Chapter 3
Violet remained crouching where she was. She felt no fear, only an intense and overmastering interest. Still, she dared not rise and stand upright upon that narrow platform, high in the air.
The two men, Winterbotham and Gerald Boynton, were confronting each other. There was nothing between them and the sky. The great round moon hung above them, and Violet thought, half hysterically, that this was exactly like the crude poster of some cruder melodrama outside a booth in Coney Island.
"Put that gun down. It's me, Mister Boynton."
The silver-plated revolver sunk and Boynton bent forward. "You, Winterbotham? What on earth are you doing here?
"I've been reinstated by our new boss, Mister Boynton."
"Miss Milton, yes. I spoke to her about you. But----"
"Miss Milton and myself are just looking round, Mister Boynton. She is here!"
Perilous as the whole situation was, Violet could not help a ripple of laughter. Boynton had come straight up to Winterbotham and was peering over his shoulder.
The two men stood almost arm in arm, like acrobats. She saw the young man's clear-cut face as a mask of amazement. In the moonlight the face was like that of some pallid Grecian statue, but it was beautiful nevertheless. A tragic mask! She rose to her feet, a little dizzy and uncertain, almost staggered to the top of the fire escape, clutched it and the descending rail with a sigh of relief, and then felt herself again. She descended two steps and looked up at the men -- knowing that whatever might happen she could not fall now.
"You see, Mr. Boynton," she said, "I am surveying my new possessions in my own fashion."
She heard a mutter of explanation from Winterbotham. Then Boynton cautiously moved round the foreman -- he was within four inches of the parapet as he did so -- and came to her. He stood at the top of the stairway and bent till his head was almost on a level with her own.
"Winterbotham has told me," he said in a quick and hurried whisper. "He has told me that your uncle suspected something and that he and Winterbotham had been on the look-out for some time. I had no idea of this. I have been investigating on my own for a long time. When my proofs were complete I was going to take them to Sir William. I did not think that he had any inkling of what was going on."
"Then I have a new recruit," Violet said. "This begins to be more and more exciting!"
"Miss Milton," -- the words came to her with a tense vibration -- "if Winterbotham had known as much as I know he would never have let you come up here. You've not the least idea of what's going on. Even Winterbotham has not, though he seems to have discovered a great deal. You must come down with me at once. You must hurry back to your house. There is not a moment to lose."
The young man's voice had a ring of command in it. Secretly Violet was delighted, outwardly she was determined to resent it. "I think, Mr. Boynton," she replied coldly, "that you rather overestimate the importance of the occasion. Surely I can do as I like? And as for my life being in danger, don't you think we are all a little moonstruck tonight?"
Her words had not the slightest effect. She saw the white brow furrow into a frown and the curved lips set hard.
"Whatever you may think, Miss Milton, you must obey me now. Tomorrow morning you can give me six months' salary and kick me out of the works. That is as you please. Tonight I am not the second in command of the Milton Paper Mills, or one of your lieutenants; I am simply a man who won't let an impulsive young lady run into terrible danger."
She knew that the young man was speaking with absolute conviction. "Danger?" she asked.
"Yes. If you and I and Winterbotham were discovered here, or at the bottom of the fire escape, I would not give five minutes for our lives. The people down below" -- he lightly tapped his foot upon the parapet and made a gesture with his right hand towards the lighted dome -- "would stick at nothing. We should disappear, that's all, and all the police in Europe would never solve the mystery."
There was a dull, thudding sound from the interior of the building, the noise and groan of great iron. It seemed to emphasize Gerald Boynton's words.
"Let's go down," said Violet, and in an instant she was descending the flimsy fire escape like a bird. She heard the other two coming after her. She was frightened now, but not unpleasantly. There was a wild exhilaration in her veins. How splendid Boynton's face had looked as the moonlight fell upon it before it sank into the shadow of the wall!
