No. V.—A GALLOP WITH THE STORM.
IT was a couple of months since the events took place which I mentioned in my last story. Evelyn Noel had recovered her spirits. As I looked at her bright face and slim, upright figure, and listened once again to her merry laugh, I could scarcely believe she was the same girl who had stood in Sir James's study and told her terrible story. How very nearly her whole young life had been wrecked! but, also, how quickly she had recovered! I wondered if all girls were made alike; if a girl's nature was such that she could be reduced to the last gasp of despair one moment, and the next could sing about the house and be radiant and happy, its sunbeam and source of rejoicing once more.
Sir James and Lady Noel begged of me never to mention the hated name of Reginald Monck in the girl's presence, and when his trial came on, which it did about that time, it was my duty to keep the newspapers as much as possible from her sight.
I was collecting them one morning to take into Sir James's study, when she came into the hall and stopped me with a smile.
"What are you doing, Mr. Phenays?" she asked.
"Sir James wants the papers," I said. "He likes to look over them when he returns in the evening."
"My father is not at home; he will not be home until five o'clock."
"That is true," I answered, "but I may as well attend to his wishes now."
"I know why you do it," she said suddenly. "Mr. Phenays, I want to tell you something. I have read all the particulars with regard to Mr. Monck's trial already this morning. I am not fretting," she added. "I am too thankful. But you may tell my father and mother that it is useless to keep things from my knowledge. I am no longer a child, and cannot be treated as such."
Tears filled her eyes.
"What should I have done but for you and Senhor Pinheiro?" she continued. "I can never, never be sufficiently thankful that you, Mr. Phenays, returned to England when you did, and also that you brought your Portuguese friend with you."
She stretched out her hand and took mine as she spoke—the tears overflowed her lovely eyes. But the next moment she had flown across the hall and was singing in the garden.
As I listened to her voice, and remembered the look on her face a moment before, I could not help saying to myself—
"What a wonderful creature is woman!"
The next day was Sunday. I have good cause to remember that day. It was the 10th of June, 1899. For the past week the weather had been sultry in the extreme. Day after day the forecasts prophesied storms and thunder; but the storms did not come, and the sky, as far as rain was concerned, was like brass.
The great heat made us all languid, and on this special afternoon Sir James and I were taking shelter under a wide-spreading cedar tree just at one end of the smoothly kept lawn. The tea-table was standing near. Evelyn had poured out tea for us both and had then gone into the house.
"I am going to sit with mother and read to her," she said, turning her bright face towards Sir James. "She has a headache. She says there is so much electricity in the air."
"There is little doubt of that," was my comment, and I raised my eyes to look at the sky.
It was blue, with the intense blue of perfect summer; but towards the horizon were suspicious-looking banks of clouds, piled one above the other. I wondered if the storm which had so long tarried would be on us that night.
Sir James uttered lazy, disconnected sentences at intervals. The heat, and considerable fatigue owing to a long week of hard work, had rendered him sleepy. Presently he remarked—
"I wonder when Pinheiro will pay us another visit?"
"Senhor Pinheiro will not come until he brings us news," was my answer, and I could not help sighing as I spoke.
"What is the matter, Phenays?" said my employer, turning and gazing at me. "It is impossible that you can feel apprehension now. You have lived, it is true, on the brink of a catastrophe; but even that dreadful woman. Mademoiselle Delacourt, must have played and lost her last trick when Reginald Monck failed in his mission."
"I do not believe so for a moment," was my answer. "You must remember, Sir James, that three times before the affair with your late secretary, Mademoiselle attempted my life. What she has done three times she will do again. She is a terrible woman. Although I ought to be a happy man, with such genial employment, and so kind and considerate a friend as yourself, yet I live always on the brink of a precipice. At any moment, night or day, my life may be required of me, and my great foe spring to fresh existence."
Sir James suddenly lost his sleepy manner. He started forward and spoke with emphasis. "I do not want to trouble you," he said. "As a matter of fact, I left you here during the whole of last week solely with the view of sparing you anxiety. But we are all very anxious at headquarters, and there is the feeling with more than one that the spy element has not been eliminated. This war—and I see no possible solution of the Transvaal question without it—must be unlike any previous one. Science—our friend in the construction of weapons, in tactics, in balloons, in wireless telegraphy—is equally our enemy when we approach the field of Secret Service. Our spies now have a competent knowledge of our preparations and movements, by methods altogether unknown in the days of the Peninsular and Crimean wars. A thousand eyes are watching us, and a thousand ears listen for our faintest footfalls. If these eyes and ears are invisible, that makes the danger all the greater. As Macbeth said, 'Even the ground prates of our whereabouts.' There is danger everywhere. You know it."
