The anxiety of Erich Haupt may easily be imagined when, next day at the
Waldorf Hotel, he received a telegram from Challas, despatched from an
obscure place in Holland, saying that he had been called away
unexpectedly, and telling him to go to Berkeley Square and open any
telegrams that might be there.
He drove westward in a “taxi”--and found one message. It was in code
from Jim Jannaway. The old German had noticed where the financier kept
the code-book, and had but little difficulty in finding it.
“We have been given away,” it ran. “The spot is now guarded by
military. Sale of land, and all investigation forbidden, and we have
received an intimation to leave Palestine at once. Coming home.”
Haupt’s dismay and chagrin was complete. He drove to the nearest
telegraph-office and “wired” to Jannaway that Sir Felix had been called
away.
This telegram, however, did not reach Jerusalem before Jim had left.
Therefore, when he alighted from a cab in Berkeley Square some days
later and knocked eagerly at the door of Sir Felix’s house, he was
surprised to find it opened by a strange man.
When the hall door had closed behind him again, another man advanced,
and asked:
“I believe you are Mr Jannaway?”
“That’s my name,” replied Jim. “Where’s the gov’nor? Who the dickens
are you?”
“I’m Inspector Attwell, Criminal Investigation Department,” replied the
other, “and I arrest you, on a warrant granted in France, for the wilful
murder of Henri Laroche, banker of Rue de Rouen, Bordeaux, on December
6, 1907.”
Jannaway stood as though turned to stone. His face was bloodless, his
mouth wide-open.
“You--you’ve made a mistake--a very big mistake!” he managed to exclaim
with a sorry attempt to laugh. “Where’s the gov’nor--I mean Sir Felix
Challas? I must see him at once.”
“I’m afraid, Mr Jannaway, you’ll never see him again,” replied the
officer. “Yesterday he was arrested in Breslau on a charge of
complicity with you in the crime at Bordeaux, but an hour later he
poisoned himself in the police-cell. It’ll all be in the papers this
afternoon, I expect.”
“Suicide!” gasped the adventurer, utterly staggered.
“Yes, it seems that the dead man’s daughter, Louise Laroche, whom you
believed you had also killed, though ruined and destitute, has searched
and found you both out, and made a startling statement to the Préfet de
Police of Paris. Hence this warrant. But, come along. I must warn you
that any statement you make may be used against you upon your trial.”
“Louise!” he gasped, staring straight before him. He recollected that
woman’s pale, pinched face at the corner of Berkeley Street that night--
that face which he had tried to forget and believe to be a mere fancy.
“Louise alive--a living witness!” he cried, plainly terrified. “And
Felix always told me that he--he’d killed her with his own hand to
prevent her giving the alarm! She came into the room and discovered me
at the safe, and she paid for it, I always thought, with her life. Then
the young woman found dead must have been the servant!”
“Come, you’d better say no more,” urged the officer, who, turning to the
man who had opened the door, said: “Just whistle a cab, Hall.”
“No!” cried Jim Jannaway, hoarsely; “You--you shan’t take me alive. I--
I’ll--I’ll die game, too!” and before the inspector could prevent him he
had whipped out his revolver, placed the muzzle in his mouth and fired,
falling lifeless next second at the officer’s feet.
God’s wrath had fallen upon the evil-doers.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Next day--the very day when the great sensation of Sir Felix Challas’s
tragic end, which every one recollects, appeared in the papers--“Red
Mullet” ascended the stairs at Pembridge Gardens, and grasped the hand
which the Professor stretched forth.
At his side stood Frank Farquhar, to whom he was introduced by the
Professor.
“I’m most delighted, Mr Mullet, to have the opportunity of at last
knowing you,” Frank exclaimed. “The Professor has to-day shown me your
letters and telegrams. In the circumstances, the situation is as
satisfactory as it possibly can be. We can only hope that the Sultan
will, after all the eventualities have been fully considered, grant to
you the concession to search. It is fortunate, indeed, that you enjoy
the friendship of the Grand Vizier.”
“Yes,” laughed the tall fellow, “his Excellency has been good enough to
give me quite a lucrative appointment in the Department of Mines. I’m
entering the Turkish service on the first of next month, when--well--I
hope I’ll be able to lead an honest life in the future.”
“Let’s hope so,” exclaimed the Professor. “These revelations concerning
Sir Felix Challas and your friend Jannaway, in the papers to-day, are
most astounding.”
“Not so astounding, Professor, as the story which I could tell. But
both men are dead; therefore, for me to speak is now unnecessary. They
were as crafty a pair of scoundrels as there were in the whole of
Europe: and from them, your daughter Miss Gwen, had, indeed, a very
narrow escape.”