Within a minute they were standing in the black void among the broken bricks and empty cans, then came out into the street of pulping sheds which led to the boiler house and the great central square.
Somehow Violet found herself running, or at least walking so quickly that it was almost that. Now and again Boynton and Winterbotham took her by the elbows and lifted her over a tangle of rail points, or steered her out of the way of some waiting trolley. It was not until they were halfway across the square and approaching the high wall of Sir William's house that their speed slackened and Violet thought it right to assume a dignity that she was far from feeling.
"And now, Mr. Boynton," she said, "may I ask why you have bundled me off in this fashion?"
"Yes, Miss Milton. Because they were just going to open the large gates at the end of the Experiment House and run a trolley down to the quay."
She asked no questions, but walked towards her postern gate. When she was nearly there she turned. "I don't understand all this," she said in a faltering voice. "Winterbotham came to me with a strange story. He was in the confidence of my uncle, Mr. Boynton. I agreed to go with him and see what was happening. You, it seems, have been investigating upon your own account. I must go in now. I must try and sleep. You and Winterbotham will talk matters over together, I suppose."
The little foreman's face was alive with excitement. "If I'd but known, if Sir William and I'd but known that Mr. Boynton was on to it too! You'll have a lot to tell miss and me, Mister Boynton?"
"Something sufficiently startling," Boynton answered.
"Thank you very much indeed," Violet said, with her hand upon the private door. "I cannot thank you enough. Mr. Boynton, will you call here at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning and tell me all you know?"
Boynton hesitated for a moment. "Miss Milton," he said, "I don't think it would be wise. It would be known. I am watched carefully. I feel sure, if I may say so, that even now you do not appreciate the gravity of what is going on. Another thing is this: Mister Fanshawe has requested me to go to Manchester tomorrow by the ten o'clock train. I have to see a big chemical manufacturer there."
Violet thought for a moment and then made a quick decision. "Very well, then," she said, "we must have our talk in Manchester, that's all. I am quite in the dark at present, but I take your word for it, and Winterbotham's, that the matter is very serious. I will get my driver to take me to Manchester during the morning and meet you anywhere you like for lunch."
The young man's face lighted up. "That is very good of you, Miss Milton," he said. "I can tell you everything tomorrow, then. Suppose we say the Midland Hotel at half-past one?"
"That will do very well indeed. Good night." And then, moved by an impulse, she shook hands with Boynton and afterwards with Winterbotham.
The moon was setting now. The dawn was at hand as Violet crept through the sunken garden and round the house to the veranda. She was physically tired, but the extraordinary experiences of the night left her mentally alert.
"The first day almost!" she said to herself as she went noiselessly upstairs to her bedroom. "What does it all mean? Have I stumbled into some dark conspiracy? Do these gaunt buildings and halls of machinery hide some terrible secret? It seems so indeed. And I thought I was going to merely amuse myself by picking up the details of a large business. It seems that something very different is in store for me. At any rate, at the very beginning I have discovered two firm and courageous helpers. I would trust that little man Winterbotham with anything. And as for Mr. Boynton..." She fell asleep and in her troubled dreams she saw
again the moonlight on the young man's clear-cut face.
The next morning she breakfasted at nine o'clock.
"I find this quaint house beautifully peaceful, a positive hermitage, my dear," said Mrs. Herbert Wilkins. "At first I doubted the wisdom of your suggestion that we should come and live here, but now I see how wise you were. It is so peaceful. Nothing could happen to disturb us in such a placid spot. And I really think very highly of the new cook."
"I am so glad you like it here, Mrs. Wilkins," said Violet. "I hope you slept well."
"Like a top, my dear. This sea air conduces to sleep. And you?"
"I had a perfect night," Violet answered. "By the way, I am going to Manchester today on some business. You won't mind lunching alone? Perhaps, though, you would take the small car and go into Liverpool and do some shopping for me?"
