A quarter of an hour later she met Allen outside Richmond Station, and
placing the little box in his hands, explained that the girl was leaving
her place the following week.
"Excellent! We'll delay our action until she's gone. I suppose I'd
better see her before she goes, so as to allay any suspicion." Then,
opening the box, his keen eye saw that the impression was undoubtedly
one of a safe key.
Indeed, next morning, he took it to a man in Clerkenwell who for years
had made a speciality of cutting keys and asking no questions, and by
the following night the means of opening the safe at Underhill Road was
in Allen's hands.
The man who lived by the blackmailing of those whom he entrapped--mostly
women, by the way--was nothing if not wary, as was shown by the fact
that he had sent Freda to act as his messenger. If the girl had told
the police the woman could have at once declared that she had never seen
the girl before, though if the little box had been found upon her,
explanation would have been somewhat difficult. But the gang of which
the exquisite adventurer Gordon Gray was the alert head always acted
with forethought and circumspection; the real criminal keeping out of
the way and lying "doggo" proof was always rendered as difficult as
possible.
Gray had gone over to Brussels, which accounted for Willowden being
closed. He had a little piece of rather irritating business on hand
there. Awkward inquiries by the police had led to the arrest of a man
who had sent word in secret that if his wife were not paid two thousand
pounds as hush-money, he would tell what he knew. And the wife being a
low-class Belgian woman from Namur, Gray had gone over to see her and to
appease her husband by paying the sum demanded.
Crooks are not always straight towards each other. Sometimes thieves
fall out, and when in difficulties or peril they blackmail each other--
often to the advantage of the police.
Roddy and Barclay had met, the latter having told his young friend of
the arrangements he had made with His Excellency and the Kaid, and also
shown him the map which had been given to him.
At sight of this the young fellow grew very excited.
"Why, it gives us the exact location of the workings," he cried. "With
this, a compass and measuring instruments I can discover the point
straight away. The old man is no fool, evidently!"
"No, the Moors are a clever and cultivated race, my dear Roddy," the
elder man replied. "As soon as the Kaid brings over the necessary
permits and the concession you can go ahead. I will keep the map in my
safe till then, when I will hand all the documents over to you."
This good news Roddy had told Elma one evening when they had met
clandestinely--as they now so often met--at a spot not far from the
lodge gates at Farncombe Towers.
"How jolly lucky!" the girl cried. "Now you're only waiting for the
proper permits to come. It's really most good of Mr Barclay to help
you. He must be an awfully nice man."
"Yes, he's a topper--one of the best," Roddy declared. "Out in South
America he did me a good turn, and I tried to repay it. So we became
friends. He's one of the few Englishmen who know the Moors and has
their confidence. He's a bachelor, and a great traveller, but just now
he's rented a furnished house in Richmond. He's one of those rolling
stones one meets all over the world."
The young man waxed enthusiastic. He loved Elma with all his heart, yet
he wondered if his affection were reciprocated. She had mentioned to
him the close friendship which had sprung up between her father and Mr
Rex Rutherford, and how he had dined at Park Lane. But at the moment he
never dreamed that her grace and beauty had attracted her father's
newly-made friend.
As for Roddy's father, he remained calm and reflective, as was his wont,
visiting his parishioners, delivering his sermons on Sundays, and going
the weary round of the village each day with a cheery face and kindly
word for everybody. Nothing had been done concerning his property in
Totnes as the woman Crisp had threatened. It was curious, he thought,
and it was evident that the ultimatum he had given Gray had caused him
to stay his hand.
Yet as he sat alone he often wondered why Gray and that serpent woman
should have so suddenly descended upon him, and upon Roddy, to wreak a
vengeance that, after all, seemed mysterious and quite without motive.
The hot blazing summer days were passing, when late one balmy breathless
night--indeed it was two o'clock in the morning--a man dressed as a
railway signalman, who had been on night duty, passed along Underhill
Road, in Richmond, and halted near the pillar-box. Underhill Road was
one of the quieter and more select thoroughfares of that picturesque
suburb, for from the windows of the houses glorious views could be
obtained across the sloping Terrace Gardens and the wide valley of the
Thames towards Teddington and Kingston.
A constable had, with slow tread, passed along a few moments before, but
the signalman, who wore rubber-soled black tennis shoes, had followed
without noise.
