CHAPTER VIII. Mrs. BOGNOR'S STAR BOARDER
In these days, the duties of Miss Brown as Peter Ruff's secretary hadbecome multifarious. Together with the transcribing of a vast number ofnotes concerning cases, some of which he undertook and some of which herefused, she had also to keep his cash book, a note of his investmentsand a record of his social engagements. Notwithstanding all thesedemands upon her time, however, there were occasions when she foundherself, of necessity, idle. In one of these she broached the subjectwhich had often been in her mind. They were alone, and not expectingcallers. Consequently, she sat upon the hearthrug and addressed heremployer by his Christian name.
"Peter," she said softly, "do you remember the night when you camethrough the fog and burst into my little flat?"
"Quite well," he answered, "but it is a subject to which I prefer thatyou do not allude."
"I will be careful," she answered. "I only spoke of it for this reason.Before you left, when we were sitting together, you sketched out thecareer which you proposed for yourself. In many respects, I suppose, youhave been highly successful, but I wonder if it has ever occurred toyou that your work has not proceeded upon the lines which you firstindicated?"
He nodded.
"I think I know what you mean," he said. "Go on."
"That night," she murmured softly, "you spoke as a hunted man; youspoke as one at war with Society; you spoke as one who proposes almosta campaign against it. When you took your rooms here and called yourselfPeter Ruff, it was rather in your mind to aid the criminal than todetect the crime. Fate seems to have decreed otherwise. Why, I wonder?"
"Things have gone that way," Peter Ruff remarked.
"I will tell you why," she continued. "It is because, at the bottomof your heart, there lurks a strong and unconquerable desire forrespectability. In your heart you are on the side of the law andestablished things. You do not like crime; you do not like criminals.You do not like the idea of associating with them. You prefer thecompany of law-abiding people, even though their ways be narrow. Itwas part of that sentiment, Peter, which led you to fall in love with acoal-merchant's daughter. I can see that you will end your days in thehalo of respectability."
Peter Ruff was a little thoughtful. He scratched his chin andcontemplated the tip of his faultless patent boot. Self-analysisinterested him, and he recognized the truth of the girl's words.
"You know, I am rather like that," he admitted. "When I see a familyparty, I envy them. When I hear of a man who has brothers and sistersand aunts and cousins, and gives family dinner-parties to familyfriends, I envy him. I do not care about the loose ends of life. I donot care about restaurant life, and ladies who transfer their regardswith the same facility that they change their toilettes. You have veryadmirable powers of observation, Violet. You see me, I believe, as Ireally am."
"That being so," she remarked, "what are you going to say to Sir RichardDyson?"
Peter Ruff was frank.
"Upon my soul," he answered, "I don't know!"
"You'll have to make up your mind very soon," she reminded him. "He iscoming here at twelve o'clock."
Peter Ruff nodded.
"I shall wait until I hear what he has to say," he remarked.
"His letter gave you a pretty clear hint," Violet said, "that it wassomething outside the law."
"The law has many outposts," Peter Ruff said. "One can thread one'sway in and out, if one knows the ropes. I don't like the man, but heintroduced me to his tailor. I have never had any clothes like those hehas made me."
She sighed.
"You are a vain little person," she said.
"You are an impertinent young woman!" he answered. "Get back to yourwork. Don't you hear the lift stop?"
She rose reluctantly, and resumed her place in front of her desk.
"If it's risky," she whispered, leaning round towards him, "don't youtake it on. I've heard one or two things about Sir Richard lately."
Peter Ruff nodded. He, too, quitted his easy-chair, and took up a bundleof papers which lay upon his desk. There was a sharp tap at the door.
"Come in!" he said.
Sir Richard Dyson entered. He was dressed quietly, but with the perfecttaste which was obviously an instinct with him, and he wore a big bunchof violets in his buttonhole. Nevertheless, the spring sunshine seemedto find out the lines in his face. His eyes were baggy--he had aged evenwithin the last few months.
"Well, Mr. Ruff," he said, shaking hands, "how goes it?"
"I am very well, Sir Richard," Peter Ruff answered. "Please take achair."
