CROOKED CONFIDENCES.
About noon on the same day which Jean and her husband spent so happily
together by the Devon sea, two men of about thirty-five met in the cosy
little American bar of a well-known London hotel.
Both were wealthy Americans, smartly dressed in summer tweeds, and wore
soft felt hats of American shape.
One, a tall, thin, hard-faced man, who had been drinking a cocktail and
chatting with the barmaid while awaiting his friend, turned as the other
entered, and in his pronounced American accent exclaimed:
"Halloa, boy! Thought you weren't coming. Say, you're late."
The other--dark, clean-shaven, with a broad brow, and rather
good-looking--grasped his friend's hand and ordered a drink. Then,
tossing it off at one gulp, he walked with his friend into the adjoining
smoking-room, where they could be alone.
"What's up?" asked the newcomer, in a low, eager voice.
"Look here, Hoggan, my boy," exclaimed the taller of the two to the
newcomer, "I'm glad you've come along. I 'phoned you to your hotel at
half-past ten, but you were out. It seems there's trouble over that game
of poker you played with those two boys in Knightsbridge last night.
They've been to the police, so you'd better clear out at once."
"The police!" echoed the other, his dark brows knit. "Awkward, isn't
it?"
"Very. You go, old chap. Get across the Channel as quick as ever you
can, or I guess you'll have some unwelcome visitors. Don't go back to
the hotel. Abandon your traps, and clear out right away."
Silas P. Hoggan, the man with the broad brow, had no desire to make
further acquaintance with the police. As a cosmopolitan adventurer
he had lived for the past six years a life of remarkable experiences
in Vienna, Berlin, St. Petersburg, and Rome. He posed as a financier,
and had matured many schemes for public companies in all the
capitals--companies formed to exploit all sorts of enterprises, all
of which, however, had placed money in his pocket.
Two years before he had been worth thirty thousand pounds, the proceeds
of various crooked businesses. At that moment he had been in San
Francisco, when, by an unlucky mischance, a scheme of his had failed,
ingenious as it was, and now he found himself living in an expensive
hotel in London, with scarcely sufficient to settle his hotel bill.
Since the day when he had stolen those notes from the coat pocket of his
accomplice, and locked him in the trap so that the police should arrest
him, and thus give him time to escape--for Silas P. Hoggan and Ralph
Ansell were one and the same person--things had prospered with him, and
he had cultivated an air of prosperous refinement, in order to move in
the circle of high finance.
After his escape across the Seine, he had sought refuge in the house of
a friend in the Montmartre, where he had dried the soddened bank-notes
and turned them into cash. Then, after a week, he had taken the night
_rapide_ to Switzerland, and thence to Germany, where in Berlin he had
entered upon financial undertakings in partnership with a "crook" from
Chicago. Their first venture was the exploiting of a new motor tyre, out
of which they made a huge profit, although the patent was afterwards
found to be worthless. Then they moved to Russia, and successively to
Austria, to Denmark, and then across to the States.
Losses, followed by gains, had compelled him of late to adopt a more
certain mode of living, until now he found himself in London, staying at
one of its best hotels--for like all his class he always patronised the
best hotel and ate the best that money could buy--and earning a
precarious living by finding "pigeons to pluck," namely, scraping up
acquaintanceship with young men about town and playing with them games
of chance.
As a card-sharper, Silas P. Hoggan was an expert. Among the fraternity
"The American" was known as a clever crook, a man who was a past-master
in the art of bluff.
Yet his friend's warning had thoroughly alarmed him.
The circumstance which had been recalled was certainly an ugly one.
He had found his victims there, in a swell bar, as he had often found
them. About many of the London hotels and luxuriously appointed
restaurants and fashionable meeting places are always to be seen young
men of wealth and leisure who are easy prey to the swindler, the
blackmailer, or the sharper--the vultures of society.
A chance acquaintanceship, the suggestion of an evening at cards, a
visit to a theatre, with a bit of supper afterwards at an hotel, was, as
might be expected, followed by a friendly game at the rooms of the elder
of the two lads at Knightsbridge.
Hoggan left at three o'clock that morning with one hundred and two
pounds in his pocket in cash and notes, and four acceptances of one
hundred pounds each, drawn by the elder of the two victims.
Five hundred pounds for one evening's play was not a bad profit, yet
Hoggan never dreamed that the London police were already upon his track.
What his friend had suggested was the best way out of the difficulty. As
he had so often done before he must once again burn his boats and clear.
The outlook was far too risky. Yet he was filled with chagrin. In the
circumstances, the acceptances were useless.
"I shall want money," he remarked.
"Well, boy, I guess I haven't any cash-money to spare just at the
moment, as you know," replied his accomplice. "We've been hard hit
lately. I'm sorry we came across on this side."
"Our luck's out," Hoggan declared despondently, as he selected a
cigarette from his case and lit it. "What about little Lady
Michelcoombe? She ought to be good for a bit more."
"I'll try, if you like, boy. But for Heaven's sake clear out of this
infernal city, or you'll go to jail sure," urged Edward Patten, his
friend.
"Where shall I go, Ted? What's your advice?"