The watcher, who was Dick Allen, saw the man in uniform turn the corner
under the lamplight and disappear. Then slipping swiftly along to a
good-sized detached house which stood back from the road in its small
garden, he entered the gate and dived quickly down to the basement--
which, by the way, he had already well surveyed in the daytime.
Before a window he halted, and turning upon it a small flash-lamp,
inserted a knife into the sash and pressed back the latch in a manner
that was certainly professional. Having lifted the sash he sprang
inside and, guided by the particulars he had learnt from the maid Lily,
he soon discovered the door of the safe, which was let into the wall in
a stone passage leading from the kitchen to the coal-cellar.
He halted to listen. There was no sound. The little round zone of
bright light fell upon the brass flap over the keyhole of the dark-green
painted door of the safe, wherein reposed the secret of the rich emerald
mine in the great Sahara Desert.
He took the bright little false key, which was already well oiled, and
lifting the flap inserted it. It turned easily.
Then he turned the brass handle, which also yielded. He drew the heavy
door towards him and the safe stood open! The little light revealed
three steel drawers. The first which he opened in eager haste contained
a number of little canvas bags, each sealed up. They contained
specimens of ore from various mines in Peru and Ecuador. Each bore a
tab with its contents described.
In the next were several pieces of valuable old silver, while the third
contained papers--a quantity of documents secured by elastic bands.
These he turned over hurriedly, and yet with care so as not to allow the
owner to suspect that they had been disturbed. For some time he
searched, until suddenly he came upon an envelope bearing upon its flap
the address of the Hotel du Parc at Marseilles. It was not stuck down.
He opened it--and there he found the precious map which showed the exact
position of the ancient Wad Sus mine!
For a few seconds he held it in his hands in supreme delight. Then,
taking from his pocket a blank piece of folded paper he put it into the
envelope, and replacing it among the other documents which he arranged
just as he had found them, he closed the safe and relocked it.
A second later he stole noiselessly out by the way he had come, the only
evidence of his presence being the fact that the window was left
unfastened, a fact which his friend Lily's successor would, he felt
sure, never notice.
But as, having slowly drawn down the window, he turned to ascend the
steps a very strange and disconcerting incident occurred.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
THE MASTER-STROKE.
Mr Richard Allen found himself, ere he was aware of it, in the strong
grip of a burly police constable.
"And what 'ave you been up to 'ere--eh?" demanded the officer, who had
gripped him tightly by the coat collar and arm.
"Nothing," replied Allen. "I fancy you've made a mistake!"
"I fancy I 'aven't," was the constable's reply. "You'll 'ave to come to
the station with me."
"Well, do as you please," said Allen with an air of nonchalance. "I've
done nothing."
"I'm not so sure about it. We'll see what you've done when you're
safely in the cells."
Cells! Mr Richard Allen had already had a taste of those--on more than
one occasion--both in England and abroad. It was, after all, very
humiliating to one of his high caste in crookdom to be arrested like a
mere area sneak.
"I don't see why I should be put to the inconvenience of going to the
station," the cosmopolitan remarked.
"Well, I do, mister, so there's all the difference!" replied the other
grimly, his eyes and ears on the alert to hail one of his comrades, a
fact which the astute Mr Allen did not fail to realise. The situation
was distinctly awkward, not to say alarming, for in his pocket he had
the precious map.
Suddenly they were about to turn the corner into the main road when the
prisoner, who had gone along quite quietly, even inertly, quickly swung
round and snatched at the policeman's whistle, breaking it from its
chain and throwing it away.
It was done in a moment, and next second with a deft movement he tripped
up his captor, and both fell heavily to the pavement. He had taken the
constable unawares, before he could realise that he had a slippery
customer to deal with. The constable, however, would not release his
hold, with the result that they rolled struggling into the gutter, the
policeman shouting for assistance.
A man's voice answered in the distance, whereupon Allen's right hand
went to his jacket pocket, and then swiftly to the face of his captor,
who almost instantly relaxed his hold as he fell into unconsciousness.
The prisoner had held a small capsule in his captor's face and smashed
it in his fingers, thus releasing an asphyxiating gas of sufficient
potency to render the constable insensible.