Sir Richard took the easy-chair, and discovering a box of cigarettesupon the table, helped himself. Then his eyes fell upon Miss Brown.
"Can't do without your secretary?" he remarked.
"Impossible!" Peter Ruff answered. "As I told you before, I am herguarantee that what you say to me, or before her, is spoken as though tothe dead."
Sir Richard nodded.
"Just as well," he remarked, "for I am going to talk about a man who Iwish were dead!"
"There are few of us," Peter Ruff said, "who have not our enemies."
"Have you any experience of blackmailers?" Sir Richard asked.
"In my profession," Peter Ruff answered, "I have come across suchpersons."
"I have come to see you about one," Sir Richard proceeded. "Many yearsago, there was a fellow in my regiment who went to the bad--never mindhis name. He passes to-day as Ted Jones--that name will do as well asanother. I am not," Sir Richard continued, "a good-natured man, but somedevilish impulse prompted me to help that fellow. I gave him money threeor four times. Somehow, I don't think it's a very good thing to give aman money. He doesn't value it--it comes too easily. He spends it andwants more."
"There's a good deal of truth in what you say, Sir Richard," Peter Ruffadmitted.
"Our friend, for instance, wanted more," Sir Richard continued. "He cameto me for it almost as a matter of course. I refused. He came again; Ilost my temper and punched his head. Then his little game began."
Peter Ruff nodded.
"He had something to work upon, I suppose?" he remarked.
"Most certainly he had," Sir Richard admitted. "If ever I achievedsufficient distinction in any branch of life to make it necessary thatmy biography should be written, I promise you that you would find it inmany places a little highly colored. In other words, Mr. Ruff, I havenot always adhered to the paths of righteousness."
A faint smile flickered across Peter Ruff's face.
"Sir Richard," he said, "your candor is admirable."
"There was one time," Sir Richard continued, "when I was really on mylast legs. It was just before I came into the baronetcy. I had borrowedevery penny I could borrow. I was even hard put to it for a meal. I wentto Paris, and I called myself by another man's name. I got introduced toa somewhat exclusive club there. My assumed name was a good one--itwas the name, in fact, of a relative whom I somewhat resembled. I wasaccepted without question. I played cards, and I lost somewhere abouteighteen thousand francs."
"A sum," Peter Ruff remarked, "which you probably found it inconvenientto pay."
"There was only one course," Sir Richard continued, "and I took it.I went back the next night and gave checks for the amount of myindebtedness--checks which had no more chance of being met than if Iwere to draw to-night upon the Bank of England for a million pounds.I went back, however, with another resolve. I was considered to havedischarged my liabilities, and we played again. I rose a winner ofsomething like sixty thousand francs. But I played to win, Mr. Ruff! Doyou know what that means?"
"You cheated!" Peter Ruff said, in an undertone.
"Quite true," Sir Richard admitted. "I cheated! There was a scandal, andI disappeared. I had the money, and though my checks for the eighteenthousand francs were met, there was a considerable balance in mypocket when I escaped out of France. There was enough to take me out toAmerica--big game shooting in the far West. No one ever associated mewith the impostor who had robbed the
se young French noblemen--no one,that is to say, except the person who passes by the name of TeddyJones."
"How did he get to know?" Peter Ruff asked.
"The story wouldn't interest you," Sir Richard answered. "He was inParis at the time--we came across one another twice. He heard thescandal, and put two and two together. I shipped him off to Australiawhen I came into the title. He has come back. Lately, I can tell you,he has pretty well drained me dry. He has become a regular parasite acold-blooded leech. He doesn't get drunk now. He looks after his health.I believe he even saves his, money. There's scarcely a week I don't hearfrom him. He keeps me a pauper. He has brought me at last to that statewhen I feel that there must be an ending!"
"You have come to seek my help," Peter Ruff said, slowly. "From what yousay about this man, I presume that he is not to be frightened?"
"Not for a single moment," Sir Richard answered. "The law has no terrorsfor him. He is as slippery as an eel. He has his story pat. He even hashis witnesses ready. I can assure you that Mr. Teddy Jones isn't by anymeans an ordinary sort of person."
