AN ENGAGING YOUNG CRIMINAL
Frank Daneham, feeling particularly wide-awake, entered his bedroom
as the clock chimed a quarter to twelve, and, crossing over to the
window, flung it open. He was a believer in fresh air. The man
James who waited on him, evidently was not. And as he leant far out
and felt the cold night air blow on his face, the idea occurred to
him that a quick walk of half an hour's duration might induce the
sleep--that at present was very far away--to visit him. He had
experienced sleepless nights before, and he did not want to renew
that experience again. So, going softly downstairs--for he did not
want to disturb the two ladies--he flung on a coat, pulled a tweed
cap well down over his head, and let himself out of the door, first
of all making sure that the latchkey with which Hermione had
presented him reposed in his pocket.
Once outside he took a deep breath of the invigorating air, and was
on the point of turning down the avenue, when something caught his
eye. He was then standing directly opposite to the break in the
trees, which Hermione could see from her window, and away in the
distance he caught the glimmer of a tiny red light high up in the
sky. It was there for a second and then had disappeared.
A red light! Just what Hermione had seen, and three days ago that
advertisement had appeared in the paper.
The conjunction of occurrences was too obvious to be ignored.
He set off at a run down the path, which by now had been cleared and
was, moreover, quite familiar to him, Hermione had walked on the
night that she had seen the light, and had arrived in time to hear
the motor-boat going away. Perhaps by running and with luck he might
get there to see it come in. He ran, therefore, as he had not run
for years, and before he reached the grassy slope which led to the
tower, he had to pause in order to get his breath. There was no
light now and no sound, not even the chug-chug of the boat. Perhaps,
after all, he also was too late.
He strode up the grassy slope, rounded the tower, and found the door
shut as Hermione had done. But he had no electric torch and had to
feel, so that it was a minute before he could locate the handle, and
then he turned it quickly, pushed the door open and waited.
It was dark inside and there was not a sound. Empty, of course.
He took two steps through the door and the next instant found himself
seized by both arms, while a rough hand clutched his throat in a
strangling grip.
Completely taken by surprise, though he struggled desperately, he was
helpless and could do nothing. His two assailants--for he recognized
that there were two of them--had not spoken a word, and presently a
sharp kick under the knee from a heavy boot sent his legs from under
him and he was sprawling face downwards on the ground and firmly held
by strong hands.
A mellow voice, educated, refined, and speaking in French, broke the
uncanny silence, and a bright white light was flashed on from an
electric torch.
"Gently, you miserable son of a sacred pig! You are not dealing with
the condemned police. Can't you see, imbecile that you are! that he
is a gentleman of the old noblesse? Otherwise, sacred name of a dog!
would he have been such a complete fool as to have come alone and
unarmed?"
This was so humiliatingly true that Daneham, amidst his futile
struggles, found occasion to wince.
A gruff, uneducated voice replied in the same language.
"How was I to know in the dark, Master? Is it then possible to feel
by a man's clothes if he be a gentleman or a damned Customs officer?"
"It is if you use your intelligence--always provided that you have
it, _bien entendu_," was the cutting reply. "You have some rope in
your pockets I believe, even though you have no sense in your head.
Therefore give it me. And you, monsieur--" a gentle tap on Daneham's
head indicated that the next remarks were addressed to him: "Keep
still, if you please, otherwise I shall be under the unhappy
necessity of hurting you, for which I have no desire. _Voyons_,
Marcel, place your fat carcass on his legs while I make fast his
arms."
Frank Daneham, realizing at last his complete helplessness, took the
advice offered him and lay still. He then felt his arms being drawn
back, his wrists crossed, and a stout cord wound and knotted tightly
round them. The same ceremony was then performed on his ankles.
"A thousand pardons, monsieur," said the amiable voice again. "I am
desolated to inflict this treatment upon you, but in my calling
necessity knows no law. You speak French, monsieur?" At these words
the light was switched off and Daneham felt strong arms raise him and
place him in a sitting position against the wall. Then once more the
light was renewed, but as it was directed straight into his face, he
could see nothing whatever of his assailants, and could only blink,
and, in his angry impotence, give vent to a fine exhibition of honest
English swearing, directed at his unseen captors, and which, if it
did nothing else, at least relieved his feelings for the moment.
