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The_Midnight_Guest.html?id=ZsgdAAAAMAAJ
(the New York Public Library)
[Illustration: Front Cover]
THE MIDNIGHT GUEST
_A Detective Story_
By
Fred M. White
Author of "The Crimson Blind," "The Corner House,"
Etc.
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS -- NEW YORK
Copyright, 1907
T. J. McBRIDE & SON
------------
Published May, 1907
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. At Whose Hand?
CHAPTER II. No. 1 Fitzjohn Square.
CHAPTER III. The Mark Of The Beast.
CHAPTER IV. A Woman's Face.
CHAPTER V. Vera Rayne.
CHAPTER VI. A Voice in the Dark.
CHAPTER VII. The Yellow Hand-bill.
CHAPTER VIII. The Mystery Deepens.
CHAPTER IX. The Confidential Agent.
CHAPTER X. Ropes of Sand.
CHAPTER XI. The Express Letter.
CHAPTER XII. A Speaking Likeness.
CHAPTER XIII. A Striking Likeness.
CHAPTER XIV. Retrospection.
CHAPTER XV. Dallas Makes A Discovery.
CHAPTER XVI. Strong Measures.
CHAPTER XVII. Looking Backwards.
CHAPTER XVIII. After Many Years.
CHAPTER XIX. Carlotta's Story.
CHAPTER XX. Valdo in a New Light.
CHAPTER XXI. To Be In Time.
CHAPTER XXII. The Worth of a Name.
CHAPTER XXIII. The Next Move.
CHAPTER XXIV. A Blood Relation.
CHAPTER XXV. Bred in the Bone.
CHAPTER XXVI. A Faithful Servant.
CHAPTER XXVII. Flight!
CHAPTER XXVIII. Vera's Warning.
CHAPTER XXIX. The Message.
CHAPTER XXX. Lost!
CHAPTER XXXI. A Missing Link.
CHAPTER XXXII. What Does It Mean?
CHAPTER XXXIII. The Midnight Message.
CHAPTER XXXIV. A Strange Home-coming.
CHAPTER XXXV. Mother and Child.
CHAPTER XXXVI. In the Dead of Night.
CHAPTER XXXVII. An Unexpected Friend.
CHAPTER XXXVIII. In the House.
CHAPTER XXXIX. The Hound Again.
CHAPTER XL. Broken Wings.
CHAPTER XLI. A Ray of Light.
CHAPTER XLII. Run To Earth.
CHAPTER XLIII. The Whole Truth.
CHAPTER XLIV. The Story of a Crime.
CHAPTER XLV. Count Flavio's Diary.
CHAPTER XLVI. A Woman's Heart.
CHAPTER XLVII. The Passing of the Vengeance.
THE MIDNIGHT GUEST.
CHAPTER I.
AT WHOSE HAND?
A hansom pulled up in front of 799, Park Lane, and a slim figure of a
woman, dressed in deep mourning, ran up the broad flight of marble
steps leading to the house. Her features were closely concealed by a
thick veil, so that the footman who answered the ring could make
nothing of the visitor. Her voice was absolutely steady as she asked
to see Lord Ravenspur at once.
"That is impossible, madam," the footman protested; "his lordship is
not yet down, and besides----"
"There is no 'besides' about it," the visitor said, imperiously; "it
is a matter of life and death."
Once more the servant hesitated. There was something about this woman
that commanded his respect. The hour was still early for Park Lane,
seeing that it was barely nine o'clock, and the notable thoroughfare
was practically deserted. From the distance came the hoarse cries of a
number of newsboys who were racing across the Park. One of them came
stumbling down Park Lane, filling the fresh spring atmosphere with his
shouts. Evidently something out of the common had happened to bring
these birds of ill omen westward at so early an hour. With the
curiosity of his class the footman turned to listen.
"Terrible murder in Fitzjohn Square! Death of Mr. Louis Delahay, the
famous artist! Artist found dead in his studio! Full details!"
The well-trained servant forgot his manners for the moment.
"Good Lord!" he exclaimed, "it can't be true. Why, Mr. Delahay was a
great friend of my master up to the last day or two----"
"I am Mrs. Delahay," the veiled woman said with quiet intentness.
"Please don't stand staring at me like that, but take me to your
master at once. It is imperative that I should see Lord Ravenspur
without a moment's delay."
The footman collected his scattered wits, and stammered out some kind
of apology. There were other newsboys racing down the Lane now. It
seemed as if London was ringing with the name of Louis Delahay. Then
the great double doors of the big house closed sullenly and shut out
the horrid sound. At any other time the veiled woman might have been
free to admire the luxury and extravagant good taste of her
surroundings. There were many people who regarded Lord Ravenspur as
the most fortunate and talented man in London. Not only had he been
born to the possession of a fine old title, but he had almost
unlimited wealth as well. As if this were not sufficient, Nature had
endowed him with a handsome presence and an intellect far beyond the
common. Apparently there was nothing that Ravenspur could not do. He
was a fine sportsman, and a large number of his forty odd years had
been spent big game shooting abroad. What time he passed in England
was devoted almost exclusively to artistic pursuits. As a portrait
painter Ravenspur stood on a level with the great masters of his time.
More than one striking example of sculpture had come from his chisel.
