A KEEN ALLY
Richard Bessington was never slow to make up his mind, but there were
occasions on which caution was necessary, and this was one of them,
and it took him the twenty miles between Ardenmore and the Glen to
arrive at a definite plan of action. Had he belonged to the crook
fraternity, it is very certain that he would always have "worked"
alone, for he trusted no one, and, moreover, had a very poor opinion
of the capabilities of other people in the matters which required
delicate handling. But very certain it was that in this instance he
could not work alone.
From the moment in which he had heard of the date written on that
scrap of paper, he had realized the possibility of something of this
nature happening, and which he now found himself up against.
Therefore, in view of the likelihood of help being necessary, he had
taken the trouble to cultivate the friendship of the only man staying
at the Glen who might be useful. Brains were not a necessity, his
own being, in his opinion, all-sufficient. It was just a matter of
additional man-power--two more hands, possibly another automatic--in
fact, another man on the job, for single-handed he could do nothing.
He had gone carefully over all the men at the Glen and had gradually
eliminated all save Alec Crosby. His brother John was out of the
question--he was far too concerned about his position as Laird of the
Glen and its many thousand acres to risk being mixed up in any such
enterprise as Dick Bessington had in view. Captain Leslie, also,
would have fought shy of it, and, moreover, would undoubtedly have
notified the police of what was afoot--or have advised him to do so
and leave it to them to deal with. And so with the rest until he
came to good-natured, vulgar Alec Crosby. Instinctively he felt that
he could trust him--as far as it was in his nature to trust
anyone--and the man who worked with him must, of necessity, be one in
whom he could place a modicum of trust.
He had known Alexander Crosby previously. Had counted him a bore and
a fellow who was not in his own sphere in life. But though he was
aware of his shortcomings, he was equally well up in his good points,
not the least of which was that if he chose he could hold his tongue
when necessary. Also, he was a man without nerves, and cute up to a
certain point; furthermore, if it came to a matter of physical
violence--which was quite likely--his muscular development would
count for something. But he had one weakness, and that was a vein of
sentiment which made him too prone to pity the under-dog, whether he
be unlucky or merely deserving of punishment. And unless he could be
made to see that Dominic Arden was so deserving of punishment and not
of pity, and that in removing him from Hermione's path he was
performing an act of charity towards her and not one of cruelty, he
would be useless as an ally. Otherwise, Alec Crosby was undoubtedly
the man for the job. The French smuggler, who would soon be on his
way to the tower in response to another advertisement message, had to
be taken, and Bessington could not do it single-handed. It was
obvious, therefore, seeing that he had actually seen the message
dispatched, that in a matter of three or four days at the most, this
Frenchman would be back. The only difficulty being that Hermione,
knowing that the message had been sent, would also take steps to
watch for his coming, if not actually for the coming of Dominic
himself, when the matter would then become extremely complicated.
For he wanted to be on the scene without anyone else being a witness
to what followed. If the worst came to the worst and she and Daneham
made trouble, he could, of course, threaten to call in the police.
But he did not want to resort to extreme measures for his own sake.
He wanted to do the thing quietly and to have no scene. Neither did
he want to be mixed up in it publicly himself. All he asked was to
get the Frenchman into his power, and once there he could deal with
him and the rest of the situation. He would, of course, compromise
with him--offer him his liberty on certain conditions. No man in his
position would be fool enough to refuse, and then--if things were as
he guessed they were--Dominic Arden would not be given the choice of
a return to his wife, nor yet would the doubtful issue of his
punishment at the hands of a leniently inclined Government be put to
the test; that was far too risky. No. Dominic Arden would simply
disappear--really disappear this time once and for all, and the way
would be clear for himself with regard to Hermione. For once let her
believe that Dominic had forgotten her, or preferred his liberty and
exile to the risk of punishment--perhaps death--if he joined her, and
she would be his--Bessington's--for the asking.
But it all wanted carefully thinking out, carefully arranging. At
present he had left her with the idea that he had temporarily given
up the chase, that there was nothing to discover, and, in fact, that
the whole thing for the moment only was a wash-out. So far so good.
Well, there was nothing for it but to enlist the services of Crosby,
and the first opportunity he had he would put the matter before him.
