so give me
a chance to speak. I spotted you as an Englishman and a gentleman a
fortnight ago, and I've noticed you pass along the Bowery every day
since. I am in need of an Englishman, who is also a gentleman, to take
on a job with a fortune--a moderate fortune--at the back of it."
"You can hardly have mistaken me for an investor," said Hanbury, with a
quizzical glance at his threadbare seams and dilapidated boots. "Believe
me, I am a very broken-down gentleman; but still, my gentility survives,
I suppose, and I am willing to treat it as a commercial asset, if that
is what you mean."
Mr. Jevons gulped down his liquor without comment and did not utter
another word till the glasses had been replenished. Then, hitching his
chair closer, he produced a pocket-book from which he extracted five
one-hundred-dollar notes.
"Before we leave this place I shall hand these over to you for
preliminary expenses--if we come to terms," he said, watching the effect
of the display on his companion's face. Satisfied with the eager glance
in the tired eyes, he proceeded more confidentially: "There is a risk to
be run, but it doesn't amount to much; and if the scheme comes off it
will set you on your legs again. Part of this money you will have to
spend in a first-class passage to England by the next steamer, and
there'll be plenty more for you on arrival."
"My dear friend, you seem to be a sort of Aladdin. If you only knew the
existence I have been leading here, without the courage to terminate it,
you would be assured of my answer," replied Hanbury, wondering but not
caring much what was expected of him. To escape from his dry-goods
drudgery and return to England with money in his pocket and the prospect
of more--why, the ex-cavalry officer felt that he would loot the Crown
Jewels for that! And he said so in so many words.
"Then you're the man for us," was the verdict of Mr. Jevons. "It's a bit
on the cross--not burglary, but a little matter of planting some
beautifully imitated paper. Is that too steep for you?"
Hanbury made a wry face, but answered without hesitation:
"Aiding a forgery isn't quite the road to fortune I should have chosen,
but beggars--you know the maxim. Society hasn't been too kind to me, and
I don't see why I should range myself on its side. Yes, I'll do it; and
if I'm caught, stone-breaking at Portland won't be any worse than adding
up figures in a subterranean counting-house. Let me have the
particulars, Mr. Jevons, and I'll see it through to the best of an
ability that hasn't much to recommend it."
"You shall have the particulars," said the other; then stopped, and
laughed rather nervously. "You must understand that I am but a
subordinate in this matter, and we have reached the only unpleasant part
of my task," he went on. "It is not congenial to have to use a
threat--even a confidential one; yet I am instructed to do so, before I
enlighten you further."
The rascal's concern was unmistakably genuine; and Hanbury, with the
good-humored tolerance of his class, hastened to reassure him.
"Go on; I can guess what you have to disclose--the pains and penalties
for breach of faith, eh?"
Jevons nodded, and bent his shiny, perspiring face nearer. "It is a big
thing, involving enormous outlay and the interests of an organization
commanding great resources," he whispered. "Your life wouldn't be worth
five minutes' purchase if you deserted us after you had been entrusted
with the details. Now, will you have them on those conditions, or shall
we say 'Good-night' to each other?"
Hanbury stretched out his hand impatiently for the notes. "Pray satisfy
my curiosity, and let me have them on those conditions," he said. "My
life is of no earthly value to me. Besides, with all my faults, I'm not
one to turn back after putting my hand to the plough. If I do, by all
means give me my quietus as mercifully as may be."
"Then here goes," whispered Jevons, mouth to ear. "The game is the
planting of faked United States Treasury Bonds on the Bank of England to
the tune of three million sterling--pounds, not dollars, you know. You
will proceed to England by the _St. Paul_, sailing for Southampton the
day after to-morrow, and on arrival in London you will at once call on
Mr. Clinton Ziegler, at the Hotel Cecil. He is our chief, and will give
you final instructions as to your part in the campaign. You'll find him
a handsome paymaster."
"I look forward to making Mr. Ziegler's acquaintance with interest,"
replied Hanbury, pocketing the notes which the other passed to him. "Am
I to have the pleasure of your company on the voyage?"
"I'm afraid not; my work is here," said Jevons. "And--well, it's not
altogether healthy for me on the other side." The confession was
accompanied by a wink which forcibly brought it home to the recruit that
he had joined the criminal classes. His new friend--"pal," he supposed
he ought to call him--evidently thought him worthy of personal
confidence.
They had another drink together at the bar, and parted outside the
saloon, Hanbury making his belated way towards Brooklyn. Once or twice
he turned abruptly to see if he was being followed, but the aggressive
white Panama hat was nowhere visible, the conclusion being obvious that
the astute Mr. Jevons had ascertained his domicile, as well as his place
of employment, before broaching his delicate business.
Tramping along the teeming Bowery and across the footway of the mighty
bridge, the ex-hussar enjoyed to the full the exultation of feeling
money in his pocket once more. It was not much, and it was as good as
spent already in the cost of a passage and an outfit; but it was the
earnest of more to come, and, above all, it franked the exile home to
England. At the price of his honor, perhaps? Well, yes; but what was
honor to a dry-goods clerk at eight dollars a week? He might have taken
a different view two years ago, when honor stood for something in his
creed; but not now, with the world against him.
Entering the sordid boarding-house, he mounted to his top-floor bedroom,
aware that he had forfeited his supper of beef-hash, and that it was too
late to go to the dining-room in quest thereof. His eyrie under the
roof, flanked on one side by the apartment of a German car-driver and on
the other by that of an Irish porter, was furnished with little else
than a bed and a toilet-table.
On the toilet-table lay a telegram addressed to him--the first he had
received since he had been in America. The unwonted sight caused his
hands to tremble a little as he tore it open, but they trembled a good
deal more as he read the fateful words:
"_Your uncle and cousin have been killed in a railway accident. Come to
England at once. Have cabled a thousand pounds to Morgan's to your
credit.--Pattisons._"
"Pattisons" were the family solicitors, and he who a moment before had
called himself Charles Hanbury now knew that his true description would
appear in the next issue of "Debrett" as "Charles Augustus Trevor
Fitzroy Hanbury, seventh Duke of Beaumanoir," with a rent-roll of two
hundred thousand a year.
And he stood committed, on pain of assassination, to aid and abet in the
palming off of bogus bonds on the Bank of England!