HYATT
"Get Hyatt or the man on the Eiffel Tower!"
It sounded like the raving of a dying man, and T. B. shook his head
as, in the company of Van Ingen, he walked back to his chambers in
the early hours of the morning.
Since the night of the assault, the young man had remained as Smith's
guest, at the latter's express command.
"Not that I believe you stand in immediate danger of having your head
broken again by those miscreants," he said laughingly the next
morning, "or that I could protect you if you did! But since you are
in on this thing, and the enemy have got wind of it, it is as well to
join forces. You can run errands, type my notes, and investigate
obscure clues--in short, become a useful other self to me. In that
way I double my efficiency, and can be in two places at once!"
And so Van Ingen, nothing loath, had sent for a few necessaries, and
had taken up quarters with the detective.
At the suggestion of the latter, he had not acquainted Doris with his
mishap, the injuries from which were, indeed, slight enough,
consisting only of a bruise, the size of a walnut on the right side
of his head, and an accompanying dizziness when, the next morning, he
attempted to raise his head from the pillow.
He had scrawled a line to Doris therefore, reporting himself, per
agreement, and inviting himself to tea, to discuss an important
personal matter, the next afternoon at five.
To this he had received, late the same day, posted from Folkestone,
the following reply:
"DEAR CORD:
"Owing to a sudden change of plans, we start for the Continent
to-night, and, 'to-morrow at five,' I shall be having my tea with
Aunty in Paris--and thinking of you!
"We remain there only for a few days, then on to the Riviera, and
eventually cross into Spain.
"I had something to ask you last night, which escaped me in the pain
of bidding you farewell--something you may do for me, which will add
to the great debt of gratitude I already owe you--and crown it all!
Abandon this investigation! By our dear friendship of many years, I
ask it,--by the love which you profess for me. It will involve you
in frightful consequences of which I do not dare to speak. Your bare
connection with it fills me with anguish--I cannot sleep! ... Thank
you for the report of your health. I am nervous and unstrung these
days, and filled with imaginary terrors.
"In your note, you speak of 'an important personal matter'--may I
interpret the phrase, candidly, and give you my answer? I esteem you
too dear to entangle you in my own melancholy career. This decision
is quite unalterable, and, moreover, I am not free.
"There is nothing left to add. God bless you.
"DORIS."
This missive Van Ingen did not show to Smith. With a white bandage
about his head, and looking, the detective declared, "pale and
interesting," he sat in an easy-chair before the open fire, and
gloomily reviewed the situation.
She was not free. That meant Poltavo! Could it be true that in
truth she loved him, then? For a while, he gave himself to the full
bitterness of the idea. Before his mind there arose, vividly, the
picture of the two at the opera--Poltavo, elegant, distinguished,
speaking in low eager tones, and Doris bending toward him with parted
lips, a divine light in her blue eyes. As he pondered all the recent
circumstances, he felt the waters of despair pour over his soul. His
head still throbbed from the bruise; he felt feverish and agitated,
full of a burning turmoil, and a longing that knows but one solace.
Again he turned to the letter, seeking, unconsciously, for some word
of comfort to his troubled spirit, and reread it, slowly.
This time her sweet sympathy shone out at him, like the sun behind
storm-clouds. He remarked, also, the note of despairing sadness.
She was not free! That hinted not of love, but of compulsion, of an
iron necessity laid upon her soul. In a flash of intuition, the
young man glimpsed the real situation. She had bound herself to the
count, in order to save her father!
What had it not cost her to assume that heavy burden? For the first
time he realised something of what the girl, with her high spirit,
and her passionate adoration of her father, must have suffered at
learning that he had perpetrated such a monstrous fraud on the
public; that he was, in truth, a cheat, an outlaw, and a criminal.
Was it any wonder that her cheeks had lost their colour, her eyes
their light, and her figure its youthful buoyancy and charm? He
recalled, with a sharp pang, the pitiful droop of the slender,
black-robed figure when he had last seen her; her pallor, and the
shadow which lay deep in her eyes. Fear had looked out of those
eyes, fear had trembled in her voice, as she bade him be careful! ...
