Another Man's Shoes

AUTHOR OF "A Rogue by Compulsion," Etc.

A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers New York

Published by Arrangements with GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

Copyright, 1913, BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

To M.

This Book Is Dedicated

Another Man'S Shoes

Chapter I

When you are really hungry, and have precisely one and sixpence to spend upon your dinner, the problem is one which requires a certain amount of consideration. I hesitated for some time between ---- and the ----. At ---- they give you four quite decent courses for a shilling, which leaves sixpence over for a drink and a tip for the waiter. On the other hand, the tablecloths are generally dirty, and the atmosphere of the place about as poisonous as that of a Chinese joss-house.

In this respect ---- is altogether its superior; but as a set-off, you don't get anything like as good a shilling's worth in the way of food. And food being my chief consideration at the moment, I finally decided on Parelli's.

As I pushed open the door, the first person I caught sight of was Billy Logan. For a moment I thought I must be mistaken, but a second glance showed me the long red scar running down from the corner of the eye, which Billy had brought away with him as his sole memento of an unsuccessful insurrection in Chile.

He was busy eating, and I walked quietly up to his table without his seeing me.

"Hullo, Billy!" I said. "What on earth are you doing in this peaceful spot?"

He looked up with a start. "Why, it's Jack Burton!" he cried. "Great Scott! man, I thought you were dead."

I pulled out a chair and seated myself opposite to him. "Sorry to disappoint you, Bill," I observed, "but I'm not fit to die just yet."

"It was that ass, Goldley," explained Billy, reaching across and gripping my hand, as though to make sure that I was really flesh and blood. "He told me you'd been knocked on the head at some God-forsaken place in Bolivia."

"Yes," I said dryly. "I believe there was a report to that effect. It suited me not to contradict it."

Billy grinned. "Well, I was a bit doubtful about it at the time. I couldn't see you getting wiped out by a dago."

"I precious nearly was, all the same," I said. "Here, waiter, table d'hote, and a bottle of lager."

"You're dining with me," interrupted Billy.

"In that case," I said, "I'll have a bottle of burgundy instead of the lager."

"Bring two," called out Billy. "And now let's hear all about it," he added, as the waiter slid rapidly away. "Last time I saw you was at that little dust-up we had in Buenos Ayres. D'you remember?"

"I do, Billy," I said. "It was on account of that I went for a health trip to Bolivia."

Billy chuckled. "I gather you didn't exactly find it."

I lit a cigarette, pending the arrival of the _hors d'oeuvre_. "I found something better than health, Billy," I said. "I found gold."

"Lord!" said Billy. "Where?"

"I don't think it's got a name," I replied. "Anyhow, I didn't wait to find out I was on my own, and the whole country was stiff with Indians. Look here." I pulled up my sleeve and showed him the traces of a very handsome pucker left by a well-directed arrow. "That's one of their visiting cards," I added.

Billy looked at it with the eye of a connoisseur. "You're lucky it wasn't poisoned," he remarked. "What about the gold?"

"I can find the place again all right," I said, "but I want money. It's not a one-man job. That's why I came to London."

"Got it?"

I shook my head. "On the contrary, I've spent what I had. They're a shy lot here, Billy--and I wasn't going to give the show away absolutely. I shall have to try New York."

"You're about right," answered Billy. "Unless you roll up in a frock-coat with introductions, the average Britisher's got no manner of use for you. You'll do better in the States. When are you going?"

"As soon as I can get a ship," I replied. "I've hung on here till I've got just enough left to square my bill. To-morrow I shall go down to the docks and sign on in the first boat that will take me."

"I wish I was coming with you," said Billy wistfully.

"Why not?" I suggested.

He shook his head. "I'm putting in for a job," he explained: "some prospecting business in Mexico that Maxwells are running. They've kept me hanging about for six weeks, so I may as well see it out now."

"Well, give me an address of some kind," I said. "In case my business comes off and yours doesn't, I'd like to have you with me."

Billy pulled out a pencil and a bit of paper and scribbled down a few words. "This is where I'm staying," he said: "34 Vauxhall Road. I'll tell 'em where to forward letters when I leave."

I put the paper in my pocket, and turned my attention to the sardines and potato salad which the waiter had just dumped down in front of me. Billy's two bottles of wine, which arrived immediately afterwards, soon put us into a cheerfully reminiscent mood, and throughout dinner we yarned away about old friends and old days in the Argentine, where five years before we had first run across each other.

I suggested winding up the evening at a music-hall; but Billy, unfortunately, had some appointment connected with his job, which prevented him from coming. However, he not only paid for dinner, but insisted on lending me a couple of sovereigns, which, to tell the truth, I was very glad to accept. But for this, by the time I had paid my bill the next morning, I should have been practically penniless.

I said good-bye to him regretfully at the bottom of Gerrard Street, and then, walking across Leicester Square, made my way slowly down to the Embankment. I was lodging in Chelsea, and I thought I might just as well stroll home as waste threepence on a bus.

It was a fine, soft summer evening, with a faint breeze stirring the trees, and now and then lifting a scrap of paper from the roadway and dropping it again languidly after it had tumbled it a few yards. There were not many people on the Embankment; those that were there consisting chiefly of engaged couples, with here and there a tattered piece of human wreckage apparently on the look-out for a comfortable open-air lodging for the coming night.

I sauntered slowly on, clinking Billy's two sovereigns in my pocket, and pondering idly over my own affairs. I had left Bolivia four months before in high spirits, thinking that for the first time in my life I had the chance of making some money. That I had found gold in richly paying quantities I had no shadow of doubt, and I felt confident that in London I should be able to raise sufficient capital to get together a proper expedition for penetrating the interior. I knew enough of the Bolivian authorities to be sure that, as far as State permission went, a generous measure of bribery was the only thing necessary.

Seven or eight weeks in England had been enough to dash all my high hopes. I suppose English business men are naturally cautious--requiring to know a great deal about a stranger's record before they care to accept his statement. Now my record, though highly interesting to myself, had been of a little too chequered a nature to inspire confidence in the breast of a capitalist whose ideas of life are bounded by Lombard Street and, shall we say, Maidenhead. At all events, I had failed dismally in my purpose, and, as I had told Billy, had reached the end of my resources without getting any further in my quest than when I had started.

I was not sorry to feel that it was all over. My restless life had ill fitted me for the humdrum respectabilities of London, and I was beginning to regard the streets, the people, and indeed everything about me, with an intense and ever-growing distaste. It is true, that New York would be as bad or even worse, but I had no real intention of wasting much time in that shrieking inferno. To start with, my funds would not allow it; and, in any case, I was beginning to get a bit tired of this dreary chase after wealth. If I could find a sympathetic capitalist in a few days, well and good--otherwise, I had quite made up my mind not to worry any more about the matter. Let the gold stop where it was until some traveller more suited to the job than I stumbled across it. Life, after all, is the first thing, and I was not going to waste mine hanging round office doors, and interviewing fat gentlemen in frock-coats, when the whole world with all its fun and adventure lay before me.

Stopping under a lamp, and leaning over the Embankment, I gazed at the lights of a small steamer, puffing its way busily down the Thames. A great desire to get out of this choking atmosphere of so-called civilisation suddenly gripped me with irresistible force. I seemed to taste the smack of the salt sea upon my lips, to smell again the warm, sweet breath of the open pampas. My heart beat faster and stronger, and I found myself muttering some lines of Kipling--the only poet I've ever cared two straws about--

"The days are sick and cold, and the skies are grey and old, And the twice breathed airs grow damp; And I'd sell my tired soul for the bucking beam-sea roll Of a south Bilbao tramp."

Yes, that was what I wanted: the sea, and the sun, and the plains, and, above all, life--raw, naked life, with its laughter and its fighting, far away from these stifling streets where men's hearts grow smug and cold. I threw back my arms, and took in a deep breath.

"My God!" I muttered, half aloud. "I'm out of this for good and all."

"I congratulate you," said a voice.

Chapter II

My nerves are under pretty good control, but I must confess that I jumped a little at this unexpected interruption. Wheeling round, I found myself face to face with a tall, broad-shouldered man in evening dress, which was half concealed by a long fawn-coloured overcoat. For a moment his features seemed strangely familiar, and I stared at him, wondering where I had seen them last. Then suddenly the truth hit me fair and square.

"Good Lord!" I said, "are you a looking-glass?"

Except for his clothes, the man was the exact image of myself.

He smiled--a curious smile that ended with his lips, and had no effect at all on the cold, steady blue eyes that were taking in every detail of my appearance.

"A most remarkable likeness," he observed quietly. "I never thought I was so good-looking."

I bowed. "And I never realised how well-dressed I was," I returned in the same half-mocking tone.

It was his turn to start, though the motion was almost imperceptible.

"Even our voices!" he muttered. "Who was the fool who said that miracles don't happen?"

I shook my head. "The likeness," I said, "appears to extend to our ignorance."

There was a short silence, during which we still looked each other up and down with the same frank interest. Then he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a slim, gold card-case.

"My name," he said, "is Stuart Northcote. You may have heard of it." He held out a card.

I don't think I showed my surprise, though goodness knows I felt it. Like most people in London, I had certainly heard of Stuart Northcote. Indeed, I could hardly have avoided doing so, considering that the Society papers had been full of little else but his doings and his wealth ever since he appeared mysteriously from nowhere at the beginning of the season, and rented Lord Lammersfield's house in Park Lane.

However, I accepted his card without comment, as though a meeting with a millionaire double were an everyday event in my own existence.

"My own name," I said, "is John Burton. I am afraid that a card-case is outside my present scheme of things."

He bowed. "Well, Mr. Burton," he began deliberately, "since chance has thrown us together in this fashion, it seems a pity not to improve our acquaintance. If you are in no hurry, perhaps you would give me the pleasure of your society at supper?"

I don't know what it was--something in his voice, perhaps--but, anyhow, I had a curious instinct that he was extremely anxious I should accept. I thought I would test him.

"It's very kind of you," I said, with a smile, "but, as a matter of fact, I have just finished dinner."

He waved aside the objection. "Well, well, a bottle of wine, then. After all, one doesn't meet one's double every day."

There was a four-wheeler trundling slowly up the Embankment, and without waiting for any further reply from me, he raised his hand and beckoned to the driver.

As the man drew up, a tattered figure that had been lounging on one of the seats a little farther down shambled hastily forward as though to open the door. My eyes happened to be on Northcote at the moment, and I was amazed at the sudden change that came over him. He looked like a man in the presence of some imminent danger. Like a flash, his right hand travelled to his side pocket with a gesture that it was impossible to misunderstand.

"Stand back," he said harshly.

The loafer, astonished at his tone, stopped abruptly in the circle of white light cast by the electric lamp.

"Beg pardon, guv'nor," he whined; "on'y goin' to open the door for yer, guv'nor."

Northcote's cold blue eyes scrutinised him keenly for a moment. "That's all right, my man," he said, in a rather different voice. "Here you are!"

He flung a silver coin--a half-crown it looked like--on to the pavement, and with a gasp of amazement the man dived to pick it up. As he did so, Northcote, still watching him, stepped forward to the cab and flung open the door.

"You get in, Mr. Burton, will you?" he said; and then, as I climbed into the cab, he turned to the driver. "The Milan," he said curtly, and then, following me, slammed the door.

As we drove away, I saw the white face of the loafer, who had apparently recovered his coin, staring after us out of the lamplight.

Northcote must have guessed that I had noticed his agitation, for he laughed in a rather forced manner. "I dislike those fellows," he said. "It's foolish, of course,--one ought to pity the poor devils,--but somehow or other I can't stand their coming anywhere near me."

His words were easy and natural enough, but they did not convince me in the least. I have seen too many men in danger of their lives to mistake the symptoms.

However, the matter being essentially his business and not mine, I refrained from offering any comments. Indeed, I thought it more tactful to change the conversation.

"I'm afraid I'm hardly dressed for the Milan," I said. "I don't know whether it matters."

He shrugged his shoulders. "We will have a private room in any case," he replied. "It is more comfortable."

He spoke as though the Milan were some sort of Soho pot-house!

I was just thinking what a pity it was I had wasted such an excellent appetite on Parelli's when the cab turned the corner into the Strand. Putting his head out of the window, Northcote gave some instructions to the driver, which I was unable to catch. Their nature, however, was obvious a moment later, for, turning to the right just before we reached the flaring courtyard of the famous restaurant, the man drew up at a small side entrance.

We got out, and Northcote, after paying the fare, led the way into the hall, where a bland and very respectful head waiter came forward to meet us.

"I want a private room, and a little light supper of some kind," said Northcote.

"Certainly, sir, certainly," replied the other. "Will you come this way, sir."

He guided us down a long, brilliantly lit corridor, stopping at the end door on the left, which he opened.

We found ourselves in a small but luxuriously furnished room, with a table already laid for supper, and delightfully decorated with flowers.

"This room was engaged to-night by one of the Russian nobility," explained our conductor suavely. "The order has just been cancelled by telephone, so, if it will suit you, sir--"

"It will do excellently," broke in Northcote.

Another waiter who had followed us into the apartment came forward, prepared to take our coats and hats. Northcote stopped him with a gesture.

"You can leave them here," he said. Then, turning to the head waiter, he added curtly, "I shall be obliged if you will attend to us yourself."

The man bowed, and, signalling to his assistant to withdraw, presented the menu which the latter had brought in.

Northcote glanced at it, and then handed it across to me. "Is there anything particular that you would like?" he asked carelessly. "I fancy the resources of the Milan are fairly comprehensive."

I shrugged my shoulders. "I shall be more or less of a spectator in any case," I said. "You had better settle the question."

Northcote looked at the card again, and then ordered a couple of dishes, the names of which conveyed nothing to me. "And bring up a bottle of '93 Heidsieck," he added, "and some of that old liqueur brandy."

The man bowed, and after pulling out our chairs from the table, noiselessly left the room. I could not help wondering whether the extraordinary likeness between Northcote and myself had struck him; but if it had, he had betrayed no sign of having noticed it.

"I always think a really good head waiter," I observed, "is the most extraordinary work of art in the world."

"Yes," said Northcote, seating himself at the table, "and, in consequence, the most contemptible."

"That seems rather ungrateful," I remarked.

Northcote looked at me keenly. "Can you imagine any man who was not wholly contemptible deliberately moulding himself into a piece of servile machinery in order to get an easy living? I have infinitely more respect for a thief than a successful waiter."

I laughed. "I dare say you are right," I answered. "Anyway, I must admit that I would sooner be a thief if I had to choose."

"What are you?" asked Northcote abruptly.

The question took me by surprise, and for a moment I hesitated.

"I am not asking out of mere curiosity," he said.

"I didn't think you were," I returned pleasantly. "That was why I was doubtful about answering you."

He smiled, looking at me curiously, with the same disconcerting intentness.

"Let us be frank, then," he said suddenly. "It happens that you have the power to be of considerable service to me, Mr. Burton."

He paused.

"Indeed?" I said, lighting a cigarette.

"On the other hand," he went on, "there is certainly a chance that I might be of some use to you."

I thought of the reported extent of his income, and then of my beautiful Bolivian goldfield.

"It is quite possible," I admitted gravely.