"He is not to be bluffed," Peter Ruff said, slowly; "he is not to bebribed. What remains?"
"I have come here," Sir Richard said, "for your advice, Mr. Ruff."
"The blackmailer," Peter Ruff said, "is a criminal."
"He is a scoundrel!" Sir Richard assented.
"He is not fit to live," Peter Ruff repeated.
"He contaminates the world with every breath he draws!" Sir Richardassented.
"Perhaps," Peter Ruff said, "you had better give me his address, and thename he goes under."
"He lives at a boarding-house in Russell Street, Bloomsbury," SirRichard said. "It is Mrs. Bognor's boarding-house. She calls it, Ibelieve, the 'American Home from Home.' The number is 17."
"A boarding-house," Peter Ruff repeated, thoughtfully. "Makes it alittle hard to get at him privately, doesn't it?"
"Fling him a bait and he will come to you," Sir Richard answered. "He isan adventurer pure and simple, though perhaps you wouldn't believe it tolook at him now. He has grown fat on the money he has wrung from me."
"You had better leave the matter in my hands for a few days," PeterRuff said. "I will have a talk with this gentleman and see whether he isreally so unmanageable. If he is, there is, of course, only one way, andfor that way, Sir Richard, you would have to pay a little high."
"If I were to hear to-morrow," Sir Richard said quietly, "that TeddyJones was dead, I would give five thousand pounds to the man who broughtme the information!"
Peter Ruff nodded.
"It would be worth that," he said--"quite! I will drop you a line in thecourse of the next few days."
Sir Richard took up his hat, lit another of Peter Ruff's cigarettes, anddeparted. They heard the rattle of the lift as it descended. Then MissBrown turned round in her chair.
"Don't you do it, Peter!" she said solemnly. "The time has gone by forthat sort of thing. The man may be unfit to live, but you don't need torisk as much as that for a matter of five thousand pounds."
Peter Ruff nodded.
"Quite right," he said; "quite right, Violet. At the same time, fivethousand pounds is an excellent sum. We must see what can be done."
Peter Ruff's method of seeing what could be done was at first the veryobvious one of seeking to discover any incidents in the past of theperson known as Teddy Jones likely to reflect present discredit upon himif brought to light. From the first, it was quite clear that the careerof this gentleman had been far from immaculate. His researches proved,beyond a doubt, that the gentleman in question had resorted, duringthe last ten or fifteen years, to many and very questionable methods ofobtaining a living. At the same time, there was nothing which PeterRuff felt that the man might not brazen out. His present mode of lifeseemed--on the surface, at any rate--to be beyond reproach. There wasonly one association which was distinctly questionable, and it was inthis one direction, therefore, that Peter Ruff concentrated himself. Thecase, for some reason, interested him so much that he took a close andpersonal interest in it, and he was rewarded one day by discovering thisenemy of Sir Richard's sitting, toward five o'clock in the afternoon,in a cafe in Regent Street, engrossed in conversation with a personwhom Peter Ruff knew to be a very black sheep indeed--a man who had beentried for murder, and concerning whom there were still many unpleasantrumors. From behind his paper in a corner of the cafe, Peter Ruffwatched these two men. Teddy Jones--or Major Edward Jones, as it seemedhe was now called--was a person whose appearance no longer suggested thepoverty against which he had been struggling most of his life. He waswell dressed and tolerably well turned out. His face was a little puffy,and he had put on flesh during these days of his ease. His eyes, too,had a somewhat furtive expression, although his general deportment wasone of braggadocio. Peter Ruff, quick always in his likes or dislikes,found the man repulsive from the start. He felt that he would have agenuine pleasure, apart from the matter of the five thousand pounds, inaccelerating Major Jones's departure from a world which he certainly didnot adorn.
