The tall, thin man into whose chambers Gwen Griffin had been enticed
treated the trembling girl with a certain amount of politeness. Her
head reeled. She hardly knew where she was, or what had occurred.
The stipulation he had made, at the instructions left by Jim Jannaway,
was that she must remain there in order to meet some person who was
desirous of making her acquaintance. He did not say who this person
was, but she, on her part, had a dozen times begged him to release her,
or at least to telegraph to her father assuring him of her safety.
“My dear girl,” the tall man had answered, “don’t distress yourself.
Come, do calm yourself.” And he assisted to raise her to her feet
again. “No harm will befall you, I assure you.”
“I--I don’t know you, sir,” she faltered through her tears, “therefore
how can I possibly trust you?”
“I can only assure you that I am acting upon instructions. As far as
I’m concerned, you might walk out free--only I dare not disobey my
orders.”
“You dare not--and you a man!” she cried.
“There are some things that a man such as myself dare not do, miss--
pardon me, but I haven’t the pleasure of knowing your name.”
“Griffin--Gwen Griffin is my name,” and she also told him where she
lived. Then she asked: “Why have I been brought here?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” was the stranger’s reply. “These are my
chambers, and a friend of mine has had the key during my three years’
absence abroad. I returned only this morning to find you locked up in
here and a note left for me, giving me instructions to keep you here
until a gentleman calls to see you.”
“Ah! that horrid blackguard!” she screamed. “That man who met me, and
called himself ‘Captain Wetherton.’ He told me I should find Frank in
hiding here.”
“And who’s Frank?” asked the stranger.
“The man to whom I’m engaged.”
“H’m,” grunted the other; “and he wouldn’t be very pleased to find you
here, with me, would he?”
“No. That is why I’ve been entrapped herein order to compromise me in
the eyes of the man who loves me.”
“Why?” asked the owner of those bachelor chambers, leaning upon the
bed-rail and looking at her.
“How can I tell?” said the frightened girl. “As far as I know, I’ve
done nothing whatever to warrant this.”
“Ah! in this world it is the innocent who mostly suffer,” he remarked.
“But will you not allow me to go?” she implored eagerly. “Remember that
all my future happiness depends upon your generosity in this matter.”
“My dear child,” he replied, placing his hand upon her shoulder, “if I
dare, I would. But to tell you the truth, I, like yourself, am in the
hands of certain persons who are utterly unscrupulous. I tell you,
quite frankly, that I couldn’t afford to excite their animosity by
disobeying these orders I have received.”
“But who is this gentleman who desires to see me?” she demanded quickly.
“I don’t know. No name is given.”
“Why--for what reason does he wish to see me? Could he not have called
at Pembridge Gardens, or even written making a secret appointment in
Kensington Gardens or in the Park?”
“To that I am quite unable to give any reply, for I’m in ignorance like
yourself.”
“But is it that brutal fellow who threw me down and tore my clothes last
night?” she asked. “Look!” and she showed her torn blouse.
“I think not,” was his response. “But those rents look a bit ugly,
don’t they,” he added. “Come through into the sitting-room, and see if
we can’t find a needle and cotton. I used to keep a travelling
housewife, full of all sorts of buttons and needles and things.”
So the pair passed along the short, narrow passage of the flat into the
sitting-room which she so vividly recollected the night before. Before
her was the couch upon which the man who had called himself “Wetherton”
had flung her fainting and insensible.
After a brief search in the drawers of an old oak bureau, over in the
corner, the stranger produced a small roll of khaki, in the pockets of
which were all sorts of cottons, buttons, needles and odds and ends, the
requisites of a travelling bachelor.
She laughed as she selected a needle and a reel of cotton, and then
retired into the bedroom where, for a full quarter of an hour, she sat
alone mending her torn garments.
The man remained in the sitting-room, staring out of the window into the
street below, damp and gloomy on that winter’s morning.
“A fine home-coming indeed!” he muttered to himself. “They’ve put a
nice thing upon me--abduct a girl, and then leave her in my charge!
Jim’s afraid of being connected with the affair, that’s evident. I
wonder who she is, and why they want her? Devilish pretty, and no
mistake. It really seems a blackguardly shame to treat her badly, and
wreck her young life, as they no doubt intend. By Gad! Jim and his
friends are cruel as the grave. Poor little thing!” And he sighed and,
crossing the room, applied a match to the fire that had already been
laid.
“Yes,” he remarked under his breath. “A fine home-coming. The devils
hold me in the hollow of their hands, alas! But if they dare to give me
away, by Jove! I wouldn’t spare one of them. These last two years I’ve
tried to live honestly, and nearly starved in doing so. And now they
bring me back by force--back to the old life, because they want my
assistance. And if I refuse? Then--well, I suppose they’ll compel me
to act according to their instructions. Here is a specimen of the dirty
work in progress. I’m holding a poor innocent girl a prisoner on their
behalf! I’d let her go now--this very moment, but if I did--if I did--
what then? I’d be given away to the police in half an hour. No. I
can’t afford that--by God, I can’t. She must stay here.”