Mrs. Herbert Wilkins thought -- as Violet had intended her to think -- that this was exactly what she wanted to do, and when at eleven o'clock Violet left her with a few instructions and a considerable sum of money Mrs. Herbert Wilkins again felt that her lines had fallen in pleasant places.
Violet reached Manchester in an hour and a half -- she had told the chauffeur not to go too fast -- and after a drive round the principal streets of the city, which she had not seen before, she arrived at the Midland Hotel just before half-past one.
Gerald Boynton was waiting for her in the covered courtyard and they ascended to the great central hall together.
Violet gave a little sigh of pleasure. "This reminds me of America," she said, as she looked round. "I did not know you had hotels like this in England."
"Not very many, Miss Milton. They say this is one of the finest hotels in Europe. Shall we have lunch at once, or would you rather wait?"
"Now, please. I am hungry after my journey, and I am anxious to hear all you have to tell me."
She noticed, and with pleasure, that Boynton, whose manner the night before had been slightly deferential, though perfectly natural and unembarrassed, now spoke to her as he would to any other young lady. He was not Mr. Gerald Boynton of the Milton Mills. He was a host entertaining a charming guest. It was a new experience for Violet. In America her position and hard, strenuous work with Bud Kinsolving had left her little opportunity for social diversion. The young men at the boarding-house where she lived were polite and gallant, but they were not of the same class as this well-bred young Englishman. She liked the masterful way he had, the ease and quickness with which he ordered lunch, the deference paid him by the hotel waiters. Yes, she was enjoying herself and she knew it.
At the beginning of the meal Boynton said nothing of what had brought them together. He was a good talker, and she found herself listening to him with a pleasure to which she had long been a stranger. He told her many things which interested her -- of his life at Oxford, the glorious days when he stroked the Trinity boat upon the Isis, his bent for science and the kindness of her uncle who had placed him in the position which he now enjoyed. He was a little autobiographical, as young men are when a pretty and charming girl allows them to talk about themselves. They took their coffee at a secluded table in the palm court and Violet gave him permission to light a cigarette.
"I am afraid I have been boring you very much, Miss Milton," he said, "but now to business."
Violet gave a little sigh. She did not particularly want to talk business just then, but she did not let him see that. "Yes," she replied, "I want to know exactly what is going on, Mr. Boynton. Suppose I ask you a few questions."
He bowed.
"First of all, this Mr. Fanshawe, the director of my works. Who and what is he ?"
Boynton's forehead wrinkled. "It is difficult to answer that question, Miss Milton," he said. "And yet I must be perfectly frank with you. Fanshawe is my superior. Fanshawe detests me. This makes it an invidious thing for me to say what I have to say. It seems a sort of treachery. And yet, I assure you, I should have said just the same to Sir William had he lived. Sir William trusted me to a considerable extent."
"And so do I. I perfectly understand your motives. Please say anything you like."
Boynton ground the end of his cigarette into an ashtray and leant forward in his chair with clasped hands. "Fanshawe is a man of enormous scientific intelligence. I admire his achievements and his brain more than I can say. He has no equal in Europe in his particular line, perhaps in the whole world. But, and this is the whole point, the man is two people."
"We are all of us more or less that, are we not?"
"More or less, but I never knew anyone with the dividing line so clearly marked as in the case of Fanshawe. One side of him is a great inventor and scientist; the other is an unscrupulous, loose-living hunter after pleasure and excitement. The man spends enormous sums of money, Miss Milton. He might be a millionaire. I need not go into details, but you can take it from me that everything I say is absolutely true. Indeed, it is common knowledge all over the north of England."
Violet thought of what Winterbotham had told her. The two stories exactly agreed.
"Now there is always an end to such a career as that," Boynton went on. "A man with no resources but a large salary, and who spends his money as quickly as he makes it, must sooner or later get into serious difficulties. There must be a time when he is faced with ruin. Now, I believe, indeed I know, Peter Fanshawe has arrived at that time. It is touch and go with him."