He leaned forward with his hands on the table. I noticed that they were muscular and sunburned--the hands of a man who has done hard physical work.

"But I must know more about you," he said. "Who are you? Where do you come from? What do you want from life?"

As he asked the last question, the door of the room opened, and the waiter came in, carrying supper.

While the man was handing round the dishes and pouring out the wine--a delicious wine it was, too, by the way--Northcote talked away lightly and cleverly about several more or less topical subjects. I answered him occasionally, in the same careless strain; but my mind was almost wholly occupied with the mysterious suggestion that he had just let fall. I was wondering what on earth the service could be that I was capable of rendering him. That it had something to do with our amazing likeness to each other I felt convinced; but beyond that it was impossible to guess. The whole thing--our meeting on the Embankment, his invitation to supper, and the strange hint of an unknown purpose in his actions--had all been so sudden and bizarre that I felt as if I had been caught up into some modern version of the Arabian Nights.

Still, there could be no harm in making him more or less acquainted with my innocent past and my embarrassed present. I had nothing I wished to conceal, except the whereabouts of my goldfield; and it seemed quite on the cards that, in return for this unknown service that he wanted from me, I might be able to interest him in my scheme. In any case, curiosity alone would have made me go through with the matter now I had got so far. I instinctively felt that Mr. Northcote's proposals when they came would be of a decidedly interesting nature.

So, as soon as the waiter had withdrawn, I filled up my glass again, and looking across at my companion with a smile, began to satisfy his curiosity.

"There's not very much to tell you, after all," I said. "To start with, I'm thirty-four."

He gazed at me keenly. "You look five years older," he said.

"Yes," I retorted. "Perhaps, if you'd been knocking about South America for fifteen years, you'd show some fairly obvious signs of it."

A momentary flicker of surprise passed across his face. Then he laughed dryly.

"Oh!" he said. "What part of South America have you been in?"

"Most of it," I said, "but I know the Argentine best."

"What were you doing?" he asked.

"It would be shorter," I said, "to tell you what I wasn't. I've been a ranchman, a cattle-dealer, a store-keeper, a soldier, a prospector, and several other little things that happened to roll up. South America is a great place for teaching one to take a spacious view of the day's work."

"So I believe," he said. "And what brings you to England?"

"An incorrect idea of British enterprise," I answered. "My last achievement in South America was to strike gold--quite a lot of it, unless I'm pretty badly mistaken. I came over here to try and raise some capital."

"And you've failed?"

I laughed. "The British capitalist," I said, "is still as rich as he was when I landed."

He nodded his head. "What are your plans now?" he asked.

"I'm sailing for New York as soon as I can get a ship," I answered.

"Have you many friends in London?" he demanded.

"There's my landlady," I said. "She is friendly enough as long as I pay her bill, but that's about the full extent of my social circle."

There was a short silence. Then Northcote got up from his chair and, walking across the room, locked the door. I watched him with interest.

He seated himself again at the table, and lit a cigarette.

"Mr. Burton," he said, "what value do you put upon your life? I mean, for what sum would you be prepared to run a very considerable risk of losing it?"

He asked the question in such a business-like and unemotional manner that I could not repress a smile.

"I don't know," I said. "If I thought it was really valuable, I should be strongly inclined to put it up to auction."

He learned across the table and looked me full in the eyes.

"If you will do what I want," he said slowly, "I will give you ten thousand pounds."

Chapter III

I am fairly used to surprises, but there was a magnificence about this unexpected offer that for a moment took away my breath. I leaned back and surveyed my double with genuine admiration.

"You certainly do business on a large scale, Mr. Northcote," I said. "Do you pay in cash?"

For an answer, he thrust his hand into an inside pocket and pulled out a leather case. This he opened, extracting four bank-notes, which he laid on the table.

"Here are two thousand pounds," he said quietly. "If you accept, I will give you a cheque for the remainder."

I looked at the notes with that respectful interest that one keeps for distinguished strangers. There was no doubt that they were genuine. Then, with some deliberation, I also lit a cigarette.

"It must be a very unpleasant job," I said regretfully.

For the first time since I had met him, my companion laughed. It was a grim, mirthless sort of laugh, however, not in the least suggestive of encouragement.

"Yes," he said dryly: "if I threw it open to competition, I fancy that the entries would be small." Then he paused. "Before I go any further," he added, "will you give me your word of honour to keep what I am going to say entirely private, whether you decline or accept?"

"Certainly," I said, without hesitation.

"Very well." Again he stopped for a moment apparently hesitating over a choice of words. "Within a few days," he said slowly, "unless I take certain steps, there is every likelihood of my being a dead man."

I thought of the little incident on the Embankment, and I felt that he was speaking the truth.

"To put it plainly," he said, "I must disappear. If I stay in London under my own name I shall certainly be killed. It may be a matter of days or weeks, or even months--that will depend on myself; but the end is sure and quite unavoidable."

I poured myself out a glass of brandy and held it up to the light. "The situation," I observed, "has at least the merit of being a simple one."

The same cold smile flickered across his lips. "It is not quite as simple as it seems. The gentlemen who are so anxious to accelerate my passage to heaven are doing me the honour of paying me a very close and intelligent attention. I might possibly be able to avoid them,--to-night, for instance, I believe I have done so,--but whether I could get out of the country alive is a very open question."

"Ah!" I muttered. Light was beginning to dawn on me.

He nodded, as though answering an unspoken question. "Yes," he said; "the thought struck me the moment I caught sight of you under the lamp. If I were a believer in the supernatural, I should say you had been sent by the Devil. I can't think of any other power that would be particularly anxious to assist me."

"Well," I said lightly, "if the Devil sent me, I am at least indebted to him for a good supper. What is it you want me to do?"

He paused again. Then, very slowly, he made his amazing suggestion--the words dropping from his lips with an almost fierce intensity.

"I want you to take my place in the world. I want you to change clothes with me to-night and go out of this restaurant as Stuart Northcote."

I took a deep breath and bent forward, gripping the table with my hands.

"Yes," I said, "and what then?"

"I want you to go back to my house in Park Lane, and for three weeks to live there as I should have done. If you are still alive at the end of that time, which is extremely improbable, you can do anything you please."

For one instant the thought struck me that the whole thing was a jest--the fruit of some ridiculous bet or the passing whim of a half-mad millionaire. But one glance at the hard blue eyes, which were still ruthlessly searching mine, swept the idea abruptly from my mind.

"But it's impossible," I broke out. "Even if your servants failed to see the difference, I should certainly be found out directly I met any of your friends."

"How?" he asked. "They might think I had become forgetful, eccentric, but what else could they imagine?"

"Oh, think of the hundred things I should be ignorant of: people's names, your appointments and business affairs--even my way about the house. Why, I should be bound to betray myself."

"I have thought of all that," he answered harshly. "If I couldn't provide against it, I should not have made the proposal."

I looked at him curiously. "And what is there to prevent me from taking your money and making no attempt to keep my side of the bargain?"

"Nothing," he said, "except your word of honour."

There was a moment's silence. "Well," I said, with a short laugh, "the security seems rather inadequate, but if it satisfies you--" I shrugged my shoulders. "Now, let me see if I have got this interesting offer quite correct. In return for ten thousand pounds--two thousand in notes and the rest by cheque--I am to become Mr. Stuart Northcote for three weeks. It is highly probable that during that time I shall be assassinated. Failing this unfortunate interruption, I shall then be at liberty to resume my own character."

Northcote bowed, half mockingly as it seemed. "You have stated the idea admirably," he said.

I helped myself to a second glass of brandy and sipped it with meditative enjoyment. The prospect of being a millionaire, if only for three weeks, distinctly appealed to me. Apart from that, there was something vastly attractive in the fantastic nature of the whole business. Only a few hours before, I had been grumbling to myself over the dullness and monotony of life, and here was Fate thrusting before me an almost incredible chance of adventure and excitement. I could feel my heart beating faster at the thought.

"If it is not too inquisitive a question," I said calmly, "I should rather like to know why your removal is a matter of such urgent importance to someone?"

Northcote's eyes narrowed, and his lips set in a singularly unpleasant smile. "It is a private affair," he answered coldly, "and I'm afraid it must remain so. I can assure you, however, that in taking my place you will not be in danger except of assassination. I have committed no crime"--he laughed--"at least, no crime in the excellent eyes of the English law."

"That is comforting," I observed, "but, all the same, I should be more inclined to accept if I knew who it was that was so anxious to stick a knife into you."

"Unfortunately," he answered, "I don't know myself. If I did"--his face hardened for a moment into a cruel mask. "Well, I think you have a proverb about two being able to play at the same game. I can only tell you that the danger is real and imminent. I have good reason for believing that my own servants are honest, but beyond that I would trust no one."

"It seems to me," I said sadly, "that I shall have to stay indoors."

Northcote thrust his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a small red leather notebook.

"After the first ten days," he said, "you can please yourself. To start with, you would have to carry out certain engagements I have made, which you will find in this book."

"And you imagine I could do that successfully?"

Northcote nodded. "You have excellent nerves and plenty of common sense. Provided you give your word of honour to carry the part through to the best of your ability, I am perfectly ready to trust you. If you fail"--he shrugged his shoulders--"at least I shall have had my start."

A sudden mischievous joy in the promised excitement of the situation came flooding through my heart. With an almost involuntary gesture I thrust my arm across the table.

"Very well," I said. "I promise you I'll do my best."

He gripped my hand, and for a moment we sat there on either side of the table without speaking a word.

Northcote was the first to break the silence.

"I envy you your nerve, Mr. Burton," he said coldly.

"It's not as good as it was," I replied, with regret.

Northcote tore a slip of paper out of his pocket-book and, laying it on the table, began to draw a plan in pencil. I pulled my chair round so that I could see what he was doing.

"I'm making you a rough sketch of the inside of the house," he said. "This is the ground floor, and here's the dining-room and the billiard-room. Your study and bedroom are on the first floor, exactly above. They open into each other--like this." He outlined the various rooms neatly and skilfully, writing their names in the centre of each square.

"That's plain enough," I said, taking the paper. "What about the servants?"

"There are only three of them--two women, and Milford, the butler. I have got rid of all the others during the last two weeks. These three have all been with me since I took the house, and I think you may trust them. Milford you certainly can. I've treated the man well, and he's by way of being rather grateful."

"Well," I said, "if he swallows me as Stuart Northcote, I expect I shall pull through."

"Yes," returned Northcote. "The only other person you need worry about is my cousin--Maurice Furnivall." He paused. "I believe I have promised to go down and stay with him for several days in Suffolk. If you can get out of it without difficulty, perhaps you had better. In any case, be very careful not to make a slip of any sort when you see him."

"What kind of man is he?" I asked.

Northcote frowned. "I am not sure. He is the only relation I have in the world, and to a certain extent I have trusted him. I sometimes think I have been foolish. If I knew for certain--" His brow darkened still more, and his hands clenched until the white skin stood out upon his knuckles.

"There is a suggestion of thoroughness about your methods, Northcote," I observed, "that rather appeals to me."

"If I had stuck at trifles," said Northcote grimly, "I shouldn't be here now." He pulled out a cheque-book, and, taking up his pen again, filled in a cheque for eight thousand pounds.

"Here's the money," he said. "There are a few hundred pounds in my account besides this, and if you like I'll sign a couple of cheques that you can fill in for current expenses. By the way, it may be necessary for you to imitate my signature--do you think you can do it?"

"My experience as a forger is limited," I said, "but I dare say I can manage it with a little practice. What are you going to do about money yourself?"

He laughed. "My arrangements have been made for some time. I have only been waiting the chance of putting them into practice."

There came a sudden knock at the door.

Northcote thrust his cheque-book back into his pocket, and then, getting up and crossing the room, turned back the key.

The head waiter entered, and stood apologetically by the threshold.

"I came to see whether you would require anything else, sir."

"I think not," said Northcote coldly. "You had better let me have the bill, though. I suppose there is no objection to our using this room for a little longer? We are discussing some business matters."

The waiter bowed. "Oh, certainly not, sir. Half-past twelve is the hour we have to close; but even then, if you cared to engage a bedroom--"

"That will be ample time," said Northcote.

He produced a five-pound note, which he handed to the waiter, waving away the latter's offer of change.

With a gratified murmur of thanks, the man withdrew, leaving us alone.

Northcote locked the door behind him, and returned to the table.

"I am ready," he said curtly.

In a moment I had slipped off my coat and laid it on the chair.

Our complete transformation must have taken us about a quarter of an hour. With the exception of his patent leather shoes, which for absolute comfort were certainly half a size too small, Northcote's clothes fitted me with extraordinary accuracy. I put them on with a certain deliberation, enjoying the sensation of finding myself in really well-cut garments--an experience to which I had been a stranger for a good many years. When I had finished, I examined myself in the glass with no little satisfaction. As far as looks went, the deception was perfect.

Northcote, who had meanwhile arrayed himself in my own discarded blue suit, presented just as remarkable a change. He seemed to be the exact image of the reflection I was accustomed to see each morning in my lodging-house mirror.

Stepping to the table, I filled up the two liqueur glasses with a last taste of the Milan's excellent brandy.

"Here's to our lost selves!" I said.

Northcote drank the toast, and setting down the glass handed me his cheque-book and latch-key, which he had laid on the table in front of him. I put them away in my pockets with the notes.

Voltaire's last words came suddenly into my mind. "And now for the great adventure," I quoted gaily.

"We had better not go out together," said Northcote. Then he paused. "Good-bye," he added. "I don't suppose we shall meet again, unless there is really such a place as hell."

"I shall at least have a good chance of finding out first," I retorted.

I picked up the long fawn-coloured overcoat which lay on the sofa, and walking across the room, turned the key. Northcote stood where he was, his arms folded, watching me with his strange, mirthless smile.

"Good-bye," I said, "and good luck." And then, going out, I closed the door behind me.

Walking along the corridor of the hotel, I reached the side entrance by which we had come in. A man in livery, who was on duty, at once stepped forward.

"Taxi, sir?" he inquired.

"Yes," I said; "I'll have a taxi."

I felt quite cool, though my heart was beating a little faster than usual. This sort of thing was certainly more entertaining than hunting reluctant capitalists, or even hanging round the docks trying to fix a free passage to the States.

When the cab rolled up, I handed a shilling to the obliging gentleman in livery, and gave the driver Northcote's address in Park Lane. Then I stepped inside, and with a pleasant feeling of exhilaration settled myself back on the comfortably cushioned seat.

I had done it now--there could be no doubt about that! Unless I broke my word to Northcote, I was in for about as exciting a time as the most enterprising spirit could wish for. Apart from the cheerful prospect of finding a knife between my ribs at any hour of the day or night, I was faced with the truly colossal task of keeping up another man's identity for three weeks!

I began to wonder again whether it was not probable that Northcote was a lunatic, or that he was playing some stupendous practical joke at my expense. I ran over in my mind the whole of our interview, from the moment when he had waylaid me. There was certainly no sign of madness about him, apart from his amazing proposals; and if the whole thing were a jest, well, it promised to be a pretty expensive one for its author. Besides that, I felt sure that the man was in danger of his life, or at all events believed himself to be so. There was no acting about the sudden flash with which his hand had travelled to his pocket in that second on the Embankment.

