CHAPTER VIII
IN THE DRESSING-ROOM
The house was very quiet.
Julius Rohscheimer stood quite motionless in his dressing-room listeningfor a sound which he expected to hear, but which he also feared to hear.The household in Park Lane slept now. Park Lane is never quite still atany hour of the night, and now as Rohscheimer listened, all but holdinghis breath, a hundred sounds conflicted in the highway below. But noneof these interested him.
He had been in his room for more than half an hour; had long sincedismissed his man; and had sat down, arrayed in brilliant pyjamas (quitea new line from Paris, recommended by Haredale, a sartorial expert witha keen sense of humour), for a cigarette and a mental review of thesituation.
Having shown himself active in other directions, Severac Bablon hadevidently turned his eyes once more toward Park Lane. Julius Rohscheimermentally likened himself and his set to those early martyrs who,defenceless, were subjected to the attacks of armed gladiators. Noprecautions, it seemed, prevailed against this enemy of Capital. Policeprotection was utterly useless. Thus far, not a solitary arrest had beenmade. So, now, in his own palatial house, but with a strip of cardboardlying before him bearing his name, underlined in red, Rohscheimeranticipated mysterious outrage at any moment--and knew, instinctively,that he would be unable to defend himself against it.
Again came that vague stirring; and it seemed to come, not from beyondthe walls, but from somewhere close at hand--from----
Rohscheimer turned, stealthily, in his chair. The cigarette dropped frombetween his nerveless fingers, and lay smouldering upon the Persiancarpet.
His bulging eyes grew more and more prominent, and his adipose jawdropped. And he sat, quivering fatly, his gaze upon the doors of the bigwardrobe which occupied the space between the windows. Distinctly heremembered that these doors had been closed. But now they were open.
Palsied with fear of what might be within, he sat, watched, and grewpale.
The doors were opening slowly!
No move he made toward defence. He was a man inert from panic.
Something gleamed out of the dark gap--a revolver barrel. Two fingerspushed a card into view. Upon it, in red letters, were the words:
_"Do not move!"_
The warning was, at once, needless and disregarded. Rohscheimer shookthe chair with his tremblings.
A smaller card was tossed across on to the table.
The fat hand which the financier extended toward the card shookgrotesquely; the diamonds which adorned it sparkled and twinkledstarrily. Before his eyes a red mist seemed to dance; but, through it,Rohscheimer made out the following:
"There is a cheque-book in your coat pocket, and your coat hangs besideme in the wardrobe. I will throw the book across to you. You will makeout a cheque for L100,000, payable to the editor of the _Gleaner_, andalso write a note explaining that this is your contribution towards thefund for the founding, by patriotic Britons, of a suitable air fleet."
Rohscheimer, out of the corner of his eye, was watching the gleamingbarrel, which pointed straightly at his head. From the dark gap betweenthe wardrobe doors sped a second projectile, and fell before him on thetable.
It was his cheque-book. Mechanically he opened it. Within was stuckanother card. Upon it, in the same evidently disguised handwriting,appeared:
"A fountain pen lies on the table before you. Do not hesitate to followinstructions--or I shall shoot you. All arrangements are made for myescape. Throw the cheque and the note behind you and do not dare to lookaround again until you have my permission. If you do so once, I may onlywarn you; if you do so twice, I shall kill you."
Perfect silence ruled. Even the traffic in Park Lane outside seemedmomentarily to have ceased. From the wardrobe behind Julius Rohscheimercame no sound. He took up the pen; made out and signed the preposterouscheque.
To the ruling but silent intelligence concealed behind those doubledoors he had no thought of appeal. He dared not even address himself tothat invisible being. Such idea was as far from his mind as it must havebeen of old from the mind of him who listened to a Sybilline oracledelivered from the mystic tripod.
Sufficiently he controlled his twitching fingers to write a note, asfollows--(what awful irony!):
"To the Editor of the _Gleaner_,
"SIR,--I enclose a cheque for L100,000" (as he wrote these dreadful words, Rohscheimer almost contemplated rebellion; but the silence--the fearful silence--and the thought of the one who watched him proved too potent for his elusive courage. He wrote on). "I desire you to place it at the disposal of the Government for purposes of ariel" (Rohscheimer was no scholar) "defence. I hope others will follow suit." (He _did_. It was horrible to be immolated thus, a solitary but giant sacrifice, upon the altar of this priest of iconoclasm)--"I am, sir, yours, etc.
