CHAPTER XII
LOVE, LUCRE AND MR. ALDEN
Zoe was waiting for Lady Mary Evershed. Lady Mary was late--anunremarkable circumstance, since Lady Mary was a woman, and lessremarkable than ordinarily for the reason that Lady Mary had met SirRichard Haredale on the way. At the time she should have been at theAstoria she was pacing slowly through St. James's Park, beside Haredale.
"My position is becoming impossible, Mary," he said, with painfuldistinctness. "Every day seems to see the time more distant, instead ofnearer, when I can say good-bye to Mr. Julius Rohscheimer. My situationis little better than that of his secretary. By hard work, and it _is_hard work to act as Rohscheimer's social Virgil!--and by harderself-repression, I have struggled to earn enough to enable me to cryquits with the other rogues who preyed upon me, when--before I knew you.I've scarcely a shred of self-respect left, Mary!"
She looked down at the gravelled path and made no answer to hisself-accusation.
"It is only my sense of humour that has saved me. But one day I shallbreak out! It is inevitable. I cannot pander for ever to Rohscheimer'ssocial ambitions. Yet, if I show fight, he will break me! Saving theprospect--with a hale and hearty uncle intervening, and one of the best;may he live to be a hundred!--of the title, and all that goes with it,what have I to offer you, Mary? I am a man sailing under false colours.Practically, I am a salaried servant of Rohscheimer's. I don't actuallydraw my salary; but in recognition of my services in popularising hiswife's entertainments, he keeps the vultures at bay! Bah! I despisemyself!"
Mary looked up to him, tenderly reproachful.
"You silly boy!" she said. "There is nothing dishonourable in what youdo!"
"Possibly not. But how would your father like to know of my position."
She lowered her eyes again.
"Is my father indebted to Julius Rohscheimer in any way, Dick?" sheasked suddenly.
Haredale laughed nervously.
"Rohscheimer does not honour me with the whole of his confidence infinancial matters," he replied. "It is a question Adeler would be betterable to answer."
"Mr. Adeler, yes. What a singular man! Do you know, Dick, in spite offather's ideas respecting our old English aristocracy, I have sometimesfelt, in Mr. Adeler's presence, that he, though a Jew, was a thousandtimes more of an aristocrat than I?"
Haredale glanced at her oddly.
"I have at times been conscious of a similar feeling!" he said. "Nodoubt one's instincts are true enough. Adeler's pedigree conceivably maygo back to Jewish nobles who entertained monarchs in their marblepalaces when the Eversheds and Haredales considered several streaks ofred ochre an adequate costume for the most important functions."
He laughed boyishly at his own words.
"Oh, Dick!" said Mary. "How absurd of you. It is impossible to imaginean Evershed in such a condition. But yet, you are right. How singularthat most people should overlook so obvious a fact; that there is aJewish aristocracy, possibly one of the most ancient in the world."
"The Jews are an Eastern people," replied Haredale. "That is the factwhich is generally overlooked. They are, excepting one, the mostremarkable people in the modern world."
"Do you know," said the girl, unconsciously lowering her voice, "I havesometimes thought that Severac Bablon was in some way connected----"
"Yes?"
"With the ancient history of the Jews!"
"What do you mean exactly?"
"I can hardly explain. But at the Rohscheimers, on the night of theball, Severac Bablon was masked, of course; yet it seemed to me----"
"Mary," interrupted Haredale, "don't tell me that you believe theromantic stories circulating about the man!"
"What stories, Dick?"
"Why, about his holding the Seal of Suleyman, whatever that may be----"
"But Mrs. Elschild says he _does_!"
Haredale started.
"How can she possibly know?"
A flush tinged Lady Mary's clear complexion for a moment, and left itpaler than it was wont to be. She despised a woman who could notpreserve a secret (and therefore must have had a poor opinion of hersex), yet she had nearly allowed her own tongue to betray her. WhateverMrs. Elschild had told her had been told in confidence, and under theseal of friendship.