The two men conducted their conversation in a subdued tone, which madeit quite impossible for Peter Ruff, in his somewhat distant corner, tooverhear a single word of it. It was obvious, however, that they werenot on the best of terms. Major Jones's companion was protesting, andapparently without success, against some course of action or speech ofhis companions. The conversation, on the other hand, never reached aquarrel, and the two men left the place together apparently on ordinaryterms of friendliness. Peter Ruff at once quitted his seat and crossedthe room toward the spot where they had been sitting. He dived under thetable and picked up a newspaper--it was the only clue left to him as tothe nature of their conversation. More than once, Major Jones who had,soon after their arrival, sent a waiter for it, had pointed to a certainparagraph as though to give weight to his statements. Peter Ruff hadnoticed the exact position of that paragraph. He smoothed out the paperand found it at once. It was an account of the murder of a wealthy oldwoman, living on the outskirts of a country village not far from London.Peter Ruff's face did not change as he called for another vermouth andread the description, slowly. Yet he was aware that he had possiblystumbled across the very thing for which he had searched so urgently!The particulars of the murder he already knew well, as at one timehe had felt inclined to aid the police in their so far fruitlessinvestigations. He therefore skipped the description of the tragedy,and devoted his attention to the last paragraph, toward which he fanciedthat the finger of Major Jones had been chiefly directed. It was a listof the stolen property, which consisted of jewelry, gold and notes to avery considerable amount. With the waiter's permission, he annexed thepaper, cut out the list of articles with a sharp penknife, and placed itin his pocketbook before he left the cafe.
In the course of some of the smaller cases with which Peter Ruff hadbeen from time to time connected, he had more than once come intocontact with the authorities at Scotland Yard, and he had severalacquaintances there--not including Mr. John Dory--to whom, at times, hehad given valuable information. For the first time, he now sought somereturn for his many courtesies. He drove straight from the cafe tothe office of the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department. Thequestions he asked there were only two, but they were promptly andcourteously answered. Peter Ruff left the building and drove back tohis rooms in a somewhat congratulatory frame of mind. After all, it waschance which was the chief factor in the solution of so many of thesecases! Often he had won less success after months of untiring effortthan he had gained during that few minutes in the cafe in Regent Street.
Peter Ruff became an inmate of that very select boarding-house carriedon by Mrs. Bognor at number 17 Russell Street, Bloomsbury. He arrivedwith a steamer trunk, an elaborate traveling-bag and a dressing-case;took the best vacant room in the house, and dressed for dinner. Mrs.Bognor looked upon him as a valuable addition to her clientele, andintroduced him freely to her other guests. Among these was Major EdwardJones. Major Jones sat at Mrs. B
ognor's right hand, and was evidentlythe show guest of the boarding-house. Peter Ruff, without the leastdesire to attack his position, sat upon her left and monopolized theconversation. On the third night it turned, by chance, upon preciousstones. Peter Ruff drew a little chamois leather bag from his pocket.
"I am afraid," he said, "that my tastes are peculiar. I have been in theEast, and I have seen very many precious stones in their uncut state. Tomy mind, there is nothing to be compared with opals. These are a few Ibrought home from India. Perhaps you would like to look at them, Mrs.Bognor."
They were passed round, amidst a little chorus of admiration.
"The large one with the blue fire," Peter Ruff remarked, "is, I think,remarkably beautiful. I have never seen a stone quite like it."
"It is wonderful!" murmured the young lady who was sitting at MajorJones's right hand. "What a fortunate man you are, Mr. Ruff, to havesuch a collection of treasures!"
Peter Ruff bowed across the table. Major Jones, who was beginning tofeel that his position as show guest was in danger, thrust his handinto his waistcoat pocket and produced a lady's ring, in which was set asingle opal.
"Very pretty stones," he remarked carelessly, "but I can't say I am veryfond of them. Here's one that belonged to my sister, and my grandmotherbefore her. I have it in my pocket because I was thinking of having thestone reset and making a present of it to a friend of mine."
Peter Ruff's popularity waned--he had said nothing about making apresent to any one of even the most insignificant of his opals! Andthe one which Major Jones now handed round was certainly a magnificentstone. Peter Ruff examined it with the rest, and under the pretextof studying the setting, gazed steadfastly at the inside through hiseyeglass. Major Jones, from the other side of the table, frowned, andheld out his hand for the ring.
"A very beautiful stone indeed!" Peter Ruff declared, passing it acrossthe tablecloth. "Really, I do not think that there is one in my littlecollection to be compared with it. Have you many treasures like this,Major Jones?"