He did not, however, get that opportunity until they retired for the
night, and then, instead of going to his own room, he followed Alec
Crosby down the passage and asked if he might come in for a moment
and have a chat.
"By all means. Come along, old feller. There's a decent fire here
and lots of arm-chairs. You've got something to spill, I expect?"
"Just so. I want, after I have--ah--spilled the facts, to ask you if
you will help me, as I find that I can't do the job I want to do
single-handed."
"If it's laying the smugglers by the heels, I'm on," was the reply.
"Not that I wouldn't do the same thing myself if I got the chance,
but I suppose it's high time these fellows were stopped, and,
incidentally, I'd like the fun of the thing. Did you happen on
something when you were over there to-day?"
"I did," was the reply, "and that's what I want to talk to you
about." Whereupon, he proceeded to tell of his discoveries, omitting
only the fact that it was the Ardenmore people who had got on to the
carrier pigeon idea, and substituting instead a very graphic account
of his own activities in discovering it.
"And," he ended, "they none of them know that I know," which was true
enough, "and I don't want them to know, for a very particular and
good reason which I must ask you to take on trust."
"Right you are," replied the other genially, "I'm not the lad to
question the bona fides of a man like Colonel Bessington, not likely.
And as far as that goes, you've done all the spade work, so it's
right you should get the kudos. But tell me, in all this, does that
young feller, Arden, come into it?"
"Not that I know of," replied the other. "How can he? He daren't
show his nose in the British Isles. He's in hiding, and I want to
know where. Once let me get hold of the Frenchman and I'll make him
divulge."
"But that'll be rough on the lady," objected Crosby, as Bessington
knew he would.
"No, it won't. At present she looks upon him in the light of an
ill-used martyr and exile. You and I, on the other hand, know that
he is a criminal eluding justice. Once let it be proved to her--as
it will be, you'll see--that he prefers to let her imagine he is dead
and break her heart for him rather than risk anything by letting her
know of his whereabouts, and she will cease to regard him as an
ill-used hero. Women are all alike: attack them, hurt them on their
tenderest spot--their pride--and from angels they become demons, as
you very well know. And, after all, if it comes to that, what shall
I be doing but proving the truth to her? You have only got to look
at it from a common sense point of view. If the fellow is alive--and
we practically know he must be--why has he not sent word to her all
these years unless he prefers to remain where he is, away from her?
He must read the papers, he must know that she married Rodenberg,
that she bought Ardenmore and is living there, and yet, though he has
the means of going there--as we know from the Frenchman's
activities--he does nothing of the sort. He stays away, and will
continue to stay away, until he is forcibly brought back, and I,
perhaps, may be the one to bring him. Why, the thing is simply
obvious."
"Of course, I see that," admitted the other. "That clock stunt is
not a thing that any man would jump at in a million years, so it
proves that Arden is alive, for he must have told the smuggling
Johnnie about it, probably came over himself to show him, and then
re-set it with the date of his own supposed death. Yes, I see all
that, but--I don't want to do anything that will hurt her."
"Hurt her?" repeated Bessington, with raised brows, "But surely if
you feel like that, how much more do I? I would not hurt her for the
world. I want to help, to save her from this mad obsession of hers,
and I will. Come, now. Let's have an understanding. You come in
with me, and if we succeed in capturing the Frenchman and getting the
whereabouts of Arden out of him, I'll promise you on my word of
honour to do nothing against him--provided that he is willing to
return to his wife and take the risks it involves. If, on the other
hand, he refuses, then I think you will admit with me that he
deserves all he gets from me. Come. Is that a bargain?"
"Yes, if you'll agree to that, I'm your man," replied Alec Crosby.
"Then that's settled," replied the other with a sigh of relief. "And
now, as to ways and means. What do you advise?"
"Well, I've been thinking about that carrier pigeon stunt. It
strikes me that if we are to succeed, we shall have to act pretty
quickly," said Crosby.
"I don't see that," was the reply. "The message has to arrive at its
destination, say a big town about fifty miles or less south. The
person who gets the message inserts it in the dailies. He'll do that
to-morrow, the advertisement will be out next day, the papers will be
read in France on that same afternoon. The boat starts off at once,
and can't get here in less than forty hours, however fast they go.
Say three nights from now, that is when we should be there on the
watch.