"Alas!" I cried, "I know it far too well; and the woman whom I so greatly fear is beyond doubt in the pay of the enemy. She is a fiend in human shape. So far as we are concerned, she is the great centre; she is the spider that sits in the web to which all lines lead. There is only one man in Europe who can lay her by the heels. You have seen something of his methods in the case of your late secretary."
"I certainly have. Pinheiro is one in a thousand."
"If anyone will succeed in capturing Mademoiselle, he is the man," I said. "I have absolute faith in him."
As I spoke, the boughs of the cedar tree just behind rustled, and before Sir James could say another word, the gaunt figure of Pinheiro presented itself.
He stepped silently into our little circle, bowed to Sir James, nodded to me, then took the nearest chair.
"You look like a ghost, Pinheiro," said Sir James. "Did you come by the drive? I did not see you."
"I came through the shrubbery at the back of the house, Sir James," he answered.
I eyed him narrowly as he accepted a cup of tea which I poured out for him. He took it from my hand and leant back in his seat.
"You got my wire this morning. Sir James?" he asked, after a moment. "I would not trouble you on Sunday but for very special business—business that concerns us three personally, and Her Majesty's Government in particular."
As he spoke he gave a curious, automatic glance behind him, into the shadow of some laurel shrubs.
"I have come with news indeed," he continued; "and I will give it at once. Mademoiselle Delacourt is in England."
"What?" I cried.
"It is a fact, Phenays, and I must confess that I am, on the whole, glad. I think it is possible to weave a web round her now from which, with all her subtlety, she will not be able to escape. We do not know her whereabouts yet; neither is it known why she has been so mad as to set foot on the shores of the land where her greatest enemies are. I need not say that since I heard the news I have been busy, and I have now come here to tell you that, owing to certain inquiries, I have come to a fairly definite conclusion."
"What is that?" asked Sir James.
"In spite of all Mademoiselle's cleverness, she has been unable to keep from her employers, the Transvaal Secret Service agents, some of the recent performances of which you and I, Phenays, were the victims. And the affair with Monck has anything but redounded to her credit. Monck has given away one or two secrets which have further put Mademoiselle into hot water with her employers. Her object now in visiting England is to restore herself to their good favour, and she hopes to do this by a double coup."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"She wants to secure a considerable sum of money, and she has another and more dangerous object."
"Our lives!" I said gloomily.
"Not only our lives, but the lives of others," was Pinheiro's terrible answer.
Sir James watched him narrowly.
"Can you give us your reasons for coming to these conclusions?" he asked after a pause.
"I can give you a very definite reason with regard to the money point."
Here he drew his chair closer to ours and dropped his voice to a whisper.
"When you were in Lisbon with me, Phenays, did you ever happen to hear of the revered crucifix of the Hermits of St. Augustine?"
"Never," I answered, wondering what on earth crucifixes had to do with Mademoiselle. "It is a queer story in itself," continued Pinheiro, "and the fact of its in any way coming into our province is still queerer. First, let me give you the original history of the crucifix. The Church of Santo André, in Lisbon, belonged originally to the Hermits of St. Augustine. It was their own convent, and was founded in 1271. The convent was injured by an earthquake, and restored by the reformer of the Order, Friar Luiz de Montoya. The great earthquake of 1755 also injured it; but it was again rebuilt, and is now one of the largest temples in Lisbon. The Brotherhood of St. Augustine possess much gold plate, and jewels of great value; but their most treasured possession is—or, rather, was—a gold and silver crucifix, which was believed to have been given by the angels to Father Montoya. This crucifix was carried through the streets in procession every second Thursday in Lent, until, in a Jesuitical riot, seven years ago, it was stolen by someone unknown, and has never since been seen. An enormous reward, representing in English money about £16,000, was offered for its recovery by the Brotherhood of St. Augustine, who are very rich. But, great as the sum was, the crucifix was never restored. I was employed in the matter as detective. I did everything in my power, but failed utterly. My suspicion was that it had found its way to England. The real intrinsic value of the crucifix is small—not, perhaps, more than £40. Now, here is the extraordinary point where our threads join. I have just heard that the Brotherhood have received a letter asking if the reward for the crucifix is still open. This letter emanates from Mademoiselle Delacourt, and it is evident from its contents that her visit to England is for the purpose of securing the crucifix and obtaining the money. No doubt she will try to get the treasure by fraudulent means. Where it is hidden I do not yet know; but it is through this link that, I believe, our next great move will be played. By it I trust we shall run her down, and by doing so obtain information as to the gang, and possibly capture the papers relating to this great European conspiracy, and to her various plots in the Secret Service. The capture will, I know, be attended with difficulty and danger, and I want you, Phenays, to hold yourself in readiness to come to me, at a moment's notice, anywhere, if I wire to you. I am fully aware, Sir James," he added, "that this seems like taking a great liberty with you; but you will agree that in your own and the War Office's interests no pains must be spared to arrest this woman."
