CHAPTER XXV
THE DIAMOND MOTH AGAIN
Beatrice Galloway's feelings were strangely mixed as she drove along beside her uncle towards Gower Street. It seemed as if lately the whole world had gone astray, as if all happiness had ceased to be. For many months past she had felt the loss of Wilfrid Mercer; indeed, she had missed him even more than she cared to acknowledge to herself. And yet, no sooner had he crossed her path again than all this trouble had come back with him.
Of course, it was absurd to blame Wilfrid, but nevertheless, ever since he had shown his face at Maldon Grange there had been nothing but misery and mystery.
And why did Samuel Flower hate the young man so? Beatrice had been half ashamed to admit it when discussing the matter earlier in the evening with Wilfrid, but she knew that he spoke no more than the truth when he said that her guardian was an enemy of his. Beatrice was by no means suspicious, but this fact had been thrust upon her.
And yet Samuel Flower professed that Wilfrid was a perfect stranger to him. There was something here that Beatrice would have to get to the bottom of. Under the shadow of the darkness she could make out nothing of Samuel Flower's profile except that it was hard and set. She was glad enough when the drive came to an end and the house in the square was reached at length.
Cotter stood waiting in the hall. He appeared to be full of eagerness and the desire to speak, when Flower checked him with a malignant frown and a flash of his eyes.
"Presently, you fool," he muttered.
"It won't keep, sir, indeed, it won't," Cotter muttered. "Jansen has been here and must see you to-night. I told him you would not be back till late, but he went away saying he would call again."
Beatrice, glancing up casually at her guardian saw that once more the pale grey tinge had crept over his face. The malignant look had died from his eyes, giving way to a fear almost unspeakable. The girl had never heard this man's name before, and yet, quite by instinct, she coupled it with something disgraceful and underhanded. What was this new terror? She walked quietly into the dining-room and threw her wraps upon a chair by the side of the fire. As she laid her fan upon the mantelpiece an object in a small box fell to the floor. Beatrice picked it up carefully.
"I had almost forgotten," she murmured.
In a spirit of pure curiosity she raised the lid and the diamond moth flashed into view. Certainly it had been most careless of Uzali to leave the jewel on the supper-table after he had promised to get it repaired. Beatrice had taken it almost mechanically from the waiter who had brought it to her, and almost without thought carried it home. She took it casually from the box and ranged the two parts close together on the table so that the light might fall upon it. Really, it was a most lovely gem, one that any girl might be proud of, though Beatrice shrank from it as if it had been a thing of evil. In her mind it was associated with a series of dark tragedies, purple crimes and deeds of violence with which somehow her uncle was not unconnected. She laid her finger upon the jewel almost with loathing. She was still contemplating its sinister beauty when Flower entered the room and closed the door carefully behind him.
His mood had changed for the moment. He was by way of making himself agreeable.
"I hope you won't think I was rude to you just now," he said, "but I am greatly worried by business. Everything seems to have gone wrong lately, and if things don't mend before long I shall find myself very awkwardly situated. Like most successful men, I have enemies, and there is a conspiracy amongst them to drag me to the ground."
Beatrice murmured something sympathetic. Flower was telling her nothing new. She would have offered her assistance and advice had she thought it of the slightest use. She hardly heard what Flower was saying. She did not notice that he had broken off abruptly in his speech and that his gaze was concentrated upon the diamond moth.
"So that is what you were talking about?" he said. "Upon my word, it is exceedingly handsome. I should like to know the history of that jewel. But didn't it strike you as strange that an unknown man should have made you a present of the missing part of the ornament?"
"I don't know," Beatrice said indifferently. "Nothing strikes me as strange to-night. To begin with, it was such a remarkable gathering of people. Everything seemed to be so free and easy that I was bewildered. You may laugh at me as you like, but when Mr. Uzali produced the missing half, I was not in the least astonished."
Flower was about to ask a question when he altered his mind. He was leading up to a point cautiously.
"That being so," he said with assumed carelessness, "the man who made you this gift ought to have been rather an uncommon person to look at. What was he like? Did he resemble an adventurer or soldier of fortune? Was he a foreigner, or an actor, or what? As far as I could judge, though I was a long way off, he seemed a little insignificant man."