"Oh, a few!" the Major answered carelessly, "family heirlooms, most ofthem."
"You will have to give me the ring, Major Jones," the young lady on hisright remarked archly. "It's bad luck, you know, to give it to any onewho is not born in October, and my birthday is on the twelfth."
"My dear Miss Levey," Major Jones answered, whispering in her ear, "moreunlikely things have happened than that I should beg your acceptance ofthis little trifle."
"Sooner or later," Peter Ruff said genially, "I should like to have alittle conversation with you, Major. I fancy that we ought to be able tofind plenty of subjects of common interest."
"Delighted, I'm sure!" the latter answered, utterly unsuspicious. "Shallwe go into the smoking-room now, or would you rather play a rubberfirst?"
"If it is all the same to you," Peter Ruff said, "I think we will have acigar first. There will be plenty of time for bridge afterwards."
"May I offer you a cigar, sir?" Major Jones inquired, passing across awell-filled case.
Peter Ruff sighed.
"I am afraid, Major," he said, "that there is scarcely time. You see, Ihave a warrant in my pocket for your arrest, and I am afraid that by thetime we got to the station--"
Major Jones leaned forward in his chair. He gripped the sides tightlywith both hands. His eyes seemed to be protruding from his head.
"For my what?" he exclaimed, in a tone of horror.
"For your arrest," Peter Ruff explained calmly. "Surely you must havebeen expecting it! During all these years you must have grown used toexpecting it at every moment!"
Major Jones collapsed. He looked at Ruff as one might look at a man whohas taken leave of his senses. Yet underneath it all was the coward'sfear!
"What are you talking about, man?" he exclaimed. "What do you mean?Lower your voice, for heaven's sake! Consider my position here! Someone might overhear! If this is a joke, let me tell you that it's ad----d foolish one!"
Peter Ruff raised his eyebrows.
"I do not wish," he said, "to create a disturbance--my manner of cominghere should have assured you of that. At the same time, business isbusiness. I hold a warrant for your arrest, and I am forced to executeit."
"Do you mean that you are a detective, then?" Major Jones demanded.
He was a big man, but his voice seemed to have grown very small indeed.
"Naturally," Peter Ruff answered. "I should not come here withoutauthority."
"What is the charge?" the other man faltered.
"Blackmail," Peter Ruff said slowly. "The information against you islodged by Sir Richard Dyson."
It seemed to Peter Ruff, who was watching his companion closely, that awave of relief passed over the face of the man who sat cowering in hischair. He certainly drew a little gasp--stretched out his hands, asthough to thrust the shadow of some fear from him. His voice, when hespoke, was stronger. Some faint show of courage was returning to him.
"There is some ridiculous mistake," he declared. "Let us talk this overlike sensible men, Mr. Ruff. If you will wait until I have spoken to SirRichard, I can promise you that the warrant shall be withdrawn, and thatyou shall not be the loser."
"I am afraid it is too late for anything of that sort," Peter Ruff said."Sir Richard's patience has been completely exhausted by your repeateddemands."
"He never told me so," Major Jones whined. "I quite thought that he wasalways glad to help an old friend. As a matter of fact, I had not meantto ask him for anything else. The last few hundreds I had from him wasto have closed the thing up. It was the end."
Peter Ruff shook his head.
"No," he said, "it was not the end! It never would have been the end!Sir Richard sought my advice, and I gave it him without hesitation.Sooner or later, I told him, he would have to adopt different measures.I convinced him. I represent those measures!"
"But the matter can be arranged," Major Jones insisted, with a littleshudder, "I am perfectly certain it can be arranged. Mr. Ruff, you arenot an ordinary police officer--I am sure of that. Give me a chance ofhaving an interview with Sir Richard before anything more is done.I will satisfy him, I promise you that. Why, if we leave the placetogether like this, every one here will get to know about it!"
"Be reasonable," Peter Ruff answered. "Of course everyone will get toknow about it! Blackmailing cases always excite a considerable amount ofinterest. Your photograph will probably be in the Daily Mirror tomorrowor the next day. In the meantime, I must trouble you to pay yourrespects to Mrs. Bognor and to come with me."