"I quite agree with you," replied the baronet with eagerness. "Do exactly as you think best, Pinheiro. If you succeed, you will deserve great recognition from the country. Though I have never seen the woman, her presence seems to haunt me."
"I know nothing, of course," continued Pinheiro, "but I feel that I ought to say you have every reason to fear her. I cannot impress upon you sufficiently the extreme necessity for caution. Blind malice and revenge are parts of her nature. She may strike another blow. I hate to think I am alarming you unnecessarily; but I frankly tell you that we three are in danger, in personal danger, and there may be others—officials in power, I mean—in a similar plight."
There was no mistaking the Senhor's serious tone. As he spoke he took out his watch, looked at the hour, and sprang to his feet.
"I must be off again," he said. "Time is everything just now. You will be ready, Phenays?"
"Yes," was my answer.
He disappeared again through the thick shrubbery as quickly and silently as he had come.
"We live in queer times," said Sir James.
"I wish we were all well out of the coming week," was my answer.
"It behoves us to be watchful," said Sir James. "I can't say what a sense of relief I have in knowing that our affairs are in the hands of a man like Pinheiro."
The rest of the day passed quietly. The heat seemed to increase, towards evening the wind dropped utterly, but the banks of clouds had vanished from the horizon, and had faded away into mist. The sky was cloudless. Sir James retired into his study, and I walked up and down with Evelyn.
"So Senhor Pinheiro was here to-day," she said suddenly.
"Yes," I answered. "But how did you know?"
"I saw him talking to you and father on the lawn. Has he brought any fresh news?"
I hesitated.
"Has he?" she continued, stamping her foot impatiently.
"What he told us was in confidence," was my answer.
"Yes," she said in a gentle tone, "but that confidence may surely be shared by me? Tell me at once what he came about. If you don't, I shall go and ask father."
"Mademoiselle is in England," I said then in a gloomy voice. "Pinheiro thinks we are in danger—it behoves us to be careful."
"Mr. Phenays, does that danger extend to my father?"
"Alas!"
"Oh, you have answered me. You need not say anything further." Her face turned very white. "There is no one I love as I do my father," she said then. "Personally I have no fear. Do you think that I could be afraid of a mere woman?"
"No," I interrupted; "but this woman is scarcely human. She is a fiend, not a woman. She would stop short at nothing. She uses as her weapon the most deadly scientific knowledge. It requires genius to follow her methods."
Evelyn was silent for a minute or two. Then she said—
"You know, I suppose, that to-morrow night nearly half the officials of the War Office are coming to dine here, and some half-dozen will spend the night at Warleigh Court? We are to have a dance after dinner—an impromptu affair, at which several of my friends are to be present."
"And what has that to say to Mademoiselle Delacourt?" I interrupted.
"I don't know. I feel very depressed about it. I wish we might postpone our guests."
"Oh, surely you are over nervous," I was about to say. But then I remembered the ball—the famous masked ball at Lisbon—and was silent.
That night I slept badly, and towards morning was awakened by Tocsin, Sir James's big mastiff. The dog was barking furiously. I lay and listened, wondering whether I should get up and make investigations. As the animal ceased, however, before long, I dropped off into a doze.