There was a forced gaiety in the speaker's voice which did not deceive Beatrice.
"You are right," she said. "Mr. Uzali is a little man, and very plain, with features not unlike those of a good-looking monkey, yellow face and hands more like a bird's claw than anything else."
"Ah!" Flower exclaimed. "And his speech?"
"His speech told me nothing. His English was as good as yours or mine. Mr. Uzali is a polished man of the world and as much at home in this country as in his own. But I thought it odd that his hand should be exactly like the one which I saw that night in the conservatory trying to find the latch of the door. But you need not be unduly curious. Indeed, I understood Mr. Uzali to express a wish to make your acquaintance."
"He wants to know me?" Flower murmured. "He is anxious to come here – the thing is preposterous. My dear child, you don't know what you are talking about."
Flower paused as if conscious that he was saying too much. The dark mood had come back upon him. He paced up and down the dining-room muttering. Then once more he realized that he was not alone, for he turned almost savagely to Beatrice and pointed to the clock on the mantel.
"I daresay we are making much ado about nothing," he said. "Don't you think you had better go to bed? I must finish some work before we return to Maldon Grange to-morrow."
"Are we going back to-morrow?" Beatrice asked.
"I think so," Flower said moodily. "On the whole, it is safer – I mean I prefer the country to London."
Beatrice gathered up her wraps and departed, the old sense of coming tragedy stealing upon her again. But she was too tired to think about anything but bed. She touched her guardian's cheek with her lips, but he did not seem conscious of her presence. No sooner had she gone than Cotter came into the room. He stood as if waiting for orders, his teeth chattering, his whole aspect one of ludicrous terror.
"Well, you blockhead," Flower cried, "why don't you speak? Why stand there in that ridiculous attitude? Anybody would think you a child frightened by a bogie. Where is your pluck, man? You used to have plenty of it."
"Never a man with more," Cotter said half defiantly. "But I have seen what I have seen and I know what I know, and I will never possess even the nerve of a rabbit. Oh, why didn't we leave well alone? Why couldn't we be satisfied with our ill-gotten gains? Surely you had more than enough. For years I have been dreaming about this danger. For years I have known that it was coming. Sooner or later it was bound to find us out. And the worst of it is, you can't fight it. It is miles away one day and the next it stands grinning at your elbow. It may be in the house at the present moment for all I know, just as it was at Maldon Grange."
"Drop that!" said Flower fiercely. "Drop that, you lily-livered coward, or I will do you a mischief. Is there nothing in the world worth speaking about except those yellow-faced devils who are after us now? Isn't it bad enough that Jansen should turn up at this moment?"
Flower paused as an electric bell in the basement purred loudly and a sort of muffled cry came from Cotter as if he had been listening to his death-knell. He stood gazing abjectly into Flower's face, his own white and sweat-bedabbled.
"Wake up, idiot," Flower said savagely. "Go and let him in. It is only Jansen."
CHAPTER XXVI
DR. JANSEN
Cotter seemed to feel his way to the door, as if he were blind, or the room had been suddenly plunged into intense darkness. He hardly dared to breathe till he had opened the front door and admitted a short, enormously stout man who beamed on him mildly behind a pair of huge silver-rimmed spectacles. There was nothing in the stranger to inspire terror in the heart of Cotter, but his manner was servile to a degree.
"You see, I have come back again," the foreigner said. "Did I not tell you that I should come back, my friend? And it is no use telling me that Mr. Flower is not in, because I saw him arrive with his beautiful niece. In fact, I stood on the pavement on the other side of the road and watched the carriage come. If it had been all night I had to wait, I should have remained there. You have told your master I am coming?"
"I have done that," Cotter whined, "and he will see you at once. Will you come this way, please?"
The Dutchman bustled into the dining-room and threw his hat and coat carelessly on a chair. Then he proceeded to wipe his spectacles on an immense red handkerchief which he produced from the tail pocket of his greasy frock-coat. Without ceremony he hustled Cotter to the door and closed it.