And she had esteemed him too dear to entangle in her dark fate! ... A
flood of infinite tenderness welled up in his breast, a tenderness
and an exquisite yearning which thrilled the young man's soul to the
point of pain. He burned with the desire to stand between her and
her troubles, to carry her off bodily from her enemies, to conquer a
kingdom, or subdue a dragon--to do any wild, rash thing to prove his
love.
Such moments rarely endure. They pass, these mountain-heights of
exaltation and emotion, but to have experienced them however briefly,
to have loved a woman with such passion and pure fervour, leaves no
man as he was before.
Van Ingen returned to the problem. She had bound herself to the
count.
But Poltavo, according to the detective's theory, was the master-mind
of the conspiracy. How, then, had he tricked her so completely? How
had he gulled them all, he wondered savagely. Even his chief, the
American ambassador, and a judge of men, had been completely
fascinated by the charm of his personality, and would not hear a word
against him.
As for women--he knew the silly ardent creatures went down like
nine-pins before the smiling glance of his eyes and the unfailing
courtesy of his manners. There was Lady Angela, the Duke of
Manchester's daughter, a slender dryad-girl, with soft eyes and a
halo of pale golden hair, whom the count had sketched upon a recent
visit to their country-house, and whom, it was reported, he might
have any day, for the asking.
"Why don't he ask her, then?" he growled aloud.
The detective, who lounged opposite him, warm coils of smoke
ascending from his briar pipe, regarded him with humorous eyes.
"I don't follow you," he said. He glanced down at the open letter,
which Van Ingen still held tightly in his hand.
"Do you want him to marry her?"
Van Ingen reddened. "I--I beg your pardon!" he stammered. "I was
thinking of Lady Angela."
The detective smoked on tranquilly, though it was apparent he did not
get the connection. Van Ingen, however, vouchsafed no further
explanation, and presently the conversation fell upon other things.
The next morning Cord had awakened greatly refreshed, and with his
resolve strengthened to continue the investigation. In company with
Smith, he had interviewed Sir George Calliper, and seen the tragic
end of Moss. As they walked homeward in the cold air of the early
morning, Cord speculated upon the manner of man was this Count
Poltavo. Beside him, the detective pondered, grimly, the same
problem.
Hyatt--the man on the Eiffel Tower--the Wady Barrage--the mysterious
bears--what connection was there one with another?
"To ---- HYATT, A FRIEND OF THE LATE LEWIS MOSS
"Information concerning the whereabouts of the above-mentioned Hyatt
is urgently required. Immediate communication should be made to the
nearest police-station."
This notice appeared under the heading, "Too Late for
Classification," in every London newspaper the morning following the
murder of Moss.
"It is possible that the name is an assumed one," said T. B., "but
the Falmouth clue narrows the search."
An "all-station" message was flashed throughout the metropolis:
"Arrest and detain Count Ivan Poltavo" (here followed a description),
"on suspicion of being concerned in the murder of Lewis Moss."
But Count Poltavo anticipated the arrest, for hardly had the last
message been despatched when he himself entered the portico of
Scotland Yard and requested an interview with T. B.
"Yes," he said sadly, "I knew this young man. Poor fellow!"
He gave a very frank account of his dealings with Moss, offered a
very full explanation of his own movements on the night of the
murder, and was finally dismissed by a perplexed Commissioner, who
detached an officer to verify all that Poltavo had said.
T. B. was worried, and showed it, after his own fashion. He sent Van
Ingen by an early train to pursue his enquiries in Cornwall, and then
went into the City.
An interview with the head of the banking-house of Bronte was not
satisfactory.
"I am satisfied," said T. B., "that an attempt will be made to
destroy the barrage on the day for which you are liable. All the
features of the present market position point to this fact."
"In that case," said the banker, "the 'bears' must be clairvoyant.
The day on which the barrage comes into the hands of the Egyptian
Government is known to two persons only. I am one, and the other is
a gentleman the mere mention of whose name would satisfy you as to
his integrity."
"And none other?"
"None other," said the banker. And that was all he would say.
But at six o'clock that night T. B. received a message. It was
written in pencil on the torn edges of a newspaper.
"To-night Sir George Calliper is dining with the Spanish dancing
girl, La Belle Espagnole."
That, and an initial, was all the note contained, but it came from
the most reliable man in the Criminal Investigation Department, and
T. B. whistled his astonishment.