In the morning I arose early. There were some lovely pinks in a bed at one side of the house. Now, pinks are my favourite flowers, and I went to pick a buttonhole. This special bed lay just along the south side of the house. I was somewhat startled, when I went up to the bed, to see that part of it looked as if it had been freshly dug, and one or two plants plucked by their roots were lying in a half-withered condition on the ground. I concluded that the gardener had been hoeing up weeds in the bed; but how carelessly he had done his work! I thought no more of the matter, but went to breakfast. There I was greeted with the information that Tocsin, the watch-dog, had been found dead just outside his kennel.
"Poisoned, of course," said Sir James in a very gloomy tone.
I looked at him—our eyes met. His conveyed a warning not to say anything to alarm Lady Noel. I remembered how the dog had barked the night before, and wished heartily that I had got up to look into the cause. Next moment the letter that lay on my plate absorbed all my attention. It was from Pinheiro, and ran as follows:—
"My Dear Phenays, "Come up by the 10.30. I wish to see you at Baker Street. Important.
I passed the letter over to Sir James. He made no comment at the time, but after breakfast he drew me into his study.
"That sounds good," he said, "and of course you must go. The affair of the dog is a little suspicious, Phenays—you might mention it to Pinheiro when you see him. I do heartily hope that that dreadful woman will soon be arrested. We shall have no peace of mind while she is at large. It is a pity that you will be absent to-night, on account of the dinner and the dance afterwards; but it cannot be helped."
I felt very sorry myself at having to miss the big dinner, to which I had been looking forward for some time. Round Sir James's table that night would meet some of the keenest intellects in Europe. But Pinheiro's letter admitted of no postponement. I bade Sir James a hasty good-bye, little guessing under what strange circumstances I was destined to return to Warleigh Court.
The day which had just begun promised to be even hotter than the previous one. A dull sultriness hung in the air, and the papers prophesied a storm. When I reached Baker Street I saw Senhor Pinheiro waiting for me on the platform.
"Well!" I cried eagerly, "what is the news?"
"I will tell you as we go along," was his answer. "We are in for a big thing, and I want, if not your help, Phenays, at least your company. You may be required by and by as a witness—there is no saying. Whew! this heat is dreadful! We want a good storm to clear the air. And I expect we are in for one." Here he smiled grimly.
When we got outside the station, Pinheiro hailed a hansom and told the man to drive to Westminster Abbey.
"We are going sight-seeing, Phenays," he said, "but not to the Abbey. All the same, the Abbey is near enough so far as our cabman is concerned. We will dismiss him there and walk the rest of the way. Now listen. I have come at the truth in regard to the whereabouts of the crucifix."
"Impossible!" I could not help exclaiming.
"It is true," he said, nodding his head; "and when I tell you that I have no less than sixteen agents at work, day and night, in this cause, you must suppose that if success was possible, it was to be obtained. Success was possible, and we have won, so far as that discovery is concerned. Listen. The crucifix, for which such a great reward is offered, reposes now in a small curiosity shop full of rubbish, in a street near Victoria Station. It is still there, and is being watched night and day. It is in that shop we shall pick up the real secret of Mademoiselle's whereabouts, but how soon I cannot say."
"Then you have not found out where she is hiding?"
"No—but whenever that crucifix leaves the shop, it will be followed, and at the end of that line we shall find her. I greatly hope also that we shall be able to lay our hands on the papers which will give away her conspiracy and her gang. My great object in having you here is because there is a possibility that in the chase we may be separated. I must have another person to identify her, should anything happen to me."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
He shrugged his lean shoulders.
"My life will be cheap if I gain my end," he answered.
He did not say any more until our cab set us down close to the Royal Aquarium. We walked quickly westwards. Presently we turned into a small, badly smelling alley, and I noticed, leaning against a lamp-post, a dissipated-looking waif, half in rags.
Pinheiro nodded to him.
"One of my men," he whispered.
The next moment we had entered the tiny shop, in the windows of which was displayed a miscellaneous collection of cracked china, lustres, and old prints. Behind the counter stood a girl of about eighteen years of age, dressed in rusty black, and looking ill and nervous.
"What can I do for you, sir?" she asked, as Pinheiro leaned against the counter.
"We have come to have a look at your things," he replied in a kindly tone.
As he spoke he turned over some dowdy-looking paste buckles, and then began to examine massive chains in a cracked china dish. Finally he purchased some hideous white enamel buttons. While he was so engaged I observed that his keen eyes were wandering over everything in the little shop. Up and down they looked, and from side to side. Suddenly he made a quick movement, stepped across the floor, and stretched out his hand. My heart beat fast, for I saw that he laid the tips of his thin white fingers upon a small gold and silver crucifix, dulled and tarnished with time.
