A HAND IN THE GAME
The diners at the _Hotel Splendide_ were a little surprised to see the
tall, distinguished-looking Englishman leave his seat and accost with
quiet deference the elder of the two women, whose entrance a few minutes
before had occasioned a good many not very flattering comments. The lady
who called herself Blanche meant to make the most of her opportunity.
"Fancy meeting you here," she remarked. "Flo, this is a friend of
mine. Mrs. Harrigod! Gentleman's name doesn't matter, does it?" she
added, laughing.
Wrayson bowed, and murmured something inaudible. Blanche's friend
regarded him with unconcealed and flattering approval.
"Over here for a little flutter, I suppose?" she remarked. "It is so hot
in town we had to get away somewhere. Are you alone with your friends?"
"Quite alone," Wrayson answered. "We are only staying for a day or two."
The lady nodded.
"We shall stay for a week if we like it," she said. "If not, we shall go
on to Dieppe. Did you get my letter?"
"Letter!" Wrayson repeated. "No! Have you written to me?"
She nodded.
"I wrote to you a week ago."
"I have been staying near here," Wrayson said, "and my letters have not
been forwarded."
He bent a little lower over the table. The perfume of violet scent was
almost unbearable, but he did not flinch.
"You had some news for me?" he asked eagerly.
"Yes!" she answered. "I'm not going to tell you now. We are going to
sit outside after dinner. You must come to us there. No good having
smart friends unless you make use of them," she added, with a shrill
little laugh.
"I shall take some chairs and order coffee," Wrayson said. "In the
meantime--?"
"If you like to order us a bottle of champagne and tell the waiter to put
it on your bill, we shan't be offended," Blanche declared. "We were just
wondering whether we could run to it."
"You must do me the honour of being my guests for dinner also,"
Wrayson declared, calling a waiter. "It was very good of you to
remember to write."
The friend murmured something about it being very kind of the gentleman.
Blanche shrugged her shoulders.
"Oh! I remember right enough," she said. "It wasn't that. But there, wait
until I've told you about it. It's an odd story, and sometimes I wish I'd
never had anything to do with it. I get a cold shiver every time I think
of that old man who took me to dine at Luigi's. Outside in three-quarters
of an hour, then!"
"I will keep some chairs and order coffee," Wrayson said, turning away.
"And bring one of your friends," Blanche added. "It won't do him any
harm. We shan't bite him!"
"I will bring them both," Wrayson promised.
He went back to his own table and people watched him curiously.
"I believe," he said quietly, as he sat down, "that if there is a person
in the world who can put us on the track of those letters, it is the lady
with whom I have just been talking."
The Baron looked across at the two women with new interest.
"What on earth have they got to do with it, Wrayson?" he asked.
"The fair one was a friend of Barnes'," Wrayson answered. "It was at her
flat that he called the night he was murdered."
"You are sure," Duncan asked, "that the letters have not been found yet
by the other side?"
"Quite sure," the Baron answered. "We have agents in Mexonia, even
about the King's person, and we should hear in an hour if they had
the letters."
"Presuming, then," Duncan said thoughtfully, "that Barnes was murdered
for the sake of these letters--and as he was murdered on the very night
he was going to hand them over to the other side, I don't see what else
we can suppose,--the crime would appear to have been committed by some
one on our side."
"It certainly does seem so," the Baron admitted.
"And this man Bentham! He was the agent for--the King's people. He too
was murdered! Baron!"
"Well?"
"Who killed Barnes? He robbed me of my right, but I want to know."
The Baron shook his head.
"I have no idea," he said gravely. "We have agents in London, of course,
but no one who would go to such lengths. I do not know who killed
Barnes, nor do I know who killed Bentham."
There was a short silence. The Baron's words were impressively spoken.
It was impossible to doubt their veracity. Yet both to Wrayson and to
Duncan they had a serious import. The same thought was present in the
mind of all three of them--and each avoided the others' eyes. Wrayson,
however, was not disposed to let the matter go without one more
effort. The corners of his mouth tightened, and he looked the Baron
steadily in the face.