Pulling out the paper which he had given me, I lit a wax match and began to study his plan of the house. It seemed simple enough. I only had to walk upstairs, and my bedroom was facing me on the other side of the landing, the windows apparently looking out into the Park. That knowledge, at all events, promised to be sufficient for the night. I could reserve anything in the nature of further exploration until the next morning.

By this time we had reached Hyde Park corner, and, crossing the road, the driver turned to the right up Park Lane. Beyond knowing the number, I had not the remotest notion where Northcote lived, and I had something of a shock when we stopped quite suddenly outside an imposing-looking mansion only about a hundred yards above Apsley House.

"Good Lord!" I muttered. "I hope there's no mistake."

At all events, the number was on the gate-post right enough, and the driver seemed quite confident that he had reached his correct destination. So, pulling myself together, I stepped on to the pavement and handed the man half a crown.

He touched his cap respectfully, and putting in his clutch, glided away slowly in the direction of Oxford Street.

For perhaps thirty seconds I hesitated; then, mounting the broad stone steps, I thrust my latch-key into the door. It opened easily enough, and with a deep breath I stepped in over the threshold.

I found myself in a large circular hall, surrounded by several stone pillars and lit by an electric chandelier. A plentiful supply of palm trees in pots, and some beautiful hanging baskets of hothouse flowers, lent the place an air of luxury and comfort, which was increased by the deep easy-chairs of red leather scattered about in various corners. So far, I had certainly no fault to find with my new home.

I had just closed the front door, and was advancing across the thick, noiseless Turkey carpet, when there was a sound of discreet footsteps, and a man suddenly appeared from a curtained aperture at the back of the hall. He was a quiet, pleasant-looking fellow of about forty-five, with an alert, clean-shaven face, and hair just beginning to turn grey. His clothes were the conventional costume of an English butler.

"This," I said to myself, "must be Milford."

I took off my hat, so that the light fell full on my face.

"Any letters, Milford?" I asked easily.

I was watching him as I spoke, looking out keenly for the slightest start of surprise or hint that he had noticed something unusual in my appearance. But nothing could have been more natural than the manner in which he came forward and relieved me of my coat and hat.

"There were some letters by the last post, sir," he said. "I have placed them in the study."

"Thanks," I said, and turned towards the stairs.

"Shall I bring you up the brandy and soda now, sir?" he asked.

I had not the least desire for any more brandy, having already treated myself with unusual generosity in this respect at the Milan. Still, as a final drink seemed to be a nightly custom of Northcote's, I thought I had better follow his usual routine.

"Yes," I said, "you can bring it up."

I mounted the wide staircase, which was carpeted in the same luxurious manner as the hall, and, crossing the landing at the top, opened the door of the room which Northcote had marked as my study. The electric switch was just inside, and I turned it on, flooding the whole apartment with a soft, rich light thrown from an unseen arrangement of lamps somewhere behind the cornice.

It was a big and magnificently furnished room. Whatever faults Northcote may have had, the neglect of his own comfort was apparently not one of them. From the carved oak book-shelves and the huge easy-chairs down to the two or three little reading-lamps placed about on various tables, there seemed to be everything that luxury could demand or ingenuity contrive. I stood with my back to the open red-tiled hearth, gazing over it all with distinct approval.

There was a knock at the door, and Milford came in, carrying a tray, which contained a decanter, a syphon, and a glass. He placed these on a small table by the fireplace, and then withdrew as noiselessly as he had entered.

On the farther side of the room stood a handsome oak desk, at which Northcote was evidently accustomed to conduct his business and correspondence. I walked over to it, and seated myself in the chair.

So far, everything had gone surprisingly well. A kind of wild hilarity at the novelty of my amazing position was running through my veins. I felt inclined to burst out laughing, or to get up and waltz round the room.

The thought of Milford's emotions, however, if he should come in unexpectedly, prevented me from putting my feelings into action. I pulled out Northcote's pocket-book, and, opening it at the page where he had jotted down his immediate engagements, began to glance through them. As I did so, my left hand, in a curious, unconscious way, was playing with the framework of a small silver mirror which stood on one side of the desk.

It was the tiniest sound behind me that attracted my attention--a sound so soft that, if my hearing had not been particularly acute, I should certainly have failed to notice it. Without moving, I glanced sideways in the mirror.

A long curtain, which apparently concealed a recess at the side of the fireplace, was being gently moved aside. With every muscle tense, I watched the process, my heart beating steadily in swift, insistent strokes.

Then suddenly, to my amazement, a girl stepped out noiselessly into the room. Her face was deadly pale, and half hidden by the drooping hat that she was wearing; but even in the mirror I could see that she was astonishingly pretty.

For a moment she paused, then very cautiously she pulled out a small pistol of some kind from under the long cloak that she was wearing, and pointed it slowly and carefully at the back of my head.

Chapter IV

I must have fallen forward at the very moment she fired. There was no report, only the jar of a powerful air-spring, but the bullet crashed into the woodwork of the desk just exactly in a line with where my head had been a second before.

It was a pretty piece of dodging, but I was not ambitious for an encore. I was across that room and had my fair visitor by the wrist in considerably less time than it takes to read these words.

She made no attempt at resistance. Her failure seemed to have robbed her of any power of motion. She dropped the pistol as soon as I touched her, and stood facing me with wide-open, horror-stricken eyes.

With my disengaged hand I picked up the weapon. It was an air pistol of a rather formidable kind, quite capable of killing a man at twenty yards. I put it in my pocket, and, releasing my grip on her wrist stepped back a couple of paces.

"Won't you sit down?" I said pleasantly.

My invitation had an unexpected result. With a low moan she put up her hands in front of her face, and then, before I could catch her, swayed forwards and sank slowly to the floor.

"This," I said to myself, "is the mischief."

However, I couldn't very well leave her lying there, so, stooping down and raising her in my arms, I carried her to the sofa.

So far, things had travelled with such cheerful rapidity that I had had no time for reflection. But at this point it suddenly struck me that it would be as well to lock the door, in case Milford, or any other member of the household, had heard the crash of the bullet. So, crossing the room, I turned the key in the lock, and then came back to where my unconventional visitor was lying.

My first impression of her in the mirror had scarcely done her justice. There is a distinct gap between prettiness and beauty, and the girl who lay on the sofa was as lovely as a Greek statue. Indeed, but for the slightly parted lips and the long dark eyelashes, she might really have been chiselled out of marble. Her face was quite white, and only the faintest stirring of her breast gave any impression of life.

My acquaintance with the world has been fairly varied, but this was a situation right out of my previous line. Indeed, the problem of how to act for the best when shut up alone at midnight with a young lady who has just attempted to assassinate you is one of sufficient delicacy to baffle the most experienced. I decided that the first step was to bring her back to consciousness.

Putting some brandy into a glass, I carefully lifted her up and poured a few drops between her tightly-shut teeth. The strong spirit had an almost immediate effect. A faint tinge of colour stole into her face, and with a deep sigh she opened her eyes.

When she saw that I was holding her, she shuddered violently, and shrank back against the arm of the couch. It was not exactly complimentary, but I decided to overlook it.

"I hope you're feeling better?" I said, with an encouraging smile.

Her answer was a glance of such intense hatred and contempt that I instinctively got up from the sofa.

"Well," she said, "why don't you ring the bell, and hand me over to the police?"

She spoke in low, passionate tones and with a very slight foreign accent, but her voice was delicious. It was one of those deep, sorrowful contraltos that seem pathetic with all the woe of the world.

I looked back steadily into her indignant eyes.

"I object to the police on principle," I said. "Besides, I really don't see what they have to do with the matter. You have only smashed a desk, after all."

Before she could make any reply there came a sudden sound of footsteps on the landing outside, followed a moment later by a discreet knock at the door.

"Who's that?" I called out.

The somewhat apologetic voice of Milford answered me through the panels. "It's only me, sir. I fancied I heard something drop in your room, and came to see if I could be of any assistance."

For a second I hesitated, and then, walking to the door, I opened it just wide enough to prevent him from seeing in.

"It's nothing, thanks, Milford," I said. "I was cleaning an air pistol, and the thing went off and smashed the woodwork of the desk. We'll have a look at it in the morning. By the way, did anyone call for me while I was out?"

He shook his head. "No, sir."

"Well, I may run out and post a letter before I turn in," I added; "so, if you hear anyone walking about, don't imagine it's a burglar. Good-night."

"Good-night, sir."

I closed the door, and listened to the footsteps of my faithful retainer dying away in the distance. Then I fastened the lock, and came back to my visitor.

"Perhaps it would be as well," I said, "if you gave me back my latch-key before you forget."

She had risen to her feet and stood facing me like some beautiful animal at bay. Her cloak had fallen back, betraying the graciously moulded lines of her figure, shown off to perfection by the closely-fitting black dress that she was wearing underneath.

From her belt hung a small leather bag, of the kind that one sees in Bond Street shop windows. She opened this, and without speaking took out a key, and threw it down on the sofa.

"Thank you," I said. "And now, if you won't think me inquisitive, may I ask why you wanted to shoot me?"

She stared at me with a look in which loathing and surprise were very prettily mingled.

"Why do you pretend you don't know?" she asked contemptuously.

I shook my head. "On my honour," I said, "I haven't the remotest idea."

Her lip curled delightfully, and she drew herself up to her full height. "I am Mercia Solano," she said.

I bowed. "It's a charming name," I observed, "but, under the circumstances, Mercia seems a little out of place."

"Ah, you can jest!" she cried bitterly. "You were well named the Satyr of Culebra."

"Really!" I said. "You embarrass me. I had no idea people were so complimentary. But what have I done to deserve all these little attentions?"

"What have you done!" Her hands clenched, and her breast rose and fell in superb indignation. "You ask me what you have done, when the grass is still brown above my father's body!"

Burying her face in her hands, she broke down and sobbed like a child.

I must admit that for a moment I felt an unspeakable brute. Under my breath I cursed Northcote heartily.

"You can believe me or not, as you choose," I said, "but I had no more to do with your father's death than you had."

She stopped crying, and taking away her hands gazed at me wildly.

"Oh, what are you saying?" she moaned. "What is the good of lying to me? Wasn't I by his side when they shot him down? Look here--" She tore back the sleeve of her dress, baring her arm almost to the shoulder, and showing an angry scar that seamed its white beauty. "Here is the very mark of your bullets, and you dare to stand there and lie to my face! Oh, God! are you a man or a devil?"

She sank down on the sofa again, in a very abandonment of passion and grief.

I crushed back a sudden savage desire to take her in my arms and explain everything.

"Look at me," I said, with some sternness, and she raised her head. "Do I seem to you like a man who is lying?" I went on harshly. "I swear to you by my mother's name, by everything I hold sacred, that I was in no way to blame for your father's death. I can't tell you more at present, but before God I'm speaking the literal truth."

The savage earnestness in my voice seemed to have some effect. Into her eyes, which were fixed on mine, there crept a kind of reluctant doubt, and with puzzled gesture she passed her hand across her forehead.

"I--I don't understand," she said faintly. "Guarez--" Then she stopped abruptly.

"Yes?" I said, with an encouraging air. It struck me that Guarez was possibly a gentleman whom it would be healthy to know a little about.

But an obstinate fit seemed suddenly to have come over her, for her lips closed and she got up from the sofa without finishing the sentence.

It was vastly annoying, for I appeared to have been on the very verge of finding out something about my unknown and apparently strenuous past. I couldn't question her further without breaking my promise to Northcote--indeed, my conscience pricked me with having already failed to live up to the strict interpretation of my pledge.

"Well," I said, with a shrug of my shoulders, "we will leave it at that. Please consider yourself at liberty to leave the house when you choose."

I put my hand in my pocket and felt the pistol. "By the way," I added, taking it out and holding it towards her, "since you've given me back my latch-key, the least I can do is to restore you your property."

She accepted it with an air of bewilderment.

"Of course you have some more cartridges," I went on, "but I will trust to your honour--"

"Honour!" she broke out. "You talk to me of honour! _You!_"

The inference was so obvious that I could hardly pretend to miss it.

"Why not?" I demanded. "I've already told you I am perfectly innocent of the crimes you credit me with."

I stooped forward and picked up the key from the sofa. "Perhaps you can tell me," I added, "whether there are any more of these useful articles wandering about London. If so, I think I shall go to the expense of a new lock."

She shook her head, still staring at me in a kind of puzzled wonder.

"I do not know," she said. "It makes no difference. Whether you are innocent or guilty, there is no power that can save you."

This was distinctly cheerful!

"Perhaps you're right," I said. "But at all events I shall see what the ironmonger can do in the morning. He may at least delay matters."

Going to the door, I opened it cautiously, and listened for a moment to see if any of my household were afoot.

"The coast seems clear," I said. "I'll come down to the hall and let you out."

She made a motion as if to protest, and then changed her mind.

"Very well," she said wearily.

With an inward prayer that no inopportune domestic would put in an appearance on the scene, I led the way cautiously down the big staircase. It was a strange experience, but by this time I was becoming case-hardened to strange experiences. Anyway, we reached the hall without misadventure, and, pulling back the latch of the front door as quietly as possible, I opened it sufficiently wide to allow my visitor to pass through. As soon as she was outside, I followed her, closing the door behind me.

"I'll just stroll along behind you until you pick up a cab," I said carelessly.

In the lamplight I saw a flash of terror leap into her eyes.

"No, no," she whispered. "You must go back at once, It is not safe."

"I quite agree with you," I said. "It's horribly unsafe for a girl to be walking about London alone at this time of night. That's exactly why I propose to find you a cab."

She hurriedly laid her hand on my arm. "I don't understand," she said pitifully. "It's all so different from what I expected, but oh! please--please--"

There was a rumble of wheels, and a dejected-looking hansom came slowly trundling past. I signalled to the driver, who at once pulled up.

"Well, here we are," I said cheerfully; "so that settles the matter."

With a little gasp of relief she dropped my arm, and glanced nervously up and down the roadway.

I stepped forward and stood by the wheel so as to protect her dress. She got in, thanking me in an almost inaudible whisper.

"Good-night," I said, holding out my hand. "I'll leave you to tell the driver where you want to go."

There was an instant's pause, and then with a hurried gesture she bent forward and laid her hand in mine.

"Good-night," she said softly.

I felt the faint pressure of her fingers--the same slender fingers that had so nearly cut short my promising career, and a curious thrill of satisfaction ran suddenly through my heart.

Releasing her hand, I stepped back on to the pavement. I saw the driver raise the flap and bend down to catch her directions. Then he wheeled his horse round, and the cab jogged away steadily in the direction of Oxford Street.

"And here," I said to myself, "endeth the first lesson."

As the words rose in my mind, something caught my attention on the farther side of the road. There was a clump of trees exactly opposite, just inside the railings of the Park, and in the thick shadow beneath them I could have sworn that I had detected a movement.

My nerves must have been pretty badly on edge, for I as nearly as possible jumped for the area. Fortunately, I pulled myself together just in time. Taking out a cigarette, I lit it with some deliberation, and then in a leisurely and dignified fashion mounted the steps, latchkey in hand, and let myself into the house. All the time I had a horrible presentiment that at the next second a bullet would crash into the small of my back; but like most presentiments it failed to materialise. Still, it was with a feeling of considerable relief that I closed the door and shot home the bolts at the top and bottom.