"Ah! sir," cried the girl, "that is not for sale."
"Indeed!" he replied, taking it from the shelf and holding it in the palm of his hand. He turned to me as be spoke, and held out the crucifix for me to examine.
My first sensation was one of surprise at its smallness. It was barely eight inches long, and the cross-piece but four inches. Was it possible that this tiny symbol of the Eternal Tragedy had such a strange history, and perhaps foreshadowed a stranger one?
"I have a fancy for this," said Pinheiro. "Why is it not for sale? I should like to buy it."
"It is already sold, sir."
"Indeed! I am sorry. I would give a good price for it."
The girl's eyes brightened and then grew dull again.
"And I want money very badly," she said after a pause; "but the lady is giving me a good price, too. She told me to put it away, and I put it on that back shelf. I didn't think anyone would notice it. She means to call for it this afternoon."
I could see the hand that held the crucifix tremble, in spite of its owner's sang-froid.
"How much are you going to get for it?" asked Pinheiro suddenly.
"Thirty pounds, sir; you will scarcely believe it."
"Give it to me and you shall have fifty pounds."
"Oh! sir, I must not go back on my bargain. I wish you had seen it yesterday; but the lady was very anxious, and she is kind. I would not do anything shabby about it, sir, on any account."
Pinheiro gave her back the crucifix.
"Take it, my dear," he said. "You are a good girl, and I won't tempt you."
"I am very poor, and alone in the world," said the girl slowly. "My father had this crucifix for some time, he got it in a strange way. Some men slept here six or seven years ago. They were Portuguese, and my mother was a Portuguese, so my father was good to them. In the morning one of these men gave father the crucifix to keep. 'Keep it safely,' he said, 'and I will call again for it. Don't show it to anyone. It is of great value, greater than you have the least idea of.' But what do you think, sir? Father waited day after day and week after week for the man to return to claim the crucifix; but he never came back, and, at last, one day we saw an account of his death in one of the papers. He had been killed in a street row. So from that day father considered that the crucifix was his; but he never seemed inclined to sell it. He said the man might have left relations who would claim it. They did not, and on his deathbed father told me that I might consider it mine. 'It is of value,' he said. 'Don't sell it unless you can help it.’"
"And you have sold it at last," said Pinheiro. "Why is that?"
"Because I'm dreadfully poor. Things have been going from bad to worse in my little shop, and my landlord means to sell me up for the rent, which has been owing now for two quarters."
A gleam of pure pleasure came into Pinheiro's eyes; his whole face seemed to alter and become soft and human. I had never seen him look the least like this before.
"You will hear from me again," he said, emphasis in his voice. "But before we go now, may I ask you one more question? You speak of a kind lady who has bought this crucifix. Why did she not take it away with her?"
"Because she hadn't got enough money. She wanted me to trust her, and I would have, for she looked so very kind; but father made me promise that I would never on any account do that sort of thing. She said she would bring the money to-day. May I put it back now in its place, please, sir?"
"Do," said Pinheiro. "When did you say the lady would call?"
"Some time late this afternoon."
Pinheiro picked up his little parcel of buttons, then he suddenly held out his hand.
"You have Portuguese blood," he said to the girl, "and, therefore, I claim you as—as a sister in a strange land. Perhaps I will come again, and perhaps when I do I shall bring you more luck than you think."
When we got into the street he turned to me.
"Fortune is favouring us," he said. "The fact of Mademoiselle wanting money is certainly on our side. Had she had the money about her last night, our quest would have been in vain. But it has been a near thing. What a surprise is in store for the pretty little girl in the shop! It is really quite a romance. Sixteen thousand pounds will set her up for life. If I can secure the crucifix, I shall take good care that La Petite gets her reward."
"Then you really mean to let Mademoiselle take the crucifix?"
"It is the only means of tracing her to her den, so it is necessary. You will see some tracking worth looking at to-night, Phenays. She shan't escape me this time. Jove! the heat gets worse and worse. Let's come into this restaurant and have some lunch."
I was far too excited to eat anything, and while Pinheiro refreshed himself I paced up and down outside. We had strolled as far as Westminster, and we went for a time into the Abbey, where it was both still and cool.