"Get over to Calais or Ostend, or by the Hook into Holland. Then slip
along to some quiet spot, and let me know where you are. Lie low until I
send you some oof. You can go on for a week or so, can't you?"
"For a fortnight."
"Good. Meanwhile, I'll touch her ladyship for a bit more."
"Yes. She's a perfect little gold-mine, isn't she?"
"Quite. We've had about four thousand from her already, and we hope to
get a bit more."
"You worked the game splendidly, Ted," Hoggan declared. "What fools some
women are."
"And you acted the part of lover perfectly, too. That night when I
caught you two together on the terrace at Monte Carlo--you remember? She
was leaning over the balustrade, looking out upon the moonlit sea, and
you were kissing her. Then I caught you at supper later, and found that
you were staying at the hotel where she was staying. All very
compromising for her, eh? When I called on her a week afterwards, and
suggested that she could shut my mouth for a consideration, I saw in a
moment that she was in deadly fear lest her husband should know. But I
was unaware that her husband had no idea that she had been to Monte, but
believed her to be staying with her sister near Edinburgh."
"She's paid pretty dearly for flirting with me," remarked Silas P.
Hoggan with a grin.
"Just as one or two others have, boy. Say, do you recollect that ugly
old widow in Venice? Je-hu! what a face! And didn't we make her cough
up, too--six thousand!"
"I'm rather sorry for the Michelcoombe woman," remarked Hoggan. "She's a
decent little sort."
"Still believes in you, boy, and looks upon me as a skunk. She has no
idea that you and I are in partnership," he laughed. "We'll get a
thousand or two more out of her yet. Fortunately, she doesn't know the
exact extent of my knowledge of her skittish indiscretions. Say, we
struck lucky when we fell in with her, eh?"
Hoggan reflected. It was certainly a cruel trick to have played upon a
woman. They had met casually in the Rooms at Monte Carlo, then he had
contrived to chat with her, invited her to tea at a famous _cafe_,
strolled with her, dined with her, and within a week had so fascinated
her with his charming manner that she had fallen in love with him, the
result being that Patten, who had watched the pair, suddenly came upon
them, and afterwards demanded hush-money, which he divided with his
friend.
Such instances of blackmail are much more frequent than are supposed.
There is a class of low-down adventurer who haunts the gayer resorts of
Europe, ever on the look-out for young married women who have been
ordered abroad for the benefit of their health, and whose husbands, on
account of their social, Parliamentary, or business duties, cannot
accompany them.
Hunting in couples, they mark down a victim, and while one, giving
himself the airs of wealth, and assuming a title, proceeds to flirt with
the lady, the other carefully watches. Too often a woman at the gay
watering-places of Europe finds the gaiety infectious and behaves
indiscreetly; too often she flirts with the good-looking young stranger
until, suddenly surprised in compromising circumstances, she realises
that her husband must never know, and is filled with fear lest he may
discover how she has allowed herself to be misled.
Then comes the blackmailer's chance. A hint that it would be better to
pay than court exposure generally has the desired effect, with the
result that the woman usually pawns what jewellery she possesses, and
pays up.
Many an unfortunate woman, though perfectly innocent of having committed
any wrong, has paid up, and even been driven to suicide rather than
allow the seeds of suspicion to be sown in her husband's heart.
It was so in Lady Michelcoombe's case. She was a sweet little woman,
daughter of a well-known earl, and married to Viscount Michelcoombe, a
man of great wealth, with a house in Grosvenor Square and four country
seats. Already the pair of adventurers had compelled her to pawn some of
her jewels and hand them the proceeds. She was quite innocent of having
committed any wrong, yet she dreaded lest her husband's suspicions might
be excited, and had no desire that he should learn that she had deceived
him by going to Monte Carlo instead of to her sister's. The real reason
was that she liked the gaiety and sunshine of the place, while her
husband strongly disapproved of it.
Certainly her clandestine visit had cost her dear.
"Well," exclaimed Hoggan, the perfect lover, "you'd better see her
ladyship as soon as possible. Guess she's still in London, eh?"
"I'll ring up later on and ask the fat old butler. But you clear out
right away, boy. There's no time to lose. Write to me at the _Poste
Restante_ in the Strand. Don't write here, the police may get hold of my
mail."
"If her ladyship turns on you, I guess you'll have to look slick."
"Bah! No fear of that, sonny. We've got her right there."
"You can't ever be sure where a woman is concerned. She might suddenly
throw discretion to the winds, and tell her husband all about it. Then
you, too, would have to clear right away."
"Guess I should," replied Patten. "But I don't fear her. I mean to get
another thousand out of her. Women who make fools of themselves have to
pay for it."
"Well, I must say you engineered it wonderfully," declared Hoggan.
"And I'll do so again with a little luck," his friend declared. "Come
and have another cocktail, and then shake the dust of this infernal city
off your feet. Every time you have a drink things look different."
The two men passed into the inner room, where the bar was situated, and
after a final Martini each, went out together into the handsome hall of
the hotel.
"Wal, so long, old pal! Clear out right away," whispered Patten, as he
shook his friend's hand.
And next moment Silas P. Hoggan passed across the courtyard and into the
busy Strand, once more a fugitive from justice.