"Baron," he said, "I have told you that there is a man in London who has
set himself to solve the mystery of Barnes' death. The two people whom he
would naturally suspect are Miss Fitzmaurice and myself. There is strong
presumptive evidence against us, owing to my silence at the inquest, and
at any moment we might either of us have to face this charge. Knowing
this, do I understand you to say that, if the necessity arose, you would
be absolutely unable to throw any light upon the matter?"
"Absolutely!" the Baron declared. "Both those murders are as complete an
enigma to me as to you."
"You have agents in London?"
"Agents, yes!" the Baron declared, "but they are in the nature of
detectives only. They would not dream of going to such lengths, either
with instructions or without them. Neither, I am sure, would any one who
was employed to collect evidence upon the other side."
There was no more to be said. Wrayson rose to his feet a little abruptly.
"The air is stifling here," he said. "Let us go outside and take
our coffee."
They found seats on the veranda, looking out upon the promenade. The
Baron looked a little dubiously at the stream of people passing backwards
and forwards.
"Are we not a little conspicuous?" he remarked.
"Does it really matter?" Wrayson asked. "It is only for this evening. I
shall leave for London tomorrow, in any event. Besides, it is part of the
bargain that we take coffee with these ladies. Here they are."
Wrayson introduced his friends with perfect gravity. Chairs were found,
and coffee and liqueurs ordered. Wrayson contrived to sit on the outside,
and next to his copper-haired friend.
"Now for our little talk," he said. "Will you have a cigarette? You'll
find these all right."
She threw a sidelong glance at him and sighed. What an exceedingly
earnest young man this was!
"Well," she said, "I know you'll give me no peace till I've told you.
There may be nothing in it. That's for you to find out. I think myself
there is. It was last Thursday night in the promenade at the Alhambra
that I saw her!"
"Saw whom?" Wrayson interrupted.
"I'm coming to that," she declared. "Let me tell you my own way. I was
talking to a friend, and I overheard all that she said. She was quietly
dressed, and she looked frightened; a poor, pale-faced little thing she
was anyway, and she was walking up and down like a stage-doll, peering
round corners and looking everywhere, as though she'd lost somebody.
Presently she went up to one of the attendants, and I heard her ask him
if he knew a Mr. Augustus Howard who came there often. The man shook his
head, and then she tried to describe him. It was a bit flattering, but
an idea jumped into my head all of a sudden that it was Barnes she was
looking for."
"By Jove!" Wrayson muttered, under his breath. "Did you speak to her?"
She nodded.
"I waited till she was alone, and then I made her sit down with me and
describe him all over again. By the time she'd finished, I was jolly well
sure that it was Barnes she was after."
"Did you tell her?" Wrayson asked.
"Not I!" she answered. "I didn't want a scene there, and besides, it's
your little show, not mine. I told her that I felt sure I recognized him,
and that if she would be in the same place at nine o'clock a week from
that night, I could send some one whom I thought would be able to tell
her about her friend. That was last Thursday. You want to be just outside
the refreshment-room at nine o'clock to-morrow night, and you can't
mistake her. She looks as though she'd blown in from an A B C shop."
Wrayson possessed himself of her hand for a moment in an impulse of
apparent gallantry. Something which rustled pleasantly was instantly and
safely transferred to the metal purse which hung from her waistband.
"You will allow me?" he murmured.
"Rather," she answered, with a little laugh. "What a stroke of luck it
was meeting you here! Flo and I were both stony. We hadn't a sovereign
between us when we'd paid for our tickets."
"Have you seen anything of Barnes' brother?" he asked.
"Once or twice at the Alhambra," she answered.
"He was wearing his brother's clothes, but he looked pretty dicky."
"You didn't mention this young woman to him, I suppose?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"Not I! You're the only person I've told. Hope it brings you luck."
Wrayson rose to his feet. The Baron and Duncan followed his example. They
took leave of the ladies and turned towards the promenade.
"I'm going to London by the morning boat," Wrayson announced. "I believe
I'm on the track of those letters."
They walked up and down for a few moments talking. As they passed the
front of the hotel, they heard a shrill peal of laughter. Blanche and her
friend were talking to a little group of men. The Baron smiled.
"We have broken the ice for them," he said, "but I am afraid that we are
already forgotten."