AT THE HÔTEL SPLENDIDE
"I asked you," the Baron remarked, helping himself to _hors d'oeuvres,_
"to dine with me here, because I fancy that the little inn at St. Étarpe
is being closely watched. Always when one has private matters to discuss,
I believe in a certain amount of publicity. Here we are in a quiet
corner, it is true, but we are surrounded by several hundreds of other
people. They are far too occupied with their own affairs to watch us. It
is the last place, for instance, where our friend from Mexonia would
dream of looking for us."
The three men were seated at a small round table in the great
dining-room of the _Hôtel Splendide_ of Dinant-on-Sea. The season was at
its height, and the room was full. On every side they were surrounded by
chattering groups of English tourists and French holiday makers. Outside
on the promenade a band was playing, and a leisurely crowd was passing
back and forth.
"The lady whom we will continue, if you please, to call Madame de
Melbain," the Baron continued, "has desired me to take you two gentlemen
into our entire confidence. You are both aware that for eighteen months
the suit for divorce brought by that lady's husband has been before a
special court."
"One understands," Wrayson remarked, "that the sympathies of all Europe
are with--the lady."
The Baron bowed.
"Entirely. Her cause, too, is the popular one in Mexonia. It is the
ministry and the aristocracy who are on the other side. These are anxious
for an alliance which will safeguard Mexonia from certain dangers to
which she is at present exposed. Madame de Melbain, as you are both
aware, comes from one of the oldest families of Europe, but it is a
family without any political significance. The betrothal was completed
before Frederick stood so near to the throne. If his accession had seemed
even a likely thing at the time, it would not have been sanctioned. I
speak as the staunch friend of the lady whose cause is so dear to us, but
I wish you to grasp the facts."
There was a brief pause whilst a fresh course was served by an apologetic
and breathless waiter. The three men spoke together for a while on some
chance subject. Then, when they were alone, the Baron continued.
"The court, although powerful influences were at work, found itself
unable to pronounce the decree which those in authority so much desired.
All that those who were behind the scenes could do was to keep the case
open, hoping that while living apart from her husband some trifling
indiscretion on the part of Madame would afford them a pretext for giving
the desired verdict. I need not say that, up to the present, no such
indiscretion has occurred. But all the time we have been on the brink of
a volcano!"
"The letters!" Duncan muttered.
The Baron nodded.
"About a year ago," he said, "Madame de Melbain received a terrifying
letter from the miscreant into whose hands they had fallen. Madame very
wisely made a confidant of me, and, with the Baroness de Sturm, I left
at once for London, and saw this man. I very soon persuaded myself that
he had the letters and that he knew their value. He asked a sum for them
which it was utterly unable for us to pay."
"Did he explain," Duncan asked, "how they came into his hands?"
"He said that they were picked up on the battlefield of Colenso at
first," the Baron declared. "Afterwards he was brutally frank. You see
your death was gazetted, a fact of which he was no doubt aware. He
admitted that they had been given to him to destroy."
Duncan leaned across the table.
"Baron," he said, "who killed that man? He cheated me of my task, but I
should like to know who it was."
"So would a great many more of us," the Baron answered. "The fact is, we
are in the curious position of having an unknown friend."
"An unknown friend?" Duncan repeated.
The Baron nodded.
"We paid that man two thousand a year," he said, "but he was not
satisfied. He communicated secretly with the other side, and they agreed
to buy the letters for ten thousand pounds. We knew the very night when
he had arranged to hand them over to a man named Bentham in London. But
we were powerless. We could not have found the half of ten thousand
pounds. One thing only was tried, and that very nearly ended in disaster.
An attempt was made to steal the letters. Mr. Wrayson will tell you about
that--presently."
A _maître d'hôtel_ paused at their table to hope that messieurs were well
served. In a season so busy it was not possible to give the attention to
every one they would like! Was there anything he could do? Messieurs were
drinking, he noticed, the best wine in the cellars! He trusted that they
approved of it. The young lady there with the diamond collar and the
wonderful eyes? He bent a little lower over the table. That was
Mademoiselle Diane, of the Folies Bergères! And the gentleman? He had
registered under another name, but he was well known as the Baron X----,
a great capitalist in Paris!
The _maître d'hôtel_ passed on, well satisfied that he had interested the
three distinguished looking gentlemen who dined alone. Wrayson, as soon
as he was out of hearing, leaned over the table.
"It is on that night," he said to Duncan, "that I come into touch with
the affairs of which our friend has spoken. The man Barnes had a flat
corresponding to mine on the floor above. I returned home about midnight
and found a young lady, who was a complete stranger to me, engaged in
searching my desk. I turned up the lights and demanded an explanation.