When I reached my study, the first thing I did was to mix myself a pretty stiff brandy-and-soda. I wanted it badly.

"If I keep this job going for three weeks," I reflected, "I shall probably end up as a confirmed dipsomaniac."

By the time I had got well into a cigarette, however, my natural good spirits had begun to reassert themselves. After all, I was still alive, and, apparently, so far quite unsuspected, which was about as favourable a situation as I had any right to expect.

Northcote, however, had plainly been speaking in good faith when he described his offer as one for which the competition would be scant if the truth about it were known. Granted that my first evening's experiences were a fair sample of what I might expect, my chances of survival seemed quite unhealthily remote. If Mercia had been a man, I reflected grimly, by this time I should most certainly have been a ghost.

Who was she, and what had her relations been with Northcote? That the ruffian was responsible for her father's death was fairly obvious, but as to the circumstances of the tragedy I was still utterly in the dark. They must have been pretty bad to drive a young girl to such a desperate step, unless in some way or other she was being made a cat's-paw of by others.

Anyhow, I made no attempt to disguise from myself the fact that I was extremely anxious to see her again. Her beautiful face lingered in my memory as clearly as though I were looking at a picture, and somehow or other I still seemed to feel the thrill that had gone through me when she laid her hand in mine.

I had got as far as this in my meditations when it suddenly struck me I was becoming maudlin. Also, there could be no doubt that I was as sleepy as an owl.

I got up with a laugh and a yawn, and, turning on the light, went into my bedroom.

It was a large apartment, even bigger than the sitting-room, and the magnificent four-poster bed was in keeping with its spaciousness. I made a tour of inspection, satisfying myself that there were no more charming ladies or visitors of any kind lying in wait for me, and then, carefully locking both the door of the room and the door into the study, I proceeded to take off my clothes and array myself in Northcote's silk pyjamas, which the faithful Milford had put out for me.

My last act was the result of a sudden inspiration. Before getting into bed, I crossed to the window and looked out very cautiously through a crack in the Venetian blind. Just as I did so, the dark figure of a man rose out of the shadow of the trees opposite and walked quickly down the roadway.

I got into bed and turned off the light.

"I wonder," I said to myself, "if that could have been Señor Guarez."

Five minutes later I was sound asleep.

Chapter V

Considering the amount of brandy that I had consumed, I awoke next morning feeling remarkably well. The first thing that met my eyes was the canopy of the bed. I stared at it in a kind of vague surprise, wondering how on earth it had got there. Then, with a sudden shock, the events of the previous evening came racing back into my mind. I realised that I was in Northcote's bedroom, and that someone was knocking gently but persistently at the door.

Jumping out, I thrust my feet into a pair of slippers that lay on the white sheepskin rug, and, crossing the room, unlocked the door. I expected to find Milford, but in place of that obliging retainer I was confronted by a pleasant-looking girl, neatly dressed in a print costume and cap. She was carrying a tray with a pot of tea and some letters on it.

"Oh, come in," I said, seeing that she was hesitating. Then, kicking off my slippers, I clambered back into bed.

She came across and laid the tray down on the table beside me.

"I have brought you up your tea, sir," she said. "Mr. Milford is not at all well this morning."

"Oh!" I replied. "I'm sorry for that. What's the matter with him? He was all right last night."

She shook her head. "I don't know, sir; but he seems very poorly."

"Is he in pain?" I asked.

"Yes, sir. He seems to be suffering a great deal."

"Well, you'd better send for the doctor at once," I said, pouring myself out some tea.

This was distinctly awkward. I certainly didn't want to be deprived of the services of the one person Northcote had told me I could trust.

"Shall I send for Dr. Ritchie, sir?" asked the maid.

I nodded. "Ask him to come round as soon as he can. I'll look in and see Milford after breakfast."

The girl finished her various duties in the room, and then withdrew. When she had gone I sat up in bed and began to examine the small pile of letters which lay on the tray. Most of them were obviously bills and circulars, but one which bore a crest on the back of the envelope seemed of more importance. I tore it open.

"105 Belgrave Square, S.W.

"MY DEAR NORTHCOTE,--I had an interview yesterday with Rosedale, and as far as I can see, everything is plain sailing. Rosedale suggests the first week in October for launching the Company. There are one or two matters still I should like to discuss with you, but we shall have an opportunity on Wednesday night.

"By the way, I've taken your advice and bought the _Seagull_. Morton wanted a devilish stiff price for her, but he was ready to take something on account. He'll have to wait for the rest till the Company's out!--Yours sincerely, SANGATTE."

When I came to the ill-written, sprawling signature, I whistled gently to myself. Stranger as I was to England, I knew Lord Sangatte very well indeed by reputation. And a pretty unsavoury reputation it was, too.

I reached out for Northcote's notebook, which I had taken out of my pocket the night before, and turned up his engagements for Wednesday. There were two or three cryptic references to appointments in the morning and afternoon, and then, scribbled in at the end in pencil, "Sangatte's dance."

"I shall certainly be there," I said to myself complacently.

That Sangatte and Northcote were promoting a Company was an interesting bit of information. As a commercial undertaking it should be out of the common. If rumour was correct, Sangatte was about as ripe a scoundrel as the English Peerage could show; while such knowledge of Northcote as I possessed scarcely led me to believe that over-scrupulousness was one of his besetting virtues. On the whole, Wednesday night promised to be quite entertaining.

I got up leisurely, feeling very well satisfied with myself. In the sunshine, which was streaming pleasantly in through the open window, my adventure wore a much more cheerful and convincing aspect than it had done on the previous night. All my nervousness seemed to have vanished--in place of it I only felt a mischievous and highly enjoyable curiosity as to what would happen next.

Routing out Northcote's plan of the house, I discovered that the bathroom was three doors down, on the right-hand side of the passage. A proper full-length bath was a luxury to which I had not been introduced since my arrival in England, so with pleasurable anticipation I draped myself in Northcote's dressing-gown and set off along the corridor.

I found the bath already filled with warm water, while shaving materials of every kind were laid out on the table at the end of the room. With delightful deliberation I dallied over my toilet, smoking a cigarette and enjoying myself to the very limit of my ability. Then, refreshed and contented, I sauntered back to my bedroom, looking forward to the entertaining occupation of inspecting Northcote's wardrobe.

It proved to be on the same spacious scale as the rest of his belongings. After careful consideration, I selected a well-cut blue serge suit and a pair of Dobbie's brown boots, polished to a harmonious but unobtrusive richness that bore testimony to Milford's professional abilities.

Thus equipped, I strolled leisurely downstairs to the dining-room.

Breakfast was laid for me at the end of the big table, a pleasing combination of gleaming silver, fresh-cut flowers, and spotless napery. After the crude service of my lodgings, the sight of these unwonted accessories gave me a really enviable appetite.

I had just seated myself, when the girl who had called me came noiselessly into the room, carrying several dishes and a fragrant urn of coffee.

"Dr. Ritchie is coming round as soon as possible, sir," she said, putting down the tray and beginning to arrange its various contents in front of me.

"That's all right," I returned. "I'll look in and see Milford as soon as I've finished."

For an agreeable half-hour I lingered over a couple of kidneys, a delicious piece of omelette, some toast and marmalade, and a large slice of hot-house melon. Then, with a faint sigh, I extracted a Cabana from a box on the sideboard and moved myself into one of the big easy-chairs in the window looking out over the Park.

A breakfast such as I had eaten is particularly conducive to meditation, and it was scarcely surprising that my thought turned at once to the spirited events of the previous evening. Through the curling smoke of my cigar the beautiful, sorrowful face of my amazing visitor seemed to rise up again before my eyes. I repeated her name to myself with a kind of luxurious enjoyment. "Mercia Solano."

It fitted her admirably. A name of music and colour, shot through with a certain indefinite sadness.

Who could she be, and what red chapter in Northcote's past had led up to the events of last night? That he had not this girl only to fear was evident from her own words. Besides, I could not imagine Northcote running away from a woman, however foully he had wronged her.

I racked my memory for any clues which last evening's adventure might suggest. There was her reference to Guarez--whoever Guarez might be. I wondered again whether he was the gentleman who had been skulking under the trees opposite, and if so, why he had not taken such a favorable chance of putting a bullet into me? And what was that complimentary term she had called me? The Satyr of something or other--Culebra, if I remembered right.

Where the devil was Culebra? The name seemed to be familiar to me, but, think as I would, I was quite unable to place it. The only thing I felt certain about was that it was somewhere or other in South America.

I began to wonder if the key to the mystery lay there. The names Guarez and Solano certainly suggested that troubled continent, while the abrupt end of Mercia's father also seemed thoroughly in keeping with the same cheerful environment. I decided that I would hunt up Culebra on the map without any waste of time.

I had reached this point in my meditations when there came a knock at the door, and my nice-looking parlour-maid again entered.

"I wonder, sir," she began apologetically, "whether you would care to see Mr. Milford now. He seems a little better for the moment, so I thought, perhaps--"

"You were quite right," I interrupted, getting up from the chair and putting down my cigar. "I'll come with you at once."

I felt rather ashamed of myself, but for the time poor Milford's sudden illness had gone clean out of my head.

I followed her through the door at the back of the hall, and then down a big, winding stone staircase that led to the basement. Milford's room was in front, just under the dining-room.

When I entered I found him sitting propped up in bed. He was breathing with evident difficulty, and his face, which was a nasty grey colour, was covered with small beads of perspiration.

"Hullo, Milford," I said, "what have you been doing to yourself?"

He gave me a wan smile. "I don't know, sir," he answered feebly. "I felt rather queer last night, sir, and when I woke up this morning I was like this."

I felt his pulse, which was about as faint and irregular as a pulse could very well be.

"Dr. Ritchie's coming round to see you in a minute," I said, with assumed cheerfulness. "He'll tell us what's the matter. I don't suppose it's anything very serious. Do you think you ate something that upset you yesterday?"

He shook his head. "No, sir. I had my dinner here, and after that all I took was my usual glass of beer at the Granville, round the corner. I don't think it can be anything--" A sudden spasm of pain contracted his face, cutting short his words.

"Well, you must lie quite still," I said soothingly, "and not worry about anything. We can rub along all right; if necessary, I'll get someone else in to help. All you've got to think about is getting fit again."

He looked up, a flash of gratitude lighting his suffering face.

"Thank you, sir," he said faintly.

As he spoke, there came a sharp ring at the front-door bell.

"I expect this is Ritchie," I said. "Now we shall find out what the trouble is."

It was not the doctor, however, that the girl announced when she came into the room a minute later.

"If you please, sir," she said, "Mr. Furnivall has called. I have shown him into the dining-room."

For a moment I wondered who the deuce this new visitor might be; then I suddenly remembered that "Maurice Furnivall" was the name of Northcote's cousin, about whose good faith my double seemed to cherish certain dark suspicions.

"Very well," I said, "I'll come up. If Dr. Ritchie calls while Mr. Furnivall is here, ask him to look in before he goes."

I mounted the stairs again, feeling just a little apprehensive about the approaching interview. I was still too new to my position to have complete confidence in my likeness to Northcote, amazingly successful as it had been up to now; and, with the possible exception of Milford, Maurice Furnivall seemed the most likely person to detect any shade of difference. However, this feeling lent a spice to the situation, and when I entered the dining-room it was with a certain sense of amused elation.

I took an immediate dislike to Master Maurice the moment I set eyes on him. A tall, sleek, well-groomed young gentleman, with black hair carefully parted in the middle and plastered down on each side, he was lounging comfortably in the arm-chair which I had lately vacated.

"Hullo," he drawled, "you're uncommon early this morning. What's up?"

"Milford's seedy," I said a little curtly.

"What's the matter with the fellow?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said. "I've just sent for Ritchie."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, you're doing him in style. A Harley Street specialist for a butler sounds all right. I should have called in someone a bit cheaper."

"I've no doubt you would," I said.

Something in my tone must have warned him that I was not feeling particularly amiable, for a distinct change came over his manner.

"I was only joking," he said a little lamely. "I'm sorry the poor fellow's off colour. A beastly nuisance for you, too."

I felt a strong desire to kick him, but my promise to Northcote restrained me.

"Yes," I said, "it's rather a bother. Have a cigar?"

He helped himself from the box which I held out.

"Any news?" he inquired.

I don't know why--he said it quite naturally--but it suddenly flashed across my mind that under this apparently innocent question there lurked a considerable amount of meaning. Could it be possible, I reflected rapidly, that he knew something about Mercia's midnight visit? It seemed wildly unlikely, but I made up my mind to test him.

"Yes," I said coolly. "I had rather a curious experience last night."

I was watching him as I spoke, and I could have sworn I noticed a slight tightening of the muscles in his face.

"Really?" he drawled. "What was that?"

I laughed lightly. "On second thoughts," I said, "perhaps I ought to keep it to myself for the present."

If he was really disappointed, he concealed it admirably. "That's just like you," he said, with a yawn; "you're always so confoundedly mysterious. I suppose it's the result of living under a wrong name."

This was news indeed, but I flatter myself I received it with admirable composure.

"I expect it is," I answered, selecting another cigar in place of the one I had discarded.

There was a brief pause in the conversation.

"Well, what about coming down to Ashton?" said Maurice, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair.

I remembered Northcote's advice that I should refuse, but some obstinate streak at the back of my nature suddenly asserted itself. I think perhaps it was a feeling that Northcote's suspicions concerning the sleek young man in front of me were based on very good grounds that really decided me. I don't like running away from danger.

"When do you expect me?" I inquired carelessly.

Something very like a momentary flash of triumph leaped into his eyes.

"How about Thursday?" he suggested. "There's a good train from Liverpool Street at 2.30, and I'll meet you at Woodford."

"Thursday would do all right," I said.

"We shall have a pretty festive crowd," he went on, knocking some ash off his coat. "Sangatte and York have both promised to come, and I think George Vane will most likely turn up. And then, of course, there'll be the Baradells." He looked at me with a sort of sly half-grin as he mentioned the latter name. Evidently my acquaintance with the Baradells had some special significance.

"That sounds tolerable," I said.

"At all events," he finished, "we ought to have some decent shooting. Reece tells me that the partridges are good, and there are always plenty of duck about."

I nodded thoughtfully. It struck me that if there was going to be any shooting I should be devilish careful whom I stood next.

I had just arrived at this sound conclusion when, through the open window, I saw a beautifully appointed limousine car glide up to the door.

"Here's Ritchie," I said. "I'll just see what he's got to say."

Maurice made no attempt to rise. "Right you are," he answered languidly. "I'll wait and hear the verdict."

I again felt a rich desire to box his ears, but, consoling myself with the reflection that it was possibly only a pleasure delayed, I walked out of the room, closing the door behind me.

I met the doctor in the hall. A grey-haired, clean-shaven man of about fifty, with a pompous but rather kind face, he came forward at once and shook my hand.

"Good morning, Mr. Northcote," he said. "I'm sorry to hear your butler's ill. A most excellent fellow, I should think."

"Yes," I said; "Milford is by way of being rather a treasure. Come along down and have a look at him, doctor. I'm afraid he's really bad."