He had as much honour in the Salons of Vienna and Paris as he had
within the walls of Burlington House. In fine, Ravenspur was a great
personage, a popular figure in society, and well known everywhere. His
lavish hospitality was always in the best of good taste, and the
_entrée_ to 799, Park Lane was accounted a rare privilege by all his
friends.
But the woman in black was thinking nothing of this, as she followed
the footman along marble corridors to a sunny morning-room at the back
of the house. The footman indicated a chair, but the visitor waved him
aside with a gesture of impatience.
"Go and fetch your master at once," she said.
For a few moments she paced up and down, weaving her way in and out
amongst the rare objects of art like a wild animal that is freshly
caged. She threw back her long, black veil presently as if the
atmosphere of the place stifled her. Her face might have been that of
a marble statue, so intensely white and rigid it was. It was only the
rapid dilation of the dark eyes which showed that the stranger had
life and feeling at all. She turned abruptly as Lord Ravenspur came
into the room. His handsome, smiling face and prematurely iron-grey
hair afforded a strong contrast to the features of his visitor. He
came forward with extended hands.
"This is an unexpected pleasure, Maria," he said. "But what is wrong?
Louis is all right, I suppose?"
"Louis is dead!" the woman said in the same cold, strained voice. "He
has been foully murdered. I could not say more if I spoke for an hour.
Louis is dead!"
The speaker repeated the last three words over and over again as if
she were trying to realise the dread significance of her own message.
Ravenspur stood there with his hand to his head, shocked and grieved
almost beyond the power of speech.
"This is terrible," he murmured at length. "My dear Maria, I cannot
find words to express my sympathy. Could you tell me how it happened?
But perhaps I am asking too much."
"No," Mrs. Delahay replied, still speaking with the utmost calmness;
"I am ready to answer any question you like to put to me. I am
absolutely dazed and stunned. As yet I can realise nothing. But,
perhaps, before the reaction comes I had better tell you everything.
To think that I should lose him in this way whilst I am still a bride!
But I dare not pity myself as yet, there is far too much stern work to
be done. There will be plenty of time later on for the luxury of
grief."
"Won't you sit down?" Ravenspur murmured.
"My dear friend, I couldn't. I must be walking about. I feel as if I
could walk about for years. But I will try and tell you how it
happened. He came back to London yesterday afternoon, as you know, and
put up at the Grand Hotel. You see, I had never been in London before,
and so I know nothing at all about it. If we had only gone straight to
our own house in Fitzjohn Square this dreadful thing--but why do I
think of that? You know the house was not quite ready for us, and that
was the reason why we went to the Grand. After visiting a theatre last
night Louis announced his intention of going as far as our house. I
understood him to say that he required something from his studio.
There were no caretakers on the premises, but Louis had a latchkey, so
that was all right. I went to bed about twelve o'clock, thinking no
evil, and not in the least alarmed because Louis had not come back. As
you know, he had always been a terribly late man, and I thought
perhaps he had met one of his old companions, or perhaps he had turned
into the Garrick Club. Still, when I woke up this morning about six,
and found that he had not returned, I became genuinely alarmed. I took
a cab as far as Fitzjohn Square, and went into the house."
"One moment," Ravenspur interrupted. "I don't quite understand how you
managed to get into the premises."
"That was an easy matter, though the front door was closed. The
latchkey was still in the lock. I only had to turn it to obtain
admission. I went straight to the studio, and there on the
floor----but I really cannot say any more. Strung up as I am I could
not describe it to you. . . . I suppose I cried out, and when I came
back to a proper comprehension of things the place was full of police.
For the last two hours I have been with them answering all sorts of
questions. Then something told me to come to you, and here I am. And
whatever you do, please don't leave me alone. I could not bear to be
alone."
"I wish I could tell you how sorry I am," Lord Ravenspur murmured.
"This is a most extraordinary business altogether. You say that Louis
left you not later than twelve o'clock to go as far as Fitzjohn
Square, and that, when he left the Grand Hotel, he had no other object
in his mind. You are quite sure of this?"
"I am absolutely certain," Mrs. Delahay replied.
"Well, that is a strange thing," Ravenspur went on. "It so happens
that I had an accident to my own studio a day or two ago, and until
yesterday the workmen were in repairing the glass roof. I was engaged
upon a small work which I was anxious to finish, and it occurred to me
that I might just as well make use of your husband's studio, seeing
that he was away from home and did not require it. I obtained a
duplicate key from the house agent, and all yesterday I was working on
my picture there. In fact it is in Louis' studio at the present
moment. After some friends who were dining with me last night left, I
walked as far as Fitzjohn Square, and till nearly a quarter past one
this morning I was at work there. I might have gone on all night, only
the electric light failed suddenly, and I was left in darkness. Then I
came home and went to bed. And I am prepared to swear that it had
turned half-past one before I left your house, and there was no sign
of Louis up to that time."
"It is inexplicable," the woman said wearily. "When I try to think my
brain seems to turn to water, and everything goes misty before my
eyes. I feel like a woman who has had no sleep for years. I feel as if
I must get something to relieve this terrible pressure on my brain. Is
there nothing that you can suggest?"
"I think so," Ravenspur said quietly. "I am going to take you back to
your hotel, and call for a doctor on the way. You cannot go on like
this. No human mind could stand it."