She was apparently quite as much surprised to see me as I was to see her.
It appeared that she had imagined herself in Barnes' flat. Whilst I was
talking to her, the telephone bell rang. Some unknown person asked me to
convey a message to Barnes. When I had finished she was gone. I sat down
and tried to make head or tail of the affair. I couldn't. Barnes was a
disreputable little bounder! This girl was a lady. What connexion could
there be between the two? I fancied what might happen if she were
surprised by Barnes, and I determined not to go to bed until I heard her
come down. I fell asleep over my fire, and I woke with a start to find
her once more upon the threshold of my room. She was fainting--almost on
the point of collapse! I gave her some brandy and helped her downstairs.
At the door of the flat was a cab, and in it was the man Barnes,
dead--murdered!"
The breath came through Duncan's teeth with a little hiss. One could
fancy that he was wishing that his had been the hand to strike the blow.
The Baron glanced round casually. He called a waiter and complained of
the slow service, sent for another bottle of wine, and lit a cigarette.
"I think," he said, "that we will pause for a moment or so. Mr.
Wrayson's narrative is a little dramatic! Ah! Mademoiselle la danseuse
goes! What a toilet!"
Mademoiselle favoured their table with her particular regard as she
passed out, and accepted with a delightful smile the fan which she
dropped in passing, and which the Baron as speedily restored. He resumed
his seat, stroking his grey moustache.
"A very handsome young lady," he remarked. "I think that now we may
continue."
"The girl?" Duncan asked quickly.
"Was your sister," Wrayson answered.
There was a moment's intense silence. Duncan was doing his best to look
unconcerned, but the hand which played with his wineglass shook.
"How--was he murdered?"
"Strangled with a fine cord," Wrayson answered.
"In the cab?"
"There or inside the building! It is impossible to say."
"And no one was ever tried for the murder?"
"No one," Wrayson answered.
Duncan swallowed a glassful of wine.
"But my sister," he said, "was in his rooms--she might have seen him!"
"Your sister's name was never mentioned in the matter," Wrayson said. "I
was the only witness who knew anything about her--and--I said nothing."
Duncan drew a little breath.
"Why?" he asked.
"An impulse," Wrayson answered. "I felt that she could not have been
concerned in such a deed, and I felt that if I told all that I knew, she
would have been suspected. So I said nothing. I saved her a good deal of
trouble and anxiety I dare say, and I do not believe that I interfered in
any way with the course of justice."
Duncan looked across the table and raised his glass.
"I should like to shake hands with you, Mr. Wrayson," he said, "only the
Baron would have fits. You acted like a brick. I only hope that Louise is
as grateful as she ought to be."
"My silence," Wrayson said, "was really an impulse. There have been times
since when I have wondered whether I was wise. There are people now at
work in London trying to solve the mystery of this murder. I acted upon
the supposition that no one had seen your sister leave the flat except
myself. I found afterwards that I was mistaken!"
The Baron leaned forward.
"One moment, Mr. Wrayson," he interrupted. "You have said that there are
people in London who are trying to solve the mystery of Barnes' death.
Who are they?"
"One is the man's brother," Wrayson answered, "if possible, a more
contemptible little cur than the man himself was. His only interest is
to discover the source of his brother's income. He wants money! Nothing
but money. The other is a much more dangerous person. His name is
Heneage, and he is an acquaintance of my own, a barrister, and a man of
education."
"Why does he interest himself in such an affair?" Duncan asked.
"Because the solution of such matters is a hobby of his," Wrayson
answered. "It was he who saw your sister and I come out from the flat
that morning. It was he who warned us both to leave England."
The Baron leaned forward in his chair.
"Forgive me, Mr. Wrayson," he said, "but there is a--lady at your right
who seems anxious to attract your attention. We are none of us anxious to
advertise our presence here. Is she, by any chance, a friend of yours?"
Wrayson looked quickly round. He understood at once the Baron's slight
pause. The ladies of the French half-world are skilled enough, when
necessary, in concealing their profession: their English sister, if she
attempts it at all, attempts a hopeless task. Over-powdered, over-rouged,
with hair at least two shades nearer copper coloured than last time he
had seen her, badly but showily dressed, it was his friend from the
Alhambra whose welcoming smile Wrayson received with a thrill of
interest. She was seated at a small table with a slightly less repulsive
edition of herself, and her smile changed at once into a gesture of
invitation. Wrayson rose to his feet almost eagerly.
"This is a coincidence," he said under his breath. "She, too, holds a
hand in the game!"