As the evening approached we went back to continue our watch. Dusk arrived and the heat grew yet greater. Not a breath of wind stirred. There was not a sign of Mademoiselle.
"She is certain to come soon," Pinheiro once or twice remarked to me.
"But won't she see us if we stand here?" I asked .
"Not before I know that she is coming. This street is all eyes, although you can't see them. I have been talking for the last half hour with my men. Dear, dear! Don't you know the walking-stick language of detectives? We use it in all big capitals, and here"
He stopped short, seized my arm, and we withdrew into the shadow of an open door.
"She is coming!" he whispered.
The entrance to the little shop was quite hidden from us, but he was reading off the signs from a man standing about fifty yards away.
"Now," he said, as a private hansom, with silent tyres and no bells, shot up, "in with you!"
Darkness had fallen, and all the lamps were lit as we sped, down Victoria Street. It was past nine o'clock.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"I don't know. Don't talk to me, please," he said curtly.
It was a weird drive. Away and away we went through endless streets; northwards, ever northwards did our cab take us. I had no idea what part of London we were going to. I only knew it was as strange a quest as I had ever been on. The heat increased, and a low growl of thunder showed us that the storm was approaching. Even the elements seemed uneasy.
We must have been going for more than an hour, when I suddenly perceived that we had approached the borders of a great common. There were no houses or lights visible; but we were driving rapidly beneath a belt of dark trees which edged the common.
All of a sudden the cab drew up at a little gate that barred the entrance to a narrow walk. The darkness was now so intense that I could not see three feet before my face.
A voice spoke in quick tones beside us. From where did it spring? Pinheiro answered in a whisper. The gate was opened—there was a sudden rush in the darkness, followed by a shout. Pinheiro had vanished.
I leapt from the cab and rushed after Pinheiro through the gate. The next instant I was hurled back by someone unseen. A voice exclaimed in a foreign tongue. There were two sharp reports of a pistol somewhere at a little distance in the darkness, then all was still.
A moment later Pinheiro himself caught my arm and led me up the path into a small house. The door of the house was open, and there was a light in the room to the left. In this room sat a man whom I immediately recognised as Inspector Scott. He was holding a candle in his hand and was bending over an open tin box.
Perspiration streamed from Pinheiro's face. He began to swear softly in Portuguese.
"A big haul, and smartly done, sir," said the inspector. "The papers are here, but the rats are gone. It was a near thing."
"They won't get far," said Pinheiro, "and it is worth losing the gang to secure the papers, and also this—look, Phenays." As he spoke he held a little gold and silver crucifix between himself and the light. The next instant he took off his hat and handed it to me. There was a hole clean through the crown.
I shuddered.
"For Heaven's sake! explain these things," I said. "Where are we, and what has happened? How can you talk of having managed things neatly, when Mademoiselle has escaped?"
"We have made a success, and a great one, although, had we secured Mademoiselle, it would have been perfect," said Pinheiro. "Our success in this instance is altogether due to our cabdriver. Inspector Scott, who has the eyes of a cat. You don't seem to realise that we are now in possession of the headquarters of the enemy. We have recovered the crucifix, and here lie papers of the most profound importance to the British Government. This house is on the outskirts of Hampstead Heath. We will just go cursorily through the papers, Scott, before we remove them for closer examination."
The inspector renewed his search in the tin box.
"How did you get the crucifix?" I asked Pinheiro.
"She had it in her hand when she bolted. I snatched it in the dark, and she returned the compliment by perforating my hat."
"But why didn't you follow her?"
"Her time is close at hand. These papers are much more important. If we had continued to chase her and her followers in the dark, all over Hampstead Heath, one of them would have returned to destroy everything. Better let her go for the time. Here lie our proofs. She cannot do much more mischief now."
"Well," I answered, "the temptation to follow her would have been beyond my power to resist."
"Exactly, and it would have been just what she would have wished us to do. I am glad I secured the crucifix, though, for the sake of our little friend in the curiosity shop."
Inspector Scott now began to make a systematic search of the room, and Pinheiro seated himself by a deal table to examine the papers. A glance showed me that the house was a very small one, and the room in which we found ourselves was badly furnished.
"So this is what the woman has come to, who consorted with princes and was known to most of the crowned heads of Europe," I said to myself. "Pinheiro is right. One of her objects in coming to England is to make money."