I led the way down the stone staircase, and we entered the room together.

If anything, Milford looked worse than when I had seen him before. There were mottled patches on his grey face and his lips were twisted with pain. When he saw us, however, he made a faint effort to raise himself in bed.

Ritchie stepped forward at once. "No, no," he said kindly; "you must lie quite still."

Then, pulling up a chair, he began to ask a few curt questions, at the same time taking a brief examination of his patient's eyes and pulse. His face was rather grave.

"I am afraid you have eaten something that has disagreed with you very badly," he said at last.

Milford lay back on the pillow, his lips twitching faintly.

"Am I going to die, sir?" he whispered.

"Oh, dear, no," said Ritchie, with an encouraging smile. "We shall have you perfectly well in a week or so. Just for the moment, however, you'll have to keep very still and do exactly what you're told. I shall send you round a nurse at once, and look you up again myself this afternoon."

Milford made a feeble motion as if to protest against this luxury.

"That's all right, Milford," I said. "You are to do just what the doctor tells you, and not bother your head about anything."

He thanked me with a faint smile, and after tucking him up in bed, we left the room.

As soon as we were in the passage, I turned to Ritchie.

"Well," I said, "what's the matter?"

There was a short silence.

"The matter," said Ritchie, very quietly, "is that the man has been poisoned."

Chapter VI

I don't know whether I started, but the word gave me an unpleasant jar.

"Poisoned!" I repeated. "Do you mean poisoned purposely?"

Ritchie frowned. "I can't say. It's a curious case, but there's no doubt that he's suffering from some form of poisoning. It might be one of half a dozen."

"What are we to do?" I asked.

"At present," said Ritchie, "the only thing to do is to give him a strong emetic and keep him warm. I'll send you a nurse straight away, from St. George's, with full instructions. I shall come round again myself later in the morning."

I tried not to show it, but I was feeling horribly upset and very angry. Could it be possible that by accident Milford had fallen a victim to some delicate attention aimed at myself? Or had the mere fact of his loyalty to me been regarded as a sufficient reason for putting him out of the way? Whichever was the case, I took a very hearty resolve that, given the opportunity, I would make someone pay pretty badly for this mistaken effort.

I conducted Ritchie upstairs, and for some minutes we stood in the hall, talking about the case. I could see that the good man was considerably worried over its unusual features. Doctors see some curious things in their daily rounds, but to find a Park Lane butler suffering from apparent symptoms of wilful poisoning is enough to disturb even their unrivalled equanimity.

He refrained from asking me point-blank whether I had any suspicions in the matter, but I felt that the question was on the tip of his tongue. I suppose he thought it best, under the circumstances, to wait for further developments.

"I shall be round again about midday," he said finally, collecting his hat and coat.

"Very well," I said. "I shall probably be here, but if not, I'll ring you up and get your report."

Then I showed him out.

After the door had closed, I stood still in the hall for a moment in some doubt. I was wondering whether it would be advisable to tell Maurice what I had learned, or merely to let him know that Milford was seriously ill. My instinctive mistrust of the young gentleman eventually prevailed, and I decided that, for the present at all events, I would maintain a discreet silence. Under the circumstances, it could hardly be wondered at if I felt suspicious of everybody.

When I entered the dining-room, he greeted me with a languid "Well?"

"Unfortunately," I said, "that's just what it isn't. Milford's bad--damned bad."

"What's the trouble?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Ritchie doesn't know," I replied, with a coolness worthy of Ananias. "He thinks it will probably be a matter of some weeks, however. I'm getting a nurse to look after things."

Maurice yawned. "What a poisonous nuisance," he observed.

The epithet was happily chosen, if the remark was a trifle callous.

"Yes," I replied carelessly. "I suppose I shall have to engage someone else."

I had seen enough of Northcote to realise that if I wanted to preserve my identity, or rather his, I must guard myself against the grosser forms of sentimentalism.

"I tell you what it is," said Maurice, "you'd better stroll round to Seagrave's with me now. I've got to go to Hanover Square anyway, and we can drop in and fix things straight away. They're sure to have plenty of decent men on their books."

The suggestion seemed a sensible one; and although I fully shared Northcote's lack of confidence in his cousin, I had no wish to quarrel with the latter for the present. That was a luxury which I must postpone until I was a little more certain of my ground.

"Very good," I said. "I'll be ready in a minute. I must just go upstairs and get some papers."

"Right you are," he drawled. "Don't be too long."

I mounted the stairs feeling in anything but an amiable temper. Open danger one can face with calmness, but this back-door assassination business was beginning to get on my nerves. I understood why Northcote had been driven to such a desperate step, and I cursed my folly in not having insisted on a fuller explanation from him before tackling the business. The fact probably was that he wanted me to be killed; thus ridding himself for ever of the danger that threatened him. For all I knew, he might even have lied to me in what he did say.

However, there was no getting out of it now. Apart from going back on my word (a useful habit that has never particularly appealed to me), I was determined to see the thing through for my own satisfaction. I object to being murdered, even in mistake for someone else, and it was my ardent wish to bring that objection home very forcibly to my unknown friends. Besides, there was Mercia. What precisely she was doing in that galley I couldn't say, but, like the hero in a play, I felt certain that it was "no place for her." I pictured her in an altogether different environment, a pleasant phase of thought which restored me to a more harmonious frame of mind.

What I had really come upstairs for was Northcote's pocket-book. I had promised him to keep any engagements he had made for the first few days, and I wanted to see if I had a programme mapped out for that afternoon. When I turned up the page, I found two entries: one an appointment with his tailor in Sackville Street at 12.30, and the other a directors' meeting of the London General Traffic Company at the Cannon Street Hotel after lunch. Neither sounded particularly important, but for lack of anything better to do I decided to attend them both. I was becoming quite interested in Northcote's private affairs.

When I came downstairs I found Maurice waiting for me in the hall. It struck me again that there was a kind of suppressed satisfaction in his manner, but I put it down as being very probably due to my imagination. In my present state of mind, it was easy to discover suspicious symptoms in everyone.

"By the way," he said carelessly, as the door closed behind us, "do you want to get another man permanently, or just to fill Milford's place while he's seedy?"

"Oh, only for the time, of course," I said. "I couldn't part with Milford."

He nodded. "That will be quite easy. Seagrave's can always turn you in a temporary man. You'd better leave it to them."

I was about to observe that such was my intention, when a passing motor suddenly drew up with a jerk alongside of us, and a good-looking, elderly man in a grey top-hat put his head out of the window.

"Hullo, Northcote," he said; "you're the very man I wanted to see."

This was flattering; but as I hadn't the remotest idea who he was, I felt slightly embarrassed.

Maurice, however, unintentionally solved my difficulty. "Good morning, Lord Lammersfield," he remarked. "I hope Lady Lammersfield is better?"

His lordship paid no great attention to Maurice's kind inquiry. He nodded coldly, and observed that her ladyship was "about the same." I took a fancy to him at once.

"I can see you at any time you like," I said, truthfully enough.

"Are you going to Sangatte's to-morrow night?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"That will do," he answered. "I'll look out for you there. I only want to have a short chat."

With a careless wave of his hand, which was obviously not intended to include Maurice, he sat back in his seat, and the motor rolled on up Park Lane.

"Pleasant fellow, Lammersfield," I observed mischievously.

Maurice stared after the departing vehicle with anything but an amiable expression.

"They don't seem to find him particularly pleasant in the Cabinet," he retorted.

I was sufficiently ignorant of English politics for this to be news to me.

"Perhaps he is misunderstood," I suggested gently. "A great many of us are."

Maurice looked at me keenly. "You're in a devilish funny mood this morning," he said. "I'm sorry for the people you're going to do business with."

From what I had seen of Northcote, this argued a perspicacity with which I had hardly credited my adopted "cousin."

"One must be agreeable occasionally," I said, "if only for the sake of variety."

Maurice laughed shortly. "I expect you'll be agreeable enough to Lammersfield," he replied.

There was obviously some hidden meaning in his words, but it seemed a little too risky to angle for an explanation. So I contented myself with a noncommittal smile, storing away the remark in my memory for future reference.

We turned into Hanover Square, and crossed the roadway towards Regent Street. I had not the remotest notion where "Seagrave's" was, but Maurice pulled up at a small house just beyond the big flower shop, and I at once noticed the name on a brass plate:

Messrs. Seagrave And Co. Registry Office.

We opened the door and walked in. It was a superior sort of office, more like a private room, with arm-chairs scattered about, and a table containing the latest weekly papers.

A rather pompous, elderly, grey-bearded man in a frock-coat at once stepped forward.

"Good morning," I said, by way of opening the conversation.

He bowed deferentially. "Good morning, gentlemen."

"I looked in to see if you can let me have a butler for a few days," I said. "My own man is on the sick list."

He raised his hands. "Dear me, sir, I am sorry to hear that. Mr. Northcote of Park Lane, is it not, sir? I believe we had the pleasure of supplying you with several of your present staff."

This also was information to me, but I received it with calmness.

"Perhaps you can continue the good work, then?" I suggested.

"Certainly, sir, of course. If you will take a chair a minute, I will just consult our books. I have no doubt that we have someone who would fill the vacancy."

Maurice and I seated ourselves, while he bustled off to the other end of the room and began to turn over the pages of a big ledger. I picked up a copy of Punch, but I had scarcely glanced at the first picture when our grey-bearded friend came hurrying back with the light of discovery in his face.

"Why, of course, sir, I have got the very man you want, sir. Stupid of me not to have remembered it; but, as a matter of fact, he was only entered on our books yesterday afternoon."

"And who is this paragon?" inquired Maurice.

"His name is Francis, sir. He is Sir Henry Tregattock's late butler. A most excellent servant, I believe."

"Why has he left?" I asked.

Mr. Seagrave shrugged his shoulders. "I should say he had saved up some money, and was tired of regular service. He has only entered himself on our books for temporary engagements. He is a Frenchman by birth, but speaks English perfectly, and his reference from Sir Henry is unimpeachable--unimpeachable."

"Have you had it confirmed?" asked Maurice.

"I rang up Sir Henry himself just after the man had been in, and he described him as the best servant he had ever had. Indeed, he seemed quite distressed at parting with him."

"That seems satisfactory enough," said Maurice, turning to me. "What do you think?"

I nodded. Curiously enough, I had met Sir Henry Tregattock about ten years before, when he had been the English Minister in Bolivia, and I remembered him as a level-headed man of the world, who was not in the least likely to give an excellent character to a servant unless the latter thoroughly deserved it.

"Well," I said, "if he likes to come to me, I'll engage him for a fortnight, at thirty shillings a week."

Mr. Seagrave beamed and rubbed his hands. "Very good, Mr. Northcote. Your terms are most generous, and I am sure he will be delighted to accept. I will telegraph for him at once, and he shall be round this afternoon."

"The only thing is," said I, "that I shall probably be out."

Mr. Seagrave pondered. "Perhaps you had better give me one of your cards, sir, with just a line in pencil to say that it is all right. I will take the man round to your house myself."

This certainly seemed the best arrangement, so, getting out one of Northcote's cards, I scribbled a few words across it to the effect that the bearer was the genuine article, and handed it to Mr. Seagrave.

With renewed protestations of his gratitude for my distinguished patronage, the latter bowed us out of his office.

"I've got to go to my tailor's now," I said to Maurice, when we found ourselves outside on the pavement.

"Right oh!" he drawled. "Don't forget it's the two-thirty on Thursday, if I don't see you before."

"I shan't forget," I said cheerfully. "I'm looking forward to coming down to you."

And with this truthful if somewhat misleading remark, I waved him farewell and walked off in the direction of Sackville Street.

My interview with the tailor passed off quite successfully. It appeared that Northcote had only arranged to call in order to inspect some stuffs for a new shooting suit. I decided on a kind of buff-coloured Burberry, which struck me as likely to be useful if I survived the next three weeks, and then, just to encourage trade, gave the good man a further order for a pair of riding-breeches. After that I strolled over to Thierry's in Regent Street and bought myself a couple of pairs of boots; for, although I could wear them, Northcote's were just a shade too small to be comfortable.

After my strict economy of the last few months, the spending of money in this fashion seemed to me a most attractive pastime. I therefore continued it by purchasing one or two other odds and ends at the Stores in Lower Regent Street, including a really admirable sword-stick, for which I paid nearly five pounds. Under the circumstances, it appeared to me cheap at the price.

I was in some doubt what to do with Northcote's cheque for eight thousand. No other bank except his own was likely to cash it without inquiries, and although so far my extraordinary likeness to him had emerged triumphantly through all tests, I still felt a little shy of facing the penetrating eyes of a cashier.

At last, however, I decided to risk it. The bank was the Piccadilly branch of the City and Provincial, so, walking back, I pushed open the swinging door and marched in with all the calm assurance that I could assume.

There were several people at the long counter, but the moment I appeared an elderly cashier stepped forward, with that polite haste that bankers only assume for their more important customers.

"Good morning, Mr. Northcote," he said, with some deference.

"Good morning," I returned. Then I paused. "I want to cash a cheque for eight thousand," I added. "Will my account stand it?"

He smiled. "As far as I know, Mr. Northcote. If you will excuse me, I will just consult the ledger and see how your balance stands. Of course it will be perfectly all right about the cheque in any case, but should you be overdrawing to any extent, perhaps you would prefer to see the Manager."

He departed to the back, returning a minute later with the gratifying information that there was precisely nine thousand one hundred and forty-eight pounds four shillings and sixpence to my credit.

I handed him Northcote's cheque, and without further discussion he opened a drawer and began to count out a pile of bank-notes.

"I am giving it to you in five-hundreds, Mr. Northcote," he observed. "Will that be convenient?"

"Quite," I said affably. It struck me as a most happy adjective to apply to five-hundred-pound banknotes.

As soon as I was outside again I took a deep breath. The sensation that one has the best part of ten thousand pounds in one's pocket is the most richly satisfying emotion I have ever experienced. A few days ago I had trod this very pavement with nothing but a fiver between me and bankruptcy, and now here I was a veritable, if somewhat precariously situated, Crœsus. I decided to celebrate my promotion by lunching at the Criterion.

Chapter VII

Over an excellent grouse, followed by mushrooms on toast, and illuminated by a bottle of Chablis, I leisurely reviewed the situation. So far, about thirteen hours had elapsed since I had parted from Northcote at the Milan, and if they had contained one or two disconcerting experiences, I decided that I might certainly consider myself lucky to have emerged as successfully as I had. I was still alive; I had ten thousand pounds in my pocket; and so far I had apparently played my part without arousing the faintest suspicion.

There was a reverse side to this attractive picture, of course. In the first place, I now had ample evidence that Northcote's dread of assassination was neither a joke nor a delusion. My own animated interview with Mercia, and the present condition of the luckless Milford, made it very plain that during the next three weeks any Insurance Company which knew the facts of the case would politely but firmly decline to accept my life at less than a hundred per cent. Of Mercia herself I was no longer afraid, but the mysterious Guarez, and possibly other gentlemen with equally suggestive names, were apparently still hanging around, waiting to carry on the good work which she had so unsuccessfully attempted to inaugurate.