"I had a good business experience in New York," Violet answered. "I understand the position very well. It is not a new one."
"That simplifies matters. Then you must also know, Miss Milton, that when a man is pushed into a corner, especially a man who lives for pleasure, he will do almost anything. If he is a solicitor he embezzles his clients' money. If he is a bank manager he runs away with the contents of the vaults. It is a common story. The newspapers of the world provide an instance every week. What does Fanshawe do?"
"Ah!" said Violet quietly, "that's the question."
"He does not embezzle money. He has nothing to do with the financial side of your business -- as you may or may not have assured yourself. The financial side is run by Mr. Mosscrop, the head cashier, and various other officials. There is a check system so careful and complete that embezzlement on a large scale is impossible. I do not think that Fanshawe or anyone else in a high position at the mills could get hold of more than two or three thousand pounds and stave off discovery for many months. There are plenty of ways of doing that, though discovery would be certain. But to Fanshawe two or three thousand pounds would be a mere drop in the bucket. His only other resource is his supreme ability. Let us assume, therefore, that he turns to this in order to save himself. Let us say that he calls upon all the resources of his genius, aided by his unexampled experience in experiments at the mills, and invents something entirely new and wonderful."
"Quite so, Mr. Boynton; that is exactly how the position has occurred to me. But surely, although it may be an act of disloyalty, a sort of misdemeanour, to invent something wonderful, with the aid of the machinery and so forth at the mills, it is not a crime."
"Quite so, Miss Milton. You put your finger on the salient point marvellously. Let us go on with our assumptions. We will say Fanshawe has invented something. Now all new processes, even with such a name as his behind them, require long testing and investigation before they can be put upon the market. Supposing Fanshawe has found out some secret of inestimable benefit to the paper making industry. He could not work upon that undetected for many months, and I am speaking of what I know. Even if he had gone to Sir William with a new invention, Sir William would have given him nothing for it until it had been tested by long experience. It is the same with all other kinds of industry. Fanshawe wants money at once."
"Then you think----"
"I believe Fanshawe is manufacturing something secretly. That something is being sent away from the works at night."
"Surely a difficult thing to manage without detection, Mr. Boynton?"
"You will be start
led at what I am going to tell you. Enormous cases like the one you saw last night are being shipped aboard a large private yacht, which comes to the quay at midnight."
"Good heavens! A private yacht? What does it mean?"
"That is what we have to find out, Miss Milton. Of course the night-watchmen -- there are two of them -- must have been bribed to say nothing. This yacht always chooses the time for arrival when there are none of our own boats at the quay, which happens, on an average, two nights a week. It steams right up to the wharf. The big case is pushed out of the Experiment House on a trolley and a crane swings it up into the steam yacht, which then backs away, turns round and heads for the open sea."
Violet remembered what the foreman had said upon the roof. "Winterbotham discovered something," she said. "He remarked upon the extreme lightness of the case in comparison with its size."
"Exactly, Miss Milton. I know partially what are in those cases."
Violet looked quickly around the hotel, and saw no one she recognized. "Tell me quickly."
"Fanshawe is engaged in the production of papier-mâché."
The girl looked at him in surprise. "Is that all?" she cried. "What an anti-climax to the mystery. I am not quite sure that I know what papier-mâché is."
"Ordinary papier-mâché is made from old paper by boiling it to a pulp with water, pressing, mixing it with glue or starch paste and then forcing it into a mould which has previously been oiled. Engineers use it for covering boilers. It is used in decorating houses instead of wood carving. Trays, fancy boxes and furniture are made of it. It is extremely hard and extremely light. In America, some years ago, they even attempted to make locomotive wheels of it, but this was a failure."
Violet laughed. "Have we been discovering a mare's nest?" she said. "It seems very much like it, and it sounds most uninteresting."
