When just on the point of retiring, the maid had brought Gwen up a
telegram from Frank, stating that something serious had occurred, that
he had returned to London unexpectedly, and that he was unable to come
to the house as he preferred not to meet her father, and urging her to
meet him at Earl’s Court Station at a quarter past ten that night.
In greatest alarm, and wondering what could possibly have occurred, the
girl had slipped on the first things that had come to her hand and had
dashed out to meet her lover.
Before going forth she had taken the maid into her confidence, saying:
“I have to go out, Laura. You need not mention anything to my father.
Leave the front door unbolted. I will take the latch-key.”
The dark-eyed girl, with whom Miss Gwen was a great favourite, promised
to say nothing, and had let her young mistress quietly out.
Gwen was puzzled why Frank should appoint to meet her at Earl’s Court.
If the interview was to be a secret one, why had he not committed a
breach of the _convenances_ and asked her to his rooms? She had been
there to tea once--in strictest secrecy, of course--but in company with
a girl friend.
What untoward circumstances could have arisen to bring Frank back before
he reached Copenhagen? He could not have got further than Hamburg, she
reflected--if as far.
At Earl’s Court she alighted, and having ascended the stairs in eager
expectation, passed through the booking-office into the Earl’s Court
Road, expecting her lover to meet her.
But she was disappointed. He was not there. She glanced at the railway
dock, and saw that it was already twenty-five minutes past ten. The
receipt of the strange message had upset her. She felt that something
terrible must have occurred if Frank “preferred” not to face her father.
What could it be? She was half frantic with fear and apprehension.
From out the misty night the tall man standing in the shadow on the
opposite side of the road was watching her every movement. At the kerb
stood a taxi-cab which he had hailed, and now kept waiting. He had
remarked to the driver that he expected a lady and would wait until she
arrived.
For fully a quarter of an hour he allowed the girl to pace up and down
the pavement outside the station, waiting with an impatience that was
apparent. That message which she believed to be from Frank had filled
her mind with all sorts of grave apprehensions. He would surely never
appoint that spot as a meeting place if secrecy were not imperative.
She noticed that there were quiet deserted thoroughfares in the
vicinity. There he no doubt intended to walk and explain the situation.
Yet why did he not come, she asked herself. Already he was half an hour
late, while she, agitated and anxious, could scarcely contain herself.
Suddenly, however, a tall good-looking man in a dark overcoat stood
before her and raised his silk hat. She was about to step aside and
pass on when the man begged her pardon, and uttered her name, adding:
“I believe you are expecting my friend, Frank Farquhar?”
“Yes,” she replied. “I--I am.” And she regarded the stranger
inquiringly.
“He has sent me, Miss Griffin, as he is unfortunately unable to keep the
appointment himself?”
“Sent you--why?” asked the girl, looking him straight in the face.
“He has sent me to tell you that something unexpected has happened,”
replied the man.
“What has occurred?” she gasped. “Tell me quickly.”
“Well,” he said with some deliberation. “I do not know whether you are
aware that Mr Farquhar was interested in a great and remarkable
secret--a secret which he was occupied in investigating?”
“Yes,” she answered quickly. “I know all about it. He told me
everything.”
“The _contretemps_ which has occurred is in connection with that,” the
stranger said. “He was on his way to Copenhagen, but was compelled to
return. He has, I believe, gained the key to some extraordinary cipher
or other, and therefore he wishes to see you at once, and in secret. He
told me that at present his return to London must be kept confidential,
as there are other unscrupulous people most anxious to learn the truth
upon which such enormous possibilities depend.”
“He wants me to go to him,” the girl cried. “Where is he then?”
“Not far away,” the man replied. “If you will allow me to escort you, I
will do so willingly, Miss Griffin.”
The girl hesitated. She naturally mistrusted strange men. He saw her
hesitation, and added:
“I trust you will forgive me for not being with you at the time Frank
appointed, but--well, I don’t wish to alarm you unduly, but he was not
very well. I was sitting with him.”
“Then he’s ill!” she cried in alarm. “Tell me. Oh! do tell me what has
occurred.”
“He will tell you himself,” was the ingenious reply. “But,” he added,
as though in afterthought, “I ought to have given you my card.” And he
produced one and handed it to her. The name upon it was “William
Wetherton, Captain, 12th Lancers.”
“Do relieve my anxiety, Captain Wetherton,” the girl implored. “Tell me
what has happened.”
“As I have already said, Farquhar has made a great discovery, and wishes
at once to consult you. His indisposition was only temporary--an attack
of giddiness,” he added, and he saw that she was wavering. “I’m an old
friend of Frank’s,” he went on, “and he consulted me, as soon as the
matter of the Hebrew secret came into his hands. Of course, he has very
often mentioned you,” he laughed.
He was a well-spoken man, and beneath his smile the girl did not detect
his cunning. Her natural caution was overcome by her frantic desire to
see Frank, and hear what he had discovered. An instant’s reflection
showed her that if he could not meet her it was only natural that he
should send his friend Captain Wetherton--a man of whom he had spoken on
several occasions. He was stationed at Hounslow, Frank had told her,
and they often spent the evening together at the club and some “show”
afterwards.
“There’s a ‘taxi’ across the way,” the Captain pointed out. “Let us
take it--that is if I may be permitted to be your escort, Miss Griffin?”
“Is it far?”
“Oh, dear no,” he laughed, and raising his hand he called the cab he had
already in waiting. The vehicle drew across, and as he entered after
her he spoke to the man. He had already given him the address before he
had approached her. As he sat by her side, the man’s face changed. In
the semi-darkness she could not get a good look at his features, yet his
chatter was gentlemanly and good-humoured. From his remarks it was
apparent that he had known her lover for a long time, and held him in
high esteem.