Then there was this visit to Maurice. Somehow or other, I felt very uneasy about my hospitable cousin. Even if Northcote had not warned me against him, his personality would have been quite enough to put me on my guard. All the time I had been with him I had had a curious feeling that underneath his easy manner there lurked a bitter and dangerous hostility. Why he should dislike me, or rather Northcote, I had no idea, and I was equally ignorant as to whether there was any possibility of his being connected with my other unknown friends.

Under the circumstances, it seemed like asking for trouble to have accepted his invitation. I haven't got that sort of nature, however, that can sit down patiently under a mystery--especially when my life is at stake--and I was determined to get to the bottom of things as rapidly and effectually as I could. A week at Maurice's country retreat appeared to offer considerable possibilities in this line, and I was cheerfully prepared to accept any extra risk which might be involved in the process.

If I had only had some pal in whom I could place absolute trust, I think I should have felt perfectly contented. It was more the loneliness of my situation than the prospect of being murdered at a moment's notice that disturbed my natural equanimity.

I was just pondering over this problem when suddenly, like a flash of light, a brilliant idea leaped into my mind. I brought my hand down on the arm of my chair with a bang that made a respectable old gentleman at the next table nearly jump out of his skin.

Billy Logan!

Of course! What a double-blanked idiot I had been. If he had not fixed up his business with Seatons, Billy was exactly the man for my purpose. True as steel, tough as whipcord, and game for any conceivable mischief that the world could offer, he would be a fitting partner for the mad business to which I had pledged myself.

I hastily ran through my pockets for the address which he had given me. A horrible doubt seized me that I might perhaps have left it in my blue suit, but just as I was giving up hope, I found it securely tucked away in the flap of my pocket-book:

W. G. Logan, 34 Vauxhall Road, S. W.

I looked at it affectionately. With Billy to back me up, I felt equal to tackling half a dozen Maurices, with a Guarez or two chucked in to keep them company.

It was true that by confiding in Billy I should, in word at least, be breaking my promise to Northcote, but this didn't weigh very heavily on my mind. All that eminent financier was really concerned about was my keeping up appearances before the world in general and his would-be assassins in particular. This I fully intended to do and if he didn't like my bringing in Billy to assist me, he would most decidedly have to lump it.

I made up my mind that I would drive down to Vauxhall Road directly my meeting at the Cannon Street Hotel was over. Meantime, I would wire to Billy telling him to be there to meet me.

Thoroughly cheered up by this happy inspiration, I paid my bill and told the waiter to order me a taxi. I was just leaving the restaurant when it suddenly occurred to me that I ought to telephone to Ritchie and find out how the unfortunate Milford was getting on.

There was a box in the hall, so I entered it and hunted up the doctor's number.

"Is that you, Ritchie?" I asked, in response to a curt "Hullo!"

"Yes," came the answer. "Who's speaking?"

"I'm Northcote," I said. "I wanted to know how Milford is."

"Oh, I'm glad you rang up. I'm happy to say he's much better. We've managed to get rid of the poison."

"Is he out of danger?" I asked.

"Practically, I think. It's rather difficult to say for certain, because we don't know what the poison was until we've analysed it. However, he's sleeping now, and his pulse is regular if a bit weak. The only bad symptom is a curious sort of mental torpor he seems to be suffering from. It's probably the result of weakness, but we shall have to watch him carefully. I've told the nurse to ring up and let me know how he is when he wakes."

"Well, that seems fairly satisfying, on the whole," I said. "I've sent in a new man from Seagrave's to look after things, so Milford will be able to get away for a bit as soon as he's better."

"The best thing he could do," returned the doctor. "A couple of days at Brighton will pick him up better than any medicine. I'll let you know about the poison as soon as I've got the analyst's report."

"Yes, do," I said; and then, thinking that the conversation was taking a rather delicate turn, I added: "I must go now. I've got a meeting at the Cannon Street Hotel at three o'clock. See you to-morrow morning."

"Right you are. Good-bye."

"Good-bye," I echoed, and hung up the receiver.

The knowledge that Milford was out of danger was a considerable relief. I liked the man, and shared Northcote's opinion as to his trustworthiness; while, apart from that, if he had died I should certainly have been placed in a devilish awkward situation. A police inquiry into the private doings of Mr. Stuart Northcote's _ménage_ was a form of excitement which I felt that I could very well dispense with.

Getting into my taxi, I started off down Coventry Street, stopping at the Post Office in Leicester Square to send off my wire to Billy.

I arrived at the Cannon Street Hotel just as a quarter past three was striking. I was a little late on purpose, as befitted the dignity of a King of Finance. A waiter who was standing in the hall evidently recognised me as Northcote, for he bowed profusely, and without comment conducted me upstairs to a large room where a number of prosperous-looking gentlemen in frock-coats were sitting round a long table.

They one and all greeted me with a respectful courtesy that still further heightened my opinion of Northcote's abilities.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," I said, seating myself in a vacant chair at the head of the table.

There was a chorus of "Good afternoon, Mr. Northcote," and then a solemn-looking old buffer at my right hand took up a printed paper and began ingratiatingly to explain to me how far the proceedings had gone.

I need hardly say that my ignorance of business is about as profound as it could possibly be. Sitting there with all these eminent exponents of the art regarding me with evident respect and apprehension appealed so forcibly to my sense of humour that it was all I could do to stop myself from bursting into a shout of laughter. However, with a great effort, I managed to retain a befitting gravity, and listened with a sombre frown to my neighbour's exposition. Finally, I nodded my head as though satisfied, and the business of the meeting again proceeded on its normal course.

What that "normal course" precisely was I have neither the ability nor desire to describe. A great deal of it was necessarily double Dutch to me, but I played my part with an impressive air of understanding that seemed to go down most successfully with my colleagues. Of course I spoke as little as possible, and then only when I was appealed to on some point of dispute. On such occasions I gave my decision with curt firmness, and I found that it was almost invariably accepted without further comment. I began to think the profession of a Financial Magnate was one in which I was peculiarly adapted to shine.

It must have been getting on for half-past five when the proceedings at length terminated. As we left the room, a bald-headed little man who had been exceedingly talkative all through came up to me and inquired whether I would do him the honour of joining him in a glass of champagne. I replied graciously that I had no particular objection, and with evident pride he led the way downstairs to the saloon bar of the hotel.

"Your good health, Mr. Northcote," he said looking at me respectfully over his bubbling glass.

"That same to you," I replied, not to be outdone in politeness.

"A most satisfactory meeting," he went on, setting down his glass; "most satisfactory! Pensford gave a little trouble about those Debentures, but you soon settled him."

"One has to put one's foot down sometimes," I observed firmly.

"Yes, yes. Quite so, Mr. Northcote; quite so!" Then he paused. "I was wondering," he added, a little nervously, "whether you could possibly give me a tip of any kind about those new South American Goldfields."

I suppose I looked at him rather sharply, for he at once put up an apologetic hand.

"Please don't think me intrusive, Mr. Northcote," he added hurriedly. "Your name has been mentioned very freely in the City in connection with them; but if you would rather not say anything at present, of course I shall understand."

His words had naturally given me a bit of a start. I had no idea that, with the exception of my own discoveries in Bolivia, anyone had so much as smelt a fresh goldfield in South America. Could this, I wondered, be the mysterious "Company" alluded to in Sangatte's letter? I lit a cigarette to give myself time to think.

"At the present moment," I said gravely, "I am not in a position to impart any information on the matter." (God knows this was true enough!) "But," I added, seeing his evident disappointment, "a little later on I might perhaps be able to give you a useful hint or two."

His greedy and rather pasty face brightened at once. "I should be extremely grateful if you could, Mr. Northcote," he said, "extremely grateful."

"Oh, that's all right," I returned, finishing up the rest of the champagne. "Now I'm afraid I must be off. I've got an appointment at six."

He followed me to the door of the hotel, protesting his appreciation of my kindness, and respectfully waved a podgy hand as a convenient taxi bore me away down Holborn. It must be a good long way from the Cannon Street Hotel to Vauxhall Road, but my memories of the meeting were sufficiently entertaining to prevent my noticing it. Indeed, I was still smiling thoughtfully to myself over the bald-headed gentleman's anticipations when the driver pulled up with a jerk outside a row of depressed-looking three-storey houses, fronted in dirty stucco.

"'Ere you are, sir," he said, leaning back and opening the door. "Number 34."

I got out and told the man to wait. In case Billy was not at home, it would be just as well, I thought, to have a cab in readiness. For all I knew, I might have been followed; and if that were the case, from what I could see of my surroundings it was not at all the sort of neighbourhood for an unattended stroll.

Mounting a dilapidated flight of steps, I gave a pull at the bell, which tinkled vehemently down in the basement. It was answered after a long wait by a round-shouldered elderly woman, who put her head round the doorway and peered at me suspiciously.

"Is Mr. Logan in?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"When will he be back?" I asked.

She shook her head again. "I dunno," she observed.

I repressed a strong inclination to swear. "I am a friend of his," I explained patiently. "I sent him a telegram this afternoon to say I was coming. Didn't he get it?"

"No," she replied; "'e didn't get no telergram."

"But it must have come," I objected. "I sent it off."

"Oh, it come all right," she said. "The telergram come all right, sir. I put it in 'is lookin'-glass. Only 'e ain't bin back not since yesterday."

"That's a nuisance," I observed. "Can I come in and write him a letter?"

She blinked doubtfully. "I dunno as 'ow 'e'd like it."

"Oh, he'd like it right enough," I assured her. "I don't want to go into his room; I'll scribble it in the hall if you'll let me have a sheet of paper and an envelope."

Something in my sporting offer seemed to reassure the old girl, for she cautiously pulled back the door just wide enough for me to come in.

"I shan't be long," I called out to the cabman, and then, crossing the threshold, entered the house.

The landlady opened the door on the left-hand side of the passage.

"I s'pose it's all right," she said grudgingly. "This 'ere's Mr. Logan's room."

I followed her into Billy's sanctum, which proved to be the ordinary cheaply-furnished front parlour of a London lodging-house.

"I'll get yer a bit o' paiper," she added, moving ponderously across it to a small desk against the wall. "'E gen'rally keeps some in 'is blottin'-book."

I seated myself at the small table in the centre, which was covered with a hideous rep cloth, and patiently awaited her investigations. It pleased me to think that I could soon transfer Billy to more congenial surroundings.

After fumbling about for a minute she produced the required articles and laid them on the table in front of me.

"Yer want some ink?" she asked.

"No, thanks," I said. "I've got a pencil. That will do quite well."

I turned back the cloth, and began to write, while the good lady, breathing heavily, stood and watched me.

"DEAR BILLY,"--I began,--"I'm writing this in your room, as your landlady will no doubt tell you when you come home. I wired you this afternoon, saying I was going to look you up; but thanks to your disgraceful habit of staying out all night, the wire is sitting up, unopened, in your looking-glass.

"If you haven't fixed your business with Seatons, chuck it at once. I've got something for you much more in your line. I can't explain now, but there's plenty of money in it, and I want you bad, Billy, very bad.

"Come along and see me directly you get this. I'm staying at 46A Park Lane. It's in the telephone book under the name of Stuart Northcote, so if you like you can ring me up first. If you do, ask for Mr. Northcote, _not for me_, and the same thing if you come to the house. Don't make any mistake about this. In case I'm out, the servants will have instructions to ask you to wait, but you're not to mention my name, under any circumstances. Just ask for Mr. Northcote.

"I suppose this sounds mysterious, but I'll explain as soon as I see you.

"Don't fail me, Billy. It's the real goods all round."

I signed this "Jack Burton," and then folded it up and put it in the envelope, which I carefully fastened. I was not in the least anxious for Billy's landlady to read it, so, in order to give the gum a chance to dry, I felt in my pocket and produced a handful of money, from which I slowly counted out five shillings. She watched me with absorbed interest.

"May I offer you this," I said, "for putting you to so much trouble?"

"It's a pleasure, sir," she murmured, eagerly accepting the coins. "Allus glad to oblige a gen'l'man."

"Then perhaps you wouldn't mind giving this to Mr. Logan as soon as he comes in," I added, putting the letter in the glass alongside the telegram.

"I'll be sure to call 'is notice to it, sir. You can count on that, sir. I'm only sorry as 'e was out, sir."

She opened the door for me with almost painful subservience and stood on the steps blinking and bowing while I walked down and got into the cab.

"Where to, sir?" inquired the driver.

I reflected rapidly. Knowing that Milford was better, I had no particular desire to go back to Park Lane, even if the new butler had arrived. The thought of a solitary dinner in that big dining-room distinctly failed to appeal to me.

"Oh, drive me to the Café Royal," I said.

The cooking at that delightful establishment is good enough by itself to induce a certain satisfaction with the world. Backed as it was, in the present case, by my feelings of joy in the prospect of Billy's company, it lifted me into a state of serene optimism such as I had not known since my first fortnight in England.

I dined deliberately, choosing my wines after consultation with the head waiter, and also accepting the latter's excellent advice in the matter of a cigar. Then for the best part of an hour I sat and smoked, gently contemplating my fellow-diners through the haze, and finally deciding that not even the lady with the emeralds, who was undoubtedly the prettiest woman in the room, could hold a candle to Mercia Solano.

Having arrived at this conclusion, I paid my bill and strolled out to walk back to Park Lane. I had not forgotten the possible dangers of solitary pedestrian exercise, but the evening was fine, I had my trusty sword-stick with me, and I felt that I would be damned if M. Guarez or any other infernal Dago should compel me to spend the remainder of my life in cabs.

Nevertheless, despite this defiant mood, I took particular care to keep my eyes open. The old rhyme, "Thrice blest is he who hath his quarrel just, but ten times he who gets his blow in fust," has always struck me as a peculiarly sound piece of philosophy, and I scanned each harmless passer-by who approached with a wary eye for any symptom of trouble.

Unless anyone took a pot-shot at me from the Park railings, I felt that I was fairly safe, and my sense of security was increased by seeing a comfortable-looking Bobby standing right under the big electric light just opposite my home.

He saluted me as I came up.

"Good evening, Constable," I said.

"Good evenin', sir," he returned. "No more trouble with any of them beggars, I hope?"

It was just on the tip of my tongue to ask, "What beggars?" when I suddenly recollected myself.

"No, thanks," I said, wondering what on earth he meant.

"Since you complained to me, sir, I've been keeping a good look-out, and I reckon they've spotted it and cleared off."

In a flash I realised that Northcote must have taken these ingenious means of rendering any vigil on the part of M. Guarez and his friends a somewhat trying affair.

"I'm much obliged to you," I said. "I don't want to complain officially, but you might keep your eyes open a bit longer. It's a nuisance to have people hanging round the house."

As I spoke, I handed him half a sovereign, which he accepted without a quiver.

"Thank you very much, sir," he said. "I'll see you're not bothered again, sir. Don't you worry about that."

Bidding him good-night, I mounted the steps of my house, and was just getting out my latch-key when a telegraph-boy suddenly rode up on a bicycle and jumped off in the gutter outside.

He came up the steps, pulling out a wire from his bag.

"Is that for me?" I asked. "Mr. Stuart Northcote?"

"Yes, sir."

I took it from him, and, tearing open the envelope, held up the message to the light of the street lamp. It consisted of seven words:

"Get rid of your new butler immediately."