"Perhaps she does not know. Someone may have told her."
"It's all over London," said Haredale; "in the clubs, everywhere! Iwonder you have not heard it before. There seems to be an organisedattempt to glorify this man, who, after all, is no more than anup-to-date highwayman. Someone has spread the absurd story that he is ofJewish royal blood; whereas the royal line of the Jews must have beenextinct for untold generations!"
"Why must it? You have just said that the Jews are an Eastern people.And all Eastern peoples are subtle and secretive. I invariably lose halfof my self-importance in Egypt, for instance. There is something in theeye of the meanest _fellah_ which is painfully like patronage!"
Haredale shrugged his shoulders.
"What a thing it is," he said humorously, "to be born with black hair,flashing eyes and an olive skin! One can then be any kind of mountebankor robber, and yet rest assured of the ladies' homage."
They walked on in silence for awhile. Then--
"Heaven knows what happened to Rohscheimer," said Haredale abruptly, "tohave frightened him into writing such a stupendous cheque! I may hear,later, but thus far he is too sore to touch upon the matter!"
"My father has visited him."
"At last--yes! Do you remember when Rohscheimer offered me five hundredpounds if I could induce the Marquess to come to dinner? Gad! He cameperilously near to a just retribution that day! I think if I had been inuniform I should have run him through!"
"These extraordinary donations of course are the sequel to themysterious business of the card and the unseen hand?"
"Certainly. Severac Bablon is at the bottom of the whole business. Idescribed the device, introducing two triangles, do you remember, whichappeared on the cards, to a chap at the club who is rather a learnedOrientalist, and he assured me that, so far as he could judge from mydescription, it corresponded with that of the supposed seal of Solomon.I was unable to remember part of the design, of course. But, at anyrate, this merely goes to prove that Bablon is an accomplished showman."
"I am afraid I must be going, Dick. I have to meet Zoe Oppner."
"Let's go and find a cab, then. But it was so delightful to have you allto myself, Mary, if only for a very little while."
The boyishness had gone out of his voice again, and Lady Mary knew alltoo well of what he was thinking. She took his arm and pressed it hard.
"I don't think anyone was ever in such a dreadful position in the worldbefore, Dick!" she declared. "To tolerate it seems impossible, seemswrong. But to defy Rohscheimer, with your affairs as they are,means--what does it mean, Dick?"
"I dare not think what it means, Mary," he replied. "Not when _you_ arewith me. But one day--soon, I am afraid--it will all be taken out of myhands. I shall tell Mr. Julius Rohscheimer exactly what I think of him,and there will be an end of the whole arrangement."
They said no more until the girl was entering the cab. Then:
"_I_ understand, Dick," she whispered, "and nobody else knows, so try tobe diplomatic for a little longer."
Holding her hand, he looked into her eyes. Then, without another wordbetween them, the cab moved off, and Haredale stood looking after ituntil it was lost amid the traffic. He started to walk across to ParkLane.
At the Astoria Zoe was waiting patiently. But when, at last, Mary foundherself in her friend's room, the gloomy companionship of the thoughtswith which she had been alone since leaving Haredale, proved toogrievous to be borne alone. She threw herself on to a cushioned settee,and her troubles found vent in tears.
"Mary, dear!" cried Zoe, all that was maternal protective in her nature,asserting itself. "Tell me all about it."
The unruly mop of her brown hair mingled with the gold of her friend's,and presentl
y, between sobs, the story was told--an old, old storyenough.
"He will have to resign his commission," she sobbed. "And then he willhave to go abroad! Oh, Zoe! I know it must come soon. Even _I_ cannotexpect him, nor wish him to dance attendance on that odious JuliusRohscheimer for ever! And he makes so little headway."
Zoe's little foot beat a soft tatoo upon the carpet.
"I wonder--will there always be a Julius Rohscheimer for him to danceattendance upon!" she said softly.
Mary raised her tearful eyes.
"What do you mean, Zoe?"