“Ah!” cried Frank. “Tell us the whole truth--do!”
“Not without Miss Gwen’s consent,” he laughed. “My daughter is out,”
Griffin said, “I expect her to return every moment. She has been
expecting you daily.”
“Red Mullet” smiled.
“Well, you know,” he said, “your daughter, Professor, is my particular
little friend.”
“And you have been her good friend and protector, if what she tells me
is correct,” remarked her father. “But I want to hear the story from
your lips. She refuses to say anything.”
“Because I bound her to secrecy. It was imperative,” he assured the
grey-haired man. “And to you, Mr Farquhar,” he said, “I must
apologise. Some of my actions must have appeared mysterious--even
suspicious.”
“Well,” replied Frank, with some hesitation. “I saw Jim Jannaway and--
and he told me a very strange story.”
“He lied to you,” said Mullet quickly. “Ah! I know! He told you that
he was her lover--eh? It was a lie--an infernal and cowardly lie! Look
here, Mr Farquhar, I’m older than you, a good deal, and I’m a man who
respects a woman’s honour--I’ve a daughter of my own in Diamond’s care.
You know my little Aggie, to whom I’m devoted. Well, I tell you upon my
oath--if you will accept the oath of an outsider like myself--that Miss
Gwen is innocent, and that she loves only you--has thought of only you--
and is as devoted to you as I am to my own dear child.”
Frank hesitated, his eyes fixed upon the speaker. He saw that the man
before him spoke the truth: that the evil-tongued coward who, cornered,
dare not face the music, had uttered foul lies.
At that moment the door suddenly opened, and Gwen in her warm furs stood
upon the threshold, her face full of surprise at seeing their visitor.
“Why!” she cried, “Mr Mullet!” and rushing forward, she grasped his
hand eagerly.
“I have told them, Miss Gwen, I have just told them the truth,” he said
simply.
“Yes!” cried Frank Farquhar, stepping forward quickly, and taking the
girl’s hand he kissed her upon the lips there, before both her father
and Mullet. “I have misjudged you, my darling!” he said. “Forgive me.
That man lied to me, and, alas, I believed him. But to-day I know the
truth. The death of that scoundrel Challas and his ‘cat’s-paw’ has
released Mr Mullet from his bondage. He has now no further fear of
their reprisals, and has spoken--spoken the truth, and cleared you of
that shameful scandal which Jannaway placed upon you.”
“Did I not tell you, Frank, that Mr Mullet had been my very best
friend?” said the girl simply, as, at that moment, the little Doctor
entered, fussy and excited as usual.
“I did not believe it once,” he replied, “but now I know it to be the
truth.” And turning to the man who had staked his own liberty to
protect Gwen’s honour, he grasped him warmly by the hand, uttering words
of heartfelt thanks.
And so again, and for ever, two hearts became united, and the dark
clouds of suspicion opened to give way to the sunshine of life and love.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
All these stirring events happened not quite a year ago.
Though the Ark and the sacred vessels still remain hidden beneath the
Mount of Offence till such time as his Majesty the Sultan thinks fit to
rescind his prohibition, one interesting circumstance has occurred,
namely, the joyous marriage at St. Margaret’s, Westminster, of Frank
Farquhar and Gwen Griffin, which was celebrated a couple of months ago.
The tragic and sensational end of Sir Felix Challas, followed by that of
his friend Jim Jannaway, was a mere one day’s wonder, as are all the
sensations of our daily press nowadays. The whole facts were never
revealed at the inquest, and the public quickly forgot the mystery
connected with the affair.
They are in ignorance of that colossal and startling secret which led to
the final _dénouement_, or of the remarkable discovery by Arminger
Griffin.
Frank and Gwen have just returned from their sunny honeymoon in Italy
and Tunis to their pretty, semi-rural home at Chislehurst, whence every
day Farquhar comes to London to direct the fortunes of the Gavin group
of newspapers.
Only now, in these pages, is the truth revealed; a strange, astounding
truth which one day, ere long--for diplomatic representations are at
present being made by the Powers--must cause his Majesty the Sultan, and
his reformed Government, to reverse the former prohibition regarding it.
And for that Professor Griffin and his friends are patiently waiting.
Then will the words of the prophet be fulfilled the secret place of
concealment in the Mount of Offence be opened, and, after nearly two
thousand five hundred years, to its just ownership, that of the Hebrew
race, will be given back the most sacred relics of that colossal and
wonderful hoard, the Treasure of Israel.