“As soon as Frank’s telegram arrived, I rushed out,” said the young
girl. “It was a great surprise, for I believed him to be on his way to
Copenhagen.”
“They’ll probably miss you at home, won’t they?” he asked, with a glance
of admiration at the girl’s sweet face.
“Well,” she laughed, “my father doesn’t know I’m out. Laura, the maid,
will leave the door unbolted and I’ve got the latch-key.”
The man seated at her side smiled, turning away his head lest she might
wonder.
Acquainted as Gwen was with the streets of the West End, she saw that
the course taken by the “taxi” was through Brompton Road and
Knightsbridge to Hyde Park Corner, then straight up South Audley Street
and across one of the squares, Grosvenor Square she believed it to be.
“Why isn’t Frank at his own rooms in Half Moon Street?” she asked with
some curiosity.
“Because, having discovered the secret, he is now in fear of his rivals,
so is compelled to go into hiding. I, alone, his best friend, know his
whereabouts. Quite romantic, isn’t it?” he laughed.
“Quite. Only--well, only--Captain Wetherton, I do wish you would tell
me what has really occurred. I feel that you are keeping something from
me.”
“I certainly am, Miss Griffin,” was his prompt reply, a reply which
contained more meaning than he had intended. “Frank, in sending me to
you, made the stipulation that he should have the pleasure of telling
you himself. All I can say is that I believe the knowledge of the
secret will be the means of bringing to him wealth undreamed of, and a
notoriety world-wide.”
He was purposely keeping her engrossed in conversation, in order that
they might cross Oxford Street; hoping that in the maze of turnings
beyond that main thoroughfare she might lose her bearings.
Suddenly the “taxi” pulled up with a jerk before a closed shop, in a
dark, rather unfrequented but seemingly superior street, and the Captain
opened the side door with his latch-key, disclosing a flight of
red-carpeted stairs.
“Here are my rooms,” Wetherton explained. “Frank has sought refuge with
me here. He is upstairs.”
Gwen ascended the stairs quickly to the second floor, where the Captain
opened the door with his key, and a moment later she found herself in a
large, well-furnished bachelor’s sitting-room where the electric lamps
were shaded with yellow silk.
It was evidently the room of a man comfortably off, for the furniture
had been chosen with taste, and the pretty knick-knacks and quaint
curios upon the table showed the owner of the place to be a man of some
refinement.
“Where is he?” inquired the girl, looking around blankly, her cheeks
flushed with excitement.
The man turned upon her, and laughed roughly in her face.
She drew back in horror and alarm when, in an instant, she realised how
utterly helpless she now was in the stranger’s hands. He had closed the
door behind him and pushed back the bolt concealed beneath the heavy
portiere.
“He is not here!” she gasped. “You’ve--you’ve lied to me. This is a
trick!” she gasped.
“Pray calm yourself, my dear little girl,” he said, coolly lighting a
cigarette. “Sit down. I want to have a quiet chat with you.”
“I will not, sir!” she answered, with rising anger. “Allow me, please,
to go. I shall tell your friend Mr Farquhar of this disgraceful ruse.”
“You can tell him, my dear girl, whatever you please,” the fellow
laughed insolently. “As a matter of fact, your lover does not know me
from Adam. So you see it’s quite immaterial.”
“It is not immaterial,” she declared, with a fierce look of resentment:
“You shall answer to him for this!”
“Possibly it will be you who will be compelled to answer to him, when he
knows that you have accompanied me here alone to my rooms, at eleven at
night--eh? What will your lover say to that, I wonder?”
“I have the telegram,” she cried, opening the little bag she carried.
It was not there!
“See,” he laughed. “I have the telegram!” And before her eyes he
tossed it into the fire.
She bent to snatch it from the flame, but he seized her white wrist
roughly and threw her backward upon the hearthrug. He had extracted the
message from her bag as they had sat together in the darkness of the
cab.
Struggling to her feet she screamed for help, and fought frantically
with the man who had decoyed her there; fought with the fierce strength
of a woman defending her dearest possession, her honour.
She saw how the man’s countenance had changed. There was an evil
expression there which held her terrified.
She begged mercy from him, begged wildly upon her knees, but he only
laughed in her face in triumph. She saw, now that the telegram was
destroyed, that this man who had posed as Frank’s friend could make his
vile story entirely complete.
She was helpless in the hands of a man whose very face betrayed his vile
unscrupulousness.
In the struggle she felt his hot foetid breath upon her cheek. Her
blouse of pale blue _crêpe-de-chine_ was ripped right across the breast
as she endeavoured to wrench herself from his grasp.
“Ah! Have mercy on me!” she screamed. “Let me go! Let me go! I’ll
give you anything--I--I--I’ll be silent even--if you’ll only let me go!
Ah! do--if you are a gentleman!”
But the fellow only laughed again, and held her more tightly.
Her bare chest heaved and fell quickly before him. Her breath came and
went.
“You think,” he said in a cruel hard voice, “you think your lover will
not believe me. But I see upon your flesh a mark--a natural blemish
that you cannot efface. Listen to me quietly. Hear me, or else I shall
tell him of its existence, and urge him to discover whether or not I
have spoken the truth. Perhaps he will then believe me!”
“You brute!” cried the girl in sudden and breathless horror. “You
blackguard! you intend to ruin me in Frank’s eyes. Let me go, I say!
Let me go.” Again she struggled, trying to get to the window, but with
his strong arms encircling her she was helpless as a child, for with a
sudden effort he flung her backwards upon the couch, inert and
senseless.