"Has it never occurred to you that--Severac Bablon will ultimately makea poor man of Rohscheimer?"
"Oh! I should not like to think that, because----"
"If he went that far, he might do the same for Pa. I can't believe that,Mary. Pa's awful mean, but after all his money is cleaner thanRohscheimer's."
Mary dried her eyes.
"I hardly know whether to regard that strange man, Severac Bablon, as afriend or a foe," she said. "He certainly seems to confine his outragesto those who have plenty but object to spending it."
"Except on themselves! He's a friend right enough, Mary. I believe he isanxious to reveal all these rich people in a new light, to whitewashthem. If only they would change their ideas and do some good with theirmoney, I don't think they would be troubled any more by Severac Bablon.You never hear of Mr. Elschild being robbed by him--nor any of thefamily suffering in any way."
"Mr. Elschild received one of the mysterious cards, and he has sent abig cheque to the _Gleaner_ fund."
"He has to keep up appearances, Mary, don't you see? But it is certainthat he sent the money quite voluntarily. He did not wait to besqueezed. I wish Pa would come to his senses. If, instead of spending asmall fortune on private detectives, he would start to use his money forgood, he would have no further need for the Pinkerton men. Certainly hewould not be made to buy airships for England!"
A smile dawned upon Lady Mary's face.
"Isn't it preposterous!" she said. "The idea of raising money for such apurpose from people like Baron Hague!"
"Baron Hague left for Berlin this morning. We shall probably never knowunder what circumstances he issued his cheque for fifty thousand pounds!Doesn't it seem just awful, with all this money floating about, thatpoor Sir Richard is nearly stranded for quite a trifle!"
"Oh, it is dreadful! And I can see no way out."
"No," murmured Zoe. "Yet there must be a way."
She walked to the window, and stood looking out thoughtfully upon theEmbankment far below.
What a strange, complex drama moved about her! It was impossible even todetermine for what parts some of the players were cast. Where, shewondered, was Inspector Sheffield now? And where was Severac Bablon? Sofar as she was aware, both were actually in the Astoria. There wassomething almost uncanny in the elusiveness of Severac Bablon. Hisdisdain of all attempts to compass his downfall betokened something morethan bravado. He must _know_ himself immune.
Why?
If what he had rather hinted than declared were true--and never for amoment did she doubt his sincerity--then his accomplices, his friends,his subjects (she knew not how to name them), must be numberless. Wasshe, herself, not of their ranks?
Of the thousands who moved beneath her, upon trams, in cabs, in cars, onfoot, how many were servants of that mysterious master? It wasfascinating, yet terrifying, this inside knowledge of a giantconspiracy, of which, at that moment, the civilised world was talking.Mary Evershed's voice broke in upon her musing:
"Come along, Zoe. We shall never be back in time for lunch if we don'thurry."
They descended in the lift and walked out to where Mr. Oppner's big carawaited them. A moment later, as the man turned out into the Strand,Sheard passed close by upon the pavement. He raised his hat to the twopretty travellers. Clearly, he was bound for the Astoria.
And a few yards further on, unobtrusively walking behind a very largeGerman tourist, appeared the person of Mr. A. X. Alden.
"Why!" whispered Zoe. "I believe he is following Mr. Sheard."
Her surmise was correct. The astute Mr. Alden had found himself at aloss to account for some of the exclusive items respecting the doings ofSeverac Bablon which latterly had been appearing in the _Gleaner_. Bydint of judiciously oiling the tongue of a chatty compositor, he hadlearned that the unique copy was contributed by Mr. H. T. Sheard. Mr.Oppner had advised him to keep a close watch upon the movements of Mr.Antony Elschild. Although Alden found it hard to credit the idea thatthe great Elschild family should be in any way associated with thecampaign of brigandage, Mr. Oppner was more open-minded.
