About twenty minutes past six on the same evening, Bellamy, his clothes
thick with dust, his face dark with anger, jumped lightly from a sixty
horse-power car and rang the bell of the lift at number 15, Dover
Street. Arrived on the first floor, he was confronted almost
immediately by the sad-faced man-servant of Mademoiselle Idiale.
“Mademoiselle is in?” Bellamy asked quickly.
The man’s expression was one of sombre regret.
“Mademoiselle is spending the day in the country, sir. Bellamy took him
by the shoulders and flung him against the wall.
“Thank you,” he said, “I’ve heard that before.”
He walked down the passage and knocked softly at the door of Louise’s
sleeping apartment. There was no answer. He knocked again and listened
at the key-hole. There was some movement inside but no one spoke.
“Louise,” he cried softly, “let me in. It is I—David.”
Again the only reply was the strangest of sounds. Almost it seemed as
though a woman were trying to speak with a hand over her mouth. Then
Bellamy suddenly stiffened into rigid attention. There were voices in
the small reception room,—the voice of Henri, the butler, and another.
Reluctantly he turned away from the closed door and walked swiftly down
the passage. He entered the reception room and looked around him in
amazement. It was still in disorder. Lassen sat in an easy-chair with a
tumbler of brandy by his side. Henri was tying a bandage around his
head, his collar was torn, there were marks of blood about his shirt.
Bellamy’s eyes sparkled. He closed the door behind him.
“Come,” he exclaimed, “after all, I fancy that my arrival is somewhat
opportune!”
Henri turned towards him with a reproachful gesture.
“Monsieur Lassen has been unwell, Monsieur,” he said. “He has had a fit
and fallen down.”
Bellamy laughed contemptuously.
“I think I can reconstruct the scene a little better than that,” he
declared. “What do you say, Mr. Lassen?”
The man glared at him viciously.
“I do not know what you are talking about,” he said. “I do not wish to
speak to you. I am ill. You had better go and persuade Mademoiselle to
return. She is at Dover, waiting.”
“You are a liar!” Bellamy answered. “She is in her room now, locked
up—guarded, perhaps, by one of your creatures. I have been half-way to
Dover, but I tumbled to your scheme in time, Mr. Lassen. You found our
friend Laverick a trifle awkward, I fancy.”
Lassen swore through his teeth but said nothing.
“From your somewhat dishevelled appearance,” Bellamy continued, “I
think I may conclude that you were not able to come to any amicable
arrangement with Mademoiselle’s visitor. He declined to accept you as
her proxy, I imagine. Still, one must make sure.”
He advanced quickly. Lassen shrank back in his chair.
“What do you mean?” he asked gruffly. “Keep him away from me, Henri.
Ring the bell for your other man. This fellow will do me a mischief.”
“Not I,” Bellamy answered scornfully. “Stay where you are, Henri. To
your other accomplishments I have no doubt you include that of
valeting. Take off his coat.”
“But, Monsieur!” Henri protested.
“I’m d—d if he shall!” the man in the chair snarled.
Bellamy turned to the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket.
“Look here,” he said, “I do not for one moment believe that Laverick
handed over to you the document you were so anxious to obtain. On the
other hand, I imagine that your somewhat battered appearance is the
result of fruitless argument on your part with a view to inducing him
to do so. Nevertheless, I can afford to run no risks. The coat first,
please, Henri. It is necessary that I search it thoroughly.”
There was a brief hesitation. Bellamy’s hand went reluctantly into his
pocket.
“I hate to seem melodramatic,” he declared, “and I never carry
firearms, but I have a little life-preserver here which I have learned
how to use pretty effectively. Come, you know, it isn’t a fair fight.
You’ve had all you want, Lassen, and Henri there hasn’t the muscle of a
chicken.”
Lassen rose, groaning, to his feet and allowed his coat to be removed.
Bellamy glanced through the pockets, holding one letter for a moment in
his hands as he glanced at the address.
“The writing of our friend Streuss,” he remarked, with a smile. “No,
you need not fear, Lassen! I am not going to read it. There is plenty
of proof of your treachery without this.”
Lassen’s face was livid and his eyes seemed like beads. Bellamy handed
back the coat.