I stared at it for a moment, and then laughed.

"Thanks," I said; "there's no answer."

Chapter VIII

I rather like surprises; but, as my old friend Jack Costello used to say, "You can have too dern much of a good thing."

With the telegram in my hand I went inside the house, shutting the door behind me. The light was full on in the hall, and sitting on the edge of the table I again read through the curt message:

"Get rid of your new butler immediately."

It had been sent off from Charing Cross at 9.58, and the sender, whoever he might be, was evidently a person of direct and frugal mind. The whole wire came to exactly twelve words, while for crispness of style its phrasing certainly left little to be desired.

I stared at it with mingled feelings of doubt, annoyance, and amusement. If the warning was genuine, and my new butler was really lurking behind the coal-scuttle with a dagger in his coat-tail pocket, who the dickens had taken the trouble to put me on my guard? It must have been someone acquainted with my movements that morning; but, so far as I knew, Maurice was the only person who answered that description. I couldn't exactly see Maurice wading in with a kindly caution; and in any case, if he had wanted to give me the tip, why couldn't he have done so when he had been with me?

On the whole, I was more inclined to think that the wire was an attempt at bluff. It might be that my prompt engagement of another trustworthy servant in place of Milford had interfered with my friends' plans, and that they were hoping to frighten me into clearing him out.

Anyhow, there was obviously only one course to pursue, and that was to interview the gentleman myself without delay, and see what I thought of him. So, crossing to the fireplace, I rang the bell, and took up a dignified but alert attitude on the hearth-rug.

As far as promptness was concerned, Francis left nothing to be desired. Thirty seconds could hardly have elapsed before he had entered the hall, and was standing before me with a deferential bow of greeting.

I looked at him keenly. He was a tall, slim fellow of about thirty-five, with thick black hair and a rather sallow face.

"Well, I see you've arrived all right, Francis," I observed.

He again inclined his head.

"Yes, sir. I came round with Mr. Seagrave about three o'clock. He gave the cook your card, sir."

"Have you seen Milford?" I asked.

"Yes, sir. I had a short conversation with him."

"How is he?"

"He seems a little better, sir. He was anxious to go through the work with me, but I thought it best not to allow him to talk too much. I think I can manage quite satisfactorily, with what the cook has told me."

I nodded. "Quite right," I said. "There is really nothing to discuss. I only want you to look after me and carry out the ordinary duties of a butler. I'll tell you anything you want to know, if you come and ask."

He bowed a third time. "Yes, sir--thank you, sir."

"Well, I'm going to bed now," I said. "I shan't want anything else, except some hot water. You can call me at the usual time--eight o'clock."

I handed him my hat and stick, and, taking some letters from the table, sauntered slowly up the big stair-case, which led to the landing above. At the first bend I purposely dropped a letter, and then, as though suddenly discovering my loss, turned to pick it up. The strategy, though ingenious, seemed to be a trifle uncalled-for. Francis was at the other end of the hall, with his back towards me, apparently placing my stick in the hat-stand.

With memories of the previous evening in my mind, the first thing I did on reaching my sitting-room was to walk across to the recess and pull back the curtain that covered it. Of course I knew it would be empty, but at the back of my mind I somehow or other had a ridiculous hope that I should find Mercia standing there, pistol in hand, and that delicious half-sorrowful, half-scornful expression on her face. I believe I would willingly have risked ducking another bullet if by so doing I could have ensured her presence.

But the recess was void--quite undoubtedly and stupidly void; and with a feeling of disappointment I sat down in a chair and began to open Northcote's correspondence. It contained nothing of any particular importance to me, consisting for the most part of bills and circulars, with one or two business letters that I contented myself with just glancing through. I had had enough of business for one day.

As I was looking at the last of them, I heard Francis enter my bedroom. After moving about for several minutes, apparently putting things straight for the night, he tapped gently at the sitting-room door and then opened it.

"Your room is quite ready now, sir," he observed.

"Thank you, Francis," I said. "Good-night."

"Good-night, sir."

He withdrew noiselessly and went out through the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

I waited until he had had time to reach the basement, and then, getting up from my chair, I began to take one or two simple steps towards securing my position. Although in my heart I believed the wire to be a false alarm, it seemed to me that there would be no harm in adopting a few obvious precautions.

So, after lighting a pipe, I proceeded to indulge in a thorough search both of the bedroom and the sitting-room. Having satisfied myself that there were no strangers or bombs lurking about, I locked both doors and carefully inspected the fastenings of the windows. These were quite secure; indeed, so far as I could see, there was no way, short of gunpowder or a false key, by which anyone could enter either room without my assistance. To make matters doubly safe, however, I collected all the fire-irons from the two grates (reserving only a poker for personal use in case of necessity) and deposited them in two heaps--one in front of each door. I am a light sleeper, and I reckoned that anyone making a forcible entrance from outside would do so to a musical accompaniment that would at once disturb my slumbers. Then, with a mind relieved, I leisurely undressed myself and got into bed.

There was an electric lamp on the table beside me, but by way of a reserve light I stuffed a box of matches beneath my pillow. My trusty poker I placed down the side of the bed under the top blanket, ready to my hand should I be unseasonably disturbed.

One last look round satisfied me that my preparations were distinctly efficient. As I flicked off the light and lay back on my pillow, I felt a kind of half-hope that there might really be something genuine in the warning I had received. It seemed a pity to have taken so much trouble for nothing.

Going to sleep is always a more or less instantaneous business with me, and, as far as I know, this night was no exception to the rule. At all events, I have no recollection of anything between the time I was fingering the handle of my poker in a kind of dreamy satisfaction and the moment when I started up suddenly in bed with the faint chink of fire-irons still sounding in my ears.

I woke with all my faculties keenly on the alert. Everything round me was in utter darkness, and my hand went out instinctively and closed upon the electric switch. I must have stayed like that for several seconds. My heart was beating rapidly, but I don't think I felt the least afraid.

Then I heard the door close very gently, and someone take a step forward into the room. Without making a sound, I reached under the clothes with my disengaged hand and stealthily withdrew my trusty poker. Having secured this, I wriggled over into such a position that I should be facing the intruder, and then, without further hesitation, I pressed down the switch.

My intention was either to hurl the poker directly the light went up, or else to take a flying jump from the bed and land my visitor a good swipe over the head before he could defend himself. It all depended upon whether he was carrying a revolver.

Unfortunately, neither of these excellent designs materialised. The switch went down with a sharp snap, but instead of a blaze of light flooding the room, everything remained in darkness.

I can tell you I didn't stop to wonder what had happened. The danger of my position struck me with a bang, and in less time than it takes to say I had hurled myself sideways off the bed in the opposite direction from the door.

I was only just in time.

Almost before I reached the floor I heard the crash of an overturning table, and then something came down on the pillow with a wicked thud that made the whole bedstead tremble.

I fell heavily full-length on the carpet, but it is extraordinary what activity danger will occasionally lend one. No cat could have recovered her feet more nimbly or leaped back into the darkness with such masterly swiftness. The wall of the room was only about a yard away, and I fetched up against it with a jar that nearly knocked the breath out of my body. There I stood, panting and shaken, but with the poker still gripped affectionately in my right hand.

It was not exactly an inspiriting situation--especially to a man in pyjamas and bare feet. The only bright spot about it was that my visitor, having bungled his first shot, was no better off than I was. Indeed, if, as I imagined, he was none other than my new retainer, I held the trump card of being a good way the heftier of the two. I couldn't picture myself being slaughtered by Francis, even in the dark.

Crouching down against the wall, I peered out into the blackness in front of me and listened intently. Since his first magnificent slap at the bed, my visitor had apparently rested on his laurels. I could hear him breathing quickly, but beyond that there was not the faintest sound. Not knowing what had happened to me, he was evidently waiting for inspiration.

I did some rapid but necessary thinking. If I called out for help, it was just possible that I should be sealing my fate; for should he be armed with a revolver as well as his other weapon, he would doubtless blaze away in the direction of my voice. Apart from this, I felt a very strong desire to settle the matter without assistance from anyone.

My best plan seemed to be to get to close quarters, trusting to Providence and the poker that I should get my slam in first. With this object in view, I began to creep noiselessly along the wainscoting, keeping my back against the wall. At the third step I ran against a small picture, which swung sideways and fell from its nail with a nerve-shaking crash. In a second I had dropped to the floor, where I crouched breathlessly, waiting the expected shot.

None came, however: only a slight movement from the direction of the bed told me that my visitor was on the alert. I stayed as I was, straining my ears to catch the smallest sound; and then, very faint but just audible to my excellent sense of hearing, came the stealthy tread of an advancing footstep.

During the next moment my mind worked pretty quickly. It was either a case of waiting where I was, or else rushing forward and lashing out blindly into the dark. Which I should have done I can't say, for it was at that crucial instant that my hand happened to touch the corner of the picture which had just fallen from the wall.

Never until then had Art properly appealed to me. I clutched that blessed frame with the gratitude of a starving man who has suddenly stumbled upon food, and changing the poker over to my left hand, rose swiftly and joyously to my feet.

At the slight noise which I made, the footsteps stopped. I knew, however, that my visitor must be desperately near, and for a tense second we both stood in absolute silence, each of us holding his breath for fear of betraying himself to the other.

Then out of the blackness ahead of me came the faintest possible rustle. Like a flash I whipped back my right hand, and hurled the picture with all the force I could straight at the sound.

I rather think it must have landed on the bridge of my visitor's nose, since no other point of contact could have produced such a yelp of surprised agony as that which cleft the darkness. I did not wait to jeer, but, ducking down again, took a couple of hasty steps to the left in the direction of the door. He evidently heard me, for, rushing forward, he landed a vicious smack on the wall, just above my head, bringing down the plaster in a scattering shower. I retaliated with a furious swipe at the empty air that nearly put my shoulder out, and then, feeling that so far I had had all the best of the duel, I leapt back out of range.

How the contest would have ended Goodness knows, for at that moment it was cut short by an unexpected interruption. From the passage outside came the noise of hurrying footsteps; then the door of the room burst open, admitting a ray of light that seemed almost blinding after the total darkness. A figure appeared on the threshold--a tall figure in white, holding a candle in one hand and a stick of some sort in the other.

I blame myself pretty badly for what happened next. If I had only had the sense of a caterpillar, I should have dashed for the door, so cutting off all chance of my visitor's escape. As it was, I'm blessed if I didn't actually jump away in the opposite direction, I suppose from some silly idea that I was going to be tackled by a fresh enemy.

I realised my mistake at once, but it was too late. There was a swift rush of feet, a wild scuffle on the threshold, and then the candle went out and I heard Milford's voice shouting for help.

With an oath I hurled myself forward, stumbling blindly over the scattered fire-irons. There was still a glimmer of light in the passage, and by its aid I could see two figures locked in a furious struggle.

Just as I reached the door, one of them collapsed, and the other, breaking free, leaped wildly for the head of the banisters. I was after him at once, and we went down that staircase in a way that would have put the fear of God into a couple of chamois.

If the front door had been locked, I should have had him. As it was, he just got it open in time, and taking the steps with a flying jump, landed clear on the pavement outside. With a last effort, I hurled my poker at him through the gate, only missing him by the merest fraction. Then he was off, bolting down the street like a rabbit, and vanishing round the corner before you could count five.

Chapter IX

I walked out into the roadway and picked up my weapon. Except for a solitary cat, scratching herself under the opposite lamp, Park Lane was absolutely deserted. As I stood for a moment, staring up and down the long, brilliantly-lit thoroughfare, I heard a neighbouring clock strike three.

I am not a person who gives up very easily, especially when I'm annoyed, but, dressed as I was, any further pursuit was out of the question. To dash down Piccadilly at this hour of the night, clad only in pyjamas and a poker, was to court a publicity that I was only too anxious to avoid. So, after a slight shiver, for my bare feet were beginning to get unpleasantly cold, I retraced my steps into the house.

As I closed the door, I heard a kind of stifled sob from the back of the hall, and looking up, I saw in the dim light two women crouching against the banisters. They were both in their night-dresses, and one of them, whom I recognised as the parlour-maid, had her hair streaming down over her shoulders. Very pretty hair it was, too.

"It's all right," I said comfortingly. "Nobody's hurt."

The elder of the two women--the cook, I suppose--burst into a torrent of hysterical relief.

"Oh, sir! Oh, Mr. Northcote! Oh dear, oh dear! We thought you were all killed!"

"Not a bit of it," I said. "Go and put something on, and find out what's the matter with the electric light."

My brisk and cheerful manner had the desired effect. Both women stopped sobbing, and letting go each other's hands, rose unsteadily to their feet. The parlour-maid even found time to blush.

There were two candles flickering away on the hall table, and taking one of them, I hastily mounted the stairs. As I came up, I heard the sound of voices, and, reaching the landing, I found the faithful Milford apparently engaged in a wrestling match with a woman dressed as a nurse. When he saw me, he gave a sort of gulp, and sat down abruptly on an oak chest behind him.

"Well, Milford," I said severely, "this is nice behaviour for an invalid!"

He caught at the wall to steady himself, and I saw that the front of his night-dress was stained with blood.

"Are you hurt?" I asked quickly.

He shook his head. "No, no, sir; I'm all right. It was the other man--he was bleeding in the face."

I turned to the nurse, who, I felt, deserved an explanation. "It was an attempt at robbery," I explained shamelessly. "I got a new man in yesterday, and he must have come with a forged character. Anyway, when I woke up, I found him in my room; so, naturally, I tackled him. I suppose you heard the noise downstairs?"

The nurse, who seemed to be a singularly self-possessed lady, nodded her head. "My patient did," she said, arranging a shawl that she was carrying round Milford's shoulders. "I tried to keep him in bed, but it was useless. He pushed me away and rushed upstairs just as he was. All I could do was to follow him and light the candles."

"You couldn't have done anything better," I observed. "But for them God knows where we should have been. The blackguard had evidently been monkeying with the electric light."

"I was in the hall," she went on, "when you rushed past. After you'd gone, I hurried upstairs, and found my patient trying to follow you. I hope I did right in stopping him. You didn't seem to be in much need of help."

"Of course you were right," I said. Then, turning to Milford, I laid my hand on his shoulder: "You're a good friend, Milford," I added, "but you're a mighty bad patient. You must go back to bed at once."

He smiled faintly, but made no answer. Lifting him to his feet, and supporting him with my arm, I helped him slowly downstairs--the nurse following. Just as we reached the basement, the electric light went up, and the parlour-maid, this time with the addition of a dressing-gown, appeared in the passage. She still seemed a trifle embarrassed.

"We found out what was the matter with the light, sir," she said. "It had been turned off at the main switch."

"Well, that's all right," I said. "You and Cook go to bed now. There'll be no more trouble. It was only an attempt at burglary on the part of that new man I got in yesterday. He's cleared out, and we can't do anything more until the morning."

A few minutes later, having seen Milford safely tucked up and left the nurse in attendance, I made my way back to the hall, where I fastened the front door and put out both the candles and the electric light.

My visitor had left traces of blood all across the carpet, and I found spots of the same article decorating both the staircase and the landing above. It was evident that his study of art had been as intimate as it had been brief.