"No," said Crosby, abruptly sitting up in his chair. "You're wrong
there, old feller. I thought you told me there was no car in the
underground room. Don't that mean that the Frenchy is still in this
country? For all we know he may be waiting at the very place the
message is taken to. Well, all he has to do is to send a wire to his
confederates on the boat to meet him on the following night,
and--there you are. It's not three nights we have to wait, it's just
to-night, and to-morrow we must be there. See?"
"By Jove! You're right!" exclaimed Bessington. "I wonder if they'll
have thought of that at Ardenmore."
"It's quite likely they haven't, and will be waiting for the
advertisement in the paper and never think of the Frenchy wiring or
phoning to his messmates. That's where we'll get in front of them.
Yes, my son. You bet your boots that's what'll happen. It's a
blinkin' lucky thing for you that you told yours truly about it, or
you would have been properly in the cart. Eh what?"
"It's certainly odd I never thought of it," admitted the other with a
frown, and concealing his chagrin at not having done so as best he
could.
"Not a bit of it," was the genial reply. "You'd got the
advertisement stunt fixed in your mind, that was all. I'm usually
rather a dab hand at pouncing on the obvious, and as I hadn't thought
of the advert part of it, naturally I had a sort of open mind about
it, and was ready to jump at the bright idea. Our difficulty now
will be how to get away to-morrow without letting the folk here get
wise to our game. I can tell old John, of course, that I'm fed up
with his party and am going south, put up at an hotel in Locharbie,
and wait for you. But how about your excuse? Will it look odd both
of us leaving together in that hurried manner?"
"No. Fortunately I told your brother the other day that I might be
going to stay at Ardenmore, so I can easily say that my visit has
been hastened, and then join you as you suggest at your hotel.
You've got your car, so we can go off there any night we like, and,
of course, the Frenchman may not turn up to-morrow night, after all.
In any case, we shall have to park the car at the edge of the wood so
that it won't be heard at the house, and do the remainder of the
journey to the tower on foot, make an entrance into the lower room
via the river, and there await our man."
"Yes, quite so." Crosby was silent for a moment. "The only thing
about that combination door that I don't quite tumble to is how the
feller gets in from the other side if--as we know is the fact--the
hands are not placed in position."
"I have thought of that, too," admitted Bessington, "and I imagine
one of the men from the boat will be there to open the door and let
him through."
"Yes, but supposing his man or several of his men are waiting for him
in that upper room, we can't tackle them--desperate armed beggars as
they are--and hope to get away with it," objected Crosby.
"After all, that's only surmise on my part," replied the other. "Now
I come to think of it, it seems doubtful that the secret of that door
is known to anyone but the Frenchman. He will probably--after
running his car into the lower room, go round the other way by the
river, send up his signal for the boat and get away without going
into the upper room at all. The secret door, I should say, is only
used when a quick get-away is necessary, or when goods are to be
taken down to the car. So, if we catch him, while I hold him covered
with my revolver, you can go round --we'll take waders, of
course--and set the door for us to come through. After that, it
depends on the Frenchman as to our next course of procedure."
"Quite. I get you," replied Crosby. "So now you get to bed, sonny,
and sleep the sleep of the just and righteous and all things will be
added unto you. We'll have that Frenchy right and tight to-morrow
night, and very shortly you'll be able to put the lady wise as to the
real character of her first husband. In any case I wish you joy over
the business, for, 'pon my soul, I think you deserve it. I've known
what it is to be head over ears myself, and as all's fair in such
cases, I wonder you didn't do something desperate long ago, and you
are content to play the game now even if it's to your own loss. By
gad, sir! I count myself lucky to be in with you in this stunt.
We'll shake hands on it."
Colonel Richard Bessington winced as the other's plump but honest
fist grasped his own. For at least the hand he held was clean,
whereas his own was not, and he knew it. But a moment later he
salved his conscience by repeating the other's words.
"After all," he said, as he turned at the door, "as you very truly
said--'All's fair in love'."
And in his bedroom he wrote a short note to Inspector Mackay which
was delivered by hand next day, and the note ran as follows:
Nothing doing so far, but in a few days, with luck, I hope to be able
to tell you something. If you don't hear from me you will know that
your Headquarters are right and we are wrong.
Bessington.