Flower stood moodily gazing into the fire-place without taking the least heed of his visitor. Not in the least disconcerted, the Dutchman wheeled a big armchair to the fire-place and made himself comfortable. Then from another capacious pocket he produced a villainous cigar with the fumes of which he began to poison the room. Helping himself liberally to brandy and soda, he sat down patiently waiting for Flower to speak. Despite the man's fatness and the jovial twinkle in his eyes, there was something about him which spoke of a grim and determined nature. Evidently, too, he was master of the situation and knew it. The tension grew until Flower could stand it no longer.
"Well, what the devil do you want?" he broke out passionately. "What are you doing here just at this time? Haven't I got worry enough without you turning up to blackmail me?"
The Dutchman waved the suggestion aside.
"There, my friend," he said coolly, "you are entirely wrong. I did not come here to blackmail you at all. You treated me very badly some years ago, and I have bided my time till I could get even with you. I don't know whether you are aware of it or not, but the time has come. I should like to know what you are going to do about it."
"Nothing," Flower said moodily. "I am going to let matters take their course. I am not afraid of you and the sooner you know it the better, and if you want money, well, you can't have it. For the last two years everything has gone wrong. People fight shy of me and only the smaller firms in the City will have any dealings with my firm. I am supposed to be rich and prosperous, to have made money in my own peculiar way, but I tell you I am a ruined, almost desperate man. Two years ago – "
"Ah, I know what you are going to say," the Dutchman chuckled. "You are going to tell me that everything has gone wrong with you since that trouble over the Guelder Rose. There was the Japonica, too, and the time has gone by when you could make money in coffin wood. Well, on the whole, you have been a lucky man. If I choose to find where young Dr. Mercer is, and if we put our heads together, we could tell a story about the Guelder Rose which would land Mr. Samuel Flower within the four walls of a gaol. Oh, you needn't look at me like that. I am not likely to do you any harm so long as I can make money out of you. I have waited long enough for this opportunity, knowing that you would find yourself in a corner sooner or later, and I have come here to-night to make a proposal. Why should you talk about being a ruined and desperate man when you have only to put out your hand and fill your pockets with treasure?"
Flower abandoned his place by the fire and began to walk up and down the room again. He was agitated.
"I will not be fool enough to pretend to misunderstand you," he said hoarsely. "I know what you are alluding to. You are speaking about that treasure which awaits us in North Borneo. I tell you I dare not. I cannot steel myself to go through that again. As for you, your case is different. Though you took a prominent part in that expedition you were wily enough to keep yourself in the background. Nobody could identify you with any of the men who fired that mine and washed a whole city to destruction. I used to marvel at your cunning – "
"I hope you admired it," Jansen chuckled. "Did you think that I was such a fool as to embark upon an enterprise like that without taking proper precautions? Did you suppose I didn't expect to be murdered on my way down to the coast? And didn't your native servants do their best, at your instigation, to put me away? Not that I bear you any malice. I daresay if things had been otherwise I should have tried to wipe you out, as they say in America. When the time came I discreetly disappeared, and it was generally imagined that I had perished miserably in the jungle. My dear, respected partner, I did nothing of the kind. I kept my head and by and by went back to the scene of the destruction to see what I could pick up for myself."
"You found nothing," Flower snarled.
"Absolutely nothing," the Dutchman said good-naturedly. "You had taken good care of that. But the stuff is there, and you know where it is to be found. That is why I am here to-night; why I want you to accompany me on a final voyage, after which neither of us will ever need to work again. The whole thing has blown over. There are no natives left to tell the tale, and we shall be rich men with a minimum expenditure of trouble. The key of the situation lies with us. You can do nothing without me and I am powerless without you. Let us make an offensive and defensive alliance and take out our own staff. What do you say?"
Jansen spread his hands cheerfully out to the blaze, his little eyes beaming with good-nature. He was not in the least like a man in the close proximity of his would-be murderer. He seemed to take everything for granted. Flower came to an abrupt halt by the fire and looked down at his companion.
"A very pretty programme," he sneered. "Quite an excellent programme. We are to fit out an expedition to North Borneo together. We are to recover all that priceless treasure – why, the marvellous china and engraved glass alone would be worth a fortune – then come home rich beyond the dream of avarice and live happily for ever afterwards. It sounds delightful, but there is one flaw. You are under the impression that the clan was destroyed root and branch when the city was washed away. You are mistaken. There were survivors, and at least two of them to my certain knowledge are in England at the present moment. Do you know that my life is not worth a moment's purchase? Do you know that one attempt has already been made upon it? The next may be successful. And when I am got rid of, that treasure will never be seen again by mortal eye. Besides, how do you know you are safe yourself? You took extraordinary precautions, I know. But we had men to deal with whose cunning and foresight were far greater than our own. Now, in view of what I tell you, are you still bent on going?"