"Are these papers of value?" I asked Pinheiro presently, for a constant succession of exclamations of astonishment were bursting from his lips as he turned them over.
"Yes," he answered. "We have matter enough here to destroy one of the cleverest combinations in Europe. Mademoiselle's own capture will only be a matter of days."
He continued to read, opening letter after letter, turning page after page. I stood idly by. The room was only lit by a couple of candles, but outside the lightning played continually. The thunder rattled louder and nearer—the storm was coming up quickly. The scene in the small room was, to all appearances, peaceful; but in a moment everything was changed.
Pinheiro had taken out his tobacco-pouch and was rolling a cigarette. His eyes were still fixed on the papers which he was reading. Suddenly I saw a line deepen round his eyes, and the white fingers ceased to roll the cigarette paper. The next instant, with a bound, he leapt to his feet and was pushing me from the room.
Never had I seen fear written so terribly on man's face before. Gaunt and forbidding always, it was now that of a satyr.
As we both left the room he shouted back over his shoulder—
"Read that letter, Scott! Secure all the papers. In with you, Phenays!"
He pushed me into the cab and sprang himself on to the box. We were off at a gallop into the night. Presently he shouted down the trap in staccato accents:
"We're going to Warleigh Court to cut the lightning conductor. There's half a hundredweight of explosive at the end of it. The storm is on us. What fools you must have been to notice nothing! I warned you. Was there ever such a scheme? It is a hundred to one that we're too late. It is a race with the storm. Who is stopping there to-night?"
"Half the War Office officials are dining there, and many of them stopping, and they are to have a dance after dinner," I shouted back. "Do you know your way?"
"Yes," he answered. "We shall be there before any wire could reach them. Sit tight."
Amidst the clatter of the horse's hoofs my memory came back to me. The bark of the mastiff last night, the disarranging of the bed of pinks, the death of the dog. Yes, I recalled everything, and the pinks were disturbed just where the lightning conductor entered the ground. I could have screamed aloud. Just then a brighter flash cleft the darkness, and the thunder crashed immediately after it. Rain began to fall in torrents.
At last the cab swerved through the gates, and a moment later we were there.
Once more Pinheiro shouted to me.
"Get an axe—you know the way better than I do."
I sprang out. A girl was standing under the deep porch. She saw me and flew down the steps. It was Evelyn.
"What is wrong?" she said.
"Help me to get an axe. Don't lose a moment," I panted.
She seemed to understand. Not another word passed her lips. She flew in the direction of the gardener's shed, right across the lawn. I went after her. The rain was like a water-spout, and the darkness black as pitch.
"This way," I said. I led her to the side of the house, where the lightning conductor went into the ground.
Pinheiro was already there.
"Here is the conductor," I said—"feel."
The wall of the house was close by. I gave him the axe.
"Stand out of the way, Miss Noel," he said.
He swung the axe round, it crashed against the wall, and I then saw him tearing with his hands like a maniac, as a blinding flash lit the sky.
"In time!" he cried, and he seized Evelyn by both her hands. "Phenays, take the cab to the stable. Take me to your father, Miss Evelyn. What a wet night!"
The sound of music filled the house. Through a half-opened door we could see the gay dancers as they waltzed round and round. Evelyn took us to the library. There Sir James, Pinheiro, Evelyn, and I met. The clock pointed to ll.15.
"Miss Evelyn, you have pluck enough to listen," said Pinheiro. "I have met you under difficult circumstances before now. This, Sir James, is the new development."
He then rapidly recounted the details of our day's adventure.
"If you will allow me, I should like to examine the flower-bed at once," said Pinheiro, when his story had come to an end; "but we shall want a lantern and a spade."
A very short investigation resulted in our finding a metal box of nitro-glycerin buried barely a foot below the bed. To this case was connected the lower end of the conductor.
Having made our examination, which we did silently, we returned to the house.
"It was a matter of seconds, Sir James," remarked Pinheiro, as he drained off a long brandy-and-soda. "The fact is, I expected to find Warleigh Court in the next county when I arrived. There was enough nitro-glycerine to do it, too."
How any man could jest at such a time seemed incredible, but Pinheiro was not human. Just at that moment, however, a wonderfully soft expression came into his eyes. He turned to me and said in a whisper—
"How happy our little friend in the curiosity shop will be to-morrow!"