Presently Gwen emerged from the bedroom with her blouse repaired, and he
induced her to seat herself reluctantly in the armchair before the fire.
He lit a cigarette and, taking another chair, endeavoured to reassure
her that she need have no fear of him.
Then they commenced to chat, he endeavouring to learn something from her
which might give him an idea of the reason why she had been enticed
there. But with a woman’s clever evasion, she would tell him nothing.
He inquired about her lover, but she was silent regarding him. She only
said:
“He is abroad just now. And they are evidently aware of his absence.
The telegram I received was worded most cleverly. I unfortunately fell
a victim to their vile conspiracy.”
“Is it a plot to prevent you marrying him, do you think?”
“It must be. It can be nothing else,” declared the girl quickly. “Oh,
when will he return--when will I be able to see him again?”
The tall man shrugged his shoulders. He saw that she was desperate and
might make a rush to escape, therefore, though he begged her pardon he
kept the doors locked and the keys in his pocket.
Before his arrival, it seemed, Jim Jannaway had placed provisions in the
small larder in the kitchen, for there they found bread, tinned tongues,
bottled beer, tea, condensed milk and other things. Hence he had no
necessity to go forth to obtain food.
This struck him that an imprisonment of several days must be intended.
He felt sorry for the unfortunate girl, yet he dare not connive at her
escape. He knew, alas! that he was now upon very dangerous ground.
The whole day they sat together gossiping. For luncheon they had cold
tongue and bread, and for dinner the same.
The situation was indeed a curious one, yet as the hours went by and he
attempted to amuse her by relating humorous incidents in his own
adventurous life, she gradually grew to believe that he was devoid of
any sinister intention.
Times without number she tried to persuade him to release her, but he
explained his inability. Then, at evening, they sat at the fireside and
while he smoked she chattered, though she told him practically nothing
concerning herself.
He could not help admiring her neat daintiness and her self-possession.
She was a frank, sweet-faced girl, scarce more than a child, whose
wonderful eyes held even him, an adventurer, in strange fascination.
And that night, when she retired to her room, he handed her the key of
her door that she might lock herself in, and said:
“Sleep in peace, Miss Griffin. I give you my promise that you shall not
be disturbed.”
And he bowed to her with all the courtesy of a true-born gentleman.
He sat smoking, thinking deeply and wondering why the girl had been
confined there. He was annoyed, for by her presence there he also was
held a prisoner.
Just before midnight the bell of the front door rang, and a
commissionaire handed him a telegram. The message was in an
unintelligible code, which however, he read without hesitation. Then he
tossed the message into the fire with an imprecation, switched off the
light, and went to bed.
Next day passed just as the first, but he saw, by the girl’s pale face
and darkening eyes, that the constant anxiety was telling upon her.
Yes, he pitied her. And she, on her part, began to regard him more as
her protector than as her janitor.
He treated her with the greatest consideration and courtesy. And as
they sat together at their meals, she presiding, they often burst out
laughing at the incongruity of the situation. More than once she
inquired his name, but he always laughingly evaded her.
“My name really doesn’t matter,” he said. “You will only remember me
with hatred, Miss Griffin.”
“Though you are holding me here against my will,” she replied, “yet of
your conduct towards me I have nothing to complain.”
He only bowed in graceful acknowledgment. No word passed his lips.
On the third morning, about noon, a ring came, and Gwen, startled, flew
into her bedroom and locked the door.
The visitor was none other than Sir Felix Challas, who, grasping the
tall man’s hand, said:
“Welcome back, my dear Charlie. I’m sorry I couldn’t come before, but I
was called over to Paris on very important business.” Then lowering his
voice he said: “Got the girl here still--eh?”
The other nodded.
“I want to put a few questions to her,” Sir Felix said in an undertone,
when they were together in the sitting-room, “and if she don’t answer me
truly, then by Heaven it will be the worse for her. You remember the
girl of that German inventor, three years ago--eh?” he asked with a
meaning smile.
The tall man nodded. He recollected that poor girl’s fate because she
had refused to betray her father’s secret to the great financier.
And this man whom the world so firmly believed to be a God-fearing
philanthropist intended that pretty Gwen Griffin, sweet, innocent and
inoffensive, little more than a child, should meet with the same awful
fate. He held his breath. He could have struck the man before him--if
he dared.
He must blindly do the bidding of this cruel, heartless man who held him
so entirely in his power, this gigantic schemer whose “cat’s-paw” he had
been for years.
And he must stand helplessly by, unable to raise a hand to save that
poor defenceless victim of a powerful man’s passion and avarice.
Alas! that the great god gold must ever be all-powerful in man’s world,
and women must ever pay the price.