The twinkle had died out of the Dutchman's eyes and his rubicund face had grown solemn. He sat for a long time gazing into the fire before he spoke.
"You are sure of this?" he asked. "You are certain there has been no mistake."
By way of response Flower took an envelope from his pocket and produced a five-knotted piece of string. He handed it gravely to his companion.
"Look at that," he said. "You know what it means. Now, that came to me in a registered letter posted by my agent Slater, in Borneo. Mind you, though Slater knows nothing about this trouble, my correspondence with him is always conducted in cypher. The letter was so private and confidential that it was written by Slater himself and posted by his own hand. And yet, when I come to open the letter, I find this inside. You are an easy-going sort, but I ask you, would not your flesh creep and your hair stand on end if you found a message like that inside of a confidential letter, written, sealed and posted by another person? I tell you the play is finished, the game is up, and I am doomed just as irrevocably as if I were the victim of some incurable malignant disease. Come, you are a clever man, Dr. Jansen, can you show me any way out of this?"
Jansen played thoughtfully with the string, but no words crossed his lips. He was baffled.
CHAPTER XXVII
NO FOE OF HERS
The house was quiet enough now. The whole place was plunged in darkness; even Cotter had forgotten his terror and was dreaming uneasily. As for Beatrice, she had thrown herself upon her bed, worn out with fatigue and anxiety and for some time she slept. Her room and the dressing-room beyond were not dark, seeing that they faced the front of the house and the street lamps shone upon the windows. She lay at first unconscious of her surroundings, but by and by she grew uncomfortable and awoke with a start. She could hear and see nothing beyond the dim shadows of the various objects in the room, until gradually her eyes began to grow accustomed to the gloom and she could distinguish her dressing-table in the small room beyond. She recollected hazily that she had placed her diamond moth with the rest of the jewelry on the table. In a drowsy sort of way she was chiding herself for her carelessness when she seemed to see a hand moving noiselessly over the toilet articles. For a moment Beatrice put the impression aside as a mere fancy, but kept her eyes fixed on the spot till she knew that she was no longer mistaken. Somebody was in the room and bending curiously over the diamond moth. A moment later a shadowy arm waved and a second figure joined the first. The two dim outlines stood with clasped hands gazing rapturously at the moth, much as some heathen might regard a precious idol. Beatrice could see the intruder's lips moving as if in prayer. Evidently they had found some talisman which was engrossing their attention and probably keeping them from more serious work.
The girl lay still and rigid, too terrified to move, and incapable of uttering a syllable. For the life of her she could not have screamed, she was so overcome with dread. How long this scene lasted it was impossible for Beatrice to say. She knew that danger sharp and horrible was here. Then it flashed into her mind that the peril was not for her. The thought nerved her to exertion. She dragged herself from her bed and threw a wrap over her shoulders.
A new wild courage was burning in her veins. Action was better than lying quaking and fearing the worst. With a firm step she crossed the floor and walked into the dressing-room. Then, before she had time to speak or move, unseen hands were laid upon her shoulders and she was dragged backwards, not with violence, not with anger, but with a considerate firmness that would brook no denial. An instant later and a small blue light flickered on the floor, throwing up a sweet fragrant incense which Beatrice found infinitely soothing to the senses. She seemed to rock and sway. She felt herself lifted from the floor, and then she dropped into a deep sleep and knew no more.
When she came to herself again her mind was wonderfully fresh and clear. Like a flash she saw everything that had happened. Like a flash it came to her that these intruders were no other than the strange visitors who had made themselves so much at home at Maldon Grange. Beatrice was not in the least afraid; at least, she had no fear for herself. Whatever those uncanny creatures were searching for, they had no quarrel with her; indeed, they had gone out of their way to save her from the consequences of her interference. But if the danger were not for her, for whom was it intended? The answer was obvious. Samuel Flower was the enemy. Samuel Flower was the victim whom these little men were tracking down in their relentless fashion. How long had she been asleep?