"JULIUS ROHSCHEIMER."
Cheque and note he folded together, and stretching his hand behind him,threw them in the direction of the haunted wardrobe. His fear that, evennow, he might be assassinated, grew to such dimensions that he came nearto swooning. But upon no rearward glance did he venture.
Several heavy vehicles passed along the Lane. Rohscheimer listenedintently, but gathered no sound from amid those others that gave clue tothe enemy's movements.
Clutching at the table-edge he sat, and tasted of violent death, byanticipation.
The traffic sounds subsided again. A new stillness was born. Within thegreat house nothing moved. But still Julius Rohscheimer shook andquivered. Only his mind was clearing; and already he was at work upon ascheme to save his money.
One hundred thousand pounds. Heavens above! It was ruination!
A faint creak.
"Do not dare to look around again until you have my permission," readthe card before his eyes. "If you do so once I _may_ only warn you; ifyou do so twice, I shall kill you."
One hundred thousand pounds! He could have cried. But, after all, he wasa rich man--a very rich man; not so rich as Oppner, nor even so rich asHague; but a comfortably wealthy man. Life was very good in his eyes.There were those little convivial evenings--those week-end motoringtrips. He would take no chances. Life was worth more than one hundredthousand pounds.
He did not glance around.
So, the minutes passed. They passed, for the most part, in ghostlysilence, sometimes broken by the hum of the traffic below, by the hornof a cab or car. Nothing from within the house broke that nerve-rackingstillness.
If only there had been a mirror, so placed that by moving his eyes onlyhe could have obtained a glimpse of the wardrobe. But there was nomirror so placed.
Faintly to his ears came the striking of a clock. He listened intently,but could not determine if it struck the quarter, half, three-quarters,or hour. Certainly, from the decrease of traffic in Park Lane, it mustbe getting very late, he knew.
His limbs began to ache. Cautiously he changed the position of hisslippered feet. The clock in the hall began to strike. And Rohscheimer'sheart seemed to stand still.
It struck the half-hour. So it was half-past one! He had been sittingthere for an hour--an agonised hour!
What could the Unseen be waiting for?
Gradually his heart-beats grew normal again, and his keen mind got towork once more upon the scheme for frustrating the audacious plan ofthis robber who robbed from incredible motives.
An air fleet! What rot! What did he care about air fleets? One hundredthousand pounds! But if he presented himself at the _Gleaner_ office assoon as it opened that morning, and explained, before the editor (cursehim!) had had time to deal with his correspondence, that by an oversight(late night; the editor, as a man of the world, would understand) he hadbeen thinking of a hundred and had written a hundred thousand, and alsohad written too many noughts after the amount of his subscription to the_Gleaner_ fund, what then? The editor could not possibly object toreturning him his cheque and accepting one for a thousand. A thousandwas bad enough; but a hundred thousand!
/>
He was growing stiff again.
Two o'clock!
Beneath his eyes lay the card which read:
"If you do so once, I _may_ only warn you----"
A sudden burst of courage came to Julius Rohscheimer. Anything, he nowdetermined, was preferable to this suspense.
He began to turn his head.
It was a ruse, he saw it all; a ruse to keep him there, silent,prisoned, whilst his cheque, his precious cheque, was placed in thehands of the _Gleaner_ people.
Around he turned--and around. The corner of the wardrobe came within hisfield of vision. Still farther he moved. The doors, now, were visible.
And the gleaming barrel pointed truly at his head!
"No; no!" he whispered tremulously, huskily. "Ah, God! no! Spare me! Iswear--I swear--I will not look again. I won't move. I'll make nosound."
He dropped his head into his hands--quaking; the lamp, the table, wereswimming about him; he had never passed through ten such seconds ofdread as those which followed his spell of temerity.
Yet he lived--and knew himself spared. Not for _five_ hundred thousandpounds would he have looked again.