"To Sir Richard's house?" Major Jones asked, eagerly.
"To the police-stations," Peter Ruff answered.
Major Jones did not rise. He sat for a few moments with his head buriedin his hands.
"Mr. Ruff," he said hoarsely, "listen to me. I have been fortunatelately in some investments. I am not so poor as I was. I have mycheck-book in my pocket, and a larger balance in the bank now than Ihave ever had before. If I write you a check for, say, a hundred--no,two!--five!" he cried, desperately, watching Peter Ruff's unchangingface--"five hundred pounds, will you come round with me to Sir Richard'shouse in a hansom at once?"
Peter Ruff shook his head.
"Five thousand pounds would not buy your liberty from me, Major Jones,"he said.
The man became abject.
"Have pity, then," he pleaded. "My health is not good--I couldn't standimprisonment. Think of what it means to a man of my age suddenly toleave everything worth having in life just because he may have imposeda little on the generosity of a friend! Think how you would feel, and bemerciful!"
Peter Ruff shook his head slowly. His face was immovable, but there wasa look in his eyes from which the other man shrank.
"Major Jones," he said, "you ask me be merciful. You appeal to my pity.For such as you I have no pity, nor have I ever shown any mercy. Youknow very well, and I know, that when once the hand of the law touchesyour shoulder, it will not be only a charge o' blackmail which thepolice will bri
ng against you!"
"There is nothing else--nothing else!" he cried. "Take half my fortune,Mr. Ruff. Let me get away. Give me a chance--just a sporting chance!"
"I wonder," Peter Ruff said, "what chance that poor old lady in Westonhad? No, I am not saying you murdered her. You never had the pluck. Yourconfederate did that, and you handled the booty. What were the initialsinside that ring you showed us to-night, Major Jones?"
"Let me go to my bedroom," he said, in a strange, far-away tone. "Youcan come with me and stand outside."
Peter Ruff assented.
"To save scandal," he said, "yes!"
Three flights of stairs they climbed. When at last they reached thedoor, the trembling man made one last appeal.
"Mr. Ruff," he said, "have a little mercy. Give me an hour's start--justa chance for my life!"
Peter Ruff pushed him in the door.
"I am not a hard man," he said, "but I keep my mercy for men!"
He took the key from the inside of the door, locked it, and with the keyin his pocket descended to the drawing-room. The young lady who had saton Major Jones's right was singing a ballad. Suddenly she paused in themiddle of her song. The four people who were playing bridge looked up.Mrs. Bognor screamed.
"What was that?" she asked quickly.
"It sounded," Peter Ruff said, "very much like revolver shot."
"I see," Sir Richard remarked, with a queer look in his eyes, as hehanded over a roll of notes to Peter Ruff, "the jury brought it in'Suicide'! What I can't understand is--"
"Don't try," Peter Ruff interrupted briskly. "It isn't in the bond thatyou should understand."
Sir Richard helped himself to a drink. A great burden had passed fromhis shoulders, but he was not feeling at his best that morning. He couldscarcely keep his eyes from Peter Ruff.
"Ruff," he said, "I have known you some time, and I have known you to bea square man. I have known you to do good-natured actions. I came to youin desperation but I scarcely expected this!"
Peter Ruff emptied his own tumbler and took up his hat.
"Sir Richard," he said, "you are like a good many other people. Now thatthe thing is done, you shrink from the thought of it. You even wonderhow I could have planned to bring about the death of this man. Listen,Sir Richard. Pity for the deserving, or for those who have in them onesingle quality, one single grain, of good, is a sentiment which deservesrespect. Pity for vermin, who crawl about the world leaving a poisonoustrail upon everything they touch, is a false and unnatural sentiment.For every hopelessly corrupt man who is induced to quit this life thereis a more deserving one, somewhere or other, for whom the world is abetter place."
"So that, after all, you are a philanthropist, Mr. Ruff," Sir Richardsaid, with a forced smile.
Peter Ruff shook his head.
"A philosopher," he answered, buttoning up his notes.