She looked at her watch, but there was nothing to learn from that. She partly dressed herself with a view to arousing the household. As she opened the door leading to the landing she heard sounds of a struggle outside. With unsteady hand she turned up the lights, and, locked in a deadly grip, almost at her feet, were one of the strangers and another man whom she did not recognize at the moment. As the two rolled headlong down the steps, Beatrice gave a sharp cry, for she had seen the white, set face of Wilfrid Mercer. The thing was all over almost before she realized that it was begun. One assailant had vanished, goodness only knew where, and Wilfrid lay on his back bruised, battered, and all but unconscious. Thoughts for his safety uppermost in her mind, Beatrice flung prudence to the winds. She flew downstairs and raised her lover's head just as he was opening his eyes. Nothing seemed to matter so that he were safe, and with unfeigned thankfulness Beatrice heard Wilfrid mutter her name.
"You are not hurt?" she asked anxiously.
"Not so very much, I think," Mercer said as he struggled to his feet. "But the man nearly choked the life out of me all the same."
"What has happened?" Beatrice asked. "How did you get here? What brings you in the house at this time in the morning?"
Wilfrid pressed his hands to his head. He was too dazed to reply coherently. Then as his mind cleared, events began to adjust themselves, and the strange panorama of the night unfolded itself slowly.
"I will tell you," he said. "I am here because I happen to know that your uncle is in imminent danger. How I got into the house doesn't much matter. I came here without ceremony, and I was making my way upstairs when I interrupted that man and had to fight for my life. But hadn't we better ascertain that your uncle is safe?"
"Oh, yes," Beatrice said eagerly. "I am afraid we shall not be able to get into his room. He always locks himself in and the door of his bedroom is lined with steel, as a precaution against burglars or something of that kind, so he said."
Wilfrid waited to hear no more. He was quite himself by this time. Followed by Beatrice he went quietly up the stairs until he came to the door of her uncle's room. He tried the lock, but it resisted all his efforts. It did not seem prudent to call out in case something terrible might be going on inside.
"Is there no other way?" Wilfrid whispered. "Is there no balcony at the back of the house, no creepers, or rain-pipes, or anything of that kind? Have no fear – forewarned, forearmed."
"There is a balcony running all the way along," Beatrice explained. "My uncle talks of having it removed, but he has not done so yet. I can help you through a bedroom window and you can creep along and see for yourself. But I implore you not to run into any danger."
"It is a case of life or death," Wilfrid said gravely. "I will be as prudent as I can. But we must not lose time."
Beatrice led the way into one of the back bedrooms and opened the window. Mercer crept along in the darkness cautiously until he came to a room both windows of which were lighted. One of the blinds was partly pulled up and one of the sashes raised a few inches. From beneath came a sweet, sickly scent which caused Mercer to reel as if a desire to sleep had suddenly seized him. It was only by holding his handkerchief to his mouth and nose that he was able to lie down on the balcony and peep under the blind. He could see Flower lying on his bed, apparently unconscious, with a white bandage around his forehead. He could see two figures flitting about the room, like doctors during an operation. For a moment Flower's two hands were raised above his head, then fell helplessly again by his side.
What infernal thing was going on? What black art was being practised by these miscreants? Flesh and blood could stand it no longer. Wilfrid forced the sash to its utmost capacity and dashed into the room. Seizing a chair he whirled it round his head and made a wild lunge at one of the would-be assassins. At the same time he cried out for others to follow him as if he had assistance at hand. Almost immediately the light was extinguished; there was a rustle of figures in the darkness and Wilfrid knew that he was alone. The sweat was pouring off his face with the horror of it all. He groped round the walls until he found the switch and flooded the place once more with the welcome rays. He could see the key was inside the door. He opened it widely and called for Beatrice. Then he turned to the figure on the bed. The white bandage was gone from Flower's head and he lay still and motionless. So far as Mercer could see he did not breathe. Beatrice entered full of anxiety.
"What is it?" she whispered. "Is he dead?"
"I don't know," Wilfrid said. "It is impossible to say. You must rouse the household at once and send for the nearest doctor or the nearest half-dozen for that matter. I want a brain specialist if he can be got. Will you go at once, please. Every moment is priceless."