Quick as lightning Allen disengaged himself, and dragging the senseless
man across the pavement into the front garden of a small house exactly
opposite, closed the gate, picked up his hat, and then walked quietly on
as though nothing had occurred.
As he turned the corner he came face to face with another constable who
was hurrying up.
"Did you hear my mate shouting a moment ago, sir?" asked the man
breathlessly.
"No," replied Allen halting. "I heard no shouting. When?"
"A few moments ago. The shouts came from this direction. He was crying
for help."
"Well, I heard nothing," declared Allen, still standing as the
constable, proceeding, passed the gate behind which his colleague lay
hidden.
Then Allen laughed softly to himself and set out on the high road which
led to Kingston.
"A narrow shave!" he remarked to himself aloud. "I wonder what Barclay
will say when they go to Underhill Road!"
Not until eight o'clock in the morning did a milkman going his round
find the constable lying as though asleep in the little front garden.
He tried to rouse him, but not being able to do so, called the nearest
policeman who summoned the ambulance. At first the inspector thought
the man intoxicated, but the divisional surgeon pronounced that he had
been gassed, and it was several hours later, when in the hospital, that
he managed to give an intelligible account of what had occurred.
About noon an inspector called upon Mr Barclay at Underhill Road, but
he had gone out.
"Did you find any of your basement windows open when you got up this
morning?" he asked the housekeeper, who replied in the negative. Then
the new parlour-maid being called declared that she had fastened all the
windows securely before retiring, and that they were all shut when she
came down at seven o'clock.
The inspector went away, but in the evening he called, saw Mr Barclay,
and told him how a man lurking against the kitchen window had been
captured, and explained that he must be a well-known and desperate thief
because of the subtle means he had in his possession to overcome his
captors.
"My servants have told me about it. But as they say the windows were
fastened the man could not have committed a burglary," replied Mr
Barclay. "The house was quite in order this morning."
"But it is evident that the fellow, whoever he was, meant mischief,
sir."
"Probably. But he didn't succeed, which is fortunate for me!" the other
laughed.
"Well, sir, have you anything particularly valuable on the premises
here? If so, we'll have special watch kept," the inspector said.
"Nothing beyond the ordinary. I've got a safe down below--a very good
one because the man who had this house before me was a diamond dealer,
with offices in the City, and he often kept some of his stock here.
Come and look at it."
Both men went below, and Mr Barclay showed the inspector the heavy
steel door.
The inspector examined the keyhole, but there were no traces of the lock
having been tampered with. On the contrary, all was in such complete
order that Mr Barclay did not even open the safe.
"It's rather a pity the fellow got away," Mr Barclay remarked.
"It is, sir--a thousand pities. But according to the description given
of him by Barnes--who is one of the sharpest men in our division--we
believe it to be a man named Hamilton Layton, a well-known burglar who
works alone, and who has been many times convicted. A constable in
Sunderland was attacked by him last winter in an almost identical
manner."
The inspector made a thorough search of the basement premises, and again
questioned the fair-haired parlour-maid who was Lily's successor. She
vowed that she had latched all the windows, though within herself she
feared that she had overlooked the fact that one of the windows was
unlatched in the morning. Yet what was the use of confessing it, she
thought.
So there being no trace of any intruder, the inspector walked back to
the station, while Mr Barclay smiled at the great hubbub, little
dreaming that in place of that precious map there reposed in the
envelope only a plain piece of paper.
That afternoon Dick Allen arrived at Willowden. Gray was away motoring
in Scotland, where he had some little "business" of the usual shady
character to attend to. Freda had gone to Hatfield, and it was an hour
before she returned. During that hour Allen smoked and read in the
pretty summerhouse at the end of the old-world garden, so full of
climbing roses and gay borders.
Suddenly he heard her voice, and looking up from his paper saw her in a
big hat and filmy lemon-coloured gown.
He waved to her, rose, and met her at the French window of the
old-fashioned dining-room.
"Well?" she asked. "What luck, Dick? I worried a lot about you last
night. I felt somehow that you'd had an accident and to-day--I don't
know how it was--I became filled with apprehension and had to go out.
I'm much relieved to see you. What's happened?"
"Nothing, my dear Freda," laughed the good-looking scoundrel. "There
was just a little _contretemps_--that's all."
"Have you got the map?"
"Sure," he laughed.