Somewhat cheered by this discovery, I entered my room, and, turning up the light, shut the door. The place was in a cheerful state of confusion, for, in addition to fire-irons, broken glass, and fragments of picture-frame, the overturned table and its contents were scattered generously round the room.

I tidied up things as well as I could, and then examined with some interest the marks left by the two unavailing swipes which my opponent had dealt at me in the duel. What his weapon was I could not say for certain, but from the traces which it had left behind, it appeared to have been something in the nature of an axe. My pillow was practically cut in half, while the dent which he had made in the wall left me with a certain sense of thankfulness that my head had not been in the spot where it landed.

After removing such portions of Park Lane as still adhered to my bare feet, I got into bed, turning my mangled pillow over on its other side. I left the electric light full on, for sleeping in the dark had, somehow or other, ceased to appeal to me. Then, with the agreeable feeling of a day well spent, I curled myself up under the clothes, and in five minutes I was fast asleep.

A little brisk exercise in the small hours of the night must, I think, be an excellent thing for the health. At all events, I woke up next morning feeling splendidly fit, and came down to breakfast with an even better appetite than on the previous day. My constitution requires an occasional stimulant, and with the job which I had undertaken there appeared to be little chance of its being denied this luxury.

I regret to say that the pretty parlour-maid seemed less fortunate. I was too sleepy to pay much attention to her when I was called, but later on, when she brought me in my eggs and bacon, I noticed that she had dark shadows under her eyes, and a general air of having spent a bad night.

"I am afraid you didn't sleep very well," I said.

She shook her head. "Neither me nor Cook closed our eyes the whole night, sir," she replied reproachfully.

"Oh, I'm sorry for that," I said. "You must go to bed early this evening, to make up for it. Have you heard how Milford is this morning?"

"The nurse seemed to think he was doing well, sir. I believe the doctor is coming round almost at once."

The words had scarcely left her lips when, through the window, I saw Ritchie's car roll up to the door, and Ritchie himself step out.

"There he is," I exclaimed, getting up from the table. "Ask him to come in here a moment, will you?"

She went out, and I heard the front door open. A minute later, the doctor, carrying a glossy hat and dressed in an irreproachable grey frock-coat, entered the room.

"Good morning, Mr. Northcote," he said, extending a hand, which I shook heartily. "And how is the patient this morning?"

"Well, doctor," I said, "that's one reason why I wanted to see you. We had rather an exciting time last night."

He raised his eyebrows interrogatively, and without further waste of time I trotted out the same old lie which had already done duty for the nurse.

"It was a burglary," I said, "or rather, an attempted burglary. I had engaged another man, called Francis, in place of Milford and I woke up in the middle of the night and found him in my room, trying to break into my desk." (This last touch, I thought, was particularly happy!)

"Dear me! Dear me!" interjected the doctor, in a shocked voice.

"Of course I tackled him," I continued; "but he made such a noise that, unfortunately, he woke up Milford. In spite of his nurse, the plucky fellow insisted on coming upstairs; and just as he reached the landing, my man broke away and made a dash for the door. There was a scuffle in the passage, and Milford got bowled over."

"Bless my soul!" said the doctor. "Was he hurt?"

"No," said I; "that's the funny thing about it. Knowing how seedy he was, I expected to find him dead; but, on the contrary, he seemed to be none the worse for it."

Ritchie nodded his head. "It's quite possible," he said thoughtfully. "A shock of some kind may have been just what he needed. Still, it must have been touch-and-go. What happened to the man?"

"Unfortunately," I said, "he got away. It's an extraordinary case, because I engaged him through Seagrave's, and his references were all right, according to them. I'm going straight round there now."

"I should," said the doctor, "and, what's more, I should put the matter in the hands of the police right away."

"Quite so," I assented cordially though it was the very last thing I had any intention of doing; and with this extra fib I led the way down to the basement.

Far from being any the worse for this night's adventure, we found the gallant Milford sitting up in bed, shifting a large bowl of bread-and-milk with evident enjoyment.

"Hullo, Milford!" I said. "That looks hopeful."

The good fellow positively grinned. "I feel much better to-day, thank you, sir. I really think I can get up and do my work."

"I don't know about that," remarked the doctor, laughing, "but there's no doubt that fighting burglars agrees with you. Let's feel your pulse."

The nurse, who had taken the chance of removing the empty bowl, here observed that her patient had slept soundly ever since we had put him to bed.

"Oh, he's much better," said the doctor--"there can be no question about that. Indeed, I don't think it would do him any harm to get up. Of course he mustn't think of work for another day or two, but otherwise we can consider the cure complete. In future, I shall recommend one burglar to be taken nightly for any case that I feel doubtful about."

Chuckling heartily at his own jest, he accompanied me upstairs. "It really is a most remarkable recovery," he said. "The man is practically all right again--pulse a little weak, but otherwise nothing the matter with him. It just illustrates the value of a sudden mental shock in cases of collapse. By the way, I received the analyst's report this morning.

"Oh!" I observed. "What did he say?"

The doctor frowned. "Well, it's curious, but he admits that at present he's baffled. There are distinct traces of a vegetable poison of some kind, but it responds to none of the usual tests. However, he's going to make some further researches, so I suppose I shall hear from him again."

"You must let me know," I said brazenly, handing him his hat. "I mean to get to the bottom of this."

Promising he would, and congratulating me again on my frustration of the burglar, the worthy man went off. What his private opinion of my household must have been I hardly liked to contemplate; but since he showed no signs of communicating it to the police, I was well content to let matters rest as they were.

Before starting out to have a little chat with my friend Mr. Seagrave, I summoned the parlour-maid and gave her instructions that if Billy Logan rang up or called while I was out, she was to tell him that he would find me at home any time that afternoon. Then, equipping myself with my trusty sword-stick, I set forth for Hanover Square.

It was my intention, as you may imagine, to speak some very plain words to the portly gentleman who had sent "Francis" round on the previous day; but, as some forgotten philosopher once observed, "it takes two to make a quarrel." One can't be brutal to a worm, and Mr. Seagrave more nearly represented that creature than anybody I have ever met.

The moment I entered his office he fell upon me with apologies so abject that my pretty talent for remonstrance had no chance of asserting itself.

"You have received my note, Mr. Northcote. I can't tell you how distressed I am that such a thing should have occurred in this office. On behalf of the firm I tender you our deepest, our most sincere apologies. I only trust that there have been no regrettable consequences. What the scoundrel's object was, Heaven knows. I--"

"Look here, Mr. Seagrave," I interrupted, "what the dickens are you talking about? I've had no note from you yet."

He goggled at me, rubbing his hands together and cringing like a frightened spaniel I suppose he must have had some unpleasant experiences with my spirited double.

"You must just have missed it, Mr. Northcote," he said. "I sent it around by one of our young men a quarter of an hour ago. The fact is that we have heard from Sir Henry Tregattock this morning completely repudiating any knowledge of Francis. I had written to him overnight, asking him to confirm the character, and in reply he stated that he had no idea what I was alluding to. He had never had a servant of that name, and had not communicated with me in any shape or form. It's unparalleled, amazing, incredible, but there can be no doubt that someone else answered the telephone in Sir Henry's name. Still if there have been no unfortunate developments--"

I laughed in rather a nasty fashion. "Unfortunate developments!" I repeated. "Are you aware, Mr. Seagrave, that the man you sent me yesterday not only attempted to rob the house in the night, but did his best to murder me?"

To say that Mr. Seagrave collapsed would be an altogether inadequate expression.

"Oh dear, oh dear!" he moaned. "This is terrible, sir, terrible! Such a thing has never occurred in the whole history of the firm. It will ruin us when it comes out--absolutely ruin us!"

His frank egotism rather pleased me.

"I don't suppose it would do you much good," I replied: "but is there any reason why it would come out?"

I saw a ray of hope leap into his distressed face.

"The fact is," I went on, "that I object to publicity in a case like this. In the first place, I'm much too busy to be bothered about it. The man's gone, and, as it happens, there's no harm done. I don't want a lot of infernal policemen tramping all over my house." (This was true enough.) "But you ought to be more careful," I added severely.

"We ought, sir; indeed we ought. I will never accept a telephone reference again. I should be more grateful than I can say if you can see your way to overlook the matter. The scoundrel must evidently have had an accomplice in Sir Henry's house."

"Well, you must square things with Sir Henry as best you can," I said. "All I want is not to be troubled any more in the matter."

I turned to leave the office, and he bowed me out, fervently protesting that my peace should not be disturbed, and that he would for ever consider himself my most humble debtor.

Quite pleased with the success of my interview, I made my way back to Park Lane, only stopping at a shop in Bond Street to purchase one of those linen belts which are made to wear next the skin. In view of my somewhat uncertain circumstances, it seemed to be tempting Providence to wander about London with ten thousand pounds in my pocket.

During my walk home, my adventure of the previous night served to occupy my thoughts in a not unpleasant fashion. It was agreeable to reflect that at least one of my unknown friends was bearing my handiwork in fairly legible type. Whether "Francis" was the mysterious Guarez, or another gentleman with similar aims, it was at least certain that for a few days I should be able to recognise him under any disguise. I registered a grim vow that no stranger with a dismantled bridge to his nose should have the opportunity of approaching within striking distance of me.

All the afternoon I waited in, in the hopes of hearing from Billy. By six o'clock, however, no message had arrived; and, feeling rather worried, I strolled downstairs to see how Milford was getting on. I found him fully dressed, sitting in an easy-chair in the pantry, and reading the _Daily Telegraph_. The nurse had gone.

He seemed quite touchingly pleased to see me, but it was all I could do to persuade him to retain his comfortable seat. He appeared to think a kitchen chair altogether beneath my dignity.

"What I can't make out, Milford," I said, "is how you managed to upset yourself."

He was silent a minute. "I can't help thinking, sir," he replied slowly, "that it must have been that glass of beer I had at the Granville."

"But surely," I objected, "if the beer poisoned you, it would have poisoned everyone else."

"I don't think the beer would have poisoned me, sir, if it had been left alone," he said pointedly.

"What do you mean, Milford?" I asked.

He shifted a little uneasily in his chair. "Well, sir, it may be fancy, and you may think I'm speaking foolishly, but I can't help having an idea that the man I was speaking to may have put something in it when I wasn't looking."

"The man?" I said. "What man?"

"It was a chap in the bar, sir. A big, foreign-looking fellow he was. He started talking to me when I came in, though, as far as I know, I'd never set eyes on him before. It's my belief that for some reason of his own he put something in my drink."

This theory of Milford's fitted in so exactly with my own suspicions that for a moment I felt as if I were partly guilty.

"Would you know him again?" I asked.

"Oh yes, sir. He was a big, black-haired fellow, with one shoulder a little higher than the other. I didn't fancy him when he came up and spoke to me."

I was just going to observe that the landlord of the premises might possibly be able to tell us something about the gentleman, when there came a tap at the door, and the parlour-maid entered.

"If you please, sir," she said, "Mr. Simpson is here."

It was an embarrassing moment, as of course I hadn't the faintest notion who Mr. Simpson might be; but once more Milford came to my rescue.

"I sent him a message to come round, sir. You said you might be motoring down to Woodford to-morrow if it was fine, so I told him he'd better look in and see whether you wanted the car."

This was news indeed. Up till that moment I had no idea that I belonged to the noble army of car owners.

"Quite right, Milford," I said, getting up. "I think I shall motor if it's anything like a decent day."

I went upstairs and found Mr. Simpson in the hall. He proved to be a small, dark, clean-shaven man dressed in the conventional garb of a chauffeur.

"Good evening, sir," he said, touching his forehead. "I just looked in about the car. Mr. Milford said you might be wanting it to-morrow to go down to Suffolk."

"Yes," I said, "I shall if it's fine."

I had quite decided by this time that I would motor down to Woodford instead of going by train.

"Will you be wanting me, sir?" asked Mr. Simpson.

I reflected rapidly. I am not much of a hand at steering a car, but still I had tackled the task with average success on several occasions in Buenos Ayres. What was worrying me was the question of Billy. If he turned up in time, I intended taking him down to Woodford with me, and putting him up at the nearest inn; and there was just the chance that if Simpson came the latter might give the show away to one of Maurice's servants. On the whole, I decided to drive myself.

"No," I said, "I shan't want you, Simpson. Have the car around here at 10.30, and put some cans of petrol in. I shall only be away for two or three days."

He touched his forehead again respectfully, and withdrew.

My latest discovery had put me into a very cheerful frame of mind. With a car at my disposal I felt much better equipped for my visit to Woodford. I was a long way from trusting Master Maurice, and a motor is a devilish handy thing if you happen to want to leave a place without ceremony or delay.

The only fly in my ointment was the non-arrival of Billy. I was beginning to fear that he must have fixed up his job with Seatons, and that I should have to get through as best I could without him. However, I have made it a rule in life never to hunt for trouble before it arrives, so, still hoping for the best, I went upstairs, and began in a leisurely manner to array myself for Lord Sangatte's party.

I had ordered a little dinner for eight o'clock, and while I was discussing the excellent sole and cutlets which the cook sent me up, I further impressed upon the parlour-maid that if Billy arrived during my absence he was to be detained at all costs.

"Tell him," I said, "that I shall be back before long, and that I can put him up for the night. I suppose there is a room ready?"

"Oh yes, sir," replied the parlour-maid; "it's only a question of airing the bed."

"Air it, then," said I; "and, whatever you do, don't let Mr. Logan go till I come back."

I waited on till half-past ten, amusing myself by smoking a couple of cigars, and routing out such of Northcote's clothes as seemed to me suitable for the country. Then, as there was still no sign of Billy, I put on my hat and coat, and, sallying forth from the front door, summoned a taxi, and ordered the man to drive me to Belgrave Square.

Sangatte's house proved to be a big detached mansion, standing in its own grounds, and occupying the whole of one corner. It had a pillared entrance--a sort of Greek portico, from which a red awning stretched down to the main gate.

There were a number of carriages and motor broughams arriving and departing, with a policeman at the gate signalling to the next as soon as the one in front had deposited its cargo. Whatever his morals might be, Sangatte evidently entertained in style.

My modest taxi rolled up in its turn, and I got out, and mounted the carpeted steps that led into the house. To the left of the hall, which was full of immaculately dressed men and women, the latter blazing with diamonds and displaying a lavish amount of white arms and backs, stood a large anteroom, where a couple of liveried footmen were waiting to relieve us of our coats and hats.

Having got rid of these impediments, I returned to the hall, and slowly made my way towards the staircase, at the top of which Sangatte was presumably receiving his guests. Several people greeted me by name, and one or two beautiful ladies smiled at me across the hall in the most encouraging fashion. It struck me for the first time that Northcote might possibly have left me legacies of a more agreeable nature than those which I had at present encountered!

At last I reached the landing, where a solemn-looking butler who was posted there evidently recognised me.

"Mr. Stuart Northcote," he announced in a magnificent voice.

Lord Sangatte, who, with the assistance of an elderly, grey-haired lady, was welcoming each guest in turn, stepped forward on hearing my name. He was a tall, well-built man of about forty-five, with a heavy, clean-shaven face and hard blue eyes. I took a vigorous dislike to him immediately.

"I'm glad you've turned up, Northcote," he wh