"I think you will find it far from that, Miss Milton. Now let us see where we have arrived. Fanshawe is making an article of papier-mâché. This article, whatever it is, is being constructed with the profoundest secrecy and with the help of a gang of strange men who steal into the works at night. It is of such importance that it is taken away at night by a large private yacht. Now, knowing Fanshawe as I do, I think it is quite likely that he has at last hit upon a secret which may well revolutionize industry. To produce papier-mâché which will have the hardness and other properties of steel, combined with lightness, is the philosopher's stone of our trade. Paper manufacturers have been experimenting for years. I myself have done a good deal of work in this direction, but have obtained no satisfactory results. Fanshawe, I know, has studied the problem for many years. I believe he has solved it."
"Then if he has," Violet answered -- she was beginning to realize the tremendous importance of all this -- "and he takes his secret away with him, he will acquire an immense fortune."
"Precisely; but not in a moment. I am convinced that only the immediate possession of a large sum of money can save Fanshawe from ruin. And when I say ruin I mean the ruin from which he would never be able to rise. There is some horrible exposure threatening him. Time is the essence of the whole thing."
"What can he be making?"
"That's what we have to find out. Something tells me -- you may think it fantastic, Miss Milton, but I have an intuition -- something tells me that we are only on the fringe of the whole affair. There is a much darker secret beneath all that we know and all that we suspect."
There was such deep conviction and earnestness in his voice that Violet was powerfully impressed. "I will co-operate with you in every way," she said. "Have you any plans?"
"Yes, Miss Milton. Obviously there is someone behind Fanshawe -- the person who supplies the yacht, the person who is responsible for those men who steal into the Experiment House like thieves in the night. If we can locate that person, then we will be on our way to find out what we want to know. You saw last night that another great case is ready. Tonight the wharf at the works will be clear of your boats. I propose to charter a tug and lie off in the middle of the river. Then, when the yacht goes out to sea, the tug follows and discovers its destination -- which from the very nature of things cannot be far away. I propose pretending to be ill and so account for my absence from the works. Fanshawe must not suspect a thing. Of course I may be away two or three days, one never knows. Do you think it is worth while doing this, Miss Milton?"
"Certainly I think it worth while."
"It may cost one hundred and fifty pounds."
"I don't care if it costs five thousand pounds. You and Winterbotham between you have succeeded in thoroughly intriguing me. I am going through with this to the end. And what's more, Mr. Boynton, I am going to be on board that tug myself."
Boynton started. "The accommodation would be very rough," he said. "Moreover, there's no saying what may happen. We are facing the absolutely unknown. And a man like Fanshawe and the people behind him are not likely to stick at trifles."
"You think there will be danger?"
Boynton shrugged his shoulders. "It is possible," he said.
"Then I am coming, Mr. Boynton. I wouldn't miss the opportunity for anything. The romance of it appeals to me immensely. ... Mr. Boynton, what's the matter?
Boynton's face had suddenly gone deadly pale. His lips were parted and his eyes were nearly starting out of his head. He was looking across Violet to the right of the hotel palm court.
Violet turned her head and followed his glance. She saw a tall man with a mass of curling dead-black hair -- he might have been in his mid thirties. The clean-shaven face was of a clear ivory tint and without a vestige of colour. It was the most striking face that Violet had ever seen. A colossal, overwhelming pride lay upon it -- the pride of a Roman emperor, or a Pharaoh of Egypt, whom men once worshipped as divine. The great dark eyes, the eagle nose, the beautifully shaped but cruel lips all breathed a pride so enormous and unquenchable that it struck the mere casual spectator with a sense of chill.
This impression flashed upon Violet's mind in a single instant. Then she saw another figure coming through the archway by which the stranger had entered. It was Peter Fanshawe, and he was talking earnestly to the tall man with the face of Lucifer.
She looked at Boynton again, and the colour now ebbed from her cheeks also.
"Turn your head round," he whispered. "They have not seen us yet and they will pass in a minute, and then we must leave the hotel at once. Miss Milton, I know who that tall man is. A great flood of light is beginning to pour in upon me."