"Ah! When you go out to get a thing you never fail to bring it home,"
she said, with a smile. "You're just like Gordon. You've both got the
impudence of the very devil himself."
"And so have you, Freda," laughed her companion, as he stretched himself
upon the sofa. "But the little reverse I had in the early hours of this
morning was--well, I admit it--rather disturbing. The fact is that on
leaving the house in Richmond a constable collared me. He became nasty,
so I was nastier still, and gave him a Number Two right up his nose.
And you know what that means!"
"Yes," said the woman. "He won't speak much for eight hours or so. I
expect he saw the red light, eh?"
"No doubt. But I've got the little map here, and Barclay retains a
sheet of blank paper."
"Splendid!"
Then he drew it from his pocket and showed it to her.
"Oh! won't Gordon be delighted to get this!" she cried. "It will
gladden his heart. The dear boy is a bit down, and wants bucking up."
"Where's Jimmie?" asked Allen. "Tell him to get me a drink. I suppose
he's back by this time?"
The handsome woman in the lemon-coloured gown rose and rang the bell,
and old Claribut, servile and dignified, entered.
"Hulloa! Dick!" he exclaimed. "Why, where have you sprung from? I
thought you were in Nice!"
"So I was. But I'm in Welwyn now, and I want one of your very best
cocktails--and one for Freda also."
The old man retired and presently brought two drinks upon a silver
salver.
"I shan't be in to dinner to-night, Jimmie. I'm motoring Dick to London
presently. I'll be home about midnight. But I'll take the key. Any
news?"
"Nothing, madam," replied the perfectly-mannered butler. "Only the
gas-man came this morning, and the parson called and left some handbills
about the Sunday school treat you are going to give next Thursday."
"Oh! yes, I forgot about that infernal treat! See about it, Jimmie, and
order the stuff and the marquee to be put up out in the field. See
Jackson, the schoolmaster; he'll help you. Say I'm busy."
"Very well, madam."
"Well!" laughed Allen, "so you are acting the great lady of the village
now, Freda!"
"Of course. It impresses these people, and it only costs a few cups of
tea and a few subscriptions. Gordon thinks it policy, but, by Jove! how
I hate it all. Oh! you should see Gordon on a Sunday morning in his new
hat and gloves. He's really a spectacle!"
"Ah! I suppose a reputation is judicious out here," her companion
laughed.
"Yes. But I'll drive you back to town," she said. "We'll dine at the
Ritz. I want to meet a woman there. Wait a minute or two while I
change my frock. I think you've done wonders to get hold of that map.
Gordon will be most excited. He'll be in Inverness to-morrow, and I'll
wire to him."
"Guardedly," he urged.
"Why, of course," she laughed. "But that poor old bobby with a dose of
Number Two! I bet he's feeling pretty rotten!"
"It was the only way," declared the cosmopolitan adventurer. "I wasn't
going to be hauled to the station and lose the map."
"Of course not. Well, have another drink and wait a few minutes," the
woman said, whereupon he began to chat with old Claribut.
"I suppose the Riviera looks a bit hot and dusty just now," remarked
Jimmie, the butler.
"Yes. But Freda's a wonder, isn't she?" remarked Allen. "I've been
asking her about that girl Edna. What has become of her?"
"I don't know, Dick. So don't ask me," Claribut answered, as he smoked
one of Gordon's cigars. Truly that was a strange menage.
"But surely you know something," Allen said. "No, I don't," snapped old
Jimmie.
"Ah! you know something--something very private, eh?" remarked the wily
Dick. "I suppose you are aware that old Sandys has a firm of inquiry
agents out looking for her?"
"Has he really?" laughed Claribut. "Well, then let them find her. Who
has he called in?"
"Fuller--who used to be at the Yard. You recollect him. He had you
once, so you'd better be careful."
"Yes, he had me for passing bad notes in Brussels," remarked the old man
grimly. "So old Sandys is employing him?"
"Yes, and the old man is determined to know the whereabouts of Edna
Manners."
"I don't think he'll ever know. But how came you to know about it?"
"I have a pal who is a friend of Fuller's--Jack Shawford. He told me.
Sandys suspects that something serious has happened to the girl."
At this Claribut became very grave.
"What makes him suspect it? He surely doesn't know that the girl was
acquainted with that old parson Homfray!"