"_Ah bon!_" There came an infectious laugh. "Monsieur has taken no
harm. He can at least speak good English, whatever he may accomplish
with the French. _Enfin_, I speak it, too. For when one is in a
foreign country it is, for example, only good manners and polite to
speak the language. And _toujours la politesse_, is it not so,
monsieur?"
The voice--that of a young man--was pleasant. He spoke English, too,
with hardly an accent. There was a quality also in the voice which
appealed to Daneham in spite of his humiliating position. Appealed
to his good nature and therefore completely disarmed him, took the
anger from him and left him morally as defenceless as he was
physically so.
"I'd like to know who the devil you are, how you came here, and what
the blazes you are doing," he exclaimed, and at that the other
laughed again.
"No doubt you would, monsieur, and you are not the only one in your
charming country--charming, I assure you, in spite of its most
damnable climate--who would like to know as well. But one cannot
please everyone. _Helas!_ that it should be so. I who would be
friends with all the world, I who would even love the Customs
officers--if they would let me, it is understood. But no. There
are, unfortunately, certain things between us that keep us from
mutual affection. Charming things, too, monsieur. Silk stockings
for your most exquisite ladies' sylph-like legs, pearl necklaces for
their swan-like necks--many other things. _Enfin_, it is if you
prefer it, the very devil between us, monsieur."
"Well, anyway," said Daneham, shifting uneasily in his bonds, "as on
your own showing you want to be so friendly and pleasant to everyone,
and as you appear to be two to my one, supposing you start the good
work by cutting me loose, Monsieur Whoever-You-Are."
"_Helas!_ My friend, I am desolated, but I fear that I cannot do
this. You are not too uncomfortable so, are you? I did not tie
monsieur so as to hurt him, and, after all, it is not for long, for
we must be away soon, and your friends can come then and find you.
Monsieur is alone, I presume?"
"That's for you to find out," was the reply.
"_Bien_. I think I need not trouble too much about that. Marcel!"
He spoke sharply in French. "Go get the brandy for monsieur. He is
thirsty, and I am thirsty, and we have work to do, you and I. Go
quick, my friend. I will wait for your return."
Daneham heard the sound of the man's retreating footsteps and
presently the crunch of shingle far below.
"So you admit that you are smuggling here?" he demanded.
"Admit!" echoed the other. "But why not, monsieur, since it is
obvious that I do not come here for the fishing or the shooting or
even to paint the scenery! Look, I will even show you, and thereby
proclaim my good will and trust in you."
As he spoke he flashed the light across the room, and Daneham saw to
his amazement that it was crammed with bales of tightly-packed silken
goods--stockings, underwear, thousands of things, and all easily
transportable by car. There were also boxes which the Frenchman
affirmed, with a note of pride in his voice, contained the works for
watches, and pearl necklaces. "Imitation, it is understood, and all
for sale in your country, monsieur, and from which I make a profit
that is more than satisfying. I have, indeed, carried on the good
work for over a year. But now that your police--for whom I have a
profound admiration and respect--have awakened from their chrysalis
state of somnolence and arrived at the knowledge of my activities
here, _Mort Dieu!_ I finish--I go--I evaporate. Also the big house
being occupied is not to my taste, though, if the lady who owns it is
willing, I would gladly purchase from her this tower which has an
interest for me, and for which I would be willing to give a fair
price. You would perhaps, monsieur, suggest it to her when next you
have the felicity of seeing her? Is it not so?"
Daneham laughed outright at this. The sheer impudence of it was too
much for his composure.
"Well, I'm damned," he said. "For cool cheek you'd take a lot of
beating, young man. Who, by the way, put you wise about the tower in
the first instance?" Here at last he might get the answer to that
one great puzzle.
"Ah, for that, it was a friend who told me some time ago, and I
profit by the knowledge," was the reply.
"The same friend, perhaps, who wrote that date on the bit of paper
that was found and which you dropped over a week ago on the shingle
near this tower?" suggested Daneham, taking a shot at a venture.
The flash-lamp jerked, almost imperceptibly.
"Ah! You found that, did you? My faith, it was grossly careless of
me to have dropped anything," admitted the engaging young criminal.