“That’s all right,” he said. “Nothing there, I am glad to see—or in the
waistcoat,” he added, passing his hands over it. “I’ll trouble you to
stand up for a moment, Mr. Lassen.”
The man did as he was bid and Bellamy felt him all over. When he had
finished, he held in his hand a key.
“The key of Mademoiselle’s chamber, I have no doubt,” he announced, “I
will leave you, then, while I see what deviltry you have been up to.”
He walked calmly to the table which stood by the window and
deliberately cut the telephone wire. With the instrument under his arm,
he left the room. Lassen blundered to his feet as though to intercept
him, but Bellamy’s eyes suddenly flashed red fury, and the
life-preserver of which he had spoken glittered above his head. Lassen
staggered away.
“I’m a long-suffering man,” Bellamy said, “and if you don’t remember
now that you’re the beaten dog, I may lose my temper.”
He locked them in, walked down the passage and opened the door of
Louise’s bedchamber with fingers that trembled a little. With a
smothered oath he cut the cord from the arms of the maid and the gag
from her mouth. Louise, clad in a loose afternoon gown, was lying upon
the bed, as though asleep. Bellamy saw with an impulse of relief that
she was breathing regularly.
“This is Lassen’s work, of course!” he exclaimed. “What have they done
to her?”
The maid spoke thickly. She was very pale, and unsteady upon her feet.
“It was something they put in her wine,” she faltered. “I heard Mr.
Lassen say that it would keep her quiet for three or four hours. I
think—I think that she is waking now.”
Louise opened her eyes and looked at them with amazement. Bellamy sat
by the side of the bed and supported her with his arm.
“It is only a skirmish, dear,” he whispered, “and it is a drawn battle,
although you got the worst of it.”
She put her hand to her head, struggling to remember.
“Mr. Laverick has been here?” she asked.
“He has. Your friend Lassen has been taking a hand in the game. I came
here to find you like this and Annette tied up. Henri is in with him.
What has become of your other servants I don’t know.”
“Henri asked for a holiday for them,” she said, the color slowly
returning to her cheeks. “I begin to understand. But tell me, what
happened when Mr. Laverick came?”
“I can only guess,” Bellamy answered, “but it seems that Lassen must
have received him as though with your authority.”
“And what then?” she asked quickly.
“I am almost certain,” Bellamy declared, “that Laverick refused to have
anything to do with him. I received a wire from Dover to say that you
were on your way home, and asking me to meet you at the Lord Warden
Hotel. I borrowed Montresor’s racing-car, but I sent telegrams, and I
was pretty soon on my way back. When I arrived here, I found Lassen in
your little room with a broken head. Evidently Laverick and he had a
scrimmage and he got the worst of it. I have searched him to his bones
and he has no paper. Laverick brought it here, without a doubt, and has
taken it away again.”
She rose to her feet.
“Go and let Lassen out,” she said. “Tell him he must never come here
again. I will see him at the Opera House to-night or to-morrow
night—that is, if I can get there. I do not know whether I shall feel
fit to sing.”
“I shall take the liberty, also,” remarked Bellamy, “of kicking Henri
out.”
Louise sighed.
“He was such a good servant. I think it must have cost our friend
Streuss a good deal to buy Henri. You will come back to me when you
have finished with them?”
Bellamy made short work of his discomfited prisoners. Lassen was surly
but only eager to depart; Henri was resigned but tearful. Almost as they
went the other servants began to return from their various missions.
Bellamy went back to Louise, who was lying down again and drinking some
tea. She motioned Bellamy to come over to her side.
“Tell me,” she asked, “what are you going to do now?”
“I am going to do what I ought to have done before,” Bellamy answered.
“Laverick’s connection with this affair is suspicious enough, but after
all he is a sportsman and an Englishman. I am going to tell him what
that envelope contains—tell him the truth.”
“You are right!” she exclaimed. “Whatever he may have done, if you tell
him the truth he will give you that document. I am sure of it. Do you
know where to find him?”
“I shall go to his rooms,” Bellamy declared. “I must be quick, too, for
Lassen is free—they will know that he has failed.”
“Come back to me, David,” she begged, and he kissed her fingers and
hurried out.