The minutes wore on--became hours. It seemed to Julius Rohscheimer thatall London slept now; all London save one unhappy man in Park Lane.
Three o'clock, four o'clock, five o'clock struck. His head fell forward.He aroused himself with a jerk. Again his head fell forward. And thistime he did not arouse himself; he slept.
* * * * *
"Mr. Rohscheimer! Mr. Rohscheimer!"
There were voices about him. He could distinguish that of his wife.Adeler was shaking him. Was that Haredale at the door?
Shakily, he got upon his feet.
"Why, Mr. Rohscheimer!" exclaimed Adeler, in blank wonderment, "have younot been to bed?"
"What time?" muttered Rohscheimer, "what time----"
Sir Richard Haredale, who evidently thought that the financier had hadone of his "heavy nights," smiled discreetly.
"Pull yourself together, Rohscheimer!" he said. "Just put your headunder the tap and jump into a dressing-gown. The green one with goldendragons is the most unique. You'll have to hold an informal receptionhere in your dressing-room. We can't keep the Marquess waiting."
"The Marquess?" groaned Rohscheimer, clutching at his head. "TheMarquess?"
It had been his social dream for years to behold a real live Marquessbeneath that roof. He had gone so far as to offer Haredale five hundredpounds down if he could bring one to dinner. But Haredale's bestachievement to date had been Lord Vignoles.
Rohscheimer's mind was a furious chaos. Had the horrors of the nightbeen no more than a dream, after all?
Sheard, of the _Gleaner_, pressed forward and grasped both his hands.Rohscheimer became ghastly pale.
"Mr. Rohscheimer," said the pressman, "England is proud of you! On suchoccasions as this, all formality--_all_ formality--is swept away. Agreat man is great anywhere--at any time, any place, in any garb! I haveMrs. Rohscheimer's permission, and therefore am honoured to introduce tothis apartment the Premier, the Most Honourable the Marquess ofEvershed!"
Trembling wildly, fighting down a desire to laugh, to scream,Rohscheimer stood and looked toward the door.
The Marquess entered.
He wore the familiar grey frock-coat, with the red rose in hisbuttonhole, as made famous by _Punch_. His massive head he carried veryhigh, looking downward through the pebbles of the gold-rimmed pince-nez.
"No apologies, Mr. Rohscheimer!" he began, hand raised forensically."Positively I will listen to no apologies! This entire absence offormality--showing that you had not anticipated my visit--delights me,confirms me in my estimation of your character. For it reveals you as aman actuated by the purest motive which can stir the human heart. Irefer to love of country--patriotism."
He paused, characteristically thrusting two fingers into hiswatch-pocket. Sheard wrote furiously. Julius Rohscheimer fought for air.
"The implied compliment, Mr. Rohscheimer," continued the Premier, "tomyself, is deeply appreciated. I am, of course, aware that the idea ofthis fund was suggested to its promoters by my speech at Portsmouthregarding England's danger. The promptitude of the _Gleaner_ newspaperin opening a subscription list is only less admirable than your own inmaking so munificent a donation.
"My policy during my present term of office, as you are aware, Mr.Rohscheimer, has been different, wholly different, from that of myimmediate predecessor. I have placed the necessity of Britain's ruling,not only the seas, but the air, in the forefront of my programme----"
"Hear, hear!" murmured Sheard.
"And this substantial support from such men as yourself is verygratifying to me. I cannot recall any incident in recent years which hasafforded me such keen pleasure. It is such confirmation of one's hopesthat he acts for the welfare of his fellow-countrymen which purifies andexalts political life. And in another particular where my policy hasdiffered from that of my friends opposite--I refer to my _encouragement_of foreign immigration--I have been nobly confirmed.
"Baron Hague, in recognition of the commercial support and protectionwhich our British hospitality has accorded to him, contributes fiftythousand pounds to the further safeguarding of our national, though mostcatholic, interests. At an early hour this morning, Mr. Rohscheimer, Iwas aroused by a special messenger from the _Gleaner_ newspaper, whobrought me this glorious news of your noble, your magnificent, responseto my--to our--appeal. Casting ceremony to the winds, I hastened hither.Mr. Rohscheimer--your hand!"