"No. I don't think so," was the reply.
"Ah! That's good. If he had any suspicion of that, then Fuller might
get on the right track, you know, because of this mining concession in
Morocco."
"What connexion has that with the disappearance of the pretty Edna?"
asked his fellow crook, in ignorance.
"Oh! it's a complicated affair, and it would take a long time to
explain--but it _has_!"
"Then you know all about Edna and what has happened! I see it in your
face, Jimmie! Just tell me in confidence."
But the wary old man who had spent many years in prison cells only
smiled and shook his head.
"I don't interfere with other people's affairs, Dick. You know that.
I've enough to do to look after my own."
"_But where is Edna_? Is she--dead?"
The old man merely shrugged his shoulders with a gesture of uncertainty
and ignorance.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
THE LIGHT OF LOVE.
It had been all summer--endless, cloudless summer in England, from the
time of the violets to the now ripening corn. And there was no
foreboding of storm or winter in the air that glorious day.
It was yet quite early in the morning, and high on the Hog's Back, that
ridge of the Surrey Hills that runs from Farnham towards Guildford, the
gentle coolness of daybreak had not left the air.
Roddy and Elma had met for an early morning walk, she being again alone
at the Towers. They had been walking across the fields and woods for an
hour, and were now high up upon the hill which on one side gave views
far away to the misty valley of the Thames, and on the other to Hindhead
and the South Downs. The hill rose steep and sombre, its sides dark
with chestnut woods, and all about them the fields were golden with the
harvest.
They were tired with their walk, so they threw themselves down upon the
grassy hillside and gazed away across the wide vista of hills and
woodlands.
"How glorious it is!" declared the girl, looking fresh and sweet in a
white frock and wide-brimmed summer hat trimmed with a saxe-blue scarf.
"Delightful! This walk is worth getting up early to take!" he remarked
with soft love laughter, looking into her wonderful eyes that at the
moment were fixed in fascination upon the scene.
Since that day months ago when he had declared his affection, he had
never spoken directly of love, but only uttered it in those divers ways
and words, those charms of touch and elegance of grace which are love's
subtlest, truest, and most perilous language.
Slowly, as she turned her beautiful eyes to his, he took her soft little
hand, raising it gallantly to his lips.
"Elma," he said after a long silence, "I have brought you here to tell
you something--something that perhaps I ought to leave unsaid."
"What?" she asked with sudden interest, her eyes opening widely.
"I want to say that I dislike your friend Mr Rutherford," he blurted
forth.
"Mr Rutherford!" she echoed. "He is father's friend--not mine!"
"When I was at Park Lane the other night I noticed the marked attention
he paid you--how he--"
"Oh! you are awfully foolish, Mr Homfray--Roddy! He surely pays me no
attention."
"You did not notice it, but I did!" cried the young man, whose heart was
torn by fierce jealousy.
"Well, if he did, then I am certainly quite unaware of it."
His hand closed fast and warm upon hers. "Ah!" he cried, his eyes
seeking hers with eager wistfulness, "I do not wonder. Once I should
have wondered, but now--I understand. He is rich," he said softly and
very sadly. "And, after all, I am only an adventurer."
"What are you saying?" cried the girl.
"I know the truth," he replied bitterly. "If you ever loved me you
would one day repent, for I have nothing to offer you, Elma. I ought to
be content with my life--it is good enough in its way, though nameless
and fruitless also, perhaps. Yes, it is foolish of me to object to the
attentions which Mr Rutherford pays you. He returned from Paris
specially last Wednesday to be at your party."
"I cannot understand!" she declared. "I do not want to understand! You
are foolish, Roddy. I have no liking for Mr Rutherford. None
whatever!"
"Are you quite certain of that?" he cried, again looking eagerly into
her face with a fierce expression such as she had never seen before upon
his handsome countenance.
"I am, Roddy," she whispered.
"And you really love me?"
"I do," she whispered again. "I shall be content anyhow, anywhere, any
time--_always_--with you!"
He let go her hands--for him, almost roughly--and rose quickly to his
feet, and silently paced to and fro under the high hedgerow. His straw
hat was down over his eyes. He brushed and trampled the wild flowers
ruthlessly as he went. She could not tell what moved him--anger or
pain.