If only Daneham could have seen his face--"But it is of no
consequence. It was that I have a bad memory. Oh, a memory of the
very worst, monsieur, and my friend wrote the words down for me so
that I should not forget. That is all. It is nothing, I assure you,
a _bagatelle_. But perhaps it is better that you ask no more
questions, monsieur. Presently I have to remove these goods by car.
A friend will be here with his automobile to help me, and, during
that little process monsieur will be sound asleep--I hope."
"I have neither inclination nor intention of going to sleep," was the
reply. Strangely enough he had felt no fear all through. He had no
thought of danger to himself. His engaging young captor, by his
manner and his personality, had dismissed the element of fear from
the situation. Nor was there, to his mind, a possibility of rescue,
either. All at Ardenmore would believe him to be in bed and asleep.
No one would possibly guess that instead of being between the
comfortable sheets at home, he was lying in the tower room securely
bound hand and foot.
"The inclination will come, monsieur, believe me," said the
Frenchman. "The intention will be all on my part. And I hear my man
returning now."
"Then you won't tell me who told you about this tower?" asked
Daneham. "Do you, by chance, know a man called Dominic Arden?" The
question was rapped out quickly, but if he had expected to see the
light jerk again, he was disappointed, for it remained perfectly
steady.
"Non, monsieur, I do not know even to whom you refer," was the reply.
"And once more I advise you to ask no further questions. Enough that
I tell you this is my last visit to the tower. After that I retire,
I operate--as you call it--no longer on this coast. It becomes
unhealthy if one returns too often. Marcel! Is that you?"
A gruff voice replied in the affirmative.
"Then haste, my cabbage. One supposes that you have returned to La
Belle France for the cognac. For me, I could have journeyed to Paris
and back in the time. Come, you have a glass, I hope. Monsieur is
not accustomed to drink from a bottle as you are, _mon vieux_."
"Yes, I have a glass, my Master."
"I don't want any brandy, thanks all the same," said Daneham, shortly.
"It is, I fear, not what you want, monsieur," was the reply, "but
what I wish. In this instance I demand that you drink some of this
brandy, and if you are wise, monsieur, you will comply with my
demand."
"And if I refuse?" began the other.
"In that case, monsieur, you force me to take measures, which we
shall, in after years, both of us regret most deeply. For I shall be
under the necessity of placing you on your back and pouring the
brandy down your throat, monsieur, and I execrate the idea, I assure
you. Be advised, therefore. Drink quickly and make no resistance.
It is good brandy, and, being an honest man--though your Customs
officers dispute this fact--I will tell you that it is also drugged,
and will keep you quiet, without doing you any harm, during the time
that I propose to remove my goods. For assuredly the good God knows
that monsieur must not see how that is done, _bien entendu_. Now, my
friend, what is it to be?"
There was nothing for it but compliance, for Daneham had no wish to
be man-handled again.
"Very well," he said angrily. "Give me the damned stuff."
"Monsieur is wise, but then, since monsieur is English, I knew that
he would be." There came the gurgle of liquid poured into a glass.
"Monsieur will pardon me." The engaging young smuggler held the
brimming glass towards Daneham. "Monsieur has been amiableness
itself. It has been a pleasure to meet him, to show him my goods,
and to engage in conversation with him. He will forgive this little
harmless precaution, will he not? We part on friendly terms? _N'est
ce pas?_"
"Hang it all, yes," he cried with a sudden laugh. "Devil take you,
get on with it, man."
"Monsieur, I thank you. May we meet on a happier occasion. I would
drink this toast with you myself, but, _Helas!_ I must keep my
faculties clear for what I do. _Alors, monsieur_, I wish you a very
pleasant repose, and as some compensation for what I inflict on you,
I will leave a bale of silk stockings for you to present to the lady
of Ardenmore House with my humblest felicitations."
With that he went behind the chair, placed the glass to his captive's
lips, and his other hand on his forehead, and as Frank Daneham opened
his lips to smile irresistibly at the exquisite effrontery of those
last words, he felt his head jerked back and the liquid poured into
his mouth, and a second later the glass was empty. Then, while the
man Marcel held the light, Daneman felt himself lifted by strong arms
and laid gently on his back upon the floor, while beneath his head
was placed a small package of something soft and silken.
"_Au revoir_, monsieur. _A bientot_." This was the last sound he
consciously heard, for a moment later he felt himself sinking into
happy oblivion.