At that, Rohscheimer was surrounded.
"Socially," Haredale murmured in his ear, "you are made!"
"Financially," groaned Rohscheimer, "I'm broke!"
Mrs. Rohscheimer, in elegant _decolletee_, appeared among the excitedthrong. She was anxious for a sight of her husband, whom she wasconvinced had gone mad. Sheard thrust his way to the financier's side.
"Is there anything you would care to say for our next edition?" heenquired, a notebook in his hand. "We're having a full-page photograph,and----"
Crash! Crackle! Crackle! Crackle! A blinding light leapt up.
"My God! What's that?"
"All right," said Sheard. "Only our photographer doing a flash. Ifthere's anything you'd like to say, hurry up, because I'm off tointerview Baron Hague."
"Say that I believe I've gone mad!" groaned the financier, clutching hishair, "and that I'm damn sure Hague has!"
Sheard laughed, treating the words as a witticism, and hurried away.Mrs. Rohscheimer approached and bent over her husband.
"Have you pains in your head, dear?" she inquired anxiously.
"No!" snapped Rohscheimer. "I've got a pain in my pocket! I'm a ruinedman! I'll be the laughing-stock of the whole money market!"
Adeler reappeared.
"Adeler," said Rohscheimer, "get the rest of the people out of thehouse! And, Adeler"--he glanced about him--"what did you do with thosecards that were on the table, here?"
Adeler stared.
"Cards, Mr. Rohscheimer? I saw none."
"Who came in here first this morning? Who woke me up?"
"I."
Rohscheimer studied the pale, intellectual face of his secretary withuneasy curiosity.
"And there were no cards on the table--no cheque-book?"
"No."
"Sure you were first in?"
"I am not sure, but I think so. I found you fast asleep, at any rate."
"Why do you ask, dear?" said Mrs. Rohscheimer in growing anxiety.
"Just for a lark!" snapped her husband sourly. "I want to make Adelerlaugh!"
Haredale, who, failing Rohscheimer or Mrs. Rohscheimer, did the honoursof the house in Park Lane, returned from having conducted the Marquessto his car. He carried a first edition copy of the _Gleaner_.
"They've managed to get it in, even in this one," he said. "When did yousend the cheque--early last evening?"
"Don't talk about it!" implored Rohscheimer.
/>
"Why?" inquired Haredale curiously. "You must have seen your way tosomething big before you spent so much money. It was a great idea!You're certain of a knighthood, if not something bigger. But I wonderyou kept it dark from me."
"Ah!" said Rohscheimer. "Do you?"
"Very much. It's a situation that calls for very delicate handling.Hitherto, because of certain mortgages, the Marquess has not prohibitedhis daughter visiting here, with the Oppners or Vignoles; but you'veforced him, now, to recognise you _in propria persona_. He cannot verywell withhold a title; but you'll have to release the mortgagegracefully."
"I'll do it gracefully," was the reply. "I'm gettin' plenty of practiceat chuckin' fortunes away, and smilin'!"
His attitude puzzled Haredale, who glanced interrogatively at Mrs.Rohscheimer. She shook her head in worried perplexity.
"Go and get dressed, dear," said Rohscheimer, with much irritation. "I'mnot ill; I've only turned patriotic."
Mrs. Rohscheimer departing, Haredale lingered.
"Leave me alone a bit, Haredale," begged the financier. "I want to getused to bein' a bloomin' hero! Send Lawson up in half an hour--and youcome too, if you wouldn't mind."
Haredale left the room.
As the door closed, Rohscheimer turned and looked fully at the wardrobe.
From the gap pointed a gleaming tube!
_"Ah!"_
He dropped back in his chair. Nothing moved. The activity of thehousehold stirred reassuringly about him. He stood up, crossed to thewardrobe, and threw wide its doors.
In the pocket of a hanging coat was thrust a nickelled rod from a patenttrousers-stretcher, so that it pointed out into the room.
Rohscheimer stared--and stared--and stared.
"My God!" he whispered. "He slipped out directly he got the cheque, andI sat here all night----"