Now Alden, too, was beginning to wonder. There seemed to be a friendshipbetween Elschild and the pressman; and Sheard, from some sourceevidently unopen to his fellow copy-hunters, obtained much curiousinformation anent Severac Bablon. One of Alden's American colleaguesaccordingly was devoting some unobtrusive attention to whomsoever cameand went at the Elschild establishment in Lombard Street, whilst Aldenaddressed himself to the task of shadowing Sheard.
When the latter walked into the lobby of the Astoria, Mr. Alden was notfar away.
"Has Mr. Gale of New York arrived yet?" was the pressman's inquiry.
Yes. Mr. Gale of New York had arrived.
Upon learning which, Sheard seemed to hesitate, glancing about him as ifsuspicious of espionage. Mr. Alden, deeply engaged, or so it appeared,in selecting a cigar at the stall, was all ears--and through a mirrorbefore which he had intentionally placed himself, he could watchSheard's movements whilst standing with his back towards him.
At last Sheard took out his notebook and hastily scribbled somethingtherein. Tearing out the leaf, he asked for an envelope, which the boyprocured for him. With the closed book as a writing-pad, he addressedthe envelope. Then, enclosing the note, carefully sealed up the message,and handed it to the boy, glancing about him the while with a palpableapprehension.
Finally, lighting a cigarette with an air of nonchalance but illassumed, Sheard strolled out of the hotel.
He had not passed the door ere Alden was clamouring for an hotelenvelope. The boy was just about to enter a lift as the detective dartedacross the lobby and entered with him. Short as the time at his disposalhad been, Mr. Alden had scrawled some illegible initial followed by"Gale, Esq.," upon the envelope, and had stuck down the flap.
The boy quitted the lift on the fourth floor. So did Alden. One or twopassengers joined at that landing, but the unsuspecting boy went on hisway along the corridor, turned to the right and rapped on a doornumbered 63.
"Come in," he was instructed.
He entered, tray in hand. A tanned and bearded gentleman who was busilyengaged unpacking a large steamer trunk, looked up inquiringly.
"Gentleman couldn't wait, sir," said the boy, and proffered the message.
The bearded man took the envelope, drew his brows together in anendeavour to recognise the scrawly handwriting; failed, and tore theenvelope open.
It was empty!
"See here, boy! What's the game?"
He threw the envelope on the floor beside him and stared hard at thepage.
"Excuse me, sir"--the boy was frightened--"excuse me, sir; but I saw thegentleman put a note in!"
"Did you!" laughed the American, readily perceiving that whoever thejoker might be the boy was innocent of complicity. "You mean, youthought you did! See here, what was he like?"
The boy described Sheard, and described him so aptly that he wasrecognised.
"That's Sheard," muttered the recipient of the empty envelope. "It'sSheard, sure! Right oh! I'll ring him up at the office in a minute andsee what sort of game he's playing. Here boy, stick that in your pocket;you might make a descriptive writer, but you'll never shine at sleightof hand! You didn't watch that envelope half close enough!"
Thus, the man to whom the note was addressed. Let us glance at Mr. Aldenagain.
Having effected the substitution with the ease of a David Devant, hehaste
ned to a quiet corner to inspect his haul. He was not undulyelated. He had been prompt and clever, but in justice to him, it must beadmitted that he was a clever man. Therefore he regarded the incidentmerely as part of the day's work. His success wrought no quickening ofthe pulse.
In a little palmy balcony which overlooked the lobby he took theenvelope from his pocket. It bore the inscription:
RADLEY GALE, ESQ.
Quietly, his cheroot stuck in a corner of his mouth, he openedit--tearing the end off as all Americans do. He pulled out the scribblednote, and read as follows:
"MY DEAR GALE,--Don't forget that we're expecting your wife and yourself along about 7. I will say no more as I rather think an impudent American detective (?) is going to purloin this note.
"SHEARD."
Mr. Alden carefully replaced the torn leaf in the envelope, and theenvelope in his case. He rolled his smoke from the left corner of hismouth to the right, and, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, walkedslowly downstairs. He was not offended. Mr. Aloys. X. Alden was a Stoicwho had known for many years that he was not the only clever man in theworld.